ೀ ㅤ۫ ㅤ۪ㅤ۫ ㅤ ♡ ㅤ. if you wanna come, give my brother some!
synopsis: the one where you’re dying to go to a frat party. you don’t want to go alone, and your best friend itadori promises to take you on one condition: you talk to his older brother. just talk, nothing crazy. of course, you never do anything half-assed.
part 2 is here! part 3 is here!
content: MDNI. frat!choso kamo x reader, top reader x sub choso, college au, modern au, drinking, edible usage, vaping, alcohol, hookup, mutual attraction, explicit smut, slight age gap (college, reader is a freshman and choso is a senior), oral sex (f and m receiving), unprotected sex, p in v, fingering, creampie, dry humping, choso cums too soon, reader tops, teasing, crack humor, overwatch references (i have an addiction)
wc: 4.6k
a/n: art by thatsallitchief! y'all when i tell you i had so much work to do after spring break but mama got it done and is feeding y'all. except i feel like this one wound up being kind of rushed... also can you tell i've never been to a frat. they lowkey scare me which is why i would want my close personal bestie yuji itadori to accompany me to one!! anyways. i wrote most of this while half asleep soooooo sorry if there's any mistakes i missed while proofreading <333 i feel like i treat a/ns like diary entries lmfao
“pleaaaasee, itadori,” you pouted and rested your head on his shoulder, giving him puppy eyes. “please? kappa is throwing a huge one this weekend.”
itadori, who had his laptop open to his lecture notes but was really buried in his instagram reels, waved a hand. “kappa sucks anyways. weird ass frat.”
you raised a brow. “and you would know? you never go to frats, you spent every friday night playing fortnite or whatever…” you retorted, crossing your arms and slouching back in your chair. itadori scoffed in response. “modern warfare. and for your information, not every friday! sometimes i go to sig tau.”
“sig tau?”
“yeah. my older brother is a member.”
you shot up in your seat. “you have an older brother?” your jaw dropped, and itadori finally looked up from his phone. “yeah. look, dude. tung tung sahur.” he grinned, showing you his phone. you didn’t pay any attention to the brainrot he was showing you, more focused on the pressing matter at hand.
“itadori. you have an older brother who’s in a frat and you haven’t taken me yet?”
he shrugged. “i didn’t think you’d wanna go. buuuut i guess i can bring you with this weekend… on one condition.”
“anything.”
itadori grinned like how he did when he was about to steal one of your ramen cups. “talk to my brother.”
your raised brow and your smile dropped. a set up? “hell no.”
“please? i think you’ll really like him. he’s on the rugby team, he’s really tall—“
“nope. i told you, after that situationship from welcome week, men are off limits for me,” you held up a hand, shaking your head. itadori scoffed. “i wouldn’t really call fushiguro a situationship, more like a deluluship—“
“regardless! men are a no-no.”
itadori gave you a knowing look. “okay then. no frat. you can go to kappa on your own.”
you frowned at the thought of sticky floors, cheap alcohol, and being by yourself with no other friends. kugisaki and maki had no interest in coming with you to a frat. “… fine. what’s his instagram?” you gave in with a sigh.
itadori’s thumbs flew across his screen before he pulled up the page: a blank. user chosokamo. not even a profile picture.
“wow. he’s handsome,” you muttered sarcastically.
“he’s shy.”
“a shy frat guy on the rugby team? i don’t buy it.”
“you’ll see,” itadori grinned. “he’s nice. really, he’s quiet, but he’s a sweet guy. you’ll love him.”
“do i have to sleep with him or something?”
“i doubt you’ll get that far.”
you weren’t one to turn down a challenge. come friday night, you’d stalked down all of choso’s profiles. instagram, twitter, snapchat (practically nonexistent snap score), tiktok, spotify, linkedin, battle.net account. reposts of cat videos, playlists with rap and 2000s emo rock music for workouts, worked at a… plant nursery as a part time job? majored in biology with a focus in hematology. mained mizuki in overwatch.
you looked yourself over in the mirror while itadori waited outside. micro shorts, a cute halter top, some layered jewelry, shitty sneakers (in case of spills), and dolly makeup. good enough.
“come onnnnn slut!” itadori groaned outside your door. you swung it open and glared at him. “give me the goods.”
itadori rolled his eyes and slammed a red, sugarcoated gummy and pink vape in your hand. “can’t believe i’m your plug and your ride to a frat. for free.”
you scoffed, chewing the gummy. “hey, i gave you answers to the midterm, didn’t i? consider this payment. also, strawberry cloud dream?” you raised a brow at the pink device.
“it matches my hair!”
the sigma tau house was three blocks from campus and you could hear it before you saw it. it was brick and not exactly a small house, led lights in each window. red cups littered the lawn and a few guys out front were doing something that looked like it had started as a drinking game but had wound up being something entirely different.
you took a long drag of the strawberry cloud and ghosted it before braving a step inside. sticky floors, bass that vibrated your inner ear, faces you couldn’t really make out due to the low lighting.
you hadn’t even realized itadori left your side when he came back to you bearing gifts: a red solo cup. “sprite and svedka,” he grinned proudly.
you took a hesitant sip and grimaced. “holy shit. dude, this is svedka and like… a splash of sprite.”
itadori laughed and slung his arm around your shoulder. “welcome to your first frat party. okay, so, choso is in the kitchen—“
“the kitchen?”
“yeah, he doesn’t like the main room. actually, he doesn’t like coming out of his room…”
your brow furrowed. this guy didn’t sound like he belonged to a frat. then again, he studied blood. you let yuji lead you to the kitchen, shuffling past a girl who was throwing up into the trash can and right towards—
holy shit.
definitely over six feet worth of pure muscle, not too bulked but just beefy enough, eye bags, a scar on his nose bridge? no matter. dark hair that reached just below his ears, a wearing a band top and jeans. the hand holding his phone was both veiny and boney, his knuckles highlights with ridges of veins that ran down to his forearms. definitely your type. fushiguro who?
“yo, bro!” itadori smiled and waved, guiding you towards him. the man looked up, glanced at you, then looked back to his brother. “hey, yuji.”
you stood awkwardly at itadori’s side, mouth watering as you watched his older brother converse with him. his jaw was nice and defined, his lips pouted just the slightest bit…
“so this is my friend…” he finally introduced you. “the girl from my freshman year seminar i told you about? and this is my brother choso kamo, he’s a senior… right! so, um, i’m gonna go grab another drink—“
“wait, itadori!” you hissed, but he was gone in a flash. you whipped back to face his older brother, laughing nervously. “hi…”
“… hi.”
you stood in awkward silence for a moment. “so… kamo? not itadori?” you blurted out the ice breaker, and immediately regretted it. who asked a stranger about the specifics of their last name? was it the alcohol, or your nerves, or both?
“it’s… a long story…” choso looked away.
“right…” you dropped your gaze to the ground, then back up at him. you weren’t giving up. “so… itadori tells me you study biology? hematology?” a lie, obviously you’d figured out from stalking his linkedin. choso blinked up at you. “… yeah. he told you that?”
you nodded and lied through your teeth. “yeah. pretty… specific. why blood?”
choso shrugged and took a sip of whatever was in his cup. “my family has a history of blood disorders…” he murmured. “i wanted to understand it, so… i studied it.”
“oh,” you nodded slowly. it wasn’t the answer you’d expected. to be honest, you didn’t know what to expect with this guy. his head tilted up and you could make out the faintest tint of pink of his ears. “sorry. not good party conversation, huh?”
you shrugged. “i wouldn’t know. this is my first frat.”
his eyes widened. “your first— and you’re talking with me?” he scoffed. “you should go out and have fun with yuji.”
“i like talking with you,” you blurted out thanks to the 99% svedka drink in your cup. you realized how stupid you'd sounded. maybe three sentences exchanged with this guy and you liked talking with him?
he swallowed thickly. “you do…?” he mumbled, then straightened up when you nodded. “… what do you study?”
you could’ve easily ended the conversation fifteen, twenty minutes ago. once you got to the forty minute mark and had flown through three different topics of conversation with choso, you’d forgotten about your deal with itadori.
“so… mizuki?” you tilted your head. choso was smiling just the slightest bit by now. “yeah. used to main reinhardt, but his shield got nerfed.”
“so you abandoned him for support?” you laughed softly. “hey, at least you could be my d.va’s pocket healer now.”
choso raised a brow. “you play d.va? not surprised.”
you scoffed. “what’s that supposed to mean?” choso shrugged, not answering the question. “you play other video games?” he asked. you shrugged. “usually cod or fortnite with itadori. you?”
“… league of legends. on occasion.”
“ew.”
“hey!”
you busted out laughing, holding his arm for balance. you were about to make another snarky comment about his taste in video games when a head of pink hair swayed up to you guys.
“heyyyy guyssss…” he laughed and threw his arms around the both of you, effectively squishing you against choso’s firm chest. “having fun? need refills? you want—“
“yuji. go away,” choso playfully shoved his brother, earning a wide grin from your friend. “right right, of course, if you guys need anything… more drinks, condoms—“
“yuji!”
you laughed and rested your hand on choso’s chest, not having moved from where you’d been pressed against him. he tilted his head down to look at you. “sorry about him.”
“don’t apologize for him,” you smiled. “he’s an idiot, but i'm getting used to it.”
“yeah? how’s that going?” choso smirked, earning another small laugh from you. “not well.”
choso hummed. “try living with him for 19 years.”
“huh?” you tilted your head. the music had been turned up impossibly louder. choso leaned in and spoke a little louder in your ear. “i said, try living with him for 19 years.”
you laughed softly, the alcohol making you bubbly and flirty. “it’s loud in here.”
“it is,” he agreed, setting his cup down. “you wanna go up to my room?” he blurted out, then stilled. “i mean… just ‘cause it’s quieter. and i have my xbox so we can play games. not ‘cause… i mean— unless you’d—“
you suddenly felt sobered up. this had just been a stupid challenge, you remembered, but now it was real. “choso,” you cut him off, then nodded with a small smile. “lead the way.”
on your way up the stairs, led by choso holding your hand. you glanced down at the party to find itadori’s jaw dropped as he stared up at you, then he gave you a thumbs up and a big smile. you pretended you didn’t see him.
choso’s hand immediately left yours as soon as you were in his room. assuming he was undressing or tidying up his bed or something, you looked around his room. my chemical romance and deftones posters, textbooks, a bonsai tree.
then you heard the xbox turning on. you whipped around to find him sitting in his beanbag, thumbing the controller and looking up at you expectantly.
oh my god. he was actually serious about playing video games.
you glanced at him, then the tv. “you’re… serious?”
he furrowed his brow. “why wouldn’t i be?”
you pushed aside the ache between your thighs and settled next to him in his beanbag, noticing how he tensed up a little. you took the second controller and resigned yourself to the fact that instead of getting laid tonight, you’d be queuing up in ranked.
you were terrible at overwatch on console. you were used to pc and were still getting used to the controls. “you just walked into the enemy team,” choso muttered.
“excuse me. i’m tanking.”
“your kd is tanking, you mean.”
you frowned. “i’m used to pc, okay?”
“here,” he actually smiled, scooting closer behind you, wrapping his arms around yours and placing his hands over yours. “okay, left stick moves,” he mumbled in your ear. “right stick is for camera. this button shoots. this one’s your ult. you good?”
you glanced up at him, your faces inches away from each other. “yeah…” you murmured, looking back to the screen and playing better now that you knew the controls. “like this?”
“yeah, just like that… good.”
your thighs squeezed together, and you blushed as you realized he was close enough to probably feel it. you glanced back up at him, hearing your character die on the screen as you lost focus. choso didn’t comment, only staring down at you. he was close, close enough that you could make out the little scar on the bridge of his nose, the slight furrow of his brow, the way his lips had parted just a bit.
without thinking, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his. both controllers clattered to the floor.
choso was quick and eager, returning the kiss and grabbing your waist. his tongue slipped into your mouth, rubbing against yours as he grunted with effort. you felt his cock straining against his jeans as he almost rutted against your thigh.
he caught himself, though, and pulled away panting softly, his lips glossed with your saliva. “s-sorry, that was—“
you shut him up with another kiss, pulling him close and swinging your leg over so you were straddling his lap. he groaned and pulled you closer, grinding up into you. you rolled your hips in response, and a high pitched noise bubbled up from his throat.
you pulled away to find him beet red with wide eyes. “that wasn’t—“
“you whimpered.”
his face scrunched up a bit. "what? no, i didn't-"
his protest was cut off as you rolled your hips again, an undeniable, broken, high pitched noise spilled from his lips. his fingers dug into your waist, trying to hold you still as he looked away, his cheeks flushed.
"oh my god," you half breathed out, half laughed out. "you're serious."
"stop." his voice held no conviction, his body betraying him as you felt his hips bucking up and rubbing up against you just the slightest bit.
you smirked and lifted your hips, pulling off of him. "fine," you murmured, and he immediately got the look of a kicked puppy, instinctively reaching for your waist again. "wait, no, don't-"
he paused as you got on your knees in front of him, running a hand through your hair to push it back. "... oh," he murmured, his hand sifting into your hair as you undid his jeans. his breath audibly hitched when you pulled his boxers down, his cock slapping up against his abs. he was already throbbing in your hand and beading pre, which you thumbed and smeared over his flared head.
“fuck…” he groaned, spreading his legs further apart. you looked up at him through your lashes. “sensitive?” you teased, and he only managed a nod in response.
you hummed and gently pumped him, barely even that. deciding to tease, you basically ghosted your fingers over his length, then leaned in and pressed a little wet kiss to his leaking tip.
“mm-hm!” his hips bucked up and a whine bubbled up from his chest. his tip prodded at your lips, and you took the opportunity to close your lips around him and sink your head down just a few inches. he was already a whining mess, tugging at your hair as his thighs tensed.
“fuck—“ he groaned after not even a minute. “wait, wait, wait— ‘m not gonna—“
you pulled off of him, lips still connected to his cock by a string of saliva. “don’t tell me you’re already close,” you raised a brow.
he huffed a small, nervous laugh. “i… think i am…” and judging by how he looked, he wasn’t lying. dark hair sticking with sweat to his forehead just a bit, his chest rising and falling as he panted, his flushed skin, face and ears tinted pink.
“that fast?” a shit-eating grin tugged at your lips.
he groaned and let his head fall back, scrubbing his free hand down his face. “you were just…!” he protested, gesturing vaguely to his lap, then you.
you hummed. “fair.” you moved to take him back into your mouth, but a tug on your hair stopped you. frowning, you protested. “what…?”
his chest was still heavy with his panting, his hips twitching up into the air. “just— i won’t last if you keep—“
“so?” you shrugged, dropping your gaze back to where your hand was wrapped around him. you stuck out your tongue and let a glob of spit spill to his tip, then smeared it along his slit. “i know i was teasing you, but i don’t care. really.”
he groaned and tugged at your hair again, then reached down and pulled you up by your arms, making you squeak in surprise. “choso—!”
“not like this…” he grunted, hoisting you up effortlessly, holding your legs around his waist as he stood. “wanna make you feel good first…” he mumbled shyly into your neck, setting you down on the bed and kissing down your body. his lips left a wet, cool trail on your skin, goosebumps following.
your stomach did a flip. itadori was right… he really was sweet. your expression softened. “you don’t have to—“
“i want to,” he mumbled against your inner thigh, his lips suckling gently at the skin there. he hesitated, pulling just an inch away and gazing up at you like he was already drunk on you. “… is that okay?”
your heart flopped around in your chest. “yeah…” you sighed out softly. he nodded and carefully undid the button and zipper of your jeans, pulling them down with your panties.
“holy shit…” he mumbled aloud, probably meaning to keep that in his head. he reached up hesitantly and gently spread your drooling folds with his fingers. he glanced back up at you with wider puppy eyes, quietly asking for permission.
you nodded, fingers threading into his dark locks. “go ahead.”
he didn’t waste a second, pressing a wet kiss to your clit before suckling the bud between his lips.
“fuck—!” your knees jerked up along with your hips. "oh my god, where the fuck did you-?"
"mmph," he grunted against your cunt. "'m not a virgin, y'know,"
your cheeks flushed. "yeah, i knew that..." you grumbled, even though up until about five seconds ago you'd figured he hadn't felt the touch of a woman before. he huffed against you and picked up his pace as if he now had something to prove, his tongue delving between your folds and slurping up every drop of your slick. his thumb came to rub quick little circles into your swollen bud, leaving you fisting at his hair.
"choso- holy shit-"
"mmf..." he grunted, his hips jerking against the mattress. he kept humming and grunting in both the effort of eating you out and the pleasure from grinding against his bed, the vibrations shooting through you and making your back arch.
he definitely knew what he was doing, at least with you. every time your hips jerked up or your thighs twitched or you tugged at his hair, he chased it, learning you in real time. his hand slid up your stomach, grabbing a fistful of your top to ground himself. he was practically humping the mattress, desperate for friction to soothe his throbbing cock.
you were too lost in your own cloud of pleasure to even notice it. one hand fisted at his hair, keeping his face buried in your pussy, the other fisted at the sheets. "f-fuck, cho- 'm close..."
he groaned and grabbed your hips, pulling you impossibly closer to his face. "c'mon." you could barely make out what he said, his voice was so muffled. he sucked harshly on your clit, then brought his hand to plunge two deft fingers into your hole, bullying your g-spot. "c'mon, give it t'me... please..."
you came with a whine of his name, your back arching and obscene squelching noises coming from where choso’s tongue met your sticky walls. he groaned loudly, his jaw going slack for a moment, and the moment the mattress stopped squeaking was when you realized it had been making noise at all.
he shuddered a bit, pulling away from you with glossy lips, your cum dripping down his chin. your hazy gaze raked down his body as he sat up, finding a dark patch in his boxers.
you couldn’t help the laugh you exhaled. “did you seriously cum in your pants from eating me out?”
choso was beet red again, red crawling up his neck. “shut up.”
biting your lip, you smiled and crawled forward, slowly and deliberately, like a jaguar stalking her prey. choso gulped visibly, almost shrinking back a little, but his body froze up in fear... or excitement. or both.
"you couldn't even wait..." you smirked, tilting his chin up once you were on top of him. your fingers ghosted down his shirt, feeling his abs, dipping below his waistband.
choso let out a shaky breath, bringing his hands to hover over your waist, as if he wanted to grab on but he wasn't sure if he was allowed to. "i- i tried..." he murmured, the tips of his ears blushing pink.
your smirk widened. "didn't seem like it."
he swallowed hard at that, his adam's apple bobbing in his throat. your fingers teased right at his trail, waiting until he was bucking up into you to pull his waistband down. he was still rock hard and throbbing, sticky cum dripping down the veins of his cock.
you bit your lip and smiled, your eyes lighting up at the sight of him like you'd just won the lottery. "mmh..." you moved your hips to hover over him, and he finally grabbed onto the swell of your hips.
"wait-" he stammered out. "... protection? i have condoms-"
"fuck that, 'm on the pill," you muttered, tossing your hair back and moving to sink down on him.
"are you s- ohhhhmygod..." he groaned, his eyes squeezing shut and his brow knitting as you enveloped him with a sweet squelchh! the stretch dragged a little whine out of you, and you bit your lip to hold it back. you bottomed out, ass flush to his thighs, and took a moment to stare at him. panting, flushed, brow seemingly permanently knotted upwards.
"choso."
"one second."
"are you seriously trying to not cum already?"
he whined and let his head fall back to the mattress, already humiliated from cumming in his pants, and now you were just being cruel. "just- give me a second, okay? jesus..." he panted.
you gave him a second, waiting patiently. then two, three, four, five...
you rolled your hips, and his hands flew to your waist. "fuuuuckk...!" he rasped, lifting his head to glare up at you, only to find you with a shit eating grin. "theerre he is..." you purred, rolling your hips again.
"please-" he whined into the back of his hand after throwing it over his face. "please, i just need a minute, 'm not gonna-"
"choso," you pulled his hand away, staring down at him. your free hand smoothed over his chest, feeling his heart banging against his ribcage. "look at me. you're doing so good..."
the sound that left him was sharp, broken, and obviously he hadn't meant to let it slip out. something like a whimper crossed with a groan and maybe even a little sob. his hips bucked up into you, your hole squelching softly. "don't say that..." he murmured, his face hot.
"takin' me so well, stretchin' me out..." you purred, just to see his reaction. it was gold, of course, another whine spilling past his lips. his fingers dug into the fat of your hips, not stopping you, just holding on for dear life. "you're doing that on purpose," he accused breathlessly.
"obviously."
you took his hands from your hips and brought them up to the curve below your breast, letting him hold you where he could feel your heartbeat. then, bracing your own hands on his chest, you leaned forward a bit, glancing down at where his cock disappeared between your drenched folds. little bubbles of pre foamed at where he did.
you dragged your hips up, then sunk down-
"fuck-" choso's breath hitched, and his bit his lip to keep from being loud. his jaw clenched, his eyes were shut tight like if he didn't look at you, maybe, just maybe, he could keep himself from cumming right now.
"you can be loud, cho. no one's gonna hear you over the party downstairs."
he swallowed thickly and nodded. "right, right..."
"and open your eyes. wan' you to watch me ride your cock."
he twitched inside you, and he huffed. "can you not-"
you rose and dropped your hips to shut him up, and a broken whine interrupted whatever complaint he had. and you didn't stop there, speeding up and bouncing on him without any pauses.
"shit, shit, oh my- fuuckk-" it dragged out of him. long and dissolving. his head pressed back into the pillow, his hands flexing against your waist. "okay. okay, okay, okay-"
your hands moved from his chest up to his hair, fisting his soft locks in both hands like handlebars. he whined and hugged you to his chest, burying his face in your neck.
"cho-"
"don't stop, please..." he almost cried into your neck. "please don't stop, feels s-s'good, 'm... fuuck, 'm not gonna last..." he dragged his words out with soft whines.
you felt it building in your stomach too. it was impossible to ignore at this point, the way his cock was rubbing up on your gummy spot and smearing globs of his precum over it.
"yeah?" you managed to pant out, dipping your head down to gently nip at his earlobe. "you gonna fill me up? hm?"
"hngh- fuck-"
you sped up, sweaty skin slapping against sweaty skin as he began to buck up desperately into you.
"hm? can't hear you, cho. i asked if you're gonna cum inside me," you panted. choso was panting heavily, his gaze trained on where your pussy lips stretched and drooled around his cock, bouncing up and down.
squelch!
squelchh!
squelchhh!
he finally slammed his hips up into you, his head thrown back as a strained cry spilled from his raw lips. "h-hngh- 'm cumming- cumming-!!"
his cock throbbed and twitched against your velvet walls, spurting and sticking his seed to your walls. "oh my god..." he panted, hips hips rutting up in aftershock, mushroomy tip smearing his sticky white allllll around your walls till he was leaking out of you.
you followed close behind, your fingers twisting in his hair, back arching and head tilting back. your poor hole quivered around him, squeezing his swollen cock in quick pulses. you glanced back in the mirror to find sticky patches of white dripping down your inner thighs, and your jaw dropped.
you looked back down at him underneath you: totally fucked out, half lidded eyes, chewed and raw lips parted, drool slicking down from the corners of his mouth. "that was..." he rasped, then closed his eyes.
"yeah..." you exhaled a small laugh, still catching your breath. you pulled off of him with a lewd drag, then plopped down beside him. his hand subconsciously came up to your hair, sifting into your locks, and you wondered if he was even awake at this point.
careful not to wake him up, you reached across him to the nightstand for his phone, hovering it over his face for the face ID. you scrolled to his messages to add your number, then furrowed your brow as you saw his group chat being blown up.
SIGMA TAU BROTHERHOOD 🔥💪🍻
todo aoi: CHOSO GETTING CHEEKS TN YO
todo aoi: I SAW HIM TAKE A GIRL UPSTAIRS
itadori yuji: i set it up hb of the year over here
naoya zenin: kamo actually pulled? no way LMFAOOOOO
kinji hakari: STOP CALLIN MY PHONE SHE GETTIN FUCKED TN😹😹😹😹😹😹😹😹😹😹
naoya zenin: yo this mf got negative aura how did this happen
todo aoi: CHOSO BROTHER I'M SO PROUD
naoya zenin: i'm serious bro wtf
you snorted and tossed his phone to the side, burrowing your face into choso's neck and snuggling into him. the party thumped on downstairs. for once, though you'd hate to admit it out loud, you could say itadori was right. you were glad you didn't go to kappa.
synopsis: the one where you’re dying to go to a frat party. you don’t want to go alone, and your best friend itadori promises to take you on one condition: you talk to his older brother. just talk, nothing crazy. of course, you never do anything half-assed.
content: MDNI. frat!choso kamo x reader, top reader x sub choso, college au, modern au, drinking, edible usage, vaping, alcohol, hookup, mutual attraction, explicit smut, slight age gap (college, reader is a freshman and choso is a senior), oral sex (f and m receiving), unprotected sex, p in v, fingering, creampie, dry humping, choso cums too soon, reader tops, teasing, crack humor, overwatch references (i have an addiction)
When Ryomen 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 found a temple girl still on her knees after he had burned it to the ground, he thought you'd be perfect to take as his.
𝓒𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 · 𝟏𝟖+ 𝒎𝒅𝒏𝒊 · ꒰ 𝒇. 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 ⋮⋮ 𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒎!𝒔𝒖𝒌𝒖𝒏𝒂 ⋮⋮ mentions of weapons (knife) ⋮⋮ reader at one point tries to take his life ⋮⋮ mention of blood ⋮⋮ 𝒗𝒊𝒓𝒈𝒊𝒏 reader ⋮⋮ p in v ⋮⋮ his two cks mentioned ⋮⋮ cervix kissing ⋮⋮ tummy bulges ⋮⋮ cum-flated ⋮⋮ c-pied ⋮⋮ 𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒍 f. rec ⋮⋮ he eats you out under a pear tree ⋮⋮ bathtub 𝒔𝒆𝒙 ⋮⋮ dp ⋮⋮ nipple play ⋮⋮ mentions of pregnancy ꒱
The Heian era stretched long and bloody under skies that never quite cleared of smoke. Villages burned not for conquest alone, but because Ryomen Sukuna found the sight of flames prettier than the thatched roofs they devoured.
He moved like calamity given legs, four arms thick with corded muscle, tattoos crawling black across scarlet skin, eyes the color of fresh-spilled blood and just as hungry. They called him the King of Curses long before any true cursed spirit bore the name; humans feared him the way prey fears the open mouth of a tiger, and with good reason.
He slaughtered priests mid-chant, crushed shrine maidens beneath his geta, left offering bowls overturned and spilling rice across blood-slicked tatami. Faith irritated him. Devotion irritated him more. It was the only thing that ever made him pause long enough to really look at someone.
You were different in the way a single unbroken flower is different in a field turned to ash.
The temple sat modest on its hill, cedar beams darkened by centuries of incense. You had spent your life inside its walls. Sweeping stone paths at dawn, replacing withered chrysanthemums, murmuring sutras until your voice felt less like your own and more like something borrowed from the kami themselves.
Your hands were calloused only from scrubbing floors and carrying water; your body soft in the way of someone who had never known violence except as stories whispered after dark. When war finally clawed its way up the mountain road, you did not run. You knelt deeper. Forehead to the cool floor, palms pressed together, lips shaping the same prayer you had spoken every morning since childhood.
Sukuna found you like that.
The sliding doors exploded inward in a spray of splinters. Smoke curled around his silhouette as he stepped inside, two of his arms crossed, the other two loose at his sides. Blood still dripped from the knuckles of his rightmost hand; somewhere behind him a monk’s severed head rolled to a stop against a lantern post. He tilted his head, regarding you. You did not lift your gaze. You did not scream. You only whispered the next line of the sutra, voice trembling but unbroken.
He laughed once the sound of it came out low and rough, amused in a way that made the air feel heavier.
“Still praying,” he said, voice like gravel dragged over silk. “Even now.”
You swallowed. Tears slipped free, hot against your cheeks, but your hands stayed joined.
He crossed the prayer hall in three strides. One massive hand closed around the back of your neck. Not cruel yet, only possessive. He lifted you as though you weighed nothing, your knees scraping the floorboards before they left them entirely. Your prayer beads clattered to the ground. You reached instinctively for them; he caught your wrist mid-motion and pinned it behind you with casual strength.
“If I’m not there,” you managed, voice cracking on every word, “who will take care of the temple?”
He went still.
For one heartbeat the only sound was the crackle of distant fires and your own uneven breathing.
Then he leaned in until his mouth brushed the shell of your ear.
“That’s what I like about you already,” he murmured. “You think the gods still need you.”
He carried you out of the ruined temple slung over one shoulder like a prize of war. You beat uselessly at his back until your strength gave out; tears soaked the fabric stretched across his shoulder blades. The last thing you saw of your home was the torii gate tilting sideways, half-consumed by flame.
His fortress crouched against jagged black cliffs, more cavern than castle—rough-hewn stone corridors lit by flickering braziers, air thick with the smell of iron and cedar smoke. Servants scattered like leaves when he entered, heads bowed so low their foreheads nearly kissed the floor. Only one did not flinch: Uraume, pale and composed, white hair falling straight as a blade. They regarded you with cool interest as Sukuna dumped you unceremoniously onto the wide, low platform that served as his sleeping mat.
You scrambled backward until your spine hit the wall, kimono tangled around your knees, chest heaving. The room was vast, shadowed, dominated by his presence even when he turned away to shrug out of bloodied outer robes. No partition. No second mat. No door that closed between you and him.
You were his now.
He did not speak the words. He did not need to.
Uraume approached without being summoned, carrying a lacquered tray. Steaming rice, grilled fish, pickled vegetables arranged with meticulous care. A clay cup of water. They knelt before you, expression unreadable.
“Eat,” they said simply. “He does not tolerate weakness in what belongs to him.”
You stared at the food, stomach twisting with nausea and hunger in equal measure. Your fingers shook when you reached for the chopsticks.
Later, after the tray had been cleared away. Uraume returned with folded yukata of soft undyed silk and a wooden tub already filled with heated water scented faintly with yuzu. They gestured toward a screened alcove at the far side of the chamber.
“Wash,” they instructed. “He will want you clean.”
You obeyed because there was nothing else to do.
The water was almost too hot; it turned your skin pink as you sank into it, knees drawn to your chest. You scrubbed mechanically, arms and shoulders, the crook of your neck, until every trace of soot and temple incense had been erased. Your hair hung heavy and dripping when you finally stepped out. Uraume waited with a dry cloth and the yukata. They did not touch you; they simply watched until you had dressed, until the sash was tied neatly at your waist.
When you emerged from behind the screen, Sukuna was already reclining on the wide mat, one elbow propped beneath him, four eyes fixed on you with lazy predatory interest. The yukata clung slightly to still-damp skin. You felt naked beneath his gaze despite the layers.
He crooked two fingers.
You hesitated.
He crooked them again, but slower this time, deliberately.
You crossed the room on unsteady legs and sank to your knees at the edge of the mat, head bowed, hands folded in your lap the way you had been taught to approach superiors. The posture felt wrong here. Too reverent. Too much like prayer.
He reached out, caught your chin between thumb and forefinger, and tilted your face up.
“You still smell like incense,” he said, almost thoughtful. “I’ll have to fix that.”
His thumb dragged once across your lower lip rough and warm, a soft press.
Then he released you.
“Sleep,” he ordered, lying back and closing two of his eyes while the other two remained trained on you. “You’ll need your strength.”
There was no spare futon. No corner to curl into. Only the space beside him on the wide mat, close enough to feel the furnace heat rolling off his body.
You lay down carefully, on your side, facing away from him, every muscle rigid. Tears slipped silently into the thin pillow beneath your cheek.
Behind you, he let out a single exhale that sounded almost like a laugh.
“Good girl,” he murmured into the dark. “Faithful things last longer when they learn their place.”
The braziers guttered low. The fortress settled into uneasy quiet.
And you, stolen from the gods, lay awake listening to the slow, steady rhythm of the monster’s breathing at your back, knowing he had only begun to claim what he wanted.
The first days blurred into a haze of stone walls and flickering firelight. You kept to the edges of the chamber like a shadow trying to disappear into itself. Every time Sukuna moved, your body tensed up, waiting for the strike that never came. Not yet. He lounged on the wide mat most hours, sometimes sleeping with all four eyes closed (a rare vulnerability you noted and immediately regretted noticing), sometimes watching you with the lazy patience of a cat that has already cornered its mouse. Uraume appeared at regular intervals with trays of food you refused to touch. Rice cooled untouched. Fish grew dull-eyed on the lacquer. Pickles wilted. You told yourself it was defiance. You told yourself starvation was preferable to accepting anything from the thing that had burned your world down.
Hunger, though, was not impressed by principle.
Your stomach clawed itself hollow. Your limbs felt heavy, your head light. You sat with your back to the wall, knees drawn up, arms wrapped tight around them as though you could hold yourself together that way. Sukuna noticed. Of course he did. He noticed everything.
On the fourth evening or perhaps the fifth; time had begun to slip like sand. He rose from the mat abruptly. Uraume had just left another untouched meal on the low table. Sukuna crossed to it in two strides, picked up the bowl of rice still faintly warm, and carried it to where you sat.
You pressed harder against the stone.
He crouched before you. He was too close, always too close. Balancing the bowl on one massive palm. The other three hands rested loose at his sides, deceptively calm.
“Eat,” he said. Not an order this time. Almost conversational.
You stared at the floor between his knees. “No.”
A beat of silence. Then a low sound escaped from him, not quite a laugh, more like air pushed through teeth.
“You think starving yourself hurts me?” He tilted his head, studying the stubborn line of your jaw. “It only makes you weaker. And I don’t keep broken things.”
“I’m not yours to keep.”
The words came out quieter than you meant, cracked from disuse and thirst. Still, they hung between you like a thrown gauntlet.
He considered them. Then, without warning, one of his lower hands lifted in a slow and deliberate motion to cup the side of your face. Not rough. Not gentle either. Just there. Warm. The calluses on his thumb rasped once against your cheekbone.
“You will eat,” he said, softer now, almost amused. “Or I will make you.”
You jerked your head away. “I said no.”
His grip tightened, just enough to still you but not enough to bruise. The other hand, the one holding the rice moved closer. He scooped a small clump with two fingers, brought it to your lips.
You clamped your mouth shut. Turned your face aside.
He waited.
The seconds stretched. Your pulse hammered in your ears. Hunger roared louder than pride.
Then slowly, so slowly you hated yourself for it. Your lips parted. Just enough.
He pushed the rice inside.
You chewed mechanically, eyes stinging, hating the way your body betrayed you by swallowing. The grains were perfectly soft, faintly sweet from whatever subtle seasoning Uraume used. You hated that too.
Sukuna watched every motion. The way your throat worked. The way a single grain clung to the corner of your mouth until his thumb brushed it away.
“Good,” he murmured.
He fed you another bite. Then another. Never rushing. Never forcing more than you could take at once. One of his free hands settled at the small of your back, not pulling you closer. Just resting there, steadying you as though you might topple sideways from the effort of hating him while your body demanded to live.
You ate half the bowl before shame choked you again. You tried to turn your head.
He didn’t let you.
The last bite he held between his fingers longer than necessary, letting you feel the heat of his skin, the faint pulse beneath it. When you finally took it, your soft lips closing around the pads of his fingers for one humiliating second and then something flickered in his eyes. Not lust, not yet. Satisfaction. The quiet pleasure of something stubborn beginning to bend.
He set the empty bowl aside. His hand lingered on your cheek a moment longer before falling away.
“You’ll eat tomorrow,” he said, rising to his full height again. “And the day after. And every day I decide you’re still useful alive.”
You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, glaring up at him through wet lashes. “I hate you.”
He gave a small and sharp smile that was entirely genuine, you feared.
“I know.”
He returned to the mat, stretched out on his side, and closed two eyes while the other two stayed fixed on you. You stayed where you were, back to the wall, knees still drawn tight, tasting rice and salt and the ghost of his fingers on your tongue.
Hunger sated. Defiance cracked, just a little.
And in the shadowed quiet of the fortress, the King of Curses watched his stolen faithful with the patience of someone who already knew how this story ended.
Days bled into one another until the rhythm of captivity began to feel less like chains and more like gravity was inescapable and constant. Wearing down edges you once thought sharp. You no longer pressed yourself to the farthest wall when he entered the chamber. You no longer flinched at every shift of his massive frame. Vigilance replaced panic; observation replaced despair.
....
You learned the fortress the way a prisoner learns the bars of a cage. The low wooden chest near the alcove held his smaller blades. A curved tanto with black-wrapped hilts, edges honed to split hairs. You watched him retrieve them once, twice, committing the latch’s soft click to memory. Uraume never lingered near it; Sukuna himself seemed to forget it existed most days, as though no one in this place would dare touch what was his.
You told yourself the knowledge was survival. You told yourself the plan forming in the quiet hours, when his breathing evened out beside you and the braziers burned low....was justice that you'd claim. The temple still haunted your dreams: splintered beams, overturned altars, the last prayer dying on your lips as he carried you away. Revenge felt righteous. Necessary.
And yet.
His body had become a fixture. Four arms that could crush stone now draped carelessly across the mat at night. One slung over your waist when he slept deepest, another curled beneath his own head, the remaining two loose at his sides. The heat of him seeped through silk and skin alike, a furnace you could no longer pretend to ignore. You hated how your muscles learned to relax against that warmth instead of locking in terror. Hated how, when he spoke in low commands, mocking observations and that your replies came edged but quieter now. Less venom. More resignation. Familiarity was its own slow poison.
He noticed.
Of course he did.
Sometimes his gaze lingered longer when you answered him. A faint curl at the corner of his mouth. Not quite a smile. Something pleased. Something patient.
You waited for the right night.
It came without fanfare.
The moon hung thin and pale beyond the narrow window slits. Sukuna had returned late from whatever carnage called him away, reeking faintly of smoke and copper. His outer robes discarded carelessly near the entrance. He collapsed onto the mat with a grunt, eyes sliding shut faster than usual. Exhaustion, perhaps. Or arrogance. Two eyes closed completely; the other pair fluttered half-lidded for a moment before drifting shut as well.
You lay motionless beside him until his breathing deepened slowly, even pulls that lifted the wide plane of his chest. Minutes stretched. Your heart slammed against your ribs so hard you were certain he would wake from the sound alone.
He didn’t.
You moved.
Silent as temple shadow, you slipped from beneath the thin cover. Bare feet met cold stone. You crossed to the chest on trembling legs, fingers numb as they worked the latch. The blade came free easily, it was lighter than you expected, wicked curve glinting faintly in the dying ember light. You gripped it so tightly your knuckles ached.
Adrenaline sang in your veins. Fear. Fury. Something darker.
You returned to the mat.
Sukuna laid on his back, arms splayed, tattoos stark against scarlet skin. Vulnerable in sleep the way only predators can afford to be. You swallowed once hard, then swung one leg over his waist. The yukata rode up your thighs as you settled your weight astride him, knees bracketing his hips. He was massive beneath you; your thighs strained to accommodate the breadth of him. The heat of his body immediately soaked through the thin layers separating you.
You leaned forward.
One hand braced on his chest. Feeling the steady thud of a heart too strong, too steady while the other brought the blade to his throat. The edge kissed skin just below the sharp line of his jaw. A single bead of blood welled where steel met flesh, dark and sluggish.
You pressed.
Not deep. Not yet.
Just enough to feel resistance. Enough to imagine the rest.
Your breath came in shallow pants. Tears pricked your eyes. Not from fear now, but from the sheer weight of what you were about to do. What you had to do.
He didn’t stir.
Not yet.
But beneath you, his body registered the new pressure. A subtle shift of his muscles tightening minutely under your thighs, the slow rise of his chest hitching once as though some animal instinct registered weight, warmth, threat.
His four arms remained lax.
His eyes stayed closed.
The blade trembled in your grip.
And still he slept. Deep enough that the King of Curses had not yet woken to the faithful girl straddling his waist with death at his throat.
He felt you.
Not the weight of your body first, not the press of your thighs around his hips or the tremor in your knees but the cold kiss of steel against his throat. A single drop of blood had already slid down the side of his neck, dark against scarlet skin, before instinct finally pulled him from sleep.
His eyes opened slowly.
Two at first, then the other pair followed, crimson slits widening into lazy, unhurried focus. No jolt. No surge of violence. Just that deliberate unfurling of awareness, like a beast deciding whether the thing on its back was prey or amusement.
He tilted his head just enough that the blade bit a fraction deeper, another thin line of red welling up. His gaze locked on yours.
You froze.
The hand holding the tanto stayed firm, knuckles white, but the rest of you went still as temple stone. You had never been this close. Not really. Not like this. You had seen him bare-chested after baths, yukata slipping low on his shoulders, tattoos shifting over muscle as he moved. You had felt the furnace heat of him at night when one careless arm draped across your waist. But this, straddling the King of Curses, your thighs spread wide over the hard plane of his abdomen, faces inches apart, was different. Intimate in a way that made your pulse roar in your ears. His breath ghosted warm against your lips. His eyes held yours without blinking, pupils blown wide in the low light, drinking you in.
“You’re quite brave,” he murmured, voice rough from sleep, low enough that it vibrated through your joined bodies. “Finally took your chance.”
Your mouth opened. Closed. The words came anyway, cracked and furious and trembling all at once.
“You took everything from me,” you whispered. “You’ll take from others just like you did me.”
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t deny it. One corner of his mouth curled small, almost fond.
“I will,” he said simply. No apology. No justification. Just truth laid bare between you like an offering.
Then quieter, almost gentle: “You should follow through with something if you’ve made up your mind.”
The blade trembled. Your arm ached from holding it steady. This was it. The moment you had rehearsed in the dark, the righteous stroke that would end him, end the fear, end the slow unraveling of who you used to be.
You couldn’t.
The steel stayed pressed to his throat, but your fingers wouldn’t close. Wouldn’t push. Tears burned hot at the corners of your eyes; you hated them as much as you hated him.
His lower pair of hands moved first slow, carefully. Sliding up your arms until they settled on your shoulders. The grip was firm. Not bruising. Just enough to anchor you.
He shook you once—light, almost playful.
“Do it,” he said.
You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe right.
“If I don’t kill you,” you managed at last, voice breaking, “you’ll harm more.”
Something flickered in his eyes— amusement, maybe, or recognition. Then motion.
In one fluid roll he flipped you.
The world tilted. Stone mat rushed up to meet your back. Air punched out of your lungs. He loomed above you now. He was massive and unyielding, entirely caging you beneath the breadth of his chest and the weight of four arms. One hand braced beside your head. Another pinned your waist to the mat, your trembling fingers keeping the blade trapped between your palm and his throat. The edge still kissed skin; a fresh bead of blood slid down to drip onto your collarbone, warm and slow.
He didn’t pull away.
Didn’t disarm you.
He simply looked down at you, his eyes half-lidded, mouth curved in that same unreadable almost-smile.
You stared up at him, chest heaving, the tanto still clutched in your shaking fingers, steel pressed firm to the pulse at his neck.
Neither of you moved.
The braziers crackled faintly in the silence.
Blood dripped.
And in the shadowed space between your bodies. He was close enough for you to feel every rise and fall of his breath against your skin and you both simply looked at each other, suspended on the razor’s edge of what came next.
His lower arms moved first, slowly. Wide palms broad and warm as they settled around your waist. Fingers splayed wide, thumbs brushing the dip just above your hipbones. He held you firmer then, not trapping, not bruising, just claiming the shape of you as though measuring how perfectly you fit in his grasp. The pressure was steady. Inescapable. Your yukata was already loosened from the roll, it slid higher under the coaxing slide of his hands. Silk whispered against skin until cool air kissed the bare curve of your thighs, the soft swell of your hips, the vulnerable heat between them.
You were bare underneath.
He was bare too.
The realization hit like a struck bell: the hard, thickening length of him—two cocks, heavy and hot pressed flush against the slick seam of your cunt. No fabric between you now. Just skin on skin. The blunt heads nudged against your folds with every shallow breath he took, smearing warmth, promising stretch, promising ruin. Your body clenched on nothing; a shameful pulse of wet heat answered him before your mind could catch up.
It was too much.
Too aware.
Too close.
He never looked away.
Those four crimson eyes held yours, unblinking-unhurried— watching every flicker of defeat cross your face. Your lips parted on shallow pants. Tears clung to your lashes. The tanto still trembled in your grip, edge kissing the steady throb at his throat, but the fight had bled out of your arm. You looked small beneath him. Broken open. Waiting.
He leaned forward until his mouth hovered a breath from yours.
“Stupid girl,” he murmured, voice gravel-rough and almost tender.
Then he kissed you.
Slow.
Sweetly.
His lips caught yours with a gentleness that felt obscene coming from him a soft press, slow drag. His tongue tracing the seam of your mouth until you opened for him on instinct. He sucked at your lower lip, gentle pull that drew a broken sound from your throat. One of his upper hands cradled the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair, tilting you deeper into the kiss while his lower hands pushed the yukata higher still, to bare the soft plane of your stomach, the undersides of your breasts, every inch of skin he could reach.
He moaned into your mouth low and hungry, it vibrated through your chest.
The blade slipped.
Your fingers loosened. The tanto fell from your grasp, clattering sharp against the stone floor somewhere to the side. Forgotten.
Then your now empty hand rose instead, hesitant and trembling and unsure, until your fingers found the nape of his neck. Tangled in the coarse silk of his hair. Pulled.
Not away.
Closer.
You arched beneath him without meaning to, breasts brushing the hard planes of his chest, cunt sliding slick against the underside of one thick cock. The friction dragged a whimper past your lips; he swallowed it, tongue stroking deeper, tasting the salt of your tears and the faint sweetness still lingering from the rice he’d fed you nights before.
His lower hands tightened on your waist, his thumbs stroking slow circles over your hipbones. Keeping you pinned, keeping you open, keeping you his.
He broke the kiss only long enough to drag his mouth along your jaw, down the column of your throat where his lips felt your pulse flutter against it. His tongue flicked over the skin there, tasting your defiance turned to surrender.
You shuddered.
Your fingers tightened in his hair.
And beneath him, bare and trembling, you stopped pretending you wanted anything else.
His lower hands tightened on your hips, thick fingers digging into soft flesh just enough to bruise tomorrow and he rocked you forward in a slow, steady grind. Your slick cunt dragged along the thick undersides of his cocks, parting around them, coating them in the shameful evidence of your want. The friction was obscene: hot, slippery, relentless. Every slide nudged the swollen heads against your clit before gliding back, teasing without entering, promising everything and giving nothing yet.
A raw and broken moan tore from your throat in an entirely involuntary rush. You couldn’t swallow it down. Couldn’t pretend it wasn’t there.
He exhaled against your skin, a low, pleased rumble that vibrated through your ribs.
“That’s it,” he murmured, voice thick with dark satisfaction. “So wet for me, doll… so wet already.”
The words landed like a brand. You swallowed hard, throat clicking, but your arms only wound tighter around his neck, your fingers knotting in his hair, nails scraping scalp as though you needed to anchor yourself to the very thing destroying you. Your thighs trembled where they bracketed his waist; your hips jerked once on their own, chasing the pressure before shame could catch up.
He kissed down the column of your throat, slow and open-mouthed, then lower still. His mouth found the soft swell of your breasts, tongue flicking once over one peaked nipple before he closed his lips around it. Sucked. Hard. The wet pull drew a sharp gasp from you; your back arched off the mat, offering more without meaning to. He switched to the other, teeth grazing just enough to sting before soothing with slow, languid licks. Your nipples throbbed under the attention, so sensitive and aching now flushed dark from his mouth.
One of his upper hands slid down the inside of your thigh, palm rough and warm, pushing your leg wider. Then the other was spreading you open until the cool air of the chamber kissed the slick heat between your thighs. Exposed. Vulnerable. His cocks slotted perfectly now, the thick lengths gliding through your folds, the blunt heads catching on your clit with every roll of his hips. Harder. Faster. The rhythm built until wet sounds filled the quiet room: your arousal, his low groans, the slick slide of skin on skin.
A high and helpless whimper escaped your lips, lifting your hips to meet him, cunt clenching around nothing, desperate for more than friction. Tears slipped free again, sliding down your temples into your hair, but they weren’t from fear this time. Not entirely.
He lifted his head just enough to watch your face, with eyes half-lidded, mouth wet and swollen from kissing you earlier. One hand came up to thumb away a tear, almost gentle.
“Look at you,” he rasped, rocking you harder against him, letting you feel every ridged inch of him glide over your clit. “Already dripping. Already begging without saying the word.”
Your breath hitched. Your fingers dug deeper into his shoulders.
He leaned in again, his mouth brushing yours, not quite kissing, just breathing you in.
“Say it,” he murmured against your lips. “Tell me what you want, little faithful. Or I’ll keep you right here teasing your eager cunt, until you cry for it.”
Your thighs shook. Your cunt pulsed. The heat between you was unbearable now so wet, achingly unbearable.
And still he waited with slow patients, rocking you slow and filthy along the length of him. Watching every flicker of surrender cross your face.
You broke first.
