acethepaintruler

"love me with all of your little human might" •20 •artist

[saatorus]

veiled reverence — r . sukuna

pairing — soulmate! heian era sukuna x reader

synopsis — you’re the last survivor of a village destroyed by sukuna, the king of curses. when your soulmate mark flares upon meeting him, you’re bound in a way you never expected. taken to his shrine, you’re forced to stay in his presence, where the weight of his past actions looms over both of you, and the line between survival and resentment blurs.

wc — 34k (i'm sorry once more)

warnings — explicit sexual content (virgin reader), mentions of cannibalism, dead bodies, mentions of not eating, depression, some angst, sukuna ryomen (he needs his own warning), probably inaccurate portrayal of the heian era but i tried my best to research

authors note: hello. hi. sorry for disappearing for so long :( i lost all motivation and it took me really long to finish this. i apologise in advance if this isn't as good as my other works (⇀‸↼‶) but this is specifically written for my cutie sukuna dickrider5000 @kunaniee i love her so much ok bye have fun reading or don't aghhhh

In the Heian era, where fate wove itself into the fabric of existence, every soul was born with a mark—a silent promise etched into their skin. These marks, unique in shape and placement, remained dormant until the moment destiny called. When soulmates met, the mark would burn, igniting a bond deeper than mere mortal understanding. To find one’s soulmate was considered a divine blessing, a path to prosperity and harmony. To reject them was to defy the gods themselves.

But fate was never kind. And as Ryomen Sukuna stood amidst the ruins of a village he had torn apart, he never expected his own mark to sear with pain—nor to hear a scream that was not born of fear, but of something far worse. 

Recognition.

Clawed hands carelessly tossed the limp body aside, a dull thud swallowed by the crackling remains of the village. Blood still lingered on his tongue, warm and metallic, but it was not the taste that made Ryomen Sukuna freeze. It was the searing, agonizing burn on his ribs—the jagged, ink-black mark that had sat dormant for centuries now alight with a fire unlike anything he had ever known. This could not be happening. He was a curse. Yes, he bore a mark like all beings did, but soulmates were chosen by the heavens. The gods, in all their cruelty, had long abandoned him. Cursed beings were not meant to be loved. They were meant to wander, to ruin, to destroy. That was the law of the world. And yet—

Sukuna grunted, his four crimson eyes narrowing as the sensation pulled at him, an invisible thread winding tighter, dragging him forward. It was not a conscious choice—his body moved of its own accord, muscles tensing as something deep, something ancient, willed him to go toward. The ground beneath his feet was littered with the remnants of what had once been a village, the stench of charred flesh thick in the air. A smoldering hut collapsed somewhere in the distance, its wooden beams snapping like brittle bones. Sukuna barely noticed. The burn along his ribs was growing worse, hotter than the flames he had set upon the village, hotter than hell itself.

Through the smoke and ruin, he saw it. A figure, small against the backdrop of devastation, hunched over as though in pain. Her breathing was ragged, unsteady—alive, but barely. Sukuna’s lip curled.

Impossible.

And yet, even as he sneered, even as his rational mind screamed at him to turn away, his feet carried him forward.  It was as if the moment his eyes fell upon her, the searing pain along his ribs dulled—replaced not by relief, but by something far more unsettling. That strange, unseen force that had yanked him through the ruins, that had commanded his body to move without his consent, now seemed to settle, coiling around him like a vice. The angry burn of his soulmate mark, a fire that had threatened to consume him whole, now smoldered into a dull throb the closer he stood to her.

Ten feet. That was all that separated them. Emotions stirred within him, a chaotic maelstrom that he could not name—because why should he feel anything at all? He was Ryomen Sukuna. He had scorched entire villages to the ground without a second thought, torn through flesh and bone with the same carelessness one might crush an insect beneath their heel. And yet, standing before this fragile, insignificant thing, something twisted inside of him.

Anger. That such a thing as soulmates dared to bind him, to claim him. That fate itself had the audacity to force this upon him.

Confusion. Because this should not be possible. Because curses were forsaken, meant to walk the earth unloved, untethered. Because he was Sukuna, and he had been told his existence was an affront to the heavens themselves.

Intrigue. Because she was not screaming anymore.

Her sobs had quieted into something softer now, though she had not stopped crying. Her breath hitched as she clutched the fabric of her plain kosode, the thin material trembling in her grip. A common woman. A villager. Someone who had been caught in the destruction he had wrought, and yet—the sound she had made when she first saw him had not been one of horror. It had been the same strangled, pained recognition that had burned through him as well. Sukuna’s lips curled, a sneer threatening to form, but for once, he did not speak. Because in her trembling hands, in the way her tear-streaked face tilted toward him with something that could only be described as hatred, she looked nothing like the weak, simpering humans he was so used to crushing beneath him. And that should not have made his pulse quicken.

"You— you— why—"

The words barely scrape past your throat, hoarse and trembling, but even then, they feel too small to contain the sheer, unrelenting horror crashing down upon you. You push yourself up from where you’re slumped on the ashen ground, legs shaking beneath you, bloodied palms pressing into the dirt for support. Your chest still heaves from the sobs you had not yet finished crying, but the moment your wide, tear-streaked eyes land on him—on Ryomen Sukuna—something inside you lurches. That unbearable pain, that fire-hot agony that had torn through your ribs like you were being branded by the gods themselves, had suddenly—cooled. It was as if the very presence of the monster before you had soothed it, like the cruelest, most ironic balm, settling into a dull ache rather than an all-consuming blaze. And you wish—you wish—the fire had burned you alive instead. Because now, with every beat of your heart, the truth sinks deeper, deeper, deeper.

No.

No, this cannot be happening.

You know who he is. The King of Curses. The monster whispered about in fearful hushes between travelers, the name mothers uttered in the dark to keep their children from wandering too far. He was the thing that nightmares clawed themselves from, the merciless demon whose very existence was an offense to heaven itself. You had heard the stories. You had seen the carnage. And now, you stood in the middle of it—the shattered remnants of your village lying smoldering around you, nothing but ruin left behind. But even then—even then—there had been no one left to mourn. Your mother had died years ago, though the village had long considered her gone before that. A whore’s child, that’s what they called you. A reminder of a woman who sold her body for coin, who had left behind nothing but a girl with no name worth speaking. No father to claim you, no family to shield you. The villagers had never cared—not truly. They had never gone out of their way to harm you, but kindness had been a currency you could never afford. And yet, despite it all, you had lived. You had carved a place for yourself in the cracks of this village, had found hands to grasp in the dark, voices to laugh with beneath the sun. Over time, you had made connections—not always strong, not always deep, but enough to remind you that you existed. That you were here.

But now—

Now, they were gone. And he was here. Standing there, four crimson eyes gleaming with something you cannot name, claws still slick with the blood of the people who once walked these streets. Your breath is ragged, your chest rising and falling too quickly, your mind screaming at you to move, to run, to fight, to do anything but stand there—because the moment the realization sinks in, the moment your trembling fingers brush against the mark that no longer burns, you feel yourself shatter. Because the monster who had torn your world apart was the same man fate had chained you to. "How pathetic." The words roll off his tongue, slow and venomous, each syllable laced with undisguised revulsion. "A human—you—as my soulmate." Sukuna’s lip curls, his sneer carved deep with something that balances between disgust and amusement, as if the mere thought of such a bond is an insult to his very existence. His upper set of arms fold across the broad expanse of his chest, muscles taut beneath the intricate markings of his cursed flesh, while his lower arms slip behind his back, fingers threading together in a deliberate show of indifference. But his gaze—four piercing, hellish eyes—bears down upon you with something that is anything but indifferent. Contempt, dark and seething, simmers beneath his gaze as he drinks in the sight of you—ragged, trembling, barely standing amid the ruin of your home. He watches the way your breath stutters, the way realisation has stolen the very air from your lungs, drowning you in something far worse than fear. And yet, even as you tremble beneath his scrutiny, you do not bow. Perhaps that is what makes his sneer deepen, sharp teeth glinting under the flickering light of the fires still smoldering around you.

"This can't be happening—please, it can’t!"

The scream tears from your throat, raw and desperate, flung into the heavens with all the force of a soul unraveling at the seams. But there is no one to hear it. No one to answer. The village lies in ruin around you, smoldering embers swallowing the last remnants of a life that no longer exists. You do not know who you are pleading to—whether it is the gods above, the spirits who have long since turned their backs, or the cruel hand of fate itself. You only know that you are begging. That you want the weight of this revelation to be undone, unraveled, erased. That you would rather be struck down where you stand, your body reduced to the same ash that coats the ground beneath you, than bear the mark that now binds you to the very thing that has destroyed everything. Your heart pounds, erratic and unsteady, as if it too is trying to escape the confines of your ribcage, trying to flee before it is tethered to something monstrous. You want your scream to reach—to pierce through the fabric of the world, to shatter the gates of heaven itself, to demand retribution or mercy or even death if that is what it takes to escape the cruel design woven into your flesh. But the heavens remain silent. And Sukuna is still standing there, watching you. A low chuckle rumbles through the air, deep and laced with amusement, like the distant growl of an impending storm. Sukuna tilts his head, four crimson eyes gleaming with something darkly indulgent as he watches your anguish unfold before him. The sight of you—shattered, trembling, yet still upright—is almost entertaining. Humans had always been pathetic creatures, simpering and frail, but there was something particularly amusing about how you struggled against what had already been decided.

“Done screaming yet?” His voice is smooth, mocking, each syllable drawn out as if savoring the weight of your despair. “Or should I give you more reason to weep?”

The sneer never leaves his lips, but there is something calculating in the way he watches you, waiting—expecting—for you to crumble completely. He has seen it before, in the eyes of warriors who had fought until their last breath, in the pleading faces of those who had begged for mercy before he split them apart.

But you—

You do not fall to your knees. Your breath is unsteady, your chest rising and falling in sharp, erratic motions, but your legs remain locked beneath you. Your fingers twitch at your sides, curling into the tattered fabric of your kosode as if to anchor yourself to something, anything—but not once do you look away from him. Hatred, hot and seething, bubbles beneath your grief. And Sukuna sees it. The realization settles in the pit of your stomach like a stone, heavy and suffocating. This—this—is the man you are bound to. The monster who carved through your village with all the ease of a blade through silk, who reduced your world to cinders without a second thought. The being who should not have a soulmate, who should not be capable of something as human as fate. And yet, the burning has ceased. The pain that had once threatened to consume you has dulled to a mere whisper, an unspoken confirmation that no matter how much you deny it, how much you wish it away—

This bond is real. Your lips part, your voice hoarse from your screams, but when you finally speak, it is not with a plea. It is not with desperation. It is with loathing.

"I would rather die than be bound to you."

Sukuna’s smirk deepens. “Should I kill you, then?” Sukuna muses, voice lilting with something dangerously close to amusement. His footsteps are unhurried as he advances, the embers at his feet hissing with each deliberate step. “If you so desperately wish not to be bound to me, you’d prefer death at my hands, hm?” The flickering firelight carves jagged shadows across his form, glinting off the sharp curve of his fangs as he grins, head tilting in mock curiosity. There is something deliberate about the way he watches you—like a beast toying with prey it does not yet wish to devour. Your breath is sharp, uneven, but you do not move.

You refuse to. Even as he draws closer, the stifling weight of his presence bearing down upon you, you lift your chin—whether in defiance or simply out of sheer hatred, you do not know. “With pleasure,” you manage, voice hoarse from the screams that had torn from your throat moments ago, raw from the grief that still threatens to drown you whole. "Because I would rather have my existence wiped from this earth, than have fate intertwine me to you.” Sukuna chuckles, the sound low and knowing. “Ah,” he hums, and you hate the way his voice slithers through the smoke-filled air, curling around you like something tangible. “But that’s where you're mistaken.” The distance between you is barely anything now, the suffocating heat of the burning village pressing against your back, the sheer force of him suffocating from the front. The scent of blood clings to him, thick and heavy, mingling with the scent of charred wood and death. You swallow against the nausea clawing at your throat, hands trembling against the fabric of your tattered kosode, but you do not look away. “You can’t die at my hands,” Sukuna continues, tilting his head slightly, as if observing a particularly fascinating anomaly. “A little rule of the universe, I suppose. Soulmates cannot kill one another. No matter how much they might wish to.” Your blood runs cold. The weight of his words sinks deep into your bones, lodging itself somewhere beneath the searing mark on your skin.

No escape. Not even death could sever this bond. A shaky breath escapes you, but the panic does not rise the way it had before. Instead, something else—something equally ugly and consuming—begins to take root. Loathing. “Then I suppose I’ll have to find another way,” you say, voice steady despite the fire in your lungs, despite the unrelenting weight of his gaze. "Because I refuse to be tethered to you." Sukuna’s smile widens. There is something darkly pleased in the way he regards you, like a man who has stumbled upon a challenge he had not anticipated but welcomes all the same. “You'll come to regret that,” he murmurs, though there is no malice in his tone—only something inevitable. And then, before you can take another breath, before you can think to run, something shifts. The air twists around you, a sickening lurch in your stomach pulling you forward as space itself seems to bend. Your surroundings blur, the smoldering ruins of your village vanishing in an instant, the weight of the destruction replaced by something colder, heavier. When the world rights itself, you are no longer standing among the dead. Marble floors stretch beneath you, gleaming faintly in the dim torchlight. Towering walls loom on either side, draped in deep crimson banners, intricate symbols etched into their silk. The air is thick with incense, cloying and unfamiliar, and the oppressive silence tells you all you need to know. This is his domain.

His shrine. A hand clenches around your wrist before you can stumble, the grip unyielding, calloused fingers pressing into your pulse. You twist violently, wrenching yourself free as if his touch burns more than the mark itself, stepping back as your heart hammers in your chest. Sukuna merely watches, four crimson eyes glinting beneath the flickering torchlight. "You'll learn," he says simply, voice almost bored. Your nails dig into your palms. "Learn what?" His smirk deepens.

"That fighting fate is useless." 

Your breath barely has a chance to steady before you’re shoved to the ground, the impact jolting through your already-weakened limbs. The cool marble floor bites at your skin, a stark contrast to the suffocating heat of your ruined village only moments ago. Disoriented, your body lags behind your mind, still struggling to catch up with the impossible reality of where you now find yourself. Then—movement. Figures descend upon you at once, their presence as immediate as it is overwhelming. Hands grasp at your arms, your shoulders, your waist—urgent but impersonal, as though handling something fragile yet wholly insignificant. Murmured words, unfamiliar voices, the rustling of silk and hurried footsteps. You flinch, instinct screaming at you to resist, to fight, but your body remains frozen beneath the weight of it all.

Servants. You barely register them. Barely make sense of the way they flit around you, their touches neither cruel nor gentle—simply efficient. They are ghosts in the periphery of your vision, moving with the mechanical precision of those well-accustomed to obeying. And above them all, the presence of him. Sukuna looms, his four crimson eyes sweeping over the scene, cold and unreadable. He watches, impassive, as the servants move to peel away the soot-stained fabric clinging to your skin, as they work swiftly to assess and cleanse, as if you are just another thing to be handled. Then, with a sharp exhale, he turns on his heel. And the moment he strides away, the moment you are no longer within his direct sight, something within him snaps. This—this—is not where he was supposed to be.

He did not bring her here. He did not will this to happen. The realization only fuels his fury. His steps are heavy, echoing down the halls of his shrine as his irritation twists into something far more volatile. The teleportation—it was not his doing. The thought alone unsettles him, a sensation foreign and unwelcome. He is Ryomen Sukuna. The undisputed King of Curses. No force, no law of nature should have the power to drag him anywhere against his will, and yet—yet, here they are.

Him.

And her.

His so-called soulmate. His upper lip curls in disgust at the mere thought.

A human.

The very notion is laughable, offensive, and yet the searing mark on his ribs serves as an undeniable reminder of the cruel joke the heavens have played upon him. A curse should not—cannot—be bound by something as insipid as fate, and yet here he stands, the weight of inevitability pressing against his skin like a brand. The doors to his study are thrown open with little regard for subtlety. He does not sit. Instead, he paces, his mind a storm of questions and irritation, his fury barely leashed beneath the surface. And when his voice rings out—sharp, demanding—it is not a request but a summons.

“Uraume.”

The air shifts. A moment later, the pale-haired figure appears before him, their expression as neutral as ever, as though this was merely another of his many outbursts rather than something far more unnatural.

“My Lord,” Uraume greets, head bowing slightly. Sukuna wastes no time. “This soulmate nonsense,” he growls, turning to face them fully. “Explain it. Now.” Uraume’s gaze flickers, lingering on the tense set of his shoulders, the way his fingers twitch at his sides, as if itching to tear something apart. A brief pause, then—

“The marks burn upon meeting,” Uraume begins evenly. “A response to recognition, an ancient contract woven into the fabric of existence itself.” Sukuna scoffs, his sneer deepening. “As if that explains anything.”

“It is not something that can be ignored,” they continue, undeterred. “Nor can it be severed. Those who share the bond are connected in ways beyond their control.” A muscle in Sukuna’s jaw twitches. “Beyond control,” he echoes, voice laced with bitter amusement. “You mean to tell me I have been shackled to some miserable human girl, and there is nothing to be done about it?” Uraume does not answer immediately. They merely incline their head slightly before continuing. “The bond manifests in many ways. The burning of the mark is the first sign. But there is more.” Sukuna exhales sharply through his nose. “More?”

“The bond pulls.” His irritation flares anew. “Speak plainly.”

“You may find yourself drawn to her,” Uraume says, their voice carrying the careful weight of someone delivering news they know will not be well-received. “Unintentionally. Unwillingly. At times, the universe may see fit to force proximity.” Sukuna stills.

The teleportation.

The way space itself had twisted, wrenching them both from the smoldering remains of her village, spitting them out into his domain. The way the burning in his ribs had soothed the moment he had stood before her, as if merely being near her had tempered the fire beneath his skin. His fingers flex, an unbearable itch beneath his ribs. “You’re telling me this is why I was dragged here against my will?” His voice is venomous, each word spit with unfiltered disdain. “Because of some pathetic, celestial game?” Uraume’s face remains unreadable. “It is not a game, my Lord. It is law.”

Sukuna snarls. “Then why?” His patience is all but nonexistent now. “Why would I—a cursed being—have a soulmate?” The air is heavy with the weight of the question. Uraume meets his gaze evenly. “You may be cursed, yes– but there is no denying that the womb from which you came from was of a human.”

For a moment, there is only silence. Sukuna’s lips curl back, something ugly twisting in his gut, a resentment he cannot quite name. He scoffs, shaking his head as if the very idea is beneath him. As if none of this should even concern him. And yet, the mark still lingers. Still binds. His fingers twitch at his sides, the urge to tear at the skin beneath his ribs almost unbearable. Uraume merely watches. No more words need to be said. The truth is already clear. The bond is real. Unchangeable. Permanent.  Sukuna has never wanted to destroy something more. Instead, he forces himself to stay still. Or perhaps—no, certainly—this is the cruel intervention of divine will. For the first time in his wretched existence, he feels helpless. Disgusted. That he, the King of Curses, is allowing his anger to simmer beneath his skin rather than tearing apart the source of his fury limb from limb. That he is controlling his rage instead of indulging in it.

It sickens him.

A low growl rumbles in his throat as he turns sharply on his heel, his strides long and forceful, carrying him away from the suffocating weight of his thoughts. He does not stop until he reaches the doors of his personal library—his sanctuary, a place untouched by the triviality of men, where knowledge as old as time itself slumbers beneath layers of dust and parchment. The great doors creak as he pushes them open, revealing towering shelves carved from dark, lacquered wood, lined with scrolls and tomes that have endured centuries. The scent of aged paper, dried ink, and something almost metallic lingers in the air—a fragrance of history, of secrets forgotten by all but him. These books are not mere collections of words; they are artifacts, hoarded through conquest, stolen from burned temples, pried from the hands of dying sorcerers who thought themselves too wise to fall before him. He has never been a scholar, nor has he ever sought wisdom from words rather than war. But tonight, tonight—he finds himself tearing through his vast collection with uncharacteristic fervor, seeking answers in the very knowledge he once scorned. His fingers, lined with claws that could eviscerate flesh with ease, now trace along the brittle pages of ancient texts. Scrolls bound with silk and inked with the knowledge of men long dead whisper their truths to him. Soulmates. Bonds. The consequences of divine intervention. He reads with a scowl carved into his face, the dim candlelight casting jagged shadows against the angular planes of his features.

And then—a passage catches his eye.

"The bond does not merely burn at first meeting—it pulls.”

His grip on the fragile parchment tightens.

"The mark exists beyond flesh; it exists within the very essence of one’s soul. To be bound is to be drawn—without consent, without reason. Distance holds no power over fate’s decree. One may find themselves in the presence of their fated without warning, without cause. A moment of weakness, of longing, even of hatred, and the soul may seek out what the mind rejects.” Sukuna’s fingers twitch against the page. 

That was why. That was why space had twisted, why he had been dragged against his will, why she now lingers in his domain when he had never commanded it to be so. His own soul—a thing he once thought belonged only to him—had betrayed him. A snarl rips from his throat as he slams the tome shut, the parchment crinkling beneath the force of his grip. The candlelight flickers violently, as if recoiling from his ire. He exhales sharply, inhaling the dust-laden air of his sanctuary, forcing himself to keep reading, to tear apart every ounce of knowledge this library has on the wretched concept that has shackled him to some miserable human girl. He finds more. More damning truths, more absurdities woven into the tapestry of existence.

The bond is unbreakable. The connection can strengthen over time, deepening with exposure. One cannot die at the hands of their soulmate. His jaw clenches at the last revelation. That means—

He had known this already, but it was settling in, that even if he wanted to carve her apart, to rend her flesh into ribbons, to rip the very life from her bones—he could not. He could not even hurt her. The idea festers within him, curdling like spoiled sake in his gut. He was Ryomen Sukuna. The one feared even in whispered legends. The monster who razed temples, devoured men whole, and defied the heavens themselves. And now, those same heavens had bound him to her. His teeth grind together, sharp as the swords he has broken in battle, his fingers twitching with the phantom urge to destroy something, anything. But as he keeps reading, his rage begins to shift to something more unsettling—confusion. The more he uncovers, the more it becomes apparent that the bond between soulmates is far more complex than he could have imagined. The books speak of intricate nuances—how the bond can act in a multitude of ways. How, for example, the physical or emotional pain of one soulmate can cause the other to feel an echo of that suffering, as if their very bodies were intertwined. A soul could writhe in agony while the other feels nothing but the pull of the bond, even when miles apart. Sukuna feels his blood run cold at the implications of this. Could the connection be why he was drawn to her so suddenly, as if by some unseen force? Why he could feel her presence even before he laid eyes on her? Why he had chosen to decimate that specific village? He reads further—of the various side effects of the bond. Sometimes the connection grows stronger over time, feeding off proximity, lingering gazes, the exchange of emotions. Sometimes it strengthens through shared experiences, pain, or even moments of vulnerability. He slams the book shut again, unable to stomach the idea of nurturing something as vile as this connection. His hands tremble slightly. He was Sukuna. Ryomen Sukuna. And now, his very soul is bound to this insignificant human. His mind races as he processes the truths laid out before him, seething with confusion and a boiling rage he cannot yet unleash. No, this cannot be. A heavy silence fills the library as he leans back in his chair, contemplating the absurdity of it all. How could this bond—this wretched, divine decree—have chosen him? The King of Curses, born to destroy and devastate, tied to a human who could never comprehend the complexities of his existence. This was the cruel joke fate had dealt him. And yet, as he sits in the vast, ancient library, surrounded by centuries-old knowledge, there’s a strange and undeniable weight pressing on him—one he cannot simply ignore.

–

Meanwhile, back in the unfamiliar halls of his shrine, you sit motionless, your mind an unsteady blur of thought and emptiness. The weight of the servants’ attention has lessened, though their presence remains in the edges of your vision. You barely register them anymore. You are here. Not in your village. Not among the ruins of everything you have ever known. Here. In the home of the man who has taken everything from you. Your fingers drift to your chest, pressing over the place where the pain had once burned so fiercely. Now, there is only a phantom ache. Your throat feels dry, but no sobs come. Nothing comes. The reality of it all settles like a stone in your stomach. You have no choice but to persevere, to live with this awful knowledge.  The days blur together in a haze of strange routines and restless moments. In the cold, oppressive silence in the plain, stone room of Sukuna’s shrine, you sit motionless, your mind no longer capable of processing the weight of your situation.  The servants, dressed in plain attire that blends seamlessly with the shadowed walls, come and go as if this were an ordinary home, though nothing about it feels even remotely familiar. They tend to you with an unsettling sort of politeness, ensuring your every need is met without a word. Simple, plain food is brought to you—meals that you have no appetite for—and yet, you are expected to eat, expected to comply, expected to endure this existence, this punishment. Majority of the time you stare aimlessly at the portion of rice, a small serving of fish and the pickled daikon, too busy being a slave to delusional plans that involve being far, far away from this place. And so, you try to resist. The impulse to fight back, to scream, to tear through the shrine’s stone walls, courses through you, but it’s quickly smothered by the cruel knowledge of your futility. You cannot escape. The very air here seems to hum with some invisible force, a force that drags you back to this cold place whenever you attempt to leave. The first time you tried to flee, you had barely stepped outside the threshold before the world seemed to tilt beneath your feet. A sharp, unbearable sensation shot through your chest, and before you could even cry out, you were standing once more in the exact spot you had fled from—back in the center of the shrine, as if the land itself had rejected your presence, casting you back into its prison. And so you try again, this time walking with purpose, more determined, though dread tightens in your chest at the thought of failing once more. Every step away from the oppressive walls of the shrine feels like a small victory, but it’s hollow—soon enough, you feel the familiar pull, the tug at the very core of your being, and then–A sharp crack like thunder. The world shifts, distorting in an instant. You find yourself standing once again inside the shrine, the heavy stone walls closing in on you with a finality that shatters what little resolve you have left. The servants don’t look at you with pity—they don’t look at you at all, as if they have long since grown accustomed to your resistance. They simply watch, emotionless, as you return, a failed attempt at freedom.

The days continue to drag on in this strange, suffocating monotony. You have become accustomed to the silence of the shrine, to the steady rhythm of servants coming and going, to the subtle way they watch you when they think you’re not looking. You know your place here. You know the walls that confine you, the barriers that exist between you and the world you once knew. Your every attempt to escape is met with the same crushing failure, a reminder that freedom is not something you are allowed. It is on one of these restless days, as you sit on the tatami mats, adorned with a simple futon in your room staring at the floor, that the silence is broken. The door to your room creaks open slowly, the soft scrape of wood against stone pulling you from your thoughts. You don’t have to look up to know who it is. The presence fills the room before his figure even steps inside, as though the air itself shifts with his arrival. 

Sukuna. He doesn’t speak at first. You can hear the faint rustling of something heavy in his hands—the distinct sound of pages shifting, the weight of a book, perhaps more than one. He doesn’t make a sound as he approaches, his footsteps quiet and deliberate. But when he finally speaks, his voice is cold, emotionless, as if he is addressing something beneath his notice. You raise your head slightly, just enough to meet his gaze, but you don’t speak. The words catch in your throat, buried beneath the weight of your exhaustion, your anger, your resignation. Instead, you simply watch as Sukuna strides into the center of the room, holding a stack of books in his hands. His expression is unreadable, his eyes darker than ever, but you can see the irritation simmering beneath the surface.

He places the stack of books on the low table in front of you with an almost dismissive motion, his sharp gaze flicking briefly to the spines before returning to you. “Learn something useful for once,” he growls, the words laced with something between annoyance and disdain. “I don’t care what you do, but this incessant running is growing tiresome. You will stay here. You will live by my rules, whether you like it or not.” He stands there for a moment longer, upper set of arms crossed over his chest, four eyes narrowing as if waiting for something from you—perhaps a rebuttal, perhaps defiance—but when nothing comes, he exhales sharply, as if your silence only serves to aggravate him further. Without another word, Sukuna turns and strides toward the door, his heavy footsteps echoing in the stillness of the room. Just before he exits, he pauses, his hand resting on the doorframe as he glances back at you one final time.

“I don’t have the patience for this,” he says, the words tinged with irritation. “Accept your place, human.” And with that, he’s gone. The door swings shut behind him with a finality that makes your chest tighten. The books lie in front of you, their spines worn and ancient. Their pages hold the answers you are desperate for—answers that Sukuna refuses to give, answers that you must seek for yourself. You glance at them, the fire of defiance still burning somewhere deep within you, but you are too tired now. Too drained. So, with a heavy sigh, you reach for the first book, the weight of your situation pressing down on you like an unrelenting storm. You begin to read, not because you want to, but because there is nothing else left to do. You open the first book with a heavy heart, the ancient parchment creaking as you turn its pages. The dim light from the candle flickers, casting long shadows across the room as you begin to read. The words blur at first, your mind too clouded with confusion and anger to focus on anything other than the weight of your situation. But as you read on, the words start to make sense. The more you read, the more you realize the true nature of this bond. The pages speak of soulmates, but not in the way you imagined. They describe the deep, divine connection between two beings whose fates are tied together by forces beyond their understanding. These bonds are not a mere product of human will or desire—they are a force of nature, ordained by the heavens, irrevocable and absolute. You pause, your fingers trembling as you turn the page, your heart thumping wildly in your chest. There, on the next page, it speaks of the consequences of these bonds. The pain, the torment, the agony that comes with being tethered to someone whose very essence is a contradiction to your own. Soulmates cannot escape each other, not by choice or force. They are bound together, whether they like it or not. The burning of the mark, the unnatural pull, the sensation of being drawn to one another—it’s not a curse. It’s not a domain of power or manipulation. It’s divine will.

Divine will.

Your stomach churns violently, and you feel the world around you tilt, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps. The words on the page blur once again, but this time it’s not because you can’t understand them. No, this time it’s because the realization is too much to bear. A sickening knot forms in the pit of your stomach, and you can’t help but recoil at the thought. The King of Curses, the monster who destroyed your village and slaughtered your people—this wretched creature, this abomination of nature—he too was bound by divine will. The gods, the very forces that govern the universe, had deemed him worthy of a soulmate. But not just anyone. You. The words strike you like a physical blow, and you close the book with trembling hands, your mind spinning. The pain in your chest—the phantom ache where the mark once burned—flares up once more, but it feels different now. It no longer feels like the weight of a curse. It feels like something far worse.

A divine decree.

You try to steady your breath, but it’s impossible. You feel a wave of nausea wash over you, and for the first time since you were brought here, you truly understand the scope of your fate. This isn’t something that can be easily escaped. This isn’t just a cruel twist of fate, or Sukuna’s twisted will. This is divine authority. The gods have tied you to him, just as they’ve tied him to you. And there’s nothing either of you can do about it. You feel your hands shaking as you drop the book back onto the table, your eyes wide with disbelief. It’s not just Sukuna’s cursed power you’re bound to. It’s the will of something greater—something far more terrifying. And that realization fills you with disgust.  You hate him. You hate everything he’s done. You hate the fact that the gods would curse you like this, tie you to a monster like him. Yet, you cannot deny the pull. You cannot deny the bond that tugs at you, drawing you closer to him with every passing day. It’s not because of his power. It’s not because of his curse. It’s because the heavens have deemed you his. And that thought, that nauseating, repulsive thought, makes you want to scream. You want to tear the mark from your skin, to break this bond, to make it all stop. The days pass in a haze of helplessness, one bleeding into the next like ink spreading through water. You lose track of time, of the hours spent in silence, curled up in the same corner of the room Sukuna has forced you to call yours. The once-blazing fire in your chest has long since reduced to embers, but the weight of the mark—of what it means—presses down on you with an unbearable force. The books remain scattered across the small table, their brittle pages whispering of things you cannot change. Divine decree. A bond that cannot be broken. An eternity bound to him. The knowledge festers in your mind like a wound left to rot. At first, you rage against it, against the cruel injustice of it all. But rage is exhausting.

Over time, it dulls into something quieter, something heavier. An unbearable listlessness settles in your bones, sapping you of any desire to move, to eat, to even breathe with purpose. You drift in and out of awareness, the servants tending to you with quiet efficiency. They bring you meals that you barely touch, garments that remain folded and untouched. You hear their whispers when they think you’re too far gone to notice. Pitying murmurs about the broken thing that their master has dragged into his domain. And though you tell yourself you do not care, you do. You despise the way they look at you, like you are something fragile, something doomed. Yet, you cannot bring yourself to move. Because what is the point? You are trapped here. There is no escape. You have tried, more times than you can count. You have slipped past the servants, darted down empty corridors, even clawed your way up the thick walls that enclose the shrine. Each time, the mark sears, and within the blink of an eye, you find yourself back in this same room. Fate is a prison, and you are its prisoner. 

—

It starts as an irritation. At first, Sukuna barely acknowledges the gnawing sense of unease, chalking it up to the exhaustion of battle, the mind-numbing monotony of slaughter. The northern tribes had proven persistent, and though none could stand against him, their resistance had dragged on long enough to be an inconvenience. But then, it follows him back to the shrine. It lingers in the quiet moments, coiling around his mind like a vice, pressing into his chest like an ache he cannot place. There is no reason for him to feel this way. No reason for the air to taste heavier, for his thoughts to drag sluggishly in his mind. Until one evening, as he sits within his chambers, idly flipping through one of the ancient texts that now feel like a mockery, it dawns on him.

It is her.

The bond is acting upon him. He scowls, slamming the book shut as realization slithers through his veins like poison. That useless girl, the one who barely speaks, the one who sits in his shrine like a lifeless doll, is feeling something so profoundly that it is bleeding into him. How utterly pathetic. And yet—he cannot stand it.

—

The door to your chambers is flung open with enough force to rattle the walls. You barely have time to flinch before his towering figure fills the space, his presence swallowing the room whole. “You,” he growls, stepping inside with slow, measured steps. For the first time in days, you stir from where you sit, your fingers gripping the fabric of your robe tightly. You do not meet his eyes, but you can feel his glare burning into you, seething, livid. “Enough of this pathetic display.” Your chest tightens, but you do not speak. Sukuna’s lip curls, baring sharp fangs. “Do you think you are the only one suffering? That I am unaffected by this wretched bond? Tch. Even from across the land, I felt your self-pitying misery clawing at my mind like a parasite.” He steps closer, looming over you. “And I have had enough of it.” Your nails dig into your palms. The rage that had dulled into nothingness over the past days flickers, threatening to return. “Then kill me,” you whisper, voice hoarse from disuse. “If I disgust you so much, if I am such a burden, then why not rid yourself of me?”

Sukuna sneers. “Foolish girl. Has it not gone through your thick skull? One cannot die at the hands of their soulmate.”

“The bond ensures that much,” he continues, voice dripping with disdain. “So stop this insipid self-destruction. You are not a tragic martyr, no matter how much you wish to be.” Something inside you snaps. Your head jerks up, anger flashing in your weary eyes. “You destroyed my village. You took everything from me, and now you tell me I have to live like this? To simply accept it? To accept you?” A low, mocking chuckle rumbles from his chest. “Finally found your voice, did you?” He tilts his head, four crimson eyes gleaming. “Tch. It was unbearable enough when you were silent, but listening to you whine is somehow worse.”  Your body trembles, with fury, with exhaustion, with the weight of something far greater than yourself. For a long moment, neither of you speaks. The tension coils thick in the air, suffocating, unbearable. And then—Sukuna exhales sharply through his nose, as if tiring of this entire exchange. “Enough of this,” he mutters. His gaze hardens. “You will eat. You will stop moping around this shrine like a ghost.” He leans down slightly, voice dropping to something more dangerous. “And you will stop letting your misery bleed into me.”

Your teeth clench. “And if I don’t?” Sukuna’s smirk is sharp, vicious. “Try me.” You glare at him, defiant. But in your heart, you know he is right. There is no escape. Not from this shrine. Not from him. Not from the gods who have bound you together. So, with no other choice, you swallow the bitter taste of defeat and let out a slow breath.

“Fine.” 

Sukuna watches you for a moment longer, as if ensuring you do not collapse into weakness the moment he turns away. Then, with a final sneer, he steps back and strides towards the door. “Good,” he mutters. “At least you’re not entirely spineless.” The door slams behind him, leaving you alone once more. But this time, for the first time in what feels like an eternity, you move.  Small steps. At first, they are barely noticeable. Small bites of the simple food left on the lacquered trays beside your bed, the quiet scrape of wooden chopsticks against ceramic. Small brushes through the tangled knots in your hair, each stroke steadying trembling hands. Small steps across the cold floors of the shrine, guiding yourself to the stone bath where you sink into the water, letting the steam wrap around you like a veil. It is not much. It is barely anything. But it is something. Sometimes, in the silence, your mind drifts back to the village. You remember gathering firewood, splinters lodging into your fingers as you carried it back home to stave off the bitter chill of winter. You remember lining up in the early morning before the sun had fully risen, waiting for the butcher’s best cuts before the wealthier families claimed them all. You remember the fleeting warmth of small interactions—the women in the marketplace who knew of your mother’s shame, your supposed inherited stain, yet still exchanged quiet, idle words with you. There was no kindness, not truly, but there had been moments of something softer, something human. And now, they are all dead. The realization is a sharp knife twisting deep inside you. The mothers clutching their children’s hands. The butcher with his heavy cleaver. The old men who sat outside their homes, watching the world pass them by. All gone. Reduced to charred flesh, torn limbs, bloodstained streets. And him—your soulmate, the cursed thing that the gods saw fit to bind you to—was the one who had done it. The one who had laughed as he crushed their bones beneath his heel. Perhaps he had even devoured them afterward, the thought a sickening weight in your gut. A shudder rakes through your body. You sink lower into the water, letting the heat prickle against your skin, focusing on the slow, hypnotic swirls of steam curling through the air. You try to lose yourself in them, to let them pull you away from the thoughts clawing at your mind. But somewhere far from this room, far from the confines of this shrine, Sukuna feels it. It unsettles him. He tells himself it is nothing, just some lingering irritation from the bond—some nuisance to be ignored like the buzzing of a gnat. And yet, the more time passes, the harder it becomes to dismiss. There is something changing. The weight of the soul-link no longer drags at him like it once did. It does not claw at the edges of his mind with that insipid despair that had seeped from you in waves. No. It is different now. It is quieter. Steadier. Something within you is shifting, solidifying. And for reasons he cannot explain, Sukuna feels it too. The sensation does not fill him with rage, as it once had. Nor does it disgust him. If anything, it is… tolerable. Almost grounding. And that is what disturbs him the most.

Because why? Why should it feel right? Why should the dull hum of the bond settle something deep in his marrow instead of igniting his fury? He loathes the thought. It claws at him, festering like an infection he cannot carve out. And worse still—if he is feeling this, then surely she is, too. The mere idea sends a sharp pulse of irritation down the bond, but it does not vanish as quickly as he expects. Instead, it lingers, stretching between them like a thread neither of them can sever.

—

You do not know when it begins. When the suffocating numbness ebbs into something else—something not quite peace, but not entirely hopelessness, either. There is no moment of revelation, no dramatic shift. Only the slow, creeping realization that the weight on your chest is not as heavy as it was before. That your limbs do not feel as though they are bound by lead. That your mind, though still a battlefield of grief and fury and disbelief, is no longer wholly consumed by it. You feel… steadier. And though you do not want to acknowledge it, though the very thought makes you recoil in disgust, you know where this newfound strength is coming from. It is the bond. The very thing you have spent days resenting, loathing, cursing the heavens for. Somehow, impossibly, it has begun to shift the tide inside you, pulling you from the abyss you had resigned yourself to. You hate it.

And yet—

You take another bite of food. You brush through your hair a little longer. You walk beyond the walls of your room, even if only to feel the air shift around you. You exist, even if begrudgingly so. And across the shrine, Sukuna feels it all.

—

You tell yourself you are only wandering to know your prison, that this is merely another fruitless attempt at escape—if not through the doors, then perhaps through knowledge. But in truth, you know. You have known for some time now. There is no leaving. Not by foot. Not by force. And so, you resign yourself to these corridors, to the vast emptiness of the shrine-palace that cages you. It is beautiful. You resent the thought the moment it forms, but denying it would be foolish. The architecture is unlike anything you have ever seen, a stark contrast to the wooden homes of your village. Here, stone forms the bones of the shrine, intricately carved with sigils you cannot decipher, the markings worn down by time yet still humming with unseen power. The halls stretch high, ceilings adorned with coiling dragons, their eyes inlaid with gleaming gemstones that catch the flickering candlelight. The floors, too, are cold stone, though you begin to learn where the softer woven mats are placed, offering relief from the bite of the chill. The corridors twist and wind like a labyrinth, grand staircases spiraling to multiple levels. You do not know how many floors there are, but you suspect the shrine is larger than you had imagined—perhaps even larger than the village Sukuna had razed to the ground. Your footsteps become quieter with time, learning to move as the servants do—graceful, measured, unnoticed. The evenings are the safest; you have observed the rhythms of the shrine, the times when the halls are busiest and when they are nearly deserted. The evenings are when the servants seem most preoccupied, bustling about with the preparation of Sukuna’s meals. You use these moments to explore, to test the limits of your captivity. It is on one of these silent excursions that you first stumble upon the gardens.

It is breathtaking. The shrine’s cold, imposing stone should not allow for something so alive, and yet—here it is. A vast, sprawling garden enclosed within the palace grounds, untouched by the destruction that Sukuna so often brings upon the world. The air is thick with the scent of blooming flowers, of deep earth and fresh water. Trees stretch their ancient limbs toward the sky, their blossoms fluttering to the ground like drifting snow. Pathways of smooth, polished stone wind through the greenery, leading to pavilions with ornate wooden beams, their roofs curved like the wings of a bird. Lanterns hang from the eaves, swaying gently in the evening breeze. And then there is the pond. A deep, still pool of water, its surface glass-like, reflecting the moon’s pale glow. Koi fish drift lazily beneath, their scales shimmering like molten gold. A small bridge arches over it, leading to an island in the center—a lone cherry tree standing there, its branches heavy with delicate pink petals. It is, impossibly, peaceful. You linger longer than you should, your breath quiet, your mind torn. You do not want to find beauty here. You do not want to acknowledge that anything in this place could be worth admiring. And yet, as the wind stirs the petals, as they dance across the water’s surface, you cannot help but think—

This is the first thing that has felt soft since the night your world burned.  You return to the gardens the next evening. And the next. At first, it is with the same cautious hesitance that carried you beyond your room. You expect, perhaps, to be dragged back, for some unseen force to wrench you from this small solace. But nothing happens. The servants do not stop you, do not so much as glance in your direction. So you keep going. Each evening, when the shrine quiets, you find your way back. You move slower now, no longer pressing yourself against the walls or skirting around corners. You take your time. You run your fingers over the rough bark of the cherry trees, kneel by the pond to watch the koi as they move in slow, lazy circles. You walk the stone paths, memorize their turns, where they lead. There is a strange comfort in the ritual of it. Not peace—never peace. But something adjacent to it. The weight of your captivity still sits heavy in your chest, but out here, surrounded by life rather than cold stone and flickering candlelight, you can pretend—for a moment—that you are not trapped. That you are simply wandering as you once did in your village, lingering too long in the markets, or pausing by the river just to feel the water brush against your fingertips. For the first time since being brought here, you do not feel entirely choked by your existence. But you are not the only one who notices. High above, Sukuna watches. From his chambers—the highest level of the shrine-palace, where the walls are etched with ancient script and the air hums with residual power—he sees you. At first, it is only in passing. His eyes, sharp and restless, flicker downward when movement catches his attention. He expects a servant, perhaps Uraume, but instead, it is you. He nearly disregards you. It is in his nature to take little interest in the weak, in those who are of no consequence to him. And yet—his gaze lingers. It does so again the next night. And the next. Something in him itches at the sight of you. Not in anger, not in fury—those are familiar things, comfortable things, and yet what this is… he cannot place it. You are not trying to escape. Not now. He would feel it if you were. No, this is something else. Something deliberate. His arms rest against the wooden railing, fingers curling against the carved grooves of the stone. His upper set of arms remain folded against his chest, lips pressing into a thin line as he watches you move through his gardens, as if they belong to you, as if this is anything less than a prison. You seem… settled. Not content, no—he can feel the weight of your thoughts, the heavy thrum of resentment in your body—but you no longer seem consumed by them. The pathetic, broken thing he first brought here has started to breathe again. That unsettles him. Because he should not care. He should not feel the shift in your presence as if it is tethered to him. Should not feel the quiet, subtle difference in the way you carry yourself and have it reverberate through his own body like an echo. Sukuna is a god among men, a force that has torn through kingdoms, devoured all in his path. His domain is absolute. His power, unparalleled. And yet, despite all of that—

He cannot ignore the way his body knows when you step into the garden below. 

—

Over time, the walls of your confinement grow wider. The slow, reluctant walks through the garden stretch longer. Your hands become familiar with the texture of leaves, with the way the koi in the pond move lazily beneath the water’s surface. You wander beyond the paths you first stuck to, toward quiet courtyards and winding stone staircases that lead to new corners of the shrine-palace. The more you walk, the more you see. It is a cruel thing, how beautiful this place is. A place owned by a monster. You come to know the servants not by name, but by presence—some who seem more human, others who seem barely of this world. They move around you, neither avoiding you nor acknowledging you beyond what is necessary. There is no kindness, no cruelty. You are simply there, and that is all. And then, one evening, in the midst of your quiet roaming, you find the library. It is not like the grand, open libraries of noble houses, nor the small, humble book collections of monks. It is something else entirely.

The entrance is guarded by two enormous doors of blackened wood, carvings of creatures you do not recognize etched into their surface. The handles are cool beneath your touch, and when they give way, the doors creak softly, revealing the vast space beyond.

It is unlike anything you have ever seen. Towering shelves stretch high into the dim, flickering light, filled with books and scrolls of every imaginable kind. The scent of old parchment and ink lingers thick in the air, mingling with something faintly metallic. Ancient tomes bound in worn leather rest beside delicate silk scrolls, their characters barely visible under layers of dust. Some books seem human—histories of dynasties, accounts of emperors and wars. Others are clearly not. The symbols, the markings, are foreign, twisted in ways that make your stomach tighten. This is a place of knowledge. A place of secrets. And so, just as you return to the gardens each day, you begin returning here too. One evening, you find yourself lost in the pages of an ancient text, its ink smudged but still legible. It speaks of the early days of sorcery, of curses and divine punishments, of men who wielded power beyond their mortal means. Your fingers trace the characters absently as you read, absorbed by the details.

You do not hear the approaching footsteps.

But you feel him. A shift in the air. A presence so immense it presses against your skin like an unseen force. When you look up, Sukuna is there. He leans against the doorway, arms crossed, four eyes watching you with unreadable intent. He says nothing at first, only observing you as if trying to decide whether you are worth the effort of addressing. You force yourself to meet his gaze, pulse steady despite the instinct screaming at you to lower your eyes.

Then—

“Why,” his voice is slow, deliberate, irritated, “is a human wandering so freely in my shrine?” You should be afraid. A part of you still is. But something else has settled in the space between you—something no longer dictated by pure terror, but by something stranger. You do not look away. “You’ve made it clear I cannot leave,” you say, voice measured. “What else am I supposed to do? Rot in my room?”

His upper lip curls, but his eyes—his lower set—flick to the book in your hands. “Hm.” His gaze lingers before he strides further in, slow and deliberate. “That book is full of half-truths. The author was a fool.”

You glance down at the pages. “Seems well-researched.” 

He snorts, plucking a scroll from a shelf as he passes. “And yet he does not understand the difference between innate cursed energy and cultivated energy.” He flicks the scroll open briefly before shutting it again, gaze returning to you. “A human should not be so interested in these things.” You set the book down carefully. “And yet you have hundreds of them.” A silence stretches.

He smirks. “Fair.” He crosses the room, scanning the shelves with absent familiarity. For a moment, you wonder if he will leave, if this conversation is already over. Instead, he pulls another book from a high shelf and tosses it onto the table before you. “This one,” he says, tone indifferent. “Less stupid than the one you were reading.” You stare at the book, then at him. “You’re recommending me something?” “I’m correcting your ignorance,” he corrects smoothly. “It is an insult to allow a creature bound to me to remain unlearned.” Something in your stomach twists at the word bound.

You exhale slowly, fingers skimming the book’s edge. “And what is it you read, then?”

For a moment, he does not respond. Then, almost carelessly, he plucks a small, tattered volume from a lower shelf and tosses it onto the table beside yours. The cover is unassuming, the pages slightly yellowed from age. “Wars,” he says idly. “Bloodshed. Things more useful than philosophy and fables.”

You glance at him. “You have philosophy books?” A pause. Then, to your genuine surprise—

A low chuckle. 

“Even the strongest must have something to mock,” he muses. Your fingers graze over the book he has given you. It is not an act of kindness. You know this. And yet, as you sit there, the weight of his presence lingering, there is something in the air between you. Not peace. Not understanding.

But something.

Despite the revulsion that coils deep in your gut, despite the ever-present whisper of grief that lingers in the hollow of your chest, you cannot deny the way your curiosity festers. It is a quiet, creeping thing, burrowing into the spaces left vacant by sorrow. You should not want to know more of him. And yet, as the days stretch on, as the seasons shift imperceptibly beyond the shrine’s towering walls, you find yourself drawn back to the library—again and again. It is not intentional. Or at least, that is what you tell yourself. At first, it is the books. You lose yourself in the scent of old parchment, the weight of knowledge pressing in from all sides. There is power in words, in understanding—an anchor in a world that has left you unmoored. But the books are not the only constant in that dim-lit chamber.

He is there, too. Not always. But often enough. Sometimes he simply exists in the periphery of your vision, draped lazily over a chair with a scroll in hand, the soft flick of turning pages the only sound between you. Other times, his presence is more direct—irritated glances when you linger too long on a passage he finds idiotic, scoffs of disdain when you reference a text he has long since dismissed as foolish. And then there are the rare moments when he speaks. Not much, never more than necessary. But his voice threads through the silence, rough and edged with indifference as he critiques the material in your hands, as he tosses another book onto your table without looking up from his own.

That one is less idiotic.

If you insist on wasting your time with philosophy, at least read something with merit.

Hmph. Misinterpretation of strategy is a common human failing. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.

You do not argue. Not often, anyway. But you listen. You always listen. And in turn, despite his reluctance, despite whatever internal war he fights beneath the surface, so does he. Neither of you realize it at first. The way the bond, ever silent and insidious, begins to settle. Not in warmth, not in anything so gentle—but in recognition. It does not ease your hatred. It does not erase the blood on his hands, nor soften the jagged edges of your grief. But the weight of it, the sheer force of something inevitable, lingers between you both. Like an echo in your bones. Like a thread neither of you can sever.

—

So, your life at the shrine begins. There’s nothing you can do here, really, except roam. But ever since these impromptu, silent meetings with Sukuna, you realize that his presence in your life is becoming pronounced in more ways than one. It starts off with new tatami mats. You wake up as you usually do, only to realize that the rough, straw-like weave beneath you has been replaced. The scent of fresh rush grass lingers in the air, mixing with the faint aroma of old stone. Your futon is different too—no longer the stiff, worn-out bedding you had grown accustomed to but something cushier, the fabric smoother beneath your fingers. The discomfort that had once made sleep elusive is softened, made… bearable. You stare at it for a long moment before calling for one of the servants, asking why.

The answer is simple. “Master Sukuna’s orders.”

Days pass, and it does not stop. Your baths, once nothing more than warm water and plain wooden pails, take on a strange transformation. Small satchels of herbs begin appearing at the bath’s edge, their contents filling the air with faint floral and medicinal scents. Lavender, chamomile, yuzu peel—scents that soothe, scents that linger even after you leave the steaming water behind. Then, your meals. The trays brought to you, once simple—rice, miso, a small cut of fish—become… thoughtful. More side dishes begin appearing: simmered vegetables, slices of fruit, a bowl of soup richer in flavor. It’s nothing extravagant, nothing overly indulgent, but it is clear enough that it is tailored for you. The portions are small, balanced. The nutrients, something even your village had often lacked, are deliberate.

The realization unsettles you. It is not indulgence. Not luxury. Not the gilded treatment of a beloved consort or an esteemed guest. No, it is something else entirely. It is simply… care. But that word is difficult to grasp when it is him. When it is the same man who razed your home to the ground, the same man whose very existence is a contradiction to humanity itself.

And then the clothes arrive.

The garments left for you are finer than the rough, unadorned kosode you have been wearing since arriving. They are still modest, still plain in comparison to the silken layers of nobility, but they are yours. The fabric is softer, dyed in delicate shades that feel strangely out of place against the cold stone walls of the shrine—muted hues of lavender, deep blue, pale pink, as if he had given you the sky at dusk and bottled it into cloth. Subtle patterns are embroidered into the edges—nothing ostentatious, but thoughtful nonetheless. A motif of wisteria trailing down the sleeves of one of the garments. The faintest traces of plum blossoms scattered along another. You run your fingers along the stitching, lingering on the unfamiliar softness. Again, you ask the servants who brought them.

Again, the response is the same.

“Master Sukuna’s orders.”

And yet, he never mentions it. Not once. Not in the quiet moments you share in the library, where he only spares you a glance before returning to whatever text is in his hands. Not in the wordless passing of time, where the only thing exchanged between you is the occasional book he sets near your seat. Nothing is said. But the truth lingers, unspoken yet inescapable. It happens one evening, when the weight of silence is broken by the rustle of a turning page. You are reading. Some old philosophical text, one that debates the nature of the soul—the way bonds form and fracture, the ever-complicated relationship between fate and free will. You hate it. It’s wordy, pompous. It speaks in circles, never quite reaching an answer. Sukuna, sitting across from you, scoffs. “That book is stupid.”

You glance up, raising a brow. “You’ve read it?” He leans back against his seat, expression unreadable. “Years ago.” A beat of silence. Then, almost begrudgingly, he reaches beside him and tosses a different text onto the table between you. It slides to a stop near your fingers. Another book. You eye it, hesitant. The cover is worn, but the script is meticulous, the binding careful. It is not new, not something tossed aside. It has been kept. “What is this?” you ask. He does not look at you. “Something better.” And despite yourself, despite the wariness that never quite leaves your bones, you open it. The hours pass in something almost… comfortable. For the first time, you speak of books—not of war, not of hatred, not of the bond that chains you together. He critiques, and you respond. You disagree, and he scoffs. It is not friendly, not warm, but it is something. And then, out of nowhere—

“Do you like them?”

You blink. “What?”

“The things you’ve been given,” he says, voice flat, almost disinterested. “The clothing. The food. The rest.” You hesitate, thrown off by the bluntness. Your fingers curl around the edge of the book in your lap. “Why does it matter?” He does not answer immediately. Then, voice quieter, he mutters, “It doesn’t.”

A lie.

You swallow. A part of you still hates it. Hates that you are here, that you have no choice but to accept it. But another part—the rational one, the one that understands that survival is often unfair—forces you to speak. “…The bath infusions,” you say stiffly. “The lavender is nice.” That is all you give him. He only grunts in response, unimpressed. The conversation dies there.

Or so you think. 

The next morning, you wake to find a small woven basket left beside your room’s entrance.

It is filled to the brim with bundles of dried lavender.

—

The changes are slow, almost imperceptible at first. The meals grow more elaborate, not in extravagance but in precision—flavors that suit your palate, dishes you recognize from your village, though executed with the refinement only a palace like this could provide. The clothing becomes finer still, the fabrics layered more deliberately, the patterns more intricate—subtle, but undeniably intentional. Even the bath infusions are no longer just lavender. You find rose, jasmine, crushed camellia petals. A mix of scents and herbs you have never encountered before, each carefully selected. And yet, through all of this, he never says a word about it. He does not ask if you enjoy them. He does not acknowledge the way you hesitate when you notice something new. The gifts simply arrive, seamlessly woven into your days, as if they had always been there. Until one morning, when the servants do not merely arrive with trays or bundles of fabric. They arrive with a quiet bow and a simple statement.

“Your room is being moved.” You stare at them, uncomprehending.

“What?”

They do not falter. “Master Sukuna has ordered it.”

—

The new room is beautiful. It is spacious, lined with thick tatami mats and warmed by the soft glow of paper lanterns. The walls, carved stone and lacquered wood, are adorned with delicate paintings—scenes of nature, of rolling hills and quiet rivers. And the view– You step forward, drawn to the open shoji doors leading to a balcony. From here, you can see the gardens in full. The winding stone paths, the koi pond reflecting the sky, the sakura trees that have begun to bloom despite the lateness of the season. It is breathtaking, so much so that for a moment, you forget yourself. You let your fingers brush against the wooden railing. The faintest breeze carries the scent of the garden into your lungs, and something in your chest—

A flicker. A feeling so foreign, so small, you almost do not register it. But the mark does. It reacts. A slow warmth, a pulse of something eerily close to pleasure, unfurls beneath your skin. It is not overpowering, not painful like before. It is something gentler, something that sinks into your bones and lingers. The new quarters are beautiful, but it is the bathroom that surprises you the most. Carved stone and polished tile, the space is far grander than anything you could have imagined for yourself. The bathing area is deep, nearly a small pool rather than a tub, built into the floor and lined with dark slate. The walls are decorated with intricate motifs—delicate carvings of twisting vines and blooming flowers, almost too elegant for a place like this.

