"guy who asks you if youre on birth control while he’s inside of you and cums real hard when you say no with a lil fear in your voice"
XAVIER, CALEB i'm deceased 🧎♀️➡️
✩꒱ no control ft. caleb xia .ᐟ
🏁 ꒰ ✩ smut ⋆ mdni ⋆ caleb xia & fem!reader. dubcon, implied pseudocest, baby trapping, dirty talk, creampies yay! this has been in my drafts for like a month lol original post by @xaviez ( lemme know if this is okay to post !!! )
i agreeeee super heavily on caleb in particular …
he already had to go to extreme lengths to convince you to let him fuck you without a condom. you’re both new at this — exploring this dynamic in a more romantic light. he’s lied before and you have to work up the courage to trust he’ll pull out if needed. i imagine the first time he sinks in all hard, and raw, and pulsing it’s difficult for him to hold back, dragging his seedy tip along your welcoming walls that refuse to let him go. he’s probably dreamed about it too, filling you up with so much cum that it just pours out of you, covers your precious pussy in cream.
“are you close?” he gasps for air like it’s been stolen from him, peppering feather light kisses over your teary face. “can we cum at the same time?”
and you’re probably nodding without realising, fucked out and high on fumes that smell just like him. just like sex. scratching stripes down caleb’s broad back — just so completely gone and lost in him.
“don’t think i can pull out, pips,” he says, teeth gritted. “‘m gonna cum inside. deep inside this perfect little hole. my perfect baby. soo close.”
“w-wait, caleb — o-ooh yes! i’m not — i haven’t taken m-my pill yet!” your response is a stuttered snivel — babyish in nature that reminds him of why he loves you so much. even when you ball your fists against his sweaty chest, you’re not really trying to push him away. it’s the same as when you were children, you’d huff and puff at caleb— throw a tantrum for little things, expect him to fix it later on. if anything were to happen, caleb would fix it. “caleb, you promised.”
except he isn’t too keen on fixing anything this time. what will be, will be. fantasies from back then, from his time in the academy and time away from you run rampant at the forefront of his mind muddy his guilty conscience until he’s free. for only a second. if he cums inside you, he can keep you — line you up with seed and make it stick with every forceful punch of his hips into yours. you clench around the thickest part of him, at the base, like you want it too, keeping him trapped along your weeping walls.
if it sticks … you stay.
you can’t seem to pull caleb from the lustful lull of his guilty desires even when you bite and scratch at him — feverish with panic. it’s a pathetic cry for help, a desperate sob but it’s not like either of you could stop if you really wanted to. you’re addicted to the way he fills you, sweet words poured hotly into your mouth between kisses, brown hair tickling your neck because he’s chosen solace there.
and it’s not that the colonel doesn’t care. not that he doesn’t fear the worst. it’s just that he loves the risk, the idea of knocking you up so that no one else can have you. so that he can keep you on skyhaven for the rest of time and never have to worry about you slipping away like a faded memory. you’ll belong wholly to caleb.
“c-caleb, you can’t. you have to — gotta pull out!” you cry but you clamp down again. torn between to worlds with only him to decide.
“don’t think i can,” he whispers into your neck like it’s a secret. how badly he wants to ruin your life. “don’t wanna… have to. have to fill you up with all of me.”
worst part is he doesn’t even apologise for cumming inside. the bed screams with him as his release shoots through him, rope after rope of opaque white smearing over your sex and rippling walls — that milk him without any resistance. instead, caleb’s wet mouth trails whispers of thank you and i love you along your skin accompanied by the grin that lets the gratitude pass through.
he’s just grateful that you’re exactly the same as him. just as bad as him. closer to a sinner than you are to a saint.
end ! likes are appreciated, but just liking doesn’t do much on tumblr! to support and motivate myself and other writers, reply, reblog and comment if you'd like to see more!! — asks are open to thirsts and thoughts! join my taglist ! love you!
caleb is an undefeated champ at the “seeing if my boyfriend knows me” challenge. he sees two chips and knows exactly which one you’d pick. he knows which spoon you would choose to eat your ice cream with, which french fry you’d eat— he’s even got it down to which pieces of lettuce you would eat in your salad, all with accurate reasons for his choices.
“this chip because it has a fold and you like the crunch”
“this spoon to eat your ice cream because it’ll pick up just the right amount, but if you were having a sherbet you’d pick the other one because it’s better for scraping”
“this french fry because it’s longer, crunchier and has more salt”
he’d even go so far as having you close your eyes and choosing for you, then having you look and choose one for yourself (and shocker, caleb gets it right every time)
he looks down in shame. and ryomen sukuna is never ashamed of anything he’s done, and he’s done a lot of shit.
“that asshole was putting his hands on you” he huffs and looks at your chest instead of your eyes “so yes, again” you’ve never looked this visibly annoyed, and what was scaring him even more is how calm your voice was.
“look at me, not my tits ryomen” you narrow your eyes, he immediately looks up “yes ma’am” you grab his collar and the security turns a blind eye(he’s been getting on their nerves also)
“when I say no stupid shit, that means no-” you give him a hard slap “-jail, got it?” he just nods his face didn’t even budge, of course you don’t intend to harm your husband and you’re not abusive. sometimes with ryomen sukuna you literally need to smack some sense into him.
“yes ma’am” he nods again, “can you bail me now?” you roll your eyes “im not picking you up again, call choso” ryomens eyebrows knit together in annoyance “but i want you to pick me up” if anyone didn’t know any better, he’s whining for you to pick him up.
