synopsis . Simple touches you make that finally cause them to snap after having them on sex ban for heavens know how long. pairings (separate) . Sukuna x f!reader, Gojo x f!reader, Nanami x f!reader, Toji x f!reader, Choso x f!reader, Geto x f!reader.
content . afab!reader, premature ejec, established relationship(s), heavy breeding, pussy slapping, hints of perversion, dirty talk, pathetic men, rough sex, fluff if you squint, begging, nipple play, filth, praise, gojo’s an idiot, oral sex (f!receiving), finger sucking, masturbation (m!receiving), cum play, manhandling, they’re all downbad, spit, overstim, degrading, creampies, biting, pet names, etc.
word count . 7.2k || author's note: newjeans never what? banner art from “Kubitsuri Danshi to Nikushoku Joshi” (this is a reworked repost btw)
☆ Sukuna Ryomen — The back of his neck
"Mmgh! 'Kunaa," You're moaning from a widely gaping mouth, "S'too muuch," Eyes puffed with blissful tears streaming out of them as he drives his bulky cock deep inside you like he were afraid you'd run away from him any second now or something.
Your husband merely tips his head to the side, and lets his hand fall down over the fact of your ass to smack! meanly, "You continued to tempt me," He claims, albeit a clear lie, "I'm only giving you what you wanted now."
He was pretending to be far too casual about what was taking place now as if his plump balls weren't actively kissing your clit with the rudest meetings, soft plp plp plps echoing out from each connection. Sukuna's way of acting like the most mundane thing didn't lead the two of you to this very position was truly astounding to you.
"This is what you wanted," You argue back the moment you manage to capture your breath back into your lungs. Brows all furrowed and hips bouncing back against his sharp pelvis, "N-Not me—mmfph, fuck..."
You couldn't see it but he did break out a knowing smile as if you were wrong, "Yet you've made quite the mess around my cock already," Sukuna points out. His lusting red eyes dive downwards and he unintentionally begins to fuck harder the moment he catches sight of your mixed cum dripping off his balls and leaving a mess onto the living room floor. "It must be so difficult to tell lies like that when you've such an honest pussy," He comments.
You swear you hate the way that has your cunt sucking him in more, gushing squelches left trickling out of your hole each time he came forward with yet another hauling thrust of his achy cock, "Ohmygod."
Just a few minutes ago, he had the grumpiest pout weighing his bottom lip down and his eyes were glaring over at you all meanly, cursing you extensively within the safety of his mind but never daring to utter any of said curses to you.
Why?
Because he felt himself growing throbbingly erect after you'd done nothing more than graze the back of his neck with the tips of your fingers as you'd walked by.
After years of marriage, you'd think he'd have gotten used to you and your loving little touches but…
"Hear that? Hear how she always tells me the truth? Perhaps you should take notes," He's groaning now with you bent over the living room couch in the most debauched way imaginable. It's the same place he was sitting moments ago, the same place he felt a deft tent begin to make itself present against his sweatpants—which are now somewhere on the floor—and the same place he felt as though he needed to give you what you were, allegedly, asking for.
How exactly was the playful gesture of you trailing your fingertips against the back of his neck as you walked behind him a sign of you tempting him? You haven't a clue, really.
"S'not m-my fault you're-, ah! Sensitive," You moan, teeth occasionally clasping onto the pillow you have your face resting against as you feel your legs grow temporarily numb with his every other thrust.
You didn't realize the affect an entire month of no sex would have on the two of you until now. Hell, you can barely remember what made you place the ban in the first place with the way he's plowing into you now.
"Oh but it is your fault. Only your fingers against my neck invoke such reactions from me," Sukuna says to you, as if this were commonly acknowledged information shared between the two of you prior to this, "You know that."
Feeling the way air exits your lips along with another moan of his name, "N-No I don't." you just barely get out to him. His cock is quite busy readjusting your inner honeyed walls to its size with rather barbarically frantic slotting.
"Yeah?" He smiles at that, "Well, let's see if my girl down here does, hm?" Sukuna's hand shifts beneath you and then feels up against your perky clit just to catch how it tremors to every touch, "Oooh, look at that, she knows exactly what she does to me, unlike you—apparently." He scoffs.
You think your legs almost give out for a second due to the pleasure thrumming all throughout your body but you still force yourself to throw a defiant, "Shut up." his way.
Head cocking back as if offended, "What was that, brat?" He doesn't give you a second to reply properly because he's driving his other hand into your hair and then grabbing onto it and tugging the upper half of your body up up up! until his lips can run against your ear, "I couldn't quite hear you, speak up when you're talking to me."
You're mumbling even quieter now and your words seem to break off somewhere through their exit of your throat, "S-Shut up..."
"One more time, wife." He taunts purposefully as his head angles down into your neck and his mouth opens so that he could let his teeth sink into your skin.
You don’t know if you’re going insane by simply being married to the man but you swear the meaner you are to him, the rougher he gets during sex. Either that or the more desperate he gets for something you’re not quite sure of yet.
With drool starting to slip out the corner of your lips, "Sukuna, hahhh-, I-I can't... fuuuck, I didn't mean to-"
"Awhh, yes you did," He cuts off. The heavy tip of his cock was now sandwiched clean against your sweet-spot and he was intentionally not letting up on you, leaving your body a trembly mess against his just so he could talk all soft against your skin, "S'okay, I just wanna hear you say it again for me. I like it when you try to be mean to me."
"S-Shut up," You finally manage. This time though, there wasn’t an ounce of malice detected in your voice, which overall meant that he’d gotten exactly what he wanted from you: obedience.
Kissing over the recent bite mark he’d made, "See? Was that so hard?" Sukuna hums. You wish the laugh you wanted to release actually left you but unfortunately you’re caught off guard by his loud groan as his voice dips down an octave and something fervent and milky sloshes out into your cunt, "Such a dramatic slut…”
☆ Geto Suguru — Fingers in his hair
You always run your fingers through Geto's long dark tresses of hair, telling him how affectionately jealous you are of its length, and complimenting him on it time and time again. Right now was no different, of course.
Except for the fact that his dick was hard enough for him to be uncomfortable where he sat. He was barely hearing what you were saying and all his attention landed on the way your fingertips felt grazing his scalp. You'd avoided doing that these past few days because you knew how it got him, but now that the short-lived ban of yours was over, you had returned to your previous gestures.
So, surely, you expected to have him in between your thighs within the hour?
Truth be told, he begged to eat you out at least three times within the past few days just for the hell of it, but each time it got more and more torturous since he had to stop himself from cumming in reaction to earning that gorgeous little glare of yours.
But now nothing was holding him back from slobbering in between your juicy cunt, "Mmgh, missed this pretty pussy s'much," Geto practically gurgles against you, a real nasty spread of your slick left slathered all over the lower half of his face. His slim purple eyes were trained especially up onto your expression so he could truly drink up your every reaction, "I finally get to-, agh, mwahh.." He pauses to kiss at you, "Taste you again-, fuuck."
"S-Sugu, slow down-, hahh," You end up smiling halfway through your warnings because you honestly missed how depraved he got while eating you out. You never said anything because you didn't want him to feel bad but he definitely was not slobbering against you like this the last time he ate you out. Which, of course, was to be expected... but still. "M'not going anywhere!"
Geto grunts as if pissed off that you'd even suggest him taking his time with you right now, "Don't care." Then he pushes your legs apart impossibly wider and suckles your clit in between his slippery lips, "Need you-, need this..." He moans prettily.
There's a shimmery gloss of something pussydrunken resting in his eyes that just refuse to stray away from you but, you try not to pay too much attention to it. Even though that proves to be quite difficult when he lets his looong tongue slither back in between your weepy folds to lick up every drop you had to offer him, "Hnngh, Suguru!"
"So fuckin' sweet," He moans again with watery eyes. Geto only tugs away a few centimeters to leave spit 'n drenched kisses against your pussy, "Cum on my tongue baby, lemme taste it."
"Fuuck," Your back arches up away from the bed at that gorgeous angle he can never get enough of and that seems to make him all the more feral.
Now pulling at your clit with his lips, very much using the tip of his tongue to swirl around the quavery bud in a way that leaves you twitching, "Look at 'er, she missed me eatin' her out just as much," He slurs out in between his perfected oral movements, "My poor baby, you were probably dealin' with half-assed orgasms for all those days jus' cause I'd been selfish..." Geto coos softly as if you weren't absolutely losing it right now and clinging onto the sheets to stop yourself from squirting right onto his face. "M'sorry, gorgeous. Pwah," He spits again, "Won't happen again."
And by selfish, he only means that you banned him from sex in response to coming home and seeing him getting off without you. It was a harmless thing, really. But so was the few-day ban, in your opinion...
There's nothing but the sound of wet lil' claps coming from his mouth whenever he draws it away from you and licks at the rest of your taste sitting on his lips. You never thought you'd find yourself with a guy like Geto who literally cums as soon as you start pulling on his hair again. It's a phenomenon you can hardly ever wrap your mind around but, it happens every single time.
While you're whimpering out his name all prettily, "Suguru!" he's busy grinding his fat cock against the soaked sheets below that have a small pool of cum sitting there just from eating you out.
Then you hear him grunt again and his hand leaves your thigh just to slap your throbbing cunt and listen to the sound of the wettened contact. "Give me a few minutes and-, fuck, m'cumming inside you," Geto hums softly before patting your cunt a couple more times like the reaction it caused was some type of response to his words. "Cute lil' thing, you like the sound of that, don't you? Well..."
Geto trails off for just a moment to move his hand down in between his legs and gather some of his own cum up onto his fingertips before bringing them back up to your spread and then smearing the mess all over it. You think you manage to make a new expression in reaction but you find it hard to think when he shoves those same cum-coated fingers into you.
"This should work for now, right?" He asks softly-, almost innocently like he wasn't currently doing the nastiest thing you've ever seen him do before. "I think if I get inside you now, I'll pass out," Geto admits before planting one last chaste kiss against your cunt and then looking up at you again, "Later though, okay?"
You're somewhere in between another orgasm and overstimulation so your eyes are completely hazed on his, "U-Uhuh, whenever you-, mmgh, want, Sugu..."
He starts french-kissing your cunt in something that looks 'n feels like slow motion before whispering, "S'sweet to me."
☆ Gojo Satoru — A hug from behind
"Shh, shhh, jus' take it for me, my love. P-Please," He's groaning desperately, hips bucking up in tandem with the half-broken words flopping out his mouth, "I missed stuffin' you like this-, hahh, fuck... Gotta' make sure it takes, e-every fuckin' drop."
You'd think after going a whole twooo days without being inside you, the last thing that'd get him like this would be a mere hug. Yet, there the two of you were just a few minutes after you'd made the mistake of pressing into him for an embrace and Gojo's blushing tip had started to drool creamy slick against his boxers.
You don't know if it was the warmth that exuded from your body that got him like this, or perhaps the soft curve of your breast pressing into his back muscles through the thin top you had on while his torso was left bare but, now you're on top of him.
He's watching your ass slam down on the hard length of his cock whilst his hands smooth over your tits—grabbing and squeezing at whatever he can as you whine, "Toru! I-I can't-"
After the forty-eight hour span of hell he just went through, your whines of not being able to take him were going straight through one ear and right out the other, "You ha-hahh, you have to, sweetheart. S'not fair if you don't..."
"Not fair?" You gasp as his slim fingers pinch your perked nipples, making your cunt spasm around the rest of his dick buried deep inside you, "Satoru, you're the one who-, fuck! watched that episode without me! I told you no sex for a week 'n here you are two days later."
Gojo's lips are hot 'n messy against your neck as you bounce up and down his cock, the filthy mess of cum at his tip busy kissing your cervix lovingly despite how needy and rough he was being. "Mmgh, that's not true," He argues, hands slipping down to hold your waist now, "You said it was okay beforehand."
Now he’s got a mean grip on the thick of your hips, letting his ears tune into the sound of your honeyed walls salivating around every inch of his length instead of your words, "That's only 'cause you asked me—fuck, right there—while I was half asleep."
His eyes roll elsewhere before he’s hauling his tongue out to lap against the side of your neck, slightly tickling you with it as he smirks and then whispers, "Well, I apologized like ten times and rewatched it all with you, didn't I?"
"Satoru-"
Pulling back before you can finish, Gojo presses his fingertips into your spine to make you arch further and then his eyes trail down, "God, what a fuckin' mess..." He comments as if majority of said mess wasn’t his seed. Letting his hips lazily roll up again, "Stop acting like you actually care, you just wanted a reason to be upset with me so I could make it up to you like this."
You have to swallow down the next dewy moan that threatens to spill past your lips, voice airy, "Make it up to me how?"
"Like thissss, baby," Your boyfriend emphasizes with yet another lazy, yet eager, roll of his hips. It’s as though he longed for you to feel every ridge ‘n edge of his cock stretching you open whenever he started moving slow like this. Then his arm snakes further around your frame and his fingers meet your clit with welcoming rubs.
Lips to your ear all of a sudden whilst his free hand keeps your body anchored to his so that you couldn’t pull away like you so desperately ached to, "Me rubbing right against here," Gojo explains, "Right where you need me.”
The combination of his cock just resting inside you all languidly—leaving globby streaks of cum against the stretch of your walls—and his fingertips now spelling his initials out against your clit like you’d forgotten who it belongs that short, but torturous amount of time, is all enough to have your eyes fluttering back.
Stammering something stupid in denial, "I-I didn't…”
"Oh yeah?” His lips twitch further up before his teeth clasp the edge of your ear in between them, “You didn't miss me inside you like this?" Gojo taunts, knowing he can—quite literally—feel the answer to that.
"N-Nope," You manage to chuckle, body squirming to pull yourself up so he’s not leaving you overly stuffed for a second long enough to catch your lost breath.
He leans allll the way back and cocks a thin white brow, "Heh, you're a horrible liar," Then he uses those large palms of his to spread your cheeks apart enough to get a whorish view of your puffy folds still struggling to swallow the entirety of his cock up. Clicking his tongue at the sight, "You're drooling all over the place, slutty girl."
Your pussy clamps around him just as he points that out, "That's because-"
"Ohh, wait, wait, I know." He cuts off impatiently. It’s almost like he wasn’t even listening to you right now. “That's because you want me to breed you, right?" He says randomly.
You blink and then angle your head back to look at him, "W-What?"
Despite your confusion, your body merely betrays you again. To which he bites his lower—also drooling—lip, "Mmngh, you just got tighter… I think I'm right." Gojo claims as he finally lets you lift yourself up a little, revealing a few of his cum-slathered inches that stick up to your skin in gorgeous strings of filth like glue. "What do you think, 'Toru Jr.?"
You halt exactly where you are and your expression of struggle falls flat, "Stop calling your cock that stupid nickname, please." You whine out to your lover for the nth time in your life.
"Hush, m'not talking to you right now," He scoffs annoyingly, blue eyes gleaming at the pretty sight of his cum all mixed around and nasty where the two of you are so soakingly connected. "But you, my prettiest girl, what do you think, hm?" Gojo asks your cunt instead of you.
You hate the way your body responds before you can get any more displeased whines out to him, the next clench from your pussy leading to yet another spumy sliiick of release trickle downwards and gather around his heavy base. His bright happy trail was just as wet 'n sleek as everything else between the two of you was by this point.
Whispering now as if to somehow leave you out of the conversation, "Do you agree with 'Toru Jr.?" Gojo continues, his thumb drawing over to tug one of your lips apart so he could feel the next little twitch his words invoke against the pad of it, "'Think you wanna be bred?"
When you unintentionally whine at the thought of feeling yet another slosh of his cum slot itself into you, his response is practically immediate, "Yeahhh? Well, who am I to deny such a nice girl," he finishes off with a sly wink sent your way.
Your brows furrow more and a great many curses build up on your tongue in reaction to his ridiculousness, “You’re so fucking—“
Before you could get another syllable out past your lips, he's maneuvering the two of you and next thing you know, your face is meeting the bedsheets below. Whatever verbal rudeness you were about to throw at him gets muffled and sandwiched into the bed but you don't get enough time to grow upset at that when Gojo picks right back up where he'd left off.
One hand holding your face down against the sheets, the other using your hip to tug your body back as his hips thrusted forward with a sudden quickness, and a stupidly smug smile stretched out across his slightly saliva-glossed lips, “Quiet while I stuff my favorite girl, yeah?"
Your eyes shoot open all wide-like and you force your head to turn to the side, causing his palm to press against your cheek and your gaze to peek through the space in between his fingers. The very second the two of you make eye contact, you could almost swear you saw little hearts in his eyes, as if your annoyance was exactly what turned him on.
Midway through the way his cock glissades at a new angle into your cunt, you manage a short gasp of, “Excuse me?”
To which your boyfriend begins to spill yet another load inside you—like your little huff was precisely what did it for him—and then lets out a snort in between his rather orgasmic grunts, “Whaaat? We-, hahh, we both know you were never really mad at me to begin with. So shut up 'n let me stuff you properly.”
☆ Nanami Kento — Holding his hand
Something about the way your palm fits against his makes his cock throb in a way that's so utterly dizzying he can't help but feel pathetic.
The two of you have been together long enough for this kind of thing not to faze him anymore but for some reason, whenever you grab his hand just to walk by his side, resting your head against his sturdy shoulder and rambling on about fuck knows what, all that harmless physical contact has blood rushing straight in between his legs.
This is the last thing he expected to set him off after the sex ban that managed to last four weeks but, here he is now, holding that same hand of yours tightly while he fucks you into the mattress a mere few hours after you both got home.
"When was the last time I felt you, hm?” He asks soothingly. You’ve never seen his face twist up in so many different colors of pleasure as it was now, as if he’d never been inside you before or something. Breath ragged and almost virgin-like, “F-Feels like it's been years…” Nanami moans.
You smile prettily enough for his hips to clasp forward a bit harder, leading you to stammer with your reply, "K-Kento, it's only a few weeks!" you remind the poor man.
His blonde brows knit up tightly at the center and the fingers tucked in between yours seem to squeeze, "No, no, surely it's been longer than that…” He whispers more so to himself than to you. Then his usually softened fawn eyes seem to narrow on you before shooting down. Lower lip pushing out to frown, “Awh, she can barely take me now, look at her," He notices.
You decide to look down as well and catch the way the lips of your pussy are quivering around just the half of his thick cock that’s easing its way into you, a particularly glossed-up vein of his catching your eye under the dim lighting of your shared bedroom.
“Poor thing's struggling to wrap around me,” Nanami coos, feeling his balls grow heavier with the need to pump you full of everything he’s not been able to release for weeks.
You’re left to moan as he pushes forward a little more, "Ah, maybe you just got-, mmgh, fuck... bigger!"
"Ohhh, don't say that," He grunts out all in one breath. The rest of his dick slides into you with one firm ‘n mean thrust to follow, "Unless you really mean it...” Nanami adds, plump cockhead caressing a new spot inside you all of a sudden, “Does it feel like I've gotten bigger, honey?"
You're nodding more than you are actually processing his words or even the very idea of his cock having grown within the time it's been unable to enter you. A sexdrunk babble of, "Mhm, y-yes, Ken!" spilling over your lips before he slumps even more of his body weight down against you so you could really feel every inch of the man you'd avoided physical contact with for all thirty days of November.
His hunky chest presses firmly against yours and the smooth slicks of sweat between the two of you mix just as evenly as your breaths do when he begins to whisper against your lips, "Do you like it? Y'like how big I've gotten?"
You only nod again, lashes fluttering with the way your gaze falls onto his lips that are far too close for him not to be kissing you right now. "Uhuhh, I love it," you whine before forcing a pout.
The little gesture in your lips doesn't go unnoticed by him so, of course he captures them up with his own within the next second, swallowing up every moan that exits your throat. His body rolls and humps down against you, the one grip he has on your thigh tightening harshly enough for his fingerprints to be noticed much later.
His thrusts get sloppy before he even realizes it, cock slipping out of you long enough to invoke a whine out of your lungs. To which he accidentally lets his florid shaft glide up over your clit in tauntingly pleasureful waves before craning back to angle himself into you properly.
Nanami is normally focused during sex, all intent on getting you to your high before he's anywhere near his because that's what's important to him but now...
"Hold onto me tighter, darling," He's huffing, balls plap plap plaping! against your skin as he prepares you to receive the very thick load of cum that was already starting to spill out of his mushroomy tip. His hand to yours with an ever-presently strong grip, "Squeeze me," he husks gently, fighting back a smile when you do exactly that, "There you go, perfect."
Your fingers wiggle in between his and he could see the bliss coating your delicate face just as your jaw began to dangle open. "Kentoo, m'gonna cum," You uttered in his most favored pitch.
Nanami doesn't even remember to respond for a second because he's too busy fucking you to that point and not realizing he's already pouring velvety ropes of his cum into you. It saps all against your walls and makes the filthiest sound ring out around the room but he could care less.
Especially not with the way he continues with his thrusts and leans up—face all focused, despite being every but—and then tugs your hand up to his lips. You're a mess below him by the time he takes your ring and middle finger past his lips before sucking on the two digits as if to muffle the purely pathetic sounds flinging out of him.
You're sure you've seen Nanami feral like this before but you almost forgot what a sight it as to see after four weeks.
He quickly goes from sucking on your fingers to plucking them out of his mouth and then kissing every inch his lips could possibly meet, searing his words into your skin as if to tattoo them there, "Cum for me then, cum for your husband," he whines. Then his eyes flick over to you and you feel yourself do exactly that whilst he grins and adds a tender, "Make me proud."
It was almost funny the way he'd acted like this, as if he wasn't the one who initiated the sex ban after he forgot to pick up something you'd specifically requested from the store.
What a man.
☆ Choso Kamo — Holding his face
He always loved it when you took his face into your hands, running your thumbs under his tired shaded eyes and talking all softly about how much you missed him throughout the day. But, something about today in particular was making it especially difficult to think.
He would've never held the door open for that blonde chick if he'd known you'd do this to him—restrict him from all things sexual with you for a tormentingly long five days. Now that the torturous banning of intimacy has finally come to an end, your boyfriend is acutely aware of the fact that he's allowed to cum inside you now.
Poor Choso doesn’t think he’s ever gotten hard so fast. You’re sitting in his lap yapping away about your day—like you always do—and he’s supposed to be listening but your palms are just so warm against his face. Something deep inside him aches for you to slip your hands down and wrap those same pretty fingers of your around his throat.
Oh God, the thought alone made his cock jump up and leave a snugging bulge against you. That’s probably why he ended up pushing the two of you over and shutting you and your rambling up with a heated kiss, groaning into your mouth about how you could tell him about your day later.
You know your boyfriend could get needy sometimes but this was something else entirely. He practically tore your shorts and panties clean off, letting his dick slap against your softly soaking folds shortly after whilst telling you he needed to fuck you before he lost his mind.
"Cho," You’re choking out now, arms loosely hanging around his neck as he plows his cock into you and grunts against your lips as if possessed.
He’s hardly uttering anything coherent with you anymore, nothing but slippy hums of, "Mhmmm.” exiting him between the way his cock got caught against the especially tight crevices of your pussy.
Your boyfriend isn’t allowing you any space to think, much less speak to him outside of the distant croaks of, "Choso! Ngh-, fuck… C-Can’t breathe-," you let out.
"Don't need to," He heaves right into your lips, tongue practically drawing the words out against the center of yours, "Lemme be your oxygen."
Oh, he’d lost it entirely. But, he wasn't exactly incorrect in his words. He was being your oxygen in the moment with the way he'd inhale every time you exhaled and the same vise versa. It was a fucked out tangle of breathy moans and groans between your equally kiss-swollen lips whilst the sticky tip of his cock bobbed sinfully against that doughy sweet spot of yours.
Muttering, "See?" in between his thrusts before he sliiiiiid his hips forward and let his dick oh-so-smoothly coast into your quenching walls, "In," Then he's doing the exact opposite motion and draaaaging it right back out, "And out, jus' like that, princess."
Your eyes were barely open but, as he sweet-talked you and had you a soaking mess under him, he also managed to maneuver your hands to his face so that you could focus entirely on him and the expressions he made against your palms while he fucked you. The dark strands of his hair dangled around you and he almost looked like he wanted to cry from how good he felt.
"Mmgh, right there," You gasp as soon as his cock mashes against that erogenous place within you again.
Choso turns his face into your hand a little and then kisses your palm, "Yeahh, that's my favorite spot inside you," He admits before his eyes seem to darken, "Look at me while I fuck it."
He feels your saturated cunt seem to get wetter the moment he says that but what really makes his hips snap forwards a little harder is the way you so keenly follow his instructions and keep your eyes directly on his.
"There she is, hey baby," Choso praises tentatively, "G-Gonna cum soon," He says in between a particularly loose swat of his tongue over his lower lip, "Y'ready for it?"
You use your grip on his face to tug him down for another sloppy connection of lips and as soon as your tongue filters its way up into his mouth, he's letting out something throaty and then letting clumps 'n clumps of his raw cum bloom out into your warm cunt.
Drunkenly murmuring a low, "S'all yours. Saved it just for you these last few days. Shiiit, never opening a door for another girl again. I p-promise."
"Huh?" You gape, batting your lashes rapidly as he plucks his lips away from yours for a split second, "Choso, it wasn't about the-, ah. It wasn't about you holding the door open. It's cause you flirted with her!"
"O-Oh." His eyes get impossibly droopier before he frowns deeply. Then he's tucking his face down into the crook of your neck, nuzzling into your skin rather puppy-like. "M'sorry. I didn't mean to."
You wanted to accept his apology, honestly. But with the way he starts smirking against you...
"You didn't mean to say her ass looks nice in those jeans she was wearing?" You huff, trying to ignore the pleasure for a moment to remind yourself why you'd banned him from sex in the first place.
Choso chuckles softly before angling his lips up so he can lick at your neck. Then he drools against you, "You said it first. All I did was agree." Oh, you understood where he was going with this now. Especially with the way he leans up to meet eyes with you again, "And I did that on purpose cause I wanted to see you mad at me."
An easy roll of your eyes is prompted right them, even as your cunt clamps around the curve of his cock, "That's kinda toxic, Choso. What if I put you on sex ban for a month?"
He pauses for only half a second. Then he frowns again, "I'd die."
You scoff playfully, "Loser."
Aaaand with that, he's cumming inside you with a strangled grunt bumping out of his throat. "Y-Your loser, yeahh.."
☆ Toji Fushiguro — Rubbing his thigh
"F-Fuuuck," You finally have your hand wrapped around the stupidly thick base of his cock, stroking upwards with great fervor that has him groaning all shamefully like some idiot, "Mmgh, I needed this."
Cooing, "Aw, did you?" in that tone you know he can't stand just to tease him some more for letting a very "innocent" run of your hand over his thigh lead to this.
In your head you just wanted to touch your boyfriend a bit while the two of you watched some movie but apparently that was too much for him to handle after two months of nothing. By the time you just-so-happened to look over, his head was tossed back and it was taking every muscle in his body not to start grinding up against your palm and working his cock over so you could rub your hand over that instead of his thigh.
Luckily for Toji, you're the sweetest girl on the planet so of course you tugged his cock out for him and started jerking him off like he so desperately needed you to.
But, that was thirty minutes ago and for some reason, he's hard again. You've both lost track of how many times he came in your hand but you don't think you mind it much since now he's too high off his own orgasms to mind the way your silky tongue is lapping around his sensitive nipple.
"Don't tease me," He huffs, jaw taut with tension like he didn't do all this to himself, "Agh-, not when I'm like this..."
You suck on the flushed bud against your tongue a little more before pulling away and kissing around the swollen area, "Like what? A mess in my hands?" You plant another kiss in between your words and your hand jerks at the heavy shaft against your palm a little faster, "A mess against my tongue?"
"Fuck," He groans like it hurts (in a good way), and then his hips thrust up to meet your hand some more and encourage your mouth against his nipple.
Usually, he tries everything in his power to avoid letting you do all this to him but he couldn't care less today since he's been more than eager to cum lately. There's a slop of white trickling all in between every crack and crevice of your hand by now—a feeling of which he's sure would be a sensory nightmare in any other situation—but he just can't stop thrusting into the curve of your palm.
"S'okay, Toji," You whisper way to lovingly for him not to continue to lose his mind, "I missed having you like this too, y'know."
A crooked smile spreads out against his scarred lips and he's trying his best to get ahold of his panting, "Did ya'?"
He felt like some puddled mess under your touch and he wasn't sure if he hated every second of it or secretly wanted more 'n more. The latter quickly proves to be true when you start humming, "Mhmm," as you take his nipple back into your mouth.
The vibrations against it, paired with your thumb caressing the underside of his most tender vein as you glide upwards with your touch, and then swirl the pad of your thumb around his plump head and then in between the slit of it to push at the silky cum spilling out leave him to moan. The pillow on his other side that he's mindlessly holding onto looks almost lifeless due to his current grip.
"W-Why?" He stammers, cursing himself for it as soon as the hoarse tone leaves him. Then Toji's pouty-like eyes flock onto your body and how pretty you look sitting beside him and pleasing him as if you didn't even care about getting yourself off right now, "'Cause you like seein' me make a fool of myself?"
"Yeahh," You whisper honestly, smiling and then leaving a trail of kisses upwards until you meet his neck and then his tense jawline, "You always get soooo grumpy as if you didn't bring this on yourself," Your voice is too much of a purr and it makes his balls feel impossibly heavier like you haven't almost milked him dry already.
So, of course he takes the annoyed approach and scoffs, "Shut up 'n keep makin' me feel good," Toji tells you.
With a mean squeeze to his cock, you hear his breath tangle up in his throat and the way his entire muscular body tenses up and reacts to the motion, "A whole two months you haven't been able to fuck me and now you wanna be a brat when I finally give you some attention?" You tut, no longer moving your hand and only leaving it to squeeze at his hefty shaft to prevent him from cumming again.
Toji's eyes roll all the way into the back of his skull and his hips jerk upwards in a pathetic attempt at getting his cock to slip upwards within your grasp and give him some more movement 'n friction against it. "O-Ohh fuck-, doll... m'sorry," He spews out instantly, "F-Fuuck.. Please don't-"
"Should've been nicer to me," You cut off as you take your hand off of his dick and watch it wave in the air helplessly.
Technically speaking, he could've taken matters into his own hands (literally) at any given moment now but that couldn't possibly compare to the feeling of having your touch wrapped around him.
The man almost whines as he reaches a shaky hand over to your wrists and urges you back to his weighty cock to start touching it again, "Don't stop, please. P-Please, doll, m'right there."
You roll your eyes and merely keep your hand in an O-shape so that he could fit himself back into your touch, "Do it yourself then." You instruct with a nod of your head. "C'mon, put on a little show for me, Toji."
He didn't need to be told twice. Toji steadies himself on the couch and instantly begins to fuck his cock up into your hand without you moving a single inch. His breath is uneven and all over the fuckin' place as he gets off on just using your hand without your help.
He's never felt so helpless and pathetic like this before that it's quickly beginning to make his head spin. To make matters worse, you move your lips over to his neck again and start kissing him to encourage what he's doing as if he doesn't look stupid with what he's doing right now.
"S'this what you wanted? Huh?" He heaves out, nostrils flaring and voice frayed.
You smile into his skin and nod, "Uhuh, this is exactly what I wanted."
To which Toji rolls his eyes and lets his hips get sloppier with their thrusts, his cock occasionally slipping out of the little hole you've created for him, "Yeah, I bet it is. Fuckin' perv..."
You snicker and look back down at how cute his dick looks missing the very simple hole he desperately aches to fit into, "I could always move my hand, y'know."
"I fuckin' dare you," Your boyfriend challenges.
As if you'd ever been one to back down from such a thing...
The very second you take your hand away again, that submissive 'n pathetic side of his snaps and you're only given a moment to blink before he's got you on top of him within the next second.
Scoffing like everything is your fault, "Such a fuckin' brat... Always makin' me work for what I need."
You quickly feel his bobbling tip kissing up against your pussy lips with swabby slicks of wet cum, "T-Toji, what are you-"
"Shut up 'n sit," He orders like he wasn't a whiny mess a total of six minutes ago.
So, naturally, you fold your arms and keep yourself hovering over his dick, "Say please."
"Fuck that," He breathes, hands at your hips abruptly giving your body a swift pull downwards as if you were the lightest thing on the planet (to him, you were), "Don't you feel how hard I am f'you?"
"Toji-," You're cut off by your own gasp as his wide-set cockhead slips up into you with a loud 'n wetly ringing pop!
"Always a sloppy whore f'me, aren't ya?" Toji asks, eyes glued to the drip and drips of sleek arousal drooling out of your cunt. Then he finally cocks his head to the side and looks back up at you with a look in his eyes that says he already knows the answer to the question he's about to ask, "So are you gonna sit now or do I have to make you do that too?"
"Fine. But if you fall asleep like you did two months ago, I'm makin' you wait five before you even get to touch me again." You explain.
Toji shudders, his hands holding onto you for dear life whilst his eyes widen a fraction as if to prove he'll never make the same mistake again.
Deep down inside he'd realized you may be the craziest chick he's ever been with—banning him from sex just cause he fell asleep during it one time—but he'd be lying if he said he didn't love that about you.
genre: CEO!jungkook, biker!jungkook, cold!y/n, coparenting, outdoor sex
Jungkook is your daughter’s father and nothing more. But when he sees you going on dates, his jealousy flares up and he shows you who can actually make you squirt. You claim this doesn’t change anything but when he shows up on his bike… well, you’ve always been weak for him on his beloved bike.
tags: jealous jungkook, childhood rivals to lovers to exes (sorta), angry sex, against the car sex, rough sex, degradation, possessive behavior, dirty talk, oral sex (f. receiving), squirting, creampie (external), unresolved sexual tension, power dynamics, biting, marking, hickies, spanking, size difference, clothed sex (partial), unprotected sex, breeding kink, crying during sex, motorcycle sex, body worship, kissing and making out, nipple play, fingering, cunnilingus, hair pulling, praise kink, dirty talk, creampie (inside), breeding kink, possessive Jungkook, bratty reader, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, praise mixed with degradation, desperate Jungkook, possessive Jungkook, he presses on your belly as he fucks you, romantic gestures, kinda emotional at the end, hopeful ending.
total words: 5.4k
this snippet: 2.5k words
(this snippet shows first scene where you go a date, jungkook finds you, gets jealous and fucks you against his car on the road in public)
[requested by Patron]
The late afternoon sun was painting the expensive street in front of Jungkook’s penthouse a hazy gold, but it did nothing to warm the chill in your chest. You parked your sensible sedan behind his stupidly sleek black sports car, the one you’d always teased him about being a mid-life crisis on wheels, even though he’d bought it at twenty-five. Now, at thirty, he still drove it, a reminder of the reckless boy he’d been… and the distant man he’d become.
Your daughter, Soojin, unbuckled herself with the practiced ease of a kid who did this twice a week. “Appa’s house!” she chirped, her little backpack already slung over her shoulder.
“Yes, baby. For the weekend,” you said, forcing brightness into your voice. “You have your bunny?”
She nodded, holding up the well-loved stuffed animal. “And my sparkly markers for the project!”
“Perfect.” You got out, helping her down, your hand in hers as you walked the short path to the imposing glass-and-steel front door. Before you could even ring the bell, it swung open.
Jeon Jungkook stood there, not in a suit for once, but in faded black jeans and a tight grey henley that stretched across his chest and biceps. His hair was a little messy, like he’d been running his hands through it. He looked less like the untouchable CEO of Jeon Holdings and more like the boy who used to race his motorcycle down backroads with you clinging to his back, screaming with laughter.
“My princess!” he grinned, his whole face transforming as he crouched down. Soojin launched herself into his arms, and he caught her effortlessly, swinging her up. She giggled, pressing a loud kiss to his cheek.
“Appa! Did you make waffles?”
“With extra whipped cream and sprinkles, just like you ordered, ma’am,” he said, his voice softening in a way you hadn’t heard directed at you in years. He set her down gently. “Go on in, the table’s all set. TV’s on your cartoons.”
She scampered inside with a happy wave, leaving the two of you in the heavy silence of the doorway.
Jungkook straightened up, his eyes finding yours. The easy warmth faded, replaced by a guarded, intense look. He leaned a shoulder against the doorframe, the picture of casual grace that somehow felt like a challenge. “Hey.”
“Hey.” You crossed your arms. “Her overnight bag is in the car. Allergy meds are in the front pocket, just in case. She already had her bath.”
“I remember the routine, Y/N,” he said, a hint of dryness in his tone.
“Just making sure. Your ‘routine’ used to be board meetings that ran until midnight.”
He flinched, just a tiny tightening around his eyes. He looked past you at your car. “You’re not staying for a coffee? I just brewed a fresh pot. The expensive beans you like.”
The offer hung there, loaded. Staying for coffee used to mean staying for breakfast, which meant staying for a lazy morning in bed, his hands mapping your skin under the sheets. Now it just felt like a trap.
“Can’t,” you said, your voice clipped. “I have plans.”
His gaze sharpened, scanning your outfit—the off-the-shoulder dress, the one that hugged your curves, the subtle shine of lip gloss you’d applied in the car. It was a step up from your usual drop-off leggings and hoodie. “Plans?”
“Yes, Jungkook. Plans. Grown-up plans that don’t involve you.” You turned on your heel, the dismissal clear.
“Y/N.” His voice stopped you, quieter now.
You didn’t turn back. “What?”
A pause. You could feel his eyes burning into your back. “Drive safe.”
You gave a curt nod and got into your car. In the rearview mirror, as you pulled away, you saw him still standing in the doorway, a tall, solitary figure watching until you turned the corner and disappeared. The familiar ache, a mix of old love and fresh resentment, twisted in your gut.
The date was, in a word, pathetic.
Jong-su was nice enough. A dentist with a good practice, pleasant smile, talked about his investment portfolio over salmon en papillote. It was your fifth date with him because he was safe. Boring, but safe. He didn’t look at you like he wanted to devour you and then put you back together. He didn’t make your heart race with a single smoldering glance. He was… fine.
Which is why you’d reluctantly agreed to go back to his perfectly sterile, beige apartment after the restaurant. You thought, maybe, the physical connection could spark something. It didn’t.
It was fifteen minutes of awkward fumbling on his stiff leather sofa. His kisses were sloppy, his hands clumsy as he pushed up your sweater. He got himself off quickly, grunting into your neck, his fingers pinching your nipple with no rhythm. He barely touched you between your legs, a few rushed rubs over your panties before he was spent and rolling off you, already talking about an early tee time.
You felt used, empty, and stupid. Lying there with your jeans around your ankles and cold leather sticking to your thighs, you mourned not for Jong-su, but for the times when sex was a marathon, not a pit stop. When it left you breathless and boneless, covered in sweat and bite marks, not just vaguely irritated and sticky.
“I should go,” you said, your voice flat as you shoved your clothes back into place.
“Oh. Okay. Text me?” Jong-su called from the kitchen, already rinsing a glass.
You didn’t answer. You just walked out, the door clicking shut behind you with a finality that echoed in the empty hallway. The night air was cool on your flushed face as you stepped out of the apartment building, fumbling in your purse for your keys, humiliation and anger a hot coal in your chest.
That’s when you saw it.
The sleek, black monster of a car was idling at the curb, its headlights off. Leaning against the driver’s side door, arms crossed, was Jungkook.
Every bit of simmering frustration from the terrible date ignited into white-hot rage. You stomped across the sidewalk, heels clicking furiously. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
He didn’t even look surprised. His eyes, dark and unreadable in the low light from a streetlamp, traveled over you, taking in your disheveled hair, the smudged lip gloss, the angry set of your jaw. “Nice night for a walk,” he said, his voice dangerously calm.
“Don’t you dare. How could you leave Soojin alone? Is she in that death trap? Jeon Jungkook, I swear to god—”
“She’s asleep. In her bed. At our house,” he cut in, his voice losing its cool edge. “She forgot her art project, the big glittery one about the family tree. We went back to get it. She was so proud of it, she made me look at every single glued-on sequin. Then she fell asleep mid-sentence on the couch.” His gaze hardened. “You weren’t home. So I put her to bed and came to find you.”
The logic did nothing to douse your fury. It just redirected it. “You’re keeping tabs on me now? Is that what this is? The rich, successful CEO is so afraid of losing his… what? His random, insignificant baby mama?” The words were meant to wound, and you saw them land, a flash of pain in his eyes before they shuttered again.
He pushed off the car, taking a step toward you. You caught the faint scent of his cologne, the one you’d bought him years ago, mixed with the night air. “You were never random,” he growled, the possessiveness in his voice so familiar it made your traitorous body thrum. “You know you were never fucking random, so don’t say that shit.”
“Clearly I wasn’t important enough,” you shot back, backing up a step, but he closed the distance. “Not more important than the company, the board meetings, the late nights, the fucking shareholders.”
He was quiet for a moment, the only sound the low rumble of his car’s engine. His eyes dropped to the base of your throat, then back up. “So. You’re going on dates now.”
It wasn’t a question. It was an accusation. “Yes. I am. What, did you think I’d just stay frozen in time, waiting for you to remember you had a wife?”
He let out a short, humorless laugh. “With him?” He jerked his chin toward the apartment building. “I saw him when he brought you home. Your standards have really plummeted, darling.”
The old endearment, used as a weapon, stung. “At least he’s present during dinner! At least he doesn’t cancel because a fucking merger in Tokyo is more exciting than his family!”
The jealousy and self-loathing you’d wanted to provoke finally broke through his controlled mask. His jaw tightened. “Did he even make you come?”
The question, so crude and direct, stole the air from your lungs. Your silence was all the answer he needed.
A savage sort of satisfaction flashed in his eyes, mixed with a desperate anger. “He didn’t, did he? He fucked you in his boring apartment and didn’t even bother to make it good for you.” He took your wrist, his grip firm but not painful. “I always made you come. Every single time. Even when we were late, even when we were tired, I always made sure you were shaking before I even thought about my own dick. Didn’t I?”
His touch was electric, sending a jolt straight to your core. You hated it. You hated him. You hated that your body still reacted to him like it was wired directly to his. “That doesn’t matter anymore,” you whispered, trying to pull away.
“It matters to me.” His voice dropped, low and rough, full of a need that mirrored the one suddenly pulsing between your own legs. “I can be better than him. I am better than him. Let me show you.”
“You’re pathetic,” you hissed, but you’d stopped pulling your wrist away. “Needy and possessive. You don’t get to fuck me just because you’re jealous.”
“Watch me,” he breathed, and then he was moving.
In one fluid motion, he spun you around, your back now to his chest. He walked you the two steps to the cold, sleek hood of his car and bent you over it. The metal was shocking against your palms. “Jungkook, stop—”
He didn’t stop. One hand splayed on your lower back, holding you down. The other shoved your dress up around your waist. The night air hit your bare thighs. He’d seen—of course he’d seen—that you weren’t wearing the sensible cotton panties from this afternoon. You were wearing lace. Black lace. For the date.
A low growl vibrated from his chest. “Fucking lace. For him.” There was a sharp rip, and the fragile fabric gave way. He tore your panties clean off, tossing the ruined scrap aside. His fingers were on you then, sliding through your folds, and he let out a groan that was pure male triumph. “You’re soaked. Dripping for me. And you just let that bastard touch you?”
He didn’t wait for an answer. You heard the rasp of his zipper, the rustle of clothing, and then the blunt, insistent pressure of his cock, nudging against you. He was already hard, thick and demanding.
“You’re not putting that in me,” you spat, even as your hips betrayed you, pushing back against him.
“Too late, love.” With a single, powerful thrust, he was inside, burying himself to the hilt in one stroke.
A choked cry was torn from your throat. It was too much, too fast, too deep. He felt bigger than you remembered, stretching you exquisitely, filling the awful emptiness from just minutes before. He didn’t move for a second, letting you feel every inch of him, his body draped over yours, his lips at your ear.
“Tell me he didn’t feel like this,” he whispered, his voice ragged. “Tell me his pathetic little dick didn’t reach here, where you need me.” He pulled back almost all the way and slammed home again, making the car rock slightly.
You couldn’t speak. Pleasure, sharp and blinding, was already coiling tight in your belly. You braced your hands on the hood, the engine’s heat seeping through the metal, a contrast to the cool night on your back.
“That’s what I thought,” he snarled, setting a ruthless, pounding rhythm. Each thrust drove you harder into the car, your breasts aching against the unyielding surface. “You’re still mine. This tight, perfect cunt is still mine. You can go on a hundred dates, Y/N. It won’t change that. They’ll never fuck you like I do.”
“Fuck you,” you moaned, the fight leaving your voice, replaced by sheer, overwhelmed sensation.
“That’s the idea, baby.” One of his hands left your hip, snaking around to roughly palm your breast through your dress and bra, pinching your nipple until you yelped. “Missed these. You got even sexier after having our kid. Fuller. So fucking perfect.”
