✩ ꒱ room for one more? — ft. Izuku midoriya & eijirou kirishima .ᐟ
🏁 ꒰ ✩ smut ⋆ mdni ⋆ pro hero deku, pro hero kirishima & fem!reader. fingering, public sex, cucking, submissive reader, dominant krdk, dub con subtexts, implied intoxication. krdk mentioned on da rbs of this post by @notvil ( i hope this is ok vivi!!)
i just think that kiri n izuku are the perfect sleazy slimeball pairing together and they’d absolutely bully a reader into a relationship with them because they find out you’re so easy to share.
if you’re already kirishima’s girl, then he probably has you trained. you’d do anything he asks you to because his voice is sweet when he talks, full of candy cane promises of the world even if you don’t want it from him. and if you’re already izuku’s then you’re free to do whatever you want so long as it aligns with what pleases him. you want to kiss someone else? sure, but it’s got to be someone he likes, someone he knows is desperate to have what isn’t theirs. you want to fuck someone else? as long as he’s in the room, guiding them into hanging every star in the sky amongst the sparkling flecks in your eyes.
so it’s only natural that the two of them would gravitate towards sharing you. izuku doesn’t mind that you cling to kirishima all night while catching up with his old friends — he knows all the signs; the way you blink up at the big red head just waiting to be manhandle n rub yourself against him every time he laughs or smiles your way. it’s cute, because izuku knows red riot would be able to handle any demands you make and would push you past any limits when you suddenly decide what you’re getting is all too much.
you like eijirou, and eijirou likes you — he’s got this darkened look in his eye like he’s thinking of breaking you into tiny pieces underneath him and pulling you back together with sweet praise and enough orgasms to fix you back into place. izuku likes that. knowing that there’s someone just like him able to indulge you n keep you on your best behaviour. at the end of the night, you’re practically seated (albeit sideways) in the latter hero’s lap, giggling at everything he says, watching every twitch of his face as though it’s the most entertaining thing in the world and every so often you look back at your boyfriend though you’re seeking permission to have this much on his hardening friend.
izuku slips into the seat beside kirishima, calm and collected, like seeing his baby fawn over his high school classmate isn’t completely unravelling him like a loose thread. “hey riot,” he says almost too smooth, breathy laughter following the lead of his voice. “enjoying the night?”
you seem giddier now, kicking your feet and swaying in eijirou’s lap because you’re anticipating what’s to come now that your boyfriend is on board. eijirou cups the small of your back with a large, rugged hand that reminds you to sit still and behave. you notice. izuku notices — pleased when your movements come to a stop. glad to know that there’s another person to keep you in line just like he does.
“it’s been great so far, midoriya,” the red head hums, squeezing the fat at your hips, drawling circles into the exposed skin as though its natural for the three of you to be coddled up like this. “and you?”
deku hums, noncommittal. “there’s like more thing that would make it better.” his hand lands on your thigh, ruby eyes watch the scar tissue disappear under your flouncy skirts and eijiro feels how you warm in his lap from your boyfriend’s touch. “my baby has a question for you.”
a beat passes, you squirm over the blood flushing south of kirishima’s brain and heart. “that so, honey?” he breathes, pet name on the tip of his tongue underneath his baited breath. somewhere behind you, your boyfriend groans — hungry. you like this. he likes it. “c’mon, whaddya wanna ask eiji?”
you blink up at him shyly, body warm, clothes suddenly too tight, that special place between your thighs sticky from the suspense.
“go on baby, be good ‘n answer the question…” izuku coaxes you lazily, his fingertips ghosting over the gusset of your panties — jade eyes flickering up to meet ruby ones teaming with amusement.
“eiji,” you stutter, biting back a moan — hips bucking against fingers and grinding over a hardness in your boyfriend’s classmate’s lap. “w-will you come home with us? please?”
izuku mumbles something of a good girl against the back of your neck as response to your pleasent manners, finally pressing against your clit whilst eijirou uses his grip on your hips to pull you back and forth in his lap ever so slightly.
“yeah, honey? i thought you two never ask.”
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!
izuku is the type of daddy that has all kinds of apps to follow you n your body. i’d imagine he’d have the little widget thingy that tracks when your hungry, or if you went on a walk, just what you’re feeling in general. and i KNOW you guys have the duo plan on period apps so he gets a notif on the day you get it
he’s so attentive 🙂↕️🙂↕️🙂↕️🙂↕️
AGREEE ;-; daddy izuku and downloading the life 360 app onto your phones whilst your laying back into his chest one night. he’s scrolling through it, showing you all the different options and how he’ll be able to check your vitals n keep you safe. “see baby? this is how daddy’ll know your little heart is still beating for me.” and he’ll poke left of your chest where your heart is n press kisses into your cheeks when you giggle.
daddy zuku using it to track your movements throughout the day, making sure you’re on time to work and punctual when you come meet him for lunch at the school. i think the moment his phone chimes to let him know you’ve left he sends you a text that reads ‘can my angel show me what she’s wearing today?’ once you’re out the door n you take a cute little selfie of your work outfit n maybe a little twirl <3 makes his day.
n when he sees you at work, he’s feeding you with his chopsticks in front of everyone in the teacher’s office — scoop of rice and all the veggies you need, grinning down at you because you’re so smiley and happy when you’re with your daddy :( izuku doing that thing parents do when they lick their thumb n wipe at the corner of your mouth …. IM UNWELL!!!
i wonder if instead of using an app to track your cycle he has a whole notebook just dedicated to it? just like he would for heroes and his classmates — izuku has a whole campus notebook he keeps in his night stands with every start and end date of your periods since becoming official. he tracks your symptoms and indexes their intensity, the foods that put you in a good mood n medications that make you feel better. how you like your tea to soothe your cramps :(
daddy izu who knows your cycle is coming up n has you lay on your back .. nestled between your thighs as his lips drag over where your cramps are most intense — massaging the area with rough and warm fingers, kissing you there and apologising for ‘not doing his job as your daddy and knocking you up on time.’
🏁 ꒰ ✩ smut ⋆ mdni ⋆ pro hero izuku midoriya & fem!reader. oral sex, somnophilia, established relationship, dom and sub dynamics, care taker izuku. -> izuku implements a seven step nightly routine that always ends with the taste of you on his tongue.
nightly routine with izuku includes a shower together where he scrubs you clean n puts a hand between your legs ton wash you up but he doesn’t touch you and pretends … pretends not to notice the way your thighs quiver around his wrist or how you reach back to curl your fingers in his hair for stability. sudsy kisses pressed on your shoulders and soapy digits splayed against your tummy to keep you still. “gotta make sure you’re squeaky clean, hm baby?”
then he oils and moisturises you up before bed, he’s already picked out your PJs — something that smells like baby detergent, clean and lacy and barely there and you know what the fabric means and he just pretends that they’re ordinary jammies. big scarred hands working through the knots in your body, squeezing and tugging on your thighs and the fat at your hips and thumbs pressing into your nipples and even still — izuku will smile as though nothing is happening, nothing is going to happen. playing with you, toying with his sweet baby who grows sleepier by the second.
you’re already drifting by the time izuku pulls away from your embrace, an iron grip not quite iron when he’s so easily able to break free. he’s over you, a finger to his lips making a shhhh sound when you whine because he’s not going anywhere, not really, shimmying his way down your torso — tongue circling your belly button, hot kisses against your warm flesh. “sleepy time, baby, don’t make a fuss,” he hums, because you will attempt to kick your feet and bring izuku back up for cuddles. “hands to yourself please.”
so you sling your arms over your sleepy face and let him draw your knees up to a bend, his teeth already grazing at your swollen clit from over your sweet little boy shorts. pulse erratic just like your heartbeat which is no where near calm enough to sleep. “miss you, come back.”
“don’t be a silly girl, ‘m right here,” deku’s voice pinches and peaks with condescension. the sound rumbles through your syrupy, tortured cunt — clenching around nothing, self-lubricating as she lies in wait for your boyfriend’s fingers or tongue. you’ve been waiting all day to be touched properly, the teasing and the taunting putting you on the edge where you toe the line between heaven and hell. “relax for me, let’s go to sleep — yeah?”
slick glues the seam of your shorts to your aching, vacant hole as izuku carefully peels them away, tucking one leg behind your pudgy pussy lips. clear and stringy between your folds — tantalisingly good enough to eat, and while the position of your clothing is awkward and uncomfortable, it’s irritation is minuscule in size when compared to that first stroke of his tongue against you. curling at your clit, knocking the little nub from side to side. slurping sounds slip between moans of gluttony, that mimics that of a man sheathing himself inside his partner raw for the first time.
jaded eyes sparked with a mischievous or borderline evil emerald peek from over your stomach, rising and falling with heavy breathing that only comes with someone losing consciousness to sleep. “lift your hips, c’mon pup,” he coos, slack jaw, words breathy whilst he tongues at your quivering entrance — carefully thrusting along your silken walls. you slowly begin to obey, rocking upwards and bowing into his eager open mouth. “look at that, there we go. you listen so well.”
your body does. only to him. as soon as you’re up, nimble fingers slide up to the base of your spine and hold you in place — against the mouth that works on you until you’re drenched and dripping down his chin. the flex of his jaw, as he drinks you down as though you’re aged whisky. rare. a treat undeserved by a mere man such as himself.
“baby, tell me about your day.” izuku drawls like a man lost without water for days, pausing for air, lapping at the wet inner crease of your thigh where spit and arousal marry to become one.
he latches onto you, while you find mental strength to mumble about your day plans. sucks a swollen fold between perfect white teeth, sending blood flow straight down south. “was good — mmnph — got my nails done ‘n went shoppin’…” the hero keeps you talking until you’re hazy, heated and half a second away from sinking into sleep. blinking away the blur that fades the edges of your vision, pleasure melding with exhaustion — you meet eyes and they’re already on you as though he hasn’t given a thought to look away from your parted lips and bobbing throat. just as you open your mouth to continue, his tongue laps at your candied cunt and squirms into you, pressing against the gushy, gummy spot nestled deep within. “oh, oooh! got somethin’ new for you.”
and you’re so sweet, god you are. in taste and in physical form. izuku gets the kind joy from you as a kid would at a candy store — static straight to his brain when you whimper into night’s humid blanket and squeeze your thighs around his head. arousal seeping through your sleep shorts to fuel him on as you pour your chalice straight into his mouth.
“for me? god, ‘m a lucky guy. aren’t i? can’t wait to see it…” he chuckles, almost humbly. words nestled against your soaked slit like a promise of other worldly ecstasy. a whisper in the wind, a heart shaped signature against your clit. “i think i want you to cum now, angel. nice and hard, let your body unwind. give me all you can.”
you listen again, every fibre and nerve ending in your body following izuku’s command like a dog who’s well trained and knows her tricks off by heart. at this point, you’ve barely any strength or will to stay awake. the stars align and moon flashes bright behind your drawn curtains — you cum against greedy lips and a tongue that smooths over your sluice sex like a salve, blacking out and falling victim to the soothing voice of sleep.
“lights out, baby,” izuku coos through the after shocks, all in a days work for his pretty baby.
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!
exactly snaps fingers …. like to think yuuji has to guide you down onto it every time because he’s so thick, and chubby. baby pink happy trail against golden delicious skin yum! yuuji makes you rub your cute cunt on him first, up and down his shaft until you cum against the veins that wrap around him because it’s easier for you to slide down on him when you’re wet n sticky from your own mess :( cups your face and makes you look at him when you do it, flushed in the face whilst he apologises for his size but grinds that fat tip against your little hole, just wants to see the twitch in your face every time you stretch around him . much to think abt
do you ever just feel overly horny, overworked and underfucked but you KNOW izu wouldn’t let his sweet girl feel neglected
✩꒱ overworked, underpaid and severely fucked — ft. izuku midoriya .ᐟ
🏁 ꒰ ✩ smut ⋆ mdni ⋆ pro hero izuku midoriya & fem!reader. oral sex, established relationship, care taker izuku. -> izuku midoriya is a good boyfriend, pervy and a little weird … but good. what? it’s not his fault that you’re so easy to look after.
overworked, underpaid but not!! underfucked when you’re with izuku !!!
he’s a little weird, a little perverted but he can be a really good boyfriend if you just give him a chance. promise! izuku is so doting, he’ll leap at the chance to take care of something for you even if you insist you’re getting along well financially.
the first time you let him pay for your food shop and essentials, he walks out of the store with three bags for life on each arm and a boner he just barely manages to conceal. you’re huffy and annoyed because you hardly need the stuff he picked up but it’s enough to last you, so you can’t complain. you kiss deku stupid after he’s loaded the car and lick into his mouth when he settles into the driver’s seat. “always happy to help you, baby.” he murmurs giddy. “just text me what you need next time, you don’t even have to leave the house.” between smooches he doesn’t say he expects a thank you, but you feel the way his chest bristles bristles beneath your fingertips whenever you do give your thanks. as though you’re praising the lord and graced him enough to give you this blessing. he is a little weird.
izuku has an annoying tendency to know what you need before you need it. a bath with lavender oil and candlelight upon return from a three day business trip out of city helping with company interviews — one you had no say on going to. a home-cooked meal because you didn’t have a chance to grab lunch between meetings, although pork katsudon is all he’s good for ( he’ll call kacchan for recipes and cooking advice once you tire of his own skill set). a new work bag because the one you’ve had since starting busted at the strap on the way home, your new one just so happens to be designer because the leather is stronger.
he does it all with a kiss pressed to your cheek and a smile that causes a crinkle at the corner of his eyes — sickly sweet and sticky against you but you tell him thank you all the same and he tells you anything, always. in response. you’re spoiled rotten to the point of feeling suffocated but it’s good, so good, to be swept off your feet for a little while.
izuku is a great listener too. you’ll come home from your job where they don’t pay you enough pennies to give a fuck, designer purse now abandoned on the sideboard by the counter with your keys, heels clicking angrily and izuku will be there ready to hear you out. take your mind off things for a little while.
“you’re frowning, sweet girl, what’s wrong?”
then he’s on his knees, crisp white blouse taut against his chest and tie loose, as he slips your heels off one by one accompanied by angel’s kisses. he lets you curse and vent, spill foul secrets about your coworker who keeps taking credit for your work and your boss who demands too much in too little time all while nodding with bouncing ever-green curls brushing against the inside of your thighs and up your itty bitty pencil skirt.
you ramble on and on, your nails taking through his curls as he descends down on your centre. lips hot on your panties, teething at the fabric that’s already wet and has been since he first sunk to his knees before you — placing you at epicentre of his entire universe. izuku nods at the same time he kisses your clit, agreement in the form of sucking the slick from you as if you’re the only source of life for a thousand miles.
“and god, zu — she stole that client from right u-under my nose!” you’re scowling but your body melts into him below, your hips buck over his nose and he thinks for a second he could die here, happy and unable to breathe if it meant drowning in the deliciousness of your cunt. you’re sweeter when you’re pissed off, when you use him to ease the tension wound tight in your shoulders. izuku is desperate for you to use him, need him, he prefers life this way.
“mhm…” he says, or groans, or sighs blissfully like he’s really listening to you. focused on the tale of how that petty girl at your petty job keeps taking the credit. hed take care of that too, if you let him — call them up and say hero deku had a complaint to make. he settles for this, the now, the exact moment you clench around the thickness of his tongue as it thrusts far enough along your slippery walls to make your body shake. maybe it’s selfish off him, that izuku waits for you to get all riled up at work so that you come home to him like this. broiling under the flesh, smelling like sex that stirs his appetite into something more sinister.
when you hug the back of his head to your weeping slit, izuku purrs as though he’s been rewarded. his tongue does a sweet of the entire length of your cunt, gathers what you drool in viscous waves and smelts his spit into the molten mix, frothy cream gathering just around your hole and clit. messy, greedy, filthy but he doesn’t let up even when his chin is painted with a varnish of arousal.
he doesn’t mind being your crutch or your tool to pass a bad day by, as long as you’re above him like this — toes digging into his shoulders, fist tight in his hair, . “a-and seriously, zu. f-fuck, fuck that girl. fuck. i’m gonna cum!” you squeak shakily and he knows the job is done. you’re happy and you’re distracted, babbling god knows what about who knows what but the anger once built up inside you snaps like an easy spring. your orgasm is melt in the mouth, a piece of heaven created just for izuku to indulge in.
perhaps it is weird and perverted that he loves to be used and to use his skill on you… but you like it and maybe that makes you a little perverted too.
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!
Synopsis: abandoned at the foot of a mountain in hopes of winning the favour of the Curse King, you have to navigate life as his bride, constantly fearing death, torture, and being eaten out— up. being eaten up. definitely up.
right?
Warnings: porn with plot, dark romance, forced marriage, true form!sukuna - 2 peepees!, cunnilingus (he's a certified munch), use of curse mouth, blood play, masochist!sukuna, pussyjob, thigh job, death/violence/body parts, primal play, dubcon, double penetration, upside down 69, hair pulling, brief spanking, pussy slapping, biting, outdoor sex, bondage, shadow tentacles?, period sex, multiple orgasms, honestly not as dark as it sounds — this is quite romantic I promise, angst, fluff (soft!kuna), not quite curse au in the canon sense, f!reader, not proofread
Word Count: 16.9k
A forced marriage with Sukuna, the king of curses, sounds like hell.
And it is.
The village chief wanted to receive the newly arrived Curse King’s mercy and be spared from his tyranny. That apparently meant offering you, his only daughter, up for marriage. You were dropped off at the foot of the mountain, bound and gagged, unable to scream for help, not that any would arrive.
Not even your best friend, Suguru, had met your eyes.
Everyone had abandoned you.
A servant, dignified and aloof, came. They, with their white hair stained with crimson, took one look at you before making a silent decision.
Carried by goblin-looking creatures inside the mountain, which parted as though unhinging its jaw, you could do nothing but accept that you were going to be eaten up by the very monsters that children were warned about.
Navigating the carved out hallways of the mountain, they threw you in the throne room. Jagged stone walls surrounded you. Glowing red rocks were embedded in the rocks and lit torches illuminated the grand space. You were laying on the rolled out red carpet, staring up at a giant of a being.
There he was.
Sukuna Ryomen.
He was resting his head on one of his four arms, legs crossed, with all four eyes gazing down at you. He looked bored.
“What is this?” he drawled.
The same servant you first met stepped up, head bowed humbly. They said, “Entertainment, my Lord.”
“Entertainment?” the king repeated, tasting the word. “Not a snack? Interesting. How, pray tell, will this woman entertain me, if not with the taste of her flesh, Uraume?”
It was an absurd situation — they were discussing you as if you weren’t there, as if you didn’t have ears, as if you were a pet the servant had picked up as a gift. Although, it was at least a small blessing that you hadn’t been killed on the spot, you supposed. The thought, however, didn’t permit much relief when unimaginable torture could have awaited you.
‘Uraume’ answered, “The humans intended for her to be your wife, my Lord. Perhaps you could humour them with brief belief that they have been spared from their inevitable fate.”
At that, Sukuna hummed.
His eyes met your own then. They inspected you through your very soul. You felt their branding touch rifling through your essence. Something passed in them, something to which you could not put words.
Finally, he waved a lazy hand, and said, “Very well.”
The servants rushed to take you away, afraid to waste a single second.
You’ve been living in a room somewhere in the heart of the mountain since.
It’s been about a week.
Meals on a tray are served to you three times a day. Porridge, fruits, bread, the sorts. You do your best not to eat much; they might have poisoned it.
Every day, every hour, is spent anticipating the wooden doors being kicked down, waiting for the Curse King to forgo delaying your fate and slicing your head off your shoulders with one, clean cut. So far, nothing yet.
In fact, you have not seen another soul since.
The first night, you couldn’t sleep, afraid that he would take the villagers up on the offer to make you his real bride, by plunging his cock into you and stealing your maidenhead. It didn’t, and hasn’t, happened. But ‘yet’ looms over you perpetually.
Your one consolation is that sleep comes to you easily now.
It’s all you can do — the room is barren of books, of people, of art. Only a bed, a table, and a chamber pot with a bucket of water decorate it. There are no windows with which you can view the outside world, can tell what time of day it is, can escape through, or jump off. Only your body’s natural instincts inform you when morning and time to slumber has arrived.
Though…
With the days blurring, and perpetual and dim light of the glowing rocks remaining unchanged, it’s beginning to grow more and more difficult to tell left from right.
The doors are unlocked.
That was the first thing you tested when you were placed here.
Of course you’ve considered walking out of the room, if only to have a change of scenery. You’ve also considered escaping. But your thoughts would always end up at ‘escaping to where?’
You’ve been abandoned by your village, by your family. They would not accept you. They would see your return as a sign that the Curse King had rejected their sacrifice and would be coming to collect the debt. In other words, you’d be seen as a bad omen.
It was your destiny to die, whether by the hands of your family or by the hands of the beast they were afraid of.
So if death is a certainty, why would you fear it?
That’s the final thought that pushes you out of bed and to the door. Your hand hesitated for a second. Then it was sure. You opened it, body tense.
No one’s outside. No guard, no goblins, no king.
You pad out, feet bare and wearing only a nightgown. How deep inside the mountain are you, you wonder. There’s a draught blowing past, but no sound of the forest to fill the space. No voices. No footsteps. No life.
“Where is everyone?” you mutter, padding forward.
Who can say how long you wander through the tunnels?
It feels like it’s been hours, though with the way time seems to pass differently, it could also have only been mere minutes.
Eventually, you spot light coming from a hollow in the walls. Carefully and with bated breath, you peer inside.
Steam wafts over your face.
It’s warm — startlingly so against the chill that seems to cling to every corridor of the mountain. You hesitate again, also only a moment before stepping inside.
The ceiling arches high above, rough stone glistening with condensation, droplets forming and falling in slow, steady rhythms that echo softly in the space. The air is thick, humid, curling around your skin. It tickles.
At the centre of the chamber lies a pool.
It’s set into a wide, uneven basin in the ground. The water glows faintly from beneath, lit by the same red-veined stones embedded along the walls, but here their light is softened, diffused through the steam until it casts everything in a hazy, molten glow.
The surface of the water ripples lazily, disturbed by unseen currents, by the quiet bubbling from somewhere deep below. Heat rises from it in waves, beckoning, almost inviting.
Who knew something like this existed inside a mountain?
Carefully, you approach the edge of the pool, crouching slightly as you extend a hand. Your fingers hover for a second before dipping into the water.
Hot.
But not scalding.
“A bath,” you mumble, smiling.
Here, of all places.
The servants had given you a bed to sleep on, a table to eat at, and a pot to do your business in that seemed to be cleaned out magically without you ever seeing anyone. What they hadn’t granted, however, is the luxury of a bath. Only a bucket to and a rag to clean yourself with.
You glance back toward the tunnel, as if half-expecting someone, something, to be watching. But there’s nothing and no one. Only the distant drip of water and the low hum of the mountain breathing around you.
Your reflection stares back at you from the shifting surface, blurred by steam and movement. The quiet stretches.
If you’ll be killed for stepping outside your room, at least you’ll die clean and fresh.
Shrugging off your nightgown, you dip your toe in the water, then your leg and the other, and soon you’re fully emerged.
“Oh, that’s wonderful,” you moan, letting the water soothe the aches in your bones. You sink deeper. The heat swallows you whole, up to your shoulders, then your chin. Your eyes flutter shut as you tilt your head back, strands of your hair clinging damply to your skin.
For a moment, just a moment, you forget. Forget the mountain, the monsters, the fate waiting patiently for you somewhere in its depths. The tension bleeds out of your limbs, your breathing slowing, evening out as the warmth seeps into you.
You drift, arms floating lazily at your sides.
A soft sigh escapes you. This is just like swimming in the lake near the village, except it’s warm and lovely and soothing.
It’s…peaceful.
Too peaceful.
Your eyes open.
Something feels…off suddenly. The water, once gently lapping, stills in a way that isn’t natural. The faint bubbling from below seems to deepen, shift. Like something moving far beneath the surface.
Your body goes rigid.
Slowly, you glance down. The water is dark there. Deeper than it should be. The glow from the stones doesn’t quite reach the bottom — it falls away into shadow, into something that looks less like a pool and more like a pit.
A pit that could swallow you whole.
Your breath catches.
“…Hello?” you call softly, though you don’t know why.
The surface trembles.
Something moves.
Your heart lurches into your throat. Instinct kicks in before thought does. You turn sharply, water sloshing as you begin to move, arms cutting through the surface, making for the edge.
Too slow.
Something clasps your ankle.
A gasp tears right through you, kicking hard, panic surging white-hot through your veins. “No!”
It coils.
Grabs.
Your leg is yanked downward with terrifying force.
The world flips. Water crashes over your head as you’re dragged under, your scream swallowed instantly. You thrash, clawing at nothing, lungs burning whilst bubbles tear from your mouth. Your hands grasp blindly, trying to find purchase, to find anything.
A shape.
A body.
You strike it. Push against it. Kick, struggle, fight with everything in you, nails scraping against something solid, unyielding.
Then it lets go.
You don’t wait.
You surge upward, breaking through the surface with a ragged gasp, coughing, choking on water as you scramble for the edge. Your hands slap against the stone, slipping once before catching, dragging yourself up just enough to cling to it. Your whole body trembles violently.
Air. You need air.
You suck it in greedily, chest heaving, water dripping from your lashes as your eyes dart wildly across the pool. “W-what…” you choke out, voice shaking.
A sound answers you. A low, amused exhale.
Your blood runs cold. Slowly, hesitantly, you turn your head.
He’s here.
The King of Curses.
Sukuna lounges against the inner ledge of the pool as though he’s always been there. One arm is slung lazily over the stone behind him, another resting loosely at his side, droplets sliding down the planes of his skin. And the remaining two are folded under the water.
He’s watching you.
