strawberry

[6x-x9]

𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐋𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐀𝐑 𔘓 𝑯𝑬𝑰𝑨𝑵!𝓡.𝑺𝑼𝑲𝑼𝑵𝑨

When Ryomen 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 found a temple girl still on her knees after he had burned it to the ground, he thought you'd be perfect to take as his.

𝓒𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 · 𝟏𝟖+ 𝒎𝒅𝒏𝒊 · ꒰ 𝒇. 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 ⋮⋮ 𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒎!𝒔𝒖𝒌𝒖𝒏𝒂 ⋮⋮ mentions of weapons (knife) ⋮⋮ reader at one point tries to take his life ⋮⋮ mention of blood ⋮⋮ 𝒗𝒊𝒓𝒈𝒊𝒏 reader ⋮⋮ p in v ⋮⋮ his two cks mentioned ⋮⋮ cervix kissing ⋮⋮ tummy bulges ⋮⋮ cum-flated ⋮⋮ c-pied ⋮⋮ 𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒍 f. rec ⋮⋮ he eats you out under a pear tree ⋮⋮ bathtub 𝒔𝒆𝒙 ⋮⋮ dp ⋮⋮ nipple play ⋮⋮ mentions of pregnancy ꒱

𝒲𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 · 𝟐𝟓𝐤+ · ꒰ 𝒓𝒆𝒖𝒑𝒍𝒐𝒂𝒅 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 : @!torusbabe ꒱

The Heian era stretched long and bloody under skies that never quite cleared of smoke. Villages burned not for conquest alone, but because Ryomen Sukuna found the sight of flames prettier than the thatched roofs they devoured.

He moved like calamity given legs, four arms thick with corded muscle, tattoos crawling black across scarlet skin, eyes the color of fresh-spilled blood and just as hungry. They called him the King of Curses long before any true cursed spirit bore the name; humans feared him the way prey fears the open mouth of a tiger, and with good reason.

He slaughtered priests mid-chant, crushed shrine maidens beneath his geta, left offering bowls overturned and spilling rice across blood-slicked tatami. Faith irritated him. Devotion irritated him more. It was the only thing that ever made him pause long enough to really look at someone.

You were different in the way a single unbroken flower is different in a field turned to ash.

The temple sat modest on its hill, cedar beams darkened by centuries of incense. You had spent your life inside its walls. Sweeping stone paths at dawn, replacing withered chrysanthemums, murmuring sutras until your voice felt less like your own and more like something borrowed from the kami themselves.

Your hands were calloused only from scrubbing floors and carrying water; your body soft in the way of someone who had never known violence except as stories whispered after dark. When war finally clawed its way up the mountain road, you did not run. You knelt deeper. Forehead to the cool floor, palms pressed together, lips shaping the same prayer you had spoken every morning since childhood.

Sukuna found you like that.

The sliding doors exploded inward in a spray of splinters. Smoke curled around his silhouette as he stepped inside, two of his arms crossed, the other two loose at his sides. Blood still dripped from the knuckles of his rightmost hand; somewhere behind him a monk’s severed head rolled to a stop against a lantern post. He tilted his head, regarding you. You did not lift your gaze. You did not scream. You only whispered the next line of the sutra, voice trembling but unbroken.

He laughed once the sound of it came out low and rough, amused in a way that made the air feel heavier.

“Still praying,” he said, voice like gravel dragged over silk. “Even now.”

You swallowed. Tears slipped free, hot against your cheeks, but your hands stayed joined.

He crossed the prayer hall in three strides. One massive hand closed around the back of your neck. Not cruel yet, only possessive. He lifted you as though you weighed nothing, your knees scraping the floorboards before they left them entirely. Your prayer beads clattered to the ground. You reached instinctively for them; he caught your wrist mid-motion and pinned it behind you with casual strength.

“If I’m not there,” you managed, voice cracking on every word, “who will take care of the temple?”

He went still.

For one heartbeat the only sound was the crackle of distant fires and your own uneven breathing.

Then he leaned in until his mouth brushed the shell of your ear.

“That’s what I like about you already,” he murmured. “You think the gods still need you.”

He carried you out of the ruined temple slung over one shoulder like a prize of war. You beat uselessly at his back until your strength gave out; tears soaked the fabric stretched across his shoulder blades. The last thing you saw of your home was the torii gate tilting sideways, half-consumed by flame.

His fortress crouched against jagged black cliffs, more cavern than castle—rough-hewn stone corridors lit by flickering braziers, air thick with the smell of iron and cedar smoke. Servants scattered like leaves when he entered, heads bowed so low their foreheads nearly kissed the floor. Only one did not flinch: Uraume, pale and composed, white hair falling straight as a blade. They regarded you with cool interest as Sukuna dumped you unceremoniously onto the wide, low platform that served as his sleeping mat.

You scrambled backward until your spine hit the wall, kimono tangled around your knees, chest heaving. The room was vast, shadowed, dominated by his presence even when he turned away to shrug out of bloodied outer robes. No partition. No second mat. No door that closed between you and him.

You were his now.

He did not speak the words. He did not need to.

Uraume approached without being summoned, carrying a lacquered tray. Steaming rice, grilled fish, pickled vegetables arranged with meticulous care. A clay cup of water. They knelt before you, expression unreadable.

“Eat,” they said simply. “He does not tolerate weakness in what belongs to him.”

You stared at the food, stomach twisting with nausea and hunger in equal measure. Your fingers shook when you reached for the chopsticks.

Later, after the tray had been cleared away. Uraume returned with folded yukata of soft undyed silk and a wooden tub already filled with heated water scented faintly with yuzu. They gestured toward a screened alcove at the far side of the chamber.

“Wash,” they instructed. “He will want you clean.”

You obeyed because there was nothing else to do.

The water was almost too hot; it turned your skin pink as you sank into it, knees drawn to your chest. You scrubbed mechanically, arms and shoulders, the crook of your neck, until every trace of soot and temple incense had been erased. Your hair hung heavy and dripping when you finally stepped out. Uraume waited with a dry cloth and the yukata. They did not touch you; they simply watched until you had dressed, until the sash was tied neatly at your waist.

When you emerged from behind the screen, Sukuna was already reclining on the wide mat, one elbow propped beneath him, four eyes fixed on you with lazy predatory interest. The yukata clung slightly to still-damp skin. You felt naked beneath his gaze despite the layers.

He crooked two fingers.

You hesitated.

He crooked them again, but slower this time, deliberately.

You crossed the room on unsteady legs and sank to your knees at the edge of the mat, head bowed, hands folded in your lap the way you had been taught to approach superiors. The posture felt wrong here. Too reverent. Too much like prayer.

He reached out, caught your chin between thumb and forefinger, and tilted your face up.

“You still smell like incense,” he said, almost thoughtful. “I’ll have to fix that.”

His thumb dragged once across your lower lip rough and warm, a soft press.

Then he released you.

“Sleep,” he ordered, lying back and closing two of his eyes while the other two remained trained on you. “You’ll need your strength.”

There was no spare futon. No corner to curl into. Only the space beside him on the wide mat, close enough to feel the furnace heat rolling off his body.

You lay down carefully, on your side, facing away from him, every muscle rigid. Tears slipped silently into the thin pillow beneath your cheek.

Behind you, he let out a single exhale that sounded almost like a laugh.

“Good girl,” he murmured into the dark. “Faithful things last longer when they learn their place.”

The braziers guttered low. The fortress settled into uneasy quiet.

And you, stolen from the gods, lay awake listening to the slow, steady rhythm of the monster’s breathing at your back, knowing he had only begun to claim what he wanted.

The first days blurred into a haze of stone walls and flickering firelight. You kept to the edges of the chamber like a shadow trying to disappear into itself. Every time Sukuna moved, your body tensed up, waiting for the strike that never came. Not yet. He lounged on the wide mat most hours, sometimes sleeping with all four eyes closed (a rare vulnerability you noted and immediately regretted noticing), sometimes watching you with the lazy patience of a cat that has already cornered its mouse. Uraume appeared at regular intervals with trays of food you refused to touch. Rice cooled untouched. Fish grew dull-eyed on the lacquer. Pickles wilted. You told yourself it was defiance. You told yourself starvation was preferable to accepting anything from the thing that had burned your world down.

Hunger, though, was not impressed by principle.

Your stomach clawed itself hollow. Your limbs felt heavy, your head light. You sat with your back to the wall, knees drawn up, arms wrapped tight around them as though you could hold yourself together that way. Sukuna noticed. Of course he did. He noticed everything.

On the fourth evening or perhaps the fifth; time had begun to slip like sand. He rose from the mat abruptly. Uraume had just left another untouched meal on the low table. Sukuna crossed to it in two strides, picked up the bowl of rice still faintly warm, and carried it to where you sat.

You pressed harder against the stone.

He crouched before you. He was too close, always too close. Balancing the bowl on one massive palm. The other three hands rested loose at his sides, deceptively calm.

“Eat,” he said. Not an order this time. Almost conversational.

You stared at the floor between his knees. “No.”

A beat of silence. Then a low sound escaped from him, not quite a laugh, more like air pushed through teeth.

“You think starving yourself hurts me?” He tilted his head, studying the stubborn line of your jaw. “It only makes you weaker. And I don’t keep broken things.”

“I’m not yours to keep.”

The words came out quieter than you meant, cracked from disuse and thirst. Still, they hung between you like a thrown gauntlet.

He considered them. Then, without warning, one of his lower hands lifted in a slow and deliberate motion to cup the side of your face. Not rough. Not gentle either. Just there. Warm. The calluses on his thumb rasped once against your cheekbone.

“You will eat,” he said, softer now, almost amused. “Or I will make you.”

You jerked your head away. “I said no.”

His grip tightened, just enough to still you but not enough to bruise. The other hand, the one holding the rice moved closer. He scooped a small clump with two fingers, brought it to your lips.

You clamped your mouth shut. Turned your face aside.

He waited.

The seconds stretched. Your pulse hammered in your ears. Hunger roared louder than pride.

Then slowly, so slowly you hated yourself for it. Your lips parted. Just enough.

He pushed the rice inside.

You chewed mechanically, eyes stinging, hating the way your body betrayed you by swallowing. The grains were perfectly soft, faintly sweet from whatever subtle seasoning Uraume used. You hated that too.

Sukuna watched every motion. The way your throat worked. The way a single grain clung to the corner of your mouth until his thumb brushed it away.

“Good,” he murmured.

He fed you another bite. Then another. Never rushing. Never forcing more than you could take at once. One of his free hands settled at the small of your back, not pulling you closer. Just resting there, steadying you as though you might topple sideways from the effort of hating him while your body demanded to live.

You ate half the bowl before shame choked you again. You tried to turn your head.

He didn’t let you.

The last bite he held between his fingers longer than necessary, letting you feel the heat of his skin, the faint pulse beneath it. When you finally took it, your soft lips closing around the pads of his fingers for one humiliating second and then something flickered in his eyes. Not lust, not yet. Satisfaction. The quiet pleasure of something stubborn beginning to bend.

He set the empty bowl aside. His hand lingered on your cheek a moment longer before falling away.

“You’ll eat tomorrow,” he said, rising to his full height again. “And the day after. And every day I decide you’re still useful alive.”

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, glaring up at him through wet lashes. “I hate you.”

He gave a small and sharp smile that was entirely genuine, you feared.

“I know.”

He returned to the mat, stretched out on his side, and closed two eyes while the other two stayed fixed on you. You stayed where you were, back to the wall, knees still drawn tight, tasting rice and salt and the ghost of his fingers on your tongue.

Hunger sated. Defiance cracked, just a little.

And in the shadowed quiet of the fortress, the King of Curses watched his stolen faithful with the patience of someone who already knew how this story ended.

Days bled into one another until the rhythm of captivity began to feel less like chains and more like gravity was inescapable and constant. Wearing down edges you once thought sharp. You no longer pressed yourself to the farthest wall when he entered the chamber. You no longer flinched at every shift of his massive frame. Vigilance replaced panic; observation replaced despair.

....

You learned the fortress the way a prisoner learns the bars of a cage. The low wooden chest near the alcove held his smaller blades. A curved tanto with black-wrapped hilts, edges honed to split hairs. You watched him retrieve them once, twice, committing the latch’s soft click to memory. Uraume never lingered near it; Sukuna himself seemed to forget it existed most days, as though no one in this place would dare touch what was his.

You told yourself the knowledge was survival. You told yourself the plan forming in the quiet hours, when his breathing evened out beside you and the braziers burned low....was justice that you'd claim. The temple still haunted your dreams: splintered beams, overturned altars, the last prayer dying on your lips as he carried you away. Revenge felt righteous. Necessary.

And yet.

His body had become a fixture. Four arms that could crush stone now draped carelessly across the mat at night. One slung over your waist when he slept deepest, another curled beneath his own head, the remaining two loose at his sides. The heat of him seeped through silk and skin alike, a furnace you could no longer pretend to ignore. You hated how your muscles learned to relax against that warmth instead of locking in terror. Hated how, when he spoke in low commands, mocking observations and that your replies came edged but quieter now. Less venom. More resignation. Familiarity was its own slow poison.

He noticed.

Of course he did.

Sometimes his gaze lingered longer when you answered him. A faint curl at the corner of his mouth. Not quite a smile. Something pleased. Something patient.

You waited for the right night.

It came without fanfare.

The moon hung thin and pale beyond the narrow window slits. Sukuna had returned late from whatever carnage called him away, reeking faintly of smoke and copper. His outer robes discarded carelessly near the entrance. He collapsed onto the mat with a grunt, eyes sliding shut faster than usual. Exhaustion, perhaps. Or arrogance. Two eyes closed completely; the other pair fluttered half-lidded for a moment before drifting shut as well.

You lay motionless beside him until his breathing deepened slowly, even pulls that lifted the wide plane of his chest. Minutes stretched. Your heart slammed against your ribs so hard you were certain he would wake from the sound alone.

He didn’t.

You moved.

Silent as temple shadow, you slipped from beneath the thin cover. Bare feet met cold stone. You crossed to the chest on trembling legs, fingers numb as they worked the latch. The blade came free easily, it was lighter than you expected, wicked curve glinting faintly in the dying ember light. You gripped it so tightly your knuckles ached.

Adrenaline sang in your veins. Fear. Fury. Something darker.

You returned to the mat.

Sukuna laid on his back, arms splayed, tattoos stark against scarlet skin. Vulnerable in sleep the way only predators can afford to be. You swallowed once hard, then swung one leg over his waist. The yukata rode up your thighs as you settled your weight astride him, knees bracketing his hips. He was massive beneath you; your thighs strained to accommodate the breadth of him. The heat of his body immediately soaked through the thin layers separating you.

You leaned forward.

One hand braced on his chest. Feeling the steady thud of a heart too strong, too steady while the other brought the blade to his throat. The edge kissed skin just below the sharp line of his jaw. A single bead of blood welled where steel met flesh, dark and sluggish.

You pressed.

Not deep. Not yet.

Just enough to feel resistance. Enough to imagine the rest.

Your breath came in shallow pants. Tears pricked your eyes. Not from fear now, but from the sheer weight of what you were about to do. What you had to do.

He didn’t stir.

Not yet.

But beneath you, his body registered the new pressure. A subtle shift of his muscles tightening minutely under your thighs, the slow rise of his chest hitching once as though some animal instinct registered weight, warmth, threat.

His four arms remained lax.

His eyes stayed closed.

The blade trembled in your grip.

And still he slept. Deep enough that the King of Curses had not yet woken to the faithful girl straddling his waist with death at his throat.

He felt you.

Not the weight of your body first, not the press of your thighs around his hips or the tremor in your knees but the cold kiss of steel against his throat. A single drop of blood had already slid down the side of his neck, dark against scarlet skin, before instinct finally pulled him from sleep.

His eyes opened slowly.

Two at first, then the other pair followed, crimson slits widening into lazy, unhurried focus. No jolt. No surge of violence. Just that deliberate unfurling of awareness, like a beast deciding whether the thing on its back was prey or amusement.

He tilted his head just enough that the blade bit a fraction deeper, another thin line of red welling up. His gaze locked on yours.

You froze.

The hand holding the tanto stayed firm, knuckles white, but the rest of you went still as temple stone. You had never been this close. Not really. Not like this. You had seen him bare-chested after baths, yukata slipping low on his shoulders, tattoos shifting over muscle as he moved. You had felt the furnace heat of him at night when one careless arm draped across your waist. But this, straddling the King of Curses, your thighs spread wide over the hard plane of his abdomen, faces inches apart, was different. Intimate in a way that made your pulse roar in your ears. His breath ghosted warm against your lips. His eyes held yours without blinking, pupils blown wide in the low light, drinking you in.

“You’re quite brave,” he murmured, voice rough from sleep, low enough that it vibrated through your joined bodies. “Finally took your chance.”

Your mouth opened. Closed. The words came anyway, cracked and furious and trembling all at once.

“You took everything from me,” you whispered. “You’ll take from others just like you did me.”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t deny it. One corner of his mouth curled small, almost fond.

“I will,” he said simply. No apology. No justification. Just truth laid bare between you like an offering.

Then quieter, almost gentle: “You should follow through with something if you’ve made up your mind.”

The blade trembled. Your arm ached from holding it steady. This was it. The moment you had rehearsed in the dark, the righteous stroke that would end him, end the fear, end the slow unraveling of who you used to be.

You couldn’t.

The steel stayed pressed to his throat, but your fingers wouldn’t close. Wouldn’t push. Tears burned hot at the corners of your eyes; you hated them as much as you hated him.

His lower pair of hands moved first slow, carefully. Sliding up your arms until they settled on your shoulders. The grip was firm. Not bruising. Just enough to anchor you.

He shook you once—light, almost playful.

“Do it,” he said.

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe right.

“If I don’t kill you,” you managed at last, voice breaking, “you’ll harm more.”

Something flickered in his eyes— amusement, maybe, or recognition. Then motion.

In one fluid roll he flipped you.

The world tilted. Stone mat rushed up to meet your back. Air punched out of your lungs. He loomed above you now. He was massive and unyielding, entirely caging you beneath the breadth of his chest and the weight of four arms. One hand braced beside your head. Another pinned your waist to the mat, your trembling fingers keeping the blade trapped between your palm and his throat. The edge still kissed skin; a fresh bead of blood slid down to drip onto your collarbone, warm and slow.

He didn’t pull away.

Didn’t disarm you.

He simply looked down at you, his eyes half-lidded, mouth curved in that same unreadable almost-smile.

You stared up at him, chest heaving, the tanto still clutched in your shaking fingers, steel pressed firm to the pulse at his neck.

Neither of you moved.

The braziers crackled faintly in the silence.

Blood dripped.

And in the shadowed space between your bodies. He was close enough for you to feel every rise and fall of his breath against your skin and you both simply looked at each other, suspended on the razor’s edge of what came next.

His lower arms moved first, slowly. Wide palms broad and warm as they settled around your waist. Fingers splayed wide, thumbs brushing the dip just above your hipbones. He held you firmer then, not trapping, not bruising, just claiming the shape of you as though measuring how perfectly you fit in his grasp. The pressure was steady. Inescapable. Your yukata was already loosened from the roll, it slid higher under the coaxing slide of his hands. Silk whispered against skin until cool air kissed the bare curve of your thighs, the soft swell of your hips, the vulnerable heat between them.

You were bare underneath.

He was bare too.

The realization hit like a struck bell: the hard, thickening length of him—two cocks, heavy and hot pressed flush against the slick seam of your cunt. No fabric between you now. Just skin on skin. The blunt heads nudged against your folds with every shallow breath he took, smearing warmth, promising stretch, promising ruin. Your body clenched on nothing; a shameful pulse of wet heat answered him before your mind could catch up.

It was too much.

Too aware.

Too close.

He never looked away.

Those four crimson eyes held yours, unblinking-unhurried— watching every flicker of defeat cross your face. Your lips parted on shallow pants. Tears clung to your lashes. The tanto still trembled in your grip, edge kissing the steady throb at his throat, but the fight had bled out of your arm. You looked small beneath him. Broken open. Waiting.

He leaned forward until his mouth hovered a breath from yours.

“Stupid girl,” he murmured, voice gravel-rough and almost tender.

Then he kissed you.

Slow.

Sweetly.

His lips caught yours with a gentleness that felt obscene coming from him a soft press, slow drag. His tongue tracing the seam of your mouth until you opened for him on instinct. He sucked at your lower lip, gentle pull that drew a broken sound from your throat. One of his upper hands cradled the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair, tilting you deeper into the kiss while his lower hands pushed the yukata higher still, to bare the soft plane of your stomach, the undersides of your breasts, every inch of skin he could reach.

He moaned into your mouth low and hungry, it vibrated through your chest.

The blade slipped.

Your fingers loosened. The tanto fell from your grasp, clattering sharp against the stone floor somewhere to the side. Forgotten.

Then your now empty hand rose instead, hesitant and trembling and unsure, until your fingers found the nape of his neck. Tangled in the coarse silk of his hair. Pulled.

Not away.

Closer.

You arched beneath him without meaning to, breasts brushing the hard planes of his chest, cunt sliding slick against the underside of one thick cock. The friction dragged a whimper past your lips; he swallowed it, tongue stroking deeper, tasting the salt of your tears and the faint sweetness still lingering from the rice he’d fed you nights before.

His lower hands tightened on your waist, his thumbs stroking slow circles over your hipbones. Keeping you pinned, keeping you open, keeping you his.

He broke the kiss only long enough to drag his mouth along your jaw, down the column of your throat where his lips felt your pulse flutter against it. His tongue flicked over the skin there, tasting your defiance turned to surrender.

You shuddered.

Your fingers tightened in his hair.

And beneath him, bare and trembling, you stopped pretending you wanted anything else.

His lower hands tightened on your hips, thick fingers digging into soft flesh just enough to bruise tomorrow and he rocked you forward in a slow, steady grind. Your slick cunt dragged along the thick undersides of his cocks, parting around them, coating them in the shameful evidence of your want. The friction was obscene: hot, slippery, relentless. Every slide nudged the swollen heads against your clit before gliding back, teasing without entering, promising everything and giving nothing yet.

A raw and broken moan tore from your throat in an entirely involuntary rush. You couldn’t swallow it down. Couldn’t pretend it wasn’t there.

He exhaled against your skin, a low, pleased rumble that vibrated through your ribs.

“That’s it,” he murmured, voice thick with dark satisfaction. “So wet for me, doll… so wet already.”

The words landed like a brand. You swallowed hard, throat clicking, but your arms only wound tighter around his neck, your fingers knotting in his hair, nails scraping scalp as though you needed to anchor yourself to the very thing destroying you. Your thighs trembled where they bracketed his waist; your hips jerked once on their own, chasing the pressure before shame could catch up.

He kissed down the column of your throat, slow and open-mouthed, then lower still. His mouth found the soft swell of your breasts, tongue flicking once over one peaked nipple before he closed his lips around it. Sucked. Hard. The wet pull drew a sharp gasp from you; your back arched off the mat, offering more without meaning to. He switched to the other, teeth grazing just enough to sting before soothing with slow, languid licks. Your nipples throbbed under the attention, so sensitive and aching now flushed dark from his mouth.

One of his upper hands slid down the inside of your thigh, palm rough and warm, pushing your leg wider. Then the other was spreading you open until the cool air of the chamber kissed the slick heat between your thighs. Exposed. Vulnerable. His cocks slotted perfectly now, the thick lengths gliding through your folds, the blunt heads catching on your clit with every roll of his hips. Harder. Faster. The rhythm built until wet sounds filled the quiet room: your arousal, his low groans, the slick slide of skin on skin.

A high and helpless whimper escaped your lips, lifting your hips to meet him, cunt clenching around nothing, desperate for more than friction. Tears slipped free again, sliding down your temples into your hair, but they weren’t from fear this time. Not entirely.

He lifted his head just enough to watch your face, with eyes half-lidded, mouth wet and swollen from kissing you earlier. One hand came up to thumb away a tear, almost gentle.

“Look at you,” he rasped, rocking you harder against him, letting you feel every ridged inch of him glide over your clit. “Already dripping. Already begging without saying the word.”

Your breath hitched. Your fingers dug deeper into his shoulders.

He leaned in again, his mouth brushing yours, not quite kissing, just breathing you in.

“Say it,” he murmured against your lips. “Tell me what you want, little faithful. Or I’ll keep you right here teasing your eager cunt, until you cry for it.”

Your thighs shook. Your cunt pulsed. The heat between you was unbearable now so wet, achingly unbearable.

And still he waited with slow patients, rocking you slow and filthy along the length of him. Watching every flicker of surrender cross your face.

You broke first.

The words slipped out on a trembling exhale, soft and fractured that was barely louder than a whisper. “Please…”

It wasn’t surrender spoken in anger. It was need, raw and stripped bare, voice cracking on the single syllable like glass under pressure. Your thighs shook where they cradled his hips; your fingers clenched in his hair so tight it pulled at the roots. You were shaking apart beneath him, cunt fluttering uselessly against the slow, torturous glide of his cocks along your folds, and still he waited. Watching you succumb. Drinking in the way defeat looked on your face when it finally wore your pride thin.

His mouth curved against your temple, almost gentle.

“That’s it, sweet girl,” he murmured, voice low and thick with something darker than amusement. “I’ll fill you up.”

He shifted then in a slow and purposeful motion, aligning the thicker of his two cocks with your entrance. The blunt, leaking head nudged past your folds, parting slick lips that had never known anything but empty ache. You were untouched. Virgin. He could feel it in every instinctive clench, every flutter of your inner walls trying to decide whether to push him out or pull him deeper. Your body was too eager and too overwhelmed, tight untrained muscles fluttering wildly around the intrusion before he’d even breached you properly.

He kissed you again, deeper this time. His lips pressed more firmly, tongue sliding slow and possessive against yours, swallowing the small, helpless sounds that spilled from your throat as he began to press forward.

The fat tip breached you.

Your cunt squeezed hard, reflexive and impossibly tight around the sheer size of him. A sharp, startled cry muffled against his mouth. He groaned low in his chest at the resistance, at the velvet heat clamping down like it wanted to strangle him already. Precum smeared inside you, thick and hot, easing the way just enough that he could inch forward another fraction. Your walls fluttered desperately around the fat crown trying to accommodate the sheer size of it. Failing and trying desperately again. Too much. Too full already and he’d barely started.

He held your hips steady with his lower hands, thumbs stroking soothing circles over the sensitive skin just above your mound while one upper hand cradled the back of your neck, keeping your mouth locked to his. The other braced beside your head, caging you without crushing.

“Relax,” he rasped against your lips, voice rough with restraint. “Breathe for me, doll. You’re taking it so well already.”

Another slow push.

Your back arched off the mat, a sharp gasp tearing free as another inch sank in. The stretch burned sweet, aching and so overwhelming. Your cunt spasming around him, milking the thick head like it couldn’t decide if it hated or craved the invasion. Tears slipped hot down your cheeks; he licked them away without breaking the kiss, tasting salt and surrender.

He didn’t rush.

He rocked into you with tiny, shallow thrusts working the his fat tip deeper with every careful roll of his hips, letting your body adjust inch by torturous inch. Your nails raked down his shoulders; your thighs trembled wide around him. The second cock laid against your cunt, still hard and heavy, it dragged along your clit with every motion, smearing slick, keeping the pleasure sharp and constant even as the stretch threatened to undo you.

You whimpered into his mouth a high and broken but there was neediness layered in.

He swallowed it.

Pressed deeper.

Your cunt yielded another reluctant inch for him, your walls fluttering, squeezing then fluttering again, your walls clinged to him so tightly he had to grit his teeth against the urge to slam home. Not yet. Not when you were still trembling like this, still so sweetly overwhelmed, still giving him every fractured sound and shudder.

He broke the kiss only to drag his mouth to your ear.

“Good girl,” he breathed, voice wrecked with want. “Let me in. Let me fill that tight little cunt the way it’s begging to be filled.”

Another slow, relentless push.

Your body opened a little, just barely around the thickest part of him.

And still he kept going in slow patient amd mercilessly trusts, determined to bury every inch until you were stuffed full and weeping for more.

Too big.

The thought looped through your mind like a broken sutra, too big, too big, too big as the thick head of his cock sank deeper, stretching you beyond what felt possible. Your walls fluttered wildly around him, spasming in protest and pleasure both, forced to yield inch by merciless inch. He swelled inside you, filling you up up up until every shallow breath pushed your belly taut, until you could feel the blunt pressure of him high against the deepest place inside.

Your body had no choice but to mould itself around him.

Soft inner walls reshaped themselves to the heavy ridge of his cock, clenching desperately, fluttering around him trying to push him out and pull him deeper all at once. He pushed in again slowly and relentless, and your cunt gave another reluctant inch, the stretch burning sweet and sharp until tears spilled freely down your cheeks. He was rearranging you from the inside, carving space where there had been none, claiming every fluttering inch as his.

The fat head kissed your cervix properly then, it pressed harder. You gasped, high and startled, hips jerking uselessly beneath him. He didn’t stop. Another shallow thrust and the tight ring of muscle yielded fully opening for him like it had been waiting, like your body had always known it would bend to this. He bottomed out with a low groan that vibrated through your joined bodies, cock buried to the hilt, pulsing hot against the deepest part of you.

“So tight,” he rasped against your throat, voice wrecked with restraint. “Look at you… taking it all. Opening right up for me like a good little thing.”

You whimpered softly, overwhelmed by the feeling, your nails digging crescent moons into his shoulders. Your cunt clenched hard around him, milking the thick length instinctively, every spasm dragging a rough sound from his chest. He stayed still for a long moment, letting you feel every inch, every throb, every vein. Letting your body adjust to the brutal fullness.

His second cock was still hard, still leaking as it dragged heavy along your clit with every tiny shift of his hips, smearing precum and your slick in filthy streaks. He could imagine it: both cocks splitting you open, stretching your poor cunt until it gaped around him, until you sobbed from the overstimulation alone. The thought made his hips twitch forward once sharp and involuntary, bumping your cervix again and drawing a choked cry from your lips.

But not yet.

He wasn’t going to force it. Not tonight.

He wanted to work this tight little cunt open on one first, to train it to take him properly, to crave the stretch, to weep and flutter every time he sank in deep. He rolled his hips in slow, grinding circles. Keeping himself buried to the root while the blunt head rubbed insistently against that sensitive inner spot. Your thighs shook around his waist; your breath came in ragged little pants.

He kissed you again messy, open-mouthed. Swallowing every broken sound from your quivering lips as he began to move.

