Price and younger!reader (think early 20s) who are pretty close, right?
You two share lunches in his office, you wave hi to him in the hallways, he knows all about any drama that happens around u bc ur nosy, you've even been over to his house a few times (taught him how to cook more than one dish). Everyone in base knows u two are close, if theres something they want price to know they go looking for u bc ur easier to find.
Anyways, through some circumstances price accidentally eaves drops on one of ur conversations and freezes when he hears the words "crush" bc you've never told him of anyone ur interested in and you tell him everything.
"Ah, hes just so handome!" You gush to ur friends, voice only bit muffled through the cracked door "even with that hat he wears all the time. You should feel his arms! God hes so strong. And his facial hair? Im not sure how ive remained calm this whole time! Good news is, I think he feels the same!"
Price stomach drops. Hes not stupid. He knows ur talking abt him and it makes his fists clench uncomfortably. He doesnt see you that way at all, ur more like a kid to him! But he cant just ignore it, not if theres a chance you think hes reciprocating somehow. So ur next meal with him, he sits you down, serious in a way you hardly see him.
"Look, kid...im not what you want." He tries, but you only tilt ur head, frowning. He doesnt want to admit to eavesdropping but... "im serious. I'm too old for you, and I really dont see you like that."
"What?!" Ur eyes widen, sitting up straight like you've just been shocked. "What?? What gave you the impression that i...I was interested?" You seem disgusted just saying the words. He relents, explains what he heard, and is baffled by ur sudden laughter.
"Ha! Okay, yeah, I see how you may have assumed that was you but uh...no. it was actually uhm-" you suddenly seem shy, looking away "I was talking about kyle."
You walk out of your room in that stupid tank top — the thin one with the strap that always slips off your shoulder — and immediately regret not checking if he was home.
Because there he is, Sukuna, slouched on the couch, legs spread, remote in one hand, a cold beer in the other. Shirtless, as usual. Covered in sweat from whatever underground gym he’s dragged himself out of. Hair still damp. Eyes heavy-lidded, already on you like you walked in here for him.
“Doin’ a little show today, or is that just the laundry talking?” he mutters, licking his lower lip.
You scoff, brushing past.
“You're disgusting.”
He hums lazily, eyes still on you. “Yeah? C’mere, baby.”
You freeze in the kitchen doorway.
He never says it often. Not when you’re expecting it. Not like that.
You glance over your shoulder. “What?”
He doesn’t repeat himself. He just watches. Knuckles flex around the neck of the bottle, tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek like he’s trying to decide how much he wants to push you today.
You roll your eyes and keep walking, but your skin's buzzing now.
You hear the quiet clink of the bottle hitting the coffee table.
Later, you're on the phone in the kitchen, voice a little too soft, a little too sweet — some guy from class. The second you hang up, he appears in the doorway, towel slung around his neck, sweatpants slung low like a fucking test.
“Who was that?” he asks, casual as ever, leaning one arm against the frame.
“Group project.”
He narrows his eyes. “Sounded like a date.”
You don’t look at him. “Wouldn’t be your business.”
He lets out a low laugh. One that has teeth.
“You really think you can go out dressed like that and not end up in someone’s lap, huh?”
You turn, annoyed now. “What does that even mean?”
“It means,” he steps in close, voice dropping, “if you’re gonna walk around like that, baby, don’t act surprised when someone wants to fuckin’ touch.”
Your mouth opens — then shuts. You hate that it makes your stomach flip.
You hate more that you don’t slap him for it.
You hate most that he knows.
Another day, you're cleaning — music on, shorts riding high on your thighs. You’re bent halfway into the cabinet when he brushes behind you to grab a drink, hand grazing your lower back.
“Move, baby,” he murmurs, right in your ear.
You jerk upright, blushing furiously. “Jesus—say excuse me!”
He just chuckles, brushing past with the bottle in hand.