The words slipped out on a trembling exhale, soft and fractured that was barely louder than a whisper. “Please…”
It wasn’t surrender spoken in anger. It was need, raw and stripped bare, voice cracking on the single syllable like glass under pressure. Your thighs shook where they cradled his hips; your fingers clenched in his hair so tight it pulled at the roots. You were shaking apart beneath him, cunt fluttering uselessly against the slow, torturous glide of his cocks along your folds, and still he waited. Watching you succumb. Drinking in the way defeat looked on your face when it finally wore your pride thin.
His mouth curved against your temple, almost gentle.
“That’s it, sweet girl,” he murmured, voice low and thick with something darker than amusement. “I’ll fill you up.”
He shifted then in a slow and purposeful motion, aligning the thicker of his two cocks with your entrance. The blunt, leaking head nudged past your folds, parting slick lips that had never known anything but empty ache. You were untouched. Virgin. He could feel it in every instinctive clench, every flutter of your inner walls trying to decide whether to push him out or pull him deeper. Your body was too eager and too overwhelmed, tight untrained muscles fluttering wildly around the intrusion before he’d even breached you properly.
He kissed you again, deeper this time. His lips pressed more firmly, tongue sliding slow and possessive against yours, swallowing the small, helpless sounds that spilled from your throat as he began to press forward.
The fat tip breached you.
Your cunt squeezed hard, reflexive and impossibly tight around the sheer size of him. A sharp, startled cry muffled against his mouth. He groaned low in his chest at the resistance, at the velvet heat clamping down like it wanted to strangle him already. Precum smeared inside you, thick and hot, easing the way just enough that he could inch forward another fraction. Your walls fluttered desperately around the fat crown trying to accommodate the sheer size of it. Failing and trying desperately again. Too much. Too full already and he’d barely started.
He held your hips steady with his lower hands, thumbs stroking soothing circles over the sensitive skin just above your mound while one upper hand cradled the back of your neck, keeping your mouth locked to his. The other braced beside your head, caging you without crushing.
“Relax,” he rasped against your lips, voice rough with restraint. “Breathe for me, doll. You’re taking it so well already.”
Another slow push.
Your back arched off the mat, a sharp gasp tearing free as another inch sank in. The stretch burned sweet, aching and so overwhelming. Your cunt spasming around him, milking the thick head like it couldn’t decide if it hated or craved the invasion. Tears slipped hot down your cheeks; he licked them away without breaking the kiss, tasting salt and surrender.
He didn’t rush.
He rocked into you with tiny, shallow thrusts working the his fat tip deeper with every careful roll of his hips, letting your body adjust inch by torturous inch. Your nails raked down his shoulders; your thighs trembled wide around him. The second cock laid against your cunt, still hard and heavy, it dragged along your clit with every motion, smearing slick, keeping the pleasure sharp and constant even as the stretch threatened to undo you.
You whimpered into his mouth a high and broken but there was neediness layered in.
He swallowed it.
Pressed deeper.
Your cunt yielded another reluctant inch for him, your walls fluttering, squeezing then fluttering again, your walls clinged to him so tightly he had to grit his teeth against the urge to slam home. Not yet. Not when you were still trembling like this, still so sweetly overwhelmed, still giving him every fractured sound and shudder.
He broke the kiss only to drag his mouth to your ear.
“Good girl,” he breathed, voice wrecked with want. “Let me in. Let me fill that tight little cunt the way it’s begging to be filled.”
Another slow, relentless push.
Your body opened a little, just barely around the thickest part of him.
And still he kept going in slow patient amd mercilessly trusts, determined to bury every inch until you were stuffed full and weeping for more.
Too big.
The thought looped through your mind like a broken sutra, too big, too big, too big as the thick head of his cock sank deeper, stretching you beyond what felt possible. Your walls fluttered wildly around him, spasming in protest and pleasure both, forced to yield inch by merciless inch. He swelled inside you, filling you up up up until every shallow breath pushed your belly taut, until you could feel the blunt pressure of him high against the deepest place inside.
Your body had no choice but to mould itself around him.
Soft inner walls reshaped themselves to the heavy ridge of his cock, clenching desperately, fluttering around him trying to push him out and pull him deeper all at once. He pushed in again slowly and relentless, and your cunt gave another reluctant inch, the stretch burning sweet and sharp until tears spilled freely down your cheeks. He was rearranging you from the inside, carving space where there had been none, claiming every fluttering inch as his.
The fat head kissed your cervix properly then, it pressed harder. You gasped, high and startled, hips jerking uselessly beneath him. He didn’t stop. Another shallow thrust and the tight ring of muscle yielded fully opening for him like it had been waiting, like your body had always known it would bend to this. He bottomed out with a low groan that vibrated through your joined bodies, cock buried to the hilt, pulsing hot against the deepest part of you.
“So tight,” he rasped against your throat, voice wrecked with restraint. “Look at you… taking it all. Opening right up for me like a good little thing.”
You whimpered softly, overwhelmed by the feeling, your nails digging crescent moons into his shoulders. Your cunt clenched hard around him, milking the thick length instinctively, every spasm dragging a rough sound from his chest. He stayed still for a long moment, letting you feel every inch, every throb, every vein. Letting your body adjust to the brutal fullness.
His second cock was still hard, still leaking as it dragged heavy along your clit with every tiny shift of his hips, smearing precum and your slick in filthy streaks. He could imagine it: both cocks splitting you open, stretching your poor cunt until it gaped around him, until you sobbed from the overstimulation alone. The thought made his hips twitch forward once sharp and involuntary, bumping your cervix again and drawing a choked cry from your lips.
But not yet.
He wasn’t going to force it. Not tonight.
He wanted to work this tight little cunt open on one first, to train it to take him properly, to crave the stretch, to weep and flutter every time he sank in deep. He rolled his hips in slow, grinding circles. Keeping himself buried to the root while the blunt head rubbed insistently against that sensitive inner spot. Your thighs shook around his waist; your breath came in ragged little pants.
He kissed you again messy, open-mouthed. Swallowing every broken sound from your quivering lips as he began to move.
Shallow thrusts at first, barely pulling out before sliding back in, letting your walls cling desperately to every retreating inch. Then deeper. Harder. Each stroke dragged along your fluttering walls, bumping your cervix, forcing it to soften further under the relentless pressure until it kissed the tip of him like a welcome.
Your body trembled beneath him, you were sweat-slick, overstimulated and utterly full. Your cunt squeezed him like a vice wet and hot around him but greedy now, coating him in slick that dripped down to soak the mat beneath you.
He groaned low into your mouth.
“That’s it,” he murmured, hips snapping onc deeper, it felt punishing, made your back arch and your toes curl. “Let it open for me, doll. Let me ruin this pretty cunt until it only knows my shape.”
Another thrust, harder still. Your cervix yielding completely now, letting him grind against the deepest place inside you.
You sobbed against his lips, the pleasure and pain blurring into something white-hot and overwhelming.
And yet still he moved slow when you needed slow, hard when your body begged for it. Working you open, reshaping you, claiming you until there was nothing left but the slick slide of him inside you and the broken, needy sounds spilling from your throat.
Fuck, it was so sloppy.
The way your cunt finally gave in and opened wide and wet and greedy around the thick length of him, cunt making obscene, slick sounds with every slow withdrawal and deeper plunge. Your walls clung desperately, fluttering and spasming, coated in a thick sheen of your own arousal that dripped down his shaft, down your thighs, soaking the mat beneath you in dark, glistening patches. No resistance left. Just raw, yielding heat that swallowed him whole every time he sank back in.
He watched it happen.
Watched the way your soft belly began to bulge properly now, unmistakably every time he bottomed out. The fat head of his cock pressed high against your cervix, then higher still, stretching your insides until the outline of him showed beneath your skin. A slow, obscene swell that rose just below your navel, then receded slightly when he pulled back, only to bloom again with the next deep thrust. He could see it. Feel it. The way your body reshaped itself around him, forced to accommodate every ridged inch until the shape of his cock was etched into your flesh.
He was mesmerised.
One of his upper hands left the mat and slid down, his palm broad and warm. His hand settled right over that curious swell. Fingers splayed wide, pressing gently at first, then firmer, feeling the hard length of himself moving beneath the soft layer of your stomach. He groaned low in his throat with rough, reverence. Hips stuttering once at the sensation.
“Look at that,” he rasped, voice thick with dark wonder. “Look how full you are, doll. Look how your little cunt bulges for me.”
You whimpered high and helpless, your head tipping back against the mat, tears slipping sideways into your hair. The pressure of his hand only made it worse, made you feel every inch more vividly, every throb, every slow grind against that deep, sensitive place inside. Your walls clenched hard around him in response; slick gushed anew, coating him, easing the next brutal slide home.
He rocked deeper but deliberately now. Watching the swell rise and fall beneath his palm like he was mapping new territory. His thumb traced the outline once slow, it felt possessive, larger fingers following the exact ridge of his cock as it pressed outward. Another groan tore from him, low and wrecked.
“Fuck,” he breathed, almost to himself. “I could watch this forever. Watch you take me… watch this pretty belly swell every time I fill you up.”
He leaned down, his mouth finding yours again, messy and hungry, kissing you through the next deep thrust that made the bulge bloom higher. His lower hands gripped your hips tighter, angling you just right so every stroke dragged along that spot that made your thighs shake and your cunt flutter wildly.
You sobbed into his mouth overwhelmed and overstuffed on his cock, ruined in the sweetest way, your nails still raking down his back as your body surrendered completely.
He didn’t speed up.
He kept it slow, torturously slow. Savoring every sloppy, wet slide, every visible proof of how thoroughly he was claiming you. Hand still pressed to your belly. Eyes fixed on the swell. Mesmerised by the sight of his own cock reshaping you from the inside out.
And still he moved against you deeper. Watching and feeling you. Owning every trembling inch of the faithful girl who had once held a blade to his throat.
Now you only held him. Deep you felt him, tummy bulging with how big he is, you felt full. Claimed and utterly his in this moment.
The wet noises filled the chamber were filthy and unmistakable. Every deep plunge of his cock dragged slick sounds from your stretched cunt: the lewd squelch of your walls clinging desperately to him, the wet slap of skin meeting skin, the obscene drip of your arousal coating his shaft and pooling beneath you. No hiding it. No pretending this wasn’t happening. Your body sang for him in every sloppy, soaked rhythm.
He fucked deeper into you now, faster. His lower hands locked around your waist like iron bands, holding you steady while he pulled you down hard onto every thick inch. The force of it jolted through you: cervix kissed roughly with each snap of his hips, the bulge in your belly rising sharp and obscene every time he bottomed out. Your thighs trembled uselessly around him; your nails raked red lines down his back. You couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe right. Only felt full, stretched and utterly claimed.
His second cock, still untouched against you dragged heavy and hot along your clit with every brutal thrust. The fat, leaking tip slid over the swollen bud in perfect, relentless friction: up when he pulled back, down when he slammed home. Edging you mercilessly. Building the pressure until your whole body wound tight, thighs shaking, cunt fluttering wildly around the cock already buried to the hilt.
“Fuuuck, look at you,” he growled against your throat, voice wrecked and reverent. “Taking it so deep… dripping everywhere… gonna cum for me, aren’t you, doll?”
You couldn’t answer. Only whimpered high, broken and needy, as the dual assault pushed you higher. The thick length inside you grinding against every sensitive spot; the second cock rubbing filthy circles over your clit until sparks burst behind your eyes.
Then it hit.
Hard.
Your cunt clamped down like a vice. Cunt spasming wildly and milking him in violent waves as you came undone around the fat cock splitting you open. A sob tore from your throat; your back arched off the mat, hips jerking uncontrollably as pleasure ripped through you in white-hot pulses. Slick gushed around him hot and messily coated his shaft, dripping down to slick the second cock still teasing your oversensitive clit. Your walls fluttered and squeezed, greedy and relentless, trying to pull him deeper even as your body shook apart.
He groaned low, almost sounding pained. His hips stuttering once at the sudden, brutal grip of your orgasm. His fingers dug harder into your waist, holding you pinned as he fucked you through it: short, punishing thrusts that dragged every last tremor from your cunt, making the bulge in your belly pulse with every slam.
“That’s it,” he rasped, mouth brushing your ear, voice thick with dark satisfaction. “Cum all over my cock… make it sloppy… make it yours.”
You shuddered, the aftershocks rolling through you. Hot tears now slipping down your cheeks as your cunt kept fluttering around him, still so full, still so stretched, still weeping slick with every slow grind he gave you now.
He didn’t stop moving.
Didn’t pull out.
Just kept you impaled deep on him, steadily watching your face with half-lidded eyes as your body trembled in the aftermath, the second cock still dragging lazy, teasing strokes over your throbbing clit.
Ready.
Patient.
Waiting to see how much more his sweet, ruined faithful could take.
He fucked into your creaming cunt with purpose now, his deep, punishing strokes that slapped wet and filthy against your thighs every time he bottomed out. Your slick had turned thick and white around his shaft, frothing at the base with every brutal plunge, coating him in creamy evidence of how thoroughly your body had surrendered. The bulge in your belly pulsed visibly with each thrust, rising sharp when he buried himself to the hilt, receding only to bloom again as he dragged back and slammed forward. Your walls fluttered helplessly around him, milking greedily, still spasming from the orgasm that had ripped through you moments before.
He groaned low, his voice was wrecked and ragged, his hips now snapping harder with speed. Chasing the tight, wet heat that gripped him like it never wanted to let go.
“Fuuuck look at this messy little pussy,” he rasped, one hand still pressed to the swell of your stomach, feeling himself move beneath your skin. “Creaming all over my cock… taking it so deep… gonna fill you up, doll. Gonna stuff this cunt so full you’ll feel me for days.”
Your head thrashed against the mat, fat tears streaming down, your mouth opened on broken moans you couldn’t swallow down. Your nails dug into his shoulders; your thighs trembled wide and useless around his waist. Every thrust knocked the air from your lungs, bumped your cervix, ground the fat head against that spot inside until stars burst behind your eyes again.
He was close.
You could feel it, the way his cocks throbbed heavier inside and against you, the way his rhythm stuttered, the low growl building in his chest. His lower hands clamped down on your hips, bruising and possessive. Sukuna yanked you down hard onto every upward snap as he fucked his way toward release.
Then it hit him.
A rough, guttural sound tore from his throat. Half growl, half moan as he slammed in one final time, burying himself to the root. His cock pulsed violently inside you, swelling thicker still, and then he came..hot and it felt endless inside of you.
Rope after thick rope flooded your fluttering pussy, his hot cum spurting deep against your cervix, filling you so fast, so much, that your walls couldn’t contain it all. Your cunt clenched reflexively around the invasion, milking him greedily, but there was too much. It leaked out around his shaft in creamy white streaks, dripping down to soak the mat, yet still he kept pumping his cum deeper. His hips grinding in slow, deep circles now, forcing every last drop higher inside you.
Your belly swelled visibly, bloating with the sheer volume of his release. The bulge that had once only shown his cock now rounded softer, fuller, stretching your skin taut as cum packed your womb and pussy full. You whimpered overstimulated, overwhelmed. Feeling the obscene pressure build inside, the heavy slosh of it every time he shifted even slightly.
He stayed buried deep, his cock still twitching, still leaking the last weak spurts inside you, while one hand slid up to cup the new, soft swell of your lower belly. Fingers splayed wide, pressing gently, feeling the warmth and fullness he’d forced into you.
“Fuck,” he breathed, voice low and reverent, eyes fixed on the way your cunt bulged around him, lips stretched tight, creamy cum seeping out in slow, thick rivulets. “Look at you… stuffed so full… bloating with my cum like a perfect little vessel.”
You shuddered beneath him, body trembling, your cunt still fluttering weakly around the thick length keeping you plugged with his cum. Tears slipped hot down your cheeks; your breath came in shallow, hiccuping pants.
He leaned down, mouth brushing your ear, voice dark and satisfied.
“You’re mine now,” he murmured, hips giving one last lazy roll that made more cum leak out around him. “Every inch… every drop… every swell. All mine.”
And still he didn’t pull out.
Just stayed seated deep letting you feel the heavy, warm weight of him inside, the obscene bloat of your belly, the slow drip of his seed claiming you from the inside out while the braziers flickered low and the fortress held its breath around the ruined faithful girl who had finally, completely, fallen.
The chamber settled into a heavy, humid quiet.
Only the low crackle of dying braziers and the uneven rhythm of your shared breathing remained. Your body felt foreign. Softened, swollen, reshaped from the inside out. His cock still rested deep inside you, softening slowly but not withdrawing, keeping every thick drop of his release plugged tight where it belonged. The obscene bloat in your lower belly had settled into a warm, heavy fullness that shifted with every shallow inhale. When you moved even slightly, you could feel the slow, lazy slosh of cum deep within you. It was thick, warm and still too much to be contained.
A faint trickle escaped anyway, creamy white slipping from where your stretched lips clung to the base of his shaft, sliding down the cleft of your ass to pool beneath you on the already ruined mat. The scent of it filled the air: musky, salty, unmistakably him. Mixed with the sharp tang of your own release. It clung to your thighs, your skin, your hair. There was no escaping it.
You lay limp beneath him, your limbs heavy and trembling faintly in aftershocks. Your cunt throbbed around the softening length still buried inside, fluttering weakly every few heartbeats like it couldn’t decide whether to mourn the stretch or beg for more. Tears had dried on your cheeks, leaving salty tracks; your lips felt swollen from his kisses, bruised and tingling.
He hadn’t moved much.
One lower hand stayed splayed over the soft swell of your abdomen, his palm warm. One thick thumb tracing idle, slow circles over the place where his cum had bloated you full. The other lower hand rested at the small of your back, holding you arched just enough to keep him seated deep. His upper arms braced on either side of your head, caging without crushing, while his face hovered close, his breath warm against your temple.
He watched you.
Not with hunger now. Not with that predatory gleam. Something quieter. Almost contemplative.
His thumb pressed once, gently against the rounded curve of your belly. You whimpered at the pressure; more cum leaked out in a slow, warm trickle. He exhaled through his nose, almost a laugh.
“Still leaking,” he murmured, voice low and rough from exertion. “Even plugged like this… your greedy little cunt can’t hold it all.”
You swallowed. Throat raw. No words came.
He shifted up slow, pulling back just enough that the fat head dragged along your oversensitive walls. You gasped sharp, startled as another thick gush of cum followed the motion, spilling free in a messy rush. Your thighs trembled; your hips jerked involuntarily.
He stilled again. Didn’t pull out completely.
Just watched the way your body reacted, how your cunt clenched around nothing now that he’d eased back an inch, how more of his seed dripped out in slow, obscene rivulets.
One hand slid up and cupped your cheek. Thumb brushing away the last damp track of tears.
“You took it well,” he said. Simple. Almost soft. “Took every drop. Look at you… all swollen and full. Marked inside and out.”
Your breath hitched.
He leaned down and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth. Not demanding. Not claiming. Just there.
Then he finally began to ease out.
Inch by torturous inch.
Your walls fluttered desperately around the retreating length clinging and fluttering, trying to keep him inside even now. When the head finally slipped free with a wet pop, a fresh flood followed thick and hot, pouring from your gaping cunt in a slow, creamy cascade. It soaked your thighs, the mat, everything beneath you. Your belly deflated slightly as the pressure eased, but the fullness lingered: a deep, aching warmth that pulsed with every heartbeat.
You whimpered again, the sound even more small and broken, legs falling open wider on instinct as your body tried to adjust to the sudden emptiness.
He stayed above you, watching silently.
One hand dipped between your thighs, then two thick fingers sliding easily through the mess, gathering the slick mix of cum and your release before pushing back inside. Slow. Deep. Plugging you again with just his fingers while the rest continued to leak around them.
“Shh,” he murmured when you shuddered. “Keep it in. Let it settle.”
His fingers curled once to press against that spot inside that made your hips twitch again, then they stilled.
He withdrew them slowly. Brought them to his mouth. Licked them clean with deliberate swipes of his tongue, his eyes never leaving yours.
Then he gathered you.
Four arms moved at once, lifting you effortlessly, cradling you against his chest as though you weighed nothing. Your head lolled against his shoulder; your legs draped limp over one arm. Cum still dripped from between your thighs, warm trails sliding down his skin now too.
He carried you to the alcove where the wooden tub still waited, water long cooled but clean. Uraume had prepared it earlier, before everything unraveled.
He lowered you into it carefully.
The water stung at first, cool against fever-hot skin, then it soothed. He knelt at the edge, one hand supporting your neck so your head rested against the rim, the other dipping beneath the surface to cup water and rinse the mess from your thighs, your folds, your belly.
Gentle.
Methodical.
He washed you like something precious. Something his.
When the water turned cloudy with the evidence of what he’d done, he lifted you out again and wrapped you in a thick, dry cloth, carried you back to the mat (a fresh one already laid out; Uraume was nothing if not efficient).
He laid you down. Pulled the thin cover over your trembling body.
Then he stretched out beside you. Close always close, with one arm draped over your waist, palm settling once more over the soft, lingering swell of your lower belly.
“Sleep,” he said against your hair. Voice low. Quiet. “You’ll need it.”
Your eyes fluttered shut, exhaustion crashing over you like a wave.
The last thing you felt was the steady rise and fall of his chest at your back, the warmth of his hand cradling the place he had filled, claimed, ruined, and somehow kept.
The flood had passed.
But the aftermath lingered, with you. You'd never been this close to being worshiped, oh how the roles were reversed and he would always keep you tethering between God and him.
Waking up felt entirely new after being so thoroughly claimed.
Your body no longer belonged only to you. Every slow breath reminded you of the night before in vivid, aching detail. Between your thighs your pussy throbbed with a deep, sweet pain that radiated outward from the very center of your cunt all the way into your womb.
The soft folds were swollen and tender, still slick with the remnants of everything he had pumped into you. Your inner walls felt stretched and sensitive, fluttering around nothing yet remembering exactly how it had felt to be split open and filled beyond capacity.
Your stomach carried a lingering heaviness, a warm fullness that made your lower belly feel softly rounded and claimed, as if his cum still sat heavy inside you even after the slow leak that had happened during the night.
You awoke first.
The chamber was dim, lit only by the faint glow of embers that had burned low through the hours. Cool morning air drifted in through the narrow slits high in the stone walls. Ryomen Sukuna lay asleep beside you, his massive frame taking up most of the wide mat.
One of his lower arms was still draped heavily across your waist, palm resting possessively over the gentle swell of your abdomen where he had pressed so many times the night before. His breathing was deep and even, chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm that you could feel against your back. Two of his eyes were closed in true sleep while the other pair remained half lidded in that strange way of his, as though even unconscious he refused to be entirely vulnerable.
You could not sleep any longer.
The intensity of every sensation kept your mind spinning. You wanted to push him off, to scramble away from the heat of his body and the weight of his claim, to reclaim some small piece of the girl who had once knelt quietly in a temple.
Your hands twitched with the urge. Yet when you shifted slightly, the solid warmth of him pressed closer instead of repelling you. His arm felt strangely comforting in the quiet dawn, heavy and steady like an anchor keeping you from drifting into panic. The scent of him clung to your skin, musk and smoke and something darker that made your pulse flutter even as shame burned in your cheeks.
Instead of shoving his hand away you reached down slowly and wrapped your fingers around his much larger one. You lifted it carefully and pressed his palm flat against your chest, right over the frantic racing of your heart. The contact was warm, rough, grounding.
Your heart hammered harder beneath his touch, wild and unsteady, begging for something you could not name. You wanted it to stop, wanted the frantic beat to quiet so you could think clearly again, so you could remember how to hate him properly.
He stirred.
Not fully awake yet, but aware enough. His fingers flexed once against your skin, then pressed harder, spreading wide so the heel of his palm rested firmly over your racing heart while his fingertips brushed the upper swell of your breast. The increased pressure stole your breath. A soft gasp slipped from your lips as the weight of his hand grounded the frantic flutter inside your chest.
He opened his eyes the rest of the way, crimson gaze settling on your face in the dim light. His voice came low and rough with sleep, rumbling through the quiet space between you.
“Does that feel better?”
You could only nod, small and shaky, unable to form words. Fresh tears slipped free from the corners of your eyes, sliding silently down your temples and into your hair. They were not from pain or fear this time, but from the overwhelming tangle of sensations and emotions you could no longer separate. The sweet ache between your thighs, the heavy fullness low in your belly, the comforting press of his hand over your heart, the way his body still curved protectively around yours even in half sleep. Everything felt too much and somehow not enough all at once.
He didn't pull away.
Instead he kept his palm exactly where you had placed it, pressing with steady, reassuring strength while his thumb brushed once, almost tenderly, along the curve of your collarbone. His other arms remained relaxed around you, one still cradling your waist, the rest loose but close.
You lay there in the quiet morning light, heart still racing beneath his touch, tears slipping free, pussy throbbing with the intimate memory of how deeply he had claimed you, stomach full and warm with the evidence of his release. And for the first time since he had carried you from the burning temple you did not try to run from the monster who held you.
You simply held his hand tighter to your chest and let the tears fall.
As the tears continued to fall your breathing slowly evened out once more. Exhaustion pulled you under again, your body surrendering to sleep despite the lingering ache and the storm of feelings swirling inside your chest. Your lashes fluttered once then stilled, cheeks still damp, lips slightly parted on a soft exhale.
The morning light filtering through the narrow slits in the stone walls painted gentle shadows across your face, highlighting the faint redness around your eyes and the way your brows had relaxed in unconscious rest.
Sukuna remained awake, propped on one elbow, four eyes fixed on you with an unusual stillness. He never wondered how he made anyone feel. Pain was something he understood perfectly well, something he could cause with casual ease and never lose sleep over. He had spilled rivers of blood without a second thought, had watched villages burn and priests scream and never once asked himself if his victims hated him in their final moments. Their pain simply existed because he decided it should.
Yet now he found himself watching the slow rise and fall of your chest and wondering.
Were you in pain because of him?
Not the sweet ache between your thighs or the heavy fullness still settled low in your belly, those he expected and even took quiet pride in. But something deeper. Did you hate him now, truly hate him, after he had taken you so completely? After he had spread you open beneath the monster who had ripped you from everything you once held sacred? After he had flooded your untouched cunt until your stomach swelled with his cum and your voice broke on moans you could not hold back?
His fingers moved without conscious thought, the rough pad of one thumb tracing the glistening path of a tear that had slipped down your temple. The skin there was soft, still warm from sleep and emotion. You looked tired in a way that went beyond the night’s exertions. A little more delicate, perhaps, the faithful servant girl who had once knelt in prayer now lying claimed and tear-streaked in the bed of the King of Curses.
And yet.
He remembered how you had pulled him closer.
When the blade had clattered to the floor your hand had risen not to push him away but to tangle in his hair and tug him down into the kiss. You had arched beneath him, thighs spreading wider, cunt clenching greedily around the thick cock that split you open. Even at the height of your surrender you had chosen to draw him in rather than shove him out.
That had to mean something.
If you had truly wanted him gone you would have pushed when the knife dropped. You would have fought when he rolled you beneath him. Instead you had whimpered into his mouth, nails raking down his back, hips lifting to meet every deep thrust until you came hard around him and then again when he flooded you full.
His thumb brushed another tear away, slower this time, almost careful.
He studied the relaxed lines of your face, the way your lashes cast faint shadows on your cheeks, the subtle parting of your lips. The hand you had pressed to your own chest still rested beneath his palm, your heartbeat steadier now in sleep but still quick enough that he could feel it. He did not move his hand. The weight seemed to comfort you even unconscious, and for reasons he did not bother examining he found he liked keeping it there.
Sukuna shifted slightly closer, careful not to wake you, letting the heat of his body wrap around yours once more. One of his lower arms remained draped across your waist, palm resting lightly over the soft swell of your belly where his claim still lingered warm and heavy inside you.
He watched you sleep for a long time, tracing idle patterns along your tear-damp cheek with the gentlest touch he had ever allowed himself. The questions lingered in the back of his mind, unfamiliar and strangely persistent.
Pain?
Hate?
Or something else entirely that had made a temple girl pull a monster closer instead of driving him away?
For the first time in his long, bloody existence Ryomen Sukuna did not have an immediate answer.
And so he simply lay there, holding you, watching the slow rhythm of your breathing, wondering quietly what it meant that you had chosen to keep his hand against your racing heart instead of pushing it away.
Daylight brought no mercy.
When you woke the second time the chamber was brighter, pale morning light spilling through the high slits and painting long stripes across the stone floor. Your body ached in ways you had never imagined possible. Every small movement sent fresh waves of soreness through your core. Sitting up hurt. The simple act of shifting your weight made the tender muscles between your thighs protest sharply, a deep, dull throb that radiated outward from your swollen pussy all the way into your womb. Your lower belly still carried that heavy, warm fullness, a constant reminder of how thoroughly he had flooded you. Even the soft silk of the yukata brushing against your skin felt too much against the sensitive folds that had been stretched and used so relentlessly the night before.
You moved slowly, carefully, wincing as you rose from the mat. Standing hurt. Walking hurt. The ache pulsed with every step, a sweet, shameful reminder that your body had been claimed and reshaped by the King of Curses. Shame burned hot in your cheeks. You felt weak for the way your cunt still fluttered faintly at the memory, for the way a fresh trickle of his dried cum clung to your inner thighs when you moved. You told yourself it was only pain. Only the aftermath of violence. Yet your mind kept drifting back to the heat of his hands, the low rumble of his voice, the way he had held you afterward.
Sukuna did not crowd you.
He sat across the chamber on the wide ledge by the window, one knee drawn up, four arms resting loosely. He watched you but did not rise. Did not approach. Did not speak. There was deliberate space between you now, an invisible line he refused to cross. He wanted you to come to him if you needed anything. He wanted you to choose, even in this small thing. After taking everything else he could at least grant you the right to decide when you sought his presence. He would not rob you of that last fragile scrap of agency.
You felt the absence of him immediately.
At first you told yourself it was relief. You busied your hands folding the thin cover on the mat, smoothing wrinkles that did not exist, avoiding his gaze. But the longer the silence stretched the more your body betrayed you. A quiet longing bloomed beneath the shame and the pain. You missed the solid heat of his frame behind you. Missed the weight of his arm across your waist. Missed the strange comfort of his palm pressed over your racing heart. The realization made fresh shame flood your chest. How could you want the monster who had burned your temple and stolen you away? How could you crave the very hands that had spread you open and filled you until you bulged with his release?
You felt too weak for wanting him.
When it came time to dress you turned your back to him completely. Your fingers trembled as you slipped out of the night yukata and into a fresh one, trying to hide the marks he had left on your skin, the faint bruises on your hips where his fingers had gripped, the soft swell of your belly that had not yet returned to its usual flatness. You kept your shoulders hunched, arms crossed over your chest, shrinking into yourself as though you could disappear from his sight if you made yourself small enough.
He saw every motion.
He saw the way you hid yourself from his gaze, the deliberate angle of your body, the nervous hunch of your shoulders. Something tight and unpleasant twisted in his chest at the sight. He did not like it. Not one bit. The faithful girl who had once met his eyes with trembling defiance now curled away from him like a wounded animal. But he made no comment. He did not rise. He did not reach for you. He simply watched in silence, jaw tight, four eyes narrowed with an emotion he refused to name.
The distance stretched between you, heavy and unspoken.
You finished tying the sash with shaking hands and stood there, back still turned, heart hammering against your ribs. Pain pulsed between your thighs with every heartbeat. Shame burned in your veins. And beneath it all, quiet and insistent, the growing need to cross the chamber and seek the very monster who had caused it all.
Sukuna waited.
Patient.
Silent.
Wondering how long it would take before the girl who had pulled him closer in the dark would choose to come to him again in the daylight.
The days that followed carried the same heavy ache between your thighs, a constant, throbbing reminder that refused to fade.
When you bathed alone in the wooden tub, the warm water only made everything more obvious. Your pussy had become a terrible, swollen mess. The outer lips were puffy and sensitive, the inner folds still slick with an unusual, persistent wetness that had nothing to do with the bath. Your fingers slipped between your thighs almost without permission, parting the tender flesh to inspect the damage. Heat bloomed instantly at the lightest touch. Thick, creamy remnants of his cum still clung inside you, mixing with your own fresh slick until everything felt glossy and overheated. Every gentle press made your cunt flutter and leak a little more, the slickness coating your fingertips in a shameful sheen.
You hated how aware your body had become.
Your eyes kept drifting to him whenever he was near. You told yourself you were only looking, only noticing. But the stares lingered. Over the sharp lines of his face, the powerful set of his four arms, the broad expanse of his tattooed chest, the hard ridges of his abdomen. Then lower. Always lower. The heavy, intimidating weight between his thighs that you now knew so intimately. Your imagination supplied every detail without mercy: the thick veins, the way both cocks had throbbed against you, the brutal stretch, the endless flood that had left you bloated and dripping.
Your cunt clenched hard at the memory, another rush of slick slipping free to trail down your inner thigh. Shame burned so fiercely you had to turn away and press your forehead to the cool stone wall until the feeling passed. Your body knew exactly what it wanted now. Your pussy knew what it craved. The knowledge made you feel impossibly dirty, impossibly weak. You pushed the thoughts aside with gritted teeth and forced yourself to finish bathing.
Eventually the longing for the outside world grew stronger than the shame.
One quiet afternoon you finally gathered the courage to approach him. He was lounging on the wide ledge again, watching the horizon through the window slit. You kept your gaze lowered, voice small and hesitant.
“May I… go outside? Just for a little while. I miss the feel of grass beneath my feet. Sunlight on my skin. Fresh air.”
He studied you for a long moment, crimson eyes unreadable. Then he gave a single nod.
“I will take you.”
He did not make you walk far. He carried you most of the way, one set of arms cradling you against his chest while the others remained free. The journey ended at a secluded lakeside not far from the fortress cliffs. Tall reeds swayed gently at the water’s edge. Smooth rocks lined the shore, warmed by the sun. The air smelled of pine and clear water. Sunlight glittered across the lake’s surface like scattered jewels.
You had not asked for the lake specifically, but Sukuna had chosen it anyway, thinking the open view and soft grass might please you. He set you down on a broad, flat rock near the water and stepped back, giving you space once more.
At first it was perfect.
You closed your eyes, tilted your face toward the sun, and let the warmth sink into your skin. Bare feet pressed into cool grass. Fresh air filled your lungs. For a few blissful moments the constant ache between your thighs faded into the background.
Then you sat.
The moment your weight settled on the rock the soreness flared again. Your swollen pussy lips spread slightly against the smooth stone through the thin layers of your yukata. The unusual slickness that had been building all morning could no longer be contained. A warm trickle escaped, then another. You felt the wet heat seep out of you in slow, shameful pulses. Your cunt clenched uselessly around nothing, leaking more with every flutter. Within moments a small, glistening puddle had formed beneath you on the dark rock, catching the sunlight in a blatant, shiny evidence of your body’s betrayal.
You froze.
Heat flooded your face. You pressed your thighs together tightly, but the damage was already done. The puddle shimmered between your legs, unmistakable.
Sukuna noticed immediately.
He had been standing a few paces away, arms crossed, scanning the treeline out of habit. His gaze dropped to the rock beneath you. Four eyes narrowed, then darkened with recognition. The corner of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile but something far more dangerous. He took one slow step closer, then another, until he loomed over you.
His voice came low, rough, and far too knowing.
“Look at that.”
He crouched, bringing himself eye level with the evidence. One large hand reached out, fingers hovering just above the glistening puddle without touching it.
“Still leaking for me, even out here in the sunlight. Your greedy little cunt doesn’t care where we are, does it?”
You couldn’t speak. Could only sit there burning with shame, the warm slick still slowly dripping from your swollen folds onto the rock while he watched every shameful drop with open, hungry fascination.
The lake sparkled innocently behind you.
The sun continued to shine.
But the ache between your thighs had just become impossible to ignore.
You stuttered the moment his words landed, voice cracking like thin ice.
“It is not… I did not mean…”
The denial died on your tongue. Heat crawled up your neck until your entire face burned. You swallowed once, twice, then forced the truth out in a trembling whisper.
“I have been… wetter there. Since that night. It will not stop.”
Sukuna’s smile widened, slow and wicked, four eyes gleaming with dark delight. He stayed crouched in front of you, one hand still hovering near the glistening puddle on the rock.
“Yes,” he drawled, voice low and teasing. “Why did you not tell me about that specifically earlier? I could have helped.”
You stared at him as though he had begun speaking in some ancient, forgotten tongue. Your mind refused to process the casual way he offered to fix the mess he had made between your thighs. The sheer audacity of it stole every thought from your head.
Tell him.
Tell the King of Curses that your pussy was a leaking, swollen, dripping mess because of him.
The words would not come. Humiliation crashed over you so violently that you twisted away, turning your back to him completely. Your shoulders hunched, arms wrapping tight around your middle as if you could hide the evidence of your body’s betrayal. Fresh tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. Your face felt scalding hot.
Behind you, Sukuna let out a soft, amused huff.
A big hand settled on your shoulder, warm and surprisingly gentle. The weight steadied you even as your heart hammered wildly. His fingers brushed upward, threading carefully through your hair, stroking slow and soothing from crown to nape.
“You have nothing to be ashamed of,” he murmured, voice quieter now, almost tender. “Do not cry.”
You were mortified anyway. Tears slipped free despite his words, sliding down your flushed cheeks. Your swollen cunt continued to leak in slow, warm pulses, the slickness soaking through the thin fabric of your yukata and making the rock beneath you even wetter. Every tiny shift reminded you of the mess, of how your body refused to forget the way he had stretched and filled you.
Sukuna’s hand slid from your hair to cup your jaw, turning your face back toward him with careful insistence. His thumb brushed a tear away.
“Come on,” he said, the words rough but coaxing. “I can make it all better.”
He glanced around once, scanning the quiet lakeside until his gaze settled on a nice, soft patch of grass beneath a large pear tree. The branches hung heavy with white blossoms and early green fruit, casting dappled shade over the thick carpet of clover and soft earth. Sunlight filtered through the leaves in gentle golden patches. It looked peaceful. Private.
Without waiting for permission he scooped you up, four arms cradling you against his chest as though you weighed nothing. You gasped at the sudden movement, the ache between your thighs flaring sharply, another rush of slick escaping to smear warm and wet against his skin.
“Sukuna, what are you doing?” Your voice came out high and shaky. “Put me down!”
You had no idea what crazy idea had taken root in his head. Your heart hammered wildly as he carried you the short distance toward the pear tree. One of his upper hands came up to cup the back of your head, thumb stroking slow and soothing along your scalp.
“Do not make a fuss,” he said, low and calm, the words rumbling through his chest into yours.
Then you saw the tree.
He carried you beneath its wide, blossoming branches and lowered you carefully onto the soft grass. The ground was cool and yielding beneath your back, blades tickling your bare calves where the yukata had ridden up. Sukuna settled himself on the grass beside you, massive frame casting you in cool shadow. His big fingers brushed along your thigh, gentle but possessive, tracing the sensitive skin just below the hem of your robe.
You squirmed under his gaze, heat flooding every inch of you. He looked at you for a long moment, eyes dark and intent.
“You do trust me, right?”
The question caught you off guard. You nodded shyly, barely able to meet his eyes. The heat was unbearable now. Being held so close in his arms had stirred something deep and needy inside you. Whatever he was about to offer, your body already wanted it.
Sukuna knelt between your parted knees, his massive frame blocking out the sky. One of his lower hands rested on your thigh, thumb stroking slow, lazy circles over the tender flesh. His eyes never left your face.
“Lie back,” he told you, voice dropping into that low, commanding timbre that made your stomach flutter and your cunt clench. “Let me see how much of a leaking mess this pretty cunt has become for me.”
Your breath caught hard in your throat. Shame and desperate want twisted together so tightly you could barely breathe. But the gentle pressure of his hand, the patient way he waited, and the memory of how good his touch had felt even through the pain chipped away at your resistance until nothing remained.
Slowly, trembling all over, you leaned back onto the soft grass beneath the pear tree. Your cheeks still burned crimson. Tears still clung to your lashes.
Sukuna’s smile returned, darker this time, full of wicked promise.
“Good girl,” he murmured. “Now open your legs for me. Let me take care of what belongs to me.”
You obeyed.
Your thighs parted wider on the grass, yukata pooling around your hips. The moment the cool air touched your exposed pussy a fresh gush of slick slipped free. Your cunt was soaked, puffy and glistening, inner lips swollen and shiny with the constant leak that had tormented you for days. Creamy strands of his earlier release mixed with your own arousal, making everything look obscenely wet and needy.
Sukuna’s eyes darkened further at the sight. He leaned in slowly, lowering his head between your spread thighs. His breath ghosted hot over your dripping folds.
“So needy,” he growled softly. “This cunt is dripping and aching so much. All this slick just for me.”
He spread you open with two thick fingers, parting your swollen lips so he could see every glistening inch. Then he gave you the first slow, broad lick from the bottom of your slit all the way up to your clit.
The moan that tore from your throat was loud and broken. His tongue was hot and rough, dragging through your creamy mess with deliberate hunger. He licked again, slower, savoring the taste of you mixed with the remnants of his own cum. A low, appreciative groan vibrated against your pussy.
“Relax,” he murmured against your folds, the word warm and wet. “All this mess… you should have told me sooner.”
He licked deeper, tongue pushing inside your fluttering entrance to scoop out more of the creamy slick. Your hips jerked involuntarily. Another moan spilled from you, high and helpless.
“How could you keep this from me?” he continued, voice rough with something close to anger, though his tongue never stopped its slow, thorough exploration. “I would have licked this pretty cunt the moment I knew it was leaking for me. Would have buried my face between your thighs and cleaned every drop until you stopped aching.”
He sucked gently on your swollen clit, then licked back down to push his tongue inside you again, fucking you with slow, wet strokes. Your hands flew to his hair, fingers tangling tight as pleasure crashed through the soreness. Your cunt fluttered and leaked even more onto his tongue, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet shade of the pear tree.
Sukuna growled against your pussy, clearly enjoying the taste, the mess, the way you trembled and moaned beneath his mouth.
“Never hide this from me again,” he ordered between long, hungry licks. “This cunt is mine. If it aches, if it leaks, if it needs to be eaten until you cry… you tell me.”
He sealed his mouth over you once more, sucking and licking with renewed intensity, determined to devour every drop of the slick, creamy mess he had created.
And beneath the pear tree, in the warm daylight, Sukuna feasted on your dripping cunt like a starving man who had finally been given exactly what he craved.
He was greedy for it.
Ryomen Sukuna lapped at your cunt with shameless hunger, broad tongue dragging slow and heavy through your soaked folds again and again. He could still taste himself from that night, the thick, musky flavor of his cum mixed with the sweet, slippery heat of your arousal. The combination made him groan low against your pussy, the sound vibrating straight through your swollen clit and deep into your core.
His large tongue tunneled inside you without mercy, thick and hot, working your tight walls open with every wet push. Your cunt fluttered desperately around the intrusion, trying to clench and pull him deeper at the same time. One of your hands flew to his hair, fingers clutching tight in the coarse strands as you unconsciously fed his tongue even deeper into your leaking heat.
Deeper.
Deeper.
His saliva mixed with your slick and the remnants of his earlier release, turning everything into a messy, creamy glide. He fucked his tongue into you in slow, deliberate strokes, curling the tip to press against that sensitive spot inside that made your thighs shake violently. Then he pulled back only to seal his lips around your fat, aching clit. He sucked hard, tongue flicking rapidly over the swollen bud while two of his fingers spread your pussy lips wider, exposing every dripping inch to the warm daylight filtering through the leaves.
The pleasure was overwhelming.
Patches of golden light sparked across your skin as the breeze moved the branches above, warm little spots dancing over your bare thighs and heaving chest. The grass beneath your back was soft and cool, blades tickling your spine every time your body arched. In the distance the lake lapped gently against the shore, a soft, rhythmic hush that blended with the wet, obscene sounds of his mouth devouring your cunt.
It all felt too surreal.
Too good.
You moaned loudly, the sound breaking into a whimper as he sucked your clit harder, tongue still thrusting deep inside you. Your hips rolled up against his face without shame now, chasing the relentless pleasure. Slick poured from you in fresh waves, coating his chin, his lips, dripping down to soak the grass beneath your ass. Every greedy lap of his tongue pushed more of his saliva into your fluttering hole, mixing everything into a warm, slippery mess that made your cunt feel even more open, even more sensitive.
Sukuna growled against your folds, the vibration sending sparks shooting up your spine.
“Look at you,” he rasped between long, filthy licks, voice thick with lust. “Soaking my tongue like a good girl. This cunt was made to be eaten. Made to leak for me.”
He spread you even wider with his fingers, thumbs pressing firmly on either side of your clit while his tongue drove back inside, fucking you deeper, harder, faster. Your hand tightened in his hair, nails scraping his scalp as your back bowed off the grass. The ache that had tormented you for days melted into liquid heat under his mouth. Every suck, every thrust of his tongue, every wet slurp dragged you closer to the edge.
The pear blossoms continued to drift down around you like soft white snow.
Golden sunlight danced across your trembling body.
The lake whispered in the background.
Sukuna was still buried face-first between your spread thighs, your cunt pulsed and leaked and fluttered around his greedy tongue while pleasure built higher and higher, threatening to drown you completely in the most surreal, overwhelming bliss you had ever known.
He was getting hard from your scent alone.
The sweet, musky smell of your dripping cunt filled his lungs with every greedy inhale, thick and heady, making both of his cocks twitch and swell heavy between his thighs. They hung thick and full, the fat heads already glistening with beads of precum that dripped slowly onto the soft grass beneath him. The more he tasted you, the harder they throbbed, veins standing out sharply along the thick shafts, the second cock brushing against the first with every slight shift of his hips. Yet Sukuna refused to touch himself. Not yet.
He wanted you to cum on his tongue first.
His large tongue kept tunneling deep inside your fluttering cunt, fucking in and out with wet, obscene strokes while his lips sealed tight around your swollen clit. He sucked harder, tongue curling and pressing against that sensitive spot inside you until your thighs trembled violently around his head. Your hand clutched desperately at his hair, fingers twisting tight as you fed him deeper, hips rolling up to meet every thrust of his mouth.
“Fuck… that’s it,” he growled against your soaked folds, voice muffled and rough. “Let me taste how much this greedy little cunt needs me.”
He spread you wider with two thick fingers, thumbs holding your puffy lips open so he could bury his face even deeper. His tongue plunged in again, long and hot, licking up every creamy drop of slick and leftover cum. He drank you down like he was starving, saliva mixing with your mess until everything was sloppy and shining. Then he pulled back just enough to suck your fat, aching clit into his mouth again, tongue flicking rapidly over the swollen bud while two fingers replaced his tongue inside you, curling hard against that spot that made stars burst behind your eyes.
Your moans grew louder, broken and desperate, echoing softly under the pear tree. The golden patches of sunlight danced across your arched body, highlighting the way your breasts heaved with every panting breath, the way your stomach tensed and quivered. The grass felt cool and soft against your back, blades sticking to your damp skin as you writhed beneath his relentless mouth.
Sukuna’s cocks leaked harder, thick strings of precum stretching from the tips to the ground, but he ignored them completely. His focus remained entirely on you, on the way your cunt clenched and fluttered around his fingers, on the sweet, slick taste flooding his tongue.
He sucked your clit harder, tongue lashing fast and firm, fingers thrusting deep and steady.
“Come on, doll,” he rasped against your pussy, voice dark and commanding. “Cum for me. Cum on my tongue like a good girl. Let me feel this pretty cunt squeeze and flood my mouth.”
Your whole body tightened, thighs clamping around his head, back bowing sharply off the grass. The pressure built unbearably fast, the wet sounds of his mouth and fingers filling the quiet air beneath the tree. The lake whispered in the distance, blossoms continued to drift down like gentle snow, but all you could feel was the hot, greedy pull of his lips and tongue dragging you right to the edge.
Sukuna groaned deeply, the vibration shooting straight through your clit as he sucked harder, fingers curling relentlessly inside you.
He was not going to stop until you came undone on his tongue.
He kept licking you with long, greedy strokes of his tongue, lapping deep into your fluttering cunt while one thick finger circled your swollen clit in slow, firm spirals. The dual sensation was relentless. His hot, wet tongue fucked into you in steady thrusts, curling and dragging along your inner walls, while that single finger pressed and rubbed your clit with perfect, merciless pressure.
Your legs shook violently.
Sukuna noticed. With a low growl he shoved your thighs wider apart, spreading you obscenely open on the soft grass. Two of his hands gripped the backs of your knees, pinning them down and outward so nothing could stop the building storm inside you. The position left your dripping pussy completely exposed to his hungry mouth and the warm daylight filtering through the leaves.
It built fast. Too fast.
A strange, overwhelming pressure coiled low in your belly, heavy and urgent, completely different from the orgasms he had already forced from you. Your cunt clenched hard around his thrusting tongue, walls fluttering wildly as slick poured out in thick, continuous streams. Your hips tried to twist away, but his grip held you firmly in place.
“No… Sukuna…” you gasped, voice high and broken. “It feels weird… feels like you’ll make a mess…”
He did not stop.