Shallow thrusts at first, barely pulling out before sliding back in, letting your walls cling desperately to every retreating inch. Then deeper. Harder. Each stroke dragged along your fluttering walls, bumping your cervix, forcing it to soften further under the relentless pressure until it kissed the tip of him like a welcome.

Your body trembled beneath him, you were sweat-slick, overstimulated and utterly full. Your cunt squeezed him like a vice wet and hot around him but greedy now, coating him in slick that dripped down to soak the mat beneath you.

He groaned low into your mouth.

“That’s it,” he murmured, hips snapping onc deeper, it felt punishing, made your back arch and your toes curl. “Let it open for me, doll. Let me ruin this pretty cunt until it only knows my shape.”

Another thrust, harder still. Your cervix yielding completely now, letting him grind against the deepest place inside you.

You sobbed against his lips, the pleasure and pain blurring into something white-hot and overwhelming.

And yet still he moved slow when you needed slow, hard when your body begged for it. Working you open, reshaping you, claiming you until there was nothing left but the slick slide of him inside you and the broken, needy sounds spilling from your throat.

Fuck, it was so sloppy.

The way your cunt finally gave in and opened wide and wet and greedy around the thick length of him, cunt making obscene, slick sounds with every slow withdrawal and deeper plunge. Your walls clung desperately, fluttering and spasming, coated in a thick sheen of your own arousal that dripped down his shaft, down your thighs, soaking the mat beneath you in dark, glistening patches. No resistance left. Just raw, yielding heat that swallowed him whole every time he sank back in.

He watched it happen.

Watched the way your soft belly began to bulge properly now, unmistakably every time he bottomed out. The fat head of his cock pressed high against your cervix, then higher still, stretching your insides until the outline of him showed beneath your skin. A slow, obscene swell that rose just below your navel, then receded slightly when he pulled back, only to bloom again with the next deep thrust. He could see it. Feel it. The way your body reshaped itself around him, forced to accommodate every ridged inch until the shape of his cock was etched into your flesh.

He was mesmerised.

One of his upper hands left the mat and slid down, his palm broad and warm. His hand settled right over that curious swell. Fingers splayed wide, pressing gently at first, then firmer, feeling the hard length of himself moving beneath the soft layer of your stomach. He groaned low in his throat with rough, reverence. Hips stuttering once at the sensation.

“Look at that,” he rasped, voice thick with dark wonder. “Look how full you are, doll. Look how your little cunt bulges for me.”

You whimpered high and helpless, your head tipping back against the mat, tears slipping sideways into your hair. The pressure of his hand only made it worse, made you feel every inch more vividly, every throb, every slow grind against that deep, sensitive place inside. Your walls clenched hard around him in response; slick gushed anew, coating him, easing the next brutal slide home.

He rocked deeper but deliberately now. Watching the swell rise and fall beneath his palm like he was mapping new territory. His thumb traced the outline once slow, it felt possessive, larger fingers following the exact ridge of his cock as it pressed outward. Another groan tore from him, low and wrecked.

“Fuck,” he breathed, almost to himself. “I could watch this forever. Watch you take me… watch this pretty belly swell every time I fill you up.”

He leaned down, his mouth finding yours again, messy and hungry, kissing you through the next deep thrust that made the bulge bloom higher. His lower hands gripped your hips tighter, angling you just right so every stroke dragged along that spot that made your thighs shake and your cunt flutter wildly.

You sobbed into his mouth overwhelmed and overstuffed on his cock, ruined in the sweetest way, your nails still raking down his back as your body surrendered completely.

He didn’t speed up.

He kept it slow, torturously slow. Savoring every sloppy, wet slide, every visible proof of how thoroughly he was claiming you. Hand still pressed to your belly. Eyes fixed on the swell. Mesmerised by the sight of his own cock reshaping you from the inside out.

And still he moved against you deeper. Watching and feeling you. Owning every trembling inch of the faithful girl who had once held a blade to his throat.

Now you only held him. Deep you felt him, tummy bulging with how big he is, you felt full. Claimed and utterly his in this moment.

The wet noises filled the chamber were filthy and unmistakable. Every deep plunge of his cock dragged slick sounds from your stretched cunt: the lewd squelch of your walls clinging desperately to him, the wet slap of skin meeting skin, the obscene drip of your arousal coating his shaft and pooling beneath you. No hiding it. No pretending this wasn’t happening. Your body sang for him in every sloppy, soaked rhythm.

He fucked deeper into you now, faster. His lower hands locked around your waist like iron bands, holding you steady while he pulled you down hard onto every thick inch. The force of it jolted through you: cervix kissed roughly with each snap of his hips, the bulge in your belly rising sharp and obscene every time he bottomed out. Your thighs trembled uselessly around him; your nails raked red lines down his back. You couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe right. Only felt full, stretched and utterly claimed.

His second cock, still untouched against you dragged heavy and hot along your clit with every brutal thrust. The fat, leaking tip slid over the swollen bud in perfect, relentless friction: up when he pulled back, down when he slammed home. Edging you mercilessly. Building the pressure until your whole body wound tight, thighs shaking, cunt fluttering wildly around the cock already buried to the hilt.

“Fuuuck, look at you,” he growled against your throat, voice wrecked and reverent. “Taking it so deep… dripping everywhere… gonna cum for me, aren’t you, doll?”

You couldn’t answer. Only whimpered high, broken and needy, as the dual assault pushed you higher. The thick length inside you grinding against every sensitive spot; the second cock rubbing filthy circles over your clit until sparks burst behind your eyes.

Then it hit.

Hard.

Your cunt clamped down like a vice. Cunt spasming wildly and milking him in violent waves as you came undone around the fat cock splitting you open. A sob tore from your throat; your back arched off the mat, hips jerking uncontrollably as pleasure ripped through you in white-hot pulses. Slick gushed around him hot and messily coated his shaft, dripping down to slick the second cock still teasing your oversensitive clit. Your walls fluttered and squeezed, greedy and relentless, trying to pull him deeper even as your body shook apart.

He groaned low, almost sounding pained. His hips stuttering once at the sudden, brutal grip of your orgasm. His fingers dug harder into your waist, holding you pinned as he fucked you through it: short, punishing thrusts that dragged every last tremor from your cunt, making the bulge in your belly pulse with every slam.

“That’s it,” he rasped, mouth brushing your ear, voice thick with dark satisfaction. “Cum all over my cock… make it sloppy… make it yours.”

You shuddered, the aftershocks rolling through you. Hot tears now slipping down your cheeks as your cunt kept fluttering around him, still so full, still so stretched, still weeping slick with every slow grind he gave you now.

He didn’t stop moving.

Didn’t pull out.

Just kept you impaled deep on him, steadily watching your face with half-lidded eyes as your body trembled in the aftermath, the second cock still dragging lazy, teasing strokes over your throbbing clit.

Ready.

Patient.

Waiting to see how much more his sweet, ruined faithful could take.

He fucked into your creaming cunt with purpose now, his deep, punishing strokes that slapped wet and filthy against your thighs every time he bottomed out. Your slick had turned thick and white around his shaft, frothing at the base with every brutal plunge, coating him in creamy evidence of how thoroughly your body had surrendered. The bulge in your belly pulsed visibly with each thrust, rising sharp when he buried himself to the hilt, receding only to bloom again as he dragged back and slammed forward. Your walls fluttered helplessly around him, milking greedily, still spasming from the orgasm that had ripped through you moments before.

He groaned low, his voice was wrecked and ragged, his hips now snapping harder with speed. Chasing the tight, wet heat that gripped him like it never wanted to let go.

“Fuuuck look at this messy little pussy,” he rasped, one hand still pressed to the swell of your stomach, feeling himself move beneath your skin. “Creaming all over my cock… taking it so deep… gonna fill you up, doll. Gonna stuff this cunt so full you’ll feel me for days.”

Your head thrashed against the mat, fat tears streaming down, your mouth opened on broken moans you couldn’t swallow down. Your nails dug into his shoulders; your thighs trembled wide and useless around his waist. Every thrust knocked the air from your lungs, bumped your cervix, ground the fat head against that spot inside until stars burst behind your eyes again.

He was close.

You could feel it, the way his cocks throbbed heavier inside and against you, the way his rhythm stuttered, the low growl building in his chest. His lower hands clamped down on your hips, bruising and possessive. Sukuna yanked you down hard onto every upward snap as he fucked his way toward release.

Then it hit him.

A rough, guttural sound tore from his throat. Half growl, half moan as he slammed in one final time, burying himself to the root. His cock pulsed violently inside you, swelling thicker still, and then he came..hot and it felt endless inside of you.

Rope after thick rope flooded your fluttering pussy, his hot cum spurting deep against your cervix, filling you so fast, so much, that your walls couldn’t contain it all. Your cunt clenched reflexively around the invasion, milking him greedily, but there was too much. It leaked out around his shaft in creamy white streaks, dripping down to soak the mat, yet still he kept pumping his cum deeper. His hips grinding in slow, deep circles now, forcing every last drop higher inside you.

Your belly swelled visibly, bloating with the sheer volume of his release. The bulge that had once only shown his cock now rounded softer, fuller, stretching your skin taut as cum packed your womb and pussy full. You whimpered overstimulated, overwhelmed. Feeling the obscene pressure build inside, the heavy slosh of it every time he shifted even slightly.

He stayed buried deep, his cock still twitching, still leaking the last weak spurts inside you, while one hand slid up to cup the new, soft swell of your lower belly. Fingers splayed wide, pressing gently, feeling the warmth and fullness he’d forced into you.

“Fuck,” he breathed, voice low and reverent, eyes fixed on the way your cunt bulged around him, lips stretched tight, creamy cum seeping out in slow, thick rivulets. “Look at you… stuffed so full… bloating with my cum like a perfect little vessel.”

You shuddered beneath him, body trembling, your cunt still fluttering weakly around the thick length keeping you plugged with his cum. Tears slipped hot down your cheeks; your breath came in shallow, hiccuping pants.

He leaned down, mouth brushing your ear, voice dark and satisfied.

“You’re mine now,” he murmured, hips giving one last lazy roll that made more cum leak out around him. “Every inch… every drop… every swell. All mine.”

And still he didn’t pull out.

Just stayed seated deep letting you feel the heavy, warm weight of him inside, the obscene bloat of your belly, the slow drip of his seed claiming you from the inside out while the braziers flickered low and the fortress held its breath around the ruined faithful girl who had finally, completely, fallen.

The chamber settled into a heavy, humid quiet.

Only the low crackle of dying braziers and the uneven rhythm of your shared breathing remained. Your body felt foreign. Softened, swollen, reshaped from the inside out. His cock still rested deep inside you, softening slowly but not withdrawing, keeping every thick drop of his release plugged tight where it belonged. The obscene bloat in your lower belly had settled into a warm, heavy fullness that shifted with every shallow inhale. When you moved even slightly, you could feel the slow, lazy slosh of cum deep within you. It was thick, warm and still too much to be contained.

A faint trickle escaped anyway, creamy white slipping from where your stretched lips clung to the base of his shaft, sliding down the cleft of your ass to pool beneath you on the already ruined mat. The scent of it filled the air: musky, salty, unmistakably him. Mixed with the sharp tang of your own release. It clung to your thighs, your skin, your hair. There was no escaping it.

You lay limp beneath him, your limbs heavy and trembling faintly in aftershocks. Your cunt throbbed around the softening length still buried inside, fluttering weakly every few heartbeats like it couldn’t decide whether to mourn the stretch or beg for more. Tears had dried on your cheeks, leaving salty tracks; your lips felt swollen from his kisses, bruised and tingling.

He hadn’t moved much.

One lower hand stayed splayed over the soft swell of your abdomen, his palm warm. One thick thumb tracing idle, slow circles over the place where his cum had bloated you full. The other lower hand rested at the small of your back, holding you arched just enough to keep him seated deep. His upper arms braced on either side of your head, caging without crushing, while his face hovered close, his breath warm against your temple.

He watched you.

Not with hunger now. Not with that predatory gleam. Something quieter. Almost contemplative.

His thumb pressed once, gently against the rounded curve of your belly. You whimpered at the pressure; more cum leaked out in a slow, warm trickle. He exhaled through his nose, almost a laugh.

“Still leaking,” he murmured, voice low and rough from exertion. “Even plugged like this… your greedy little cunt can’t hold it all.”

You swallowed. Throat raw. No words came.

He shifted up slow, pulling back just enough that the fat head dragged along your oversensitive walls. You gasped sharp, startled as another thick gush of cum followed the motion, spilling free in a messy rush. Your thighs trembled; your hips jerked involuntarily.

He stilled again. Didn’t pull out completely.

Just watched the way your body reacted, how your cunt clenched around nothing now that he’d eased back an inch, how more of his seed dripped out in slow, obscene rivulets.

One hand slid up and cupped your cheek. Thumb brushing away the last damp track of tears.

“You took it well,” he said. Simple. Almost soft. “Took every drop. Look at you… all swollen and full. Marked inside and out.”

Your breath hitched.

He leaned down and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth. Not demanding. Not claiming. Just there.

Then he finally began to ease out.

Inch by torturous inch.

Your walls fluttered desperately around the retreating length clinging and fluttering, trying to keep him inside even now. When the head finally slipped free with a wet pop, a fresh flood followed thick and hot, pouring from your gaping cunt in a slow, creamy cascade. It soaked your thighs, the mat, everything beneath you. Your belly deflated slightly as the pressure eased, but the fullness lingered: a deep, aching warmth that pulsed with every heartbeat.

You whimpered again, the sound even more small and broken, legs falling open wider on instinct as your body tried to adjust to the sudden emptiness.

He stayed above you, watching silently.

One hand dipped between your thighs, then two thick fingers sliding easily through the mess, gathering the slick mix of cum and your release before pushing back inside. Slow. Deep. Plugging you again with just his fingers while the rest continued to leak around them.

“Shh,” he murmured when you shuddered. “Keep it in. Let it settle.”

His fingers curled once to press against that spot inside that made your hips twitch again, then they stilled.

He withdrew them slowly. Brought them to his mouth. Licked them clean with deliberate swipes of his tongue, his eyes never leaving yours.

Then he gathered you.

Four arms moved at once, lifting you effortlessly, cradling you against his chest as though you weighed nothing. Your head lolled against his shoulder; your legs draped limp over one arm. Cum still dripped from between your thighs, warm trails sliding down his skin now too.

He carried you to the alcove where the wooden tub still waited, water long cooled but clean. Uraume had prepared it earlier, before everything unraveled.

He lowered you into it carefully.

The water stung at first, cool against fever-hot skin, then it soothed. He knelt at the edge, one hand supporting your neck so your head rested against the rim, the other dipping beneath the surface to cup water and rinse the mess from your thighs, your folds, your belly.

Gentle.

Methodical.

He washed you like something precious. Something his.

When the water turned cloudy with the evidence of what he’d done, he lifted you out again and wrapped you in a thick, dry cloth, carried you back to the mat (a fresh one already laid out; Uraume was nothing if not efficient).

He laid you down. Pulled the thin cover over your trembling body.

Then he stretched out beside you. Close always close, with one arm draped over your waist, palm settling once more over the soft, lingering swell of your lower belly.

“Sleep,” he said against your hair. Voice low. Quiet. “You’ll need it.”

Your eyes fluttered shut, exhaustion crashing over you like a wave.

The last thing you felt was the steady rise and fall of his chest at your back, the warmth of his hand cradling the place he had filled, claimed, ruined, and somehow kept.

The flood had passed.

But the aftermath lingered, with you. You'd never been this close to being worshiped, oh how the roles were reversed and he would always keep you tethering between God and him.

Waking up felt entirely new after being so thoroughly claimed.

Your body no longer belonged only to you. Every slow breath reminded you of the night before in vivid, aching detail. Between your thighs your pussy throbbed with a deep, sweet pain that radiated outward from the very center of your cunt all the way into your womb. 

The soft folds were swollen and tender, still slick with the remnants of everything he had pumped into you. Your inner walls felt stretched and sensitive, fluttering around nothing yet remembering exactly how it had felt to be split open and filled beyond capacity. 

Your stomach carried a lingering heaviness, a warm fullness that made your lower belly feel softly rounded and claimed, as if his cum still sat heavy inside you even after the slow leak that had happened during the night.

You awoke first.

The chamber was dim, lit only by the faint glow of embers that had burned low through the hours. Cool morning air drifted in through the narrow slits high in the stone walls. Ryomen Sukuna lay asleep beside you, his massive frame taking up most of the wide mat. 

One of his lower arms was still draped heavily across your waist, palm resting possessively over the gentle swell of your abdomen where he had pressed so many times the night before. His breathing was deep and even, chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm that you could feel against your back. Two of his eyes were closed in true sleep while the other pair remained half lidded in that strange way of his, as though even unconscious he refused to be entirely vulnerable.

You could not sleep any longer.

The intensity of every sensation kept your mind spinning. You wanted to push him off, to scramble away from the heat of his body and the weight of his claim, to reclaim some small piece of the girl who had once knelt quietly in a temple. 

Your hands twitched with the urge. Yet when you shifted slightly, the solid warmth of him pressed closer instead of repelling you. His arm felt strangely comforting in the quiet dawn, heavy and steady like an anchor keeping you from drifting into panic. The scent of him clung to your skin, musk and smoke and something darker that made your pulse flutter even as shame burned in your cheeks.

Instead of shoving his hand away you reached down slowly and wrapped your fingers around his much larger one. You lifted it carefully and pressed his palm flat against your chest, right over the frantic racing of your heart. The contact was warm, rough, grounding. 

Your heart hammered harder beneath his touch, wild and unsteady, begging for something you could not name. You wanted it to stop, wanted the frantic beat to quiet so you could think clearly again, so you could remember how to hate him properly.

He stirred.

Not fully awake yet, but aware enough. His fingers flexed once against your skin, then pressed harder, spreading wide so the heel of his palm rested firmly over your racing heart while his fingertips brushed the upper swell of your breast. The increased pressure stole your breath. A soft gasp slipped from your lips as the weight of his hand grounded the frantic flutter inside your chest.

He opened his eyes the rest of the way, crimson gaze settling on your face in the dim light. His voice came low and rough with sleep, rumbling through the quiet space between you.

“Does that feel better?”

You could only nod, small and shaky, unable to form words. Fresh tears slipped free from the corners of your eyes, sliding silently down your temples and into your hair. They were not from pain or fear this time, but from the overwhelming tangle of sensations and emotions you could no longer separate. The sweet ache between your thighs, the heavy fullness low in your belly, the comforting press of his hand over your heart, the way his body still curved protectively around yours even in half sleep. Everything felt too much and somehow not enough all at once.

He didn't pull away.

Instead he kept his palm exactly where you had placed it, pressing with steady, reassuring strength while his thumb brushed once, almost tenderly, along the curve of your collarbone. His other arms remained relaxed around you, one still cradling your waist, the rest loose but close.

You lay there in the quiet morning light, heart still racing beneath his touch, tears slipping free, pussy throbbing with the intimate memory of how deeply he had claimed you, stomach full and warm with the evidence of his release. And for the first time since he had carried you from the burning temple you did not try to run from the monster who held you.

You simply held his hand tighter to your chest and let the tears fall.

As the tears continued to fall your breathing slowly evened out once more. Exhaustion pulled you under again, your body surrendering to sleep despite the lingering ache and the storm of feelings swirling inside your chest. Your lashes fluttered once then stilled, cheeks still damp, lips slightly parted on a soft exhale. 

The morning light filtering through the narrow slits in the stone walls painted gentle shadows across your face, highlighting the faint redness around your eyes and the way your brows had relaxed in unconscious rest.

Sukuna remained awake, propped on one elbow, four eyes fixed on you with an unusual stillness. He never wondered how he made anyone feel. Pain was something he understood perfectly well, something he could cause with casual ease and never lose sleep over. He had spilled rivers of blood without a second thought, had watched villages burn and priests scream and never once asked himself if his victims hated him in their final moments. Their pain simply existed because he decided it should.

Yet now he found himself watching the slow rise and fall of your chest and wondering.

Were you in pain because of him?

Not the sweet ache between your thighs or the heavy fullness still settled low in your belly, those he expected and even took quiet pride in. But something deeper. Did you hate him now, truly hate him, after he had taken you so completely? After he had spread you open beneath the monster who had ripped you from everything you once held sacred? After he had flooded your untouched cunt until your stomach swelled with his cum and your voice broke on moans you could not hold back?

His fingers moved without conscious thought, the rough pad of one thumb tracing the glistening path of a tear that had slipped down your temple. The skin there was soft, still warm from sleep and emotion. You looked tired in a way that went beyond the night’s exertions. A little more delicate, perhaps, the faithful servant girl who had once knelt in prayer now lying claimed and tear-streaked in the bed of the King of Curses.

And yet.

He remembered how you had pulled him closer.

When the blade had clattered to the floor your hand had risen not to push him away but to tangle in his hair and tug him down into the kiss. You had arched beneath him, thighs spreading wider, cunt clenching greedily around the thick cock that split you open. Even at the height of your surrender you had chosen to draw him in rather than shove him out.

That had to mean something.

If you had truly wanted him gone you would have pushed when the knife dropped. You would have fought when he rolled you beneath him. Instead you had whimpered into his mouth, nails raking down his back, hips lifting to meet every deep thrust until you came hard around him and then again when he flooded you full.

His thumb brushed another tear away, slower this time, almost careful.

He studied the relaxed lines of your face, the way your lashes cast faint shadows on your cheeks, the subtle parting of your lips. The hand you had pressed to your own chest still rested beneath his palm, your heartbeat steadier now in sleep but still quick enough that he could feel it. He did not move his hand. The weight seemed to comfort you even unconscious, and for reasons he did not bother examining he found he liked keeping it there.

Sukuna shifted slightly closer, careful not to wake you, letting the heat of his body wrap around yours once more. One of his lower arms remained draped across your waist, palm resting lightly over the soft swell of your belly where his claim still lingered warm and heavy inside you.

He watched you sleep for a long time, tracing idle patterns along your tear-damp cheek with the gentlest touch he had ever allowed himself. The questions lingered in the back of his mind, unfamiliar and strangely persistent.

Pain?

Hate?

Or something else entirely that had made a temple girl pull a monster closer instead of driving him away?

For the first time in his long, bloody existence Ryomen Sukuna did not have an immediate answer.

And so he simply lay there, holding you, watching the slow rhythm of your breathing, wondering quietly what it meant that you had chosen to keep his hand against your racing heart instead of pushing it away.

Daylight brought no mercy.

When you woke the second time the chamber was brighter, pale morning light spilling through the high slits and painting long stripes across the stone floor. Your body ached in ways you had never imagined possible. Every small movement sent fresh waves of soreness through your core. Sitting up hurt. The simple act of shifting your weight made the tender muscles between your thighs protest sharply, a deep, dull throb that radiated outward from your swollen pussy all the way into your womb. Your lower belly still carried that heavy, warm fullness, a constant reminder of how thoroughly he had flooded you. Even the soft silk of the yukata brushing against your skin felt too much against the sensitive folds that had been stretched and used so relentlessly the night before.

You moved slowly, carefully, wincing as you rose from the mat. Standing hurt. Walking hurt. The ache pulsed with every step, a sweet, shameful reminder that your body had been claimed and reshaped by the King of Curses. Shame burned hot in your cheeks. You felt weak for the way your cunt still fluttered faintly at the memory, for the way a fresh trickle of his dried cum clung to your inner thighs when you moved. You told yourself it was only pain. Only the aftermath of violence. Yet your mind kept drifting back to the heat of his hands, the low rumble of his voice, the way he had held you afterward.

Sukuna did not crowd you.

He sat across the chamber on the wide ledge by the window, one knee drawn up, four arms resting loosely. He watched you but did not rise. Did not approach. Did not speak. There was deliberate space between you now, an invisible line he refused to cross. He wanted you to come to him if you needed anything. He wanted you to choose, even in this small thing. After taking everything else he could at least grant you the right to decide when you sought his presence. He would not rob you of that last fragile scrap of agency.

You felt the absence of him immediately.

At first you told yourself it was relief. You busied your hands folding the thin cover on the mat, smoothing wrinkles that did not exist, avoiding his gaze. But the longer the silence stretched the more your body betrayed you. A quiet longing bloomed beneath the shame and the pain. You missed the solid heat of his frame behind you. Missed the weight of his arm across your waist. Missed the strange comfort of his palm pressed over your racing heart. The realization made fresh shame flood your chest. How could you want the monster who had burned your temple and stolen you away? How could you crave the very hands that had spread you open and filled you until you bulged with his release?

You felt too weak for wanting him.

When it came time to dress you turned your back to him completely. Your fingers trembled as you slipped out of the night yukata and into a fresh one, trying to hide the marks he had left on your skin, the faint bruises on your hips where his fingers had gripped, the soft swell of your belly that had not yet returned to its usual flatness. You kept your shoulders hunched, arms crossed over your chest, shrinking into yourself as though you could disappear from his sight if you made yourself small enough.

He saw every motion.

He saw the way you hid yourself from his gaze, the deliberate angle of your body, the nervous hunch of your shoulders. Something tight and unpleasant twisted in his chest at the sight. He did not like it. Not one bit. The faithful girl who had once met his eyes with trembling defiance now curled away from him like a wounded animal. But he made no comment. He did not rise. He did not reach for you. He simply watched in silence, jaw tight, four eyes narrowed with an emotion he refused to name.

The distance stretched between you, heavy and unspoken.

You finished tying the sash with shaking hands and stood there, back still turned, heart hammering against your ribs. Pain pulsed between your thighs with every heartbeat. Shame burned in your veins. And beneath it all, quiet and insistent, the growing need to cross the chamber and seek the very monster who had caused it all.

Sukuna waited.

Patient.

Silent.

Wondering how long it would take before the girl who had pulled him closer in the dark would choose to come to him again in the daylight.

The days that followed carried the same heavy ache between your thighs, a constant, throbbing reminder that refused to fade.

When you bathed alone in the wooden tub, the warm water only made everything more obvious. Your pussy had become a terrible, swollen mess. The outer lips were puffy and sensitive, the inner folds still slick with an unusual, persistent wetness that had nothing to do with the bath. Your fingers slipped between your thighs almost without permission, parting the tender flesh to inspect the damage. Heat bloomed instantly at the lightest touch. Thick, creamy remnants of his cum still clung inside you, mixing with your own fresh slick until everything felt glossy and overheated. Every gentle press made your cunt flutter and leak a little more, the slickness coating your fingertips in a shameful sheen.

You hated how aware your body had become.

Your eyes kept drifting to him whenever he was near. You told yourself you were only looking, only noticing. But the stares lingered. Over the sharp lines of his face, the powerful set of his four arms, the broad expanse of his tattooed chest, the hard ridges of his abdomen. Then lower. Always lower. The heavy, intimidating weight between his thighs that you now knew so intimately. Your imagination supplied every detail without mercy: the thick veins, the way both cocks had throbbed against you, the brutal stretch, the endless flood that had left you bloated and dripping.

Your cunt clenched hard at the memory, another rush of slick slipping free to trail down your inner thigh. Shame burned so fiercely you had to turn away and press your forehead to the cool stone wall until the feeling passed. Your body knew exactly what it wanted now. Your pussy knew what it craved. The knowledge made you feel impossibly dirty, impossibly weak. You pushed the thoughts aside with gritted teeth and forced yourself to finish bathing.

Eventually the longing for the outside world grew stronger than the shame.

One quiet afternoon you finally gathered the courage to approach him. He was lounging on the wide ledge again, watching the horizon through the window slit. You kept your gaze lowered, voice small and hesitant.

“May I… go outside? Just for a little while. I miss the feel of grass beneath my feet. Sunlight on my skin. Fresh air.”

He studied you for a long moment, crimson eyes unreadable. Then he gave a single nod.

“I will take you.”

He did not make you walk far. He carried you most of the way, one set of arms cradling you against his chest while the others remained free. The journey ended at a secluded lakeside not far from the fortress cliffs. Tall reeds swayed gently at the water’s edge. Smooth rocks lined the shore, warmed by the sun. The air smelled of pine and clear water. Sunlight glittered across the lake’s surface like scattered jewels.

You had not asked for the lake specifically, but Sukuna had chosen it anyway, thinking the open view and soft grass might please you. He set you down on a broad, flat rock near the water and stepped back, giving you space once more.

At first it was perfect.

You closed your eyes, tilted your face toward the sun, and let the warmth sink into your skin. Bare feet pressed into cool grass. Fresh air filled your lungs. For a few blissful moments the constant ache between your thighs faded into the background.

Then you sat.

The moment your weight settled on the rock the soreness flared again. Your swollen pussy lips spread slightly against the smooth stone through the thin layers of your yukata. The unusual slickness that had been building all morning could no longer be contained. A warm trickle escaped, then another. You felt the wet heat seep out of you in slow, shameful pulses. Your cunt clenched uselessly around nothing, leaking more with every flutter. Within moments a small, glistening puddle had formed beneath you on the dark rock, catching the sunlight in a blatant, shiny evidence of your body’s betrayal.

You froze.

Heat flooded your face. You pressed your thighs together tightly, but the damage was already done. The puddle shimmered between your legs, unmistakable.

Sukuna noticed immediately.

He had been standing a few paces away, arms crossed, scanning the treeline out of habit. His gaze dropped to the rock beneath you. Four eyes narrowed, then darkened with recognition. The corner of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile but something far more dangerous. He took one slow step closer, then another, until he loomed over you.

His voice came low, rough, and far too knowing.

“Look at that.”

He crouched, bringing himself eye level with the evidence. One large hand reached out, fingers hovering just above the glistening puddle without touching it.

“Still leaking for me, even out here in the sunlight. Your greedy little cunt doesn’t care where we are, does it?”

You couldn’t speak. Could only sit there burning with shame, the warm slick still slowly dripping from your swollen folds onto the rock while he watched every shameful drop with open, hungry fascination.

The lake sparkled innocently behind you.

The sun continued to shine.

But the ache between your thighs had just become impossible to ignore.

You stuttered the moment his words landed, voice cracking like thin ice.

“It is not… I did not mean…”

The denial died on your tongue. Heat crawled up your neck until your entire face burned. You swallowed once, twice, then forced the truth out in a trembling whisper.

“I have been… wetter there. Since that night. It will not stop.”

Sukuna’s smile widened, slow and wicked, four eyes gleaming with dark delight. He stayed crouched in front of you, one hand still hovering near the glistening puddle on the rock.

