“Drop these off in Master Sukuna’s chambers,” Uraume instructed, handing you a stack of dark red linens. “Place them on the low table when you walk in.”
“Okay,” you nodded as you accepted the stack of silks. You chose not to comment on the way Uraume wiped their hands on their robes after your hands briefly brushed.
“Should I knock or just walk in?”
“He shouldn’t be there right now, so just walk in. He’s attending to personal matters. If he is there, stay silent and keep your head down,” said Uraume, lips etched into a permanent half-scowl.
Although they had never said it out loud, everyone knew that Uraume put Sukuna high above everyone else, followed by themself and then all the servants.
“Of course,” you nodded again, nervous to be sent off into Sukuna’s chambers.
You, along with most of the servants, did your best to stay as far away from him as possible. Keep to yourself, stay out of the way, and do your best to get by.
You’d never even dared enter his private wing of the estate.
“And remember,” Uraume’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. “No matter what you do, do not disturb him.”
You’d barely stepped out of the doorway before you heard Uraume scolding another meek servant, already moved onto the seemingly never ending to-do list they filled their days with.
Sliding the door shut behind you, you nervously made your way across the estate. The further you went, the more sparse the servants were, and you only prayed that Sukuna wasn’t there.
It wasn’t a secret that he preferred to be alone. No personal servants, besides Uraume, of course, no advisors, no concubines, not even any family.
Those who dared try to impose themselves on his life often ended up with a few less limbs than the average person.
Your footsteps seemed to echo through the silent hallway. You had finally arrived just outside his bedroom and there wasn’t another soul in sight.
Swallowing your nerves, you tilted your head downward and opened the door.
You stood still in the doorway.
Recalling Uraume’s orders, you kept your eyes trained on your feet until you were sure nobody was going to yell at you or kill you on the spot.
You finally walked two steps over to the mahogony table and quietly set down the linens.
Now what? Just leave?
The silence seemed ever consuming.
Clearly nobody was in the room, it wouldn’t hurt to take a peek, would it?
Wrong.
You lifted your head up just enough to sweep your eyes over the expanse of the room.
Large desk, large bed, and–oh, fuck.
Sukuna, right in the middle of the bed, staring at you as he held his cocks in his hands.
Two?
You couldn’t help your eyes from widening, mouth dropped open in a little ‘o’ shape as you processed what you were seeing.
Clearly, your instincts needed sharpening to allow you to just openly gape at Sukuna.
It was just so hard to look away from the way he used both of his right hands to stroke himself.
Two cocks stacked on top of each other, each one thick and dripping.
He wasn’t stopping, even with your staring, and you realize he must’ve just been waiting for you to get the hell out of there.
You must have been staring for a while, because his scoff suddenly snapped you out of your thoughts.
“Are you just going to stand there gawking?” He asked, voice low and annoyed.
“N-no! Sorry,” you quickly corrected yourself, bowing your head as you rushed to leave the room.
You turned as fast as you could, hoping he’d decide to let you keep all your limbs if you got out quick enough.
Just as you were a step away from the door, his voice called out to you.
“I didn’t say you could leave.”
That’s it. This was the end.
You paused in the doorway and hesitantly turned around, eyes once again trained on the ground.
“Did someone send you here, or did you wander in all on your own?”
You swallowed. “Uraume sent me to deliver some fabrics.”
“Look up when I’m speaking to you,” he commanded.
You lifted your head up, eyes trained on his face so as to not watch the hypnotizing way he stroked himself.
“That’s better,” he commented dryly, eyes not-so subtly looking you up and down before one corner of his mouth lifted up in a grin. “You didn’t seem to have a problem with it a few moments ago.”
“I apologize, Master Sukuna,” you said, ready to get down on your knees and pray for forgiveness if you needed to. “Please forgive me. I didn’t intend to intrude.”
“Hm,” the grin disappeared to be replaced by a neutral expression you couldn’t dissect. “Come here.”
Yup. Definitely the end.
You stiffly walked across the room over to where he was sprawled out on his bed. He hadn’t let up his motions, palms dragging up and down and up and down repeatedly.
“You just couldn’t help your curiosity, could you?” He asked, eyes taking a better look at you as you stood at the edge of his bed. “Stop shaking. If I wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead.”
As calming as the words should be, they didn’t do much to reassure you of your safety.
He rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath, “So fragile.”
You stood there stiffly, only looking at his face as you nervously awaited your next instructions.
He exhaled in frustration.
“You very rudely interrupted me with your staring,” he said dryly. You opened your mouth to apologize again, but he cut you off before you had the chance. “Stop. You can help me to make up for it.”
You closed your mouth.
“How?”
He said nothing, simply nodding at his lower half with his chin.
“What?” Your eyes widened, immediately understanding what he wanted your help with. “But–two!”
He raised an eyebrow. “That wasn’t an issue when you were gawking earlier.”
“Um,” you were at a loss for words, simultaneously embarrassed and scared for what was to happen.
“Relax,” he huffed. “I’m not going to fuck you.”
That did nothing to help your nerves.
You couldn’t deny he was attractive. Very, if you were being honest with yourself and the nights you shamefully let your hand slip under the waistband of your pants. It’s just that the attractiveness doesn’t cancel out the intimidation and the knowledge of the crimes he’s committed.
“Then what do you want?” You dared to finally ask.
“Start by getting on the bed.”
You blinked, swallowing your pride and finally lifting yourself up on the plush mattress to sit yourself in between his massive legs.
You looked at him for directions.
“You have two hands, use them.”
Breath hitching, you reached a tentative hand out to replace the one covering the cock closest to his stomach. The hand absolutely dwarfed yours.
As you wrapped your hand around his length, you frowned as you realized it barely covered anything and one hand on each would do almost nothing.
Everything about this man was huge.
He must have sensed your thoughts, because he suddenly spoke in that low timbre.
“It doesn’t matter.” Lidded eyes looked down at you. “Do what you can. You’ll have time to learn more later.”
You didn’t dwell on the words, giving an experimental stroke to his cock, flushed red and already leaking down over your hand.
It was captivating.
"They wont bite."
You didn’t waste any time before taking the other one out of his hand and starting to work it.
You heard the amused chuckle rumble his chest above you, but it only encouraged you further.
Biting your lip, you squeezed both cocks gently as you moved your hands up and down in sync.
Every twitch in your hands let you feel every thick vein running along the shafts, both cocks curved downward.
Although you didn’t look away from the mesmerizing mess in your hand, you noticed the way his head started to tilt backwards from pleasure.
You continued to pump them together, more precum spilling onto your fingers every time your fist lifted from the thick bases up to the tips.
Not much longer later, his chest started to rise and fall in an irregular rhythm.
He was even more attractive like this, you thought, eyes back up on his face instead of the warmth in your hands.
You could tell he was keeping himself quiet on purpose. Eyes almost all the way shut, he still let out a few unsteady breaths and you clung onto those breathy sounds coming from his lips.
Everything about this was hypnotizing.
From the way his cocks sat flushed and heavy in your hands to the tattooed muscles along his torso to the way he pretended not to be affected, you took all of it in and kept the memory for safekeeping.
The warmth of him finally spilling into your hands snapped you out of your thoughts. You focused back on that, speeding up the friction on his cocks as he came on your fists.
He hissed, head thrown back against the pillow as your movements spurred him on through his release.
You had a hard time tearing your eyes away from his face, his jaw clenched until the bottom half of his eyes looked down at you.
“Good,” he decided. “Your curiosity is good for something.”
You frowned, but didn’t dare complain to the King of Curses.
“Well?” He asked after a moment, and you sat there dumbfounded and unsure what he wanted you to do.
“What now?”
“Are you just going to sit there like you want a turn, or are you going to clean yourself up?”
“Sorry.” You pulled your hands away like he burned you, face heating up in embarrassment. You looked around the room for something to clean your hands with.
“Use those,” he added, pointing to the linens you originally brought in.
“I just brought these in, though. They take so long to wash.” You sighed, slipping off the bed to use one to wipe your hands with.
“You’ll have to go back to get some new ones, then,” he commented, two arms resting behind his head.
You frowned at the thought of walking all the way there and back again.
(Jack Abbot x Reader)
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Anyone who knows Dr. Jack Abbott probably assumes his wife loves seeing him in his scrubs. And honestly, look at the guy—the man's biceps could choke a bear, and the recipient would probably thank him for it.
But Jack isn't cocky about it. He’s effortlessly charming, respectfully flirty with the nurses and staff, but everyone knows his heart belongs to his sweet, loving wife waiting at home.
What the staff at PTMC doesn't know is that his "sweet wife" is a SWAT Captain. They picture a soft, doting woman. They don't picture her covered in blood and grime, strapped in heavy tactical gear, ordering a strike team around with a voice that could freeze fire.
And nobody knows the filthy secret Jack hides beneath his calm, professional exterior: the sheer, staggering effect her authority has on him. Nobody knows how embarrassingly hard he gets when he hears her team snap back, "Yes, Captain!" Nobody knows the primal, feral rush that hits his bloodstream when he watches her drop a hostile to the floor. She boxes, she shoots, she commands—and Jack is simultaneously fiercely proud and deeply, shamefully obsessed with how insanely hot she is.
So when she rolls into the PTMC trauma bay with one of her own on the gurney, Jack is fighting for his life. He has to focus. He cannot glance at her standing in the doorway, blood spattered across her Kevlar vest, radiating lethal authority. He has to stare at the open chest cavity in front of him, reminding himself that someone’s life depends on his steady hands—not on the image of his wife in full tactical gear.
But the second the patient is stable and the monitors beep steadily, Jack's legendary restraint snaps.
Nobody questions where Dr. Abbott and the SWAT Captain disappear to.
In the dark, cramped confines of a supply closet, Jack’s hands are on her before the door even finishes closing. He fists the thick fabric of her tactical vest, yanking her into him. His mouth crashes onto hers—hungry, desperate, and utterly unyielding. He is starved for her, kissing her like a man dying of thirst.
You have to physically pry yourself away from him just to yank your balaclava off, gasping for air. "Husband dearest," you pant, trying to sound stern but failing as his lips immediately attack your jaw. "Please keep it together—"
Your words dissolve into a breathless moan as he silences you with another searing kiss. His hand snakes to the back of your head, his palm firmly cushioning your skull so you don't hit it against the wall as he walks you backward into the shelving. Both of you are still fully in uniform—his dark scrubs grinding against your rough, heavy tactical gear.
You probably have exactly five minutes before your radio crackles and your team needs you. But Jack is a man possessed. He is absolutely, unequivocally set on devouring you right here, right now, tasting the adrenaline and sweat on your skin.
Before you can even formulate a protest, before you can remember your rank or your duty, he is kissing you deeper. Without breaking the contact of your lips, his hand reaches blindly behind him, finding the door handle.
Click.
The lock slides into place. He’s making damn sure nobody is going to take away these five sweet minutes with his wife.
The click of the lock is the only warning you get before Jack’s mouth is back on yours, ravenous and demanding. The kiss turns absolutely filthy, all teeth and tongue and desperate, breathless groans. His hands, usually so steady and precise in the OR, are shaking as they drop from your vest to your tactical belt.
He doesn't have the patience for the heavy buckles. With a frustrated, feral noise against your lips, he shoves his hand past the obstruction, slipping his fingers beneath the waistband of your pants and underwear.
You gasp into his mouth as his fingers find you, slick and incredibly hot. Jack lets out a broken, agonized moan, the vibration rumbling against your chest. "Fuck," he breathes, his forehead dropping against yours for a split second, his hips jerking forward on their own accord. "You're this wet? In full gear? You're going to fucking kill me."
"Jack—" you whimper, but your hands aren't idle either. You need to feel him, need to touch the desperation you've driven him to. You shove your hand between your bodies, your fingers easily slipping beneath the elastic waistband of his scrub pants.
When your hand wraps around his thick, aching length, Jack’s knees actually buckle. He slams his palm flat against the wall beside your head to steady himself, a guttural curse tearing from his throat. He is rock hard, pulsing against your palm, already leaking at the tip. You stroke him once, twice, swiping your thumb over the head, and he whines—actually whines—into the crook of your neck.
"Don't stop," he begs, his voice unrecognizable, stripped raw of all his usual composure. "Please, baby, don't stop."
You set a frantic, sloppy rhythm, stroking him in tight, twisting motions just the way you know makes him lose his mind. He matches your pace, his fingers sliding through your wetness before two plunge deep inside you. His thumb finds your clit, pressing with a ruthless, practiced precision that has you biting down on his shoulder to keep from screaming.
The supply closet fills with the obscene, wet sounds of your mutual pleasure, overlaid with harsh, ragged breathing. It’s a chaotic clash of textures: the rough, heavy fabric of your Kevlar vest rubbing against his soft scrub top, the cold metal of your belt buckle clinking against his pants, the searing heat where your hands work each other over.
Jack is completely gone, utterly pussy-drunk and desperate. He thrusts into your fist, his breath hot and erratic against your ear as he mumbles filthy praises. "That's it, Captain. Take it. God, you're so fucking tight. You feel so good. Look at you, letting me fuck you with my fingers while you're still in uniform—"
His dirty talk is your undoing. The coil in your belly winds tight, the combination of his thick fingers curling perfectly inside you and the sheer depravity of the situation pushing you right to the edge.
"Jack, I'm—" you gasp, your hand faltering on his shaft as the pleasure crests.
"No, don't stop, please—" he begs, grinding into your palm even as his fingers fuck you harder, faster. "Come for me. I need to feel you, please—"
You break. Your orgasm crashes over you like a shockwave, your walls clamping down hard around his fingers. You bury your face in his chest, your body jerking as you cry out, the sound muffled by his scrub top.
The sensation of you coming apart around his fingers is the final straw for Jack. He lets out a choked, breathless shout, his hips stuttering wildly against your hand. He spills hot and thick over your fingers, his entire body shuddering violently as his own climax rips through him.
For a long minute, the only sound in the tiny room is the deafening rhythm of your combined heartbeats and heavy, gasping breaths. Jack collapses against you, his full weight pressing you into the wall, his face buried in your hair. His fingers slip out of you, and he lazily rests his clean hand over your racing heart, feeling it pound against his palm.
You slowly extract your hands from each other's pants, both of you hissing at the sudden loss of friction. You look down at the mess on your hand, then up at him. His curly hair is a disaster, his face flushed, his eyes half-lidded and completely dazed. He looks thoroughly wrecked.
He catches your wrist, bringing your messy fingers to his lips and pressing a tender, lingering kiss to your knuckles, his eyes fluttering shut.
A sharp, muffled buzz from the radio strapped to your shoulder makes you both jump. "Captain, come in. We're wheels up in two."
You share a breathless, slightly manic look. Jack’s lips curve into a slow, satisfied, utterly unrepentant smirk. He leans in, stealing one last, lingering kiss.
"Five minutes," he murmurs against your lips, his voice still rough. "Told you it was enough."
'this' is zoro who has suddenly shown up as you were re-stitching the hem of a torn shirt (yours, but with one of his repaired and draped over the chair beside you), kneeling before your feet, and pressing his head into your lap.
it's disturbed your stitching slightly, but deftly you've moved your handiwork out of the way, careful not to use your needle and poke out his other eye - something he really should consider the next time. ordinarily, you'd try to pay him no mind, and let him rest as you continued your work, but today he holds on so tightly you wonder if he's attempting to tell you something without actually saying a word.
"you okay?" you finally ask.
face still buried in your lap, you hear a muffled 'yes', and snort to yourself.
"are you being a big baby because you need to be or is there something i should be asking you?"
still muffled, without moving his face, he mutters,
"you're not very nurturing, are you?"
"nope!" you offer cheerfully.
it's his turn to snort, but he hasn't let go still. your free hand rubs carefully over the short crop of his hair, then you let out a sigh.
"you sure you're all right?"
zoro still doesn't say a word. your mind passes quickly through the last few days - conversations, battles, meals, anything that could upset or anything that could cause a surge of emotional fondness... you find that with zoro, all of his emotions mingle and mesh together, muddled and compressed so tightly that they come out as one thing.
which may be him holding you so tightly right now without a word.
as you ponder this for a moment, your hand in rhythmic motion as you stare out at the expanse of the deep blue sea before you, he finally inhales deeply, then sighs.
"you're doing it again."
you blink, then look at him. finally, his head tilts up, his chin resting on the curve of your knee.
"doing what?"
"treating me like i'm some kind of puppy."
your head tilts gently to the side.
"you're the one who came here wordlessly for a hug. do you not expect to be petted when you come in that fashion?"
he gives you a long, appraising look, but in this reverent, practically clinging position, attempting to look upset is futile, even cute.
"difficult," he murmurs.
"yeah, you are," you offer, but your hands close around his face, and slowly he comes up to his feet, guided by the pull of your fingertips, for the kiss he so desperately needs.
⋆˚꩜｡ summary: A teasing banter over Iron Maiden and Dio quickly spirals into whiskey-soaked and reckless attraction
⋆˚꩜｡ tags/tw: explicit content (minors do not interect, you're not welcome) no y/n, she/her reader, big age gap, confident reader, smoking, alcohol consumption, praise kink, oral sex (f!receiving), dirty talk, dom!eddie, sloppy kissing, breeding kink undertone, mild cnc undertones, overstimulation, fingering, p in v, unprotected sex
⋆˚꩜｡ wordcount: 6.6k+
The bell hanging above the glass door rang as soon as he’d pushed it open, and the smell of second hand vinyl, and something that smelled an awful lot like the faint remains of a joint, hit him when he finally stepped inside the independent record shop that had just opened downtown.
Eddie took a slow look around – noticing how the dark wall at the end of the shop was covered with framed posters he was sure were original ones, the two tattered bean bags randomly thrown in the far right corner next to a listening station, the overstocked shelves with imported tapes and limited-pressed records and the rack with vintage merch he was almost sure held one or two of the shirts he’d lost along the years.
But what really caught his attention, was the display island in the dead centre of the shop – custom built from what he could see, and at least a dozen plastic crates sitting on top of it, filled with records, prints, enamel pins and whatever else he was about to waste half his free afternoon digging through.
His heavy work boots thudded onto the polished concrete floor as he stepped further into the shop, his fingers twitching to start digging through it all.
“Just holler if you need help,” a disinterested voice said from behind the register.
Eddie pulled his eyes away from crate labelled limited eds. just briefly but redirected them back onto the Danish pressing of Melissa his fingers had stalled on when he didn’t actually see anyone behind the register.
Not that he really minded anyway – his brain already short-circuiting over the surprisingly doable price tag stuck in the upper right corner.
Honestly, he was somewhat relieved whoever was behind the register didn’t seem to be one of those pushy salesmen who hovered around customers like it was their fist time stepping into a record store. He preferred being left alone with the crates in front of him – especially considering he was acting like a fucking teenager every time his eyes landed on something he could add to his already ridiculous collection.
Something unfamiliar drifted through the speakers overhead, low and moody enough to catch his attention. Good enough, too, that he made a mental note to ask whoever was behind the register what artist it was.
By the time the soft streaks of sunshine had faded into a dusky blue evening, he’d already piled an embarrassing amount of records on top of one of the crates, and was now trying to convince himself not to go digging through the rack of vintage tees too.
He walked to the rack without really thinking it through. He was already spending more than he should’ve anyway — might as well indulge a little more.
The thin, high-pitched scrape of metal against metal made him scrunch his nose as his ringed, calloused fingers pushed through the hangers, eyes scanning every faded design he flipped past.
The annoying scrape of metal faded abruptly when his fingers stalled on a pristine shirt that was, unfortunately, just a little outside his budget.
"The price is ridiculous, I know," the voice behind the counter mumbled, followed by the faint sound of movement. "But it's an original from '81."
Eddie looked over his shoulder just enough to show he was listening before his attention drifted back to the shirt in his hands.
“Took my dad forever to get that one,” you added absentmindedly.
That finally dragged Eddie’s attention away from the shirt in his hands, his brows already furrowing before he’d even fully turned around.
His dark brown eyes finally landed on you behind the register, your chin propped against your palm while you drummed a pen absentmindedly to the song playing overhead.
You couldn’t have been more than twenty years old.
Which, considering the shirt in his hands was older than you were, probably explained the comment about your dad.
“Maiden fan?” he asked, eyes flickering between you and the shirt he still held.
You deadpanned, tilting your head slightly.
“2 AM.”
Eddie furrowed his eyebrows again. “What?”
“You were about to make me name an Iron Maiden song that isn’t Fear of the Dark or The Trooper,” you said flatly, like this was far from the first time you’d had this exact conversation. “So, 2 AM. From their 1995 album The X Factor.”
Eddie stilled, blinking at you a couple times like he genuinely hadn’t expected that answer to come out of your mouth.
“I, uh… wasn’t gonna ask that,” he mumbled, his brows still faintly furrowed. “But, 2 AM, seriously? That’s a depressive pull.”
You scoffed lightly, the corner of your mouth already twitching upward.
“Yeah, well. I like the depressive stuff.”
You still had your chin propped in your hand as your eyes drifted slowly over him, taking in the curls that had escaped his messy bun, and the way his ringed fingers twitched against the preserved cotton.
But the nervous blinking was what really got you, which felt somewhat ridiculous, considering he was, what? In his late thirties, early forties?
Cute.
Eddie recovered – just slightly – from being caught off guard by the blatant way you’d checked him out, enough to squint at you jokingly.
“Alright, smartass. What’s your favourite Dio album?”
You squinted back, pushing your tongue against the inside of your cheek.
“Dio the band, or the man himself?” you murmured, slowly pushing yourself off the counter to stand a little straighter. “‘Cause I got different answers depending on what you wanna know.”
“Hit me.” He raised his brows, giving a small nod.
Dragging your gaze down for a split second, you pretended to think about it.
“How about I tell you over a drink?”
Eddie scoffed softly in disbelief, shaking his head as he dragged his eyes away from you for a second before looking back.
“Are you even old enough to get a drink?”
“I asked you out,” you shot back, “not if you could buy me a bottle while I wait around the corner.”
He didn’t say anything right away; instead, he let his eyes linger for a moment longer, noticing the soft way the warm amber lights overhead spread across your face.
He also pretended the tips of his ears didn’t heat up at the fact that someone this young was so blatantly flirting with someone nearly twice her age.
“You flirt like a menace, y’know that?”
The corner of your mouth twitched before you smiled bashfully, some of your earlier confidence slipping for just a second before you pulled it back together.
“Just with people who have good taste in music.”
By the time the bartender slid your drinks onto the table, Eddie still wasn’t sure how a twenty-something-year-old had managed to talk him into this.
You crossed your legs beneath the table as you gently pushed his neat whiskey closer to him before curling your hand around your beer.
His eyes lingered briefly on your chipped black nail polish before traveling up to the heavy silver rings wrapped around your fingers, ultimately settling on your face.
The dim lighting made you look softer than you had back at the record shop, casting a different kind of glow across your eyes.
“You always ask strange men out after arguing about Iron Maiden?” he asked as he mirrored you, curling his hand around his own glass.
“Not really,” you smiled softly, noticeably shyer than you’d been up until now. “Don’t know how you made the cut.”
Eddie looked away for a moment, biting lightly at his lip as he nodded absentmindedly, a strange self-conscious feeling slowly settling in the pit of his stomach.
It had been… a while since someone had asked him out. Not to mention someone nearly half his age – which was definitely a first.
“Holy Diver’s the obvious answer,” you started slowly after taking a sip of your beer. “But Ritchie Blackmore’s Rainbow kinda ruined my life.”
A small, disbelieving smile found its way onto Eddie’s lips.
“If Rainbow counts,” you added quickly.
“Rainbow absolutely counts,” he chuckled, raising a brow as his gaze dropped briefly to your hand, catching the faint nicotine stain between two fingers. “Lemme guess – Catch the Rainbow.”
“Look at you,” you laughed softly before wetting your lips. “You already know me so well.”
Your eyes sparkled a little too brightly beneath the dim bar lights, soft shadows settling across your face.
And suddenly, Eddie didn’t feel quite so self-conscious anymore. Not with the way you were looking at him.
“You wanna smoke?”
“Can you lose one?” you asked hesitantly before scrunching your nose. “Just ran out, and I couldn’t exactly leave the store to buy more.”
“For you? Always.”
The intimate words slipped from his mouth before he could think them through; strangely enough, though, they didn’t feel weird on his tongue.
Eddie stood first, reaching for your class before you could while you slid out of the booth beside him.
The low hum of conversations and clinking glasses faded into the background as the two of you made your way through the crowded bar, shoulders brushing once when someone stumbled past with an overly loud laugh and an apology neither one of you really paid attention to.
The soft evening breeze hit Eddie’s face the second he pushed the door open with his foot, carrying the faint smell of city streets and beer spilled somewhere along the sidewalk outside.
Most of the patio tables sat empty at this hour despite the lingering warmth of the evening, leaving the two of you to settle at one tucked near the railing beneath the weak amber glow of an overhead streetlamp.
He slid your sweating glass of beer back towards you before reaching for the slightly crumpled pack of Camels in the front pocket of his jeans. He lifted a cigarette to his lips before he pulled out another one and held it out for you.
The lighter followed almost immediately – silver and worn, in the kind of way that made it obvious he’d had it for years.
Eddie flicked it open with easy precision, lighting it and tilting it closer to you.
You slid your glass to the side and placed your hands at the edge of the seat, fingers curling around the cool wood as you leaned forward just slightly with the cigarette already between your lips. The flame reflected warmly in your eyes while you looked up at him from under your lashes before he absentmindedly brought it to his own cigarette, quietly noticing the subtle arch in your posture as you leaned closer.
He took a long, slow drag and let the smoke curl in his lungs for a moment, while he took in the sight in front of him – the way your lips closed around the brown filter, your little habit of actually swallowing down the smoke before you blew it out, the way you still hadn’t looked away from him.
“You’re pretty,” he mumbled under his breath, almost like he wasn’t actually aware he was saying it out loud.
A shy smile crept across your face as you finally broke eye contact – but only for a split second.
“You flirt like an old man,” you chuckled.
“Yeah, well, Sweetheart,” Eddie scoffed jokingly. “That’s kinda what happens when you ask out someone who’s twice your age.”
“Didn’t say I didn’t like it.”
Just six little words were enough to make his stomach twist in a way he wasn’t used to anymore – especially with the knowing smile you gave him afterward.
He knew the smart thing would be to pull away. Change the subject. Steer the conversation towards something safer than this quiet little push and the pull the two of you had slipped into.
But instead, he stayed exactly where he was, fingers curled loosely around his cigarette as his gaze followed the slow lift of your beer to your lips.
A stray drop of beer escaped from the corner of your mouth, threatening to trail down your chin before Eddie reached over and caught it with his thumb before it had the chance.
The look he gave you as he dragged his tongue across his thumb was enough to make it painfully obvious he’d done it on purpose.
Eddie watched your throat move when you swallowed.
“You keep looking at me like that,” you mumbled quietly, “and I’m gonna start thinking you want something.”
His cigarette rested forgotten between his fingers as the corner of his mouth twitched upward.
“Sweetheart,” he said lowly, “I think we’re a little past that already.”
Your gaze dropped briefly to his mouth before flicking back up again, subtle enough that most people probably wouldn’t have caught it – but Eddie did.
The corner of his mouth twitched as he leaned back in his chair, cigarette balanced loosely between his fingers while he watched you through the thin curls of smoke.
“Careful,” he murmured, finally tapping ash from his cigarette while his eyes stayed fixed on you. “Keep lookin’ at me like that and I’m gonna forget how old you are.”
“Good.” You held the smoke in your lungs for a second before exhaling slowly, teeth catching your bottom lip out of habit more than anything else. “‘Cause I already forgot yours.”
Eddie’s hand barely softened the force of your back hitting the brick wall he’d pushed you against, the heavy rings on his fingers catching against your scalp as he buried his hand in your hair and pulled.
This close, it was impossible not to notice the scent of motor oil clinging to him beneath the minty cologne, and the cigarette smoke.
And fuck, that alone was enough to ruin you a little.
His other hand found your face, thumb pressing into your cheek while the rest of his fingers spread against the other as he tilted your head and deepened the kiss.
Eddie nudged your mouth open with his, brushing his tongue against your bottom lip first – almost hesitant, like some part of him still wasn’t fully sure he should be doing this. But then he kissed you harder, and his tongue slid against yours, warm and slick, and you could still taste the lingering bite of spicy citrus of his whiskey on him.
“Please tell me you live nearby,” he murmured against your lips when he finally pulled back just slightly.
“Above the shop,” you mumbled back, voice low and still a little drunk on his kiss.
Eddie still had a tight grip on your hair and jaw when he pulled away a little more, pupils blown wide, lips slick with your spit, and his greying curls even messier than they’d been all evening.
He could feel the warmth rising beneath his fingers when he tilted his head back slightly, biting at his lip while keeping his eyes locked on yours.
“Good,” he murmured.
He kept his grip on you for a few moments longer, in no real rush to move back towards the shop despite the heat slowly settling low in his stomach, eyes fixed on the breathless look spread across your face.
A quiet fuck slipped from beneath your breath, your thoughts short-circuiting around the tight grip he still had on you and the unbearably cocky look he was giving you.
“C’mon.” He scoffed softly under his breath before tilting his head towards the buzzing street. “Before I take you right here.”
Your pulse hammered beneath his fingertips as his hands grabbed at your hips instead, pulling you away from the wall and back into him for one more quick, messy kiss before he laced his fingers through yours and guided you out the alley he’d pulled you into earlier.
He only let go of your hand once – to shrug off his jacket and drape it over your shoulders when the cold evening wind picked up around the two of you.
Every now and then he’d tug you back against him just long enough to steal another kiss beneath the amber streetlights before continuing down the sidewalk like he hadn’t just completely short-circuited your brain again with his warm, plush lips and the comforting smell of leather and smoke clinging to his jacket.
“You always this clingy after two drinks?” you teased quietly.
Eddie only snorted under his breath before glancing down at you.
“You always this distracting?”
Feeling too flustered to come up with a proper reply, you only clicked your tongue softly before letting go of his hand to dig the cluttered keychain out of your bag once the shop came back into view.
“Please don’t mind the mess,” you mumbled under your breath while unlocking the door.
Eddie barely waited for the lock to click open before one of his hands found your hip again while the other slid around your throat, firmly tilting your head back so he could kiss you again.
While one of your hands curled loosely around the forearm resting on your throat, you weakly pushed the door open with the other as Eddie pressed his chest flush against your back and shuffled the two of you into the cramped entryway.
He nudged the door shut with his foot without pulling away from you – not when the pretty, muffled whimpers slipping from your mouth were making him even harder than he already was.
His rings pressed against your throat as he kept your head tilted back, kissing deep and messily from the awkward angle he held you at while his tongue slid insistently against yours. His bottom lip brushed sloppily against your upper one, teeth knocking together every now and then while a small drop of spit slipped from the corner of your mouth.
He finally pulled away – though reluctantly – when another soft, pathetic whimper slipped from your mouth into his.
“Take me upstairs, sweetheart.”
Eddie’s pupils blew wide as he took in the dumbfounded way you were staring up at him, lips swollen and slick with his spit.
He loosened his grip on you just enough to give your ass a quick smack when you kept staring up at him instead of moving.
“C’mon now,” he muttered, a cocky little grin tugging at the corner of his lips.
You licked your lips and swallowed hard before finally nodding absentmindedly, your gaze flicking towards the stairs.
Neither of you bothered to break the thick, expectant silence as you guided him upstairs.
Kicking off your shoes once you finally got upstairs, you flicked the lights on, revealing a living room that looked like it had been pulled straight out of the seventies.
Brown couch, walls covered in posters, plants crowding nearly every surface, a funky patterned rug tying it all together – not exactly what Eddie had expected from the girl in eyeliner and a vintage Metallica shirt.
Eddie glanced around the apartment before letting out a quiet laugh under his breath.
“Jesus,” he muttered. “This place looks like my childhood.”
That pulled a soft laugh from you.
“Yeah, well,” you chuckled under your breath, “I was raised on old records and questionable interior design.”
Your face warmed a little when he kicked off his boots and drifted towards the record collection in the corner, suddenly feeling weirdly nervous about what he might think of your music taste.
“Fuck, you might have a bigger collection that I do, sweetheart,” he said distractedly. “There’s some seriously good stuff in here.”
You chuckled again, softly under your breath, as you wandered towards the kitchen and pulling two glasses from the cupboard.
“Glad you approve of my music taste,” you teased while pushing through the beaded curtain separating the kitchen from the living room. “Choose your poison: whiskey or rum?”
Eddie looked over his shoulder, his attention finally dragged away from the records when the clinking beads announced your return from the kitchen – which, considering the rest of the apartment, of course only made the drinking cart in the corner of the living room feel more fitting.
The soft metallic raps of the pour against glass filled the room alongside the warm scent of toasted oak and brown sugar from the rum you were pouring yourself.
The bottle twitched slightly in your hand when Eddie suddenly stepped in behind you, one arm wrapping loosely around your waist while he pushed a strand of hair aside to press a kiss against your neck.
“Watcha havin’?” he murmured against your skin, warm breath fanning across your neck.
You swallowed hard, feeling yourself growing flustered all over again before tilting the bottle slightly so he could see the label.
His lips stayed glued to your neck, pressing slow, messy kisses against your skin while he hummed quietly between them.
“Wanna share?” he murmured, voice muffled by the fact he still refused to let go of you.
“If you keep kissing me like that,” you mumbled breathlessly after screwing the bottle shut and setting it back down, “we’re not gonna end up drinking anything.”
His greying curls tickled your skin when he chuckled against your neck.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
You looked over your shoulder, catching his mouth with yours and finally forcing him to abandon your neck long enough for you to turn properly towards him.
Your hand slid from his chest to the back of his neck before tangling into his curls and tugging hard enough to pull a rough sound from him.
You bit lightly at his bottom lip before kissing him again – messy and impatient this time – and Eddie immediately tightened his grip on your hips, pulling your body flush against his while his fingers pressed harder into your skin.
“Couch or bed?” you breathed against his lips before dragging slow kisses down the side of his neck.
A rough fuck slipped from Eddie’s mouth as he tipped his head back slightly, swallowing hard when you sucked at his skin.
“You attached to your couch?” he muttered, already steering the two of you towards it.
Finally pulling away from his mouth, you harshly pushed him back against the worn suede cushions before straddling his lap.
“I might after tonight,” you whispered teasingly as your hands slipped up around his neck, drawing him back into another messy kiss before he could even think of a reply.
You rolled your hips curiously against his, feeling the sharp twitch of his cock beneath the thick denim of his jeans before pulling away just enough to brush your lips back against his neck, catching the rapid pulse fluttering beneath his skin. Eddie’s hand tightened around your hip immediately, guiding your movements faster as he tipped his head enough to catch your earlobe between his teeth while his other hand slid down your back, under your skirt to your ass.
A rough groan slipped from him when you sucked harder against his neck – enough to leave something behind for him to remember you by later.
“Take it off,” he mumbled as he tugged impatiently at the jacket still hanging loosely from your shoulders, his movements hurried despite the softness in his voice.
You grabbed at the hem of his shirt and pulled it up over his head before catching his mouth again in another messy, wet kiss. He kissed you with fervour, tongue crashing wildly against yours while he kneaded the supple flesh, warm rings digging into your ass.
Eddie reached down and grabbed the hem of your shirt, breaking the kiss, and hurriedly peeling it up to reveal the lack of a bra on you.
He tilted his back just slightly as he groaned, sounding almost pained, at the view of your gradually hardening nipples. He threw your shirt somewhere behind you, and latched his lips against your throat. He left soft nibs and wet, messy kissed as he trailed down to catch one of your nipples in his mouth, while the hand he had on your hip slid up to pinch the other.
“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he rasped between licks as you arched further into his touch and buckled against his hard on. “Gonna make you feel so fucking good.”
Eddie curled his lips around your nipple once more, gently biting and pulling at it, and then smoothing the sting down with his tongue before he repeated the whole thing all over again.
Slowly, he trailed his hand lower, calloused fingertips grazing along the sensitive skin of your ribs and inner thighs until he reached the lacy edge of your panties. He hooked his fingers underneath, just to snap the fabric against your skin and steal another whimper from you. He bit your nipple one more time before pulling away, looking at you from under his lashes as he drag your panties down just enough to see the mess you’d made.
“Fuck, sweetheart,” he praised huskily, ghosting his fingertips along your slit and circling your swollen clit, “all this for me?”
All you could really do was give him another pathetic whimper.
With a cocky grin, he pulled his fingers away and suddenly lifted you off him to throw you on the couch, scoffing softly at the way your breasts jiggled with the hard movement before biting his lips.
Eddie straddled you before you could react properly and pinned your wrists above your head with his ringed hand while he pulled at your lacy panties with the other.
“I’m going to absolutely ruin you,” he groaned as he ground against your pussy, not caring if it would ruin his jeans.
He finally let go of your wrists to push himself up straight and unbutton his jeans.
Your chest fell and rose erratically, eyes glued to his tattooed chest before they trailed down to his fingers pulling at the zipper. Eddie didn’t take off his jeans after that, too busy dipping his head back to your tits and trailing his tongue down from your nipple to the waist of your skirt.
“This stays on,” he groaned, looking up at you as he dipped lower and pushed your thighs apart with his hands.
“Y-you…” you trailed off breathlessly, gulping down when he licked his lips. “You don’t have to.”
“Oh, I absolutely do,” Eddie groaned back, eyes glued to your slick folds. “Can’t just ignore this pretty pussy, not when she’s begging for me.”
He lowered his head and circled your clit with the tip of tongue before sealing his lips around it, sucking greedily. His fingers dug harder into your skin as he buried his face deeper, lapping and probing your leaking slit. He pushed his tongue inside you, fucking you with it before pulling away to spit on your cunt. Eddie’s eyes flickered back to your face as he slipped one finger into your sloppy cunt, curling it to stroke along your slick walls. His lips, still shiny with you, fell open to groan when he felt you flutter around him, encouraging him to pump his finger a little faster.
“I– Fuck, Eddie.”
Gently adding another finger, he stretched you open before dipping his bead back to lap at your clit, swirling his tongue around it. Eddie thrusted his fingers faster, curling them to hit that special spot inside you to bring you closer to the edge. He relentlessly fingered your cunt open while lashing his tongue against your swollen nub, determined to wring every ounce of pleasure from your quivering body.
“You gonna come for me, sweetheart?” he moaned against you when he felt you clench around his fingers, sending vibrations down your clit. “C’mon, baby, you can do it. Give it to me.”
Eddie curled his fingers, thrusting them in and out of you, while he sucked greedily hard at you, sending electric shocks through your body. Your hips bucked against his face as he brought you closer to the brink. He flickered his eyes to yours, crooking his fingers even harder than before, finally pushing you over the edge with a few final hard sucks and thrusts of his fingers.
Your pretty groans and whimpers shattered into a high-pitched moan as you finally came on Eddie’s ringed fingers.
Eddie gave your clit one last greedy kiss, ignoring the overstimulated twitch of your thighs around his face, and pushed himself up to smash his lips onto yours. His chin and cheeks were glistening, and the taste of your slick was heavy on his tongue.
“Can’t believe you were gonna hold out on me,” he said when he broke away, and frowned down at you, dark silver curls framing his face. “Boys your age don’t ever eat you out? That why you tried to stop me?”
You breathed heavily as you blinked a few times to clear your vision from the black spots blocking his view.
Eddie brought his sticky fingers to your face, and tapped your cheeks firmly, his eyebrows still furrowed. “Answer me when I ask you a question.”
“I…” you trailed off, mind hazy from the orgasm he just gave you. “No, they don’t.”
Eddie tsked at that, his brows relaxing while the corners of his mouth pulled into a cocky grin.
“Good,” he murmured, eyes still glued on yours. “More for me.”
Capturing your lips again, he poured all his spent-up energy into the filthy embrace. His slick tongue brushed messily against yours, teeth clinking against teeth, until spit rolled from the corner of his mouth and down your chin. He broke away reluctantly and rested his sweat-dampened brow against yours.
Eddie wrapped his hands around your thighs and pulled you closer until the rough edges of his zipper rasped against your sensitive folds. He gave you a few desperate rolls of his hips before he loosened his grip on you and pulled himself off the couch.
He stood tall, right at the edge of the couch, and let his eyes travel down your body as he pushed down his jeans until they dropped around his ankles with a soft thud. He noticed the way your thighs twitched when he stepped out of it and pulled off his boxers to free his strained erection.
He looked beautiful – long, and thicker than you’d imagined, with a painfully swollen tip that already leaked with sticky beads of pre cum – with his brows furrowed as he wrapped his hand around himself, stroking his cock once, twice, eyes glued onto yours while he did so.
“How do you want me?”
“Raw,” you breathed out before forcing down a dry lump down your throat. “Please.”
Eddie’s cock twitched in his hand while he sank his knees back down onto the couch. He loosened his grip around himself and wrapped his hands around your thighs once more.
He lined the swollen tip against your leaking slit before he changed his mind, and slid his cock between your still sensitive, sticky folds instead – like he hadn’t entirely decided if you deserved to be fucked just yet.
“Careful, now,” he groaned, eyebrows furrowed again as he glued his eyes on the way you were staining his cock. “Might start thinkin’ you wanna be bred.”
Then, when he’d finally lost the rest of his restraint, he notched his leaking tip at your slit, and pushed in slowly – inch, by agonizing inch, until he was buried to the hilt.
His cock stretched you open, sharp and painfully in the best way possible.
“I– Fuck, Eddie,” you choked out, brows furrowed. “I-I don’t–”
“Yes, you can,” he scoffed, digging his fingers deeper into your thighs. “You’re already doin’ it, sweetheart.”
Eddie stilled, allowing the both of you a moment to process the overwhelming feeling. Slowly, he withdrew until just the tip remained nestled within your slick heat. Then, with torturous gentleness, he sank back in and savoured each slick inch as he claimed you completely.
The pathetic whimpers mingled with his grunts before he leaned over again and pressed open-mouthed kisses along the nape of your neck.
“See? You’re doing it,” he breathed out against your skin. “You take me so fucking well, baby.”
He let out a grow, scrunched eyebrows as he worked you open, faster and deeper with each thrust. You couldn’t help but clench around him, dizzy and stupid with the way his tip brushed against that one spot so perfectly.
You threw one of your arms around his neck while the other found a tight grip in his dark silver curls, pulling at his locks and digging your nails into his skin every time he slid his cock in and out of you.
“Oh, God–”
He only grabbed your thighs even harder, angling his head to suck harshly at your neck, desperate to mark you, to claim you as his while you whine pathetically beneath him. The pretty sounds that left your mouth made his head spin, and his cock twitched with the need to pound you into your couch.
Eddie snapped his hips into yours, desperately thrusting his cock in and out of you as he pulled embarrassing squelching sounds out of your pussy, along with your broken moans and the hard slaps of his heavy balls hitting your ass.
“P-please,” you whimpered.
“Please, what, sweetheart?” He bit at your earlobe. “Am I not giving you enough, is that it?”
He pushed your thighs up until your knees touched your breasts, leaving you splayed wide and exposed, trembling in his hold.
“Look at you,” he groaned appreciatively as he drank in the sight of his cock disappearing in your slick folds with each hard thrust he gave you. “Is this what you wanted, hm?”
You moaned louder with each sharp brush of his curly bush against your sensitive clit.
Eddie was fucking experienced, and it showed by the way he knew exactly how to pound into you and roll his hips while rearranging your guts.
“C’mon, pretty girl,” he groaned low in your ear, “wanna have you squeezing around me as you come, can you do that f’me?”
He loosened one of his hands around your thighs and brought up his ringed thumb to your bottom lip. The heavy silver bit into your chin while he forced his thumb into your mouth.
“Suck.”
Your eyebrows scrunched at his request, drunk on his words, while you followed his demand. Your tongue staining his digit with filthy strokes, before he yanked his thumb away again.
Eddie’s thumb easily found your already abused clit – and fuck, the combination of his cock dragging against your slick walls, the tight circles he drew against your clit, and the dumbfounded look he gave you were more than enough to make you clench hard around his cock.
“That’s it, baby,” he chuckled cockily. “Fucking come for me.”
That was all the encouragement you needed; your vision blackened once again while he fucked you through it, heavy thumb still working your clit even when you twitched hard with overstimulation.
You pulled hard at his hair, and treated him as an anchor as you arched your back despite the position he still had you in. Your walls fluttered, and his name you moaned out broke as you came again.
“Ed-Eddie fuckfuckfuck.”
He pressed his forehead against yours while he continuously pushed into you, seeking his own release.
“Atta girl,” he groaned loudly as he rutted deep, his body sweaty, and lips swollen from leaving pretty marks on your neck. “Where do you want me?”
“Inside. Please, Eddie.”
All he needed were those three little words – pretty, panting whispers that made him rut into you until his thrusts went erratic.
Until he gave you one last, desperate thrust, his heavy balls hitting your ass as he groaned out your name and filled you with white, warm sticky ropes. He dropped his head forwards, and bit into your neck as he rode out the last of his orgasm.
Eddie let out a breathy chuckle, his nose brushing against your skin before he finally pulled away from you. He dragged a hand through his hair, pushing the dark silver strands away from his face while he tried – and failed – to catch his breath.
“You’re fucking unbelievable,” he breathed out, licking at his lips while his mouth hung open, chest still rising unevenly.
Then he stepped back just enough for his knees to crack softly as he lowered himself onto the floor between your legs, pulling you closer to the edge of the couch until your legs dangled over his shoulders.
“W-what are you–” you breathed out, low and pathetic, while your eyes did their best to stay open.
Eddie wrapped his hands around your thighs again, holding you there while he trailed soft kisses along your skin. His rings dug deeper into you when you tried to pull away from his lips when he got too close to your overstimulated, leaking cunt.
“I-I can’t, Eddie–” you whimpered pathetically, doing your best to pull your hips away from him, but to no avail. “It’s t-too m-much.”
“Yes, you can, baby.” Your pussy twitched when he chuckled tiredly, his warm breath spreading over you just before he gave you a lingering kiss on your clit. “Just one more. You don’t wanna disappoint me, do you?”
This time, he was gentle with it – he left soft pecks on your swollen nub, slowly trailing down until his tongue lapped at your leaking slit. Eddie leaned softly into your cunt, nose bumping against your clit while he licked you clean from his cum.
You tiredly reached for his head, weakly trying to push his forehead away when overstimulated tears started rolling down.
“Ed-Eddie,” you chocked out a sob, hips twitching against his greedy face. “P-please, I can’t–”
“Shhh,” he whispered against your heat, fingers digging hard into your thighs as he pulled you even closer to his face. “Be good for me, baby.”
Your chest rose up and down erratically as you tried to catch your breath, choking on pathetic whimpers and sobs, while Eddie continued his gentle abuse on your pussy. His tongue was warm and slick against your wet, sticky folds, lapping gently at your slit as he collected everything he gave you.
The tight grip he had on your thighs didn’t stop you from twitching uncontrollably as you clenched around his tongue and came one last time. His name died on the tip of your tongue as he kept lapping at your slit for a few more times, before gently lowering your legs off his shoulders. Eddie then climbed back on you and pulled your legs up his hips.
One of his hands let go of your calf and grabbed at your face instead, pulling your cheeks together until your mouth hang open for him. The corner of his mouth pulled into a smirk right before he opened his lips and spat his cum on your tongue.
You looked absolutely pathetic – eyebrows furrowed and slightly raised, and teary eyes looking tiredly up at him while he still had a tight grip on your cheeks. Goosebumps spread over your body when he leaned down and caught a milky, rolling drop of cum from your chin and gave it back to you when he smashed his lips back onto yours. A desperate uhmpf! slipped from the back of your throat when his cum-tainted tongue brushed against yours in urgent strokes as he let you taste the mixture of both of you.
Eddie’s cock never had a chance to soften – not when your messy cunt tasted so good with his milky release and your tears wet the fingers still digging deep into your cheeks. He twitched against you, swallowing your broken whimpers while he moved his swollen lips against yours.
“I–”
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he whispered against your lips, licking at your bottom lip before he gave you another peck. “I’ll let you rest for now.”
Eddie pulled away just enough to look at you – really look at you – and grinned knowingly.
“Unless you got something better going on tonight?”
⋆˚꩜｡ a/n: i have nothing to say, i'll just... put myself in time out
wait. sukuna and the maid he absolutely torments because you can't deny him. calling you in to clean up a mess but he's laying there, fisting his cock.
you duck your face in embarrassment and he snaps. "don't you ever look away from me."
you turn back and watch how he furiously jerks himself off, his wicked smile pulls taut.
"where is the mess, my lord?" you stammer.
"I have not made it yet." He doesn't need to elaborate. A string of clear fluid has already dropped down the head of his member. "Have you ever seen a cock before?"
You hesitate, nearly turning away. "Yes, my lord."
"Was he gentle with you?"
The skirt of your dress is stiff in your hands.
"No, my lord."
and sukuna laughs with this breathy noise, head tilted back. He's close-- you can hear it in how he draws in a breath.
"Girls like you: no true man could be gentle with them. You're meant to be used. I can smell it on you. The weakness I need to exploit-- Look at me. In the eyes."
When you pull your eyes from his member to his face, sukuna grits back a deep groan. he cums across his barely stomach and chest, warm spend pooling on the skin as he pants. You have no choice but to stay there watching until he acknowledges you again.
"There's your mess. Clean it." He waves a hand dismissively and you turn for a rag. "You know how I want it."
You meet his eye a final time before you lean over and drop your tongue through the mess in a long strip, glazing your lips in the process.
Summary: it had been some time after the first bet that landed you between your two attendings, and everyone had been speculating about the three of you since. Unfortunately that meant you found yourself the butt of a bet that went sour.
CW: 18+ MDNI, talks about sexuality and repression, boys kissing hhehehe, smut, unprotected P I V, fingering, Oral (m/f), Double penetration, anal, threesome, breeding kink, old men being pervs and very inappropriate use of the supply closet
Note: Heyyyyy welcome to part two so this one is a doozy at 11k words almost double part one 🫣, once again blame @valyntynhardy !! I hope it's as good as the first one and lives up to the expectations ENJOY!!!
It had been a handful of months since the initial bet landed you fucked silly between both your attendings in an on call room. An occurrence that definitely wasn’t a one off situation, but that was only truly known between the three of you. To everyone else it was a one time hook up that ended in you winning some money. However, there was rarely a time off shift that two or even all three of you if your schedules lined up that wasn’t spent together. Nor was there a night that wasn’t shared within each other's arms.
During the beginning of the relationship there were a few times that you had caught glimpses of quiet shared intimacy between Jack and Robby. It was never anything particularly explicit, simply a lingering gaze or touch. And sometimes if you were coherent enough to catch it a slight graze of their lips when they both made their way down your body.
But on one of the rare occasions the three of you had the day off together you decided to confront them about it. It was fairly late in the evening with Jack prepping and cutting the veggies for the recipe you decided on making, and Robby who was sitting on the couch with his readers and a book after coming back from the grocery store. You could hear the rustling of their movements and low hum of their voices while you came out of the shower, throwing on one of Robby's shirts and a pair of Jacks boxers before making your way out to them.
Entering the living room you walked behind the couch tilting Robby’s head back before pecking him on the lips. Moving towards the kitchen you wrap your arms around Jack's waist as you press your lips to his shoulder, turning his head in response and pressing his own to your forehead. You lifted yourself onto the counter sitting close to where he was cutting and swung your legs a few times before calling Robby over.
“Mikey can you come here please?” slathering your voice in honey and raising the volume just slightly so that he could hear you from the other room.
“Oh goodness,” He began as he made his way towards the two of you, “that tone always means she’s been thinking” Robby says as he enters the kitchen.
“Don’t I know it, and it rarely ever means anything less than borderline illegal” Jack chimes in not taking his eyes off of the bell pepper he had on the cutting board.
“Okay first of all ouch, second of all its just a small teensy thought that’s been brewing in my brain,” you take a minute to pull Robby between your legs, a position that has the two men separated only by your thigh, “have you two ever, I don’t know, kissed?”
Robby’s hands that had been rubbing up and down your thighs had halted in their movements, and Jack’s own hand that had been holding the knife slipped causing a sharp breath to escape his nose at the narrow miss of his fingers. Two pairs of eyes looked at you before sharing a subtle look out of their peripheral vision.
“Why, uh, why do you ask kid?” Robby was the first to break the prolonged silence trying to remain neutral, but that tell tale blush ratted him out every time.
“Well, I ask because I’ve just been noticing some stuff between you guys.” you take the time to wrap a hand around each of their forearms, "I'm not judging or anything. I mean we are already in an unconventional relationship, but I want you both to know that this is a safe place to explore you know”
“Sweetheart, I-” Jack's tone had his usual dismissal to it when there was something he was avoiding.
“No, what the two of you aren’t going to do is lie to me. I have been seeing the longing looks when you think the other isn’t looking or the touches. I also definitely know you both like to touch each other when you’re balls deep inside of me so don’t sit there and tell me that I’m wrong”
Fixing them with a hardened gaze as they stutter their way through an explanation. A look that you didn’t loosen as you locked it in on Robby, the one who was more likely to confess what they were holding back .
“Once,” He looked down as his hands pulled off of you, shoving them deep into his pockets, “I don’t even know if you remember this Jack, but it was many years ago at a party when we were both residents.”
“I remember,” a gentle and small interruption comes from Jack as he tries to catch Robby’s eyes that were expertly avoiding both you and him.
“You seemed like you were pretty drunk and I told you I was too, I only had one beer though. It started as a dare from someone, but honestly I was just looking for an excuse,” Robby paused as he dared to look up at you. He was so scared of the disgusted look you would have but he was only met with encouragement, so he continued, “It lasted a lot longer than the quick kiss it was supposed to be, but when you started to reach for me I just got scared.”
“Scared of what Mike?” Jack had put down the knife and turned so that his whole body faced Robby.
“I was scared of how much I liked it, I-I’m not supposed to y’know” His eyes glistened with moisture, “And I didn’t want to ruin the friendship that we had so I just left. I told you I was wasted and never brought it up again.”
Silence engulfed the kitchen, while you had settled a hand back onto his elbow that you could now reach as he leaned closer. However you stayed silent, wanting this to be between them. They needed to talk this through and you knew that.
“Is that why you never talked about it? Because you thought you did something wrong, or that it didn't mean anything but a silly dare?” Jack was careful not to overwhelm him. Settling for capturing his ever evasive gaze instead of touch, he left that to you who still had a grip on his arm.
“Michael Robinavitch, you listen to me. You are not wrong, nor did you do anything wrong.” His eyebrows raised in emphasis, “I wasn’t as drunk as you think either. I tried to flirt with you for so long afterwards but you kept turning away and I never knew why. And all this time you’ve just held this to yourself?”
Small streams of tears escaped from Robby’s almost hopeful eyes, hopping off the counter you embraced him tightly. Pulling back slightly to peer into his eyes for permission before pulling him into a gentle kiss, you felt the warmth of Jack's body creep behind before you felt his hands graze your back before moving them slowly to where Robby’s hands rested on you. Slowly moving them up Robbys arms, leaning his head beside yours you understood what he was trying to do.
Coming away from Robby he began to try and chase your lips before his chin was tilted towards your left where he was pulled into Jack's awaiting lips. You watched from your position, slightly smushed between them. It began slow and hesitant on Robby’s side but it wasn’t long before it became more heated as Jack slipped his tongue between his lips. A groan was released from a deep place within his chest, one that wasn’t just filled with pleasure but catharsis.
From that night on It took time and patience to re-learn each other, allowing an environment that made Robby understand that he was loved. It took some time before he himself was comfortable with initiating touches or kisses between just him and Jack. And even longer before they began exploring each other in the bedroom.
At first they always had you there, in between or next to them. It was more for Robby as Jack was seemingly more comfortable in his desires, so you encouraged them to try it out when it was just them. All it took was you making an offhand statement that was thrown out before heading to a night shift that you had picked up. A simple ‘you know you’re more than welcome to have fun without me, God knows I’ve had one on one time with the two of you’. It seemed like that was all it took, your permission, because at the end of the shift when you got home you were greeted with two naked men whose limbs were still entangled with each other in the soft sheets of the shared california king bed.
______________________________________
After months of what could only be described as a continuous positive feedback system of love in your relationship, it felt freeing. At home Robby and Jack were looser, sillier, and kinder to themselves. And even at work Jack’s mood had been clearly changed, clocked by almost everyone, on both days and nights. He was extremely flirty at work, with constant suggestive comments and small touches that were caught every time. Ones that you knew would absolutely breed rumors, and you knew all too well what rumors could do.
Every time he would stand just 2cm from you or brush a hair out of your face people stared. Every time he openly called you beautiful, gorgeous, and sexy, the people were left with mouths gaping open. And don't get them started on the neck kiss that was brief but happened out in the open of the nurses station.
Robby’s demeanor change was less harsh, it was subtle. He was more patient with his students and residents, more empathetic. He was making sure to take time to step back and breathe if it got too much, something he used to never allow himself to do. And between the two of you at work he was much less obvious than Jack. Robby only allowed himself to touch you in the hidden corners of the ED, not because he was embarrassed. No, never that, But more because you were still technically a day shift resident and he was still your direct supervisor.
Many didn’t notice how the lock on the bathroom was red for 20 minutes, or that if they stuck their ear to the door they could hear breathy gasps and giggles filled by a harsh shhh. Not many saw how he almost reached for you every time you passed by or how he would inhale the light scent of your perfume when you walked past him. Nor did they notice the red blush that ran from his neck to his cheeks every time he left the supply closet not long after you, and the color was absolutely aiding in the hiding of the blooming marks on his neck.
No one truly noticed much about Robby's change, and he wanted to keep it that way. The last thing he wanted to do was sabotage the attending position you had applied to (one that he knew you already got but couldn't say). Which is why the three of you decided not to say anything to anyone until it officially went through. However, they weren't subtle enough to go completely unseen by the little pittlings, the ever so observant students that noticed how little Robby was riding their ass lately and that Abbot hadn’t been to the roof in a while.
“Im telling you something is different” Trinity marched up to the group at the lockers. A group that comprised of; Dennis, Javadi, Mel, Samira, and one of the new med students Joy.
“Do you think it has anything to do with that bet from before?” came the timid voice of Mel.
“No I don't think so, she hasn’t said anything more came of it just the bet and thats it” Samira added in finishing up her chart, you and her were fairly close friends since both were in your R4 year. Having worked together for a while she felt that you would have told her.
“Wait, what bet?” Joy and Javadi asked simultaneously, both had been a little lost as Joy hadn’t started yet and Javadi used to try and stay out of bets when she first came to the PTMC.
“Oh we made a bet on if they got bushes or not since huckleberry over here is smoother than a dolphins ass naturally-”
“It's a condition!”
“So we sent cutie patootie over there to figure it out. Which turned out great for her”
Trinity smirked as she gave Joy the basics of the events from several months ago. And for everyone but the two younger girls deja vu hit them as that meddling expression made its way back onto Trinity’s face.
“Oh no, please no” Mel spoke up as she was the first to notice.
“Hear ye, hear ye I declare a new bet” Trinity ushered them all closer, “Okay so Abbot has obviously been acting like a lovesick teenage girl, but Robby has also been giving yearner. So do we think Little miss gone to Paris is dating Abbot or Robby, how long, annndd if the other one knows”
“I call holding the money” that was no surprise to anyone there as Mel once again backed out.
“Abbot for sure, since the bet, and Robby knows but he's upset” Joy's confidence bled through with every decision, even though she didn’t really know these people, she was extremely observant.
“No, absolutely not.” Javadi shook her head, "she's definitely dating Robby, about three months ago, and Abbot doesn’t know thats why hes still flirting”
“Ooh both are good points, I'll do the same bet as Javadi but five months. All because he hasn’t gotten on my case once for any of the tests I’ve ordered.” Samira had been thinking a lot about the encouragement that she's gotten from her attending. What she doesn’t know is how you called Robby out on his dick behavior one day and threatened him with no sex for a month if he didn’t pull his head out of his ass.
“I don’t think she's dating either, but I think they’re both fighting for her attention and both know it” Dennis didn’t want to think of the people he looked up to in compromising situations so he went the safe route.
“Nah, shes absolutely fucking Abbot, and Robby doesn’t know but he wants to be with her” Trinity was confident in her bet, feeling as if she knew the dynamic best since she started the first bet.
Since this bet was a bit more intense they all agreed to hand over 100$, making the pool a whopping 500$. And the first one to get proof or witness a definitive action won. However, the bet was about to get way out of hand before the end of the shift even started.
Right after they all gave Mel the money and shook on it they walked by the break room where they could’ve sworn they heard your laugh. They waited just a little longer before they heard your giggle once more, except this time it was followed by the distinct sound of Jack Abbots voice.
“C’mon sweetheart, your shift hasn’t started yet and I missed you”
“Jackie stop” your airy giggles contradicted your words, “we swore not to do this at work anymore!”
They all peeked through the door that was slightly ajar, each stacked on top of one another as if it was a cartoon. With Dennis on the bottom and Samira at the top, the scene before them was Dr. Jack Abbott with his lips glued to your neck and hands under your scrub top grabbing at the exposed skin as it rode up. Jaws dropped as they stayed long enough to see your fingers curl into his hair and pull- no- push him into you as he made his way to your sternum. They were all locked into the view, not a single one of them noticing the footsteps coming behind them.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph what do you think you’re doing?” The thick accent of Dana broke the trance of the group huddled by the break room.
“We’re just-”
“Absolutely nothing-”
“Uhm I don’t-”
“I gotta go-”
The group quickly dispersed just to re-congregate at the hub, away from Dana and the two of you in the break room.
“Well that was quick” Trinity began, “but hey points to me Joy” the two quickly high five.
“Yeah but now we need to know if Robby knows.” Dennis watched as the Attending in question walked past them to the lockers.
“Good thing we have all shift to watch them.” Samira pointed out as she left to begin report.
______________________________________
Robby was becoming increasingly confused by the behavior of his fellow doctors. It was borderline worrisome. All day it seemed as if every time he tried to get a moment alone with you one of the med students or residents would pop out of the woodworks and keep a very close eye on the two of you. Something you, yourself noticed as well.
And it was something that made you increasingly irritable. Abbot had already left you wound up just before he clocked out, the only reprieve he gave you was knowing you had Robby this shift. Except every single time you tried to pull him away to get his hands on you the hairs stood on the back of your neck screaming that you were being watched. The longer you went without Robby’s touch the grumpier you got.
“Hey, can I present a case to you?” The sweet kind voice of Dennis came through your ears, but unfortunately for him you were beyond annoyed.
“Does it look like I have time for that, Whitaker? There is an hour left in this shift and I have too much to do” you gestured to the papers beside you and the microphone mid dictation in front of you.
“Oh so-sorry I just thought-”
“Well you didn’t think hard enough, just bring it to Samira” you rolled your eyes as he walked away with his head hung low.
You missed how Robby had seen you all but yell at Dennis, and how he had gone to Javadi looking upset who had also watched everything go down. So it caught you by surprise when Robby’s voice broke through the small silence that had settled.
“Hey, can I speak to you for a moment?” HIs deep firm tone rattled around your brain and settled deep into your core. All but creaming your pants as you looked up and saw his glasses low on his nose as he crooked a finger signaling you to follow him.
As Dennis and Javadi were talking about what had happened they caught you walking off with Robby. Thinking nothing of it other than a quick chastizing, they both headed to present the case to Samira. However, when they came back they saw you and Robby were still nowhere to be seen. So of course the two coworkers went to go see what both of you were up to, not once thinking about how curiosity killed the cat.
Passing by the supply room they saw you two enter earlier, they looked into the small window, one that had the blinds just barely open but enough of an angle they could see in. So as they each peeked in they were also close enough to catch an earful of words they never thought they’d hear from Robby.
“Is that what you needed, kid? Needed my fingers knuckle deep in that pretty cunt?”
“Fuck Mikey, y-yes”
The two outside the room pulled away from the window and made eye contact with each other, mouthing ‘mikey?’ before looking back in.
“Gotta be quiet baby, don’t want the whole floor hearing how desperate you are”
For both the parties it was thankful that the lewd sound of your squelching arousal was quiet enough that the ones outside couldn’t hear.
“B-but Jack” now of course this was meant to insinuate that if he was here, he would want to join in. But that's not what the ones outside interpreted it as, especially not with Robby’s next statement.
“He’s not here yet, so he doesn’t have to know”
Javadi’s hand shot over her mouth as she covered her gasp, Dennis himself was beet red at the thought that his senior R4 was cheating on his attending with his other attending. It was absolutely messy. So the two did what they thought was best, they immediately told everyone. The gossip circle that met in the breakroom was taken aback at the new information. Never did they think something like this could be going on, nor did they think that you could be capable of cheating. They thought too highly of you for that, so the next logical group thought was that Robby was using the power dynamic to coerce you. That had them angry at the older man, angry for both you and Jack.
Harsh whispers and words were being exchanged but that all died down when the door opened and in walked the new pariah himself. At the sudden silence Robby’s steps halted in surprise.
“You all good?” he asked as he was on the receiving end of glares and uncomfortable silence.
“Yeah, we are. How's your best friend, you know Dr. Abbot?” Trinity was the first to subtly confront the man as he finally moved to grab his coffee.
“Uh, he's good. Just got a new prosthetic so he can manage longer shifts better”
He nodded absentmindedly as the memory of the three of you putting it to the test with very vigorous night time activities. Specifically the part how you looked up at him with his cock stuffed down your throat while Jack shoved three fingers into his own ass stretching him in preparation. The scene in his mind changed to later in the night when you were on top of him riding him with all you had while Jack pushed his thick cock into him as deep as he could. With Robby balls deep in you and Jack in him that morning after it was his turn to walk into the ED with a slight limp.
He was quickly brought out of his memories by the man of the hour walking in, and that damned blush blooming from his chest to his cheeks made an appearance. While Robby thought it was a give away of his thoughts, to the younger ones in the room it was incriminating. The blush was clearly indicative of his shame of sleeping with you, Abbott's girlfriend.
“Is there not enough work on the floor for you all?” Jack huffs out at the large crowd under the guise of being mad, but he just wanted to be alone with Robby before clocking in.
Outside the group decided that they were absolutely going to get the three of you to confront each other, but they were unsure how to do that. Well they were until Samira looked at the schedule.
“Guy’s look Abbots working a double tomorrow”
“Yeah but look who isn’t on the schedule” Joy pointed to the lack of your name.
“Fucking damn it!” Trinity gritted her words in frustration, she was angry. Angry at the thought of some of the people she looked up to the most would do something like this. Javadi and Dennis were in a similar boat.
“Okay well why don't we just get through tomorrow, make him aware we’re angry and then look” Mel pointed to the next day where all three of you were working, “we can try and get them to confront it then”
All were in agreement over the plan, thinking up all the different ways to implement it, and while the bet had already spiraled into a mess of secrets and confessions it was only about to get worse for all involved.
______________________________________
“Hey, you want to tell me why all your children are mean mugging you?” Jack saddled next to Robby as he saw him walking out of central 6.
“Okay so it's not just me? You've seen it too?”
“Uh yeah it's kind of hard to miss, especially when they look at me like Im a puppy who just got kicked” Jack chuckles at the exasperated look Robby has while dragging his hands down his face.
All shift Dennis, Trinity, Javadi, Joy, Samira, and even Mel had been giving Robby the biggest fuck you. Trying to avoid him at all cost they were only presenting to Abbot or Mckay. And when they did need him to sign off on orders or god forbid work a trauma with him sharp snark was thrown into his face.
