prolly going to fall asleep after posting this (naptime !) but softer yandere sylus + sleepy reader.
he makes you a room full of soft things; a huge bed, so many pillows, a thick comforter, fluffy blankets, the softest carpet ever, a big comfy couch, a tv, video games, art supplies, books, and plushies! he even added a little cabinet just for storing your favorite snacks. if you turn off the lights, there are cute, dimmer lamps throughout the room so you can adjust the lighting as you see fit.
he knows it's incredibly enticing to just walk in and let yourself curl up in the comfort, dozing off surrounded by soft things. you can have any food whenever you want, courtesy of his talented private chef and fully stocked kitchen. and if you call for sylus, he'll be there to scoop you up into his arms and give you more affection than you've ever felt in your life.
he's tempting you towards him with a life where you'll never be alone again, and you'll have an incredibly doting boyfriend willing to do anything to keep you happy. he already set up a room where you can feel entirely safe, somewhere reliable to retreat to when your anxiety gets to be too much. the only thing you have to do to earn all of this is give up your freedom, but surely that's a small sacrifice in the face of all you have to gain. just give in and let him take care of everything, okay?
🏐 "𝑪𝑨𝑳𝑬𝑩 𝑿𝑰𝑨," ◦ ₊ㅤ ﹙ nsfw slapping caleb during sex ꗃ .. smut mdni ꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ mina says this is so self idulgent idc sfsjdh ⁀ ˳ ⟡
"Please," he was begging, hips shallowly thrusting against your plump ass, his large hands gently pinning your legs down against your chest to fold you in half. He was desperate, so down bad, and so fucking hard. Eyebrows furrowed, eyes half lidded, and mouth agape to gasp for little breaths of air, looking on the verge of busting inside of you but edging himself to prolong the pleasure.
“Y-you’re gross..” you gasped out softly, resting back on your forearms, closing one eye and moaning when he thrusted just deep enough to hit that spongey spot. Eyes glazing over his needy face, as you tried to look as annoyed.
His thrusts only got quicker and more shallow, shameless whimpers spilling free from his lips as he nodded. “more… c’mon, insult me, slap me, hit me…” he whined, groaning out when he felt your tight pussy squeeze around him. Walls clamped down around his dick, “f-fuck… fuckfuckfuck…” he moaned quietly, as he bit down on his bottom lip and moved his hips much slower, knowing he was about to cum any second now.
“You’re dumb, annoying, arrogant, and you think you own me,” you whined and rattled off, looking at him with tense eyes, before you pouted, and leaned up just a little, moving one of your arms.
SLAP!
His breathing hitched, the room going quiet after your slap, but you didn’t seem sorry or bothered. Laying back down when you felt his dick twitch inside of you, whining softly. His eyes traced back into your naked body beneath him, gaze darkening and tongue pressing against the inside of the cheek you had slapped. He let out a shameless moan before grabbing your thighs tighter and pushing them apart roughly.
“Fuck. You’re so hot.”
Unable to hold back anymore, he sped up his thrusts, lifting his hips back and slamming against your plump ass fast and hard. Squeezing his eyes shut and furrowing his eyebrows, mouth agape in a silent moan. His hips thrusted erratically, your bedroom filled with the creaking of the bed, your moans, and the sound of his hips going “plap! plap! plap!”
He threw his head back, “a-agh..!” moaning out as his hips stuttered, when he finally came deep inside your pussy. Hot, sticky cum flooding your hole as you whimpered and squirmed, body aching and tired.
His hips began to gently roll when his orgasm subsided, looking down at you lustfully. His left hand moving to your inner thigh and thumb gently rubbing and swirling over your clit.
Caleb hasn't seen you in a year - and he's come to the inevitable fact that his feelings for you can never come to anything. He moves on in his own way, as a top fan who becomes very close with a mysterious OF star. You could say Caleb is torn, between his long love for you and the hoplessness of it, and the growing feelings for a girl behind the screen. Yet on a trip back home, you have quite the fucking secret career, and you're even more torn. A crush on Zayne, a secret love for Caleb, and a budding interest in your top fan - Aviator69.
pairings - yandere! Caleb x secret OF star! reader (also a lil zayne x reader!)
warnings- angst, mistaken identity, hurt/comfort, mutual pining, love triangles in a way, camgirl reader, yan Caleb, eventual smut, slow burn, stepcest elements, this chap - masturbation, sexting, sexual tension, emotional hurt, jealousy, and some yummy Dr Zayne, mentions of cum and a hell of a breed kink. WC - 6.2k
credits here and here for the beautiful art!
I'm so nervous and excited to start my second Caleb series! i've been just DYING to write him, so I hope you all will enjoy this one!!! Chap two will be very soon hehe as I'm looking forward to write more of my yearning psycho <3 - tags open.
chap one
Caleb has always loved you – but he's known forever just how off limits you are.
Always in love with your other childhood friend Zayne, yet you both were the childhood best friends who simply can't be more.
He didn't really move on, no, you couldn’t call it that – but he eventually had to take care of himself, had to jerk his cock watching girls who looked like you – taking cock on cam or spreading their pussy wide.
It almost felt like cheating when he jerked it to them – which was laughable, considering you weren’t his, you could never be his. You – happy your senior year of college, and he had already graduated aviation school. A pilot out of town, he never saw you anymore, and your notes, texts, and calls got just a bit shorter.
The last night he hugged you in his arms and kissed your cheek fucking wreck him, but even Caleb needs a little bit to jerk off to, the hopeless situation that would remain that- hopeless.
It's what brought him here, to this pretty girl with this gorgeous body on onlyfans, she's got a mask on her face and a bright pink room, giggly and sweet. She bends over and plays with her cunt with the rose toy he bought her, moaning his name in this way that he could almost imagine was you.
How would you sound if you moaned?
It's been months since he started watching this pretty girl's streams though, and he found himself utterly lost. He felt terrible, wanting her when you exist, but her tits and how she toys with them, her blush that spreads across her chest, her thighs spreading just for him alone?
You could say Caleb becomes obsessed.
"You have to go for two weeks?" –
She asks as he types, her fingers still slick with her cum, the sheer amount she had squirted made him fucking thirsty, imagining lapping those juices off her thighs.
Caleb has kissed girls, he's fingered them and pleased them, he does enjoy another woman’s pleasure but he's just never been able to fully cross that line - even when he’s turning twenty-four next week. But he would – with her – he couldn't help but imagine finally sinking his cock inside that tiny hole, the one that looked so perfect when she spread it wide for his private sessions.
It doesn't make him love you less - it's just he's faced the inevitable fact that there would never be a chance you two were together.
Imagine Josephine if she ever knew Caleb loved you? When she'd damn near raised you two together. No, you weren't actually related, you two didn’t even share the same last name, but the ties ran too deep. You were too comfy with him, laying in his bed as he counted air planes till you drifted off, snuggling on his lap and looking at the stars.
He types now to the OF star he spends most of his limited free time with, after cleaning off his white coated cock with one hand and moaning softly, it’s sensitive as he hasn’t had time to barely do anything with grueling training for a new position.
Aviator69- Yeah, I gotta go for a bit to visit my hometown.
She sighs, leaning forward a bit, her lips smooching the webcam, he can’t help but smile just a bit – something about her fucking gets him. Is it the fact that she reminds him of you? Your build, your height? Is it the fact that she’s not interested in him as a relationship like everyone else?
"I'll miss you, Aviator69."
He snorts at her, it was insane that she didn't know his actual name, but then again - neither did he.
Hopeless obsession, isn't that what Caleb is known for?
It’s nothing like the obsession with his pips – his sweet best friend since childhood who he’d kill for, die for, fuck he’d do anything when it came to you – but it was nice to have her to talk to, even if she’s never heard his voice. She has outright asked to see his body curiously, so he’s shown her his cock, but even that felt so wrong, wasn’t it for you?
But as he scrolls through your IG and sees you at a dinner with none other than Zayne and all your friends, he has to remember that hope is dashed.
You’ve moved on with him only visiting twice a year.
I’ll be around a bit, maybe. – he tips her an insane amount, she’s blushing again across her chest, her collarbones, thanking him all sweetly.
“I’ll be a bit busy too with family, but if I’m on I’ll make sure to send you a message, have fun!”
You too, honey.
Before he hits send he deletes that – it’s what he calls you frequently, along with Pipsqueak or Pips to torture you, instead just sending a little smiley face and closing the laptop. Just a bit of his white cum coats his fingers, he sucks a bit of it off, humming to himself, wishing he could breed you with it instead of the utter waste it was, but that was just that.
A wish, a hopeless one.
Your text hits his phone right after he’s done packing, he can’t stop the dopey grin from hitting his face, no matter how much he enjoys the pretty OF star, he can’t help but love you just as much. Every day he falls deeper, no matter the time away – a million memories flooding his mind at your very existence.
Pips - Caleb! I’m so excited to see you this week, you better bring your trunks because we are so going to the beach!
His lips twitch up a bit at that.
Caleb - Why, Pips, so I can see you dog paddling like a little drowned rat?
Pips - Rude! I’ve become a much better swimmer, thank you!!! I have been getting lessons.
Caleb’s jaw sets, teeth clicking together.
Lessons from fucking who!?
Who got to see his-
What even were you to him? His childhood friend, his ‘step sister’? What right did he have to feel this fucking way about you, even as he tries his best to move on from it, to live his life and let you enjoy yours, the jealousy fucking eats at him. Another man seeing you in your bikini, touching your waist, teaching you to swim when it should be Caleb.
Caleb - I’ll see if you improved, you never took well to my lessons.
Pips - hah! Yes you will.
*****
You start packing your room up for the vacation, heart hammering in your chest just a bit too much – sometimes it’s hard to separate your reality from your online persona. Especially when it came to the mysterious Aviator69 fan – lord knows you’ll always have something for pilots, that love for Caleb hasn’t died off in the years of barely seeing him.
Yet it’s unhealthy, that love for him – the obsessive, jealous way you used to feel when you were younger, seeing girls all over him, seeing the way everyone just loved him. Who blamed anyone? There was everything to love about Caleb – your best friend in the world, the most important person there was.
Yet when you were a teenager, everything shifted, what was once fun or silly became too intimate, and since he was just a few years older, his actions became more and more ‘affectionate and brotherly’. Patting your head like you were some puppy, pulling away from a hug that’s too tight.
It was one of the reasons you decided to start an OF in the first place – you played with your pussy so much thinking of him, you might as well get paid for it.
You made so much at this point you got a brand new car, you helped Josephine – ‘gran’ as you all called her – pay off some of the debt she was in, you played it as if you had a killer internship. No one has questioned you, who would, really? You’re every bit the epitome of a ‘good girl’. Good student, sweet best friend, devoted to each and every person you care about.
There’s just one outlier – an obsession with the one man off limits.
Of all the fucking people to fall for, the boy raised as damn near ‘family’ was unnacceptable, and you’re sure he’s never felt it back. Those brief moments where you could swear there was something, that there was a tension between you both, now as you pack your luggage they just seem like they were all in your head.
‘I’ll miss you so much,’ you’d hugged Caleb tightly the last time he went away, he was training as a pilot outside of the military, something entirely different. You were so proud, but also you knew he’d be by even less frequently.
Some selfish part of you wanted him to stay.
‘I’ll miss you, honey,’ the way he’d said it had melted your precious resolve almost a year ago today, he’d tilted your chin up, pressing a kiss on your brow, cool and dry lips that he never took good enough care of, that he bit to death.
All Caleb ever did was take care of you, of Gran, of all his friends and his colleagues – the question was, who took care of Caleb? Would he ever let you?
‘Will you really miss me?’ He laughed at first – that easygoing one of his that brightened his face, that made him look so boyish.
Why didn’t he smile enough?
‘Why would ya ask that, hmm? Ya messin’ with me?’ he teased you, one of your hands had slid up his chest, brushing the stark white pilot jacket, your tears filling your eyes, making his face soften. ‘Pips, I’ll not be gone forever.’
‘Close enough,’ you trembled when he hugged you tight.
It wasn’t enough.
The hugs weren’t enough, the pecks on your cheek weren’t enough – not when your body wanted, needed and craved more. You leaned up, kissed his cheek, kissed the corner of his mouth. Collar tugged down in your hands to yank him low – tall as he fucking was, bringing him to hunch over so that your lips hovered.
‘What are you…’ he had paused, cupping your face, his breaths mingling with yours together – the sweet scent of apple on his breath – yet he pulled away, kissing the corner of your mouth instead.
You gave up that day.
‘I’ll write to you every day, I promise. I never, ever break them, do I?’
No, Caleb never broke his promises – he never crossed lines he shouldn’t, and you should respect that. No, you do respect that he’s level headed, that he has ultimate control, while you’re a shattered mess, trying to pick up the pieces of the inevitable fact – that it could never be.
You can’t get this mysterious man off your damn mind now, but it almost feels like a bit of a betrayal. Not only do you have this secret life, the feelings for Caleb haven’t died out – and now you’ve been talking to Zayne, he’s almost a doctor and just a few years older than you, in med school. He’s two years older than Caleb, in fact.
Mature, handsome, driven.
Yet he was also sweet, and he wanted to see you – he had known you for years as well, but you were more of a little pest to him than a childhood friend. Now, things were utterly different.
Would the very ‘seemingly’ uptight Zayne ever be okay with your ‘career’ though? The fact that you make more money in one night streaming on OF than you did in two weeks at your part time college job? Would he be okay you had a pretty pink jewel up your damn ass a couple hours ago, or used a pink rose toy for fucking Aviator69?
You feel torn into three pieces – the hopeless love for Caleb, the intrigue for the boy you’ve been typing for months but never really seen or heard, and a childhood crush come to life for Zayne.
Just how was this week going to go?
+++++
Caleb was back home.
This was the home he spent his teenage years in – the main one he knew, despite being about eleven when Josephine took him in, he hadn’t exactly remembered much of his childhood, nor much of his life before you and Gran. He didn’t want to, and neither had you when he’d met you – the day she brought you into his life.
He’ll never forget meeting you, holding your hand and smiling, you were so shy and sweet then, to eventually form into a little brat who punched his shoulders and teased him. Caleb knows it was the comfort of him that helped blossom that in you, so he loved it even more.
The nights he’d spend holding you when you had nightmares, though? Sometimes he wondered just what your life was exactly like before Josephine took you in, but that was something the two of you had never really discussed. You didn’t even have to, it was as if you both just…
Got each other.
The plane ride was a long one, but he was used to it – though he forgot how odd it was to be a passenger rather than a pilot. The air was just a touch thicker and humid, he could practically inhale the hints of salt from the coast, when he’d recently been in the desert. The house looked the same, it’s only been less than a year, but everything was exactly in its place.
When he walks into the door to his teenage bedroom, he can’t help but be hit with a wave of nostalgia.
Nothing had changed – not a single thing aside from Gran had picked it up a bit, and his bed was made, the duvet the same dark blue he'd picked out in high school. The walls were still covered in aviation posters – his favorite, f-16s, a diagram of a fighter jet engine next to that. His model planes decorated the bookshelves, just a bit dusty from time, with pictures of you and him on the top shelf.
You’re so young there, it was your high school graduation, he had just come back from getting grueling military training. He looks so drained, but you looked so bright and beautiful, but then again when the fuck weren’t you?
His fingertips run across the frame, sighing and frowning a bit at the walls just a light shade of orange, as if the room was frozen in time, with the locket you’ve given him sitting on one of the articulated models.
He has a new one from you now, that one broke and faded – he’ll never forget how upset you were, even after he welded it the little red gem popped out.
He’d gotten it replicated exactly, but how could he get rid of the original? So it stayed locked in time. He wraps it around his fist, the silver chain circling his rough knuckles, Caleb presses a little kiss to it, a little ritual he had with the one on his neck recently before he went on any flight.
He peeks out the window when he hears the hum of an expensive SUV, curiously looking out to see you walk out of it alone.
That SUV is not in a college girl’s budget, Caleb had more than enough to buy one for you, but you’d always turned it down. Suddenly curious how the fuck you have a brand new black Escalade, he heads out of the room, you’re already hugging Josephine when he steps into the living room, your eyes catching his over her shoulder.
"Caleb!" you squeal those words excitedly, running out of Josephine’s embrace and launching yourself at him.
He catches you automatically, as if it’s an instinct to do so – it is a fucking instinct – its a torture as his arms wrap around your waist. It was supposed to be familiar, comforting, sweet and nostalgic, right?
Yet it was torture instead.
Your hips are a little wider, your tits just a bit softer somehow against his chest, he hates himself for fucking thinking that. All this time away, of jerking his cock to another girl, of going on dates and kissing women, having them cum on his fingers, it did nothing to stop the sickness he felt near you.
It was everything not to lift you by those hips that would feel so goddamn good in his hands and fuck you right on a wall – but he’s supposed to fucking greet you. He’s supposed to be that supportive best friend, so he hugs you tighter, laughing as if he’s unaffected with the way you press against him, burying his face in your hair, smelling your shampoo.
It was the same as always – this sweet mix of peonies and blossoms that were made to ruin him, with hints of something uniquely you, some pheromone set out to make him ache. He forces himself to relax, to make it normal, his gran is there for godsake and he’s about to fucking sniff you.
"Hah – easy, Pips, you’re crushin’ me."
You pull back a bit, blush dancing on your cheeks. "Sorry, I got so excited! It’s been so long.”
“I’ll make you two some tea,” Josephine says with a smile, heading to the kitchen and leaving the two of you alone by the entry way, he pulls back a bit, taking in your outfit.
It’s slutty.
Your tits are out, your skirt is too fucking short, as if this is not the girl who used to wear sweats everywhere. He supposes he should assume you’d change, why wouldn’t you? Yet the thought of anyone seeing that body makes him furious – a body he’s barely seen with how baggy and slouchy your clothes used to be.
“New style?” He asks softly, you giggle and tug a bit at the top.
“Yeah, I guess I’ve gotten into fashion,” you’ve had to dress a little sexier with OF promotion, but you did find yourself liking it, a pleated skirt and a little crop, jacket slung right over. “Do you like it?”
“Ah… do I like it…” He says nothing, his sunset eyes drifting across your collarbone, bare now, the little locket he’d bought you broke and you have it now attached to a little keychain. Suddenly it feels empty, naked, without it, especially when you see his dogtags clearly on his chest.
Caleb says nothing, just looking into your eyes now, the tension as your hands still sit on his broad shoulders making you tremble.
You’re an OF star now – you play with your pussy for thousands of people, you have your damn tits out and make bank. Why then, does it make you so fucking nervous to have someone this close to you look at you this way?
It also makes you wonder – would Caleb ever be okay with that? Would he beat your ass black and blue and delete that damn page? You cannot see your strict, overprotective best friend accepting it. Of course, you wouldn’t tell him, but it makes you curious.
Did Caleb ever watch OF?
Did he date anyone now?
Has he…
Why are you thinking of that? Why can’t you just enjoy the time you have with him – the limited fucking time?
“You don’t have to answer that,” you say now, suddenly shy – you, shy, it’s laughable. Yet Caleb does that to you – the way he looks at you could fucking ruin you completely.
“It’s just a different look,” he manages, clearing his throat, you notice a few new freckles dusting across the bridge of his nose, now, making you bite down on your lower lip. “You always look pretty. Just different.”
“Well look at you! All grown up and official," you playfully tug at the collar of his pilot's uniform he'd worn home – white and gold, you almost can’t handle just how fucking good he looks in it.
"Well look at you – new ride?"
Your expression falters for just a second, a flicker of something he couldn't read before you plaster on a bright smile. You suck at lying, and at hiding shit from him. "Oh, the SUV? Just a little graduation present to myself. Been saving up for years! I got a really good payment plan.”
You paid for that shit in cash – OF was very kind to you.
He hums a bit at that, he knew what you'd made at your part-time campus job, and there was no fucking way you'd saved up that much, he knows your wages. Caleb knows everywhere you go, too.
He sure the fuck shouldn’t but how can he not want to make sure the most important person in the world to him was safe at all times? That just happened to involve all of that – knowing when to ‘surprise’ send you money, when to randomly call you if you’re somewhere he doesn’t know.
A quick search with his connections are all it takes for him to find out what house you were in and who it belonged to.
You’ve spent entirely too much time with Zayne lately.
Zayne was stupidly wealthy – what if he bought that shit for you?
He immediately shoved the thought away, disgusted with himself for even thinking of them, that you couldn’t do it on your own, that you’d need something like that, he puts it all away and then smiles at you instead, ruffling your hair affectionately. This was you – His Pips.
“I’d have bought you it, you know.”
“You can’t go around buying escalades, Caleb,” you poke at his cheek playfully, he catches your wrist with his long ass fingers, taking you over and making you pause, your heart hammering in your chest.
“I would for you.”
You blush once more, sighing now. "There is this huge bonfire at the cove to start the summer," you say, grabbing your luggage, he takes it from you so quickly you giggle a bit. "Everyone's meeting there in an hour. Are you coming with me?"
"Yeah, of course,” he follows you up the stairs, his gaze lingering on the way your skirt rises up on your thighs, he can fucking see those panties with little apples decorating them.
Were you actively trying to kill him?
He needs to jerk off the moment he is alone, but you’re lingering a bit at the door, smiling up at him in this way that makes him wonder how you’d look on your knees, lashes lowered, hearts in your eyes. Would you suck his cock down like a good girl – would you do it too good, and make him wonder where you learned it?
Fuck.
“I’ll go get ready,” he says, rushing off and making you frown, looking at him a bit before shutting your door, leaning on it and shutting your eyes.
Caleb seemed annoyed, short with you, clipped. Perhaps he had moved on, and perhaps that was the best thing – that you imagined the tension, the embarrassment of trying to kiss him for him to shut it down, that it was all in your head. Zayne texts you, asking if you’re coming, and you focus your energy there, shooting him a quick heart and an enthusiastic yes!