“Yes,” he drawled, voice low and teasing. “Why did you not tell me about that specifically earlier? I could have helped.”

You stared at him as though he had begun speaking in some ancient, forgotten tongue. Your mind refused to process the casual way he offered to fix the mess he had made between your thighs. The sheer audacity of it stole every thought from your head.

Tell him.

Tell the King of Curses that your pussy was a leaking, swollen, dripping mess because of him.

The words would not come. Humiliation crashed over you so violently that you twisted away, turning your back to him completely. Your shoulders hunched, arms wrapping tight around your middle as if you could hide the evidence of your body’s betrayal. Fresh tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. Your face felt scalding hot.

Behind you, Sukuna let out a soft, amused huff.

A big hand settled on your shoulder, warm and surprisingly gentle. The weight steadied you even as your heart hammered wildly. His fingers brushed upward, threading carefully through your hair, stroking slow and soothing from crown to nape.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of,” he murmured, voice quieter now, almost tender. “Do not cry.”

You were mortified anyway. Tears slipped free despite his words, sliding down your flushed cheeks. Your swollen cunt continued to leak in slow, warm pulses, the slickness soaking through the thin fabric of your yukata and making the rock beneath you even wetter. Every tiny shift reminded you of the mess, of how your body refused to forget the way he had stretched and filled you.

Sukuna’s hand slid from your hair to cup your jaw, turning your face back toward him with careful insistence. His thumb brushed a tear away.

“Come on,” he said, the words rough but coaxing. “I can make it all better.”

He glanced around once, scanning the quiet lakeside until his gaze settled on a nice, soft patch of grass beneath a large pear tree. The branches hung heavy with white blossoms and early green fruit, casting dappled shade over the thick carpet of clover and soft earth. Sunlight filtered through the leaves in gentle golden patches. It looked peaceful. Private.

Without waiting for permission he scooped you up, four arms cradling you against his chest as though you weighed nothing. You gasped at the sudden movement, the ache between your thighs flaring sharply, another rush of slick escaping to smear warm and wet against his skin.

“Sukuna, what are you doing?” Your voice came out high and shaky. “Put me down!”

You had no idea what crazy idea had taken root in his head. Your heart hammered wildly as he carried you the short distance toward the pear tree. One of his upper hands came up to cup the back of your head, thumb stroking slow and soothing along your scalp.

“Do not make a fuss,” he said, low and calm, the words rumbling through his chest into yours.

Then you saw the tree.

He carried you beneath its wide, blossoming branches and lowered you carefully onto the soft grass. The ground was cool and yielding beneath your back, blades tickling your bare calves where the yukata had ridden up. Sukuna settled himself on the grass beside you, massive frame casting you in cool shadow. His big fingers brushed along your thigh, gentle but possessive, tracing the sensitive skin just below the hem of your robe.

You squirmed under his gaze, heat flooding every inch of you. He looked at you for a long moment, eyes dark and intent.

“You do trust me, right?”

The question caught you off guard. You nodded shyly, barely able to meet his eyes. The heat was unbearable now. Being held so close in his arms had stirred something deep and needy inside you. Whatever he was about to offer, your body already wanted it.

Sukuna knelt between your parted knees, his massive frame blocking out the sky. One of his lower hands rested on your thigh, thumb stroking slow, lazy circles over the tender flesh. His eyes never left your face.

“Lie back,” he told you, voice dropping into that low, commanding timbre that made your stomach flutter and your cunt clench. “Let me see how much of a leaking mess this pretty cunt has become for me.”

Your breath caught hard in your throat. Shame and desperate want twisted together so tightly you could barely breathe. But the gentle pressure of his hand, the patient way he waited, and the memory of how good his touch had felt even through the pain chipped away at your resistance until nothing remained.

Slowly, trembling all over, you leaned back onto the soft grass beneath the pear tree. Your cheeks still burned crimson. Tears still clung to your lashes.

Sukuna’s smile returned, darker this time, full of wicked promise.

“Good girl,” he murmured. “Now open your legs for me. Let me take care of what belongs to me.”

You obeyed.

Your thighs parted wider on the grass, yukata pooling around your hips. The moment the cool air touched your exposed pussy a fresh gush of slick slipped free. Your cunt was soaked, puffy and glistening, inner lips swollen and shiny with the constant leak that had tormented you for days. Creamy strands of his earlier release mixed with your own arousal, making everything look obscenely wet and needy.

Sukuna’s eyes darkened further at the sight. He leaned in slowly, lowering his head between your spread thighs. His breath ghosted hot over your dripping folds.

“So needy,” he growled softly. “This cunt is dripping and aching so much. All this slick just for me.”

He spread you open with two thick fingers, parting your swollen lips so he could see every glistening inch. Then he gave you the first slow, broad lick from the bottom of your slit all the way up to your clit.

The moan that tore from your throat was loud and broken. His tongue was hot and rough, dragging through your creamy mess with deliberate hunger. He licked again, slower, savoring the taste of you mixed with the remnants of his own cum. A low, appreciative groan vibrated against your pussy.

“Relax,” he murmured against your folds, the word warm and wet. “All this mess… you should have told me sooner.”

He licked deeper, tongue pushing inside your fluttering entrance to scoop out more of the creamy slick. Your hips jerked involuntarily. Another moan spilled from you, high and helpless.

“How could you keep this from me?” he continued, voice rough with something close to anger, though his tongue never stopped its slow, thorough exploration. “I would have licked this pretty cunt the moment I knew it was leaking for me. Would have buried my face between your thighs and cleaned every drop until you stopped aching.”

He sucked gently on your swollen clit, then licked back down to push his tongue inside you again, fucking you with slow, wet strokes. Your hands flew to his hair, fingers tangling tight as pleasure crashed through the soreness. Your cunt fluttered and leaked even more onto his tongue, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet shade of the pear tree.

Sukuna growled against your pussy, clearly enjoying the taste, the mess, the way you trembled and moaned beneath his mouth.

“Never hide this from me again,” he ordered between long, hungry licks. “This cunt is mine. If it aches, if it leaks, if it needs to be eaten until you cry… you tell me.”

He sealed his mouth over you once more, sucking and licking with renewed intensity, determined to devour every drop of the slick, creamy mess he had created.

And beneath the pear tree, in the warm daylight, Sukuna feasted on your dripping cunt like a starving man who had finally been given exactly what he craved.

He was greedy for it.

Ryomen Sukuna lapped at your cunt with shameless hunger, broad tongue dragging slow and heavy through your soaked folds again and again. He could still taste himself from that night, the thick, musky flavor of his cum mixed with the sweet, slippery heat of your arousal. The combination made him groan low against your pussy, the sound vibrating straight through your swollen clit and deep into your core.

His large tongue tunneled inside you without mercy, thick and hot, working your tight walls open with every wet push. Your cunt fluttered desperately around the intrusion, trying to clench and pull him deeper at the same time. One of your hands flew to his hair, fingers clutching tight in the coarse strands as you unconsciously fed his tongue even deeper into your leaking heat.

Deeper.

Deeper.

His saliva mixed with your slick and the remnants of his earlier release, turning everything into a messy, creamy glide. He fucked his tongue into you in slow, deliberate strokes, curling the tip to press against that sensitive spot inside that made your thighs shake violently. Then he pulled back only to seal his lips around your fat, aching clit. He sucked hard, tongue flicking rapidly over the swollen bud while two of his fingers spread your pussy lips wider, exposing every dripping inch to the warm daylight filtering through the leaves.

The pleasure was overwhelming.

Patches of golden light sparked across your skin as the breeze moved the branches above, warm little spots dancing over your bare thighs and heaving chest. The grass beneath your back was soft and cool, blades tickling your spine every time your body arched. In the distance the lake lapped gently against the shore, a soft, rhythmic hush that blended with the wet, obscene sounds of his mouth devouring your cunt.

It all felt too surreal.

Too good.

You moaned loudly, the sound breaking into a whimper as he sucked your clit harder, tongue still thrusting deep inside you. Your hips rolled up against his face without shame now, chasing the relentless pleasure. Slick poured from you in fresh waves, coating his chin, his lips, dripping down to soak the grass beneath your ass. Every greedy lap of his tongue pushed more of his saliva into your fluttering hole, mixing everything into a warm, slippery mess that made your cunt feel even more open, even more sensitive.

Sukuna growled against your folds, the vibration sending sparks shooting up your spine.

“Look at you,” he rasped between long, filthy licks, voice thick with lust. “Soaking my tongue like a good girl. This cunt was made to be eaten. Made to leak for me.”

He spread you even wider with his fingers, thumbs pressing firmly on either side of your clit while his tongue drove back inside, fucking you deeper, harder, faster. Your hand tightened in his hair, nails scraping his scalp as your back bowed off the grass. The ache that had tormented you for days melted into liquid heat under his mouth. Every suck, every thrust of his tongue, every wet slurp dragged you closer to the edge.

The pear blossoms continued to drift down around you like soft white snow.

Golden sunlight danced across your trembling body.

The lake whispered in the background.

Sukuna was still buried face-first between your spread thighs, your cunt pulsed and leaked and fluttered around his greedy tongue while pleasure built higher and higher, threatening to drown you completely in the most surreal, overwhelming bliss you had ever known.

He was getting hard from your scent alone.

The sweet, musky smell of your dripping cunt filled his lungs with every greedy inhale, thick and heady, making both of his cocks twitch and swell heavy between his thighs. They hung thick and full, the fat heads already glistening with beads of precum that dripped slowly onto the soft grass beneath him. The more he tasted you, the harder they throbbed, veins standing out sharply along the thick shafts, the second cock brushing against the first with every slight shift of his hips. Yet Sukuna refused to touch himself. Not yet.

He wanted you to cum on his tongue first.

His large tongue kept tunneling deep inside your fluttering cunt, fucking in and out with wet, obscene strokes while his lips sealed tight around your swollen clit. He sucked harder, tongue curling and pressing against that sensitive spot inside you until your thighs trembled violently around his head. Your hand clutched desperately at his hair, fingers twisting tight as you fed him deeper, hips rolling up to meet every thrust of his mouth.

“Fuck… that’s it,” he growled against your soaked folds, voice muffled and rough. “Let me taste how much this greedy little cunt needs me.”

He spread you wider with two thick fingers, thumbs holding your puffy lips open so he could bury his face even deeper. His tongue plunged in again, long and hot, licking up every creamy drop of slick and leftover cum. He drank you down like he was starving, saliva mixing with your mess until everything was sloppy and shining. Then he pulled back just enough to suck your fat, aching clit into his mouth again, tongue flicking rapidly over the swollen bud while two fingers replaced his tongue inside you, curling hard against that spot that made stars burst behind your eyes.

Your moans grew louder, broken and desperate, echoing softly under the pear tree. The golden patches of sunlight danced across your arched body, highlighting the way your breasts heaved with every panting breath, the way your stomach tensed and quivered. The grass felt cool and soft against your back, blades sticking to your damp skin as you writhed beneath his relentless mouth.

Sukuna’s cocks leaked harder, thick strings of precum stretching from the tips to the ground, but he ignored them completely. His focus remained entirely on you, on the way your cunt clenched and fluttered around his fingers, on the sweet, slick taste flooding his tongue.

He sucked your clit harder, tongue lashing fast and firm, fingers thrusting deep and steady.

“Come on, doll,” he rasped against your pussy, voice dark and commanding. “Cum for me. Cum on my tongue like a good girl. Let me feel this pretty cunt squeeze and flood my mouth.”

Your whole body tightened, thighs clamping around his head, back bowing sharply off the grass. The pressure built unbearably fast, the wet sounds of his mouth and fingers filling the quiet air beneath the tree. The lake whispered in the distance, blossoms continued to drift down like gentle snow, but all you could feel was the hot, greedy pull of his lips and tongue dragging you right to the edge.

Sukuna groaned deeply, the vibration shooting straight through your clit as he sucked harder, fingers curling relentlessly inside you.

He was not going to stop until you came undone on his tongue.

He kept licking you with long, greedy strokes of his tongue, lapping deep into your fluttering cunt while one thick finger circled your swollen clit in slow, firm spirals. The dual sensation was relentless. His hot, wet tongue fucked into you in steady thrusts, curling and dragging along your inner walls, while that single finger pressed and rubbed your clit with perfect, merciless pressure.

Your legs shook violently.

Sukuna noticed. With a low growl he shoved your thighs wider apart, spreading you obscenely open on the soft grass. Two of his hands gripped the backs of your knees, pinning them down and outward so nothing could stop the building storm inside you. The position left your dripping pussy completely exposed to his hungry mouth and the warm daylight filtering through the leaves.

It built fast. Too fast.

A strange, overwhelming pressure coiled low in your belly, heavy and urgent, completely different from the orgasms he had already forced from you. Your cunt clenched hard around his thrusting tongue, walls fluttering wildly as slick poured out in thick, continuous streams. Your hips tried to twist away, but his grip held you firmly in place.

“No… Sukuna…” you gasped, voice high and broken. “It feels weird… feels like you’ll make a mess…”

He did not stop.

If anything, your desperate little plea only made him hungrier. He shoved his tongue deeper, fucking it into you harder, faster, while his finger rubbed tight, relentless circles over your clit. His saliva mixed with your slick, making everything wetter, sloppier, louder. The obscene squelching sounds of his mouth devouring your cunt filled the quiet shade beneath the pear tree.

“It is going to feel good,” he growled against your folds, the words vibrating straight through your oversensitive clit. “Let it happen. Do not fight it.”

You whimpered, head thrashing side to side on the grass. The pressure kept building, sharp and terrifying and impossibly intense. Your stomach tightened, thighs trembling uncontrollably in his iron grip. Every lick, every circle of his finger pushed you closer to something you had never felt before. Your pussy felt too full, too hot, too ready to burst.

“I… I’m gonna…” Your voice cracked into a sob. “It feels like I’m going to make a mess… Sukuna, please…”

He sucked hard on your clit, tongue still thrusting deep inside you, finger rubbing faster. His crimson eyes flicked up to watch your face, dark with lust and wicked satisfaction.

“Then make a mess for me, doll,” he rasped, voice rough and commanding. “Squirt all over my tongue. Flood my mouth like the needy little thing you are. I want every drop.”

The words pushed you over the edge.

The intense pressure suddenly snapped. Your entire body seized, back arching sharply off the grass as a broken, keening cry tore from your throat. Your cunt spasmed violently around his tongue, walls clamping down hard before releasing in powerful, rhythmic pulses. A hot, clear gush of fluid burst from you, squirting hard against his tongue and chin, soaking his face and dripping down onto the grass beneath you.

You kept squirting, wave after wave, unable to stop as he continued licking and sucking through it all, greedily drinking down every drop while his finger never stopped circling your throbbing clit. The orgasm crashed through you harder than anything you had ever felt, leaving you shaking and sobbing, pussy gushing messily all over his mouth and the soft ground.

Sukuna groaned deeply, the sound vibrating through your oversensitive folds as he lapped up every bit of your release, refusing to pull away even as you trembled and whimpered beneath him.

Now you were ready.

Your body had gone completely limp on the soft grass, every muscle loose and trembling in the aftermath of that shattering release. Sukuna could feel how thoroughly he had wrung you out. Your cunt still fluttered weakly, puffy and glistening, but the desperate, aching need had finally eased into a deep, hazy satisfaction. He pressed one last slow, reverent kiss to your swollen pussy, lips brushing tenderly over the oversensitive folds. His tongue gave a few final, gentle laps, licking up the last of your slick with lazy indulgence, savoring every creamy drop. His chin was shiny and wet, glistening with your release and his own saliva.

He eased your trembling legs down carefully, letting them rest on the cool grass instead of holding them pinned wide. Then he shifted, stretching his massive frame out beside you on the soft ground. One of his lower arms slid beneath your shoulders, pulling you close until your face tucked into the warm curve of his neck. His skin smelled of smoke and salt and something darker, masculine, grounding. The other three arms settled around you, one hand gently threading through your hair, stroking slow, soothing pets from crown to nape. His fingers were careful, almost tender, as they combed through the strands damp with sweat and grass.

You felt weightless.

The warm sunlight filtered through the pear leaves above, painting shifting golden patterns across your skin. The faint sound of the lake lapping at the shore blended with the soft rustle of blossoms drifting down. Your body melted against his, boneless and heavy with exhaustion and pleasure. You could feel how hard he still was. Both thick cocks pressed hot and heavy against your thigh, leaking steadily, the blunt heads smearing warm precum across your skin with every subtle shift. Yet he made no move to take you. He simply held you close, petting your hair in slow, rhythmic strokes while his chest rose and fell steadily beneath your cheek.

You closed your eyes.

The world narrowed to the warmth of his body, the gentle drag of his fingers through your hair, the heavy, comforting weight of his arms wrapped around you. For the first time since he had stolen you from the temple, the ache between your thighs felt soothed rather than tormenting. Shame still lingered somewhere distant, but it could not reach you here, not while he held you like this.

Sukuna’s voice rumbled low against your ear, rough but quiet, laced with quiet satisfaction.

“See?” he murmured, lips brushing the top of your head. “Didn’t I help?”

You did not answer with words. You simply pressed your face deeper into the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent, letting the steady beat of his heart lull you further into the soft, floating haze. His hand continued its slow, comforting strokes through your hair. His cocks remained hard and leaking against your thigh, patient for now.

Beneath the pear tree, in the warm daylight and drifting blossoms, Sukuna held his stolen faithful close, content to let you rest against him while the evidence of your messy release dried on his chin and the grass beneath you both.

You fell asleep on the way back, cradled securely in his arms.

The walk from the lakeside to the fortress was not long, but the warm afternoon sun, the soft sway of his steps, and the deep exhaustion that had settled into your bones after everything beneath the pear tree pulled you under almost immediately. Your cheek rested against the broad plane of his chest, one hand loosely curled into the fabric of his robe. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat and the faint heat rolling off his skin lulled you deeper into sleep, safe and heavy in his hold.

Sukuna carried you without effort, two arms supporting your body while the other two remained free. In one of those free hands he held a small cluster of ripe pears he had plucked from the tree before leaving. Their smooth, golden-green skins caught the light as he walked, stems still bearing a few delicate white blossoms. He did not eat them. He simply carried them, turning one slowly between his fingers every so often, as though the simple act of holding something soft and sweet pleased him.

The fortress loomed ahead, stone walls dark against the bright sky. Servants scattered at the sight of their lord returning with the sleeping girl tucked against his chest, but no one dared speak. Uraume stood waiting at the entrance, pale eyes flicking once over your relaxed form and the pears before offering a small, knowing bow and stepping aside without a word.

Sukuna moved through the familiar corridors in silence, careful not to jostle you. When he reached the chamber he lowered you gently onto the wide mat, arranging your limbs with surprising care so you lay on your side, facing inward. The yukata had slipped slightly during the journey, baring one shoulder and the soft curve of your breast, but he did not adjust it. Instead he set the cluster of pears on the low table beside the mat, their faint sweet scent already beginning to fill the room.

He stretched out beside you, close enough that the heat of his body wrapped around yours once more. One arm draped possessively over your waist, palm settling lightly over the lingering softness of your lower belly. The other three hands found their places, one beneath his own head, the others resting near enough to touch if he wished.

You remained asleep, breathing slow and even, lashes dark against your cheeks, lips slightly parted. The faint marks of grass and blossoms still clung to your hair. A small smear of dried slick still glistened on the inside of one thigh, a quiet reminder of how thoroughly he had taken care of you by the lake.

Sukuna watched you for a long time in the quiet of the chamber.

He did not wake you.

He simply lay there, the stolen pears resting nearby, their sweetness mixing with the heavier scent of sex and skin that still clung to both of you. One of his fingers idly traced the curve of your shoulder while his mind turned over the strange, unfamiliar feeling of carrying something fragile and warm back to his den instead of leaving it broken behind him.

Outside the narrow windows the daylight slowly began to soften into evening.

Inside, the King of Curses kept his faithful close, pears and all, letting you sleep undisturbed in the circle of his arms.

You woke up dazed, the world soft and hazy around the edges.

For a long moment you could not remember the walk back. The lake, the pear tree, the overwhelming rush of pleasure beneath its branches, all of it felt like a fever dream that had slipped between your fingers. Your body was still coming down from the high, heavy and languid, every limb weighted with sweet exhaustion. A faint fever lingered beneath your skin, a warm flush that made your cheeks glow and your breathing slow and shallow. Between your thighs your pussy still throbbed gently, swollen and tender, the constant low ache now mixed with a deep, satisfied warmth that refused to fade.

The chamber was quiet, lit by the golden haze of late afternoon light slipping through the narrow windows. The faint sweet scent of ripe pear filled the air.

Sukuna was already awake, propped on one elbow beside you. In two of his hands he held the cluster of pears he had carried back. With the third he used the small, curved tanto to slice one open with precise, unhurried movements. The same blade you had once pressed trembling to his throat now moved steadily through the soft fruit, juice glistening along the edge as he cut neat, crescent-shaped slices.

He noticed the moment your eyes opened.

Without a word he brought a fresh slice to your lips, holding it between two thick fingers. The sweet, juicy flesh brushed against your lower lip, cool and sticky.

You stared at the knife for a heartbeat, then at the slice, then up at his face. A slow roll of your eyes was the only protest you could manage in your dazed state. Still, your mouth opened obediently. You took the piece of pear from his fingers, lips closing around the pads of his fingertips for a brief, intimate second as you accepted the offering. The fruit was perfectly ripe, bursting with cool sweetness that soothed your dry throat and made your fever-flushed cheeks feel a little less warm.

Sukuna watched you chew with dark, half-lidded eyes, the corner of his mouth curving in quiet satisfaction. He cut another slice, juice dripping slowly down the blade, and brought it to your mouth again. This time you did not roll your eyes. You simply parted your lips and let him feed you, the sticky sweetness coating your tongue while his fingers lingered a moment longer than necessary.

He fed you piece after piece in silence, the ironies of the moment hanging thick between you. The same knife that had once promised death now delivered something gentle and sweet. The monster who had stolen you from your temple now sat patiently slicing fruit and pressing each slice to your lips with careful fingers. Your body still hummed with the memory of his tongue between your thighs, yet here you were, drowsy and fever-warm, accepting every offering like it was the most natural thing in the world.

When the pear was nearly gone he set the core aside and wiped his fingers on the edge of the cloth nearby. One large hand returned to your hair, stroking slowly through the strands while another rested possessively over the soft swell of your lower belly.

“Better?” he asked, voice low and rough, but quieter than usual.

You swallowed the last sweet bite, the fever making your thoughts slow and heavy. Instead of answering with words you simply turned your face into his palm, pressing a small, tired kiss to the center of it.

Sukuna’s eyes darkened further at the gesture. He did not speak again. He only continued to pet your hair in slow, steady strokes, letting you drift in the warm, hazy space between sleep and waking while the faint scent of pear and the lingering taste of sweetness stayed on your tongue.

The blade lay forgotten on the low table beside the empty core, its edge still faintly sticky with juice.

And in the quiet chamber, he kept feeding his stolen girl small, sweet pieces of fruit, watching every flutter of your lashes with something dangerously close to tenderness.

Later that evening the air in the fortress had grown cooler, the faint scent of cedar smoke drifting through the corridors as braziers were lit for the night.

Sukuna had risen from the mat without a word, shedding his outer robes as he moved toward the private bathing chamber attached to the main room. You watched him from beneath half-closed lashes, still drowsy and warm from the pear and the long rest. Then you noticed.

His two thick cocks were fully hard, heavy and flushed dark, the fat heads glistening with steady beads of precum that dripped in slow, shiny trails down the veined lengths. They bobbed slightly with each step he took, leaking openly, untouched since the lake. He had given you everything beneath the pear tree and taken nothing for himself.

Something hot and liquid stirred low in your belly.

You crept after him on silent feet, heart hammering, the fever still lingering in your cheeks. The ache between your thighs had returned, softer now but insistent, your pussy growing slick and warm again at the mere sight of him. When he stepped into the bathing chamber you followed, hovering just outside the doorway, hidden in shadow.

He stood beside the large wooden tub already filled with steaming water. One of his lower hands reached down, wrapping loosely around both cocks at the base. He gave a slow, firm stroke from root to tip, smearing the leaking precum over the heads with his thumb. A low groan rumbled in his chest as he palmed himself, thick fingers barely able to circle both shafts together. The motion was lazy, almost absent, like he was simply easing an ache rather than truly seeking release.

Your breath caught.

He looked beautiful like this, massive frame backlit by the flickering lanterns, tattoos stark against scarlet skin, four arms moving with powerful grace. And those two leaking cocks… heavy, dripping, untouched because he had spent the entire afternoon taking care of you instead.

Your pussy clenched hard, fresh slick coating your folds and beginning to trickle down your inner thigh. Shame and desire twisted together until you could no longer stay still.

You slipped out of your yukata without a sound, letting the silk pool at your feet until you stood completely naked. Cool air kissed your fever-warm skin, making your nipples tighten and your swollen cunt throb. Heart racing, you stepped forward and pushed the sliding door wider, the soft wooden sound announcing your presence.

Sukuna turned his head slowly.

Four crimson eyes locked onto you immediately, taking in every inch of your bare body, the way your thighs pressed together, the faint sheen of wetness already visible on your skin. His hand stilled on his cocks, still gripping both thick lengths, the heads flushed and glistening.

For a long moment neither of you spoke.

Then his voice came low and rough, laced with dark hunger and something almost surprised.

“Look at you,” he murmured, gaze dragging slowly down to the slick glistening between your legs. “Coming to me naked and wet again. Did watching me stroke myself make that greedy little pussy leak for me?”

You stood there in the doorway, completely exposed, chest rising and falling quickly, the ache between your thighs growing unbearable. Your eyes kept flicking down to where his hand still held those two heavy, leaking cocks, precum still dripping steadily from the tips.

Sukuna’s lips curved into a slow, predatory smile. He gave himself one more lazy stroke, eyes never leaving yours.

“Well?” he asked, voice dropping even lower. “Are you just going to stand there… or are you going to come here and help me with this?”

Steam rose from the bath behind him.

Lantern light flickered across his skin...

You stepped inside.

Shy, but eager.

Your bare feet padded across the warm stone floor until you stood right in front of him. Sukuna’s four arms opened for you without hesitation, the gesture surprisingly gentle. He reached down, large hands sliding beneath your thighs, and lifted you effortlessly into the air. The moment your body left the ground you felt weightless again, cradled against his broad chest as he stepped into the large wooden tub with you.

The water was warm, almost hot, fragrant with yuzu and something faintly herbal that Uraume must have added. Steam curled up around you both as he lowered himself slowly, settling against the back of the tub and pulling you with him. He pressed you flush to his front first, your soft breasts squishing against the hard planes of his chest, your legs automatically parting to straddle his hips. The heat of the bath seeped into your skin, soothing the lingering ache between your thighs even as fresh slick continued to gather.

He leaned in and kissed your cheek, slow and surprisingly sweet, lips lingering against the flushed skin. The contrast between that tenderness and the heavy, leaking cocks trapped between your bodies made your head spin.

You settled fully against him, thighs spread wide over his lap. The sight of the large, grinning mouth on his stomach made your breath hitch. The moment your belly pressed against it, the thick pink tongue flicked out, dragging a wet, playful stripe across your soft skin. It curled lazily, tasting the faint sheen of sweat and the sweetness still clinging to you from the pear. One of Sukuna’s big hands settled on your lower back, holding you close while his thumb stroked slow circles over your spine.

He teased you then, voice low and rough against your ear.

“Your eager little pussy is still greedy for more, hm?”

You looked up at him with wide, glassy eyes, heat flooding your face. You could not hold his gaze. Your eyes dropped instead, lashes fluttering as you watched your own finger trace the seam of the stomach mouth. The moment your fingertip brushed the soft lips, the large tongue flicked out again, wrapping playfully around your finger and sucking gently before letting go with a wet pop.

You swallowed hard, voice barely above a whisper.

“I… I shouldn’t have all the pleasure.”

The guilt was quiet but real. He had taken nothing for himself earlier, only given and given until you shattered on his tongue. The thought made your chest tight.

Sukuna stilled for a moment, studying your downcast face. Then understanding softened the edge of his smirk.

“Guess we really should stop keeping secrets from each other then,” he murmured.

He tilted your chin up with one gentle finger, forcing your eyes to meet his again. Before you could look away he leaned in and kissed you, slow and deep and thorough. His tongue slid against yours, tasting of pear and your own slick, claiming your mouth with the same lazy hunger he had shown between your thighs.

You melted into the kiss, arms winding around his neck as you settled fully against him. His two thick cocks pressed hot and slick between your bodies, trapped against your soft belly and the dripping seam of your cunt. They throbbed heavily with every beat of his heart, leaking steadily, the precum mixing with the bathwater and your own fresh arousal until everything felt slippery and warm.

His stomach mouth continued to lick lazily at your skin, tongue dragging slow stripes across your abdomen while his hand on your back kept you pressed close. The other three arms held you securely, one cradling the back of your head, another resting possessively on your hip, the last stroking gently along your thigh.

He broke the kiss just enough to speak against your lips, voice dark and rough with want.

“No more secrets tonight, little one. Tell me what you want… and I will give it to you.”

The steam rose thick around you both.

The fragrant water lapped gently at your joined bodies.

And in the warm bath, straddling him, his leaking cocks pressed slick against your greedy pussy, you felt the last fragile wall between you begin to crumble.

“Please…”

The word slipped from your lips, soft and trembling against his own. “Need you.”

Sukuna’s mouth curved into a slow, wicked smile against yours. He did not answer with words at first. Instead one of his lower hands slid down between your bodies, gripping the thicker of his two leaking cocks at the base. He dragged the fat, precum-slick head slowly through your folds, teasing the blunt tip up and down your dripping slit. The heat of him was searing, the sheer size of just one cock already making your pussy flutter in anticipation and nerves.

Your slick coated him instantly, mixing with the steady leak of his precum until the glide became obscenely wet. Every slow pass nudged against your swollen clit, then dipped lower to kiss your entrance, spreading your puffy lips around the wide head before pulling back again. The teasing made your thighs tremble on either side of his hips.

He kissed you once more, slow and deep, then pulled back just enough to speak against your mouth, voice low and rough with hunger.

“Let’s just start with one tonight then,” he murmured. “Let’s see how good you’ll stretch for me.”

He lined the thick head up with your entrance and began to push.