It got to the point Robby was almost on the verge of tears wondering what he had done. Jack, seeing Robby’s defeated posture, walked up and motioned for him to follow. Similar to how Robby had done with you, Jack led Robby to the supply room. Once the door was closed and locked Jack immediately wrapped his arms around the taller man.
“Don’t even worry about it, I’m sure it’s nothing” Jack mumbled into his shoulders as they shook with every inhale.
“I don’t even know what I did so I can’t even fix it”
“I know Mike, but this is clearly something they’ll talk about eventually okay?”
Robby nods his head at Jack's words even though he was feeling useless and unwanted. Emotions that Jack could clearly see. So he wasted no time in showing just how loved and wanted he is.
Except he wasn’t just showing Robby, he ended up showing Samira and Joy as well because apparently none of you can remember to close the blinds.
So as Samira and Joy passed by and heard Robby voice call out fuck Jack they were sure the two had been in a fist fight. Instead they came upon a locked supply closet, finding themself looking at something neither would have guessed in a million years would be happening.
Robby leaned his back against the shelves with his mouth hung open, and down at his groin was a head of silver curls moving in a suspicious motion. And while sure they could just assume what was happening wasn’t happening, that was stopped as they heard Robby’s voice again.
“Fuck yes Jack. Taking my cock so fucking good down your throat!”
A soft noise of wet skin and small gags bled through. It was nothing too loud that it could be heard in the expanse of the hallway, but enough if you had an ear pressed against the window. Which the two women absolutely did. Both had wide eyes and even wider mouths at what was happening. And no matter how crass it got they just couldn’t pull themselves away.
“Just like that good boy, massaging my balls so well. If we weren’t at work I’d have you bent over a bed” Robby grits his teeth and he growls out his words, thrusts becoming more wild as he nears his orgasm.
And poor Jack was hard as a rock, tip leaking onto the floor as he had one hand on Robby’s thigh and the other furiously stroking his own cock. Vibrations rumbled from Jack's throat and onto Robby’s length at every moan he let loose as he too approached his peak. It wasn’t long before a hand at Jack's head held him as deep as he could while Robby spilled his warm cum down his throat. The sensation caused Jack to shoot cum all over the floor with a little getting on the tip of Robby's shoe.
Pulling off of Robby’s softening cock he finishes swallowing as Jack is yanked to a standing position. Robby allows him a moment to catch his balance with his prosthetic while he brings them into a messy kiss, licking into his mouth he could taste the burnt break room coffee and the salty tang of himself. They were in their own little world for just a few more minutes before deciding to go out on the floor. Narrowly missing the two figures bolting around the corner.
“GUYS! GUYS!” a panicked voice called out to Javadi, Dennis, Mel, and Trinity.
“Woah, what's going on?” Javadi caught the rushing figure of Joy as Samira skidded to a stop beside them.
“We just- just saw, Abbot a-and” Samira takes a moment to inhale a deep breath before finishing her sentence, “He was totally going at it with Jack”
“Okay let me get this straight, or I guess not that straight,” Trinity giggles for just a moment at her own joke, “Jack and the ED princess are cheating on each other with the same dude? AKA our Chief attending Dr. Robby”
“The craziest part is, I now know that Robby is a real man” Joy quipped.
“What the heck does that even mean? So you have to be with a man, to be a man?” Dennis looked at her like he was reconsidering his entire life.
“What no?” holding an incredulous look on her face like he just said the stupidest sentence known to human kind, “Because he’ll kiss you after you suck him off, it takes a real man to do that” Joy finishes with an absentminded smile.
Dennis scrunches up his face in slight disgust but quickly schooled his features as he saw every single woman in the group nod their head, even Mel. And that had him second guessing everything he thought he knew. But that train of thought leaves at the sight of the two men walking back onto the floor. Everyone making quick work in dispersing except for poor Dennis who can't even think straight in this moment. The only thing in his mind is the image of what was just explained in great detail to him and the scene that he himself saw with Robby and you.
As he resembled the epitome of a deer in headlights the two men walked up to him, patted him on the shoulder and asked if he was okay. No response was made, just mouth open and eyes wide. Both Jack and Robby shared a look with each other before giving the newly minted resident a small nod before they walked off.
______________________________________
The next day arrived quickly much to your upset, you had enjoyed your off day even though you wished both of your boyfriends were off too. It wasn’t super lonely though, as they were texting you all shift about how the pittlings, as you all call each other, were acting weird all day. Which was something you had begun to notice yourself in the last week.
When they came home you were listening to them rant about how they were acting around them and how unsettling it was, which had you reminiscing about that one day many months ago now they had said the same thing about you. And suddenly it hit you, you had found yourself on the other side of a bet. But for the life of you, you couldn’t conjure up a type of bet that would have them being ostracized.
The three of you had planned on unveiling this whole operation as soon as you could, deciding that the beginning of the shift you all shared tomorrow was the best. Especially as everyone else was working as well by some miracle, figuring what better time than the present. Except you didn’t get a chance to do it yourself the next day, because as soon as you walked past the break room to go clock in you were snatched by your arm and pulled into the dark room.
“What in the actual fuck?” At your words the lights flicked on, blinking through the harsh adjustment nothing you could have guessed prepared you for what was waiting.
In front of you were your two boyfriends sat in chairs with Trinity behind Robby and Joy behind Jack. The expression on the women’s faces could kill, and by the looks of your two partners they about did.
“Should I be worried that you’re holding us hostage?” You question as you survey the room seeing how Dennis, Javadi, and Samira were lined up on the wall facing you.
A small ‘scuse me' sounded from behind you, and Mel scampered past you and to Samira's side. No one had started talking yet so you looked to the two older men and they both shrugged indicating they were just as lost.
“Look I care a lot about you, you know this” started Trinity, “and I want you to know that I- no- we are all extremely disappointed in you”
“I never pegged you for this kind of girl, and I’ve known you for five years” Samira's voice came out distant and sad.
And that had your mind reeling. You felt the blood drain from your face, felt your heartbeat rise as you began to sweat. Had they found out about the three of you? Were they judging you? Were they judging Robby and Jack? Did they find you disgusting?
The two men watched as your eyes began to dissociate from the situation even as the others continued their accusing words. Watching you spiral set them on edge, filling them with pain as the struggled with the conflicting thoughts of keeping it secret or saying fuck it and going to you.
They decided on fuck it
“Alright enough!” Jack's voice boomed.
His words set Robby off like a gunshot. Immediately standing up tall and heading to your side, grounding you with his touch as Jack stood one step in front of you two like the guard dog he is.
“You got something to say, then say it” It was Robby’s turn to chime in.
He wasn’t loud like Jack but the way his words were coated in anger shocked everyone in the room, even Jack. His thoughts had been similar to yours, and this was his nightmare. This was why he shut Jack out all these years ago. Fear of being found disgusting and burned at the stake for it, his only crime being that he loved someone no one thought he should.
But with Trinity’s next words his and your inner monologue felt truly melodramatic to the actual situation.
“YOU’RE ALL CHEATERS!” pointing her finger at the three of you as if waiting for the breakdown to come.
Except it didn’t.
Instead fits of laughter and sighs of relief left the trio. Wiping your eyes with your sleeve you took a deep breath before turning on your best senior resident voice, and fixing each and every one with a stare.
“Sit down all of you” it was their turn to have eyes go wide with shock. You rarely ever pulled that voice, they loved to call it your ‘mom voice’.
“I want one of you to tell me exactly what is going on, and then I want each of you to share your thoughts. One at a time.” Looking around once more, “is this clear? Blink twice if you understand”
Blink blink
It started with Trinity explaining the bet and when it had started and how they all saw you with Jack in the break room. Then Dennis took over and talked about him and Javadi coming across you and Robby in the supply closet. And that had you heating up with embarrassment, but not as much as the two men behind you after Joy took over.
“Yeah and then Samira and I caught these old ass boy toys going ham in the break room,” She gestured to Robby afterwards, “but also good on yah Dr.Robby”
“I- wait, what-“
“Okay,” you cut him off, “I am going to say this one time and one time only so you’re going to all shut up and turn your listening ears on”
They all nod in unison.
“We aren’t cheating on each other, with the other. That’s genuinely not possible because we are ALL together. Jack, Michael and I are in a relationship, the three of us together” you went slow as if they were a group of kinders who were learning the alphabet.
And behind you where you couldn’t see, Jack grabbed Robby’s hand as he saw him visibly stiffen as he waited for the responses. You did notice it however when you stepped back into their space and felt their hand locked together behind your back. It took everyone approximately three seconds to release their own breaths of relief. A mix of words melded together from the group all blending in. You caught a few here and there, some ‘thank god’s’ and ‘why didn’t I think of that’.
The group began to quiet down as the initial excitement settled into calm thought. But then Trinity who always had something to say turned towards Robby and opened her mouth.
“I didn’t know Peepaw was down like that, Abbot more so ‘cuz like he's old too but chill. The old decrepit man over here though?” Her brows raise as she looks at him in new light, “Honestly respect gramps”
You and Jack couldn’t help but laugh at the confused look that took over Robby’s face, mouthing peepaw with offense. Then looking at the two of you as if you had betrayed him deeply, which only had you gigging more.
“Okay that’s enough kidnapping and hostage taking for one shift, which has now started,” Robby began ushering everyone outside, “shoo children, and enough with the bets”
He closed the door in their faces before he turned back to the two of you. All three taking a moment to process what the fuck just happened.
“You know honestly from everything I’ve heard, we need to stop fucking in the supply closet” you’re the first one to break the comfortable silence.
Robby smiles at that as he moves to embrace you, the two of you kissing deeply before he pulls Abbot in and does the same. A weight that none of you realized was there flew off, half of your coworkers now knew and none of them looked at you differently. You knew they wouldn’t, but hearing it still helped.
“You three lovebirds done here? I need coffee” Dana as always pushes that damn accent thicker when she’s annoyed, while throwing the door fully open.
She knew about you all. She was actually the first to know. This was due to an incident that occurred within the earlier months of the relationship. Robby had forgotten that Dana had a key and that she mentioned coming by to grab something. So imagine her surprise when she walked into the house only to be greeted by you in a very compromising position between both men in the kitchen. Thankfully for you, you were still mostly dressed, but for obvious reasons Jack and Robby chose to stay behind the counter.
Parker had also known, but that's because you've decided she was a mind reader. And nothing anyone says can change your mind on this. She took one look at you coming in one night, peeked the car out of the ambulance bay and saw the smallest glimpse of the two who were in it. As you walked past Parker she caught your attention and said good for you girl, departing with a nod and a wink that had you genuinely considered asking her to be the fourth.
But now most of the people you worked with knew. It was an odd but freeing feeling for all of you. However, it was peaceful for about two hours before a few certain someone’s decided to be funny.
“Hey peepaw? Got a question for yah” Trinity’s voice rang out. She begins her line of questions without even looking up at him. As he gives her the answers she keeps her eyes on the tablet just nodding and heading back to wherever she came from when he was done.
And you, oh you were sitting right in front across the desk top pretending to chart as you shoved a hand over your mouth as if that would quiet your very loud giggles. But before he could reprimand you, he was cut short by another voice.
“Yo Dr. Gramps? Oglivie is trying to do a fasciotomy by himself!” Joy came around the corner, her hand pointing straight to the room where the student doctor was standing.
He didn’t even have time to dwell on the fact that it was the second person to call him a form of old in a short period of time. Robby was too busy speeding to the room so he could lay a new one onto the young gunner. While you knew the situation was serious and was absolutely no laughing matter, you couldn’t help but laugh about the fact that Robby was going to be known as the modern old man in a throuple to the young kids.
And much to your delight it was something that continued all shift, peepaw, gramps, papa were all nicknames pulled for Robby today. You expected something similar for Jack or maybe even a little for yourself, but nope. The focus was on the old boss. One he was more than happy to escape when the end of shift came, finally getting a reprieve from the teasing remarks. Walking up to the truck he saw you and Jack counting the money you seemed to have guilted them into giving to you for the trouble they caused.
“Ready to head out?” Jack called as he saw Robby walking up behind you.
“God yes please!” The answer was immediate, it had been a strange beginning to the day and the longer it went on the ED ended up being the hub for all things crazy today.
“Aww Mikey let me get that for you,” you slid Robby's bag off his shoulder, “wouldn’t want your fragile old back to get a pinched nerve”
Grabbing it from him you turned around quickly to hide the amusement on your face, but it did nothing to hide the mirth in your tone. Carrying it into the back seat as you hoist yourself in the truck. Robby, however, stood outside for a moment longer shaking his head as he realized this day absolutely wasn’t over like he thought. A sentiment that was enforced by Jack's next choice of words at the grunt Robby had let out when getting in the truck.
“Damn take it easy old boy, don’t want you breaking any hips. I’d have to call in the shark to fix it, and I don’t think either of us want that” A snicker from you sounds in the back while Jack turns his head pretending that backing up needed his whole attention.
“No, not you too” the exasperation bleeds into his words, tilting his head back to rest against the seat.
“Aww and what do you mean by that Mikey?” you lean forward brushing your hand through his hair as you coo words into his ear, “Did we hurt your feelings by calling you old?”
“We didn’t mean it Mike I promise,” Jack looks over as he comes to a stop at a red light, patting Robby's knee with the hand that wasn't on the wheel.
“Yeah yeah, sure. You know you’re not that much younger than me Jack?” He settles his gaze onto the man driving before turning to look at you in the back, “And you little miss, I expected more out of you.”
Silence fell over the car after a few more shared laughs were released. It wasn't until the three of you were at home that Robby brought up the situation once more. All of you had changed and showered off the sweat from a full shift, the cozy atmosphere had you ready for the next few days off that all of you had together. You were going through the fridge and pulling out the left overs as Jack began plating the food and throwing it in the microwave when Robby came in from his turn at the shower. With sweats hung low on his hips and a faded grey college tee that had ‘Northwestern’ over the front and cut off sleeves from his younger days.
“You know Stan Lee wrote his first comic at my age?”
“He was 40 Mikey, you’re literally in your 50’s” you rolled your eyes at him.
“50-ish” Robby countered as Jack just looked at him, seeing just how much being called old all day got to him. Now Jack knew he should probably stop you knowing how insecure Robby could get, but he also had known him for almost 30 years, so he also recognized the building lust behind his eyes. It was well known in your trio that the age gap between the three of you turned you on more than you could voice, but the two men tried to avoid agreeing as it made them seem like two old perves. However, it seemed like tonight that boundary was going to be crossed.
Walking closer to Robby you wrap your arms around his middle and settle your chin into his chest as you look up at him.
“Poor Mikey, at 50-ish I should probably be more gentle on your knees” that little pout you had on your lips was the death of him.
“Oh ho ho” Robby’s hands carded through your hair once, twice, and then he gripped it tight, “you’re right, you should be giving my old knees a break. Your’s on the other hand are just fine so do your old man a favor why don’t you?”
Tugging your hair sharply the shooting sting on your scalp had you dropping pretty quickly to the tiled floor as your hands came up to balance yourself on his thighs. Arousal shot through you at his words and strength, but you decided to play into it seeing just how far this would go. Looking over to Jack you meant to start whining about how mean Robby was being, but he just shook his head at you.
“Nope this is all on you sweetheart you decided to poke him about it” lips upturning into a smirk as he begins tugging down his own bottoms, “It’s up to you to get yourself out of it”
Your cheeks were mushed together as Robby's other hand gripped your face so that it was focused on him.
“C’mon kid take it out f’me, my hands don’t work so well in my old age” He pats your cheek a few times before letting go and waiting for you to follow through.
You needed no additional prompting to start pawing at him. With eager hands, you loosened the draw string on his bottoms and tugged them down until his heavy length bobbed up after being freed. The tip was already angry and leaking, begging for attention. Gripping his length with one hand you gave his slit small kitten licks before swirling your tongue around the tip. A groan left his lips at the light kiss you left.
“Im not getting any younger up here kid”
Robby’s words had you rolling your eyes this time at his teasing, but they also had you complying. Dragging your tongue from base to tip you wrap your lips all the way around as you get to the end, wasting no time in starting a rhythm with the occasional graze of your teeth that you knew drove him crazy. Small gags had your throat tightening around him, but his grunts weren’t the only ones filling your ears. Rougher ones that you knew belong to the other body filling this kitchen rung out, and just out of the corner of your eye you caught a glimpse of Jack pumping his cock to the rhythm you had on Robby.
But as you try and watch Jack, your ministrations on Robby slowed down. So with the hand still tangled into your hair he tightened his grip and shoved you deeper until he felt your throat lock up in a gag. His eyes met yours that were filling slightly with unshed tears, you knew what he was silently asking. So with a slight nod in response to his unsaid question you tilted your head just slightly, remembering to breathe through your nose as Robby pushed his cock further down. Reaching deep enough that there was a slight bulge to your throat from the outer view, he didn’t stop until your nose was nuzzling those unruly curls at the base. Taking a deep inhale through your nose you could smell the faint body wash that he had used just half an hour ago.
The sight had both Jack and Robby releasing moans, Jack having to squeeze his cock tight so that he didn’t cum prematurely. He pulled you back by your hair a few inches before pushing you back down to the base once more, this time you gagged slightly as your body tried to breathe through your throat forgetting that it wasn’t supposed to. Robby immediately let you off where you sat back on your heels with a small cough at the release of air, with a string of spit still connecting you to him.
“That a’girl” he held your cheeks in his hands once more before guiding you up, “Bedroom, now I want you naked before we get there”
You didn’t need to be told twice, running straight to the bedroom already stripping your shirt off before you left the living room, your shorts flung onto the coffee table. Both men watched as they tucked themselves into their boxers before making their own way to the shared room.
“You aren't gonna take it easy on her are you?” Jack laughed as he came up beside Robby.
“Her or you” He lightly smacked the side of Jack's ass, “Don’t think I forgot that comment in the car”
Walking into the bedroom they’re met with you bare naked on bed grinding your hips in the air trying so hard to keep your hands off your soaked cunt. Slowly they both stripped their own clothes off walking closer to the bed they both take their time in ogling your body adoring the way you’re so comfortable with them.
“Look at that, being so good for your old men huh? So young and desperate to listen to your superiors” he parts the soft hair and your glistening folds to get a better look, “all that for us, what do you think Jack, does she deserve a little reward for taking my cock so well earlier?”
“I think so, I mean she wasn’t even touching herself when we walked in.”
“Good point. Alrighty Jack go ahead and get a taste.” he gestured towards the bed, “ but I want you on your back, and kid I want you sitting right on his face. Think you can do that f’me?”
The both of you nodded. With Jack now lying on his back you maneuvered your knees beside his head, hovering for only a few seconds before he wrapped his arms around your thighs and pulled you down. His tongue wastes no time in moving up and down your cunt, burying his face as deep as it could go. Jack was a man on a mission, but the mission was intercepted with a strangled cry pushing through his chest as he felt a large hand grab his cock.
“Shhh keep going Jack, don’t worry about us” Robby looked at you, “how’s your throat kid think you can go for another?”
“Yes, oh god please!” You weren’t fully sure if you were begging for a cock in your mouth or for Jack to continue. Either way you had gotten what you wanted, with a nod from Robby your lips descended on Jack.
Jack was prepared for the feeling of your mouth but he wasn’t prepared for Robby to start stroking him in time with your movements. As your mouth went up so did his hand, and it followed the same path down. He was absolutely lost to pleasure, and it seemed like you were as well. Your hips began grinding down on his face chasing the growing tension in your lower belly. Soon he jumped once more in surprise as a second warm mouth descended on his aching cock.
The three of you had a mirror in the corner of the room, one he could see clearly over your thigh. He was met with the sight of Robby and you connecting your lips as best you could with his angry red leaking tip between the two of your mouths. He could feel the twists and tangles of your tongues caressing both his length and each other.
And god help him, he whimpered. Not a deep gravelly groan that he would usually let out, no it was an honest to god’s whimper. One that strung into a long vibrating moan against your clit as he felt the two of you move up and down at varying speeds and a hand began massaging his drool slick balls.
While Jack was struggling to keep his composure you were locked into your movements. Both of your hips over his mouth and your own on his cock, the feeling of walls fluttering around nothing signaled your oncoming orgasm. With Jack's vocals vibrating against your sensitive nerves and the way you and Robby were sharing his cock had you more aroused than you thought was possible.
Watching the moment Robby went down past Jack's base and straight to the soft spot of his perineum, you had come on the spot. Without even pulling off Jack the most pornographic moan escaped your throat as you felt a small gush of liquid cover your thighs and consequently his face. Mouth snug in place on his length as your body locked up with wave after wave of pleasure as your orgasm flew through you.
Robby however kept going right up until Jack was begging for mercy.
“Please Mikey, fuck! I don’t wanna cum yet wanna be inside her please!” Eyes screwed shut as his grip tightened on your thighs, you could feel where the blooming bruises would show come morning time.
“Alrighty, if you say so,” Robby saw where you had all but flopped on top of Jack and he wasn’t having any of that, “Ah, ah, ah gotta flip you around honey need you to ride him okay?”
“I’m s’tired” half coherent babbles left you after you were pretty sure you just had the strongest orgasm of your life.
“Come on now kid, I thought I was the one who was supposed to get tired first? Can’t quit on me now” Robby lands a smack to your ass, “I want you and Jack scooted up and you flipped.”
The graceless turn around had you questioning whether you were going to survive the night if he kept up with the age jokes, and your legs were already feeling like jelly as you moved. Which was crazy since you had barely been touched yet. The quiet click of Robby taking off Jack's prosthetic rang though the room as did the sigh of relief from the man as he leaned part of his back against the head board.
“Go ahead and hop on, kid.”
Angling your hips as Robby took hold of Jack and aligned him up with your sensitive cunt, sinking down the first few inches before pausing and continuing slowly. It didn’t matter how many times you had been with them, the stretch was immense each time even with prep it was still overwhelming.
“Fuck sweetheart! Feels so good” Jack grabs your face before bringing you into a kiss, you threw your arms over his shoulders to catch your balance. You could taste the tangy flavor of yourself as well as the taste of him and Robby from your own tongue mixing into an intoxicating cocktail. Thighs tensing as you prepared to move but hands gripped your hips right above the growing red marks left from Jack.
“Hold on not yet, we’re gonna try something new okay?”
With a nod in permission from you, the sound of the plastic top of the lube bottle clicked open. He coated himself and you in a healthy amount. You were confused how this was new, it wasn’t the first time you had taken them both at the same time. Hell your first time together that's how it went, and in an extremely similar position to how you were now. But the press of his blunt tip pushed against where your body already held Jack.
Oh that's new.
“Shit, ugh, Mikey!” Your body instinctively clenches at the intrusion.
“Shh, shh, shh you gotta relax for me, you’re squeezing Jack and we don’t want him to cum too early do we?”
“No we don’t, Jesus Christ!" Jack's voice was the one to answer, strained with effort as he tried to think of anything to get himself to stave off his orgasm.
Robby took his time working his way in, and when the first inch of him slipped through the barrier your brain had short circuited.
“AH FUCK!” The scream was all but punched out of you, “p-please, Mikey! I d-dont, s’much”
A full sentence was not about to leave your mouth, nor was your brain about to create one. He was barely in and you felt stuffed to the brim. And Jack wasn’t doing much better than you, your walls were constantly spasming and fluttering around him at the new intrusion.
“She’s fucking squeezing Mike, so goddamn tight right now sweetheart. You gotta relax for us” Jack’s still tight voice rumbled in your ear.
“C’mon baby, breathe” Robby’s thumb began massaging the stretched skin that was pulled taught around both him and Jack, “you can do it, you can take it for your old man”
And while that sentence never failed to have you wetter than a water park you were a little doubtful of your abilities at the moment.
“I-I don’t t-th..” you really tried to speak but words were hard at the moment.
But Robby knew you could take it without a doubt, for a moment all that sounded was the heavy breaths from the three of you all tangled together. Until he decided you were ready and started thrusting lightly into you working more and more of his length right up besides Jack’s.
“That’a girl. See you can do it just gotta stretch you out” it was barely above a whisper or at least that’s what it seemed like to your hazy brain.
Each thrust had your body accommodating more of him, Jack gritted his teeth and tightened his hold on your waist at the feeling of you stuffed full along with Robby's cock rubbing against his inside of you. It wasn’t long before it seemed that whatever patience Robby had displayed earlier with easing the first part of himself in had disappeared, bracing his hands at the junction of where your thighs meet your hips.
He pulled you back.
Finally bottoming out Robby let out a satisfied noise, Jack seemingly sighed in relief, and you saw stars. Never in your life have you felt so stuffed before, both of them together in your cunt had you drooling.
“Doing so good for us kid” Robby whispered in your ear as he leaned forwards over your back, his soft tummy resting in the curve of your back and pushing your cheek into Jack's chest.
“Fuck Mike, we may have broken her” a harsh chuckle came from Jack, looking down he saw your eyes had sheened over with tears and your lips seemed to be mouthing words with very little sound.
“S’go-od, s’full, move p-please” gasping your words over and over as your chest heaved with effort.
“Well you heard her, we don’t want to disappoint her do we?” Robby stretched just a bit further to reach Jack over your shoulder, and Jack braced his good leg against the mattress to connect their lips. A messy meeting of tongue and teeth before they manually turned your head to join in, you were on auto pilot opening your own and tangling your tongue with theirs.
And without warning they both pulled out and pushed back in. The sharp juxtaposition of being filled completely and then feeling so empty just for them to bully their way back in was intense. The pace was deep and languid as they allowed your body to get used to the stretch, each time they bottomed out a sob of overwhelming pleasure left your lips.
“Look at you sobbing over two old man cocks. How about we make sure everyone knows you’re ours? Get you all nice and round with us” Robby's tone was low and pleased at the sight of you being fucked stupid between the two of them. His words drew a deep grunt from the man below.
“Yeah how ‘bout it sweetheart? You gonna let your old men knock you up and mark you for all the young men to know you’re taken?” It was Jack this time, maybe it was the age focus that was put on the three of you today but it had them feral, “Like Mike said we aren't getting any younger sweetheart”
“Y-es, wa-ant you t’fill m-me up!” A new alternating push and pull rhythm had your words coming out choppy as you all but wailed in pleasure. The poor neighbors.
A low fuck left Robby and Jacks throat at the prospect of you full and round with their children, and that had them doubling his efforts. The ridges of their cocks caught on one other as they rubbed together. A crude squelching noise came from where the three of you were connected followed by the sound of their heavy balls hitting both you and each other over, and over again. Your toes curled as the pressure built in your lower stomach, walls fluttering over what little space they had left.
“Look at you desperate for two old men to claim you and get you so full with us that everyone knows who you belong to” Robby sucked a mark into your shoulder as he pounded into you with fervor.
“Gonna have everyone looking at us twice when we tell them we’re the ones that got you pregnant” Jack matched Robby's speed, “wondering how we coerced such a young pretty thing into our bed”
Their words had you reeling, the idea of showing up to work and everyone knowing just who did that to you had you careening to another orgasm without even touching your slit. Your abused cunt gushed once more as your over stretched walls tried to clamp down. Tears slid down your cheeks as the two didn’t stop their movements, fucking you right through the pulses drawing it out.
“oh fuck god yes-!” you wails carried through the house.
“That's it momma, gonna fill you up so good” And god if that new nickname didn’t have you melting, it was the only word that bounced around your brain, no thoughts just pleasure and that goddamn word.
Your body had gone limp moving up and down with their motion but having no strength to hold yourself up.
“Fuck just like that” Robby was nearing the edge as the constant flutters, the friction of Jack right beside him, and the thought of you pregnant had him losing his restraint.
“Mike m’gonna cum, shit!” It was a few more thrusts before the both of them came with raspy growls.
Shoving their cocks as far as they could go, you swore that they had somehow stretched themselves into your womb. Feeling them both in your stomach as heat pooled deep into you as they came, a feeling that had your body orgasming once more as your cunt milked them for all that they had.
Both waited until they began to soften before slowly pulling out, Robby leaned back watching Jack's cock slip out after his. Pulling your cheeks apart to get a good look at you stretched open and pulsing around nothing. As their mixed cum started leaking out you felt him swipe two fingers to collect it and shoved it back inside.
“Hold it in for me kid, just a little squeeze you can do it”
Eyes drooping you nodded and did your best to tighten your pelvic floor as much as you could. With gentle hands they flipped you onto your back beside Jack hooking your knees over his legs so that they were angled up. Your limbs felt like wet noodles as you let them manhandle you into whatever position they wanted. As your breathing began slowing down you felt Jack's hand stoking your hair leading you to begin drifting off. Although the feeling of a warm cloth jerked you from the edge of sleep, Robby took the time to clean up the three of you seeing as Jack still had his prosthetic off and his crutches were left in the bathroom. The bed dipped as he laid down beside you, his own hand coming to rub the expanse of your lower belly.
“You okay kid?”
“Mmhmmm” your soft confirmation barely reached his ears.
“So kids huh?” Jack was the first to speak.
“Yeah I don’t know where that came from,” Robby’s cheeks glowed with his telltale red blush, “Guess being called old makes you think about things” A soft calm fell over the room as you all ruminated through your own thoughts on the subject.
“I know we wouldn’t be the most conventional family, but I would like to be one” coherency was quick to return to you with the direction the conversation was led into, “With both of you”
The confession settled across the three of you, all thinking about a future and what it could bring. At first you felt silly as you had all been together for less than a year but this was also years in the making. So the idea that you could be pregnant with their child felt right, and being here with them felt like home.
Summary: Dennis and Trinity end up roping you into a silly little bet that had you ending up in a very compromising position with two of the Senior attendings as they overheard the details of the game.
CW: 18+ MDNI, Smut, Oral (m/f), fingering, Double penetration, Unprotected P I V, anal, a little degredation and condecention but like in a hot way hehe
Note: Welcome to my dirty little 6.5k word fic that isn't really proof read and was supposed to be a teensy little drabble!! Brought to you by a conversation with @valyntynhardy that had me thinking up a storrmmmm, thank you babes 🩷!! However, halfway through writing I noticed it started to sound a little like a fic I had read so with their permission I will tag the creator of that fic which is, @rr-after-dark and you can find the fic here Hope you all enjoy!!
“TRIN WAIT NO!”
The voice of Dennis Whitaker traveled through the hallways as you stood by the lockers with Mel and Samira. Followed quickly by the sound of what could only be described as a small scuffle and loud thud before Trinity arrived at your area.
“Did you guys-whoo I’m out of shape- did you know huckleberry here has like no body hair?” Trinity lets out small giggles as she begins spilling a very intimate secret about her roommate.
“Uhm, well no I can’t say for a good reason why any of us would have known this.” You look around to everyone in your proximity, “But sharing is caring I guess?”
“I’m sorry and how do you know this?” Mel squeaked out with reddened cheeks.
“I’m so glad you asked, he was taking the longest time in the shower as usual and so I went to scare him and the idiot grabs the shower curtain” trinity paused to snort out a laugh, “and-and it all comes down and next thing I know I am staring at a naked little mole rat”
“It’s not funny! It’s probably like an underlying condition of something okay” With cheeks redder than Mel’s, Dennis was trying hard not to make it seem like he was confirming his predicament. He wasn’t denying it either however.
“You know what I’m sure loads of men don’t really have body hair,” Samira was doing her best to console the poor boy, “I bet even some people we work with are in the same boat!”
You fixed your face into a you’re joking expression directly aimed at her.
“Okay then who? Because I couldn’t name one who I think is smoother than poor Dennis over here” Trinity motions to the entirety of the ED before getting a look in her eye. “Hold on, what if we I don't know take some bets about this.”
“No, Trinity, that's such an HR violation” Mel immediately voices her concerns
“Only if you tell them, okay let’s narrow it down to the attendings keep it small” she sneaks a look at you specifically, “Abbot and Robby; bush, trimmed, or fully shaved? Bonus points for chest hair”
A beat of silence followed after her statement, as everyone took their time in processing what exactly they were getting themselves into. And if they were willing to participate.
“I don’t think that’s appropriate”
“They’re our bosses-”
“IT’S A CONDITION!”
All three began arguing over the ethics of Trinity's proposed bet, you however lifted a finger to your chin before interrupting everyone.
“Abbot is for sure trimmed with a little chest hair, and Robby is definitely a full jungle head to toe no doubt about it”
A shrug was added towards the end as if this was light work, and that's because it was. You weren’t going to lie and say you hadn’t thought about this before, many, many times. You were an R4 and had been working at the PTMC since your MS4. There was no doubt that you held a candle to both of your much older attendings, hell you’ve been called out multiple times on the doe eyes you’ve made when you thought no one was looking.
Dana had especially caught on, and never ceased to remind you that they were double your age and that a sweet girl like you didn’t need to be tied down by old men like them. If only she knew how much it turned you on to hear just how much older they were. And it was worse when the reminders came from Robby and Abbot themselves.
‘Good God I was in med school by the time you were born sweetheart’
‘I have tattoos that are older than you kid’
Both statements were seared into your brain the moment they said it. Lines that replayed one too many times with a hand furiously circling your clit while splayed out on your bed fantasizing about your bosses. So yeah your bet was one made with the confidence of four years of pining after these men.
“Nah Abbot's smooth and Robby is trimmed” Trinity wasted no time in following behind with hers.
“Fine, uhm both of them are trimmed short, but Robby has the chest hair” Samira's vote was cast in a mumble as she avoided eye contact.
“I’m going to say both are clean shaven” you had a feeling Dennis was just trying to make himself feel better.
“Nope, no thanks I’ll handle the money” Mel shook her head having absolutely no interest whatsoever in participating.
“Okay, problem though. How exactly are we going to find out?” Trinity once again laid her gaze on you, which to be fair so did everyone else. Point taken.
“Alright sure I volunteer as tribute, but if I do this it’s up to 20$ per correct guess. Bush and chest hair are separate so we’re talking 40 bucks per attending”
You weren’t about to become a walking HR violation if there wasn’t a chance of getting 240$ richer. A girl has bills to pay.
As all agreed on the bet, handing your money over to Mel you realized you needed a game plan.
______________________________________
It all began the next day when Abbot had picked up a double. He and Robby were chatting and discussing patient care when you and Trinity saddled up to the station to chart on your own patients. Seeing no time like the present you decided to seize the moment and turned to Trinity.
“Do you have a good waxer?”
Trinity's eyes bugged out for just one moment before she recognized the plan.
“No, sorry babe I just take care of it myself at home”
“I used to have a good one but she moved to LA, and I haven’t touched it since” Not a lie, “I don’t trust myself not to cut off a lip so I figured I’d just leave it until I find a new one.”
Out of the corner of your eye you caught the way both men had frozen in their spots, eyes wide and a blush creeping up Robby’s neck.
“Say Dr. Robby, Dr. Abbot do you guys know a good place to get waxed?”
That sweet blush melted onto poor Robby’s cheeks at your inquiry. He then looked over to Jack as if making sure he wasn’t going crazy.
“I, uh can’t say that I do kid” Hand rubbing the back of his neck.
“You really think we look like the kind of people who would know someone for that sweetheart?” Jack settled his gaze into nonchalance a lot easier than Robby did.
“Well I don’t know I didn’t want to assume, you know” you shrug before grabbing Trinity’s wrist and walking away, “okay well that eliminates waxing but doesn't eliminate if they shave or trim.”
The next opportunity you had was a week or so later when you saw Robby standing alone in the supply closet.
“Do they have any witch hazel or aloe in here?” An innocent and slightly stupid question that no one would blink twice at.
“I’m not entirely sure why, what’s up kid?” Robby turned to look at you as if you were presenting a case.
“Well the patient in central 6 came in with what they thought was an STD, burning and itching and all that. Turns out it’s a simple rash from shaving” You search his face for any sense of acknowledgement, or the vibes of understanding. But instead you get nothing but the look of okay and?
“Well if we don’t have it, discharge them with instructions and some powder for the irritation” Robby tried his best not to blush once more at the full attention you were giving him, efforts that ended up failing at your next statement.
“Well what do you do Dr. Robby? You know if you shave too short and it gets really itchy and bothersome?”
“I don’t, uhm-“
Robby was saved by the bell as Dana came in and called a trauma. Something you huffed about knowing you weren’t going to get an answer. The breath you let out caught his attention unbeknownst to you, as a quizzical expression fell onto his face as he realized this was the second conversation like this he’s had with you in as many weeks.
______________________________________
Jack’s turn for questioning came the next day at shift change as you ran into him at the lockers. You were putting your things into the space and he was taking his out.
“Oh hey Dr.Abbot, I have a quick question for you”
“Your questions are never quick nor are they usually good for my health”
“No I promise this is totally five by five”
“I don’t think you used that-”
“Anyway, so what type of fabric is your underwear?”
A long sigh left his nostrils as he closed his eyes letting his head dip down. Turning his body to face you fully he leaned a shoulder against the lockers as he folded his arms across his chest.
“I want to ask why you want to know that sweetheart, but I think I’m also scared of knowing the reason”
“Well, since you kind of asked I’ll tell you,” stepping a bit closer to him so you could demonstrate your question while you tell it, “I haven’t bought new ones in a while and I noticed that if I shaved, it would poke through the polyester fabric which was super uncomfortable. So I was just wondering if you had that problem?”
If only you had a camera because the look on Jack Abbots face was priceless but only for a split second. His attempt at remaining stoic quickly dropped as his shoulder slid off the lockers for a moment, losing his cool before he straightened up schooling his expression and narrowing his eyes at you.
“Cotton.”
The flatness of his tone sent shivers down your spine as he locked his gaze onto yours not letting you escape, It was your turn to slightly lose your cool. Jack figuring the best plan is to meet you at your own game, one that you were so clearly playing.
Before this your flirtations were kept small and sweet. Ones that he and Robby were more than happy to play into, but they never entertained you much further knowing that you were much too young for them. They also refused to let themselves believe that you were genuinely into them. You who were sunshine personified with the confidence to boot during procedures. The one who they watched as every med student and consultant flirted with you in an attempt to get into your pants only to come out unsuccessful each and every time.
These thoughts and memories were swimming through his head as you left him with a small ‘oh ok, thanks’ and headed out onto the floor but not before he saw you quickly pull out your phone and began furiously typing. Grabbing his backpack he heads out as well, stopping when he sees Robby at the nurses station and figures he'd ask if he noticed anything odd about you lately.
“Hey brother I got a question for you, have you noticed anything odd with-”
“Oh thank god you too?”
Jack didn’t even finish his sentence before Robby was adding in his own thoughts. Both the men recounted their encounters with you noticing a similar topic to your questioning and interest with them recently. But it wasn’t truly making sense to why you were so hung up on this until they overheard a passing conversation that they definitely weren’t supposed to hear.
“Damn it, she said still nothing definitive” came the voice of Trinity Santos the day shift R2 came close to where the two attendings were standing but not close enough that she and Dennis Whitaker saw them standing there.
“I still think betting on their body hair is weird”
“Okay well technically it's not their body hair it's just how they keep their bushes okay with a side bet of chest hair, totally appropriate,” She scoffed as she typed a quick reply on her phone, “plus are you not 80$ deep like the rest of us?”
“Well yeah but having her do it feels cruel when she’s told us about how much she likes Abbot and Robby,”
“Chill with the emotions huckleberry, and please they like her just as much. Which is why she has the best chance”
They walk away soon after leaving both attendings to stew over their words. Over two things specifically; one being the fact that a small group of their doctors have been betting over their pubic hair, but second and more importantly that you actually liked them. Their eyes met and it was almost as if they had the same thought process, which they did. Now they only had one problem though, they needed to figure out how to confront you about it.
Because here you were flaunting around the ED flirting with them and asking questions that should’ve definitely sent you straight to HR. Except Trinity and Dennis were correct, it didn’t because it was you who asked. Taking a quick peek at the schedule they saw that the next shift was your last before you had four days off, they were also short a couple doctors and coincidently neither were supposed to be working. And since Jack and Robby were both such givers they signed themselves up to pick up the shift.
________________________________________
The day started out like any other. You showed up ready to work with an extra pep in your step as it was hot attending free, feeling like you could finally breathe. You loved flirting with them truly, but with this bet going on it was getting harder and harder to get through your shift. Not because you were getting sick of them, no never that. It’s the amount of forced proximity that was really messing with your head.
You were starting to feel as though the faint scent of their body wash and cologne was beginning to embed itself inside your sinuses. Or how the sound of their voices were etched so deep into your brain it replayed constantly as you wore out the batteries of your favorite vibrator almost nightly. But today was going to be different, today was a hot older man free day. At least it was supposed to be, but that quickly dissipated as a few voices you thought weren't going to be around came from behind you.
“Look at her walking in here with a little pep in her step, what do you think got into her?”
“No idea, maybe it's just her youthful state. I mean you remember what it was like to be her age don't you?”
Michael fucking Robinavitch and Jack asshole Abbot had swarmed you as soon as you walked towards the entrance. Only causing a slight stumble before catching your balance and regaining a shred of your already paper thin confidence.
“Well I thought it was going to be a peaceful day, but I guess the powers that be said no.” you attempted a joking insult so that it seemed like nothing about this was getting to you.
But deep and gravelly laughs followed your statement, the kind that had your thighs tightening and heat creeping up your neck. A focus that you were ripped out of at the feeling of a hand on your lower back, which made you halt in your steps. Looking over you spotted Abbot positioning himself against your side before a long arm from the other man in your presence shot out and opened the door allowing you to walk in first.
It was odd, not in an uncomfortable way but mostly because you hadn’t often taken them on at the same time so to speak. Usually choosing to focus on one or the other unless you had back up like Trinity. But here with both of them crowding your space made you feel out of control and dizzy.
Squeaking out a thank you before rushing through the doors trying to get some type of distance, you were stopped short when it came to the security door where they wasted no time in crowding into your space again. Their scents filling your nose as the hairs at the back of your neck stood on edge.
You tried to start this shift with an attempt at the normal teasing and flirtations with the usual confidence you normally had, but as time went on you found yourself becoming increasingly overwhelmed with their constant presence. Mostly because there was something different about them today, they were less playful and dismissive with your advances. Instead it was more intentional, they doubled down on their own flirtations back and almost tag teaming you from each side. Rarely was there a time that one of them wasn’t around you, whenever you picked up a patient they were right there behind you asking for an immediate presentation, or about differentials and possible diagnoses.
They were also more physical as well, a hand at the lower part of your back or on your shoulder when passing by, or even if they were standing near you talking to others. And they were always standing much too close to you when looking at the charts and labs, you couldn’t seem to scramble together more than two words every time they asked you a question because of how overbearing their presence was today. It got to the point where Samira had asked if you were okay since you had seemed so distracted, you did your best to reassure her you were okay but that didn’t seem to ease much of her worry. And unfortunately for you she decided to talk to the worst two people possible about your behavior.
“Im just concerned you know she seems distracted”
“No worries Mohan we’ll check up on her” Abbot tried his own reassurance hoping that he convinced her better than you did.
“I appreciate you bringing this to us. We will do our best to see what's going on”
Robby figured that adding a second statement would distract her from lingering on one or the other for too long. And it seemed to work as she nodded her thanks before walking off. It wasn’t until the last three hours of the shift they decided to finally run their intervention.
“Hey kid do me a favor and walk with me” Robby approaches you from behind as you try and think of every possible way to get out of it.
“Oh I’m sorry, I can’t. Patient in south 5 needs me” you take one step away before a large hand wraps around your bicep as he begins talking above your head.
“Hey Mel do me a favor take her patients for a bit” She nods her agreement before walking off to finish whatever task she was in the middle of, “See no biggie, c’mon”
He guided you into the hallway quite a distance away from the ED, right up until you saw ON CALL ROOM 3 plastered beside a door. Knocking three times seemed to be the password as the door opened to show Jack Abbot, the only other man you absolutely didn’t trust yourself to be around today.
Before you could protest and make an argument for being too busy to talk once more, a small tap on your left ass cheek had you taking shocked stumbling steps into the room. The door was closed and a lock clicked as you stood as far back as you could from the two men. You weren’t scared of them per say, but you were scared that they were about to tell you they were reporting you for inappropriate questioning over the last few weeks.
“I uhm-”
“Ah ah ah, sweetheart this isn’t your turn to talk” Jack spoke first, moving so that he was directly beside Robby where he stood but two feet in front of you, which also meant they were effectively blocking your way at a quick exit.
“Look kid you aren’t getting out of this, better to come clean now” Robby crossed his arms over his chest the movement somehow making him seem even broader.
“I don’t- I don’t know what you're talking about” You were on the verge of tears, mind running rampant with the thoughts of losing your residency and possibly your career.
“Aww look at the poor thing Mike, I think we’ve scared her”
“Nah Jack I think she's right where she wants to be,”
“Dr. Abbot, Dr. Robby I’m sorr-”
“Shhh, no doctor. Just Michael and Jack right now”
Jack is the first to take yet another step closer to you with Robby following suit. But as you attempt to find any semblance of distance you feel your knees hit the edge of the chair that had been sitting in the corner of the room. The motion caused you to fall to the seat, eyes drifting to the front of their pants that lined up with your new view. Both seams were pulled tight in an intimidating tent from each man.
“I don’t understand wh-whats going on?”
“Dont play coy now,” Jack grabbed your chin between his thumb and forefinger, “secrets and bets aren’t kept quiet for long in this hospital,”
He traced your bottom lip with the same thumb, pulling it down slightly. Robby groaned at the sight before he reached a hand similar to Jack, but instead of going for your face he gripped a handful of your ponytail and slightly yanked back so your throat stretched upwards.
“Well, you wanted to see so badly, so look” giving another tug to your hair.
With shaky hands you start with Robby's zipper pulling it down slowly before moving onto his boxers. His heavy length bobbed out, skin taught and flushed as his tip was already leaking, and he was long at least 8 inches. And right at the base was even better than you could’ve predicted, a full smattering of unruly dark curls that trailed down from the happy trail peaking out from his rising scrub top. But before you could get too carried away that warm hand on your chin gave it a small tap reminding you there were two, as if you could forget.
You were a bit more impatient with Jack’s pants already feeling the pulse of your own arousal beginning at the most menial of touches from them. Pulling his pants and boxers down his cock was just as impressive in its own way. While it wasn’t as long as Robby's it was definitely girthier, almost scarily so. Skin just as flushed and leaking with a prominent vein along the underside and of course to none of your surprise he was neatly trimmed, nothing too short but just enough to shape it into manageable.
Without allowing yourself to get too lost in thought reaching up with both hands you gripped each of their respective cocks and began stroking up and down their lengths spreading their arousal with your fingers. Sharp hisses left their lips at the contact.
“Aww come on now kid you didn’t harass us for weeks just to use your hands did you?” Robby chastises with a strained voice.
“Yeah come on sweetheart put that dirty mouth to better use than you have been” This time its Jack that puts a hand in your hair pushing you towards where they wanted you most. At first you went to focus on just one at a time before you heard Jack’s tsk start to correct you.
“You’ve talked such a big game so you can take both”
“Wh-what Jack, I don't think I can.” Your eyes widened at the prospect of two of the biggest cocks you’d seen.
“You can do it kid, open up and say ahh” Robby’s lips morphed into a smirk.
And you did opening as wide as you could, realistically you could only really fit the first inch of each of them at the same time while pumping the rest of their length with your hands. However, you settled into a rhythm of running your mouth up and down Robby’s then Jack’s cock and finally taking both as far as you could at one time. It only took a few minutes before your eyes were spilling with tears and spit dripped from your lips.
“That’a girl, fuck feels so good! Doesn’t she feel good Mike?”
“God yes, so fucking warm. But I wanna taste her Jack.” Robby lets out a deep moan as you deliver a particularly harsh suck to his cockhead.
“Yes please, I want that” pulling back with a slight pop as their cocks fall from your mouth, the idea of their mouths on you sent goosebumps flowing down your spine.
“Alrighty kid strip before getting on the bed, then put your hips at the edge” Robby ordered with a strong tone.
Hurriedly removing your scrubs, you position yourself as directed. Before noticing how both men chose to keep their clothes on, leaving their pants just tucked below their hips. A realization that had you instinctively trying to cover yourself.
As your arms went to cover your breasts, larger ones gripped your wrists and moved to hold them above your head. Looking to your side you were met with Jack's hazel eyes as he held yours with a hard gaze.
“Don’t you dare cover yourself, I’ve waited years for this,” Jack's lips came crashing onto yours, messily filled with teeth and tongue before moving down the column of your throat, “I’ve had to guess what these perfect tits looked like with my hand wrapped around my cock way too often. And they’re even better than anything I could’ve imagined”
Your eyes were screwed shut as your teeth sunk into your lip trying hard to keep your noises down. But a startled gasp broke through as Robby’s hands caressed your thighs, where once again you tried to cover yourself by squeezing them shut. But he was quicker moving his shoulders between so there was no chance of hiding.
“Who’d have thought you’d be so shy kid? You’re all talk and no bite aren’t you?” Robby teased as he gently ran a finger through your own soft curls pressing farther into your slit, collecting the leaking arousal, “but you’ve never had a real man take care of you have you? Let alone two”
“N-no, never” your voice was a breathy whisper in your attempt to respond.
All chances of being silent went out the window as Jack wrapped his lips around a nipple while Robby buried his face deep into your cunt.
“Oh fuck Michael!” That had Jack shoving two fingers in your mouth to keep the noise at bay.
“Fucking hell kid,” his deep growl vibrated against your sensitive flesh, “as much as I love hearing you call my name, gonna need you to be quiet for us, can you be a good girl and do that?”
Lips still wrapped around Jack's fingers you managed a nod. With one mouth expertly buried at your sensitive core shoving his nose into you and inhaling deep and the other sucking on your breasts you could feel that dull pulse pull tighter on that string.
That feeling only built as Jack pulled away from your chest removing the fingers from your mouth and moving down to where Robby was.
Those spit slick fingers moved around the back of your thigh and pressed in right below Robby’s chin. The instant stretch had you biting on your knuckles and he scissors his fingers in a smooth rhythmic manner.
“Bet Mike's mouth feels real good doesn’t it, sweetheart?” His question wasn’t one he needed answered with words as your face and moans said it all, but lord did you try. Nothing but babbles came out as he flipped between harsh sucks and using his tongue to inscribe his name over your clit.
“Yeah he does,” Jack continued, “I can feel you squeezing my fingers real good. I’ll tell you what, be a good girl and let go for us just once before we fuck you”
“Yes, ohmygod pl-please!”
With toes curled and back arched the string snapped as Robby nipped at your clit and Jack hooked his fingers to press into that soft spot that had you gushing and your vision going white. Pleasure shot through your body as your orgasm contracted every lower muscle you had. Squeezing Jack fingers so hard he almost came at the thought of it being on his cock next.
Your mind was floating as you barely registered how Jack spread your arousal down to your puckered hole. Nor did you fully realize you were being manhandled until the world spun around you and you found yourself face to face with Jack's black t-shirt covered chest.
“Okay sweetheart gonna take this nice and slow, big breath for me” The man beneath you whispered into your ear.
Confusion muddled your brain as it was still slow to recover from the mind numbing orgasm, but it all made sense as you felt his cock being pushed into your cunt. Slow and steady as he gave you little moments to adjust. All the while Robby had opened the lube that he came prepared with as he slathered his length in it with a few jerks watching as Jack's cock disappeared into your sweet cunt. The stretch was almost too much compared to his fingers earlier.
As he finally bottomed out he held your hips down onto him only allowing small grinding movements of your pelvis against his. You were desperate for more and your poor mind was lost three ways to Sunday as his thick cock filled you up more than you had ever been. Little whines were released as you attempted to move but the grip Jack had was tight and immovable. However, both your movements and noises died down as Robby’s hand settled between your shoulder blades pushing you further into Jack as he also maneuvered your hips down and back so that he could reach his destination. You felt cold liquid spread between your cheeks before you heard his voice call out.
“Be real still f’me” that baritone of Robby’s voice was like an electric shock to your nerves. And the small praises that came from Jack in your ear were enough to make you cum again.
“Fuck, so fucking tight baby hold on” strain crept its way into Robby’s words as he slowly pushed in trying to be gentle as he passed through the tight rings of muscle.
“Doing so good sweetheart, taking us both so well” small kisses and marks were littered between sentences Jack was whispering. “Oh Fuck Mike, can feel your cock pressing against her”
“Ugghh s’big,” wiggling your hips to stuff more of both inside, eyes all but rolling to the back of your head “feels s’good”
Another minute went by before Robby was able to get himself fully seated inside your ass, and Jack in the same position with your sensitive cunt. While they took their time stuffing you full beyond belief it only took seconds for them to start moving, and in perfect time as well. When Robby stayed put Jack pulled out, and when Jack pushed back in Robby pulled out. Both coming out just until the tip was left before thrusting back in with such force that had the air pushed from your lungs.
If they were worried about you being loud before that was not the problem any more. The constant push and pull of the two men had your mouth hanging open in a silent O. The feel of their bruising grips on your waist and hips only added to the blinding arousal that filled your body.
“Such a good girl sweetheart, letting us fuck you dumb in the middle of your shift” Jacks degrading words only had you whimpering in agreement.
“No words for us kid, was this more than you thought you could handle?” Robby spreads your ass so that he can see himself slide in and out better, a view that had him groaning as he felt his own orgasm building.
And almost as if their minds and bodies were melded into one, as Robby thought it Jack voiced it.
“Fuck don’t know how much longer I can last brother. Plus i think our break is coming to an end”
“I-I’m s-so” That competent mind that they loved so much had turned off, a sight they knew they shouldn’t love as much as they do but they couldn’t help it.
The look of pure bliss on your face combined with tears flowing down your cheeks and their marks across your body was something they were going to make sure happened on a regular basis. This was their way into your life and they weren't about to let it happen just once. That tell tale fluttering of your cunt and tightening of your ass on the two men told them you were just as close as they were.
And they were correct, the immense pressure of both of them rubbing against each other inside and the friction of movement on your clit had you barreling into your second orgasm. They quickened their pace chasing their own highs, rhythm being slightly lost as they stopped trying to time it. This had you losing yourself even more as you stopped being able to tell where one ended and the other began. And whatever lucidity you had faded as your orgasm all but paralyzed you.
“Fuckfuckfuckkk!” You gritted out through clenched teeth, body locking up as you gripped Jack's hair with one hand and the other gripping Robby's wrist on your hip.
“C’mon sweetheart take it!” Jack grunted out himself as both he and Robby shoved themselves as deep as they could, reaching parts of your body you didn’t even know existed.
“Take it all kid just like that” Robby’s grip becoming impossibly harder
Grunts and moans flew from the two men as they emptied themselves into your body, warmth bloomed from their cum filling up you to what felt like your chest. Shallow movement from both had you squeaking out with overstimulation at each thrust. You could feel them soften slightly before they pull out. Grabbing the wipes from the bedside table and lightly cleaning you up.
Your body was still limp as they slid your underwear and scrubs back on,and your body moved into a sitting position. Light taps to your cheek had your eyes drooping open just slightly. Feeling the water bottle set against your bottom lip your mouth opened instinctively as a hand gripped your chin in place.
“Look at that, don’t even need to ask her before she does what we want now” Jack stroked your hair so that it looked more presentable.
“Gonna need you to walk out of her kid, think you can do that” Robby moved the bottle from your mouth and moved your chin with his hand to look him in his eyes.
You begin to nod before he cuts off your movements.
“Nope gotta use your words like a big girl”
“Y-yes Michael” breaths coming out deep and heavy.
“Alrighty lets get you up,” Jack's hands lifted you from your position under your arms to stand on your own two feet. “Woah there bambi take a minute”
His words rushed out as your knees instantly buckled and both him and Robby moved to catch you.
“I can do it,” taking a deep breath, you all but stumbled to the door. But before you could open it you heard Robby call out.
“Just so you know we’re taking you home with us tonight and we’re gonna talk this thing through, got it?”
“This wasn’t just a one time thing sweetheart, this was four years in the making. We know you take the bus so you’ll hitch a ride with us.” Jack then nodded for you to leave first.
"Oh one more thing," you called out before leaving, "the second part of the bet?"
A chuckle left both the men as they each lifted their shirts up to their necks confirming exactly what you knew. But the new peek at their bodies had your own gearing up for another round already, so with a small giggle and thanks you tucked your head down and exited the room.
With every wobbly step you could feel their cum slightly leak out and pool into your underwear, and you were extremely grateful the shift was almost over. Making your way to where most everyone was gathered at the nurses station, they all watched as you headed towards them with a noticeable limp in your gait and an absentminded smile across your face.
“Time to pay up, I was correct” leaning your exhausted body on the counter top.
“And what is that supposed to mean?” Trinity knew what it meant but part of her didn’t believe you while Samira, Mel, and Dennis made questioning glances between you two.
At least that was until they saw both of their attendings talking in hushed whispers coming from the exact hallway you had. Jack or Robby didn't bother to fix their hair as they had done yours. And much to your embarrassment you could faintly see a you-sized handprint on Robby's forearm where his sleeves were pushed up, and Jack's neck had a you-sized bite mark where you must’ve chomped down without thinking. Heat flushed through your body as they walked past where you and the group huddled, nodding to you in unison as you nearly sank to your knees once more. But a teeny bit of pride that filled your chest kept you upright with just enough left over confidence to turn back to the four that went from confused to shocked.
And without another word Mel reached into her bag grabbing the envelope that held what was now your water and electricity bill payment. Shoving it into your pocket before moving away to very carefully sit on one of the stools to finish charting before you head out.
“So do we get half?” Jacks question had you scoffing
“Absolutely not this is my utilities bill” you shot him a look at the audacity of his words. But that look morphed into confusion when your phone chimed and a banking notification of 1,600$ being sent chimed on your phone. “Wait what the fuck?”
“You put in good work for that money, use it for something other than utilities,” Robby’s voice joined in, “Plus you’re not going to have to worry about bills anymore”
And before you could protest another notification of 1,600$ went through, this time with Jack's name.
“Just a little something for rent” he casually stated, “meet us by the black Chevy after you clock out”
Jack patted your shoulder before they both walked off, as if they just had been going over patient information with you and not sending you 3,200$ for ‘bills’. Which had you giggling because they both knew you lived in a shitty studio in the not great part of town, so they were very much aware of the fact they sent you at least triple your rent. Except instead of feeling embarrassment or shy, you felt cared for. And it had you excited for later tonight, wondering about all the plans they could have.
Never did you think Dennis and his lack of body hair would’ve been the push the three of you needed to finally break the years of building tension. But here you were with that silly little thought in your head as you made your way towards the truck where both men were waiting for you.
summary: even after swapping from nights to days, you just can’t seem to escape the inconveniently attractive night shift attending. then a ptmc night out, a sparkly dress, and a not-so-innocent game of never have i ever leads to dr. jack abbot making sure you can never utter the words “never have i ever finished during sex” ever again.
notes: i really hope you guys enjoiy this! it was so much fun to write and i just feel like jack is a little easier to put into silly situations than robby, so here i am torturing the poor man! i'm sorry in advance if the smut is kind of mid, i was fighting tumblr's block limit rule with this fic so i feel like i didn't get indulge as much as i would have liked, but still! i hope you guys love it, and please, please let me know what you think! (p.s. i think i mentioned the title was originally 'unaffected' but i like this one better)
warnings: swearing, alcohol, blushing, italics, jealousy, implied age gap, jack is a yearner, reader wears a "revealing" dress (but description is very vague and there's zero detail about body-type), mildly uncomfortable male encounters, friend!santos, pittlings chaos, garsantos mention, jack gets a little possessive, reader has long enough hair to sweep off her neck, and SMUT (making out, fingering, "panties", a tiny bit of dirty talk, unprotected piv, "good girl", and jack says sweetheart a lot) 18+ only please, mdni.
word count: 18889
Jack Abbot had never thought of himself as a jealous man.
Possessive, maybe. Protective, definitely. But jealous? Never.
He had never really had anything to be jealous of.
Until now.
Now there are far too many things.
Like the pen between your lips—and the way you bite down just hard enough to leave a little dent in the plastic while you read through Dana’s notes.
Or Dana herself, and the way you’re looking at her—soft, sleepy, warm in a way that twists something tight in Jack’s chest. The same way you used to look at him in the quiet hours at the end of a night shift.
Or your scrubs—God, your scrubs—and the way they fit just a little too well tonight. Too tight in all the right places. Distracting in ways that are becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.
Jack has never needed to be jealous of anything before, but now he finds himself jealous of inanimate objects, coworkers you barely glance at, and your goddamn clothes.
So, yeah. Jack Abbot had never thought of himself as a jealous man—until you came along.
“Dr. Abbot,” Dana calls, peering over the top of her glasses. “You’re early.”
Beside her, you glance up from your tablet, meeting his eyes across the ER with that same soft smile.
“Dr. Abbot,” you say, like you can’t quite help yourself.
Jack squares his shoulders and starts toward the nurses’ station, determined not to let Dana and her all-knowing, all-seeing bullshit clock exactly why he’s at work almost two hours earlier than he needs to be.
“Yeah, I’ve got some stuff I didn’t get to wrap up this morning,” he lies.
Princess pops up from behind the desk. “I thought you said you stayed back this morning to make sure everything was sorted?”
Jack’s gaze cuts to her. “Yes. But I forgot something.”
Dana narrows her eyes. “Mhm. What’d you forget?”
“A few notes from the three a.m. GSW,” he replies quickly—too quickly.
It’s weak and he knows it, but there’s nothing else he could think of with Dana watching him like that and your warm, sleepy gaze still lingering from across the desk.
Dana nods slowly, adjusting the chart in her hands. “Right. Two hours early for a few notes.”
Jack just shrugs, avoiding her gaze as he walks past—and he doesn’t look back until he’s safely around the corner, standing in front of his locker. Only then does he risk a glance, just briefly over his shoulder, quick enough to catch a glimpse of you disappearing down the North hall.
God. It’s ridiculous, really. He’s a grown man.
More than that—he's an old man.
Yet here he is staying late at work and coming in early just to see more of you. Because ever since you swapped from nights to days, Jack doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. Sure, he could barely concentrate when you were on shift together, but who knew not having you around would be even worse?
He spends the first half of his shift hating himself for being so hung up on someone so young and so impossibly out of reach—then spends the second half anxiously awaiting your arrival for the day shift.
And it’s only been two weeks.
But the absolute worst part?
He doesn’t even know why you swapped shifts. You never even spoke to him about it. You just told him at four a.m. two Saturdays ago that you were switching to day shift. No reason. No explanation. That was it.
At first he wondered if it was his fault—if maybe you’d simply decided you didn’t like working with him.
But you still greet him every morning and every evening with that same warm smile. You still look to him first whenever someone asks for an attending and he’s still around. You still text him whenever the ER cat shows up outside the ambulance bay—which apparently happens much more often during the day shift.
And Jack still buys a packet of freeze-dried liver treats every Sunday to keep in the cupboard above the break room fridge—because he knows how much you love feeding that cat.
“What’re you doing here?”
Jack’s head whips around at the sound of his friend’s voice.
“I—uh—came in early to fix up a few notes,” he says, turning back to shove his bag into his locker.
Robby’s brows lift. “Two hours for notes?”
Jack sighs, slinging his stethoscope around his neck and shutting his locker before turning to face his fellow attending. “Are you of all people really going to lecture me about not having a life outside of this ER?”
Robby chuckles quietly, lifting both hands out of his pockets in surrender. “I wasn’t judging.”
“Good,” Jack mutters, already starting back toward central. “Anything I need to know?”
Robby falls into step beside him. “North Three’s waiting on a CT for possible appendicitis. Kid in Five came in with chest pain but his labs look clean so far. Dana’s still fighting with bed control about moving the pneumonia admit upstairs.”
They both stop at the nurses’ station, glancing up at the board.
“Otherwise it’s been unusually calm,” Robby adds. “Which probably means you’re about to get slammed.”
Jack gives him a flat look. “Thanks.”
“Anytime.” Robby claps him on the shoulder. “Oh—and that R2 you gave me?”
“What about her?”
Robby shrugs. “She’s great.”
“I know,” Jack says, keeping his voice carefully even.
Robby studies him for a second, eyes narrowing just a fraction, the corner of his mouth threatening to lift. The man might be a disaster when it comes to his own feelings, but he has an uncanny talent for spotting everyone else’s.
“We’re alright out here if you want to catch up on your notes,” he says after a moment, already turning away. “Or go make the rounds. Get some very thorough handovers from the residents.”
Jack keeps his eyes fixed on the board. “I hate you.”
Robby huffs out a quiet laugh. “Then why are you here two hours early?”
Jack exhales sharply and steps forward, pulling one of the tablets from the rack.
“Notes,” he says, a little louder than necessary.
Robby just shakes his head, still smiling faintly as he disappears down the North corridor.
For a moment, Jack doesn’t move. He lingers at the nurses’ station, tablet in hand, pretending to analyse the board while ignoring the incredibly unsubtle looks from Perlah and Princess—both of them watching him with the kind of interest that usually means someone’s about to become the subject of a very entertaining conversation.
Then, with a polite nod to each of them, he clears his throat and steps away, turning toward the break room—trying very hard not to hope he runs into you on the way.
And trying not to be disappointed when he doesn’t.
The break room is empty when he steps inside, the noise of the ER dulling as the door falls shut behind him. He sets his tablet on the table—next to someone’s half-eaten lunch and a discarded Lean Cuisine container—and grabs a clean mug from the cupboard, pouring the last of the coffee pot into it.
Then he drops into the seat furthest from the door, his back to the bulletin board, and taps the tablet awake, pulling up the notes for the three a.m. GSW. The same notes he already finished in detail while staying back this morning—before Robby told him to get the hell out of his ER and get some sleep.
He barely makes it through two lines of the chart before the door swings open again.
“Shit, sorry,” you say quickly, stepping toward the table.
Jack’s pulse does the same stupid thing it always does whenever he sees you, making his chest feel hot and his head a little fuzzy.
“What are you sorry for?” he asks, as if it isn’t obvious.
You’ve already stacked the Lean Cuisine container on top of the half-eaten bowl of something grey and mushy-looking and are halfway to the sink with them.
“I only got, like, a five-minute break today and had to run out for a trauma, then completely forgot about my lunch,” you explain, cheeks flushed as you glance down at the bowl. “This is gross. I’m so sorry.”
Jack shifts in his chair. “I’ve seen worse in here, I promise.”
You glance over your shoulder as you turn on the tap, the corner of your mouth lifting just slightly. “Really?”
He nods. “Really.”
He could almost swear your smile lifts a little higher before you turn back to the sink, scrubbing hurriedly at the bowl of slop that probably shouldn’t be going down the drain anyway.
Jack clears his throat. “But—uh—Lean Cuisine? Really?”
You look back at him again, brows drawn. “What’s wrong with Lean Cuisine?”
“Nothing,” he says lightly. “If you’re trying to survive a very stressful twelve-hour shift on only four hundred calories.”
You huff a quiet laugh, turning back to the sink. “I actually managed to eat lunch today. That’s already a win.”
“It’s mostly sodium and sadness,” he adds, almost absently. “Not much protein.”
You finally turn the tap off and spin around, leaning a hip against the counter. “Alright, Dr. Abbot. When I find the spare time to start meal prepping between my very stressful twelve-hour shifts, I’ll let you know.”
Jack opens his mouth—then closes it again. Because what he wants to say is ridiculous.
But it comes out anyway.
“…I cook.”
You blink.
“You cook?”
Jack clears his throat, suddenly very interested in his coffee mug.