No, observing you.
That smirk curls at his lips, sharp and satisfied, eyes glinting with something dark and entertained. “Well,” he drawls, voice echoing low against the stone walls, “your floundering was amusing.”
“W-why,” you begin, gulping air and frantically shoving the wet hair clinging away from your face, “why did you do that?”
A hum floats through the air, carried by the steam. It sweeps your skin. Sukuna says, “Because I could.” Then he barks a laugh. “When I came here to wash the stink of my latest massacre, I did not expect to find a human bathing in my onsen. How brazen of you.”
When he snaps his fingers together, you flinch.
Uraume appears.
Their head is downcast. They don’t look at your body, which you suddenly remember is bare and visible through the clear water. You throw your arms over your private parts.
“Who is this woman and why have you not killed her upon her first step of trespass?” he asks his servant. Sukuna doesn’t sound mad. Only curious.
“Because she is your bride, my Lord.”
You flinch at the term.
Sukuna barks a laugh again. “My bride? My bride! How comical that I would forget I have one.” He turns to you, eyes narrowing in with interest. “Why have you only now appeared before me?”
Gulping, you tentatively answer, “I did not think you would want to see me. And I’m sorry I intruded—”
“Wise,” he says, one of his massive arms running through his wet hair. “I am not usually fond of seeing humans; you are all so hideous and constantly quivering in my presence.”
There’s no possible way to reply to that, not without getting your blood spilled for insolence.
He stands upon the ledge and exits the pool.
He’s completely naked, as you are. His broad back, the impressive muscles that make it up, the perfectly symmetrical tattoos. He turns. His cocks swings with the movement. You quickly avert your eyes, cheeks warm.
If Sukuna notices that you noticed, he doesn’t say. Only, “Try not to drown — my pet swims beneath but he has already had his fill. Do not fatten him with your flesh.”
When you hurriedly climb out, squealing, his laughter echoes, filling the space even once his body, and his servant’s, have left.
You kneel on the smooth ground, panting, soaked and dripping, and thinking one thing:
The Curse King has a sense of humour.
And two giant cocks.
.
.
.
The next day, you find yourself back at the pool.
You tell yourself it’s simply because you want to bathe, but perhaps if you were more honest with yourself, you’d accept that maybe you were curious to see if he’d be there.
And he is.
Sukuna leans against the very same ledge he had been yesterday. He watches your every move, from when you first step in, to when you shyly shrug off your nightgown, and when you submerge yourself in the warm water.
Something has brought you here.
A pull you could not deny.
Thinking too much about it gives you a headache, so you let your body move on its own, unhindered by logic, by your mind’s concerns. You want to bathe, to be clean. He hadn’t killed you yesterday, and that counts for something.
Of course, you know the smart thing to do would be to not push it, to understand that two run-ins with him that didn’t lead to immediate death doesn’t mean a third would end the same, to count your blessings.
But…
Bath.
He says nothing, only runs a finger across the seam of his lips as his eyes drink up every shift of your body.
Boldly, albeit shakily, you ask, “Why haven’t you killed me yet?”
Sukuna’s eyes glint.
“I wonder the same thing myself.”
That’s not an answer, you note. But you don’t poke, scared if you do, if you push your limits more than you already have, he’ll snap your head as easily as he had snapped his fingers.
The way his eyes pin you down on the ledge opposite him has you squirming in your seat. It’s too intense. Too strong. Too dizzying. So you try to pretend it’s not cascading down the skin visible to him; you push forward, wading in the water. You stare at the ceiling, at the distance, at the darkness of the depths, at anything but him.
“My village offered me as sacrifice,” you remind him. “Will you spare them?”
Somewhere, he lazily replies, “I have yet to decide.”
Humming, as though you thought as much, you wonder aloud, “What will you do with me? I cannot imagine that the King of Curses would find much use in a human wife.”
“No, neither can I,” Sukuna drawls.
On and on, you swim. Arms cut through the water in slow, steady strokes, legs kicking behind you in a rhythm that’s begun to feel automatic. There’s no sense of direction, no shore to aim for, just the endless stretch of water surrounding you, thick and quiet, swallowing any sound you might make. Time slips, dissolves, until all that remains is movement for the sake of movement.
Then, as you turn, your hand meets something solid.
The impact is soft but jarring, your palm flattening instinctively against it. A wall. Smooth, unmoving, impossibly present where there had only ever been open water.
You gasp.
Sukuna stands behind you.
The bottom of the pool had risen. You still cannot reach it, but you’re aware that if you tried to, the water’s surface would be just above your head. The pool is under his command, bending to his will. How incredible.
Bare, wet skin meets bare, wet skin.
The heat of his body is hotter than that of the water.
He doesn’t step away despite how the water seems to be pushing you to him.
How did he get to you so fast? Last you saw, he was still sitting on the ledge. No, perhaps the better question is, why had he moved closer to you at all?
Hands grab your ribs. You gasp. They’re firm, callused. Burning.
“Wife?” he repeats, wide smirk revealing rows of flesh-tearing teeth. “You are not my wife. You are my bride. I am sure even a puny, little thing like you understand that there is a process to be followed, yes?”
A nail flicks your nipple under the water.
You let out a shuddery breath.
The other two hands grip the back of your thighs, lifting them till they’re wrapping around his hips. The top half of your body has emerged from the water, water dripping down. You throw your arms around his neck, a reflex to grab onto something before you fall.
Breasts presses to his chest. He must feel how hard your nipples are. You’re flushed with embarrassment, and an acute awareness of how much bigger his own body is to yours — if he wanted to, he could crush you with his bare hands.
Sukuna’s sharp fangs glint at the very peaks as he runs his tongue over them. “For you to be my wife, we would have to observe tradition. Do you understand what I refer to, little human?”
Breathless, you answer with your own question: “Do you refer to the wedding night, my Lord?”
One of his cocks pokes your entrance. You tense up.
You’ve seen their size; they are inhumanly big. They could not fit inside you, not without the preparation that the women in your village had giggled about, perhaps not even with.
But he doesn’t shove it inside you all in one go.
He doesn’t shove it inside at all.
The king merely slides you down his body, just a little, until that cock is sandwiched between your bodies.
It bumps a good spot on your cunt. You gasp.
“I do,” Sukuna says, huffing in amusement at your reaction. “I admit I have not been married before myself, but it is one aspect I am curious about.”
His strong hands are moving you up and down, testing every little sound that leaves your lips. And you’re letting him.
Is there something in the water? Some elixir that’s making you susceptible to his whims? An aphrodisiac stimulating wetness out of your pussy?
He must feel it, must feel how it drips down his length. Just like how you can feel the prominent veins of a cock that’s grown fully erect without you noticing. How long has he been like this? Since you walked in? Before?
Your nipples are scraping his chest. The sensation has you arching closer to him, grip around his body tightening. “M-my Lord!”
Sukuna tuts, moving you up and down like you’re a mere toy for his pleasure. He scolds, “That is not my name.”
“Sukuna?” you experimentally mutter the words. His cock throbs. You both groan. “S-something’s happening.”
Hips moving on their own, you feel as though you’ve been possessed. Your body is no longer your own — some invisible thing is urging you to grind down on his cock, on that burning heat between you, rubbing your clit on his flushed cockhead, on the veins that run up and down his length.
Humming, he says, quite distracted, “Yes. Something is. Allow it to happen. Do not fight it.”
This is pleasure you’ve never felt before. Pleasure you didn’t know truly existed. The women in your village always spoke of sexual pleasure as something only for men, joy a girl would be lucky to experience even once, if their partner was generous and not selfish, which was apparently rare.
Yet, here is, grinding your clit on the veins of his cock.
He licks his lips. “Go on, little human. Give it to me.”
With a loud moan, you throw your head back. Spasms wrack your body. A heady explosion warms your belly. Spurts of something even warmer paint your chest and stomach.
Sukuna grunts, fingers digging into the plush of your ass.
“Fuck.”
Your head falls back on his chest, slumping with sudden languishness. You pant. His chest rises with his own heavier breaths.
Coming back into your own senses, you tense. Then push away. He lets you.
“I’m so sorry,” you say, in near tears from shame. “Please forgive me, my Lord.”
You wade back, further and further away from him. Blood has pooled in your cheeks. What have you done? If he wasn’t going to kill you before, he certainly will now that you’ve defiled his body.
He pays you no mind. The water around his still body ripples. Sukuna grunts. Sucks in a harsh breath. Water laps at his contracting abdomen. Furious. Violent. You cannot tear your eyes away from the sight.
Oh god…he’s tugging furiously at his other cock whilst the other floats. His own spend is drying on his chest.
Mouth watering, you almost step forward to offer a hand.
But you don’t.
Instead, you turn around and make a run back to your room.
.
.
.
You haven’t returned to the pool. Not once in the week that passed.
He might not have killed you but one thing’s certain: you do not want to run into him again.
Especially now that you’ve caught his attention. Reminded him of your existence. Which is as one would expect: worse than being forgotten. So, so, so much worse.
For, every day since the meeting at the pool, he’s taken to dropping off severed limbs at your door. Still warm. Still bleeding. Often twitching. First it was a big toe. Then a whole foot. A finger. A hand. An arm.
And today, a head.
A scream shook the walls once your eyes landed on the thing.
Your scream.
Perhaps it’s adrenaline that urges every stomp your feet make. Perhaps anger or indignation. Whatever it is, it has you near-running through the halls, searching in every hollow for him.
An almost full circle has been carved at the very end of one tunnel you stumble down. Vines creep out of it. You step inside, heaving, and with fists balled at your side.
A garden.
It stretches farther than your eyes can follow, lush and sprawling, like the earth itself had been coaxed open and persuaded to bloom in defiance of everything you thought you knew about this place. The ceiling arches high above, fractured in places where thin shafts of pale light filter through, catching on drifting pollen and casting the entire space in a soft, dreamlike haze.
The air is warm here. Heavy with scent.
Sweet. Overripe. Almost intoxicating.
It’s not a human garden, you can tell immediately; the grass is black, as is the soil, and the roots which emerge from the ground are red. Things that couldn’t exist in the same place do, cohabiting quite well.
Flowers you’ve never seen before crowd the ground in wild abundance — petals like silk and flame, some translucent, others so dark they seem to drink in the light. Vines coil and twist up natural pillars of stone, heavy with blossoms. Leaves skim against your legs as you step forward, wide and waxy, or delicate as lace, each one foreign.
“How…?” you whisper, though there is no answer. It shouldn’t have been possible to have a whole forest inside a mountain. But then again, a great many things shouldn’t have been possible, yet they are.
The path, if it can even be called that, winds forward through the growth, barely visible beneath the encroaching green. It feels endless. Like you could spend your entire life sprinting down the path and never make it to the end.
There, some distance ahead, partially obscured by the curtain of hanging vines, a figure moves.
You freeze.
Bare feet press against the dark soil, soundless. A loose robe hangs from his shoulders, open just enough to reveal the breadth of his chest and the markings etched into his skin stark against the softness of the garden around him. One hand drags idly along the leaves as he walks.
“Hello, little bride.”
It still surprises you that he can utter the word so casually. You don’t flinch this time however. You only glower and maintain the distance. “Why have you been giving me body parts?” you interrogate, grateful that your voice is as firm as when you had rehearsed.
Sukuna lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “Why have you not stepped foot outside your room since?”
He resumes walking.
Toward you.
Each step is unhurried, deliberate, crushing petals beneath his feet without a second thought. The garden seems to part for him, bending subtly to his presence, vines shifting, leaves snaking aside in quiet submission.
You don’t move.
You tell yourself you won’t.
Your pulse stutters anyway.
“You fear me,” Sukuna observes, like he’s stating something obvious. His eyes drag over you, taking in every inch, every subtle shift in your breathing, the way your fingers curl tighter at your sides. “And yet you came looking.”
“Because I want to know why you’ve been giving me body parts,” you snap.
“Mm.”
He’s closer now.
Close enough that you can feel the heat of him, even in the thick, perfumed air of the garden. Close enough that you can see the faint sheen of moisture still clinging to his skin, the slow rise and fall of his chest beneath the loose fall of his robe.
Another step.
Instinct finally kicks in; you shift back, just one pace.
The corner of his mouth lifts. “I was curious.”
Your brows knit. “About what?”
“How long it would take,” he says lightly, “for you to stop hiding.” A finger traces the curve of your cheek. You hold your breath, staring up at him, waiting for his next move. Sukuna mutters, “How odd that your scent would be so much sweeter than the flowers that grow here. It makes me wonder.”
Why is heat travelling down your body? Why aren’t you running away, revolted by his touch or the gravel in his voice? Were you still thinking about the feel of his body against yours, both naked, in the pool? Of the cocks whose soft lengths had been engrained in your mind?
His nostrils flare.
A flash in his eyes.
“There it is,” he rasps. “A scent I could not escape, so much more potent now.”
In a blink of an eye, you’re flipped over, dangling in the air. He has you by the ankle, lifted high up.
You grab onto his robe, which has parted. Right in front of you is his cock. Both of them. Neither soft now. Definitely not soft. One smacks you right against the face. It leaves a wet mark.
The musk of a refined monster hits you. It’s…it’s addictive. Your mouth waters again, stronger this time than the time at the pool now that they’re so much closer to you. Irresistible.
Sukuna presses a nose to the apex of your thighs. Skin on skin. You jolt.
Your dress had fallen down your body, ballooning around your face. You hold the material away — he can see everything. That fact has you aware that you can see him too. The thickness of his cocks, the lengths rivalling your forearm, the weight of the balls beneath. Everything about him is massive. Intended to subjugate. Designed to dominate.
“You are already wet. Soaked,” he muses, thoroughly humoured. He rubs his nose on your clit, nuzzling the little bud. You dig your nails into his thighs. “Filthy, little human.”
That’s all he says before he licks a stripe through your slit.
“Sukuna!”
“Mm. Dessert. Just in time.”
The beast licks and laps and sucks. It isn’t anything like the women at the village described — men are supposed to be reluctant, they’re supposed to be frightened. Sukuna isn’t. He’s consuming your juices as though starved, needing nourishment.
In front of you, something emerges from his skin.
A wolfish grin.
There’s a mouth on his stomach, lips curled up and teeth gleaming. You scream, fighting to get out of his tight hold.
SMACK!
Sukuna slapped your ass. A dull heat blossoms on the flesh. He commands, “Stay still. I cannot dine when you worm like so.”
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
Cruelly, he lays short slaps right on your clit, sending juices splashing onto your skin. The way his palm sticks, the sloppy noises, it's all so degrading. He’s doing it on purpose. He’s revelling in your clear desire for him.
You’re almost too distracted by the sight of a second, bigger mouth. Almost. But nothing can truly, wholly tear your attention away from the sucking of your clit and the way a fire is being lit in your very core. Soon, a thick tongue finds your entrance and buries itself inside. Your eyes roll back.
A hot, wet thing slides up the valley of your breasts. Slithering. Testing. Tasting.
The mouth, you realise. It’s sticking its fat tongue out, licking your breasts the way Sukuna’s face mouth is licking the inside of your cunt, stretching your walls, teasing the pleats there.
“Delicious,” one of them says. You can’t tell which. So much is happening at once. Too many to process.
At your lips, one of his cockheads smears its seed. You lick your lips. It’s salty. Eyes fixed on the frighteningly red thing, you open your mouth to suckle at it. That familiar possession has returned. You’re being controlled by an invisible force — your jaw has to widen to take the bulbous head. Your tongue runs over the tip, where there’s a slit.
Sukuna groans, pleased. Then he growls, “Do not neglect the other.”
Slightly afraid, you do as he says. The other cock is just as hard, just as big and long as the one you’re sucking on. It throbs approvingly when you tug on it.
“Good,” he groans out. “Very good, little bride.”
Obscene squelches are coming from above. It’s a reminder of how wet you are for him. Of how delirious the pleasure is. Of how you aren’t disgusted by the magical tongue flicking your tits, playing with the mounds, running the tip of it over your nipples. You’re not disgusted by the salty taste of him, of how he seems to be constantly leaking.
He’s lapping up at your pussy so furiously that he makes frustrated, wrathful sounds; he’s mad that you’re not producing enough wetness to match the pace in which he’s drinking it up.
“More,” he commands. “Give me more. Now.”
Sukuna pushes his face closer, uncaring of the fact that you’re making a mess all over his cheeks. He only has one thing on his mind.
“I’m gonna cum,” you warn him, mouth full and words garbled. The unfamiliar word leaves your lips so naturally you think you’d been warning him all your life of your impending orgasm.
Unfortunately, the warning is wasted. You don’t think he even hears the words with your thighs muffling his ears.
“Sukuna!”
The very same feeling, the same sensations, as the time in the pool rushes through you. Bolts of lightning thrum beneath the surface of your skin. You shudder, moaning lewdly.
He doesn’t stop. If anything, he’s only emboldened by the juices overflowing out of you. Slurrrrrping! so animatedly. So viciously. So animalistically.
A feral beast sucking your sensitive clit into another orgasm only minutes later.
It’s too much. It almost hurts. You slap at his meaty thigh. That seems to snap him out of his mania.
In a flash, you’re flipped back upright. Blood descends down your body. Lightheaded, your knees weaken. He catches you, lifting you up in his arms all while he’s collecting as much of your juices off his skin he can reach with his tongue.
Thud…thud…thud…
Sukuna strolls through the garden and back out into the rocky halls, robe discarded. Your dress is soaked with a mix of your juices, sweat, and his saliva. You’re filthy. He doesn’t complain.
Thankfully, there’s no one in the hallways to witness the remnants, of the proof, of your mutual debauchery.
“I have never considered myself as having a sweet tooth,” Sukuna begins, musing to himself, “but now I believe I would very much like to have dessert after every meal. What do you say, little human?”
“Hmm,” you sleepily hum.
“Then we are in agreement,” Sukuna concludes, pleased.
Your eyes flutter shut, too tired to keep them open. Before you fall into slumber, you feel a bed much softer than you remember cushion your body.
A hardness flanks you.
You dream of many hands brushing your hair, patting your hip, rubbing your belly, and tracing your cheek.
.
.
.
Since you’ve come to accept your odd relationship with the King of Curses, you’ve been spending an awful amount of time with him lately.
It started off with him keeping you in his room.
It’s a much nicer room than yours. Infinitely so. Almost triple the size and more lavishly decorated — a huge bed with silk sheets and a canopy with deep velvet curtains, a plush rug, dark red orchids in intricate and complex positions upon a table, paintings of different moments in time of human suffering that concerningly do not bother you.
You always find yourself back in here.
Whenever you wander through the halls, the walls seem to shift. They lead you back to his room. At first you were hesitant to enter, and you’d try to go a different way, but the caves insisted.
He isn’t here ever.
So you’ve started to think of it as your own.
During meal times, that’s when you’d see Sukuna.
Uraume would often escort you out of the room and into the dining hall. Another enormous space. You’d dine with him, and only him. There’d be curses posted inside, but they always step out, to give you privacy you assume. Naturally, these mealtimes were awkward for you in the beginning.
Sukuna didn’t speak. Not at first. He would just watch you eat, which only made you feel more awkward.
You were the one who broke the silence. “Are you… are you not going to eat, my Lord?” you asked tentatively.
A devious grin came upon his face. Happy he won a competition you didn’t know you signed up for. He replied, “I will. I am simply fattening up my pig before I devour her.”
Heat flushed through you. Cutlery clinking against the fine china, you gulped. There was a dangerous awareness of the darkness of his eyes feasting upon your flesh — you felt its weight sliding down the plumpness of your cheeks, the length of your neck, your collarbones, and your breasts which threatened to spill out from the confines of your dress.
Perhaps fear should have overtaken you at that moment.
Only relief and desire did.
What set you on edge most was not knowing what he wanted from you, why he had Uraume collect you, why he was wasting his time here when he could be doing kingly duties.
Now that he had made clear what he was seeking, you could allow yourself to rest easy and actually taste the food you were shovelling into your mouth.
“I am the pig in question?”
“Yes,” he replied immediately. A hand shoved a plate of pancakes towards you, encouraging. “You certainly squeal like one.”
Frowning, and pushing the plate away because you have too much to eat already, you argued, “I do not.”
“Do too,” he said, pushing the plate back towards you.
“Do not!”
An arm wrapped around your waist faster than you could see. Another swiped the food off the table. Everything fell with cacophonous clangs and bangs and splats!
Sukuna placed you on the table, which was now bereft of food. Your back met the hard wood. Your legs were thrown over his shoulders. Dress hiked up your waist. You were bared to him. Two of his callused hands yanked you closer to his face. Those four eyes, all scarlet and glinting up at you, didn’t look away.
He wanted you to watch him take a long whiff of your cunt.
His grip tightened on you once your scent hit him with full force. His eyes rolled back. Sukuna snarled, “Let’s see which of us is right.”
There were no soft kisses upon your sensitive skin, no caresses. Only unrestrained feasting. He immediately latched onto your clit, sucking on the thing with a fury. You cried out.
The king was frightening in his aggression.
He was gulping down every drop your pussy produced to please him, and it wasn’t nearly enough. Terrifying growls shook the table.
Sukuna seemed addicted to making your cunt let out vulgar squelchessss!
They came in quick succession. One after the other. Loud and clear. Displaying how well he was playing with your clit.
“Look at how your cunt flutters, searching for my cocks,” he mused, thumbing the entrance but not pushing in. “And look how your petals have grown swollen with blood. Oh, I bet your blood tastes as good as your pussy. We’ll test that too, another day.”
Stammering, you pleaded, “Don’t look!”
He stared too intently. Saw too much. It was more intimate than being tasted.
“Nonsense,” Sukuna said, waving you off. “I will look as I please, and I very much do.”
In response to his renewed lapping of your juices, you could only writhe and run your nails down the wood for anything to ground you.
“Do not waste your claws on the table,” he spat, spare hands snatching your ups and offering his wrists for you to dig into. You hesitated, chest heaving and vision swimming. Then he asked, “You do not find my flesh good enough to mark? You wish to offend your groom when he is at the altar of your legs?”
You didn’t want to know what he was like when he was offended so you clung to his thick wrists. You made a mental note not to actually scratch him — that seemed a more criminal act than offending him – but the pleasure born from his ravishing of your pussy bordered on pain and you could not help yourself.
The very moment your nails caught on his skin and broke through, one of the hands that was keeping your shaking legs apart darted out. It landed on your chest. With brutish finesse, it ripped your bodice. Cool air grazed over your breasts. That hand latched onto a tit.
“W-what– Oh God!” you screamed.
Something…
Something on his palm was suckling your nipple, like a babe.
Sukuna’s amused huff vibrated through your pussy, sending shivers up your spine. “No, not God, little bride. It is me. My mouth is making you feel good. But,” he adds after a little thought, “I do not mind being worshipped as a deity, heh.”
How could he be so nonchalant when two sets of mouths were eating you up, when your eyes were at risk of being permanently lodged at the back of your head? How could he make conversation so easily when his tongue, which felt so impossibly long, was wriggling through your walls and teasing the entrance to your womb? When the mouth at his palm was suctioning your nipple into that impossible space?
“Delicious,” he snarled, positively starved of your taste. “So fucking sweet. How can a human be so…so…divine? It defies nature.”
He wasn’t talking to you anymore. He was manically muttering to himself, reasoning with his own understanding of the balance of life. It baffled him. Bewildered him. Excited him. Sukuna could not get enough of you.
Whining, you called out his name, “S-Sukuna! It’s too -hngh!- much. I can’t.”
“Cum,” he said.
Your head shook, thrashed. “No, I -hah- can’t!”
“Cum,” he repeated. No, commanded. Ordered. Demanded.
And you could not deny a king.
You fell apart on the dining table with a scream. Wetness rushed out of you as though a dam had broken. He drank it all up. Slurrrrrpeddd! every single drop until you were writhing again. And when he growled, “More,” and, “Again,” you could not deny him then either.
It might have been hours later before he decided he’d had his fill.
Aside from meal times, you don’t see him during the day. He’s always gone. No one will tell you why, and you don’t feel brave enough to ask. You merely assume he’s doing kingly duties — keeping the curses of the Underworld and of the forests in line, maintaining balance between humans and monsters, and protecting his people.
In the meantime, you read in his room, which is now your room. There are plenty of books here. More than you could ever read in a lifetime, and certainly more than there ever were in your village. It’s hard to imagine he read any of the books in the collection but there are signs of use: folded pages, cracked spines, yellowing.
He read each one you had opened.
Poems.
Novellas.
Journals of travels beyond.
You don’t mind the hours spent on your own; the goblins walking along still scare you so you avoid running into them. Of course, there’s always the option to ask during your mealtimes, in between him eating you out and actually consuming food, if you could visit the village (for you know returning was too much). Not that you especially wanted to go home.
The villagers had sold you.
Abandoned you.
They would not welcome you home.
So you must consider the heart of the mountain your new home.
It’s simply about asking, about knowing the answer, about having the option.
But each time you considered bringing up your village to him, you backed out at the last second. He was not your husband. Not really. Not yet. He’s not even really your groom. That just seems like an excuse to do the salacious things you’ve been doing. At most, he’s your friend, and you cannot burden your friend more than you already have.
Truthfully, it hardly matters what exactly he is to you. He’s nice. Attentive. Generous. He hasn’t killed you, he hasn’t hurt you, hasn’t massacred your village and your family, and hasn’t thrown back in your face any of those facts.
That’s why every morning, when you know Uraume will escort you, you make sure never to be late.
You obediently, possibly excitedly, wait in front of the door for the knock.
You slide a hand down your new dress; it appeared in the closet, and is your size. It certainly isn’t Sukuna’s. Red lace, soft silk, dainty bows, easy to move in and breathe — it’s a beautiful dress. Far more expensive and luxurious than anything you’d ever owned. The chest area’s a little tight; it pushes your breasts up more than you’re used to, and somehow you’re sure that was on purpose.