The stretch was immediate and overwhelming. Even after everything he had done to you earlier, your cunt still had to open wide around the fat crown. A broken whimper escaped you as the head popped inside, your walls fluttering desperately around the intrusion. He was so thick, so hot, the veins along his shaft dragging against your sensitive inner walls as he slowly fed you the first few inches.

Sukuna groaned low in his chest, the sound vibrating through both of you.

“Fuck… still so tight,” he rasped, one hand gripping your hip to hold you steady while the other kept guiding his cock deeper. “Look at this greedy little pussy swallowing me up. Taking it so well already.”

He rocked his hips in shallow thrusts, working himself in inch by inch, letting your body adjust to the brutal girth. Your slick and his precum made the slide easier, but the stretch still burned sweetly, forcing your cunt to mould around every thick ridge. When he was halfway buried he paused, letting you feel the heavy throb of him inside you, the way your belly already began to bulge faintly from just one cock.

His stomach mouth licked a slow, wet stripe across your abdomen, tongue flicking playfully over the small swell as if tasting the place he was claiming from within.

You clung to his shoulders, nails digging into scarlet skin, forehead pressed to his as you panted against his lips. The water lapped gently around your joined bodies, steam curling thick in the air.

Sukuna’s eyes stayed locked on your face, watching every flutter of your lashes, every little gasp.

“That’s it,” he whispered, voice dark and coaxing. “Take all of me tonight. Let me feel how deep this pretty cunt can take one cock before I decide whether you’re ready for both.”

He rolled his hips again, sinking another thick inch inside you, stretching you open with slow, deliberate patience while the bathwater rippled around you both.

And in the fragrant steam, you gave yourself to him once more, soft pleas and broken moans spilling from your lips as the King of Curses began to fill you all over again.

You felt him immediately.

The thick head pushed past your entrance and the stretch bloomed all over again, sharp and sweet and overwhelming. Your cunt had to open wide once more, soft walls yielding around the heavy girth as he sank deeper. Every slow inch forced your body to remember him, to take his exact shape again until the blunt head kissed high inside you and the thick veins dragged along every sensitive spot. Your belly swelled faintly beneath the water, the faint outline of his cock visible just under your skin.

Sukuna let out a low, satisfied groan, eyes half-lidded as he watched your face.

“Looks like your cunt didn’t forget me after all,” he murmured, voice rough and pleased. “Still so tight… still sucking me in like it missed being full.”

Your hands pressed flat against his broad chest, fingers splaying over the dark tattoos as you tried to steady yourself. The water lapped gently around your hips with every tiny movement. He kept one large hand on your lower back, holding you close, while the other guided your hips down to meet his slow upward thrusts.

He fucked up into you with unhurried strokes, deep and deliberate, letting you feel every thick inch slide out until only the fat head remained inside, then pressing back in until he bottomed out again. Each thrust made your breasts bounce softly against his chest and sent ripples across the fragrant bathwater.

You were trembling.

The stretch felt so good it bordered on too much, but your body craved more. The empty ache where his second cock should be became impossible to ignore. Your pussy clenched hard around the one already buried inside you, leaking fresh slick around his shaft as the need built higher.

“Please…” you whispered, voice small and breathless against his neck. “The second one… I want both…”

Sukuna stilled for a moment, buried to the hilt. Then a dark, amused chuckle rumbled through his chest.

“Fuck… you’re eager,” he said, the words warm against your ear. One of his hands slid up to cup the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair. “Already begging for both after I’ve barely given you one. Greedy little thing.”

He rocked up into you again, slower this time, grinding the thick head against that deep spot inside while the second heavy cock rested hot and leaking against your lower belly, trapped between your bodies.

“You sure?” he asked, voice dropping even lower, teasing but edged with hunger. “You want me to stretch this pretty cunt even wider tonight? Fill you so full you can barely breathe?”

You nodded frantically, cheeks burning, eyes glassy with need. Your hips rolled down to meet his next thrust, taking him deeper as you whimpered.

“Yes… please… both…”

Sukuna’s smile turned sharp and satisfied. He tightened his grip on your hips with two hands while the other two cradled your face and back, holding you steady as he began to shift beneath you.

“Alright then,” he growled softly, pressing a slow kiss to your swollen lips. “Since you’re asking so nicely… let’s see how well this tight little pussy takes both my cocks tonight.”

He kept the first one buried deep inside you, holding still for a moment while the fat, leaking head of the second cock nudged insistently against your already stretched entrance, sliding through the mess of your slick and his precum.

The water steamed around you both.

Your hands clutched tighter at his chest.

He worked the second cock in slowly.

The thick, leaking head pressed firmly against your already stretched entrance, nudging beside the first one that was buried deep inside you. The stretch was immediate and brutal. Your cunt had to open wider than it ever had, soft walls straining around two heavy girths at once. You clenched up instinctively, a sharp gasp tearing from your throat as the second cock forced its way in inch by slow, relentless inch.

“Oh fuck—”

The curse slipped out before you could stop it, raw and broken. The temple girl who once spent her days murmuring sutras had never spoken such a word in her life. Sukuna’s eyes flashed with dark delight at the sound.

“Oh?” he teased, voice low and rough even as he fought to keep his composure. “The temple girl’s first swear. Committing so many sins tonight, aren’t you?”

Your cunt was impossibly tight around both cocks, fluttering and squeezing in panicked little pulses that made sweat bead along his temples. He could feel every ripple, every desperate clench as your body struggled to accept him. It hurt for you too. The burn was fierce, stretching you to your limit, tears already gathering at the corners of your eyes and spilling down your flushed cheeks.

Sukuna kept one big hand stroking slowly up and down your back, never stopping the gentle, soothing motion. His palm was warm and steady against your spine, thumb tracing comforting circles while he held perfectly still inside you, giving your body time to adjust.

“No, pretty girl,” he murmured, voice gentler now, lips brushing your temple. “Relax for me. Breathe.”

You whimpered, forehead pressed to his shoulder, nails digging into his chest. The stretch felt like too much and not enough all at once. Both cocks throbbed heavily inside your overstuffed cunt, leaking steadily, the dual pressure making your belly bulge noticeably even through the bathwater.

“You said you wanted both,” he reminded you softly, pressing a slow kiss to your wet cheek. “Don’t fight me, sweetheart. Let me in. Let this greedy little cunt take everything I give it.”

His hand kept stroking your back in that same soothing rhythm, slow and patient, while the other three arms held you close, one cradling the back of your head, another gripping your hip to keep you steady. He rocked up into you with the tiniest movements, just enough to ease the second cock deeper, letting your walls flutter and slowly loosen around the impossible fullness.

Tears kept slipping down your face, but the pain was already beginning to melt into something hotter, something deeper. Your cunt clenched again, this time less in resistance and more in desperate need.

Sukuna groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating through his chest into yours.

“That’s it,” he whispered against your ear, still stroking your back with steady reassurance. “Good girl. Just relax and let me fill you completely. You’re doing so well for me.”

Both thick cocks pulsed inside your stretched, dripping cunt as he waited for you to open up fully, the warm bathwater rippling gently around your joined bodies while he coaxed you through the overwhelming stretch with patience and dark, hungry praise.

Your cunt kept stretching.

It hurt, it burned, it felt impossible, but it took him.

More and more. Inch by thick, veined inch, both of his heavy cocks sank deeper into your fluttering heat until the stretch became something else entirely. Something overwhelming and perfect. Your walls yielded slowly, clenching and fluttering around the brutal double invasion, molding themselves around his shape like they had been waiting for this exact moment.

The way your tummy bulged was obscene.

You could feel it, see it, the soft skin of your lower belly rounding outward, the clear outline of both cocks pressing up from inside you. Every shallow breath made the swell shift and move. Deeper and deeper he pushed, until the fat heads nudged against your cervix and then beyond, forcing the tight ring to open for him, letting him claim space no one had ever touched.

Your eyes slid shut, lashes wet with fresh tears. A broken little sound escaped your trembling lips.

Sukuna cupped your face in two large hands, thumbs brushing away the tears as they fell. He pressed his forehead to yours, breath mingling with yours in the steamy air.

“Look at you,” he whispered, voice rough and awed. “Taking both my cocks so deep. Your pretty cunt is opening so well for me.”

He kissed your tears one by one, slow and tender, lips brushing over your closed eyelids, the corners of your eyes, the salty trails on your cheeks. When he finally reached your mouth he kissed you deeply, swallowing the soft whimper that left you as your cunt gave one last fluttering pulse and took the rest of him.

He was fully seated.

Both thick cocks buried to the hilt inside your overstuffed pussy, stretching you wider than you had ever been, your belly swollen and round with the proof of it. Your walls clenched helplessly around him, rippling and squeezing in waves, trying to adjust to the impossible fullness.

Sukuna held perfectly still, forehead still pressed to yours, hands cradling your face like something precious.

“There you go,” he murmured against your lips, voice low and soothing. “That’s my good girl. You did it. You took all of me.”

Your lips trembled. Another tear slipped free and he caught it with his thumb, then leaned in to kiss it away again.

The bathwater lapped gently around your joined bodies. Steam curled thick and fragrant between you. Your hands stayed pressed to his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart beneath your palms.

He stayed buried deep, letting you feel every throb, every pulse of both cocks stretching you open, while he continued to kiss your face softly, patiently, giving your ruined little cunt time to settle around the overwhelming fullness he had given you.

“You feel that?” he whispered, one hand sliding down to rest over the swollen curve of your belly. “That’s me. All the way inside you. No more secrets. No more holding back.”

Your cunt fluttered hard around him at his words, another rush of slick leaking out around the tight seal of your stretched lips.

Sukuna smiled against your mouth, dark and satisfied.

“Good girl,” he breathed. “Now breathe for me… and let me feel how well this greedy cunt is going to take everything I give it tonight.”

Your cunt was sucking and pulling at both of his cocks with every tiny movement.

The slightest shift of his hips made your walls flutter and clench desperately around the thick double intrusion, greedy and overwhelmed all at once. Any little motion sent sparks of too-much pleasure shooting through you. The stretch was constant, burning and perfect, your swollen folds stretched shiny and tight around the bases of both cocks. Your belly bulged obscenely, the rounded swell rising and falling with every shallow breath you took.

Sukuna watched your face with dark, hooded eyes, one hand still cradling your cheek while the other rested possessively over the swollen curve of your stomach.

“You’ve already done the impossible,” he murmured, voice low and rough with restraint. “Taking both my cocks all the way inside this tight little cunt. Such a good girl.”

He could feel every ripple, every helpless suck of your walls trying to milk him. But he insisted on doing the work now.

“You’ve done enough,” he told you softly. “Just let me take care of you.”

When he asked if you wanted him to move, you could only nod, lips trembling, eyes glassy with overwhelming sensation.

That was all the permission he needed.

Sukuna lifted you sweetly with two strong arms beneath your thighs, raising you just enough that several thick inches of both cocks slid out of your dripping heat. The drag was slow and devastating, your cunt clinging wetly to every veined inch as he withdrew. Then he rocked you back down, sinking both cocks deep again in one smooth, controlled motion.

A broken moan tore from your throat.

He set a slow, steady rhythm, lifting and lowering you on his lap with careful strength. Each time he pulled you up, your cunt fluttered and sucked around him, trying to keep him inside. Each time he rocked you back down, both cocks plunged deep, bumping your cervix and pressing against that spot that made your toes curl in the warm water.

The bath rippled around you with every gentle rock, fragrant steam curling thicker in the air. Your hands clutched at his shoulders, nails digging into scarlet skin as he fucked you on his cocks with slow, deliberate strokes.

“That’s it,” he praised quietly, forehead still pressed to yours. “Just let me move you. Feel how deep you’re taking me, sweetheart. Feel how full you are.”

Your belly bulged visibly with every downward rock, the obscene swell pressing against his stomach mouth. The large pink tongue flicked out lazily, licking across the rounded curve as if tasting how thoroughly he had stuffed you.

You whimpered helplessly, eyes fluttering, tears still clinging to your lashes. Every rock sent waves of overwhelming pleasure crashing through you. Your cunt kept sucking and pulling at both thick cocks, greedy despite how impossibly full you already were.

Sukuna kept rocking you sweetly on his lap, never rushing, letting you feel every inch, every throb, every slow slide as he filled you completely again and again.

His voice stayed low and soothing against your ear between soft kisses to your temple.

“Good girl… such a good girl for me. Just keep taking it. Let me rock this pretty, stretched cunt on both until you can’t think of anything else.”

The water lapped gently around your joined bodies.

Your swollen belly rose and fell with every controlled thrust.

And in the warm, steamy bath, you were held close and rocked slowly on both of his thick cocks, letting your greedy, ruined little pussy suck and flutter around him while he took perfect care of you.

Huge.

That was all you could think as Sukuna rocked you on both of his thick lengths.

Your pussy stretched impossibly wide around the twin girths, soft walls squishing and clinging, milking him in messy, greedy pulses with every slow lift and drop. Wet, filthy sounds filled the steamy bath each time he moved you, slick and precum mixing together until everything between your bodies was slippery and obscene.

He pressed one large hand firmly against the swollen bulge under your tummy, feeling the way both cocks moved inside you, the heavy ridge of them shifting beneath your skin with every rock. The pressure made you whimper, made your cunt flutter harder around him, sucking desperately at the thick lengths as if trying to pull him even deeper.

One of his lower hands settled on your waist, holding you steady while he began to fuck up into you with more purpose. The thrusts stayed controlled but deeper now, lifting his hips to meet every downward rock, driving both cocks into your overstuffed cunt with wet, heavy strokes. Your belly bulged more noticeably with each upward thrust, the rounded swell pressing against his palm.

His other lower hand slipped lower, palming the soft curve of your ass, fingers digging into the flesh to spread you open even wider. He used the grip to help guide you, lifting and lowering you onto his cocks while he fucked up harder, the head of both lengths kissing your cervix with every deep plunge.

You were a trembling, moaning mess in his lap, forehead pressed to his, lips parted on broken little sounds. Your pussy kept milking him greedily, fluttering and clenching, leaking fresh slick around the tight seal of your stretched folds. The water sloshed gently around you both with every thrust, fragrant steam curling thick in the air.

Sukuna groaned low in his chest, the sound vibrating through you as he pressed harder against the bulge in your belly.

“Feel that?” he rasped against your mouth, voice dark and rough. “Feel how deep both are? Your greedy little cunt is sucking me in so messily… taking me so deep like it never wants to let go.”

His hand on your ass squeezed tighter, spreading you wider as he fucked up into you with slow, powerful strokes. The other hand stayed pressed to your swollen tummy, feeling every movement of his cocks inside you while he rocked you on his lap.

You could only moan helplessly, eyes glassy, body trembling as he took you apart so sweetly and thoroughly in the warm bath. Your pussy continued to milk him in wet, greedy pulses, stretched and full and completely his.

Sukuna kissed your trembling lips, then your tear-damp cheek, never stopping the slow, deep rhythm of his hips.

“That’s my good girl,” he murmured, palming your ass and pressing against your bulging belly at the same time. “Keep  me in just like that. Let me feel how much this pretty cunt loves being stuffed full.”

Every slow rock of his hips made both thick cocks rub deep inside your pussy, dragging heavily along your fluttering walls in a constant, filthy grind. Your swollen clit caught and rubbed against the dark, coarse hair of his happy trail with every downward motion, sending sharp sparks of pleasure shooting through you. The friction was relentless, perfect, turning every thrust into something overwhelming.

You were creaming on his cocks.

Thick, white rings of your arousal coated both shafts, frothing messily at the stretched entrance of your cunt with every deep plunge. The wet, squelching sounds grew louder, echoing softly off the stone walls of the bathing chamber as your pussy milked him greedily, sucking and fluttering around the double intrusion.

Sukuna groaned low, one hand still pressed firmly to the bulging swell of your tummy while the other palmed your ass, spreading you wider so he could fuck up into you just a little harder. His thumb found your clit, rubbing slow, firm circles over the swollen bud while he kept rocking you on his cocks.

“That’s it,” he murmured against your ear, voice dark and coaxing. “Make a mess all over both my cocks like a good girl. Let me feel how much you want it, how much you pretty pussy will take.”

The added pressure on your clit was too much. Pleasure coiled tight and hot in your belly, sharper and sweeter than before. Your thighs trembled violently around his hips, your cunt clenching hard around both cocks as the orgasm crashed through you.

You moaned, high and broken, body seizing in his lap as sweet, pulsing waves rolled through you. Your pussy gushed around him, fresh slick mixing with the creamy mess already coating his shafts. Sukuna kept rubbing your clit through it all, drawing the orgasm out until your vision blurred and your moans turned into soft, helpless whimpers.

When the peak finally began to ebb you collapsed forward into his chest, face buried in the crook of his neck, trembling and panting against his skin. Your arms wound weakly around his shoulders, body limp and spent in his hold.

Sukuna did not stop moving.

He kept fucking you deeper now, hips snapping up with more force, driving both cocks into your creaming, fluttering cunt with steady, powerful thrusts. The water sloshed harder around you, splashing against the sides of the tub as he used the grip on your ass and waist to pull you down onto him again and again.

His breathing grew rougher, chest rising and falling heavily beneath your cheek. You could feel his cocks swelling even thicker inside you, throbbing with his building release.

He pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your temple, voice wrecked and low.

“Fuck that's it! He said sharply.“Good girl… such a good girl for me… let me give you every drop, let me fill your cunt full.”

His thrusts grew deeper, harder, chasing his own pleasure while he held your limp, trembling body close, fucking up into your messy, overstuffed cunt with raw, building need. Your pussy continued to milk him greedily, squirting and fluttering around him as he drove closer and closer to the edge, determined to flood you full once more.

His cocks throbbed with heavy, insistent pressure deep in his abdomen.

The stomach mouth on his torso had its jaw locked tight, lips pressed into a thin line as if even that part of him was fighting to hold back. Both thick lengths swelled impossibly larger inside your already overstuffed cunt, stretching you even wider, the veins pulsing strongly against your fluttering walls. The first cock twitched hard, swelling thicker at the base, the fat head pressing flush against your cervix.

Sukuna’s breath hitched, a low growl rumbling through his chest as he fucked up into you with deeper, more urgent strokes. His hands gripped your ass tighter, spreading you open while he drove both cocks as far as they could go.

Then the first one came.

Hard.

Thick ropes of hot cum erupted straight into your womb, flooding you in heavy, pulsing spurts. The force of it made your belly swell even more, the rounded bulge growing visibly as he pumped you full. Your cunt clenched violently around him, milking every drop while creamy white seed leaked out around the tight seal of your stretched lips, mixing with your own slick in the bathwater.

Before the first cock even finished pulsing, the second one followed.

It swelled even thicker, stretching you to the absolute limit as it began to cum deep inside you. Another powerful flood joined the first, hot and endless, filling your womb until you felt impossibly bloated, stuffed beyond reason. Both cocks throbbed in tandem now, pumping load after thick load into your greedy, creaming cunt while your walls fluttered and sucked desperately around them.

You moaned weakly against his neck, body trembling, tears slipping down your cheeks again from the sheer intensity of being filled so completely. Your belly rounded out heavily between your bodies, the soft skin taut from the sheer volume of cum he was forcing into you.

Sukuna held you close, one hand still pressed firmly over the swollen curve of your tummy, feeling every powerful spurt as it filled you. His forehead rested against yours, breath ragged, voice rough and wrecked with pleasure.

“Take it all,” he growled softly, still rocking you slowly on his cocks even as he came. “Every drop. Let me fill this pretty cunt until you’re dripping with me for days.”

His stomach mouth finally relaxed, the large tongue slipping out to lick lazily across your bulging belly, tasting the evidence of how thoroughly he had claimed you from the inside.

You stayed collapsed against his chest, limp and shaking, your pussy still milking both throbbing cocks as they continued to empty into you, flooding your womb with thick, hot cum while the warm bathwater rippled around your joined bodies.

Sukuna kissed your temple, then your tear-streaked cheek, murmuring low praises against your skin as he kept you impaled deep on both of his cocks, letting the last heavy spurts pulse into your overstuffed, creaming cunt.

You had never felt so full.

So claimed.

So completely his.

Twin loads poured into you, thick and heavy, flooding your womb in endless, pulsing waves.

Sukuna kept fucking them deeper, hips rolling up in slow, deliberate thrusts even as he came, pushing every thick spurt further inside you. The obscene wet sounds of his cocks churning through the mess echoed in the steamy bath, cum and slick mixing together until your overstuffed cunt could barely contain it all. Creamy white seed leaked out around the tight stretch of both shafts, floating in cloudy ribbons through the water, but he refused to let any of it escape without effort. He rocked you down harder, grinding both cocks as deep as they would go, forcing the heavy loads back into your womb with every thrust.

He was sure it would take.

So much cum. More than your body had any right to hold. Your belly was already swollen and round, taut beneath his palm, and still he kept pumping more into you. He imagined it so clearly, his eyes sliding shut as pleasure and something darker, more possessive rolled through him. In weeks or months to come you would still be swollen, but not just with his cum. He pictured you utterly round and heavy with his babies, belly stretched tight, breasts full, cunt still greedy and leaking for him even while carrying his heirs.

A low, guttural groan left his throat.

His hand pressed firmer against the swollen curve of your stomach, fingers splaying wide as if he could will it to happen by touch alone. He pushed gently, feeling the way your belly gave under the pressure, feeling the obscene slosh of cum inside you as he fucked it even deeper.

“Take it,” he rasped against your ear, voice thick and wrecked. “All of it. Let it settle deep. Let it take root.”

Your cunt fluttered weakly around both cocks, still milking him through the last heavy spurts. You whimpered softly into his neck, body limp and trembling, completely overwhelmed by the sheer volume he had pumped into you. Your belly felt impossibly full, heavy and warm, the skin stretched tight over the twin loads he refused to let leak out.

Sukuna kept his hand there, palm pressed possessively over the swell, thumb stroking slow circles as if soothing the place he had just flooded. His other arms held you close, one cradling the back of your head, another wrapped around your waist, keeping you impaled deep on both cocks while the last thick pulses emptied into your womb.

He stayed buried inside you long after the last spurt, breathing hard against your hair, eyes still closed as the fantasy lingered behind his lids. You, swollen and glowing, carrying his children. The thought made his cocks twitch again inside you, another small leak of cum escaping despite how tightly he filled you.

He kissed your temple, then your cheek, voice low and dark with satisfaction.

“You’re going to look so beautiful like this… all round and full with what I put in you.”

The bathwater had gone cloudy around you both, thick with the evidence of his release. Your belly rose and fell heavily with every shallow breath, swollen and claimed, while Sukuna held you close, hand never leaving the soft, rounded swell he had created, already imagining how much more he would fill you in the nights to come.

After you took both his cocks, he held you like something breakable.

The water had gone thick and cloudy with his cum, the fragrant scent of yuzu now drowned beneath the heavy musk of sex. Sukuna felt a flicker of something close to guilt when he looked at the mess he had made of you, but it was quickly swallowed by the deeper satisfaction of seeing you so thoroughly claimed. Still, he needed to clean you. He could not leave you like this, leaking and trembling and swollen.

When he finally began to slip free, both cocks sliding out of your ruined cunt with a wet, obscene sound, you cried.

A soft, broken sob left your lips the moment the thick heads popped free. Immediately a flood of creamy white poured from your stretched hole, thick ropes of his cum gushing out in heavy pulses, sliding down your thighs and swirling into the already filthy water. Your poor pussy gaped for a moment, puffy and red, unable to close after taking both of his cocks so deep. More cum kept leaking, slow and endless, as if your body refused to let go of what he had given it.

You did not let him go.

The moment he tried to shift you, your arms locked tight around his neck, legs wrapping around his torso with surprising strength. You clung to him like a vine, face buried in the crook of his neck, eyes squeezed shut. Tired as you were, every ounce of remaining energy seemed to have gathered in your limbs. You would not release him, not even for a second.

Sukuna exhaled softly, one large hand cradling the back of your head while the other supported your ass, holding you securely against his chest even as cum continued to drip from your cunt onto his skin.

“It’s okay, pretty girl,” he cooed, voice low and soothing against your ear. “I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

He shifted carefully in the cloudy water, you still attached to him like a second skin, legs locked tight around his waist, arms wound around his neck. With one free hand he grabbed a clean cloth from the side of the tub. With another he reached over and unplugged the drain, letting the filthy, cum-laden water begin to swirl away. Fresh warm water poured in from the spout, clear and steaming, slowly refilling the tub around your joined bodies.

He held you the entire time, rocking you gently, pressing soft kisses to your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. Every time a fresh sob slipped from you, every time more cum leaked out of your swollen pussy and trickled down his abdomen, he murmured quiet reassurances.

“Shh… I know, sweetheart. I know it feels like too much. But I’m not going anywhere. Just let me clean you up.”

He dipped the cloth into the fresh water and began to wipe you gently, starting with your thighs, then carefully between your legs. The warm cloth soothed the tender, puffy folds, but every pass still made you whimper and cling tighter. More thick white continued to spill from your cunt no matter how carefully he cleaned, as if your body was determined to keep every drop he had pumped into you.

Sukuna did not mind.

He simply held you closer, kissing your closed eyelids, stroking your back with slow, steady hands while the clean water rose around you both. Your legs stayed locked around his torso, arms tight around his neck, face hidden against his skin as you trembled and leaked and refused to let go.

“It’s okay,” he whispered again, pressing another kiss to your hair. “I’m right here, pretty girl. I’ve got you. Let it all out. I’ll take care of everything.”

The bath slowly filled with fresh, steaming water.

Your cunt continued to leak his cum in slow, creamy pulses.

And Sukuna held you through it all, cooing soft praises and gentle reassurances while you clung to him with every bit of strength left in your tired body, safe and claimed in the arms of the monster who had ruined you so sweetly.

When he had you mostly cleaned, Sukuna gathered you up once more.

You were still latched onto him, arms locked tight around his neck, legs wrapped firmly around his torso as though letting go might make the world disappear. Even in your exhaustion your body refused to release its hold. He did not mind. He simply rose from the tub with you attached, water streaming off both of you in rivulets, and stepped out onto the cool stone floor.

One of his large hands petted your hair in slow, soothing strokes, fingers combing through the damp strands while he murmured quiet words against your temple.

“I’ve got you. Just keep holding on, pretty girl.”

He reached for a thick, soft towel and dried you as best he could while you remained clung to his chest. He wiped your back, your shoulders, the curve of your ass, moving carefully around the places where your bodies pressed together. The towel came away damp with bathwater and the last traces of his cum that still leaked slowly from your swollen cunt. Every gentle pass made you whimper softly, but you only tightened your grip, face buried deeper into the crook of his neck.

Sukuna carried you like that all the way back to the main chamber, your legs locked around his waist, your arms wound tight around his neck. He moved slowly, deliberately, one hand supporting your weight beneath your ass while the other continued to pet your hair in steady, comforting rhythms.

When he reached the wide mat he lowered himself down carefully, keeping you cradled against his chest the entire time. Only then did he try to coax you into drinking.

He reached for the clay cup of water Uraume had left on the low table, bringing it to your lips with gentle insistence.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice low and patient. “Just a little. You need it.”

You turned your face away at first, eyes still closed, too tired and overwhelmed to do anything but cling. Sukuna did not push. He simply waited, stroking your back, pressing soft kisses to your hair until you finally parted your lips. He tilted the cup slowly, letting you take small, careful sips. Cool water slid down your throat, soothing the dryness left from all your moaning and crying. You drank in tiny mouthfuls, swallowing obediently each time he encouraged you with quiet praise.

“Good girl… that’s it. Just a little more.”

When you had taken enough he set the cup aside and wrapped both arms around you again, holding you close against his warm body. Your legs stayed wrapped around his torso, your arms locked around his neck, your face tucked safely into the curve of his shoulder. Fresh tears slipped from your closed eyes, but they were softer now, exhaustion winning over everything else.

Sukuna continued to pet your hair, slow and steady, his other hands resting possessively along your back and the curve of your ass. He could still feel the occasional warm trickle of his cum leaking from your cunt onto his skin, but he made no move to clean it further. He simply held you, letting you cling as tightly as you needed.

“Sleep now,” he whispered against your hair, pressing one last gentle kiss to the top of your head. “I’m right here. I’m not letting go.”

You stayed latched onto him, trembling faintly, body heavy with fatigue and the deep, lingering fullness he had left inside you. The chamber was quiet except for the soft sound of your breathing and the steady rhythm of his hand stroking through your hair.

And Sukuna held you through it all, content to let his stolen faithful remain wrapped around him like you never wanted to be anywhere else.

He eventually pulled your tired arms away from his neck.

It took gentle coaxing, his fingers carefully unwinding your grip until your limbs fell limp and heavy against his chest. Even in sleep your body protested the loss of contact, a small, unconscious whimper slipping past your lips. Sukuna gathered you closer, all four arms cradling you against him like something infinitely precious. One pair supported your back and thighs, another rested along your sides, keeping you secure in the wide span of his hold. His massive frame curled protectively around your much smaller one on the wide mat.

He looked at you.

Really looked.

This small woman who had taken all of him so eagerly, who had cried and begged and still opened wider when he asked. He had put you through so much. From the burning temple to the blade at his throat, from the first brutal claiming to the bath where he had stretched you beyond reason and flooded you until your belly swelled. The memory of your tears, your broken moans, your desperate clinging lingered in his chest like an unfamiliar weight.

Guilt, quiet and unfamiliar, settled deep inside him.

One large hand came up to cup your face, thumb brushing slowly across your cheek. Your lashes were still damp, lips slightly parted in exhausted sleep. So delicate. So human. And yet you had taken the King of Curses into your body twice tonight and held him there like you never wanted him to leave.

His gaze drifted lower.

His hand slid down to rest over the soft, swollen curve of your tummy. The skin was warm and taut beneath his palm, still rounded from the sheer volume of cum he had pumped into you. He caressed it gently, fingers tracing slow circles over the place where his seed now rested deep inside your womb. The thought of it taking root sent a strange ripple through him.

He had never cared for heirs.

Rulers did not need bloodlines. Conquest was eternal. Legacy was written in blood and fear, not in small hands and soft cries. It was such a human thing.

But then he remembered the lake earlier that day.

You beneath the pear tree, sunlight dancing across your skin, blossoms drifting down while you came apart so sweetly on his tongue. The image shifted in his mind, unbidden, and suddenly he saw you again, months from now, belly round and heavy with his child, glowing, soft, still looking at him with those wide, trusting eyes.

It was not such a bad sight.

In fact, it felt… right.