Your phone keeps going off, the OF men miss you of course – you decide you can sneak a quick faceless picture of your tits, hanging up the little pink curtain you always do to hide anything personal. It seems drastic, but you have a lot of friends from your hometown, and you’d die of embarrassment if they ever found out.
You set the camera down on your dresser, leaning forward to get a pretty angle of your tits, and the comments and tips start going insane, you suddenly see a name you thought you wouldn’t though –
Aviator69.
You laugh softly seeing it, tilting your head and laying back in your bed after getting dressed, typing directly to him in messages.
You - I thought you’d be gone.
Aviator69 - yeah well, I had to peek at this notification, see your pretty tits.
Suddenly you heat up – Aviator69 has always been oddly respectful, to a point you wish he wasn’t, and now he finally mentioned something like that? You can’t stop yourself from saying more, your apple covered panties soaked and darkening – damp and sticky with need.
You almost feel guilty enjoying him this much, you aren’t dating Zayne, and Caleb is the most off limits boy there could be, but you still felt jumbled as you were slick. You can’t help but write to him again, though.
You - miss me already? Did you miss seeing my titties?
Avaiator69 - maybe I do. Your nipples look like they need to be sucked on, do they?
You - maybe they do need a mouth on them.
You don’t even know what he looks like but you can’t help but let your mind drift, though when your eyes close – it’s Caleb, his mouth wrapping a nipple, and you know you shouldn’t think of it. You know you have to stop it, stop playing with your cunt thinking of the boy in your next room, the one you’ll never have, the one who probably never thinks of you like this.
Yet your eyes flutter shut, and you’re toying with your breast, thumbing the nipple and gasping out, looking as he types to you.
Aviator69 - they’d look so pretty with cum on them.
Oh fuck.
Was Aviator69 a freak!? He surprises you then, you hear the craziest shit as a cam girl, as an OF star, but nothing has made you actually wet quite like this comment.
You - would you lick it off?
Caleb moans softly, muffled with one of his hands as the other strokes his thick, veiny cock – the head is flushed a mean red and dripping, leaking down to the carpet below. Sucking in a breath through his teeth, Caleb’s rough hand makes him merely ache for another – a soft little hand that can’t even wrap his base, watching it and laughing at the size difference.
Wondering if he’d cum all over this OF star’s pretty tits, or yours – god they were just about the same size he thinks, he hardly has seen glimpses of yours aside from when you were in a bikini, and they’ve only gotten prettier in the year he hasn’t seen you. He can’t think of you.
He can’t.
Would he lick it off is a fucking insane question, though, he can’t help but whimper, literally typing with one hand while he should be getting ready.
Aviator69 - I think I’d rather gather it up and push it inside your pretty little pussy.
Your fingers circle your clit faster, damn near slippery as this mysterious fan puts those images in your head, you hardly type with one shaky hand as your thighs clench together.
You - oh? Are your fingers long, aviator?
Aviator69 - bet they’d hit your cervix.
You drop the phone when you cum, when you shatter, pulsing and making a fucking mess, dripping right down your sheets, dizzy with how much he’d had you cumming, tears pricking your eyes you’re so dizzy. Hit your cervix – hit your cervix, he really went and fucking said that? He had to have the most filthy images of long fingers pushing white inside you.
You’re struggling to gather yourself after that, seeing texts from your friends wondering if you’re on the way, realizing you haven’t gotten ready at all – and that Caleb is in that next room. What if he heard you!?
Get it together!
You - I have to go, Aviator.
Aviator69 - did you get to cum?
He’s cocky, it’s surprising, you can’t help but giggle, breathless.
You - maybe I did. Did you?
Caleb’s cock is coated in white cum to the base, his head thrown back against his old headboard, looking up for a moment to see a picture of you in your cute little cheer outfit on his mirror, suddenly torn.
Why does he feel so guilty for a girl who could never be his?
He cleans up, clearing his throat and tipping his favorite star two hundred dollars as her answer. She types him quickly.
You shouldn’t have! It was just… fun for me?
It’s still your time, and your work.
Then don’t be a stranger this vacation.
He cleans up quickly, his head rushing, he’d cum just enough that when he sees you, standing right in your doorway and peeking at you in your room, so fucking pretty – he can almost handle it.
Almost.
You smile at him, in this little sundress, tied up at the neck to reveal the expanse of your back in a haphazard knot, looking at him in the mirror now. “Caleb, can you tie this a little better, my hands can’t reach.”
“Always so spoiled with me, tch,” you giggle when he comes over, undoing the knot. “It’s terrible.”
“I know!” they fall, the little halter straps, you hold onto the top of the dress so it doesn’t fall, smiling nervously at his reflection. “Do you like the dress?”
“You look beautiful,” his voice is too husky then, as he ties the prettiest, perfect bow, swallowing and running the backs of his fingers down between your shoulder blades before he can stop himself, eyes catching your reflection in the mirror. “Don’t you always?”
“You think so, Caleb?” He laughs softly, shaking his head.
What a fucking question.
He supposes he must hide that shit exceptionally well, taking your hair and brushing it back, baring those shoulders he wants to decorate with kisses, with bites, with bruises. You turn and he sees that cleavage, the tits he’d also love to cum right all over, rising and falling with your breaths as he stands too close, your hands sliding up his soft open shirt, the one underneath moulded to his physique.
“You’ve just gotten buffer, you jerk,” you tease, as if you don’t want to feel his weight upon you. “I haven’t worked out much since I quit cheer.”
“Your body is-” He pauses himself then.
He can’t fucking say that.
That he wants to grip your hips and breed you – that he wants to have those tits bouncing in his face, that he’d love to fuck you in your sleep, when you wake up, every fucking moment just bend you over a surface until you’re good and knocked up from him, then you’d have to stay his forever, wouldn’t you?
No amount of jerking it to a pretty girl could fix this sickness in his fucking head, clearly, so instead he stays there, a hand on your waist, the nip of it where it juts in, squeezing so hard over the thin material you gasp. Your eyes lock up to his, your lips parted ever so slightly, those eyes dilated until they’re almost black.
“My body, what?” You ask softly, voice shaking, trying to hold yourself together as he causes you to heat up.
“It’s…” Your phone goes off now, breaking the spell he’d been under, he steps back and eyes you. “Gonna get that?”
“It’s just everyone asking where we are,” you clear your throat now, shoving it all back in. “What were you going to say?”
“It’s… your body is…”
You just look at him.
He’d just told a girl on the internet he pays for that she had pretty tits, that he wanted to push cum inside her, but he can’t tell you what he wants to – no, because it’s too fucking filthy.
“It’s perfect,” he manages, you blush and look down, hugging him around his waist and burying your face against his chest.
“Thank you, Caleb.”
“Mhm, let’s go.”
*****
You let Caleb drive your suv since he hates you driving – you apparently terrify the shit out of him because you don’t know what curbs are. He doesn’t seem to realize that you literally could hit any curb in this giant fucking thing and it’s like nothing now, but you don’t mind being in the passenger seat, giggling as the two of you try to catch up a bit.
Yet the air feels thick with everything unspoken.
You resented him for turning down your kiss and you feel bad that you did, you have to let it go and enjoy the person you love more than anything in the world. You just have to love him the way you should, not in this twisted way you’ve grown to think of him.
When the two of you are at the party, and he’s surrounded by so many damn girls it’s hilarious, he looks at you as if you could help him out, you just laugh a bit, gasping when a cool hand touches the small of your back. You peek back to see Zayne, the soon to be doctor but currently an intern physician, smiling lazily at you.
He looks unfairly gorgeous with the setting sun, casting a million lights of pink and orange against his tanned skin, his soft little laugh when you press a kiss to his cheek. “Doctor Zayne!”
“Already calling me that, hmm?” The bonfire is crackling, making his green eyes glow just a bit with orange flames, his face card is stupidly lethal and makes your heart race just being close.
“You will be soon enough, might as well start,” you lean close now. “Role play a bit, I could be your bratty patient.”
“You’re bold, hmm?” He’s blushing a bit, laughing then, tilting his head a bit. “Why don’t we get a drink?”
“I’d love to,” he heads over to the cooler and grabs you both a drink, opening yours politely, eyes drifting over your dress.
“You look stunning,” he says quietly, you feel the flicker of his gaze dart over your form, taking in his own attire, a dress shirt just a bit unbuttoned, the most casual Zayne really got. “That color is pretty on your skin.”
“Why thank you Doctor Zayne, you look handsome too,” he laughs a bit, sipping his drink, eyeing the swarm of women around Caleb. “Ah, your stepbrother is back home, huh?”
Stepbrother.
It makes you feel so fucking weird to hear him called that – it wasn’t an official term, but you suppose it’s how they perceived you all. It made you feel that much more guilty, for catching Caleb’s eyes across the crowd, across the flames that flick meanly into the sky, the smoke that scatters across, the sun glowing behind him.
Caleb can’t stand to see Zayne’s hand on your waist – right where his had just been, the possessiveness he has no right to feel running through him, until it’s making his stomach sick. He watches from across the bonfire as Zayne leans in close to whisper something in your ear, making you laugh, your head tilting back as if it’s so fucking funny – exposing that delicate neck Caleb wants to mark.
His eyes flicker to his phone, on the off chance that the OF star may be on, texting her for just a moment amidst the girls talking his ear off for the past ten minutes, smiling easily as he tries to focus on anything but rushing right across the goddamn beach and snatching you up.
Hopelessly torn between moving on from the inevitable fact that he’ll never have you, and feeling guilty for wanting to talk to her again.
“Excuse me,” he murmurs to the girl there, smiling brightly. “I need a drink. Want me to grab you one?”
“Yes please!” She’s giggling along with everyone, when Caleb makes a beeline toward you, the closer he gets the angrier, the more he wants to rip Zayne’s goddamn fingers off your waist.
Zayne notices him approaching first, his easy smile clinical, making Caleb want to lose his fuckign shit even more. "Caleb, joining us? Long time no see."
"Just needed another drink," Caleb says smoothly, though his eyes are locked on your face, how your eyes are dilated, glittering in the night. "Are you having fun, pips?”
“I am, are you? You should catch up with Zayne, too,” you say, looking at him now. “Caleb is leaving the military and doing other projects. And Zayne, he’s-”
“I’ll catch you both later,” he smiles and walks by with two drinks, leaving you to look at him curiously, as he dismisses you completely.
Oh.
“He’s as friendly as ever,” Zayne makes you laugh a bit, hand holding out for your own. “Want to dance a bit?”
“You dance?” You ask, tugging him out, each of your bare feet dancing across the warm sand, feeling Caleb’s gaze on you as he spins you around.
“I do.”
Caleb peeks at his phone again.
No answer from her.
And he has to look at his pips in the arm of Zayne.
He’s going to fucking hate this vacation – he may just cut it short.
Dunk (Ser Duncan the Tall) X Fem!TravelCompanion!Reader
Warnings: smut, explicit sexual content, no y/n, mutual pining, accidental voyeurism, fingering, unprotected sex, size difference, praise kink ( i think?), one use of “good girl” (I had to guys), knight/lady dynamic, porn with little plot, not proofread
Word count: 5.7K (*does debby ryan hair tuck*)
You lay in bed, your body scarcely covered by the itchy sheets. You were exhausted. This was the first real bed you’d gotten to sleep in for a few days now. It wasn’t the best quality — you were at an inn, so you hadn’t expected fine sheets or anything of the sort — but it sure beat sleeping on the rough ground.
Unfortunately, exhaustion wasn’t the only thing you were feeling. Your hand traveled down your body, tracing over your stomach before slipping between your thighs. Your legs widened softly as you began to toy with yourself, your eyes closing slightly.
You hadn’t had the luxury of privacy as of late — not with Dunk and Egg sleeping right beside you every night — but now, in a room all to yourself, you found yourself ready to scratch an itch you’d been harboring for what felt like ages.
Your eyelids fluttered as your movements grew more certain, your fingers slipping inside you with ease. Your breathing became labored, your eyes squeezing shut as you allowed images to fill your mind — his hands, his large thighs, the way his blue eyes gazed at you whenever you spoke.
Your free hand moved over the sheets, gripping the rough fabric as your mouth parted softly. The chill nipped at your bare nipples, but you paid it no mind, far too consumed by thoughts of him and the sensation of your own touch to care.
Maybe if you had been paying attention to your surroundings, you would have heard his feet thundering down the hall. He never tried to be loud, but his large size did not make stealth easy. Perhaps if you had been paying attention, you would’ve been able to tug your hand out from inside you before your door came crashing open.
But you hadn’t.
When you heard the door slam against the wall, followed by Dunk’s voice, you startled, your body jerking upright into a sitting position as you quickly yanked the sheets up over your bare frame.
“You hungry? Dinner’s—” Dunk paused, his eyes landing on you on the bed. They widened more than usual.
For a moment, you thought perhaps he could see the flushed state of your face, could notice the way your chest heaved behind the sheets you’d tried to hide yourself with. He stood there in the doorway, practically blocking it with his large frame, his mouth unmoving, his eyes fixed on you.
Then something clicked. He wasn’t looking at your face. He was staring… lower.
Your head snapped down before you could stop yourself, eyes widening as you realized your left breast was completely exposed. In your haste to pull the sheets up, you hadn’t done a very good job.
Your gaze shot back to his just as he finally dragged his eyes up to meet yours. If the embarrassment on your face wasn’t obvious, the deep red flushing Dunk’s certainly was. You tugged the sheets up quickly, covering yourself completely this time, your arms crossing tightly over your chest.
Dunk opened his mouth as if to say something — perhaps an apology for staring so long — but before he could get the words out, Egg slipped beneath his arm and into the room.
“Did the Ser tell you, my lady? The food’s ready, aren’t you—” The young boy paused, the excited tone he’d carried into the room fading as he looked at you. “Oh. Did we wake you?”
The innocent way he asked, as though he were genuinely sorry for disturbing you, made your heart ache. You forced yourself to give him as soft a smile as you could manage despite your embarrassment. But then your eyes flicked back to Dunk’s, and your expression shifted again into mortified horror.
“I’ll be right down,” you managed to squeak out.
Dunk grabbed Egg by the shoulder, guiding the boy back out ahead of him.
“Yes, of course, m’lady, we’ll see you—” His head smacked against the doorframe in his haste to leave, earning a soft ow from him and making you grimace.
He shook his head as if to clear it, then muttered without looking back at you, “See you downstairs.”
You watched him close the door behind him, your eyes lingering on the spot where he had stood before finally turning back to the bed and burying your face in the pillow to muffle an exasperated groan.
Nothing had been said about that exchange — not at dinner, when you three sat together chewing your food in silence, nor in the morning when you mounted your horses and continued on your journey.
You and Dunk didn’t avoid each other exactly, but the ease you’d always felt while interacting seemed to have vanished. You only exchanged words when necessary, and whenever your eyes met, you were both quick to look away, faces flushing as you searched for anything else to focus on.
Luckily for both of you, Egg never seemed to tire of talking. When he wasn’t telling you about his family and sharing facts about the kingdoms — according to him, there were nine, not seven — he was singing songs that were pleasant enough, though some carried meanings you weren’t sure he fully understood.
The journey went well enough despite the lingering awkwardness, and by the time you stopped beneath a tree to make camp that night, you had almost forgotten the ordeal of the evening before.
You nudged at the fire with a stick, trying to keep it alive. Dunk was off with Egg somewhere, presumably gathering more wood. Leaning back, you watched the flames dance while you waited for them to return.
The patter of feet against leaves sounded to your left, and you turned just as Egg came racing toward you.
“Look at what I found!” he exclaimed, finally reaching you.
He opened the piece of fabric he’d been using as a sack so you could see the contents. Your eyes widened at the variety of berries he’d managed to gather.
“Well, look at that,” you said softly. “Well done, Egg.”
You smiled at him, and he beamed in return.
“He wanted to eat them straight away,” Dunk’s voice rumbled from behind him.
You lifted your gaze through the dim light and found him easily in the darkness. Your eyes drifted down to his forearms, catching the way they flexed beneath his sleeves as he shifted the weight of the logs he was carrying. You quickly dragged your gaze back up before your thoughts could wander too far.
“But I thought it best to have you look at them first.” Dunk grunted softly as he dropped the logs beside the fire and dusted off his hands. “Don’t want him poisoning himself by accident.”
You stared at him for a moment.
“Or us, for that matter,” he added with a faint smile.
Your shoulders relaxed at the sight of it. Shaking yourself from your distraction, you turned your attention back to the berries in Egg’s lap.
“Yes, that was wise, Ser Duncan.” You examined the fruit carefully, searching for any telltale signs of danger. “It seems your squire has been paying attention to my lessons. All of these are safe to eat.” You grinned and gently ruffled Egg’s hair.
The boy settled beside you, legs crossed, the bundle of berries resting in his lap. You plucked one from the cloth and popped it into your mouth just as Dunk lowered himself onto your other side. His arm brushed yours as he reached past to grab one as well.
The brief contact made you glance at him. Your eyes met for a heartbeat, and though neither of you spoke, the shared awareness lingered in the air.
Gods, how were you meant to survive this?
After you’d eaten your fill, Egg let out a soft yawn, the day’s excitement finally catching up to him. He settled onto his bedroll with a quiet goodnight and was asleep moments later.
You remained by the fire, watching the flames. Your body was tired, but your mind felt far too awake. Sleep seemed distant.
Beside you, Dunk shifted and pushed himself to his feet. You looked up at him.
“Off to sleep as well?” you asked.
“Oh — uh, not yet,” Dunk muttered. “I’ve got to, uh… take care of something.”
Your brows furrowed in confusion for only a moment before you understood. He needed to go to the bathroom. Dunk always seemed oddly shy about such matters around you.
“Alright,” you said lightly. “I’ll keep an eye on things here.”
He nodded, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary before he turned and disappeared into the trees.
It was unusual for Dunk to take so long to relieve himself. Even on the rare occasions he lingered, it was never for this long. You were beginning to worry.
Then the rain started, sudden and heavy, dousing the fire you had been carefully tending so Dunk could find his way back with ease. Without the guiding light, you were certain he would struggle to locate the camp in the darkness.
You stood beneath the tree, trying to shield yourself from the downpour, your hands twisting together anxiously as you searched for Dunk’s large frame in the shadows. You couldn’t just stand there and wait. Dunk was a good knight and knew his way around the wilderness well enough, but your skills were sharper when it came to tracking and foraging.
What if he had gotten turned around? With the rain falling this hard, it would be nearly impossible for him to retrace his steps before daybreak — and dawn was still a long way off.
“That’s it,” you muttered to yourself.
You cast one last glance at Egg, making certain the boy was still fast asleep and sheltered from the rain, before stepping into the trees in search of Dunk.
It didn’t take you long to find him. He wasn’t far from camp at all. Your eyes caught his frame against a tree almost immediately. He was leaning against the trunk, no doubt trying to shield himself from the rain as he waited for it to pass.
You thought about calling out his name, but with the thunder rumbling overhead, you were sure he wouldn’t hear you. Squinting against the rain, you began moving toward him.
A bolt of lightning split the sky, illuminating the world around you for a heartbeat. You froze, your heart hammering in your chest. For a moment, you wondered if you had imagined it — if the light had played tricks on your eyes. But when another flash followed, you realized you had seen correctly.
Dunk wasn’t simply hiding from the rain. He wasn’t lost.
He was touching himself, his hand wrapped around his length as his head rested back against the tree. His mouth was slightly parted, his movements slow and deliberate despite the downpour soaking him through.
Your breathing quickened. You felt rooted to the spot, unable to look away.
Another crack of lightning struck, closer this time, jolting you back to your senses. You turned and ran, racing toward camp as fast as your feet could carry you.
You dropped down beneath the tree, casting a quick glance at Egg to ensure he was still asleep before squeezing your eyes shut, your head falling back against the trunk. The image of Dunk seemed burned into your mind.
“You’re wet.”
Your eyes flew open, a startled gasp leaving you as your hand flew to your chest. Dunk stood beside you, rainwater dripping from his hair and clothes, strands plastered to his forehead. You forced yourself not to let your gaze wander anywhere but his face. He was looking at you with mild confusion.
“Oh — yes,” you managed. “The rain caught me off guard.”
“Yeah,” he said, glancing up at the sky. “Wasn’t expecting it either. Sorry I took so long. I was waiting to see if it would ease up.”
The lie slipped from his lips so naturally that it made your stomach twist.
“No problem,” you replied quietly.
“Is Egg alright?”
Grateful for the change in subject, you looked toward the boy.
“Yes, he’s fine. The princeling’s tougher than he looks.”
Dunk grunted in agreement as he lowered himself to the ground beside you.
“We’ll sleep at an inn tomorrow,” he said. “It’ll be more comfortable.”
“Whatever you think is best,” you whispered.
He shifted, turning his back to you as he settled in. “Well… goodnight, m’lady.”
“Goodnight, Ser.”
Sleep would not be finding you anytime soon.
This inn was a bit better than the last one. The sheets were certainly softer. You lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, dressed in your sleeping gown. You’d learned from last time. A soft knock pulled your attention to the door.
It seemed you weren’t the only one.
You pushed yourself upright, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Come in,” you called.
There was a brief silence. You wondered if you hadn’t been heard, but before you could repeat yourself, the door creaked open. Dunk’s head peeked inside, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on you. You caught the flicker of relief that crossed his face. He stepped fully inside and closed the door behind him.
“Is everything alright?” you asked quickly. “Is something wrong with Egg?”
“Oh no,” Dunk replied at once. “Nothing’s wrong, m’lady. I just wanted to… well, I wanted to— uh— I…”
You rose from the bed, your bare feet padding softly across the floor as you approached him.
“What is it, Ser?” You placed a hand gently against his chest. “You’re worrying me.”
“I don’t mean to,” he said quickly. “There’s nothing to worry about. I just— well— I wanted to—”
“Your heart’s pounding, Dunk,” you murmured, concern lacing your voice.
The sound of his name seemed to steady him. He exhaled and lifted his hand to cover yours where it rested against his chest.