“Yeah. Well.” He shrugs. “I’ve been told I’m reasonably good at it.”
You stare at him for a second, brows knitting slightly as you clearly try to figure out where the hell that came from.
“Well,” you say with a quick smile, “I guess your dinner guests are pretty lucky.”
Before he can respond, you grab the Lean Cuisine packet, toss it in the bin, and step toward the door.
“Sorry again for the mess.”
Then you’re gone—leaving Jack alone with his coffee, his notes, and the growing suspicion that there might actually be something seriously wrong with him.
-
“Is that Dr. Abbot in the break room?” Santos asks, falling into step beside you.
You keep your eyes fixed on your tablet.
“Yep.”
She leans closer, steering you out of the way of a gurney.
“But night shift doesn’t start for like two more hours.”
“I’m aware.”
“So, why is he here?”
You exhale sharply and finally look up from your tablet. “I don’t know, Trin. Maybe because the universe hates me.”
She snorts. “Or maybe because he likes you.”
You roll your eyes, turning toward the South corridor. “Please don’t start.”
“I’m not starting anything,” she insists. “I seriously think that old man has a thing for you.”
“Don’t call him that,” you mutter.
“Okay, fine. I seriously think that hot, older man has a thing for you,” she says, stopping beside you at the South desks. “And we all know how you feel about him, so—”
“No,” you snap. “We don’t all know how I feel about Ja—Dr. Abbot.”
She presses her lips together to keep from laughing.
“Besides,” you go on, dropping into a chair. “I swapped to day shift so I could stop being distracted by my attending and actually focus on being a good doctor—so could you please stop distracting me?”
She leans a hip against the desk, completely ignoring you. “And don’t you think that’s a little strange? I mean, you swapped to day shift—what, two weeks ago?”
You glance at her from the corner of your eye. “And?”
“And,” she says dramatically, “for the past two weeks Dr. Abbot has been staying back every morning and coming in early every afternoon.”
Your gaze slides back to the computer. “So?”
She sighs, exasperated. “It’s not a coincidence.”
“Actually, I think it is,” you argue.
She stares at you for a second, eyes narrowing. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re annoying.”
She rolls her eyes and pushes off the desk. “Whatever. You’re still coming out tomorrow night, right?”
Your fingers hesitate over the keyboard. “Uh—I’m not sure yet.”
“Dr. Ellis is the only person from night shift that’ll be there,” she says.
You let out a quiet sigh of defeat.
“Fine,” you mutter. “I’ll come.”
“Good.” She grins, already turning away. “Come to my place around six. We can get ready and pregame.”
“Why can’t I get ready at home?” you ask.
“Because,” she calls over her shoulder, “I get to pick what you wear.”
And before you can argue, she slips into a patient room, effectively ending the conversation.
“Great,” you mumble, turning back to the computer. “Can’t wait.”
It’s not like you’re not looking forward to finally joining in on a night out now that you’re no longer on the night shift.
You are. You’re just... nervous.
Nervous, perpetually stressed out, and still adjusting to life as a day-walker. And Santos knows that. She probably knows you better than anyone else at PTMC—even though you’ve spent the better part of ten months working opposite shifts.
Which is exactly why she’s pushing you to join this night out. Because she knows you need it. She knows you need to relax, forget about work, and do something other than obsess over the night shift attending who’s had you completely undone since the day you first met.
God.
Jack Abbot. The single most dangerous man in Pittsburgh.
Not only is he stupidly hot, but he’s also annoyingly competent, irritatingly attentive, and has the starring role in every single one of your most inappropriate fantasies.
He’s also the very reason you’re terrified of having to redo your second year of residency, because that man affects your focus so much you literally can’t function. Like three weeks ago, when you walked straight into the glass door of Trauma One because you were too busy watching him take his jacket off.
His damn jacket.
That was the moment you finally decided you needed to swap shifts—because Dr. Shen couldn’t look at you for the rest of the night without bursting into laughter.
Jack Abbot is a liability to your health and wellbeing—which means he is a liability to your career. And even though asking Dr. Robby to swap to day shift was one of the most ridiculously difficult things you’ve done since starting at PTMC, you stand by the fact that it was the right decision.
The smart decision. The professional decision. Even if… it might not be working yet.
Because now you can’t just glance across central anymore and see Jack leaning against the desk, talking through a case with Lena. You can’t have him step up beside you when you’re unsure about something and quietly walk you through it. He’s not the one across from you in the trauma bays. And there isn’t a coffee cup that magically appears in front of you during the three o’clock lull.
Now you just… think about him instead.
But it’s only temporary. You’re sure of it. You just need to get used to the day shift and figure out how to get Jack Abbot out of your head.
Which… you have a sneaking suspicion is what Santos plans on helping you with this weekend.
You’re pretty sure you overheard her the other day telling Whitaker that the only way to get over someone is by getting under someone else. And maybe that’s exactly what you need to do—get under someone else so you can stop thinking about the maddeningly hot man who’s nearly twice your age and most definitely does not have a thing for you. Regardless of what Santos seems to think.
You spend the rest of your shift catching up on charting and trying very hard not to think about Dr. Abbot.
When someone asks for an attending, you call Dr. Robby. When you hear his voice just around the corner, you change paths as quickly and inconspicuously as you can. And when your notes are up to date and night shift starts rolling in, you find Dr. Ellis and give her—and only her—the rundown on your patients.
By the time you shut your locker and sling your bag over your shoulder, the sky outside is dark and there are only a few day shifters left lingering around the nurses’ station.
“Did you drive today?” Whitaker asks, shutting his locker only a moment after you.
“Yeah,” you reply. “Need a ride?”
He nods sheepishly. “That’d be great. Santos left already, said I was taking too long.”
You roll your eyes. “Yeah, I bet it had nothing to do with whatever she and Garcia were whispering about in the stairwell.”
Whitaker winces. “I just hope they’re at Garcia’s tonight.”
You huff a small laugh and hitch your bag higher. “You ready?”
He nods.
You both turn and start back toward central—but just as you reach the nurses’ station, his steps slow.
“Do you need to…?”
He jerks a thumb over his shoulder.
You frown. “Need to what?”
He hesitates. “Don’t you normally say goodbye to Dr. Abbot?”
Your eyes widen slowly. “Uh—no. Why would you say that?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. I just thought you two were close.”
“We’re not close,” you say, a little too quick.
“Sorry,” he mutters, raising both hands in surrender. “I just—I don’t know. I thought because you were his resident you two were… close.”
“I’m not his resident,” you snap. “I’m just… a resident. I don’t belong to him.”
“Okay,” he says slowly, brows drawing together. “I’m sorry, I just thought—”
“You thought wrong,” you mutter, glancing over your shoulder to make sure no one is listening.
Thankfully, the two nosiest nurses in the ER have already gone home for the day.
“Let’s just go.”
You grab his wrist and walk quickly toward the ambulance bay doors, giving Ellis and Shen a small nod as you pass—completely missing the middle-aged attending who just overheard most of your conversation.
The car ride to Santos and Whitaker’s isn’t long. Whitaker fills most of it anyway—rambling about the shift, about the kid in Five and whether night shift is going to get slammed, about how Dana looked like she was two seconds away from strangling bed control by the end of the day. And every few minutes he circles back around to apologising for making you drive him home.
You wave him off each time.
“It’s fine, Whitaker.”
“Seriously though,” he says as you pull up outside their building. “I really appreciate it.”
He slings his bag over his shoulder and climbs out of the car, pausing on the sidewalk to give you one last wave before heading toward the front door.
The moment the passenger door falls shut, the quiet settles in. You let out a long breath, tipping your head back against the headrest and letting your eyes fall shut for a moment. And immediately—inevitably—your brain drifts straight back to the same place it always does.
Jack Abbot. Of course.
You scrub a hand over your face before shifting the car back into gear and pulling away.
The rest of the night passes the way most nights do—with a quick shower, something vaguely edible scavenged from the fridge, and half-heartedly scrolling through your phone until exhaustion finally drags you to bed.
When your head finally hits the pillow, you tell yourself you’re too tired to think about him. It’s been a long day—long week—and all you need right now is sleep, not fantasies.
But that doesn’t stop your brain from doing it anyway. Because sometime in the early hours of the morning, Jack Abbot shows up in your dreams. Not in the ER. Not standing beside you at the nurses’ station or leaning over a chart.
He’s in a kitchen. Cooking.
Sleeves rolled up to his elbows, moving around the stove with the same quiet confidence he carries through the hospital—like he knows exactly what he’s doing and expects the rest of the world just to trust him.
And in the dream, you do.
You lean against the counter and watch him the way you sometimes watch him in the trauma bays, telling yourself you’re just observing. Just curious. Just learning.
He glances over his shoulder eventually, catching you staring—and says something you can’t quite hear over the soft clatter of the pan. But he’s smiling.
Then the dream shifts the way dreams tend to—logic slipping sideways until suddenly you’re standing much closer than you should be. Close enough to smell whatever he’s cooking. Close enough that when he turns toward you the space between you disappears entirely.
His hand settles at your waist like it belongs there.
Your back meets the edge of the counter.
And when his mouth brushes your neck—
You wake with a sharp inhale, staring up at the ceiling, heart racing.
“Fuck,” you mutter, dragging a hand over your face.
So much for getting him out of your head.
For a while, you just lie there, staring at the ceiling, watching the first pale line of sunlight creep across until it touches the wall opposite your window.
At some point you realise you’re still replaying the dream in your head.
The kitchen. The way his hand had felt at your waist. The warmth of his mouth against your neck.
You groan quietly and drag the blanket over your face.
“Get a fucking grip.”
Then you throw the covers back and force yourself out of bed, heading straight into the kitchen in search of coffee.
Your small apartment is always quiet—but this morning it feels too quiet. Too still as you silently sip your coffee, one hip leaned against the kitchen counter. Which, unfortunately, leaves far too much room for your brain to wander right back to its favourite topic.
Jack Abbot.
After coffee, you take yourself for a long walk around the block, hoping the cool morning air might help clear the remnants of the dream from your head.
It doesn’t.
But by the time you make it back to your apartment, your legs feel loose and your mind feels a little quieter, and for the briefest moment you almost manage to convince yourself that you’re excited about tonight. That you’re going to be able to do what Santos is clearly angling for and go home with an attractive stranger so you can stop draining your vibrator battery with inappropriate thoughts of your attending.
The rest of the day drifts past in a slow blur of small, forgettable things. Laundry. Answering a couple of messages in the group chat. Half-heartedly reviewing a few notes from earlier in the week before deciding you absolutely refuse to think about work on your day off.
Eventually the afternoon light begins to soften and stretch across the floor, which means it’s probably time to start getting ready if you’re actually going to make it to Santos’ place before she decides you’re bailing and comes knocking to drag you there herself.
So you shower, change, pack a bag, and throw it over your shoulder on the way out the door—trying very hard not to feel disappointed that Dr. Ellis is the only person from night shift who’s going to be at the bar tonight.
It really is for the best.
You, alcohol, and Jack Abbot in the same room is a terrible idea.
“Alright, I’m ready,” Santos announces, finally stepping out of the bathroom.
You, Javadi, and Whitaker—who have spent the last twenty minutes on the couch chatting and sipping beer—look up.
“Aw, I wish I could do winged eyeliner like that,” Javadi says. “It just doesn’t suit my eye shape.”
“Don’t look too close,” Santos mutters. “It’s super uneven, but I don’t have time. I still have to fix this one before we go.”
She tips her chin toward where you and Whitaker are sitting on the opposite end of the lounge.
Whitaker’s eyes go wide. “Me?”
Santos scoffs. “Not you, Huckleberry. God, I don’t have enough time in the world to fix whatever’s going on there.”
Whitaker frowns, glancing down at his navy-blue button-up shirt. “What’s wrong with this?”
“Everything,” Santos says, already turning away.
Whitaker lifts his head, glancing between you and Javadi. “Is it really that bad?”
Javadi leans forward, lowering her voice. “There’s nothing wrong with it, Whitaker. You look great.”
You pat his shoulder. “It’s fine, really. She’s just—”
The words die on your tongue as Santos reappears, holding what can only be described as a sparkly scrap of fabric on a hanger.
Javadi tilts her head. “What’s that?”
Santos grins. “A dress.”
Whitaker chokes on his beer. “That’s… not a dress. That’s a glittery napkin.”
“Oh my God.” Javadi snorts. “My mom would kill me just for buying that.”
“I didn’t buy it,” Santos says lightly. “A friend in college gave it to me, but it’s never fit quite right.”
She steps forward, extending the hanger toward you.
“But I know you’ll be able to pull it off,” she adds, her grin sharpening.
You stare at it—glinting in the low evening sun spilling through the windows.
“Santos… this is a work thing,” you mutter.
She rolls her eyes. “It’s not a work thing. It’s just an outing with people from work.”
“Isn’t that the same thing?” Whitaker asks.
Santos sighs. “No, it’s not. And are you forgetting our main objective?”
You blink at her.
“To get you laid.”
Javadi giggles nervously, trying to hide it behind a swig of beer.
“Come on,” Santos says. “Just put it on and if it doesn’t work, we try something else.”
You hesitate, staring at the glittery thing like it might catch fire at any moment. Which, given enough sunlight, it probably could.
“Fine,” you say at last, pushing off the couch. “I’ll try it on, but that does not mean I’m wearing it.”
Santos’ eyes sparkle with excitement. Or maybe it’s just the dress.
“That’s my girl.”
You take the hanger from her and trudge into her room, nudging the door shut behind you. It takes a minute for you to figure out how the glittery napkin is supposed to go on—but once you do, you shed your comfortable clothes and shimmy into the most sparkly piece of fabric you’ve ever worn.
And somehow, the shimmering scrap of nothing turns out to be an actual dress—short, sparkling, and just structured enough to stay where it’s supposed to while still feeling mildly illegal.
With a deep breath, you turn away from the mirror and open the door, stepping back out into the lounge room.
“So?”
For a moment, no one says anything.
Whitaker’s mouth falls open.
Javadi’s eyebrows lift. “Oh.”
Santos, meanwhile, tilts her head appreciatively, one hand on her hip, eyes gleaming as she looks you over from head to toe.
“I knew it,” she says smugly.
Whitaker blinks. “That is not a dress.”
Javadi elbows him. “Stop talking.”
You tug awkwardly at the hem—which doesn’t actually move much because there isn’t very much hem to tug.
“Santos,” you say carefully, “I’m not sure—”
“Relax,” she says. “You look incredible.”
She circles you slowly, like a stylist inspecting her work.
“And you’re definitely going to get laid.”
“I feel like I shouldn’t be here,” Whitaker mutters, his face bright red.
Santos rolls her eyes. “You’re only here because you live here, Huckleberry. Now go grab that bottle of tequila from on top of the fridge—we’re going to need some liquid courage before we head out.”
After two shots of tequila and Santos’ finishing touches to your makeup, you all head out the door. Whitaker calls an Uber, the four of you pile in, and you carefully keep Santos’ leather jacket wrapped around yourself for some semblance of modesty.
You don’t really plan on taking it off for the rest of the night—even if it isn’t that cold.
The ride to the bar isn’t nearly long enough. Javadi spends most of it excitedly talking about how she can finally go out drinking now that she’s twenty-one, which Santos encourages with the enthusiasm of someone who clearly intends to make the most of that milestone.
You mostly just stare out the window. Trying not to think about the dress you shouldn’t have agreed to wear and the night shift attending you definitely shouldn’t be missing right now. Because if someone asked you where you’d rather be tonight—the bar or the ER with Dr. Abbot—your honest answer would be incredibly depressing.
Who would rather be at work than out with their friends on a Saturday night?
“We’re here,” Santos announces, nudging your side a little too hard.
You all thank the driver before climbing out, gathering yourselves on the sidewalk in front of the familiar establishment Santos loves dragging everyone to.
“Relax,” she says, dropping a hand on your shoulder. “You don’t need this.”
She tugs at the leather jacket, pulling it off your shoulders until it’s bunched at your elbows.
“I feel naked,” you mutter. “Like this is some nightmare where I show up to work in my underwear.”
Whitaker snorts. “Not far from it.”
Santos rolls her eyes. “Well, you’re not at work. You’re at a bar. And this is supposed to be fun.”
Right. Fun.
That is the entire point of tonight. Go out. Have a drink. Meet someone who isn’t Jack Abbot. Ideally forget Jack Abbot exists for at least a few hours.
Completely achievable.
Right?
“Fine.”
You draw a deep breath and drop your arms, letting the jacket slide off completely. Santos grins as you sling it over one elbow, trying not to instinctively hold it in front of your body like armour.
“See?” she says. “Much better.”
“Let’s just go inside before I change my mind,” you mutter, already starting toward the door.
Javadi loops her arm through yours. “You look amazing. Seriously.”
You give her a small smile, trying not to feel quite so awkward as Santos leads the way toward the main entrance.
It’s just a bar. Just a normal Saturday night. You’ll be fine after a few more shots of liquid courage.
You glance through the front window as you approach—more out of habit than anything else, your eyes drifting lazily over the crowded room inside.
People. Low lights. Patrons lingering around the bar.
And—
Your brain stalls.
Because there’s a man leaning against the bar with one elbow braced on the countertop, his shoulders broad under a tight black shirt, head tipped slightly as he talks to someone beside him.
A familiar someone.
Dr. Ellis.
And the man—
Oh.
Oh fuck.
Your stomach plummets.
Jack fucking Abbot.
Your feet stop moving, your whole body suddenly forgetting how to function.
Your pulse kicks violently against the inside of your throat as a wave of heat rushes up the back of your neck, sudden and dizzying and sharp enough to make the edges of your vision blur for half a second.
Because he looks—
He looks so good.
Relaxed in a way you’ve never seen at work. One hand curled loosely around a glass as he frowns slightly at something Ellis is saying, that small crease between his brows you know far too well.
And suddenly you are extremely, violently aware that you are standing outside a bar wearing approximately three square inches of glitter.
“Hey,” Javadi says beside you. “What’s—”
“Santos.”
She doesn’t stop.
“Santos,” you say again, your voice almost breaking.
She glances over her shoulder. “Hm?”
“You knew.”
She stops, her hand hovering near the door.
Whitaker glances between the two of you. “What’s happening?”
“Technically,” Santos says slowly, “I didn’t know. I just... suspected.”
“You said Ellis was the only one from night shift who’d be here.”
She winces. “I did, but what I meant is… Ellis is the only one who actually told me she’d be here.”
You stare at her. “So you did know?”
“I knew it was his night off.”
“Santos, I—” You glance back at him through the bar window. “I can’t go in there like this.”
“Like what?” she asks. “Smoking hot?”
“Half naked.”
She rolls her eyes. “Yes, you can.”
“I will actually die.”
“No, you won’t,” she says firmly. “You’re an adult. You can wear whatever you want, talk to whoever you want, and just because your incredibly inconvenient attending crush happens to be inside does not suddenly revoke your civil liberties.”
She pulls the door open.
“Now stop panicking and get in the bar.”
-
“He swore the chest pain had nothing to do with the seven energy drinks he’d had that night,” Ellis says, still rambling about a patient who pissed her off two nights ago, “which was a bold position to take with a heart rate of one-forty.”
Jack snorts softly. “And did you believe him?”
Ellis’ eyes go wide, and she takes a long drink before continuing her rant about night shift patients and the strange confidence people have when explaining why their terrible decisions definitely have nothing to do with the symptoms they’re currently experiencing.
Jack nods along, offering the occasional comment or question where needed, meeting her gaze now and then—but mostly keeping his attention on the door. Waiting. Because he’s not stupid enough to ask anyone if you’re going to be here tonight, but he is naïve enough to hope you will be.
He wasn’t even supposed to be here tonight—his first night off in two weeks.
He was supposed to be at home, cooking something decent for dinner, enjoying the rare luxury of not wearing scrubs, and inevitably indulging in his favourite guilty pleasure—involving nothing but his hand and some very inappropriate thoughts of you.
But he’s not.
He’s here. In a crowded bar, sipping cheap scotch, listening to Ellis complain about the night shift patients and their weird confidence, just… waiting.
For you.
He’d wanted to ask you yesterday if you were coming to the bar tonight—before he agreed to join—but he’d barely seen you before the end of your shift. And you didn’t even say goodbye. Which isn’t unusual, given how chaotic the ER can be, but then he’d overheard your conversation with Whitaker—and something about it made his chest feel too tight.
It wasn’t anger. Not exactly. Not jealousy, either. It was just... wrong. Not because what you said was wrong, but because he hates that it was right. That you don’t belong to him. Even if Robby calls you ‘his R2’ and Whitaker thinks you’re close because you’re his resident—none of it changes the fact that he has no real claim over you.
Which is ridiculous. He knows it.
He shouldn’t feel territorial. He shouldn’t want this. Want you. And yet, his chest still feels too tight—a slow, hot coil of frustration and longing curling up into his throat, and he hates it. Hates hearing it out loud, hates how much it matters, hates that he can’t make it not matter.
“Oh.” Ellis glances over her shoulder. “Looks like Santos and the others are here.”
Jack’s gaze flicks back to the door.
He tries not to react, not to straighten, not to square his shoulders as if he’s bracing for something—but he can already feel his composure slipping.
Santos steps in first, her head turned slightly as she talks to Whitaker, who walks in behind her. Then it’s Javadi, an unusually wide smile on her face as she looks at—
You.
Oh.
Oh fuck.
Jack stops breathing.
His chest burns. His stomach flips. His hand tightens dangerously around his scotch glass.
It’s you. Of course it’s you. You’re perfect.
But then—
That dress.
God.
That dress—short, sparkling, clinging just enough to make every nerve in his body snap awake. It shimmers under the low lights as you move, and he hates himself for noticing every subtle curve, every shift of fabric, as if time itself has slowed just to torture him.
It’s all too much.
He can feel his pulse in his throat, heat burning beneath his skin, blood rushing in the one direction it really, really shouldn’t be right now. In public. In front of his coworkers.
He blinks, finally tearing his gaze away from you.
And that’s when he notices the rest of the bar. All staring. All stunned.
He hates them all.
He hates that they can even look at you. Hates that the universe allows it. Hates that they might see even a fraction of what he sees—and feel a fraction of what he feels.
And he hates, more than anything right now, that you’re not his.
“Dr. Abbot,” Robby says, appearing beside him and slinging an arm across his shoulders. “What’s your poison tonight?”
Jack lifts his drink, knuckles still white around the glass. “Scotch.”
Robby claps his shoulder, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. “You might not want to have too many of those.”
Then he slips past both Jack and Ellis and raises a hand to flag down the bartender.
“Alright,” Ellis says, pushing off the bar. “I’m going to go grab a seat before the table gets too crowded.”
Jack nods, but he doesn’t follow. He stays beside the bar, rigid now, eyes fixed on the group of men at a high table just a few feet from the front door. They’re muttering to each other, leaning in, voices low—but nothing about it is subtle. Their gazes are glued to you as you weave through patrons and tables to greet the rest of the PTMC crew gathered in a booth near the back.
One of them—the dumbest looking one, Jack’s already decided—slowly slides off his stool, nodding along while his friends murmur their advice.
Jack glances back at you, now standing beside McKay, sliding your arms into the leather jacket you’d been carrying. Santos grabs your wrist, tilting her head toward the bar as she starts dragging you with her.
And, like a fourteen-year-old boy with a crush, Jack’s pulse starts racing.
“Dr. Abbot,” Santos says, grinning as you both approach the bar. “Fancy seeing you somewhere other than the ER on a Saturday night.”
“I do have a life outside of work, you know,” he says dryly, lifting his drink and looking anywhere but at you.
“Like playing bingo at the senior centre?” Santos asks, resting both forearms on the bar.
You step up on her other side, squinting at the shelves of liquor on the back wall like they’re the most interesting thing in the room.
“Bingo’s on Wednesdays,” he says mildly. “Try to keep up.”
Santos snorts, shaking her head as she reaches for the small leather-bound bar menu. But out of the corner of his eye, Jack sees your head dip—just slightly—and you try to hide a small laugh against your shoulder.
Jack feels it like a punch to the ribs.
Because you’re listening.
And apparently… you think he’s funny.
“Alright,” Santos says, lifting a hand. “I think we need some tequila over here.”
The bartender steps away from where he’d been serving farther down the bar, but his attention quickly drifts past Santos and lands on you. He leans in, resting one palm flat against the bar while he wipes down the counter with a rag that doesn’t really need wiping.
“So,” he says to you, not Santos. “What are you drinking tonight?”
Santos blinks.
“I just told you,” she says flatly. “Tequila.”
The bartender barely glances at her.
Jack’s jaw tightens.
You look briefly confused, glancing between Santos and the bartender.
“Uh—whatever she orders is fine.”
“Yeah. Tequila,” Santos repeats, slower this time.
The bartender laughs like she’s joking—and Jack sets his scotch down slowly. Carefully.
His eyes stay locked on the man now lining up four small glasses in front of you, still completely ignoring Santos. The way he’s watching you is too much. Too close. The faint curl at the corner of his mouth makes Jack want to punch the smirk right off his face.
And by the way you shift a little closer to Santos—pulling your jacket tighter around yourself—he knows you’re uncomfortable.
His hand clenches at his side.
Robby pauses as he walks past, a beer in each hand.
“Easy, tiger,” he mutters. “She can handle herself.”
“I know,” Jack says, voice low. “Doesn’t mean she has to.”
Robby gives him a look—a brief, knowing glance, somewhere between amusement and warning. “Careful.”
Jack doesn’t respond. He just turns back to you and Santos, watching as you each knock back two shots of tequila, your nose scrunching as the burn hits. And he can’t help the small twitch at the corner of his mouth, because the face you make as you set the second glass down is ridiculously cute for someone wearing a dress like that.
“Okay,” Santos says. “I need a vodka soda before I start making bad decisions.”
The bartender nods, already reaching for another glass—and before he can even ask if you’d like another drink, someone else steals your attention.
“Hey,” the guy says, stepping up beside you. “Can I get you another one?”
He leans in, just enough to be heard over the noise—but it’s still too close.
You shift slightly, angling toward him. “Oh. Uh—sure.”
Santos presses her lips together, clearly fighting a smile as she turns back to the bar, suddenly very invested in whatever the bartender is doing. The second he sets the vodka soda in front of her, she scoops it up and drops a few bills on the counter.
She lifts the drink to her lips as she turns away, pausing just long enough to glance at Jack over the rim of the glass.
Her brows lift. “You really gonna let that happen?”
Jack frowns. “What—”
But Santos is already gone, drink in hand, halfway back to the booth where everyone else is.
Where Jack should be headed too—because there’s no reason for him to stay here. No reason for him to linger, to hover, to make sure you’re okay, to stand there glaring at the guy buying you a drink like that’s going to change anything.
It’s not like he can blame him. If Jack thought he had a shot with you, he’d take it too. The difference is, Jack wouldn’t need the dress. Or the drinks. Or the crowd. He’d take that shot with you even when you’re tired and stressed out and covered in blood at the end of a bad shift in the ER. He’d take it any time. Any place.
But Jack doesn’t get that shot.
Because you’re young. You don’t have baggage. And you’re a resident—maybe not his resident, but still a resident.
It’s just too inappropriate.
Jack sets his glass back on the bar a little harder than necessary—and the bartender glances over, brows raised as if silently asking if he’d like another, but Jack just shakes his head.
His eyes flick back to you. To the way you’re smiling now—soft, not uneasy. To the way you seem to have forgotten about keeping your jacket closed, and now the idiot talking to you is looking anywhere but your face.
Then you laugh—light, easy—and something in Jack’s chest tightens again.
He looks away. He can’t keep standing here. He’s not going to stand here and watch you flirt with some idiot at the bar like he has any right to care.
With a deep breath, he forces himself to turn away and start walking back to the table.
Where he should have been five minutes ago. Where he plans on staying for the rest of the night.
Half an hour later, most of PTMC’s day shift staff are gathered in the booth, half still wearing their scrubs after coming straight from the hospital. The volume of conversation builds with the growing collection of empty glasses in the middle of the table, voices overlapping, getting louder with every round—but Jack doesn’t order another scotch. At some point, Ellis sets a beer in front of him, which he nurses until it’s too warm to enjoy.
Every now and then, he makes a point of nodding or laughing or glancing at someone across the table—pretending to follow the conversation, pretending he’s paying attention—when really, all he can focus on is you. You and your smile. And your laugh. And the way your hand settles lightly on a man’s bicep when he says something that makes you blush.
Not the same man as before, either. No—this one is new. This one swooped in when the first one excused himself to take a phone call, and now that one is back at the table with his friends, sulking.
Kind of how Jack is right now, sitting at the table with his friends. Sulking. Glaring. Plotting.
He knows he shouldn’t. He knows it’s none of his business. But he can’t stop himself from trying to come up with an excuse to interrupt you. To get you away from those men and their lingering stares.
Not that he’s any better.
“Abbot.” Robby nudges his side. “Hungry?”
Jack blinks, finally dragging his gaze away from you to where Ellis is standing, looking expectant.
“Hm?”
“Are you hungry?” Ellis asks. “I’m going to order some wings.”
Jack frowns. “Uh—no. I’m good. Thanks.”
Ellis nods once and turns away, heading straight for the bar.
Robby huffs a quiet laugh beside him. “You might want to turn your hearing aids up, old man.”
Jack doesn’t even look at him. “Funny.”
“I’m serious,” Robby says mildly. “You’ve missed, what, three questions in the last five minutes?”
“I heard her,” Jack mutters. “I was just... thinking.”
Robby hums like he doesn’t believe that for a second.
Jack shifts, pushing his chair back as he sets his warm beer on the table. “I’m gonna hit the head.”
Robby’s brows lift, slow and knowing, his gaze flicking briefly toward the bar.
“Mm,” he says. “Sure you are.”
Jack does, in fact, turn toward the bathrooms first—mostly because he needs a second away from all the music and chatter to try and clear his head. To try and stop himself from doing what he really left the booth to do.
He locks himself in the accessible bathroom—not that he needs it, but it’s more private than the men’s—and stands in front of the vanity. He presses his palms into the porcelain sink, shifting his weight forward with a deep, steadying breath.
This is ridiculous, and he knows it.
He’s a grown man. He shouldn’t be acting like this.
This is trivial shit, for God’s sake. Jack is a vet. A seasoned ER doctor.
So why is a goddamn crush undoing him like this?
Why are you undoing him like this?
He lifts his head and stares at his reflection—jaw tight, shoulders rigid—trying to get a grip. Trying to remember that he is a grown ass man, not some idiot who can’t keep his shit together.
His gaze drifts across his face—the day-old stubble, peppered hair—then to the reflection of the bathroom behind him. The graffitied walls, covered in stickers and spray paint, a chaotic collection of late nights and inebriated thoughts. He wonders, briefly, how many people came in here intending to leave something behind.
Then he spots something scrawled in the corner of the mirror in thick black marker.
HESITATE AND SOMEONE ELSE WON’T.
Jack tilts his head.
That’s not exactly... subtle.
But that’s the thing, isn’t it?
He doesn’t hesitate.
Not in the trauma bay. Not out in the field. Not when it matters. Not when someone’s life is on the line and everyone else is waiting for someone to make the call.
So what the hell is this?
This… standing back. Watching. Letting it happen.
Like he doesn’t know what he wants. Like he hasn’t already made up his mind.
He drags a hand over his mouth, shaking his head once—sharp, annoyed.
“Jesus Christ.”
It’s not caution. It’s avoidance.
With another deep breath, Jack reaches for the tap and braces his hands beneath the stream. He scrubs them together—quick and thorough—then turns off the water, grabs a paper towel, and dries his hands with more focus than necessary. He tosses the towel in the bin on his way out the door, his gaze sharpening as he scans the bar—finding you immediately.
You’re still standing where you were, maybe a few steps closer to the back of the room. There’s a new guy in front of you now, closing you in, crowding your space just enough to make Jack’s eyes narrow.
The man’s hand settles at your waist, a little lower than what could be considered innocent. And anyone else watching might think you’re okay with it—but Jack knows you. He sees the small flicker of discomfort that crosses your face, the subtle drop of your shoulder as you try to angle yourself away without seeming rude.
Good thing Jack doesn’t mind being rude.
He’s already moving before he’s fully decided to. Just a few long strides and he’s there—close enough to cut through the space between you and the guy without touching either of you, his presence alone enough to interrupt whatever the hell this is supposed to be.
He looks at you. Just you.
“Hey.”
Your head turns immediately—and the shift in your expression is instant. Relief.
“Oh—hey,” you say, a little breathless.
And then you step into him. Not too close. Not in a way that draws attention or suggests anything—but enough to make Jack’s pulse jump. Enough for him to feel your warmth and the way it settles under his skin.
“Hey, man,” the guy says, holding out a hand. “I’m Trent.”
Jack ignores him.
“You alright?” he asks you.
You nod slowly. “I am now.”
Your fingers curl into the back of his shirt, just for a second—like you didn’t even think about it. Like you just needed something solid to hold onto.
Jack goes still.
Trent clears his throat. “Sorry—uh—who are you?”
You glance at him with a tight smile. “This is my attending.”
Jack likes being called your attending.
Trent frowns. “What?”
“Remember how I said I was a doctor?”
Trent just stares at you.
“Well, Dr. Abbot is my attending,” you go on anyway. “He’s like my supervisor. I’m his resident.”
His resident.
“Right,” Trent mutters, eyeing Jack. “Cool. So—you’re a doctor?”
Jack doesn’t even look at him. His eyes stay fixed on you.
“Are you hungry?” he asks. “Ellis is ordering wings—we can grab a menu.”
“Starving,” you reply, the corner of your mouth lifting slightly as you look up at him.
“Great.” His hand settles at your shoulder, firm but casual. “Let’s get back to the others.”
“Wait,” Trent says. “Are you—”
“It was nice meeting you,” you cut in, flashing him one last tight-lipped smile before Jack steers you away.
He keeps his arm around your shoulders until you’re halfway back to the booth of PTMC doctors and nurses. Only then does he pull back, clasping his hands behind his back like he needs the physical restraint.
“Thanks for that,” you murmur. “He just wouldn’t take a hint.”
Jack nods. “I noticed.”
He doesn’t look at you as he turns back toward the other end of the table, toward his seat beside Robby—because if he did, he might not be able to leave your side. From the corner of his eye, he sees Santos reach for you, already asking what happened as she pulls you into the seat between her and McKay.
And for twenty blissful minutes, Jack feels okay. The most okay he’s felt all night.
Because you’re here, at the table, talking to Santos and McKay—and not some idiot who thinks he deserves a chance with the prettiest girl in the room. In the world, according to Jack.
But only for twenty minutes—because once you finish your drink, Santos drags you back to the bar.
Another shot. Another drink. Another guy.
Jack shifts in his chair, trying to listen to whatever it is Ellis and Mateo are arguing about, but he can’t focus—not when your hand settles lightly on this new guy’s shoulder. And especially not when it slides down his bicep, flirty in a way that makes Jack want to get out of his chair.
He tells himself he’s not going to. That he shouldn’t.
But the second the lights dim and the music gets louder, he pushes out of his seat.
He finds you at the edge of the dancefloor, catching your wrist before you can disappear into the crowd.
“Hey,” he says, voice raised over the music.
Your head whips around, your brows lifting slightly in that soft, expectant way—like you’re waiting for him to say whatever it is that’s so important he had to stop you right here.
Jack clears his throat. “Have you been drinking water?”
You frown. “Um. Not really.”
“You should really drink some water,” he says, tipping his head toward the bar.
You hesitate, glancing back over your shoulder at the man waiting for you to follow him into the crowd.
Then you look back at Jack.
“Uh, yeah. Okay. Water.”
He knows he shouldn’t have done it. He knows it was stupid and petty and jealousy-driven—but he can’t help the flicker of satisfaction when you follow him to the end of the bar with the self-serve water tower.
The music is too loud for conversation—and even if it wasn’t, he’s not sure what he’d say. Not when you’re looking at him like this. A little drunk. A little curious. Your brows drawn, your skin glistening with a thin sheen of sweat, your lips wet from the water.
God. This has the be the finest form of torture.
Because here you are—so young and so sweet, so trusting in Jack that he’s just trying to look after you, when all he can think about is the fact that you’re not his. That they think you’re fair game. That every man in this room thinks he has a chance.
And the fact that he’s not going to let them anywhere near you.
-
The third time Jack Abbot appears at your side, he catches your elbow just as you’re about to step out the door with a man named Leo. Not to leave the bar—just for some air—but then Jack says something about Mateo buying a round of shots and guides you back inside.
You don’t mind. Not really. Especially not when a free drink is involved.
So you line up beside your coworkers and sink another shot of tequila with a grimace before Santos drags you back to the dancefloor.
The fourth time Jack Abbot intercepts you, you’re just about to start dancing with a handsome stranger Santos accidentally made you bump into—but before you can even take the man’s hand, Jack pulls you away, insisting you take a seat for a minute and drink more water.
Which, fine. Whatever.
But by the fifth interruption, you’re starting to notice a pattern.
And you’re getting a little annoyed.
“Oh my God,” Santos says, her eyes going wide as the opening notes to ABBA’s Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! start blaring through the speakers. “We have to dance. Come on!”
You barely have time to scoop your drink up off the bar before she’s dragging you onto the dancefloor—into the throng of warm bodies all moving to the beat beneath the single, sparkling disco ball.
The music pulses through the floor beneath your feet, the bass thrumming in your chest as Santos drags you deeper into the crowd. Somewhere between Mateo’s round of shots and your tenth song on the dancefloor, your jacket disappeared—and now your dress catches the light with every movement, glittering under the shifting colours as bodies press in from all sides.
The bar is still pretty full, even if the PTMC booth has already lost a few soldiers. There are still plenty of prospects—plenty of strangers who might offer to take you home and make you forget all about Jack Abbot. Which is still very much the plan.
If only the man himself would stop interrupting every interaction like he’s doing you a favour.
At some point during the second—or maybe third—chorus, Santos subtly steps away and a guy ends up in front of you. You’re not even entirely sure how. One second you’re dancing and screaming the lyrics, the next he’s there—close enough that you can feel the heat of him, his hands hovering like he’s trying to decide where to put them.
You let it happen. Because this is what you want, right?
This is the plan.
He leans in and says something you don’t quite catch over the music, but you laugh anyway—more out of obligation than anything else.
Then his attention shifts.
His eyes flick past you. And just like that—he falters.
It’s subtle, but you feel it. The hesitation. The way his body pulls back a fraction, like something just snapped him out of it.
“Uh—actually,” he mutters, already stepping away. “I—yeah. Sorry.”
Then he’s gone.
You blink, frowning slightly as you glance over your shoulder and—
Of course.
Jack Abbot, standing just beyond the edge of the dancefloor, drink in hand, eyes locked on you with a look that makes your stomach drop.
Not angry. Not exactly.
But intense. Sharp. Focused in a way that feels… deliberate.
You stare at him for a second—frustration flickering across your face—then turn back to Santos, who is still dancing with her vodka soda lifted in the air.
You lean in, raising your voice just enough to be heard over the music. “Your plan isn’t working!”
She turns to face you, frowning. “What do you mean it’s not working?”
You stare at her. “The plan to get me laid? It’s not working.”
“Why not?”
You huff out a laugh, incredulous.
“Because of him,” you say, nodding toward Jack. “Because I let him save me from one bad interaction and now he’s just—hovering. Interrupting. Scaring people off.”
Santos’ mouth twitches.
“I think he thinks he’s being helpful,” you add, shaking your head. “Like he’s doing me a favour or something, but—God, I’m never going to get a stranger to take me home with a hundred-and-ninety-pound war vet glaring over my shoulder every five minutes.”
Santos just looks at you for a second—then smiles. Slow. Knowing.
“And what part of my plan isn’t working?”
You frown. “Are you even listening to me?”
“I said I was going to get you laid,” she says, lifting her drink to her lips. “I never said anything about going home with a stranger.”
It doesn’t land straight away.
You blink at her, still frowning as you try to follow the logic—because that doesn’t make sense, that’s not the plan. If you’re not going home with a stranger, then who—
And then it clicks.
Your stomach drops.
“Wait—Santos,” you start, eyes widening. “You don’t mean—”
Santos just looks at you over the rim of her glass. Calm. Patient. Smiling faintly, like she’s been waiting for this exact moment all night.
You glance toward the side of the dancefloor again—to the man still focused on you in a way that feels far too intentional now. Arms folded, jaw set. He doesn’t even pretend to look away when you meet his stare.
“Actually,” Santos says, her hand closing around your wrist. “I think my plan is working perfectly. Now, come on—” she nods toward the booth where everyone else is, “let’s play a game.”
A game?
Before you can argue or even question it, Santos is dragging you off the dancefloor toward the booth at the back of the bar. The thrum of the music dulls the further you get from the crowd, and by the time you both slide into empty seats at the table, you no longer feel like you need to yell just to be heard.
The PTMC crew has thinned since you were last sitting here. Robby, Dana, and Donnie are gone, and McKay is holding her purse in her lap like she’d been trying to leave when Mateo cornered her with another rant about how no patient actually seems to understand the pain scale.
“Alright,” Santos announces, picking up someone’s abandoned drink and taking a sip like she owns it, “we’re playing a game.”
Whitaker leans forward. “A game?”
“Yes, Huckleberry. A game.” Santos glances around the table with a lazy half-smile. “It’s called Never Have I Ever.”
Mateo snorts. “That’s a middle school sleepover game.”
“Great,” Santos replies. “Then it should be easy for you.”
There’s a ripple of laughter around the table, but no one else seems to object.
“Can I start?” Mohan pipes up beside Santos. “I’ve got a good one.”
Santos nods. “Be my guest.”
You’re not entirely sure when Jack rejoined the table, since he’d been at the edge of the dancefloor just a few minutes ago, but now you’re suddenly very aware of his presence across from you. Like the few people that called it a night have unintentionally left a smaller, more intimate group behind—and now Jack Abbot is almost directly across from you while you play one of the most notorious, tension-raising middle school games of all time.
“Okay,” Mohan says, sitting up a little straighter. “Never have I ever… called in sick when I wasn’t actually sick.”
McKay laughs. Mateo groans. Almost everyone at the table lifts their drinks.
“Really?” Santos says. “That was your good one?”
Mohan shrugs. “I thought—”
“Never mind,” Santos cuts her off. “My turn.”
Her gaze moves slowly around the table before landing on you, the corner of her mouth lifting just slightly.
“Never have I ever,” she starts slowly, “fantasised about someone else sitting at this table.”
Your pulse jumps.
McKay snorts.
Mateo leans forward. “Like, intentionally. Or…?”
Whitaker frowns. “You’ve accidentally fantasised about someone here?”
He shrugs. “Sometimes the wrong people pop up, you know?”
Santos rolls her eyes. “Oh my God. Whatever. Intentional or not.”
Mateo nods once and lifts his drink. Javadi sinks lower in her chair as she lifts hers—and you try not to look around at the rest of the table as you bring your own up to your lips.
Beside you, McKay drops her purse to the ground and straightens, clearly invested now.
“Alright, I’ve got one,” she says, grinning. “Never have I ever… faked it.”
Javadi chokes, Santos snorts, and across from you, Jack huffs out a quiet laugh.
“Never?” Ellis asks, eyes wide. “So you always—”
“Oh, God, no,” McKay laughs. “Definitely not. I just refuse to fake it.”
Laughter moves through the table again, a little louder this time, and everyone takes a second to decide whether or not to raise their drinks.
You lift yours slowly, looking anywhere but at Jack.
“Okay, my turn,” Ellis announces, shifting in her seat. “Never have I ever… hooked up with someone at work.”
The table reacts around you, a mix of laughter and quiet protest, but it all blurs at the edges when you finally glance up—because Jack is already looking at you.
Not surprised. Not amused.
Just… watching.
He doesn’t laugh or say anything. He just lifts his drink, slow and deliberate.
And something sharp twists in your chest.
“What’ve you got, Langdon?” McKay asks, nodding at him across the table.
Langdon strokes his chin thoughtfully for a moment—then sighs.
“Alright, I already know I’m going to get shit for this, but—” He clears his throat. “Never have I ever… had sex in public.”
McKay laughs, loudly, and lifts her drink to her lips without hesitation. Ellis and Santos drink too, while Mohan laughs into her hand and Javadi sinks even lower in her chair.
Across from you, Jack sips his drink again like it’s nothing.
And that sharp twist in your chest doesn’t ease.
Because of course he has. Of course there are other people. Other women.
And you—
You catch Santos’ gaze from the other end of the table—sharp, knowing, daring.
Your grip tightens slightly around your glass.
And before you can talk yourself out of it—
“Okay, my turn,” you say lightly, sitting up a little straighter.
Everyone turns to you, but you keep your eyes fixed on your glass.
“Never have I ever,” you say slowly, “…finished during sex.”
For a second—nothing.
Then the table erupts.
“What—no—” Mateo is already laughing, leaning forward like he thinks you’re joking. “You’re kidding.”
Javadi chokes on her drink, coughing as she turns toward you. “Wait, seriously?”
“Oh my God,” McKay says, half-laughing, half-staring at you like she’s trying to figure out if you’re lying.
Langdon huffs out a quiet, disbelieving laugh, shaking his head. “Well… that’s unfortunate.”
Whitaker just blinks at you, caught somewhere between surprised and confused, like he doesn’t quite know what to do with that information.
Santos doesn’t say anything. She just leans back in her seat, watching you over the rim of her glass with a slow, satisfied smile.
And across from you—
Jack just goes still.
Completely still.
His expression doesn’t change, but something in his eyes does—sharp, dark, focused in a way that makes your stomach flip.
It takes you a minute to remember how to move. How to breathe. How to laugh and sip your drink and keep playing the game that doesn’t stop just because it feels like your heart did.
Eventually, everyone eases off the third-degree on your embarrassingly real confession, and Mateo pipes up next with something ridiculous that makes the table groan. Then Javadi comes out with something surprisingly rebellious—and blushes hard when Mateo flashes her a wink.
And so it goes on.
You know it does.
You can hear it—voices overlapping, laughter breaking out again, someone arguing over what counts, someone else swearing they’re being misrepresented—but it all feels… distant.
Like it’s happening a few steps away from you instead of right here at the table. Because now, all you can focus on is Jack. On the way he’s hardly moved. Hardly spoken. Hardly looked away from you.
At some point, he mutters his own confession with a small smirk and everyone laughs—but you don’t catch the words. You’re too aware of everything else to hear them. Too aware of your pulse pounding in your ears, the thrum of the music beneath your feet, the way Jack’s jaw ticks every time you glance back at him.
Another round starts. Then another.
Someone groans. Someone laughs too loud. Santos says something that earns a chorus of reactions—but it all slips past you, unimportant, forgettable.
Time stretches. Blurs.
Your drink empties, refills, empties again.
People shift in their seats. Someone stands. Someone leaves.
Then suddenly—
“You ready?”
You blink.
Santos is standing beside you, brows raised.
“Ready?” you echo.
She nods toward the door. “Time to go. Most of us have to work tomorrow.”
You glance around at the empty table. “Oh.”
Santos is already halfway to the door by the time you gather your things and catch up to her. You’re still pulling your jacket on as you step outside, bracing against the cool night air that nips at every inch of exposed skin—which, in this dress, is a lot of skin.
“The Uber’s just around the corner,” Whitaker says.
“Great,” Mohan mutters, hugging her jacket tighter. “I’m freezing.”
You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol or just the heat lingering beneath your skin from the way Jack had been watching you earlier, but you’re not nearly as cold as you should be.
“You sure you don’t mind if I stay over tonight?” Javadi asks, glancing between Santos and Whitaker.
Santos shrugs. “As long as you don’t mind the couch—and Dr. Shamsi isn’t going to have us arrested for kidnapping.”
Javadi lets out an awkward laugh. “Uh—no. It’s totally fine. I told my dad.”
“Are you working tomorrow?” Whitaker asks.
Javadi shakes her head. “Day off. You?”
Whitaker sighs. “Yeah.”
“So am I,” Santos adds. “And if I don’t get at least five hours sleep, I cannot be responsible for other people’s lives.”
“That’s reassuring,” Jack mutters, almost startling you as he steps out of the bar.
He buries his hands in his pockets, hardly sparing you a glance as he steps closer to the group. There’s a faint hitch in his step—something you recognise from the waning hours of a night shift, when he’s been on his feet for too long and starts to favour one leg.
“This is us,” Whitaker announces, nodding toward the car pulling up at the curb.
Mohan hurries forward first, yanking the door open and climbing into the back seat—and Javadi is next, flashing you a smile before she ducks in beside her. You step forward—then hesitate. Whitaker is already holding the front passenger door open, and Santos is standing at the curb, about to join the others in the back.
“Wait.” Your pulse jumps. “There’s too many—”
“You’re with Dr. Abbot,” Santos says lightly, her mouth twitching like she’s trying not to smile.
Your stomach drops.
“I—I’m what?”
Santos shrugs. “Javadi’s staying over and Mohan’s place is on the way to ours. Just makes sense.”
Then she climbs into the car, shuts the door, and rolls the window down.
“See you tomorrow!”
There’s a chorus of goodbyes from the others before the car pulls away from the curb—and the cool, quiet night settles in too quickly. The only sound is the dull thrum of music from the bar, and the pounding of your pulse in your ears.
For a second, you don’t turn around. You can’t. Not now that you’re alone with him.
Then—
“I’m this way,” he says, voice low and rough and maddeningly hot.
You nod, but don’t dare look at him as you start following the line of parked cars up the street.
The night air feels sharper now, cooler the further you get from the bar—and it makes you pull into yourself, arms folded tightly while your jacket barely does anything to help.
Jack keeps an easy pace beside you, not crowding you, not touching you, but close enough that you’re aware of him anyway. Of the space he takes up at your side. Of the way he adjusts slightly so you’re walking on the inside of the path, further from the curb, without making a thing of it.
Neither of you says anything.
It’s not awkward. It’s just… quiet in a way that feels heavy, like the silence is holding onto everything that happened inside instead of letting it go.
Your heels click unevenly against the pavement, catching slightly every few steps, and you’re suddenly, painfully aware of everything—the way your dress shifts as you move, the cool air against your skin, the way your pulse hasn’t quite settled.
You feel too sober. Too aware.
When his car finally comes into view, he moves ahead of you just slightly—just enough to reach the passenger door first and hold it open.
God. He’s so annoyingly considerate.
You give him a small, tight smile before climbing into the passenger seat.
The car is still warm, still holding onto the heat from earlier in the day, and it smells like him in a way that’s subtle but unmistakable—clean, familiar, something faintly sharp beneath it that you can’t quite place but instantly recognise. The seat gives slightly beneath you, softer than you expect, and for a second you just sit there, hands hovering like you’re not entirely sure where to put them.
It’s his.
All of it.
The way everything is exactly where it should be, nothing out of place. The faint scuff on the console. A pair of sunglasses tucked neatly into the centre compartment. His backpack thrown into the back seat like he’d discarded it in a hurry and never thought about it again.
The sound of the driver’s side door opening almost startles you.
You drop your hands into your lap, shifting slightly and smoothing your dress down over your thighs like that might ground you somehow.
The car immediately feels smaller when Jack climbs in. More intimate. Closer in a way that’s almost stifling.
You keep your eyes fixed out the windshield.
Waiting.
For the engine to start. For the car to move.
But nothing happens.
The silence stretches, thick and suffocating, settling into every inch of the space between you.
And then—
“You can’t say shit like that around me.”
You blink, finally turning toward him—and regretting it immediately. He’s so irritatingly handsome, so annoyingly gorgeous in a way that makes you want to be stupid and reckless and climb across the console into his lap.
“Say what?” you ask, your voice embarrassingly thin.
He looks at you—not fully, just turning his head slightly.
“You know what,” he says, his voice low and rough with something that sounds a little too close to control slipping.
And you do.
You know exactly what he means.
But before you can say anything else, he turns the key and the engine rumbles to life. The radio crackles a little before some late-night news station fills the silence—and he doesn’t move to turn it off, doesn’t even turn it down. He just drives.
The radio reporter’s voice hums through the car like white noise, talking about something you’re not really listening to as you try to focus on keeping your breathing even.
You can still hear his voice.
You can’t say shit like that around me.
The way he said it. Low. Controlled. Like it cost him something to keep it that way.
Your fingers shift slightly in your lap, smoothing over the fabric of your dress again without thinking, and your mind starts turning his words over before you can stop it—pulling at them, testing them, trying to make them mean something that makes sense.
Because what does that even mean?
You glance at him, quick, like you might catch something you missed—but he’s focused on the road, jaw set, one hand loose on the wheel like nothing happened. Like he didn’t just change everything with eight little words.
You look away again.
No. He didn’t mean it like that.
He’s just—he’s your attending. He’s responsible. Of course he’d say something. Of course he’d—
Except he didn’t say it like that.
Your stomach tightens as your thoughts circle back, slower this time, more deliberate.
The way he kept pulling you away from people tonight. The way he’d been watching you. The way he didn’t laugh, didn’t joke, didn’t let it go.
The way he said it.
Around me.
Not here. Not in front of people.
Around me.
Your breath catches slightly, and you shift in your seat, suddenly very aware of the space between you—of how close he is, of how easy it would be to just turn your head, lean in and—
No.
No, that’s not—
You swallow, gaze fixed stubbornly ahead.
You’re just reading into it. You have to be.
Because the alternative—
Your pulse jumps.
God. The alternative is too much to even consider.
But the thought lingers anyway.
It settles in the back of your mind, quieter now, but heavier—pulling at everything he said, everything he did, everything you might have missed until now. The words circle back, sharper this time—until—
The car stops—and you blink.
For a moment, you don’t move. You can’t.
Then Jack clears his throat.
“Oh—uh—thanks,” you mutter, reaching for your seatbelt buckle.
He nods once. “Anytime.”
You push your door open before you can think too hard about it, stepping out into the cool night air that hits a little harder this time. Your heart is still beating in your throat, your pulse still too loud, your thoughts are still circling those eight words—eight little words that feel like they weigh far more than they should.
You hesitate—one hand on the door, the other gripping your keys in your jacket pocket.
God.
This is stupid.
This is reckless.
This is—
“Do you—” You clear your throat, the words catching slightly before you force them out. “Do you want to come up?”
He stares at you for a second, then lets out a short, disbelieving breath, like he’s not quite sure he heard you right.
“You can’t be serious.”
Heat rushes up your neck, quick and unwelcome, and for a second you just stand there, wishing you could take it back—rewind a few seconds and keep your mouth shut.
What the hell were you thinking?
“Yeah,” you say, a little too quickly. “No, that was—that was stupid.”
You turn away before he can say anything else, pushing the door shut harder than you mean to as you step back onto the sidewalk. You don’t look back. You refuse to. You just keep walking toward the lobby door, drawing your keys from your pocket and fumbling through them to find the right one.
It takes longer than it should, but eventually you find the lobby key and wriggle it into the lock.
This door has never been your friend. It’s old, a little rusted, and the lock has always been janky—but now your hands are shaking, and this stupid old door seems to think that’s funny, because it won’t budge.
You jiggle the key and try again, but nothing changes.
Then—
“Here.”
His voice is low. Close.
Your hand stills as he steps in behind you, not touching, but close enough that you can feel the heat of him at your back—the solid line of his chest just shy of pressing into you as he reaches past your shoulder.
His fingers brush yours as he takes the key—and the lock turns easily this time.
Of course it does. Traitorous fucking door.
His arm lingers there for a second longer than it needs to—then he pushes the door open.
You don’t even glance at him as you step inside, already turning back to grab your key before the door swings shut—but he’s still holding it, barely a step behind you.
He tilts his head slightly, nodding toward the lobby. “Go.”
It’s quiet. Controlled.
Not a suggestion.
Your breath catches, just for a second, and you hesitate—long enough to feel it, whatever this is, tightening between you—
Then you turn and keep walking.
And he follows.
He follows you across the lobby, up the fire stairs, down the corridor, all the way to your apartment door. He stands a little closer than necessary as you unlock it—almost like he doesn’t think you know how doors work now—but the key turns smoothly this time.
You push the door open and step inside.
The apartment is quiet, dim, and you shrug out of your jacket without thinking. You can feel him watching you as you drape it over the arm of the sofa, and it’s a little... thrilling. Dangerous. Because Jack Abbot is in your goddamn apartment right now, looking at you like he’s a man on the edge—
And you’re daring him to jump.
“Drink?” you offer, keeping your voice light—innocent.
He clears his throat. “Water, please.”
You can’t help the small smirk on your lips as you brush past him, a little closer than necessary.
“So polite,” you murmur.
He doesn’t move, doesn’t shift—but you can feel him there, tense just beneath the surface.
You open the fridge and bend over to grab a bottle of water, letting your dress ride up the backs of your thighs in a way that’s totally unnecessary. Jack clears his throat again, just a little too sharp, and when you glance back toward him, he’s turned away completely.
You press your lips together to keep from smiling too wide as you straighten again.
“Here,” you say, stepping toward him and holding the water out.
He turns hesitantly, taking it. “Thank you.”
Your eyes catch his, a slow smile tugging at your lips before you bite the corner gently, just enough for him to notice. He looks away quickly, jaw tightening as he focuses on uncapping the water bottle.
You brush past him again, still a little too close, and move toward the sofa, dropping onto it and leaning forward to take off your shoes.
Jack takes a long swig of water, then clears his throat for the third time.
“Are you working tomorrow?” he asks.
You glance up, still leaned forward, and it’s hard not to notice the way his eyes dip from your face.
“Isn’t that something you should already know?”
The corner of his mouth twitches, like he can’t quite help himself.
“You’re impossible. You know that?”
Heat rushes up your neck at the way he says it—short, sharp, loaded—and you bite back a grin, letting your eyes glint just a little as you straighten.
“Am I?” you murmur, tilting your head just slightly. “Only one way to find out.”
He freezes for a second, shoulders tight, hand curling slightly around the water bottle—and it crackles softly under his grip. His breath hitches, just barely.
“I should go,” he mutters, voice low and clipped.
He takes a step toward the door—and you shoot up from the sofa, heartbeat racing.
“Wait—uh—before you go,” you say, stepping toward him, “could you help me with something?”
He hesitates, turning slowly, as if every second in here is costing him something.
You move until you’re almost between him and the door, looking up at him through your lashes.
“Could you help me out of my dress?”
The second the words leave your lips, you forget how to breathe.
Jack’s jaw tightens, his shoulders coiling ever so slightly. His fingers twitch around the bottle, just a whisper of movement, as if holding himself together by force. His eyes catch yours, dark and sharp, taking in the faint scrunch between your brows, the small pout on your lips, the way you’re offering him something he never thought he’d be allowed to have.
He nods once—careful, controlled—but the tension radiating off him is almost unbearable.
Your stomach flips.
Without a word, you turn, sweeping your hair out of the way while your pulse hammers in your ears.
You feel him shift, his warmth, and the ghost of his touch at the nape of your neck. And that first, tiny contact sends a shock straight through you—hot, sharp, impossible to ignore.
He pauses, just a heartbeat, and you catch the tiniest hitch in his breath.
Then he moves again, slow, deliberate, dragging the zipper down almost painfully slow, his knuckles grazing your skin—warm, rough, controlled, just enough to make your heart pound in your throat.
“How do you do it?” you whisper, voice catching slightly. “How are you always so… unaffected by everything?”
“Unaffected?” he murmurs, almost tasting the word, as if testing it against himself.
His knuckles brush the small of your back, pausing where the zipper ends—but he doesn’t stop. His fingertips graze your skin, deliberate, teasing, tracing the line of your spine upward again, slow enough that it drags your breath with it, sharp enough that heat blooms through every nerve.
“You have no idea,” he whispers, voice low and rough, almost breaking, “how much you affect me.”
Your breath catches, sharp and sudden. Everything in your chest pulls tight, something hot and dizzying blooming low as his words sink in.
You turn before you can stop yourself—and he’s closer now. Close enough that you can feel the warmth of him, the shift of his breath, the space between you narrowing into something fragile and dangerous.
For a second, neither of you move.
And then his hand finds your neck—
Not rough, not rushed—just firm enough to anchor you there, thumb pressing under your jaw like he needs to feel that this is real, that you’re real. His other hand tightens where it still holds the loosened fabric of your dress at your back, fingers curling into it like restraint is slipping through his grip.
He hesitates, just for a breath. Like he’s giving himself one last chance to walk away.
Then he kisses you.
It’s not tentative. There’s nothing careful about it. It lands like something he’s been holding back for too long, all that control finally snapping under the weight of you standing here, asking for him, looking at him like that.
His mouth is warm and certain against yours, a sharp inhale breaking through you as you lean into him without thinking, your hands finding him just as quickly—his stomach, his chest—anything to hold onto as the world tilts. He makes a low sound, barely there, but you feel it more than you hear it, the vibration settling deep in your chest as his grip tightens.
You melt before you can stop yourself.
Your head tilts back, giving him more, and he takes it immediately, deepening the kiss with that same quiet intensity that steals the breath right out of you. His thumb shifts along your jaw, not lingering, just enough to guide you where he wants you, and the control of it—God, the way he still tries to control it after everything, after all that restraint—makes something in your stomach flip hard.
His hand at your back slips under the loosened zipper, fingers pressing into your bare skin now, warm and steady, but there’s tension in it. You can feel it in the way his grip flexes, like he’s still trying—still—to hold the line even as he pulls you closer.
It doesn’t work.
Not when you press into him like this, not when your fingers curl tighter in his shirt, not when you kiss him back without hesitation, without thinking about consequences or lines or anything except how he feels against you.
He exhales against your mouth, sharp, like you’ve just undone him, and for a second the kiss falters—not because he’s pulling away, but because he’s trying to.
You feel it. The conflict. The split second where he almost stops.
Your hand slides up to his jaw, fingers catching there, holding him in place before he can even try.
“Don’t,” you whisper, barely pulling back, your lips brushing his as you speak.
And something in him gives.
You see it in the way his eyes darken, in the way his hand tightens at your back, pulling you flush against him this time, the last inch of space gone like it was never allowed to exist in the first place.
When he kisses you again, it’s deeper.
Less restrained.
Like he’s finally stopped pretending this isn’t exactly what he wants.
It’s different now—harder, hungrier, like something in him has shifted for good. His hand slides from your jaw to your waist, gripping tight as he steps into you, crowding you back without breaking the kiss, without giving you a second to think.
Your back meets the door with a soft thud.
He doesn’t stop.
If anything, it only makes him sharper, more certain, his mouth moving against yours with a kind of urgency that steals the air right out of your lungs. You barely get a breath before he takes it again, and you let him—God, you let him—tilting into him, giving him everything he reaches for.
His hand tightens at your waist, then slips lower, dragging you flush against him again, like he needs to feel exactly how close he can get before he loses control completely.
And you can feel it—how close he is.
It’s in the way his grip flexes, in the way his breath turns uneven against your mouth, in the way the kiss keeps deepening like he can’t quite stop himself from taking more.
Your fingers find his shirt again, pulling him closer, and he breaks the kiss just long enough to drag in a breath, his forehead almost brushing yours, like he’s trying—one last time—to get a handle on this.
He doesn’t.
His hands are on you again, immediate, sliding up your sides, pushing the straps of your dress from your shoulders in one smooth, decisive motion. The fabric gives easily, slipping under his hands like it was never meant to stay there in the first place—and it falls to the floor, pooling at your feet.
His breath catches, and his gaze drops—just for a second, but it’s enough.
“Tell me to stop,” he says, voice low, rough—nothing steady about it now.
You meet his eyes, chest rising and falling fast, heat still sparking under your skin.
“Bedroom,” you murmur.
For a second, he just looks at you.
Something in his expression shifts—tightens—like that word landed exactly where it shouldn’t. His gaze searches yours for a moment, checking for hesitation, for doubt.
But he doesn’t find any.
He nods once—and you turn, already moving toward the bedroom. You can feel him right behind you, close enough that his hand finds your waist again before you’ve even taken two steps, steady, grounding, like he’s not about to let you get too far ahead of him.
It’s barely a walk.
More like being guided—pulled—across the apartment toward your room, your pulse loud in your ears, every step charged with the knowledge of what you’ve just set in motion.
The door barely makes it closed before he’s on you again.
Not rushed—never rushed—but certain, like the decision has already been made and there’s no point pretending otherwise. His hands find you first, steady at your waist, turning you back toward him before you can take another step into the room.
Your breath catches as you look up at him. There’s something in his expression you’ve never seen before. It’s not soft, not gentle—just stripped of whatever distance he’d been holding onto all night.
Gone.
His gaze drags over you, slow and deliberate, and this time there’s nothing in the way of it—nothing to hide behind, nothing to buffer it—and the heat in it settles low in your stomach, heavy and immediate.
“Still want this?” he asks, voice rough, quieter now—but it lands heavier here.
You don’t answer. You just step into him.
And it’s all the permission he needs.
His hand tightens at your waist as he pulls you back into him, and the kiss this time is slower, deeper in a way that feels intentional—like he’s choosing it, not chasing it. His mouth moves against yours with a kind of controlled hunger, every shift measured, every breath deliberate, like he’s letting himself feel it fully instead of fighting it.
Your fingers curl into his shirt, and he exhales against your mouth, something unsteady finally breaking through.
His grip shifts—firmer now—guiding you back a step, then another, not hurried, not careless, but unrelenting all the same. You feel the edge of the bed behind your knees before you fully register moving at all, your focus too caught in the way he’s kissing you, the way his hand anchors you like he’s not about to let this get away from him.
His mouth breaks from yours just long enough to draw in a breath, his forehead pressing briefly to yours.
Not hesitation. Control.
Or what little he has left of it.
“Last chance,” he murmurs, quieter now.
You drop back onto the bed, gaze locked on his, breath still uneven.
“I’m not the one holding back.”
You barely have time to move up the mattress before he’s there, crowding over you, hands braced on either side as he follows you down. The mattress dips under his weight, the space between you gone in an instant—replaced by the solid heat of him, the firm press of his hips against yours.
His mouth finds yours again, hot and insistent, teeth catching your bottom lip just enough to pull a soft sound from you—but it’s different now. Slower. Not restrained, but deliberate. Curious, almost.
Like he’s learning you.
The way you react. The way you move under him. The way you give.
Your hands slide up his chest, fingertips digging in as heat coils low in your stomach—but they don’t stay there long. He shifts his weight slightly, steady, controlled, one hand lifting off the mattress to catch your wrist.
His fingers close around it—not tight, not forceful—just certain, guiding.
He lifts your hand above your head.
“Jack,” you whisper. “I—”
He shushes you.
“Let me do this, okay?” His voice is rough, thick with something unsteady beneath it—something that makes your stomach knot. “I’ve got you.”
And you believe him.
His hand slides down your body, slow and sure, brushing over your chest, your waist, the curve of your hip—each touch deliberate, like he’s taking his time even now, even like this. His fingers hook at the inside of your thigh, grip firm as he nudges your leg wider.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Good girl.”
The words go straight through you.
You can already feel the damp heat between your legs, the slick fabric pressed close, but the way he says it—the way his voice drops—makes your hips shift up instinctively, chasing something you can’t quite reach.
Chasing him.
And he notices. Of course he does.
You only just catch the faint lift at the corner of his mouth before his lips are back on yours, swallowing the breath from you as your back arches, pressing yourself up into him without thinking. Your fingers curl into the sheets above your head, tension pulling tight through your body as everything narrows down to where he’s touching you—where he isn’t touching you.
His hand drags back up your thigh, slower this time. Intentional. And when his fingers finally press against you through the thin fabric, you gasp.