If anything, your desperate little plea only made him hungrier. He shoved his tongue deeper, fucking it into you harder, faster, while his finger rubbed tight, relentless circles over your clit. His saliva mixed with your slick, making everything wetter, sloppier, louder. The obscene squelching sounds of his mouth devouring your cunt filled the quiet shade beneath the pear tree.
“It is going to feel good,” he growled against your folds, the words vibrating straight through your oversensitive clit. “Let it happen. Do not fight it.”
You whimpered, head thrashing side to side on the grass. The pressure kept building, sharp and terrifying and impossibly intense. Your stomach tightened, thighs trembling uncontrollably in his iron grip. Every lick, every circle of his finger pushed you closer to something you had never felt before. Your pussy felt too full, too hot, too ready to burst.
“I… I’m gonna…” Your voice cracked into a sob. “It feels like I’m going to make a mess… Sukuna, please…”
He sucked hard on your clit, tongue still thrusting deep inside you, finger rubbing faster. His crimson eyes flicked up to watch your face, dark with lust and wicked satisfaction.
“Then make a mess for me, doll,” he rasped, voice rough and commanding. “Squirt all over my tongue. Flood my mouth like the needy little thing you are. I want every drop.”
The words pushed you over the edge.
The intense pressure suddenly snapped. Your entire body seized, back arching sharply off the grass as a broken, keening cry tore from your throat. Your cunt spasmed violently around his tongue, walls clamping down hard before releasing in powerful, rhythmic pulses. A hot, clear gush of fluid burst from you, squirting hard against his tongue and chin, soaking his face and dripping down onto the grass beneath you.
You kept squirting, wave after wave, unable to stop as he continued licking and sucking through it all, greedily drinking down every drop while his finger never stopped circling your throbbing clit. The orgasm crashed through you harder than anything you had ever felt, leaving you shaking and sobbing, pussy gushing messily all over his mouth and the soft ground.
Sukuna groaned deeply, the sound vibrating through your oversensitive folds as he lapped up every bit of your release, refusing to pull away even as you trembled and whimpered beneath him.
Now you were ready.
Your body had gone completely limp on the soft grass, every muscle loose and trembling in the aftermath of that shattering release. Sukuna could feel how thoroughly he had wrung you out. Your cunt still fluttered weakly, puffy and glistening, but the desperate, aching need had finally eased into a deep, hazy satisfaction. He pressed one last slow, reverent kiss to your swollen pussy, lips brushing tenderly over the oversensitive folds. His tongue gave a few final, gentle laps, licking up the last of your slick with lazy indulgence, savoring every creamy drop. His chin was shiny and wet, glistening with your release and his own saliva.
He eased your trembling legs down carefully, letting them rest on the cool grass instead of holding them pinned wide. Then he shifted, stretching his massive frame out beside you on the soft ground. One of his lower arms slid beneath your shoulders, pulling you close until your face tucked into the warm curve of his neck. His skin smelled of smoke and salt and something darker, masculine, grounding. The other three arms settled around you, one hand gently threading through your hair, stroking slow, soothing pets from crown to nape. His fingers were careful, almost tender, as they combed through the strands damp with sweat and grass.
You felt weightless.
The warm sunlight filtered through the pear leaves above, painting shifting golden patterns across your skin. The faint sound of the lake lapping at the shore blended with the soft rustle of blossoms drifting down. Your body melted against his, boneless and heavy with exhaustion and pleasure. You could feel how hard he still was. Both thick cocks pressed hot and heavy against your thigh, leaking steadily, the blunt heads smearing warm precum across your skin with every subtle shift. Yet he made no move to take you. He simply held you close, petting your hair in slow, rhythmic strokes while his chest rose and fell steadily beneath your cheek.
You closed your eyes.
The world narrowed to the warmth of his body, the gentle drag of his fingers through your hair, the heavy, comforting weight of his arms wrapped around you. For the first time since he had stolen you from the temple, the ache between your thighs felt soothed rather than tormenting. Shame still lingered somewhere distant, but it could not reach you here, not while he held you like this.
Sukuna’s voice rumbled low against your ear, rough but quiet, laced with quiet satisfaction.
“See?” he murmured, lips brushing the top of your head. “Didn’t I help?”
You did not answer with words. You simply pressed your face deeper into the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent, letting the steady beat of his heart lull you further into the soft, floating haze. His hand continued its slow, comforting strokes through your hair. His cocks remained hard and leaking against your thigh, patient for now.
Beneath the pear tree, in the warm daylight and drifting blossoms, Sukuna held his stolen faithful close, content to let you rest against him while the evidence of your messy release dried on his chin and the grass beneath you both.
You fell asleep on the way back, cradled securely in his arms.
The walk from the lakeside to the fortress was not long, but the warm afternoon sun, the soft sway of his steps, and the deep exhaustion that had settled into your bones after everything beneath the pear tree pulled you under almost immediately. Your cheek rested against the broad plane of his chest, one hand loosely curled into the fabric of his robe. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat and the faint heat rolling off his skin lulled you deeper into sleep, safe and heavy in his hold.
Sukuna carried you without effort, two arms supporting your body while the other two remained free. In one of those free hands he held a small cluster of ripe pears he had plucked from the tree before leaving. Their smooth, golden-green skins caught the light as he walked, stems still bearing a few delicate white blossoms. He did not eat them. He simply carried them, turning one slowly between his fingers every so often, as though the simple act of holding something soft and sweet pleased him.
The fortress loomed ahead, stone walls dark against the bright sky. Servants scattered at the sight of their lord returning with the sleeping girl tucked against his chest, but no one dared speak. Uraume stood waiting at the entrance, pale eyes flicking once over your relaxed form and the pears before offering a small, knowing bow and stepping aside without a word.
Sukuna moved through the familiar corridors in silence, careful not to jostle you. When he reached the chamber he lowered you gently onto the wide mat, arranging your limbs with surprising care so you lay on your side, facing inward. The yukata had slipped slightly during the journey, baring one shoulder and the soft curve of your breast, but he did not adjust it. Instead he set the cluster of pears on the low table beside the mat, their faint sweet scent already beginning to fill the room.
He stretched out beside you, close enough that the heat of his body wrapped around yours once more. One arm draped possessively over your waist, palm settling lightly over the lingering softness of your lower belly. The other three hands found their places, one beneath his own head, the others resting near enough to touch if he wished.
You remained asleep, breathing slow and even, lashes dark against your cheeks, lips slightly parted. The faint marks of grass and blossoms still clung to your hair. A small smear of dried slick still glistened on the inside of one thigh, a quiet reminder of how thoroughly he had taken care of you by the lake.
Sukuna watched you for a long time in the quiet of the chamber.
He did not wake you.
He simply lay there, the stolen pears resting nearby, their sweetness mixing with the heavier scent of sex and skin that still clung to both of you. One of his fingers idly traced the curve of your shoulder while his mind turned over the strange, unfamiliar feeling of carrying something fragile and warm back to his den instead of leaving it broken behind him.
Outside the narrow windows the daylight slowly began to soften into evening.
Inside, the King of Curses kept his faithful close, pears and all, letting you sleep undisturbed in the circle of his arms.
You woke up dazed, the world soft and hazy around the edges.
For a long moment you could not remember the walk back. The lake, the pear tree, the overwhelming rush of pleasure beneath its branches, all of it felt like a fever dream that had slipped between your fingers. Your body was still coming down from the high, heavy and languid, every limb weighted with sweet exhaustion. A faint fever lingered beneath your skin, a warm flush that made your cheeks glow and your breathing slow and shallow. Between your thighs your pussy still throbbed gently, swollen and tender, the constant low ache now mixed with a deep, satisfied warmth that refused to fade.
The chamber was quiet, lit by the golden haze of late afternoon light slipping through the narrow windows. The faint sweet scent of ripe pear filled the air.
Sukuna was already awake, propped on one elbow beside you. In two of his hands he held the cluster of pears he had carried back. With the third he used the small, curved tanto to slice one open with precise, unhurried movements. The same blade you had once pressed trembling to his throat now moved steadily through the soft fruit, juice glistening along the edge as he cut neat, crescent-shaped slices.
He noticed the moment your eyes opened.
Without a word he brought a fresh slice to your lips, holding it between two thick fingers. The sweet, juicy flesh brushed against your lower lip, cool and sticky.
You stared at the knife for a heartbeat, then at the slice, then up at his face. A slow roll of your eyes was the only protest you could manage in your dazed state. Still, your mouth opened obediently. You took the piece of pear from his fingers, lips closing around the pads of his fingertips for a brief, intimate second as you accepted the offering. The fruit was perfectly ripe, bursting with cool sweetness that soothed your dry throat and made your fever-flushed cheeks feel a little less warm.
Sukuna watched you chew with dark, half-lidded eyes, the corner of his mouth curving in quiet satisfaction. He cut another slice, juice dripping slowly down the blade, and brought it to your mouth again. This time you did not roll your eyes. You simply parted your lips and let him feed you, the sticky sweetness coating your tongue while his fingers lingered a moment longer than necessary.
He fed you piece after piece in silence, the ironies of the moment hanging thick between you. The same knife that had once promised death now delivered something gentle and sweet. The monster who had stolen you from your temple now sat patiently slicing fruit and pressing each slice to your lips with careful fingers. Your body still hummed with the memory of his tongue between your thighs, yet here you were, drowsy and fever-warm, accepting every offering like it was the most natural thing in the world.
When the pear was nearly gone he set the core aside and wiped his fingers on the edge of the cloth nearby. One large hand returned to your hair, stroking slowly through the strands while another rested possessively over the soft swell of your lower belly.
“Better?” he asked, voice low and rough, but quieter than usual.
You swallowed the last sweet bite, the fever making your thoughts slow and heavy. Instead of answering with words you simply turned your face into his palm, pressing a small, tired kiss to the center of it.
Sukuna’s eyes darkened further at the gesture. He did not speak again. He only continued to pet your hair in slow, steady strokes, letting you drift in the warm, hazy space between sleep and waking while the faint scent of pear and the lingering taste of sweetness stayed on your tongue.
The blade lay forgotten on the low table beside the empty core, its edge still faintly sticky with juice.
And in the quiet chamber, he kept feeding his stolen girl small, sweet pieces of fruit, watching every flutter of your lashes with something dangerously close to tenderness.
Later that evening the air in the fortress had grown cooler, the faint scent of cedar smoke drifting through the corridors as braziers were lit for the night.
Sukuna had risen from the mat without a word, shedding his outer robes as he moved toward the private bathing chamber attached to the main room. You watched him from beneath half-closed lashes, still drowsy and warm from the pear and the long rest. Then you noticed.
His two thick cocks were fully hard, heavy and flushed dark, the fat heads glistening with steady beads of precum that dripped in slow, shiny trails down the veined lengths. They bobbed slightly with each step he took, leaking openly, untouched since the lake. He had given you everything beneath the pear tree and taken nothing for himself.
Something hot and liquid stirred low in your belly.
You crept after him on silent feet, heart hammering, the fever still lingering in your cheeks. The ache between your thighs had returned, softer now but insistent, your pussy growing slick and warm again at the mere sight of him. When he stepped into the bathing chamber you followed, hovering just outside the doorway, hidden in shadow.
He stood beside the large wooden tub already filled with steaming water. One of his lower hands reached down, wrapping loosely around both cocks at the base. He gave a slow, firm stroke from root to tip, smearing the leaking precum over the heads with his thumb. A low groan rumbled in his chest as he palmed himself, thick fingers barely able to circle both shafts together. The motion was lazy, almost absent, like he was simply easing an ache rather than truly seeking release.
Your breath caught.
He looked beautiful like this, massive frame backlit by the flickering lanterns, tattoos stark against scarlet skin, four arms moving with powerful grace. And those two leaking cocks… heavy, dripping, untouched because he had spent the entire afternoon taking care of you instead.
Your pussy clenched hard, fresh slick coating your folds and beginning to trickle down your inner thigh. Shame and desire twisted together until you could no longer stay still.
You slipped out of your yukata without a sound, letting the silk pool at your feet until you stood completely naked. Cool air kissed your fever-warm skin, making your nipples tighten and your swollen cunt throb. Heart racing, you stepped forward and pushed the sliding door wider, the soft wooden sound announcing your presence.
Sukuna turned his head slowly.
Four crimson eyes locked onto you immediately, taking in every inch of your bare body, the way your thighs pressed together, the faint sheen of wetness already visible on your skin. His hand stilled on his cocks, still gripping both thick lengths, the heads flushed and glistening.
For a long moment neither of you spoke.
Then his voice came low and rough, laced with dark hunger and something almost surprised.
“Look at you,” he murmured, gaze dragging slowly down to the slick glistening between your legs. “Coming to me naked and wet again. Did watching me stroke myself make that greedy little pussy leak for me?”
You stood there in the doorway, completely exposed, chest rising and falling quickly, the ache between your thighs growing unbearable. Your eyes kept flicking down to where his hand still held those two heavy, leaking cocks, precum still dripping steadily from the tips.
Sukuna’s lips curved into a slow, predatory smile. He gave himself one more lazy stroke, eyes never leaving yours.
“Well?” he asked, voice dropping even lower. “Are you just going to stand there… or are you going to come here and help me with this?”
Steam rose from the bath behind him.
Lantern light flickered across his skin...
You stepped inside.
Shy, but eager.
Your bare feet padded across the warm stone floor until you stood right in front of him. Sukuna’s four arms opened for you without hesitation, the gesture surprisingly gentle. He reached down, large hands sliding beneath your thighs, and lifted you effortlessly into the air. The moment your body left the ground you felt weightless again, cradled against his broad chest as he stepped into the large wooden tub with you.
The water was warm, almost hot, fragrant with yuzu and something faintly herbal that Uraume must have added. Steam curled up around you both as he lowered himself slowly, settling against the back of the tub and pulling you with him. He pressed you flush to his front first, your soft breasts squishing against the hard planes of his chest, your legs automatically parting to straddle his hips. The heat of the bath seeped into your skin, soothing the lingering ache between your thighs even as fresh slick continued to gather.
He leaned in and kissed your cheek, slow and surprisingly sweet, lips lingering against the flushed skin. The contrast between that tenderness and the heavy, leaking cocks trapped between your bodies made your head spin.
You settled fully against him, thighs spread wide over his lap. The sight of the large, grinning mouth on his stomach made your breath hitch. The moment your belly pressed against it, the thick pink tongue flicked out, dragging a wet, playful stripe across your soft skin. It curled lazily, tasting the faint sheen of sweat and the sweetness still clinging to you from the pear. One of Sukuna’s big hands settled on your lower back, holding you close while his thumb stroked slow circles over your spine.
He teased you then, voice low and rough against your ear.
“Your eager little pussy is still greedy for more, hm?”
You looked up at him with wide, glassy eyes, heat flooding your face. You could not hold his gaze. Your eyes dropped instead, lashes fluttering as you watched your own finger trace the seam of the stomach mouth. The moment your fingertip brushed the soft lips, the large tongue flicked out again, wrapping playfully around your finger and sucking gently before letting go with a wet pop.
You swallowed hard, voice barely above a whisper.
“I… I shouldn’t have all the pleasure.”
The guilt was quiet but real. He had taken nothing for himself earlier, only given and given until you shattered on his tongue. The thought made your chest tight.
Sukuna stilled for a moment, studying your downcast face. Then understanding softened the edge of his smirk.
“Guess we really should stop keeping secrets from each other then,” he murmured.
He tilted your chin up with one gentle finger, forcing your eyes to meet his again. Before you could look away he leaned in and kissed you, slow and deep and thorough. His tongue slid against yours, tasting of pear and your own slick, claiming your mouth with the same lazy hunger he had shown between your thighs.
You melted into the kiss, arms winding around his neck as you settled fully against him. His two thick cocks pressed hot and slick between your bodies, trapped against your soft belly and the dripping seam of your cunt. They throbbed heavily with every beat of his heart, leaking steadily, the precum mixing with the bathwater and your own fresh arousal until everything felt slippery and warm.
His stomach mouth continued to lick lazily at your skin, tongue dragging slow stripes across your abdomen while his hand on your back kept you pressed close. The other three arms held you securely, one cradling the back of your head, another resting possessively on your hip, the last stroking gently along your thigh.
He broke the kiss just enough to speak against your lips, voice dark and rough with want.
“No more secrets tonight, little one. Tell me what you want… and I will give it to you.”
The steam rose thick around you both.
The fragrant water lapped gently at your joined bodies.
And in the warm bath, straddling him, his leaking cocks pressed slick against your greedy pussy, you felt the last fragile wall between you begin to crumble.
“Please…”
The word slipped from your lips, soft and trembling against his own. “Need you.”
Sukuna’s mouth curved into a slow, wicked smile against yours. He did not answer with words at first. Instead one of his lower hands slid down between your bodies, gripping the thicker of his two leaking cocks at the base. He dragged the fat, precum-slick head slowly through your folds, teasing the blunt tip up and down your dripping slit. The heat of him was searing, the sheer size of just one cock already making your pussy flutter in anticipation and nerves.
Your slick coated him instantly, mixing with the steady leak of his precum until the glide became obscenely wet. Every slow pass nudged against your swollen clit, then dipped lower to kiss your entrance, spreading your puffy lips around the wide head before pulling back again. The teasing made your thighs tremble on either side of his hips.
He kissed you once more, slow and deep, then pulled back just enough to speak against your mouth, voice low and rough with hunger.
“Let’s just start with one tonight then,” he murmured. “Let’s see how good you’ll stretch for me.”
He lined the thick head up with your entrance and began to push.
The stretch was immediate and overwhelming. Even after everything he had done to you earlier, your cunt still had to open wide around the fat crown. A broken whimper escaped you as the head popped inside, your walls fluttering desperately around the intrusion. He was so thick, so hot, the veins along his shaft dragging against your sensitive inner walls as he slowly fed you the first few inches.
Sukuna groaned low in his chest, the sound vibrating through both of you.
“Fuck… still so tight,” he rasped, one hand gripping your hip to hold you steady while the other kept guiding his cock deeper. “Look at this greedy little pussy swallowing me up. Taking it so well already.”
He rocked his hips in shallow thrusts, working himself in inch by inch, letting your body adjust to the brutal girth. Your slick and his precum made the slide easier, but the stretch still burned sweetly, forcing your cunt to mould around every thick ridge. When he was halfway buried he paused, letting you feel the heavy throb of him inside you, the way your belly already began to bulge faintly from just one cock.
His stomach mouth licked a slow, wet stripe across your abdomen, tongue flicking playfully over the small swell as if tasting the place he was claiming from within.
You clung to his shoulders, nails digging into scarlet skin, forehead pressed to his as you panted against his lips. The water lapped gently around your joined bodies, steam curling thick in the air.
Sukuna’s eyes stayed locked on your face, watching every flutter of your lashes, every little gasp.
“That’s it,” he whispered, voice dark and coaxing. “Take all of me tonight. Let me feel how deep this pretty cunt can take one cock before I decide whether you’re ready for both.”
He rolled his hips again, sinking another thick inch inside you, stretching you open with slow, deliberate patience while the bathwater rippled around you both.
And in the fragrant steam, you gave yourself to him once more, soft pleas and broken moans spilling from your lips as the King of Curses began to fill you all over again.
You felt him immediately.
The thick head pushed past your entrance and the stretch bloomed all over again, sharp and sweet and overwhelming. Your cunt had to open wide once more, soft walls yielding around the heavy girth as he sank deeper. Every slow inch forced your body to remember him, to take his exact shape again until the blunt head kissed high inside you and the thick veins dragged along every sensitive spot. Your belly swelled faintly beneath the water, the faint outline of his cock visible just under your skin.
Sukuna let out a low, satisfied groan, eyes half-lidded as he watched your face.
“Looks like your cunt didn’t forget me after all,” he murmured, voice rough and pleased. “Still so tight… still sucking me in like it missed being full.”
Your hands pressed flat against his broad chest, fingers splaying over the dark tattoos as you tried to steady yourself. The water lapped gently around your hips with every tiny movement. He kept one large hand on your lower back, holding you close, while the other guided your hips down to meet his slow upward thrusts.
He fucked up into you with unhurried strokes, deep and deliberate, letting you feel every thick inch slide out until only the fat head remained inside, then pressing back in until he bottomed out again. Each thrust made your breasts bounce softly against his chest and sent ripples across the fragrant bathwater.
You were trembling.
The stretch felt so good it bordered on too much, but your body craved more. The empty ache where his second cock should be became impossible to ignore. Your pussy clenched hard around the one already buried inside you, leaking fresh slick around his shaft as the need built higher.
“Please…” you whispered, voice small and breathless against his neck. “The second one… I want both…”
Sukuna stilled for a moment, buried to the hilt. Then a dark, amused chuckle rumbled through his chest.
“Fuck… you’re eager,” he said, the words warm against your ear. One of his hands slid up to cup the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair. “Already begging for both after I’ve barely given you one. Greedy little thing.”
He rocked up into you again, slower this time, grinding the thick head against that deep spot inside while the second heavy cock rested hot and leaking against your lower belly, trapped between your bodies.
“You sure?” he asked, voice dropping even lower, teasing but edged with hunger. “You want me to stretch this pretty cunt even wider tonight? Fill you so full you can barely breathe?”
You nodded frantically, cheeks burning, eyes glassy with need. Your hips rolled down to meet his next thrust, taking him deeper as you whimpered.
“Yes… please… both…”
Sukuna’s smile turned sharp and satisfied. He tightened his grip on your hips with two hands while the other two cradled your face and back, holding you steady as he began to shift beneath you.
“Alright then,” he growled softly, pressing a slow kiss to your swollen lips. “Since you’re asking so nicely… let’s see how well this tight little pussy takes both my cocks tonight.”
He kept the first one buried deep inside you, holding still for a moment while the fat, leaking head of the second cock nudged insistently against your already stretched entrance, sliding through the mess of your slick and his precum.
The water steamed around you both.
Your hands clutched tighter at his chest.
He worked the second cock in slowly.
The thick, leaking head pressed firmly against your already stretched entrance, nudging beside the first one that was buried deep inside you. The stretch was immediate and brutal. Your cunt had to open wider than it ever had, soft walls straining around two heavy girths at once. You clenched up instinctively, a sharp gasp tearing from your throat as the second cock forced its way in inch by slow, relentless inch.
“Oh fuck—”
The curse slipped out before you could stop it, raw and broken. The temple girl who once spent her days murmuring sutras had never spoken such a word in her life. Sukuna’s eyes flashed with dark delight at the sound.
“Oh?” he teased, voice low and rough even as he fought to keep his composure. “The temple girl’s first swear. Committing so many sins tonight, aren’t you?”
Your cunt was impossibly tight around both cocks, fluttering and squeezing in panicked little pulses that made sweat bead along his temples. He could feel every ripple, every desperate clench as your body struggled to accept him. It hurt for you too. The burn was fierce, stretching you to your limit, tears already gathering at the corners of your eyes and spilling down your flushed cheeks.
Sukuna kept one big hand stroking slowly up and down your back, never stopping the gentle, soothing motion. His palm was warm and steady against your spine, thumb tracing comforting circles while he held perfectly still inside you, giving your body time to adjust.
“No, pretty girl,” he murmured, voice gentler now, lips brushing your temple. “Relax for me. Breathe.”
You whimpered, forehead pressed to his shoulder, nails digging into his chest. The stretch felt like too much and not enough all at once. Both cocks throbbed heavily inside your overstuffed cunt, leaking steadily, the dual pressure making your belly bulge noticeably even through the bathwater.
“You said you wanted both,” he reminded you softly, pressing a slow kiss to your wet cheek. “Don’t fight me, sweetheart. Let me in. Let this greedy little cunt take everything I give it.”
His hand kept stroking your back in that same soothing rhythm, slow and patient, while the other three arms held you close, one cradling the back of your head, another gripping your hip to keep you steady. He rocked up into you with the tiniest movements, just enough to ease the second cock deeper, letting your walls flutter and slowly loosen around the impossible fullness.
Tears kept slipping down your face, but the pain was already beginning to melt into something hotter, something deeper. Your cunt clenched again, this time less in resistance and more in desperate need.
Sukuna groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating through his chest into yours.
“That’s it,” he whispered against your ear, still stroking your back with steady reassurance. “Good girl. Just relax and let me fill you completely. You’re doing so well for me.”
Both thick cocks pulsed inside your stretched, dripping cunt as he waited for you to open up fully, the warm bathwater rippling gently around your joined bodies while he coaxed you through the overwhelming stretch with patience and dark, hungry praise.
Your cunt kept stretching.
It hurt, it burned, it felt impossible, but it took him.
More and more. Inch by thick, veined inch, both of his heavy cocks sank deeper into your fluttering heat until the stretch became something else entirely. Something overwhelming and perfect. Your walls yielded slowly, clenching and fluttering around the brutal double invasion, molding themselves around his shape like they had been waiting for this exact moment.
The way your tummy bulged was obscene.
You could feel it, see it, the soft skin of your lower belly rounding outward, the clear outline of both cocks pressing up from inside you. Every shallow breath made the swell shift and move. Deeper and deeper he pushed, until the fat heads nudged against your cervix and then beyond, forcing the tight ring to open for him, letting him claim space no one had ever touched.
Your eyes slid shut, lashes wet with fresh tears. A broken little sound escaped your trembling lips.
Sukuna cupped your face in two large hands, thumbs brushing away the tears as they fell. He pressed his forehead to yours, breath mingling with yours in the steamy air.
“Look at you,” he whispered, voice rough and awed. “Taking both my cocks so deep. Your pretty cunt is opening so well for me.”
He kissed your tears one by one, slow and tender, lips brushing over your closed eyelids, the corners of your eyes, the salty trails on your cheeks. When he finally reached your mouth he kissed you deeply, swallowing the soft whimper that left you as your cunt gave one last fluttering pulse and took the rest of him.
He was fully seated.
Both thick cocks buried to the hilt inside your overstuffed pussy, stretching you wider than you had ever been, your belly swollen and round with the proof of it. Your walls clenched helplessly around him, rippling and squeezing in waves, trying to adjust to the impossible fullness.
Sukuna held perfectly still, forehead still pressed to yours, hands cradling your face like something precious.
“There you go,” he murmured against your lips, voice low and soothing. “That’s my good girl. You did it. You took all of me.”
Your lips trembled. Another tear slipped free and he caught it with his thumb, then leaned in to kiss it away again.
The bathwater lapped gently around your joined bodies. Steam curled thick and fragrant between you. Your hands stayed pressed to his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart beneath your palms.
He stayed buried deep, letting you feel every throb, every pulse of both cocks stretching you open, while he continued to kiss your face softly, patiently, giving your ruined little cunt time to settle around the overwhelming fullness he had given you.
“You feel that?” he whispered, one hand sliding down to rest over the swollen curve of your belly. “That’s me. All the way inside you. No more secrets. No more holding back.”
Your cunt fluttered hard around him at his words, another rush of slick leaking out around the tight seal of your stretched lips.
Sukuna smiled against your mouth, dark and satisfied.
“Good girl,” he breathed. “Now breathe for me… and let me feel how well this greedy cunt is going to take everything I give it tonight.”
Your cunt was sucking and pulling at both of his cocks with every tiny movement.
The slightest shift of his hips made your walls flutter and clench desperately around the thick double intrusion, greedy and overwhelmed all at once. Any little motion sent sparks of too-much pleasure shooting through you. The stretch was constant, burning and perfect, your swollen folds stretched shiny and tight around the bases of both cocks. Your belly bulged obscenely, the rounded swell rising and falling with every shallow breath you took.
Sukuna watched your face with dark, hooded eyes, one hand still cradling your cheek while the other rested possessively over the swollen curve of your stomach.
“You’ve already done the impossible,” he murmured, voice low and rough with restraint. “Taking both my cocks all the way inside this tight little cunt. Such a good girl.”
He could feel every ripple, every helpless suck of your walls trying to milk him. But he insisted on doing the work now.
“You’ve done enough,” he told you softly. “Just let me take care of you.”
When he asked if you wanted him to move, you could only nod, lips trembling, eyes glassy with overwhelming sensation.
That was all the permission he needed.
Sukuna lifted you sweetly with two strong arms beneath your thighs, raising you just enough that several thick inches of both cocks slid out of your dripping heat. The drag was slow and devastating, your cunt clinging wetly to every veined inch as he withdrew. Then he rocked you back down, sinking both cocks deep again in one smooth, controlled motion.
A broken moan tore from your throat.
He set a slow, steady rhythm, lifting and lowering you on his lap with careful strength. Each time he pulled you up, your cunt fluttered and sucked around him, trying to keep him inside. Each time he rocked you back down, both cocks plunged deep, bumping your cervix and pressing against that spot that made your toes curl in the warm water.
The bath rippled around you with every gentle rock, fragrant steam curling thicker in the air. Your hands clutched at his shoulders, nails digging into scarlet skin as he fucked you on his cocks with slow, deliberate strokes.
“That’s it,” he praised quietly, forehead still pressed to yours. “Just let me move you. Feel how deep you’re taking me, sweetheart. Feel how full you are.”
Your belly bulged visibly with every downward rock, the obscene swell pressing against his stomach mouth. The large pink tongue flicked out lazily, licking across the rounded curve as if tasting how thoroughly he had stuffed you.
You whimpered helplessly, eyes fluttering, tears still clinging to your lashes. Every rock sent waves of overwhelming pleasure crashing through you. Your cunt kept sucking and pulling at both thick cocks, greedy despite how impossibly full you already were.
Sukuna kept rocking you sweetly on his lap, never rushing, letting you feel every inch, every throb, every slow slide as he filled you completely again and again.
His voice stayed low and soothing against your ear between soft kisses to your temple.
“Good girl… such a good girl for me. Just keep taking it. Let me rock this pretty, stretched cunt on both until you can’t think of anything else.”
The water lapped gently around your joined bodies.
Your swollen belly rose and fell with every controlled thrust.
And in the warm, steamy bath, you were held close and rocked slowly on both of his thick cocks, letting your greedy, ruined little pussy suck and flutter around him while he took perfect care of you.
Huge.
That was all you could think as Sukuna rocked you on both of his thick lengths.
Your pussy stretched impossibly wide around the twin girths, soft walls squishing and clinging, milking him in messy, greedy pulses with every slow lift and drop. Wet, filthy sounds filled the steamy bath each time he moved you, slick and precum mixing together until everything between your bodies was slippery and obscene.
He pressed one large hand firmly against the swollen bulge under your tummy, feeling the way both cocks moved inside you, the heavy ridge of them shifting beneath your skin with every rock. The pressure made you whimper, made your cunt flutter harder around him, sucking desperately at the thick lengths as if trying to pull him even deeper.
One of his lower hands settled on your waist, holding you steady while he began to fuck up into you with more purpose. The thrusts stayed controlled but deeper now, lifting his hips to meet every downward rock, driving both cocks into your overstuffed cunt with wet, heavy strokes. Your belly bulged more noticeably with each upward thrust, the rounded swell pressing against his palm.
His other lower hand slipped lower, palming the soft curve of your ass, fingers digging into the flesh to spread you open even wider. He used the grip to help guide you, lifting and lowering you onto his cocks while he fucked up harder, the head of both lengths kissing your cervix with every deep plunge.
You were a trembling, moaning mess in his lap, forehead pressed to his, lips parted on broken little sounds. Your pussy kept milking him greedily, fluttering and clenching, leaking fresh slick around the tight seal of your stretched folds. The water sloshed gently around you both with every thrust, fragrant steam curling thick in the air.
Sukuna groaned low in his chest, the sound vibrating through you as he pressed harder against the bulge in your belly.
“Feel that?” he rasped against your mouth, voice dark and rough. “Feel how deep both are? Your greedy little cunt is sucking me in so messily… taking me so deep like it never wants to let go.”
His hand on your ass squeezed tighter, spreading you wider as he fucked up into you with slow, powerful strokes. The other hand stayed pressed to your swollen tummy, feeling every movement of his cocks inside you while he rocked you on his lap.
You could only moan helplessly, eyes glassy, body trembling as he took you apart so sweetly and thoroughly in the warm bath. Your pussy continued to milk him in wet, greedy pulses, stretched and full and completely his.
Sukuna kissed your trembling lips, then your tear-damp cheek, never stopping the slow, deep rhythm of his hips.
“That’s my good girl,” he murmured, palming your ass and pressing against your bulging belly at the same time. “Keep me in just like that. Let me feel how much this pretty cunt loves being stuffed full.”
Every slow rock of his hips made both thick cocks rub deep inside your pussy, dragging heavily along your fluttering walls in a constant, filthy grind. Your swollen clit caught and rubbed against the dark, coarse hair of his happy trail with every downward motion, sending sharp sparks of pleasure shooting through you. The friction was relentless, perfect, turning every thrust into something overwhelming.
You were creaming on his cocks.
Thick, white rings of your arousal coated both shafts, frothing messily at the stretched entrance of your cunt with every deep plunge. The wet, squelching sounds grew louder, echoing softly off the stone walls of the bathing chamber as your pussy milked him greedily, sucking and fluttering around the double intrusion.
Sukuna groaned low, one hand still pressed firmly to the bulging swell of your tummy while the other palmed your ass, spreading you wider so he could fuck up into you just a little harder. His thumb found your clit, rubbing slow, firm circles over the swollen bud while he kept rocking you on his cocks.
“That’s it,” he murmured against your ear, voice dark and coaxing. “Make a mess all over both my cocks like a good girl. Let me feel how much you want it, how much you pretty pussy will take.”
The added pressure on your clit was too much. Pleasure coiled tight and hot in your belly, sharper and sweeter than before. Your thighs trembled violently around his hips, your cunt clenching hard around both cocks as the orgasm crashed through you.
You moaned, high and broken, body seizing in his lap as sweet, pulsing waves rolled through you. Your pussy gushed around him, fresh slick mixing with the creamy mess already coating his shafts. Sukuna kept rubbing your clit through it all, drawing the orgasm out until your vision blurred and your moans turned into soft, helpless whimpers.
When the peak finally began to ebb you collapsed forward into his chest, face buried in the crook of his neck, trembling and panting against his skin. Your arms wound weakly around his shoulders, body limp and spent in his hold.
Sukuna did not stop moving.
He kept fucking you deeper now, hips snapping up with more force, driving both cocks into your creaming, fluttering cunt with steady, powerful thrusts. The water sloshed harder around you, splashing against the sides of the tub as he used the grip on your ass and waist to pull you down onto him again and again.
His breathing grew rougher, chest rising and falling heavily beneath your cheek. You could feel his cocks swelling even thicker inside you, throbbing with his building release.
He pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your temple, voice wrecked and low.
“Fuck that's it! He said sharply.“Good girl… such a good girl for me… let me give you every drop, let me fill your cunt full.”
His thrusts grew deeper, harder, chasing his own pleasure while he held your limp, trembling body close, fucking up into your messy, overstuffed cunt with raw, building need. Your pussy continued to milk him greedily, squirting and fluttering around him as he drove closer and closer to the edge, determined to flood you full once more.
His cocks throbbed with heavy, insistent pressure deep in his abdomen.
The stomach mouth on his torso had its jaw locked tight, lips pressed into a thin line as if even that part of him was fighting to hold back. Both thick lengths swelled impossibly larger inside your already overstuffed cunt, stretching you even wider, the veins pulsing strongly against your fluttering walls. The first cock twitched hard, swelling thicker at the base, the fat head pressing flush against your cervix.
Sukuna’s breath hitched, a low growl rumbling through his chest as he fucked up into you with deeper, more urgent strokes. His hands gripped your ass tighter, spreading you open while he drove both cocks as far as they could go.
Then the first one came.
Hard.
Thick ropes of hot cum erupted straight into your womb, flooding you in heavy, pulsing spurts. The force of it made your belly swell even more, the rounded bulge growing visibly as he pumped you full. Your cunt clenched violently around him, milking every drop while creamy white seed leaked out around the tight seal of your stretched lips, mixing with your own slick in the bathwater.
Before the first cock even finished pulsing, the second one followed.
It swelled even thicker, stretching you to the absolute limit as it began to cum deep inside you. Another powerful flood joined the first, hot and endless, filling your womb until you felt impossibly bloated, stuffed beyond reason. Both cocks throbbed in tandem now, pumping load after thick load into your greedy, creaming cunt while your walls fluttered and sucked desperately around them.
You moaned weakly against his neck, body trembling, tears slipping down your cheeks again from the sheer intensity of being filled so completely. Your belly rounded out heavily between your bodies, the soft skin taut from the sheer volume of cum he was forcing into you.
Sukuna held you close, one hand still pressed firmly over the swollen curve of your tummy, feeling every powerful spurt as it filled you. His forehead rested against yours, breath ragged, voice rough and wrecked with pleasure.
“Take it all,” he growled softly, still rocking you slowly on his cocks even as he came. “Every drop. Let me fill this pretty cunt until you’re dripping with me for days.”
His stomach mouth finally relaxed, the large tongue slipping out to lick lazily across your bulging belly, tasting the evidence of how thoroughly he had claimed you from the inside.
You stayed collapsed against his chest, limp and shaking, your pussy still milking both throbbing cocks as they continued to empty into you, flooding your womb with thick, hot cum while the warm bathwater rippled around your joined bodies.
Sukuna kissed your temple, then your tear-streaked cheek, murmuring low praises against your skin as he kept you impaled deep on both of his cocks, letting the last heavy spurts pulse into your overstuffed, creaming cunt.
You had never felt so full.
So claimed.
So completely his.
Twin loads poured into you, thick and heavy, flooding your womb in endless, pulsing waves.
Sukuna kept fucking them deeper, hips rolling up in slow, deliberate thrusts even as he came, pushing every thick spurt further inside you. The obscene wet sounds of his cocks churning through the mess echoed in the steamy bath, cum and slick mixing together until your overstuffed cunt could barely contain it all. Creamy white seed leaked out around the tight stretch of both shafts, floating in cloudy ribbons through the water, but he refused to let any of it escape without effort. He rocked you down harder, grinding both cocks as deep as they would go, forcing the heavy loads back into your womb with every thrust.
He was sure it would take.
So much cum. More than your body had any right to hold. Your belly was already swollen and round, taut beneath his palm, and still he kept pumping more into you. He imagined it so clearly, his eyes sliding shut as pleasure and something darker, more possessive rolled through him. In weeks or months to come you would still be swollen, but not just with his cum. He pictured you utterly round and heavy with his babies, belly stretched tight, breasts full, cunt still greedy and leaking for him even while carrying his heirs.
A low, guttural groan left his throat.
His hand pressed firmer against the swollen curve of your stomach, fingers splaying wide as if he could will it to happen by touch alone. He pushed gently, feeling the way your belly gave under the pressure, feeling the obscene slosh of cum inside you as he fucked it even deeper.
“Take it,” he rasped against your ear, voice thick and wrecked. “All of it. Let it settle deep. Let it take root.”
Your cunt fluttered weakly around both cocks, still milking him through the last heavy spurts. You whimpered softly into his neck, body limp and trembling, completely overwhelmed by the sheer volume he had pumped into you. Your belly felt impossibly full, heavy and warm, the skin stretched tight over the twin loads he refused to let leak out.
Sukuna kept his hand there, palm pressed possessively over the swell, thumb stroking slow circles as if soothing the place he had just flooded. His other arms held you close, one cradling the back of your head, another wrapped around your waist, keeping you impaled deep on both cocks while the last thick pulses emptied into your womb.
He stayed buried inside you long after the last spurt, breathing hard against your hair, eyes still closed as the fantasy lingered behind his lids. You, swollen and glowing, carrying his children. The thought made his cocks twitch again inside you, another small leak of cum escaping despite how tightly he filled you.
He kissed your temple, then your cheek, voice low and dark with satisfaction.
“You’re going to look so beautiful like this… all round and full with what I put in you.”
The bathwater had gone cloudy around you both, thick with the evidence of his release. Your belly rose and fell heavily with every shallow breath, swollen and claimed, while Sukuna held you close, hand never leaving the soft, rounded swell he had created, already imagining how much more he would fill you in the nights to come.
After you took both his cocks, he held you like something breakable.
The water had gone thick and cloudy with his cum, the fragrant scent of yuzu now drowned beneath the heavy musk of sex. Sukuna felt a flicker of something close to guilt when he looked at the mess he had made of you, but it was quickly swallowed by the deeper satisfaction of seeing you so thoroughly claimed. Still, he needed to clean you. He could not leave you like this, leaking and trembling and swollen.
When he finally began to slip free, both cocks sliding out of your ruined cunt with a wet, obscene sound, you cried.
A soft, broken sob left your lips the moment the thick heads popped free. Immediately a flood of creamy white poured from your stretched hole, thick ropes of his cum gushing out in heavy pulses, sliding down your thighs and swirling into the already filthy water. Your poor pussy gaped for a moment, puffy and red, unable to close after taking both of his cocks so deep. More cum kept leaking, slow and endless, as if your body refused to let go of what he had given it.
You did not let him go.
The moment he tried to shift you, your arms locked tight around his neck, legs wrapping around his torso with surprising strength. You clung to him like a vine, face buried in the crook of his neck, eyes squeezed shut. Tired as you were, every ounce of remaining energy seemed to have gathered in your limbs. You would not release him, not even for a second.
Sukuna exhaled softly, one large hand cradling the back of your head while the other supported your ass, holding you securely against his chest even as cum continued to drip from your cunt onto his skin.
“It’s okay, pretty girl,” he cooed, voice low and soothing against your ear. “I’m right here. I’ve got you.”
He shifted carefully in the cloudy water, you still attached to him like a second skin, legs locked tight around his waist, arms wound around his neck. With one free hand he grabbed a clean cloth from the side of the tub. With another he reached over and unplugged the drain, letting the filthy, cum-laden water begin to swirl away. Fresh warm water poured in from the spout, clear and steaming, slowly refilling the tub around your joined bodies.
He held you the entire time, rocking you gently, pressing soft kisses to your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. Every time a fresh sob slipped from you, every time more cum leaked out of your swollen pussy and trickled down his abdomen, he murmured quiet reassurances.
“Shh… I know, sweetheart. I know it feels like too much. But I’m not going anywhere. Just let me clean you up.”
He dipped the cloth into the fresh water and began to wipe you gently, starting with your thighs, then carefully between your legs. The warm cloth soothed the tender, puffy folds, but every pass still made you whimper and cling tighter. More thick white continued to spill from your cunt no matter how carefully he cleaned, as if your body was determined to keep every drop he had pumped into you.
Sukuna did not mind.
He simply held you closer, kissing your closed eyelids, stroking your back with slow, steady hands while the clean water rose around you both. Your legs stayed locked around his torso, arms tight around his neck, face hidden against his skin as you trembled and leaked and refused to let go.
“It’s okay,” he whispered again, pressing another kiss to your hair. “I’m right here, pretty girl. I’ve got you. Let it all out. I’ll take care of everything.”
The bath slowly filled with fresh, steaming water.
Your cunt continued to leak his cum in slow, creamy pulses.
And Sukuna held you through it all, cooing soft praises and gentle reassurances while you clung to him with every bit of strength left in your tired body, safe and claimed in the arms of the monster who had ruined you so sweetly.
When he had you mostly cleaned, Sukuna gathered you up once more.
You were still latched onto him, arms locked tight around his neck, legs wrapped firmly around his torso as though letting go might make the world disappear. Even in your exhaustion your body refused to release its hold. He did not mind. He simply rose from the tub with you attached, water streaming off both of you in rivulets, and stepped out onto the cool stone floor.
One of his large hands petted your hair in slow, soothing strokes, fingers combing through the damp strands while he murmured quiet words against your temple.
“I’ve got you. Just keep holding on, pretty girl.”
He reached for a thick, soft towel and dried you as best he could while you remained clung to his chest. He wiped your back, your shoulders, the curve of your ass, moving carefully around the places where your bodies pressed together. The towel came away damp with bathwater and the last traces of his cum that still leaked slowly from your swollen cunt. Every gentle pass made you whimper softly, but you only tightened your grip, face buried deeper into the crook of his neck.
Sukuna carried you like that all the way back to the main chamber, your legs locked around his waist, your arms wound tight around his neck. He moved slowly, deliberately, one hand supporting your weight beneath your ass while the other continued to pet your hair in steady, comforting rhythms.
When he reached the wide mat he lowered himself down carefully, keeping you cradled against his chest the entire time. Only then did he try to coax you into drinking.
He reached for the clay cup of water Uraume had left on the low table, bringing it to your lips with gentle insistence.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice low and patient. “Just a little. You need it.”
You turned your face away at first, eyes still closed, too tired and overwhelmed to do anything but cling. Sukuna did not push. He simply waited, stroking your back, pressing soft kisses to your hair until you finally parted your lips. He tilted the cup slowly, letting you take small, careful sips. Cool water slid down your throat, soothing the dryness left from all your moaning and crying. You drank in tiny mouthfuls, swallowing obediently each time he encouraged you with quiet praise.
“Good girl… that’s it. Just a little more.”
When you had taken enough he set the cup aside and wrapped both arms around you again, holding you close against his warm body. Your legs stayed wrapped around his torso, your arms locked around his neck, your face tucked safely into the curve of his shoulder. Fresh tears slipped from your closed eyes, but they were softer now, exhaustion winning over everything else.
Sukuna continued to pet your hair, slow and steady, his other hands resting possessively along your back and the curve of your ass. He could still feel the occasional warm trickle of his cum leaking from your cunt onto his skin, but he made no move to clean it further. He simply held you, letting you cling as tightly as you needed.
“Sleep now,” he whispered against your hair, pressing one last gentle kiss to the top of your head. “I’m right here. I’m not letting go.”
You stayed latched onto him, trembling faintly, body heavy with fatigue and the deep, lingering fullness he had left inside you. The chamber was quiet except for the soft sound of your breathing and the steady rhythm of his hand stroking through your hair.
And Sukuna held you through it all, content to let his stolen faithful remain wrapped around him like you never wanted to be anywhere else.
He eventually pulled your tired arms away from his neck.
It took gentle coaxing, his fingers carefully unwinding your grip until your limbs fell limp and heavy against his chest. Even in sleep your body protested the loss of contact, a small, unconscious whimper slipping past your lips. Sukuna gathered you closer, all four arms cradling you against him like something infinitely precious. One pair supported your back and thighs, another rested along your sides, keeping you secure in the wide span of his hold. His massive frame curled protectively around your much smaller one on the wide mat.
He looked at you.
Really looked.
This small woman who had taken all of him so eagerly, who had cried and begged and still opened wider when he asked. He had put you through so much. From the burning temple to the blade at his throat, from the first brutal claiming to the bath where he had stretched you beyond reason and flooded you until your belly swelled. The memory of your tears, your broken moans, your desperate clinging lingered in his chest like an unfamiliar weight.
Guilt, quiet and unfamiliar, settled deep inside him.
One large hand came up to cup your face, thumb brushing slowly across your cheek. Your lashes were still damp, lips slightly parted in exhausted sleep. So delicate. So human. And yet you had taken the King of Curses into your body twice tonight and held him there like you never wanted him to leave.
His gaze drifted lower.
His hand slid down to rest over the soft, swollen curve of your tummy. The skin was warm and taut beneath his palm, still rounded from the sheer volume of cum he had pumped into you. He caressed it gently, fingers tracing slow circles over the place where his seed now rested deep inside your womb. The thought of it taking root sent a strange ripple through him.
He had never cared for heirs.
Rulers did not need bloodlines. Conquest was eternal. Legacy was written in blood and fear, not in small hands and soft cries. It was such a human thing.
But then he remembered the lake earlier that day.
You beneath the pear tree, sunlight dancing across your skin, blossoms drifting down while you came apart so sweetly on his tongue. The image shifted in his mind, unbidden, and suddenly he saw you again, months from now, belly round and heavy with his child, glowing, soft, still looking at him with those wide, trusting eyes.
It was not such a bad sight.
In fact, it felt… right.
The realization clicked into place with surprising clarity.
He would only want that with you.
Not with any trembling village girl or fearful shrine maiden he could have taken on a whim. Only with the faithful one he had stolen, the one who had once held a knife to his throat and then pulled him closer instead. The one whose body had learned to crave him, whose heart still raced beneath his palm even in sleep.
Sharing a life with you suddenly seemed possible.
Not just possession. Not just claiming. Something quieter. Something that looked like mornings with pears and evenings in the bath and nights where you clung to him even after he had ruined you.
Sukuna’s hand stayed cupped over your swollen belly, thumb stroking slow, almost reverent circles. His other arms tightened around you, pulling you closer until your cheek rested against his chest and your legs draped over his hip.
He pressed a single, lingering kiss to the top of your head.
“Sleep, little one,” he whispered into your hair, voice barely audible. “I will take care of you now. Whatever comes… I will take care of you.”
The guilt still lingered, but it was softened by something warmer, something dangerously close to tenderness. He kept his hand on your belly, feeling the faint flutter of your breathing, imagining the day it might flutter with something more.
For the first time in his long, bloody existence, Ryomen Sukuna allowed himself to picture a future that was not only conquest and fear, but one that included you, soft and full and his in every possible way.
