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the scene that launched a thousand "wait where is this from?!" retweets

This^^^

like everything with john, it ends with a quiet admission.

"i'm tired."

the words fall from your lips like needles dragging along the curvature of your throat. they puncture, aching with their vengeance, until they slip into the open space, never to be taken back. never to be unsaid.

you do not look at him when you say this, incapable of facing your limits. your shortcomings.

you are a fraud dressed in fluffed up costumes, preaching about true love and never-ending devotion but look where you are right now—straining behind the stained walls of this relationship, splintering at the fleeting weight of his affections.

and you thought it was poetic how flowers could grow in between cracked asphalt.

the reality of the situation is like this—john loves you.

but it's not enough to silence the doubts and the jealousy, because you are jealous. you're not a jealous person, god knows many tried you, but this thing with john—this relationship that ever so fluctuates—it is troubling. insufficient, truly.

your friends told you to be better; that people who are jealous are just insecure about their relationship and yes, you are. that is the crux of it; that is what drags the voices from the pits of your stomachs to spit to each other’s face, spewing with vitriol because john has made you this beastly being, always pawing for his attention, always begging for the scraps.

he's left you rotten and all hollowed-out.

an empty opera house.

“is it because o’mary?” he asks, quick to find the rot in your core only to prod at it. gawk at it. to marvel at its festering like he had not been the cause of such unravelling.

is it because of mary he asked like you had not spent sleepless nights crying to him, telling him that you do not feel good when it was just the two of them. that you do not want whatever it is they have—hell, his friends had called her his work wife; crooning to each other like you were just a pinned butterfly stuck behind glass, watching as they coloured the details of john’s life beyond your grasp. of his love outside of your arms.

is it because of mary he asked like he hadn’t just told you of mary’s love for him, the confession she’d whispered as he held her in his arms after she had lost her pet to an illness. like he didn’t tell you, in awed whispers, how mary told him that he was the best thing that ever happened to her; the loveliest thing in her life like john was hers to begin with. like john wasn’t wearing a gold band on his ring—the promise he’s made in that courthouse, when the two of you were still too young and obsessively in love.

is it because of mary he asked like he hadn’t just told you, in angered puffs, that he couldn’t have rejected her then. she was in pain, he’d said. i couldn’t do that to her, he’d added like it was mary whom he married. like it was mary who he needed to protect and reassure and cherish.

so yes, it is because of her. but also, it is because you are tired.

tired of asking for his love. for his devotion. for him to choose you, come what may.

“just,” you begin, too weak for anything more. “sign the papers, please john.”

even when you are leaving him, you are still unable to stop yourself from pleading to him for his kindness. for his grace.

he stares at you, pinched lips and flared nose, and you stare back because this man—this john that stands before you—this isn’t the man you’ve loved. not the one who loved you back.

your john wouldn’t have hurt you this way; he would have listened to your whispered confessions, see the ache in your admission, and move himself away from mary because why did it matter if she had loved him? your john wouldn’t have cared for her affections; your john would have only cared for your own.

your john wouldn’t have—

your john wouldn’t. and now he is gone.

so you walk away from… this man amidst the suffocating silence, feeling nothing wash over you.

they said divorce feels like liberation; that it feels like the start of something kinder and better and brighter. but this just feels like a bruise on your tender skin—something blooming, pain so muted that it hurts only when you poke it.

and like how you were with all your previous bruises, you cannot stop poking at this one too.

printtreblog!

North

Rating: E (18+) Pairing: Sukuna x Uraume Content: post-canon (sukuna-specific ending spoilers), true form sukuna, hunter/prey, blindfolds, amab vessel uraume, praise, dacryphilia, overstim, multiple orgasms, forced orgasms, dry orgasms, bath (outdooor), anal (fingering, penetration), oral (uraume receiving), rimming, explicit consent, belly bulge, sukuna is whipppeddddd Word Count: 4.9k

Summary: Sukuna swore he was done with this life.... but if he had to do it all over again, he’d choose love.

(A reunion, a misunderstanding, and a long apology.) (A very long, and very sexy, apology.)

@dreamlandcreations' Kinktober 2024 day 5: hunter/prey - blindfold - forced orgasm

Sukuna swore he was done with this life.

He met his end.

He chose his end, in fact. Walked across the thin line between life and death with his head held high, his large hand dwarfing Uraume’s. For the first time in a long time, he had been in control—not that the King of Curses was ever out of control, per se—but he had been given the ability to choose.

He didn’t choose to be reawakened. Didn’t choose to be called-upon, a pawn in a twisted game of the modern age. A tool. A weapon. He didn’t choose to have his life taken again.

But he came to accept it. He chose to accept it.

He chose to never have to deal with it again; to accept his reality, to move forward knowing if given another shot, he’d throw it all away.

Do things differently.

So why was he—?

The world was dark, but it had been dark for an imperceptibly long time. He was used to it, by now—it welcomed him, flooded the recesses of his mind with something akin to warmth. He didn’t need to think here. Didn’t need to be. It consumed him, made him small—meaningless. For the once King of Curses, for the abandoned boy, it was an escape. A haven. A break from the rush of survival, from the hierarchy of needs and wants and power. The darkness was numbing, all-consuming, quiet.

But this was not right.

The thrum of faint staccato—more felt than heard—fast and off-beat. The world was dark, but he was distinctly alive. His heart—something foreign in this infinite void—beat somewhere below.

Syrupy heat flooded through him, slow-moving through the body he was becoming increasingly aware of. This wasn’t supposed to happen—nothing ever happened in the dark. Much less whatever this was.

Once again, he toed the line. But he had already made his decision; if he had to do it all over again… he’d choose love.

Anger fizzled up inside, painting the darkness a repugnant red.

“Lord Sukuna.”

***

“You better start running.”

The words were slow, tentative as if slurring off an unpracticed tongue. But that timbre.

Heat lapped at Uraume’s frigid heart.

Sleep-tousled tresses fanned across the tatami. The vessel—no, Sukuna—lay blindfolded on the floor, hempen rope binding his hands and feet together from where Uraume had wrangled the body into submission.

Strong arms—now adorned with inked bands— tugged against the rope. A growl of dissatisfaction rumbled through him, rippling across the floor to shoot through Uraume’s bones.

They reached out a tender hand, slender fingers moving to set Sukuna free. “My apologies, my Lord—here, let me untie—”

Before Uraume could even process, they were being wrangled to the floor. Sukuna’s weight, warm and firm, flattened and caged them. Heaving breaths heated their right cheek—the opposite stung where it was pressed into the tatami. Big hands, veiny and thick, clenched into fists mere inches away from their head.

“I’m not warning you again.” Uraume felt more than heard the words, deep and rumbling from where Sukuna’s chest pressed into their back. A blindfolded face, contorted in rage, dropped to mouth against their ear. “Run.”

There was one rule in serving the King of Curses: obey—especially if he was not in a pleasant mood. The gritting of canines and clenching of molars did not spell a pretty picture. Wiggling out from under Sukuna, Uraume tripped on the hem of their ill-fitted kimono as they struggled to get their footing. No matter, they needed to get out.

As they struggled to open the shoji, the tatami creaked with the weight of their master awakening. Rising to take his revenge. Rising to hunt his prey.

Something clicked in Uraume, dark and ugly pulsing through their veins—something they hadn’t felt in over a thousand years.

Fear.

Between fight, flight, and freeze, running was the smartest—no, the only—option. So Uraume let their feet guide them through the twisted hallways of the estate, through the courtyard, and past the front gates. A slow, heavy presence was always just behind. Something about it was leisurely—assured. But Uraume wouldn’t dare stop. The aura was unlike anything they had felt from their master in over a thousand years. Something about it was hungry. Primal. Itching for something Uraume was scared to identify. So they let their feet carry them far away. Far away from the courtyard, the gardens, the home they had spent the last few years preparing for this very moment.

For Sukuna’s return.

By sunset, they were lost among the trees, damp moss seeping through their shitōzu and chilling their soles. Trees blurred together, heavy thunderheads lapping against the early evening fog. The smell of rain and earth filled their lungs, soothing the searing behind their ribs. They slipped on rocks and tripped over roots but did not dare stop until their body could no longer endure.

As darkness engulfed the forest, Uraume fell to their knees. They had shut everything off—all thoughts, reason, and navigation—and let their feet guide them far away. Now, hands buried in damp soil and shaky knees muddied, the realization set in.

They were alone.

And they were lost.

Heat flooded Uraume’s cheeks, fat tears welling behind tired eyelids. Squeezing their eyes shut, head hung, everything came undone.

Did Sukuna not wish to be reawakened?

Was the vessel not to his liking?

Had he forgotten their promise? Their vision for a better life? The path they forged, north, together?

Fingernails tore into roots. Tears dripped onto the backs of shaky hands. Their lungs were imploding in their chest, stomach heaving with each ragged, rapid breath.

Could they go back?

Would Sukuna be forgiving?

Was this their punishment?

A snap.

Uraume turned to face it.

Their world fell to black.

A fat knot tied the blindfold tight around their head, squeezing against their temples and digging into their eyes.

Hot breath ghosted over the side of their face, then their neck.

“Found you.”

Uraume’s chest squeezed—a mix of relief and dread coiling into uncertainties in their gut.

Big hands were guiding their face upwards, arching their back into an impossible angle.

“What do you want from me? Since you ran so well, I’ll allow you to speak.”

“M-My Lord… I don’t want anything from you.”

A hum of disbelief rumbled into Uraume’s spine from where their hunter—Sukuna—was pressed into them.

“Is that so? Why summon me then, mortal?”

Uraume didn’t know how to answer.

Because I always do.

Because that’s what I’m here for.

Because I’ve been waiting for you.

“To start our new life, my Lord… together.” The words tumbled out, timid and too-quiet.

A beat.

The thick fingers glided from their jaw down to their throat, pressing right up against their fluttering pulse.

“And, enlighten me… who do you think you are?”

“Your chef, my Lord… Uraume.” It was barely a whisper.

Taut muscles curved into Uraume’s back, and their spine went rigid. They didn’t dare move, they didn’t dare breathe.

An exhale fanned warmth against the junction of their neck and shoulder. Their pulse rang loud in their ears, stuttering as the digits dug into main arteries. Uraume could feel Sukuna’s eyes against their skin, tracing the pale blue veins running right beneath the surface. Uraume had never felt so small—so helpless.

“Uraume.”

The growl spread heat through their gut like wildfire, and the subsequent loosening of Sukuna’s fingers sent blood pumping to their head in a dizzying rush. Hours of running, the lack of food and oxygen, and the fear were getting to them—they didn’t realize they were shaking until they were being crowded into big arms, pressed against a warm chest.

“Uraume.”

It was different; soft, tentative this time. Uraume couldn’t stand it.

A gentle thumb brushed against their cheek, ushering away a tear they hadn’t realized they shed. Wet lashes rubbed against the abrasive material of the blindfold, and a large hand made gentle work of untying the damn thing. As the fabric fell away, Uraume bowed their head—subservient and professional as always, if not for the pathetic way they were being held.

Two gentle fingers lifted their chin slowly, four red eyes scanning their face with an emotion Uraume couldn’t read.

“You look… different.”

Something about the way Sukuna’s tone had changed—the way he was talking so casually as if he hadn’t spent the better part of the day hunting them for sport—lifted a weight Uraume didn’t know they were carrying. They couldn’t help but smile a little.

“As do you, my Lord.”

“I… didn’t know it was you. Didn’t sound like you. And—I couldn’t see.”

Sukuna held up the strip of fabric—the makeshift blindfold—with a half-chuckle. Uraume tried to tamp down the warmth threatening to spread through their chest.

“My apologies, my Lord—it was to subdue your vessel for the ritual.”

“Meticulous as always,” Sukuna whispered.

He brushed his thumb across the peak of their cheekbone, two red eyes trained on the movement while the other set lay fixed on theirs. He said nothing at all, yet everything at once. It had been their language for centuries, these gazes—get me out of this meeting, kill this guy, do it now… thank you, you did well, I care about you.

This look—the way his brow was furrowed ever so slightly, the way his eyes were tracing the invisible outline of the now-removed blindfold—it was I’m sorry.

The dam burst, heat flooding to their face. Uraume’s smile widened.

“For you, my Lord.”

“For us.”

Big arms hoisted them off the ground, and they couldn’t help but hold onto the collar of Sukuna’s sokutai.

Sukuna let them.

He’d let them do anything.

As the two-faced spectre walked them back to the estate, Uraume fell asleep.

***

Sukuna woke up pissed.

Aside from the restraints and the blindfold, he felt shackled—always a cog in a machine he didn’t care for.

He had promised Uraume a second chance. A do-over.

So when he was being brought back to life by some brat, Uraume nowhere in sight (or rather, earshot), he was ready to tear them to shreds. He could’ve too. He struggled with the restraints before his second set of arms came in—his captor was no amateur at tying knots—but he would’ve torn them apart with his mouth if he had to. Flesh between his teeth, bone against canines—it was where he thrived.

But he wasn’t that man anymore.

He had gotten soft.

They made him soft.

So, he let the brat have a head-start.

He had been so much kinder to his captor than he had ever been to anyone (except for his chef); yet, when he found out he had done this all to Uraume, he couldn’t quite suppress the foreign bile rising in his throat. Uraume. Sweet Uraume, who had waited for him… who had been alive alone, preparing for his arrival. Uraume who hadn’t just promised but who gave him exactly what he wanted, as they always had.

A second chance.

A second chance for them.

What was this feeling?

More than anger, beyond sadness… heavy.

He wanted to punish himself. He wanted to make Uraume punish him. He wanted to fall to their feet.

Looking at their frail frame, dwarfed by his arms, he made a pact then to never go back.

He was done with this life.

He met his end.

He was grateful for it—now, it was time to start anew.

***

Uraume awoke to rustling.

Gently laid on a wooden bench, they could only see Sukuna’s back as he disrobed. Moonlight and the warm glow of the torches bathed rippling muscle in golden light. The king folded his robes with precise care, and Uraume filled with pride.

They sat up slowly, the old wood creaking below them. Sukuna turned at the sound and his sharp features softened at the sight. He brought his folded robes over, placing them on the bench next to Uraume before kneeling before them. His hands hovered above the sash of their kimono, and the way he was looking up at them made Uraume’s heart hammer in their chest.

“You may.”

Sukuna was careful with it—despite being muddied and too-large on their frame, he pried the kimono off with gentle fingers, letting it pool around their waist on the bench.

Four red eyes roamed the expanse of pale chest, drinking in every new feature of Uraume’s new vessel—the sharp jut of their shoulders, the supple flesh of their lower stomach, the scar on their left hip. Calloused fingertips hovered just above their hipbone, nose bridge scrunching pensively.

Uraume watched as Sukuna bowed his head, warm lips brushing along the raised silvered skin. The whispered touch sent chills through their legs and up their chest, thighs trembling involuntarily. Sukuna stilled the motion with a large hand, pinning their left leg down with a soft hum.

“Smell different, too.”

“My apologies, my Lord.” The words were half-hearted, head reeling.

“It’s no matter.” Sukuna rose to his feet, holding out a large hand—one of four—to help them up.

Uraume took it gently, hoping Sukuna didn’t feel the tremor running through them at the contact. Red eyes raked over their newly nude frame, running from the freshly-kissed flesh down to the tips of their toes. A low hum cut through the quiet, Sukuna’s gaze transfixed right below their navel.

Without a word, they were being pulled forward, large strides guiding Uraume through the winding starlit path. Steam from a large bath curled around stone, golden in the dim torchlight. With a squeeze of their clasped hands, Sukuna wasted no time in entering, wading to the far end to make himself comfortable. In the low light, there was no mistaking it—Sukuna Ryomen was a God among mortals, chiseled in the image of self-perfection. Two large arms folded over his tattooed chest while the other set splayed along the stone edge of the bath, the portrait of leisure.

“Coming? You can stare at me better from here.” White canines glinted.

Uraume flushed, stepping tentatively into the hot water with a bowed head. It wasn’t easy to see their footing in the moonlight, but Sukuna was a patient man—when it came to them. He helped them over with a hand, tsk-ing when they moved to take a seat next to him. Sukuna pulled Uraume in by their arm, crowding them onto strong thighs.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Uraume’s face flushed—the steam, the heat of the water, and the intensity of Sukuna’s gaze had their heart slamming around behind their ribs.

“My apologies, my Lord.”

“I’m not your master, ‘raume.”

Uraume swallowed hard. The way Sukuna was looking down at them—the softness in his eyes—it was disarming.

“My apologies… Sukuna.”

A toothy grin had their heart beating off-kilter. The man from earlier, and the man before them now, could not be consolidated in their mind. And yet, it was him. It had always been him.

“Let me care for you.”

“Really, you don’t need to—”

“Hush. I’ve already decided.”

A beat.

“Do you trust me, Uraume?”

“With my life, m—” they swallowed. “Sukuna.”

“Good. I’m going to touch you now.”

His eyes bore into theirs, a large hand moving to hover over their cheek.

“Uraume. Tell me you understood.”

“Yes—I…” fuck they were winded already. Stupid fucking bath. “I understand. I would like that.”

“Good.”

His palm was hot and calloused, dwarfing their head as his fingertips kissed their temples. His palm dragged down across their cheek, long thick fingers once again guiding their face up, up, up—

Sukuna’s steady breaths ghosted over their upper lip.

“I’m going to kiss you now.” The words were quiet. Tentative. An offer, more than a statement, something fledgling and pure.

“I would like that too.”

His lips were soft. Warm and large, they brushed feather-light as if fearful that any more would break them. Uraume’s eyes fluttered shut, pressing in tentatively, smaller hands coming up to cup the jaw of the man they had loved for centuries. Sukuna’s pulse beneath their fingertips was stuttering, and Uraume felt his Adam’s apple dip as his lips parted at the contact. They took the opportunity to press against him further, to spur him on—they weren’t fragile. They had been waiting for this—whatever this was. They wanted it so bad it hurt.

Two big hands flew to just under Uraume’s armpits, holding them closer as fingertips skimmed down soft sides. Their breath hitched, and Sukuna wasted no time in parting their lips further. A warm forked tongue lapped at the seams of their mouth, teasing their lower front teeth before plunging in. Uraume suckled it in, humming softly as Sukuna forced their jaw open.

He wasted no time in mapping the roof of their mouth, tentatively pressing against the back of their tongue. Those big hands pulled Uraume closer, grabbing at the fat of their ass to pull them flush to his chest.

It was too much.

It was not enough.

A little whine escaped their throat.

“Don’t do that.” Sukuna mumbled into their lips. “I’ll get hard.”

Uraume’s heart hammered in their chest. It was impossibly hot now—the water, the heat radiating off Sukuna, and the blood rushing southward was dizzying.

Uraume wanted to be sexy—to say something sexy, something assured, something to make Sukuna’s head spin like theirs. But the words died on their tongue.

“That’s okay.”

“No.” Sukuna’s gaze was firm, cutting through the haze threatening to swallow them. Grounding them. “I’m making it up to you.”

Big hands forced open slim thighs underwater. A fat tongue—one Uraume didn’t notice until now—licked a stripe from their belly button down the trail of short white hair. Sukuna pressed his mouth to theirs, muffling their gasps as his stomach mouth made contact with Uraume’s stiffening cock. Uraume bit down on Sukuna’s lower lip to stifle a groan as the tip of his fat lower tongue teased at their sensitive slit.

Sukuna groaned, head dropping to their shoulder. “Fuck. Taste so fucking good.”

They bucked forward involuntarily, those big hands holding them there as the lower mouth sucked Uraume in. A coil wound tight in their gut as Sukuna enveloped them underwater, soft suction and heat drawing out beads of salty precum. Uraume gasped, nails scratching down Sukuna’s neck to find purchase in his fat pecs.

Their stomach tensed. Those hands were crowding them forward again, guiding them back and forth in languid thrusts. They were being used like a toy, and all they could do was sit there and let Sukuna play with them. Uraume’s head lolled back, the pale column of throat inviting Sukuna’s nose and lips to their pulse. Sukuna licked a stripe from shoulder to jawline as Uraume shakily fucked his lower mouth.

“That’s it… ride my tongue, darling.”

The words rolled off those sinful lips so easily, reverberating through Uraume’s throat and jolting pleasure straight to their dick. They were helpless, like this—surrounded. Sukuna’s lips pressed sloppy kisses to their jaw, twin cocks stirring beneath the fat of Uraume’s ass. Their hips were moving on their own now, snapping shallowly into the warm mouth awaiting them underwater. Precum was flowing out of them, coaxed out by the warm, waiting tongue.

“Can’t—” It was a broken thing, pathetic and half-gasped.

“It’s alright. I’ve got you.”

Rough hands spanned the meat of their ass, massaging it gently as they pressed Uraume close. Pubic bone met abdomen, and Uraume saw stars. Their cock hit the back of a throat, and it swallowed. Their eyes squeezed shut; stars danced behind their eyelids as release washed through them, cock jumping weakly as that godforsaken mouth milked them dry.

“Fuck,” Sukuna gasped against their jaw, pupils blown.

He swallowed down their release, fat tongue stroking their sensitive cock. Uraume winced, moving to pull out, but large hands pinned them in place.

“Shh. I’m not done with you yet.”

***

“’kuna…”

They were so beautiful, like this—spread out on their tummy, cheek pressed into the now-rumpled sheets with their ass propped up for him.

He had wrung them dry in the baths, washed their skin reverently, and gotten them dirty all over again. He carried Uraume in, cum cooling on their skin, just to lick it off in bed before having them spill all over themselves once more.

He had explored their body for hours—birds chirped outside, but he didn’t have a care in the world. There was no place he’d rather be than here, three fingers and a tongue deep in his one and only.

They were shaking, drooling all over his—their—bed, a thin string of clear precum connecting their throbbing cock to the sheets.

Sukuna was so hard it hurt.

He sucked at the puffy rim of Uraume’s ass, pink and twitching as he curled his thick fingers to press against their sensitive spot once more.

Uraume bit at the sheets, gurgling as their hips pressed back into his face and hand.

“So needy,” Sukuna drawled, as if he hadn’t been edging himself for the better part of an hour now. His cocks were red and angry from where he was grinding them against the sheets.

“Can’t anymore—”

“One more, darling.”

“’kuna—”

A whine.

A plea.

Sukuna’s cocks twitched, and he felt himself getting close again. He reached one of his hands down—the one that wasn’t holding Uraume open or fucking into their little hole—to squeeze at his base.

Don’t cum.

Don’t cum.

Fuck.

He thrusted against the sheets shakily, biting into Uraume’s thigh to stifle a whimper.

They keened, tight hole fluttering around his thick, spit-coated digits.

Fuck they’d feel so good.

But this was about Uraume, not him.

He had four fists and an imagination. He could live.

Yet, the way they were crying out for him undeniably had his heart squeezing and his cocks twitching. He extracted his fingers gingerly, relishing in the wet drag of each one against their tight rim. Uraume whined, clenching around nothing, as they shifted their hips back with ragged breaths.

“’kuna…”

Sukuna shifted up to press a reassuring kiss to their shoulder, fat cock heads nudging against their gaping hole and perineum. He hissed out as Uraume rocked back into the feeling, reaching down to slide his cocks between the mounds of their ass instead.

“Shh… I’m here. What’s wrong?”

He punctuated his sentences with soft kisses to the shell of their ear, brushing back pale bangs to get a good look at them. Pale lashes clumped together wetly, fat tears rolling down pale cheeks as bleary eyes met his.

His heart squeezed.

Precum dribbled onto Uraume’s lower back.

“I’m going to make you feel so good. I promise.”

Uraume hiccupped, nodding dumbly as they sniffled back tears. Reaching a shaky hand back, slender fingers spread their ass open.

“You too… ‘kuna.”

Sukuna was going to ruin them.

He wanted to split them open.

Wanted to brand their insides with his cum.

Wanted to pull their hair back and mount them properly, kiss the deepest parts of their body, mold them to his shape.

But he needed to keep a level head.

“Are you sure?”

Uraume laughed wetly, and Sukuna cursed the Gods for not making him an artist; they were made to be a muse. He wanted that smile to last forever.

“Yes…”

Sukuna pressed another kiss to the junction of their jaw and neck, before pressing another to the short hair on their nape.

“I’ll go slow, but… I’m at my limit too.”

He took his upper cock in hand, rubbing the fat head against Uraume’s fluttering hole, smearing the spit-slicked entrance with his precum. Each time it snagged, he couldn’t help but hiss out through gritted teeth; he needed to bite down on the back of his wrist to muffle the sound.

Gently—oh, so gently—he pressed forward, and fuck.

Uraume was so warm.

The two hands gripping Uraume’s ass flew to the mattress, grabbing at the sheets with white knuckles as he held himself back from snapping his hips forward. Every fibre in him was screaming—mount, breed, fuck, maim, mate, move.

Move.

Move.

He was trembling with the effort to stay still. To let them adjust. But their tight little hole was fluttering around him, Uraume slack-jawed with the intrusion despite it being only the tip.

“Can… you take more?”

The words were hoarse and pathetic, his throat like sandpaper where he strained with the effort of not screaming.

Uraume, drooling on the sheets, whimpered.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Sukuna a thousand years ago would have already pumped Uraume full; would have fucked enough cum into them to get them pregnant, cock or not. He would have taken his own pleasure, bullied both cocks into their tight hole, blood and spit slicking the way—their pain be damned.

Sukuna clenched his teeth.

He was not that man anymore.

“I need to hear you say it.”

For everything he had done wrong in his life, Sukuna hoped this would atone; the effort it was taking him to be this careful was herculean. Saintly.

“Yes—please… ‘kuna…”

Sukuna slowly pushed in further. He went slowly, listening for every gasp, for every whimper. He stopped at every hiccup, pressed a kiss for every whine.

“There.”

The word was almost reverent.

He was fully seated in Uraume now, chest pressed to their back as he caged them in with big arms.

“You’re taking me so well. So tight… so warm.”

Uraume whimpered, bearing down on the girthy cock deep inside. The hand that had guided him inside dropped to rub Uraume’s stomach, ghosting over the little bulge in their navel.

“So full of me, darling… feel.”

Sukuna guided their hand down, down, down, to feel the bulge of their stomach and the wetness between their legs, split open, spit-slicked, and gushing precum.

Uraume keened, tightening up, and Sukuna pressed a hot kiss to the side of their head.

“Shh… I’ve got you. I’m going to move now, okay? Tell me if it’s too much.”

Sukuna drew out languidly, four eyes rolling back as he felt the drag of that tight little rim up his shaft. He pressed back in with the same care, lapping away at the fat tears rolling down his lover’s cheeks. Uraume was blissed out, moans vibrating through Sukuna’s chest and bones.

“Faster… break me.”

Sukuna’s heart squeezed, and he swallowed back a groan as his hips snapped forward with increased vigor.

He was trying to play nice, but fuck.

Uraume was killing him.

He plowed them steady into the bed, grunting into their ear and squeezing his eyes shut to preserve the little sanity he was clinging onto. If he had to look at that face again, he’d cum.

Sukuna was many evil things, but he would never let himself cum before his partner did.

Uraume’s legs gave out. Sukuna fucked them through it, one cock plunging into their trembling form while the second nudged between prone thighs. Between the hot squeeze of Uraume’s pliant hole and the feeling of his second cock rubbing against his lover’s slicked shaft and balls, Sukuna wasn’t sure he was going to last much longer.

Uraume whimpered into the mattress, babbling incoherent, broken praises. Sukuna lifted a leg for some leverage, pounding into them just a little deeper to fuck at their sensitive spot deep inside. His full balls slapped wetly against their ass with each thrust, and the noise alone had his head reeling.

“Shit—fuck—fuck, fuck, fuck—won’t last,” he hissed against their neck, breathing in the heady scent of sex and sweat and them. “Come for me baby… please, please, please—”

“Can’t—”

Sukuna growled, reaching a hand down to find their wet little cock—sticky and semi-flaccid, having cum without him.

“Fuck. Yes, you can. And you will.”

Their lover whined into the sheets, cock stirring with weak interest as Sukuna fisted it in time with his thrusts. He was so close—so wet that he could have slipped his second cock inside—

He bit down on Uraume’s shoulder so hard he drew blood.

They gasped and tightened, cock twitching weakly in his grasp.

They were cumming—

But nothing was coming out.