He takes the sound from you immediately, mouth moving against yours, deeper now, like he’s feeding off it, like every reaction just pushes him further. His fingers start to move—slow, circling, testing—while his mouth leaves yours to trail along your jaw, your cheek, the side of your neck.
With your mouth free, the sounds slip out before you can stop them.
Soft. Unsteady. Needy.
And he loves it.
You feel it in the way his breath shifts, in the way his grip tightens just slightly, in the way his hips rock—slow, controlled, a subtle pressure of denim that’s more suggestion than friction.
“Jack—” your voice catches, breaking on his name. “Please. I want—”
“Tell me, sweetheart,” he murmurs, mouth brushing your shoulder, voice low and coaxing.
“More,” you manage, breath shaking. “Need more.”
He groans against your skin, the sound low and rough, his body settling heavier over yours like any space between you is something he can’t stand.
Then his hand shifts.
Your breath catches as his fingers slide beneath the damp fabric, dragging through your wet heat in one slow, deliberate stroke.
Your whole body jolts. “Fuck—Jack—”
The reaction pulls something from him—a sharp inhale against your neck, his mouth pressing there like he needs to ground himself for a second before he loses it completely.
You’ve never felt like this before. Never this hot, this open, this aware of every inch of your own body.
And you’ve never wanted anyone like this before.
“God,” he murmurs, voice thick, lips tracing back up your throat. “You’re so wet for me, sweetheart.”
All you can do is nod, whimpering softly, your hips lifting without permission, chasing him, asking for more without the words—and he gives it to you. Of course he does.
His finger slides inside you, slow at first, letting you feel it—the stretch, the heat—before he pushes deeper, and the sound that breaks from you is swallowed instantly as his mouth finds yours again, your back arching beneath him as he starts to move. Not fast. Never fast. He sets a rhythm instead, steady and controlled, curling his finger just enough to make your breath catch, just enough to make your hips move against him again.
And when you press into it, when your body starts to chase that feeling properly, he adds another finger, the stretch pulling a broken sound from your throat as your hands tighten in the sheets and your body rolls beneath him, helpless to it now, completely caught in the slow, deliberate way he works you open.
Every movement is intentional. Every curl hits deeper, sharper, building something tight and aching low in your stomach that makes your whole body tremble, your breath coming out in uneven gasps as you press into his hand, chasing, needing.
Then his thumb finds your clit, and the contact is immediate—devastating.
You cry out, sharp and breathless, your whole body tightening as he starts slow, deliberate circles that send heat spiralling through you, your hips lifting again, desperate now, unable to stay still under him.
You can’t answer—not when his mouth is everywhere, your throat, your jaw, the corner of your mouth, like he can’t decide where he wants you most before he finds your lips again, and this time the kiss is different again. Hungrier. Messier. His tongue presses into your mouth just as his fingers push deeper, his thumb working harder, more deliberate now, and the moan that tears from you is swallowed whole.
“Please,” you whimper against his mouth, breath breaking. “Please, I—need you.”
He lifts his head, dark eyes searching yours, brows pulling together just slightly.
“You sure?”
You stare at him, trying not to whimper as your whole body clenches around his stilled fingers, the sudden stillness almost worse than anything he was doing before.
“Never have I ever finished during sex, remember?” you manage, breathless but steady enough to land. “You gonna fix that, or what?”
Something feral flickers across his face.
And then it’s gone—replaced by something heavier. Something decided.
He kisses you again before you can catch your breath, all teeth and tongue, the restraint he’s been clinging to snapping clean in half as he groans into your mouth, the sound dragged straight from his chest. You feel the loss of his fingers immediately, your body protesting it, but it’s replaced just as quickly by the slow, deliberate roll of his hips, the friction of denim against your soaked panties making you gasp against him.
“Fuck,” he breathes, like he can’t quite believe it.
He pulls back just enough to shift, bracing himself on one arm while the other moves to his belt, not rushed but far from steady now. There’s a hitch in his breath, a tension in the way his fingers work at it, shoving his jeans and briefs down just enough to free himself, and your gaze drops before you can stop it.
He’s already hard—fully, heavily—flushed and slick at the tip, and the sight of it sends a sharp pulse of heat straight through you, your mouth going dry even as your body reacts in the complete opposite way.
“Fuck—” he chokes, the word breaking out of him. “I haven’t been this hard in—” His eyes flick back up to yours, dark and molten, and whatever he was going to say changes. “—ever.”
It hits you low and deep, twisting something tight in your stomach that makes your hips shift under him without thinking. You finally let go of the sheets, your hands finding him, sliding up to wrap around his neck as you pull him back down, needing him closer, needing him everywhere.
Your legs come up around his waist, drawing him in, urging him forward, and his breath stutters as he presses in, his swollen tip dragging against the damp fabric between you. The contact is just enough to make your head fall back, a broken sound slipping from your throat as he tries—tries—to hold himself up, one arm braced, the other moving between you.
You can feel the strain in him now, the way everything is slipping in real time, in the slight shake of his arm, in the uneven rhythm of his breathing as his hand hooks into the waistband of your panties.
“I’ll buy you new ones,” he murmurs against your mouth, voice rough, almost distracted, like the thought barely registers before it’s gone. “Promise.”
And then the fabric gives.
The sound of it tearing—sharp, sudden—goes straight through you, your breath catching hard as he pulls the fabric out of the way, the last barrier gone in an instant.
It shouldn’t be as hot as it is.
But it is.
Jack Abbot—controlled, composed, always holding the line—losing it enough to rip your panties off you?
Fuck.
He sinks into you in one steady thrust, and both of you gasp at the stretch—the sudden, overwhelming closeness, the way want crashes hot and heavy between you. Your pulse hammers in your ears, that dizzy edge of fear and urgency tangling together until all you can think is him—here, now, inside you.
For a moment, you just breathe—pant, really—eyes squeezed shut, hands locked on his shoulders as your body clenches around him, like you’re trying to keep him right there, like you never want to let him go. He drops his head to your neck, breath hot against your damp skin, and you feel the way it shakes out of him.
“You—fuck—you’re so tight, sweetheart,” he pants, voice rough and muffled where his mouth presses into you. “I’m not gonna last—”
“Then don’t,” you murmur, your voice softer but no less certain. “Just fuck me. Please, Jack.”
A groan tears out of him, low and wrecked, and you feel it through his chest as he shifts above you, hips pulling back, his cock dragging against your walls in a way that makes your stomach coil tight, sparks chasing across your skin. You suck in a sharp breath, your grip tightening on him—and before you can brace, he drives forward again, deeper this time.
“Fuck—” you cry out, the sound breaking loose without warning. “Jack—”
He doesn’t stop. His hips roll back again, slower now, controlled in a way that almost makes it worse, his head lifting so he can look at you, really look at you, like he’s checking, like he needs to see it.
The anticipation coils tighter in your chest, sharp and electric, lighting up every nerve in your body until it almost hurts.
“Mhm,” you manage, breath unsteady, nodding as your arms wind tighter around his neck, pulling him closer, needing him closer, like it still isn’t enough.
For a second—just a second—you’re distracted by something stupid, the feel of his shirt between you, the barrier of it, the way you want it gone, want skin on skin, want to see him, feel him, all of him—
And then he thrusts forward again. Harder again. And the thought disappears completely.
Your body jolts beneath him, every movement knocking the breath from your lungs, and the sound that leaves you is loud—too loud—echoing back off the walls in a way that would make you self-conscious any other time.
But not now.
Right now, you don’t care who hears. Not when it feels like this.
His name spills from your lips in broken gasps, tangled with raw cries, and he answers with a rough sound against your shoulder, biting it back as his hips drive into you at a relentless pace. He’s barely holding himself up now, his weight pressing into you in a way that feels like too much and somehow still not enough, the strain in him obvious in every uneven breath, every sharp exhale against your skin.
His hand drags down your side, back to your thigh, fingers digging in as he pushes your leg wider, and the shift—small as it is—hits something deeper, sharper, your vision flashing white as your head tips back and the knot in your belly pulls tight. His grip slides to your hip, anchoring you there, holding you in place so every thrust lands exactly where it needs to, deep and unrelenting, the sound of it filling the room, wet and rhythmic and impossible to ignore beneath the broken sounds you’re both making.
And then his hand moves between you.
You feel it immediately—the change, the focus—as his fingers find your clit in the slick mess between your bodies, steady despite everything else, despite the way he’s losing himself in every way. Your back arches, breath catching sharp as his touch turns deliberate, circling, pressing, coaxing, sending jolts of sensation straight through you until it’s too much, not enough, everything all at once.
“Jack—” you whine, the sound falling apart as soon as it leaves you. “Fuck, I—”
“I know, sweetheart,” he mutters against your jaw, voice wrecked. “Come on my cock, yeah?”
Your hips lift to meet him without thinking, chasing the rhythm he’s set, chasing the pressure, the friction, the way he’s working you with a precision that feels almost cruel now. His hand doesn’t falter, his fingers moving with intent, building and building, every touch sending sharp bursts of pleasure up your spine as the tension in your stomach pulls tighter, tighter, until it feels like it might snap.
It’s never felt like this before. You’ve never felt like this before.
Your whole body tightens, back arching, legs trembling around him as your hips grind up against his, desperate, chasing something you can’t hold onto. He keeps hitting that same spot, again and again, relentless, his pace rougher now, less controlled, while his fingers stay locked on you, steady, practiced, pushing you right to the edge and holding you there.
You cry out, the sound raw, breaking from your chest as everything finally tips.
The release hits all at once—sharp, overwhelming, tearing through you in a rush that steals your breath and leaves nothing behind but heat and tension snapping loose. Your body locks up around him, tightening, pulsing, your hands gripping at him as your legs shake, your hips still moving against his like you can’t stop, like you don’t want to.
“Fuck,” he groans, burying his face in your neck, his voice wrecked as he keeps moving inside you—slower now, but deeper, like he’s chasing every last pulse of you, like he doesn’t want to miss a second of it. “That’s it. That’s my girl.”
His rhythm falters, hips stuttering, and then he loses it completely—a broken sound tearing from him as he drives into you one last time, deep and hard, spilling inside you as his whole body tenses, shuddering above yours.
You feel it—every part of it—the way he comes undone, the way he clings to you through it, like he needs something to hold onto just as much as you do. Your bodies keep moving together, slower now, instinctive, chasing the last fading edges of it as your breathing stays uneven, your chests rising and falling in sync, skin slick and overheated where you’re pressed together.
It takes a moment to come back down—a long one.
But eventually, the tension drains from him and he collapses almost fully above you, face buried into your shoulder, his weight heavy and grounding as he exhales, slow and spent. It makes it a little harder to breathe—but you don’t mind.
Not when you can feel his heartbeat against your chest, strong and real, still racing like yours.
-
For the first time in two weeks, Jack Abbot isn’t stupidly early for his shift. He couldn’t be, really. Because he’d woken up late this morning, limbs tangled with yours in warm sheets that smelled so much like you it made his head spin—and that had thrown off everything else he needed to get done today.
If it was up to him, he wouldn’t have left at all—but he had to. He had police paperwork to finish, a neighbour’s cat to feed, and sleep he should’ve caught up on before being back in charge of an entire emergency department for twelve hours. But on the bright side? He knows you have a swing shift today, which means he doesn’t need to be early to see you, because you’re going to be stuck at PTMC until at least ten p.m. tonight.
With him.
And he really shouldn’t be looking forward to that as much as he is.
“Afternoon, Dr. Abbot,” Dana says, glancing over the top of her glasses. “Wasn’t sure we’d see you today. Aren’t you usually here by now?”
“I’m on time,” Jack mutters. “I’m a busy man.”
Dana hums, the corner of her mouth lifting slightly as her eyes drop back down to the tablet in her hands.
Jack tries not to appear too conspicuous as he scans the department, glancing toward the trauma bays and South corridor as he passes the nurses’ station. He shouldn’t be this anxious to see you again—not in the apprehensive kind of way, but in the way that makes it feel like his lungs won’t quite fill until you’re near him again.
“She’s not here,” Dana says without looking up from her chart. “Wasn’t feeling well, so Ellis came in early.”
Jack spots Ellis across central, exiting one of the rooms with Santos at her side, and he opens his mouth to say something—defend himself, maybe, lie about what or who he was looking for—but he hesitates, unsure what he could say that wouldn’t incriminate him further.
So instead, he just drops his head and keeps walking, fumbling for his phone in his pocket.
He’d seen you this morning. Just this morning. You were sleepy, had a headache, so he got you water and Tylenol and kissed you before he left—but you hadn’t said anything about feeling so unwell you were going to call in sick.
Jack doesn’t stop until he reaches the lockers, then turns back to survey the ED one last time before leaning a shoulder against the wall and pulling up his text thread with you. He hadn’t texted you today because he knew he’d see you tonight and didn’t want to seem… overbearing. Even now, he’s not sure if he should—but he feels off in a way he hasn’t in years, like he’s waiting on something he can’t control and it’s making him feel sick.
What if last night hadn’t meant what he thought it did? What if you regretted it? What if it was just—
“Hey, kid,” Dana calls from the nurses’ station. “Big night?”
Jack’s head snaps up—and there you are.
The relief hits before he can stop it, sharp and instant, loosening something in his chest he hadn’t realised was wound so tight. He swallows it down just as quickly, his expression settling before anyone can clock it.
“You don’t know the half of it,” you mutter.
Dana huffs a short laugh. “I have a feeling I don’t want to know.”
Jack can’t help but watch as you cross the floor toward him, your backpack hanging from one shoulder while the other hand presses two fingers to your temple, like you could massage the headache away. There’s a smug little smile on your lips when you reach him, slowing your steps until you pause just beside him—not too close, but enough to make his breath catch.
You glance down at his phone, at the open message thread where his thumb is hovering, and your smirk curves a little higher.
“Miss me?”
Jack locks his phone and tucks it back into his pocket.
“Thought you were sick.”
You lift one shoulder. “A little hungover, so Ellis swapped with me.”
For a second, neither of you move. He just looks at you—and you look right back, like you both know exactly what’s changed, even if neither of you is about to say it out loud. Not here. Not now.
“And I missed the night shift attending,” you say finally.
Then—before he can respond, before he’s even fully processed what you said—you lean in and press a quick kiss to his cheek. Only brief. Barely anything.
But it feels like everything.
And just like that, Jack Abbot is done pretending he isn’t yours.
Synopsis. “To the esteemed and venerable House of Gojo,
Hereby is your formal invitation to the Choosing Ceremony; our proudly ancestral tradition in which an eligible candidate is put forth by every clan in high society—and out of them all, only one shall be chosen as future husband to our Madam.
And for that, the Madam has specifically requested the presence of Gojo Satoru. Specifically.
It does not matter to her that your candidate has no cursed energy so to speak of, and it would be our greatest honor to start bridging stronger relations between our two dignified clans.
We hope for your good health, and a reply from Gojo himself soon.”
Or in which if Gojo Satoru hasn’t manifested his powers yet, you know a way to make him…snap.
Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!reader, heir!Gojo Satoru, no powers AU, for now…, Gojo with no cursed energy, the eIders are awful, arranged marriages, Choosing Ceremony, suitors, outcast Gojo, your technique, tension, oraI (fem rec.), pússydrúnk Gojo, GOJO’S POWERS, making him SNAP, vibrations, Six Eyes to find your spots, fíngering, spítting, p talking, p sIapping, cIit bitíng, FÉRAL Gojo, matíng presses, manhandIing, Infinity as a cóndom, shattering, making you count, DESPERATE Gojo, needy s, he’s a Iittle crazed, creampíes, cúmpIay, marathons, overstím, cúmming bIanks, making him CRY, UNLlMITED VOID, teIeportation, sIight vioIence at end (NOT to or from reader), the eIders, happy ending, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 10.9k
A/N. Oh Gege how can I ever thank you ENOUGH for these powers-
Gojo Satoru was born without cursed energy.
December 7th. Twenty-eight years ago. He had been a strangely quiet baby- to the extent that it’d scared the midwives, and they’d fussed-over and checked him from every angle before ultimately realizing that that was just the way…he is. But strange was good.
Strange meant powerful.
And thus came the higher-ups that breathed down the poor infant’s neck. They were the first to see when he’d cracked his eyes open, twenty-eight years ago; and gave those peering higher-ups a glimpse of those cloud-flecked summer skies he held within—they thought he’d been destined for greatness. Those eyes of his…they just seemed to glow.
Six Eyes. So it had touched this generation of Gojos too, right? Right?
But there was only one problem: they couldn’t feel a single lick of cursed energy emanating from the boy.
Gojo Satoru was born without powers.
An outlier. An anomaly. A disgrace.
Which is why, twenty-eight years later, he’d been surprised when the marriage proposal came.
“Throw it out, Ijichi.” Gojo snarled, tapping his long tobacco stick against the low table. The kiseru was made of polished bamboo, its sleek body donning the silver emblem of the Gojo clan—it had been scratched out. It gleamed like a blade.
The heir to the Gojo clan - at least in name - had his back turned to his audience. Soft morning sunlight filtered through silk curtains and illuminated his strong figure, draped in Gojo-blue. It was almost against everyone’s will, including his own, that he had grown tall. Broad. Traditional woodblock prints. Sandalwood incense from the local temple. Books upon books of high literature surrounding him. He’d read them over hundreds of times.
Seated upon a plush blue zabuton cushion with silver threading; he was surrounded by opulence and even more loneliness. Most days, Gojo sipped his time away with that damn bamboo stick and his books—training and convening with others had long been banned since it became obvious that the heir had no talent in cursed energy. Which wasn’t supposed to be- he was supposed to be The Strongest. He was supposed to be…something else. Someone else. So they hid him away.
They forgot about him.
Out of sight, out of mind. Right?
Except for Ijichi Kiyotaka, the one resident at the Gojo Estate that knew the enigmatic Gojo son beyond just whispers and the occasional flash of white hair ‘round hallway corners. Disappearing quicker than one catches it.
The envelope crumples in Ijichi’s hands as he speaks, “But master-”
“Do not call me that.” His voice isn’t too loud. And yet, it cuts through the attendant’s voice with its simple simper—“What have I told you, Ijichi?”
“M-my apologies…Gojo-san.”
Gojo had his head semi-turned over his shoulder. And from that brief profile, Ijichi sees that even that title manages to make the other man’s lip curl—though he doesn’t say anything more. He merely turns back to his tobacco as the bespectacled man starts to blubber once more.
“I-I just meant to say…” Tone wavering. Tone beseeching. He’s shuffling forward on both knees with the envelope held out, “-that this might be something of interest, ma- Gojo-san.”
“What? A marriage proposal?” Gojo scorns after a deep exhale. The tobacco at the end of his pipe still remains inflamed when he sets it down on the table, and finally turns properly towards his attendant. His only. Gojo isn’t so presumptuous as to call him his only friend- but sometimes he can’t help but feel that way. Steely blue eyes narrow. “Does it look like I have the patience to entertain what is so-obviously a joke, Ijichi?”
“But—” Ijichi can’t help but stir. “You’ve been leaving this proposal without reply for four days, Gojo-san. And it seems that in that time, they’ve contacted the Estate five times just to make sure it was delivered.”
He raises a ghost-pale brow, “Then it seems they don’t know I’m without cursed energy.”
Ijichi squirms uncomfortably. He pushes his glasses up, “I-it seems that in that time, the council of elders had taken…liberties to inform them of this circumstance.”
Gojo takes his tobacco and taps it impatiently on the table. “And?” He runs a hand through his hair—what else could he have expected from them? Fucking bastards.
To his surprise, Ijichi ducks his head down ever-so-slightly. And though the Gojo heir might not have those special eyes that deemed him as part of the family - he could still see that the other man seemed to be hiding a faint smile. “And…it seems they were still interested, Gojo-san.”
There’s a pause.
Gojo takes another deep inhale.
“Is that so…?” His words were low and lazy—but Ijichi could see right through them. He could discern that faint furrow between his master’s brows as he mulled over the thought, let it twist and turn and take over his mind. Everyone he knew didn’t spare him a second glance at him once they found out about his predicament.
They would fawn over him and his blue eyes during those stuffy social functions he was dragged to as a child - back when the elders still seemed to think he had a chance of his cursed energy showing up as he grew - and then ‘discreetly’ be pulled aside by some attendant or the other to be…told. ‘Normal eyes’ was what he commonly heard. Then they’d avert their eyes from him all night.
It took him some years before he understood why, and then he’d started refusing to join these functions. After that, they stopped asking.
Visitors from far-off lands would bring him gifts and candies whenever they visited the Estate on official business; and he’d stand outside the meeting hall as they requested to see the ‘little one’. Only to be told by his very parents that there was nothing to see - he had no cursed energy. There was nothing impressive about him.
He never saw a single one of those candies.
The dojos of the Gojo Estate would be in an uproar morning after morning; and once - just once as a child - he had asked to join. The head instructor had shared a pitying gaze with his top student, and Gojo had sprinted out of the place before they could utter a single word. They can keep their pity—he didn’t need a single one of them.
He didn’t need anyone.
Not the tutors, nor the attendants, nor the kids of those higher-ups that all looked at him with pity in their eyes- that’s part of why he latched onto Ijichi and made him his only attendant.
He never did so.
That, and Gojo liked his glasses.
Wherever news of Gojo’s lack of power spread, it became infected like a disease.
Which is why he couldn’t understand you.
“Gojo-san?” Ijichi’s tentative voice breaks through his torrent of thoughts, and Gojo’s still slightly dazed as he looks up at the other man - how long had he been silent? Shaking off whatever had come over him - it’s not quite like him to reminisce - he stands and walks to one of the open doors—facing a private section of the Gojo gardens. Butterflies flicked from flower to flower, and trees swayed serendipitously in the winds. He watches one of those multi-colored wings flap to foxglove and then off into the sky. Watching such a sight, he couldn’t help but feel so small.
The Gojo Estate was beautiful, but deadly.
And so were those with its name.
“Write them a response apologizing for taking so long.” Gojo keeps staring out at the summer day as he speaks, and the other man jolts to attention. “And tell them…” He wasn’t sure who he was waiting for: Ijichi who was noting this down, or himself. He swallows and clasps his hands behind his back—“Tell them that I accept.”
He has always hated feeling small.
“Let’s see how they truly like The Strongest.”
.
.
.
The elders were prepping and poking at him like some dessert the next evening.
News of his acceptance had spread like wildfire.
And before he knew it, they were rubbing his skin red and raw - until milk-water seeped into his every pore. Dousing him in clouds of perfume. Painting his plump lips just the faintest cherry-red—just enough to be enticing, or so they said. Smoothing down the invisible creases on his expensive cotton hakama; threaded cranes and reeds took flight from their hem, the silver emblem of the Gojo clam burned deeply into his back. He couldn’t find much of a difference between this and a dog collar. Play nice. Don’t bite.
Do tricks for the pretty lady.
Or so he assumed he would have to.
At some point, he wondered whether they were oh-so-fervently preparing him in the hopes of getting rid of him. And his hypothesis was only exacerbated when those elders caught each others’ eyes and smiled as they were bidding him farewell. “Make our family proud.” His father had told him.
Farewell. Farewell.
The towering, palace-like gates of the Gojo Estate grew smaller behind him, and he determined that even if he wasn’t getting picked - he was never coming back.
And so he was here.
Gojo was escaping one Estate and being led straight into another; grander, more gilded. The prestige radiated off of it in waves and made his stomach turn to knots as he was led inside - Ijichi by his side - past winding hallways and antiques displayed, then singled out and told to sit in the meeting chamber amongst a row of handsome men. Ijichi nods reassuringly at him and steps outside.
Gojo’s sighing greatly before sitting at the very end of the row - attempting to twist his legs into the poised positions that the others were taking on top of the tatami. There were about twenty of them; backs straight, legs tucked, proudly dressed in robes with their family names. They stood out in their multi-color robes and reminded Gojo of old-fashioned puppets. And even among these handsome men they were attempting to out-handsome one another.
It was almost pathetic- really.
As they wait for you to arrive, your suitors would jut their heads out and take a good look at the competition—then if they assess that one seemed to be giving them too much of a run for their money, they’re primping their hair n’ polishing off their jewels. The Gojo Estate had given him none - probably didn’t trust him with them.
He feels a laugh bubbling up in his throat as, one by one, they snuck glances at him and sat just a little taller. And yet, they couldn’t meet his height.
That didn’t matter, however.
In this society, all that mattered were one’s powers - and should one not have strong powers, then it’s the connections. Gojo had none.
Ah, to get this over with…
Soon, footsteps resound and the sliding doors rattle. Gojo gets the urge to look up as they open, but he’s tampering down the temptation and keeping his eyes fixated on the ground as he always does. It came as second nature to him. Next to him, he feels the other candidates stiffen and do the same.
“The Madam enters.” Wheezes out a male voice, old and reverent.
There’s another step as someone - presumably you - steps inside the meeting hall, and then they’re all placing their hands in front of them and bowing. Bending in unison at the waist. It wasn’t common to bow to someone he knew was just a year or two younger—but you were already the Madam of your clan, and they were mere heirs after all.
Him, not even that.
“At ease, please.” Your sweet, sweet voice echoes out and sends goosebumps skittering across his skin. Gojo’s not sure what he expected - but this…”Thank you for coming. Your presence shall be rewarded plentifully.”
“We’re grateful, Madam.”
“W-we’re grateful, Madam…” Gojo follows up belatedly. His pulse quickens. His thighs squeeze. He feels stares hone in on him at that exact moment, and he’s sure that one of them was yours.
Gojo attempts to press himself down on the tatami even deeper- to fold himself in half and make himself invisible. His eyes widen and the smooth woven surface stares up at him. His palms sweat where they were clenched. It’s not that he cared about what anyone here would think of him - but if he were to get out of here and escape, then drawing any attention to himself doesn’t help.
His heartbeat thunders in his chest—ba-dump!
But you don’t single him out. And Gojo’s unsure whether or not to breathe out a sigh of relief once he hears what seems to be a soft chuckle coming from your direction—he can’t risk it twice.
And after a beat, Gojo hears your footsteps start to make their way down from the other end of the row. Step after step. Stare after stare. Second after second, he assumes you’re taking your time assessing each candidate before moving onto the next. And behind your nearly-soundless steps were your gaggle of elders- “This is a descendent of the Kamo clan—” They’re not quite whispering to you, “Very powerful. Very respectable family.”
“I see.” You say, and you’re walking past the Kamo descendent.
“O-oh and this one…the Fujiwara clan. Not the wealthiest but-”
You hold a hand up, “Yes, thank you.”
“Zenin Nao-”
“Not at all.”
Whoever that was - Gojo’s heard of the Zenin clan in bits and pieces through the walls of meeting chambers he wasn’t let into - withers in his bow. Whatever he’s heard of the man hadn’t been favorable in the first place, so he has to bite his lip to hold back a faint chuckle—so caught up in the action that he nearly doesn’t notice the shadow padding over to him. He nearly doesn’t notice that you’ve walked right up to him.
It’s the elders that get his attention before you do.
“Ah- and this is the…” Gojo doesn’t need to strain his ears to hear what they’re saying about him. He’s heard it time and time again: that slight hitch in their tone, the way they bring up a hand to cover their mouths but still look at him. “The heir to the Gojo clan.” Spat like a curse.
“The hair gave it away.” There’s none of that derision in your tone. “How beautiful.”
A shiver runs down Gojo’s spine.
And it’s not long before yet another one of your council members is tugging at your sleeves, “Madam, this is the…”
Another speaks up- “The note that was delivered—”
“That forgotten son.” And another.
“Silence.”
You’re saying it so serenely, and yet it manages to get every single damn one of them to shut up. Every single one of them—that were hungry and clamoring for your attention; frothing at the mouth to reveal his open secret. If only it was so easy for him. The silence stretches terribly, until the tension was so thick that it was hard for him to breathe.
And before he knows it, Gojo’s feeling a soft hand touch his shoulder.
Lightness fills him. Just ephemeral and fleeting.
And your voice speaks out in a much warmer tone, “Please. At ease.”
Something seems to uncoil inside him as he straightens- why he was following your every word, he has no idea. But soon enough, he’s back in his resting position and looking down the row of other candidates that ogled him.
You chuckle kindly once more, “The others have long since been sitting. You may go easier on yourself.” Through his peripheral vision, he senses you crouching down in front of you.
And so he’s finally looking up—
Now, Gojo Satoru could describe your features, or your clothes, or the color of your eyes- or even the degree of your smile. He looks back on this moment - not even in the far future, mere split-seconds later - and thinks he could pinpoint the exact angle that the light flooding into the chamber struck the side of your face. But the only thing he registers right now is that if heaven were real, then this might just be the place. And he’d run straight into its awaiting arms-
Your awaiting arms.
Then as quickly as that flare of madness appeared, he’s shaking his head. Trying to clear his mind - whilst you wear a look of slight bemusement on your face as if you could read his thoughts.
Gojo’s just able to pull himself together and flicker his sapphire eyes open—when you’re standing up and addressing them all. Speaking loud and clear- “I have chosen.”
Cold water douses him- or at least feels like it. And the other candidates in your row of suitors shiver like they were experiencing something similar.
One of the elders shifts his gaze nervously between him and you, “Y-you have chosen, Madam?”
Another one clasps his hands in delight and beams, “As per my recommendation- the Kamo boy, Madam?”
“No no—it should be the Abe boy.”
“The-”
One hand raised to signal silence. You’re running your serious stare down the row of men that sat rigidly awaiting your decree.
Each one blenches a little as it reaches them, as though it sent bolts of electricity through them.
Eventually, they’re stopping on him.
On Gojo Satoru.
And he meets your gaze shyly- with bated breath.
“It’s him.” The calmness before the storm. “I choose him.” Before the chamber seems to explode into the indignant noises of the other candidates, the pleas and coos of elders attempting to stop you from making any rash decisions. The air seems to still. The pipes seem to burst. Outside, it’s evident that some of the house staff had been peering through the cracked-open door and eavesdropping on the ceremony- and their surprised squawks add to the cacophony.
And in the middle of the noise - the center of attention - you and Gojo share a look in silence.
Your hand raises once more.
“Silence. I will not repeat it.” A slight hardening in your tone. It’s there to remind them all that you are the clan leader, after all; amongst the youngest to be handed the mantle, amongst the most successful to make your Estate surge in social and economic standing. “He is to be my husband—” Turning to look at him. “-if he so wishes it.”
And you had chosen him to be your husband.
There’s a terse silence- and everyone turns their heads towards Gojo before he realizes that they were waiting for his answer. Most of the other men glower at him as if to say he was stupid if he messed this up-
“Y-yes.” Nodding unsteadily. It seems like the kind of thing that he’d have to ponder over - but it comes to him as though his mind had already been made up, without him knowing. “Yes.” Yes, he was sure.
“Yes, Madam.” The guy next to him hisses.
One of your head council members all but begs at your feet, “B-but master, he has no cursed energy…”
“Elder, must I repeat myself once more?” It seems like an off-hand question—almost jovial. But clearly the elder knows better than to push, and he’s shrivelling back up once more.
With a wave of your hand, you’re dismissing them. “And so if that is all, the other candidates shall have to forgive me- but I wish to spend some time getting to know my future husband. I hope you understand. Refreshments will be available in the East gardens.” As they start to exchange glances and stand, you turn to your balking elders—“And that goes for you, too, dear elders.”
They stir.
They look at each other- as if for confirmation.
Before one nudges the other - and they can do nothing but walk. Walk away with a mere glance—past the ogling house staff, following the murmuring young men.
Despite how much your attendants try to take a peek at him- the sliding doors shut.
Rattling; those trundling vibrations soak into the walls and reach all the way down to Gojo’s toes. Making them curl as you sit in front of him: close enough that his heart thunders, far enough that you wouldn’t be able to hear it. Though by the look on your face, he almost has his doubts…
“So…” You’re placing your face in your hands and taking a good look at him. “Something tells me you’re not one for small talk?”
“Why have you chosen me?” He jerks his peripherals to meet yours, and stares at you squarely. “They were right- you know—” Gojo gestures at the doors behind you, “I don’t have any cursed energy.”
“I was right.” You mutter to yourself, “And as for why I chose you…hm…”
He almost thinks you won’t answer the question, when you’re cupping your hands in front of you and letting them emanate a soft golden glow. Gojo knows what it is instantly- he’s spent so many years wishing he had the same, after all. Even the tiniest ember of it.
You’re shaping the air in your hands as though molding the radiance; it fractures and bends like sunlight between tree branches. Beautiful. He’s never seen anything more beautiful. As if his thoughts caught your attention, you’re half-smiling up at him. “Do you know what this is?”
“Cursed technique.” He whispers.
You nod, “And can you take a guess what it does?”
“Something to do with darkness and light? Vanquishing darkness?” Gojo cocks his head.
“In a way…” You’re gesturing for him to reach out—and he brings his arm out somewhat tentatively. The moment your fingertips touch his skin, that radiance seeps warmth throughout his body- it floods him with that same light feeling from earlier. “Feel that? It’s your mask being taken off you.” Gojo looks at you in confusion. “My cursed technique reveals people’s true emotions and thoughts- the good and the bad. The honest. I can read them all.”
“And mine…?” He gasps. How wondrous. Those of the Gojo clan were often stuck on bending space and the physics of it all. Your technique just seemed so…human.
You smile, “Something like cursed energy doesn’t matter to me. You were the only one that didn’t want me for my name or status.” Fingers sliding across milky skin - feeling more of him. Reading more of him. His gasp catches in his throat as you continue, “You were angry. And tired…” Brows furrowing. “-and a little scared.”
“I am.” He swallows- throat dry. “I was. But what’s that to you?”
“And then there was something else…” Bolts of lightning seem to explode wherever your fingertips traced, and he’s feeling his pulse heighten. His half-lidded gaze bores into yours—“You were aroused calling me ‘Madam’.”
And then Gojo Satoru just seems to melt-
“I wasn’t-”
“You were.”
“I was-” There was no use hiding it. He’s leaning backwards—even though his hands remained where they were, aching for your touch. Gojo’s words come out in jagged pants, wet and blistering; perspiration starts to formulate on his skin. “I was. And it’s all your fault I had to hide a boner from some damn elders.”
“You were…what?” You tilt your head coyly. Gojo Satoru. From the moment you saw him, you knew you wanted him.
And one wouldn’t need a cursed technique to know how he felt- a rosy blush rises to his cheeks. “I was, Madam.”
Was it getting even hotter inside this damn room? Gojo’s almost subconsciously letting those expensive robes of his flap open, just the barest slivers of pinkish skin.
“How perverted.” You’re tutting. Starting to lean in now, “But that’s alright. Because right now, you’re feeling something else, too.”
Whispering. Octaves higher. He looks like he’s in for a battle- there’s a carnal glint in his eyes that’s hard to mistake. “And that is…?” Challenging.
“You wish to kiss me so badly.”
And so he does.
He does, he does, he does- he’s not sure who’s reaching for whom first. But suddenly your lips are on his and he’s moaning into your mouth—loud and openin’ up in a gasp before you’re capturing his lower lip between your teeth and teasing him just a little.
Nibbling.
The chamber light flickers for just a second- but neither of you notice it as Gojo bucks. Straight off the smooth tatami and reachin’ his carnal hips up into yours. The simple action is enough to make Gojo fist at the fabric of your clothes, white-knucking them until he’s hearing a little riiiiip—!
You’re breaking the kiss with a gasp- and his lips still chase yours ravenously. “Now, now…we aren’t even married yet. Not that I care, but what would the council say?”
“I don’t care.” Gojo pants out hot n’ heavy into your mouth. Before one hand snakes up the back of your neck to guide you into a deep kiss once more- “I don’t fucking care.”
“E—mmpf.” He’s sucking sloppily on your tongue, dragging the tip of your tastebuds between his lips n’ tasting. Like it’s the sweetest damn thing he’s ever tasted. Brows crinkling in frustration whenever you’re attempting to half-heartedly break off and continue speaking- “Eager- oh, are we? Something tells me that someone’s a little…inexperienced, hm?”
And you didn’t need your cursed technique to read him - Gojo blushes straight down to the roots of his ivory hair.
His nose crinkles, “I am. I’ve never touched a woman- anyone before.”
“And that’s perfectly alright.” You’re reassuring him, hands coming up to caress his heaving chest. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. We can take it slow-”
“No—” Gojo gasps as though you’d just cussed him out. Hands trembling on your body - fabric bunching, fingers white-knuckling. He’s holding onto you like you were a lifeline. “No no no no- I would rather…if you would like to—”
You’re letting your warm cursed energy out.
“I want to taste your lips.” He admits, wincing at the way it sounds so crude being said out loud. “Your…other lips.”
“Oh.” Your mouth parts. Before a rush of pleasure seeps through you- “Then why don’t I get on my back, hm? I want to see your pretty face.”
He almost feels faintish just hearing the words.
In next to no time; you’ve positioned yourself flatly against the tatami mats—and dragged him right on top of you, of course. Gojo’s body eagerly climbs up your own, the light from above creating a halo-like effect on him, and admires you for a few seconds- kisses your lips once more- before he’s pressing a thorough trail of open-mouthed kisses down your body.
Between your tits. Down the side of your hips.
Gojo’s then moving back and chastely peckin’ up your inner-thighs before he’s reaching that wetness in-between. The heat of your cunt just radiates between your legs- you were already so drenched n’ pulsing.
That tick-tick-tick of your cunt presses against his face as Gojo shuffles aside your layers and nuzzles in. Even through your underwear, it was making his mouth water already.
Without a single warning, Gojo lets his greedy tongue drip out and gives your clothed pussy a gooood lick. From bottom to top.
His tongue flickering back in. That damn light inside the meeting chamber flickers against once more- and you’re immediately bucking up into his touch. “G-Gojo—”
“That’s my father’s name. Instead call me…” He murmurs, throat smoky. With a sudden squelching kiss—placed right where your swollen folds were the plumpest, the heir to the Gojo clan struggles to push himself even deeper. Even closer. Even more desperately. “Satoru.”
“Satoru.” You repeat.
And he looks as though he’s in ecstasy.
In what seems like the far-off distance, there’s a sudden burst of something sharp- shards. The observation lingers in your mind and you’re realizing that it sounded like a lightbulb or one of the antiques being dropped.
But there’s no time to think about it too deeply—because in the next few seconds, you’re weaving your fingers through Gojo’s dampened white hair. Twisting them into a grip so deliciously painful for him, and dragging his pretty face back between your legs. A sudden moan rips from your throat- “Your future wife wants you to eat her out, Satoru.”
He’s on you so fast - nudgin’ his head nose-deep - that you think it might’ve been teleportation. “Yes, Madam.”
And how could he ever deny a command from you?
It’s the only thing that whirls in Gojo’s dazed mind- it’s the only thing his body even seems to be running on. Before he even registers what he’s doing, his fingers are reaching up to swipe aside your soppin’ panties. Fuck…you’re so pretty he feels a moan slip out. Muttering a ruined prayer between your legs- before the slender tip of his tongue darts out and slobbers.
A lick straight down your wet crevice.
A lap around the outer area where your slick had accumulated.
“Mmmpf—” Gojo breathes through his nostrils n’ lets them flare. He lets his eyes widen. He lets his jaw drop.
Just the faintest glimmer of your essence trickling down the side of his mouth.
And Gojo’s going crazy.
With a croaked, crackling groan at the back of his throat- he’s hooking a bulky arm around your left leg and tugging—manhandling you to him in a surprisingly primal way. Your pussylips are slammin’ against the edge of his chin, and he’s probing his tongue even deeper. Back and forth. Back and forth. “Why is she so sweet…”
Feeling the pressured intrusion of his tongue - the way his slippery muscle expands the first inches of your muscle so well - you’re merely arching up into his mouth with a keen. “Ohhh, just like that—”
“Huh? What- that’s not…” And for a few seconds there, you think he’s merely babblin’ away to himself. But when Gojo fishes his sloppy tongue back out and thrashes it even harder- nose pressing up determinedly against the nub of your clit - that’s when you’re realizing that something else might be at play here.
That’s when you’re letting your chin drop to your chest, and discovering Gojo already staring at you with large, hallowed eyes- straight up at you.
That’s when he’s becoming even more frenzied as he sandwiches his lips between your puffy folds and makes out with them. Those girthy inches of his tongue drawing out languid slurps and sounds that make his cock twitch. “Th-that’s not what I asked, Madam.” He’s rubbing up against the sensitive inner parts of your thighs, “That’s not the answer to my question, right?” From the way he looked, you genuinely couldn’t tell whether he was joking or dead serious.
“Satoru, what do you…” Getting on your elbows to look down at him.
But it’s almost too late. Because Gojo has his mouth hooked ‘round your sweet, sweet pussy and his zig-zagging tastebuds driving you wild—“Why are you so sweet?” Almost as wild as Gojo was driving himself. “Why are you so hot? So ready takin’ my tongue? Just fucking—stickin’ to me like that- your pussy’s trying to chase me when I kiss her.”
“O-ohhhh—you’re sure this is your first time?” You can merely sob.
Those sky-blue eyes of his flash with some amusement.
“So fucking…” And you’re not sure if he even hears you - you’re not sure whether Gojo can register anything other than the dessert platter in front of him right now. As if on cue, that leaky hole of yours empties out numerous wads of sap that smear down his cheeks. He welcomes it with what almost feels to you - and your technique - like a purr. And this last word is spat out in what almost feels like a growl- “-addictive?”
It’s almost accusing.
Though not really, and Gojo’s honed canines jut out as he lavishes a few kisses on your clit. Soakin’ it up enough to reach a hand up and pinch.
That glistening nub of yours grows even fatter n’ needier as he squeezes it between two cold fingertips. His thumb and his index. Just the sight of it is enough to make his mouth salivate once again, and all those gluey ribbons of saliva end up getting spat on your pussy once again.
Gojo’s pluggin’ it up with his crowned fingertips before it can get the chance to trickle out. Like a waterfall. “You must have done something to me…” The realization hits him.
“E-excuse me?” You ask.
“It’s your cursed technique- isn’t it—?” Gojo’s then scissoring two digits inside you and starting to pummel your gooey insides with them. Each movement causes the prettiest orchestra of squelches that enter his eardums like fucking music-
“It wasn’t.” Squealing. Soaring your hands through his hair. He scours every inch of you with a single thrust- the sheer length of his fingers, ending off with those knobbly swollen tips.
They were so moldable n’ he’s gluing them to your softest orifices like adhesive. “I p-promise it wasn’t…” Saliva starts to stream from one side of your mouth—your mind’s turning to mush with every passing second. Without even thinking, you grab him by the scalp and guide his face closer between your legs. The cavern of his pretty pink mouth opens with a soft ‘yes, ma’am’ and Gojo then latches onto your throbbing clit. “Why? Do you feel any different, Satoru?”
“Feel different?” At that question, Gojo has to physically lurch away from your pussy to look up into your face n’ make sure that you’re serious. You were. “Feel different?”
“Y-yes…?” Slightly taken aback.
Gojo genuinely lets his head tip backwards- with a bout of crazed laughter.
Short. Breathless.
It echoes around the room; and you’re sure of it—this doesn’t sound anything like the Gojo Satoru you’ve known. Until now. There’s a feral twinkle in his eyes that you can’t quite discern once Gojo surges his head forward and kisses your pussy once more. French kisses.
This time, his pupils were mere needlepoints around a sea of faintly-gleaming blue as he wraps his lips around your clit and peers up at you. A grin plastered across his face- he knows you can feel it, because you’re just squirming so much. “Sweetheart, I don’t just feel different…” Those roverin’ tips of his enter your hole once more, three of them propelling inside your slippery channel. “I think I am different.”
A shiver runs down your spine. What did he mean by…
Gojo’s eyebrows raise—“What do I mean by- hah, that? Well…I can feel your pussy reeeeeeal good-” His nose crinkles as yet another wave of slick slips down his throat, “-I can feel every clench, every pulse, every bead of slick.”
And then he increases the pace of his thrusts, until the brutish knuckles of his fingers were reddened.
Starting to swell.
Pump after pump.
Hit after hit.
The most ruthless swipes that messed up your insides. Leaves his mark on there like a last name; Gojo adds in a fourth finger just when you think you’ve been stretched-out to your maximum limits—
“And…” That flexible end of his tongue lifts off of your clit. He curls it tenderly in front of your entrance- just in time for a pearly bead of slick to escape you and end up dappled straight on his tastebuds. “I can predict wherever they start to drip.”
Your mouth gapes open.
And though that was impressive, your mind’s occupied with something else entirely.
You yelp and sit up on your elbows straighter. How did he know? He read your mind. He’s reading your body. You thought he didn’t have cursed energy?!
But as though reading your mind was something he did everyday, he continues.
He’s using those special antics to slash his mouth near-vertically across your own slit and end up draaaaaagging his textured tastebuds on top of your clit. Making you shake with every single spark of pleasure running up your body, whilst his fingers only prod ‘round even deeper. Swivelling around. Stirring you up from the inside. Squelch after squelch. “I can sense where you feel the best.” Gojo’s lips are flappin’ away animalistically between your legs. “I can tell just how good you feel—”
A sudden bite at your clit.
You’re yelping, “Fuh-fuuuuuck!”
““See? I can tell your pretty pussy liked that.” Gojo’s fluttering his pale lashes playfully. A smirk upon his maw. “I can tell that you like it when I do- ngh, thiiiiis—” Scissoring his fingers and flickerin’ his tongue on top of your clit, “And especially when I do this.” Making you throw your head back as he nibbles on your knob once more. Just as he had predicted - you shiver underneath his tongue, and he’s gapin’ his mouth wide to let those droplets cascade into his mouth. Those blue eyes of his nearly glow in excitement—“And I can tell…actually, I can see that you’re feeling good all the way from here—”
He presses down on your clit using the tip of his handsome nose.
Then glides his left hand up your front- as far as he could reach, he’s soon squeezing your left tit. Then the right. Alternating. There’s a strange buzzing sensation floating over your nipples whenever he touches them…“To here. Even higher up to that- hah, pretty head of yours, the way s’lighting up.”
“Lighting up…?” Just to make sure, you spare a glance down at yourself. “Satoru, what are you talking abou- oh.”
But then he’s hittin’ his fingertips damn near your g-spot, and it feels good enough to bring tears to your eyes. “Oh, sweetheart, your entire body’s on fire because of how good you feel. And I haven’t even gotten to it yet.”
“My g-spot?” You babble.
He’s nodding like a drunken man. “She’s been waiting for me- pulsing, y’know?” Gojo trundles out through his husky breaths, “Throbbing. Needing. Just aching for my attention.”
“Th-this really can’t be your first time…” You mumble weakly, barely audible enough.
“And guess what?” He breathes- octaves away from normal.
“What—?”
Gojo was staring at you with wide, almost-bulging eyes. His gaze was glazed over and yet- still so frenzied, enough so that you swear the irises surrounding his pupils were glowing—“I can see where she is.”
With that said, you’re feeling the hardest- sloppiest thrust of his fingers yet.
A direct hit onto that cute heart-shaped button of your g-spot. Gojo doesn’t need to move his fingers ‘round to feel for where that particularly soft area was—he knew where it was instantly. And the most crazed smile splashes across his face, twisting his lips, as he’s watching you shatter underneath him. He knows when you’re reaching your high before you yourself do.
“You’re cumming for me…” He inhales hollowly.
Eyes widening, “I am?” It’s suddenly hitting you then: that spread of warmth from the pit of your stomach, up your spine, n’ fogging up your mind. Your pussy was just battering away at a staccato- your legs were thrashing where Gojo pinned them down with his upper half. “I am.”
Gojo merely crushes his face deeper and fucks you through the best orgasm you’ve had in your entire life. Fingers nothing but a blur. Nose nuzzlin’ deeper. “I would never lie to you, Madam.”
“Fuck…”
Tongue dipping straight into your slippery hole, then alternating between rolling over your clit. Wave after wave.
The bliss is almost too much to bear - it washes over your body, setting your limbs alight with the electricity of your orgasm. That dopamine. Those white stars. And Gojo’s pressing on your g-spot accurately upon every single peak, such dogged need. “Oh, and I can s-see it—”
“Satoru-” You’re keening out. Your hands reach up to muss up Gojo’s ivory strands, grabbing and lavishing his mouth across your clit. He’s sucking it inside and hollowing his cheeks out—“Th-that wasn’t anything my cursed technique did. This was all you, baby.”
“Oh…”
And with that awed expression upon his attractive features, he’s finishing up with the last few dredges of your orgasm. Letting the bliss course through you - Gojo then unlatches himself from your sensitive cunt with a loud pop! The last thrust of his fingers ends off with the faintest flicker of blue lightning…
You both catch it and gasp-
Gojo’s meeting your eyes with his frenzied ones. It’s then that you’re getting a good look- a proper one.
Gojo Satoru’s eyes were always such a beautiful blue. But now…they had a wreath of so many different shades - sky-blue, cobalt-blue, denim-blue, indigo, some almost as pale as white - playing within them that it looked like jewels. Like something out-of-this-world. It glowed with power.
“Oh my god-” You’re immediately attempting to surge up - and Gojo firmly presses you back down on the tatami. As if he already knew what you were going to say. “Satoru, we need to inform someone—we need to send summons to your Estate elders immediately-”
“Maybe.” He cocks his head with something akin to a pout.
And you’re staring up at him in disbelief, “Don’t you want to prove them wrong? Don’t you want to take your rightful mantle as head?”
“Maybe…” Gojo murmurs once more, and his brows knot in the middle. “But more than that- there’s something else I want to do first.”
His first time, that is.
Before you know it, Gojo hovers his body upwards- then he’s tugging open your robes. He’s leaving you half-bare. And then moving onto his, Gojo stares you straight down as he damn-near tears through the four attached straps of his hakama, the belt, the pieces tucked. Harsh. Almost violent.
It makes your cunt quiver just for a moment—and Gojo’s letting his jaw drop as though he could feel the fucking thing.
As though he’s listening to it. Worshipping it. He then manages to free his red, ravaged cock - glistening at the top with so much slick, and then turning into a peachy pink towards his base. Girthy tip, even girthier middle. His shaft was looooong and oh-so-proudly decorated in numerous zig-zagging veins, disappearing into the tufts of curly white at his hilt. He’s so damn hard that he twitches in the air a few seconds after release.
Almost immediately afterwards, Gojo’s tall frame collapses on top of yours. Body wracking with shivers.
Gently folding both your legs over his shoulders; they trembled with the aftermath of your previous high, and a wicked smile plays upon his lips as he bends and bends you until the top of your knees hit your chest.
He gazes down at you through the gaps in his ivory hair, “May I fuck you using my powers, Madam?”
Your mouth parts.
Gojo had flushed cheeks. Damp skin. His eyes faintly a-glow- and the most primal glimmer flickering within them.
Bolts of lightning dart from the edges of his peripherals and crackle in the sensual air between you two. The newest user of the Six Eyes in the Gojo clan. You’re wrapping both arms around Gojo’s clammy neck and pulling him to you - instantly, a whiff of jasmine hits you. “Please do, future head of the Gojo clan.”
He shivers.
And then he’s entering.
Just the large, globular tip of him—the very edge of it that feels almost scorching against your entrance. He doesn’t even need to sink all the way inside to stretch your hole ‘round himself, gluing his slit to the channel of your cunt - those walls that seem to just gulp him up. It’s heavenly enough that Gojo’s letting his head duck into the crook of your neck, mouth opening up in turgid gasps. “Oh- I’m fucking my Madam.” One jerky thrust. “My wife.”
“Sh-shit…” Your teeth clench. Your toes curl. And your pussy’s clenching around him like a vice. The stretch of him…it was like nothing you’ve felt before.
“Feels good?” Gojo asks, through strikes. His swollen shaft drags in n’ out at a dizzying rate, and with those Six Eyes of his - you knew when they were about to activate down at you, because the fizzes of lightning would grow more concentrated - he’s managing to point out your g-spot instantly.
Directly mazin’ between your fluttering wall. Pushing his rounded tip against that bundle of nerves- still so sensitive from your previous orgasm that even the merest brush sets your body alight…
Gojo reels his hips back n’ starts fucking you in quick, thorough thrusts that echo out into the room as plap! after plap! He’s cementing his toned v-line to the front of your pelvis, and letting out drunken giggles at the way your g-spot quivers for more after every whack—these damn Six Eyes really did manifest at the perfect time.
In no time, you’re feeling your walls turn to a gummy mess- ruined by his cock. Moaning out, “Go even deeper, husband-”
“O-oh.” His hips stutter mid-thrust. Not even bottoming out yet. “Ohhhh, don’t just say that-”
“Why not?” Fluttering your lashes up at him innocently.
Gojo then trembles- he clamps his jaw shut as though he didn’t know how to respond…or didn’t trust himself to. His knees hike up the tatami floors as though attempting to burrow himself even deeper—and then back n’ forth again as if conflicted. Conflicted. Gojo grazes his pearly whites down the side of your throat and murmurs, “Because c-call me that again n’ m’gonna cum…”
Just a few thrusts.
Not even bottomed-out.
An he was going to fucking cum- just because you called him that?
Your interest piques. “Maybe I want you to-” Angling your head so that his hair tickles your face, and your lips graze his ear lobe. “-husband.”
“Ohhh, I beg for mercy, Madam.” And he genuinely sounded serious.
“Husband?”
But it was too late- Gojo sprints his right hand down to clasp his hilt. But it was too late.
No matter how tightly he’s squeezing right there - where he was suddenly bulging even thicker at the thought of going inside you - Gojo’s ruddied tip leaks out a singular drop of ivory sap. And then another. And then another.
Until soon enough, he was coverin’ the entire front of your cunt. Eyelids shuttering. Throat cracking.
Gojo’s dipping his head down and watching as the mushroomy tip of his shaft almost explodes in a downpour of his cum- so much of it stored up. The warm wetness trickles over your pussylips like a glaze and ends up getting smeared by his blushin’ cockhead, stirring it around with the hand at his base. “Sh-shit.” Gojos takes his lower lip between his teeth, in an effort to keep the whimpers out of his voice. “Shit, I can’t believe you made me- ngh, cum before you. What did I tell you?”
“And I said I wanted it, didn’t I?” You’re grinning.
“And I can never deny my Madam- ngh.” The prettiest noise at the back of his throat- he’s breathing it into you as you two kiss. Once you’re breaking apart, Gojo’s finding himself bucking short, stunted semi-thrusts without his hazy mind having even realized it—“B-but about this mess…can I fuck it inside?”
“Hm? I don’t feel a mess.” It’s true - you felt the initial splosh! of his creamy white cum leaking out. But after that you didn’t feel it streak or dribble.
You’re both looking down and finding- “What’s…” That the large majority of his sap had accumulated around his fat tip, and though it was deliciously thick—there seemed to be another barrier that kept the cum from leaking. An invisible forcefield.
Gojo’s breath catches once he realizes, “Infinity.”
“What?”
But without answering, he’s merely swervin’ around the crowned head of his cock and watching as the glistening cum moves ‘round it. Doesn’t exactly touch it. “Infinity.” All the air seems to escape his lungs- and electrify around you two. Gojo looks up at you with wide, pleading eyes. “I can manipulate Infinity- I have Limitless.” Blue lightning scatters across his skin.
“Both? Both—?” Awe pumps through every atom of your being. It was impossible not to recite just what you’d learned in your jujutsu lessons years ago: “There hasn’t been a Six Eyes and Limitless user in the last 400 years.”
“I know.” He probably knew more than anyone else. And his lips twitch at the edges- he presses his sweaty forehead to yours. “I know.”
“Satoru, you’re probably one of the strongest sorcerers of two- maybe even the strongest.” Tone picking up in pitch and volume- and frenzy. The ends of your sentence wavered just a little bit at the fresh intrusion of his cocktip, twitching and glazed in cum—and something far more powerful. A layer of Infinity that pushed your sodden walls apart even further. “A-and you’re using it to fuck me—?!”
Another rugged thrust. “What else would I use it for?”
But of course, the suggestion of anything other than feelin’ your sweet, sweet pussy wrapped around him felt almost like blasphemy.
Gojo’s snowy brows furrow at the sudden rush of power- and it takes a little getting used to the ebb and flow of cursed energy, the urge to bend and mold space at his will. But right now he had more important things on his mind. And no matter how much his mind raced—it halted for one thing. One idea.
And the most crazed - almost bemused - grin breaks across his face.
Crooked and slightly off-kilter; he’s focusing all his energy on lacquering that long, looong cock of his with a shatter-proof layer of Infinity. Almost like a…“Condom.” Gojo utters without meaning to.
The half-shocked half-aroused look on your face is enough to make him continue.
“Like a c-condom.” The girth of his tip starts pressing in once more—this time with the added, minute measurement of his Infinity layer. And if you thought that he was big before, then now…and with the added fuzziness of cursed energy? The slight buzzing vibrations that penetrated your inner walls? You’re being driven absolutely insane—
And he’s just fuckin’ to fit inside.
“It feels s-soooo—ngh.” Your voice cracks almost pathetically. “Big.”
“Just big?” Gojo shovels in just a few more inches- almost like it’s never-ending.
Your toes curl. “Long.” You babble. Wringing your moans into the column of his throat - Gojo’s immediately turning his head and capturing your lips with his. “And so- ngh, veiny.”
“Oh? You can still feel them past Infinity?” He asks.
“Y-yes?” As if you could ever not feel those prominent lines imprinted onto his shaft. They formulated the most lecherous patterns that seemed designed to massage your sweetest spots specifically. Just rubbin’ and rubbin’ and making explosions of pleasure burst behind your eyelids—“I can feel e-each and every one-”
“Count them.”
Your eyes flutter open, “What?”
Another few more vicious thrusts- pointed. “Count them.”
Then Gojo’s pressing a chaste peck onto your cute cervix- loving. Pressing a heart-shaped indentation with his cockhead, it squishes ever-so-slightly against the very back of your cunt—and Gojo glides his shaft exhaustively back and forth. Making sure you’re split open on every single vein and indent, and even stimulated by the soft hairs at his base that tickle the top of your folds.
Perhaps The Strongest trills, “I’m waiting~”
“Oh- please.” You’re suddenly brought out of your cockdrunken reverie. Spending every remaining speck of sense in you to count- “There’s a really big one down the middle and…ngh…” Though with the added layer of Infinity coating him, you’re thrown into a frenzy attempting to accurately feel for how many veins decorated his thick shaft. “And then one more- two—?”
Lovingly, he kisses your lips…“Incorrect.”
Your jaw drops.
“Try again.” Gojo smiles sweetly.
And then you’re being fucked even harder- even deeper into the tatami floors until you’re sure the grounds of your Estate would be tattooed against your back. The mats lift and creak as he pummels a few more repeated- thud-thud-thuds against those velvety orifices. “Three-” You manage to gasp. “No- five.”
“Hmmm, wrong again.” Almost with a pout- the fucking nerve of him to pout.
And then he’s holding you to him as he funnels you even harder. The scruff of his happy trail dragging down your clit.
With a huff, you have nothing else to do but hold onto his sweaty, thrashing body for dear life. And with a monumental effort; you’re pushing your thighs ever-so-slightly together and clenching—as hard as you could, you’re suctionin’ off his pistoning cock. Milking him.
Gojo’s brows immediately furrow, and a crack appears in his irresistible grin. He’s letting out what almost sounds like a whimper- before nipping at the sensitive skin on your throat. “Oh…”
“Is it- hck! I think I got it…” You’re uttering. Everything about the way he was fucking you now was just messy and sloppy- from the way his clammy skin stuck to yours, to the way his precum was now drivelling through the layers of his Infinity, to the thump! of veins brushing against where you needed him the most. “It’s six- fuuuuck—”
He’s staring at you with dazed, tear-filled eyes. Unresponsive.
“It’s six, isn’t it?” You ask. Squeezing your heaven-like walls around him once more just to make sure- hard. “It’s six- fuuuuck, can feel six of you just massaging me inside.”
Breathing ragged. Brain ruined.
Gojo stows in his silence as his hips keep rammin’ away into you - he doesn’t need to think about it. He just can’t stop.
You’re running a hand across your stomach, feeling for where he was exerting the most pressure inside your goopy cunt. Shapin’ you to him from the inside out. “A-all the way—here- oh.”
“Correct.”
Rudely, Gojo smacks your hand away and replaces it with his, instead.
Lightning sticks to his fingertips like a second skin, just the most miniscule display of it. And yet, not in the least less powerful. You already know that Gojo’s using his Six Eyes before he starts to speak, “Here. Your walls. Your g-spot. Your womb—they love my cock s’much. All six veins, and all nine inches. Feel that twitchin’ there?”
Stupidly, you’re nodding.
“That’s your pussy begging for more-” Slapping his hips to yours with such aggressive thrusts- each one felt incredible. Each one was hitting eeeevery single spot he needed to and more. Curvin’ the luscious tip of his shaft against your drippin’ wet cervix, “That’s your pussy begging for it- even harder Faster.”
“P-please—” You’re keening. Hands racing up to claw at his bulging biceps.
“Again and again-” Without a single warning, Gojo reaches his free hand down and slaps! your neglected clit. The buzzing cursed energy there makes your eyes roll to the back of your head. “She’s begging to be filled up by me. To feel the seed of the Gojo heir dripping out of her…” Lovingly, he caresses your clit. “She aches until she can keep feeling me between those pretty legs as she walks.”
Another spank.
“She’s obsessed with the strongest, isn’t she?” Whatever quivering, twitching sensations that he can sense with those heightened powers of his—it makes him croon. “You make me so- hah, honest. Good thing m’obsessed with her, too.”
“Enough- I need you to do it.” You sob. “Do it, Satoru- ngh, I want you to cum inside me.”
“I would, it’s just that…” He trails off- just the faintest bit of rationality in his face. “I don’t know how m’gonna take this damn infinity off, sweetheart.” It’s just then that you remember his little ‘condom’ experiment. “Can you try squeezing?”
“Squeezing?” Gawking. But you do.
Just like before, you’re clenching your soaked walls- and it makes the powerful sorcerer buck. Even though he closes his eyes, you can discern his peripherals moving haphazardly behind them—affected. And Gojo pummels out a few more vicious battering rams before he gasps out. “Again.” Head falling into the crook of your neck. “Again- harder.”
And so you do. “L-like this?”
“Harder.”
Practically keeping his cock hostage.
Just one - one - stuttered probe of his ravaged length thereafter- and he’s entirely shattering. Not just in terms of the Infinity that scatters into nothingness—but because the faintest sensation of your tender walls, and he whispers. “I-I think m’gonna…”
“Shut up and cum inside me.” You retort.
And with a single thrust- Gojo dribbles out hot, white cum for the second time tonight. Hard. Powerful.
The minute his splatterin’ cum breaks through his Infinity to end up stirred inside your walls—an emission of powerful cursed energy emanates from his body. It singes his skin. It makes the air tense between you two.
The sudden spike in pressure makes the lightbulb above you shatter-
Only to rain down on the two of you, getting safely discarded by the forcefield of Infinity that Gojo had mindlessly cast as it began falling. And after every single plunge into your gooey, hot depths - scattered bursts of lightning bolt from Gojo’s eyes; eventually skittering around his body and making antiques around the two of you crack the further he crescendos into his euphoria.
Just like before, he was losing it. Except, this time, it’s ending up seeped at the very back of your pussy.
Glistening down your walls and ended up plastered to your cervix.
Using his Six Eyes, he’s managing to fuck every single webbed wad until they’re reaching deeeeeeply at the very back. The very back. Until not a single ounce was left leaking between your legs, and he could see every droplet of it puddled right at your womb- Gojo would rather die than waste a single drop.
And through it all as he fucks you, you’re crashing into your nth high- one after the other. More than just your second.
You dig your nails into Gojo’s muscular shoulders and moan out his name. “Satoru- Sa—” Kissing him deeply. Soft echoes of it still crackle at the back of your throat as he keeps pushing you through peak after peak, wave after wave. “Oh, it feels so- ngh, keep going. It feels so good.” One after the other.
“I can…tell…” So dazed that it was getting hard to speak even. Gojo was overstimulated and working his body to the bone.
The Gojo heir finally opens his eyes again- and you’re feeling a carnal jolt go through you as you’re taking in just how much power whirled beneath them.
Ravenous.
Raging.
His Limitless and his Six Eyes seemed to be battling one another for predominance. Both of them were winning - which just meant that every spark of pleasure he felt was another lightbulb cracked, or a handprint seared into tatami flooring, or a piece of furniture hovering.
So overstimulated.
“I-I need to think of…” Gojo’s eyebrows knit together, and he keeps his gaze downturned to where the two of you were connected. A sheen of sap spread between your inner-thighs, and you’re tugging him even closer. “Need to think of a way-”
“A way to do what, Toru?” You’re asking, after he trails off.
“A way to do…” Those hands twiddlin’ with your clit then form a complex array of signals; not quite practise, but more so just going with intuition. His cursed energy must have a lot to say to him after being cooped up in there for so long. “-this. Unlimited Void.”
There’s a mantra- then a flash.
Then you’re feeling space and time itself bend between your legs. Between your legs. It was like the twisting of air around you, the strange feeling of a vacuum running through your entire body.
And the lights of your entire Estate seem to be shutting down; before you blink through the darkness and make out the shape of Gojo staring lovingly down at your stuffed cunt. The way it bloated around his girth. The loads of cum that kept on trickling out. Your pussy that had a…strange tingling surrounding it that had nothing to do with your own cursed energy-
“Unlimited Void.” Gojo helpfully explains, “That way, I can cum inside your pussy forever.”
“Forever.” You breathe out. “Oh.”
Nuzzling you, “Such a complex mantra. I could only do it because of you.” He highly suspects that it was your honesty technique that helped him face his powers, after all.
You’re unsure how long it takes - but Gojo’s then buckin’ the two of you through another one of his orgasms. Then another one. Then another one- he twists his arm behind his neck and keeps your ankles interlocked, manhandling you backwards whenever he needed to.
Whenever he felt like movin’ you instead of his fatigued body.
Again and again.
He just can’t seem to fill you to the brim now. Squelching between every stuffed thrust.
Cock rock-hard still and doused with so many layers of his own cum. It was just the messiest experience to be stuffing you full like so - no Infinity would’ve been able to hold this back.
Eventually Gojo’s limbs were heavy, his hamstrings aching, his bangs sticking to his forehead. Knees pushing up against the floor in an attempt to clamor upwards—though he just kept sloppily dropping and falling and fucking you as best he could. He was practically collapsing his large body on top of yours n’ merely rutting his cock sloppy in and out - not even proper thrusts. In and out. “Ngh- feels like you’re going to cum again.” He eventually utters.
Your eyes damn-near bulge out of your head. “I can’t possibly-”
But a twist of his cursed energy-covered fingers on your clit, and you’re feeling your next orgasm soar through you. Flashing fast.
“Oh…Satoru.” As he’s churning your insides through another one- you feel a sudden splat! of something wet hitting your shoulder. Eyes snapping open.
That’s when you see that the oh-so-enigmatic Gojo Satoru was crying from overstimulation.
And you didn’t need his Six Eyes to see that he was cumming again- only, this time, he was cumming blanks.
Pretty face scrunched up.
Cheeks glistening with tears. Chin wrinkled.
Choking out sobs at the back of his throat.
His bottom lip was tucked between his teeth, and he’s gagging out a few thick sobs as translucent sap empties out from the end of his cock. His heavy balls having had enough—Gojo’s body was practically forcing himself to stop…but he couldn’t.