“Not my fault you’re always in the fuckin’ way.”
When you turn, he’s still watching. Smirking.
And you can feel that stupid word echoing down your spine like a brand.
He’s not sweet about it. He doesn’t coo or croon. He spits it out like a dare, like a promise he hasn’t decided if he’s gonna keep. It only comes out when you’re pissing him off, turning him on, or somewhere dead center between the two.
But the thing is, every time he says it — baby — it sounds less like a nickname and more like a habit.
A bad one.
One that’s going to get both of you in trouble.
And still, you let him say it.
Because the minute he calls you that with a voice like gravel and heat?
You're not just his roommate anymore.
You’re his problem.
And Sukuna?
He’s the kind of man who doesn’t mind solving things with his hands.
You barely got past the first bite of your noodles when the front door opened with a loud creak.
Then: a giggle. Shrill. Bubbly. Way too excited for a weeknight.
You didn’t even have to look. You knew.
Sukuna’s voice followed, deep and amused, laced with that fake charm he only ever used when he wanted something easy.
“Yeah, yeah. Shoes off,” he muttered, and you could already picture the way he was barely holding the door open for her, head tilted with boredom. “Unless you wanna wipe out on my floor.”
Another laugh. You rolled your eyes.
Of course.
Of fucking course he’d bring a girl home tonight. Not even two days after he ruined your date. The guy didn’t even make it to the couch before Sukuna opened the door shirtless and said, “Nah.”
And now this?
You stayed quiet, eyes on the TV, bowl in your lap. You didn’t even flinch when they walked in, but you could feel it — that low, smug heat on the side of your face as Sukuna made sure you saw him.
He was shirtless. Naturally. Sweatpants slung low. One arm slung lazily across her waist like she was some prize he barely cared to carry.
You glanced up.
His eyes were already on you.
And when your gaze met his — narrowed, unimpressed — he didn’t look away. He just smirked.
“Don’t wait up, princess,” he said, voice smooth and low, tugging the girl toward the hallway.
That did it.
You watched them disappear around the corner, listened to the click of his bedroom door shutting, and then very calmly stood up.
You grabbed your phone.
Connected to the Bluetooth speaker in his room.
And you played the most annoying thing you could think of.
“Baby Shark.”
At full volume.
The walls shook.
It took five seconds. Maybe ten.
Then—
SLAM.
The door burst open so hard it rattled the hallway mirror.
“What the fuck is your problem?” Sukuna growled, appearing shirtless and already pissed, his hair half-tousled and chest rising with visible irritation.
You didn’t even pretend to look innocent. You were already leaning against the counter, sipping from a juice box like it was wine.
“I’m sorry,” you said flatly, “do you hear music? That’s weird.”
He stormed toward you, jaw tight, hands flexing. “You’re really doing this shit again?”
You shrugged, nonchalant. “Just trying to enjoy my night. Hope I’m not interrupting.”
He stopped right in front of you. Close. Annoyingly so. Your face tilted up slightly to meet his glare.
“You’re jealous,” he accused, voice low and dangerous.
You scoffed. “Of that girl? With the spray tan and two brain cells between her and her crop top?”
“She’s hot.”
“She’s a walking vape ad.”
He leaned in, teeth gritting. “You’ve got five seconds to stop acting like a brat—”
“Or what?” you shot back. “You’ll throw me out too?”
He stared at you. His mouth twitched. His hand curled at his side.
Then, without warning, he turned sharply on his heel and stalked back down the hallway.
You blinked.
Then froze.
Inside his room, muffled but still clear, you heard it:
“Put your shoes on.”
There was a pause. You could hear the girl rustling around, confused.
“Wait—what? Why?”
“I’m taking you home.”
Another pause. “Did I do something?”
“No,” Sukuna snapped. “She did.”
A beat of silence.
And then hurried steps.