And then there is the cabinet. It stands against the farthest wall, lacquered wood polished to a rich, dark gleam. When you slide it open, the scent of herbs and oils wafts out, so many that you nearly stagger back. Small glass vials, ceramic jars, and silk-wrapped bundles of dried petals are arranged in perfect rows. Lavender, rose, jasmine, crushed camellia—scents you had noticed before. But now there are new ones. Richer blends, exotic spices, deep, warm fragrances you cannot name. Your fingers hesitate over one of the jars. The craftsmanship is exquisite, the lid inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Everything here is deliberate. And that unsettles you. Because this was not merely placed here for anyone. This was made for you.

And once again, just as before—

The mark pulses. A slow, creeping warmth unfurls beneath your ribs, not painful, not harsh. Just… there. Lurking. Reacting. Far above, Sukuna exhales sharply, fingers curling against the armrest of his seat. The bond is responding again. He does not understand why this is happening, why every small shift in her acceptance of this place sends something insufferably warm through him. But as he watches from his chambers, sees her linger by the open shoji doors, sees her take in the beauty of what has now become hers—

He realizes with great irritation that this feeling will not be leaving him anytime soon.

—

He is watching her again. Not intentionally. Not because he wants to. It just… happens. She is there, standing by the balcony of her new quarters, her fingers ghosting over the wood as if the very idea of having something her own is too much to comprehend. It is a strange sight. She does not look like the girl he found in the ruins of her village, curled in on herself, too broken to even summon tears. No, this woman is different. Still fragile, still guarded, but… something is shifting. He should not care. And yet, when he had given the order to move her, he had ensured that the room overlooked the gardens. That it was closer to the library, that the private bath was stocked with the things she preferred. He had not thought about it in the moment. It had simply been done. But now, watching her stand there, he feels it again—that unnerving sensation deep in his chest, the strange, almost unbearable warmth that rises beneath the surface of his skin.

It is the mark.

It is responding.

To her pleasure.

The realization is infuriating. Because now, he knows—each time she enjoys something, each time a part of her accepts this place, no matter how begrudgingly, it is felt. The bond does not let him ignore it. And worse still, he does not know if it is the bond itself that compels him to act, or if—

No. The thought does not finish. He will not let it. He exhales, slow, measured. This is not something he will dwell on. He has no reason to. But as he turns away, retreating into the dim glow of his chambers, the warmth beneath his ribs does not fade.

–

You don’t even realize when it happens. The teleportation. One moment, the futon in your new room is gently pressing into your back in the most comfortable manner, cotton tunic soft and short, providing extra comfort as you soundlessly sleep on the bed. The next moment, in your sleep-induced haze, the futon is… much softer? As if made of clouds, sprung with feathers. There’s warmth, thick and inescapable, curling around you, sinking into your very skin. The room feels different. More enclosed, the air heavier with a mixture of something clean yet darkly spiced, and there’s the quiet hum of breath that does not belong to you. Your fingers shift against the bedding, feeling silks far richer than anything in your quarters, and then—

Heat. A weight at your back. A warmth so solid it could only belong to something alive. Your eyes fly open at the exact same moment as his.

Sukuna.

He is right there, his larger form looming, the faint gleam of his four eyes now slightly narrowed, assessing. You lurch away instantly, scrambling, but so does he. The space between you expands as you both shift back in sync, staring. His top pair of eyes regard you in that usual sharp scrutiny, but the lower pair flick briefly downward—

To the loose collar of your tunic, where sleep had disheveled it slightly, the smallest bit of cleavage exposed. Just a second too long, too brief to be purposeful, but enough for your breath to hitch, for your skin to prickle with the awareness of it. And then it’s gone. He blinks, gaze leveling again, unreadable. Perhaps you imagined it. There’s a moment where neither of you speak. The room is quiet, the outside world still swallowed in the deep black of midnight, the flickering lanterns outside casting uneven shadows against the walls of his chambers. You need to leave. You push up slightly, but before you can move further, his voice cuts through the silence—low, slightly rough from fatigue.

“Stay.”

You freeze, watching him, wary. His posture is lax, one of his four arms folded behind his head as he leans into the plush pillows, but his expression holds a flicker of something serious. “Why?” you finally manage, voice quieter than you’d like. Sukuna exhales slowly, as if the explanation bores him. “Because a normal human wouldn’t be able to leave my chambers.” You blink. What? He stretches, the movement languid, unconcerned. “Ancient protections. Wards. I don’t care to dispel them right now.” You eye the dark wooden doors leading out of the room, unsure whether he’s bluffing. His expression suggests he isn’t. Still, the thought of staying here, in his room, is unbearable.

“I can sleep on the floor.”

He doesn’t even look at you. “Stay put.” 

Your fingers twitch against the sheets, unwilling, but he doesn’t give you any further attention. His head tilts slightly, eyes slipping shut again as if your presence is already inconsequential to him. Slowly, stiffly, you lower yourself back down, turned away from him, as if that will make it less real. The silence stretches. You should sleep. But you can’t. The question escapes before you can stop it.

“Why did you kill them?”

Sukuna doesn’t answer immediately. The silence that follows is so long that you think he might ignore you entirely. But then, his voice comes, quieter than before, but no less firm. “I am a vengeful cursed being,” he says. “Born of the hatred humans have cultivated for centuries.”

You swallow, fingers curling into the bedding. “That’s not an answer.” 

Sukuna finally opens his eyes again, all four glinting in the dim light. He watches you, assessing. “It is the only answer that matters.” You exhale slowly, pulse steady but heavy. “Do you ever think like a human?”

His gaze doesn’t waver. “No.” Your throat tightens. His answer is so blunt, so void of doubt. And yet… Something about it doesn’t feel entirely right. “Then why are you explaining yourself to me?” you ask, voice soft, almost careful. For the first time, he pauses. A slow breath leaves him, and his eyes shift, gaze flickering somewhere above you, to the ceiling, as if the answer could be written there. Then, so casually, so simply, he says:

“I can’t understand human emotions.”

You frown slightly, but he continues, voice quiet, deliberate. “I don’t feel remorse. I don’t regret.” A brief beat. And then—

“But I acknowledge what I have done.”

He doesn’t say more. He doesn’t say less. And you realize… This is the closest he has come to apologizing. You stare at him, searching, trying to make sense of it. It doesn’t erase the blood spilled. It doesn’t make up for anything. But it is something earnest, and it lingers between you both in the dark, stretching into the silence of the room. You close your eyes. The bond hums. Unbeknownst to either of you, it deepens. As you lie there, tension curling your body tight, you realize something unsettling. The King of Curses, Sukuna, has no reason to explain himself. He’s ruthless, merciless, and in his eyes, human lives mean little. Yet, here he is, acknowledging his actions in a way you’ve never expected from a being like him. It's not an apology—not really. But in some strange way, it feels like the closest thing to one he’s capable of giving. You roll the thought over in your mind, slowly, carefully. He could have dismissed your question, ignored you, or even mocked you for your naive human emotions. But instead, he explained his nature as if it were something that mattered to him—an acknowledgment, a bare minimum of recognition for what he’s done.

It’s not a redemption, far from it. It doesn’t change who he is, and it doesn’t make the blood on his hands any less damning. But it’s a shift, a slight crack in the wall that shields him. And for a moment, you wonder if that’s as much as he’s capable of. The air feels heavier now, less tense but somehow more oppressive, the weight of the night wrapping around you both like a thick blanket. You don’t realize when your breathing slows, when your body relaxes against the comfort of the bedding. The warmth from his presence is steady, and the soft murmurs of his breath become the backdrop to your thoughts. It’s strange how something so unsettling can become… calming. Ironically, sleeping next to the beast turned out to be the best sleep you’d had since your arrival at this shrine. The next morning, you wake up, groggy and confused, only to realize, haphazardly, that you’re back in your own room. The futon beneath you feels familiar, your body entwined in the soft sheets, though not as soft as the ones in Sukuna’s chambers. For a moment, you wonder if it was all just a dream—whether you had somehow imagined meeting Sukuna, conjured him up in your sleep. But then, as you shift, a scent clings to your sleeping tunic—a dark, spiced aroma. It’s unmistakable, the same one you’d inhaled when you’d been teleported to his room last night.

Oh.

—

The gardens of Sukuna’s shrine were a paradox—a place of serene beauty nestled within the cold, unyielding stone of his domain. The koi pond you had grown so fond of shimmered under the fading light, its surface rippling as the fish darted beneath. It was a place of quiet, a place where the weight of the world seemed to lift, if only for a moment. You had come here often since your arrival, drawn to the tranquility it offered. Tonight was no different. The air was cool against your skin, the scent of blooming flowers filling your lungs as you wandered the stone paths. Your fingers brushed against the petals of a wisteria vine, its delicate purple clusters hanging like jewels.  You turned a corner, and there he was. Sukuna stood at the edge of the pond, his imposing figure silhouetted against the fading light. His upper set of arms were crossed over his chest, while the lower pair rested at his sides, fingers twitching slightly as if itching to grasp something. His crimson eyes were fixed on the water, his expression unreadable. For a moment, you considered turning back, retreating to the safety of your room. But something held you in place—a curiosity, perhaps, or the faint hum of the bond that seemed to pull you toward him. He noticed you almost immediately, his gaze flicking in your direction. There was no surprise in his expression, only a faint irritation that seemed to linger beneath the surface. “Wandering again,” he said, his voice low and edged with something you couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t anger, not exactly. More like… exasperation. You hesitated, then stepped forward, your hands clasped tightly in front of you. “I didn’t expect to find you here,” you admitted, your voice soft but steady.

Sukuna’s lip curled slightly, a hint of a sneer forming. “It’s my shrine,” he said, as if that explained everything. “I go where I please.” You nodded, unsure of how to respond. The silence stretched between you, heavy and awkward. You glanced at the pond, watching as a koi fish broke the surface, its scales glinting in the fading light. The sight was calming, grounding. It gave you the courage to speak. “I used to live near a river,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “In my village. It wasn’t as grand as this, but… it was peaceful. I would go there sometimes, when things got too much.” Sukuna didn’t respond immediately. His gaze remained fixed on the water, but you could feel his attention shift toward you. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there. The bond hummed faintly, a quiet acknowledgment of the connection between you.

“A river,” he repeated, his tone flat. “How quaint.” 

You ignored the jab, focusing instead on the memory. “My mother used to take me there,” you continued, your voice growing stronger. “She wasn’t… well, she wasn’t like the other mothers in the village. She was… different.” Sukuna’s eyes flicked toward you, a faint glimmer of interest breaking through his usual indifference. “Different how?” You hesitated, your fingers tightening around each other. It wasn’t something you talked about often—not even to yourself. But something about the quiet of the garden, the way the bond seemed to hum softly between you, made it easier to speak. “She was a courtesan,” you said finally, the words heavy on your tongue. “A… a whore, as the villagers called her. She wasn’t married, and she didn’t know who my father was. So, I was… well, I was a whore’s child. That’s what they called me.” Sukuna’s expression didn’t change, but you could feel the shift in his energy—a subtle tension that hadn’t been there before. His gaze remained on you, sharp and assessing, as if he were trying to piece together a puzzle.

“And?” he prompted, his voice low. “What of it?” You blinked, caught off guard by his response. “What of it?” you repeated, your voice tinged with disbelief. “It… it wasn’t easy. The other children wouldn’t play with me. The adults looked at me like I was… like I was something dirty. Something to be ashamed of.” Sukuna’s lip curled again, but this time, it wasn’t a sneer. It was something darker, something that sent a shiver down your spine. “Humans,” he said, his voice dripping with disdain. “Always so quick to judge. To ostracise. Pathetic.” You stared at him, unsure of how to respond. His words were harsh, but there was something in them—something that almost sounded like… understanding. It was fleeting, gone before you could fully grasp it, but it was there. “My mother tried to protect me,” you continued, your voice softer now. “She did her best. But… It wasn't enough. She died when I was young. After that, I was alone.” Sukuna’s gaze didn’t waver. “And yet you survived,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact. “You’re here. Still standing. Still breathing.”

You nodded slowly, your eyes dropping to the ground. “I survived,” you agreed. “But it wasn’t easy. I had to fight for everything. For respect. For a place in the village. For… for a life.” The silence that followed was heavy, filled with unspoken words and emotions. You could feel the weight of Sukuna’s gaze on you, his presence pressing against you like a physical force. The bond hummed faintly, a quiet reminder of the connection between you. “And now?” Sukuna asked finally, his voice low. “What do you fight for now?” You looked up, meeting his gaze. There was no judgment in his eyes, no pity. Only a cold, calculating curiosity. It was unsettling, but it also gave you the courage to answer. “I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I… I don’t know what I’m fighting for anymore. My village is gone. My life… it’s not my own. I’m bound to you, and I don’t even know what that means.” Sukuna’s expression didn’t change, but you could feel the shift in his energy—a subtle tension that hadn’t been there before. He turned his gaze back to the pond, his fingers twitching slightly at his sides. “You’re bound to me,” he said, his voice low and edged with something you couldn’t quite place. “But that doesn’t mean you’ve lost everything. You’re still here. Still breathing. Still fighting.” You stared at him, unsure of how to respond. His words were harsh, but there was something in them—something that almost sounded like… encouragement. It was fleeting, gone before you could fully grasp it, but it was there. “I don’t know if I can keep fighting,” you admitted, your voice soft. “Not like this. Not when everything I’ve ever known is gone.” Sukuna’s gaze didn’t waver. “Then find something else to fight for,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact. “Something worth surviving for.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his response. “Like what?” you asked, your voice tinged with disbelief. Sukuna’s lip curled slightly, a hint of a smirk forming. “That’s for you to decide,” he said, his voice low. “But if you’re waiting for me to give you a reason, you’ll be waiting a long time.” The words were harsh, but there was something in them—something that almost sounded like… a challenge. It was unsettling, but it also sparked something deep within you. A flicker of defiance, of determination. You nodded slowly, your eyes dropping to the ground. “I’ll think about it,” you said finally, your voice soft but steady. Sukuna didn’t respond immediately. His gaze remained fixed on the water, but you could feel his attention shift toward you. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there. The bond hummed faintly, a quiet acknowledgment of the connection between you.

“Do that,” he said finally, his voice low. “And don’t waste my time with your self-pity.”

The words were harsh, but there was something in them—something that almost sounded like… concern. It was fleeting, gone before you could fully grasp it, but it was there. You nodded again, your fingers tightening around each other. “I won’t,” you said, your voice firm. The silence that followed was heavy, filled with unspoken words and emotions. You could feel the weight of Sukuna’s gaze on you, his presence pressing against you like a physical force. The bond hummed faintly, a quiet reminder of the connection between you. And for the first time since your arrival at the shrine, you felt something shift—something deep within you. It wasn’t peace, not exactly. But it was something. Something worth holding onto. The days in the shrine began to blur together, a quiet rhythm of wandering the gardens, reading in the library, and the occasional, awkward encounters with Sukuna. The tension between you hadn’t vanished—it still lingered, a heavy undercurrent beneath every interaction—but it had shifted. There was less hostility, less of the sharp-edged animosity that had defined your early days. Instead, there was something else, something you couldn’t quite name. It wasn’t warmth, not exactly, but it wasn’t cold either. It was… something in between.

One evening, as you sat in your room, the thought struck you. You missed cooking. It was a strange realisation, one that caught you off guard. Back in your village, cooking had been a necessity, a way to survive. But it had also been a comfort, a small act of control in a life that often felt chaotic. Here, in the shrine, your meals were prepared for you, brought to your room on lacquered trays by silent servants. It was efficient, but it left you feeling… detached. You found yourself standing in the doorway of Sukuna’s library before you could fully think it through. He was seated at his desk, a scroll unfurled in front of him, his lower set of arms resting on the table while the upper pair were crossed over his chest. He looked up as you entered, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly. “What is it?” he asked, his tone flat but not unkind. You hesitated, your fingers twisting in the fabric of your garment. “I was… wondering if I could use the kitchens,” you said finally. Sukuna’s brow furrowed, his expression one of mild confusion. “Why would you need to do that?” he asked, his tone laced with skepticism. “Your meals are prepared for you.”

You nodded, your gaze dropping to the floor. “I know,” you said. “But… I used to cook. Back in my village. It’s… something I miss.” Sukuna stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a shrug, he leaned back in his chair. “It’s my shrine,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact. “So, of course, you can use the kitchens, woman. Do as you please.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his response. “Oh,” you said, your voice tinged with surprise. “Thank you.” He waved a hand dismissively, his attention already returning to the scroll in front of him. “Don’t waste my time with trivialities,” he muttered, though there was no real bite to his words. You nodded again, then turned and left the room, your mind already racing with possibilities. The kitchens were vast, far grander than anything you had ever worked in before. The servants watched you with quiet curiosity as you moved through the space, gathering ingredients and tools. You settled on making bread—a simple, hearty loaf that had been a staple in your village. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it was familiar, comforting. As you worked, kneading the dough with practiced hands, you became aware of a presence behind you. You turned, your heart skipping a beat as you saw Sukuna leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. You briefly noticed how the servants were no longer in the kitchen. Perhaps he had told them to command privacy when the two of you were present in a shared space? His expression was one of mild curiosity, his crimson eyes fixed on the dough in your hands.

“What are you making?” he asked, his tone laced with skepticism. “Bread,” you replied, your voice soft but steady. “It’s… something I used to make back home.” Sukuna’s brow furrowed slightly, his gaze flicking from the dough to your face. “Bread,” he repeated, as if the concept were foreign to him. “Why?” You hesitated, your fingers stilling in the dough. “It’s… comforting,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “It reminds me of… before.” Sukuna didn’t respond immediately. His gaze remained fixed on you, sharp and assessing. Then, with a shrug, he pushed off the doorway and stepped further into the kitchen.

“Do as you please,” he said, his tone indifferent. “But don’t expect me to partake in your… human fare.” You nodded, your fingers returning to the dough. The silence stretched between you, heavy but not uncomfortable. As you worked, you became aware of Sukuna’s presence lingering in the background, his gaze occasionally flicking toward you. It was… strange, but not entirely unwelcome. When the bread was finally done, golden and fragrant, you hesitated. Your fingers hovered over the loaf, unsure of what to do next. Then, almost without thinking, you turned to Sukuna, who was still leaning against the counter, his expression unreadable.

“Um… do you want to try it?” you asked hesitantly. Sukuna’s brow furrowed slightly, his gaze flicking from the bread to your face. “Why would I?” he asked, his tone laced with intrigue. You hesitated. “I just… thought you might want to,” you said finally. “I mean… you probably don’t eat things like this, do you? I’ve heard… well, I’ve heard—seen— you prefer… other things.” Sukuna’s expression didn’t change, but you could feel the shift in his energy—a subtle tension that hadn’t been there before. “Human flesh,” he said, his voice low and edged with something you couldn’t quite place. “Yes, I’ve consumed it. But… things have changed since you arrived.” You blinked, caught off guard by his response. “Changed?” you repeated, your voice tinged with disbelief.

Sukuna’s gaze didn’t waver. “The bond,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact. “It’s… altered my tastes. I no longer crave what I once did.” The words hung in the air between you, heavy and unspoken. You stared at him, unsure of how to respond. The idea that the bond could affect him in such a way was… unsettling, but also strangely comforting. It was a reminder that, despite everything, you were connected—bound together in ways neither of you fully understood. Finally, you nodded, your fingers reaching for the bread. You broke off a small piece and held it out to him, your hand trembling slightly.

“Here,” you said. “Try it.” Sukuna hesitated, his gaze flicking from the bread to your face. Then, with a shrug, he reached out and took the piece from your hand. He examined it for a moment, his expression one of mild curiosity, before popping it into his mouth. He chewed slowly, his expression unreadable. Then, without a word, he reached for another piece. You watched him, your heart pounding in your chest. He didn’t say anything, didn’t offer any praise or criticism, but the fact that he took another piece was enough. It was a small victory, a tiny step forward in the strange, uneasy dance that had become your relationship. As you stood there, the scent of fresh bread filling the air, you realized something. Despite everything—despite the bond, the shrine, the blood on his hands—you were beginning to enjoy his presence. And, though he would never admit it, you had a feeling he was beginning to enjoy yours too.

–

You don’t understand how it had happened, or why it happened, but the servants had randomly told you that Master Sukuna would like to have dinner with you in the large and unused… dining room, could you call it? You couldn’t recall ever seeing a table in there before, but it seemed like it had randomly appeared. When you step inside, you realize how much effort has been put into the space. The long wooden table, dark and aged, stretches beneath the golden light of the paper lanterns strung along the ceiling. Cushions have been placed on either side, meant for sitting, and at the very head of the table—Sukuna. He is already seated, elbow propped against the wood, his dual eyes scanning you lazily as you hesitate at the entrance. The scent of the meal reaches you before anything else, rich and layered—grilled fish with hints of charcoal, freshly steamed rice, something simmering in miso. An array of small dishes is spread across the table, each meticulously plated—pickled vegetables in delicate porcelain bowls, slices of tamagoyaki, bowls of miso soup steaming gently, and even a small dish of simmered daikon. It is undeniably a feast, far more elaborate than the simpler meals you’ve been having alone in your chambers. 

“You’re standing there like a fool,” Sukuna remarks, though there’s no real bite to his tone. He gestures vaguely to the cushion placed a few seats down from him. “Sit.” 

You do, lowering yourself onto the cushion as a servant quietly pours tea into your cup. The warmth of the cup is grounding as you stare at the food before you, realizing you haven’t eaten with another person since before your village was burned to the ground. A strange feeling prickles at the back of your mind, something close to unease but not quite. “Is this an interrogation?” you ask finally, glancing at him over the rim of your cup. Sukuna huffs out a short laugh. “If it were, you’d already know.” There’s an ease to the way he picks up his chopsticks, spearing a piece of grilled fish with practiced nonchalance. The sight of it surprises you—before, you had only seen him tear into raw meat with an almost animalistic detachment, caring little for the formality of eating. You recall, vaguely, what he had said days prior—that his tastes had changed because of the bond. That his body had begun to shift in ways he didn’t fully understand. He eats cooked food now. It unsettles you in a way you can’t describe. You reach for the rice, taking a small bite before speaking again. “You’re eating properly.”

His gaze flickers toward you before he shrugs. “It’s tolerable.”

“That’s a change from before.”

“Hn.” He doesn’t elaborate, instead reaching for the simmered daikon, plucking a piece between his chopsticks before lazily gesturing toward your untouched soup. “It’ll get cold.” You hesitate before taking a sip, the umami of the miso washing over your tongue. The warmth seeps through you, easing some of the tension in your shoulders. It’s good. Everything here is good. And for the first time in a long while, you eat without rushing, without the shadow of your grief looming so heavily over your head. Sukuna, despite his usual abrasiveness, eats with a methodical slowness, his movements lacking the usual aggression you’ve come to expect from him. Occasionally, he comments—sometimes about the food, sometimes a passing remark about the shrine’s cook. Once, when you reach for the pickled plums, he gives you a sideways glance. “You like those?”

You pause, chopsticks hovering over the dish. “I do.”

“Didn’t take you for someone who enjoys sour things.”

“Didn’t take you for someone who enjoys cooked food.”

His lips quirk slightly, though it isn’t quite a smile. “Fair.” The conversation remains sparse, neither of you attempting to fill the silence for the sake of it. But as the minutes pass, the quiet begins to feel less stifling. You eat, and he eats, and the room, for all its strangeness, feels less foreign than it did before. After a while, you set your chopsticks down, the meal sitting comfortably in your stomach. You exhale, pressing a hand against your mark instinctively, feeling the faintest hum beneath your skin. Sukuna, too, stills slightly, as if something within him reacts to your contentment. But neither of you acknowledge it. Instead, he simply leans back, exhaling through his nose. “Not bad.” You look at him. For a moment, just a moment, you think about saying thank you. But the words don’t quite form, so instead, you simply nod.  The servants clear the table. The next night, the invitation comes again. The first meal had been an unusual affair, mostly spent in silence, though the weight of his presence was less suffocating than you had anticipated. Today, the food had also been exquisite—simmered beef with miso glaze, bowls of rice topped with pickled plums and seaweed, accompanied by miso soup with tofu and green onions. There were seasonal vegetables as well, prepared in ways you had never tasted before—burdock root, daikon radish steeped in broth, and delicate eggplant halves grilled to perfection. The sake had been poured into ceramic cups, unspoken yet offered.

What continues to unsettle you most, however, was how he ate. Sukuna, whose brutality and savagery had been seared into your memory, now sat across from you, a bit closer than last time, where he was seated on the cushions at the head of the table, picking apart his food with an unexpected level of restraint. The way he held his chopsticks—precise and poised—was so at odds with the image of him you carried that it left you staring before you could catch yourself. He noticed, of course. “You look surprised.” His voice was its usual deep, measured cadence, though there was an edge of something else lurking beneath it. You blinked, feeling caught. “You… eat like a noble.”

His smirk was slow, almost lazy. “Disappointed?” You didn’t know how to answer that. Instead, you glanced down at your own bowl and focused on your meal, determined to ignore the way his amusement lingered in the air between you. The next invitation came two nights later. This time, you found yourself more aware of the ritual of it all—the quiet clink of dishes, the warm glow of candlelight, the faint aroma of cedar and incense hanging in the air. The meal was different yet just as rich—grilled fish with shoyu glaze, stewed vegetables, miso soup infused with fragrant yuzu peel. Again, he ate in silence at first, though his presence, as daunting as it was, no longer felt entirely suffocating. It was only after the first few bites that he finally spoke.

“You didn’t eat all of your rice last time.” You blinked at him, unsure of why he had noticed such a detail. “…I wasn’t that hungry.”

 He hummed, idly picking at a piece of fish with his chopsticks. “Hm. Wasteful.” You bristled slightly, even as you took another bite. “Not all of us eat enough to feed an entire village.” 

He let out something between a chuckle and a scoff. “You say that as if you didn’t just devour that piece of eggplant.” Heat crawled up your neck, but you stubbornly kept eating.

 “It was good.”

 He lifted a brow, studying you with an unreadable expression before he returned his attention to his meal. “Hmph.” The conversation that night was less tense than the first, though not entirely comfortable. You spoke in brief exchanges, nothing significant, nothing particularly meaningful, but it was… something. And then, it simply became routine. The invitations continued, and with each meal, something between you and Sukuna shifted—subtle, unspoken, but undeniable. The meals themselves changed with the seasons—rich broths for the colder nights, light and refreshing dishes for the warmer evenings. The air between you, though still lined with tension, became something you could withstand, something you could exist in without feeling entirely suffocated. You still didn’t know what it all meant, nor did you particularly want to dwell on it. But as you sat across from him, the candlelight casting sharp shadows over his striking features, you couldn’t ignore the strange sense of equilibrium settling between you. And neither, it seemed, could he.

—

The shrine was quiet, the kind of quiet that felt heavy, like the air itself was holding its breath. You were in your room, seated by the open shoji doors that led to the balcony, watching the moonlight spill over the gardens below. The bond between you and Sukuna had been… different lately. Less strained, less hostile. The dinners together, with the occasional quiet exchanging of books in his library, maybe they attested to the familiarity you felt each time the bond ignited a warm, fluttery feeling within you. There was still tension, of course—there always would be—but it had shifted into something softer, something almost… comfortable. You weren’t sure how to feel about it. The knock at your door startled you. It was late, far too late for any of the servants to be bothering you. You stood, smoothing the fabric of your kimono, and opened the door to find Uraume standing there, their pale face illuminated by the flickering light of the lantern they held. Their expression was unreadable, but there was a tension in their posture that made your stomach twist.

“He needs you,” they said, their voice low and urgent. You blinked, your heart skipping a beat. “Sukuna? What happened?” Uraume’s gaze didn’t waver. “He’s been injured. A curse user attacked him. He’s… not healing as quickly as he should.” Your breath caught in your throat. Sukuna? Injured? The idea was almost laughable. He was the King of Curses, a being of unparalleled strength and resilience. He’d torn through armies, devoured curses, and walked away unscathed. The thought of him being vulnerable, of him needing help, was… unsettling. “What kind of curse user could hurt him?” you asked, your voice trembling slightly. Uraume’s expression darkened. “This one was… different. Their technique was unlike anything we’ve encountered before. They wielded a cursed energy that disrupted Sukuna’s natural regeneration. It’s not permanent—he’ll likely be immune to it next time—but for now, he’s weakened.” You nodded, though your mind was racing. Without another word, you followed Uraume through the winding corridors of the shrine, your footsteps echoing in the silence. The bond between you and Sukuna hummed faintly, a quiet, insistent pull that grew stronger with every step. By the time you reached his chambers, your heart was pounding in your chest. The room was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of blood and incense. Sukuna was seated on the edge of his futon, his upper set of arms braced against his knees, his lower pair hanging limply at his sides. His chest was bare, revealing a deep, jagged wound that ran from his shoulder to his ribs. The sight of it made your stomach churn. He looked up as you entered, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly. “What are you doing here?” he growled, his voice rough but lacking its usual bite. 

“Uraume said you were hurt,” you replied. “I… I came to help.” Sukuna scoffed, though the sound was weaker than usual. “Help? What can you do, human?” You hesitated, unsure of how to respond. The truth was, you didn’t know. But the bond between you was humming louder now, a steady, insistent pull that you couldn’t ignore. Without thinking, you stepped forward, your fingers brushing against his arm. The moment your skin touched his, something shifted. The bond flared to life, a warm, golden light spreading from the point of contact. Sukuna’s eyes widened, his body tensing as the wound on his chest began to knit itself together, the jagged edges smoothing out as if time itself were being reversed. You stared at him, your breath catching in your throat. “What… what’s happening?” Sukuna didn’t respond immediately. His gaze was fixed on the wound, his expression one of mild disbelief. Then, slowly, he turned to look at you, his crimson eyes sharp and assessing. “You’re healing me,” he said, his voice low and edged with something you couldn’t quite place. You shook your head, your fingers still pressed against his arm. “I… I don’t know how. I didn’t do anything.” Uraume, who had been standing silently in the doorway, stepped forward, their expression one of quiet astonishment. “It’s the bond,” they said, their voice soft but steady. “I’ve read about this before, though I thought it was a myth. Soulmates… their connection can amplify each other’s abilities. In this case, it seems your presence is accelerating his healing.”

You blinked, your mind struggling to process the information. “But… why now? Why hasn’t this happened before?” Uraume’s gaze flicked to Sukuna, then back to you. “The bond has been deepening,” they said simply. “It’s likely that his injury, combined with your proximity, triggered this… reaction.” Sukuna’s lip curled slightly, though there was no real malice in the expression. “Of course,” he muttered, his tone laced with irritation. You didn’t respond. Your fingers were still pressed against his arm, the bond humming faintly between you. The wound on his chest was almost completely healed now, the skin smooth and unbroken. You could feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles coiled beneath your touch. It was… intimate, in a way you hadn’t expected. Uraume cleared their throat, drawing your attention. “I’ll leave you to it,” they said, their tone neutral. “Call if you need anything.” You nodded, though your mind was still reeling. As Uraume left the room, the silence stretched between you and Sukuna, heavy and unspoken. His gaze was fixed on you, his crimson eyes sharp and assessing. You could feel the weight of his presence, the way it pressed against you like a physical force. “You can let go now,” he said finally, his voice low and edged with something you couldn’t quite place. You blinked, your fingers twitching against his arm. “Oh. Right.” You pulled your hand away, though the bond between you continued to hum faintly, a quiet reminder of the connection you shared. Sukuna exhaled sharply, his upper set of arms uncrossing as he leaned back slightly. “This is… inconvenient,” he muttered, though there was no real bite to his words. You hesitated, your fingers twisting in the fabric of your robes. “Are you… okay?” you asked, assessing his large form.

Sukuna’s gaze flicked to you, his expression unreadable. “I’m fine,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact. “This is nothing.” You nodded, though you weren’t entirely convinced. The bond between you was still humming faintly, a quiet, insistent pull that you couldn’t ignore. You could feel his energy, the way it pulsed beneath the surface of his skin. It was… strange, but not entirely unwelcome. The silence stretched between you, heavy but not uncomfortable. You shifted slightly, your gaze dropping to the floor. “I should… go,” you said finally. Sukuna didn’t respond immediately. His gaze remained fixed on you, sharp and assessing. Then, with a shrug, he leaned back against the futon, his upper set of arms crossing over his chest. “Do as you please,” he said, his tone indifferent. You nodded again, though you didn’t move. The bond between you was still humming faintly, a quiet, insistent pull that you couldn’t ignore. You could feel his energy, the way it pulsed beneath the surface of his skin. It was… strange, but not entirely unwelcome. You finally turned and walked out of the room, your thoughts swirling. The bond between you and Sukuna had grown stronger, leaving you uncertain of how to feel. It was unsettling, yet strangely comforting. You were no longer alone in this—whether you wanted it or not.

–

A few days had passed since the mark between you and Sukuna flared up and healed the jagged wound he had acquired as a result of , and though the bond had only grown more undeniable, you hadn’t seen him since. He had kept to his usual routinely dinners and library sessions, coupled with his intimidating presence, and though you tried to push your thoughts of him aside, the connection between you still lingered. It was late one evening when he finally appeared in the doorway of your room. He stood there, as composed as ever, his gaze unreadable as always. But there was something different about him—something subtle. In his hand, he held a small, delicate object wrapped in dark cloth, its edges slightly frayed from travel. He didn’t say anything at first, just stepped into the room and placed it down on the table between you. “Take it,” he said flatly, as though the whole thing was beneath him, but there was a slight hesitation in his posture, something that hinted at… uncertainty? You eyed the object curiously and carefully unwrapped it. A small, intricately carved hairpin caught the light—a simple yet elegant piece made from polished ivory, decorated with a delicate cherry blossom motif, its petals painted a soft pink. The craftsmanship was beautiful, and the intricate detail made it clear it wasn’t something easily found in the markets. It was clear he’d brought it with great thought.

“Is this… for me?” you asked, your voice a mix of surprise and curiosity. Sukuna gave you a sideways glance, his tone nonchalant. “It’s a hairpin. Nothing special.” He turned away, his back to you now, but you could feel his presence still lingering. You held the pin in your hands, feeling the cool smoothness of the ivory beneath your fingers. “It’s beautiful. Thank you,” you said softly, your gaze lingering on the gift. He paused, his back still turned. “Don’t mention it,” he replied, almost too casually. “It’s just something I thought you might like.” But there was something in the way he spoke—something almost… kind.  You hesitated for a moment before standing up, walking toward him. He didn’t move, didn’t seem to care that you were near, but as you gently placed the hairpin on his palm, you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips.

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” you murmured, your voice tender. “But I appreciate it.” Sukuna’s eyes flickered toward your hand, then back to your face. There was no teasing, no mocking—just the barest flicker of something softer, like a fleeting moment of vulnerability that he quickly masked with indifference. “Don’t get used to it,” he said, though his voice wasn’t as sharp as usual. “I don’t do this for just anyone.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of his words, but also something else in his presence—something more than just the usual fear and tension. The following days were marked by small, unexpected moments. Another gift arrived a week later—a hand-carved fan with delicate plum blossoms painted on the silk, an elegant thing that would have been far too extravagant for anyone else. Sukuna dropped it onto your desk with the same nonchalant air, though his eyes lingered on you for a moment before he turned away, just a fraction longer than usual.

“Take care of it,” he muttered. “You humans are clumsy as shit”.

“I will,” you answered, running your fingers over the smooth surface of the fan. “Thank you.” From then on, small offerings became a part of your days. A piece of hand-forged jewelry, a box of rare incense, a fine brush for calligraphy. Each item, though simple, seemed to carry a depth of meaning you hadn’t expected. Sukuna didn’t speak of them much, never explaining his actions, but his gestures were slowly becoming harder to ignore. It wasn’t the gifts themselves, but the fact that he—someone so distant, so removed—was doing this for you. There was an intimacy in it, a vulnerability that you didn’t expect from someone like him. It wasn’t grand or overt, but in the quiet moments when he handed you another token, something in his gaze shifted ever so slightly. You were starting to understand the kind of bond this was becoming. And though he never admitted it aloud, his actions spoke louder than words—Sukuna was beginning to care.

—

A few days had passed since the last time you’d seen Sukuna, and tonight, there was an unfamiliar shift in the usual atmosphere between the two of you. The tension in the air was still present, but it wasn’t the same sharp, defensive energy. It was quieter. It almost felt… comfortable. As you sat down at the table, Sukuna arrived, a small bag in his hand. You eyed it curiously, but said nothing as he placed it down in front of you. Without a word, he unwrapped it slowly, revealing a loaf of bread. It wasn’t just any bread—it was a loaf of melon pan, the sweet Japanese bread with its signature sugar crust, golden and slightly cracked, the bread soft and pillowy beneath it. (a/n; I know melonpan didn’t exist in the heian era but pls spare me) 

You stared at it for a moment, unsure if it was real, but Sukuna wasn’t looking at you. His eyes were focused elsewhere, as if the bread in front of you didn’t matter all that much. But there was a tension to his posture, an awkwardness you’d never seen before. “Do you like it?” he asked, his voice low and almost cautious. “I wasn’t sure what to get you. But I remembered that night in the kitchen when you said you like bread.” You blinked, surprised. You hadn’t realized he’d been paying that much attention. “You remembered that?” you asked, your voice softer than usual. “Not hard to remember,” he muttered, still not meeting your gaze. “You kept going on about it like it was the best thing you’d ever tasted.” You chuckled lightly, unsure whether to feel embarrassed or touched. You’d mentioned it in passing, hardly thinking it would make an impact. “I wasn’t going on about it,” you said, picking up the loaf. “I just—well, I do like bread. And I really also like sweets. A lot.” You took a tentative bite of the bread, the sweet, buttery flavor melting in your mouth, and you couldn’t help but smile. “This is actually really good. I’ve never had melon pan before.”

Sukuna seemed to stiffen, watching you for a long moment, his gaze still unreadable. “I didn’t know if you’d like it or not,” he said quietly. “But I thought it might be a safe bet.” You continued eating, savoring the soft, sweet taste of the bread, and for a moment, the room fell into a rare quiet. It wasn’t uncomfortable, though. It felt… natural. You looked up at him, meeting his gaze for the first time since he’d placed the bread on the table. There was something in his eyes—maybe it was reluctance, or maybe something else—but it wasn’t the usual mockery or cold indifference. “It’s really thoughtful of you,” you said after a beat, your voice sincere. “I don’t think anyone’s ever paid attention to that before.” Sukuna looked away quickly, his expression closing off again. “It’s just bread. Don’t make it into something it’s not.” You nodded, sensing he wasn’t entirely comfortable with this exchange. But still, there was a warmth behind the gesture. “I know,” you said, your voice gentle. “But still, thank you. You didn’t have to.”

“I didn’t do it for you,” he replied gruffly, though the edge in his voice was less biting than usual. “I just… remembered. Thought you might like it. That’s all.” There was something about the simplicity of it—the quiet, almost tender moment—that made it feel like more than just bread. It was an offering, in his own way, a way for him to show that he’d thought about you. Even if he wouldn’t admit it out loud, it was clear that he cared more than he let on. The conversation drifted into comfortable silence as you finished the loaf, savoring each bite. Sukuna remained mostly quiet, though he didn’t leave. His presence, usually imposing, seemed less heavy tonight, more grounded. “Don’t expect anything else,” he muttered after a while, but there was no harshness in his voice, no mocking edge. “I’m not in the habit of doing this.”

“I won’t,” you replied, the smallest smile tugging at your lips. “But I’m glad you did.” He gave a slight nod, his gaze flickering to you before looking away again, his usual stoic demeanor slowly returning. But for the first time in a while, there was a sense of quiet intimacy between the two of you—no teasing, no barriers, just the subtle understanding that this, in its own way, was something more. The melon pan incident, as you had come to think of it, lingered in your mind longer than you’d expected. There was something unexpected in Sukuna’s quiet thoughtfulness, something you couldn’t quite shake. It wasn’t just the bread—it was the way he had remembered something so small and insignificant. And then, as if to prove that it wasn’t a fluke, the following evening, there was another small gesture waiting for you. This time, it was a small tray of delicate Japanese daifuku—soft, chewy rice cakes stuffed with sweet red bean paste (a/n: i doubt these existed in the heian era either bro sorry). You hadn’t even said anything about them before, but when you looked up from the table, there it was, sitting between you and Sukuna. He placed it down with the same air of indifference, but there was a subtle tension in the way he watched you, like he was waiting for something. “You like these, too,” he said, not making eye contact. You blinked, surprised again. “How did you know?”

He shrugged, eyes cold. “You should see the way your face makes this odd face everytime you take a bite out of this… delicacy” You smiled, feeling the warmth of the gesture, and helped yourself to another piece of the daifuku. “This is amazing,” you said, looking at him. “Thank you.” Sukuna glanced at you, his face impassive, but there was a slight shift in his gaze. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t start getting sentimental on me, woman.” That night, as you finished the last of the daifuku, you found yourself oddly comfortable in the quiet. This—whatever this was between you—wasn’t the sharp, tense and uncomfortable back-and-forth that used to dominate your conversations. There was something easier about it, something less strained. It was as if the awkwardness had slowly begun to dissipate, and though neither of you had openly acknowledged it, the small moments of care were starting to feel more natural. Each evening, it became a little ritual. One night, there were delicate kashiwa mochi wrapped in oak leaves, another night, small matcha-flavored pastries. Every time, Sukuna’s voice was a little less sharp, a little less gruff. Sometimes, he’d even engage in actual conversation—about trivial things at first, like the taste of the matcha or the weather, but soon it evolved into more. Subtle, important things.

“What was your childhood like? Did you have one, or were you born a curse?” you asked one night, breaking the quiet. It wasn’t a question you ever thought you’d ask Sukuna, but something about the evening, the slow rhythm of the conversation, made it feel like a natural thing to say. Sukuna didn’t flinch at your question, but the brief shift in his gaze told you he wasn’t expecting it. He didn’t respond immediately, taking his time to set down his cup before glancing at you with that usual, nonchalant air that had become so familiar. “Yeah, you could say I had the tendencies of a human once,” he said, as though it were a minor detail. “But I was unwanted. Doesn’t matter much now.” His voice didn’t carry the weight of pain or nostalgia—just bluntness, a dismissive edge that almost made it sound like the whole subject bored him. You blinked, surprised at the casual tone in his voice. “Unwanted?” you echoed, unsure what he meant.

“Didn’t fit the mold,” he muttered. “Not good enough for the world I was born into. My power was too much, too early, and they couldn’t control me. On top of that I was born… Well. Visible deformities, as humans would put it. So I was discarded. That’s how it works for people like me.” There was no bitterness in his tone, just a matter-of-factness, as though he was recounting something trivial. You leaned forward, intrigued despite his indifferent stance. “So, how did you… become like this?”

Sukuna’s lips curled up into a small, humorless smirk. “The same way anything like me happens. The jujutsu world is full of people who think they can control power, manipulate it, bend it to their will. But sometimes, power doesn’t stay in the box they want to put it in. You either control it, or it controls you. And me? I didn’t let anyone control me.” His voice didn’t waver, but there was a sharpness to it that you hadn’t expected. Sukuna wasn’t someone who spoke about his past often, let alone with any kind of sentiment. He was always the feared sorcerer—the one who brought destruction—but this… this was different. For a moment, he didn’t seem like the invincible, untouchable figure everyone feared. He seemed like a product of a world that had cast him aside, and his voice betrayed just a hint of something that was more than arrogance or cruelty.

“So, you just… became like this?” you asked, still trying to piece together what he meant, unsure of whether he was talking about his rise to power or something else entirely. Sukuna gave a short, dismissive shrug. “It’s not like that. I wasn’t made this way by choice. Power like mine doesn’t belong quietly in anyone. Eventually, it changes how people look at you. How you look at yourself. You either let them define you, or you define yourself. And I did.” His gaze darkened for a moment, a flicker of something hidden behind his usually aloof demeanor. “And in this world? If you’re not feared, you’re nothing.” The words hung heavy in the air, and you could feel the weight of what he wasn’t saying. The vulnerability buried beneath the harsh, bitter exterior. For the first time, Sukuna wasn’t the untouchable king of curses—you could see the cracks in his mask, the faintest glimpse of a person who had been abandoned, who had been forced to adapt to a world that only wanted to use him. You felt the desire to ask more, to understand him better, but you also knew pushing too far would only make him retreat further into himself. So, instead, you simply nodded, taking in his words. “That sounds… rough,” you said quietly, your voice soft. Sukuna’s gaze softened just a fraction, a barely perceptible shift. But he quickly turned his attention away, hiding the brief crack in his demeanor behind his usual smirk. “It is what it is,” he muttered, as if to brush off the conversation. Your smile grew, and for the first time, you felt something shift in the room. It wasn’t a grand gesture. It wasn’t anything to speak of, but it felt like a breakthrough—however small. A moment where he let down just a little of the wall he’d spent so much time building.

That night, after finishing another small dessert—this time a bowl of mizu yokan—he lingered longer than usual, sitting quietly, the flickering candlelight casting soft shadows across his face. “Alright, that’s enough with the questions,” he muttered, leaning back in his chair. “But I’ll say this: don’t go wasting time feeling pity for me, woman. I’m content as I am.”

“I never said I was,” you replied, offering him a small, pout.  Well, maybe you were a little touched by his little walk down memory lane. Sukuna’s lips twitched, a rare, almost imperceptible smile ghosting across his face before it was gone. “Yeah, well… You’re a really bad fuckin’ liar.” You didn’t press him further, huffing at his quip. Instead, you simply reached for another sweet treat. “I guess I’ll just enjoy the desserts then.”

“Don’t get used to it,” he shot back, but this time, the edge of his voice was softer, warmer, less biting. As the days passed, it became routine. Dessert after dessert, each one a little more thoughtful than the last, each conversation a little more open, a little less guarded. Sukuna’s snark was still there, of course, always ready to rise to the surface. But behind it, there was a quiet understanding beginning to form. Neither of you acknowledged it outright, but the subtle warmth that had started to develop between you—the kind that wasn’t just from the desserts, but from the time spent together—began to feel undeniable. The bond between you, unspoken and yet so palpable, was shifting things between the two of you. And while neither of you could put a name to it, it was becoming something neither of you could ignore. The subtle way Sukuna softened when you laughed, the rare moments when his sharp words were followed by a quieter, more genuine response—it was clear that whatever this was, it was changing you both, one sweet gesture at a time.

–

Sukuna had been gone for three days. He didn’t tell you where he was going, not exactly. Just muttered something about “sorcerer scum in the north” and vanished before you could ask further. You didn’t know when he’d be back, or what kind of shape he’d return in—but strangely, you cared. Not just because his absence had disrupted your strange new rhythm of shared silence and desserts, but because… it felt empty without him. You’d never admit it aloud. Not even to yourself in clearer terms. But the lack of his presence left the shrine quieter. Colder. And so, in a rare burst of curiosity—or perhaps boredom—you wandered. The shrine was massive, stretching well beyond the main quarters and ceremonial halls you’d grown accustomed to. You drifted past familiar corridors into one you hadn’t noticed before—one darker, older, but clearly still tended to. You expected to find storage rooms. Maybe empty quarters. What you didn’t expect was to push open a delicate, lacquered door and step into another world entirely. The room was filled with light. Pale silks hung from the ceilings like drifting clouds, the scent of rare incense curling softly in the air. Ornate screens divided lounging areas, where cushions of every texture and color lay untouched. And there—moving gracefully among the furnishings—were women. Several of them. All breathtaking. They weren’t speaking. Just moving quietly, their presence somehow both ethereal and heavy. Their clothing was elegant, hair brushed smooth and glossy, faces serene.

They didn’t notice you. Or maybe they did and simply didn’t care. You stood frozen in the doorway, unsure whether to step forward or back out entirely. But a faint shift of one of the women’s heads—just enough to glance at you with a vaguely curious expression—pushed you to move again. You left before you could say a word.

—

The kitchen was warm. Familiar. It grounded you, especially now, as the strange image of that room still lingered in your mind. You found yourself poking around for something—anything—to make, hands moving on autopilot. And then came Uraume. They stepped into the kitchen as they always did, quiet and gliding, like they’d been summoned by the stillness. Their eyes passed over you like they were checking for something, as usual. You didn’t say anything at first. But it tugged at you.

“Hey,” you said finally, stirring a pot that didn’t need stirring.

A pause. “Yes?”

You kept your gaze down. “Those women… in the southern wing.” Another pause. “What women?” You looked up then. “The ones in that big hall, past the tapestry with the dragon motif.” Uraume was still. They blinked once, slow. “Ah. The concubine quarters.” It was said plainly. No hesitation. No discomfort. You blinked. “Concubines.”

They nodded, moving toward the storage shelves. “Yes. Sukuna-sama’s, from before.”

You stared. “Before what?” They tilted their head slightly, as if the question was strange. “Before he stopped entertaining the idea of them.”

“…So they’re still here?”

“They serve the shrine now. Maintain parts of it. They’re loyal.” They said it like it was obvious. “They’ve remained since he conquered this region. Some… longer.” You didn’t know why it sat strangely in your stomach. It wasn’t a new idea, not really. Of course someone like Sukuna would have had concubines. Dozens, probably. Hundreds. He was worshipped like a god. Revered, feared. Power like that drew people like moths. And yet… you turned back to your pot, brow furrowed.

“You seem bothered,” Uraume said flatly.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

You frowned. “Why would I care if he had concubines?”

Uraume gave the smallest shrug. “You tell me.”

There was no mockery in their voice. Just the same blank politeness they always used. You didn’t answer. But that night, in your room, wrapped in plain sheets and half-watching the flicker of the oil lamp, your thoughts drifted to the quiet grace of those women. The elegance, the way they’d moved like they belonged in a place Sukuna had once given them. You wondered what kind of man he’d been with them. Cruel? Detached? Charming, even? And you hated that you wondered. Because whatever it was that was forming between the two of you now—tentative, strange, steady—it was yours. Singular. Built one cautious conversation, one dessert, one half-smile at a time. But still. The image lingered. And you told yourself it didn’t mean anything, even as something unspoken twisted quietly in your chest. Dinner that night was different. The kitchen had been filled with the scent of seared meat for the past hour—savory and sharp, a heavy warmth that clung to the air like steam after rain. When the meal was finally placed between the two of you, the lacquered tray held perfectly grilled cuts of wagyu beef, marbled fat rendered to the point of melting. They glistened with a thin lacquer of sesame oil and tare glaze, smoky sweet and just slightly charred on the edges. A side of pickled daikon and wild mountain greens sat untouched as the silence stretched on. You were unusually quiet. Sukuna chewed slowly, watching you with the lazy attention of a predator that’s already eaten but still enjoys the scent of blood. After a few moments, he grunted. “You’re quiet today,” he said, voice rough around the edges. “You usually annoy me a little more than this.” You blinked, forcing out a small laugh, not really feeling it. “Sorry to disappoint.” He gave you a long look, one brow raised. For a moment, you thought he’d leave it alone. But then, casually, like swatting a fly, he said, “Let me guess. You wandered where you shouldn’t have.”

You paused, chopsticks hovering above the beef. “…I didn’t know you had concubines.” The corner of his mouth lifted. Not in surprise—he’d known this would come up eventually. His grin was slow and unapologetic, almost boyish if not for the glint of something sharper behind it. “What, just ‘cause I look like this—” he rolled his broad shoulders, letting his robe shift with calculated ease, revealing the ripple of muscle beneath and the unmistakable twitch of his four arms beneath the sleeves. His lower pair flexed beneath the fabric like it was second nature. Then one lifted and casually parted the dip in his robe, pointing to the maw on his stomach. “—you think I don’t have sexual needs?”

Your entire body recoiled in visible disgust. “Ew—! Don’t say it like that, oh my god.”

Sukuna snorted. “What? You asked.”

“I didn’t ask for that visual,” you snapped, flustered, face heating fast. “Gods, you’re disgusting.”

He chuckled, low and mean, lips parting just enough to flash the glint of a fang. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous.” Your heart jumped. “I am not—!”

But then it hit. A sharp, unmistakable flare on your skin—your soulmate mark, a searing heat blooming against your ribs. Your breath caught. Across from you, Sukuna froze for only a split second, his grin curving wider with dark delight as his own mark lit up in answer. “Well,” he drawled, leaning forward slightly, elbows on the table, all four eyes trained on you. “That didn’t sting a little for no reason, did it?” You scowled, dragging your hand across your ribs, as if to hide the mark you knew he couldn’t see from this angle. “It’s not what you think.”

His grin sharpened. “You sure?”

“Maybe the bond’s just defective,” you muttered, flushing. “Nothing else explains why I’d be tethered to someone who talks about his sex life over dinner.” Sukuna barked out a laugh, actually amused now. “You're the one who brought up the concubines, brat. I was just answering your question.”

“Poorly!”

“You say that, but you’re the one blushing like a handmaiden.”

You gaped at him. “I am not! I’m just—hot from the food.” He leaned back, arms spreading like a smug deity lounging in the aftermath of a battle. “Sure you are. Should I open a window for you? Or are you gonna sit there steaming for another ten minutes?”

“You’re insufferable.”

“I know. Yet here you are. Eating dinner with me like you have a choice.” The banter kept going, quick and barbed and strangely easy, like the rhythm of a sparring match neither of you intended to win. And somewhere between your second helping and his offhand insults, you realized something quietly terrifying: 

He was joking with you. Not in the cruel, sharp way he used to. Not as a power play. But real joking. The kind laced with just enough truth to make you squirm, softened by something that felt suspiciously close to amusement. The mask he always wore—of bored superiority and distant menace—was slipping in tiny pieces. Sukuna was still sprawled on his side of the room, a cup of sake now in hand, the folds of his dark silk robe parted slightly from how carelessly he’d settled. The fabric clung loose around his waist, pooling around his legs, but tight across his shoulders—broad, muscled, the lines of his body impossible to ignore.

You hated that you were staring.

But how could you not?

He was massive. Not just tall, but built, the kind of strong that wasn’t sculpted by discipline but born from chaos. His four arms only added to the overwhelming size of him—two folded behind his head in a display of easy arrogance, the other two cradling the sake and resting against his thigh. And the tattoos—black, inked like ropes and waves and ancient rites—curved along his chest and arms in harsh, precise lines, each one seeming to pulse when the firelight hit them. He looked like a walking shrine to something dangerous and unholy. “You're starin',” he said, low and rough, the edge of a smirk in his voice. You blinked fast. “No, I wasn’t.” Sukuna shifted slightly, the way a large predator might stretch just to remind you of its size. “Sure you weren’t.”

You scowled and tore your gaze away, pretending to adjust the tray between you both.  A grunt. “You always get this twitchy when something’s on your mind.” You stiffened. He noticed. And then, like he could smell the thoughts dancing at the tip of your tongue, he grinned—slow, amused, a little too satisfied with himself.

“What is it?” he drawled. “Something about me distracting you? Got more of those pesky questions?”

You hesitated, heat rising uninvited to your cheeks. His grin widened. You hated him. Not really. You cleared your throat, not meeting his gaze. “I just… was wondering something.” Another grunt. “Go on then.”

You regretted it immediately. “Since you’re, um. Built like that. How do you even—”

Sukuna raised a brow. “How do I even what?” You inhaled sharply, your entire soul shriveling. “…Have sex.”

For one second, there was silence. And then Sukuna barked out a laugh—a full, body-shaking laugh, low and wicked, as his top hands dropped behind him for support and his lower ones set down his cup. Your face was on fire.

“You’ve been thinking about what my dick looks like?” he said, positively leering at you now, all sharp teeth and gleaming eyes.

“I—No! That’s not what I—shut up!” You turned away so fast your hair caught on your collar. “It’s a logical question!”

He was still grinning like a wolf. “Sure it is. Must’ve really been looking, huh? Taking in all the details.”

“I hate you.”

He tilted his head slightly. “You're awfully curious for someone so offended.” You made the mistake of glancing back at him—and regretted it. His robe had slipped further down one shoulder, baring more inked skin, the thick curve of his bicep beneath. His claws glinted faintly in the firelight. His lower arms remained still, resting along his thighs like they had no business being that large.

“I was just thinking—mechanically, it must be hard, that’s all!”

He laughed again. “So clinical. You want a diagram next time?”

“Maybe I will draw one!”

He leaned in a fraction. “You'd be surprised to know I have two.”

You choked.

“What—”

Sukuna just smirked and raised his cup again, taking a slow, unbothered sip of sake like he hadn’t just destroyed the last functioning part of your brain. “You’re lying,” you said, eyes wide, voice cracking. He didn't answer. Just tilted his chin toward you and murmured, “Oh? You sound a little eager.” You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Nothing except heat, flushing up your neck and into your ears. You turned away again, practically sizzling. And then it hit you. Again. Traitorous fucking mark. That now-familiar burn—sharp and sudden, right under your ribs where your soulmate mark lived. It didn’t hurt, not exactly. But it tingled, warm and electric just like before, enough to draw your breath in through your teeth with a little more panic this time. Sukuna inhaled too, eyes narrowing slightly. He set the sake aside.

“…That didn’t feel like nothing,” he said, voice dipping just enough to make your spine tingle. You curled slightly in place, clutching your robes tighter. “It’s malfunctioning. Seriously. Second time it's done this. Maybe we should ask Uruame for more information–”

He gave a quiet, predatory chuckle, leaning in slowly, eyes half-lidded now. “You react that strongly every time someone tells you they have two dicks?”