Uraume ground back into him as they shot blanks, and Sukuna’s mind went white hot. His eyes rolled back into his skull, pleasure jolting down his thighs and into the tips of his toes. The bed groaned with each pound into Uraume’s bullied prostate, Sukuna’s second cock weeping between their trembling thighs.

It took one, two thrusts before he was gasping into bloodied flesh, cocks pumping rope after rope of thick semen into his lovers’ guts and onto the back of their balls. Cum dribbled out through pathetic whimpers, his hips stuttering as globs of cream formed a milky ring around the base of his shaft.

Uraume keened, and fuck that felt good.

He held them with all four arms as his cock stilled inside, breathing in their scent and kissing around the tender bite. He gently pulled out, shifting to drag Uraume into his chest as he lay on his side next to them.

“I love you.”

It was quiet, pressed to their hair. He wasn’t sure if Uraume was in any state to comprehend the depth of what he was offering, but it felt right.

Uraume hummed into the blankets, and before he could process it, pale hands were pulling his face down, thumbs brushing away tears he didn’t realize he had shed.

“I love you too, Sukuna. I always have.”

^^

Heaven is Here (If You Want It)

Part 1 of 3 (or 4 idk yet) for a mini-series about John Price and his wife romantically "adopting" Simon into their marriage.

(I'll work on a cover and a masterlist, etc. but have this first part in the meantime)

Content: Safe/Sane/Consensual Intimacy, Semi-Exhibitionism

Not for the first time today, you feel like you’re doing something wrong.

Several pairs of eyes watch you inch your sedan between a big fuck-off SUV and an even bigger fuck-off Humvee. (At least you think it’s a Humvee. You’ve hardly memorized all the stupid, complicated names the military has for just about everything.)

Whatever the vehicle is, it’s huge and intimidating and looks like it’s about to eat your little hybrid.

You glance at your phone, double-checking the explicit set of instructions your husband sent to direct you right to him. It’s excruciatingly detailed – as you requested – and everything seems to match. Yet you can’t squash the paranoid sense that you don’t belong here.

Which, to be fair, you don’t.

Civilians have no business on an active military base – at least not in “serious operations” section.

Everyone milling in the garage is visibly government, from their high-and-tight buzzes down to the scuffed toes of their heavy boots.

“Military” is still an unusual recipe to you, a ratio of ingredients that creates different flavors of the same product. Two parts rigid training, one part lethality, a cup of sacrifice, a dash of protocol. Bake in 450-degrees of authority, then broil with duty. Garnish with a generous sprinkle of uniformity. Violence optional.

By comparison, you’re like a cupcake in a butcher shop: pretty, but out of place.

The metaphor isn’t too far off with your soft pastel sweater, mid-thigh skirt, and patterned thigh-highs. Walking confection – though you can admit that was the goal when you dressed this morning.

You’re nothing if not a gleeful stereotype.

Shifting to park, you flip down your visor to fidget with your appearance. Assure yourself that nothing has smudge or worn or migrated. Pretend you don’t notice the baby-faced gaggle of recruits ogling from one of the workbenches.

Your phone lights up with a text; your husband has come to fetch you.

Fluffing your hair one last time, you slip out of the car, purse looped over your shoulder.

“Ma’am?” someone starts.

And then the voice you’ve been dreaming of calls, “Stand down, corporal, she’s with me.”

You pivot with a squeal of delight, abandoning your car to launch at his wide chest. Thick arms coil around your waist and lift you, kicking with glee, from the asphalt. You press your nose into his stiff collar and breathe deep.

All military bases and uniforms tend to smell the same and it usually drives you crazy. However, you’re delighted to find that a combination of cigar smoke and aftershave overpowers it this time.

“Hello, love,” John murmurs into your temple.

“Hi,” you giggle.

He sets you on your feet again but keeps you close, keeps you warm. You beam up at him with hands pressed to his collarbones, counting heartbeats.

He’s so fucking handsome. Sparkling blue eyes crinkled at the corners, straight nose, full bottom lip curved with a mirroring grin. His facial hair is neatly trimmed, soft against your fingertips when you affectionately scritch at it.

He drops a kiss to your mouth, comes away with a rosy smudge on his bottom lip. You thumb it away, unable to get your dopey smile under control.

“Look at you all dolled up.” He fits his big hands around your hips, holds you in place as he takes a half step back – as if you’ll disappear. His eyes glint as he gives you a thorough, appreciative onceover. “You’re too pretty for an old codger like me.”

You roll your eyes and shake your head, swatting at his broad shoulder. “You’re not old.”

You did, admittedly, dress up a bit. It’s been a month since you last saw each other, after all, and you wanted to make it special.

You don’t need validation, but receiving it from your husband is always nice. (Though, you’re pretty sure he’d shower you in compliments even if you had the flu and dressed in a garbage bag, hair unwashed.)

“You look good enough to eat, sweetheart,” he rumbles, nipping your cheek.

“Hey!” you laugh, palm against his smirk. “You’re gonna mess up my makeup, you brute.”

He mumbles empty apologies, peppering kisses up your jaw, against your ear. One of his hands slides up your back, thumb tucking into the divot of your spine.

He’s here, you think ecstatically. Real and solid, breathing against your hairline and groaning softly at the scent of your shampoo. Not memory, not a dream. Here.

“Missed you,” you sigh, curling your fingers in the front of his shirt.

“I thought of you every second,” he replies.

Chest aching with warmth, you tuck into another hug, humming when he reciprocates. It feels like he’s pressing your frayed edges back together again, cementing all the cracks that have formed without him there as your foundation.

He graces you with one last forehead kiss before pulling away. You take the opportunity to perform your own scan of his person. Looking first for obvious new injuries or scars – none, thankfully – and then appreciating his clothes.

He hardly ever comes home in uniform; says he likes to leave work at work. So, seeing him in his green fatigues is… well. You didn’t think you had a thing for it until just this moment.

“Look at you,” you tease, smoothing out the sleeves to feel the firm muscles beneath. “So official!”

He chuckles. “Someone seems to think I should be in charge.”

“Their mistake, hm?”

“Brat.”

You snicker, feather a kiss at his jaw. Your tempted to leave the lipstick mark this time but end up wiping it away again.

“So, where to?” you ask.

He arches an eyebrow and nods over your shoulder. “Forgetting something?”

You follow his gaze, realize your car door is still wide open. “Shit!”

John gives you a brief tour of the immediate area, explaining which buildings are you-appropriate and which ones are not. Among the former – the mess, rec center, and outdoor PT areas. You try to memorize identifying landmarks, though you doubt you’ll ever be unescorted to need it.

The “tour” ends in his office. You “ooh” at the engraved Cpt. Price plaque on the door, and “ah” at the wide desk dominating the room. He lets you peruse the shelves behind his rolling chair, tells you what he can about medallions with intimidating names like “Operation Widowmaker.”

There are pictures, too. One of him and Kate at some sort of official-looking event. Much younger, likely before you two even met.

There’s another of him with the infamous Task Force 141, all four of them standing proud and tall, solemn faced. Well, all except the infamous “Ghost,” who could be sticking his tongue out beneath his mask for all you know.

And that’s about all you see before your husband backs you against his desk, hungry mouth slanted over yours. Any questions or comments about décor vaporize into puffs of smoke, fogging your mind. His tongue teases along your bottom lip, curls against yours when you happily open to him.

“Fucking missed you,” he growls.

You squeak as he scoops you up, deposits you on his desk. You’re no stranger to your husband’s strength but seeing him display it so casually like this makes your stomach clench low and hot.

Paper crinkles beneath your ass as you wiggle forward.

“Are those important?” you ask between claiming kisses.

“Not more important than you.” He wedges himself between your welcoming thighs, a rough hand pawing at the hem of your skirt. It feels like his callouses could tear the delicate stitching of your tights. You kind of hope they do.

His other hand plants on the desk just behind you and John looms. He’s already an imposing man, but the uniform makes him bigger – if not physically, then in presence. It turns him into a version of your husband that you’ve never met.

“I need you, love,” he rasps.

“Here?” you breathe, amused. “Aren’t there, like, rules about that?”

“Fuck the rules.”

You snort. “Thought you wanted to fuck me.”

He tangles his fingers in your hair, guides your head back to a steeper, more vulnerable angle. You go without protest, eyes lidded and mouth parted. His eyes lock on the pink tip of your tongue, licking at the lingering taste of him on your lips.

“Watch that mouth, little girl, or I’ll fuck that instead.”

Your breath hitches at the low, commanding gravel of his voice. It makes your head spin, the combination of time and place and him.

“You like that idea, eh? Want me to ruin your pretty makeup? Show the whole base how good their captain has it at home?”

You nod like a puppet and John’s thick fingers are around the strings. Needy, your fluttering hands tug at his shirt. You want him closer, closer.

“That’s my girl,” he chuckles, wicked and dark. You shiver. “Bet you’re already making a mess in your panties, hm?”

Your face burns with delicious embarrassment, eyes sliding away. Caught. “N-no…”

“No?” he coos, tsking. “I think you’re lying.”

“’M not.”

“You know what happens to naughty girls that lie?” He tucks his fingertips in your waistband like he’s going to confirm for himself.

Conflicted, you squirm and squeezes your thighs around him. The breadth of him always takes your breath away.

“Noooo,” you whine. “D-Don’t be mean!”

He arches his brows. “Is it mean to keep little brats in line?”

“You… I’m not…”

It’s hard to think with his lips skimming the delicate skin of your neck. The bristles of his beard tickle the underside of your jaw and scrape your collarbone; you’ve had to hide red marks after he’s come home before.

He chuckles. “Hm? What was that?”

You gather words to–

A shrill ring splits the moment. John’s phone.

You both freeze, the haze of arousal draining away. John sighs, resignation shadowing his features. You pet soothingly at his ribs as he drops his forehead to your shoulder.

“I have to take this,” he admits, drawing himself away like it physically hurts. “Been waiting for this bloody call all day, ‘course now they decide – give us a tic, love, and then I’m all yours.”

“It’s alright, baby,” you assure, smiling. “I know you still have to work.”

He fishes the phone from one of his many, many (you’re a little jealous) pockets and hits the answer icon, barking, “Price.”

You snicker quietly, slipping from the desk as he starts for the door. He pauses when you tug his arm, tilting his head at the tissue you offer. Arching an eyebrow, you gesture to his mouth, where your lipstick has smeared… everywhere. As much as he boasted about showing off, you’re pretty sure he doesn’t want to look like a dollar-store Joker in the hallways.

He blinks in understanding, accepts the wipe with a quick thank-you kiss to your knuckles. Just as he’s about to step out, he makes a gesture to your own face.

Right, you must be a mess too.

You plop into John’s desk chair (it’s definitely not ergonomic, no wonder his back always hurts) and whip out your compact. This isn’t the first time this has happened.

You dab the smears and smudges with a spare wipe, touch up your foundation and lipstick, and try to blend out any weird patches with your fingers. Hopefully, you don’t look silly now. The military doesn’t install lighting with makeup application in mind – who would have guessed.

You’re just smoothing your hair when you hear voices approaching. Finish making yourself presentable as the door swings in. A skull greets you.

You blink, unprepared to see the mask in person for the first time. John has told you about Simon “Ghost” Riley of course, about his dedication to hiding his identity. Hell, you just saw a picture on the shelf behind you. But seeing it in the flesh – or bone, in this case – on the huge man it’s attached to… that’s something else.

“Oh,” you say aloud. Catch yourself and add, “hi!”

A head pokes around his shoulder, blue eyes and a brown shock of hair. That’ll be John “Soap” MacTavish, then.

“John will be right back,” you offer his curious frown.

A voice pipes up from behind both of them, still stuck in the hall.

“Is that—” Big brown eyes beneath a blue baseball cap peer above his teammates. They light up at the sight of you. “Well, look who it is!”

You pop to your feet. “Kyle!”

He shoves the other two aside to meet you halfway, snatching you up and spinning you ‘round. You laugh as he smacks a loud kiss against your cheek and sets you on your feet again. A boyish grin greets you as you catch your breath.

“The old man didn’t say you’d be visiting,” he chuckles.

“What is it with you two?” you huff, swatting at his shoulder. “He’s not that old!”

A throat clears loud and conspicuous by the door. You turn to the other two members of the task force, the pair gauging you with varying levels of suspicion and curiosity.

“Oh hell, sorry,” you say, smoothing down your skirt. “It’s nice to finally meet you!”

“Aye, and… who’re you, ma’am?” MacTavish asks, brows twisted like he can’t figure out if he should be polite or not.

And as if he’s been divinely summoned, John appears in the doorway.

“That would be my wife, Sergeant. Show some respect.”

You snort softly as the blood drains from Soap’s face. Poor guy.

“He was,” you defend.

John grunts, unimpressed, as you sidle closer and offer your hand. Soap takes it with a rakish, crooked grin. It draws attention to the little scar slanting across his chin. Combined with his mohawk and bright blue eyes, he becomes charmingly roguish as the uncertainty melts away.

His hand is firm around yours, scars and callouses pressing against your palm. Warm, too. You appreciate that he doesn’t squeeze too hard.

“I’ve heard so much about you from John and Kyle,” you say. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“’S all lies, lass,” he declares, “lies ‘n exaggerations.”

You tilt your head, putting on your best doe eyes. “So, you’re not loyal to a fault, wicked smart, and incredibly competent?”

He falters, sputters to recover, and you break as soon as you hear Kyle laughing behind you.

“Och, well, I s’pose…” he manages, flushing from the tips of his ears across his cheeks and nose.

“Is it alright if I call you Soap?” you ask.

“Aye, I reckon s’alright ‘f it’s a bonnie bird like you.”

You pretend not to notice John cuffing him upside the head as you turn to the lieutenant.

And he really is as intimidating as John made him out to be. Not that John used that word exactly, but tales of grown men trembling at the mere sight of Ghost and seeing the picture on John’s shelf gave you an impression.

He’s not just tall, he’s broad – even bigger than your husband – and makes no effort to appear smaller. He stands firm, takes up as much space as he needs. Dressed in black head to toe and sporting that haunting mask, he cuts a striking figure.

Almost like he wants to appear inhuman. Just a killing machine that the military treats him as.

Well. There’s a very good reason you’re not in the military.

“Hi,” you chirp, “you must be Lieutenant Riley.”

He stares at you. Doesn’t move. Doesn’t even blink. It’s just a pair of charcoal dark eyes, something shell-shocked in the painted skin around them. You don’t back down, keeping the curve of your mouth relaxed and pleasant. He stares long enough that Soap clears his throat, and you blink, arching your eyebrows to prompt him.

“Simon,” he grunts finally. And to your pleasant surprise, he offers his hand. “Call me Simon, ma’am.”

His hand dwarfs yours and yet his hold is so gentle. Like he’s handling something delicate and breakable, cupping his palm as if to protect you from his grip.

“I like your gloves, Simon,” you say.

His fingers spasm, twisting his wrist as if to confirm you’re talking about the skeleton hands printed on them.

“Thanks.”

You grin. “Do they glow in the dark?”

“Wouldn’t be very covert if they did.”

You like his voice, you decide immediately. It comes from his chest, deep and resonant, practically purring in his throat. Crushed velvet. If John hadn’t warned you that Simon’s a bit “rough around the edges” you’d take the flat affect to be unfriendly. Instead, he sounds endearingly awkward as his arm drops to his side again.

“I guess not, but it would be cool,” you reply, “and isn’t that more important?”

The corners of his eyes crinkle. You think that means he’s smiling. “I’ll keep that in mind, ma’am.”

You nod solemnly, as if your work here is done. Without stepping away from him, you turn to John. He’s watching the two of you with a bright, thoughtful glint in his eye. Even as his wife, you’re not sure what that means – you’ll try to remember to ask later.

“How was your call?” you ask, aware that he probably can’t say much.

“Bollocks as usual,” he sighs, crossing his arms, “but I do need a quick word with my sergeants. I’m sorry, darling.”

You smile, easy and understanding. “John, it’s really okay. I promise.”

It may be okay with you, but clearly not with him. He sighs, index finger tapping his bicep. You know what that means at least.

“Talk to the sergeants, have a cigar,” you soothe. “I’ll be here.”

“You’re a lamb,” he coos, kissing the top of your head. “Simon will keep you company in the meantime.”

You arch your eyebrows, a bit surprised, but nod.

“We’ll clear out so you can talk,” you offer. “I wanted to see more of the training area anyway.”

John nods, takes your hand to press one last kiss to your knuckles, the corner of his mouth touching your wedding ring. Your face warms with the sweet gesture, self-conscious of his men watching. When his lowers your hand (doesn’t drop it, never) his eyes flick over your head.

“Take care of my wife, Simon.”

Your smile slips at the gravity in his tone, equal parts flustered and baffled by the change. He guides you to the door with a hand on the small of your back, a gentleman down to the last.

“Aye, sir,” Simon replies, just as solemn.

“Goodness!” you blurt to break the tension, shaking your head. “It’s a stroll down the sidewalk, not witness protection.”

John huffs, shoulders relaxing, and the grim atmosphere disappears. “Humor me, darling. I worry.”

“You’re overprotective.”

“I happen to protect you the perfect amount for a man in my situation.”

You roll your eyes, boop his nose as you pass. “Whatever you say, oh captain, my captain.”

His eyes spark with a dark, lustful glint. There and gone again, but you know what you saw. Well then. That’ll be something to explore later.

“Stay out of trouble,” he says, a warning for you this time. Not nearly as dire.

“We’ll see!”

You flounce out of his office with a parting wiggle of your fingers. Simon follows, closing the door after himself.

He meets you at the end of the hallway; you’re fascinated by his gait. Long, confident strides and yet absolutely silent. His clothes don’t even rustle. If you weren’t watching him, you wouldn’t know he was moving. That nickname (what’s the word? A callsign?) really is apt.

“So, Simon,” you begin, clasping your hands behind your back, “where to?”

“You wanted to see the training grounds?” he asks. His voice is quiet, a low rumble. Almost subsonic.

“Mhmm!”

“There are recruits there now.”

You perk up. “Even better! I’ve always wondered what training looks like.”

“You’ve never seen it before?”

You shrug, falling into step as he starts down the hallway, opposite the way you first came.

“I’ve only ever visited for quick errands before. He usually meets me at the commissary for lunch or at the gate.”

He’s slowing his steps, you notice. Adjusting to accommodate your little heels. The realization makes you bite the corner of your mouth to keep from grinning.

“What changed?” he asks.

“He wanted to introduce you boys,” you answer with all the warmth John’s transferred to you through stories.

If Simon is surprised, he doesn’t say so – but the silence that follows your answer feels stunned.

Then again, what do you know? You just met the man today.

“Price ‘s a good captain,” Simon says finally. Gruff and abrupt. You tilt your head to show you’re listening. “Solid.”

You assume that’s high praise coming from him.

“He’s a good man,” you say, thinking of your husband. A man duty-bound and solid as the ground you walk on. A man you can do nothing but love – even years later feel a bit like a schoolgirl with butterflies in your tummy and lovesick sigh on your lips when he does… well just about anything.

“The best of ‘em,” Simon agrees.

You slide him a sideways look. Maybe you’re daft, but you could swear there’s something almost… regretful, clinging at the edges of his voice.

It’s a hard job they have, you know that, even if you’re blissfully ignorant to the burdens on their shoulders. Broad as they are, you’re sure even Simon feels the weight sometimes.

“He’s a good judge of character too,” you muse. “Could make saints out of sinners, I think. Even if his own hands aren’t very clean.”

You turn away just as you feel his gaze shifting. Keep your expression light, don’t let on that you notice.

“Oh!” you say, pointing. “Are those recruits?”

There’s a noticeable beat before he follows your eyes. “They’re running combat drills.”

Down the hill, men and women in tactical gear scramble around fake buildings and walls. They move in little groups of threes and fours, shouting to each other and ducking for cover. Two or three people stand at the edges of the “combat zone” shouting the occasional reprimand.

As you wander closer, you detect little pop, pop, pop noises. “Are those… BB guns?”

“Aye, and they hurt like a bitch,” Simon warns.

“I bet.”

You let him take the lead, not sure how close you’re allowed to get. The hill is a bit steep since you’ve stepped off the paved path, the grass lush and green, a little wet. When you wobble, Simon takes an extra step forward and half turns, offering his hand.

“Oh, thank you!” you say, fitting your fingers into his palm. He jerks his head in a nod; you hope that doesn’t mean he’s annoyed.

He escorts you the rest of the way like that, always ready to catch you if you slip. If you weren’t so flattered by his manners, you’d be embarrassed about needing help down a hill.

He stops a few good meters from what seems like the boundary of the training zone. Here, you have a better view of what’s going on and can even hear bits and pieces of the soldiers calling to each other.

“What are they doing?” you ask. “Do you know the scenario?”

Simon begins explaining the drill to you, pointing out different members of each “squad” and commenting on their actions and reactions at intervals. You listen with rapt attention, asking questions when there’s space for it. Don’t even notice that he’s purposefully placed himself in front of you until something pings off his chest. A little blue pellet bounces off his boot.

“Oy!” he barks, startling you. “Watch the friendly fire, corporal.”

The man he’s just reprimanded nearly falls over himself when he sees who’s speaking. You giggle a bit at the way he salutes and then immediately gets shot to hell by the “enemy.”

“John wasn’t kidding, you really are spooky,” you say.

He snorts. “You think I’m spooky?”

“I didn’t say that.”

His gaze drops to yours and this time you don’t turn away, making sure he sees all the mischief in them when you grin.

“Do you think I’m spooky?”

“Nah,” you reply, shrugging. “I think you’re a big softy.”

“What.” His voice is flat, shock in those flinty eyes. You swallow back laughter.

“Mhmm. I think you’re secretly a teddy bear. You don’t scare me, Lieutenant Riley.”

He huffs softly, shoulders dropping. Huh – you hadn’t even noticed they were tense.

Out on the training grounds, the drill seems to be wrapping up. It’s a mess of noise and shouting, so you almost don’t catch it when Simon murmurs, “good.”

TBC...

Snippet of Simon with his pregnant wife………..pls n thank you

Of course!! I hope you like the piece :D

Tags: pure fluff, established relationship, pregnancy cravings and mood swings, whipped!Simon

Word count: 5k

-

“C’mon, you fuckin’ muppets—pick up the goddamn pace or I’ll have you hit the deck for another twenty.”

“Yessir!!” The recruits scream, valiantly trying to pick up their feet—even if a good few of them looked like they were just about ready to vomit. 

“Sergeant,” Simon shouts, arms crossed as he surveys the pack of jogging recruits.

“Sir,” Soap jogs to his side, back ramrod straight in acknowledgement of his rank. 

“Who’s that wanker at the back there? The prick whose mustache is out of fuckin’ code,” he snarls, yelling the words loud enough to make sure the private gets an earful. When the lad perks up at the mention of his (truly horrid) mustache, Simon can’t help the pinpricks of amusement that run up his spine at the horrified look that he wears.

“Johnson, lieutenant,” Soap provides, actually addressing Simon by his proper rank, just to put on a show for the new recruits.

The Taskforce had preferred selection of candidates fresh entering into the SAS—a perk of their stellar reputation—and with every few months that passed, there was always another new grove of fresh-faced, twenty-somethings for them to pick through. While Simon dreaded having to deal with fresh meat in the field, he had to admit that watching them stumble and trip over their own two feet just to impress him was quite amusing, hence why he’d made a habit out of stopping by the training field to lighten his spirits when the paperwork got too dense.

Soap and Gaz were in charge of integrating the new recruits into their own companies, and after a few weeks of watching Simon look on with longing eyes, they’d eventually let him take the reigns for a few minutes each day—if only so that they could sit back and watch the fallout when the recruits saw the infamous Ghost stalking onto the field.

Today was another such occasion. The recruits were dressed out in full gear as punishment for a mishap in the barracks the night before. Packs, rifles, gas masks and all. Though, after a good few minutes of watching them struggle to breathe through the stifling air filters, Soap had taken enough pity on them to allow them to lift the masks for a short breather…one that was certainly long enough for Simon’s taste, especially when he’d seen the downright hilarious mustache one of the recruits had been sporting.

“Johnson!” He bellows, voice booming across the field, “Get your arse over here now!”

Johnson came awkwardly ambling over, barely standing under the weight of his full pack and kit. The minute he halts in front of Simon’s towering form, he looks about ready to keel over and beg for mercy. However, he manages to stand straight under Simon’s scrutiny, hands shaking imperceptibly by his side.

“Sir!” He greets.

“Tell me, Private, ‘cause I’d love to know,” he gets into the Private’s face, grimacing under the mask at the style of his facial hair, “Why did you pass selection?”

“Because I met the requirements, sir!” He shouts back.

“Did you?” Simon asks, “Because I don’t remember there being a bloody ten minute mile on the fucking enlistment papers! Pick up those fucking boots and get your pace back on a four minutes, or I swear to god I’ll keep the whole bloody company runnin’ ’til sun down!”

“Yes, lieutenant, sir!” Johnson yells, clumsily backing into his stride. Just for the fun of it, Simon jogs along, struggling not to laugh when he sees the way Johnson’s eyes widen at the sight of him.

“Let’s fuckin’ go, Private, pick it up,” he points towards the other recruits, who are several lengths ahead, “What the hell is this? My wife could run a faster klick than you can and she’s six months pregnant!”

“Congratulations, sir?!” Johnson yells back.

“Shut the fuck up and run faster—bloody fucking hell.”

Simon slows his jog, watching as Johnson plods forward. Before he can even turn to look back at the sergeant, he hears Johnny’s laughter emanating from behind him. A hand claps down on his shoulder.

“You haven’t lost your touch, LT,” Soap chuckles, watching the pack of recruits with a careful eye, “Should see the poor basterds huddle ‘round the table in the mess hall, swapping wives’ tales ‘bout ya like you’ve given ‘em PTSD or some shite.”

“If they leave here only having nightmares, I must be doin’ my job wrong,” Simon quips, hand itching to reach for the megaphone and address the entire company, “Fun to watch ‘em piss their pants every time they talk to me.”

“You’re stone cold, Simon.”

“Like you don’t do the same.”

Jokingly, Soap raises his hands in surrender, backing over towards the four-wheeler they’d driven out with medical supplies.

“You stickin’ around for few minutes?” Soap asks, swiping his half-eaten protein bar from the trunk, “M’good to hang back ’n let you take over. Wanted to check my email anyway.”

“Maybe just for a few,” he smirks, still watching the recruits, “Think they’re in for a couple round o’ suicides?”

At that, Soap’s smile widens.

“I mean…with all the shite that went down during room inspection last night,” he shrugs, “I wouldnae blame you. Give ‘em hell, LT.”

“Good man, Soap,” he chuckles, pointing towards the hitch of the four-wheeler, “Hand me that loudspeaker.”

Johnny does as he asks, tossing the loudspeaker into his arms with a mirthful smirk around his protein bar. With expert precision, Simon wraps the strap around his forearm, fingers poised on the speaker button. However, just when the perfect string of curses had popped into his head, his phone begins buzzing in his pocket. With a disappointed huff, he drops the loudspeaker, reaching into his pocket. He ambles over to Soap, reading the contact name.

“Here,” he hands back the loudspeaker, “Need to take this.”

“Who is it?” Soap asks, voice muffled around a mouthful of granola.

“The missus,” Simon answers easily, “Probably just wants to see what time I’ll be home.”

He lifts the phone to his masked ear, dutifully watching the jogging recruits. The past few months, you’d taken to calling him more often when he was on the clock. Back when you had just begun dating, you wouldn’t dare to call him when he was at work (let alone when he was on deployment) unless the house had caught fire. But now—with a ring on your finger and with his last name in your signature—you’d loosened up a bit. Though, once he got you pregnant, the calls had increased by tenfold. He suspects the hormones are to blame. 

After all, having a military husband that could be called away at a moment’s notice wasn’t a job for the weak—especially when you had a baby on the way. At the thought of you at home, hand rubbing over your swollen belly, stuffing your mouth with whatever new craving you had, while you listened to each ring of the phone with undue intensity, Simon can’t help but smirk.

Pregnancy was hard on you. These days, your feet were so swollen you could barely stand in the kitchen long enough to make your own meals without Simon intervening. Speaking of meals, your eating patterns had taken quite a hit, and your cravings had only gotten markedly weirder as the months went on.

First, it was strawberries.

-

“I want a strawberry shake,” you grab onto his jacket when he pulls up to the drive through window, “With extra strawberry syrup—oh, and extra sprinkles, too.”