You were still standing near the counter when the girl reappeared, awkwardly pulling on one boot while holding her purse under her arm. She didn’t say anything. Didn’t look at you. Just kept her eyes down, humiliated.
Sukuna followed behind her, casually cracking his neck, jaw still tight like he was clenching back everything he wanted to say.
He opened the door.
She slipped out without a goodbye.
He didn’t wait for her to reach the steps. Just slammed the door shut behind her, hard enough to make the walls shake.
Then silence.
He didn’t look at you right away. Just stood there, back to you, hands still balled at his sides.
You stared. Heat crawled down your spine. You swallowed.
He turned slowly.
And when his eyes met yours — low, heavy, still sharp — he finally said it:
“You knew she wasn’t staying.”
His voice was calm. Way too calm. That calm that came before the storm with him — tight control stretched thin.
You didn’t reply.
He walked toward you. No rush. Just long, heavy steps across the wooden floor. You stayed where you were, back against the counter, arms crossed over your chest.
“You think I didn’t know what you were doing?” he asked, voice thick. “Cutting the Wi-Fi? Blasting that shit through my speaker? Dropping a whole-ass jar outside my door like a raccoon broke in?”
You rolled your eyes. “Maybe next time, don’t bring someone home like you didn’t ruin my date two nights ago.”
He stopped right in front of you again. Closer now.
“You think that little accountant was gonna survive five minutes with you?”
You blinked. “What the hell does that mean?”
He didn’t answer. His chest was rising and falling. Eyes flicking between yours like he wanted to say something, but didn’t trust himself to say it out loud.
Then, low and rough:
“You don’t bring guys home anymore.”
It wasn’t a question. It was an accusation. A territorial claim dressed in jealousy.
“And you don’t get to bring girls here and act like I won’t say shit about it,” you shot back.
He tilted his head.
“I didn’t fuck her.”
You blinked. “I didn’t ask—”
“She sat on my bed and I felt sick.”
You froze.
“She touched your hoodie,” he muttered, voice quiet, like it burned his throat to admit it. “It’s still on my bed.”
Your breath caught.
He leaned in, close enough to feel the warmth off his bare skin.
If any of these themes are uncomfortable or triggering for you, please scroll past. 18+ only / MDNI.
The door shuts harder than usual. His keys clatter. His tie is halfway undone. Nanami Kento is done with the world.
All day, he thought of you—how warm you’d feel under his hands, how soft you’d be in his lap, how good you’d sound moaning his name.
But what he hears instead? Moaning. Already.
He rounds the corner and stops dead.
There you are. On the couch. Hand between your thighs, tank top rolled up, playing with your pussy like you didn’t belong to someone.
His eye twitches. His cock twitches harder.
“You touching yourself without me, sweetheart?” The tone is calm, but deadly.
You gasp and jolt up. “Kento—! I didn’t think you’d be home yet—”
“Clearly.” He drops his bag, loosens his tie the rest of the way, and strides over with that focused fury that makes your legs tremble.
“You forget the rules?” he asks, kneeling between your thighs. “Or were you just hoping to get caught like a filthy little slut?”
He grabs your wrist and pulls your fingers out of yourself. Soaked. “Disgusting,” he mutters, but the way his pupils dilate says he loves it.
He sucks your fingers clean—eyes locked on you—then slaps your inner thigh.
“Turn over,” he says, voice like gravel. “Elbows on the couch.”
You obey, heart pounding, and before you can fully settle, his palm crashes down against your ass—loud and stinging.
“This ass bounces when you touch yourself too, huh?” he sneers, smacking it again. “You like being a disobedient little whore?”
“N-no, Daddy—I was just—”
“Just being a dumb little brat who needs to be reminded who owns this cunt.” Smack. Smack. The strikes fall in rhythm, leaving you breathless, teary, and aching.
“Count,” he growls.
“One—t-two—three—” you gasp through gritted teeth, voice breaking by the eighth slap.