“Stop saying it!”

He grinned again, all canines and danger, but it wasn’t cruel now. It was teasing. Touched with something warmer, something… curious.

“You wanna see or something?”

You gasped. “No!”

Sukuna looked unbothered. “It’d answer your mechanical concerns.”

Your mark flared again.

His did too. And for a moment, both of you sat there in the stillness, the fire crackling between you, the bond humming like a pulled string. You clutched your knees, glaring at the floor, and Sukuna just watched you—grin easing into something less cutting, more thoughtful. Almost fond.

Almost.

“…Do not speak,” you muttered. He didn’t. Just took another drink, eyes on you the whole time, as if watching the bond itself smolder beneath your skin. And for once, you didn’t run from it.

–

The days that followed passed with a new, unspoken rhythm. You found yourself in the kitchen more often, drawn there not out of duty but something else—restlessness, maybe. Or habit. Or perhaps the strange, simmering calm that had started to settle in your chest whenever Sukuna wasn’t storming the halls or barking orders. You didn't always cook; sometimes you simply sat by the coals and watched the steam rise from clay pots, fingers trailing idly through the condensation on the lacquered counters. Sometimes, when Sukuna returned from his travels—bloodied or bone-weary, the heavy scent of the outside clinging to his robes—he would step into the kitchen without a word. You’d glance up, startled, only for him to give you a flat look and then wordlessly pluck a small plate from the tray beside you. He’d take a bite. Chew. And then:

“This is disgusting.”

You’d scowl, snatch the plate from his hand—and he’d pluck another bite before you could move it out of reach. Always with that same neutral face, as if his own reaction annoyed him. Sometimes he ate in silence. Sometimes he insulted the seasoning. But every time, he kept eating. And the next time you cooked, you made extra. He never asked you to join him in his private quarters again after the teleportation incident—but the library became the new middle ground. One of his attendants, pale-faced and jittery, would shuffle into the kitchen or your quarters, head bowed low.

“Sukuna-sama requests your presence.”

The first time, you didn’t know what to expect. But when you arrived, he simply waved a hand toward a lacquered cushion and returned to the scroll he was reading. You sat across from him, unsure, your knees tucked neatly beneath you, eyes flicking over the endless shelves of bound manuscripts and jade-carved seals. And so it became routine. No words were needed. You read. He read. Sometimes you fell asleep in the corner, waking hours later to find a soft throw draped over your shoulders and Sukuna still cross-legged beside the brazier, eyes lowered, lips barely moving as he mouthed the words on an aged scroll.

And the gifts—

They started subtle. A new hairpin placed near your basin. A comb carved from cherry wood, the lacquer catching the light like a drop of garnet. You never saw who left them, but you didn’t need to.

Then, one evening, you slid open the long wooden closet that lined one side of your room—and stopped short. Silks. Dozens of them. Folded with impossible precision, stacked one atop another in a perfect gradient of color and detail. From simple kosode dyed with indigo and inkbrush plum blossoms to intricate junihitoe, layered with brocade patterns of cranes, chrysanthemums, and cresting waves. Obi belts in soft gold and crimson were coiled like sleeping serpents beside them, and a pair of zōri—simple sandals of silk and lacquered wood—rested on the tatami at the bottom.

You stared. Touched one—just to be sure it wasn’t a hallucination. The fabric whispered beneath your fingers. You said nothing about it. Not that night, not the next morning. But when you descended for dinner, dressed in one of the simpler garments—a dusky lavender kosode with a cloud-dappled sash—you caught the way Sukuna looked up. And stopped. He didn’t say anything at first. Just looked. Eyes dragging slowly over the lines of the garment, the way it fell over your frame, the sleeves trailing delicately at your wrists. His gaze wasn’t hungry, not like you feared. It was something stranger.

Pleased.

He let his eyes linger for a beat longer, then turned his attention to his cup, muttering something about your sleeves being too long for eating properly. You rolled your eyes—but you wore another the next night. A soft blue one, patterned with falling wisteria. And again, his gaze found you and stayed a moment too long. He never commented directly. Never told you he liked seeing you in the clothes he’d chosen. But he sent more. With each passing week, the collection in your closet grew—seasonal silks, embroidered linings, even warm padded kosode for the colder nights. You never thanked him out loud. He never asked you to. But in that growing silence—filled with slow glances, quiet shared spaces, warm sake and glimmering sleeves—something was softening.

Not just in you.

In him.

Even if he would die before admitting it.

–

You weren’t used to needing help. The layered silk hung open over your shoulders, the inner robe already clinging lightly to your skin after your bath. The occasion—a seasonal shrine offering—was something you hadn’t asked to attend, but Sukuna had simply told Uraume, and Uraume had simply informed you. Refusing hadn’t felt like an option. The robe he had sent for the ritual was finer than anything he’d gifted before. Deep black, like wet ink under moonlight, lined with subtle patterns of pale camellias along the hem and sleeve. A wide crimson obi sat folded on the tatami, stiff and elegant, almost ceremonial. You were halfway through awkwardly wrapping it around your waist when you heard the door slide open.

You turned your head sharply. “Uraume, I told you I don’t—”

But it wasn’t Uraume. It was Sukuna. He filled the doorway like a shadow, his robes loose, hair unbound, his expression unreadable as he looked you over from head to toe. He didn’t speak. Just stepped inside and slid the door shut behind him. Your hands paused on the obi.

“…What are you doing?”

He didn’t answer right away. His gaze dropped to your hands. “You’re doing it wrong,” he said finally, voice rough and casual. “You’ll look like a crumpled scroll.”

You scowled. “I can manage.”

“No,” he said simply, already moving toward you. “You can’t.” You tensed as he stepped behind you—close, too close—his broad presence almost suffocating. His lower arms moved first, brushing your hands away with a firm but wordless ease, fingers brushing your waist. You stiffened. “I didn’t ask you to—”

“Shut up and hold still.” You huffed but obeyed, fists tightening slightly as he took the crimson sash and began to move. His hands were slow, confident—like he’d done this a hundred times, maybe for a hundred other women. But it didn’t feel mechanical. It felt deliberate. Every shift of fabric around your waist, every pull of the knot, felt heavier than it should. His knuckles grazed your hips, the calloused pads of his fingers tugging and smoothing, warm through the thin fabric. Your throat felt dry. The silence wrapped tighter than the obi. And then his top right hand—larger, warmer—rose without warning, brushing against your collarbone where the inner layer had slipped. He tugged it gently into place, fingers lingering a second too long against your neck. You felt his breath at the nape of your neck, slow and steady. 

You shivered.

“…You’re touchy tonight,” you murmured, trying for casual, but your voice came out thin, breathier than you meant. Sukuna hummed, low in his throat. “You're dressed like a priestess about to walk into a war camp. You should at least look the part.”

“You’re one to talk,” you shot back, but your voice faltered as his hands pressed briefly against your lower back, adjusting the final tie. “You’re squirming,” he said. “That mean you’re nervous?”

“I’m not squirming.”

“You’re blushing, too.”

You jerked away slightly, just enough to turn and look up at him. “You’re imagining things.” His face was close—too close now. His top pair of eyes watching you with that cool, sharp stare, but the lower set were lazier, half-lidded, like he was halfway through a thought he hadn’t decided whether to speak aloud yet.

“You keep looking at my hands,” he said.

You looked away. “They’re everywhere. Hard not to.” He chuckled—deep and amused, like you were something he’d found under a temple stone. His fingers brushed against your waist one more time before finally letting go. The obi was perfectly tied. Of course it was. You stepped away, putting a little distance between you, heart ticking too loud in your ears.

“You’re ready,” Sukuna said, turning toward the door again. But as his hand touched the frame, he paused. Looked back at you. His gaze dragged down and up again, slow, assessing. “You look like something worth worshipping,” he said simply, and then slid the door open, disappearing into the hall like he hadn’t just set your entire chest on fire.

–

You shed the layers slowly. The shrine offering had lasted hours, filled with incense smoke, ceremonial chants, and the unnerving stillness of being watched—by shrine maidens, by spirits, and most of all, by him. The moment you returned to your quarters, you began pulling the robes off one by one. The outer layer first, then the weighty under-layers, until only the thinnest white silk clung to your skin, clinging slightly with the sweat from the firelit ritual. Your hair was pinned loosely, and you tugged the ornament free, letting it tumble over your shoulders as you moved toward your futon, bones aching from kneeling too long. The mattress was already rolled out, blankets fluffed. You collapsed into it face-first with a low sigh, the scent of camellia oil still clinging faintly to your sleeves.

It was warm.

Warmer than usual. You rolled onto your side, drowsy. The softness of the futon reminded you—uncomfortably—of another night. The one where you woke to silk sheets, to the scent of spice and cedar, to—

You touched your ribs absentmindedly. The soulmate mark was warm again. Not burning, but humming, gentle and strange, like a hand pressed lightly against your skin. You closed your eyes. Your breath slowed. He really was... something. Too tall. Too broad. Too much. And yet—when he looked at you from over his sake cup, smirking like he knew too much, your stomach had flipped. It wasn’t affection. Not quite. But something else, just as dangerous. You hated how aware you were of him now—the way his sleeves slipped off his shoulders, how the lines of his tattoos looked inked straight into muscle and heat. The way his voice dipped when he said your name. You curled under the blankets, sighing. The air around you smelled different tonight. Not your usual incense.

It smelled like—

Something shifted. A soft, wet sound broke the quiet. Your brows furrowed.

shlick shlick schlick

Another. Rhythmic. Faint, but unmistakable. You blinked into the dark, pulse skipping. The futon was still soft beneath you—too soft—and the scent now felt overwhelming. Clean and spiced, a little iron in the air, like—

Your eyes flew open. This wasn’t your room. It was darker. The shadows deeper. Lanterns flickering faintly against high lacquered walls. The futon was larger, draped in sheets too fine for a servant, and the air was warm from a brazier still glowing in the corner. Your heart seized. You turned your head.

And—

There he was. Sukuna. Sprawled beside you, bare from the waist up, the sheets rumpled around his hips. One hand braced against the floor beside him, the other between his thighs.

Moving.

You froze. His chest rose and fell steadily, eyes half-lidded, mouth slightly parted. His hair fell loose around his shoulders, messier than usual, and there was a look on his face—relaxed, almost. Tension curling at the corners of his mouth with every movement of his wrist. You didn’t dare move. Couldn’t speak. He wasn’t wrong. He really did have two of them. They stood large and proud, stacked on top of one another, with a tattooed ring around the base on each of them, the tips both flushed red. His lower right hand was lazily working the one on the top, the head leaking with each tug of his wrist. The sound continued, slow and slick and maddeningly soft. You couldn’t tear your eyes away. Couldn’t even process how you were here again—how you’d been pulled into his chambers without a single sensation of movement. Your mark throbbed faintly under your fingers. Tingling.

You didn’t breathe. Didn’t dare. But something must have given you away—a shift in your breathing, a twitch of your fingers—because Sukuna’s hand slowed. His head turned just slightly. And then his eyes slid open. All four of them. The top pair blinked lazily. The lower ones found you instantly, glowing faintly red in the low lantern light. Still, his hand didn’t stop. “Well,” he drawled, voice deep and amused, “look who’s awake. I noticed a while ago when you teleported.” Your entire body tensed. Heat exploded across your face like fire, your limbs frozen under the silken blanket. You tried to speak. Nothing came out. His mouth curved into a grin—slow, wicked. The kind that always came before trouble. “I was wondering how long it’d take you to realise you were here,” he said, thumb dragging lazily along the underside of his length as if this conversation were normal, as if you weren’t half-curled on your side beside him, wide-eyed and paralyzed.

“I—I didn’t—” you stammered, throat bone-dry.

“You didn’t what?” he asked, feigning innocence. “Mean to end up in my bed again? Or mean to stare?”

“I wasn’t—staring!” You yanked the blanket higher, half wanting to vanish beneath it. “I didn’t choose to be here!”

“That’s the thing about fate,” he murmured, finally slowing his hand until it stilled at his lower stomach. “Doesn’t ask for permission.” Your soulmate mark throbbed again, stronger this time—like it was reacting to the charge in the room, the way his eyes hadn’t left your face, the smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth. “You’re really… doing that right next to me?” you whispered, horrified. Sukuna raised an eyebrow, amused. “I was doing it before you got here. You’re the one who dropped in uninvited.” You swallowed hard, eyes flicking away from his chest. “You could’ve stopped.” He leaned in slightly, elbows resting on his knees, voice lowering.

“But then I wouldn’t have gotten to see that look on your face.”

You scowled—but your heart was beating so fast it hurt. And just like that, he leaned back again, fingers ghosting down his abdomen once more. The heat between you was unbearable. His voice dipped, softer now, more dangerous.

“You gonna watch… or join me?” You meant to look away. You really did. But you couldn’t. Your eyes were glued to him—his shoulders loose, posture lazy, that monstrous body somehow more inviting than terrifying in the warm flicker of firelight. His hand was still moving slowly between his legs, the wet sounds far too loud in the silence, and your gaze—against your will—dropped lower. You genuinely couldn’t believe there weren really... two. Just like he’d said. And now you couldn’t stop seeing it. The thick twin ridges of arousal, curved and flushed and gripped firmly in his rough palm. It was obscene. It was unreal. And worst of all—

You were aroused. Not just flustered. Not just flushed. Aroused. Your thighs squeezed together under the blanket without meaning to. You could feel the heat between them, hot and growing slick, pulsing right under your skin. And the mark on your ribs—your soulmate mark—was burning. Not painful, but molten. Like it had its own heartbeat. A steady throb that matched the sharp, quickening rhythm of your breath. Across the bed, Sukuna smirked without looking up. Your stomach twisted. He finally glanced at you, his lower pair of eyes heavy-lidded, the top ones lazily narrowed. All four of them glowed faintly with the same heat you felt crawling across your skin. “I can see the way you’re squirming,” he murmured, voice low and dark. “The way you’re breathing. You’re trying so hard not to move.” You swallowed hard, throat dry as bone.

“I—” you started, but your voice caught. He tilted his head, smug. “Scared you’ll make it worse?” Your hands fisted the blanket. You were. Because if you moved even an inch, you might not stop.  You’d never felt this before. Not like this. Not so fast, not so deep. In the village, you were nothing. Taught shame before anything else. The daughter of a woman who never married. No one touched you. No one wanted to. And you'd told yourself that was fine. Whenever need stirred, you took care of it alone. Quiet. Controlled. Always with the door locked. Always without mess. This wasn’t that. This was raw. Loud. Him. Your breath hitched again, and before you could stop yourself, the words escaped in a whisper:

“I’m a virgin.”

The moment they left your mouth, you froze. Horror overtook your expression. Sukuna’s movements stilled. His eyes glinted. Then—slowly—his mouth stretched into a grin. A vicious, satisfied grin. Canines bared. “I know,” he said. Your entire face went up in flames. “What—how would you—?”

“You think I can’t smell it?” he said, voice thick with amusement. “Smells like purity and frustration.” You made a strangled noise and curled in on yourself, panic flaring under the blanket. But you didn’t get far. In an instant—less than a blink—he moved. Not like a man. Not like anything human. You gasped, head whipping up, because suddenly he was in front of you—kneeling, looming, knees parted—and his claws were digging gently into your right thigh. Not enough to hurt, just enough to hold. His skin was hot where it touched yours, and with one slow, effortless pull, he dragged you closer—straight between his legs. You braced yourself on your elbows, wide-eyed. One of his hands still stroked lazily at himself, unbothered by the way you stared, and his voice dropped, rich and deliberate.

“I can teach you.”

Your breath caught.

“But only if you want to learn.”

He leaned in, one of his lower hands rising to cup the side of your face—not rough, not cruel, but firm, his thumb tracing just beneath your cheekbone.

“I don’t take what isn’t offered,” he said, gaze locked on yours, unblinking. “Even if fate drags you to my bed.”

The burn in your mark pulsed again. You could feel his against your skin now, somewhere near his hip—scalding, and perfectly in sync.

His mouth was just inches from yours. His voice, a murmur.

“So. What do you want?” 

You didn't say the words. You didn’t need to. Your body said it for you—held still beneath his touch, not in fear, but in breathless anticipation. The blush rising to your cheeks. The way your legs tensed under his hold, yet didn’t pull away. The way your eyes didn’t leave his. The way your head inclined– a little too eagerly. Sukuna watched you, waiting. And then—he grinned. Not mocking. Not cruel. Smug, yes. But softer, in a way you hadn't seen before. Something hungry… but careful. “Tch,” he muttered, loosening his grip on himself with one last lazy stroke. “Didn’t think your first time saying yes would be without words.” Your lips parted, ready to protest, but he was already shifting—reaching lazily for the dark robe he’d discarded earlier. With a low rustle of silk, he draped it loosely over his lap, letting the heavy fabric veil both lengths of arousal from your line of sight. He caught your flicker of visible relief and gave a low chuckle. “Didn’t want to scare you,” he murmured, voice dipping lower, almost crooning. “You’ll see them again when you’re ready.”

Then his eyes found yours again—all four of them. Red. Gleaming. Lidded and sultry, tracking every inch of your expression like he was trying to memorize it. And beneath your ribs, your soulmate mark tingled. You gasped softly, feeling it pulse, and across from you, Sukuna inhaled just as sharply. “…There it is again,” he muttered, more to himself this time. “Always when you’re about to do something brave.”

Then, slowly, he leaned down. You didn’t move. Couldn’t. His hand slid beneath the back of your neck, the other still braced on your thigh as he eased you down into the pillows. Not like prey. Like something precious. He hovered above you—close enough to breathe the same air. His mouth was a whisper from your cheek. “You’ve never kissed anyone before,” he said. It wasn’t a question. You shook your head, just barely. Sukuna made a sound deep in his throat. Something between a laugh and a groan. “Of course not,” he said, and the edge of his mouth tilted again, predatory and amused. “You’ve never been seen before, have you?” You couldn’t answer. Your throat was tight. “Good,” he muttered, more to himself. “I’ll make sure you’re never forgotten after this.” Then he kissed your neck. Not soft.

Slow.

His lips were rough—chapped from too much sake and wind—but warm, dragging slowly up the column of your throat. His tongue traced the edge of your jaw, and his fangs grazed the underside of your chin as he moved, careful not to pierce. Your breath stuttered. He pressed another kiss. Then another. Up, up, until his mouth hovered just over yours.

“Don’t think,” he said. “Just feel.” And then—

He kissed you. It wasn’t delicate. It was confident. Firm. Guiding. His lips moved over yours with ease, coaxing your mouth to follow his rhythm. His lower hand slid behind your back, arching you up slightly so your bodies aligned, and you let out a tiny, helpless sound against his mouth that only made him smile into the kiss. “That’s it,” he murmured, pulling back for half a breath. “You're getting it. Try it again.” You did. This time, you kissed him back—shy and unsure, but willing—and he groaned low in his throat as if that was what unraveled him. “You’re so warm,” he whispered, forehead against yours. “So fucking soft.” His hands didn’t stray—just held you. Steady. Safe. The mark under your ribs flared again, and he felt it, too. His eyes flickered, all four glowing brighter in the dark. "Feels like fate's watching," he muttered. Then, with a grin:

"Let’s give it something worth remembering." He pressed his lips to yours again—rougher this time. His tongue swiped across your bottom lip, warm and insistent, and though your heart nearly leapt into your throat, you parted your mouth in response. A soft gasp escaped you as his tongue slipped in, slick and slow, winding with yours. The wet glide of it, firm and teasing, made your head spin. You hadn’t known a kiss could feel like this. Hadn’t known the simple joining of mouths could send heat pooling so deeply between your legs. And yet—this was Sukuna. You could taste him now. Warm sake and something darker. Spiced. He grinned against your lips, as if he could feel the way your body trembled beneath him. His lower hands gripped your hips, holding you gently but firm, keeping you beneath him while the upper pair slid across your shoulders—rough, but not unkind. His thumbs brushed over your collarbones through the thin fabric, and goosebumps rippled down your skin. He pulled back after a particularly wet kiss, strings of saliva clinging to both your mouths. All four of his crimson eyes locked on you, half-lidded, glowing with hunger.

“Take this off.” His voice was low, the command rasped more than spoken. One thick finger hooked lazily into the neckline of your undershirt, tugging at the fabric. The candlelight behind him threw warm gold across his bare chest, shadows dancing over the carved lines of his body. His tattoos shifted faintly as he moved, alive under his skin. The glint of his fangs showed when he smirked down at you. You swallowed thickly. Your hands hesitated at the hem. Sukuna caught that. His upper left hand cupped your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek, a rare flicker of gentleness crossing his expression.

“Don’t look so scared,” he murmured. “I said I’d teach you.” His voice dipped lower. “And I don’t break what’s mine.” Your breath hitched at that, the soulmate mark under your ribs pulsing sharply in response. He felt it too—you could tell by the way his eyes narrowed slightly, pupils dilating, his chest rising with a slow inhale like he was drinking you in. Then—one of his hands slid down, fingers curling around yours at the edge of your shirt. He helped you lift it, slow, patient. His eyes never left your face. When the fabric finally peeled away from your skin, he hissed under his breath. Not in mockery. But in something else entirely.

Desire.

“You’re soft everywhere,” he muttered, the pad of one thumb dragging across the dip of your waist. “Figures.” You flushed, squirming instinctively—but his lower hands pinned you again, gently grounding you as his gaze dragged over your newly bared skin.  All four of his eyes were focused on the rise and fall of your breasts, watching the soft mounds sway up and down, a grin tugging on his mouth. His upper pair of arms caressed them– not softly but not roughly either, but rather, with the intent of bringing you pleasure.  A gasp left you when his thumb flicked over the stiff buds on your chest, and his fanged grin grew wider, a mix of amusement, lust and the slight mockery he always implemented when he was around you. “Feels good?” He drawled lazily, working your breasts until you felt blood rush down to the place between your legs once more. Gasps and moans left you at each caress, each twist and tug, your hands gripping his silken sheets. You hadn’t known something like this could feel so erotic.

“Sukuna… please–” You gasped, hips bucking up, feeling an embarrassingly warm patch of arousal seeping at the front of your cotton underwear.  “Please what, woman? Use your words, hm? I know you can– you were a mouthy little brat when we first met.” He said smugly, his crimson eyes gleaming as he gave a rough squeeze to your tits, snickering when he felt your back arch. You took in a deep breath, willing yourself to remember that he wanted this too– that this wasn’t scary. He had wanted to teach you, after all. “Please… touch me.” You surprised yourself with a bold move, grabbing one of his lower hands and placing it right between your legs. You stiffened at what you had just done– cheeks flushing pink, heartbeat quickening. But before you could utter out a single word, Sukuna’s mouth left a soft sigh, all four of his eyes dimming as his fingers felt the dampness between your legs. “You’re so fucking wet. Didn’t know a defiant woman like you had it in you,” he muttered, a low rasp catching in his throat as his fingers slid slowly, deliberately, through the slick heat between your thighs. You gasped again—he hadn’t even really done anything yet, but the sheer presence of him between your legs, his touch, his voice—your body was already trembling with need. The pads of his fingers circled over your clit, slow and cruel, making you shiver.

“Look at you,” he sneered softly, lips brushing your ear as he leaned closer, his breath hot. “So eager now. Bet you’d beg real sweet if I stopped.” Your hips twitched instinctively at the threat. “Don’t—” you breathed, your voice cracking. He chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating through your body like a tremor. “That’s what I thought.” 

He worked his fingers up and down your slit, until you were shaking– his thick fingers never stopping their rough advance on your clit, occasionally slipping down to your entrance to circle it, lightly dipping the pad of his finger in, assessing your reaction. Once he had made sure you were wet enough, he circled your entrance with two fingers, leaning down to press an uncharacteristically soft kiss to your forehead, that didn’t contrast with his mocking words from before. With a slow, almost reverent motion, he slipped two thick fingers inside you. You clenched down around them instinctively, your head falling back into the futon as a broken moan escaped your lips. “Fuck,” he hissed, watching the way your body responded to him—eyes heavy, your thighs shaking slightly around his hand. “Tight little virgin cunt. You were made for this.”

You whimpered, squirming under him, overwhelmed—but not afraid. His touch was rough, yes, but not cruel. His claws didn’t scratch. His strength never bruised. He could’ve split you in two if he wanted, but he was holding back. All for you. One of his upper hands pushed hair from your face while the other remained at your side, possessive and warm. “You feel that?” he murmured, voice a little hoarser now. “The way your mark’s burning? Means you like this. Means your body wants mine.” You nodded—barely able to breathe. “It’s– it’s not just the mark.” That caught him. He stilled for a moment, four crimson eyes narrowing slightly—then he grinned, slow and dangerous. “Oh?” You bit your lip, unsure if you should’ve said it—but your hips gave a needy roll into his palm, your body betraying your answer. “Thought so,” he said, leaning in to kiss you again—sloppier this time, tasting your moans as he curled his fingers just right, dragging them against a spot that made your entire body jolt.  “Don’t worry,” Sukuna growled against your mouth, voice like molten honey, low and rumbling. “I’ll take my time with you.” He meant it, too—because he didn’t just slam into you like the beast you feared he’d be. No—he eased you into it. The two fingers working inside you curved again, and you gasped, thighs twitching. He grinned, watching your reaction with the satisfaction of a god unwrapping an offering.

“Feels good?” he asked, even though the answer was clear in your fluttering lashes, your parted lips, the needy way your hips chased his hand. You nodded, a shy, breathless, “Yeah…” 

“Use your words, girl,” he said, nipping your lower lip. “Tell me what you want.”

“I… I want more,” you managed. He hummed, pleased. “Good girl.” Then he drew back, slowly removing his fingers with a slick sound that had heat crawling up your face. “Relax,” he murmured as he tugged your thighs further apart with his lower hands, settling between them like a predator preparing to feast. “You’re going to take me now.” You swallowed, your eyes drifting down—and your heart nearly stopped. He was… huge. You’d already seen glimpses of him earlier, but up close, looming over you with both of his cocks heavy and dark against his lower abdomen, it became real. They were long, thick, veined—and terrifying. You weren’t sure how it was even possible. Your breath caught. “Sukuna, I don’t know if I can—”

“Shhh,” he said, and leaned down, pressing a softer kiss to your collarbone. “I told you I’d teach you. You trust me, don’t you?” You hesitated. But when you looked up into his four crimson eyes—gleaming with something almost close to reverence—you found yourself nodding. “Yes.” He exhaled, pleased, and brushed your hair back. “Good. Then relax.” He guided one of himself—the lower one— to your entrance, rubbing against your folds to coat himself in your slick. His upper arms cradled your head gently while the lower ones steadied your hips. He didn’t push in—not yet—just traced his tip through your arousal until you were squirming, your body aching for it. “You’re shaking,” he said, almost fondly. “I haven’t even put it in yet.”

“Sukuna,” you whined, embarrassed. His grin widened, fangs flashing. “You’ll be crying my name properly in a moment.” Then—slowly, so slowly—he began to push in. You gasped, hands fisting into the futon beneath you as the stretch hit you all at once. He was thick—your walls fought to accommodate him, and still he went gently, inch by agonizing inch. “Breathe,” he whispered, kissing the corner of your jaw. “You’re doing good. Look at you, taking me so well.” You whimpered, tears pricking your eyes. It wasn’t pain, not really—it was just overwhelming. The size, the heat, the intimacy. Halfway in, he paused. “Want me to stop?” You shook your head, nails digging into his shoulders. “No—keep going.”

His eyes darkened. “As you wish.”

And he did. He bottomed out with a low, guttural groan, his body pressing against yours. You clung to him, eyes wide, breath shallow, stunned by the feeling of being so full. “There,” he whispered, hips grinding slowly. “You feel that? That stretch? That heat? Fuck, you’re doing so good f’me.” You moaned when he rolled his hips again—slow, careful, his lower hands gripping your thighs to keep you still. He set a pace, not fast, but deep. Every thrust dragged a gasp from your lips. His upper hands never stopped roaming—stroking your ribs, your breast, your throat like he was memorising you.

“You’re taking me so well,” he murmured again, voice nearly reverent. “So soft, so tight… fuck.” One of his hands slid between your bodies again, grabbing his hardened upper length, and guiding it to your clit with maddening precision. You jerked beneath him, overwhelmed by the sudden rush of sensation. He let out a pleased noise, rubbing the cockhead insistently against your clit while shallowly thrusting into you. You felt a tightening in your belly– a sign you were teetering on the edge.

“Sukuna—!”

“I know, I know. Let go, girl. I’ve got you.” You did. Your body arched, trembling, the mark on your ribs flaring with white-hot warmth as you came hard around him, whimpering into his mouth as he kissed you through it. And only when your walls stopped pulsing around him, only when your body went limp with exhaustion—did he start to fuck you in earnest. His rhythm changed—deeper, rougher, one of his other cocks grinding against your oversensitive bundle of nerves as he chased his own release. The sounds were obscene—your slick, your soft moans, his grunts of pleasure—but none of it felt wrong. It felt like something sacred. Something inevitable. He pushed himself up higher, grabbing your hips and folding your lower body in half, pounding you into the mattress, all while he parted his robe, letting the large tongue out to lap at your tits, the dual sensations making you cry and writhe for him. He came with a deep growl, hips stuttering, his arms curling around you tightly as he buried himself to the hilt. You felt warmth bloom inside you, and he didn't move, only held you there—chest heaving, breath hot against your throat. Your soulmate mark pulsed one final time—warm, pulsing, satisfied. He finally stilled, panting, his breath warm and ragged against your ear. For a moment, the only sounds were the wind brushing faintly against the outer paper walls and the rush of your shallow breathing beneath him. Then, with a low grunt, he slowly pulled out of you. You whimpered softly at the sensation, your entire body oversensitive, flushed, and warm all over. You didn’t dare look down—not when you felt the hot trail of his release trickle from you onto your inner thigh. Sukuna sat back on his heels, all four of his crimson eyes lazily dragging over your boneless form. His grin stretched across his face, fanged and smug. “Look at you,” he said, voice deep with satisfaction. “Fucked dumb already? One round and you’re ruined.”

You flushed furiously, trying to cover your face with your hands, but he easily batted them away, laughing. “No hiding now. I like this view,” he added, rough fingers gripping your thigh to spread you a little more, watching his own mess leak out of you. “Bet you never imagined this when you were yelling at me in the shrine.”

“Sukuna,” you groaned, mortified.

“‘Sukuna,’” he mocked sweetly, then snorted. “What, worried you’ll get pregnant already?” You hesitated. “…Will I?” He blinked at you, then barked out a laugh. “No. Idiot.” Your brows pinched, still nervous. “But—how do you know?” He wiped a streak of come from your thigh with his thumb, still chuckling. “Your human body can’t carry a cursed being’s spawn unless I mark you for it. It’s not something that just happens. It has to be deliberate.” Your eyes widened slightly. “Oh.” He leaned in, licking his thumb clean right in front of you. “Worried I’ll knock you up already, soulmate? Didn’t know you were so desperate to carry my brats.” You buried your face in the futon with a noise of protest, and Sukuna snickered. But after a pause, he grew quiet. Then, with an uncharacteristic gentleness, he reached to grab a soft cloth from a folded stack beside the bed. You jumped slightly when he pressed it between your legs, but he hushed you. “Relax,” he muttered, voice gruff. “Let me clean you.” He wiped you carefully—almost methodically—though he still made a few comments under his breath.

“Messy girl,” he murmured. “Took it all, though. Good job.” You felt warmth bloom in your chest at the praise, even if his tone was teasing. By the time he finished, your body felt like jelly—heavy and sore, but sated. Safe. He sat back again, clearly ready to move off the bed when your voice broke softly through the quiet:

“…Can you stay?” He paused. Your eyes stayed on the futon, your fingers curling lightly in the sheets. “Just for a bit. I… I don’t want to be alone tonight. Besides, you told me last time I can’t really leave because of those ancient wards and protections.” He let out a heavy, theatrical sigh. “Giving me orders in my own bedchamber. You’re going to make this a habit, aren’t you?”

“I—sorry, forget it—”

“Tch.” He was already lying down beside you. You blinked as he rolled you gently into his chest, one of his lower arms slinging around your waist, the upper resting behind your head. “Don’t make me say it,” he muttered, nuzzling his nose into your hair. “I’m not going anywhere. Not when you look like that.”

“…Like what?”

“Don’t ask so many questions.” You didn’t respond—not with words. You curled closer to him, and let the warmth of his body settle over you like a second blanket. For a few moments, there was nothing but slow breathing. Then his voice again, softer this time, yet carrying that familiar Sukuna roughness: “No more fuckin’ complaining about ever staying in this shrine again. Let me make it clear you belong to me now. And not just because of the soulmate bullshit.” You smiled faintly against his chest. “Yours, huh?” He snorted. “Don’t get cocky. It’s not a compliment.” But when you closed your eyes, he pulled you a little closer—one hand stroking down your spine, lazily soothing you into sleep. And just before you drifted off, you swore you felt his lips brush your forehead, light as air.

–

The morning sun slipped lazily through the slats of the wooden screens, casting golden lines across the futon. You stirred first, your limbs still sore, nestled in warmth that didn’t belong to the blankets. For a moment, you just laid there—head tucked beneath a sharp chin, chest pressed against solid muscle, his heartbeat slow and heavy under your ear. You tilted your head slightly and looked up. Sukuna was already awake. All four of his crimson eyes stared down at you beneath lidded lashes, unreadable and half-lazy. One of his hands was still curved around your waist, another resting behind his head like he hadn’t moved all night. “You drooled on me,” he said flatly. You blinked. “... Huh?” He smirked, sharp and satisfied. “Right here,” he said, tapping his bare chest. “Gross.” You shoved his shoulder weakly, but your face burned. “You’re the one who stayed.” 

“You begged me to,” he said smugly, stretching with a slow ripple of muscle. “Clung to me like a baby monkey.”

“I did not!”

“Mm. You kind of did.” You buried your face in the blanket. It was all overwhelming in the soft glow of morning, like the night before had actually happened. Like he’d touched you, kissed you, held you. He was still here. You gave him a glance, a coy smile on your lips. “So like…, am I special now?” He turned, shifting until he was above you, strands of loose hair falling around his face. His grin was slow, teeth glinting.

“I didn’t say that.” You made an annoyed noise and started sitting up, dragging the blanket with you. But one of his hands caught your wrist.

“…Don’t go yet.”

You froze. He didn’t say it again—but he didn’t let go either. His thumb traced slow circles into your skin like he didn’t realize he was doing it. You looked at him quietly. “Okay.” He scoffed and dropped your hand. “Don’t speak.” Still… when you started getting dressed, he didn’t mock you for wincing from the soreness. He just watched you in that quiet, unreadable way again. And when you stepped out of the room, his voice followed you—dry and smug:

“Make sure to walk like you’ve been ruined. I have an image to uphold.” You flushed, scowled, and slammed the door shut. But your mark still throbbed warm and pleasant on your ribs the whole walk back to your room.

–

Everything changed after that night. Not in the obvious, world-shifting way. Sukuna still insulted your cooking, still barked orders at his underlings, still scoffed whenever you were “too emotional” or “soft.” But in the quiet spaces—between battles, between banter, between breath—he became something else. Yours. He never said it aloud like he did after that night. Of course he didn’t. But his hands said it when he returned from his blood-soaked travels and immediately sought you out, dirt still clinging to his robes. When he hauled you against his chest with a grunt and kissed you like the separation had physically offended him. When he bit your lip and then kissed the ache better. When he pressed his forehead against yours without a single word. “You’re late,” you’d murmur. He’d snort. “You’re clingy.” But he’d hold you anyway. And over time, his affections grew more brazen. Lavish, even. Your closet couldn’t contain all the silk kosodes, brocade uchikake, and embroidered under-robes he had sent in for you—each one more beautiful and extravagant than the last. Sometimes, you’d find his gifts hidden in odd places. A carved comb tucked beneath your pillow. Earrings glittering inside a lacquered bowl. Once, a dagger with your name etched into the hilt. “You spoil me,” you said once, trying to hide your flustered grin as you stepped into his chambers wearing a deep crimson robe embroidered with pale chrysanthemums.

He looked up from his seat, eyes sliding down your figure—hungry, satisfied. “You look less like a ragged villager now,” he said coolly. “I can tolerate it.” But the way his fingers curled around your waist to tug you down into his lap during dinner told a different story. He made a habit of it—pulling you into his lap, letting you feed him from your chopsticks with a sly grin. He’d mutter something about your hands shaking and then run his claws up your thigh beneath the table, just to watch your face. You'd squeak. He'd smirk. And later that night, he’d make good on the promises in his eyes—again and again, until your body trembled from being ruined in the best way possible.

You’d gotten used to the rhythm of it: the way he’d disappear for days or weeks, and how your chest would ache with longing without him near. But somehow, it was never a question anymore—never a maybe. When Sukuna returned, you’d find him. And when you did, you’d walk into his chamber without knocking, and he’d kiss you mid-step like he was claiming you all over again.

“You always find me first now,” he murmured once against your mouth. “I always know where you are,” you replied, breathless. “…Creepy,” he muttered. But his arms didn’t let you go. And it wasn’t just lust anymore—not really. There were nights when he let you curl into his side as he read, one arm around you idly while the other turned pages. He’d grumble when your hair got in his face, but he never moved away. Sometimes you’d catch him staring at your mark, glowing faintly when you touched him. Sometimes he kissed it. Sometimes you kissed his. And more often than not, it would end with you sprawled beneath him again, chanting his name like a prayer while he whispered filth and worship in equal measure. 

He began to teach you—truly teach you, as if he’d silently decided your body was worth protecting, worth strengthening, simply because it belonged to him. “You ride like a peasant,” he sneered one morning, watching you awkwardly guide a restless horse in the training yard. But instead of walking away, he swung up behind you, his massive frame caging yours in the saddle. His hands rested over yours on the reins, his breath grazing your ear. “Keep your back straight. The horse can sense you’re pathetic.” You’d flushed, of course—half from his words, half from the heat of his body behind you. But under his sharp tutelage, you grew steadier, stronger. He pushed you in archery next, correcting your grip, adjusting your stance with hands that lingered a little too long on your hips.

You’re not bad,” he admitted once, after you landed three clean shots in a row. “For someone so insufferably loud.” But his praise was real—rare and gleaming like a gem—and it warmed something buried deep within your chest. It became your rhythm. Days of training, evenings of teasing meals, nights tangled together in breathless heat. The bond between you bloomed steadily, thickly, until it curled around everything. You shared more now—books, opinions, idle strolls, the occasional sarcastic bickering in front of stunned retainers who wisely kept their heads bowed. He never said the word love. But he looked for you before anyone else. Let you speak when others dared not. Let you touch him, freely, even when others feared to look. So when one morning you awoke, tangled beneath your silks, and found him standing in your doorway—arms folded, dressed for the day—you weren’t entirely surprised. You blinked sleepily, brushing hair from your eyes. “...Did something happen?”

“No,” he said simply. His gaze swept across your room, unimpressed, before settling back on you. “This space is small. Your things are cluttered. The bedding is thin.” You sat up, brows furrowing. “Are you... redecorating for me or something?” He gave you a look. “You’re to sleep in my chambers from now on.” Your heart skipped. He said it like it was a decree. A natural fact. As if the moon had always belonged in the sky and you had always belonged in his bed. In his room. His space. His orbit. You stared at him, mouth opening, but he cut you off with a lazy flick of his hand. “I don’t like looking for you. And it’s bothersome when you’re not already there.”

“But—”

“You snore,” he added flatly, turning as if the conversation was done. “I’ve accounted for that.”

You flushed. “I don’t—!” But he was already striding back down the hall. And yet—later that night, when you entered his massive chamber, your things had already been moved. His imposing form stood at the doorway, his face impassive, but eyes eager. “Well? Don’t make me drag you in.” And when he wrapped himself around you, your mark pulsing softly against his ribs, you realized what he’d really meant. You were his. And now, so was this—this quiet, nightly nearness. No longer borrowed. It was yours.

Over the months that bled gently into a year, something shifted—imperceptibly at first, like the tide tugging at the shore. But it was there. You felt it in the way Sukuna’s fingers brushed your lower back absentmindedly during meetings. In the way his lips found your temple in the morning, still half-asleep and grumbling, but always touching you, always reaching. He had become unmistakably yours. And you—somehow, unbelievably—had become his tether to something dangerously close to peace. He still ruled with an iron hand. Still made men tremble, still took what he wanted without blinking. But now, there were nights where he let the world burn a little less.

One such night, after a gathering of trembling vassals, you caught him in the hallway, irritation still clinging to his expression. “You didn’t kill anyone,” you said, surprised. He gave you a long look. “They didn’t deserve it.” You tilted your head. “Since when has that mattered?” He stepped in close, crowding your space like always. “Since I’ve had to start hearing your voice in my head, nagging like some scolding little sparrow.” You blinked up at him. “That’s not flattering.” He grinned—slow, sharp. “Didn’t say it was.” But his hand rose to cup your cheek, thumb brushing idly against your skin. And then, like a secret just for you, he murmured:

“...It helps. Sometimes.” You touched his hand. And over time, things like that happened more and more. Sometimes he'd come back from battle, blood-drenched and scowling, and you would be waiting. You always were, now. You had learned how to clean him up wordlessly, how to thread your fingers through his hair while he sat on the floor between your knees, letting your warmth soothe away the monster in his bones. He taught you things others would never dare offer a woman. Strategy, swordplay, ancient languages. Let you argue with him. He didn’t always listen—but he always heard. And sometimes, on quiet evenings, you would both sprawl out in the library. Books open, limbs tangled, one of his arms wrapped lazily around your middle. “I’m still not a good man,” he told you once, his voice low as dusk fell. You looked over at him, brushing a strand of his hair aside. “No. You’re not.” His eyes gleamed with something hungry. “And you still stay.” You leaned in and pressed your lips to his.

“Every time.”

He didn’t say it. He never would. But in the way his arms crushed you to him, the way his mark pulsed warmly against yours—he didn’t have to. You were home.

–

The sakura trees outside his estate were beginning to bloom. Spring in this part of the province always came late — stubborn, slow to thaw — but when it did, the hills glowed pale pink for weeks. Petals scattered over the rooftops, slipped through the open shoji, caught in your sleeves when you passed through the inner courtyards. You had spent the day reading beneath one of them. By now it was late, and your limbs were heavy with warmth, your skin kissed golden from the sun. When you made your way back inside, the halls were quiet save for the flicker of lanterns and the familiar rustle of his presence. He was already seated in the library when you found him. One of his upper hands rested on a low table, a cup of sake untouched. His other arms were folded, two of them across his chest, the last propped on the armrest where he twirled a cherry blossom absently between his fingers. The petals looked absurdly delicate against claws that had once torn men in half. “You’re late,” Sukuna grunted, not looking up. “I wasn’t aware I was expected.”

“You always are.” You rolled your eyes fondly and stepped inside, slipping down onto the floor opposite him. The silence between you had long stopped being awkward. These days, it felt like comfort. You picked up the second cup he’d set out for you — always — and took a sip, your gaze flicking to the folded scrolls beside him. “War reports?”

“Boring ones.” You leaned forward, reaching to pluck the blossom from his fingers. “Is that why you’re being weird?” His eyes slid to yours. All four of them. Slow and assessing. And then, to your surprise, a grin curled over his mouth — too sharp, too knowing. “‘Weird’?” he echoed, clearly amused. “You keep sighing. And you're drinking sake without complaining. You’re practically domestic.” He snorted and downed his own cup in one go. “Tch. You're so full of yourself.” You giggled and sat back. “Admit it. You’re soft for me.” He growled in faux annoyance — and then sighed, tipping his head back until the corded column of his throat was bare, his hair brushing the floor. The candlelight cast shadows over his jaw, his mouth. “You know what your problem is?” he asked at last.

You raised a brow. “I have many.” He turned his gaze to you fully now — all four eyes narrowed, intent. Something different lingered there. Heavy. Not dangerous, but… weighted. “You made me want things I didn’t even remember I wanted,” he said. Low. Gruff. Your chest tightened. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know,” he muttered. “You never do. You just exist. And I...” His jaw flexed. “I’ve been thinking. That maybe we should bind officially.” You blinked. “Bind?” He looked annoyed — with himself more than anything. “Marriage,” he snapped. “A ritual bond. Ceremony. Vows. Whatever name you want to slap on it.” Your mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. “You—what?”

“Don’t act so surprised. You’ve lived in my chambers half the year already. You sleep in my bed, wear my gifts, eat at my table.” His voice was sharp, but not unkind. “You’ve wormed your way into everything. Might as well seal it.” You stared at him. Genuinely speechless. And then, finally, you found your voice. “Sukuna. Marriage isn’t… casual. It’s sacred. It’s—”

“I know what it is,” he cut in. His tone softened after a pause. “It’s a bond. Not just soulmates, not just fate. A choice.” He leaned forward, his arms bracing on his knees. “You said once you were always treated like you weren’t good enough. That no one ever chose you.” You stared at him, lips parting, your heart stuttering hard in your chest. “Well,” he said, his grin a little mean but his voice entirely sure, “I’m choosing you now.” You swallowed.

“And if I say no?” you whispered. He shrugged. “Then you’ll still sleep in my bed, still wear my robes, still squabble with me over my brutality. You’ll still be mine, mark or no.” But something in his voice… sounded almost hopeful. You sat still for a long time, looking at him. Your Sukuna. With his four eyes, and two hearts (though he’d only admit to one). His jagged smile and hands that held you gentler than anyone else ever had. You reached across the space between you, threading your fingers through his. “...What kind of ceremony?” you asked, barely a murmur. He grinned—beamed, really. It was downright sinful how smug he looked. “The kind where you wear something pretty and I carry you over the threshold like a war prize,” he said, already pleased with himself. You groaned and dropped your forehead against his arm. “Unbelievable,” you mumbled. But your fingers stayed tangled in his.

–

The day of the ceremony arrives with no announcement. There is no festival, no preparation from the villagers, no procession of nobles. Not even the servants in the compound seem to know what’s going on — which is entirely intentional. You suspect Sukuna would’ve hated the idea of fanfare almost as much as he hated the idea of people seeing him do something so profoundly human. So it is just the three of you. You, him, and Uraume. Uraume is the one who gathers the ceremonial offerings. Silent, precise, pale as frost, they move with reverence. Despite their usual loyalty to Sukuna above all else, today they look at you with something softer in their expression — a kind of subtle approval. Perhaps it’s because they’ve seen what he is like with you. Or perhaps they’ve been waiting for this even longer than you have. It takes place in the inner shrine, the one no one is allowed into. The sacred room where the oldest incense urns rest and moonlight spills through the open roof onto the stone floor. A shallow basin of water is set between you and Sukuna, scattered with cherry blossoms that drift lazily across the surface. You’re dressed simply.  No lacquered ornaments or jewels. Just the kimono Uraume had left out for you earlier that morning — silk, pale cream, embroidered with subtle gold thread along the sleeves. Sukuna is similarly understated, though he wears the finer version of his ceremonial robes — the one with the black sash and deeper crimson tones that match his eyes. He looks regal, dangerous, and devastatingly handsome. And somehow… nervous. Which is absurd. Because he’s Sukuna. Sorcerer King. Four-armed demon god feared by all—Yet here he is. Standing before you. His eyes flicking to your hands, then away, like he can’t decide if he wants to snatch them or keep pretending he doesn’t care. Uraume kneels beside the basin, offering both of you a small flame each — not from a match, but from a sacred wick. You watch as Sukuna takes it without a word and holds it above the water. You do the same. Together, you let the flames fall. They extinguish with a soft hiss. And as the smoke curls up and fades, Uraume murmurs something you don’t quite catch — old words. Words from before your time. And then they bow and slip out silently, leaving you alone with him. You feel your heart in your throat. It’s quiet now. Still. Sukuna looks at you, all four eyes lidded and unreadable. His jaw ticks, like he’s forcing himself to say something. “…That’s it,” he mutters, scratching the back of his neck. Your brows raise. “That’s it?”

“You said you didn’t want a crowd. So you get this. You, me, and the fucking moon.” You blink at him. And then… you laugh. Soft and stunned and full of something warm. He frowns. “You laughing at me, brat?”

“No,” you smile. “I’m just… happy.” Something shifts in his expression at that. He reaches for your hand. Not to pull you close, not to start something wicked like he usually would — just to hold it. His palm is warm and rough. The way his claws curl gently over your knuckles always makes your chest ache. “You’re mine,” he says, voice low and husky. “I’ve been yours,” you whisper back. “No. I mean now you’re mine. Not just fate, or soulmarks, or some stupid prophecy.” His thumb brushes over the back of your hand. “You chose this. You chose me.” You nod. He pulls you to him then — sudden but slow, careful. His upper arms wrap around your waist, his lower pair pressing between your shoulder blades, caging you in so close that all you can breathe is him. His scent, his warmth, the familiar steady beat of his heart against your chest. He leans his head down, until your foreheads touch.

“No one will ever take you from me,” he says, so softly it’s a vow. “Not divine will. Not time. Not death.” And for once… there’s no teasing in his voice. No wicked edge. Just love. You tilt your face up and kiss him. Tender. Lingering. A soft press of lips that seals something older than words. One of his hands lifts to cup your jaw, tilting it just so, deepening the kiss — but not with hunger. With reverence. When you part, you stay there. Foreheads pressed. His breath on your lips. “…So what now?” you murmur. He hums. “Now you’re mine. So you’ll sleep in my bed every night. You’ll wear my ring.” He produces something from within his sleeve — a carved bone band, smooth and warm from his touch. He slides it onto your finger with the same care he’d show a sacred blade. “You’ll eat beside me. Ride with me. Bathe with me. And if I leave to destroy something, you’ll be the one I come back to.” You look down at the ring on your hand. Then up at him. “And if someone else wants to marry me?” you tease. His eyes gleam. His grin is sharp. “I’ll kill them.” You snort and wrap your arms around his waist, resting your cheek against his chest. And he lets you hold him. Lets you stay like that as long as you need. Eventually, he murmurs, “I’ll have Uraume prepare the chamber.”

“What chamber?”

“Our bedroom.”

“…That’s what you’re calling it now?”

“Tch. Don’t push it, wife.” You grin into his chest. His heart thumps beneath your ear — steady, strong, his. A beat passes. Then another. And then, in a voice so low you nearly miss it, rough as gravel and thick with something he refuses to name, he adds:

“…I love you, you annoying little thing.” You pull back just enough to look at him. His face is carefully blank — but his ears are red. Your smile turns radiant. “Say it again.” He scoffs and grabs your chin, thumb pressing to your lips in warning. “Don’t get greedy.” But he doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t take it back. And for the rest of the night, neither of you let go.

hi tag list; @princesstiti14 @camsdrzd @ttscker @bowlware @sullybrothersmate @pickledsoda @soapyaya @aerithsthingss @bunbun444 @unadulteratedtranquility @rheidaez @bitchyfestivalbouquet @xxstormyprincessxx @chososlvr @bub-ss @agustdxjiminx @changbinsalonsblog

[acethepaintruler]

Absolute perfection

[soaps-mohawk]

Summary: Task Force 141 operates successfully without an omega, at least that’s what Price has been saying since its formation. Two alphas and two betas balance the pack just fine, and they have the numbers to prove it.

It works for a while, until the Omega Initiative is born and the 141 find themselves having to adjust to the sudden addition of an omega to their pack. Fresh out of an institute, you’re hardly fit for their secretive, dangerous world, or so Price thinks. 

As each member of the team gets closer to you, things begin to come to light, not only about you but about the decision to force you into their lives.

Maybe, just maybe, Price was wrong and the 141 does need an omega after all. 

Pairings: Poly 141 x reader, Price x Gaz, Ghost x Soap

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, NSFW content, explicit smut, fingering, oral (m and f receiving), knotting, biting, claiming, mating cycles, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, age differences, military inaccuracies, canon typical violence, blood, weapons, language, no use of Y/N, brief torture, hurt/comfort, let's be real this is so unrealistic but it's a/b/o you're not here for accuracy.

Chapters containing smut are marked with a *

Updates are posted on the weekends, either Saturday or Sunday PST

This fic can also be found on my Ao3 -> HERE

I will no longer be using a taglist for this fic, please follow THIS BLOG and turn on notifications

**This fic is currently in progress**

NAVIGATION PAGE

CRCB DIRECTORY

Part 1 - The Omega

Chapter 1 - The Introduction

Chapter 2 - Adjustments

Chapter 3 - Speak Their Language

Chapter 4 - You Can Be Useful

Chapter 5 - What I Want *

Part 2 - The Bond

Chapter 6 - One Step Closer *

Chapter 7 - Sweet Strawberry

Chapter 8 - The Thing About Ghost

Chapter 9 - Save Me

Chapter 10 - Treat Me Gently*

Part 3 - The First Heat

Chapter 11 - It's Coming

Chapter 12 - Fire In My Veins*

Chapter 13 - Piece Me Back Together*

Chapter 14 - The Aftermath*

Part 4 - The New Normal

Chapter 15: Bonnie*

Chapter 16: Big Brown Eyes *

Chapter 17: Alone

Chapter 18: Don't Let Me Go

Chapter 19: Daddy Issues

Chapter 20: The New Normal *

Chapter 21: Crime and Punishment *

Chapter 22: I Won't Be Gentle

Part 5 - A Pack of Five

Chapter 23: Regrets

Chapter 24: The Last First Time *

Chapter 25: Animals *

Chapter 26: Fuck *

Chapter 27: Drown In It *

Chapter 28: Two Is Company, Three Is A Party *

Chapter 29: There's Something Wrong With My Omega

Part 6 - The Tragedy

Chapter 30: Butterfly's Wings

Chapter 31: Forced Proximity

Chapter 32: The Tragedy

Chapter 33: Ghosts of the Past

Chapter 34: The Whole Truth

Part 7 - The Aftermath

Chapter 35: Threads

Chapter 36: To The Sea

Chapter 37: The Silence

Chapter 38: Shattered

Chapter 39: Life

Part 8 - The Next Chapter

Chapter 40: Where Do We Go From Here

Chapter 41: Revenge

Chapter 42: Comfort and Joy

Chapter 43: Lies

Chapter 44: Little Shit

Title card made by the beautiful @141wh0re

[whorexis]

-> to love is to invite death // masterlist

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: smut, p in v, creampies, sukuna has two cocks, overstimulation, oral (r receiving), degrade and praise kink, use of sukuna's stomach mouth, angst, character death, reincarnation, isekai, love crisis, betrayal fluff, clingy sukuna, alot of cuddling, oh he's just a big cat isn't he, kid!sukuna for a few scenarios!! showering together, slight enemies to lovers, no use of y/n

-> whatever is done for love always occurs beyond good and evil

-> the demon in heaven

-> so let me be your fool then

ao3 // masterlist

[acethepaintruler]

beautiful, this mini series was so well done, 10/10 will read again. it was amazing

[gyuwutaro]

⚞ PLAYTHING ⚟

↬ trueform ryomen sukuna x f!reader x uraume ↬ desc: having won the war & reclaimed his title as the king of curses… sukuna becomes bored. so, he has uraume prepare a toy for him.  ↬ cw: 3.9k wc, dark content, dubcon, monsterfucking, (hopefully alternate) post canon (sukuna won & the age of curses has returned), virgin reader, blood (reader rips a lil), size difference, uraume has a dick & tiddies if that matters, reader is not a curse user but can see curses, vaginal & anal fingering, sukuna has two cocks, dacryphilia, cervix fucking, oral (reader receiving), cum as lube, sukuna’s tummy mouth makes an appearance, creampies, double penetration in two holes, pet names (plaything, toy, good girl, sweet thing, etc), not proofread, lemme know if i missed anything. ↬ a/n: we’ve got somewhat of a plot happening… i think… also, thank you to the lovely aleks ( @princess-okkotsu ) for allowing me to use his idea from this post !! 

⚞ 18 & UP CONTENT !! M.DNI !! ⚟

It’s been several weeks since the collapse of society as you knew it. You’ve done well to keep your head on your shoulders and your limbs intact as time passed. You took what you considered the safest route: become a servant to he who is the strongest, Ryomen Sukuna. 

You didn’t particularly agree with his views or what he was doing, but you wanted to survive. And you would do anything to survive. Society might have collapsed, but the beautiful forests and the oceans have not. You might not get to watch your favourite band live anymore, but you could sit in a meadow and enjoy the cool breeze on your skin. The best way to bring that future to life, in your opinion, was to side with the strongest. Even if the conditions were harrowing at times, at least you were alive for a bit longer. 

Sukuna never stayed in one place for too long. He always wanted to conquer someplace new, destroy those who he deem worthy of his destruction and just enjoy this new world he is yet to fully be acquainted with. Due to this, your dreams easily became a reality. You were able to travel whilst also being safe as a servant of his. Few humans willingly served him and kept him properly entertained, so he kept you around. 

Most of Sukuna’s servants were humans or curse users who had a similar goal as you — to stay alive. But they often didn’t last long. They bored Sukuna. What is the point of a toy if it doesn’t fight back or entertain him? That is not a toy, but a ragdoll. 

He would die before admitting it, but you were definitely his favourite plaything. He has enjoyed many women, men and others in between his fights, but none of them were as enjoyable as you were. None of them were as eager as you to please him — to keep air in your lungs. 

The first night he had Uraume prepare you for him, you were rather frightened. You’ve never done this before, and definitely not with someone as big and frightening as him. 