“Got it,” he mumbles, leaning over the car door to begin speaking.

“Wait!” You grab a harsh handful of his jacket, stopping him before he can say a word, “And—and can you ask them to put a cherry on top? I don’t want them to forget…”

“Sure, baby,” he tells you, brushing over your growing bump. With a small smile, he turns back to the window.

…only to jolt in his seat like he’d just been electrocuted when you slap a hand against his chest hard enough to knock the air out of his lungs.

“Wait!” You exclaim, practically leaning into his seat just to grab his attention, “Can you ask them if they can put a strawberry on top instead? Doesn’t that sound way better?”

-

Needless to say, half of the fridge had been taken over by towering boxes of fresh strawberries. Simon’s sad protein drinks had trembled in fear beneath their shadows. However, by month two, you’d taken a single look at strawberries and wrinkled your nose, tossing them all in the trash practically the next day.

When Simon came home from work one day to see you guzzling down Alfredo like it was going out of style, he’d seen the writing on the wall.

-

“How was work, Simon?” You gleefully meet him at the door, enveloping him in a tight hug. He groans at the blissful feeling, grinning underneath his mask when he feels the curve of your belly pressing into his stomach. It was just beginning to show, and every time he watched you get dressed in the morning, he couldn’t help but watch from the bed with a dreamy smile on his face.

“Too long, love,” he complains, unbuttoning his jacket, “You made dinner?”

“Yep, already plated it up for you,” you chime, padding back into the kitchen, “I tried something different, so I think you’ll be surprised.”

“Yeah?” He trails after, trying to hide the smile in his voice.

For the past three weeks, you’d made pasta Alfredo nearly every single night for dinner. At first, Simon had scraped his plate clean, practically licking each dish before he stuck them in the washer with how delicious it was. Eating MREs and Mess Hall food your entire life should be considered psychological warfare in his book, and no matter how many times he came home after work, he considered each homemade meal a blessing (especially when it was made with your love and care).

However, by night sixteen of pasta Alfredo, Simon was struggling to swallow, looking down at the mass of pasta like it had personally offended him. At the news of something “different,” Simon would be lying if he wasn’t about ready to jump with joy.

But when he enters the dining room to see yet another steaming plate of Alfredo, he balks.

“Isn’t it great?” You ask him, rubbing over his bicep with a look that’s so loving he can’t bring himself to speak, “I used a whole different blend of cheeses. I think you’ll really like it. I mean, I already tasted the sauce, and I had to stop myself from eating the whole pot before you got home.”

With a dazed nod, Simon slides into his seat, staring down at the pasta with unblinking eyes.

“You excited to try it?” You ask again, placing a cup of water in front of him.

“Well,” he shakes his head disbelievingly, preparing himself to shovel down this entire plate if it was the last thing he did, “I…can’t wait, baby.”

-

Simon had to refrain from crying with relief when you finally moved on. He was but a simple man, and his tastebuds could only handle so many Alfredo dinners before his mind imploded from the banality of it all. However, he’d never considered that if his tongue would be spared that his sleep schedule would be next on the chopping block.

Needless to say, by month four, he was begging for the Alfredo to make a comeback.

-

“Simon?”

He jolts awake with a flinch, blinking rapidly to clear the sleep from his eyes. He’d always been a light sleeper, especially after he’d joined the service, and when he woke up like this normally, it was usually to the sound of gunfire or an air raid siren. Now, however, it was to the whimpers of his tired bride, slinging an arm over his stomach to bury her face in between his shoulder blades.

“What, love?” He rasps, lazily intertwining your fingers with his own.

“I need…” you huff, eyes still half closed, “I need a three piece meal. With…with a large fry.”

Dazed, he rubs over his face.

“What?” He asks.

“You heard what I said,” you tell him—sounding no less tired and sweet than you did two seconds ago. Though, Simon knew better than to test you. One day, he’d had the poor thought of joking about it and expecting you to react just as sweet as you were acting…After you made him sleep on the couch three nights in the row, however, you woke up to a three piece meal and a handwritten apology at your bedside for breakfast. 

You’d called him into the bedroom, munching on your fries with your legs still beneath the blankets, looking at him from head to toe—like his old drill sergeants used to when he entered Basic.

“So,” he’d begun tactfully, “Can I sleep in here tonight?”

You’d pursed your lips, thinking about it.

“Are you really sorry?” You’d asked him, completely serious.

“I…” he’d bitten his cheek, fingers twitching. It’d been days since you last let him touch you, and each and every advance had only been met with fiery rejection and angry tears. And that night, however, he’d been about ready to get down on his hands and knees and beg for forgiveness.

“I’m sorry, love,” he’d told you softly, speaking with all the confidence of a terrified zookeeper walking towards a growling lion.

“Fine,” you’d huffed, reaching for your hot and sour sauce, “I’ll let you back in bed.”

Simon had smiled from ear to ear, wholly relieved. 

“Can I give you a kiss before I leave for base?” He’d asked, taking a cautious step closer.

Your thoughtful pout had had his nerves blazing.

“On my cheek,” you’d edged, brows furrowed with anger. And as he’d stepped closer, he could feel the irritation radiating off of you in waves. He’d carefully planted a kiss against your cheek, but when he’d ducked his head to kiss your pregnant belly, however, you’d shoved him back with a mewl.

“Don’t touch the baby,” you’d growled, hugging your fries to your chest like they’d disappear before you could get your fill, “They’re mad at you right now…”

Simon’s brows had raised in disbelief.

“The baby…” he’d pointed towards your stomach, “The baby’s mad at me?”

“Yep,” you’d snapped, shoving another few fries in your mouth.

“Well—is there anything I can do to make ‘em feel better?”

“Nope,” you’d said without remorse, pointing towards the door, “Now go to work.”

In the scheme of his military career, Simon had learned a plethora of useful tactical knowledge. Flash before entry, watch your shots, switch to your sidearm instead of reloading—everything. Though, undoubtedly, the most useful thing he’d learned in all his years was this: know which fights you’d lose. And that one? Against his exhausted, pregnant wife and unborn child? Yeah, he’d sooner take on an entire squad of Konni than walk back into that bedroom.

He’d turned towards the door, ready to haul his ass his base—only to pause in his steps when your voice had called after him.

“But,” you’d begun, still happily munching away, “If you bring home pizza after work, I think the baby might forgive you…”

After that fiasco, he’d finally gotten to lay by your side again. And after a long movie night, his head in your lap while he pressed lazy kisses against your stomach, he’d learned something else: there was nothing on this planet earth that was worth missing out on moments like these. Your soft body in his grasp, and his child’s heartbeat just underneath his fingertips. 

So when you clutch at his shirt, heavy belly pressed into his spine, he doesn’t think twice before he sits up in bed, pushing the covers down.

“You want hot and sour sauce?” He asks, pulling on his shoes in a daze.

“No, but can you get extra wings?”

He cocks his brow, sending you a scrutinizing look.

“You want extra wings?” He asks, brows raised.

You don’t even open your eyes. No, you just curl back against the pillow, a satisfied smile on your face.

“Simon Riley,” you begin, voice flowery and saccharine with sugar, “If try to starve this baby again, I’ll have you sleep in the barracks until your back is crying for help.”

“…I’ll get extra ranch, too.”

“You better.”

-

Now, six months in, Simon still had yet to recover. However, he was far from unhappy. No, if anything, he was more satisfied than he can ever remember being. When he was younger, he could scarcely imagine himself leading a life like this, with a beautiful woman at his side and a son that would be coming in the first month of autumn. 

It was just as cloying as it was terrifying. But, at the very least, he knew that no matter what—no matter how hard the going got, or how many mistakes he made—you’d always be right there at his side, ready to walk with him no matter how long or arduous the path became.

He opens the line with a smile, looking down at the recruits.

“That you, love?” He greets, “What’s up?”

The line is quiet for a few seconds, an ambient shuffle on the other side. He hears you take in a low breath, but the next sound of out of your mouth, has his blood running cold.

A cry.

A loud, wheezing cry, one that’s so distraught he can hear it resounding around the room even over the phone. Instantly, his spine shocks straight, and any thoughts of army shenanigans fly to the back of his mind.

“Si—Simon,” you sob, static hitching around your voice.

He frantically pulls his hand out of his pocket, pushing the phone closer to his face.

“Love?” He asks, panic bleeding into his tone, “Are you okay? What’s happened?”

“Simon, I—I’m—” you try to speak, but your sobs are so violent you can barely manage to speak, waterlogged moans reverberating through the speakers like a siren. Instantly, his heart begins pounding in his chest, body rushing with adrenaline—one that was all too similar to how he felt in the field, bullets whizzing by, standing at death’s door.

“Love, just breathe,” he tells you, and out of the corner of his eye, he can see Soap straighten up in the four-wheeler, “Tell me. Are you okay?”

“No, Simon,” you sob, barely breathing, “How—how could you say that?”

Instantly, his stomach drops, and with every noise that escapes your mouth, something cold and dark climbs up his spine, a dread that was so unfamiliar he’d almost forgotten he could feel it in the first place. Something sharp pierces straight through his body when you speak again, reality washing over him like a bucket of ice water.

“How—how could you do this to me?” You ask him, voice wobbling, “After everything that we’ve gone through, and—and when I’m carrying your son—”

“Woah, woah, love, what’s—what’s happened? What’s wrong?” He begs you to tell him, breathe picking up into a pace that’s so rapid its nearly suffocating, “Just calm down. Take a deep breath. You just have to talk to me, okay?”

Without even thinking he begins walking faster, sending Soap a harrowed look. Before he can even speak, Soap jumps off of the trailer, eyes wide with worry of his own.

“What’s wrong with the missus? She okay?” He whispers, pulling the keys out of his pocket without an ounce of hesitation.

“Start the car,” he commands, nearly hyperventilating, “Start the car. Now.”

Soap doesn’t think twice before he jumps into action, clambering into the driver’s seat and turning the engine over before Simon can even hop into the passenger’s seat. In the background, he can hear the recruits’ boots plodding through the mud, their shouts fading into distant whispers underneath the flood of thoughts that race through his mind. His ears are ringing, eyes blind, and nothing aside from the horrid sound of your sobs registers inside of his wretched mind.

“Love, just—take a deep breath and talk to me,” he tells you, practically begging for you to tell him what’s wrong.

And yet, when nothing aside from more empty cries fills your side of the conversation, his mind and heart immediately jump to the worst possible scenario.

Maybe you fell down the stairs and couldn’t stand up.

Maybe you’d slipped in the kitchen and broken a bone.

Maybe you were in the back of the ambulance, clinging onto life.

Or maybe someone had broken into the house. Maybe they’d snatched you out of your bed, walked you down the stairs with a gun to your head. Maybe they told you they’d shoot you unless you got him on the phone, that they’d kill you if they couldn’t get to your husband. Maybe—just like Tommy, Beth, and Joseph—his past had caught up with you, too, and you were helpless but to pay the price of his mistakes.

At the thought of it, bile climbs up his throat, panic running through his veins like a rushing river. But just when it threatens to consume himself, he closes his eyes, trying desperately to remember what his therapist had told him when he’d reenlisted.

“Not all of those things are probable, Simon,” she’d said one day, “They’re only things that happened to you. They’re not eventualities. The hard part is reminding yourself that they’re unreasonable in the first place.”

You’re okay, he tells himself, You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re okay.

But when the four-wheeler crests the hill with a mighty roar, Soap’s arms clenching around the steering wheel, not even the sound of the tires wrenching could erase the pain of your manic cries, voice cracking around his name.

And within a single second, the mantra ceases. Because even if Simon’s past couldn’t catch up with you, that didn’t mean something else hadn’t.

Instantly, his mind flashes with quite possibly the most distressing image of them all. You, hunched over the bathroom sink, red rivulets running down your precious legs, collecting in a dark pool at your feet. You, all alone, body shaking with pain and desperation, as the life inside of you died, all but helpless to watch your dreams disappear into a puddle of tears and blood.

Your baby—the most precious gift you ever could have given him—gone, just like that, in the blink of an eye.

At the thought, the nausea inside of his stomach is so viscious he nearly keels over. He clenches the dashboard of the four-wheeler in a white knuckled grip, instead.

“Love—” he begins, tears collecting in his eyes, “Just—stay right there, I’m coming home. I’ll be right there, okay? Just—just gotta hang on a little longer.”

“No,” you suddenly wail, “No—don’t come home. Don’t even think of it.”

“Love—” he scoffs, brows furrowing, “What?!”

He yells it over the sound of the four-wheeler, and Soap sends him a desperate look. One wrung with sympathy and fear just alike. Simon’s afraid he’s wearing the same exact look himself.

“Simon, this—” you take in a shaking breath, “This is—this is all your fault. I’m—I’m your wife, and you did this to me.”

At that, he can’t even think of something to say. He only blindly slaps his hand down on Johnny’s shoulder, fisting his shirt in a death grip.

“I’m your family,” you cry, “We—we’ve been together all these years. I waited for you after—after every deployment, and—and we have the same last name ’n everything. I—I loved you all these years, then you go and do this to me. Fuck, Simon, how could you—”

His panicked expression slowly drops, stomach settling. Slowly, his vision blurs, and the mess in his mind fizzles out into ashes within a single instance. Realization dawns over him slowly, and when it does, he taps Soap on the back with solemn resignation.

“Stop,” he tells the sergeant calmly, “Stop the car.”

“LT?” Soap asks, peeling the four-wheeler into an uneasy stop outside the front doors of the base.

“Fuck,” Simon keels over, resting his elbows on his knees. He buries his head in his hand, wiping over his eyes.

He knows what this is about.

“Love,” he begins, bracing for impact, “I swear that I—”

“You know what you did, you—you monster,” you sob, voice hitching around the insult.

At that, he can only breathe a deep, deep sigh of relief. He plants his hand against the dashboard, closing his eyes as he sends a quiet thank you to whatever powers may be.

You’re okay.

“Love,” he swallows, staring through the plastic windshield of the four-wheeler, “If I tell you I’m sorry, will you—”

“You’re not sorry,” you wail, no doubt burying your face in the couch cushions, “If you were sorry, you wouldn’t have done it. But—but you knew how much it meant to me, and you did it anyway!”

He takes a long breath, not daring to meet the eye of the sergeant next to him, who’s looking at him like he just grew a second head. Simon, however, is much too preoccupied with relief to do anything more than submit to your will, practically melting in his seat.

“I—I didn’t remember, baby, I’m sorry,” he coos, wincing when he hears you take a deep breath, no doubt about to yell through the receiver.

“Simon, you knew that I was saving the last Kit-Kat for lunch. I—I put a note on it and everything and I was thinking about it all—all day. You read it, shrugged, and ate it anyway—because you don’t love me.”

“No, no, it’s not that, baby,” he leans back in his chair, stifling a chuckle—that would only make you angrier, “The note must have fallen off. I swear I didn’t know it was the last one. Hand to heart, love. You know that I love you, baby. I married you, didn’t I?”

“You’re—you’re a liar and a degenerate, Simon Riley,” you sniffle, voice waterlogged and so serious he can’t even bring himself to smile at the hilarity of the situation, “I’m—I’m carrying your son, and you won’t even read the post-it notes I leave you…”

“I read them, love. There was that one on the strawberries, remember? I didn’t eat those, did I?” He argues.

Next to him, he can see Soap’s brows furrowing, a look of utter confusion coming over his face. Simon watches it with a huff, covering the receiver to send Soap a stifled look of relief.

“I ate the last candy bar at home,” he explains, shaking his head, “Thought I wanted to leave her.”

He doesn’t even wait for Soap to respond before he brings the phone back to his ear, continuing the conversation without a second passing. Meanwhile, Soap slowly turns back to the wheel, looking on in amusement.

“Is this what pregnancy’s like?” He mutters under his breath while Simon continues to whisper sweet platitudes into the phone.

“Look, love, how can I make it up to you ’n the kid? Want me to buy you some more candy bars on the way home?”

“No,” you huff, still crying, “We’re—we’re mad at you.”

“Love,” he sighs, eyes closing, “Look, what if I brought home Shake Shack? Avocado burger, large fry, and a strawberry shake—and I’ll even stop at Tesco’s on the way home to get you some more candy bars. That sound good?”

Through the phone, he hears the blankets shuffling. A small, dull sound filters through the speakers—another tissue pulled out of the tissue box—followed by a small, miserable whimper. Without missing a beat, anger and sadness still simmering in your waterlogged voice, you speak.

“Extra, extra avocado on the burger,” you mewl, sounding small and helpless, “And the shake has to have syrup on the whipped cream. With a st-strawberry instead of a cherry on top. And when you go to Tesco’s, you—you better bring back a Hershey’s bar or I’ll take back all the clothes I just bought you.”

“Got it, baby,” he sighs, smiling, “Extra, extra avocado burger, strawberry shake with a strawberry on top, Kit-Kats, and a Hershey’s bar. Anything else?”

“And…” you sniffle, wiping your nose, “And hot ’n sour sauce, too.”

“Okay,” he tells you, pinching his nose bridge, “I’ll be back before seven, okay?”

“Mm-hm.”

With that, the line goes dead—not even a single goodbye to be had—and he drops the phone into his lap with a deep breath inward. Mentally, he runs over a list of all the food you’d just listed off, memorizing their unique variations.

God, he shakes his head, All these strawberry shakes…his son’ll be ten pounds at least by the time he comes out.

Simon can’t even imagine what that day will be like. But, not a month ago, you’d spent an entire hour pouting on the couch, looking at him with all the viscousness of a newborn kitten. When he’d asked you what was wrong, you’d answered simply.

“Why do you have to be so damn big?” You’d asked him, struggling to maintain your scowl through your own tears, “I'm the one carrying your son! He’ll rip me in half!”

Simon takes a deep breath, unable to contain the small grin that overcomes his lips. When the two of you get to that argument, he’ll be more than happy to let you complain about it so long as his son is safe and sound inside of his mother’s arms, chubby from so many months of Kit-Kats and strawberry shakes. 

“LT,” Soap shocks you out of his reverie, “Is she…she okay?”

“Yeah,” he clears his throat, sitting back up, “She’s fine.”

“What about the baby?”

“The baby, too,” he answers, not even hiding his relief, “Just…pull around over there,” he points to the parking lot, “You heading back into the office?”

“Yeah, got an incident report to file from last night,” Soap answers.

“Good,” Simon stands from the four-wheeler, digging around in his pockets for the car keys, “Tell Price the wife needs me home early. Family emergency.”

With that, he turns on his heel, making a beeline for the truck. However, before he can tug open the door, Soap bellows a low whistle from the four-wheeler.

“I’ll see you at training tomorrow?” He yells.

“Probably,” Simon grimaces, “Might see me back tonight…save me a cot in the barracks.”

“Will do.”

-

Simon grunts, ambling up the steps of the front porch. The Shake Shack bag is precariously full inside of his arms, strawberry shake threatening to spill across the front of his shirt. But, with a deep breath in, he manages to make it up the final step with a slow balancing act, and he reaches for the door with uneasy hands.

However, it’s tugged open before he can even turn it. And standing right there, hands rubbing over your swollen belly, is the love of his life—eyes red and nose stuffy from so many tears. Without saying a word, you pluck the fast food bag out of his hands, plodding back into the house before he can even kiss you on the cheek.

Figures, he chuckles.

He shuts the door behind him, toeing off his shoes. But just before he drops his car keys in the bowl on the hallway table, a flash of pink crosses over his vision. With a quirked brow, he picks the post-it note off of the bottom of the bowl, squinting down at the scrawl of your writing across it.

I want pancakes for breakfast tomorrow, it reads, stained with tears.

At that, he can’t help but duck his head with an elated, loving scoff, tracing over the small pen marks.

Pancakes, huh?

Yeah, he could do pancakes tomorrow morning. 

pls never apologize for writing piss kink price, there’s something about the humiliation that is just simply unbeatable. fucking her so hard and overstimulating her so much that she just loses control, cries and cries all while price coos that it’s not her fault she can’t handle being fucked so well.

c/w: piss kink (seriously. don’t like. don’t read.), humiliation, degrading language, nsfw, non-con

i’m sorry but him grabbing your wrists when you try and block the heavy stream spraying out and splashing all over john’s tummy each time he slams into you. his booming laughter only adding to the humiliation

“fuckin’ state of ya. pissin’ all over yehself, dirty tart.”

you sob and sob, begging him to stop as the stream leaving your sopping cunt seems never-ending and you begin to wonder if your husband planned this when je bought home three bottles wine and dragged you to bed before you could pee :(

he’s also so disgusting that he’ll pull out, tugging his foreskin back and aiming the tip at your cunt as it dribbles out the last remnants of your bladder. you’re eyes are hidden behind the palms you’re crying into, too humiliated to even look at john as he begin’s to spray his own stream of piss right onto your twitching clit

you squeal when you feel that familiar feeling return so soon after you got rid of it, sobbing louder as you beg him to stop but he just shakes his head. he’ll notch the tip of his cock at your entrance before slipping it back inside, sliding all the way to the base as his golden stream spills out of you

“don’t cry. yeh started it, darlin’. all because you’re a whore who can’t handle a proper fuckin’. stop squirmin’, I’m almost done.” he groans, hips pumping into you sloppily as he finishes emptying himself inside of you

werewolf!konig x human!fem!reader pt1

part 2/masterlist

18+ minors dni!!!! Or I will BLOCK you!!

this is like 4.3k words ish abt werewolf!konig, but there's gonna be a second part anyway lmao i physically can't cram all my ideas into this but anyway let me know what you think! i have v specific ideas abt konig as a werewolf so i hope y'all enjoy this :)

okay so

-konig is brought up with his fellow werewolves, more wolf than man most of the time

-they rarely leave the woods, nearly always found in wolf form, in their hidden den because hunters often come for them

-konig is one of the younger wolves, though not one of the pups, he's still a little green and a little excitable, however he doesn't too much like being involved in the conflicts in his pack or the hierarchy

-there's been a few times where other wolves have mistaken him for the alpha of the pack, and while still dominant and alpha male, he has no desire to lead the pack. he just happens to be the biggest wolf there

-his fur is smooth and long, quite glossy and well cared for-konig firmly believes that it's important to maintain his wolf's appearance for his mate. it's is a dark chocolate brown colour, with a few blonder sections that glow in the sunlight

-he has a thick tail as well, which often stays when he's in human form, given that he's been in wolf form most of his life and has difficulty being fully human

-his eyes are dark black, almost navy blue in the light, and he has a jagged scar running down on eye and over his muzzle from a hunter that attacked him as a pup

-but yes, he's one of the more tame and docile wolves in the pack, reluctant to start any fights or cause strife in the ranks, so he keeps to himself a lot. some wolves also avoid him because of the scar, and because they think he's too young and green to be a fully fledged alpha male

-now, even though he cares for his fur and tries to make himself as presentable as possible despite his scar for any potential mate, he doesn't think he'll find one

-no female wolves have ever looked at him twice, in their eyes the scar shows he was weak and a stupid pup to be so near a hunter, rather than an injury bravely borne in a fight, and konig knows he isn't one of the most enigmatic wolves in his pack

-there's braver wolves, ones who have mauled and killed hunters, ones who have no problem bounding over to the females and nuzzling up against them, ones who scare humans more than he has ever wanted to, and he knows they will always be the first pick

-he's made his peace with it, though he craves a mate

-children or pups have always been come or go for him, if his mate doesn't want them then he's okay, but if she does then he would do everything in his power to make it happen

-he more desires the closeness of a mate, of someone he can love as much as he wants, who he can dote on and spoil and shower with affection because he's never been able to do that

-when he sleeps he dreams of it often, of what his life might be like if he found someone willing to love him, but when he wakes he still doubts the day will ever come

-he has a...fascination with humans, which is why he was so close to one as to get hurt

-he enjoys lurking in the treeline sometimes, watching all the village celebrations and people in their gardens, people talking on little rectangles that he was told are called 'phones', he marvels at the times he sees two people with their mouths pressed together, so curious about human customs but scared to step out into the sunlight

-that's what he's doing the first time he meets you, he's lurking behind some thick tree trunks and avidly watching some sort of fairground thing going on, when he sees you leaning back against on of the trees

-he's never been as interested in a human as he is then, glowing eyes trained on you and hulking form doing it's best to stay out of view so he can watch you a little longer-he doesn't want to startle you with his size, after all, you're so much smaller than he is, which is very cute to him

-and then suddenly, your head whips round and he realises he's growling at you. not in a hostile way, more of a purr than anything, but he curses himself for startling you, for the way your eyes goes wide as he slowly skulks out from behind the tree

-konig gets a better look at you like that, and he has nothing but admiration and affection in his gaze as he watches you

-and then your eyes trail over his muzzle and widen again a fraction, to which he realises you must see his scar. he's certain you'll reject him-and then he's not so certain when he decided you were a potential partner to reject him or not

-he shakes that realisation off though, wanting to improve the impression he's made on you, so he slowly lowers himself, watching you the entire time

-you don't move either, so he figures he must be doing something right, and his tail starts swishing back and forth slowly, automatically

-eventually, his belly touches the floor and he settles down, hind legs tucked under him and front paws out in front of him, awaiting your next move

-you still don't move, and konig begins to get apprehensive at that-are you still nervous? is he scaring you? did you want him to do something else???

-but suddenly you're licking your dry lips and inching forward, making his tail thump against the floor in excitement-he knows he should be wary of you, and after the hunter gave him the scar he shouldn't be so quick to get close to another human he doesn't know, but you're just so pretty and you smell very very good and he stares up at you, big eyes awaiting you while he tries to stay still and not scare you

-and since he's been such a good wolf, you do him the honour of petting his head lightly, and god even that feels amazing to konig

-his head immediately lurches up into your palm, eyes slipping closed as he tries to push his muzzle into your hand, though he must move too quickly and scare you because your hand retracts, holding against your heart as you watch him cautiously

-he's incredibly embarrassed at that, annoyed at himself for scaring you off, so he whines at you and lays his head down on his paws, still staring up and hoping you accept the submissive positioning as an apology. the very end of his tail thumps against the floor as he does this as well, nervously swishing with the worry you might turn tail and run

-you don't though, you lean in slowly again and stretch out your hand, seeming as though you're letting him decided fi he wants to be petted or not-and he really really does

-his tail speeds up as you get closer, and he sees you smile a little as you watch it swaying back and forth, which he preens at. he makes it go a little faster, in the hopes of making you smile again, but you're focused on not scaring him off it seems

-when your hand is within reach, konig gently turns his head up and pushes his muzzle into your palm, pushing against it to try and show you he definitely does want more pets!

-it seems to work, considering you gently kneel in front of him and slide your hand up to stroke the top of his head lightly, and he pants at it, lolling his tongue out as he pushes against your hand to get more from you

-it elicits a little chuckle, and he wants to do whatever he can to hear it again, so he turns his head and licks at your wrist, trying to get whatever part of you he can reach

-but you make a funny little sound, something like a 'bleh', before wiping your hand quickly on your trousers and returning it to his head, and he's mad at himself

-he gets so disappointed at that, that he somehow displeased you, and clamps his mouth shut, whining again as he noses at your knees in front of his paws, trying to apologise for upsetting you

-the apology seems to come across because you laugh again, muttering that "s'okay, such a good boy aren't you?" and fuck if his tail doesn't start up anew, thwacking against a tree to the side of him and making it shake

-then you laugh louder, before switching from strokes to scratching at his ears with one hand and his chin with the other

-konig can barely handle that, drunk on so much affection and touch and so smitten with you already, so he propels himself forward, forgetting he's trying not to scare you, and lands his head straight into you lap, nuzzling against your stomach and holy shit you're so warm and soft?!?

-his back half stands up again, tail swishing back and forth and hind legs trying to propel himself further into you, so much so that there's a squeal before you're falling backwards and his nose is pushing insistently into your neck, paws bracketing your shoulders as he tries to breathe you in

-he doesn't realise he's scenting you, trying to mark you as his, until his ears pick up the sound of another wolf some way behind him in the woods, making him pause and look behind him

-that's a mistake though, because you tell him "allllright I'd better get going, wish I could stay longer but maybe you'll find me next time I'm here huh?" and konig is laying down again, resting his head on his paws as he whines at you, upset you're leaving already when he's only just found you!!