The realization clicked into place with surprising clarity.

He would only want that with you.

Not with any trembling village girl or fearful shrine maiden he could have taken on a whim. Only with the faithful one he had stolen, the one who had once held a knife to his throat and then pulled him closer instead. The one whose body had learned to crave him, whose heart still raced beneath his palm even in sleep.

Sharing a life with you suddenly seemed possible.

Not just possession. Not just claiming. Something quieter. Something that looked like mornings with pears and evenings in the bath and nights where you clung to him even after he had ruined you.

Sukuna’s hand stayed cupped over your swollen belly, thumb stroking slow, almost reverent circles. His other arms tightened around you, pulling you closer until your cheek rested against his chest and your legs draped over his hip.

He pressed a single, lingering kiss to the top of your head.

“Sleep, little one,” he whispered into your hair, voice barely audible. “I will take care of you now. Whatever comes… I will take care of you.”

The guilt still lingered, but it was softened by something warmer, something dangerously close to tenderness. He kept his hand on your belly, feeling the faint flutter of your breathing, imagining the day it might flutter with something more.

For the first time in his long, bloody existence, Ryomen Sukuna allowed himself to picture a future that was not only conquest and fear, but one that included you, soft and full and his in every possible way.

He closed his eyes, still cradling you close, and let the quiet thought settle deep inside him.

You.

His.

Perhaps even carrying his child.

The King of Curses held his stolen faithful through the night, one hand never leaving the gentle swell of your belly, already wondering how soon he could make that vision real.

You laid on your back in the cool hush of his chamber, the thick bedding Sukuna had carefully arranged around you cradling your body like a nest. The night air was still, carrying only the faint crackle of a low brazier and the soft rhythm of your breathing. From across the room Sukuna stood watching for a long moment, four crimson eyes fixed on the peaceful sight of you.

Your eyes were closed in deep sleep, lashes resting against your cheeks, lips slightly parted. The thick layers of bedding he had swaddled you in kept you warm, but every time you shifted even the smallest amount the weight of your growing swell became more and more apparent. The soft curve of your belly rose gently beneath the covers, rounder now, heavier, undeniably full with the life he had planted inside you. The sight held him transfixed, something ancient and possessive stirring low in his chest as he stared at the proof of what you had taken from him and made your own.

You were pregnant.

The knowledge still felt new, strange, and yet utterly right.

The moment you began to shift again, a small furrow appeared between your brows. Your hands moved restlessly beneath the bedding, fingers clutching at the empty space beside you, searching, reaching for the solid warmth that was no longer there. A quiet, distressed sound slipped from your throat, barely more than a breath.

Sukuna was already moving.

He crossed the chamber in three silent strides, sliding onto the wide mat beside you before your hands could grasp at nothing again. His large palms found yours immediately, fingers threading through your smaller ones, pulling your hands against his chest. He drew you close with all four arms, carefully turning you onto your side so your swollen belly rested safely against the hard planes of his body. One arm slipped beneath your head as a pillow, another curled around your back, the third settled protectively over the curve of your tummy, and the last stroked slow, soothing lines along your spine.

The moment he had you tucked against him your breathing settled. The tension melted from your shoulders, your face relaxing once more into peaceful sleep. You nuzzled closer, cheek pressing to his collarbone, one leg instinctively draping over his hip as if even unconscious you needed to be as close as possible. A soft, contented sigh left your lips.

You had found utter comfort in Sukuna now, even more so since the pregnancy had begun to show. The fear that once lived in your eyes had long since softened into something warmer, something that sought him out in sleep and in waking. He had become your safety, your anchor, the only place where the weight of your changing body felt bearable.

Sukuna kept his hand splayed wide over the swell of your belly, feeling the faint, steady pressure beneath his palm. He could sense the life growing there, the subtle movements that had only just started to become noticeable. His thumb traced slow circles over the taut skin, reverent and quiet.

He had never imagined he would want this.

Yet here you were, swollen with his child, clinging to him even in dreams, trusting him completely with the fragile new life you carried. The guilt he had once felt had faded into something deeper, something that made him hold you a little tighter every night.

He pressed a slow kiss to the top of your head, lips lingering in your hair as he whispered against the strands, voice barely audible in the quiet chamber.

“I’m here, little one. I’ve got you both.”

Your fingers tightened faintly around his in sleep, as if answering him. Your breathing stayed even and deep, your body heavy and warm against his, the swell of your belly pressed safely between you.

Sukuna closed his eyes, but he did not sleep.

He simply held you, one hand never leaving the gentle curve where his child grew, listening to the soft sounds of your breathing and feeling the quiet wonder of how completely you had changed everything.

The King of Curses laid awake in the cool darkness, cradling his pregnant faithful close, already certain that he would burn the world again if it meant keeping this peace intact.

In the quiet dark of the chamber, with you safely tucked against his chest and the soft swell of your belly pressed between your bodies, Sukuna let his mind drift back.

He remembered the first time you had started craving fruit.

It began with pears, ironically enough. You would wake in the middle of the night and ask for them in that small, shy voice, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He had laughed low and fetched them himself, slicing the sweet golden flesh with the same blade that had once rested against his throat. You ate them with such quiet greed, juice running down your chin, eyes fluttering in simple pleasure. He had thought nothing of it then, only that his stolen girl had developed a taste for something soft and sweet.

Then the sickness came.

Mornings where you would suddenly turn pale and rush to the basin, retching until there was nothing left. He had frowned and blamed the pears at first, muttering that perhaps they had been too ripe, too cold, too much. He brought you warmer broth instead, held your hair back, and told you to stop eating so many. You had only shaken your head weakly and asked for another pear once the nausea passed.

Then your body began to change.

Your breasts grew heavier, more sensitive. Your hips softened. And your belly… your belly started to round in the gentlest way. At first he told himself it was only the constant fullness he kept pumping into you every night, the thick loads he refused to let you waste. But the rounding stayed even on the rare days he did not fill you.

The truth finally struck him one evening after you had bathed.

You were still wet and naked, skin glistening, towel having slipped from your fingers to pool on the floor. You bent to retrieve it, back arching, the curve of your spine leading down to the plush swell of your ass. Sukuna had been behind you in an instant, drawn by the sight like a moth to flame.

He stepped close, chest brushing your back, and slid one large hand around to cup the front of your tummy. The moment his palm settled over the gentle curve, something clicked into place. The weight felt different. Warmer. Alive.

His voice had come out low, almost hesitant, each word measured and slow as if he were testing the shape of something dangerous and beautiful.

“…It is not the pears,” he had murmured against the damp skin of your shoulder, fingers spreading wider over your belly. “I think… something else has taken root here.”

He paused, letting the silence stretch, letting you feel the weight of his hand and the weight of his meaning.

“Life,” he said at last, voice dropping even lower, almost reverent, “is growing inside you.”

Your breath had stilled completely.

Your smaller hands flew to cover his where it rested on your tummy. You exhaled shakily, the sound trembling in the quiet room.

“Pregnant…” The word left your lips in a stunned whisper. Then again, softer, disbelieving, “I’m pregnant.”

It sounded surreal even to your own ears.

Sukuna had pulled you back against his chest immediately, both arms wrapping around you from behind, holding you tighter than he ever had. No discussions had come before this moment. You had both known the possibility was there, after all the countless nights he had come deep inside you again and again, flooding your womb until it overflowed. Yet hearing it spoken aloud made the truth settle heavy and wonderful between you.

You looked down at your own tummy, watching the way his large hand cradled the gentle swell, and a soft, overwhelmed laugh bubbled up through your tears.

Sukuna’s chin rested on top of your head. His voice rumbled through you, low and teasing, but warm.

“What was that just now?” He gave the slightest roll of his hips, pressing the heavy line of his cocks against the curve of your ass. “Having lewd thoughts about how I filled you so well that it took?”

Your face burned, but you could not deny the fresh slick that had gathered between your thighs at his words. You nodded shyly, biting your lip, still staring down at the place where his hand protected the new life growing inside you.

He chuckled softly, pressing a slow kiss to the side of your neck.

“Good,” he murmured, hand gently rubbing circles over your belly. “Because I plan to keep you this full for a very long time.”

Back in the present, lying together in the cool chamber, Sukuna’s hand remained exactly where it had been that day, splayed protectively over the now much rounder swell of your pregnant belly. He felt the faint, fluttering movements beneath his palm and smiled into your hair.

The pears had only been the beginning.

Now you carried his child, and every night he held you just like this, quietly marveling at how completely one stolen faithful girl had rewritten his world.

[purrtoru]

you could never get tired of admiring your husband heian era!sukuna ♡

most people couldn’t look at him for long.

the moment they caught sight of him, their eyes dart away. some out of fear, or some out of disgust. they believe a creature like him isn’t meant to be looked at.

you think they are all blind.

the evening is quiet, lantern light casting a warm glow across the room. it has become part of your nightly routine before bed, these quiet moments spent with your husband after the day has settled.

sukuna sits against the bed frame, one pair of arms folded while the other rests loosely across his lap.

his crimson eyes follow you as you crawl toward him. you sit down beside him and gently take one of his hands, then another.

his brows rise as he looks at you expectantly.

you compare them, turning them over in your palms. thick fingers, calloused skin, veins running beneath flesh capable of tearing apart crowds.

yet you trace them carefully, as if they are something precious.

“four arms..“ you murmur.

“you say that as if you’ve only just noticed,” he says, clicking his tongue after.

you move closer, inspecting the markings that wind around his skin. your fingertips follow the dark lines traveling over his wrist and shoulders.

“they’re beautiful.”

he looks at you, and you swear there’s a faint blush adoring his cheeks, even though he’s heard you say so many times before.

beautiful? no one has ever used that word for him before you.

you continue before he can respond.

your hand slides to his chest, tracing the markings there as well, and you can feel his gaze burning into you.

then your attention lowers— to the second mouth resting on his stomach. the feature that causes most people to recoil.

you start to lean forward, but sukuna’s eyes narrow. “what are you doing?”

“hm?”

his stomach mouth opens slightly, revealing sharp teeth, just to close again.

you examine it with genuine curiosity— it is quite the most strange part of him, and therefore something you want to understand even more.

without hesitation, you press a small kiss on top of it.

“…why are you looking at me like that?” you ask after coming back up.

for perhaps the first time in centuries, the king of curses looks genuinely caught off guard.

“what was that for?”

you tilt your head, and one of your hands come up to trace his lower lip.

“i do kiss these as well, no?”

a low, strange sound escapes him, a little similar to a low laugh.

you shift your attention upward again, this time toward the smaller eyes beneath his main pair.

you‘ve always found them quite interesting.

carefully, you brush your thumb beneath one. “so you can see from them as well?”

“obviously.”

you continue to examine him shamelessly.

the shape of his face, then the markings crossing his cheeks. the extra eyes.. the sharp angles of his features.

every detail. every part others fear— you love looking at them, love memorizing them.

when you finally look up, sukuna is already looking at you, a little amusement written over his expression.

“what’s so amusing?” you ask.

two of his hands rise, and two large palms settle against your cheeks. the contrast between his size and yours is almost comical.

“just why are you so different?” his thumb brushes across your cheek.

for a moment, neither of you speaks, then you lean forward and kiss one of the markings on his face.

“wouldn’t be here if i was like everyone else, hm?” you reason.

[voxslut3434]

heian era sukuna who destroys the entirety of your village, and then decides to spare you so he can bring you home to bear his children.

he already has a fine selection of concubines, but decides the someone he’s going to plant his seed into cannot be some prostitute. instead, he picks a poor village girl who will be too scared to be bratty with him, but pretty enough to have fun with.

and of course you’ve heard of him. all the terrifying stories of his incredible strength, of how he shows no mercy or care for any living being. so when he doesn’t kill you along with everyone else, you feel yourself wishing he did.

after letting you become accustomed to your new life, now with warm water and soft bed sheets, silky kimonos and meat every night for dinner, sukuna finally decides it’s time you start getting used to him.

uraume knocks on your room one night after your bath, summoning you to the lords chambers. a surge of panic and dread washes over you, knowing that this is the end of sukunas generosity, that now he will kill you for a sacred rotation, or ravage you to death.

with your fresh kimono, adorned with red and white patterns, you make your way to his chambers. knocking only twice before he calls you in, he lays in the middle of his giant bed. his imposing figure, inky, bulky, and double-limbed makes you want to turn around and scream. you urge yourself to move, to live.

the closer you get, the more you see just how naked he is, only covered by his sheets that fail to hide the outline of his…..

you avert your gaze, face reddening. you had never been with a man before, only heard stories from your friends and gossip of your village. he doesn’t comment, only speaking in his deep, powerful voice.

“you married?”

“n-no, my lord.”

“a vestal?”

“i-i-i do not know what t-that is-“

“are you a virgin?” he interrupts, face and voice blank of any understanding or sympathy.

you pause, swallowing nervously.

“yes, my lord.”

he nods, his thoughts confirmed. he sighs deeply, leaning back on his bed.

“you may leave.”

you turn, eager to get away from him when suddenly he clears his throat.

“excuse me? have you forgotten to bow to your king?”

you nearly gasp, quickly turning around to bow, nearly touching to ground in hopes that he will not anger.

finally, you are able to escape his room, but not before he smirks at your skittish behavior.

he can’t wait to break you in, and maybe give you a ring while he’s at it.

[queefburgglar69]

I think we're alone now.

ᢉ𐭩 husband!miguel o hara/wife!reader

.ᐟ cw: oral sex (f receiving), no penetration, fluff :D

Masterlist

Gabriella was finally tucked into bed, sound asleep. You and Miguel had hosted her seventh birthday party at home—a children’s party. It felt more like running a daycare than a celebration: a kid trying to blow out Gabriella’s candles, parents who couldn’t care less about their child in the bounce castle, a few broken glasses, and of course, the noise. There wasn’t a single second of silence from 1 p.m. until nearly midnight.

It wasn’t just the children who annoyed you. It was also the single mothers trying to hit on your husband. Miguel would’ve been dismissive—borderline rude—but he was too nice in front of kids. A bittersweet thing, really. So when the two of you took the mic, you made sure everyone saw the way he held your waist, how easily you had him wrapped around your finger.

You had to assert dominance somehow.

Even after the party, quiet was still a myth. Gabriella’s excitement filled the cluttered living room as she opened her presents and played with a few of them. Eventually, mercifully—exhaustion took over. While you helped her get ready for bed, Miguel gathered her gifts and arranged them in her room.

Now came the fun part: cleaning up.

You handled indoor duty while he took care of the landfill you called a garden, sneaking glances at him whenever he hauled heavy tables and bags of trash—the veins in his forearms more pronounced than usual. He could be a garbage man and you’d shave your whole body for garbage day.

The front door closed as you washed the dishes. “That was the last of it.” His sleeves were rolled up, both of you still in your birthday attire.

You gave him a soft smile. Despite your messed-up hair, wrinkled dress, and sweaty forehead, he still thought you were the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on.

He came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, trailing kisses from your shoulder to your neck. His stubble tickled your skin.

“I’m all sweaty and gross,” you laughed, rinsing the last few glasses.

“So?” he murmured into your neck. “I love gross. Disgust me, please.”

His breath against your skin sent a jolt straight through your brain.

“Later. Let me finish this.”

He straightened, resting his chin on top of your head. “Here. Let me help you.”

He released you and took the last few dishes to rinse.

You tried to push his hand away, forgetting—again—that he was stronger than you. “No, no. This is my duty.”

“Ay,” he dismissed lightly. “Is it bad I want to help, mi vida?”

You rolled your eyes and let him.

The sound of running water filled the finally quiet kitchen, the peaceful presence of each other settling in.

“I saw you flirting with that woman,” you teased, grinning.

He huffed, unfazed, focusing on the dishes. “That woman who looked like she’d had too much fun with the spray tan?”

You chuckled. “You are so mean.”

“You know I only know how to flirt with you.”

“So if you did know how to flirt, you’d do it with someone else?”

“No.”

“Really.”

“Yes.”

“M’kay.”

He smiled and kissed the top of your head. A decade of marriage had trained him well for moments like this. You liked to poke, to test how far you could go—but he’d endured worse and come out tranquil on the other side.

You finished washing your hands, and Miguel handed you a towel.

“I’m so tired,” he said, leaning against the counter.

“But you did a great job. You’re amazing.”

You dried your hands. “We did a great job. You were amazing too, papá.”

His ears burned like he was still twenty-something.

“You should get ready for bed.”

He pushed himself off the counter and stepped closer. “Oh, but I’m not tired.”

You squealed when he grabbed a handful of your ass, lips pressing into your collarbone. “I still have time for cake.”

“But it’s not your birthday.”

“You’re worth celebrating every day.”

“You’re just a pervert.”

With little effort, he lifted you onto the counter. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he kissed you with devotion—like you might disappear any second.

He pulled back, eyes dark. “You look-”

“Like dessert?”

“Baby, you’re the main course.”

Your eyes widened as he slowly lifted your dress, hands rubbing your thighs with that smug smile.

“Miguel-” you grabbed the hem of his shirt. “I haven’t washed yet.”

“Great. More flavor.”

His grin turned predatory as he dropped to his knees, pulling you closer to the edge of the counter. You tried to close your thighs—embarrassed despite how many times you’d done this.

Miguel knew better. You never wanted him to stop.

He rested your legs on his shoulders, revealing your damp panties.

“Don’t close your legs,” he warned, smirking. “Or I’ll stop.”

“A-asshole.”

“Cállate. I don’t want to hear a sound unless you’re moaning my name when you cum. ¿Entiendes?”

You nodded as he slid your panties off, your slick heat exposed.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “You know how hard I’ve been since I saw you in that dress?”

You squirmed when he slipped a finger inside, curling it just right. Your head fell back, eyes closing, his thick curls brushing in between your fingers.

“Gabriella’s going to have a little sibling.”

He added a second finger easily, working them in rhythm. The wet sounds and your dangerous moans were music to him.

You clutched his hair tighter when his mouth closed around your clit, tongue circling as your back arched. His stubble tickling your thighs.

His other hand slid up, pulling down the neckline of your dress to toy with your breasts, fingers teasing your nipples.

He pulled back just to look at you.

“Can you get pregnant again?” he asked, hands still working. “Miss sucking that milk.”

Your mind was gone. You nodded desperately, tugging him closer to your pussy like some sick pervert.

That was all the answer he needed.

Your moans grew louder, dangerously so, but neither of you cared.

“Miguel- fuck-"

Your orgasm hit before your words finished. He didn’t stop, working you through it as your body shook and your grip tightened.

When you finally came down, he pulled away, licking his fingers clean and putting it inside you to lick more of your slick, not wanting to waste a drop.

Then he looked up at you.

“Can I fuck a baby into you now?”

a/n: can’t find the artist for the Miguel fanart :(

[chemicalover]

sweet bf!sam winchester. headcanons. ₊ ⊹

⊹ ࣪ ˖ sam loves to buy you gifts each time you stop at a gas station. it can go from a funny looking plush, to your favorite snacks, or a book he thought you'd enjoy reading.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ his jacket collection started growing as you got together, some of them are gifts, and others are duplicates. he purposely bought some of them twice, just so that each time you steal one from him, he'll match with you by wearing the other one.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ sam absolutely adores pet names, especially coming from you. he loves to call you baby or honey, but your name will always be his favorite word. hearing you call him by those same names always make the cutest smile appear on his lips.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ words of affirmations and physical touch are his favorite love languages. he can sit you down and tell you how much you mean to him, how much of an impact you have on him, and he'll do it for hours if he has to. even when he trips over his tongue, he always manages to tell you every single one of his thoughts and feelings when he's around you.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ whenever you're close to him, his hands will be on you. he doesn't always mean it in a possessive, or even sexual way, sam just enjoys the softness of your skin. he's also a huge waist grabber, his grip will always be on you waist each time you lean in to kiss him.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ sam is soft spoken in nature, but he his even more when he's conversing with you. even when he's angry, he never raises his voice at you, he just physically can't. instead he'll keep the same, soft tone you love so deeply.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ he puts sticky notes all around your room and on your belongings. if he's awake before you and knows he won't be here when you wake up, he'll leave notes in your bedside table, on your laptop, and even in your purse. his love notes became so frequent, you had enough to fill a jar up to the rim, and not even one duplicate can be found, each one of his notes are unique, proof of his ever-growing feelings.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ even if sam is significantly taller than most people, there's times where he wishes he could be smaller, for once. when you cuddle, he'll often ask if you'd be okay with letting him on top of you, which you always accept. sam would then carefully ly his whole weight on you, settle his head on you chest, and put his caring arms around your waist, sighing loudly in contentment.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ sam cherishes each one of the moments he's lucky enough to share with you. if he ever finds himself enjoying something while you're away, he'll bring it up to whoever's around him, grinning as he explains how everything is suddenly better when you're here.

request. masterlist.

[multific]

Keep reading

[hotpinklaces]

Had monstrous art block but then I watched predator badlands, and I wish Kwei was in it for a little longer ughh

[noelan1]

why is it either Y/N is a doormat or their a feisty bitch

[naturesqueen23]

Bad Decisions Werewolf Miguel O'Hara

Summary: After getting lost in the woods a wolf leads you to a cabin where you come face to face with its cocky owner. Wanting nothing more than to get warm, and sleep(and to wipe that smirk off his face) you suggest a game that none of you want to lose.

Tags: Miguel being cocky, Miguel is a werewolf shifter(he's only a werewolf for like the first 5 seconds), banterrrrr, smut with no plot Tags for smut: first one to finish losses(ifykyk), p in v, both acting uninterested when they are 4.1k words

A/N: I wanted to try a new smut prompt and I needed to write something with no plot. This is pure smut not sure if I'll do another smut scene like this but there's a first for everything! Enjoy lovelies<33

Masterlist

•°~°•

Go hiking they say.

It will be fun, they said.

Whoever told you that deserves to be put down because here you are 3 hours later off-trail with your clothes sticking to your skin.

Of course, Mother Nature decided now would be the perfect time to rain cats and dogs while you have no umbrella, no poncho, no nothing. 

Hopefully, you can keep walking till you can find the rescue hut. Granted you are way off course but what else can you do? 

Using your flashlight to see what's in front of you you stop dead in your tracks when you come face to face with a wolf. The wolf has dark brown fur and brown eyes but when it notices you before you have the chance to back away their eyes turn red and it begins to growl.

You slowly back away from it. “Whoa, easy girl I’m just passing through” Putting your hands up in surrender the wolf stalks towards you with a noticeable limp. Maybe if you’ll help it it’ll leave you alone?

Bad Decision Number 1?

Subtly all while backing away you dig into your backpack for your first aid kit. Slowly you stop walking and sink to the wet ground.

“I come in peace wolf let me help you” It lets out another whimper before falling to the ground. Its breathing begins to grow heavy and you watch as its eyes dart to you and then to the first aid kit in your hands.

Slowly you inch forward on your knees closing the distance between you and the wolf before gently stroking its fur. “It's okay girl I'm just going to help” Although the rain is obscuring your vision you ignore it grabbing alcohol pads to clean out the cut. The wolf lifts its head as it growls at you once the alcohol touches its skin but then it relaxes.

Once you're done bandaging its leg you give it a gentle rub before walking away. But before you can get too far you hear it following close behind you. “Oh no I don't know where I'm going you'll just be lost as I am” The Wolf makes a sound that sounds close to a scoff. You don't know why you're still talking to it it's not like it can understand you.

The wolf begins to walk in front of you and you decide to follow. You honestly don't think that it will lead you to the rest of its pack to get eaten right?

It leads you to a wooden house that looks like a cabin. The porch light is still on but the lights inside are not. You look at the house warily what if it's some killer's house? An axe murderer could be living here for all you know but the wolf seems like it knows the owner. 

Reluctantly you sit on the floor of the porch resting your head and back on the house. A sigh escapes your lips as the sudden urge to cry washes over you. The wolf seems to notice because it walks and takes a seat next to you but it grumbles the whole time as if it rather be doing anything else but sit here with you.

Bringing your knees to your chest you hug them in hopes of gathering some warmth. Resting your head on your knees you fight the urge to stay awake. Sleeping on some random person's porch next to a big scary dog seems insane but what other choice do you have?

 You run your fingers through the wolf's wet fur. “Can you be my guard dog while I sleep, Wolfy?” It lets out another huff and you take that as a yes. You find yourself falling asleep with a smile.

•°~°•

Miguel waits until your breathing has slowed and you're no longer stroking his wet fur to get up. He wasn't expecting to get attacked by a neighboring pack but he also wasn't expecting you to help him either. 

The only thing he could think of was leading you back to his place in hopes of offering you some shelter. Making sure that you're sleeping he switches back into his human form before entering the house. He gathers some things that he thinks you may need like a shirt, pants, and a towel. If he leaves you sleep out there he's sure you'll catch pneumonia or something.

He would just bring you in the house and lay you in one of his spare rooms but the last thing he wants to deal with is a scared and angry woman when you realize a random man has brought you into his home.

•°~°•

You begin to stir when you feel something nudging your side. You're not sure how long you've slept for but it's clearly not enough. You peak open your eyes only to find a tall man standing a few feet away from you on your right. He's using a long branch to poke you. Suddenly becoming aware of your surroundings and the situation that you're in both eyes shoot open causing you to sit up straight.

“Who are you?”

He drops the branch tossing it into the woods. “I'm the owner of this house who are you?”

“I just—wait have you seen a huge brown wolf? She was here before I fell asleep”

“It's a he and he wandered off when I came out to see who was on my porch…but he'll be back”

You nod suddenly feeling sad that the wolf left you here but nonetheless you hope she’s okay. “Now I have a fresh set of clothes and a cup of tea waiting for you do you want it or not?”

“Any woman knows better than to seek shelter from a random man in the woods. How do I know you're not going to kill me?”

He rolls his eyes before folding his hands on his chest. “Because I would've done it while you were sleeping”

You stare at him dumbfounded before inching further away from him. He lets out a sigh as he runs his hands over his face. “That was a joke you were supposed to laugh”

“Well you're very awful at telling jokes”

“Yes, I can see that. Listen I promise I won't hurt you just come inside or take the towel. You've helped my friend—the wolf so it's only right that I help you. But the choice is yours”

You stare at him warily. Befriending a man who's friends with a wolf isn't ideal either. But he doesn't look threatening and he's right if he wanted to kill you or hurt you he would've done it already or maybe he just like his victims awake.

Ugh whatever you don't have any other options but finding your way to the rescue hut in the cold. Plus you're shivering and you're uncomfortably wet. Your hair is sticking to your face and you're sure it's sticking out in all types of directions because shrinkage is a girl's worst enemy.

Bad Decision Number 2?

“Fine, just don't kill me or I'll haunt you for the rest of your life” He nods, holding out a hand for you to take and you oblige. When he pulls you up he lets go and begins to dig into his pocket for something.

You watch with guarded eyes as he hands you a card. You look at it as you walk into his cabin. It's his ID.

“Just so you can feel safer. You can take a picture of it and send it to a loved one or something” You give him your thanks and look it over. He's 35 which makes him a decade older than you and his name is Miguel O’Hara. 

Hmmm, this sounds promising enough. You can't help it as your eyes linger on his picture. Objectively he is handsome he does have a scar above his lip but apart from that he has a sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and plump lips. 

“The clothes are on the couch and the bathroom is the third door to the right” His voice stops you from ogling his picture any further. Clearing your throat you say, “Thanks O’Hara I'll go do that then”

•°~°•

In the bathroom you snoop around to make sure he seriously isn't a serial killer but nothing stands out to you. Eager to get out of these wet clothes you dry yourself off and put on what you're assuming is his clothes. A shirt that's way too big and sweatpants that you have to roll up at the hips 4 times so it doesn't drag on the floor.

When you emerge from the bathroom with wet clothes in hand he tells you where to hang it up. You sit on one of the couches checking your phone for any damage but find none. You tell your friends of your current situation and share your location and a picture of his ID just to be on the safe side. When you're done you watch as his arms bulge against his white shirt while he cooks something up on the stove.

After you drink some tea you opt to sleep on the couch instead of one of his spare rooms while he goes to take a shower. As you watch him leave you can't help but notice the blood-soaked bandage on his left arm. How did he get that? 

When you curl up on the couch trying to get some sleep you toss and turn but nothing seems to work. No matter how much you curl yourself into a ball you just can't get the proper warmth that you need. You need body heat. This blanket is not enough. 

You can't go to sleep like this so you have no choice but to find him. But before you can you hear footsteps coming down the hall. His eyes roam over you before he lets out a laugh.

“Is my suffering funny to you?”

“Yes it is, I'm guessing you can't fall asleep?”

“No, I cannot no matter what I can't get warm”

“One of the best ways of getting warm is sharing body heat with another” 

“Yes, I'm aware. I think you've already proved to me that you aren't going to kill me so care to share body heat with me?”

He shrugs before sitting down on the couch opposite of you. You don't know how you didn't notice it from before but he is shirtless his hair is dripping wet and he has sweatpants hanging loosely at his hips. You can't help but take note of the happy trail that's practically staring at you from afar. 

When you bring your eyes back up to his face he looks at you with a knowing smirk. He definitely saw you checking him out.

“Well if you want something then come here and get it” He pats his thighs before spreading them. You narrow your eyes as you stare at him. He knows exactly what he's doing. But once again what choice do you have? Besides you wouldn't mind sitting on a man's lap especially if he looks like that.

God, you're just full of bad decisions today, aren't you?

Slowly you get up and instead of resting your ass on him, you rest it on the couch allowing your legs to hang over his thighs.

“That wasn't so hard now, was it?” You roll your eyes before tucking your chin under the duvet suddenly feeling shy.

“You'll have to open up the cover to share body heat with me” Heistaintly you lift your arm to let him in. You don't know why you're so reluctant you brought up this idea. When his hands duck under the duvet you feel him place a hand under your knees and around your waist. Without any warning, he drags you forward till you're sitting on his lap. You gasp as you feel your arm grazing his chest hair not to mention the hair on his arms too.

“Jeez you're hairy”

“That crazy coming from someone who needs me to touch them”

“I said you're hairy not that I want you to stop touching me. I don't mind it”

He raises his eyebrows as he looks down at you. “Just go to sleep” You lay your head on his chest because where else are you going to rest your head? “You don't want to have a conversation with me?”

“Nope”

“Can I ask what you do?”

“That will mean I'll have to conversate with you no?”

“I'm already in your arms wearing your clothes we can't get closer than this” Silence falls between you because you most definitely think of other ways you guys can get closer but of course, you weren't suggesting doing any of that with him.