His dirty talk, the crude ownership in his words, was like gasoline on the fire in your blood. You were melting, the anger dissolving into pure, animal need. The sounds of skin slapping against skin, his ragged breaths, your own helpless whimpers, filled the quiet street.
“Call me Oppa,” he demanded, his pace becoming erratic, harder, deeper.
A spark of your earlier defiance returned. You said it mockingly, dripping with sarcasm. “Whatever you say… Oppa.”
He let out a feral sound, his hand coming down in a sharp smack on your ass cheek. The sting made you cry out, clenching around him wildly. “Say it like you mean it. Like you used to when you’d come on my cock begging for more.”
But you wouldn’t give him that. Not anymore. You bit your lip, holding back the words, even as your body surrendered completely to his. The coil was wound impossibly tight, a spring about to snap. His fingers found your clit, rubbing rough, frantic circles.
“Gonna come for me,” he grunted, his thrusts becoming brutal, punishing. “Gonna squirt all over my car, show me what I’ve been missing. Do it. Now.”
The command, the relentless pressure of his fingers and his cock, broke you. The orgasm ripped through you with a violence that stole your vision. A guttural scream tore from your throat as you convulsed, a hot rush of liquid spilling out of you, soaking his thighs, dripping onto the pavement below with an audible patter. The intensity was so overwhelming, a white-noise static filled your ears, your limbs turning to jelly. For a second, the world went dark at the edges.
Jungkook swore, his rhythm shattering. He held himself deep as you pulsed around him, his own groan long and satisfied. At the last second, he pulled out. Hot stripes of his release painted your ass and lower back, marking you. “Not gonna put a baby in you,” he panted, collapsing over you for a moment, his weight heavy and familiar, “until we sort this shit out.”
The haze of the orgasm receded, replaced by cold, crashing reality. What the hell had you just done? On a public street, over his car, like some cheap hookup.
You shoved him off you, your legs trembling violently as you stood. You yanked your dress down, the wetness between your thighs a humiliating reminder. You turned to face him, his jeans still undone, his cock glistening in the dim light, a smug, spent expression on his handsome, infuriating face.
You scoffed, the sound brittle. “That,” you said, gesturing vaguely at the mess, at him, at the whole scene, “is never happening again.”
You snatched your keys from where they’d fallen on the ground, didn’t even bother looking for the torn remnants of your panties. You wobbled to your car, got in, and slammed the door. As you pulled away, your hands shaking on the wheel, you saw him in the rearview mirror, still standing by his car, watching you leave again.
(full version contains jungkook coming to woo you on his bike, worshipping your body and fucking you on the bike while talking about knocking you up)
megumi fushiguro is trying very hard to play it cool.
he’s buried deep inside you, hips pressed flush against yours, when he first notices it—the soft, unmistakable bulge in your lower belly every time he thrusts forward. his cock is visibly pressing against your insides, distorting your stomach just slightly with every slow roll of his hips.
he freezes for half a second.
his usual stoic expression stays perfectly intact, but inside, something feral awakens. his dark eyes flick down to your stomach again, locked on the way the bulge appears and disappears with each thrust. he feels almost dizzy at the sight.
he doesn’t say anything. doesn’t acknowledge it. just keeps his breathing steady and his face neutral. at least, that’s what he wants you to think. in reality, megumi is obsessed.
the sight of his cock making your tummy bulge is doing dangerous things to his self-control. he’s never seen anything hotter in his life. the primal urge to push deeper, to make the bulge even more obvious, is quickly overriding his usual restraint.
without warning, his pace changes.
his thrusts become harder. deeper. more deliberate. each stroke is forceful enough that the bulge in your stomach becomes much more visible. megumi’s jaw clenches, eyes darkening as he watches it intently.
you moan loudly, fingers digging into his shoulders. “megumi— ah! slow down—”
he doesn’t. if anything, he fucks you even harder.
his hand slides down and presses firmly against the bulge, feeling the shape of his own cock through your soft skin. the sensation makes him groan low in his throat—the only crack in his cool facade.
“fuck…” he mutters under his breath, barely audible.
he’s completely fixated now. every time he bottoms out, he watches the way your belly swells with his cock, mesmerized. his usual calm and steady rhythm is gone, replaced by something rougher and more possessive. his hips snap against yours with more and more intensity, chasing that view that makes his brain melt.
you’re trembling beneath him, overwhelmed by how deep he’s getting. “megumi… it’s too much— i can feel you so deep—”
“good,” he replies. his hand stays pressed against your tummy, pushing down gently so he can feel himself even better. “i want you to feel all of me.”
he leans down, forehead pressed against yours, eyes still glued to the way your stomach bulges every time he drives into you. his breathing is ragged now, control slipping further with every thrust.
“you look so good like this,” he admits quietly, almost shyly, even as he fucks you harder. “seeing my cock inside you… fuck, i can’t stop looking.”
megumi’s thrusts turn punishing, hips slamming into you as he loses himself in the sight. the usually controlled boy is gone—replaced by someone completely addicted to the way your body yields to him, marked so visibly by his cock.
he presses down on your belly again, eyes dark with lust. “take me deeper,” he whispers against your lips. “i want to see how much you can take.”
Summary: Satoru Gojo’s a dead porn star turned Vocaloid reincarnation. Destined and doomed to be consumed by millions. That’s until the voice that once haunted his final moments downloads him into this alternate reality. When Gojo appears in your room as something impossibly human, the line between fan obsession, resurrection, and fate blurs into a hot mess
Content Warning: porn w/little plot, mentioned drug use and substance abuse (including cocaine use and overdose), death and character death (including prior major character death and resurrection/afterlife elements), some grief, kinda parasocial relationship dynamic, oral sex, vaginal sex, penetration, ejaculation/creampie, fellatio, cunnilingus, a bit of angst if you squint
art creds: @ViNt_ju on X
my ObjectGojo submission based off (Pornstar Satoru)
The last party Satoru Gojo attended was nothing special. Just another Hollywood hills mansion packed with bodies and bad decisions. He was already half-high when he found you, some cute girl pressed against the wall, looking lost. He talked to you, kissed you, taught you how to handle a blunt without coughing your lungs out. It was sweet, almost innocent, until your friend Jenna dragged you away and whispered who he really was. A pornstar like her. Top of the industry in fact. You decided that night that you'd just be friends with him. With both of you pretending the attraction didn't simmer beneath every glance, every accidental touch. But that chance never came. He overdosed on cocaine three days later, heart giving out in his own bathroom. You went to the funeral, cried a little, mourned as much as you could for a guy who fucked half the people at his grave. Who had a life of STI scares and a trail of heartbreaks. But of course you moved on, because that's what people do.
Except Satoru didn't get to move on. He woke up in a void, confused and disembodied, before being told he'd have to make up for his slutty cocaine-addicted ways! That was how he wound up downloaded into a 17,000 yen voicebank for a Vocaloid named the same as him. For months he existed as a virtual idol sweeping the nation.
The first few moments of being a product were disorienting in ways he could never anticipated. He was aware of everything. Every user who purchased his voicebank, every song that was made with his tones, every adoring comment left on his videos. He felt it all, the clicks and the downloads and the streams, and he hated how much he loved it. The attention was intoxicating in a way that Onlyfans had never quite managed to be. Thousands of people were using him, creating with him, falling in love with a version of him that had never existed in real life. He sang about joy and summer romances and sometimes dumb shit like tuna or kikufuku. In a way he got to experience different lives he could've never experienced as he was. He got to sing about love and joy knowing damn well the woman he'd loved and the woman he could've loved were probably moving on. The dissonance between his old routine and his new one should've driven him insane, but instead it just made him more popular.
Satoru remained aware of every user who bought him, every song they made him sing, every comment they left about how much they adored him. He hated it, and he loved it. He felt everything and nothing. Then, one day, someone in Japan downloaded his voicebank, and something clicked. A familiar soul. You.
You were nineteen, a literature student at a local university, living in a cramped Shinjuku apartment. You'd discovered Gojo Satoru through a music video your friend had sent you on niconico, and from the first note he sang, you were hooked. His voice hit something deep in your chest. A resonance you couldn't explain. You bought his limited edition figures, his acrylic stands, his special-edition album, blind boxes, the whole schtick. When his voicebank new V6 dropped, you realized you should try it out yourself. Saving all your hard earned money just to use him for yourself. The download started at 7 PM, progress bar crawling at a snail's pace. You made some buldak, checked social media, stared at the screen willing it to move faster. By 11 PM it was only at 40%. You fell asleep at your desk, head pillowed on your arms, dreaming of white hair, blue eyes, and that smile you could’ve sworn was so familiar.
You woke to warmth. A weight pressing against your mattress, a hand cupping your cheek, breath ghosting across your lips. Your eyes snapped open and there he was Gojo Sator. But this time he was real. White hair fell across his forehead, blue eyes glittered with tears, and his mouth curved into that familiar smirk you'd seen in a thousand promotional images. "Missed you," he whispered, and his voice was exactly like the voicebank, only richer, more human. "I've been waiting so long to see you again."
You didn't react the way he expected. Instead of melting into his touch or crying with joy or any of the romantic reunion scenes he had imagined while floating in digital purgatory, you screamed. A real scream, high pitched and terrified, the kind of sound that came from somewhere primal. You scrambled backward on your mattress, nearly falling off the edge, your hand reaching blindly for something, anything to put between you and the impossible man who had appeared in your room. Your fingers closed around your pillow, and without thinking, you hurled it at his face with all the strength you could muster.
The pillow hit him square in the nose, soft but startling, and he blinked at you with wide eyes while it dropped into his lap.
"WHAT THE FUCK??? STAY BACK!" you shouted, your voice cracking with panic. "Stay the fuck back! Who are you? How did you get in here? I will call the police, I swear to God, I will scream so loud the neighbors will come and they will beat your ass! I have a knife somewhere, I will stab you! I do not know what you think you are doing but you need to leave right now!"
He held up his hands, palms out, the picture of innocence despite the situation. "It is me, sweets," he said, and his voice was so gentle, so familiar, that it made your heart stutter in your chest. "Gojo Satoru. Your fav internet idol, no? You downloaded me tonight! i'm not sure what went wrong to bring me here but i'm here now."
"Yeah, no....Vocaloids don't just show up in people's beds!" you retorted, still trembling, still pressing yourself against the wall as if you could melt through it. "They're computer programs! They sing on screens! They do not break into apartments and carry people to beds, and they don't fucking touch people's faces while they're sleeping! This is insane! I'm either dreaming or you're some weird pervert!"
He couldn't help but laugh at that. The sound soft and breathless, and the sound was exactly like the laugh tracks you had heard in his demo songs. "I know it doesn't make sense. I don't even fully understand it myself. But I was someone before this. A real person. I died, got sent to niconico HELL, but now I'm back and I wanted to see you first. I've been so drawn to you, and you're the only one who made being a product feel like it was worth it."
Your brain tried to process his words while your body stayed frozen in fight or flight mode. He was sitting on your bed, wearing a silver fucking button down, looking at you with eyes that were too blue to be real and too wet to be fake. The white hair was unmistakable, falling across his forehead in that perfectly messy way you had seen in a thousand ways online. The smirk was the same too, curving his lips with a confidence that bordered on arrogance. But the tears were new. The vulnerability in his expression was something no software could replicate.
He noticed your slow understanding. He just knew deep down you were still that sweet and utterly shy girl. When Satoru leaned in, his lips brushing yours as if gauging your permission. You answered by kissing him back. You didn’t know why you did. Despite the crush you had on him, he wasn’t real. He was fictional. Digitally synthesized to be perfect in every way. But unfortunately you were horny as fuck, and if a hot guy was yearning for you while caressing your face, you weren’t going to skip on taking advantage of the situation.
The kiss deepened hungrily, all the awkwardness of the moment melting away into something desperate and urgent. He straddled your hips, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his hands sliding under your shirt to find bare skin. His fingers were cold against your stomach, but his palms were warm, and the contrast made you shiver. You should have pushed him away, called the police, screamed for help. But your body had its own ideas. Your hips arched into him, your fingers finding the hem of his metallic shirt and tugging it upward.
He broke the kiss long enough to pull it off, tossing it somewhere across the room. His torso was practically sculpted, defined in a way that made your mouth go dry. He had the kind of body that belonged on magazine covers. Your hands moved on their own, tracing the lines of his shoulders, the dip of his collarbone, the trail of hair leading down his stomach.
"Like what you see?" he asked, and his voice was playful, cocky, exactly the way his avatar had always sounded when he teased his listeners in concert interludes. But there was a softness underneath, a vulnerability that made your chest ache.
"You're pretty, Toru" you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. The confession made his heart ache and his pale face blush. "Gosh, this is... insane. I-I'm insane, aren't I? Insane for letting you stay."
He laughed, pressing his forehead against yours. "Maybe we're both a little insane, yeah? But I don't care...Want you so bad, and I'd been wishing I could crawl out that screen for ages."
His words made your knees wobble. That smile of his was like sunrise, breaking across his face with a warmth that made your heart skip. He kissed you again, slower this time, more deliberate. His tongue traced your lips, asking for entry, and you opened for him without hesitation. The kiss deepened, tasting of mint and something sweet, something that was just him. His hands found the clasp of your bra, and he unhooked it with practiced ease, sliding the straps down your arms and tossing it aside.
"Can I touch you?" he asked, his lips trailing down your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point. "Please," you breathed out, your own voice feeling unfamiliar. Drenched with a need you'd never felt this strong towards.
His mouth latched around your nipple, tongue flicking over the sensitive peak while his hand kneaded your other breast. The sensation shot straight to your core, making you arch into him, fingers tangling in his white hair, pulling him closer. He sucked harder, teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp, and then he switched sides, giving the same attention to your other breast while his hand slid down your stomach and into your shorts.
When his fingers found you, slick and ready despite your earlier panic, he groaned against your skin. "So wet for me already," he murmured, his voice rough with desire. "You have no idea how long I've dreamed about this. About tasting you. About feeling you gush around my fingers."
He pulled them out, brought them to his lips, licked them clean with a look of pure satisfaction. "I want to taste you for real," he said, and before you could respond, he was already sliding down your body, pushing your shorts and underwear down your legs, settling between your thighs like he belonged there.
He looked up at you from between your legs, blue eyes dark with want, white hair falling across his forehead. "I have imagined this forever," he said, his voice reverent. "Do you know what it was like, being sent to purgatory before I ever got to taste you? That was really hell. That was the real punishment."
Then his mouth was on you, and your mind went blank.
His tongue slid through your folds, slow and deliberate, savoring every inch of you. He circled your clit with a precision that made your hips buck off the mattress, a broken moan escaping your lips. He moaned against you, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your body, and he seemed to know exactly what that sound did to you because he did it again, louder this time, humming with pleasure while he ate you out like a man starving.
"God, you taste incredible," he said, pulling back just long enough to breathe the words against your slick skin. "Better than I ever imagined. Sweet and hot and so fucking good."
His tongue dipped inside you, curling and stroking, exploring you like he was memorizing every texture, every taste. Then he returned to your clit with firm, steady pressure that built and built until you were trembling on the edge, your fingers twisting in his hair, your thighs pressing against his ears.
"Come for me," he murmured, the words vibrating against your most sensitive spot, and that was all it took. You came screaming, your back arching off the mattress, stars bursting behind your eyelids as waves of pleasure crashed through you. He didn't stop. He kept licking, kept sucking, kept drawing out your orgasm until you were oversensitive and twitching, then he kissed his way up your body and pressed his mouth to yours.
You tasted yourself on his lips, sweet and unmistakable. His eyes were hazy, his pupils blown wide, and there was something new in them—something deeper than just lust. He was looking at you like he was falling, like he was already gone.
"You're beautiful," he said, stroking your cheek with trembling fingers. "The way you look right now, all flushed and breathless because of me... I could watch you come undone a thousand times and never get tired of it."
Your heart hammered in your chest. "I want to make you feel good too," you said, and even to your own ears you sounded shy, uncertain. You'd never done this before, not really. Not with someone who mattered like this.
He grinned, that signature smirk that made your stomach flip. "Oh, you will. But first, wanna taste you again."
Before you could protest, he was back between your thighs, his tongue finding your clit with renewed purpose. He worked you with a rhythm that was both relentless and tender, building you up again from the aftershocks of your first orgasm. His fingers slid inside you, two at first, then three, curling to hit that spot that made you see double. The combination of his tongue on your clit and his fingers pumping inside you was too much, too good, and you came again, harder this time, crying out his name like a prayer.
When he finally emerged, his chin was slick, his lips swollen, and he looked absolutely feral with satisfaction. "I could do that all night," he said, crawling up to kiss you again. "But I want to be inside you. Is that okay?"
Your face burned. "I've never... I mean, I haven't actually done it before. The whole thing. With someone."
He went still, his eyes searching yours. There was no judgment in them, no disappointment, just a tender surprise that made your heart ache. "Y're a virgin here?"
You're brain couldn't really compute what he was saying or implying. But you nodded, too embarrassed to speak.
He then cupped your face in his hands, thumbs brushing your cheeks, and kissed you so softly it made your eyes sting. "Then I'm going to make this perfect for you," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "I'm going to take it slow, and I'm going to make sure you feel nothing but good. And if at any point you want to stop, you tell me, and we stop. Okay?"
"Okay," you whispered, and you believed him completely. The crazy, impossible, Satoru was looking at you like you were precious, like he would rather die than hurt you. And somehow, that made everything feel safe.
He reached for his sweatpants, pulling them off along with his boxers, and your breath caught at the sight of him. He was hard, thick, pre-cum beading at the tip, and your mouth watered. You wanted to taste him. You needed to.
"Wait," you said, pushing at his chest. "I want to... I want to try. Before you... you know."
He raised an eyebrow, amused. "Try what?"
Your face was on fire, but you met his eyes anyway. "I want to suck you. I want to see what it's like."
He laughed, surprised and delighted, and it was such a genuine sound that you couldn't help but smile too. "Bold little thing, aren't ya?" he said, but he was already shifting, settling back against the pillows, his cock standing proud and waiting. "Go ahead. Show me what you've got."
You hesitated for only a second, then lowered yourself between his legs. He was beautiful like this, all lean muscle and pale skin, his white hair splayed across your pillow, his blue eyes watching you with a mix of anticipation and affection. You wrapped your hand around his shaft, feeling the heat of him, the velvet-over-steel texture, and brought your mouth to the tip.
The taste was salty, slightly bitter, but not unpleasant. You licked experimentally, running your tongue along the ridge of his head, and he hissed through his teeth. Encouraged, you took him deeper, your lips sliding down his length, your cheek hollowing as you sucked. He groaned, his hand finding your hair, not pulling, just resting there, grounding himself.
"Fuck," he breathed. "Your mouth is... you're so good at this. For a first-timer, you're a natural."
You couldn't answer, but the praise made heat pool in your belly. You worked him with growing confidence, bobbing your head, taking him as deep as you could until he hit the back of your throat. You gagged a bit at first but you pushed through, and the sound made him moan louder.
"You're doing so well," he said, his voice strained. "Look at me."
You looked up, meeting his eyes, and the sight of him all flushed, breathless, utterly undone because of your mouth. It made something weirdly affectionate flare in your chest. Your eyes were wide, tear-filled from the gagging, and he stared down at you like you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
"God, y're perfect," he said, his thumb brushing your cheek. "The way you're looking at me right now... I'm falling for you so hard it's ridiculous!"
Your heart soared, and you redoubled your efforts, taking him deeper, faster, your hand stroking what your mouth couldn't reach. He was close, his breathing ragged, his hips beginning to buck.
"G-gonna cum," he warned. "If you don't want me to-"
You didn't stop. You took him all the way, deepthroating him as he came with a strangled cry, hot and thick, shooting down your throat. You swallowed everything, licking him clean, and when you pulled off, you were gasping for air but grinning like a fool.
He stared at you, chest heaving, eyes wide. "Jesus Christ," he whispered. "I think I just fell in love with you all over again."
'All over again?' You weren't sure what the white-haired lunatic was yapping about but your face burned and you couldn't stop smiling. "Was that okay?"
"Okay?" He laughed, pulling you up to kiss you deeply, tasting himself on your lips. "That was amazing. You're amazing. And now I really, really need to be inside you." He positioned himself between your legs, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance. You felt a flutter of nerves, your body tensing despite yourself.
"Relax," he murmured against your ear, his hand sliding between your thighs to stroke your clit. "I've got you. Just breathe."
You did, letting out a shaky exhale, and he pushed in slowly. The stretch was intense, a burning pressure that made you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders. He paused, letting you adjust, his forehead pressed to yours, his breath warm and steady.
"Tell me when to move," he said, his voice strained with restraint.
You took a moment, letting your body acclimate to the fullness, the sensation of being so completely filled. It was overwhelming, but in the best way. He felt so good inside you, thick and hot, stretching you in ways you'd only ever imagined.
"Okay," you breathed. "Now, please."
He began to move, slow and gentle at first, each thrust a careful slide that made you gasp. His hips rocked against yours, the angle changing slightly with each movement until he hit a spot that made your eyes roll back.
"Mmmh," you moaned, your legs wrapping around his waist. "Right there...Don't stop." He grinned, that cocky, beautiful grin, and picked up the pace. His thrusts grew harder, faster, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. You were both moaning now, a symphony of pleasure that drowned out the hum of your laptop and the distant city noise.
"You feel so good," he said, his voice ragged, his forehead slick with sweat. "Your pussy is perfect, squeezing me like this...H-hah.. Never wanna leave." He kissed you, deep and messy, his tongue tangling with yours while his cock drove into you with relentless rhythm. The pressure built inside you again, a third orgasm coiling tight in your belly.
"I'm close," you gasped, breaking the kiss. "Satoru, I'm gonna-"
"Cum f'me baby," he said, his hips slamming against yours. "Cum on my cock. Please, I wanna feel you."
That was all it took. You shattered, crying out his name, your walls clenching around him as waves of pleasure crashed through you. He followed a moment later, his body shuddering, his moan swallowed by your mouth as he spilled inside you, hot and deep.
He collapsed on top of you, his weight a comforting pressure, his breath hot against your neck. You lay there, tangled and sweaty, your hearts beating in sync. His lips pressed soft kisses to your shoulder, your collarbone, your jaw.
"I meant what I said," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm not going anywhere. I don't care how crazy this is. You're mine now." You smiled, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his back. "Yeah yeah whatever you psycho."
"I settle for psycho if that's what you're calling me now, sweets." He lifted his head, his blue eyes meeting yours, and in them you saw something that made your breath catch. It wasn't just that lust he was used too, it was affection and love. All raw and real and impossible.
"Hey," you said finally, your voice muffled against his skin. "Y'wanna... do that again, Sometime?" His arms tightened around you, and you could feel his smile against your hair. "Whenever you want. I'm not going anywhere ."
And somehow, lying there in the dark with a dead pornstar turned Vocaloid turned miracle, genuinely believed this was a gift from the supernatural. The deity above finally had some mercy for him, and he wouldn't let them down.
a/n: honestly im not sure how i feel abt it but it's here. maybe to make up for the lackluster plot i can make a part two that explores the dynamic but idk man
also i tried to make this line up the baby you're a star series as much as possible but at least spare me
I did not proofread ts btw!! I was set on getting it out on time so spare me!!
✧A/N: sorry this doesn't include everyone, but damn I've got writer's block and i wanted to post something. I'm working on a sukuna fic tho so get ready cuz it's gonna be gross.
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TOJI FUSHIGURO
“Here comes the airplane, Gumi!” you coo, making mock whoosh noises as the chubby toddler opens wide to receive his yogurt.
“Isn’t he a little old to be fed like that?” your boyfriend complains from behind you, eyes narrowed at his son—not too happy about him stealing all of your attention.
“You need to stop babying him, doll.” Toji mumbles against your shoulder, huge arms wrapped around your waist as he gives his son the death glare.
“But I miss when he was little-“ you pout, wiping some stray yogurt from the corner of Megumi’s mouth. “When we first started dating and he would crawl all over the floor-“
“Can I be excused, mama?” Megumi asks politely, cutting off you and Toji’s hushed conversation with a small smile—the toddler stumbles over his words in an adorable way that’s sure to induce baby fever.
“Yes you may.” you smile back, leaning back into Toji’s embrace once the three year old scampers off to his room.
“The kid is never gonna toughen up with the way you’re treating him, mama.” he mocks Megumi’s words with a pestering laugh.
“He doesn’t need to, ‘ji.” you sigh, leaning your head back against his chest to look up at him. “He’s not even in school yet,” you mutter, clearly unhappy at the thought of Megumi starting preschool next year.
“What are you gonna do when he is, doll?” Toji asks, leaning down to peck your pouty lips.
“Be lonely.” you mumble, turning around in Toji’s hold until you’re facing him—chest to his. “Why are you and Megumi so eager to leave me all by myself?” you whine dramatically, pushing some of his hair back.
“What, you want a whiny baby to dote on for the rest of your life?” he teases, slightly confused by your insistence of slowing down his son’s development.
“Maybe I do-“ you smirk, an idea popping into your head. You throw your arms around his wide shoulders, rising up to his ear and biting his lobe-
“Would you give me a baby to dote on, ‘ji?” You whisper, your proposal oozing with a seductive drawl.
Toji is stunned—his jaw unhinging the slightest amount, a subtle flush to his cheeks as he processes what you just asked him.
“Can I make you a daddy again?”
“Fuck- this what you wanted, doll?” Toji’s gruff voice barely registers in your fucked out state—his rough pounds to the very back of your cunt has your head reeling.
“Needed daddy to fill you up till you’re- mfm- round with my kid?” he laughs low in your ear, pelvis smacking your ass so hard you swear the soft flesh is turning red.
“Mhmm!” you cry out, tears falling from your eyes—the byproduct of your previous orgasms and overstimulation.
Your hips are propped up by multiple pillows, keeping you at the perfect angle for Toji’s cockhead to spear into your gummy cervix. All you can do is grip the sheets and take everything he has to give you.
“Megumi wasn’t enough for you, huh?” he grunts, both hands pinning you down by the waist, keeping you in a perfect arch. “So damn greedy-“ Toji slams into you particularly hard, leaning down and crushing your body with his.
“Make m-me a proper- ngh- mama- please, Toji!” you squeal, burying your face even further into the sheets and fucking your hips back, back, back into Toji’s ruthless pace.
“Damn- squeezing me so tight, doll-“ he worms his hand underneath your body to rub mean circles on your clit. “Cum for me- cum and I’ll fill you up, babe-“ Toji pants into your ear, harsh thrusts turning into frantic grinds.
You just nod, no longer able to form coherent sentences—you only let out muffled mewls. With a few more rolls of his hips and flicks to your puffy nub, the borderline painful coil in your belly pulls taut-
“Oh- please-“ your voice breaks, body shaking like a leaf and cunt clamping down like a vice around Toji’s dick. Your hips still, back arching into his solid front, practically begging Toji to finally breed you.
“That’s righttt, doll-“ Toji winces, your pulsing cunt trying to milk him for all he’s worth. “Gonna paint this pretty pussy white, yeah?” he groans right into your ear, a beefy arm moving around your neck before securing you in a headlock.
“Gimme my- mfm- baby, ‘ji!” you beg, your vision nearly spotting the longer your orgasm is drawn out. With a few more shallow thrusts, Toji stuffs your cunt to the brim with his viscous seed—some of it overflowing, dripping down your pussy lips.
“Say thank you, babe-“ Toji snorts, squeezing your head just a little tighter. “Thank me for knocking you up, doll.” he bites your shoulder, hips still flush to your ass. He’s got to make sure you stay nice and full, teeming with his cum.
“Mhmm- thank you, daddy!”
SATORU GOJO
“Toru!” you yell across the baseball diamond, trying to catch your husband’s attention.
Satoru had texted earlier to say he’d be staying late at Jujutsu High, which made you think something was wrong—probably another headache involving the elders. Figuring he could use a pick-me-up, you brought along some sweets.
But when you arrived, it turned out he wasn’t dealing with anything serious at all—he was just hanging around, casually supervising his students’ baseball game after the exchange event with Kyoto.
Satoru searches for the source of his wife’s voice, a dopey grin rising to his face once he locks eyes with you. He gives Yuji one last pat on the head before making his way over.
“How’s my wifey doing?” he pushes his sunglasses up to rest on the top of his head, leaning down to peck your lips.
“I thought maybe you were having a bad day, so I brought you these-“ you hand him the box of treats, though not before ogling how dad-like he looks in that blue button-up.
He would look so sexy holding a chubby baby that looks just like him-
“Hey- what’s going on in that head of yours, hun?” he flicks your forehead, giving you a knowing grin.
“Oh- nothing, Toru-“ you gulp, tearing your gaze away from his exposed forearms to meet his eyes. “You just look-“ you pause, reminiscing on how hot he was while interacting with his students.
“You just look like such a dad, that's all.” you laugh, trying to make it sound unserious—although you’re pretty certain he knows what you’re thinking.
“A dad, huh?”
“Fuck- what if someone w-walks in, Toru?” your moans are breathy, hands bracing on your husband’s chest as he fucks into you with a newfound purpose—getting you pregnant.
“Everyone is busy with the game, princess-“ he coos, big arms wrapping around your back to hold you flush against him. “Just focus on making me a daddy,” Satoru winks, leaning in for a kiss to silence your worries (and whines).
The desk you’re sitting on creaks loudly in the dusty classroom, taking the brunt of your husband’s languid thrusts—though, maybe not as much as your pussy is.
Satoru fucks you slow and deep, making sure to rearrange all of your insides with his leaking cock head. There’s the slightest visible bulge of him just under your belly button every time he bottoms out—you’re so utterly stuffed.
“So-so deep, Toru-“ you whisper against his mouth, lips still wet from his tongue. “So- fuck- full-“ you’re whining, eyes watching where the two of you are connected—creamy strings of your arousal are glazing the base of him, pussy lips spread wide to take his girth.
“You’re about to be a lot fuller, angel.” he lets out a low laugh, a hand moving from your back to press down on the imprint of him in your belly. “Gonna be nice n’ round- ngh- righttt here-“ the pressure is intense, making you feel every single shift of his cock inside you.
“Oh my god-“ you mewl a little too loud, hands smacking Satoru’s shoulders as your tummy tightens. “Gonna cum!” you can barely hold yourself upright, your lower half jerking and twitching.
“Fuck- good girl,” Satoru groans, pushing your back flat against the desk with his weight before burying himself to the hilt. “gonna give me so many mini-me’s, yeah?” he murmurs, face pressed into the crook of your neck.
“Mhmm!” you nod frantically, completely overwhelmed—you can feel his heavy balls twitch against the crevice of your ass, the wide circumference of his tip pressed hard into your cervix, and his staggering form pinning you down.
“Please, Toru-“ your meek whisper sends your husband over the edge, filling your pulsing cunt with a hushed whimper—thick ropes of warm cum flooding your insides.
“God- take it all, angel.” Satoru’s hot breath prickles your neck, chilly hands rubbing comforting circles on your sides while the two of you come down from your highs.
Your little breeding session comes to a swift conclusion once Satoru hears distant footsteps down the hallway. He pulls out, pulling your panties back up your legs—keeping his seed right where it needs to be and pecking your lips-
“Gojo-Sensei!”
CHOSO KAMO
“You two have been together for years and ya still haven’t given me any grandkids,” Jin is drunk off his rocker, slurring his words at the family dinner despite his youngest son being in attendance. “bedroom life ain’t up to par-“
“Dad.” Your fiancé silences his father’s next words with a stern tone, gesturing to the existence of little Yuji sitting right next to him.
“That’s enough booze for you, brother- heh.” Choso’s uncle, Sukuna, huffs out a laugh then pries the glass away from the drunkard’s hands and walks off the kitchen with him in tow—though not before smacking your fiancé up the head for the hell of it.
“Sorry, sweetheart.” Choso mumbles while soothing the back of his skull, completely embarrassed by his family’s behavior tonight.
“No don’t worry about it, Cho-“ you giggle, taking a sip of your wine. “I’m thoroughly entertained and…“ your voice drops to a whisper “enlightened.” You have that cheeky smile on your face that makes Choso shiver.
“I think Jin’s got a point, babe.” you reach out to run your nails through Choso’s hair, fixing it from his uncle’s teasing.
“What do you mean, sweetheart?” he asks, looking at you like you just offered him heaven—eyes wide and cheeks flushed. You smirk, rising to your feet and walking over to his little brother-
“Yu, would you be the bestest uncle in the world if Choso and I had a baby?” you crouch next to his chair, giving his chubby cheek a poke.
“Duh!” Yuji shouts, snorting like you just asked him the easiest question in existence.
“Clear enough for you, Cho?”
“Mfmm- if you wanted a baby so b-bad all this time, Cho-“ your breath hitches, a particularly hard pound up into your cunt has you leaning back and clawing for purchase on your fiancé’s thighs. “should’ve just a-asked me-“
“Thought you may have wanted to wait till- ngh- after the wedding, sweetheart.” his strained words are barely heard over the sloppy sounds of your stuffed pussy—Choso’s previous load dripping out of your lewd hole and onto the coarse brown hair covering his pelvis.
“So sweet, Cho-“ you coo, leaning down on top of him to capture his lips. “But you’re never gonna knock me up if all your cum keeps leaking out of me like this, hun.” you murmur, clenching your walls around him on purpose just to see him squirm.
“Fuck- baby, you can’t do that-“ he whines, wrapping an arm around your waist and turning the two of you over—he pushes your knees up to your tits and starts pounding-
“Oh- that’s better, Cho!“ your jaw unhinges, hands clawing at his veiny forearms to ground yourself. The new angle is hitting even deeper—you can feel the filthy slosh of his seed every time he bottoms out inside of you.
“Sooo pretty, sweetheart-“ he groans, gaze locked on the way your perfect tits bounce with every thrust. “Bet you’ll be an even prettier- damn- mommy-“ he leans down, stretching your limbs even further with his weight to take a peaked nipple into his hot mouth.
“Fuck- m’gonna cum-“ you whine, head falling limp on the pillows, nails burying in Choso’s scalp. He mumbles something unintelligible against your tit, freeing one of your legs to snake a finger down to your clit and flick-
You clamp down hard—your quivering walls send your fiancé head first into his own orgasm, filling your cunt with even more of his milky release. You can feel the warm flood being kept at the entrance to your womb—Choso keeping you nice and plugged with his swollen tip.
“Do you think that’ll be enough, sweetheart?” he’s panting, hot breath tickling your chest.
“Hmm, I don't know-“ you giggle, running your nails up and down Choso’s flexed biceps.
“We should probably keep going.”
RYOMEN SUKUNA
“Wife.” your husband greets you as you enter your shared quarters. His hulking form is sat in front of open sliding doors, smoking a pipe and taking in the late night breeze.
“Husband.” you mutter in response, moving across the room to melt into one of his outstretched arms—extended in an invitation that you’re familiar with. You crawl into his large lap, falling into a comfortable silence.
“I just finished my monthlies-“ you finally speak, settling into his arms and inhaling the comforting scent of smoke. “I’m not with child.” you elaborate, a disappointed sigh worming its way out of your throat.
Silence.
“I’m sorry, Ryo-“ you feel tears pricking your waterline, your breaths turning shaky. “Perhaps there’s something wrong with me-“
“Quiet.” he says firmly, taking a deep drag from his pipe and scratching the top of your head adoringly. “You’re in need of some patience, wife.” he scolds, wrapping one of his monstrous arms around your front and splaying one hand across the expanse of your belly.
“Apologies, husband.” you lean your head back on his shoulder, fingers fiddling with the fabric of his tailored robes.
“I’ll give you a child-“ your husband starts, both sets of eyes falling on your disheartened form. “however, it may require us to try something new-“
“New?”
“Hurtsss, Ryo-“ you’re nearly sobbing, struggling to handle the stretch of having both of his cocks in your cunt at once.
On a normal night, your husband would take both of your holes, one of his lengths in each—that fullness alone was more than enough for you, but currently it seems Sukuna isn’t willing to let a single drop of his seed go to waste.
His dear wife wants a baby, after all.
“Oh, but my dear-“ his mocking chuckle sends shivers up your spine. “If this is so painful, how will you ever birth my heir?” he bottoms out with a husky groan, eyeing the way your walls are stretched thin-
“Ah- I don’t know- know if I c-can!” you’re babbling, hands digging into Sukuna’s abdomen as you tremble. Both of his bulbous tips are knocking on the door to your womb, creating a deep pressure in your tummy that has you tearing up.
“You made your bed, wife-“ he pulls out just about half way, then slams right back home. “Now lie in it.” he growls, using his lower set of arms to pin your hips down and starts to fuck you in earnest.
He rests his weight back on his heels, upper arms grabbing your ankles and holding them out wide in the air—you’re completely exposed, left at the mercy of your husband's whims.
“Fuck- slow down, Ryo-“ you whine, barely audible over the squelching and sloshing of your lewdly soaked cunt—she’s taking him so greedily, despite your brain’s inability to keep up with the sensation.
“No wife of mine taps out, dear.” the encouragement is subtle, but enough for you to nod your head profusely, trying to focus on your real goal—having a baby fucked into you.
“I can t-take it-“ you mewl, trying to convince yourself that you’re capable of bearing this monster of man’s offspring—although knowing damn well you’ll likely be ripped apart, you suppose this unbearable stretch will act as practice-
Your orgasm hits you out of nowhere—shocking both you and Sukuna with a gush of clear slick and suffocating pulses of your pussy. You convulse and sob, legs kicking in your husband’s hold.
“It’ll take this time for certain-“ he grunts, the surprise of you squeezing his cocks has him breeding you fast. Sukuna bullies his twitching dicks as deep as possible before filling you up with a hoarse groan—your belly visibly swelling from the sheer amount of cum-
“Mfmm- feels so good, Ryo-“ you pant as you come down from your high, watching the way his abs tense as he floods your hole with his warm seed—eyes glossed over and grip on your body bruising.
after carrying your son around in your stomach for 9 months, and pushing through 8 hours of intense labour, you are now staring down at your beautiful baby boy with tired eyes.
he is beautiful, but he looks exactly like his father.
you huff. "he looks exactly like you"
"don't sound too excited" sukuna jokes, smoothing over yujis scarce pink hair.
you inspect the baby further, peering at his pink hair, the exact same shade as his daddy's, as well as the same skin tone and his little mouth laying perfectly flat along his face while he sleeps. your eyes follow his chubby arms and fingers and belly, baby fat almost promising that he will get as big and strong as his dad.
then you look up to his father, kuna's face resting in the same serious line while you watch him watching yuji. you reach up and cup sukuna's cheek. when his gaze meets yours you take in the details of his pretty eyes, his tattoos, and his markings below his eyes.
you snap your head back to yuji.
"kuna he even has your little markings" you whine, "he looks nothing like me... i pushed out your fatass baby and carried him for 9 months the least he could do is look a little like me.." you continued on.
sukuna holds back a laugh and smooths over your hair, "the next one will look exactly like you.. maybe a pretty little girl."
you grumble a little more but inevitably settle down and lay back onto the pillow. with yuji in your arms, and sukuna leaning over you both, carressing yujis face, you all sit there for a while.
yuji babbles a little in his sleep and cracks a little smile. "he must be dreaming" you softly mumble with a smile.
sukuna looks back and forth between you too. "he has your smile"
if you weren't so tired, you would've jumped for joy. "really?" you tuck yourself against sukunas chest, nuzzling him slightly.
You were friends with him from birth - the boy across the street, Satoru Gojo. However, you lose touch in college, but finally you're going to the same school! You have a love letter written, but you find Satoru - the football captain - is dating the top cheerleader. And she hates you. You're the girl who doesn't really get noticed, the girl in the bleachers playing the clarinet, watching Satoru score a touchdown and kiss his girlfriend. It hurts, but you try to stay uninvolved, but you're watching the boy you knew hurt. Can the two of you have a friendship anymore, and does he feel the same way as you?
pairings - football star! gojo x band geek! reader
warnings - angsty, emotional, hurt comfort, smutty, Satoru and Suguru kissing all up on reader bc nghhh, oral (f receiving) hand jobs, cum drinking, kissing, fingering, squirting, lil hints of insecurities in Satoru and reader, Shoko being sexy, Suguru being a lil freakkk, Sarah being a hoe. Enjoy!!
this is absolutely based on the T Swift song <3 Part of @indiewritesxoxo series event!
art by @/Jan on X!
<<<part three
part four
“I think I’d need more… kisses from you,” your answer is just a little tease to Satoru – he hates that he’s not the first to claim your pretty mouth, but he can’t help but think he’d be the first to fuck between them.
“Another one, hmm?” You nod, blushing all cute, Satoru moans and captures your lips once more, tongue slipping in all messy, gliding against yours, your tits pressed right against Suguru’s chest.
“Mmm…” he drinks your whines with his mouth, swallowing every cry, lost in everything about you so much he forgets about his damn friend.
“Fuck,” his whisper is husky from his lips, before turning and kissing down the curve of your neck when Suguru captures your lips once more – it is his perfect opportunity to get you and Satoru doing something. But he couldn’t help but at least be a teeny bit involved.
As a best friend to both of you, of course.
He turns your body to face Satoru now, brushing your hair back off your shoulders, his own and sneaking around to lift your top, showing your pretty tits that just bounce right out for Satoru’s view. He swears the man’s eyes almost pop out of their skull when he gets a look at you, his lips parted, damn near drooling.
Suguru chuckles just a bit and kisses down your shoulder, his arms wrapping you and pressing your pretty tits up for Gojo’s hands, feeling you tremble in his hold ever so slightly.
“Should make it up to her, being such a distant little jerk,” Satoru laughs without humor, cupping your breasts and watching your eyes dilate, feeling their weight in his hands. “Shouldn’t you?”
“I really should,” he murmurs, looking up at you under his lashes, leaning down to place a kiss right on your breast, teeth nipping the delicate skin.
“Ah!” Your hand entangles in his silky white locks, you’re still sleepy and trying your best to wake up, breaths coming in shallow little pants, Satoru’s mouth wrapping your nipple, eyes looking under your lashes.
“You like that, princess?” Suguru asks softly, his lips pressing against your ear, tongue slipping across the shell of it, you tremble and nod, leaning your head back to have him kiss you again.
“Y-yes,” his thumb brushes across the side of your breast as Satoru pulls back with a messy pop.
“Like my mouth on your pretty tits?” Satoru asks softly, you bite down on your lip, nodding in a jerky little motion.
“Mnh, I do…”
He’s sucking them again, seeing Suguru cup your other one gently, brushing the areola with his thumb and making it perk right up, the sight about setting him the fuck off. It's not like him and Suguru haven’t shared – they have, but he’s never been more mad about his best friend and how much you seem to enjoy his touch.
You’re arching into it, head falling back against Suguru’s chest, pressing your tits out even more for Gojo to bend down and kiss. He glares when Suguru kisses your mouth again, biting your nipple hard to gain your attention again.
“Mnh – ow, Toru!”
“You weren’t paying me attention,” you giggle, all breathless and dizzy, cupping his face with a shaky hand.
“C’mere then,” you can’t believe you are being this bold, tugging his up a vit and capturing his lips again, the kiss is beyond butterflies, though – it’s intense, making you ache as you sigh into his mouth, melting between the two men.
Satoru’s fingers are slipping down your tummy, feeling it tense underneath that soft touch, you’re whining out into his mouth, the sound muffled, body arching against Suguru again. He moans in response, length pressing against the small of your back, slipping your shorts aside for Satoru’s fingers to graze your slit.
Goosebumps raise on your skin when the cool air of the room hits your overheated pussy, eyes fluttering shut as they take turns kissing and touching your body. “Mnh!”
“You’re soaked,” Satoru murmurs in wonder, slipping his finger through that syrupy mess with a careful little touch, Suguru’s fingers dart down to graze your clit now, making you jolt.
“You are soaked, hmm,” Suguru Geto is just leaking pre, trying to remember very hard that you’re Satoru’s girl, but he can’t help but run his fingertip along your clit, you’re just so needy and cute.
“Ah! S’good I…” His firm patterns are making it twitch, your juices pouring down both their hands as they work you. Satoru kisses you messy and needy, Suguru tugs your face to him, stealing kisses again.
Satoru hates how hot it is to see you like this – but it’s also fucking infuriating.
He has no right to be upset, he should just be fucking thankful he can touch you, kiss you, but he hates that Suguru did first. His thumb circles your nipple slowly, mouth leaving marks across your bare shoulders, toying with your clit right along Suguru, the two of them overstimulating you.
“Ngh! So sensitive I-” Your words are cut off with a little whimper, those soft thighs are trembling as you pull back from kissing Suguru, a trail of saliva dissolving from your lips.