“no ryo” he tilts his head and subconsciously pouts then leans in “cmon woman, stop being a brat” his words have no bite, but when you smile he scowls.
you take a deep sigh and close your eyes, “last time” “i promise baby” he smirks.
you both know this definitely isn’t the first, nor the last.
ps. ok pinky promise this is the last drabble after this ima finish two more request than boxer choso is coming😭 taglist : : @in-aa @chewiebee @applelite @crybabylulu @yassifie-d @ai-no-tegami @silverwfern @oksukuna
cw: yandere, insane man, noncon jerk off session in front of your face, facial, minors do not interact otherwise you will be blocked.
Inspired by: Gojo Satoru and specifically young justice clark kent
Yandere! Asylum Patient who’s just a little obsessed with his therapist.
Fresh out of school, broke, and desperate, you took the only job that would hire you without experience. An asylum therapist which sounded clinical enough on paper - structured, routine. But in reality, they barely gave you an orientation after you based some sketchy background check. No explanation of the halls, no list of rules beyond a vague warning to “keep sessions short.” They didn’t even tell you what he’d done. Just pushed you into a locked room and left you there with him.
He sits cuffed, wrists bound to the table, but that does little to ease the unease prickling at your spine as you sit across from the man. His cheeks flush every time your gaze meets his, breath hitching like a schoolboy with a crush. Giddy. Almost trembling. And then you notice - despite the restraints - his fingers working against the fabric of his pants. A sick heat curls in your stomach. They stuck you with one of those patients.
You try to keep it clinical, professional, like the textbooks told you. Open-ended questions. Gentle redirection. But he doesn’t want to talk about his past or his supposed rehabilitation. No, he wants to talk about you.
“Any pets?” he asks, voice light, almost playful, though it drips with a strange intimacy that sets your teeth on edge. He presses his cuffed hands together, wrists raw and red from the metal, and leans his cheek against them like a child posing for a photograph. His eyes - icy and fever-bright - on you with such intensity it feels as though he’s engraving your face into his memory.
On the surface, it’s harmless. Harmless, the way a smile carved too wide across a stranger’s face is harmless, until you realize that eerie smile doesn’t reach their eyes. You think about the years you spent earning your degree, that you should've done a master's, the nights of ramen and sleepless study sessions, and realize nothing, not one textbook or lecture hall, prepared you for this. For him.
You remind yourself that this is just a job. At the end of the day you can't save everyone, and you're doing this just enough to keep the lights on, pay rent, buy groceries. Just a job. If you can make it out of the room each day with your composure intact.
But he doesn’t stop. “Boyfriend?” he drawls suddenly, his tone lilting into a sing-song that teeters between mocking and desperate. Like he doesn't quite want to know the answer but has to know for whatever fantasy he's cooking up in his deranged mind.
You try to cut it off, a tight smile forced onto your lips. “We’re not supposed to be talking about me -”
“Indulge me,” he murmurs, soft but just as suffocating. The gleam in his eyes sharpens, glittering with a manic delight. “Please. I’m here for life. You don’t have to worry about little ol’ me.” He leans forward inch by inch, cuffs rattling like sinister jewelry as his grin spreads wider, bright pearly white teeth on display. “You’re the brightest part of my day, you know… I think about you a lot.” The last words spill from him closer to a moan than a whisper, thick with hunger, and nausea coils tight in your gut.
Then the timer chimes - shrill, metallic - your salvation. Ding, ding, ding. Like a school bell, but more like a warning siren.
“Well, that’s our time for today.” You push yourself up too quickly, pulse roaring in your ears. Relief bubbles in your chest when you glance back. He’s still sitting there, grin stretched wide, eyes glued to you. You reach for the door handle, already tasting escape -
The metal door with a tiny window slams shut. Hard.
The sound sends ripples up your spine, and your stomach drops as the truth sinks in. His hand is free. The cuffs dangle from his wrist like a broken charm bracelet, the skin beneath scored with angry red lines.
“Answer the question, love,” he whispers, suddenly behind you, his breath warm and sour against your ear. The tone is boyish, almost tender, but it quivers with jealousy, with possession. “You don’t have to hide anything from me.”
“I - sit down - ” Your voice stumbles out in fragments, shaking more than you’d like. “I’ll call security. You’ll be sent to isolation. Nobody will ever visit you again. I’ll be assigned a new patient.” You try to sound firm, authoritative, but your voice continues to waver, splintering under the weight of panic. The thoughts race and tangle in your head - How do I get out of this? How did he even get out of the cuffs?
His laughter answers you before you can collect yourself, sharp and jagged, tearing through the room. “They ain’t comin’, love!” His words are giddy, triumphant. And just to add to your horror, his arm snakes around your waist. Tight. Crushing. Like a boa constrictor closing in on it's prey.
“Do you know,” he hisses, voice rasping like sandpaper, “do you know how many girls I killed?” The words drip hot into your ear, each syllable a poison, and you can’t stop the cry for help that bursts out of you, raw and desperate. His manic laughter swells, echoing off the sterile walls, as he drags you back - kicking, thrashing, heels scraping against the sterile linoleum - until your body collides with the cold, unforgiving metal table. He slams you down hard enough that the air bursts from your lungs in a painful rush. The cuffs jingle faintly, a cruel sound, as he pins you beneath him.
His eyes are wild, pupils blown wide with a grotesque joy as he leans in, tongue sliding across the salt of your cheek. You feel his breath smear hot against your skin.
But I wouldn’t kill you, love,” he murmurs, softer now that he’s got you trapped, voice low and trembling like the edge of his sanity. “Never you. You listened. You let me into your life.”
You watch as his tongue drags across his lips, wet and eager, before that smile splits his face wide. He keeps you pinned, body heavy on yours, as he frees himself from those paper-thin scrubs. His cock springs forward, flushed and furious, the tip an angry red as it hovers inches from the skin of your face. The sight makes your stomach knot, dread, and nausea twist tight. Suddenly, getting your bills paid seems like an afterthought now. Your mind is already swirling up with the worst that's to come, and his eyes provide no comfort as they bore down through you.