When the door opens, Uraume’s patient self leads you out. They’re quiet. Respectful. They have been since the very first night.
“Thank you.”
Cold eyes flit to you. “What ever for, my lady?”
“For saving me,” you say, fiddling with the lace on your dress. “If you hadn’t suggested that he humour me, Sukuna would have—”
“The king,” Uraume cuts in, spine straight and gaze fixed ahead now, “does only as he pleases. It is his right. He grows bored of his new toys very quickly, and it is my duty to keep him entertained. I saw an opportunity to fulfil my responsibility. That is all.”
You have no response to that. You only blink, surprised and berating yourself for being so. Sukuna may be your friend, in your eyes at least, but Uraume is not. Sukuna may not mind the fact that you are human, but others may not share the same sentiment. Maybe Uraume thinks you are a plague. A rat. That’s often the story humans spread about curses and their philosophies.
Soon, you reach the double doors leading to the garden. Before the doors are opened, they add, “It is also my duty to throw old toys away.”
When you turn to look at them, they’re already gone.
“Finally,” Sukuna says, exasperated. “I resent being kept waiting. Walk here with haste, little bride.”
Uraume’s words linger in your mind; Sukuna’s sharp rows of teeth flash washes them away.
He’s in his loose robes, bottom set of arms tucked into the wide sleeves. A hand beckons you over, and the moment you are within reach, he snatches you up. You’re carried up in his arms, high enough to come face to face with him and see all four of his eyes watching you.
Sukuna nuzzles the crook of your neck. He starts walking down the path. Branches tickle the top of your head. “Did you sleep well?” he wonders. His voice vibrates against your skin. It tickles.
Gripping his hair for purchase, you murmur, “Yes.” Then, shuddering once his lips explores the length of your neck, you ask, “Did you?”
“I do not sleep,” he casually replies.
Within minutes, he’s managed to walk so deep into the garden that the surroundings have changed from exotic flowers full of vibrant colours and shapes to a forest of cherry blossoms. Petals whirl around you, swirling with the gentle wind.
Above you, the cave walls have shifted into the blue and vast open sky.
You gasp. “Are we…are we outside?”
The brightness almost sting your eyes; you have to narrow them with a wince to avoid being blinded. The smell of fresh air too nearly burns your nostrils. The chatter of live animals and insects are near deafening at first. Everything’s so different, so new, yet so familiar, so ordinary that it becomes magical to your senses.
He parts from your neck to eye your reaction. The smile on your face makes his grip on you tighten. Sukuna says, “Yes. Your complexion looked rather dull without sunlight, and my bride must be at her very best at all times. So here we are.”
That doesn’t sound quite true upon his lips but you don’t question him on it.
Instead, you beam at him and gush, “Thank you! Oh, it’s wonderful out.”
It’s easy to forget what the world above is like when you’ve spent countless nights under the mountain with rocks for company.
Sukuna sets you down. You waste no time running around, laughing at the green grass that tickles your bare feet.
The grass inside the mountain’s garden is black, with roots being red, for reasons you could not fathom. It’s coarser too. The softness of this green, human grass, in comparison, sets your heart racing.
There’s no wind inside the mountain, only a draught. This calm air is fresher, warmer, soothing on the body and doesn’t settle.
And the warmth of the sun…
Beams of distant fire soaks into your skin. You sigh, a small smile on your lips.
When you turn back, he’s sitting under a tree, all arms crossed and watching you. Always watching. Always aware of your every move, every position, every shift.
Somewhat shy with the realisation that he’d seen the entire display, you stroll back to his side.
“It is a lovely day out, yes?” he says.
You nod, grinning. “It’s perfect. Just perfect.”
About to sit beside him, you let out a squeal when he snatches you up again and sits you down on his lap. All of his arms cage you. Sukuna rests his chin on the top of your head.
“Now it is,” he mumbles, chest rumbling against your back.
You smile again, more coy this time, and grateful he can’t see it.
The grass is untouched. No footprints mar it. No broken twigs, no distant rustling of hidden creatures. It is a forest, yes, but stripped of all the unease that forests usually carry.
It is only you and him.
Your fingers curl into the fabric of his sleeve as another petal lands on your lap. You pick it up, studying it like it might vanish if you blink too long. Glancing back at him, you tilt your head slightly. “Did you…make this place like this?”
His chin presses a little more firmly into your hair, a quiet, possessive weight. “It exists on its own,” he says. “I allow it to remain.”
Another petal skims your lips. Without thinking, you laugh — light, bright, unguarded — as you try to catch it, only for it to slip away again, carried by a breeze that barely stirs the trees.
“You’re noisy,” he mutters.
Yet he does not tell you to stop.
You lean back into him instead, comfortable now, warm from the sun and from him both. One of his hands idly flicks a petal from your shoulder, the motion almost absent-minded, as though he doesn’t realise he’s doing it. Or perhaps he does. And simply doesn’t care.
Your gaze drifts across the clearing again, softer this time. Slower. Relaxed, you ask, “You said you don’t sleep. What do you do at night?”
Sukuna hums, fingers drumming on your stomach. “I take care of my business.”
That’s vague, you think, but you don’t push. Instead, you ask another question: “Why do you not return to the chambers?”
He chuckles, teasing. “How forward of you, little bride. We have not yet been wed and you’re already asking to share the marital bed. Is this how you humans do it in this day and age?”
Heat flushes your cheeks. You smack one of his wandering hands, which has crept up to cradle a breast, and huff, “No, that’s not what I’m saying. I just mean, everyone needs sleep. Surely even you, the King of Curses. I wonder how you rest is all.”
A moment of contemplation passes.
Did you say something wrong? Did you go too far?
Did he hate that you smacked him?
“You are right,” he eventually says, head coming down to nudge you. His lips gently touches your cheek. “I do need rest. So allow me.”
His strong hands easily lift you off his lap, placing you down on the grass. Sukuna unfolds his large body and comes to lie perpendicular to you. His head weighs your thighs down.
With a wave of his hand, a book appears in your left hand at the same time he takes your right and cradles it to his chest. “Read,” he instructs. “Read to me. And after my nap, I will eat your little cunt and slap your clit thrice to punish you for smacking my hand even just once.”
A flutter at your core has his eyes peering up at you, glinting. He must have sensed it. Somehow. Whether by feeling or by smell. How mortifying.
“Or,” he starts, “I can eat you out now. I am fine with whatever order you prefer.”
“No, I’ll read,” you hurriedly say. You flick to the first page, reading the words out loud and only sighing in relief when his eyes flutter shut at the sound of your voice.
Sukuna’s lips curl up in the corner.
And so a new tradition is born.
.
.
.
“My Lord,” Uraume repeats outside the door, “they wait for you.”
Sukuna growls out, “Let them. I am preoccupied.”
You’re pressed to the door, the cold wood warming up to the flush of your cheek. Bottom lip bitten in a desperate attempt to keep quiet, you can do nothing else but let him rut his scalding length between your thighs.
This evening, he’d woken you up with his tongue buried inside your cunt. It seems after another whole day out in the garden, reading and strolling with him and tasting each other beneath trees before or after his naps, you fell asleep and were carried back into your chambers.
Has it been days or weeks since you’ve built up this routine of spending the days together and spending evenings apart?
Time seems to pass so quickly and yet so slowly. It’s begun to lose all meaning to you. It’s not a fact you lament.
You jolted with a shriek at the hulking figure under your covers. “About time,” he said, throwing the heavy thing off and baring how his skin glistened with your spend to you. “I thought I might have to fuck you with both my cocks at once to wake you.”
He was joking, you were sure. Or hoped…
“Wake me?” you repeated, back arching. “W-why?”
Sukuna replied, a fang rubbing your clit and being especially careful not to cut you, “Because I must leave again, but I did not want to without hearing my name upon your lips.”
A whine tore through you. “Why couldn’t you just wake me up the normal way?”
Red eyes flashed mischievously from below. He licked a strike up your inner thigh all while not breaking eye contact. “Because normal does not taste as good.”
Uraume’s voice called out soon after, reminding him of the evening meeting. You stiffened. Could they hear you? Do they know what he was doing with you on the bed?
Feeling embarrassed, you kicked Sukuna off and tried to push him to the door. You hissed, “You need to go. They need you.”
A hand slid inside your dress and groped your breast, cursed mouth appearing to nurse on your nipple. Another lifted your skirt up so that a third can coat its fingers in your cunt’s essence with the intention of easing the entry inside.
“So does your cunt,” he said. “And I know which I would rather attend to first.”
Oh, he was filthy. So, so filthy.
And so persuasive.
With you continuing, and struggling, to shake him off — legs quivering from the number his mouths had done to you today — you eventually made it to the door and was about to open it when something hot and heavy rested upon the curve of your ass and a second parted your puffy pussy lips.
It was almost like he planned this.
“Do not make a noise,” Sukuna rakishly rasped to your ear. Two rough hands gripped your bare hips, dressed hiked up over your ass. “Lest you’d like for Uraume to know what we’re doing.”
You definitely did not — they don’t like you very much. This wouldn’t help your case.
But…
His cocks are rubbing you up and down and back and forth. His fat cockhead keeps catching on your pulsing clit, bumping the thing over and over again until your cunt’s drooling on his veiny length.
“Press your thighs together. Tighter,” he commands, and groaning once you do. “Every part of you feels so good. It’s maddening.”
The pleasure building up in your core from a few thrusts is maddening. Truly. Irrevocably. You can’t tell him that, however. You can’t speak; if you do, a loud moan might slip out.
Sukuna’s grunting in your ear. The sounds are driving you wild. As is the fact that your tits are out and are being squeezed relentlessly by two hands. Mouths take over his palms. They don’t hesitate to latch onto your nipples. You gasp, head thrown back into his chest. “Sukuna!”
“Mm, I know,” he huskily says. “Me too. Be good, pretty human. Just allow me to use your thighs for now.”
He’s so tall your hips have to be lifted up to reach his cocks. Your toes dangle over the ground. You hang precariously but you never worry for a second that he might drop you.
Shlick! Shlickkk!
The sounds are obscene and they’re all you can hear. Uraume must hear them too. Yet, they’re still out there, saying, “My Lord, please. The council grows restless.”
Sukuna’s livid growl shakes the door. “They. Will. Wait. Do not interrupt me again.”
His rutting speeds up. The sucking of his cursed mouths intensifies. The tip of the cock behind you is smearing pre-cum on your back, and the sensation has you clenching around nothing.
“I’m cumming,” you whisper, eyes shut tight. “Nghhh!”
“Good,” he breathes out. “Good girl.”
You bring a hand down to your cunt, cupping the cockhead appearing and disappearing with every shallow thrust through your lips. It nudges your palm, squelching! and leaving wet sploodges of his cum and yours. Sukuna snarls.
And just like that, he cums too. His hot cum explodes into your hand, spilling through the cracks of your fingers and splatting onto the floor. More cum bursts on your back, dirtying your dress.
It’s so hot. Scalding.
He keeps ploughing between your soft thighs, wringing out every last drop until he shudders with a growl and you slump completely in his grasp.
When he pivots you around to check on you, specifically the cheek that had been pressed up against the door, you see his loose robe had fallen open. Some of his cum has ended up dripping down his skin. He’s tattooed and chiselled and hard everywhere. A true killing machine. You run your fingers down his chest, smearing his cum around, all the way to his stomach where a massive mouth manifests in time to clamp onto your wrist with a grin.
His teeth don’t break skin. They don’t even hurt. They merely keep your hand inside, huge tongue slithering to lick every finger and every inch. Curiously, you grip the appendage. It really does feel like a real tongue. You stroke it.
Sukuna grips the back of your neck. He glares down at you. “You are trying to bring me to my knees, aren’t you?”
You blink. “No! Forgive me.” You try to pull your hand out on your own but his sudden grasp on your wrist stops you.
“I did not say I did not like it.” He steps closer, licking his lips.
“My Lord…” Uraume grits out through the door.
Sukuna groans. “Yes! Alright!”
The door opens with a wave of his hand.
“I should massacre the whole council, then I will have all the time in the world to bury my tongue inside your cunt. One day…” he mutters under his breath, seemingly actually considering the idea. You swat his back, cheeks flushed from embarrassment.
Your dress falls back into place just in time for you to shield yourself from anyone else’s eyes but Sukuna’s. Not that it’s enough.
Uraume’s chilling eyes see all — the sweat on your skin, the mess of your hair, the quivering of your legs, and the droplets of cum on the floor. They do not look disgusted by it. They look disgusted by you.
“Be good for me, little bride,” Sukuna says, already stomping away. “I will look for you as soon as I am done with these fools.”
You take a step forward to Uraume, an apology on your tongue.
They step back, straightening up. “These meetings are important,” they begin. “They ensure the other lords feel seen and heard. It maintains peace in our domain, and in yours. You mustn’t keep him from doing his duties. Not only is it impolite, it is also dangerous.”
“I’m sorr—”
“Do not apologise to me. Apologise to the king for wounding him,” they snap. You frown, confused. “The marks you left on his wrists that he refuses to heal himself? He leaves them open and bleeding. He openly plays with the cuts in front of the council, in front of his audience, smiling. Whispers are making echoes of a weakness in our king. If you do not care about your safety, then you must care about his.”
Thoroughly scolded, you stay rooted in place, watching Uraume follow after Sukuna.
.
.
.
You take a walk through the garden this evening to clear your head.
What Uraume said forced you to contemplate your relationship with the king. With Sukuna. They reminded you why you were spared in the first place — you’re a toy. A thing for entertainment.
He is entertained by you now, by the pleasures your body provides. That, however, is not something unique to you; any woman can spread their legs, which is a crass thing to say, you know. But it’s true. To save their village, their people, to earn another day of life, or to even have the honour of serving a king, many women would offer their body up.
And you are no special woman. You are quite average, all things considered. Never the most beautiful woman in the room, the most intelligent, or most pure of heart.
The fact of the matter is, Sukuna will soon grow bored of you.
What is left to be considered now is, will he spare you once he finds a new toy or will you be ‘gotten rid’ of by Uraume?
Will you be sad?
The pang in your chest at the thought seems to suggest so.
Without realising it, you end up back in the cherry blossom grove.
It looks different at night. Just as beautiful as during the day, of course, but different. Fireflies light up the air, mingling with the stars above you. If not for them, you wouldn’t know where you are, wouldn’t know that the tree whose bark you’re grazing with your fingertips now is the very same tree you sit under with Sukuna.
You were always under the impression that being a king meant you could do whatever you wanted. Uraume’s warning proved otherwise — Sukuna had people to please. And you’re who pleases him.
For how long will you be enough?
With a sigh, you wonder if Sukuna really will come to find you after his meeting. He’s always busy in the evenings, and though you spent the hours of the night sleeping anyway, it’d still be nice to talk to him. His thoughts on books you’ve read are quite funny.
He hates silly heroines who make bad decisions and always fall for the gloomy, morally grey men, yet hates the morally grey men more for their cheesy lines. “‘I control shadows and I have wings,’” he’d mimic, lowering his voice to a deeper rumble than his own. Then he’d say in his own voice, “Yes, so do about a thousand other fictional men. You are not special.”
Sukuna’s brows would furrow and he’d scoff whenever you’d get flustered by the erotic passages you’d be forced to read aloud to him as you sit in his lap, but he never suggests changing books. You theorise he really just likes complaining.
“Pretty girl?”
You jolt.
That voice…
“Suguru?”
Behind a tree, a silhouette hobbles over to you. “You’re alive! Oh, thank the heavens!”
The man falls into your arms. He’s really here. Your bestest friend. But he isn’t how you remember him — long raven hair have turned matted and dull, clothes torn and dirtied, and skin scratched up. You can hardly recognise him.
He grips your face, dirt rubbing into your skin. Scanning for any harm that might have befallen you, he smiles with relief upon seeing you’re perfectly well. “I’ve spent so many weeks wondering what had happened to you. I’m so sorry. God, I’m so sorry.”
His words are going in one ear and out the other; you can only question, with terror and trepidation, why his hands tremble, why he’s jumping at every little sound, and pulling you away inch by inch.
“What happened?”
Suguru’s eyes harden. His grip falls on your shoulder. Tight. Insistent. You wince. He says, “Listen to me carefully. We need to leave. We need to leave now. We’re too deep in the Curse King’s territory. There are beasts about. We must run now. Come!”
Bewildered, you’re yanked forward, stumbling over your feet.
“Wait, no, I have to stay!”
He’s not listening.
Deeper into the forest, you’re pulled. The cherry blossoms morph into scraggly trees, leafless and with jagged branches like teeth reaching for you. The fireflies are gone now. You have to force your eyes to adjust as you trip over rocks and logs, and as your bare feet are caked in mud and moss.
Looking back towards the light, you start to heave. “Sukuna…Sukuna’ll be mad. I have to go back.” You try to tear his hand off your wrist, digging your nails, but he can hardly feel it. “Suguru!” you yell, in near tears.
The man whirls on you, eyes wide and red. The bags under his eyes are darker than even the dark. They startle you. “What’re you doing? Why’re you fighting me? I’m trying to save you, like I should have done when your family decided to sacrifice you to the mountain.”
You shake your head. “It’s okay. I’m okay. I’m not mad at you, so if you’re doing this out of guilt, then you don’t need to. Just go, alright? Go before someone notices you’re here. I don’t know what the goblins, Uraume, o-or Sukuna will do if they find you here.”
Suguru recoils. “Sukuna? You call the monster of the mountain by his first name?”
He doesn’t wait for you to answer. Something seems to dawn on him. His eyes properly take you in from head to toe — your clean skin, fresh hair, the plump in your cheeks, the expensive dress you wear, the lace, the silk, the jewels.
He releases you, like you’d burnt him.
“The king spared you…” he whispers in horror. “He spared you. And you’ve been living a life of luxury, as our village burned to the ground. You call him by his first name when his name was the last thing my family had screamed in their final moments. You wish to go back, to that thing, when I’m here and I’m taking you away…”
“What do you mean?” you ask, brows knitting together. “What happened to our village?”
It’s an impossible thing to imagine. Yet it shouldn’t have been. Many villages have suffered the same fate, or worse, over the many years since the rise of the curses. But your village was spared because of you, because of their offering, right?
A scathing laugh slaps you on the cheek. “You don’t know? You’ve been cozying up to that monster and you don’t know he wiped our village out from the map? That he massacred our people in one night? Are you just stupid or did he poison your mind?”
You fall back, shaking your head. “No, no, he wouldn’t.”
“He’s a killer!” Suguru roars. “He’s killed so many. Every single night. The very few of us that had survived have fled from village to village, trying to fight against him and his army of curses, but they always win. I’ve watched my friends, my allies, fall again and again. And yet, I thought of you every day. I fought for you, so I can return and save you from his torture.”
He scoffs.
“But he hasn’t been torturing you, has he?” Suguru grips your face suddenly, bruising your cheeks as he spits out, “No, he hasn’t had to use force to get you to spread your legs!”
Tears stream down your face. “Stop it,” you cry out. “Stop it!”
Suguru presses his forehead to yours, lips trembling. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he repeats. “Let’s just go, alright? We need to go. You’re not safe even if you’ve earned his favour for now. He’s proven he isn’t a man of his word, and it’s only a matter of time before he tears you limb from limb like he had done to your mother and to your father, and to mine.”
Images of your home ablaze, of the night sky filling with the screams of the dying, of blood turning the ground crimson flash in your eyes.
You’re a fool. You’d actually convinced yourself that he isn’t the King of Curses, that creatures from the Underworld don’t bow to him, that he hasn’t been keeping you to laugh behind your back.
You’d allow yourself to believe you’re Sukuna’s bride.
That you’re something special to him, even momentarily, even just for now.
He’s looking at you impatiently, bouncing on his feet and listening out for any signs of hostile life in the forest.
Taking a deep breath, you steel yourself. “Yes, yes. Let’s go. He’s in a meeting right now, he’ll be busy.”
And off you two go, running in the dark, hand in hand.
Branches whip at your arms as you run.
The forest is different at night.
Where it had been soft, warm, almost dreamlike beneath drifting blossoms, it’s now a maze of shadows and silver light, the moon caught in the petals overhead. Your breath comes sharp and uneven, lungs burning, feet barely finding the ground as you stumble over roots and fallen bark.
Beside you, Suguru’s grip is firm. Unyielding.
“Don’t stop,” he says, low, urgent, pulling you forward when your pace falters. “We’re almost past the boundary—”
A roar splits the night.
It shakes the air. Rips through the trees. Sends petals scattering like frightened birds. The ground trembles beneath your feet, a deep, violent pulse that travels straight up your spine. It rattles your bones, grips your very soul and squeezes. It’s in equal parts wrathful and tortured.
You freeze.
Suguru doesn’t.
“Move,” he snaps, tightening his hold on your hand, dragging you forward again. “He knows.”
Of course he knows.
This is his domain.
Every inch of it.
You run faster.
Faster than you ever have before, lungs screaming, vision blurring, your hand clutched in Suguru’s like it’s the only thing anchoring you to reality. The trees thin for a moment, moonlight spilling across a clearing—
THUD!
The earth cracks beneath the impact. You both skid to a halt.
He stands there, between you and whatever hope you thought you had.
Sukuna.
Tall. Unmoving. Waiting.
That deranged smile curls slowly across his lips, too wide, too pleased, too knowing. His eyes gleam in the dark, sharp and bright and utterly unhinged, drinking in the sight of you: your dishevelled state, your trembling form, your hand still clasped in another’s.
For a moment, he says nothing. Then, “You are leaving me?” His voice is almost light. Almost amused. “For some pathetic human?”
The words hit harder than the roar. Your chest tightens, a hot and jagged thing rising up your throat, drowning out the fear, the instinct to shrink, to hide, to obey. “No,” you snap, breath shaking. “I’m leaving because you slaughtered my village. You killed my family. You lied to me.”
He laughs. Low. Disbelieving. Growing. Sukuna tilts his head, as though genuinely intrigued by your accusation, by the audacity of it. “You mean the village,” he begins, voice slow, deliberate, “that threw you, bound and gagged, at the foot of my domain to be sacrificed?”
Each word lands like a blade, cutting deeper and deeper, and twisting to remind you of your lowest moment, of the humiliation, of the powerlessness you felt.
“The family that readily offered you up? That never looked back even once?”
Your grip on Suguru tightens.
Sukuna’s smile widens.
“Yes,” he hums, almost fondly. Inspecting his hands, as though he can see the blood that still stains his unmarred skin. “Yes, I did. And very gladly.”
Something in your chest cracks.
“But I never lied to you,” he continues, eyes narrowing just slightly, the air around him growing heavier, sharper. “You just assumed that I would negotiate with lesser creatures. A fault that I have overlooked.”
Suguru steps forward, just enough to place himself between you and him. “You’re done,” he says, voice steady, though there’s tension coiled tight beneath it. “Whatever hold you think you have over her—”
Sukuna’s gaze flicks to him.
The shift is instant.
The amusement drains, not completely, but enough to reveal something colder beneath. Something ancient. Something violent.
“Careful,” Sukuna murmurs. “I do not take kindly to interruptions in my conversations with my bride.”
The air distorts.
Pressure builds, thick and suffocating, pressing against your skin, your lungs, your bones. Suguru doesn’t move, but you feel the way his hand tightens around yours, grounding you even as the world threatens to tilt.
Why hasn’t Sukuna killed you both? Why hasn’t he tore you two apart? Why is he standing under the moonlight, humoured and talking so leisurely?
Even till now, he’s not staring down at you with deadly intent. He’s conversing with you as if he’s asking how your breakfast is or what book you’d picked up to read to him today. It’s impossible to know what he’s thinking, and that’s more dangerous than if you knew he was going to rip you into pieces.
“She’s not your bride,” he spits, tugging you behind him.
Sukuna laughs again. Four eyes settle back on you. “Not mine?” he repeats, almost thoughtfully. “After everything I have given you?”
A step forward.
“After I took you in,” he continues, voice dropping, curling around the words, “fed you, dressed you, kept you alive when the rest of your kind would have happily watched you die?”
Another step.
Trying to steel your resolve, you retort, “You must feel betrayed, right? Imagine how I feel, Sukuna!”
“You think I feel betrayed?” he asks, head tilting again, that awful smile returning, sharper now. “No, little bride.” His gaze flicks briefly to your joined hands. Then back to your face. “This is not betrayal,” he says. “This is ingratitude. It seems I have spoiled you. Given you too much, too fast. I did not train insolence out of you. You have insulted me. And you will be punished.”
Suguru pulls you back a fraction.
“Run,” Suguru whispers.
His last words, before Sukuna flicks his wrist and his body is cut into thin ribbons of flesh, blood, muscle and bone. They fall into a neat pile by your feet, soaking the ground you stand on until your soles are caked in the remains of your only friend.
It happens so quickly, so suddenly, you couldn’t blink fast enough to protect your mind from the grotesque display. You saw it all. A man, a whole life, memories, a future, diminished to mush.
Sukuna smiles wider.
“Yes,” he says, almost eagerly. “Run, little bride.”
You do.
Feet slam against the forest floor. Bare soles strike damp earth. Sharp pebbles and stray twigs that snap beneath your weight. It hurts.
God, it hurts.
But you don’t stop. You can’t. The pain barely registers past the ringing in your ears, past the image burned into your mind, replaying over and over again.
Suguru’s gone. Your village. Your family. Everything familiar.
Your stomach twists violently, bile clawing up your throat, but there’s no time to be sick, no time to grieve, no time for anything except run.
Branches lash at you as you tear through the undergrowth, snagging against your dress, catching in the fabric and ripping it in jagged lines. The hem tears first, then higher, threads snapping with every desperate step until the once-soft material hangs in shredded strips around your legs. Chilling air kisses the exposed skin, quickly replaced by the sting of scratches, of thin lines of blood blooming where thorns and bark have caught you.