He closed his eyes, still cradling you close, and let the quiet thought settle deep inside him.
You.
His.
Perhaps even carrying his child.
The King of Curses held his stolen faithful through the night, one hand never leaving the gentle swell of your belly, already wondering how soon he could make that vision real.
You laid on your back in the cool hush of his chamber, the thick bedding Sukuna had carefully arranged around you cradling your body like a nest. The night air was still, carrying only the faint crackle of a low brazier and the soft rhythm of your breathing. From across the room Sukuna stood watching for a long moment, four crimson eyes fixed on the peaceful sight of you.
Your eyes were closed in deep sleep, lashes resting against your cheeks, lips slightly parted. The thick layers of bedding he had swaddled you in kept you warm, but every time you shifted even the smallest amount the weight of your growing swell became more and more apparent. The soft curve of your belly rose gently beneath the covers, rounder now, heavier, undeniably full with the life he had planted inside you. The sight held him transfixed, something ancient and possessive stirring low in his chest as he stared at the proof of what you had taken from him and made your own.
You were pregnant.
The knowledge still felt new, strange, and yet utterly right.
The moment you began to shift again, a small furrow appeared between your brows. Your hands moved restlessly beneath the bedding, fingers clutching at the empty space beside you, searching, reaching for the solid warmth that was no longer there. A quiet, distressed sound slipped from your throat, barely more than a breath.
Sukuna was already moving.
He crossed the chamber in three silent strides, sliding onto the wide mat beside you before your hands could grasp at nothing again. His large palms found yours immediately, fingers threading through your smaller ones, pulling your hands against his chest. He drew you close with all four arms, carefully turning you onto your side so your swollen belly rested safely against the hard planes of his body. One arm slipped beneath your head as a pillow, another curled around your back, the third settled protectively over the curve of your tummy, and the last stroked slow, soothing lines along your spine.
The moment he had you tucked against him your breathing settled. The tension melted from your shoulders, your face relaxing once more into peaceful sleep. You nuzzled closer, cheek pressing to his collarbone, one leg instinctively draping over his hip as if even unconscious you needed to be as close as possible. A soft, contented sigh left your lips.
You had found utter comfort in Sukuna now, even more so since the pregnancy had begun to show. The fear that once lived in your eyes had long since softened into something warmer, something that sought him out in sleep and in waking. He had become your safety, your anchor, the only place where the weight of your changing body felt bearable.
Sukuna kept his hand splayed wide over the swell of your belly, feeling the faint, steady pressure beneath his palm. He could sense the life growing there, the subtle movements that had only just started to become noticeable. His thumb traced slow circles over the taut skin, reverent and quiet.
He had never imagined he would want this.
Yet here you were, swollen with his child, clinging to him even in dreams, trusting him completely with the fragile new life you carried. The guilt he had once felt had faded into something deeper, something that made him hold you a little tighter every night.
He pressed a slow kiss to the top of your head, lips lingering in your hair as he whispered against the strands, voice barely audible in the quiet chamber.
“I’m here, little one. I’ve got you both.”
Your fingers tightened faintly around his in sleep, as if answering him. Your breathing stayed even and deep, your body heavy and warm against his, the swell of your belly pressed safely between you.
Sukuna closed his eyes, but he did not sleep.
He simply held you, one hand never leaving the gentle curve where his child grew, listening to the soft sounds of your breathing and feeling the quiet wonder of how completely you had changed everything.
The King of Curses laid awake in the cool darkness, cradling his pregnant faithful close, already certain that he would burn the world again if it meant keeping this peace intact.
In the quiet dark of the chamber, with you safely tucked against his chest and the soft swell of your belly pressed between your bodies, Sukuna let his mind drift back.
He remembered the first time you had started craving fruit.
It began with pears, ironically enough. You would wake in the middle of the night and ask for them in that small, shy voice, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He had laughed low and fetched them himself, slicing the sweet golden flesh with the same blade that had once rested against his throat. You ate them with such quiet greed, juice running down your chin, eyes fluttering in simple pleasure. He had thought nothing of it then, only that his stolen girl had developed a taste for something soft and sweet.
Then the sickness came.
Mornings where you would suddenly turn pale and rush to the basin, retching until there was nothing left. He had frowned and blamed the pears at first, muttering that perhaps they had been too ripe, too cold, too much. He brought you warmer broth instead, held your hair back, and told you to stop eating so many. You had only shaken your head weakly and asked for another pear once the nausea passed.
Then your body began to change.
Your breasts grew heavier, more sensitive. Your hips softened. And your belly… your belly started to round in the gentlest way. At first he told himself it was only the constant fullness he kept pumping into you every night, the thick loads he refused to let you waste. But the rounding stayed even on the rare days he did not fill you.
The truth finally struck him one evening after you had bathed.
You were still wet and naked, skin glistening, towel having slipped from your fingers to pool on the floor. You bent to retrieve it, back arching, the curve of your spine leading down to the plush swell of your ass. Sukuna had been behind you in an instant, drawn by the sight like a moth to flame.
He stepped close, chest brushing your back, and slid one large hand around to cup the front of your tummy. The moment his palm settled over the gentle curve, something clicked into place. The weight felt different. Warmer. Alive.
His voice had come out low, almost hesitant, each word measured and slow as if he were testing the shape of something dangerous and beautiful.
“…It is not the pears,” he had murmured against the damp skin of your shoulder, fingers spreading wider over your belly. “I think… something else has taken root here.”
He paused, letting the silence stretch, letting you feel the weight of his hand and the weight of his meaning.
“Life,” he said at last, voice dropping even lower, almost reverent, “is growing inside you.”
Your breath had stilled completely.
Your smaller hands flew to cover his where it rested on your tummy. You exhaled shakily, the sound trembling in the quiet room.
“Pregnant…” The word left your lips in a stunned whisper. Then again, softer, disbelieving, “I’m pregnant.”
It sounded surreal even to your own ears.
Sukuna had pulled you back against his chest immediately, both arms wrapping around you from behind, holding you tighter than he ever had. No discussions had come before this moment. You had both known the possibility was there, after all the countless nights he had come deep inside you again and again, flooding your womb until it overflowed. Yet hearing it spoken aloud made the truth settle heavy and wonderful between you.
You looked down at your own tummy, watching the way his large hand cradled the gentle swell, and a soft, overwhelmed laugh bubbled up through your tears.
Sukuna’s chin rested on top of your head. His voice rumbled through you, low and teasing, but warm.
“What was that just now?” He gave the slightest roll of his hips, pressing the heavy line of his cocks against the curve of your ass. “Having lewd thoughts about how I filled you so well that it took?”
Your face burned, but you could not deny the fresh slick that had gathered between your thighs at his words. You nodded shyly, biting your lip, still staring down at the place where his hand protected the new life growing inside you.
He chuckled softly, pressing a slow kiss to the side of your neck.
“Good,” he murmured, hand gently rubbing circles over your belly. “Because I plan to keep you this full for a very long time.”
Back in the present, lying together in the cool chamber, Sukuna’s hand remained exactly where it had been that day, splayed protectively over the now much rounder swell of your pregnant belly. He felt the faint, fluttering movements beneath his palm and smiled into your hair.
The pears had only been the beginning.
Now you carried his child, and every night he held you just like this, quietly marveling at how completely one stolen faithful girl had rewritten his world.
Satoru Gojo was always a little shit. He just happened to have a seven-year-old accomplice now.
Your son was a carbon copy of his father. Same fluffy white hair, same bright blue eyes, same annoyingly perfect face. Your genes had taken one look at Gojo’s DNA, sighed, and given up completely.
And, of course, he had Limitless.
Which was why you walked into the backyard that Wednesday afternoon and found the two of them standing in the middle of the grass, looking far too proud of themselves.
Your son was hovering three centimeters above the grass, his tiny dark sunglasses perched proudly on his nose. They were completely unnecessary, of course, but he’d insisted on wearing them because Dad wore sunglasses too, and apparently that was enough reason.
In front of him stood Satoru, looking like the world’s most irresponsible father as he casually tossed pebbles at his son, watching each one stop in midair before it could touch him with pure delight.
“See? Perfect!” Satoru said, grinning. “Now try walking forward while keeping it up. No breaking concentration. You’re not just strong, you’re untouchable. You’re better than most of the kids at—”
“Satoru Gojo”
Both heads turned.
Satoru slowly looked over his shoulder, his smile already morphing into the unmistakable expression of a man who had just been caught doing something incredibly stupid and had decided charm was his only remaining defense.
“Hey, baby.” His grin widened. “You look beautiful today. It’s like the sun manifested in your face.”
You crossed your arms.
“You were throwing rocks at our son.”
“Supervised rocks.”
You narrowed your eyes.
“And you were about to tell him he’s better than most of the kids at school.”
“Well, that’s t—” Satoru stopped himself when he caught your glare.
Your son looked between the two of you and decided to help.
“Dad said if I get really good at Infinity, even you won’t be able to catch me when I’m in trouble.”
Satoru closed his eyes like he was in physical pain.
“…Buddy. We talked about the timing of honesty.”
You pointed toward the house.
“Both of you. Inside. Time-out. Now.”
Satoru blinked. “Both of us?”
“Yes. You for turning Infinity into a ‘get out of trouble free’ card, and him for looking way too excited about it.”
Your son finally lowered himself onto the grass, his little sunglasses sliding down his nose.
“But I was doing really good...”
“Hallway. Wall. Ten minutes.”
“Moooooom—”
“Fifteen.”
They disappeared into the house.
Ten minutes later, you walked past the hallway and found them sitting side by side against the wall. Mini-Gojo was cross-legged on the floor, tiny sunglasses still perched on his nose like he was serving time in juvenile detention. Stupid-Gojo had his legs stretched out beside him.
They looked identical. Same pout. Same furrowed brows. Same deeply offended expression of two people who had apparently been wronged by the justice system.
Your son leaned toward his father and whispered, “Dad... is Mom really mad?”
Satoru glanced toward you before whispering back, “Furious. And she’s the strongest person in this house, so maybe don’t make eye contact.”
You cleared your throat.
Both heads snapped up at the same time. Satoru immediately put on his most innocent smile. “We were reflecting.”
Your son nodded solemnly. “A lot.”
You raised an eyebrow. “And what did you learn?”
Your son opened his mouth. Satoru shot him a warning look. But it was already too late.
“That next time we should practice when mom’s at the store.”
Satoru dropped his head back against the wall with a groan.
You stared at them for a long second. Then you pointed at the wall again.
“Another fifteen minutes. Both of you.”
Mini-Gojo gasped. “Dad, you got us more time!”
“I regret teaching you how to talk.” Stupid-Gojo muttered under his breath.
They sat there in matching silence, matching white hair, matching blue eyes, matching punishment.
You walked away before either of them could see the smile you were fighting.
Behind you, there was a moment of silence. Then, very quietly:
“Dad?”
“Yeah, buddy?”
“Can Infinity get us out of time-out?”
Stupid-Gojo glanced down at Mini-Gojo.
“...Technically.”
“Satoru.”
“I’M KIDDING.”
You rolled your eyes and went back to whatever you’d been doing. It was only Wednesday. You sighed.
.✦ ݁˖ fluff !! girl dad nanami buying his baby girl her first little bracelet
find more of my papa nanami series here!!
nanami had found it in a little shop just down the street from his office.
it was just a small band, delicate and simple, the kind of thing meant to sit well on a tiny wrist. he turnt it over in his hand, his thumb brushing over the smooth metal.
it reminded him of the bracelet he once gave you, the one you still wear, the one he fastened around your wrist years ago when things were quieter and there still werent any tiny footsteps padding around the house.
and so he bought it.
nanami comes home with the bracelet still tucked in the little paper bag, handled carefully even though its small. he sets his briefcase down, hangs his jacket, and makes his way over into the living room.
youre already on the couch, your legs tucked under you, watching your daughter play on the carpet. every so often you reach out and brush your fingers through her hair, smoothing it down the way she likes, and she giggles like its the best thing in the world.
that night, nanami sits with her on his lap, his fame softened so she can fit comfortably against him. she wiggles a little because shes curious, her tiny hands reaching for the bracelet.
he lets her hold it first, lets her feel the cool metal, her fingers small and clumsy but handling it like its something precious.
he takes it back gently, supporting her wrist with one hand while the other guides the bracelet into place. his movements are careful, like hes handling something fragile. the metal slides over her wrist just right, not too loose and not too tight. it rests there, catching the light.
she watches it happen with wide eyes, and when it settles, she lifts her hand, turning it this way and that way, opening and closing her fingers to see how it moves. shes happy, her face all lit up in that soft way toddlers do.
"like mama" she babbles, cheeks round and happy.
nanami keeps one hand resting lightly on her back the whole time, steady and grounding, watching the tiny smile that appears when she realizes the bracelet is hers.
"like mama," he echoes, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lip.
he smooths a thumb over the fabric of her sleeve, protective and quiet. its his little gift to his baby.
you smile from where youre sat next to him, small and warm, and reach over to brush a stray strand of hair from your daughters face. she grins at you, then at him, turning her wrist this way and that like she’s discovering something wonderful.
when she finally settles, you lean in and press a soft kiss to nanamis cheek. he glances at you, his arm wrapping around you to pull you closer, lips brushing over your hairline in a soft kiss.
masterlist. back after my 5 month hiatus bc of school. graduated last week and really hope I can pump out a lot of fics to make up for the 5 months. good to be back
girl dad!nanami who is a proud father of two perfect angles and a proud husband to you. nanami was so thrilled when you first told him you were pregnant. he span you around and kissed you deeply. his daughters are his absolute joy. he has a picture of you and his daughters in his wallet and likes to show you off when he needs to.
girl dad!nanami who deals with having to flip the entire house looking for a plushie. one of them is following behind him, quiet tears rolling down her chubby cheeks and sniffling very loudly as nanami's checking under the cushions. he sighs for the nth time then looks at his daughter and carries her in his arms trying to soothe her. "it's okay darling, we'll get you another one..."
"but i want that one...". safe to say the plushie was safely tucked beneath her blankets.
girl dad!nanami who's heart swells when he's met with his two girls as soon as he comes back home. as soon as he says the words 'i'm home' the girls are quick to rush to the front door and trap his legs in a hug while you're walking up to him slowly with the prettiest smile. his daughters bombard him with questions and take his bag and one even offers to take his coat. he thinks they're absolute angels talking his ear off as they swing on his legs. his energy is quickly restored after such a tiresome shift.
girl dad!nanami who's jolted awake on the regular when one of them has a nightmare. "daddy...daddy...can you move?... i want to sleep here too". nanami hears her soft voice and quickly sits up and picks her up.
"you had a nightmare?", he asks and she nods, fisting his shirt, her breath irregular. he pats her head and kisses her forehead multiple times. "it's okay. i'm here for you...you're safe". nanami places her gently next to you and only falls back asleep when she does.
girl dad!nanami who enjoys preparing the girl's lunches. he's up before you anyways so why not bother. nanami makes sure that they have a nutritious lunch packed with enough protein, vitamins and greens. and if they've been good all week, maybe some candy. nanami also checks if their water bottles are empty after school. they have to be we'll hydrated if they want to grow up healthy.
girl dad!nanami who reads bedtime stories to both of them while they're leaning against him on either side. he's reading the story slowly and changing his voice slightly for the characters so they can have a little fun. and when they both finally fall asleep, he has no problem carrying them to their beds. he just can't get enough of them.
girl dad!nanami who put together a playhouse in their room over the course of a week. you were both out shopping with the kids at their uncle's (satoru) and he spots the playhouse. "you think the girls are gonna love this?", he points to it with a serious look on his face.
"i'm sure they would, ken. a playhouse would be great for them". and the next thing he knows, he's walking out with the huge box and quickly gets to work as soon as he's home. when the girls come back a week later they run into their room to find nanami placing the finishing touches. the girls squeal and run to nanami locking him in a hug as a bunch of thank yous and i love yous spill from their lips as his heart is quietly exploding.
girl dad!nanami who reprimands them when they do something wrong even though it hurts him. he never yells, never uses harsh words but he knows how to get the point across. the part he hates the most is when they look up at him with glassy eyes and a sad pout as they apologize for what they did wrong. nanami wants to pick them up and hug and kiss them but he doesn't because he knows that they should acknowledge what they did wrong.
girl dad!nanami who randomly says that he wants another one as you're curled up in bed. he's just tucked the girls in bed and comes up to you holding you close, face in your chest. "another one wouldn't be so bad, right honey?"
"you really want a third?? you are whipped. those girls are going to be the death of you"
(,,>﹏<,,) bring your kid to work day + nanami! ✦⋆💼.˚
“my love, are you absolutely sure about this?”
you giggle, turning from where you’d been preparing your daughter’s mini lunchbox so that you’re facing your husband. his face is taut, a subtle sense of worry set in his features.
“kento.” a small, exasperated smile plays on your lips. “she’ll be fine. besides, you know how excited she’s been about this — she’s been talking about it all week!”
“i know, but...what if she gets bored? or if she wants to go home midway through the day? you know i can’t exactly take her back whenever i please.” nanami tugs at his tie a little, smoothing down the edges absentmindedly: a nervous tell of his that you’ve grown accustomed to by now.
you lean back against the kitchen counter, raising an eyebrow.
“she literally clings to you every time you work from home,” you counter, rolling your eyes at the memory of her behaviour just last week. she’d followed him around all day, pacing back-and-forth alongside him and just barely avoiding tripping him up while he had been taking important business calls. you had tried to pry her away just long enough for your poor husband to finish at least one business call without any disruptions, but that only resulted in tears. a lot of them.
in fact, she’d cried for an hour after that, sulking in her father’s arms as he empathetically stroked her hair in an attempt to calm her down.
okay, so nanami supposes you may have a point, she’d probably be just fine at his workplace.
he rubs his temple, regrettably all out of arguments. instead, he gives in and chooses to finish packing his bag for work, shoulders lowering a fraction.
you both hear several loud, unceremonious stomps coming down the stairs, and you simultaneously turn to see your daughter reach the foot of the stairs, all ready for her day out. she has a huge grin plastered on her face, and her hair is in two neat pigtails — thanks to nanami of course — complete with two bright hair clips.
“i’m ready! let’s go!” she rushes to him and tugs at his leg, eyes wide and expression excited. she extends her arms in a silent plea to be carried, and who is your husband to deny his sweet daughter?
“see you after work!” you smile, pressing a quick kiss to your daughter’s nose and waving them both goodbye.
-
nanami leans back slightly from where he’s sat at his desk, staring at his computer screen and inspecting the values in the spreadsheet. it’s monotonous work, just about as boring as always — as should be expected of a 9-5 office job. unlike a typical work day, however, his desk has several colourful drawings scattered across its surface today. the first is a drawing of a flower, spirals of bright yellow crayon forming what he can only assume are the petals. alongside the flower picture are two other drawings: a drawing of a huge, wonky heart coloured in yellow, and then another sheet of paper with a drawing of a stick figure with blond hair, a serious expression drawn onto its round face.
averting his gaze from his desk, nanami moves to lift his breakfast (a pesto-mozzarella baguette) to his mouth, chewing slowly and watching his daughter doodle. she’s got her tongue stuck out as she scribbles in determined silence, her crayon in one hand and a chocolate chip muffin in the other.
the bakery workers had both worn a look of poorly-contained surprise upon hearing his order change from his usual baguette sandwich to both a baguette and a muffin this time. they’d always taken him as a man heavily rooted in routine, and so to see him stray away from what was typical of him was…odd.
“what are you drawing now, sweetheart?” nanami murmurs softly, watching her hunch over yet another sheet of paper, her grip firm on her crayon.
“me and papa at work!” she responds. he raises his eyebrows at that, a tiny, barely-perceptible smile crossing his features as he watches her join up the arms of the two stick figures so that they’re holding hands. she doesn’t lift her head from her drawing, too engrossed in adding his blond hair perfectly atop his head and drawing her own smile just right.
after about fifteen minutes or so, she’s done.
“tada! that’s papa, and that’s me!” she exclaims proudly, glancing up at nanami for approval and beaming when she sees him smile softly back at her. he strokes her hair, quiet for a moment before speaking.
“okay, now that you’ve finished your drawing, why don’t we take a break from playing so i can go get a coffee?”
“it’s not playing.” she corrects him, blinking up at him with solemn eyes. “i’m working, just like you do!” at that, your daughter puts a hand on her hip, looking up at her father with an unimpressed expression. while nanami’s not quite sure that he’d put gruelling office work on the same level as scribbling a few drawings, he decides it’s better not to debate on the matter.
“okay, i’m sorry, honey. let’s take a break from working and go get a coffee.”
“yay! okay!”
your daughter skips down the hall with him, speaking excitedly about her day as they approach the coffee machine.
“do you want to press the buttons for me?” he looks down at his daughter, and she nods excitedly. nanami carefully lifts her up, securing her in his arms so that she can reach the machine properly.
“an americano, please.” he places a mug under the machine before lifting a finger to point at the correct button. the four year old girl presses it with a tiny delighted giggle, clearly pleased with herself as coffee begins to pour out into the cup below.
“i want one too!”
“it may be a little too bitter for you, shall we get you a hot chocolate instead?”
that catches her attention. with an excited squeal, she agrees enthusiastically, turning to face the machine and trying to figure out which button to press. she hesitates, unsure which is the hot chocolate.
“that one, sweetheart.” nanami gently guides her finger to the right button and she turns her head to face him in awe as it pours out, eyes wide and surprised.
a couple of minutes later, your daughter skips back down the hall, nanami following close behind with two mugs in his hands, trying to match her pace while also making sure not to spill anything.
she slides happily into her seat next to his desk, tapping her hands on the tabletop expectantly as she waits for her father to put her mug down before pulling a sheet of paper and a crayon close to her.
“okay. now i’m in work mode! no distracting me, okay?” she blinks sternly up at him. she’s sat about as professionally as a four year old can be, her mug at her side and a stack of papers in front of her.
nonetheless, over the span of the next 5 or so minutes, your husband can’t help but notice one problem.
“is the hot chocolate too hot?” he asks gently, watching as his daughter reaches out for the drink a third time before quickly retracting her hands again.
“…mhm.” that earns a small, empathetic sigh from nanami.
“here, let me help.” he murmurs. gently, he lifts the mug to his lips and blows for a few minutes before taking a small sip.
“there. it should be fine now. try it.” she does so, meanwhile he brushes her hair away from her face tenderly.
“yeah! all better!” she shuts her eyes contentedly and takes the mug from his hands happily, kicking her legs back and forth in between excited sips.
after several minutes of being sat like that and sipping her drink, your daughter looks up from her hot chocolate to face nanami.
“i like working with papa!” she beams at him, showing off the mess of hot chocolate around her mouth and cheeks in the process.
nanami’s expression softens at those simple words.
“yeah, i like working with you too, sweetheart.”
a/n: idea creds to my lovely hazel @hangenism i love this idea and i love you thank you sososo much !!!
girl dad papamin you are SO dear to me ˊᗜˋ && this is a semi filler post while i try to get rid of my writing block
(so ofc, we don't see any of this in anime, this is only what I think and heavily inspired by my father)
Two daughters — first a bright-eyed girl with your smile and his steady gaze, then a quieter one who inherited his blond hair and your mischievous spark. Anyone who saw him carrying both on his shoulders through the park, one giggling into his tie while the other pointed at birds with serious commentary, knew instantly. This man was built for daughters. His large hands cradled tiny ones without hesitation, his voice softened only for them, and the rare, unguarded smiles he gave? Reserved exclusively for his girls and you.
Even before the rings, before the vows, Kento had daydreams during long missions — coming home to small voices calling “Papa!” instead of silence. He pictured brushing tangled hair after baths, bandaging scraped knees from playground adventures, reading by lamplight until droopy eyes finally closed. He never spoke these visions aloud until the first pregnancy test, when he took your hand, thumb brushing your knuckles, and murmured, “I’ve wanted this… more than I ever admitted. A family. Our daughters.” His protection wasn’t loud bravado; it was in the way he walked slightly ahead on crowded streets, body angled to shield them instinctively, always.
Kento never romanticized fragility or bows. He saw daughters as carriers of something enduring — intellect, resilience, kindness sharpened by your fire and his evident steel. “When I’m gone,” he said one late night, voice low as he traced circles on your back while the girls slept down the hall, “I don’t want monuments or cursed techniques remembered. I want them — living, breathing proof that something good came from me. That they carry forward what matters.” He wanted them fierce and thoughtful, leaving the world a fraction kinder because they existed. That was his legacy: not power, but people.
The oldest one already had it — that quick, dry wit that left even Kento blinking in surprise. “Papa, if taxes are theft, why don’t we just steal them back?” she asked at dinner once, fork paused mid-air. Kento’s lips twitched. “Because your mother would do it better, and then we’d all be in trouble.” He watched them argue philosophy with the same passion you once used to challenge him, eyes bright with your same unyielding curiosity. “Look at them,” he told you softly one evening, watching them debate bedtime like miniature lawyers. “They have your soul. The world will understand exactly why I never stood a chance against you.”
The paperwork arrived in discreet envelopes; he reviewed every clause twice. Life, health, education funds, layers upon layers of security. He never mentioned it. One afternoon, while folding laundry, he simply said, “I increased the policy last month. If anything… you won’t have to choose between groceries and school fees.” You looked at him, throat tight. He met your eyes steadily. “I can’t promise I’ll always come home. But I can promise you’ll never be left scrambling. Not you. Not them.”
The kitchen light was always on before dawn. Kento moved very quietly, slicing fruit, toasting bread just how the oldest liked it (no crusts), packing bentos with neat compartments. He’d unzip their schoolbags, double-check pencils, water bottles, homework folders.
Some days he came home with blood under his nails (scrubbed raw) and shadows under his eyes. Still, he loosened his tie, sat at the dining table, and opened math books. “Show me where you’re stuck,” he’d say, voice steady despite exhaustion. The girls leaned against him, chattering about fractions while he patiently explained, one hand rubbing a small back. Those two hours weren’t obligation, they were oxygen.
He never complained about 3 a.m. cries. Instead, he cradled the baby against his chest, pacing the hallway, humming old jazz tunes until the fussing eased. “I used to think domestic life was for other people,” he confessed once while rocking the youngest, your head on his shoulder. “Cursed energy, overtime, endless missions… I never pictured this. Changing diapers at dawn, burping on my best shirt. But holding them? Watching you mother them? This is the greatest privilege I’ve ever been given.”
Sunday mornings meant harnesses and goggles. He spotted them on beginner walls, praising grip and footwork with the same precision he used in battle. “Strong arms, steady breath, just like that.” In the pool, he taught them to float, then kick, then glide. “The world can be unkind,” he told them as they dried off, towels around small shoulders. “But you’ll be ready. Always.”
“The newspaper builds vocabulary and critical thinking,” he argued mildly one night. You crossed your arms. “They’re five and seven, Kento. They need dragons and happy endings.” Silence. Two weeks later, a slim hardcover appeared: The Adventures of the Brave Sisters and the Cursed Clock Tower, written in his neat hand, illustrated simply by him (stick figures, but earnest). Every night since, he read it aloud, voices shifting for each character, while the girls clutched stuffed animals and listened, rapt.
In the backyard, wooden bokken in hand, he demonstrated ratios, blade to body, stance to balance. “This isn’t about fighting for fun. It’s about never being helpless.” You watched from the porch, arms folded, but smiling when the oldest mimicked his ratio strike perfectly. “Good form,” he said quietly, pride flickering in his eyes. “Now again.”
He stared at the permission slip like it was a cursed object. “A mock wedding? At four?” His brow furrowed deeper. “She’s barely out of pull-ups. Absolutely not.” The teacher tried explaining tradition. Kento’s voice stayed calm, lethal-polite. “I pay substantial tuition for education, not premature romantic roleplay. She’ll sit this one out.” Later, to you: “Over my dead body is my daughter playing bride before she can spell ‘independence’ properly.
The oldest brought home a nervous teenage boy one afternoon. Kento greeted him with perfect courtesy — handshake firm, gaze assessing. “Sit. Tell me your intentions.” The boy stammered.
Lipstick smeared across his cheeks like war paint, glitter in his eyebrows, blue eyeshadow up to his hairline. He sat motionless at the kitchen table while they “worked,” tiny brushes in hand. “Very avant-garde,” he deadpanned when they finished. The youngest beamed. “You look pretty, Papa!” He glanced in the mirror, then back at them. “Only because you made it.”
Gojo once tried peeking through the window with a grin. Kento shut the curtain instantly. “Not a chance.” But years later, when Gojo quietly knelt to tie the youngest’s shoelace without fanfare, or Sukuna (in a rare restrained moment) let her climb onto his lap and trace his markings without complaint, Kento watched silently. One night he told you, “They’re idiots… but they’re careful with them. Maybe they understand more than I gave credit for.” A small, reluctant smile. “I hope they find this same peace someday.”
He never said it. But every mission, every overtime, every calculated risk ended with him coming home to you and the girls. One evening, after a close call he wouldn’t detail, he pulled you close on the couch while the children slept upstairs. His voice was quiet, almost reverent. “If it ever comes to it… I won’t hesitate. Not for a second.” He pressed a kiss to your temple. “You three are the only legacy worth everything. And you — you’re still the best part of every single day I get.”
Kento Nanami: salaryman, sorcerer, husband, father. But above all — irrevocably, obviously, girl dad.
will never not stop requesting you to check out her blog: https://projectpravaha.tumblr.com/ @projectpravaha
𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚： ♡ friendships can be hard, especially when the lines are so blurry you can't tell where the both of you stand. so what do you do when you catch feelings on top of all that?
cw ⤷ 𖥻 . ˖ ꒰ 𝒎𝒅𝒏𝒊 ꒱ . smut . pwp . swearing . making out . annoying drunk stranger . fingering . dirty talk . marking . titty worship . piv . clit slapping . c pie . geto fucks mean . geto is a TEASE . multiple o's . overstim . f!reader . s/her prns . no use of y/n ♯ 11.9k
Being friends with Geto Suguru isn’t hard… in theory but in practice it’s one of the most difficult things you’ve ever had to do. It’s especially difficult because he does things for you that feel like they’re pushing the boundaries of a normal friendship without actually doing anything weird.
Things like his insistence on bringing things for you when you’re feeling down, showing you extra care in how he talks to you, hanging out with you and having frequent movie nights, being attentive to your needs. While those things are innocuous in theory, it’s the way he treats you, talks to you and how it makes you feel that has your friendship feeling like it’s on a precarious ledge. Caught between pulling back or pushing over.
Sighing, your foot kicks at his sitting form. “Don’t you have something better to do tonight?”
“Like what?” His eyebrow raises at you, eyeing your lazy form that’s all spread out comfortably on your couch.
You’d maybe feel bad for taking up the whole couch if you weren’t so comfortable. “I don’t know, like a date? Hanging with friends? Going out on the town or whatever youths do.”
“Firstly, I’m older than you—”
Interjecting to add, “—Not by much!”
He only rolls his eyes, ignoring your interruption all together. “To your other points, I’m not interested in dating, and I am hanging out with a friend.”
Sighing louder than last time, foot pushing him enough to sway him. “Aren’t you bored of me?”
“No?” His brows pinch together in confusion. “Should I be?” Hand grabbing your foot to stop it from kicking at him.
You pout, trying to pull yourself free of his grip. “I don’t know…”
“Don’t say stupid things,” he huffs, amused by your struggle. “I could ask you the same thing you know.”
“I like hanging out with you,” you grumble at him.
“Yeah, well, I feel the same.” Finally letting go of your foot.
You’re feeling restless, he’s your friend, you know he’s your friend, and yet you can’t help hoping that your friendship is just a little bit more special. You groan and kick at him with both your feet.
“Woah, hey!” Both his hands grab at your ankles, pinning them down into the couch. “What’s wrong with you tonight?”
“I’m annoyed.”
“I’ve taken notice.” He’s trapping you with a pointed look, waiting for more of an explanation from you.
If you had an explanation, you’d freely give it to him but as of right now, you aren’t even sure if you’re aware of what you’re feeling enough to verbalise it to him. You deflate, looking back at him sheepishly. “I know you want to know what’s wrong, but I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? Or you don’t want me to know?”
Pushing yourself up, you cock your head at him. “The result is the same despite my answer, no?”
“No,” his is tone resolute. “I could help.”
You deliver a very plain, “You can’t.” He’s the cause of your confusion, talking to him could make it all so much worse and you don’t really want to deal with the fallout of all that.
“Woah, awful dismissive of me, I might be able to easily fix what’s wrong.”
Turning so you’re facing the screen, you try to focus on the films plot. “You can fix what’s wrong right now by being quiet and watching the movie.”
“I was watching the movie, you distracted me.” He pokes lightly at your shoulder.
Shushing at him quickly, “Shut, I’m trying to listen.”
He doesn’t say anything more, just goes back to watching the movie in silence, probably following the plot better than you are because you’re sat closer to him like this and can’t help but sneak glances at him.
It’s not fair, he looks pretty like this. Face illuminated by the soft glow of the television, seemingly entranced by the movie playing. While gazing over his features, you find yourself constantly looking back at his lips, heart stuttering in your chest. You wonder how kissing him would feel like, would it help, wait.
Prying your eyes off him, you desperately hope to be shown some kind of mercy. You shouldn’t want to kiss him, you shouldn’t be thinking about kissing him. You need to get a hold of yourself.
Predictably, you are not shown any kind of mercy and all you can manage to think about is him. How soft his lips might be, how he would kiss you, would he be tentative… or would he kiss you like he’s done it a million times before.
Not even realising you’re staring at him again until he sighs and locks his eyes onto yours. “Are you aware you’re staring at me?”
Trying to play it cool by answering, “I wasn’t staring.”
“Are you alright?” He’s growing a little concerned by your unusual behaviour tonight.
“I’m fine! Good even, just… have some things on my mind.” You feel guilty.
“And just what exactly are these things you’re thinking about?”
Your skin flares at his question, feeling embarrassed by your own thoughts. “Nothing! General thoughts… you know…”
“Right…” He’s clearly sceptical, not believing your flimsy answers for even a second. “Have I done something to upset you?”
He’s too much for you right now, you try answering confidently but fail miserably. “No?”
Moving so his body is facing you, he gets into your space, worried by your answer. “Why don’t you sound sure?”
“Why are you asking me so many questions tonight?” You avoid his gaze, flustered by him suddenly being so close to you. Still thinking about his lips on yours, in the back of your head thinking about his hands on your body.
“You’re being weird, I’m just concerned.” His hand reaches for your face. “Do you have a fever or something?” His knuckles rest on your cheek, gauging your temperature.
“Seriously, I’m fine.” You’re fumbling more than you want to, eyes rounded and shocked looking into his.
It feels like you grow warmer the longer his hand stays on your face, it’s becoming difficult to think. If you had a good reason, you would kick him out right now but you’re already concerning him and you’re trying so hard to be normal. This night is taking a very unfortunate turn.
His face twists, concern written all over it. “You feel a little warm, are you sure you’re okay?” Hand slipping from your cheek, moving to rest against the back of the couch.
Trying to keep your answers short, you give a simple, “I’m sure.”
Geto doesn’t know where to go from here, his silence is evidence of that. You don’t blame him though because you’re not really sure where to go from here either, the thoughts of his lips on yours linger in your mind and you feel as if you could die.
“I just…” He looks to you when you start talking, ready to hear whatever it is you have to say, “I was just thinking – and don’t make this weird – but I was thinking about… how you would kiss me…” your words trail off slightly, growing quieter and quieter with each word.
His eyes widen slightly in response before he switches back to his neutral expression. “I—”
“—I don’t wanna know, don’t talk actually,” you cut him off abruptly. Too embarrassed to dissect this any further and certainly not willing to have a conversation with him about it, already regretting having admitted to thinking it.
He questions you, clearly caught between being entertained and somewhat concerned, “I’m not allowed to comment?”
“No.”
“Even though you’ve been thinking about how I would—”
Hurriedly moving your hand to cover his mouth, hissing out, “Shush!”
You’re closer like this, the proximity flustering you, the silence awkward. Suguru glares at you from under your hand. He has something to say and is showing clear disdain for your repeated interruptions.
His larger hand reaches up and wraps around your wrist, trying to gently pry your hand away but you hold steady. Growing frustrated with this little tug of war game you have going on, he uses more force to pull your hand down, grabbing your other hand as well. Restraining them both in your lap to keep you still.
Exasperated when he asks, “Don’t you think you’re overreacting slightly?”
“No.” You tug back on his grip but get nowhere.
“Why are you annoyed at me over this? They’re your thoughts,” he reminds.
You’re irritated with how right he is; it’s not his fault you’re thinking like this. Knowing that doesn’t change the fact that sitting right next to him makes it difficult for you to think of anything other than how soft his lips might be, or if he’ll hold you still while he kisses you, or if—
He barks out a quick laugh, “You wanna kiss me that bad?”
Realising you were staring at his lips again you feel like you might spontaneously combust, struggling against his hold and huffing out, “Shut up, just forget I even said anything.”
He sounds restrained and incredibly serious when he murmurs back, “Might not be able to if you keep looking at me like that.”
“Don’t make this even more embarrassing for me, Suguru! It’s your fault,” you accuse indignantly.
Lips quirking evilly, “Oh? So, you want me to fix it then?”
“You should! Take a little responsibility,” you grumble out at him, all pouty and annoyed.
He leans in closer to press you, “Do you want me to kiss you? Do you think it would help?”
“I don’t know… I mean…” You look to his lips again, gaze getting a little lost as you do. You’re a completely helpless cause.
If Suguru were being honest with you, he’d tell you how much you’re killing him when you look at him like that but he’s stubborn and a tease, so instead he says, “Eyes up here.”
Dragging your eyes back to his and staring daggers, completely pissed at him but mostly yourself for being so obvious again. “Do you think it would help?”
“You’d stop wondering,” he shrugs easily, like this is all so incredibly normal and not uncharted territory for the both of you.
“I don’t want this to make our friendship weird.” Feeling pathetic as you look at him, you’re not even sure if what you have together is as simple as a friendship, it feels like so much more. At least, you’re kind of hoping it is, kissing him could do irreparable damage and you don’t just mean in terms of how you act around one another but specifically how you feel about him.
“I won’t let it,” he assures.
“I’m not worried about you…”
He’s taken aback by your small admission, it’s not clear enough for him to make any real conclusions from it or confront you on anything but he knows it makes his heart beat faster and flusters him slightly. In all his years of casual dating and serious relationships, you’re the only person to have ever made him feel like such a fool.
“It’s up to you then,” he smiles softly.
You aren’t sure if it’s worth the risk but if this is the only chance you’ll get then you don’t know if you want to risk letting it go by either. “I think… yes.”
Playing dumb, he returns, “‘Yes’ what?”
Your tone is lowering again, confident answer short lived when he teases you. “Yes… I want you to kiss me…”
“You’re sure?” He asks but his hands are already moving up your body, one resting against the side of your neck, touch gentle and light.
“I mean… I’m not sure if this is a good idea but I’m sure I want you to kiss me.”
He huffs lightly in disbelief, breath tickling against your lips. “What’s wrong with you tonight?”
“You…” Frown dusting your features as you utter it, eyes already focused back on his lips.
He doesn’t say any more after that, faltering in his movements a bit but ultimately moving in completely and pressing his lips to yours delicately. It’s featherlight, kiss shallow and simple, like he’s holding back. It’s still enough to have your head full, full of thoughts of him, of how soft his lips are, how gentle his kisses are.
Geto pulls back all too soon for your liking, putting some distance between the two of you, head tilting to the side as he looks you over. “Curiosity satisfied.”
“Is that really how you would want to kiss me?”
“What?”
At his question you’re suddenly all too aware of how bold yours was. “I just… It’s nothing, sorry.” Fumbling over yourself, not wanting to hurt his feelings. “It was nice! It was a nice kiss.”
“No, no,” he squints at you, “Go on… say what you want.”
It’s quiet for a moment, your hesitance clear. “…Did you… kiss me how you wanted to?”
“I think if I kissed you how I wanted,” pausing to lean in closer, “You might pass out or something.”
“Oh, come on, you’re not my first kiss or anything,” you roll your eyes at him and his ego, “I was just curious, if that’s really how you’d kiss me then that’s all there is to it, it was a nice kiss.” You shrug at him.
“Why am I starting to feel like I’m being assessed?”
“If you feel that way then that’s on you.” Trying so hard to play it cool, like you can’t tell he was holding back, like you don’t want him to kiss you more. “Do you wanna go back in the movie? Rewind to where we were before?”
As you get up to move off the couch and find the remote, Suguru is pulling you back down to him, one hand gently holding the front of your throat. You don’t get a second to think about all the movements he just made, his lips on yours rushed, like he’s suddenly, incredibly desperate to kiss you.
Barely able to keep up with him, head dizzy from the whiplash, this isn’t at all how he kissed you before. You’re basically panting against him when he does pull back, allowing you the small moment to catch your breath.
His thumb pulls down on your chin lightly. “Open your mouth more.” His eyes are lidded as he looks at you, tone deeper than before.
Obeying him wordlessly and then he’s kissing you again, tongue in your mouth. It’s all messy and rushed and has you losing your mind. Your arms wrap around his neck, and he pulls your body closer to his, hand moving to the back of your head.
When he sucks your tongue into his mouth and licks at you, you can’t stop the moan that leaves you. Swallowed down by Geto in an appreciative manner, his kiss lingers for a while longer, making you dizzy and thoughtless. He pulls back from you, connected by a string of saliva that snaps when he licks at his lower lip.
The look on your face is dumbstruck, eyes big and wet as you gaze up at him in a dazed manner. It makes him feel feral, not able to help the way he leans back in and presses more short, sloppy kisses to your swollen lips.
There’s a pause before you can regain your faculties enough to say anything to him and even then, the only thing you can manage is, “I… uhm…”
“Was that better?” He’s trying to be light-hearted about it, but his lips are swollen as well, and his eyes are lidded, and he looks… “You didn’t pass out did you?” His head lowers so his eyes catch yours.
Your brain feels fuzzy and all you can think about is how you’ve never been kissed like that before, that you want to keep being kissed like that. “What? No… I just… wow.”
“Live up to your expectations?”
“I didn’t really have any, I was only curious…” Smiling big at him, you add, “But yeah, maybe even exceeded them.”
“You aiming to boost my ego, or did I really kiss you stupid?” He can’t help the way he leans in again, just shy of your lips.
Mouth on yours before you get to answer or refute what he’s accused, you don’t stop him though, allowing him to kiss you fully, deeply. One of his hands on the side of your face, holding you. The other grips at your hip, almost tugging you in closer.
Before you lose focus again, you part to gasp out, “I don’t know if—” Interrupted by his lips on yours, tangling your hand into his hair to pull him back, he groans at the force of the tug. “Suguru, I don’t think it’s a good idea to keep—”
“—Just another kiss, one more…” breathless when he talks, mouth hot on yours, tongue already in your mouth.
It’s almost too much, he’s so insistent. Kissing you like he might never get to again, like he’s trying to get the most out of this. He might actually have you passing out, it’s not even as if you really want him to stop but that’s part of the problem, isn’t it?
Pulling back, he sucks on your lower lip before nipping at it. The whimper he pulls from you is embarrassing and weak and you’re facing an internal conflict of so many emotions right now, but mostly you’re struck by how badly you want to sleep with him.
You hadn’t realised his hand had snuck under your shirt, warm and large against your side, sending a shiver down your spine. The breathlessness you’re hit with has your skin feeling hot as you try to stumble out your words, “I, uh, think we should stop… here.”
“Why? Am I not a good kisser? Are you not enjoying yourself?” A smile creeps onto his face. “You sounded like you were enjoying yourself.”
“Don’t.” Your head tucks down and onto his chest, forehead resting against him. “Please don’t embarrass me.”
He wraps his arms around your body, embracing you. “Can’t help it.”
You stay like this for probably longer than you should, enjoying the moment too much for someone who’s about to go back to being just his friend.
Geto breaks the silence first, speaking into the top of your head, “Is your curiosity satisfied or are you going to start kicking me again?”
“I can’t promise I’ll never kick you again but yeah… I’m satisfied.”
He laughs against you, “Alright, well, if you’re ever curious again… you know where to find me.”
It’s been about a week since you crossed a line you probably shouldn’t have in your friendship with Suguru, and like the incredibly brave individual you are… you have been ignoring him.
Not on purpose though, you intend on replying to all his messages… but then you get nervous and freak yourself out and stop short of sending anything back. From his messages, you can tell he’s getting increasingly more worried… or maybe frustrated… you’re not sure, there is only so much you can infer over text.
Maybe you should reply, looking at his last message that reads, ‘seriously? answer me. today.’ Oh yeah… he’s annoyed, you have no idea how to reply to him, maybe something simple? Or maybe a long paragraph overexplaining yourself… or maybe—
Your phone screen changes to Shoko’s caller ID, saved by the metaphorical bell. “Hey! What’s up?”
She sounds a bit short when she answers you, “Are you coming tonight?”
“Tonight…” You trail off, completely blanking on what the hell she’s talking about.
Her reply coming incredibly deadpan and disappointed, “You forgot.”
“No noo, I would never forget about…” The rest of your sentence dropping off, silence falling over the line.
She fills in the gaps for you, “The stupid party that’s being thrown by our stupid friends to celebrate the stupid event that is a boring, normal, Friday night.”
She already sounds over it and you’re pretty sure she would’ve only just got there. “Okay, well… I now feel significantly better about the fact that I actually had forgotten what tonight was.”
“Yeah, well I wish I had forgotten too because this is boring without you.”
“Didn’t you only just get there?”
“I feel like that’s beside the point.” You can feel her eyeroll through the phone. “So, when are you getting here?”
Sighing as you ask, “Do I really have to come?”
Not missing a single beat when she shoots back, “I’m here which means yes, you do.”
You go quiet for a moment, “…Will Suguru be there?”
“You’re more likely to know than me,” she sounds confused, “Listen, I don’t know what happened but surely you don’t think you can avoid him forever.”
“Not forever… just tonight.” You really don’t feel like running into him in person, not when you can barely get your head on straight long enough to message him back.
“I haven’t seen him, and he didn’t sound all that interested when this was first planned so I doubt he will show up.”
“You’re not just lying to get me there, are you?”
“Of course not.” It’s always been hard to tell when she’s joking but you’re pretty sure Suguru isn’t there. If you had been replying to him, you probably would’ve ended up hanging out together tonight just to avoid that pointless party.
Deciding to take the risk, you acquiesce. “Alright, I’ll be there soon, just give me a bit to put on something that isn’t pyjamas.”
Getting out of the apartment will be good for you, that and you’ll have the chance to catch up with Shoko, it’s been a while since you last hung out.
“Just come in your pyjamas.”
“Okay, now you’re being unreasonable,” you chuckle.
She groans through the phone, “Gojo and I just made eye contact, that’s like asking to be trapped in a conversation for at least an hour.”
You smile at her and her exaggeration. “That’s really funny, tell him I said hi.”
“Don’t hang up on me—”
The line goes dead as you hang up on her.
Nearly an hour has passed by the time you get to the party, but when you make eye contact with Shoko across the room – still stuck in conversation with Gojo – it looks like a century has passed for her.
Walking up to them both, you grab Gojo by the sides of his arms and shake him, making a loud noise to scare him as you do. He just about dies then and there, head whipping around to see it’s just you and gripping a hand over his chest.
He’s a little breathless when he scolds you, “You scared the fuck outta me, what the hell?”
“I thought it would be funny.” You smile bright at him, out the corner of your eye seeing Shoko fighting a smile and hiding it behind her drink.
“It wasn’t,” he half pouts.
“It kinda was,” Shoko interjects.
He just continues to pout over how badly you got him.
“Hi Satoru,” you chirp at him, trying to be as sweet as possible for scaring the living daylights out of him.
“Yes, hello,” he fights a smile when greeting you back, and then his face twists as if suddenly remembering something. “Hey! What happened with you and Suguru?”
Taken aback by his abruptness. “What?”
He’s staring at you intently, seemingly desperate to know your business. “I know something happened, you gotta tell me what.”
Honestly, you would’ve thought Geto would’ve told him by now, seeing as how they’re sort of attached at the hip. “He hasn’t told you?”
“He’s insistent that nothing is wrong.”
“Then nothing’s wrong.”
“I know something is wrong and I also know you’re dodging him because he made me text you to see if you’d reply and you replied within the same minute,” he squints at you accusatorily.
Arms crossing over your chest as you size him up. “You sent me a photo of the cat that hangs out in your neighbourhood as bait? That’s messed up Satoru.”
“I was investigating,” he defends.
“No, you were being nosy, just like you are now.” Something occurs to you very suddenly, “Wait, if you’re here… and I’m here… where is Suguru?”
“Here, obviously,” he shrugs.
Turning, you glare at Shoko who raises her hands in defence. “Don’t look at me like that, I didn’t lie, I really haven’t seen him. I’ve been trapped in conversation with this idiot the whole time.”
“Trapped? That’s so mean Shoko,” Gojo plays up his hurt, sulking and giving her the saddest eyes he can muster. It unsurprisingly has no effect on her.