No matter how much he was cumming, it still wouldn’t be enough to fill up the Unlimited Void he’d casted on your fucking pussy.
And after a few more ruinous strokes, Gojo’s lurching his head up.
By now, you could reach that look in his eyes. “What?” You ask suspiciously.
“I read this- hah, don’t squeeze me like that I’ll…” Too late, he was pumping out a few more drivelling wads before continuing. “I read this extract in a textbook about Limitless once- that some users have the- ngh, ability to bend space and make a sort of…clone of themselves. Multiple.”
Your jaw drops. “C-clones…” Your cunt already quivered with excitement- letting out a lecherous sound of cum sprayin’ out.
He could read those feelings in you instantly- and he nods. You always did make him so honest.
“How about it, Madam?”
.
.
.
The elders already knew that a new user of Limitless and the Six Eyes had manifested.
Because at that very moment, the world had shook.
It had been impossible for anyone but the two lovers to ignore. And perhaps it was already time when that lone silhouette had stalked all the way to the Gojo Estate: shoulders tense and his blade glinting in his hand. They could say that Gojo Satoru hadn’t been born with cursed energy, but no one could say that he hadn’t clawed himself a reason to live.
Something to live for - someone.
And now, the cruelty of those that had come before was redundant.
That night - after leaving you wiped-down and tucked-in - Gojo had donned his robes and stepped outside into your sprawling gardens, still sore. There, he’d experimented with the rumored teleportation that Limitless users were said to have—and perhaps it really was true what you’d said.
Maybe he really was The Strongest.
Because in no time, Gojo was trained enough to teleport to the Gojo Estate had thought he’d never come back to. Certainly not to finish the job.
With his silver blade, decorated with the silver emblem of the Gojo family, he made those sleek floors run red. Between trees, he was a shadow. He stained the gardens with the foxgloves and the trees he’d always loved - he supposed that no butterflies would be visiting these gardens ever again.
At least he wouldn’t be.
And as Gojo cut down the last one of those elders, he memorized the look on his face. Nothing of the pity and hatred he’d seen all throughout his life—they all wore the same expression now.
Shock. Fear. Knowing - so this was the power of The Strongest.
Some were happy to merely witness it before they died. What an honor it was, to die by his hands.
Gojo wondered whether it scared them more that he’d found his powers, or that he’d come to hone them. Whichever it had been, he hoped they knew now - he was always someone strong.
He was always strong. The last swing of his blade.
Everyone was gone now - his relatives, his elders, his tutors. It was just the outsiders to the Gojo clan that he commanded to run—Ijichi himself had likely taken up quarters at your Estate, and he was determined that no harm should come to the innocent.
But did that make him just as cruel?
He cares not.
Overnight, Gojo Satoru became the head of the Gojo clan, he became a myth: The Strongest. Said to be talked about for centuries to come.
But that was for later.
Gojo steps back on the edge of the portico overlooking the gardens - a sunrise before the Sun could make an appearance. Then he focuses his newfound cursed energy and prepares to teleport right to your side, he couldn’t bear the thought of you waking up alone—everything else could be thought of later.
Sukuna's mechanic intuition is put to the test when he notices you're trying to ignore a tiny car problem.
The noise started three days ago—a faint, rhythmic click-click-click that only appeared during sharp left turns. You kept the radio volume high, hoping that if you didn’t hear it, it wasn’t real. You’d certainly made sure not to mention it to Sukuna. You knew him well enough to know that if you showed even the tiniest mechanical suspicion, a hesitant, "Hey, does this sound weird to you?" he’d have your car up on the lift before you could even finish your sentence.
And frankly, you preferred avoiding a lecture on basic car maintenance and the sheer recklessness of ignoring a clear warning sign while you were already drowning in quarterly deadlines.
This morning, both of you left your apartment at the same time, you for the office and Sukuna for the gym. He tossed his bag into his Jeep, then walked over to your car to kiss you goodbye. You smiled as his lips met yours, the scent of his cologne providing a comforting anchor in the hectic morning. Murmuring, "I love you," you then got into the driver’s seat and started the engine.
Only when you turned the wheel to pull out of the parking spot did the sound happen again. That click-click-click echoed off the low ceiling and the concrete pillars of the underground garage. You barely registered it, your mind already on the morning's first meeting, as you straightened and drove toward the exit ramp.
Behind you, Sukuna had stopped dead in his tracks. He hadn’t even reached for the door handle yet; he just stood there, head tilted, eyes narrowed, tracking and dissecting the sound until your car disappeared outside. His jaw tightened in that specific way when he’d found a problem that needed solving.
—
The glass doors of the office building hiss open a few minutes after five. You’re digging through the chaos of your bag, fingers brushing past pens and receipts as you desperately search for your keys.
Two coworkers walk with you—Hiroshi, an analyst who has been awkwardly trying to find excuses to linger by your desk for the past week, and Miyuki from Accounting, still complaining about the breakroom coffee. Your mind is still half-buried in the spreadsheets you’ve been staring at for the last eight hours, and you’re only half-listening to the conversation.
“I’m just saying, if we don't get a new espresso machine, I’m going to start charging the company for my own sanity,” Miyuki sighs dramatically, fanning herself with a folder.
You offer a nod, your eyes scanning the lot as you head mechanically to the spot where you left your car in the morning. But the spot… is empty.
A surge of cold panic jolts you out of your workspace haze. You stop short, your gaze flicking frantically between the painted lines of the parking space and the surrounding cars. At the same time, Hiroshi stops too, his eyes fixed on the visitor’s lane near the curb.
“Uh, is that your car?” he asks, confused, pointing toward the curb. “And... who’s that guy?”
You follow his gesture, feeling a strange flutter in your heart. There, parked illegally in the visitor’s lane and shining after a fresh wash that definitely wasn’t there this morning, is your car. And leaning against the hood with an unmistakably casual arrogance that should also be illegal is Sukuna.
He’s a stark contrast to the suits and briefcases leaving the building. Wearing an oversized black tee that drapes over his broad shoulders and gray sweats, he seems like he’s from a different world. One hand is tucked into his pocket while the other scrolls lazily through his phone. The golden hour light hits the tattoos on his face and forearms, making the ink look like it’s glowing.
“Oh,” Miyuki says, her eyebrows shooting up. “Did you call a mobile mechanic? Is he the repair guy?”
Hiroshi scoffs, puffing out his chest just a fraction. “He looks a bit... intense for a repair guy. Hey, buddy! You lost?” he calls out, his voice slightly too loud.
Sukuna slowly tilts his head, pockets his phone, and pushes off the hood, his eyes drifting over Hiroshi with bored indifference. Then his gaze finds yours, and a broad, smug smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.
“That faint clicking you were ignoring was a failing CV joint, brat,” he calls out, his voice rough and low, cutting through Hiroshi's fragile confidence. “If you’d hit a pothole on the way home, the entire front end would’ve snapped. You’d be calling me from a ditch.”
The "repair guy" just called you brat with an unnerving familiarity that makes Miyuki’s jaw drop, and both your coworkers go silent.
“Oh, and I’m the husband,” Sukuna adds before you can even open your mouth.
At this point, Hiroshi looks like he’s trying to figure out how to un-ask the question and disappear from the planet.
You look from your car to Sukuna, your brain finally putting the pieces together. “Wait... you came here and took it? How did you even get here?”
Sukuna lets out a huff of laughter, reaches into his pocket, and pulls out your spare keys, dangling them in front of him.
“Yeah,” he answers, stepping closer until his cologne overwhelms every other scent around. “You were busy in meetings, and I wasn’t letting you drive that death trap another mile. I had Kenji bring me over with the spare set around ten.”
“You spent your whole afternoon off under my car?” You beam at him, feeling a warm ache in your chest, just like every other time he does something absolutely thoughtful and devoted while acting like he’s just annoyed by the inconvenience. “Kuna, you didn’t have to do that. I could’ve brought it in Saturday.”
You offer your shocked coworkers a quick wave before Sukuna’s hand comes up to rest at the back of your neck. His fingers are a comforting weight that instantly melts away the last of your workday stress. He leans down, his thumb softly tracing your jawline.
“Saturday is for the Stardew and for making you scream,” he rasps quietly straight into your ear, his voice dropping into that dangerous tone. “I’m not spending it under a lift because you’re too stubborn to admit your car was crying for help.”
You can’t help the wide grin spreading across your face as your hands reach up to cup his face, pulling him down for a deep, thankful kiss.
“So... you did it because you're a hero? My knight in greasy armor?”
Sukuna’s smirk widens as his eyes flash with that spark of mischief. He wraps his arm around your shoulder, pulling you tightly against his side, then steers you toward the car.
“I did it because I’m not having my wife drive around in a car that sounds like a bag of loose bolts. It’s embarrassing. People see you pull into the garage, and they’re gonna think I don't know how to maintain my own equipment,” he corrects flatly, and you roll your eyes at him.
Reaching past you, he pulls the passenger’s side door open.
“Now get in. I’m starving, and you’re buying me dinner for saving your life.”
“I'm buying? You’re the one who committed grand theft auto!”
He winks at you, the smugness practically radiating off him as he ushers you into the seat.
“Consider it a convenience fee. Move it, brat. I want the expensive sushi.”
❥ 𝓗OW TO BAG A HOT DILF: 5-STEP BEGINNER’S GUIDE !
𝓼ummary: the hot, grumpy dad next door won’t give you the time of day? here’s how to make him fuck you stupid anyway. warning: side effects may include pregnancy.
❥ STEP 1 — commit to the bit (and the bit is wanting him SO bad you’re willing to risk federal charges)
you don’t believe in love at first sight. you’re not that kind of girl.
but lust at first sight?
yeah. that one had you in a chokehold the second you saw him hauling a case of bottled water into his apartment, dressed in nothing but grey sweatpants and a faded black tank top— one that clung to the broad curve of his back like it owed you something. like it knew what it was doing.
he didn’t even look at you. not really. just grunted out a soft “hey” when you passed, voice low and rough like he hadn’t spoken to anyone in days, and disappeared into the dark crack of his doorway with a hand scrubbing at the back of his neck, muscles flexing under golden skin and black ink.
you’ve been down so fucking bad ever since.
toji fushiguro.
your across-the-hall neighbor. father of one. age: probably late thirties. height: unfair. attitude: uninterested.
the kind of man who walks around the building shirtless at night with a beer in hand, who leaves his door cracked open when he’s working out in the living room, who definitely has a “don’t talk to me” aura and the look of someone who’s been burned by love and never really recovered from it.
and of course, of course, that’s exactly your type.
(but in your defense, it’s not like this came out of nowhere. you’ve always had a thing for older men. it’s the deep voice, the scars, the rough hands and emotional unavailability. it’s the way they look at you like they’ve lived five lives and none of them ended well. also? your dad never called you back after your high school graduation. so. connect the dots.)
it wasn’t supposed to be like this. you were just supposed to move in.
fresh start. new city. small apartment, low rent, okay view. the listing said “quiet neighborhood” and you said “sure, whatever” because all you needed was a clean kitchen and decent lighting. you didn’t ask for a brooding, musclebound dilf living directly across the hall like some kind of cruel test of character.
but now?
you’ve memorized the exact time he leaves in the morning. you know which beer he drinks. you know the sound of his shower turning on. you’ve adjusted your hallway appearances to “casually hot girl next door” levels and tried every combination of crop top and pajama shorts known to man.
and the worst part?
he hasn’t made a single move. not one. no smirk. no side-eye. not even the classic “didn’t know girls like you lived around here” line. he’s just… normal. silent. borderline rude. polite only when necessary, otherwise acts like you barely exist.
you wave when you see him— he nods.
you held the elevator door once and he told you, “don’t worry about it,” like he was doing you a favor by taking the stairs.
you’ve walked past him in tight leggings, skimpy pajama shorts, cute little tank tops with no bra underneath, but still, nothing.
not even a flicker of interest. not even a glance.
at first, you thought maybe he wasn’t into it. maybe he had a secret wife. maybe he was— god forbid— celibate.
but then you caught him on the balcony one night. shirtless. sweaty. cigarette between his fingers, hair pushed back, staring off into the distance like he was thinking about his tragic backstory. and when you stepped out to water your plants, leaned just slightly over the railing in your tiniest shorts—
his eyes dropped.
slow. deliberate.
right to your thighs.
then back up to the skyline like nothing happened.
and that’s when you knew.
he’s not blind. he’s just resisting.
which brings you to now.
standing in front of his door like a fucking maniac, heart pounding like you’re about to ring the bell at the gates of horny hell, holding a suspiciously clean, never-before-touched envelope you pulled from the depths of your junk drawer ten minutes ago.
it’s addressed to his unit, obviously.
but it’s been in your apartment the entire time.
because you’re a liar.
and you’re going to get your neighbor’s attention if it kills you.
the door opens faster than you expect. no warning creak, no slow reveal— just a single click and then bam, it’s open, and there he is.
up close. full resolution. shirtless again. grey sweats again. taller than he looked in the hallway. and staring down at you like he’s trying to figure out whether you’re here to sell something or commit a crime.
his hair is messy— fresh out the shower messy, strands curling a little at the ends, pushed back and damp like he towel-dried and gave up halfway. a faint scratch trails down his collarbone. there’s a tattoo peeking from under his left pec. you are not okay.
“…yeah?” he asks, voice still that same low, unbothered gravel. like he was just in the middle of something. like you interrupted him.
you blink once. then twice. and hand him the envelope as if it’s some kind of peace offering.
“this was in my mailbox,” you say, a little too fast. “but it’s for your unit.”
he glances down. doesn’t take it yet. his brow furrows.
“…you live in 402, right?”
your heart drops. you manage a nod. “yeah.”
he looks back at the envelope, then back at you, and cocks his head a little. “this says 404.”
“right,” you nod again, smiling like a liar. “which is your unit.”
there’s a pause. a long one.
toji squints slightly, eyes narrowing like he’s trying to decide whether you’re stupid or suspicious. then— finally— he sighs, takes the envelope from your hand with two fingers, and mutters, “thanks.”
and then. then. a small voice behind him:
“who’s at the door?”
you peek past him instinctively—
and there he is. a kid. dark-haired, serious-looking, big eyes and bigger pout. tiny arms crossed over a cartoon t-shirt like he pays rent. he clocks you immediately, gaze traveling from your face to your outfit and back again, like he’s judging you in 4K.
toji looks over his shoulder. “just the neighbor. ‘gumi, go back inside.”
“you said we could watch something,” the kid says, very clearly not moving. very clearly invested.
“yeah, and i will,” toji sighs, the kind of sigh that sounds like he’s already used to negotiating with a tiny lawyer. “in a minute.”
you’re standing here braless, in a crop top and fluffy socks, trying to flirt with a dilf, and his child— his ten-year-old child— is right there in the background watching this all go down like it’s an episode of Love Is Blind: Divorce Court Edition.
you panic. you smile. you crouch slightly like a Girl Who Is Good With Kids™ and wave.
“you were singing in the stairwell yesterday,” he adds, like he’s filing a noise complaint.
toji exhales through his nose, clearly already tired. “alright,” he mutters, shifting his weight as if he’s trying to end this conversation with his entire body. “thanks for dropping this off.”
you panic again. you’re spiraling. this is not going to plan. you were supposed to be effortlessly hot, a little mysterious, maybe get invited in for a drink. instead you’re sweating through your tank top, getting stared down by a ten-year-old and dismissed like some door-to-door scam.
abort mission. regroup.
you nod, stepping back quickly. “no problem! anytime.”
he doesn’t respond. just closes the door halfway and disappears, voice fading as he calls back to megumi— “pick a movie that isn’t garbage this time” —before the door clicks shut behind him.
silence.
the hallway feels colder now.
you stand there for a second. maybe two. then turn on your heel and march straight back to your apartment, locking the door behind you with a little more force than necessary and collapsing onto your couch with a dramatic, miserable groan.
okay. so maybe the fake-mail delivery thing was a bust. maybe you didn’t make the strongest first impression. maybe megumi’s gonna go to school on monday and tell his friends he saw a thirsty neighbor try to seduce his dad and fail in real time.
but you’re not giving up!
because toji fushiguro isn’t oblivious. he looked. you know he looked.
he’s just being difficult. reserved. nonchalant. you love that shit. it’s practically a challenge.
which brings you to:
❥ STEP 2 — establish neighborly rapport (aka: force more interactions)
you’ve already had contact. now it’s time for consistency. eye contact. hallway banter. the illusion of familiarity. you’re gonna bump into him enough that he has no choice but to acknowledge your existence— and then? then you’ll break him down. slowly. methodically. emotionally.
you have a plan.
a little awkward start isn’t gonna stop you. not when he looks like that with wet hair and lazy sweatpants. not when his voice sounds like it could ruin your entire sense of self-worth with a single sentence.
step two starts tomorrow.
or tonight, depending on how bold you feel. your package is supposed to arrive soon— you could just happen to be outside when it gets delivered. or drop something near his door again. or, worst case scenario, start a small fire and see if he comes running.
you’re in too deep to turn back now.
besides— if megumi’s already seen you at your worst, there’s nowhere to go but up.
you start running into him a lot more.
not in a weird way. you’re not, like, stalking. you’re just… situationally strategic.
like this morning— how coincidentally, you happened to take your trash out the exact moment he left for a run. and when he walked past you in those same criminally low-hanging sweatpants, headphones in, shirt clinging to his chest like it wanted you dead? yeah. totally natural timing.
you smiled. waved. gave a little “morning!”
he gave you a nod and kept jogging.
progress.
and yesterday? you timed your laundry schedule to line up with his, based purely on auditory research (aka: eavesdropping through the vents), and when he came down to switch out his load, you were already bent over the dryer in your tiny shorts like a good little trap.
he walked in. saw you. paused.
you straightened up way too fast and bumped your elbow, trying to look breezy while hiding the way your heart rate doubled on sight. “oh- hey! laundry day?”
toji looked at you. then at the dryer. then back at you. “…yeah.”
another pause.
god, he’s so fucking impossible.
you gave him your brightest smile and added, “mine too! small world.”
“…we live in the same building,” he said, completely deadpan, before opening the washer and pulling out a fistful of dark clothes like you weren’t trying to orchestrate a meet-cute over tide pods. he moved with the exhausted efficiency of a man who hated small talk and suspected you might be trying to sell him essential oils.
you wanted to scream. you smiled instead.
“right,” you laughed. “duh. neighbors.”
he didn’t answer. just shoved his clothes into the dryer, grabbed his detergent, and left the room like it was a hostage negotiation and you were the threat. didn’t even look back. but you saw it.
the twitch in his jaw when you bent over again. the extra second of eye contact before he left. the little crack in his silence when you giggled at your own joke and his mouth twitched— barely, but it did. you’re starting to learn his tells.
like tonight— when you caught him coming back from the grocery store, arms full of bags, and offered to hold the elevator door open for him again.
“you don’t have to,” he said, almost automatically.
but this time you didn’t let him off so easily.
you flashed a cheeky smile, cocked your head to the side, and replied, “well i want to. unless you wanna take the stairs and pretend you’re not tired.”
that got you a look. brief. amused. his lips pressed into something that wasn’t quite a smirk, but not nothing either.
he stepped in and stood beside you, towering and silent and pretending he wasn’t eyeing your legs in the reflective elevator wall. you leaned against the side and grinned to yourself like a lunatic.
“what floor?” you asked, already knowing the answer. playing dumb. living your sitcom fantasy.
“…same as yours,” he muttered, setting the bags down for a second. “you know that.”
you beamed. “just making conversation.”
he sighed. quiet. tired. maybe even a little fond, but you couldn’t tell.
and then, just as the doors opened, a sleepy voice echoed from down the hall— “dad?”
toji blinked. glanced up.
megumi stood outside their apartment in socks and Spider-Man pajamas, squinting at the two of you like he was already judging this moment for future therapy sessions.
“you took forever,” he said. “i thought you died.”
“well i didn’t,” toji grunted, picking up the bags again. “get inside.”
you waved. again. because apparently, this is your life now. it’s not enough to get embarrassed in front of your crush— his preteen son also has to witness your descent into neighborhood whore madness.
megumi stared. then looked at his dad. then back at you.
“…hi.”
victory.
you’re three days into operation ‘establish rapport’ and you swear it’s working. slowly. he’s still playing it cool— gruff, quiet, annoyingly unaffected— but you’re catching those little cracks. the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention. the tiny pauses before he responds. the way his eyes always drop to your mouth when you smile too wide. the way he takes just a little too long to look away.
he’s slipping.
and you’re gonna be right there to catch him.
❥ STEP 3 — engineered domestic proximity (create a situation where he owes you and then emotionally blackmail him with kindness!)
it starts with a fake injury.
not like, hospital fake. just a little casual suffering. something light and flirty and “damn she might be unwell” coded.
you pick a thursday. the hallway’s quiet. you hear his door open— the soft clink of keys, the slow creak of the hinge— and then you strike.
toji turns the corner just in time to see you slumped against your apartment door, barefoot, hair a mess, hoodie slipping off your shoulder, clutching your ankle like a romcom extra who’s about to fall in love with the first man who offers her an ice pack. you even let out a pitiful little “ugh,” as though gravity personally attacked you.
he stops. eyes narrow.
“…what the hell happened to you?”
you wince, voice trembling perfectly as you look up at him with wide eyes and say, “i tripped on the stairs.”
technically true. you did, in fact, trip. you just made sure it was today. and loud enough for him to hear.
“you didn’t even leave your apartment,” he deadpans, looking absolutely done.
“…gravity’s everywhere.”
he sighs like you’re the world’s most annoying problem. runs a hand over his face. and then crouches down.
you try not to short-circuit.
his hand wraps around your ankle— casually, confidently, like he’s done this a hundred times before, and his thumb brushes over your skin, rough and warm and way too distracting. he presses, checks the joint, and you flinch very dramatically.
he doesn’t react. “it’s not broken.”
you pout. “still hurts.”
toji gives you a long, tired look. then rolls his eyes, muttering something under his breath, probably something that sounds suspiciously like “fucking drama queen,” but reaches out anyway. big hands slide under your legs and back, and suddenly you’re being lifted. literally carried.
you make a noise that is not normal.
“jesus,” he grunts, shifting you in his arms. “what the hell do you eat?”
“excuse me??”
“relax,” he says, toeing open your apartment door. “you’re light.”
you are going to die here.
he carries you across the threshold like a goddamn bride and sets you down gently on the couch, muttering something about “needy neighbors” as he tosses your throw blanket over your lap. then pauses. stares at you for a second too long. his brows draw together like he’s thinking something he shouldn’t be.
“…don’t move,” he says finally. “i’ll get an ice pack.”
he disappears into your kitchen— uninvited, completely aware of where your freezer is— and you clutch the blanket to your chest like it’s holy protection from your own bad decisions and whisper:
“oh my god.”
step three is officially a success.
after that, things shift.
slow. subtle. like the hallway air is warmer now. like he doesn’t avoid you anymore.
the next time you make too much pasta (on purpose), you knock on his door and offer leftovers. “just in case,” you say with a smile. he raises an eyebrow, gives you a long look, but takes the container anyway.
“it’s good,” he mutters a few days later, passing you in the hall.
you blink. “what?”
“the pasta. wasn’t bad.”
you nearly trip over your own shoes.
when you run into him carrying groceries, you casually ask if he needs anything next time you go. he grunts something about paper towels. the next day, you drop off a pack at his door with a sticky note that says ‘paper-towel princess strikes again >:)’ and you swear you hear him laugh. just once. low. barely there.
and megumi? megumi is your new little buddy.
you “accidentally” bump into them on the stairs one weekend and ask him about school— next thing you know, you’re helping him with a science project at your dining table, glitter on your shirt and glue in your hair, and he actually smiles at you when it lights up. his eyes go wide. he looks proud. you melt.
toji shows up to get him an hour later.
he stops in the doorway, arms crossed. eyes flick between you and megumi on the couch, surrounded by worksheets and snacks and a movie playing softly in the background.
“…you don’t have to babysit, y’know.”
you glance up, then nudge megumi with your shoulder. “he’s cool. we’re having fun.”
toji stares. unreadable. his jaw works like he’s chewing on something he won’t say. and then he nods. once. slow.
“…yeah. he’s good.”
he leaves with megumi five minutes later, and you spend the rest of the night curled into your couch like a girl who just got emotionally married in the hallway.
a few days pass.
and then— he knocks on your door.
you open it and nearly fall over, because he’s standing there in a black t-shirt, holding a plastic container full of something that smells like soy sauce and heaven. his hair’s messy. his jaw’s tight. he doesn’t look like he wants to be here. but he is.
“we made too much,” he says. pauses. adds, almost begrudgingly, “me and ‘gumi.”
your brain goes static.
you accept it like it’s a holy relic. your hand brushes his. it’s fine. you’re normal.
“thank you,” you breathe, like it’s something sacred.
you eat together on the steps between your units that night. plastic forks. beer for him, water bottle for you. megumi’s inside watching something with way too much volume. the hallway buzzes with soft domestic noise.
he chuckles— an actual, real chuckle— when you tell him about your failed ankle stunt getting you out of gym class in high school. it sounds like it surprises him. like it doesn’t happen often. you want to bottle the sound and save it for winter.
and then, as you’re wiping sauce from the corner of your mouth, he gives you this long, unreadable look. his eyes flick to your mouth. linger.
“you’re trouble, aren’t you?”
you almost pass out.
“yeah,” you say, smiling slow. “but i’m cute about it.”
he laughs again. soft. huffed. the kind that makes your stomach flutter in the worst/best way.
note to self: a chuckle = an emotional orgasm in dilf language.
❥ STEP 4 — desperate times, horny measures (blur the line between “friendly neighbor” and “would let you hit raw if you asked nicely”)
you’ve played the long game. you’ve laid the groundwork. you’ve smiled, cooked, lingered in doorways and memorized his hallway habits. you helped his child with a diorama. you have earned your place in this man’s orbit. and now, you’re upping the ante.
tight tank tops with no bra? daily.
asking if he needs help lifting shit? always.
bending down in front of him for no reason whatsoever? the moment requires it.
you’ve “accidentally” dropped your keys outside his door. twice.
you’ve complimented his cologne when he wasn’t wearing any.
you’ve said the phrase “you must’ve been crazy hot in your twenties” with a completely straight face and full eye contact— just to watch his eyebrow twitch like he was deciding whether to argue or kiss you.
and toji?
toji has looked.
slow. restrained. but it’s there.
the way his gaze drops and lingers. the way his hand flexes when you laugh too hard. the way he sometimes says your name like it annoys him to have it on his tongue, like he’s chewing on it instead of swallowing. you’re getting to him. you know you are.
especially tonight.
it’s late. you’re bored. your hair looks good and your shorts are criminal. and you know he’s home because you heard the clink of a beer bottle hit his counter through your shared wall. so naturally, you text him:
you up?
no response…
you try again:
i’m making cookies and need a taste tester. u down?
there’s a pause. long enough to make you regret it. then finally:
don’t burn your kitchen down.
which— okay. rude. but also? not a no.
you show up at his door with a plate of warm cookies and the dumbest smile imaginable, leaning against the doorframe like a horny little housewife in denial, praying your lip gloss doesn’t smudge when you inevitably start smiling too hard.
the door swings open. and there he is.
shirtless, because of course. low sweatpants, towel around his neck, hair still damp. a vein in his bicep flexing like it’s personally here to ruin you. he raises an eyebrow when he sees you.
“you actually baked something?”
you pout. “don’t sound so shocked.”
he huffs. not quite a laugh. steps aside and lets you in. silent permission. another small victory.
you sit on the couch, drop the plate between you. he takes a cookie. you take a risk.
“so…” you say, crossing your legs slowly, letting your voice dip soft and sweet. “what do i get if they’re good?”
toji chews. swallows. side-eyes you. “…you want a prize for not poisoning me?”
you tilt your head, smile like trouble. lean a little closer, so your thigh brushes his.
“i want something,” you murmur.
he watches you. unreadable.
your heart’s racing. your leg’s touching his. the tension is so thick it could suffocate a small village. he’s quiet. too quiet. and for a second— a single, traitorous second— you believe. believe he’s going to touch you. say something filthy. kiss you.
and then— he stands up.
you freeze.
no.
he walks to the door.
absolutely not.
he opens it.
“go home, sweetheart.”
you blink. “…what?”
he doesn’t look at you. doesn’t even flinch.
“you’ve had your fun,” he mutters, voice low. final. “time to go.”
the plate of cookies is still on the table. your lip gloss is still perfect. and this man— this walking thirst trap of a dilf— just opened the door and told you to leave as if you were an inconvenience.
you stand there for five full seconds. staring at the wood grain like it personally wronged you. your mouth opens. closes. no words come out.
no explanation. no thank you. not even a cookie to-go.
you take the hint.
you walk home— five steps that feel like a funeral march— let yourself back into your apartment with hands that won’t stop shaking, and close the door behind you like it might collapse if you don’t hold it up. then you crawl into bed, pull the blanket over your head, and try very, very hard not to cry over a man who never asked you to try this hard in the first place.
❥ STEP 5 — let him come to you (the part of the spiral where you stop trying, and he starts breaking)
you’ve stopped trying.
no more cookies. no fake run-ins or conveniently timed errands. you’re done bending over near his door like some desperate domestic goddess waiting to be claimed. no more lingering glances, no flirty texts, no smiles he could possibly mistake for an invitation
you go cold. polite. distant.
“hey,” he mutters in the hallway one morning, voice a little rough from sleep.
“morning,” you reply. clipped. unreadable. no smile.
you don’t linger. don’t wait for anything in return. you catch him glancing over when you pass, but you don’t look back. just keep walking like you’ve got better things to do than pine for a man who slams doors in your face.
when megumi finds you on the stairs the following weekend and asks if you want to help with another project, you smile softly, press a hand to the top of his head, and say, “not this week, bud. busy.” he frowns a little. you ruffle his hair, and walk away without looking up.
you start going out more.
wearing new outfits. dresses you hadn’t felt bold enough to wear before. lip gloss that makes your mouth look mean. you let strangers hold the door for you. let them compliment you. you let them linger.
you laugh too loud outside your apartment one night, on purpose, after coming back from a date with someone who isn’t him. your heels click against the floor. your voice drips with honey. you lean against your door while someone says something into your ear and you throw your head back like it’s the funniest thing you’ve ever heard.
you know he’s listening.
you feel his eyes on you like a bruise forming slow.
and then the shift begins.
it’s subtle, at first.
he starts speaking more.
“mornin’,” he grunts one day, voice thicker now. rougher.
you nod, toss him a quiet “hey.”
“new dress?” he says one night when you pass in the hallway.
you glance down at it, fingers brushing your hip. nod again. “yeah.”
he stares a second too long.
you keep walking.
the next week, he holds the elevator for you. for the first time.
you step inside without looking at him, lean against the mirrored wall, arms crossed. he stands beside you, silent for a second too long.
“…got plans tonight?” he asks.
you glance at him. his hand’s on the railing. his eyes are on your legs. the heat between you is palpable.
“maybe,” you shrug. “why? you wanna know if i’m free?”
he doesn’t answer. just scoffs. looks away.
but his jaw tightens. you see it.
and you smile to yourself when the elevator dings.
you don’t stop. you don’t wait.
and then— one night. late.
a knock at your door.
you weren’t expecting it. you’re in your tank top and sleep shorts, hair still a little messy, face clean of makeup. for a second you debate not opening it at all.
but then you do.
he’s there.
black t-shirt. low voice. tension rolling off him like heat. his eyes sweep over you once— bare legs, bare face, bare everything— and settle on your mouth.
you open your lips to say something but nothing comes out. for a second, he doesn’t speak. just stares. like he’s trying to remember why this was a bad idea.
“you done with your little game?” he asks finally, voice rough, jaw set.
you blink. tilt your head. heart stuttering.
“why?” you say. “you jealous?”
he exhales slow. like he’s holding something in. then steps forward, just once. close enough that his chest nearly brushes yours. the hallway hums with silence. you can feel it thickening between you—every breath, every second, every inch of space closing.
he looks down at you, jaw clenched. his eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen them. his gaze drops to your mouth. lingers.
“you think i haven’t thought about fucking you since the first day you moved in?”
jackpot.
you smile. slow. wicked.
“well,” you murmur, stepping back just enough to tug him inside, “what are you waiting for?”
❥ STEP 5.1 — fuck the dilf. repeatedly!! (aka: daddy finally breaks, and so does your spine)
the door isn’t even fully closed before he’s got you pinned against it, one hand slamming it shut behind you while the other grips your jaw hard enough to tilt your head back. his mouth crashes into yours— hot, hungry, furious— like he’s trying to erase every other man who’s ever looked at you, every laugh you gave someone else, every second you weren’t his.
his hands are everywhere. gripping your waist, your throat, your jaw. rough. greedy. like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you through sheer force, like he doesn’t trust himself to stop once he starts. his fingers dig into your skin hard enough to leave marks, dragging you closer, forcing your body flush against his so you can feel him— hard, heavy, pressing insistently between you.
“this what you wanted, sweetheart?” he growls, dragging his mouth down your neck, teeth scraping just enough to make you shiver. “walkin’ around like that every damn day- no bra, tiny little shorts, always smilin’ at me like a fuckin’ tease—”
you gasp when he shoves his thigh between yours, grinding hard, forcing your hips to rock against him. your pussy’s already soaked— soaked enough that the friction makes your head spin, a broken little whimper slipping out before you can stop it. he feels it. of course he does.
“fuck,” he mutters, voice dropping lower, eyes darkening as he watches your face fall apart. “already wet. knew it. knew you were walkin’ around like that for me.”
“you shouldn’t be here,” you breathe, even as your hands clutch at his shirt, dragging him closer, nails digging into his back like you’re scared he’ll disappear and you’d rather die than have him pull away now.
“don’t fuckin’ care,” he snarls, cupping your pussy through your panties, pressing just enough to make your knees buckle. his thumb drags over you, feeling how drenched you are through the thin fabric. “been thinkin’ about this cunt for weeks.”
you moan— full body, spine-arching, dignity-leaving moan— as he yanks your panties to the side and sinks two fingers into you without hesitation. nothing stops him. your body takes him easily, molded for him, as though his hands belong there and they’ve always known exactly where to go.
you’re so wet it’s obscene. it squelches. it gives around him immediately, your walls fluttering, clenching like they recognize him, like they’ve been waiting.
“shit,” he hisses, pumping his fingers slow just to feel it, watching the way your face twists. “tight little thing. messy already. all that attitude just ‘cause you needed a cock in you, huh?”
you nod, crying out, grinding against his palm like a bitch in heat, chasing the friction, chasing him, hips moving on instinct, your body no longer yours to command.
he slaps your cunt. hard. you jerk, a broken sob ripping out of you.
“use your words.”
“yes, fuck, yes, i wanted this, wanted you, please- needed you so bad- been thinking about you too—”
“yeah?” he mocks, curling his fingers just right, hitting that spot that makes your vision blur, your knees give out. “needed daddy’s cock that bad? all that work just to get it, huh?”
he pulls his fingers out and licks them clean, making eye contact while his tongue drags over his knuckles— savoring you, devouring every trace with the hunger of a man who’s finally getting what he’s craved.
you feel your face burn. your thighs tremble. your body aches.
“needy lil thing,” he mutters. “so desperate for daddy’s cock you made friends with my kid to get it.”
your mouth drops open.
“fuck,” you whisper, humiliated, horny, heart beating out of your chest. “i-i didn’t—”
“yeah, you did,” he cuts you off, voice low and certain, already tugging his sweats down. “i saw right through you. every little look. everytime you bent over in front of me like you were askin’ for it.”
his cock springs free— massive, thick, veiny, heavy against your stomach, already leaking. it twitches when he drags it through your folds, smearing your wetness all over himself, groaning under his breath at the feeling.
“watchin’ me, droppin shit in the hallway, showin’ up all cute with cookies—” he continues, voice roughening. “all so i’d fuck you like this.”
he grabs your hips. lifts you like it’s easy.
you wrap your legs around him on instinct, clinging, desperate, your ankles locking behind his back.
he slams you against the wall and shoves in deep.
you scream.
it burns for half a second— then it’s just full. overwhelming. he stretches you open, every inch fitting so perfectly it feels intentional, inevitable— your body made to take him, built around the shape of him alone.
“this what you wanted?” he growls, already moving, already setting a brutal pace, hips snapping hard into yours. “wanted daddy to stuff this sloppy little cunt so full you can’t think?”
you’re crying already. sobbing into his shoulder, nails clawing at him, dragging down his back hard enough to leave lines. “yesyes- oh my god- yes please- don’t stop, don’t stop—”
he doesn’t. he can’t.
he fucks you hard. no mercy. no build-up. just punishing, deep, filthy strokes that slam into you over and over, your tits bouncing with every thrust, your body jostling against the wall, the wet sound of it echoing in the room— proof of how wrecked you are for him.
“listen to that,” he grunts, one hand coming down to grab your ass, spreading you open, forcing himself even deeper. “fuckin’ soaked. takin’ me so easy.”
“toji—”
“nah,” he snaps, grabbing your jaw again, forcing you to look at him, eyes blown wide, mouth open, completely ruined. “say it right.”
“daddy—” you choke.
his hips stutter for half a second. then he loses it.
“yeah,” he groans, fucking into you harder, deeper, pace turning reckless. “that’s it. say it again.”
“daddy, fuck, daddy please- please don’t stop—”
“good girl,” he breathes, voice wrecked now, forehead pressing against yours. “knew you’d sound pretty sayin’ it.”
he keeps going until your legs shake so hard you can’t hold yourself up, until your body goes limp in his arms, until you’re nothing but weight and noise and need. then he drags you away from the wall, carries you like you weigh nothing, and drops you onto the couch.
your shirt’s gone in seconds. your tits spill free, bouncing when he grabs them, squeezing hard, biting one, then the other, tongue dragging over the marks he leaves, teeth sinking in just enough to make you cry out.
you whine, arching into him, completely gone, hips lifting even though you can barely move.
“look at you,” he mutters, almost to himself. “fuckin’ ruined already.”
he spits on your chest. spreads it with his thumb. then shoves you back, spreading your legs open, staring at your dripping cunt like it’s dinner, like he could spend hours there.
“not done with you yet,” he mutters.
then he dives in.
he eats you out starving— insatiable, greedy, nothing held back. hasn’t touched anyone in years, and now he’s buried in you, treating your pussy like a lifeline. his tongue moves everywhere— flicking, sucking, pushing deep, groaning into the mess he’s making, matching your desperation, needing this with the same feverish hunger you do.
“taste so fuckin’ good,” he mumbles against you, nose brushing your clit, making you jerk violently. “all for me, huh? all this just for me?”
you’re shaking. crying. your hands in his hair, grinding down onto his face, desperate, greedy, nasty.
“yes- fuck- yes—”
he hums, pleased, and the vibration sends you over immediately.
you cum once. then twice. he doesn’t stop. he eats you through it, moaning into your pussy while you scream and sob and claw at the cushions like a feral bitch, your thighs clamping around his head, back arching off the couch.
“too much, too much—”
“nah,” he mutters, holding you down, hands gripping your thighs so hard they’ll bruise. “you can take it.”
and you do. you take it until your body gives out and you’re nothing but a twitching, whimpering mess under him, tears streaking your face, chest heaving.
when he finally pulls back, his face is soaked. his chin’s messy. his pupils are blown so wide he looks dangerous.
he strokes his cock over your twitching cunt, dragging it through your folds, tapping your clit just to make you jolt, smearing your wetness back over you.
“you want daddy to put a baby in you next?” he growls.
your brain breaks. completely.
you whimper, nodding frantically, tears still clinging to your lashes. “yes please”
he grins. dark. cocky. dangerous.
“fuckin’ knew it.”
and then he slams back in and fucks you like he means it— like he’s trying to knock you up, ruin you, break you down and rebuild you around his dick. your body takes it, greedily, desperately, your walls clenching around him like you don’t want to let him go, like you want to keep him there.
“gonna fill you up,” he groans, thrusts getting sloppy now, deeper somehow, grinding into you. “gonna keep you full of me.”
you’re sobbing. babbling. “pleasepleaseplease—”
he finishes deep. thick. hot. doesn’t pull out. just buries himself as far as he can go and groans into your neck, hips stuttering while you feel it— feel him— filling you, spilling inside you, too much, too warm, your body fluttering around him.
he stays there. holds you. keeps you plugged with his cock while your body trembles and leaks around him.
“good girl,” he murmurs, kissing your cheek, softer now but still possessive. “took me so well.”
his hand slides down your stomach. presses there. like he’s already imagining it.
“you’re mine now.”
you barely come back to yourself before he’s moving again.
you’re still shaking. still sensitive. your cunt is pulsing, aching and full and leaking around him, your thighs sticky, your body limp and boneless against the couch. every nerve feels raw, like your skin’s been turned inside out.
and he’s still inside you.
still hard.
you let out a weak, broken sound when he shifts his hips, cock dragging inside you— slow, deliberate— he’s reminding you exactly where he is.
“toji—” you whimper, voice wrecked, barely there.
his hand tightens on your hip immediately.
“what’d i tell you?” he mutters, low and sharp.
you choke on a breath. “d-daddy—”
“yeah,” he exhales, satisfied, rolling his hips again, slower this time, savoring it. “that’s better.”
you feel everything now. every inch. every drag. the way he stretches you again even though you’re already so fucked out it hurts. your walls flutter around him uncontrollably, oversensitive, and he groans at it— deep, filthy.
“fuck,” he hisses. “still squeezin’ me like that? after all that?”
“too much,” you whimper, pushing weakly at his chest, even as your hips betray you, rocking up into him. “i can’t—”
“you can,” he cuts you off, already pulling out halfway just to slam back in. you sob.
“you will.”
your body jerks with it, your tits bouncing weakly with each thrust, your hands scrambling for something to hold onto. everything feels too intense— too deep, too full, too good.
“s-sensitive—” you gasp, nails digging into his arms.
“i know,” he mutters, almost mean about it, dragging his cock against that spot again on purpose. “that’s the point.”
you cry out, back arching hard, your whole body trembling as he starts fucking you again— slower than before, but somehow worse. deeper. more intentional. every thrust aimed to make you feel it, to drag it out of you.
“so fucked out already,” he murmurs, grabbing your chin and forcing your head up so you have to meet his eyes. “can’t even think anymore, huh?”
you shake your head, tears slipping down your temples. “no—”
“all that attitude gone,” he continues, voice low, almost mocking, thumb brushing your lip. “all that mouth, and now you’re just- what?”
you swallow, breath hitching. “yours—”
his grip tightens.
“say it again.”
“yours,” you sob, louder this time. “i’m yours—”
“yeah you are,” he groans, pace picking up just a little, just enough to make your head spin again. “fuckin’ made for me, aren’t you? takin’ me like this, still beggin’ for more—”
“i’m not—” you try, voice breaking, but your hips roll into him again, chasing it, proving him right.
he laughs. low. mean.
“yeah,” he breathes. “that’s what i thought.”
his hand slides down between your bodies, fingers finding your clit— already swollen, oversensitive, aching.
you jolt hard.
“nono, please- s’too much—”
he circles it anyway.
slow.
you squeal.
your body spasms instantly, thighs clamping around him, back arching so hard it almost hurts. it hits you out of nowhere— another orgasm ripping through you before you can even process it, your cunt clenching down on him so tight he curses.
“fuuuckk,” he groans, thrust stuttering. “that’s it, there it is—”
you’re sobbing now. full-on crying. your body shaking uncontrollably as he keeps moving, keeps rubbing, using you through it.
“can’t take it- can’t—” you gasp, voice dissolving into broken sounds.
“you are takin’ it,” he says, not slowing down, not stopping, cock dragging in and out of your fluttering, oversensitive cunt while your body keeps spasming around him. “look at you. still squeezin’ me. still want it.”
you don’t even know if that’s true anymore. you just know you can’t stop reacting, can’t stop feeling.
he shifts suddenly— grabs your hips, flips you over like it’s nothing.
you yelp, barely catching yourself before your face hits the couch.
“stay,” he mutters, pressing you down, one hand between your shoulder blades, the other guiding himself back in.
you whine the second he pushes back inside— somehow deeper like this, your body folding around him differently, more exposed, more helpless.
“shit,” he breathes, gripping your hips tight. “yeah. this is better.”
and then he starts again.
hard.
faster this time.
your body jolts forward with every thrust, your cheek pressed into the cushions, your fingers clawing at the fabric as the sounds get louder, wet and messy.
“daddy—!” you cry, voice muffled, broken.
“that’s it,” he groans behind you, hand sliding up your back, gripping your neck— not choking, just holding. controlling. “say it louder.”
he fucks you deeper with every word.
“who’s pussy is this?”
“yours—!” you sob.
“who you doin’ all that shit for, huh?” he snaps, pace turning relentless again. “all that dressin’ up, all that flirtin’—”
“you—! just you—!”
“damn right.”
his hand slides down your back, grabs your ass, spreading you open again so he can watch himself disappear inside you, over and over, your cunt clinging to him like it doesn’t want to let go.
“fuckin’ made a mess of you,” he mutters, almost impressed. “can’t even keep it in.”
you can’t. it’s leaking. every thrust pushes more of him out, slick and messy, your body too full, too used.
you’re gone. completely.
he leans over you, chest pressed to your back, mouth at your ear.
“one more,” he murmurs, voice low, dangerous. “gimme one more.”
you shake your head weakly. “can’t—”
“yes you can.”
his hand finds your clit again.
you break.
your whole body locks up, a scream tearing out of you as another orgasm crashes through, sharper this time, almost painful in how intense it is, your cunt clenching so tight around him it drags him over the edge with you.
“fuck—” he groans, biting into your shoulder as he finishes again, hips stuttering hard against you, spilling deep, grinding into you as he rides it out.
you collapse under him completely.
he stays there for a second. breathing heavy. still inside you. still holding you down.
then, softer this time— just a little—
“told you,” he mutters against your skin. “you could take it.”
you don’t respond. you physically can’t.
you’re just… gone.
and he sounds way too pleased about it.
you wake up sore. sore in ways you didn’t even know were possible. your thighs ache, your hips feel bruised, your legs do not work. your pussy’s twitching— puffy, overstimulated, and leaking. there’s cum literally dripping out of you, sticky between your thighs, cooling against the sheets.
and toji’s still there.
sprawled across your bed like he owns it, like you’re his bed now, arm heavy over your waist, breathing slow against the back of your neck. his chest rises and falls steady, the heat of his body sinking into yours. it’s warm. safe. a little filthy. you can feel his cock pressed to your ass— soft, but still there, like a threat.
you’re not sure if he’s awake. you’re not sure if you’re awake. your whole body feels broken in. chewed up. worshipped. wrecked. you blink blearily at the sunlight slanting through your blinds, brain swimming in the slow syrup of morning-after haze, and shift slightly beneath the weight of him.
he moves with you. groans low, deep in his chest, like the stretch of his limbs aches. then, voice gravel-thick and sleep-rough:
“fuck. you made me pull a muscle.”
you try to laugh, but it comes out cracked. “good.”
he snorts, lazy and fond, burying his face in your shoulder and muttering, “brat.”
you hum, cheek pressed into the pillow, toes curling under the sheets. you don’t move. don’t want to. his arm tightens around your waist just enough to remind you it’s still there.
you’re quiet for a second. breathing in the moment. then— soft, teasing, and only half joking:
“so… what are we now?”
he goes still. just for a beat. long enough for your stomach to drop a little. you tense, suddenly hyperaware of how real this feels, how easy it would be to ruin it. your heart thumps like you’re asking him to raise a child. (which. maybe you are. unknowingly. oops.)
he exhales.
then, low. rough. certain.
“mine.”
you short-circuit. go quiet.
he doesn’t say it again. doesn’t need to. just grabs your thigh, still sore, and drags you back against his chest like he thinks you might try to leave— even though you physically can’t. you melt into the mattress with a broken little sigh, breath catching when his cock shifts against your ass, not quite hard, but heavy and possessive all the same.
you stay there. warm. stupidly happy. still full of his cum.
his fingers trail over your waist lazily, absent-minded, like he’s petting you. like you’re his. like this is normal now. you close your eyes, let yourself float in it, wondering how the hell you went from faking ankle injuries to getting bred in your own hallway by the hottest dilf alive.
and when megumi knocks on the door half an hour later and yells, “dad, i’m hungry,”
toji groans like a man betrayed. buries his face in your neck, kisses your skin as if it’s your fault he has responsibilities.
“you’re makin’ breakfast,” he mutters.
you turn your head, blinking at him. “me?!”
“you want me to limp in there with my back blown out?”
“…you blew my back out.”
“exactly,” he grins against your throat. “teamwork.”
you roll your eyes. groan. try to wiggle away, but he doesn’t let you. just holds you tighter and mumbles something about five more minutes before letting you go— barely.
you’re smiling as you get up. your legs are still jelly. your thighs stick when you move. you’re sore and used and leaking, and you’ve never felt so fucking good.
i rlly spent the whole night editing/finishing this osmgdkkdks, i’m lowk experimenting and thought i’d try smth different so i hope u guys like thissss >.<
Synopsis: abandoned at the foot of a mountain in hopes of winning the favour of Sukuna Ryomen, you have to navigate life as his bride, constantly fearing death, torture, and being eaten out— up. being eaten up. definitely up.
right?
Warnings: porn with plot, dark romance, forced marriage, true form!sukuna - 2 peepees!, cunnilingus (he's a certified munch), use of curse mouth, blood play, masochist!sukuna, pussyjob, thigh job, death/violence/body parts, primal play, dubcon, double penetration, upside down 69, hair pulling, brief spanking, pussy slapping, biting, outdoor sex, bondage, shadow tentacles?, period sex, multiple orgasms, honestly not as dark as it sounds — this is quite romantic I promise, angst, fluff (soft!kuna), not quite curse au in the canon sense, f!reader, not proofread
Word Count: 16.9k
A forced marriage with Sukuna, the king of curses, sounds like hell.
And it is.
The village chief wanted to receive the newly arrived Curse King’s mercy and be spared from his tyranny. That apparently meant offering you, his only daughter, up for marriage. You were dropped off at the foot of the mountain, bound and gagged, unable to scream for help, not that any would arrive.
Not even your best friend, Suguru, had met your eyes.
Everyone had abandoned you.
A servant, dignified and aloof, came. They, with their white hair stained with crimson, took one look at you before making a silent decision.
Carried by goblin-looking creatures inside the mountain, which parted as though unhinging its jaw, you could do nothing but accept that you were going to be eaten up by the very monsters that children were warned about.
Navigating the carved out hallways of the mountain, they threw you in the throne room. Jagged stone walls surrounded you. Glowing red rocks were embedded in the rocks and lit torches illuminated the grand space. You were laying on the rolled out red carpet, staring up at a giant of a being.
There he was.
Sukuna Ryomen.
He was resting his head on one of his four arms, legs crossed, with all four eyes gazing down at you. He looked bored.
“What is this?” he drawled.
The same servant you first met stepped up, head bowed humbly. They said, “Entertainment, my Lord.”
“Entertainment?” the king repeated, tasting the word. “Not a snack? Interesting. How, pray tell, will this woman entertain me, if not with the taste of her flesh, Uraume?”
It was an absurd situation — they were discussing you as if you weren’t there, as if you didn’t have ears, as if you were a pet the servant had picked up as a gift. Although, it was at least a small blessing that you hadn’t been killed on the spot, you supposed. The thought, however, didn’t permit much relief when unimaginable torture could have awaited you.
‘Uraume’ answered, “The humans intended for her to be your wife, my Lord. Perhaps you could humour them with brief belief that they have been spared from their inevitable fate.”
At that, Sukuna hummed.
His eyes met your own then. They inspected you through your very soul. You felt their branding touch rifling through your essence. Something passed in them, something to which you could not put words.
Finally, he waved a lazy hand, and said, “Very well.”
The servants rushed to take you away, afraid to waste a single second.
You’ve been living in a room somewhere in the heart of the mountain since.
It’s been about a week.
Meals on a tray are served to you three times a day. Porridge, fruits, bread, the sorts. You do your best not to eat much; they might have poisoned it.
Every day, every hour, is spent anticipating the wooden doors being kicked down, waiting for the Curse King to forgo delaying your fate and slicing your head off your shoulders with one, clean cut. So far, nothing yet.
In fact, you have not seen another soul since.
The first night, you couldn’t sleep, afraid that he would take the villagers up on the offer to make you his real bride, by plunging his cock into you and stealing your maidenhead. It didn’t, and hasn’t, happened. But ‘yet’ looms over you perpetually.
Your one consolation is that sleep comes to you easily now.
It’s all you can do — the room is barren of books, of people, of art. Only a bed, a table, and a chamber pot with a bucket of water decorate it. There are no windows with which you can view the outside world, can tell what time of day it is, can escape through, or jump off. Only your body’s natural instincts inform you when morning and time to slumber has arrived.
Though…
With the days blurring, and perpetual and dim light of the glowing rocks remaining unchanged, it’s beginning to grow more and more difficult to tell left from right.
The doors are unlocked.
That was the first thing you tested when you were placed here.
Of course you’ve considered walking out of the room, if only to have a change of scenery. You’ve also considered escaping. But your thoughts would always end up at ‘escaping to where?’
You’ve been abandoned by your village, by your family. They would not accept you. They would see your return as a sign that the Curse King had rejected their sacrifice and would be coming to collect the debt. In other words, you’d be seen as a bad omen.
It was your destiny to die, whether by the hands of your family or by the hands of the beast they were afraid of.
So if death is a certainty, why would you fear it?
That’s the final thought that pushes you out of bed and to the door. Your hand hesitated for a second. Then it was sure. You opened it, body tense.
No one’s outside. No guard, no goblins, no king.
You pad out, feet bare and wearing only a nightgown. How deep inside the mountain are you, you wonder. There’s a draught blowing past, but no sound of the forest to fill the space. No voices. No footsteps. No life.
“Where is everyone?” you mutter, padding forward.
Who can say how long you wander through the tunnels?
It feels like it’s been hours, though with the way time seems to pass differently, it could also have only been mere minutes.
Eventually, you spot light coming from a hollow in the walls. Carefully and with bated breath, you peer inside.
Steam wafts over your face.
It’s warm — startlingly so against the chill that seems to cling to every corridor of the mountain. You hesitate again, also only a moment before stepping inside.
The ceiling arches high above, rough stone glistening with condensation, droplets forming and falling in slow, steady rhythms that echo softly in the space. The air is thick, humid, curling around your skin. It tickles.
At the centre of the chamber lies a pool.
It’s set into a wide, uneven basin in the ground. The water glows faintly from beneath, lit by the same red-veined stones embedded along the walls, but here their light is softened, diffused through the steam until it casts everything in a hazy, molten glow.
The surface of the water ripples lazily, disturbed by unseen currents, by the quiet bubbling from somewhere deep below. Heat rises from it in waves, beckoning, almost inviting.
Who knew something like this existed inside a mountain?
Carefully, you approach the edge of the pool, crouching slightly as you extend a hand. Your fingers hover for a second before dipping into the water.
Hot.
But not scalding.
“A bath,” you mumble, smiling.
Here, of all places.
The servants had given you a bed to sleep on, a table to eat at, and a pot to do your business in that seemed to be cleaned out magically without you ever seeing anyone. What they hadn’t granted, however, is the luxury of a bath. Only a bucket to and a rag to clean yourself with.
You glance back toward the tunnel, as if half-expecting someone, something, to be watching. But there’s nothing and no one. Only the distant drip of water and the low hum of the mountain breathing around you.
Your reflection stares back at you from the shifting surface, blurred by steam and movement. The quiet stretches.
If you’ll be killed for stepping outside your room, at least you’ll die clean and fresh.
Shrugging off your nightgown, you dip your toe in the water, then your leg and the other, and soon you’re fully emerged.
“Oh, that’s wonderful,” you moan, letting the water soothe the aches in your bones. You sink deeper. The heat swallows you whole, up to your shoulders, then your chin. Your eyes flutter shut as you tilt your head back, strands of your hair clinging damply to your skin.
For a moment, just a moment, you forget. Forget the mountain, the monsters, the fate waiting patiently for you somewhere in its depths. The tension bleeds out of your limbs, your breathing slowing, evening out as the warmth seeps into you.
You drift, arms floating lazily at your sides.
A soft sigh escapes you. This is just like swimming in the lake near the village, except it’s warm and lovely and soothing.
It’s…peaceful.
Too peaceful.
Your eyes open.
Something feels…off suddenly. The water, once gently lapping, stills in a way that isn’t natural. The faint bubbling from below seems to deepen, shift. Like something moving far beneath the surface.
Your body goes rigid.
Slowly, you glance down. The water is dark there. Deeper than it should be. The glow from the stones doesn’t quite reach the bottom — it falls away into shadow, into something that looks less like a pool and more like a pit.
A pit that could swallow you whole.
Your breath catches.
“…Hello?” you call softly, though you don’t know why.
The surface trembles.
Something moves.
Your heart lurches into your throat. Instinct kicks in before thought does. You turn sharply, water sloshing as you begin to move, arms cutting through the surface, making for the edge.
Too slow.
Something clasps your ankle.
A gasp tears right through you, kicking hard, panic surging white-hot through your veins. “No!”
It coils.
Grabs.
Your leg is yanked downward with terrifying force.
The world flips. Water crashes over your head as you’re dragged under, your scream swallowed instantly. You thrash, clawing at nothing, lungs burning whilst bubbles tear from your mouth. Your hands grasp blindly, trying to find purchase, to find anything.
A shape.
A body.
You strike it. Push against it. Kick, struggle, fight with everything in you, nails scraping against something solid, unyielding.
Then it lets go.
You don’t wait.
You surge upward, breaking through the surface with a ragged gasp, coughing, choking on water as you scramble for the edge. Your hands slap against the stone, slipping once before catching, dragging yourself up just enough to cling to it. Your whole body trembles violently.
Air. You need air.
You suck it in greedily, chest heaving, water dripping from your lashes as your eyes dart wildly across the pool. “W-what…” you choke out, voice shaking.
A sound answers you. A low, amused exhale.
Your blood runs cold. Slowly, hesitantly, you turn your head.
He’s here.
The King of Curses.
Sukuna lounges against the inner ledge of the pool as though he’s always been there. One arm is slung lazily over the stone behind him, another resting loosely at his side, droplets sliding down the planes of his skin. And the remaining two are folded under the water.
He’s watching you.
No, observing you.
That smirk curls at his lips, sharp and satisfied, eyes glinting with something dark and entertained. “Well,” he drawls, voice echoing low against the stone walls, “your floundering was amusing.”
“W-why,” you begin, gulping air and frantically shoving the wet hair clinging away from your face, “why did you do that?”
A hum floats through the air, carried by the steam. It sweeps your skin. Sukuna says, “Because I could.” Then he barks a laugh. “When I came here to wash the stink of my latest massacre, I did not expect to find a human bathing in my onsen. How brazen of you.”
When he snaps his fingers together, you flinch.
Uraume appears.
Their head is downcast. They don’t look at your body, which you suddenly remember is bare and visible through the clear water. You throw your arms over your private parts.
“Who is this woman and why have you not killed her upon her first step of trespass?” he asks his servant. Sukuna doesn’t sound mad. Only curious.
“Because she is your bride, my Lord.”
You flinch at the term.
Sukuna barks a laugh again. “My bride? My bride! How comical that I would forget I have one.” He turns to you, eyes narrowing in with interest. “Why have you only now appeared before me?”
Gulping, you tentatively answer, “I did not think you would want to see me. And I’m sorry I intruded—”
“Wise,” he says, one of his massive arms running through his wet hair. “I am not usually fond of seeing humans; you are all so hideous and constantly quivering in my presence.”
There’s no possible way to reply to that, not without getting your blood spilled for insolence.
He stands upon the ledge and exits the pool.
He’s completely naked, as you are. His broad back, the impressive muscles that make it up, the perfectly symmetrical tattoos. He turns. His cocks swings with the movement. You quickly avert your eyes, cheeks warm.
If Sukuna notices that you noticed, he doesn’t say. Only, “Try not to drown — my pet swims beneath but he has already had his fill. Do not fatten him with your flesh.”
When you hurriedly climb out, squealing, his laughter echoes, filling the space even once his body, and his servant’s, have left.
You kneel on the smooth ground, panting, soaked and dripping, and thinking one thing:
The Curse King has a sense of humour.
And two giant cocks.
.
.
.
The next day, you find yourself back at the pool.
You tell yourself it’s simply because you want to bathe, but perhaps if you were more honest with yourself, you’d accept that maybe you were curious to see if he’d be there.
And he is.
Sukuna leans against the very same ledge he had been yesterday. He watches your every move, from when you first step in, to when you shyly shrug off your nightgown, and when you submerge yourself in the warm water.
Something has brought you here.
A pull you could not deny.
Thinking too much about it gives you a headache, so you let your body move on its own, unhindered by logic, by your mind’s concerns. You want to bathe, to be clean. He hadn’t killed you yesterday, and that counts for something.
Of course, you know the smart thing to do would be to not push it, to understand that two run-ins with him that didn’t lead to immediate death doesn’t mean a third would end the same, to count your blessings.
But…
Bath.
He says nothing, only runs a finger across the seam of his lips as his eyes drink up every shift of your body.
Boldly, albeit shakily, you ask, “Why haven’t you killed me yet?”
Sukuna’s eyes glint.
“I wonder the same thing myself.”
That’s not an answer, you note. But you don’t poke, scared if you do, if you push your limits more than you already have, he’ll snap your head as easily as he had snapped his fingers.
The way his eyes pin you down on the ledge opposite him has you squirming in your seat. It’s too intense. Too strong. Too dizzying. So you try to pretend it’s not cascading down the skin visible to him; you push forward, wading in the water. You stare at the ceiling, at the distance, at the darkness of the depths, at anything but him.
“My village offered me as sacrifice,” you remind him. “Will you spare them?”
Somewhere, he lazily replies, “I have yet to decide.”
Humming, as though you thought as much, you wonder aloud, “What will you do with me? I cannot imagine that the King of Curses would find much use in a human wife.”
“No, neither can I,” Sukuna drawls.
On and on, you swim. Arms cut through the water in slow, steady strokes, legs kicking behind you in a rhythm that’s begun to feel automatic. There’s no sense of direction, no shore to aim for, just the endless stretch of water surrounding you, thick and quiet, swallowing any sound you might make. Time slips, dissolves, until all that remains is movement for the sake of movement.
Then, as you turn, your hand meets something solid.
The impact is soft but jarring, your palm flattening instinctively against it. A wall. Smooth, unmoving, impossibly present where there had only ever been open water.
You gasp.
Sukuna stands behind you.
The bottom of the pool had risen. You still cannot reach it, but you’re aware that if you tried to, the water’s surface would be just above your head. The pool is under his command, bending to his will. How incredible.
Bare, wet skin meets bare, wet skin.
The heat of his body is hotter than that of the water.
He doesn’t step away despite how the water seems to be pushing you to him.
How did he get to you so fast? Last you saw, he was still sitting on the ledge. No, perhaps the better question is, why had he moved closer to you at all?
Hands grab your ribs. You gasp. They’re firm, callused. Burning.
“Wife?” he repeats, wide smirk revealing rows of flesh-tearing teeth. “You are not my wife. You are my bride. I am sure even a puny, little thing like you understand that there is a process to be followed, yes?”
A nail flicks your nipple under the water.
You let out a shuddery breath.
The other two hands grip the back of your thighs, lifting them till they’re wrapping around his hips. The top half of your body has emerged from the water, water dripping down. You throw your arms around his neck, a reflex to grab onto something before you fall.
Breasts presses to his chest. He must feel how hard your nipples are. You’re flushed with embarrassment, and an acute awareness of how much bigger his own body is to yours — if he wanted to, he could crush you with his bare hands.
Sukuna’s sharp fangs glint at the very peaks as he runs his tongue over them. “For you to be my wife, we would have to observe tradition. Do you understand what I refer to, little human?”
Breathless, you answer with your own question: “Do you refer to the wedding night, my Lord?”
One of his cocks pokes your entrance. You tense up.
You’ve seen their size; they are inhumanly big. They could not fit inside you, not without the preparation that the women in your village had giggled about, perhaps not even with.
But he doesn’t shove it inside you all in one go.
He doesn’t shove it inside at all.
The king merely slides you down his body, just a little, until that cock is sandwiched between your bodies.
It bumps a good spot on your cunt. You gasp.
“I do,” Sukuna says, huffing in amusement at your reaction. “I admit I have not been married before myself, but it is one aspect I am curious about.”
His strong hands are moving you up and down, testing every little sound that leaves your lips. And you’re letting him.
Is there something in the water? Some elixir that’s making you susceptible to his whims? An aphrodisiac stimulating wetness out of your pussy?
He must feel it, must feel how it drips down his length. Just like how you can feel the prominent veins of a cock that’s grown fully erect without you noticing. How long has he been like this? Since you walked in? Before?
Your nipples are scraping his chest. The sensation has you arching closer to him, grip around his body tightening. “M-my Lord!”
Sukuna tuts, moving you up and down like you’re a mere toy for his pleasure. He scolds, “That is not my name.”
“Sukuna?” you experimentally mutter the words. His cock throbs. You both groan. “S-something’s happening.”
Hips moving on their own, you feel as though you’ve been possessed. Your body is no longer your own — some invisible thing is urging you to grind down on his cock, on that burning heat between you, rubbing your clit on his flushed cockhead, on the veins that run up and down his length.
Humming, he says, quite distracted, “Yes. Something is. Allow it to happen. Do not fight it.”
This is pleasure you’ve never felt before. Pleasure you didn’t know truly existed. The women in your village always spoke of sexual pleasure as something only for men, joy a girl would be lucky to experience even once, if their partner was generous and not selfish, which was apparently rare.
Yet, here is, grinding your clit on the veins of his cock.
He licks his lips. “Go on, little human. Give it to me.”
With a loud moan, you throw your head back. Spasms wrack your body. A heady explosion warms your belly. Spurts of something even warmer paint your chest and stomach.
Sukuna grunts, fingers digging into the plush of your ass.
“Fuck.”
Your head falls back on his chest, slumping with sudden languishness. You pant. His chest rises with his own heavier breaths.
Coming back into your own senses, you tense. Then push away. He lets you.
“I’m so sorry,” you say, in near tears from shame. “Please forgive me, my Lord.”
You wade back, further and further away from him. Blood has pooled in your cheeks. What have you done? If he wasn’t going to kill you before, he certainly will now that you’ve defiled his body.
He pays you no mind. The water around his still body ripples. Sukuna grunts. Sucks in a harsh breath. Water laps at his contracting abdomen. Furious. Violent. You cannot tear your eyes away from the sight.
Oh god…he’s tugging furiously at his other cock whilst the other floats. His own spend is drying on his chest.
Mouth watering, you almost step forward to offer a hand.
But you don’t.
Instead, you turn around and make a run back to your room.
.
.
.
You haven’t returned to the pool. Not once in the week that passed.
He might not have killed you but one thing’s certain: you do not want to run into him again.
Especially now that you’ve caught his attention. Reminded him of your existence. Which is as one would expect: worse than being forgotten. So, so, so much worse.
For, every day since the meeting at the pool, he’s taken to dropping off severed limbs at your door. Still warm. Still bleeding. Often twitching. First it was a big toe. Then a whole foot. A finger. A hand. An arm.
And today, a head.
A scream shook the walls once your eyes landed on the thing.
Your scream.
Perhaps it’s adrenaline that urges every stomp your feet make. Perhaps anger or indignation. Whatever it is, it has you near-running through the halls, searching in every hollow for him.