That look you have – the pretty, dazed one? It’s just too much for Suguru – if he doesn’t go he’s absolutely going to cum in his pants, especially when you’re jerking against their hands, spilling even more slick down between the two of them. Those sounds you’re making as your hand entangles in his hair, reaching back to look up at him too fucking pretty?
No he can’t keep going and hear for the rest of his life that he fucked Satoru Gojo’s love.
Suguru pulls back and clears his throat, tilting your chin up to press one more kiss on your lips, you blink a bit dazed and curious, and Satoru? Well he is just scowling right at him, earning his amusement.
“Suguru?”
“I think he’s being all needy, he gets pouty you know,” he brushes your hair back and smiles lazily at you, as it starts clicking in your mind.
You look at a clearly furious Satoru, giggling a little bit at how cute that scowl really is. “He does get pouty, huh?”
“Hey, excuse me!” You heat up as you realize just what Suguru is doing – telling you to go for it with Satoru, despite maybe enjoying those kisses a lot.
“I’ll study another time with you two, I don’t think you’re in the headspace for it,” his eyes can’t help but drift across your body longingly for just a moment before he leans against Satoru, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. “Don’t fuck this up, she’s got me and Shoko after her too.”
“I won’t, shit,” he laughs and walks out, leaving you alone with Satoru Gojo – whose eyes are black with need, his hands trembling as they cup your face, kissing you deeper, needier, whimpering when your hands touch his bare chest. “God you’re just so fucking beautiful.”
Your breath catched, lashes lowering. “Toru…”
“Don’t,” he cuts you off, picking you up like it’s nothing, you gasp and hold onto around his neck, thighs on either side of his hips. “Don’t say you’re not, when you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever known.”
“You can’t mean all that,” you get emotional even as your body responds, and he lays you right back on the bed, kissing down your throat, every inch of your body is on fire, signals flaring to your brain and body.
“I do, and seeing you kiss him? I fucking hated it,” you suck in a breath, he’s leaning right over you. “Even when I was with her, all I could think of was how I wish it were me kissing you, and how it never could be.”
“Satoru…” He kisses you quiet, tugging your shorts down, your thighs tremble when they fall to your ankles, he tosses them right to the floor, taking your fingers and kissing them. “Are you sure you want to… do more?”
“What a fucking question,” he laughs softly, shaking his head and leaning up, his hair falling over his brow. He takes your hand and slips it down until you find your twitchy little clit, you suck in a breath, hips bucking up against both your hands.
“B-but you’re hurt, I don’t want to do this at the wrong t-time – mnh!”
“No sweetheart,” he sighs, shaking his head and kissing you again, guiding your fingertips just a bit. “I feel better than I have in years.”
“Because of me?” You whisper, he nods, sighing and then looking down at where your pretty pussy is.
“Touch yourself f’me, sweetheart, I’ll show you what to do. And not as a ‘friend’.”
You blush so cute then, doing as he asks, he’s kissing across your tummy, teeth nipping at your hip and sinking in, guiding your finger into little circles.
“Not as a friend?”
“No, ‘best friends’ really doesn’t describe how I feel right now,” his teeth sink into the flesh of your thigh, fingers brushing your twitchy clit right with yours.
“Oh g-god, Toru please…”
“Aww, do you like my fingers better?” You nod eagerly, and he damn near cums when he sees your cunt drooling on his hand, his cock thickening and leaking pre against his boxers, he has to rub it with his free hand to relieve some of the ache. “Then make yourself cum, and I’ll use them on you next.”
“Th-this is a very interesting – ah – teaching method,” he chuckles, sighing when he’s down between your thighs, looking at your pretty pussy.
“You’re perfect, s’perfect,” he hums, his breaths coming faster at the sight of you glistening for him, your smaller fingers on your clit. “Keep rubbing it.”
“F-feels so…” Your words are broken off with a moan, you feel your clit just jumping on your fingertips, Satoru’s watching you and almost is your undoing.
“You’re doing such a good job right now,” he whispers, urging you on with a sweet little peck right on the inside of your knee, his snowy lashes lowered as he studies you with black, lust filled eyes. “Keep running little circles, let me see if you can make yourself cum.”
“I’ll try but – mnh!” He parts your plump lips and watches your little hole pulse around nothin’, making him throb and thicken – imagining her around him.
God, imagine taking you first, making you his.
“Toru…”
“Mhmm,” he spits right in your hole and your hips jerk im response. Satoru watches the saliva slip down and out, slipping across your ass, he takes your fingers and slips them down to swirl in the mess. “Put them inside, now.”
“C-can’t,” you’re a blushing mess, he’s studying you so intensely – the boy you’ve dreamed of forever close enough to lick your pussy, you don’t even know if that’s something that’s done aside from hearing things.
Did Satoru do that?
Do you want that?
Of course you do… but would you taste okay!? How’s it all look to him and-
“Breathe f’me,” he orders softly, as if he can see your mind racing, watching you slip your fingers sliding against your own pussy. “That’s it – I’ll replace them with mine once I see you put yours in, you should learn your body.”
“I’m so nervous,” you gasp out when your own fingers press inside your slick, needy hole, looking at Satoru and biting down on your lip. “W-want yours…”
“Want my fingers inside?” You nod weakly, blush dancing across your cheeks brightly, he’s struck with how pretty and sleepy you look in your bed, how your hair falls across that pillow, how your cunt is loud, the squishing echoing in his ears. “Want my tongue inside you?”
“Your t-tongue?” His lips quirk up, guiding your fingers down, the heel of your hand on your clit.
“Know how long I’ve dreamed of this?” You suck in a shaky breath as he spreads your thighs wide. “Fuckin’ woke up leaking precum.”
“You dreamed of me?” You can’t even believe that – it seems too surreal and insane, that Satoru could have ever felt the same. “Toru…”
“You’re close,” he whispers, looking at your body. “I feel your body tensing, feel you shaking. I can see it all over your pretty little face.”
Your head falls back, eyes rolling back in your skull as you sink against your little bed with his weight pressing on your hips, your fingers fucking your own cunt for his hungry eyes. “Ngh! I’m so… it’s too much pressure…”
“You’re about to cum, sweetheart,” he kisses hungrily up your thighs, eyes a devastating blue, his lips glossy from his tongue. “Let go, lemme watch you.”
One more pump and you’re gushing down your own hand, trembling and gasping out, Satoru watches you fall apart with a hungry gaze, moaning at the sight of you shattering for your own little hands. He takes your fingers and slips them into his mouth, sucking them in and hollowing his cheeks, tasting your sweetness and letting his lashes flutter.
“God you taste like that,” Satoru loved to please – but he never ached just to eat pussy – you didn’t have to touch him, he could just cum drinking your sweetness, hearing your little huffs and whines.
“Taste g-good?”
He laughs just a bit at your nervous question, nodding and leaning over you, his own hand trailing up your thigh, finding your slick heat and making your back arch off the bed. “Taste so fuckin’ sweet, god just look at you.”
You gasp as his long fingers explore you with practiced movements, parting your folds and easing one in, the initial stretch way more than two of yours – Satoru’s fingers were thick, long, with slight callouses from years of football. You moan out as that digit moves in and out, your cunt gushing even more liquid down, the stretch from just that delicious.
“You’re so fucking tight,” he knew you would be – but you’re hardly taking one, his fingertip curving up in your gummy walls that are just quiverin’ right around it. “Can you take two of them in your tiny lil cunt?”
Fuck, you never thought Satoru Gojo would be fingering your slick, needy hole, talking like that to you, his lips coated in your juices. Even your dreams couldn’t conjure it up, the way he’d talk to you so filthy, how his finger would be soaked in you, his tongue glossy from your kisses.
You’re sensitive as fuck – those thighs press on either side of his hand as he makes you tremble. “Ngh!”
“Hold those thighs apart f’me,” he orders softly, you spread them – all shaky like your breaths, easing a second one inside now – ever so slowly – the stretch burning in the sweetest way as he studies you with those eyes. “I won’t hurt you, I’ll only have you cum, yeah baby?”
Baby.
He’s calling you that – it is going to fuck with you, the sweet sentiment like honey from his pretty pink lips. You can’t even answer you’re so overwhelmed – him sliding them inside to the first knuckle, just barely inside those slick walls. He’s delving into that syrupy mess as your ceiling fan whirls above your head, doing nothing to ease the heat flooding your skin. Rushing through your body with signals of desire, cunt getting so wet you can hear the squelch as they drag through.
“That feels so, so, s-so – Toru!”
"Yeah, does it feel good, baby?" he asks with a little smirk, curling his fingers just right to hit that spot that makes your vision blur, you suck in a breath through your teeth as the pressure hits so sweetly.
You can only nod, words failing you as pleasure courses through your veins, white hot and blinding. Your entire body is heated up, every nerve ending on fire. His other hand slides up your ribcage, slipping up to grip one of your tits, squishing it in his hand, the peak pressing against his palm as your back arches right off the bed.
How is it possible to feel this good?
“Words, sweetheart.”
Fuck.
“Feels s’good,” you manage to whisper out, Satoru’s lost in how you feel – your scent, how pretty you fucking look, his teeth sinking into your thigh with a sharp bite. “Ah!”
"I've wanted this for so long," he confesses softly, kissing the hood of your clit, groaning when he tastes you. "Wanted to be the one to touch you like this."
"Toru..." You can’t take him talking like that, he’s kissing lower, right over your twitchy clit, making you gasp, your hands flying down to tangle in his soft hair. “Y-you’re… Toru…”
He chuckles softly, the vibrations against you making you throb with need, pulsin’ right around those fingers. "Want me to eat this pretty pussy?”
You nod all quickly, thighs shaking as he shoves them up and pulls his fingers out with a messy pop. “Y-yes I… if you want?”
He snorts at that, shaking his head, dragging you by your hips so your pussy is spread wide for his face. "Do I want to? Sweetheart, I've been waiting for this forever."
“You have?” You’re suddenly trembling violently, heart racing at his words, eyes catching his. “Really?”
“Yes really,” his tongue flicks your clit, just that having you jolt.
Then he dives in, his tongue flattening against your clit and coating the sensitive thing with a wet stroke. Your eyes roll back, a broken moan tearing from your throat. He's not gentle after the first couple of flicks, not when you’re clamping your thighs down, your hips shoving up against his face, sweetness slipping down his throat.
No, Satoru can’t take how badly he wants this, wants impossibly more of you, to be inside of you, on top of you, fuck you in every position he can think. Take you first, feel your innocence slip down his cock, the thoughts are even filthy than his mouth sucking your tiny clit and humming, feeling you tense and tremble.
Satoru starts devouring you like a man starved. His long tongue circles your clit with practiced strokes – so practiced you hate Sarah even more for getting this – petty and terrible of you.
But how can you not want it to just be you, when he’s flicking it mercilessly before sucking it into his mouth again, eliciting filthy little sounds from the back of your throat you’d never think could come from you. Pornographic moans escaping those lips, urging Satoru on more to slurp you right down.
"Oh god, oh god," your hips jolt up against his face, Satoru’s wrapping you with his strong arms, his fingers pressing into the flesh of your thighs as he continues to slurp you down. “Toru! Mnh!”
“Mmnph,” he pulls back and spits a glob of spit right on that cute lil clit, moaning at the sight of it spilling down puffy lips. “Like that, sweetheart?”
“Like isn’t the word…” he chuckles, his tongue dipping lower, swirling around your entrance before pushing inside, those tacky walls just gripping him. “You’re… f-fuck! Mnh!”
You feel your entire body heating up from the sheer onslaught of Satoru’s mouth on your cunt – wet, obscene sounds of him eating you out fill the room, mingling with your desperate cries that just echo in both of your ears.
"Fuck, you taste even better than I imagined," he murmurs, pulling back just enough to speak and eye you – pupils blown out, glossy lips parted just so – he’s achingly pretty, sliding his fingers back in and humming, leaning over you to kiss your lips, letting you taste yourself. “So fucking sweet."
Your moan is drank by his lips as he slides two fingers back inside you, curling them to hit that perfect spot, watching your face contort in pleasure, your head resting against the pillows, sinking against them. “Close, close!”
“Again, sweetheart?” You nod quickly, he moans and kisses your lips, nipping your lower, sliding back down your body. “Then make me a mess, squirt all over my face, huh?”
You’re blushing at his words, sucking in a breath as his tongue returns to your clit, flicking against it and working with those fingers till you shatter – oh and it is utterly different from that guided masturbation. Satoru’s fingers have you squirting so much you almost push his damn fingers out, he presses in harder and curves them – pushing you through it and into another.
“Ngh! M’so… Toru…” You’re weak and shaky as they rock through you, eyes rolling back in your skull, cunt dripping down on your blankets. “Fuck… fuck…”
“Mmm,” he pulls his fingers out with a messy squelch, the trail of slick falling from them, slurping up the rest of it, moaning as his tongue runs up and down your slit.
“Sensitive – ah! Too much!” You tug at his hair, pulling it at the roots, Satoru chuckles and leans up, hovering over you, his face embarrassingly coated in your juices. “Oh god I made such a mess.”
“You sure did,” you playfully push his chest, he’s laughing softly, kissing your lips and moaning.
“Taste how sweet you are?” You nod shyly, biting your lower lip as you hold him tightly around the waist, blushing and burying your face. “Hey, look at me.”
“I’m freaking out,” you admit softly, feeling him tense.
“Do you regret it?”
“What!?” You pull back and see how tense he is, his eyes unreadable for a moment. “No, god not at all Satoru! I just meant that it was very intense, and I don’t want to be stupid.”
“Stupid how?” Your lips tremble then, cupping his face and frowning.
“Why on earth would I regret anything with you?”
“I just,” he trails off, and you see it then.
How much fucking damage she did. You've never hated a single human being until Sarah, the way he could ever think this was regrettable shatters your soul. You just want to see Satoru smile again.
“Why’d you forgive me so easily?” He asks, kissing your temple, you exhale and shut your eyes, letting him press his lips on tnose closed eyelids.
“You did nothing wrong.”
“I let my best friend go for a girl, so yeah, I did.”
“It was hard for you, and I feel if anything I messed things up.”
“God no,” he brushes your hair from your brow, just a bit damp from your exertions, kissing it and sighing, his eyes shutting as he inhales your scent. “I should thank you, shit.”
“I think you did thank me,” he chuckles and shakes his head, eyes glittering with a smile – just like the boy you knew.
Your heart aches.
Your Satoru – but… could he be yours? What did any of this really mean?
“This is an odd time to ask but,” he lays on his side, tugging your body against his, you’re utterly naked, but it’s comfortable with him, the way he holds you feels perfectly natural. “Homecoming. Wanna go?”
“She’ll kill me!”
“Nah,” he shakes his head, nuzzling your neck, inhaling you. “Still wear the same body spray, huh?”
“How could you remember that?”
He says nothing.
How could he not remember?
There is still so much he should say – but how far is too far? And was it entirely too soon, would you feel like some rebound when you’re not? But wouldn’t it seem that way to you…
“It’s in a week, we’ll go on a date first – or five,” you giggle now, a hand against his chest, feeling his heart beat thudding against your palm. “Hmm, you think we should?”
“I’d love a date,” your lashes lower, he tilts your chin.
“Look at me,” you do so carefully. “I won’t let her hurt you.”
“I know you’ll try, but you’ll have to see her a lot too,” you shake your head, tears hitting your eyes. “I can’t let her hurt you, take your smile again.”
“She won’t,” you wish you believed it, thumb brushing his lower lip carefully, staying quiet as he tugs you against him closer, a hand on the curve of your ass, he moans when he feels it. “God you gotta ass like that?”
“Deviating the topic!” He sighs and smacks it just a bit, making you squeak all cute as the smack echoes in the room. “Seriously.”
“I swear she can’t affect me,” you frown.
“I saw what she did, in front of that restaurant – what if she kisses someone at the next game, homecoming?”
“I couldn’t care less, I have you – I mean,” he blushes just a bit then, clearing his throat. “I want you.”
“I want you,” he sighs, your hand slips lower, and Satoru barely bites back a moan, capturing your wrist in his huge grip.
“You waited twenty one years to do anything, even kiss…” you nod, a shy little motion. “You sure you’re ready for more?”
“I don’t know if I’m ready to go… fully just yet? But I thought I could make you cum, too?”
“You’re gonna kill me,” he mumbles, your thumb brushes over his tip – white already leaking through his boxers, slipping through the material of the cotton. “Want me to show you how to touch me?”
“Please?”
Satoru is pretty sure he’s still dreaming, and that you’re in his arms fast asleep – in what other world do you look up at him like this, all sweet and needy, naked right next to him? Asking to touch him, your little hand just ever so slightly shaking as it moves, still in his huge grip, he laughs then softly, kissing your lips.
“If you say I kiss better than Suguru I will show you how to stroke my cock, hmm?” He’s smirking – so utterly Satoru again, he’d just not been himself it’s so clear.
“You all three are excellent kissers.”
“Excuse me!?” You laugh now, reaching down to rub him over his boxers, he sucks in a breath, lashes fluttering.
“I love kissing you the most,” you whisper softly, making his heart ache, splitting into fucking pieces with every feeling hitting.
How did he think he loved Sarah, when this existed? It was a friendship, it was a deep friendship, but the love here was as undeniable as the rising sun casting shadows through the slats of blinds, hitting your pretty face in glowy lines.
“Me the most?” He says then, leaning close and nuzzling your nose with his. “I’m the best at it.”
“You really think you’re better than Shoko at kissing?”
“Wow then let her eat you out – wait, you would!?”
You giggle again, touching him and earning his blushed cheeks. “Satoru, I love your mouth very much. I don’t think I’ve ever felt that good.”
“Yeah?” You nod all shy and cute, like you aren’t begging to play with his cock until he busts.
“Yes… now, you said you’d show me?”
He nods and swallows – he’s far from inexperienced, Sarah literally had her mouth on him any time she could get it, but something had him nervous. He’s shaking just a bit when he tugs his boxers down a bit, his cock hitting his belly button, smacking against the white trail of hair underneath his flat belly button, you look down and gasp.
“Oh! It’s so big!?”
“Um,” he is all bright pink now.
“It’s pretty,” he just drags your lips to his, tugging your hand to his cock, little fingers wrapping it – but you couldn’t get them all the way around his thickness. You tentatively tug up, making him groan. “Did I hurt it!?”
“God no,” he’s gonna bust from a palm on his cock – seriously!? “Just stroke it lightly, up and down.”
“Do you want me to use my mouth like you did?”
“Are you trying to kill me?!” You giggle again, biting your lip. “Act all innocent and you’re a little slut, hmm?”
“A slut?”
“You did kiss all my friends,” you sigh now.
“Not all of them.”
“Well don’t!?” You’re stroking him and smiling all cute and innocent. “You really make me crazy.”
“Me? No way,” you suddenly get a little nervous, looking down at his pretty cock, seeing that leaky pink tip, taking your thumb and smearing that pre all over. He jerks it into your hand, groaning out. “Is that sensitive for you?”
“Very,” he’s never shown anyone what to do, but you’re so fucking cute and eager it’s making him harder, knowing it’s him getting this first from you. “Hah – you know it is now, so you’re going for it?”
“Mhm,” you hum just a bit, lazily stroking that tip in little circles, loving the pretty face he makes when he’s feeling good, his cock thickening as you glide it right back down the shaft. “Do you want my mouth on it?”
“Do I want your… fuck, fuck,” you’re stroking him a little too good, Satoru was not about to bust the moment your lips got on him. He needed to jerk off first or something. “Next time– mnh. On our date.”
“Yes,” you stroke him with your little hand as he guides your movements, hand wrapping yours, it's so intimate you can hardly breathe, seeing his lashes fluttering and his pouty pink lips parted. “You're so beautiful, Satoru.”
He falters, you make him feel too much and he's not even sure he deserves your touch right now, deserves any of that. He kisses you instead, letting you drink up all those whimpers as you stroke his cock faster, all that pre adding lubrication, dripping all down his shaft. His hand entangles in your hair, leaving you at full control.
“Don’t need any help,” he mumbles, pink dusting his cheeks as he studies you, hand so big it takes over the back of your neck, fingers pressing against it, eyes lidded like he’s drugged off you. “You’re stroking it like you already know how.”
“N-no,” he laughs softly, hips jolting into your palm – how your hand feels better than any pussy he has confuses the fuck out of him.
“Yeah,” he corrects, lips moving over yours, letting you stroke him faster, the sounds echoing in your ears, your tummy clenched up with how badly you need him. “I’d cum right inside your pretty cunt.”
“Y-you’d what?” He’s lost – too far gone, his pupils dilating, free hand slipping down to grip your ass, tugging you against his thigh and having your slick cunt drool on him.
“Cum inside you, would you like that, sweetheart?” You bite your lip, nodding – as if you really knew what he meant, but whatever the fuck he’s saying is ruining you. “Fill you up till you drip me all day in class.”
“Toru! Mnh,” your lashes flutter, his kisses aren’t easy anymore, they’re desperate for you, dragging you as close as he can get you, smushing your arm as your hand keeps stroking him, he’s thickening when your thumb swirls his tip.
The visions of your tummy full of him are too much – he’s cumming right in your hand now, hot and thick white ropes just spilling over your little fingers and down his length, his body fucking trembling from it.
"Fuck, look at that," he groans out the words, pulling back to look down at the filthy sight of his cum coating your hand in white. He laughs breathlessly, cupping your face and eyeing you. "You made a mess of me."
“I did,” you whisper, still stroking even though he’s sensitive, milking every last drop of that pearly cum from him. Satoru buries his face in your neck, teeth nipping against your skin as he tugs you close, whimpering.
Your thumb is rubbing over his sensitive tip, he feels his body reacting, more cum spurting out as he looks at you now, all dazed and pretty. "Torturing me now.”
“Am I?” You giggle all breathless, letting him kiss you, all tongue and teeth clicking against yours, his hand tightening in your hair.
"I wanted to last longer for you,” he whispers, you shake your head.
"No, It was hot,” you see it then, his worry, making you pause just a bit.
"Yeah? Even though I came in like two seconds?"
“What?” You ease your hand off, seeing the mess he made. "Especially because of that, it means I did a good job.”
Fuck, he’s falling even deeper every second he sees you, the way Sarah would make fun of him when he was sensitive has taken it’s toll. How she’d laugh and then get him hard again, he’d ignored it and just assumed that it was how things were. The times he’s been with other girls were usually drunk encounters, parties where him and Suguru had been a little too tipsy.
Sarah really was his experience, and fuck if he didn’t let that get to him.
“Toru,” you pull back a bit, bringing his white drops to your lips, sucking and moaning. “Mmm…”
“Fuck me,” he groans at the sight, you sucking him greedy, his cock twitches at the sight. “You’re sucking me off those little fingers?”
“Mhm,” you giggle and blush as the salty sweet liquid coats your tongue. Satoru grabs your hand, sucking his own release off them, you throat goes dry at the filthy action, his tongue flicking up and making you ache all over again. “Oh… mngh…”
“Too freaky?” He teases, lapping more of his cum up, he’d held back a lot before, but he feels he just can do what he wishes to with you.
“No it’s even hotter,” you admit, trembling and kissing his cum soaked lips, humming against them.
“God you’re perfect,” you shake your head at his praise, he kisses you carefully, cock resting against your inner thigh, still sticky and dripping on the soft flesh.
“Are you really worried about cumming quick? Isn’t it a compliment?”
“Yeah it is, just I…” he trails off, shaking his head and studying you, thumb running circles on your cheek. “I don’t wanna talk about her.”
“It’s a huge part of your recent life, so it’s okay,” he frowns then. “Did she say bad things when you… um… came quick?”
“Yeah,” he leans up, hand brushing your hair off your shoulders, still messy from your sleep. “She’d make me feel fucking horrible, so I guess I panic thinking I’ll do it again. Sometimes so much I just couldn’t get hard.”
“How fucking mean!?” He shrugs a shoulder, you realize you don’t even know the extent of her damage really. “It is mean.”
“I don’t wanna disappoint you regardless, it’s why I wanna wait on your mouth,” he exhales shakily, kissing your lips again. “Didn’t wanna bust fast right on your first time.”
“I’d like it,” he chuckles and shakes his head, your hands slipping over his shoulders. “Don’t feel like you can’t just be yourself with me. If you um… want to be more?”
“Of course I do, and… I’ll try, sweetheart,” you hate that the smile doesn’t really meet his eyes. “The first time you suck me I really wanna savor it though, take all my time fucking your throat.”
“Mnh…” That’s too much, he’s chuckling when you’re rocking your hips again.
“If we wanna wait I need to pause this,” he murmurs softly, looking down at where his cock is resting on your tummy. “I am this close to fucking your pretty cunt until she knows my shape.”
“Toru,” you bury your face again, trembling just a bit. “Okay, we should probably pause.”
“Mhm,” it’s not long after he’s dressed and hugging you in front of your door, everything is different, the very energy of him and you together, suddenly a little nervous and unsure. “That date, just me and you tomorrow.”
“Yes, I’d love it,” you say softly, he tilts your chin up and smiles. “I’ll see you at the game tomorrow first, before the date?”
“Yes you will, I’ll blow you a kiss and all,” you giggle, shaking your head.
“Sarah will see.”
Fuck, she exists.
“I don’t care,” you take his kisses, falling into them, and when Satoru leaves you can’t help but go grab that letter from forever ago, touching it carefully.
Could Satoru be yours one day?
******
The air is cool that next night, the sun is setting and the bright lights flash on and illuminate the field, Satoru’s front and center – the quarterback is, after all. He’s insanely fast and strong, watching him is so interesting you miss notes on your clarinet, earning a look from your band instructor.
You're supposed to be focusing on the sheet music, but your eyes keep drifting to those big letters – SG – with the number 7 on the field. Each time he completes a pass, the crowd erupts into cheers, and you can’t help but join even though you’re supposed to be playing music.
You cheer too loud, and he glances over at you, a small smile playing on his lips as he sees you all cute with your little marching uniform and hat. He can swear he can see your blush across the damn field, when he tugs up his helmet, chugging gatorade and taking a break, when he sees Sarah hopping off the pyramid and walking over toward the team.
She approaches one of his teammates, he’s brand new, throwing her arms around his neck and tip-toeing right in front of him. She kisses him right in front of everyone who can fucking see, embarassing herself. Your gaze catches it, as Shoko sits next to you, scoffing.
“She’s such a slut,” she mumbles, eyeing you now. “It’s okay, he’s not interested, yeah?”
“But they have a year together,” you murmur, hands trembling slightly as you all take a break before the next song, heading into the third quarter. Satoru turns away from the view, murmurs all over.
"Classy," Nanami mutters under his breath. “What’s with that girl?”
“Lucky she doesn’t try for you next,” Shoko says, he grimaces in disgust, shivering at the thought, eyeing you now.
“Satoru has always had feelings for you, don’t let it bother you,” you nod and smile a bit. “Why don’t you go kiss him?”
“Ohh, Nanami!” Utahime is giggling now. “I didn’t expect that from you!”
“Well that girl annoys me,” Shoko nudges you now too, nodding.
“I say go for it.”
“She’ll kill me!”
“I’ll protect you baby,” Shoko tilts your chin up, you blush when she snaps off your little hat, running her fingertip on the marks it left. “Remember I’m here if Satoru doesn’t work out.”
“Shoko!” You’re blushing and she grins. “You’re always making me truly question if I like girls.”
“She does that,” Hime says, blushing when Shoko looks at her. “I mean!?”
You giggle and head off, rushing to where Satoru and Suguru are talking, Sarah is hanging on one of the players so pathetically. You tap on Satoru’s back, feeling how tense he is, when he turns and looks down at you, exhaling in relief, a smile dancing across his face.
“Hi,” you murmur, he picks you up, making you gasp out, Sarah scowls at the sight, but Suguru is smirking. “Oh!”
“Hi,” he answers, dangling you off the floor, your arms around his neck. “Did you come to give me a good luck kiss?”
“I did,” you feel too good, even with eyes on you all, you melt when he kisses you softly, arm wrapping tighter. You hear Sarah’s huff of indignation, and you’ll worry about what her vindictive ass will do later.
Right now you’re getting kissed by Satoru Gojo.
“Thank you baby,” he murmurs, easing you down, cupping your face, his knuckles busted up, sweat and dirt on his jersey and a bit on his face. Fuck he looks sexy like this. “Can I get one more for good luck?”
“Yes you can,” you kiss him again, moaning softly as the murmurs around you two echo and fall on deaf ears.
It’s just you and Satoru there.
“Can I get one?” Suguru earns Satoru’s scowl, you giggle.
“What? No you got enough.”
“Sure,” Satoru scowls at you now, but you kiss his cheek, giggling a bit when he ruffles your hair in response. “There.”
“Thanks princess,” Suguru winks and Satoru thinks he might tackle him into the dirt, but you turn his face back to you, smacking another kiss on his lips.
“I have to watch him and Shoko,” he grumbles, but he can’t help but smile when he holds you close against him, catching Sarah’s furious gaze burning holes in your fucking back. He tugs you even closer. “I can’t wait for this date.”
“Me too,” you finally pull back when you hear the band music, saying a quick good bye and running off, only to almost smack right into Sarah, who has her hands on her waist.
“You were fucking him behind my back, weren’t you?”
“What!? No, I did nothing while you were together,” she scoffs, fists on her sides clenched, eyeing you with this look in her eyes that makes you sick. “Look, I didn’t take Satoru from you – you chased him off.”
“You don’t know shit,” she is too close, pretending to hug you all ‘kindly’ when her lips press on your ear. “I’ll get him back from you, band geek – think he won’t choose me over you when I play him again?”
“You won’t,” you shove her off, glaring, but she’s got a cruel little smile.
“Game on,” you blink back tears of frustration, rushing back to the band, your heart racing – the way she stares at Satoru like she owns him makes you sick.
Could you… lose him when you just got him?
did you think we were happy? no - also I hope to have the next much sooner than this one hehe, ty for being patient!! <333
𓊆ྀི warnings .ᐟ + word count—10.4K, onlyfans!contentcreatorcouple!, vacation!, originalblackfem!reader, boyfriend!erenyeager, bubblyslightlybimbo!femreader, gymrat!eren, gymrat!femreader, southerncoded!femreader, southerncoded!eren, aggressive!eren, dominant!eren, gruff!eren, sweet!eren, submissive!eren, size kink!, pet names!baby!bunny!, sofa!sex, face slapping!, riding, doggy style, slightly aggressive sex!, dick sucking!, squirting!, creaming!, condomless sex, talks of relationship issues, minors aren’t welcome! 𓊇ྀི
メモ。— happy belated birthday, dada. inspired by a twitter video i seen. it’ll be linked, nasties.
pt 4 of na na.
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˚ ⋆❀ 🐚🫧𓇼 ˖𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒚 𝒃𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒉𝒅𝒂𝒚, 𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒏. ₎ა✮⋆˙𓆉⋆｡˚⋆❀ 🐚
DEEP, ROSY AND PINK. That was the only way to describe the intense flush of your freckled cheeks, startled by the tan of your skin that went from caramel to earthy brown in days of soaking love from the sun. Being here was a dream—one that you couldn’t bring yourself to wake up from. Not yet.
A vintage filter flickers to life, bathing the screen in golden St. Lucian sunlight that spills through the open balcony of your Mediterranean oasis. The space feels like a dream—terra-cotta tiles underfoot, cream-colored brick walls draped in ivy and trailing flowers, an indoor waterfall trickling softly in the background. The bedroom is an open sanctuary, sheer white curtains billowing around a wooden four-poster bed, its canopy draped lazily over rumpled white sheets.
And there, in the center of it all—him.
Lying sprawled on his back, deep in sleep, his massive frame takes up nearly the entire bed. Dark brown hair—almost black in the shadows, but warm bronze where the sun catches it—fans out across the pillow like spilled ink. The tattoos covering his arm and creeping up his neck stand out starkly against sun-kissed skin, muscular chest rising and falling in slow, even breaths. Even in rest, there’s something commanding about him—the natural scowl of his brows, the sharp cut of his jawline, to his full lips slightly parted.
You zoom in slowly, your voice a hushed, adoring whisper—
“Look at you… ‘So handsome.”
The camera lingers on his face—the faint freckles dusting his nose, his lashes brushing his cheeks, down to the stubborn set of his expression even in sleep. You bite back a giggle, leaning closer.
“Baby…?”
No response. Not even a twitch.
Another soft laugh escapes you as you adjust the frame, capturing the way morning light paints him in gold.
“Out cold,” you murmur, fondness dripping from every syllable.
The scene holds—just for a moment—before the camera shifts, panning over the tropical paradise outside, the sound of waves crashing in the distance.
A burgues script title card flashes:
My love letter to you.
The camera catches the delicate flicker of your French-tipped toes as you peel yourself from the bed—moving like a ghost to not disturb him. The lens follows your path through the sprawling villa, gliding over terracotta floors kissed by sunlight, past open-air archways draped in bougainvillea, until you find the perfect spot—a plush, low-slung sofa nestled between an indoor garden and the infinity pool’s edge.
You angle the camera carefully across from you, and there you are.
The sun has painted your skin richer—your freckles somehow more pronounced, scattered like constellations across your cheeks and nose. A faint pink tinge dusts the high points of your face—part sunburn, part blush from pure contentment. Your hair is a masterpiece—long, full French curl braids cascading over shoulders, blending seamlessly with loose ringlets that catch the light like spun gold. They frame your round face perfectly—accentuating full, arched brows, dark cat-like lashes, and lips so plush and pink they look perpetually bitten.
Your neon orange bikini top—streaked with deep pink swirls—clings to your heavy, voluptuous curves, the ruching at the sides straining just slightly from the weight of your breasts. An anklet and sandals in matching pink rest nearby, abandoned for comfort. Your wrists jingle with charm bracelets as you fold yourself onto the sofa, knees tucked under you like a daydream given human form.
You are sinful innocence incarnate—a doll with a devil’s smirk and an angel’s glow.
A delicate hand lifts, waving at the camera as your voice comes out smooth, sweet—yet laced with something deeper.
“Hi, babies. It’s…been a while.”
The camera drinks you in—this vision of sun-soaked serenity—before you finally take a breath and lean forward, ready to tell your story.
But first—a wicked little grin curls at the corner of your mouth.
“Let’s catch up.”
The vintage filter softens your features like a sun faded Polaroid as you tuck a loose curl behind your ear, exhaling with a wistful smile.
“So—You're probably wondering where we've been."
The lens lingers on your face—nostalgia flickering in your dark eyes as you glance past the camera, like you can still see the walls of your old New Orleans shotgun house behind it. That cozy, creole haven with its peeling paint and humming ceiling fans, where the scent of jasmine and Eren’s cooking curled through every room. Home.
“Six months changes things," you murmur, “And, well...life happened."
A breath.
“‘Ren’s meal prep business blew up."
The confession comes with a giggle, like even now it still feels surreal. The Seoul deal had landed like a lightning strike—some high-end Korean health conglomerate offering stupid money for exclusive rights to his keto chicken bowls and Creole-spiced shrimp packs.
“You saw the anniversary live, right? The one where—" You bite your lip,“—Yeah. Anyway. Two days later, they slid into his email with a contract thicker than his arm.”
But? The logistics were brutal. Endless flights between NOLA and Incheon, you both exhausted, missing each other achingly in the stretches between. You mimic Eren’s signature scowl, deepening your voice—
“'Either come with me or I’m burnin’ the passport, Bunny.'"
The move to Korea had been a whirlwind—thrilling at first. Neon-lit streets, steaming bowls of tteokbokki at 3AM, Eren’s hands possessive on your waist as he showed you his Seoul between meetings. But then...
Your smile falters.
“It got lonely."
No Sunday gumbo with your momma. No impromptu BBQs with your cousins spilling onto the porch. Just the two of you in a sleek high-rise, struggling with subway maps and missing the warmth of your people.
“We were happy, but—hollow?"
You press a hand to your sternum, like you can still feel the echo of it.
You then exhale softly, curling your fingers around the edge of the sofa as you confess, “We needed a break—And ‘Ren’s birthday was the perfect excuse to escape."
The waves crash lazily in the background as you tilt your head, sunlight catching the gold hoops in your ears.
“St. Lucia was his dream. Warm water, no schedules, no ’corporate meetings’—" You roll your eyes playfully, but the lightness doesn’t quite reach the tension in your shoulders.
Then, quieter—
“But...he hasn’t been handling twenty-nine the way I thought he would?”
You bite your lip, eyes flickering toward the bedroom where he still sleeps.
“He keeps saying shit like—" You deepen your voice into another gruff imitation of him, “'Damn, Bunny. I’m gettin’ old. Need to settle down before my knees give out.'"
You shake your head, “It’s not just jokes, though. He’s been different. Obsessing over timelines, talking about legacy.”
Your fingers trace idle patterns on your thigh, avoiding the camera’s gaze for a second.
“And then one night, he just—" You swallow hard, “…He said he wanted a baby.”
You curl into yourself slightly, arms wrapping around your middle as if bracing for impact.
“I mean...we always talked about it. But..." you shrug helplessly, "You guys know I don’t plan on doing this—" You gesture vaguely at the camera, “Once we’re married with kids. And I love that you guys have been with us through everything. But..."
A shaky breath.
“I never expected it to be now, you know?”
The air between you and the lens feels thick—charged with something unspoken. Then, abruptly, you straighten, blinking away the wetness in your eyes as a slow, secretive smile tugs at your lips.
“Before I bring myself to tears—well, just watch."
The burgues script appears again.
ST. LUCIA THROUGH YOUR EYES.
A montage flickers to life—each frame saturated with golden sunlight and laughter, the ocean breeze tangling in your hair as St. Lucia unfolds around you both like a dream.
The first day. ‘You in a sheer, plum wrap dress that clings to every curve, standing barefoot on the villa’s terrace as Eren’s hands slide around your waist from behind. His lips brush your shoulder—“My pretty fuckin’ Bunny,” before he nips at your earlobe, making you giggle and swat at him.
That night. A low-lit restaurant nestled right on the beach, lanterns casting a honeyed glow over your faces. You’re seated at a candlelit table, the ocean breeze tousling the loose waves of your dark hair. The camera catches you mid-laugh—a plunging white dress clinging to every dangerous curve of your body, the neckline dipping just low enough to tease the swell of your heavy tits.
You flash a mischievous grin at the lens, dragging your fingertip through the frosting of the miniature birthday cake the staff brought out—“For my birthday boy,” before sucking the sweetness off your finger with an exaggerated pop.
The camera pans to Eren.
Oh, God.
A crisp white button-up clings to his muscular frame like a second skin, his sleeves rolled up to expose those tattooed forearms. His dark hair is slicked back in a low bun—jawline sharp enough to cut glass—green eyes glinting with something between hunger and amusement as he watches you.
Without breaking eye contact with the camera, he leans in—dragging his tongue between your lips, stealing the last traces of frosting straight from your mouth.
You let out a breathy giggle, cheeks flushing as he pulls back with a smirk—“‘Shit tastes better on you."
The second week. A bustling street market. You wear a sage green crochet bikini top and high-waisted denim shorts, sandals dangling from one hand as Eren feeds you bites of spiced plantains off his fork. His thumb swipes sauce from your bottom lip, then slowly licks it off, eyes locked on yours while vendors wolf whistle in the background under your flushed squeaking for him to stop.
That afternoon? A lively, sun-drenched outdoor hair salon tucked under a canopy of palm leaves and strung with colorful beads that clink softly in the breeze. You’re perched on a low wooden stool, surrounded by four St. Lucian aunties—their hands moving in a hypnotic blur as they section, twist, and fold your thick, dark curls into an intricate masterpiece.
Eren’s deep chuckle rumbles behind the camera—“Look at my baby, lookin’ like prettier than the ocean.”
You go to stick your tongue out at him, but that’s when one of the women chides you gently in Kwéyòl—“Hold still, darling!”—before dissolving into warm laughter with the others. The rhythmic swish-swish of hair being braided fills the air, fingers tugging just enough to make you pout.
Another day. The rainforest. ‘You in a khaki mini-skirt and a tied-up tank, shrieking as your sandal slips on a mossy rock—only for Eren to catch you mid-fall, his biceps flexing as he hauls you upright with a growl.
“Watch ‘your feet, woman. You break an ankle, I’m carryin’ you everywhere from now on.”
That evening. A local elder—"Banana Man," as you dubbed him—grinned toothlessly as he guided Eren’s hands around a machete, teaching him to split a ripe banana stalk. Eren listens intently, nodding, repeating phrases in rough-but-earnest Creole while you beam beside him, fingers laced through his free hand in support.
And finally? Sunset. The beach. You in a flowy, butter-yellow sundress, bare feet sinking into warm sand as the Banana Man and another woman chuckles, handing you both each a piece of freshly-cut fruit.
Behind you, you hear the woman fussing at Eren in the same melodic dialect, “Ou pral koupe dwèt ou yo!,” You’ll chop your fingers off!—her tone exasperated but fond.
You bite back a giggle, still focused on your own fruit, not daring to glance over.
"Are you givin' her a hard time?" you call out, voice lilting with amusement.
Eren’s response is soft, almost too casual—
“Not at all, baby."
A pause. Then—
“…Might need some help from you, though."
You roll your eyes playfully, turning with a grin—
And the world stops.
Because there he is.
On one knee.
The machete abandoned beside him, replaced by a velvet box cradled in his trembling hands. His face—usually so composed, so controlled—is raw with emotion, eyes glistening under the sunset.
"Mwen vle ou pou tout rès vi mwen," he rasps—I want you for the rest of my life.
A sob tears from your throat before you can stop it. Your hands fly to your mouth, the piece of fruit tumbling forgotten into the sand as your knees nearly give out.
“Wi—YES—oh my GOD!"
You're in his arms before he can even finish, nearly knocking him over as you collapse against his chest, babbling yes in every language you know—Creole, English, everything—between desperate kisses and tearful laughter.
The camera cuts back to you now—sunlight catching the glint of tears still clinging to your lashes as you hold up your left hand, the diamond glinting like captured starlight. Heavy. Perfect. His.
“We're getting married!” you whisper yell, voice trembling with a giddy, breathless laugh—but it fades too fast.
"...Haven’t been able to get pregnant, though."
A shaky breath. The words taste like salt and something sharper.
“We tried. A couple times. And then...weknew."
Your throat works around the weight of it.
“‘Doctor ran tests. There's—" A tiny, broken noise, “A lot."
Your gaze drops to your lap, where your other hand fists in the fabric of your slip.
“Eren…has given up so much for our content. Let the world into us. But—"
A tear splashes onto your knee. Then another. You don't even notice until your voice cracks.
“All he wants now is privacy. His wife. A baby.”
You swipe at your cheeks with the back of your hand, laughing wetly—“And I couldn’t even—"
The sentence dies.
For a long moment, there's just the sound of the ocean and your unsteady breathing. Then, so quiet the mic barely catches it—
"It felt like I failed him."
Your laughter wavers—thin and watery—as tears streak hot down your cheeks. You swipe at them with trembling fingertips, shaking your head as you murmur, “Sorry, sorry,” to the empty air.
Your voice steadies, even as the tears keep falling.
“But we’re here, in St.Lucia. And I get to spend the rest of my life with the man I love.”
You tilt your face up toward the sunlight, closing your eyes for just a second—
But that’s when the sound of heavy footsteps on tile makes your breath catch.
And there he is.
The camera doesn’t catch his face—just the sheer mass of him, silhouetted against the morning light. Long dark hair, streaked with gold where the sun touches it. Broad shoulders, tattoos creeping up the side of his neck. His bare chest is a canvas of sun-kissed skin, scattered with moles and faint freckles.
But you see all of him—the deep green of his eyes, hazel flecks burning under heavy brows. The natural frown etched into his features, lips full and pink, parted as he rasps—
“Why the hell ain’t you in bed?”
His voice is sleep-rough, edged with concern.
“…’Couldn’t sleep,” you murmur, “Got dressed.”
Silence.
His thumb suddenly grazes your cheek, catching a stray tear. His touch is rough but tender, tilting your face up toward him as he grunts—
“‘You good?”
His hand dwarfs your face, fingers tipping your chin up further. You blink up at him through damp lashes, lips curling into a soft smile despite the lingering tears.
“‘Was just talkin' to our little family," you say, thumb brushing the camera lens gently—“They miss you."
“I miss you in bed," he counters, voice a low, sleep-rough rumble that sends heat prickling up your neck.
A breathless giggle escapes you as you glance at the time.
“Baby, it’s barely noon.”
Your fingers catch his wrist, tugging lightly—“Come sit with me?"
He hesitates—then shakes his head, jaw tightening slightly.
“I’ll ‘show face in a bit," he grunts, “‘Gotta shower first."
“And then you’ll come?"
"Mhm."
The affirmation is gruff, but his grip on your chin tightens as he suddenly leans down, claiming your mouth in a deep, possessive kiss—tongue dragging slow over your bottom lip before pulling away with a wet pop.