He’s here somewhere, you need to leave before he sees you. You’re so annoyed at yourself for not connecting that Satoru being here obviously meant Suguru was going to be here too, especially since he wasn’t with you.
Spinning, you go for the front door you came through not that long ago. Managing to get it open a crack before a hand above your head closes it. Turning around, you come face to face with Suguru, a very annoyed Suguru. Polite smile painted on his face but his eyebrow twitches slightly.
His weight is supported by his hand on the door as he leans down to you. “And where are you going?”
“I was just gonna… head home… get an early night?” Looking away from him as you lie poorly, not able to look at him without thinking about how he kissed you.
He points out, “You just got here though.”
“Yeah, it’s just… not my scene…” In your defence, not a complete lie.
“Really? Because it feels like you’re avoiding me.” He leans down further to catch your eyes with his, sick of you avoiding eye contact.
You’re only able to look at him incrementally, eyes flicking from his, to the wall behind him. “No there’s no reason for me to be avoiding you, I don’t know why you would think that.”
“Oh good! That means you can stay then.” Face scrunching with his—now—less than polite smile. Clearly growing frustrated with how you’re refusing to communicate with him properly.
You have no excuses to give, nothing good or even remotely believable anyways. “I uhh—”
Cutting you off to give an ultimatum, “—Either we’re leaving and talking like adults or you’re staying right here and suffering through this whole night with me right by your side.”
His choice in wording disgruntles you, locking eyes to say, “It doesn’t cause me suffering to be beside you, Suguru.” You want to make at least that much clear.
He gives you a tight-lipped smile. “Good. Then you won’t mind me not leaving your side.”
Weighing your options, you don’t know what would be better right now. On the one hand you’d get to leave but then you’d have to tell him about how much you’re affected by the line you crossed, about how you’re developing feelings for him that you shouldn’t have indulged in. On the other, you stay but he lingers around you all night and you’re left haunted by all the things you want to say but can’t quite bring yourself to.
“Let’s go back to everyone then,” you smile back at him.
His face drops. “You don’t wanna talk about it that bad?”
“Suguru, you’re looking for answers I don’t even know if I can give you.”
He relents and takes a step back from you, “Fine. But just so you know, you can’t get rid of me that easily.” Waiting for you to want to talk first seems to be his main goal but you can see just how impatient he’s getting.
You ignore his comment and walk past him back to Gojo and Shoko in the other room, they’re both exactly where you left them. It’s awkward, for you anyways. You don’t know about them or everyone else here, but you feel awkward.
It carries on for the whole night; it’s been a couple hours now and Suguru is still just following you around wordlessly. Only speaking to others when spoken too, engaging in some conversation, only to cut it short when you move on.
This really isn’t fun for you, normally not even bothering to come to house parties like this and only doing this as a favour to Shoko but she’s gone home now, and you’re left here with just Geto. You’d leave too, but you have a feeling he’s going to follow you home, or at the very least make you talk to him before you try leaving and you’re just… so not in the mood.
Sighing softly to yourself as you walk into the kitchen, somehow managing to shake your tail, for now. Taking the small reprieve as a chance to breathe and think, which is cut short when some stranger starts a conversation with you.
“Hi! You’re really hot, do you want a drink? I can make you a drink. I’ve never seen you here before and trust me– I’d remember you.” He’s slurring his words slightly, “So, drink? You wan– I can get you a—”
He’s really forward, and drunk, it’s making you uncomfortable, especially since you’re far too sober and far too annoyed to have to deal with drunk men. “—I’m good, thank you, I’m not drinking.”
“Oh, come on! Jus one drink, it’ll loosen you up.” He moves in to elbow your shoulder lightly. “You’re too hot to be– to be such a downer, maybe a smile would help.”
Completely unamused and slowly shuffling back away from him. “I think I’d prefer you just leave me alone; I’m not interested.”
“Don– don’t be like that,” he sulks at you.
Your back collides with someone’s front and looking up you can see it’s your missing stalker of the night. As annoyed at Suguru as you are, you are endlessly thankful for his timing, physically feeling yourself relax now that he’s here.
Geto glares down at the pushy guy. “She’s not interested.”
“Oh man, I didn’t know she had– had a boyfriend, you know you should keep an eye on her,” the drunk idiot leers at you, “She’s kind of a tease, leading me on,” he shrugs.
Your face grimaces at his words and the way he eyes you, feeling incredibly uncomfortable. Suguru moves in front of you, shielding you from him, his lip twitches at this guy’s words. “Excuse me?”
“No, well… I jus mean she didn’t tell me—”
“—She said she wasn’t interested, that was enough,” Geto’s tone is growing more irritated by the moment.
“Suguru, let’s just go, it’s fine.” You tug on the hem of his jacket, not really wanting to have to deal with the fallout of whatever may happen if this idiot keeps unwittingly provoking Geto. He tries his best, but he has a breaking point, and he tends to hit it pretty quick when you’re involved.
He glances back at you. “It’s not fine.”
“Okay, it’s not but I kinda can’t stand this guy, and this party sucks and I’m annoyed, and I don’t wanna be here anymore.” You feel a little pathetic for whinging but you’re so drained and this guy was your breaking point.
All his attention drops from that guy to you, his hands coming up to either side of your face, taking in how tired you look. Thumbs stroking high on your cheekbones, “Alright, let’s leave.”
Relief in your bones at the fact you’re about to be gone from here, “Thank you.”
From behind Suguru you can see the drunk take the opportunity to slip away, apparently smart enough to use this distraction to his advantage. If Geto notices, he doesn’t say anything, clearly done with him, all attention on you now.
He hums at you, asking, “How’d you get here?”
Your eyes flick back to his. “I didn’t drive, if that’s what you’re asking.” You took an uber, you thought you’d either catch a ride with Shoko, or you’d take another uber home.
“You’re riding with me then.” His large hand takes yours. “Come on.” Then tugging you through the house behind him.
The car ride has been quiet, you can feel your head drooping and your eyes closing, very nearly falling asleep. That is until, you notice Geto isn’t taking you to your house, instead heading towards his.
Turning to face him, you ask, “Why are we going back to yours?”
Without turning to look at you, he replies, “Because you’ve been avoiding me, so I am now forcing you to spend time with me.”
He’s decidedly not funny. Sighing as you try to chide him, “Suguru—”
Finally glancing your way only to speak over you, “—Don’t ‘Suguru’ me, my place is closer and you’re tired, if you weren’t being so weird around me ever since I k—”
“—Shhh, be quiet.” Your cheeks suddenly feel warm at the memory of how insistent his kisses were.
“All I’m saying is, if you weren’t being so weird around me, you’d come back to mine tonight anyways.”
It’s frustrating to you that he’s right, you normally would just go back to his and crash in his bed next to him and then you’d make him breakfast the next morning to make up for the fact that you’d taken up his whole bed.
The only thing you can think to say is a flat, “…Fine.” Crossing your arms and looking out the car window the rest of the short drive.
Back at his apartment, he lends you some clothes to sleep in. It’s all incredibly intimate, showering in his bathroom, using the spare toothbrush you keep here, wearing his clothes. Has your friendship always been this intimate or are you just looking at it in a new light.
Leaving his bathroom, you find him in his room. Getting his bed ready for you to sleep in, you stand awkwardly at the foot of it. “I’ll just sleep on your couch.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, you always sleep in the bed with me.”
“Yeah but…” Your brows settle into a deep frown. “Do you not feel weird?”
He drops the blanket back onto the bed, exasperation with you clear. “I said to you, I wouldn’t let it affect our friendship, and that’s what I’m doing.” Turning to look at you before adding, “You’re the one making it weird.”
“I know that…” You also know that you were the one who said you weren’t worried about him.
His arms are crossed as he looks you over. “I’m gonna shower now, you don’t have to sleep in the bed, but I think you should, you know firsthand how awful that couch is.”
“Go have your shower.” You shoo him out of the room, standing in the middle of it, alone, considering what you should do.
The couch really is atrocious; it’s part of the reason why you started sleeping in his bed when you visited. He always says he’ll get a nicer couch or a blow-up mattress for you, but he never does, and you always end up in his bed anyways.
Deciding you’re too drained to think any harder about all of this, you crawl into his bed and make yourself comfortable. Everything is so frustrating to you right now, have you always felt this confused about your friendship or were the lines blurred for so long that you’re having trouble understanding where you both stand.
The irony of the situation is annoying and almost laughable because if it were about anyone else, you’d be hitting up Suguru and asking for his advice on it all.
When he comes back into the room, he shuffles around a bit before turning off the lights and getting into bed beside you. You’re lying on your side with your back to him, pretending to already be asleep.
His voice cuts through the quiet of the room, “I miss you.”
Your reaction to it is almost visceral, how are you meant to reply to that. It doesn’t help you feel better at all, only leaving you longing for something you don’t know if you’re allowed to claim. Your friendship has always been on a precarious ledge but it’s only now that you let yourself acknowledge the disgusting depth of your feelings for him.
You mumble into the pillow, “I’m right here.”
“Then why do you feel so far away?”
Readjusting, you rotate so you’re facing him, not completely prepared for him to already be facing you. Propped up on his elbow, closer than your poor heart was ready for. You lower your head, so you don’t have to look at his face. “I wasn’t purposefully ignoring you, I really did want to reply.”
He pushes, “So why didn’t you?”
“I didn’t know what to say…”
“What can I do to help?” He lowers himself down to your level, head on his bicep.
You still avoid his gaze. “Nothing, you can’t do anything.”
“You’re being—”
“—You are the problem, Suguru, there is nothing you can do to help but get out of my head.” You meet his eyes, frown prominent on your face. “You and your stupid kiss, you made it all a thousand times worse for me.”
“Making out with me was so life changing that you can’t get it out of your head, and you’re annoyed at me for that? You’re the one who wanted to know what it was like.” He’s trying to keep his tone light-hearted but he’s struggling, seemingly growing more irritated by it all.
You grumble at him, discontent, “You don’t need to point out the obvious, stupid.”
A noise of disagreement comes from him, “Well, I feel like I kinda do, since you’re overreacting.”
“I am not overreacting.”
“You are though.”
“No because it’s not just…” you stop short, “…Whatever, I’m going to sleep so be quiet.” He smiles at you like you’re completely endearing, which only frustrates you further.
“The only reason you would be this annoyed is because you want to kiss me again, or more…” His hand reaches for your chin and tilts your head up towards him. “You tell me, are you still curious?”
“Shut up,” you huff out, going to move away only for his hand to slide to your cheek, holding you still.
“You haven’t asked me, you know.”
“What?”
“What if I want to kiss you again? What if I want to do more?” His forehead rests against yours. “You’ve been so caught up in your own head, acting like an idiot over this, that you’ve not even asked yourself about what I want.”
“I am not an idiot.”
“No, but you’ve certainly been acting like one.” His hand slides from your face, down the side of your body, landing on your hip. “At first I thought it was cute, the curiosity, the unawareness.” His hand tugs you in closer to him, body against yours. “But now… now I’m growing impatient.”
Your head feels fuzzy, all pressed up against him and that seems to be the only thing your brain is processing right now. “I’m confused.”
“It’s really quite simple.” He moves in, lips ghosting against yours.
You want so badly to kiss him, breath catching in your chest at the way his lips tickle against yours. Your attention solely on the way he might kiss you.
“You like me, and while it’s endearing to watch you fumble your way through the realisation, it’s killing me to know you’re all caught up on how I kissed you and I can’t even get in contact with you.”
“What? What?” Your brain takes a second to catch up. “I do not– you can’t know– just– what?”
“I can know, you know how? Because you’re painfully obvious about it. So honest, telling me about how you’re thinking of me, not able to look at me without looking at my lips,” a light laugh leaves him at your expression, “and it’s sweet, really. But I’m getting annoyed by the fact that you’re so obsessed with your own feelings that you’ve failed to consider mine.”
He’s giving you so much whiplash right now. “You—”
“—You think I kissed you like that just ‘cause?” He frowns at you, “I kissed you like that because I wanted to, I feel I was a little obvious about it all actually.”
“I’ve been so worried about ruining our friendship.” You feel so pitiful when you say it, like a wet puppy.
“I know.” He presses a kiss to your forehead. “But I’ve hoped for nothing more.” He sighs, “I wanted you to come to me on your own, to talk to me about it but instead you hid from me.”
“What was I supposed to think? Through my eyes, I was stupid and asked you to kiss me just because I was thinking about it. Only to not stop thinking about it, and then realise I like you, my friend.” You pull back from him slightly. “How was I meant to talk to you about it?”
“You think I’d kiss just any friend because they simply wondered about what it would be like?” His brow lifts at you. “Don’t you think our friendship has always been a little too intimate to just be a friendship?”
“Nothing was ever said… how was I supposed to know?”
“Okay, well, let me be perfectly clear.” He tugs you in close again, eyes meeting yours, like he’s going to say something incredibly important, only to plant his lips on yours in a full kiss.
Hand holding you to him tight, like he needs you to stay pressed up against him. His mouth on yours is hot and consuming, kiss messy, tongue licking at yours. An involuntary moan gets caught in your chest and your hand moves to his hair, tangling in it.
Suguru’s parting from you to pant out, “I like you—” kissing you again, “I like kissing you—” lips desperate against yours, “I want to do so much more—” He never parts from you long at all, barley willing to but needing to get his words out.
This is a feeling that you’re never going to be able to forget, the first time he kissed you overwhelming enough and now it’s like he’s completely following his instinct. No critical thinking happening in his head or yours. All your thoughts wash away from you, slipping through your fingers before it even occurs to you to form a thought.
Less scared now, throwing caution to the wind, not worrying about how you should stop, how you can’t ruin the fragility of your friendship. It doesn’t matter anymore, not when he already knows how you feel, not when he seems to feel the same, not when it feels this good.
He mumbles against you, “That clear enough?”
“No,” you huff back, “I think… I’m still a little confused.”
“Well, in that case,” he smirks before kissing you again.
Hand moving to your thigh, sliding it across your skin before grabbing at your knee and crooking your leg to rest on his hip. Leaning into you slightly, using his weight to push back on you, rolling the pair of you until he’s on top. Forearm holding himself over you, his other hand still on your knee, holding you flush to him.
You gasp up at him when his erection ruts into your core, lips parting messily, spit connecting the two of you. A shudder runs down his spine when he looks down at you, at how you’re looking up at him. All big, wet eyes and kiss swollen lips, it’s like he feels all his insides softening for you in that moment, in the most sickeningly affectionate way.
His eyes suddenly look lost, and you don’t know why, going to say something only for his lips to land on yours again. Short, firm kisses planted on your lips over and over again, barely able to return them before he’s pulling back, just to do it again.
It’s sweet but it’s frustrating you, your hands are eventually grabbing at either side of his face and forcing his mouth onto yours, lips meshing together, kissing him fully. Tongue in his mouth, your arms wrapping around his neck, fingers playing with his hair. He moans at how you’re kissing him, at how both your legs are now wrapped around his waist.
Practically clinging to him, lips locked to his, your need making your body hot and head fuzzy. You’re trying so hard to not come across desperate for him, but you really can’t help the way your hips seek out his, grinding up into him.
His voice shakes with a moan, breaking the kiss, “Ohh fuck– hah—” a breathless kind of laugh leaving him, "A little eager, aren’t you?"
"Should we stop then?” You ask with a smile, hands untangling and pushing at his shoulders.
He rushes out, “No no, I didn’t say that.” He pulls your arms, so they’re wrapped around his neck again. “Come back,” a light laugh leaves him, pressing kisses all over your face, lingering on your lips.
“So… you don’t want to stop?”
“Absolutely not, be as needy as you want.” He looks down between where his hips are resting against yours, his cock twitching in his pants. “Hell… be needier.”
“I don’t know… maybe this is all happening too fast,” you say it light heartedly, teasing him, “I mean… we are just friends.”
“Just friends?” He takes personal issue with that, even if he can tell you’re goading him. “Just friends but you’re grinding your pussy all over me?” His hand slips into the front of your borrowed sleep shorts, two fingers rubbing between your folds over your panties.
“Letting your friend touch you like this, hmm?” He pulls your panties to the side, “Fuck– this wet for your friend?”
Your back arches against the bed when his fingers slip over your clit, struggling to get your words out. “I– mmph– I get it, m’sorry.”
“Sorry for what?” He smiles sweetly at you but two of his fingers are slipping inside you, quirking up and rubbing at just the right spot.
God, your eyes roll into the back of your head, cunt pulsing around his fingers so needily. Hands grabbing at him, tangling in his long hair, gasping for air you don’t really need but feeling like you can’t breathe from how he’s touching you.
“What are you sorry for, pretty?” He wants you back on track, he wants to hear you stumble out your apology to him.
“I-I’m sorry– hnnn – f-for…” your mouth drops open in a moan when his thumb rubs at your clit, “You’re not jus– you’re not just my friend– oh! You’re more– you mean more– Ah! Ah!” You can’t think, not when he slides another finger into your pussy, stretching you so open.
He tips forward, fingers not stopping. “You mean it?”
It’s a question made to tease you but with your gooey brain, you look up at him so earnestly and answer, “Mhm, yeah.” Nodding your head firmly at him, even when your eyes look so fucked out.
Soft squelching noises fill the room with how his fingers fuck into you, your cunt clamping tight down around them. Walls so hot and wet that it’s driving him crazy, imagining how it would feel to have you wrapped so snug around his neglected cock.
He wants so badly to rip off your pants, so he can see just how well you’re taking his fingers but you’re pulsing so rhythmically around him, and your eyes roll with how good you feel. Making the nicest expressions for him that he can’t even tear his eyes away from your face if he wanted to.
“You’re really cute right now.” He presses a kiss to your cheek, his heart stammering at how your glistening eyes sparkle at him, at how your bottom lip wobbles.
Pouting up at him, “You don’t– ah!– think I’m cute all the time?”
“I think you’re downright adorable all the time,” he laughs airily, “but especially right now,” he’s gazing so intently at your face, “because, I’m pretty sure…” his thumb speeds up on your clit, “…you’re about to cum all over my fingers.”
Oh, how his words effect you so deeply, his tone, the cockiness. If he weren’t touching you so right you wouldn’t find it as arousing as you do but you feel like you could cry from just how overwhelming it all is.
Shaking your head at him as if to say ‘no, you’re not about to cum.’
“No?” He pouts at you mockingly. “You sure?”
Denying it really doesn’t get you anywhere, especially since he can feel how you tighten around his fingers, how your gooey cunt pulses for him. Your back arching meanly, legs wanting so badly to kick against the air. Hand tugging at his hair as you gasp, broken moans leaving you.
“I mustn’t be doing this right then,” he hums at you in thought, slowing his movements slightly. “Should I stop then? Change up what I’m doing?”
The thought of him stopping now, or changing what he’s doing kills you, almost literally. Your eyes widen and you shake your head vehemently at him. “Don’t stop– hnn– don’t– please,” begging him with your eyes.
“Only ‘cause you begged so nicely,” his tone so sweet on you.
He doesn’t change anything, keeps fucking you with his fingers in the way that’s driving you crazy. His mouth waters at how your pussy gushes for him, dick leaking into his pants. Losing his fucking mind at how he’s able to finally touch you like this, how you’re letting him touch you like this, even begging for it.
Your muscles are pulling taut, hearing and sight going fuzzy. “I– ohh– Sugu I can’t– I’m gonna–”
“You can,” dragging it out in a singsong. “Doing so well for me, pretty.”
Biting on your lip to hold back all the moans tumbling from them, hands pulling at him as you struggle to breathe through it. Chest stuttering as your cunt clamps down around his fingers. Grasping at him and pulling him closer to you, planting your lips on his. Desperately kissing him as you cum all over his fingers. Your tongue licking into his mouth, his own moans spilling into the kiss.
Panting against your open mouth to say, “You just came all over your friends’ fingers.” His smile taunting and bright.
Your head lolls to the side. “So you really do just like teasing me, huh?”
“Pretty sure I said I couldn’t help it.” His fingers slip from your core, sucking them into his mouth, licking them clean in a display so obscene that your skin heats up.
If he were a lesser man, he’d cum from licking himself clean. Groaning around his fingers, mostly for himself but also somewhat to embarrass you. Loving how you squirm, and your face pulls up in embarrassment. All dazed and stupid looking from your orgasm, it makes his heart skip and his dick jerk.
You shock him when you tug your shirt up and over your head, moving to pull at his but he’s too distracted by your tits to make any move other than to lean down and press wet kisses all over your chest.
“Suguru– hah– your shirt.” Your fingers still pull at the fabric.
“You can’t—” He sucks and licks at your nipple, relishing in the reactions and sounds he’s pulling from you. “—You can’t show me your tits and expect me to not touch them.”
When he looks up at you, his eyes are lazy and dazed, his tongue drooling all over your boobs. Moving to plant even more firm and wet smooches all over your unbelievably soft skin, sucking to leave behind his mark. Wanting to leave behind marks that he will see when he wakes up tomorrow, marks that he will leave marks over so that they never go away, so he will always have evidence of how he touched you. Of how you let him touch you.
Groping at all your exposed skin, pulling at you, fingers tugging at your nipple, while he salivates all over the other one. Your legs tug his hips down into yours, rubbing your clothed cunt all over him, wanting him to fuck you so badly. He’s working you up so unfairly, already making you cum and then playing with your tits in a way that has you itching to be full of his dick.
“Suguru.” He ruts his hips back down into you but doesn’t remove his mouth from you, so you pull at his hair harshly. “Please.”
He moans at how you pull at him, eyes lidded. “So demanding.”
“You’re taking too long.”
He tuts at you, nipping lightly at the skin between your tits, “You’re just impatient.”
“Yeah, I am.” untangling your legs from him, you shuffle your shorts and panties down and off your body. “Are you going to help?”
“How can I refuse when you ask like that?” The desire to lick at your pussy, make out with your cunt, is huge but with how you look at him, so needy and impatient, he needs to stuff his dick inside you. Now.
When you go to tug at his shirt, he lets you, letting you pull it off him completely. Goose bumps breaking out across his skin with how you rake your nails delicately over him. The affection he holds for you feels like it grows tenfold at how you look at him, how tenderly you touch him.
“You’re so pretty,” you’re mumbling it out at him before you’re really registering that you’ve thought it, let alone spoke it.
His head drops into the crook of your neck. “So sweet on me, got me forgetting why I waited so long to say anything.”
You grin at him. “Because you’re stupid.”
“Oh, that’s right,” he sneers back at you before shuffling back to pull his pants off. Finding immense joy in how your smug little smile drops from your face when his cock is free, tip flushed a pretty pink and leaking profusely, precum dribbling down the sides of his dick.
Moving to get up before even really thinking about it, wanting to touch him. Only to fall into the pillows when his large hand pushes you back by your sternum. Looking to him just as he leans in, lips brushing yours so softly you’d think you’d imagined it if he didn’t immediately follow it up with a firm kiss.
“I want to touch you.” Hands already finding their way back to his shoulders, his long hair tickling against skin.
His head is dipping low to watch how he moves his hands down your body. Brushing against your inner thighs, opening your legs for him more. “Well, I want to fuck you.” He’s not capable of taking his eyes off your syrupy cunt, so wet for him.
Goading him with your words, “What are you waiting for? A formal invitation?”
“Sharp tongue for someone so sensitive,” he muses, fingers slipping through your folds, gently over your clit to make you jolt, as if to prove his point.
Not giving you a chance to say another snarky comment, his fingers dipping into your hole again. His fingers stretch you open obscenely, pulling back covered in cum from your previous orgasm and fresh slick. It’s almost embarrassing how soaked you are, at least it would be if he didn’t seem almost overjoyed at the sight.
His hand covered in your mess moves to his dick, stroking himself, lubing himself so you can take him easier. You want to rub your thighs together, to squirm at how he languidly pumps at his cock, how his brows upturn and his mouth gapes slightly.
His palm so warm against your inner thigh, holding you still. Moving so he can tap his dick against your clit, smiling at how your body jerks.
“Don’t be a tease.” Your hand moves for his, but he grabs at you before you reach him, looping his fingers with yours.
His tone is cheerful and bright, “But you look so cute when you’re frustrated.”
“I’ll leave,” you threaten, not even a little convincingly, way too horny to be taken seriously.
“Really?” He raises a brow at you, intrigued. “I don’t think you’d get very far…” Mocking pout settling on his features.
Nothing if not stubborn and true to your word, you push him back and roll to get out of the bed defiantly. Barely making it to the edge of the mattress when his hands are on your sides and manhandling you back into your previous position. Spreading your legs wide and rubbing the tip of his cock through your folds, just dipping into your hole before repeating the previous movements.
Biting his lower lip as he watches, his precum smearing all over your messy cunt. “Told you, you wouldn’t get very far.”
Your head rolls at how he dips his dick in more, beginning to stretch you open. His hips are stuttering forwards, hand slapping down onto the mattress beside you to stop himself from pushing you too far.
“Oh– oh– fuck! How– h-how are you this tight, oh,” breathless not even beginning to describe how fucked out he already sounds.
“Mm– more, Sugu, please– I–”
At your insistence, he fucks himself all the way in, holding his pelvis to you as he fills you to the hilt. Your pussy spasming and creaming around him, so worked up that he can feel just how aroused you are in the way you twitch, at how your fingers grab at his skin, how your breaths are uneven and broken.
He can’t help but marvel at how you let out little squealed moans, how your cunt stretches to take all of him. On cloud nine at how you’re so horny over how heavy he’s sitting inside you that you’re close to tears.
The moan he lets out is debauched, unbelievably turned on when your hips struggle to grind down into him needily, working yourself up to an orgasm so fucking fast that he can’t do anything but watch in awe.
You can’t stop yourself; you know you should, should slow down and maybe calm down but it feels so good. He’s so big inside you, his cock pulsing in a way that has you memorising the thumping rhythm. Not usually so eager, never this eager, enthusiastically rutting down into him over and over again before suddenly cumming all over him.
Choked and gasped moans pulled from you as your hands reach for him, hoping for him to let you tug him down into you but he’s too busy watching how you throb and cum all over him. Obsessed with how your cute, little cunt struggles with his size as you coat him in all your creamy cum.
“Holy fuck,” he laughs, “That was—”
Head dizzy and eyes lazy as you whinge at him, “—Don’t– don’t say anything.”
“You came as soon as I got inside you and you expect me to make no comment?”
“It’s embarrassing.”
“I think it was adorable,” he hums, voice strained, much more effected by it than he’s willing to let on.
You whine when he moves down onto you, cock somehow reaching deeper. Geto’s arms cage you in either side your head, resting on his forearms, his lips against yours in a breathless kiss. Beginning with shallow thrusts, his lips insistent on yours, fucking you so carefully for now.
Quickly, the need to have him fucking you stupid grows within you again and your legs loop around him properly, pulling him into you. Wrapping yourself around him, mouth panting against his.
“Fuck– hah– you’re so wet.” He’s fucking into you faster, hips becoming desperate. “It’s actually– it’s– hnn– it’s crazy how good you feel.” He moves his head to the crook of your neck, growling beside your ear, “such a soaked little cunt, taking it so– ohh– taking it so good.”
“Ah! Ah! Sugu, it’s– ohh– it’s– more– I need more.” Your fingers dig into his back, depraved, wet sloshing sounds of him fucking into you so well fill the room.
He nips at your neck. “Demanding little thing, aren’t you?”
He’s pulling out of you and the moan you let out is small and pathetic, disgruntled by his abrupt movement. The last thing you see is his smug grin before he’s flipping you over onto your stomach, hands pulling your hips up and pushing on your upper back, manoeuvring your body into an obscene arch.
He’s takings his sweet time to slip back inside, eyeing up your pussy and how your hole trembles and drools for him. Your hips wriggle back at him, and he finds himself incredibly amused at how blatantly needy you are, apparently honest with him in more ways than one.
Just as you were about to turn around and complain at how long he’s taking to re-enter you, he’s shoving his cock back in all at once, jolting your body up the bed and forcing a whine out of your lungs.
“Ohh– Sugu– I…” you trail off as his hips pick up, eyes rolling to the back of your head.
Sliding your legs further apart to take more of him inside, arching yourself even more, greedy cunt sucking him deep inside. He’s barely able to withdraw before you’re fucking your hips back into him, desperately driving back. So fucking needy that if you had half your mind, you’d be embarrassed but right now all you can think about is how his dick thumps against your walls, how his hands grip onto you tight. He’s probably leaving behind marks to match the ones he left all over your tits.
Mouth gaping open, spit pooling onto the pillow below, drooling over his cock. God, you could cry from just how fucking good it feels. Pussy spasming wildly on him, the more you think about the fact that he’s fucking you, the more worked up you get. Insides flipping at how he seems to touch the most perfect spots inside you, full of butterflies and him.
His mouth by your ear shocks you, his voice chirpy, “What are you– hah– thinking about, pretty?”
“Hah– about how goo– good it feels, feels– ohh– feels so good, Sugu,” your words are slurred, mind reeling at how he doesn’t even seem to slow his pace.
“Flatterer,” he barks out a laugh, “You’re quite the little charmer,” he mockingly compliments. Tongue licking meanly at the salty tears you hadn’t realised you’d shed.
“Shh– shut up– ah!” gasping when he gives a particularly mean thrust into you.
He can’t help but smile at the fucked out look you’re wearing, eyes rolled back, hazy and not comprehending anything other than his dick rubbing up against your walls so perfectly. Your face turns into the pillow and you bite at it, muscles pulling tight as another orgasm crawls up your spine.
It shocks you, how quickly you cum. With Suguru’s harsh thrusts, your ass is burning with the smack of his pelvis against you. The sting biting at your flesh making you feel like you’re on fire, cunt tight around him and orgasm overcoming you so fast that you don’t have time to prepare for it.
And maybe if he hadn’t been caught up in how deliciously you squeeze around him, he’d have time to realise you were coming again and he could stop himself but when you shock the both of you with your sudden orgasm he whines into your back and cums deep inside you. Shivers running down his spine at how it feels, dumping so much deep inside you that the force of his continued thrusts has some of it leaking from you back onto him and down onto the bed, making the obscenest mess he’s ever seen.
Immediately he’s pulling himself back up to see how he’s coated your walls white, his dick covered in your shared cum. Creamy and lewd and he’s not even going soft because how could he when you’re still wrapped so warmly around him. When you’re so fucking gooey and snug. He might die before he’s done fucking you yet and he can’t even find it in himself to care even a little bit.
You’re not capable of forming words together enough to think of making a sentence, only thing coming from you being your garbled, choked moans and the sounds of your plush cunt struggling to take him and all his cum. Pussy bulging with the weight of his cock and the mass amounts of seed he’s just pumped you full of.
His own eyes are lidded and low, pussy drunk and loving every second of it. “So turned on you couldn’t even warn me before you came,” he bites out.
His hand rounds your body and his fingers land on your clit, the overstimulation too much, one of your own hands moving down to try and pry it away. Managing to squeak out, “Too much– ah! Too much, Sugu.”
Tone light when his harsh words are mumbled back at you, “If it’s too much, then why– hnn– why are you fucking back onto me like such a slut?”
He’s so mean, so mean to you while he fucks you so… meanly. Head whirling over how he speaks to you, not even able to think long before he slaps your clit harshly. It’s got your knees buckling, falling into the mattress under him. His dick slips from you as you collapse into the mattress.
Geto doesn’t pick you back up straight away, oh no, because you’re leaking all of his cum out of your little hole onto the bed and he can’t take his eyes off of how much of it he managed to get inside you. It’s you who picks your hips up lazily, presenting yourself for him.
He chuckles at your loyalty to his cock, but he also can’t help the way the sight makes him twitch. Shoving his dick into you again, feral in his pursuit to fuck you, to fuck you full of more of his cum.
“S-so devoted– hnnn– doing such– hah– a good job for me, pretty,” he slurs.
You feel like you might pass out, so lightheaded but meeting each and every one of his thrusts all the same. An arm wrapping around your front pulls your back to his chest. Both of his hands land on your tits, fingers pinching and rolling your nipples, making your pussy shudder around him.
You want to fuck your hips back recklessly but not able to with this angle, only able to arch further and give shallow grinds while he fucks his hips into you. He plants kisses and bites along your neck, nipping your skin hard enough that you twitch and whine each time he does it.
One hand leaves your tit and trails down your front, going for your cunt, spreading wide around where he’s stuffing you full continuously. Getting an absolute mess all over his hand and fingers, only to shove those fingers into your mouth, leaving you to lick him clean. Crammed full by his dick and fingers at once, convulsing around him at the thought of it, at the reality of it.
“You like being stuffed full, huh?” He muses to you, an evil kind of joy in his tone. You don’t get to choose your own response, he’s already using the fingers he has in your mouth to nod your head yes. “Ah, thought so.”
Pulling his fingers from your mouth slowly to watch how you suck on them as he does, before he’s wiping all your spit down your chest to your tummy. And then he has another hand on the back of your neck and is pushing you down into the pillows again, this time he keeps his hand there while he fucks into you diabolically.
Somehow faster than before, relentless, reaching his own end and wanting you to cum all over him at least once more. Head dipping back as he groans out, thrusts harsh and calculated. Hitting all the spots he’s just learnt about, having memorised just how to make you fucking squirm for him.
Which he succeeds in, if he didn’t have the hand on the back of your neck, you would’ve crawled up the bed to try and get away from his evil thrusts. Poor abused pussy creaming around him for the fourth time, orgasm blinding you, only seeing white spots behind your eyelids.
The sounds he lets out are wrecked and beautiful and have you wishing that you weren’t cumming so violently if only to see the way he’s spilling inside you for the second time tonight.
“That’s it– fuck– take it– taking it so fucking well– holy fuck—” Every word he utters is breathless and broken, essentially fucking himself stupid too.
Taking a moment for himself to catch his breath before he’s slipping from you and pulling your ass cheeks apart to watch how his cum dribbles from your overfilled cunt. You try to wiggle away but he holds you steady, eyes trained on your dipping hole. Overcome with the desire to fuck his tongue inside you but instead settling for shoving two fingers inside, plugging your hole to keep his cum in.
You whine at him, and he can only chuckle and find you incredibly cute in your post orgasm bliss. Barely able to keep your eyes open, let alone speak right now.
He does eventually pull his fingers from you, wiping the mess on your thighs before turning you onto your back. It feels like you’re looking up at an angel as he looks down at you, or maybe the devil. All flush and sweet smiles, too sweet for a man that just fucked you within an inch of your life.
“You can’t smile at me like that, not after you almost killed me,” you babble back at him.
He rolls his eyes at you, “There you go overreacting again.”
“You fuck so mean, Sugu,” you accuse… accurately.
A smile grows on his face again. “Feels real good though, doesn’t it?”
You weakly slap at him, he just grabs your hand and tugs your body into his kneeling form, hugging you to him. Pressing kisses all over your face. “Think you can stand long enough to shower?”
Shaking your head at him, “Not without fainting.”
“Alright, bath it is,” he concludes.
He takes such nice care of you afterwards, a complete contrast to how he fucked you. It’s lovely though, the hands that grabbed and pulled at you now delicate as they trace over your skin, washing you clean.
You rest with your back to his front in the bath, head laying lazily on his chest. “So… for the sake of clarity, we’re not just friends?”
His lips tickle against the tip of your ear. “I can fuck you all over again if you need more proof?”
“I fear you might actually kill me.”
“Then I guess you’ll just have to take my word for it.” He leaves a single kiss against your cheek.
In the morning, for the first time ever, he makes you breakfast. To make up for all the marks he’s littered your body with. He also officially asks you on a date, which you pretend to think really hard about even though you’d already decided you were going to say yes.
In the end, being friends with Geto Suguru wasn’t hard… it’s just not what you both wanted.
𝒂.𝒏. THIS IS A REPOST .. a repost from my old account @/lovelivision, if you feel like you've read it before, maybe you have !
thank you for reading !!! i hope you guys liked it and i hope everyone is doing so good >:3
꒰꒰. all works are the intellectual property of aliienangel .. do not plagiarise/translate/reupload/feed to ai ♡. 。
𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚： ♡ friendships can be hard, especially when the lines are so blurry you can't tell where the both of you stand. so what do you do when you catch feelings on top of all that?
cw ⤷ 𖥻 . ˖ ꒰ 𝒎𝒅𝒏𝒊 ꒱ . smut . pwp . swearing . making out . annoying drunk stranger . fingering . dirty talk . marking . titty worship . piv . clit slapping . c pie . geto fucks mean . geto is a TEASE . multiple o's . overstim . f!reader . s/her prns . no use of y/n ♯ 11.9k
Being friends with Geto Suguru isn’t hard… in theory but in practice it’s one of the most difficult things you’ve ever had to do. It’s especially difficult because he does things for you that feel like they’re pushing the boundaries of a normal friendship without actually doing anything weird.
Things like his insistence on bringing things for you when you’re feeling down, showing you extra care in how he talks to you, hanging out with you and having frequent movie nights, being attentive to your needs. While those things are innocuous in theory, it’s the way he treats you, talks to you and how it makes you feel that has your friendship feeling like it’s on a precarious ledge. Caught between pulling back or pushing over.
Sighing, your foot kicks at his sitting form. “Don’t you have something better to do tonight?”
“Like what?” His eyebrow raises at you, eyeing your lazy form that’s all spread out comfortably on your couch.
You’d maybe feel bad for taking up the whole couch if you weren’t so comfortable. “I don’t know, like a date? Hanging with friends? Going out on the town or whatever youths do.”
“Firstly, I’m older than you—”
Interjecting to add, “—Not by much!”
He only rolls his eyes, ignoring your interruption all together. “To your other points, I’m not interested in dating, and I am hanging out with a friend.”
Sighing louder than last time, foot pushing him enough to sway him. “Aren’t you bored of me?”
“No?” His brows pinch together in confusion. “Should I be?” Hand grabbing your foot to stop it from kicking at him.
You pout, trying to pull yourself free of his grip. “I don’t know…”
“Don’t say stupid things,” he huffs, amused by your struggle. “I could ask you the same thing you know.”
“I like hanging out with you,” you grumble at him.
“Yeah, well, I feel the same.” Finally letting go of your foot.
You’re feeling restless, he’s your friend, you know he’s your friend, and yet you can’t help hoping that your friendship is just a little bit more special. You groan and kick at him with both your feet.
“Woah, hey!” Both his hands grab at your ankles, pinning them down into the couch. “What’s wrong with you tonight?”
“I’m annoyed.”
“I’ve taken notice.” He’s trapping you with a pointed look, waiting for more of an explanation from you.
If you had an explanation, you’d freely give it to him but as of right now, you aren’t even sure if you’re aware of what you’re feeling enough to verbalise it to him. You deflate, looking back at him sheepishly. “I know you want to know what’s wrong, but I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? Or you don’t want me to know?”
Pushing yourself up, you cock your head at him. “The result is the same despite my answer, no?”
“No,” his is tone resolute. “I could help.”
You deliver a very plain, “You can’t.” He’s the cause of your confusion, talking to him could make it all so much worse and you don’t really want to deal with the fallout of all that.
“Woah, awful dismissive of me, I might be able to easily fix what’s wrong.”
Turning so you’re facing the screen, you try to focus on the films plot. “You can fix what’s wrong right now by being quiet and watching the movie.”
“I was watching the movie, you distracted me.” He pokes lightly at your shoulder.
Shushing at him quickly, “Shut, I’m trying to listen.”
He doesn’t say anything more, just goes back to watching the movie in silence, probably following the plot better than you are because you’re sat closer to him like this and can’t help but sneak glances at him.
It’s not fair, he looks pretty like this. Face illuminated by the soft glow of the television, seemingly entranced by the movie playing. While gazing over his features, you find yourself constantly looking back at his lips, heart stuttering in your chest. You wonder how kissing him would feel like, would it help, wait.
Prying your eyes off him, you desperately hope to be shown some kind of mercy. You shouldn’t want to kiss him, you shouldn’t be thinking about kissing him. You need to get a hold of yourself.
Predictably, you are not shown any kind of mercy and all you can manage to think about is him. How soft his lips might be, how he would kiss you, would he be tentative… or would he kiss you like he’s done it a million times before.
Not even realising you’re staring at him again until he sighs and locks his eyes onto yours. “Are you aware you’re staring at me?”
Trying to play it cool by answering, “I wasn’t staring.”
“Are you alright?” He’s growing a little concerned by your unusual behaviour tonight.
“I’m fine! Good even, just… have some things on my mind.” You feel guilty.
“And just what exactly are these things you’re thinking about?”
Your skin flares at his question, feeling embarrassed by your own thoughts. “Nothing! General thoughts… you know…”
“Right…” He’s clearly sceptical, not believing your flimsy answers for even a second. “Have I done something to upset you?”
He’s too much for you right now, you try answering confidently but fail miserably. “No?”
Moving so his body is facing you, he gets into your space, worried by your answer. “Why don’t you sound sure?”
“Why are you asking me so many questions tonight?” You avoid his gaze, flustered by him suddenly being so close to you. Still thinking about his lips on yours, in the back of your head thinking about his hands on your body.
“You’re being weird, I’m just concerned.” His hand reaches for your face. “Do you have a fever or something?” His knuckles rest on your cheek, gauging your temperature.
“Seriously, I’m fine.” You’re fumbling more than you want to, eyes rounded and shocked looking into his.
It feels like you grow warmer the longer his hand stays on your face, it’s becoming difficult to think. If you had a good reason, you would kick him out right now but you’re already concerning him and you’re trying so hard to be normal. This night is taking a very unfortunate turn.
His face twists, concern written all over it. “You feel a little warm, are you sure you’re okay?” Hand slipping from your cheek, moving to rest against the back of the couch.
Trying to keep your answers short, you give a simple, “I’m sure.”
Geto doesn’t know where to go from here, his silence is evidence of that. You don’t blame him though because you’re not really sure where to go from here either, the thoughts of his lips on yours linger in your mind and you feel as if you could die.
“I just…” He looks to you when you start talking, ready to hear whatever it is you have to say, “I was just thinking – and don’t make this weird – but I was thinking about… how you would kiss me…” your words trail off slightly, growing quieter and quieter with each word.
His eyes widen slightly in response before he switches back to his neutral expression. “I—”
“—I don’t wanna know, don’t talk actually,” you cut him off abruptly. Too embarrassed to dissect this any further and certainly not willing to have a conversation with him about it, already regretting having admitted to thinking it.
He questions you, clearly caught between being entertained and somewhat concerned, “I’m not allowed to comment?”
“No.”
“Even though you’ve been thinking about how I would—”
Hurriedly moving your hand to cover his mouth, hissing out, “Shush!”
You’re closer like this, the proximity flustering you, the silence awkward. Suguru glares at you from under your hand. He has something to say and is showing clear disdain for your repeated interruptions.
His larger hand reaches up and wraps around your wrist, trying to gently pry your hand away but you hold steady. Growing frustrated with this little tug of war game you have going on, he uses more force to pull your hand down, grabbing your other hand as well. Restraining them both in your lap to keep you still.
Exasperated when he asks, “Don’t you think you’re overreacting slightly?”
“No.” You tug back on his grip but get nowhere.
“Why are you annoyed at me over this? They’re your thoughts,” he reminds.
You’re irritated with how right he is; it’s not his fault you’re thinking like this. Knowing that doesn’t change the fact that sitting right next to him makes it difficult for you to think of anything other than how soft his lips might be, or if he’ll hold you still while he kisses you, or if—
He barks out a quick laugh, “You wanna kiss me that bad?”
Realising you were staring at his lips again you feel like you might spontaneously combust, struggling against his hold and huffing out, “Shut up, just forget I even said anything.”
He sounds restrained and incredibly serious when he murmurs back, “Might not be able to if you keep looking at me like that.”
“Don’t make this even more embarrassing for me, Suguru! It’s your fault,” you accuse indignantly.
Lips quirking evilly, “Oh? So, you want me to fix it then?”
“You should! Take a little responsibility,” you grumble out at him, all pouty and annoyed.
He leans in closer to press you, “Do you want me to kiss you? Do you think it would help?”
“I don’t know… I mean…” You look to his lips again, gaze getting a little lost as you do. You’re a completely helpless cause.
If Suguru were being honest with you, he’d tell you how much you’re killing him when you look at him like that but he’s stubborn and a tease, so instead he says, “Eyes up here.”
Dragging your eyes back to his and staring daggers, completely pissed at him but mostly yourself for being so obvious again. “Do you think it would help?”
“You’d stop wondering,” he shrugs easily, like this is all so incredibly normal and not uncharted territory for the both of you.
“I don’t want this to make our friendship weird.” Feeling pathetic as you look at him, you’re not even sure if what you have together is as simple as a friendship, it feels like so much more. At least, you’re kind of hoping it is, kissing him could do irreparable damage and you don’t just mean in terms of how you act around one another but specifically how you feel about him.
“I won’t let it,” he assures.
“I’m not worried about you…”
He’s taken aback by your small admission, it’s not clear enough for him to make any real conclusions from it or confront you on anything but he knows it makes his heart beat faster and flusters him slightly. In all his years of casual dating and serious relationships, you’re the only person to have ever made him feel like such a fool.
“It’s up to you then,” he smiles softly.
You aren’t sure if it’s worth the risk but if this is the only chance you’ll get then you don’t know if you want to risk letting it go by either. “I think… yes.”
Playing dumb, he returns, “‘Yes’ what?”
Your tone is lowering again, confident answer short lived when he teases you. “Yes… I want you to kiss me…”
“You’re sure?” He asks but his hands are already moving up your body, one resting against the side of your neck, touch gentle and light.
“I mean… I’m not sure if this is a good idea but I’m sure I want you to kiss me.”
He huffs lightly in disbelief, breath tickling against your lips. “What’s wrong with you tonight?”
“You…” Frown dusting your features as you utter it, eyes already focused back on his lips.
He doesn’t say any more after that, faltering in his movements a bit but ultimately moving in completely and pressing his lips to yours delicately. It’s featherlight, kiss shallow and simple, like he’s holding back. It’s still enough to have your head full, full of thoughts of him, of how soft his lips are, how gentle his kisses are.
Geto pulls back all too soon for your liking, putting some distance between the two of you, head tilting to the side as he looks you over. “Curiosity satisfied.”
“Is that really how you would want to kiss me?”
“What?”
At his question you’re suddenly all too aware of how bold yours was. “I just… It’s nothing, sorry.” Fumbling over yourself, not wanting to hurt his feelings. “It was nice! It was a nice kiss.”
“No, no,” he squints at you, “Go on… say what you want.”
It’s quiet for a moment, your hesitance clear. “…Did you… kiss me how you wanted to?”
“I think if I kissed you how I wanted,” pausing to lean in closer, “You might pass out or something.”
“Oh, come on, you’re not my first kiss or anything,” you roll your eyes at him and his ego, “I was just curious, if that’s really how you’d kiss me then that’s all there is to it, it was a nice kiss.” You shrug at him.
“Why am I starting to feel like I’m being assessed?”
“If you feel that way then that’s on you.” Trying so hard to play it cool, like you can’t tell he was holding back, like you don’t want him to kiss you more. “Do you wanna go back in the movie? Rewind to where we were before?”
As you get up to move off the couch and find the remote, Suguru is pulling you back down to him, one hand gently holding the front of your throat. You don’t get a second to think about all the movements he just made, his lips on yours rushed, like he’s suddenly, incredibly desperate to kiss you.
Barely able to keep up with him, head dizzy from the whiplash, this isn’t at all how he kissed you before. You’re basically panting against him when he does pull back, allowing you the small moment to catch your breath.
His thumb pulls down on your chin lightly. “Open your mouth more.” His eyes are lidded as he looks at you, tone deeper than before.
Obeying him wordlessly and then he’s kissing you again, tongue in your mouth. It’s all messy and rushed and has you losing your mind. Your arms wrap around his neck, and he pulls your body closer to his, hand moving to the back of your head.
When he sucks your tongue into his mouth and licks at you, you can’t stop the moan that leaves you. Swallowed down by Geto in an appreciative manner, his kiss lingers for a while longer, making you dizzy and thoughtless. He pulls back from you, connected by a string of saliva that snaps when he licks at his lower lip.
The look on your face is dumbstruck, eyes big and wet as you gaze up at him in a dazed manner. It makes him feel feral, not able to help the way he leans back in and presses more short, sloppy kisses to your swollen lips.
There’s a pause before you can regain your faculties enough to say anything to him and even then, the only thing you can manage is, “I… uhm…”
“Was that better?” He’s trying to be light-hearted about it, but his lips are swollen as well, and his eyes are lidded, and he looks… “You didn’t pass out did you?” His head lowers so his eyes catch yours.
Your brain feels fuzzy and all you can think about is how you’ve never been kissed like that before, that you want to keep being kissed like that. “What? No… I just… wow.”
“Live up to your expectations?”
“I didn’t really have any, I was only curious…” Smiling big at him, you add, “But yeah, maybe even exceeded them.”
“You aiming to boost my ego, or did I really kiss you stupid?” He can’t help the way he leans in again, just shy of your lips.