“I didn't mean-”

“Go to sleep” You let out a sigh before you let sleep take you.

•°~°•

Some time later you have the urge to stretch your legs and seek warmth although you are warm you're not warm enough and it's making you restless. You begin to move around but to no avail can you get comfortable. 

“Stop moving before you create an even bigger problem for yourself” You open your eyes to find his close. “Oh don't be so full of yourself. You're uncomfortable to sit on actually I think I have enough body heat from you already I'll just-”

His arms tighten around you and then finally he opens his eyes. “It's only been 30 minutes and trust me I rather be in my own bed right now” You begin to squirm on his lap but you're forced to stop the second you feel it.

The second you feel him.

You feel him pressing right below your ass and you can't believe you're saying this but he's right you have bigger things to worry about. The room is so quiet the only thing that can be heard is the sound of the forest that rests right outside these doors.

“You um–”

“Yeah, I know I can feel it too” You roll your eyes, wanting more than anything to get off his lap. But you just can't stay warm. The only option that you can think of requires you to share more than just body heat with the guy and for some reason, presenting that option to him doesn't seem half as bad.

You've had one-night stands before this is nothing new to you. But you can't lie and say it has been a while. If you ask him this he can either turn you down completely or accept your proposition. Since neither of you wants to be stuck on this couch together any longer.

“I have a proposition. Since both of us would rather be in our own beds let's play a little game so I can stop shivering like a wet dog”

He looks at you questionably. “And what do I get when I win?”

“You're too cocky and it's a win-win situation. The first one to cum loses but no hands. If I win I'll most likely be warm again and sleep comfortably. If you win you can go back to your own bed with a boost to your ego that you made a complete stranger orgasm” A beat passes before he's leaning his head back with a sigh.

“Esta mujer es muy loca”

You don't understand a single word he just said. “Is that a yes?”

“I'm beginning to think I should've left you on the porch” You move on his lap again to remind him of his raging boner that's beneath you and he lets out a hiss.

“Now do we have a deal?”

He stares at you for a second as he analyzes your face as if to catch any lies. Before he responds he grips your chin with his index and thumb and pulls you closer to him.

“You'll stop being a brat after this?”

You smile. “You won't even know that I'm here”

He caves in pulling your face closer to his just when you think he's going to kiss you he turns your head at the last second to bite your neck.

You know better than to let any sound escape so swallow down the gasp that was seconds away from leaving your lips and place your hands on his chest. 

Miguel glances down at your hands. “That's cheating”

“Oh please surely you wouldn't cum just because I touched your chest” He grunts in response and makes you straddle him with his strong arms gripping your waist. 

“Condom?”

That makes him pause. “Fuck I don't know”

“Well, find one or this game is over. I may have made dumb decisions tonight but this will not be one of them” Without warning he picks you up with his hands resting on your bottom forcing you to hold the duvet.

He brings you to his bedroom and he rummages around in his drawer. A whole minute passed by before he could finally get one. You have never seen that type of packaging before and given that he's a man that lives in the woods it's probably expired.

“Condoms don't work if it's expired” He checks the packaging before sitting down on the bed. “Good thing there's one month left before that happens” Not wanting to waste any more time you peel off the sweats along with your panties and he follows suit. 

The second his cock springs free you want to walk away. Just looking at the girth of it you'll know he'll have no problem making you cum but that's the opposite of what you want. 

A shiver courses through your body and you're suddenly reminded of why you're doing this. 

“Hurry up so I can win”

You roll your eyes as he slips on the condom and you begin to straddle him once more. You can't wait to wipe the smile off his face when he loses.

Grabbing him by the base he lifts up your shirt so you both can stare as you guide him to your entrance. Greedily your cunt takes him inch by inch occasionally having to stop when you feel pain. But you don't stop till you're bottoming out. Once you're full of him you rest a hand on his abdomen to stabilize yourself.

As you begin to move you don't stop till only the tip is left and you slam back down on him. You let out a sharp gasp as the sudden feeling of being full again takes you by surprise.

“I'll give you 5 minutes tops before I'll have you cumming all over my cock” 

“Dream on” Solely relying on your feet you begin to bounce on him creating a slow but steady pace. The duvet is over your shoulders and Miguel is leaning against the headboard with one hand still holding up your shirt and the other behind him. His expression is stone cold but yet his eyes haven't left the spot where your bodies are joined together.

“You seem to be enjoying this you can't look away” You tease and almost immediately he drops the shirt but you don't miss the subtle twitch in his jaw. Your eyes lock and you hold his stare cause like hell you'll be the first one to look away.

The longer you stare the more intimate this all begins to feel. When your knees begin to burn you decide to switch tactics and begin to grind into him. Making sure to keep your clit away from rubbing on his pelvis so there's no added friction. You smile with satisfaction the second you watch his breathing pick up. When he realizes you make note of that he rolls his eyes and lifts back up your shirt.

1+ points for you

0 points for Miguel 

“At least let me watch I don't know when's the next time I'll get a pretty girl like you begging me to warm her up with my cock”

“I didn't beg, I asked and it worked out in your favor didn't it?”

He shrugs before yawning and you hate that you can't tell if it was a real one or not. “Is that all you got?” He's only taunting you, there's no need to let it get to your head but he makes it so easy. He's just a random attractive man who lives in the middle of the woods and has a pet wolf and he's so cocky it pisses you off.

“I would like to say you've been a pretty little pillow princess since we started. You can help too”  Before you can say anything else he grabs your hands and rests them on his shoulders pulling you forward then resting them on your ass. He begins to fuck you from below his hips moving with such force your body jerks with each movement. 

His grunts whisper in your ear as if he's trying very hard to conceal it. You stare into each other's eyes with your faces mere inches apart as you both breathe in each other's air.

 Your breathing picks up as you begin to feel the familiar pressure forming in a small pit of your stomach.

Fuck him and his big dick for making you feel like this. You're now biting your bottom lip to conceal your moans.

1+ points for Miguel

0 points for you

“I finally got you to shut up huh?”

Your plan to sound as unfazed as possible goes right down the drain as soon as you open your mouth. “N-Not a chance”

His voice comes out breathy, he's panting now you realize. “Just admit that you bit off more than you can chew”

“Fuck you”

“I'm doing it right now” 

“Let's play another game first one to kiss-”

This time his groan is filled with annoyance. “No más juegos no más”

You look at him questionly as he speaks in what you're assuming is Spanish. His eyes are closed and a coat of sweat glistens on your forehead you're guessing he doesn't have long before he's losing this game.

You decide to tease him even more. “Don't tell me you're the type to switch languages when you're cumming” Without warning he flips you until you're on your back pinning your hands above your head and his pace quickens with the new angle.

Your eyes widen at the sudden change. “I-If you keep going at that pace—we'll both lose”

“So what is it that you want pretty? Should I fuck you nice and slow so you can feel me slowly stretching you out inch by inch?” Painfully he slows the pace giving you long and wonderful strokes he's right you can feel him inch by inch.

With the combination of his slow movements and your heavy pants filling the air you know that neither of you has long. The intimacy of your situation has been growing this whole night and now it's finally threatening to spill over.

His hips come to a stop as if he's thinking of the same thing you are. It's not until his eyes dart to your lips that you know officially that he’s lost.

“Fuck it, I was already damned the second I felt your cunt gripping my cock”

Miguel smashes his lips to yours giving you fierce lashings with his tongue. His hands thread through your curls that are no longer soaking wet and your hands rest at the base of his neck.

He breaks the kiss only to resume his vigorous pace from before. 

“You're going to cum with me instead ain't that right pretty?” You can't help it; you nod eagerly to his words as you allow yourself to fully get lost in the pleasure that your body is feeling. You moan as he begins to hit that perfect spot. He leans forward with your legs in his hands to bite your bottom lip.

“Louder I wanna hear your moan f’me”  His hips begin to stutter as he reaches in between you to rub your bundle of nerves. “Carajo” He whispers and within 4 strokes his moans reach your ears as he cums and a second when stars begin to dance in your vision you follow suit. You squeeze his hand with your thighs in hopes that he’ll stop and you're grateful that he does but for a second you swear his eyes turn red. 

You both lie there with sex and your heavy breathing fills the air. When he rests his forehead on yours you don’t give him the chance to relish in this blissful state. “I won” you whisper against his lips. The laugh he lets out almost makes you smile but you already gave him the satisfaction of making you orgasm you just can’t give him another one.

“I thought we called it off the second I folded you in half”

“You called it off I said nothing” He rolls his eyes and slowly pulls out making you feel oh so empty.

“You feeling warm yet?” You sit up on your elbows as you take note of his shirt sticking to your skin because of the line of sweat that coats your skin.

“Well, what do you think?”

[cherryredstars]

Pairing : Miguel O'Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Penetrative Sex, Cum Play, Reader is Slightly Intoxicated, Revenge Sex, Mean Miguel, No Aftercare

A/N: Written for a request. Thank you, love!

Unedited

The moment he sees you he knows it’s you.

Sure, you’re not as slim as you were before and not as loud and obnoxious, but you still as fucking stunning as you were back in high school. Something about that gets him pissed, scowling every time he spots you at Alchemax’s front desk or in the halls with papers or coffee. It doesn’t help that you’re actively avoiding him, sharply turning when you spot him and scurrying away.

Like you’re still too good for him.

He’s always imagined that he would get his revenge on you by embarrassing you in front of a large crowd of people or getting you fired from your pathetic job when he was younger. But he never would have imagined he could get it another way. Not until he’s going to the break room and he hears your little chatter with your work friends, a little bashful confession on how attractive you think Miguel is tumbling from your soft lips.

So after a work party, when you’re a little too tipsy and in need of a ride home, Miguel can’t refuse taking you back to your place and getting his revenge.

Miguel groans as he watches you, large hands gripping your waist as he bullies his cock into you. You let out the prettiest mewls and whimpers, sounds his high school self could never imagine you making because of him. Your hands claw at his chest, burning marks dragging across his skin and making his dick twitch. His eyes don’t know where to look, stuck between the stupid look on your fucked out face, your bouncing tits that are begging to be sucked on, or your gaping cunt that takes him in so greedily. He settles for studying your face, a mean smile on his face as his large palm slaps against your tits and making you whine.

He coos softly at you, disguising the cruel words he says. Calling you a stupid slut and a pathetic whore in the tones of a lullaby that has your head reeling and your cunt fluttering. Miguel grunts as your walls clamp around him, the tacky sound of your wetness increasing in volume as you gush around his cock. If he was a meaner person, he would record you riding his dick so prettily and post it to all of your socials, but Miguel finds a bit more satisfaction knowing you’ll have to live with the silent knowledge you let that nerdy loser from high school fuck you so good that you’re left daydreaming about him and his cock.

You moan out his name, and Miguel grits his teeth together as his cock jumps at how pretty it sounds falling from your pretty lips. Miguel growls as his thumb falls to your tiny clit, pinching meanly at it as you gasp and squirm in his lap. He chuckles as your body locks, a pretty cry floating out of you as he fucks you through a body shaking orgasm. You twitch in his hands, eyes rolled back as he chases his own high with punishing thrusts that are sure to bruise your cervix. He makes sure to press right against its opening as hot spurts of his seed shoot into you, a frothy ring of white forming around his cock as a combination of your cum drip from your stuffed cunt.

You’re on the verge of passing out when he leaves, pulling out of you and dumping you on your bed. A sticky mess of his cum is still splatter against your thighs, sheets crumbled and your thighs already starting to ache. You don’t even have energy to fight him when he dips his fingers into you, using the thick load to spell his name on your pulsing clit before he gets dressed and leaves you alone in your apartment.

Was this a punishment or a prize?

[madamechrissy]

★·.·´¯·.·★ 🎀 𝓲 𝓫𝓾𝓻𝓷 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝔂𝓸𝓾 🎀★·.·¯´·.·★

patreon ♡︎ basic rules ♡︎ ao3 ♡︎ series rec list ♡︎ oneshot rec list ♡︎ commissions ♡︎ blog recs ♡︎ alt account

about me - 🎀 𝒸𝒽𝓇𝒾𝓈𝓈𝓎 🎀 - she/her - 90's baby - JJK/LADS writer - I am mostly a smut blog and also tend to lean toward the yandere, so plz don't interact if you're not comfy with those topics!

art in this is a comm from @levitonin of me and my duke hehe <3

𝓶𝔂 𝓵𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓼𝓽 𝓼𝓸𝓷𝓷𝓮𝓽𝓼

You belong with me - football! gojo x band geek! reader - ch 5, 6k Magic Lessons - gojo x Qifrey x reader - 3k Dopamine - kuna x reader x toru - pt 8 -9k veiled secrets - emperor gojo x reader - pt 8 make me juno - best friend! gojo x reader - 8.1k Ricochet - ch 7 - yan gojo x professor reader

I send love letters to my one true lovvee Duke Gojo -- but sometimes I'm a harlott and visit Sukuna, Suguru, Nanami, Choso, Hiromi and Toji, you can find them here-

Jujutsu Kaisen Fics

I love my yandere obessed Colonol Caleb and I also adore my dragon Sylus you can find them here!

Love and Deepspace Fics

I also am doing your favorite x reader over here where you can imagine whoever you'd like to!-

Patreon Exclusive Stories

other poems for - qifrey <3 More Qifrey <3 qifrey/gojo <3 Eren <3 Levi <3

JJK crossover event 2026 here

Object! Gojo event 2026 here

Kinktober 2025 here

© 2024-2026 All works made by madamechrissy you may not reproduce or translate to any platform, or feed to any AI platform/create them into bots

[kissitbttr]

miguel o’hara writings (fem!readers)

one. he likes seeing you wear his clothes

two. dirty pictures of you that he keeps

three. babying miguel

four. your ex boyfriend doesn’t get the hint

five. he won’t take the wedding ring off

six. you have a fight

seven. loving him still despite his past

eight. asking him a stupid question in the middle of the night

nine. riding miguel in his office

ten. you tell him you like him

eleven. miguel and his girl’s princess attitude

twelve. cake testing with miguel

thirteen. christmas with miguel

asks from you <3

i. miguel being babied by his pregnant wife

ii miguel’s favorite looks and colors on his wife

iii. short dbf!miguel

frat!miguel

married!miguel (coming soon)

[naturesqueen23]

The Fates That Tie Miguel O'Hara x Fated Mate PT 1

Summary: Miguel believes that his mate doesn't want him. And you believe that your mate is dead. What happens when the truth comes to light in an awful situation forcing him to hold you captive at HQ?

Tags: Hero Miguel x Villian, Fated Mates, enemies to lovers, this is Hero x Villian so yes they engage in physical combat, and yes they both get hurt(physically & mentally) by each other, vulgar language, misunderstood villain(ehhh sometimes), mentions of child death, mentions of sexual assault, reader also has an AI assistant, surprised pregnancy(later on) 6.1k words

A/N: This takes place in Spiderverse and also has some of the backstory from Comic Miguel O'Hara as well. Because if I'm correct ATSV Miguel and Comic Miguel are a little different. Feel free to correct me if I'm wrong on anything lovelies. For those that asked for Hero Miguel x Villian this one is for you!

Enjoy<333

****** Mentioning of Sexual Assault

Masterlist

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

•°~°•

Teenage years

Miguel first felt his bond awakening at the ripe age of 15. He was ecstatic it gave him something to live for, something to look forward to. It gave him a newfound purpose to live for because, in 8 years' time, he would find you.

Wherever and whoever you are.

Once he knew that his mate was alive, he read up on all that he could find on the topic of mates. His house was a lost cause, so he went to the library to read articles online. He found online forums where people would talk about the amazing feeling of meeting their mates for the first time and how fun it is to know what they're feeling at all times. The older you get, the stronger the feelings become. The more your desire and need grow for them.

It's weird craving someone you know nothing about. 

He endured all of the abuse from his father knowing that it would all be worth it in the end.

Or at least he thought it was.

It was until he changed…he was accidentally genetically changed into a fucking spider.

Out of all things a Spider? Why him? Out of all fucking people why him?

He has a mate, he has a plan. He wanted to be no scratch that he needed to be a perfect man for his love. This—this problem makes him less than perfect. He has to subdue himself with Rapture in order to prevent himself from losing control. In order to keep calm. The second he misses a shot the effects are immediate. How is he supposed to be a father? How is he supposed to be a partner when he’s like this?

*****

Adult years

He felt you. 

He felt you sleeping with another. 

He’s older now so your feelings are more strong. It's easier to dissect your feelings, it's easier to understand them. But somehow he knew it didn’t feel right….it felt like you didn’t want this. You didn’t want it to happen.

Oh god—is someone hurting you?

He hates this. He’s of age now 23 is the year that everyone usually finds their other half. Their mate. But where are you? He traveled city to city dimension to dimension and yet you’re nowhere to be found. He should be there to protect you. He should be there to make all the pain go away but he’s not. Don’t you feel him, don't you feel his need for you?

*****

Don't you feel his desire to find you?

He wonders time and time again if you are looking for him just like he’s looking for you. He wonders if he's the only one who actually wants to find his other half.

32 years old

He should've known you didn't want him. It is known that most people save themselves for their mates but he felt you time and time again sleeping with someone else. And this time there was no doubt that you were enjoying it.

How could you? It's fine he's going to get his happy ending one way or another.

34 years old

He has a daughter. Or he should just say had. He thought he could be happy. He found out another version of himself had a daughter. And oh how he desperately wanted to be a father. He wanted it so badly. He was happy for some time. With his daughter, he was able to forget all about you well he tried to anyway. Everything was fine, perfect even.

Until he lost his daughter.

His daughter died in his own two arms she was calling out to him while her dimension slowly slipped away. There was nothing he could do and Miguel never felt so helpless in his life. 

All of this is your fault none of this wouldn't have happened if you were here with him. If you were here he wouldn't have had the urge to search for happiness because he would already have you. He felt what it's like to be a father, have someone to love, and have someone love him back just for it to be ripped out of his hands. Just. Like. That.

Mate or not he would never forgive you for this.

Present Day 

You're jumping across the rooftops in the city of Nueva York hauling the bag of food that you stole from various restaurants over your shoulder. 

Oh and let's not forget that you have this 10ft tall Spiderman chasing after you.

“Oh for fucks sake just give it up already. Is a bag of food really that harmful?”

“Yes, it is. If you wanna get food why don't you do it like the rest of us and pay for it”

“They were going to throw it away anyways what's the difference?” You continue to jump across the rooftops but you realize all too late that you've jumped straight into a dead end. You curse under your breath and you brace yourself against a wall. Out of all the times you run into a wall why now?

“Listen maybe we can-” You have little time to react as his fist is heading straight for your face. Although you manage to duck out of the way, you don't manage to miss the punch that he aims at your stomach. For a second the air gets knocked out of your lungs and his punch alone is sending you to the floor. He turns you over and begins to tie your wrists together. Oh hell no. You send a bolt of electricity to him and he stumbles back giving you the ability to free yourself.

For a moment he's stunned and you use that as an opportunity to mess with him. 

“Over here big guy” He turns around hurling his fist where you just were and you manage to hold in a giggle.

“Too slow”

He lets out a growl and swings blindly again it’s clear that the electricity is still having an effect on him. 

“Stop. Fucking. Playing.” He insinuates each word by kicking and punching and of course with just your luck on the last swing his fist connects and this time it’s to your face. 

Fuckity fuck that’s going to leave a mark.

The asshole got you straight in the eye.

“Out of 20 hits, the Spider only manages to land 2 you’re so pathetic” You can only see in one eye. So who's really the pathetic one?

“And you’re nothing but a piece of gum on the bottom of my foot”

“Nice one, how long did it take you to plan that one?” When the bottom of his mask disengages and he bares his sharp-ass teeth you know it’s time for you to leave.

“Play times over Spidey. Until next time” You salute and zap your way out of there.

•°~°•

Thankfully this time you don't land on your ass you land on your feet. For some odd reason, your powers go haywire whenever you're around Spider-Man 2099 or if you’re really upset. It doesn't listen to you no matter how hard you focus. Whenever you're around him it has a mind of its own.

You quietly trudge inside to the kitchen of the Orphanage you occasionally visit from time to time. A long long time ago you were once at an Orphanage, the place that holds some of your darkest memories. Memories that you wish to forget.

Depositing the bag of food on the counter you clean your hands and begin to put the various loaves of bread, meats, and kinds of pasta that you “stole” away. You really don't consider it stealing because once again what's the point if they were going to just throw it out anyway?

When the kitchen light turns on, you don't have to turn around to see who it is. 

“Sorry Rosa, did I wake any of the kids?”

“You know you can't keep doing this. It isn't healthy but no they're sleeping”

“Rosa Rosa Rosa always so judgy. You know that this place doesn't get enough food from the city for a proper month. They could give these kids food with mold based on the quality of food they receive and we wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. 

Rosa sighs as she helps you put away the food. Silence fills the room as you both get to work. You didn't realize how much food you took. Shit, this might even last them for a month and a half. When you're both done Rosa is the first to break the silence. “Let me get a look at you”

You turn to face her disengaging your mask slowly because you know she isn't going to like what she sees. Your right eye is almost swollen shut and you're almost sure he broke a rib.

Without warning Rosa sits you down and begins to work on slowing down the swelling of your eye. “Your mate would hate to see you like this” She whispers.

“My mate is dead Rosa and you know that”

“But how are you so sure? You should look for him one more time-”

“Rosa for the love of all things holy stop it! They're dead, okay my mate is dead. Don't you think I would've felt them by now? I was supposed to feel them at 15 but I didn't. We were supposed to find each other at 23 but somehow we're both still lost. My mate is dead Rosa and nothing can change that. I'm sorry I didn't get to experience the wonderful feeling of meeting your mate for the first time as you did but please stop pitying me for it. It's pissing me off” Silence coats the air once more and for some stupid reason, the quietness is making your thoughts spin out of control.

When she puts down the cotton pad you begin to grimace here she is trying to help you and here you are yelling at her. You’re glad your mate is dead, they wouldn't have to know how horrible of a person you are.

“I'm sorry” And with that, you activate your powers so you can disappear.

•°~°•

When you land on the rooftop you and Spiderman 2099 were just fighting at and you let out a groan. For a second you forgot that your powers can only take you to the place where you last were. 

You decide to sit on the edge of the roof allowing your feet to dangle off. The sounds of the city below and the birds chirping are the only things to keep you company.

You know you're right. You know that your mate is dead. There's no other explanation as to why you haven't felt them yet. In all your years of living on this earth, you haven't felt them not once. No matter how hard you tried to reach them through your bond you always came up empty.  Tears begin to sting your eyes as you think of how differently your life would've been if you had a mate. You wouldn't have to endure the years of abuse at your old orphanage, you wouldn't be the way you are now and so much more.

Mates are one of the best things that can happen to a person in this dimension. With a mate, there's almost a 100% guarantee that you'll both live a happy life. Well according to all of the articles online at least and to almost every other conversation you heard through passing over the years.

The 4 stages of having a Mate consist of:

Feeling them in your chest at 15

Fate allows you to find them at the age of 23

Acknowledging your other half

Sealing the bond with your mate

It is known that once both Mates acknowledge and find their other half it doesn't take long for them to seal the bond. The longer you wait the more painful it becomes and there's only so little that you can do to subdue those feelings. If one does not feel their mate by the age of 15 it is believed that their mate is dead. And if on the rare occurrence that one doesn't find their mate at 23(both Mates don't have to be 23 to find each other) then fate has simply made a mistake. 

But fate doesn't make any mistakes.

So then why you?

Out of all the people in the world, why are you the only one without a mate? Is this the universe-sick version of a prank? Your anger is boiling over and since you're scared that your powers will spin out of control you raise your hand shooting out a bolt of electricity to the nearest thing that you see. You do it over and over again until your anger subsides. Until it feels so small that you're able to hide it within the depths of your mind again. Just waiting until it boils over as it does time and time again.

“Steven light up the pathway to home please” Your voice is quiet as you speak to your little AI companion. “Okay…is everything alright boss? Are you hungry? I can turn on the microwave since you have leftovers in there. It should be ready by the time you reach home” You don't have the energy to tell him no so you just nod. 

Steven is a small little guy who wears glasses just like you who appears whenever you call. You made him tall so he's 6’4…well as tall as an android can be anyway. His dark skin makes his hazel eyes pop. Since you made him have a mind of his own he decided that his long hair did not suit him. Now he's rocking a buzz cut.

“Thank you, Steven”

“For what boss?”

“For everything…thanks for everything”

•°~°•

“Lyla, what's the damage?”

“4 billboards, 10 traffic lights, and a couple of trees. The roads are blocked hence the traffic and the angry people of Nueva York because they are now late to work” Miguel groans all of this is child's play with some messed up woman who doesn't know how to control herself. He wonders what your mate might think of you doing this you probably don’t even have a mate based on the way that you’re acting. 

He felt his mate again yesterday. He thought it was the adrenaline pumping in his veins from the fight yesterday but it was actually his mate. You were really sad yesterday. He promised that he would not care about your feelings no matter how hard it would leave an ache in his chest—but he just can’t. Yesterday it felt like a ton of bricks were on his chest. It felt like you were suffocating. Miguel finds himself absentmindedly rubbing his chest as the orange screens illuminates his face. It’s been years since you broke him and yet he still finds himself looking for you in the smallest of ways. Whenever your feelings get too strong he roams the city streets aimlessly hoping that fate will pull him in your direction but it never does.

“Miguel yahoooooo earth to Miguel” He snaps out of his thoughts as Lyla appears in front of him waving a hand in order to get his attention. Dammit, he zoned out again.

“You’re thinking about her again”

“Lyla I created you to help me not to be a nuisance”

“Miguel all I’m saying is that there's nothing wrong with looking for her or him”

“It’s not a him it’s a her” He mumbles under his breath. “And how do you know that?”

“I don’t, but I’m sure it’s a her” He runs his fingers through his too-long hair. When was the last time he’d gotten a haircut? “Well I bet she’s really pretty and she has to be patient because she would have to deal with you for the rest of her life and I think she would be younger than you too-”

“Lyla” He finds himself gripping the desk.

“Oh! Would you think she has really long hair? Where would she even work I bet she has a cool job that makes her smell like roses and lavender-”

“Lyla…stop” Miguel can feel himself losing control.

“Actually scratch everything that I said about her being patient. I think she would be the complete opposite of you, more like fire and water red and blue oil and water. She would definitely know how to handle you-”

“LYLA I SAID TO FUCKING STOP” He yells using his fist slamming down on the desk the sound of things breaking fills the air and he could feel the blood trickling down his hand. He felt like he could barely breathe. He needs to get out of here.

“Lyla go to sleep” And with that, Lyla disappears and he swings out of HQ.

•°~°•

You're on your way to work because of course being a part-time Villian does not pay the bills you work at a florist shop in the morning and then you work as a chef in the evenings. The florist job you always had since you were a teenager and it just made sense that you kept it. For some odd reason, you couldn't part with it.

You hope your makeup holds up because, of course, you didn't get the sweet powers that can alter your appearance and make you look 10x prettier. 

You got electricity. 

And the ability to travel to your last location. That's probably the only pro you can identify with this power. How did you get this power, you ask?

Yeah no you don’t have any idea either. 

They said you were found on the steps of an Orphanage a few cities over at the age of 10. And no matter how hard you try you can't remember your life before that. So not only are you the girl with no family, you're the girl with weird powers, no mate, and the girl who probably was an experiment gone wrong.

Isn't fate funny?

•°~°•

Miguel doesn't know where he's going; he's just walking around aimlessly as people pass him by. Some nudge his shoulder, while others clear a passageway for him. It's clear that even without his mask, people still fear him. 

He's been out on the streets for God knows how long he needs to go back he has a job to do-

He feels you. 

He begins to scan the crowd subtly asking Lyla to pull up a report on every woman who's in the area. You're here maybe even 1,00ft away but you're here.

His fucking mate is here.

He can feel a tugging in his chest as if the bond is pulling him towards you. After all this time, why now? As he continues his search he breaks out into a light jog. He can't miss this—he can't miss finding you.

“Miguel, what's the matter? Is it your mate can you-”

“I can feel her Lyla I can feel it” He hits his chest for good measure. “H-How is that possible, have you ever felt this before?” He tries to think if he has the only time that he usually feels a tug in his chest is when he's fighting. But he always ignores it because of course he would feel something in his chest he's fighting for his life goddammit.

“Lyla help me-”

“Ummmm okay okay, how is she feeling right now? Is she happy? Sad? Angry?”

Miguel slows down allowing his feet to come to a halt and he takes a deep breath. How do you feel? He closes his eyes and tries to feel you. Maybe get a sign of anything but he comes up empty all he can feel is that tugging in his chest and now it's stronger than it ever was before”

“I don't fucking feel a thing Lyla it's like she's not feeling-” He's cut off when his feet take a step forward on their own. 

And then he sees you.

You're 5 '6, with dark hair, full lips, and a small nose. You're wearing a flowy blue dress with thin straps and sunglasses although it's cloudy today. He breathes in your scent and you walk past him. 

Lavender.

How can you not feel him? How can you walk past him and pretend that he's not even there?

He doesn't even think about it and he's moving. “Miguel don't-” He grabs your arm dragging you towards him. He knows how this might look: a tall scary man grabbing a young woman in broad daylight.

“Don't ignore me”

“What? Dude I think you have the wrong-”

“Fate is never wrong mate don’t ignore me-” You struggle to get out of his grip and it only makes him hold you tighter.

“You're fucking crazy let go of me my mate is dead”

His brain doesn't even register your words maybe he's too upset or maybe he's just in shock. “How long have you been here huh? How long have you been ignoring me?”

“Miguel stop you're hurting her-”

“Didn’t you just hear me? Let go of me right now or I'll send your ass flying you big oaf”

“You don't have the right to-”

“Too slow” 

•°~°•

You send a bolt of electricity to his leg and you swear you only meant it to be a little zap to scare him off but instead, you send him flying knocking him into the nearest wall. Well, shit.

Everyone turns to look at you and a few take out their phone shit shit shit you didn't want this. You don't even have your suit on and you really don't need people figuring out your true identity.

You quickly begin to walk away. If your powers are going haywire that means that Spiderman 2099 is nearby. Fuck you really didn't want to deal with him today. You break out into a sprint before the whispers can start. Needing to rely on Steven you ask him to find you a nearby alleyway so you can zap yourself back home.

•°~°•

He had you he fucking had you and then he lost you. Oh, the irony he wants nothing to do with you, and yet he's upset that he didn't get you.