-you just smile and pet his head again quickly though, sending him a quiet 'awwhh' when he wags his tail and pushes against you again, but then you're off, ambling back toward the crowds of people and konig doesn't know what to do

-he feels bereft all of a sudden, trampling around in circles in distress and eventually he stops and tilts his head up, letting out a mournful howl that he's just met his mate and now she's gone! she's gone and he doesn't know if she'll be back!!

-it feels worse than before, when he'd sort of accepted that he would never have a mate, but now he's seen how pretty you are and how nice you smell and how kind you are even with his horrible scarring, and now what if he never sees you again!

-konig dreams of you that night in between waking, sleeping in human form for the first time in months in an attempt to feel closer to you

-it doesn't work though, his wolf howls at him all night and he can barely sleep because he's so worried he'll never see his beautiful mate again

-he goes back to his little clearing the next day, hoping you'll show up again-but you don't, and he spends the day sniffing around to try and find more of your scent from where he pushed you into the floor

-he goes back every day after that, hoping for at least a glimpse of you somewhere, but you don't appear and he paws at the ground each night before mournfully heading back to his pack. they don't say anything about him suddenly sleeping in human form every night, but he can see all the looks he gets and the restlessness amongst some of the more alpha wolves

-konig ignores them though, being a good partner for his mate and being better in human form is more important to him

-after a week, he lies on the floor in his little clearing where he waits for you, prepared for another day with no glimpse and your fading scent from the area

-but after a couple of hours, someone seems to be separating from a group a little ways off from the woods, and as they get closer konig realises it's you, you've come back for him, to see him again and be with him!

-he can't stop himself just then, jumping up and leaning back on his hind legs as though he's going to pounce, tail wagging back and forth before skittishly jumping about his little space, overjoyed he can be with you again

-it's worth it, because his overenthusiastic greeting earns him a happy laugh from you, and he bounds over when you get close enough to circles around you, his hulking height reaching above your hips anyway, with his tail brushing up and down your legs as you keep walking into his clearing before sitting down

-he almost pushes you over again in his haste to scent you, muzzle pushing insistently into your neck and puffing warm air over your hair before you laugh again and push gently on his chin, telling him "woah down boy, gonna push me into the dirt again are you?"

-konig's ashamed at that, not wanting his mate to think he's just going to push them around like a toy, so he obediently sits back down, lying on his front like he did last week, staring up at you with wide glowing eyes because fuck, how is his mate so pretty?

-yet again, his tail starts wagging of its own accord, wolf overjoyed as he watches you trail your eyes over him

-one of your hands strokes a long wave over his back and toward his tail and he whimpers, leaning into your touch because he just can't get enough of it, preening at your apparent approval. he's suddenly so happy that he's taken such care with his fur, proud that he's pleased you

-konig doesn't even realise what he's doing when he starts moving, only noticing what he's done when his ears scrape the ground, and suddenly he's on his back, large paws in the air as he exposes his soft belly for you, showing you his vulnerability and how much he trusts you, trusts his mate

-but ohhhh jesus, then your hands descend on his belly and you start scratching a little, stroking up and down and he's squirming into your touch, managing to loll his head into your lap and whimpering, so enamoured with you

-there's not much he can do in this form, but he knows transforming would scare you most likely, so he instead flips back over and leans a paw on your thigh, hoping you understand his intense gaze, how he's keeping his claws safely tucked away, what it means when he sniffs at your neck again

-and that's why he preens again, unable to resist licking at your neck quickly when you coo "oh such a good boy!" because you must feel the same, you must be acknowledging that you're mates when you scratch his chin and plant a quick little kiss on his forehead, which makes him whine and paw at the ground, closing his eyes at the sensation before popping them open in a panic as your touch leaves him

-then you're getting up and dusting yourself off, looking back the way you came and so is he, whining and huffing because he thought you came back for him! why aren't you staying? he'll be a good mate if you just let him show you!!

-for a second konig is so scared again, so stressed he's losing his mate and he'll be alone again that he lets out a loud bark, snarling just a little as he claws at the ground before seeing you've jumped a little, that you're looking at him with wide eyes and have taken a step backward and he feels horrible

-he feels like he doesn't even deserve you, and he instantly tucks his tail between his legs before sitting back, paws nervously batting at the ground as he waits for your response

-his ears have flattened against his head, eyes trained on the floor and hunched over in an attempt to submit to you, to apologise

-then your feet come into view and he carefully looks up again, watching as you slowly reach out to pet his head, scratching gently at his ears before moving to his chin and tilting his head up as you pet him

-he tries to keep still to be a good mate for you, to show he won't scare you again, but your touch makes his mind go a little fuzzy and his tail swishes side to side gently as he stares up at you, listening to you tell him you'll be back next week yeah?

-while he's mournful that he's gonna spend another week without you, he tries to think of it as an opportunity to lean more into his human side for you

-konig explores the woods over the next week, all the places he hasn't seen so far or where he knows his pack hasn't spread to

-on one of the last days before he'll see you again, he finds what he's looking for. there's a little abandoned cottage not too far from the treeline, some miles away from the pack den, and absolutely perfect for you two

-he shifts into human form to explore it, noting the way he does have to duck under some doorways, but it's largely pretty good. it's a decent size, a kitchen, what looks like one of those rooms for a colourful tv box humans like having, and up some very unsafe stairs are a few more rooms, one of which konig can envision you two sleeping in, and putting your nest in the other

-an old couple had lived in the cottage, and always been very generous with the 'cute little doggies' skulking around their premises. the gigantic hulking werewolf pack had taken a liking to them, and often started leaving out gifts when the couple weren't able to fend for themselves very well

-eventually they had gotten too old, and konig had heard from ghost that they'd gone to 'a home' though he doesn't exactly know what that means. surely this was their home? why would they go to another? either way, the house has sat unused for the last year or so, and all the other wolves are content in their den so konig knows he won't face any issues when he does it up for you

-he's learned a few things from the older wolves when learning about his human form, and from helping out on a few odd jobs to earn money for the pack, so he's pretty sure he knows enough to make this a home for you

-the next time he sees you he's antsy, clawing at the dirt and huffing as you approach him, nuzzling into your hand to feel you for a second before shifting and nuzzling against your lower back, pushing you forward gently to try and lead you where he wants to go

-it takes a little bit, but eventually you seems to get that he just wants you to follow him, and you trot happily alongside him, rambling about your day and the fact that knowing you'd see such a gorgeous dog later on had cheered you up

-the word dog had prickled him, straightening his spine and padding a little more arrogantly than before, trying to show you that he's not just some mutt, he's a werewolf and your mate and he's better than that-but then he realises you called him gorgeous and he preens, butting his head into your hip gently and panting in happiness that you think he's gorgeous

-eventually you guys reach the cottage and you stop next to him, evidently quite confused as to why he's brought you here, so he pats the ground in front of you with a paw and trots away, pausing to look back and make sure you've stayed there

-he makes his way behind the cottage before transforming, and heaves in a deep breath at showing you his human form for the first time. what if you don't like it? what if his scar is so much worse in human form? maybe he should cover his face...

-but then you round the building suddenly and yelp, running back round and konig is cursing himself, jogging after you and shouting to please wait-bitte-wait-

-so you stop, with your back to him, and he slowly makes his way toward you, holding his hands up placatingly as you turn a little

-he sees your eyes dart over him like when you first saw him, widen a fraction, and then you're looking resolutely past him, like he's not even there. this is going well

-and then you ask "where did-where's the dog?"

-ah. so it's not his scar or anything. you don't even know he was the dog

-konig sighs and worries silently, wondering if you'll leave him now, will you not be his mate anymore? has he ruined this already?!?

-trying to calm his racing heart, he takes a gentle step forward and reaches slowly for one of your hands

-he can see your breathing quicken and finds himself upset again, annoyed at scaring his mate again, but tries to keep relatively calm as he lifts your hand and carefully traces one of your fingers over his scar

-konig sees the moment it hits you, when your breath leaves you in a rush and you touch his face with more confidence, peering up at him with more fascination than terror now, thank fuck

-after a few moments your hand drops back to your side and he resents the loss, instinctively leaning his head toward you before catching himself, holding back as you quietly mumble something along the lines of "so-so you-you're the-the...the dog?"

-he smiles softly at that, slightly misshapen because of the scar dragging his lip in an odd way, and confirms yes it was him, but no he's not a dog

-his heart is still beating out of his chest and he's sure if he lost focus on you then his knees would buckle and he'd crash to the floor, but for now he will be brave, for you he'll stay still and answer anything you like, he'll be a good mate and be strong

-in response he receives a thoughtful 'riiiiight' from you before you bite your lip, and his gaze is drawn to it. he wants to bite your lip, he wants to very very badly right now

-he wills himself to stay in control because now is not the time goddamit, but you're just so pretty his mate is so fucking pretty and being in human form so close to his mate is starting to have an instinctual effect on him whether he wants it to or not...

-but then you lean in a fraction and his breath stutters in his chest, and you go "is that why you're naked?"

-and konig is speechless, no idea whether to run an cover up or to try and show himself off in front of you, to try something with you, to act like it's not big deal, to apologise-

-but your question is followed by "and is that why you're so massive? because-because you're a-yknow a-a...wolf?"

-he blushes deeply at that, realising he was so caught up in how cute it was that you're smaller, that he can protect you and take care of you, that you might not even like his size-and in some...other aspects, it might even be a bad thing, it might even be painful-

-konig nods because he doesn't know what else to do. he is considered freakishly big even amongst his pack, but for your sanity right now he'll say it's just because he's a werewolf

-you hum in reply and then go silent, just staring at his face intently. he shifts a little at it, shy and unsure what to do under such close inspection, though his mate looking so intensely at him does make him feel warm all over

-in an attempt to diffuse this tension and make you feel at ease again, he lifts your hand once more to press it against his chest, over his heart. you seem surprised at that, pausing just before you touch him and then swallowing and laying your hand on him

-he relaxes under your touch, mind swimming with love and devotion for his mate, so he tries to tell you that, gently place a hand over yours, and the other hovering over your heart as he looks at you intently, quietly telling you "mate, my mate, and I'm yours, liebling"

-unfortunately, this seems to have the adverse effect

-it seems to scare you a little bit, makes your face go slack because you start umming and moving your hand away, taking a step backward to his distress

-konig panics again, pointing at the cottage and saying that "ours, it can be ours-will make it nice, liebling, going to make it pretty for my mate, for you-"

-aaand you take another step back

-in a desperate attempt to not ruin this, he drops his arms by his sides and stays still, eyes trained on you as he asks quietly if he'll see you again next week

-you're silent for a little while and he tries not to panic, but by god he is so stressed and scared that you're leaving him for good, if he knew the human term for it he may realise he's developing a sort of separation anxiety already, but he doesn't know it, all konig knows is that it hurts when you're not around

-after some time, you nod minutely and whisper that you'll be there, then you turn, but pause, and ask him to wear pants next time, to which konig blushes again, sliding his hands around to cover his half hard cock (though he can't physically cover all of it...)

part 2/masterlist

will be a second part to this, it just reaaally wasn't meant to be this long so i figure i might as well post this and then i'll finish it up when i have time bcus AH! I am too obsessed with this concept!!

Being fingered by your partner under a blanket while you're cuddling<3 they're just kissing your neck and whispering praises into your ear while you're softly grinding against their hand , letting out the prettiest whimpers and whines

This^^^

‎𐔌 ᩧ ຼ ˳ 　　　It was late, and the house was quiet as you shifted uncomfortably in bed. The cramps had been gnawing at your abdomen all night, making it impossible to fall into a deep sleep. You tried not to move too much, not wanting to disturb Sukuna, who was resting beside you. He rarely seemed vulnerable, but in his sleep, his sharp features softened just enough to remind you that even the King of Curses needed rest.

But no matter how hard you tried to keep still, your body betrayed you. A small, pained groan escaped your lips as another wave of cramps tightened around your stomach, causing you to curl in on yourself. Sukuna’s body twitched beside you, and for a moment, you thought he was still asleep. Until you heard it—a low, rumbling growl from deep in his chest.

You froze. Was he... growling?

It took a few seconds before you realized what was happening. The faint scent of blood must’ve hit his heightened senses, and like a predator picking up on the tiniest shifts in the air, Sukuna was reacting to it. His brow furrowed slightly as he inhaled through his nose, the smell of your period filling his senses. He shifted in his sleep, instinctively moving closer to you, a territorial edge to the way his arm draped over your waist.

You could feel his fingers twitching against your skin as if unconsciously staking his claim. Another small growl escaped him, softer this time but no less possessive.

Suddenly, his eyes fluttered open, and you found yourself face-to-face with a very awake—and very intense—Sukuna. His crimson gaze locked onto yours, still hazy from sleep but filled with an unmistakable sense of protectiveness.

“You’re in pain,” he said gruffly, voice low and rough from sleep. “I can feel it.”

You opened your mouth to protest, your face flushing with embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to wake you. It’s just… cramps. It’s nothing, really—”

His grip on you tightened just slightly, cutting off your sentence as he stared at you, his eyes narrowing in a way that left no room for argument. “Dumb girl,” he warned, as if what he said before was the most obvious thing in the world. His tone was matter-of-fact, yet there was an underlying possessiveness in the way he said it, as if it was something unbreakable. “I will keep you safe, as your king.”

You swallowed, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. “Sukuna, it’s just—”

“I don’t care what it is,” he interrupted, his voice softening just a little, though the stubbornness was still there. “Your body is suffering, and I will ease your pain.”

You opened your mouth to argue again, but the intensity in his gaze left you speechless. He didn’t just want to help—you could tell he needed to, like some primal instinct had taken over. Just like how animals got protective and snuggly around women on their periods, Sukuna’s instincts were flaring up. You could see it in the way his muscles tensed, the way he hovered protectively over you, as if keeping you safe from something unseen.

You sighed, feeling your embarrassment wash away as you realized how serious he was. “It’s just… it’s a little embarrassing,” you admitted softly, looking down. “I don’t want to bother you.”

Sukuna let out a quiet snarl of irritation. “You’re my mate. You’ll never bother me.” He shifted, pulling you closer into his chest as his large hand splayed across your abdomen, the warmth of his palm immediately soothing against your aching muscles. “Let me take care of you.”

Despite the initial embarrassment, the heat of his body and the firm but gentle pressure of his hand on your stomach made you relax. The pain wasn’t as sharp with him so close, and the reassurance in his gravely voice eased some of the discomfort in your chest, too.

You snuggled into him, allowing yourself to rest against his tattooed chest. His growls quieted into a soft rumble, more like a contented purr now, as he nuzzled his face into your hair.

“I’ve got you,” Sukuna murmured, his voice a quiet, possessive promise. “You’re mine. No one gets to hurt you. Not even your own body.”

And even though it was still a little embarrassing, you felt safer than ever wrapped in his arms, knowing that he would always be there to protect you—even from something as simple as cramps.　　‿ ݂۫ ׄ ༊࿔

pornstar!nanami who has a signature style to his videos—all of which are solo content consisting of him, manspreading in front of the camera in an awfully expensive suit. as his hands trace the muscles of his thighs, the seams of his trousers, the outline of his hardened cock.

pornstar!nanami who always takes his time getting to the good stuff, his voice silken as he speaks to those watching him. praise falls from his lips, which are always just out of view—the man doesn't dare show his face. something about professionalism and all.

pornstar!nanami whose videos usually end with him cumming into his closed fist, or into a toy if he's feeling so inclined. as a long time viewer of him, you've come to learn a few things about how he orgasms—he always bucks his hips up, chasing that instinct to breed. he always moans like he's in heat just before his climax, but because he's not great with breathing through his orgasms he chokes up just as he falls over the edge—it's a pretty sound.

pornstar!nanami who sometimes gets messy with it—he's such an organised and ritualistic man in his day-to-day that he sometimes just wants to let loose. sometimes, he'll only pull his cock out of his pants through the fly, and let the world watch as his precum dribbles all over those pressed pants of his. oh and does he go feral knowing that he's dirtying something so expensive with the receipts of his lust. who will stroke himself to completion just to watch his cum stain the fabric he's worked so hard to afford—there's no explaining that away to a drycleaner.

pornstar!nanami who likes to imagine it's a pretty thing riding his thigh that wrecks his trousers. wonders how many of his viewers touch themselves to his videos, hoping the could take him for all he's worth as well.

pornstar!nanami who, after a particularly messy session one day, gets an email after uploading his video. it's not even been ten minutes, which was the length of his video, so he assumes whoever has emailed him came particularly fast to that one.

pornstar!nanami who was more than right in his assumption. because as his eyes rake over the email sent by an adoring fan, he sees about a million different typos that indicate nothing other than messy fingers and a fucked-dumb typist. in your barely legible email, you explain that Mr. Nanamis videos are tagged 'near-you', and you'd happily offer your services as the next sex toy he uses to fuck-and-film in exchange for an orgasm or three.

and oh is pornstar!nanami intrigued. because his life is a busy one, he's a businessman when the sun is up time is precious and human connection is a scheduling conflict—his videos aren't solo out of preference, poor nanami, the pornstar, is a virgin.

pornstar!nanami who, after a few weeks of back and forth and some genuine conversation, ends up with his camera flashing red as you sit naked on his lap. and oh are you happy with the sight of him, blonde and sculpted to perfection underneath those lovely suits of his. Your ass is on display to anyone watching, upper half out of shot as your teeth clash with his.

pornstar!nanami who can't help the sounds he makes when you grind against his clothed cock. your slick, your pooling lust, it smears over the fabric of his pants and leaves a gloss behind in turn. he's ravenous, holding onto your hips and grinding you down against him in all the right ways. who moans into your mouth, already a little pussydrunk and he's barely had a taste of you.

pornstar!nanami who hopes he isn't unseemly in the way he manhandles you to sit properly on his lap. he knows you're as desperate as he is, what with the way you slip your hands down to undo his belt and pull his cock free. your fingers wrapped around his length is enough of a narcotic to cum on the spot, though he steadies his reeling mind and holds out.

pornstar!nanami who offers to fuck you on his fingers first, to use his tongue to warm you up and get you ready for his, frankly overbearing, size. but you're insistent, eager, and lowering yourself onto his aching cock with a kiss to his lips and a sharp inhale shared between you.

pornstar!nanami who thanks whatever god may be out there for letting him film a glimpse of heaven.

pornstar!nanami who can barely keep himself together as you ride him like he's the toy at hand. he's sure he's never been this vocal for his viewers, moaning alone is a feat that is hot at best and hauntingly awkward at worst—this, though—he's never been so mindless. and you love it. all the videos you've watched where his voice is smooth and confident and he's the picture of put-together. having such a man, a gentleman like nanami, absolutely melting with each clench of your dripping pussy around his length? it's an aphrodisiac in itself.

and when you catch onto the fact that pornstar!nanami is about to cum—the bucking of his hips, those drawling moans, the hitch of his breath—you kiss him stupid, and then speak against his pretty swollen lips. 'breathe'

and oh does pornstar!nanami breathe. a desperate droning moan escapes his breath, right into your mouth as he empties himself inside of you like he's trying to give you his last name.

pornstar!nanami who can't help himself. flipping you over and onto your back, pressing you into the mattress as he continues to fuck into you. he's going to pull as many orgasms out of you as he can—it doesn't even register in his mind that, due to the new angle of your bodies, he's just let the world see his face, and the pretty pussy drunk blush that paints it pink.

warnings: dub con? (toji convinces you), brief shiu x reader, breeding, exhibitionism, age gap (reader is 21 and toji is 42) nsfw🔞 this is a long one~

you finally let the naughty devil on your shoulder win today, leading you to sneak into the men’s designated locker room and strip down to just a towel to see what happens.

toji spots you pretty fast with a brief mocking look as he wraps his towel around his hips, a silly, stupid girl who mistook the men’s as the women’s. he simply gathers his soaps for a much needed shower, and pays you no mind— after all it’s not his problem. though, he supposes a sweet little thing like you is lucky there aren’t many men here today because he can only imagine what they’d do to you as you slowly undress by that locker.

he steals a few peeks out of natural human curiosity, never being one to hold himself back in the name of ‘what’s right’, and hums to himself nonchalantly before making his way to the shower area.

catching the view of the large, muscular back of a scarred man with jet black hair waltzing into the showers, you whistle a soft song as you follow close behind, making a point to pick the shower just next to his. the showers are only separated by a half wall, much taller than you but not tall enough for toji to be unable to see over it into yours.

but toji simply washes his hair, thinking of what he’s going to get for dinner as you stand on the tips of your toes as to see over the wall and catch a glimpse of what he has hanging. a man like that has got to be packing something mean.

you’ve always had a habit of daydreaming about the attractive men you see on a day to day basis, imagining what they have in their pants and what it’d be like to suck them off or tease them. you suppose you’re a bit of a perv, but because you’re just a young girl, society seems to overlook when your stare lingers just a bit too long, trying to trace out where their dick is. and when you’re rarely able to find the outline, you love to see if it twitches when you bend down and accidentally flash your lace panties at them.

even with his eyes closed as he rinses out the soap in his hair, he senses your eyes on him— being an ex-bounty hunter has it’s perks.

he sighs when you don’t look away after five whole minutes, even stumbling over your own two feet with a cute little gasp.

“oi, he snaps at you without even looking at you, letting the water run down his chest, making you jump, “got a staring problem, kid?”

you quickly close your eyes and nonchalantly begin to massage your head with soap as the water runs down your back, feigning ignorance, “huh? you’re the one in the women’s locker room, creep.”

he immediately scoffs to himself, “illiterate and a little stupid brat.”

immediately, your eyes snap open and your face contorts in offense with a light blush. he’s still not even looking at you, making you drop your hands from your head, irritatedly giving up on the innocent act.

but you decide it’s not worth it, being unable to read the sign that reads three little letters ‘men,’ is likely a better excuse than the perverted truth of why you’re in here so you shut right up and rinse your hair out.

most, if not all of you expected this to go wildly different, imagining a group of guys cornering you into the corner of the shower, smirking at you as their cocks jump to life to prepare for the beating your pussy is about to get. but no, instead you got an asshole who doesn’t even care that you’re naked and vulnerable just beside him.

the little devil on your shoulder stomps it’s foot, steam shooting from it’s nostrils as it whispers into your ear.

you steal a quick glance at him, minding his business with closed, tired eyes while quietly washing his body. you step back until your back rests against the opposite wall, facing the one dividing the two of you and allow your fingers to find your pretty clit.

your other hand kneads your left breast as you begin to circle your nub, tilting your head back to lean on the wall with a bite to your lip.

your pussy reacts quickly, the second you walked into the men’s room acting as foreplay. your body twitches as you find the right speed and angle, eyes closed in needy concentration. the water raining down onto your chest flicks your nipples just right, pulling a whimper from you as your fingers quicken.

you don’t hold anything back, letting out every increasingly loud, desperate moan and whine as your back arches in pleasure. you use the idea of the burly, mean man being forced to listen to you get yourself off as if he’s not even real, simply a taboo fantasy and acting as a means to your release.

you don’t even notice when another man walks into the shower room who chooses to take the shower behind you, until you feel their large fingers slowly raking through your hair and massaging your scalp.

you flinch at the sensation and your glazed over eyes flutter open, swipes against your clit slowing as you turn your head to see who’s touching you in slight shock.

“shh, keep going,” they coo behind you in a raspy tone, voice obviously coming from above the wall— leading you to belief they’re tall enough to see over it.

if his voice weren't so sexy, you might have stopped. but it is, and seeing Toji continue to shower, as if he couldn’t care less, only urges you to push things further.

so you whine as you slide two fingers into your pulsing chasm, quickly growing frustrated because of how difficult the angle is. you lift your leg into a bend as to give yourself more access but it’s just too hard to keep your leg up. before it falls, a rough hand quickly grasps the underside of your knee and holds it up for you, making you whimper a ‘t-thank you— thank you.”

he chuckles as you start furiously finger fucking yourself, imagining the man massaging your head was the one stuffing you up.

after one sloppy, gross lick to your outer ear, you gasp and shake as you cum abruptly.

“very nice,” the man coos into your ear before gently letting go of your leg and untangling his fingers from your hair.

you slump into the wall, legs shaking as you catch your breath, but the dreadful post orgasm disgust begins to creep in, making you cringe to yourself slightly.

but your little moment of reflection is cut off by your shower curtain being yanked open harshly. your eyes snap open at the mean black haired man who steps into your shower and closes the curtain behind him as you instinctively shrink into the corner as if to soon be devoured. your eyes flicker to the shower that was behind you, finding that the other man had already left. your eyes quickly glue back to the large man looming in front of you after confirming no one else seems to be here.

even though you were so shameless before, it’s like you’re another person now that you got yourself off, shaky hands flying to cover your nipples and genitals as your wide eyes gaze up at him like a scared bunny. you’re not even trying to ogle at his bobbing cock now, amusing toji even further.

he slyly smiles as he takes a step towards you, soaking up the way you flinch and shake your head ‘no.’ he’s not even sure if you know what you’re saying no to because he hasn’t even said anything yet, blinded by fear of the unpredictable predator invading your space.

he chuckles down at you as he uses one arm to cage you under him, his body hunched so he can be closer to your eye level.

“no?” his voice makes you jump, your hands clenching your private areas tighter in protection, “aww but you were so eager when shiu had his hands on you.”

your brows twitch in confusion, piecing together that he knows the man who was massaging your scalp and holding your leg up.

you shake your head in denial, in spite of the both of you knowing he’s right, making him huff in amusement.

you gulp, eyes briefly widening as his free hand begins to jerk in your lower peripheral.

he watches you with glazed eyes and slightly parted lips as you slowly rake your eyes down. your own lips part in a gasp when your gaze lands on his large cock being jerked by his scarred hand, just inches from making contact with your lower tummy.

he grunts lowly at your reaction before quickly gripping and lifting your leg that was previously being held up by ‘shiu’ and practically making your other foot come off of the ground with his raw strength. your hand covering your breasts flies to the wall behind you to stabilize yourself with a whine, seemingly prioritizing stability over modesty.

he growls when you don’t take your hand away from your pussy, “you wanted this, didn’t you? comin into the men’s room and touching that pretty pussy in front of two dirty men? surely you didn’t think you’d leave here un-fucked.”

you inhale as an anxious pout makes its way to your face, avoiding his gaze as he nudges his face into the side of yours before licking a stripe up your neck. the fantasy you came in here with is vastly different than actually experiencing it, making you regret ever listening to the little devil who’s blushing on your shoulder.

you shiver in anticipation as he begins to suck on the skin of your throat, your hand on the wall hesitantly moving to grasp his veiny forearm caging you in.

he hums in appreciation of your slow progress to opening yourself up, taking the opportunity to take a step closer and using his free hand to rub his cock head against your hand covering your pussy.

“open up, little one,” he sings threateningly into your neck, lips roughly brushing up to nibble your ear.

you whine as you take your shaky hand away and expose yourself to him, moving it to gently lie on his scarred shoulder.

“b-be gentl—”

you let out a broken scream when he doesn’t even give you a warning, bullying the entirety of his cock into your little hole at once.

he groans long and guttural as his feet shuffle to keep himself lodged inside your tight pussy, the sting of your fingernails piercing his shoulder and forearm is insignificant in comparison to the heaven you were hiding.

you gasp for air as he throws his head back and lets out ‘hahh,’ over and over as if it hurts to be inside of you. and yet, he’s making absolute fucking sure that he doesn’t slip out, even though your shocked chasm is pushing the intrusion out with all it’s little might.

you can feel the thin tissue at the bottom of your entrance tearing and stinging. you notice how your hip bones seem to move to accommodate his abnormal size, as they’re built to do for childbirth.

“you can barely keep me in, huh? can you feel me in here, baby?” he coos at you in a teasing manner as your legs shake and a gleam covers your eyes, pressing down just above your bellybutton and against the bulge of his tip intruding on your guts.

you both gasp and groan painfully at the intense euphoria of making your already miserably tight hole even more snug. he can feel the bone like tissue that makes up his cock under the soft skin shift as your tunnel attempts to eject him. toji’s overall size as a man is vastly larger than your small form, making it feel as though you were never meant to mate.

as if displeased with your lack of words, he picks up your other leg and hooks them both over his forearms, squeezing the fat of your ass before bucking up into you once.

you scream with clenched brows and toes, nails so deep in his shoulders that blood trickles down and washes away down the drain.