Mouth on yours before you get to answer or refute what he’s accused, you don’t stop him though, allowing him to kiss you fully, deeply. One of his hands on the side of your face, holding you. The other grips at your hip, almost tugging you in closer.
Before you lose focus again, you part to gasp out, “I don’t know if—” Interrupted by his lips on yours, tangling your hand into his hair to pull him back, he groans at the force of the tug. “Suguru, I don’t think it’s a good idea to keep—”
“—Just another kiss, one more…” breathless when he talks, mouth hot on yours, tongue already in your mouth.
It’s almost too much, he’s so insistent. Kissing you like he might never get to again, like he’s trying to get the most out of this. He might actually have you passing out, it’s not even as if you really want him to stop but that’s part of the problem, isn’t it?
Pulling back, he sucks on your lower lip before nipping at it. The whimper he pulls from you is embarrassing and weak and you’re facing an internal conflict of so many emotions right now, but mostly you’re struck by how badly you want to sleep with him.
You hadn’t realised his hand had snuck under your shirt, warm and large against your side, sending a shiver down your spine. The breathlessness you’re hit with has your skin feeling hot as you try to stumble out your words, “I, uh, think we should stop… here.”
“Why? Am I not a good kisser? Are you not enjoying yourself?” A smile creeps onto his face. “You sounded like you were enjoying yourself.”
“Don’t.” Your head tucks down and onto his chest, forehead resting against him. “Please don’t embarrass me.”
He wraps his arms around your body, embracing you. “Can’t help it.”
You stay like this for probably longer than you should, enjoying the moment too much for someone who’s about to go back to being just his friend.
Geto breaks the silence first, speaking into the top of your head, “Is your curiosity satisfied or are you going to start kicking me again?”
“I can’t promise I’ll never kick you again but yeah… I’m satisfied.”
He laughs against you, “Alright, well, if you’re ever curious again… you know where to find me.”
It’s been about a week since you crossed a line you probably shouldn’t have in your friendship with Suguru, and like the incredibly brave individual you are… you have been ignoring him.
Not on purpose though, you intend on replying to all his messages… but then you get nervous and freak yourself out and stop short of sending anything back. From his messages, you can tell he’s getting increasingly more worried… or maybe frustrated… you’re not sure, there is only so much you can infer over text.
Maybe you should reply, looking at his last message that reads, ‘seriously? answer me. today.’ Oh yeah… he’s annoyed, you have no idea how to reply to him, maybe something simple? Or maybe a long paragraph overexplaining yourself… or maybe—
Your phone screen changes to Shoko’s caller ID, saved by the metaphorical bell. “Hey! What’s up?”
She sounds a bit short when she answers you, “Are you coming tonight?”
“Tonight…” You trail off, completely blanking on what the hell she’s talking about.
Her reply coming incredibly deadpan and disappointed, “You forgot.”
“No noo, I would never forget about…” The rest of your sentence dropping off, silence falling over the line.
She fills in the gaps for you, “The stupid party that’s being thrown by our stupid friends to celebrate the stupid event that is a boring, normal, Friday night.”
She already sounds over it and you’re pretty sure she would’ve only just got there. “Okay, well… I now feel significantly better about the fact that I actually had forgotten what tonight was.”
“Yeah, well I wish I had forgotten too because this is boring without you.”
“Didn’t you only just get there?”
“I feel like that’s beside the point.” You can feel her eyeroll through the phone. “So, when are you getting here?”
Sighing as you ask, “Do I really have to come?”
Not missing a single beat when she shoots back, “I’m here which means yes, you do.”
You go quiet for a moment, “…Will Suguru be there?”
“You’re more likely to know than me,” she sounds confused, “Listen, I don’t know what happened but surely you don’t think you can avoid him forever.”
“Not forever… just tonight.” You really don’t feel like running into him in person, not when you can barely get your head on straight long enough to message him back.
“I haven’t seen him, and he didn’t sound all that interested when this was first planned so I doubt he will show up.”
“You’re not just lying to get me there, are you?”
“Of course not.” It’s always been hard to tell when she’s joking but you’re pretty sure Suguru isn’t there. If you had been replying to him, you probably would’ve ended up hanging out together tonight just to avoid that pointless party.
Deciding to take the risk, you acquiesce. “Alright, I’ll be there soon, just give me a bit to put on something that isn’t pyjamas.”
Getting out of the apartment will be good for you, that and you’ll have the chance to catch up with Shoko, it’s been a while since you last hung out.
“Just come in your pyjamas.”
“Okay, now you’re being unreasonable,” you chuckle.
She groans through the phone, “Gojo and I just made eye contact, that’s like asking to be trapped in a conversation for at least an hour.”
You smile at her and her exaggeration. “That’s really funny, tell him I said hi.”
“Don’t hang up on me—”
The line goes dead as you hang up on her.
Nearly an hour has passed by the time you get to the party, but when you make eye contact with Shoko across the room – still stuck in conversation with Gojo – it looks like a century has passed for her.
Walking up to them both, you grab Gojo by the sides of his arms and shake him, making a loud noise to scare him as you do. He just about dies then and there, head whipping around to see it’s just you and gripping a hand over his chest.
He’s a little breathless when he scolds you, “You scared the fuck outta me, what the hell?”
“I thought it would be funny.” You smile bright at him, out the corner of your eye seeing Shoko fighting a smile and hiding it behind her drink.
“It wasn’t,” he half pouts.
“It kinda was,” Shoko interjects.
He just continues to pout over how badly you got him.
“Hi Satoru,” you chirp at him, trying to be as sweet as possible for scaring the living daylights out of him.
“Yes, hello,” he fights a smile when greeting you back, and then his face twists as if suddenly remembering something. “Hey! What happened with you and Suguru?”
Taken aback by his abruptness. “What?”
He’s staring at you intently, seemingly desperate to know your business. “I know something happened, you gotta tell me what.”
Honestly, you would’ve thought Geto would’ve told him by now, seeing as how they’re sort of attached at the hip. “He hasn’t told you?”
“He’s insistent that nothing is wrong.”
“Then nothing’s wrong.”
“I know something is wrong and I also know you’re dodging him because he made me text you to see if you’d reply and you replied within the same minute,” he squints at you accusatorily.
Arms crossing over your chest as you size him up. “You sent me a photo of the cat that hangs out in your neighbourhood as bait? That’s messed up Satoru.”
“I was investigating,” he defends.
“No, you were being nosy, just like you are now.” Something occurs to you very suddenly, “Wait, if you’re here… and I’m here… where is Suguru?”
“Here, obviously,” he shrugs.
Turning, you glare at Shoko who raises her hands in defence. “Don’t look at me like that, I didn’t lie, I really haven’t seen him. I’ve been trapped in conversation with this idiot the whole time.”
“Trapped? That’s so mean Shoko,” Gojo plays up his hurt, sulking and giving her the saddest eyes he can muster. It unsurprisingly has no effect on her.
He’s here somewhere, you need to leave before he sees you. You’re so annoyed at yourself for not connecting that Satoru being here obviously meant Suguru was going to be here too, especially since he wasn’t with you.
Spinning, you go for the front door you came through not that long ago. Managing to get it open a crack before a hand above your head closes it. Turning around, you come face to face with Suguru, a very annoyed Suguru. Polite smile painted on his face but his eyebrow twitches slightly.
His weight is supported by his hand on the door as he leans down to you. “And where are you going?”
“I was just gonna… head home… get an early night?” Looking away from him as you lie poorly, not able to look at him without thinking about how he kissed you.
He points out, “You just got here though.”
“Yeah, it’s just… not my scene…” In your defence, not a complete lie.
“Really? Because it feels like you’re avoiding me.” He leans down further to catch your eyes with his, sick of you avoiding eye contact.
You’re only able to look at him incrementally, eyes flicking from his, to the wall behind him. “No there’s no reason for me to be avoiding you, I don’t know why you would think that.”
“Oh good! That means you can stay then.” Face scrunching with his—now—less than polite smile. Clearly growing frustrated with how you’re refusing to communicate with him properly.
You have no excuses to give, nothing good or even remotely believable anyways. “I uhh—”
Cutting you off to give an ultimatum, “—Either we’re leaving and talking like adults or you’re staying right here and suffering through this whole night with me right by your side.”
His choice in wording disgruntles you, locking eyes to say, “It doesn’t cause me suffering to be beside you, Suguru.” You want to make at least that much clear.
He gives you a tight-lipped smile. “Good. Then you won’t mind me not leaving your side.”
Weighing your options, you don’t know what would be better right now. On the one hand you’d get to leave but then you’d have to tell him about how much you’re affected by the line you crossed, about how you’re developing feelings for him that you shouldn’t have indulged in. On the other, you stay but he lingers around you all night and you’re left haunted by all the things you want to say but can’t quite bring yourself to.
“Let’s go back to everyone then,” you smile back at him.
His face drops. “You don’t wanna talk about it that bad?”
“Suguru, you’re looking for answers I don’t even know if I can give you.”
He relents and takes a step back from you, “Fine. But just so you know, you can’t get rid of me that easily.” Waiting for you to want to talk first seems to be his main goal but you can see just how impatient he’s getting.
You ignore his comment and walk past him back to Gojo and Shoko in the other room, they’re both exactly where you left them. It’s awkward, for you anyways. You don’t know about them or everyone else here, but you feel awkward.
It carries on for the whole night; it’s been a couple hours now and Suguru is still just following you around wordlessly. Only speaking to others when spoken too, engaging in some conversation, only to cut it short when you move on.
This really isn’t fun for you, normally not even bothering to come to house parties like this and only doing this as a favour to Shoko but she’s gone home now, and you’re left here with just Geto. You’d leave too, but you have a feeling he’s going to follow you home, or at the very least make you talk to him before you try leaving and you’re just… so not in the mood.
Sighing softly to yourself as you walk into the kitchen, somehow managing to shake your tail, for now. Taking the small reprieve as a chance to breathe and think, which is cut short when some stranger starts a conversation with you.
“Hi! You’re really hot, do you want a drink? I can make you a drink. I’ve never seen you here before and trust me– I’d remember you.” He’s slurring his words slightly, “So, drink? You wan– I can get you a—”
He’s really forward, and drunk, it’s making you uncomfortable, especially since you’re far too sober and far too annoyed to have to deal with drunk men. “—I’m good, thank you, I’m not drinking.”
“Oh, come on! Jus one drink, it’ll loosen you up.” He moves in to elbow your shoulder lightly. “You’re too hot to be– to be such a downer, maybe a smile would help.”
Completely unamused and slowly shuffling back away from him. “I think I’d prefer you just leave me alone; I’m not interested.”
“Don– don’t be like that,” he sulks at you.
Your back collides with someone’s front and looking up you can see it’s your missing stalker of the night. As annoyed at Suguru as you are, you are endlessly thankful for his timing, physically feeling yourself relax now that he’s here.
Geto glares down at the pushy guy. “She’s not interested.”
“Oh man, I didn’t know she had– had a boyfriend, you know you should keep an eye on her,” the drunk idiot leers at you, “She’s kind of a tease, leading me on,” he shrugs.
Your face grimaces at his words and the way he eyes you, feeling incredibly uncomfortable. Suguru moves in front of you, shielding you from him, his lip twitches at this guy’s words. “Excuse me?”
“No, well… I jus mean she didn’t tell me—”
“—She said she wasn’t interested, that was enough,” Geto’s tone is growing more irritated by the moment.
“Suguru, let’s just go, it’s fine.” You tug on the hem of his jacket, not really wanting to have to deal with the fallout of whatever may happen if this idiot keeps unwittingly provoking Geto. He tries his best, but he has a breaking point, and he tends to hit it pretty quick when you’re involved.
He glances back at you. “It’s not fine.”
“Okay, it’s not but I kinda can’t stand this guy, and this party sucks and I’m annoyed, and I don’t wanna be here anymore.” You feel a little pathetic for whinging but you’re so drained and this guy was your breaking point.
All his attention drops from that guy to you, his hands coming up to either side of your face, taking in how tired you look. Thumbs stroking high on your cheekbones, “Alright, let’s leave.”
Relief in your bones at the fact you’re about to be gone from here, “Thank you.”
From behind Suguru you can see the drunk take the opportunity to slip away, apparently smart enough to use this distraction to his advantage. If Geto notices, he doesn’t say anything, clearly done with him, all attention on you now.
He hums at you, asking, “How’d you get here?”
Your eyes flick back to his. “I didn’t drive, if that’s what you’re asking.” You took an uber, you thought you’d either catch a ride with Shoko, or you’d take another uber home.
“You’re riding with me then.” His large hand takes yours. “Come on.” Then tugging you through the house behind him.
The car ride has been quiet, you can feel your head drooping and your eyes closing, very nearly falling asleep. That is until, you notice Geto isn’t taking you to your house, instead heading towards his.
Turning to face him, you ask, “Why are we going back to yours?”
Without turning to look at you, he replies, “Because you’ve been avoiding me, so I am now forcing you to spend time with me.”
He’s decidedly not funny. Sighing as you try to chide him, “Suguru—”
Finally glancing your way only to speak over you, “—Don’t ‘Suguru’ me, my place is closer and you’re tired, if you weren’t being so weird around me ever since I k—”
“—Shhh, be quiet.” Your cheeks suddenly feel warm at the memory of how insistent his kisses were.
“All I’m saying is, if you weren’t being so weird around me, you’d come back to mine tonight anyways.”
It’s frustrating to you that he’s right, you normally would just go back to his and crash in his bed next to him and then you’d make him breakfast the next morning to make up for the fact that you’d taken up his whole bed.
The only thing you can think to say is a flat, “…Fine.” Crossing your arms and looking out the car window the rest of the short drive.
Back at his apartment, he lends you some clothes to sleep in. It’s all incredibly intimate, showering in his bathroom, using the spare toothbrush you keep here, wearing his clothes. Has your friendship always been this intimate or are you just looking at it in a new light.
Leaving his bathroom, you find him in his room. Getting his bed ready for you to sleep in, you stand awkwardly at the foot of it. “I’ll just sleep on your couch.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, you always sleep in the bed with me.”
“Yeah but…” Your brows settle into a deep frown. “Do you not feel weird?”
He drops the blanket back onto the bed, exasperation with you clear. “I said to you, I wouldn’t let it affect our friendship, and that’s what I’m doing.” Turning to look at you before adding, “You’re the one making it weird.”
“I know that…” You also know that you were the one who said you weren’t worried about him.
His arms are crossed as he looks you over. “I’m gonna shower now, you don’t have to sleep in the bed, but I think you should, you know firsthand how awful that couch is.”
“Go have your shower.” You shoo him out of the room, standing in the middle of it, alone, considering what you should do.
The couch really is atrocious; it’s part of the reason why you started sleeping in his bed when you visited. He always says he’ll get a nicer couch or a blow-up mattress for you, but he never does, and you always end up in his bed anyways.
Deciding you’re too drained to think any harder about all of this, you crawl into his bed and make yourself comfortable. Everything is so frustrating to you right now, have you always felt this confused about your friendship or were the lines blurred for so long that you’re having trouble understanding where you both stand.
The irony of the situation is annoying and almost laughable because if it were about anyone else, you’d be hitting up Suguru and asking for his advice on it all.
When he comes back into the room, he shuffles around a bit before turning off the lights and getting into bed beside you. You’re lying on your side with your back to him, pretending to already be asleep.
His voice cuts through the quiet of the room, “I miss you.”
Your reaction to it is almost visceral, how are you meant to reply to that. It doesn’t help you feel better at all, only leaving you longing for something you don’t know if you’re allowed to claim. Your friendship has always been on a precarious ledge but it’s only now that you let yourself acknowledge the disgusting depth of your feelings for him.
You mumble into the pillow, “I’m right here.”
“Then why do you feel so far away?”
Readjusting, you rotate so you’re facing him, not completely prepared for him to already be facing you. Propped up on his elbow, closer than your poor heart was ready for. You lower your head, so you don’t have to look at his face. “I wasn’t purposefully ignoring you, I really did want to reply.”
He pushes, “So why didn’t you?”
“I didn’t know what to say…”
“What can I do to help?” He lowers himself down to your level, head on his bicep.
You still avoid his gaze. “Nothing, you can’t do anything.”
“You’re being—”
“—You are the problem, Suguru, there is nothing you can do to help but get out of my head.” You meet his eyes, frown prominent on your face. “You and your stupid kiss, you made it all a thousand times worse for me.”
“Making out with me was so life changing that you can’t get it out of your head, and you’re annoyed at me for that? You’re the one who wanted to know what it was like.” He’s trying to keep his tone light-hearted but he’s struggling, seemingly growing more irritated by it all.
You grumble at him, discontent, “You don’t need to point out the obvious, stupid.”
A noise of disagreement comes from him, “Well, I feel like I kinda do, since you’re overreacting.”
“I am not overreacting.”
“You are though.”
“No because it’s not just…” you stop short, “…Whatever, I’m going to sleep so be quiet.” He smiles at you like you’re completely endearing, which only frustrates you further.
“The only reason you would be this annoyed is because you want to kiss me again, or more…” His hand reaches for your chin and tilts your head up towards him. “You tell me, are you still curious?”
“Shut up,” you huff out, going to move away only for his hand to slide to your cheek, holding you still.
“You haven’t asked me, you know.”
“What?”
“What if I want to kiss you again? What if I want to do more?” His forehead rests against yours. “You’ve been so caught up in your own head, acting like an idiot over this, that you’ve not even asked yourself about what I want.”
“I am not an idiot.”
“No, but you’ve certainly been acting like one.” His hand slides from your face, down the side of your body, landing on your hip. “At first I thought it was cute, the curiosity, the unawareness.” His hand tugs you in closer to him, body against yours. “But now… now I’m growing impatient.”
Your head feels fuzzy, all pressed up against him and that seems to be the only thing your brain is processing right now. “I’m confused.”
“It’s really quite simple.” He moves in, lips ghosting against yours.
You want so badly to kiss him, breath catching in your chest at the way his lips tickle against yours. Your attention solely on the way he might kiss you.
“You like me, and while it’s endearing to watch you fumble your way through the realisation, it’s killing me to know you’re all caught up on how I kissed you and I can’t even get in contact with you.”
“What? What?” Your brain takes a second to catch up. “I do not– you can’t know– just– what?”
“I can know, you know how? Because you’re painfully obvious about it. So honest, telling me about how you’re thinking of me, not able to look at me without looking at my lips,” a light laugh leaves him at your expression, “and it’s sweet, really. But I’m getting annoyed by the fact that you’re so obsessed with your own feelings that you’ve failed to consider mine.”
He’s giving you so much whiplash right now. “You—”
“—You think I kissed you like that just ‘cause?” He frowns at you, “I kissed you like that because I wanted to, I feel I was a little obvious about it all actually.”
“I’ve been so worried about ruining our friendship.” You feel so pitiful when you say it, like a wet puppy.
“I know.” He presses a kiss to your forehead. “But I’ve hoped for nothing more.” He sighs, “I wanted you to come to me on your own, to talk to me about it but instead you hid from me.”
“What was I supposed to think? Through my eyes, I was stupid and asked you to kiss me just because I was thinking about it. Only to not stop thinking about it, and then realise I like you, my friend.” You pull back from him slightly. “How was I meant to talk to you about it?”
“You think I’d kiss just any friend because they simply wondered about what it would be like?” His brow lifts at you. “Don’t you think our friendship has always been a little too intimate to just be a friendship?”
“Nothing was ever said… how was I supposed to know?”
“Okay, well, let me be perfectly clear.” He tugs you in close again, eyes meeting yours, like he’s going to say something incredibly important, only to plant his lips on yours in a full kiss.
Hand holding you to him tight, like he needs you to stay pressed up against him. His mouth on yours is hot and consuming, kiss messy, tongue licking at yours. An involuntary moan gets caught in your chest and your hand moves to his hair, tangling in it.
Suguru’s parting from you to pant out, “I like you—” kissing you again, “I like kissing you—” lips desperate against yours, “I want to do so much more—” He never parts from you long at all, barley willing to but needing to get his words out.
This is a feeling that you’re never going to be able to forget, the first time he kissed you overwhelming enough and now it’s like he’s completely following his instinct. No critical thinking happening in his head or yours. All your thoughts wash away from you, slipping through your fingers before it even occurs to you to form a thought.
Less scared now, throwing caution to the wind, not worrying about how you should stop, how you can’t ruin the fragility of your friendship. It doesn’t matter anymore, not when he already knows how you feel, not when he seems to feel the same, not when it feels this good.
He mumbles against you, “That clear enough?”
“No,” you huff back, “I think… I’m still a little confused.”
“Well, in that case,” he smirks before kissing you again.
Hand moving to your thigh, sliding it across your skin before grabbing at your knee and crooking your leg to rest on his hip. Leaning into you slightly, using his weight to push back on you, rolling the pair of you until he’s on top. Forearm holding himself over you, his other hand still on your knee, holding you flush to him.
You gasp up at him when his erection ruts into your core, lips parting messily, spit connecting the two of you. A shudder runs down his spine when he looks down at you, at how you’re looking up at him. All big, wet eyes and kiss swollen lips, it’s like he feels all his insides softening for you in that moment, in the most sickeningly affectionate way.
His eyes suddenly look lost, and you don’t know why, going to say something only for his lips to land on yours again. Short, firm kisses planted on your lips over and over again, barely able to return them before he’s pulling back, just to do it again.
It’s sweet but it’s frustrating you, your hands are eventually grabbing at either side of his face and forcing his mouth onto yours, lips meshing together, kissing him fully. Tongue in his mouth, your arms wrapping around his neck, fingers playing with his hair. He moans at how you’re kissing him, at how both your legs are now wrapped around his waist.
Practically clinging to him, lips locked to his, your need making your body hot and head fuzzy. You’re trying so hard to not come across desperate for him, but you really can’t help the way your hips seek out his, grinding up into him.
His voice shakes with a moan, breaking the kiss, “Ohh fuck– hah—” a breathless kind of laugh leaving him, "A little eager, aren’t you?"
"Should we stop then?” You ask with a smile, hands untangling and pushing at his shoulders.
He rushes out, “No no, I didn’t say that.” He pulls your arms, so they’re wrapped around his neck again. “Come back,” a light laugh leaves him, pressing kisses all over your face, lingering on your lips.
“So… you don’t want to stop?”
“Absolutely not, be as needy as you want.” He looks down between where his hips are resting against yours, his cock twitching in his pants. “Hell… be needier.”
“I don’t know… maybe this is all happening too fast,” you say it light heartedly, teasing him, “I mean… we are just friends.”
“Just friends?” He takes personal issue with that, even if he can tell you’re goading him. “Just friends but you’re grinding your pussy all over me?” His hand slips into the front of your borrowed sleep shorts, two fingers rubbing between your folds over your panties.
“Letting your friend touch you like this, hmm?” He pulls your panties to the side, “Fuck– this wet for your friend?”
Your back arches against the bed when his fingers slip over your clit, struggling to get your words out. “I– mmph– I get it, m’sorry.”
“Sorry for what?” He smiles sweetly at you but two of his fingers are slipping inside you, quirking up and rubbing at just the right spot.
God, your eyes roll into the back of your head, cunt pulsing around his fingers so needily. Hands grabbing at him, tangling in his long hair, gasping for air you don’t really need but feeling like you can’t breathe from how he’s touching you.
“What are you sorry for, pretty?” He wants you back on track, he wants to hear you stumble out your apology to him.
“I-I’m sorry– hnnn – f-for…” your mouth drops open in a moan when his thumb rubs at your clit, “You’re not jus– you’re not just my friend– oh! You’re more– you mean more– Ah! Ah!” You can’t think, not when he slides another finger into your pussy, stretching you so open.
He tips forward, fingers not stopping. “You mean it?”
It’s a question made to tease you but with your gooey brain, you look up at him so earnestly and answer, “Mhm, yeah.” Nodding your head firmly at him, even when your eyes look so fucked out.
Soft squelching noises fill the room with how his fingers fuck into you, your cunt clamping tight down around them. Walls so hot and wet that it’s driving him crazy, imagining how it would feel to have you wrapped so snug around his neglected cock.
He wants so badly to rip off your pants, so he can see just how well you’re taking his fingers but you’re pulsing so rhythmically around him, and your eyes roll with how good you feel. Making the nicest expressions for him that he can’t even tear his eyes away from your face if he wanted to.
“You’re really cute right now.” He presses a kiss to your cheek, his heart stammering at how your glistening eyes sparkle at him, at how your bottom lip wobbles.
Pouting up at him, “You don’t– ah!– think I’m cute all the time?”
“I think you’re downright adorable all the time,” he laughs airily, “but especially right now,” he’s gazing so intently at your face, “because, I’m pretty sure…” his thumb speeds up on your clit, “…you’re about to cum all over my fingers.”
Oh, how his words effect you so deeply, his tone, the cockiness. If he weren’t touching you so right you wouldn’t find it as arousing as you do but you feel like you could cry from just how overwhelming it all is.
Shaking your head at him as if to say ‘no, you’re not about to cum.’
“No?” He pouts at you mockingly. “You sure?”
Denying it really doesn’t get you anywhere, especially since he can feel how you tighten around his fingers, how your gooey cunt pulses for him. Your back arching meanly, legs wanting so badly to kick against the air. Hand tugging at his hair as you gasp, broken moans leaving you.
“I mustn’t be doing this right then,” he hums at you in thought, slowing his movements slightly. “Should I stop then? Change up what I’m doing?”
The thought of him stopping now, or changing what he’s doing kills you, almost literally. Your eyes widen and you shake your head vehemently at him. “Don’t stop– hnn– don’t– please,” begging him with your eyes.
“Only ‘cause you begged so nicely,” his tone so sweet on you.
He doesn’t change anything, keeps fucking you with his fingers in the way that’s driving you crazy. His mouth waters at how your pussy gushes for him, dick leaking into his pants. Losing his fucking mind at how he’s able to finally touch you like this, how you’re letting him touch you like this, even begging for it.
Your muscles are pulling taut, hearing and sight going fuzzy. “I– ohh– Sugu I can’t– I’m gonna–”
“You can,” dragging it out in a singsong. “Doing so well for me, pretty.”
Biting on your lip to hold back all the moans tumbling from them, hands pulling at him as you struggle to breathe through it. Chest stuttering as your cunt clamps down around his fingers. Grasping at him and pulling him closer to you, planting your lips on his. Desperately kissing him as you cum all over his fingers. Your tongue licking into his mouth, his own moans spilling into the kiss.
Panting against your open mouth to say, “You just came all over your friends’ fingers.” His smile taunting and bright.
Your head lolls to the side. “So you really do just like teasing me, huh?”
“Pretty sure I said I couldn’t help it.” His fingers slip from your core, sucking them into his mouth, licking them clean in a display so obscene that your skin heats up.
If he were a lesser man, he’d cum from licking himself clean. Groaning around his fingers, mostly for himself but also somewhat to embarrass you. Loving how you squirm, and your face pulls up in embarrassment. All dazed and stupid looking from your orgasm, it makes his heart skip and his dick jerk.
You shock him when you tug your shirt up and over your head, moving to pull at his but he’s too distracted by your tits to make any move other than to lean down and press wet kisses all over your chest.
“Suguru– hah– your shirt.” Your fingers still pull at the fabric.
“You can’t—” He sucks and licks at your nipple, relishing in the reactions and sounds he’s pulling from you. “—You can’t show me your tits and expect me to not touch them.”
When he looks up at you, his eyes are lazy and dazed, his tongue drooling all over your boobs. Moving to plant even more firm and wet smooches all over your unbelievably soft skin, sucking to leave behind his mark. Wanting to leave behind marks that he will see when he wakes up tomorrow, marks that he will leave marks over so that they never go away, so he will always have evidence of how he touched you. Of how you let him touch you.
Groping at all your exposed skin, pulling at you, fingers tugging at your nipple, while he salivates all over the other one. Your legs tug his hips down into yours, rubbing your clothed cunt all over him, wanting him to fuck you so badly. He’s working you up so unfairly, already making you cum and then playing with your tits in a way that has you itching to be full of his dick.
“Suguru.” He ruts his hips back down into you but doesn’t remove his mouth from you, so you pull at his hair harshly. “Please.”
He moans at how you pull at him, eyes lidded. “So demanding.”
“You’re taking too long.”
He tuts at you, nipping lightly at the skin between your tits, “You’re just impatient.”
“Yeah, I am.” untangling your legs from him, you shuffle your shorts and panties down and off your body. “Are you going to help?”
“How can I refuse when you ask like that?” The desire to lick at your pussy, make out with your cunt, is huge but with how you look at him, so needy and impatient, he needs to stuff his dick inside you. Now.
When you go to tug at his shirt, he lets you, letting you pull it off him completely. Goose bumps breaking out across his skin with how you rake your nails delicately over him. The affection he holds for you feels like it grows tenfold at how you look at him, how tenderly you touch him.
“You’re so pretty,” you’re mumbling it out at him before you’re really registering that you’ve thought it, let alone spoke it.
His head drops into the crook of your neck. “So sweet on me, got me forgetting why I waited so long to say anything.”
You grin at him. “Because you’re stupid.”
“Oh, that’s right,” he sneers back at you before shuffling back to pull his pants off. Finding immense joy in how your smug little smile drops from your face when his cock is free, tip flushed a pretty pink and leaking profusely, precum dribbling down the sides of his dick.
Moving to get up before even really thinking about it, wanting to touch him. Only to fall into the pillows when his large hand pushes you back by your sternum. Looking to him just as he leans in, lips brushing yours so softly you’d think you’d imagined it if he didn’t immediately follow it up with a firm kiss.
“I want to touch you.” Hands already finding their way back to his shoulders, his long hair tickling against skin.
His head is dipping low to watch how he moves his hands down your body. Brushing against your inner thighs, opening your legs for him more. “Well, I want to fuck you.” He’s not capable of taking his eyes off your syrupy cunt, so wet for him.
Goading him with your words, “What are you waiting for? A formal invitation?”
“Sharp tongue for someone so sensitive,” he muses, fingers slipping through your folds, gently over your clit to make you jolt, as if to prove his point.
Not giving you a chance to say another snarky comment, his fingers dipping into your hole again. His fingers stretch you open obscenely, pulling back covered in cum from your previous orgasm and fresh slick. It’s almost embarrassing how soaked you are, at least it would be if he didn’t seem almost overjoyed at the sight.
His hand covered in your mess moves to his dick, stroking himself, lubing himself so you can take him easier. You want to rub your thighs together, to squirm at how he languidly pumps at his cock, how his brows upturn and his mouth gapes slightly.
His palm so warm against your inner thigh, holding you still. Moving so he can tap his dick against your clit, smiling at how your body jerks.
“Don’t be a tease.” Your hand moves for his, but he grabs at you before you reach him, looping his fingers with yours.
His tone is cheerful and bright, “But you look so cute when you’re frustrated.”
“I’ll leave,” you threaten, not even a little convincingly, way too horny to be taken seriously.
“Really?” He raises a brow at you, intrigued. “I don’t think you’d get very far…” Mocking pout settling on his features.
Nothing if not stubborn and true to your word, you push him back and roll to get out of the bed defiantly. Barely making it to the edge of the mattress when his hands are on your sides and manhandling you back into your previous position. Spreading your legs wide and rubbing the tip of his cock through your folds, just dipping into your hole before repeating the previous movements.
Biting his lower lip as he watches, his precum smearing all over your messy cunt. “Told you, you wouldn’t get very far.”
Your head rolls at how he dips his dick in more, beginning to stretch you open. His hips are stuttering forwards, hand slapping down onto the mattress beside you to stop himself from pushing you too far.
“Oh– oh– fuck! How– h-how are you this tight, oh,” breathless not even beginning to describe how fucked out he already sounds.
“Mm– more, Sugu, please– I–”
At your insistence, he fucks himself all the way in, holding his pelvis to you as he fills you to the hilt. Your pussy spasming and creaming around him, so worked up that he can feel just how aroused you are in the way you twitch, at how your fingers grab at his skin, how your breaths are uneven and broken.
He can’t help but marvel at how you let out little squealed moans, how your cunt stretches to take all of him. On cloud nine at how you’re so horny over how heavy he’s sitting inside you that you’re close to tears.
The moan he lets out is debauched, unbelievably turned on when your hips struggle to grind down into him needily, working yourself up to an orgasm so fucking fast that he can’t do anything but watch in awe.
You can’t stop yourself; you know you should, should slow down and maybe calm down but it feels so good. He’s so big inside you, his cock pulsing in a way that has you memorising the thumping rhythm. Not usually so eager, never this eager, enthusiastically rutting down into him over and over again before suddenly cumming all over him.
Choked and gasped moans pulled from you as your hands reach for him, hoping for him to let you tug him down into you but he’s too busy watching how you throb and cum all over him. Obsessed with how your cute, little cunt struggles with his size as you coat him in all your creamy cum.
“Holy fuck,” he laughs, “That was—”
Head dizzy and eyes lazy as you whinge at him, “—Don’t– don’t say anything.”
“You came as soon as I got inside you and you expect me to make no comment?”
“It’s embarrassing.”
“I think it was adorable,” he hums, voice strained, much more effected by it than he’s willing to let on.
You whine when he moves down onto you, cock somehow reaching deeper. Geto’s arms cage you in either side your head, resting on his forearms, his lips against yours in a breathless kiss. Beginning with shallow thrusts, his lips insistent on yours, fucking you so carefully for now.
Quickly, the need to have him fucking you stupid grows within you again and your legs loop around him properly, pulling him into you. Wrapping yourself around him, mouth panting against his.
“Fuck– hah– you’re so wet.” He’s fucking into you faster, hips becoming desperate. “It’s actually– it’s– hnn– it’s crazy how good you feel.” He moves his head to the crook of your neck, growling beside your ear, “such a soaked little cunt, taking it so– ohh– taking it so good.”
“Ah! Ah! Sugu, it’s– ohh– it’s– more– I need more.” Your fingers dig into his back, depraved, wet sloshing sounds of him fucking into you so well fill the room.
He nips at your neck. “Demanding little thing, aren’t you?”
He’s pulling out of you and the moan you let out is small and pathetic, disgruntled by his abrupt movement. The last thing you see is his smug grin before he’s flipping you over onto your stomach, hands pulling your hips up and pushing on your upper back, manoeuvring your body into an obscene arch.
He’s takings his sweet time to slip back inside, eyeing up your pussy and how your hole trembles and drools for him. Your hips wriggle back at him, and he finds himself incredibly amused at how blatantly needy you are, apparently honest with him in more ways than one.
Just as you were about to turn around and complain at how long he’s taking to re-enter you, he’s shoving his cock back in all at once, jolting your body up the bed and forcing a whine out of your lungs.
“Ohh– Sugu– I…” you trail off as his hips pick up, eyes rolling to the back of your head.
Sliding your legs further apart to take more of him inside, arching yourself even more, greedy cunt sucking him deep inside. He’s barely able to withdraw before you’re fucking your hips back into him, desperately driving back. So fucking needy that if you had half your mind, you’d be embarrassed but right now all you can think about is how his dick thumps against your walls, how his hands grip onto you tight. He’s probably leaving behind marks to match the ones he left all over your tits.
Mouth gaping open, spit pooling onto the pillow below, drooling over his cock. God, you could cry from just how fucking good it feels. Pussy spasming wildly on him, the more you think about the fact that he’s fucking you, the more worked up you get. Insides flipping at how he seems to touch the most perfect spots inside you, full of butterflies and him.
His mouth by your ear shocks you, his voice chirpy, “What are you– hah– thinking about, pretty?”
“Hah– about how goo– good it feels, feels– ohh– feels so good, Sugu,” your words are slurred, mind reeling at how he doesn’t even seem to slow his pace.
“Flatterer,” he barks out a laugh, “You’re quite the little charmer,” he mockingly compliments. Tongue licking meanly at the salty tears you hadn’t realised you’d shed.
“Shh– shut up– ah!” gasping when he gives a particularly mean thrust into you.
He can’t help but smile at the fucked out look you’re wearing, eyes rolled back, hazy and not comprehending anything other than his dick rubbing up against your walls so perfectly. Your face turns into the pillow and you bite at it, muscles pulling tight as another orgasm crawls up your spine.
It shocks you, how quickly you cum. With Suguru’s harsh thrusts, your ass is burning with the smack of his pelvis against you. The sting biting at your flesh making you feel like you’re on fire, cunt tight around him and orgasm overcoming you so fast that you don’t have time to prepare for it.
And maybe if he hadn’t been caught up in how deliciously you squeeze around him, he’d have time to realise you were coming again and he could stop himself but when you shock the both of you with your sudden orgasm he whines into your back and cums deep inside you. Shivers running down his spine at how it feels, dumping so much deep inside you that the force of his continued thrusts has some of it leaking from you back onto him and down onto the bed, making the obscenest mess he’s ever seen.
Immediately he’s pulling himself back up to see how he’s coated your walls white, his dick covered in your shared cum. Creamy and lewd and he’s not even going soft because how could he when you’re still wrapped so warmly around him. When you’re so fucking gooey and snug. He might die before he’s done fucking you yet and he can’t even find it in himself to care even a little bit.
You’re not capable of forming words together enough to think of making a sentence, only thing coming from you being your garbled, choked moans and the sounds of your plush cunt struggling to take him and all his cum. Pussy bulging with the weight of his cock and the mass amounts of seed he’s just pumped you full of.
His own eyes are lidded and low, pussy drunk and loving every second of it. “So turned on you couldn’t even warn me before you came,” he bites out.
His hand rounds your body and his fingers land on your clit, the overstimulation too much, one of your own hands moving down to try and pry it away. Managing to squeak out, “Too much– ah! Too much, Sugu.”
Tone light when his harsh words are mumbled back at you, “If it’s too much, then why– hnn– why are you fucking back onto me like such a slut?”
He’s so mean, so mean to you while he fucks you so… meanly. Head whirling over how he speaks to you, not even able to think long before he slaps your clit harshly. It’s got your knees buckling, falling into the mattress under him. His dick slips from you as you collapse into the mattress.
Geto doesn’t pick you back up straight away, oh no, because you’re leaking all of his cum out of your little hole onto the bed and he can’t take his eyes off of how much of it he managed to get inside you. It’s you who picks your hips up lazily, presenting yourself for him.
He chuckles at your loyalty to his cock, but he also can’t help the way the sight makes him twitch. Shoving his dick into you again, feral in his pursuit to fuck you, to fuck you full of more of his cum.
“S-so devoted– hnnn– doing such– hah– a good job for me, pretty,” he slurs.
You feel like you might pass out, so lightheaded but meeting each and every one of his thrusts all the same. An arm wrapping around your front pulls your back to his chest. Both of his hands land on your tits, fingers pinching and rolling your nipples, making your pussy shudder around him.
You want to fuck your hips back recklessly but not able to with this angle, only able to arch further and give shallow grinds while he fucks his hips into you. He plants kisses and bites along your neck, nipping your skin hard enough that you twitch and whine each time he does it.
One hand leaves your tit and trails down your front, going for your cunt, spreading wide around where he’s stuffing you full continuously. Getting an absolute mess all over his hand and fingers, only to shove those fingers into your mouth, leaving you to lick him clean. Crammed full by his dick and fingers at once, convulsing around him at the thought of it, at the reality of it.
“You like being stuffed full, huh?” He muses to you, an evil kind of joy in his tone. You don’t get to choose your own response, he’s already using the fingers he has in your mouth to nod your head yes. “Ah, thought so.”
Pulling his fingers from your mouth slowly to watch how you suck on them as he does, before he’s wiping all your spit down your chest to your tummy. And then he has another hand on the back of your neck and is pushing you down into the pillows again, this time he keeps his hand there while he fucks into you diabolically.
Somehow faster than before, relentless, reaching his own end and wanting you to cum all over him at least once more. Head dipping back as he groans out, thrusts harsh and calculated. Hitting all the spots he’s just learnt about, having memorised just how to make you fucking squirm for him.
Which he succeeds in, if he didn’t have the hand on the back of your neck, you would’ve crawled up the bed to try and get away from his evil thrusts. Poor abused pussy creaming around him for the fourth time, orgasm blinding you, only seeing white spots behind your eyelids.
The sounds he lets out are wrecked and beautiful and have you wishing that you weren’t cumming so violently if only to see the way he’s spilling inside you for the second time tonight.
“That’s it– fuck– take it– taking it so fucking well– holy fuck—” Every word he utters is breathless and broken, essentially fucking himself stupid too.
Taking a moment for himself to catch his breath before he’s slipping from you and pulling your ass cheeks apart to watch how his cum dribbles from your overfilled cunt. You try to wiggle away but he holds you steady, eyes trained on your dipping hole. Overcome with the desire to fuck his tongue inside you but instead settling for shoving two fingers inside, plugging your hole to keep his cum in.
You whine at him, and he can only chuckle and find you incredibly cute in your post orgasm bliss. Barely able to keep your eyes open, let alone speak right now.
He does eventually pull his fingers from you, wiping the mess on your thighs before turning you onto your back. It feels like you’re looking up at an angel as he looks down at you, or maybe the devil. All flush and sweet smiles, too sweet for a man that just fucked you within an inch of your life.
“You can’t smile at me like that, not after you almost killed me,” you babble back at him.
He rolls his eyes at you, “There you go overreacting again.”
“You fuck so mean, Sugu,” you accuse… accurately.
A smile grows on his face again. “Feels real good though, doesn’t it?”
You weakly slap at him, he just grabs your hand and tugs your body into his kneeling form, hugging you to him. Pressing kisses all over your face. “Think you can stand long enough to shower?”
Shaking your head at him, “Not without fainting.”
“Alright, bath it is,” he concludes.
He takes such nice care of you afterwards, a complete contrast to how he fucked you. It’s lovely though, the hands that grabbed and pulled at you now delicate as they trace over your skin, washing you clean.
You rest with your back to his front in the bath, head laying lazily on his chest. “So… for the sake of clarity, we’re not just friends?”
His lips tickle against the tip of your ear. “I can fuck you all over again if you need more proof?”
“I fear you might actually kill me.”
“Then I guess you’ll just have to take my word for it.” He leaves a single kiss against your cheek.
In the morning, for the first time ever, he makes you breakfast. To make up for all the marks he’s littered your body with. He also officially asks you on a date, which you pretend to think really hard about even though you’d already decided you were going to say yes.
In the end, being friends with Geto Suguru wasn’t hard… it’s just not what you both wanted.
𝒂.𝒏. THIS IS A REPOST .. a repost from my old account @/lovelivision, if you feel like you've read it before, maybe you have !
thank you for reading !!! i hope you guys liked it and i hope everyone is doing so good >:3
꒰꒰. all works are the intellectual property of aliienangel .. do not plagiarise/translate/reupload/feed to ai ♡. 。
I just know satoru takes naps all the time when you start dating. having someone he loves instantly makes him feel safer and more comfortable.
he likes tossing his shirt off and curling up on the couch. you normally have some sort of throw blanket over the back of it, so he just snatches it off and wraps himself up.
when you get home, he likes to pretend he’s still asleep, hoping you’ll give him another pillow or blanket. his favorite part is when you eventually start gently nudging him awake.
he loooves hearing your soft voice. you’ll act all soft and sweet and, gosh, it just reminds him of how much he loves you.
he’ll stretch his long limbs across the couch, blearily opening his eyes at you, pupils all dilated and lovesick. of course, you love seeing his sleepy expression. satoru looked so peaceful and innocent when he slept. who wouldn’t love him?
“hi baby…”
he murmurs, a small, lopsided smile finding his face, his eyes crinkling in the corners as he looks up at you.
“hey satoru.. how long you been napping?”
you start, gently picking up his head and sitting down on the couch, letting his head gently fall into your lap.
he happily claims his spot, seeming even more comfy now that you’re here and touching him (his two favorite things).
“mm.. an hour? maybe.”
he practically purrs when your hand starts carding through his hair, the other resting on his torso.
“you still tired?”
he shrugs, nuzzling into your thigh, his eye lashes fluttering in pure content.
“you can sleep a bit longer if you want. I’ll stay here with you.”
satoru feels his heart flutter, butterflies in his stomach at your words. he knew it wasn’t anything sexual, but he just adored you so much.
hearing you say you’ll stay with him, even though he already assumed you would, warned his heart. he loves you so much, truly.
it wasn’t even that big a deal. you were only offering him some more sleep, which he got plenty of at night with you.
buuuuttt if you insist. he’ll take your offer. why wouldn’t he want to lay in the lap of the love of his life. you were his soulmate, he’d honestly say yes to anything you asked.
so he lets his eyes close, hand coming up to curl around your knee, wanting to touch you even as he starts drifting again.
and he knew when he woke up, you two would eat dinner, hopefully take a shower together and then go to sleep for even longer, but together this time.
together was always better with you, and he would choose you every time.
-
short, but wtv
yo i just saw a sad gojo fic, HAD to write this up real fast. if you guys read it, here is your comfort✌🏼
“You speak as if you are easily replaced.” he says at last.
The words are not cruel.
But they are not kind either.
That was how he was.
You offer the faintest smile, though it does not quite reach your eyes. “Everything is, my lord. It is only a matter of time and circumstance.”
A quiet exhale leaves him, something almost like a scoff, though it lacks its usual bite. “You think too much, don’t you think?” he mutters.
“And you think too little of things that remain, my lord.” you answer before you can stop yourself.
GENRE: alternate universe - heian era;
WARNING/S: nsfw, r-18, romance, angst, hurt.comfort, emotional hurt, canon-typical violence, graphic depictions of violence, dubious morality, domestic life, court politics, harem, dynamics, intimacy, pilgrimage, blood, murder, existential, identity, motherhood, power imbalance, emotional manipulation, reputation, trauma, alcohol, drunkness, explicit sexual content, naked bodies, fingering, creampie, unprotected sex, double penetration, two cocks, p v sex, rough sex, wall sex, dominance, praising, dirty talk, size difference, blood as intimacy, toxic relationship but they work, concubine reader!, heian! sukuna;
WORDS: 19k words.
NOTE: took me a while to finish this all, but i had to finish this before i rushed off an do some other things irl. its always a challenge to write heian sukuna and concubine reader, because their relationship is so complex. still, im blessed to still be able to write things for their life. i hope you enjoy it!!! i love you so much!!! <3
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kayu's playlist — side 5000;
THEY HAD WOKEN YOU BEFORE DAWN. You sit up as you hear that a servant had come all this way to the Vermillion Hall for something important. You were agitated, having been unable to sleep well last night. Still, what could you do, when this was the life you had to live as the great lady of the King of Curses?
Grabbing your silk robes in haste, to look presentable enough, you asked your head servant to lead them in. It wasn’t long till the servants bearing the request arrived quietly, prostrating to you in haste as they spoke in hushed tones.
“Speak. What do you need from me at such an early hour?”
One of the servants, forehead still pressed flat against the polished wood, his voice carefully stripped of any tremor that may betray their nervous feeling, began to speak. “My lady… the Earthly Might Hall requests your presence. Lady Fubuki has gone into labor with her babe.”
For a moment, you say nothing. You had been seated by the open screens, the evening air brushing faintly against your skin, your thoughts elsewhere. So far removed from the suffocating routines of the inner palace, far from the endless cycle of women vying for attention that is so rarely given.
But such a duty is not something you are allowed to ignore, let alone to the other women in the household and your lord husband is not here, let alone does not wish to be disturbed by these trivial matters. He would not even send Uraume, you knew that too well.
You rise without haste, the layered silk of your robes settling around you like something alive, something obedient. Almost like the ocean in the moonlight. You do not ask questions. You know that you do not need to. You already understand why they called for you. It wasn’t long before you were asking them to stand up from their position to dismiss them.
“But my lady, lady Fubuki—”
You furrowed your brows. “I did not say I will not be there. I will be. Let me dress.”
The tension that had gripped the room only moments ago dissolves all at once, as though an invisible thread has finally been cut. Relief does not come quietly. It spills out of them. They were all muttering audible, overwhelming responses, almost desperate in its release.
Shoulders that had been held rigid for hours finally sag, breaths that had been shallow deepen, and one by one, the servants nearest to you drop to their knees. The motion spreads like a ripple, until the floor is filled with bowed heads and pressed palms.
“Thank you, my lady….thank you for your kindness…”
Their voices overlap, gratitude tumbling over itself in their haste to be heard, to be acknowledged. It is not simply thanks for the safe delivery, it is thanks for your presence, for your authority, for the unspoken assurance that things would not fall apart under your watch.
You do not bask in it. You have heard it too many times for it to mean anything more than noise. A quiet sigh escapes you, soft enough that it does not disrupt the atmosphere, but enough to betray a flicker of weariness. Without raising your voice, you gesture faintly toward the entrance, summoning one of your attendants.
“See them out.” you instruct, your tone even, already moving past the moment. “Ensure Lady Fubuki’s household returns without disturbance.”
The servant bows deeply and moves at once, relaying your command. There is no hesitation, no questioning. Within moments, the cluster of attendants belonging to Lady Fubuki begins to withdraw, their movements still reverent, still careful, as though afraid that any misstep might undo the fortune they have just been granted. They leave relieved by your word, and most of all, your willingness to act.