An almost full circle has been carved at the very end of one tunnel you stumble down. Vines creep out of it. You step inside, heaving, and with fists balled at your side.
A garden.
It stretches farther than your eyes can follow, lush and sprawling, like the earth itself had been coaxed open and persuaded to bloom in defiance of everything you thought you knew about this place. The ceiling arches high above, fractured in places where thin shafts of pale light filter through, catching on drifting pollen and casting the entire space in a soft, dreamlike haze.
The air is warm here. Heavy with scent.
Sweet. Overripe. Almost intoxicating.
It’s not a human garden, you can tell immediately; the grass is black, as is the soil, and the roots which emerge from the ground are red. Things that couldn’t exist in the same place do, cohabiting quite well.
Flowers you’ve never seen before crowd the ground in wild abundance — petals like silk and flame, some translucent, others so dark they seem to drink in the light. Vines coil and twist up natural pillars of stone, heavy with blossoms. Leaves skim against your legs as you step forward, wide and waxy, or delicate as lace, each one foreign.
“How…?” you whisper, though there is no answer. It shouldn’t have been possible to have a whole forest inside a mountain. But then again, a great many things shouldn’t have been possible, yet they are.
The path, if it can even be called that, winds forward through the growth, barely visible beneath the encroaching green. It feels endless. Like you could spend your entire life sprinting down the path and never make it to the end.
There, some distance ahead, partially obscured by the curtain of hanging vines, a figure moves.
You freeze.
Bare feet press against the dark soil, soundless. A loose robe hangs from his shoulders, open just enough to reveal the breadth of his chest and the markings etched into his skin stark against the softness of the garden around him. One hand drags idly along the leaves as he walks.
“Hello, little bride.”
It still surprises you that he can utter the word so casually. You don’t flinch this time however. You only glower and maintain the distance. “Why have you been giving me body parts?” you interrogate, grateful that your voice is as firm as when you had rehearsed.
Sukuna lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “Why have you not stepped foot outside your room since?”
He resumes walking.
Toward you.
Each step is unhurried, deliberate, crushing petals beneath his feet without a second thought. The garden seems to part for him, bending subtly to his presence, vines shifting, leaves snaking aside in quiet submission.
You don’t move.
You tell yourself you won’t.
Your pulse stutters anyway.
“You fear me,” Sukuna observes, like he’s stating something obvious. His eyes drag over you, taking in every inch, every subtle shift in your breathing, the way your fingers curl tighter at your sides. “And yet you came looking.”
“Because I want to know why you’ve been giving me body parts,” you snap.
“Mm.”
He’s closer now.
Close enough that you can feel the heat of him, even in the thick, perfumed air of the garden. Close enough that you can see the faint sheen of moisture still clinging to his skin, the slow rise and fall of his chest beneath the loose fall of his robe.
Another step.
Instinct finally kicks in; you shift back, just one pace.
The corner of his mouth lifts. “I was curious.”
Your brows knit. “About what?”
“How long it would take,” he says lightly, “for you to stop hiding.” A finger traces the curve of your cheek. You hold your breath, staring up at him, waiting for his next move. Sukuna mutters, “How odd that your scent would be so much sweeter than the flowers that grow here. It makes me wonder.”
Why is heat travelling down your body? Why aren’t you running away, revolted by his touch or the gravel in his voice? Were you still thinking about the feel of his body against yours, both naked, in the pool? Of the cocks whose soft lengths had been engrained in your mind?
His nostrils flare.
A flash in his eyes.
“There it is,” he rasps. “A scent I could not escape, so much more potent now.”
In a blink of an eye, you’re flipped over, dangling in the air. He has you by the ankle, lifted high up.
You grab onto his robe, which has parted. Right in front of you is his cock. Both of them. Neither soft now. Definitely not soft. One smacks you right against the face. It leaves a wet mark.
The musk of a refined monster hits you. It’s…it’s addictive. Your mouth waters again, stronger this time than the time at the pool now that they’re so much closer to you. Irresistible.
Sukuna presses a nose to the apex of your thighs. Skin on skin. You jolt.
Your dress had fallen down your body, ballooning around your face. You hold the material away — he can see everything. That fact has you aware that you can see him too. The thickness of his cocks, the lengths rivalling your forearm, the weight of the balls beneath. Everything about him is massive. Intended to subjugate. Designed to dominate.
“You are already wet. Soaked,” he muses, thoroughly humoured. He rubs his nose on your clit, nuzzling the little bud. You dig your nails into his thighs. “Filthy, little human.”
That’s all he says before he licks a stripe through your slit.
“Sukuna!”
“Mm. Dessert. Just in time.”
The beast licks and laps and sucks. It isn’t anything like the women at the village described — men are supposed to be reluctant, they’re supposed to be frightened. Sukuna isn’t. He’s consuming your juices as though starved, needing nourishment.
In front of you, something emerges from his skin.
A wolfish grin.
There’s a mouth on his stomach, lips curled up and teeth gleaming. You scream, fighting to get out of his tight hold.
SMACK!
Sukuna slapped your ass. A dull heat blossoms on the flesh. He commands, “Stay still. I cannot dine when you worm like so.”
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
Cruelly, he lays short slaps right on your clit, sending juices splashing onto your skin. The way his palm sticks, the sloppy noises, it's all so degrading. He’s doing it on purpose. He’s revelling in your clear desire for him.
You’re almost too distracted by the sight of a second, bigger mouth. Almost. But nothing can truly, wholly tear your attention away from the sucking of your clit and the way a fire is being lit in your very core. Soon, a thick tongue finds your entrance and buries itself inside. Your eyes roll back.
A hot, wet thing slides up the valley of your breasts. Slithering. Testing. Tasting.
The mouth, you realise. It’s sticking its fat tongue out, licking your breasts the way Sukuna’s face mouth is licking the inside of your cunt, stretching your walls, teasing the pleats there.
“Delicious,” one of them says. You can’t tell which. So much is happening at once. Too many to process.
At your lips, one of his cockheads smears its seed. You lick your lips. It’s salty. Eyes fixed on the frighteningly red thing, you open your mouth to suckle at it. That familiar possession has returned. You’re being controlled by an invisible force — your jaw has to widen to take the bulbous head. Your tongue runs over the tip, where there’s a slit.
Sukuna groans, pleased. Then he growls, “Do not neglect the other.”
Slightly afraid, you do as he says. The other cock is just as hard, just as big and long as the one you’re sucking on. It throbs approvingly when you tug on it.
“Good,” he groans out. “Very good, little bride.”
Obscene squelches are coming from above. It’s a reminder of how wet you are for him. Of how delirious the pleasure is. Of how you aren’t disgusted by the magical tongue flicking your tits, playing with the mounds, running the tip of it over your nipples. You’re not disgusted by the salty taste of him, of how he seems to be constantly leaking.
He’s lapping up at your pussy so furiously that he makes frustrated, wrathful sounds; he’s mad that you’re not producing enough wetness to match the pace in which he’s drinking it up.
“More,” he commands. “Give me more. Now.”
Sukuna pushes his face closer, uncaring of the fact that you’re making a mess all over his cheeks. He only has one thing on his mind.
“I’m gonna cum,” you warn him, mouth full and words garbled. The unfamiliar word leaves your lips so naturally you think you’d been warning him all your life of your impending orgasm.
Unfortunately, the warning is wasted. You don’t think he even hears the words with your thighs muffling his ears.
“Sukuna!”
The very same feeling, the same sensations, as the time in the pool rushes through you. Bolts of lightning thrum beneath the surface of your skin. You shudder, moaning lewdly.
He doesn’t stop. If anything, he’s only emboldened by the juices overflowing out of you. Slurrrrrping! so animatedly. So viciously. So animalistically.
A feral beast sucking your sensitive clit into another orgasm only minutes later.
It’s too much. It almost hurts. You slap at his meaty thigh. That seems to snap him out of his mania.
In a flash, you’re flipped back upright. Blood descends down your body. Lightheaded, your knees weaken. He catches you, lifting you up in his arms all while he’s collecting as much of your juices off his skin he can reach with his tongue.
Thud…thud…thud…
Sukuna strolls through the garden and back out into the rocky halls, robe discarded. Your dress is soaked with a mix of your juices, sweat, and his saliva. You’re filthy. He doesn’t complain.
Thankfully, there’s no one in the hallways to witness the remnants, of the proof, of your mutual debauchery.
“I have never considered myself as having a sweet tooth,” Sukuna begins, musing to himself, “but now I believe I would very much like to have dessert after every meal. What do you say, little human?”
“Hmm,” you sleepily hum.
“Then we are in agreement,” Sukuna concludes, pleased.
Your eyes flutter shut, too tired to keep them open. Before you fall into slumber, you feel a bed much softer than you remember cushion your body.
A hardness flanks you.
You dream of many hands brushing your hair, patting your hip, rubbing your belly, and tracing your cheek.
.
.
.
Since you’ve come to accept your odd relationship with the King of Curses, you’ve been spending an awful amount of time with him lately.
It started off with him keeping you in his room.
It’s a much nicer room than yours. Infinitely so. Almost triple the size and more lavishly decorated — a huge bed with silk sheets and a canopy with deep velvet curtains, a plush rug, dark red orchids in intricate and complex positions upon a table, paintings of different moments in time of human suffering that concerningly do not bother you.
You always find yourself back in here.
Whenever you wander through the halls, the walls seem to shift. They lead you back to his room. At first you were hesitant to enter, and you’d try to go a different way, but the caves insisted.
He isn’t here ever.
So you’ve started to think of it as your own.
During meal times, that’s when you’d see Sukuna.
Uraume would often escort you out of the room and into the dining hall. Another enormous space. You’d dine with him, and only him. There’d be curses posted inside, but they always step out, to give you privacy you assume. Naturally, these mealtimes were awkward for you in the beginning.
Sukuna didn’t speak. Not at first. He would just watch you eat, which only made you feel more awkward.
You were the one who broke the silence. “Are you… are you not going to eat, my Lord?” you asked tentatively.
A devious grin came upon his face. Happy he won a competition you didn’t know you signed up for. He replied, “I will. I am simply fattening up my pig before I devour her.”
Heat flushed through you. Cutlery clinking against the fine china, you gulped. There was a dangerous awareness of the darkness of his eyes feasting upon your flesh — you felt its weight sliding down the plumpness of your cheeks, the length of your neck, your collarbones, and your breasts which threatened to spill out from the confines of your dress.
Perhaps fear should have overtaken you at that moment.
Only relief and desire did.
What set you on edge most was not knowing what he wanted from you, why he had Uraume collect you, why he was wasting his time here when he could be doing kingly duties.
Now that he had made clear what he was seeking, you could allow yourself to rest easy and actually taste the food you were shovelling into your mouth.
“I am the pig in question?”
“Yes,” he replied immediately. A hand shoved a plate of pancakes towards you, encouraging. “You certainly squeal like one.”
Frowning, and pushing the plate away because you have too much to eat already, you argued, “I do not.”
“Do too,” he said, pushing the plate back towards you.
“Do not!”
An arm wrapped around your waist faster than you could see. Another swiped the food off the table. Everything fell with cacophonous clangs and bangs and splats!
Sukuna placed you on the table, which was now bereft of food. Your back met the hard wood. Your legs were thrown over his shoulders. Dress hiked up your waist. You were bared to him. Two of his callused hands yanked you closer to his face. Those four eyes, all scarlet and glinting up at you, didn’t look away.
He wanted you to watch him take a long whiff of your cunt.
His grip tightened on you once your scent hit him with full force. His eyes rolled back. Sukuna snarled, “Let’s see which of us is right.”
There were no soft kisses upon your sensitive skin, no caresses. Only unrestrained feasting. He immediately latched onto your clit, sucking on the thing with a fury. You cried out.
The king was frightening in his aggression.
He was gulping down every drop your pussy produced to please him, and it wasn’t nearly enough. Terrifying growls shook the table.
Sukuna seemed addicted to making your cunt let out vulgar squelchessss!
They came in quick succession. One after the other. Loud and clear. Displaying how well he was playing with your clit.
“Look at how your cunt flutters, searching for my cocks,” he mused, thumbing the entrance but not pushing in. “And look how your petals have grown swollen with blood. Oh, I bet your blood tastes as good as your pussy. We’ll test that too, another day.”
Stammering, you pleaded, “Don’t look!”
He stared too intently. Saw too much. It was more intimate than being tasted.
“Nonsense,” Sukuna said, waving you off. “I will look as I please, and I very much do.”
In response to his renewed lapping of your juices, you could only writhe and run your nails down the wood for anything to ground you.
“Do not waste your claws on the table,” he spat, spare hands snatching your ups and offering his wrists for you to dig into. You hesitated, chest heaving and vision swimming. Then he asked, “You do not find my flesh good enough to mark? You wish to offend your groom when he is at the altar of your legs?”
You didn’t want to know what he was like when he was offended so you clung to his thick wrists. You made a mental note not to actually scratch him — that seemed a more criminal act than offending him – but the pleasure born from his ravishing of your pussy bordered on pain and you could not help yourself.
The very moment your nails caught on his skin and broke through, one of the hands that was keeping your shaking legs apart darted out. It landed on your chest. With brutish finesse, it ripped your bodice. Cool air grazed over your breasts. That hand latched onto a tit.
“W-what– Oh God!” you screamed.
Something…
Something on his palm was suckling your nipple, like a babe.
Sukuna’s amused huff vibrated through your pussy, sending shivers up your spine. “No, not God, little bride. It is me. My mouth is making you feel good. But,” he adds after a little thought, “I do not mind being worshipped as a deity, heh.”
How could he be so nonchalant when two sets of mouths were eating you up, when your eyes were at risk of being permanently lodged at the back of your head? How could he make conversation so easily when his tongue, which felt so impossibly long, was wriggling through your walls and teasing the entrance to your womb? When the mouth at his palm was suctioning your nipple into that impossible space?
“Delicious,” he snarled, positively starved of your taste. “So fucking sweet. How can a human be so…so…divine? It defies nature.”
He wasn’t talking to you anymore. He was manically muttering to himself, reasoning with his own understanding of the balance of life. It baffled him. Bewildered him. Excited him. Sukuna could not get enough of you.
Whining, you called out his name, “S-Sukuna! It’s too -hngh!- much. I can’t.”
“Cum,” he said.
Your head shook, thrashed. “No, I -hah- can’t!”
“Cum,” he repeated. No, commanded. Ordered. Demanded.
And you could not deny a king.
You fell apart on the dining table with a scream. Wetness rushed out of you as though a dam had broken. He drank it all up. Slurrrrrpeddd! every single drop until you were writhing again. And when he growled, “More,” and, “Again,” you could not deny him then either.
It might have been hours later before he decided he’d had his fill.
Aside from meal times, you don’t see him during the day. He’s always gone. No one will tell you why, and you don’t feel brave enough to ask. You merely assume he’s doing kingly duties — keeping the curses of the Underworld and of the forests in line, maintaining balance between humans and monsters, and protecting his people.
In the meantime, you read in his room, which is now your room. There are plenty of books here. More than you could ever read in a lifetime, and certainly more than there ever were in your village. It’s hard to imagine he read any of the books in the collection but there are signs of use: folded pages, cracked spines, yellowing.
He read each one you had opened.
Poems.
Novellas.
Journals of travels beyond.
You don’t mind the hours spent on your own; the goblins walking along still scare you so you avoid running into them. Of course, there’s always the option to ask during your mealtimes, in between him eating you out and actually consuming food, if you could visit the village (for you know returning was too much). Not that you especially wanted to go home.
The villagers had sold you.
Abandoned you.
They would not welcome you home.
So you must consider the heart of the mountain your new home.
It’s simply about asking, about knowing the answer, about having the option.
But each time you considered bringing up your village to him, you backed out at the last second. He was not your husband. Not really. Not yet. He’s not even really your groom. That just seems like an excuse to do the salacious things you’ve been doing. At most, he’s your friend, and you cannot burden your friend more than you already have.
Truthfully, it hardly matters what exactly he is to you. He’s nice. Attentive. Generous. He hasn’t killed you, he hasn’t hurt you, hasn’t massacred your village and your family, and hasn’t thrown back in your face any of those facts.
That’s why every morning, when you know Uraume will escort you, you make sure never to be late.
You obediently, possibly excitedly, wait in front of the door for the knock.
You slide a hand down your new dress; it appeared in the closet, and is your size. It certainly isn’t Sukuna’s. Red lace, soft silk, dainty bows, easy to move in and breathe — it’s a beautiful dress. Far more expensive and luxurious than anything you’d ever owned. The chest area’s a little tight; it pushes your breasts up more than you’re used to, and somehow you’re sure that was on purpose.
When the door opens, Uraume’s patient self leads you out. They’re quiet. Respectful. They have been since the very first night.
“Thank you.”
Cold eyes flit to you. “What ever for, my lady?”
“For saving me,” you say, fiddling with the lace on your dress. “If you hadn’t suggested that he humour me, Sukuna would have—”
“The king,” Uraume cuts in, spine straight and gaze fixed ahead now, “does only as he pleases. It is his right. He grows bored of his new toys very quickly, and it is my duty to keep him entertained. I saw an opportunity to fulfil my responsibility. That is all.”
You have no response to that. You only blink, surprised and berating yourself for being so. Sukuna may be your friend, in your eyes at least, but Uraume is not. Sukuna may not mind the fact that you are human, but others may not share the same sentiment. Maybe Uraume thinks you are a plague. A rat. That’s often the story humans spread about curses and their philosophies.
Soon, you reach the double doors leading to the garden. Before the doors are opened, they add, “It is also my duty to throw old toys away.”
When you turn to look at them, they’re already gone.
“Finally,” Sukuna says, exasperated. “I resent being kept waiting. Walk here with haste, little bride.”
Uraume’s words linger in your mind; Sukuna’s sharp rows of teeth flash washes them away.
He’s in his loose robes, bottom set of arms tucked into the wide sleeves. A hand beckons you over, and the moment you are within reach, he snatches you up. You’re carried up in his arms, high enough to come face to face with him and see all four of his eyes watching you.
Sukuna nuzzles the crook of your neck. He starts walking down the path. Branches tickle the top of your head. “Did you sleep well?” he wonders. His voice vibrates against your skin. It tickles.
Gripping his hair for purchase, you murmur, “Yes.” Then, shuddering once his lips explores the length of your neck, you ask, “Did you?”
“I do not sleep,” he casually replies.
Within minutes, he’s managed to walk so deep into the garden that the surroundings have changed from exotic flowers full of vibrant colours and shapes to a forest of cherry blossoms. Petals whirl around you, swirling with the gentle wind.
Above you, the cave walls have shifted into the blue and vast open sky.
You gasp. “Are we…are we outside?”
The brightness almost sting your eyes; you have to narrow them with a wince to avoid being blinded. The smell of fresh air too nearly burns your nostrils. The chatter of live animals and insects are near deafening at first. Everything’s so different, so new, yet so familiar, so ordinary that it becomes magical to your senses.
He parts from your neck to eye your reaction. The smile on your face makes his grip on you tighten. Sukuna says, “Yes. Your complexion looked rather dull without sunlight, and my bride must be at her very best at all times. So here we are.”
That doesn’t sound quite true upon his lips but you don’t question him on it.
Instead, you beam at him and gush, “Thank you! Oh, it’s wonderful out.”
It’s easy to forget what the world above is like when you’ve spent countless nights under the mountain with rocks for company.
Sukuna sets you down. You waste no time running around, laughing at the green grass that tickles your bare feet.
The grass inside the mountain’s garden is black, with roots being red, for reasons you could not fathom. It’s coarser too. The softness of this green, human grass, in comparison, sets your heart racing.
There’s no wind inside the mountain, only a draught. This calm air is fresher, warmer, soothing on the body and doesn’t settle.
And the warmth of the sun…
Beams of distant fire soaks into your skin. You sigh, a small smile on your lips.
When you turn back, he’s sitting under a tree, all arms crossed and watching you. Always watching. Always aware of your every move, every position, every shift.
Somewhat shy with the realisation that he’d seen the entire display, you stroll back to his side.
“It is a lovely day out, yes?” he says.
You nod, grinning. “It’s perfect. Just perfect.”
About to sit beside him, you let out a squeal when he snatches you up again and sits you down on his lap. All of his arms cage you. Sukuna rests his chin on the top of your head.
“Now it is,” he mumbles, chest rumbling against your back.
You smile again, more coy this time, and grateful he can’t see it.
The grass is untouched. No footprints mar it. No broken twigs, no distant rustling of hidden creatures. It is a forest, yes, but stripped of all the unease that forests usually carry.
It is only you and him.
Your fingers curl into the fabric of his sleeve as another petal lands on your lap. You pick it up, studying it like it might vanish if you blink too long. Glancing back at him, you tilt your head slightly. “Did you…make this place like this?”
His chin presses a little more firmly into your hair, a quiet, possessive weight. “It exists on its own,” he says. “I allow it to remain.”
Another petal skims your lips. Without thinking, you laugh — light, bright, unguarded — as you try to catch it, only for it to slip away again, carried by a breeze that barely stirs the trees.
“You’re noisy,” he mutters.
Yet he does not tell you to stop.
You lean back into him instead, comfortable now, warm from the sun and from him both. One of his hands idly flicks a petal from your shoulder, the motion almost absent-minded, as though he doesn’t realise he’s doing it. Or perhaps he does. And simply doesn’t care.
Your gaze drifts across the clearing again, softer this time. Slower. Relaxed, you ask, “You said you don’t sleep. What do you do at night?”
Sukuna hums, fingers drumming on your stomach. “I take care of my business.”
That’s vague, you think, but you don’t push. Instead, you ask another question: “Why do you not return to the chambers?”
He chuckles, teasing. “How forward of you, little bride. We have not yet been wed and you’re already asking to share the marital bed. Is this how you humans do it in this day and age?”
Heat flushes your cheeks. You smack one of his wandering hands, which has crept up to cradle a breast, and huff, “No, that’s not what I’m saying. I just mean, everyone needs sleep. Surely even you, the King of Curses. I wonder how you rest is all.”
A moment of contemplation passes.
Did you say something wrong? Did you go too far?
Did he hate that you smacked him?
“You are right,” he eventually says, head coming down to nudge you. His lips gently touches your cheek. “I do need rest. So allow me.”
His strong hands easily lift you off his lap, placing you down on the grass. Sukuna unfolds his large body and comes to lie perpendicular to you. His head weighs your thighs down.
With a wave of his hand, a book appears in your left hand at the same time he takes your right and cradles it to his chest. “Read,” he instructs. “Read to me. And after my nap, I will eat your little cunt and slap your clit thrice to punish you for smacking my hand even just once.”
A flutter at your core has his eyes peering up at you, glinting. He must have sensed it. Somehow. Whether by feeling or by smell. How mortifying.
“Or,” he starts, “I can eat you out now. I am fine with whatever order you prefer.”
“No, I’ll read,” you hurriedly say. You flick to the first page, reading the words out loud and only sighing in relief when his eyes flutter shut at the sound of your voice.
Sukuna’s lips curl up in the corner.
And so a new tradition is born.
.
.
.
“My Lord,” Uraume repeats outside the door, “they wait for you.”
Sukuna growls out, “Let them. I am preoccupied.”
You’re pressed to the door, the cold wood warming up to the flush of your cheek. Bottom lip bitten in a desperate attempt to keep quiet, you can do nothing else but let him rut his scalding length between your thighs.
This evening, he’d woken you up with his tongue buried inside your cunt. It seems after another whole day out in the garden, reading and strolling with him and tasting each other beneath trees before or after his naps, you fell asleep and were carried back into your chambers.
Has it been days or weeks since you’ve built up this routine of spending the days together and spending evenings apart?
Time seems to pass so quickly and yet so slowly. It’s begun to lose all meaning to you. It’s not a fact you lament.
You jolted with a shriek at the hulking figure under your covers. “About time,” he said, throwing the heavy thing off and baring how his skin glistened with your spend to you. “I thought I might have to fuck you with both my cocks at once to wake you.”
He was joking, you were sure. Or hoped…
“Wake me?” you repeated, back arching. “W-why?”
Sukuna replied, a fang rubbing your clit and being especially careful not to cut you, “Because I must leave again, but I did not want to without hearing my name upon your lips.”
A whine tore through you. “Why couldn’t you just wake me up the normal way?”
Red eyes flashed mischievously from below. He licked a strike up your inner thigh all while not breaking eye contact. “Because normal does not taste as good.”
Uraume’s voice called out soon after, reminding him of the evening meeting. You stiffened. Could they hear you? Do they know what he was doing with you on the bed?
Feeling embarrassed, you kicked Sukuna off and tried to push him to the door. You hissed, “You need to go. They need you.”
A hand slid inside your dress and groped your breast, cursed mouth appearing to nurse on your nipple. Another lifted your skirt up so that a third can coat its fingers in your cunt’s essence with the intention of easing the entry inside.
“So does your cunt,” he said. “And I know which I would rather attend to first.”
Oh, he was filthy. So, so filthy.
And so persuasive.
With you continuing, and struggling, to shake him off — legs quivering from the number his mouths had done to you today — you eventually made it to the door and was about to open it when something hot and heavy rested upon the curve of your ass and a second parted your puffy pussy lips.
It was almost like he planned this.
“Do not make a noise,” Sukuna rakishly rasped to your ear. Two rough hands gripped your bare hips, dressed hiked up over your ass. “Lest you’d like for Uraume to know what we’re doing.”
You definitely did not — they don’t like you very much. This wouldn’t help your case.
But…
His cocks are rubbing you up and down and back and forth. His fat cockhead keeps catching on your pulsing clit, bumping the thing over and over again until your cunt’s drooling on his veiny length.
“Press your thighs together. Tighter,” he commands, and groaning once you do. “Every part of you feels so good. It’s maddening.”
The pleasure building up in your core from a few thrusts is maddening. Truly. Irrevocably. You can’t tell him that, however. You can’t speak; if you do, a loud moan might slip out.
Sukuna’s grunting in your ear. The sounds are driving you wild. As is the fact that your tits are out and are being squeezed relentlessly by two hands. Mouths take over his palms. They don’t hesitate to latch onto your nipples. You gasp, head thrown back into his chest. “Sukuna!”
“Mm, I know,” he huskily says. “Me too. Be good, pretty human. Just allow me to use your thighs for now.”
He’s so tall your hips have to be lifted up to reach his cocks. Your toes dangle over the ground. You hang precariously but you never worry for a second that he might drop you.
Shlick! Shlickkk!
The sounds are obscene and they’re all you can hear. Uraume must hear them too. Yet, they’re still out there, saying, “My Lord, please. The council grows restless.”
Sukuna’s livid growl shakes the door. “They. Will. Wait. Do not interrupt me again.”
His rutting speeds up. The sucking of his cursed mouths intensifies. The tip of the cock behind you is smearing pre-cum on your back, and the sensation has you clenching around nothing.
“I’m cumming,” you whisper, eyes shut tight. “Nghhh!”
“Good,” he breathes out. “Good girl.”
You bring a hand down to your cunt, cupping the cockhead appearing and disappearing with every shallow thrust through your lips. It nudges your palm, squelching! and leaving wet sploodges of his cum and yours. Sukuna snarls.
And just like that, he cums too. His hot cum explodes into your hand, spilling through the cracks of your fingers and splatting onto the floor. More cum bursts on your back, dirtying your dress.
It’s so hot. Scalding.
He keeps ploughing between your soft thighs, wringing out every last drop until he shudders with a growl and you slump completely in his grasp.
When he pivots you around to check on you, specifically the cheek that had been pressed up against the door, you see his loose robe had fallen open. Some of his cum has ended up dripping down his skin. He’s tattooed and chiselled and hard everywhere. A true killing machine. You run your fingers down his chest, smearing his cum around, all the way to his stomach where a massive mouth manifests in time to clamp onto your wrist with a grin.
His teeth don’t break skin. They don’t even hurt. They merely keep your hand inside, huge tongue slithering to lick every finger and every inch. Curiously, you grip the appendage. It really does feel like a real tongue. You stroke it.
Sukuna grips the back of your neck. He glares down at you. “You are trying to bring me to my knees, aren’t you?”
You blink. “No! Forgive me.” You try to pull your hand out on your own but his sudden grasp on your wrist stops you.
“I did not say I did not like it.” He steps closer, licking his lips.
“My Lord…” Uraume grits out through the door.
Sukuna groans. “Yes! Alright!”
The door opens with a wave of his hand.
“I should massacre the whole council, then I will have all the time in the world to bury my tongue inside your cunt. One day…” he mutters under his breath, seemingly actually considering the idea. You swat his back, cheeks flushed from embarrassment.
Your dress falls back into place just in time for you to shield yourself from anyone else’s eyes but Sukuna’s. Not that it’s enough.
Uraume’s chilling eyes see all — the sweat on your skin, the mess of your hair, the quivering of your legs, and the droplets of cum on the floor. They do not look disgusted by it. They look disgusted by you.
“Be good for me, little bride,” Sukuna says, already stomping away. “I will look for you as soon as I am done with these fools.”
You take a step forward to Uraume, an apology on your tongue.
They step back, straightening up. “These meetings are important,” they begin. “They ensure the other lords feel seen and heard. It maintains peace in our domain, and in yours. You mustn’t keep him from doing his duties. Not only is it impolite, it is also dangerous.”
“I’m sorr—”
“Do not apologise to me. Apologise to the king for wounding him,” they snap. You frown, confused. “The marks you left on his wrists that he refuses to heal himself? He leaves them open and bleeding. He openly plays with the cuts in front of the council, in front of his audience, smiling. Whispers are making echoes of a weakness in our king. If you do not care about your safety, then you must care about his.”
Thoroughly scolded, you stay rooted in place, watching Uraume follow after Sukuna.
.
.
.
You take a walk through the garden this evening to clear your head.
What Uraume said forced you to contemplate your relationship with the king. With Sukuna. They reminded you why you were spared in the first place — you’re a toy. A thing for entertainment.
He is entertained by you now, by the pleasures your body provides. That, however, is not something unique to you; any woman can spread their legs, which is a crass thing to say, you know. But it’s true. To save their village, their people, to earn another day of life, or to even have the honour of serving a king, many women would offer their body up.
And you are no special woman. You are quite average, all things considered. Never the most beautiful woman in the room, the most intelligent, or most pure of heart.
The fact of the matter is, Sukuna will soon grow bored of you.
What is left to be considered now is, will he spare you once he finds a new toy or will you be ‘gotten rid’ of by Uraume?
Will you be sad?
The pang in your chest at the thought seems to suggest so.
Without realising it, you end up back in the cherry blossom grove.
It looks different at night. Just as beautiful as during the day, of course, but different. Fireflies light up the air, mingling with the stars above you. If not for them, you wouldn’t know where you are, wouldn’t know that the tree whose bark you’re grazing with your fingertips now is the very same tree you sit under with Sukuna.
You were always under the impression that being a king meant you could do whatever you wanted. Uraume’s warning proved otherwise — Sukuna had people to please. And you’re who pleases him.
For how long will you be enough?
With a sigh, you wonder if Sukuna really will come to find you after his meeting. He’s always busy in the evenings, and though you spent the hours of the night sleeping anyway, it’d still be nice to talk to him. His thoughts on books you’ve read are quite funny.
He hates silly heroines who make bad decisions and always fall for the gloomy, morally grey men, yet hates the morally grey men more for their cheesy lines. “‘I control shadows and I have wings,’” he’d mimic, lowering his voice to a deeper rumble than his own. Then he’d say in his own voice, “Yes, so do about a thousand other fictional men. You are not special.”
Sukuna’s brows would furrow and he’d scoff whenever you’d get flustered by the erotic passages you’d be forced to read aloud to him as you sit in his lap, but he never suggests changing books. You theorise he really just likes complaining.
“Pretty girl?”
You jolt.
That voice…
“Suguru?”
Behind a tree, a silhouette hobbles over to you. “You’re alive! Oh, thank the heavens!”
The man falls into your arms. He’s really here. Your bestest friend. But he isn’t how you remember him — long raven hair have turned matted and dull, clothes torn and dirtied, and skin scratched up. You can hardly recognise him.
He grips your face, dirt rubbing into your skin. Scanning for any harm that might have befallen you, he smiles with relief upon seeing you’re perfectly well. “I’ve spent so many weeks wondering what had happened to you. I’m so sorry. God, I’m so sorry.”
His words are going in one ear and out the other; you can only question, with terror and trepidation, why his hands tremble, why he’s jumping at every little sound, and pulling you away inch by inch.
“What happened?”
Suguru’s eyes harden. His grip falls on your shoulder. Tight. Insistent. You wince. He says, “Listen to me carefully. We need to leave. We need to leave now. We’re too deep in the Curse King’s territory. There are beasts about. We must run now. Come!”
Bewildered, you’re yanked forward, stumbling over your feet.
“Wait, no, I have to stay!”
He’s not listening.
Deeper into the forest, you’re pulled. The cherry blossoms morph into scraggly trees, leafless and with jagged branches like teeth reaching for you. The fireflies are gone now. You have to force your eyes to adjust as you trip over rocks and logs, and as your bare feet are caked in mud and moss.
Looking back towards the light, you start to heave. “Sukuna…Sukuna’ll be mad. I have to go back.” You try to tear his hand off your wrist, digging your nails, but he can hardly feel it. “Suguru!” you yell, in near tears.
The man whirls on you, eyes wide and red. The bags under his eyes are darker than even the dark. They startle you. “What’re you doing? Why’re you fighting me? I’m trying to save you, like I should have done when your family decided to sacrifice you to the mountain.”
You shake your head. “It’s okay. I’m okay. I’m not mad at you, so if you’re doing this out of guilt, then you don’t need to. Just go, alright? Go before someone notices you’re here. I don’t know what the goblins, Uraume, o-or Sukuna will do if they find you here.”
Suguru recoils. “Sukuna? You call the monster of the mountain by his first name?”
He doesn’t wait for you to answer. Something seems to dawn on him. His eyes properly take you in from head to toe — your clean skin, fresh hair, the plump in your cheeks, the expensive dress you wear, the lace, the silk, the jewels.
He releases you, like you’d burnt him.
“The king spared you…” he whispers in horror. “He spared you. And you’ve been living a life of luxury, as our village burned to the ground. You call him by his first name when his name was the last thing my family had screamed in their final moments. You wish to go back, to that thing, when I’m here and I’m taking you away…”
“What do you mean?” you ask, brows knitting together. “What happened to our village?”
It’s an impossible thing to imagine. Yet it shouldn’t have been. Many villages have suffered the same fate, or worse, over the many years since the rise of the curses. But your village was spared because of you, because of their offering, right?
A scathing laugh slaps you on the cheek. “You don’t know? You’ve been cozying up to that monster and you don’t know he wiped our village out from the map? That he massacred our people in one night? Are you just stupid or did he poison your mind?”
You fall back, shaking your head. “No, no, he wouldn’t.”
“He’s a killer!” Suguru roars. “He’s killed so many. Every single night. The very few of us that had survived have fled from village to village, trying to fight against him and his army of curses, but they always win. I’ve watched my friends, my allies, fall again and again. And yet, I thought of you every day. I fought for you, so I can return and save you from his torture.”
He scoffs.
“But he hasn’t been torturing you, has he?” Suguru grips your face suddenly, bruising your cheeks as he spits out, “No, he hasn’t had to use force to get you to spread your legs!”
Tears stream down your face. “Stop it,” you cry out. “Stop it!”
Suguru presses his forehead to yours, lips trembling. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he repeats. “Let’s just go, alright? We need to go. You’re not safe even if you’ve earned his favour for now. He’s proven he isn’t a man of his word, and it’s only a matter of time before he tears you limb from limb like he had done to your mother and to your father, and to mine.”
Images of your home ablaze, of the night sky filling with the screams of the dying, of blood turning the ground crimson flash in your eyes.
You’re a fool. You’d actually convinced yourself that he isn’t the King of Curses, that creatures from the Underworld don’t bow to him, that he hasn’t been keeping you to laugh behind your back.
You’d allow yourself to believe you’re Sukuna’s bride.
That you’re something special to him, even momentarily, even just for now.
He’s looking at you impatiently, bouncing on his feet and listening out for any signs of hostile life in the forest.
Taking a deep breath, you steel yourself. “Yes, yes. Let’s go. He’s in a meeting right now, he’ll be busy.”
And off you two go, running in the dark, hand in hand.
Branches whip at your arms as you run.
The forest is different at night.
Where it had been soft, warm, almost dreamlike beneath drifting blossoms, it’s now a maze of shadows and silver light, the moon caught in the petals overhead. Your breath comes sharp and uneven, lungs burning, feet barely finding the ground as you stumble over roots and fallen bark.
Beside you, Suguru’s grip is firm. Unyielding.
“Don’t stop,” he says, low, urgent, pulling you forward when your pace falters. “We’re almost past the boundary—”
A roar splits the night.
It shakes the air. Rips through the trees. Sends petals scattering like frightened birds. The ground trembles beneath your feet, a deep, violent pulse that travels straight up your spine. It rattles your bones, grips your very soul and squeezes. It’s in equal parts wrathful and tortured.
You freeze.
Suguru doesn’t.
“Move,” he snaps, tightening his hold on your hand, dragging you forward again. “He knows.”
Of course he knows.
This is his domain.
Every inch of it.
You run faster.
Faster than you ever have before, lungs screaming, vision blurring, your hand clutched in Suguru’s like it’s the only thing anchoring you to reality. The trees thin for a moment, moonlight spilling across a clearing—
THUD!
The earth cracks beneath the impact. You both skid to a halt.
He stands there, between you and whatever hope you thought you had.
Sukuna.
Tall. Unmoving. Waiting.
That deranged smile curls slowly across his lips, too wide, too pleased, too knowing. His eyes gleam in the dark, sharp and bright and utterly unhinged, drinking in the sight of you: your dishevelled state, your trembling form, your hand still clasped in another’s.
For a moment, he says nothing. Then, “You are leaving me?” His voice is almost light. Almost amused. “For some pathetic human?”
The words hit harder than the roar. Your chest tightens, a hot and jagged thing rising up your throat, drowning out the fear, the instinct to shrink, to hide, to obey. “No,” you snap, breath shaking. “I’m leaving because you slaughtered my village. You killed my family. You lied to me.”
He laughs. Low. Disbelieving. Growing. Sukuna tilts his head, as though genuinely intrigued by your accusation, by the audacity of it. “You mean the village,” he begins, voice slow, deliberate, “that threw you, bound and gagged, at the foot of my domain to be sacrificed?”
Each word lands like a blade, cutting deeper and deeper, and twisting to remind you of your lowest moment, of the humiliation, of the powerlessness you felt.
“The family that readily offered you up? That never looked back even once?”
Your grip on Suguru tightens.
Sukuna’s smile widens.
“Yes,” he hums, almost fondly. Inspecting his hands, as though he can see the blood that still stains his unmarred skin. “Yes, I did. And very gladly.”
Something in your chest cracks.
“But I never lied to you,” he continues, eyes narrowing just slightly, the air around him growing heavier, sharper. “You just assumed that I would negotiate with lesser creatures. A fault that I have overlooked.”
Suguru steps forward, just enough to place himself between you and him. “You’re done,” he says, voice steady, though there’s tension coiled tight beneath it. “Whatever hold you think you have over her—”
Sukuna’s gaze flicks to him.
The shift is instant.
The amusement drains, not completely, but enough to reveal something colder beneath. Something ancient. Something violent.
“Careful,” Sukuna murmurs. “I do not take kindly to interruptions in my conversations with my bride.”
The air distorts.
Pressure builds, thick and suffocating, pressing against your skin, your lungs, your bones. Suguru doesn’t move, but you feel the way his hand tightens around yours, grounding you even as the world threatens to tilt.
Why hasn’t Sukuna killed you both? Why hasn’t he tore you two apart? Why is he standing under the moonlight, humoured and talking so leisurely?
Even till now, he’s not staring down at you with deadly intent. He’s conversing with you as if he’s asking how your breakfast is or what book you’d picked up to read to him today. It’s impossible to know what he’s thinking, and that’s more dangerous than if you knew he was going to rip you into pieces.
“She’s not your bride,” he spits, tugging you behind him.
Sukuna laughs again. Four eyes settle back on you. “Not mine?” he repeats, almost thoughtfully. “After everything I have given you?”
A step forward.
“After I took you in,” he continues, voice dropping, curling around the words, “fed you, dressed you, kept you alive when the rest of your kind would have happily watched you die?”
Another step.
Trying to steel your resolve, you retort, “You must feel betrayed, right? Imagine how I feel, Sukuna!”
“You think I feel betrayed?” he asks, head tilting again, that awful smile returning, sharper now. “No, little bride.” His gaze flicks briefly to your joined hands. Then back to your face. “This is not betrayal,” he says. “This is ingratitude. It seems I have spoiled you. Given you too much, too fast. I did not train insolence out of you. You have insulted me. And you will be punished.”
Suguru pulls you back a fraction.
“Run,” Suguru whispers.
His last words, before Sukuna flicks his wrist and his body is cut into thin ribbons of flesh, blood, muscle and bone. They fall into a neat pile by your feet, soaking the ground you stand on until your soles are caked in the remains of your only friend.
It happens so quickly, so suddenly, you couldn’t blink fast enough to protect your mind from the grotesque display. You saw it all. A man, a whole life, memories, a future, diminished to mush.
Sukuna smiles wider.
“Yes,” he says, almost eagerly. “Run, little bride.”
You do.
Feet slam against the forest floor. Bare soles strike damp earth. Sharp pebbles and stray twigs that snap beneath your weight. It hurts.
God, it hurts.
But you don’t stop. You can’t. The pain barely registers past the ringing in your ears, past the image burned into your mind, replaying over and over again.
Suguru’s gone. Your village. Your family. Everything familiar.
Your stomach twists violently, bile clawing up your throat, but there’s no time to be sick, no time to grieve, no time for anything except run.
Branches lash at you as you tear through the undergrowth, snagging against your dress, catching in the fabric and ripping it in jagged lines. The hem tears first, then higher, threads snapping with every desperate step until the once-soft material hangs in shredded strips around your legs. Chilling air kisses the exposed skin, quickly replaced by the sting of scratches, of thin lines of blood blooming where thorns and bark have caught you.
“So panicked. So scared.”
His voice.
Right there.
Warm.
Amused.
Mocking.
You choke on a gasp, nearly tripping over your own feet as you lurch forward, heart slamming so hard it feels like it might crack your ribs open. He’s not behind you, or in front of you, and yet it sounded as though he was.
“I have not even begun,” Sukuna murmurs somewhere, almost thoughtful. “And already you look like this. Adorable.”
The forest stretches endlessly before you, trees blurring together, shadows twisting into shapes that don’t exist. The petals that once felt soft now cling to your damp skin, sticking to the sweat, to the blood, to the places where your dress has torn open. Your lungs burn, each inhale sharp and shallow, your chest tightening with every second that passes.
You trip.
A root catches your foot, sending you pitching forward. Your hands barely catch you before your face meets the ground, palms scraping harshly against rough earth. Dirt grinds into your skin, mixing with the blood already there.
“Oh dear,” he muses. “Such a clumsy thing, you are. That’s why I keep you locked up with all the pretty things in my domain. Do you see now, why you must stay with me?”
Getting back to your feet, you stumble forward. “I’m never going back with you!”
You ignore the way your hands tremble, the way your legs and your unused muscles scream in protest as you force them to move again.
Run.
Run.
Run.
“You know,” Sukuna continues, his voice drifting lazily through the air, “I expected more from you.”
There’s a rustle above.
A shadow moving faster than you can track.
Where is he? Why isn’t he snatching you up? Why is he drawing this out?
He’s like a cat toying with a mouse, playing with his food, heightening your fear so you’ll taste even better.
“I gave you everything,” he says, less conversational now, more accusing. “And this is how you repay me? Running off into the woods like a frightened little animal, with some other man, a man I should have slaughtered along with the other rats?”
Your breath hitches.
“Have I not been good to you? Have I not been enough? Enough to stay for. For even a goodbye.”
A tear slips down your cheek, cutting through the grime. Devastatingly, a part of you notices the subtle crack of vulnerability. He masks it with amusement, with the undercurrent of anger, but you hear it all the same.
Still running, you yell, “You’re going to kill me, like you killed everyone. I’m just a toy to you!”
“And a very bad one at that,” he retorts without missing a beat. “Fear not — I will fix you once I catch you.”
“You’re not going to catch me,” you choke out, though it sounds weak, even to your own ears.
Sukuna tuts and it sounds like it’s right by your ear. “Ah, but I already have.”
Wind flips your hair around, making it hard to see, so when you whip your head side to side, looking for hope, you don’t see the barrier ahead until it’s too late.
Your body meets a hard wall. Two arms cage you in, unyielding.
A scream pierces through the forest. It’s so far removed from you, you think for a second that someone else is facing the same fate you are, and your heart breaks for her. When reality sets in, you cease to stop feeling sorry at all. You just weren’t fast enough. No one could be against the Curse King.
“Got you, little bride.”
In a blink of an eye, he has you carried up by your hips.
“Mark my words,” he says, “you will never leave me again.”
His lips slam onto yours.
Sukuna wastes no time shoving his tongue inside your mouth. A shocked moan escapes you. This is your first kiss, and with him. It’s not romantic like the stories described kisses to be. It’s not soft, tentative, gentle. It’s a kiss full of anger, of a need for vengeance, to dominate.
Sukuna’s channeling every ounce of his feeling of betrayal, try as he might to deny it, down your throat. With the nipping of his teeth hard enough to draw blood, the suckling of his lips to taste the iron on his tongue, and said tongue exploring the crevices.
“Just as delicious as your cunt,” he snarls, pleased.
You should fight him off, you know. But you can’t. He’s too strong, too all-consuming, too engrained in your body. It recognises his heat, his scent, his voice, and it wants more. So you don’t part from him; you clamp your teeth down on his bottom lip too, tasting his blood.
It’s sweet.
Sickly sweet in a way that rushes straight to your head.
He barks a laugh, a hand yanking your head back by your hair. “A biter…adorable.” He runs his tongue up the length of your neck before biting the curve. You moan. It doesn’t break skin, but the threat is there, and it has you clenching around nothing.
Sukuna takes a deep inhale of the air.
His eyes flash red.
“I killed your friend, decimated your village, and your cunt is still craving pleasure from me?” he asks, though it doesn’t sound very much like a question at all. “Your soul calls for me, do you realise it, little wife?”
“I’m not your wife,” you spit out.
“Not yet, but in just a moment, you will be,” he promises. At whatever expression you wear on your face, another laugh cuts through you. “You do not realise the trap you have run into, do you?”
Blinking, you finally look around, processing your surroundings.
They glisten with something under the moonlight — too thick, too dark to be dew.
Blood?
Behind you, a litter of scarlet petals trails right up to where you stand, as though marking every step that led you here, every foolish attempt at escape laid out like a procession. Rows of benches stretch out on either side, carved from twisted wood and bone, thorns curling along their edges, skulls embedded into the structure.
The forest has gone still.
No insects. No birds. No wind.
Only him.
Only you.
And this…
This altar.
“A fitting setting, no?” Sukuna murmurs against your skin, his voice lower now, richer, laced with something disturbingly joyful. His grip on your hips tightens, grounding you in place even as your mind threatens to spiral. “For a union long overdue.”
Dress hiked up around your waist, a long, slithering thing worms up your thighs. You writhe, trying to run away from it, but he won’t let you. Teeth hook into your underwear. It riiiiiiiiiips it off.
His curse tongue licks your cunt with a vengeance, as though punishing you for withholding your pussy and its juices from it. Shlick! Shlick! So vulgar. So indecent. So unrestrained.
Your pulse spikes. “This isn’t—”
“It is,” he cuts in smoothly.
The word lands like a final verdict.
Back arching, you’re powerless against the tongue prodding your entrance. He doesn’t mention it. Neither do you. You don’t mention how it’s far too big to enter you and yet it does, stretching your walls out with ancient powers you will never understand.
Inside, it licks every inch, every pleat. Maybe your hips work down, trying to suck it deeper inside. Maybe it doesn’t.
You’re far too focused on the fact that you’re finally at your wedding. A wedding you never wanted in the first place. A wedding he didn’t want either. He was just amused by the gall of the humans.
The domain itself is bearing witness.
There’s no need for friends, for family, for a priest.
He only needs himself and you.
Sukuna turns you with absolute certainty, positioning you to face the altar. It’s carved from dark marble, veined with something that glows faintly beneath the surface, like embers trapped beneath ash. Symbols you don’t understand are etched into it, curling and jagged.
“I chased you,” he muses, almost idly, though his hands never leave you, never loosen. They feel your body. Squeezing. Groping. Grip pulsing. Drawing out gasps and moans. “I let you run. Let you tear yourself apart on branches and roots like a frightened little thing.”
His fingers drag over one of the scratches on your arm, smearing the thin line of blood.
“And still,” he continues, voice dropping, “you came exactly where I wanted you.”
Your throat tightens.
“I didn’t—”
“You did,” he says, almost gently now, and that softness is far more terrifying than anything else. “Every path you chose. Every step you took. It all led here.”
The petals shift under your feet as he guides you forward.
One step.
And another.
“To me.”
Your thighs are soaked with his saliva. The entrance to your womb is being tickled. Clit rubbed by a wide, flat tongue. You’re face to face with him, panting, eyes unable to tear away with the undeniable allure of his. He’s tasting you, consuming you, devouring. He just can’t help himself. Even when he should be rough, when he should punish you, should teach you a lesson you’ll never forget, he cannot.
“Ngh! S-Sukuna,” you cry out as an orgasm tears through you. “Too much!”
For a moment, his gaze softens. “I know, I know. But you need to be stretched to take both of my cocks. Be patient.”
Blood drains from your face.
That’s when you start thrashing in his hold, fear taking over you. “No, no! I can’t take both of them.” They’re too big. You’ve seen them up close; no one could take them. No human. One would already be asking too much.
Both?
It’d be a death sentence.
Sukuna slowly lays you down on top of the altar.
Immediately, dark powers curl around your body. Wisps of shadow and smoke threading around your limbs, twirling your hair, brushing your cheek, unravelling your dress and slipping it off your body. They keep you in place.
You feel his energy touching you everywhere — stroking your lips, entering through your nose, sliding down your throat and filling your belly, flicking your nipples before wrapping around the hard bud and tugging, creeping down your stomach to stroke your throbbing clit.
They distract you, shushing the cries of protest.
“Beautiful,” he whispers as his eyes consume you whole. “So beautiful. And all mine.”
He touches your cunt, coating his fingers with your essence. Sukuna brings it up in the light between you. It’s red.
Automatically, your legs move to close. The shadows stop you. They yank your legs further apart so he can slot himself between them. His robes have fallen off. A cockhead pokes your clit, smearing its pre-cum onto the pulsing thing. You gasp.
When he licks your monthly blood off his fingers, you groan. “Stop! It’s filthy.”
“No, little bride. Nothing about you is filthy. Not in a way I don’t cherish, at least.”
Sukuna brings his wrist up to your lips.
“Bite me. Hard. Hard enough to bleed. Take your anger out on me. All your hate. Your melancholy. Your grief. Let it all out,” he demands, growling. “I want it. All of it. Every part of you. Give it to me!”
The shadows pry your jaw open. That’s it. It’s them that makes your teeth take hold of his thick wrist and bite down with every force you have in you. It’s them that make your teeth sink in through all layers.
Iron soaks into your tongue, trickling down your throat and warming your chest, like alcohol.
He throws his head back, chest heaving.
The forest rustles, cheering, trembling with pleasure. Meanwhile, the shadows are vibrating. Thrumming as it plays with your clit incessantly. As it pushes in the little holes of your nipples, pleasuring the fats from inside. You whine.
“Fuck!” he bellows
Sukuna snatches his wrist from you. His hands grip the marble, veins popping and threatening to burst. He’s gulping down air and rolling tension off his shoulders.
“You almost came, didn’t you?” you ask, smiling in victory.
Those red eyes dart up to you. He licks his lips. “Yes. Yes, I did.” Sukuna tilts his head, hand wandering up your torso before groping your breast. Like you already know to expect, his curse mouth disappears from his stomach and appears on his palm. It suckles on your nipple, obsessed with trying to find milk where there is none.
You moan, back arching.
Two hands hold your hips. They tug you down, closer to his hips.
“You expected me to be ashamed of your effect on me?” he wonders aloud, huffing in amusement. “I want you. I crave you. I own you. In the same way you want me, crave me, own me. The only difference is, I embrace it.”
He’s stroking his top cock leisurely, wringing out droplets you can’t tear your eyes from. Lips parting, your mouth begins to long to be filled. Your hips chase after the fat thing. His shadows keep you still.
Sukuna continues, rubbing the wrist you’d bitten on your stomach, “I am offering everything I have, everything I am, was and will be. You need only take it. Take me. Use me.” He draws a symbol, a sigil, you don’t recognise. With his other hand, he collects the blood between your legs. The bloodied fingers hovers above the mark. “Claim me.”
There’s sincerity in his eyes, which seem to plead with you.
Inside, a pull reaches for him. Desperate. Intent. Hysterical. It calls for him, pained. He calls back, even more so.
You can tell, whatever you feel for him, he feels it tenfold. No, infinitely more intense. It must drive him mad. The fraction of what you feel has you wanting to keel over, to rip your skin off and wear his. How he can function, can keep his head on straight, baffles you.
He’s commendable. A true leader. An unholy king.
That’s why, when he utters a final syllable, you cannot resist the pull any longer:
“Please.”
“Yes!” you wail. “I do! I do! I claim you. All of you.”
Arms flailing, you scramble towards him. Like a leech, you attach yourself to him, to his lips. You sloppily kiss him, smearing the blood and dirt on your body all over his. Fire burns beneath your skin. You’re set ablaze. Your soul. Your heart. Your skin. Every part is touched by him. Caressed. Treasured.
Sukuna releases a relieved breath, as though he’d been put out of his misery.
He holds you to him. He won’t drop you. You know it. You know it so deeply, it is like knowing your name.
The forest roars. Branches thrash. Leaves fall in spirals around you, a wall shielding you from the rest of the world. There’s no going back anymore. You’ve given in. You’ve surrendered.
Two hot things begin pushing inside.
For a moment, you tense, anticipating pain. None come. Only delirious bliss. Drool drips down your chin. Your eyes roll back.
The shadows haven’t stopped stimulating you outside and inside. You’ve been cumming over and over again. Little orgasms that make your limbs shaky. But the orgasm that hits you the moment both of his cock stretch your gummy walls?
World ending.
Tantalizing.
Immense.
Boundless.
The most glorious gift.
You scream.
“Yes, that’s it,” he coaxes. “Perfect. So perfect. My wife. Mine now and forevermore.”
Soon, he bottoms out. Hips flushed. Torsos pressed together tightly. Not a single thing could get in between you. You feel every inch of him. Every ridge. Every vein. Every nudge of his fat cockheads competing to draw out your pleasure most.
You thought it’d feel overwhelming. Too much too soon. Now, you can’t get enough. You think, if only one cock had entered you, you would have mewled and whined for the other to join.
“See?” Sukuna whispers into your ear, teeth scraping the shell. “You took me so well. Such a well-behaved girl. You were -hah- made for me.”
In spite of his teasing words, his whole body is trembling with the fight not to cum too soon. Your constant clenching, fluttering around both of his cocks, the way you choke him right to the base, has him at the very edge of sanity, which you doubt he had to begin with.
He’s ploughing his cocks inside you.
Thrusting with vigour that you feel at your fingertips. Your toes curl, back arching and head thrown back. Sukuna sucks at your neck, obsessed with the intensity of your scent there.
He’s like an animal let loose. He’s rutting into you so fiercely you fear he’d break your bones. But your king would never hurt you. Not in a way you wouldn’t like.
A crazed laugh echoes in the night.
You rake your fingers through his hair. Then you yank his head back, as he had done to you. “More, Sukuna. Fuck me more. I want to cum on your cocks over and over again. I command it, husband.”
Both lengths throb inside you.
Sukuna’s eyes cross. They’re glazed over. “Yes,” he mumbles without even realising it, thoroughly enthralled in your very being, “whatever you want, my beautiful, precious wife.”
Hours must pass.
Hours of fucking you in the air, on the altar, on the ground, against a tree.
His hands explore your body till he’s memorised the curves and the planes. You do the same.
The squelching of your cunt, the slapping of skin, the mingling of blood with cum, the reverberating of groans and moans envelopes you in a hellish cocoon. The bullying of his cocks through your sore, sensitive walls, the sucking of his curse mouth on your tits, the devouring of his mouth to yours, the fwop fwop fwop! of his balls on your poor clit — all of it sends you over the edge again and again and again and again, even once you think you will never feel better than the last.
You cannot get enough of him.
And he cannot get enough of you.
Sukuna whimpers your name out before and after every peak he reaches. He fills your belly up with his cum. It perpetually drips out of you. You can taste the salt on your tongue. It coats you from head to toe.
“My wife,” he exhales, like announcing to the world. “My life…my love.”
Where he ends and you begin blur.
Time ceases to exist. The rest of the world vanishes.
In this moment, in his arms, bouncing on his cock as he gazes upon every flicker of pain and pleasure on your face, only you two matter.
.
.
.
The sun has started to rise.
You watch it climbing over the hill, head laid out on Sukuna’s chest. He plays with your hair, twirling it absentmindedly. You’re both naked. Limbs thrown over each other. Tangled.
Juices and blood have dried over your skin. Some of it your own. Some of it his.
A deep satisfaction courses through your veins.
Sukuna’s chest rises and falls beneath your cheek.
There is something almost surreal about it — this stillness, this calm. The same body that had hunted you through the dark now lies beneath you like an anchor, solid and unyielding in a different way. The heat of him seeps into your skin, bleeding into your bones.
His fingers continue their idle path through your hair.
A strand slips loose, caught and wound around his clawed fingertips before being released again.
Your body bears the marks of the night: faint bruises bloom beneath your skin, teeth marks darkening where they had once stung, thin scratches tracing your limbs from your flight through the forest. Sukuna’s hands soothe any marks he left on you, not regretful at all. His actions can be likened to basking proudly in the art he made.
All the while, you’re tracing the marks you left on him too — the scratches, the bite marks, the bruises he allowed you to give him. You run your fingers down his tattoos, avoiding the mouth on his tongue, which keeps licking you or trying to capture your hand. A very naughty thing indeed.
“Sukuna,” you murmur. He grunts. “I’m hungry. Let’s go back home.”
“How you have any room left in your small belly after drinking so much of my cum, I cannot fathom,” he voices out, curious and concerned. You smack his chest. “Yes, dear. I hear you. Let us take a bath in the pool and I will have a servant bring us food. Perhaps a goblin.”
As he stands up, you frown. “A goblin? Why not Uraume?”
Uraume’s his favourite. His right hand. His shadow. The goblins, on the other hand, he barely tolerates. You’ve seen him kick the poor things out of the way too often. Once or twice, you’ve reflexively tried to help them up, but they growl at you. You think they quite like being kicked about. It seems to be an honour to them.
Under his breath, as Sukuna stretches his body with a lazy yawn, he says, “Uraume is on time out.”
Using his outstretched hand to bring you to your feet, you ask, “Why? What happened?”
Petulantly, he grumbles, “The insolent brat took it upon themself to lead that waste of space human I tore to shreds to you. It seems they thought you were a bad influence on me.”
To punctuate his last sentence and emphasise the absurdity of the idea, he grins wolfishly down at you, more specifically at his cum dripping down your thighs. Cheeks heated, you press them together.
It’s hard to believe this evening had been orchestrated by Uraume, but also it’s not a huge leap in logic. They’ve made their point of view abundantly clear — you just didn’t think they would have tried to have you face imminent death crossing through the forest where creatures of the Underworld lurked.
“Are you…are you going to hurt them?”
Sukuna cocks a brow. “Would you like me too?”
“No,” you say immediately and sincerely. “Blood’s already been spilled tonight. I don’t want to be the reason someone gets hurt again.”
“Very well. Let me know if you change your mind. They sure do get upset if I let someone else cook my meals.”
You giggle.
Then, all the humour dies out of you.
Exhaustion has set in your limbs.
Whatever energy had overtaken you earlier is gone now.
His breath grazes your cheeks, warm against the cold air. One of his thumbs collects a tear right from your lashes. You didn’t even know you’re tearing up. He brings the droplet to his lips and licks it away. You hold your breath as he mutters, “Watching you run from me, hand in hand with some other man, hurts less than seeing you cry for him. It makes me wish I had made him suffer more before his end.”
“I’m not crying for him.”
Sukuna’s crimson eyes flit to you.
“Oh?”
Sudden sobs escape your lips. Your knees give out beneath you. He catches you, lifting you up in his arms. He always does. You bury your face in his neck. Sukuna rubs soothing circles on your back, cooing. “My ferocious, little wife…what is wrong? Did I hurt you too much? Do you…do you regret marrying me?”
The insecurity in his voice, the hesitation to ask, to hear a truth he would be distraught to hear, make you cry harder.
“Please don’t ever throw me away. I know I shouldn’t have left last night, but I really thought you were going to kill me. And maybe you will later. But please don’t,” you plead through your tears. “I want to be with you forever and ever.”
Silence passes.
A pregnant pause.
He laughs.
He actually laughs.
It’s full bodied. His stomach mouth joins in. “Hilarious! You never fail to entertain me with your constant overthinking. Always so afraid. So on guard. Too precious! You are just too adorable. You will rot my teeth.”
Weakly, you lay a barrage of punches on his chest. “Don’t laugh at me, you brute. I’m your wife. Respect me.”
Sukuna nods patronisingly, but he does shift his laughter into light chuckles, “Alright, alright. Forgive me, little wife. You are simply so delightful, so naive, and pitiful, I cannot help myself.”
“Put me down.”
“Never.” Sukuna presses a kiss to your cheek. He nudges your face away from his neck so you will meet his gaze. Seriously now, voice with his sacred vow, “I have no intention of throwing you away. Not since I laid eyes on you and felt a thing I did not know existed beat in my chest.”
Holding your breath, you listen to his confession.
“There is no world,” he continues, quieter now, though the weight of it presses heavier, “in which I allow you to slip from my grasp. Not heaven, not earth, not whatever fragile afterlife your kind clings to. If you are taken from me, I will unmake it. If you are hidden, I will find you. If you are reborn, I will recognise you.”
Shyly, you ask, “Even if I have a different face?”
Sukuna nods. “In whatever form, whatever shape, whatever state, you are. Wherever, whenever, you find yourself in. I will recognise you by your soul. For yours make up my own.”
He leaves a kiss to your forehead, to each of your eyes, to the tip of your nose. You giggle.
Then, huffing in amusement, he adds, “It certainly helps that we are bound by curse marriage. Not by your flimsy, human paper. But by blood. We curses take blood bonds very seriously. If we are to part, for whatever reason, we would both die, so it is in your best interest not to throw me away.”
That should startle you. Should scare you beyond belief. Instead, you think it’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever heard.
“I’m holding you to that,” you mutter against his lips.
Sukuna nuzzles your nose with his, a smile mirroring yours.
Warnings: 18+ smut, oral(fem receiving), Dirty talk, perhaps over stim?
Featuring: Tenant!Toji
Synopsis: you give your tenant, toji, MONTHS to figure something out and pay his rent. What happens when impatience wins, and you take matters into your own hands.
The first time he skipped out on rent you didn’t really make a big fuss about it.
“Maybe he just got busy and forgot.”
Busy your ass.
That man basically lives between his cushions when he’s not betting all his money away on horse races.
By the second month you were staring to get antsy. Because toji still had yet to pay the last months rent and now he was late on this months. So instead of kicking his door down and making matters heated, you sent Toji a quick message.
“Hi Toji, this your landlord. I just wanted to check in and make sure you remember to pay this months rent? and if you could update me on last months too that would be great. Thanks!”
read
Oh.
He didn’t even try to respond. Which was crazy because.. that was you being trying to be nice. Buttt you did give him the benefit of the doubt anyways cause maybe he just.. is going through something?
Who knows.
Fast forward. And it has been two whole months since Toji left you on read. You had to be world’s nicest landlord, because many would’ve slapped a 30 day notice on his ass after month one.
You are now standing at the foot of Tojis door within the apartment complex that he stayed in.
You took in a slow breath, already dreading the conversation you’re about to have.
You’ve barely spoken to him one on one since the day he moved in. That interaction had been short, dry, and unimpressed on his end. like he like he couldn’t help but count down the seconds until you stopped talking.
With a deep sigh, you landed three soft knocks on his door. When more than thirty seconds passed by you landed three much harder ones. To which tenant Toji responded to immediately.
You heard heavy foot steps getting louder , and a muffled voice that was loud enough for you to hear.
“You in so much of a fucking rush you can’t wait a couple-…. Seconds.”
The door swings open and there Tenate Toji was. Now face to face with the same woman he had been dodging for months on end now.
The same woman who texted him awhile back asking nicely for that cash. To which he blatantly ignored. And by the look on your face, brow raised, jaw tight, eyes drilling holes into his, you were clearly not pleased by his absence.
And your lack of money.
“Toji.”
“How you doin miss. You look upset. Anything I can do for you?”
“Yeah actually I’m so glad you offered. Your rent from the past four months would be perfect.”
He set himself up with that one. No excuses ready. No bullshit lined up.
“Yeah… No can do lady.”
Your head tilts as you let out a sharp, impatient scoff, folding your arms across your chest and shifting your weight to one leg.
“What the hell do you mean ‘no can do’? I gave you four and a half months to figure it out.”
Toji sighs, annoyed, and scratches through his messy black hair, lips curling into a sneer. Clearly he’d rather be anywhere else than dealing with his biggest headache right now.
“Look lady. The truth is..”
You didnt even let him finish before you cut him off with a scoff and a roll of your eyes.
“What? you don’t have it? Please don’t tell me you don’t have it.”
The mocking tone drips from your voice, but your smirk vanishes the second he goes dead silent, just staring at you like you’d finished the sentence for him.
The annoyed grin on your face drops instantly.
“Toji. are you kidding me right now.”
“told me not to say anything.”
you who was now pinching the bridge of your nose with your hand planted firmly to your hip. You couldn’t BELIEVE the sheer audacity of this man right now.
“I gave you four whole months Toji to come up with something. Anything. Which is above my pay grade by the way. I texted you, nicely, reminding you to pay your rent. and you left me on read. So please explain to me why I’m standing here and you’re telling me you don’t have ‘it’.”
Toji just leans against the doorframe, thick arms folded over his broad chest, looking down at you with an expression that screams ‘are you done yet?’
“Jobs seasonal, sweetheart. Look I’ll get you your money when I get it. What’s the big deal? Moneys money.”
“Right but moneys meant to be payed on time too isn’t it.”
“Well I don’t have it to be payed on time so why are you still standing here.”
Prick.
And the funnier part was he thought you were just going to simply sigh, kick some rocks, give up and walk away without gaining SOMETHING having just wasted your time.
You let out a sharp breath of a laugh through your nose and reach into your back pocket, pulling out a neatly folded paper. Toji’s eyes immediately lock onto it as you unfold it.
Once you opened the paper up fully, you began to skim off of it.
“Well, since you refuse to pay what you owe, I’ll just need you to sign right here at the bottom, acknowledging your thirty day notice.”
Tojis eyes widened just a fraction
“Actually,” you continue smoothly, “looks like I just need to sign it myself and we’re good to go.”