“I apologize.”
Your brows knit together. “Whatever for?”
Now it was his turn to frown. “Well… for the other night. In the inn.”
“Oh. Right.” You blinked. “That.”
“I should not have entered without knocking. I know that now. And I apologize for staring. That was not the right thing to do. I should have left as soon as I—”
“I saw you last night.”
The words slipped from your lips before you could stop them.
“I— you what?” Dunk asked, confusion clouding his face.
You forced yourself to hold his gaze.
“I. Saw. You. Last. Night.” You spoke slowly, not to mock him, but to be absolutely clear.
From the way his eyes widened and his brows shot upward, you knew he understood exactly what you meant. The color drained from Dunk’s face before rushing back twice as fierce. His hand slackened slightly around yours.
“You—” he swallowed. “You did?”
You nodded once. There was no point pretending otherwise now.
“I meant no dishonor,” he said finally, his voice low and rough. “I would never— I wasn’t thinking. I just—”
His jaw tightened. He looked away first this time, staring somewhere over your shoulder as if he could will himself out of the room.
“I didn’t know what else to do with it,” he admitted quietly. “With… the wanting.”
Your breath caught, startled by his confession — by how deeply he seemed to be affected by you.
“Dunk…” you whispered, your fingers twitching slightly beneath his hand.
Your heart was beating so loudly you were certain he could feel it beneath his palm.
“If I’ve offended you—”
“You haven’t.”
The answer came too quickly to be anything but true.
His gaze dropped briefly to your mouth before snapping back up again, as though even that fleeting glance felt like too much.
“I am not a man practiced in this,” he said softly. “I don’t know what the right way is. I only know that when I think of you, it feels…” He hesitated.
Your lips parted, your body drifting closer to his without you even realizing it.
“Tell me,” you breathed.
His eyes locked onto yours.
“It feels as if I am burning from within.”
You gasped, your fingers tightening slightly against his chest.
“Dunk…” you whispered again.
He searched your face as though bracing himself for rejection. For command. For dismissal.
“I do not wish you to burn alone,” you said quietly.
His hand flexed around yours.
“You would not ask that of me if you knew what I think when I look at you,” he murmured.
Your pulse fluttered. “Then tell me.”
His jaw worked for a moment, restraint warring with honesty. Then honesty won.
“I think about touching you,” he admitted, voice barely above a breath. “Not in passing. Not by accident. I think about it the way a starving man thinks of bread.”
You slid your hand slowly higher along his chest, feeling the tension there, the strength beneath your fingertips. His eyes darkened at that. At the way you stared at him, eyes full of something not at all innocent.
“Tell me to leave,” he said quietly, almost pleading. “If I stay, I do not know that I will remain a gentleman.”
“I do not want you to leave,” you answered.
His hand rose — slowly, giving you every chance to pull away — and hovered near your cheek before finally, gently, cupping it. The touch was careful, as though you were something precious rather than something he had confessed wanting.
“Are you certain?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He leaned down then, hesitating only a breath away from your lips — waiting. When you closed the distance yourself, pressing your mouth to his, the last of his restraint broke. His hand wound around your waist keeping you pressed to him.
He kissed you like a man who had held himself back for far too long. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his tunic as though you needed something solid to anchor yourself. He made a low sound in his throat when you did, the hand at your waist tightening just slightly. You parted only because you both needed to breathe.
“I thought wanting you from a distance was difficult.” His thumb brushed lightly along your cheekbone, almost unconsciously. “This is far more dangerous.”
You felt it too — that edge. The way the air seemed charged. The way every small shift of his hand sent a ripple through you.
Your hands slid from his chest to his shoulders, feeling the strength there. Solid. Steady. Real. He shuddered faintly at the contact, as though your touch affected him more than he had expected.
“I do not wish to frighten you,” he said quietly. “If we go further—”
“You will not frighten me,” you interrupted softly.
You lifted one hand to the back of his neck, guiding him down into another kiss. It was rougher this time, filled with the quiet hunger you both seemed to harbor for one another.
Dunk’s hands slipped lower, his broad frame bending slightly as he grasped your thighs. You gave a small gasp at the sudden movement, but you didn’t resist. Instead, you let him lift you, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.
His boots thudded softly against the floor as he carried you toward the bed, your lips still fused together. He placed his knee against the mattress, lowering you slowly onto the bed, his large frame remaining above you. Your legs unwound from his hips, moving to rest your feet flat on the bed instead. Dunk's hands moved over your leg, pushing the fabric of your nightgown up as he went. His forehead rested against yours as his hands inched between your legs. You gasped as his fingers grazed your pussy.
“You’re wet,” he murmured.
A faint, breathless laugh escaped you. “Second time you’ve said that.”
His lips brushed yours as he exhaled. “It wasn’t what I meant last time.”
“I know,” you whispered, nipping gently at his lower lip. “But I was wet then too.”
He let out a groan at that, his head moving down to place kisses on your neck. Your body arched off the bed as his tongue lapped at your skin and his hand continued to move against you, not teasing exactly but not touching you entirely either. His head trailed down until he got to your chest. He raised himself enough so he could use his free hand to tug your nightgown down enough to reveal your breast. As soon as your skin was free from the cloth Dunk leaned down, taking your nipple into his mouth and sucking. Your hand moved to his head, fingers tugging at his hair as you moaned.
The hand that lay on your thigh tensed at the movement, squeezing your skin between his fingers without him even noticing. The action only heightened the sensation, your back arching softly against the bed. A low rumble escaped Dunk as your body pressed into his. He pulled off your breast with a soft pop.
“Gods…” he muttered, more to himself than to you.
Your fingers were still tangled in his hair, your body still warm and responsive beneath him. You could feel the hesitation settling back into him—the part of Dunk that always tried to do the right thing, even now.
“Dunk,” you said softly.
His eyes flicked back to yours, and even though they were blown wide with desire, you could still see the restraint in his gaze. You could tell he was searching for a reason to stop this before it was too late.
Your hand moved from his curls to his face, a finger trailing over his lips for a moment before your eyes lifted back to his.
“Touch me,” you breathed.
“I am,” he whispered, his voice tinged with confusion.
You shook your head softly, your hair dragging against the sheets beneath you.
“No, I mean—” You grabbed the hand resting on your thigh, lifting it from your skin. Wrapping your fingers around his wrist, you guided it slowly between your legs. “Here. Touch me here.”
A faint, almost disbelieving smile ghosted across his lips.
“Here,” you repeated softly, your voice gentler now.
His breath caught, his gaze dropping briefly before returning to your face, searching—always searching—for doubt, for hesitation, for anything that might stop him.
He didn’t find it.
Slowly, carefully, his hand moved where you had guided it, his movements tentative at first, as though he feared misreading you. The moment your breath hitched, his eyes snapped back to yours.
“Is that—” he started, unsure.
“Yes,” you whispered, your grip tightening slightly around his wrist. “Don’t stop.”
That was all it took.
Not for him to lose control—not entirely—but for something to settle. His touch steadied, growing more certain, though never careless. Every small reaction from you seemed to anchor him further, to teach him.
Your head tipped back against the bed, a soft breath escaping you before you could stop it. His name followed without thought, quieter this time, but it made his jaw tighten all the same.
“Gods,” he murmured again, almost under his breath.
Your free hand found his shoulder, then his neck, pulling him closer—not just for the contact, but for the closeness, the shared heat of it. He leaned in without resistance, his forehead brushing yours, his breathing uneven.
“You’ll tell me,” he said, voice low, almost strained. “If it’s too much.”
“I will,” you answered, though your body was already answering for you, leaning into him, urging him on.
Your fingers curled into the hair at the nape of his neck as he slipped his finger deeper, your mouth opening in a silent moan. Your hot breath mingled with his as he continued his movements.
“More,” you groaned.
“You sure? I don’t want to—”
“Dunk. More.”
The way you said it—like a command rather than a question—made Dunk twitch against his breeches.
“As you wish, m’lady.”
As his second finger slipped inside you, you couldn’t help the groan that left your lips. You buried your head in his shoulder, teeth grazing the strong muscle there as he quickened his movements slightly. Your thighs trembled despite yourself, hands clawing at Dunk in desperation.
“Is it good?”
“Yes,” you breathed. “So good, Dunk. Please don’t stop.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, m’lady.”
You weren’t sure if he’d meant to say it so confidently, but it did things to you. You’d grown so used to seeing him shrink back—not in fear exactly, but in a way that showed he knew his place. But now, alone with you, his muscles flexing as he continued to pleasure you, that shyness you’d become accustomed to seemed to have disappeared.
He’d said he didn’t know how to do this, but the way he was working you with such ease told you that perhaps he was underselling himself.
And when he found that spot that made you cry out, your nails digging into his skin as you came undone against his hand, you were certain he had lied about just how much he knew.
His breath stuttered when you cried out, your grip on him tightening as if you might come apart without something to hold onto.You sagged slightly against him, your forehead pressing into his shoulder as you tried to catch your breath. Your fingers loosened their hold, though they didn’t leave him entirely, as if you still needed the reassurance that he was there.
“I didn’t—” he started, then stopped, shaking his head slightly. “I didn’t expect…”
Before he could finish whatever he was thinking, your lips were on his. He groaned against your mouth as you clung to him, your tongue brushing at his lips in search of entrance. He granted it, of course.
The kiss was messy. It was unclear whether it was due to inexperience or overwhelming desire, but you didn’t care.
Dunk shifted, his muscles flexing as he moved. A soft gasp left his lips as his hardness brushed against your thigh. You didn’t pull away, your mouth still pressed to his as your hand slipped between your bodies to caress him through his breeches.
Dunk let out a strained breath against your mouth, the sound catching somewhere between surprise and something deeper. His body reacted before his mind seemed to catch up, hips shifting slightly before he stilled himself again, as though fighting the instinct.
His hand found your wrist—not to pull it away, but to still it, just for a moment. His grip wasn’t firm, just enough to make you pause, to make you look at him.
“We should slow down,” he said again, quieter now, though his gaze hadn’t softened. If anything, it had deepened.
“Is that what you want?” you asked earnestly.
“Gods, no,” he breathed. “But I don’t know if I’ll—”
“Then don’t,” you cut in.
Something flickered in his eyes at that—something close to surrender.
“I want you,” you stated simply, the words making Dunk swallow a groan of need. “And you want me. Well, I assume you do, unless I—”
“Of course I want you,” Dunk cut in, his voice more certain than you’d ever heard it.
You couldn’t help the soft smile that spread across your face. You placed your hand on his cheek.
“Then why should we not?”
Dunk closed his eyes, biting into his cheek for a moment before opening them again.
“I don’t—” He stopped himself, the red on his cheeks deepening before he forced himself to continue. “I don’t want to hurt you, m’lady.”
Your heart tugged at the words, and before you could even think about it, you placed a reassuring kiss on his lips.
“You won’t,” you whispered.
Perhaps you should have expected it. He was a big man—it was only natural to assume that all of him was big—but you were still taken by surprise.
When Dunk finally pulled down his breeches, your eyes widened immediately. But before he could see the expression on your face and call the whole thing off, you schooled your features into calm.
Still, the only thing running through your mind as he made his way back to you was: How in the seven hells is that going to fit?
It wasn’t a simple task, but with some patience, you managed. You tried to keep your eyes from rolling back with every one of his thrusts, but he wasn’t making it easy on you. Not only did he hit the right spot every time—how could he not, when it felt like he was reaching so deep—but he was also incredibly vocal.
His head barely left your shoulder as his hips continued to move against you, so every sound that escaped him was heard clearly in your ear. And the praise—gods, it was driving you insane.
“Feels so good, m’lady… taking me so well,” Dunk groaned, his hands gripping your hips tightly enough that you were sure they would leave bruises.
The sound of his voice sent a shiver through you, your grip tightening on his shoulders as you tried to steady your breathing. Every word he spoke seemed to go straight through you, leaving you more unsteady than before.
“Dunk…” you breathed, his name slipping out without thought.
He answered with a low, strained sound, his forehead pressing into your shoulder as if he needed the contact to ground himself. His hands were still firm at your hips, but there was something careful in the way he held you—like he was always just a breath away from pulling back if you needed him to.
“Fuck… could live inside you,” he groaned.
You moaned at that, surprised by the dirtiness of the words slipping from his mouth. Who would have known that beneath Ser Duncan the Tall there was this whole other man?
“Dunk, please,” you moaned.
“What is it, m’lady? What do you want?”
“More,” you whispered. “Give me more.”
“Greedy thing, eh?” Dunk murmured, amusement clear in his voice. “You sure, m’lady? I’m not going to hold back.”
“Ah—ugh—more, Dunk, please.”
“Alright… as you wish.”
You didn’t know what you were expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this. As soon as the words left his mouth, Dunk lifted himself off you. You looked at him as he straightened up, brows furrowing in confusion.
Dunk just gave you an easy smile, his hands gripping the backs of your thighs before dragging you closer to the edge of the bed without fully pulling away from you. Once he seemed satisfied with the position, he looked down at you.
“Ready?”
You nodded. Dunk raised a silent brow at you. You flushed immediately, understanding what he wanted.
“Yes, Ser.”
The smirk that graced his face dripped with sin, and before you even had time to process it, he moved again with sudden, overwhelming intensity.
The shift in him stole the breath from your lungs.
Your hands clutched at him instinctively, your head tipping back as the sudden change drew a sharp sound from you. Dunk’s jaw tightened at the reaction, his control visibly fraying at the edges.
“Careful,” he muttered, though it sounded more like a reminder to himself than to you.
You shook your head faintly, your grip on him tightening. “Don’t be.”
That did it.
Not recklessness—but permission.
His movements grew firmer, more certain, no longer testing but knowing. Each shift of him was met with your response, your body answering in ways that made his breath hitch, his composure slipping further with every passing moment.
“Gods…” he groaned, his voice low and strained. “You feel—”
He cut himself off, like even saying it might push him too far.
“Dunk, I’m—I—”
A moan tore through you before you could finish.
“You close?”
You nodded quickly, hands scrambling for anything to hold onto as the sensation became almost overwhelming.
“Yeah? You gonna come all over my cock, huh?” Dunk asked, his movements speeding up. “Gonna make a big ol’ mess, aren’t you?”
“Yes—gods, please, Dunk, don’t—”
“Not going to, m’lady,” Dunk muttered, a groan escaping him before he could stop it. “Go on… be a good girl and come for me.”
That was the tipping point. You cried out his name as you came, your body spasming as you clenched around him. Dunk wasn’t far behind, with one more rough thrust and a groan of your name, he came.
Dunk stilled, a rough breath leaving him as your body relaxed around him, your name still echoing in his ears. Your grip on him slowly loosened, though your hands didn’t fall away entirely, still clinging to him as you tried to steady your breathing.
For a moment, neither of you moved. Then Dunk finally pulled out of you, a soft hiss leaving your lips as he did. You were still trying to catch your breath when Dunk’s hands slipped beneath you, lifting you with ease before repositioning you in the bed. Once he had you settled, he lowered himself beside you with a soft grunt.
You waited only a second before inching closer, resting your head against his chest. Dunk’s arm wrapped around you in a way that felt natural, almost instinctive.
“Gods…” he murmured again, though this time it was quieter—almost awed.
You let out a soft, breathless laugh, the sound muffled slightly against him. “You say that a lot.”
A faint huff of amusement left him, though it was still threaded with something heavier. “I don’t think I’ve ever meant it more.”
That made something warm bloom in your chest, softer than what had come before, but no less intense.
“You alright?” he asked, his voice still rough, but steadier now.
You met his gaze, your lips curving faintly despite the lingering heat in your body. “I am.”
Relief flickered across his face so openly it almost made you smile wider.
“Good,” he said, quieter now.
For a moment, the world seemed to settle around you—no urgency, no rush. Just the quiet aftermath of something neither of you had quite expected, but neither of you seemed to regret.
Your hand found his cheek again, your thumb brushing lightly over his skin.
“We should probably be quiet,” you murmured, a hint of teasing returning. “Unless you want Egg knocking on the door next.”
Dunk let out a low groan at that, his head dipping briefly. “Don’t even joke about that.”
Content: As a kid, all Sukuna ever really wanted was to be around you. He did just that for 10 years, only to spend the next 7 years wondering why you just stopped picking up the phone one day || MDNI, angst/comfort/smuț, porņ with plot, friends to enemies(?) to lovers, uncle!sukuna, mentions of depression and low self esteem, sukuna's tongue is pierced, so is his 🍆, nıpple sucking, humpıng, óral (f receiving), fıngering, squırtıng, dacryphılia, matıng press. word count: 15k
Sukuna isn’t the type to hold on to promises, especially one made in elementary school. But, he never would’ve thought that you’d break it like that.
The promise? That you’d be each other's best friends until the day you died. Looking back, it might be a little dramatic, but you were eight years old— all eight year olds are dramatic.
Exactly how did you break said promise?
You ghosted him.
You fucking ghosted him.
You were friends for over a decade and the moment you went off to college, poof— gone! You stopped calling, stopped texting, deleted all your socials. It was as if you had never even existed and that you were just a figment of the man’s imagination.
Now that’s dramatic.
He’s texted and called you multiple times, no response. He’s asked mutual friends, they never got a response either. It got to a point where he had finally had it and texted your mother. You could only imagine how hurt he was when she told him you were doing just fine, and not that you were missing or in a coma.
He’d never admit it, though.
The years came and went. The hurt he once felt inevitably dulled. Yet, you always managed to linger around in the back of his mind, like a little ghost haunting him.
To this day, he still has no idea what he did wrong. You may have ghosted everybody, but he wasn’t just anybody. If anyone deserved an explanation, it was him.
He still cares for you, sorta, but it’s been so long, he’s not sure if he’d even want to reconnect with you. Not with how you just dropped him like that.
. . . . . .
“Are you excited?”
“No,” you respond a little too flatly for Ieiri, who shoots you the look right after. “Ugh, I’m sorry. It’s just been forever since I’ve seen everyone.”
She sighs, redirecting her attention back on the road— there’s not much to look at. Most people stay home on gloomy Sunday afternoons.
The GPS says you’re nine minutes away from your destination, making you remind yourself once more to relax. Though, you really wish you could be one of those people staying in right now. Cuddled up on the couch, watching a movie.
Ieiri taps her finger on the steering wheel. “It’s like what I said—”
What didn’t she say?
She held you hostage on the phone for over an hour last weekend, threatening and bribing, and then threatening you again if you didn’t go with her to Kento’s surprise birthday party.
You thought you had a good argument at the time.
“Do you realize how annoying that sounds? Kento doesn’t even like surprises, could you imagine how irritated he’d be if I just randomly popped up, too?”
“If you were Satoru? Yes. You? Doubt it. If anything, he’d probably like the distraction from it.”
“Yeah– probably,” you murmured.
“Can you please get out of your fucking head for once?” she scoffed. “Yeah, it’s been years since you’ve seen everyone, but it’s not like it’s because of a falling out. I don’t know where you got this weird idea that they hate you now because of it. It was them who told me to bring you!”
“Who’s them?” you stubbornly responded.
“Suguru, Satoru, Yuki, Choso— even Toji said something about bringing Megumi so you could see him.”
As much as you’d love to meet his kid, it would also be another reminder of all the years that’ve passed— how everyone moved on with their lives. Getting married, buying homes, having children, starting families.
The most you’ve done is get the job. You’d include the condo if you actually got to enjoy it, but it’s been a year since you bought it and you haven’t even bothered furnishing the place despite all the money you've saved up for it. The last thing you want to do after work is look at a screen and make more decisions. Deciding between color palettes and aesthetics, deciding on what decor and accents you want— it all sounded exhausting. Hiring an interior designer was an option. Except, you barely want to talk to a stranger, let alone work with one.
It’s too many decisions to be made for someone that didn’t want to make them. You often wonder if you’ve simply just become someone that couldn’t make them.
You’re well aware of the things that are wrong with you, but it didn’t make it any less surprising. You, paralyzed by choices and options?
The people who knew you professionally would laugh. Hard. Any sense of certainty that could be felt in the air almost always emanated from you. You were decisive. Sharp as hell— honed to perfection. Someone that was more than capable of a task as menial as filling a space full of items they liked.
You know what you like, don’t you?
No, not really.
You are sharp, there’s no doubt about it. It’s what your boss favors you for, and sure, one could say you’re valuable to the company, too. It’s a nice feeling for a while.
Then you realize there is quite literally nothing more subjective than the value of something.
Luckily, you are very useful. It was simply a fact, and every single one of your quarterly reviews solidified it. A coworker, or god forbid a client, could spend an entire hour talking shit about you, and they’d eventually reach the point where they’d have to backtrack with a little ‘well’ or ‘however’, before giving credit where it was due.
The devil works hard and you stole his pitchfork. Ripped it right out of his hands, because apparently, you needed it more than him to become the youngest portfolio manager the company’s ever seen.
Who cares about the value of something when you need it? Mr. Yaga claims to hate black tea, but leave him out in the desert long enough and he’d easily drink gallons of it.
Having you at the company isn’t a matter of life or death, there’s thousands of others out there that are more than qualified for your role. More than half probably had resumes twice as long as yours, too.
But for Yaga, there is no guarantee that day to day operations would run this smoothly, ever again.
You may be a little blunt. At times, impatient. But in a world full of sexual harassment allegations and sleezy managers abusing their power, not once has there ever been a formal complaint made against you. You’re not always like that either, you’re great with the clients and stakeholders.
It’s a talent, really— remembering all the personal details people tell you, like childhood stories, the places they’ve vacationed to, a spouse's birthday month that was briefly mentioned months ago. It makes people feel special.
It was very handy, too. Especially in the case where the company might deal with someone that isn’t likely to give them their hard-earned money or signature. Your job was to either sweet talk or gaslight. No arguing needed.
Yaga may have not preferred you at first. You were essentially a kid compared to the people that applied for the position.
The plan was to let you down easily, tell you to keep working hard and you’ll eventually get there. You were already lucky enough to have your foot in the door as an employee.