The quiet that follows is different from before. It is no longer strained nor was it brittle. Instead, it carries a softer weight, one shaped by exhaustion rather than fear. Your own attendants return shortly after, moving with practiced efficiency.
They bring with them a wash basin filled with clean water, fresh clothes, and a change of garments more suitable for the state you now find yourself in. The faint scent of herbs rises from the basin, meant to cleanse away the lingering traces of blood and effort.
One of them approaches you with a comb, her hands steady but respectful as she offers it. You accept it with a small inclination of your head. “Thank you.”
The words are quiet, but they are not empty, it never has been. Turning slightly toward the polished surface of the looking glass, you begin to draw the comb through your hair. The strands, once perfectly arranged, now carry the subtle disarray of long hours spent in tension-filled stillness.
You work through them patiently, each stroke deliberate, untangling what has been disturbed. A yawn slips past your lips before you can fully suppress it, your body finally acknowledging the fatigue you have been holding at bay. For a brief moment, you allow yourself to simply exist in the quiet rhythm of the motion.
“Do you think it would be a girl or a boy, my lady?”
The question comes hesitantly, but curiosity wins over restraint. You meet one of the servants, a young girl whose gaze looked far too innocent through the reflection of the mirror. She is young, you think to yourself. Perhaps younger than you had been when you entered the harem.
That youth still remained an obstacle to her, you think to yourself. Youth hinders learning how to bury such questions properly. But you know there is no malice in her tone, only a kind of earnest wonder that has not yet been worn down by the realities of the palace.
“Do you…do you think Lord Sukuna would be happy about it?” she adds, her voice softening further, as though even speaking of his reaction requires caution.
Your hand stills for just a fraction of a second before continuing its motion. You consider the question. Not because it is difficult, but because the answer is not something they truly want to hear. You knew too much of the man.
He may be restrained most of the time.
But your lord husband is still such a man.
A man they will never know was too much of a god.
And gods do not have leniency for human things.
Let alone emotional interest in what makes it human.
“I think…” you begin slowly, your voice measured, your gaze steady in the reflection. “I think that a child is a gift, whether it is a girl or a boy.”
It is the kind of answer that offers comfort without promising anything. You pause briefly, letting the words settle before continuing, your tone shifting ever so slightly. You knew that you would end up becoming more honest, though no less controlled.
“As for whether my lord would be happy…” You draw the comb through another section of your hair, the soft sound filling the space between your words. “That is not something I can say with certainty.”
Your eyes lower, just for a moment, not in submission but in quiet acknowledgment of a truth you have long accepted. “My lord keeps his thoughts close. What he feels…he does not always show. And what he does not show is often more telling than what he does.”
The room grows a touch quieter at your words. Even those who already knew this seem to feel the weight of it anew when spoken aloud. At times it's easier to imagine things than to let yourself deal with the things you already know to be reality. In a place like this, it keeps one sane.
“Ah…I wish that my lady would have a child as well.”
The words slip out before they can be stopped, from one of the much younger, newer girls. The other girls seem to realize her mistake only after they have already taken shape in the air, but they say nothing, hoping you would not pay mind to such a comment. Her expression falters, her lips parting as if to retract what cannot be taken back.
“Such a little one would be—” She does not finish. An older attendant, standing just behind her, reaches forward sharply and pinches her arm, which was a silent reprimand that carries far more force than any spoken correction.
“Do not speak so carelessly, girl.” the older woman hisses under her breath. “You have overstepped the boundaries. Your comfort with my lady is astoundingly reckless! Apologize!”
The younger girl pales instantly, the weight of her misstep crashing down on her all at once. She drops to her knees without hesitation, bowing so quickly that her forehead nearly strikes the floor. “My lady, forgive me—I did not mean—I spoke without thinking—”
Her apology tumbles out in uneven fragments, far too clumsy and too desperate, as you would expect for young girls her age. You watch her for a moment through the mirror. Then you exhale softly, the sound neither harsh nor indulgent.
“Do not trouble yourself, little girl.” you say, your tone steady as you set the comb aside. “You are not the first to say such things to me. And you will not be the last.”
Your words ease the tension, but they do not erase the truth behind them. You turn slightly, finally facing her directly. “That is not my role in this home.” you continue, your voice calm but firm, carrying a quiet finality that leaves no room for misunderstanding. “And my lord has made it clear that it is not meant to be.”
You gesture lightly for her to rise. She hesitates only briefly before obeying, still keeping her gaze lowered. “My place is not to bear his children, at least that is what is.” you add, not with bitterness, but with clarity. “It is to support him, to ensure that what belongs to him is maintained, that his household remains in order, and that those under his care are raised as they should be.”
Your gaze shifts, if only for a moment, as Chiharu’s presence lingers at the edge of your thoughts. You smile at the thought of that. Taking care of her is the closest you could ever experience motherhood and perhaps you can only be thankful for her in making you something close to being a mother.
“To guide Lady Chiharu. To see that she grows as she must.” There is no resentment in your tone. No longing. Only acceptance. “I know my place.”
The room settles into silence once more, more aware than discomfort. You are not the gentlest among them, you knew that much. You do not offer soft reassurances or empty comforts and even when you did, you did not make it your habit.
You are not the most maternal, nor the most openly kind, there are other women in the harem who have such kindness that makes them almost like goodness in the flesh on earth. But you are the one he has chosen above the rest. And in a place where favor dictates survival, where attention is both a weapon and a shield…that makes you indispensable.
“Let us hurry in this.” You finally spoke again. “Lady Fubuki is in need of me.”
The Earthly Might Hall was a bit further than the Vermillion Hall. But it was far enough that it warrants some effort to get there. After thirty minutes, you find yourself at the precipice of its gates. The hall greets you with heat, with incense, and with the unmistakable tension of a room teetering on the edge of chaos.
The moment you step inside, the atmosphere shifts. Servants who had been rushing suddenly slow, their movements growing careful, deliberate. Midwives who had been whispering urgently fall into a more controlled rhythm, their voices lowering as if your presence alone demands composure. Even the air itself feels heavier, thick with expectation.
Lady Fubuki’s cries cut through it all. This is her first child with lord Sukuna, and you expected nothing less than grievance at the situation. The young woman is sprawled across layered futons, her hair undone, clinging to her damp face, her body trembling under the strain of labor that has clearly gone on far too long.
The sharpness of her voice speaks of exhaustion as much as pain. Each cry coming out of her mouth was weaker than the last, but no less desperate. You take it in at a glance, a careful and attentive one. You purse your lips in a flat line. The blood. The tension in the midwives’ shoulders. The way no one quite meets your eyes, as if awaiting judgment.
“She’s been laboring for hours, my lady.” one of the midwives says, bowing low, her voice betraying just enough strain to reveal the truth they are all trying to contain. “We fear the child—”
You cut her off, not harshly, but with a certainty that leaves no room for speculation. “The child will come, and you must make it so.” you say, your tone even, controlled. “Do your duty. If you do not, it will not. Fear will not change the outcome.”
It is not cruelty that stills them. It is clarity and it’s one you are willing to provide, now that you are here. You move forward, unimpeded, kneeling beside Lady Fubuki. Up close, the fragility of her state becomes even more apparent.
Her breathing is uneven, her hands clutching at the sheets as if they are the only thing anchoring her to the world. When her gaze finally finds yours, something flickers there. There is panic, yes, but also something softer. Relief, relief that you had come to support her.
You brush damp strands of hair from her face with a measured hand, neither overly gentle nor dismissive. Your touch was just enough to ground her. Just enough to remind her that she has not been abandoned to this.
“If you waste your strength screaming and not letting yourself hope to live, it will be for naught, girl.” you tell her quietly, your voice low enough that it does not carry beyond the two of you, “Go on, breathe. Focus. Survive this first, for yourself and for your child.”
She nods weakly, clinging to your words as if they are something solid in a moment where everything else feels like it is unraveling. It wasn't long till you held her in your arms, almost like a mother would.
“Go on, push!”
And that lady Fubuki does. Everyone seems to finally find the rhythm in this moment, trying to still themselves in focus, as Fubuki screams and screams, trying her best to get her babe out. You give her words of encouragement, you wipe her sweat. One after another, you bring her back to reality.
It wasn’t long before you sensed her presence before you heard her. Those same soft footsteps approach from behind, effortlessly light and unhurried, entirely unafraid. It reminded you of a cat who was stealthily making its way without being noticed. Still, it was her voice that got you to notice her.
“My lady.” The voice is calm, composed in a way that feels almost unnatural for someone so young. You turn your head slightly, and there she is. “I’ve come.”
Ryomen Chiharu does not bow. She never has and she never will. And you have taught her not to, whether it was you or anyone else, it is what your lord husband had told you. She only bows when it is her father, as is customary.. And that is how it must always be. She is above everyone else here.
Where the other children of the harem’s walls have been shaped into careful obedience, into lowered gazes and softened voices, she stands as she is. Chiharu is straight-backed, observant, her eyes sharp, akin to her father’s, and has a kind of quiet awareness that is far too familiar, one that only soldiers have.
There is something in her that echoes everything that makes her lord father. Of course, not always in the obvious ways, not in cruelty or dominance, but in perception and presence. In the way she looks at the world as though she is already dissecting it. And garners the same response to the majesty only she and her father carry.
But that is what comes when you are the descendant of the Ryomen.
She comes to your side as if it is the most natural place for her to be, settling beside you without waiting for permission. You remained focused on calming Fubuki as she readied herself to push once again. The young girl’s gaze drifts to the laboring woman.
“Is she dying?” she asks, her tone devoid of panic, carrying only curiosity.
The midwives stiffen at the question. You do not. “Not yet, not now.” you answer simply. “I am here to prevent such a thing.”
Chiharu smiles. “You are not god, mother.”
“I am the wife of one.” You reply to her. “My will is as good as his.”
Chiharu tilts her head, considering this as though it is a problem to be studied rather than a life hanging in the balance. After a moment, she lowers herself to sit beside you, folding her legs neatly beneath her.
“I want to watch.” she says.
You look at her then. She is all but a child, nearly ten years of age. She’s far too young to see something like this. But you knew that your lord husband has shown her worse than a woman giving life into the world.
Regardless of his affection, she is still his heir. He must teach her of the world she inherits, and it is one which is so full of violence and grievance and pain. You think that this is the least of her worries. But you cannot help but feel the deep pit of your stomach coil at this moment.
It’s hard to think about this without feeling horror that such a child would be exposed to such a vision of life birthed in the struggle of a mother’s pain like this. A child has no place seeing such pain. You purse your lips in a flat line.
“Then watch, if you wish, little flower. I am sure that your father says the same thing.” you reply back to her.
She nods. “That he does, mother.”
“Then do not look away when it becomes unpleasant. There is nothing to learn from turning your eyes from truth.”
She nods once, accepting this without hesitation. “Very well.”
Time stretches in a way that feels almost deliberate, as if the moment itself refuses to resolve quickly. The labor progresses in uneven waves. Pain rises and falls, each crest leaving Lady Fubuki weaker than before. The room grows hotter, the scent of incense struggling to mask the metallic tang of blood that lingers in the air.
You guide the midwives with quiet authority, correcting their movements with minimal words, adjusting what needs to be adjusted without disrupting the fragile rhythm they are trying to maintain. You do not raise your voice. You do not rush. You simply ensure that things move as they must.
Beside you, Ryomen Chiharu watches everything with intrigue. Her gaze follows each motion intently. The tightening of muscles, the tremor in a hand, the moment when fear overtakes control. She observes it all with an intensity that would be unsettling if you did not already understand where it comes from.
After a long stretch of silence, she speaks again. “Why do they do this?” she asks, her voice thoughtful rather than critical.
You glance at her briefly. “To bear children. ” you say. “Many women do such a thing—”
Her expression shifts, just slightly. “That is not what I meant.”
Of course it isn’t, you already know that. You turn your attention back to the task at hand, your hands steady even as the tension in the room builds, wiping away the sweat from Fubuki’s face. You give a small look to the young girl.
“They do it for the same reason I serve your lord father well.” you explain after a moment, your tone calm, measured. “They do it because they believe it will give them purpose. Because they hope it will secure their place. And because they think it might earn his attention.”
Chiharu absorbs this quietly. “And does it?” she asks.
You pause, not because you do not know the answer, but because the truth requires no embellishment. “Sometimes.” you say softly.
“But father does not always do such a thing, does he?”
“Your father is a god.” You reply to her as Fubuki seems to lose consciousness. You tap her, trying to keep her awake. “Gods don’t always reply.”
Chiharu did not reply. It did not take long for the final moments to come suddenly, violently, as they often do, as they always have been. Lady Fubuki’s cries reach a breaking point, her voice tearing from her throat in a sound that no longer resembles anything human.
The midwives move with renewed urgency, their earlier hesitation replaced with desperate precision. You remain where you are, steady as ever, watching as the moment unfolds, encouraging her as she gets herself there.
“One more push, Fubuki. Do it for yourself, do it for your child!”
Fubuki raises her head and screams louder than she ever has, pushing harder than she has ever done these many hours and soon enough, her hard work is rewarded. It didn’t take long for a sound to interrupt it all.
Suddenly there was something fragile, something tender and small born into this world. Then there was a small crash into a mighty cry. The room stills as if caught in a held breath. You finally found yourself feeling some relief.
“You did it, Fubuki.” You gave her a small smile, a tender look as she looked back at you and then the child being held in the midwife’s arms. “You’re a mother.”
One of the midwives lifts the child, her hands trembling ever so slightly as she announces, “A daughter, my lady. A healthy daughter!”
The words seem to settle over everything. Lady Fubuki then collapses back against the futon, her body finally giving in to exhaustion, her chest rising and falling in uneven breaths as tears slip freely down her temples. Whether they are born from relief or sheer survival hardly matters.
You let yourself stand, moving closer to where the newborn is being cleaned and wrapped. She is small, her skin still marked by the ordeal of her arrival, her cries weak but persistent. There is a fragility to her that is unmistakable, but she is alive. That is what matters. For now.
Chiharu rises beside you, peering at the child with open curiosity. “She’s loud, isn’t she?” she remarks. “Huh, she’s so small.”
“Yes, most babies are like that.” you agreed. “She will cry a lot, though. She worked hard like her mother to be born.”
“Was I ever like that?”
You looked at her. “I….I do not know. Your father brought you home when you were a bit bigger than this little girl.”
“I see.” There is a brief silence before she asks the question that lingers beneath all others. She moves to whisper it in your ear. “Will he care?”
You do not answer immediately. Instead, you reach out, adjusting the cloth around the infant with practiced precision, ensuring that she is properly secured, properly presented. Your touch is neither affectionate nor detached, it is simply correct. Only after a moment do you speak.
“If she proves worthy of his attention.” you say quietly. “Only she can do that for herself.”
Ryomen Chiharu nods, accepting this without question, because she already understands what it means. In this place, existence alone is never enough. Unless you were the daughter of Ryomen Hiromi, like Chiharu was, then you will have to work twice as hard to prove yourself.
You were thankful your child would not have to go through this. For your child does not exist and perhaps never will be. You were content with this, you thought of yourself, you convinced yourself. This was more than enough.
You make arrangements for Fubuki and her child to be cared for. You give the midwives your thanks and the promise of some money for their good work and their services. You cleaned your hands and made your way out.
By the time you step out of the Earthly Might Hall, the night has already given way to morning. The shift is almost jarring Inside, time had stretched and coiled around pain, blood, and breathless anticipation, each moment heavy with consequence. But beyond the threshold, the world has moved forward without hesitation.
The sky is pale with the early light of dawn, the air cooler, carrying none of the suffocating heat that had filled the birthing chamber. Somewhere in the distance, servants have already begun their routines for the day.
Their footsteps echoing softly along stone paths, the faint clatter of preparation rising from the kitchens, the quiet hum of a palace waking as if nothing of importance had occurred. It is a strange kind of indifference.
A life has just been brought into existence, fragile and uncertain, tied irrevocably to the lineage of a being feared as much as he is revered, and yet the world does not pause for it, let alone willing to celebrate it.
You walk forward regardless. Chiharu follows at your side, her presence as composed as ever, her small steps unhurried, perfectly in sync with yours. There is no lingering curiosity in her now, no questions about what she has just witnessed. She has already absorbed it, stored it away, turned it into something she will understand later in her own way.
A manservant stationed along the corridor notices your approach immediately. He lowers himself into a deep bow, head inclined, body still, waiting. You do not stop walking, but you do not ignore him either.
“Inform the harem that another descendant of the Ryomen has been born into this world.” you instruct, your voice calm, carrying easily without the need for emphasis. “Let it be known that the child survived the labor and has been named by her mother, Fuyuka. It is only my lord who will decide if she is given the Ryomen name.”
You continue, your thoughts already moving ahead to what must follow. “After that, go to the kitchens. Have them prepare proper meals for the household, something substantial at the very least for today’s breakfast. The others will be expecting it.”
A pause, brief but intentional, before you add as you remembered. “Oh, and ensure that when Lady Fubuki wakes, she is given food suited for recovery. Something nourishing. Nothing that will weaken her further.”
The manservant nods without lifting his gaze. “Yes, my lady.”
He begins to withdraw at once, stepping backward with careful precision, ensuring that he does not turn his back to you too soon. Only once he has put sufficient distance between himself and your presence does he straighten and move quickly to carry out your orders.
Everything settles into place as it should.
It always does.
For a short while, you and Chiharu walk in silence through the courtyard leading to the path of the Phoenix Gardens. The palace corridors stretch before you, bathed in soft morning light, their polished surfaces reflecting a world that appears far more peaceful than it truly is.
The quiet between you is not empty. Instead, it is simply unforced, a shared stillness that does not require constant words to fill it. Eventually, you glance down at her as she starts to sing a new tune.
“When is your father expected to return from his battle?” you ask, your tone casual, though the question itself is not without purpose.
Chiharu does not hesitate. “He wrote to me the other day that he intends to be home by tonight, mother.” she replies, her voice steady, as though she has already repeated this information to herself more than once.
You nod, acknowledging it with a quiet hum. “I see.”
There is no outward reaction beyond that, no visible anticipation or concern. You have long since learned not to dwell on his comings and goings in any way that might suggest attachment too openly. He returns when he chooses. And when he does, the entire palace reshapes itself around his presence.
Chiharu’s lips curve into a small smile as she looks up at you, a flicker of something softer passing through her otherwise perceptive gaze. She leans close. You sigh as you enveloped her in the same arms you held Fubuki.
“There is no doubt he will dine with you, mother.” she says, the certainty in her tone carrying a quiet familiarity with patterns that rarely change. “That is his routine, is it not?”
A soft sound escapes you, something between a snicker and a restrained laugh. “Then I must sleep before that happens, for I am exhausted.” you reply, a faint trace of amusement threading through your voice. “Your father has a habit of stretching conversations far longer than necessary.”
It is not a complaint, not truly. More of an observation, one made with the kind of ease that comes from repeated experience. Chiharu considers this, her smile lingering as she tilts her head ever so slightly.
“It is his way of making you feel appreciated, mother.” she says to you. “He only speaks with people that intrigue and entertain him.”
Her words are simple as they were earnest. And for just a moment, they linger in the space between you. You do not answer immediately. Instead, your gaze drifts forward, toward the path ahead, toward the chambers that await you, toward the quiet rest you intend to claim before the night returns with him in tow.
Appreciation.
It is a curious way to describe it.
Let alone summarize your relationship.
Your lips curve faintly. It was not quite a smile, but not entirely devoid of warmth either. “Is that so?” you murmur at last.
Whether you believe it or not…you do not say. But you do not dismiss it either. And as the two of you continue walking through the waking palace, the morning light stretching longer across your path, there is a quiet understanding that settles in its place.
“I know so.” Chiharu says to you. “After all, he would not make you my mother if you were so distant from him.”
You purse your lips. You supposed that was the truth of it. He would not give you such a privilege, let alone such rank, such a duty if he does not trust you enough to handle it all for him. You released her from your hold.
“I suppose you are correct.”
“I will break my fast with you, mother.” Chiharu tells you, smiling softly. “It has been a while since I have done this.”
You smiled at her words. “You are more than welcome to join me.”
YOU HAD RISEN FROM YOUR SLEEP JUST IN TIME FOR HIS ARRIVAL. But you were a step ahead. Being informed of it all had allowed the Vermillion Hall to be prepared long before his return. You had seen to it yourself, as soon as you had broken your fast with Chiharu.
Even after leaving the Earthly Might Hall, after the long hours spent in the suffocating heat of labor and blood, you did not allow yourself the indulgence of complete rest. You had bathed, changed into fresh robes, and given quiet instructions as Chiharu returned to break her fast with you.
You had been giving orders as soon as you started to get your hair done by one of the servant girls. You were measured and precise with each and every order. You were not willing to leave any room for error. Your lord husband expects the best from you and you must continue such expectations with results.
The floors had been cleaned again, though they were already spotless. The lanterns were trimmed so their light would not be too dim nor too harsh. The low table was arranged exactly as he preferred, each dish placed with intention rather than decoration.
And the food, most importantly, the food. Your lord husband does not get hungry as humans do. But he appreciates good food, and ones which suit his tastes. You had lived long enough around him to know what they were.
You had paused in the kitchens longer than necessary, watching as the cooks worked under the weight of your silent scrutiny. The meat had been selected carefully, its cut precise, its seasoning adjusted just enough to suit his taste without overwhelming it.
You had corrected a hand here, a measurement there, until you were satisfied. Not because you feared him. But because it was easier when he was pleased. You would not have to deal with the problems of his displeasure.
When he returned, the temple palace shifted its course. It was not something that could be seen directly, nor heard in any obvious way but it was felt to the bone. It was like a pressure settling over everything at once, like the air itself bending to accommodate his presence.
You did not greet him at the gates, not today. You were still ensuring your household was ready to receive him. Chiharu had gone to both of your steads. You had heard whispers he had grumbled about it, but had said nothing more.
You snickered about such a thing. But you did not think much of that. Instead, you continued the preparations within the Vermillion Hall. And when that was done, you merely waited, enjoying the view of the Phoenix gardens, drinking a cup of tea seated and composed, as though you had always been there and always would be.
By the time he entered, everything was ready. Now, the candlelight flickers softly against the lacquered walls, casting long, wavering shadows that stretch and distort across the room. Those shifting patterns crawl over his form as he sits across from you, their movement doing little to soften the sharpness of his features.
Ryomen Sukuna does not rush when he eats. He never has. Each movement that came from your husband was deliberate with his efficient control, as though even something as mundane as a meal is beneath him and yet still worthy of his full attention.
He picks at the meat with careful precision, bringing each bite to his mouth without haste, chewing slowly, thoughtfully. He took a moment to evaluate it. You watch without appearing to. Observing him is the only way to gauge his mood.
And when he does not stop, when he does not discard the food, does not sneer, does not call for the cooks with that dangerous edge curling beneath his voice, you allow yourself the smallest, most private sigh of relief.
He likes it.
Good.
That is good.
That means there will be no irritation tonight, no idle threats about feeding incompetent cooks to whatever curses linger beyond the palace walls, no drawn-out complaints that would force you to intervene in ways that are far more exhausting than they should be.
It is a small victory. But in this place, small victories are the only kind that matter. You sit opposite him, posture straight but not rigid, your hands folded neatly in your lap. You have had some food earlier with your tea.
There is no need for you to share this meal with him, but you still take some food in small intricacies, just to avoid him noticing it and questioning you about it. You quietly take a small bite, before you pour yourself a small amount of sake.
You slowly lift the cup to your lips, taking a measured sip, letting the warmth settle faintly in your chest before setting it back down. You do not refill it immediately. Tonight, you are not in the mood to drink more than necessary. Not when your thoughts are still lingering elsewhere.
The rest of your servants are gone for the night. They were not dismissed by you, but by your lord husband. Before the meal had even properly begun, he had waved them off with little more than a passing remark, his disinterest in their presence clear.
There had been no hesitation in their departure, no attempt to linger under the pretense of duty. They had bowed and retreated quickly, grateful for the permission to remove themselves from his proximity.
He had already decided he would remain here tonight in the Vermillion Hall, with you. That alone had been enough to send a subtle ripple through the palace. Even when he says it is a hassle to return to Heaven’s Hall, there was something else to it. But you were not willing to talk about it. Not tonight.
Now that there are only the two of you, there is quiet tranquility. The cool wind brushes against your cheek as you look at the massive well lit pond separating you and the Phoenix Gardens. The quiet is not uncomfortable tonight, but it is heavy.
The soft clatter of utensils against porcelain echoes more loudly than it should, filling the space between you in the absence of conversation. The scent of roasted meat lingers in the air, rich and grounding, though it does little to distract from the awareness of him sitting across from you.
You do not speak, at least not yet, not without his urging tonight. You were not in the mood to break the ice yourself. Because you know better than to fill silence for the sake of it. That would not be something good.
It is only after some time, after he has taken another slow bite, after the rhythm of the moment has settled into something almost languid, that his gaze finally shifts. Those scarlet eyes lift. And then land on you.
“You’ve been unusually quiet tonight, little one.” His tone is casual. Almost indifferent. “Intriguing.”
But his gaze is anything but. It is sharp. Intent. Peeling back layers with a kind of ease that would be unsettling if you had not grown accustomed to it. You lower your eyes, allowing your gaze to fall to the polished surface of the table.
Your reflection stares back at you, almost so pale like the moon from the white make up, almost too composed in your position, betraying nothing that you do not allow. For a moment, you hesitate, not for fear but out of consideration.
You could remain silent. You could deflect. You could offer something trivial and allow the night to pass without complication. But he would not allow it. He never does. And if you refuse him now, he will simply take the answer from you in a way far less gentle. So you choose your words carefully.
“Another child has been born, my lord.” you say at last, your voice soft, controlled, each syllable placed with intention. “From one of your concubines. Lady Fubuki, of the third rank.”
The words settle between you. For a brief moment, there is no reaction. Then, there was something you did not expect. A low, amused sound escapes him. He leans back slightly, a faint smirk curling at the edges of his lips as he shakes his head, almost as if entertained by something only he can fully appreciate.
“A third rank concubine? Then she is a madame.”
You nodded back at him. “Indeed, my lord.”
“Hm. A child, you say? That’s quite intriguing.” His gaze sharpens just a fraction. “I didn’t hear of this when I had arrived.”
“It was kept quiet, my lord.” you reply smoothly, lifting your gaze just enough to meet him without challenging him. “Until it was certain the child would survive the night. I had made it my duty to inform you of it.”
There is a pause. He looks at you, snickers and says, “I see. Well, I suppose it is your duty.”
“Yes, it is, my lord.” You nodded back at him.
“What’s the child’s name?”
“Fuyuka, my lord.”
“You have not given her the name, as per protocol, little one?”
“Yes, my lord. I have not.”
He settles further into his seat, his posture relaxed in a way that only makes him seem more dangerous, not less. The flickering candlelight dances across his expression as his smile widens just slightly.
“Good. That child will not be acknowledged by the Ryomen name.” he says, his voice almost idle, as though discussing something of little consequence. “At least until she grows to prove it otherwise, in the pit.”
Your fingers tighten ever so slightly in your lap, though your expression does not change. “Only when they can stand in the pits, as the other children do–” he continues, his tone carrying a faint edge of amusement. “—and prove their worth in blood…will they earn the right to be seen.”
The words are spoken so easily, so casually. As though he is not deciding the course of an entire life with nothing more than a passing thought. You lower your gaze again. Not because you are told to, but because it is easier this way.
The warmth of the room, of the meal, of the candlelight, it does nothing to reach the quiet chill that settles deep within your chest. Another child. Another life. Another existence bound to a path already carved in violence, in struggle, in a constant need to prove something that should never have required proving.
You think of the newborn girl. She had been so small and so fragile as she cried into her existence in this world. You think of what she will become. What she will be forced to become. Your stomach twists faintly.
For a fleeting moment, even just for a moment, you allow yourself a thought that is as selfishly thought of as it is quiet resignation. Lucky me. Your fingers curl slightly against your palm. I do not have a child.
There is no one tied to you who must be thrown into that world of pits and blood. No one who will be shaped, broken, or hardened under expectations that allow no room for softness. No one will have to survive him.
The thought lingers onto you, a bit heavier as it leaves to be unspoken. And across from you, he continues his meal as though nothing at all has changed. You could only pour more sake onto your cup. Before long, it was burning down your throat.
“Do be careful, before you end up drunk, little one.” Your lord husband teases. “You are human, after all.”
“Then my lord will have to teach me his godly ways, in order to prevent it.”
Ryomen Sukuna snickers. “You never fail to entertain me, little one.”
You lower your head. “That is all I am to do, my lord.”
Sukuna’s amusement lingers for only a moment before it fades into something quieter, something more observant. His scarlet gaze does not leave you as you lower your head, your words settling between you with a weight you had not quite intended, but cannot take back.
That is all I am to do.
The faint clink of porcelain against wood fills the space as you set your cup down, though your fingers linger against it, as if the warmth might ground you in something steadier than your thoughts. The sake burns less now, dulled by repetition, but the heaviness in your chest remains, unmoved.
Across from you, Ryomen Sukuna tilts his head ever so slightly, studying you in that way he does when something has caught his attention, not outwardly disruptive, but impossible to ignore once it settles.
“And who decided that?” he asks, his tone no longer teasing, but not yet sharp either. It lingers somewhere in between, almost thoughtful.
You lift your gaze slowly, careful, composed. “My place was decided the moment I entered your halls, my lord.” you reply, your voice even despite the quiet tension threading through it. “To serve. To maintain order. To ensure your home runs as it should. If I entertain you along the way…then I am fulfilling that purpose well.”
He watches you for a beat longer than necessary. Then another. The silence stretches. It was not uncomfortable, but it was enough to make you feel something that makes you feel too many things inside of you. It was deliberate, as though he is weighing your answer against something unspoken.
“You speak as if you are easily replaced.” he says at last.
The words are not cruel.
But they are not kind either.
That was how he was.
You offer the faintest smile, though it does not quite reach your eyes. “Everything is, my lord. It is only a matter of time and circumstance.”
A quiet exhale leaves him, something almost like a scoff, though it lacks its usual bite. “You think too much, don’t you think?” he mutters.
“And you think too little of things that remain, my lord.” you answer before you can stop yourself.
The moment the words leave your mouth, the air shifts, not dangerously. But noticeably. Your fingers tighten slightly against your lap as you lower your gaze again, correcting yourself in the only way you know how.
“Forgive me, my lord. I spoke out of turn.”
For a moment, he says nothing in response. He raises a brow intrigued. A low chuckle slips from him, softer than before, edged with something faintly amused. “If I took offense to every word you spoke out of turn, you would not still be sitting there, don’t you think?”
You let out a quiet breath, tension easing just slightly from your shoulders. Still, you do not look back up immediately. “You are not wrong about it.” he continues after a moment, his tone shifting again, quieter now. “Most things are replaceable.”
Your gaze flickers upward then, cautious. “But not everything.” he adds.
The words settle between you more heavily than anything else he has said tonight. You do not respond right away. Because you are not sure if he meant for you to. Instead, you reach for the sake once more, though your hand pauses midway, reconsidering. When you finally do pour, it is less than before, your movements slower, more deliberate.
“You speak as though you believe that, my lord.” you say softly.
He hums, leaning back slightly, his attention still fixed on you in that unrelenting way. “I don’t believe in many things, little one.” he replies. “But I recognize what is worth keeping.”
Your breath catches faintly at that. It was not enough to be seen, but enough to be felt. You lower your gaze again, this time not out of submission, but to steady yourself. “And what determines that then, my lord?” you ask.
“I do.” He says to you, drinking your cup of sake, from right under your nose. “Isn’t that a god’s will?”
The answer is as absolute as everything else about him. And yet…it does not feel as distant as it once might have. The candlelight flickers between you, shadows shifting across his features, across your hands, across the quiet space you both occupy.
For a long moment, neither of you speaks again.
But this time, the silence feels different.
It was light on your soul for the first time in a long time.
YOU WERE NOT IN THE MOOD TO ACCOMMODATE YOUR LORD HUSBAND TODAY. The thought lingers, quiet and persistent, pressing at the edges of your mind even as your weary face remains composed, untouched by all that could show your truest of feelings.
You have long since learned how to carry such things without letting them be seen. It is a skill you perfected out of necessity, having been shaped by years of standing at his side, of understanding when to yield and when to remain still like an obedient doll.
Most days, it is effortless, something you do not even notice the weight of. But today feels different. Today, even the smallest disturbance feels like too much for you. You sit by the veranda, your gaze resting on the lotus pond just beyond the open screens.
The blossoms have only just begun to bloom, their pale petals unfurling slowly, delicately, as though they exist in a world untouched by everything that fills this palace. They drift lazily across the water, carried by a current that asks nothing of them. You watch them with quiet focus.
“They seem lighter this year, don’t you think, little flower?” you murmur, almost to yourself, your voice soft enough that it barely disturbs the air. “As though they have nothing tying them down.”
Just a little bit to your side, Ryomen Chiharu pauses in her writing, her brush hovering just above the paper. “Do flowers change, or do we simply notice them more, mother?” she asks, her tone thoughtful in that way she has.
You think she is too perceptive for her age, at times. You wish she takes more interest in being a child, for she is one. You glance at her, the faintest hint of something gentler touching your expression. It was always like that, always for her.
“Perhaps both.” you reply to her. “Or perhaps we only look at them when we wish to forget something else.”
She hums at that, returning her attention to her calligraphy, though you can tell she is still thinking about your answer. The breeze shifts, cool against your skin, carrying with it the faint scent of water and greenery. For a moment longer, you allow yourself to sit there, suspended in that quiet, fragile peace.
“You will accompany me.” His voice cuts cleanly through it all of the sudden.
Chiharu turned her attention to her father. She stands up and lowers her head. “Father.”
The stillness does not shatter loudly at all. Instead, it simply disappears, as though it had never been there to begin with. You do not turn immediately, even knowing that your lord husband had arrived before you like this. Chiharu lowered her body and her attention back towards her writing.
Meanwhile, you do not stand up, nor greet your lord husband. You instead let your gaze linger on the pond, watching as a ripple disturbs the surface, breaking apart the reflection of the sky. Only after a breath do you rise, turning toward him with the same calm composure you always wear.
Ryomen Sukuna stands where he always seems to. He’s always within the space, yet separate from it, almost as if to him, such a thing was not worth his time. His presence alters the atmosphere without effort, pressing into everything until it feels as though the room itself belongs to him.
“Where to, my lord?” you finally reacted to a question, your voice even, respectful, untouched by the faint reluctance that had lived within you moments before.
He watches you for a second longer than necessary, his gaze sharp, assessing, as though measuring whether there is anything beneath your calm worth drawing out. “Kyoto.” he answers at last.
The word settles heavily. The imperial capital of Kyoto is not a place one visits without reason. Let alone for someone who was a rogue like your lord husband, who has reestablished his dominance over Hida, the Ryomen heartland, without the authorization of the Imperial court.
It carries too much, when one thinks about Kyoto. The history, the power, all the things that linger long after they should have faded. But you knew very well that your lord husband would have the backing of the Gojo and the Mikoto in such a visit, as he usually had.
But the question is this: why must you go?
He has never asked you to join him before.
Not when this was his devotion to the woman he loved.
You tilt your head ever so slightly, considering. “Kyoto is not a place you go to idly, my lord.” you say carefully. “Shall I assume there is something there that requires your attention?”
There is no challenge in your tone, only quiet reasoning. His lips curve faintly, not quite a smile. “You assume correctly, little one.”
A pause follows, just long enough for the weight of that to settle. “And what is it that calls you there?” you ask, your voice softer now, more measured. “A matter of politics? Or something… more personal?”
Chiharu’s brush slows behind you. She did not stop fully, but rather slowed her strokes. She does not look up. She knew better than that. Instead, she remained listening. Ryomen Sukuna exhales faintly, as though the question itself is only mildly interesting.
“To pay homage.” he says to you, a hint of sentimentality over his gaze. “To someone’s corpse.”
The simplicity of it makes the meaning heavier, not lighter. Your fingers are still slightly in your lap. You do not ask which one. You already know. Ryomen Hiromi, the ghost you cannot escape, even after all this time. Even when you look to your side, you would see her face, in the daughter she left behind.
The name presses quietly against your thoughts, unspoken but unmistakable. You lower your gaze for a brief moment, then lift it again. “I see.” you say, your voice steady. “It has been some time since you last visited her, hasn’t it, my lord?”
There is no accusation in your words. But there is awareness. Ryomen Sukuna was not daft. He knew your feelings, a god would be foolish not to know. Yet he knew you were always so wise not to voice them out loud. His scarlet eyes narrow slightly, in something closer to interest.
“Time means little to the dead, little one.” he replies, finding himself seated closer to the ponds. “Whether I go now or later makes no difference to her.”
“Perhaps not, my lord.” you say, your tone is calm. “But it may make a difference to you.”
The words slip out before you can stop them. It was neither sharp nor defiant. Yet for the first time in a long time, such words did not come out entirely safe either. You had known your place, the other woman. Yet with such a life, you understood why it permeates through your lips like this.
For a moment, the air stills. Chiharu’s brush stops completely this time. Yet she still does not look up. Instead, she felt her hands descend low to her lap and turn into fists. She was quite aware of who her mother was. Yet she did not know her mother.
She only knew you, the woman who raised her. There was no other woman she could devote herself loyally to. And somehow, all at once, she felt your pain in the words that lingered in the air. She felt guilt, even when it was not her fault. She felt guilt that you suffer this way.
Sukuna looks at you once more. There is something in his scarlet gaze now that lingers a fraction longer than before. “You speak as though you understand my reasons, little one.” he says to you. You hold his gaze, unflinching.
“I do not claim to, my lord.” you answered him cordially. “But I have stood beside you long enough to know that you do not act without one.”
A quiet exhale leaves him, something that might almost be a laugh. “Careful, little one.” he murmurs. “You make it sound as though I am predictable. And you know what comes out of such a thing.”
You allow the faintest trace of a smile to touch your lips. “Not predictable, my lord. Only… consistent.”
That earns you a sharper look from him. But he did not seem displeased, at least not entirely. The silence stretches for a moment longer before he breaks it. He slowly shifts his sitting position, to lean against the gazebo’s strong wall.
“You will prepare, little one.” he says, his tone returning to something firmer, more final. “We leave before dawn.”
You incline your head. “Of course, my lord…it shall be done.”
“The child will come as well.” The words land differently. He continues, almost as an afterthought, though you know better than to believe that. “She will pay homage to her mother,” he says, his voice flattening slightly. “And to her relatives. The Gojo. The Mikoto. Tiresome as they are.”
Behind you, the absence of sound is immediate. Chiharu lifts her gaze as she looks at her father. “Must I—”
“You must.” Sukuna immediately cuts her off, a sharp look following. “That is your lady mother. Your lord. You cannot think of her any other way else.”
Your chest tightens, just slightly as you see her reaction, conflict and anguish brewing in the storm of her scarlet eyes. It was as your lord husband had said. Even when you had raised Chiharu, Ryomen Hiromi will always be her mother. Not you. Never you.
For all that you have been to her, for all the quiet moments, the guidance, the unspoken bond, even as the woman who had raised her, you are not the one who gave her life. That place belongs to someone else. You never will be.
You glance at Chiharu, just briefly. She lowers her gaze once more. In the moments that pass, she does not look up, but the stillness of her hand betrays her thoughts. Then you look back at him. Your expression is unchanged.
“As you wish, my lord.” you say, your voice steady despite the quiet weight settling in your chest. “I will see that everything is prepared in her household, also.”
He watches you for a moment longer, his gaze lingering in a way that is difficult to name. It is not the sharp, dissecting look he often gives when he is prying something open, nor is it the fleeting glance of disinterest he offers to things beneath him.
This is something quieter. Measured. As though he is weighing a thought he has not yet decided to speak. You hold his gaze, steady as ever, though there is nothing left for you to say. For a brief second, it almost feels as though he might add something.
You wonder if he has more to say. If there was something else that could come out of his mouth. It didn’t have to be something important. It can be something unnecessary, something that would not change the outcome but might shift the space between you ever so slightly.
But he does not. Instead, he exhales softly through his nose, as if dismissing the thought entirely. Without another word, he rises from where he stands, his majestic movements unhurried, assured.
The floor does not creak beneath him, the space does not resist him. Instead, everything simply yields, as it always does. Ryomen Sukuna turns, already done with the conversation, already beyond it. The decision has been made. It always is. And just like that, he leaves.
The absence he leaves behind is not silence. It is something heavier. You remain where you are, unmoving, your gaze drifting back toward the veranda as though your body has returned to where it had been before. But the moment itself has not, it won’t ever do so again.
The breeze still moves through the open screens, brushing faintly against your skin, carrying the same gentle scent of water and greenery. The lotus blossoms continue to drift across the pond, their pale petals undisturbed, untouched by anything that has just transpired.
Nothing in the world beyond this room has changed. And yet, the stillness you had so carefully held onto is gone. It was not shattered, and certainly not violently torn apart. Yet it slipped through your fingers, replaced by something quieter, more difficult to reclaim. You exhale softly, the breath leaving you slower than you intended, your gaze lowering as though to gather yourself once more.
“Finish your writing, my little flower,” you say gently, your voice softer now, stripped of the formality you had carried moments before. “You have heard your lord father. We will have much to prepare.”
You expect compliance. You always do. You had taught her enough of that to last her in the courtly life. But for a moment, there is nothing. Then, you hear the faint sound of fabric shifting. You glance toward her. Chiharu has lifted her gaze.
You can tell that there is something in her expression that does not belong there. It was not confusing nor curious. Instead, there was something sharper in the rims of her scarlet eyes. Something that unsettles you before she even speaks.
“She is not my mother.”
The words are quiet. But they land with a weight that feels far heavier than they should. Your eyes widened, mouth open agape as you gasped, before you could do anything else. You shake your head at the young woman.
“Chiharu, little flower, that is not something you should….” you begin, your voice instinctively lowering, caution threading through it. “You mustn’t say—”
“But it is true, isn’t it?”
She cuts you off. She had not said it loudly, at least not with defiance in the way a child might argue with an authority figure. Instead, she says it with a firmness that feels far too deliberate. Her hands tighten slightly around the brush she still holds, ink staining the tip as it presses too long against the paper.
“She did not raise me.” Chiharu continues, her voice trembling just slightly, echoing with endless frustrating and conflicting feelings. Something that has been sitting within her for longer than this moment alone. “She was never there.”
Your chest tightens. “Chiharu—”
“You did.”
The words come softer now, far more fragile than you could have ever thought. This was a moment you thought to yourself that she had allowed herself to be a child. And yet, you know those words carry more weight than anything she has said before. Her gaze does not waver from yours.
“You are the one who stayed with me.” she says, her voice quieter, but no less certain. “You are the one who taught me how to write, how to speak, how to sit properly, and how to understand him.” Her fingers curl slightly against the brush, as though grounding herself in the act of holding it. “You are the one who listens when I speak.”
There is no accusation in her tone. No anger either. Yet she speaks only the truth. And perhaps that makes it harder. You take a slow breath, steadying yourself, your gaze softening despite the tension that lingers beneath it.
“That may be so.” you say carefully, each word chosen with precision. “But it does not change what is there, little flower.”
Chiharu’s brows knit together, just slightly. “It should, shouldn’t it?” she murmurs.
There is something painfully simple in the way she says it. Something that speaks not of rebellion, but of a child trying to reconcile the world as she knows it with the one she is being told to accept.
You rise slowly, crossing the small distance between you. When you kneel beside her, your movements are gentle, deliberate, as though approaching something fragile. You give her a small smile.
“Listen to me, little flower.” you say softly, reaching out to adjust her grip on the brush, guiding it back into something steady. “There are things in this world that are not decided by feeling. Or by fairness.”
Her lips press together. “But—”
“Chiharu.” You do not raise your voice. But you do interrupt her firmly. She falls silent. “You are and always will be her daughter, as much as you are your father’s daughter.” you continue, your tone calm, unwavering. “That truth does not disappear simply because she is no longer here. And it does not lessen what I have been to you and what I feel for you.”
Your hand stills over hers for just a moment. “I do not need to share your blood in order to stand beside you, and proudly say that I had raised you like my own.” you add quietly. “And you do not need to deny her existence to acknowledge me.”
The words settle between you. They were heavy to say, just as much as difficult. But you try to make it as gently as possible. Ryomen Chiharu’s gaze lowers slowly, her earlier certainty softening into something more uncertain, more conflicted.
“I……” she begins, but the words falter before they can fully form.
You do not press her. Instead, you withdraw your hand, rising once more, allowing her the space to sit with what you have said. After a moment, you speak again, even softer now. “Finish your writing, little flower.” you repeat. “ Then you must get your things. We leave before dawn.”
She looks at you and gives you a small smile. “Yes….mother.”
The way she says it made your heart echo in tender feeling. As you turn your gaze back toward the lotus pond, watching the petals drift across the water as though nothing in the world could disturb them, you cannot help but feel it. That some things, once spoken aloud, do not settle as easily as they should.
TRAVEL MAKES YOU WEARY AND YOU DON’T LIKE IT. The journey stretches longer than most you have taken. It is not unpleasant, you knew that much. Your servants had made sure that there is no discomfort you would dare acknowledge, no hardship that has not already been accounted for in the comfort of your carriage as it passed through the flat lands of Kyoto’s roads.
But it is long in a way that forces awareness upon you. Each passing mile reminds you, quietly and persistently, that the world you inhabit within the palace is only one part of something far wider, far older, and far less contained. The further you travel, the more that truth settles in.
The air changes first. At times, it feels heavier, pressing faintly against your lungs as though carrying remnants of something unseen. In other places, it thins, lighter, almost hollow, as if something has been stripped away from it.
The land shifts with it too. The dense groves give way to open paths, quiet villages dissolving into stretches of untouched terrain where even the wind seems to move more cautiously to the fine firm roads of the Kyoto flatlands.
You notice it. Even if you do not speak of it. At the edges of your perception, something else lingers. Those little curses. It was not close enough to be seen, not bold enough to approach but they were present. Watching, perhaps. Waiting.
Their presence brushes faintly against your senses, like something just beyond reach. Each and every one looked different than the last, some flew, some slimed through the roads. Some had feet to walk with. But they do not come nearer to your carriage. They do not dare. Not with Ryomen Sukuna traveling with you.
The King of Curses’s presence is not subtle. It does not need to be announced. It simply exists in this world and everything else bends around it, retreats from it, avoids it as instinctively as prey avoids a predator it cannot hope to survive.
You do not look at him often during the journey.
You do not need to.
You feel him there.
That was more than enough for you.
Ryomen Chiharu rides beside you, her posture as composed as it always is, her small frame steady despite the length of the travel. She does not complain. She does not shift restlessly like other children might. But she is not still. Not truly. But if she was, would she even be her lord father’s daughter?
Her gaze moves constantly, taking in everything around her with quiet intensity. She watches the changing landscape, the distant figures that pass along the road, the subtle differences between one region and the next.
There is something almost analytical in the way she observes, as though she is trying to understand not just what she sees, but how it fits together. After some time, she turns her attention to you.
“You have been here before, mother?” she asks, her voice calm, but carrying that familiar thread of curiosity she rarely bothers to hide from you.
You glance at her briefly before returning your gaze to the road ahead. “No, not truly.” you answer. It is a simple response, but it is honest. There is a brief silence as she processes that. “I had not gone out much from the temple ever since your lord father wed me.”
“I thought you might have. Father took you to places, did he not?” she says after a moment, tilting her head slightly.
“Only in near-by villages.” You retort back to her. “I have issues with travelling far too long, little flower.”
“Then why join now?”
You laugh softly. “Because your father wills it.”
She takes that answer and considers it. “That’s interesting. You always seem to know what to expect, though. You seem to know the places too well even before they come before you.”
You let out a faint breath, something softer than a sigh. “Knowing what to expect does not always come from experience, little flower.” you reply. “Sometimes it comes from listening, reading. From observing what others say, or what they choose not to say.”
Chiharu considers that, her brows knitting ever so slightly. “Then what do you expect from this place?” she asks, her voice quieter now.
You pause, not because you do not have an answer but because the answer is not a simple one to you. “Kyoto is an old soul.” you say carefully. “Older than most places we pass through. It carries history in ways that do not fade easily. People remember things there. They hold onto them.”
She watches you closely. “And that is important?” she asks.
“It can be, little flower.” you reply. “Especially when those memories involve people like your father.”
At that, her gaze shifts forward again, her expression thoughtful. “Do they fear him there?” she asks.
You allow yourself the faintest hint of a smile. “They fear him everywhere,” you say. “Kyoto is simply more…accustomed to fear than most. After all, your lord father claimed Hida by will, not by right.”
That earns a small hum from her, as though she finds the distinction interesting rather than unsettling. After a moment, she speaks again. “Then we are the same, mother.” she says.
You glance at her. “The same?” you repeat.
She nods slightly, her eyes still fixed on the road ahead. “You have not been there.” she explains, “And neither have I. Especially in the Gojo and Mikoto strongholds. We will both see it for the first time.”