His mate has powers.

His mate zapped him.

His mate….shit that was his mate. He felt you he felt the bond reaching out to you, he felt the pull and yet you acted as if you felt nothing. So damn disrespectful. How can you pretend you didn't feel the connection when he touched you? The tugging in his chest is gone but the image of you in his head still remains. 

He has the answer to his main question: Where is his mate? But now that leads to a whole nother can of worms. Why does he feel the tug when he's fighting Spark and why did he just feel it with you?

Unless you and Spark are….

It makes no sense he touches Spark all the time and he's never felt that way.

“It usually happens with skin-to-skin contact. I'm guessing her suit is built in a similar form to yours so none of you will feel anything unless you don't have the suit on….or unless you're both naked. But you missed when she said her mate is dead”

He groans, placing his head in his hands as he begins to stand. “No Lyla no puedo mas—I can't deal with you in my head today” Lyla nods and holds her head down as an apology.

He takes a deep breath. “When did she say that?”

“The second you grabbed her. Her mate is dead Miguel you got the wrong girl” Miguel ducks into an alleyway ignoring all the whispers that are in his direction. His suit engages and he uses his webs to swing away. “But I felt her Lyla right here” He hits his chest again and he hits it hard enough as if to check that he can still feel.

“I'm so sorry Miguel but I really think you got the wrong girl” Miguel hangs his head down low as he swings back to HQ. He hates that it hurts. He hates that after everything you put him through, he's still trying to find you.

Fate is so stupid.

•°~°•

You arrived at work an hour late thanks to that weirdo on the street. Trust you understand that this dimension is solely focusing on finding their mates but did he really have to grab you like that? The loser left a purple and blue bruise on your arm. Just another one of your fighting trophies's apparently. First, it's the black eye, the fractured rib, and then a bruise on your arm. What's next, your elbow?

If you had on your suit—your shield, your protection none of this would've happened. 

Although you usually give ‘Spark’ a cool down so you won't have them damn Spiders hot on your tail all the time you really need to let out your pent-up energy…yet again.

•°~°•

Miguel was a wreck all day; he couldn't focus on anything. Not the fate of the multiverse, not HQ nothing. All he could think about is his damn mate. Who she is, Who she isn’t. If she wants him, if she doesn’t. To be or not to be. He hates everything about this. Every second every minute if only he had a way to change this.

Once again like always he’s in his office staring at these damn orange screens. He created damn near everything that is in this place and yet he gets tired of seeing it each day. He’s glued to these screens he has no choice but to be. How many times does he have to reiterate the fate of the multiverse is in his hands?

“Boss Spark is out wreaking havoc again, remember she’s not your mate so don’t go-” He drowns out the rest of Lyla’s words as soon as he hears ‘Spark’ he's on the move. He almost knocks over Peter as he rushes out of the building.

“Miguelito do you need backup?”

“No! Don’t follow me she’s mine”

•°~°•

You're in Central Park shooting bolts of electricity at the trees. You enjoy hearing the branches crack and cave under pressure. The sounds of the wood splintering and the bark shattering form a perfect melody. It’s just missing something….Scanning the park you look for any nearby patrons and when you find them you send a bolt of electricity their way.

…………….

Oh relax, you just sent it towards the trees killing people is beneath you.

You take a moment to soak up their screams. Now that's a perfect melody.

You were already at Prospect Park but that trip was unfortunately very mundane. Central Park is bigger. You could get lost here and probably go on and on for hours and not realize it till every single tree is gone. The surprised sounds of the birds and insects bring you comfort. It makes you feel less alone. They are feeling how you feel at this moment, upset and confused at the disturbance life is sending your way.

Mate this? Mate that? Just shut the hell up already.

You’re about to send out another bolt of electricity but that bolt ends up ricocheting off 3 trees before it shoots through the ground. The ground beneath you begins to shake and cracks start to emerge along the ground. You turn your head away when you can’t keep track of how far it runs. Shit that wasn’t supposed to happen. Your powers aren’t listening to you and sadly you know what that means.

Spiderman 2099 is close.

Hereeeee comes trouble.

“To your left boss”

“Thanks, Steven” You move to your right narrowly missing a web 2099 sends your way. “Thanks for showing up partner I’m actually itching for a fight tonight. Why don’t you say we take things nice and slow” He ignores you and shoots another web in your direction he misses but he blindsides you by shooting another web from behind his back and this time it latches on. You expect him to throw you into a nearby tree but he doesn’t instead he pulls you towards him. 

You send an electricity current through the web so it shocks him. When he's stunned you take that opportunity to run at him full force aiming a punch straight for his eye. And call it being petty but you hit him in his right eye as well.

 What?

You had to return the favor one way or another. Right eye for a right eye or however the saying goes.

You move to kick him in his ribs and you catch yourself smiling as you hear a crack.  Raising your fist to deliver him another blow you stop once you realize he isn't fighting back.

“Well, what's the point in playing if my food doesn't want to play? Fight me back” You expect him to raise his fist and shoot out a web, anything hell he could even scratch you with his talons but nothing. You look at him confusingly before flipping away. It's necessary to put more distance between the two of you until you can figure out what's his angle.

•°~°•

He can't do it. 

He can’t hit you.

Not if there’s a possibility that you're his mate. He’ll do whatever he can to avoid hitting you. He wants to talk but you want to fight and there’s no way that’s going to happen unless he holds you down.

“What the hell are you doing? fight back! Don’t tell me you’re scared?”

He doesn’t get it. Now that he’s focusing on the tugging in his chest it feels just as strong as it did this morning. How can you ignore this? And why are you choosing to ignore it?

Do you not want him? 

Do you not want a mate?

“Stop fighting me Mate I just want to talk-“ You groan. “Oh god, not you too what’s with it and the weirdos of Nueva York? Instead of you worrying about me “stealing food” you need to get more mental health facilities in the city. You guys are obsessed with Mates” Miguel allows his mask to disengage and he can see the shock on your face the second you realize who he is. 

You let out a humorless laugh as you stare at him. “You’re telling me that Spider-Man 2099 is a weirdo who grabs women in the street-” You pause as if just realizing your mistake you revealed yourself to him without even meaning to.

“Fuck me sideways” You mumble under your breath allowing your mask to disengage. “So what, you're going to have my face plastered all over the city streets now?” He shakes his head no. “I just want to talk. We can't just ignore Fate you can't ignore the Bond”

“Shutupshutupshutup! Why can't I just go a few minutes without hearing the word Mate? As I told you from before, I don't have a Mate my mate is dead. I haven't felt anything at 15 and I still don't feel anything now you got the wrong-”

“So explain it to me why do I feel the Bond tugging me towards you? Just like this morning and every time I'm near you, I feel it right here in my fucking chest”

“I don't know-” Without warning he charges at you tackling you to the ground. Grabbing your hands and binding them together he manages to put the cuffs that he’s been tweaking for years on your wrists. It’s meant to conceal your powers.

“W-What are you doing?”

“Getting you to talk to me that’s what. After all these years you chose to ignore but no more you will acknowledge me I am your mate and you are mine”

“What you need to do is get off of me and get these shackles off you’re going to mess with my powers you dipshit”

“I will do no such thing. Stop ignoring me” He pauses as something hot lands on his face. He doesn't have to touch it to know what it is you spat on him. Miguel continues to say nothing as he stares you down. He thought you would speak to him but he guessed wrong. He's about to open his mouth to speak again when you begin to twitch under him.

Lyla pops up next to him. “Miguel something is happening to her. Her vitals are dropping dangerously. What did you do?”

“I didn't do nothing she is the one that won't talk to me”

“Miguel I told you already that you got the wrong girl why didn't you just listen to me” Shit did he really make a mistake? Your twitching becomes more violent; it's almost like you're having a seizure.

Now he's beginning to panic. “Lyla, do something to fix her!”

“I-I don't know Miguel she's dying. Quickly take the cuffs off” He follows Lyla's directions but removing the cuffs doesn't stop the twitching. Your eyes begin to roll back and your fingertips are turning black. None of this is making any sense, it's like you're being electrocuted from the inside out. He waits and waits and waits until you finally begin to open your eyes.

“W-What….did you do to m-me?”

“Miguel she's still slipping away if you're sure that she's your mate, you need to acknowledge her and she needs to do the same”

Angrily he runs his fingers through his hair. Lyla manages to broadcast Spark's information through a projector so he can read off your name. 

“What…please don't do this….my mate is-”

“......I acknowledge that you are my Mate”

“You need to say it too. Say ‘Miguel O’Hara I acknowledge that you are my mate’”

“O-Over my dead body” Even on your deathbed you're still denying him what did he ever do to you? He can feel you slipping away through the bond and that scares him if he has to force you to acknowledge him then so be it.

•°~°•

He begins to grab you by the shoulders propping you into a sitting position. His hand resting tightly on the back of your neck. “I don't care what you want acknowledge me you're fucking dying don't you get that?”

This isn't supposed to be happening. How many times do you have to say that your mate is dead to this man? You could barely even think straight as you slipped in and out of conciseness. Is this really how you die? In the arms of your enemy claiming to be your mate?

It hurts, it hurts so badly it's like your bones are trembling within you. Your blood is boiling on the inside. You're not sure if you want to die just at this moment but you're positive that dying hurts like a bitch. Maybe you'll say you acknowledge him just to appease him since you know your mate is dead; this won't work. Hey, at least you'll get the last laugh.

“M-Miguel O’Hara I acknowledge that you are my mate”

…….

……….

…………..

Wait, why aren't you dead yet? Maybe death is just delayed running a bit behind schedule. All you need to do is wait for a few more seconds-

A blinding pain emerges from your chest, everything's jumbled, and your feelings are not your own. And there's a weird pulling in your chest but you aren't sure if you want to follow it. Slowly you begin to open your eyes and find Spiderman 2099 staring back at you expectantly. 

And then you feel it.

And then you feel him.

You feel his worry, how scared he is.

Nononono. This is wrong your mate is dead you're sure of it. He probably just did voodoo on you or something.

You immediately begin to scramble away from him. “What did you do to me?” The second you're not in his arms anymore you feel so empty and so cold.

“It really is you—you're my mate”

“I'm not you're fucking mate reverse the spell whatever you just did reverse it” You can feel the crackling of the electricity in your fingertips it feels new, stronger. 

He takes a step closer to you and you put your hand up. Goddammit out of all the times for your hand to shake, why is it now? “D-Don't come any closer”

He ignores your demands and continues to walk towards you. “You've been ignoring me this whole time, well your time is up you can't ignore me anymore”

“I said don't come any closer!” Without meaning to, a huge bolt of electricity leaves your hands 2099 manages to get out of the way but it crashes through 2 buildings. You almost let out a breath of relief when the only damage is a hole in the wall but then those buildings begin to crumble taking everyone inside of it. Screams and panic begin to fill the air all around you followed by the sounds of sirens and helicopters. You hear Spiderman cursing under his breath as he turns to look at you. 

What the hell have you just done?

[noelan1]

Smut, smut, smut… what happened to fluff, angst, and etc? First thing i see when looking up “____ x reader” the top is smut 😞

im not against smut btw

[gloomwitchwrites]

The Scientific Guide to Yautja Breeding: An Anthology

Log Entry: 2114. Xenoarchaeology Division. Kwei (Badlands) x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: dubcon, breeding, size difference, unprotected piv, swearing, facehugger and xenomorph imagery

Word Count: 8.9k

You and your team depart from Eos, a Weyland-Yutani research cruiser, to a remote, unknown planet in the search for answers. What awaits your team is death, and a Yautja intent on taking you with him.

ao3 // main masterlist // scientific guide masterlist

“Eos, are you seeing this?”

There is a brief pause before Zander Flanagan’s, captain of Eos, a Weyland-Yutani research cruiser, voice crackles through your helmet’s speaker.

“We’re seeing it just fine up here,” he says. “And what a beauty she is.”

Through the comm link that connects you to Eos and your ground team comes a thunderous cheer, an amalgamation of celebration over the discovery looming in the valley below. Years of research, years of exploration, in and out of statis pods only to make it to the goddamn finish line.

“It’s fucking huge,” chuckles Sergeant Beaumont, shouldering his rifle.

Huge hardly grasps the vastness of the structure. Wedged between three mountains, facing North, the main structure protrudes from the ground like the flared rim of a vase, the edges smooth and linear, tapering to points at its four corners. In front of it is a wall that cuts into the sides of the mountain on either end. The middle is open, creating a sort of doorway though there is no arch, only massive statues separating the two sides.

“The rest of the structure has to be underground,” you muse. Tapping into your comm link, you connect to Eos. “Captain, can the scanners penetrate that far?”

“Built these myself,” comes a feminine voice with a Texas drawl. Not Captain Flanagan but Bronco, as she likes to call herself, answers. “Motherfuckers can see through anything.”

As Eos preps the exterior scanners attached to the hull, you and the ground team cut a path down the hill to the overgrown road that leads to the megastructure. Road is a generous term. Not much is left except for broken rocks and weeds. No one has touched this place in years.

“How tall do you think the walls are?” asks Nettie Eaton, the xenobiologist assigned to the mission. She forms up beside you, your shoulders brushing. “And that?” Nettie points to the structure behind the wall.

Wilkens pops up directly behind you and Nettie, his presence startling enough to separate. “These walls are easily one-hundred and eighty feet. Roughly fifty-five meters.”

“Jesus Christ, Wilky,” gasps Nettie, placing her hand over chest. “Caught me right on the hop.”

“The structure behind the wall?” he continues like he didn’t hear Nettie at all. “Double. Easily.”

Remington, one of the hired mercenaries, punches Wilkens in the arm, sending him stumbling.

“Watch it!” you snap, reaching for Wilkens.

“Sounding like a synthetic, Techie,” laughs Remington. “Maybe we should open you up and take a look at your wires.”

“Fuck off, Rem,” you say. “Leave him alone.”

Remington’s gaze roams up and down your body in a slow caress. The man’s been after you since Eos left the Ahldani system even though you won’t give him the time of day.

“Corporal Remington.” The four of you turn as Ella, the Weyland-Yutani synthetic assigned to this mission, joins the conversation. “If we opened up Engineer Wilkens, you’d only find blood. Not wiring.” She smiles and inclines her head. “To your bitter disappointment.”

Remington glowers. “Fucking synths,” he mutters, strutting off to join the rest of the hired guns.

Ella only hums, finding particular interest in a weed breaking upward through the dirt.

“I’m good,” says Wilkens, smoothing his spacesuit and checking his helmet. “All sealed.”

The planet’s air is breathable but Captain Flanagan isn’t taking any chances. Everyone is suited up for the health and safety of the rest of the crew.

“Come on then,” you smile, the three of you following behind the rest of the ground team.

You, Nettie, and Wilkens make up the scientists sent with the ground team with two others back on Eos. Along for the journey is Ella, the synth, and a security detail consisting of ten armed men all hired by Weyland-Yutani. Excessive, but you’re not the captain. Flanagan’s word is final.

“They aren’t lines at all,” observers Nettie, taking in the walls as the group nears. “From a distance you can’t tell, but—” She grabs your arm excitedly, shaking it. “It’s art. You must be thrilled. All that hard work and now—” Nettie sighs dreamily, mouth open in awe as her gaze sweeps over the stone.

It’s true. Both walls are covered, the rock sculpted into what appears to be a battle, or an array of smaller ones. Two creatures, and only two, are carved into the rock and repeated everywhere, tangled around each other, wielding weapon or claw. One of the two is bi-pedal. Humanoid. Their faces are covered by a mask or helmet, their bodies with armor. They all wield a sword or two-headed spear. There are no markings to indicate difference. Each one is uniform. A carbon copy.

The second creature, like the other, is also uniform in its depiction. A twinge of uncertainty tugs on the back of your brain, pulling. Unsettled, you take a step closer, observing the smooth, elongated head. It lacks visible eyes and, from the carvings, may also lack a nose or ears. Many mouths are open, their skeletal bodies lunging toward the upright, armored alien. You tilt your head. Peer closer.

“What the fuck,” you murmur, noticing a secondary mouth, or jaw, protruding from their open maws.

“Think they built this?” asks Nettie.

You jerk backward, turning to face her. Nettie’s laser pointer lands on the nearest statue, the red dot glowing on the stone stomach of the masked, bipedal alien. Wielding a double-edged spear, the bottom half pierces through the body of the skeletal alien with the elongated head as it writhes under a massive foot.

“It’s possible,” you answer, suddenly feeling sweaty. “Won’t know until we step inside.”

“And what will we find inside?” Lieutenant Booth, the man in charge of security stands between the two statues, his rifle pointed at the ground in a resting position.

You swallow. Sniff. “Remains to be seen.”

“You’re the expert.”

Yes, I am the expert. I am the only xenoarchaeologist on this mission because I’m the one who tracked the clues across the goddamn galaxy. It’s my research and my work that brought us here.

“Yes. And as the expert, I don’t know. A good scientist is always questioning.” Wilkens and Nettie look on in eagerness but the armed men appear bitter. “But I can make some guesses. Some hypotheses on what we might find.”

“Hypo what now?” asks Booth.

This is why you’re wielding the gun.

You start again. “Look at it from a human perspective. This place could be a number of things.” Placing your hand on the wall, you turn toward Booth. “The violence. The impalements. This place might have been…an arena.”

“Like the Colosseum? In Rome?”

You perk up, dropping your hand. “Precisely. If it is, then we have to ask ourselves if it was for spectacle or ceremonial purposes. To entertain. Carry out executions. Both.”

Nettie steps up, staring through the opening and at the megastructure. “Notice how the walls are smooth. They’re not decorated.” She takes a few steps forward. A few more. “I don’t even see a door.”

You consider this. “Maybe not an arena.” Glancing up, you focus on the array of alien bodies, how they writhe and seize, swirling across the wall like ocean waves. “It might be a memorial,” you state. “Or—”

Two words and you’re unable to speak them. With science, all things are possible until you test. Theorize all you want but it doesn’t matter unless you run the experiment. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat until your eyes bleed.

“Or what?” prompts Booth.

Inhale. Exhale. “A mass grave,” you reply, sounding choked. “A crypt. The walls depict a conflict or a war or a battle. A place they ceremoniously buried their dead.”

“So, what?” asks Remington. “Are we gonna find a bunch of dead aliens inside.”

You shrug, extending your arms in exasperation. “Maybe.”

Lieutenant Booth closes the distance between you, stopping too near for comfort. “What about all the other places you found. The places in your research. Didn’t they say anything?”

“You read my research?”

“Answer the question.”

“They were much smaller than this,” you admit, one hand gesturing toward the megastructure. “Ornamental. The clues led us here. Each place sending us to another planet.”

“Like a pilgrimage,” interjects Nettie, her voice rising. “We only went to four planets but there could be more.”

You nod. Keep nodding. “If the aliens who built this can travel sub-light speed, they’d be able to do a pilgrimage without entering statis!”

“That’s impossible,” sneers Remington, as if you wanted his opinion.

“Not true,” corrects Wilkens. “Sub-light speed exists. Humans haven’t cracked it yet.”

One of the mercenaries leans toward their comrade. “No statis sounds nice.”

Is it Cooke? No. Callum? Security details come and go so often that you hardly keep track anymore. Booth and Remington are the constant, never changing out. Their names are glue that won’t wash off.

“We’re not going anywhere until we find the door,” says Booth.

“I’ll circle the structure,” offers Ella. “I can cover more ground.”

“Yes. Thank you, Ella,” you say.

The synthetic gives an appreciative nod and takes off, starting at a light jog before shifting into a full sprint.

Bronco’s voice crackles in through the speaker. “Got your layout.”

You snatch the datapad out of Wilkens’ hands. “And?” you ask, eagerly staring at the screen as the layout begins to appear.

“Whatever it’s made of, it’s un-fucking-penetrable.”

Lines take shape. Connect. Intersecting. Forming, finally, into an upside-down pyramid.

“I can map the exterior underground structure,” says Bronco. “But whatever the walls are made of, or lined with, the sensors can’t break through.”

As the image settles, gray, horizontal lines appear, cutting through the structure, separating it into sections.

“What are these gray areas, Bronco?” you ask, shifting the camera around to view the titled pyramid on all sides.

“My guess is structural supports between floors. Based on how they’re laid out, makes the most sense. Don’t need to line solid walls meant to divide floors.

“Hey!” Nettie calls out. “Found the door.” Handing the datapad to Wilkens, you approach the eager xenobiologist as she bounces on her toes. “Stand here,” she says, all breathy. “Here.”

Standing next to her, you follow the direction of her finger. “I don’t see anything, Nettie.”

She steps to the side. “Right here.” Grabbing your shoulders, she yanks you to the spot she previously occupied. “Look! Do you see it?”

All you see is the slope of the building, the smooth stone edges. You shake your head. “No. I—” You pause as a black line forms in the rock, curving with the sloped walls. “Wait.”

“See!” squeals Nettie.

“That is—” you laugh, “that’s genius!”

Wilkens appears beside you. Nettie grabs for him pressing your helmeted head together. “How interesting,” he muses.

Booth and the security team stride forward, observing the curve. “Holy shit,” says Booth. “A hidden door.”

Thudding footsteps come from behind you. Everyone turns, startled by the loud noise in a place that’s, for the most part, been utterly quiet. Ella is the source, her legs slowing as she nears, coming to a full stop with a slight skid.

“I’ve detected no openings in the structure.” You point and Ella’s head swivels. “Hm. I’ve detected no other openings.”

“Think we can rule out the arena idea.” You drop your hand, striding slowly to the opening. The black line grows thicker. Wider. “A hidden door? Burial site seems more likely.”

“Or a prison.”

The raspy voice drags focus to the one mercenary standing off to the side. He wields a flamethrower, the strap holding it crosses over his torso, one arm resting on the metal body.

“Reminds me of the prison I was in before Weyland-Yutani dragged me out for my,” he gently taps the side of the flamethrower, “expertise.” He runs his tongue over his teeth, spitting into the dirt. “Whole thing was underground. Above was just a building. Square. Plain. But beneath? A goddamn death trap.”

The air sizzles with tension, the armed men around you tucking their weapons tighter, shoulders hunching, heads swiveling as if some terrible beast is about to burst through the tree line and gore them all.

“That’s an interesting observation,” you offer because you don’t want to add any fuel to the tension. “Something to consider. But I think Eaton and Wilkens would agree with me on the burial route. Based on the research.”

Nettie nods, her excited demeanor remaining given the tense faces around her. “A possibility. There are no signs of life, though. It could be a prison but I suspect it’ll be an empty one.”

Remington sighs like a forty-year-old dad getting out of bed. “Let’s go. I have vacuum-sealed chocolate cake waiting back on Eos.”

“Lieutenant.” Booth turns at the sound of your voice. “This would be a good time to remind everyone about the protocols Captain Flanagan set before we left.” Behind his suit’s faceplate, you clock his frown. You’ve overstepped.

Slowly, Booth addresses his team. “Before we head in, a reminder to not touch anything. Your job is to protect them.” Booth points in your direction. “If you notice something you think needs their attention, tell them. Don’t handle it yourself.”

“Especially if it’s biological,” adds Nettie. “That’s my area. I’ll decide what to do.”

“And keep your fucking helmets on,” growls Booth. “That’s just basic common sense. You do not remove them for any reason. The air is breathable but it’s not what like we’re used to. Air quality could be worse underground. Better, even. Hell, Earth levels. But even then, you don’t fucking remove your helmet. Is that understood.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Move out.”

The security team splits. Booth leads with five behind him, followed by you, Wilkens, Nettie, and Ella. At your back is Remington and the remaining five. Booth reaches the entrance first, shining his light on an open tunnel. No doors at all. Just a path.

It’s carved into the rock to face inward, edges smooth and in harmony with the structure, creating the illusion of no access points. The path sharply turns, bending back on itself, spitting you out into a vast atrium.

Everyone is focused on each other, of grouping up. Wilkens is taking off his backpack, withdrawing three round drones the size of baseballs. Blue lines fork and twist on their surfaces, glowing faintly. One takes off, then the other, and the last, veering out and away in different directions. They’re all talking, discussing, commenting on the high ceilings and towering pillars.

That’s fine. Wonderful.

You’re far more interested in the stone slab your flashlight caught on, the beam illuminating red symbols for a brief moment as it passed over them. The same statues at the wall are carved into this stone slab. Most of the surface is rocky, and blemished. It’s the smoothness at the center that intrigues you, and the letters carved and glowing within.

“This is language,” you whisper. “It’s—”

“Yautja.”

You swivel so fast, your knees pop, the flashlight beam landing on Ella’s face. “What?”

“The language,” she says. “It’s Yautja.”

“And that’s—”

“Those are also Yautja,” she continues, gesturing toward the statues. “The species, I mean.

“Ella. You—”

“I am a research synth,” she says simply. “I contain all the xenological information Weyland-Yutani has programmed me with. For everything else, I can ask MU/TH/UR.”

“Why didn’t you say something earlier?” Your voice rises, irritation leaking in.

“I had my suspicions,” admits Ella though she shows no remorse. Synths do not have feelings. Not the ones Weyland-Yutani makes. “But I didn’t think it wise to share until I was sure. The appearance of the Yautja language confirms my initial observations.

“What about the other one?”

“The other, what?”

“Alien. The one the Yautja were fighting.”

Ella freezes, her lips unmoving, staring into the beam of the flashlight, utterly still. It’s unnerving how the synths will do that when they’re processing a request or information that’s particularly strenuous. The moment hangs, and you wonder if maybe you’ve asked for something too complicated, that her system is rebooting, or maybe she’s communicating with Eos. Communicating with MU/TH/UR.

“You’re right, doctor.” Ella snaps out of her frozen state and back into the conversation like you hadn’t asked for anything at all. “This place is likely ceremonial. Not fights. Or executions. Based on the information Weyland-Yutani has on Yautja, a burial site is unlikely. But what we know is limited. It could be an aspect of their culture.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” you reply, attempting to divert Ella back to what you want to know. “What are those aliens the Yautja are fighting?”

Again, Ella ignores you. “I might be able to translate what’s here. MU/TH/UR will have the entire language reference. If we send pictures back to Eos, it would make the translation easier.”

“Ella—”

“The Yautja are warriors, operating on a code of honor. Highly secretive. The Company has always wanted to get their hands on their tech. To study it to improve our own technology. They are far more advanced than we are.”

“What the fuck is this?” Lieutenant Booth’s voice comes from your right. It’s a welcome relief.

“Language,” you answer. “Haven’t translated it yet.”

“As I informed our head xenoarcheologist,” Ella cuts in, “the language belongs to a species of aliens that are predominately a warrior-like group. We were discussing the parameters of what this structure might be used for. I wanted to add an additional theory.”

“And what’s that?” drawls Booth, clearly not interested.

“Training grounds.”

“Training grounds?” you and Booth ask at the same time.

“From my limited data, they are fierce, powerful creatures. They are taller than humans. Stronger. You could call them ‘Hunters.’ Simply put, they are predators and everything else is prey.”

Booth shakes his head. “I didn’t sign up for this shit,” he mutters. Turning to the rest of the group, he shouts, “We’re heading back. Now.”

Burial site. Arena. Training grounds. The why is important but it’s not the deciding factor. There is nothing living in this structure except the sixteen of them. Caution and awareness, exploring slowly and in sections, is a safe bet rather than abandoning everything.

“We’ve hardly stepped inside,” you protest, following after Booth.

Booth abruptly turns and you nearly run into him. “I’m not interested in becoming entertainment for those bastards,” he growls, pointing over your shoulder at the Yautja statues.

“This place is deserted and Eos sends constant scans to the surface. We’d be notified if it detected anything. And it hasn’t.”

Booth shifts closer, narrowing the distance until you’re forced to bend your neck to look at him. “On the surface,” he emphasizes with slow pronunciation. “Wilkens’ drones haven’t mapped the whole structure. They’ve barely cleared this floor. We don’t know what the fuck is done there. And I’m not interested in finding out.”

Before you can reply, a crackle comes through the comm connection, followed by Captain Flanagan’s voice. “What’s going on down there?”

Booth eases back but doesn’t shift his feet. “We’re deciding on how to proceed, sir.”

“Keep your comms open and talking. Went silent there for a few.”

“Heard, sir.”

As Captain Flanagan’s voice cuts out, you dive into the argument again with renewed fervor. “You’re right, Lieutenant. We don’t know what’s down there. But we have daylight and time. And we can at least explore the sections the drones have cleared before we head back.” Booth only arches an eyebrow, and you groan in frustration. “Look at the tablet. They’ve been cleared. No life.”

Booth, thankfully, checks the tablet, gaze scanning the information the drones have sent back. “Fine. But we take it slow. Don’t touch anything. Take pictures to send to Eos if you need to. Once the drones have scanned the structure, and everything looks good, we can come back.”

“Yes!” You throw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his middle even if the protective suits create an awkward angle. “Thank you.”

When you back off, Booth has a startled look on his face. “Stay here. In this area only. I’ll take Wilkens since he’s tracking the drones. Taking the synth, too. I’ll leave six of my men with you and Nettie.”

“I’m keeping Ella. I need her to translate.”

“Ella speaks MU/TH/UR and I’ll need Eos tracking our interior movements. Synth will send the pings and the system can recalibrate. Captain Flanagan can do it manually but it’ll take too long. Ella can enter into the mainframe and speak with MU/TH/UR directly. It’ll be faster and I want out of here.”

You place your hands on your hips. Stomping your foot would make you look like a child but Ella’s neural library is better utilized with you, but you doubt Booth will concede.

“Okay,” you agree. “Fine. But the moment we’re back on Eos, I need her.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.

Lieutenant Booth walks away, communicating back to Eos the plan as he does so. Ella gives you a small smile as she passes, leaving you alone by the faintly glowing alien language. Nettie and the men Boothleaves behind are nearby, but Nettie is focused on moss-like foliage that speckles some of the stone pillars, and Booth’s men seem enraptured with whatever she’s saying.

Removing your pack, you withdraw and start to assemble a fixed, dual-headed halogen light. With portable battery charged, you plug it in, illuminating the stone slab that’s held your attention since stepping inside. Every picture you take directly sends to Eos. As you snap them, Becca, one of the other scientists onboard, comments on them through the comm link. Like you, she’s excited about the language, particularly how it seems to glow inside the rock. Wider shots are sent directly to Captain Flanagan in the bridge for immediate viewing.

Nettie calls your name as you snap a closeup shot. Stepping back, you turn in her direction, only to find her almost on top of you. Her eyes are wide and wild, fearful even.