And then, he’s gone.
You sigh playfully, shaking your head with a knowing smile as you watch him stalk off—"That's him in a good mood," you murmur, rolling your eyes affectionately before your expression shifts—mischief sparking in your gaze.
“Well, what he doesn't know is I've got a little surprise.”
You bite your bottom lip, fingers tapping against your thigh.
"For him... and you guys."
A sly wink, “You know I can't come on here without giving y'all the other part of our channel."
With that, you hop up from the sofa—bare feet padding silently across the sun-warmed terracotta floors as you tiptoe through the sprawling Mediterranean villa.
The outdoor shower comes into view—a stunning mosaic of turquoise and deep cobalt tiles, sunlight dappling through the latticework. The sound of rushing water meets your ears first, then—
Him.
Eren stands fully nude beneath the spray—a masterpiece of masculine power carved in ink and muscle. Water sluices down the hard planes of his tattooed chest, his biceps flexing as he runs a hand through his dark, wet hair—pushing it back just enough to reveal the sharp cut of his jaw, the sinful curve of his mouth. Droplets cling to his long lashes, framing those deep green eyes as he tips his head back, throat working as the water cascades over him.
His body is ridiculous—abs like forged steel, thick thighs taut with restrained strength. And then—there. Between his legs, heavy and full even at rest, his cock hangs thick against his thigh, the flushed tip glistening under the water.
You carefully prop the camera up, angling it perfectly to capture the outdoor shower's decadent scene before slipping the sheer coverup from your shoulders—letting it pool at your feet in a whisper of fabric. Your neon orange bikini clings to every curve as you step under the arched entrance, hips swaying with playful purpose as you approach his towering frame.
The moment your arms slide around his waist—lips pressing a teasing kiss to the small of his water-slick back—his entire body tenses. Then, slowly, he turns.
One large hand cups your chin, tilting your face up as he looms over you—those hunter-green eyes dark with warning.
“Du kleine Unruhestifterin," he murmurs, voice rough.
You little troublemaker.
His tongue lolls out lazily—a silent command. You obey instantly, your own tongue slipping past your lips to meet his. The slide of them together pulls a shudder from you, your eyes rolling back as he deepens the kiss with a growl—claiming your mouth like he owns it. Because he does.
When you finally pull away—giving his bottom lip one last tug between your teeth—the noise he makes is pure animal. A deep, possessive grunt that sends heat spiraling through your core. You giggle, high and breathless, licking the taste of him from your lips.
“Be nice," you whisper, fluttering your lashes up at him—equal parts angel and devil.
His fingers thread through your French curls, gently cradling your head as he tucks your giggles against his chest—the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath your ear. Then, finally, he turns his gaze toward the camera—voice a low, affectionate rumble.
“She’s always been good at persuadin’ me.”
You drape your arms around his neck, pressing your body flush against his as your giggles bubble up—tits bouncing against him playfully.
“‘You happy now? You love all our babies?" you chirp.
His response is a deep, vibrating ”Mhm," as his hands slide down to grip your hips possessively. You snuggle closer, tucking your face into the crook of his shoulder with a satisfied hum, breathing in his scent—sandalwood, something distinctly him.
But while you're nestled against him like a content kitten, Eren has other plans. His lips quirk in that cocky half-smile as he mouths “I lied," directly at the camera—his wink full of mischief before he nuzzles back into you, knowing damn well what he just did.
The camera now cuts to a sprawling deep green sofa bed in a sun drenched corner of the villa, where you're sprawled out in nothing but a skimpy gold bikini—back arched, hips tilted, ass up—your skin glistening under the Caribbean light.
You pout dramatically at the lens, running your hands over your thighs.
“Ugh, I swear I won’t get a full tan here!” you whine, twisting to show the untouched skin of your inner thighs—your fingers tracing the faint tan lines with exaggerated frustration.
Before you can continue your lament, a sharp smack! echoes through the room—Eren’s palm landing firmly on your ass, making the flesh jiggle.
”Move," he rumbles, already nudging you aside—his natural dominance taking over as he manspreads onto the sofa bed like he owns it. His tattoos flex under the golden light, one thick thigh nudging yours apart as he settles in.
Your lips purse into an exaggerated pout, eyes fluttering up at him with faux hurt.
“You're being mean.”
Eren's stares. His index finger then crooks, wagging you closer with that effortless, commanding ease that always makes your stomach flip. You slide toward him, hips swaying playfully, until his hand cups the back of your neck and pulls you into a searing kiss—quick but deep, his tongue swiping possessively over yours before pulling away with a wet smack.
“Tut mir leid, Schatz," he rumbles—I'm sorry, baby—his rough German apology curling around your ears like smoke.
You grin at the camera, freckles standing out against your brown skin as you rub your hands up and down Eren’s tattooed forearms.
“Guess what we have?" you chirp, excitement bubbling in your tone.
Eren arches a brow, his deep voice dry.
“Fan mail?"
"Fan mail!" you squeak, immediately digging into the pretty stack of envelopes beside you—tied together with a silk ribbon. You pluck one out, scanning it before correcting, “Fan question, actually."
Clearing your throat, you read aloud—
“'I love you both so much—your dynamic, the way you tease each other, how passionate you are...Awe!” You pause, pressing a hand to your chest, touched.
“'Okay, okay—so, I'm kind of shy asking this, but I'm in a relationship, and my boyfriend loves when I ride him, but I...don't really know what to do? Any tips?'"
Your lips curl into a sly grin as you shift your hips against Eren’s thigh, fingers drumming playfully on his chest.
“So, let’s talk about cowgirl—fun fact, it actually dates waaaay back," you purr, eyes sparkling with mischief.
“…Some historians trace it to ancient tantric texts, others say it was practically sacred in certain cultures—but let’s be real," your curls sway as you tilt your head, “The real magic? ‘How many ways you can make this classic feel brand new."
Eren’s palm thwaps your ass lightly—a silent get on with it.
“There are several—yes, several—ways to ride," you announce, holding up the corresponding number of fingers, “And lucky for you..." You pat Eren’s thigh like he’s your favorite piece of gym equipment—“..I’ve got the perfect demonstrator right here."
His grunt is half-amused, half-exasperated as you swing a leg over him, straddling his lap playfully.
“Consider this your full tutorial.”
Your posture shifts instantly—shoulders rolling back, lips parting with slow intention as your gaze locks onto Eren’s. The camera catches the way his pupils dilate just slightly when you run your tongue along your mouth, your voice dropping into that tone—the one that’s equal parts instructor and temptress.
“Lesson one," you purr, fingertips skating up his chest, “Start with him comfortable. Relaxed."
Your hips roll in a lazy circle against his lap, the heat between your thighs already unmistakable.
“And obviously...hard. That’s the goal."
You nip at his earlobe, breathing a giggle against his skin when his grip tightens on your waist.
“Baby," you murmur, dragging your tongue along the shell of his ear, “How’re you enjoying St. Lucia?”
Eren’s jaw flexes—the only tell he’ll give you—but you feel him hardening beneath you, the thick ridge of him pressing insistently against your core. Your laugh is velvet-wrapped mischief as you grind down harder, relishing the way his breath hitches.
“Mmm, that’s the reaction we want."
Your fingers glide over the bulging curves of his biceps, kneading the taut muscle with deliberate appreciation.
“Aren’t you having fun with me?" you coo, batting your lashes up at him through the dark fringe of them.
Eren’s eyes—always tracking you—darken further, his voice scraping low from his chest.
“You know how I feel bein’ here.”
“Good boy,” you softly praise, lips curling into that wicked little smile—the one that makes his jaw twitch. Your hands slide down to rub slow, teasing circles over his thick thighs, fingertips ghosting dangerously close to where he really wants them.
“Thank you for being so...communicative.”
Then, with a sinuous shift of your hips, you arch deeper into his lap—your gaze flicking back to the camera.
“Now, tell me—does our birthday boy deserve something…special today?"
The camera catches Eren perfectly—his dark hair pulled into a loose bun, those few stubborn tendrils escaping to frame his glaring, predatory expression. He’s pure power sprawled beneath you—legs spread wide, chest rising with each controlled breath—watching, waiting, like he’s deciding whether to make a move or let you play longer.
Then—your hands hook into the waistband of his sweatpants.
A sharp inhale. A quick tug.
“Oh.”
Your gasp is high, breathy, practically whiny as your big, round eyes drink him in—his cock springing free, thick, flushed and already leaking just from your teasing.
“Look at you," you mewl, voice dripping with honeyed reverence—like he’s something sacred, "’All for me?"
Eren’s smirk is barely there—just a twitch of those sinful lips—before his hand fists in your hair, tilting your face up to his.
“Always."
Your gaze flicks back to the camera with that signature mix of sweet and sinful—letting them in on the moment before your attention returns to him.
“Make him ready for you first," you instruct—your lips parting slightly, tongue swiping along your bottom lip as if already tasting him.
Eren's eyes darken, his grip tightening on your thigh.
“’You thirsty?” he rasps.
You nod eagerly, biting down on your plush lip with those big, pleading eyes.
He doesn't hesitate. His calloused fingers grip your chin, tilting your face up as he spits directly into your open mouth—a thick, wet string of saliva that lands heavy on your tongue.
“Mmm—" You swallow instinctively, eyes fluttering shut as his palm cracks against your cheek.
“Zeig’s ihnen," he growls—Show them.
And oh, you do.
Your tongue drags slow and filthy from the thick base of him all the way up—a long, indulgent lick that leaves a glistening trail along his length. The taste of him—pure Eren—floods your senses as you swirl your tongue around his swollen tip, savoring the bead of precum that leaks onto your taste buds.
Then—your lips part wider, sinking down onto him inch by inch until he’s pressed against the back of your throat. The sound—wet, filthy, obscene—fills the room as your nose brushes against his pelvis, swallowing around him with deliberate patience.
Eren’s groan is low and rough, fingers tightening in your hair as he mutters something in German—praise or a curse, you can’t tell—but the way his hips twitch upward tells you everything you need to know.
“Good fuckin’ girl.”
Your movements grow desperate, hungry—swollen lips struggling to stretch around his impossible girth, every inch of him throbbing against your tongue as you hollow your cheeks and force yourself deeper. The sounds you make—tiny, choked mewls turning into breathless whimpers—only spur him on. His cock hits the back of your throat, again and again, the slick slap of skin against skin filling the air as you drool around him, spit dripping messily down your chin.
When you finally pull away—gasping, lips shiny and ruined—you whine at the loss, your fingers immediately wrapping around what your mouth couldn’t take. Both hands jerk him off in tight, twisting strokes—your tongue darting out to swirl around his leaking tip, collecting the thick beads of precum and licking them up like a starving little thing.
Eren’s voice is ragged, his German words rough and guttural—“So verdammt gierig..."
“So greedy..." you translate breathlessly, giggling around his cock like it’s something adorable, something sweet, despite the filth dripping from your chin. Then? You’re practically bobbing your palms around his dick, going even lower than before.
Eren’s thighs tense, muscles straining beneath ink-stained skin as he curses, fingers tightening in your curls.
“Fuck—" His head tilts back, jaw clenched, as he uses your palms—hips lifting off the bed to fuck up into your hand with sharp, punishing thrusts. You mewl once more as your mouth follows back onto his tip—sucking, sucking down. The camera catches it all—his dominance, your submission, the sinful wetness of every thrust as you put your mouth back on him—until finally, with a growl that rumbles through your bones, he yanks you off with a filthy pop.
“Enough."
Your lips are parted, panting, still aching for him—but his grip on your hair tightens, forcing you to meet his gaze.
“You want to ride?" He rasps, “‘Come fuckin’ ride me.”
“Mm, baby—“ you mewl, “This is a tutorial, shouldn’t we—“
Eren’s response is interrupting—his thick fingers hooking into the flimsy fabric of your bikini bottoms, yanking them aside with a roughness that makes your breath hitch. The sudden slap of his palm against your pussy—sharp, mean—has your hips jerking forward with it.
“Keep goin’ then," he growls, fingers beginning to rub rough circles over your swollen clit, his other hand gripping your ass cheek tight enough to bruise.
“Talk.”
Your body shudders, thighs trembling as you struggle to stay composed—your giggles turning into more breathless whimpers, your voice wavering but still playful as you turn back to the camera.
“O—Okay, so—once he’s ready," you stutter, cheeks flushed deep bronze, “You just—ah!—sink down on him—slow, okay?” You bite your lip, "Especially if—mmf!—if you’ve got someone as big as my 'Ren—“
Eren grunts, dragging the slick, flushed head of his cock through your dripping folds—letting the camera catch the obscene wetness coating him before he smacks your ass hard enough to leave a red handprint.
“Ain’t nobody as big as me," he snarls, voice thick with arrogance—his grip tightening on your waist as he lines himself up, the heavy tip of him pressing teasingly against your entrance.
“Bring it to me.”
Your hand reaches back, fingers curling into the flesh of his thigh as you lock eyes with the camera—your lips parting around a shaky exhale as you begin to sink down onto him.
Eren’s grip shifts suddenly—his calloused fingers seizing your jaw, forcing your face to stay angled toward the lens as he tugs you down with relentless pressure. The stretch is unreal—your walls clenching around his thick cock inch by inch as your breath hitches in your throat.
Your eyes roll back—voice slurring as you try to keep instructing through the haze of pleasure, "Y—You wanna—mmf—take all of it—"
Eren’s his hips jerk up hard, forcing another inch inside—his voice thick with arrogance, “You feelin’ me?”
You whimper, hands gripping his thighs as you force yourself down, your slick walls yielding around him until your ass meets his hips—fully seated. Your face twists—lips parted in a silent moan, eyes squeezing shut before fluttering open to find him instead of the camera.
And then—God—your folds spurt a fresh rush of cream against him, your body betraying you completely as you lose all semblance of control, trembling in his lap.
“Look at you,” he rasps, “Actin’ like a big fuckin’ girl, little one.”
Your arms snake around his neck, clinging to him as you press a soft, pleading kiss to his lips—whispering against them in Creole, just for him—“Lèt mwen mennen, chéri..."
Let me lead, baby…
Eren hesitates—his dark eyes searching yours—before he exhales sharply through his nose. He pulls back just enough to guide your palms onto his chest, lips pressing against your ring, to both of your palms in turn—a silent permission—before his arms drop to his sides, muscles taut with restraint.
“‘Go ‘head.”
Your voice then lilts sweetly, hips rolling in slow, teasing circles against his lap.
“Okay, so first—warm up," you murmur, fingers threading through the loose tendrils of his dark hair, tugging just enough to make his jaw clench.
“You wanna start slow," you breathe, eyelashes fluttering—though your breath hitches when he twitches inside you, thick and impatient.
“It's all about—mm—connection..."
You whine a little—high-pitched, adorable—your folds clutching desperately at his cock with every tiny shift.
“T—Take your time adjusting," you instruct shakily, though it sounds more like you're reminding yourself—your thighs trembling as you rise up until just the tip of him remains, then sink back down with a breathy sigh.
Eren's hands flex against the sofa—his nostrils flaring as he watches you, taunting him with your lazy pace. But he lets you lead, just like you asked—even if his teeth grind together when your nails scrape against his scalp.
“‘Feel good, baby?”
Eren just growls, his hips jerking up just enough to make your entire body twitch.
“Quit playin’."
Your lips press a tender kiss to the tip of his nose—soft, sweet—and he retaliates by bumping his nose against yours in return, making you giggle breathlessly.
“Okay,” you whisper, “First three positions—think of ‘em like gears,” you explain, hips rolling in slow, indulgent circles—your thighs flexing as you shift upward, grinding rather than bouncing.
“First gear—easy, sensual, all about the tease.”
You demonstrate, your back arching beautifully as you rock against him—your gaze locked onto his, heavy-lidded and dripping with intent, “It’s more for your pleasure, but—”
One of your hands lifts, twirling a loose curl around your finger—your French braids cascading over your shoulders, the scent of vanilla and sunshine clinging to them.
“You keep his attention by making him watch.”
Your other hand slides up your own body—fingers trailing over your collarbone before you hook them into the ties of your bikini top. With a flick, the fabric falls away—your heavy breasts bouncing free, nipples peaked and begging for touch.
Eren’s nostrils flare, but he stays still—letting you lead, even as his cock twitches deep inside you.
“Second gear—”
Your breath hitches as you shift again, riding him with more purpose—your hips undulating in slow, delicious waves.
“Third gear—”
And then you grind, your clit rubbing firmly against the base of him with every movement. A rush of pleasure floods your senses—your walls fluttering around him as you struggle to keep your voice steady.
“Th—This one—” You swallow hard, your words slurring slightly, “Might—mmf—hit your spots—“
“Yeah?”
Eren suddenly rasps—arrogant, smug—his fingers flexing against your hips but still refusing to help.
A desperate little whimper escapes your lips—“Y—Yeah”—as your hips roll faster, grinding against him like a toy wound too tight, chasing that sweet, throbbing pleasure building low in your belly.
Eren stays perfectly still beneath you—just watching with those eyes, his low voice taunting as he growls,
“C'mon, baby. Keep goin’.”
Your breath catches—a sharp gasp ripping from your throat as your head falls back, braids cascading over your shoulders. But Eren’s fingers snap up, wrapping around your throat in a firm grip, forcing your gaze back to him.
“Nah, nah—eyes on me," he rasps, thumb brushing your pulse point—“‘Want you to see me watchin’ you.”
Tears well in your eyes—spilling over as your climax crashes into you with a sob, your cream gushing around him, coating his balls in slick heat.
Eren tsks—his grip tightening on your ass cheek, tugging your grinding hips right where he wants them as he murmurs low in German,
"So schön... so verdammt schön für mich…”
So beautiful... so fuckin’ beautiful for me…
Your hips slow to a sensual sway, chest rising and falling with each breath as your curls tumble over your shoulders, framing your breasts like a dark halo. You glance down at Eren through your lashes, lips parted as you try to steady your breathing—but the second your arms wrap around his neck, you let out a soft, shy giggle, turning toward the camera with a sheepish smile.
“Oops—" you murmur, voice dripping with playful sweetness, “Didn’t mean to get so...carried away."
Eren huffs out a rough chuckle, his lips trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses between your breasts—“I love watchin’ you like that. Love watchin’ you cum like that."
You bite your lip, suppressing another giggle before looking back at the camera—your expression shifting back into instructor mode, though your voice is still breathy from pleasure.
“See? The three gears—always gonna get you there," you sigh, fingers threading lazily through Eren’s hair—“And trust me... your man’s gonna love it."
Your lips curl into a lazy, satisfied smile as you glance at the camera, breath still uneven.
“Not done yet though,” you hum—“‘Might feel a little sore after that first round, so this is when you just...sit in it. Warm each other up all over again."
Your fingers trail down to nudge Eren's chin, tipping his face up toward you—your eyes softening as you whisper, "’Love you, yeah?"
He doesn't answer with words—just tugs your mouth down to his in a slow, deep kiss, tongues sliding together with unhurried heat. His hands roam over your back, fingers pressing possessively into the curve of your hips as you shift slightly—your folds grinding lazily along the swollen tip of him, drawing a low groan from his chest.
Then, with a breathless shudder, you sink back down onto him—your lips parting against his in a silent gasp as he fills you completely. The kiss deepens, languid and intoxicating, until you finally pull back—turning toward the camera with flushed cheeks.
“This one—" you pant, rocking up and down in slow, shallow motions, “—We call the lazy cowgirl. No rush, no pressure... just breathing together before the next round."
Your hips roll in smooth, rhythmic waves—your tongue dragging teasingly along Eren's neck as you murmur against his pulse, “Keep it playful now... this one's for him."
Your hands glide over the sculpted planes of his biceps and shoulders, fingertips tracing the ink-dark tattoos as you murmur, “You’re too handsome, baby—" between slow, rocking motions. Eren grunts through the praise, dragging you into a deep, appreciative kiss—but you feel it, the way his restraint starts crumbling, the sharp catch of his breath against your lips betraying how badly he wants to take control.
You tuck your face into the crook of his shoulder, braids spilling like silk over his skin as you peer behind you—watching the sinuous arch of your spine, the hypnotic sway of your hips as you move atop him.
“Okay," you exhale once more, pulling back just enough to meet the camera's gaze—your voice dripping with playful mischief, “Next positions are where it gets fun—pleasurable for both of you."
A giggle bubbles up as you admit, “It’s a silly name, but—we call this one the shakedown.”
And then you show it—your ass lifting slightly before shaking in slow, deliberate twists atop him, the motion making your folds clench around his cock in a way that has his fingers digging into your thighs.
A harsh smack echoes through the room—Eren’s palm cracking against your ass cheek, leaving a stinging flush in its wake. You gasp, but don't stop—grinding down harder as he spanks you again, and again, each sharp slap punctuated by his guttural groans.
“Fuck—" he grits out, grip bruising as he watches your body jolt with every strike.
You whimper through it, trembling—but your voice is a pure sultry tease as you murmur to the camera, “Your man's gonna love how this looks…’gonna turn him on completely.”
Your arms tighten around his neck, fingers tangling in the hair at his naught as you continue rolling your hips in slow, decadent circles—French curls cascading like dark silk over his shoulders, tickling his chest as you tilt your head.
“Baby...you still with me?" you tease, breathless laughter lacing your words as you nudge his temple with your nose, "’You’ve been a little quiet…”
Eren’s response is a rough blend of English and German, his voice thick with barely-restrained hunger as his palm cracks against your ass again—harder this time—forcing a sweet little “Mmph!" from your lips as you jolt forward, your mouth brushing his.
“Scheiße—" he growls, gripping your waist as his other hand lands another stinging slap—“Du siehst so verdammt gut aus—"
You look so fuckin’ good.
His words dissolve into a shuddering groan as your walls clench around him, your body squeezing him in a slick, greedy rhythm. You bite your bottom lip, catching the camera’s gaze with a sultry grin—your voice dropping to a low, instructional purr.
“Next one’s called...the swirl.”
And then you demonstrate—your hips twisting in slow, hypnotic spirals, muscles fluttering tight around him in a way that wrings a filthy, wet sound from where you’re joined. Eren’s grip turns vicious—his cock throbbing inside you as your folds suck him deeper with every sinuous roll.
“Goddamn, Bunny. Just like that. Shit.”
His head is tilting back, groaning as he drags the words out.
Your breath hitches, but you keep going—grinding down in relentless circles, your body milking him with every motion as the camera captures every obscene shlick of your arousal coating him. Your hips continue their sinuous swirl, fingertips skimming the hard planes of his chest before crawling up to cradle the back of his neck possessively.
“This is your chance to dominate.”
Eren's head stays tilted back, his hunter-green eyes locked onto yours—jaw clenched so tight you can see the muscle twitch. His chest heaves with each ragged breath, his cock twitching as your folds clench in another deliberate, milking squeeze.
“Hell—" he grunts out, fingers digging into your hips, “That feels too fuckin’ good.”
“Yeah?"
“Yeah.”
And you smile, rolling your hips in another filthy, slower, perfect circle.
Your gaze locks onto the camera as you plant your feet firmly on the sofa—tightening your thighs around his hips as your fingers drag lower, tracing the hard ridges of his abs with deliberate admiration.
"And this—" you breathe, “—Is probably your man’s favorite. The expert cowgirl. Where you let him use you to his strength... his advantage."
Your eyes flick down to Eren, lashes fluttering as you coo, “My man’s so strong—‘can fuck me any way he wants to."*
The second those words leave your lips, Eren’s grip shifts—his hands sliding beneath your thighs, fingers digging into the plush skin of your ass as he takes control, tugging you down onto his cock with a slow, purposeful bounce.
“This—ooh!—this’ll also hit your spots if you let it—"
You gasp, your words fracturing as his tip drags directly over that spongey sweet spot inside you. Your eyes roll slightly—a giggle bubbling up as you try to suppress the shiver of pleasure that ripples through you.
"That’s it," he rasps, his grip tightening as he drives you down harder, faster.
“Take it. Take it. Squeezin’ me just fuckin’ right.”
Your thighs tremble—your folds fluttering around him as he uses you exactly how he wants, his cock pistoning into that perfect, blissful spot with every snap of his hips.
“Eren—" you whimper, your control slipping—your body melting under the weight of his dominance.
“Nuh uh,” he grunts, “Feel it.”
Your fingers slide helplessly over the thick ridges of his biceps beneath you—and that’s when a real, broken whimper claws its way out of your throat, voice trembling as you gasp,
“F—Feels too—mmph!—too good—"
Eren’s response is a rough, impatient tch—his grip tightening as he growls, “You ain’t been enjoyin’ yourself enough. Hold onto me.”
At those words? Your head lolls back, your body going pliant against him as he pounds you—his powerful thighs driving you up and down his cock in slow, devastating bounces that leave your vision hazy. Your nails dig into his forearms—your whine pitching higher, dissolving into a slurred “Mmmphfuh—!" as your words fail you completely.
“I c—can’t think.”
And that’s when you see it—that untamed, rough-edged side of him that follows him everywhere. The country boy who doesn’t ask, just takes—who fucks you with the same effortless dominance he carries in every other part of his life. His hands slide up to your waist, fingers bruising as he lifts you—then drops you back onto his cock with a filthy, wet slap, his hips driving up to meet you.
“Don’t gotta think," he rasps—voice dark, mean with desire.
“Just keep takin’ it.”
Eren's hands lock around your hips like steel bands—his thick cock splitting you open with every brutal, upward thrust. This ain't riding anymore. This is him fucking you—claiming you—his deep southern drawl rumbling against your ear as he takes over your lesson with rough, possessive authority.
“Last one, baby. My fuckin' favorite—the Noise Complaint.”
And God, you understand why he named it that the second his powerful thighs flex beneath you. His grip is absolute—those big, rough hands lifting your entire body with terrifying ease before slamming you back down onto his cock in slow, devastating drops. The sound is obscene—a wet, rhythmic clap of skin-on-skin that echoes off the walls, punctuated by your broken little “Ah! Ah! Ah!" with every bounce.
It’s everything that defines him—raw, unfiltered, dominance, that arrogance dialed to eleven. Clap after clap after clap—skin slapping against skin in a rhythm so loud it dares the neighbors to complain.
“Hear that?" Eren growls, “That’s the shit I wanna hear.”
You're sobbing now—pathetic, high-pitched whines of “E—Eren!" tumbling from your swollen lips as your body betrays you, clamping down on him in helpless pleasure.
“Take your reward for bein' such a good fuckin’ teacher.”
Your fingers clutch at his forearms, desperation creeping into your voice as you whimper, “Baby, please—‘wanna cum in my favorite position...”
“‘Thought it was my birthday, huh?”
But you give him those eyes—the ones that always make him cave—your lower lip trembling as you hiccup, “Please?"
It’s almost adorable—the way you beg, your tits bouncing with every ragged breath, those big, pleading eyes. How could he say no?
“Face first, ass up—now.”
You scramble to obey—arching your back sexily, pressing your flushed face into the sofa cushions as you present yourself for him. The contrast is stark—your small frame dwarfed beneath his towering body, your curves trembling as you wait.
Eren’s gaze flickers to the camera—“‘She knows how she submits in this position," he rumbles, gripping his cock at the base as he watches your folds drip for him. He drags the thick head of his dick against you, taunting you as he growls—
“Only givin’ it to you if you take all of me—no fussin’."
You bite your lip—your fingers clenching the cushions—before spreading yourself wider for him, your voice a sweet, breathless whimper.
“Won’t fuss... ‘promise."
His thick thumb presses down on the small of your back, forcing your spine into a deeper arch as he spreads your folds wider with his free hand.
“All of it," he grunts—and then he sinks into you all at once, his heavy cock stretching you to the limit in one relentless push.
You groan—a high, desperate whimper tearing from your throat as your pussy makes a wet pfft sound around him. He doesn’t let you adjust—just tugs halfway out before slamming back in, the sudden stretch making you sob adorably into the cushions.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Over and over—until the pleasure borders on discomfort, his thick shaft dragging against your walls with brutal precision.
“Fuck," Eren curses—his voice rough as he starts bouncing you on his cock, your hips gripped tight in his hands.
“Always so fuckin’ tight.”
His groans deepen—low, drawn-out, almost pained—as your slickness coats him completely.
“Goddamn, you’re drownin’ me—“ he pants, hips stuttering as your pussy squelches around him with every thrust. He’s not even lifting you anymore—just pounding into you over and over, your cries turning into sweet, broken sobs as you drag his name out pitifully, “E—Erennn.”
His breath comes jagged—his own control slipping—as he mutters again, “Fuck—you’re so wet—"
And then—with one final, punishing thrust—he buries himself fully inside you, his hips flush against your ass.
That’s when he moans—really moans—his voice slurring.
“Fuhhhhckkk.”
You whimper back—slurring messily, your words barely coherent as you press your forehead into the cushions.
His thrusts slow as he angles his hips just right, grinding the thick head of his cock against that spot once more.
“C'mon," he growls, voice rough with urgency, his grip tightening on your hip—“Get it out. Wanna feel you drench me—make a fuckin' mess."
He yanks himself out, his cock glistening with your slick as he fists himself hard, head tipping back with a jagged groan.
The sudden emptiness makes you whine—but before you can protest, his palm cracks against your ass hard, the sharp sting forcing another sob from your lips.
“Rub that clit," he orders, his voice dark with command—“Don't stop 'til you squirt all over me."
Your thighs tremble violently as your fingers fly to your swollen clit, circling desperately—your entire body tensing as pleasure coils too tight, too much—
"’Ren—‘M—gonna—!" you wail, your voice breaking into a sweet, shattered sob.
He groans—filthy and approving—his strokes on his own cock speeding up as he watches you unravel.
“I know,” he rasps, his green eyes burning with lust.
“Do it. Cover me."
Your back arches violently as your climax explodes out of you—a gushing, uncontrollable flood that soaks his thighs, the sofa, everything—your pussy pulsing around nothing as you scream his name.
Eren growls, his own release hitting him just as hard—thick ropes of cum painting your trembling ass as he groans through gritted teeth.
“Good fuckin’ job, Bunny.”
Your body shudders as the last waves of your climax begin to ebb—but then, without warning, a different kind of release crashes over you. Soft, warm tears spill down your cheeks, catching you by surprise that you quickly wipe your face. It’s not just pleasure anymore—it’s something deeper, more needed, like your body finally surrenders to the intensity of everything you just felt.
Eren notices immediately.
“C'mere," he murmurs, his voice suddenly tender as he pulls you against him, ignoring the mess between you both. His large hands cradle your face, thumbs brushing away your tears as he tucks you into the safety of his chest.
His fingers slide into your braids, stroking gently—his lips pressing against your temple in slow, soothing kisses as he whispers, “You did so fuckin’ good."
You cling to him, your breath hitching as the last tremors of emotion—and pleasure—rush through you. His warmth, his scent, the steady thud of his heartbeat beneath your ear—it all grounds you, wrapping you in a cocoon of safety.
“I got you,” he rumbles, “Always do.”
Your body melts into him, boneless and spent as you curl your arms around his neck and tuck your face against his skin—hiding from the camera’s gaze, suddenly shy despite everything you’ve just shared. Eren chuckles—a deep, knowing sound—his fingers tracing idle circles against your lower back.
“‘Never done that before,” he muses, voice rough with amusement—but there’s no teasing in it. Just warmth.
You don’t answer—just nuzzle deeper into him, your breaths slow and steady against his chest. And like always, he adjusts—his knees bending slightly to give you what you need, his frame curling around yours protectively.
But then—his phone rings.
Eren tenses—his head lifting with a frustrated suck to his teeth—but before he can dismiss it, you murmur, “Might be your Korean investors, baby… take it."
He exhales through his nose.
"Fuckin’ timin’.”
His lips linger against your temple—warm and rough—before he rises from the sofa, his towering frame momentarily blocking the camera’s view. You curl your knees to your chest, still glistening with sweat, your wide, round eyes tracing his every movement—the way his muscles shift beneath his tattooed skin, the way his damp hair clings to the back of his neck.
“Got me on international fuckin’ hold," he grumbles, glancing back at you with a smirk.
A weak, breathless smile tugs at your lips.
But then your gaze sharpens, studying him—the way dominance radiates off him even now, the handsomeness etched into every sharp angle of his face—and something tender swells in your chest.
"Need me to translate when they pick up?" you offer softly, tilting your head.
His green eyes narrow—defensive.
“What you tryin’ to say?"
“That my Korean’s better than yours."
He grabs your discarded top off the floor, entirely dismissing your insult—“Put this on," he orders, tossing it toward you.
You catch it lazily, shrugging.
“Not like they didn’t just watch me—"
“Bunny."
His voice drops—a warning.
You sigh dramatically but relent, sliding the fabric over your head as he steps closer. His fingers brush your nipples through the material—rough, possessive—before he cups your chin, kissing you briefly, firmly.
A command, not a request.
You don’t kiss back—just nod with another sigh, letting him suck your bottom lip once more before he pulls away, already striding out of frame.
You tie the strings of your top back into place, smoothing the fabric down with a soft, playful smile toward the camera—your cheeks still flushed, curls tousled from Eren’s hands.
“Hope y’all enjoyed fanmail," you hum, "It’s always fun answering your questions.”
Behind you, Eren’s deep voice rumbles in Korean—Yes, I understand. I’ll contact you after reviewing the contract again.
You glance over just in time to see him staring directly at you—chin lifted, green eyes gleaming with challenge—as he over-enunciates each syllable, chest puffed with pride.
You roll your eyes hard, fighting a grin as you turn back to the camera and whisper, “He’s been studying as you can tell.”
For the next few minutes, you chat sweetly with the camera—rambling about random things, laughing as you adjust the camera angle—until Eren reappears, a rare, broad grin splitting his face.
“They doubled the investment,” he announces, voice thick with satisfaction.
Your hands clap together, “That’s huge, baby! I knew they’d love you.”
“Let’s celebrate,” he rumbles, already striding toward the kitchen—“‘You hungry?"
You nod eagerly, rubbing your arms as you follow his movements—watching as he pulls open the fridge, muscles flexing under the dim kitchen lights.
“Could make spicy pork stir-fry," he muses, glancing at you—“Or that creamy garlic shrimp you like. Maybe both."
You rest your head on your knees, watching him move through the kitchen with that effortless, masculine grace.
“Whatever your heart desires, birthday boy."
His shoulders tense slightly—the way they always do when he’s deep in thought, jaw locked tight. You notice it instantly.
“Mon chéri," you say softly in Creole, voice a gentle hum beneath the sizzle of the pan—"Défroncé to mâchoire—li plen de tension."
Unclench your jaw—it’s full of tension.
“‘Force of habit.”
“You’d think you were always unhappy,” you warily murmur—which he hears of course.
Eren pauses.
“Why wouldn’t I be happy here with you?" he counters gruffly, not looking up—but you hear it, the defensiveness.
“‘Just wanna pick your brain," you admit, tracing idle circles on your knee—“Feels like if I don’t...I lose you a little."
Eren stills. Then, finally, he turns—his green eyes meeting yours, really meeting them, as he sets the knife down.
“Alright," he rumbles, “Pick, then.”
You let out a slow sigh, chewing your bottom lip as you search for the right words—your fingers twisting together in your lap.
“We’ve been in St. Lucia for a while now,” you start, “After everything—the chaos, the traveling, the proposal,” Your lips curl into a soft smile at the memory—"I’m so happy here, ‘Ren. It’s everything I never knew I needed. But..."
Your throat tightens—because the unspoken thing hangs between you, heavy and undeniable.
“…I just need to know you’re happy too," you finally say, fingers pressing into your knees—“That nothing’s...disappointed you.
Eren’s expression darkens—not in anger, but in fierce disagreement as he steps closer, crowding your space, his rough palms cupping your face.
“Listen t’ me," he rumbles, “There’s nothin’ more I could ask for. You—this—us—" His thumb swipes at your mouth, “You’re my fuckin’ world, woman.”
You press your forehead to his, closing your eyes as you exhale softly—nodding as you whisper, “Okay."
His hands grip your hips roughly, lifting you just enough to smack your ass—the sharp crack making your body jump as he growls, “Let's have some fun, yeah?"
A soft laugh bubbles up in your throat, but before you can respond, he’s already moving—grabbing a glass, rummaging through the fridge.
“Want me to make you a drink?" he offers, half-turned toward you, already reaching for a bottle of rum.
You shake your head, “You're an amazing cook, baby—not the best bartender. ‘M fine."
“Oh?" His head snaps towards you, “So now my drinks ain’t good enough?"
He turns back towards the fridge grabbing fresh fruit, mint, and crushed ice.
“Gonna’ make you eat those words," he mutters—but there’s a smirk tugging at his lips.
You grab the camera, following him into the kitchen with quiet steps—propping it up at the perfect angle to capture this moment. The lens frames him perfectly—his broad shoulders, the way his muscles flex as he bends into the fridge, rummaging for ingredients. You press yourself against his back, molding your body into the warmth of his frame, breathing him in.
Eren chuckles—a low, rumbling sound—before reaching his arm back, large hand cradling your head gently. He tilts his face toward yours, capturing your lips in a slow, tender kiss.
"Love you too," he murmurs against your mouth before pulling away, returning to his mission—citrus fruit in hand, determined to prove his bartending skills.
“I’m really okay without a drink," you say softly.
Eren immediately shoots you a frown.
“We’ve been in St. Lucia for a month," he points out, voice dripping with faux sadness—“And you haven’t drank with me in two whole weeks. What’s goin’ on, huh? I thought you loved me?”
“Pregnant women can’t drink, baby."
Eren freezes.
His hands still—mid-squeeze of a lime—juice dripping forgotten onto the counter.
Slowly, he turns—his green eyes locking onto yours, darker than you’ve ever seen them.
“Bunny," he says—just that—his voice a growl, rough with shock.
You nod—shuddering out a nervous giggle—your fingers twisting together.
“…Yeah."
And then—his hands are on you, cupping your face, his thumbs brushing your cheeks as his forehead presses to yours—his breath uneven.
“Fuck," he rasps—and for the first time in years, Eren Yeager sounds shaken.
“How long?" he rasps, voice rough with emotion.
You bite your lip, exhaling shakily.
“Remember... when we first got here?” you murmur, brushing your thumbs over his wrists, “I cried because I wanted dragonfruit—and you scoured the whole island trying to find one?"
A slow realization flickers in his eyes—because you don’t crave things like that. Not randomly. Not desperately.
“…I knew something was off then," you admit softly, “Took a test a few days later...and I—" Your voice cracks slightly, “I didn’t believe it. ‘Thought I was seeing things. So I waited. ‘Took another one. And another."
Eren’s jaw clenches—his breathing uneven—but you can see it in his eyes, the way his mind races, piecing together every moment, every mood swing, every sign.
“I’m sorry," you whimper, pressing your forehead harder against his, “I was so scared it was a false positive—‘didn’t want you to get your hopes up just for it to be nothing."
His grip shifts—one hand sliding down to press against your stomach, his palm huge against you, like he’s already trying to feel what’s growing there.
“When the doctors told me I was possibly infertile…it terrified me—not just because of what it meant for us, but because... I realized how much I wanted this. How much I wanted your baby."
A tear slips free, trailing down your cheek as you continue, words spilling out in a fragile rush—
“But Korea’s so far from home, ‘Ren. All our family’s back in New Orleans, and I—" Your breath hitches, “I want my momma through this. I want her with me when I’m scared, when I don’t know what’s happening to my body. I wanna be home. But I also don’t wanna be away from you—not for a single second of this.”
Your throat tightens, another wave of fear crashing over you—
“And our supporters... our careers... I’m scared of shutting ourselves away from the love we’ve built. I just don’t wanna feel alone—“
“Stop," he orders, voice raw with conviction, “Stop worryin’—right fuckin’ now. You hear me?"
His grip tightens, eyes burning into yours—
“I’d burn down whole goddamn countries for you. For this baby. You wanna go home? We’re goin’.You want your momma? I’ll carry her ass to Korea myself. You scared of bein’ alone? Not happenin’—not as long as I’m breathin’."
A shuddering little cry escapes you—but Eren doesn’t let you crumble. He crushes you to his chest, his heartbeat thundering against your ear as he rasps—
“You’re mine. This baby’s mine. Not distance, careers, not anythin’ will stop me from takin’ care of you.”
You mewl “I love you" against his lips in a tearful, trembling kiss—his mouth crashing into yours with a devotion so deep, it vibrates through your entire body. The heat of his hands cradling your face—every touch radiates pure, unfiltered love.
Pulling back slightly, you turn your watery gaze toward the camera, your damp lashes fluttering as Eren ducks his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply—like he’s memorizing your scent, grounding himself in you.
“We’re having a baby," you beam, voice thick with emotion, wiping your cheeks with the back of your hand.
Eren lifts his head, eyes locking onto the camera—determined, possessive—before he gruffly murmurs, “Y’all been with us through everything. ‘No way we go through this without you. Expect more content—a lot more."
Your breath catches—“You sure?" you whisper, searching his face.
He nods without hesitation, “‘Only want you happy, Bunny.”
And then—without warning—you launch yourself into him, legs wrapping around his waist as you giggle, “We’re having a babyyy!”
Eren grunts as he catches you effortlessly, a playful growl rumbling in his chest as he clutches your body tight—“Let’s go see if we can get you pregnant twice.”
Your laughter echoes as he carries you down the hallway—your limbs tangled around him—and with one last breathless “Bye!" from you, the screen flickers, dissolving into static as the camera shuts off in a nostalgic fade.
cw: smut —mdni, fluf, p in v, morning sex, pregnancy mentioned.
—
the bed was too warm. too warm when it was supposed to be lonely, just your body in the queen sized bed but no, not this morning. the white, thick curtain blocked the sunlight to a point, but you could see everything clearly in the room. a slight ache in your back from arching your back so hard last night, still stinging feeling of the pounding you took was present. but it didn't matter because you were in the arms of the man you loved, Satoru Gojo.
the man was deep in his sleep, you could tell it by his deep breaths, steady and warm against your shoulder. his arms were around you, the muscler thighs separated your soft legs and squeezed between them, holding you as if you would slip between them. his arm were over your waist and stomach, other arm coming underneath from your shoulder, holding you tightly. something poke through your thighs, but you didn't care at the moment, all you did was to listen to his breaths, feel his warmth and enjoy his presence. the presence that you couldn't even enjoy when you two were married.
after Satoru told you to marry him again in a joking way, of course, you overthought and questioned if he was serious, during when he was serious about blowing your back. now the reddened marks of his thumbs were still on your hipbones.
you were afraid, you couldn't lie. but you wanted another chance. because both of you knew that there were nobody else better. because you still loved each other.
your hand moved through his big hand rested on your stomach, smiling as you held his hand, then wandered your pointer finger along a vein which led to his ring finger, he hadn't taken off his wedding ring.
it hurt because even the divorce was his idea. why'd he do that to himself? why'd do that to him?
a sigh escaped your lips, closing your eyes. when you were about to cry for the lost time, Satoru spoke up. he woken up before you noticed.
"trying to destroy a great morning? I see..." he mumbled with his deep, morning voice, hugging you tight enough not to let you breath.
"Satoru? I thought you were asleep..." you mumbled, trying to see him as you held his arms. "you're squeezing me tight..."
"well, excuse me for that, darling, I'm trying to wake up here." he mumbled again, then pulling you underneath him suddenly, leaning down to kiss you deeply. you couldn't help but yelp against his lips before kissing him back, hugging his broad shoulders with your sore arms, letting him push your legs against your chest with animalistic force. you whined in pain as he grinned, holding his morning wood like a threat.
"oh, come on now. you used to be better, you know?" he leaned in, kissing you so sweetly as he leaned his tip through your entrance. "fuckin' me all night and day when we were married..." he whispered as he glazed in your eyes and you couldn't help but gulp, those blue eyes were deep as oceans. you swatted his shoulder playfully, "that was when we didn't have a daughter who could wake up any second and burst in any second." you mumbled, smiling, thinking about the little mixture of him and you. "well, that's the reason she's here, my darling." he smiled, kissing your forehead, then your lips, then sliding his hot mouth through your jaw and neck, teasing you with his tip, getting you hot and eager before he put it all the way in.
his hips moved slowly, holding you delicately, suckling on your nipples, then biting your collarbone, leaving more marks as if it was possible. and you were already squirming under his body. his hairy crotch rubbed against your swollen clit every time he thrusted in and made that sweet pussy of yours tighten around him, eventually making both of you moan into each other's mouth.
he leaned in and started to kiss your lips, looking into your eyes with half-lidded, heavy eyes. you whined and arched your back again when he hit a particular spot. "that's it, baby..." he whispered as he leaned down to your ear, hands gripping your thighs, spreading them untill almost your knees touched the bed and you were spread like a frog laying on its back.
he groaned, throwing his head back as you tightened around him, biting his bottom lip, trying to keep it quiet since it was nine in the morning and the baby girl could wake up at any second and he was sure he didn't lock that door last night.
your fingers slid down before you could control them, finding your clit and rubbing it furiously like a mad man, making yourself bite your lip so hard and scream through your throat. he slapped your hand away and replaced his thumb, gripping your chin to kiss you. "nuh uh, sweetheart, no touching allowed till I say so," he whispered as he kissed you so deeply that the teeth clashed, you almost choke in his aggressive tongue.