Yaga had a list of goals he wanted to reach before his retirement, though. Any of the other candidates would’ve helped with that, but none would've given him the opportunity to make a second list and cross that off as well.
The decision took months.
In that time, he realized a few things.
One, he spent his entire adult life playing it safe, which is an obvious sign of fearing growth. You’re not sure who taught him that, but at least he realized it was okay to start over and try something new. It was like a rebrand for him and he embraced that the “new” him craved more profit and welcomed different approaches.
The different approaches being, finding more aggressive people because they bring in the money quicker.
He never saw you as aggressive, though. He never saw you at all, actually. It wasn’t personal, those under 30 usually come and go, so he didn’t see much of a point in remembering names. What he did see, when he finally opened his eyes, was efficiency.
You were straight forward in a way that saved time, had an air about you that screamed “don’t ask me how my day’s going or what I have planned for after work”, yet approachable enough for work related questions. Stellar reports, received every quarterly and year-end bonus. Sharp.
Making you one of the managers meant he could wield you like a weapon, now you are the one he uses the most. You had the salary to prove it, yet no time or energy to enjoy it.
You’re respected. The young interns, the girls in particular, look up to you more often than not. Eyes bright and filled with ambition. Romanticizing everything, from how much coffee you drink, all the way to your style that they labeled as “effortless”. They’re not wrong, it is effortless— always some variant of trousers, a t-shirt, heels, and a long coat. They’re never planned, yet they somehow always manage to work thanks to the lack of color in your wardrobe.
You overheard your lack of jewelry and unpainted nails being appreciated once for how “clean” you look. All you could think of was the girl that used to do her hair and paint her own nails at one point. Except for the ones on her right hand. She saved that job for her best friend who surprisingly had a steady hand, despite complaints flying out of his mouth the entire time. Even on the days he gave in and painted his own nails black, he’d find something to be grumpy and complain about.
It was always you choosing whose house to hang out at, which movies to watch, what places to grab food from. He was a big brat whose favorite answer to most questions was an inaudible ‘I dunno’ from the way he’d mumble it. So, you always led the way.
Now it’s you mumbling that same exact ‘I dunno’ when you’re all alone.
You’re tired. Worn out. If you were a blade, you end each day dull and chipped. Nobody sees it, not even those young girls with all the time they’ve spent studying you, blinded by their own dreams and aspirations to be just as important, not knowing the difference between being valuable and useful.
Maybe it’s better off that way.
Who were you to try to burst their bubbles when you never had dreams or aspirations to begin with? Your eyes were never as bright as theirs— not as a student, not as an intern, and definitely not as a new hire.
You never had a spark to begin with, what makes you think they’d eventually lose theirs?
Maybe you were the unlucky one here.
You were the one whose head went under water after one bad semester, after all. Even now, years later, it still feels like you’re stuck in the deep end while everyone else has moved on.
Toji chose to get married and have a kid.
You can’t even choose yourself on most days.
“You have arrived at your destination.”
Fuck. You have a hard time believing the GPS was that loud when it was telling Ieiri which exit to take and where to turn.
Her lips thin into a reassuring smile as she makes the final turn into the apartment building’s parking garage, and you fail to return it as you take a deep breath. Ieiri doesn’t say anything this time, figuring you’ll probably just have to see everyone's excitement for yourself to realize this wasn’t a pity invite. It’ll settle half of your nerves.
The other half should settle itself with time and a drink. Several drinks, honestly. She did the best she could with telling everyone that what you pulled during your second year of college was 100% a you thing and to not talk about it unless you brought it up. Which you probably won’t— everyone will understand. No one wants to talk about being in a dark place when they haven’t fully left it.
One moment, you’re sitting in the passenger seat with your seat belt still buckled. Next, your chest is tightening as you watch her open the door to Satoru’s apartment. There’s already chattering, which stops once she announces your guys’ arrival.
You barely get the chance to look around before Suguru’s peaking his head out of the kitchen to see if you really did show up and lets out a laugh once he sees that you did. It was light and airy, the kind that’s accompanied by the warm feeling that you should get in your chest when seeing an old friend.
He’s obviously changed, it’s been 7 years. Yet, he never lost that quality that managed to make people a little more comfortable.
“Hey stranger.”
Your lips thin into a shy smile, “Hey.”
“Well?” Suguru asks, holding his arms out. “I know it’s been ages but there’s no need to be shy.”
“Sorry,” you murmur, stepping forward and accepting the hug.
He lets out another laugh. “Don’t be— it’s nice to see you.”
“Where’s mine?!”
You easily recognize the offended, slightly childish tone. You slowly turn your head around to see a slightly less lanky Satoru. Aside from getting some much needed meat on his bones, he doesn’t seem to have changed much. He’s still as unserious as ever, still wears sunglasses indoors like an asshole.
Ieiri stood back the entire time, sipping on a drink she had already managed to make, patting herself on the back as she watched her little plan run smoothly: Show up early and let you build some confidence from awkwardly greeting the old friends you shared together one by one.
It’s funny, you told her that they’d eventually move on to talking to the friends they made after you, but they all seemed more interested in circling back to you, whether it be handing you a shot or introducing you to a new face.
If there was one burden she wishes she could take from you, it’d be the burden that has you walking through the world as if you were everyone’s last choice.
Today should be enough to prove that.
“Yeah, no— at this point, fuck Nanami and his birthday. This is a better surprise.” Satoru throws an arm over you, slightly swaying from the shots he’s already taken. “Pfft– he doesn’t even like his birthday. I’m sure he’d be happier to see her, too—”
“He’s coming up the elevator,” Suguru cuts him off.
“SHIT! EVERYBODY SHUT THE FUCK UP AND HIDE,” Satoru suddenly yells, as if he weren’t just talking shit just seconds ago.
No one would be surprised if Kento heard him yelling at everyone like that, and given how hesitant of a knock there was at the door. The blonde probably already knows there’s something up.
Suguru goes to open the door, and the moment he opens his mouth to greet him, there’s a loud wave of people yelling ‘SURPRISE’ behind him, with Satoru saying it a split second sooner than anyone else did.
Kento’s eye slightly twitches. Half surprised, half irritated. He fucking hates surprises and knows that’s the only reason why Satoru decided to throw him one. Before a complaint can leave his mouth, Ieiri hands him an old fashion. He tries to speak again, but gets interrupted once more when she tells him who’s here.
At first he scoffs, already having enough of people of fucking with him today.
“No, I’m serious!” she swears, looking around trying to see where you were at, eventually catching a glimpse of your head in the kitchen. “There she is— come say hi.”
Ieiri grabs his wrist and pulls him through the living room and into the kitchen, where you, Yuki, and Choso were talking. She turns back to look at Kento, who’s already surprised by her rare display of excitement, as she gestures towards you.
“See? Surprise!”
“Yeah, surprise!!” Yuki says right after.
“Holy shit.” Kento rarely curses, but finds himself unable to come up with better words. “It’s been ages!”
“I know!” You try to sound more apologetic, but ultimately fail from the nice buzz you had going on. “Happy birthday!”
And for once, he’s a little less uptight about it when he gives you a hug and says his thanks. It was a nice surprise, he had to admit. If only Satoru didn’t have to ruin the moment with the way he barged into the kitchen with some stupid, frilly party hat in hand, begging Kento to put it on.
“I said no!”
“C’mon, Nanamin!” Satoru whines, taking a step forward each time the blonde takes a step back. “You’re not getting any younger.”
“I don’t want to get any younger— I’m a grown man, and so are you. Maybe you should start acting like one.”
“I do! I’m just fun,” he continues to pester him, ignoring everything Kento mumbles under his breath.
You end up excusing yourself to use the restroom, somewhat bummed you couldn’t stick around longer to watch them bicker some more. You’re sure it went on for a while, though, unaware of how it was cut short when Shoko grabs Satoru by the arm.
He hisses at how tight of a grip she has on him, fingers digging into his skin as she pulls him aside.
“What is your problem?!” he asks through a clenched jaw.
“Sukuna’s here?!”
“Yeah?” He tries and fails to free himself from her grip as he answers. “I thought it’d be a nice surprise!”
She looks at him like he’s stupid, nails continuing to dig into his flesh. “A nice surprise? He fucking hates her. I wouldn’t have brought her here if I knew he was coming!”
“Ow ow ow— No he doesn’t?! Do you actually believe that?!” he groans in between each sentence.
“Yes! He says it every time someone brings her up!”
“Ow ffuck! You know how dramatic he can be sometimes— fuck, Shoko, please, you’re breaking skin.”
“You deserve it!” she responds in a clipped tone, despite finally letting go.
“Jesus Christ— you can’t just assault people like that,” he pouts, rubbing his arm. “It’ll be fine! It’s been years, he can’t hold a grudge that long.”
. . . . . .
Sukuna can absolutely hold a grudge that long.
Except, he was staring at said grudge like some fucking loser, and had to remind himself that it was still alive and well.
At first he thought you were just one of Satoru’s new friends as you walked through the living room, shyly making your way around everyone, but then you just so conveniently looked up in his direction.
His eyes nearly widened.
And yours actually did, looking as guilty as you should be.
The longer you two stood there, looking at each other from across the room in shock, the guilt you had in your eyes started to fade. He was sure everyone else welcomed you back with open arms, and in turn got irritated because you probably thought he’d do the same. So before you could even think to take a step in his direction, he wiped the shock off his face and replaced it with a look that’s able to make even grown men turn around and walk the other way.
Which is exactly what you did, stomach slowly twisting into a tight knot as you immediately began to replay the death glare he gave you over and over in your head.
Sukuna didn’t stay long and left shortly after. Not without pretending like he didn’t know you when he said goodbye to everyone, including Kento, who he never even got the chance to say hi to in the first place.
Shoko didn’t think that was enough to have a complete 180 in your mood. She then realized you were already quiet before that. You also decided to stay in the kitchen, where there was a wall in between you and him.
So yeah, she blames Sukuna.
“Are you sure he didn’t say anything to you?” Ieiri asked one last time as she pulled up to your apartment building.
“Nah— my stomach just started to hurt. I don’t drink alcohol that much.”
She still didn’t believe you, not with how big of an asshole Sukuna can be, which is why a certain someone got an earful over the phone the moment you got out of the car. He barely got a word out while she threw nothing but insults and threats so specific his way, that he had begun to believe them.
Of course Satoru felt bad! He didn’t want you to disappear again for another seven years and have it be all of his fault. So, he gives Sukuna a call, continuing the cycle of abuse started by Shoko.
The phone rings three times. Sukuna never finishes saying hello before Satoru tries to grill him. “Alright, what did you say to her?”
“Who the fuck are you even talking about right now?”
Sukuna knows exactly who he’s talking about, Satoru can just see his face crinkling in fake disgust over the accusation because he’s just a bullshiter at the end of the day.
“Shoko thinks you said something to her— she said she was acting all weird and shit when she came back from the bathroom.”
“She’s already fuckin’ weird,” Sukuna scoffs.
“So you did see her before you walked into the kitchen to say bye?”
“Yeah, I saw her. Doesn’t mean I said anything to her though, you fuckin’ moron.”
Satoru sighs and rubs his temple, knowing he probably looked at you like he wanted to skin you alive.
“What? Is looking at her a crime now?”
“With the way you look at people? It should be.” It’s clearly not the first time Sukuna’s managed to simply offend someone his face with the way it comes out as a complaint on Satoru’s end.
“Why do you even care?”
“Don’t turn this back around on me?!”
“Then quit trying to grill me over the way I look at people. Seriously— she comes back and you all are fuckin’ babying her like she’s some victim. It’s not that serious.”
“Well Shoko—”
“Shoko can fuck off.” Sukuna cuts him off. “Don’t bother me about something stupid like this again. If she can’t handle someone looking at her in a way that she doesn’t like, maybe she should stay home and lock herself in her fuckin’ room.”
“I– she already did!” he tries to come to your defense. “Shoko won’t tell me much, but she was going through it for years. She probably still is! She doesn’t go out at all. I tried telling you before and you wouldn’t listen.”
There’s a long pause before a disappointed sigh could be heard. Satoru could tell it was directed towards himself instead of you. “She was going through it, so she locked herself in a room for years?”
“Not literally,” he scoffs. “Look, all I know is she was dealing with depression and now she’s all anti-social because of it.”
“She should’ve fuckin’ said something then.”
“Well, she fuckin’ didn’t.”
“That’s–”
“If that’s an opinion, it doesn’t matter,” he cuts the man off, starting to grow impatient. Satoru has adhd— the severe, annoying kind. There’s only so much he could handle before getting the violent urge to scream out random noises. “I’m just gonna give you her number so you can talk to her if you want. Who knows, she might even open up to you more since you were the one closest to her.”
“I don’t want her n—”
“YES YOU DO.” Satoru yells, leaving Sukuna more appalled than annoyed. “I just sent it. BYE.”
click.
Sukuna glares at his phone for a moment as if it were an extension of Satoru, convinced he was dropped as a child or something and just doesn’t know it. He knows he definitely wouldn’t tell his kid if he dropped them as a baby.
He relaxes his tensed brows and shakes his head as he pulls up the number Satoru sent. For some reason, he expected it to be your old number that he still somehow knew by heart.
He hates that he remembers it.
He also hates that the actual reason why you disappeared isn’t as dumb and selfish as he wanted it to be.
. . . . . .
In the three weeks he’s had your number, he hasn’t tried reaching out. He also hasn’t accepted any invitations to hang out with anyone as a group, despite being told that you were okay with him showing up. Part of it was spite, the rest being him genuinely tired from work.
His old man’s been taking more time off under the guise of letting him ‘take over for the day’. He acts so gracious with it, too, as if Sukuna should be thankful for the opportunity, when really, Wasuke should just fucking retire already so he can hire someone else to take his place as site manager. He’s essentially working two jobs now and when he asked for a raise, that old piece of shit laughed so hard that he damn near coughed up fifty years worth of cigarette tar.
You’d think watching his father nearly hack up an entire lung would be enough to make him quit smoking himself, but that shit pissed him off so bad that he smoked three cigarettes in a row just to calm down before going back to work. It still pisses him off. He doesn’t regret taking $50 out of that old man's wallet on his way out to cover his gas for the day. He honestly should’ve taken more.
It’s been months since he’s gotten home at a decent time. Tonight was probably the worst thus far.
He drags his feet into his apartment and kicks off his boots, heavy eyes landing on the clock that’s two minutes away from 10:00 pm.
The next ten minutes are spent shoveling leftovers into his mouth, followed by a hot shower that was mainly spent just standing there, zoning out as the hot water hit his back. It’s been days since he’s jacked off, realizing it doesn’t even give him the urge, his sex drives plummeted all the way down to hell. He just wants to sleep at this point.
Except when his head hits the pillow, he’s wide awake. It doesn’t help that he ends up scrolling through instagram— there was hardly a point for someone that barely followed anyone to begin with.
There’s not much to scroll through. The most interesting thing being a recent post of Suguru’s night. He absentmindedly looks through them, then pauses at the 4th photo of you and Shoko with your little drinks in hand.
You were barely smiling.
Your lips curved just enough for the camera— nothing like the photos of you from before, grinning and laughing. That’s how he’s always remembered you.
Would it have even made a difference if he told you not to move so far away for school? It’s not like he could’ve known, you never said anything. He thought you were doing just fine and you deleted everything one day and changed your number.
He taps the photo to see who’s tagged. Just Shoko. You still haven’t gotten back on social media, no profile to see what you’ve been up to. All he knows about you is that you moved back to the area after graduation and scored a cozy finance job without telling anyone. The only reason why you got in touch with Shoko again was because she ran into you at some bakery and made you give her your number.
It didn’t even matter if you did have a new phone with no contacts by the time you moved back. You didn’t need to text him or call him, you could’ve just shown up. Sure, he might’ve been annoyed at first, but he wouldn’t have turned you away.
You’ve known each other since 8 years old, you disappeared at 19. That’s his whole childhood right there. You played together, ate lunch together, walked to school together until he got a car, ditched school together. You had your own shampoo and toothbrush at his and would just use his clothes if you didn’t have a spare set with you.
It’s just dumb.
Still thinking about it, that is. It’s been years. It may have been fine to still be thinking about it at 21 or 22, but now it’s just ridiculous.
. . . . . .
You aren’t expecting Sukuna to warm up any time soon. At all, really. You couldn’t blame him for the reaction he had seeing you at Kento’s birthday. If there was one person that deserved an explanation, it was him, and you’re just about seven years too late for that.
He wasn’t the same person you knew. You couldn’t just go up to him expecting that you’d get to have a conversation. A civil one, at least.
It’s been years.
And honesty, it might not even be about being several years too late. He’s a grown man, why would he care about a childhood friend that just up and left?
All there’s left to do now is to stay out of his way. You’re sure his temper’s the same and the last thing you want is to bug him. Hopefully being at a kids birthday party shields you from it in the case that you accidentally do. From what you heard, he seems close enough with Toji to know not to fuck with his sons special day.
It’s not all bad. Toji couldn’t come to Kento’s birthday since his wife and son woke up sick that day, so you were more excited than nervous for today since you’d get to meet them.
This time it was you that picked up Ieiri. You felt a little guilty for being the one that constantly got rides, despite having a running car of your own. Once you two got to the little park in their neighborhood, everyone was already there, including Sukuna, who was stuck having to watch his nephew that you’ve heard about through Choso.
The biggest plot twist of all was probably learning that Jin is now technically Choso’s stepfather. You knew Choso had a teen mom, you didn’t know she was that young, though. You also had no idea how much of a milf hunter Jin was, either.
Jin apparently didn’t know that was Choso’s mother. No one believes him, especially not Sukuna, who still looks at two like they’re a couple of fucking sickos for making him Choso’s step-uncle.
The kid’s name is Yuji, and he looks just like Jin and Sukuna when they were kids. He’s the same age as Toji’s son, who’s turning 3 today. Yuji acts nothing like his father or his uncle. Jin was always quiet and sensitive. Sukuna was sensitive, too, but he was always very vocal about the things that annoyed him. The toddler was more like Gojo, hopped up on sugar and bouncing off the walls.
Sukuna calls out to him like an angry mother at a grocery store, gritting his teeth as he tells the kid to, “get your ass over here, NOW,” all while Yuji pretends not to hear or see him…. up until Sukuna gets up from the bench, which is when the little boy decides to run back to him, whining about how he’s sorry and how he didn’t know.
Megumi’s more quiet and follows Yuji around. He even ran back to Sukuna with the boy, worried that his friend's uncle was going to leave him at the park too, even though his father was at the grill just a few feet away.
Watching the two boys play is adorable, but you try not to look too much in an attempt to avoid making eye contact with the grumpy uncle, which ends up becoming more difficult than you’d imagined. The kid eventually wore him out to the point where he managed to slip out his view.
Yuji didn't go very far.
“...es’cuse me?”
You feel a little tug at your shorts and look down to find an incredibly worried Yuji, who should’ve gone to an adult he knew, but here he was after quickly deciding you were the trusted adult for whatever problem he had.
“What’s wrong?” You crouch down, getting at eye level. “Are you okay?”
“No,” he shakes his head, pointing to his feet. “I donno how to tie my shoes.”
“You don’t?” you ask, sounding just as concerned. “Do you want me to tie them for you?”
He pouts. “Yes, please.”
Your heart melts at his little voice. “Aw, okay.”
Like any other kid, Yuji’s amazed at how fast adults can tie shoelaces, unable to keep up with the strings crossing and looping around each other to create the little bow at the end.
“Yay!” He claps his hands, jumping in excitement. “We can play again, Gumi!”
Megumi thinks to celebrate with his friend, but closes his mouth right after opening it.
Then you’re startled by a scoff made directly behind you. “You make a stranger tie your shoes and you can’t even say thank you?”
The last to freeze is Yuji, who side-eyes him, rather than turning to face him. “Um.. ya I did..”
“No you didn’t?!” The toddler's ability to lie over something so simple amazes and offends the man at the same time. Does Yuji seriously think he’s that stupid? “I watched you lie about not knowing how to tie your shoes and then I watched you try to run off with even thanking her.”
“I donno how to tie my shoe!” Yuji stomps a foot on the ground to prove whatever point he thought he was making.
“Yes, you do— now thank her, before I take your shoes away.”
“Oh no, not my shoes!”
“Yeah. Bye bye, shoes.” Sukuna snorts, clearly enjoying this. “You’re a big boy now, remember? You don’t need them.”
“Yes, I do!” Yuji whines.
“Then have some manners and say thank you.” Sukuna continues to glare at the kid while pointing at you.
“Thank you for tying my shoe,” Yuji tightly grabs the bottom of his t-shirt with both hands and bows at you, then turns to his uncle and starts whimpering. “Don’t eat my shoes, Unkakuna! I need them!”
Sukuna’s even more annoyed now at how specific that was. “Who said I was gonna eat them?!”
“I dunno! You eat everything!” Yuji claims, bottom lip quivering and all, making his uncle's eye twitch in disbelief. “It’s all stuck in your big belly.”
Sukuna’s face drops, as if he didn’t see a 6-pack in the mirror this morning with his own eyes.
“I don't have a goddamn belly,” he scolds him through a clenched jaw, then lowers his tone as he begins to crouch down. “Do you want me to hit your Papa Jin?”
“No!!!”
“Then quit acting like I eat everything in sight, you little shit.”
Yuji scratches the back of his head as he continues to whine, trying to force a couple tears out. Eventually he turns to you. “He’s gonna hit my papa with his big belly.”
“Uh-oh. That's not nice,” you begin to laugh, all while Sukuna grumbles something about Jin being the one with love handles.
“Papa gonna cry,” he claims, continuing to act distraught over the news, trying to get all the sympathy he can from you. “My poor papa.”
You giggle. “I don’t think he’ll hit your papa, though.”