You were somewhat surprised that he had the decency to allow you a bath beforehand. What you however did not find surprising, was that he insisted on watching as Uraume bathed and prepared you for him. 

He sat at the shallower end of the hot spring, enjoying the heat of the water on his skin. Despite having just recently returned from what you could only assume to be a slaughter-fest, he was clean. It was most likely due to Uraume that he was clean — he didn’t trust anyone else to bathe him. 

But now it was your turn to be bathed. Uraume was silent as they removed your robe and set it aside. They helped clean up, wasting no time as they ran the coarse cloth across your skin to get rid of any dirt and dead skin. Uraume lathered your body in a scentless soap before rinsing it off with water from a wooden pitcher. It honestly felt amazing. 

After being properly rinsed off, Uraume helped you into the hot spring. The warm water felt so good against your skin. Your momentary relaxation was quickly brought to a halt when Uraume rather roughly lifted your one leg up. You struggled to keep your balance, a gasp leaving your lips as Uraume’s free hand steadied you. 

“It’s time to prepare you properly,” Uraume spoke in an almost monotone voice as they slid their hand downwards towards your cunt. With your leg held up your cunt was on full display. Your cheeks felt warm as you noticed how Sukuna looked at you. 

Sukuna gave a brief nod to let Uraume know they can begin. 

In order to support yourself a bit better you held onto Uraume. Their skin was surprisingly warm against yours. You gasped as Uraume’s fingers moved to spread your pussy lips. They wasted no time to caress your folds and carefully press a finger to your clit, circling it. Uraume has barely even done anything to you, yet you can already feel the warm stickiness between your folds as their fingers trail down to your hole. Perhaps it was Uraume’s careful touches, or the way Sukuna cupped his cocks beneath the water as he watched you — or perhaps a mixture of both. 

You couldn’t hold back your voice, whining as Uraume pushed a finger into you. You’ve never had someone do this to you. It felt quite different from what you were expecting. 

Your whimpers and whines as Uraume fingered you had Sukuna’s cocks throbbing. Usually he doesn’t give his toys any kind of preparation… but he wanted to enjoy you more than once. With cocks as big as his, you’d be left useless without any proper preparation beforehand. 

You whined as Uraume added a second finger. It became harder and harder to muffle your moans. You squeezed your eyes shut, moaning out Uraume’s name as they spread their fingers inside you while also teasing your clit with their thumb. 

Somehow this was a mistake, as Uraume quickly removed their fingers from your cunt and grabbed your face. They forced you to look in the direction of Sukuna. 

“I am not the one whose name you should be calling. I am merely a tool. Be thankful to Lord Sukuna for allowing you pleasure.” Their voice was stern and even a bit scary.

You gulped and nodded, “Thank you, Lord Sukuna.” 

With a wave of his hand Sukuna allowed Uraume to continue stretching you, pleased with your response. 

This time Uraume wasn’t as gentle. They seemed a bit ticked off. How dare you call out their name when your pleasure is all thanks to Lord Sukuna? 

You moaned and whined at how sudden and forceful Uraume’s fingers were. They pumped into you, pressing against that extra sensitive spot inside you with each thrust. You couldn’t help but tear up as a third finger was added. It stinged a bit, being forced to take more than you were ready for. But you forced yourself to bear with it. 

Uraume’s grip on your leg that was still forced in the air tightened as you leaned back against them, moaning out Sukuna’s name. But then all of a sudden they let go of your leg, almost making you injure yourself as you lost your balance. They grabbed your face, this time much more forceful than before. It seemed like they were losing their temper with you. 

“Keep your eyes on Lord Sukuna.” 

“I apologise, my Lord,” you whimpered out and nodded, standing on your tiptoes as Uraume continued to pump their fingers into you. 

Uraume didn’t lift your leg up again, this time using their other hand to press a fourth finger into you. You couldn’t help the tears that rolled down your cheeks, it hurt but it also felt unexplainably good. You could feel yourself heat up inside. It was like a knot was coming undone, like something was about to burst.

“Too much,” you squirmed against Uraume, “It’s too much!” You squeezed your thighs together and bent forward in an attempt to make them stop. Your efforts were useless as Uraume simply bent forward with you, shoving yet another finger into your cunt. This time it hurt a bit, the string didn’t feel as good as before, but Uraume didn’t stop. They kept going. 

“This is nothing compared to Lord Sukuna,” Uraume said, only adding another finger and forcing your hole even wider. 

“Fuck! Lord Sukuna!” You cried out his name, forcing your head up to look at him — not wanting to upset him or Uraume. You could feel that tight knot inside you come undone, and soon your warm juices coated Uraume’s fingers even more than they already did. 

Despite your orgasm, Uraume didn’t stop. You could cry; the pleasure was just too much. Your entire body shook and jerked against Uraume’s. It was only when Sukuna lifted his hand in dismissal that Uraume stopped. 

As soon as Uraume stopped, they also let go of you — no longer supporting your body against theirs. They let you fall into the water, not paying you any mind as Sukuna beckoned them over. He whispered something to them before they exited the bath. 

“Come closer,” Sukuna said, looking down at you. 

You gulped, nodding as you forced your body to move closer to his. You couldn’t stand, your legs far too unstable beneath you. Once you were close enough, Sukuna allowed you to use his leg for support, smirking at how pathetic you were. 

“What a disrespectful toy you are, cumming before I even had a chance to taste you.” Sukuna’s voice was stern. One of his hands squeezed your ass, nails barely digging into the skin as he pulled you closer. “What do you have to say for yourself?” 

“I,” you struggled to speak, “I’m sorry… for cumming before you… Lord Sukuna” It was hard to keep looking at him. It felt like those crimson eyes of his could burn holes into you at any moment. 

“What will you do to make it up to me?” He cocked a brow, intrigued by how you might answer. He did, however, grope his cock, carefully stroking it as a hint of what your response should be. 

“I’ll make you cum…?” You weren’t entirely sure of your answer, but Sukuna seemed pleased. 

“Good.” You gasped as he promptly lifted you with one hand, tossing you over his shoulder as he stood from the hot spring. “Let’s go somewhere more comfortable.” Sukuna walked into the inn that he was currently using as his abode. 

The room was dimly lit with candles due to the lack of electricity. Uraume stood in the corner. A large futon was laid out above tatami mats. Sukuna handed you over to Uraume before he laid down on the futon. 

“Come now,” Sukuna said and Uraume ushered you towards him. 

Now that Sukuna’s lower body was no longer beneath water, you finally got a proper look at just how monstrous he is. You did expect him to be abnormally big… but you didn’t exactly expect him to have not one, but two monstrous cocks. 

“Are both of those going inside me?” You blurted out, forgetting in what kind of a situation you were. 

“Eventually,” Sukuna spoke, raising a hand to indicate to Uraume that they mustn’t punish you for speaking so bluntly. He couldn’t help the devilish grin on his face as he saw the fear in your eyes. “But don’t worry, my little thing, Uraume will guide you properly.” He pulled you onto him, making you straddle his cocks. 

You whined as Uraume’s hands moved to your hips, pressing you down onto Sukuna’s lower cock, the upper one pressing against your lower abdomen. 

“Keep moving like this,” Uraume said, still guiding your movements to help you rub yourself on Sukuna’s cock. His cock spread your folds and became slick with your cum the more you rubbed against him. 

You’d be a liar if you said it didn’t feel good. You were still sensitive from  your previous orgasm. Uraume no longer had to force your hips to move, now simply just keeping their hands on your sides because Sukuna hasn’t given them permission to let go. 

Your moans and pants only made it harder for Sukuna to hold back. He had to stop himself from just grabbing you by the waist and using you like some fleshlight. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you — the way you rubbed against him, the way your tits bounced with every small movement, the way your legs trembled. It all made his cocks throb. 

“Come, touch here, too.” One of Sukuna’s large hands took hold of your wrist and guided your hand to the cock pressed against your belly. “Pay attention to him as well, sweet thing.” 

You nodded, a moan leaving your lips the more you rocked your hips. You carefully ran your hands along the sides of Sukuna’s upper cock. It was so big. Your fingers barely overlapped as you wrapped both your hands around the fattest part of it. The veins were pulsing as you pressed on it. You wondered how you were supposed to fit something this large inside you. Would it even fit? You wouldn’t die, would you? 

“That’s it,” Sukuna groaned out as you finally started properly moving your hands up and down his shaft. The tip was fat, leaking precum already, and then it became a bit thinner before fattening again. The base of his cock probably had the least girth, yet even something of that thickness would be hard to take. 

You rubbed your hand over the small hole of the tip, collecting precum onto your hands before going back to stroking Sukuna’s cock. The slickness and warmth of the precum made it feel even more erotic. Sukuna’s groans and breathy moans were also quite erotic. It made you feel all tingly inside. 

With most of your attention focused on the cock in front of you, you had lessened the movements of your hips. So Uraume took over for you, forcing your hips to move whilst also pushing you further down on Sukuna. Uraume didn’t exactly have the gentlest grip as they rutted you against Sukuna’s cock. It made you whine. 

“Close.” Sukuna looked at you, his brows furrowed and a faint flush visible on his cheeks. You could tell he was close with how his cocks throbbed against you. 

You yelped when Uraume suddenly lifted you up with inhuman strength, forcing your legs apart as they held you in a full nelson. You couldn’t help the cry that left your lips when Sukuna forced the tip of his lower cock into your hole, spilling his seed inside you. It was so warm… and so much. He didn’t just spill seed from his lower cock, his upper cock was quickly coating you in his sticky cum. 

With the tip of his cock inside you and his warm seed filling you up, you couldn’t help but squirt out your own release. Just like Sukuna coated you in his cum, you coated him in yours. Your eyes widened at the sight of the mouth of his stomach opening and his large tongue licking up your juices that had spilled onto him. 

“Well. aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” Sukuna smirked, pulling the tip of his cock out of you to enjoy the view as his cum leaked from your cunt. It came out in large globs, making unholy noises that had you wishing to disappear. 

You wanted to hide your face, but Uraume didn’t let you. As Sukuna took hold of your body with two of his hands, Uraume made sure to keep your gaze forwards toward Sukuna. 

“Keep your eyes on Lord Sukuna.” Uraume was stern and cold as they spoke. They squeezed your cheeks, a warning of what they might do if you look away again. Uraume had patience for no one but their Lord Sukuna. 

Sukuna used a free hand to smear the cum on your stomach downwards and towards your cunt before pressing a finger in between your pussy lips. Your body quivered as he scooped his cum into your cunt, forcing two fingers into you with no warning. His fingers were much thicker than that of Uraume’s — two of his were almost thicker than four of Uraume’s. But it still wasn’t as thick as the tip of his cock that was only momentarily inside you earlier. 

“You’ll be a good girl and take my cock.” Sukuna’s words were a statement, not a question. He doesn’t ask for permission. He takes that which he wants. And right now he wants to ruin your pretty cunt. 

You nodded in response to what Sukuna said, “Yes, my Lord.” You couldn’t help the tears that trickled down your cheeks as Sukuna spread his fingers inside you. You couldn’t differentiate the pain from the remaining pleasure from your orgasm. 

“Good girl.” Sukuna didn’t give you much time to process anything as he replaced his fingers with his cock. In one harsh thrust he buried his cock as deep into your cunt as he could. 

You couldn’t help but scream, even more tears coating your cheeks now. It hurt so much. You grabbed onto Sukuna’s arms, digging your nails into his flesh. Your eyes were wide and your mouth agape as Sukuna started moving his hips. 

“Uraume… prepare yourself,” Sukuna spoke with a groan. You were so tight it almost hurt.Sukuna noticed the bit of blood that dripped along his cock and couldn’t help but lick his lips. 

Uraume responded immediately, releasing your face from their grip before coating their hands in Sukuna’s cum that had squirted out of you. They bent forward, pretty much leaning against you as they started fingering their ass. Uraume was already a bit loose, having been used by Sukuna not too long ago. So it didn’t take them long to prepare themself and sink down onto Sukuna’s lower cock. 

Even though you were crying from the sting of the stretch, it was hard to miss the way Uraume moaned behind you as they took Sukuna’s entire cock into their hole. It made you squeeze your thighs together. They sounded so erotic compared to their usual stern voice. 

Uraume’s sticky hands were on your hips, guiding you lower onto Sukuna’s cock and forcing even louder cries from you. You were sure if he went any deeper he would pass through your cervix. Even though he was filling every nook and cranny inside you, he was yet to bury himself fully into your cunt. 

“Easy, plaything, we’ve got a long night ahead of us.” Sukuna wiped a tear from your face, holding your gaze. His momentary illusion of gentleness came to an abrupt end as he forced his cock fully into you and into your womb. You were sure your scream travelled several miles. 

It hurt so much. You weren’t sure if you had been ripped earlier, but now you were certain. It just hurt way too much. Even though the pain was overwhelming, the warm sensation along your cunt made it a bit more bearable. You frowned. A warm sensation? 

You looked down, brows furrowed and vision a bit blurry from your tears. You let out a yelp at the sight of Sukuna’s stomach mouth’s tongue slurping at the pinkish mix of blood and cum leaking out of you. You squirmed above him, suddenly overwhelmed by everything that was happening. You felt like you could pass out. 

“Get yourself… together,” Uraume scolded you in between moans as they bounced on Sukuna’s cock, “Lord Sukuna… is yet to be satisfied.” They squeezed your sides, digging their nails into your flesh as they forcefully lifted you up and down on Sukuna’s cock. Neither Sukuna nor Uraume were showing you any kind of mercy. 

You felt yourself become dizzy. It was all just too much. Little sparks were coating your vision and before you knew it an orgasm was forced out of you. The way Sukuna’s tongue toyed with your clit made your body jerk and spasm. 

Sukuna groaned at how tight you became around him as you squirted a third stream of juices onto him. He couldn’t deny just how good you tasted. It made him want to ruin you even more. 

“Uraume,” Sukuna spoke, a mischievous smirk on his lips, “prepare my toy’s other hole for yourself.” 

Your eyes widened at his words. But before you could blurt out a “no” of any kind, Uraume had their fingers shoved into your mouth to shut you up. Their other hand moved down to where you and Sukuna were connected, collecting the slick from your skin before smearing it onto your asshole. 

This time Uraume was less patient and gentle with you as they prepared your hole for themself. They still worked on loosening you properly… but more hurriedly. You whined and kept moving around due to the overwhelming stimulation. It was all just a little too much. 

It took Uraume a while to properly stretch you out, but eventually they had you loose enough for them to push their cock into you. You yelped at the intrusion, now crying out Sukuna’s name since Uraume removed their fingers from your mouth. Instead Uraume’s hands were fondling your chest whilst their own chest pressed to your back. Their tits were so soft — it was a bit comforting given everything else that was happening. 

Sukuna smirked at the sight of both you and Uraume grinding on his cocks. He removed his hands from your skin, forcing you to lean back against Uraume for support as they leaned onto you. He didn’t move his hips much, instead expecting you and Uraume to do all the work. The most that Sukuna was doing was slurping up your juices with the tongue protruding from his stomach. 

“You’re doing so well, my sweet thing,” Sukuna praised you, lifting a hand to stroke your tear stained cheek. His brows were furrowed as he struggled to keep himself contained. He had told himself to hold back, to not ruin you the first time he got to use you. But he could no longer help himself. “Can you do even better?” 

Both you and Uraume gasped when Sukuna suddenly sat up. Two of his hands grabbed your hips while the other two grabbed Uraume’s hips. Neither you nor Uraume had any time to process what was happening before Sukuna started lifting you up and down onto his cocks. 

You cried out for him to stop, saying it’s too much and that it hurts, but you were ignored. Uraume was moaning just as loud as you now, their nails digging into the soft flesh of your stomach as they held onto you for dear life. Their cock was still buried balls deep inside your ass, but they were no longer thrusting their hips into you. 

You could feel both Sukuna and Uraume’s cocks throbbing inside you. They were close, and so were you. You weren’t even aware that you could cum this many times. 

Sukuna’s bruising grip on your hips tightened even more before he forced you down onto his cock until he was fully sheathed inside you. 

Your eyes rolled back and you cried out even louder than before, your walls tightening around Sukuna and Uraume as you came yet again. Your body jerked and spasmed as your climax ran through you. 

It wasn’t long before both Sukuna and Uraume emptied themselves into your holes, squirting you full of their cum. Sukuna kept you on his cock as it throbbed with each rope of semen it coated your walls with. Uraume was nearly limp behind you, weakly holding onto you and panting into your neck. 

Sukuna waited a while until he was sure he had fully emptied himself into you and Uraume before he pulled you off of his cocks. “You did well,” he spoke in an uncharacteristically gentle voice. He stroked both yours and Uraume’s stomachs, pressing on it to force his cum to squirt out of you. The sight only excited him once more. 

“Come on, let us go again. I’ll see to your healing later.” 

⚞ END NOTES ⚟

this went a lot faster than i was expecting... i hope it doesn't seem too rushed T-T

i do writing c.omms which you can check out here or on my k.ofi <33

[rose-fics]

Snowblind Masterlist

(Simon 'Ghost' Riley x OFC 'Fix')

Rating: Mature (Rating will change) Tags: Slow burn, Mutual Pining, Angst, Whump, Fluff, Original Female Characters, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Unreliable Narrator, Second Person POV, Tags vary by chapter Warnings: Gore, Blood, Explicit detail of injuries, Trauma, Referred verbal abuse, PTSD, Warnings vary by chapter (Read on Ao3)

Summary:

He's robbed the breath from your lungs, fissures extending ever outwards. They carve down into your bones, seep into the cracks of you where the gale of self doubt howls forsaken into the bitter wind. Yet there's warmth in his touch, one that melts away at the crystal heart of you suspended delicately like glass. It twinkles and glints in the darkness, shining outwards into the shadows of you both.

It's him. It's always been him.

Part one: Snowblind

Part two: Takedown

Part Three: Stitches (Part One)

Part Three: Stitches (Part Two)

Part Four: Falling Down to Earth (Part One)

Part Four: Falling Down to Earth (Part Two)

Part Four: Falling Down to Earth (Part Three)

Part Five: Hellebore

Part Six: Mayday Mayday (Part One)

Part Six: Mayday Mayday (Part Two)

Part Six: Mayday Mayday (Part Three)

More coming soon!

Drabbles/Oneshots

Dark Vision

White Dress

Grey Eyes

Halloween Screams

How Many Fingers Am I Holding Up?

Homecoming

Tell Me All My Bad Ideas

Bonus:

'Fix' Character Sheet

Tag List:

Please reply to or reblog this post with 'taglist' to be tagged in future updates. If you would like to be removed from the taglist, please DM me.

@dankest-farrik @zwiiicnziiix @moondirti @sritashimada @ladiilokii @sandinthemachine @verdandis-blog @guyfieriiii @fan-of-encouragement @starlitnotes @rentaldarling @mockerycrow @atenceladusiaawfytbwb @tinykaka @dumb-djarin @homicidal-slvt @selinn777 @nachtcirce @jujubashow @mutuallimbenclosure @kkinky @trash-boi-4-life @scatter-mind001 @alittlefansthings @allaboutirem0 @keiva1000 @makariaspresence @achelois-is-here @nightingale-ghost-writer @altered-delta @thetimidsarcasticcat @nestaarcheronss @bitchykittenconnoisseur @ghxstyops @whotfislynn @gazs-blue-hat @obi-wansorrow @liltofu99 @thatswhyilovetheghost @devilsfoodcake22 @dumb-fawkin-bitch @hlo-kty @children-of-epiales @definitelyanonymous @queenquazar @alicesfracturedmirror @stillinracooncity @paigetaylor628 @jinxxangel13 @enfppixie @itsnotmyfaultimdifferent @dustycrusty09 @cminoko @caitiecatastrophe @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @squidalapobre @idypia @astroponyo

Fic Tag: Shadow and Bone

Read on AO3

[acethepaintruler]

I can’t wait for the next chapters

[serenefreakgeekao3]

Fear of Falling

CHAPTER TWO [Masterlist]

Pairing: Hiccup x ftm!reader

Summary: You and Hiccup have begun to get closer- to something even resembling friendship. What happens, then, when complications get thrown into the mix? Complications namely being Hiccup’s close acquaintances, who seem a little too invested in getting to know you.

Tags: carpenter!reader, awkward!Hiccup, meeting friends, mutual pining

Warnings: slight bullying, mention of transphobia at the end of the chapter, tales of a bad family life (for reader)

Author’s Note: This is when the whole ftm thing comes into play! At the end of the chapter, reader tells Hiccup his life story, essentially, where reader was disowned by his family. If this will hurt you in any way, feel free to not read, or skip the final part after Hiccup receives his gift! Sorry for the sad backstory, but it’s only for a small section! (Also, sorry it took so long for me to post this part, but if you notice its literally like twice as long as my first part. Unintentional, but it felt weird to try to split it up into two chapters. It flows easier this way!)

Words: 12552

“So where’s your dragon?”

The question catches you off guard, startling and turning to look at Hiccup’s curious face. It’s been a month since you claimed this land, and with the help of Hiccup and Skullgar your home is finally standing and all in one piece. You were settling in, moving furniture around until you felt comfortable with the positions and placing your few belongings in their proper places. It was a small hut, one story and one bedroom. A fireplace crackled on one side of the room, half of the building made into a nice living area while the other half almost resembled a shop. You had a long bar with stools, shelves for your tools, and currently sitting on the edge of the bar was the first piece you finished whittling. It wasn’t bad, actually. A little rough around the edges, but a small dragon- not based on any that you’ve seen for yourself, just carved from your imagination- that is big enough to fit in your hand sat there and watched over the whole proceeding.

“What?” You took too long to answer, but you didn’t know exactly what to say. You avoided the topic of the dragons for a long while- impressively, might you add, since dragons are apparently Hiccup’s lifeblood. You didn’t mind talking about them in a general sense, or hearing whatever happened in town. But if he was to ask about you flying, or where your dragon was, you were able to deftly change the subject. Maybe that’s why he decided to catch you off guard. He almost had a smug look about him, the kind of face that made you want to smush his cheeks together until he laughed.

“Your dragon. I sort of assumed that once your home was finished and the rest of the builders moved on- I don’t know, that maybe they’d be willing to settle down? I tried to make a nice nest outside for them, but I wasn’t sure about their size. I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen them before.” Hiccup continued as if it’s the most obvious thing ever, to claim a dragon. To have a lifelong companion such as that. As if the thought of not having one was unimaginable.

“I don’t have one,” You mumbled, turning back toward the shelf to unnecessarily fidget with a vase you were given by Gobber. You spun it a few times, then realizing that did nothing you began to push it a tad to the left, then back to the right.

“What?” You have a talent for confusing Hiccup, that tone in his voice is practically familiar to you now. “What do you mean you don’t have one?”

“I mean that I don’t have one.” You nod, turning to look at him, eyebrows raised. “It’s not that uncommon you know.”

“No, but-” Hiccup breaks off, holding out a hand toward you. His confusion began to mix with worry. “What do you mean- but you live all the way out here?” You hadn’t heard anything more about this location being unsafe from Hiccup since that first day, and you had figured he’d just drop it. It’s not like it should matter much to him anyway.

“Yes, I know. I chose the spot.” You tried to laugh, but it came out more as an awkward chuckle. “You were there, y’know.”

“No- I mean, yes I know I was there but-” Hiccup turns frustrated, looking away from you and scanning the air as if it held an answer for him. He runs a hand through his hair, flopping it around on his head before he throws his hand back outward. “You live all the way on the outskirts! If something happened to you, no one in town would be able to know. No one would hear, there wouldn’t be anyone to- to come and-” He huffed again, grabbing his hair roughly. The entire time he speaks he seems almost to be arguing with himself in his head. “I know you can take care of yourself, but against a dragon?” He finally turns his face to you, with almost a look of desperation. “What if they tame a dragon and attack from above? Pick off the people on the outside first, you can’t fight a dragon and their rider by yourself! You can’t outrun a dragon! What would-”

“Hiccup,” You try to interrupt, having moved close enough to reach a hand out to press lightly against his arm. It still, miraculously, works somehow. “I’ll be okay.”

“But you need a dragon,” Hiccup whines out, practically pouting at you. “They- they mean so much-”

“I know you love all of the dragons here, Hiccup,” You begin, your voice quieting, “But not everyone feels so intrinsically tied to dragons like you. Not everyone can bond with them as easily as you.” You shrug, trying for a smile but probably missing the mark, “There hasn’t been one to find me yet.”

“Well, if they can’t find you then we can find them, come on!” He takes your hand and immediately tries to pull you to the door. In the few times he’s taken your hand, you’ve always followed. This is the first time that you hold your ground, unmoving. Hiccup doesn’t pull, or tug. He turns, confused at your reluctance.

“I don’t-” You take a breath, shaking your head, “If I go out looking for one and can’t find one I’ll just be disappointed and heartbroken. I’ve met every single dragon on this island at least once, whether they had a rider or not. None of them have taken to me, Hiccup.” You turn bashful, pulling your hand away and crossing your arms, pulling them close to you. “If there’s a dragon out there for me, they’ll find me.”

“That seems like a fantasy, [y/n]” Hiccup begins, shaking his head and closing the gap once more. “We can try.”

“It’s fine, Hiccup.” You repeat, looking up at him with a sad smile. “I’m used to being alone.”

You turn away after this, missing the complete devastation that crosses Hiccup’s face. He shakes his head, mouth working with nothing to come out. He doesn’t know what to say to that, unable to voice how he feels. He’s never been the best with words, always sketching or trying to express his feelings through flying. At that thought he calms, brain working a mile a minute as his eyes flicker back and forth, unseeing.

“Come flying with me.”

You turn, confused at the sudden outburst. By the time you see his face again, his attention is still focused entirely on you, a wide smile stretching across his face. He bounds the few feet toward you that you had moved away, taking both of your hands with glee. “Hiccup, I-” You begin, shaking your head, but he just interrupts.

“Come flying with me, [y/n]! It’ll be great! I know you don’t have a dragon to fly on, but we can both be on Toothless. It’s so amazing, please, you have to experience it!” You laugh at his enthusiasm, almost blown away by the force of it. With your laugh coloured in disbelief, you begin to shake your head.

“Hiccup, I just said I don’t want to go looking for a dragon-”

“This isn’t about that!” Hiccup tries to convince you, shaking your hands slightly. “Flying is-” His mouth works as he tries to find the words, shaking his head, “You just have to try it, at least once!” You laugh again, shaking your head.

“I did try it once.”

“What?” Hiccup ducks closer, and you feel your brain malfunction for a split second. Why does he have to be so close? Was he always this physical?

“I’ve flown once.” Hiccup looks adorably confused, so you continue your point. “During the move. I told you, I’m not new here, but I was new to the old Berk. I lived there a month before suddenly everyone was packing house and moving on their dragons. I was apprenticing under Skullgar and, once he found out I had no dragon and was planning to just sail away to find somewhere else to live, offered up Grimrar as a ride. His family planned to ride his wife’s dragon and use Grimrar to transport their possessions. There was a bit of room for me to squeeze in.”

Hiccup’s confused face was adorably scrunchy, you decided. “But, wait,” He leans back slightly, shaking his head. “Transporting things and transporting people require completely different saddles. That would’ve been extremely dangerous…” Hiccup trailed off, refusing to believe your story.

“No, that’s true. Grimrar had the transport saddle on his back, I was squeezed between a couple of boxes and kind of held on for dear life. It was the longest day of my life, actually. Felt like it, anyway.” You smile, able to laugh about it now that the soul-crushing fear is no longer gripping your heart.

“That-” Hiccup scoffs, shaking his head. “No, that’s not true flying.”

“Well, I was technically on a dragon, and that dragon was in the air. Very, very high in the air-”

“No, that’s just dangerous- anyone would be scared of that!” Hiccup pulled on your still-connected hands, looking into your eyes earnestly. “Let me take you flying. Toothless will be so gentle-”

“Hiccup,”

“No, listen! It’s fantastic, [y/n]! It’s- it’s indescribable!”

“Hiccup, I’m afraid of it!” You sigh, shaking your head and pulling your hands back.

“Afraid of heights? But-”

“Afraid of falling, mind you.”

“You won’t fall!”

“You can’t promise that.” You turn once again, taking a new block of wood and the whittling knife that Hiccup gave you two months ago. Was it really only two months? You sat down on a stool in a huff, striking the first notch into the wood. Hiccup was quiet again, which honestly rarely happened now. You glance back up to see disappointment across his face, feeling a pang of guilt in your chest at the sight. “I’m sorry, Hiccup.”

“I can promise that if you fall we’ll catch you.” Hiccup’s voice was so serious, meaning every word he said. He took a step closer to you on your stool but maintained a proper distance still. The open window behind him framed him in an almost ethereal sunset-orange light. “Either Toothless, or me. We’ll catch you.” You felt hard-pressed not to believe him.

“That’d still require me to fall. Which is the part I’m scared of.” His shoulders fell at your insistence, glancing away from you and staring off into space. The room is filled with the sounds of your whittling and the fire crackling to the side, a comfortable silence only bellied by the discomfort of having to disappoint the guy you’re falling for. Hiccup turns and leans against the bar next to you, tapping his hands along it. The taps stop and you look up to see him fiddling with something in his hands just out of sight.

“Well,” He begins quietly, and you quickly lower your gaze back to your project. “If you ever change your mind, I’m always here.”

“You really are,” You begin to joke, smirking down at the slowly dwindling wood block in your hand. “Almost like I can’t get rid of you.” Hiccup laughs, thankfully, at your joke, not taking it too seriously.

“Well, just trying to shirk my chiefly duties, as you always say. Hide away from the clamouring.”

“Well, keep it up and they’ll know exactly where to find you. Then your point would be moot.”

“Not if we went flying together. Then they’d never be able to find us.” You feel your smile slipping, lifting your eyes once more to him. He was already staring back at you, determination set in his eyes. You’d only seen that once before, two months ago, and now you have a proper house to thank him for.

“They have tracking dragons,” You try to counter, smirking at him gently, “You trained them yourself, you know.” Hiccup lets the moment settle, half a minute of comforting silence between the two of you before turning away and sighing dramatically, throwing his arms out to the side.

“Woe be me! Forever and always, stuck as Chief and-”

“Hiccup!”

The feminine yell startles you, jumping hard and turning to face your front door. You try to calm your racing heart, turning and placing the sharp knife down before you accidentally hurt yourself. Your door flies open with a slam, Astrid striding into your home with an air of determination and aggravation. She glares at you before stalking around your home, in search of the man who has suddenly and mysteriously disappeared from your side. “Where is he?”

“Who?” You play dumb, visibly roaming your eyes around the room. “I assume you’re not asking after me?”

“You know who I’m talking about,” Astrid grumbles, lifting a couch cushion and looking under it as if Hiccup could’ve possibly hidden there. She places it back down, pressing it back into place before moving on. Just as forcefully she yells his name again, causing you to jump once more before sighing loudly.

“Look, I can honestly say I have no clue where Hiccup is.” You raise your hands in defence, raising your eyebrows and shrugging toward her. She turns to you with the full force of her glare, one hand on her cocked hip.

“Uh-huh. And can you ‘honestly say’ you didn’t know where he was ten seconds before I marched into your house?” You hesitate, then shrug at this. “Yeah, thought so.” She starts looking up at the rafters, twisting around in search of him. “Where’s your stairs? Or ladder?”

“It’s one story, Astrid. You see everything-” You are cut off by her throwing open your bedroom door, sighing loudly. You place your elbows against the bar behind you, leaning back and waiting. By the time she comes back, closing the door behind her, she marches directly up to you.

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know, Astrid.” You repeat, sighing. “What’s wrong anyway?”

“Where could he have gone, if he was just here a second ago, hm? He has to be hiding somewhere.” She doesn’t bother to answer your question, looking around once more as if he’d suddenly spring into existence behind the potted plant you were given by Skullgar’s wife.

“I honestly don’t know Astrid, alright? We were talking one second, then you screamed louder than a Thunderdrum and by the time I turned around he was gone.” You huff, motioning toward the window, “If anything he could’ve just dove through the window and been halfway back to New Berk by now.” At this Astrid turns, inspecting the window as if it offended her before she sighs, turning to you with her hands on her hips.

“What do you want with Hiccup?” You raise your eyebrows, glancing around the room in confusion.

“I’m sorry?”

“Why do you keep hanging around Hiccup all the time? I’ve had to come pull him away from you fifty times in the last month! I don’t even think I’ve seen you before in my entire life until I found you with him.” She walks closer, narrowing her eyes. “I swear to Thor if you’re a spy for those damn hunters, I’ll rip your throat out myself.” Your eyebrows continue to raise as she speaks, finally raising your hands up in defence.

“Hey, what? I don’t want anything from him! I just wanted to live my life peacefully, he’s the one who decided to take an interest in me.” She points at your chest, gearing up for another round, but you cut in quickly. “And I’m not a hunter! I swear it, I would never harm a dragon unless it was self-defence. And I never have! Hurt one before, I mean.”

“Then why don’t you have a dragon?”

“Because none of them chose me? I don’t know, ask them!” You huff an angry sigh, crossing your arms. “I’m not trying to go out and force them into liking me! Seems a bit inhumane.” She glares at you for a moment longer before backing up a few steps and crossing her arms in a mimic of you.

“Oh yeah? Then why does no one know who you are? Why hasn’t anyone heard of you before?”

“I don’t know?” You fold in on yourself, shaking your head. “Maybe you’re asking the wrong people? I don’t talk much and I keep to myself, usually. If you asked your little rider buddies, that’d be why none of them know me.” Astrid quietly takes this in, seeming to at least believe your words for the time being. “If you want someone likely to know me then ask any of the other carpenters; Odin willing, even ask Gobber! The man’s known me since my first steps onto the docks of the old Berk.”

“Gobber knows you?”

“Yes, Gobber knows me. He knows my whole story. I tried to apprentice under him, but he said he was full up. Introduced me to Skullgar instead.” Astrid remains quiet, eyeing me up. Eventually, she takes a step forward, threateningly pointing a finger toward you.

“Look, if you hurt him-”

“I’m not gonna’ hurt your boyfriend, Astrid.” You interrupt her, shaking your head as you turn away to grab your knife and whittling project once more, angrily taking a swipe at it. “I’d never do anything against my own Chief.” You miss the look of confusion on Astrid’s face, only hearing it in her reply.

“He’s not my boyfriend.” You glance up toward her with disbelief, taking another angry slice of wood. “Is that what he said?”

“Sorry then, your ‘husband’ I guess. We don’t talk about you. Or any of his Chief stuff. He just comes to me to-” You huff, shaking your head and looking up at her. “I don’t know why he comes here, ok? Ask him. I’m sorry if it pokes a hole in all of your little plans, but-”

“He’s not mine in any way,” Astrid repeats, crossing her arms. “And if he’s given you that impression then that’s another reason to kick his ass.”

“There’s been no impression-giving of any kind, at least not from him.” You look back to your project, swiping again. “I don’t know anything that happens around here, I just hear rumours.”

“Who-” Astrid is interrupted by three sharp knocks on your front door, and you glance up to see Hiccup standing in the still-open doorway, leaning slightly more to one side and giving an awful impression of a smile.

“Wow! Astrid! Didn’t expect to see you here!” He laughs awkwardly, as if forcing the sound out of his mouth is a struggle. “I was just coming to ask [y/n] here a couple of construction questions. For tomorrow’s workload. You know, Chief things.” He does that awkward laugh again, his eyes bouncing to you for a few seconds before forcing himself to look directly at Astrid. She’s now turned toward him with her glare and her crossed arms, unimpressed.

“Uh-huh. And just where were you, then?”

“I was out. Y’know, in Berk. Wandering around. Doing… Chiefly things.” He stumbles over his answer, shifting his weight from foot to foot. You felt your shoulders slowly relaxing with the spotlight no longer being on you.

“Oh, really? So you talked to Gobber then?”

“Oh, yeah! Of course! I totally did that!”

“So what did he need done then, Hiccup?” You look up to see Hiccup’s eyes widen in fright, his mouth working for an answer that his brain wasn’t providing.

“Look,” You call out to them, feeling uneasy with both sets of eyes suddenly turning toward you. “Not that I don’t thoroughly enjoy the company, but if you’re going to argue about things I shouldn’t be privy to know, perhaps you should take this back to Berk?”

“Good idea,” Astrid mumbles, striding forward and roughly taking hold of Hiccup by the bicep, beginning to pull him out. He leaves his attention on you, even as he’s dragged backwards, and he throws a smile your way that shocks the breath out of you. He mouths out the words ‘Thank you’ before bumping his head against the door accidentally. He turns with a yelp of pain, rubbing the back of his head before remembering to grab your door and close it behind the both of them.

It takes a while of sitting on that stool, whittling to your heart's content, before you finally manage to unwind the knot that Astrid had wound up inside of you. You always figured Hiccup’s constant attention on you would lead to some bad news, but you weren’t prepared for his girlfriend- or, rather, his second-in-command to charge into your new home demanding answers you didn’t have. And what was about that? Why was she so adamant that they weren’t together? You thought it was a known thing, something inarguably certain among the Vikings here. Wasn’t Hiccup being pressured to marry before the whole town decided to pack up and move?

You shake your head, trying your best to dispel the thoughts of Astrid and Hiccup from your brain. Surely there’s something here to distract yourself with. You turn toward the bar, reaching to grab your little whittled dragon when you notice instead its disappearance. Checking the floor around the bar, you can't seem to find it. Well, it's gotta be around here somewhere, right?

“You think that’s him?”

You pulled back your hammer, taking in a breath and letting it fly down onto the nail. You were currently helping build the leatherworking shop that Hiccup would most likely take over, nailing boards to the floor. You hadn’t bent a single nail yet this day- a new record! You just hope you can keep it that way.

“Shh, your obnoxious voice is gonna’ give us away!”

“If anyone’s voice is obnoxious it’s yours!”

You could hear some whispered bickering behind you, but you knew it wasn’t aimed toward you. The voices sounded eerily similar, though differing slightly in pitch. You couldn’t quite place them. You pull another nail from the collection hanging between your lips for easy access, holding it in place and taking another swing downward. Another success.

“But how do we know it’s actually him, though?”

“I don’t know, he’s our age and looks handsome enough. That’s what Hiccup said right?”

You almost drop the spare nails, saving yourself from choking on a surprise cough at the mention of Hiccup. Curiosity begins to burn in your stomach, but you can do this. Not everything you do has to be centered around that man. (As if you weren’t currently helping to build his shop- but that didn’t count, you were assigned to be here… Out of the three choices that Skullgar gave you.)

“Is he handsome? I can’t really tell, nothing compares to my beauty.”

“Keep telling yourself that, troll snot.”

“Ow, hey!”

You heard a bit of a scuffle behind you, sucking in a deep breath through your nose and placing the second-to-last nail against the floorboard. Did these people really think they were being quiet? Who were they talking about, saying Hiccup found someone handsome?

“Shhh!” One whisper yelled toward the other, stumbling being heard as one fell to the floor. “You’re going to give away our position!”

“You’re the one who punched me first!”

“We’re on a mission, get it together!”

The last nail is held in place- just hammer this one in and you have the perfect excuse to turn around and peek at whoever is making a ruckus behind you. You lift the hammer, ready to slam it down-

“What was his name again, [y/n]?”

You miss your mark, slamming the hammer down onto the side of your hand instead of the nail, yelping out in pain and dropping the hammer in shock. You shake your hand out, turning immediately to look behind you for the source of your name. Unexpectedly, you spy a couple people around your age that you know to be of the same group of dragon riders that go out on rescue missions with Hiccup sometimes. They look similar- you were mostly sure they were twins- with blonde hair and blue eyes that were set wide and locked directly onto you. The three of you stared at each other for a few beats too long before they both ducked at the same time, trying to hide behind the foundation of the building you were currently kneeling on. You shake your head in confusion, calling out a soft, “Hello? Can I help you?”

“I told you you were too loud-”

“Shut it!”

“Ow-”

“Hey,” You call out again, raising your voice slightly to talk over their bickering, “I can hear you, you know.” You watch as they both slowly raise their heads back up, peaking at you over the floorboards. “You said my name?”

“Well,” The boy began, placing a hand on the floor and hoisting himself up to your level, “We’ve heard a lot about you.” He walks over to where you still knelt down, plopping down next to you and raising an arm to rest against your shoulder. “There’s only so much you can hear about a guy you don’t know before you go mad.”

“Mad with curiosity,” The girl huffed, climbing up onto the floor herself and plopping down in front of you. You lean away from the guy next to you, causing his arm to fall off your shoulder as you look uncertainly between them.

“Someone’s been talking about me?”

“Yeah, Hiccup can’t shut up about you,” The guy insists, and you slowly lower yourself to a sitting position instead of kneeling, getting a bit more comfortable. The girl chimes in, waving her hand around with emphasis.

“Well, technically Astrid brought you up first. She kept asking him about you, then asked us if we knew you-”

“Which we didn’t-”

“But once everyone began to find out that Hiccup’s little hideaway was with you-”

“We thought he kept going out flying with Toothless again-”

“Then he began to get a lot more vocal about you.”

“How skilful you are at carving, how you were homeless and that was just ‘unacceptable’!” The girl snorted a laugh at her brother mimicking Hiccup's voice on the last word, nodding along.

“At least he hadn’t lied about your looks though,” The girl continued, wiggling her eyebrows toward you. Unconsciously you began to lean slightly backward, tilting your head at the two. You finally found your voice, talking slowly and trying to understand the constant back-and-forth.

“I think you have me confused with someone else.”

“Oh?” The guy begins with a grin, leaning close into your space, “Is there another carpenter around here that’s our age and goes by the name [y/n]?” You feel your cheeks begin to heat up, looking between the two.

“I feel like I’m at a disadvantage,” You begin, slowly once again. “You both seem to know so much about me and I don’t even know your names.”

“Tuffnut,” The guy blurted out, finally leaning back away from your personal space, placing his hands behind him to prop himself up.

“Ruffnut,” The girl followed up, pointing at herself. She still had a crazy sort of grin on, and you wondered if that was her attempt at being friendly? Or flirting? Either way, she completely missed the mark as you just grew more and more uncomfortable.

“Right,” You begin, looking uneasily between the two of them. “You are the dragon riders that Hiccup goes out with sometimes, right?”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Tuffnut interjects, pointing a finger at you. “We're security here. We take regular patrols, keep an eye out for the baddies.”

“Everyone keeps an eye out for baddies, Tuffnut,” Ruffnut sighs hopelessly at her brother, then turns her attention back to you with a grin, placing her hands in front of her and scooting herself closer. “We don't have big, strong jobs like yours.” She bats her eyelashes at you, and before you know it you feel yourself scrambling to stand, backing away from them both.

“Alright, well it's been great, but-”

“What? Where are you going so fast?” Ruffnut asks, trying to pout at you. You just shake your head, bending over to grab your hammer and place it in the loop on your apron.

“Work- Uh, carpentry things, y'know.” You take a few steps back, watching Tuffnut stroke his braids like a beard, and Ruffnut huff as if irritated. You throw a hand up, your thumb pointing behind you. “Gotta’ get the… The wood-” Unable to find any words to properly explain your exit, you just give up, turning and walking away from the two.

What in Odin’s name just happened…?

It's certainly peaceful here, you think to yourself. You're walking along the cliff's edge, but far enough away that the drop doesn't send you into a panic. You hear birds chirping, the trills of content dragons, and a low murmuring of people going about their daily lives. You aren't too close to the town, but you could still see it where you stood.

You hadn't seen Hiccup for about a week now, which felt a little weird. It had gotten to a point that he came to visit you daily, so now bereft of his company, you felt a pang of loneliness. It was fine though, you were sure he was doing something important.

You are taking one of your small daily breaks, just taking a peaceful stroll and people-watching. You turn to look at the horizon, water as far as the eye could see.

FIRE

You gasp loudly and stumble back as a ball of fire is suddenly hurtling at top speeds, upward from below the cliff. You fall onto your butt, looking up with wide eyes as the fire begins to hover in the air in front of you. Not a ball of fire- a dragon, coated completely in it. The dragon shakes violently and the fire subsides, leaving the bright red scales and long neck of a Monstrous Nightmare.

Then you notice the man sitting on its back, who suddenly calls down to you.

“You think you're tough, huh?”

You press a hand to your chest, trying to calm your racing heart. You suck in a deep breath, shaking your head at him. You push yourself to stand just as the dragon flies over the cliff, landing down and lowering its head for the man to climb down. You look up- no, down, at this man. He was… kinda short?

“I heard you're a tough guy,” The man continues, taking a few steps forward to poke his finger at your chest. “Well, sucks to be you, ‘cause I'm the toughest guy here.”

“O-kay?” You say, or question, drawing out the vowels. You scrunch your eyebrows together, looking the man up and down. “I'm sorry, do I know you?”

“You should!” He calls out, pressing his fists against his sides. “‘Cause if Hiccup ever fails at being Chief, then I'm going to be the one stepping up to the plate!”

“But,” You hesitate, unsure if you want to argue your point.

“But what?” He shoots back immediately, eyes widened at you. “You think I can't do it?”

“It's not that,” You trail off, tilting your head curiously. “But, wouldn't Astrid step up to be Chief then? Or even Hiccup's mother? I've heard she's around here somewhere.”

“I'll let you know, Valka is actually one hundred percent on board with me being Chief! She loves me!” You purse your lips at this, feeling like it's inaccurate but unable to argue it.

“Alright, well.” You take a small step back, just trying to gain some distance between you and the small man. “It's a good thing I met you then if you'll be Chief someday.” You just play into his antics, hoping his aggression would die down.

“Snotlout!” He yells out, and you flinch at the volume so close to the man.

“Uh, bless you?” You scratch the back of your head, confused.

“No, it's- Ugh, it's my name!” He takes a step forward, closing the distance once again to poke your chest once more. “And you better remember it!” You raise your hands placatingly, nodding your head.

“Of course, yeah, no problem, big guy.” You watch a pleased grin stretch across his face before hearing your name called out behind you. You've never been so grateful for Skullgar than in that moment. “Oh, looks like I'm being called to work. I'll, uh, see you around?” Without waiting for a reply, you spin and start a light jog back to the work area. You hear one last thing from Snotlout, yelling as you gain distance.

“You owe me an arm wrestle!”

You approach slowly, both hands up and in front of you; one holding a sponge frothing with soap, the other a wet washcloth. You take careful steps- this time, anyway, since normal steps apparently didn't work last time- and try to close the distance between the sponge and Grimrar. The dragon eyed you suspiciously, his giant body coated in a purple dust that causes him to sneeze once more.

“Now, just hold still. This will only take a second…” You trail off, taking another step closer before Grimrar’s eyes widen, kicking off the ground and bucking around wildly. You try to dodge an errand wing, windmilling your arms to try to catch yourself before suddenly you fall onto your backside, groaning.

“Why did Skullgar think this was a good idea…?” You complain under your breath, inspecting your arms and wiping some of that purple dust off of you.

“I think you'll have a lot better luck if you approach from the front.” A kind voice startles you, so it takes a few moments for the words to sink in. You turn to see a rather portly Viking, blond-haired and smiling. He was currently leaning forward against Skullgar’s fenceline, looking between you and the dragon.

“Uh, sorry?” You ask, standing and holding the wet sponge and washcloth out, away from your clothes.

“Grimrar, there. If you wanna’ catch him by surprise, it'd be better to approach directly from the front. A blind spot, y'know? Because his eyes are on the side of his head.” The man moves his hands to either side of his head as an indication, and you turn to take a better look at the dragon for yourself.

“Huh,” You huff out, nodding back toward him. “That's really smart- and helpful. Thank you.” You nod toward him, looking back to Grimrar as you try to circle around. Unsurprisingly, he's grown wary and suspicious of you, turning his head to keep you in his eyeline. “Well, that can't be helped I guess.” You huff again, kneeling down into a crouch to take stock of the situation.

“By the way, the name's Fishlegs,” The kind man continues, hopping the fence and beginning to take slow but confident steps toward Grimrar. “I'm one of Hiccup's friends.” I groan, just barely catching myself from facepalming into the sponge in my hand. Huffing, I stand and look toward him warily.

“You're not here to threaten me, are you?” I ask hesitantly, moving back toward the bucket to dip the sponge back in. “Or flirt? One of them did that too.”

“Probably Ruffnut,” Fishlegs guessed accurately, “She's a bit of a wild card. I wouldn't be too worried about her, though, her main focus is on Eret, ‘son of Eret.’” He's now right next to Grimrar, and to your delight, the dragon hasn't bucked once. Fishlegs reaches up, petting the top of its snout before reaching under with the other hand to give scritches to its chin. You're unsure what you've just watched, but Grimrar enjoyed the petting so much that he shook himself down into a puddle on the ground, completely relaxed. “There you go should be good to go.” He dusts his hands of the purple powdered stuff, looking at you with another smile. “And no, not here to threaten. Just trying to help.”

You can't help the pleased smile that crosses your face, moving up next to Fishlegs. Grimrar doesn't move from his splayed-out position, even once you place the sponge against his scales. “Well thank you,” You nod to him with a genuine smile, taking up your task with renewed vigour. “What's with all of you dragon riders wanting to meet me so bad?”

“Oh, no,” Fishlegs tries to correct, raising his hands. “I wasn't trying to follow you around or anything. I live right across from Skullgar down that way,” He makes a gesture, and you take a quick glance before refocusing on the dragon. “I was heading down to the Hall when I saw you struggling, just figured I'd offer some friendly help.”

“Well it's certainly appreciated, thank you.” You smile back at him, moving away to grab your bucket of soapy water, heaving it over closer to the dragon. You dip the sponge, continuing your work on the other side.

“But,” Fishlegs continues, and you glance over with raised eyebrows. “I think the reason you're being hounded with all of us is likely Hiccup's fault.” I blush slightly, turning my attention back toward the dragon, trying to play it off. Fishlegs continues, but you swear you could hear a smile in his voice. “Once Astrid found out where he keeps running off to, Hiccup couldn't stop talking about you. House designs, carpentry ideas- he even gushed about the fact that you knew next to nothing about dragons. This would normally seem like a bad thing to someone as obsessed with dragons as Hiccup, but he enjoyed being able to teach you everything about them. Something about how your ‘curiosity is insatiable,’ and how your ‘eyes light up as bright as dragon’s fire' when you hear about something you like.”

By the end of his long tirade, you felt both embarrassed but strangely pleased. There was so much to unpack about everything you just heard- but not while covered in purple dust.

“That's… Very interesting,” You struggle to find the right words, settling just for that. You finish washing the face of the dragon gently, checking over him to make sure you got every scale. “I think the twins said something similar.”

“Well, that makes sense. They do complain the most when it comes to Hiccup’s raving.” You huff a laugh under your breath, finally dropping the sponge and washcloth into the bucket and taking a look at yourself.

“And as much as I'm enjoying this conversation, I should really go get cleaned up.” You smile toward Fishlegs, giving an awkward wave.

“Sure, see ya’ around!” He does a quick wave in return, turning to continue his way toward the Great Hall. You huff in frustration, looking back down at yourself. ‘This purple pollen is gonna’ take forever to get off of my clothes!’

Hiccup was back! He had been away for close to a month on some sort of scouting mission, according to the rumours. You could’ve just asked to make sure, but you felt hesitant in doing so. They would’ve asked why you wanted to know, and you didn’t have a good answer besides, ‘I miss him,’ so you decided to instead pretend as if everything was fine. And it was fine! You obviously could withstand a month away from your crush.

You only knew Hiccup was back because Toothless had flown right over your home as you were about to enter inside, finished with your day of work. They were a black blur above you, but the call of the Night Fury was unmistakable, and you turned to watch them fly toward the town before vanishing among the trees. You bite your lip, holding back a smile. If he was back, does that mean he would visit? You were excited to see him but didn’t know when that would be. If he was going into town, then it couldn’t hurt to visit him for once? He had always kept inviting you to the Great Hall anyway, what hurt could that do?

You leave your home without even entering it, turning and making your way back to the town. You jogged some of the distance, trying to tell yourself to temper your expectations. He might be busy, unavailable for you to pester. Or, he could be wandering around to tell everyone he was back and would be excited to see you. You pulled in a deep breath at that daydream, trying to push it away. Whatever happens, it’ll be fine. If Hiccup was busy, you could just go to the Great Hall for some dinner.

You finally exit the copse of trees between your house and the town, walking into the darkly lit area. Dragons mulled around in some places, casting large shadows across the ground and staring at you wearily. A few other people were walking through the town, though you expected they were all just trying to make it home themselves. You’re finally closing in on the Great Hall, hearing a ruckus of laughter and cheering from inside. Toothless sat outside the building, grooming himself before glancing up to look directly at you.

You freeze midstep, your eyes growing wider as Toothless stares at you. You’re unsure what to do, having never actually met the dragon before, personally. It was just the two of you out here- the sounds of your fellow Vikings just inside the big door, out of reach- and you felt more vulnerable than most other times in your life. This was one of, if not the, deadliest dragon known to man. And he was staring at you with wide green eyes as if determining your worth for himself. Finally, after a few minutes, Toothless turns away and resumes his previous task.

You couldn’t help the large sigh of relief you let out, slowly inching your way closer to the door. Toothless made no more moves to acknowledge you, and you felt relieved by it. Pushing into the Great Hall, you hadn’t seen everyone so lively in such a long time. Though granted, you hadn’t been here for every other end of the day, when the Vikings were finally able to let off a little steam. Most of the older ones were drinking, but you finally spied a table farther in the back, surrounded by all of Hiccup’s friends you had just recently met. The twins, Snoutlout, Fishlegs, and even Astrid sat in a circle around the table, laughing loudly and talking amongst themselves.

It is when Fishlegs stands, pushing away from the table and walking to a nearby buffet that you see him. Hiccup is sitting between Fishlegs’ empty seat and Astrid, laughing and shaking his head toward the twins as they begin to wrestle around, likely in some sort of disagreement. He is holding a cup out, moving to take a drink from it when his eyes scan the room, settling on you. You can see his eyes widen slightly before he slams his cup onto the table, the liquid inside splashing up and over the rim of the cup. You laugh and begin to approach as you watch him look down with surprise, then begin to stutter an apology toward Astrid, who had unfortunately been caught in the crossfire. That glare you knew so well was back on her face, though it seemed contrasted with a grudging familiarity and acceptance of Hiccup’s antics.

You hear a barely-there, “Excuse me one second,” From Hiccup before he spins and moves to make his way to you. Except, in the time it took him to clean his spill and apologize, you had closed most of the distance already. So, he spins and moves to step forward, then tries to catch himself as he notices you are already right behind him. His arms windmill, and you reach out to grasp his hip to keep him from falling over.

“Hey, there. Going somewhere?” You ask, with a smile, forgetting to remove your hand right away. You could see a blush lighting up his cheeks, but it was likely from the alcohol he was drinking, not anything you were doing. If he even was drinking alcohol.

“No,” Hiccup stutters out, clearing his throat and standing straighter. You realise where your hand is with his movement, and quickly pull it back to your side. He smiles, taking a small step forward to lean into your space. “I saw you come in! You’re finally here, you’re actually taking me up on my offer?”

“To have dinner in the public eating house?” You chuckle, trying to make a joke, and Hiccup shakes his head with his big smile.

“To eat here and share my table. I can introduce you-”

“Oh, he knows us!” You turn at the loud voice, finally noticing that every person at the table- including Fishlegs, who returned with a massive pile of food for the center of the table- was watching both you and Hiccup with varying emotions across their faces. Astrid and Ruffnut looked annoyed, Fishlegs pleased, meanwhile, Tuffnut and Snoutlout looked almost mischievous, with wide smiles. You realize it was Tuffnut who had called out, crossing his arms and leaning back.

“He does?” Hiccup asked slowly, his eyebrows raising, accompanying a look that almost portrayed fear. But why would he be afraid of that?

“Sure does!” Tuffnut answers and Ruffnut stands suddenly, pushing her brother’s head before moving to sit next to Astrid. The two girls lean in close together, whispering. Fishlegs continued to look on with a pleased expression, nodding as he reached for a large hunk of meat.

“Yeah, he met all of us over time while you were gone.” Fishlegs agreed, and you laughed nervously.

“Uh, yeah, actually,” You agree, turning your attention back toward Hiccup. He looks like he doesn’t know what to say, so you proceed to explain. “There was Astrid that day that she was looking for you. But then Ruffnut and Tuffnut found me working a few days later. Snotlout was on the back of his dragon and was flying by when he noticed me.” I smile toward Fishlegs, waving my hand in his direction. “And Fishlegs actually helped out a lot with one of the tasks Skullgar gave me the other day.”

“Oh! That's,” Hiccup hesitates, looking between you and the table before nodding, “Yeah, that’s good.” He doesn’t sound too confident in his words, but you nod along anyway. “I was actually going to introduce them to you! At- uh, at some point.”

“Sure you were, Hiccup,” Tuffnut called out, much too loud in your opinion.

“Wha-” Hiccup hesitates, looking unsure of himself. “Why don’t you take a seat?” Hiccup moves toward the table quickly, pulling out the only chair left- between Fishlegs and Tuffnut. He gestures to it with a smile before hopping delicately over to his seat, on the other side of Fishlegs. You sit down, reaching toward the middle to grab something small you could pretend to eat, just for something to do. Tuffnut immediately leans in close to you, invading your personal space.