“Spit,” he orders, voice hoarse with want, and you obey because his grip only tightens. Your saliva drips into his palm, and he smears it along his hardened length, shuddering as your spit glides across a thick, heavy vein.
“God, I’ve been dreaming about this,” he whispers, biting back a moan that scrapes raw from his throat. His fist pumps faster, each stroke slick and desperate. “I ain’t no monster, baby. No rapist. Just wanted you to see me. All of me.”
You turn your head, trying to escape the sight of the precum already dripping from the swollen, velvety tip, but his free hand clamps onto your jaw, fingers digging deep enough to leave bruises that'll form early in the morning. You’re forced to face him, forced to watch as he pumps himself in front of your face, every stroke rough and eager. His breath comes ragged, feverish, the sound pathetic - hot and damp - in your ear, until at last his release bursts forth - sudden, scalding - splattering across your cheek, lips, and skin.
You’re lucky he didn’t aim for your eyes, though not lucky enough as his grip wrenches your mouth open, just wide enough that some of the white sticky cum lands hot on your tongue. The taste burns bitter and salty as humiliation floods through you. Tears swell in your eyes, mocking, as you're forced to look into his loving ones. His laughter follows, low and cruel, yet laced with a mockery that almost sounds affectionate. Tilting his head, eyes alight with a madness too bright to be human, he coos in a near-tender voice, “Looks like that’s the end of our session, love. See you tomorrow.”
And just like that, he loosens his hold, lets you scramble up. With a strange calm, he slips the cuffs back onto his own wrists, the metal clinking as though it were part of some twisted performance. His grin never falters as he adds, almost cheerfully, “Oh, and if you don’t show up…” He leans in, voice dropping into something darker, hungrier. “I’ll kill everyone you love. Have a good day, love.”
cw: yandere, threats, dubcon, pap smear, medical malpractice, minors do not interact otherwise you will be blocked
Yandere! Small Southern Town Doctor who’s got an accent that soothes better than any medicine he prescribes. When he first came around, the folk of the town weren’t too keen on a pretty boy from the city. What would he know about pulling out splinters or searching for a tick? But he’s a church-going man, sitting right next to you every Sunday morning. Always tips his hat, always tries to make small talk, though you never gave him the time of day.
Oh, he’s mighty pretty. Your ma doesn't quite understand why you keep ignoring such a nice man, you ain't getting any younger either. His office filled up so fast your childhood doctor got run clean out of business, said he was going into early retirement. Which leaves you sittin’ pretty in that new doctor’s office, waiting.
When he finally calls you back, he greets you with a smile that could make a girl sell her soul to the devil. “Now, darlin’, when’s the last time you had your pap done?” That’s the question that leaves you fumbling. Not even when he leaned closer, all polite apology, “Beg your pardon, sugar, speak up for me, are you sexually active?” did you feel so rattled. You bite your lip, cheeks warm, and admit, “Haven’t had it done in a while. Keep puttin’ it off.”
He nods slow, like he understands, though those green-hazel eyes of his spark with something you can’t quite place. “Well now, missy, reckon we oughta take care of that today. Don’t you worry, I’ll have a nurse step in so you don’t get spooked. And we’ll get that bloodwork you’ve been puttin’ off too. Hate to keep such a fine young lady sittin’ around all day, but looks like I’ve cleared my schedule just for you.” A wink, harmless on the surface, playful even, but it leaves your stomach flutterin’.
You start with the pap. Heat climbs your cheeks when you strip down, and he knocks gently before comin’ in with a nurse who looks kind enough to be your aunt. She offers to hold your hand as you scoot your bum to the edge of the table. He spreads you open, careful as can be, and your eyes go wide at the stretch and the cool gloves with barely any lube on them.
It helps to have another woman there, except she isn’t payin’ much mind to what he’s doin’ below. She keeps your attention, chatty and warm, while his thumb drags slow circles over your clit and the speculum slips deeper, spreading you open. Your first thought: This shouldn’t feel good. Your second: Maybe he’s doin’ it that way so I don’t get too nervous.
Finally, those hazel-green eyes flick up to meet yours, full of concern, soft as honey. “That hurtin’ you, sugar?” His voice is nothing but low sincere with that southern drawl. Surely your doctor isn’t doin’ this for his own pleasure. Surely not. But then his fingers press deep inside, checkin’ every inch of you, until he finally says you’re done, leaving you achy, trembling, and wantin’ more than you should.
You reach for your clothes, an ache between your sticky thighs as your skin starts prickling with cool air and something else you can’t name. The nurse gives your hand a little squeeze before stepping out to “give you privacy.” Too kind and trusting. She doesn’t notice the way he lingers by the door, doesn’t hear the soft click of the lock sliding into place behind her.
You freeze.
He turns slow, that same easy smile stretched across his face. A gentleman, polite as Sunday, voice smooth as butter. They always said the devil wears a suit and tie.
"Now, darlin’,” he drawls, “you were real brave for me today. Sat so still, trusted me with every inch of you. Not everyone would do that.”
Your knuckles whiten around your folded clothes, heart hammering. His eyes soften at your state, but there’s a glint too sharp and hungry. He's still a man at the end of the day.
"And I reckon a man oughta ask for somethin’ in return, don’t you think? Don’t fret, sugar, nothin’ improper. Just a kindness. I been watchin’ you at church, the way you sing so sweet, near brought me to my knees. All I ever asked for was a date. Just one. Yet you keep ignorin’ me. Why’s that, sugar? Am I not handsome enough for you?”
He steps forward, and you find yourself stepping back, inch by inch until the back of your thighs bump the cold edge of the table, you can't help but glance down at the hard-on in his pants, and the way his smile never fades, but his presence is suffocating, his voice low and coaxing: "Now, don’t be difficult. Just say yes. That’s all it takes.”