“He’s gonna EAT my papa!” Yuji stretches his arms out, emphasizing how big of a meal that would be for Sukuna. As if it couldn't get any worse, Yuji finds a random basketball and tries to stuff it under his shirt. “Then his belly will be big like THIS.”
“Stop it,” Sukuna snaps, pointing off into the distance behind the kid. “Get out of here before I barbecue you on that grill Mr. Toji’s using.”
“Hey!” Yuji gasps. “You can’t do that!”
“You can barbecue anything when you have barbecue sauce, Yuji.” he informs the kid, then notices a mortified Megumi standing off to the side. “You’re next.”
“DAAAADDDDYYYYYYYY.”
The boys run to Toji at full speed. Yuji thinks it’s a game, but Megumi’s genuinely scared, sobbing as his father picks him. His dad’s obviously confused as to why his son’s crying like someone threatened to kill him. Once Megumi’s able to actually get a full sentence out as he points right as Sukuna.
If Megumi thought he was going to receive any sort of comfort from his father, he was dead wrong. Toji bursts out laughing and doesn’t stop, even when Megumi starts screaming and hitting him for not being more concerned over something so dire.
“Megumi says you’re not allowed to have any cake,” Toji yells out.
“I’m taking Yuji home if I don’t get a slice.”
Sukuna’s response has the two boys whining in the distance.
“NO barbecue me.” Megumi glares as he tries to strike a deal with the most difficult person he’s encountered so far in his short, yet stressful life.
“Give me three slices and I won’t barbecue you.”
“But Unkukuna, you’re belly!” Yuji rounds his arms out in front of him, emphasizing how detrimental those extra calories would be for his physique.
Everyone grows quiet as Sukuna stares him down, wondering who the fuck even taught him that. Whoever it was better pray to god that he doesn’t find out.
“I’m not gonna be your uncle anymore if you keep talking about my belly.”
Yuji reaches out in despair as he screams, “NOOO.”
“No? You don’t want that?” he asks, fighting back a smile.
Yuji throws his back dramatically, shaking his head. “NO.”
“That’s what I thought,” he barks, not bothering to hide how proud breaking Yuji down with a singular sentence made him. “Now ZIP IT.”
“KAY’.”
Yuji looks away for a moment to take a deep breath, trying to calm down, all while sneaking little peeks at Sukuna.
He quickly looks away after seeing that his uncle’s staring at him, then peeks again. It happens several times, yet his uncle hasn’t moved a muscle once as he continues to just look at the boy like he’s better than him.
What kind of a sick game is this?
Naturally, he grows irritated knowing Sukuna is winning whatever game this is, which isn’t fair since he’s already going to have three slices of cake later. Even one slice was pushing it, to tell you the truth. He was too young to put into words why it pissed him off. All he knows is watching Sukuna enjoy good things, that are meant for good people, will never sit right with his spirit.
By the time Sukuna decided to stop staring at the kid as a form of psychological warfare, you had already been awkwardly standing there for quite some time, unsure if you should leave or not. It was either look rude or look too comfortable, neither of which you wanted to come off as.
Sukuna wasn’t mad at you anymore. At least not since Gojo called and told him you were and still are dealing with some mental health stuff.
He wasn’t planning on talking to you today, either, purely because he didn’t believe he should have to apologize for giving someone a harmless look. But then he caught Yuji trying to get your attention and figured it would’ve been fine since 2 minutes with him would make anyone want to choose peace for the next hour.
You couldn’t tell what he was thinking when your eyes finally met his, but at least he wasn’t giving you that same disgusted look you got at Nanami’s birthday.
You weren’t the best at starting conversations outside of work, though, and quickly embarrassed yourself with how bad you stuttered while trying to find something to say, which ended up being an apology for tying the kids' shoe.
In turn, Sukuna looked at you like you were a fucking weirdo.
“What? No, it’s— that’s fine,” he waves a hand, still thrown off by the apology. “He just goes around annoying anybody he can.”
“Oh– don’t worry, he didn’t annoy me. He's adorable.”
You suppress a laugh as he shoots you a look saying he’s anything but that.
“He’s a pain in the ass,” he grumbles, already rubbing his eyes from how tired he is. “We passed around a baseball for an hour before coming here and he’s still running around trying to convince people that I’m a fatass.”
He has to be at least 200 pounds of pure muscle and has the ass of a baseball player, so you neither confirm nor deny the words out of fear that you’d make yourself look stupid again. “He probably just likes your attention.”
“That’s the problem— he’s probably taken 10 years off my life already because of it,” he smiles a little, obviously more fond of the kid that he lets on.
You avert your gaze as you find yourself smiling as well. “His poor parents.”
“They have good life insurance, he’ll be set.”
“Oh, I'm sure,” you laugh with him until it dies down into another awkward silence. You’ve barely looked at him and try not to think too much about it after the realization. Having a conversation with him was surprising enough. Difficult on your end, too, but you pushed yourself. “How’ve your dad and Jin been?”
“Jin’s been good, he’s—” he huffs out a laugh, “you know he went and made Choso his fuckin’ stepson right?” He openly points at Choso, not very worried about getting caught.
“Yeah,” you nod, just as surprised by it, more so by the fact that Choso and Yuji and brothers.
“Well. He’s still going strong with Kaori. Just bought a house,” he struggles to list things worth sharing— aside from the mommy kink, his brother’s pretty boring. Sukuna quickly moves on to Wasuke, who he has no issue talking about. “Old man’s driving me nuts. Says he wants to retire, instead he just takes a bunch of days off and pretends he’s doing me a favor by letting me play boss while he’s gone, so now I’m doing my job and his.”
“You’re working for the company?”
He sighs deeply. “Yeah.”
It pains him to say, remembering all that talk about him wanting ‘something of his own’ when he was younger. Now here he is, set to take over daddy’s company.
“I mean… it’s already there,” you try to offer some words of reassurance, being the one that heard most of the said talk. “All you have to do is maintain it once it’s yours.”
“Exactly,” his tone changes, less ashamed of pulling the nepo baby card. “I’m not tryna work any harder than I should at this point.”
“Does he pay you extra on the days he’s off, at least?”
“Fuck no.” He laughs, even though there is nothing funny about being exploited at his grown age. “Yeah— nope— he works me like a fuckin’ dog.”
Hence why he’s been helping himself to whatever cash is in the old man’s wallet and whatever food he has in his pantry when he visits. He makes good money to begin with, so it’s not like he can’t afford any of it, it’s just the principal.
He’ll take Wasuke’s toilet paper, too.
That old man has one year to either give him a raise or retire completely before couches and T.V.s start to go missing.
“Old man’s been good, though… still kickin’,” he mutters, then stops himself before saying something really fucked up, “What’ve you been up to?”
You shrug as you let out an indecisive hum, knowing you didn’t have much to share. “Nothing really— work usually has me pretty busy.”
He’s well aware of how boring of a life you have, but still tries to push for more details. “Yeah? Suguru says you’re in finance now.”
“Mhm,” you nod, growing shy, “portfolio manager.”
“You spend the day telling people what to do now?” he asks as if he were almost impressed.
“Not really,” you laugh. “A lot of it’s research, reporting, meeting with clients, I— yeah, I mainly just take care of more of the sensitive stuff. If my manager hat’s on, it’s usually just collecting reports from the other managers or figuring out what’s going on with their teams if they’re not performing the way they need to.”
He nearly barks out a laugh.
You look at him with confusion. “What?”
“So instead of managing a bunch of people, you just terrorize their managers?”
“I don’t terrorize them,” you murmur, shifting in place. “It’s their job to make sure that their teams are performing well and if they aren’t—”
“You ask them why they aren’t doing their jobs,” he finishes your sentence with an amused grin. “Then they sit there for the next hour, trying to come up with an answer for that.”
You pause for a moment, wondering if he has to do the same. “Well— kind of.”
You don’t have time to sit there and listen for an hour, nor do you want to. The longest one went just over twenty minutes before you had to stop her.
“Listen, Linda— I,” you stopped to think twice about what you were going to say, “I’m just asking why there’s been a dip in the performance, I really don’t need an entire life story for that. Why don’t we take a few steps back— how has your team been?”
“Well… uhm… well… they…” You nodded, thinking it’d encourage her, and it did, but 5 minutes later she went off course to talk about her failing marriage, again. “And then Dave, he—”
“Is Dave a new hire?”
Her eyes dried right up. “No… Dave is my husband.”
You knew damn well who Dave was, but she was starting to get on your nerves.
“Okay, let’s talk about your team right now… this is about work— Dave doesn’t work here.” You tried your best to be patient with her, but it was like teaching a kindergartener how to self regulate. “I wanna know things like how everyone’s been mentally— are they eating, are they getting enough sleep, are they taking their breaks? Are they having to work through them?”
She didn’t know. She just wanted to give you a sob story so you’d let her off the hook. So, when she mentioned Dave a third time:
“This isn’t working,” you murmur to yourself as you turn to your computer and start typing. “I’m going to make a little worksheet for everyone, including you. Think of it as a peer review. You’ll have one for each team member and each team member will have one for you. I think that’ll be an easier way to get to the bottom of things.”
Instead of excusing herself, she stares at you like a deer in headlights.
“There’s no need to wait on me by the way, I’ll have them emailed out to everyone within the next hour.”
On the rare occasion that you do have to ask performance related questions, you send them the same exact worksheet so they have an idea of what you wanted to talk about— which is the only part you mention to Sukuna. He’d probably accuse you of terrorizing Linda when you know you could’ve been ten times worse.
You’re just glad he didn’t ask about any of the other stuff you had to do.
Sometimes you wished you spent your days in Linda’s professional shoes— god forbid you ever had to deal with a man like Dave. Her job was less demanding than yours. More human. Working with others and collaborating with them must be great in terms of keeping you grounded— normal people, that is.
You wouldn’t consider any of the people you answer to now as normal. The stakeholders, clients, the higher ups, Yaga— they’re all fucking crazy. You couldn’t just pretend like they were normal, you had to match their energy and in some cases, you had to be worse to finish whatever job you were tasked to do, which drove you closer to their territory with each day that passed.
“Do you like it there?” Sukuna looks at you and asks, tone fond and filled with warmth, as if he were proud of you.
In the same moment you realize that you were only fooling yourself earlier when you tried to believe that he hated you.
You wish you could turn back time by just a few seconds to change the subject. You didn’t want to answer a question that he clearly wanted a yes to— you’re sure it’d make him feel better about knowing you chose to spend all those years alone, when you had someone would’ve easily stayed by your side.
You grew stiff, eyes glossing at the question because you hated the real answer to it.
“Not really,” you murmur, almost ashamed to admit it. “That’s kinda how I feel about most things, though.”
It was true. You don’t even know why you’re wishing for a job like Linda’s, you always came off as cold and hardly spoke to others before the big promotion.
He didn’t know what to say to that, he wasn’t even sure if there were any words you could give to someone as apathetic as you sounded when answering. It’s not like he was the type to offer anything encouraging to begin with. Instead, he stayed quiet, comfortable in the silence as he let his own mind run free for a bit.
Just as you were starting to think you made him uncomfortable—
“Did anyone have to drag you here today?” he asks.
“No.”
“So you chose to come to soot sprites' birthday?” he asks, as judgmental as ever.
You smile. “I did.”
He gently rests his hand on top of your head, leaving you with a familiar sense of comfort as he leaned in. “You’re not doing too bad then.”
“Uncle-Kunaaaaaaa!” The man looks up to see his nephew sprinting towards him. “My tummy growling!!”
“This kid’s always coming up with the most extra ways to say things,” he mutters under his breath as he pulls away. “So you’re hungry?”
Yuji slows down the closer he gets, until he’s skipping towards the man. “Yeah. Mr. Toji says he make chicken sticks.”
Sukuna looks at Yuji the way he always does whenever the kid decides to rename something. “You mean skewers?”
“Yeah, chicken sticks,” Yuji nods, confidently repeating himself, because Sukuna was obviously wrong, even though Toji said skewers, too. Both men obviously don’t know what they’re talking about.
The man actually looked to you for help, and given how it’s an issue between a 3 year old rage baiter and a grown man that will make time to argue with a child, you decide to stay out of it.
“That sounds yummy,” you say to Yuji, and you could feel Sukuna glaring at you for not even bothering to call them skewers, too. “You guys should probably grab some before Suguru arrives, he loves chicken and leftovers.”
Sukuna lets out a mixture of a scoff and a laugh since it’s true, but if anyone’s taking those skewers home, it’s him.
Which is why he lets Yuji start to pull him away to get some.
. . .
Getting to talk to you more, after being pulled away from Yuji, hardly counted since it was with groups of other people.
Luckily for Sukuna, your car’s parked right next to his and you’re leaving at the same time he’s trying to get the little brat in his car seat. He’s half asleep and won’t let go— each time he physically tries to pry Yuji off of him, he does this weird muted scream.
He’s about 2.5 seconds away from wrestling this kid when he hears someone.
“Bye.”
It comes off as a little unnatural, but it’s in more of an awkward ‘I don’t know if I should say goodbye to you right now’ way.
Sukuna turns around. “Oh, wait—”
His hand slides into his pocket, only to find it empty, then realizes it’s in the pocket of his jacket. The side where Yuji’s on and won’t leave. You stay in the place the whole time, wondering if he’s aware of how funny he looks grumbling to himself as he checks all his other pockets.
He eventually finds his business card, then rolls his eyes after realizing he’s about to give you a business card, because he’d rather not tell you he already has your number. To add salt to injury, he didn’t even need to pull his phone out, because the goal was to give you his number.
“Here.” He hands the semi-decent card over for you to take, surprised it’s not more broken down since he’s always leaving them in his pockets, even when he’s throwing his clothes in the washer. “You don’t have to of course, but feel free to reach out if you’re interested in catching up sometime over lunch or something.”
“Yeah, that’d be nice.” You look at the card, flipping it over a couple times. “Um… I don’t actually… need this, though.”
He stares at you for a moment, wondering if it was just some pathetic, last minute excuse to turn him down.
“I already have it,” you shyly admit, handing the card back to him as if it were better off going to someone else. “Satoru gave it to me a couple weeks ago. I just wasn’t sure if you wanted to hear from me.”
“Fair enough.” He shrugs, reluctant to say more— he might be down to catch up, but he’s still not apologizing for his face. “Shoot me a text sometime, then. I wouldn’t mind.”
“Yeah, I will.” You smile a little, trying to hide a bit of the excitement that was starting to bubble up. “Alright, well— it was nice seeing you.”
“Yeah, you too.”
. . . . . .
‘You’re not doing too bad.’
It took around 3 months after the words left Sukuna’s mouth to actually start believing them.
It’s not like your life was crazy interesting now. It just slowly started to fill up with things you looked forward to over time. Whether it be hanging out with others or simply sitting in your living room with a latte you took your time making. Your apartment started to feel more like a home with each new addition you added to it. You were nowhere near done, but you found yourself enjoying the process of casually looking through items and randomly falling in love with different ones.
The newest addition was a painting you saw a year ago and decided not to buy, despite how much you loved it. You stood in that gallery for over an hour, convincing yourself that it would never get that much attention from you again once you took it home. You were convinced that it’d find a way to collect dust in a space that felt as sterile as yours, and left it for someone that had a home where it wouldn’t.
You found it again in a consignment store with a big coffee stain on the side of the canvas. The person who ended up buying it probably got rid of the moment it spilled. They didn’t even bother hanging it up, and most likely had it on some counter before the accident happened. By the time you got to it, it was collecting dust with dozens of other paintings leaned against the wall since they weren’t good enough to be hung up.
You paid less than a quarter of it was originally worth, but a part of you thinks you would’ve purchased it for its original price if it meant you got to take it home. You’ve thought about it nearly everyday since you stepped out of that pristine gallery, after all.
Sukuna stared at it for a while before hanging it up. You can’t remember how the conversation started, but he came over and put it up for you after finding out you were going to do it yourself, claiming you didn’t have the right tools. You probably don’t.
It wasn’t until the canvas was up on the wall when he finally asked the question you had been expecting to get after you caught him looking at it funny.
“That brown stuff on the bottom corner is a part of the whole thing, right?”
“Nope.”
He just stood there and continued staring at the damn thing with you, waiting silently for an explanation that he soon realized he’d never get on his own.
“Are coffee stains some new trend I don’t know about?”
He was dead serious. It was almost funny how he couldn’t believe that you’d just buy something that was stained like that.
“Nope, not a trend.”
He continued to stare at you, so utterly confused as to why you want that thing hung up on your wall when you could just walk into one of those art shops and buy a new one. It’s not like you couldn’t afford it, he’s seen some of the shit you own and you’re clearly not bothered by commas on a price tag.
You eventually told him the story. He probably still didn’t get it, but that didn’t really matter.
“How cute,” he says rather boredly, wondering why you couldn’t just tell him that in the first place. “You didn’t buy it for more than 50% of its price, right?”
You shoot him an annoyed look. “I spent almost an entire year sulking over it, do you seriously think the price of it matters at this point? I wanted it.”
“You probably ended up cursing the damn thing so no one else could have it. People don’t usually spill coffee on paintings.” he says, starting to laugh the longer he thought about it.
You don’t laugh with him, but he does catch the proud look on your face as you walk away, just happy to have it. He walks after you with another question in mind, hoping now was an okay time since he always forgets.
“Mind me asking why you’re just now starting to furnish the place?”
You shrug. “I was just always too tired to get out of bed. If it wasn’t for work, I wasn’t getting up,” you remind him. “Too many choices to make, too. I’d get overwhelmed and stop looking for stuff.”
“Yeah, there’s a lotta shit out there,” he murmurs, helping himself to one of the white claws in your fridge.
The can cracks open and he takes a sip, looking over your living room that’s become a bit more filled in since the first time he came over to help you put your couch together. The place was so empty that he automatically assumed you had recently moved in.
He’s been helpful since Megumi’s birthday— at least he tries to be.
It never feels forced, most of the time it’s just him asking if you wanna come along to a place he was already going to, just to get you out of the house.
He also asks how you’re actually doing, a lot— figuring you were just someone that needed some extra support, given how one lonely, difficult semester made you isolate yourself to the point where you started to believe you weren’t worth missing.
Once, he almost asked how you could’ve ever put him into that category. He loved you, both platonically and not platonically. But he never asked, the past is the past and that’s probably just how it is when someone’s spirit’s in the dumps.
He’s far from a therapist and never has any advice to give, but he was surprisingly good at getting you out of your head— pull you back to reality, without the reality check. You’ve obviously had more than enough of them. It’s why he doesn’t bother being harsh with you, at all. Even during the times he’s come off as more straightforward, you don’t feel any judgement or malice behind his words. The last thing he wanted was to say or do something that made you think you couldn’t give him a call.
It’s probably why you’re so comfortable with having him come over and why you don’t mind telling him certain things, like the fact that you spent most of your free time sleeping at one point. He never bats an eye. He just wants to be around you, like he’s always had.
“Summers’ coming up. Getting anything for the balcony?” he asks, nodding in the direction of its doors.
You turn your head, looking over at the empty space. “What would I even get?”
He’s mid-sip when you ask, but hums in acknowledgment. “Some seating, a little table, maybe a fire pit if you’re feeling extra crazy.”
You fight back a smile, “Oh? Thanks, asshole.”
“You might be a grandma, but I never said there’s nothing wrong with it.”
“I’m trying not to be, okay.” You give him the finger as you walk to the fridge, hoping he didn’t take the last seltzer. Seconds later you’re cracking one open yourself.
He chuckles at the little pout you get on your face when you’re offended. “I’m just fuckin’ with you— you’re fine.”
“I guess,” you murmur, leaving him in the kitchen to go take a seat on the couch.
He trails behind you, leaving enough space between the two of you as he takes a seat on the couch he nearly lost his mind trying to put together. The instructions were in a language so uncommon that most people go about their lives without knowing about it.
“What do you mean you guess?”
“I don’t know,” you murmur. “Kinda feel guilty for all the years I lost, I wish I could get them back.”
“I bet,” he leans back in his seat. “You ever considered making more time for yourself, now?”
“What do you mean?”
“Taking some time off. Could be a week, could be a couple months. You could even try working part time for a little. You have a savings, I’m sure you could get away with taking a break.”
“Oh— yeah, I have actually. The company has really good benefits, though. It’s kinda why I haven’t even tried to leave,” you turn towards him, leaning against the arm rest as you hug your knees. “I’ve been considering asking for a demotion, though.”
You’re not quite sure how Yaga would handle that. You’ve been coming up with different ideas all month— a hybrid schedule, switching to a 4 day work week, maybe leaving early some days, a demotion. You’re sure taking on another role would have its own difficulties, but it’d be easy to handle compared to all you do now. The workload you have really should be split between two people, maybe even three.
“That’d definitely be a lot less work,” he remarks, still shocked at all the shit he has you do.
“A lot less— I’m hoping Yaga agrees to one of them. If not, I might just find some place else. I could probably take a few months off then. Free time does sound nice.”
“Yeah you could sleep in, hang out with anyone who’s free, find a hobby, go on a date—“
His last suggestion gets shut down with a laugh. “Yeah, right.”
“What?” he smirks.
“I suck at dating,” you inform him. “I don’t even know how to anymore.”
He snorts. “That’s a little dramatic, no?”
“It’s true— last time I went on one was three years ago.”
He raises his brows, then flatly asks, “Three?”
“Don’t judge me,” you grumble.
“M’not. It’s just— 3 years of completely nothing?”
“God— obviously.” You hide your face in embarrassment. “You are judging me right now.”
“I’m not,” he laughs, taking another sip. “Just a long time to go without having someone take care of you.”
"Well I slept through most of it anyway so I'm fine,” you roll your eyes, annoyed at how he’d even make a joke like that when he knows you can support yourself just fine without anyone’s help.
“You’re awake right now, though.”
“So?” you scoff.
“I can take care of you, if you want,” he offers.
“Not funny,” you murmur, just about ready to kick his ass out.
At first, he’s confused as to why his little offer had you that offended. Then after a minute, it clicks. Since you refuse to look at him, you miss the amused grin on his face after realizing you two are thinking about two entirely separate things in terms of ‘being taken care of’.