He soothes the sting with a rough hand, gripping your reddened cheeks. “You dripping for me now, sweetheart?”
He slides his fingers between your thighs. “So fucking wet. Didn’t even need me, huh? Just a needy little toy with no self-control.”
Then he’s between your legs—licking, sucking, devouring like it’s his personal mission to break you open.
You moan so loud it echoes off the walls, body quivering with every flick of his tongue. And just when your orgasm builds—
He pulls away.
“No.” He spits on your cunt and slaps it. “You come when I let you.”
You sob into the couch cushion, desperate, ruined.
Nanami rises to his feet, unzipping slowly, deliberately. “You want Daddy’s cock that bad? Ask for it like the pathetic little cumdump you are.”
“Please, Daddy—want you to fuck me, use me—make me yours—”
“Already am yours,” he mutters darkly, slamming into you in one brutal thrust. “This sloppy little hole was made for me.”
The rhythm is merciless. His grip bruises your hips. Your thighs slap back against him with every stroke. His belt still hangs from his pants—swinging as he ruins you.
“You think anyone else could fuck you like this?” Smack. Another slap to your ass. “No one gets this pussy but me.”
“Only you, Daddy—please, please—” you cry, overwhelmed, overstimulated, ruined.
“That’s it. Take it. Let Daddy fill this cunt the way you need. Fuckin’ bred like my dumb little housewife.”
Your orgasm hits so hard you scream, legs trembling, body convulsing. And he doesn’t stop. “One more,” he grits. “You’re not done. You’ll come for me again.”
He fucks you through the overstimulation, your body twitching, your mind melting, until the second orgasm breaks you down completely.
He groans as he finally spills inside you, burying himself deep, thick cum filling you to the brim. “That’s it, sweetheart. That’s fuckin’ mine.”
And as you pant, sweat-soaked and ruined, he leans over, whispers into your ear:
“Next time, you even think about touching yourself without me—I’m tying you up and spanking you until you cry.”
Yes, we've all agreed that ghost has dick piercings, its basically a given. You know who else does?? Soap.
It was done as a dare originally but seeing the fully healed prince albert made him so horny he decided to keep it. Ofc you take one look at it and decide you *have* to have it in u. And it feels fucking amazing when the metal hitches against ur entrance and finally pushes in, hitting all the right spots and then some.
Thank god soap is a freak and more than willing to go as many times as u want, bc that piercing is fucking addictive and so is he. You both wake up the next morning covered in bites and hickeys. Soaps planning the wedding lol.
chigiri and i wld work because his whole thing is that he seems -_- until he's activated and then he's insane and my thing is that i seem insane but i have the energy levels of a panda
maki lying on megumi’s name for fun the smoke shop review was inspired by a review i found from my local wing stop where someone said the employees left mid-shift to go to the smoke shop next door
STORY MASTERLIST
TAGLIST - comment on story masterlist or dm to be added
Reader with pup!ghost whos finally getting a treat after being a good boy :)
You've got him in his favourite muzzle, mostly because u know ur puppy tends to get overwhelmed and bite without meaning to. The little metal tag on ghosts collar jingles above u, a reminder of whos in charge. He's got you pinned to his dog bed, rutting into u with small whines and whimpers, face scrunched in pleasure. "Good boy, simon!" you coo, reaching a hand up to pet his hair "doing so good for me pup, cmon take what you need. Good boy!"
His head drops to rest against ur neck, hands coming to grip ur hips bruisingly. You let him get another three before calling him off, knowing he'd fuck himself into overstim if given the chance.
‼️NORMALIZE NOT ADDING ANGST TAGS TO YOUR SMUT FICS WHEN THERE'S NONE JUST TO GET AUDIENCE‼️
guys please, respectfully, not everyone want to be freaky all the times. imagine craving some sad, melancholic fics but getting a nastiest smut instead like-
... just pls let us have our own personal, separated space of sadness🥺🥺