Your breath stutters. He leans close enough that his words brush your ear, something in your stomach knows if you say no then you won't be walking straight out of here.
"So? We goin’ on that date, sweetheart?”
Cornered, trembling, you nod, barely more than a whisper of movement. The tension breaks at once. He steps back, smile softening back into gentleman charm, as if the last few minutes never happened. “That’s my good girl,” he says warmly, patting your cheek like you’ve done him a kindness. “I’ll give you my number after you get dressed. Don’t take too long now.”
He turns toward the door, humming low in his throat, a man with a light heart and a clear conscience. But you know better, your legs are still pressed against the table, your pulse still racing from the trap he set with nothing but a smile.
that’s all you really say to him as one of his eyes pop open, peering at you.
a smile forms across his lips, to your annoyance.
he’s so sure of himself. he always is.
“you wouldn’t do that…” his voice is a gentle coo, calling your bluff. his body leans forward, shaving cream clinging to his chin as you hold the razor.
the razor.
the sharp metal easily cutting through his small stubble—probably’ll cut through skin even easier.
“how do you know?“ you start, bringing the blade backup to his neck—slowly, trying to stay unpredictable, before adding, “you don’t know me.”
he lets out a laugh. quiet but rumbling—his shoulders quaking—as if you just said something that is so entertaining to him.
“oh, darling…” he slowly purrs out, fingers reaching up to ghost your jawline, “i know you better than you know yourself…”
that sentence makes your chest tighten as you feel your arm moving on it own accord.
you press the razor up to his neck.
he doesn’t move.
you don’t move.
the whole room seems to still for a moment.
then—
“do it.”
“wh—“ the words catch in your throat, eyes widening.
“go on. do it. kill me,” he continues, leaning into the razor ever so slightly.
you swallow. you didn’t expect him to… well…
you feel your hands tremble and you find yourself hesitating, staring at the muscles in his neck.
you… can’t.
you don’t understand why, but you can’t.
your hand trembles as you lower the blade slowly.
he’s quick—quicker than you. he pins your wrist, the shock of it making the razor clatter to the bathroom cabinet.
your head hits the mirror behind you with a loud thump—wincing at the pain before you stare up at him.
his pants have tented—bulge rubbing against your thinly covered heat.
“i think someone…” he starts, his free hand slooowly running down the chub of your tummy, dipping into the clothed folds of your pussy, “needs to remember who exactly is in charge here…”
you try to protest, try to squirm away, but you feel your cunt growing wet against your will—your body welcoming him, even as you protest against it.
he fucks you right there on the bathroom counter—legs spread around his waist, mean fingers grabbing your hair and pulling your head back and digging into your soft chub, lips kissing up the column of your neck—he knows just what to do to make you squirm, to make you moan, to make you whine, to make you cum.
and, you cum so hard. you gush around his thick cock, but he isn’t done teaching you, making you his.
he makes you cum over and over—pretty little pussy squelching and gushing for him—and you just have to take it. he pinches your clit and for the final time, you scream and cum around him, pain and pleasure mixing into a heady confusion.
he pulls out of you, your brain mush and body shuddering.
your chest heaves with each heavy breath you take and your entrance clenches around nothing, his white cum slowly leaking out of you.
he’s still hard, but he can take care of that later while you sleep. overstimulating you was punishment enough.
he nonchalantly finishes shaving himself before rinsing off his face.
“still going to… kill me?” he tilts his head, waiting for your answer.
predictably, you babble out something that’s half english, half gibberish and he scoffs, lifting you up bridal style. he uses his foot, kicking the door to the bathroom closed as he carries you back to bed, fastening your cuffs around your wrists, connecting you to the bed frame.
the concept of "personal property" is foreign to your roommate. what belongs to him and what belongs to you simply does not exist in the vocabulary of his.
so when you enter your shared apartment after a grueling nine-hour shift, you already recognize the rhythmic buzz echoing down the hallway. it’s the exact same sound you’ve confronted him about three times this month.
you march down the carpeted hallway and throw the bedroom door wide, not even bothered to knock because he certainly didn’t ask permission to breach your space.
and there he is, your thoroughly infuriating, completely shameless roommate, sprawled across your duvet with those absurdly long, pale legs monopolizing the entire mattress. his glasses are askew on his face, the lenses clouded from his own ragged gasps as he rubs your favourite wand's head against his sensitive cockhead—smearing his sticky pre-cum all over.
“gojo!” you snap, your delivery flat and dripping with unadulterated irritation. "you are doing it again?!"
he lacks even the basic decency to look up from his own groin, refusing to acknowledge your presence at the foot of your bed. his chest heaves under an oversized anime t-shirt, hips giving a needy little twitch as the rattle of the motor continues to pleasure his nerve endings. he rolls his head back into your pillows, letting out a shaky, wet moan that sounds nearly pornographic.
“shh… wait a sec,” he pants, his voice thick and raspy; a world apart from his typically fast-talking cadence that usually annoys the shit out of you. “i'm almost there. don’t be mad, it just… it feels so much better than my hands…”
you’ve had the boundary talks. you’ve threatened to lock your door (which he can bypass anyway). you’re tired, your feet hurt, and the audacity of him sitting in your room, treating your personal drawer like his own candy shop without an ounce of shame, makes your blood boil.
you stride over to the bed, and before his overstimulated brain can register the sudden movement, you reach down and wrench his hand away from his grip, sending the toy clattering onto the floorboards.