“So panicked. So scared.”
His voice.
Right there.
Warm.
Amused.
Mocking.
You choke on a gasp, nearly tripping over your own feet as you lurch forward, heart slamming so hard it feels like it might crack your ribs open. He’s not behind you, or in front of you, and yet it sounded as though he was.
“I have not even begun,” Sukuna murmurs somewhere, almost thoughtful. “And already you look like this. Adorable.”
The forest stretches endlessly before you, trees blurring together, shadows twisting into shapes that don’t exist. The petals that once felt soft now cling to your damp skin, sticking to the sweat, to the blood, to the places where your dress has torn open. Your lungs burn, each inhale sharp and shallow, your chest tightening with every second that passes.
You trip.
A root catches your foot, sending you pitching forward. Your hands barely catch you before your face meets the ground, palms scraping harshly against rough earth. Dirt grinds into your skin, mixing with the blood already there.
“Oh dear,” he muses. “Such a clumsy thing, you are. That’s why I keep you locked up with all the pretty things in my domain. Do you see now, why you must stay with me?”
Getting back to your feet, you stumble forward. “I’m never going back with you!”
You ignore the way your hands tremble, the way your legs and your unused muscles scream in protest as you force them to move again.
Run.
Run.
Run.
“You know,” Sukuna continues, his voice drifting lazily through the air, “I expected more from you.”
There’s a rustle above.
A shadow moving faster than you can track.
Where is he? Why isn’t he snatching you up? Why is he drawing this out?
He’s like a cat toying with a mouse, playing with his food, heightening your fear so you’ll taste even better.
“I gave you everything,” he says, less conversational now, more accusing. “And this is how you repay me? Running off into the woods like a frightened little animal, with some other man, a man I should have slaughtered along with the other rats?”
Your breath hitches.
“Have I not been good to you? Have I not been enough? Enough to stay for. For even a goodbye.”
A tear slips down your cheek, cutting through the grime. Devastatingly, a part of you notices the subtle crack of vulnerability. He masks it with amusement, with the undercurrent of anger, but you hear it all the same.
Still running, you yell, “You’re going to kill me, like you killed everyone. I’m just a toy to you!”
“And a very bad one at that,” he retorts without missing a beat. “Fear not — I will fix you once I catch you.”
“You’re not going to catch me,” you choke out, though it sounds weak, even to your own ears.
Sukuna tuts and it sounds like it’s right by your ear. “Ah, but I already have.”
Wind flips your hair around, making it hard to see, so when you whip your head side to side, looking for hope, you don’t see the barrier ahead until it’s too late.
Your body meets a hard wall. Two arms cage you in, unyielding.
A scream pierces through the forest. It’s so far removed from you, you think for a second that someone else is facing the same fate you are, and your heart breaks for her. When reality sets in, you cease to stop feeling sorry at all. You just weren’t fast enough. No one could be against the Curse King.
“Got you, little bride.”
In a blink of an eye, he has you carried up by your hips.
“Mark my words,” he says, “you will never leave me again.”
His lips slam onto yours.
Sukuna wastes no time shoving his tongue inside your mouth. A shocked moan escapes you. This is your first kiss, and with him. It’s not romantic like the stories described kisses to be. It’s not soft, tentative, gentle. It’s a kiss full of anger, of a need for vengeance, to dominate.
Sukuna’s channeling every ounce of his feeling of betrayal, try as he might to deny it, down your throat. With the nipping of his teeth hard enough to draw blood, the suckling of his lips to taste the iron on his tongue, and said tongue exploring the crevices.
“Just as delicious as your cunt,” he snarls, pleased.
You should fight him off, you know. But you can’t. He’s too strong, too all-consuming, too engrained in your body. It recognises his heat, his scent, his voice, and it wants more. So you don’t part from him; you clamp your teeth down on his bottom lip too, tasting his blood.
It’s sweet.
Sickly sweet in a way that rushes straight to your head.
He barks a laugh, a hand yanking your head back by your hair. “A biter…adorable.” He runs his tongue up the length of your neck before biting the curve. You moan. It doesn’t break skin, but the threat is there, and it has you clenching around nothing.
Sukuna takes a deep inhale of the air.
His eyes flash red.
“I killed your friend, decimated your village, and your cunt is still craving pleasure from me?” he asks, though it doesn’t sound very much like a question at all. “Your soul calls for me, do you realise it, little wife?”
“I’m not your wife,” you spit out.
“Not yet, but in just a moment, you will be,” he promises. At whatever expression you wear on your face, another laugh cuts through you. “You do not realise the trap you have run into, do you?”
Blinking, you finally look around, processing your surroundings.
They glisten with something under the moonlight — too thick, too dark to be dew.
Blood?
Behind you, a litter of scarlet petals trails right up to where you stand, as though marking every step that led you here, every foolish attempt at escape laid out like a procession. Rows of benches stretch out on either side, carved from twisted wood and bone, thorns curling along their edges, skulls embedded into the structure.
The forest has gone still.
No insects. No birds. No wind.
Only him.
Only you.
And this…
This altar.
“A fitting setting, no?” Sukuna murmurs against your skin, his voice lower now, richer, laced with something disturbingly joyful. His grip on your hips tightens, grounding you in place even as your mind threatens to spiral. “For a union long overdue.”
Dress hiked up around your waist, a long, slithering thing worms up your thighs. You writhe, trying to run away from it, but he won’t let you. Teeth hook into your underwear. It riiiiiiiiiips it off.
His curse tongue licks your cunt with a vengeance, as though punishing you for withholding your pussy and its juices from it. Shlick! Shlick! So vulgar. So indecent. So unrestrained.
Your pulse spikes. “This isn’t—”
“It is,” he cuts in smoothly.
The word lands like a final verdict.
Back arching, you’re powerless against the tongue prodding your entrance. He doesn’t mention it. Neither do you. You don’t mention how it’s far too big to enter you and yet it does, stretching your walls out with ancient powers you will never understand.
Inside, it licks every inch, every pleat. Maybe your hips work down, trying to suck it deeper inside. Maybe it doesn’t.
You’re far too focused on the fact that you’re finally at your wedding. A wedding you never wanted in the first place. A wedding he didn’t want either. He was just amused by the gall of the humans.
The domain itself is bearing witness.
There’s no need for friends, for family, for a priest.
He only needs himself and you.
Sukuna turns you with absolute certainty, positioning you to face the altar. It’s carved from dark marble, veined with something that glows faintly beneath the surface, like embers trapped beneath ash. Symbols you don’t understand are etched into it, curling and jagged.
“I chased you,” he muses, almost idly, though his hands never leave you, never loosen. They feel your body. Squeezing. Groping. Grip pulsing. Drawing out gasps and moans. “I let you run. Let you tear yourself apart on branches and roots like a frightened little thing.”
His fingers drag over one of the scratches on your arm, smearing the thin line of blood.
“And still,” he continues, voice dropping, “you came exactly where I wanted you.”
Your throat tightens.
“I didn’t—”
“You did,” he says, almost gently now, and that softness is far more terrifying than anything else. “Every path you chose. Every step you took. It all led here.”
The petals shift under your feet as he guides you forward.
One step.
And another.
“To me.”
Your thighs are soaked with his saliva. The entrance to your womb is being tickled. Clit rubbed by a wide, flat tongue. You’re face to face with him, panting, eyes unable to tear away with the undeniable allure of his. He’s tasting you, consuming you, devouring. He just can’t help himself. Even when he should be rough, when he should punish you, should teach you a lesson you’ll never forget, he cannot.
“Ngh! S-Sukuna,” you cry out as an orgasm tears through you. “Too much!”
For a moment, his gaze softens. “I know, I know. But you need to be stretched to take both of my cocks. Be patient.”
Blood drains from your face.
That’s when you start thrashing in his hold, fear taking over you. “No, no! I can’t take both of them.” They’re too big. You’ve seen them up close; no one could take them. No human. One would already be asking too much.
Both?
It’d be a death sentence.
Sukuna slowly lays you down on top of the altar.
Immediately, dark powers curl around your body. Wisps of shadow and smoke threading around your limbs, twirling your hair, brushing your cheek, unravelling your dress and slipping it off your body. They keep you in place.
You feel his energy touching you everywhere — stroking your lips, entering through your nose, sliding down your throat and filling your belly, flicking your nipples before wrapping around the hard bud and tugging, creeping down your stomach to stroke your throbbing clit.
They distract you, shushing the cries of protest.
“Beautiful,” he whispers as his eyes consume you whole. “So beautiful. And all mine.”
He touches your cunt, coating his fingers with your essence. Sukuna brings it up in the light between you. It’s red.
Automatically, your legs move to close. The shadows stop you. They yank your legs further apart so he can slot himself between them. His robes have fallen off. A cockhead pokes your clit, smearing its pre-cum onto the pulsing thing. You gasp.
When he licks your monthly blood off his fingers, you groan. “Stop! It’s filthy.”
“No, little bride. Nothing about you is filthy. Not in a way I don’t cherish, at least.”
Sukuna brings his wrist up to your lips.
“Bite me. Hard. Hard enough to bleed. Take your anger out on me. All your hate. Your melancholy. Your grief. Let it all out,” he demands, growling. “I want it. All of it. Every part of you. Give it to me!”
The shadows pry your jaw open. That’s it. It’s them that makes your teeth take hold of his thick wrist and bite down with every force you have in you. It’s them that make your teeth sink in through all layers.
Iron soaks into your tongue, trickling down your throat and warming your chest, like alcohol.
He throws his head back, chest heaving.
The forest rustles, cheering, trembling with pleasure. Meanwhile, the shadows are vibrating. Thrumming as it plays with your clit incessantly. As it pushes in the little holes of your nipples, pleasuring the fats from inside. You whine.
“Fuck!” he bellows
Sukuna snatches his wrist from you. His hands grip the marble, veins popping and threatening to burst. He’s gulping down air and rolling tension off his shoulders.
“You almost came, didn’t you?” you ask, smiling in victory.
Those red eyes dart up to you. He licks his lips. “Yes. Yes, I did.” Sukuna tilts his head, hand wandering up your torso before groping your breast. Like you already know to expect, his curse mouth disappears from his stomach and appears on his palm. It suckles on your nipple, obsessed with trying to find milk where there is none.
You moan, back arching.
Two hands hold your hips. They tug you down, closer to his hips.
“You expected me to be ashamed of your effect on me?” he wonders aloud, huffing in amusement. “I want you. I crave you. I own you. In the same way you want me, crave me, own me. The only difference is, I embrace it.”
He’s stroking his top cock leisurely, wringing out droplets you can’t tear your eyes from. Lips parting, your mouth begins to long to be filled. Your hips chase after the fat thing. His shadows keep you still.
Sukuna continues, rubbing the wrist you’d bitten on your stomach, “I am offering everything I have, everything I am, was and will be. You need only take it. Take me. Use me.” He draws a symbol, a sigil, you don’t recognise. With his other hand, he collects the blood between your legs. The bloodied fingers hovers above the mark. “Claim me.”
There’s sincerity in his eyes, which seem to plead with you.
Inside, a pull reaches for him. Desperate. Intent. Hysterical. It calls for him, pained. He calls back, even more so.
You can tell, whatever you feel for him, he feels it tenfold. No, infinitely more intense. It must drive him mad. The fraction of what you feel has you wanting to keel over, to rip your skin off and wear his. How he can function, can keep his head on straight, baffles you.
He’s commendable. A true leader. An unholy king.
That’s why, when he utters a final syllable, you cannot resist the pull any longer:
“Please.”
“Yes!” you wail. “I do! I do! I claim you. All of you.”
Arms flailing, you scramble towards him. Like a leech, you attach yourself to him, to his lips. You sloppily kiss him, smearing the blood and dirt on your body all over his. Fire burns beneath your skin. You’re set ablaze. Your soul. Your heart. Your skin. Every part is touched by him. Caressed. Treasured.
Sukuna releases a relieved breath, as though he’d been put out of his misery.
He holds you to him. He won’t drop you. You know it. You know it so deeply, it is like knowing your name.
The forest roars. Branches thrash. Leaves fall in spirals around you, a wall shielding you from the rest of the world. There’s no going back anymore. You’ve given in. You’ve surrendered.
Two hot things begin pushing inside.
For a moment, you tense, anticipating pain. None come. Only delirious bliss. Drool drips down your chin. Your eyes roll back.
The shadows haven’t stopped stimulating you outside and inside. You’ve been cumming over and over again. Little orgasms that make your limbs shaky. But the orgasm that hits you the moment both of his cock stretch your gummy walls?
World ending.
Tantalizing.
Immense.
Boundless.
The most glorious gift.
You scream.
“Yes, that’s it,” he coaxes. “Perfect. So perfect. My wife. Mine now and forevermore.”
Soon, he bottoms out. Hips flushed. Torsos pressed together tightly. Not a single thing could get in between you. You feel every inch of him. Every ridge. Every vein. Every nudge of his fat cockheads competing to draw out your pleasure most.
You thought it’d feel overwhelming. Too much too soon. Now, you can’t get enough. You think, if only one cock had entered you, you would have mewled and whined for the other to join.
“See?” Sukuna whispers into your ear, teeth scraping the shell. “You took me so well. Such a well-behaved girl. You were -hah- made for me.”
In spite of his teasing words, his whole body is trembling with the fight not to cum too soon. Your constant clenching, fluttering around both of his cocks, the way you choke him right to the base, has him at the very edge of sanity, which you doubt he had to begin with.
He’s ploughing his cocks inside you.
Thrusting with vigour that you feel at your fingertips. Your toes curl, back arching and head thrown back. Sukuna sucks at your neck, obsessed with the intensity of your scent there.
He’s like an animal let loose. He’s rutting into you so fiercely you fear he’d break your bones. But your king would never hurt you. Not in a way you wouldn’t like.
A crazed laugh echoes in the night.
You rake your fingers through his hair. Then you yank his head back, as he had done to you. “More, Sukuna. Fuck me more. I want to cum on your cocks over and over again. I command it, husband.”
Both lengths throb inside you.
Sukuna’s eyes cross. They’re glazed over. “Yes,” he mumbles without even realising it, thoroughly enthralled in your very being, “whatever you want, my beautiful, precious wife.”
Hours must pass.
Hours of fucking you in the air, on the altar, on the ground, against a tree.
His hands explore your body till he’s memorised the curves and the planes. You do the same.
The squelching of your cunt, the slapping of skin, the mingling of blood with cum, the reverberating of groans and moans envelopes you in a hellish cocoon. The bullying of his cocks through your sore, sensitive walls, the sucking of his curse mouth on your tits, the devouring of his mouth to yours, the fwop fwop fwop! of his balls on your poor clit — all of it sends you over the edge again and again and again and again, even once you think you will never feel better than the last.
You cannot get enough of him.
And he cannot get enough of you.
Sukuna whimpers your name out before and after every peak he reaches. He fills your belly up with his cum. It perpetually drips out of you. You can taste the salt on your tongue. It coats you from head to toe.
“My wife,” he exhales, like announcing to the world. “My life…my love.”
Where he ends and you begin blur.
Time ceases to exist. The rest of the world vanishes.
In this moment, in his arms, bouncing on his cock as he gazes upon every flicker of pain and pleasure on your face, only you two matter.
.
.
.
The sun has started to rise.
You watch it climbing over the hill, head laid out on Sukuna’s chest. He plays with your hair, twirling it absentmindedly. You’re both naked. Limbs thrown over each other. Tangled.
Juices and blood have dried over your skin. Some of it your own. Some of it his.
A deep satisfaction courses through your veins.
Sukuna’s chest rises and falls beneath your cheek.
There is something almost surreal about it — this stillness, this calm. The same body that had hunted you through the dark now lies beneath you like an anchor, solid and unyielding in a different way. The heat of him seeps into your skin, bleeding into your bones.
His fingers continue their idle path through your hair.
A strand slips loose, caught and wound around his clawed fingertips before being released again.
Your body bears the marks of the night: faint bruises bloom beneath your skin, teeth marks darkening where they had once stung, thin scratches tracing your limbs from your flight through the forest. Sukuna’s hands soothe any marks he left on you, not regretful at all. His actions can be likened to basking proudly in the art he made.
All the while, you’re tracing the marks you left on him too — the scratches, the bite marks, the bruises he allowed you to give him. You run your fingers down his tattoos, avoiding the mouth on his tongue, which keeps licking you or trying to capture your hand. A very naughty thing indeed.
“Sukuna,” you murmur. He grunts. “I’m hungry. Let’s go back home.”
“How you have any room left in your small belly after drinking so much of my cum, I cannot fathom,” he voices out, curious and concerned. You smack his chest. “Yes, dear. I hear you. Let us take a bath in the pool and I will have a servant bring us food. Perhaps a goblin.”
As he stands up, you frown. “A goblin? Why not Uraume?”
Uraume’s his favourite. His right hand. His shadow. The goblins, on the other hand, he barely tolerates. You’ve seen him kick the poor things out of the way too often. Once or twice, you’ve reflexively tried to help them up, but they growl at you. You think they quite like being kicked about. It seems to be an honour to them.
Under his breath, as Sukuna stretches his body with a lazy yawn, he says, “Uraume is on time out.”
Using his outstretched hand to bring you to your feet, you ask, “Why? What happened?”
Petulantly, he grumbles, “The insolent brat took it upon themself to lead that waste of space human I tore to shreds to you. It seems they thought you were a bad influence on me.”
To punctuate his last sentence and emphasise the absurdity of the idea, he grins wolfishly down at you, more specifically at his cum dripping down your thighs. Cheeks heated, you press them together.
It’s hard to believe this evening had been orchestrated by Uraume, but also it’s not a huge leap in logic. They’ve made their point of view abundantly clear — you just didn’t think they would have tried to have you face imminent death crossing through the forest where creatures of the Underworld lurked.
“Are you…are you going to hurt them?”
Sukuna cocks a brow. “Would you like me too?”
“No,” you say immediately and sincerely. “Blood’s already been spilled tonight. I don’t want to be the reason someone gets hurt again.”
“Very well. Let me know if you change your mind. They sure do get upset if I let someone else cook my meals.”
You giggle.
Then, all the humour dies out of you.
Exhaustion has set in your limbs.
Whatever energy had overtaken you earlier is gone now.
His breath grazes your cheeks, warm against the cold air. One of his thumbs collects a tear right from your lashes. You didn’t even know you’re tearing up. He brings the droplet to his lips and licks it away. You hold your breath as he mutters, “Watching you run from me, hand in hand with some other man, hurts less than seeing you cry for him. It makes me wish I had made him suffer more before his end.”
“I’m not crying for him.”
Sukuna’s crimson eyes flit to you.
“Oh?”
Sudden sobs escape your lips. Your knees give out beneath you. He catches you, lifting you up in his arms. He always does. You bury your face in his neck. Sukuna rubs soothing circles on your back, cooing. “My ferocious, little wife…what is wrong? Did I hurt you too much? Do you…do you regret marrying me?”
The insecurity in his voice, the hesitation to ask, to hear a truth he would be distraught to hear, make you cry harder.
“Please don’t ever throw me away. I know I shouldn’t have left last night, but I really thought you were going to kill me. And maybe you will later. But please don’t,” you plead through your tears. “I want to be with you forever and ever.”
Silence passes.
A pregnant pause.
He laughs.
He actually laughs.
It’s full bodied. His stomach mouth joins in. “Hilarious! You never fail to entertain me with your constant overthinking. Always so afraid. So on guard. Too precious! You are just too adorable. You will rot my teeth.”
Weakly, you lay a barrage of punches on his chest. “Don’t laugh at me, you brute. I’m your wife. Respect me.”
Sukuna nods patronisingly, but he does shift his laughter into light chuckles, “Alright, alright. Forgive me, little wife. You are simply so delightful, so naive, and pitiful, I cannot help myself.”
“Put me down.”
“Never.” Sukuna presses a kiss to your cheek. He nudges your face away from his neck so you will meet his gaze. Seriously now, voice with his sacred vow, “I have no intention of throwing you away. Not since I laid eyes on you and felt a thing I did not know existed beat in my chest.”
Holding your breath, you listen to his confession.
“There is no world,” he continues, quieter now, though the weight of it presses heavier, “in which I allow you to slip from my grasp. Not heaven, not earth, not whatever fragile afterlife your kind clings to. If you are taken from me, I will unmake it. If you are hidden, I will find you. If you are reborn, I will recognise you.”
Shyly, you ask, “Even if I have a different face?”
Sukuna nods. “In whatever form, whatever shape, whatever state, you are. Wherever, whenever, you find yourself in. I will recognise you by your soul. For yours make up my own.”
He leaves a kiss to your forehead, to each of your eyes, to the tip of your nose. You giggle.
Then, huffing in amusement, he adds, “It certainly helps that we are bound by curse marriage. Not by your flimsy, human paper. But by blood. We curses take blood bonds very seriously. If we are to part, for whatever reason, we would both die, so it is in your best interest not to throw me away.”
That should startle you. Should scare you beyond belief. Instead, you think it’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever heard.
“I’m holding you to that,” you mutter against his lips.
Sukuna nuzzles your nose with his, a smile mirroring yours.
|| oliver aiku x reader || M/18+ || step dad oliver || wc: 1.6 || ao3 ||
Your mother remarries. You aren't sure how to feel about your stepfather.
minors, antis and ageless blogs dni
notes: aaaah this one was a comm for beloved @rabbbitseason!!! weird, affectionate stepfather oliver... sighs dreamily. pleaseeee mind the tags on this one!! pseudo incest crazy style, no smut but Clearly oliver is going through something.
CWs: dark content, gender neutral reader, step father oliver, pseudo incest, light infantilization, sick fic (a little), oliver is implied to be 40s, reader is implied to be in their 20s
You’re really not sure what to think of your stepdad.
He’s like— fine. Your mother likes him, and he seems to treat her well enough. You were living with her when the two married, and subsequently, you moved into his big, stupidly large mansion that he really had no business living alone in. This part of your new stepdad is very nice.
Your bedroom has an east-facing balcony. The tub in your en suite bathroom could easily fit three people. There’s a fucking spiral staircase down to a wine cellar that’s the size of your old apartment in its entirety.
And, the best part, a large pool out back. Perfect for the hottest summer on record that you’re currently in the midst of. You’ve been greatly enjoying laying out in the sun and occasionally dipping your toes in for a quick swim.
Your stepdad likes to join you.
It’s a little weird. Extra weird, because your mom hasn’t been around lately. A new job, business trips, making bank that she doesn’t need to make anymore because her new husband is a retired professional athlete and has such an asinine amount of money in his pocket that whatever she makes is paltry by comparison. It’s the thought that counts. You hope she retires early now, at least.
But that leaves you at home, with your stepdad. Oliver.
(You’re an adult, he’s not really your dad. You don’t need a dad, you’ve been doing fine without for quite some time, thank you very much.)
So, it’s cloying and uncomfortable when Oliver asserts that he is, even when you think he means it playfully.
He invites you grocery shopping just so he can walk you around the store like you’re in grade school and not a recent college graduate. He holds your hand when you cross the parking lot and doesn’t let go until he’s opening the car door for you. He always buckles your seatbelt for you, too. You can’t even count the number of times that you’ve told him to fucking quit it—
But he never does, he always just responds with the same thing.
“Oh, it’s alright. There’s nothing wrong with letting me take care of you a bit, is there?”
It makes a weird heat curl in your belly.
It doesn’t help that Oliver is hot.
Like, not just in the salt-and-pepper, silver fox kind of way, but really hot. It makes sense, given that he was a professional athlete with a bit of a modeling career, prior to his retirement (or so your research says). He has a strong jaw, cut, and always keeps stubble on his chin and cheeks in a way that’s straddling scruffy and attractive. He dresses well at home, linens and expensive-looking lounge clothes in the mornings (well, lounge pants. The guy is allergic to wearing a shirt before 10 AM.)
Your friends made horrific comments when your mother got married. They teased and jeered about your ‘new dilf-y stepdad’ and you did threaten murder more than once— but they’re not— ugh, they’re not wrong.
Oliver is also nice. You’re reticent to admit this. But he is, in fact, very nice. You’re a full adult, yet he put you up without question. You haven’t paid a single bill since moving in with him. Not food, car, or even your cellphone bill. He slips cash into your purse whenever he finds it open, left unattended.
He’s actually kind.
He always waits up for you on the nights you go into the city to dance and drink. He checks in on you throughout the evening, comes when you hail him, and takes you to procure whatever drunken munchie you desire. He gets a little soft-eyed when he cracks a condensation-covered water bottle for you to chug when he picks you up from the bar, still drunk.
He sits with you during breakfast. Compliments whatever atrocity you attempt to make in his lavish kitchen, never mind how the marble countertops will need a comically thorough wipedown from the mess you make. Oliver will help, he always does, he makes a point to. He’ll put a hand on the small of your back, slip by (maybe just a little too close), and stretch over the top of his kitchen island to clean up any warzone you leave behind.
It stirs something in you. It makes you feel dirty and weird, and you wish it would just go away.
...
You get sick in the middle of winter. Oliver is gone for some soccer club reunion, and your mother is overseas. That leaves you, rotting, in your bed with every curtain in your room drawn tightly shut. The only light is from a star light in the corner, washing your room in oscillating blue ripples. It’s like you're underwater. With how high your fever is, you might as well be. You hate being sick, you hate being sick alone, even if that’s what you’re used to.
You shove your face into your pillow and wheeze.
Your ears ring, but you’re pretty sure you hear someone downstairs. Maybe. There’s a documentary playing on your TV in the corner, and that could be the source of the noise. It doesn’t seem important enough to worry about.