You pull a pen from your pocket and bring it to the paper to which you never got to sign because Toji made quick work to snatch it out of your hands, glance at it once, then crumple it up and toss it somewhere behind him
“Yeah. That’s not happenin, lady.”
You were left gagged. Mouth hung open. And eyes following wherever he just tossed that paper.
“Here’s how this is gonna go, sweetheart,” he says, stepping within your line of vision, blocking your view of the crumbled up paper that sat sad and forgotten on his apartment floor. “You’re gonna forget all about that little notice.”
“I don’t got your money. But you’re gonna tell me what I can do for you in the meantime.”
When he sees the irritation flash across your face, he adds with a lazy smirk,
“Don’t worry about the cash. You’ll get it eventually.”
“Tuh. Yeah. Eventually.”
you mutter, rolling your eyes and looking away from Toji. Beginning to reallly weigh your options here.
Before you can say another word, Toji hooks two fingers under your chin and tilts your face right back to his. His dark, heavy-lidded eyes shut you up before you can even curse him out.
“But we’re talking about right now, aren’t we? Don’t got it on me… sorry about that. But I was really hopin you’d accept other forms of payment for the time being.”
Tenate Toji who had you inside his apartment now with your back glued to his messy bed, and his tongue buried deep inside your messy folds.
He eats you like a man who’s done it a hundred times before. Tongue fucking into you, sucking and swirling around your clit with filthy precision.
You’re already a gasping, whimpering mess, eyes rolling back because the way he’s working your pussy makes it impossible to focus on anything else.
“That’s it… keep moaning for your tenant, pretty. Let him know how good he’s eatin this pussy.”
You weren’t even sure what number orgasm you were on anymore. But you were sure you had seen toji reaching in his pocket for something with his mouth still latched onto you a while back.
Your suspicions were confirmed when he started tossing bills onto your body after every orgasm.
You were now swimming in cash. Your feet planted on his large back, fingers tangled tight within his messy black hair.
When your eyes finally flutter open and drift down to him, he’s already watching you. those low, predatory eyes drinking in every detail.
The way your dewy skin glistens with sweat, money sticking to your perfect body, lashes fluttering, back arching off the mattress while his tongue keeps working miracles between your thighs.
Toji nearly cums in his pants at the sight. hips unconsciously grinding into the bed.
“look so fucking pretty swimmin in my money like that, bouta make me embarrassed myself.”
He mutters the words right against your dripping heat.
When your final orgasm crashes through you, Toji slowly pulls back, lips shiny and slick. He tosses one last thick wad of cash onto your stomach, eyes never leaving your soaked pussy. His thumb lazily drags through your folds, spreading the mess.
He kept his eyes glued to your perfectly wet pussy. Thumb running through your sloppy folds.
It takes you only a moment to catch your breath. Reality being quick to trickle back in as you stare down at the money scattered across your body, then right back up at Toji’s bored, satisfied expression.
“So you did have it.”
He smirks, voice low and smug.
“If that’s what you wanna hear. But I also didn’t have you in my bed did i?”
[ SERIES SYNOPSIS ] — it was obvious when this started, it was simply a mutual understanding between two horny college students — with very high libidos, and didn’t want any random stds — that this was purely a sexual relationship only. and yet, both of you are unintentionally toeing the line between that and something else ✦ frat!kuna fwb ✦ ongoing series
series masterlist ✮ previous chp ✮ next chp (coming soon)
sukuna wakes slow and heavy-limbed. he’s fogged over with the kind of sleep that only comes after exhaustion and release finally line up for just a moment. the sheets are warm and tangled around his legs exposing his naked torso to the cool air of your bedroom. his body still humming with that dull, satisfied ache that reminds him of last night’s pleasures.
for a moment he doesn’t move. just controlled breathes. eyes half-lidded as he blinks slowly. and he lets the quiet settle.
then he notices you.
you’re framed in the open doorway between the bedroom and the living room, back half-turned to him, pacing softly like you’re afraid of waking the apartment. a phone is pressed to your ear, your voice low and controlled in that way he’s learned — after starting this deal with you over a month and half ago — means you’re holding something back with annoyance.
you’re wearing only an oversized one piece t-shirt, the fabric slipping off one shoulder when you turn, bare legs catching the morning light as you pace. sukuna stays still, eyes tracking you without shame or restraint — the fresh marks on your skin pulls his attention like gravity, evidence of last night written openly where only he can see.
he doesn’t interrupt. he doesn’t clear his throat. he just watches. groggy and unguarded. something unfamiliar and heavy settles subtly over his chest as he takes you in like this, quiet, half-dressed, soft.
the week hasn’t disappeared. neither have the problems he’s quietly pushed back for the moment. but from where he’s lying, tangled in your sheets, it’s impossible to pretend that he isn’t grateful to have this agreement. even with the new condition added on last night, his mind is only circling the moans that slipped your lips. the comforter, tossed on the ground, evidence of your little surprise. and the slight warmth in his chest at the thought of sleeping with you again.
the clanking of your beaded curtains draws his attention back up. your hand tossles your bed hair, his eyes follow the movement, slowly tracking down your figure, and the rise of your shirt. he notices the light hand marks he’d left last night on your hips, along with some hickies along your bare thighs.
“was I loud?” you grumble, tossing your phone haphazardly on the dresser.
sukuna clicks his tongue, hand scratching his chest before tucking his arm behind his head, his bicep subtly flexing. “were ya—“ sukuna stifles a loud yawn, missing the way you cross the room. your fingers graze his warm chest, eyes flicking to the obvious bulge under the thin blanket, his coarse happy trail an invitation.
“ngh—“ sukuna groans at the sudden weight dropped on his lap, but easily draws his free hand to caress your hip under your shirt. “were ya up long?”
you shake your head, hands on his pecs tracing the ink that marks his broad chiseled chest, “do you need to be anywhere?” you ask.
his eyes drop from your face to the subtle way you’re rocking your hips. the sheer blanket barely acts as a barrier between your pussy and his morning wood. his hand squeezes your hips, kneading the soft flesh.
your hands continue caressing his chest, like it it’s the first time you’re touching him, but really, you were just turned on. his hand leaves your hip for a second, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, just for your hand to follow, caressing his veiny forearm.
“touchy this mornin’,” he grumbles, dropping the hand back to your waist. the soft pads of your fingers trace up the veins of his arms, squeezing and groping the tattoos wrapped around his biceps. “I don’t needa be anywhere. do you?” he eyes your phone, causing you to glance away from his muscles, to the deep red eyes.
you wet your lips, hesitating for a moment, then shaking your head.
his brow quirks, hand twitching when you start rocking a little quicker, the blanket slipping lower with each rock, his thick happy trail scratching at your puffy clit now. a satisfied sigh escapes your lips as you press your hands to his lower abdomen, his abs flexing under your palms as you begin humping him quicker. you were absolutely shameless, that was his favorite part about you. you can feel his hard cock pressing up against the blanket, pushing against your ass.
“pretty turned on,” he snorts, biting his lip as you give another delicious roll of your hips, moaning softly, eyes fluttering. you’re unbelievable. “wanna put it inside?” he spreads his thighs, hand grabbing at your waist, but instead your lips fall down connecting with his collarbone, shocking the man briefly.
but what takes him completely by surprise is when your lips continue trailing south. the slow drag of your wet lips on his warm skin, the gentle possessiveness of your fingers feeling his body.
you were in a different mood than last night.
his jaw tenses, watching you closely as you suck a bruise on his lower abdomen, your hand feeling the deep ridges of his hard earned abs. you push the blanket further down, crawling between his thick thighs. your lashes bat gently, savoring every kiss you press against the man, until your fingers gently touch his wrist.
his pupils dilate, breath hitching in his throat.
you’re staring up at him, breath fanning against the thick groomed hairs of his pubes, and your gentle fingers have firmly gripped his wrist, gently placing it on the crown of your head.
seriously? his neck strains with control, wetting his bottom lip as you nuzzle subtly into his hand.
something’s definitely up…
“you’re fucking insane,” his words come off colder than he’d intended, but if there was one thing about you, it’s that you’ll almost always bite.
you hum in quiet confirmation, lashes batting as you kiss his lower pelvis. your manicured nails brush his thick pubes as you kiss him lower, hand pushing his thick cock down as you glance up at him through your lashes. you don’t think twice about nuzzling your cheek in his musk, as if you’re oblivious to the obvious stench of sex from last night, and he could’ve sworn your eyes were just a bit more glossy than usual as you subtly inhaled.
that’s when he finally flexed his forearm, his hand that you’d placed on your head, finally brushes your hair, thumb falling on your forehead as he caresses the soft skin. petting.
his cock stirs. stomach twisting. the calmness quietly takes him by surprise. your lashes flutter shut for a moment, breath fanning against his most private area, tension forced off your shoulders. and he watches closely, the way you melt between his legs just from the action of petting your head.
your expression turned gentle. the knit in your brows from your phone call eased, and your lips part with even breaths, your shoulders rise a little more, until your fingers flex, gripping his cock in surprise.
“shit,” a sharp hiss escapes his lips, cock jumping in your hand as you nuzzle closer, kissing his base. his muscles flex with control, slightly irritated by your pace, but not completely oblivious to your distant gaze.
so he continues petting you.
occasionally brushing your cheeks before returning his large hand to the top of your head, humming in satisfaction when you begin kissing his cock with more intention. your lips suck on the veins at the base of his cock, tongue flat before dragging it up to his flushed red tip, spitting. his thighs spread, hand holding the side of your head, allowing his thumb to grant you whatever relief you needed by caressing your cheekbones.
“good girl,” he rasps, voice still groggy from the morning. his cock twitches as he feels your spit slide from his tip to his girthy base, your hand lubricating him as you kiss his tip again and again. the coil already starts twisting deep in his gut as you take your time. your jaw opens wider, holding his cock as you slap it against your tongue.
eyes locked on him.
a low groan escapes his throat, hips rising slightly. his leg is bent open just for his impressive cock to twitch some more, slit leaking bitter pre for your tongue to lap up like ice cream.
you’re fucking messing with him.
his head tips back, throat bopping and arm draping over his face. his bicep flexing, controlling himself. he’s snapped at you to get on with it before, he might as well snap now. but there’s a great fucking chance you’d just stop. pull away. glare at him. and though he’s sure he can convince you to keep going. it still feels like you’re both walking on thin ice.
you’d just mended things. he’s not a complete idiot to act like an asshole after that, even if he thinks bickering during sex is what your relationship is—but you’re acting uncharacteristically different. so he bites his tongue, keeping a hand on your head allowing you to go at your pace like his cock is there to serve you and not him.
it’s torture.
are you punishing him? that can be the only explanation to why you’re suckling his painfully engorged tip for the past ten-fifteen-twenty minutes??? you’re acting like it’s the first time you’re seeing a man’s cock.
your lips part, a soft moan escaping as you get a taste of his bitter cum, swallowing more of his length as you bob your head slowly, hand pumping the rest as you cup his heavy balls.
“fuuck me,” he grunts low and dangerous, fingers tightening around your hair, pushing you down as you gag. your whines go straight to his cock, his head dizzy from the edging, and screaming for release.
your fingers tighten around his base, before pushing against his toned thighs, trying to push off, but his hand remains firm on your head, keeping you down as you swallow more of his length. deepthroating.
“haah fuck, jus’ like that, baby, fuckin’ mouth feels like heaven—ngh gun’ cum in this hole,” his words strain, forearms flexing as he bucks his hips up. his cock hits the back of your throat immediately triggering your tears.
your nails dig into his thighs, breathing through your nose as your throat constricts around his cock, finally sending him over the edge.
“fuck-fuck—“ the loud unfiltered groan fills the bedroom. his thick cum spills down your throat, suffocating you as you finally push his hand off.
his cum hits your face as you gasp for air, swallowing the cum that filled your mouth as the rest paints your chin and lips. “fuuck me,” he groans, chest heaving as his hand falls from his face to his stomach.
your cheeks flush, heart hammering as you catch your breath, watching the huge man on your bed soak in his post nut bliss. your brows furrow, anger quietly bubbling under the surface, just to still when you see the lazy grin on his face, canines peaking. the furious heat that blows your face, triggers your realization that you’re absolutely soaked. he’d just used your face and you’re unbelievably wet—
“are ya mad?” he sighs, opening an eye to glance at you. his hand comes back to your face, wiping his cum from your chin, just to push it to your lips. “open.”
you’ve definitely lost your mind.
your soft lips part. his thumb pushes in. eyes locked on your glossy lips sucking the rough digit, cleaning his cum off. his cock stirs again, eyes lidded as he maintains eye contact. your lashes bat up at him, curiosity and anger mixed together, just for his eyes to break your skin, face a hot mess.
“taste good?”
sukuna scoffs as you shake your head. you pull off for a moment, fingers brushing his forearm as he holds your jaw.
“it’s more bitter,” you admit, “were you drinking a lot this week?”
his jaw tenses, remembering the events of the past week without you—
“i like it when it tastes sweet,” you say. his hand falls as you pull away. your fingers grab the hem of your shirt, lifting it over your head and tossing it.
“when does it ever taste sweet?” he scoffs, watching as you stand up, eyes flicking to the way your nipples harden at the cool air, tits swaying as you grab a new box of condoms from your drawer. he catches sight of your ass, bruised and gorgeous.
“most of the time it does,” you answer, taking out a condom, and tossing it on his stomach. then you climb back between his legs.
his eyes widen briefly.
you face away from him. your hips rise as you position your feet under his bent legs. his muscular thighs flex, biting back a groan as he grabs a handful of your ass, tearing the wrapper with his teeth. he moves slightly up, resting his back on the pillows and headboard.
“don’t wanna face me ‘cause i came down y’er throat?” he jerks his cock, before sliding the condom on. he’s not complaining about the view, yeah, he loves seeing your face twist in pleasure, but this view was an easy fucking turn on.
“i wanna go at my pace,” you huff, raising your hips as your hand comes between your legs. sukuna bites back a grin as you grip his cock, positioning it at your hole.
“y’er pussy looks fucking tiny from here, sure y’er not gonna cry?” he teases, holding your ass apart, thumbs close to your entrance keeping you open for his greedy eyes.
“m’ fine,” you mumble, biting your lip as you push his tip against your cute little cunt, slowly sinking down. the smallest whimper escapes your throat at the stretch of his engorged tip. “haaah…”
his jaw slacks, a low airy chuckle sinks in your ear as the athlete watches your ass bounce and shake over his tip, making it snug right into your gummy walls to suck in.
“c’mon a lil’ more finesse, babe,” he comments, amused at the way you lean forward grabbing fistfuls of the bedsheet, back arching even deeper. “fuuck.”
spank.
a shocked gasp leaves your lips. ass bouncing with more vigor, pussy sucking in more of his length.
spank!
“angh!” your moan pierces the air, your pussy oozing slick as you ride his big chubby cock. every spank to your ass a signal to go faster.
god, it feels so good.
“keep shakin’ your pretty ass in my face—“ spank! “fuck—take this cock like a good girl. ya like havin, this pussy filled, don’t ya?” spank!
“yeeah,” you pant, ass slamming down to meet his hips. your eyes fluttering with every drag, mind growing numb every time his tip hits your cervix,
“yeah, keep going—ngh keep goin’,” his rough grunts from behind you has you chasing the coil twisting in your gut. “missed this pussy all week…you missed it too right? missed this big cock stretching y’er cunt?
“anngh ryo-ryo wanna cum on you, ry—haah ah,” your lips part, choked whines flowing out with each hard spank to your ass. his grip tightens on your hips, slamming you down harder, suffocating his cock around your weeping pussy.
his hips rise to meet yours halfway, your eyes roll back at the delicious stretch. biting your lip as you fist the sheets. you ignore the sting in your thighs as you keep bouncing, tongue falling out like a dumb slut as he spanks you harder. unsympathetic to your cries as he keeps your ass bouncing over him.
then, his eyes flick to your other hole. his pupils blow black, heart hammering as his thumb slowly moves to the puckering hole. “fucking winking at me,” he mutters to himself.
“feels so good, ryo,” you whine, unaware of his new sudden attention. his thumb rubs the dip in your spine, biting his lip as you slam down again. fuck your asshole looks so pretty, he thinks, face burning. “ryo—“ your moans pitch higher, snapping him back.
“slutty pussy,” he grunts, biting his lip to spank your ass again, pupils dilating at the recoil. “yeah,” his hands glide over the globes of your ass, chuckling as your bouncing grows sloppy. whines carefully hitting the walls as you sit up, hands on his knees, as you start slamming down harder. “shiit.”
his knuckles turn white, gripping your hips as he feels you start clamping, your hands go back to the sheets between his legs, panting like a little slut that’s never fucked herself on a big cock before.
“gunna cum-gonnacumgonna—ahh—“ your hips still, his cock fully sheathed inside your tight pussy, whining. he feels you clench around him in spasms. your glossy lips slick with drool, choked whines escaping as a hot white orgasm rocks through your veins.
“god, this pussy is dirty,” he spanks your ass again. a low groan crawls up his chest as you slowly rock back n forth, dragging your climax.
then with just his tip in, pussy stretched and oozing around him, balanced on your forearms and knees, you glance over your shoulder.
“use my pussy, ryo.”
he blinks.
his heart stutters.
then his face blows hot bright pink.
he’d just woken up. the man had been holding back for your sake. even though he can tell you’re not all there. mind wandering with that distant look in your eyes. he’s a man at the end of the day. and if you’re batting your lashes at him like that, with that look in your eyes, asking him to use you? well, there’s no stopping him.
your head was stirring from quiet to loud. you’d been up around an hour ago to use the bathroom, and mistakenly detoured to your buzzing phone in the living room once you’d stepped out of the bathroom. the pit in your stomach felt bigger now that finals is officially over, and today was the start of summer.
with that realization, your dads caller id felt like everything you’d been avoiding finally toppling onto your shoulders, and suffocating you into the ground.
your sister had decided after she’d left your niece, yazzy, with you for too long and almost made you miss your final, that it would be a great idea to come over the same night, and thursday, and friday. all the way up until your brother-in-law finally finished his meeting, and was ready to head to the airport.
however, this quality time with your older sister couldn’t have been at a more inconvenient tome:
“what?!” your eyes widen, lurching back. you were sitting on the couch, yazzy was playing with some legos on the floor, and your sister was scrolling on her phone.
jennie nods, “yeah I know, weird.”
“that’s really really weird. why the hell is everyone getting married so early? like we’re still in college??” you ramble, shocked by the news your sister had just told you. another one of your close family friends just got engaged, mind you she’s your age, “and the guy is her age too?”
jennie nods, cringing, “yeah, he’s still in school, and mom was saying that their gonna live with his parents until like, he makes money.”
you cringe, “I’d actually kill myself.”
jennie snorts, nodding along, “no like I’d actually kill myself.”
“dunno why she wouldn’t wait until they at least graduate and get a little stability. that’d actually be the worst possible thing, living off your in-laws money and they’re not even that wealthy,” you judge, only being able to do that around your sister. “wait— I literally thought she was still with leo?”
“no actually,” you sister easily agrees, and shrugs to your second inquiry. she’s scrolling through her messages until she finds the photos she’s looking for. “this was the engagement party mom went too, her dress is pretty here.”
you lean over, taking the phone from your sister to look, “yeah, she looks really pretty.”
“mama was telling me how they met in school. they were in the same student club, I think she was president and he was vice president or something,” jennie explains, while you swipe through the pictures. “they talked for like five months before getting engaged.”
“what?!” your eyes blow even wider. “just five months?!!”
you sister snorts, “yeah, insane.”
“yeah what the actual hell?,” you hand her back her phone, mind slowly wandering…. “yeah, I’m definitely not getting married in school or straight out either. I’d rather die.” your sister quietly snorts, not in a way she’s hiding either. your brows furrow briefly, rolling your eyes the second you see that look on her face. “what?”
“nothing. I didn’t even say anything.”
you frown harder, “you’re making that stupid face. so what?”
jennie rolls her eyes, “you say you’re not gonna do a lot of things and you end up doing it.” she trails.
but you’re already frowning.
“you’re so annoying —you always get mad and I haven’t even said anything—“ she starts.
“yeah, because I know what you’re gonna say and I literally said that’s not how I am. sorry i can’t act out once. I guess that’s your thing,” you tsk.
jennie barely bats an eye as she speaks over you, “if you don’t want to go to med school. don’t. you’re a doormat about literally everything. you’re scared to make mom and dad upset and then you come complaining to me. you’ve always been like that. I’m not gonna do it, I don’t wanna do it. then you end up doing it. it’s annoying hearing you whine,” jennie huffs.
your eyes feel sore from how much you’ve rolled them, “like it’s that easy when he’s literally taking out loans and paying for me to go to school.”
“he did the same thing for me and i still dropped it. I’d rather have done anything else than go to med school,” your sister makes that annoying ass so what face. “you’re just a goody-two-shoes.”
“I’m literally not. and unlike you I actually feel bad when dad wastes money—“
“It’s your future. he’s not even forcing you to do it. you just keep saying you wanna do it—“
“I never said I wanted to do it—“
“well you basically did when dad asked what else are you gonna do and you didn’t even wanna tell me him you’re interested in other stuff. and then when he pushed you to go pre-med you just went along with the it…like a doormat.”
your jaw ticks, blood pumping viscously in your ears. “I’m not a doormat, I’m just indecisive.”
“yeah, well same thing,” your sister says, your mouth opens to reply when her phone starts buzzing. your face goes pale at the caller id.
“don’t pick up—“
“hey dad.”
you sink into the couch, heart beating against your ribs as you anxiously hear the sound of your dads voice. you hadn’t spoken to him since you’d told him you’re not taking your mcats this summer. it’s almost been two full weeks of you dodging his calls, and dryly replying to his texts.
“yeah she’s sitting right next to me,” your sister puts him on speaker.
you inhale sharply, taking a deep breath as your dad greets you. his tone calm, clearly cautious, as if you’ll run away from a phone call. which you’ve been doing, but it’s irritating nonetheless because he already knows you’re there.
“how are your finals going?” he asks.
your lips purse, “fine.” your eyes flick up, “i can barely study with jennie here though.”
“I don’t even bother you—“
“I was up all night because I couldn’t do anything in the morning. she had me babysit yazzy all day and yesterday, and she knows I have finals. I almost missed my exam yesterday because she didn’t pick up yazzy in time.”
“that wasn’t my fault—“
“jennie,” your dad cuts the argument.
your sister gives the biggest eye roll known to man, and you know she’s going to give you attitude after the call. but you’d rather snitch and distract your dad, than give him the chance to turn his attention on you.
however, he’s a surgeon. meaning, he’ll get to the point easily and never beat around the bush. even after scolding jennie on your behalf, he quickly shifts, your name cutting through the speaker, “did you sign the forms I emailed you?”
your sister glances up, eyes boring into yours as you sink back, head falling on the cushion as the anxiety quickly crawls up your throat.
“I got your friends forms, she signed them quickly, so I need you to do that soon,” your dad certainly has a way of talking at you, rather than to you. however, you’re not one to confront him, especially when you’re not even confident in what you’ll be doing this summer. all you know is you do not want to work with your dad, but you’d rather die than ever say that to his face.
“I’m still like…waiting to hear back from some other places, so I don’t wanna commit to that,” you scratch at the cushion.
your sister rolls her eyes — it’s almost like that’s the only thing she knows how to do.
“what exactly are you waiting for you? you said you’re going to work in the summer, are you backing out?” his harsh tone quickly has you clenching your jaw in frustration.
“it’s the summer before my senior year. I said I had things that I wanted to check out—“
“you can’t just keep going back and forth when you agree to something,” he snaps. “that’s what being an adult is. you said you would take your mcats in the summer, and work. if you don’t have anything to do than you’re going to work. I don’t wanna come home everyday and see you just sitting at home waking up past twelve—“
“I wasn’t going to just sit at home,” you tsk.
“then what’re you going to do?” his harsh tone immediately shuts you up. there’s no talking to him when he’s like this. it was the sureness in his tone that always made you feel incompetent, like every second you spend indecisive, is another day wasted. you roll your eyes, getting up. “if you have something that’ll keep you busy for the summer, that’s not just sitting at home, then tell me and I’ll leave you alone. but you don’t.”
“okay, whatever,” you storm off grabbing your bag shoving your laptop in.
your sister mutters how you’re leaving and it’s not long until the call ends and your sister is turning in her spot on the couch. “you have a problem with criticism,” she starts.
“I don’t,” you mumble, slipping your shoes at the door. “I have a problem with everyone pushing me around when I literally said I needed time.”
“when have you ever said that?” she throws back.
your jaw ticks, “all the freaking time,” you grit. “I’ve been volunteering at the hospital every summer since high school, and did those programs too. it’s annoying and boring and I don’t know why he’s obsessed with me doing a new one every summer.”
“you never tell him though—“
“because I don’t have anything else!” you snap, mind getting tangled. why is it so hard for her to understand? out of everyone, she should be the most sympathetic. but unlike you, she doesn’t care if she upsets your parents. it’s one thing you hate about your older sister. she’ll do, quite literally, anything she wants. and if she doesn’t want to do it, she won’t.
jennie stifles a loud groan, rolling her eyes as she turns back to the tv. “go, ohmygod I’m so tired of your excuses.”
“it’s not—tch,” you don’t even bother. instead you twist the handle of your front door and leave.
you aren’t clueless. you definitely think you’re self-aware — like many others do — but it’s difficult to be self-aware and prideful. you hate the idea of going to med school, you hate the idea of doing the same thing every day. if you pursue it, you wouldn’t settle for anything other than a surgeon, that’s what dad is. but you don’t even want to be doctor in the first place! but you’re too scared to fully commit to something in the arts—
your mind pounds as you hole yourself in the uni library for that entire thursday night. you couldn’t even bring yourself to fully process whether you smelled or not. instead, you took your final two exams friday morning and noon. desperately racking through your brain why you’re trying so hard for something you care so little for.
it wasn’t a subject you liked pondering. in fact, you actively try to avoid thinking about your future. it’s a blaring red topic that only brings you anxiety, insecurity, and many other negative feelings.
maybe that’s why you spent a majority of your day on campus, wandering from the student center, to the cafe, to the courtyard— all with the intention of avoiding your apartment until you sister leaves.
but you can only distract yourself for so long. your stomach churned with anxiety as you wasted the day away on the grass. your heart picking up as the inevitable responsibilities you’ve put off began to loom over your head like a dark cloud. one that had you curling inward on the grass. hand pressing over your heart as you rubbed it, hoping it’ll ease the tightness that continues to wind.
“fuck me,” you mutter, swallowing the lump in your throat. your eyes feel hot, tears collecting before your can control it. this sucks so bad.
the heat in your chest was a familiar sensation. one that left you sinking deeper and deeper. you’ve been trying so hard for the past three years…you’ve mentioned your scripts to your dad…to your mom….but you’re always met with the logistics. if you showed a little interest in something, they automatically assumed you were a pro….
you quietly try to swallow your self-loathing, wiping the few tears that managed to fall. it’s inevitable, you repeat, making your way to the bus when your phone goes off.
CALLER ID: DUMBASS
your breath hitches.
…is he going to apologize? end the deal? your stomach churns uncomfortably. fuck, your head feels like it’s gonna explode—
you pick up, “hello?”
—
“ngh fuckfuck—fuck m’ cumming—shiit—!!” sukuna growls in your ear, muscles glistening with sweat as his stomach flexes against your back. his muscles lock up after a few more sloppy thrusts. his biceps flex, arm wrapped around your middle, keeping you arched down on the bed as he slams his brutal length from behind. his other hand interlaced with yours on the bed, squeezing it as he buckles over.
“fhuckk—nghhh—“ his groans wavers on the precipice of sounding like moans, completely falling over the edge as he shoots his load into the rubber.
his hips roll viciously, grinding right against your sweet spot, earning a moan like whimper from you, until he’s finally stilled behind you.
his warm breath fans against your ear,
the morning weekend traffic sounds outside. the quiet calm that falls after a good fuck settles in the bedroom, along with your mixed pants.
your stomach fully relaxes on the mattress, body laying down. sex is fulfilling…you think. your mind feels all mushy, your limbs sore, your ass definitely more bruised—yet your stomach still manages to churn uncomfortably.
you swallow a thick lump, resting your cheek further into the mattress, eyes closed. why does it have to be summer already?
jennie is such a selfish— your eyes clench tighter, heart speeding up at the memory of yesterday, after getting back home from the bus….
“why do you always finish inside me?” your voice comes out before you can stop it, distracting yourself.
sukuna lazily blinks, pulling out, chest still pressed against your back as he tugs the condom off tying it. “what kinda question is that?” he mutters, cock pressing against your ass.
your lips part, unsure where it came from, but still managing a response. “i thought you hate condoms—“
“i do,” he quickly cuts, rolling beside you, chest rising and falling. “and I’ve cum on your ass n tits and face multiple times,” he tsks.
your lashes gently blink, palm sliding against the comforter. mind in quiet scrambles. his head turns, gaze falling to your palm now resting on his bicep. his eyes flick to your face, your lidded gaze fixated on your own fingers tracing his tattoos. there was no rush, not like the times before where he’d have practice, or you had to study. instead, there was an ambiguous tension of anxiety bubbling in you, not wanting to leave his side right now.
“hey,” your voice is much softer, as it always turns after he’s had his way with you. “what’re you gonna do this summer?”
sukuna shifts, biceps flexing as his other arm tucks behind his head getting comfortable beside you. “gonna go back to my gramps. have some shit i haveta deal with that I’ve been putting off,” he vaguely explains, eyes pointed at the ceiling. so far he hasn’t heard from kaori since he and toji paid her a visit a few weeks ago. then again, he hasn’t spoken to toji outside of practice, which strictly stuck to tactical and strategic moves on the pitch.
and let’s not forget the other headache of choso dodging his calls and texts. the most updates he’s received is when yuuji calls him from the house line, or texts him from gramps phone. and the most information given is yuuji’s two sentences about choso spending a lot of time with his band practicing for a show at the end of the school year. then he’ll go on a rant about some shit he dragged megumi and his new friend, nobara, into that landed them in in-school detention.
“do you live with your grandpa?” you question, curiosity always getting the better of you.
sukuna lets out a hum like grunt from the back of his throat, his hand scratches his sweaty stomach, biceps flexing under your palm as he does so.
“your brothers too?”
sukuna’s pupils flick to you from the corner of his eye. intimidating glare boring into you. “what’s with the interrogation?”
you sigh, closing your eyes, “was just wondering. am I crossing a line?”
his jaw ticks, you really have a way with words, and he doesn’t mean that in a positive way.
“yeah, my brothers live with him.” he could’ve easily snapped, but maybe it was the post-nut bliss swimming in his veins that allowed him to reply in a leveled tone.
your mind quietly begins to wonder…so him and brothers live with his grandpa…so where’s his dad? if he has a step mom, did his parents get a divorce? is his mom still in the picture? is his dad still in the picture? what’s the issue with his step-mom? he doesn’t seem to have a good relationship with her—
“what’re you gonna do this summer?” his words cut your wandering thoughts, focus snapping back to him with an uncomfortable twist settling over your shoulders. he doesn’t miss the way you inhale deeply.
“probably…” you mutter, trailing off as your palm slides off his bicep, “gonna work at the hospital…for my…yeah…”
his brow quirks in subtle confusion, “yeah?”
you sigh through your nose, glancing at the veins around his biceps…how can someone be so strong? how long did it take him to build all that muscle, do soccer players even need huge biceps?
“hey,” he snaps you back.
your lips part, blinking.
“your yeah?” he repeats, intrigued now that you’re acting weird.
“my dad,” you mutter, eyes closing. “shoko is also gonna stay over for a few weeks for the program, so like, that’s good,” you add quietly.
his brow remains up, confused why you’re answering so cryptically, ignoring how similar your tone is to his, “do you not like y’er dad or some shit?”
your eyes flick to him with shock. the silence was unconvincing before you finally respond. “it’s not like that,” you swallow a lump, tongue poking your lips.
“so you don’t like the program?”
you sigh louder, why can peace never find you? “I’ve been working up this program for a thousand years… I hate it.”
“then don’t do it,” his simple response immediately sets you off. he catches the quiet tsk from your mouth, his brows furrowing as his head turns to you. “sore subject much?”
you glare up at him.
he scoffs, settling himself again, “just tell me to fuck off then,” he tsks, “fucking keep my mouth shut next time.”
you frown at his reaction, “does everything trigger you?”
his face morphs into a deeper scowl, rolling his eyes. “maybe we should add another fucking condition: no fucking talking after sex,” he growls.
your brow hits the ceiling, eyes wide, as you snap up, “what?!” your screech pierces his ears, making him flinch back. “what the hell! i don’t agree. if that’s a condition then no deal, man!”
sukuna shoots you a bewildered look, “you can’t keep your mouth shut after fucking?”
“no, what the hell,” you shoot, eyes wide as they bore down at him. “you can’t ban me from talking. that’s a dumb freaking condition,” you ramble. the fratboy scoffs lightly, eyes glancing between yours as you continue. “what happens if I break the condition huh? you’re gonna end the deal then, let’s just end it now, because I don’t agree, and I don’t approve of adding it. it’s dumb and literally makes no sense. god forbid I wanna say something once in awhile, it’s almost like I have a brain.”
your rant turns into more of a dumb explanation of your disagreement, while sukuna gives you the most deadpan unamused look ever. it’s like this whole thing has turned into one big fat (amusing) inconvenience for him.
with some miracle, you finally notice him. your face twists, “what?”
the man slowly blinks, “I’m surprised you stopped talking for a minute.”
“hilarious,” you roll your eyes. “well I disagree. so your choice: no condition, or no deal.”
“is that an ultimatum?”
you don’t even glance at him, you’re sat up resting back on your arm, the ball in his court, as you wait.
he scoffs, rolling his eyes. you’re a goddamn handful. “no condition.”
“that’s what I thought,” your quick response earns a genuine snort from the man. your gaze flicks to him with amusement subtly dancing behind your eyes. “you’re acting like you don’t talk after sex.”
“not as much as you,” he throws back, eyes tracking over your face, then down to your breasts. you looked mouthwatering sitting up beside him like this. the afternoon sun shining throw the sheer curtains, highlighting every mole he’s definitely put his lips on. his mind felt surprisingly calm, even if the inevitable summer has finally arrived, at least he’s still in your presence.
“you’re not even listening to me. does a naked girl really distract you that much?”
“yeah,” he husks, leaning up to kiss the soft flesh of your breast, hand groping the other as he sucks with a low hum. your lips part in mild surprise, sigh escaping as he hallows his cheeks. his touch is firm, cupping the underside of your breast as he brings his lips to the other.
your lidded gaze drags over him, holding back your amusement seeing his flaccid cock twitch and easily grow hard again. unbelievable…
“ngh—shit that was good,” sukuna grunts, sweaty back hitting the mattress after another quick round. his satisfied smile whilst he catches his breath was amusing, especially when your lips part, kissing his neck.
“you gonna be gone all summer?” you ask into his neck, arm loosely laying across his chest, his arm still tucked around your torso keeping you pressed to his side as you come down from your climax.
“dunno—I live an hour away, but I’m always comin into the city so,” he shrugs. you hum quietly, thinking. “you?”
your fingers quietly touch his ear lobes, missing the heated flush that crawls up his neck at the sensitive touch. “I live in the opposite side of the country…I’d rather stay here,” you murmur, eyes gently falling shut again, desperately trying to keep your brain mushy. “let’s just go back to sleep….”
his chest quietly rises, gentle breath slipping past his lips. he glances at you tucked by his side. and even if it was the afternoon, having your body heat and scent surround him, the gentle caresses of your fingers against his neck, and your warm breath fanning against his chest. well it all made it significantly easier for sleep to take over.
sukuna can’t know for sure how irresponsible it was to sleep for a majority of the day at your apartment. groggy as he woke up to take a piss then join you again. it truly felt like a recovery day from the stressful semester, and even more stressful week. but, before crashing beside you again, he’d managed to plug his dead phone into the charger.
that may have been a mistake. especially when he’s waking up to his phone pinging with notifications.
his arm stretches over, yawn racking through his body as he scrolls through his lockscreen, vision blurry with sleep, ignoring the insta tags and messages in the frat chat.
however he reads the message from toji.
call me when you’re free.
sukuna licks his lips, rubbing his eyes as he scrolls to his gramps.
when are you coming home???
gramps said today or tomorrow?!
I wanna show you the new haunted house nobara was telling me!!
HELLO
HELLO
HELLO
HELLLLLOOOOO
It’s Saturday why are you not answering???
sukuna sighs removing his other arm wrapped around you to reply to his brother. what time is it?
you shift quietly beside him.
sukuna continues flicking through his messages, brow furrowing. a banking alert flashes across his screen — choso’s account. incoming wire transfer completed.
“the fuck?” sukuna’s eyes snap open. the sender’s name making his blood run cold.
ACH CREDIT — $1,500.00
Sender: Kaori Kamo Holdings LLC
Posted to Choso’s Checking •••4877
what the fuck?!
sukuna immediately blows his lid, ripping the sheets off him as he storms out of the bedroom. his fingers already pressing his home’s line, waiting for the ring until the phone suddenly picks up.
“RYO! ARE YOU ON YOUR WAY—“
“yuuji—“
“megumi is sleeping over, so i can totally show you the new video game too. megumi thinks he’s better than me, but I’ve been letting him win—“
“don’t lie,” megumi interrupts in the background.
sukuna tsks, shoving his shirt on as he buckles his jeans. “yuuji zip it for a sec!”
yuuji goes silent.
sukuna moves the phone to his ear, shoving his wallet in his pocket. “where was choso today?”
“all you ever ask me anymore is choso this, choso that,” the eleven year old grumbles, obviously sulking, no longer interested in talking to his older brother.
“yuuji,” the older grits, frustration bubbling as theories start floating in his mind. why the fuck did she wire transfer choso money? is this some power play? she hasn’t contacted him in weeks, is she scaring him? rubbing it in his face that she can access choso through money?
yuuji huffs through the speaker, “he just woke up. he was sleeping all morning—cho!”
…
“CHOO!”
“WHAT?!” the loud bark of the middle child resounds through the speaker, quietly easing the knots that have already formed in sukuna’s shoulders.
“see,” yuuji shifts his attention back to sukuna.
sukuna slips his shoes on. not batting a single eye at the chaotic state he’s leaving your apartment. unfortunately for him, his mind is quickly consumed with thoughts of his brother, that he’s unable to process how he’s leaving things for the summer with you…
“was he home all of yesterday?”
“no. he went to school, duuuuhhhh—“
the vein snaps in sukuna’s neck.
“yuuji.”
sukuna audibly hears yuuji gulp on the other line, sulking once again. “he was in the garage with his band. then gramps came home tired so they went to ino’s place to practice.”
“ino?”
yuuji hums, “yeah. he’s choso’s friend from like middle school. he’s really really funny, and is part of cho’s band.”
a boy with a beanie loosely comes to mind, but sukuna remains focused, exiting your building. it really is almost two in the afternoon, streets quietly bustling with saturday lunch plans. “what time did he get back home?”
yuuji groans on the other line, “I don’t know maaan, jus’ ask him yourself. I’m bored.”
sukuna tsks, frustrations bubbling up again, “get him on the phone.”
“choso!” yuuji shouts, earning a loud scold from the middle child, and sukuna ripping the phone from his ear, “ryo wants to talk to you!”
“tell him he can suck. my. ass!” choso shouts.
another veins snaps in sukuna’s neck.
“he said you can suck his—“
“I heard him,” sukuna snaps. fucking teenagers. he inhales sharply, going down the subway. “I’m coming tomorrow morning.”
“WHAA?? I thought you said today,” yuuji whines.
sukuna runs a hand through his hair, completely unaware of the women that ogle him as he hops on the train. “I got busy this morning and I still need to pack.”
“but—“
“I’ll talk to you later. call me if choso leaves the house,” sukuna hangs up.
the sound of choso’s movie plays in the background, while megumi eats beside yuuji on the counter. yuuji quietly stares at his plate as the phone rings.
“you okay?” megumi looks over at him, french fry hanging from his mouth.
yuuji hangs the phone, biting his cheek as he sulks further in his seat. “he never asks how I’m doing anymore,” he mumbles.
sukuna likes to pretend he has control over everything. at least he tries his hardest to make everyone think that. however, it doesn’t always come out as control when he has a temper as short as his.
the moment the frat came into view he should’ve known.
his neck cracked as he walked up the trash littered front lawn. his shoulders rolling back, muscles popping from the long sleep. he steps into the house, the floor covered in a layer of spilled beer, red solo cups, and other trash. but his final straw was walking up the stairs, and turning just a fraction to spot his bedroom door ajar.
his blood runs cold.
he’d stormed out without warning last night, leaving everything behind. had he forgotten to lock his bedroom door before the party started?
his steps were loud and heavy, blood pumping in his ears as he crosses the hallway. if he finds a single fucking cum splatter, or condom on his bed, he’s punching another hole in the wall. unfortunately, sukuna now regrets thinking either of those results. instead he’s frozen at the doorframe, eyes blood red with anger as he sees a familiar set of long black hair laying on his bed.
the smell hits first, the stale perfume, sweat, alcohol, something sour that doesn’t belong to him. it crawls up his throat. his jaw locks so tight it aches.
yorozu is sprawled across his sheets like she owns them, tangled in his soccer jersey, bare thigh thrown over the blanket, panties riding up, and his pillow tucked under her arm. a naked pledge-recently turned member— lays on the floor facedown and dead to the world, breathing loud. one of sukuna’s hoodies twisted under his head like a trophy. for half a second the scene doesn’t register as real — just an insult assembled out of the worst possible outcome.
then the heat detonates.
the door SLAMS open the rest of the way, wood cracking against the wall so hard the frame shudders. the sound is violent enough to shake the posters. yorozu jolts upright with a gasp, hair wild, blinking into the light, and when she sees him, the color drains from her face.
sukuna doesn’t move at first. that’s what makes it worse.
he stands there breathing slow and huge through his nose, shoulders stretched tight, veins raised in his forearms, eyes burned dark and sharp enough to cut. his hands flex once. twice. like he’s deciding whether to grab someone or the furniture.
“what,” he says quietly, voice scraped raw, “is this.”
not loud. not shouting, but that low, controlled tone that means the explosion he’s chosen only delayed.
the pledge stirs at the sound and groans. wrong move. sukuna’s gaze snaps down to him with open contempt, then back to yorozu, who is doing anything but moving from her spot, eyes wide, and doing her best to subtly fix her hair. Sukuna doesn’t bat an eye. he’s already stepping forward, each footfall deliberate, the floorboards creaking under the weight of it. the air in the room feels thinner, preparing for the inevitable.
he takes one step toward the bed — and something on his desk catches in his peripheral vision.
the black envelope. split open and shifted from where he left it. the edge of the paper inside no longer tucked clean.
his stare cuts to it, then back to yorozu. the calculation is instant. she’s seen it.
that alone nearly snaps the leash on his temper.
he doesn’t raise his voice. doesn’t posture. he just moves fast enough that she barely has time to inhale before his hand closes around her bicep in an iron clamp. no hesitation, no gentleness, fingers digging in as he yanks her off the mattress in one brutal pull. the sheets rip loose with her.
she yelps, stumbling, she tries to twist toward him with that same cloying tone, already starting to explain, to perform.
“wait— sukuna, listen, I was just—”
his leg swings out without even looking and connects with the pledge’s ribs, not full force, but hard enough to knock the air out of him and roll him across the floor.
“up,” sukuna barks, voice lethal. “get the fuck out of my sight.”
the pledge scrambles, half-awake and absolutely terrifyingly mortified. he grabs at the scattered clothes and crawls more than standing as he bolts for the door.
yorozu tries to anchor herself, nails catching in sukuna’s wrist, leaning into him instead of away, still trying to make it intimate, like this is a lovers’ quarrel instead of a removal. he doesn’t even look at her face. he just drags her, across the room, past the desk, past the open envelope she absolutely touched, deaf to the whining pitch of his name.
“sukunaa, you’re hurting me,” she whines.
“good,” he says flatly, hauling her into the hallway.
“you’re being dramatic! I came to talk to you—and you weren’t even here!!— you’re mad I slept with someone else, right? you have no right to be jealous —who are those girl’s clothes in your room? do you have a girlfriend? why weren’t you at the party last night—you’re not even going to be here in the summer because you’re going to— ahh!” yorozu is slammed into the wall. her face pales as sukuna towers over her with bloodshot eyes. his red irises violently cut through her like she’s some bug on the bottom of his shoe.
“you psycho bitch. when is it going to get through your thick skull that I can’t stand you, huh? I spelled it out for you and ya still break into my room, go through my shit, and wear my fucking clothes after getting fucked like a stupid whore—“
“you gave me the passcode to your room—“
“I don’t give the code to any slut I sleep with. and you’re a fucking sleazy whore that bribed that dipshit of a freshman to give it to you in exchange for sex. I’m not fucking dense like you,” he snaps coldly, unbothered by the tears that immediately well up on her waterline.
“you said you wanted to spend time with me outside of parties! but you just had sex with me and ghosted! you’re the disgusting one!” she shouts in his face, tears already breaking, waking the house. gojo steps in from the front door followed by geto. the two coming back from the gym, immediately overhearing the shouting at the top of the stairs.
“you hit on me!” he shouts, his eyes are blown blood red, his fist tightens around his jersey instead of her arm, squeezing the material as he crowds her space. “fucking doesn’t qualify for anything else. you sucked me off and I fucked you as a drunk courtesy,” anger seeps from his pores, getting angrier the more he speaks, his blood pumping viciously as she scoffs loud.
“doesn’t qualify for anything else — so what’s all the shit in your room. you keep your sluts panties and shirts as trophies like some sick pervert?”
“at least I can stand her outside of sex,” he snaps, unaware of how quick he defended his sex buddy. quickly imagining you this morning sucking his cock, stroking his hair, kissing his neck. “and when she fucking talks I don’t feel like stabbing my ears.”
“she she she—“ yorozu cracks, eyes wide and psychotic. “it’s that bitch from the party? utahime iori’s friend right? you know how much I hate her and you’re sleeping with her friend now—“
“you’re not listening to me!” sukuna losses it. his eyes manic. as if the the universe is cursing him, yorozu throws her arms around his shoulder, getting closer to him. “what the fuck—“
“she’s not your girlfriend right? the guys were telling me she wasn’t—“ her face draws closer. obvious she’s attempting to seduce him.
sukuna tsks, loud and sharp. aggressively shoving her off him as he steps back, “fucking obsessed,” he spits with contempt. but her face contorts manically. desperate. it was easy reading a psycho, especially an influencer as fake as her.
“I’m going to spain too!” she interrupts, clawing at anything. however, his blood spikes, eyes flashing as an unknown expression crosses his face. if he wasn’t intimidating before, now he looked like he would snap her neck if she utters one more word, and that isn’t an exaggeration.
however, yorozu’s highly problematic obsession with the infamous short-tempered soccer captain is what makes her dangerous. her obsession started their second year when he was named captain of the division one team and easily ranked in the top ten then top six players in the nation. his reputation growing every season, as did her following and advertisements. it only made sense that they should be a couple.
but her courting was another level.
one that involved rumors. threats. any possible road that would lead to interacting with the fratboy. however, even after two full years, the man could not stand her. he couldn’t fall for her charms, her reputation, or her body—
“why can’t you give me a chance?! I’m the one stooping down to your level. some frat guy that fucks anything that walks— you let women and men fuck themselves on your disgusting cock — what haven’t you had sex with? you’re the pig here! you’re lucky I even talk to you!” her chest is heaving, eyes manic as her face scrunches glancing over his clothes. “and you smell like another fucking whore too.”
sukuna’s breathing is slow and heavy, shoulders tense as he rolls his neck back. he turns away, heading back to his room.
another vein snaps in yorozu’s neck.
“what the fuck?! I’m talki—“
her breath hitched. heart dropping to her ass. sukuna’s gaze snaps over his shoulder. muscles taunt under his shirt, fists clenching as his jaw locks.
the hallway warped around him.
yorozu has crossed the line before, but she’d never admit to being absolutely terrified of the man. but in this moment, she felt like a single misstep would end her life. literally.
she swallows a thick lump. cautious. unaware of the way her hands are trembling and goosebumps break out across her body, hairs standing up in the back of her neck.
then his voice cuts through. low, cold, violent.
“know your place before you speak about mine.”
her face pales, tears cascading in a mixture of fear and frustration.
“say one word about that envelope and I bury you with it. and take my fucking jersey off before I rip it off you. you look stupid pretending I gave it to you,” sukuna spits.
yorozu’s face is red with humiliation. shivering as she fidgets with the hem of the oversized jersey. sukuna disappears into his room, returning with her dress and purse in hand, tossing them at her feet. yorozu blinks up at him as she watches him cross his arms over his broad chest, jaw locked as he leans against his doorframe with disinterest.
he doesn’t need to repeat himself.
yorozu can feel gojo and geto’s eyes on her back, standing at the top of the stairs, watching.
“can i change in the bathro—“
“strip.”
her heart skips a beat, face and neck red, hesitating for a second before she grabs the hem of the jersey and lifts it over her head. her bare breasts touch the warm air, nipples pink and perky. her cheeks flush, is he looking at me? he wanted to see my tits.
the jersey drops to the floor as she picks up her dress, making a subtle show of bouncing her bare breasts…i got the surgery over winter break for him. it’s subtle and definitely healed by now, he notices how much bigger they are—
her heart drops.
red humiliation breaks across her body. glancing up through her lashes. sukuna is scrolling on his phone. not a sliver of his attention directed at her. a level of disinterest and inconvenience encompasses his entire body language.
he doesn’t care for her.
her lips purse, anger and humiliation bubbling up as she quickly pulls her dress on, snatching her purse up as she whips around.
the athlete finally glances up. his eyes flick to the two men pressing their backs against the wall of the stairs allowing the sorority president to storm towards them and down the stairs.
“enjoy the show?” she snaps, anger out in the open.
gojo and geto shrug, “not much to see, sweetheart,” gojo quips.
she scoffs loudly, storming down the stairs, angry tears bubbling out. the front door slams behind her.
gojo and geto shift their attention. sukuna types on his phone, still leaning against the doorframe, unbothered. he briefly glances up, dead eyes flicking at the two before going back to his phone. “what?”
gojo pushes off the wall, headphones around his neck, as glances at his friend. “you left pretty angry last night.”
“and you let this psycho fuck some pledge in my room,” sukuna snaps, glaring up at the blue eyed man.
“i dunno how she got in man, we barely let any of the pearl girls in so how was i supposed to know she went to your room?” gojo defends. “and we don’t have any pledges, they’re members now.”
“not him,” sukuna cuts flatly, “revoke his membership.”
“that’s kinda fucked up, man. they went through hell this semester—“
sukuna shrugs, disinterested, “don’t care.”
geto’s eyes narrow, gaze flicking over him. “so you guys made up?”
sukuna’s gaze snaps up, alarmed, “fuck no. fucking psychotic bitch is what she is—“
“no not yorozu,” geto shakes his head, then utters your name. the two notice how the tatted man suddenly goes quiet. his gaze falling to his phone as he gives a casual shrug and nod. “so what now?”
sukuna’s brows furrow, glancing up at the raven haired man. “what d’you mean what?”
gojo’s now furrowing his brow as geto gives him a incredulous look which he reciprocates. geto bites the bullet, “well are you dating now?”
sukuna’s eyes blow wide. real shock written all over his face. then he scoffs, loud and untamed. “what?” he laughs, “we fuck. we made up so the deal’s still on.”
“what?!” gojo and geto shout in union.
sukuna’s brow lifts higher looking between the two. “you guys fucked in the head? I’m not saying this shit for the hundredth time. we’re not fucking dating—“
“you always sleep over there and she sleeps here?” gojo snaps, trying to find the missing piece here.
sukuna gives them a very derogatory so what? face. “we’ve all let girls sleep over—“
“not you,” geto jabs, irking the man as he glares at his friend. “plus that fight you guys had…”
“and we made up. she’s the one that wants the deal to keep going. and her libido is insane—“
“so you do wanna date her!” gojo jams a finger in his direction, laughing loudly. “oh shit! she reject you or something?—“
sukuna’s eyes roll to the back of his skull, “I didn’t say that, dipshit,” he snaps, “we agreed together. it’s fucking equal ass partnership. she’s just sensitive to drama, which whatever, it’s that psychos fault anyways,” sukuna quietly gets riled up at the memories of your argument. yorozu seeming to be the core of it all…albeit, you weren’t in a good mood when you came to the party either.…should he have asked about your meeting last week? his jaw clenches in thought.
“whatever, man,” geto shakes his head, walking towards his room as he peels his sweaty shirt off. “call coach, he’s been tryna get ya all morning.”
gojo waits for a moment, studying his friend before tipping his head to the side, “so are you not gonna tell us what you decided about the invitation?”
sukuna scowls, jaw tense.
“geto is still waiting, but I’m planning on taking him with me in a couple weeks to see the grounds there,” gojo isn’t really an idiot. he’s more calculating than people like to give him credit for, or it could be they don’t see it because of how charismatic he comes off as. that can’t be said for his two closest friends though. sukuna can see right through his bullshit, the man just wanted to pry more information out of him.
“stay out of my business, satoru,” sukuna spits coldly.
gojo scoffs, “you get so fucking defensive. is it so hard to think that your friends are happy for you? we all know how much you’ve been wanting this invitation after….” gojo realizes immediately that he shouldn’t have resurfaced that.
he lit the match on a open wound.
“you don’t know a single fucking thing, so fuck off!” the slam echoes down the hallway like a gunshot, the frame shuddering under the force of it. a second later something else crashes inside —wood against wall, maybe his desk chair— hard enough that the vibration travels through the floorboards.
On the other side of the door, sukuna doesn’t move at first. his chest is heaving too fast, air cutting in sharp through his nose, like he just came off a sprint. his fingers flex once, twice, tendons standing out, like he’s deciding whether to break something else. the word after is still ringing in his skull. it’s not what came after, but what came before. the crash….the spiral… all of it chained together whether he likes it or not.
he drags both hands down his face slow and hard, like he can physically wipe the past. his blood pumps loudly, he hates how fast it got to him.
outside, gojo doesn’t knock again. he doesn’t joke or push it.
inside, sukuna stands in the wrecked silence of his own room. his is jaw locked, eyes burning. he’s not furious at gojo, not even at the words. but he’s bubbling with anger at the fact that one unfinished sentence still has the power to drag him straight back to his seventeen year old self.
…….
sukuna’s muscles are pulled tight. his high school soccer teammates laughed loudly around him. his best friend, kashimo, had his arm thrown over the seventeen year old, cackling loudly.
“man! if sukuna got that red card we all would’ve been so fucked!” kashimo barks, the entire team laughing as they sit outside the town’s hot spot, the corner-side diner and shops. other kids that watched the game were all packed around eating ice cream and fries, as the mood lit up the night sky.
sukuna and his team sat around the outdoor table chomping down burgers.
“what’s up with you? you’re so quiet after barking like a dog on the pitch,” one teammate points at sukuna. the rest glancing at the salmon haired player. his face has been in prominent scowl since they left the game. his eyes are sharp, glaring at the idiot that looked at him. his teammate nervously laughs, as another pitches in.
“did you see that kid on the other team! gojo was insane. no wonder they were hyping him up all fucking season, that match would not have been good if it wasn’t for him. he’s a fucking genius,” one kid gushes.
sukuna scoffs, rolling his eyes, “he lost. why’re you hyping him up?”
the team’s laughter dulls, glancing at kashimo, who seemed to be the only one that’s gotten close to the toxic player.
kashimo throws his arm over sukuna, head thrown back, “he’s right! he was talking shit all the way leading up to our match and looses in the end!”
sukuna’s deathly quiet. the table quickly gets louder as the team joke and talk about their plans. they had another few weeks until graduation, but a majority of the team are going to college, except for two…
“wait so when are you guys moving? I can’t believe two people from our team got into the under twenty club team— you have to get us vip tickets when you get to the World Cup!” a teammate shouts, as kashimo smiles widely.
“it’s a trial contract for now, but we’re definitely getting into the team—“
sukuna suddenly stands up. the team’s attention snap to him, confusion crossing their faces as sukuna walks off.
kashimo is quick to brush off the team to sprint after his friend, alone.
“woah,” he laughs, halting in a steady walk when he reaches the boy. “not even gonna call me?”sukuna gives his friend one glance. while the two disappear in a direction familiar to them. the team is left at the table watching and frowning.
“we’ve played with him for four fucking years and he’s still gonna treat us like his servants,” one scoffs, flipping a french fry to the ground. “he wouldn’t have gotten that invitation if we didn’t pass him the ball—“
“he’s a dick.” and the team just piles on all the horrible things sukuna has done and put them through. “he’s gotten suspended and put on probation a million times. how the fuck did that not deter any recruiters?”
“he’s a good player, that’s all that matters,” one tsks, rolling his eyes as he remembers sukuna being allowed to participate in a game during nationals even though he was suspended. the coach went behind the schools back to do it and was willing to take the heat for it after. all because whenever his star athletes, sukuna and kashimo, were on the field, then his name was always in people’s mouths too.
“I’m surprised he’s such a psycho when his dad is a fucking psychiatrist,” one adds, the others hum. “the call’s coming from inside the house.”
another senior scoffs again, “good things happen to bad people. this is just another example.” this line sours the mood as the entire team grows envious of the biggest and most important opportunity of a young player’s career, and it falling right in sukuna’s lap. how can someone be so lucky?
“isn’t his mom a psycho too though?”
the team shrugs, murmurs spreading around. “dunno, he never talks about her, and I’ve only ever seen her a few times, and today was one of them.”
“yeah….he doesn’t even look like her, but damn,” one laughs, “my mom was telling me how she’d seen his mom in a few commercials a couple years ago. pretty sure she used to be an actress or something.”
“yeah, I’ve heard that before. but she looked drunk at the game today. I never noticed her, but she went insane during halftime then stormed off,” one recalls, as others chime in about the rumors that surround sukuna’s home life. specifically his mom.
“my younger sister is in his brothers class in elementary school, so my mom’s seen his mom a few times. she just tells my sister to stay away from his brother and says his grandfather is more normal than the mom,” another adds.
it didn’t matter how long sukuna spent somewhere. he knew the rumors people would whisper behind his back. all of it made it easier for him to be an asshole (as if that was his excuse). at the end of the day, he’ll come out on top. he’s better than his step-mom, his school, his town— all of them are beneath him. including his shit dad—
sukuna laughs loudly, the alcohol burning a line down his throat as he exhales through his nose. the night is thick with heat, the kind that sticks to the skin. crickets grind in the grass beyond the field fence, and the stadium lights behind them have finally gone dark, leaving only the parking lot glow and the distant hum of traffic.
sukuna and kashimo had made their way back to the empty pitch after grabbing a four pack. sukuna’s sweater is half zipped, hood on while his jersey is damp with dried sweat underneath. his hair still messy from the match, from the argument he walked away from without looking back.
kashimo sits on the curb beside him, long legs stretched out, can dangling loose between his fingers. “you realize,” he says, smirking sideways, “half the grade is suddenly into soccer now that we got scouted. they all showed up tonight.”
“they’re into attention,” sukuna mutters. “they don’t even know the rules.”
kashimo snorts. “didn’t stop them from screaming your name.” he recalls, “there was one on the left. the girl that never talks in calc? she looked like she was gonna faint.”
sukuna scoffs, rolling his neck. “they jus’ like guys that win games. that’s it.” he takes another sip, already feeling tipsy from one can. “same ones wouldn’t look twice last year.”
“please,” kashimo says. “you fucking mess with them on purpose.”
sukuna doesn’t deny it, he just smirks into the can.
they drift into lazy, mean humor. ranking couples they know won’t last, poking fun at classmates who suddenly started dressing different to get asked to the prom, like that’ll grab the jocks attention. joking about how their history teacher definitely favors the guys that flirt with her more. it’s crude, unserious.
a warm breeze cuts through, carrying the smell of distant fryer oil from the late-night diner and shops down the road. sukuna leans back on his hands, staring at the empty sky above the field lights, pulse still half in the game, half in the future everyone keeps talking about like it’s already decided. and it drags him right back to halftime.
his blood had still been roaring with adrenaline then. sweat dripping off his jaw, chest heaving, fingers curled tight around the water bottle as he chugged half of it in one go. the locker room door had been propped open to the tunnel for air, the roar of the crowd still rolling like thunder overhead. coach was barking adjustments. someone was laughing too loud. tape was being rewrapped around his ankle.
and once they came onto the pitch, again. warming up. the shouting cut through it. not cheering, not chanting—screaming. it was sharp, unhinged, and it sliced clean through the stadium noise.
his eyes snapped up instinctively, predator-fast, scanning toward the stands. players around him started turning toward the same disturbance. you could feel the ripple of everyone’s attention bending in one direction.
then there it was, three sections up, kaori was on her feet, face twisted, arm jabbing downward toward where his father sat beside her.
“you think this fixes anything?!” she screamed. her voice carried, horribly, and impressively across the crowd noise. “you fucking parading him around like some golden child won’t erase what he is! how many times do I have to tell you! are that incapable of caring about me, about giving me your attention!!”
people around her recoiled. a couple stepped away.
his father looked mortified, reaching for her wrist, trying to lower her arm, trying to sit her down. calm voice. always calm.
“not here,” his dad said, sukuna could read it off his lips even from the pitch. “please.”
but she yanked free and got louder, eyes wild,
“begging me for what? to care about his game now? you’re pathetic. both of you are pathetic!”
a wave of murmurs spread through the rows. phones started lifting. teammates beside sukuna went quiet. one of them muttered, “yo… is that—”
sukuna’s stomach turned. it wasn’t embarrassment. no, it was something colder and sour. disgust curling up his throat.
his father didn’t fight back. didn’t snap. didn’t walk away. he just kept trying to soothe her. his hands open, posture small, like she was the one wronged, like she was the one owed any patience. that was the part sukuna couldn’t stand.
fuck the screaming and fuck the spectacle. he’s thrown a million fights publicly, he could care less about the optics. but what he couldn’t stomach was witnessing the submission. the way his dad absorbed the humiliation like it was his fucking job.
the whistle blew to call players back and the noise swelled again. the moment dissolved into the games chaos. but the image stayed burned behind sukuna’s eyes. her mouth twisted, his father apologizing for something he didn’t do and that rage followed him straight back onto the field, and after.
it was his day. his last game. his fucking win.
and still he brought her. still he told him he had to go find her after she vanished mid-match, like managing her public breakdown mattered more than watching his eldest son finish what could’ve been the best game of his life. he’d looked sukuna dead in the eye and picked the woman who humiliated him in public without hesitation, or shame, over him.
“women are fucking psychos,” sukuna mutters, voice flat and bitter.
kashimo glances over, brow lifting as he watches sukuna crush the can in one hand, metal folding with a sharp crack before it hits the pavement. “isn’t that what makes them hot?” he smirks.
sukuna scoffs. there’s nothing hot about being degraded by a lunatic. his jaw tightens. or having two kids with her.
they start down the main street with loose steps and warm faces, alcohol humming low in their veins. the night air sticks to their skin, neon signs flickering across the storefront glass. a few people pass by them going the opposite direction, shouting congratulations when they notice their jerseys.
then the crowd appears. too dense and still. people are packed along the sidewalk ahead, phones raised, voices talking over each other. something is very wrong. red and blue lights wash out the buildings.
the alcohol fog clears in a snap.
a car is violently rammed into the side of a truck at the intersection. the car’s front end crushed like paper, hood peeled back, windshield spiderwebbed and caved. one door is sheared half off. glass litters the street. the engine block is exposed and torn.
kashimo keeps talking for another half-second, then stops at the sight of the accident. his breath catches, mind toggling for a moment before, “yo…” he says, quieter now, trying to place what he’s seeing. “…isn’t that your dad’s car?”
he glances at his friend standing beside him—
sukuna is ghost-white. completely still. eyes wide, unblinking, like the world has dropped out from under him. his fingers hang slack at his sides, knuckles scraped, lips parted with no sound coming out.
he knew the second he saw the color. the dent in the side panel. the stupid dealership sticker still clinging to the bumper. he knew before the question was asked.
a/n: guys, like don’t get mad at me ab the spelling/grammar, ik it’s ass so forgive me. I really did my best to post this chapter before ramadan, and I didn’t want to make it a waste so I really focused on plot. sorry you guys waited longer for this one tho, I’ve just been crazy swamped with work, I haven’t even seen the new episode of jjk or knight of the seven kingdoms 💔💔 anyways i really hope u guys liked the chapter <3
also this chapter was supposed to be titled summer break, but it changed since i cut my plans for the chp short bc i ran out of time. so now chapter 7 is titled summer break — dividers: @/lariesographic
sukuna knows women. he knows how to please them. how to make them moan, whine, cry. but knowing how to please a woman doesn’t mean he knows women. aka a woman’s cycle. in simple terms, sukuna has mainly grown up with men, his gramps, his brothers, toji — all he knows is a girl has a period, but he has never bothered to stay with a girl long enough to actually address her period.
well until his fuck buddy, you, open your door for him.
his arm wraps around your waist, tugging you towards his chest, lips locking with yours in moments. “Mmm,” he groans, tongue pushing past your lips, just to feel you press a hand to his chest. your lips break, air filling his lungs in disdain, eyes narrowing at you for pushing him away.
“you didn’t text me, dude,” you say, letting him pull away to drop his backbag on the floor, plastic bag in hand as he kicks his shoes off.
“got outta the gym late. lost track of time,” he walks two steps to the kitchen pulling out two energy drinks, a protein drink, and a couple protein bars. “fuck,” he cups his crotch, palming himself through his low hanging sweats. he opens his shake. “accidentally swiped on that video ya’ sent me from the summer. I watched the whole thing between my sets.” his hand tips back, throat bopping as he chugs the shake, eyes closing as he sees the video play back in his mind, hand still on his bulge.
you’re leaning against the column between your smaller than small living room and kitchen, eyeing the way he’s shamelessly groping himself in front of you, men. you sigh, internally.
“hey,” he suddenly appears in front of you, towering. his musky scent fills your nose as he cups your neck, the other resting on your hip. he slowly lowers himself, tilting your chin up with a thumb as his lips connect with yours again. “haah,” he sighs, kissing your lips like it’s his saving grace, his sweats hang low on his hips as he presses himself against you. “remember that video?” he husks, “the one with ya’ spreading your legs out for the camera—“
you gently press a hand to his chest again, cheeks flushed, but stomach churning uncomfortably. “ryo—“
“wanna see this pussy,” he doesn’t even hesitate, he drops his head to your neck, kissing the exposed skin before dropping to a knee, hands on your hips. “wanna smell how good she is—“
“ryo,” you press a hand to his forehead, face aflame, as you push him back. your heart hammers as he frowns up at you, jaw tight and hands tightening around your waist. “I got my period yesterday.”
….
a silent beat passes.
then.
FUCK!
sukuna is horrible at controlling his face.
you immediately notice his dilated pupils dissipate, and the excitement die behind his eyes. your lips purse, making a my bad king type of face. but sukuna looks absolutely destroyed, his head drops forward, desperately trying to control his eye roll, but you catch it , along with the way he presses his face into your stomach, and groans. loud. uncontrolled.
“sorry…I forgot to text you, and you came all the way here,” you pat his shoulder apologetically, though you’re not super sympathetic since it’s not your fault.
“ya’ have cramps or some shit?” he grumbles against your sleep shirt.