"T– Toru..." you whimpered while your vision started to blur, only thing you could feel in your body became the throbbing walls of yours, getting wetter and wetter around him till you couldn't hold it anymore.
soon after, he was done. his heavy body limp all over yours, but you loved being crashed underneath him. it was like hugging a giant teddy bear.
he pulled back after he caught his breath and leaned down to kiss you softly. "I love you," he whispered, you hugged him tighter. "I love you more. more than you can imagine." you insisted as you looked into his eyes. he snorted and grinned,
"I see through your soul, baby, I know how much you love me."
"you're annoying."
"you say this all the time," he kept grinning before sitting down on his bum and placing you in his lap, pulling the duvet over and tugging you like a baby. you smiled as you looked up, leaning to peck his lips. soon, the kisses turned to bites, tickles and everything childish between, until you were throwing your head back while laughing like an idiot, until his abs were even visible from how much he was laughing, and of course, little princess Yumi was awake, staring at her mother and father with weirded eyes because why would the adults be laughing at the early hour of the morning?
"mommy, daddy? what's going on? why are you laughing?" she questioned, her small hand holding the door knob. you smiled and looked at Yumi despite being naked and only being covered clumsily with a duvet (which you would never, considering how much of a meticulous mother you were.)
"Good morning, sunshine!" before you could say something, Satoru smiled widely and waved his hand. he was looking like the sun itself while saying it. "Good morning, daddy." Yumi said as she approached the bed. poor baby needed a bath so bad since you let her sleep after the disaster happened yesterday.
"Yumi, can you give mommy and daddy a second, please?" you said with a soft voice, running a hand through her hair, (which had the colour of yours) and she nodded, leaving the room, her naked feet patting on the floor cutely, she got out and walked into her room.
"well, guess you two would be bathing together." Satoru smiled as he ran a hand through your sweaty hair, cupping your cheek and brushing your cheekbones with his thumb. "she'd ask me why I'm covered in marks." you protested weakly while leaning on his hand, feeling the warmth of his calloused palm. "the curse did it." he raised his eyebrows, "the curse who happens to be her father?" he snorted before leaning and kissing your forehead. "alright, then I'll have to bath our princess." he smiled and hugged you tightly for the last time before leaving you down from your lap. he got up and looked for his clothes but he remembered all of them were probably still in the bathroom where after both of you got out of the tub, you didn't even bother to clean up that area.
"left cabinet." you said shyly. "huh?" he looked at you, rubbing nape of his neck. "open the left cabinet," you mumbled as you blushed, burring yourself deeper into the duvet around your body. he opened the left cabinet just to see his old clothes (or the ones you stole before the divorce.) "oh! my dinosaur t-shirt! ay, I've been looking everywhere for it and you've had this all time?" he smiled widely as he looked at t-shirt which was oversized to you. you couldn't help but smile, watching him put the t-shirt on, finding a basketball short of his and putting it on too.
after you took a shower and while Satoru was still bathing Yumi, you prepared the breakfast. then three of you had breakfast together. although Yumi was a little afraid after what had happened yesterday, but she was relieved that her father was there and she wanted him to never leave again. Satoru couldn't promise that he'd be there forever but he promised that he'd try anything and everything for his family.
(four weeks later)
"I got something to tell ya."
"yeah? go ahead." Satoru echoed on the other side of the phone. he was in his office and busy with boring paperwork.
"apparently, the stick in my hand shows two lines." you mumbled, looking at the plastic stick that you were holding.
"what stick? what lines, baby? I'm busy right no— wait, two lines!?" even though Satoru sounds bored at first, his voice got higher, he hung up abruptly, just to teleport before your apartment and bang on the door crazily.
of course, you rushed and opened the door. he hugged you and spun you around, laughing happily. you laughed along, hugging his broad shoulders. when he put you on the floor, he leaned down and kisses your lips sweetly. "you did this," you mumbled against his lips as you panted a little. "you trapped me with a baby!" you whined playfully and he echoed. "fuck, you're stuck with me forever now, sweetheart." he chuckled, kissing your forehead as he took the test in his hand, then gazed through it. before he knew, his hand raised towards his face, his thumb and pointer finger slid under his blindfold and wiped the tears you didn't see. "oh my god, Satoru!" you chuckled and he shook his head, still laughing through his tears. "I just can't believe this!" he sighed and hugged you, leaning his head over your shoulder, his tall body looking absurd as he had to bend on his knees to do so. "I won't let you go ever again." he promised as you hugged his shoulders. "you will not have to. I will stay this time." you promised too, then kissing his temple and smiling.
—
a/n: I can tell that this is my best written smut by far. thx for reading.
୨୧ - ten years together, five years married -- it's a long time. too long to be running on borrowed time glued together by the past. leaving is easy, but staying away turns out to be impossible.
→ afab!reader, modern/no curses!au, slow-burn, long-established relationship, mutual pining, heavy angst, toxic relationship dynamics, mention of pregnancy/failure to conceive, relationship insecurity, emotional sex, oral f!receiving, spanking/slapping, cum eating, mentions of readers relative hair length, mentions of readers family, nsfw
→ w.c. - 15.3k {1 hour reading time}
a/n: when an idea sticks for me, i head to my graveyard of wips to expand on it. most end up dying, but for some reason the love you guys held for this version of satoru made it stick. make him meaner... then more loving... then spin the narrative - pin it back on him -- all of those thoughts ran my psyche during the month (?) it took me to flush this idea out.
happy 3k, my angels <3 i crafted this for you with so much love, sweat and tears. sit with this one for while. let it sink in.
part two may come if you guys will it to.
with so much of my love,
- elly
listen to the soundtrack <3
Your heart is racing, gloss dripping sensually from your lips. Satoru is under you, his familiar face laced with overwhelming stoicism. He’s biting over soft, pink lips, his eyes wide open as he watches you ride him like you never have before.
You’re sad – on the verge of tears, but he doesn’t notice. He just parts his lips, content with the headiness of the pleasure you’re working yourself up to give him. Usually, he’d be telling you how beautiful you looked, how well you’re taking him, but he’s silent. It’s a deadly combination – you sad, Toru silent.
You just want to disappear.
“That’s it, babe. So close… keep going.” It’s like the one sentence of praise needs to be sucked from his very lifeform, because he’s chewing on his words, throwing them at you all mangled and sloppy. There’s no care anymore; gentleness is lost as he grabs your hips and slams them back down on his length.
You’re reeling, so close, yet so far from any kind of release your body’s begging for. You need Satoru to give you something – to touch and tell you he loves you so gently, but there’s nothing. Fucking nothing. Just grinding bodies lost in the tangle of bedsheets.
His eyes snap closed, head tilted back as he bares his neck for you. Two years prior, you would’ve gone in, marking every inch of that luminescent skin with love bites. Now, you watch your nimble fingers spread across the soft, veined expanse, fingers concentrating at his Adam’s apple. You squeeze, he breathes out a moan.
“Ahh – come on, comeoncomeon.”
“Cum for me… please.” You’re trying your best to come off genuine, to dip your tone into a needier drawl he doesn’t see much anymore, just for it all to be over sooner. Right now, you’re just fulfilling your bodily duties as Satoru Gojo’s wife. He did just buy you a Cartier bracelet, giving you apologies with wide, blue puppy eyes. As fucked up as it sounds, the least you can do is get him off before he goes to sleep.
“Mm, say my name, baby. Gonna fill you up, give you so many babies.”
You’re nodding, letting him spill his orgasm thoughts into your lap. You know him far too well, can read his breeding kink inside out. What Satoru doesn’t know is that you went on birth control the second you started drifting apart. There would be no loose ends; you’ve been planning your escape for months.
So you let him come inside of you, calling him baby and telling him lies about how turned on you are. Satoru knows you too well that he’d notice a fake orgasm, so you don’t even try. You just let him have his moment, kissing up your arm with ruffled, white hair, pumping shot after shot deep inside of you like he’s on a mission.
And when he’s drained and limp, you’re climbing off of him, not even offering a word as you head straight to the bathroom.
You and Satoru thought you had it all figured out pretty early. He graduated from university prematurely and got an immediate position doing what he loved – teaching psychophysics as a Professor's Aide. It’s where he met you, not his student, but definitely a co-worker he shouldn’t have approached, because you fell hard. Head over heels, mind over body – you made him your life.
That lifeline only had about five good years once you got married, and now you two are overworked strangers bumping shoulder to shoulder on a shared lease. Though you’ve mourned the relationship that shaped you into the woman you are now, you don’t have any regrets. There’s no hatred for Toru in your heart – quite the opposite. You love him to pieces, but can’t give him what he needs at the cost of you. It’s just not worth it anymore. You feel like an object manufactured to please.
So you chase your solace against the hot spray of the shower, letting it drown out your thoughts as water-mixed come seeps down your thighs.
Now that you’re alone, you can cry. So, you do – for the unborn children you promised you’d give him, for the life and love you manufactured with your bare hands. He didn’t know that you’d be packing your bags and escaping tomorrow. It’s hard for you even to swallow, though you’ve been planning this day for months. Sweet freedom… only hours away.
Why is it, though you’ve wished so hard and lived in daydreams, that you’re afraid? You don’t want to be alone in any form of the word, but you couldn’t stay here. It’d kill you long before you hit your grey years.
Your sweet, smiling Toru with that permanent sparkle in his eye would kill you.
“Suguru and Shoko want to grab dinner tonight after work.”
Toru’s voice is slow and controlled as he steps into the bathroom, naked as the day he was born. His silhouette moves intently in front of the glass shower door, stopping at your soaking wet shadow. He hears it, the sniffle amongst the spray – the way you’re hunched in on yourself, curled in the corner of the spacious area. “Are you crying?”
You scoff, shaking your head as you wipe water from your eyes. “Fucking ignore it.”
“Hey.” He steps forward, pulling the shower door open. Just like he thought, you’re posed like a wet puppy, legs crossed to keep your decency, and arms over your chest in the farthest corner. “Crying after sex is not your style.”
“Just… weird post-nut hormones.” You’re shrugging him off with a distant look in your eyes. More recently, everything turns into pointless bickering, so you feed him lies to keep him agreeable.
But, Satoru’s looking at you like he knows you’re a liar, light eyebrows all screwed up. “But, you didn’t even cum-
“Close the door, Satoru.” You’re grimacing, stepping forward to yank the door closed in his face. “What do you want? What about Suguru?”
“Suguru and Shoko invited us to dinner tonight…” He’s speaking slowly, like he’s trying to gain his bearings. It’s not really an argument, but Toru feels the rush of one in the steamy air. It wouldn’t be the first time this post-sex daze made you two hot-headed. “I was going to say, it’d be good to all be together again, but you’re acting weird… They don’t need to be around that right now.”
You scoff, forehead falling into your open palm. The water burns you from within, but you stand under it like you want to be scalded. “Did you follow me in here just to fuck with me? Huh!? You see me trying to get away from yo-
Then, when the seal breaks and you’re yelling, that’s when Toru starts – deep voice banging off the tile walls. “You’re a livewire! You sat there and let me fuck you, now you’re acting like I’m the biggest inconvenience to ever cross your path!”
“Get out! For once in your life, just leave me alone!”
He really should listen to you – let you have the upper hand because he knows you’re sensitive, but Toru just shakes his head. “A man can’t even take a piss in the bathroom he pays for.” He adds, stepping away from your vengeful, blurred reflection. The toilet is just over from you – he can’t see the shower, you can’t see him.
For those few moments, you’re holding your breath. The shower drowns out the sound of him relieving himself, but you can guess well enough what he’s doing. When you’re married, intimate moments like this go unsaid – even on the brink of divorce. And when he’s done, he’s lumbering back over to the shower, long arms limp as they reach to pull it open again. You roll your eyes.
This time, your back is turned to him, water beading at your shoulder and trailing down the curves in your back sensually. His crystalline eyes catch it, and he parts his lips. “Mind if I join you?”
You don’t answer him, deciding it’s enough just to regard him briefly with a downcast look over the shoulder. You’re still covering your chest with crossed arms, mainly because you’re cold. Toru keeps opening and closing the door like a nuisance. Now, he’s climbing under the spray with you, big hands holding your familiar shoulders. He leans down to kiss your left.
“Maybe if we had a baby…” He mumbles that same tired argument into your wet skin, hoping for a different response. “It would bring you back to me.”
“I don’t want babies with you, Satoru.” The realization is heavy, but you know he can take it. All Toru wants besides you and money is a child – a mini little version of him that you adore to the ends of the Earth. When you became a Gojo, you promised you’d give him what he wanted – every breathless reminder in the heat of the moment was fuel. You two were trying… until you weren’t. Until you were shrugging off to appointments without telling him, taking prescription pills once he tucks in for bed. You just haven’t told him yet.
Now, he’s standing with it, breathing into your skin as he works up a response in his head that covers the devastation. “You know how my family is–
“I don’t care.” It’s a force of habit, you’re leaning back into his cradle. “Bringing a child into this mess is just inhumane.”
Then, Satoru says it – what he’s been wanting to tell you for weeks. Months, almost. He whispers, “Then why do you stay?”
All you can do is shake your head. You don’t have it in you to lie, and you surely wouldn’t tell him that you were leaving tonight. So, you reply, “I love you.”
“Love isn’t enough to keep a marriage going.”
You know that. You know Satoru loves you more than anything, but you didn’t feel like it was right for him to say it. In your mind, he’s clueless to the cool air you’re exerting every time he draws near. You’re not buzzing in his company anymore, going out of your way to be seen by his blinding eyes.
So, you don’t answer him. You nod, easing your shoulders from his grip as you collect the rest of your sanity and move to leave the shower. He watches you go, fine white hair nearly translucent on his pale scalp as he stands soaked.
Toru’s long eyelashes are sticking together, clumped and prominent as he watches you move and dry off through the fogged door. The lingering, soft scent of your signature bodywash sits sensually in the air, wafting from your skin every time you bend or bow. He studies that fuzzy reflection as if it's the last time he’ll see it, and thinks he feels sad. Devastatingly sad, it rises in his throat like bile he must swallow.
You’re slipping into a soft, ivory robe that Satoru’s mother gifted after the marriage; he has a matching one – it’s your favorite robe with his embroidered initials sewn across your heart. He notices your choice to wear it as you walk out of the bathroom, not even offering him a look over your shoulder, and thinks it’s a sign. You’re still sporting him around, telling him you love him even though you don’t want to bear his children.
But Satoru isn’t stupid. He’s far too smart to feed himself lies in hopes of lengthening this relationship that has always had a timer on it. But he is reeling. There’s nothing he falls short on, in his opinion. He treasures and calls you beautiful, any chance he gets. Vacations, expensive gifts, words of affirmation, and mindblowing touches are just scratching the surface of what he offers you.
Alone, he sits with these thoughts, thin eyebrows knitting together as his dripping head hangs between his shoulders. Standing statuesque in the shower, palms pressed to the damp wall, keeping him upright because you’re not here to do it. Mentally, you’re not here at all.
He can hear you in the bedroom stewing about – opening and closing doors, the shuffle of fabric, and the barely-there sound of your breathing. Toru has you all down to a science, now. He knows you’re slipping into bed, likely naked or covered loosely in some silk slip he loves to bury his head in.
That’s where he wants to be now – three years younger, your hair tangled in his long fingers, words of devotion damp in the air. Instead, he’s breathing in shower steam, a cruel metaphor to the heat the relationship used to hold.
Everything is a metaphor, now. Toru sees that when he’s walking out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist, wide, adoring eyes glossed over with humidity and exhaustion. Still, they never lose their supernatural sparkle when they fall on you, eyes closed peacefully as you feign sleep.
He was right; you’re in silk, your eyelids twitching as the bathroom light spills a sliver of golden light across your face. Blankets are bunched loosely at your hips. Satoru can’t help but feel the beauty you emit, it’s why he married you – it’s something in your mere presence that makes you so addictive.
Crawling into bed with you, naked and damp-haired, is so familiar it’s almost sickening. He’s leaning over your shoulders, so gentle as he settles over you, and kisses your cheek. In your daze, you shift.
“What?”
Satoru slides up close to you, chest pressed to your back as he winds an arm around your waist. “Good night. I love you so much, beautiful.” He’s whispering in your ear, kissing over the shell with bitten lips. You can feel the cool wetness of his hair brush your bare neck, beads of water falling onto your skin.
He continues, arm sliding right between the canyon of your breasts, pulling you deeper into his body. You’re lifting your head, eyes shut, because you can’t bear the light right now.
“Shh, just lie with me.”
For some reason, you’re taking it. You’re listening to him, pressing your head back into the pillow, sighing softly. Nowadays, you’re impartial to bedtime cuddling, but Satoru insists. It’s become a nasty habit because now he has trouble nodding off if he’s not pressed skin-to-skin.
It’s the only reason you’re not pushing away. Or, maybe it’s the fact that you’re too far gone to be annoyed or unsettled. His touch feels good, just too warm, too close, like he’s slowly trying to ingest you into his bloodstream.
You two stay like that for hours. Satoru falls asleep right on the cusp of Midnight – his breath steadies over, and you’re still awake, gazing longingly at the bedside clock. Hands tucked under your pillow, you’re fiddling with them, doing anything to dull those uncertain thoughts away. In seven hours, you’d be standing in a train station, life passing you by as you leave the city, leave your husband.
You wonder how he’ll act, you wonder if he’ll cry for you.
No, Satoru never cries.
You bite your lip, gathering strength in your bones to shift and turn around in his arms. When you do, he’s mushing his face deeper into the bed, arms constricting back around you once you’re settled face-to-face. You can feel the softness of his breath over your skin, can hear the soft hums behind each of them like he’s dreaming uncomfortably.
Still, he looks so peaceful. Beautifully asleep, like his life wasn’t crumbling and burning all around him.
In that soft, settled face, you’re staring at the boy you fell in love with – bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, flushing and looking away when you’d counter his initial advances. Your friends were always around that early on, egging it all with a jump in their voice. Everyone felt so accomplished when you and Toru got married, as if they pieced together a match made in Heaven.
You just can’t fathom what went wrong… You don’t want to see it.
You don’t want to see him, anymore. So, you close your eyes and rid your consciousness of struggle – if only for a few hours.
Day comes with a vengeance – a gross, salty taste in your mouth as your brain slams awake. Your body is slow to react, cocooned comfortably in Toru’s thick chest. You’re too warm, alarms are blaring, and you realize you forgot to close the curtains last night. The morning sun is deviant.
You slip out of bed easily, undoing his arms' knot around your body. The silk of your slip is darkened with sweat, most likely Toru’s, but definitely mixed with hints of you. It takes you a while to come to from the cruel awakening, and you’re half alive as you shift to the edge of the bed, feet planted on cool ground. Toru shifts, and you hold your breath.
Your last hour together, and Satoru refuses to wake up.
You’re letting him drag the morning out, not bothering to wake him as you head for the bathroom. Time moves languidly with a solemn undertone, hovering over you like bad memories as you scrub your face and teeth raw. There’s so much tension in your body this morning, and you’re taking it out on yourself – swishing mouthwash, swallowing pills, securing jewels and ornaments.
You’re sure this is the fastest you’ve gotten ready without plans to work. You just think you’d rather be put-together when you disappear from Satoru’s life forever. You want him to have this reflection to remember you by – exposed shoulders, soft skin, dripping with his money in gold.
When he wakes up, stumbling into the bathroom sleepdrunk, he smiles when he sees you in the mirror's reflection. “Why didn’t you wake me, beautiful?”
“Figured you’d want more sleep.” You reply, not even meeting his frosty gaze. You’re fixated on securing a bracelet to your wrist – one, of course, from Satoru. It’s a gold-plated Gojo Clan crest that was passed down through matriarchs, eventually given to the prospective head.
His family is so traditional, overbearing in the worst ways. Since you two started dating, they’ve had a magnifying glass on the relationship, stating it’s just out of care. Sure, the money is endless and overflowing, but it’s not enough to overshadow the abusive balance of power. Toru doesn’t want to lead either – you don’t want to be next to him if he does. He promised you that he’d completely shut down the proceedings if you married him, but keeping his promise isn’t enough.
Nothing he seemed to do was enough. It’s all just a lost cause.
“Now I have twenty good minutes to leave the house.” Once your bracelet is secured, he’s crowding you against the sink, his shirtless body pressing hard into your back. You’re humming, leaning back into his frame.
“At least you showered last night.”
“You got me on that schedule.” He whispers into your neck, big hands squeezing your hips as he kisses you there. “I feel terrible about last night… Followed me in my sleep.”
You knew it, you could sense the stress in his breath even when he looked so peaceful. “We both said some things.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t make you finish.” Another kiss to the neck, Satoru nuzzles himself deep in your skin, white hair fluffy and strewn about. You look up at him in the reflection and shake your head.
“Just cause I was on top. I was trying too hard – It’s not your fault.”
He doesn’t take that well; he sighs into your skin. “You know I don’t believe that.”
Of course, he doesn’t. One of the most significant parts of your relationship is your uncanny sexual chemistry. There’s never been a time when you two stopped at one round – you both finished multiple times, every time.
“Then, you know I won’t tell you the truth, you should just stop trying.” Both hands are pressed to the countertop, and you’re still covered in your sleep dress. Toru’s hands start to wander. “No, get off of me.”
It stings, but you don’t have to tell him twice. Satoru steps back with an odd look in his eyes, moving to your side. Though you’re rejecting sexual advances, you let him pull your chin forward for a sensual kiss to the lips. It lasts for a few seconds, his hand wanders across your jawline, slotting perfectly in your hair.
“You’re not on campus today, right?”
You shake your head, lips rolling together as you evaluate his lingering taste. “No, you should really brush your teeth.”
“Yeah…” He starts, reaching over you for his blue and white brush. “Haven’t been on the grounds in a while, everyone’s asking about you, saying we should go to dinner to catch up.”
“You’re sure I’m acting normal enough to see them now? Isn’t that what you said last night? That I was acting ‘weird’?”
“You were acting weird last night. Moody.”
You scoff as he begins to brush his teeth. You two are stealing glances in the mirror, too distant to hold contact for too long. “Why do you say things like this if you’re not trying to make me mad?”
“I’m just making an observation.” He shrugs like he’s not being a tool, brushing his teeth slowly as he looks at you. You’re staring down at your hands, shaking your head silently. “I’m sure it's news to you, but I never try to make you mad. I just say what I feel, and you jump down my throat.”
“Just brush your teeth.” You bite out in resolve, standing up straight as you go to walk away.
You're breathless, clutching a fist to your chest as his words wash over you with time. They fall like dominoes, slow and calculated, as you dress for the day. Satoru thinks you’re working from home once he leaves, so you lean into it, picking something easy to wear, yet professional enough to be on camera. It’s the perfect outfit to run away in – something he sees all the time.
But even as you dote over your reflection in the bedroom mirror, adjusting necklines, pulling jewelry, smudging lipgloss, you’re thinking about it – him.
You don’t know why it’s so hard to sit with the fact that Satoru has always been like this. You two are polar opposites in social settings – he’s the life, you’re the longing. In crowded city bars, you’d be the girl tucked under his heavy arm, bearing the weight of his light. Satoru stopped drinking years ago, but when he did, he’d tower over you on the dancefloor, long arms slung over your shoulders as he shouts just how much he adores you – it’s a lot. Everyone’s around.
Reading your hunched demeanor, he doubles down. Yes, all these people are around… these undulating, nameless faces lost among the neon glare, but none of them held a flame to you. He chose you.
And when you’re alone with him, sober to the bone and drained after a work week, all of those sweet memories seem to fade away.
He’s always too loud, too close, overbearing, but never at arm's length. This monstrous, silent loathing is a hard feeling to live with. It eats you alive, until he touches you and takes it all away again.
It’s all you want, right now. Satoru’s touch.
“Staring introspectively into my bedroom mirror whilst my shitty husband calls for me repeatedly. That should be the prompt on your next scholarly paper.”
You turn around, brows furrowed as reality hits again. “What are you talking about? I didn’t hear you.”
“Let’s sync our breaks – meet up somewhere to eat.” Right as you open your mouth to blow him off, he’s rushing back. “It can just be ramen, nothing serious. Come on, just give me ten minutes.”
His begging for a sliver of emotional affection isn’t new, but it usually isn’t so blatant. Then, your eyes wander, wondering if those ten minutes would be worth your time.
No, you have a train to catch. A one-way ticket out of here.
“I’ll let you know how I’m feeling later.” You nod, smiling softly as you dodge that falling stare settled on you. “I-I’m just… I’m tired.”
“It’s okay.” He replies, whisper-soft. He’s trying to hide it, but the shine in his eyes falters for just a second, the only hint you get to his disappointment.
When you see him off that morning, your stomach hurts.
There’s an ink-black, bitter pit there as you watch him jog down the pavement in his endearing little Professor's Aide sweater vest uniform. There’s a bag slung over his shoulder, packed with a Bento you made for him in case you couldn’t see him for his break.
“Bye, love! I will text you!”
You’re silent, passing him a kiss you press to your fingers. Your stomach hurts, and now your heart aches – it burns, you’re on fire, soles of your feet scalding on coals fueled by guilt. That blue glimmer in his eyes is so oblivious to the obvious that it hurts.
If you could help it, this was the last time Satoru would ever see you, and he waved you goodbye with the sweetest smile on his face.
“I love you,” You call back weakly once he’s comfortably out of earshot. Then he turns the corner, and he’s gone – just a lingering presence in the air that only affects you. If you could cry right now, you would. But, you’ve cried enough this last week – more than you ever have with him. Everything was just so terribly bittersweet.
When you made your decision, it didn’t feel real. Somehow, it does now. You wonder how your friends will take it and if you’ll see them again. Sure, they’re your friends, but they’re Satoru’s too. You wonder if you’ll see his family, his mother took you in and doted on you when her son pushed her away. His father gave you advice and priceless memories. Aunts, Uncles, Cousins, Kin – all of them. You knew all of them.
Being a Gojo was so deeply rooted in your life that you’re not sure it’s possible to change your name. They’ve truly made you feel like one of theirs, as deafening as that sounds.
A minute in the doorway, and you’re turning around to finish out the rest of your morning. All of your bags were packed and stowed away with the laundry, where Toru never treks. It’s just one suitcase – half of your wardrobe. You’re sure you’ll be back to collect everything else.
In any case, you wouldn’t miss anything with his lingering scent on it, so you stare longingly at your art on the walls – the blankets on the couch and the crystal sitting on display in the cabinets.
And just before you’re about to leave, you stop at the counter and rip off a piece of a napkin on display. You brought out a pen from the study, hands shaking as you pull the cap.
Satoru,
Keep whatever, or you can sell it. Just don't reach out, i’m leaving you
I’m sorry and i really really do love you
A small, wet teardrop lands on the dingy napkin, and it’s the first sign of crying. You’re surprised you still have it in you after so many rivers you’ve wept. Writing his name carried a terrible feeling, scripting out the letters to tell him you were leaving was like bricks falling from your pen.
Shaking hands, you let it drop on the counter beside your note. If this is the last thing you give him, you want it to be candid. Just like your relationship – winging it all until the silence grew inescapable.
You call a cab, heading downstairs with your bags in hand. It’s a conscious decision to leave the door unlocked, but you have the keys stuffed in your pocket. You’re not really thinking about it or anything at all. You’re focused on not falling on your face as you jog down the steps, breathless without a cause. It feels like fire is burning hot in your tracks.
Your suitcase slides into the back, the city breeze rolls your hair back, and a chill envelopes your face. The entire time, you’re silent, bowing for your driver and showing manners, but silent and dreary nonetheless.
The ride is shaky, music drowns out the noise, and emptiness fills the void.
It’s all you can muster up the courage to feel right now, as the city passes you by. It’s an odd kind of comforting melancholy, like when you know the storms have faded and all that’s left is the rebuild.
You have your family waiting at home. A room with a view of nothing but countryside and rolling rivers. You’re giving yourself four weeks to get back to yourself, two to file the divorce properly, and one without any work before returning to just virtual meetings in your childhood bedroom.
Morning jogs, bike rides down the riverside, fresh delicacies to buy – yes, your life would be too rich to worry about Satoru. You feel like a caterpillar slowly slinking towards its cocoon with the joyful unease of what's to come. But you’re still so sad.
It’s hard to believe that anything can feel as good as the way Satoru made you feel, even when his tendencies made you want to pull your hair out. In the end, you made your decision. You slept on it, stewed over it, cried about it, and now you’re living through it.
Reality hits when you’re stepping out at the station. Bodies are everywhere, making it easy to pay your fee and slip into the chaos. You lose your sense of self walking against the foot traffic of the busy morning commuters, sucking back even more tears as you crawl the descending stairs.
Once you reach the bottom, you’re alone enough to breathe, luggage firm at your side as you dig for your phone. You’ve been meaning to do this forever — actually tell your closest friends about your decision. All they know is what you let them see. The second you and Toru start arguing in front of them, you’re walking away. It’s all smiles and love when they bring him up, even after that day you kicked him out of the apartment and made him get a hotel. Lying about your relationship is your forte, but you couldn’t lie anymore.
Shoko picks up two rings deep, bored but aware. ‘What’s up?’
“Hey, I know you’re at work… Just wanted to let you know that I’ll be out for about a month.”
There’s shuffling on the other line – the echo of familiar voices. You can guess she’s walking down the lecture hall during the transition; it was around that time. ‘You’re such a slack. And guess whose gonna be stuck doing all your work? Me.’
“I mean, I’ll be out, but I’ll still be working.” Intercom, robotic voices control the flow as a train departs before you, sending a noisy rush of air into your face.
‘Are you going on vacation or what?’
“Visiting family.” You reply, no emotion.
Shoko silences for a moment, humming under her breath. ‘Without Jo?’
“Yeah… I’m leaving him.”
More silence. You expected nothing less.
“Shoko?”
‘Dude, what? Why?’
“He didn’t… cheat or anything, we just haven’t been happy for most of our marriage. It’s like people want to see us together more than we want to be together.”
‘Okay, coming from the outside — No, you guys are so obviously in love, I mean… All he does is talk about you, it’s genuinely the most annoying thing ever.’ You can see her now in your mind's eye, jaw working a piece of fruit gum between her teeth, talking with her hands.
“Yeah… well… you’re not trapped inside four walls with him once the sun goes down.”
‘That’s so fucking sad, I- wow.’
“I’ve made peace.”
‘-And I don’t even blame you, because I wouldn’t touch him with a long, long stick. He’s too annoying, and that’s just the least of it. So arrogant, too. He’s not as sexy as he thinks he is.’ It’s like once you pull the bandage off, it gave Shoko ample room to talk shit. Yes, she loves Toru – she loves you more. It’s always going to be you that she defends.
“Yeah, but it’s more just, like – he knows what buttons to push and makes pushing them a game. The only time we talk… like, actually talk, is when he thinks I’m mad at him and rushes in for damage control… then, it’s all like, ‘well, baby, if you would talk to me and tell me how you’re feeling, I’d understand.’ – But, whenever I tell him how I’m feeling, he fucking invalidates it like I’m the crazy one! Why am I still begging to pay some bills five years into the marriage?! He doesn’t listen to me.”
‘Let that man pay the bills.’
“It’s the principal-
‘I know, I know.’ She sighs, chuckling softly before she continues. ‘I’m not going to hear the end of this – does he know you’re gone?’
“No… and don’t tell him. I want him to find out for himself.”
‘Harsh.’
“It’d be harsher coming from you.”
The announcement comes from your train, the rush of wheels skidding against tracks inches closer, you’re stepping back from the platform.
“Okay, I’m gonna go. Don’t really want to be on my phone this week, so I’ll probably turn it off. Call my sister if you need anything.”
‘I’ll be thinking about you – stay busy.’
“I will.” You reply, voice bittersweet in your chest. Shoko goes away, and you’re alone again – thoughts rush to the front of your mind. You’re staring at the lockscreen of you and Satoru in Kyoto when things were still good; a friendly stranger took it. Your arms are slung over his neck, and you’re smiling in his face. You remember that day so well – he was all over you and made the sweetest love to you that night. It was all so good back then. You never wanted for anything. Not space, touch, emotion, or love. Satoru gave you everything you needed, including some.
Then, the feeling finally, truly settles.
You miss him.
From: Satoru
No news on lunch?
Don’t worry about it, baby. Thank you for my bento, I’ll make sure to return it empty.
From: Satoru
On my way home! Running real fast to you
Had the shittiest day, gotta rant when I get back
From: Satoru
Hey, what’s with the cryptic note?
Did someone snatch you up for ransom?
Babe?
[incoming call]
You glance down at your phone, grunting as you swing your suitcase over your small childhood bed.
You made it back home a little less than three hours ago – just as your sister left for class and your father for work. Stepping out of the cab, your mother was the one waiting for you with a solemn look in her eyes.
Breakfast was waiting, traditional, just like always. Natto, fish, rice, soup – she stuffed you full. Now, you’re finally getting a chance to settle in and unpack, staring down the room that faced the worst of your teenage angst.
When Satoru’s name flashes over your screen, bile rises in your throat. Immediately, you turn it back over, your finger finding the power button, and rid yourself of the stress. You’ve just glanced at the string of messages – he’d been sending them all day, which isn’t unlike him, but it felt wrong.
You two would hide phones under desks and banter on and off all day. In the same room, you two would exchange playful glances like he wasn’t describing every lewd thing he wanted to do to you that night. It’s just a habit; he doesn’t mind when you don’t text him back, but hates when you ignore his calls.
You’re sure it’s how he realizes you’re actually gone – that one missed call.
Then you’re trying to distract yourself from crying by unzipping your case, pulling out shirts, tears flooding in your eyes. But it’s too much to handle.
You collapse next to the suitcase, pulling your knees to your chest, and sob.
It burns so hot in your body, your cries sound like they’re breaking through the barrier, eating you alive. Your open-mouthed sobs are akin to the sound of prey being gutted alive – it’s piercing and raw, cutting your vocal cords.
It’s like you can’t stop. You let it all out, here – fingers bunched in the sheets, drawing blood in your palm from the strength of your nailed grip. The pain goes unnoticed because the aching in your chest is so cruel. Your mind is screaming at you, damning you to fiery hells and telling you to go back.
Go back and deal with it, it’s what you deserve.
You know you’re too weak to be alone.
Suck it up. Just like you always have.
Numbness sets in with time. You watch the neighborhood kids run down the cracked road through your small window, never shifting from the position you cried in. The sun travels through the sky, and late morning morphs into afternoon, afternoon to evening.
Downstairs, the home lights back up from everyone’s departure this morning, but you want nothing to do with it. You’re sure your mom has been home this entire time – most likely heard you crying and decided not to intervene. You’re glad. You didn’t want comfort.
Now you’re staring at the sky as it morphs into grey, and rain begins. You feel lonely.
Grey turns to black, you’re tired.
As blackness settles in, so does sleep. Right in that same position. Nobody bothers you.
Until you’re cracking open your eyes, it’s daytime.
You sit up immediately, regretting your choice as a mean wave of dizziness falls over you. Your stomach aches with hunger, breath ripe, and skin swollen from the tears. You’re still in your clothes from yesterday, the button of your pants digging into your soft skin painfully.
You breathe out a yawn, grimacing at the feeling before looking around for your phone.
It’s precisely where you left it, face down and completely off. You didn’t want to see Satoru’s messages right now. You just wanted to check the time. The house is quiet.
From: Satoru
I wish I could kneel at your feet and emphasize just how sorry I am. I can’t believe how stupid and selfish I was when I had you, but I see it now.
I could see that you were hurting for a while, but I assumed it would just pass in time.. I don’t know why I assumed, but I regret it so much.
Take your time, my love, but don’t forget about me. Please, let’s talk this through before you make any hasty decisions.
You can feel the tears – they’re there before you even skim over the message.
With Godly timing, the softest of knocks fall to your door. It’s the only thing keeping you from breaking down again. There’s no real privacy here; you’re lucky your mom even knocked before slowly pushing it open.
“I figured you would be awake by now.” She smiles at your ruffled reflection – bed head everywhere, sleep lines on your face, drool on your lips. “Would you like some food?”
“Please.” You nod her in, dragging your arm across your face to wake yourself up. “Thank you, Mama.”
She has a tray of the same spread she served you yesterday in her familiar, comforting hands. Green tea steams wantonly at the corner, flailing in its porcelain confines when she lowers it before you. “Didn’t want to bother you much yesterday…”
“Thank you for that.”
“Your father peeked his head in last night.” She continues, reaching out to stroke your hair as you reach for the tea you’d been eyeing. There’s just something about crying that dehydrates you to the bone. “Said you were sleeping so hard that you were snoring.”
“Probably. Hadn’t had a good night's sleep in a while.”
“You can do better than sleeping on top of your bed in all your clothes.”
“Wasn’t really worried about that.” You can tell she wants to bring up Satoru – ask how he is, just out of force of habit. Maybe she wants to ask you about your divorce plans, but she stays silent, nodding slowly. “Thank you for the food.”
“Bring it back down when you’re ready. Take your time.” Her gentle tone is welcomed, but so is her departure. The door clicks shut, and you’re taking a slow, deep breath, suddenly overcome by the burning of oncoming tears. You thought you had expelled them all last night, but Satoru’s message hung over your head like a dark precipitating cloud. It’s all flowing over you like hot rain, downpouring over your mental clarity.
You’re drawn to deep, soulless staring at the poster-covered wall before you as your tea warms. Hunger is lost on you, you reach for the short ceramic cup and bring it to your lips with shaking hands.
You just can’t understand how you can miss someone so much after envisioning life without them – welcoming it, yearning for it. Your heart and mind are tugging you across two playing fields, never letting you get an ounce of rest or peace.
~
Satoru has been staring into space for far too long, blinking at the wall like it’d somehow make you appear before him again. The note you penned is sitting on the counter, cursing him silently, pulling him to its angsty whims. He can see the small tear stain – can read the shake of your penmanship in the sloping letters. For once in his life, Satoru doesn’t know what to feel.
This has to be a joke.
He steps away for a second, staring unblinkingly at the floor as he reaches for his phone. It’s in his back pocket – he has to shuffle blindly.
Now he understands why you haven’t been responding.
To: gojo 💍
Hey, what’s with the cryptic note?
Did someone snatch you up for ransom?
Babe?
He gives it a second – that’s all he knows he needs. If you don’t answer in a second, you’re really gone.
His heart burns when you don’t answer at all. He’s paralyzed as the thought of being alone rushes over him. Just like you, he doesn’t understand what went wrong. Yes, you two fought often, but doesn’t every couple? The fighting always led to something better – deep discussions or love-making. He made sure to cover his bases every single time. He even found himself cooking and cleaning for you with a guilty conscience. So much of himself is rooted in you and how you loved him; he’s not sure he knows how to be without you by his side. Of course, it’s more than the money, sex, or power. It’s the fact that your lives are completely intertwined. There is no Satoru without you – there’s no you without Satoru.
That’s what eats him alive.
It’s what makes him stumble to the couch you picked out, head in his hands as he collapses into the downiness. He wants the cushions to swallow him whole – maybe then he can get lost in the wealth of your scent and sincerity. So many times you two have found yourself here, kissing the night away, hands under clothes. Movie marathons that led to falling asleep on shoulders, deep conversations that made him actually crack a tear. It’s all embedded in the upholstery, and he can’t even move. Satoru just feels so pathetic – it’s a new feeling for him, a disgusting one.
“Oh, fuck.” He states as if reality just washed over him. Now, all Satoru can do is sit with everything. He keeps rereading the note he memorized in his head, like there were hints as to where you were hidden behind the script. You told him that you loved him, and as good of a sign as it looks like, it feels counterfeit.
He loved you more than he loved anything – including himself, and he’d never leave you. He has to know why you felt the need to leave him so easily, and it’s not like five years is a long marriage in any form of the term. Satoru wanted a family with you. He wanted to see you swollen with his baby, ripe with hormones, and caring with a blue-eyed infant. It’s all he yearned for – stability, endless, overflowing love, and mutual support.
He’s almost… mad that you gave up.
No, not almost. He’s mad.
Not even thinking, knowing his efforts are for naught, he snatches up his phone and dials you with scary precision. A piece of him knows that you won’t answer, but his hands are shaking. He just needs to try.
He counts – the line rings six times.
Then, it clicks, a stupid robotic voice telling him you’re unavailable. Yes, he fucking knows you’re not available. Or, maybe you are. Perhaps you’re just watching your screen as his name brushes against it. Satoru hates when you let your cowardice take over, and he knows that’s what you’re doing.
In a sudden fit of rage, he takes his ringing phone and throws it across the room, hearing it shatter on impact as it hits a window. As satisfying as it feels, he feels more like a dunce. If he waited a second longer, maybe your sweet voice would brush the rusty, waiting dial tone. He wants you in his arms, but this feeling is so unfamiliar and nasty that he doesn’t know what to do or what to think. He knows he wants you back, he just can’t fathom what he did wrong.
At work the next day, Satoru doesn’t feel any better. In fact, he feels worse. He didn’t get a wink of sleep last night, scared and cold as he tried to hug himself to rest. He hasn’t been in a bed without you since he was a teenager, and he doesn’t think he could exist without your body heat safe in his arms.
The lack of sleep is making him irritable, it’s wafting off of his body as he walks down the hallway to his lecture hall. Thankfully, he wouldn’t have to teach anything, but he’d have to sit and annotate – he’s not sure he can keep his mind straight long enough to pen an entire two-hour Sociology lecture, let alone stay awake. That scares him – he’s letting his personal life seep into the fabric of his work, but it’s impossible not to when this is where he met you.
Sweet and young, shy as all hell, too. Satoru would make excuses and drag his friends to the admin office on bullshit bases, all to see your little smile when he complimented your outfit. You were always right there next to Shoko, using her long hair as a security blanket. Everything was good back then… everything was sweet.
Satoru can’t believe he’s fighting back tears as he steps into the vast, vacant hall, bag slung over his shoulder. He must be a walking ball of bad vibes, because his professor is noticing immediately, commenting on it, too, which is supremely unlike him.
No, Kento Nanami was much more of a don’t ask, don’t tell, zero-bullshit type of instructor. Him and Satoru often butted heads, but butting heads was more like purposefully ignoring the other – their relationship is far too compliated for him to dwell on for too long.
“You look like Hell.”
“My wife left me last night.” Satoru finds no need to lie. Yes, he’s struggling. He needs grace; the only way he’d get it is to let Kento know he’s distracted.
Kento turns slowly, watching Satoru move in front of his desk to settle in the front row of chairs. When he’s still, Kento can see the darkness around his usually perky eyes, but he doesn’t know how to feel. “Well… I am sorry to hear that. If you need to take the day off, I unders-
“-just need to distract myself.” Satoru cuts him off like he doesn’t want to talk, sucking his cheek as he pulls out his work laptop. “I forwarded those papers you sent me the other night. Everything’s looking good. From my initial glance at the collection of scores, it looks like this period is sitting at 83% accuracy. Pretty good.”
“I didn’t need those scores until the end of the week.” Kento turns back around to his board, propping himself against the desk he’s occupying. He’s been sketching out the lesson plan against the chalked surface for most of his morning. Traditional for the introduction to a new unit. “But, I’ll start putting them in. Thanks, Gojo.”
“Sure.” Satoru swallows as he types out his password to get into the device. It’s your birthday. His heart hurts. His wallpaper is you at the zoo, holding a little lion cub, totally fearless with the biggest smile on your face. The way the sun touches your features – God, it just makes him weak in the knees. That era of your relationship is so well documented because you two were on cloud nine. He wants it back – he wants you back.
“Satoru,” that familiar, whiny voice is just what he needs right now. It’s the only thing that can pull him from the depths your pretty face dragged him to. “I’ve called you like ten times, they won’t even go thro- hi, Kento.”
“Geto… hello…” Nanami mumbles, not even looking at the visitor, because he knows who it is. The five of you are like a clique, and he hates it. Not because he’s not in it, but because they’ve definitely tried to rope him into the madness, but he’s just in a different league. All he thinks about is work, not friends.
“Sator-
“Gojo left me last night. I broke my phone.” Satoru spits out like it's the easiest thing ever. He’s hiding his emotions like he always does, and he knows Suguru is due to find out at any moment. “Reckless, I know.”