There is something in her tone, subtle, but present. You can tell that it was not quiet excitement that measured within the young girl. But you think that it was something close to it. A quiet kind of anticipation. You study her for a moment longer before responding.
“Yes, I suppose that is….” you say gently. “I suppose that is true.”
She shifts slightly in her seat, the movement small but noticeable. “Will it be different?” she asks after a pause. “From home, I mean.”
You consider the question more seriously this time. “Yes, I would think so.” you answer. “Kyoto is not going to be our isolated Hida.”
“In what way?”
“In every way that matters, little flower.” you reply. “And in some ways that do not.”
She exhales softly, as though that answer both satisfies and frustrates her. “That is not very clear, isn’t it?” she mutters.
“It is not meant to be.” you say, a faint trace of warmth entering your voice. “Some things are better understood when you see them yourself.”
Chiharu glances at you, her expression sharpening just slightly. “You always say that, don’t you?” she points out as she pouts.
“And you always ask, and I indulge you, little flower.” you return.
For a brief moment, something lighter passes between you. She looks at you and starts laughing. You felt the contagious echoes and laughs too. Before long, though, her gaze drifts again, returning to the world unfolding around you.
“And…her?” she asks suddenly, her voice quieter now. You know immediately who she means. You do not pretend otherwise. “She is there, my blood mother.” Chiharu continues, her tone more hesitant now, more uncertain. “In Kyoto.”
You nod once. “Yes, she is.”
There is a longer pause this time. “Do you think…” she begins, then falters, her fingers tightening slightly where they rest. “Do you think it will feel different? Being there? Seeing her?”
You look ahead, your expression unreadable. “Yes, I think it will be.” you say after a moment. “It would be your first time meeting your lady mother, won’t it be?”
She purses her lips. “I guess so….”
You take her hand into your own, giving her a small smile. “Do not worry. I am sure your lord father will be there with you, if it gets too overwhelming.”
“But….”
“Hm?”
Her scarlet eyes echo into your own orbs. “Will you be there too, when I get back?”
You squeeze her hand. “Of course, I will be.”
KYOTO DOES NOT GREET YOU WITH ITS GRANDEUR. There are no banners raised in your honor, no overwhelming display meant to impress or intimidate. Instead, the city receives you with quiet certainty, as though it has stood long before you arrived and will remain long after you leave.
The streets are orderly, the structures aged but meticulously maintained, each one placed with intention rather than excess. It is a place that does not demand attention, rather it simply holds it. You feel it as you pass through, watching the merging of the Ryomen purple echo against the Mikoto azure and the Gojo sky blue.
The weight of history here is different here. It was not suffocating, not chaotic like the temple palace, but you can tell that their identities in this space are deeply rooted. It was as though it was eagerly measuring you, trying to gather what to think of you within this space.
At the heart of it stands the grand Gojo estate. It does not tower, nor does it need to. Its authority lies in its restraint, in the quiet precision of its design, in the way everything about it suggests control rather than dominance.
Your lord husband had told you much about their old home in Hida, upon one of your visits in a monastery, having passed the ruins of the old Gojo estate in the proud lands. They had left more than a hundred years ago, after the Imperial court had called your lord husband an enemy of the throne, and that all sorcerer clans in Hida must move to the capital, in order to show their loyalty to the throne.
The age old Gojo was one of them, as was the young Mikoto, who are both descendants of Ryomen Hiromi from her two marriages. And as such, many of them have made their lives here. Including the last of Ryomen Hiromi’s children, the one hundred or so year old lord Gojo.
Your thoughts return you to reality as you hear a knocking upon your carriage. Chiharu has gone down first, as befits her status. Even though Ryomen Sukuna is your lord husband, you are still his concubine and Chiharu is his daughter. Your status is different.
Before long, you are expected to follow. Servants are already lined at the entrance, their posture immaculate, their movements synchronized as they bow in unison. There is no trembling in them, no visible fear but there is awareness.
There was a careful, deliberate understanding of exactly who had stepped onto their grounds. You notice the difference immediately. They do not cower before your lord husband. Instead, they look strident. They look like they’re willing to endure, come what may.
Before you can be formally announced, a presence steps forward to meet you. The aged old Lord Gojo approaches at an unhurried pace, neither rushing nor keeping his distance. There is confidence in the way he carries himself, but not arrogance.
Instead, there was something far more controlled, far more intentional. His expression holds a quiet amusement, as though this meeting is not unexpected, but rather…long anticipated this moment to come to pass.
“Ah, I see why you had taken her to be a bride, my lord.” he begins, his voice warm in a way that feels deliberate rather than natural.
You could see your lord husband’s eyes narrow. “You ought to shelter your tongue, nephew.”
Your eyes widened slightly. Nephew? Is lord Gojo his nephew?
The old weary man laughed energetically. “My lady mother would be quite upset at the fact that you seem to be like this, my lord. Such a long awaited visit and yet, you make me wait.”
“The young are so eager to make sharp witted comments.”
“I cannot seem to help it. I’m not getting any younger, my lord.” The old man points to his old face. “I had begun to wonder if you would continue avoiding Kyoto out of sheer stubbornness. I was already putting your old family portrait to do ceremonies for your funeral rites, uncle."
His gaze lands on Ryomen Sukuna, without fear, but rather there was familiarity. Almost an ungodly playfulness that you had never seen with anyone. Sukuna exhales through his nose, unimpressed, his eyes narrowing slightly as though the greeting itself has already exhausted his patience.
“You assume too much, foolish boy.” he replies flatly. “I don’t avoid anything. I simply choose where I spend my time. Kyoto has never been worth the trouble.”
Gojo lets out a soft chuckle, entirely unbothered by the dismissal. “And yet, here you are, my lord. Which means either Kyoto has suddenly gained value…or you have.”
Sukuna’s gaze sharpens. “Don’t twist it into something it isn’t, boy.” he says, his tone dipping lower. “I came because I had business. That’s all you need to know.”
“Mm, I should suppose so.” Lord Gojo hums, clearly entertained. “You’ve always preferred to call things ‘business’ when they carry a bit more weight than that.”
There is history in the way they speak to each other, something worn in, familiar, edged but not volatile. Then the old, decrepit lord Gojo’s attention shifts once more, fully towards you. The change is subtle, but unmistakable.
He studies you with his shining blue orbs, though not with the invasive scrutiny your lord husband uses, but with something more contemplative, more…searching. His gaze lingers just a moment longer than politeness requires, as though he is trying to place something already known rather than uncover something new.
“Well, this is not what I expected.” he murmurs, stepping just slightly closer, his brows drawing together in faint thought. “Perhaps this is the reason my lord does not visit at all.”
“My concubine does not travel well.”
“Hm, yet she is here.”
“Only this time.”
You meet his gaze calmly, offering neither submission nor resistance, your posture steady beneath the weight of his observation. “My lady…..” he continues, inclining his head in acknowledgment. “Has anyone ever remarked that you resemble someone dear to me?”
You do not rush to answer. Instead, you tilt your head ever so slightly, regarding him with quiet patience. You purse your lips in a flat line. It was always so odd to you, to be seen as a living ghost for someone else. Yet you could not avoid it. Not when the resemblance is there. And most of all, not when Hiromi’s son sees her in you.
“I cannot say that they have, my lord.” you reply, your voice even. “Though I suspect you would not have asked if the resemblance were insignificant.”
A faint smile tugs at his lips. “My mother…..” he says simply. He then looks at Sukuna. “Hm, yes.” The words settle between you. You hold his gaze, considering. “My lady, I hope you did not find me rude.”
“Not at all. I will take it as neither an insult nor coincidence regarding this.” you answer. “Only… an observation you felt worth sharing, even when….”
Old Gojo’s smile deepens, just slightly as you trail off, unable to say more. “I suppose so.”
Behind you, the air shifts. You do not need to look to know why. Ryomen Sukuna has grown impatient.
“Are you finished?” he cuts in, his tone edged now, though not raised. “Or do you plan to stand there comparing faces until the sun sets?”
Gojo laughs softly, shaking his head. “You truly have not changed, truly.” he says. “Still as intolerant of anything that doesn’t revolve around you.”
“And you’re still talking too much, foolish boy.” Sukuna returns. “If you have something to say, say it. If not, move aside.”
There is a flicker of something sharper in Gojo’s eyes, but it does not bloom into conflict. Instead, it settles into amusement. “Very well, my lord.” he says, though his gaze flickers between the two of you once more. “Then allow me to say this plainly.”
He tilts his head slightly, his tone shifting. It was far too deliberate to be mocking or serious. “I didn’t expect you to be the type.”
Sukuna’s expression tightens. “The type for what?” he asks, his voice quieter now, more dangerous for it.
“To keep someone like her close.” Gojo replies, gesturing lightly in your direction. “And to bring her here of all places.”
The implication lingers. Sukuna scoffs, though there is a slight delay. But it was just enough to be noticed. “You’re imagining things, fool.” he says dismissively. “She serves her purpose. That’s all.”
Gojo watches him carefully and then smiles. “If that’s what you prefer to call it, my lord.” he says, unconvinced but unwilling to press further, at least for now. Instead, his attention shifts downward to young Chiharu.
“Is this her?” he says, his tone softening.
Sukuna purses his lips. “Yes.”
“Hm, she looks exactly like you.”
“She is my child.”
“When you told me of her existence, I thought to myself that it could be a farce, but you did not like it. She looks quite a bit like my mother too.” Gojo narrows his eyes. “Isn’t she meant to be the elder child?”
“Not now, since I have changed the path of fate for her existence.” Sukuna retorts back. “Therefore, at this point in time, she is your youngest sibling.”
“Hm.” The old Gojo lord turned his attention fully to Chiharu. “You carry yourself well. Not many your age manage such composure.”
Chiharu meets his gaze without hesitation, her posture straight, her voice calm. “I was taught properly to be so, my lord.” she answers.
“Is that so? By him?” Gojo asks, glancing briefly at Sukuna.
Chiharu shakes her head. “No, my lord.” she says. “By her.”
Her eyes flick toward you in the smallest motion. But not one that goes unnoticed. The old decrepit lord Gojo’s expression shifts. He was subtle, but far too aware. He snickers. “I see.” he says. “Then the credit lies where it is due.”
Ryomen Sukuna says nothing. But his presence sharpens just slightly. The moment settles into something balanced. It was not tense, but it was also not relaxed. Instead, it is held in a careful equilibrium where no one oversteps, yet nothing is entirely without meaning.
At last, Gojo steps aside, gesturing toward the estate behind him. “You’ve traveled far from home.” he says. “It would be poor hospitality to keep you standing at the gates like this.”
His gaze returns to you briefly, thoughtful, measured. “You are welcome here, my lady. We are grateful for your efforts to come here, despite your restrictions.” he adds.
There is intention behind the words.You can feel it. You shake your head. “No, the pleasure is all mine, my lord. Thank you for welcoming me to your abode in such conditions.”
The Gojo lord smiles softly. “My mother would have done the same.”
YOU DO NOT MEAN TO DRINK MUCH. But having settled in your quarters for this visit, you find yourself trying to make yourself comfortable. You did not attend the banquet, you were not feeling the best and that lord Gojo had understood.
This meant that your lord husband must attend. But within the few hours that passed, Ryomen Sukuna had come to see you, having left Uraume and Chiharu to deal with the formalities on his behalf, having become weary from the conversations of the elites of Kyoto.
The night settles deeper around the two of you, the estate quieter now than it had been upon your arrival. Even the air feels different here. It felt warm and cool all at once, carrying the faint scent of aged wood and distant spray of sweetened incense.
The servants have long since withdrawn, leaving only the two of you in the dim glow of candlelight. You are no longer entirely composed, at the very least not when you had asked for multiple bottles of sake for dinner.
The sake has done its work, and of course, not enough to make you careless, never that. But enough to loosen the edges of your restraint, to soften the careful control you hold over yourself as you went ahead and sang songs under the glistening moon.
You sit across from Ryomen Sukuna, one knee slightly angled, your posture still elegant but no longer rigid. Your cup rests loosely between your fingers, tilting just slightly as you swirl what little remains inside.
Ryomen Sukuna watches you.
Sharp scarlet eyes dwelling.
He was not subtle with his intentions.
“You’ve had enough, little one.” he says, his voice low, steady, carrying that familiar weight of observation rather than concern.
You glance up at him, a faint smile pulling at your lips. It was slower than usual, softer, and touched by something warmer. The sleeve of your kimono falling to your side. “And yet, you haven’t taken it away from me, haven’t you, my lord?” you reply, your voice smooth but lighter than it should be.
His eyes narrow slightly. “If I wanted to, I would have, little one. ‘tis my will you must follow, after all.” he says.
“Mm, I suppose so.” you hum, lifting the cup to your lips and finishing it anyway, letting your gaze linger on him over the rim. “But you haven’t. This means to me you enjoy seeing me in such a state, my lord.”
He does not speak, and he does not deny it. Instead, he continues to watch you. You laugh as you down the remainder of the sake on your cup. A beat passes. It was then you set the cup down, perhaps a little more carelessly than usual.
The quiet stretches. It was not an empty quiet, but thick with something unspoken. Something comfortable, far too comfortable for its own good. You lean back slightly, studying him now, your head tilting just a fraction.
“Why did you bring me here?” you ask.
There is no careful lead-in this time. No measured softness. The question slips out, carried by the warmth in your chest and the quiet boldness that comes with it. His multiple scarlet gaze sharpens towards you.
“You’ve already asked that, did you not?” he says.
“And you didn’t answer.” you return, just as easily. “It is only right to ask once again, my lord.”
A flicker of something passes through his expression. You do not know what it was. Amusement, perhaps, or irritation softened into something more tolerable. He sets aside the brush and the scroll, to a safe distance, to be left to dry. He focuses his attention on you then.
“I told you the reason, little one.” he says.
“To visit her, to give Chiharu a chance to meet her family, yes. I know that.” you murmur. “But I—what….what is my purpose here?”
Your fingers tap lightly against the table. “That’s not the whole truth, and I know it in my heart.” you add, your voice quieter now, but more certain.
He studies you for a long moment. “The alcohol has made you bold.”
“And so what if it has?”
“Hm, it’s entertaining.”.
You blink. “…You’re doing it again, my lord.” you say, a quiet laugh slipping into your voice. “Avoiding the question.”
“Sit still, won’t you? You are so hard to draw like this.” he replies. You stare at him. Then you felt yourself laugh, so soft, so incredulous. “I will never get your nose right.”
“You are insufferable, my lord.” you mutter, though there is no real bite in it. “You command me as if I’m one of your soldiers.”
“You’re worse,” he says without missing a beat. “They listen for the first time.”
That earns a sharper look from you. “Do they?” you ask, leaning forward slightly, your eyes narrowing in faint challenge. “Or do they simply fear you enough not to argue?”
His gaze drops to your movement, then rises again, slow and deliberate. “Is there a difference?” he asks.
You hold his gaze. “Yes, I should say so.” you say. “One is obedience. The other is silence.”
“Then which one are you?” he asks, leaning forward. “Which one of them are you, little one?”
The question lands differently. You don’t answer immediately. Instead, you shift, settling more comfortably where you sit, though your eyes never leave his. “…That depends on who asks.” you say softly.
He narrowed his gaze. “What does that mean?”
“On whether you’re asking as my lord….” you murmur, eyes tender against his. “Or as my own husband.”
The words linger. Something in the air tightens. It was not sharply, but with a kind of slow, deliberate pull. Ryomen Sukuna’s grip on the brush stills for just a fraction of a second. Then resumes at that moment.
“You talk too much tonight.” he says.
“And you don’t talk enough.” you return, echoing his earlier exchange with Gojo without even realizing it.
That earns you a quiet, low chuckle. “Careful, little one.” he murmurs. “I will allow you everything. But such eager boldness gets you nowhere.”
“Am I?” you ask, your voice softer now, almost curious. “Being too bold for you?”
His gaze lifts fully to yours. “Yes.”
The word is simple. But it settles deep. You feel it in the way your breath slows, in the way your pulse lingers just a little heavier beneath your skin. You could feel flesh turn so hot. You could only wonder if it was your own flustered desire, or the sake that you had drank over and over again.
“Then answer me now, my lord.” you press, though your voice has lost some of its earlier edge, turning quieter, more earnest. “Why bring me here…of all places?”
“You’re still asking that?” he says.
“Yes.”
“Even when you already know the answer?”
“If I knew it, my lord, it would be a different thing.” you reply, “I wouldn’t be asking.”
A pause stretches between you.
Then he leans back slightly, studying you with that same intensity. But this time, there is something else threaded through it. Something heavier. “I brought you here, little one, because I need you.” he says slowly. “Because this is where everything that came before you still exists.”
Your breath catches, just slightly. “And how does that relate to me?”
“And I wanted to see something from you.” he continues, his voice lower now, more deliberate, “I wanted to see whether you would still stand the same way when faced with it.”
Your fingers curl faintly against your lap. “And have I?” you ask quietly.
He leans forward now, closing the distance. “Have you?” he repeats.
Your breath falters. But you don’t look away. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”
That seems to satisfy him. At least, enough. His hand lifts, rough fingers brushing lightly against your chin before tilting your face up, not forceful, but unmistakably possessive. “You are, little one.” he murmurs. “And you shan’t ever leave me.”
“You already know that, my lord.” Your lips part slightly, your breath warm between you now, the space closing without either of you fully acknowledging it.
“Then there was no point still asking questions you already know the answer to.”
“Then say it anyway, my lord.” you whisper, eyes focused on him.
“You belong with me, little one. I want the world to know that.” he says to you. “Nothing will dim your value to me in the eyes of the world. Whether you give me a child, whether you are a ghost, I need you to light the way, even when it hurts you, even when it burns you. I need you.”
The words are blunt, unsoftened. But there is no dismissal in them. Only certainty. It settles into you deeper than the sake ever could. Your gaze becomes clouded with desire. Your loose kimono becomes looser still as you try to become nearer to his figure.
“You do not need to give me the world others do.” He whispers to you. “I do not need it.”
“Then what do you need?”
“You. You and only you.”
“Then don’t avoid me when I ask.” you murmur.
A faint smirk touches Sukuna’s lips. “You didn’t seem to mind enough to stop asking.”
“I never do, my lord.” you reply.
“I know.”
The words are quieter now, closer. And when his hand shifts, sliding from your chin to the back of your neck, pulling you just slightly closer, you don’t resist. You don’t hesitate. The kiss is not rushed. It is not desperate. Instead, it was something slower. Heavier.
It was the kind of embrace that lingers, that builds, that carries all the unspoken tension between you and lets it settle into something tangible. Your hand finds his sleeve first and then his shoulder, fingers tightening just slightly as the warmth between you deepens, as the distance disappears entirely.
The world outside the room fades again.
Sukuna's grip on your neck tightened slightly as the kiss deepened, his masterful tongue sliding against yours in a slow, sensual dance. He tasted like power and darkness, a heady combination that made your head spin.
Your fingers dug into his shoulder, pulling him closer as you lost yourself in the sensation. He has held you close, caged in his much bigger figure, almost as though melting into him, like you were becoming one.
One of his hands all but slid down your back, tracing the curve of your spine before settling on your hip. Your lord husband broke the kiss suddenly, resting his forehead against yours as he caught his breath.
Soon enough, his fingers drawls onto your clit and then your cunny in endless fervor. One after the other, his massive fingers felt too good as they pierce through, reaching your crevices, your pleasure points, over and over again.
“It feels so good, fuck—”
"Fuck, little one…." he whispered hoarsely. "You drive me crazy, little one."
He pressed a gentle kiss to your lips before pulling back completely. Sukuna's fingers continued their relentless assault, pushing you higher and higher until you were teetering on the precipice of ecstasy. His thumb circled your clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body as his fingers curled inside you, hitting that sweet spot that made your toes curl.
"That's it, little one." he murmured to you. "Let go for me. Come undone on my hand."
He watched your face intently, his scarlet eyes dark with desire as he felt your walls start to flutter around his fingers. Sukuna leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered to you. "I want to feel you come apart for me. Want to hear my name on your lips as you shatter."
His long, muscular fingers pumped faster, harder, driving you towards the edge with expert precision. You screamed his name as the orgasm crashed through you, your body convulsing with pleasure as Sukuna gentled you through the aftershocks.
As he removed his fingers, the lace of your pleasure pelts and dwells slowly coming onto the palm of his hand. He snickers as he moves and lamps upon it, eating it all out clean all the while looking at you, never once leaving your gaze.
“You liked that, did you not?”
You felt yourself flushed, still recovering from pleasure. “It was too much….”
“But I am not done with you.”
“I know.” You whispered to him, earning a snicker.
Sukuna's soon hands moved to your waist, lifting you effortlessly as he pressed you against the wall. You can feel the way flesh burns against the naked wood, as he pushes your body deeper and deeper into it, as he captures your mouth in a fierce kiss.
You could feel his masterful tongue delving deep as he claimed you completely. His strong, strident hips ground against yours, letting you feel the hard length of his arousal through the fabric of your clothes.
"I need to be inside you, little one." he growled against your lips. "I need to bury myself in that tight crevice inside of you."
His hands worked quickly to remove your kimono and undershirt, tossing them aside carelessly. Sukuna’s darkened scarlet eyes roamed over your naked form hungrily before he shed his own layers of clothes in record time.
"Look at me, little one." he commanded you. "Watch how much I want you."
He positioned himself between your legs, the head of his cocks pressing insistently against your entrance. "Tell me you want this, little one." he demanded hoarsely. "Tell me you're mine."
“I want you….ha, I want you, my lord.” you couldn’t help but whimper against his tightened grips on your body. “Do you want me, my lord?”
He does not respond. He acts. You gasped as you felt not one, but two hard lengths pressing against your entrance. Your eyes widened in shock and arousal as you realized what Ryomen Sukuna was packing. The prong of his dual cocks twitched against your wet folds, leaking pre-cum that slicked up both of you.
"Fuck, fuck….oh my…fuck—" you breathed out, trying to still get used to him. "You're...you're huge. My lord…."
Sukuna could only smirk with contentment at your reaction, wrapping a hand around each of his shafts to guide them to your entrance. "I'm going to fill every hole in this perfect body of yours, little one." he promised you darkly. "Starting with this tight little pussy of yours.”
He pushed forward slowly, letting the heads of both cocks slide inside you inch by inch. Your body stretched and burned with the sensation of being filled so completely "Ahh...my lord..." you moaned loudly, drool falling over your lips.
"It's too much...I can't..."
"Shh, you can take it. I know you can."
Sukuna's hands gripped your hips tightly as he continued to push forward, inching both of his massive cocks deeper inside you. You cry out as your body stretches and burns with the sensation of being filled so completely.
"You're taking me so well, little one." he praised you as you mewled, holding onto his much bigger body. "So tight and perfect around my cocks."
He paused when he was fully seated, giving you a moment to adjust to the overwhelming fullness. "Breathe for me, little one." he commanded gently, pressing kisses against your smaller neck.
"In and out. You can do this." His thumbs rubbed soothing circles on your hips as he waited for your body to relax around him. Sukuna all but leaned down to press gentle kisses along your checks, your jaw.
"That's it, Good, you're too good…." he murmured approvingly. "You're doing so good, little one. Such a good little one for taking all of me."
Once you had adjusted to the feeling of being so thoroughly filled, Sukuna began to move. He started with slow, shallow thrusts, letting you feel every inch of his dual cocks as they slid in and out of your tight heat. His hips rolled against yours, grinding his pelvis against your clit with each thrust.
Sukuna’s massive hands roamed your body, caressing and squeezing every curve and dip. He pinched your nipples gently, rolling the sensitive buds between his muscular fingers before sliding a hand down to rub tight circles on your clit.
"You feel incredible, fuck." he groaned aloud. "So hot and wet around me. I could stay buried inside you….hah—" He threw his head back as his thrusts grew deeper and faster as he chased his pleasure, driving into you with increasing fervor.
"Come for me, little one." he demanded hoarsely. "Squeeze my cocks with this perfect little pussy. Now."
Your body responded to Sukuna's commands, your walls clamping down around his dual cocks as a powerful orgasm crashed through you. You screamed his name, your back arching off the bed as waves of pleasure washed over you.
Sukuna all but continued to thrust through your climax, prolonging your ecstasy as he sought his own release. "Fuck, yes…" he groaned against your glistening skin. "Milk my dicks with this greedy little cunt. Take every drop."
With a final, brutal thrust, Ryomen Sukuna buried himself deep and came with a roar. You felt his hot seed flooding your insides, coating your walls as he filled you completely. Sukuna’s massive body all but collapsed on top of you, panting heavily as he caught his breath.
You couldn’t breathe as he pressed gentle kisses to your face and neck, murmuring soft words of praise and affection against your skin. You had all but blacked out, shining against the moonlight haze.
He looked at you attentively, letting himself slowly raise his body, to give you relief. He could feel the abundance of his cum dripping out of you, even when both his cocks were still stuffed deeply inside of you. There is only pride in him.
"My perfect little concubine." he whispered to you. "All mine. All mine and only mine.”
IT WAS ANOTHER DAY ONCE AGAIN. Far too early and yet, the morning settles over Imperial capital of Kyoto in a muted haze, the kind that softens edges without truly changing what lies beneath all of them.
The path toward Ryomen Hiromi’s tomb winds through old trees and weathered stone, each step carrying the sense of something preserved rather than forgotten. This is not a place that welcomes intrusion or spectacle. It expects acknowledgement, and nothing less.
Ryomen Chiharu walks ahead of the group, not in defiance, but in instinctive separation. She keeps a distance just wide enough to hold her thoughts without needing to share them, yet close enough that she is still tethered to what surrounds her.
Her posture remains perfect, as you taught her, all too composed and disciplined, but just like her father, truly an unwavering force. Yet there is something different in her today. A heaviness beneath the control. A quietness that feels less like training and more like understanding something she cannot yet name.
You walk behind her, shadowing her. You stood there as something between presence and responsibility, the only mother she knew in everything but blood, and something more complicated in everything that cannot be named easily.
Your gaze occasionally drifts to her back, and each time, you find yourself noting the same thing. She is steady, but not untouched. Beside you, Ryomen Sukuna moves without hesitation. His presence fills the path even when he says nothing, as though the space itself adjusts around him.
Yet there is a restraint to him today that is not weakness, not softness, but awareness. As if even he recognizes that this place demands something different from him and he has chosen, for now, not to resist it.
At Sukuna’s side, the olden Lord Gojo walks with the ease of someone accustomed to both power and age, though the liveliness in him has been tempered into something more reflective. His gaze drifts forward often, resting on Chiharu, then briefly on you, then back ahead again, as though measuring something that cannot be spoken directly.
For a time, none of you speak. The silence is not empty. It is deliberate, shaped by the weight of where you are going. Even the wind feels subdued here. It is the olden Gojo who finally speaks, letting out a soft exhale as the breeze catches against him, his voice low enough not to disturb the stillness ahead.
“You chose well, I think.” he says at first, not looking directly at Sukuna.
Sukuna does not slow. “If you have something to say, say it plainly.” he replies without turning his head. “I don’t have patience for riddles dressed as conversation.”
A faint, almost tired smile crosses Gojo’s face. “Very well. Then I’ll be direct. The woman you brought with you, this woman, your concubine, she is not what I expected you to keep so close.”
That earns him a brief glance from Sukuna, sharp and uninterested all at once. “You’ve already spoken about her. You’re repeating yourself.”
“I’m correcting my observation, my lord.” Gojo answers calmly. “She does not behave like someone kept for utility alone. There is no hesitation in her position, no grasping, no attempt to elevate herself beyond what she is. She stands exactly where she chooses to stand, as though that is enough.”
Sukuna’s gaze shifts forward again, but he does not interrupt. When he sees Sukuna is not reacting, The lord Gojo continues, his tone quieter now. “That kind of certainty is rare. In most places, it breaks people. Or it makes them greedy.”
“They’re weak.” Sukuna says flatly. “She is not. That is the only distinction that matters.”
Gojo shakes his head slightly. “No. They are human. And so is she. The difference is not what she is made of. It is what she refuses to become.”
A brief silence follows, the sound of footsteps muted against stone and earth. Ahead, Chiharu begins to slow. You call her, but she does not turn around. Through the thinning mist, the outline of the tomb becomes visible.
You notice it too. It was the way Chiharu’s posture shifts, not breaking, but tightening as though she is gathering herself for something she does not yet have words for. You pursed your lips in a flat line, observing her, letting her take her time.
“She reminds me of my mother.” Gojo says after a moment, his voice lowering further, more deliberate now. “Not only in appearance. In the way she occupies space. She does not demand to be seen, but she is not overlooked either. She simply…exists, fully, without apology. A light in our dark, dull world.”
Sukuna’s expression tightens faintly at that, subtle enough that most would miss it. “I don’t care who she reminds you of, foolish boy.” he replies, though the words come slower than before.
“You should, though.” Gojo answers, turning his head slightly, his gaze settling on Sukuna with quiet clarity. “Because resemblance is dangerous. It invites comparison, and comparison is how people begin to treat what they have as something already defined by the past.”
Sukuna’s eyes narrow. “Then speak clearly. What are you implying?”
Gojo does not look away. “Do not reduce her into something she is not.” he says simply. “She may resemble someone who came before, but she is not a continuation of that life. She is not a replacement. And she is not lesser for standing beside you instead of behind what you have lost.”
The words carry no heat, but they land heavily all the same. Sukuna exhales through his nose, irritation flickering briefly across his expression. “You speak as though I intend to discard her.”
“I am not speaking about intention.” Gojo replies, softer now, but firmer in meaning. “I am speaking about consequences. People like you do not always realize when something has become important until after it is gone.”
A pause stretches between them. Ryomen Sukuna does not respond immediately. For once, his silence is not dismissal. It is something heavier, less certain, as though the words have settled somewhere they should not have been allowed to reach.
Gojo watches him for a moment longer, then lets out a quiet sigh. “She stands beside you because she chooses to.” he says finally. “And I think you already understand what that means, even if you refuse to name it.”
Chiharu has stopped completely now. The tomb stands before her, weathered and unmoving, its presence swallowing the last of the mist around it. Sukuna comes to a halt behind her. You follow Chiharu, stopping slightly, your gaze resting on the stone marker ahead.
Lord Gojo does not speak again. Not because there is nothing left to say, but because everything necessary has already been said. And for once, Sukuna does not answer at all. Before long, you seem to realize you need to give Chiharu some space, and so you return to your lord husband’s side.
He has not moved much since stopping. His gaze lingers on the tomb only briefly now, as if whatever purpose brought him here has already been acknowledged and filed away. The weight in the air has shifted. It was not gone, but softened at the edges.
He looks at Hiromi’s statue for a moment, as if hoping for an answer to a question he has asked in the silence. You looked at him and where his eyes were at. It wasn’t long when you step closer to him, careful not to disturb the moment, though your voice breaks it anyway.
“What was that about, my lord?” you ask quietly.
Sukuna does not look at you immediately. When he does, it is brief. Measured. “What was that about, I wonder.” he repeats, not a question, but a correction.
You hold his gaze, unfazed. “With the lord Gojo, you were talking.” you clarify. “I saw the silence. The way you didn’t answer him.”
A faint exhale leaves him through his nose, almost dismissive. “It was nothing, really.” he says.
You don’t accept it at once. Your eyes narrow slightly, not in challenge, but in familiarity. You have learned the shape of his evasions, and this one does not sit cleanly. “That is not true, and we both know it.” you say softly.
His gaze shifts away from you, toward the ground nearby, where small wildflowers grow between stone and root. He crouches slightly without explanation, his hand moving through them with casual precision, selecting one without hesitation.
“You overthink things, don’t you, little one?” he mutters.
“You avoid things, don’t you, my lord?” you reply.
That earns the faintest shift in his expression. He stands again before you can press further. For a moment, you think he will dismiss it again. Instead, he lifts the flower. He was not offering it to you. For a while, he was just holding it between his fingers as he steps closer. You don’t move.
He studies you for a moment in silence, at least long enough that it almost feels like the question you asked has been set aside entirely. Then, without ceremony, he reaches up. His fingers brush through your hair, unhurried, as he places the flower carefully against it. Not rough. Not careless. Almost…precise.
Your breath stills slightly. “What are you doing, my lord?” you ask quietly, though you do not step away.
He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he adjusts the flower once, as if ensuring it sits exactly where he wants it. Then he looks at you properly. “It suits you, these sorts of flowers, little one.” he says. “We should have these flowers in the Phoenix Gardens.”
The words are simple. But they land differently in his voice. Your expression softens before you can stop it. “That’s not an answer either, my lord.” you murmur back, your cheeks turning warm red as you fiddle with your long hair.
A faint pause comes, and then, finally, something close to a smirk touches his mouth. “It is, little one.” he says. “Just not the one you were asking for.”
You search his face for a moment longer, but he does not elaborate. He never does when it matters most. Still, his massive hand lingers near your hair for a second longer than necessary before he lets it fall away.
Behind you, Ryomen Chiharu remains at the tomb, quiet and unmoving, as though she has decided this moment belongs to you and him alone. The wind shifts slightly through the clearing, brushing past the flower now pinned in your hair.
And for once, you don’t press him again.
You accept what was there.
For this is the only light there is.
This is the only truth you were allowed.
The only way you could love him.
epilogue
The village you had once called home had no more sound. It was already silent by the time the wind began to move through it. What had once been homes, voices, and daily life now existed only as ruin and nothing more.
It was burned wood collapsing into itself, shattered stone half-buried in ash, lantern frames bent and blackened like broken ribs. The air still carried heat in places, but it was fading, giving way to something colder and heavier. Something that would forever be final.
You stood in the center of it without moving. Blood had dried unevenly along your hands and sleeves, some of it yours, much of it not. It had soaked into the fabric at your wrists and collar, stiffening there as if even your body could not decide what to do with the aftermath.
Your breathing was uneven, not from exhaustion alone but from the realization settling in slowly, irreversibly. There was nothing left to fight, and nothing left to explain. Your precious son Chizuru was safe. Chiharu was safe.
That fact should have anchored you. Instead, it made the emptiness sharper, because everything else had been stripped away to ensure it. You had chosen this. You had chosen to end it all.
Or perhaps you had only survived what others forced you into until there was no gentler option left. You don't know what else to say or what to do. All you could do was stare at the consequences of your actions.
Harsh, brutish footsteps came from behind you, steady and unhurried through the debris. You did not need to turn to recognize them, as you still reeled from the silence you had forced into sound.
Ryomen Sukuna stopped a short distance away, his monstrous body towering over your much smaller figure. He did not look at the village first, nor did he comment on the destruction. His attention went directly to you, as though the rest of it had already been accounted for and dismissed.
“You finished it.” he said. “I didn’t expect you to go through with it.”
“You helped.”
“This is not new to me.”
“But it was to me.”
He looked at you. “I know.”
Your gaze remained forward as you answered, your voice low and uneven. “There was no other outcome. They were going to kill us.”
A pause followed, the space between you filled only by settling ash. You purse your lips in a flat line. When you spoke again, it came quieter, heavier. “It still does not change what I’ve done. It does not change anything about the blood in my hands.”
He moved closer then, stepping into your space without hesitation. His hand lifted toward you, and you felt it before you fully processed it. The warmth of blood still on him, still fresh enough to smear as his palm touched your cheek.
It spread across your skin in a slow drag, not careless but deliberate, as though he was making sure you could not distance yourself from what had happened. You did not pull away. You did not have the strength to.
Your voice wavered as you finally spoke what had been circling inside you since the last strike fell. “I am nothing now. Just a murderer.”
His hand remained on your face, steady, anchoring you in place rather than restraining you. For a moment, he said nothing, only studied you with that same unreadable focus he gave everything that interested him. Then his grip shifted slightly, not tightening, but settling more firmly as if correcting your conclusion.
“You are still here, we are here. The children are safe.” he said to you in reply. “That does not make you nothing.”
Your breath hitched faintly, your eyes lowering for a moment before lifting back to him. “What I am is defined by what I’ve done.” you said. “There is nothing else left.”
That earned the faintest shift in his expression, not irritation, not softness, but certainty. He tilted your face slightly with his hand, forcing you to meet his gaze fully as blood on his fingers marked your skin in uneven streaks.
“What you did was necessary. Do not feel burdened by it.” he retorted to you. “And what you are is not reduced to it.”
The words should not have steadied you, not in a place like this. Yet they did not feel like comfort in the usual sense. They felt like refusal, his refusal to accept the version of you that had already begun to form in your own mind.
Your voice broke slightly when you answered. “Then what am I to you?”
He held your gaze for a long moment, the ruined village reflected faintly in his eyes, untouched by sentiment. When he finally spoke, it was not grand, not softened, not explained. “You are still what you were to me as you are now.”
The words did not erase what had happened. They did not excuse it. But they did something else, something quieter, more unsettling in its certainty. They placed you back into existence without asking permission from the ruin around you.
His hand remained on your face a moment longer before settling more naturally, as though he had already decided there was no need to let go. And standing there among the ashes of everything you had destroyed to survive, you realized he was not looking at the blood as proof of what you had become. He was looking at you as if you had not disappeared at all.
[Heian!Sukuna x Fem!Reader // Major angst, character death // short drabble-ish]
Author's note: I love vengeful Sukuna
Thanks for reading! likes, reblogs & comments are all appreciated𑣲⋆
You had always believed a lifetime with Sukuna meant eternity. Perhaps, you had been acutely aware that one day you might grow grey and frail. But Sukuna easily pushed the thoughts from your mind with lavish gifts and goddess-like treatment.
You wondered though, if he thought about you in that manner. Not often, but in the quiet spaces of your life as you reflected on the time you spent together. You wondered if the thought that you might become less of a partner and more of a liability to him over time had ever crossed his mind. That one day, you might become someone who needed to be cared for rather than someone who could stand next to him as an equal. If he had ever considered it, he never made it apparent.
The thought used to make your stomach turn, admittedly, but now as you laid in bed the thought could only bring a gentle smile to your face. You felt stupid. The fruitlessness of those thoughts left a bitter taste in your mouth as you laid bedridden and dying in your marital bad, only in your thirties. You had barely a grey hair, and yet your body was already failing you. Your mouth felt heavy with irony, so much so that you struggled to speak.
You were cut off before you could even think to share your thoughts with your husband.
"We will find the perpetrator, Lord Ryomen, they cannot be far-"
"Leave us," Sukuna's voice held a deep vibrato that seemed to rumble through the surrounding walls. You had heard it before, threatening and etched with malice. It shook you more now though. having never heard him sound so callous toward Uraume of all temple-goers.
"My Lord..."
"Leave us. Now."
His order came in a serpentine hiss as his hand clutched yours, punctuated only by the shuffling of robes as Uraume retreated. His hand tightened around yours at your fidgeting and if you didn't know him better, you might've thought your bones would snap under the pressure.
To weak to open your eyes you sunk deeper into cold, velvet sheets and hummed, "Don't take it out on Uraume, S'kuna..."
He huffed at your order and rebutled it with his own, "Quiet. Conserve your strength. And stop shuffling. The more you exert yourself the fast your heart will pump that filth around your body."
That filth.
The poison supposedly slipped into your evening meal, strategically tainted on the night of Sukuna's absence as he visited a Western province. He had raced home on horseback at the news of your collapse and it made you feel almost guilty. You were sure you had interrupted some important political meet that you had no previous interest in.
You thought about the servants downstairs, clumsily searching for anything that might aid your condition. You supposed it didn't matter, though. Your breaths were already laboured and something ugly was brewing behind Sukuna's eyes.
"What are you thinking about, dove?" He muttered, bringing you limp hand to his lips. His body dwarfed yours as he planted soft kisses unto your palm and up your wrist. It felt like a goodbye. It made you feel ill.
"Us," you admitted, voice tinged with guilt. "I'm sorry, Sukuna."
He shook his head with an amused chuff, though you could register the pain behind it, "Stupid woman. Apologise for nothing. You are a queen," he pressed one last, devastatingly soft kiss to the weakening pulse-point on your wrist. "My Queen."
It was early in the morning when you exhaled your last breath. A painless death-rattle that Sukuna couldn't help but be thankful for in a way that made him nauseous. The idea that the only reprieve he had was that you had gone comfortably curdled in the bottom of his stomach. Perhaps that was some sick mercy from the Gods above?
It didn't feel like it. In fact, it felt as though the beings above him were mocking his very being. Ripping his beloved from him as if she wasn't the only thing he would protest to have stolen.
The thoughts made clouds form behind his eyes as a punishing silence suffocated him, engrossed in the stillness of your body. It felt so unnatural, so wrong and perverse to see you like this.
Slow patters of rain splattered from the heavens and off the engawa outside, providing a soft song as he held you close; still warm and clinging to his kariginu. Somewhere in his twisted mind, the act felt wretched and intentional. As if the God's themselves has accompanied your loss with their own laughter in the form of the soft rain-pellets, a melody you used to comfortably sleep to now tainted by their mockery of the cursed being below them.
"Uraume?"
They appeared as if they had never left, "Yes, my Lord?"
heian!sukuna x wife!reader | heian era ; trueform!sukuna ; husband!sukuna fluff | drabble | 1k words
♡ looking for more sukuna? here you go!
♡ continuation of this here
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“You know, one day I’m not going to be around.”
Sukuna’s breath hitches so quietly you almost don’t hear it, but you do anyway. A slight pause, and then his first set of crimson eyes flickers up to meet yours. The scroll in his hand is set down onto the tatami with a soft thud.
Outside, the branches of the willow tap lightly on the shoji; the sun sets just a little earlier today. The sound is so quiet but still enough to fill the silence before the King of Curses speaks.
“What do you mean?”
Of course, he knows exactly what you mean.
You hum, “I’m not a sorcerer, or a curse, or have any cursed energy. I’m just me.”
“You’re my wife.” Sukuna says simply, though his tone is firm, his words lack bite. “That’s enough, no?”
“I’m unlike you–” you say, a little quieter this time, “my time on this plane is limited.”
Your salmon-haired husband casts his red eyes to the open fusuma; in the garden, the last of the sunlight spills low across the pond. Orange fractures into ribbons of gold and amber by the slow circling of the koi beneath the surface. Beyond the garden walls, the world is not so gentle: The mountains in the distance rise unevenly, with their silhouettes jagged and like ridged teeth threatening to tear the fabric of the sky. Sukuna thinks about the abundance of unfettered curses swarming in the dark and damp at the foot of the mountain – the ones he hasn’t subjugated yet.
He thinks about the fact that they will probably live a hundred years longer than something as pure and good as you will.
He thinks about how many more sunsets and winters he will see compared to you; he thinks about the fact that one day Uraume will stop making mugwort tea simply because you are the one who drinks things like that and he does not.
One of his four gigantic hands crawls over the tatami and rests atop of yours. His warm yet calloused skin completely covers yours. Nothing is said but a light ‘hmm’, though his fingers curl a little; his grip is not tight enough to hurt, but firm enough that you feel like he understands what you have just said.
You peer at his face through your lashes, lips pressed into a tight line. “Husband?”
All four eyes are focused on the orange sun setting outside. Sukuna does not cry. That stupid word isn’t even in his lexicon; there has never been a single tear shed over anything – but his chest remains tight and heavy as he thinks that one day, a lone tear may spill in your permanent absence.
The sharp planes of his face are set as they always are: Unyielding and severe. Yet, in the orange glow, the faint downturn of his lips can almost give it away; only in the quiet stillness of early evenings like this does the cruel exterior strip completely. You feel his thumb shift a little over your hand and he rubs a gentle circle over your soft skin.
"Have I upset you?"
You think about how you must look to his court and subjects – completely insignificant as a mundane mortal, yet you are the very woman who has managed to turn a heartless monster into someone who is capable of small, gentle notions like resting a hand over yours and rubbing absentminded circles on it. You, indeed, are so insignificant in his presence, even now, where his shoulders are broad enough to block out the fading light when he shifts.
“I will not accept that,” Sukuna says quietly.
Your soft laugh slips out before you can stop it. “I don’t think even you can change something as unmoveable as fate, my heart.”
His mouth twitches a little at the sound of the nickname but he does not relent.
“Fate,” he repeats slowly, the word laced with quiet disdain. “I will not relinquish what is mine to something I cannot see or touch.”
When he finally turns away from the garden, all four eyes settle on you. You smile teasingly, though the usual gleam in your eyes has been dulled a little by mere acceptance.
“You think my turmoil is funny, wife?” He asks, though his words lack bite. An eyebrow quirks when you exhale another soft giggle.
You shake your head, taking your hand from under his and shifting closer to him. He stills, unsure of your intentions until you stop in front of him and rest your palm on the side of his neck. Sukuna almost melts into your touch but he merely sucks his teeth a little and narrows his eyes.
A sigh slips past your lips. “I’m merely speaking the truth– one day you will have to find yourself another annoying woman–”
“I’d sooner be celibate.”
“Impossible for you.”
This earns a light scoff from him.
Sukuna dips his head, just barely, so he leans a little more into your touch. You can feel the powerful pulse beneath his skin, and for someone like him, this is the most vulnerable he will ever be with anyone else. His red eyes lower to you, the gaze of a man completely smitten with someone he would have once smited on the spot many years ago. Deep in his heart, he knows that he would rather tear the world apart with his bare hands until a wasteland remains if you dared to leave his side.
“You speak too lightly of your absence,” Sukuna murmurs, his eyes coming to a close as your palm shifts to cup his face. “I have no use for a world that does not have you in it.”
The King of Curses sat upon his throne, and yet you had no issue glaring up at him. As if it were your stare that could cleave. Your hands that could ignite his shrine into blitz and ember.
Bundled in a silk blanket and babbling up at you with eyes as ruby as her father's, your daughter chewed on her thumb. Blissfully oblivious to the tyrant from which she came.
Sukuna refused to hold her.
It was subtle, at first. When she was born, he claimed that it was vital for a baby to stay close to its mother. For warmth, food and comfort.
It had been four weeks, and your husband hadn't so much as grazed her tiny pinkie.
"Why?" You asked, anger blooming in your throat like the flowers he had planted in the gardens for you. He would sully his knees in the soil and his hands in the mud for your benefit, but couldn't bear to hold the life that he had created?
Sukuna's face was hard in a scowl. Each maroon eye glaring into your soul.
A beat of silence.
"I do not want to."
You flared, clinging your baby closer. "Are you ashamed? Ashamed of the life we created?"
"No, damnit woman—"
"Then why!?"
"Because I will mar her!"
The shrine shook as he shoved himself out of his throne. Standing now. It was at his full height that you recognised the being thousands feared. Four arms, two faces, and a stature that rose from hell.
His glare burned, but it wasn't anger. Face twisted in an emotion you hadn't seen enough from him.
"I will— hurt her. Is that what you want?"
Vulnerability.
Your daughter startled. Sniffling at the booming voice that rattled the floors. You watched her face squish and her lip quiver, before a broken, hiccuped sob filled the air.
His shoulders sunk. The fight seeping out of him. You watched his eyes swell with many things you'd never seen before.
Guilt, sadness.
Fear.
Rocking your startled baby, you held her close with soft shushes, but her sniffles soon turned into wails. Sukuna's stood frozen, sullen.
You understood, now.
Cradling the small girl, you stepped forward. Up the stairs to the platform of his throne. Even as he took a step back, you persisted.
"Sukuna. . ." You called to him. Soft in the way that only you were capable of being with him.
He almost flinched.
"This child, she's ours. Our daughter, made with love."
You stood right in front of him now. Taking in his wound up muscles and squared shoulders. Looking more like a deer ready to sprint than a father.
A father who feared that his hands were too rough, too evil, to nurture his own child.
"You won't hurt her. Because she's ours." Reaching forward, you held out the sobbing bundle. Watching his face and the several shades of uncertainty it turned.
You had never seen him so. . . frightened.
You pushed past his hesitancy, carefully placing your daughter into a set of his hulking arms. She was tiny compared to him. Seemed he was processing that too.
Aiding his position, you slipped one of your hands to tenderly hold him by the bicep as he, for the first time ever, held his daughter.
His breath was hitched. All of his eyes gaping at the small bundle in his arms. Watching her as if she were the most delicate piece of porcelain.
Your daughter's sobs stirred into sniffles, then hiccups, until. . . silence.
As big, ruby eyes stared up at her father. Taking him in. His face, his warmth.
And then, she beamed a toothless smile.
Sukuna tensed. A shaky breath hitching.
"She's— she's smiling. Why is she smiling?"
He quickly looked to you. Brows pinched. Looking lost, looking scared.
You offered him a smile, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. "Because she knows that her father loves her." Tickling her neck, you hummed as she squirmed a bit and giggled, pressing more into him.
He instinctively held her closer. Eyes unblinking.
You watched as Ryomen Sukuna, The King of Curses, melted. His heart swelling as he stared at his daughter. Even bringing one of his fingers closer to her, so that she could grab at it. Hugging around it with that big, bring smile.
His mouth quirked at the corner. Faint, but tender.
"Yeah. . ." He whispered, voice thick with emotion. Centuries worth of affection for his child, his daughter.
"Your father loves you. More than anything. More than life."