“had crazy cramps this morning, but just like…not in the mood right now,” you cringe while saying it, but sukuna just sighs.
you bite your cheek as you watch him sit back on his heels. his black sweats straining against his thighs, his bulge shameless as it presses up against the material. your eyes flick over him again, wetting your lip as you reach for his hair. hesitant. but eventually…your manicured nails run through the slightly damp, salmon colored hair. you watch in silent awe as his lashes weigh down, and his jaw tightens like he’s holding himself back. your nails scratch his scalp, lightly, but enough to elect a raw groan from the back of his throat.
you bite your lip, eyeing the dark flush crawling up his neck, and dusting his cheeks a light pink. his large palm rests on your outer thigh and the other flexing as it grips his erection. how far will he—
“not cumming in my fucking sweats,” he suddenly barks, getting to his feet. your hand drops as he walks towards the bathroom, pulling his shirt over his head, he kicks the door shut behind him.
your lips purse again, biting your cheek as you hear the shower turn on. men.
that was how sukuna dealt with his fuck buddy being on her period. somehow always finding out last minute that you’re bleeding, and in no mood for action — except for those very rare occasions, well he can’t divulge too much now since you never want him to mention it again — and he’s forced to take care of his problem in your shower. his rough calloused palm — a contrast from your soft smaller ones — jerks his painfully hard throbbing cock to the images of you floating in his mind until he’s finally shooting his thick white load all over your shower wall. haze clearing up as he watches the cum slide down. and then he’ll step out of the bathroom, usually wearing a pair of sweats he’d forgotten here, along with a plain black tee, and crash on the couch as you do your homework. he’ll eye you a bit, but eventually shift his attention to the tv and knockout.
it would be difficult for those five to seven days, especially when you would be slightly more clipped with him, or just plain bitchy and short tempered (like him). but it’d get him all hot and bothered, especially since he can’t act on it.
that was sukuna’s perception of a woman’s cycle. before he never cared, now he cares just a little more because he can’t have sex with you when you’re on your period.
but as smart as sukuna is, it takes a little more brain power for him to realize what this is.
this being, how he’s wound up because he’s trying to get through this studying for an upcoming exam. he’s far from prepared for and the best way for him to study is to be around someone who takes it seriously— you. and yet…
and yet, you won’t stop moving!
at first you were sitting across from him in the library. then you shift to the seat at corner of the table, and then you move to sit directly beside him.
“you need help?” he suddenly cuts. you’re shifting beside him stops, brows pulled in confusion.
“was just uncomfortable, am i disturbing you?”
his brow twitches, but you were completely innocent. your brow pulled up, like he’s the crazy one, and not you, who’s moved around like ten times in the last hour!!
“just a little,” he mutters, putting his headphones back on and turning back to his work. luckily, you seem to have settled down, attention back on your own studies. engrossed in your review sheets and notes, as sukuna reviews for his own exam.
however, what the fratboy did notice was even when shoko stopped bye to chat, and utahime came to whisper some gossip to you between her class, you didn’t move once. his brow quirked briefly when utahime chatted across the table, and instead of getting up and going to the hallway to talk freely, you remain seated, right beside him, and right against him.
what’s going on?
“I swear I told the girl I didn’t even know who she was talking about it—but she didn’t even care. girl! I wasn’t talking to your ex,” utahime rambles in hushed whispers, similar to the whispered conversations at other tables.
your brows furrow in shock, “what the hell?? why the heck is she even confronting you in the middle of class though? that’s so weird.”
“that’s what I’m sayinggg!!!”
sukuna has every reason to snap at you both right now. to tell you two to shut the fuck up or go outside. seriously, it was distracting as fuck. but his mind was short circuiting and stumbling around all because of how fucking close you are to him.
his arms are leaning over the table, biceps bulging from his tshirt, scribbling practice equations and notes. and you’re leaning over in an identical position, but your side is fully pressed against his arm. your zip up hoodie resting around your hips after you’d shrugged it off, and your usual cold skin was searing hot against his. skin to skin. and it’s been like that for the past twenty minutes.
usually when your friends stop by to ramble you have the curiosity to step away so he can study. but not this time— well you did a similar thing a month ago too. sticking to him like glue. brushing your fingers over the veins of his forearm—
“okay, I’ll update you later, but thanks for letting me borrow your airpods!” utahime concludes her rant with finally returning your airpods and running off to her next class. sukuna lets out an air of relief, relaxing beside you.
finally, some peace and quiet in the library.
…shift…
well, it could only last so long.
his brows furrow as he glances over at you, your cheek is now resting on his arm, mindlessly reading your notes like this is normal. is it because he’s finally anxious about an exam after so long, that he’s noticing how touchy you’re being? or maybe you’re not in the mood to do your work and in the mood for something else—
tch, he doesn’t have time to find some room to fuck you in though. it’s the middle of the day and the library is packed. the last thing you’d want is for someone to see you both. however, he can’t even tell if you want any action right now. it just looks like you’re tired…and clingy…?
sukuna exhales, thumb pressing against his jaw in thought, while you shift again, oblivious to his internal turmoil, cheek smushed against his arm…
“you hungry?” he interrupts, desperate for his mind to quiet down.
“not really,” you mutter, focused on your homework.
his lips downturn, pen tapping the desk, “I’m gonna grab another celsius.” he suddenly stands, startling you for a moment, noticing the way your pretty lashes blink in surprise. you’re definitely just focused on school…but last month you were acting the same-ish…if he’s right, then when he comes back…you’ll…
he places a celsius in front of you, eyes flicking over you as he sips his drink. you hum in distracted appreciation, like you can’t even see him sliding back into his seat, legs spread, and arms coming up back to the table to grab his pen. but like glue, you’re sliding yourself right beside him, pressing your cheek to his shoulder, and taking a subtle inhale.
what the hell?!? it’s like he can predict you’re every move now?!
it didn’t stop there. the puzzle pieces are starting to come together slowly. especially when you subtly kept a grip on his arm muttering how he can finish studying at your place, without the distraction of the frat—which you rarely pressure him to do a night before an exam. except instead of going straight to the bathroom to shower, you followed him to your couch and sat beside him.
“do you mind if I turn on the tv?” you ask with such an unnerving amount of gentleness, glancing at him with your full undivided attention.
his brow quirks, why’re you looking at him like that? “it’s your place, woman.”
you hum, relaxing back, albeit pressed to his side and your knees tucked up, as he leans over on the coffee table (aka your only desk in your small ass apartment) reviewing more work. but just moments later he’s sliding to the floor for more comfortability—
“why’d you move?” your voice cuts through the quiet apartment.
“huh?”
sukuna glances back, brow quirked with confusion at the frown you’re wearing. “leaning over is fucking with my back,” he tsks, earning him an uncharacteristically quick attitude switch from you — your eyes roll, your entire body slumps further back on the couch that you’re basically laying across it, and your cute bottom lip juts out in an irritated, subtle pout. seriously? sukuna scoffs internally. you’re acting like such a brat??? for real this time.
your cheeks press against the cushion. your hypnotizing eyes flick between his, then eventually settle on his lips. they’re slightly chapped, pink…pretty…kissable…
“ya need something?” he snaps without any bite. you’re zoning out again. your eyes drift off, and your lips part lost in thought. “zoning out—“ are the words that you here before you feel an aggressive (light in his mind) flick to your forehead. “again!”
“ow!” you groan loud, face quickly turning and pressing into the cushion in annoyance. “what the hell!” your muffled yell barely comes out.
“what the hell me?” he tsks, rough hand landing on your head, and turning your face back for air. “I was talking and you did that shit again—“
“what thing?!” you scoff, brows pinched in anger as you stare into his eyes….his deep…dark…lidded…crimson eyes…..haah—
“that,” he exhales, hand softening on your temple, and irritation slipping away with your usual antics. “how do you even zone out that fast?”
your glossy lips part, manicured nail brushing your bottom lip, heat pooling between your legs, and eyes half lidded… “was thinking about your eyes.”
the softness of your tone was more shocking than the actual words that came out of your mouth. or it was the combination of both. or the bluntness of your gentle honey sweet voice that took sukuna by surprise…
but he blinked. once. twice—
“first it was your lips,” you whisper with a breathless sigh. your finger carefully reaching out and touching his lips. you mimic the way he parts his lips with your own. his thick brows creating a shadow over his lidded eyes. “then your eyes.” you explain with such clarity, it had sukuna short circuiting as he tries to rationalize why you’re acting this way—
“that’s why i zoned out,” you conclude, shifting closer to the edge of the couch, closer to him. your eyes dot up at him, brushing his bottom lip, pulling it down with a thumb. “you distract me sometimes.” you’re tired…it was a long day of classes and it was the middle of the week. that has to be the reason, sukuna thinks.
by now, he knows that look.
you wanna fuck.
“Mmm,” you whine the moment he presses his lips to yours. your tongue immediately finding his as your nails course through his hair. tugging. “make me cum, ryo.”
he snorts in your mouth, rough hand pushing your shirt up, thumbing your bra before hooking his thumb under and lifting up. “should’ve just told me ya want your pussy wet—“
“it’s already wet,” you cut, “been wet all day.”
shiit, he groans into your lips, pushing his hand down, past your waistband. “fucking slut.” a breathy gasp slips out as he cups your wet sticky pussy. “fucking drenched, dirty brat.” his teeth sink into your bottom lip as you whine louder, unaware how sukuna’s neck is unbelievably red. why do you taste sweeter?
“Mmm lift your hips up,” he husks. you don’t get the chance to react when he’s suddenly yanking your pants and drenched panties off. “spread ‘em.”
your tongue pokes your bottom lip, opening your legs for your fuck buddy. his huge palms press against your thighs, grabbing fistfuls and licking his bottom lip as your sticky pussy comes into view. his pupils dilate as he watches your hole twitch. and your scent immediately hits his nose. “you’re gonna taste so good today.” he mutters to himself, but your brow lifts.
“what’s different about today?”
he leans forward, eyes flicking up as he exhales. is he drunk? his eyes roll back, cock throbbing in his pants and he inhales again—fuuck, you smell so much sweeter, “nothin.” his tongue shuts you right up as he licks a long wet lewd strip up your folds. your back immediately arches off the couch, nails digging into his scalp as his beefy arms lock around your thighs, moaning. your sweet honey floods his taste buds…this pussy has always hypnotized him, aroma consuming him and taste intoxicating him…but now that he thinks about…this small little difference in taste and scent, a bit sweeter, happened last month—
“ryo—haah ah mmh ya like my pussy?” your eyes flutter as you keep them on sukuna’s flushed face.
his eyes roll back, completely falling apart between your thighs as he groans a deep husky, “fuck yeah.”
your stomach burns hot at his voice, and voice pitching higher as his tongue delves inside your hole. “haaaah—your mouth is so good, baby—ngh been wet all day,” you confess in your pleasure. “was staring at your hands all day, ryo—they’re so big…l-like your di—ahh—“ fuck you’re talking a lot, sukuna groans, annoyed how worked up your voice is getting him.
his tongue laps and sucks, his salvia creating an even bigger mess. he pulls away, cheeks dusted a deep red as he spits directly onto your puffy clit, pupils dilating as he spreads the mess all over your swollen clit. “these hands,” he runs his calloused palm over your lower stomach. your pupils grow black with lust. pupils blown as you stare at the way his hand encompasses the entire surface. his crimson irises dilate once he sees the lust all over your face. “want them inside ya?”
you nod, immediately.
he doesn’t wait.
two long, thick fingers push past the initial tightness, feeling the gummy walls of your pussy hug his digits with delight. your jaw falls slack, drool slipping as he leans down to plant wet kisses along your lower stomach, forearms and biceps flexing as he pistons his fingers in n out. the squelching fills his ears as you moan above him.
“ngh! fuh ryo, feels good, kiss—kiss me down there—“ you push his head down until his lips connect with your clit again, sucking. rough. mean. teeth sinking just hard enough to make your eyes water and a choked cry slip your lips. “ryo,” you mewl with such lewd sweetness that this huge 6’5 hunk is practically moaning in response. “ry—my pussy—ahh gun —mmm c-close—gun cum—“
but sukuna has already lost all sanity with how good your slick tastes. his eyes roll back pushing you over the edge. “mmm fuck!” you cry, lashes wet as they flutter from the pleasure coursing out of you. his throat bops swallowing and lapping your sweet slick like it’s a drug — which it might as well be with the way his cock is throbbing in his boxers just from eating his fuck buddy’s sweet pussy. “taste like fucking honey,” he groans, cleaning you up like a dog. he pants, catching his breath as he climbs up to your lips like a starved animal. he smashes his lips against you, kissing your spit slicked lips with a loud groan. how do your lips taste sweet too?
“gonna be a good brat and let me fuck this tight pussy?” He grunts, unbuckling his belt and pushing his jeans down along with his boxers, freeing his painfully erect cock.
your tongues collide, dumb whine coming from the back of your throat, and hands running up and locking around his neck. “f’course.”
fucking you rough and fast on the couch as you babbled like a dumb slut, drunk on his cock, had him seeing stars. he was desperately trying to figure out how you're handling him with how uncharacteristically rough he’s being, but you haven’t told him to stop.
"ry—aa-haah!"
shit. he'd flipped you onto your stomach, grabbing your hips , ass in the air as he slams his thick throbbing cock in from behind. his rough palm is pressed into your lower back keeping you in that deep arch he loves, and hand cracking the nth spank to your sore ass. "feel good?"
"so good ryo—wanna cum again -cum-ngh haah please please-"
unbelievable.
and it’s not until he’s panting on the couch, your limp body resting across it, completely and utterly spent, does he realize just how rough he was being. his jaw tenses, as the fog clears up.
“hey…” his voice treads lightly, cautious as he turns on the couch, glancing at your resting form. your shirt covers your breasts after he finally came and let you lay back on the couch. but his spend leaks out of your abused hole, and your ass is still burning from his mean spanks. “hey…” he leans over you, hand brushing your waist. grounding. “you okay?”
he watches carefully as you turn on your side, eyes heavy as you blink up at him. “yeah…you okay?”
“you okay with how we fucked?”
you don’t blink, “yeah.”
yeah, somethings up. he was rough, even he knows that much. and you took it well. more than well, you were begging for me.
all of those should’ve been signs. the closeness, the slight sweetness spike in your slick and saliva. how unbelievably heavenly you smell, all the time. how you didn’t mind how rough he was. but the cherry on top was the party friday.
the frat is lit up like a damn fever dream. neon strips line the railings, glow paint smeared across walls and skin, bass from the dj bleeding through the floors as the pool outside shimmers under colored lights. it’s packed, but not suffocating. invite-only for once. people actually have room to breathe, but it was mainly because they didn’t want any complaints so early in the semester.
sukuna is sat back on the patio couch, shirtless, skin still damp from the heat, a thin sheen of sweat catching the lights every time he moves, tattoos flexing over his well defined muscles. gojo was loud beside him, geto half-listening while scrolling on his phone, a couple other guys scattered around with some girls mingling between them. but sukuna isn’t paying attention to any of it.
he has a drink in his hand, untouched. his eyes keep drifting. back to you. somewhere near the edge of the pool, laughing at something utahime is saying, glowing under the neon like it was made for you. your bikini hugged your tits so well he’d pop a boner if he stares too hard. the droplets run down your soft skin, as he sees you fix your necklace as you say something to your friend.
he clicks his tongue, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “you ever notice they act different sometimes?” he mutters, low enough that it doesn’t carry past the music.
nanami, sitting beside him in swim shorts, thick legs spread open for all to eye and an open button up putting his defined abs on full display, along with the sneaky patch of blonde hair peaking out of his waistband, doesn’t even look up from his phone. “that’s a very broad statement.”
sukuna exhales through his nose. “nah, like—” he pauses, frowning slightly, like he’s trying to piece a puzzle together when he doesn’t have all the pieces yet. “it’s not random.”
nanami studies him for a second, then follows his line of sight, and finds you immediately. is he starting to realize his feelings for you?— “not random how?”
sukuna tilts his head, “just… different. clingier. or—” he gestures vaguely with his drink. “more into it.”
nanami raises a brow. “into what.”
sukuna gives him a look like don’t be fucking stupid.
nanami hums, finally catching on, taking a slow sip. “you’re asking if there’s a pattern to women’s behavior.”
“i’m saying there is one,” sukuna mutters aggressively. “i just don’t know what the hell it is.”
“you know,” nanami says calmly, “they have cycles.”
there’s a beat. then sukuna leans back, jaw ticking slightly, still watching you. “yeah I fucking know that,” he mutters. “It’s annoying.”
nanami glances at him again, lost. “what is.”
sukuna doesn’t answer right away. just takes another sip, eyes narrowing faintly. “the way it’s not consistent.”
nanami huffs quietly, amused now . “if you’re starting to notice now then it is consistent.”
sukuna side-eyes him. nanami is no better than gojo or geto, he’s just more subtle about his innuendos. “I’m not noticing shit—“
nanami shrugs, setting his glass down. unaware that gojo and geto have agreed on teams.
“okay! water volleyball!” gojo’s voice cuts clean through the bass, already halfway to the pool as he grins like he’s been waiting for this all night. a cheer ripples through the patio. of course it does. a house full of athletes, half-naked, girls in bikinis, a competition handed to them on a silver platter? yeah, they’re moving before the rules are even explained.
geto stretches his arms above his head as he stands, “hey! the love of god,” he mutters, loud enough for the frat president t to hear him, “try not to break anyone’s teeth this time.”
gojo laughs, already hopping to his side of the pool because obviously he’s one of the captains. “no promises.”
sukuna’s already up, taking the second captain title and just like that — whatever train of thought he was stuck on snaps clean in half. gone. replaced with something sharper, more familiar. his shoulders roll once, loose, eyes narrowing as he sizes up the space, the people already splitting into sides. his team or gojo’s team. they’re always on opposite teams. it makes it more fun.
“don’t get in my way,” he tosses to gojo as he steps around to his end of the pool, his hand brushing his stomach as he crack his neck.
“you wish,” gojo shoots back.
people start gathering, some hanging back to watch, others eager, slipping into the water, calling out sides, laughing as they pick teams. a younger pledge scrambles to the middle, already trying to take control after geto shoves him in to the play referee, whistle in hand like this is some official match.
and of course, even as chaos takes over the yard. your eyes find him. instinctive, like something in you locks in and refuses to look anywhere else.
sukuna stands at the edge, skin still glistening under the neon, muscles flexing lazily as he stretches his arm over his head. his back, his shoulders, the deep v- line that has your eyes following down to the tuft of light hair peaking out the same one you always find yourself caressing during foreplay— it’s too much. it’s always too much, but tonight it sits heavier in your chest, lower in your stomach, something warm and insistent that doesn’t let up between your legs.
your clit throbs.
“wait—” utahime grabs your wrist, staring at you like you’ve lost your mind. “you hate this stuff.”
you don’t even look at her. “it’ll be fun,” you murmur, already pulling away. and then you’re moving. slipping from your seat on the edge of the pool and jumping in.
the water hits cool against your skin, a sharp contrast to the heat that’s been building under it. you swim to sukuna’s side, breath catching slightly as you orient yourself to the chaos around you, because normally, usually, a crowded sweaty pool was something you’d avoid, but—he’s already looking at you. your thighs press together.
his eyes are not casual, not passing, he’s looking. his gaze drops first. slow and deliberate, catching the faint mark on your neck, the one he left last night, barely visible under the colored lights. his jaw ticks. then lower, just for a second, the way your body shifts in the water, the ripple of movement as you steady yourself, the rise and fall of your breasts threatening to spill out. the water calmly rocks underneath them. then his gaze shifts back to your face, and you’re still staring at him. you’re not even trying to hide it.
something about that makes his brow twitch.
because you’re not looking away. not when he meets your eyes. not when the noise around you spikes, not when someone splashes too close. your focus stays locked, heavy, almost… expectant.
it lingers a second too long. then—
“teams set!” the pledge yells, blowing the whistle way too aggressively. “first to ten— no cheap shots—“ he glances around before catching geto lounged on the other side of the pool, some girl already pressed against his arm. “OH! no punches or choking!”
“shut up and start it,” gojo calls from the other side, already grinning, bouncing lightly in the water.
sukuna doesn’t take his eyes off you for another beat. then he exhales through his nose, turning slightly, shoulders squaring as the ball is tossed into play and he’s in the pool.
the game starts rough. the second the ball is tossed, two guys are already lunging for it. water splashing high, bodies colliding mid-air before someone spikes it hard across the pool. girls moved out of the way, squealing as huge men fight. a chorus of shouts erupts from the sidelines, music still blasting behind it, neon lights flickers over wet skin and moving bodies.
gojo, the ever responsible fraternity president, grins like a man possessed on the other side. sukuna, the very responsible vice president, is barking like a mad man.
and of course, the competitive idiots fall into rhythm with each other. fast, aggressive, locked in, and every hit gets harder, a slightly more violent. every return is sharper and people start gathering closer to the edge, phones out, recording, yelling their names like it’s a real match instead of a drunk frat game.
“c’mon, kuna!” someone shouts.
“gojo! spike that shit!”
water slaps against tile. everything is moving fast, bodies move out of the way so they’re not hit by the aggressive spikes from the frat hosts. but they still refuse to leave the pool because it’s fun, messy, loud, and heated.
and then the ball comes your way. your eyes widen, barely able to think, so you just react. your hands come up, fingers pushing against it just right, and somehow, you’re sending it up in a clean arc, right to him.
sukuna moves instantly….he jumps, sculpted body cutting through the air, arm pulling back before he slams the ball down with violent force, sending it crashing into gojo’s side of the pool.
a winning point. a cheer explodes. and when he lands, water dripping down his shoulders, he glances at you, canines on display, as his deep voice cuts through the chaos to say, “good girl.” it’s low, automatic, and it slips out without thought, just like how he’d praise you when you’re alone, and his voice is raspy as he whispers it in your ear, cock usually deep in your guts as he gives you another mean thrust that you take with pride, pussy clamping when he bottoms.
something fast, hot, and dizzying rushes through you. your chest tightens, skin buzzing as your breath stutters for a second. your thighs press together instinctively under the water, pulse kicking up in a way that feels almost overwhelming. and from that moment on, you stick to him. you try to chase the ball for him, pushing it back into his reach every chance you get, doing your best to avoid the large men playing the game. but your focus narrows, locked in on your hot fuck buddy like nothing else exists. every movement feels sharper, more urgent, your body reacting before your brain can catch up.
on the sidelines, people notice. how can they not? most of the girls “playing” cling to the perimeter. and then there’s you, being an idiot, but a very hot one, throwing yourself in the middle. your bikini clings tight from the water, fabric hugging every curve, shifting every time you jump or twist. a few guys on the edge of the pool don’t even bother pretending they’re watching the game anymore. their eyes track you instead, murmurs passing between them. someone whistles when you jump to set the ball, breasts bouncing freely in the flimsy bikini top, your nipples hard underneath as water cascades like some playboy ad.
but sukuna, is too locked into the game to notice.
the first round ends with his team winning, and the second starts almost immediately, louder than before. people are picking sides now, chanting, recording, some still dancing on the grass behind them, focused on the dj, drinks sloshing as the party refuses to slow down around the chaos of the pool’s game.
you’re still right there again when it starts. you doubt you’re even playing anymore, but you wanted to see him, watch him jump high and spike the ball. watch the ink on his back ripple with his muscles. the same defined lines that you caress at night, and hug—
your attention is so narrowed, that you don’t even notice the guy at first. bodies are moving like a blur that you don’t focus on another moving behind you. until it’s too near, too familiar for someone you don’t know. then, a hand brushes your bare side under the water, lingering just a second too long making your blood run cold.
your eyes snap wide. “what the fuck!” you twist instantly, shoving him off hard, water splashing between you as your stomach turns. only a few people notice, the rest too consumed by the game until you’re moving straight towards a certain captain.
“THAT’S A FUCKING FOUL GOJO—what the—“
your arms wrap around him from behind without hesitation, pressing into him, chest flush against his back as you cling to one familiar form. tight, and instinctive.
it catches him off guard, just for a second. his body tenses slightly under your grip. his muscular arms lift, head turning halfway to see, “who the fuck—“ grabbed him in the middle of game! but then he sees you. and his eyes glance down at your familiar hands holding his chest. your name slips out of his lips, confused what you’re doing, but then the ball’s already back in play. and somehow he keeps going.
even with you wrapped around him, weight clinging to his back, he still moves, still blocks, still lands a hit that sends the ball flying back over the net. it’s messy now, uneven, but he’s too competitive to stop, jaw tight, focus split but still sharp. water splashes everywhere. people are yelling. gojo laughs from the other side. “what the hell is that— you got a handicap now?”
sukuna clicks his tongue, annoyed, shifting slightly to keep his balance with you still latched onto him. you don’t let go. not once. “you drunk?” he tries to talk to you mid-game.
“yeah,” you mutter over the music. but as more people fill the pool, and the third round feels much more chaotic, sukuna begins to notice. your grip tightens every time someone gets too close, every time someone accidentally touches you, every time your head spins just a little from the alcohol and the heat and everything. your cheek presses against his back, breath uneven, body still buzzing in a way you don’t fully understand, other than the fact that you can feel how hot it is between your legs. he smells so good…
the game drags on— until finally— gojo’s team takes the last point. a loud cheer erupts from his side, people splashing into the pool, celebrating, phones still up capturing everything.“told you,” gojo grins, pushing his wet snowy hair back, muscles flexing for the cameras as he sticks his tongue out.
sukuna exhales sharply through his nose, annoyed, shoulders tense— he doesn’t shake you off. but unfortunately, he doesn’t get the chance.
you’re suddenly ripped away.
“wha—! what the fuck!” you yelp as a pair of hands grab you from underneath, a drunk junior dunking under the water before popping up with you lifted high onto his shoulders. just for the crowd to erupt.
“OH SHIT— chicken fight!”
“LET’S GO!”
“get her, get her!” other guys in the pool dunk under and lift a few laughing girls up. but you’re not one of them. your thighs clamp instinctively around the stranger’s head just to keep from slipping, heart racing, balance completely shot as water drips down your legs and chest. your hands fly to his hair, trying to steady yourself, panic flashing across your face. you didn’t agree to this. your eyes lock with sukuna immediately. wide. confused. he’s not your boyfriend— but he’s still…
something in him snaps. he straightens, fast. too fast. the playful edge from seconds ago gone completely, replaced with something sharp and violent, jaw tightening as his eyes drag over the way the guy’s hands are gripping your thighs— and the whistles from the crowd don’t help, especially when your hand reaches to adjust the way your bikini top had shifted.
“damn!”
sukuna’s fist curls. “get your fucking hands off her,” he bites out, already moving forward through the water, splashing hard as he closes the distance.
the guy just laughs, drunk, clueless and not listening. “relax, man, it’s just a chicken fight. ever heard of those?”
he doesn’t get to finish. sukuna’s already pulling his arm back, when you squeak.
“wait—!” you gasp, trying to shift your weight, panic spiking as the situation spirals way too fast—but before anything can land another pair of bodies crash into you. a second drunk chicken fight slams into your side, bodies colliding, completely losing balance. and then everything goes under. water rushes over your head in a blur of limbs and noise, the guy beneath you losing his footing as you both go down. you barely have time to register it before a hand grabs you. hard.
sukuna’s arm wraps tight around your waist, yanking you up and out of the water in one sharp motion. you cough, sputtering slightly, fingers clutching onto him as he steadies you against his side. he doesn’t even look at you at first. he’s glaring past you.
“what the fuck is wrong with you?!” he snaps, voice low and dangerous, water dripping from his hair as he stares down the guy who just broke the surface, coughing. “you fucking grab girls without permission and I’m fucking snapping your arm in half!”
the junior lifts his hands, half-laughing, half-defensive. “yo, chill— it’s just a game—”
“i said don’t touch her,” sukuna cuts in, sharper this time, stepping forward like he’s ready to swing anyway.
the energy shifts instantly. people nearby start stepping in, hands coming up.
“aye, chill, chill—” one tries to come between them. sukuna doesn’t even notice that you’d managed to slip from his grip, still coughing as you swim to the steps of the pool, heart pounding as utahime, having seen the entire interaction helps you out.
“you okay?” she sits in front of you on the edge handing you water.
you nod, chugging half the bottle, before breathing again, “swallowed like…” you gag, “a disgusting amount of that pool water.” utahime cringes as she glances at the pool. the interaction growing even more heated, as a crowd watches sukuna curse out the junior.
“anyone else fucking grab a girl without her permission is getting fucking banned from this frat permanently!” sukuna shouts. murmurs break out across the crowd, a few glance towards you, as utahime notices, but you’re too busy washing your mouth out to care.
gojo’s aloof attitude steps in after coming back with a sweet juice in hand. “okay, okay, we’re clear on consent aren’t we guys?”
people hum, cheering for the games to continue. but then…
“didn’t know she was your girlfriend.”
it lands this time, cutting through the noise and sticking just long enough for a few whistles and low laughs to ripple through the crowd. the kind of comment meant to poke, to stir, to see what the hot headed vp will do with it. but what’s worse is that a majority of the crowd has no clue what your relationship is with sukuna. aside from the frat members.
sukuna doesn’t even look at him, and he doesn’t correct it. it’s not because he wants to claim you. not because it’s true. but because it’s annoying—because explaining it, denying it, entertaining it at all feels like more effort than it’s worth. he’s your fuck buddy, he knows that, you know that, and thats all. his jaw tightens once, eyes already elsewhere, done with the conversation before it can grow legs because then he’ll really break his fucking arm.
the party moves on like it always does. music swells back up, as gojo and geto thank the heavens that sukuna was in a good mood before the argument that he wasn’t tempered to continue the fight. luckily the drinks are raised again. gojo’s already laughing, pulling attention away, and just like that the moment dissolves into noise.
sukuna’s focus shifts and lands on you.
you’re still on the edge of the pool, legs dangling in the water, skin slick and glowing under the neon lights. your bikini clings tighter now, nipples pebbled under your soaked top, every curve on display, highlighted by the shadows of the lights above. it makes it impossible not to look. droplets trail down your thighs, catching the light as you tilt your head back slightly, still rinsing your mouth out, brows furrowed in clear disgust.
utahime sits in front of you, just as eye-catching to the hungry men around, her own bikini hugging her frame, water beading along her collarbones as she watches you with a mix of concern and amusement.
and people are staring. not subtle glances—staring like you’re something to watch. something to linger on. like the game earlier just shifted into something else entirely and now you’re part of it without agreeing. no wonder you hate these parties.
it irritates him, fast.
sukuna clicks his tongue under his breath and pushes forward through the water, tall enough that even standing in the pool, he closes the height between you easily. the neon catches on his skin too. his broad shoulders still damp, muscles flexing as he moves, water sliding down his torso in slow lines. he’s not unaware of the way people look at him either—girls nearby pausing mid-conversation, eyes dragging over him openly—but he doesn’t care. not right now. not when he reaches you.
his hand comes up without hesitation, settling on your exposed thigh where it hangs over the edge of the pool. his palm is warm even against your wet skin, fingers spreading slightly, firm enough to ground, possessive. the contact is immediate. deliberate.
the shift is noticeable. a couple of those lingering stares drop off instantly. only then does he look at you. his gaze flicks over your face, still a little flushed, still catching your breath, before settling. his gaze is steady, assessing the way your glossy lips part with an exhale after chugging an entire bottle of watet.
“you good?” he asks, voice lower now, rougher around the edges from the leftover tension. his thumb moves slightly against your skin without thinking, a small, absent motion that doesn’t match the sharpness in his expression.
utahime has to hold back an eye roll, especially when his gaze flicks over your face, then your lips. unbelievable. what’s with him? what’s stopping him from asking you out if he gets so hot headed and possessive—ughhh…utahime holds back her anger, because she was pissed when someone suddenly grabbed you and then had you dunked in the water. why does sukuna have to be so fucking weird though?! she internally curses out sukuan for being the person that always protects her best friend, but acts like a complete jerk another second.
“how much sweat did you drink?” sukuna asks, tone laced with amusement .
your eyes snap, face grimacing, “shut the fuck—up,” you gag again, hand coming up to your mouth just for utahime to snort and sukuna to bark with laughter.
“did i tell ya why we had to drain the pool last year—“ sukuna starts, utahime’s eyes widen.
“oh my god I remember!”
your face pales, nails digging into sukuna’s shoulder while the other still covers your mouth. “don’t you dare tell me.”
sukuna grimaces with an amused expression remembering what happened at last years pool party. but distracting you has somehow managed to isolate everything else around him and have his sole focus on the way you wipe your mouth with a napkin utahime — and now nanami and geto at her side — comes back with, and the way your fingers shift from his shoulder to his forearm resting across your damp lap. and the conversation flows afterwards.
gojo was still on the dance floor, completely in his own world, some girl is pressed to his side as neon lights strobe over him laughing, loud, untouchable in the way he always is. meanwhile, the edge of the pool has settled into something more intimate and funny. the conversations around overlap as you all joke loudly and throwing around slight bickering, cooling off from the chaos, but still very much alive.
and with all that, you hadn’t left. even after everything, you’re still sitting where you are, leg still dipped in the water, skin dewy under the lights, bikini keeping your pretty tits in view for a certain salmon haired man. your hair is slightly damp, pushed back from your face, exposing the curve of your neck—the faint mark sukuna left the night before still visible if someone looks close enough. and you smell heavenly. fuck if you’re alone, he’d bury his nose closer to your breasts to smell the sweat clinging.
but people are looking. they always are now.
they just don’t linger as long anymore. not with him there. sukuna leans into the edge of the pool, upper body braced beside you, his arm draped behind your back like it naturally falls there. his other hand rests lazily against your thigh, fingers tapping absently against your skin as he takes a sip from his beer. his shoulders are broad, still slick with water, veins visible along his arms as they flex with every small movement.
he looks just as much of a problem as ever. and the attention doesn’t stop, girls nearby still steal glances, whispers, watching the way he’s positioned so close to you, the way his hand hasn’t moved from your leg once. but what’s more interesting, is that you don’t move either.
you don’t push him off, don’t shift away. if anything, you lean just slightly into his space, your fingers absentmindedly tracing along his forearm where it rests across your lap, like it’s second nature. you like it there.
and sukuna notices. of course he does, with how touchy and clingy you’ve been these past few days. yes, he’s shocked you haven’t left, or haven’t asked him to go upstairs with you. instead you’re being so uncharacteristically attached.
his gaze flicks down for a second, watching the way your fingers move against his skin, something unreadable passing through his expression before he looks away again, taking another sip like it didn’t just register. his stomach churns when you lean forward slapping nanami’s stretched out hand after he said something funny.
“why the fuck are you guys sitting here?” gojo’s voice cuts in suddenly, dripping with disbelief as he approaches, hair damp, grin lazy. he looks down at your little group, then at the pool like it personally offended him. “this is embarrassing.”
utahime snorts. “she almost drowned, idiot.”
“she’s alive,” gojo shrugs immediately, already grabbing a drink from someone nearby. “get in the hot tub. it’s waaaay better!”
a couple girls attached to him nod eagerly, already following his lead as he starts heading that way without waiting for an answer. utahime glances at you. “you wanna stay out or…?”
you don’t even hesitate as you hum, soft. “yeah, why not.”
sukuna catches it.
the group starts moving, the energy shifting with them as they make their way toward the hot tub. somewhere along the path, nanami and utahime get pulled into another conversation, stopping off to the side, leaving you and sukuna to keep going without them. your skin burns as sukuna keeps a subtle hand in your lower back, biting his lip when you reach the hot tub and you step in front of him. his gaze drops to the movement of your ass, your bikini was so skimpy it’s definitely clinging on to your pussy lips too. fuck,
by the time you step into the hot tub, the heat hits instantly. you sigh without meaning to, tension melting from your shoulders as the warmth wraps around you, soaking into your skin. your body relaxes almost immediately, the contrast from the cooler pool making everything feel heavier, slower.
sukuna steps in right after you. and immediately shoves two guys aside with a sharp nudge of his shoulder. “move.”
they do quickly without argument, clearly frat members. he settles in beside you, close again, like earlier, like he didn’t just create that space for you.
gojo drops in for half a second, splashing water everywhere before grimacing. “it’s too hot,” he complains, already climbing back out. “i need another drink.”
and just like that, he’s gone again. leaving you, sukuna, and the rest of the group laughing, talking. the conversation easy as the night keeps rolling around you. especially when geto comes back with some girls and red solo cups for beer pong.
“don’t spill any in the hot tub!” sukuna barks as the girls organize the cups in place on the edge. geto slides into the pool with the ping pong balls.
“shh shh i know,” he zips his friend up as he takes aim. and as the party is brought back to the hot tub, you’re all swept up again. and your eyes are following every movement of your friend beside you. the way he’s shouting and laughing with his frat brothers, the conversations turning to fog when sukuna flexes his large bicep, the ink that wraps around it highlights how big they are. you can’t even recall the context of this sudden flex off, but you’re not complaining.
you watch his throat bop as he throws back another cup of beer, standing beside geto. your eyes trail over his sculpted chest. you suck in your bottom lip as sukuna falls back beside you. his arm draped behind you along the edge of the hot tub, barking another laugh at some crap geto is spewing, completely distracted.
“I swear TO GOD, you told me to go for that dive!” geto throws his hands up, flabbergasted.
“nah nah nah—“ sukuna shouts over, shaking his head with an amused expression, “I told you—“
“nah—satoru!!” geto looks over his shoulder, waving down the president. “SATORU!”
gojo’s head whips around. however, the debate is the furthest thing from your mind, honestly you can’t even understand what these idiots are talking about. but— there’s one idiot that smells heavenly.
sukuna distracted, doesn’t notice how much closer you’re pressed to him, how your lashes flutter at the mix of cologne and chlorine flooding your nose, and dizzying your mind. he’s so—uh..when men— your brain is short circuiting. literally. mind so consumed by how big and strong this man beside is, that all you can think about is how he protected you. he pulled you out of the water. snapped at that guy…for you.
you’re not normally this moved. but it was the series of events that unfolded, all in the last few hours, that has you doing what you do next.
“please! you know i did not agree to that!” geto tsks, pointing his finger at gojo who’s laughing, sitting at the edge of the hot tub, legs in. and the two — along with the rest of the group involved in the debate — are distracted, and unaware of the fact that the pretty girl that sukuna almost started a fight over, is slipping her pretty hand inside his swim shorts.
sukuna tenses. breath hitching.
his eyes snap to you, stomach clenching. “what’re you—“ he chokes when you squeeze his thick base without warning. your cheek casually presses against his shoulder, wetting your bottom lip. your leg is tucked against his side, as the other swings over his knee, pretty tits squished against his arm. your wrist rolls, stroking his flaccid cock alive.
“ryo…” you speak low enough so that only sukuna can hear. “was jus’ thinking about you.” his jaw tenses, hand clenching at the edge of the tub, leaning his head down.
“you’re the one that doesn’t like this shit,” he husks, throat bopping as you bat your lashes up at him, bitting your lip as you give his cock another squeeze, pushing your wet tits against his arm. “there’s people—“
“then be normal, ryo,” you say, all while nuzzling him like a clingy g— “just wanted to feel how big you are.”
his heads tips back, what’re you even saying?
you keep your cheek pressed against his shoulder, lip tucked between your teeth as you stroke the vp’s fat throbbing cock in the middle of a party and in a hot tub full of his close frat friends.
it wasn’t difficult for his dick to fully harden within seconds of your hand making contact. you let out a soft exhale, pressing your practically naked body against him like you could get any closer than you already are. but to make matters worse, he was so unbelievably turned on that you were touching him in public! fuuck, his stomach flexes, biting back a groan when your thumb swipes his bulbous tip, the water made it difficult for you to keep a fast pace stroke, but his skin was still prickling with heat.
“ryo, is this okay?” you softly pant in his ear, a hum like moan escapes your lips just by the way he exhales through his nose, turning his head to you, aroma engulfing you.
to anyone else it just looked like you were having a private conversation with each other. the hot tub and pool, a few feet away, booming with chaos, no one was paying attention to you guys. but even with all that information, sukuna — who spreads his legs further apart in the water, biting his lip when you kiss his neck now, sucking a light bruise on his flushed skin — knows that you’d never do this. you get touchy when you’re drunk, whispering dirty shit in his ear. but you’ve only had a couple drinks to make you tipsy enough to enjoy the party and remember, not black out drunk to jerk him off in public.
“yeah—it’s okay,” his head drops forward, hot red flush crawling up his neck and stinging his cheeks as he nudges your head with his.
“yeah?” you repeat with a coo.
he bites back a pathetic groan, arm sliding to your waist under the water, gripping your flesh like his life depends on it. you’re intoxicating.
“yeah baby.”
a flush of heat runs between your legs at his deep bedroom voice. sukuna is so hot, he’s so hot, so pretty, so sexy! you squeal internally, leaning closer to press your lips against his sharp jaw, whining just low enough for him to hear. your wrist twists down his cock. you hadn’t even full realized that you’d taken him out of his swim trucks, to possessed to care as his fingers dig into your waist, while the other balls into a fist against the tube’s edge.
“are you close, ryo? is your big cock gonna cum?”
unbelievable.
sukuna’s jaw tenses, abs tightening just by your voice. you’ve been hanging up on how big he is. how big his hands are. how big his dick is — scratch that, you’re using the word cock now. yeah he’s gonna fuckin’ cum soon if you keep talkin’ like that.
“there’s so many people around ry,” you shy quietly, “you don’t think they know I’m playing with you?” your slightly tipsy eyes bat up at him, pupils completely dilated. his eyes briefly sweep around him, the alarms flashing in his mind don’t seem to phase him as he drops his lips down to brush yours.
“what if they are aware?” he husks, lidded eyes boring into yours. “does that make y’r pussy wet?” he wets his lip, thighs flexing when you give his cock a squeeze as he speaks. “ya like knowing that there’s eyes everywhere…watching your slutty self jerk me off.”
your brain short circuits. face burning hot.
“I’m not a slut,” you whisper, just as you’re practically straddling his thigh now, with the way you’re inching closer to him every second. his hand slides from your waist to your ass, gripping the flesh as he pulls it apart letting you feel the warm tube water touch your heated pussy.
“you’re gettin on top of me—“
“to protect your dignity,” you attempt a frown, but your eyes keep flicking to his lips, brushing your lips against them again, just for him to pull back, again.
“didn’t take you as someone so generous,” he quips, hips angling up, subtly telling you to keep stroking him, even if it’s starting to feel like edging. “but,” he bites back another groan, “but to me, ya just look like another slut that wants to get her little pussy stuffed.”
you blink. once.
sukuna can see the lust burst behind your eyes. your thighs clamp around his beefy thigh, your hand squeezing his tip, and your lips parting. “is that so bad?”
ah fuck.
“you can’t say those words to a man,” sukuna’s rasps.
you pout, pressing your wet breasts against his chest, trapping his cock between your bodies. your hot breath fans against his face, scent invading his mind, and your lips brush against his, this time licking his bottom lip. once. twice. your tongue strokes his bottom lip, waiting for him to invite you in, whining a little louder when he refuses. “ryo.”
his large palms grip your ass. your flimsy bikini could easily be pulled to the side, exposing you just like him. your cheeks flush, arching even more, your arms are tossed around his broad shoulder, fingers tangling in the hair at his nape, desperate. needy. “I’ve been holding myself back ryo,” you quietly speak, unaware how much like déjà vu this feels. memories of last month flashing in his mind about those exact words coming from your lips as you climbed into his lap in the middle of a party. “you have to take care of it.”
“i have too?” he quips with a sharp edge in his tone.
your flush with embarrassment, lips batting as your eyes flutter shut, “please…please can you take care of it.”
unbelievable.
his cock twitches violently against your stomach. his muscular thigh flexes under your pussy making your lips part.
as you and sukuna speak in hushed whispers. a good group of people have take notice of the awkward shifting in the hot tub and the unrecognizable look on sukuna’s face. but specifically the girl that the sukuna let attach herself to him during a violently competitive water volleyball match and almost pick a fight with. he’s smirking as she whispers in his ear, her lips even pressing his lobe, making the intimidating vice president blush?!
“her tits are all over him,” one whispers, taking a sip as they watch from a distance, both sitting at the pools edge watching the events unfold a few feet’s away in the hot tub. it’s not obvious unless you’re staring as hard as these guys, or if you’re a certain man laughing as you stand up at the edge of the tub, face dropping for a millisecond when you catch your vice president getting off by a hot girl.
fucking animals, geto shakes his head, eyes flicking to gojo, easily communicating with him about you know.
gojo’s brows pinch glancing over from his seat at the edge of the tub, to— “oh shit!”
geto elbows him. “idiot!”
gojo’s hands fly to his mouth, laughing hysterically as he stares at the way his short tempered friend is blushing like crazy, and making it obvious to anyone that he’s getting his dick touched right now. “do they know what they’re doing?” gojo speaks in hushed whispers.
“obviously,” geto sits beside gojo, the tub water doesn’t seem to be appealing anymore. and yet there’s still a few people on the sides laughing, too drunk to notice.
“fucking pervs,” gojo snickers.
a beat passes.
then gojo turns, eyes wide when he sees geto staring blankly at him. “what?”
“you’re worse!” geto slaps him upside the head. gojo gasps in shock. “I can’t even remember how many times you fucked someone in here and in the pool—“
“hey,” gojo frowns, cheeks flushed from the alcohol. “that was…b-because they were hot.”
geto scoffs, “you weren’t even subtle about them, everybody knew you were fucking them. YOU’RE the biggest perv.”
gojo nods, “yeah…”
your whine flows directly into sukuna’s ear, lips coming back to his. “why won’t you kiss me?” you quietly demand.
his dimples press into his cheeks as he bites back a smirk. “we’re jus’ talking,” he says your name, but in that deep way he does when he’s stuffing you with his cock…which he’s not.
you sit up closer, sliding higher up his thigh, knee rubbing harshly against his cock — “ah!” you squeal suddenly straddling his lap instead of his thigh. his red irises sink into yours, watching the way your glossy lips part glancing at the surface of the hot tub trying to make out how close his cock is to where you need him. “you’re hard ryo.”
“and?”
your eyes flick up to him, pretty brows pressing together, “and we’re not jus’ talking—“
“y’know—“ he suddenly chokes.
you’ve moved your bikini to the side, and pushed his cock down, fully sitting on his cock and sliding across it, hips shaking, stimulating your needy clit.
your name cuts through the air, his grip moves to grab your hips, trying to keep you still, but his body betrays him as he bucks against you. “fuck, woman.”
your lips press against sukuna, whining like a desperate slut when he finally kisses you back. and this was why he didn’t want to entertain you this quickly. the sweet taste of your lips immediately rush the heat down into his cock, his arm wraps around your back, holding the back of your head as the other grips your ass, groaning as your lips smack in wet hungry kisses. your tongues collide, spit collecting in your mouth as he groans in response.
sukuna has to be responsible. he has too. but you’re such a fucking slut— touching his cock, stroking him in public, rubbing your body (his biggest weakness) against him like you’re alone together. and now rubbing you’re humping his cock like you can even feel something with the water’s friction.
all of it was a factor, and for some unexplainable reason, all the dots seemed to have connected at this exact moment—like a huge light bulb going off in his head.
“shit.”
you hum at the way his deep voice sends a warm heat blooming in your stomach. “are you turned on, ryo?” your lips purse, kissing his, unaware of the sudden realization he’s come too. “keep kissing me.”
your fingers thread through his short locks, gripping him as you keep his lips moving yours.
but sukuna’s palm splays across your spine, groaning at the you can’t even stop to catch your breath. then his grip tightens. his mouth drags slower this time, more deliberate. he’s testing something, and the way you react—how quick you melt back into him, how your nails press into his shoulders like you’re holding on and the pitched whine that leaves your lips when he tries to pull away.
“how bad d’you need me?” he murmurs, voice low, rough, right against your pretty lips.
you don’t hesitate. “so bad,” you breathe, almost frustrated, because it’s obvious.
his eyes flick over your face, searching, calculating—then narrowing slightly. “yeah?” he hums, thumb pressing into your waist, grounding you as you shift again, his cock snug between your folds. “why,” he asks, tone not soft or gentle, but testing.
you shake your head slightly, breath catching, fingers tightening on him. “because— i just—” you exhale sharply, frustrated, needy, “i just want you to touch me.”
that’s all he needs. a quiet, almost amused exhale leaves him, something darker settling behind his eyes now. nanami’s little comment about “noticing now” makes his stomach churn uncomfortably. it doesn’t mean anything that you’ve had this friend with benefits deal long enough for him to start noticing a pattern every month. especially when this part comes around and you’re practically begging him to just touch you. he highly doubts that you even notice it.
“been like this all night,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, but his grip doesn’t loosen. if anything, it gets firmer. “can’t keep your hands off me, huh?”
you don’t even deny it. you just pull him back in. and this time he lets you. let’s you kiss him like it’s your last time, let’s you tug his hair like he belongs to you. let’s you pull away with panting at him through glossy lidded eyes.
and then sukuna notices.
the shift.
your breathing breaks. shallow and uneven. you can’t quite catch it as your lips part, soft, glossy, letting out these higher, breathier sounds that you’re not even trying to hold back anymore. it’s quieter than the music, but he hears it. feels it.
his grip tightens instinctively.
your hips are moving without any rhythm now. they’re slow, needy, desperate. your body chasing something it can’t reach fast enough. your fingers press into his lower stomach, clutching there like you need something solid to hold onto, your head tipping forward, lashes fluttering like a fucking angel. and your mouth falls open. a soft, pitched sound slips out of you—one you don’t even seem aware of—and it’s enough to make something dark flicker across his expression.
“…fuck,” he mutters under his breath, eyes locked on your face now, watching every little change his cock twitching uncontrollably.
your brows pinch, then your body tenses, then softens, like a wave hitting and pulling back all at once. your grip on him tightens, thighs pressing in, grounding yourself on his cock without even thinking about it.
and he doesn’t move. doesn’t interrupt it. he just watches. because now he knows. and all he can think is how unbelievably hot you look in his eyes—like something wired wrong in his brain just flipped on. women that are ovulating mean they’re more likely to get pregnant. fuck. why is his brain latching onto that part? you’re his fuck buddy. this is simple. it is simple. it’s perfectly reasonable—completely normal, even—for him to get turned on thinking about how much you cling to him, how much you crave him, how much you need him, how your body reacts to him like this. that doesn’t mean he wants to get you—
absolutely the fuck not.
but still…fucking women. you’re insane. his brain is short circuiting while you’re coming undone on his lap, in a hot tub, in the middle of a packed party.
and the way you’re panting, your breasts pushed together as you keep a hand on his lower abs, pussy spasming as your orgasm rocks through you, has something low and satisfied settling in your fuck buddy’s chest. his hand slides up your back again, slower this time, more deliberate.
“yeah…” he murmurs, almost to himself, thumb pressing lightly into your side as your breathing tries to steady. “that’s what i thought.”
his lips ghost over you.
then he feels it…the eyes.
his dark gaze flicks up. meeting the dilated blue and black ones, along with the others in the crowd. they all saw, didn’t they. witnessed something that had his jaw tightening and his pupils returning to their size.
“fuck me,” you pant quietly, arms lazily coming back to his shoulders coming down from your climax. you kiss him deeply, unaware of the mess you’re causing inside his brain. “I’ve heard people say hot tub’s make you orgasm better,” you lick his tongue, “because of the hot water.”
his grip tightens around you, eyes open and staring past you at the people eyeing the arch in your back as you make out with him like you didn’t just hump yourself to an orgasm in public.
“do you wanna cum too ryo?” your mischievous smile would’ve made any man buckle, but sukuna wasn’t any man. and he sure as shit isn’t a fucking cuck.
“no.”
his sudden tone shift had you pulling back, wet hand touching his damp cheek. sukuna’s thick brows were pulled tightly, clearly angry, at what? you’re not sure. but you’re too lax to think much of it as you squish his cheeks between your fingers. his tatted arm possessively hugged you, eyes briefly leaving the not so subtle audience behind you, to meet your glass eyes.
“you mad I came before you?” you tease, head tilting in mockery. cute. “it’s okay, I’ll make ya cum,” you whisper, smile gracing those sinful lips for yours. “I’ll let you choose too…”
you shrug biting your lip, batting your pretty lashes at him. “you always call it that. I’m just using your vocabulary, mister suh…ku…nuh.”
that was his final straw, because in a blink of an eye, sukuna’s tucking himself and pushing off the tub’s seat, standing up. water cascades down the sharp planes of his abs, his swim trunks clinging low on his hips—leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination.
and people notice.
of course they do.
your jaw drops for half a second, eyes going wide before heat floods your face so fast it almost burns. you shoot up right after him, fist clenching at your side, brows pinching tight. “what’re you doing?”
“we’re going upstairs,” he says simply, like there aren’t a million eyes on him, more specifically his thick bulge. girls are openly staring now, not even trying to hide it as their gazes drag over him, over the obvious outline pressing against his trunks.
your stomach twists. uncomfortable. sharp. ugly. you don’t name it. you won’t name it because it’s stupid. you no claim, no say, no right to feel any type of way about who looks at him or how they look at it. but still, your jaw tightens because the way they’re staring is making your blood boil and it’s like they’re in on something they’re not supposed to be. they’re looking at something that has nothing to do with them and everything to do with you. just you.
your eyes flick back to him, to the way the water trails down his body, the way he stands there like he doesn’t give a single fuck about the attention. and it only makes it worse. he looks like he’s been carved out of stone. something untouchable. and everyone’s fucking touching him with their eyes.
your lips press into a thin line, pulse uneven, heat sitting low in your stomach now for an entirely different reason as you step closer to him without even realizing it, hand settling on his stomach blocking the view from the onlookers. your fingers twitch. and you hate…hate how much it bothers you.
“you’re hard,” you huff, pushing him to step out of the tub, heart beating uncontrollably.
sukuna snorts, leaning down, “yeah no shit.”
“people are staring,” you grit.
your pulse stops. the air shifting around you, then you feel it. sukuna’s eyes bore into you, as his palm cups the side of your neck. your lips part in confusion when his gruff voice cuts.
“they’ve been staring.” the muscles on his jaw flex, pupils moving over your face as his gaze drops to your body. “they all…” his words trail off. he can’t say it…he can’t tell you they all fucking saw you cum, or the way your entire form looked like something straight out of every guys wet fantasy. all because of that unspoken tug that twists in his chest as you look up at him.
his head tips back in defeat.
unaware of the turmoil, you continue pushing him back, glancing briefly over your shoulder to see a few eyes not on the party but staring at sukuna.
“can you walk faster,” you mutter.
sukuna suddenly grabs your wrist after another push backwards, almost making him trip. his grip is firm and fast, yanking you back toward him before you can take another step, your body colliding lightly into his chest. water still drips from both of you, heat clashing with the cool night air as he steadies himself, jaw tightening for a second.
“watch it,” he mutters, low, though there’s no real bite to it. if anything, there’s something else there. his hand doesn’t leave your wrist. instead, it slides up, fingers curling tighter as he pulls you closer. closer. until there’s barely any space left between you. you barely get a word out before he leans down and kisses you.
hard.
it’s sudden. messy. all teeth and heat, like he’s cutting off whatever rush of thoughts were building in your head. your hands come up instinctively, gripping into his shoulders as he angles you just right, one hand now firm at your waist to keep you there. your lips part, immediately tasting his skilled tongue.
and around you, the party doesn’t stop. it never does when it’s grown this chaotic. but there are pockets, small ones, where people notice. gojo, still leaning back against the hot tub’s edge, lets out a low laugh. “zero awareness,” he mutters, clearly entertained. geto just shakes his head, amused, watching the scene unfold like it’s expected. neither of them have the energy tonight to call their friend out, but they’ll be sure to give him shit tomorrow.
but off to the side, a couple girls lean into each other, whispering behind their solo cups, eyes flicking between sukuna and the very obvious situation he’s not bothering to hide. further back, a few of the same guys from earlier in the pool linger, their stares a little too heavy, a little too interested, but sukuna doesn’t register it.
he’s too focused on you. too focused on the way you kiss him back just as hard. how you’re still letting out those fucking whines and moans into his hot mouth. too focused on how quickly you fold into him like he’s the oxygen keeping you alive. to him, this urgency and impatience, just reads as one thing. you want him so bad.
he pulls back just enough to breathe, lips still brushing yours, his gaze dropping to your face, slightly dazed, flushed, and lips parted from the kiss.
“…yeah,” he exhales, almost amused, thumb pressing into your waist like he’s grounding himself. “you taste so good.”
your fingers tighten around his bicep, the other around his shoulder, breath uneven as you blink up at him, still catching up.
“can we—” you swallow, then try again, quieter but more urgent, “can we go upstairs now?”
there’s a beat. then his hand slides down to yours again, grip tightening as he turns, already moving toward the house without another word—pulling you with him. he pushes straight through the noise that follow inside, the lights, the bodies still dancing in the kitchen like nothing. all the way up to his room, and immediately kicking the door shut.
and within a blink of an eye, your tongue is lolling out as sukuna sits behind you, fingers digging into your ass and face buried from behind.
“fuh—fuck yeah,” you drawl, lips wet at the feel of sukuna tongue dragging inside your pussy, lapping up and toying with your rim before going back to suck your slick juices. “c’mon ry, haah…” you’re pushing his head back, so you can sit up. you move to tug his wet trunks off, crawling onto his lap once he discard them. unbothered by the tick in his jaw at your stubbornness, because in seconds, your head is tossed back, and your back is arching as you sink down on nine thick fat inches. “a….ah—“
your lashes flutter, eyes rolling back at the unbelievable stretch. your pussy swallowing every inch like the slut he loves.
“there ya go,” he praises, fingers digging into your ass as you stare at his lips. his sharp teeth sink into his bottom lip as the slick that lubricates his cock. your pussy a generous fountain as you roll your hips, letting his cock stuff deep inside you. “take this fuckin’ cock like a good bitch.”
“ry…haah…” you’re moaning in choked gasps, drool peaking at the corner of your lips as you finally sit back on his thighs.
the man’s pupils dilate as you stroke your lower stomach, feeling the bulge as you bat your lashes up at him. “you’re inside me now, ryo.”
fuck you. seriously.
his brain short circuits in seconds. and now all he sees is you.
his body reacts like a dog with his master. obeying your needs like he’s wired to do that. and he’s not complaining. his hand falls on your ass, beefy thighs spreading, as he meets your bounces with rough snaps of his hips. your ass claps against his thighs with each bounce, gasps piercing the air as he fucks up into you with full force. and you let him.
“look like a fuckin’ porn star in top of me,” he grunts, swallowing a moan when you clamp around him, finger tugging on the knot around your neck letting your bikini finally fall off, freeing yours tits. “fucking brat—“
his tongue falls out, licking your tit that bounces in his face, lips wrapping around your nipple and sucking desperately. and he’s not nice about it. because now he knows. he knows you’ll let him. when you’re ovulating you’ll let him be a little harder, because it feels good. it feels good to feel his teeth bite down on your nipple possessively. it feels good when he spanks your ass until your eyes are rimmed red and flooding with tears.
it feels good to have him obsessed with you, because all you’re begging for is…
“cu—uh—cum.”
an electric current runs down his spine, jaw clenching and head tipping back, flooding your tight pussy with his thick load.
“shit—nghhh fuuuck—fuck baby,” he’s gripping your hips as you press against his stomach, rocking on his cock. he doesn’t fully realize his back is laying against the bed. not when you’re milking his cock like he’s some fucking cow…and yet… “shit keep goin, baby—yeah ya want m-Mmm shit.”
“feel so good ryo.” you shake your ass, feeling his cock twitch inside you when his arm wraps around you, tugging you down to his chest.
“you can keep going?”
you smile, hand touching his cheek, as your tongue strokes his bottom lip. “yeah.” you sigh, whining so softly he would’ve missed it. and you continue like that, kissing him over and over, sighing and calling his name as he pulls out, his fingers push inside your pussy from behind.
“y’r killing me with this tight pretty pussy,” he coos, sending a wave of heat through your veins.
you mewl against his lips, earning a hard spank to your ass, just for his middle and ring finger to slip back inside you. and he doesn’t that for god know how long, and when you finally spasm around his digits, he’s flipping you over and easily getting on top.
“keep em open cmon.” his low voice has your pussy pulsing, pushing his previous load out. he must know his voice’s affects on you.
you hold your legs open, bottom lip between your teeth as you watch sukuna stroke his member over you. the room smells of chlorine, you, and him. “theere we go,” he groans, palm pressing against your knee as he kneels closer to your open legs, dilated pupils staring at the mess between your legs as he slaps his hard cock on your pussy. “what dirty fuckin’ girl,” he drags his cock between your slippery folds, exhaling through his nose when his engorged tip catches your sore clit.
“ryoomen,” you call softly, like you haven’t been all over these last two days.
he snorts, “what happened to mister sukuna? don’t tell me you’ forgot how you humped yourself to an orgasm in the pool—“
“hot tub.”
“my bad,” he remarks sarcastically, tip pushing inside then pulling out again, teasing. “still rubbed this pussy raw, look,” he slaps his cock again, thumb rubbing your little bundle of nerves making you let go of your legs— “ah—keep em open.” he spanks the inside of your thigh. “dirty girls need to be taught a lesson.”
“pleaseee,” you scoff, sitting up on your elbows, “you were literally slapping everyone around with his hard your dick was.”
sukuna barks out a laugh. “my dick’s that big?”
you glance down at him, then back up. “I wasn’t being dirty. you were dirty too.”
“me?” he’s baffled, you’ve been throwing yourself at him all night!
you raise a brow at him, relaxing back against the pillows and headrest, eyeing him. “you never took your hands off me.”
sukuna scoffs, “as if, you latched onto me on the pool.”
“then i went to hime to wash my mouth out, and you—“ you point at him with emphasis, “came swimming to me, touching me, stroking my thigh, my back.” your brow quirks again, and sukuna goes mute. his jaw ticks, glancing over your face as your calf subtly hooks over his thigh, stroking up as your hands lay on your stomach, waiting.
“you…” he licks the back of his teeth, sharp eyes threatening, but… “so what if I had my hands on you?” oh, he admits it. your cheeks sting, wetting your lip as you shrug.
“well,” you tilt your head again, slightly embarrassed now, glancing down at his inked chest. “like…you can’t blame me for getting turned on then.”
“because I’m touching you?”
you nod.
“like this,” his palm trails from your knee, slowly up your thigh. the warmth of his skin feels like it’s leaving a trail across your body.
you nod.
his hand reaches your waist, eyes boring into yours. his cock throbbing at this point, he can feel the slick of your arousal costing his cock as it rests against your pussy. turning to some light foreplay after just fucking you was messing with his head…because….it feels so good.
“what about when I’m touching your waist,” his thumb strokes the soft skin. “it’s not your ass.”
your breath is uneven. your heart beats against your rib cage. “still,” you exhale.
“still turns you on?” he clarifies, catching the way your lips part, breathless just by the way he’s flirting with you. his cock twitches…you’re gorgeous.
you nod.
his free hand caresses your hips, moving it up your body in feather-like-caresses. his other arm is pressed beside you, keeping himself up as he watches your arms lay bend beside you. his hand lightly brushes the side of your breast before trailing over your collarbone. “still?”
you nod, wetting your bottom lip, blown pupils maintaining eye contact.
his thumb caresses your collarbone, eyes flicking between your eyes and the way your chest is rising and falling in uneven breaths. “how about now?” his palm glides over your bicep, then down your arm, before threading his fingers with yours.
you squeeze his hand, eyes unable to tear away from his. his face inches closer to yours, exhaling against your lips. “I think you’ve jus’ been horny these past few days.”
your breath stutters, angling your chin up, “obviously,” you mutter against his lips. “I’m pretty sure I’m ovulating.”
something dark and electric flashing through his eyes. a low exhale leaves him, almost a laugh, but there’s no humor in it—just heat, thick and immediate, his grip on your hand tightening to the point it almost borders on rough.
“yeah?” he murmurs, voice dropping, rougher now, like it’s scraping out of his throat. his forehead nudges against yours for a second, like he’s grounding himself, but it doesn’t work. if anything, it makes it worse. “tell me you want me to stuff you then.”
“I want you to stuff me, ryo,” you repeat, breathless as his jaw slacks finally rocking his hips into yours, slick cock massaging your folds.
“keep going,” he husks.
your free hand trails up his bicep, the other still holding his hand like an anchor. “I want you to fuck me. use me. cum in me.”
“ah fuck—“ he slips his hand between your bodies, pushing his cock down and snapping his hips into yours, sheathing his entire length inside. your jaw drops, broken cry slipping out. “y’ really know how to make a man fucking hard.”
your lips are glossed with spit as presses his lips against them. swallowing your moans as he snaps his hips into a mean thrust, picking up a brutal pace without warning.
and you love it.
the base downstairs shakes the bedroom walls, the laughing and chatter outside the windows is nothing compared to the way you’re panting and crying in his ear. the lights flickering from the strobe lights outside, only serve to illuminate your flushed face as you cum.
“fuck, you still want more,” he’s already kissing you again, and again. spit mixing together against your tongues as he pulls away. he pants over your face, his cheeks flushed pink and his cock rubbed raw. “fuck gunna cum…ngh yeah fuck fuck—“ he pistons his cock inside you poor cunt, dilated pupils zeroing on the mess that’s gushing from you. his chuckle is broken with his groan as he fucks you through it all. “keep squirting baby, won’t make me stop.”
and he doesn’t. his thrusts are rough. harder than usual because he knows he’ll get away with it just a bit more when you’re ovulating. and even as you’re gasping, back of your hand raised to your mouth, pussy spasming as sukuna slams his body weight behind each thrust — you don’t push him away.
“gunna cum…shiit, shit it’s coming—“ and it feels like a damn crashing. his cock pulses inside you, squirting buckets inside your poor cunt. “haah fuh—“ his abs flex, body weight dropping on top of you, hugging you tight as he rocks his hips into lazy humps. the rasp in his throat has you holding him tight, unbothered by how unbelievably heavy he is.
and sukuna stays like that. face buried in your neck, arms clutching onto you, and brain fried.
“you also smell sweeter,” he mutters.
“I don’t. you’re just a freak.”
he buries his nose deeper in your neck, inhaling sharply. “haah fuck, yeah you definitely smell good.”
your brain short circuits, cheeks flooding hot as you wiggle underneath him. “you can’t—“
“you humped me in the hot tub.”
your brows scrunch together. “so?”
he licks your neck, “then you can’t blame me for still being turned on by you.” he licks a strip up to your ear, a tingle runs down to your pussy, squeezing around him.
he smirks.
of course he does. and why wouldn’t he? you’re already nudging him to your lips, kissing him again, like you’re stuffed with loads of his cum.
“you’re cute,” he mutters between kisses, and even if that makes your stomach flip, and your face burn, and heart skip a beat…you don’t comment about it. you don’t address. and you sure as shit don’t think about it.
and the simple answer is, he’s kissing you right now and that’s all you want to think about it.
more frat!kuna here
a/n: I’m blaming the grammar errors on you guys for the rush (I also hate proof reading). but I hope u guys enjoyed it. believe me when I say, I was not expecting it to be that freaking long, I just really wanted to write sukuna and reader kinda skinny dipping, without losing their dynamic or doing something super uncharacteristic, so I dragged out the plot. but still I hope u guys liked it!
and thank you for the wait. I really put most of my free time into this so I can’t tell u when I’ll finish the next chapter of the series, so bare with me for another possible week of agony :’(