You only finally look at him when he gets up from where he’s sitting and there’s a shit eating smirk on his face, making you think he’s just being a dick and leaving.
Then he takes a seat right next to you, leg just barely brushing against yours.
“What are you d—”
“I think you’re a little confused here,” he says a little too calmly, throwing his arm over the backrest and leaning in way too close.
“Listen, I looked forward to hanging up that painting of yours all day, same goes for all the other stuff I’ve helped you out with.” You feel your cheeks start to warm as a result of the low, honeyed tone he’s using on you. “I really like helping you. It makes you a little happier, and with all the assholes I have to deal with everyday, it makes my day a lot better. So, why not just let me do a little more?”
“I don’t— what are you even talking about right now?” Your words come out all nervous and jumbled, failing to stay calm from how close this guy is.
“I’m talking about all the times I’ve caught you looking at my dick print.”
Your eyes widen in horror and he laughs.
“Yeah, you’re not slick,” he tucks some hair behind your ear and leans in closer. “C’mon— you’re not even at work right now and your mind’s still all over the place trying to find stuff to be stressed about. Aren’t you tired?”
Your heart pounds against your chest as you hesitate to answer. “I mean— yeah.”
“Let me fuck you then,” he murmurs, tracing the backs of his fingers down your arm. “You won’t have to think about anything, won’t have to do anything— just gotta take it. Super easy. Sounds fun, huh?”
“I… I don’t know,” you just barely whisper, shifting in your seat from all the nerves, looking like a deer in headlights.
“I think you do know.” He continues to toy with you as he waits for you to say anything else. Surprise: you never do.
“I’ll stop if you tell me to.”
You look like you’re about to have a panic attack and it’s adorable. “Stop what?”
“This.” He smiles, pressing a soft kiss right under your ear, humming against your skin, not missing the way it makes your breath hitch. Then he presses another one on your jaw, then another, getting closer to your lips and pulling back right before he does, meeting your glazed over, half lidded eyes.
He snakes a hand around the back of your neck and pulls you in, making your lips meet his. The first kiss is slow and gentle, letting you warm up to it. You put your legs down trying to get closer, not expecting for it to grow more heated, too.
An arm wraps around your waist and you're being pulled in to straddle his lap. His big hands roam around your hips and ass as you start to full on make out, grinding you down against something long and hard until you’re desperately panting against each other.
He gives your ass one last squeeze before finding the bottom of your shirt and pulling it up over your head, rushing to unclip your bra and tossing it in whichever direction the shirt went. A soft gasp slips through your lips once you feel the wet heat of his pierced tongue drag a slow stripe over your nipple, not thinking much about the way Sukuna smiled at you afterwards.
You should’ve braced yourself for the level of greed you were about to experience.
Many minutes later, your tits are covered in spit and you’re failing to bite back moans out of self preservation.
And it’s fucking hard.
Sukuna’s groaning and dragging a heavy tongue over each nipple 1, 2, 3, 4 times before wrapping his lips around them and starts sucking. He goes back and forth between each, pulling away with a wet, lewd pop before moving on to the next. At first, he’d replace his mouth with his fingers— rubbing, rolling, and pinching on the sensitive bud so it’s not completely neglected while he works on the other one.
They’re now firmly planted on your hips, because apparently he needs the extra friction. So now your shorts are soaked through and you’re trying not to cum as he continues to push you down back and forth against his cock.
Your fingers are digging into his shoulders, the moans you’re struggling to bite back come out as whines and the one thing that actually pulls one out of you is when Sukuna’s palm cracks down on your ass.
“Come here.”
He pulls you in by the back of your neck and swallows all the little sounds you try not to make with a kiss messier than the last.
The air's hot and heavy once he breaks it. A small string of saliva hangs on and then breaks as you pull away, already looking like a mess while trying to catch your breath.
“Bed?”
“Yeah,” you nod, sounding more desperate.
“Thought so,” he stifles out a laugh as he suddenly gets up, easily taking you with him as he makes the short walk to your bedroom.
He sets you down on the mattress before pulling his shirt over his head. The buckle of his belt lightly clinks as he undoes it to take his pants off, leaving just his boxers on that leave little room for imagination. He leans forward, hooking his fingers over the waistband of your soaked fucking shorts, taking them off along with your panties in one go.
You don’t even get the opportunity to be shy around Sukuna because he's immediately grabbing the backs of your thighs and letting out a low whistle while pulling them apart to get a good look at how wet you already are.
“Shit— look at you,” he groans.
Without warning, he dips his head down in between your thighs, and he licks a long, fat stripe up your slit, not missing the extra friction from the metal ball on his tongue. There’s a shit eating smirk on his face when his head comes up, teasing you as he pushes you back further up the bed to make more room for himself.
“Told you this was fun.”
“Shut up.” You giggle as you watch him get settled back in between your thighs, only for it to die out once he dips his head back down.
He draws a long sigh out of you once he starts to slowly lap at your sensitive clit. He goes at an unhurried pace, just barely using any pressure and you’re sure he’s just doing it to fuck with you. With the way you are right now, the lazily licks are fucking torture, making you squirm around while you clench around nothing.
The more you move, the tighter his grip around the back of your thighs gets, until you find yourself pinned in place as he finally starts to pick up the pace, adding more pressure until that metal ball starts swiping across your clit like you need it to. You focus on it, until it gets ripped away once you finally feel his tongue press flat against your hole and begins dragging heavy stripes up to your clit.
Your breathing grows sharp and uneven, hand moving down to his head, locking strands of hair in between your fingers as drawn out moans start spilling past your lips. He goes from pressing his tongue against your entrance to pushing past it, dipping further and further until deciding to just stay there and fuck you with it.
The shallow thrusts have you squeezing and clenching, back arching off the bed, desperate for more. You nearly let out a pathetic cry when he pulls away, but then he fills the empty space right back up with not one, but two of his fingers. They’re long and thick, and he’s curling them in. The pads of his fingers rub right up against that spot inside that has you seeing stars.
Through half-lidded eyes, you watch as he starts to pump them in and out faster, until a light squelch can be heard. “Oh fuuuck.”
“You like my fingers?” he asks with a low, amused hum.
You nod. “Feels so good— oh my god.”
“I bet— look at how fuckin’ soaked they are from you.” He pulls them all the way out for you to see, then stuffs them back in. He starts curling faster, thumb pressing your clit and rubbing little circles until you’re clenching and whining. “Yeahh— that’s it, show me how good that feels.”
He keeps hitting your sweet spot until something in you shifts, making you close your legs out of instinct, only for him to keep them open so he can keep going.
“Oh my god— fuck— wait!” you cry out.
“What’s wrong, baby? Gonna cum?” Instead of letting up, he goes faster, letting the room continue to fill up with the filthy sounds of his fingers scissoring into your cunt, pushing you over the edge until you give him what he wants.
And he gets it quick. You let out a sharp cry as you gush around him, finally cumming after holding it in from earlier.
“Fuuck yeah, there you go,” he rasps, fingers slowing down as he works you through it.
He waits for you to catch your breath before leaning forward and kissing you a couple times, humming with each one.
“Tired or you wanna keep goin’?” he asks.
You’re still trying to catch your breath as you answer. “Yeah, keep going.”
“Atta girl.”
He pushes himself off the bed to take the boxers off and your eyes widen at his cock that’s bigger than you originally thought it’d be. It springs out of his boxers with multiple piercings and precum smeared all over his darkened red tip.
And of course, you stare for longer than you should.
“You alright?” he asks, sounding cocky as hell, and actually having the right to be.
Taking your eyes off feels impossible— 3 rows of barbells on the underside of his shaft right below his tip, and another one on the underside of his tip. It almost feels wrong, he’s already long and thick.
“Yeah— I just— holy shit.”
“I know.” He says with full confidence as he gets back on the bed and situating himself in between your legs. “Gonna be fun watching you take it.”
He grabs the backs of your knees and spreads your legs further apart, getting a better look at how wet you still are, fighting back a smile knowing it’s from him.
He gives his cock a couple pumps, then looks at you, not sure whether you’re excited or nervous. “You ready?”
You look at him, then back down to the absolute monster he has in his hand, then back up at him.
“Mhm.”
He stares at you for a few seconds, then casually shrugs. “Alright.”
You’ll get used to it.
He runs the head of his cock through your slick folds, tapping it over your clit a couple times, making you a bit more nervous after feeling the cold metal ball from his piercing nudging at your entrance.
He pushes in, and you both have the same reaction to how easy it slides in despite how tight of a fit it was. You take in a sharp breath as he starts to sink in, inch by inch, with no resistance, all while feeling an immediate stretch and the added friction from each piercing.
Once he’s halfway through, he slowly starts to rock his hips back and forth and you find yourself having to bite back on a moan, realizing those piercings were also rubbing back and forth against your walls.
“You doin’ okay?” he raises a brow, clearly enjoying the sight.
“You’re so fucking big,” it almost sounds like a complaint.
“I am,” he hums, leaning down and caging you in with his arms. “I’m gonna push the rest in.”
“How much is there left?”
“You’ll be fine.”
He thrusts right in and you're letting out a shattered gasp. At the same time, he’s humming in satisfaction since he got to watch the whole thing.
“Fuckin’ tight,” he murmurs, giving you a moment to get used to how stuffed you are, stealing a few kisses while he’s at it since he’s not entirely an asshole. “Remember what I said, all you gotta do is take it.”
You don’t get a chance to respond before he’s pulling out all the way and sliding back in, working up a pace as he stuffs you over and over again, dragging those small metal balls right over the spot that made your toes curl.
It still took you a little bit of time getting used to him though, all words dying at your throat once he started to actually fuck you like it was nothing. Feeling betrayed by your body for letting him stretch you so easily like this.
Each drive of his cock has you moaning and gasping, making you cover your mouth trying to hold them in— something he did not like since he pushed your hand away.
Then without warning, he shoves two fingers in your mouth.
“Mmmh— you look good with my fingers shoved in your mouth like this. Now suck.”
You do as he says, swirling your tongue around his digit a few times before he presses them down it, making you softly moan as you sucked on them. He pulls them out with a wet pop and starts muttering in your ear.
“Don’t cover that pretty little mouth again, alright?”
Thrust.
“Fuck— okay,” you whine back.
“Good girl.” He gives you another rough thrust, pulling another choked noise out of you. “Don’t try to hold out on me thinkin’ snot and tears are gonna turn me off, cry on it if you have to. I like it ugly.”
At first you wanted to cry from how fucking mean that was, only to realize that urge to cry may have just been from that one spot he wouldn’t stop hitting, which eventually stopped being overwhelming once you finally get used to him.
“See? That wasn’t so bad now, was it?” he asks, though it was more of a condescending remark rather than a question. “Bet this feels good now, huh?”
“It’s been a while,” you say in an attempt to defend yourself.
“Yeah, no kidding— pussy’s fuckin’ tight,” he says all smug, getting harder at just the thought. “Feels good like this.”
He brings your legs together and throws them over his broad shoulders. Moans start to spill out of your mouth the moment he starts hitting at an angle that manages to hit your clit too. His hips crack against your ass as he picks up the pace, slick spreading past your thighs as he pounds down deeper, bed steadily rocking from all the force behind each thrust.
“Shit— look at how much of a mess you made,” he groans once the wet squelch between you becomes unavoidably louder. “Did you squirt or somethin’? You’re fuckin’ soaked.”
“No. I don’t— nghh— who cares, just keep going.”
He looks at you in amusement, keeping the same pace as he pushes further back against your legs to go deeper, making you nearly squeal. “Is this what’s got you lying about squirting?”
“I didn’t squirt,” you say with an airy laugh. “Fuuck— just feels good.”
“Right,” he mutters slowly as he pushes back against you even more, slowing down until he’s just grinding against you. “What about this?”
It’s a full blown mating press at this point.
“Mhm— yeahh.” Your lips curl into a small smile. “Better, actually.”
“Good,” he hums.
He leans down to press his lips against yours while slowly picking up the pace again, soaking up all the sighs and soft moans he pulls out of you from the deep strokes of his cock, letting the base of it rub against your clit while his tip mushes against that special little spot inside.
The slow, lazy kisses go on for as long as they can, and for you, it’s when your teeth threaten to clash against each other each time his hips snap against you. By then, Sukuna’s going harder. He pulls all the way back, then drives back in— the force behind each thrust growing greater than the last.
“F-fuck— Kuna, that’s—”
“What? Too much?”
“No, no— keep going,” you damn near start pleading with him, feeling a little bit of pressure start build. “Don’t stop— please, I think I’m gonna—“
Your cunt stretches helplessly around him, feeling every inch and vein he stuffs into you over and over again as he fucks you with reckless abandon. The sight’s nothing but obscene as he fills the room with the sounds of him pounding you senseless.
“What’s wrong, baby?” he asks, honeyed and condescending. “Can’t take it?”
“I don’t– fuck– I don’t know.” Your words are cut off by sharp sudden gasps, feeling something unfamiliar build up. It’s not until he gives you one particularly rough thrust when tears start streaming down your cheeks.
“You poor thing.” If you hadn’t known any better, he sounded quite pleased with himself. He leans down to lick a fresh tear streaming down your cheek before going back to business. “Look at you, getting fucked so good that it’s making you cry. You’re probably close, aren’t ya?”
You take in a sharp breath, wondering how bad it would be if you did. You already thought you came. Instead, Sukuna’s right and he’s letting one of your legs back down, leaning in close and cradling your head while he continues to absolutely ruin you.
“Cum for me,” he murmurs. His fingers trail down to your clit and starts rubbing over it with just the perfect amount of pressure, making clenching like fucking crazy. “Thaaat’s it— c’mon. Give it to me.”
He drags his heavy cock all the way out with a wet schlick, then slams back in— again and again and again— pushing you over the edge until your nails are digging into his back and you’re breaking out into a cry.
You’re gushing around his cock and he keeps drilling into you like he’s trying to work as much as he can out of you— just powering through it. This is the hardest you’ve ever cum in your life, you’re fucking sobbing and he’s just encouraging it with the way he licks a stripe up your cheek, groaning about how fucking hot you look crying on his cock.
“Oh my g-god— I-I can’t— ffuck it’s too much—” your nails start to claw down his back as he drives you into overstimulation.
“I know— I’m so fuckin’ close,” he husks out, and you can tell he’s not entirely all here anymore. “Shhiittt almost there— keep squeezing me like that, baby— yeahh just like that,” his hips desperately slam into you, deep groans start to rumble out of his chest as he chases his own relief. “Fuck— ffuuck.”
He lets out the most drawn out guttural groan once it hits him. He slams in, burying his cock deep inside of you and flooding your walls with so much cum that it starts to spill out while he grinds every last drop of it out.
He pulls out but keeps you caged in underneath you, pressing lazy kisses against your lips with short uneven breaths in between, skin damp and glistening from sweat. It takes a moment to come back to reality, and for someone that doesn’t even know where to start, you’re surprisingly comfortable with the silence between you.
It eventually ends, though. You’re the first to break it.
“Did you still want me to go out on those dates you were talking about?”
Immediately he lets out a breathy laugh. “If you don’t mind me trying to fight them, then sure.”
. . . . . .
Six Months Later
You walk step inside Sukuna’s office, giddier than usual with the small pink cake you bought after handing in your resignation letter to Yaga. His feet are kicked up on the cherry oak wood desk and you doubt he’s doing anything work related. But he’s the boss, who’s going to yell at him? He does sit up straight once he sees you, though, ready to hear the news.
Unfortunately, he doesn’t get to hear it right away since you just had to look at the wall shelves and catch sight of something that wiped the smile off your face.
“Why is Yuji’s face crossed off in that photo?”
He rolls his eyes, “don’t worry, it’s whiteboard marker.”
“But why would you do that?” you continue to interrogate Sukuna, because unlucky for him, you two are the best of friends now.
Jin visited him earlier today and brought Yuji along. He started off the visit strong by pointing to Sukuna and asking his father ‘Does Uncle have a reezding hairline, too?’ and eventually took a look at the protein snacks he had in the corner, which made him look Sukuna up and down, and go “you eat too much.”
Sukuna rubs his temple as he grows annoyed again. “He called me fat and bald, so I told him we weren’t family anymore and crossed his face out to prove it.”
Despite the words that come out of Yuji’s mouth, the kid loves him in all of his grumpiness.
“So you made him cry?”
Yuji cried so hard that started dry heaving and nearly threw up. “No,” he grimaces. “He just pouted and said sorry.”
You look at him rather suspiciously as you grab a couple forks from his little snack station in the corner, but let it go this time.
He takes your silence as an opportunity to change the subject completely. “How’d your boss take the news?”
“Oh my god, he was distraught,” you reveal, still surprised over how panicked he looked when you turned in your resignation letter.
He waves a dismissive hand, believing it’s the least he deserved for not trying to meet you halfway when trying to cut some of your hours down and refusing to demote you.
“You’ll forget all about it after sleeping in tomorrow,” he reassures you before taking his first bite of cake.
“Yeah— I,” you give a nervous laugh, “okay, so about that.”
He stops chewing and just stares at you.
“I’m gonna stay with them.”
“What?” he almost snaps. “We’re going on vacation in a few weeks. I— what the fuck? What did you get a fuckin’ cake for then?!”
“We’re still going! He’s giving me that time off.”
“How charitable of him.” He snorts out a bitter laugh, then goes back to be mad. “I thought you hated that fuckin’ place?!”
“I did! But he offered to shorten my hours and said I could work from home.”
That piece of information does nothing for Sukuna, who is grumbling profanities under his breath, acting like he’s the one being forced to stay there. His words start going in one ear and out the other after telling yourself he’ll get it eventually, and take a bite out of the victory cake since you also got a small raise, despite the decrease in hours.
“Are you listening?”
“What?” you look up and ask, still chewing on the food.
“Tch– nothing.” Sukuna takes his aggression out on the cake by stabbing the damn thing when getting more. “He shoulda’ given you all that before you tried to quit if you were that important. Hell— he shouldn’t have dumped all that work on you in the first place.”
“He’s a greedy old man that’s hungry for money,” you remind him. “What else would you expect from him?”
Sukuna’s delusional and does this thing where he just assumes the world sees you the same way he does, and then when it doesn’t, he gets offended. Last week at the grocery store, someone reached for the produce in front of you and he snapped at them for not saying excuse me. Then he snapped at them again for not having any patience, given how you would’ve eventually moved.
“Whatever,” he gets up from his seat to grab a water from the mini-fridge and takes a sip, but before sitting back down, he stops next to you and gets at eye level. “If Mr. Crabs calls you while we’re gone, I’m ripping that phone out of your hand and cussing him the fuck out, you hear me?”
You suppress a laugh. “Loud and clear.”
“Good,” he says, stealing a quick kiss from you. “Proud of you.”
The sincerity in his tone pulls a smile out of you. “Thanks.”
He glances at the door, notices it’s locked, then places a hand on your thigh when the sudden realization that there was no one that could fire him hits him.
He gives it a squeeze. You already know what he’s thinking.
what happens when you keep ignoring simon riley? ⦂ 18+
⤿ pt i
"F-fuck! Simon, t-too much!"
He's got you folded in half with your knees almost completely pushed against your ears, while he holds you open by your plump thighs, his cock splitting you open.
He takes his time, each inch of his thick cock stretching your gooey walls with deliberate slowness. The wet, obscene squelches of his cock filling you and bottoming out slowly fills the room as he thrusts so deep inside you that your mind is starting to feel foggy.
"Hm. look at you." Simon grins, his voice smooth and soft like he's speaking to a lover. "Want me to leave you alone, you said? Could have fooled me, lil lady. With the way your greedy little pussy's sucking me in like she's trying to swallow my dick whole."
You nudge his hands off you and push your arms over your face to hide the way that it's contorted in pleasure. Showing him how good you feel won't do anything but prove how he's won against you yet again. He grunts in annoyance when you hide your face, and he draws back...
Withdrawing until just the tip of his cock remains nestled inside you, he slowly, torturously pushes back in until your pussy and guts stretch obscenely around his girth, wet, squelching sounds filling the room.
"Fuck... s'fuckin tight... you can hide all you want." He murmurs, still thrusting into you slowly. "This pussy knows the truth. Knows who it belongs to."
"I d-don't.. mmh! belong to you, idiot!"
Simon pauses at your words, almost amused at your backtalk. He likes when you give him attitude. Gives him a reason to be mean to you.
He pushes your legs open impossibly wider, nearly bending you in half with your legs up against your chest.
"You keep saying shit like that like it's going to get me mad." He laughs softly, before groaning with pleasure. "Maybe I get off to brats, pretty little thing, did you ever stop to think of that?"
You bite your lower lip so hard that it hurts to hide any noise you're making. If you lifted your head, you'd see the faint outline of his cock in your tummy and the way your pussy struggles to accommodate his size, and the look of rapt fascination on his flushed cheeks.
He pays no mind to your attempts at modesty, too focused on the wet, sloppy sounds of his cock churning up your insides. He sets a slow, punishing rhythm, pulling out until just the tip remained inside you before slamming back in, burying himself to the hilt with a filthy squelch.
"God... this pussy does dangerous things to me, y'know that?" Simon taunts. His cock churns up your soaked, velvety walls with each roll of his hips, your pussy clenching around him like a vice as you desperately attempt to adjust to his size.
You’re shaking, fingers curling into fists in the sheets underneath you. You’re not sure how much more you can take. He leans down, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks in a low, taunting murmur.
"Bet you're worried about me creaming in ya, huh?"
Your head finally leaves the crook of your arms to stare up at him in disbelief. Your whole body locks up, heat flashing through your tummy. "Yo-you wouldn't, I w-wouldn't let you," Simon uses the opportunity of you moving your arms to grab both your wrists in one hand and pin them over your head, his free hand still holding your thigh.