“i asked you a question— shit— or is my cock distracting that air head of yours?” he teases you, forehead pressing into yours as his intense green eyes stare into yours.

you gulp between heavy breaths and nod frantically, “n-no! i can! i c-can feel it— tearing me open!” you whine pathetically, answering his question from before. toji didn’t actually need an answer, the question was obviously rhetorical and meant to mock you but he just fucking loves to show off the control he already has over you.

“yeah?” he whispers, leaning into your mouth and breathing directly into your mouth, “wanna feel more?” and it sounds like a fucking threat, making your eyes widen.

you know how sex works, the idea that you have to move in and out to actually achieve the obvious but you find your heart dropping into your ass at his insinuation that he wants to push that monstrosity of genitalia in and out of your cute little pussy that’s made for four inchers.

“w-wa-wait—!” you shout into his mouth before he cuts you off with his tongue licking into your mouth in a nasty old man kind of way as his hips start to snap up into your core. it’s as if he’s fucking his tongue and his cock into you, making you choke on both.

“nope— ngh— just gotttaa—” he grunts into your mouth and halts his thrusts to instead hold his hips flush to yours, wiggling up and down instead of pushing in and out as if he’s trying to make room for himself, “— break you open a bit.”

your head spins and leans back against the wall, eyes rolling back when a metaphorical ‘pop!’ sound comes from your certix.

and you swear that maybe that sound wasn’t just in your head when he smiles into your lips and breathes out, ‘hooo— there we go.”

“w-what was that! where are you?” you squeak in pain and sink your teeth into his bottom lip with a whimper, as if you’re trying to make him feel just a fraction of the pain that ‘pop!’ felt like for you.

he hisses at the yummy sting and licks your teeth and top lip, making you retract your canines.

“it’s— ngh— a little spot,” he coos, making you look down as he points at a spot just above your belly button and to the right a smidge, “riight here.”

he gently begins to rock his hips like he’s trying to show you where, and you immediately gasp at the sensation. it feels as though he’s stuck inside you, like his tip is lodged just beneath your cervix in a little cubby built like a one car parking garage attempting to fit a monster truck.

“yeaahhh, you feel it, don’t you?” he purrs but it seems like he’s gritting the words out, attempting to speak through the relentless squeeze of your cubby around his tip.

“ye- yes! feel it! feel it,” you babble stupidly, making him nuzzle his head into yours affectionately, hips unrelenting from rocking against you. he just loves the look on your contorted face when you both feel the tug of your cubby pulling on his tip.

“feels like it’s just fucking—,” he grazes his teeth against your cheek and nibbles on your ear before moving back to lap at your cheek, “—impossible to push me out, right?”

you immediately nod frantically, tears beginning to fall from your eyes in equal parts pleasure and pain. it feels as though he wouldn’t be able to pull out to push back in even if he tried, like he’s penetrated past possibility, though you’re pretty sure he’s just locked into a hidden gushy space under your cervix.

“impossible,” you slur in affirmation, subconsciously rutting your hips down against his rocking ones as if he could even get any deeper.

“mmm— actually, not quite impossible,” he smirks like a threat before abruptly jerking his hips away from you, making you gasp loudly as he dislodges from his little temporary cozy home violently.

“n-no! back! go back!” you whine, pathetically in spite of how painful it was, yearning for the world of deep physical connection he’s open your eyes to.

he chuckles into your lips and begins sloppily making out with your weak lips, uncaring how terribly you’re doing kissing him back as he starts to hump into you harshly.

every thrust earns you a sexy grunt or if you’re lucky, a guttural groan to mix with your whines.

your eyes basically roll to the back of your skull when he somehow holds you up with one arm while using the other hand to swipe against your screaming clit.

you can’t help but keep your lips parted so he can bully his tongue into you instead of even attempting to kiss him back, overthrown by the intensity of your second orgasm of the night approaching quickly.

“cumming, baby? cumming?” he breathes, making you whine and nod as your terribly tight cunt clenches down even harder.

he hisses in surprise and his pace triples, his balls tightening up as ropes of cum threaten to impregnate you.

“cumming in a nasty fucking gym bathroom with a— hahh!—guy you don’t even know, bet you fantasize about this shit, huh?” he rasps shakily, making it obvious that he’s teetering on the edge.

“n-no!i d-don’t!” you scream stupidly as you cum, white flashing over your vision as your body goes limp, twitching violently between subtle shakes, forcing him to abandon your clit and push you to lean on his chest so your head is tucked into his burly neck.

“gonna get you pregnant, gonna make you have my baby you pretty slut,” he babbles, pussy drunk and not thinking clearly as his hips still against yours, his brain cells being milked out of his cock and into your yearning uterus like a fucking go-gurt.

and you can’t even protest, too weak to speak so you bite into his neck meanly, like you’re trying to punish him.

“shit!— you brat,” he grunts, irritatedly as the last of his cum dribbles out to join the rest in their pursuit to your uterus. despite biting him as if you despise him and him insulting you while filling you to the brim, there’s still a deep affection between you as you gently soothe the bite marks with your tongue, causing him to hiss softly but ultimately hum in approval as he kneads your ass.

after a few moments of the both of you gasping for air and sharing a long, unmoving kiss, he finally pulls out and lets his cum pour out of you.

“l-lots of cum,” you whine as it runs down your leg and pools on the shower floor, legs wobbling as he sets you down to stand. he holds you up and his brows twitch in empathy as he gazes at his milky evidence escaping your pussy.

your words make him curse at himself. he has to clench his eyes shut briefly as to think of something disgusting, like what’s on the floor of this shower you both have your bare feet on, to make his cock stay down.

“uh— yeah— my bad,” he sighs and rubs comforting, sympathetic circles into your hips as he holds you up, “let’s clean you up.”

he feels like a goddamn idiot as he then washes out your pussy, blasting water into your hole and scooping out his sperm futilely as he promises you that you won’t get pregnant. maybe you’ll get some kind of mild infection from the water being sprayed into you but he assumes that’s better than having his child. he has to stop himself from literally slapping himself when you tell him you’re twenty one, growing more thorough in cleaning his cum from your fertile body after you lay that information on him— even though you giggle when he tells you that he’s twice your age.

he feels even dumber when he carries you to an uber that he fucking paid for and gives you his number.. just in case.. before joining shiu in the car.

and just as shiu is about to say something, toji interrupts him with a hand raised to shut him up.

“don’t fucking say a word, asshole.”

——

mean, pervy toji pls just one chance-

❤❤❤😭😭😭

warnings: nsfw🔞, doctor/patient, gynecologist geto, pervy geto, dub con, medical kink, sexual misconduct, this is a long one~

“doctor geto will be in momentarily,” the nurse nods at you politely before slipping out of the room quietly.

you breathe out deeply in attempt to calm your nerves, turning away from the door to gaze at the tiled ceiling. the cheap gown you had to change into crinkles at every breath, only working to raise your nerves even further. it doesn’t help that you’re completely naked underneath, you even tried to keep your panties on at the very least but the nurse explained that they’d be taken off eventually anyways. you assume removing them on your own is preferable compared to having them ripped off of you by a doctor you’ve never met before.

you’ve always avoided the gynecologist, having heard horror stories from friends and family, and you were successful for twenty two years of your life— until now. apparently you were due for your first check up at twenty one, the recommended age for women to start getting checked, but you had dodged it when your primary physician recommended it.

but after a very bad, unsuccessful attempt at losing your virginity, you figured it’s time to make sure everything is okay down there. your face still burns when the awkward memory of your date attempting to push his cock into you for almost an hour and ultimately failing flashes within your mind. you can still hear him mutter, ‘i like tight but that’s just not normal.’

three brief knocks to the door snap you out of your nervous daze and you shoot upright, gown and protective sheet under you crinkling obnoxiously with your movement.

after a respectful moment, you clear your throat and put on a polite tone.

“come in!” and you cringe at the sound of your shaky voice as the door clicks open.

your face drains of blood when a tall, dark haired man slips in, wearing a long white doctors coat. you had almost thought he was a woman because of the long length of his hair but it quickly became obvious that‘s not the case due to his features and large form.

immediately he smiles in a respectful manner before turning to the sink in the corner to wash his hands.

“hello, y/n. how are you today?”

you’re incredibly stiff as you eye him sanitize his hands, silently racing through possible excuses you could use to get out of this. sure, you were a bit apprehensive about this whole thing before but you were willing to try— that is until a man walked in. you figured men weren’t even allowed in this profession considering the obvious, most not having the same genitalia, but apparently you were heavily mistaken because he has that natural bulge in his dress pants indicating he most definitely doesn’t have a vagina. you have no idea how this could be appropriate.

“um yes, good,” you trail off, blinking rapidly as he swivels the stool closer in front of you and settles onto it with a satisfied grunt, manspreading seemingly comfortably. “are you the uh- doctor?”

he hums with a nod and gently gestures to his name tag reading, ‘dr. geto.’

now your head spins, thighs pushing closed as tightly as possible while you unintentionally clench the white sheet under you.

he seems to notice your nervousness, though he had already picked up on it even before he entered the room—having seen you tapping your foot in the waiting area. he understands that it’s perfectly natural to be anxious before an appointment like this, especially as a young woman. according to your patient intake form, this is your first time at the gynecologist, your first time in this particular clinic, and your first time meeting him— so it makes sense. but still, your anxiety seems to exceed what he usually sees in his patients under these circumstances.

so he wears a face of concern as he addresses you.

“is everything okay?”

immediately you chuckle, nervously and avoid his intimidating eye contact. it certainly doesn’t help that he’s so attractive.

“i just,” you gulp, “-thought i’d have a woman doctor.”

his concerned face relaxes into an understanding one as he clasps his hands together professionally between his legs with his forearms resting on his upper thighs.

“ah, i see. i apologize for the misunderstanding, this is actually my clinic so i’m the only doctor here. you’re welcome to find another clinic you’re more comfortable with, but i would like to say that i’m a professional and you have nothing to worry about if you decide to stay.”

“oh! i um- don’t doubt your professionalism, i’ve just never done this before and..” you drift into silence, eyes flickering up at him briefly as a harsh heat litters your cheeks and neck.

“completely understandable to be nervous for your first time, but i assure you, you have nothing to worry about. i’ve seen many, many bodies on that very bed, and i’m quite used to it.” he smiles, comfortingly and though his words are meant to ease you, they do the opposite. they only work to remind you of the imminent threat of baring your naked lower half to the attractive man in front of you.

as if sensing your rising nerves, he speaks again.

“why don’t we just start with some questions? we don’t need to do an examination unless you want to.”

you sigh in relief and nod timidly, shoulders relaxing as you let go of the paper underneath you. though it’s still nerve wracking to tell him about why you’re here, it’s much less intimidating than the stirrups beside you.

a smile grows on his face as you nod and he claps his hands together gently in preparation.

“great. let’s start with why you’re here today— a regular check up or do you have a specific issue?”

you gulp, fingers fiddling in your lap. “well i have an issue, i guess.”

he hums and nods to urge you on as he adopts a focused expression.

“i’m worried i have some sort of- i don’t know- infection maybe?”

“i see. are you having symptoms?” he questions as you grapple with the vulnerability of this.

“uh- not exactly. i had a,” you pause as your gaze flickers up at the ceiling in attempt to explain the situation without exposing the whole embarrassing picture, “—situation. i can’t get something big inside of me.”

a moment of silence follows, and you anxiously glance back at his face, worrying that you might not be normal and that this is an unusual issue for him to encounter with patients.

he inhales as he briefly squints in slight confusion.

“i’m sorry— you said you can’t get something big inside of you? are you having intercourse problems?” geto remembers seeing on your intake form that you’re a virgin so he’s assuming when you first tried to have sex, he couldn’t put it in.

you inhale sharply with parted lips as if thinking on what to say, “yes.”

he hums and nods. “i think i understand. just to be clear, your partner— i’m guessing a man—hasn’t been able to penetrate you?”

“mhm. i’m just nervous that maybe something is wrong with me,” you mutter timidly, eyes nervously tracing his face, “i-is this not common?”

immediately he holds his hands up as to comfort you. “well, first of all i’d like to be clear that there’s likely nothing wrong with you. i can’t say i’ve had many patients with this problem but that doesn’t mean i can’t help.”

you chew on the inside of your cheek as you shyly nod.

“is this an issue of lack of lubrication maybe?” he questions with concentration and an obvious genuine desire to help you. as a man, geto knows how most other men are, your ‘partner’ who’s probably as young and naive as you are, likely doesn’t know how to turn you on correctly, doesn’t know the places that make you dripping wet like you need to be for penetration— especially for a virgin.

immediately, you flush even harsher. “oh, i don’t— i’m not completely sure. i don’t think so.” it’s not as if you were soaking wet when you had tried to have sex but you weren’t dry either.

“okay, maybe it’s a not an issue with you. was he able to hold an erection?” he inquires, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows. he thinks it’s much more likely that this guy is the problem, maybe he got too nervous and chickened out before he could even get it in you.

“no, he was hard— i think,” you mumble, recalling the size of his dick was smaller than you imagined it would be. and if geto wasn’t such a trained professional, maybe you’d be able to tell he almost laughed at that.

“hmm, okay. may i ask if you use tampons? if so, is it painful?” he inquires, gently, growing worried that maybe something else is happening here.

“no, not painful really— i mean, maybe a little?” you sigh, unsure and a bit frustrated at your inability to aid the doctor efficiently. tampons are uncomfortable but you’re not sure if it’s an unusual level of discomfort.

“please, feel free to let me know if you’re uncomfortable with answering but it will aid your diagnosis if you can.” he briefs you, as if warning you for the next question gently.

you take a deep breath and nod, making him dart his tongue out briefly as if to prepare.

“do you masterbate?” he asks as if it’s a natural inquiry, and for him it probably is. your stomach tingles in nerves and surprise at the question.

your face heats up as you hesitate.

“kind of,” you shrug, noncommittally as if trying to avoid being too direct with your response. geto’s dealt with his fair share of shy patients, and by now, he's fluent in the 'maybe' and 'sort of' answers—yours being a clear yes.

“that’s very good,” he praises you with a deep tone, making you chew on the inside of your cheek, feet fidgeting against one another as you avoid direct eye contact. “it’s very healthy to bring yourself to orgasm as often as you can.”

you give him a smile that feels mandatory, it immaturely feels as if he knows something secret about you now as he gazes at you for a beat.

“when you masterbate, do you just touch? or do you penetrate yourself?” as his gentle, deep tone utters the word penetrate, you gulp, his eyes dancing down to flicker at your small fingers fidgeting against one another.

you nod stiffly with eyes on the floor. “both.”

“with—?” he trails off, head tilting a bit in attempt to observe your reaction to gauge your answer.

“my fingers,” you timidly explain, quickly brushing a piece of your hair behind your ear in a nervous habit.

“okay,” geto hums a chuckle, making your eyes dart up at him in question, “that’s great, really great.”

before you can ask why that’s so great with furrowed brows, he inhales deeply and his eyes lock back on you.

“and does this bring you to orgasm?” he asks gently, oddly comfortingly.

you can’t help but laugh awkwardly in a sort of nervous habit, making his grin grow in tandem to your laughing.

“is that funny?” he coos in amusement, as if playfully questioning a cat about the thrill of knocking over a glass.

you immediately shake your head no with a concealed immature smile.

“sorry—”

“—don’t apologize,” he interrupts your obviously casual apology as if it were a serious one, “it can be awkward to discuss things like this, i acknowledge that. especially with a man twice your age, just act like i’m one of your friends.”

you gulp, your obvious naivety feeling much more pronounced now that he’s reminded you of your difference in maturity.

“okay. how um— specific do you want me to be?”

his response is immediate, “as specific as you’re comfortable with. the more information, the better.”

you inhale deeply and squint at the ceiling as you think on it.

“well, i can cu— orgasm easier when i play wit— i mean stimulate my clit,” you stumble over your words, nervously.

he hums slowly, making the humiliation you already feel grow within yourself.

“how often do you play with yourself?” he asks, and for a moment, your eyes widen, fully aware that he’s using the exact words you were hesitant to say, afraid they’d come off as inappropriate.

you bite your lower lip subtly, briefly glancing at the floor. having to recall such intimate details while an attractive man with those sharp eyes watches you—it’s impossible not to squeeze your thighs together under the weight of the topic.

you remind yourself it’s silly to think this way—he’s a trained doctor, just doing his job, trying to innocently help a young girl. but still, you can’t shake the feeling— no man has ever asked you about something so intimate with such focus, as if he genuinely wants to understand what brings you to that intense high of pleasure.

you know it’s all in your head, that he’s actually being professional, yet a small part of you wonders if his role as a doctor ever follows him home. does he recall the patient who can only reach orgasm while playing with their nipples as he makes dinner? or does he keep those details neatly tucked away, never letting them blur the lines of his professionalism?

your gaze shoots up to him when he gently calls your name, pulling you out of your thoughts to check if you’re okay.

“oh sorry,” you huff sharply as you shake your head briefly, “maybe four times a week, it helps me sleep.”

“i see,” he clears his throat, adjusting on the stool briefly, “and how long does it take you to reach orgasm when you’re playing with your clit?”

you press your palms against your face, trying to mask your embarrassment as you avoid his gaze for a moment, the weight of his question hanging in the air, making you swallow hard.

“i dont really know,” you mumble, “i guess it depends on how uh— into it i am. sometimes five minutes, sometimes twenty.”

“that’s perfectly normal,” he smiles and allows for a beat, making you nod back in acknowledgement.

“does it hurt when you use your fingers inside?” he asks, making you hum in thought.

“sometimes,” you shrug, shyly.

then he takes a deep breath as if preparing to explain something to you. “well, it’s quite difficult to know for sure without an exam but there is a condition called vaginismus where the muscles around the vagina tighten involuntarily, making penetration difficult or painful.”

immediately you gulp and your brows pinch in worry. geto thinks you’re such a sweet girl, it pains him to worry you.

“i-is there a cure for that? if i have that, will i never be able to have sex?” you question eagerly, the embarrassment of speaking such words fizzle into worry for your wellbeing.

"don’t worry, there are effective treatments available to alleviate symptoms if that’s truly what the problem is but to diagnose you and or treat it will all require me to examine as well as—touch your vaginal area,” he explains with slight sympathy, seeing how your expression changes into one of terror as he speaks.

“fuck,” you mutter to yourself, hands running down your face in preparation, “okay, fine. just help me, please.”

the idea of never being able to have sex like a normal person scares you— not to mention the fear and embarrassment of having to tell any boyfriends in the future about your potential condition before dating. even though this doctor is a man and in retrospect, you could find another place with a woman doctor, that might take a few days to verify with your insurance before even booking an appointment. you’re sure this condition isn’t time sensitive for treatment based on what he said but you aren’t sure if you can sleep tonight without knowing what’s wrong with you.

he smiles kindly. “great, i understand this may be uncomfortable, but please know that i’ll prioritize your comfort and provide the highest level of care. you can trust me.”

you exhale shakily and nod with a small, polite smile.

“um- do i just,” you stutter, gesturing towards the stirrups and leaning back on your palms awkwardly.

he huffs softly in amusement but cuts himself off. “i know the stirrups can be intimidating so lets just start with lying back and relaxing.”

you nod with a shaky sigh as you lie back, your calves and feet dangling off the edge, staring up at the dull, off-white ceiling once again. before he approaches you, you hear him opening a cabinet and grabbing something from it.

he then approaches your side, adjusting the bed so that it raises a bit considering he’s so tall. he then slides out a foot rest that elongates the bed, gently picking up your calves and aiding in placing them down on it so you’re lying flat.

“i’m going to start with checking your blood pressure, heart rate, all that boring stuff,” he lightly jokes with a silly, kind smile making you huff despite your anxiety.

you watch as he proceeds to un velcro the blood pressure cuff, hold it with one hand, and then lay the other hand on your covered thigh. “this doohickey goes around your upper thigh, unfortunately it’s more accurate that way. is that okay?”

it’s evident he’s trying to make the situation more comfortable by calling the blood pressure cuff a ‘doohickey’ while mentioning that he needs to expose your upper thigh for this.

“o-oh, i guess,” you stutter, gaze flickering down nervously.

“great,” he smiles before gently sliding the hem of the gown up his finger tips leaving goosebumps in their wake, making you snap a hand down onto your covered pussy to keep the gown in place with a gulp.

he simply smiles down at you, eyes eerily intense as he gives you a moment to hold the gown down with fluster.

“good, keep your hand there,” he says as if he was the one to suggest it.

he then gently wraps his hand around the back of your knee and lifts it to a bent position.

“how old are you, y/n?” he questions, obviously just making small talk considering he already knows your age from your intake form.

he then secures the cuff around the upper part of your thigh, brushing his cold hands against the cuff and, inadvertently, your surrounding skin, causing your thigh to clench briefly.

you clear your throat and blink, “i’m twenty- two.”

then he begins to pump the pressure cuff, making you slightly grimace at the pressure.

“i’m surprised you haven’t had an exam yet,” he voices, eyes on the meter with a respectful, gentle smile still on his face as he concentrates.

“oh, i just— get nervous, i guess.” you shrug as he stops pumping and squints his eyes at the meter.

“that’s unfortunate, it’s important to get annual checkups for prevention,” he says, slim eyes flickering at you briefly. he says it in a tone that clearly conveys his professional expertise, yet carries a hint of amusement, like a parent gently reminding their child about the importance of good behavior in public.

“i know, i’ll try to be better about it,” you say shyly as he begins to slowly pull off the cuff, making sure to briefly rub against the indents it created in your skin. you can’t help but inhale sharply at the feeling of his large warm hands basically massaging your upper thigh, so close to your most intimate areas.

“good, feel okay?” he asks with concern, referring to your upper thigh.

“mhm, totally fine,” you say, politely making him take his hand away from you.

he then makes his way to the cabinets in the corner and starts rummaging through it once again, seemingly looking for something.

your brows furrow as he sighs and makes his way back to your side, placing one large palm against the middle of your thigh.

“unfortunately, my silly nurse forgot to order the new medical grade stethoscopes so if it’s okay with you, i can use my hand. it’s probably more efficient this way anyways,” he asks you. his tone is so gentle and sweet that it’s just impossible to say no, after all what’s the harm, he’s a doctor.

“sure, whatever works,” you nod, making him smile in gratitude.

in a professional manner, he extends his hand and places it flat against the left side of your chest. his large hand covers most of the area, pressing down on your left breast, causing you to feel a surge of embarrassment and look away from his gaze. you glance at the door nervously as he presses into your breast slowly and with pressure. the act makes you feel as though you’re doing something wrong or taboo. if one of his nurses were to walk in right now, you wouldn’t know what to do.

he then hums in a conflicted manner after a moment, making your gaze flicker to his face in question.

“i can’t feel your heart through this pesky gown,” he sighs, making your heart rate immediately skyrocket at the insinuation. he seems to notice your nerves.

“oh, don’t worry, you can keep the gown on. i can just reach under if you’re comfortable with it? i’ll be quick,” he asks in a kind, professional way that makes you feel as though he’s genuine. still, you can’t help but feel hesitant.

“oh, i don’t— um— is it really necessary?” you ask nervously, chewing on the inside of your cheek with pinched brows.

“well, it’s important to make sure your heart is healthy and beating in a natural way,” he explains, kindly.

you fall silent, knowing that if he feels your heartbeat under the gown, his large hand is bound to directly touch your left breast. the thought is nerve-wracking—maybe in movies, this would be a fantasy scenario, but in real life, the idea of it is anything but romantic; it’s frightening.

“you know what? let me ask my nurse if we have any old stethoscopes,” he says after a few moments of your silence, attempting to comfort you.

you nod gently with a sigh in brief relief and he begins to walk to the door.

he peeks his head out and calls over his nurse.

“do we have any of our old stethoscopes in storage maybe?”

you can’t hear the nurses response but you can assume it’s not good news because doctor geto sighs, although he’s naturally soft in his demeanor and tone, you can tell he’s frustrated with his nurse.

“first not ordering the new ones in time and now this? at this point, i should just hire a monkey to do your job.”

his words shock you, you can’t help but feel sympathy for the nurse as they respond to him. in fact, you feel so guilty that you gulp before calling doctor geto’s name.

hearing your call, he turns to you with a kind smile.

“yes?”

“uhm actually— i change my mind. you can do it under the gown. it’s no big deal,” you stutter, wearing a face of faux nonchalance. in retrospect, maybe you should have held your ground and refused to let him do as he pleases, doctor or not, but it does seem a bit silly to care all that much about your breast when he’s going to be face to face with your pussy soon enough.

immediately, he blinks at you with raised brows in slight surprise.

“are you sure? i can try to find something else or—”

“—no, no. it’s really okay,” you interrupt him, adding a casual huff to add to your calm persona.

“oh great, i deeply apologize for the inconvenience,” he smiles at you, pinched brows in a slight pout as if he feels sympathy for you.

you nod and shrug as to wave off his apology.

then, he shuts the door, not even notifying his nurse before making his way back to hover over your side.

he then carefully and slowly slips his hand beneath your gown through the neckline. you shiver at his touch that trails to your left breast. his gaze is locked on nothing in particular in the distance, attempting to concentrate.

your brows twitch and your lips part slightly as he gently feels around the fat of your breast with his fingers, pressing into the area where he believes your heart is, searching for the spot where he can feel it most clearly. though you’re trying so hard to keep your heartbeat at a normal rate, your attempt seems to do the opposite, making it skyrocket. considering the anxiety of the uncomfortably bright room with a hot male gynecologist who’s hand is down your shirt, it’s not completely ridiculous that it’s a bit faster than normal.

you notice his addams’s apple bob when your nipple brushes against his cold finger. you on the other hand, can’t help but gasp shallowly and sharply, jolting a bit at the sensitivity.

“you okay?” he questions, as if he doesn’t even know why you reacted that way while your nipples rapidly begin to harden from the chilly friction.

“yeah- yes. of course,” you nervously jut out, attempting to take advantage of his ignorance to avoid the embarrassment and his gaze.

he hums before taking a few moments to push into a specific area of your breast to listen to your heartbeat and record the amount of beats per minute.

after a minute of silence, he hums. “are you nervous? your heart beat is quite high— 130 beats,” he questions with concern, allowing a moment for his hand to rest on your bare chest as if he’s attempting to comfort you before sliding it out.

“sorry, yes,” you mumble, trying to ignore the fact that your nipples are likely poking through the gown.

“hmm. though quite fast, i’d say your heart rate is perfectly normal. blood pressure is fine too,” he offers you a kind smile as he gently slides the extended part of the bed back in, leaving your calves and feet dangling over the edge once again.

next, he makes his way out of your sight, making you eye the annoying ceiling once again.

you fight the urge to sit up and see what he’s doing as you hear the roll of the wheeled chair, his footsteps, and the snap of latex gloves.

“have you removed your underwear?” he smoothly inquires, making you nod quickly and utter a ‘yes.’

“do you have a boyfriend, y/n?” he asks kindly, moving to stand in front of your legs now. it’s clear he’s trying to distract you in an effort to help you relax.

“boyfriend? no way,” you laugh, breathily but still quite nervous as he gently lays a gloved hand onto your outer thigh. you had barely had your first blind date the other day when this problem started, much less a boyfriend.

he lightly chuckles with you briefly. he assumes you had tried for a one night stand sort of arrangement when you ran into this little problem of yours.

“oh yeah? i’m going to put your feet into the stirrups now, okay? i apologize if it’s cold,” he voices, allowing a moment to wait for your nod before gently sliding his hand from your thigh down to wrap around your ankle. you appreciate his decency to vocalize before doing something.

you gulp as he carefully places your foot onto the stirrup, followed by the other foot. a sudden rush of cold air fans your warm folds, making you shiver as your gown rides up to your hip crease.

as he positions you, he moves to stand between your legs, and you feel the fabric of his long coat brush against the inner parts of your thighs. if he weren’t standing as close as he is, your exposed vagina would likely be quite visible to him. you can see him wearing a relaxed expression above you, watching you to ensure you’re comfortable.

he then taps the outside of your right thigh gently, causing a ripple of goosebumps to race down your leg.

“doing okay?” he asks, leaning in the smallest bit to better face you. his closeness causes you to stiffen in embarrassment.

“y-yes— mhm,” you nod quickly, attempting to fight off the heat that’s creeping up on your face and neck as you avoid his hovering gaze.