“hey!” he whines, a petulant, spoiled-brat pout instantly forming on his lips as his eyes finally dart up to yours. “i was literally right there! c’mon, that’s just cruel—”
unable to tolerate his dumb whining a second longer, you drop to your knees beside the mattress and clamp your hand around the bottom of his cock with intentional force. before he can even puff at the sudden restriction of his blood flow, you raise your other hand to land a stinging slap directly across the pink flesh of his tip with a loud smack!
satoru gasps, his spine arching off beautifully as his body spasms from the impact. his vivid blue eyes are now blown wide, blinking rapidly behind his spectacles while a miserable whimper spills from his plush lips. "do you think you can just use my things because you are too lazy to buy your own?"
to penalize his arrogance further, ensuring the lesson sinks into his imbecile brain, you squeeze your thumb and forefinger around the tender skin beneath the swollen mushroom head and pinch, using enough force to guarantee a lasting red mark.
the reaction is instantaneous. the agony of the nip, combined with another slap across his aching dick, pushes his nervous system into overload. satoru releases a startled shriek, his hips thrashing desperately as he tries to wrench his hips away from your horrific grip, thighs jerking against the sheets in a futile attempt to escape the blinding pain.
but your hands are unrelenting, and the torment only accelerates the climax. his cock throbs spastically as if its trying to communicate something using morse code before he erupts.
thick, pearly ropes of cum shoot straight up, splattering across his own flat stomach and the hem of his shirt, dripping down the pale skin of his abs.
“oh god—” he groans, voice cracking as his upper body collapses back into the pillows, the sudden impact knocking his glasses off his nose to land sideways on the mattress. he looks like a total wreck; his mouth hanging open, a thin strand of saliva bridging his lips as he stares up at you with dazed, dilated pupils that consume his baby blue irises.
even as the intense peak subsides, his hips give one final, weak roll against your hand, and he possesses the sheer nerve to smile—a lazy, unrepentant smirk forming on his stupidly handsome face.
“do… do that again,” he whispers, breathless and shameless as ever, cocking his head like an overly enthusiastic bunny. “slap it again for me..?”
୨୧ — You were drooling, eyes rolling back as you dug your nails into his shoulders trying to slow Valko down. Useless. Your legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his lower back as he drove into you, his name falling from your lips like a prayer between desperate pants.
“V-Val- hhahh- Val-ko- s'too- m'gonna- too m-much-“
Words? What were those? Your brain had turned to mush about three orgasms ago.
A whimper caught in your throat. Tears pricked at your lashes at the stretch, at being so fucking full, like he'd shoved your organs aside to make room.
“Hah-“ His voice broke, and you could feel every muscle in his body trembling, fighting something feral as his tail lashed wildly behind him. “Tryna be gentle but you-“
He fucked you like a beast anyway. Forehead pressed to yours, ears flat against his head, panting into your mouth. Your slick made the filthiest sounds every time he thrust home and when his teeth found your neck hard enough to break skin, the noise you made had his rhythm stuttering.
“Sorry- ngh- didn't mean-“ But he didn't stop. Couldn't.
His hand slid under your back, arching you up into him. The other pinned your wrist to the mattress. Blood smeared across your throat from his lips.
“That's it, that’s my good girl-“ Completely gone. Ruined.
You came screaming and do you think that made him slow down? Fuck no. He didn't slow down even a little.
“Again.” Barely a whisper. Begging. Pleading for just one more scream from those pretty lips…
“Valko- can't- no more-“
His ears drooped, this wounded little sound in his chest, “I know babe, m'sorry-“ His hips snapped forward anyway, “what’s a pup supposed to do? You just feel so good- cant- shit- can’t stop-“
Your cunt was a sloppy, ruined mess at this point- syrupy strings of your cum and arousal coating his cock, smearing creamy across your inner thighs. You could feel yourself dripping between your ass, making a puddle beneath you.
Then something big started pressing at your entrance.
You felt it before your sex stupid brain could process it- this thick, swelling pressure at your already stuffed hole. Stretching you wider. Wider. Too wide-
His knot.
It shoved inside with a wet POP and you shrieked, back bowing clean off the mattress, nails carving bleeding trenches down his spine. The sudden fullness -that fat bulge locking him in, plugging you up, pressing against every sensitive nerve- had your vision whiting out again. Your cunt spasmed around him, another orgasm cresting before the last one even finished, milking his knot in desperate fluttering clenches.
“Huh? What happened?” Total confusion. His ears shot up, head tilting, “You alright babe? Did I do something?”
“Your- your fucking knot- fuckfuckfuck-“ you choked out.
“What?” He blinked down at you, all golden puppy eyes while his monster sized knot split you in half, “What's wrong with it?”
“Ser -seriously? Sh’too- It's s’too big-“
“It is?” As he smirks he shifts his weight and you damn near passed out, “seems fine to me?”
You laughed -or sobbed, hard to tell- and it broke into a moan when he rolled his hips experimentally. You grabbed his hand and shoved it down between your bodies, pressing it against the bulge in your lower belly. Obscene. Fucking obscene.
“Valko.”
He looked down. Blinked. His tail started wagging. Actually wagging!
“Oh wow.” Like he'd found something mildly interesting, “That's pretty crazy.”
“YEAH.”
“Does it actually hurt?” He pressed against the bulge with genuine curiosity and your eyes nearly rolled back into your skull. Tail still going.
“Do you- hahh- do you seriously not know- how huge-“
“Dunno, never measured?” He dropped a casual kiss on your forehead, sweet as anything, while his fat fucking knot throbbed like it was trying to reshape your insides. “Always been like this. Annnnd those noises don’t really convince me you’re in pain.”
You were gonna fucking murder him. Right after you finished losing your mind on his cock.
He ground down into you and you came so hard you forgot your own name, pussy clenching around him like a goddamn vice.
“Oh- shit- shit-“ Finally cracking, his voice going high and whiney, “Squeezing me so tight, you’re gonna make me-“
He buried his face in your neck and came with a broken whine, and you felt it- pulse after pulse of hot cum pumping into you, filling you up til your belly rounded out even more. His arms caged you in, tail thumping against the mattress as he bred you full.