"Yeah you would." He snaps back, almost aggravated at your tone. "You'd let me. You know why? Because you want me. Just too damn proud to admit it."
He notches the tip at your entrance, slowing his thrusts, before slamming forward and forcing his girthy shaft deep inside you. "Look," He moans, looking at your tummy bulge. "You've got my cock poking outta you. Think your tummy'll bulge like this if i put a baby in you?"
"S-shut, mngh up! S-simon... m-more... f-feels so good" You moan out, but this time, he forces you to keep eye contact, and his gaze flicks between the way your small, fluttering hole stretches wide to accommodate his length, and the way your face is scrunched with tears tracking your cheeks and your lips raw from biting as he shoves his cock in you.
"Ha... d-don't tell me to shut up, like you're not the one moaning and crying like a bitch in heat." He retorts. Simon's cock impales you repeatedly, not stopping his thrust until his swollen, heavy balls rest against your ass.
Simon continues his relentless, sloppy assault, each thrust accompanied by the most vulgar noises. The obscene slap of skin on skin echoes through the room as he fucks you with deep, purposeful strokes. Your body jolts with every impact, tits bouncing lewdly as you try to stifle your cries.
He changes his angle slightly, and your tummy coils up tight into a knot as you feel your orgasm come crashing down, your back arching sharply off the bed. He knows he found that sweet spot deep inside you as your toes curl and your eyes roll back.
Simon focuses his thrusts there, grinding against it with every push forward, determined to make you fall apart completely on his cock, and you let out a final strangled cry as you cum around him.
He rocks you through your orgasm, still hitting that gummy spot that makes you sing so pretty that his heart throbs.
"I want you to stop... ngh... playing games with me," he demands, voice serious. A bead of sweat drips down his handsome face. "I'm taking what's rightfully mine, and you're gonna accept and be my lady, you got it? No more cat and mouse." He thrusts real deep at his words, like the thought of being closed off makes his blood burn hotter. You jolt, crying out loud. You feel his swollen mushroom tip kiss your cervix. He stops there, watching your orgasm continue to crash through you.
Your pussy, now overstimulated and sloppy from your recent orgasm, throbs with sensitivity. "S-simon, please, please, it’s too much," You cry out, and he coos at your pretty sounds, ignoring you.
"No. We stop when I say we're done." He continues. “This pussy belongs to me now. You belong to me. Say it. Say who’s pussy this is.”
Your sloppy cunt swallows his thick cock over and over, your lips, swollen, clinging to his cock tightly. Squelches and sloppy lewdness fill the air as he plows into you, each thrust pushing out a fresh gush of your cum. The creamy ring of your hole stretches and bulges around his girthy shaft, struggling to contain the thick cock splitting you open. "Ah! Yours, Si! Y-your pussy, I’m yours!"
He could feel your cervix fluttering against the tip of his cock, the spongy flesh yielding to his pounding. "That’s my girl, baby. All mine," He grunts one last time as your womb clenches and ripples, ready for the hot cum he was going to pump inside you.
He lets out a strangled moan as he empties inside you, balls twitching as he fills you to the brim with his cum. It’s thick and creamy and never ending, and his head lolls, hips still pumping as he fills you up good.
The room is quiet except for the sound of your ragged breathing, the distant hum of the city beyond the windows. Your body is still trembling, skin fever hot and slick against his, and yet he hasn’t moved an inch. He’s still there, stretched out on top of you, pinning you down.
Simon turns his head, smirking at the dazed, wrecked look on your face. He reaches out, running a slow finger down your jaw, tilting your chin up so you have to meet his gaze. His pupils are still blown, his mouth swollen from kissing you earlier, but he does it again anyway, his cock twitching inside you as he tastes you, lips molding over yours so good that your heart jumps.
He pulls back to rest his forehead against yours and look at your shining eyes. "One step closer to makin' you my wife, baby."
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he doesn’t talk at all. he doesn’t think it’s worth it, wasting his breath on foolish little creatures he’d much rather cut up into pieces. you’ve heard him chuckle, moan, scoff and grunt… but never any words. he expresses everything through looks, gestures, or just destruction. somehow, you always know what he means. it’s scary how well you understand each other.
he leaves you creepy little gifts. a very expensive locket with a picture of you (taken without your knowledge), a heart-shaped box full of literal human hearts and eyeballs, blood-smeared note that says “mine”. he also clears all threats from your way. you just suddenly feel like the world is strangely safer around you, which is ironic because jason ! kuna is such a danger himself. but he doesn’t want anything big and scary to get his hands on you but him.
he gets extremely territorial of you. unlike a casual form of petty jealousy, jason ! kuna wants to drive an axe into the head of any man who thinks they have a chance with you. if a guy even talks to you, jason ! kuna is there snarling behind him with his machete in hand. later that night, he fucks you like he’s reclaiming you again, having a knife pressed against your throat, (flat end pressed against you with the tip pressing lightly to your clavicle). his other hand holds your jaw and mouths 'mine' while you cum underneath him.
if you're upset the price will be paid by everyone you've come in contact within the past couple hours. if you cry, he's gone, and you wake up later to the news that your ex has been found in a lake. your boss that grabbed you and yelled at you now has MISSING headlines on tv. a guy that perved on you at a bar? found in pieces. and sukuna walks in later, leaning down into your face and tilting his head innocently as if asking; “better now?” he huffs a laugh through his nose at your pouty face, covered in blood and smelling like smoke.
if the reason you're upset is because of him, he gets moody and sits in your room, watching you with a scowl on your face and expects you to forgive him. usually, if it's for something like biting you too hard during sex or tearing one of your pretty panties, you'll forgive him and let him eat you out all night as part of his apology.
but if it's for something more serious, like... well, murder, he'll get annoyed that you're mad he's protecting you and will either: disappear on you for several days in your shithole of a city so you don't have the comfort of his protection (he's secretly watching you the whole time, but you don't know that because it wouldn't work if you did) or he'll kidnap you, take you to his secret cabin and make you spend as long as it takes for you to forgive him in that house, imposing his presence onto you. when you do forgive him, he fucks you to celebrate!
sex is quite dramatic for him. he'll grab your face mid-fuck and mimes a camera click, he'll tie your wrists with whatever he can find, push your thighs open with his gloves still on. fucks you in front of a mirror just so he can point and sneer at how wrecked you look.
he plays games with you in bed too. his personal favorite is getting you so wet that his cock practically slips between your folds, then rubs his cock along your pussy and asshole and pushes his dick into whichever hole his tip catches on. he also likes to see how hard he can push you, whether its by fucking you until you're nearly unconscious from exhaustion, or choking you till your vision sparkles, or shoving his fingers or cock into your mouth as far as they go before you gag. he notes your limits in mind and is masterful in pushing you right till your brink every time.
he's quite mocking in bed, but his favorite form of it is to mimic your moans. you’ll be breathy and desperate like, “mmn! sukuna, please slow down- it's fuck- too big!” and he’ll mouth back your high pitched whines and babbling back at you in a ridiculous, over-the-top porn sounds just to mess with you. then he’ll immediately flip you over and rail you so hard the mattress slides. you can't walk properly the next day.
hi! i wanted to ask (only do if ur comfortable) can you do the lads boys individually spanking x afab reader? it’s okay if not!!
#YKYouWannaSpankThatAss!!⭑.ᐟ
⭑.ᐟSYNOPSIS You really can’t help it, you truly love teasing your dear boyfriend! You just sit weren’t expecting him to retaliate in this. . way
⭑.GENRE smut, porn with little plot
⭑.INCLUDE Caleb, Rafayel, Xavier, Zayne, Sylus (separate)
⭑.WARNING fem!reader, explicit content, no possible spoilers, established relationship, possible grammar errors, not proof read, face down ass up (Caleb), mentions of overstimulation, implied creampie, pet names, hair pulling, squirting, breeding, p in v, no protection, oral (fem rec), doggy style (Xavier), marking, cowgirl (Zayne, Sylus), jealous sex (Caleb, Xavier), lil bit of mean! Zayne, breast play, 1k per Li, author note at end!(❀❛ ֊ ❛„)♡
⭑.CALEB
The feeling of overcoming bliss is drowning you, overstimulated to the max, left twitching and throbbing in ecstasy. There is a slight sheen of sweat on your burning hot flesh, glistening. Caleb has your face pressed firmly against the drool soaked pillow, moans and whimpers are barely bearable due to the pillow muffling your strings of harmony, ass pushed up
Caleb has a firm grip on your plump hips, forcing you in place as he slams his hips into yours— fat cock pushing deep into your velvety walls with a wet squelch, heavy balls slapping deliciously at your puffy clit. Occasionally, there’s a small peak of his dick, a white ring formed around the thick base of his cock, a sticky mixture of yours and his’ previous orgasms.
“Mmhp—! Hnng. .” You loudly moan into the pillow, uselessly scratching at the soft yet slightly wet fabric.
Cock buried deep in your pussy, he rolls his hips— stirring up your cum coated walls with an obscure and nasty squelchhh. In response, his thick cum pools around his thick shaft. . his seed slowly drips onto the dirtied sheets. You let out an exhausted moan into the pillow, squealing loudly when Caleb pulls out until only the bulbous tip of his cock was plugged into your messy hole before slamming his hips into yours, with a pwap plap, causing your walls to quiver around his dick. . gushing out even more of his cum.
“Nngh sh- shitt, babe! S- so noisy. .” Caleb heavily pants out, teeth biting at his swollen bottom lip, drawing crimson liquid from the flesh.
“B- baby! Y- you’re soo —hnng. . wet” He hiccups, pausing his motion of rolling his hips against yours, opting to switch to thrusting deep and hard into your gushing cunt.
While you’re exhausted and purely cock drunk, Caleb, somehow, has enough pleasure to pound you into the bed— perhaps it was the godly sight in front of him that spurred him further on. Scattered along your neck, collarbone, and back are purplish red bite marks littered on your flesh. . deliciously pretty. Every time he slams into you, your plump ass jiggles and bounces with the toe curling thrust— there’s a mixture of sweat and dried cum on the flesh.
You squirm and thrash, weakly attempting to escape from the mind numbing pleasure that’s being fed to your body. The grip on your hips quickly becomes mean and bruising, it’s obvious Caleb isn’t going to let you easily escape from him. You drool into the pillow, tears spilling from your watery eyes.
One of the hands on your hips shakily grab at your hair, gently yet firmly pulling you from the tear shaken pillow— forcing your body into a difficult arch that lets Caleb abuse your sweet spots even better.
“Do- don’t try to —ohhhfuck. . t- to squirm from me!” Caleb grunts out, releasing your hair, letting you slump back onto the bed before his hips grab at your hips tightly.
Your eyes go wide, that knot in your belly snapping, pussy gushing around his cock for the nth time. The feeling of overstimulation is familiar, your body trembling against the bed— sobbing into the fabric when Caleb’s full balls slap harshly at your engorged clit, causing jets of cum to squirt from your cunt.
“F- fuckkk. . Yo- you’re squeezingme sooo tight—! Nnghfuck. . baby!” He chokes on a moan, fingers digging deeper into your plump hips, surely leaving purple marks behind, tugging you to meet his thrust halfway.
“L- leb’ haaah-! Sl- slow!” You squeal, voice muffled by the cloth.
The wet plap and fwopping sounds of Caleb’s skin meeting yours in deafening, mingling with the nasty squelch and slosh of your velvety walls stretching perfectly around his dick. Submitting to desire, a hand grabs at the globs of fat of your ass— fondling and greedily groping at the soft flesh that spills between his fingers.
“Haah. .? W- what was that, baby —nngh!” Caleb groans out, pinching at your ass.
“Wa- want me to —ngh shit. . s- slow down? N- no. Yo- you’ve. been. teasing. me. all. fucking. day—!” He breathes out between loud moans and whimpers, each word followed by a delicious thrust that makes tingles course through your spine. . the creaking sound of the bed giving way slowly intensifies.
“Y- you’re gonna break —ohmygod. . t- the bed!” You attempt to reason, that doesn’t stop you from squeezing tightly around him as you buck your hips to feel him push in deeper into your pussy.
Your words seem to go into one ear, exiting out the other. It’s like Caleb hasn’t really processed your words, mindlessly fucking his overstimulated cock erotically into your sloppy cunt.
“G- gotta t- teach you a lesson. . hnng-!” Caleb hiccups, hands lifting in the air before landing on your asscheek, eliciting a delighted squeal.
It’s louder and clear now— the sounds of the bed shaking, the faint cracks of the wooden frame giving way. Completely cock drunk, you struggle to push your ass back against Caleb, desperate to feel his cock burying itself deeper and deeper into your gooey walls until you're full of his thick cum. Another painful smack has you drooling and whimpering into the pillow, the dim pain melting into overwhelming pleasure.
“Haah. . Y’knew h- he was —holyshit. . fl- flirting with you, baby!” He whimpers out loudly, groaning when your walls spasm around his length when he brushes against your sweet spot.
Another loud smack, your poor asscheek is already beginning to turn a pretty shade of red— you’re loving every second. That familiar knot in your lower belly is getting tighter and tighter, you are soo close to cumming again.
“Hnng—! P- please. . d- don’t stoppp!” You mewl, gasping in ecstasy when he pistons his hips to ensure he pounds into your sweet spot.
You can tell he’s close too— the way his grip on your hips and ass tightens painfully, his thrust sloppily, cock throbbing and bobbing deep in your pussy, his moans and whines getting louder. You let out an open mouth scream into the pillow, cumming for the nth time around his cock, the ring of cum smearing onto his pelvis and the skin of your ass. Caleb whimpers your name loudly, pushing his hips flushed against yours, balls pressed against your puffy clit, cock spurting a copious amount of cum into your cunt, the excess dripping out of your stuffed pussy.
“Iloveyouiloveyouiloveyoui—“ Caleb babbles dumbly, rolling his hips against yours, the wet slosh of him burying his seed deeper into your pussy.
He slowly pulls out with a wet pop, silently watching his cum pour out from your messy cunt. Caleb drags his cock through your swollen folds, back and forth, pressing himself back into your cunt with a wet squelchh. A weak attempt, you try to squirm and thrash from his grip but he keeps you still, hips smashing into yours.
Not a single drop of regret bubbles in you— getting your boyfriend jealous might be your favorite occupation, especially when he’ll fuck you stupid and spank you until your ass is a pretty shade of red in response.
⭑.RAFAYEL
Perhaps having Rafayel as a boyfriend has made a certain playful side of yourself develop— you’ve been teasing him all week in numerous ways, knowingly riling up your poor boyfriend. Sitting on his lap randomly, grinding your ass against his crotch early in the morning, bending over to pick up something you accidentally dropped. It was inevitable, he’d eventually submit to his own desires.
He is in heaven— the feeling of plump, squishy thighs pressed firmly against the sides of his head, the scent of you is much more intense, and your sweet cunt for him to mindlessly lap at. So what if he easily fell for your little trap? How could he possibly care when he’d end up trapped between your thighs? Rafayel is nasty messy, dragging his tongue through your slickened folds— the noisy sound of his lips wrapping around your puffy clit, the wet squelch of his tongue dipping into your gummy entrance, and the muffled sounds of your boyfriend moaning into your pussy.
Each time Rafayel drags his tongue along your syrupy slit, perfect nose pressed into your clit— you’d buck, tremble, and hump his face weakly. . smearing your sticky juices all over his face. And every time you’d unconsciously press your pussy harder into his face, he’d let out a shameless moan into your core, the delicious vibrations coursing through your body. . making you moan even louder. Ooh fuck, and the way you’d let out a deafening squeal when he thrusts his tongue in and out of your velvety walls— your fingers darting to firmly grab at the purple strands of his hair, carding through his hair and occasionally tugging on it.
“Mmhp— ohhhfuck! Hung. . r- rafyie” you mewl out softly, voice hoarse and broken from how much moans and whimpers that Rafayel has ripped from you, you weakly roll your hips to grind your overstimulated pussy on his face.
This is the first time you’ve ever heard your boyfriend soo quiet before, minus all the moaning and whining he’s unbashfully letting out into your swollen pussy, finally not babbling out praise and worship for you. However, that’s just because he’s proving his love in another way— keeping his mouth busy with lapping, sucking, slurping until you can’t help but cum into his mouth. Rafael slowly drags his thick tongue through your sopping folds, up and down in a dizzying manner, his nose pressing against your swollen clit. . lewdly inhaling your addictive scent that surrounded him.
The pressure on your clit has you crying out his name loudly, squirming lightly. Each time Rafayel glides his tongue through your syrupy pussy, your folds part, giving him the chance to taste the arousal that leaks from your messy hole. The grip on your hips tightens, a finger tapping on your plush flesh twice— you lift your hips up enough room for him to breath.
“Haah. . ohmygod, my pearl” Rafayel breathes out between ragged pants, his warm breath fanning onto your spit and arousal covered clit.
“You taste sooo de- delicous, cutie. .” He says quietly, kissing at your puffy clit tenderly— chuckling softly when the bud throbs against his lips.
Rafayel tugs you back down onto his face, fingers tightly digging into your plump hips. . forcing you to roll your hips, grinding your heat on his face. He glides his tongue through your folds two times, back and forth back and forth, before he plunges his tongue into your quivering hole— summoning a loud whine of pleasure. The feeling of his tongue dragging along your velvety walls has your toes curling, eyes rolling back, and a whine of Rafayel being ripped from you.
“Hnng-! I-I can’t —nghhh. . can't take anymore. .” You babble out, squirming and writhing, though to no avail.
He tilts his head upwards, lips engulfing your puffy clit— sucking harshly until he feels your hips jolt. Greedily, one of his hands grabs at your ass chick while the other one stays glued firmly to your hips. Rafayel plays with the supple flesh, squeezing and fondling at the globs of fat on your ass— giving it a soft smack.
“Haah-! Nnghfuck. . t- too much. . raf’!” You sob loudly, tears clinging in the corner of your eyes.
The feeling of overstimulation has you whimpering and trembling helplessly, but Rafayel can’t stop— he needs to coax out more and more of your delicious juices. Oh, he’s hooked on you. He’s basking in your reactions; every single time your moans become high pitched, he’d peer up from between your thighs.
“Mmhp—! Fu- fuck. . feels too Ra- Rafie! Wanna. .—nghh, cuum” you slur out dumbly between whines, squealing when he spanks to the flesh of your ass.
That knot in your stomach is getting tighter with every passing second, you are trembling violently now. Rafayel’s tongue delves through your sopping folds— tongue tracing through your creamy slit, driving you closer and closer to your impending orgasm. Maybe the lightheadedness, from the lack of oxygen and drunk off your taste and scent, finally got to your boyfriend’s head— perhaps that’s the only explanation of his cock throbbing violently in need.
Rafayel is widely bucking his hips into the air, fucking into nothing— caught between the option of eating you out until his jaw aches or giving into the need. . ultimately choosing to worship his girlfriend. The moment he suckles onto your clit, tongue smoothing the swollen flesh. . you’re letting out a loud sob, tears dripping down your cheek. You wail loudly, cumming around nothing, shakily rolling your hips as you ride out your orgasm.
“Haah—! Fu- fuck me. .” you sigh out softly, shakily lifting yourself off his face.
There’s thin strings of arousal connected between your pussy and his face, his face covered in your juices and arousal. Messy and nasty.
“Haah. . yo- you taste soo good” Rafayel pants, it’s quite obvious he’s just as drunk as you are— pussy drunk.
“—Need more. .” He murmurs out, gently spanking the warm flesh of your ass, dragging you onto his face again with the personality of man that intends to make you jelly boned and sobbing in ecstasy.
⭑.XAVIER
You are a complete, hot mess— fat tears clinging from the corner of your eyes, loudly whimpering and whining from the overwhelming pleasure, weakly and helplessly clawing at the soft fabric of a pillow before you. Eyes burning with hunger and need gazes at your body; skin covered in a slight sheen of sweat from the heat and ecstasy. . glistening in the dimmed lights to cast a pretty shining effect on your gorgeous body, scattered along the flesh of your neck and back are purple and red hickey marks from Xavier’s hungry mouth.
If it wasn’t for the calloused hands, greedily grabbing at your plus hips with a firm grip, dragging you to meet Xavier’s rough thrusts halfway. .you would have already collapsed on the bed from the sheer exhaustion. You’re completely drunk from that additive feeling of intense pleasure, with each orgasm ripped from your body, the pleasure bleeds into overstimulation yet you still beg for more— perhaps this is what it meant to be cockdrunk. You are tumbling violently like a small leaf, you can barely hold your loud whines and tears every time his cock drags perfectly along your velvety walls. . easily pounding into your sweet spots.
The apartment room is deafening, surely the lewd harmony you both are creating can be heard perfectly. Each time Xavier gives you a frantic and rough thrust, his slender cock pushing deep into your gooey walls, an obscure squealchh and sloshing sound of your sopping cunt would fill the room along with the sounds of slick skin slapping against each other loudly.
“Haaah—! O-ohfuckk. . f- feels sooo good” you mewl loudly, there’s a subtle burning sensation on your arms that’s planted on the bed, it must be from you trying to hold yourself up for soo long.
“Nngh. . X- xavie!” You cry out his name loudly, earning yourself a pleased groan from your boyfriend.
A noisy sob is ripped from your swollen lips when one of Xavier’s hands drags along the skin of your back to grab at your plump ass— needy fondling, squeezing, and smacking at the flesh until it turns to a pretty shade of red. In his eyes, he’s leaving his own mark on your delicious body. . just like what you did to his neck, except he’s worse and meaner.
“Mmph haah. . yo- you knew he was —fuck. . staring a- at you. .” Xavier breathes out between ragged moans and grunts, hips noisily slamming into yours, the red, globs of fat jiggling from the impact.
“We- were you tr- tryna’ . . nghfuuck so tight— make m- me jealous, darling?” Somehow, his thrusts become inhumanly and mercilessly fast. . causing a silent scream to be ripped from you and your head to become only a mush of thoughts while your white-coated walls quiver around his cock, eliciting a breathless whimper from Xavier.