“So, tell us about yourself [y/n], we’re all dying to hear.” You hesitate, then look up to the rest of the table staring at you still. Hiccup also scans the table, noticing the same with a wince and a sympathetic look toward you.

“Oh, well,” You hesitate, placing your food down on the table gently. “I just moved to Berk recently- right before the whole town moved actually.”

“Well, we know that,” Snotlout complains, leaning forward over the table. With how much of his chest you could see hanging over the table, you couldn’t help but wonder if he was standing on his chair to appear taller. “Hiccup told us that one already. Tell us something new!”

“Yeah, where are you from, anyway?” Tuffnut asks, still leaning into your space. You look quickly toward Hiccup and Fishlegs, both of whom have their eyebrows pulled together, cringing at their friends’ questions.

“Oh, I’m from, uh,” You hesitate, moving your gaze toward the table and idly playing with your food. “Just, somewhere pretty far away. I rode on a boat- well, a few boats. It took weeks before I finally found somewhere I felt safe enough to call home.” The table around you was quiet, contrasted by the reverberating crowd surrounding the group of you in the Great Hall. Cheers and calls were being thrown around, too loud and too many to distinguish any of the crowd’s words in the background. It was Ruffnut who broke the silence of your table.

“Well, that’s extremely unspecific of you.” She crosses her arms, disappointment clear across her face. You could only shrug, picking your food back up. Astrid’s voice across the table startles you, unaware that she has been listening.

“She’s right. It was. Why don’t you tell us the name of where you’re from?”

“Astrid,” Hiccup interrupts quietly, raising a hand to her arm with an expression that was clearly asking her to stop. She only tugs her arm away from him, standing and placing her hands on the table in front of her, leaning closer to you.

“No, I want to know. Why won’t you tell anyone where you’re from? Got something to hide, [y/n]? Planning something you don’t want us to find out about?” Her glare is back, which really is the only expression you recognize on her now. Her laughter from earlier had seemed awkward to you, but you had preferred that over this. She was questioning you again, but now in front of all of her friends. And Hiccup. He looked horrified up at Astrid, but he wasn’t stopping her.

“I-” You begin before Fishlegs reaches out to press a hand to your arm. You look at him to see a hard expression on his face, looking directly at Astrid.

“Leave him alone,” His voice is so contrasted to what you are used to- that kind and soft voice replaced by something cold and hard. “You’re better than this, Astrid.”

“I’m just asking-” Astrid throws her hands out, changing the target of her glare.

“No, you're interrogating.” Fishlegs removes his hand from you, and you can’t help feeling a pounding in your chest similar to adrenaline. “He lives in Berk, with us. He’s not evil, he’s not plotting anything, and he certainly isn’t causing a scene like you are.” You are surprised at the strength he exhibits, watching him with new eyes. You could see Astrid’s shoulders slumping. It takes her a bit of incoherent stammering, but she eventually rests her eyes on you again.

“I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.” She sits back down slowly, Ruffnut reaching out to rub her back. Your heart was still hammering, but you felt like you had to say something.

“I ran away from home.” Well, that certainly was not something you should’ve said. Every single head turns toward you, everyone but Fishlegs leaning forward over the table to get closer, to hear anything else. “To, uh,” You stutter slightly at the attention, feeling a blush heat up your cheeks. “To answer your question. That’s why I don’t want to say where I’m from.”

The lot of them lean back slowly, realizing they aren’t going to get a story after all. You let out a soft breath as Astrid nods, and you can see her expression opening slightly as if she is beginning to finally trust you. You aren’t sure how you feel about that, but you figure it couldn’t hurt. You finally let your eyes roam back to Hiccup, who once again has a pinched expression and seems antsy, staring between you and the door to the Great Hall. You wondered if he wished the both of you were alone together once again- just like you were wishing for.

“Bet you wished you ran away from home,” Tuffnut called over the table toward his sister, a sinister smirk stretching across his face. Ruffnut groans, calling out her own answer back about how she’d rather he ran away so she could have their dragon for herself, and the rest of them broke into laughter. The conversation naturally progressed, and it was like you had a front-row seat to Hiccup interacting with his friends. It was different, seeing him in a setting that wasn’t just the two of you, or out in town performing as Chief. He was just a guy here, sitting with his friends and enjoying the night. It was nice, to see this side of him.

The common thread of every conversation was the same: dragons. Each one had their own dragon (although the twins shared one with differing names), and each dragon had its own behaviours and personalities that caused clashes with not just each other, but with other dragons and its own rider as well. You thought they all were living happily ever after with their dragon, but it was almost as if every single one of them had an oppressive roommate who treated them like pets instead of the other way around.

Currently, Astrid was going on about her dragon, Stormfly, who had been pouting in her backyard for the last two days, refusing to fly, all because Astrid had forbidden him from eating her next-door neighbour’s lamb. She’s whining, and the table is commiserating, trying to come up with some sort of plan to fix the situation.

“I still think you should just feed him a lamb.”

“Tuffnut!” Astrid called out, reaching over to smack him in the head, “I just said I don’t want to kill my neighbour’s lamb! He just got it, and I want to be a good neighbour!”

“Not his lamb!” Tuffnut argues, jumping up and away from the table, dancing out of reach. “Just any lamb! Buy one and feed her that!”

“No,” Hiccup warns, shaking his head with an amused smile, “That’s setting a dangerous precedent. Soon, all she’ll agree to eat will be lambs. Then the other dragons will get jealous, and before we know it we won’t have any of them left. That’s why I put those feeding rules in place, we have to be careful.” He explains this like it's only natural, the easiest thing in the world, and reaches down for another bite. You shift in your seat slightly, watching him. He seems so… adult. He’s not fumbling his words or awkwardly tripping over; he has a confidence with his friends that makes you almost jealous, but mainly just curious, like you couldn’t help but want to see more.

“Well, then I’m out of ideas!” Tuffnut threw his hands in the air in defeat, and everyone at the table laughed. You glanced around, feeling slightly out of place during these conversations. The only dragon info you really had was what Hiccup had supplied to you. Tuffnut plops back into his seat with a huff, shaking his head. “How do you get a dragon to stop eating lamb?”

“You spike it with something gross?” You throw out, causing both Astrid and Hiccup to whip their gazes onto you.

“What do you mean?” Astrid asks, leaning forward and resting her arms on the table. You shrug, thinking out loud.

“I mean, if I had something I was eating, that suddenly tasted like the grossest thing in the world, then I don’t think I’d end up craving that food anymore.” You hesitate at their stares, shrugging again, “Personally, anyway.”

“Well, how would we even do that, though?” Astrid asks, genuinely curious. Hiccup puts his food down, watching you with intention. You can’t tell what’s running through his head, but you were just hoping not to make a fool of yourself.

“Well, do dragons eat dead things? Or just hunt for living creatures to eat?” You purse your lips in thought, looking up to escape the sight of everyone watching you. Tuffnut begins to laugh but stops once Ruffnut elbows him harshly.

“They eat dead creatures, yeah. We’ve been trying to train them out of hunting, at least while they’re at the village, so they mostly eat things we’ve prepared for them.” Hiccup answers, smiling toward you with encouragement. You nod, then pick up your food, gesturing with it as you speak.

“Well, then, stick an eel inside a sheep.” You take a bite, looking around at the confusion on everyone’s faces. “Like, chop it up and stuff the inside with it?”

“Stick an eel…” Ruffnut begins, with her twin following up,

“In a sheep…”

“That’s a brilliant idea!” Astrid calls out, and you watch in shock as a genuine smile spreads across her face, caused by you. You never thought you’d see the day.

“It really is,” Hiccup whispers breathlessly as he stares at you, so quiet you question whether he had actually said it or not. Fishlegs elbows Hiccup’s ribs, who in turn startles and looks down at the table, his face heating in a blush. You wondered what that was about, but felt pleased as the rest of the table began to congratulate you on your idea. Astrid shortly excused herself, calling out her need to execute this plan immediately.

No one else seemed ready to leave, even after they all finished eating. The Great Hall’s population was dwindling down slowly, but you felt warm, comfortable and safe among your new friends. And you couldn’t help it- you finally, truly believed they were your friends. They joked with you, including you in conversations even when you didn’t know most of the things they were talking about. Snotlout personally was a fan of telling you stories, gesturing largely with his hands and making a show of it. Fishlegs interrupted with corrections to the story or trivia bits, while the twins held responsibility for the comedic one-liners, inserting at points to make the table laugh again and again.

The fires were dying down and everyone seemed to be settling down, having quieter conversations with each other. No longer joining in, but enjoying their company, you pull out your little whittling project and set to work. It was Snotlout who noticed, bringing it up.

“You carving something over there, carpenter?” You look up to see all of them turn to look, Tuffnut leaning close to you to spy why you were holding under the table. You laugh, bringing it up for all of them to see. It was a sitting dragon, fashioned after Grimrar this time (as he was the one dragon you were most familiar with), with his front legs pulled together in front of him and wings spread out halfway. His details weren’t finished yet, but the general shape of the dragon was formed.

“Just a gift.” You smile, shrugging, setting the dragon on the table to test its weight. It took many tries to get it to stay upright and sitting evenly. But now it stood like a tiny idol or doll, staring blankly ahead.

“Oh,” Ruffnut drawls out, leaning her face close to the dragon to inspect it. “Which dragon is this?”

“It’s Grimrar!” Fishlegs calls out before you answer, reaching and snatching it off the table. “The wings are slightly smaller than his wingspan, and his snout is a little thinner, but you definitely have done a great job!” Fishlegs sets the dragon back on the table, looking at it again with a smile. You nod, agreeing that it was, as Fishlegs explains to the rest of them who exactly Grimrar was.

“Oh, you have to carve me one! Hookfang would be a perfect sculpture!” Snotloud called out, leaning across the table in excitement. “How big can you make it? As big as a house?”

“Don’t be unreasonable,” Ruffnut calls out, pushing Snotlout back down into his seat.

“Yeah, I don’t know if I could carve anything bigger than this,” You pick the project back up, waving it in emphasis. “But I’ll see what I can do? I can’t promise anything though.” At this, both of the twins begin scrambling toward you, begging for you to make one for them as well. They begin arguing with each other about the features that the idol should exhibit, both wanting emphasis on either head as the ‘better’ one. You just laugh, shaking your head and tuning them out as you move your attention back to your project. Now that they knew of it, you figured you’d better finish the details quickly and give it to Skullgar before he hears about it from someone else.

The night finally draws to a close as Snotlout begins snoring on the table, the rest of your friends finally standing and moving to the exit. Everyone seems tired, Hiccup especially, and you know you’re going to regret how long you stayed up when it comes to work tomorrow. Although, you were due for a day off at some point. Surely it’d be fine if you slept in tomorrow. Everyone said their goodbyes at the doors to the Great Hall, Toothless sleeping in a ball nearby. Hearing Hiccup’s voice, he begins to stretch and stand, leisurely making his way closer to Hiccup. As you turn to leave, a hand on your arm stops you.

“Hey, why don’t I walk you back?” You turn to see Hiccup’s eyes- a simmering juniper colour in this low lighting. The night was dark, and there was only one torch on the wall nearby. You hesitate, remembering how tired he was.

“I’ll be ok Hiccup, you go get some sleep.” He just shakes his head, taking a step closer.

“Please?” This causes you to pause, watching his eyes and wondering if you’re really reading desperation in them. “It’s a long walk through the forest, I don’t know if I’d be able to sleep without knowing you made it home safely.” Your eyes glance away from him, scanning his retreating friends in the distance.

“But what about the rest of your friends? Not worried about them?”

“They live in town,” Hiccup argues, sounding uninterested in them, “And they have dragons.”

“Sure,” You agree, unwilling to argue with him further. You knew you just craved more of his attention, having not seen him in so long and being surrounded by people when you finally did. As you both begin to walk, you hear Toothless following behind you. Your shoulders become stiff over time, uncomfortable with an unknown dragon so close to your defenceless back.

But nothing happens. It is a quiet walk, and you move to carry a torch but Hiccup took it before you could so he was holding it up between you. The circle of light it gives off was eerie, almost like you both had your own little bubble away from the world. Well- the three of you, as Toothless slunk low to the ground behind you both. It was only when your house was coming into view that Hiccup finally spoke up.

“I’ve been arguing with myself all night, but I have to ask.” You turn to look, your eyebrows raised as he tries to give you an imploring smile. “Will you carve a little Toothless idol for me?” You see Toothless raise his head out of the corner of your eye, looking at you and tilting his head sideways.

“Oh,” You begin, laughing at the unexpected request. “Speaking of, I actually have something for you.” You watch his face get overtaken by surprise, quickly raising your hands. “Uh, not Toothless though. I carved something else. From memory. It’s probably not very good, actually-”

“I’d love to see it,” Hiccup interrupts your rambling, smiling brightly at you. You suddenly become nervous, those nerves growing the closer you get to your house.

“Ok, just,” You huff out a nervous breath, trying to smile for him, “Temper your expectations, I probably got a lot of it wrong.” You push open your door, wandering inside your house. It's a bit more messy than the last time he was here, but in a way that shows it's lived-in now. You move directly toward the shelf beside the bar, picking up the idol you just finished carving the other day. It was supposed to be Stoick the Vast, carved from your memory of that giant statue that had stood on the old Berk island. He was a rather large man, with a long beard, a small bull-horned helmet, and holding the handle of an axe with the head on the ground in front of his feet. You’d added details- curves in his beard, decorated armour, and bulging muscles.

You’d heard a lot about the previous Chief. You never met the man, but still had fierce respect for him. The stories told of him were grand and awe-inspiring. He was the Chief who had protected his town from dragon attacks. He had killed so many and protected so many others, it was no wonder there were so many stories to tell. But just as well, there were stories of him being gentle. Caring for a baby Hiccup and touring him all around Berk. Accepting Hiccup’s love for dragons in the end, and helping implement this new lifestyle, surrounded and loved by dragons until the end.

You hold it out toward Hiccup, avoiding his eyes as you move behind the bar, emptying your pockets onto the counter. Hiccup approaches the bar slowly, staring at the figure in his hand silently. He taps the bar with his other hand, curled into a fist, and you wonder if this was a bad idea. Then you hear a sniff. Hiccup looks up, tears clear in his eyes, and smiles sadly toward you.

“I don’t know how I could ever repay you.”

“Oh,” You begin, shaking your head, “You don’t have to. I just hope I remembered it correctly. He was your dad, wasn’t he?” Hiccup nods in response, looking back down to the figure and tracing the curves with his finger. He laughs softly, placing it on the bar upright.

“You should make one for yourself.” You tilt your head curiously, confused by his meaning. He continues, explaining, “You should carve your parents into one of these. So they can watch over you while you’re here.” Your face drops, immediately looking away from Hiccup. You feel restless and start walking around the bar and away from Hiccup.

“No,” You shake your head, moving to start tending to your fireplace. “That’s fine. I’d rather carve the dragons.”

“But,” Hiccup hesitates, looking between you and the gift he received. “I didn’t know how much I needed this until it was in my hand. Maybe you just don’t know-”

“Hiccup,” You interrupt, feeling your heart start to pound in your chest. “I’m so thankful you like the gift, but not everyone had close relations with their family like you did.” It is quiet behind you as Hiccup takes this in, and then you feel a hand touch your shoulder. It startles you since you hadn’t even heard him approach.

“I’m sorry,” He’s apologizing, and it sends a twinge of guilt through your stomach. You finally look away from the fire, up into his eyes. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” You sigh, taking his hand from your shoulder and pulling him toward a bench nearby. You sit down, and Hiccup quickly sits next to you. You could hear some sort of rustling outside, the bobbing head of Toothless out of the window seeming to have found something to entertain himself with.

“Don’t be sorry,” You whisper, pulling your attention away from the window and back to him. “You didn’t know.” He moves to interject, but you touch his hand again and he falls silent. “My relationship with my parents was never close, but,” You take a deep breath, staring into the fire. “They disowned me.”

“What?” You could spy Hiccup shaking his head in confusion out of the corner of your eye, but your attention was stuck to the fire, the image of those days playing out in your head. “Why?”

“Because I wasn’t what they wanted me to be.” You take another deep breath, turning to look into his eyes. “I was born with a girl’s body.” You watch his confusion dip even further, and you feel panic rising in your chest with every word that spills out. “I am a boy, as you and everyone else have noticed. But I grew up with the expectations from my family that I’d be a woman because I was born in this body.” You sigh, shaking your head and looking back toward the flickering flames. “They trained me as they would any of their children, teaching me how to defend myself and fight with a battleaxe. They taught me where to slice a dragon open to kill it with one hit, and how to lay traps that would capture anything that walked over it. They trained me, sure, but they never loved or cared for me.”

Hiccup remains silent, and you don’t even notice as tears begin to spill onto your cheeks as you continue your distant stare into the fire. “When I came out to them,” You began, sucking in a breath and having to steel yourself to continue, “They thought it was a joke at first, laughed. Then they told me no, I couldn’t be a boy. That I wasn’t allowed. I don’t know what they thought, that I could just stop being who I am?” You sniff, finally closing your eyes and dropping your gaze, feeling tears splash down onto your hands in your lap. “I started dressing more masculine, and it just felt right. It didn’t take long for them to have had enough. They gave me an ultimatum. ‘Stop playing dress up, or leave.’” You huffed out a desperate laugh, but it wasn’t funny to you. You didn’t know what else to do. “So I left.”

“[y/n],” Hiccup whispers your name with so much emotion, that you finally raise your gaze back to him. You couldn’t read the mixture of emotions on his face, but he looked pretty. And concerned for you.

“It’s okay Hiccup,” You whisper out, shrugging. “I began binding my chest, packed all the masculine clothes that I owned, and took the next boat out.” Staring into Hiccup’s face, you hear yourself spew out, “I haven’t regretted a second of it.”

“Really?” Hiccup asks with feeling, leaning forward toward you.

“This Berk feels more like home than anywhere else ever has,” You finally admit, able to pull a real smile to the surface. Hiccup raises his hand, gently wiping the tear tracks from your cheeks. After, he lets out a long breath, looking at your fireplace and reaching to throw a log on top.

“So does anyone else know?”

“Well,” You begin, wagging your head from side to side in consideration. “Gobber knows. I don’t know if he told anyone, but I have a suspicion that Skullgar knows as well.” Hiccup’s eyebrows raise to comical heights.

“Gobber? Gobber knew this? For how long?”

“Since the moment I got to Berk.” You softly laugh at his expression, glad to have gotten that off of your chest and not have Hiccup leave you in the cold. You don’t think he realizes your immense gratitude for just accepting your story and not questioning your gender- he hadn’t even made a big deal of it. The only thing that mattered to him was your parents disowning you, like only that thought was unimaginable and not any of the rest. “Maybe not the second I stepped off of the boat, but I began to ask around for handiwork I could help with. Gobber found me, practically drowning in my own tears and fright, and calmed me down. I couldn’t help it, I spewed out my whole story for him to hear. He didn’t judge me or anything, even helped me get my apprenticeship under Skullgar.” You smile softly, tilting your head. “I owe him a lot.”

“Wow,” Hiccup whispers, sinking back onto the bench and looking at you with amazement. “You’ve been through so much just to end up here.”

“It’s okay, really,” You insist, reaching to take his hand with yours, holding it. “I’ve built myself a life here that I actually enjoy. I have friends now, people who actually enjoy my company. I don’t have to kill things on a weekly basis, and no one questions my outfit choices anymore.” You chuckle softly, thinking back. “Honestly, I was sort of suppressed and numb back then. I don’t remember ever feeling happy.”

“But you’re happy here?” Hiccup asks, leaning forward as if this meant the world to him, as if you hadn’t been already trying to convince him of this fact. You laugh, squeezing his hand and nodding.

“Yes, I’m happy here, Hiccup.” He lets out a breath of relief, his shoulders slumping along. You can’t help the smile that crosses your face, surprised about it after having just talked about your past life. “There’s so much more to this world than I could’ve imagined.”

“Well,” Hiccup begins, smirking and shrugging a shoulder, and you pull your hand back lest he think something ridiculous- like how you have a massive crush on him that’s getting harder to suppress. “It’s actually a lot more than even this.” He gestures around your house, but likely indicating the entire town of Berk. He has that smile on that usually means he’s thinking of dragons again. “When you go flying, you really can see how big this world is. Everything seems so small in comparison. Like, it’s not the end of the world if you end up making a mistake, y’know?”

You study his posture, wondering how often he went flying when he got anxious about his chiefly duties and responsibilities. Did he go flying to calm himself down, or did he get energized with the wind in his face? He had mentioned a map he was currently drawing out once before, and your curiosity burned to see how much of the world he has explored, how big the drawing had gotten. You begin to yearn to see him like that, in his element and happy. You wanted to feel that, while also seeing him at his happiest-

“I think I’m ready to go flying with you.”

Hiccup sits straight up, his hands reaching out to take both of yours with an overwhelmingly excited expression. “Wait, really? Seriously?” You laugh at his excitement, nodding your head.

“Yeah. I mean, Toothless doesn’t seem to mind me that much. And,” You shrug, chuckling again, “I have to admit, you’ve got me curious.”

“Yes!” Hiccup cheered, jumping to his feet and pumping his fist in the air. “Yes, definitely! Tomorrow?” You tilt your head, consideringly, then nod.

“Sure. I’m due for a day off. Why not?”

His expression was almost more than you could take, so filled with excitement and hope and love. You wanted to grab him and hug him, wanted to take his face into your hands and press a kiss to those upturned lips, you wanted- You cut yourself off with a shake of your head, standing and facing him. He took your hands once more, staring deep into your eyes. “You won’t regret it.”

Hiccup was going to end up the death of you, you were sure of it.

TAG LIST: @lecoindetobi , @yakosobaboba ,

[vampyrsm]

‣‣ COR UNUM MASTERLIST | その時が来た

‣‣ Synopsis: A tale of how the Shogun's daughter ends up in the maw of one of the most fierce curse users to ever exist.

‣‣ Cross-posted on AO3 ‣‣ Final Word Count: TBD ‣‣ Status: Ongoing ‣‣ Pairing: Sukuna x Reader ‣‣ Warnings: Blank blogs & Minors DNI. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. Cannibalism, set in Early-Heian Period, trueform!Sukuna, mentions of Buddhism/religion in general, sexism, eventual smut, slowburn, dead bodies, descriptions of wounds, era-specific violence & views, dismemberment, female reader, reader is not a pushover, reader is the Shogun's daughter, reader knows how to use a sword, Sukuna is at the start of his reign as King of Curses, cursed spirits, body horror, each chapter will have its own warnings, warnings to be updated/added, not beta-read, sporadic updates.

‣‣ Part ONE — Tsukuyomi 月読 ‣‣ Part TWO — Susanoo スサノオ ‣‣ Part THREE — Izanami イザナミ ‣‣ Part FOUR — Izanagi 伊邪那岐命 ‣‣ Part FIVE — Kuraokami 闇龗 ‣‣ Part SIX — Kuebiko 久延毘古 ‣‣ Part SEVEN — Hachiman 八幡神 ‣‣ Part EIGHT — Kagutsuchi カグツチ ‣‣ Part NINE — Kangiten 歓喜天 ‣‣ Part TEN — Shinigami 死神 ‣‣ Part ELEVEN — Tamonten 毘沙門天 ‣‣ Part TWELVE — Daikokuten 大黒天 ‣‣ Part THIRTEEN — Inari Ōkami 稲荷大神 ‣‣ Part FOURTEEN — Yuki Onna 雪女 ‣‣ Part FIFTEEN — Sugawara no Michizane 菅原道真 ‣‣ Part SIXTEEN — Suijin 水神 ‣‣ Part SEVENTEEN — Yomi 黄泉 ‣‣ Part EIGHTEEN — Kōjin 三宝荒神 ‣‣ Part NINETEEN — Toyouke 豊岡姫 ‣‣ Part TWENTY — Amanozako 天逆毎 ‣‣ Future parts to be added.

[sarahwroteathing]

Friendship is Mandatory Masterlist

[Bucky Barnes x Reader]

Series Summary: With the help of a new therapist and a recklessly kind and unapologetically damaged new roommate, Bucky learns how to start living instead of just surviving.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

[acethepaintruler]

I’m so excited for the next chapters, the first 4 had me giggling☺️

[mechamedusa]

high for this — happy bday bkg !

— bakugou x kirishima x fem!reader

‘“Then hit it,” your voice lilts in his ear, a hand coming down to rest on his thigh while the other one brings the joint closer to his face. “Please? Promise we’ll take good care of you.”

His cheeks heat up at that, the implication all too present in the sultry inflection of your voice. In the way your bodies press against either side of him.’

☆ WORD COUNT | 12.2K

☆ SYNOPSIS | Bakugou shares a birthday with weed but he’s never smoked it before. He’s also never fucked you and Kirishima at the same time before. A birthday 2-for-1 special!

☆ CONTAINS | [+18!] quirkless/college au, drug use (weed), alcohol mention, dubcon due to the previous, bi threesome (emphasis on the bi), oral for everyone, double blowjob, spit!!!, facefucking, degradation + degrading names, praise, voyeurism, size kink, frotting, a lot of cum, anal play/rimming, anal sex, piv sex, daisy chain, some roughness, creampie, cum eating, squirting, kiri + bkg interact a lot, some softdom!kiri but switchy behavior all around, kinda imperfect poly dynamics, reader referred to as “girl” + she/her + has hair long enough to be pulled back, bkg gets slutted out ~

☆ NOTES | i know — i know ! this is very late. i hope i make up for it with the fact that this is basically all filth. there are non-monogamous dynamics here that are nuanced and a little messy, possibly confusing… but it’s not really the focus, it’s mostly just a lot of sexy fun. so i hope it’s still enjoyable! happy belated bday to the great explosion murder god himself ♡

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ CROSSPOSTED TO AO3 ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

“Come on, just one hit won’t kill you.”

White smoke curls up around your lips like tantalizing little vines, snaking through the air until it dissipates into the growing fog in your living room. You’re leaned in close on the couch, joint perched between your fingers and mischief mixing with the hazy look on your face.

Bakugou scoffs at you, but it’s softened by the few too many drinks you and his friends had pushed on him earlier in the night. And his ever-growing affection for you.

“Oh don’t pressure him,” Kirishima pipes up from behind the couch, big hand coming down on Bakugou’s shoulder and squeezing, “he’s the birthday boy, he can do what he wants.”

You pout up at the redhead. “That’s exactly why he should hit it.”

Normally, Bakugou would snap at you to stop fuckin’ talkin’ about him like he’s not here, something you both have become far too comfortable doing, but his sharp tongue seems to smooth out a bit when he’s alone with the two of you. Plus, he’s in a good mood. 

The day was… great, to say the least. Not too much of a fuss. Just drinks at a low-key bar nearby, and gifts that weren’t extravagant enough to make Bakugou feel awkward. And you and Kirishima had helped get him out of there before Kaminari and Mina could corral everyone into hitting up a strip club, or whatever other ridiculous shit their drunk minds could think up. Honestly, his birthday had been perfect. Not that he’d tell you both that. But he knows he doesn’t need to.

You rise up on your knees, bringing the joint to Kirishima’s lips to let him puff at it. You’re both crowded around him, Kiri’s broad chest brushing against the back of his head, and your cleavage so close to his cheek that he could turn his face and be buried in it. He watches you in his peripheral, tits bouncing lightly as you giggle when Kiri coughs and retreats towards the kitchen for water. When you lower back down into the couch, you’re giving him a knowing look, and he fights the urge to reach out and squish your cheeks in his hand.

You infuriate him, in your own awful, annoying, endearing way — you always have, ever since Kirishima first brought you into their lives. Somehow that has led him here, unimaginably comfortable splayed out on this couch in yours and Kirishima’s shared apartment – an apartment he, admittedly, spends more time in than his own.

Leaning forward over the coffee table to tap the ash off the joint, you continue your devious nagging. “You share a birthday with weed and you’ve never even tried it. It’s unnatural.”

“Weed does not have a fuckin’ birthday,” he grunts, watching your glossy lips wrap around the thin stick once more. “And Kirishima’s hair is unnatural, you don’t seem to give a shit about that.”

You press on, ignoring the quip. “Uhh weed does have a birthday. And you’re twins. Happy birthday to you both.”

Bakugou snorts, waves away the smoke that swirls up between you, “That shit’s makin’ you sound even dumber than usual.”

“Well it’s making you look less ugly than usual.”

“Ugly, huh? Guess weed turns you into a dummy and a liar.”

Chips and water bottles plop down on the coffee table, interrupting your playful squabbling as Kirishima re-enters the room.

“You don’t gotta do it if you’re scared, bro. I get it, I was super nervous when I first smoked.”

Bakugou scowls over at his friend where he’s settling in on the other side of him. “‘M not scared.”

“Then hit it,” your voice lilts in his ear, a hand coming down to rest on his thigh while the other one brings the joint closer to his face. “Please? Promise we’ll take good care of you.”

His cheeks heat up at that, the implication all too present in the sultry inflection of your voice. In the way your bodies press against either side of him. 

The unspoken suggestion isn’t entirely out of left field. The nature of your triangular relationship is… confusing. More than platonic, less than romantically committed — at least where Bakugou is concerned. But what isn’t confusing is the fact that he already knows both of your bodies intimately, and you his. (Kirishima even more so than you.) 

But he hasn’t known them both at the same time — a fact that has been looming over all three of you for months now.

Apparently you and Kiri have decided that today would be the day. A birthday present for the hot-head you’ve absorbed into your relationship. 

Or maybe you were absorbed into his and Kirishima’s? 

The details are muddled static in Bakugou’s brain, his nerves making his mind race as you both watch him expectantly.

“Bro, you really don’t have to if you don’t—“

He’s cut off by an exasperated growl. “If I hit it, will you both shut up?”

Kiri grins, and the corners of your mouth twitch up, bringing the the joint back into view.

He plucks it from your hand, grumbling that he can do it himself as he brings the papery tip to his lips. Kirishima’s good-natured warnings about not hitting it too hard fall on deaf ears as Bakugou breathes in deep… and immediately sputters a cough into the crook of his arm. You snort and take the offending stick back, Kiri opening a water bottle and handing it over with mumbles of something just a bit nicer than “I told ya so”.

When the coughing fit dies down, there’s a heaviness settled over him, like invisible weights strapped to each of his limbs. His chest burns, and his head is foggy, and Bakugou isn’t sure he really likes the feeling — but then Kiri’s thigh presses against his as he relaxes further into the couch, and you run your hand over his bicep while you ask if he’s ok, and every little touch makes his whole body tingle. And Bakugou… finally gets why people like this shit.

You giggle, and he realizes he’s said that last bit out loud. “See, feels nice, right?”

Time seems to start dragging on a bit slower as the high really settles into his bones, and he feels somehow both profoundly relaxed, and buzzing right down to his nerve-endings all at once. You continue puffing away at the joint, absentmindedly playing with Bakugou’s hair as Kiri puts something on the tv before turning and gesturing for you to pass the weed over. Shaking your head at your boyfriend, you instead beckon him towards you with a crook of your finger. A saucy little “c’mere…” reeling him in closer as you take another big drag from the joint.

The both of you lean over the blonde’s lap, faces coming together just inches in front of his. Bakugou is hyper-focused on the sliver of space between your lips — the way yours purse to blow a slow stream of milky smoke, and Kiri’s fall open to accept your gift. So close, a simple swipe of tongue could connect you. It’s an intimate exchange, thick with a sensuality that Bakugou swears is coating his throat and making it hard to swallow. 

It feels like ages before the two of you finally pull away, and his eyes follow Kirishima as he settles back on his right. Red brows raise at him curiously, chest puffing out as he inhales the smoke a bit deeper. Bakugou is staring, he knows he is. He can’t help it. His friend has always been easy on the eyes — pretty, even. Although, if he ever told him that, he knows he’d chuckle nervously and deny it. So he just stares silently, and thinks it. But Kirishima has an uncanny way of reading his thoughts, better than anyone else in his life.

And this time is no different, amusement pulling up the corners of Kiri’s mouth, boldness guiding his calloused hand to the back of the blonde’s neck as he leans in. There’s a split second of confusion, Bakugou’s mind wading through the molasses of his high to try and catch up with what’s going on, but then Kiri is blowing the smoke still in his lungs right into the space between his lips.

From you, to Kirishima, to him. A link of breaths, an unconventional chain made up of musky smoke and sighs and things unspoken. It tastes nice on Bakugou’s tongue. It doesn’t burn his chest like his first hit did. It’s been cooled in the exchange, the harsh bite of it taken away with each pass from mouth to mouth, leaving him with something light and comfortable and warm.

Bakugou wonders if he deserves that.

Kirishima’s lips brush softly against his. Silent reassurance that he does.

And then, as things tend to do when you’re high and horny, one thing simply leads to another. It’s a whirlwind of kisses and wandering hands, and then the kisses become deeper, bleeding into each other, and the hands wander further, their touch melting together. And Bakugou ends up turned around to face you with Kirishima at his back.

Your tongue in his mouth is familiar, and yet entirely new, and in this state the contrast between kissing you and his best friend becomes even more obvious. While the man behind him feels rugged against his skin, he always kisses gingerly at first, maneuvering slowly, tenderly, like he’s savoring it. Like he’s handling something delicate and skittish. 

You, on the other hand, have lips like velvet, skin supple and smooth where he cradles your face. But you suck harshly and nip at him, pull at his bottom lip with your teeth and smile devilishly when he hisses. 

Where Kirishima is hard, you’re soft – and where you’re rough, he’s gentle. 

You’re halfway onto Bakugou’s lap, straddling one of his thighs and raised up on your knees so he has to tilt his head up to you. Holding his face in your hands, you lick eagerly into his mouth, suck at his tongue when you feel it slide against yours. That pulls a soft groan from his chest, and his hips grind just a bit against your thigh, giving you a preview of his desire in the form of a poke.

One of your hands trails down the side of his neck, over the muscular slope of his chest and the firm valley of his stomach until it’s found its target on the inside of his thigh. Bakugou can’t help but moan when you press your palm into his cock where it’s currently throbbing against him, trapped uncomfortably in the leg of his jeans. 

“So hard already,” you murmur against Bakugou’s mouth as you rub your hand up and down his length. 

“He’s been hard since we started smoking,” Kiri chimes in between wet kisses to his neck.

Bakugou glares back with a lighthearted huff. “Always starin’ at my fuckin’ dick, Red.”

A low chuckle. “Yeah? Am I in trouble?”

“You fuckin’— agh!”

Kirishima bites down on his shoulder, just hard enough to make the blonde’s mouth fall open, and you seize your chance to swallow the sound.

It would be embarrassing, how well the pair of you are currently playing Bakugou like a tuned-up instrument, but the weed has his mind so fogged that all he can feel is the pleasurable heat simmering in his veins. The plushness of your skin in his palms as he runs them over your waist, and the firmness of his childhood friend’s well-built body against his back, and both of your hands and mouths all over him all at once — it’s more than he can handle. So he just lets himself lean further into Kirishima’s familiar hold and watches with heavy-lidded eyes as you pull his shirt over his head and start working his jeans down his legs.

“Gonna let us take care of you, right, birthday boy?” Your voice is a siren song in his ear, gravelly from the smoke you’d inhaled, pitched down with temptation. The snarky comment you’d usually receive in return is lost to a pleasured little nnghh when you lower yourself down and press your warm mouth to his cock through his briefs, flick your tongue out to taste the growing wet spot on the fabric. Then you’re hooking your fingers into the waistband, watching gleefully when you free the rigid length from its confines and it bobs up to hit his toned stomach with a slap. 

All the while Kirishima’s calloused hands explore, tender in their travels, ghosting over scars and squeezing lovingly at the spots that make him crazy (his waist, his pecs, the inner part of his thighs). He hooks his chin over the blonde’s shoulder and licks his lips hungrily at the sight of his cock, which is jumping in frustration as you kiss teasingly over his thighs. 

It’s flushed a heated pink at the tip and oozing dews of precum that are simply too pretty to ignore, so Kiri dips his finger in it, spreads the sticky substance around the head to make it shine before raising his hand back up and watching a thick, clear thread stretch before snapping. 

“Bein’ so good for us,” Kiri murmurs under his breath, a secret for them to share, and brings his finger to his own mouth to taste the salty arousal on it. He rubs the mix of saliva and pre over Bakugou’s nipple, rolls it between his thumb and forefinger. “Let us know if this is too much, ok?” 

And it is too much, but not in a way that’s unpleasant. So Bakugou responds with only a shuddered breath and his head falling back on the redhead’s shoulder, heavy with his high and the creeping heat of pleasure as you finally drag your tongue up the underside of his cock. He lets the bigger man turn his face to the side with a gentle hand, slots his mouth with his in a slow, hungry kiss.

He’s pulsing against your tongue, impossibly hard and aching for the feel of your mouth, and still you take your time. Licking coyly around the head, letting it leak right onto your tastebuds. Bakugou finally finds his voice again to curse down at you, and it comes out hoarse, whinier than you’ve ever heard him. 

“Stop bein’ such a damn cock tease.”

You chuckle, but relent, abandoning your teasing to finally sink your lips down on him. It lights Bakugou on fire, his toes curling and nails digging into Kiri’s forearms where they’re wrapped around his torso. So sensitive. You bob your head up and down slowly at first, then faster, slurping and sucking until you’ve gotten it nice and sloppy – which is when Kiri’s hands come to gather your hair out of your face, holding it all back in one fist and using the other to grip Bakugou’s dick tightly, stroke him right into your mouth. 

You moan approvingly at the addition of your boyfriend’s hand, a sweet little mmnnn that rings out from your throat and vibrates down Bakugou’s length right to his very core. The sound joins the noisy schlickschlick of Kirishima pumping his hand up and down, the movements practiced and effortless as he grips and twists, squeezing more and more precum from the tip for you to eagerly swallow. You stick your tongue out, let Kiri slap the head against it with a cheeky smile spreading your lips and exposing your teeth, far too pleased with the way Bakugou is trying his best to stifle his own moans and keep his hips from rolling.

Wrapping your lips back around the thick cock being jerked off in your face, you hollow your cheeks and suck hard, making your shared victim curse brokenly. You and Kiri exchange a conspiratory look, and then he’s grinning sleepily down at you.

“How’s his cock taste, pretty girl?”

Your lashes flutter and you make a sound that could be “so good” if it wasn’t completely muffled by skin, refusing to pop it back out of your mouth for even a moment to answer. Your boyfriend chuckles, feeling his own cock stir at watching the enthusiastic way in which you suck someone else’s – but his own needs can wait.

“Need some help down there?”

An earnest nod from you, and then Kirishima is shifting carefully from behind the near boneless body in front of him, sinking down onto his knees beside you to properly assist in servicing the birthday boy.

You continue sucking while keeping your gaze on Kiri, now close enough that you can make out the inky dilation of his pupils, the lustful flush on his cheeks. And he watches you, enamored, hypnotized by your fuck-me eyes and the way your lips pout and your cheeks hollow — his sweet little girlfriend with a nasty little mouth. 

“Y’look so pretty with a cock in your mouth,” he muses, and saliva pools in his own when you hum your appreciation and trace your lips down the side of Bakugou’s shaft, giving him access to the other side. He leans in, licks up a pulsating vein with a groan. The taste is distinctly Bakugou, heady and musky and manly. And it’s distinctly you, sweet like those drinks you order, light like your flavored gloss. He goes back for another taste, and then your tongues are dancing in unison over Bakugou’s dick.

“Jesus fuck, that’s so— fuckin’ good—“ Bakugou’s words are clipped and strained as you both slather his dick with your spit. Up and down, up and down the length of him, until you’re meeting at the top and tangling together in a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss around the head.

It’s messy, uncoordinated, drool coating both of your lips and smearing across chins and cheeks. Wet sounds and muffled moans fill the air as you make out with a dick wedged between you. It’s a sight Bakugou had never known he needed to see, but now he’s watching intently, jaw slack and lids heavy, wanting to burn the image into his memory. If his brain wasn’t so scrambled he’d pull out his phone and hit record, keep the moment in his pocket for him to fuck his fist to later.

Wrapped up in the kiss, you both pull away, your hand finding the blonde’s cock to stroke it as you continue exploring Kiri’s mouth. The twist and pull of your palm is slippery, but not slippery enough, so you break the kiss and stick your tongue out. And Kirishima understands exactly what you want, making a show of placing his big hands on either side of your face and tilting it up for him, pressing his lips together and letting spit flow freely down onto your waiting tongue. You turn with a glint in your eye, letting his saliva mix with your own behind your lips before spitting it all out to coat Bakugou’s dick.

A thought flits through his mind about the three-way hit from earlier, but it fizzles out as soon as you suck him sloppily back into your mouth. “Awh, fuck–” 

And then Kiri’s tongue is lapping at his balls, and Bakugou’s head sinks back on the couch cushions. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—“

He feels like jelly, melting right into both of your hungry mouths. Nothing but the sensation of slick lips and warm tongues, and silky spit rolling down his balls and seeping between his thighs. You and Kiri are switching back and forth, sharing him between you like it’s an everyday couple’s activity, one you’re both especially passionate about doing together. It’s insane — you’re both insane, hell-bent on turning him into a puddle right there on your living room couch.

And Bakugou is a puddle, splayed out on the cushions, panting with his head thrown back and his arms crossed over his face, just lost in it. Until Kirishima suddenly sinks his teeth into his inner thigh.

“Agh—!”

Bakugou’s hips jerk involuntarily at the bite, ramming his cock up into your throat as his gaze is forced back to you both kneeled before him. The sound of you gagging stirs Kiri on, and he places a big hand on the back of your neck to keep you in place before delivering another, harsher bite to his friend’s thigh. Another buck of the blonde’s hips and your eyes begin to water. But you look up at him, and through the sparkle of your wet lashes is an expression completely glazed over with lust.

Bakugou sneers down at you, suddenly stirred on just like Kiri. “Y’like that shit?” You don’t have to respond (not that you can, with his girth filling out your mouth), he knows very well how much you do. “Here, take it then.”

And then there are two more hands holding you down, steady against the back of your head to make sure you can’t move away as Bakugou rolls his hips up towards your face. 

“Stick your tongue out, like that, yeah–” 

You obey, and he grunts his approval as he fucks your mouth like it’s nothing more than a warm, wet toy. It’s slow, lazy, but hard and invasive, cock dragging back and forth along your tongue, pumping precum so deep it feels like you might choke on it. Your throat spasms and aches as it takes the sudden beating from his cock head prodding at it, a copious amount of drool filling your mouth as your body’s natural attempt at lubricating. It bubbles around your lips, drips down in thick globs onto his lap. 

And that’s what Bakugou wanted, really, the mess – to see the way tears roll down your cheeks and spit smears on your lips, the way you seem to go perfectly dumb for his dick. It’s cute, honestly, and he can’t help but tell you so, filth tumbling from his mouth as he uses yours to get off.

“So fuckin’ cute,” he says between ragged breaths, “so cute when you’re chokin’ on me. Fuck, yeah, keep that mouth open–”

You’re doing your best to breathe through your nose, taking the rough treatment while trying not to drown in your own spit, when Bakugou suddenly stills his hips and gives your head a hard push down.

“All the way down, like a good little slut,” he grunts, angling his hips up to try and invade your esophagus, feel how tight it is around his aching cock. There’s still so much of him your mouth can’t fit, and you gag hard, instinctually trying to pull off. But you’re met with the resistance of not two, but three strong hands.

Kirishima pushes gently, but firmly, at the back of your neck, coaxing you to take his best friend’s cock further down your throat with coos of encouragement. “There ya go baby,” his voice is husky and dark in your ear, eyes blown and pink-tinged as he watches more of Bakugou’s length disappear past your swollen lips, “be a good girl and swallow that dick.” 

And then something in your throat gives, and your eyes roll back in your head as your lips finally meet a sticky pelvis, nose nuzzling into a dewy nest of dirty-blonde pubes. 

“Ugh– there it is, fuck yeah–” Bakugou groans, deep and guttural as he pumps shallowly up into your throat, the visible bulge in your neck making Kirishima echo him with a lewd groan of his own. The only sounds you can muster are gurgles – besides the obscene wet gluckgluckglucks of your throat being relentlessly fucked, but you can hardly claim that you are the one making those sounds ring out.

You’re finally set free, hands releasing you to shoot back up and gasp for air. You cough and sputter, a hazy smile curling your wet lips up once you’ve caught your breath, and you peer up at Bakugou, who returns your smile with a satisfied smirk of his own. But the cocky expression is quickly wiped off his face when Kiri takes him in his hand and replaces your throat with his own, descending on him with an ease that makes the blonde’s face contort.

Crawling up onto the couch, you smooth your hand down Bakugou’s chest. He looks positively ravaged; Lips reddened from where he keeps pulling them between his teeth, face and chest flushed pink and shining with a light sheen of sweat, honeyed hair mussed by his hands continuously running through it. And his eyes, usually piercing and fiery, have lost their heat. They’re glazed over, glowing with his high and swimming with pleasure.

He’s gorgeous like this, you think, picturesque in his wreckage, and you can’t look away — not when his eyes roll back and his mouth hangs open, not when his hands reach out and tangle in red locs, not when his gaze finally lifts back to you and he tilts his chin up to silently ask for a kiss. You give it to him, of course — it is his birthday, after all — but then you can’t help but nose against his cheek and tease him just a bit.

“And to think, you weren’t gonna smoke with us.”

He grits his teeth into a semblance of a smile, lids heavy as he looks up at you through thick, blonde lashes. “I like ya better with my—hahh— my cock in your throat. Talk a lot less that way.” Another moan seeps from between his lips, eyes darting to watch Kirishima suck at his balls before returning to you. He reaches out, fists impatiently at the hem of your top. “Take this shit off an’ come sit on my face.”

There’s a slick pop and then Kiri is rising to his feet, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and flashing you both a toothy grin. He suggests you all move into the bedroom, squeezing the obvious outline of his hard cock in his pants as he does so, and you’re being scooped up into Bakugou’s strong arms before you can reply.

He pads down the hallway with your legs hugged around his tapered waist and your arms wrapped around his neck. Hands grope roughly at your ass as he carries you easily — which is surprising only because he’s not looking where he’s going, too preoccupied with tasting himself on your tongue.

You’re deposited onto the bed with an oomph, bouncing against the mattress where you’re unceremoniously thrown. You look up to see Bakugou completely naked, cut body glistening in the dim light and cock bobbing heavy between his legs. He’s staring back down at you hungrily, like an animal that’s caught its prey, that sharp look in his carmine eyes back out to play – and you’re suddenly reminded of the incessant throbbing between your legs. 

“I said,” he grips the buttons of your pants, pulls them roughly down your legs as if their presence offends him, “take this shit off.”

You’re stripped and straddling the birthday boy’s face before Kirishima is even back in the room. And when he does return he’s got what’s left of the joint re-lit and held between his lips, water and towels cradled in his arms. He stops in his tracks when he sees the position you two are in; You, with your thighs encasing Bakugou’s head, bent forward and draped over him so your face is right over that pretty cock. And Bakugou, splayed out underneath you, one leg bent and propped up, dick still shining with the evidence of the treatment it had gotten earlier. It’s throbbing and jumping as you grind down onto his face, your lips formed into a cute little ‘o’ as he slurps loudly, shamelessly at your cunt.

Your eyes flutter open when you hear the light crackle of Kiri puffing on the joint, finding him leaned against the door jam, so big he fills up the doorway and his hair brushes against the top of the frame. He’s watching, ruby eyes glittering, taking another lazy drag and blowing the smoke out the side of his mouth. His sexiness is effortless, easy, like it's built right into that sturdy foundation of his – and the sight of him enjoying the sight of you goes straight to your pussy, sends a wave of arousal leaking from your slit and right onto Bakugou’s lips.

You mewl, and Kiri’s eyes wander down your connected bodies, palming at his cock through his pants as he takes you both in. “How’s he doin’, baby girl?”

“Mmnn… good. But he’s so impatient.”

A heavy hand comes down on your ass, squeezing the sting away, and a disapproving grunt vibrates against your clit. Much like you, Bakugou won’t unlatch from you to say what he wants – instead, he’ll scrunch his face up and let your core absorb his words. You imagine it’s something like “shut the hell up” or “it’s my birthday, you fucks” and you let out a snicker, which unravels into a squeak when you get another swat to your ass.

You straighten up and reach out to Kiri, wanting him closer. And he comes easily, tapping out the joint and setting down what he’d brought along, pulling his shirt over his head. He kneels on the bed, and dips his face down to drink up the little sounds spilling from your mouth.

Your fingers trail down the hard ridges of Kiri’s chest as the tip of Bakugou’s tongue trails up your slit. You keep feeling him, feeling the way his broad chest expands with each breath, the way his toned stomach tenses under your touch. He’s so big, muscular in a way that’s so different from the body underneath you; Where Bakugou is cut and rigid, Kirishima is thick, almost soft, the kind of muscle you can sink your fingers into. And you do, squeezing at him, earning happy little sighs breathed onto your mouth, your jaw, the side of your neck.

You’re kissing each other slowly, deeply, and the moment is sweet, yet so nasty — punctuated by the wet sounds of a tongue swirling around your clit. 

Kirishima curses when your hand finally presses against his cock, so hot with neglect that you can feel the warmth through the thick fabric of his pants. You smile against his mouth. “You like watching us, Red?”

His nose nuzzles against yours, panting as you rub harder into him. “Shit… yeah, I do.” A deep, shuddering breath. “A lot.”

“You like sucking dick a lot, too.”

It’s not a question, but Kiri bites at his lip and answers anyway.

“Yeah, I do.” 

You whine, heat crackling in your belly from both the admittance, and the harsh suck to your clit. Kiri adds on with a chuckle, “might like watching you do it more, though.”

Your fingers hook into his waistband and pull his hips forward. “Wanna watch me suck yours now?”

“Thought we were taking care of the birthday boy.”

You bat your lashes, and Kiri truly wants nothing more than to see your eyes water again. 

“I can take care of you both at the same time.”

“Fuck…”

He’s back off the bed and pushing his pants down his thighs without any further discussion, cock bouncing and bending under its own weight as he moves to position himself between Bakugou’s legs. There’s a surprised mmph from underneath you when his knees are pushed open wider to accommodate the larger man, but it tapers off into a low groan when he feels the heaviness of Kirishima’s hard cock slapping down onto his own.

Bending forward at the waist, you grip Kiri’s cock in your hand, so thick that your fingers struggle to connect around its girth, throbbing so hard it seems to grow even bigger in your hold. He watches you with dark eyes as you drag your tongue up the thick vein on the underside, breathes a little “so pretty” when you look back up at him. 

You flick your tongue teasingly at the tip and pull back so the sticky fluid of his arousal connects you for just a moment, before you wrap your lips around it to suck the rest off. He’s salty, musky, hot and heavy — adding to the growing cocktail of sin filling your senses and making your head spin.

You’re quick to try taking him all the way in your mouth, egged on by your own arousal, and gag hard when he hits the back of your throat. Kiri groans, tucking your hair out of your face gently as he keeps himself from snapping his hips forward and forcing his cock all the way in, despite how he knows you wouldn’t mind – despite how badly he wants to. Instead he watches you strain to fit him in your mouth, the way your lips stretch around him and your cheeks fill out with his girth. It’s almost better than forcing it – watching you work so hard to do it yourself. 

You bob and slurp, use your hand to stimulate what won’t fit in your mouth. And more and more drool collects around his cock, pools in your fist and drips slowly down onto Bakugou’s dick underneath it. 

“Ohhh shit, yeah–” the man above you pants, strokes sweetly at your cheek, “get it nice an’ wet…”

Holding him tightly in your fist, you dip your head down to lick up the spit that’s landed on the blonde’s milky skin, earning a desperate roll of his narrow hips. You wrap your lips around him next, let the redhead jerk his cock over your face while he watches – the way you know he loves to do – before switching back. You keep working like that, going back and forth from cock to cock, sucking Bakugou eagerly into your mouth and then letting Kiri guide you back with a gentle hold on your chin.

All the while, you’re giving Bakugou a view to rival the double blowjob – your cunt spread and bent over in his face, skin so wet and soft it’s like satin, pretty hole leaking endlessly down onto his tongue. He’s shameless, the way he digs his fingers into the fat of your ass, uses rough thumbs to pull your pussy lips apart before spitting right into it. He flattens his tongue, catches the drip and tastes you from clit to slit, then buries it in that little hole, spearing you on it like a man out to kill. You squeak, try to wriggle away, but he hooks his arms around your thighs and pulls you back down with a growl of “don’t you fuckin’ move” before diving back in.

The way he fucks you on his tongue is for him, really, not for you – but even so, the way the muscle stretches you out, swirls and flicks inside you as it tries desperately to push deeper, to taste deeper, it feels so nasty. So good. You arch your back, moan around Kiri’s cock about how good his tongue feels, and Bakugou just smirks against your cunt. Pleased with himself. He knows it’s fuckin’ good — he knows how to make you squirm.

He runs a thumb through your folds, wets it with the mixture of your slick and his spit, before circling it into your clit. It’s swollen, throbbing under the pad of his thumb, and your walls tighten, gush more bittersweet juice for him to drink up.

Kiri’s dick pops out of your mouth as you’re overtaken by the sudden swell of pleasure, and you cry out a shrill warning.

“Fuckfuck, Katsuki, if you keep doing that–”

“Do it,” he says, gruff and demanding, “fuckin’ give it to me.”

So Kirishima takes over in your mission of taking care of them both — presses his sticky cock up against Bakugou’s and fists them both together to the sight of you losing yourself. You’re bracing yourself with both hands on Bakugou’s stomach, tits pushed together so pretty between your arms, eyes rolling shut and mouth falling open on a moan. 

Kirishima is slack-jawed as he watches you buck and grind, fucking yourself back on his friend’s tongue. So beautiful chasing your own high. His fist is slipping quickly over both their cocks, squeezing them together tightly, rutting his hips and sending shockwaves of pleasure through them both. 

“Fuck, Ei, s-slow the fuck down” — is what Bakugou tries to say, but it comes out garbled, slurred into your skin. He’s so sensitive, and everything is so wet. Your pussy dripping, his chin slippery, his dick and Kirishima’s sliding over each other and squelching lewdly. And you’re all in his senses, coating his tongue, filling his every breath, singing like an angel as you tell him you’re gonna cum, you’re gonna cum right on his face —

So his hips jerk, and his voice strains in his throat, and he shoots his load hard, all up his stomach and onto his chest and between Kiri’s fingers. It just keeps coming, makes a mess of his torso and collects in Kirishima’s hand, coats both their cocks in milky white that he keeps pumping up and down the length of them.

And the sight is so messy, so filthy, both cocks sliding against each other, frothing with a gooey mixture of pre, spit, and cum. It makes that swelling wave of heat in your core grow bigger, bigger still — and Kirishima sees it on your face, whines as he overstimulates Bakugou and brings himself closer to the edge, encouraging you to “let it go, baby— there ya go, cum right on his tongue—” 

And then the wave is suddenly crashing, white-hot and roaring in your ears. 

You’re trembling, crying out, grinding down on Bakugou’s tongue, which he now has outstretched for you, hands digging desperately into your hips as he bucks into Kirishima’s fist – still, somehow, able to keep his composure enough to help you ride out your orgasm. Lightning is shooting up his spine, making him twitch and moan, but your release washing over his tongue may as well be the god damn elixir of life. He can see your pussy clenching, see it leaking liquid gold right onto his face, and it tastes like paradise in his mouth. He’s focused on slurping it up, making you scream and gyrate as pleasure wracks your body like something violent and unforgiving.

And, like some sort of carnal chemical reaction, Kiri grabs hold of your face, moans a strained “cumming— oh shit i’m cumming—!” into your mouth as he follows you both over the edge. He bucks once, twice in his fist and then his balls are tightening where they’re sliding against the other man’s, and he’s spilling over, thick and hot into his hand. 

It mixes with Bakugou’s cum, almost indiscernible from it as ropes shoot up and land on his stomach. But it’s thicker, heavier, it doesn’t reach all the way up to his collarbones. And there’s more of it, so much more that it splatters the smaller man with white, pools in the deep grooves of his abs and sticks there.

You’re all panting hard when you finally roll over and collapse into the sheets. It’s hot, stiflingly so, sweat collecting in the crease of your thighs – or is that your own cum? 

The boys breathe deep next to you, Kirishima sat on his knees, Bakugou with his arms up over his face. It’s silent for a moment, besides the sounds of you all gasping, and the hammering in your own chest.

You let your head roll to the side, checking that your partners are still alive, and are met with the sight of Bakugou’s torso absolutely painted with white. 

A stunned exhale. “Holy shit…”

Kiri’s eyes slide to you, dazed. “You ok?”

“Yeah, that is just… so much cum. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that much cum before. It’s like, cartoonish.”

There’s a choking sound – a snort – and then Bakugou is laughing, big and boisterous, mouth wide and teeth bared. It fills the room like fireworks, so bright it lights up yours and Kiri’s faces too. 

“Stop laughing,” Kirishima chuckles, clean hand forming a cup by Bakugou’s side to catch the cum currently sliding down it, “it’s gonna get on the sheets.”

“Well then gimme a fuckin’ towel, dumbass.”

The smell of sex and smoke hangs heavy in the air. It sticks to your skin, makes you feel tacky as you shift in the bedsheets. You reach out to take the joint (well, the burnt nub that’s left) from between Kiri’s fingers, puffing on it gingerly before blowing some into Bakugou’s mouth. He’s decided he likes it better that way – straight from your or Kirishima’s lungs.