“S'good,” he slurred against your throat…
“Valko,” you whimpered, brain leaking out your ears., “M'so full-“
“Mm?” He sounded so pleased with himself.
Still absolutely clueless.
Way later -who even knows how long- he was still on top of you, weight braced on his elbows so he didn't crush you. His knot pulsed lazy and another warm gush filled you up.
“Hey,” he mumbled into your hair, and you could hear the grin in his voice.
“Mm.”
“So...” His fingers walked playfully up your side, making you squirm- which only made you clench around his knot and whimper, “You think my knot's big, huh?”
“Shut up.”
“Nah but like-“ He propped himself up to look at you, smirking, tail swishing, “You were really loud about it. Pretty sure the neighbors know now.”
“I hate you.”
“Mmhm.” He rolled his hips just slightly -enough to make you gasp- and his grin widened. “That why you're still milking my cock right now?”
Your face burned, “I- I can't- it's involuntary-“
“Sure it is.” He pressed a kiss to your cheek, nuzzling, “S'okay baby. I think it's cute how much you love my huge knot.”
“I never said-“
“‘S'so fucking big Valko,'”he mimicked in a breathy voice, and you smacked his chest while he snickered. “'Your knot Valko, oh my god-“
“I do NOT sound like that.”
“You kinda do.” Another lazy grind. Another gush of cum. His eyes glittered. “Wanna hear what else you said? Got real creative toward the end there.”
You shoved at his shoulder uselessly. He didn't budge, just laughed and buried his face in your neck, pressing smiling kisses to your skin.
“M'just teasing, babe” His tail curled around your thigh, “youre cute when you're embarrassed.” He nuzzled the tippy top of your head.
“I'm gonna kill you when your knot finally goes down.”
“Mm, that's fair.” He snuggled closer, entirely unbothered, “Gives me like twenty more minutes to annoy you though.”
His hips shifted again, lazy and deliberate, and the noise you made was mortifying.
Men: "Why do women lead me on by complimenting me then not having sex with me?"
Women hear both of these complaints from men on a regular basis. Before she meets a man, she doesn't know which category he is. Does he complain when women aren't nice to him? Does he complain when women are nice to him? Does he complain about both? There's no safe option that will satisfy all men.
If you want women to show affection to you, she has to trust that you won't expect. If receiving affection causes you to expect it more often or expect it to lead to something else, she'll want to avoid that.
After school care pulled me aside about my child dropping an f-bomb “without remorse” and I put on my concerned face and nodded a bunch.
Apparently he was building something with a younger kid “who really looks up to him and is just starting to make friends” and said “Hey, you’re really fucking good at this.” which is, in my estimation, really a parenting victory.
for the better part of an hour, he’d been not-so-subtly inching closer to you on the sofa, rubbing your thigh and playing with your hair — anything to get your attention off of the numbers on your computer screen (as if the little whimpers that occasionally slipped out weren’t obvious enough).
“val, you’re not helping…” you sighed.
“i’m sorry.” he didn’t sound it. “just give me five minutes, please. an orgasm’ll help with that headache I can tell you’re nursin’. or…do you not want me?”
he looked so genuinely distraught that you had to scratch him behind the ears. “of course I do, but I also want to be able to sleep for more than three hours tonight.”
finally, you give in (you always do) on the pretense that you’d both get some work done. between val’s newest research project in the experimental phase and your pile of unreviewed investigation reports, there hadn’t been much opportunity for quality time in the past week or so. admittedly, you could use a bit of stress relief, too.
so it was a decent compromise in your mind.
but you should have known better than to think valko, of all people, would be able to focus with his pants hanging around his ankles. from the moment you sank onto his cock, settling comfortably on those plush thighs, he was a distraction — nipping at your neck while his glasses caught in your hair, “adjusting” beneath you, sneaking his free hand between your legs before you swatted it away.
after about twenty minutes, you’ve had enough.
“okay, this is the opposite of productive,” you lift the laptop off your thighs and set it on the couch beside you. “we can try again after I get at least halfway through these.”
but when you try to stand, well…you can’t. a sharp tug on your insides sends a burning sting reverberating through your core, keeping you locked onto him.
“what — how? we weren’t even…moving!” incredulous, you twist around to glare daggers into your boyfriend’s golden eyes, which are far too glazed and self-satisfied for your liking behind his foggy lenses. glutton.
“pup, I’ve been tryin’ not to burst for a while. since I got inside you, even. surprised you didn’t notice.”
huh. guess all that training to take his knot had backfired.
you huff. “well, can you, like, relax? just sit still and think about car accidents or rabies vaccines or something?”
“yeah, no, doesn’t work that way for me.”
“val, I don’t have time for this! my reports are due tomorrow —“
“then,” the word vibrates against your shoulder, followed by wet kisses leaving a shining trail up your throat as he taps your hips like he’s spurring on a horse. “I suggest you get moving, pup. knot’s not gonna go down by itself.”
belatedly, you realize this might have been his plan all along.
The apocalypse completely devastated the rest of civilization, but for your relationship, it just turned your boyfriend into a slightly more unhinged, heavily attached house pet. When he first turned, you thought it was the end until you realized that the virus completely failed to overwrite his obsession with you. His brain might be ninety percent decayed, and he can’t speak coherent sentences anymore, but his territorial instincts are operating at a terrifying 110% capacity. He doesn't want to eat your brains; he wants to aggressively cuddle you in the middle of a ruined supermarket while low-level growling at the passing horde outside the glass.
Yandere!Zombie has a deeply endearing, slightly disgusting way of bringing you "gifts" to show his affection. Because his cognitive functions are entirely warped by the outbreak, he doesn't understand that you can’t use a rusted car engine part, a half-chewed designer shoe, or a shiny piece of broken glass he found in a ditch. He will trudge into your makeshift safehouse at 3:00 AM, covered in dust, and proudly drop a literal waterlogged, moss-covered teddy bear onto your lap, tilting his head and letting out a soft, rattling huff from his chest while waiting for you to pat his head. If you praise him and tuck the gross toy into your backpack, he’ll let out a wet, raspy purr that sounds like a broken garbage disposal, completely ecstatic that he pleased his favorite human.