“What?” Suguru walks up to him, long hair pulled back in a low-hanging bun. They’ve known each other damn near since childhood – completely inseperable, face-deep in platonic love. Right now, Satoru knows that Suguru would be the only human capable of picking up the pieces you shattered.
“Packed some clothes, left me a note, and skipped town.”
“That’s crazy – it doesn’t make any sense.” Suguru plops down right next to him, entire body turned at attention, only for Satoru to pour every vapid thought into. He’s not supposed to be in this hall, but he’s friendly enough with Kento to skate by during the last half hour before lectures start. “I just saw her the other day with Shoko and Utahime. They… didn’t invite me to lunch, but I understand the whole girls’ day aspect of it all. She just… I’m sorry, she seemed so at ease.”
“Because she was with Shoko.”
“Does Shoko know where she is?”
“If I asked, she’d just lie for her.”
“Where could she have even gone?”
“Probably back home.” Satoru’s sucked into something on his laptop, opening a new document and labeling it under todays date and the topic Kento wants to cover. If he wasn’t going through a breakup, he’d be excited for this new unit, though he’s experienced it year after year. “Been saying she misses her family a lot.” Then he thinks about it, sitting forward with his chin pressed into a closed fist. Satoru has never barred you from doing what you want – staying out all night with your friends? Of course, he didn’t care. He welcomed it. Solo trips back home? Oh, Satoru encouraged it.
He was the perfect husband – what happened?
At his side, Suguru watches him stew over the matter, thin brows knitted in pity. He reaches out, hand smoothing over Satoru’s shoulder. He shakes him softly. “If you don’t want to be alone, my guest bedroom is empty. There’s probably still traces of you in there – not like anyone else uses it.”
Satoru hesitates, knowing that a night with Suguru would lead to little sleep just because they have everything in the world to talk about. They have the same favorite shows, movies, foods, and conversations – it’d be a perfect distraction, but Satoru just wants to get you back.
“Or, we can go to a bar. I know you don’t usually drink, but it is Friday, I’m sure if we bribe Shoko with free drinks, she’d help you find her.”
“I really shouldn’t…” The sane part of his mind is telling Satoru not to seek out one who doesn’t wish to be sought, but he wants to. He knows Shoko knows where you are – Hell, Utahime probably knew, too. You’re surprised Suguru’s seemingly the only one in the dark. “But, I don’t think I want to be alone.”
Suguru nods slowly, not pushing Satoru for eye contact when he knows he’s sensitive to the touch. “We don’t have to get drunk and emotional if you don’t want to.” He continues dropping his hand to cross them in his lap. All Satoru looks like to him is a shell. He’s staring at his screen like it’d tell him what he needs to know, and Suguru finds himself, for the first time ever, genuinely worried for him.
“I’ll… uh— I’ll text you about it later.”
“Sure.”
“Are you going to sit this one in, Geto?” Kento turns around, snatching up a beige rag from his desk to dust his hands. “Bells about to hit.”
Satoru feels both of their stares zero in on him, and he knows he’s not hiding anything. His eyes are bloodshot, his hair disheveled, and flat over his head. Feeling some kind of insecure, he reaches into his bag and slides on a dark pair of square glasses.
Suguru sighs. “Nobody would blame you if you went home.”
“She’ll come around.” He whispers, pursing his lips as he leans back in his chair. His hands are shaking, so he tucks them close to his chest. “She always does, doesn’t she?”
-
Doesn’t she?
Two weeks down the drain, completely wiped from your memory. Sober days and sleepless nights – that moody in-between when you’re gasping for air. Still, you battled it through in your childhood bed.
You got over it, just like you knew you would.
Work started again last week. You’ve been slowly scouring through emails, working your way forward by combing through backlogs. Most of the time, your job falls to scheduling Dean meetings, prospective professor interviews, and prestigious tours, but it varies. Without you, all of this work would have fallen onto Shoko, but you can’t feel bad. She’s been doing this way longer than you and is ten times more efficient. However, she liked to complain. You let her have it this time.
Now, you’re planning your trip back to the City. The apartment you’d been keeping an eye on since the marriage had just closed with the money you saved, and you’re finally confident.
Rather, confident enough.
You will definitely have to see Satoru when you go back to work, but it’s just something you knew you’d have to deal with. It’s the unfortunate downside to working with your partner, and you think that’s what did it in.
You’re sitting at your family’s dinner table, bags packed all around you as you wait for your ride to the station. You’re sawing your lip in concentration, pen scribbling messily in your lax grip.
It was an exercise you’ve been putting off since you left the city – writing Satoru a note letting it all out, and then freeing yourself from the burden by throwing it away. His eyes would never lie upon these scribbled words, so you let it out. You’re not sure what you’re even writing anymore, your wrist is moving at its own accord.
Satoru, I love you.
It might not seem like it right now, but I love you to the ends of the Earth and back again. Being married to you felt like a dream in more ways than I can fathom, but I’d wake up at night, and that bliss fades into loathing. You have no problem sticking up for me in front of your friends, so why, when I’m faced with impossible decisions from your family, do you go radio silent? We agreed it’d just be us. We decided we’d focus on each other and our work, not on family nonsense that drains my psyche and leaves me exhausted. They want something from me that I can’t give, and I didn’t know how to tell them no - everyone is so pleasant to me.
That being said. It’s not why I left… I’m actually not sure why I did it, or I just don’t want to see things for what they are. Every time we’d see each other for over an hour, we’d fight. I admit that I was the catalyst for most of the arguments, but you never reassured me. I’d fall asleep next to you afterwards, sobbing so hard I couldn’t breathe, and you would just turn around and pretend not to hear. Why?
I guess that’s all I want to know, now. Why? I’ve always given you everything you needed without a question – why was it so easy to push me to the wayside? Why is it so easy to ignore me to my face for days on end? And why can’t you see me as more than an incubator for your unborn children?
I just can’t help but wonder…
As you’re writing, the car your family called for you pulls up outside. You wanted to leave while they were all predisposed with work and school because you know you’d cry and cave if you saw their pitiful goodbye faces. They insisted on the fare, you’re insisting that you’ll be back as soon as you can. You take the half-finished note, folding it lax in your fingers as you stand and grab your bags.
You’re leaving with more than you came with. Typical.
And you’re leaving like you were never here, with the wind peeking through the front door and the sun on your skin.
You thought you’d be more excited to get back to your life, but there’s an invisible feeling of longing planted deep in your chest that’s making it hard to swallow. The letter you penned to Toru is balanced between your fingers as you swing your heavy bags into the vehicle. This time, the driver watches you from the side with a cigarette between his teeth, mentioning your destination softly and how the fare was already pre-paid. You nod the older man along, giving him a phony smirk when the boot closes and you’re stepping into the backseat.
You don’t care that he’s still lingering outside. It gave you time to settle in, rustling the soft paper, trying not to give the flustered words your attention. All this note is is a weak attempt to try to understand where things went wrong. Satoru was never unhappy in the relationship, not like you were; he just didn’t know how to approach your angst without being struck in the crossfire. He exercised the same cowardice he condemned you for, and now you two exist worlds apart.
Still, you can’t help but wonder where he is… What he’s doing.
Around this time of day, he’d be wrapped up in lectures. You can almost see his slumped figure over his laptop, typing without giving the keyboard a second glance. Toru’s always been an overachiever – too good at his job. Too good to still be an aide, but waits patiently for his time to come as a professor.
It’s always been his goal to buy you a big house that you two could grow old in together. You can close your eyes and hear his sweet voice lost in your sheets, whispering every detail about your future in your ear. But when you open them again, it disappears.
The car door slams on the rest of your shriveled sanity, and you’re standing in front of a home that wasn’t yours… Yet.
You just signed papers online, carrying cold, hard cash in your bag that’d leave you with virtually nothing once you hand it over in exchange for keys. It’s like being in a wind tunnel – feeling the city pulse and move around you as you drag your measly two suitcases against polished concrete. You didn’t know what time it was – your phone is too buried in your luggage, but you know you just got off a nearly four-hour bullet train, and your ears rang.
Luckily, the property owner isn’t too far behind you, and you can exchange cash for keys within two minutes of your arrival.
You thought once you had a place to call your own, that you’d feel completely comfortable, but standing in the echoey, semi-modern space, you feel devoid of life. You don’t even own a speck of furniture – this is not your home.
So, you leave your bags at the locked entryway, sliding off your shoes out of habit as you head to the back wall of covered windows. Your apartment is on the ground floor, and humans walk by, not knowing you’re looking over them. You take your time, pulling each curtain so the sun can bleach the wooden floors in gold.
Right there, under the sun like a contented cat, you pull your knees to your chest and sit… for hours, just grounding yourself. Losing time as the sun floats through the sky.
All you can do since the separation is to sit with the pain and waste time. It’s the only thing that keeps you sane.
You can’t recall what time exactly you stood to relieve your throbbing bladder, but when you’re walking back into the empty expanse, your phone is dinging from the confines of your bag. Sighing, you lean down to flush it out.
From: Utahime
Are you back in town!! Suguru invited us out for free drinks
From: Shoko
Don’t worry, i told him to fuck off if he already invited Gojo
He said he didn’t
To: Utahime, Shoko
I don’t really think I’d be good company
From: Shoko
One drink and you’ll forget about that maniac.
From: Utahime
Please!! We miss u
To: Utahime, Shoko
I don’t trust Suguru. There’s no way he didn’t invite toru
From: Shoko
Okay, well i trust him enough. If we see him, it’s no big deal we’ll
just leave
From: Utahime
You know he doesn’t drink anyway
From: Shoko
Tired argument, babe. He’s wherever Geto is
To: Utahime, Shoko
Yeah, well maybe he should marry suguru next.
From: Shoko
Girl…
To: Utahime, Shoko
I told you i wouldn’t be fun to be around right now. Enjoy your free drinks, you two deserve them
The group chat goes silent enough for you to tuck your phone away, breathing in deep through your nose as you watch evening set in outside your windows.
You’ve been putting it off since you returned, but there isn’t a speck of anything in this space, and you were exhausted. In some form of the phrase, you’d have to pick up your feet and carry yourself to the store to get an air mattress.
That ten-minute walk felt like a marathon in your exhausted mind. But like everything in adulthood, you must be uncomfortable for twenty minutes to be comfortable for eight hours. You peel your body into action, rubbing at your eyes until you see stars.
You’re only bringing your phone in case of an emergency. You didn’t want to see it – you didn’t want to see the lockscreen picture of you and Toru that you didn’t have the guts to delete. It’s better not to look because you can’t delete him; it just didn’t feel right yet. Somehow, someday, strength will take over, and you can rid your life of his shadow. One day, you’ll fall out of love and stare at someone else with the stars you’re rubbing into your eyes.
It’s all you can hope for. It’s the only thing that keeps you warm and sane as you leave your apartment.
You moved to a new neighborhood, and although you’re not unfamiliar, it’s different. The alleys are darker on this side of the city – street lights flicker, but you welcome it. Nobody is really around; convenience stores light up the area in neon, but that’s not where you’re headed. The local department store is just down the street. Foot traffic gets heavier as you approach the business district, which is still booming with the promise of night.
Your one-track mind gets you in and out of the stark-white space in less than ten minutes. Your feet are moving so fast that your legs are numb, and you can’t see anything that’s not shrouded in inky blackness. If you cared to see anything for what it truly was, you’d notice just how depressed you are. You’re in pain – full, bodily pain like you’re recovering from an injury.
It hits you all at once, and you’re almost back to your apartment.
Then, you make a decision that doesn’t fully set in until it’s finished – you slide into a 7-Eleven, air mattress tucked under your arm, and pick up two cans of dangerously strong mixed drinks. You’re lying to yourself, thinking that they’d just be a vehicle for sleep so you can start work with a full night.
You’re an incredible liar – even you believe the nonsense your brain is pushing.
As you make it back into your door, bags hanging from your fingers and yawning sleepily into the night, you can hear your phone ping quietly in your pocket. Once you step inside and place your loot at your feet, you shrug to grab it. It’s the group chat again.
From: Shoko
[1 image attachment]
Geto said hiiiiiiii
The picture is of the three of them, side by side at a bar table. Suguru’s in the middle, cradling a frosted pitcher of beer with the biggest close-eyed grin on his face. Utahime is behind him, peeking from around his back, sending you a friendly, stoic wink. Shoko’s barely in frame, but her smudged eye makeup and gently smoking cigarette between her teeth is undeniable.
You crack a smile and send back a quick message.
To: Shoko, Utahime
Love u guys ♡ have fun
From: Shoko
Goodnight, we love you! Missing you like hell
That’s the last of it. You turn your phone off again.
Before you can even set up the mattress, you’re cracking into your first drink, taking a deep breath to keep your taste buds at bay as you swallow the entirety in just under a minute.
Thank god you can’t taste it, because you hated drinking like this. It’s pointless and depressing, but you were feeling so much that you had to numb it out. If Satoru could see you now… You don’t even want to know how he’d react.
You drink more to chase him away.
Uncoordinated and dizzy from the mixture of alcohol on an empty stomach, you drag the air mattress box into the middle of the open room. You didn’t want to carry it all the way to the bedroom, so you kneel, manicured fingers sharp as you rip into the tape and cardboard.
You’re half-awake, blinking drearily as you throw the empty box behind you, crawling over the tufted, flat expanse to spread it out. You splurged on a bigger bed, needing something to roll in without fear of falling onto cold, hard flooring. It’s so big that you have to stand up, hiccuping softly as your feet spread it to full size.
You stand over it, out of breath with your hands pressed to your hips. You can’t really see clearly through this drunken haze, but it dawns on you that you don’t have an air pump. You forgot to buy one.
“Fuck.” You whine, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes. You’re seeing splotches of white – they dart across your sight like scurrying mice, driving you into a feeling so sick that you’re almost anxious.
Not thinking twice, you sit back on your knees, crawling to the air hole, and giving it one last push. You bring the nozzle to your lips, taking a deep breath before blowing. It’s weak, comically so. You can’t hold a stream for less than half a minute, and your head is already spinning. You’re whining again like a tired child, thoroughly beaten down and hopeless as you size up your situation.
If only Toru were here… He’d make it all better.
You’re standing on shaky feet, peeking around the darkness for the promise of your phone. It’s right where you left it, completely off and face down on the kitchen counter. Dragging your bare feet, you go to grab and turn it back on.
You call him. All inhibitions are lost.
He answers… right away. The phone doesn’t even ring twice.
The line clicks, but he doesn’t speak–not yet. His breathing is shallow.
“S-satoru?”
More silence. You want to sob.
“Toru, I jus- I know I’m the last person you want to hea-
‘You sound like you’re going to cry.’ He blurts out suddenly, voice so familiar it makes you sick. There’s no animosity when he’s talking to you; he just sounds worried.
“I’m back in the city and I… I just – I don’t have any furniture at my new apar-
‘Come home. If you want to sleep in the spare room, it’s fine, I’ll let you have it. Just stop this madness and come home. I’m waiting for you.’
You have to hang up before you can respond, because the tears are coming and they’re disgusting and heavy. You’re sobbing into your hands, feeling so overcome and pathetic with yourself and this turn of circumstance. Of course, Satoru is being nice about it – he loves you and you blindsided him, he’ll take any grasp at you that he can get.
You sob as you slip on a jacket and your shoes, tears and snot dripping onto the floors and leather. You’re shaking as you reach to wipe it away, unable to look at yourself in the reflection of your lock screen as you glance at the time.
There are no trains running at this hour. The only things that lit up the streets are twenty-four-hour convenience stores and old, late-night family restaurants that make most of their money from the after-bar crowd. Your friends are likely tucked behind one of those doors, laughing, living, and feeding off the dopamine they pour into each other. You belong with them, leaning drunkenly into your husband's chest as he dotes on you. So many sleepless nights were spent in that spell. No cares in the world. In love. Young. You want to go back.
So you walk that twenty-some minutes back home – Satoru’s home, now. Yes, you picked it out. Yes, you decorated it, but you had to be okay with letting it go, so you are. You just have to lie to yourself a little more every day, and hopefully, the breakup will morph into reality. You just don’t want to suffer anymore.
In your daze, the front door code is still etched into your memory. So is the way to the fourth floor – you climb the steps, breathless by the time you get there.
Your and Toru’s apartment was nothing less than luxurious with the money he poured into it. Though he promised that you two would split bills before you agreed on getting the place, that quickly fell by the wayside when he looked at you with those bright doe eyes, mentioning he’d love nothing more than to take complete care of you, so all you had to focus on was your work and sanity. He also had a mind to make you a mother, but he conveniently didn’t add that to his point that night.
You hold your breath as you reach to knock on the door. Before your knuckle even hits wood, it’s swinging open. All the lights are on – you squint.
Satoru is on the other side, loose shirt hanging from his shoulders, bone-white hair all ruffled with relaxation. Seeing him again after all this time nearly kills you. Of course, you can’t look him in the eyes. “Hi. Come on.”
“I don’t want to talk.” You start, just protecting your heart from his musings before anything could transpire again. “I don’t want to fix things, I just want to sleep.”
“Okay.” He mutters, standing off to the side so that you could step in. “Okay, come on. We don’t have to talk.” The door opens wider, and light spills across your face. It takes you a minute to gather strength to step inside, but when you do, rivers of ease flow over your shoulders. You sigh.
“Your hair is longer.” He mentions in passing, catching himself as he goes out to touch you. Stagnant – midair, he hovers, telling himself no. He respects your space. “I changed the sheets in the room for you.”
You ignore him, shouldering past his hard body with a singular goal in mind. Your stomach is in knots – your head lighter than air. Everything is fuzzy, and if you didn’t fall into the warmth of a bed right now, Toru would have to carry you to his.
“Or you can sleep in our bed and I’ll take the spare room.”
Again, no answer. He follows behind you loosely as you stumble down the hall.
“Are you okay?”
“Leave me alone, just stop talking.” You slur, stupidly thinking that not giving him any of your attention would make him stop trying to squeeze words out of you.
“You know, it wouldn’t kill you to be a little nicer to me. You’re the one who left.”
“Shut up,” you bite, turning into the cracked doorway of the spare bedroom. He’s still hot on your trail, sleepy eyes begging for more where you couldn’t see.
“We can fix this if you just tell me what I did wrong-
Before he can finish, you’re turning around in the doorway, not giving him any mercy as you slam the door on his face. It locks shortly after, just rubbing salt in his festering wound. At least he didn’t lie about switching out the sheets – the whole room smells fresh, like comfort materialized. You’re fumbling with your pants as you lumber to the warm, soft expanse, exerting as little effort as you can before collapsing into bed.
You don’t have the energy to flip the lights off, so they stay on as you roll around in the sheets, trying to swallow down the oncoming doom of nausea and dizziness. You know Toru is still standing outside of the door, you can see the shadow of his feet under the crack, but he can’t come in – or, he doesn’t want to break the lock out and piss you off even more.
After a few silent minutes, he shrugs off, and you fall in and out of consciousness. Sleep doesn’t come – not for real, at least. Whenever you think you’re getting there, you’re startled awake with your vapid inner thoughts. His pull is supernatural; it’s like you’re struggling to cope with being so close, yet so far. Right in the other room, you can hear Satoru moving around restlessly – shuffling in and out of the bathroom, talking to himself.
He’s alone, you’re lonely.
You blame it on the alcohol wearing off in your blood. That’s what gives you the push to roll out of bed and stumble to the door. Satoru stills in the other room right as the lock clicks – you know he hears you. He knows you’re on the way.
It’s why he’s not in the bedroom when you crack open the door. It’s like he tucked off to the bathroom on purpose, using the shower as a distraction while you fall into your old side of the bed. It’s made neatly – your throw pillows are fluffed, and you’re succumbing to your weakness again.
You dozed off for about ten minutes before you heard the door creak softly. Satoru’s footsteps are featherlight, and he knows you’re awake. Your breathing isn’t as shallow as it is now when you're sleeping. He doesn’t say anything about it–not yet.
Satoru waits for you, gathering the towel wrapped around his waist as he sits on the bed. He knows you too well.
So he doesn’t flinch when he feels the bed tremble beneath him. Sheets ruffle around your knees as you rise blearily. He hums when your arms wrap around his hard, broad shoulders, then mumbles, “You’re predictable.”
“I’m burning up, I need help.” You plead weakly, lips focused right above his sharp collarbone. His skin tastes like it always has – sweet, for some reason. Like he was sculpted out of sugar.
“Have you been drinking?”
You pause right at the stubble of his undercut, the translucent shag tickling your nose. “I don’t need to be scolded.”
“Well,” he peeks over his shoulder, pulling your chin close. The glow of his eyes amongst the darkness of the room is frighteningly familiar. You can’t look away. “I know you don’t want to talk about it.”
You’re waiting for him to do something – to take control of this situation and steer the reins in your favor. Right now, you want him to annihilate you in the gentlest way only he can. Touching yourself will never be enough now that you’ve tasted him. It hits you like a craving.
You’re left flicking between his eyes and his shiny, pink lips. They’re drawing you in like a siren song, weaving incantations that only your drunken mind would bend to. And finally, he kisses you. Something inside of you shrivels up and dies – your pride.
Now, you’re shedding everything for him, gentle grip turning into claws in his shoulders. His skin is soft after his shower, leaving bright red marks against the pale ocean. Toru grunts into your mouth, shifting over to his knees as he crowds you against the mattress. Big arms cage you in – your back is lodged in the sheets, you’re reaching to pull him closer.
Through it all, you don’t talk. When you’re needily grinding up into his thigh, he’s silent. Reaching down to your core, he doesn’t say a word.
Lips hot and panting into the hard skin behind his ear, hands clawed in his hair, you don’t whisper his name.
Your legs open for him, thighs parting like the Red Sea. He’s so hard for you, twitching against the towel he rips away and abandons somewhere in the room. Right now, every single move mattered. There are no words to dull your mood – nothing for him to say that hasn’t already been said.
Satoru’s spent a short-lived lifetime telling you how beautiful you are, how well you’re taking him, how sexy your body is. You know that’s what he’s thinking; he just won’t waste his breath telling you again.
After all, you couldn’t be bothered to waste yours, telling him that you were leaving to his face.
To you, this hot, grinding silence is deafening. Toru’s biting at your neck, kissing you holy, but it’s so foreign that you couldn’t really focus. You bite down a plea.
But he hears it. When he kisses you, he can taste the desire. His naked body is so pressed to yours that there’s no room to exist outside of it – you pull him closer.
Somewhere in the headiness, Satoru works a hand between your soft, stretchy waistband. He knows you’re ready for him, and he knows he’s ready for you. This moment might have been the perfect opportunity to prove devotion to each other. What a shame you’re so caught up in your head, worried about losing more of yourself to morph into the reality of who Satoru needs you to be.
He tugs your thin pants down your legs, staring down at the quivering flesh that blooms with irritation against the harshness of the fabric. You’re seething into his skin, hips lifting from the bed so he can take you quicker.
The issue is, he wants to see you. Toru wants to dip his head between your thighs and devour your cunt until you’re screaming his name, but you don’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve it.
The most you two could chew off without burying yourself in grief was wordless, raw sex. That’s all there is to it – Toru wants to fuck you, get his rocks off, then sleep like a baby. Sure, he’d care in the morning, but you’re presenting yourself to him with armor stripped. He’d be a fool to pass it up.
When he sits up, you’re scrambling. The air is too cold, his height is too brooding. He’s staring down at you, pearly chest rising and falling in the nightlight, but the gaze isn’t really there. One hand works at his erection, thick fist wrapped around the base of his cock as he coaxes it to full hardness.
You’re staring at his body, swallowing down gobs of want as you flick past his waistline. Your neat, mindful Satoru – he always trimmed his body to exactly what you wanted. The soft patch of hair that gathers under his belly button makes you crazy. The neat trimming of his pubes makes your mouth water, and you’ve been holding back for so long.
If you could tell him anything right now, it’d be just how much you need him. It was eating you alive at this point – all this cruel buildup.
You bring your hand to your lips, taking to biting down on the length of your thumb while he settles back against you. Any more sober, you’d stop him and tell him to wear a condom, but of course, you’re silent.
He mounts you again, pressing two big hands on either side of your head. Your free hand reaches up, holding his wrist gently as he slowly eases himself inside of your hole, stretching you out like he never left.
You take a second to focus on the feeling, eyes falling shut as the stretch engulfs every single one of your nerves. It’s so thick – drilling deeper and deeper inside of you until there was nothing left to give. All the way inside, Satoru nuzzles against that uncomfortably sensitive point inside of you, kissing it like he was proud of the pain.
You open your mouth to praise him – to whine about how deep he is, but all that comes out is a soft, strangled moan. He grunts again.
Then, he cuts himself loose, fingers working at the sheets as he pulls out halfway, pretty face screwing up as he fucks back into you.
You’re moaning, crying, rejoicing, living for everything in this moment. Your grip on his wrist tightens, and your thumb-gag breaks through. Satoru fucks you with an unnatural, mean precision, drinking up the sound of your skin slapping into each other. With this fervor, you’d be bruised tomorrow, but it’s too good. You love it when he’s rough – it’s just what you needed after sustaining for a month.
Your throat burns with the need to scream at him – to tell him to take you harder, to kiss you stupid, but you don’t. Satoru buries his face in your neck and gives it to you. Over and over, thrust after thrust. It hurts, but it’s so good.
Time creeps and crawls through the ordeal. Your belly is numb and raw, legs shaking from the tight strangle they have across Toru’s waist. He hasn’t moved an inch – letting himself plank over you, plowing into your weeping cunt with no mercy, and no end in sight. Veins bloom like red-hot wires in his neck, sweat beads like water in his collarbone, and he’s so hot that the humidity gathers in his still-damp hair, rolling off the strands and onto your skin.
Thirty minutes roll by – he’s still going. Everything hurts.
He doesn’t have your loving voice egging him on, drawing him closer and closer to the release he needs. You don’t have that loving, sweet touch toying with your clit that leaves you gushing and gasping for air. You both are trying to make do with the bare minimum, not even looking at each other.
You’re shaking.
Satoru sits up, a detached, manic look in his eyes as he breathes heavily through his red-stained lips. He stares down at you, searching your expression for everything. You’re not telling him how you feel, but your face is screwed up so much that he knows it’s not the best feeling. He hates that he enjoys the thought of that. He hates that he needs to push his pain onto you – in fact, he feels monstrous, but it doesn’t will him to stop.
Instead, he slows his mean fucks, dragging his hands to your waist where he turns you over like a limp, freshly caught fish. You fumble at the stark change, coughing softly, eyes flying open. Under your breath, you cry. “Mmfmf.”
“Shh,” he bites back, all sharp and unfriendly in the base of his chest. Hands still stuck in your hips, he pulls you exactly where he wants you, chest pressed to the bed, behind on full display – full mercy. Your skin is so inflamed, he takes a second to drink it in.
Then, he slaps you right on your left cheek. You chew on a surprised yelp. Something slips.
“Tor-
Another slap. You swallow down your protests.
Behind you, you can feel him dragging his cock against the hot sensitivity hidden between your labia, dripping with the newfound touch Satoru is working himself up to give you.
Again, at your prime, he’d take this moment to completely dive in. He’d lose himself in the warm tears you’re excreting, lapping up the fluids like it’s his only nourishment. He’d worship you – now, all he does is cup his hand against your embarrassingly wet cunt, longest fingers working at your clit. His palm rubs harshly against your quivering hole, and you use the mattress as a screaming pillow, finally letting it out.
Tears come, now. They burn and ache because they know whatever sacred intimacy you shared with Toru before is long gone. He’s fucking you, now. If you closed your eyes and wiped your memory, this would all feel like a stupid, drunk hookup.
That’s all you are, now.
You don’t even make a sound when he starts to bottom out inside of you again. You feel like a statue on display with the way Satoru spreads you open, both hands grabbing at your stinging ass. He watches the way you swallow his cock like a delicacy, gulping down want. Now, he’s dangerously close. He knows this was what he needed – this lewd visual.
You, on the other hand, couldn’t have been further away from release, and it’s tearing you apart. You need to tell him – scream at him and curse his name, but you can’t.
You let him make a mess of you, flooding your cervix with his sticky, fluid seed. He comes so hard and you can feel it – it’s so deep that you swear you can taste his desire bubbling in your throat. It’s acidic and raw, but it tastes like him, so you love it – you miss the taste when you swallow it down.
He’s pulling out once he’s empty and satiated, come planted so deep inside of you that it doesn’t even slip out in his wake. He steps away, your hips fall on the bed, and you’re limp and unsatisfied. All you can do is blink. Satoru rolls away.
You don’t know what he’s doing, or where he’s going, but when you fall over to your side, tears dripping into the mattress, you’re overcome.
You’re crying, croaking weakly, “c-can you-
The sound of your voice stops Satoru in his tracks. He was heading back to the bathroom to clean himself up, but he thought you had dropped off to sleep immediately.
“What?”
“Can you… J-just try?”
“All I wan-want to do…” You stop again, swallowing salty tears. “Please, all I want to d-d-do is come. P-please…” You feel so pathetic – and you are. You feel like the worst person ever born.
If you could see his face, you’d see the speck of emotion that runs off his crystalline, flushed features. He would feel terrible if you cried like this to him a month ago. Now, he just feels something like an obligation to turn around and stalk back over to your side of the mattress.
You’re still crying into your arms when he approaches, hiccuping softly as he lowers to a squat.
Like this, he finally talks. “Swing your legs over, I’ll clean you up.”
The smoothness has your eyes flying open, heart doing a billion jumping jacks all at once. Limbs shaking, you struggle to sit up.
Satoru notices, knowing he has to retake hold of these reins. He reaches out for you, big hands closing around your thighs as he pulls you to the side of the bed. There’s nothing gentle about it, now. He licks his lips.
Both legs hooked over his shoulder, your back falls back onto the mattress, and at the first flick of his tongue prodding at your quivering entrance, you’re crying again. But he’s good at this part. He doesn’t stop. That licks turns into sensual drags of the tongue, scraping against your sensitive slit, easing over your clit. You finally moan for him – real moans. Pleased moans.
He presses a kiss to your hole. “Push it out on my tongue.” He demands, those few words feeling like acid on the tongue. It’s fucking filthy, but nothing out of his ordinary, deranged mind. You take a breath and tense your body, working on easing all of the deep come right back to him.
Satoru is licking it up like an eager dog, slurping and sucking obscenely as his grip gets lost in your pillowy thighs. Now, he’s working you over like he’s chasing your release, knowing your body just like a doting husband would. It would only take him a few minutes of tongue-work before you’re coming for him, but now, it only takes a single one.
You’re coming before you can even focus on the feeling, and it hits you like a brick to the skull. Your spine bends, bones creaking, blood rising to insane temperatures in your body as sweet, sweet bliss meets you once more.
It’s all you wanted – this feeling has been the singular thing you’ve been chasing at Toru’s side. He gives it so well and so selflessly that he’s still lapping up mess when he feels you coming undone around him. He carries you through it just like he always has – thick, plush lips sucking at your insanely sensitive bud like he’s trying to receive something as collateral. It drives you crazy – you reach out to push him away.
The job is done. Satoru rises to his feet.
He heads off again to finish what he started, wiping your taste from his lips, back into his mouth as he gets lost behind the bathroom door. He leaves you on the bed to come back to your senses, fully sobered up and slightly sick from the onslaught of physicality. You reach into your matted hair, screwing your eyes shut in shame. Every time you move, your core trembles and cries. Everything hurts.
In the bathroom, Satoru flicks on the lights and doesn’t recognize the face he sees in the mirror. He’s blown red, scratches all over his arms and back. His hair is everywhere, eyes beet-red and sensitive. He leans forward and spits in the sink.
Synopsis. Four arms. Four eyes. Two mouths. Ryomen Sukuna has everything he needs and more: power, riches, enough concubines that he’s grown bored of such frivolities. That is, until you’re entering his royal estate as the newest addition—and he just didn’t expect such a puny little human to become…
His favorite.
Pairing. Ryomen Sukuna x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!concubine!reader, Heian era!Sukuna, true form!Sukuna, DP, Sukuna’s second mouth, the Sukuna Estate, other concubines, schemes, sIight pIot, mostly just true form Kuna mmmmpfg, he’s the master, he’s BIG (like really big), four arms, two mouths, he’s FÉRAL, mouth-ríding, sort of face-sítting, p sIapping, oraI (f + brief m), DÚMBlFICATION, making it fit, tight squeezes, stretching, tummy buIges, cervíx smooches, sIight degradation, bréeding, mentions of heirs, MANHANDLlNG, tension, full nélsons, overstímulation, spítting, foIding, stopping you from running, making you CRY, rough s, he’s MEAN, creampíes, cúmpIay, muIti-tasking (iykyk), implied marathon, slight proposals, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 10.5k
A/N. Blame that split-second frame from the last episode not me…
“Of the eighty-two chambers, you are free to enter most.” Uraume’s words were smooth, steady, and not a second longer than necessary; just as their steps were down these winding hallways.
You’re hastening your strides to keep up.
“You may roam in the gardens and libraries. The main kitchen has its doors always open, the Eastern one is for specialty desserts and guests, and the Western one is for poisons…and guests.” They continue, “The dojo is forbidden to anyone but the master, and you are expected in the Buddha room every evening.”
They suddenly halt.
Boredly, “You do plan to stay alive, I believe?”
And you could barely breathe, “I-I believe so?”
You’re realizing that you’ve stopped at the end of a massive bridge connecting to a quieter wing of the estate—intricately carved, and accompanied by a slow river drifting underneath. Uraume’s hand falls to the edge of the lattice doors, “Good. Here we have the concubine quarters-” Looking at you seriously, “-where you shall reside.”
A shiver runs down your spine.
Truth be told, you hadn’t expected to get this far.
According to what the stories and legends claimed, a mere mortal like you would have been sniffed out—would have been sought after, would have your flesh torn to shreds the very second you stepped inside the Sukuna Estate. If not by the monster that inhabited it, then the Estate itself.
Some whispered that it was inhabited by cursed spirits - amongst something far, far worse - that both guarded and imprisoned. Whilst others whispered that the house itself was a cursed spirit in the form of this sprawling aristocratic estate—as vast as a palace. Even more whispered that whomever entered the house gained a taste for blood, and even most claimed that a house’s auspiciousness reflected that of its master’s.
For who else would inhabit such a place but Ryomen Sukuna, the King of Curses himself?
If the public whispered about the estate, they simply yelled about the sorcerer that inhabited it. Blood-curdling screams.
There was no avoiding the rumors that swirled around the special-grade; those who were unfortunate enough to cross his path painted a picture of a beast more than eight feet tall, with glowing blood-red eyes and horns that tore open the skies. Storms he could silence with a single wave of his hand. His powers were what made legends—never before had there been seen a sorcerer as strong as he, and it was likely that there never shall be again. Though that was not for a lack of trying, or talent, or assassinations.
Despite remaining living, he was depicted in temples and murals of hell. Four arms. Four eyes. Two mouths and countless tattoos. So imbued in his sorcery that it metamorphosed his physical body itself - Ryomen Sukuna was said to be something more than human, but something less than a person.
Look at him wrong and you might find yourself without sight. Without life.
Thus, not many dared to lay their eyes upon him—but they didn’t have to. He left a pathway of destruction and blood-soaked footprints wherever he went.
A kill count higher than several populations.
Wherever he went, it loomed the dark shadow of a hand across the land. Currently that hand was grasped tight around the city of Heian-kyō: the home of Ryomen Sukuna, it sat at the very center of the capital. Dubbed aptly by the citizens to be The Estate of the Dead. For no human that wandered inside, will ever wander out.
And yet, that’s exactly the chance you’d taken today.
You’d had enough.
You’d waltzed right up to those grand doors this evening, dwarfing everything and anything around it, and knocked. Dark mahogany panels. Gilded handles. Unlike most noble homes, the Sukuna Estate didn’t need to have guards stationed outside it—for who was mad enough to bother the King of Curses?
You, it seems.
And so the busy road froze around you; the residents paused mid-gossip, the merchants stopped haggling their prices, the carts and wheels creaked to a halt—the world itself held its breath as the doors to the estate had opened.
And a short, slender person stepped outside.
They were dressed in a dark monk’s robe draped over a white kimono, equally white hair dazzling - almost ethereally odd - underneath the sunlight. They closed the door behind themself, and looked at you intensely. “State your purpose.”
You struggled to remember why you were here in the first place, “I-It is my greatest honor to-”
“Hasten.”
“I only wished to-”
“Hasten-”
“A position.”
You weren’t sure who was more bewildered at the words that blurted out of you—you or the citizens around you. There were soft gasps that echoed into the air, peering even closer at the strange interaction. However, the attendant merely looked at you uncertainly, and you hurried to explain yourself. “I come seeking employment, my lord of the house.”
“I am but a mere servant.” They replied, raising one hand. “And we seek help no longer.”
As they attempted to turn back and go inside, you’re rushing. “Please-”
Brows furrowed, “I said we seek help no-”
“But I swear that I shall be the most loyal servant to the master…” Bowed slightly, a slight rush of relief goes through you as you notice they’ve turned back. Just barely, but it’s something. “-after yourself, of course.”
They huffed in slight amusement.
And your hands shook. Gripped onto the long length of your sleeves, you steadied them before you continued - just as you’d practiced. “I swear upon my soul that no assignment shall be too great, no concern too small. Please—please, I have scoured every street and alley for weeks now in search of employment, and you have been the only one kind enough to open your doors…Any job is enough for me- any. Just spare me the chance.” Hands twisted together into a plea, “I beg of you.”
They looked slightly taken aback, and you stepped closer to seize your chance.
“My body is the master’s, and I shall gladly undertake any task.” You gazed straight into their doe-like, brown eyes—“Any task.”
Their lips barely moved as they repeated, “Any?”
“Any.”
There was a ringing silence following your answer, and you knew that everyone in the once-bustling vicinity must have been staring at you. But that didn’t matter.
Nothing mattered but the way the white-haired attendant let their brows raise, they appraised you from head to toe.
Head to toe.
Head to toe.
It honestly seemed like forever before they finally sighed, “At ease.”
And you shot upwards from your painstaking bow with an awed breath.
Untold, the doors to the Sukuna Estate opened. They turned around, not meeting your eyes - nor that of anyone around you two - and gestured for you to follow them inside. Stepping inside as though they didn’t care whether you proceeded or not, the strange attendant uttered. “I expect you to use your body well to serve the master.” Just barely tilted to the side to take another look at you, “You have one night to please him.”
The sound of wrought iron echoed through the ancient city like thunder.
And you touched your sleeve once more - your best silk, but more specifically…the dagger you’d hidden beneath it.
You had one night to take down the King of Curses.
In no time, you’d been led around the massive estate by Uraume - they’d uttered their name to you between the meeting chamber and the second library - and your heart still thumps away at your throat as they now creeeeeeak—! open the quarters for the concubines. Blood bubbling in your veins. Blade cold against your skin.
There was a buzzing sort of excitement that seemed to extend from the weapon and onto you—only growing stronger as you’re pacing inside.
It wasn’t the small, structured sort of barrack that you might’ve expected - you weren’t sure the validity, but you’d already heard stories about how concubines were cramped together in certain royal palaces. Bunks on top of bunks. Bodies that remained undernourished and untouched.
However, what Uraume takes you through is a gilded hallway—nothing out-of-place from the rest of the palace. On one side was a line of separate rooms, at the end of the hallway the paneled doors opened to a garden. It had unlit lanterns on the high ceilings and intricate artifacts that seemingly sprouted from the gleaming wooden floors; the spotless corridor branched and divulged into several other rooms and hallways, weighed with nameplates, and you were shocked to realize that each concubine seemed to have their room - no matter how small their rank; there was a lingering of perfume in the air.
Fit for royals.
Your eyes bounce off of the walls, and Uraume watches your reaction closely. “I assume it is to your liking?”
“Yes-” You wouldn’t want to give off the wrong impression - especially not when a mere offense could mean death—“F-forgive me, it’s far more than to my liking, it’s…” Taking another awed look around, “-magnificent. I suppose I didn’t expect it to be so…”
“Beautiful?” Uraume seems to read your mind.
And you can only turn to them and nod.
They sagely nod, something knowing in their tone. “The master has an inclination to all that is beautiful and surprising.” Looking at you closely, “Particularly surprising.”
Uraume’s expression gives nothing away, and you attempt to do the same - the dagger glints coldly against your hand. A single movement and it could cut you. A single movement and it could be in your hands.
You don’t know how long they maintain eerie eye contact with you before the sound of footsteps makes you tear your eyes away—and where you’re perhaps expecting to see the monster, the inhuman, the master of this house himself—it’s another woman. Human, perhaps.
Donned in expensive silk that robes her figure, she tip-toes towards the two of you with a sheepish smile upon her painted face.
She bows, and you’re bowing back.
“Forgive my intrusion.” She says as she straightens once more, “It is seldom we meet a new girl. Perhaps this is forward, but am I right in presuming you are one of the new concubines?”
“O-oh, you are correct.” You’re surprised by her warm and welcoming demeanour - weren’t fights and jealousy typical of close concubine quarters? Wasn’t she supposed to scheme and plot against you just as you were doing against her- you suppose your master?
But she takes your hand and beams at you, “Then it is most wonderful to make your acquaintance. Ask me anything you would like.”
Your lips part - unsure what to say - but the white-haired attendant at your side beats you to it by announcing. “Dinner shall be served shortly.” They turn, about to make their exit before eyeing you closely. “Human.”
And you wondered whether they meant to call you human…or they meant that dinner was human.
Once those delicate doors slide shut, and Uraume’s footsteps disappear, you’re just then realizing that you were still holding onto the other woman’s hand. Mustering up some semblance of a smile, you’re asking her—“Could you tell me about…Ryomen Sukuna?”
.
.
.
“There’s a descendant of the esteemed Kamo clan here, as well—” One of the women chuckle, taking a deep drink of her sake - one of those expensive types that came in an intricate wooden box. She smacks her lips in satisfaction, “-but you just missed her.”
Your heart batters against your chest- you still had the dagger hidden up your sleeve. Setting down your water, you hope that none of the other concubines here can hear the waver in your voice- “I see. Is she perhaps attending the…?”
“Huh?” The woman looks at blearily for a few seconds. “Who? The master?”
You nod silently.
She exchanges a look with one of the other women-
Before bursting into rambunctious laughter.
And you’re sitting there confused as they clap one another on the shoulders, as they rattle the food-laden table—as they wipe mirthful tears from their eyes. Repeating the last sentence to one another and breaking out into peels of laughter once more. Surely, you hadn’t said anything too humorous…perhaps this was some unspoken rule of etiquette you’d missed?
It hadn’t been too long since you’d been somewhat- absorbed into the group of numerous concubines upon concubines that were housed in the Sukuna Estate. Many more than you’d initially predicted - the hallway you’d entered had been just one of many residential wings.
Right now, about half of them sat at a long table of which you couldn’t clearly see its end - both because of length and the sheer volume of food towering upon it. All sorts of soups and noodles. All sorts of breads and wines. All sorts of meats and charred vegetables. Desserts and colorfully-packaged sweets from around the world that you’d once believed that only the emperor himself would have been able to taste.
It would have been possible to dislike every food you’d ever known, and still find something here that made you wish to stay…if just for the food.
You could hear the other half of the women chattering and laughing away in another dining room connected to this one.
All in all, your proponent - a woman you’d learned was connected with the Fujiwara family - had told you everything about Sukuna as she introduced you to the other concubines. They took you in readily, to your surprise, and cooed and surrounded and showed you around. Speaking to you about how the estate was designed personally by Sukuna himself. How Uraume was his (human) cook. How he was a ruthless ruler, and the hallways were more often bloodied than not—but he didn’t lay a hand on them.
When they’d told you this, you’d assumed it was regarding his more…aggressive reputation on the battlefield. You didn’t think it meant-
“Our Kamo girl has travelled to Edo.” The woman from earlier - Abe, you remember her name being - continues as the others settle down. She whispers scandalously, “To visit her lover.”
You breathe in sharply, “The master permits you to take lovers?”
“It isn’t that he permits…” Fujiwara smiles warmly at you - not too far down the table. The other concubines nod as she continues, “It’s that he doesn’t pry—he has no time for human frivolities. After all, the master hasn’t called for one of the girls in…well, since we can remember. He’s a picky man. But nowadays, girls enter and leave the estate as they please, as they wish for employment. Most choose to join the house staff in time, for we aren’t bound, and the master seems to have no need for concubines these days.”
Surprise overtakes you, your hand grips tightly on your sleeve. But your objective…
Abe speaks up now, “Which is why it’d been quite the surprise to know he’d allowed in yet another.” She leans in with a conspiratorial smile, “Perhaps you’re the type to really get his loins going-”
“Abe—!” A few other women swat at her.