“i’m going to sit now,” he gently warns you, indicating that he will be face to face with your pussy once he sits down. you nod in acknowledgment, even though you realize he likely doesn’t see your response.

the rolling chair comes to a stop directly in front of you and as he takes a seat with a deep breath, you shut your eyes tightly and clench your fists by your side, aware that he can now see everything on full display.

“i’ll need to touch both externally and internally; is that alright with you?" he asks, prompting you to make a breathy sound in embarrassment, your eyes remaining closed in anxiety.

“oh, inside too? okay,” you gulp, stuttering over your words.

“just tell me if you’d like me to stop and i will, immediately.” he speaks professionally as he places one hand gently on the mid part of your inner thigh, the unexpected touch causing you to gasp quietly in shock despite his warnings.

“right, okay,” you exhale shakily as he moves his hand down your thigh. he then uses two fingers to gently separate your folds, exposing a glimpse of your entrance. you can only assume he trailed his hand from your thigh to your labia to considerately allow you to anticipate the touch.

“there we go, looks good so far,” he voices with lighthearted concentration. and even though you know he’s talking about your external genitalia looking healthy, his wording still makes you blush even harder— part of you assuming immediately that he means aesthetically. if the man between your legs wasn’t as attractive as he is, you likely wouldn’t react as you are.

“i’m going to press down on some areas and you tell me if it hurts, alright?”

then as soon as you mutter an affirmation, he releases your folds and gently presses two large fingers on your clit, forcing a jolt of electric arousal to briefly shoot through your body, making your thighs jerk a bit.

“d-doesn’t hurt,” you inform him as you make an effort to keep your legs open.

“great, and here?” he questions, moving his fingers down to press on the area just above your enterance opening.

your brows twitch, teeth sinking into your bottom lip to fight off the surge of heat running through you. a beat of silence ensues, attempting to calm yourself.

“uh no,” you quickly answer before your silence becomes suspicious.

you hadn’t anticipated feeling aroused during this process, especially with your friends’ accounts of the pain and discomfort from various metal contraptions that they shoved into them. however, doctor geto’s voice is undeniably soothing, not to mention he looks more like an idol than a doctor.

“excellent, and— here?” he asks again, this time pressing on the area between your pussy and your second hole.

it’s a bit uncomfortable, but you’re pretty sure that’s just because it’s an awkward area.

“no, not painful,” you explain, grimacing a bit at the feeling.

“not painful but-?” he questions, sensing your hesitance to explain further.

“um, it’s just uncomfortable. i’ve never been touched there, it feels weird,” you mutter quickly, humiliated to even admit that to him.

he huffs in a slight laugh, “okay, now i’m going to feel around your labia to feel for any abnormalities. just relax.”

immediately, you begin to blink rapidly with pinched brows as he runs two fingers through your folds, starting at your clit and sliding down to your entrance before swiping back up and repeating. with every slide of his fingers, your abdomen tightens and relaxes, while your toes curl and uncurl gently. your hips instinctively shift, responding softly to the sensations coursing through you.

“feel okay?” he asks considerately, in his cooing tone, only escalating your perversion, making you hesitantly pull your hand away from your mouth to respond.

“i-it feels g- fine, yes,” you breathe out, mentally cursing at yourself for almost admitting how good it feels.

you know this is an examination, but it’s the same type of stimulus that someone would use with the intention of pleasing you. it’s shockingly alluring and terribly taboo, making you feel equal parts shame and euphoria. you try desperately to think of anything gross or weird to turn off your rising arousal but it’s futile— maybe it would work if you weren’t so inexperienced, but you simply are.

he hums, long and soft as he continues to examine you with his large two middle fingers.

“this boy you were seeing,” he begins, barely working to pique your attention that’s glued to the way his cold gloved fingers feel against your folds, “was he able to bring you to climax with his fingers or anything else?”

your breathing deepens, eyes lidded in relaxation as you blink slowly, trying desperately to focus on answering your doctor.

“not really,” you pause to sigh deeply in relaxation, “he touched me over my panties but i didn’t cum or anything.”

your nervousness fades with each glide of his fingers, your attention shifting from the worry of saying the wrong thing to the sensations he creates. with each gentle drag, you find yourself speaking as if to a close friend, your walls crumbling as you become more absorbed in his touch.

his gaze is locked to your pretty lips, which are beginning to glisten like a flower kissed by morning dew as he brings your leaking arousal through them. he notices the way your clit is stiffening and twitching beneath his touch, a subtle sign that he should ignore. he should have moved on to the next part of the examination, but he can’t resist the allure of your hips instinctively rolling against his touch. he senses that you’re likely unaware of your own body’s response to grind against his fingers.

he emits a soft, displeased ‘tch’ at your answer, shaking his head as if disappointed in humanity.

“as your doctor, i advise being cautious with boys your age,” he speaks with a casual smoothness as you nod eagerly, eyes closed and teeth biting your lip, more a reaction to the escalating pleasure than to his words, your thoughts floating in blissful disarray. “unfortunately, they can cause some real harm to your body and lead to some serious issues.”

when you don’t answer, basically drooling in your own world, he speaks again.

“you want to ensure that your lovely anatomy remains in good health, don’t you?” he urges, his subtle compliment making your closed eyelids flutter as a tingle shoots through your lower abdomen, your back arching slightly.

you can’t tell if it’s just your imagination, but his fingers apply more pressure against the sensitive underside of your clit briefly as he speaks, sending a quick jolt of almost painful sensitivity coursing through you. it feels as though he’s intertwining his touch with the weight of his words, punishing you for your hesitation to respond and reminding you of the folly in even considering a fling with an immature guy.

you close your eyes tightly and quickly press a palm to your mouth as to not accidentally expose your perverted arousal growing impossible to ignore. the way he’s touching you so gently, its obvious he knows his way around pleasing a woman in his personal life— even if he’s simply feeling around for something potentially concerning.

“right,” you quickly babble stupidly through the muffling of your hand, “you’re right.”

it becomes painfully clear that you’re growing exceptionally wet because the squelching of your folds begins to echo loudly in the sterile room.

“it’s quite normal for your body to react to stimulus, if anything natural lubrication will aid in minimizing any potential discomfort,” he suddenly speaks on the elephant in the room, you think you can hear a hint of a smile in his tone, but you’re not certain enough to be sure. you were hoping he’d just ignore your growing wetness or even not notice it but it’s obviously too agonizingly obvious to ignore.

“i’m s-so sorry,” you mutter, mortified as you use both hands to cover your face as if that could make you disappear into them.

he chuckles deeply at your embarrassment, “it’s no problem, sweet girl. it’s normal, try to relax.”

his use of a pet name is obviously meant to ease your nerves but it only triples the amount of slick gushing out of you and being collected by his fingers to then coat your folds.

even if you wanted to respond, you don’t because you’re terrified that you’ll accidentally let a moan slip.

“i’m very glad to know lubrication isn’t the issue here, that can be quite frustrating for a patient— having to go on all kinds of pesky medications just to have sex,” he explains, and you’re barely even able to process his words so you simply hum with a frantic nod.

after a few more agonizing moments of his blissful touch, you sigh in relief and unclench your eyes when he finally halts and pulls his fingers away. saying its a relief that he halts his movements is an understatement because you’re pretty sure an orgasm was approaching in the distance if he continued the stimulus a little while longer— though you could never actually admit it to yourself.

“good news, i don’t feel anything unusual on the outside,” he gladly notifies you with a deep breath.

“o-oh that’s good,” you swallow hard, a heat creeping up your cheeks as his words hit home. you’ve been so caught up in primally chasing pleasure that you suddenly feel embarrassed for losing sight of the real reason you’re here: to make sure you’re healthy.

“i need to check internally now, which may cause some discomfort. i need you to take a deep breath and focus on my voice, okay?” he explains, a hint of sympathy in his gentle tone.

his words send your heart plummeting, the arousal quickly fading to the background as a wave of panic takes over. the thought of something unfamiliar or painful being inserted inside you becomes overwhelming, bringing back the humiliating memory of that guy’s frustrated expression when he couldn’t get his dick inside you.

“w-wait— what are you putting inside of me?” you stop him with urgency before he can even touch you again, sitting up on your elbows quickly to see, and you honestly wish you hadn’t because the sight of him between your spread thighs is horrifying and sexy all at once.

your fluster is obvious as he transfers his gaze from your pussy up to your worried face.

"it’ll just be my finger. i know this can be a bit scary," he says, placing a reassuring hand on your thigh, "—but it’s necessary for a proper diagnosis. I can’t promise it won’t be uncomfortable, but your natural lubrication should help. i’m glad we won’t need to use gel, it doesn’t work as well in reducing discomfort during insertion."

you gulp and blink at him with conflict. the idea that it might be painful scares you but the fact that it’s only his finger makes you feel a bit better. but now, not only are you worried about this process, arousal is sitting behind you, eagerly awaiting its turn for attention.

he examines your expression to make sure you’re okay, allowing you to gather the courage to speak.

“w-what if it won’t go in?” you question, timidly. you’re afraid of the possibility that even his finger won’t be able to push past your entrance like that guy, indicating that maybe something incurable is wrong with you instead of a condition that can be corrected.

he immediately smiles kindly at you with a soft sympathetic huff as his hand begins to rub comfortingly up and down your inner thigh. he feels so bad for you, a young, beautiful girl who’s obviously terrified of something being wrong with her body.

“i wouldn’t worry about that, i was already close to slipping into you before,” he coos, attempting to comfort you, making your eyes widen a bit. you think maybe you’re actually a raging pervert because his unintentionally lewd words make your chasm clench in need, forcing a bit of arousal to gush out of you, slowly begin to slide down to your other hole, and pool under you to inevitably drool down to the floor.

you inhale shakily and deeply before nodding.

“j-just go slow, please.”

he gently allows his sleek eyes to come close to shutting as he smiles at you with consideration and a short nod, but you don’t miss the way his jaw clenches with your words.

“if it helps, you can watch,” he offers, squeezing your thigh gently.

as you nod, he speaks again.

“here.” he raises his glistening, gloved fingers, then gently takes one of your hands and guides it to wrap around his thick middle finger.

“that’s all that will be inside of you,” he murmurs soothingly, his hand still gently holding yours, wrapped around his finger. “not too bad, right?”

the skin between your brows pinches momentarily as you look down at your hand enveloped by his. his finger is so long and thick compared to yours that half of it remains exposed, just beyond your grasp. you can’t tell how comforting that is in relation to the potential pain, but it certainly sends a flutter of butterflies through your lower abdomen.

“y-yeah,” you nod dumbly, “not too bad.”

he smiles and hums, gently taking his hands back to rest one back to your inner thigh while the other prepares to penetrate you.

“i’m just going to gently push past the tight ring of your entrance first, and then i’ll give you a moment to breathe, okay? stop me if it’s too uncomfortable.” his gaze flickers from you, down to your pussy in focus.

your breaths are shaky as you anticipate pain with an anxious pout. your sweet innocence makes his eyes soften as he gazes up at you.

“deep breath in,” he coos, making you breathe in deeply, “and out.”

the second you breathe out, he pushes his finger past your entrance quickly, keeping his eyes on your face as it contorts in a flinch. you gasp and stiffen at the stinging intrusion.

“shh, i know. on a scale of one to ten, how badly does it hurt?” he shushes you sweetly, keeping the tip of his finger unmoving in your chasm while his other hand rubs circles on your inner thigh.

“s-six,” you whine out, fists tight at your sides. the pain feels as though just the tip of his finger has cut open the bottom part of your opening.

“oh no,” he coos, making eye contact with your glistening eyes, “this might help.”

he then uses the hand on your thigh to gently rub circles into your clit, making your lips part as your eyes close in tandem with your brows raising softly in surprising comfort.

the way he moves against you now feels distinctly different from when he was simply examining your labia. his touch is more precise, focusing on the top sides of your clit, gently coaxing the hood to glide up and down instead of applying harsh pressure directly onto your clit. it’s as if he’s deliberately ensuring that each movement remains soothing rather than overwhelming, carefully avoiding any intensity that might tip into discomfort.

and it does help—more than just help, in fact. you can feel your core clenching with a growing yearning for more, pulling his finger in like a vacuum.

“better?” he inquires, still swiping at you as your thighs twitch and toes curl in the stirrups.

“t-that’s— fuck— i don’t kn—“ you whine, pathetically, unable to put your thoughts in order as he continues his work. he interrupts you with a cooing shush.

“good, it’s okay— shh, i’m going deeper now,” he briefly warns you before quickly pushing his middle finger in to the hilt, making you gasp loudly.

“o-ow— hurts,” you whine, opening your pouty eyes to see his low ones already on you.

“i know, i know. but you’re doing so good, sweet girl.” he soothes, quickening his pace on your clit to distract you.

“j-just hurry, please,” you grit out, biting back a moan as you watch him eye your pussy fluttering around his finger.

“of course. i’m gonna start moving and pressing down now. you’ll feel pressure, bare with me.” he explains, licking his lips as your arousal pools around his finger and drools onto the floor. geto is trying so hard to be professional but your virgin pussy is so tight and wet, as if it’s just inviting him in to play.

he then begins to move his finger within you, prodding against every one of your walls with exploration, likely a bit harder than he really has to, making you whine and jolt. when his finger pushes up against your top wall, your pussy clenches hard and you can’t help but let out a surprised whimper.

“so tight,” he breathes out to himself, astonished. it’s as if he didn’t know he said it out loud making your lidded gaze snap wide open at him with concern.

“w-what?” you ask, a flicker of concern washing over you as the possibility of having the condition he mentioned sinks in. what’s usually a compliment to most women feels more like an insult to you now.

his gaze immediately flickers up at you, a bit of surprise lacing his eyes that you actually heard him as he clears his throat.

“oh— nothing,” he chuckles, almost nervously, “you’re just a bit tight down here, it’s difficult to examine properly.”

“oh, you scared me,” your eyes soften and you sigh. he also sighs in relief but not for the same reasons.

“do me a favor and lay back for me,” he softly commands and you obey as you breathe deeply.

“i’m gonna try to open you up, stay down. do not get up unless i ask of you, okay?” he explains seriously, making your brows furrow.

“u-um why?” you ask, curiously.

“you’re much more open laying down. i’m about to push harder against your walls and i’m afraid it will hurt you if you sit up,” he explains, slightly breathy. you nod at the ceiling and gulp in preparation.

then, he takes his fingers off of your clit and replaces it with something warm and wet. and at the same time, he begins to move his finger inside of you, curling against your top wall harshly.

you gasp out in shock, gasp only turning into whiny cries as the wet thing on your clit begins to move against it. it almost feels like a tongue licking at your clit like an ice cream cone but you quickly shake your head of that idea; he’s a doctor, he’d never do such a thing. you wouldn’t know what a tongue feels like on your pussy anyways so you dumbly assume it’s one of their contraptions to help with penetration. and fuck, does it help.

still, you find yourself biting your bottom lip harshly as your hands softly hit against the bed under you in attempt to cope with the aggressive administrations to your insides. you wouldn’t be surprised if your lower tummy is twitching in a bulge, showing how vehemently he’s striking your top wall.

and when a shameful orgasm begins to approach with haste and you whine in panic as your back arches against your will.

“ngh!— stop! i’m— stop!” you plead, trying your best not to close your legs or sit up in fear of it being painful like he warned.

his movements halt abruptly at your begging, pulling the wet thing away from your clit and stopping so his finger is unmoving inside of you.

geto doesn’t need to ask what’s wrong, he knows how your body works and the signs of your approaching orgasm are more clear than most of the women he’s fucked.

“i’m so close to finding what i need, are you sure you’d like me to stop?” he inquires, voice deep and raspy. you aren’t entirely sure because of how aggressive his finger was moving inside of you before but it feels as though it’s still so subtly moving in and out of you, keeping your orgasm just teetering on the edge.

you’d rather die than admit you’re close to orgasm in a doctors office and in a paper dress with your feet in stirrups so instead, you make up an excuse.

“it just— hurts and—”

“but if we stop, i wont be able to diagnose you, y/n. are you okay leaving here today without knowing? i’d like to help you, but you need to let me,” he coos, almost impatiently. his words spark a bit of anxiety within you, making you feel as though it would be your fault if you don’t gain a proper exam.

you whine quietly, unable to decide. it’s so difficult to think with his digit still inside of you. you aren’t sure if you can even fend off an orgasm if you choose to keep going, but doctor geto’s words make you feel pressure to continue, for your health.

your whine in indecision makes him coo at you, “i know it’s scary— but your health is more important than your embarrassment.”

you know he’s right, though you think he doesn’t know that it’s more than just embarrassment holding you back, it’s more the fear of cumming all over him.

“how much longer?” you choke out, preparing to endure more.

if you were able to see the diabolical smile on geto’s face as you give in, you’d be running out of here and never coming back, maybe even leaving a bad review on yelp.

geto doesn’t behave this way; he never has. he’s always honored the vulnerability of his patients when they lie exposed on the exam table, maintaining an unwavering commitment to professionalism and respect. he understands the trust they place in him, and he’s never crossed that line before.

but with you, everything feels different. you’re not only an attractive young woman; you’re naive, so visibly nervous from the idea of him seeing and touching your most vulnerable spots, and it’s been clear from the second he entered the room that you’re attracted to him. he’s never had a patient so visibly affected by his touch, so sticky and wet, and it’s challenging him to uphold the composure he prides himself on.

“not too much longer; try to relax your body. you’re quite tense around me, but every time your muscles ease up, i get closer to collecting what i need for an accurate diagnosis.”

you curse at yourself mentally as you tap your fingers against the table, “i don’t really know how to make my muscles ‘ease up.’”

he hums, “that’s okay, i can help. what do you imagine when you masterbate?”

your eyes snap wide open at the ceiling and you flush in embarrassment.

“h-huh? what do you mean? why?”

“ah, i know. it seems odd but there’s a study that shows a woman’s vaginal muscles seem to become more flexible when imagining arousing scenarios or situations,” he chuckles, casually.

“oh,” you chirp, hands going to grip the sides of your gown into tight fists.

he allows a beat of silence so you can think on it, relishing in the way your pussy likes to hug his finger every now and then, like it’s begging to be pleased by him.

“i’ll try, you can keep going,” you timidly notify him.

“well, i can help if you’d like,” he says softly, “what do you usually imagine that arouses you the quickest? try to be as specific as you can.”

you swallow hard and shut your eyes, desperately trying to shield yourself from the humiliation of confessing something so intimate to your doctor, tricking your mind into believing it’s just a casual chat with friends like he said earlier.

“i think about,” you begin slowly, “a stranger, a man sitting beside me somewhere in public—”

as you speak, geto starts to slowly work his finger back up to a good pace, cock twitching painfully as your words begin to waver into a whine as he rubs against your g-spot.

“mhm,” he hums, urging you to continue, “and what does he do to you?”

“—he starts to touch me,” you gasp softly, fisting your gown as that wet thing starts to lap at your pulsing clit once more, “and he doesn’t even look— ngh— at me, he just shoves his hand into my panties and plays with me.”

“and what do you do?” he eggs you on, and perhaps if you weren't so caught up in the steadily building wave of pleasure, you might have noticed how when he speaks, that warm, wet sensation is momentarily lifted from your clit.

“i try to stop him by pulling at his arm but,” you let out a breathy moan as the wet thing starts to suckle on your clit, “—but there are so many people around and i don’t want them to know.”

“no, you can’t make it stop,” he coos in faux sympathy, as if roleplaying to further delve you into your fantasy. being so aroused at this point, you don’t even notice him slipping another finger in to join the assault on your guts. “but you can try.”

before you fully comprehend what’s happening, he guides one of your hands down, wrapping your fingers around the wrist of the hand that’s fucking inside you. it feels surreal, as if he’s weaving your fantasy into reality. the warmth of his contracting, veiny wrist contrasts with the coolness of the exam table.

“no, i can’t make it stop,” you repeat his words in a pathetic cry of pleasure, your orgasm approaching closer as his pace becomes violent and the wet thing around your clit start to flick at it abusively while latched on like lips suckling on a nipple. every ounce of shame you have transforms into a disturbingly taboo fuel, amplifying your pleasure in ways you never anticipated.

the only sound in the room are your moans and squelching, but you can feel a deep, rumbling groan reverberate against your clit as your grip on his wrist weakly attempts to pull him out like in your fantasy. before you have a chance to process what that means, your orgasm crashes over you, painting your vision white. embarrassing sounds of ecstasy escape your lips, tinged with desperation, as your nails dig into his wrist, leaving crescent moons in their wake.

your body convulses in a chaotic rhythm, alternating between curling inward and arching outward. each wave of pleasure sends soft involuntary jerks through you, leaving your abdomen taut and quivering.

“that’s it,” he coos against you, and you’re just so fucked stupid on his huge fingers stretching you out that the logic you’d use to deduce that his tongue and mouth is the contraption suckling at your clit evaporates as your high ensues.

as your cries and jerks begin to fade, your fingers loosen their grip on his wrist, and you take deep, shuddering breaths, gradually descending from your peak. he slows his fingers within, matching the retreat of your high, his touch now gentle as the waves of pleasure ebb away.

“you did so good, little one.” he finally withdraws his fingers, letting out a low hum of satisfaction as he brings his tongue to lie flat against your opening. with deliberate slowness, he licks up the sticky essence that escapes as his reward, savoring each rhythmic pulse from your hole. there’s an almost tender appreciation in his tongues caress as he feels your body instinctively attempt to draw in sperm with its contracting muscles. it’s a sight that stirs a primal urge within him, and he can’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for your poor, empty pussy, yearning for that load of cum it so desperately seeks.

you hiss in a mix of pleasure and overstimulation, your hands flying to pull at his soft hair as he grows more fervent, his mouth devouring your lips with an almost primal intensity. it’s as if he’s an animal caught in a wild frenzy, intent on savoring every last drop of you, much like a creature would clean its mate after an intimate breeding. the warmth of his tongue and lips making out with your folds, tracing patterns, sends shockwaves through your body.

“o-ow!” you whine, though it’s more of a pathetic call of pleasure that’s just too intense to handle, “t-too much! doctor geto, please—”

it’s embarrassing, truly, that the call of his professional name is what finally snaps him out of his haze, retracting his mouth from your intimate parts that are now just swollen and irritated with stimulation, drooling a sticky mess onto the tile floor between his feet.

he clears his throat and wipes his mouth with his handkerchief as you let go of his now messy hair and fall back on the bed with deep breaths, eyebrows pinched in utter relief.

after a moment of silence, punctuated only by your labored breaths, he stands and fastens a button on his doctor's coat, striving to maintain a veneer of professionalism while discreetly concealing his raging hard on.

“you did um— very well, made my job much easier. you can sit up now,” he says gently as he softly pulls your legs from the stirrups to hang over the edge of the bed once again, a tint of sympathy in his tone after what he just did to a young, naive, sweet girl.

the way you muster all your remaining strength to sit up, trying to play it cool as if you hadn’t just cum as hard as you did —like he might not have noticed—is simply adorable.

“d-did you find out what i have?” you question weakly with a visible humiliation on your face, he can only imagine how much you’re beating yourself up for allowing yourself to cum as a doctor just simply does his ‘job.’

you gulps and takes a deep breath before peeling off his drenched gloves and tossing them into the bin in the corner and shoving his hands into his pockets as he faces you once again.

“yes,” he nods, “i know exactly what you have and before you get nervous, don’t worry. it’s curable with proper treatment.”

your eyes light up with hope, tinged with relaxation from the afterglow as your legs shake subtly in sensitivity.

“what is it?”

“well, it’s similar to the condition i told you about but this one is a bit different. your vagina needs proper training for a few months,” he explains with utter professionalism, as if the lower half of his face isn’t still wet with your juices.

“w-what kind of training?” you ask with a gulp, fingers fidgeting.

“something called penetration training.”

———

omg that’s so wrong.. me next!

AHHHHH😭😭😭😭 ❤❤❤❤

-> the demon in heaven

trueform!ryomen sukuna x reader

summary: he claims he doesn't love, but what if things finally get intimate and he gets lost in the feeling of.. well, you.

warning/s: smut, fluff, teasing, degrading (starting off strong), praise, use of sukuna's stomach mouth, eating out, p in v, slight pussy slapping, sukuna has two dicks but no anal lmao, sukuna is stuck in his own love crisis, denial sukuna, feel free to point out any mistakes

word count: 5,7k

a/n: the support on the last fic was crazy, genuinely thank you guys!! <3 love y'all, hope you enjoy!

you can read this without having read part one, but it would make some references easier to understand!

"whore."

you squeak, jumping up and down to reach your thong from sukuna's hold. he barely has to hold it up, all it takes is for his upper arms to hold it above your head and you're bugging around, already having the audacity to try and climb him.

"that— give it back!"

"a prude like you? with something like this? how quaint," he sneers, twirling the garment playfully. "what, you trying to act all innocent? doesn't add up."

"just because—" you start, your cheeks red, "I wear this, doesn't mean I—" you yelp, jumping even higher, almost managing to grab the cloth, "—I'm a whore!—" you give up, your hands stretched in the air as you stare up at him, "it's just underwear!"

it's been almost three months with sukuna now, and you can't say that these months were the worst ones of your life. surprisingly, you've never felt like this. you enjoy his company, enjoy making food for him, sharing a bed with him, having conversations — him being not next to you feels unnatural now, and you're starting to hate it everytime gojo visits you, because you know that means sukuna has to stay in a seperate room until the sorcerer leaves.

megumi and yuji have been visiting as well, but you don't keep them around for long. you don't want them to think sukuna is mean to you because he's mean to them. you don't need their pity.

you know they're missing you, and you do aswell, but you can't face them. not yet, not with the curse refusing to spare someone some dignity and humiliation.

sukuna quirks an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, "tch. sure. explain to me why anyone would wear something so ridiculous then."

you blink, momentarily caught off guard. "wait... you really don’t know?"

he lowers the thong slightly, eyes narrowing. "what's there to know? It looks like something a whore would wear."

you groan, rubbing a hand over your face. "well yes— but no—"

"make up your goddamn mind, woman."

you scoff, slightly offended that he wont give you the time to explain, "sukuna, it's not like that. women wear these for... comfort sometimes. it's just less bulky under certain clothes. It's practical!"

He stares at you, unimpressed. "comfort? that looks anything but comfortable."

"It is!" you insist. "okay, look, it's designed to not show lines under tight clothes, and sometimes it's just… easier to wear." you hesitate, unsure how much detail you really need to give. "it doesn't mean anything about, you know, what kind of person I am."

"you mean a slut—"

"s'kuna!"

sukuna scoffs, looking at the thong again as if it's the most baffling thing he's ever seen. "you're telling me women wear these... out of practicality?"

"yes!" you basically cry out, "it's just underwear. that's it. now gimme,"

he frowns, still clearly not getting it, but the mockery in his eyes fades just slightly. "humans are strange," he mutters under his breath, tossing the thong back to you.

you catch it with an annoyed huff, crossing your arms. "it's not strange. you just have no idea what you're talking about."

sukuna shoots you a sideways glance, smirking. "maybe. but watching you try to explain it is entertaining enough."

you glare at him, cheeks still red. "you're impossible. atleast I don't go commando under a kimono."

"tsk, don't act like you don't love it. Basically drooling every it everytime I look at y—"

"h-hey— how'd you kn-"

"sweetheart, I don't have these for no reason." he scowls, motioning to his lower eyes. you blush, partly out of embarassment and because he used a new name for you. your throat goes dry. sweetheart?

he doesn't seem bothered enough to mind the slipout (?), crossing his upper arms whilst letting his lower ones hang loosely to his sides.

"what, all it took was for me to point out your miserable attempts at drooling over me for you to shut up?"

"you're insufferable."

"has this turned into your mantra?"

"with you around, yeah."

he huffs, but he doesn't sound upset or disappointed. in fact, you catch onto the slight amusment in his sound, the corners of his lips raised into a slight smirk.

though, as much as you'd like to deny it, you find yourself proving sukuna right as you stare at his exposed upper body, his pecs barely covered by the black edge he usually wears. his abs — oh god his abs — they're like sugar buns coated in glaze—

..

what?

you scoff, trying to look away but before you can do that, the next thing catches your attention. his mouth. well, the one on the stomach. something about it keeps distracting you, it has pointy teeth, just like his, the infamous markings of ryomen sukuna coat its tongue's surface, and it's always mimicking sukuna's normal mouth. and right now, it has a smirk plastered across his abdomen.

"...kuna?" you murmur, your voice small as you force yourself to look at the ground.

"brat."