Yandere!Zombie protective instincts are absolutely terrifying because he has zero self-preservation left. If a group of armed scavengers or raiders tries to corner you to steal your supplies, your zombie boyfriend will instantly drop his slow, clumsy facade. He will sprint forward with supernatural, adrenaline-fueled speed, tackling the threat with a feral, bone-snapping violence that leaves the entire area looking like a horror movie scene. He doesn't care if he takes a bullet to the shoulder or gets stabbed—he doesn't feel pain anyway. The second the threat is completely neutralized, his bloody, snarling face will instantly soften. He’ll turn around, tilt his head, and clumsily stumble back to your side, whining like a scolded puppy until you wipe the grime off his cheek.
Yandere!Zombie handles your human survival needs with a clumsy, suffocating level of micromanagement. He knows that you need to eat "the soft box food" to stay alive, so he will literally use his massive zombie strength to rip the steel security shutters off a locked convenience store just so you can walk inside and collect canned peaches. While you’re gathering supplies, he will walk right behind you, his cold, gray hand resting firmly on the small of your back to steer you away from any broken glass or dark corners. He treats you like a priceless, fragile antique that might shatter if he lets go for even a single second.
The most chaotic part of your dynamic is how Yandere!Zombie interacts with the other infected. Because he smells like a corpse, the other zombies usually ignore him but the second they try to wander too close to you, he turns into a total nightmare. He will literally physically throw himself in front of you, baring his decaying teeth and letting out a deep, echoing roar that asserts total dominance over the area. He has effectively conditioned the local zombie population to treat you like a radioactive zone; the horde will literally part around you in a wide, terrified circle whenever you walk down the street, entirely because they know the terrifyingly aggressive ghall holding your hand will rip them to pieces if they even look in your direction.
Ultimately, your life in the wasteland is a bizarrely comfortable, post-apocalyptic fairy tale. You are navigating the ruins of human civilization with a partner who is legally dead, completely unhinged, and entirely consumed by your existence. When you settle down for the night in an abandoned apartment, Yandere!Zombie will carefully pull your warm body against his cold, silent chest, wrapping his heavy arms around you like a protective human shield. He doesn’t have a heartbeat anymore, but as he rests his forehead against yours, letting out a long, contented sigh of rot and devotion, you realize that not even the end of the world could figure out a way to make him leave you behind.
Setting up a makeshift laboratory in the basement of an abandoned university science building is a nightmare, but managing your undead research assistant makes it absolute comedy. Yandere!Zombie has zero understanding of microbiology, virology, or why you’re staring through a microscope for eighteen hours a day, but he understands that this room is where you stay. While you’re frantically mixing chemicals and analyzing blood stability, he will sit flat on the concrete floor right next to your stool, his heavy, cold head resting directly against your thigh. If you accidentally drop a glass pipette or let out a frustrated, exhausted sob over a failed synthesis, he will instantly bolt upright, letting out a protective growl at the empty room before clumsily wrapping his massive arms around your waist to drag you onto his lap, entirely convinced the microscope is actively attacking your peace of mind.
Yandere!Zombie treats your highly sterile scientific environment with a terrifying lack of biochemical etiquette. He knows you need "the shiny glass tubes" to do your work, so he tries to help by scavenging for them in other wings of the hospital. He’ll stumble into your lab at sunrise, proudly holding a hazardous waste container or a random piece of an MRI machine over his head like a trophy, his face covered in ceiling tile dust. When you gently explain to him that a rusted dentist's drill isn't going to isolate the pathogen, he’ll let out a deeply offended, wet huff, crossing his gray arms and sitting in the corner like a scolded toddler until you go over and pat his messy hair.
Drawing his blood for chemical testing is an absolute circus. Because his survival instincts are completely gone, Yandere!Zombie doesn't care about the needle, but he deeply dislikes the fact that the tourniquet forces you to stop holding his hand for three minutes. The second you insert the syringe to pull a sample of his infected marrow, he won't even flinch, and instead he’ll use his free, decaying hand to clumsily play with your safety goggles, bopping the plastic frames and letting out a soft, rattling gurgle from his chest because he thinks you look incredibly cute in your lab coat. If you try to tell him to hold still, he’ll just lean forward and clumsily press his freezing forehead against your cheek, completely sabotaging your sterilization protocols with pure, unadulterated affection.
Yandere!Zombie has a deeply unhinged, territorial policy regarding your test subjects. To find a cure, you eventually have to trap a few low-level, regular zombies in reinforced steel cages at the back of the basement to test your experimental serum variants. Your boyfriend completely hates them. He views those caged infected not as scientific data, but as gross, uncultured peasants who dare to look at his favorite human. Whenever you walk near the cages with a clipboard, he will aggressively march right in front of you, slamming his massive fists against the iron bars and letting out an echoing, chest-vibrating roar that makes the test subjects completely cower in the corner of their cells. "H-Huhnnn," he’ll snap darkly at them, baring his teeth until you pull him back by his collar. "Shhh, leave them alone, they're for science," you’ll sigh, while he just grumbles, wrapping his arms tightly around your neck from behind to shield you from their dead eyes.