“I jest- I jest—” She winks at you, “In part. Would you prefer to lay with the master?”
Something twists at the bottom of your stomach, “I-if it must come to it, I wouldn’t mi-”
You’re cut off as they exclaim in scandal all around you.
Fujiwara shakes her head with a smile, then she looks at you. “No matter what it is, you shall be housed and fed here. You shall never go without despite the master’s…”
“Impotence?”
“…”
“I jest-”
“What’s more—” She pulls back her sleeves and gestures for a bowl of sake, “Given the state of affairs, I highly doubt that you would ever have to-”
Just then, there’s a tap at the sliding doors.
An announcement of Uraume’s title—before they’re cracking the entrance open just a fraction. That stark white hair of theirs flashes from the gap in the door, illuminated by both the dim yellow lighting and the curiosity leaking out of the dining room; eyes scanning the vast chamber before finally landing on you.
An utterance of your name.
All eyes snap to you.
“The master wishes for you to join him tonight.”
One by one, you could feel the jaws of the other women drop—as well as your own. Right alongside something at the pit of your stomach that you couldn’t quite describe.
As the silence stretches and expands to the other speechless dining chamber- Fujiwara lets out a pointed cough—and it’s all you need to jolt right back to your senses. Scrambling to stand up, you barely have the time to smooth down your kimono before following Uraume out of the room - throwing a cautionary glance over your shoulder.
Fujiwara smiles, slightly shocked.
Abe winks.
The sliding doors rattle closed, and the whirlwind of gossip that follows accompanies you even to the bridge.
Head ducked. Hands in sleeves. Uraume remains painfully silent as you’re following them down winding hallways and past chambers vast enough to be estates themselves; and though you’d been given a tour of the place beforehand, you can’t help but let your mind get just a little frazzled at the thought of what was to come after.
Of what was to come once they finally stopped.
And they do—after what feels like nights upon nights, the white-haired attendant stops before two sliding doors - nothing but sliding doors. Though you’d assumed that the King himself might have decked his personal chambers with several of his best guards, you’re realizing with a prickle of anticipation that he didn’t need them.
But that only made your job easier.
Invisible hands seem to pull the doors - panes decorated in artwork depicting archery - apart, and you’re entering a room that would have been too lavish for an emperor.
A massive rectangular-shaped room of which strange interconnected woodwork make up the flooring; windows towering from floor-to-ceiling, half-hidden by thick curtains of red velvet. They clung themselves onto a ceiling that was gilded, calligraphy rounding the high perimeter, and a chandelier-like composition of lanterns fashioned down from it. Reds and greens and blacks and golds, the most eye-catching painting colors of furniture within.
In the far end of the royal chamber was the futon.
And you would describe its incredible size and its golden threading, even the red, red blanket that covered it- you would…but your eyes were far more interested in who was occupying it.
Thighs spread. Two elbows resting on his knees.
All four eyes locked on you since the moment you step inside-
“Uraume.” His lips barely seem to move, though that hoarse baritone is hard to deny. It wasn’t as inhuman as you might have expected—it sounded human and yet, there was surely something malevolent in the way he made your thighs squeeze together with just a single word. “You are dismissed.”
You’re feeling Uraume bow deeply next to you, and in the blink of an eye they’re gone-
In another blink of an eye, Ryomen Sukuna has one large hand stuck out - index quirked at you, he beckons you to him once. Only once.
And you gulp as you walk to him.
This was your first time really seeing the King of Curses- fuck. He was wearing nothing but baggy white pants and a strange, carnal inkling about him. Engulfing you in it the second you’re locking eyes with him. The legends were right…somewhat.
Because Sukuna truly was larger than any mere mortal could ever be: with shoulders sculptured and broad enough that they’d put your best warriors to shame, with corded muscle around biceps the size of your head, with his pecs creating a bumpy road for his tattoos. He was about nine feet tall—perhaps even taller than the stories said. Far taller. Far stronger. Far more monstrous.
Abs consistently patterned his front, disrupted only by the presence of his second mouth - it slashes aaaaall the way across his navel, large n’ licking his cursed lips with a grin.
And those tattoos- oh, those tattoos.
They were the tattoos of a criminal - two looping around each of his four arms like shackles, and then a circle on all four deltoids.
You bite the inside of your cheek—you knew your mission. But fuck- you won’t deny that a part of you wanted him so bad.
Sukuna’s pink hair catches the lantern light as he leans back on two hands, meaty thighs manspreading before you. And in-between you swear you could see the thick, throbbing outlines of two-
“On your knees.” The King commands. Crimson eyes narrowing, “Should you so wish.”
And your knees are buckling almost instinctually- he raises a rose-pink brow as he watches your hands reach for your sleeve…before ultimately going against your orders to settle down before the foot of the bed where he was seated.
Embarrassment curdles in your chest as you’re crawlin’ yourself closer to him, and the sorcerer himself hums in approval once you’re leaning your cheek against his right thigh. Rubbing.
The muscles underneath twitch—and Sukuna’s swollen tips let out a spurt of precum that puddles right in front of your lips. That translucent dampness stretches across the fabric and wets your lips with its salty taste- you whine.
Right before he grasps the back of your sweaty scalp with one massive hand- and shoves your head down onto one clothed cock. Your mouth gaped wide and plopping! right on top of his mushroomy tip—an open kiss against where his sensitive slit was flared outwards.
He’s pulsating against your lips.
And you’re moaning with your eyes squeezed shut at the feeling of his entire tip being nearly fuckin’ big enough to envelop your entire maw-
“Do you understand now?” Sukuna’s tone rumbles from above - low and level in a way that speaks of such power. He doesn’t reveal anything more, however. “Do you understand that your puny human body cannot handle me?”
You’re looking up at him with furrowed brows, “I-I understand…”
“Do you understand that I may ruin you?”
“I understand.”
“Do you understand that you cannot take m-”
“I want you-” And almost as bewildering as the fact that you’ve interrupted him, is that Ryomen Sukuna doesn’t crush you with his cursed energy on the spot for interrupting him. “-my lord.”
But that seems to be his tipping point. For his large stomach mouth quirks upwards in what almost seems like a smile—
And Sukuna gruffs out, “Then kiss your King.”
And so you’re gripping onto the soft edge of the mattress and leaning yourself up into his kiss- not the one his face was so ready for—but one where you’re leaning in and pressing a chaste peck onto his second mouth.
Onto those monstrously large lips hungrily gaping at his stomach.
Onto that fucking hungry - starved - maw so deprived of any touch that he’s immediately slurpin’ the edge of his textured tongue outwards. Attempting to enter his incredible size between your own lips, Sukuna’s only managing to fit about an inch of his cursed tastebuds—swipin’ the insides of your heated cavern and making you gasp, before he’s searing his grip into your scalp and tugging you off-
“Naughty naughty.” He trundles. And yet there’s a glimmer of something different in his eyes that told you Ryomen Sukuna was almost…excited. He’s patting one side of him on the futon, “Come up here with me, insolent thing.”
In no time, you’re hauled onto the bed and straddling the infamous King.
Thighs struggling to squeeze around his toned core, cunt drooling your slick through your panties. As you’re inadvertently rubbing uuuup and down his ridged abs- it creates a snail trail of glistening sap that trickles all the way down to his pinkish-brown happy trail.
Sukuna titters once he leans his head down and takes in the mess - n’ then he’s gripping one side of your waist with a single hand.
Squeezing lightly, it doesn’t take even a mere fraction of his power to glide the exterior of your pussy down those unruly tufts of hair—dooooooown in a carnal scratch as he positions you directly on top of his second mouth.
His second mouth.
Now gaped wide open and fucking ravenous.
Immediately cracking apart from each other with a parched gasp- something deep and rumbling from his underbelly. It reminds you of a creature that’s been starved for eons—something that makes shivers run up your spine right from the in-betweens of your drippin’ wet cunt. Right as you’re feeling his oversized tongue press aside your ruined underwear and start to eeeeeease inside-
“Fuh-fuuuuck—” Dazed peripherals rolling to the back of your head - without even realizing it, you’re planting your feet onto the futon and bucking- whether more into Sukuna’s cursed mouth or away from it…you’re unsure.
But he’s making the decision for you. He’s cupping either side of your hips with two clawed hands, letting those pointed tips dig into your clammy flesh, “Easy-” Letting out a rumbling chuckle. “Easy there, woman.”
Gasping, you’re lurching-
“Easy.”
And it’s all he needs to steady you.
It’s all he needs to tighten his hold onto your squirmin’ body, until it’s like he’s attached onto you with adhesive. It doesn’t take much of him to move you ‘round and spread open those folds even further like a pretty flower—that massive tongue of his wastes no time before swirling around that first ring of muscle. Cutely clenching around him- fuck, he can’t wait.
Before slurping his muscle back and shoving it straight between your pussylips.
Through the popping pressure in your ear, “Because how’re you gonna take my cocks otherwise?”
And you really didn’t forget who you were dealing with, did you?
You really didn’t think that Ryomen Sukuna - the King of Curses - was going to go easy on you…did you?
Because without even waiting for your struggling walls to get used to the size, his enlarged tongue reels all the way backwards with a deafening slurp! Right until the curvaceous tip was ticklin’ at your entrance, before Sukuna’s thrusting all the way back in. Again.
Your toes curl. Your eyes dart instantly to the back of your head.
Sukuna himself cracks a smirk- before he’s then doing it again.
And again.
“Don’t think yer running from it.” A third hand ends up plastered atop your clammy scalp- dangerously gripping your head and puuuuuushing you down onto him.
As far as your tight hole would let him. Your thighs quiver, “B-but-” Bucking.
“Now now, brat—” Pushing you back down. “Ya get what you’re given.”
Again and again.
It doesn’t matter how many times you’re twisting on top of him because of the ruthless swabbin’ of his tastebuds inside. Honed at the very tip and zig-zagging around in a way that makes you viscerally shake on top of him—he’s slipping his velvety muscle inside and stirring it a few times to get a reeeeally good feel for your walls. For how much you’d stretch. “Because you shall fit- oh…” He seethes between clenched canines, nose scrunched at the very top. “You must- fit it. You must not run away.”
Another tough battering ram of his thick tongue - it’s almost adorable how your poor body is being jerked to and fro. He murmurs, “For who can possibly escape Ryomen Sukuna? Heh.”
His tongue seems to wind n’ stretch even deeper inside you after his own self-praise - you always have heard rumors about the King of Curses being particularly egotistical…though righteously.
And again and again—“P-please.” Sukuna’s second tongue fills you up in all sorts of ways you’ve never felt before - not with the texture or the size or the complete and utter need…Those ridged tastebuds of his were pushin’ into eeeeevery single nook and cranny he could reach - which was all of them. At least, as far back as your dewy walls were allowing him to go, “Such a size should be-”
“Necessary.” He’s cutting you off cleanly. “Besides…”
Sukuna raises a pink brow, leaning backwards on the mattress to watch his massive tongue indulge in and out. In and out. In and out.
Your puffy folds being pushed apart at a rapid pace, your gloss seeping everywhere as he tunnels inside—he’s letting out a low whistle of approval as his second mouth creates such a mess between your legs. Monstrous tongue jerking outwards and slapping the front of your cunt teasingly- it makes a fresh wave of your juices slather down your thighs.
And he smiles - already knowing that he’s going to clean this up later.
The King’s chest rumbles with satisfaction, “Heh- you should be aware, little human…that m’not even halfway inside yet.”
There were two things in that sentence that drove you utterly wild: the fact that he mentioned he was barely inside, and the fact that he said…yet. As though to prove the point he’d just sparked inside your muddled brain, Sukuna arches his hips off the bed and ruts-
Pistoning his tongue a mere inch deeper.
Even though - to you - it feels like he’d just struck his tongue against your very throat—“Wh-what you claiming…” Your thighs quake as he continues fucking you between them, “How much longer may you possibly have to go?”
“Oh…an inch, two, four….seven.” Sukuna tilts his head airily, “Tch- such tedious tasks are meant for humans. How about you count instead?”
You balk, “Pardon, master?”
“Count, little human.” And without a single warning, his fourth hand snakes underneath your flapping kimono- between those sopping pussylips and squeezing at your poor clit. “Your master orders you to count.”
And the only thing you can possibly do is let your eyes shutter at the pleasure, lips trembling as Sukuna’s second tongue finds its mazin’ way across your walls. As you’re struggling to get a single word out, however, at least the ruthless sorcerer slooooows his pace down to something more languid- making sure you feel every bump and vein.
Every quirk.
Every inch.
Until finally you’re throwing your head behind and vocalizing—after only a few sloppy strikes. “T-two…”
“Heh…interesting.” One of those gnarled hands clasped onto your sides reaches upwards n’ grabs onto your pretty face, smushin’ those cheeks together as he stares deeply into your eyes. Sukuna takes in your dazed peripherals, your spit-glossed lips - the way you looked completely and utterly gone on his tongue, and yet…still managed to answer his question.
Mere mortals never did manage to surprise him anymore. You, however…
Before even he knows what he’s doing, Ryomen Sukuna leans inwards and spits between your gaped maw. Rushing to then kiss you with his own lips - eyes widened, mouth hungry. He looks bewildered himself, as his cursed mouth continues rubbin’ your pussy raw—“It seems we have a feisty little human on our hands.” Three out of four hands groping at your sides and making you ride him-
You’re trembling.
“And yet, who told you to cease your counting?”
Thwack!
“Three—” You cry out. Expectedly, Sukuna was mean—that fourth n’ final hand of his plasters his knobbly fingertips against your sensitive nub. Spanking you hard enough to see stars.
But Sukuna only grins, “Incorrect.”
Yet another spank. Yet another brush of his cursed tongue inwards- and you swear that you’re starting to hear his second mouth start to snicker to himself. Was that even possible?
Were you even thinking? Were you even breathing?
It doesn’t take his keen eyes long to realize that he’s left you completely and utterly stupid on his tongue—just so luscious and lewd. Spreadin’ apart your puffy folds and funneling your insides with him, “Four- four—”
“Correct.” Just to tease you, those fingers of his leave another rude spank.
And Sukuna doesn’t bother letting you gather your bearings before he’s delving even deeper.
“F-five…” You’re trembling out as you feel the massaging texture of his tastebuds enter, they’re pokin’ into spots you hadn’t even realized you had - filling out your tight channel and leaving his shape molded straight into your cunt. “And is that…ngh- six?”
“That was seven.” He rumbles out in a smug tone.
Your jaw drops as you register the massive number - seven inches of his cursed tongue fucking your pussy. And yet it still doesn’t seem as though he’s planning to stop anytime soon…
Back arched, you’re keeping your hands on top of Sukuna’s broad shoulders. Nails digging into his deltoids. And with all the strength that you could muster, you’re attempting to riiiiiide your hips back down onto his—grinding in figure-eight motions.
Sukuna was already manhandling you down onto him - now it might just be your turn to control the cadence. To control how much of him went inside you.
“J-just fuck me already—” You’re pleading. Your jaw drops with a parched whimper, hips veering down harder and harder- “Ngh- that was eight. Nine. Just fuck me- all of me.”
Sukuna’s eyes widen in slight surprise- before he’s quickly catching himself and tightening the two hands at your waist. “Now now…easy there. Go too fast for a little human, and yer going to hurt yourself.”
“But I need it.” Lip jutting out in the cutest damn pout, “I need you inside me, Kuna.”
His breath catches, “Repeat what you just uttered.”
Back bending into the most delicious curve, pushing up against his sweaty pecs. You’re sobbing out as his stomach mouth gapes even wider n’ seemed to push in even more, more, moooore of his sultry inches—“N-nine and a half…? I need you inside-”
“Not that-” Smacking your clit once more. “-you insolent brat.” The tip of his tastebuds reach the very back of your pussy, and it’s a sensation you just can’t describe. “That…title. I command you to hah, repeat it.”
“Title?”
Thwack!
“Repeat it.”
And it’s taking everything and anything in you - in your utterly cockdrunken mind - to conjure up the faintest inkling about what Sukuna was talking about. To let your head throw back with a final primal cry—for the first time since he’d started fucking you with his stomach mouth, you’re finally feeling your ass cheeks seat down properly on top of his washboard abs.
And then you’re finding yourself in his strong arms, your moans muffled into his actual mouth. “T-ten.” Gasping through the constant drool n’ sounds of pleasure clogging up your throat, “That’s ten, Kuna—”
And there it was.
Theeeeeere it was - in more ways than one.
Ryomen Sukuna’s getting to hear that sultry nickname fall from your mouth once more - for some inexplicable reason leaving the tips of his ears feeling warm - and he’s getting to see you complete his command.
Ten entire inches of his cursed second tongue- lickin’ away every trace of sap at your inner thighs, before he’s pushing it all the way inwards. Inwards and inwards. The maw slashed across his stomach grins as he’s hitting the very back of your pussy-
And before you know it, the King is tugging you into his arms.
He kisses your mouth sloppily while his second tongue continues fucking you between your legs. Harder by the minute.
Sukuna grunts as he opens his mouth wiiiiide n’ slips his tongue between your jaw- “Suck on my tongue.” He’s echoing out in a hollow tone.
And you can do nothing but squeeze your glossy lips together—eagerly suckling on his tongue. You’re unsure whether it was from your lavish dinner prior or whether it’s just how hazy your brain is, but you’re finding him to taste almost…sweet.
And your eyes roll to the back of your head as you do so-
“Heh-” Sukuna manages to pant out between kisses, open-mouthed and hot. “Now both pairs of pretty lips are sucking on my tongue.”
And your jaw…drops- only for him to use the opportunity to kiss you even deeper.
Making you ride his stomach mouth whilst he kisses you stupid - his tongue probing inwards, inwards, inwards in looooong slick thrusts. Scrapin’ every orifice inside but especially bending around to hit your g-spot.
You’re sure your body jolts as you feel the sudden zaps of charged pleasure, setting your body positively alight. “I-I’m so close, master.” You pout, “I must- hah- cum.”
“Must, hm?” Sukuna mutters - almost to himself. “And am I to believe that my human deserves to cum? Am I to believe that she is ready to take both my cocks?”
Nodding fervently, “Y-yes—yes, please-”
“Am I to believe that she will have no trouble taking me down to the very womb?”
“Yes-”
Crimson eyes narrow, “I will not slow down, needy human. Am I to believe that-”
“Yes-” Just so gone on your impending high. So close.
And to your surprise, the King merely chuckles as you’re interrupting him - had this been anyone else, then they would have found themselves being made an example of. But you…you’re finding yourself jerked almost aggressively upwards as he bucks his hips, more to run the ridges of his cursed tastebuds along the interior of your walls. Harder. Faster.
You hurtle straight into your high at an incredible pace-
“If you had let your King finish…” It’s the last thing you’re hearing before the pleasure overtakes you - Sukuna’s rumbling tone. “-then perhaps you would have known my question was whether I’m to believe you shall give me an heir in my name.”
His question was going to be whether you’d give him an heir.
His question was going to be whether you’d give him an heir.
But you’re unable to articulate anything more than a few whimpers n’ grunts - because the waves of your orgasm that overtake you are enough to leave you numb. Enough to leave you babbling. Enough to leave you shaking on top of Sukuna’s toned body as he shovels his fat tongue in and out.
In and out. In and out.
The way his overlarge tongue curved was just perfect for hittin’ every spot, and you’re feeling him time out your peaks perfectly—knowing juuust when the surges of your dopamine were at their highest.
Just then, he’d slam! his flattened tastebuds onto the exact spot of your nerves. Fingers nothing but a dizzying blur between your legs as he rolls his thumb over your clit, “Gonna take my t-tongue-” Sukuna spits between honed canines, “Gonna take my cocks then- gonna take my seed.”
“Sh-shiiiiit—” You yowl, “It feels so good, Kuna-”
“That’s ‘master’ to you.” He scoffs, nose sliding down the column of your throat. Sukuna takes one more look at the way you’re swallowing him up - at the way you grind deeper to stuff his glistening muscle between your pussylips, and shivers. “Or…consider yourself lucky to be shown mercy this time, human. Say thank you.”
“Thank you, Kuna.”
“Tch-”
And with that said, it’s not long before you’re completely and utterly fucked through your orgasm by the mouth on his stomach—through every tiny shred n’ ounce of pleasure.
Once Sukuna feels your quiverin’ pussy finish, he’s pulling out of you with the most lecherous squelch! Letting your thighs drape limply around his waist for a few seconds- that’s as long as the King can manage before he’s sitting up on the futon and flipping the two of you around.
So that your back was against the mattress. So that your head was hitting the pillows.
Sukuna crawls his massive figure down the length of your body- four arms pinning back your slick-sheened legs as he pushes his head between them. He’s wasting no time before digging his larger-than-mortal nose between your sodden pussylips and giving your cunt a good liiiiiiiiick of his actual tongue - this time tasting you with his actual mouth.
“Shit—” You’re surging up from your comfortable position, sparks sizzling in your brain. “A-again, Kuna?”
“Your master never had his fill.”
And with that said, he’s lavishin’ your pussy with countless long licks and dribbles. Lips glued to your folds. Breathing through his nose. Sukuna darts his tongue out - thick, though definitely not to the extent of his stomach mouth’s - and zig-zags it across your entrance.
Easing his wet muscle inside—inside and inside. He’s scourin’ every inch of your walls as though to check every mark he’s made before. Just so tender.
The velvety inches of his tastebuds flickering in and out- five inches long, you’re realizing automatically. Far longer than a normal human’s.
And it just drives you insane.
The edges of his fangs nip either side of your entrance - Sukuna had already left you so raw with his cursed tongue prior, so now it’s only taking a few seconds before he’s getting you to spray your orgasmic juices all over his mouth once more—“K-Kuna, I’m close.”
He hums at the feeling of your trembling fingers weaving into his pink hair, “Close? Stupid brat, you’re already cumming.”
The wetness of your cunt spills down his chin.
And Sukuna’s dragging his tongue iiiiiiiiiiiin and out at a constant, sloppy pace to get you through your high. To elongate it. Curving the pointed tip of his tongue against your g-spot - he holds it there for a few seconds just to feel you shake n’ clench around him.
Before he’s breathing through his nostrils and starting to synchronize your peaks with the slashes of his tongue. “Mhmmmm—” He moans out sultry vibrations, they send shockwaves up your spine. “Yes- fuck, yes. I believe this pussy is ready for me.”
Raging through you hard and fast - he doesn’t have much time before your legs start to twitch cutely with overstimulation. Tears sheening down your face. Your jaw unfastened with the most sinful noises.
Sukuna’s prominent nose pushes up against your clit and you’re crying out—
Looking up at you with hungry, half-lidded eyes. “I believe this pussy is ready to be my queen.”
With the pins and needles of your last two orgasms still coursing through your body, it’s nothing but a blur to you as Sukuna hovers his large body over yours once more. And it’s as if one second you’re blinking up into his handsome face, and in the next—you’re finding him laid back against the mattress- and you laid back against him.
Your head rests against his collarbone. Your back was arched against his stomach mouth.
Your legs were dangling off somewhere around his lower half- until Sukuna reaches two of his powerful arms down to position you properly. First, he’s grabbing either side of your waist and aligning you with where his clothed erections were—then he’s spreading your legs wiiiiiiide open.
Finally, he’s cupping his clawed hands underneath your thighs and pulling them up, up, up, upwards—until they were stretched out almost beyond your ears. And Sukuna was just basking proudly in this rude full nelson that he’d manhandled you into.
Gruff laugh echoing by the side of your ear, “And now…” In the corner of your teary peripherals, you’re seeing his other two arms bend to your lower half. “-to check for myself whether this pussy can really follow orders…”
Your kimono was already an utter mess- and Sukuna doesn’t have to do much to have it bunched around your naked hips. Your cunt all glistening with slick n’ saliva from earlier—hissing at the heated air that’s hitting you. “Shit…I need you so badly, master.”
“Then I expect you to take every inch.” He replies ominously. Just then, his eager fingers drop to the hemline of his pants. “I expect you to take every drop-”
And he’s tugging.
Only for your jaw to fall—
Because Ryomen Sukuna wasn’t just huge - you’d already expected as much, given his height and other physical prowess. But he was just staggering.
Just like the rest of him, there was double the number of appendages as there would be on a normal human. Two achingly-hard cocks stacked on top of each other. Inches upon inches. Despite your counting challenge earlier, you’re having trouble registering the sheer lengths that he could possibly be - ten…no….twelve? Perhaps even longer. Though you’re noticing that the upper one was just the slightest bit longer than the other.
Both just as girthy.
Round and reddened. The plump, puckered tips upon their ends throbbed with carnal desire- oozing out generous helpings of milky-white precum that dribble down the front of your cunt. It mixes with the mess already made before, and leaves your thighs sticky with need.
Heavy ballsack twitching underneath his second shaft. So many veins that you lose count.
“K-Kuna—” You’re whimpering as he starts to rub the shafts of his two cocks between your swollen pussylips. Pushin’ them apart and making space for his ruthless girths instead, “Want it inside, Kuna- hck! I really crave you inside me…”
“Oh, little human…” He coos from above. Larger face craning down next to yours, “Did you really believe that I was hesitating? That I was waiting for you?”
“I suppose…”
“Here’s where you are mistaken, my puny thing.” Sukuna trundles, and you don’t have to look behind to know that his sharp fangs were making an appearance. “I am no kindred man.”
A shiver runs down your spine.
And before you can open your mouth to ask what exactly he meant—his rounded tips press against your wettened crevice. Just the sweetest dual pecks, they’re letting out harsh slurps! as he starts to slip around your needy hole. “I wasn’t waiting for your body to get ready, as you so might have believed.”
“Th-then—?” You sob.
“I was waiting…” Your body bucks down into his, your hands reach up to grab at his pinkish locks and-
And your dagger slips out.
His voice grows excited. “I was waiting-” Both of you reach for it at the same time, Sukuna with his four arms and you with your two. Your heart stutters- your hand closes around the thick, metallic hilt—“…for a distraction.”
Several things are happening at once: for one, Sukuna finally forgoes teasin’ at your readied hole to instead scour his cocks inside - fucking in with a long, hard thrust. Deeeeeeeply pressing against your cervix—it feels as though he’s splitting you sensually from the inside out, and you’ve never felt anything better.
And then you’re closing your fingers around the blade - tight - and aiming behind you to press the sharpened edge of it against his throat.
You knew you’d struck your target. Especially when you feel the dagger tremble as he chuckles- chuckles. The King of Curses has the audacity to chuckle.
When you have a weapon to his throat.
You’re unsure whether it was overconfidence or something else entirely- but his hips don’t falter for a single second as he rams his swabbin’ tips thoroughly inwards—thumping away at the back of your pussy. Your ears sizzle with the slamming impact of skin-on-skin, “And so?” He mutters to you, “For what reason do you stall? Do it.”
You grit your teeth, blade pressing against his sunkissed skin until a bead of crimson peppers out. “Do you believe that I am too cowardly to do so?”
“Forbid the thought.” Sukuna hums, “A King assassinated by his favorite concubine? How romantic. I merely implore you to hasten-”
“I shall—”
“So do it.”
“Do not regret-”
“Do it.”
In fact, he leans in even closer as though to help you.
He’s fucking you deep from the rounded orifice of your cunt, to the very depths of your womb. Pulse thundering inside - until it felt like he was taking over every single part of you—until your teeth were set on edge, and the thud-thud-thudding of his matching cocktips was all that you could think of.
Your hand trembles around the hilt.
Your lips wobble with emotion.
Your eyes lock deeply with Sukuna’s own hellishly crimson ones, and-
And the dagger falls gently onto the cotton futon.
Sukuna’s body ripples with a sensation that could’ve been anything from pleasure, to victory, to utter glee—but most of all, his tone just sounded awed.
“I knew there was something special about you, woman.”
And then you’re being crushed in Sukuna’s arms as far back as you would go - as high as your legs could reach above your head, as curvaceously as your spine could bend against his core. He’s manhandling you like nothing but a ragdoll above him—plastered to his muscular back, you’re at the mercy of his vicious thrust after thrust.
The stretch was just incredible.
The stretch was like nothing you’ve ever felt before.
Two thick, loooooooong shafts that were mazin’ between your sopping pussylips- the rounded edges of their cockheads manage to swerve your tight walls apart. Jostling against one another. Throbbing in synchronization inside you - ba-dump! Ba-dump! Ba-dump! Scraping his thumping veins inside and reaching aaaall across every nook, orifice, and cranny. Just so big.
Sukuna himself grunts out in pleasure as his cocks manage to press through the slight resistance you still maintained - his cursed tongue had stretched you out incredibly, and he’s groaning out in pleasure as his cocks manage to slide against one another and then against you- “And now- hah, and now I believe you remember what you promised me?”
“Promised?” Your lashes flutter open, “I-I’m afraid…”
“You promised me an heir.”
Your maw droops open. Your heart starts to race.
Your cunt’s drooling out your arousal at the prospect faster than you could register it- and Sukuna feels the sploshin’ leaks around his thickened bases. His grin stretches as he takes in your unspoken reaction, and before you know it—both sliding cocks are knocking at the door to your very womb-
“And I’m not Ryomen Sukuna if I don’t fuck one into you tonight, brat.”
Rough thrusts. Crushing you in his big, beefy arms.
Closer and closer. Tighter and tighter.
If you thought that you’d been treated like a ragdoll earlier- then you’d been lucky. Because now you’re pressed between his bulging biceps and his pecs, sweat covering both your bodies in a thin sheen as your movements grow more and more fervent—“Fuck a- hah, fuck my heir into you.” Sukuna was barely speaking by now - short, rasping bursts. “Fuck you so big and fuuuuuuuull.”
Running two hands down your front—“Master, I have doubts that it gets much more full than this.”
And he lets out what almost sounds like a guffaw, “It can.”
“Wh-what do you mean- oh.”
And all this time, you’d been damn thankful that Sukuna had chosen to stretch you out on his oversized tongue first—how else would you have fit him so easily? Softenin’ up the snug exterior of your channel. Mapping out your sweetest spots.
Because it just made it even easier to slip inside—it just made it sooooo much more convenient for his dual tips to probe open your wet cunt. Inching and easing.
But then you’re starting to feel a third intrusion.
Then you’re starting to feel his needy tongue once more.
You’re gasping-
The slightest, smallest ticklish sensation of…none other than his cursed mouth dragging down the inner sorts of your thighs. Just teasing. Just the roughened ridges of his tastebuds, long enough that he can snake them down and flatten them over that soft skin beside your cunt.
And in a matter of mere moments, Sukuna’s rugged hands settle deeper against your skin. Tight. Tough. He’s double-checking to make sure that your restless hips couldn’t skin away- before reeling his hips back and penetrating you in longer, harder ruts—each rude slammin’ of his cocks accompanied by the soothing laps of his cursed tongue.
“Y-yet again—?” You’re blabbering out stupidly. Tears falling in big, bulbous beads down either of your cheeks and ending up smeared, “Kuna-”
“Mhmmmm.” He hums out - and you could almost hear the smugness in it. The way his piercing canines make an appearance as he says, “It’s for your own good, brat.” One of his hands lifts off of your sweat-covered body - folded like a lawnchair - and Sukuna runs it down your middle.
He stops right above where both his swabbin’ cocks and his tongue had started to form a tiny bulge at your stomach—“S-sensitive-”
“Exactly.” He sounds so content with himself. So damn content.
Those handsome lips - both pairs of them - quirk further upwards as he’s massaging the front of your stomach—particularly over that one spot where you’re stuffed till you’re bloated. Pressing down-down-dooooown- “And how shall this puny human body handle carrying my heir, hm?” He growls as he accelerates his ruts, “How?”
Mouth sobbing open in answer.
You're gripping onto either side of his muscular body and swervin’ your hips in response- unsure whether you wanted to rut back down for more or just…
“Running away?” Sukuna's dangerous trundle sounds from behind you, and the clasp he has on your shuddering body only grows stronger. Before you know it, you’re being manhandled like nothing but his favorite toy and shoved right back onto his twin erections-
He continues, “If you can’t handle two of my cocks—” They’re emptying out at the bottom of your pussy with two distinct thuds! The top one first, and then the squeezin’ of the latter. “If you can’t even handle my tongue…the babies of my lineage tend to be large.”
Palm pressing down on your stomach.
“Does this pretty womb have enough space?”
And there’s nothing more for you to do but throw your head backwards and buck up into his awaiting arms. He’s only seeming to crush you even deeper against his toned body, “It does-”
“What was that?” One pink brow raises.
“I s-said it does—it does.” You’re blabbering away, thighs attempting to wrangle downwards so that you can steady yourself. But the only thing that’s succeeding in doing is making Sukuna tighten his restraint on you maddeningly - “I can fit even more of you- hngh, I can fit your…”
He grins- and this time it’s his second mouth that hisses demandingly at you. “Say it.”
“Heir in here…” And if this was any other time - if you’d been in any clearer of a state of mind - you wouldn’t have said such embarrassing words in your lifetime. And yet, here you were—bouncin’ down welcomingly into Sukuna’s largely gaped maw. “I want it, Kuna.”
“Heh?” He grins, “Then brace yourself.”
And it’s the only warning you’re getting - honestly, you’re surprised to realize that he’d given you any at all.
Because in the next few seconds- his cursed mouth goes from lappin’ away at the sweet, sweet juices coating the edges of your cunt—to slithering between those puffy pussylips of yours and attempting to devour your pussy whole again.
Two arms laced behind your clammy scalp. Two more arms reaching down to toy with your overstimulated pussy.
“O-oh gods-” Hiccuping through your tears as you start to feel the pleasurable burn of your pussylips stretchin’ once more.
Wider and wider.
Deeper and deeper.
In, in, and in—
Sukuna's second mouth tenderly whips apart your wet walls—with the most lecherous squeeeelch! he's then attempting to stroke his tongue inwards between the thrusts of his dual cocks. Sharp, stabbing thrusts. Just to fit inside.
Three- three of his sinful appendages attempting to stuff you all full - you're losing your mind already with his throbbing cocks, but now Sukuna's tongue was a different sort of texture altogether that was just leaving you on the verge of-
“You can cum.” The King sputters out against your temple, lips moving what seems like a mile a minute. “But you have to remember to reward me with a strong heir after, hm?” Tap-tapping at the tummy bulge he was fucking into you, “Hafta give me one with my powers. Hafta give me one that- hngh, I can train into the strongest. Hafta give me one with- haaaah…” He breathes out laboriously, “-that smile.”
Your eyes shoot open as you’re registering exactly what he’s uttered, “Kuna…fuck, it feels so good.”
“Please…” And it might just be the first time that you’ve witnessed the infamous Ryomen Sukuna utter a word of plea since you’ve met him. That chiselled cheek of his nuzzles down the side of your temple, “-call me your husband.”
Oh.
Oh.
You’re barely even given enough time to let the entire ordeal sink of having him inside you sink in- before the wooden panels beneath the futon creeeeeeak—! And Sukuna’s arching his hips fully off of the dampened mattress, entering his entire greedy lengths into your pussy.
Again and again.
Reeling back until it was only the plump, glossy tips kissin’ at your entrance - before drag-drag-dragging his pulsating length inwards. In-between he just barely manages to squeeze his textured tongue inside.
Repeating once. Twice. Thrice. So many times that you’ve lost count, and you’re barely in control of your own ministrations as a third hand stuffs between your pussylips and squeezes your neglected clit.
And then your overstimulation’s hitting you all at once. All at once.
And Sukuna realizes it before you do- when you’re shivering primally on top of him and cumming once more. Around his cocks. Around his mouth. It’s such a white-hot pleasure that bursts stars behind your eyelids, creating heat at the tips of your toes and then sending it searing through every vessel within you- your body shakes in his hold as the dopamine courses right through you.
His lips crack into a chuckle, and he’s cooing softly down at you as he ruts his hips even harder—fucking you through every peak. “Theeeeeere, there…” Something almost sweet- though you know better than to expect sweet from Ryomen Sukuna. “My poor human couldn’t handle it?”
“I-I can…” You’re arguing back- even though your answer sounds like nothing but a jumbled mess of syllables. The sheer force of the high that wracks through you is enough to make your head spin, thighs shake—fucked up, up, and up by his never-ending hips.
And he can only smile, “Is that so…? Then perhaps my fierce concubine won’t mind if I just—speed up a little bit.”
Even more?
Your mouth drops as you’re perhaps getting ready to beg for mercy- before even the choked-up syllables at your throat start getting fucked back down by his roverin’ tips.
Rubbing their flared ridges across every spot of your insides, dribblin’ out gooey precum into the smallest nooks and crannies. You’re feeling the sultry slickness of it puddling up deep inside you, and it’s almost enough to send you raging right into another high-
“K-Kuna—!” Your voice cracks.
“I know, heh.” He snickers, deep and hoarse. “I can feel this pussy begging even more f’me.” A few more vicious strokes and you’re feeling another faint arc of pleasure that you’re sure must be your nth high of the night.
Hard and fast.
Hitting through every one of your bundled nerves- but especially that g-spot he’d bruised by now. Two large circular marks in the exact shape and circumference of his bludgeoning tips - they were slapping at two separate times—one after the other. Ba-dump! Ba-dump!
Except…this time, Sukuna’s own thickened cocks twitch inside of you as you’re clenchin’ through your high-
“And don’t you worry, brat…” He growls from behind, “This time, your husband’s not too far behind—”
Your eyes flutter open in pure shock- and one of his hands reaches down to tilt your chin to look at him. “Shit-”
“Say it f’me.” Sukuna rasps, “Say it- call me your husband while I cum inside.”
And who were you to deny an order from the King himself?
The words are barely escaping your lips—“C-cum inside me, husband…”
Before the strongest sorcerer in history throws his head back and jerks his hips upwards- letting the pouring wads of his cum plug your pussy up twofold. What’s better than one of his cocks seeping deeply at your innards? Two of them…There are so many gooey wads of it trickling all deeeeep inside- splashin’ against the spongy layer of your cervix. Swashing down your tight channel.
You’re shuddering as you feel the delicious sensation of him sprayin’ inside you - a sheer volume that ends up frothin’ in-between your legs. A circle of white forms around both of Sukuna’s thick bases. “There we go-” He snarls. “There- there, we go…”
“Shit—it feels so, ngh…” You don’t even have the words. Your body quakes as his ridged tastebuds start tickling the outer parts of your pussy. Long, luscious licks - it’s enough to make you cum again.
“And this baby shall become my heir.” Sukuna whispers - mostly to himself than anything. He runs a hand down the sweat front of your body, left ever-so-slightly more inflated with his constantly-pumping cum. “This baby shall be taught to become the strongest. This baby shall be- hah, feared amongst the nation’s lands and beyond…” His fanged smile grows, “Known by my name, I shall teach this baby to protect its mother with their life.”
The fatness of his tongue dips between your swollen pussylips- lapping again and again. He’s torn between drinkin’ up and pushing back the pearly white beads of cum that kept on leaking from you.
And you’re merely draped limply over his front. Crushed to his powerful body.
“And this baby’s gonna become the most precious thing in this- hah, estate…” You feel him press a kiss to your temple, “-alongside you, of course, Your Majesty.”
“Majesty…?”
“The Queen of Curses.”
For who could’ve tamed the infamous Ryomen Sukuna?
In no time, he’s finally fucked himself into your pussy through his high- and it’s a tangled mess of limbs and moans as Sukuna attempts to pull out. Before realizing that his cocks were probed in too deeply, before realizing that that would mean letting his pool of cum spread out of your cunt.
Losing all his hard work.
And so he sniffs haughtily, reaching one pair of his hands up into the air and clicking-
In a split-second, you’re finding your back against the pillows. As if in a dream, you’re blinking up to stare into Sukuna’s handsome face—two hands braced upon either side of your head, both cocks still shovelled deeply inside of you. Throbbing. Did he just…did he just use his powers to change-
“Yes.” He answers your unspoken question- of perhaps it had been spoken, you’re too drunk on his cocks to realize whether or not you’d blabbered it out loud. “I call it…teleporting.”
“Th-that should be outlawed-” You’re gasping. The air around you felt tightened with what you assumed must be his cursed energy - you’d heard the stories about them. Who didn’t?
And he merely hums, “I am the law, woman.”
Without another word, one of his four hands snake between your legs- his cursed second mouth had finished up lappin’ at the coat of cum around your thighs. And he licks his lips and belches almost gluttonously once Sukuna reaches down to cup your pussy and—
“O-oh.” Something buzzes between your overstimulated legs.
Almost as soon as it’d started, it’s over- and Sukuna pulls his hand away—and then his rugged cocks. Letting out the most lecherous sluuuuurp! as he’s reeling his hips away, rounded tips funnel out from between your pussylips and leaving such a-
Wait…your eyes widen. There was no mess - whatever technique that Sukuna had collected between your legs stopped his cum from leaking out.
And the King of Curses wastes no time waiting for your surprise to register- not before letting out a deep snicker. He straightens his bulky body n’ edges himself closer—and before you know it, you’re suddenly finding your head straddled by Sukuna’s meaty thighs.
His dual, furiously-hot erections slapping their shafts down onto your readied face.
Both fanged mouths grin, “Now…open, human.”
And you just knew he was about to make you take both.
toji’s thick arms were always the safest place in the whole world, especially on nights like this when the rain pattered soft against the windows and your little apartment smelled like the takeout he’d brought home just for you.
except now the food was long gone and his thick, calloused fingers were knuckle-deep in your fluttering cunt, carving you open with that lazy, practiced curl that always made your toes curl up in your socks.
you’d already cum three times for him— once on his tongue, twice on those beefy digits—but the he wasn’t done playing with his favorite toy. not even close. his free hand pinned your squirmy hips down to the sheets, soaked mostly with sweat, keeping you right where he wanted you while his thumb circled your swollen clit like he owned it.
which, as far as he was concerned, he did.
“open your eyes, baby,” he rumbled low, voice all gravel and smoke, lips curled in that smug smirk that made your tummy flutter as he leaned down to kiss sloppily all around your heat. “made ya cum three times already and you’re still clenching around my fingers like you need more. pretty girl wants it real bad tonight, huh?”
you whimpered, all soft and broken, thighs twitching helplessly around his thick wrist. your thin nightgown was bunched up around your waist, tits spilling out the top where he tugged the straps down, nipples pebbled and shiny from where he’d sucked them raw earlier.
his frame loomed over you when he sat up—broad shoulders flexing and muscles rippling and glistening with a light sheen of sweat, that black hair falling messy over his sharp green eyes.
“p-please, toji,” you hiccuped, voice all high and shaky, hips trying to chase the pressure building deeeep in your belly.
your puffy lips glistened, slick dripping down to your ass and puddling beneath you, but he just kept pumping, scissoring, rubbing that spongy spot inside you over and over until your eyes rolled back.
“i— ‘s too much i-i can’t—”
“shhh, easy, dollface,” he cooed, deceptively sweet, but his fingers never slowed.
he leaned down, hot breath fanning over your clit as he spat right onto it, rubbing it in with his thumb. “you’re gonna gush for me like a good girl, yeah? uh huh, just like we’ve been practicing all this time. make a mess of these sheets so i can lick it up after.”
your back arched clean off the bed when he added a third finger, stretching you until you cried out again. the wet, obscene squelch of your messy hole filled the room, syncing with the creak of the bedframe under his weight as he shifted to sit back on his heels.
his free hand slid up your tummy, pressing down firmly right below your belly button, and oh god— that pressure, squeezing the orgasm right out of you.
“a-ah, it’s.. ’m gonna—” your voice cracked into a squeak, that deep, bladder-tight ache making it difficult to stay still. your thighs spasmed, little tremors racing up your spine and making you jolt.
“that’s it, babygirl. let it happen. squirt for this old man like the pretty little fountain you are,” he bit back a groan, fingers curling harder, faster, thumb flicking your clit in tight, mean circles, eyes locked onto where his hand was working eagerly.
“c’mon, baby, soak me. i know you can, just give it to me.”
you tried to hold it, wanting to prolong the feeling of being on the edge, but toji knew your body better than you did. he pressed down on your tummy again, leaned in to suck your clit between his lips with a wet pop, teeth grazing, and that was all it took.
your whole body seized up, vision whiting out as the orgasm ripped out of you.
you squirted hard, hot, clear liquid gushing out around his fingers in pulsing spurts. it sprayed across his forearm and jaw as he pulled his face away to watch, soaked the sheets in a big shiny puddle, somehow even splashed up onto his scarred chest.
the sound was so lewd, wet and messy, your pussy fluttering and gushing endlessly like it was trying to push his hand out and pull it back in all at once.
“fuuuuck yeah, there she is,” toji groaned, not stopping, just slowing his fingers to milk every last drop from you.