Oh godd, the way his cock drags along your sensitive walls has your body trembling from the overstimulation. The mess between your plump thighs is getting everywhere: the bed, the sheets, on your skin, and Xavier’s thighs and abdomen— the mess is starting to become worse and worse, your sloppy hole keeps leaking out a sticky mixture of your juices and his previous orgasms onto the bed below. Another rough spank to your ass has you bucking your hips towards him, weakly fucking yourself on his length.
“oooh— fuckfuckfuckfuck! Nngh. . X- xavie! I- I. . f- feels amazing!” You squeal out loudly, fat tears dripping down your flushed cheeks— each rough thrust has a pleasurable wave of heat coursing through your body.
The sensitivity seemingly makes your senses sharper than usual. . everything feels more intense— the way Xavier’s slender’s cock throbs and jolts deep inside the warmth of your cunt or the way his balls slap, pwop, at your puffy clit til you’re gushing around his base.
“I- I’m soo sorry— fuck!” You wail out, lips parting as strings of moans are ripped from you, eyes rolling back with a particular rough thrust.
His hands cracks against your ass again, the sting melted into delicious and addictive pleasure, you gasp in response. Perhaps you did go overboard with making your dear boyfriend jealous, but getting fucking so good that you become cockdrunk. . you really wouldn’t mind doing it again. Those heavy balls of Xavier’s smacks against your engorged clit, heat pooling to your lower belly.
“Haaah—! O-oh god. .” You drool, becoming awfully aware of that knot in your lower belly growing tighter and tighter.
“Mmhp—. . a- and you —fuckkk. .” Xavier barely manages to get words out, groaning softly when you feel you flutter around his cock soo tightly.
“. .pretends l- like he wasn’t st- staring —holyshit, darling. . at y- you” he stutters out, another rough smack on your asscheek, eliciting out a yelp from you.
“X- Xavier—!” You voice is high pitched and deafening as you cry out his name, shamelessly moaning your boyfriend’s name. . there’s no way that man basically eye fucking you couldn’t hear from his room.
“Hhng nngh—! Y- yes. . yesyesyes, scream out my n- name, starlight” Xavier encourages.
Xavier is so close to cumming; that rude and mean grip on your hip tightens ever so slightly, his thrust becoming sloppy and downright needy for an orgasm, and the way he’s just pulsing and twitching inside you.
“C’mon. . s- scream out my name —gonnacum. . wa- want him to know y- you are all minee” he drools out, hips smacking painfully into yours.
“X- Xavier —hnng, please!” You squeal, eyes rolling back as velvety walls quiver around his length, creaming around his cock for the nth time— the ring of cum around his base smears onto your skin.
He lets out a breathless whimper, resting his weight on top of your body. . keeping you trapped against the bed. Xavier’s body is flushed with yours, cock spurting an overwhelming amount of cum into your stuffed pussy. Your eyes roll back, weakly gasping when he presses his hands onto your back, slowly thrusting his sensitive cock into your gushing and creamy pussy.
“X- xavie. . nooo! F- feel’s tooo good. .” You drool into the sheets, unable to make an effort to squirm away from the mind numbing pleasure.
Even though Xavier is completely dumb from pleasure and overstimulation is biting at his flesh and mind. . he can’t stop— he needs to ensure that man knows you are his. . even if you spend all night fucking like bunnies.
⭑.ZAYNE
Your body feels extremely exhausted, skin sweaty and glistening, skin burning hot to the touch from the delicious heat that’s bloomed between you and your boyfriend. The addictive sensation of your ass cheek throbbing in pain from the countless spanks Zayne gifts to your flesh only serves to further heighten your sensitivity— each cruel swat to the red globs of flesh draws out a whiney whimper from your spit covered lips. Perhaps, acting like a brat towards you boyfriends wasn’t the smartest choice you’ve ever made. .
However; being forced to perch on top of his lap, feeling his hard cock pressing deep into your cunt, while calloused hands tenderly massage and roughly spank at the globs of fat until your flesh was raw and a pretty shade of red wasn’t something you’d object to receiving as punishment. Shakily and weakly, you roll your hip— eyes rolling back when you feel Zayne’s thick cock brush perfectly against your g-spot, whimpering when your puffy clit catches at the rough fabric of his pants.
“Haah—. . ohmygod. Za- Zaynie!” You whine out his name in such a sweet voice, gasping erotically when he grabs at your sore ass cheek, firmly squeezing on the raw flesh while helping you bounce on his twitching cock.
It’s a mess, tears clinging onto your lashes, drool seeping from your parted lips as you pant out warm air, mind set on one thing. . to finally cum after being edged for soo long. You quickly bury your fingers into Zayne’s shirt, bunching the fabric up between your fingers. . using it as leverage.
“Hnng—! C- can’t take it anymore. . b- baby!” You whimper out, trembling lightly in his arms.
Each time Zayne slams you back onto his lap, you swear, his cock reaches soo deep into your sopping cunt— forcing your pussy to make the nastiest and obscurest squelching sound. The wet squealchh and sloshing of sound of his dick reaching deep into your gooey walls can be heard from outside the closed room, along with the wet plap of skin meeting each other.
“Nghh. . oooh, p- please, Zayne! N- needa’a cumm. . sooo badly. .” You beg in a whiney tone, sobbing when his cock massages your velvety walls perfectly.
There’s a subtle burning sensation in your thighs from overexerting yourself, yet, you just can’t stop. . you really need to cum. Zayne groans out softly when he feels your walls spasm and flutter around his cock, dragging out a delightful moan of your name.
“Z- Zayne. . c- can, anymore—“ you mewl, words barely making sense anymore.
You are so close to cumming, that knot in your stomach gets tighter and tighter than expected, the way your gooey walls spasm around his throbbing cock is enough to tell. Zayne huffs out between moans and groans, one of his hands on your plump hips dragging up your back— tugging you to be fleshed against his chest, fucking up into your messy cunt.
“Pleasepleasepleaseplease—! Wanna cum soo. . — Haah, need’a cum, please za- zaynie!” You babble out pathetically, burying your head into his neck— lips sucking at his flesh until a pretty bruise blooms at his skin.
You let out a loud cry when you feel Zayne’s hands gently smack against your ass cheek, a loud fwop, a silent reminder that he’s treating this like a punishment. You whimper softly when he fondled your ass cheek, pushing deeper into your sloppy pussy.
“You’ve been acting like a brat. . all. fucking. day. darling” Zayne clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, each word followed by a toe curling thrust that makes a delicious wave of heat course through your body— earning a sob in response.
“You h- have clearly —nngh fuckk. . ha- haven’t learned your lesson, m- my beloved” he groans out between gritted teeth, wrapping his arms around your back to keep you trapped and flushed against him, angling his hips to graze against your g-spot.
“P- please, Zayne! I- I won’t tease you anymore —haah nghh, feels soo good” you wail out, nuzzling yourself deeper into his neck, lips wrapping around his sensitive skin and sucking pretty bruises and love bites on his flesh— eliciting a breathless groan from your boyfriend.
He knows you are lying. .
“P- please, j- just let me cum. . baby—“ you gasp out, weakly bucking your hips to meet his sloppy thrusts.
How could Zayne possibly deny you when you’re pleading so sweetly, tears dripping
onto his skin, muffled whimpers by his neck, gooey walls slamming around him. His thrusts become hurried and sloppy, bringing you closer and closer to your orgasm. Oh fuckk, the way his cock drags along your velvety walls has that knot in your stomach tightening and your eyes rolling back.
“Come on —nghhfuck. . c- cum for me, be- beloved” Zayne manages to breathe out between broken grunts.
One of the hands gripping firmly onto your hips dips between your bodies, finding where your two are connected— skilled fingers pressing and circling your puffy clit until you let out a loud cry. A loud moan is ripped from you as you gush around his cock, tears dripping down your cheeks from how intense your orgasm was, a ring of cum forming around the thick base of Zayne’s cock.
“Haah—! F- fuk, Zaynie!” You drool, letting out a shaky breath when he buries his cock to the hilt of your cunt.
His cock throbs and twitches deep inside your sopping pussy, ropes of cum shooting into your gooey walls. Zayne grits out your name, slowly bouncing on his cock to help ride out both of your orgasms. You are a trembling mess in his arms, still recovering from your intense orgasm.
However, Zayne is still bouncing you up and down his dick— overstimulation creeping over your body, you let out a soft whimper from the pleasure.
“Nghh. . Haah, mhhp. . ‘M se- sensitive” you mewl out, that doesn’t stop you from rolling your hips to gain some of that delightful overstimulation.
“You’ve been trying to get my a- attention all —fuckk. . day, darling” he mumbles, tilting his head to the side to press a warm kiss to your hair.
“Surely this isn’t enough to satisfy you. .” Zayne teases, that tone alone is enough for you to know he isn’t done with you just yet.
⭑.SYLUS
There was something soo enticing and entertaining about teasing your poor, oh so sweet, boyfriend restlessly. Ranging from innocently bending over in front of him wearing a pretty short skirt, gracing him the perfect view of your crimson panties. Purposely leaving the bathroom door wide open for Sylus to see you— naked and beautiful body covered in droplets of warm water, steamy air surrounding you inside the shower.
You’ve even resorted to indulging him in his desires, plush lips firmly pressed against each other in a steamy kiss— your warm lips lightly peppering against his jaw to his neck. . sucking a pretty mark onto his neck before pulling away with an obvious excuse. Oh godd, you truly can be quite a little minx. It was inevitable; Sylus would eventually submit to his own desires and corner you. . like a predator finally capturing its prey.
“Mmhp. . doing soo —fuckk. . well f’me, kitten” Sylus groans out between rough and ragged groans, voice muffled slightly by the mounds of flesh on your chest pressed against his face— occasionally taking in your perky nipples into his hungry mouth to suckle and lap at the bud until you whimper.
Sylus has a brushing grip on your squishy and plump hips, calloused hands helping you to ride his cock— the loud fwopping sound of his skin meeting yours is loud. His fat cock easily pushes deep in your velvety walls, due to the amount of wetness you’ve produced, with a lewd squealchh. The sticky mixture of both your essence and his cum is smeared everywhere; his lap, abdomen, and your thighs and ass.
Gazing up towards you with hooded eyes and clouded with desire, everything about you was intoxicating to him— fat tears clinging to your eyes lashes and eyes glossy, lips parted as he rips strings of moans from your swollen lips, and the way your gooey walls squeezes around his cock. . it makes him feel dizzy from the pleasure. You tremble in his hands intensely, barely letting out coherent sentences besides his name over and over. Sylus is soo big; buried deep in your sopping pussy, stretching your walls out perfectly, twitching and throbbing inside your cunt— it has your body burning in ecstasy and creaming around his thick base with a loud squeal.
Your thighs are beginning to have this slight uncomfortable burning sensation from spending such a long period of time being fucked dumb on Sylus’s cock, the pleasure has officially rendered you cock drunk.
“Hang mmhp—! I- I. . ca- can’t! t- too tired. . nghh!” You mewl out in a whiney voice, panting and breathing heavy from the heat.
Before you can even attempt to finish up your sentence, he’s bucking his hips to push deeper into your gushing cunt, pressing into your poor g-spot. That deep, unforging thrust he does has your eyes rolling back, and whimpering out your boyfriend’s name loudly. One of Sylus’s arms wraps around your back, pulling you closer to push your boobs closer to his face— he lets out a delighted groan into your perky nipples as he drags his tongue against the bud, drawing out a gasp from you.
“Y- you enjoy teasing —ohfuckk, so tight. . me, sweetheart?” He grunts out against your chest, engulfing both of your nipples into his hungry and insatiable mouth before sucking harshly, eliciting out a broken moan from you.
The only response he gains is an unapologetic and teasing giggle from you, it quickly melts into a loud and surprised moan when his hand on your hip swiftly cracks at your ass. Sylus swiftly spanks at the same cheek twice, summoning a loud moan, more tears brimming in the corner of your eyes. It shouldn’t excite you, but it does, the sticky cream that gushes from your cunt and forms around the base of his dick is enough evidence.
Perhaps it’s the overstimulation that’s making you act so giddy and incoherent— besides, it’s not like Sylus’s tone carries any hostility, in fact, it seems he’s teasing you back.
“Haaah—! Ohmyfucking. . godd, s- sy!” You wail out, velvety walls squeezing around his cock like a vice, that knot in your stomach getting tighter and tighter.
“Mmhp nngh! I- I don’t know wh- what you're talking about, ho- honey!” You coo out softly, feigning innocence, whining out when his hands roughly massaged the reddened globs of flesh.
Another loud smack, your poor asscheek is already beginning to turn a pretty shade of red— you’re just in love.
“D- don’t fucking. . —nngh” Sylus starts, interrupting himself by lewdly slurping at your poor nipples, even gently nibbling at the flesh, electing a squeal from you.
Smack
“— act. . innocent with me, sweetie” he purrs out, miraculously speeding up his brutal pace when he feels our gooey walls quivering and flutter around his cock uncontrollably.
Smack. Smack.
You let out a loud wail, the little bossy word you wished to say dies at the tip of your tongue. At this point, there will be red marks on your poor ass cheek and a pretty bruise on your hips, serving as a sweet and lovely reminder of tonight.
“Oooooh. . fuck! fuckfuckfuck. .” You gasp out loudly, scratching at his chest weakly, leaving only red marks on his skin— earning yourself a raspy chuckle from your boyfriend.
“Nngh—! C- can’t cum. . not again—!” You wail out, trembling violently in his arms.
“Yes you can, kitten” Sylus murmurs against your swollen boobs, angling his hips slightly.
You drool, screaming out his name, eyes rolling back and toes curling— cumming around his thick cock for the nth time, sobbing when his hands spanks at your flesh again. You whimper, crying out his name when he stills fucking up into your messy cunt. You go limp in his arms, thighs trembling lightly.
“C’mon, sweetie. . — haah. . you’ve had your fun alll dayy” he draws out his words, pressing a soft kiss to the front of your neck, a complete contrast from how meanly thrusting up into your overstimulated pussy.
“Isn’t it fair I have mine. .?” Sylus teases lightly, fingers massaging at your red ass.
# All work belongs to only ME, jadestone2. Translating, plagiarism, copying, posting on another website, claiming as your work will NOT be tolerated, instant block⭑.ᐟ
⭑.[ AUTHOR NOTE ] Tehe. . betta weren’t expecting mommy to finally post hmm<33 but it did, mwah! Anywhores, I'm so so so rlly sorry for being absent, a lil summery, i did gain a leg injury and have already 2 weeks in the boot + i have to do another 2 weeks on ankle braces. . But I decided my babies deserve a long gift, I made to make sure I put my life in my writing<33 btw, if u say there’s obvious bias in how I wrote the characters, mommy is blocking you 4ever, tehe. I rlly love my new theme, I still have to change the whole blog but it’ll happen soon!
+ no Taglist cause I’m lazy lmfao, it’ll find u if it wants too
Nanami constantly pounding you through the mattress so good that you have to see a doctor every few weeks- and the hot, stern doctor asking you whether he should teach you how to do it real slow in front of your husband. So that you can pick which one you like - Dr. Zayne’s slow n’ steady or Nanami Kento’s rough.
Will you be willing to eat food infested with worms and insects?
If I have to
Ew no
Secret third option
Voting ended onNov 29, 2024
For Leen (@leenmata1) and her children, this is not a choice. Since the only food they have are flour infested with insects, either they eat the food filled with insects, or they starve.
Leen has 5 children, the youngest of whom is only 2-years old while the oldest is only 15. Her husband Ahmed is responsible for caring for not only his family, but also his sick elderly parents and his married brother with his 2 children. To do so, Ahmed decided to migrate and apply for asylum in another country a week before the current war with hopes that he may find a better way to provide for his family. However, Ahmed cannot work while his asylum application is getting processed, and he has no way to help his family who is trapped in Gaza right now.
Leen and her children are now living in a refugee camp. Their home has been destroyed, and they have no income and no food. Please help Leen and her children survive and reunite with Ahmed!
## A Call from Gaza: Saving My Family from Siege and Death
Dea… Ahmed Matar needs your support for A Call from Gaza: Saving My Family fr
This campaign is vetted by @/gazavetters and is #33 on their Gaza vetted fundraisers list!
Sukuna's the type of boyfriend where you confess to him first and he acts like he knew all along. He didn't - and he does a major fistbump the moment you look away.
The type where he'll click his tongue at wherever you want to drag him during your date, then snatch your hand and take you there anyway.
The type where he lets you put on face masks and eyeliner on him to your hearts content - no matter how much says it's stupid, and he doesn't need that shit, anyway, you always catch him keeping it on.
The type to make you pretty bracelets - not buy, make. Picking out charms and colors he thinks you'd love and then thrusting it into your hands saying it "wasn't a big deal, anyway." But you catch that pretty blush on his cheeks.
The type that makes your coworkers slightly concerned when a towering, beefy man is waiting for you on his rugged motorbike. And they've got their fingers on the phone already, peering anxiously outside as you cling onto the very man with a tight hug. And only - only - when they catch him fastening on your helmet, oh-so-gently do they breathe out in relief, realizing that maybe he's just that type.
"--and this is the staffroom," Gojo sing-songed, swinging open the door on your First Day Tour, with you a few steps behind him, "--ah! And that's Nanamin. Say hi, Nanamin!"
A tall, suited blond man looked up from his spot on the sofa as you peered in; at first, he simply nodded to you, disinterested. Then, Gojo spoke again while leading you out.
"--he's not very fun, don't worry-- no sense of humour."
Your final glimpse as the door closed, was of the blond man's irritated scowl.
It was true; Kento clearly didn't make people laugh, for he was either too mean or too subtle to be funny. This was the case, at least, until you. And you had no idea what your laughter did to him.
You had formed an alliance of respect, an easy bond that would have been camaraderie if not for Kento's standoffishness. You felt him hover nearby on joint missions, close enough to lunge to your rescue, but far enough that he could resist your magnetism.
Talking, and surveying the abandoned school, you spoke aloud as you walked down the stairs.
"So perhaps I'll take the East Wing, and you take the We--ergh!"
You reeled back, having walked headfirst into a buckled ceiling. Kento stepped to your aid, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket, and lifting your chin to look at your forehead. He huffed, barely a puff of breath through his nose, wiping dust from your forehead before grumbling.
"You'll be alright. Not much in there, anyway."
You burst into laughter, and Kento electrified, absolutely rigid. You patted his chest, still giggling as you walked away, cooing back over your shoulder in a way that utterly melted him.
"So mean."
You soon learned that Nanami Kento was possibly the funniest man at Jujutsu High. Dry and unforgiving in a way that made your brittle colleagues crumble, you found yourself, instead, choking back laughter every time he crippled one with another savage put-down.
When Yuuji arrived late to a mission, Kento stepped over to him and, poe-faced, pulled up his shirtsleeve to show Yuuji his wrist.
"This," Kento hummed, flat, "is a watch. You can buy one at any good supermarket."
When a waiter slopped coffee over Kento's shoulder, Kento dabbed at it to the waiter's frantic, apologetic bowing. Kento raised a placating hand and insisted to the confused waiter.
"It's alright. I never liked this suit anyway."
When you stood at the staffroom window with him, watching a monsoon in companionable silence, Kento murmured over the rim of his mug.
"Lovely day."
He had timed it just-so, and barely concealed his lopsided smirk when you choked on your tea. Shoko walked in, drenched, looking at you and Kento in dismay. You coughed, opening your mouth to speak, but Kento got there first, firing shots.
"Is it raining?"
Shoko scoffed, sputtering, while you buckled against the windowsill.
Kento grabbed a hand towel and an umbrella, heading to the door. As Shoko reached for the towel, Kento pressed the umbrella into her hands instead, his expression flat, but his voice edged with a feral pleasure that made you come undone.
"You'll need this."
Kento's meanness was tempered only by his self-deprecation, and when you took as good as you gave, you felt his icey facade melt away completely, revealing such warmth.
It was no wonder you were drawn to each other, when the only reason neither of you laughed together, was because you were in a constant stand-off for who could remain poe-faced the longest. Kento always won.
Still, you felt the need to break him; you had cracked smiles, or the occasional chuckle out of him, but nothing more. You knew nothing more than the truest irony would do it.
The day came; you arrived, to your usual staffroom rendezvous, covered in blood. Kento paled, abandoning his book to rise immediately and reach you in three long strides.
"--you're hurt-- we'll go to Sho--"
"Kento. Stop. It's not my blood-- it's Gojo's."
Kento did a double-take, his eyes narrowing in disbelief, so you explained.
"Gojo invited himself to teach me about Curses that are 'above my paygrade', so he took me to one. I told him this Curse was clearly more powerful than it looked, and Gojo told me to step back so he could handle it. Said he'd even do it without his Infinity on. So I stepped back."
Kento's nose flared, barely perceptible.
"...and?"
You took a deep breath. "So, Gojo has a broken nose--"
Kento broke down with a wheeze, before bursting into a rich, deep rolling laughter that split the clouds with sun. His hands clasped the windowsill, his eyes crinkled, and his shoulders shook with wicked, throaty mirth.
You felt yourself becoming drunk off him, utterly intoxicated by his laughter. Kento couldn't stop himself, trembling with schadenfreude to the point of indecency.
Finally, sighing and straightening as if exhausted, Kento wiped his eyes with the side of his finger, and smiled at you with sweet adoration. Laughter still threatened to break through as he begged you.
"Would you-- would you like to go out for dinner? With me?"
You paused, your expression pained.
"Ah...no. No, thank you."
Kento froze, his face beginning to fall. You looked down at yourself, and announced, still deadpan.
"It's just-- I'm covered in blood, you see--"
That sent Kento over the edge again.
You remained content throughout the years of your marriage, for Nanami Kento to be viewed by others as boring and humourless. You found yourself jealously greedy of his rare laughter, anyway.
After marriage, you viewed it as the highest badge of honour to make him laugh like that while he was buried inside you.
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