The ultimate reality of your research is that his instincts are actively fighting against the very concept of being cured. His decayed brain has associated his zombie state with total, unrestricted freedom to smother you 24/7. He doesn't have to go to work, he doesn't have to share you with society, and he can legally rip the throat out of anyone who looks at you wrong. On the day you finally synthesize a stable prototype serum and hold the glowing vial up to the light, he looks at the medicine with a look of pure, ancient suspicion. He knows that if he turns human again, the rules come back. When you turn around to face him, he will gently but firmly wrap his cold fingers around your wrist, tilting his head with a raw, pathetic whine, looking from the needle to your eyes as if begging you not to change the perfect, lawless paradise he built for you in the ruins.
the atmosphere was calm, well as calm as it could be with sukuna there.
you sat curled up in his lap while he yelled at toji through his headset for the nth time. you shifted slightly before slowly sliding out of sukuna's lap, he muttered a quick
“where ya goin?” his eyes shifted towards you, now fully out of his grasp.
“bathroom.”
he let out a low hum and returned his hard gaze back to his monitor.
-
“holy shit ryomen, yer washed.” toji snickered through the mic.
“easy to talk when you pick OKC every fucking round.” sukuna snarled back.
“aye back to back dubs speaks for itself.”
“its been two rounds already?” sukuna checked his phone, its been almost 2 hours since you left his lap.
“two rounds of belt? yea bro.” a snort came out from sukunas headphones.
“im hoppin off anyway to go out with my girl. cus i got other shit to do, like my girl. get it? cus i have a girlfriend.” sukuna teased.
“blah blah blah we get it asshat.”
sukuna chuckled to himself before logging off and heading over to barge on you in the bathroom, which was locked? he lifted a heavy knuckle and tapped on the door twice.
“babe, you takin’ a shit?”
a small snort escaped from the other side of the door, “yea ryo ive been shitting for two hours.”
his crimson eyes fluttered into a roll before he twisted the knob again, “okay brat then why is the door locked, let me in.”
needy bastard. “kuna you can wait for like two minutes, im almost done.” you added the final touches to your face before adjusting your dress again. kinda short. eh its fine.
he leaned against the door frame, arms crossed “almost done what? I can smell your body wash, did you wanna go on a date ton-”
the door swung open, revealing your finished look. hair done and neat, makeup on point, gold jewelry layered all over your body, and your new brown mini dress that hugged your body perfectly.
sukuna paused, looked you up and down, eyes immediately turning hungry.
“black shoes or brown shoes?” you cocked a brow at him.
“fuck, you look gorgeous baby.” he answered completely ignoring your question, “where we goin’?”
you puckered your lips and smiled back at him, “thank you. okay so black or brown?”
“brown. and give me like fifteen minutes, I'll be ready.” he bee-lined straight to the bathroom before your manicured hand pressed against his chest, stopping him right in his tracks.
“ryo you can’t come to girls night. I've told you this like a thousand times.”
girls night? It was like someone shot him in the chest right then and there. not only were you looking absolutely beautiful on a night the both of you had off, you were going out with your friends. instead of sukuna. not to mention how much they hated sukuna. the burly mans shoulders tensed,
“nonono, the hell you mean girls night? I thought WE were going out tonight.” it was almost pathetic how whiney his voice sounded. to anyone else it would've been a once in a blue moon sight, unfortunately for you it wasn’t.
“ryo I told you last night that I was going out with them.”
“did not.”
“did too.”
“did not.”
“ryomen i literally told you before we went to bed and you said ‘okay ill drive you.” you pushed past him and slipped on your brown kitten heels, before admiring your full look in the mirror.
“There's no way I said that, I was out cold before you even shut off the light.” he followed your trail like a sulking puppy`. a large six foot something sulking puppy.
“sukuna i promise you i’m not lying.” you paused with your purse and keys in hand.
“fine. but if i get handsy in the car, you cannot blame me. you look so hot.” he grabbed the keys from your hands and opened the front door.
you tsked, “mhm mhm no touching while my girls are in the car.”
“what.”
“we’re picking them up, remember?”
“you’re shittin’ me.”
-
after thirty minutes of being interrogated, looped into gossip, and asked the ‘you’re a guy what do you think?’ question approximately fifteen times, sukuna finally got to the restaurant.
your girls murmured a bunch of rushed thank yous before quickly hopping out of the car and heading into the restaurant. sukunas hand still gripped the wheel,
“thank you for dropping us off kuna.” you leaned over the center console and gave him a peck on the cheek, causing him to turn his head.
“call me if anything.” he responded in a low mumble.
“i know i know.” you smiled before turning to open your door.
“wait.” you paused and turned to look back at your boyfriend who was already outside of the car, he made his way around to your side and opened your door. He held your hand in his large gruff one before pulling you into another kiss, he pulled away just an inch from your mouth, his breath still on yours,
“i’m fucking the shit out of you when you get home.”
you felt the warmth pooling in your cheeks, you bit back a smile and mumbled back
“promise?”
sukunas hands gripped at your waist, before dropping to his sides, a slow huff escaped his nose, “pinky.”
you snorted before walking off, feeling the sting of sukunas hand slapping your ass as you did so.
-
sukuna knew as soon as you called three hours later, slurring every other word, that he would be eating his words that night.
after dropping off your equally drunk friends, he carried you into bed, taking his time removing your make up because he knew you would yell at him if he didn’t, then taking off your heels and dress, changing you into one of his shirts.
“ryo.”
“hm.”
“my friendsss saidd they loveeyou.”
“really?” shocking. considering they mean mugged him all night. didn’t even bother to say his name properly.
you nodded slowly under the sheets.
“why’s that?”
a hiccup escaped your lips, eyes fluttering shut “they said… youmake mee glow.”
“they’re idiots.”
you snorted, “loveeyouu.”
“i love you too brat.”
he couldn’t even be mad at you for blue balling him all night.
“now where do you think you’re going?” and getting pulled back by the hips when you start backing up from it bc it’s too big and you’re stuffed so full you can barely breathe and your legs shake as they push in even deeper
comments under a post about autistic hyper empathy. like you can’t really believe that 80% of people don’t wonder or care or think about anything can you