“Doesn’t burn so damn much,” he’d grumbled when he’d asked you to do it for him. You’d rolled your eyes, but leaned in to give him some of your breath anyways. 

You’re all still half naked, you in one of Kiri’s t-shirts and the boys both in briefs. Laid out on soiled sheets as a thin haze fills the room, basking in the humid afterglow of your orgasms. Maybe it’s the weed, maybe it’s the three of you together, but you feel so profoundly comfortable that you find yourself sighing deeply and smiling up towards the ceiling. 

“What?” Bakugou eyes you from where he lies beside you, noticing the little quirk of your lips – which he often does, notices your little tells.

“Nothing, just high. And happy.” You roll onto your side, passing the joint back to Kiri as you prop your head up in your hand, “is that a crime?”

“The first one is in a lot of places, yeah. Maybe I’ll call the cops on ya. Turn your ass in.”

You push playfully at Bakugou’s chest, and he catches your wrist in his hand with a wolfish grin, holding you there against him. 

You jut your chin out at him defiantly. “Eiji’ll bail me out.”

Bakugou glances down to where the redhead is laid across the foot of the bed, his head resting on the blonde’s thigh with a hand behind his neck. Your gaze follows when your boyfriend stays silent for a beat too long, mouth falling open with an incredulous call of “Babe?” 

Kirishima blows smoke up into the air with a sigh, drags out his words like they’re hard to say. “Yeah, I would.”

“Tch. So fuckin’ soft for this brat.”

Leaning your weight on Bakugou’s chest, you lift yourself up over him to gloat – like a brat. “Jealousy’s really ugly on you, Kats–”

The room blurs as he flips you over, appearing on top of you in a second with a snarl. You kick your legs as he slots himself between them, giggling and beating at his chest with your fists – which he intercepts easily, gathering your wrists in one hand to pin over your head. 

“Y’talk a lotta shit for someone so weak.”

Fingers dig roughly into your sides, making you yelp and squirm against his weight, which is pressed down onto you, keeping you firmly in place. “Go ahead, brat – talk your shit.” He forces more gasps of laughter from you with a twisted grin, eyes on fire. “Can’t fuckin’ hear you, speak up!”

“Eiji, help me!”

And then, magically, the weight is lifted off of you. 

In a flash, Bakugou is laid out on his back, hands pinned by his head, held in place by two larger ones. He looks a lot like you just did, fighting and huffing – except he’s actually giving his captor some hell, Kirishima flexing and gritting his teeth as he holds him down on the bed.

It’s lighthearted, grunted laughter slipping out between heavy breaths. But it’s also intense, in the way two men wrestling just inherently is.

Locking limbs and bulging muscles, so much power packed into each strained movement and kept from exploding outward only by the strength of the other. Like two stags connected by twisted antlers, they’re opposing forces keeping them firmly in place. It gives you the impression that if you were to be wedged in between them, they’d crush you. And that… excites you.

Bakugou hooks his legs around Kiri’s waist with a biting smile, muscles tensing as he tries to twist and buck him off – and the bigger man falters, almost flips over, but slams the blonde back down with a smile of his own.

“Get off me you fuckin’ brute!”

A breathless laugh from Kirishima, red hair shaking loose around his face. “Oh I’m a brute?”

“Yeah!” One of Bakugou’s hands slips free and he claps it around the back of Kiri’s neck, pulling him down until their foreheads are knocking together. “You are.”

And then there’s a shift, the energy suddenly heavy. No longer playful, but thick and serious. Wanton.

They’re panting, naked chests pressed together, expanding in time with each other. Bakugou huffs, his eyes flickering down to Kiri’s mouth. There’s a moment of anticipation, suspended and buzzing in the air, heating up until it starts to boil.

“All that hair dye’s gone right to your fuckin’ brain.” Bakugou’s voice is low, breath puffing against parted lips. Kirishima’s nose slides against his. “Made you a damn animal.”

“Whatever you say.”

And then they’re meeting in the middle, mouths coming together in a heated kiss. Kiri’s face pressing down, Bakugou’s chin lifting to chase after that pressure. The redhead’s tongue darts out, asks for entry at the seam of his partner’s lips. And the blonde gives it willingly, passionately, answering with an eager tongue of his own.

They kiss like that for a moment, hot and heavy, pushing and pulling, exploring each other’s mouths like new lovers and not like ones who have been here many times before. Their skin glistens and muscles ripple, tangled so tightly in each other that it’s almost hard to tell where one ends and the other begins. And you can only watch, feeling like you shouldn’t be — like a voyeur.

And that seems to make your whole body hot.

It’s almost like you’re watching through a screen, a slab of glass fogged over by your high and the haze of smoke, and the thick steam that is your own desire — until suddenly that screen is punctured, a hand reaching out through the fog. 

Kirishima pulls you into their orbit gently, but with a strength that makes you feel comfortable, like you can lean all the way into it and not float away. His hand cradles the side of your neck, coaxes you to come closer and kiss him. His lips are already wet and swollen, and they taste slightly different — an added sweetness you can’t quite place. Before you can think about it too long, another hand is redirecting you down, Bakugou stealing your lips away.

Wet sounds and pleasured sighs trickle through the air, you and Bakugou locked together hungrily as Kiri litters kisses down the smaller man’s chest. He takes his time running his tongue over the skin, sucking at it, tasting the sweat there — gratuitously, selfishly, knowing Bakugou won’t hurry him along like he usually does. Not with you tugging at this scalp and moaning into his mouth.

Kirishima is not a selfish lover, not by any means, but he’s also not wholly an angel. So he takes what he can get when he can get it. And right now that means taking advantage of the time he has, descending slowly. Slipping Bakugou’s briefs down his legs and running his lips along the scattered freckles on the insides of his thighs and hips. He could stay just like this, ruby eyes cast up to watch you both indulge in each other, while he indulges in the body beneath him.

But then he gets a little too eager, pushing Bakugou’s legs open wide and breathing a small “fuck…” at the sight of his hole before dipping down to taste it.

Bakugou breaks the kiss, gaze dragged down by the slick feeling of a tongue between his cheeks. His mouth falls open, face feverish as his hand moves to cup his balls, kneading them softly and holding them out of the way to give Kiri better access.

Kirishima’s tongue snakes out, big and thick just like the rest of him, and runs achingly slow over the little ring of muscle. Around and around in deliberate, wet circles. Then he’s drooling down onto it just to lap it back up with a wide, flattened tongue. His eyes flicker down, taking in the wet mess he’s already made before he dips the tip in, stuffs as much of the muscle as he can into the tight hole with a hungry groan. 

It’s a different kind of intimacy, watching them like this, and it fills your face with warmth and drips down your spine. Has your hand traveling absentmindedly between your legs to satiate the ache that’s returned there. The way Bakugou’s head falls back on the mattress, the way Kiri looks up at him with eyes that are both soft and yet sharply calculating — it’s different. You’ve never seen them like this, the way they were together far before you were ever in the mix, at least not at this level of vulnerability. And maybe it should make you feel jealous, or unsure of your place, but, truthfully, all you feel is a burning, unmitigated need.

You almost forget that you’re even there — physically there — until a big hand is cupping one of your tits, an arm hooking behind your back and pulling you close again. Propped up now on his elbow, Bakugou twists his body to peck at the side of your breast and squeeze the other in his palm. He laves his tongue over it, scrapes his teeth along it with a pant before sucking a bruise into the skin. His face is hot where it buries into you, his breath even hotter where it huffs out against the new, wet bloom of red. He looks up at you through heavy lids, brows pinching as Kiri licks sloppily at his fingers and pushes two in.

“Just gonna watch, y’little perv?”

You raise your brows at him, swipe your tongue over your lips. “Maybe– unless you’d like me to do something else.”

He nods down, towards where his cock sits oozing fresh precum onto his abdomen. “Come sit on it.”

You want to, your body’s aching for it, walls clenching at the thought of it stretching you out. You can imagine distinctly how it fills you, how it hits certain spots so perfectly. The memories alone making your stomach tight with need. But you narrow your eyes anyways and say, “that’s a funny way to ask.”

He smiles sleepily, and his eyes rove down your body — and Bakugou realizes, that he’s the weak one. Weak from the weed, weak from the way Kiri works him open, weak from the sight of your cunt wrapping so pretty around your fingers. But, somehow, in this moment, he’s comfortable in that weakness.

So he sucks at his teeth, closes his eyes for a moment before looking back up to you.

“I need you. Fuck– need’a feel your pussy on me.”

The please sits heavy in his eyes. He doesn’t say it, but you hear it nonetheless. 

You press forward, slot your mouth with his and let him wrap his arms around you to pull you onto him. Swinging your leg over his body, you come to rest atop him, hovering your hips over his just so until he’s growling in frustration and pulling you closer. Closer, he wants you closer – wants you both so much fuckin’ closer. So he hugs you against his sweat-dampened chest with strong arms, opens his knees wider and thrusts up to rub himself against you. 

The hot length of him sliding through your folds makes you gasp, and your body reacts on its own to grind back down on it. That’s all it takes to get it slippery, your pussy so wet already, leaking slick onto his skin and making it shine. 

With three fingers now stuffed knuckle-deep in Bakugou’s hole, Kirishima is getting impatient. His cock is so hard again that it hurts, throbbing in anticipation of feeling that elastic tightness currently gripping around his fingers. And now he’s watching you roll your hips back, seeing the evidence of how wet you are right there on the underside of Bakugou’s cock every time you roll them forward again. He’s squeezing his own cock at the sight, pushing his briefs down to free it so he can spit down on it.

You keep working yourself up, teasing yourself with slow grinds, letting the ridges of Bakugou’s hard cock stimulate your sensitive clit. His lips ghost against your jaw, teeth nipping lightly. “You want it?” He asks, breathy, just as worked up as you are. “Want my dick inside you?”

“Yes,” you feel him pant against your cheek, his cock pulse against your sex, “I want it so bad.”

“You want it so bad, put it inside you, then.”

Eagerly, you reach back behind you, wrap your fingers around his throbbing cock and swipe it through your folds once, twice, before slotting the tip at your entrance. Then, finally, you sink down.

There’s a resounding curse as your pussy starts to swallow Bakugou’s cock. 

From you, as you’re slowly filled to the brim with heat, his cock rigid and heavy as it makes room for itself inside you, the ache in your core finally soothed by the heady feeling of being completely full. 

From Bakugou, as your walls start to envelop him, quivering and squeezing around him, so snug and warm and wet that he can feel your arousal coating him and rolling down his balls. 

And from Kirishima, as he watches it all happen, sees the way you open up so eagerly for cock, the way your cunt gushes around it, the intrusion pushing your juices right out. The way it splits open and sucks in inch after inch after inch, until his cock has disappeared completely inside of you. 

Once you’re sitting all the way down, ass meeting skin, your clit resting against blonde curls, Kiri decides he can’t wait any longer.

You’re tipped forward as Bakugou’s legs are pushed open and back, and then you feel his breath hitch beneath you when Kiri’s dick begins to sink into him. 

“Oh— fuck—!” His jaw goes slack, eyes wide and brow furrowed, as he’s stuffed completely and utterly full of Kiri’s cock. It’s huge, a fact you know well, so you coo your encouragement into his skin, kiss down his jaw and the side of his neck with each reassuring whisper. 

“Ohh god, that’s so good,” Kiri sighs, eyes trained down to where his dick is being swallowed up, girth squeezed so tight it’s almost painful, “Takin’ me so, so well. Shit, so tight—“

The little, pink ring sucks him in deeper, stretching impossibly far around his thick cock. Kiri spits down on it, spreads it over his free length with his hand then pushes the fluid in with a shallow thrust. He does it again, slowly, answering each one of Bakugou’s choked groans with sweet, albeit equally choked words of praise. 

And you sit there, patiently, tasting Bakugou’s skin and scratching lightly at his scalp with his cock nestled inside you. 

The sensations are overwhelming — the impossible fullness in his ass, the delicious sting of Kiri working his cock in deeper and deeper. And the snug fit of your pussy around him, damp walls clenching every so often, like a warm, wet hug for his aching cock. His dick is jumping and tensing inside you, no doubt coating your insides with more and more sticky arousal with each careful push of Kiri’s hips.

And then Kirishima is finally buried to the hilt, balls meeting the tight muscle of his ass, and the long, low groan Bakugou lets out seems to vibrate right up your spine.

Kiri pulls out, the tight ring squeezing like a vice the whole way, and then slams back in.

“Fuck!” Bakugou’s face is pinched and flushed, sweat beading on his forehead when he pleads with you in a strained voice. “Need you to move. N-need you to ride me…” And this time he says it out loud, a hoarse and needy “Please.”

So you move for him, push your hips back on him so his cock is sliding slowly in and out of your pussy. It glides easily, so slippery with the mix of your juices and all the precum he was leaking right into you. You roll your hips steadily back and forth, back and forth, pulling pretty moans from Bakugou’s lips with each careful movement.

Strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling you down and hugging you close, and then a new set of hands is gripping your ass. Kiri pulls you open, squeezing hard as he watches the dick slide in and out of your wet pussy, watches your silky skin hug and drag every time you roll your hips up. 

He has the most perfect view of you creaming around Bakugou’s cock, making a mess of white that coats it and collects right around the base. It makes his mouth water — so he spits down on your ass, watches the glob drip onto your hole and down over the dick you’re impaled on. It mixes with the fluids there, makes it even wetter, messier.

“Fuck, that’s so hot. Look at you…”  He murmurs, awe-struck, snapping his hips harder into Bakugou as his big hands push and pull on you, guiding you back and forth on another man’s dick. “Ride that dick, baby. So pretty… God damn, these holes are so pretty.”

“Y’like what you see, Red?” Comes your voice, sickeningly sweet as you smile over your shoulder at him.

“Mmm yeah, look so pretty stuffed with cock.” A smile of his own playing on his lips when he adds, “Both of you do.”

You send your hips back again, slowly, teasingly, and Kiri’s gaze drops back down to watch your pussy swallow Bakugou’s length. And right underneath that is Bakugou’s ass swallowing his length, over and over with each buck of his hips. Both holes so greedy, so wet and tight and eager for cock — the sight alone is overwhelming, downright pornographic, and Kiri feels his stomach tighten up with the tell-tale sign of his release—

So he pulls out, clenches his jaw and grips the base of his dick to stop himself from cumming so soon. “Shit, I almost…” He laughs, light and breathy, as he cards his other hand through his hair. “Just need a second.”

Fingers gripping your chin pull your attention back, Bakugou catching your mouth in a needy kiss before grinning up at you. The mist in his eyes has parted, nothing but fire outlining the deep, dilated black of his pupils.

His voice is quiet, but rough when he tells you, “‘m gonna fuck you now.”

You don’t have time to respond before you’re being flipped over. (Not that a response is needed. It wasn’t a question.)

You’re on your back once more, your legs being pushed open by hands cupped under your knees, Bakugou mounting you with a tongue swiping hungrily over his teeth. He slides his dick back inside you in one foul swoop, the head of his cock hitting your walls hard and knocking a shrill cry from your throat.

He’s so pent up from having you grind on him slowly, being a puddle underneath you despite aching with the animalistic need to pound you, that he just can’t hold back. He’s ruthless, needing to fuck you hard and fast and mean – and your pussy responds so beautifully, syrupy juices gushing out around his dick, practically spraying all over him with the force of his thrusts.

“God, this pussy’s so fuckin wet. So fuckin’ sloppy. All for me, yeah?”

Your staccato moans are the only answer you give – besides the loud squelch of your cunt when he buries himself to the hilt.

“Say it,” he spits, squeezing your face in his hands to force you to focus on him, “say it’s all for me.”

So you do — you chant it like a holy truth, with your eyes on him and your legs shaking. “All for you, it’s all for you!”

You’re rewarded with a more violent snap of his hips, pulling all the way out and slamming back in. “That’s. fucking. right.” He’s growling down at you, crazed, punctuating each word with a wet slap of skin.

“You like bein’ a little slut for us don’tcha, princess?” He drills you into the mattress, pinning both of your legs back, bending you painfully so he can fuck into you deeper. “Like bein’ my little cocksleeve?” 

All you can do is squeal, mind going blank as he bullies into you — so he answers for you, he knows the answer anyways. “Fuck yeah, you do.” Another hard thrust, and you’re sliding further up the bed. His hands hot, possessive when he drags you back. “Nasty little bitch — god, this pussy feels so fuckin’ good—“

But then he’s falling forward, being pushed forward, catching himself with his hands on either side of your head. He shoots a glare behind him, spits a “what the fuck” back at Kirishima, who has a hand braced on the blonde’s shoulder and his eyes cast down.

Kiri grabs hold of the smaller man’s hip, squeezing as he pushes into him, in turn pressing Bakugou further into you. A collective hiss echoes through the room.

Kiri is sheathed back inside him and, like a switch being flipped, Bakugou goes silent. His breaths are ragged, his eyes glazed. His hips still. 

Kirishima pulls out, then fucks back into him just once, making Bakugou’s cock reach even deeper inside of you with the force of his thrust.

“Don’t stop.” A firm command, punctuated by soft kisses to Bakugou’s back. “Keep fucking her.”

Bakugou grits his teeth, breathing a curse out between them, then sets his jaw hard with determination and rocks his hips again. And Kiri stays still, lets him fuck himself back on his cock.

The blonde pulls out and slams back in, over and over, harder and harder, resuming his brutal pace. He’s fucking into you feverishly, spearing himself on Kiri’s dick as he spears you with his, seesawing back and forth between the two. 

“Ohhh fuck… there you go, good boy.” A big hand appears, wrapping loosely around Bakugou’s throat, fingers gripping right under his jaw to tilt his head up and make his back arch. Not choking but possessing, commanding. Dominating. The blonde pants, eyes rolling back, hips moving faster as he succumbs to the will of the man deep in his ass — and he looks positively blissful doing it.

Kirishima leans in and presses a cheek to his temple, eyes dark and piercing as he grips his jaw tighter. “Keep going just like that. Make her cum for us.”

Then he turns his gaze down to you. “Be a good girl and play with your pussy while he fucks you.”

You’re quick to obey, fingers finding your clit to rub fast, harsh circles into it. You were already close, dangling right on the edge from Bakugou’s rough treatment. And now the way your boyfriend is looking at you, looming over you both in a way that’s so different than you’ve ever seen him — you’re practically boiling over with desire.

Bakugou keeps fucking you, hard and deep, caught in between the heat of your cunt and the stretch of Kiri’s dick, and the sounds he’s making are downright sinful. Grunts and whines and broken curses that meld together in his mouth, sometimes spilling right over your lips, sometimes being swallowed by Kiri as his face is turned back by a hand on his jaw. He’s taken Kirishima’s cock before, and he’s given you his, but both at the same time has his eyes rolling so far up into his head that he can’t see straight.

He looks totally wrecked, completely fucked out, glassy-eyed and flushed and panting like a dog — it’s egging you on, making you rub your engorged nub faster as you feel pleasure winding tightly in your core.

And Kiri sees it on your face, so he brings his lips closer to Bakugou’s ear. His voice like cocoa, dripping dark and sweet.

“Want you to tell me when you feel her cumming, Katsuki. Tell me when you feel her gush on your dick.”

And something about that – being talked about like you’re not there, like you’re just a toy being shared, or a precious little pet being played with – makes the tether in you suddenly snap.

You do gush, hard, shrill chants of “ohmygod, ohmygod” and “yes, yes, yes” joining the chorus of wet sounds as you cum on Bakugou’s dick. His eyes go wide in realization before they’re rolling back, lashes fluttering against his cheeks. He groans long and low at the feeling of your walls clenching around him, leaking more and more slick that he fucks right out of you with each stroke. 

“Ohhh fuck— I feel it—! She’s so, f-fucking tight. So wet.”

Kirishima smiles, big and wicked, then reaches out to grab hold of your hips before plowing forward. 

He pounds hard and fast into Bakugou, big hands wrapped around your hips for leverage, trapping him between you. Each thrust is an explosive chain reaction — Kiri fucking into Bakugou, forcing Bakugou to fuck into you. You’re caged underneath the blonde, his forearms on the bed and his chest pressed to yours, his eyes squeezed shut as Kiri gives him every thick, rigid inch like a man possessed.

It’s merciless, the way Kirishima is manhandling you both, the mattress squeaking and the headboard thudding against the wall. And it’s hot, all of you damp with sweat, two hulking forms crowded over you and making you feel like a small animal caught in a trap. 

Your head digs back into the cushion, back arching off the bed, fingers scratching mindlessly at the sheets as you’re fucked into oblivion. You’re given no chance to come down from your high, everything so swollen and sensitive as your orgasm is prolonged past the point of sanity. 

Bakugou is so deep inside you, reaching so far up into your cunt that you swear you can feel him in your throat. Every pull has him dragging deliciously against your walls, and every push has him carving out the space again, his tip hammering right into your sweet spot like a pleasurable punch to the gut. You scream, babble incoherently about how deep he is, how it’s too much, how you can’t take it.

And Bakugou echoes you, voice hoarse and face pinched.

“Fuck— W-wait— if you keep— I’m g-gonna—“

Kiri shushes him, kisses his shoulder, coos so sweetly as he continues his relentless assault on both of your holes. “Take it a little longer, baby. Doin’ so good, so fuckin’ good for me.”

“Fuck , Ei—!“

“Go ahead.” Sweat rolls down his temple, red hair sticking to his forehead. He cranes his neck down, watches Bakugou’s ass swallow him up with a groan. “Cum for us. Do it inside her. Let it all out in that pussy.”

You’re practically brainless at this point, wet and warm and perfectly pliant underneath them, but Kiri’s filthy command brings you back down to earth. You hook your arms around Bakugou’s shoulders, as if he can be anymore trapped, and plead breathlessly for his cum.

“Please! Give it to me, please—!”

His eyes open, fiery red reappearing from behind his lids as he takes in the desperate, fucked out look on your face. He feels his balls tighten, stomach tingling — aching to give you exactly what you want. “Fuck, you want it? Want this load in your cunt?”

You nod furiously, open your legs up wider, wanting him deeper. “Fill me up, Kats. I want it— want it so fucking bad.”

A loud curse and another hard thrust, and his own hips start matching Kiri’s rhythm, chasing the slippery drag of your walls. You’re so tight around him, almost like your body knows what’s coming and is trying to milk it right out of him. 

“God damn— I’m gonna cum, gonna dump it all so deep inside you.” He burrows his face in your neck, his voice shaky and vibrating against your skin. “Fuck, take it— take all my fuckin’ cum—!”

Burying himself to the hilt, he gives it to you, shoots it all out against your walls, his dick pulsing so hard with each thick rope that you can feel it. It’s warm, flooding your insides with heat that spills out around his cock and trickles down your ass in hot, gooey trails.

And Kirishima feels it too, his cock caught in a vice-like grip as the muscles around it contract. He can barely move, sucked in by Bakugou’s orgasm, but each twitch and squeeze feels so unbelievably good — he throws his head back and lets the pleasure wash over him, pumping his cum right into that tight, needy hole. And then he pulls out, fists his cock wildly and shoots the rest of it out onto Bakugou’s ass. 

The redhead is panting as he strokes the last bit of cum from his tip, grabbing a handful of the blonde’s taut cheek to pull him open and watch the mess of white dribble from his loosened hole. There’s so much of it, oozing out in thick globs over his balls, dripping down to mix with the cum slipping out of you and coating his dick. “Such a mess…” he chuckles under his breath as he shifts out of the way enough for Bakugou to roll off of you.

But then a rough hand is tangling in his hair, pulling the redhead down towards your used up pussy as warm cum continues to seep out of it. Bakugou’s face comes right up to his, nose to cheek, with a nasty grin splitting his lips open.

“Then clean it up.”

Kirishima’s face is pushed down between your legs, and you gasp at the sudden contact of his mouth. His tongue is downright greedy as it laps the bittersweet cum from your folds, and you’re so sore and sensitive that you immediately whine and try to scoot away.

Two muscular arms hook tightly around your thighs, Kiri pulling you back in and looking up at you with big, pleading eyes. “Stay still, baby, please,” his tongue darts out again, groaning low at the taste, “gonna clean you right up, ok?”

“S-so sensitive—!”

“I know, baby girl, I know. Just let me…” But he can’t finish his thought, lashes fluttering as he continues licking up the cum from your entrance. The mix of you and Bakugou swirls around on his tastebuds, makes him dizzy with desire. He extends his tongue, drags it all the way up from your ass, letting it dip into your slit and collect more of the mixture for him to hungrily swallow.

It’s filthy, watching your boyfriend eat another man’s cum out of you like he’s starving for it — and you’re already so sensitive, your clit engorged and your folds swollen from friction. A thick finger pushes inside you, sinking knuckle deep to scoop more cum out of you, and your back arches high off the bed.

“Ohhhh— ohmygod fuck!”

Bakugou is right behind Kiri, watching with low eyes and a snarling smile. He pushes the bigger man’s face harder into you, laughs meanly when you gasp.

“What was that shit you told me?” He rasps, craning his neck down to talk in Kirishima’s ear. “Tell me when you feel her gush.”

It’s like a game between them, and you’ve somehow become the ball.

There’s an excited glint in Kiri’s eyes when he opens them again to stare up at you, plunging another finger into you and curling them hard as he latches his lips onto your clit. You writhe in the sheets, bucking and squirming as you’re overstimulated. But Kiri keeps you firmly in place, holding you down like it’s nothing with a thick arm barred over your hips, and quickly brings you back to the edge.

But this time is different, your insides so swollen from the beating they’d gotten, so sensitive from your last mind-numbing orgasm, so responsive to the beckoning curl of his big fingers… You feel it, the intense build of pressure, and your eyes go wide, pleas to wait and hold on tumbling from your lips as your body curls in on itself. But Kiri just keeps going, grunts his encouragement onto your clit as he sucks and licks it, flexes his forearm as he fucks you even harder on his fingers — and you fall right apart with a scream and a rush of fluids.

“Ohh shit!” Bakugou laughs as Kiri pulls his face away. 

The redhead braces a hand on your abdomen and pushes down to keep you still, then hooks his fingers into you, moving his arm hard to attack that spongy spot and fuck more squirt out of you. It sprays violently out of your cunt as you scream, showering them both in your essence, so much that it drips down their bare chests and soaks the sheets.

Bakugou slaps at your clit as you come down, laughs again when you buck up involuntarily. “Now that’s a fuckin’ mess.”

They’re both glistening, Kiri’s face dripping, droplets of your cum snaking down their stomachs. It’s nasty, everything muggy and wet and covered in somebody’s cum.

And you all look downright blissful about it, panting heavy and smiling like cats that got all of the cream.

Bakugou reaches out, kisses Kirishima hard and licks the taste of you off his mouth. Then he’s pulling you up and pressing his lips to yours, passing the sweetness on to you.

“Happy fuckin’ birthday to me.”

[cyancherub]

initiation

bakusquad boys x reader

PAIRING.  (very scummy) frat!bakusquad boys x fem!reader

LENGTH.  19.8k words (ao3 link)

GENRE.  nsfw, aged up characters (20+)

EXTRA.  art by @/crikeygatormate !! <3

CONTENT.  gangbang, bukkake, virginity kink, corruption kink, sexual coercion + manipulation, very dubcon, tagging noncon just in case, power imbalance, intoxication, exhibitionism, creampie, noncon creampie, dacryphilia, double penetration (one hole & two), cum eating, cumplay, oral (m & f receiving), stomach bulge, spit kink, impact play (choking, slapping, biting), objectification, teasing (+ bullying), degradation kink, humiliation, praise kink, breeding kink, multiple orgasms, noncon recording

SYNOPSIS.  are you sure you want to tag along to that frat party? your roommate’s friends might not have the best of intentions.

DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS WORK IF YOU ARE A MINOR. BY CLICKING THE READMORE, YOU CONSENT TO VIEWING ADULT CONTENT AND THE DARK CONTENT STATED IN THE WARNINGS.

Keep reading

[acethepaintruler]

😩😩absolute art

[blushinmoon]

[kingdaddydaichi]

{ banner art sauce }

| title: the devil's bride

| pairing: r. sukuna x f!reader

| wc: 5.4k

| cw/an: nsfw, mdni, hard!Dom/sub dynamic, Master/slave dynamic, dubcon/cnc, monster fucking, fear, mindfuckery, oral sex (m/f receiving), blood/dark content, degradation/praise, punishment, throat/face fucking, nicknames/titles used: "pet"/"angel"/"Master"/"Lord", mocking, forced marriage, bondage, hair pulling, cumflation, black semen, (black) creampie, squirting, ass play, breeding

| soundtrack: nomads - the weeknd (sunny marx remix)

| tagging: @cyancherub @kagejima @raggedyannazon @victoriacapo @yuujispinkhair & any of my other fellow sukuna fuckers

By reading beyond this point, you agree that you are 18+ and acknowledge that you are about to consume adult/dark content.

You’d long been obsessed with the king of curses. You’d chanted his name innumerable times, performing little rituals and seances to invoke his spirit. All in service to the king. Your king. It had been a thousand years since he'd been defeated and sealed away. You never dreamed that he’d come back.

Little did you know, one night a young high schooler named Yuuji Itadori swallowed the first of Sukuna’s twenty fingers. Power had been choked back into the shaman-turned-demon like breath into the lungs of someone who’d nearly drowned.

The beastly king had returned, full of vigor and rage and hunger. But he hadn’t long been able to play when that Yuuji brat had stuffed him back down, settling him down somewhere deep inside his bones.

A couple of days passed and he was finally able to spread his proverbial wings when the pink-haired brat succumbed to his power - begged him even - to save his own life as well as that of his friends. By the end of the night, the king of curses had regained some of his tremendous power. However, ultimately, he was once again silenced, subdued.

All he could do was stew and simmer. Until he was reminded of something. Of you.

Ignorant to his revival, you held another seance. He could take it or leave it, but decided to play along out of sheer curiosity and boredom.

Driven by the moist heat in your loins, you beckoned him just as you’d done so many times before.

This time, he answered.

“I can smell you, mortal woman.”

You jumped back. How many times had you done this, never once expecting a response? You scrambled until your back was flush against the side of your bed, mind hurtling through the various possibilities, limited as they were. You had almost convinced yourself that it was your own imagination - or was it wishful thinking? - that Lord Sukuna was speaking to you.

“Your scent is…” He took a deep, long whiff. “...divine.” His taunting laughter settled into your core. “Hmm…how many times have you beckoned me? Hm? How often have you willed that I mount you and fuck you raw, human?”

You shuddered as a chill traveled down your spine. You pulled your knees to your chest, daring not to speak. 

“Oh, come now. Don’t be shy.” His sardonic chuckle crept into your bones. “Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted? To have your sweet little cunt spread around my cock? Hm?” His laughter ricocheted off the walls of your bedroom. He was in every corner and crevice of the space surrounding you, tapping and scratching his long, black fingernails against your psyche. 

You didn’t move.

He clicked his tongue and sighed. “I suppose it’s just as well. Perhaps I’ll answer one of the countless other moans of my name…”

“Wait!” you jolted. “I want it. I…want you.” He was right. You’d wanted this all along and this was a once in a hundred lifetimes opportunity. Just one brief jaunt with him wouldn’t hurt too bad, would it? “But how?”

“It’s easy. Just relax…” He hummed. “Yes, that’s it. Now…give yourself over to me, pet.”

The walls of your room fell away as darkness consumed them. You found yourself standing in an ankle-deep pool of blood that surrounded you as far as your straining eyes could see. Heart pounding, you began to panic, checking every part of your body for injuries. 

“Calm down, pet. That’s the blood of my enemies; you are unharmed…for now.” That familiar insidious chuckle encompassed you again, closer this time.

Your clothes were gone, replaced by a sheer white camisole gown that ended just below your hips. You looked around for him, gingerly turning your head from side to side, afraid to make any sudden moves. You’d researched Ryoumen Sukuna extensively; you knew what he was capable of. 

“W-where are you?” you hazarded, your voice small and shaky. 

Ominous red clouds swirled above you, casting their own dim light causing your white gown to glow deep pink. The space around you seemed to breathe on its own and you heard Sukuna’s voice from directly behind you. 

“Careful. You’re in my domain now, mortal. Do not presume to speak to me unless spoken to.”

You turned to find him towering above you, reclined high atop a mound of bull skulls and bones. A faint blue glow emanated from somewhere behind him, casting eerie shadows across his devilishly handsome features. You recognized the distinct markings on his face, even from such a distance.

He looked down his nose at you and licked his sinful lips. With his legs crossed and his jaw propped on his fist, he lifted his other hand from his knee and curled his finger, bidding you to move closer to him. 

“Come, pet. Let me get a better look at you.”

You waded your bare feet through the shallow, bloody lake, stopping to kneel at the base of his throne, waiting for his permission to speak to him. 

He hummed. “What a precious, well-behaved pet you are! So pliant and eager to follow my commands. Hm? I might just decide to keep you.”

You could feel his scarlet eyes on you, coveting your sexy, feminine form - every curve and basin and fatty deposit it had to offer him. His hungry gaze settled on your visible breasts, his heavy cock stirring as he watched the flesh of your nipples darken and pebble into cute little buds ripe for the sucking. 

“Look at me, pet.”

You obeyed and right away you were taken by his raw, animal sexuality and a tempest began to rage in your loins. All four of his eyes were trained on you, his pinky and ring fingers pressing against his bared teeth as he grinned down at you. 

Your focus drifted to where he’d begun wringing the head of his growing cock through the cloth of his white kimono. Your walls clenched, sending a delicious ache deep into your lower belly. Feeling your warm cream coat your inner thighs, you squeezed them together with a quiet, pitiful whimper. 

“What is it, angel?” His voice had grown deeper along with his arousal. 

“Wanna suck your cock, Master.” 

His toothy grin widened at the title you’d so willingly given him as a dark, guttural chuckle rumbled in his chest. 

“Well, then…” He let his legs fall open. “…come to kneel at my feet.” 

You eagerly did as you were told, stumbling a couple of times on the skulls beneath your feet. You’d almost reached his knee when you lost your footing and slid halfway down again, collecting nicks and scratches from the sharp edges of bones and bull horns along the way. 

He could’ve easily grabbed you, but sensing how badly you wanted him, he chose not to. Watching you work so hard for him was infinitely more interesting. He instead tilted his head at you and frowned. 

“Oh no. You poor thing,” he mocked. Once again he curled a sharp, black fingernail at you. “Ganbare, ganbare…try again, angel. Or maybe you don’t want it badly enough?” 

Keeping your head down to avoid his intoxicating gaze, you said, “I do want it, Master. Every inch.” 

“Yeah? Show me how much you want it then, pet,” he said, untying his obi. 

With tiny trails of blood snaking down your arms and legs, you began working your way up the pile of bones again. You noticed the large tent that had formed beneath his kimono, which had fallen open just enough to expose the tattoos on his broad, bare chest. As if you needed any more motivation. 

When you finally made it to his feet, you knelt once more, keeping your head bowed to your Master. He was so close you could smell him. 

Sukuna shifted a little, but otherwise intended to let you do all the work. “Take my cock out, angel.” 

Your hand traveled up the inside of his naked thigh, further up beneath his garb of silken ivory until you felt the rough texture of his pubic hair. Your small fingers found purchase around the wide base of his cock, growing harder still under your divine touch. Even before laying eyes on it, you could appreciate the size of his blood-engorged member. You were impressed, but not at all surprised. Big dick energy oozed from every pore of his ink adorned skin. 

With him firmly inside your grasp you gently pushed his robe out of the way as you pulled his cock out. The sight of it alone sent another gush of slick down between your naked legs. Two thick black lines encircled his girth and all you could think about was how nicely they would contrast with the pearly white rings you were bound to leave on top of them. You started bringing your mouth to his cockhead when he stopped you with a thumb to your chin - the first time he’d touched you. 

“Ah ah ahhh! Did I give you permission to taste my cock, pretty angel?”

“No, Master. Please forgive me. It just looks so good.”

You stroked him nice and slow, his shaft like hot steel under the soft, velvety skin of his length. You watched, mouth watering as the thick veins rolled under your fingers.

He moaned. “Of course I forgive you, my sweet pet. There will be a small punishment, but nothing you can’t handle.” He raked his long fingernails against your scalp as he pushed your hair over to one side. Your eyes fluttered closed at the titillating sensation as his cock twitched in your hand. “Go ahead, pet. Taste me.”

You inched forward on your knees, resting your free hand on the curved musculature of his right thigh as you kitten-licked the dark pink tip of his cock.

Sukuna hissed. “Don’t be a fucking prick-tease. I wanna see you wrap those pretty lips around my cockhead like you fucking mean it.”

You fulfilled your lord’s wishes and stretched your wet lips all the way around him, sinking down as far as you could before choking and coming up for air.

“That’s better, pet. Again.”

You swirled your tongue around his salty tip before sinking down his length as far as you could go before hollowing your cheeks and slurping your way back up.

“Mmmfuck, yes angel. Keep sucking my cock just like that,” he groaned.

So you did. You sucked and gagged on him, your saliva bathing the full length of his throbbing cock. To say it had been a while for him would’ve been a tragic understatement. He watched and admired you as you bobbed up and down, his full balls drawing closer to his body with every passing minute.

Sukuna, you quickly learned, was a very vocal lover. He moaned and hissed his praises as you gobbled his cock down without a single care.

“Mmhmm…” He sucked air between his clenched teeth. “Keep going just like that, pet. Get -mm- get ready to -fuck!- take my cum down your throat.”

His hands were in your hair, holding your head to keep you from escaping as he began fucking himself into your throat. He pressed his spasming balls against your chin. You couldn’t breathe. You choked and gagged and tried to scream, but the vibrations only drove him harder to his end as he emptied himself inside your raw gullet. Your hands urgently tapped his thighs, but your rhythmic gags only fueled his orgasm.

Only once he’d spent himself did he start to pull out of your throat. You choked and spat until you opened your eyes to see what could only be described as thick black sludge oozing down your fingers and Sukuna’s cock.

You pulled off of him in a panic, choking on his semen as you breathed it in, chest heaving as you gasped for air.

“What’s the matter, angel? Does my black jizz frighten you?” What began as a low rumble in your master’s chest quickly erupted from his open mouth as laughter. “What the fuck did you expect?” He pulled your head back by your hair and brought his mouth to your ear. “I’m a fucking demon.”

You were still trying to catch your breath when the tables suddenly turned.

With your back on the seat of your master’s throne, he splayed your legs open, staring shamelessly at the glistening insides of your trembling thighs. 

“Look at the mess you’ve made between your thighs, pet. This all for me, pretty baby?”

You arched your back, willing him to taste you. “Y-yes, M-master.”

He watched as your tight pussy hole opened and closed around nothing, sending another wave of your juices flowing down between your crack to coat your puckering asshole.

“Now this…” he put one of his knees down, then the other. “...This I’ve been dying to taste all night.” His long tongue darted out of his mouth as he dipped his head down and began to lap and suck at the soft flesh between your legs. “Mmm so fucking delicious. It’s been too long since I’ve tasted a woman’s arousal.” He switched and licked a long, languid line along your other inner thigh. “God! Even longer since I’ve tasted one as good as yours, angel.” He sucked and slurped, collecting every last drop of your essence from your thighs, leaving little bruises on your skin as he went.

Once he’d licked your inner thighs clean, he went right for the source.

His big, strong hands pushed your thighs further apart. He flattened his wide tongue over your sex and dragged it from your winking hole upwards along your plump pussy lips. Your breathy moan was replaced by a sharp gasp when he flicked the pointed tip of his tongue over your erect clit. Without thinking, your hands flew to his hair. He stopped moving and pulled his tongue back into his mouth. Oh shit. 

Only his eyes moved, rolling up to look at you. “Did I say you could fucking touch me?”

With your eyes wide open, you covered your mouth with both hands and shook your head. 

“You’re in a rather compromising position to be misbehaving, wouldn’t you agree?”

You slowly pulled your hands away from your face, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. You knew you were pushing his patience, something much of which he didn’t particularly have to begin with. “Yes, M-Master. I wasn’t thinking. Please? Give me another chance?”

His cheek kissed his teeth. “I’ll give you one more chance, pet. Misbehave again and I will punish you. Do you understand me?” The heat of every word fanned over your dripping cunt. 

You nodded frantically. “Y-yes! Of course, Master!”

A dark chuckle rumbled in his chest. “You’re lucky you’re so cute. Besides, this pussy of yours is a fucking delicacy and I intend to devour it.”

And devour it he did. He alternated between prodding your hole with his slithering tongue and sucking your soul from your clit. Carding your fingers into your own hair, your thighs trembling, you rocked your hips as he wore you down. He growled, the vibration sending yet another thread of pleasure coursing through your body. His fingers began to play at your entrance making you tense up at the thought of those sharp fingernails. But interrupting or questioning him would be even more dangerous, so you kept your mouth shut. 

“Relax, angel. I know what I’m doing,” your host murmured, his lips moving against you.

Sure enough, he slipped two fingers inside you without so much as a pinch. He watched your eyelids flutter closed, a self-satisfied grin creeping across his face. He carefully massaged that unmistakable ribbed pad of flesh less than a finger-length inside you. 

“Oh god!” you cried. 

“Yes, angel?”

“Fuck, feels so good.”

With a low chuckle he latched onto your clit again, sucking it loudly as his fingers began to tug on your g-spot. 

Your back arched, leaving nothing but space between your shoulder blades and ass. Sukuna slurped away at your messy cunt, a mixture of your slick and his saliva dripping from his chin and landing between his knees. 

Your legs began to shake uncontrollably and he knew. He tugged harder at your sweet spot while flicking his tongue over your clit at an inhuman speed. 

“Mm! Oh fuck! Fuck, M-Master Sukuna, please!”

He groaned at the way your clenching pussy sucked on his fingers as your juices filled the huge palm of his hand and spilled over the sides. Your breasts heaved in the air as your pounding heart rattled your rib cage. 

He withdrew his fingers and stood up, shirking his kimono off his shoulders before it fell into a heap at his feet. 

“Well, well. Isn’t that just a picture perfect sight? You haven’t even had my cock yet and you’re already too weak to move.”

He leaned over your trembling form, digging his nails into the fabric of your camisole. With one swift jerk of his hands he ripped it apart, sending pieces of the thin material fluttering around you like papier-mâché.

He opened his mouth wide around your jugular to feel it pulse against his tongue. His heavy cock thumped against your clit as his sharp canines scraped along the length of your neck, not enough to break the skin, but enough to leave matching trails of red welts in their wake.

“That’s too bad, angel, because I’m nowhere near finished with you yet,” he growled.

You whimpered beneath him when the soft texture of his tongue dragged between your breasts. He licked the sweat from your cleavage before sucking one of your budded nipples into his mouth. You obliged him, jutting your tit deeper into his hot, wet cavern. He pulled away, a string of spit bridging the gap between your nipple and his bottom lip, before lapping just as hungrily at the other one. 

He was still licking his chops when he scooped up your limp body and sat back down on his throne. His cock had grown impossibly hard again, his hips already beginning to roll of their own accord as he situated you on top of him. 

You straddled his bare thighs, two thick black bands underneath each ass cheek. You’d come back to your senses enough to know what was to come, but you were having a bit of trouble balancing yourself on top of him. You began to lean but he caught you. 

“Tsk. You look so adorably pathetic right now, pet. Tell you what. Since you can’t seem to even sit on your own, I’ll let you use me as leverage. Come on, put your hands on me.”

You leaned forward and placed your palms flat down on the sculpted plane of his stomach.

“Thank you, Master. So gracious of you.”

“Don’t mention it. It’s for my benefit, not yours. You’re here to pleasure me. Lucky for you, feeling your cute little cunt squeeze and suck on my fingers and cock gives me immense pleasure.”

He grabbed an ass cheek in each hand and yanked you along his thighs until his leaking cock was sandwiched between your slippery pussy lips and his lower abdomen. You cried out at the sudden stimulation to your still-twitching clit. But the rough texture of the underside of your Lord’s thick shaft proved heavenly and you began rocking your hips.

You leaned forward to rest your head on his chest as you worked yourself into a frenzy, riding your Master like a steed. You were whining, nearly sobbing, begging him to fill you up.

“Listen to that sweet, precious sound. Like music to my fucking ears. Mmm…such a good fucking girl, yeah? You deserve to beg for my fat cock. You want it, sweetheart?”

“God, please yes! Need your cock, Master!” You squirmed on his lap, chanting a string of pitiful pleas.

“How can I say no to such a needy whore?”

He lifted you up by your ass while his other hand reached around to guide his huge, drooling mushroom tip to your aching cunt hole. You shuddered against him as he began to push inside you. He let you lower yourself down onto him slowly, the rim of your tight hole twitching and burning as it stretched around his monstrous girth.

Broken whimpers of his name fell from your lips all the way down; at the same time, his mouth fell open as a long groan of relief escaped him.

It had been over a thousand years since he’d buried his cock inside the tight warmth of a soft pussy. In all honesty yours had been well worth the wait, but feeling you swallow him whole stirred the feral beast within from his slumber.

He picked you up by your ass until only the tip remained inside, your flesh dimpling under his fingertips. Without warning he brutally slammed you back down, impaling you on his angry cock.

You screamed, clawing at his chest as you threw your head back in agony. He repeated the process, picking up his pace with every thrust of his hips against your reddening bottom.

“M-master! It hahhh! It hurts!” you wailed. “Too big! No! Please stop, you’re hurting me!”

The plump veins running the length of his cock dragged against your succulent walls, rolling under his skin as he pumped himself in and out of your pussy with force. There was his derisive laughter again.

“Such an ungrateful fucking pet!” He huffed and puffed as he spoke, still spearing you on his throbbing cock. “You beg me to fuck you so I fuck you! Now you’re begging me to stop! Like hell! You’re my plaything now. As of tonight, you're the devil’s bride and I’m going to fuck you until that weeping pussy of yours knows only my shape, my size! You’ll never be able to cum on another cock after I’m done with you, angel! Only mine!” he hissed.

He dug his fingertips deeper into the plush of your ass, his nails beginning to puncture your sensitive skin. Small trails of blood trickled down as Sukuna’s hard, slick-coated thighs slapped against your cheeks. 

“God please! No! Stop! I never said I wanted that!” you cried, trying to claw at his face but he caught your wrists. He easily bound them with one hand, keeping a painfully firm grip on your butt with the other. 

“Guess you should’ve done your fucking homework, angel. The second I penetrated you, you were claimed!” 

But you had done your homework. You knew everything there was to know about Ryoumen Sukuna - the man, the shaman, the curse. Your mind reeled, thoughts racing, poring through the bits of data you’d collected about him over the years. Nothing you’d ever stumbled upon ever mentioned this. Or…was this how the binding contract worked when he took a mate in his domain? Fuckfuckfuck!

“You got yourself into this, pretty angel. Now you’re going to suffer the consequences!” He grunted every word in time with his powerful thrusts. 

Your sobs turned to whimpers as the pain gave way to pleasure. Deep down, this was what you ultimately desired. Your dreams were coming true. Or would it prove to be a nightmare?

You were snapped out of your thoughts when your host pressed the pad of his middle finger against your tiny asshole. Clenching harder around his cock from the stimulation, you stopped resisting him. You’d never been so wet in your life, your pussy making lewd squishing sounds as he pounded up into you. The unrelenting pleasure courtesy of Sukuna began to pool into a point of singularity deep inside your womb.

“Fuck, angel! Your little cunt is sucking on my cock so hard. You gonna cum for me? Hm? Gonna cum all over your Master’s loins?”

“Y-yes-s M-Mas-s-ter!” You were fucking him back now, bouncing up and down on him, your fingernails digging into his chest, holding on for dear life as he owned your pussy. With every wet clap of your plush ass against his thighs, you threw it back on him in hot pursuit of your release.

“Shit, that’s it, pet! Cum for your Master!” 

When he poked his fingertip into your little asshole you came apart around him, squirting your cum all over his abdomen and chest. 

“Yes, that’s it! Bathe me in your juices, pet!” Closing his eyes, Sukuna leaned back, grinning from ear to ear like he’d just been sprayed with cool, refreshing water on a hot summer day.

You chased your orgasm all the way to its end and your whole body went limp and collapsed on top of Sukuna. 

He rolled his eyes. “Tsk. There you go again, tapping out on me like the hopeless lightweight you are.” He chuckled as he gathered you up and positioned you on your back. “No matter. I’ll just use your body as my live sex doll, hm? Yes, such a submissive little cocksleeve.”

He positioned himself between your open legs, droplets of your slick still trickling down the hills and valleys of his delectable abs. You opened your eyes just in time to see him push his thick cockhead back inside you with a soft pop. 

You cried out, thighs clamping around his hips as they began to move. Fucking hell, he really was the perfect shape and size. If his was to be the only cock you’d have for the rest of your life, such as it was, you were grateful that it was also the very best. 

Sukuna pried your thighs away from him and pushed them open until your knees were out beside you. “Keep those sexy fucking legs open for me, pet! I’m gonna destroy that sweet fucking pussy!”

He slammed into you so hard it took your breath away. 

“Fuck! Master! That hurts!” you whined. “Please don’t, please!”

“Shut up!” he growled. “Didn’t I tell you there was going to be a punishment?”

“What did I do wrong, Master?” you cried, tits bouncing in time with his violent thrusts. “I thought you were giving me another chance!”

A maniacal smile was accompanied by a wilder than usual look in his eyes. “I changed my fucking mind!”

Sukuna laughed as horror shone in your watery eyes. He leaned over you and pounded into you like a wild animal.

“No! Nononono! Stop! Please don’t do this!”

He responded by plowing his beast of a cock into you even harder. “Thought I told you to shut up, pet!” He reached for his discarded scarf and gagged you with it, tying it behind your head. 

“Now listen! The sorcerers - they’re going to try to kill me. That’s not gonna happen, but just in case, I’m going to take out a little insurance policy.”

Your tear-filled eyes looked up at him with a combination of fear and confusion. 

“Or, more accurately, a whole litter of them.”

Litter?

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your cheek. “I know you’re fertile right now, angel. I could smell it from miles away. I’m going to breed you, hm? Pump that cunt of yours full of my black demon seed!”

As more laughter erupted from him, you shook your head frantically. Your pleas were little more than mumbles through his scarf. 

Sukuna started to move inside you again, bullying your sore cunt with his huge cock. You tried to push him off you, but that was futile. So you started swinging and clawing at whatever you could reach, but he was able to block or dodge every punch you threw.

“Ooh feisty! I like it!” he mocked, his ass and thighs flexing as he mercilessly fucked his cock into you with all his strength.

Screaming into your gag, you began squirming and kicking his legs, distracting him enough from your hands that you were finally able to drag your nails across the side of his face.

“Okay, now you’re just being annoying!”

He grabbed a long scrap of your camisole and wrapped it around your wrists, binding them together before manhandling your thighs back open. Gripping the backs of your thighs, he pushed your knees back towards your ears.

“Why don’t you just let go of your pride already, angel? Who do you think you’re fooling? Me? Hah? After all the nights you laid like this in your own bed, on your back with your legs spread wide, screaming my name while bullying your own pussy with the biggest fucking dildo you could handle?! The only one you’re fooling here is yourself! Just stop fighting it! I’m driving my fat cock deep into your slippery cunt just like you’ve always wanted! Now take it! Let me fuck you until you can’t fucking walk! Scream my name like I’ve heard you do so many times before!”

You reached up with your bound hands, grabbed two fistsful of his powder pink hair, and began tugging and yanking with all your might. 

He moaned. “That’s just gonna make me cum faster, pet!” He quickly pulled the gag out of your mouth. “Scream my fucking name, human! Sukuna! Say it!”

Fuck him for making your pussy clench around his delicious cock again. You were still crying, but he was right. You’d been trying to fight the pleasure that he’d been pushing into you like tidal waves. “SUKUNA!”

“Oh fuck, that’s it baby girl! Again!” 

You were pumping your hips up to meet his thrusts now, tears streaming across your temples, pussy tightening into a vice-like grip around his pistoning cock. “SUKUNAAAA!”

“Ahh so fucking sweet!” He looked down to where he was plowing his cock into you. “Look at these beautiful creamy rings you’ve made on my dick.”

You raised your head up to see. You were right. His black tattoos did contrast nicely with your white pussy cream. You watched his cock glide in and out of you as even more of your essence collected under the thick head.

Your head fell back again when your pussy began to convulse around his veiny girth. “Oh god! Sukuna?! You’re gonna make me cum again!”

“Fuck yeah, good girl! I want that cunt pulsing when I fill you with my jizz!”

With one final scream of his name, you came hard, milking Sukuna’s cock of his seed. 

“Shit, that’s it! So perfect! Gonna fucking cum so hard and watch your belly grow plump with my spawn!”

He grunted and slammed his cock into you, making sure to get deep enough so his cockhead peeked through the opening of your cervix.

“Fuck!” he growled, his cock jerking as it released long ropes of his thick, black cum, spilling the contents of his tightened balls into your womb. He unloaded so much into you that your lower tummy began to swell, your womb stretching to accommodate all his semen.

Panting, your king kept you pressed beneath him, resting your ankles on the sinew of his inked shoulder. He wanted to ensure that as much of his sperm as possible would take hold and seed you.

After a few minutes he finally dismounted you, pulling his softening-but-still-very-thick cock out with an audible gush of his dark, hot cum.

~ epilogue ~

He rolled over and collapsed next to you. “Give me a few minutes to rest and I’ll show you to your cage, pet.”

“Cage?” you asked incredulously. “I thought we’re, like, married now or something?”

“We basically are, but as long as you’re still trying to claw my eyes out while I’m fucking you, you’re not fucking sleeping with me!”

“You were hurting me, Sukuna!”

“Oh and clawing someone’s face off doesn’t hurt?!”

“Can you just try being a little gentler? Maybe ease me into this?”

He turned his head to face you and scoffed. “Ease you into this? Have you even met me?”

“Can’t you make an exception or two for the fucking mother of your children?”

“Fucking relax, angel! I’m gonna take real good care of you. Trust me.”

“Says the arguably least trustworthy guy ever?”

“What?! I’m letting you call me by my name! I’m not even mad that you’re speaking so freely to me! Rather flippantly too, I might add!”

“You’re impossible.”

"Come on, let's go. I'm taking you to your cage."

"Such a gentleman..."

And just like that, it was like you’d been married for half a century. 

[thiefoflight68]

BAKUSQUAD X READER (F)

The New Employee

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

DNI if you are not 18+. 

Warnings: A lot of men fucking on one woman, starts out with backstory. Anal, masturbation, oral, fucking, use of slut/toy, after care.

Pro-Heroes: Bakugou, Hanta, Kaminari, Kirishima, Midoriya, Todoroki

@kemakoshume - for you, hope you like.  Sweet loving gang bang LOL

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Pulling down your skirt one more time, you smooth the wrinkle that keeps forming across the middle.  Looking at the address, you see the huge complex ahead of you.  What the fuck am I doing here?? has been methodically pounding through your brain since you stepped off the train at the station. Your stomach explodes into a mess of nerves, fear and excitement, you wonder who will be there when you get to his apartment.  Definitely Dynamite, right?  You bite your lip, you hope he’s one of the three.  Taking a deep breath, you cross the street quickly, Mina still hasn’t texted back.  You’re half-tempted to wait for her before going in, your stomach exploding with butterflies again just thinking of going up to the apartment. You can feel the wetness now rubbing between your thighs, you groan, maybe crotchless panties weren't such a good idea. What the fuck am I doing here?? runs through your brain again.  It’s all fucking Mina’s fault, the fucking traitor.  You appreciate her as a friend, she did get you the job at the agency and she’s been introducing you to all of your favorite heroes.  She knows the ones you’ve got pinned on the walls of your apartment, the little minx.  Your first few months had been going great, a few get togethers, drinks, dinners, you’d slowly been getting to know them all.  Bakugou still scared the shit out of you, so making eye contact with him was next to impossible, but when you did, fuck, you could swear there was a glint in those crimson eyes.  Everyone else had been so nice, nothing strange, well, until last night.  “Fucking Mina,” you mutter for the umpteenth time.  What the fuck am I doing here?? You know what happened and why you’re here.  Thinking back, it was right when things were winding down last night, the last beers ordered.

_____________________

“(y/n), who is your favorite hero at the table?” Mina teased, six pairs of eyes landed on you.

“Oh, um,” your cheeks feel hot, you know your blushing, you jab Mina in the side.

“OW!” She laughs playfully.

“Come on, we know you gotta favorite,” Sero smiles, he takes a swig of his beer, his eyes landing appreciatively on your breasts.

Fixing your shirt, you feel stupid for wearing this button up top, it’s your favorite but you’ve been so freaked out with the new job you’ve been stress eating and everything’s a little bit bigger than usual.  You look down, the adjustment only pulls on the button more, it looks ready to pop.  You hear a chuckle from Bakugou, you look back up shyly, his piercing red eyes look ready to yank the button free.  Reaching blindly behind you, your finger catches the small sweater you brought and you slide it on quickly, trying to pull it over you.  You hear him clicking his tongue.

“Too pretty to hide those,”  he hooks a finger in your sweater pushing it back off your shoulder.  Your freeze, barely able to breath, did he just compliment your breasts?  You decide to do nothing, leaving your sweater half-on, he smirks and goes back to drinking and talking to Todoroki. Grabbing a napkin you wipe your palms off quickly.  You grab the cold bottle of beer and take a swig.