“What is it?” you ask, a slight twinge developing in your chest.

“Have they checked in with you?”

She’s out of breath.

“Eos?”

“Lieutenant Booth. Did you not hear Flanagan over comms?”

“No,” you admit. “I’ve been on a private channel with Becca. Why?”

“You have to stop doing that,” she grumbles. “They haven’t been checking in. I radioed and got silence. Can you radio Booth? It might be interference. I mean, Eos couldn’t penetrate through the walls. Our short-range comms could be acting up.”

You switch over to Booth’s direct channel. “Lieutenant?’ Nothing. “Lieutenant.” Silence. “Booth.” Not even static. “I’m not receiving an answer.”

“Shit,” mutters Nettie. “Been almost ten minutes of no contact.”

“That’s not like him.”

“I know.”

Switching out the direct link, you ping Eos. “Captain, how would you like to proceed?”

“Have a tablet nearby?”

Nettie hands you hers. “Yeah. I got one.”

On your screen, the camera zooms in on the top floor. You and Nettie, plus the six members of Booth’s security, show up as red dots. The camera pans to a hallway on the other side of the atrium that ends in a large, circular room.

“Wilkens’ probe signals are reaching Eos. This room is the last place they reported from.”

“Want us to take a look, Captain.”

A pause, then, “Yes but be alert.”

Following the path shown on the tablet, your group exits the atrium and into the dark hallway. The walls here are smooth and feature carvings of the alien with the elongated head. They’re posed in different positions. Some crouched or curled in on themselves. Others standing upright or bent at an angle.

“Should be a door up ahead,” says the leading mercenary.

Flashlights move in all directions as the security team keep their heads on a swivel. You and Nettie are crunched together in the middle as they form a tight circle around the two of you. They wield large, military-grade rifles. Nothing you’ve been trained on. All you and Nettie have are semi-automatic pistols, one for each of you, with several replacement magazines.

“That’s the door.”

“Jesus.”

“What the fuck is that?”

“Whoever built this are some sick fucks.”

You follow the flashlights of the mercenaries as they fall onto the floor to ceiling double doors. Carved into the stone are human-like creatures without faces, and smaller versions of the aliens depicted on the walls bursting from their chests. The flashlight beams descend and freeze on a burst of yellow.

One of the stone doors stands ajar. In the opening, on the floor, is the gloved hand and arm of one of the mercenaries, the rest of his body hidden inside the room.

“Ready your weapons.”

You and Nettie exchange a look, flipping the safety to the off position as the leader slowly eases the door wider, the head of his rifle entering the opening. He steps over the body of his fallen comrade. The man is facedown and unmoving. Pushing the man onto his back with the toe of a boot reveals pale, squirmy flesh where the man’s face should be.

The door to the room stands wide now, but the leader holds out an arm, indicating that no one else is to enter. Standing on your toes, you peek over the shoulder of the nearest mercenary. There are short stone pillars, six in total. Atop each one are fleshy, pale eggs, their tops open like unfurled flowers. The air in this room is noticeably warmer.

Around the room, scattered across the floor and around the pillars, are the bodies of the rest of the team. The face shields on their helmets are caved inward, broken. All of them are unmoving, several with those fleshy and pale coverings on their faces.

No. Not coverings.

On the nearest body, the one wedged between the door, it moves. A twinge of a tail tightening around a throat. Slowly, you glance from body to body. These organisms are latched on, almost hugging their faces. You notice two bodies, Wilkens and Lieutenant Booth. Their faces are visible but their fleshy companions are beside them, on their backs, spindly legs and tail cured in like dead bugs.

“Captain Flanagan?”

The leader is contacting Eos, but there is no return answer.

“Captain Flanagan. Eos? Eos, come in. Eos, how copy?”

A wet squelch echoes and everyone takes a step back. A scuttling sound follows from above and then to your right. Movement. Just a shadow. A flash of a pale tail.

You drop as one of those facehuggers launches itself from an open sac. Two more follow. One landing on Nettie’s faceplate.

“Get it off!” she shrieks, thrashing around, hands tugging at the tail as it attempts to lash around her neck. “Get it off!”

One of the mercenaries lunges, grasping hold of the tail. The thing doesn’t budge. Hardly gives ground. Another dashes over, brandishing a knife, hacking at the facehugger. It shrieks and green blood spurts from the open wound where its tail once was. Legs opening, it hits the floor, twitching. As the blood lands it sizzles and pops, eating through the stone.

The nearest human without a facehugger sits up, gasping for breath, shouting, screaming, flailing about and coughing blood.

“Get it out! Get it out!” The man claws at his throat, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as his chest jerks outward.

“Run! Fucking run!”

You don’t hesitate. Grabbing Nettie’s hand, the two of you take off the way you came as gunfire erupts behind you. In the brief silence, there’s a roar. Inhuman and immense.

Hunting grounds.

Hunting grounds.

Hunting grounds.

Nettie trips, her weight pulling you down. You hit, hard. A distant explosion shakes the rock around you. Dirt and dust rains down, lingering in the air, the beam of your flashlight reflecting back at you instead of through.

“Nettie!” you call out. “Nettie!”

When she doesn’t respond you keep going, still yelling her name but this time through the comm link, through the open channel, and still there is no reply from Eos. Only gunfire and screaming screaming screaming.

Hurling yourself through the tight tunnel, you claw your way out and around the curve, confusing every sound for scuttling, every rock and pebble falling for spindly legs. Light appears and then you’re out in the open, charging past the wall, stumbling over a vine and losing all your breath as you look up into the sky.

Home is on fire.

Eos no longer hangs in orbit. It’s a phoenix, burning bright, descending toward the surface. It will never be reborn. It is more molten fireball than starship, igniting the forest in an inferno.

Your only escape, your only place of safety is the ship you and the rest of the team came down on. It has statis, food, oxygen. The central navigation system can take you to the nearest Weyland-Yutani settlement.

You’ll be fine. You will. But—

“Nettie!” You turn, expecting her to be there.

There is no Nettie.

There is only the statue made real in height and metal. An armored body. A familiar double-edged spear.

Then you don’t see anything at all.

Thurm. Thrum. Thrum.

Beneath you is a steady, breathing rhythm, heart-like, and comfortingly familiar. Softness encases your body, holding in warmth, enveloping you like a mother’s embrace. Awareness shrinks and expands, shrinks and expands. You sense all of it at once and then it recedes to a pinpoint. Nothing aches. Nothing hurts. There is only a gentle tug, a part of your brain coaxing you out from the shell of sleep.

Eyelids blink slowly, dragging and heavy. An earthy scent reaches you nostrils, and your head turns toward it, sniffing, rubbing at your eyes as your limbs and muscles awaken and stretch. There is no weight against your skin, no familiar rubbing of a spacesuit, no beeping in the ear or hiss of supplied oxygen. You are not enclosed or stiff in your movements. Freedom to flex is evident, compounded by the softness that caresses your—

A sharp squeeze seizes your esophagus, yanking you up and into a seated position. Like a frozen rabbit, you remain still, gaze taking in your surroundings, absorbing a sleeping space that should be familiar but isn’t.

This is not Eos. This isn’t even home.

Memory returns in pieces.

A ship ablaze. Stone statues. Slimy egg sacs.

You clamp your hand over your mouth, muffling a choked sob. In those final moments, when you turned, calling for Nettie, you only found the alien Ella named. Yautja. Yautja, which holds no meaning other than…savior? Abductor?

Dropping your hand, you notice bare skin, void of spacesuit or undergarments. Bare shoulders. Bare chest. Bare—

“Oh, what the fuck?” you whisper, clasping the furs tighter to your chest.

You’re naked. Head-to-toe nude and bundled under a pile of furs from creatures you don’t recognize and are unlikely to be anything from Earth. The only explanation is that the Yautja removed your clothes, and also appears to have taken some effort to clean you. There is no stink of fear sweat or hint of coppery blood.

Keeping the edge of the fur above your breasts, you slide to the edge of the large bed, place your feet on the floor, and promptly hold still.

The sleeping alcove you’re in leads into a circular room lined with skulls. From your position, you’re unable to see them all, but that fact isn’t much of a bother, nor is the central, circular dais cradling a familiar helmet. On the other side of the room, is the Yautja in question, one clawed hand resting on the wall, standing between this room and what might be an exterior hall and beyond that a ship’s navigational controls.

All the statues wore helmets, offering no theories on what might be beneath. This Yautja wears no helmet, its features clear and lit, and easily standing over two meters. Skin a scaly, reddish-brown, a slightly humanoid face with a strong brow and piercing eyes, and four mandibles closed over a mouth with sharp teeth. At the top of the head, near the edges, are shortened spikes that point outward, adding a small flare to the head’s shape. A severe widow’s peak adorns the top of its head, but the hair isn’t like anything you’ve seen before. It’s tubular and sleek, like black electrical cables but smoother. Metal beads clack as its head shifts and the hair moves with it.

As your gaze roams down to the metal armor, you notice the flatness of its chest. A male, perhaps? Not like you’ve ever met a Yautja before. The females may not have breasts like humans. For all you know, gender means nothing to them.

The Yautja steps into the skull room and your muscles tense with the urge to flee. A silly notion, since you’re on a fucking alien spaceship that is likely in space. There is nowhere to run, and launching yourself into the vastness of space is a horrible way to die. You don’t know the Yautja’s intentions, but if they wanted to harm you, they would have. As for now, your skin is unmarked by wounds and you smell clean.

Reaching around the corner of the sleeping alcove, you blindly search for a weapon, land on something solid, with holes, and yank it off the wall. It’s a skull but it’s clean, and your fingers fit in the eye sockets.

“Stay back,” you snarl, wielding the skull like a knife, taking a hostile stance while still holding the furs to your chest. It’s awkward but you’re not standing completely naked in front of this creature without it forcing your hand. “Who are you? What do you want?”

Why the fuck am I naked and in your bed?

“I am Kwei.”

The language you hear is not your own. This is deep and guttural with clicks and controlled breath and yet you understand it. With your weapon-free hand, you probe the back of your neck and skull, eventually landing on a small, healed incision just behind your left ear.

A translation device on top of the nakedness? Weyland-Yutani did not cover alien sex slavery in their training modules.

Kwei hasn’t taken any further steps. Ella said the Yautja are skilled hunters. Predators. Showing fear or submissiveness might trigger provocation. On the other hand, aggression could do the same. Calm. You need to be calm. Stand your ground, and try not to be rude.

You offer Kwei your name, and the Yautja repeats it back to you. Kwei lacks lips and you’re no linguist, but it’s clear enough to understand if a bit strange.

“Are you a Yautja?”

As you speak, it sounds wrong. Your native tongue is garbled, swallowed up by unfamiliar movements of your tongue and throat. Is there a chip in your neck, too? An implant in your vocal cords? How the hell are you speaking Yautja back to Kwei like you’ve known it all your life?

Kwei’s head tilts slightly. “It is Yautja,” he corrects. “I am Yautja.”

“And what do you want?”

Kwei’s gaze shifts from your face to the rest of your body, slowly cruising down to your toes and back up. Even with the furs, you feel naked under the Yautja’s stare.

“Why do you cover yourself?” asks Kwei.

“That’s what you’re worried about?” you splutter, your arm wielding the skull sagging under the weight. “That I’m not naked?”

“But you are naked.”

Technically, yes.

“What do you want?” you repeat, shaking out your arm, the muscles wanting to give out. “Why did you—why did you save me?”

“I cannot go back to the homeworld. We cannot go back. We are not allowed our clans. Our families. And we are not allowed females to mate with.”

That answers your earlier question and creates hundreds more. Kwei wants a mate, or desires to mate. You’re unsure of meaning. Mate as in partnership? Mate as in creating offspring? Mate as in sex?

You want to ask, to rapid fire a flurry of questions at him, to demand answers, that he gives his whole history and that of his species to help you understand what the fuck is going on. That is not what you do.

“Where are the others? The other humans? The ones I traveled with.”

Kwei steps forward, stopping at the round dais in the middle of the room. He glances at his mask briefly before addressing you. “Dead,” he says without emotion, without remorse. “We killed them.”

“You—”

“Except the female.”

“Nettie?” you gasp. “She’s alive?”

“Ruhosh brought her onto his ship.” Kwei pauses. “Mating. As we should.”

He says it with finality, as if there are no other options. Kwei’s muscles and imposing height are arousing as much as it’s frightening. It’s not like you haven’t thought about being dominated by someone larger and stronger than you, but there is no guarantee that your anatomy would fit with his even if Kwei believes it will.

Rage, though, is a fiercer creature.

“Why did you kill them?” When Kwei doesn’t answer immediately, you hurl the skull at him. It bounces off his arm and hits the ground, a few teeth cracking off. “Why!”

Kwei kicks the skull aside and strides toward you, each step powerful, purposeful. He’s on top of you before your brain can catch up and urge you backward, falling onto the bed. Kwei bends at the waist, placing one hand on the bed, and drops to his knees. You’re on your back, leaning on a single elbow, trapped under his frame.

The closeness brings a slickness between the thighs.

“Yautja send unblooded warriors to hunt there. No more than three. They stalk the hard meat. A successful hunt brings them honor. A true test of strength.” Kwei turns his head and your gaze follows, landing on four smooth, elongated skulls.

“Hard meat?” you repeat because it translated fine but the meaning is off. It cannot just mean hard meat. Literally translation does not equate to higher, symbolic understanding.

The confusion on Kwei’s face says enough. The translation to you and the repetition don’t match.

“There was a synth with us. I asked it about,” you point at the skulls, “that.”

Kwei nods. Sitting back on his heels, he lifts his arm, tapping a few buttons on his wrist gauntlet. A floating image appears, that of the alien carved into the walls but in three-dimensional rendering. Red symbols appear around it. Yautja language. One by one the symbols become letters you recognize, that of your own tongue.

Xenomorph.

“That is what your species calls them,” says Kwei.

“But that’s not what I saw,” you reply, remembering the spider-like creatures that emerged from the slimy eggs.

“You saw how they start. They become this.” He points to the Xenomorph. “Lays an egg in your chest.” Kwei forms a fist, placing it in the middle of his upper body. “It bursts out. Killing the host.”

“There must be a way to save the host. If caught early—”

“No,” and Kwei’s voice is cold. “Death is the only solution.” He drops his arm, the image of the Xenomorph disappearing. “That place is supposed to be abandoned. It’s why we went. To scavenge.”

“But you found us?”

Kwei inclines his head. “And a waking Queen.”

You don’t want to know what the fuck that is.

“And what about Eos? The people on the ship? Why did you kill them? They weren’t…infected.”

“Still a risk.”

“Why?” you demand.

“Information,” he growls. “About the hard meat. About Yautja.”

Ella called them secretive, that Weyland-Yutani has been looking for information on Yautja and their technology. It wouldn’t be much of a jump to consider that they’re also looking for information on or the whereabouts of Xenomorphs.

Kwei has his reasons, reasons that make sense to him, that make sense to you even if you hate them. Your entire team is gone. And Nettie? She’s with one of the other Yautja. It’s the we you are unable to let go of, that Kwei is not on his own.

“You keep saying ‘we.’ That we cannot go back to the homeworld. That we aren’t allowed mates.”

Kwei’s features soften, mandibles relaxing, his eyes a deep well of sadness. “I lead a clan of Bad Bloods. Those banished from Yautja society. We cannot go back to our homeworld, Yautja Prime. We are not allowed to mate with females. We are hunted by our kin.”

“What did you do?”

“I disobeyed my father. Refused to kill my younger brother. Dek is a runt. Father called him weak. Worthless. But even our weakest deserve a hunt. A chance to prove themselves.” The ridge between the top two mandibles flares, revealing a set of thin nostrils. “Father claims I attacked him. Murdered several Yautja before fleeing.” The middle of his brow turns inward, deepening. “But he is a liar. A coward.” Kwei says coward in a guttural snarl.

Tentatively, you scoot to the edge, raising your hand to gently place your fingers under the curve of his bottom right mandible joint. “What happened to your brother?”

Kwei allows you to turn his face toward yours. “On his hunt.”

“Alive?”

“I don’t know.”

“What about the other Bad Bloods. What have they done?”

Kwei’s mandibles flex, the fangs clacking against each other in clear irritation. “We are formidable warriors. All blooded. Many honorable kills. And we were all betrayed. Turned on by our own kin out of selfishness. It’s not the Yautja way. We have broken no code. Have not dishonored ourselves.”

Pieces click together, becoming clearer, a singular image. Wrong place, wrong time. For you and your team, and for Kwei and his clan. Your misfortune is Kwei’s opportunity. A chance for a family while killing your own. And yet, you still hold sympathy for this stranger.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur.

Kwei chuffs. “You’ve done nothing.”

“No. But you’ve lost a father. A brother. Your home. I’m sorry it happened to you.”

Kwei seems to accept this as he stands, towering over you. “You lost your team.”

“Yes.”

“They were your family?”

“Yes.”

Kwei’s silence lingers in the air, hovering and heavy before he speaks. “I have…hurt you?”

Goddamnit.

“Yes.” You don’t want to bend, but you need to ask. “Will I see Nettie again?”

“The clan has a small stronghold on a remote planet. Ruhosh and the others will join us there. You will see her. Soon.”

That one promise, that one point of hope is enough to not smother you in eternal grief. If Kwei wants a mate, he can have one if it means being with Nettie again.

Kwei backs away, pressing a button on the wall. Metal shifts, revealing a several hooks drilled into the metal. Straps are loosened, armor removed and placed carefully on the hooks. Footwear next. Belt. Wrist gauntlets. Dragging your gaze away from Kwei is impossible. The scientist in you is interested purely on an informational level, but a more primal side of you is growing, itching to be released, snapping wildly with each removal.

Kwei’s reddish-brown skin features black molting on his outer arms and shoulders. His shoulders are broad, every inch of him solid muscle. Kwei’s back features noticeable scars. One tapers downward, coming to an end at the top of his buttocks. That’s all muscle, too.

I cannot go back to the homeworld.

We cannot go back.

We are not allowed our clans. Our families.

And we are not allowed females to mate with.

The main lights of the circular room dim. Kwei steps out from behind the wall, unashamed, standing tall and proud before you. You take him in and nearly choke on your own spit when you realize how big his dick is. Male Yautja anatomy isn’t much different from a human man. Kwei’s cock is phallic and his two testes are round and heavy. There is no body hair except for a some small, thin, quill-like hairs around the base. The shaft has a ridged, scaly texture, the tip mushroomed like a human male’s but narrower. At the base is a slight bulge, and Kwei’s pelvis around this bulge is thicker, likely for protection of his reproductive organs.

“Kwei,” you whisper.

The staunch reality of your situation smashes your skull, forcing you to confront the fact that you’re about to fuck, or be fucked, by an alien.

“What if I refuse you?” you ask. “Will you force me?”

“Force you?” His arms extend, indicating the room behind him. “I am a seasoned warrior. A skilled hunter. I can provide for and protect you and whatever offspring we have together. Why would you refuse me?”

Kwei genuinely appears baffled by your question. The intent is not malicious even if he saw an opportunity and swept you up. Kwei wishes to a fill a void cut from him by his own people. He wants this, and he’s picked you.

You have no way off this ship and you certainly can’t commandeer it. Strength is not on your side. If you were to attack Kwei, he’d easily overpower you. No contest. What you do have, what you can use to your advantage, is what Kwei wants most.

Perching on the very edge of the bed, you allow the furs to fall away, revealing yourself to him. Kwei’s gaze drops instantly, devouring, mandibles flexing, fangs clicking. Attraction is questionable, but the eagerness is there. Seduction, you can do. You’ve never fucked a Yautja, and Kwei’s never fucked a human. If you lead, show intention first, you might catch him off-guard.

“Kwei,” you whisper, this time breathy, almost a whine. “Come here.”

It takes all of two steps for him to arrive. Before he stops, you’re reaching for him, your hand fisting his cock, stroking as you open your mouth and tease the head with the tip of your tongue. Kwei’s muscles clench, his body growing ridged. Best scientific guess, female Yautja don’t give head, not with faces like that.

You close your lips around the tip and gently suck. Kwei’s mandibles flare wide, his chest heaving like he’s run for miles. This is the reaction you want, to pull Kwei in a bit, to surprise him.

Allowing saliva to pool in your mouth, you push it out between your lips with your tongue, coating the head of his cock. Your gaze remains on his face, but Kwei isn’t looking at you. He’s locked onto your lips, how they part, how they take him in. Further. Further. Until you choke. Until you gag. Until you reach for breath and throat him again.

Kwei’s arms shoot out, hands landing hard against the alcove’s walls, anchoring himself in place as you suck his cock. Timing the bob of your head with the movement of your hand, you take as much of him as you’re able, which isn’t much. Length and girth make it difficult, stretching your lips wider than you’d like. Already, your jaw aches.

Breathing in through your nostrils, you throat him again, gagging on purpose, leaving a mess of saliva behind. Kwei’s perfectly still, not thrusting into your mouth. All the tension is in his muscles, in his eyes, in the way his mandibles remain open and wide.

You come up for air, and smile at him. “Do you like that, Kwei?”

Kwei’s momentary surprise curls in on itself until it melts into vapor, leaving behind a feral determination. “Yes,” he growls.

Before your able to reach for him, Kwei grasps the back of your head, forcing you down on him. Your hands raise, grasping the front of Kwei’s thighs, nails sinking into his skin as he fucks your mouth. There’s too much of him going down your throat. All you’re able to do is cling on, relax your throat muscles the best you can, and breath through your nose.

Kwei’s dominance is suffocating, threading through your lungs and into your veins. You’ll be thoroughly fucked and sore before you make it to the clan’s stronghold. He is hungry, clearly craving a mate for some time. The when and how long is unknown but the desperation and forcefulness in how he fucks your throat says enough.

As his head falls back, cock popping from your mouth. Ropes of opalescent cum spurt from the tip, landing on your breasts, dripping off your nipples and onto your stomach. Kwei, noticing the mess, scoops up some his cum with one clawed finger. You watch as he presses that finger to your pussy, swirling it around before pushing in.

Warmth blooms were his cum rests. Kwei scoops up more. Brings it to your pussy. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat until your breasts and stomach are clean while your cunt is sticky.

“Kwei,” you gasp, grasping his wrist. “We—we can’t. You won’t fit.”

“Won’t fit?” he asks, voice tinged with amusement. He probes your pussy, fitting one and then a second finger, pumping slowly. He tuts, the click a chastisement. “I will fit.”

Kwei grasps your hips, picking you up and tossing you further up the bed. You land, only for your legs to be forced wide. Kwei’s cock finds your cunt, and you’re crying out. Every inch enters. No ceremony. No slowness. Your legs are out and bent to accommodate his broad hips and thick thighs. The rest of you is trapped beneath his torso, fingers grasping for whatever you can find.

You are no more than a hole. There is little you’re able to do except accept the brutish thrusting. Already, your thighs and hips ache from the stretch, but the intensity growing between your legs is another matter. The ribbed shaft of Kwei’s cock creates pleasurable friction. If you had words, you’d speak them—scream them. What you manage are clipped ah ah’s, each one yanked out of you against your will.

Kwei drapes himself over you, arms resting on the furs above your head, surrounding you with his scent. Earthy with a metallic quality, like recently burned gunpowder. Trapped as you, control is not out of your reach. Hands sliding inward, you apply pressure to his pectorals, enough that Kwei stirs, pushing up slightly to look down at you.

The weight lifts. You take the opportunity, sitting up, shoving him back. Kwei submits, curiosity returning to that prior state when you licked his cock. The two of you roll with you landing atop him, still seated on his cock, legs stretched over his massive thighs. Hesitation is smothered, forced into a box, and stored away.

Hands on his stomach, you change position. Keeping Kwei’s cock inside you is easy as you bend your knees, planting your feet firmly on the bed. It allows a clear view of his cock stretching you, to show Kwei how good you take him. You bring one hand to your pelvis, sliding slowly down to your pussy, tracing where he penetrates you with one finger. Kwei’s response is a gruff grunt and rolling clicks that sound like a purr.

You trail that finger up to your clit, circling and circling until the beginnings of a small orgasm rises in your core, grows, and floods outward. Holding still, you play with yourself, pussy squeezing him as the orgasm crests, shuddering through you.

Kwei is fascinated, his own clawed hand reaching out to settle over yours, to gently draw it away, to tentatively touch your sensitive clit. The contact makes you shiver, and Kwei growls low in his throat, adding additional pressure as he works it in the same way you did.

Keeping your hands planted on his abdomen, you start to bounce, head dipped to watch how his thick cock enters and retreats, keeping you full and throbbing. The friction of his ribbed shaft and his finger tease out another orgasm. Limbs become boneless. Your body sways, lost in a generous wave of euphoria.

Kwei’s finger falls from your clit, his hands grasping your wrists, yanking them behind your back. He transfers both to one hand, keeping them restrained in his fist as his other hand grasp your hip. Kwei’s thrusts up as he forces your hips down, sinking all the way inside, until your pussy grinds against his pelvis. That connection is an electric sizzle. Your clit is stimulated along with your inner walls.

Your mouth hangs open, eyes rolling, breasts bouncing as Kwei roughly fucks up into you. His grunts become snarls, become feral, become sharpened things that fall over each other in their haste to escape him.

It’s the arch of his back, the flex of his hips, the swell at the base of his cock easing in, acting as a stopper. Wet heat floods your pussy, filling a space that is already full. Your toes curl, thighs shaking as Kwei comes inside you.

As his body relaxes, Kwei releases your wrists. The pressure evaporates, and you fall forward onto his chest, gasping for air, body slick with sweat. As your mind swirls and head spins, you attempt to ground yourself in reality, to grasp on to something real, to anchor yourself. Kwei’s scaly skin beneath your hands provides that, the texture scraping against your skin. You focus on it, breathing.

Kwei sighs, and rolls.

You yelp, suddenly empty, only to be pushed onto your side, and Kwei’s still hard cock easing in again. One large arm drapes over your chest, his clawed hand finding your throat, enclosing it like a collar.

Kwei’s head is close to yours, the fangs on his mandibles brushing along your shoulder. “We will mate until your belly swells.” He thrusts, and you gasp. “How jealous the others will be.”

You place one hand on his outer thigh, fingers curling, nails digging into his skin. The other grasp his forearm, the muscle there thick, your hand unable to fully wrap around it.

“I’m not fond of sharing,” he purrs, his fangs tracing back up your shoulder. “I’ll keep you for myself.”

[pookislibrary]

"Fuck the Bed, We Don't Need it, Sure as Hell gon' Break it Tonight."

-worst behavior, kwn

Fem!reader x husband, smut, kitchen sex, slight manhandling, hairpulling, aftercare + fluff towards the end

A/N: reader's hair is not mentioned so whether you would like it to be in braids, curly, straight, or other is entirely your decision. Happy reading!! :))

The golden evening sunlight began to shine through the windows of the sunroom.

Your window seat becomes warmer and cozier as the minutes tick by. Your painting now hung up to dry, You wait for your husband to return home from work. You missed him all day, your body craving him all the while. He knows exactly what makes you feel that heat between your legs. You could say he knows your body better than you do. From the touch of his gentle hand on your face, to the soft kisses he peppers down your neck. It all feels right. It feels full of passion and pure ecstasy.

Then all so suddenly, you hear that familiar click of the lock undoing. You snap out of your daydream and jump up to go greet your beloved husband. The wool blanket that was once strewn over your lap now discarded to the floor as you jump up and rush to greet him. You trudge down the hall. Its length becoming seemingly miles long. You finally get to the living room entrance where your husband had just began to set down his things on the side table before her spotted you. You and that beautiful nightgown that you knew he loved.

The way the dark purple silk melted and hugged your curves, and the black lace lining your chest and thighs. The sight of you made sent a chill down his spine. Every inch of you was so addicting to him. He hadn't even began to settle into your home before he wanted to have you.

And trust, that's just what he'd do.

And now here you were.

Bent over the kitchen island, being ruthlessly pounded from the back. Every thrust was filled with both love and harshness. The way he held you close, and whispered into your ear made your head spin. One hand on your waist and the other tangled in your hair. The lower half of your nightgown hiked up over your waist, while the shoulder straps slowly sink down lower and lower.

Your doting husband dips his face into your neck pressing kisses all over you, trailing down and across your shoulder blades to grant small displays of love upon the other side of your neck.

All the while, the hand in your hair began tugging a little harder. Pulling a few louder moans from your mouth. Soon enough you come close to your climax and as does he. Your bodies begin to move in tandem as you begin to push back into him. As he rams into your cervix, a wave of intense pleasure washes over the both of you. That tight knot in your stomach releasing as you let go of what you had been longing to release.

You gush down his shaft while he lumps a load into you, never halting or slowing his movements for even a second.

Once you both have come down from your high, your husband catches you as your knees grow weak from exhaustion. He slowly picks you up and carries you into the bedroom and gently sets you down on the bed. Your doting husband walks off into the bathroom to retrieve a towel from your linen closet. He comes back a couple minutes later with a damp washcloth and some new pajamas for you. You sit up to face him completely, your eyes meeting his caring gaze as he sits next to you on the bed.

He pulls the nightgown back over your thighs to reveal the wet mess between your legs from just a few minutes ago. The way he holds your legs open to clean you up soothes your beating heart. All those hot and tense moments feel like they were worlds away. The atmosphere seemed to melt as he peeled the nightgown off of your body and slipped you into some shorts and a top, sensible for sleeping.

Only once you were dressed and tucked into bed did he wander off to tidy and dress himself.

After about 10 minutes he came back to your shared bedroom dressed and with two cups of tea and your favorite snack.

He set your teacup on the side table on your side assigned of the bed before retreating to his own. There, you sat together catching up on the latest season of Bridgerton, discussing the hottest topics of the latest episodes. You love spending quality time with your husband. He always knew how to make you feel special whenever you were with him. With him you spoke about your day, and he about his. you drank your tea, snacked, and gossiped until near midnight.

When you had both finally decided to retire and shut your eyes, you switched off the tv and get comfortable underneath the covers. You snuggle close, wrap your arms around each other and indulge in an embrace that is warm and calm. Finally, you say your "I love you" s and fall asleep in each others arms.

It all just feels so right.

A/N: Thanks for reading!! It's the first of my works in a LOONGG time so I hope you liked it. Come back soon, and let me know what else you would like to see on my page. :))

[akaamarin]

House clean, clothes washed, dog fed, dinner ready💃💃