"maybe we should get you some normal clothin—"

"no."

you sigh, crossing your arms in defeat. it was worth a try.

"you keep this non-sense up, maybe you should try some traditional clothing, brat. that 'fashion' or whatever you want to call it looks absurd."

you dont find yourself taking any offense for some reason. actually, thinking about it, it does sound amazing. however, it's been ages since you've worn a kimono, and the last time you did it you had help putting it on. looking like an idiot for not being able to put on clothing was not something you wanted to experience today.

"..I haven't worn kimono's in a long while."

he scoffs, all of his four eyes intently watching you, making you want to shrivel yourself up into existence. "if that's your way of saying that you're inable of putting them on yourself then that's pathetic. if you need help, ask for it like it's done, woman."

"fuck y— ack! okay! help me, please!" you wince as he flicks your forehead using one of his hanging arms. with a scowl engraved into his features, he speaks, no, demands, "room, now."

and as you make your way to your room, you let your mind wander, thinking about his little gestures.

the king of curses flicked your forehead whilst he could've just 'accidentally' pinched your nose too hard, maybe even break it by doing do. or maybe he could've tried to shush you with a hand against your mouth and by that 'accidentally' tighten his grip until your skin was decorated by bruises.

but he didn't.

he flicked your forehead.

as you sit on your bed, your legs dangling in the air, you wait for the curse to join you in the room. he follows a few minutes later, wearing some black sweatpants and a large tee whilst his kimono is swung over his lower right arm.

you gulp.

the sweats make your insides boil, a warmth spreading through your whole body. you clench your jaw and shut your eyes, dwelling on the sight of the man wearing normal clothes that fit him oh so well.

you've seen him wearing his non-traditional clothes alot of times by now, but this time you feel different. you feel hot, bothered, needy — over some sweatpants?

sure, you get horny after a while of not having touched yourself (because of that inhumanely large, scary curse following you around like a lost puppy twenty-four-seven) but never have you been this desperate for some touch in such a short timing.

it must be your ovulation. maybe it hit harder than the last few times?

"off."

your head snaps towards him, confusion written all over your face. he, as always, scowls, a disgusted frown plastered across his face as he elaborates, "clothes off. woman—" he groans.

you freeze at his words, your mind racing. you can feel his gaze on you, heavy and unrelenting, as if daring you to defy him. you swallow, trying to maintain some semblance of composure.

"you could at least ask nicely," you mutter, crossing your arms in a weak attempt to stand your ground.

sukuna smirks — a smirk that sends a shiver down your spine. "I don't do nice. now, are you going to undress, or do I also have to do that for you?"

your breath catches in your throat, your cheeks flushing deeper. he's not bluffing, you know that, and it pisses you off. if only you wouldn't back down the second he got all hard on you. you narrow your eyes at him.

"I can handle it," you snap, grumbling.

he watches you, clearly entertained, as you slowly start to peel off your clothes. every movement feels awkward, self-conscious under his gaze. his eyes plastered on you, taking in every inch of skin you reveal, and it only makes your heart beat harder. you try to ignore the way your body reacts — how the air feels thicker, how your skin tingles under the weight of his stare.

when you're finally left in just your undergarments, you stop, but he doesn't budge.

oh so these belong off too?

"do I need to—"

"yes."

you moan, throwing your head back in annoyance.

"you know, you could turn around," you say, half-joking but fully hoping.

he huffs a low laugh, the sound almost mocking you, "why would I? it's not like I haven't seen all of this before."

your body stiffens at his words and you blush. how does he always manage to make moments like these feel like the two of you are some kind of a couple? "you—"

"don't test me, brat. get on with it," he growls, his tone sending a clear message that clearly means 'I'm not in the mood for games'.

reluctantly, you tug off the last of your clothes, standing bare before him. the room feels colder now, and you rub your arms, feeling exposed—not just physically, but in every possible way. sukuna steps beside you, holding his kimono in the air — and it towers over you, probably twice, perhaps thrice, the size of you.

with surprising care, he begins to dress you, wrapping the fabric around your body. his hands are precise as they tie the obi and smooth out the silk. you fit your arms into the upper sleeves, two lower sleeves hanging loosely at your sides. his large palms guide your hands through the holes, his grasp on your arm tight, but not enough to actually hurt. he stares with no shame, although he's more concentrated on getting you to fit into the large cloth.

the entire time, he remains silent.

suddenly, his lower arms come to hold you, pulling you to stand on the bed. you yelp out of surprise, but eventually calm down. you're now eye-height with him, and you blush as you catch his smaller eyes looking far more down as to where your eyes actually are.

he tugs at your arm, forcing you to turn around.

"you wear it like this," he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear as he ties the final knot.

for a moment, neither of you move. you stand there, wrapped in the layers of the kimono, yet still feeling bare under his gaze.

you crane your neck, trying to find your voice. "is... is it done?"

he leans in slightly, his lips curling into a smirk you can't see but practically hear, "it's done." he says, but his tone suggests something that makes your stomach flip.

you jump off the bed with excitement, barely noticing how sukuna stays in the room, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, watching you like a hawk. you rush to the mirror, standing directly in front of him as you twirl and admire the kimono he helped you into.

"oh my god!" you squeal, smoothing your hands over the silk. "sukuna, it's so beautiful!" you spin around, trying to catch every angle, oblivious to sukuna's sharp gaze. the fabric clings to your body in all the right places, and the obi hugs your waist tightly, making you feel elegant. the two empty lower arm sleeves are bound to your sides like a belt, showing off your curves just perfectly.

he says nothing, his presence heavy behind you as you admire yourself in the mirror. as you glance at your reflection, you catch sight of him, standing there, watching you. your breath hitches. sukuna, in his full, intimidating looks, stands behind you, his eyes locked on your form — he almost looks at you as if you're his prey.

and for some sickening reason, you clench your thighs as some warmth spurts through your body, resting inbetween your legs and leaving you to hold back a moan.

you've never been this desperately horny. you wanted to scream, cry, really, but that was not an option now.

and then it hits you — harder than it ever has before. looking at him, the way his body towers behind you, the way he watches you without saying a word, something snaps inside. your eyes flick back to his reflection in the mirror, and you notice every detail — the sharpness of his jaw, the ripple of muscle beneath his exposed skin, the way his four eyes bore into you like they're seeing everything you're oh so desperately try to hide. your body reacts instinctively, betraying you as a slow heat starts to pool in your lower stomach.

you've felt attraction before, but nothing like this — nothing this overwhelming, this sudden. it's like your body's on fire, every nerve heightened, every breath feeling heavier. the tension in the room thickens, your heart races, and before you know it, you're biting your lip, staring at him longer than you should, admiring his heavy muscles and his sharp features.

and sukuna watches you like a predator, and he's annoyed. he wonders why you're playing with him, why you're acting so oblivious — that is until he glances at your expression, finding those innocent eyes of yours. only then does he get it. he understands that you're simply unaware, a complete idiot.

"you're a complete idiot."

you blink, confused by his sudden statement. turning around to face him, you tilt your head, "what? why am I—"

"you really don't get it, do you?" sukuna's tone is low, almost raspy.

"what are you talking about?" you frown, genuinely lost.

sukuna huffs in frustration, his lower eyes narrowing as his upper pair stays fixed on you. "don't act stupid, brat. you think I can't feel it?"

huh?

"you think I'm not aware of every little reaction you have?"

every reaction?

your breath catches in your throat, and you swallow hard. "I don't—"

"you're aroused," he says bluntly, cutting you off. "and you think it's not obvious? you think I wouldn't notice when your body and soul practically scream at me?"

your face flushes with embarrassment, heat pooling in your cheeks. "I—I'm not—" you stammer, but the words die in your throat. you can't deny the way your body feels—warm, sensitive, on edge.

he steps closer, and you take an instinctive step back, your mind racing to process what he's saying. "you're aroused," he repeats, all of his eyes fixated on your every move, "and with us bound together.."

he stops.

you look up.

he blinks.

you blink back.

"...oh."

"that's why it's hitting you so hard."

not only did sukuna's presence alone make you horny, but you also just found out that his presence adds to the fucking effect of feeling like this. he enhances it. and you'd lie if you'd say that this didn't irritated you for one bit.

sukuna seems to notice your frown and your furrowed eyebrows, to which he scoffs, obviously annoyed.

"you think I'm not affected too?" his voice is low now, almost a growl. "you think being bound to you doesn't mean I can feel every shift, every spike in your hormones? when you're like this, brat, it hits me too. but you... you're too stupid to even realize it."

you gaze at the curse, and only then do you notice how his fists are clenched, his muscles all tense.. he wears a frown on his stomach-mouth aswell.. and..

the bulge.

you grow red — oh fuck. okay you may actually feel bad now, you're doing this to him too.

"I didn't know..." you manage to say, your voice barely a whisper.

"of course you didn't." sukuna spits, his expression unreadable, "humans are so clueless. you're.. hormonal, and that makes things complicated."

you can barely breathe. you don't know what to say, your mind racing with the realization of how deeply you made him suffer too. you bite your lip, trying to regain your composure.

sukuna steps even closer, "pathetic," he mutters, looking you up and down, "you can't even handle your own body. it’s amusing, really."

"I..." you try to speak, but you can't seem to find the right words. you twitch and your thighs clench together instinctively. your body is betraying you, and there's no way to hide it from him.

"tch," he clicks his tongue, "go on."

and for what feels like the millionth time of the day, you perk up at him, tilting your head in confusion.

he sighs, annoyed.

"ask for it."

"ask for what?"

"stupid brat, I could give your body the satisfaction it desires, but I'm getting second thoughts now that you can't even catch up on this."

your heart simmers, your eyes go wide — he's willing to help you.

it would be disrespectful to refuse on his offer, right?

after all, it's not everyday the king of curses offers his help, let alone offer to fuck you. you've been suffering under this constant pressure of needing something inbetween your legs, and you can imagine that he also needs some release, some kind of physical pleasure. it's just something that'll help you out mutually. you both get something out of this, and it's not because you desire it, it's because you need it. it's not like you want sukuna to bend you over and use those two weapons you've been thinking about ever since that shower. the way those monsters brushed your mere skin left you shivering at the thought of them co-existing with you—

ah who are you kidding.

"fuck me, please."

surprisingly, that's all it took. he grunts, his eyes lazily darting up and down your form before he throws you over his shoulder, leaving you a squealing mess.

"quit your squirming, woman. I am giving you what you wanted."

"w-wait— 'kuna I- I don't know if I'm ready!—" you cry out as he throws you on top of the bed, his shirt already getting ripped off of him. he stares at you. you truly think he's doing this to get himself off, and that without even giving you a proper preparation.

hasn't he showed you his gratitude after all these weeks of being nothing but a domestic curse living alongside of you?

letting you cuddle yourself up to him, feeding him, bathing with him, joking around with him and you still think he'd do that to you?

sure, maybe back in the heian era where he used to have concubines this would be an option, but you're too soft for this. you're too soft for his own liking, and yet, he can't help but use every opportunity to touch you.

"I'm not taking you unprepared, if that's what you're hinting at." he speaks lowly, sending shivers down your spine as you find his eyes watching you closely.

you whine, finding yourself unconsciously spreading your legs and leaning back on your elbows. a moment of relief hits you at his words, making you fall back into the pillow, sighing and relaxing.

that's until you feel warm air against your cunt. you yelp, jumping out of your relaxed position, but his upper arms prevent you from doing so. he pins you down, and you find his face just a few inches away from your clothed cunt. embarassment rushes over you and you try to squirm away, but that's no use.

he seems to have given up at trying to calm you down, so he continues with his actions — it's only after a few seconds when you feel his face pressed into your pussy, his nose brushing your folds and, to your humiliation, your wetness coming in contact with him. the mere silk of the kimono is something you'd barely call coverage.

you kick your legs whilst bucking your hips, but he's faster to react. in just a few moments you've switched positions and he's beneath you. your legs straddle his stomach and it takes you a short while to realize what exactly spurts the weirdly wet, warm feeling in between your thighs.

"aahh!- 'k-kuna!—" you whimper, but that's no use as his hands come to loosen the little bit of cloth that was holding his kimono in place. he exposes every bit of your front, the silk falling down your shoulders and creating an opening to get a glimpse of your pussy. you whine, blushing.

you feel it before you see it — his tongue slithers out of the slit on his stomach, lapping at your cunt without any warning. yelping, you fall forward, holding into sukuna's chest. "sukuna!-" you look up at him only to find the nastiest grin he's ever worn.

you moan, hiding your face in his chest, resisting the urge to kiss, nibble and lick all over him. god how much you want to— fuckfuckfuck.

you're not sure which, but one of his hands come to lift your chin, "none of that." he scolds, his tongue properly wetting your cunt with his saliva. you whimper, hopelessly trying to hold yourself propped up on his front as his tongue digs deeper into your folds. the muscle teases your entrance, and god forbid, it's huge. you've been worrying so much about taking his dicks to the point where you've forgotten that he still has this.

before the panic can get to you, the tongue does. it enters you, and the curse beneath you grunts. you cry out a strings of 'slowdownslowdown—' which goes ignored by the large man.

"y-you're so fucking tight, brat. stop clenching and let me prepare you properly." despite the lack of conversation you two had during this, he has grown obsessed over your taste. he has had enough concubines — yeah, he rarely really did something, but none of them were this addicting. he only gave them a prep to make the actual sex more enjoyable, after all, even the king of curses likes to have his dick in something that's wet and ready for him. however, as his tongue dumbs you down, swirling inside of you as if trying to lick the remaining ice cream in a cup, he finds himself quite content with this alone.

"hhhahhh- 'ss- good!" you moan, having lost your ability to talk normally.

"'kuna, k-ngh! 'm gonna- c-cum!"

"not yet."

a pinch of panic rushes through your body. not yet? do you look like you can hold in a literal orgasm?

"'k-ngh mmh- thas not how it haaah woorks!—"

"quit talking and focus." a demand. and you out of all people should know not to disobey the ryomen sukuna.

however, for someone who wanted you to hold back a release, his tongue curled inside of you, sending a shudder through you. you cry out as he thrusts harder inside of you, the sounds that echo through the room leaving you a blushing mess. the loud wet, squelching, nasty — even if he wont show it, the demon eats like this could be his last meal.

and just as you thought that you couldn't hold it in anymore — just as you thought you might've had to disobey sukuna — his chest rumbled, signaling you that he was about to talk, "now."

you cry out as your orgasm hits you, hard. It leaves you a quivering mess as you gush all over sukuna's mouth, basically feeding him. he groans, his tongue working you through your high.

the curse feeds off of your cum, your moans, the taste of your sickly sweet skin — he doesn't stop, not when you're moaning his name as if he were an angel, and he couldn't help but wonder—

why?

he forced the panic out of you, scaring you if you'd get the idea to disobey him. he teased you, his tongue filling your walls and stretching you beyond possibility. and he refused to stop after you came, overstimulating you with ease.

and yet, you were sobbing as you spoke your thank you's, praising him as if he just solved a world issue.

"than— hic thank you!- t-thank you s-somuch-" you cry, hugging him with your face pressed into his chest.

"what are you thanking me for, brat?" he murmurs, his arms wrapping around your shivering, naked form.

"y-hhmm you m-made m' feel so good- thank you— thank you!" you moan, his wet muscle moving out of you.

truthfully, he thought you were pathetic. why would you thank someone like him? have you got no survival instincts — being in the bed with the king of curses, who in fact, should be feared beyond nightmares. he thinks you're lucky that he's here, otherwise you'd be used in ways your dumb mind wouldn't comprehend.

you're lucky he's here, really. he'll keep you safe.

"pathetic. you don't think I'm done with you, do you?" to his surprise, you nod your head, completely submissive under his gaze. "you.. you n-need to.. need this too. I haa- I w'nna help you too.."

he stiffens beneath you, and a part of him wishes to take you right then and there — to bend you over and stuff you full with his cocks, to make you show some more of your gratitude, to show that you need him just as bad. but the other part knows that you'd just break like a piece of glass.

he figures he'll take it slow with you, make sure you're ready for him.

he switches your positions, placing you with your back against the mattress, your legs spread and your slick dripping into the sheets. you whine, the cold breeze hitting your cunt.

he licks your pussy one more time before taking off his black sweats, grunting something about 'stupid human clothing'.

"y-you're not wearing any boxers?!"

"what'd be the purpose of that?" he scoffs, his dicks hard and leaking pre-cum.

has he been holding these two monsters back all the time? wouldn't that be painful?

you watch as he strokes his cocks, and only then does the fear rise —

"I can't—"

"you will."

you whine, bucking your hips, but he only pins you back against the surface with his lower arms, the tip of his top cock nudging against your clit. a moan leaves your throat, "'kuna! s-sukuna!"

the sudden sensation of his lower dick getting bullied inside your hole leaves you screaming, clutching into sukuna's biceps. he doesn't ask for it, but you make sure to thank him each time he stuffs an inch into you — and he loves it. he loves the way you're writhing and wailing, and you still show your gratitude — his upper dick is leaking more cum, coming in contact with your clit. he uses his right upper arm to hold both of you pinned over your head, his left arm kneading your breasts, flicking your nipple. you whimper.

"f-fuck- brat, y're too fucking tight."

you mewl in response, unconsciously clenching tighter around his girth. "y-y're so big suku- haaah!—" you yelp as he adds a few more inches, and you almost cry in frustration because, fuck, he still wasn't fully in yet.

suddenly, his lips are on yours. he's kissing you roughly, teeth clashing against each other as his tongue gets forced down your throat — he shamelessly delivers his saliva past your lips—

with one harsh, painful thrust, he fills you until he's balls deep, his tip nudging the deepest parts of you whilst his other dick strokes your clit. you cry out, everything becoming too much.

"fuckin'— shit!" ryomen sukuna doesn't deserve heaven. it's not like he ever wanted it either. he has his fun, his peace and his moments which all include destroying and killing, but shit he'd be lying if he'd say he didn't feel the best right now. the way your walls clench around his dick, your small hands trying to find comfort in him by holding into his muscles, your moans and cries of his name, it's too good to be true.

he bottoms out, pulling back until his tip grazes over your entrance before slamming into you again, making you sob in euphoria. he thrusts harshly, stretching you open — and when he notices you struggling, his grunts, positioning his hand over your clit.

you're too fucked out to try to understand why he'd leave his palm above your clit, but fortunately, you get your answer right away. the skin on his hand moves, forming a slit before a mouth appears. it wastes no time sucking on your clit, and your knuckles turn white as you mewl and sob, your words now incoherent.

"s'kuna- nghh- a-am I good?"

your sudden question brings him to slow down and you whine like the pathetic slut you are — he scoffs, getting right back to his earlier pace. "what? you want praise now?"

you shake your head, bucking your hips up to him, "'know 'm not a-as ha- as good as your- concubines, b..but am I- hic good enough?"

he wanted to smack you for even thinking such thing. good enough? are you being good enough when you allow the demon to experience the feeling of heaven? are you being good enough when your cunt flutters around him, causing him to hold back his gasps? are you being good enough when you're thanking him for getting his own pleasure by using you?

instead of a reply, you earn a long, hard and harsh thrust, sending your whole body into a short state of shock as you clench your thighs around him, your slick dripping down the sheets.

"don't know, brat. are you being good enough? tell me, are you a good girl?" he purrs, his pace quickening, "are you being a good whore when you're letting me use this cunt?" the palm on your pussy presses down harder, making you gasp as you feel your clit getting crushed, "are you being a good girl when you're thanking me each time I touch you?" he stills his hips for a moment once he's all the way in before pounding into you mercilessly, "I ought t-to- punish you for even thinking like this, but judging by your state, you'd be too cockdrunk to differentiate pain from pleasure, isn't that right, sweetheart?"

you moan loudly, feeling the familiar warm coil in cour abdomen as you squirm beneath him, to which you earn a slap against your poor clit. you yelp, his hand now being used as a punishment instead of a pleasure-tool.

"good girls answer when getting asked a question."

"y-yes! haa- yes 'kuna! f..fuck please, 'm gonna cum!"

"go on, then."

with his blessing, you cum on spot, drenching his dick in your orgasm as he keeps going, his thrusts now sloppier. he grunts, your walls closening in on him — he's close as well. with one, deep, last thrust, he pulls out, jerking himself off until spurts of his cum paint your abdomen white. he groans, keeping it going until he milked himself dry.

you try to catch your own breath as sukuna stares at your form. you look so messy, ruined by him personally, your mixed releases all over the bedsheets. looking at you like that, he can't help but..

"a-ahh! n-no! off- off!" you scold as you squirm away from his touch — he attempted to push some of his cum inside your leaking hole — he couldn't help himself. you looked so pretty being covered in his cum, you'd probably do even better if it was inside of you too!

he scoffs in annoyance, rolling his eyes, "alright brat, calm down.." he mumbles, laying down next to you and moving you to sprawl across his chest.

you can't say you're not surprised. sukuna rarely shows that he cares, so this is.. not entirely new to you, but definitely heart warming.

you nuzzle your head into his chest.

"sukuna?"

"brat."

"you said you'll never love, right?"

he hums, the rumble sending comfort through your body. you sigh, relaxing farther into him.

"do you do this, though?" you yawn, referring to everything you've done together, your relationship, the moments you shared, the constant bickering, the touch, the cuddles—

he stills.

ryomen sukuna doesn't love, no. he hasn't, is, and never will love. it's worthless, it's stupid, and it's a form of weakness. he does what and when he feels like it, because that's what he can do.

ryomen sukuna doesn't love, but his heart feels fuzzy everytime you sit on his lap to feed him some of your homemade cooking.

ryomen sukuna doesn't love, but he enjoys it everytime you cuddle up to him on a movie night.

ryomen sukuna doesn't love, but he hates it everytime he watches gojo come closer to you — he's the one bound to you, not that stupid brat.

ryomen sukuna doesn't love, but he's glad that he's attached to you. without him, you'd be a lost case. you're too nice for your own good.

ryomen sukuna doesn't love, but he longs to stuff you full of him, just so everyone who dares to touch you can see that you're already claimed by him.

ryomen sukuna doesn't love, but he promises to protect you on his own, and if he ever shall regain full power and find a point in making the world to his bitch, then you'll be the queen who should be seated on his lap whilst your requests and wishes all get fullfilled one after another.

ryomen sukuna doesn't love.

"I suppose."

"okay then, I love-not-love you, 'kuna."

"you're pathetic."

you snort, finally giving in into your eyelids which have been fighting to stay awake for the whole conversation.

and within a minute, you're drifting off to sleep, leaving the curse alone with his thoughts.

ryomen sukuna doesn't love.

"..I love you, too."

a/n: I really hope this part came out okay. I kinda rushed it at the end and the whole thing is kinda sloppy. trust, I'm trying to improve my writing😞

masterlist

Taglist: @purp1eha1o @csolya

^^

-> Whatever is done for love always occurs beyond good and evil

ryomen sukuna x reader

summary: instead of eating the finger of ryomen sukuna, you somehow absorb it, the whole action resulting to you summoning him instead. unfortunately, he's very much stuck to you at any second of the day.

warning/s: not fully enemies to lovers??, no use of y/n, reader and sukuna have alot of talks, fluff, suggestive content, showering together, sukuna does not gaf about privacy lmfao, tease!sukuna

part 2

out of all the things that had happend to you, being stuck with ryomen sukuna himself was your death sentence.

quite literally.

the rescue mission in sendai had gone completely wrong — after attempting to help fushiguro, you ended up with sukuna's finger in your hold. fairly said, you were a good sorcerer, good enough to pass up on a grade two curse, but that curse was intelligent. it longed for the finger, and before you knew it, the random kid next to fushiguro was screaming, no, begging for you to hand him the finger.

fuck no. eating it would be the dumbest option of it all.

but before you knew it, you felt it, the wave of cursed energy hitting you and everyone else. it was so much, all at once, and it exorcised the curse easily, the two teens hitting the ground with a loud 'thud'. however, it was you who was in trouble now. one second you were with the others, and the next you were..

trapped.

the ground was flooded in blood, skulls lay all around you. looking up, you found yourself caught in what looked like a enormous ribcage. but what caught your attention was the throne built out of skulls, a figure sitting at the top of it.

"fool, you dare to actually summon me?"

that was the last thing you heard before everything went pitch black.

---

so thats how you ended up stuck with a literal demon to your side. gojo had come shortly after you fainted, bringing everyone (including the newfound boy who possessed cursed energy) back to jujutsu high.

turns out, you somehow used your cursed energy to lure the king of curses out of his deep slumber, and instead of becoming his vessel, you became his owner. weird, really.

however, whilst jujutsu high got a new student, yuji itadori, who was now getting trained by gojo himself, you were up for execution.

unfair, truly left you devestated as you still had some things you would've liked to do in life, but the non-stop whining and bitching around from the curse next to you made you wish your death came sooner than anticipated.

he remained next to you, the distance between you two nothing more than six meters.

not only that, but he got summoned in his true form, and god did it scare you at first — he was tall at seven feet, your head barely reaching his chest, he had four arms, four eyes and two mouths. he wore a kimono, although his upper body mostly stayed exposed.

with you, he was barely a threat to anyone. somehow, only you had the power to control him, which meant he followed your instructions only. that however, did not stop him from attempting to hurt or kill you indirectly. your instructions had to be clear, every word had to be taken in consideration.

not only that, but he was visible to everyone else in that school, which made your situation even worse. you isolated yourself in fear of scaring someone else, even after fushiguro and the new guy, yuuji itadori, had tried to visit you.

you didn't trust sukuna.

you couldn't let him near anyone.

you were up to take the remaining 19 fingers the same way you took the finger in sendai, and then, your execution would be next.

so you tried to make the best out of it. gojo had given you your private flat in jujutsu high, a little house with a beautiful garden, to keep yourself at peace whilst the demon gnawed at your every nerve.

"fucks sake, you jujutsu sorcerers are soo boring, constantly afraid and cautious. would it really kill you to go out?" he growled, standing behind you with his upper arms crossed.

you rolled your eyes, scoffing, "no, but it'd surely kill someone else."

"watch your tone, brat. remember who you're talking to."

"and you remember who your master is," you smirked, looking back at him. his expression turned into a disgusted one, and suddenly he was closer than before, leaning down to you, "just because you've summoned me doesn't mean I'll behave like you want me to. I'm the king of curses, and trust me, soon enough I'll have you begging me for mercy, pet."

"whatever you say, king. now go into your corner and stay put." you giggled to which he scoffed. you know that despite everything, he was still capable of making your remaining time a nightmare, but hey, you should've done the same to him, no?

---

taking a shower wasn't a relaxing, comforting thing to you anymore.

you loved it, coming home all exhausted and dirty only to wash yourself in warm water, the scent of shampoo filling your nostrils whilst the warm liquid travelled down your skin.

but now, with the curse around, showering felt like hell itself.

you couldn't not shower for your remaining time, you needed it, so after holding out for literal three days with no water on your nude body, you decided it was time.

you grumbled, collecting a towel and your clothes for the shower. you weren't sure what exactly you were going to do with the seven foot demon following your every step like a lost puppy, but you could still instruct him for stuff, so maybe..

"turn around."

he almost looked offended at your demand, "no."

"I demand you to."

"what? do I look like your servant?"

you groaned, hiding your face in your palms. "sukuna, turn around! 'm not in the mood for this!"

a scoff left his lips and he rolled his eyes, "I dont have to follow your every demand, you know? this goes mostly only for whether I can kill someone or not. and besides, I'll in here with you anyway, I'm stuck to you, remember?"

"staying outside the door will not kill you!"

"I refuse."

you wanted to die on spot. truly a curse, huh?

"fine, fuck you, then. I'm taking this shower." and with this, you were removing your clothes in front of the king of curses.

he was taken aback at your sudden outbreak, staying silent as you went completely naked in the bathroom. you tried to be as nonchalant as possible, but fuck, not only had you an audience, but he contained four eyes that looked you up and down. you were blushing as you stepped into the shower, turning the water on and hoping for the room to fog up soon.

talk about humiliating experience.

sukuna stayed silent for the rest of your shower, and you refused to look at him, but you could feel his eyes on you at all times.

---

bedtime was truly the worst. his intimidating height looming over your bed whilst his eyes shined red was terrifying. you knew he couldn't kill you by hand, but you still didn't trust him. he was a curse afterall.

"relax, brat. go to sleep, your thoughts are giving me a headache."

his voice made you shot up from the bed, looking over at his standing presence.