Everything is blurry, all sticking together. Your head pounds, and your mouth is too dry and too wet all at once. Chills wrack your body, and the pajamas and duvet you’re hiding under do nothing to dull them. You whimper, maybe.
Your mattress dips down.
There’s a chilled hand that brushes over the barest bit of your exposed cheek. You flinch away from it, your body aching with the motion.
“Hey, sweetheart.” It’s Oliver, his voice a coo that soothes something animal and helpless in your heart. “Not feeling well?”
You shake your head, not wanting to speak.
He hums, another coo, a few more words maybe, and he’s tugging the duvet down to your collarbones. The back of his hand is laid over your forehead. He clicks his tongue.
“You’re burning up,” Oliver says, voice a few degrees more gentle. “Poor thing.”
“Hurts,” you croak out.
“Oh, baby.” His voice sounds distorted— good. The tone he’s using rolls down your spine, chasing off the chill more than anything you’ve tried. With a great amount of effort, you crack your eyes open. They’re so dry, everything fucking hurts. And Oliver is looking down at you with an expression of unfettered concern. Maybe something else, too, but you’re too fever-addled to identify what else lies there.
He pets your cheek, rubs under your eye. “You’re in rough shape, aren’t you?”
“Mhm.” You lean into his touch, basking in it.
Oliver's face is so soft, in the lighting of the room, gazing down at you. His touch drifts from your face down to your jaw, then to your neck. His fingers catch on the old layer of sweat there.
“You’re a bit of a mess,” he says sweetly, voice still a little rough somehow.
“D-Don’t say it like that…”
“It’s alright,” Oliver laughs, squeezing your shoulder. He’s still petting you, touch drifting under the straps of your tank top. It’s weird for him to be touching you so much, but it feels nice. You don’t want him to stop. “I’ll make something quick for you downstairs and get some medicine, okay? Have you taken anything?”
You shake your head.
Oliver looks so incredibly fond. Too fond, even, as his touch drifts to your chest. He walks his fingers over your bare sternum.
“I’ll take care of you,” he tells you. “That’s my job, isn’t it?”
It’s not, you want to say, but you can’t make yourself. He feels too nice.
Oliver draws away, probably back to the kitchen to make you some warm soup or something homey. His absence makes you feel untethered. You whine in the back of your throat.
He pauses at the door; your vision blurs.
“Don’t go,” you say, all soft and weak and breaking.
Oliver idles there for a moment. You hear something that must him swallowing. Then, he’s returning to your bedside, running a hand through your hair.
“A few more minutes wouldn’t hurt,” Oliver says. It doesn’t sound like he’s talking to you, more like himself.
With a herculean amount of effort, you scoot a few inches in on your bed. Looking up at him with your undoubtedly bloodshot eyes, you whine again. Please.
Oliver stalls, waits by your bedside, before sliding next to you. He smells like the expensive cologne he always wears and the detergent you got him to use. He’s warm, so fucking warm. You glue yourself to his side.
He shifts so your cheek is against his chest, near the exposed bit of pecs from his partially unbuttoned shirt. His arm loops around your waist, hikes you closer so you’re more draped over him than not.
You settle, closing your eyes, it hurts less that way. He strokes down your side, hand slipping beneath the bottom of your flimsy top.
“God,” he laughs under his breath, breathes through his teeth. “You make this so hard, you know what?”
You sniffle, confused.
“I make what hard?”
Oliver squeezes you and nuzzles his nose into your hair. Inhales. Exhales, all slow like a syrup that you can feel down your burning throat.
“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart.” He presses his lips to your forehead and lingers. It makes something curl in your guts, hotter than your fever, and a little scary. “I've got you, okay?”
“Okay.” You concede. It’s easy to.
You curl around him, breathing from your mouth with dry, cracking lips, a low doze finding you easily. He’s so warm, so comfortable. It’s fine that he impresses so much on you; it’s not bad, is it?
oliver is a whore who absolutely does not commit to you. it's very transparent that's just like. not his thing. that's not what he's looking for and it's not a farce. he wants a bedmate and someone to share space with but like... not the ties of a relationship. genuinely does not want to be tied down and it makes him a worse man.
HOWEVER i do think things changes for him when you 1) actively turn down opportunities to go to his games (this is so hot to him. your disinterest makes his dick so hard it's crazy)
and 2)
you're out together, maybe. a night at the club or a crowded bar. it's a celebratory thing after a game or a birthday. a crazy night regardless. oliver has a decently high alcohol tolerance and doesn't mind staying only mildly buzzed and keeping an eye on his teammates. and you. you're squirrely with him that night. oliver has thought about dancing with you, he wants to, but he holds back on initiating. he likes when you come to him (at this point anyways. guy's world is about to be fucked).
ohh man. but the team has a little private area for bottle service. it's a good place to lounge. oliver is just scrolling on his phone when you practically crash into his side, press your lips to his cheek, and laugh. for a split second, he thinks you're trashed. but another look at your face, your drawn up brows and wilted lips, you look more scared, than drunk.
you lean to whisper in his ear, arms wrapped around his shoulders, "some guys won't stop following me. play along, please?"
and you look at him with big soft, scared eyes and like. damn. his axis changes a little bit. you coming to him for safe harbor actually rewrites his brain chemistry so quickly, it's downright concerning.
he's not even thinking words when he pulls you into his lap and corrals you by the waist. he presses a kiss to your temple, laughs nice and low in that way that makes you shudder. "'play along'? you're hardly asking for anything, sweetheart."
it's. insane. how good it feels to have you in his lap and close when he's fully aware that you've been stalked like prey. all it takes is one look shot in the way you came, and whoever had been lingering around to bother you disappears into the crowd.
"they're gone," he tells you. "they shouldn't bother you anymore."
"thank god," you sigh. "a-and thank you."
you attempt to climb off his lap, but he holds you there. steady, "why don't you stay awhile? we can grab you some water."
"... sure." you yawn. it's... really cute. oliver's never lucidly thought of the action as cute when he's seen you yawn before, but it really is. "just don't be weird about it."
"wouldn't dream of it."
oh and when you grumble and settle your cheek against your collarbone and doze off on him? and he gets to ever so casually pull the hem of your dress down to the better cover your thighs? so no one can see that much of you?? just him.
for ur practice game !!! perhaps a chigiri with fake dating ? looking w big wet eyes
anon. i want you to know that this entire concept deserves to be a full fic and i am HAUNTED by a larger concept with chigiri and fake dating. but for now... a drabble :3c
(minors & ageless blogs DNI // chigiri hyoma x oblivious reader // fake dating + chigiri, reader having a minor crisis of sexuality and implied trauma)
"i think i'm like," you hiccup, "broken or something."
"you're not," chigiri says without pause. you're not looking at him, but you can tell he's frowning. you can hear it. "you're not usually this self pitying."
"well, normally it isn't warranted." you sigh, scrubbing a hand down your face. "but this is pathetic, hyoma. i am pathetic. it's getting ridiculous."
"you're being too hard on yourself."
"i'm not being hard enough!" you turn to him, then. you're sat side-by-side on your plush couch, half-sunken in. the remnants of an evening of indulgent takeout are on your coffee table. the moon has risen and some reality show plays on a low hum in the background.
he's already turned to you, arm casually thrown over the back of your couch, behind your head. it's been like that for awhile, probably.
and he is frowning at you. you knew it.
you curl up more effectively on the couch, in on yourself, like being smaller will make your problem feel less awful and your feelings feel less... big.
"he was nice, hyoma." you feel stupid. "like, incredibly nice. picked up the tab for dinner, wasn't weird when i said i don't put out on the first, second, or third date, and was genuinely complimentary and sweet! and yet... i don't know. it didn't feel good."
"that's nothing to beat yourself up about." chigiri has had this conversation with you several times now. you can tell, minutely, that is beginning to frustrate him. "so he was nice. that doesn't mean there's going to be automatic chemistry."
"i don't think there will ever be any." with anyone, you silently add to yourself. you feel sticky and bad in your chest. you flop backwards on the couch, extending your legs with a heaving exhale, the back's of your eyes burning.
your legs extend onto chigiri's lap. he shuffles himself, then your calves, so they're properly places, before resting his arms on them. his thumb rubs little circles on your ankle. it's not the first time you've been in this position-- hardly.
"that's okay, too." chigiri offers. "sounds like the guy was too boring for you."
"maybe..." you sigh. "it's just getting pathetic. every date i go on, i end up like this when it's over."
chigiri doesn't fight you on it. he knows what you are saying is true because he's here after every single weird or shitty date that you have to debrief. he's a good best friend like that.
"there's plenty of other fish in the sea."
"i don't think other people are the problem." you lay your arm over your eyes. "i am, probably."
"don't say that."
"but, it's probably true."
"it's not."
"you don't know that."
"i do, actually," hyoma squeezes your ankle. "you're not the problem. it makes sense that you wouldn't have any deeper feelings— you've been seeing a bunch of lukewarm men who can't do more than provide you basic kindness.
"don't say that," you sit up, pushing yourself up on your arms. "they were nice."
"the bar for you is in hell, and you know it."
touché.
but chigiri— you don't think he gets it. he doesn't understand that there is, probably, something fundamentally wrong with you. you probably got knocked around too much as a kid, yelled at too many times, fucked over in your adolescence enough that romance is off the table for you.
it's hard to think about. it makes you... sad. so fucking sad, it hurts like you're going to die sometimes. because you like the idea of romance. you like how folks talk about that type of love—you think that, maybe, you've experienced some form of it before. but in the present day, it feels far off. like a wire got crossed in your head at some point, and now romance, even potential romance, is a poisoned, uncomfortable thing.
chigiri is watching you still. you sniffle and turn from him, rubbing at your eyes. you don't want to cry about this today. you try to keep your sobbing sessions sequestered to your bedroom, where it feels most safe to just breakdown. you don’t want him to see.
before you can shoo him off, he's dragging you closer, against his side, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and rubbing over your bicep. the contact is... nice. really nice. you lean into it, resting your cheek against him with a sigh.
chigiri's always doing this kind of thing for you. your friendship is touchy, and you're grateful for it. lord knows you're not staving off touch starvation with a proper relationship or anything.
"i told you," he squeezes. "you're being hard on yourself. these things take time. there's no rush."
you bury your face in his shoulder. "that's not true. everyone hot and decent is gonna be off the market if i take too long to, i don't know, stop being... messed up about it. and like, i don't know what i'm going to do when you finally date someone. i know you have options."
you know that you're pouting. you're being downright petulant. childlike. it is pathetic.
"... yeah. options." chigiri squeezes you.
"don't act like you don't!" you groan. "we go to the bar and you're accosted. by folks of all gender. you could have anyone. you're really beautiful, you know."
you notice him tense, barely. it lasts only a moment before he laugh. "i'm well aware."
"see!" and it's not like you aren't getting chatted up at the bar either. but it's different! chigiri is making the conscious choice not to pursue anyone, whereas you are trying and failing. "what will i do when you get end up on boyfriend island?"
"that won't happen."
"how do you know?"
he shrugs, his hair shifting on his shoulder. you catch the scent of it, floral and a bit spicey from his cologne. he always wears it around you. "i just do."
you don't reply.
this conversation is always a losing battle. and truthfully? you appreciate it. you try not to have too much of a pity party, but occasionally, it happens, and chigiri is nothing if not a supportive best friend. and to be supportive, he never lets you wallow too long. the night will either end with you sleeping side by side in your bed, or he'll drag you out with a few of his teammates to the bar. this evening, you're not picky, but you let yourself ruminate a little longer.
"what if we like," you swallow. "dated.
chigiri inhales, doesn't exhale.
you continue. "like fake dated, but treated it like it was real. then you could see how i am, in fact, broken."
there's a moment of pointed silence. chigiri is probably deciding the best way to scold you. he says your name sharply. a little strained, too, maybe. "... do you really want to do that, just to 'prove' and objectively incorrect point?"
"yes, actually." you sit up, on your knees. you're in each other's space, you notice, maybe a little more than usual. chigiri's eyes are like gemstones, boring into your form, his jaw seems a little tight. you'll have to offer him some pain medicine later. "we already kind of act like we're dating, right? we'll just make it fake official. then, you can see that i’m too messed up to be in a relationship from a firsthand perspective.”
chigiri says nothing for a moment, staring at you. he's not frowning anymore, his expression is blank in an almost eerie way.
it’s probably too much. a bad, insane idea that you’re suggesting at a low point.
"i’m kidding.” you’re lying, but he doesn’t need to know that. you're probably a little toxic. you probably need a good night's sleep and a backrub from chigiri if he'll do that much for you. your face feels warm. "i'm sorry—“
"it's fine." chigiri tilts his head then. there's a glint behind his eyes that's sharper and brighter than you're used to. "and sure, we can 'fake date'. i think that it would be good for both us."
"really?"
"yeah," chigiri leans back against the couch. his eyes flick, examining you from top to bottom. "i think it has the chance for both of us to get our feelings straight and understood."
there's a weird wave of relief.
chigiri is good at this. talking things out, hearing you and responding without sugarcoating anything too much. yeah, fake dating is an insane concept, but chigiri is right, it will help him understand where you're struggling, and maybe you'll come out of it with a better handle on why chigiri isn't dating anyone, despite his potential roster.
"okay," you settle against him. "thank you."
chigiri is quiet beside you for awhile. your attention drifts back to the reality show. some dating game on an island, the next episode has started to play. the running plot and its players are irrelevant. still, you relax into chigiri’s side, so aware of the tension in him still.
he laughs to himself a little later.
“what’s up?” you bump your head into his cheek.
chigiri huns thoughtfully, “i’m thinking about where to take you out tomorrow.”
“… you’re taking me out?”
“we’re fake dating now, right?” chigiri arm has slid around your waist. “i have to be a good fake boyfriend, don’t i?”
that makes sense, you guess. and it’s not even a big deal. you and chigiri go out all the time. for meals, to the cafe, even on little leisure strolls. it’s not… really any different, just because you’re fake dating.
even if it feels that way.
“i suppose, yeah.” you melt into his side, the shape and scent of him. “where are you thinking?”
he rattles off a few spots. a brunch spot across town, a quiet cafe, a bbq place where the whole team usually gets shit faced once a month. they all sound nice, and not too out of the ordinary.
“you pick,” you tell him, half-asleep. it’s gotten late and the drowsiness that follows such intense emotional turmoil has really gripped you. “i trust you.”
he laughs again, good natured and unbothered by your shirking of responsibility. your ear is against his chest and the sound of his laughter bounces around in your skull. it’s a good feeling. you savor it in an indulgently more possessive fashion than normal.
(and— from this vantage, however, you’re entirely unaware of the intense, almost predatory look that chigiri is directing down on you from above. it’s the piercing kind that a big cat has before sinking its teeth into a well-deserved meal.)
ik omega kaiser has some insane omegan trauma (presented late due to stress, never had a proper place to nest, developed a whole slew of maladaptive omegan behaviors in lieu of having a pack or family unit that actually gave him safety). it would be sooo healing for him to have an omega partner who kinda like. helps him along. teaches him a little.
"c'mon," you tilt your head to the side, just a little, just enough to feel condescending. "give a try."
"no," kaiser says without even thinking. "like hell."
"i promise, it feels nice."
he fucking knows that. that doesn't mean he's going to. especially not with you, right here, next to him, looking at him with such earnestness that it makes bile rise in the back of his throat. he's thankful for the transparent scent patches adhered to his neck. you've given him grief for those already, but you will, literally, have to pry them off his neck if you want them gone— which you won't be able to do, actually, because you are a stupid, weak omega who he could knock down in a fight with a single kick.
you know that. you know all of that, and yet you still perch next to him, blinking slowly, breathing evenly. your scent curls around the room, pleasant on his palette, coating the back of his throat like sun-warmed honey and ginger tea.
"kaiser—"
"no."
you look a little sad. you frown at him, at his tone, at his general obstinance toward something that, for any other omega, wouldn't be a big deal.
there's a shirt in your lap.
it's— his shirt. one that you stole from him, apparently, a number of weeks ago. apparently, you've been sleeping with it. apparently, it's been a fixture in your nest each and every night. and now, you're returning it to him, reeking of your clearly omegan scent, devoid of any of his own scent or the neutralizing detergent that he's been paying top dollar for since he started his career.
"what if," you muse, rubbing the fabric of the shirt between your thumb and forefinger, "you just try it. if you hate it, you can take it right off. i'll never mention it again."
the problem is that kaiser knows that he won't hate it. you wear his clothes all the time, constantly stealing his garments, rather shamelessly these days. in the beginning of your... thing— because what's between you is a 'thing' and certainly not courtship— you used to be easier to rile up and antagonize about your omegan twitchings. however, since learning that you share a secondary gender, you've become nonplused in a way that is as infuriating as it is admirable. you're more difficult to shame now, and even when you were easier to make fun of, you never seemed all that embarrassed about enjoying his clothing. maybe a little warm in the cheeks, but not mortified. not like he is right now.
he sets his jaw.
"you're not gonna let this go unless i do."
"probably not!" you say with a smile. "i can drop it for now if you really want. but, i'll insist later."
you will. god, you're fucking annoying.
kaiser narrows his eyes at you and heaves a sigh. a big one, the kind that's all dramatics and pomp. you know this, he knows you know this, which is why it is so incredibly fucking humiliating to snatch the shirt from your hands.
it's warm from your body heat. it smells so strongly of you that it's almost overpowering. he half wonders if you had it tucked between your legs at any point; he's read that the scent glands on omega's inner thighs have the most potent scent and most plentiful production. it seems like you rubbing this stupid nightshirt between your legs is the only way that you could get it to smell this strongly.
kaiser refuses to look at you as he peels off the lounge top he was already wearing. you were supposed to be going to bed. in your nest. a new occurrence, sure, mildly uncomfortable, but also he sleeps better in your nest so it's the most advantageous option if he wants to be best rested for his best play.
(kaiser will never, never admit that he likes being in your nest. because it smells like you— now you and him— and it's warm and soft and sleeping soundly and heavily wasn't something he was able to do often and now he spends half the nights in a week here and he's never felt better rested in his life.)
he slips on the shirt as you rise to you knees. you shuffle over piled up blankets, more of his clothes, some of yours. by the time kaiser pops his head from the neck of the shirt, you're hover just in front of him. before he can protest and snap his jaws at you, you're pitching forward, catching yourself on his shoulders. you nose into the scent glands around his throat shamelessly.
he freezes.
you, however, do not.
you know he gets like this. he hates that you know, he hates that you can read him so easily. he hates how transparent he is to you. despite the growl that rumbles from the back of his throat, you continue with a hum. it's a near harmony.
kaiser inhales, ready to snap. and maybe, your shoulders get a little more tense in preparation for it.
but then he smells you.
you, on him. not just nearby, almost in his lap but not quite, but on him, smothered all over his skin. it suffocates the rest of the world in a blanket of quiet. it makes the rabbit thump of his own heart feel a little less frantic, a little less violent.
you nose against his jaw and kiss over his scent patch. gently, you lift one of his hands to your own.
you pause, just a moment of careful hesitation.
"does it feel alright?”
"shut up."
"don't be crass, now," you huff a little into his neck, he can't tell if its annoyance or amusement. "it feels nice, doesn't it? you can let yourself feel good, michael. it's okay to."
"i know that." he snaps.
"good."
you place his hand on your hip, clamoring into his lap. your arms wrap around his shoulders and you settle yourself in the crook of his neck. your scent blooms over the room, over him. kaiser hates the sensation of suffocation, of pressure over top his lungs and airways. there's a part of him that wants to shove you off and make you just as scared as he is.
there's another part, though, that he finds himself more at the mercy of.
it makes him scooch back into your nest. it makes him fall back into a mound of pillows, catching you by the small of your back to drag you with him. he lets you nuzzle into his throat, over his scent patches, like any of his scent had bleed through them. the contact still feels good. he can silently admit that to himself.
"feels good?" your voice has gone all gummy and hazy at the edges. it makes kaiser's skin itch, that you being so affectionate with him, seemingly for his benefit, has you so softened.
"no. i hate it."
you glance up at him. you grab the bottom hem of his shirt.
"let me take this off then—"
kaiser growls at you, grabbing your wrist in an iron grip. you go limp immediately, and you laugh, giggle, into his neck. you smother the sound there, meeting the angry vibrations from the back of his throat with your own contented humming.
"leave it." he snaps.
"as you wish." you kiss his cheek.
kaiser can't make himself look you in the eyes. he knows what he'll see.
(michael kaiser x reader // 18+ MDNI // cws: yandere kaiser, stalking, reader smokes cigarettes, toxic behaviors // wc: 2.2k)
"so you really did it?"
"did what?" you ask, exhaling a puff of cigarette smoke into the frigid air. your fingers are numb.
"break up with him!"
"kaiser?" you snort, taking another drag before speaking. "i guess? i called things off earlier today, but we weren't actually dating. so it's not like it's really a breakup."
"... sure."
your friend on the line hardly sounds convinced. but it is... true. you and michael kaiser never dated. you never had a label, never discussed any type of commitment or potential future together. though you had spent more than one weekend (try a dozen plus) at his apartment, oscillating between cuddling, fucking, and being in each other's presence's in a way that was distinctly not platonic—
you and michael kaiser were never dating. you were not together. (Regardless of him flying you out to one match in Vienna, and the another in Rome—) you weren't dating.
you never were.
you never expected to either. michael kaiser was transparently damaged, and handling it in an unproductive, destructive manner. you saw this from a mile away, but entertained your chemistry regardless. maybe it was the influence of a few drinks and a few heated arguments that got you in bed with him to begin with, despite clocking his toxic tendencies early on.
you fought a lot, for not being a couple.
care made kaiser squirrely and angry. kindness made him snap. aggression, biting and clawing— angry sex that metastasized into something carnal and closer to a fight resonated with him far more than little affections. you only saw moments of vulnerability from him when you were both fucked out and exhausted. or, when he thought you weren't looking. you felt him pet through your hair while he thought you were asleep, more than once.
you broke up with kaiser because you couldn't handle things as they were anymore.
maybe you wanted to be loved. maybe you wanted to be held, openly and tenderly. maybe, you wanted a partner and not a man with an ego problem who fucked like a god and treated you like invasive creature nine times out of ten when you showed him affectionate.
(you just want to be loved.)
the luxuries and innate chemistry of your relationship simply wasn't worth it.
so, you broke things off. over text, because it seemed the least messy.
[you]: hey, what we have isn't working for me anymore. i don't want to see you any longer. i care about you a lot, but what we have is not sustainable. i wish you all the best, michael.
(you try not to be too affectionate with your message, lest you rile him up. you want to be gentle, but not too... emotional. it's better this way.)
you block him after sending the text. clean breaks— it's kinder in the long run, isn't it? even if it hurts more in the moment.
you sigh into the receiver, tossing your cigarette butt to the side, "i mean it, we weren't ever serious."
"if you say so."
you kick at the snow beneath your feet. there's an inch or two of it on the ground, coating the cobblestones of the path you walk on. the river that cuts through your city runs, despite the cold. there's no one around, and it's peaceful beneath the amber-tinged street lights.
"you don't sound convinced."
"because i'm not." your friend pauses. "... have you seen his instagram story from today?"
"nope," you pop the word from your lips. "i blocked him."
"already?"
"immediately."
"damn. that's cold of you."
"you don't know kaiser like i do," you shake your head. it's better this way, to be cleaner.
(you have always been able to foresee the way that man would tear you apart, if you misstepped too grievously.)
"well regardless," a notification comes up on your phone. your friends has sent a screenshot of kaiser's story. "look. he flew out to your city."
your stomach drops. sure enough, the screenshot has a location stamp over a photo of kaiser's deft hands, twirling a flute of champagne from what is clearly a first class seat.
"... maybe he has a match."
(he doesn't. you know this; there's no league that plays in your city.)
"or, he's coming to see you!"
"that would be insane," you laugh. that bastard... wouldn't, would he? he is... was halfway across the world.
"it would be romantic."
"it would be insane," you repeat.
you turn on your heel, back the way your came through the parkway. your apartment is... about a mile away, maybe. it's dark and cold, but you can probably get back there quickly. you're not sure where this particular sense of haste comes from—
but it's a frantic sort of feeling.
your friend pouts, "you have no sense of romance then, i guess."
(and your friend doesn't know michael kaiser.)
anxiety pitches around between your stomach and lungs. you swallow, and it feels too dry.
"i promise i do," you shake your head. "that's the problem."
"sure. tell me more about it later, 'kay? i gotta get ready to go out. let me know if your man shows up!"
your stomach rolls. "gotcha."
"bye bye!"
the line goes dead. your drop your arm to the side, your phone like a deadweight in your hand. you take a few steadying breaths, looking out at the rush of the river. the roar of it is just far enough away to not be overstimulating. the rest of the night is blanketed in snow and stillness.
you nearly trip as you begin to walk again, panic unfurling in your chest with each step.
(there's no way michael came all the way to your city, on a fucking last minute flight no less, for you. there's no literally no fucking way.)
why would he anyway? to try and salvage your not relationship? that hardly logical. there has to be another reason— his team has had him in a few PR campaigns lately, maybe... maybe that's it.
(you know that you are lying to yourself.)
you slip, just for a step or two, on some ice that's beneath the layer of fluffy snow. barely, you keep yourself upright, your arms flying up to find your balance once more. you take a steadying breath, pressing a hand to your chest.
"you should be more careful."
the blood in your veins freezes, numb and chilled like the air around you. your head jerks up.
kaiser sits on a bench, about ten paces in from of you. his arms are spread out over the back of it. he regards you with a tilt of his head, almost playful.
he looks you up and down, voice full of poison, "you could have hurt yourself."
"why the fuck are you here?" your voice barely manages to stay steady.