“So Mina told us a little story about you.” Kaminari says casually watching you give up on your sweater, his eyes twinkling.

Beer comes flying out your mouth as you spit on your blouse and the table, “oh shit!”  You grab the napkin you were using a moment ago and wipe at the rapidly growing wet spot on your blouse, your pink bra now visible.  You grab your sweater and pull it over yourself, this time ignoring the noises coming from Bakugou.

“Mina!” You hiss, pinching her.  “What did you tell them!?”  But you know, by the look in his eye, she told them the story. “That was not your story to tell!” You continue to seethe at her.  

“What?!?” Mina grins at you.

“Friendship is something to be cherished,” Izuku says softly.

“You would say that Deku,” Bakugou snipes back rudely, “I don’t think they were cherishing her friendship though.”  He smiles cockily, giving you the once over with his red eyes.

“Look (y/n), I’m sorry,” Mina giggles, “one thing led to another and it came out, what’s the big deal? It was just a foursome.” Mina pulls away from your pinching fingers.

Red blotches shine on your cheeks, you know you’re blushing so hard you want to cry, you cover your eyes.  “Mina, you are saying things you don’t understand.”

“Then help us understand,” Todoroki’s voice is calm, soothing.  You look up, his eyes are beautiful, you could get lost in their depths.  

“Fine,” you look across the table, they’re staring at you expectantly.  “I-I have four best friends,” you glare at Mina, “well three now.” She shrugs at you.  Rolling your eyes, you look back at the group, “it was graduation and I was hanging with my three guy friends.  We knew we were going our different ways and it was sad.” You shrug, “I was going to miss them.  So we were watching a movie and it just happened.”

“Three men just happened?” Kiri whistled softly, “Mina are we best friends? Wanna watch a movie,” he laughed at her.

“Sure Kiri,” she winked, “anytime.”  You smile looking down at your forgotten beer, that wasn’t so bad.  

“So that was it, you never did another one?” Katsuki’s voice was softer, you notice his eyes are different.

“Well yeah, not really a lot of best friend scenarios these days for me, I just got here three months ago.”  

“We’re your friends, aren’t we (y/n)?” Kaminari practically whines.

“Oh sure!” you gasp, “of course you are, sorry I didn’t mean to imply that you aren’t but, but, not like, I mean you’re all Pro-Heroes.” If possible you’re blushing harder  

A quick exchange of glances shoot across the table, your mind starts to back pedal, you need to get out of this conversation quickly.

“So because we’re Pro-Heroes, it’s different?” Midoriya leans forward, his brows arched.

“No, I mean, well, not like you’d be into something like that with me, I mean, not a foursome but just me,” you slap your hand over your mouth, “I’m stopping now, I think I should go home.”

“Wait, wait, wait!” A multitude of voices ring out, Bakugou’s hand shoots out holding you. 

“What if we were interested,” his voice husky, almost a purr.  Chills race down your spine pooling in your stomach, you can feel yourself getting wet just from the tone of his voice.

“If you were?” You’re lost for a moment, a sweet feeling fluttering in your stomach. “I guess,” you look across the table. “I guess.”

______

And now you’re pushing open the door to an expensive building, of course being a Pro-Hero for almost six years has its benefits.  As you walk to the elevator, the slick between your legs is getting creamier, your thighs are rubbing easily with no friction.  You wonder who will be there.  You'd put your foot down, only three of them, they’d agreed. When you received the text with the address from Todoroki, you figured he was one.  If it was possible you were even wetter now, you hoped he would be in front, sucking him while staring at those eyes, that, you smile, that would be a memory you would relish for a long time.  Pushing the elevator button you enter in the password he’d sent.  The car moves so quickly you lose your stomach for a moment, your head feels dizzy, it slows to a stop, the doors sliding open.  Stepping out to a small landing you freeze, six pairs of eyes are staring at you.

“Oh,” you turn as the doors close, you realize it took you directly into his apartment.  Todoroki jumps to his feet and gives you his hand guiding you into the living room.  The place is amazing, spacious with huge picture windows, you’re sure you’d appreciate it if there weren’t six men staring at you so lasciviously.  “Um,” turning you look back into a large kitchen, “where’s Mina and why are there six of you?”

“Not sure on Mina,” Todoroki offers you a seat on the couch, tugging your skirt down as far as it will go you sit, realizing too late that you’re dripping wet with crotchless panties on, you close your eyes, you can never move again, you’re sure you’ve ruined his couch.

“Are you okay?” Kirishima puts his arm around your shoulder, “you look scared baby.” He rubs your back gently.

“Well, there are six of you here and we agreed on just three.”  An icy fear grips you that three are here to watch.

“We couldn’t decide,” Sero shrugged, “it started to get heated so we decided to let you choose.”  Your jaw drops, you shake your head.

“No, no no, I can’t do that, I, I like all of you.”

“Well not that much, you only want three, so you need to decide,” Katsuki crosses his arms glaring at the others, he was clearly not in a good mood.

“I really can’t.”

“I know it’s not me,” Kaminari hops up, “I’m not usually on the list, so I’ll head out.”

“No wait!” You grab his hand as he walks by, of all of them he’d been the first one you’d loved, maybe not your favorite, but the first one that had touched your heart. “That - that time you took down shredder, the villain in that small town, your shirt was torn.” You blush smiling at him, “your chest was - was bare, you have, the pinkest nipples, are they really like that?”  Your words tumble out of your mouth.  

He’s transfixed, he can’t move, the look on your face.  “(y/n) do you really remember that?”

“I do and all of you, I - I admit I have my favorites but all of you are in my ‘if I met them’ book.”

“What’s that?” Midoriya slides closer to you on the couch.

“Idiot, if I met them I would fuck them.” Katsuki stands, “so does that mean we’re all in on this?”

You gulp, swallowing the no that is rising in your throat, “yes.” You croak out.

“Last question then,” Midoriya's green eyes are now sparkling, “who goes when?”

Eyes darting around the room you spy a bowl of colored glass on the coffee table in front of you. “Here,” you pick it up and hand it to Todoroki, “everyone pick one out, take a picture with your phone, then I’ll choose them blindly.”  They begin pulling out a stone one by one. “Rules,” you quickly look at all of them.

“Rules?” Sero chirps.

“Let her fucking talk asshole.” Katsuki nods to you. Taking a breath you begin.

“Rules, no phones or cameras, put them away, I see a phone or camera, it stops and I mean stops.” Feeling more confident, you stand, forgetting the small wet slick now on the couch.  “Safety word is,” you pick up one of the colored glass pieces, “glass, if I say glass-”

“What if you can’t talk?” Todoroki tips his head.

“Right, okay, if I tap you in any way three times, foot, elbow, finger, you have to call out to the others glass for me.”  Heads nod in agreement.

“Anything else, something you don’t like?”

“No, I’m good with everything.” 

“Everything?” Katsuki repeats pointedly.

Your stomach clenches hard, biting your cheek you turn, lifting your skirt. Red lace crotchless panties hugging your plush curves, you reach behind and opening your butt cheeks you tap on a small butt plug.  Turning quickly you lower your skirt again.  “I’m prepped for everything.”  The room is silent.  Looking up you see Katsuki is leaning forward, jaw slightly open, a laugh escapes.

“Not a lot surprises me sweetie,” he stands up and cups your chin, kissing you, “but you just did.”

“Is that - that good or bad?”

“Very fucking good.”

“Hang on Bakugou, we’re fucking picking stones remember.”

“Fuck you, ever heard of foreplay idiot?”

You take a deep breath, it’s really happening.  Your stomach explodes with anticipation, you feel the slick pooling now, a small drip escaping down your leg, you quickly press your soft thighs together to catch it before it travels much further.  “Okay, I’ll pick a rock, here we go.”  

“Wait,” Todoroki walks to a desk and pulls out a small scarf, “we don’t want you to cheat.”

“Cheat?” You huff, stopping as you realize he’s about to blindfold you.  “Ah, oh, okay,” he gently puts the scarf around your eyes, tying the back.  You feel his lips press into your shoulder, kissing you.  Reaching in again you pull out the first rock.

“YES!” Twisting around blindly you recognize Kirishima’s voice.  A hand palms your ass, “I know what I want,” his breath hot in your ear as he comes up alongside you.  His hand slides down between your thighs, feeling the expanding slick, his fingers glide over your folds. “I’ve been smelling that sweet tang of your pussy since you walked in here, I want this little hot wet cunt in my face to start. I wanna taste you.”  Your breathing is shallow now, you can barely think, the thought of his tongue deep inside of you making your heart race.  

“Next one,” your voice squeaks as you pull another piece of glass, silence. Suddenly full lips cover yours, sucking hard, his tongue slicing through your mouth, hand squeezing your cheeks almost painfully.  

“I want my cock buried deep in her as soon as you’re done.” Katsuki ‘s gruff voice rumbles into your mouth.  Your knees feel weak, another gush from your pussy, you clamp your thighs together stopping the flow. 

“Don’t,” his hand squeezes your cheeks tighter, shoving his leg between your thighs, “I wanna see that fucking cum dripping down your legs.”  

“O-Okay.” Relaxing your thighs, you can feel the pooling drip tickling your skin.  “Fuck, you’re such a good girl,” he purrs in your ear, his voice causing a riot in your body.  His thick fingers slide up your thighs capturing the drip, you hear as he sucks on them slowly, slurping.  “You may have picked the second best spot, Shitty Hair, she tastes really good.”

Hand shaking you grab another rock, lifting it in the air.  A hand slides up your skirt tapping your butt plug.  You whirl your head looking for the source of the light touch.  “I want this right here,” Midoriya’s soft voice comes up behind you, his hands on your bare ass.  “This is magical back here, I’m gonna play with this a little bit first.”  His mouth tickles your neck as he twists the plug in your hole.

Gasping you lean back into him, his hands slide around you holding you up, “need help steadying yourself?”  Izuku’s leg now moving in behind you pressing against your wet pussy. “You feel ready for us baby doll, can you feel how ready I am for you?” He rubs his hard cock into your back.

“Yes,” you whimper at the pressure against your clit.

“Pick more rocks (y/n),” Katsuki starts squeezing your nipples beneath your thin bra.  Nodding you grab another rock, body trembling waiting for another one to approach you.  His fingers are icy, immediately you know, it's Todoroki.  His thumb presses into your mouth, fingers cupping your chin.  He pushes down on your tongue firmly, saliva pooling in your mouth, you can feel it start to gather at the corner of your lips.

“I want this sweet mouth on my cock,” he watches as your saliva slips down your chin.  “I think our sweet little girl has a nice throat where I can nestle my dick.” You feel the warmth of his lips on your cheek. “Pick between the last two rocks,” he whispers in your ear.  You feel the two rocks and grab one. You hear laughing, Sero, a finger suddenly pushes into your pussy.

“Oh shit,” you jump, you turn towards his voice, “that scared me.”

“Kiri, man, wanna eat her out together?”

“Hell ya,” you can hear them thumping each other’s back.  You groan loudly at the thought of two tongues.

“Looks like I’m last,” you can hear the disappointment in Kaminari’s voice.

“Kaminari,” your voice is shaking.

“Denki, (y/n), call me Denki,” you can feel him next to you, kissing your neck.

“Mmm, that's nice Denki,” Reaching out you can feel him, his thigh under your hand, walking your fingers up his leg you can feel his swollen cock straining against his pants.  “I’m really good with my hands Denki,” you whisper, splaying your fingers against him, rubbing along the outline of his shaft.  

“(y/n) baby,” he breathes against your skin, “I think I love you,” he sighs, you can feel him unbuttoning his pants. 

“It’s time (y/n), time to be our own sweet little toy, you ready?” Katsuki’s voice in your other ear, hot tongue licking at your lobe. “I’m so fucking hard, I’m gonna burst just looking at you.” 

“Mmm,” you nod, thoughts fleeting, the anticipation rippling through your body, you can’t take it, every nerve is alive waiting for them.

You’re not sure who is touching you but hands are tugging your shirt over your head, a hot mouth on your breast, sucking your nipple through your bra. You jerk at the touch, another hand pulling down your skirt. 

“Appreciate the lingerie (y/n), what a nice touch.” Hands pulling off your bra and underwear as a thick arm wraps around your waist. Your arms being held tightly, you feel as your body is lifted and spun around, suspended, you hear Kirishima chuckle as he sets you down.

“Reach out.”

You hold out your arms feeling a soft blanket, your knees hit the ground. 

“All fours baby girl,” you recognize Katsuki’s gruff voice.  “And spread ‘em for Kiri, he looks like he’s gonna fucking die if he doesn’t get his tongue in you now.”   Steadying yourself, you start to open your legs as hands grab at your soft thighs spreading you wide open forcefully, a thick tongue laps at your sensitive folds sliding all the way back to your butt plug.  He takes the end in his mouth and tugs hard.  You moan as you clench your ass sucking it back into your body.  

“Fuck Midoriya, you gotta a nice surprise here.”  Kiri moves back to your dripping wet cunt, licking slowly he sucks on your clit, causing a whimper to escape from your throat.  His laughter causes vibrations that make your toes curl as he flicks his tongue playfully into your wet warmth.  Another mouth latches onto your clit, sucking, you arch your back  as the sweet familiar ball that pulses against your clit expands in your belly.

“Ung,” you gasp as a hard dick slaps your face, the tip running across your mouth, precum smearing over your lips.  Smiling you know it’s Todoroki, licking your lips, you open wide, hanging out your tongue.

“Sweet fucking toy, what a good girl,” his voice cool as he pushes the tip into your mouth but you can hear the slight tremor under the calm.  Wrapping your lips around the tip, you suck greedily, flattening your tongue rubbing against his sensitive skin.  His fingers dig into your hair, “fuck, (y/n)” Todoroki grits through his teeth.

Rough wet fingers begin pinching your nipples, twisting them, you jerk from the sudden jolt, the intense ball curling tighter until it pops. Your cry muffled around the cock in your mouth, your walls clenching, cum runs into Kiri’s mouth.  You hear him groan as he drinks you into his mouth.

“You cum already?” Katsuki’s voice is husky, tongue sweeping around your ear again, sucking at your earlobe.  “I like how sensitive you are.” Your body shudders as every part of you is under assault, the tremor of your orgasm barely calming as the next one begins to build.  

The tongue in your pussy is so fucking deep now, you have to concentrate to focus on the dick in your throat, swallowing again.  Eijiro’s thick finger joins his tongue, curving into your spongy warmth finding your spot. “E!” you scream around Todoroki’s dick.  Eijiro starts laughing, flicking and thrusting harder.  Sero, still tonguing your clit, uses his teeth to start nibbling gently. The intense feeling shoots up through your body, walls clenching as you can feel your orgasm already peaking.  

“(y/n)” Denki’s voice now close to you, he tugs on your arm.  Balancing yourself you reach out, you feel Denki thrust his dick into your hand, cool lube dripping down your fingers.  Taking his shaft in your hand, you breath in deep, focus (y/n)!  Your mind wants to melt away in the pleasure coursing through your body.  Rubbing your thumb over the tip of his cock,  your fingers slip over the top, letting them all slide firmly down, until the tip hits your palm, you pull back up.  

“(y/n)! That feels so fucking good!” You smile as Denki squeezes your arm, letting you sweetly torture his cock. 

Cold lube begins to drip into your ass, you clench at the feeling.  You’ve been mentally preparing for this, fuck, the cock in your throat sliding deeper, the tongue on your clit, fingers on your nipples, dick in your hand.  You’re ready to explode any moment.  Fingers tug at the plug, pulling gently, just enough that it emerges halfway.  Your groans loud now, salvia slipping down your chin, Izuku slams the plug back in your ass.  Everything comes apart, eyes rolling back,  your walls clenching on the tongue shoved deep, you scream around the cock. Todoroki slams himself into your throat, his hand holding your head. 

“You got it baby girl, take me, I know you can.” He gently strokes your cheek as he pushes deeper. “Take me in your throat.” Obediently you open your throat, you can’t breath, tears soaking the scarf, some now slipping down your cheeks, your walls flutter as another wave rips through you.  The mouth on your pussy latching on, drinking every drop gushing from your body, tongue coaxing you through your orgasm.

“Aaa!” You cry out around Todoroki’s cock, but he grabs your hair and shoves you deeper onto his dick.  Sliding down into your throat you instinctively swallow, his deep growl and clenching fists in your hair make you smile.

“(y/n) do that again,” Shoto’s voice is losing control now, shaking with need.

“It’s fucking time Kiri, get the fuck out of the way, our good little girl needs to be fucked deep.”  You feel Katsuki’s dick on your back, as he bounces it off of you.  “Deku, you can take our little toy in the ass, while I fuck her.”

“Hey I wanna still suck on her,” you hear Sero whine.  

“Go to her other hand Sero, fuck me, she’s got good hands,” Denki’s shivering as your hand now pumps his cock, thumbing the tip.  

Another cock, your lightheaded, another cock in your hand.  You reach down cupping Sero’s balls trying to keep yourself from passing out. Unable to breathe, you suck harder, squeezing Todoroki into your throat.  Pulling back, he gasps spurting hot streams of cum into your mouth.  You suckle him, swallowing every drop.  

“Good girl,” he coos, “that’s right,” yanking your head up by your hair, “show me your mouth,” he commands.  Coughing and sucking in your breath sharply, you open your mouth, tongue hanging out.  He grips your tongue, saliva and cum streaming on the floor. “How do you feel?” His voice is soft, he thumbs your tongue as another pool of saliva drips to the floor.  You nod, sucking on his thumb.  Chuckling he rubs your cheek gently, you feel his lips caress your temple. “I think she’s ready for another cock,” Todoroki calls out.

A body slides under you, lifting your hips high, a rigid cock bumping against your stomach.

“Katsuki? I mean Bakugou?”  A hand reaches up removing your blindfold.  You blink, red eyes staring into yours.

“Katsuki,” he grunts, smiling at you, his hands digging deep into your thighs. “You ready princess?”  You nod, as he thrusts up, his cock plunging into you.  Fingers on your ass pulling out your plug at the same time, a scream erupts from your throat.

“Fuck!”  You feel like you're being split into two, his thick cock stretching your walls painfully. “Bak- Kat-” tears slide down your cheeks.  “Please,” you wail pleadingly.

“I’ll make you feel fucking fantastic (y/n), hold on sweet girl.” Moving his hips, he grinds himself deep inside, moving against your cervix.  A warmth flushes through you as he begins to lift you off his cock, working into your spongy walls, finding the same spot Kiri had been tickling earlier. Your head snaps back, mouth open as he drives your hips down your pussy taking in his thick cock.  His mouth closes around your nipple.  Sero’s cock moves from your hand, you look up as he calls to you.

“Hey (y/n), sweet girl, I’ve got a nice cock for you.” He smooths your hair back, tucking a strand behind your ear.  “You wanna suck me?”

You laugh as you try to focus on his question, the huge cock slamming into your pussy pulling every thought from your head.  Opening your mouth,  he grips your face. 

“Hey baby,” he runs his hand down your jawline, “Our girl,” Sero calls gently. “Ready for me?”

“Y-Yes,” you stammer sticking out your tongue, as another thrust plunges Katsuki’s cock deep in your pussy.  “Ng.”

Izuku kisses your lower back, “I love your ass (y/n), look at you, so fucking good, want me baby girl?” His hands grip your cheeks as thumbs spread you wide, Izuku’s dick pushing into your hole, thrusting slowly, teasing your rim until Katsuki slams you down, causing Izuku’s cock to bury in your ass in one thrust.

“FUCK!” You scream, a shuddering orgasm sweeps through your body, walls clenching down hard on both cocks in your body.  

Sero thrusts his dick into your mouth, grabbing your head, slamming into your throat.  Gulping you suck on the dick in your mouth, your hand gripping Denki, you feel his cock bulging, you rub him as ropes of cum spray across your arm.

“Fuck, fuck, that felt good.” Denki sinks down to his knees. 

Your body explodes, every nerve alive as you shake, jolts of pleasure rock your pussy.

“Look at you fucking gushing on my balls,” Katsuki thrusts up again, loving how tight your wet walls clench on him as you cum.  Reaching down he kneads your clit, “so fucking wet, so damn tight, fuck you feel good.”

“Mmmm,” you hum on the sweet cock in your mouth, wrapping your tongue around Sero’s thick shaft.  He pushes deeper into your mouth, his tip teasing your throat. 

“Can you do it for me? Can my little angel deep throat me?” You nod letting him slide into your throat, the gag comes fast but you swallow hard against it, Sero laughs harshly.  “When you gag it feels fucking fantastic,” he thrusts hard again, causing you to gag.  “Fuck yes,” he pulls out pumping his cock, as his thick cum stripes across your face.  “You look so good like that.”  

You try to answer, try to hear what he’s saying but then Katsuki and Izuku are both thrusting inside of you, their dicks filling you so full your head is swimming.  Your clit is swollen but those rough fingers continue to pull at the growing tension. Both slam into you pulling you down hard, you’re shaking again, walls clamping down on the thick cock in your pussy, you can feel Katsuki double pump into you as hot cum fills you.

“Fuck, fucking tight pussy,” he shoves his dick deep inside, you pant as the last of your orgasm washes over you.  Your ass still full as Izuku reaches around twisting your nipples, he bites your back. 

“Fuck (y/n), your ass is so fucking tight, can I cum inside?” 

“Yes Zuki,” you mewl as he pounds your ass, he can’t hold on, his cock being squeezed as you milk him.  He falls forwards onto your back kissing you gently.  

You feel like collapsing, everything shaking, “I can’t,” the words barely out when someone is kissing you, licking your lips.  “Are you okay sweet girl?”  

“So many,” you laugh looking up, it’s Denki, he’s pumping his cock, now hard.  You smile, “you want my mouth?”

“I do baby, oh fuck I do, can you lick it first?”

“Yeah Denks,” You smile at him sweetly.  He grips your hair as he pushes into your mouth, you tickle him with the tip of your tongue, pressing it into the slit at the tip.  “Oh fuck (y/n), that feels so good baby.”  You stare into his eyes as you lick and suck down the length of his cock.  Yellow eyes blazing, he watches you.  Katsuki lifts your body as he moves from underneath you, his mouth pressing into your back, his hot tongue tracing a path to your lower back.  You arch at the tickling sensation, you groan and thrust looking for something to fill your emptiness.

“Who’s next?” Katsuki asks gruffly, running his hand appreciatively over your ass.  You turn for a moment catching Kiri’s wicked gleam as he’s pumping his huge cock.  Denki grabs your head and swings you back around.

“Focus on me (y/n), that’s my girl,” he purrs as you begin sucking again on just the tip.  “I like it when you play with me like that.”  You smile and wink as you open your mouth wide, hang your tongue and move your head sliding his sensitive frenulum against your rough skin, saliva pooling on the blanket.  His golden eyes flutter as he watches you.

Another warm body slides under you, rough hands on both sides as someone lifts you up, settling your hot pussy against another thick cock.  Your body trembles instinctively waiting, rubbing his cock against your pink folds, you hear Kiri underneath you.

“Look at these tits, girl, fuck, you have some gorgeous nipples.” His hot mouth suckling on one, you thrust again, the tip of his cock pressing harder, stretching your entrance, hands on your hips stills your thrusts.

“Not yet baby girl, I wanna make you gush on my cock before I fuck this tight pussy.”  Whining softly you wrap your lips around Denki’s cock sucking hard.  You hear Kiri chuckle at your complaint, he teases your nipple more, biting and twisting at the hard nub, sending more jolts of pleasure through your empty pussy.  The cold touch on your ass makes you gasp.  Denki holds you firm on his cock as you try to look, he shakes his head.  Smiling his eyes dart up and back to you.

“Looks like Todoroki’s getting ready to plunge that tight ass of yours.”  You blink as the tip of his cock starts to push against your stretched puckered hole.  You clench at the touch, suddenly a sharp slap on your ass sends needling pain along your skin.  

“Wha?” You mouth around Denki’s cock trying to pull back harder. 

“I don’t think you’re being a good girl back there,”  Denki scolds you.

“Relax (y/n), don’t fight us now” the deep timbre of Katsuki in your ear, you nod continuing to suck on Denki.  The cock against your stretching hole pushes deeper, you sigh now as it slides easily home.  

“There you go, fuck you are one dirty girl, aren’t you.  Our sweet slut, only ours though right?”

“Aaa,” you try to answer but Denki has your head pushed against the base of his cock, holding you firm as he grinds against your face, soft golden pubic hair tickling your nose.

“Suck him hard baby,” Katsuki’s hot tongue licks your ear, biting on the edge, his warm breath joins with Eijiro sucking on your nipple. Fiery chills collide with the tingling warmth from Shoto’s cock sliding into your ass.  “You gonna cum?” Katsuki bites harder, his hand on your neck he squeezes gently. “This help?”  Gasping for breath you taste cum as Denki’s hips slam into your face one last time, his eyes rolling back.  You swallow feeling the thick fingers around your neck. “Fuck, I feel you drinking him, you’re such a fucking good toy aren’t you?  Drink it all up sweet girl.”   His mouth continues down your neck as he nuzzles against your skin.  “Time to cum (y/n)” 

Your head bobs as you try to breath pulling off Denki’s cock you cough, desperately dragging in a lungful of air, wheezing as you struggle past Katsuki’s firm grip on your neck.  Your brain starts to swirl, everything tilting.  “Cum - cumming,” your pussy already clenching, your walls desperate for something inside.  “Please,” you sob, “E! Please!” You try to push down on that tantalizing cock just sitting against your entrance but Shoto thrusts up into your ass, slamming deep, he grinds against your plush cheeks, squeezing them with his hands.   Eijiro sucking on your nipple bites down hard. Your cry turns into a soft howl as your thighs shake so hard you can’t hold on, strength leaving every muscle as you jerk hard with the pleasure coursing through your cunt.  

“There you go,” Kiri hums against your nipple, thrusting he splits your clenching pussy. Your howl turns to a choked scream, as blackness begins to descend for a moment as Katsuki crushes your neck, suspending the pleasure, keeping the high going. The big hand releases perfectly timed, air rushes back into your lungs, your scream catches power as your cry reverberates around the room.  You gulp in air, tears now streaming from your eyes as Katsuki’s lips find yours in a punishing kiss cutting off your cries, his hand buried in your hair, his tongue exploring your mouth.

“You taste like Denki,” he laughs in the kiss.  You can’t think as Eijiro’s huge cock is now plunging into your pussy, angling his hips he buries deep grinding into your cervix, popping white flashes blur your vision as you can feel both dicks now inside your body.  The kiss becomes sloppy and needy, as your next orgasm is already charging hard through your body.  Flinging an arm around the big blonde, you suck on Katsuki’s full lips.  

“Cumming again so soon?” The hand in your hair clenches as he bites your lip hard.  Your eyes roll back as another wave rocks your body, you pant in the kiss trying to keep consciousness.

“Fuck baby, fuck so fucking tight,” Shoto slams into your plush ass.  His hips rocking forward letting his hot cum spray into your depths. “Gonna fill you up,” he clenches his teeth as his muscles spasm the warmth spreading through his body.  Opening his bi-colored eyes he sees Midoriya holding the butt plug, waiting for him.  He smiles at him nodding, pulling out quickly watching as Izuku  plugs up your ass.  “Keep our fucking cum in our toy.”

“I wanna turn our baby over, she’s losing her strength,” Katsuki breaks his kiss and pulls you off of Eijiro, your body suddenly empty as you are flipped on your back.  Kiri follows and quickly pushes back into your empty cunt, pulling your legs around his waist, he slides tantalizingly slow inside you until his cock is buried to the hilt.

“All the way in baby,” he grits through clenched teeth, “fuck you are hot.”  Arching your back you thrust deeper onto his cock, your body still trembling from your last orgasm.  Aftershocks rush through you without regard as a new ball of tension already begins to build with every thrust of E’s big cock.

“(y/n),” you hear their voices, both hands feel cool lube as Sero and Izuku guide your fingers around their stiff erections.  Moving your hands in unison you slide down to their balls pushing against their taints, twisting their balls in your fingers.  Both gasp as you tug, wrapping your hand back around their shafts to pump their silken skin. 

“I’m not done with you yet girl, you ready for more?” Red eyes suddenly above you glittering as Katsuki licks his lips.

“I - I’m ready.” You try to nod but Eijiro angles his hips again this time upwards against your sweet spot, you mewl as the tension grows bigger.  “OH! E!”

Katsuki straddles your face, his huge cock hard and twitching, bumping up against his stomach.  

“You got me so fucking turned on (y/n), I’m gonna face fuck you baby.”  Your eyes cross as he plunges into your mouth. Keeping your mind on your hands is impossible. You pump harder feeling the large cocks bulging under your palms.  You can’t breath, the dick in your mouth jamming into your throat.  Then it hits, Eijiro slams deep inside you, hot spurts of cum filling your pussy again as you rock your head back, arching your neck, giving Katsuki full access to your throat.  He growls as he slides deep, his fingers back around your throat.

“I can feel me in you,” he pants as he thrusts harder.  You can’t nod, you can’t think, your pussy clenching hard as another orgasm pulses deep inside, you try to breath again but there's no air.  The blackness starts on the edges of your vision, hot burning red eyes staring into yours as tears drip down your temples.  Warm spurts of cum dribble down your arms as somewhere in the distance you hear Sero and Izuku grunting against their own pleasure.   Your body melts into the blanket as you hear the roar of Katsuki as his face contorts, pulling out he rubs himself as streams of cum splatter your face.  His smile is the last thing you see as the blackness overwhelms you.

_________

Something warm is rubbing your body, a sigh escapes your lips.  Warm breath on your lips, a gentle kiss.  You smile as you wake up, your skin reveling  in the silkiest sheets you’ve ever felt.  Little tremors float up through your pussy and into your ass, blinking you finally focus.  Izuku is above you, concern in his green eyes.  He sighs deep to see you waking up.

“(y/n)?” He strokes your cheek now smiling.  “There you are, sweet girl, scared us there.”  

“Zuki,” you croak, your throat raw, you swallow coughing. 

“Here,” Katsuki sits on the other side of you and lifts your body giving you pills and some water.  You look questioningly at him.  His red eyes soft he nods, “It’ll help with the pain, Shoto’s getting a throat spray to numb your throat too, if you want.”  

Swallowing the pills and water, you grimace at the effort.  Shaking your head, “okay,” you manage to squeak out.  

“Don’t try to be strong baby,” Eijiro pats your thigh sitting down next to your legs, “we wanna take care of you.” 

“Clean?” You push out through your raw throat.

“Yeah,” Sero blushes as he sits on the other side, “we cleaned you up, Denki washed your hair.”  The golden haired man rubs your foot and smiles at you shyly.  

“Thanks,” you whisper. 

“Here you go,” Shoto walks into the room, handing Katsuki the bottle.

“Open up baby,” obediently you open as he squirts several cooling sprays into the back of your mouth, swallowing you’re relieved to feel the blissful numbness coating your swollen throat.  You nod at him.

“Better.”

“Fuck (y/n), you're amazing” Katsuki murmurs, he kisses you softly.  Red heat stains your cheeks.  He laughs, “now she’s blushing,” he teases you.

“So who gets to keep you?” Sero asks the question, all six sets of eyes land on you.  Startled, you look at each man, all so beautiful it hurts your chest to breathe.

“Keep?” Your throat still croaks although the pain is now gone.

“Baby, we’re all fucking in love with you.” Katsuki kisses your cheek again.  Izuku nods, pushing back the hair that is hanging in your face.

“I - I,” your eyes wide, “can’t choose.” You frown, tears burst from your eyes dripping down your cheeks, you cover your face.

“(y/n), shhh, baby girl,” Shoto coos at you.  Katsuki grips your cheeks and kisses you again.  

“How about we share?” Denki sits at the end of the bed.

“What the fuck share?” Katsuki growls.  

“You fucking shared her today,” Shoto snarls back.

“Kacchan,” Izuku smiles at him.

“Fuck,” he runs his hand through his blonde spikes. “Fine, whatever (y/n) wants.”  A giggle escapes your sore lips as he casts a pouting look your way. “You think this is funny?”  You shake your head behind your hands trying to stop laughing.  “Fine, but I’ll fucking win her over,” he glares at the other Pro-Heroes, “fucking watch me.”

“Not if I make her mine first,” Eijiro slaps at the big blonde’s shoulder.

“You can’t win against me,” Shoto’s beautiful eyes gleam, “I can tell I’m her favorite.”

“You’re all fucking nuts,” Sero grins, “she likes me.”

“Sorry boys, she’s mine.” Izuku grazes your temple softly with his lips.

“But she liked me first,” Denki sighs.

A warmth flushes through your body as you peek between your fingers at each one, your mind whirls, can you really pick just one?

[acethepaintruler]

Oh my lawd, this gave me 🦋🦋🦋 if know what I mean🥵🥵

[monfufu]

[forsakenoathkeeper]

if u dont acknowledge the fanfics u read, the writer won’t think anyone is actually taking the time to read their stuff, which makes our effort feel wasted and our passions feel worthless

[wintermoonqueen]

Tell. The. Fanfic. Writers. How. You. Feel.

[starscheme]

I will always reblog this. It’s important.

[naruto-scenarios-plus-akatsuki]

Very important.

[dickinson-67]

As a fanfic writer I always get scared that people are going to be upset by my late chapters

[merppppppppppppppppp]

I will always re-blog. Remember that as writers or creative’s in general we are able to improve our craft by getting feedback because it helps us to know what our audience likes and responds to so don’t feel anxiety about commenting because commenting is literally helping and you should never feel anxious about helping someone

[sunflowers-rae]

THIS! ART TOO GUYS!!

[eremikan-deactivated20230201]

katsuki bakugou x f!reader

➪ wc: 11.2k+ || minors dni 18+

➪ warnings/tags: timeskip! pro hero! bkg (late twenties), horse farm setting (pls refer to my notes), use of the first person in diary entries, reader has a quirk, slow burn, slight enemies to lovers, angst and arguments, reader injuries (bc bkg is dumb), happy ending (pinky promise), a lot of slang, accents and swearing (broken english, almost), mentions of death from quirk incidents, mentions of animal death, oral sex (f. receiving), loss of virginity, doll as a pet name, reader has a whole lot of personality, improper science (nitroglycerin as a cheat code lol), bkg is ultra soft with a bleeding heart and I can't think of anything else

➪ notes: alright. let me start by saying this work is the equivalent of me walking into a room of people, stark naked, and just going like: "hi, it's me!" genuinely, that is this work. the experiences touched upon in this fic are all from real ones I've had working with horses growing up. it's a very sacred part of my life and world, and recently I've felt myself drifting from it because of the career path I've decided to take. so, I wrote this because I felt like I'd be hiding from myself if I didn't, and I wanted to face it all without running away as I'd planned. honestly, I just missed it all so much. wow, that sounds dramatic. it most definitely is. anyway, this work might be confusing to read at some points, and that's intended. horse slang, if that's what we're calling it, is used heavily without much explanation. it's because you're supposed to read this fic from katsuki's perspective, almost—it shouldn't always make sense. but the human parts will, I hope. regardless, I hope it hits all just the same. please enjoy. this one's from my heart to yours. mwah.

➪ a/n: the biggest hug, kiss, and thank you to oz for being there every step of the way through this one. it was a fifteen-hour escapade of madness. love you.

Wednesday

It felt like a storm was coming, but it didn't. Just hot, muggy, and gross. The horses felt the same. Misty started pawing at the gate after an hour in the pasture, and like the trendsetter she is, all the others followed in tearing up the grass. She's a diva, but I don't blame her. If I was forced to bear three foals at my prime age and deal with kids kicking on my back and pulling at my mouth all day, I'd probably be the same or worse. Poor thing—all of them, really. Poor animals only learning to live after they're finally too old to actually do it. People are evil, and horses are horses, I guess.

They know it too. Each time I get a new horse, I have to think they do. They give me this look before stepping off the trailer, this "You're my last stop, aren't you?" kind of glare, and then drop and roll in their stall like they're fluffing their grave. Whatever. Gotta be better than real retirement homes with real ass people. People get aggressive and senile when they're old, and horses just get... happy, for once. No pressure on their back, a mouth full of overgrown grass, and happy. Lucky fuckers. I wanna grow old and happy and not throw shoes at a nurse because I think she might be Satan in my bedroom, trying to shove a pill down my throat. How ridiculous. I don't want to grow old. I'll let one of these horses whip me into the ground before it happens. The last rodeo, and maybe one of the barn cats could—

This is getting grotesque. Anyway, it felt like a storm was coming, but it didn't. One is most definitely coming tomorrow, though. Gotta bring the horses in early, or they might get rain rot, and that's always the worst.

Thursday

It rained and poured. Blondie dared to look at me like it was my fault. Horrible first impression. Who the fuck walks into someone's barn and goes, "It smells like shit in here"? Like, yeah? Yeah, it does. It's a barn, asshole. I really didn't think Shouta was serious when he asked if someone could crash here, but then, of course, he's always serious, so I guess that makes me the idiot. Brought him down in his black city car, tossed him out like bad news, then dipped. He was probably too pissed to come out—got his tires all muddy and shit. I don't know why people expect a barn to not be a fucking barn. So now I have twenty-four horses and a big slab of a certified prick in the guest room to watch over, all thanks to being nice and saying yes. I'll never be nice again. I've learned my lesson.

At the very least, he's kind of cute in a grumpy puppy sort of way. He speaks at full volume, though, so that was our first problem. Either the horses are spooking, or my ears will start ringing, and I can't handle both. He finally shut up after he realized I wasn't going to fight back. You gotta feel dumb yelling at the lady letting you stay in her house surrounded by a bunch of horses staring right back at you. I hope he felt dumb. Asshole.

Then he got all quiet and weird and started backing near Gus's dutch door, and I almost let him bite him. It could have been funny, but then I remembered he's a firecracker and would probably blow Gussie's face off with his fucking palm by accident. A ticking time bomb. Blond and ticking and pissed off at the rain. At the very least, he's cute.

Friday

I'm allowed to call him Katsuki. That's either a privilege, or maybe he doesn't want to be reminded that he's a hero while surrounded by the fields and the wind whispering that it doesn't give a fuck who he is. When he's here, he's just the guy I spent an hour explaining how to work the tracker to.

I said it's like a giant lawn mower that doesn't cut grass, just carries the hay bales and drops shit to the compost. That didn't help. I don't think the man has ever mowed a lawn in his life or really driven much, to begin with. That has to be the downfall of being a star so young, then being forced to continue shining. When you look at it like that, he's like the horses. Fresh off the track or suspensory blown because some greedy asshole thought a pony could jump three foot six easily. I don't pity him, though. My neck sprained again from his cocky rooky sway. Never being nice again. It's gonna be the death of me.

I was barebacking Dreamer, just walking around the indoor 'cause it was too hot to be under the sun today, and then like a bat out of hell, comes Katsuki on the tracker without warning. So, of course, Dreamer spun me off. And, of course, I fell off because, of course, I did. Then it was a mess. Dreamer's freaking out, and Blondie's freaking out too because he thinks I'm dead. He went all hero on me, literally blasted himself toward my body on the ground like it'd help. Dreamer lost his shit because, of course, he did—running around and crying like a bomb went off. Then the bomb that did go off is hovering over me and not letting me get up, saying I might have broken something. I wanted to slap him. I would have if he wasn't so cute. It's a crime to bust a pretty face.

Finally, he moved, and I could breathe again. I knew my neck was sprained because it's my fourth time and the feeling never really changes. But you gotta get back on, no matter what, especially while the adrenaline is still fresh and it doesn't hurt too bad yet. It was embarrassing to baby-talk a horse off the ledge in front of Katsuki. I knew he was judging me the whole time, could feel his cat eyes on my neck and its scruff. But it works, so fuck him.

He grabbed my wrist after realizing what I was doing on my way back to the mounting block. I told him that if I didn't get back on the horse would be traumatized, that you can't ever end a ride badly, or they only ever know bad to start. He said, "Fuck the horse. He hurt you." I wish I covered Dreamer's ears and maybe my own. Ignorance is the ugliest song I've ever known.

I told him to leave, and after three minutes of staring at him, he finally did. It hurt like hell to get back on. The adrenaline was gone at that point. Blondie must have taken it with him.

Saturday

I don't think Katsuki thinks I'm cute. Maybe it's the neck brace that turns him off or the fact that we don't get along about anything. It doesn't really matter anyway. He's not gonna be here forever—thank God. When he leaves, it'll be easier to get shit done again. You'd think having an extra pair of hands and muscles would help, but it doesn't. He doesn't fit here. He should, he could, but he doesn't. He doesn't know how to be to not be himself, and the horses don't know how to not take it offensively.

But he's getting better. Still don't know why he's here, doubt I'll ever find out, but he's here and better. He helped do the meds today—held all the syringes and pills like a walking pouting pharmacy. He kept yelling whenever I turned my head, reminding me of my neck and how I was only gonna make it worse, like I couldn't feel the fucking pull of it myself. It kind of felt nice. It's been so long since I've been around people, I realized. He's probably the worst one to attempt to get used to.

But he's alright. Not as loud, and maybe it's because he does think I'm cute and is scared he might get me fucked up for real if he's not careful. I wanna be cute to him, somehow. It's probably impossible because he's seen me at my worst too early, sweaty and smeared with dirt like a doormat. I could be a cute doormat, though. I hope I am.

Sunday

He has the loudest thunder of a laugh. I deserve a gold star for getting it out of him too. It wasn't even that hard or that funny, but it got him to his knees, and it was fun to look down at him for once.

I was grooming Danny, trying to show Katsuki how it's done—use the curry comb to loosen the dirt, the stiffer bristles to get it out, the softer brush to polish the coat off. Then came the hoof picking. I leaned into Danny's shoulder, got his hoof in my palm, and started lecturing Blondie. "You wanna avoid picking at the frog. It's like their cuticle," I said, knowing damn well he didn't know what the fuck I was talking about. Sometimes it's just fun to do that to him—use words he doesn't know and let his pride shut him up, too scared to ask. He probably didn't even notice because Danny went and nearly took a chunk out of my butt. That had him hollering. 

"He fuckin' bit your ass," he said. I was so embarrassed if I'm honest. I didn't wanna be like, "Yeah, well, sometimes he just does that," and throw Danny under the bus and get him all embarrassed too. The old man's almost twenty-three, all greyed and withered. I've known him since he still held color, so I thought he'd have my back. I just said, "He didn't mean to," like an idiot, and then on cue, Danny, a fucking traitor, goes for it again, and it hurts too. I've never heard a man laugh so hard. It's a good sound—a warm one. Made my skin all hot, sticky, and gross.

Then he just kept laughing, clutching his washboard of a stomach like it could even recoil under all that muscle, dropping to the ground. I started laughing too just to hear what I sounded like with him. I think it's the first time we shared something together besides dinner in silence.

Monday

Katsuki learned how to figure eight a bridle today. It looked like shit, of course, but he learned. He's got these big ass hands, so it was entertaining to watch, too—kept fumbling with the leather straps 'cause they're too tiny for his grip. It was kind of hot, annoyingly, made it hard to focus on anything but those stupid hands.

He must have been curious today because he asked so many goddamn questions. I answered them all, too, just to hear him talk more. He asked if I'm alone out here, and I said yes. Then he gave me this look like it was the wrong answer 'cause he was right there next to me, so I'm not alone. I had to give him a look back to remind him that he's not out there, that he's just roleplaying the modest life.

Then Winston started colicing, and it all went to shit from there. I called Doc, trying to stay calm under the heat of Katsuki's dying curiosity and confusion, drinking in my alarm like a shotgun of beer. I knew the answer before he picked up, but Winston and Katsuki were watching me, so I had to pretend to have hope for them. He'd already had too many surgeries, and Doc said it'd be too dangerous to open him back up, cruel even. He offered to come down, but Winston blew his nose, started chewing again, and just gave me this look. My heart nearly shattered. Horses are intelligent creatures, sometimes too much for their own good. I told Doc that Winston wanted to see this one out by himself, and then he sighed on the line, apologized, and told me to call again when he needed to be picked up. I said, "Of course," and hung up.

It'll be hard to see that one go. He's gotta be the sweetest one here, bay with four white socks, a thick white blaze down his nose. Winston used to be a star when he was younger. He won everywhere he went, helped a lot of kids stay out of trouble with his gut issues and kind eyes. He's a loved horse, loved by so many. Of course, they're all gone now, moved on and grown up, working adult jobs and scrunching their noses at the mud. So he came to me like a treasured childhood teddy bear—all crushed from being sat on for too many car trips by accident, a new figure in the kid's grip.

I hate to lose any of them. Sometimes I wish I didn't love them so much. But I have to, and I will. I'll always be the girl that picks them up in her two-horse trailer, trudging them and their memories and fears behind the truck, feeling the weight of their years bounce on my lap over each train track we pass. I'll be the one who remembers them and loves them to the end, and they'll be the specks of hair I can't ever get out of my clothes, the ache in my neck, and the tug at my heart.

God, if you're real, please don't let Winston die just yet. I want him to stay just a little longer. Please. He may be ready, but I'm not.

Tuesday

Tuesday's empty still. Katsuki stares at the page anyway—like words will magically appear. He knows he shouldn't be here in your room, diary in his grip, head flooding with your thoughts. But the door was open, and so was the book. He didn't think. He just walked right in.

The sound of the front door slamming makes him jump. He thinks he's caught, shutting the diary to hide the evidence, then reopening it, remembering that's how he found it. It's pouring out, raining cats and dogs, and there you go running with your bare feet, forming new puddles.

He watches from the window, about to laugh, thinking you're the craziest girl he's ever met—the cute doormat with a pretty smile. But you're sprinting, heading straight for the barn. He tastes his heart on his tongue, throbbing and loud.

You cover your face with your hand as he finally reaches you in the truck, the high beams blinding you until he hops out and helps you up in the passenger seat.

"It's Winston," you pant, nightgown clinging to your skin as you dry your phone off on the leather, staring at the camera feed.

Katsuki gulps.

"S'gonna be fine," he says firmly, forcing his eyes straight ahead as you sniffle, damp and cold.

Your silence unnerves him. You're never quiet. Even in your damn diary entries, you've got enough personality to rock him off his feet. He wants to rattle you then, shake you until you shake back, cussing him out and calling him dumb. But you're quiet, and it's eerie. He helps you out of the truck.

A sound escapes his chest when you wrap your hand around his wrist, tugging him with you inside—his heart pleading for mercy, a chance. He follows you mindlessly, eyes glued to your bare feet, a growing urge to lift you up and let you walk on air.

You both stop outside of Winston's stall. He's lying down, nuzzling his stomach, and whimpers when he sees you.

"I know, baby, I know." You let go of Katsuki to unlock the latch.

He stands by the opening as you slip in, pine shavings sticking to your soles. Your body shakes slightly, dusting the ground with rain pellets, letting it absorb the pain you brought with it.

He watches you crouch down, petting Winston's neck slowly, almost choking when you peer over your shoulder to look back at him.

"Can you please get me the bute?"

Katsuki is frozen for a moment, stuck in the sudden change on your face. You're calm. Static and calm.

"The white powder shit?" He asks, gripping the pockets of his sweatpants like he might have it on hand, anxious.

"Yeah. Mix it with water like I showed you, and get it in a syringe for me," you nod, turning back to Winston.

"How much?" His voice is coarse, panic spiking at his throat.

You pause, about to tell him, then realize it might be too much to ask—that Katsuki won't always be here to do the heavy lifting.

"Watch him for me," you say, gone in a blink, jogging silently down the aisleway.

Katsuki stares at your back and then hesitantly at Winston.

Shit. 

He wasn't good at this sort of thing. Was he supposed to talk to the horse, pet him like you always do? He knows he's not supposed to just approach them—that they're really just big babies with an extra set of feet. He glares at Winston, studying him. He doesn't want to piss this one off. You said—wrote that he was the sweetest one here. Katsuki wonders if the horses know like you say they do—if Winston knows when he's crying out for you that you're already on your way, sprinting in the rain.

Winston exhales, looking past Katsuki, searching for you.

He knows.

"I'm back," you breathe, holding a large syringe tube, pain relief just a gulp away.

Katsuki nods like you're talking to him, then realizes you aren't.

"Was Blondie nice to you while I was gone? He didn't say anything mean, did he?"

Katsuki huffs, crossing his arms in defense as he leans into the wood. "Didn't say shit," he grumbles.

You ignore him, inserting the chute into Winston's mouth, "I'm sorry, Winston. I know it tastes bad, but it's gotta be better than the pain, right?"

You're still talking to the horse, and Katsuki stands there, ignored, slightly bothered. He shakes his head. Pathetic—you're making him pathetic enough that he's jealous of a horse on its last leg, drinking chalky medicine as you cradle its chin.

"Thank you," you sigh, rubbing slowly up and down Winston's face, your heart ripped from your chest as he leans into the touch.

The rain is picking up, wind slapping it against the side of the barn. It's unbearably loud. Katsuki's fists tighten by his thighs, angry for Winston and you as it disturbs the moment's peace. But you're so gentle, unaffected by the storm, as you drop your forehead against Winston's.

Your hands trail up the sides of his face, massaging his ears until you stop to cup them.

"He's dying," you whisper.

Katsuki tenses, watching Winston's eyes flutter shut, waiting as your palms drag to brush over his lids.

"He's always had issues. Born to be a problem child, you could say," you smile as you turn, pressing your cheek into Winston. It burns slightly—the sprain at your neck is still fresh, lingering.

"But he was the coolest fucking horse. The All Might of horses, if that helps," you giggle lightly, amused at your own comparison.

A chill sweeps Katsuki at your use of the past tense. He's still alive, he wants to say, don't act like he's dead yet. But he knows better than most that it's best to accept loss before it comes rolling and crashing in. He stays silent.

"A superstar—a hero, and now he's here with me." You bite your inner cheek, piercing the emotion threatening to strike, hoping it'll deflate. "I guess every hero has their fall. Can't run forever. At some point, you gotta lay down."

You stare up at Katsuki. He sucks in a breath.

"It's not so bad down here, y'know."

You stay there for a beat, eyes locked until it hurts too much to look at him, and you turn to face Winston.

"But you'll always be a hero to me, buddy. You're still the coolest horse. You always will be, to me," you murmur. You press your tongue flat against the roof of your mouth, holding it there as you fight the hiccup at your throat, the tears that beg and weep.

"You'll always be his," Katsuki says.

The rain is loud. You cry just to know what it sounds like to join it.

"It's off-center," you complain, squinting at Katsuki's back as his shoulders drop.

"Hah?" He twists his torso, bracing himself against the wall as he shifts on the step ladder to face you. "It's straight, woman. The rest of them are just crooked."

"Are you saying I did a shitty job with the others, then?" You raise an eyebrow, watching as he climbs down.

"Basically," he nods.

"Rude," you bite back, fighting a smile as he moves to stand beside you.

He mutters something under his breath, and you both stare at the wall, glittered with horseshoes nailed to it. He's right, you think—the rest are a little slanted. Winston got the favorite treatment. He deserves it.

"It's kind of creepy," Katsuki turns to you, waiting for you to look back before continuing. "You sure this is a rehabilitation place? There's a lot of horseshoes up there."

You snicker at that.

"Most of them are just here to retire," you say, looking up at him. He really is handsome. You cross your arms in defense. "And it's not creepy. I just... I want them all to be remembered, is all."

Katsuki nods, exhaling, "Yeah, I get that. I do the same."

You're visibly confused but nod—never pushing him too hard. His jaw slacks, debating if he should explain, wishing you would poke and prod, just to feel your touch once.

"I keep a list," he says, finally.

You tilt your head, interest peaked but soft and welcoming. He runs a hand through his hair before starting.

"It's um... It's of all the people, y'know. The ones who," he pauses, swimming in your eyes, searching desperately for shore—something to make this easier, "died on my watch. It's like you said. I just don't want to forget any of them. Not ever."

You frown slightly, sympathy pooling in your irises, making it harder for him to keep treading. He wishes you wouldn't do that. You're going to make him choke.

"I-I don't think he told you," Katsuki pauses, feeling guilty for lying because he knows Shouta hasn't. He shouldn't have read your diary. He shouldn't have invaded your space. "But I'm here because of that, actually. I know you don't watch the news 'cause you like your shitty ass cartoons or whatever—"

You feel heat crawl up your neck in embarrassment. Of course, he picked up on things. He was living under your roof, after all. It still makes your pulse skip.

"But there was an accident—or no, I guess I was the accident," he cringes slightly, shaking his head. "I was trying to detain this villain, but he was so fucking fast, and he took this girl as hostage and... I tried so hard to be careful. I went for everywhere she wasn't, but I slipped up at one point and hit the building behind them."

He swallows, peering down at your lips, "Seven people died. I didn't notice at first. I just kept going after the guy and eventually got him. The girl was safe, and I restrained him. I thought everything was fine until I heard screaming. Everyone was huddled around this pile of broken concrete and screaming."

"Seven people died because of me," he finds your eyes again, waterline damp, flooding him, "and I know all their names, their families. I don't want to forget them. I won't."

"I'm so sorry," you whisper, like a reflex.

"It was my fault," he says, turning away from you. "They put me here to get me out of the press for a while—called it an honorable leave."

He lets out a breathy laugh. "It's bullshit. There's nothing honorable about it. The fucking villain killed less people than me. Not sure how I'm any better than him anyway. What good am I as a hero if I'm only good at destroying things, right?"

You reach out, grabbing his shoulder, "You can't say that."

"Yeah," he turns back to you, "I can. I'm not good at being the nice guy, the fucking Deku and All Mights of the world. I'm built more like a villain. Don't tell me I'm not 'cause it's true. They thought so too."

Your mouth opens, but he glares down at you, begging it to shut—to be heard without protest.

"I don't want to be one, though. I want to be good. Good like you."

You suck in a breath, releasing your grip. Katsuki panics for a moment, watching your head shake as you sulk.

"You don't know, then," you say. Katsuki's brows furrow, face scrunched as you rub your neck, "It's nice to know Shouta still keeps my secrets, I guess."

The air feels heavy as you collect yourself, running through the correct way to approach things, making Katsuki leap to every worst-case scenario as you do.

"I'm not good with people either," you start, glancing up at Winston's horseshoe, refusing to look at Katsuki. "My quirk... it's really harmful too. I've hurt people too."

He tenses beside you. You ignore it, continuing, "I make people's hearts stop. Literally, that's all I can do, and when I was little..."

You squeeze your eyes shut before staring at the ground. "It manifested without warning. I was in the kitchen with my mom. She was making dinner, and I was just watching from the counter. I remember looking at her and being so happy because she was making my favorite. Then suddenly, she dropped to the ground."

You can feel his eyes on you, his face softening until it almost doesn't look like him anymore. With a deep breath, you face him.

"I tried to help, but I only made it worse. I was making her heart beat so fast, inducing a heart attack. Then my dad and brother came down because I was yelling, and I thought they could help, but they... they dropped too."

Your gaze trails to his chest, his heart, "I was a child. I called for help, and eventually, Shouta came to the scene. He was the only one who could approach me safely—him and my dog. He brought me to UA and taught me how to control my quirk. I was away from the students for obvious reasons, but it was a lost cause. I'd never get to join them anyway. You can't become a hero when your quirk can only kill. Not that it even mattered. We found out later that it's only triggered by a strong sense of love."

Katsuki stutters on a breath. You swallow.

"But animals—for some reason, it didn't affect them. My love wouldn't kill them," you smile, struggling to hold the form as your lip trembles, "they could always handle it."

Katsuki's face is unreadable when you finally look back at him. He's so still and quiet, a statue, afraid to do or say the wrong thing. You falter, terrified you already have.

You let out a sad, forced laugh, shaking your head, trying to snap out of the sorrow, "So anyway, now I know why you came here, and you know why I'll stay. We both learned something, right? That's... good."

"You've always been alone, then," he notes sharply.

You bite your inner cheek, dropping your gaze again, "It's for the best. Just in case, y'know."

He's furious.

"That's fucking bullshit," he spits, a flame ignited beneath him.

You blink at him, speechless.

"How are you okay with that? Who the fuck told you that this was okay?"

"I like it here. It's fine—"

"It's not, though," he cuts you off. "Why do you have to hide from the world and shitty people like me don't? I get honorable leave, and you're just what? Bound here forever? It doesn't make sense. You're a good person. You don't deserve this."

You exhale, body shaking.

"Didn't you hear me? My quirk kills people, Katsuki. There's no other way to use it."

"It's not your fault, though. Your quirk is shitty, but you're not."

"Y-you're a hypocrite."

"What?"

"You're good too. You have a shitty quirk, but you're good too, Katsuki. You care. I've seen it—I've felt it."

"It's not the same."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not like you. You're... you're a little fucking weird, and that's probably 'cause you've been cooped up here for your whole life, but you're... actually good. You care so much about these horses, it's almost ridiculous, but you do. You've got a big heart, enough for all of them. You love too hard, is all. That's your only flaw. You're a sucker, and you love too hard."

"And you don't?"

"Huh?"

"You don't love too hard too?"

"I don't know what the fuck you're saying."

"I saw you crying after they picked Winston up, Katsuki."

"So?"

"So you have a heart. You love them all too. I know you do."

"Not like you do."