"you can read my thoughts?"

he scoffs, as if you just asked him the dumbest question of all time, "no. but I can feel when you're overthinking. think of it like getting bombarded by a thousand incoherent words."

"oh." you mumbled in return. your chest hurt, just slightly. you almost felt bad. he stood next to you, not sleeping, getting a headache from you whilst you were capable of peacefully falling into a slumber.

keyword; capability.

you couldn't sleep, not with him standing there atleast.

"don't you sleep?.." you mumbled, staring up at him.

"I dont need sleep. I can, however."

"do you want to?"

instead of the usual snarky remarks, he stayed silent for once. he looked like he himself wasn't sure whether he wanted to sleep. he didn't need it, why should he sleep?

"I suppose it'd be de-stressing."

you almost laugh, what does he have to stress for?

"you can.. sleep if you want to, I'm not preventing you from it."

he sneered, his nose scrunched up, his canines showing, "I know, brat. you don't have that much power over me."

you decided to let his words sink into the room whilst trying to unobtrusively scoot over at the edge of the huge bed, a silent invitation.

it took a few minutes until you felt the mattress dip next to you.

you didn't look back. you gave him his peace, and he gave you yours.

---

you had completely isolated yourself. the only other interaction you'd have (apart from sukuna) was with gojo, and that only for mere seconds. he'd come over to check up on you, bring you your groceries and needs, and occasionally bring you the fingers since you didn't let anyone else in.

after absorbing the fingers, you'd shoo him out of your space immediately. sukuna despised him, and for some reason, you didn't like that.

the more fingers you took in, the more your bond with the curse grew. he still showed that he hated you, but since he was the only other creature you could talk with, you'd bother him with conversations.

the demon that hated you, yet still slept in your bed, had gotten less insufferable.

---

"I don't need food, brat."

"I'm trying to offer you some good time! if we're stuck together we could atleast bond, why are you making this harder than it should be!" you whined, begging the curse to cook with you.

"It is rather concerning of you to think that I'd bond with anyone."

"okay, but don't you want to eat food?"

you were met with silence. you sighed, rolling your eyes, "fine, I'll cook, you eat?"

---

as much as he'd love to degrade you, he couldn't deny that your cooking smelt delicious. he hadn't tried it yet, but he had watched you put ingredients together, watched you sway your hips whilst you made some dough.

you ended up making some dumplings with noodles. old but gold, you'd say — you loved dumplings, you remember teaching megumi how to make them, only to come back with him and gojo stressing over the 'dough' (it was just pure liquid at some point). you giggled, your heart melting at the memory.

you really missed them.

your friends. your boys.

and now you had a whole king to take care of.

"done!" you chirped, holding a bowl filled with noodles and dumplings in front of sukuna's face (atleast you attempted to, his monstrous height giving you a disadvantage).

he stared at the food, tilting his head, but before he could say anything, you were cutting in with your annoyingly soothing voice, "so uh, with.. which mouth do you.. eat?"

his upper body was almost always exposed, the black edge doing barely anything to keep his front covered, so you couldn't help yourself when you caught your own eyes drifting down to his second mouth. he caught on too, smirking as he opened it, a huge amount of saliva dripping down his lower canines, making you look away in 'disgust' (you just tried to hide your flushed face).

"both, but you seem so particularly interested in this one." his smug smirk was displayed across his face as he pointed to the mouth on his stomach, opening it and showing off its teeth.

you blushed, lowering the bowl to your height and taking your chopsticks to pop some dumplings into his mouth. "first I have to cook 'n then I have to feed you too.." you grumble under your breath, your hands slightly shaking as you bring the dumpling to his open slit.

"it was your idea in the first place." he didn't want to point it out, but he loved how you had started caring for him. he didn't care about affection. he didn't need it. he just liked how you became more submissive, letting him order you around sometimes.

it totally wasn't because he wanted your attention. or your affection. or your physical touch. he just wanted you to know your place.

as you placed the food on his tongue, he closed his mouth harshly, making you jump out of place, "eek!"

a loud rumble met your ears.

he was laughing.

ryomen sukuna was laughing.

and it wasn't because he got to kill someone, or torture someone.

he may have been laughing at you, but you'd let yourself get scared more often if it meant to hear that.

you tried to hide your smile by your loud screeching, crying out his name, "s'kuna! 's not funny.. is it yum?"

"its edible."

"you're an asshole," you whined, hanging your head low.

truth be told, the food was amazing. he loved it, but he wouldn't admit it. he didn't need you to get ahead of yourself.

you settled yourself on the couch along with him, his large form taking up a huge amount of space, causing you to bump your shoulder into his side. his bare side. his black edge now tossed somewhere on the couch.

you flushed, continuously feeding him (through his normal mouth, on his face) with your chopsticks whilst putting on a movie.

sukuna stayed silent, watching you sneak a few dumplings for yourself only to feed him with the same used chopsticks.

he didn't complain.

he didn't want to.

---

around four weeks had passed, and you had absorbed five fingers by now. some were stored at the school already, the rest was much harder to find.

but with each week, you and the curse grew more comfortable with each other.

"'kuna?" you called out, sprawled in the bed next to him — he was in nothing but some grey sweatpants you urged gojo to buy for him. you insisted on washing the rest, wanting even for him to have his comfort.

"I told you not to call me that. you're getting more annoying from day to day, insolent brat." he grumbled, but continued when the silenced faded in, "what is it?"

you sighed, looking up at the ceiling, "were you human once?"

you felt the bed shift, but your gaze remained on the same place.

"yes."

"what happend?"

he took a while to answer, and only then did you consider the lack of distance between the two of you, your arms brushing against each other. "I did bad things."

"and that's how you became a curse?"

"'s not that simple, but yes."

"what did you do?"

he hummed, "I killed." his voice was rougher, hitting you with the harsh reality, "destroyed villages. tore apart anyone who stood in my way."

you knew that, but still, hearing it out of his mouth, especially after those weeks stuck with him, made you freeze up. "why?"

he also avoided eye contact, looking up at the ceiling with two of his arms falted on his chest and the other two lying beside him, "because I could. because no one was strong enough to stop me."

you shifted slightly, "what was it like back then? in the heian era?"

the bed shifted, there was a pause before he responded, his tone relaxed, "chaotic. blood-soaked. filled with people too weak to survive."

you swallowed, trying to imagine what it must have been like, but the thought felt distant, impossible, cruel. he'd lived in a world so far removed from your own, a world where life was so fragile.

"don't you want to ask whether I regret it?" his voice snapped you out of your thoughts — he sounded almost teasing, testing you to cross a line.

"what would regret do for you now?" you asked, "regret doesn’t change anything. besides, someone like you wouldn’t regret, right?"

a low chuckle escaped him (and you wanted to slap yourself for wanting to hear it again), "you know me well, little one," he muttered, feeling you slightly move around in the bed, your cheek almost pressing against his muscular arm as you looked at him.

"regret," he mused, finally looking over at you, "is for the weak. it's for people who want to feel better about their pathetic existence. and I have no need for that."

"so you never thought about it? about the lives you ruined?" you asked, not accusingly, but more out of curiosity.

he smirked. "why would I? I took what I wanted. I did what I pleased. and those who fell before me were nothing more than insects crushed underfoot."

you nodded slightly, already expecting that kind of answer. "I figured as much," your voice was soft, making sukuna slightly uneasy. why'd he suddenly wish you'd rather said a bratty remark over this?

the silence between you returned, thick but oddly comfortable in its own way. you weren’t afraid of him. not anymore. a part of you knew it was only because you had control of him, but the other part so desperately wished to forget this. you've known sukuna for mere weeks, but that man was a monster. you didn't know what he'd do if he wasn't under your control. maybe he'd skin you alive, or maybe he'd give you a quick and painless death if he felt nice.

"you're a strange one," he muttered, "most people would be trembling before me, yet here you are—lying beside the very thing they fear."

you smiled faintly, looking back at the ceiling, "well I dont really have another choice, do I?also maybe it’s just because I'm built different." you giggle.

he chuckles, "or maybe you're just foolish."

"maybe," you agreed softly. "but that doesn't change anything either."

"I suppose."

that was the last thing he'd said before you fell asleep, him following shortly after.

---

"you should shower."

"I do not stink."

"I'm aware, but you've been here for seven weeks and not once did you shower. that is disgusting."

he clenched his jaw, his lower arms crossed in annoyance, "a curse does not need to concern itself with such trivial things,"

you sighed, mimicking him and crossing your arms. "trivial or not, it's unhygienic. you're practically human now, at least physically. you can't just ignore basic things like showering."

"are you implying I need to conform to your weak, human standards?" he basically growled.

"yes. you've been staying in my house, eating my food, using my things. the least you can do is shower." you pointed towards the bathroom down the hall.

"you're insufferable."

"you've told me that a hundred times already. now, come on. just a shower."

he grumbled, unimpressed, towering over you as usual. "fine."

he strode down the hallway, you following shortly behind. and only when the two of you had reached the bathroom did reality dawn on you.

why did you force him into this?

"are you just going to stand there and stare?"

you blushed, but covered it up with your own remark, "would be only fair, no? how many times did you watch me shower?"

"touché."

you looked away the second you saw his hands reach for his waistband. staring would only make you look desperate. the bath was already set up, so when you heard the dip of water, some of it splashing to the ground, you looked back to find the large curse sitting in the bathtub.

you smiled.

you came up next to him, sitting on the edge as you reached for the shower head. surprisingly, sukuna didn't complain.

as you wetted his hair, your hands making sure the water doesn't flow down his face, he began speaking, "you know, back in the heian era, my servants used to wash me like this. they were very attentive to every detail."

you raised an eyebrow, "servants? what else did they do for you?"

sukuna leaned back against the tub, the warm water cascading over him. "I had a cook, uraume, who was quite skilled. every dish was made to my liking."

"you mean humans?" you mused, referring to his 'dish'.

"don't get cocky."

you giggled and there was a brief silence.

"you've been so insistent on my cleanliness. perhaps you should join me in the bath."

your heart dropped. out of all things and he choose to request this. you froze, your jaw dropped, your voice cut.

"If only I knew such request would make you shut up all this time ago.."

you grumbled, hesitating. "I-"

"woman, I've seen you naked already, don't start with your fuss."

he was right, and you didn't necessarily want to reject that offer..

you tugged off your shirt and pants, your back facing sukuna. you gasp as you felt a wet touch at your backside. the curse was unclapsing your bra. you blush, how'd he know how to do it so easily?!

your bra fell off your shoulders, and lastly, you removed your panties. you sucked in a breath, moving to join the bathtub. there wasn't alot of space, so you were left with the one and only space between his calves. his gaze was fixated on your body, your curves dipping into the water, your hands trying to cover your breasts so desperately.

he held back a chuckle, his lower arms reaching for your sides to drag you into his lap.

you gasped at the sudden action, squeaking as you felt something — somethings poking your thigh.

holy fuck.

your face reddened.

your breath hitched.

he smirked.

and to act like he didn't know what he was doing, he casually grabbed a hair shampoo bottle, squirting the remainings in his palm and roughly massaging it into your scalp. you let out a little squeal, but let it happen as he grabbed the shower head and carelessly let the water run from your hair down into your face, blinding you.

you spit water, trying to shoo him into stopping, to which he eventually obliged. and despite this, you still giggled.

sukuna watched you put some shampoo into your palm before you leaned up, your upper body all exposed to him as you reached for his hair. your boobs would be in his face, but you were smarter than this, forcing his head to look up at the ceiling by tugging on his hair. you laughed as you heard him groan.

your hands did their magic, a hundred times softer than sukuna's. he wondered why you were treating him so softly, even after he teased you, even after he was rough with you. he just couldn't understand.

but he didn't need to. not when your hands were running through his scalp, your plush thighs pressed against his stomach and your giggles echoing through the room.

"did you have concubines back then?"

"oh? that's quite the abrupt question."

"as if us bathing together isn't abrupt."

he snorted, nodding, "yes, I did. but I rarely engaged in such activities. it was occasional."

you hummed as you took the showerhead and washed the shampoo out of his hair, careful for the water not to reach his face. once the shampoo was out, you sat back down in his lap, your hands resting on his chest whilst you tried to avoid the obvious.. things down there.

your hands travelled down on his tattoos, all the way to the mouth on his stomach with a sparkle in your eye. your thumb brushed over his slit, gasping as he slightly opened his mouth.

"we should.. get out.." you breathed, gulping.

sukuna, who was busy watching you explore him, hummed in return, his low rumble sending vibrations through your body.

with one last look at him, you stood up, reaching for your towel as you stepped out of the tub, leaving (a disappointed) sukuna alone.

he followed after, taking the towel you offered him (which barely seized his waist).

---

"'kuna?"

"mh?"

"did you ever love?"

"..."

truth was, ryomen sukuna didn't know.

he grew up to be a weak, abused human, who then started and ended wars on his own. he killed because he could, he destroyed because he could, he fought because he could. he did everything simply because he could.

he didn't even have a name. his 'name' was the title he was given after he killed a dozen people, thus being spread all over the world. at heart, he was seen as a monster, so he became one physically too, earning all his extra bodyparts and abilities.

he was at peak of war, only to settle down after he won. he remained like a lion after, only eating, sleeping and killing anyone who came in his way.

then came the yorozu brat, who tried to teach him love and get him to fall for her, but he was simply uninterested. he didn't feel love, so he didn't believe in it either.

he didn't love his parents. he didn't have elders who raised him, friends who helped him. he had followers, who he killed if he wanted to. the closest sukuna ever came to being at peace with someone was with uraume, they were simply loyal and at sukuna's side.

"no."

you hummed in response, your back pressed against the curse's side.

"Is it something you wish you had?"

he didn't respond immediately. instead, he leaned his head back. ryomen sukuna, the king of curses, had lived lifetimes most could not even imagine. the notion of love seemed laughable, irrelevant, and yet, here you were asking him about it as if he were some lovegod.

"what good would it have done me? in my time, it was nothing but weakness. I fought, killed, conquered — because that was the only way to survive. to love was to invite death."

you frowned, "but isn't it lonely?"

he scoffed, "I did what I had to. power was all I ever needed — why are you so suddenly interested in this? I'm a curse, what do I know about love? It's you humans that should be experts in this."

you shifted slightly, resting your head back against his side, "I don't know.. I just—" you sighed, thinking, "I don't— the only reason I'd probably ever do all these things you did, so evil and disgusting, I think.. if I had to, I'd do them for love."

sukuna's gaze sharpened at your words, though he didn't speak. he was quiet for a moment, his usual arrogance seemingly coming back.

"you're a fool," he muttered, though there was no venom in the words.

you didn’t flinch, nor did you retreat from his harsh words. "I know,"

"of course. control, power over everything. even yourself, right?"

he let out a low, almost amused grunt, "you're an insufferable brat,"

you laughed lightly, "I've been told that before."

sukuna didn't reply. It had become an everyday thing for the two of you to lie in bed, skin pressed against skin, talking about anything. each night, you'd ask him questions, sometimes they were complete nonsense, and sometimes they'd be stuff about his past. but recently, you've been quite persistent about him.

"I don't love, and I never will," his voice was just slightly above a whisper.

"I know," you replied, equally soft, "but that doesn't mean you haven't been loved before."

sukuna was quiet for a long while after that. you didn't need him to respond. maybe it wasn't about him loving someone, but about the possibility of someone loving him, despite everything — despite the monster he had become.

and maybe, just maybe, that thought was unsettling enough for even ryomen sukuna to sit in silence whilst your eyes fluttered close.

masterlist

Hi again! I had a cool thought about Simon.

I think if you really asked him too, he would do *almost* any kink. (obviously not ones that flare up his fight or flight thoughts, but my point is still there.)

You wanna fuck in public? Alright. You wanna have him wear some lingerie? Sure, but only for you. No pictures.

Eventually you want his team to come to your house and watch, and he is reluctant, but asks them anyway.

(Soap sits at the foot of the bed trying to catch some of your cum-)

I also think he would do almost anything, and not for some “I guess I have to, I don’t want to lose them” reason. He actually just doesn’t gaf, and so much of his childhood was stolen from him that he enjoys the play aspect. I hc him as an unexpectedly playful lover.

❤❤

sitting on simon’s lap, letting him shotgun you a few hits from the joint. getting all warm and fuzzy and feeling that familiar heat between your thighs. rocking down onto his hardening cock and hearing him chuckle, his hands running over your body.

gripping your hips and forcing you to grind onto his cock harder, the fabric of your pants catching your clit just right as you lay your head in his shoulder and whine, pussy soaking through the fabric of your panties.

simon whispering little praises to you in your ear—“doin’ so good for me”, “gonna come for me, love?”, “go on, use me how you want to”—till your legs are shaking and you’re coming from dry humping him. hearing him laugh softly before picking you up, kissing up your neck.

“c’mon, baby. let me show ya some proper lovin’.”

Calling them until they’re annoyed

Including: Gojo, Nanami, Choso, Sukuna, Toji, Yuuji, and Megumi

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

₊˚ෆ new-found kink - S.G - nsfw! ₊˚ෆ

・❥・ Satoru discovers a love for your new panties and decides to do something about it ~

a/n - thank u for all the love im receiving for my writing hehe many kisses !! <3

"What? don't you like them , Toru?"

Gojo's mind was fuzzy - his ears ringing. and his eyes were fixed down on those pretty baby-pink panties you had on display for him. They were new, with cute little white bows on the side - their material thin enough to see the outline of your puffy folds from beneath them. Thin enough to expose just exactly how wet you were. His mouth was practically watering at the damp, dark spot which was coating the front of your panties and your usual suave, collected boyfriend was absolutely mind-fucked by how easily wet you get for him just from a heated make out session.

Satoru Gojo was fucked. Completely and utterly fucked. His cock was rock solid just from the sight of you sprawled out beneath him in nothing but your soaking wet panties. It's not like he's never seen you like this before - he has many times actually. But you've never worn a pair of panties like this. So fucking slutty and flimsy that it made his breath hitch.

"Toru?" You question when he doesn't respond, "Are you - Ah !"

Your toes curl at the sudden wave of pleasure you feel when your boyfriend slides a finger down your wet, clothed slit.

"Holy shit." his voice was barely above a whisper

His lips were parted as he slowly slides his finger up and down, your slick already glistening on it even through your panties.

"Baby," He breathes out and his eyes finally snap up at you - pupils incredibly dilated, "Look at how fucking wet you are~" He coos, amazed.

You gulp, chest heaving up and down, little whimpers leaving your parted lips as you watch your boyfriend toy with your clothed cunt. He hums as he does so, his fingers now fully coated with your juices.

"We're keeping these on for today, yeah?" His voice was raggedy and a smile twitches on his pretty bitten lips as he leans forward, his breath hot on the shell of your ear, "Don't want them to go to waste now do we?" he whispers.

Your back arches at the tone of his voice, shutting your eyes as your boyfriend applies more pressure on that sweet- sweet spot on your core. "mmm~" You can hear the smirk in his voice as his hand moves faster, the squelching sound coming from between your legs filling the room. Heat burns across your entire body, your pussy practically getting wetter by the second - Gojo was making you feel embarrassed and he fucking loved it

You notice that his free hand was tucked away under his boxers, slowly moving up and down his length as he touches you.

"Can i please make a mess on them, angel?" He purrs in your ear, causing you to gasp. "Let me ruin them."

as if on auto-pilot, you nod furiously, your hips bucking up to grind down harder on his hand. He lets out a small chuckle, kissing your ear before straightening his back.

He wasted no time in pulling down his boxers, his pretty, flushed cock slapping up against his toned abdomen - pre-cum already drooling from the tip. His dark, blue eyes scan your body and he licks his lips as he gives his cock a few tugs before-

Smack!

"fuck-T-Toru!" You moan out his name as he gives your clothed cunt a mean slap with his cock.

He lets out a throaty chuckle as he keeps tapping his heavy cock against it, causing you to let out the cutest little gasps and whines with every tap.

"My baby must love me soooo fucking much," he grabs his cock and starts sliding it up and down between your folds, your juices splattering all over the two of you. "can't believe that you're still getting wetter and wetter for me."

The feeling of his cock weighing down against your sensitive cunt was making you see stars. no time was wasted before his cock was coated with your slick mixed with the precum that was spewing from his pulsing tip.

You felt so dirty - the room was full of whimpers, jagged breaths and wet noises. Your cunt was aching for him - No, it was quite literally crying for him.

His flushed tip meets your covered entrance and he prods at it with his cock, the tip of his tongue stickling out the side of his mouth as he does so.

"You want me inside you so bad, right angel?" He eyes were focused on the way his tip was sinking into you though your panties, just barely enough to stretch you out, causing you to squirm beneath him.

"Please-" Was all you could choke out before he started rutting against you faster. He was starting to lose his composure, you noticed by the way his hair was sticking to his forehead, by the way he was biting his bottom lip as his eyes feasted hungrily at the sight of your puffy folds struggling to wrap around his thick length, the material of your panties so fucking wet at this point that you wouldn't even consider it underwear anymore.

"my god - such a slut- hah- fuckin' letting me use your pussy like this-" he was blabbering and spewing cusses at this point, his cock violently rubbing that sensitive nub. "I'm the only one who can get you this wet, right baby?"

Seeing him so into your pussy like this was driving you insane. "Y-yes Toru, mmmff - only you- fuck~"

A fucked out smile appeared on his glistening, pretty pink lips. "ah- yes- fuck yes - and i'm the only one who can cum on these cute little panties, hmm?"

You nod your head, spreading your legs further and gripping on the sheets. His cock twitched at the sight of your pussy slightly peaking from the material. He wanted to cum on your pussy so bad - it was like he discovered a new fetish that he never knew he had. "wanna cover it in my cum - fuck, gotta mark what's m-mine right?" You didn't know if he was speaking to you or himself at this point. He was whining, muttering your name and furrowing his eyebrows - you could tell he was close to coming.

"p-please make a mess on me - use me." That 'use me' you purred out had his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

"mmm-fuck! baby- baby- I'm gonna-hah!"

His head tilts back - glistening, toned chest heaving up and down as he lets out the most delicious sounding, guttural groan from his throat, the tip of his cock pulsing against your cum covered little pussy.

you felt like an absolute whore - all fucked out and you didn’t even cum yet.

His cum felt so warm and so fucking good as he smeared it all over your pussy with his fat tip, breathing heavily as he did so.

He sighed - a small, satisfied smile now painting his features.

"lets put these cute little panties to the side now.”

❤

Bunny's Debut

Summary: You have started Halloween preparations by trying on your bunny costume!

Warnings: 18+, mdni, fem! reader, pus drunk Satoru, oral (f receiving), lots of praise, spanking (kinda), (& tell me if I forgot something!)

“How do I look, Sato?" You ask innocently as you try on your bunny costume. The faux leather fabric hugs your butt a little more firmly than you had expected.

The hairband with floppy bunny ears stirring atop your head to complete the look.

“Show me baby! I’m waiting patiently. “ Satoru replies enthusiastically as he hurries into the bedroom, eagerly to get a glimpse of your new outfit. "But isn’t it a little too early to be trying out Hallowee-" He immediately halts every movement as his eyes lay on you.

"Doesn’t it look cute?!“ you ask excitedly as you pose to give him a better look from different angles and playfully wiggle your butt with the bunny tail on it. "I thought I could be a bunny and you could be a wolf or farmer! Cute right!“

Satoru can barely think as he looks at you. The way the fabric of the clothing item clings to you and how confident and playful you are being is making it impossible for him to form a coherent sentence. "Bunny, you look so gorgeous, my precious angel. Come closer so I can get a better look."

There is a crazed look in Satoru’s eyes as he watches you walk closer to him. Every step makes his heart beat rise. As you get close to him, his hands find their place on your waist and he pulls you in further.

"Baby, you need to stop torturing me like this. At least give me a warning or something.“

His hands wander lower and lower until they are comfortably placed on your butt. He playfully pulls on the bunny tail.

"I really, and I mean really, like this on you. You dressed up so pretty for me.“

"Who else is going to be my big bad wolf. " The playfulness in your voice sends blood rushing to Satoru’s cock.

He lets out a groan. "You really are a little brat, huh?" Satoru leans in to capture your lips. He wastes no time and pulls the zipper of your costume to loosen its hold your body. He leans back a little to get a look at you, but you chase his lips and press against him harder. His hardened cock presses against you and makes him whimper at the friction.

"B-baby. Let me breathe." He reluctantly pulls away, acting like he needs you more than air. This time instead of going for your lips, he targets your neck as one of his hands decide to reach for your exposed tits. He pinches your nipple lightly, making you moan out.

„Toru~“ You whine out in frustration and hoping he will give your neglected pussy some of his attention. Your hips move on their own to try and eliminate some of your impatience that way, but the second your leather covered clit comes in contact with Satoru's muscular thigh, all thought leave your head, leaving you a hazy mess.

„What is it baby?“ he teased, knowing well that you are trying your best to keep your eyes open and attention on his words. „Does my pretty girl need something?“

You choose to ignore his words and continue to chase after your pleasure. „Hey now.“ he spanks your butt to get your attention. „I would like my girl to answer my question. I wanna help her out~“ he continues on playfully as he sees you getting annoyed at the fact he pulled you out of your lust-filled-haze.

„Fine!“ you reply a little annoyed at him, knowing damn well he stopped you on purpose. „If you want to be soo helpful, why don’t you come eat me out then!“ you state with a little attitude in your voice as you walk to your bed and slip the costume off.

„Of course I will, baby. You did get all dressed up for me!“ Satoru quickly gets on his knees, not minding your attitude and pushes your thighs to your chest. He expects you to hold the posterior as he dives into your cunt. Satoru places a kiss on your clit thought your panties before pushing them to the side.

He lets out a moan at the sight of your pussy. „Baby, you can be annoyed at me all you want, but your pussy is so happy to see me.“ He laps at you in a hurry, like he was starving and had to wait for weeks to get to you again.

Satoru has a way with his mouth. But only you knew how good he was with his tongue. He buries himself between your thighs and bumps his nose to your clit to entice cute moans out of you that are only meant for his ears.

„Baby, you gotta be louder for me. I can barely hear you over how wet you are. Can you do that for me?“ Satoru asks before he harshly sucks on your clit before soothing it with his tongue and elicits a loud moan that you don’t even bother holding back.

„Good girl. I know you could do it.“ He mumbles as he goes back to fuck you with his tongue. The slurping, lapping and moaning into your pussy is too overwhelming and making your head spin.

„O-oh, you- you need to slow down, Toru!“ You shift your legs so that you can hold both of them to your chest with one arm and with the other hand, you can pull on Satoru's hair in an attempt to give your pussy a break from him.

„Nu-uh.“ Satoru spanks your ass harshly. „Baby, you can’t take her away from me. Not when you’re about to cum on my face.“ He spreads your cheeks apart to get a better angle and goes right back.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head and you can barely make out any sensation other than Satoru's mouth on you and his breathy moans that send sparks of pleasure through your body.

"Are you about to cum, pretty girl? Yeah? Aw, don’t hold back now. Give me everything you got.“ He chuckles as you clench down on his tongue once he pressed it all the way in.

As expected, your whole body starts to shake in pleasure. You have to go back to using both of your hands to hold your legs to your chest as your orgasm washes over you.

„Good girl!“ Satoru places a soft kiss on the back of your thighs as he stands up. He leans over to capture your lips in a messy kiss as he rubs small circles on your clit.

„How about I fuck my bunny standing up, hm? The big bad wolf is strong enough to hold his pretty girl in his arms."

❤❤❤❤

— ⋅˚₊‧ loner!megumi x popular!reader masterpost

"i have loved you since we were eighteen"

ଓ summary: concept story/drabbles of loner megumi with his popular girlfriend ଓ cw: ex-cheerleader!reader, f!reader, sorority!reader, reader is feminine coded, college au, non-sorcerer au, fluff, angst, aged up characters, romance, alcohol, partying, suggestive themes, jealousy ୭ৎ — moodboard ♬ ₊˚. playlist

disclaimer: introduction fic will be a longer fic. Other pieces will be drabbles, headcanons and shorter pieces

ଓ yuji and nobara hear the story of how you first started dating

ଓ megumi taking care of you while you're drunk

ଓ reader gets jealous

ଓ the alcohol triggers the jealousy to cause an outburst

ଓ photo booth

ଓ reader meeting gojo for the first time

ଓ playlist