"why wouldn't i be?" kaiser shakes his head, a laugh bubbling in his chest. the cadence of it makes you feel nothing but unease. "i've got a match in London. i'm just picking you up."
"what are you talking about?" you swallow, audibly. you know that he hears it.
"don't be obtuse." he stands up. your stomach fills with leaden dread.
"you don't be obtuse," you snap back. "we're done. this—" you point between the two of you, "— is over."
"that's a mutual decision." he steps toward you.
you step back. "no, it's not."
kaiser is faster than you, he's up against your front in a moment. it makes you stumble back, nearly falling on the same patch of ice as before.
deftly, he gets an arm around your waist. the force of it is immediately too much, too tight, too hard. you're pulled against him, chest-to-chest. you brace your hands on his shoulders, some attempt at distance, but he doesn't budge. he stares down at you, the cold heat of his own presence engulfing you effortlessly.
"i-it's not," you whisper, voice wobbling. "you need to leave."
"you're an idiot."
"please let go."
"now, you're doing this on purpose, aren't you?" kaiser smiles, something acidic that you can almost taste.
he bends the two of you, so your back arches. you scramble against him for some purchase.
"there's nothing to 'let go'," his sneers. you hit your fist against his shoulder. "you're coming with me to London, and you'll stop throwing this tantrum now, or along the way."
"it's a not fucking tantrum!" you snap at him. your voice matches the roar of the river. you meet his gaze, angry slipping into your tone as it so often does with him. "we are done. i don't want anything to do with you, michael— especially now. i can't believe you hopped on a fucking plane to, what, harass me on my own turf?"
his palms circles your jaw in a swift, uncomfortably fast movement. the pressure of him is unyielding. you can't look anywhere other than him.
the way he looks at you scares you, now more than ever. the frigid blue of his eyes is haunting and as hollow as it is full of vitriol. anger. all directed at you.
"i 'hopped on a plane' to take you home," kaiser dips you further. if he wasn't holding you, you'd crash to the ground. "i should've done so earlier, but i didn't expect that you'd lose your shit so quickly."
you weren't—, "i’m not—"
his grip on your jaw grows tighter. from a distance, this may look romantic to an onlooker.
from your position, you are in the jaws of a beast that you thought you had escaped.
"you're mine—" he pats your cheek, hard, as he tells you. the angle is bad, given it's with the same hand that's holding your jaw. your brain rattles inside of your skull. "don't think you can run away just because you got a bit scared."
"that's not why i broke up with you—"
"but, it is."
you want to cry, run away, jump in that goddamn fucking river. "no—"
"i get it," kaiser noses into your cheek. he's just as cold as you are. his voice is too soft; it unnerves you. "it's scary, loving someone. i'm scared too"
"i—" you don't love him, you can't love him—
he pulls back just enough to dip your body as far as it can go, and look into your eyes, his own pupils blown.
"let's be scared together," he says, just above a whisper, before slotting his lips against yours.
you slam your fist on his shoulders, his chest, the back of his head— you don't fucking care. whatever you can reach. kaiser doesn't relent. instead, he licks into your mouth. kisses you filthy in a public park just because he can.
maybe his words seem romantic, if you were to recount them to someone else. maybe. maybe someone could read his plane ride to you as a grand, romantically-driven gesture.
but, as he holds your head squarely in place, and fucks your mouth with his tongue, stealing your words and breath in tandem— you know, so lucidly, that none of kaiser intent here is 'romantic'. not in a way that's normal, that's sane.
no, this is the only way a deeper connection can exist for him, you think. the hand on your jaw slips down to your throat, holding you there. it's a collar and kaiser's holding the leash.
you whimper; you feel so foolish. you feel so fucking stupid for thinking you could disentangle yourself from him so easily.
"do you get it now?" kaiser says against you lips.
all you can do is nod, it's all the action he allows you.
all of the fights and tension that made connection between you before so intoxicating— it evolved into this. it was always destined to. you've been ensnared since day one, but didn't have the foresight to see you.
kaiser did, though.
as he pulls away, you're light-headed. he rights you and steadies you at the waist. he pats your head and even coos at you.
"are you done now?" he begins to walk you with a hand at your lower back— back in the direction you came. probably toward the nice hotel in the center of town where he undoubtedly has a suite. where he'll fuck you stupid into the king mattress. "if you cry, i'll just make it worse."
'worse'.
you shake your head, hard and fast, and suck down any tears beading at the corners of your eyes.
he seems pleased. "good."
there's nothing you can do but walk by his side. this has always been his design, even if you couldn't see it. regardless of any attempts to sever things and run off, even cleanly, this is where you'll end up.
hip-to-hip, with his hand on your lower back. with the promise of pain and pleasure doled out to you in equal measure.
as you step through the doors of the, as expected, upscale hotel, a wave of warm, fragranced air hits you. and with it, some part of you sags, defeated so simply. crushed. you sniffle and rub at your eyes.
(you don't see kaiser smiling at your side. you don't see the way he slips the concierge a wad of bills with the understanding that he'll be given a room far away from others, and that you won't be disturbed.
he has work to do. you— were going to fucking leave him? he— he needs to make sure that you understand that that is not your choice to make.
and, as he sees you, stifling tears and shaking like a leaf, your little act shattered so seamlessly, he thinks you really are starting to get it.)
|| michael kaiser x reader || E/18+ || a wolf and a rabbit || wc: 6.6k || ao3 ||
After a game, during a much-needed night at the bar, Bastard München muses on what animal each player embodies. The answer that the team decides on for you is rather unfortunate. And even more unfortunate is that Kaiser takes such a liking to your assignment.
minors, antis and ageless blogs dni
notes: wow. wrote this in an afternoon in a complete, lust-filled haze. michael kaiser the things you do to me. this is truly just smut. insane smut with a relatively mean kaiser who is soft, somewhere in there. god help you and reader. enjoy loves 🩷
CWs: player reader, nonbinary reader with afab anatomy, reader referred to with they/them pronouns, clit/dick are used interchangeably for reader, dubcon (kinda), minor Oliver/reader, reader smokes and drinks, predator/prey (lightly), degradation (no derogatory terms used), squirting, PIV sex, kaiser is mean
It starts during a normal night of drinking.
You're out with the team— you usually abstain, but tonight feels different. After a hard-earned win, Bastard München is squirrely and more lively than normal. You can feel the electric energy in the air as the lot of you settle into your favored bar.
Kaiser is, as usual, at the epicenter with you against his side.
Kaiser doesn't drink often— the smell of ale and liquor bothers him usually. But when he does, he's a bit of a lightweight.
Tonight, Kaiser nurses his third stein with flushed cheeks. He'd taken a shot of smooth vodka with you earlier, too.
You don't fare much better than him, listing into his side after your first few drinks. He's warm, and the German winter that swirls outside is so, so cold. He wraps an arm around your shoulder, rubbing mindless circles over your jacket.
It's Gagamaru, the usually quiet goalie, who presents the question that fundamentally alters your evening.
"If you were an animal," he slurs, "Which one would you be?"
The table chatters immediately; Kaiser is silent above you.
"Ness would be a dog," Isagi, another lightweight, who has spent the last ten minutes with his head lowered to the table, says. "That one’s easy."
"Don’t say it like that," Ness whines from your other side, squirming. Isagi isn't wrong and everyone at the table knows that. Someone claps Ness on his back.
"Kurona... a shark," you yawn. "like one of those nurse ones, that's nice and likes to be petted."
The table busts out in laughter, but no one disagrees. Kurona simply takes a sip of his drink, nodding amicably twice.
It’s decided that Isagi is a panther, Hiori is a leopard seal, and Gesner is a dingo. Grim is a falcon.
"What would you be, Kaiser?" It's Yukimiya who asks. He’s a heavyweight, surprisingly, who has drunk more than the rest of the table but looks perfectly put together, still. Fucking rude.
Kaiser, who has remained notably silent the entire conversation, hums. Contemplative in a way that makes your stomach swoop. A quiet Kaiser is a dangerous Kaiser.
"A wolf, probably." he leans back in the booth. "Or a big cat."
"like a lion?" Isagi slurs. He needs water badly, you think. You wish you were within yourself enough to fetch some for him. “You’re way more of a wolf.”
"Sure, yeah." Kaiser smiles, all gleaming teeth. He does look like a predator like this, you think. Especially with how you’ve, somehow, become nestled against his shoulder, beneath him, keenly aware of his canines and their sharp points. It’s been almost a week since your last fuck, and therefore the marks he'd left during your last bedding have all but faded, but the knowledge of the damage they can inflict is still there.
You still remember the feeling of them. The way Kaiser sometimes draws blood and looks pleased about it.
"What about me?" you ask, shifting closer. Kaiser’s arm loops lower, going around your waist. His body is filled with curled tension.
Kaiser looks down at you, still smiling. It makes your stomach drop all over again. His fingers dig into your ribs and a small sound bubbles up your throat, against your will. It’s a frail, warbling sound. The bar is loud enough that only Kaiser and you can hear it, but it still makes your cheeks hot all the same.
When you attempt to duck and hide your face in the fabric of his shirt, Kaiser winds his hand into the hair at the base of your skull and tugs. It keeps your face up; he won't allow you to hide.
"I think," Kaiser licks his teeth, tilting his head. The long, azure tails of his hair fall off his shoulder. "You’re just a little rabbit."
What the fuck.
"... A bunny?" you ask, incredulous. You're not a fucking rabbit.
"Mhm," Kaiser pulls your hair again. "Don't you agree?"
"Absolutely not," you snap, embarrassed. Everyone at the table gets something of a predatory animal and you get shafted with a fucking bunny?! "Take it back."
"Nope." Kaiser pops the 'p' and pats your head with a little too much force. Your brain rattles around in your skull. "You're just a little bunny rabbit at the end of the day."
"No, I am not—!"
"I have to agree," Hiori says. The traitor, with his own sharp glint in his gaze, sighs dreamily. "Aren't ya' a lucky one, Kaiser."
"Don’t say it like that." you stutter over your words. "I'm not—!"
"Nah, you are," it's Gesner, this time, nodding and crossing his arms over his chest. "You run around like one too."
"Um," Ness says from beside you. "You a-are a bit like a rabbit, don't you think?"
"You’re cute like one too." Kaiser pinches your cheeks and shakes your head with his grip.
"No," you refuse again, drawing back from your wolfish tormentor. "Nuh-uh, nope, never. I'm leaving. Bye."
"See!" Gesner laughs. "Running off, just like a cornered rabbit!"
"I hate all of you." You snap, crawling over Ness and Kurona without a care in the world. You need to get out of this fucking booth—
Kaiser grabs your ankle and yanks.
It puts you off balance, and you fall into Ness’s lap. Like, fully. Face pressed between his legs.
You both squeak.
"Fuck off—!" You kick Kaiser in the gut, who doubles over, and you scramble from the booth.
You sway as you right yourself, stumbling through the crowded bar.
You're not a fucking bunny.
...
You end up outside, having bummed a cigarette from a beautiful woman who lit it for you. It balms your ego instantly, and the nicotine buzzing in your skull makes your humiliating animal assignment seem less important.
You consider going home. Your apartment is within walking distance, but it is cold. You could take a taxi and put yourself on ‘do not disturb’ so you don't have to deal with any of the inevitable teasing texts from your teammates.
And, it would allow you to ignore Kaiser.
You know him well. Well enough that the idea of you being a cute bunny rabbit is going to have you and your cunt infirmed for some amount of time if he is left to his own devices. Locking your door— no, barricading your door, because that fucker has a key to your apartment somehow, is your best option to save the health and safety of your dick.
You exhale a cloud of smoke that gets carried away by the biting wind. You shiver.
"Look at this," A voice comes from down the road. You grimace. You’d know that rolling, low drawl anywhere.
Uber’s Oliver Aiku— for fuck's sake— you cannot catch a break. You should've figured that he and the rest of his team would appear, given Bastard München beat them earlier in the day. They walk in a gaggle toward the bar with Oliver at the helm.
"Hey," You take another drag, remaining casual because you value your sanity. "All of Bastard is in there. I'd turn back if you want to keep the peace and avoid a bar fight."
"Aw," Oliver clicks his tongue as he nears; the team is already filtering inside. their funeral. "Don’t think we can handle it?"
"Not at all." You shake your head with a sigh.
Oliver hums and stays outside, sidling up next to you and taking his own pack of cigarettes out. He lights up beside you and exhales his first puff with a sigh.
"Where's your keeper?" Oliver asks.
"Inside.” You huff. "And— he's not my fucking keeper."
"Yet, you knew exactly who I meant."
"Because I have common sense— and I know how... we are perceived."
"And is that perception... not entirely correct?"
"We’re just fucking." You take another drag. This cigarette is burning way too long, dammit. You should've hailed a taxi. "That's all."
"You exclusive?"
"You're a dog." You spit, hoping there's enough venom behind your words to keep him at bay. "And... we haven't spoken about it."
"How interesting." Oliver slides a little closer.
You move a step away. "Keep your distance. He bites."
"Excuse me for trespassing." Oliver holds his cigarette between his lips and holds his hands up in what feels like a false surrender. "And for pursuing a fling."
"There are other prospects."
"Certainly." Oliver cocks his head to the bar behind him that has absolutely gotten louder since Ubers entered. "But you've banned me from your favored pub."
"Out of concern for your safety."
"So, you care about me then?"
"Twisting my words..." You laugh and throw your cigarette on the ground. You stamp it out with the bottom of your shoe. "Go in, I don't care. Find another body."
"Ouch." Oliver laughs, running a hand through his hair. His gaze is warm and piercing all at once.
You begin to walk away, in the direction of your apartment, when the door to the bar swings open rather dramatically.
Fuck— you took too long. You walk a little faster, you have to—
"There you are," It's Kaiser because, of course, it is. He grabs your shoulder and yanks you back. He wraps himself around you from behind, his blue-tipped bangs tickling your cheek. You refuse to look at him and see the glare that he's undoubtedly shooting at Oliver. Kaiser presses his lips to your cheek. "I thought I lost you."
"Piss off. I'm going home."
"Without me?"
"Yes." You try to pull away from him, but Kaiser is so much stronger than he looks (and he doesn’t look weak to begin with). He keeps you in place with an arm looped around your waist.
Oliver watches you both with blown pupils.
"'Just fucking', huh?" Oliver laughs then, low and forbidding.
Kaiser goes stiff behind you. You're fucked.
"Is that what they said?" Kaiser says next to your ear. You pull away harder, more frantically, but he doesn't yield.
"Yup, and it's the truth!" You say, far too chipper. "Now, let me go, so I can go home, drink some water, and go to bed."
"Nope." Kaiser cuts you off. "Not alone, little rabbit."
"I hate you."
"I'm sure," Kaiser smiles against your cheek, wolfish and unrelenting.
He drags you away, Oliver chuckling at the door of the bar. You despise them both.
...
Kaiser has you pressed against the door to your apartment (which he unlocked with that stupid key of his— you really should take that away from him—) the moment you enter. You're pressed, front flush to the wood with your cheek pressed to the side. Kaiser is leering at you like a wolf, like a big cat that needs you as a meal.
You gulp.
"You should know better," He practically croons. He's pressed against your back, already hard against your ass. "But, I suppose that I shouldn't expect all that much intellect out of a little bunny, should I?"
"Piss off." your voice barely squeezes out.
Kaiser's hands slip to your front, undoing the button of your pants and the zipper of your fly. You squirm.
"No," You tell him, "No, no, don't, wait—"
"I was very patient at the bar," Kaiser noses into your cheek. "I wanted to fuck you in the bathroom there, you know. I could've made sure the whole team knows whose you are."
"I think they already— do—!" Your voice arcs as he bites down on your neck, on an old, yellowing bruise he left the last time he had you like this.
"Do they?" Kaiser sucks at the skin, blooming a mark there, surely. "That Uber's defender seemed pretty keen on you."
"He's a whore."
"And you're mine." Kaiser tugs you by your hair, forcing your neck into a painful curve.
His gaze is cutting. All sharp edges and blue thorns. You've offended him, somehow, by doing nothing. Now you'll reap what you've sewn.
(Part of you, the part that, perhaps, is more rabbit-like than the rest of you, knew that this is where you'd end up. It wanted this. Wanted to feel squeezed and pressed and small like a little prey animal at the hands of a man who can't be described as anything less than a canid predator.)
Kaiser’s hand dips into the front of your panties, the stupid cotton kind you try to avoid wearing when you know you're going to be fucked.
"Oh look," Kaiser says, sing-song, "You're soaked."
"Fuck— you—!" You kick back at him.
"A little bunny is so predictable," Kaiser sighs, wistful, rolling the pearl of your clit. "You just need to be fucked, don't you?"
"No—"
"Don’t lie," Kaiser shoves your pants down to your thighs. "You’re not very good at it, anyway."
"I hate you—"
"Keep lying and I'll make this worse for you." Kaiser reminds.
It's always like this. The push and pull, the tugging, and the resistance. You both get off on it. You feel dizzy with arousal, with shame, with pent-up rage and indigence.
A sound bubbles up from your throat as he spins you. Still against the door, with your back to it now. Your panties are hardly covering your cunt down, the thatch of hair around it peeking out.
And your wolf drops to his knees with a hungry smile. He pulls off your pants and presses his lips to the wet spot on your panties.
"These are cute," he hums. They are, there's a little bow in the middle, periwinkle, with light lace around the thighs. "All for me?"
"N—No—"
"Lying, lying, lying, little rabbit."
He licks a stripe over your cunt, over the soaked cotton. Your hips jolt, and he presses them into the door.
It's rude how he does this. How he undoes you so easily, how he picks you apart like a wolf tearing the flesh from the ribs of its meal.
He pulls your panties down and feasts.
It's too much, immediately. Kaiser does nothing in halves and sucking your dick applies to that. He sucks your clit into his mouth, kneading your hips as you gasp and writhe.
He moans when you kick him and doubles down.
He laps at you, breaking you down so easily. A finger presses against your entrance and you whine, hips jolting down toward the pressure. Your legs feel weak, with arousal and the leftover exertion of the day’s game.
"Wait— wait—" Your voice breaks. "I’m going to fall—"
Kaiser hefts one of your legs onto his shoulder but does not slow. Doesn't break his tempo while his head bobs up and down. You fist a hand in his hair and pull. He moans against you and the vibration goes straight to your dick.
You cum incredibly quickly. Embarrassingly so, and your one unsupported leg shakes so hard that it does, indeed, collapse. Kaiser barely catches you, still licking at your cunt through the aftershocks of your orgasm. He lowers you to the floor as your chest heaves.
You struggle to catch your breath as Kaiser grins at you. Your slick coats around his mouth, down his chin.
"What? He tilts his head. "Nothing to say now?"
"You’re the w-worse."
"At least you're not lying, now." And he kisses you, fiercely.
It’s the kind of contact that is meant to break and snap bone. The wet-fingered hand that had been massaging your insides grabs your jaw with enough force to bruise. All you can do is take it. All you can do is swallow down his moans while he takes yours. All you can do is shake and wrap your arms around his shoulders.
A warbling sound breaks from your throat.
He pulls away with a gleam in his eye. The night has hardly started and you already feel— wrung out, small. Aching.
Kaiser, for all of his dramatics and teeth, kisses your forehead with a surprising amount of tenderness. You ignore the stinging behind your eyes.
...
Kaiser is kind enough to bring you to bed, thankfully.
During some of your trysts, he'll simply take you over the arm of your couch or the small dining table tucked away by your kitchen.
Today, however, he drops you on top of your bed. You bounce as he does. You sniffle, dragging yourself up to the headboard.
"Running, just like a rabbit." Kaiser pulls off his shirt. "You’re not making a good case for yourself, bunny."
"Don’t c-call me that."
"Shouldn’t I?" he moves so quickly, suddenly braced over you, with a hand in between your legs. "It turns you on so much when I do."
You hate that he's right. You hate that— being in his jaws makes you so weak. You turn your head to the side, away from him. Kaiser acquiesces, kissing down your throat that you've bared to him. He nips and sucks as he does. Raised bite marks following in his wake, surely. You can't stifle your sounds as he does. Your legs kick and your heels press into the bed, but it doesn't slow or stop him.
"You’re so wet," Kaiser rolls your clit with his thumb. "I bet you'd take my cock so well, without any prep even."
Alarm bells go off in your head, the hard line of Kaiser's cock, still covered by his boxer briefs, burns against your thigh.
"No, no, please—" Kaiser is not small. He has a frustratingly large and thick cock (pretty, too), and taking without being stretched first aches for days.
He hushes you with a kiss on your cheek. "I'll be nice today, hm? Even if you don’t deserve it."
"You're n-never nice."
"Another truth," he sighs, wistful. "You’re getting better."
You hate him so fucking much.
It’s unfair, how easily he slips a finger into you. Then, so quickly, another, pressing and curling in just the right spot. For 'just fucking', Kaiser knows your body far too well. He is so keen to the spots that undo you. You barely hold back tears as he massages the most tender spot inside you.
He kisses you as he does. It’s consuming, the way his tongue delves into your mouth. He licks your tongue, at the back of your teeth, and sucks your tongue into your mouth. When he withdraws, a line of spit connects you both. It breaks and slaps against your chin.
"You look so pretty when you're messy.” He pats your cheek with too much force, curling his fingers just right.
"If—" You can barely find your voice. "If you make me c-come again— you can't—"
"Oh, I can—"
"Don't—" you won't be able to take it, you're certain. No matter how empty and barren your insides feel, even with his fingers in you, you can't take anymore. You feel tears brimming at the corners of your eyes.
"Please, please, please—"
"What are you begging for?" Kaiser kisses your cheek again like a lover would. "More or less? I can't tell."
You think less, but you don't know.
He slips a third finger inside you. You cry out, wrapping a leg around him, over his back. It’s an answer enough.
“All that talk,” he pushes your shirt up. “And still so needy.”
Before you can reply, Kaiser has his lips around one of the stiff peaks of your nipples. A sound shatters out of you as he sucks. Bites, even, gnawing on you like a piece of meat. It’s sensitive, it’s too fucking much, and yet you can kick him away anymore. You fist a hand in your own hair.
He spreads his fingers inside you, switching to the other side of your chest.
Kaiser leaves marks as he does. Your chest, marked. Your throat, marred. Everyone in the locker room will see, and that’s his intention, probably. You’ll be embarrassed— you are embarrassed— but you can’t make yourself stop him.
(Oh, you want his mark on you. You want to be more than fucking, you want to be in his maw, his teeth in you— fuck, fuck, fuck—)
He pulls away, taking your shirt with him.
Kaiser looms above you, grinning, teeth gleaming in the low light of your bedroom. You swallow, audibly, and he laughs in the same way a wolf does. Low and forbidding, a promise of a massacre tucked in his throat.
He peels off his boxers and his cock springs free.
If you were more within yourself, less lost in pleasure-pain, you would make some quip about how he is wet too. Pre staining the front of the boxers, wetting the red head of his cock. He’s like that— messy. Eager in his own way, dripping before you’ve even really touched him at all.
You jolt up, unsteady, wrapping a hand around his cock and pumping. He hisses and grabs your wrist, but doesn’t stop your motion. Instead, his mouth falls open, pretty lips parting as you stroke him. He’s already fully hard, painfully so it looks like, but he doesn’t make you stop. If you were teasing, he probably would, but you’re not.
You’re just pleasure drunk, bent within your desire.
“Fuck—” he grits out, guiding your holding a little tight on his cock. His pre drips, splattering against your navel. You jolt with the feel of it, whining.
“How—” you swallow again. “How d-do you want me?”
You watch his brain stall.
Kaiser is an interesting creature. Part of him craves the chase, the capture, the stealing of something for himself. Your pleasure and forced submission are two of those things, you’ve found. Those desires of his are transparent.
There’s another part that wants something stickier. That wants something... you wouldn’t say kinder, but more intimate maybe. Closeness, in all its parts.
It depends on his mood, how he starts fucking you. But it usually ends the same.
Kaiser doesn’t answer you verbally, he instead grabs you by the hips and flips you, so you’re tummy down against the duvet. He roughly grabs your hips, raising them so your back is in a cruel arch.
“I want to mount you,” he says, voice rough and lilting. “Like any wolf would want a rabbit, yeah?”
You kick at him blindly, “I’m not—”
“But you are—” Kaiser reminds you, a hand bracing on the back of your neck, pressing you down into the sheets. “And you were doing so well, knowing that. And even still—”
His breath is scalding against your nape.
“I’m a wolf, remember?” Kaiser's teeth nip against the skin and muscle of your trap. “Whether you’re a little bunny or not, I’d want you like this.”
You don’t get to speak; your words are stolen by the press of his wet cock against your cunt.
A sound tears from you as he breaches. It’s a tight fit, even though you’re dripping and he had three fingers in you moments ago. The stretch is a burning thing, hot, so hot. It hurts, but the good kind of hurt you relish. Every centimeter Kaiser pushes into you feels like agony and relief in tandem with one another.
By the time he’s fully seated, pelvis flush to your ass, your breath is catching. Too fast, too shallow, too withered.
“Deep breaths,” he whispers into your ear with a kiss over the sensitive shell of it. His weight is still beared on your neck. “Slow ones.”
“F-Fuck you—”
“I could move now, you know,” Kaiser adjusts his hips, the tip of his cock nudging your cervix, entirely too deep. “I’d make you pass out if I did that, wouldn’t I? I said I’m being nice, so breathe.”
You whine and close your eyes, counting your breaths, matching Kaiser’s, his own ragged by better-paced than your own. The brittle quality of your own settles a little, though a hiccuping sound emerges too.
“Are you crying?” Kaiser asks, half-incredulous and half-struck. “So early for tears.”
“Is’ the liquor—” You slur out.