"Why does that matter? Why does—"

"Because I want to!" He clamors, panting. "Fuck. You're—hah, you're fucking my mind up a little. I'm getting weird just like you 'cause I want to. I want to know how to love like you do. I want to feel it so bad. Enough that it makes my heart stop. I don't care. I'd let you."

You shake your head vigorously.

"You don't know what you're asking for. You don't. You don't—"

"I probably don't," he retorts, stepping toward you. "Doesn't make me want it any less, though."

"You've only known me for two weeks," you say, helpless.

"Yeah, and I don't ever wanna not know you," he mutters, getting closer.

You can feel his body heat radiating off him, the scent of burnt sugar licking at your nose.

"I like you." His hand brushes your cheek, thumb guiding your chin up to him, locking you in his gaze. "I like you and your dumb fucking horses too."

"They're not dumb," you whisper, breathless.

"I know," he smiles.

"Then why'd you say it?" You frown, sliding your arms up his chest, behind his neck.

"'Cause I'm not a good guy, and you look cute when you pout like that," he says.

"Then what does that make me for liking you?" You grin, lips brushing his.

"A good girl with bad taste."

Katsuki kisses you roughly, earning tiny, desperate pleas as he takes what he wants. You squeeze his neck, tightening your arms around the muscles until he pulls back, growling at the pressure. You stare at him in awe, unable to catch your breath, mindless as you lean in to seize his bottom lip between your teeth. You tug it carefully, feeling his body tense, exhaling deeply through his nose. You sigh, watching it snap back into place, blood rushing to the area, mouth darkened with greed. He lets you gloat in the feeling—wants you to get drunk on the rush it gives you. But he's impatient, and you're so hot against him, like a furnace, driving him crazy. So he's back, knocking his forehead into yours, starved—tasting you, tongue slipping into your mouth, insatiable and confident. His thumb massages your neck, and he swallows the cry you release, the pain and lust filthy dripping down his throat.

"I feel it," he grumbles, crass and eager.

"Feel what?" You slur, fisting his hair to bring him closer, trying to kiss him, but he pulls back.

His eyes are steel, steady, and sharply red.

"Your quirk," he says, unmoving.

You let out a shaky laugh, but he doesn't budge, frightening you.

He's serious.

"That's not possible. You'd be dead," you breathe, shuddering at the thought.

"I'm not, though," he murmurs, almost purrs.

You gasp as he unhooks your arm from his neck, placing your palm flat into his chest. His pulse is heavy yet stable, but you can feel it at your fingertips. He's right. Your quirk is activated, and you didn't even notice. It's alive, and somehow he is too. All the blood drains from your face.

"Doesn't hurt too bad," he promises, slicking down your paranoia, "It's 'cause of my quirk. Nitroglycerin, it relaxes the heart. I produce it naturally."

You frown slightly, still unsure, so he rephrases, "I'm not affected by your quirk. I can handle it. You and your love. It feels good."

"I don't love you," you say weakly, blood rushing back, making your head heavy.

"'Course you don't. You're just making my heart race for fun," he grins.

You suck in a breath, stuttering on it, "Shut up."

"Kiss me then," he says.

So you do.

You kiss him till it hurts, your palm never leaving his chest, his heart pounding against it. It's terrifying to let yourself go, so he holds you tight. So tight you think maybe it's your heart that'll stop first.

"I burnt your toast."

He hums, taking the mug from your hands and bringing it to his lips to sip, not even flinching though it's burning hot.

"I like it like that," he mumbles, sighing as you drop in the seat across from him.

You hiss at the sharp feeling between your thighs, nails digging into your hip as you shift your weight onto it.

"What's wrong?" He's got his hero face on, all concerned and ready to save.

You frown, shaking your head. "Nothin' just sore."

He's not satisfied with that, eyes narrowing as he studies you, "From what?"

"Stop frowning. I'm fine, seriously," you reassure, patting the table as you stand.

A faint "ow" tumbles from your lips, and he huffs.

"You're a suck ass liar," he says, getting up to stand with you. "Tell me what's wrong."

"No," you make your way into the kitchen, knowing he's following you, "it's nothing. Leave me alone."

"Not gonna," he promises, watching as you lean down and open the freezer, "I just wanna help."

You sigh, snatching an icepack before placing your hands on your hips, trying to be assertive, "I said I'm fine, now move, you're in my way."

Katsuki tilts his head, amused as he smiles wide like a shark, smug.

"You're too embarrassed to say," he decides, eyes roaming your body before leading back to your annoyed expression.

"I'm going to my room," you announce, taking a step forward. Katsuki doesn't move, a brick wall between you and escaping.

"What about breakfast?" He grimaces—like he's offended you're not going watch him eat his shitty burnt toast.

"You're a big boy. You can eat alone," you walk into him, groaning when he doesn't budge.

"I wanna eat with you," he brushes your hair with his palm, peering down as you prop your chin against his chest to face him, "and know why you're acting so weird all of a sudden."

"I'm just a weird girl," you say, cringing as he chuckles in response.

"Yeah, but this is extra weird. You're hiding something from me. Like I said, you're a shit liar."

You pout for a moment, but he doesn't buy it, so you sigh, surrendering.

"It's from barebacking," you confess, dropping your gaze to his neck, tracing his collarbone, "Roma's got a big ass wither, and I took her for a trail ride yesterday 'cause she hates the lunge tape, and..."

You look up at him, then down and back up, begging that it hits him. His eyes widen a moment later, and you're relieved.

"Why didn't you use a saddle?" He questions, curious and a little proud of himself for thinking to ask, noticing how it catches you off guard.

"She hates girths too. I think someone pinched her a couple times with it, and now she can't bear them," you explain, fighting a smile as Katsuki nods, taking it all in—learning.

"So now you're sore 'cause of her wither bone?"

"Yeah, almost feels like I bruised my... y'know," you mumble, looking to the side to escape his smirk.

"No, I don't know. Tell me."

"Don't make it weird," you say, nudging at his chest again. He's a mountain, and you're just the idiot trying to get over or around him, whichever is quicker.

He exhales deeply after a moment, relaxing enough to move back a step.

"Let me help you, then," he whispers.

Then you're the one frozen, tongue heavy in your mouth as you look up to confirm he said it.

"What?"

"You heard me. I'm asking to help. I'll hold the ice for you."

You want to call out how impracticable that'd be, how it'd be easier if you just sat on the icepack and you both had your hands free. But Katsuki is so handsome. All muscle and this boyish charm you only see in movies yet have playing out right here in the kitchen in front of you. Impracticable suddenly sounds really good.

"Alright," you settle, acting nonchalant, trying hard not to choke on your pulse.

"Good," he says, stepping to the side to let you free. You steer for the table. He grabs your wrist halfway there.

"Thought we were going to your room," he murmurs.

"What? I thought you wanted to eat breakfast?" Your eyebrows crumple together, lips turning down in confusion.

"I like your idea better now."

You narrow your eyes at him, but he doesn't give anything away, just looking back at you with his familiar face—like he's innocent and you're the weird one. You're always the weird one, you think.

"Fine, my room it is," you shrug, your neck prickling as you turn, something twisting at your core.

"Lead the way."

You've never brought him to your room before—never brought anyone to your room before, you realize. You're suddenly mortified. Katsuki has experience. It's written all over his face. You're still too scared to tell him he was your first kiss. A small part of you knows he didn't need to be told. It's probably written all over your face too.

"Um, this is it," you say lamely.

Katsuki looks around, pretending he hasn't been here before. The horses are in almost everything here. A painting on the wall, a small sculpture on your nightstand, He can't help but think it's kind of cute. You're a nerd for horses in the way Deku is for All Might—the way Katsuki is for All Might. They really are your heroes.

"Very you," he notes, making your nose crinkle up as you nod, embarrassed.

Biting the bullet, you sit on the bed, patting a space for him next to you. The mattress bounces you with his added weight, and you pet it as if to calm it down.

"Lay down," he directs, taking the icepack from your hand.

You drag yourself to the center, gulping. You've become comfortable around Katsuki, but this was a significant step if you're being modest. You're in a loose-fitting tee shirt that kisses your thighs and does a terrible job at hiding how you're not wearing shorts, the fabric bunching at your hips as your knees bend. Your panties aren't even cute, you remember, feeling the air hit your skin as you refuse to check, and Katsuki shifts to bring himself closer to you.

He massages your ankle, eyes glued to your face, not daring to peak just yet.

"You alright?"

You let out a small, measly sound, like you're suffocating and just caught air, "Yup. I'm good."

He squints at you, releasing his hold, "You're nervous."

"For what?" You huff, almost genuinely asking—begging.

"I make you nervous," he clarifies, not taking the bait.

You pause, thinking it over, even if you don't need to.

"I'm insecure," you say, shifting your gaze to your thighs, tensing at the sight of them like you haven't had them attached to you every single day of your life, and you're surprised to just meet them now. "You're the first person I've ever gotten this close to. I have some friends through horse things, so more business relationships if anything, but... I've never been with someone like this. Like you."

Katsuki breathes in deeply, wetting his bottom lip with the swipe of his tongue. "You think I'm gonna judge you or something? 'Cause I know, you're a little thick at times, but I didn't think you were actually dumb."

You huff.

"Was that supposed to be reassuring?"

"Kind of?"

"It wasn't," you smile, staring right at him.

He looks gentle under the early sunlight, broad and delicate against the cotton sheets.

"I'm trying to say you've got nothing to be nervous about. I like you. I like you a whole fucking lot. Don't let whatever you're thinking surpass that truth."

He says it softly, but you know he means it with the grit of his teeth, silently asking you don't make him bear them to prove it to you.

"I like you too," you say, finally.

"I know," he smiles, rubbing your calf as you nod, opening your legs for him.

You gasp when he presses the ice to you, his eyes still on your face, eating up your reaction. He nestles his nose into your knee, kissing it. You think you might melt.

"Feel better?" He asks, breath brushing down your thigh as he rests his cheek against it.

"Not yet," you whisper, fighting the urge to clamp your legs around his forearm, suddenly aware of how close he is.

He grins into your skin, closing his eyes and planting another wet hot kiss onto the meat of your inner thigh, "You sure?"

"I'm not," you say in a haze.

He's trailing down, pecking your leg until he pauses, eyes fluttering open to look at you.

"Do you want me to then?"

"What?"

"Do you want me to make it feel better?"

He holds you there, eye to eye, his hair tickling your flesh.

"What do you mean?" You let out a shaky breath, feeling him apply more pressure to the icepack.

"I wanna make you feel good. Let me."

You wait for the feeling to come—fear and shame, something begging you to stop before you make a fool out of yourself. It doesn't, though.

You look at Katsuki and don't feel anything but his heart and how steady it is in your palms.

"Please."

He kisses your thigh, then shifts up, placing an elbow beside you to drop down and plant a kiss on your lips—sweet and slow.

"I'll be gentle," he promises. You believe him.

He kisses you again before lowering himself, biting a smile back as you pout at the loss of his weight above you. It's wiped right off your face when he dips down, nuzzling into your heat, tossing the icepack next to him. He kisses you there, so delicate you almost can't feel it, still a little numb from the cold. But he warms you up, poking his tongue out to dip into you, teasing you until you whine enough that he rocks back on his knees and helps you shimmy out of the material.

You hide your face as he stares at you and your nakedness, fully clothed himself.

"I know you won't believe me, 'cause you're you, but you're fucking perfect, doll."

The pet name sounds sweet on his lips, but you taste so much sweeter.

Your thighs muffle your moans, but he likes them at his cheeks, threatening to suffocate him with how tight you hold him there. He grins when your hands find his hair, tugging and pulling, letting go and giving in to him. You're like putty in his hands, and he's just trying to memorize how you feel, studying you with his tongue until he knows how to mold the shape of you.

You cry when his thumb presses into you, rubbing focused circles on your clit, adoring it under his touch. Then you really are putty in his hands, hot gooey lava that slips between his fingers as he works desperately to lap you up, not wasting a drip of your euphoria—his hard work.

He climbs up your body to kiss you, swapping spit as you gasp at your taste on his tongue.

"Feel good?"

You nod into him, panting between kisses, not ever wanting to pull back.

"Wanna hear you say it," he moves to your chin, trailing down to your neck.

"I feel good," you sigh, running your hands up and down his back, feeling hot to the touch at how big he feels. So strong and yet careful, aware of his size and weight, you the glass under his feet.

"Mm," he hums, finding his way back to you, "I feel good too."

He stares at you then, the dumbest grin on his lips, drunk on you.

"I like you so much," you whisper, lifting a hand to cradle his face.

"Does that scare you?" He asks, leaning into your touch.

"A little, but I like it. I like you," you stare at his lips, watching as he turns his face to kiss your open palm, speaking into it.

"Good. Don't ever stop, then. Be mine."

You suck in a breath, then look at him, and let it go.

"I'm yours," you say. "Always."

"We're almost there."

His arms are crossed, and you think he looks a bit like a child at the moment, stubborn and impatient.

You've been walking down the dirt road for at least an hour now, and he's already asked five times why you didn't want to just drive down, and you've already given the same stupid answer: you like walking, it's fun. 

He'd be okay with it if you weren't wincing every other step, squeezing your hand in his. You're on your feet all day, he thinks. How much fun did you intend on having?

"Okay, it's just around the corner, I think," you pull him slightly, dragging him out of his internal debate about how mad you'd be if he just scooped you up on the way back.

"They better be fucking nice if you're getting blisters over them," he mutters, feeling a tug at his heart as you giggle.

"They're my favorite. Worth all the blisters in the world."

Then you turn the corner, and he'll give it to you—they're pretty fucking nice. Huge too, he notes, watching as you run free, letting the flowers hit your body.

"They're so pretty," you beam, the sun starting to set as you dance in its golden hour.

They're alright, he thinks. You're what's so fucking pretty, what's worth dancing about.

"C'mon, don't just stand there!"

He sighs all heavy like you're taking years off his life just for asking, but proceeds anyway. He's stiff in front of you, barely moving, so you're like liquid in the air to make up for it.

"You're not having fun," you frown, poking at his chest before twirling.

"You're fucking insane if you think I'm gonna do whatever you're doing right now," he says, mesmerized.

You laugh at that, shrugging slightly, "That's fair. I don't even know what I'm doing either."

He can tell. You're just flowing with the breeze, and he's watching with his breath caught in his throat. He wants to be there with you suddenly—in the air getting swept away.

You squeal when his hands grip your hips, lifting you up in the air, spinning you.

"I'm flying!" You muse, smiling down at him.

"No, you're not," he laughs, smiling back.

It starts raining then, sprinkling on your back as he slowly lets you down, scowling at the sky.

He stares up at it for a moment, deep in thought. You let the flowers tickle your back until he finally decides.

"No way I'm walking back in the fucking rain," he spits.

Suddenly, your feet are back off the ground, with an arm secured behind you. You clutch at his neck, wrapping your legs around his torso tight.

"It's gonna be loud," he warns, and just like that, you're in the air.

Just like that, you're flying.

Katsuki's quirk is ugly in a lot of ways. It hurts your ears, violent and aggressive in nature. You know he hates that side of himself, the one that carries the blood lost from these short, firework-like blasts. In the air, it's different. It's jarring and quick, but you feel safe, smiling through the whiplash. Soaring, your body pressed to him, you think he's the coolest man you've ever met. Your hero. Katsuki is, and always will be, your hero.

He lands shortly before meeting the barn, dropping to his feet and sprinting with you there in his arms. It's the perfect distance away from the horses, you realize. He didn't want to spook the horses.

You're both dripping wet when you get to the house, shaking in the air conditioning as you run up the stairs. You rush for the shower and somehow end up on your bed instead. The sheets are ruined, and you decide you like them better that way.

You sigh into each other's mouths as he enters you, thighs hugging his hips as he kisses your face, telling you that you're doing so good for him. You think you get it then—love, why people talk about how they like it so much. At one point in your life, you were afraid of it. Love is your weapon, and there's no safety on your trigger. Katsuki kisses you anyway, though. He kisses you until his jaw hurts, your bare skin kissing too.

It stings a little, but he's slow and patient, allowing you to adjust. He chuckles lightly when you start rocking into him, kissing your shoulder and asking if it feels good. You're eager to show him, moaning his name, touching his back and all the muscles flexing beneath your palms as you do.

The rain is loud against your window, but you sound good with it, and for once, he thinks he might like it. Or maybe he just really likes you. No, not like, he—

"I love you."

He says it first, cupping your face as his hips stay at yours, keeping you molded together.

"Promise?" You ask, beaming as he nods above you.

"I promise. I love you."

You lift your head to kiss him, smiling against his lips.

"I love you," you say and mean.

"I promise it too."

Katsuki's hand brushes up and down your arm until you can't feel it anymore, and it's like the air that surrounds you both. You're by the window, overlooking the pastures on his lap.

"You could come with me," he says.

You both know you won't. You're staring at the first reason, the second thumping in his chest.

"Or you could stay," you whisper, nestling your face into the crook of his neck, wishing you could remain there forever.

"I can't. I never could," he sighs, lips pressing to your scalp.

You nod into him. Of course, he couldn't. He's still in his prime, after all. He's gotta be someone's star while he still has the flame. He doesn't belong here, not yet, at least. Silently, you wish he never would. You wish he'd never know how the ground feels beneath his feet. He moves so naturally in the sky.

It's silent for a while, just his breath and yours synced, slow and steady—ready for a storm.

"Come with me," he asks, begs.

"Sunflowers don't grow in the city," you say.

He knows what you mean. He knows that means no, and it always will.

"You're right. They don't. Not like they do here," he mumbles, exhaling to break the cycle, your hearts on a different beat.

"Nothing out there is like it is here," you whisper, not even sure if it's true.

"Nothing like you, that's for sure," he smiles and then stops because it hurts too much.

It's quiet again, time passing too quickly. You can feel him fading beneath you—a foot out the door, his hand still on your thigh.

"What if I can't live without you, Katsuki?"

He tenses, the hand at your arm stopping, reminding you he was there—that he's always been there.

"You'll just have to hold your breath till I get back, then," he says.

Something tickles your hand as you reach out in slumber, something soft yet rough around the edges.

"Kat?"

Your eyes open before you can even really see, just a blur of colors and a soft yellow that gives you hope, resting against the pillow beside you.

But it's just a sunflower, you realize. It's not the yellow you've grown to favor, the blond with a bite. It's a single sunflower and a small notebook beside it. You open it up to read.

Friday

I read your diary. I'm sorry. That was probably one of the shittiest things I've done to you, maybe right under getting your neck fucked up the second night. I'm sorry for that too, by the way. I don't even remember if I told you I was, but I am. I'm sorry, and this is a shitty way to make up for it, but I'm trying.

I have to leave soon. We don't have many days left, and by the time you read this, I'll be gone already. I hope our last day is a good one. You better not cry, either. Please don't cry. I swear this isn't goodbye. Not for forever. I promise that.

Saturday

You are the love of my life. Have you figured that out yet? If you haven't, I've done something terribly wrong, or you really are stupid.

Of course, you're not. You're smart. My bright, sometimes dumb, pretty girl. God, do you even hear what I sound like right now? You make me sound all gross and shit, doll. Fucking gross. But I think I like it. Really, I just like you.

You're in the shower right now, and I'm being smart in my own way by taking the time to write for you now while you're busy. Be proud I'm not begging to join you, 'cause I really wish I could.

Maybe I will, actually. Yeah, I think I will. I want to kiss you right now, so I gotta go. I'll act smart later.

Sunday

I'm terrible at this diary shit. You're so good at it, too, I'm a little jealous 'cause I thought it'd be easy.

We have two more days together, and today I thought about asking to marry you. I don't even have a ring, so I'm not sure how I thought it would work, but I considered it. Really I did. You're allowed to laugh. I know it's ridiculous.

I'd bet you'd say no. I'd be mad if you didn't. You deserve a ring, a really nice one too. I've never understood them because it's just a rock on metal, but I don't know. Is it still a rock on metal if it's slipped around your finger since you said yes? Today I thought it couldn't be, that'd it'd be so much more. I want to marry you, doll.

I want to marry you.

I do.

I really fucking do.

Wait up for me 'cause I'll never stop waiting for you.

Monday

We had sex today.

Imagine if I just left it like that? It could have been funny. Fuck, it would have been. I already wrote on the end of the page, though, and I don't wanna rip it out. It'd be a whole thing, then. You'd be looking for that page forever, probably thinking it was some sappy love letter, and I wouldn't have the heart to tell you it was just this.

It could have been funny. Fuck.

But anyway, we did. I know you probably thought about it, so let me just tell you where you can't fight the answer: yes, you're the best I've ever had. You were incredible. You are incredible. I'd go into detail, but I think that might be too much. Or maybe that's what you like. I don't know. I just realized I don't know.

I don't know everything about you. I've known you for three months, and I don't know if you'd be happy or not for me to do this. Maybe you'll actually hate it. Maybe you'll read "I read your diary" and fucking hate me and stop there. I hope you won't, and to be honest, I know you won't, 'cause you're you. I know you enough to know that you're you. That I love you, and you love me.

I want to know more, though. I don't want to have to guess or think when it comes to you. Isn't that what love is all about, doll? No questions and second-guessing, just knowing or not needing to. I want to reach that with you. We can't do it in a day and only have one left.

I'll come back to you so we can. Even if it kills me, somehow, I'll come back to you. You'll be the star I follow to guide me home. You will be my home.

Please.

Tuesday

I don't know how to explain this feeling in words, but if I had to, it's gotta be like losing the sun and never knowing warmth again.

You are so radiant. The horses see it too. I think maybe you're their sun, and that's why it's never cold here.

Since this is the last entry, I'll be blunt with you. When I first came here, I thought you were the most out-of-touch person I'd ever met. You talked to the horses more than you spoke to me, and I genuinely thought you might be insane. Then I got you spun off Dreamer and realized it was me who didn't know shit. Again, I'm sorry for that.

You've changed my life since that day. Every day since I've met you actually, I've changed. You make me a better person, doll, and somehow I didn't fuck you up into becoming worse. We work well together. I almost think you were made for me, and I was made for you. I know I sound so goddamn weird, but this time I'm asking you don't laugh because I'm fucking serious.

You are the only one for me. I'm sorry that it's true, that you're stuck with me forever. I'll make it worth it, though. I'll spend every day making it up to you. I'll do anything you ask too.

Just not staying. I can't do that, not yet. I wish I could, but we both know it wouldn't be right. I'm just not ready to settle down, doll. I'm not like Winston. I haven't reached the top of that hill just yet. But I'm going to, and I have to. I need to be up there. I want to be someone you look at and think I'm worthy of resting my head on your lap, that I've lived enough days and fought enough battles to just lay there with you forever.

I know you're not ready either. You need time away from me to catch your breath again, to grow with the weeds and flowers. You need time to miss me so much that you couldn't ever get sick of me again. I know that. You need to be the sun for them too. I can't steal you like that.

So promise me you'll still love me when the timing is right for it. When I'm bruised and beat and don't have the charm to carry my shitty personality anymore. That's a lot to ask, but the thing is, I'm so greedy, and I'll ask for it.

I won't stop loving you. Don't stop, either.

Dance in the fields for me, pretty girl. One day I'll be so tired, I just might dance with you.

Dear Katsuki,

It's been years. Not a day goes by that I don't think about you, though. I started watching the news just to see you again. You really are a hero. You're the best I've ever seen.

I miss you so much, Kat. I think I'll miss you forever, some days more than others. When it rains, I miss you most. I miss your grouchy face and how you held me tighter during storms. I almost forget what it feels like, which scares me the most. Sometimes I close my eyes and can't see you, so I panic. I think I'm forgetting you in those moments, and I realize I never hung you up on the wall, that maybe you were never really here, and I just dreamt the time we spent together.

You asked me to never stop loving you. I think it's cruel that you thought you even had to ask like it was a choice I ever had a hand in making.

You said I was your sun. You're a fool, Katsuki. Don't you know the winter is so much colder here without you?

I think you might have ruined my life by kissing me so softly. I hope I ruined yours too.

I think you've lived enough. I think I couldn't stand to see you bruised and beat. Your head has always been too heavy. Won't you come home and rest here on my lap, just like you said you would?

I hope the city is keeping you warm. I'll have to burn it if it isn't.

I love you. I love you till it hurts, and some more after that.

Be my sun so I can dance again.

Come back so you can ask to marry me. I'll let my answer be a surprise. You'll just have to wait and see, won't you? Come home and find out.

I miss you.

I'll be here when you're ready.

I love you.

It felt like a storm was coming, but it didn't. You're grateful for that. You've been getting so many lately that it's beginning to feel like an omen, thinking the people on the news saying the world is ending may just be right. You know they're wrong. The world already ended, you think. It did the day he left you, but nobody seemed to notice. They're all late pointing fingers now.

It's nighttime, but you're still working because there's nothing better to do. Cleaning is therapeutic until you watch all your work gone in seconds. The horses don't appreciate as you do. But you do it anyway, polishing the barn doors like they'll ever be seen by anybody. You think maybe the moon cares. It glows the farm nicely at night, so at least you have one fan.

There's a bang by the end of the driveway. You check both doors, adrenaline pumping, realizing you left them open to dry. Did you forget to close someone's stall fully? You don't think you have time to check. Whoever got loose is already far down the road. You stare at the truck and then, for some reason, think you might be faster than an engine at the moment.

You realize about halfway down that you're most definitely not. You're more out of shape than you remember being, panting as you push yourself off the dirt, heart in your throat, burning it. You think you can see it then, in the distance. Somethings moving slowly towards you, quiet and steady. It's not one of the horses, you think. It's not wide enough. So then what?

You pray it's not a coyote or something. That'd really fucking suck. No way you ran all the way down here to get gobbled up by a coyote.

It's still moving, the same pace, still quiet. It's too dark to make much out, though. If it's trying to kill you, it's doing a terrible job—giving you way too long of a head start to run if you were smart enough to take it. Something about it has you frozen in place, your skin slick with sweat as you catch your breath.

"Hello?" You call out, feeling dumb for trying. Coyotes don't talk back.

"You're still here, then?" It asks. It asks. 

The voice is familiar, but you almost can't pinpoint it, a gush of wind carrying it too far to reach.

"Yeah? Yeah, I'm here."

That triggers something within the shadow ahead because it's running then, full speed ahead, straight down the line to you. Suddenly the air feels warmer. You almost forget it's night.

"It's really you?" He yells, getting closer by the second—your head start long gone as you nod into the dark.

You pinch yourself. Then again, and again. It hurts each time, but you keep doing it, afraid you're in a dream with a happy ending you can't bear to see if you'll never actually have it.

"It's me. How do I know you're you?" You shout, fighting against the breeze.

Then there's sparks. Small bursts, like tiny fireworks. You see sparks.

You're running again, adrenaline back and so strong you can't feel your legs anymore. Katsuki grunts when you crash into him, jumping into his arms, knowing he'll catch you.

"It's you. It's fucking you!"

You're squeezing him so tight, on his body and heart. He hasn't felt his pulse so strong in a while, not since you last gave him the reason to.

"You're gonna spook the horses," he whispers, holding you back just as tight.

"Fuck you," you say.

You don't remember when you start crying, but it's making a mess. His shoulder is damp, and suddenly, you realize yours is too. Your hero is crying. The sun's weeping at your neck, begging to finally be let home.

"I did it," you say, breaking the silence.

"Did what?" He pulls back to press his face into yours, brushing against it like a cat.

"I held my breath for you."

Katsuki kisses you then, under the audience of the stars and the weight of the world melting off his shoulders, his furnace pressed against him once again.

"Was it worth it?" He asks, pecking your nose and cheeks, covering you in what you've almost forgotten.

"We'll have to find out, I guess," you smile, feeling him walking down the road still carrying you, returning home.

Monday

Katsuki relearned how to figure eight a bridle today. It looked like shit, of course, but it's him, so somehow, it's perfect.

It feels good to have the sun back on my face, in bed beside me every night. He's the only heat I want to know, so I said yes today.

I doubt he was surprised, but I made sure to at least look like I had to think, just keep him on his toes.

He's gonna look so handsome in a suit. I hope I look even better in my dress to punish him for waiting so damn long to come back.

Kidding. Maybe.

Truth is, I really was holding my breath. So it feels good to breathe again.

I love him so much. So much it makes him blush.

I have to go now. Katsuki's in the shower, and I want to join him. So bye, for now, and maybe forever. I just wanna dance with him, so you understand, right?

You've been good to me, diary. You can rest happy knowing you end on a good note.

I'll be just fine. The sun's back in town, didn't you hear?

I think winter's gonna be just fine.

© all content belongs to @eremikan, do not modify or repost

[lady-lauren]

Pairing: Pro-Hero!Katsuki x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Stuckage, slight dubcon, praise kink, degradation, light spanking, thigh fucking, spitting (on the pussy), fingering, vaginal sex, creampie

Word Count: 4k

A/N: I’ve wanted to write stuckage for so long, and who better with than Katsuki? For those who don’t know, stuckage just means one of the characters literally gets stuck and fucked lol in this case, it’s reader.

It’s a normal patrol night. Humid summer air sticks to sweaty, sweet smelling skin, makes Katuski’s hands itch in his gloves. In and out of alleys, checking lingering shadows and avoiding the gazes of pedestrians.

By midnight, he’s bored.

There are no alarms ringing on his phone, no idiot villains skirting around corners for him to chase. Wide awake and ansty, he slips down another alley, kicking a few trash bags before checking in a dumpster. He half-way wishes there was a body inside, just something to pique his interest.

“H-hey! Hey down there!” a feminine voice echoes off the brick walls of the apartment buildings, riding the heatwaves and sinking into the pavement.

Katsuki squints as he looks up, nose wrinkling at the thought of some fangirl yelling down at him from her bedroom.

Then, he sees you. You’re halfway out your window, three stories up. 

Keep reading

[bfbkg]

TOP LEFT !! (6k)

street racer!bakugou katsuki x f!reader

synopsis: when sneaking to one of katsuki's street races, you have no choice but to ride in the car with him. hopefully, you get to ride him later.

cw: 18+, smut, afab!reader, female petnames, lots of plot n action, fast cars, yn swears, obviously bkg does, unprotected sex, fingering, car sex, he holds your hands behind your back, soft and sweet what do you expect from me, a lil rough but not much, yn bratty, bkg whipped, established relationship, light light choking on him

a/n: ive sorta been on a writing break after writing non stop for half a year so i am back to give you this, inspired by that anon (and for all the previous anons which have asked me to write this) and ive been reading lauren ashers dirty air book series :) this is unlike what i usually write, usually sticking to prohero katsuki and this is my first kinda action scene so i hope you all enjoy this !! i worked super hard on it too !!!!

the atmosphere was buzzing, vibrant, electric. the night sky’s shiny stars were hidden behind a layer of foggy grey smoke from the drugs and engines, the smell of the two combined to create an oddly comforting blanket over you. neon lights that lined the rims of the racing cars, lit up the faces of everyone in the crowd. they all shared the same excitement, the same rush even though only a select few people chose to race the cars.

you zoned out of this random conversation you were having for a moment, picking out the vibrant neon cars around the area. a cherry red, icy blue, grassy green, lighting yellow, hot pink and lastly a gorgeous glossy orange already parked by the starting line.

“i told you to not fuckin’ come here.”

a familiar voice growled into your ear, along with a harsh grip on your forearm. your shoulders shuddered as his lips brushed against your earlobe and sentence froze in your throat.

“if i knew you’d go against my one fuckin’ wish, my one ask, princess, i wouldn’t have fuckin’ asked you.”

your boyfriend's tone made your eyes widen though you hope it wasn’t noticeable as you waved goodbye to the group of guys you were just talking to.

he makes sure to bark at the men before he drags you away completely, “let me catch you talkin’ to her again and i’ll fuckin’ rip your arms off.”

“kats— kats— you don’t needa drag—,” you stutter before he suddenly freezes, causing you to fall over your feet and into his much bigger and wider body. your palm lands on his chest as the hand that gripped your forearm slowly slides to link your fingers together. you look up to meet his fiery eyes, full lips pursed with annoyance and his eyebrows furrowed like he doesn’t know what to do with you.

words bubble up in your throat to save yourself from his wrath, “i just wanted to see what you get up to on the weekend! and i was happy you finally told me about you racing. i just wanted to see!”

you pout your lip, eyes round to mimic a kicked puppy so he’s not so mad at you. the face does make his stone heart crumble a little so instead, he switches his tone from angry to frustrated, pinching his nose bridge and squeezing his eyes shut. he takes a deep breath before opening them again, running his hands through his wheat blonde hair.

“do y’know why i didn’t want you to turn up at this shithole?” he doesn’t give you a chance to reply, instead he steps closer to you with not a sliver of air between your bodies. he warms you up immediately and you only want to snake your arms around him in a hug, “‘cause everyone here is batshit crazy n’ desperate. ready to wreck everythin’ in their sight to get their next fix. if that’s racin’ like me, doin’ drugs or fuckin’ the first pretty girl they lay their eyes on.”

katsuki towers over you, his black t-shirt blending into the midnight sky above him as his hand finds your chin, forcing you to look up at him. he darts his eyes to both of yours, then your cheeks, your parted lips then back to your eyes. “d’you understand me, princess?”

you flick your eyes away from his magma ones, focusing on the light spray of stubble across his jaw. he’s so gorgeous to look at, even when he’s staring at you like he’s contemplating running you over. he knows you’re stubborn, so he pinches your side, making you yelp loudly.

“princess.”

“yes ‘ki. men are creepy and weird. i just wanted to see you.” you whine and just as katsuki’s about to reply, a man barks over at him.

“bakugou, the race is about to start. get the fuck in your car or send your ass home.”

katsuki sends a firm nod to the guy before turning back to you with a helpless sigh. “what the fuck am i gonna do with you now?”

you stare at the crowd of people gathering, loud shouts and the distant sound of engines revving. “baby, go! you’re gonna miss the race!” you push at his chest with one hand to get him moving but he’s planted on the spot, one of his hands still linked with yours. he glances around at the crowd with disgusted eyes, the intoxicated look from spectators before landing on you.

“bakugou!” the same man barks.

“argh, fuck it. you’re comin’ with me.”

katsuki drags you to his glossy orange car parked right at the starting line. his pride and joy, only second to you. you love to tell him how he loves his car more than you because he always, without fail, gives dramatic speeches about how he’d smash his bulletproof black tinted windows with a baseball bat to keep you by his side. you guess you believe him, but it’s always cute to hear how much you mean to him.

he throws the passenger door open, nudging his head to the black leather seat. “get in.”

the sound that comes from your throat is strangled and inhuman, “no, no fucking way i’m getting in that car with you. this is fun for you, definitely not for me, sorry nuh-uh ‘ki—“

another shout from the announcer sounds, “bakugou! you getting in the car or not?”

“princess, get in or i’m not racin’ today.” your boyfriend stares you down, letting go of your hand. you can see the grind of his jaw, the eagerness in his eyes and the pump of excitement beginning to fire through his body just at the chants of his name in the crowd.

you chew your lip hard enough for it to bleed, you’ve never been in the car while he races but you’ve seen enough movies to know what street racing includes. the sharp drifts, the extreme acceleration, the likelihood of a violent crash. you also know he needs the money he gets from the races and if he ends up missing out just because you didn’t know how to sit your ass at home…

“baby.”

“oh my god. fine, fine i’ll do it!” you shout, climbing into the car, the sound of your boyfriend's chuckle louder than the slam of the car door.

you buckle yourself up and take hold onto the safety handle above your window. katsuki slides into the drivers seat, a massive grin on his face.

he makes sure to buckle himself in, checking all the mirrors before jabbing his key into the slot. the soft rumble of his car's engine sends a spark of anticipation through his limbs, but for you, it makes your palms sweat.

“i swear to fuck katsuki if you kill me today, i will haunt you. i’ll make sure you’ll never find another girlfriend again. you’ll live your life alone, i promise that.”

katsuki’s hand slides onto your thigh, definitely not helping the pounding of your heart against your rib cage. “i’m gonna be driving safety since i’ve got a princess buckled next to me. don’t worry.”

“worry!? i’ve seen the movies! if this is anything like that then—“

“oh baby, it’s so fuckin’ different than the movies.” katsuki grins almost crazed, quickly gripping your seatbelt in his fist to make sure it’s on you tightly.

“experiencin’ the race is nothin’ like watching it in the crowd and nothin’ like watchin’ it behind a screen. all the camera angles, stunt doubles, yeah, out here it’s just raw drive and energy.”

“say anymore and i’m running out of this car.”

katsuki chuckles, his pupils blown out from noticing the road before his vehicle clearing up. other cars similar to his drive up to the start line beside him and he almost bounces in his seat.

then he looks to you, terrified eyes, clenched fists. he takes a moment to take your hand and kiss it.

“baby, look at me.”

you do, just for a sense of familiarity.

“gimme a kiss.”

you blink at him like he’s crazy and he kinda looks it at the moment. even strands of his hair sticking up wildly like he’s stuck his finger in an electrical socket and the neon orange from his car bouncing off his flushed skin. he somehow looks at home in his car. decorated in his favourite colours, blacks and greens and oranges, all finely worked to perfection by him for hours upon hours. the screams of his name amongst the revs of the cars beside him, you know there must be nothing like this feeling for him. the reason why he keeps coming back for more.

“kiss me, princess. for good luck at least?”

he turns to you completely, tilting his head a little and squeezing the skin of your thigh.

the announcer taps the mic, “are we all ready?”

you gasp at the new voice, gripping the neckline of katsuki’s t-shirt and pulling him roughly to your lips. the kiss is only a few seconds before you pull away and you swear some, just some excitement from the man spreads into you.

“promise, i’m gonna be as safe as i can for you, yeah? don’t worry your pretty head, i’m gonna show you how to win in a reckless sport like this.”

a pretty girl in a bikini top and a short skirt walks out to stand in the middle of the road. almost a replica of the ones you see in the movies. she holds a large white flag pointed to the sky and a massive grin. katsuki takes that as his cue to turn forward, one hand on the wheel with another on his gear stick. he mimics a tiger, ready to pounce.

“ready!” the announcer calls and the woman grips the flag with two hands. katsuki changes gear, the engine of his car rumbling around you.

“d’you trust me, baby?”

“huh?” your eyes are wide, your senses currently on overload. it feels like you’re on a rollercoaster about to start, yet your life is in the hands of the adrenaline filled man beside you.”

“d’you trust me?”

“set!”

you deeply inhale, sitting up straight against your seat. one hand gripping the safety handle and another the leather of your seat.

“yes, yes. fucking yes!”

“go!”

you scream at the same time bakugou roars. his foot slamming on the gas pedal and the veins in his arms rippling as he drags back the gear stick. the sirens sound and the girl waves her flag, signalling that the race has started.

whatever fear you were feeling before, increased. vibrating throughout your body violently that you swear for a moment your heart stopped in your chest. at the same time as katsuki’s car, the others beside you took off too, down the empty road, leading into the city.

“holy fucking shit katsuki!” the acceleration flies your body forward, your seatbelt catching you before you hit his dashboard.

“you’re doing good baby, see you’re doing good!” katsuki chuckles beside you, still managing to talk to you whilst narrowing his eyes at the competition all around him “gonna do a turn, hold on tight, yeah?”

and this turn was nothing like any usual turn in the cars you’re usually in. katsuki beside you is swift, muscles hard as he changes gears before using his palm to spin the wheel around and around.

he drives his car like it’s a skilled instrument, one literally made by him. you can see the trust he puts in the vehicle too, angling his wheel just the right way to get the precise turn, the rhythmic pattern of using his reverse with his accelerator to create a drift. you’d be amazed if you weren’t almost shitting yourself.

another squeal leaves your lips as the car almost spins three hundred and sixty degrees, done to confuse the cars behind him into crashing into each other and buildings beside them. katsuki leaves a cast of black smoke behind him, chuckling as he took out so many opponents.

you glance behind you, nothing clear as katsuki revs his car again, taking off even faster down the streets. in between the breaks of your thrilled screams, after every drift, turn and almost crash into a building or another car, you took a chance to admire your boyfriend.

the almost lazy slouch in his seat, the pierced focus of his surroundings and the calculated thought in all his decisions. you didn’t know how he could even think straight with so much going on, so much to pay attention to, but he did it and he did it well. his forearms were tense, veins straining beneath his skin every time he took an unexpected turn and the tiny growls that would leave his lips at someone trying to overtake him.

“princess?” he doesn’t take his eyes off the road, “you haven’t screamed in a while, you still with me?”

he takes another sharp turn causing you to inhale sharply, then begins weaving in and out of the cars before him. his gaze is heavy and intense and you can see the steady rise and fall of his chest.

“i’m still here,” you mumble, trying to steady the rapid beat of your heart. nothing stills it though, “you’re—you’re doing good ‘ki. i think you’re third.”

a chuckle leaves his throat, causing you to glance over at him, the neon lights of the stores passing by shining him in a pretty light. the straight bridge of his nose, pointed tip in the flashes of pinks, blues and greens. the reflection of city life bouncing off his shiny white teeth and his tongue peeking out to swipe across his bottom lip.

“not for long baby. we’re aiming high here, nothing less than number one. i need your help though.”

your eyes widen, thinking of what he could possibly ask you to do, “huh? what?”

“nothing crazy baby, just tell me what colour cars you see behind me. you can do that, yeah?”

he’s still trying to speak tenderly to you like he knows your body is still on flight or fight mode and has chosen to freeze.

“um okay, yeah i can do that.” you mumble, peering at the mirror on your side of the car, “purple car coming up.”

“which side?”

“it’s on the left, looks like it might nip you in the turn coming up.”

katsuki grunts, saying something under his breath before taking an abrupt turn down a tiny road, the full speed of his car leaving paper advertisements and newspapers blowing around in his wake.

then katsuki leads you both back onto the main road, the purple car nowhere in sight. “he’s gone, only a green car now but a few miles back.”

your boyfriend changes gears again, “idiots don’t know the track. can’t be following every fucker in front of you.”

then for the next few moments, you assist him, telling him who’s coming up and where, allowing him to swerve and turn without having to keep looking at his mirrors. you make a good little team.

until it gets to his orange car and the glossy first place red car, getting pushed down a narrow street. the finish line isn’t too far ahead now and you’re buzzing in your seat for the win. though the road is too narrow and without a crash, it doesn’t look possible for katsuki to overtake him.

but you think he can. the red car is on your left, so close you can smell the gas pumping out its end and you can peep into the empty passenger seats. “just bump him a little! we’re so close now!”

katsuki grits his teeth, glaring at the car. it suddenly becomes suffocating, the tight road and the two cars fighting for first place.

“i can’t. it’s too close.”

“yes, you can, just a little nudge!”

“i said i fuckin’ can’t!”

you frown at him, then look back to the red car. honestly, you don’t know too much about cars but you know some basics from hanging around with katsuki all day. “they look weak right now, tires running raw and almost flat. one nudge and we’ll pop the one on the other side.”

“stop sayin’ that, i said i’m not fuckin’ doin’ it!”

“why?!”

“it’s on your side, idiot! i’m not crashin’ a car so close to you!”

you blink at him before a frown takes over your face at how he’s not budging. his chest is heaving a little, eyes focused to find another way at getting out of this tight predicament with red.

“fine. the turn coming up, you’re revving the engine you worked so hard on and taking over him.”

you don’t know where your orders are coming from, you’re still scared shitless at the potential danger, fists numb from holding on so tight but you do trust katsuki. you trust he’ll keep you safe and you trust he can win. you wouldn’t be with a loser, would you?

“nah, the turn is too tight for two cars. top left of mine is most likely to hit him.”

top left is you.

you groan, slapping your palms against the leather. if you weren’t here you know he would try, would succeed too. he can’t be losing just because you’re in the car. “what happened to raw drive? to recklessness? huh? is this what it’s like when you get your fix?”

the push and pull between katsuki and the red car speed up. dodging the nudges the car tries to push as katsuki backs into him as tight as he can.

“i swear to god katsuki, the next turn you better rev up, and overtake that fucking bitch! do you know how embarrassing it would be to get out of my boyfriend's second-place car? to almost have won but didn’t because you were too scared?!” you scream, just as loudly as you were at the beginning of the ride. this time you’re coherent, spitting orders like an angry manager. your eyes are just as wild as his, hair sticking up from all the harsh winds and static in the car.

katsuki growls at you, “you’re such a pain in my fuckin’ ass.” and you think he’s about to back down with the turn coming up, that he’s gonna submit to his promise of keeping you safe. but instead, his expression hardens, he shifts his gears and his foot presses down on the pedals. the drift makes you squeal yet again, then another scream at how close the red car is to your window. you could touch the car without any reach, any acceleration from it and you’re getting rammed into.

“faster katsuki! faster! he’s close in!”

he handles the turn like a pro, but not without a bump from red on your side. you would have slid off your seat into his lap if it wasn’t for your seatbelt holding you in place and you didn’t realise you were rambling oh my god under your breath until finally, you came out again onto the clear wide open road, the familiar crowd of people back insight like the beginning.

“you’re good?” katsuki shouts breathlessly and you manage a smile, finally out the claustrophobic tight road.

you take back to your job, only a few miles to go along the straight road, “yep i’m fine, red not too far behind, looks like he’s got a little left in him. show him what you’ve got ‘ki.”

the blonde flicks his eyes over to you, ruby eyes gleaming like gems with a smirk on his cheeks. he took a second to take you in, how unhinged you look, so similar to when he fucks you in public or takes you in the back of his car. he loves the look on you.

“nah let’s show them what we’ve got, baby.”

and with all the boost he’s got left, the car accelerates again, your seatbelt stopping your body flying forward as the neon orange car flies towards the finish line.

your last scream in the car tonight spills from your lips in glee as you both break apart the ribbon at the line. slowly katsuki brings the car to a stop. he immediately pops off his seatbelt and before you have a chance to do the same, he grabs your cheeks in his hand and presses a kiss to your lips. he tastes like sweat and smells like petrol, laced with the feeling of pure unadulterated exhilaration and adoration. you’re sure you’re the same for him, moulding together in your win.

screams erupt from the outside, the crowd gathering around katsuki’s car to bang the windows and chant his name. though he ignores it all to just stare at you. he feels your raging pulse against your neck, the sliver of sweat on your forehead and your eyes electrified. he pecks you again and again like he can’t get enough. he nips your lip when you begin giggling.

“couldn’t have done it without you.”

you take a chance to peck him now but you’re both smiling so much your teeth clink together. together you laugh, “yeah you could have. i only put you back really.”

“shut up. it was your fuckin’ comment about having a boyfriend that’s second best. kinda fuckin’ irked me.”

you place your hand on your mouth to cover your laugh, “you know i didn’t mean that, right? just wanted to get you back in the mood.”

and katsuki’s about to reply when the announcer comes to bang on his window, shaking a briefcase of what most likely holds cash.

“cmon, let’s show them what winners look like.”

after being drenched in champagne, katsuki picking you upon his shoulders as he thrusts the briefcase to your chest to hold as he kisses you upside down in front of the crowd, you’re now sitting back in his car waiting for him to return from the petrol station with snacks because racing not only makes the car hungry but also you, very hungry.

he slides in the seat beside you, his grin from the win still not letting up. you still haven’t let go of the briefcase as he dumps all the snacks in the compartment between you both. you groan at the sight of a chocolate bar, stuffing it in your mouth and laying back on your seat.

“love feedin’ my two girls. both worked so hard today.”

you send him a playful frown, as he pulls out of the station, “hey! don’t make me equal to a car!” you take another bite of your chocolate as katsuki ignores what you say.

“you were so sexy out there. scared shitless and still went through with it. started orderin’ me around and holy fuck the look in your eyes when you spoke to me.”

he drives to some abandoned alleyway, another secret place he seems to know from spending his days racing and memorising maps. he parks, turning to face you and you know what he wants. fuck. you want it too.

you hum for him to keep talking, letting go of the briefcase for the first time you’ve been handed it and letting it fall to the ground. “had me bricked up in here baby, didn’t know if i wanted to win or fuck you silent for speakin’ to me like that.”

“if i didn’t, you wouldn’t have won, gorgeous.” your voice drops an octave, your hand coming to brush some blonde locks behind katsuki’s ear. his eyes flutter shut at the contact and pet name before snapping open again to not lose sight of you.

he shuffles his hips slightly, your eyes catching the erection in his jeans. you moan at the sight as your hand comes to palm him. “wanna help me out again baby? my last ask of the night.”

you giggle softly and katsuki feels a vein on his cock pulsate at the light sound. you shuffle onto his lap clumsily, the come down from all your heightened energy before being shown clearly. you lock your knees beside his waist as katsuki reclines his chair back, your hands finding his jaw as you begin to press kisses over every bit of skin you can see.

“i love you, ‘ki. love seeing you win. winning looks gorgeous on you.” you mumble between kisses and katsuki slides his hot hands under your skirt on your equally warm waist. the contact makes you buzz, a connection as electric as the neon cars.

he manages to catch your lips before you find another place to kiss, taking them with his and sucking on anything he can touch. he sucks on your bottom lip, breathy whines falling from you, then he takes your tongue, licking across it before sucking just how you like. it’s like starting the engine to you, your hips beginning to rut against the rock in his pants, your head falling back at the contact, leaving your neck exposed to him.

“i love you so fuckin’ much too. so beautiful baby,” he crumbles out, biting down on the junction between your neck and shoulder before smoothing it over with a swirl of his tongue.

his heart rate picks up when you begin to get handsy, trying to unbuckle his belt at the same time as pulling his shirt off. you’re so cute, so sexy, so… his. the car bubbles with laughter as you help him pull off his shirt, revealing hard muscles and soft skin, you quickly getting distracted at the sight of his brown nipples. you open your mouth with your tongue out to latch onto one but katsuki holds your jaw with a groan.

“i’ll cum in my pants, don’t touch me there.” he orders and you pout, still choosing to rebel and brush your thumb against a perked one. he sucks in air between his teeth, eyes narrowing at you.

“i said don’t touch me, princess. you know what happens when you don’t listen.”

you pull your sweater off your head, throwing it to the backseat of his car. your eyes are gleaming at him mischievously and katsuki’s chest burns for you. you giggle, tits bouncing in your bra as your hips keep rubbing at him.

“when i don’t listen, you win races, ‘ki.”

the blonde groans, a flare of annoyance dripped in arousal in his eyes. he lifts his hips with you on top to pull down his jeans and underwear, yanking his cock out to finally grasp. your eyes half close at the sight of him, pretty drops of white in his slit as he strokes himself up and down, slowly. your hands scramble to touch him, your mouth unconsciously opens like you wanna lick him up.

though just as fast, he takes both your wrists in one hand, holding them behind your back as he pushes your body forward. so close that with every yank of his cock, his knuckles brush against your clothed clit under your skirt. “pretty girls don’t misbehave.” he spits, and you honestly look like you’re about to cry, jumping to conclusions at how close he looks from touching himself.

the sight of your boyfriend never fails to get you drenched. he’s nothing short of delicious. thick muscles, plump tits, rough calloused hands pumping his fat cock. your hips are jolting for attention, wrists trying to pull from his grasp to touch him.

“my baby so needy for my cock. cock makes you a lil crazy huh?” he taunts, voice low and breathy like he’s trying to control himself.

“don’t come without me ‘ki, not fair,” you whine and katsuki takes a break from touching himself to pull up your skirt to see your panties. you feel the rumble of his chest as he moans at the darkened patch. your thighs are even twitching for attention and who is he to deny you? especially after you helped him out today.

“shh baby,” he coos, thumb rubbing across your clothed slit, “i’ll look after you. my thanks for helpin’ me win, yeah?”

you’re humming in agreement, head falling on his shoulders as he snakes his palm into your underwear to touch your bare pussy. he pecks your neck, revelling in how easily you let him do as he pleases. no longer tugging to get your hands out his grasp, just cutely mewling every time he rolls his thumb over your puffy bud.

“gonna have you come on my fingers, pretty girl. then i’m gonna fuck you like you deserve. that sound good?” he sounds like dripping honey to you, so sweet and caring that you lift your head off his shoulder. eyes half-lidded and looking quite fucked.

“yes ‘ki. love you,” you murmur before joining his lips with yours. he slides two thick fingers inside your pussy too, an easy squelch along with the smacking of your lips filling the car. he captures your whines with his lips, pumping his fingers into your wet walls as his thumb brushes your clit. he knows you like he knows his car, made for him, tuned like a church organ and when you moan for him you’re heavenly. he knows your rhythm, swirling his tongue around yours when you begin to clench around his fingers.

“gonna… gonna come ‘ki,” you whisper against his lips and like you said, you do. falling apart prettily across his lap, moans like melting butter and as much as you were his little daredevil today, right now you look like his angel.

“so pretty for me baby,” he kisses you through it, down your neck, your collarbones, even lets go of your hands so you can hold onto his shoulders.

when the white sparks behind your eyes and the spasms of your body finally still, he sends you a grin, one so massive and toothy rivalling the one when you both crossed the finish line, “you ready for my cock now?”

you nod, lifting your hips and feeling his head brush against your slit, “always ready for you.” though it comes out breathy, pressing your teeth into your lip to hide a moan at just the feeling of him nudging your clit.

without much warning, katsuki’s hand finds your waist as his other positions his cock at your hole and pushes you down. the first glide is smooth, easy and makes you both incoherently babble. “oh, umpf, oh ka—“ whilst he becomes like a caveman, “so good, good around me pretty, fuck.”

“move f’me, princess. you’re killin’ me.”

and with his help, his hands on your hips, you both start a rhythm. bouncing up and down on his thick cock and whining every time he presses your spongy part. it truly feels like you’re made for each other, the way you squeeze and suck around him, and how he always feels just right, curved to jab sweetly at you.

katsuki has half the mind to tuck a loose tendril behind your ear, cupping your cheek as you begin to pant. you both look similar, a layer of sweat on your chests, the heat from the lewd slapping of your thighs making katsuki’s blacked-out windows fog up. nothing else is on his mind, nothing else matters but you at this moment and he knows it will be the same for the rest of his life.

“gonna keep you forever, you know.” he rambles, suddenly switching to harshly pistoning his hips up to meet yours. the force of him makes your ass shake, a pornographic gasp spilling from your throat. your hands clenching at his neck. you’re not trying to choke him, but he’s into it all the same.

“would burn all this shit to keep you in my life, give it all up,” and you peer down at your boyfriend's pretty eyes, the usual scarlet red, darker but all the more vibrant. he eyes you like you’re prey like he loves you so much he doesn’t know how else to show it.

you don’t have to move your hips now, katsuki doing all the work underneath you, giving your thighs a break. he’s a man on a mission to make you see stars, and you're well on your way there, his thumb toying with your clit as you mumble, “love you. love you ‘ki.”

“you’re my fix, baby. none of this racin’ shit, it’s you. holy fuck, nothin’ compares t’you.”

that has you. sparks rip through your body, your thighs trembling and clenching around katsuki’s waist. all your words on your tongue are instead replaced with a high pitched squeal rivalling all your screams today. your orgasm is electric, enough endorphins pumping through you to fuel a car. your fingers clench at katsuki’s throat and shoulders as he pounds into you through his own high, spurts of white shooting up before leaking over both your thighs.

katsuki keeps his hips going until he’s all spent, you’re head lolling on his shoulder as you tap his cheek to tap out. he stays inside you unmoving for a few moments as you lay against his chest, both your chests heaving as you come back to earth.

“holy shit. you should let me come to races more if this is how you fuck after.” you chuckle lethargically, snaking your arms around his waist as he slouches in his seat.

katsuki rumbles below you, your head flicking up to meet his eyes. he doesn’t meet them though because he knows how easy he gives in to you. “i meant what i said before. you’re not comin’ to anymore.”

you sit up, the angle of his cock now limp inside you making your breath hitch and katsuki grips your thighs to bite a moan back. “but why!? we made a good team, didn’t we! i wanna be there for another.”

“people there are dangerous as fuck and drivin’ with you is still dangerous as fuck. ‘m not riskin’ either-or,” he grunts, firm in his position as he gazes down to where you both are connected.

you flick his forehead harshly and he moans an ‘ow!”, snapping his narrowed eyes up to you.

“you risked it today though.” and katsuki’s about to give a rebuttal, but you slide off him, pulling your underwear back to its position. you lean to the backseat to grab your sweater and katsuki fights the urge to slap your ass because he knows you're mad. you drag your sweater back over your head and sit in the passenger seat. you pull out a clean a tissue to wipe yourself up while katsuki dumbly sits, wet cock out, bare-chested, watching you.

then he starts up again, zipping himself up and pulling on his t-shirt. he tries softly, hating to see your pout, “it was still dangerous to have you with me, baby. i’m not havin’ somethin’ happen to you just to get a few bucks.”

you huff as the familiar start of the engine starts up, “whatever. i’m still coming and you can’t stop me. or we’ll have a repeat of what happened today.”

katsuki glares over at you, “yeah? i’ll handcuff you to your bedframe, see how you can come then.”

your eyes flare with the beginnings of laughter at the accidental innuendo, “we both know you’ll give in. you always let me come, ‘ki.”

katsuki opts to focus on reversing out of the alleyway, trying to not give you any attention but his cock stirs in his pants yet again at your cotton candy sweet tone.

he grunts as he begins to drive along the main road back home. he pulls your hand to his mouth, pecking it lightly, “you’re gonna kill me if racin’ doesn’t try first.”

you chuckle at the lack of defiance from your boyfriend. if you both have learnt anything from your relationship it’s that somehow you always get your way and somehow you both end up winners at the end of it.

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