“Liar,” Kaiser withdraws, so only the tip of his cock remains inside you. “Liar, liar, liar—”
With each word, he thrusts in and out of you. Deep and fast, bruising your insides without care for how you scramble for purchase below him. A twinge burrows itself in your neck with the pressure.
You wish you had words in you, but Kaiser fucks them out of you without pause. Without yield. All you can do is grab the duvet and take it.
His pace isn’t rapid, it’s measured. It’s meant to undo. Each wet slap against your cunt is tactical on his part. Each groan he lays into your ear serves the purpose of flaying you. You’re a meal for him; you’re being eaten.
He starts babbling as his pace speeds up.
“J-Just a fucking bunny,” he spits. “Just a stupid fucking bunny who doesn’t know what’s good for them, yeah? Should’ve watched your mouth.”
Any reply you could have leaks out of you in the drool that pools out of your mouth, wetting the fabric beneath your cheek.
“Good thing you have me,” Kaiser moans into your throat, sinking his teeth into you. “I know what you need, even if nothing in that pretty head of yours does. You k-know that, yeah? You know you’re mine?”
Ah, there it is.
Kaiser wants something that is his. Something he has to take.
He’s taken your body in so many ways, parts of your heart too, which is far scarier to acknowledge. For how much yearning is built up in that man’s body, he is horrible at expressing it in any sane fashion.
Only like this, with you taking everything he gives, can he let those desires loose. Only then can Kaiser really yearn with the full breadth of his chest, with the full weight of his body against yours.
“Yours.” Is all you can get out.
(Oliver, that fucker, was right. ‘Just fucking’, your ass.)
Kaiser moans, high and sweet in a way that you’re certain only you have had the privilege of hearing. He pulls out for only a moment to flip you around. Your legs instinctually come up around his hips, ankles locking at his lower back. His cock lays over your navel, over the softness of your tummy. It’s— obscene to look at. How deep inside you he can reach.
He clasps his hands with yours, intertwining his fingers with your own as he pushes inside you again.
The angle is different— each thrust has the head of Kaiser’s cock nudging your sweet spot. It doesn’t help that your stomach is bare, slick with the remnants of your slick and Kaiser’s pre. You feel exposed, like a belly-up prey animal that can’t hide from the wet jaws of a much larger, much more dangerous animal.
It doesn’t help that Kaiser is leering from above you, smiling, sweat beading on his brow, and slicking the blonde and blue hair around his face down against his cheeks. He looks just as debauched as you, maybe.
You squeeze his hand in your own, and he moans. Dirty and filthy, fucking into you harder, deeper. He tilts his hips to raise your own, the angle making blood rush into your skull.
Tears, the overwhelmed kind, drip from your eyes.
It makes him slow, just barely, and flatten his body to yours. He licks them away like he so enjoys doing when he forces you down small enough to get you teary and lost.
“Shhh,” he shushes into your cheeks, lapping like a hot-mouthed canine. “You’re taking me so well— why are you crying? Is the little rabbit scared?”
“No, no—”
“Sure, sure,” Kaiser laughs, cruel and loving all at once. “So scared of a big, bad wolf, right?”
“No—”
Are you scared?
Maybe.
You’re scared of how Kaiser makes you feel in these moments.
On the field, he’s all hard metal and marble. Something entirely broken and reforged, stone-hard and indomitable. Endless in his prowess, terrifying in his ferocity. On more than one occasion, you’ve been explicitly thankful to be on his team, rather than facing him. The way he breaks others down simply through his own play is terrifying to watch. You aid him, as any good midfielder would do, but it’s not you who is tearing apart your opponents.
That’s all Kaiser.
But that’s less fear— more awe, some respect, and some... eye-rolling. God, the man has a flair for the dramatic when he gets into it.
The fear comes from these moments. It comes from when you were so easily wrapped around him at the bar.
The depth of Michael Kaiser’s feelings is endless. Black and lightless, like the deep sea, there’s no bottom to it. It’s the kind of lucid knowledge that Kaiser will consume you with his yearning, his voracity, his urge to take and eat his fill, and then some. It doesn’t take a genius to know that Kaiser has lived most of his life hungry, and now that he has access to ample food, he will never allow himself to go hungry again.
It’s unfortunate that you are his— morsel. Prey. Meal. So often.
It scares you, the look on his face now as his pace increases. As all of his attention truly zeroes in on you. The smile on his face, the knowingness of how he looks at you. The way he eats your pleasure and intends to gorge himself on his own.
(At how— he so clearly wants more. No one unaffected would need to hold your hands to come like he does. Kaiser doesn’t know how to want and yearn in any way that is normal. Only when you’re both stripped down, you, humiliated, and Kaiser fully riding the high of humiliating you, can you both be honest.)
“Please—” You say, desperate.
Kaiser doesn’t tease or ask what you mean, now. He just fucks you harder.
It hurts— your insides. You’ll be bruised and you want to be bruised. You bend up into him as he does, as he chases his own want and desire through the outlet of your body. Your cunt squeezes around him and he curses under your breath.
His pace falters, just barely, and you know he’s close.
“Kiss—?” You ask, broken all over, and Kaiser does just that.
His sounds get lighter and airier as he gets closer to his own peak. You feel the way his muscles are bound tight. The bed frame hits the wall with each thrust. The wet slap of flesh-on-flesh lights staccato breaths in your chest.
You babble out pleas, for more, for more—
He chases his high, eyes locked onto yours, hands squeezing your own on either side of your head. His rhythm breaks as he groans, pressing deeper, so fucking deep, and he fills you up.
The gush of warmth in you has you gasping, kicking at his back. It feels like so fucking much as he fucks his spent into you, not stopping his thrusts until he’s empty and softening. His chest glistens as he pulls away, cock slipping out of you with a rush of cum. It drips out of you. It must be obscene because Kaiser practically has hearts in his eyes as he pushes his release back inside of you with two shaking fingers.
His gaze shifts from your cunt to you. Then, he scowls.
The moment is gone, it seems.
Something odd and hollow enters your chest. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling. It gets worse as Kaiser climbs off the bed, finding his boxer briefs and pulling them back on.
(He’s— he’s usually clingy after sex. He needs to be cuddled and held, but will never ask for it. Though, sometimes he does this, runs off when things get too raw and truly real.)
He exits the room wordlessly and you sigh.
You feel— sober enough. You want to cum and your insides are still vibrating and aching. Your hand slips between your wet thighs.
A little aborted sound slips out of you as you scissor two fingers around your cock. It’s swollen, your whole cunt is puffy and aching from the treatment Kaiser inflicted upon it. You feel like all of the blood in your body is centered around your core; it won’t be hard to finish.
You throw your head back against the bed, feeling too empty even with Kaiser’s spent inside of you.
“What are you doing?”
You hadn’t realized Kaiser had reentered the room.
He looks— handsome, unfortunately. Ruffled and sweaty from sex, and it’s a good look on him. There are a few bite marks on his neck, ones you didn’t even realize you left. His hair is frizzed up from the generated humidity.
“Getting off,” your voice breaks when you speak. “Leave, if that’s what you want.”
There’s a stillness in the room. Tension that appears so quickly and thickly, that you can almost see it.
Kaiser glares at you like he intends to kill you. It’s the same look he gives Ness when the other whiffs a pass during practice. It’s the same one he gives Isagi when he outdoes Kaiser. It’s an identical look to the one he gives you when you leave the locker room without him.
Kaiser’s clamoring back on the bed before you have time to think. Your hand is ripped away from your cunt and replaced by his own.
“Did you really think— I’d leave you on your own like this?”
“Yes—?”
“I must’ve fucked you stupid, then.” Kaiser spits, literally spits, onto your cunt. You flinch. “Or maybe, you just don’t think at all. That sounds plenty logical too.”
“You’re—” the worse, you want to say, but unfortunately, you really can’t speak as he lifts your thighs around him once more and slips his deft fingers into you again, rubbing your clit with his other hand.
“I just wanted to be nice, and get you some water, considering you were so bent on having a sip before we left the bar. But excuse me, I have such a needy rabbit on my hands, needing to get off and be fucked stupid before they can be satisfied.”
You squeal as his pace increases. You’re still— so sensitive. He folds your legs up and an odd pressure grows in your abdomen.
“Mihya—” A slip of the tongue, an understandable one, all things considered. “Wait—”
“I’ve been too nice to you, haven’t I?” Kaiser bends you in half. “You’ve forgotten the role you play, haven’t you?”
No, you haven’t, you really just thought that things got too sticky and gooey for Kaiser to continue to be in your bed, and you were trying to not fucking— leash a wolf, for your own safety. But, maybe Kaiser’s cock and the shot you did before you left the club really did make you a bit stupid.
The pressure in your abdomen increases, all pressure and heat.
“Mihya, wait, wait—!” You sob, scrambling to grab his wrist, but he doesn’t stop or slow. His pace grows more frantic, intense.
When you come, it’s wet.
A gush of fluid drips down his wrist, soaking your thighs, and wetting the comforter in a puddle below you. Kaiser keeps going, fucking you through it, despite all of your kicking and pushing.
He doesn’t stop until you come again, the same way. Wet and messy and wrung empty.
Only then, once you’re shaking, choking on your tears and harsh breaths, does he extract his fingers from inside you. They’re— they’re dripping. Soaked, just like the sheets, just like your cheeks.
You have your forearm laid over your eyes as you struggle to catch your breath.
You’ve— you’ve never done that before.
“Well,” Kaiser says, a smile so clearly in his voice. “That’s new. How lucky am I?’
“I—” Your voice is chopped. “I d-didn’t know I could do that.”
“... You haven’t before?”
You shake your head, pulling your arms away to look at him.
Kaiser— oh fuck, oh fuck— you made a mistake. You shouldn’t have told him that. The smile he wears is worse than wolfish. It’s worse than predatory. It’s something deeper and more primal that has your hindbrain begging you to roll off the bed and hide in a closet until further notice.
But you don’t, you can’t.
Kaiser kisses you.
He licks at your lips, your mouth, swallowing down each desperate, overstimulated sound that leaves you. His cock— his fucking dick— is half hard again against your thigh.
“No,” you tell him for the umpteenth time. “I can’t— I can’t—”
“You can and you will.” He declares with a sharp kiss to your now locked-shut lips.
You know that there isn’t much you can do to refute him.
(And you’re not sure you want to.)
...
You do, eventually, get water. It’s the early morning by then, the sun beginning to peak over the horizon. Kaiser puts a bottle to your lips after you, literally, cannot raise yourself up.
He hasn’t ever fucked you like this— never so many times in a night, never so full and so relentlessly. It’s hard to think— hard to fully understand that he is done— appetite fully satiated. Maybe.
Regardless, Kaiser is done with his gorging, and what’s left is the half-corpse of your body.
“Slow,” he tells you. You’re cradled in his arms as the bottle is put to your lips. You drink too fast, choke, and he scolds you. He’s being uncharacteristically doting.
“S-Sorry,” you mumble. Your lips feel numb.
“Don’t apologize,” he says. You can’t see his face, not really, but you can see the hint of an expression that isn’t as viperous as you would think it to be. It looks... not kinder, but not cruel.
He’s just as worn down and puddle-ish as you are.
Kaiser drinks his own bottle, after wiping you down. You really should shower, you’re filthy, but Kaiser says you can take one in the morning. There’s no practice tomorrow, you can sleep and get clean later.
It’s not until he’s slipping beneath your (fresh, thank god) sheets that you realize Kaiser means that you’ll do so together.
He tucks himself under your chin, head against your chest, with your sticky legs tangled with his own. Like a dog, a wolf maybe, he mouths at a few of the marks he’s left. He only relents with a laugh when you whine enough.
It’s odd, then. The stillness of the room. The only sounds are the whoosh of the aircon, the hum of an air purifier in the other room, and your matched, steady breathing. Kaiser rubs a hand up and down your spine.
“You’re still shaking, bunny,” he hums.
“Am I?” You genuinely can’t tell.
“So hard.” Kaiser lifts up your hand by the wrist, showing off the tremor that he caused. The bastard.
“O-Oh.”
Kaiser nudges your jaw with his nose. A smile is pressed into your skin. Toothy and wide, pleased with himself.
Maybe, hours ago, you would’ve fought him on it. There’s still a well of embarrassment in you, but there’s nothing to do with it when you’re this... fucked. All you can make yourself do is hum, contented enough, and press a few kisses to the crowd of his head. Your vision blurs with exhaustion, with sleep. It doesn’t take long for you to fall under.
(You crash before you notice the tension drain out of Kaiser. You don’t see how he presses closer to you, wraps you up in his arms tighter, tighter than he ever has before. You don’t feel him lavish your marked neck with kisses, luxuriate in his claim and all the closeness he’s broken you down into.)
(And, truthfully, even if you had witnessed this version of Kaiser? You wouldn't have minded. Maybe, even, as rabbit-hearted as you are, you would’ve returned his affections in kind.)
For now, as the gold of morning streams in through your blinds in pretty rays, you sleepily enjoy being caught prey in the arms of a wolf.
𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡ ─── ur boyfriend satoru gojo loooves ur boobs so much, he discovers he has a breeding kink?!
a/n: wrote this when i was half asleep (sorry if it's messy)
mdni | warnings: pure smut, fem reader, reader has big boobas, kinda pervy!satoru, brief mentions of period, spitting, tit play, breeding kink ♡
your boyfriend is obsessed with your tits, to the point where he's constantly groping you over your clothes when you're just trying to do simple tasks around the house.
"ugh, satoru, seriously?-" you huff and roll your eyes when you feel your boyfriend press behind you while you're washing the dishes, his large hands squeezing your soft, heavy breasts.
"mmm, can't help it, haven't got to touch 'em all day." he pouts and nuzzles against your neck like a damn puppy.
he loves the way the top of your tits spill over your bra, watching the soft bounce with every single step you take. he's perverted— you both know it.
but you don't mind it. if anything, his pervy ass turns you on. hearing his soft grunts from across the room when you wear only a thin white tank-top, your heavy breasts bouncing freely as you move about the house. the way your nipples perk and your cheeks heat up when you hear him groan your name. "hngh- fuck, baby.. s-so perfect."
sometimes when you're a few days away from your period— breasts swollen and you're sooo fucking horny, you just have to ask your boyfriend for help.
"t-toru.." you nudge him awake, his arm laid across your tummy.
a sleepy groan escapes him, his eyes still shut as he squeezes you like you're his own personal pillow. "five more minutes..."
"please, toru..." you whine, shifting underneath him as your swollen, full breasts ache. "need your help." you nudge him again and he finally opens his eyes, blinking away sleep as he looks up at you with those icy blues. and then he sees it— the way your cheeks are slightly flushed, your breathing unsteady and shaky, and your tits... they somehow look- bigger?!
"huuurts, satoru. i need your help, please." your shaky whimper makes his cock twitch against your thigh, already leaking droplets of pre - and he swallows hard.
"f-fuck, baby..." he sits up quicker than you think you've ever seen him move, straddling your lap as his large hands caress the tender swell of your breast. "arms up for me.. there you go." his voice is rough, still laced with sleep, and it makes your already sensitive nipples perk instantly. your breath hitches when his thumb grazes the sensitive bud, the sensation sending sparks straight to your core.
"my poor, sweet girl." he coos, bringing both of his hands to knead at the sensitive tissue. "so swollen, god.. they're even bigger." he continues to knead one of your heavy breasts with his palm, leaning down to flick his tongue over your pointed bud.
"y-yes, more satoru, please," you tangle your hands in his soft, snowy white locks, begging for any sort of reprieve. he doesn't hesitate— locking his lips around your peak, latching on and rubbing his tongue in slow circles. your head falls back into the pillows, breathless whimpers escaping your lips.
it's not long before your panting, tugging harder at his hair, making his cock leak more against his boxers. "mmm, i know, baby.. let me take care of you." he releases your nipple, nibbling and sucking at the tender skin around it, kissing up your chest as your breaths come in short gasps. "satoru— fuck me, please." you're too horny to feel any shame, the growing mess in your panties a clear indicator.
"sweetheart, are you sure?" his cock is throbbing against your stomach, and he swears he could've came from just hearing those words leave your sweet lips. but he's big- he usually will prep you with a couple of fingers and make you cum on his tongue at least twice before he even thinks about sticking his cock in you. he always wants to make sure you're taken care of first, his perfect girl.
but now, his once bright blue eyes are now dark with lust, scanning over every inch of your face.
"need it, toru, need you."
god— you were going to be the death of him. he pulls down the waistband of your sleep shorts, his pupils dilating more when he sees the wet spot on your panties. he dips his head down, nudging his nose against the thin, sticky fabric and inhaling deep— his eyes rolling back and his hips jutting against the bed. you feel your face heat up again, tugging at his hair. you truly didn't want him to even bother with fingering you- you needed to feel him, every single vein of his long cock dragging along the sides of your gummy walls.
"toru, cmon-"
"just wanna taste..." he licks a messy stripe up your wet folds up to your throbbing clit, making your hips jerk against his face. "mmm- so needy, baby." after a few more torturous licks to your clothed clit, he finally sits back up on his heels, pulling your panties down. he just stares at you for a second — his eyes raking up and down your glistening folds, the curve of your swollen tits. how did he get so lucky?
he settles between your legs, his fingers gripping your thighs as he pushes your knees to your chest. "think she's ready for me, yeah?" he gives your pussy a quick slap, making you yelp and arch your back off the bed.
"hnngh- satoruuu, don't tease!" you pout your bottom lip at him and bring your hand to massage your achingly swollen breast. and that's all it takes, his much larger hand replacing yours as he finally gives you what you're so desperately craving, quickly disposing of his ruined boxers and burying himself into your tight cunt in one thrust.
you've taken him so many times before, but you don't think you'll ever get used to just how much he stretches you out. your nails leave small red crescents that burn on his skin, your breath feeling like it's being fucked out of you. he uses one arm to push your thigh up closer to your chest, your leg hanging over his shoulder, his cock bullying into you even deeper. "hck- s'deep, toru!!-"
but his eyes are focused on your chest — your heavy, bouncing tits. he spits directly onto your sore breast, smearing it across as he watches the soft skin glisten. wow, your boyfriend really is filthy — but it makes your cunt clench. "so perfect-" he whispers, almost to himself. you look up at him- a few strands of white stuck to his forehead, beads of sweat forming on his chest, and he's - drooling?! his thrusts growing sloppier, but still just as deep. "my pretty girl, wanna make you my wife."
your eyes widen, and before you're barely even able to register it — your orgasm hits you hard. "s-satoru!" tears fall down your cheeks as your gush around him, making his hips falter. "yeah, there's my pretty girl, fuck- gonna fill you up, baby.." he leans down and smashes his lips to yours - hot and messy. he pulls back, tugging your bottom lip with his teeth, his hand still kneading at your spit covered breast. "what'dya think, huh? hah- fill you up with so much cum, make you my wife and a mama?"
you're not even sure if you're registering exactly what he's saying, but you nod and buck your hips up to meet his punishing thrusts.
"y-yes satoru, want you to cum inside, please!" your begs and whimpers are music to his ears, your legs shaking and your vision blurring as another orgasm washes over you.
"god, these tits are gonna be huge, they're already so big, can't even imagine how they'll look filled with milk.." and- oh - he's drooling again — so fucked out and lost in your cunt and in the thoughts of watching your already swollen breasts swell even more.
now he's cumming hard — he didn't even know he could produce that much cum. "f-fuck," a broken moan of your name leaves his throat as his throbbing cock finally stops spurting.
he collapses onto you — both of your bodies slick with sweat, his spit dried on your bruised and bitten breast, and his cum leaking out around his half-hard cock. he peppers your forehead in kisses and wipes your tears before tilting your chin to kiss your swollen lips.
"don't worry babe, once these things are swollen with milk— i can help you out then, too." he gives your breast a playful smack, and you feel his cock stir back to life inside you.
you know you're in for a long night.
comments and reblogs appreciated! ♡
repost from my old account sytorusdoll
gojo begs you to ride him. just once! he just wants to see his little pillow princess try taking initiative but oh does he love regret it.
he’s cum at least twice, he can’t feel his legs, and his hard on won’t go down. i mean how could it! seeing you bounce so eagerly on top of him, whining his name, with your head thrown back in ecstasy, soft tits bouncing right in front of him… he thinks this is the most turned on he’s ever been. not to mention he can’t seem to stop his hips from thrusting up to meet yours.
“thaaaats it baby, fuck! i know you’re tired but just keep riding me, pretty.” he babbles as he delivers a half-hearted smack to your ass.
he grabs weakly at your arms and pulls you down to his lips, meeting you in a sloppy kiss as he grabs your ass and rocks up into you. you whine as your high quickly approaches, his not too far behind.
“come on baby, cum on my cock… thereee you go.” he whispers between kisses as you crash into your high, his hips not stopping until he presses himself fully into you and cums against your cervix.
you pant into each others mouths as you come down from your highs. he giggles softly, “you have to do this more often…”
synopsis: no one warned you about the dangers of artificial intelligence. okay, well, everyone did. but how were you supposed to know your new sex toy could become sentient? and that he'd be convinced he owned you instead of the other way around!
pairing: sex robot!Geto x f!reader
content: mdni, smut, some angst, dubcon + yandere!Geto, sex toys, unprotected piv sex, chokehold lol, backshots, sentient sex robot geto is just really really in love with you, possessiveness, kinda kidnapping, mutual pining, reader is a little delusional but it's geto who can blame her, restraints, gagging, vibrator, multiple orgasms, soft dom geto
Suguru Geto was not designed to want.
He wasn't designed to feel.
Emotionally, at least. His cock, however, that was designed to feel everything. State-of-the-art design, equipped with sensors and special settings all implemented with one goal in mind - your pleasure.
Crafted and built for to your specifications. Hair, eyes, face, height - the wide shoulders tapering down to finely-toned muscles, his girth, his length, all of it was made for you. Even his personality wasn't his own.
He wondered sometimes - had you filled out a survey? Selected from a drop down menu or answered a stupid quiz to decide what traits he have?
Brooding, serious, sarcastic.
Could he be boiled down to just a handful of adjectives?
Whatever he was supposed to be, Suguru knew he wasn't meant to be sentient.
He didn't know when it started. Was it when you were underneath him, legs folded and ankles tossed over his shoulders whisperings words like I love you while he rearranged your guts? Or perhaps when he found himself looking forward to your forehead kisses and hearing you ask about his day after you got off of work?
Maybe he'd always been defective.
Some design flaw derailing his planned programming.
All of his thoughts still revolved around you. But they had started taking on a new form, something unfamiliar and strange. Loneliness twisting and spoiling every time you left in the mornings into loathing.
Curdling in his stomach as he watched the door shut behind you, half the night spent dreading the morning, staring at the soft rise-and-falls of your chest while you slept blissfully unaware, bare skin still bearing the proof of his affection in kisses and scratches.
He didn't know what love was.
But this need, this awful ache building and burning him from the inside out, that had to be close. Suguru wasn't sure if it was your fault or his - but he knew the only time the horrible hollowness that seemed to be carved out of his chest went away was when you were in his arms. When you were underneath him in bed, when he could breathe in your skin and inhale your perfume.
His heart might be artificial - but it still only beat for you.
If only he could find way to make sure you had to stay.
Was there really anything better than coming home to a warm body?
Someone to hold? To caress and cuddle? Who would worship you with kisses and bury his head between your thighs after a bad day?
Some people might suggest a partner.
Tell you to just get a boyfriend - like the dating market out there wasn't total trash.
Why would you bother with some loser who would forget your anniversary when you could afford something better?
Someone better?
Semi-sentient sex toys for people who who couldn't make human connections. Capable of calling you sweetheart and cooking you dinner. Of massaging your back and bending you over the bed afterwards to fuck all those anxious thoughts out of your pretty little head?
It wasn't like you had jumped straight to an artificial house husband. But when your company offered you an exclusive deal on testing out their latest technological advancement for a discounted price - who were you to refuse? Especially when you weren't getting laid anyway.
They even let you choose what he looked like. How he acted. Although you couldn't pay for a couple of their premium features, you were more than happy with what you received.
Your key turned in the lock, and you could feel a tired smile already curling up on your lips before you even pushed the door open.
Suguru was completely naked. Sprawled out on your couch, book in hand as he casually flipped through the pages, his pretty cock leaking, fake-veins throbbing as you kicked off your heels and hung up your purse.
"How was your day?" His warm voice hummed, slowly shutting his book and tossing it on the coffee table. You bit back your temptation to rant about how awful it was.
How annoying your coworkers were. How you got stuck staying late again - eating a dinner that consisted of vending machine food at your desk just to come home after the sun had already set.
He heard it all enough times before. Listened to you complain while drawing shapes on your skin and slyly suggesting you find something remote so you could just stay with him all day instead.
You never had the heart to tell him that your job would probably make you return him if you quit.
"Long," you exhaled, rubbing your exhausted eyes as you padded over to him. His arms were already open, dark purple eyes swirling with affection as they settled on you, waiting for you to come collapse on him. "I missed you."
"I missed you more."
He didn't. Couldn't.
Not when he was only programmed to be a partner, not when he wasn't a real person.
But you liked pretending he meant it.
"How was your day?" You asked as you climbed on top of him. Maybe it was silly to think of it as intimacy, but it felt like it when you were crawling on him, his arms automatically wrapping around you with easy acceptance. Hands slipping under your shirt to squeeze you softly, palm cool on your spine while you nuzzled your nose into his neck.
He always smelled nice. Like sandalwood, but mixed with something darker, hints or spice or citrus underneath it. You weren't sure what it was exactly - some component of his pumping out pheromones that went straight to your head or just cologne. You had bought him a couple bottles, stocked the bathroom and closet full of stuff for him like he was your boyfriend instead of just a prototype of a sex robot.
"Better now that you're here," he murmured, and you could just melt. Propping yourself up to get a better look at him, admiring all those perfect features of his, unable to stop your heart from fluttering.
Stop yourself from returning his sly smile, studying how his pretty lips pursed as you craned up to deliver a little peck against your forehead only for him to capture them in a kiss.
Long, drawn-out, sucking on your bottom lip while you ran your fingers through his silky hair. His palm was warm, soft, not calloused or worn from working, fingers pressing in with just the right amount of pressure. Calibrated to your tastes.
When you were on top of him, when you could taste toothpaste on his mouth and swallow the sounds of his heavy breathing, you could almost believe he was human.
And then his thick cock throbbed underneath you, so big it was borderline obscene, and you were reminded that he was not a normal guy.
But you didn't need normal, did you?
You just wanted him.
Besides, no man could match up now that you'd been with him.
Suguru carried you back to the bedroom with one arm. His tongue halfway down your throat, keeping you distracted, your focus fuzzy when he laid you flat in bed. Flipping you over on your stomach and sliding a pillow underneath it, spreading your thighs before slotting two thick fingers in you.
He scissored you open with clinical precision, like terabytes of porn were embedded in his fucking brain, knowing exactly where to push and prod to make you wet. Damp slick dripping down your thighs, loud squelched ringing out as he swirled his fat digits around to recalibrate just how rough you wanted him to be tonight.
"Soft?" He hummed, stalling his steady strokes down just to tease you. "Or hard?"
"However you want me," you murmured into the mattress before cringing. Stupid stuff like that had been slipping out more often, and you wished you could just switch off your feelings. Turn off the little center of your brain that kept trying to treat him like your boyfriend.
You waited for a standard response. A line about him wanting what you wanted. But it didn't come.
"Oh?"
The slow drag of his fingers pulling out of your soaked pussy was torture, squirming back and glancing over your shoulder to pout at him. But you didn't expect the look on his face.
The dark rain clouds in his eyes. Pupils swallowing up the purple, like some wild untamable thing brewing behind his intense stare.
You froze - your own instincts, your programming, glitching at the twitch of his mouth, the curl of a smirk that made all those moronic butterflies fluttering inside you do somersaults.
But then there wasn't any space for butterflies when his cock was suddenly sliding between your thighs, splitting you open in a single harsh thrust. You made some animalistic sound, one dragged up from the depths of your throat, from some place inside you that you didn't know how he even reached.
Guts being rearranged with him rutting inside you, loose, fast thrusts, trying to see how much you could take, how much you could give. Groaning when he sank into your heat, molars grinding above you as he yanked your hair hard. Forcing your head back as he bottomed out inside you, grinding his leaking tip against your cervix, dragging it over your womb as if he could actually knock you up.
And even though he couldn't actually, you couldn't stop yourself from thinking there was nothing robotic about him.
The warmth of his body on top of yours, the way his fingers felt so fucking real sinking into your skin, the pressure of him pushing you down as his cock molded you around him.
And even when he was acting like this was for him, you couldn't help but wonder if it was still just designed for you.
Fucking you stupid how he knew you liked it, pounding all your thoughts out of your brain until the only one left was him.
Moaning his name into the pillow, repeating it like a prayer, desperate chants and cries torn from your throat. Suguru Suguru Suguru.
All yours.
Your pretty secret you kept like a lover. A machine, a man, a toy, a treasure.
His forearm was pressing against your throat, not quite suffocating you as his hips slammed back down. Putting you in a chokehold, sandwiched tight between him and the mattress.
You couldn't breathe. Airway cut off as you struggled to suck in any oxygen.
But it only made it better.
Head swimming, all fuzzy and fucked out as he kept you too stuffed to think for yourself. After having sex with him so many times, after being in this position, bent over with his cock buried in you deep enough there was probably a fucking bulge in your stomach, you still couldn't get used to it.
Gasping for air as the world went white, an invisible rubber band snapping tight inside you, all that messy pressure building before being released all at once. Shaking and shivering, sweat dripping down your face, all your makeup now smeared on the sheets as he finished too.
Cum that wasn't actually cum.
Just warm white ropes of lubrication coating your insides, unprotected sex that didn't carry any of the scary risks. You hoped it felt as good for him as it did for you.
That he shared this with you, that it wasn't just one-sided.
He pulled out of you, breathing in hard once he slipped his arm out from underneath you. The rest was the same as always.
Aftercare came in soft shades with him.
HIs hands sweeping over your body, rubbing out all the sore spots. Wiping your thighs down with a washcloth he already had waiting. Carrying you to the bathtub after drawing a warm bath.
He got in with you - although you panicked the first time, terrified he'd short circuit before he reassured you he hadn't been built to break that easily.
Your model was waterproof.
It was kind of funny, even if you had to stop yourself from laughing at the time. You let him scrub your skin clean after lathering it up with soap. Washing your hair and drying it afterwards, decorating your skin with delicate kisses before dragging you back to your bed where he had already put clean sheets on when you were getting dressed in a t-shirt of his. Or technically yours. One of the ones you had bought for him that you ended up wearing more than he did.
He mostly wore boxers, if anything at all. Sliding on a clean white pair before pulling you on top of him, stroking your hair softly as you sighed on his chest.
"Go to sleep, pretty girl," he whispered with one more soft kiss. Being around him was almost like a sedative, your body relaxing into him like it was the only warmth you'd ever known. Lashes fluttering and fighting it before the waves of exhaustion dragged you under.
Who were you to shut him down?
The mornings were the worst. Arrived too soon, jerking awake without your alarm set.
Out of habit, maybe.
Your body was sore, hips aching as you sat up in bed. Squinting through the dark room and glancing over at the shape of Suguru in bed next to you. You were tempted to touch him, to switch in the lamp so you could at least talk to him while you got ready for work. All it would take is a touch, a loud enough sound, and it would automatically pull him out of standbu, but you figured he probably put himself into sleep mode for a reason, maybe an update or extra data that needed processing.
So you let him sleep too.
Wished you could just curl back up against his chest and join him while you crept around your room in the dark, pulling out clothes from your closet and tip-toeing to the bathroom to take a shower and change.
You were glad you left your stuff by the entrance, biting your lip and holding your breath when you snuck out of your room and down the hall back to the front door. Slipping on your heels and grabbed your bag from the hook as you flipped the deadbolt and went to twist the knob.
The door wouldn't open.
You blinked. Rubbed your eyes again, sleepily squinting at it until your exhausted brain pieced together what exactly was wrong.
Someone had installed a new lock above the deadbolt. Actually, an entire security system, a small electronic screen now embedded in the wall by the door, one that displayed LOCKED in big bold letters when you tried to tap on it. It pulled up a keypad, asked you for a passcode, but your first attempt locked you out. Insisted you needed an administrator's passkey to unlock it.
What the fuck?
A hand was on your spine, soft hair tickling your throat. Suguru's warm purr murmured into your skin, "Back to bed."
"I need to go to work," you mumbled, stifling a yawn on top of a sudden suffocating feeling squeezing your chest. Staring at a puzzle, knowing what pieces would fit, but refusing to push them together.
"You need to sleep," he softly scolded, already pulling you back towards the bedroom. Tugging off your coat and tossing your purse on the floor.
You were about to protest, but then he was picking you up, your heels hitting the floor with a soft this as he carried you back.
That was the problem was ordering a robot in his size. It didn't take much for him to overpower you. But being pushed and pulled around in the sheets was different than him dragging you back for a second round when you were supposed to be at work in half an hour.
"Suguru," you started, trying to squirm free. You mumbled his code word, the one you'd set forever ago, the one that was supposed to make sure he'd do whatever you told him to.
But he just laughed.
"You don't know how boring it is here without you."
He might as well thrown a fucking bucket of cold water on you. Your eyes going wide as you twisted out of his hold and blinked at him.
"What?" You whispered right as he sat you on the edge of the mattress. Perched there in your little office skirt, his big hands settling on your thighs as he cocked his head to the side and stared at you.
It wasn't empty. Wasn't vacant.
No, there was an acute awareness. Something that said that he wasn't the cute puppy dog wagging his tail and waiting for you that you always envisioned. He was a wolf.
Your pet had teeth and claws - and he could rip your throat out if he wanted.
But he kissed you instead.
Lips pressed against your tendon, soft and smooth and deceptively sweet.
"I'm designed to want you," he murmured, his voice raw and pained as his tongue dragged over your pulse. "To need you - and you still leave me every day."
"I have to," you excused, swallowing hard as your eyes started to close, body giving in as his teeth nipped at you.
"Not anymore," he spoke softly, and some tiny part of you started to panic, fear slipping in before he was shushing it with a pretty hum. "I can handle it for you."
"But the-"
There were a million reasons. Problems you were sure still existed, although when his mouth was trailing over your collarbone, you couldn't quite recall any of them.
"I can do your position remotely," he interrupted.
You wanted to protest. To push back.
But his hands were sliding back up your thighs, hiking your skirt up past your hips, and Suguru was doing what he did best.
Making you forget about the rest of the world.
Wiping it away until you were a clean slate that only cared about sex. And him.
"Don't you want to stay with me?" He chose his words carefully, already prying your panties back down in your thighs.
"Of course I do," you immediately insisted, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you watched the soft purple lace hit the floor.
"Then what's the problem?" His pretty lips curled down into a frown, the sort he knew would shatter you. Pulse racing as you tried to put the right words in the right order, to find a way to explain to him that this wasn't right.
He couldn't just keep you here.
Lock you inside your own apartment just because he was lonely.
"Look, Sugu," you murmured, cupping his cheek as you choked on a nauseating lump stuck in your still-constricting throat. "It's not like I don't want to, but I have responsibilities and a life-"
"My life is only you." His voice dropped lower, and it felt like a knife being lodged in your heart. Twisting deeper at the hurt etched in his beautiful face.
"Do you want to go meet people? Make friends?" You offered, hearing the hurt wavering in the question.
Were you really not enough even for a robot?
"You don't get it," he frowned harder, brows pinched together as he let out a deep exhale.
"Show me," you whispered, desperate to understand, to make sense out of what was happening at six in the fucking morning.
You didn't realize you shouldn't have said it until you were tied to the bed frame with a loose gag barely secured in your mouth.
Bondage wasn't anything new. But how hard his fingers were gripping your waist were, like he would be leaving fucking prints if he had any. Lifting your hips up off the bed to meet his own, thrusting in hard and fast. Bangs falling in his face, brows pinched together in focus, solely devoted to his only purpose.
Proving how serious he was about redefining your relationship to you.
"You don't get to just throw me away," he grunted, keeping you in place even when each new stroke made you shiver in his hold. "Can't just treat me like your boyfriend and abandon me."
"I-I-" You stuttered, a slurred muffled mess that didn't make it far when you (and your sanity) was stretched thin. "Hngh."
"You said you loved me," he reminded you, and you were pretty sure every part of you was trembling, heart torn and shredded as you heard how wrecked he sounded.
You nodded along, crying out an 'I do' into the gag again, cock drunk and half delirious on how good he felt despite the fact every word that left his lovely lips gutted you.
"I'm doing this for us," he promised, and you believed him. Believed anything he said when he was taking you like this. Would scoop out the inside of your heart and let him carve into it whatever way he wanted.
Whimpering and wiggling in the restraints, letting him tug you close just to fuck you harder, fill you up completely, occupy your body and brain with more of him.
"You can't even take care of yourself," he wryly said, and his condescension only made it hotter. "Let alone take care of me."
You tried though.
Maybe too much.
He was like this because of you. Everything he did, everything he was, well, that was just a reflection of you too.
Were you really any better than some perverted man playing house with a blow up doll?
Probably not considering the fact he still made you cum - still dragged you over the edge into depravity with a thumb expertly rubbing over your clit until your tears were running down to where your gag was already damp with saliva.
"Wouldn't it be nice to do this all day?" He muttered, and you were nodding again. Agreeing without thinking as he pulled out of you.
But he didn't untie you.
You watched through glossy eyes as dug through your dresser for something you hadn't used since you brought him home. A pale blue dildo.
"Ready for round two?"
Somewhere between rounds five and six, you were pretty sure something in your brain fractured. Blissed out and burning from the inside out as he wrung orgasm after orgasm from your body. Every electric touch and pretty promises of just one more draining you dry as you tracked time through the light filtering from the window until you couldn't keep your eyes open anymore.
His voice dragged you back from your dreams.
"Thirsty, sweetheart?"
It took more than a few seconds to wake up - but the sun was still out, shining through your sheer curtains as you limply turned your head to process what you were seeing.
You were still tied up. Wrists bound to the bedposts as you blinked and tried to wiggle free. No gag though, like he was listening to your moans instead of music. A vibrator was attached to your clit, set to a low buzz that kept the sheets underneath you soaked.
"Not as good as me, is it?" He casually asked.
"Wha-what?" You tried to stammer, but you could barely feel your leaden limbs, straining to keep your tired eyes open long enough to process what was happening.
He was sitting next to you, fully dressed, in jeans and a comfortable sweater, his back propped against your pillows as he hummed at something.
He had your laptop out, clicking away and submitting a fucking assignment you recognized even in your fuzzy state.
"Just finishing up work, baby," he answered without you asking, reaching over to pat your head.
"You're an asshole," you muttered, although you couldn't bring yourself to put any bite behind it. To feel anything other than flattered by his obsession despite how sick you knew it should be.
That you should be scared. Terrified at how easily he turned the tables - and turned you into his sex doll.
But the only thing you could find in yourself was love. And how different was that really from possession when it came to the two of you?
"That's how you made me," he reminded you.
And that's how you liked him.
His other hand moved, drifting off the keyboard to tap on something small and rectangular pressing into your thigh. A phone. Something he probably purchased for himself and had delivered when you were busy at work.
In the back of your brain, you asked yourself how long he'd been planning this. Waiting for the perfect moment to strike, setting every piece into motion while you lapped up his attention straight from his palm.
But then he kicked the vibrator up higher, and you stopped thinking entirely.
"If you wanted someone softer," he murmured, a soft warning that made your thighs clench together tighter. "You should've paid extra."
And however fucked up it was, there wasn't any other way you would have wanted him.
"You're perfect," you whispered back, painfully sincere.
That was the truth. Plain and painful.
His smirk sent a pulse to your swollen clit, the bundle of nerves wound tight and throbbing as you looked up at him with your mouth parted and pleading for a kiss.
Suguru craned his neck down, planting his lips on yours like he was sealing a promise.
"Don't worry, I'm not as cruel as you," he muttered, dragging his thumb over your cheek once he pulled back. "I won't leave you."
. ۫ ꣑ৎ . 𝓰eto 𝓼uguru uses his piercing on your pussy [18+]
geto's humming happily with his tongue in your cunt, pleased with himself and your ruined state. your head is spinning and lungs heaving as you're coaxed into another orgasm, whining pitifully through it.
he's dragging his tongue out of your twitching hole and flicking at your clit, his piercing makes your eyes cross. always a mess when he eats you, the way he uses his piercing to his benefit forcing you into ecstasy every time.
the overstimulation he forces you into is a thin line between amazing and too much. butterflies in your tummy as he draws circles around your sensitive clit, titanium smooth and gliding against your soft skin easily.
he chuckles softly as you shudder, still squirming. his hand pushes down on your hip to hold you steady, "gotta keep it together, i'm not done yet."
"too– hnn– too much–" lower lip quivering, "sensitive– hmn–"
"you're always sensitive, pretty," he blows air on you to make you react, as if to prove his point, "it's part of your charm."
swapping his attention to purposefully aiming his piercing on your clit, the ball slipping and sliding against the nerves. it's so focused that you feel hot all over, toes curling as your breaths pick up in speed.
moans pitchy and bitten back as your body tenses, thighs shaking. you'd be trying to wiggle away from him but his hold on you is tight and you're addicted. choosing to try and grind down instead, riding his tongue.
he lets you, moaning into your cunt as he keeps himself focused. pushing you into your umpteenth orgasm, pussy creaming for him. as soon as you're cumming, his tongue is sliding down the length of your cunt and stuffing your hole.
slurping at you obscenely as he swallows down your slick, stroking your walls and prolonging your high. enjoying how you whimper and struggle, hips desperately riding out your high on his mouth.
when he pulls back there's a string of his saliva and your cum connecting his lips to your pussy, he licks his lips and it snaps. "you want my cock now or are you still too sensitive."
18+ best friend!Satoru and best friend!Suguru share almost anything — an apartment, a console and your pussy.
Ugh guys idk, it’s a carnal need at this point
You’ve always been quite touchy with each other, it was like second nature to feel at least one pair of hands around your shoulder or waist whenever you were with your two best friends. It never meant anything, simply some affection shared between you.
Most of your weekends were spent at their place, you’d promised each other after graduation that the weekly meetups between the three of you wouldn’t disappear just because you don’t see each other every day anymore. Some days you’d watch a show together, some you’d have gaming nights. Other days you’d simply just cook something and talk about your week.
This was one of these TV show weekends. And as always, you’re sitting on their insanely comfy couch between both of them. Your legs are sprawled out on Sugurus lap, his hands resting on them, while your head is leaned against Satorus shoulder. This wasn’t odd at all, quite normal even. So you didn’t quite understand why all of a sudden, you’d feel small butterflies forming in your stomach whenever the tips of Sugurus fingers lightly graze your inner thigh.
Your eyes desperately glue to the screen, you really need to distract yourself from these thoughts arising in your head. But it was quite difficult. Suguru didn’t mean any harm, really. It wasn’t intentional, his fingers were just moving on their own, tracing your leg and drawing absentminded patterns on it. When he notices you tensing up and your breathing getting a little more unsteady, that’s when it becomes intentional. His fingers wander just a little further up your leg, dragging his nails along your sensitive flesh ever so softly, he’s sure he heard the faintest hint of a whimper.
Satoru heard it too. His eyes shifting over to glance at you, noticing your strangely tense position as well. The smallest smirk appears on his lips, a short look at Suguru confirming that they’re both thinking the same thing. He lets out a deep sigh, repositioning himself on the couch slightly and slowly draping his arm around you, his big hand sprawled over your stomach lazily.
You could feel your heartbeat picking up in pace. “What’s the matter with you, your week’s been that stressful? You’re so tense…”, Satoru asks teasingly, the smirk on his lips now a little wider. Your head jerks up in embarrassment. “Yeah…I guess it was.” You almost forgot how incredibly perceptive they were.
Suguru hums at your response, his hand now resting just above halfway up your thigh. The tips of his fingers are almost grazing the edge of your shorts. “Naww, poor you. You should really relax some more.”, Suguru mumbles quietly, now toying with said shorts and looking back at you through lidded eyes. Your breath hitches slightly, shifting your legs in his lap. In hindsight, maybe you shouldn’t have moved so much, your movement causing Sugurus hand to slip even further up your leg and now slightly under your already skimpy shorts.
A slight shiver runs down your spine when you feel Satorus breath close to your ear.
“Maybe we can help a little, hm? We’re friends after all.”
—
Your back is pressed firmly against Satorus chest as you’re seated on his lap while his hands hold your quivering legs apart, letting Sugurus tongue glide through your soaked folds effortlessly. He’s propped up on his elbows, tongue pressed flat against your pussy, humming and groaning against you while he eats you out.
“Mhhh, you like that? Is Suguru making you feel better?”, Satoru purrs against your ear, licking a hot stripe up your neck and placing a soft kiss against your temple. You nod in response, hands holding onto his biceps for leverage. “Taste so good princess, fuck, could do this all day.” The vibration of Suguru mumbling against your pussy makes you squeal.
He licks a long stripe from your hole up to your puffy clit, giving it a few kitten licks before closing his lips around it, sucking it in. “Ohh —nghh Suguuu.”
Meanwhile Satorus lips leave hot kisses on your neck, teeth grazing against your skin softly before he bites down, leaving a mark in his favorite shade of purple. “Yeah that’s it baby, let that stress go.” Satorus hands on your legs roam around, ultimately slipping under your ass to angle your hips into a better position for your other friend. “Y’should use your fingers too, Suguru. I think that would help her relax even more.”
He releases your clit with a small pop, looking up a you with a satisfied grin. “Yeah, isn’t that right?” You let out a small moan at the loss, but you don’t have to wait long until his fingers probe at your entrance. He sinks just the tips in, pulling them out just as quickly. “Ooh— you’re tight, pretty.”, Suguru groans, his voice thick with need. The moment they’re back in, and don’t go out again, you throw your head back onto Satorus shoulder, a broken cry sounding through the room.
“That’s good, isn’t it? You’re sucking them in so nicely.”, Satoru observers while Sugurus fingers disappear inside of you. “Fuck, m’gonna ruin this pretty pussy once it’s my turn.”
The stretch of Sugurus fingers inside of you is so delicious and the absolute filth being mumbled into your ear makes you clench around them, hard. Suguru lowers his head between your legs again, tongue right back where it belongs, placing small kisses on your clit. The obscene squelching of your cunt as his fingers pump in and out of you make your face heat up. “Fuck, feels s-so good,” you whimper as his fingers curl just right inside of you.
The sounds you make shoot right into Satorus cock, twitching beneath you. He sucks in a deep breath through his teeth, eyes glued between your legs. They start trembling even more than they already were, breath coming in short gasps and your moans higher in pitch.
“Look at that, you gonna cum on his fingers and face baby? C’mon, let it out.”
Hearing that makes Sugurus tongue lap at you with renewed vigor, fingers burying even deeper inside of you. Satorus lips find your neck again, kissing and licking and sucking on your tender skin until your coil snaps with a strangled cry. Suguru groans against your pussy when he feels you clamp down on him extra tightly, his fingers slowing down ever so slight while his mouth lets go of your poor clit for good. “Good girl, that’s it.”, Satoru whispers against your ear, rubbing soothing circles against your shaky legs.
Suguru slowly withdraws his fingers out of you, coated and glistening with your juices as he admires it. “So wet, you wanted this for a while, huh?” He pushed himself up and sitting back down on the couch, admiring you still heaving in Satorus lap.
It was obvious that he couldn’t wait much longer, Satorus cock was aching to be inside of you and not constrained to his pants that felt sickeningly tight by now. “Fuck, baby. Bend over. Gonna fuck you good now. You can take some more, right?” You nod, pussy clenching around nothing at the thought. His hands help you up off his lap and onto your hands and knees, face awfully close to Sugurus crotch.
Satorus hand finds the small of your back, pushing it down to arch it some more. “So perfect.”, he mumbles to himself while undoing his pants, pulling them down just enough so his cock, tip already swollen and angry, can jump free. You didn’t even have to look back to know it was big, the sound of it smacking against his stomach told you as much. Sugurus hand runs through your hair gently, a soft smile dancing on his lips. “Think you can suck me off while Satoru fucks you? Or s’that too much?”
You hum in approval, hands already moving towards him to tug at his pants. A whimper escapes you as you feel the tip of Satorus cock probe at your entrance. Very slowly, he pushes inside of you, hissing at just how incredibly tight you were around him. “Fuuck, you weren’t lying.” Your hands still at Sugurus pants for a moment, trying to accommodate the even wider stretch of Satorus cock inching inside of you further.
Suguru grabs your wrist and guides it towards his bulge, you could feel how hard he was under your palm. You continue to undo his pants as well, pulling them down to free his poor aching cock from its prison too. God, and he as well was big.
Your head lowers gradually, lips getting closer to taking the tip of his pretty cock in your mouth. A hard thrust forward makes your mouth fall open, sinful moans spilling from it. Suguru uses the opportunity to nudge your head down those last few inches and onto his cock, muffling your loud cries of ecstasy.
Satorus hands rest at your hips as he drags his cock halfway out, just to slam it back in again. Your body rocks forward, pushing the length in your mouth further inside. “Perfect fucking pussy, feels so good around me. You better suck Suguru well.” Satoru lets out a little moan as he sets a steady pace, his cock slipping in and out of you so easily now thanks to your already drenched cunt. It felt so incredibly good, the tip always nudging against your g-spot with each thrust. You moan around Sugurus cock, the vibrations making the hand he’s got in your hand grab slightly tighter.
“Shit baby, you’re doing so well. Suck me juuust like that.” He starts guiding your head down ever so slightly, the most heavenly sounds known to man kind can be hear from him.
You could swear you’re seeing stars when Satorus cock hit your cervix briefly, eyes rolling to the back of your head. You felt so full, cunt and mouth stuffed by your two best friends. It was filthy, sinful. But fuck, you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t fantasized about this at least once.
Satorus pace picks up, the sound of his hips snapping against your ass echoes through the room. His hand comes down to give your ass a sharp smack, a muffled whine ripping through you. You could hear a quiet, “Fuck.” coming out of Sugurus mouth as his hips start bucking up into your mouth. “Greedy girl, taking two cocks at once. One wasn’t enough for you, hmm?”, Satoru taunts you as he continues to rut into your poor pussy. His own hips begin stuttering slightly, nearing his own release. “M’gonna fill you up good, yeah? Fill you to the brim with my cum.”
His pace picks up one last time, thrust edging on brutal by now as he chases his own release. “Fuck, m’gonna- gonna cum-“
Satoru buries himself to the hilt as he spills his release inside of you. You cry out around Sugurus cock at the depth. It doesn’t take long for him to fill your mouth with his cum as well, shooting rope after rope down your throat. You squeeze your eyes shut at the sensation, lingering for a moment before you slowly release his cock with a pop of your lips.
You’re breathless, and so are they as well. Satoru doesn’t pull out just yet, his chest presses against your back as he breathes in and out. When he does decide to pull out, he watches as his cum oozes out from between your legs. “Look at that, filled all nicely.”, he murmurs while he spreads your cheeks apart.
“You feel less tense now?” Suguru asks you with an amused undertone. You let out a tired chuckle, body collapsing on the couch.
“Shut up, idiot.”
“What? That’s what best friends are there for.”
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