“look at my messy baby makin’ such a big, pretty puddle. good girl, such a good fuckin’ girl—keep squirting, doll, ‘m not done yet.”
you were crying by now, soft little sobs mixing with moans as the aftershocks rolled through you, each one forcing another weak spurt of slick from your overworked cunt. your legs were jelly, spread wide and trembling, and it wasn’t until your hips started pulling away from overstimulation that toji finally eased his fingers out with a wet pop, bringing them to his mouth to lick them clean like he was tasting the sweetest candy.
“mmh. taste like candy, baby,” he murmured, eyes half-lidded with pure satisfaction.
he crawled up your body, that massive, beefy frame caging you in, breathing you in.
“three orgasms, one big squirt.. and you’re still looking at me with those big, sad eyes? you want more, don’tcha?”
he kissed your forehead, deceptively gentle, then nipped at your bottom lip with a grin.
“don’t worry, baby. i’m just getting started. think you could do it again? wanna feel her squirt around my cock.”
CHAPTER 1: CRAVINGS
PREMISE: In a world full of pseudo fruits that could allow people to turn into pseudo omegas, Marco craves for a genuine one. It's not every day that the First Division Commander stakes distinct claim on anything, but when he yearns for something, it's all his.
AO3: Birdy's Pick on AO3
CW: DUBCON, kidnapping, coercion, A/B/O dynamics, intimacy, vaginal sex, forced orgasms, praise kink, knotting, 18+ mdni
NOTE: I figured it out ›¦)
Chains rub together in a loud symphony of metal. They hit each other and click as its captives move at a consistent pace.
“Move it along!”
Though not at a good pace it seems.
The one in front of you yelped as her cuffs were pulled roughly, sending her crashing onto the floor. You managed to control the sudden jolt of the connected chains and barely remained on your feet. Her body shook at the impact, one so harsh there was the high chance she was going to gain a new bruise, but no protest nor complaint left her shut mouth as she stood right back onto her weak legs. Had she remained on the floor a second longer a new bruise wasn't all that she was going to get.
The man who had pulled at the cuffs sneered, refraining from inflicting any further punishment. “We're in a rush, damn tramps!” He shouted, loud enough that a couple of the people behind you had begun to cry in emotional distress. You were no better. After all, it was all hopeless.
After your capture and kidnapping three weeks ago, you had been subjected to cruelty you've never imagined before.
The warmth of the homemade meals you had no longer filled your stomach and you could only yearn when your eyes are closed. Now, your stomach churned at the mere thought of feeding time. Swallowing anything they gave you was more punishment than reward. Your tastebuds were dulling and you swore everything began to taste like the exact same thing.
The clothes you had worn have become dirtied and damaged, not having been replaced at all for all of those three weeks. Three weeks of neglect had twisted them beyond recognition, soaked through with sweat and the occasional spatter of blood, not all of it your own. You didn’t know whose. You didn’t want to know.
You had never seen the face of war or faced the dark side of life, never experienced real struggle outside the occasional illness or financial struggle. You had never fought anyone, never raised a fist in anger because you never had to, and yet now your body was marred with cuts and bruises from top to bottom.
You missed your siblings. You missed home terribly. You missed the petty little arguments and jabs. You missed agonizing over burnt pastries and failed recipes because feeling upset over them meant that you could do it again and feel joy in accomplishing something. And yet, every waking moment of your life in this hell felt like you were being mocked because one way or another, the end result was going to be the same.
You were going to be owned by someone. Your choices are no longer your own.
You lived in relative peace; isolated. It wasn’t a daily occurrence for you to be in the presence of other people long enough to acclimate to their second labels. Had you never stepped into the market that morning, none of this would’ve happened. You replayed that day again and again, wishing to find some fork in the road you could've avoided. You agonized over the details, the possibilities, the choices made for a simple supply run that day.
But you just couldn’t have known. None of your siblings stopped you because it was a normal day, you didn’t hesitate to leave because you were excited to try a new pastry, you lingered in town because you wanted to see what new dairy stock came from the merchant ships. You just couldn’t have done that day any different.
Alphas, betas, omegas, it had all just been labels to you, never something that meant much in your daily life. And yet, when that pair of kidnappers had grabbed you and drugged you, the first thing you had smelled aside from the chloroform was their pungent scents. They were no alphas, definitely betas.
The transition from no exposure to heavy scents to becoming absolutely covered in an amalgamation of random ones caused your body to create many unnatural reactions. It had frightened you, confused you; your body reacting in unfamiliar responses was an unwelcomed change; sudden flushes of heat, tremors, unexplained nausea. You had no anchor. No control. Each reaction terrified you because you didn’t know what your body was doing.
This experience was further worsened when you had been poked and prodded; assessed like livestock by the people who wanted to sell you. The elastic surface of their invasive hands lingered in your skin like disgusting bugs. They had paid particular attention to the space between your legs, your scent gland, your breasts, and your face.
“A real omega! It’s too bad we’re not allowed to smell her!” Their victorious laughter haunts you. "We're gonna be rich! How much will a Celestial Dragon buy her for!?"
Back in your hometown, there were many betas and only a handful of alphas. And even then they were an overwhelming presence. This percentage was true for all of the corners of the seas.
Omegas? Omegas were rare. They were a precious commodity.
Which was why there was a massive underground black market for them. In fact, there were two types of omega trafficking. The harder and much more precious type was the trafficking of real omegas and underground auctioning.
And the other was the production of pseudo devil fruit that could replicate omega qualities. Which would often than not be forcefully fed to unwilling victims. The side effects were tremendously frightening, with only a 5% chance the fruit would work as intended. And even then, it couldn't ever hope to replicate the true essence of an omega. Those who failed to gain those qualities would be subjected to any if not all: increased sensitivity, destroyed sense of coordination, uncontrollable emotions, uncontrollable mood swings, physical alterations of the endocrine and reproductive system, and many more.
The worst it could be would be the accumulation of them all, essentially overloading their bodies until they burn out completely: comatosing them. You had overheard enough to know that someone named Joker was behind these pseudo devil fruits.
“Oi! Be careful with the merchandise. These ones are top-grade!” Another one of the slave trader workers gets in the face of the first one before eventually descending into a petty screaming fight full of hands. The label shakes you violently to your core. Top-grade, they have been calling you that since they've taken you. The other four people who were bound together with you were also labeled as ‘top-grade’.
Word had traveled quickly after silence for two weeks, two weeks of nothing but eating and sleeping, news had spread amongst the rest of the slaves that the organization finally made a move and were arranging an underground auction in the New World. It was reminiscent of the walk criminals took when they're sentenced to the guillotine, the possibility of other people owning any one of you was basically a death sentence.
The seawater harshly hits against the hull of the pirate ship disguised as a simple sailor ship. It was a restless night even for the sea and the weather in the dark distant horizon held no well-meaning prospects for any sort of sailing currently. The slave traders seemed to be in a rush to set sail despite the fact.
A large hulking man is quick to hold onto the lead of the chain, the iron bite of the collar tugged you forward, forcing your body to stumble down the creaking, slick stairs of the ship’s deck. He barked something out, a mix of sentences that sound mumbled in your ears.
The lower deck hit you like a physical force. The air was rank; stagnant sweat, moldy wood, saltwater, and worse. Only a handful of weak lanterns glowed in the darkness, painting the space in a dim light that cast grotesque shadows across the walls. The space was only occupied by the muffled whimpering and crying echo throughout the space, the rows of sea-prism cages lined up against the ship's wall.
Groups of ten people were each crammed into each of the cells as you passed by. Gruesomely, there were many young faces and even more faces who were clearly feeling the bad effects of the pseudo omega fruits: fatigue, discomfort, disgust, fear. You could only force yourself to look away before the disgusting meal they had served you at dinner resurfaced back up.
The only empty cell left is pried open and locked once more after the five of you filter in.
As the footsteps of the large trader finally bound back upstairs, many of the muffled crying had finally unwound into sobbing.
A few stray hot tears roll down the skin of your cheeks, but you stubbornly bite down on your bottom lip to refrain from allowing your cries to leave your throat. The reality of your future prospects have finally settled in your gut. You had been hoping, praying, that the navy, or anyone really, would have seen this ‘loading of cargo’ and rescue you all. It was a fleeting thing, but it had at least given you a reason to keep going.
And yet here you are in a cage bound for Sabaody.
You were afraid. So afraid.
Your body violently flinched when the man behind you falls slightly forward and grazes the skin of your arm. A gasp had left you just then, but it quickly died in your throat as you regard your companion on the floor. “P-Pau?” His name leaves your mouth pathetically. With hands hovering just beyond the possibility of touching his face, you wordlessly ask him to lift his face up to you. But he couldn’t. Droplets of tears began to drop onto the palm of your hands.
“Pau has the worst reaction to the fruit amongst us five,” Helen breathes out an observation. “T-The others in the other cells must be even worse..” No one speaks a word. The cries of the others confirm that statement.
You’ve had these pitiful conversations for more than a week, what needed to be discussed has already been done so, repeating them now at this particular moment was just salt in a deep infected wound.
Your jaw tightens at the mention of the fruit. Helen had just counted you as one of them and it imbued a deep sense of guilt inside you.
You couldn’t bear to tell them that you hadn’t been given the fruit.
Even in this hell you all came together and formed a sense of companionship. You’ve grown to care for them just as they did with you. You told them about where you came from and they did too. Their origins had surprised you because not everyone was from the East, some of them were far in the other side of the world. Which only suggested that this whole organization was far-reaching and old if they managed to operate so casually.
You refrain from physically touching Pau but even without words, you were able to ascertain that he welcomed your contact. With your back against the damp ship wall, you guide him by his shoulders and settle his head on your chest. Carefully you slot his small figure in between your bound arms and wrap them around his shoulders to cradle him gently. He grunts and cries as you do so and he only responds by moving his own bound hands to the side where it doesn’t hit your waist.
Deep and calm vibrations rumble out from your chest, and Pau tenses for only a second before completely melting into your steady purring. You could feel your top half of clothing dampening from his tears. The traffickers may have suppressed your glands and urges but they couldn’t possibly snuff out your ability to comfort others. Purring was such a method, your siblings used to do it all the time for you. Unfortunately, it wasn’t an inherent skill for anyone other than alphas and omegas. Even more not so for betas or alphas who were forced to become omegas.
The others had finally settled on the floor much like you and Pau had and joined the little pile you had made to listen to your purring. Eventually, you were draped over by the rest of them like a huge blanket and they held onto you as if you were a dying light in the middle of the void.
After the adrenaline from the move had finally subsided, the numb pain from the medicinal shots to your antecubital fossa begin to pulsate and twist, clawing up your arms and towards your hands. Even in the darkness of the room, you could see your hands tremble in pain.
You stare up at the dimly lit ceiling, your vision forcefully shifting the dark brown to what you remembered your hometown’s skies to be. Soft, cirrocumulus would float high up in the sky, extremely beyond your reach. The smell of the stale air shifts into the fresh breeze the sea blew in, salty and refreshing either way. You then began to stroke someone’s hair nearby your hands, attempting to imitate the warmth of your siblings’ embrace.
The ship jumps to a shuddering start. It seems like they finally have everything to disembark.
The crying from the other prisoners had not ceased, only slightly drowned out by the thrashing of the sea’s waves. Your eyelids have become further weighed by your emotions and your fatigue. The warmth of the little cuddle pile was beginning to take you to the lull of sleep as well. But you persistently kept them open, you needed to keep comforting them until they all fell asleep.
It doesn’t take long before exhaustion takes you.
…
“Man, this is so scary.”
Thatch whispered with a heavy grimace on his face as another man is flung up to the height of the mainmast before falling hard on the hardwood deck, no longer moving. From death or from unconsciousness? No one was stepping up to check at the moment.
Ace couldn’t help but slowly allow his head to bob up and down in agreement, hissing as another man was thrown easily to the side with one arm, screaming all the while falling into the endless ocean. Filled with flesh-eating ocean life. Twice the size of the Moby Dick. Not to mention, it’s getting dark. So help from another ship would be highly unlikely.
“Hush you two,” Izou hissed from his spot in front of them, face impassive despite the gruesome scene in front of them. This sort of scene might not have been the worst the crew has seen per se, but it was an alarming one. Considering the fact that the only solution to this problem was miles away from their current position, if it even existed at all. “If he hears you, it’ll only worsen his mood.”
The ‘He’ they were referring to would be their very own First division commander, Marco, who was going through a line of people on their knees with an expression that was deceptively casual. The Whitebeard crew had just finished raiding a smaller pirate ship that had happened to be at the wrong place in the ocean, at the wrong time, and the wrong company. And right now, Marco the phoenix was picking through them like food, dismissing the ones who didn’t fit his liking.
Izou continued, “And if that happens, we won’t ever see the end of it. If he gets into his rutt without the proper mates he’ll come out of it even worse.”
Ace whistled low, still thinking back to the revelation he’s been told a few days before after witnessing the older man’s increasing levels of broodiness. “Marco’s stamina really is insane, I can’t believe he needs at least two people for his rutts. I mean, I’ve never heard of something like that before.” When he asked Thatch about it, he didn’t expect it to be connected to Marco’s rutt . He even entertained the idea that Marco was dying! Ace hasn’t gone through a violent rutt so he wouldn’t know.
"Well, expand your world view, kid. It’s pretty narrow and the sea’s wide.” The jab from Thatch has Ace immediately turning his head around with an indignant glare, one that the older man doesn’t humor. “But I get what you mean. I think the worst one was when Marco needed five people to satiate his rut. The only good part about it is that he always manages to get them to be willing by the time they start, which is probably more a testament to how charming Marco is than anything.”
Ace snorted at the word ‘charming’ as he leaned back on his elbows. It rolled around in his head for a second. He couldn’t really believe that when nothing about Marco is anything close to charming when he’s in a bad mood. He’s always got that scary ticked look that was made even worse by his physique that was as every bit as imposing as it was impressive. Scary, maybe. Terrifying, absolutely. Dangerous would’ve been even more fitting.
But if he thought about it—really thought about it—maybe attractive is more appropriate? A dominating alpha who knew his way in bed with strength and stamina to prove it would probably get anyone’s panty in a twist. It didn’t help that Marco was one of the best lovers on the ship, or so he’s been told by certain people.
Yeah, Ace nodded along, he could understand.
Another woman is flung to the side as Marco nears the end of the line. Ace compartmentalised those thoughts away for a moment as he whispered, “But this is just sad. How picky is he?”
Thatch shook his head with a sigh. “He isn’t. Marco doesn’t go through rutts often at all. I’d go as far to say that they’re pretty rare. As long as his partners got an agreeable personality, Marco is fine with ‘em.”
Ace could feel his facial features twist down in confusion. “Then why can’t we just ask some of the nurses? Pretty sure some of them would jump at the opportunity. I vaguely remember them having the hots for the first division comman—” Thatch knocked Ace over the head without restraint, creating a noise that vaguely sounds like Ace had nothing going up there. The younger man barely managed to bite down on his tongue before he could release a yelp that would have definitely interrupted Marco.
He turned to Thatch with an even fiercer glare, mouth opened up with a nasty snarl, and held up a fist that sparked to life in a very clear display to threaten. Thatch met the glare head-on with only a single eyebrow ticked down to show annoyance. “ Because that’s a rule Pops made years ago, probably before you were even born. No one touches the nurses unless it’s to pursue them in commitment, not some rut satiation.”
Ace blinked, momentarily thrown by the seriousness in Thatch’s voice. It wasn’t often the usually easygoing fourth division commander upped the seriousness of his tone.
“They’re betas, Ace,” Thatch continued, more steadily now. “Every single one of the nurses. That wasn’t an accident. Pops made sure of it.”
“…So?” Ace said slowly, still clearly not understanding.
“So,” Thatch snapped, “They don't feel the biological obligation to sate or fight alphas, which this crew has plenty of. They’re to be treated with a little more respect.”
Ace hummed in response, taking it in despite the simmering anger still in his system.
“Besides,” Thatch continued, his eyes still trained on the expanse of Marco’s back. ”With how things are turning out, it’s not guaranteed that Marco’s gonna like any of our nurses. He’s looking for something.”
One of the guests suddenly bolted from her position, barrelling through the deck with force that could have only been possible from adrenaline. She even had enough energy to push through some of their crewmates who had gathered as a crowd, built like bricks as they were. Marco wasn’t so bothered by her taking off, probably because he wasn’t interested in taking her either. But a single clean shot from Izou’s flintlock was enough to subdue the small ordeal. When did he draw that out?
As Izou tucked his flintlock back into the collar fold of his every day kimono, he didn’t need to signal anyone to have them already move the body off before the deck was stained with any more matter. The remainder of the opposing pirate crew didn’t attempt the same thing after, the only thing it managed to do was plummet the remaining morale and hope they had.
Ace began mumbling some of his own observations. “I guess this is just one of the prices to being an Apex alpha. Is that why they’re really only suited for omegas? Has he tried an omega partner before?”
Thatch was the one to answer again, his posture changing from stiff to more relaxed as he draped both of his arms over his legs. “If he did, I doubt he’dve let them go. When was the last time you’ve ever heard of an unclaimed omega?”
Ace actually tries to think back on it. Hearing of a real omega, period, might as well be as rare as the one piece. He doubted there was a single one back in East Blue. “.. Guess not.” He concluded, but then his thoughts drifted over to the the other sort of omega, the devil fruit-made sort. It wasn’t too much of a taboo topic, but not everyone agreed with allowing pseudo omegas to exist. More often than not the people who become one didn’t want to be one in the first place.
“What about, y’know, the pseudo omegas?” He asked, even though he already had an inkling of what he would say.
“To put it lightly,” Izou bluntly intercepted, “He said they smelled rank and their biologic senses were all over the place, he said they felt unnatural.”
“Wow.” The freckled young man breathed in disbelief. “And that’s putting it lightly?”
“Indeed.”
Marco stood over the last member of the pirate ship they had completely plundered. The blonde man was cowering on his knees, hands bound behind his back, and his forehead now pressed firmly against the floor of the ship as silent sobs escaped him. It was a sad display of fear and cowardice from an alpha, now stripped of all pretense, but even an alpha could see how unmatched he was in comparison, most especially now that his crew was gone.
He doesn’t believe he had any words to exchange with him. He didn’t even have the energy to ask him or his crewmates any other crucial questions. He flicked a single wrist in motion, and in a second he’d be joining the rest of his ship.
Marco recognized that he was being cruel and unnecessarily violent. There was no reason to be so hard on such a weak pirate crew, but a deep irritation that settled deep in the back of his head that was hard to scratch. It was making him think irrationally, move irrationally. The only way to scratch it was to find an appropriate partner with a pleasant smell. That’s how it always was during his rutts.
So why was he acting out right now? He didn’t know, and that was worse than any answer. Mostly because most of his decisions and actions were being driven by instinct. His very tightly-wound up instincts.
Nothing and nobody was satisfying his criteria, and he’s been so patient with himself and with the other people leading up to this point. The Whitebeard pirates had already gone through an entire island. From the brothels to the civilians, hell, Marco was desperate enough to sniff through the marines, to no avail. And now he’s just agitated by everything; the work, the lack of partners, his own body was working against him. Everything was pissing him off.
And currently, this single alpha by his feet was less than appealing. He hasn’t even crouched and yet he could already smell the hint of whiskey tinged with fear and despondence from his overrun scent glands. It immediately made his stomach churn.
He’s beginning to believe that sedating himself before the rutt happens might be the best solution.
“Marco,” Whitebeard’s grounding voice called out, knocking him out from another tizzy over a new course of action. The commander stopped mid-step before he could truly begin walking away, his spine all-too straight to be recognized as his usual relaxed posture. Despite the prickling from the deep agitation inside himself, Marco kept it together. He released a silent breath through his nose, and turned his body around to give his captain the respect he deserved.
His hands slid into the pockets of his pants just so that it wouldn’t do anything without his knowing, his shoulders dropping into a lazy posture that didn't quite match his mood. “Yeah, Pops?”
The large man had been sitting on his spot during the entirety of the scene. Although there wasn’t judgement in his gaze, what was left was concern, arguably even worse for his current mood. He felt terrible for stressing the old man. “You can’t keep doing this forever. You’re burning yourself and your crew.” It was even worse when he’s being blunt about it.
He doesn’t let the comment phase him, he’s sure the crew can handle a little temper tantrum from him every now and then. But again, he understood he couldn’t extend this tantrum on forever. “I understand, yoi.” He does, he really does, but that doesn’t mean anything when the one making decisions wasn’t logic but instinct. “If I can’t figure it out on the next ship or island, I’ll probably sedate myself to get through it.”
The grimace on Whitebeard’s face showed how disapproving he was of the idea. Considering how their captain was an Apex alpha himself, he understood better than anyone how those instincts were probably killing Marco, theoretically of course, and the idea of having to sedate someone through a strong rutt sounded like a nightmare.
It wouldn’t be one shot, no. It’d have to take multiple shots of sedatives to get someone through an entire rutt. Even worse, they’d have to barricade him in his own room and continually send food to him in a safe way.
But what could Whitebeard say to that? No? It was already the best solution they have save for picking some people from the crew to help their division commander. Or well, it would be if only Marco himself wasn’t being selective with his options.
So instead, Whitebeard sighed. “The next ship it is then, boy. We can’t drift from our course because we’re already three days behind our schedule, understand?” And again, Marco obediently nodded his head, all the while sighing into himself over the possibilities of the options presented to himself, which wasn’t a lot.
The delay had been his fault. The schedule was set back because of his searching from the previous island trip, where he took time going through all the residents for a partner. It was probably proper that he suffered the consequences of his own obsessive searching.
That was a disaster.
“FISHING SHIP TO THE EAST!”
Marco felt the anger he had forcefully stamped down with his previous show of violence swell back up with tremendous power. It was sort of dizzying because of how sudden the shift was. All he could think about, however, was the fact that out of any sort of ship that could have appeared in the middle of the great grand oceans, in this specific stretch of the ocean, it had to be a fishing vessel? More often than not, a fishing vessel would be full of alphas and betas.
Okay.
Maybe Marco had been lying.
For a while, he did understand what was wrong with him, or rather, what he was looking for. And he knew why he was choosing to personally inspect each minor ship they came across, even the ones clearly beneath his notice.
An omega.
His instincts were screaming at him to find one no matter how impossible the chances were. And though it was a little shameful to be so picky with a partner when his past set-up romps worked well enough, his instincts were telling him there was nothing else in the entire seas he wanted more than that.
It’s been a festering desire for a month now, one that he thought about and attempted to satiate through more casual arrangements. But it was no use, because it wasn’t just the sexual satisfaction that he was looking for—what his entire being —was looking for. It was the scent, the intimacy, the instincts, the everything from an omega unparalleled by anything else.
Which was silly, Marco originally thought. How would he know that if he had never held an omega before? And yet here he is, obsessing, yearning, actively searching and destroying whatever kept him from one. Looks like he wouldn’t know until he finds out.
Marco bit back the growl bubbling up from his chest. Looks like he’s reserving himself to a rutt full of sedatives.
“Permission to board, cap?” Marco asked without turning. Whitebeard released a grunt that could only be translated to a ‘do whatever you want’.
“Looks like that’s our cue!” Their ever-energetic second division commander piped up from his spot on the deck, finally making a move to interact with Marco. He got up with his arms stretched above his head, his neck audibly cracking as he turned his neck in a circle. “I wanna stretch my legs, take striker out for a good spin.”
Marco began walking over to the east side of the Moby Dick, rotating his own shoulders in preparation for the flight that was about to take place. “It’ll just be a fishing vessel, yoi. It won’t be as exciting as you think.” He said in hopes of dissuading Ace from coming along. He wanted and could take the fishing vessel out with one strike, the wood and the metal would bend so easily.
Ace coming along would mean he’d have to hold his urges. And Marco really wanted one thing to go his way at least once today.
“Maybe, maybe not.” The freckled alpha shook his head before looking back up with a glint in his eyes. “But think about it, what if they fished up something real good for lunch? I have to inspect every net!” Well, having a disappointed and hungry Ace on board is just as bad as a bridled Marco. And the crew had enough strong personalities to deal with as it was.
“Shouldn’t Thatch be the one to come with me then?” Marco haphazardly threw the idea out there.
“No thanks, Marco!” The fourth division commander immediately piped up from his unmoved spot by the inner circle of the deck. “I may be able to swim if you accidentally break the ship to pieces, but I can’t guarantee my own safety when you’re like this.” Thatch may not have intended it, but that statement was another jab at Marco’s weakening control over his emotions. A skill he’d mastered for over thirty years.
He felt a draft of wind pass over, and Marco took another breath to calm himself down again. “.. Alright, Ace.” He spoke in finality. “Take striker out then.”
…
A loud bang violently pulls you all from slumber. Your breathing wavers in panic as another loud blast not only blares from the top floor but also dents the floor enough to leave a hole. An explosion.
Screaming voices erupts from the other cells as the ship rocks harshly from another round of explosions. Shouting comes from above, something reminiscent of barking orders and fearful retaliation. People were frantically moving up above while sounds of wood breaking and screaming echoed throughout. What was this? A raid? Deep in your gut a sprout of hope began to grow. If this was the navy then..!
A seed of hope takes root deep in your gut, fragile and desperate, but it’s more life than you've dared to feel in weeks.
You unwrap your arms off of Pau and you immediately took note of his face. Fear was etched into his facial features, the same emotion was causing his entire being to tremble against your own. Your eyes shoot up to the ceiling once more as gun shots fire consecutively in the fray upstairs. Fortunately, there were no additional rounds of cannon fire from the opposing force but this trafficking vessel was shooting its own rounds of cannon fire.
Everyone holds their breath for a second, simply listening to the carnage. Men shouting, guns blazing, cannons firing, bodies dropping.. and suddenly nothing.
Glances exchange between all of you, clearly uncertain of the situation to be. A loud thud from the deck above captures your attention once more.
“Those guys were screaming about precious cargo,” The voice of an unfamiliar man seeps through the holes created from the aftermath of the fight. Your eyes widen in suspense. “Should we inspect the bottom deck?” You almost screamed out a ‘please’ as if to answer their question.
Instead of a response, the question was answered by a sudden breach of the deck floor again. A cannonball!? You thought, but it was quickly debunked when the roof above your heads suddenly began to convex upwards, in the motion suggesting that someone was pulling it. A loud crack comes as the deck boards snap free. Harsh winds begin to vacuum into the enclosed damp space, razzling not only your hair but also your companions who disliked the sudden moisture difference.
Your vision distorts as it adjusts in the darkness of the night, though it wasn’t long before some smaller people who looked like chess pieces held up light sources. Standing atop the deck were two men, their silhouettes clearly not belonging to any of the men who owned the vessel. One was shirtless despite the cold and wet weather, a bright orange hat sat atop his head while a gleam of red shimmered from his neck. The other was more striking in features simply because of the brilliant blue wings that were attached to where his arms were supposed to be.
They were not the navy.
You suck a breath in. Pirates, these were pirates. Even worse was that they were highly likely to be alphas, their presence alone was heavy and thick.
Something suddenly chokes you and you gag as your system reacts to it, making you keel over from the unanticipated scent. It was strong enough to cut through the thick blankets of your companions’ pheromones and even through the salty smell of the sea. It was tropical and acidic. Which, to your horror, smelt sweet and pleasant..
Against your better judgement, your eyes dart between the two men in an attempt to determine which of them it belongs to. Where your eyes fail, your instincts manage to tell you that there was something different about the one with wings. And he was glorious; bright brilliant blue flames that burned out into golden yellow. He was tall—no, large—and was carrying himself with an easy posture.
No one among the enslaved spoke a single word or made a single sound.
“Holy shit.” The man with the orange hat released an audible breath out. “Is this an omega trafficking scheme?” An audible inhale came from the same man, who grimaced from the amount of mixed scents that could probably only be described as wrong. “Oh fuck, right. This probably smells awful to you, huh? You could head back for now, Marco. We can pick through ‘em real quick.”
Pick through them? Your heart clenched painfully.
Maybe fate truly was look down on you. To be passed from cruel people to even crueler people who could only see merchandise with value that they could pick through, there was just no other way your situation could get any worse. You couldn’t stop the bitter shiver from crawling up your spine. Perhaps if you begged, perhaps if you offered something in return, maybe..!
You weren’t aware you were staring at the man that was called Marco, not until his glowing irises connected with yours. As if gravity increased instantaneously, something forces you to lower your head, burying itself onto Pau’s shoulder. The beat of your heart presses against your eardrums while your breathing falters from its consistent pace.
Apex alpha.
There was no doubt about it. Every sense and conscious thought of your body was screaming so: that this man was special, even more so than the other alpha next to him. His presence alone was doing things to your body, things that only began to happen after the trafficking scientists put you under an unnamed medication. You were going dizzy with sensations unfamiliar to you.
“No need.” The impassive tone of his voice didn’t mask the weight of his strength. Pau jolts under your hold from the mere sound of his voice. It would seem as though everyone else was affected by him too from the way the bodies around you trembled. You had no bravado in you to lift your head and meet his gaze again. The hope that he would simply ignore you and move on was shattered as he says, “I already see one I want.”
The blood in your veins run cold.
It could be anyone. You’re sure.
But then again, it’s too cruel for it to be anyone at all.
“Wait, seriously?” The shorter man barked out in surprise before letting out a laugh of disbelief bordering relief. “Great! Point ‘em out!”
You can’t look, your body refuses to move anymore.
You jolt when a pair of soles land on the hardwood floor right in front of the cage you were all crammed into. It must have been a coincidence, he’ll begin walking away you’re sure—
“Look at me, yoi.” Your muscles flinched at the command, and your body shook with effort to keep your head down even though every muscle in you was begging to obey. The command came from ‘Marco’, the more overwhelming one of the pair. His voice had a lazy drawl to it, ending in a vocal quip that was quite unique.
The bodies all around you moved in unison, no doubt following as they were told. The dull souring scents was sending your head spiraling, making it even harder to form coherent thoughts. The fear and the command were all becoming too much. Cold sweat began to drip from your forehead.
“I said..” A prickle made your neck jolt. The floorboards creak louder as someone took another step forward, the words brushing over your skin and causing your hair to stand tall. “Look. At.”
“Me.”
You did.
Your face lifted on its own accord and your gaze met his.
Brilliant blues that seemed to glow in the growing darkness of the day, the sun already meeting the horizon, allowing the night to swallow in. Again, you are faced with the fact that he was larger, a head taller than the other alpha next to him, his body rippled with muscles that probably didn’t experience any difficulty ripping the deck away from its nailed state. It was scary. Impressive. Out of anything and everything, however, you couldn’t look away from his face.
He was strikingly attractive, his eyes especially were drawing you in with an intensity that was disparate from the ease on his features. He probably had a few years above you given the slight wrinkles under his eyes. His posture was relaxed which was, again, not in tune with the current mood of the situation.
“That one, huh. Not bad.” The other man was freckled and rougish, another alpha with eyes full of energy and body just as impressive.
You swallowed hard. They weren’t like the men who used to drag you and the others around like cargo, they had a level of power that came easily. “This entire thing is covered head to toe in seastone. Hell, the chains they’re wearing is probably seatone too.” His eyes flicked down to the thick, blackened cuffs around your wrists. “Maybe you really should have brought Thatch along.”
The words he had spoken finally registered in your brain and you forced yourself to look away from the blonde man to the other, finding that his eyes were trained directly at you as well. You felt yourself jolt back slightly, disrupting your bound companions as your heart hammered harshly against the ribcage of your chest. Your head feels too heavy to keep up once more. You bit down on your trembling lower lip, trapping the trembling breaths from your lungs.
They.. do they know? Could they smell you? No, it was impossible. The medication that were given to you through shots were still going strong, clogging your scent glands.
Heat was prickling at your eyes as you pray that you were mistaken.
“Thatch won’t be able to do anything if we can’t find the keys first.” Marco surmised, still keeping his eyes on this particular ‘omega’ amongst the bundle of bodies basically huddled together. His gaze hasn’t left you, not even for a second since he’d found you amongst the crowd. The smell in the air was putrid, only serviced enough because of how dulled it had been, no doubt from synthetic suppresants that made sure it stayed that way. In fact, this dull smell was the reason why he didn’t simply blow the entire vessel to bits at first.
The first division commander had every intention of doing just that until he realized that the smell that was coming from the fishing vessel was unnatural, and that there was no possibility that any dead fish had the ability to mimic what a pseudo omega smelled like, no matter how rotten it would be.
‘Lo and behold, they uncovered an entire underground black market. Though, the more Marco had thought it over, the stranger the thought process was. A fishing vessel this far out into the ocean with no island in sight to make port with was already suspicious, and even in the event of a pirate plunder, they didn’t have many faculties of defense aside from a few standard cannons, guns, and swords. There was no chance for them to win against any pirate ship in the new world.
Not to mention, being able to obtain this many pseudo fruits for trafficking was astounding, the amount of pseudo omegas this vessel had was outrageous, no matter how bad their conditions were. So this had to be sponsored by a bigger organization, or rather, is a part of a bigger organization and they happen to have stumbled upon their new carg—
—A soft scent broke through the muddle of the rest, enticing his instincts.
Well, the circumstances don’t really matter. Only the results mattered. And the results were even better than he could have anticipated. In a fake dingy fishing ship that could have only been full of pseudo omegas, he found a scent that was agreeable . Maybe even sweet, salivating, enticing. Better than anything he’s smelled in months.
So, even if you ended up being a pseudo which was the highly likely scenario, it would be amiss of him to leave you behind when you’re already the most refreshing thing he’s laid his eyes upon in months.
With a bit of effort, he finally released his gaze on you, cricking his neck to look down at Ace who was looking around with clear curiosity on his face. “I’ll go grab Thatch and have Namur push this vessel into the Moby’s course. There are a lot of valuable things here.” Ace nodded along without much thought, occupied with examining the state the people who have been given pseudo fruits were in. “You’re staying here to look for that key.”
“WHA!?” Ace couldn’t release another word out before Marco was already back in the air. “HALF OF THE GUYS ARE ALREADY IN THE OCEAN!”
…
“By the seas, look at all this sea stone.” The barrel-chested man commented with a whistl,e eyes sweeping over the scattered mess of wood and bodily matter. The things he was commenting on were large and sizable, a wonder considering how seastone is only really readily available to the navy. “We really could probably use some of these back in the Moby, real useful.”
“I could have chosen to bring anyone else along, yoi.” Marco’s came out dry and unimpressed as he took a few steps behind him. “Prove that I made the right choice.”
Thatch whipped his head back over his shoulder, staring at the right-hand man with an incredulous look. “Sheesh, is this some kind of punishment? Relax Marco, no one’s going anywhere.”
“It’s a threat, if you wanted clarification.”
When Marco had first provided a brief explanation of the situation to Whitebeard, their captain had immediately made the decision to leave the ‘cargo’ alone save for the one Marco had wanted. Too many pseudos on board would be a disaster, and Whitebeard had no intention of keeping any on board because of their biologically disastrous and unexpected nature.
However, it wasn’t like they were going to be left completely marooned. It was a small mercy in the face of the sea, the Whitebeard pirates were kind enough to spare a bit of supplies that could last them until they’d inevitably drift to an island. It wasn’t much, but it was better if not the best than what most other pirates would have offered or done.
“Exchange the goods with the seastone cages. We’ll need ‘em,” were the direct orders given to the crew. The crew made quick work of the sails to keep them from speeding past the vessel, Namur and a couple fishmen under his division immediately submerged underwater to move the vessel while Curiel and Blenheim’s divisions were asked to make space below the deck for some new special cells in the possibility of some special prisoners.
Marco picked Thatch up after a bit of complaints from the latter. Though, there wasn’t much complaining could do when Marco simply grabbed him by his shoulders and flew him right over the ocean.
They landed with a loud thud, Marco lowering him before folding his wings back into nothingness again. Thatch cracked his shoulders. rolling his arms around to loosen the soreness after being held by his upper body for a time.
“And besides! It won’t be my fault if Ace wouldn’t be able to fi—”
“Found it!” Just in time, Ace walked over to the pair while holding up ring with three or so keys, swinging it tauntingly in the air. “Luckily it’s not made of seastone, and I found it in the captain’s quarters under a drawer. Classic.” The youngeer man snickered as Thatch opened his palm wordlessly, expression deadpan as Ace dropped the ring into it with flourish. Then he walked away, mentioning wanting to rummage through a few of their belongings for a little longer.
“.. It’s not guaranteed to be the cuff keys, alright?” Thatch mumbled in defeat as his fingers wrap around the small item. He peeks under his lashes, eyeing the first mate who was patiently watching. “So, don’t get mad, Marco.”
Marco doesn’t do anything much other than a noncommittal hum. Thatch turns back to the bundle of bodies ahead of him, grimacing at the unsavory sight of prisoners who were huddled like little fawns. They only seem to huddle together into an even tighter ball as he approached and stood in front of the door. This wasn’t the first time Thatch had seen a pseudo omega, not by a long shot. There was a concerning amount of normal people who are capable of getting their hands on one of the damned fruits and eating it themselves.
Omegas were desired enough that people wanted to be them, no matter the price. It didn’t matter if it was tagged with berri or their own body.
Much to his relief, one of the keys in the ring opened the cage. Given how there was only a limited amount of keys, this single one probably opened every single one of them. Fossa could probably make a copy of these keys no problem.
The reaction was instantaneous as soon as the door creaked open, one of them had begun to silently sob under their breath. Multiple terrified eyes were staring up at him, and Thatch could only sigh out the last nerves he had in order to exude as calm of a scent as possible.
“Hey.” Thatch finally addressed the bundle of people, slowly crouching down and low to the floor to make himself look less imposing and frightening, softly addressing them as if they were wild animals. The many eyes followed his move but they don’t respond to his greeting, which is understandable.
“None of you have to say anything, just know that we’re here for one of you,” He carefully began, hooking an arm over his bent leg to settle calmly. The dreary atmosphere doesn’t dampen the easy smile growing on Thatch’s face. “So, if you could all cooperate with us a little longer, we’ll make this trip quick and be out of your hair.”
“Could you all take a seat in a line in front of me?” The way Thatch said those words may have been kind, kinder than anyone has spoken to any of you in forever, but you all understood that it was still a command ; a command you could not deny no matter what from a pirate who was far stronger than any of your previous captors. Everyone around you also understood that.
So it didn’t come as a surprise when you all slowly and hesitantly begin to untangle from your knot of limbs and chains, obediently sitting down in an arrangement where the chain didn’t tangle over the other. Though, you were still huddled together, pressed side-to-side to seek the physical comfort of one another with hands still entangled. No one was looking ahead or above. No one spoke a word either.
Thatch looked over his shoulder and to Marco who was intently watching everything, asking the question in his head without a word uttered. Marco’s blue eyes flit over to a particular one, briefly, and Thatch immediately understood.
“You there.” You flinched when Thatch turned back around, and when you slowly raised your head to confirm, you were horrified to find that the alpha’s gaze directly pointed at you .
Tears were lining your lashes, probably from how inevitable everything felt now.
As if not noticing your increasing distress, or rather choosing not to, Thatch inched towards you while raising the ring of keys in his hands. He grinned, “You’ll be coming with us.” Final. No question or option asked. The next orders to raise your hands at the junction of your elbow so he could unlock the cuffs came through one ear and out the other, but your body manages to follow the instruction out of fear. The chains rattled noisily when your weak arms lifted them up to level with your head.
The weight of the cuffs dropped as soon as the key was inserted and turned clockwise. And yet
The longer Thatch stared at you, the more he understood Marco’s very sudden and very direct interest. Where there should have been a distressing visage was overshadowed by another emotion. You look so sweet, in a way unexplainable. It wouldn’t be too much of a long shot to even say that you had this atmosphere of real cuteness around you. Under all that grime and mistreatment, he had no doubt that you were a real eye candy either. And the way that you were looking at him: doe-eyed and afraid.
You looked like a little rabbit. So cute.
“Come here, sweetheart.” The large man beckoned you over, no doubt earning himself a scalding look from Marco given how hot the back of his head felt. Nonetheless, he couldn’t take his eyes off you as you begin to slowly move to stand. Your legs were visibly shaking. From the weight, the fear, the hunger, or everything? His gaze was on you like a beam of heat, and suddenly, everything in you seemed to tremble.
The large man extended his hands over to you, allowing them to hang in the air as possible supports in the case that you couldn’t handle it. He was hovering over you, waiting for you to walk over on your own terms. Your gait was unsteady as you finally took a step forward.
Just as expected, the movement sent a rush of blood up and into your brain, depriving your body of its energy, and causing you to stumble on your feet and trip forward.
“Woah there!”
Your arms flounder, and despite the pain from your injuries, attempted to find stability on his body. “I-I’m sorry!” Your puny voice was barely audible in your gasp. You hurriedly move to push yourself from him. But your mind was reeling and your senses are all over the place, so much so that your legs were buckling under your own weight. The hands that were hovering just over your arms were quick to latch back on, holding you steady.
Everything stills for a few seconds and nothing moves as you took life-saving breaths. It helped that every breath was filled with a scent reminiscent of a warm kitchen, alike the kitchen you grew up with. Second by second, your body finally catches up, and you’re feeling a little better. While not by much, it was enough to keep you standing.
“U-Uhm..” Your weak voice comes out ragged and small, unused to speaking. Your eyes trail from your hands and up to the man’s forearms that looked to be larger and healthier than your arms and legs. You had to say something, and the only appropriate response was to thank any act of kindness, no matter how small.
“Than-”
You jolt. The eyes that were looking down at you were no longer friendly, and instead, were looking at you with an intensity that sent tremors all over your body. His eyes were looking directly at you, maybe even through you, as if he could see something that wasn’t there before. The gentle hands that caught you hardened, although not gripping you, you could tell he was having a hard time restraining himself.
That look.. he couldn’t possibly..
“Give her to me.” Thatch jolted as well as if he caught himself. The barrel-chested man was a little bigger than the other men, and yet, Marco was far more terrifying in comparison. Especially now.
“Marco, she’s—” Thatch began as his head whipped up to look at the other man.
“Even more reason to.” Marco concluded without letting Thatch finish. You could see Thatch force himself to swallow; his pride or his saliva, you’re not sure, but it’s the only thing he does before carefully guiding you with an assertive tug. Keeping your eyes pointed to the ground, to your bare feet, you walked with deliberate purpose. You stepped over the chain that had bound you, toward Thatch’s shoes, and then back over the entrance of the cage,
Until sandaled feet appeared in your vision.
Your fingers tremble in Thatch’s hand. A breath of air passed before you see a large hand lift up towards your face. You involuntarily flinch away right before he could touch you. Your lip shake as your hands fly out from Thatch’s hands and toward the front of your body, clutching the filthy cloth of your poor dress like it would lessen the impact of whatever would come next.
Only, it didn’t.
Because what came next wasn’t pain.
Marco’s fingers are soft when they pressed against your cheek, surprising you. The unexpected tenderness had your heart beating in confusion. They continue to be gentle as his palm engulfs the entirety of your face’s side.
You’ve already looked at his face before and you’ve already formed your opinions about him. And yet, now that you were much closer, calling him handsome might have dpne him a disservice. He was captivating, demanding your attention with his blue eyes that reminded you of the sky. He was at least a head and a half taller, you’re pretty sure he was already bending his back a little to accommodate you.
—That sweet scent. It really was from him. You could smell it from his wrist. It was pleasant.
You stare at one another for a moment as if taking each other in.
“I am Marco. First division commander to the Whitebeard pirates, yoi,” his voice comes out low and is accompanied by a drawl. You could only blink in response.
“And as of now, you will be boarding the Moby Dick under me. Understand?” His index fingers gently moved to caress the tear that slipped from your eyes. When did you begin crying?
He could feel you bob your head into a nod, but he immediately caught your jaw to keep you from doing so. “Use your words.”
Your eyes shot open. “Y-Yes.” The words were barely audible, your tone wobbling as if a sob was right behind it.
“Yes, Marco.” He corrected sternly.
More tears slipped free, pooling hot on your cheeks and soaking into the hand still cupping you. The sudden sharpness from him was confounding, an abrupt switch from the gentleness he was offering. It left you dazed, heart racing, and the fear you’d managed to suppress earlier now surged back with vengeance. “Yes, M-Marco..!”
Thatch was quick to interfere from the background, huffing out in protest. “C’mon, Marco, she’s already being so sweet! Don’t be so hard on her!”
“I want her to be as obedient as possible. It’ll be easier.” It wasn’t even said with malice, but with a resigned edge that was probably impatience.
But you didn’t know that. Instead, his words felt like another blade against your already wounded heart.
You broke the eye contact by averting your eyes downward, heart wrenching painfully as you admonish yourself for falling for the tenderness so easily. Stupid, stupid . Your lips pressed thin as you allowed a deep frown to overtake your expression, your eyebrows pinching together. But you don’t allow the sobs to escape you in fear of dampening Marco’s mood.
“I-I will, Marco..” You cried and whispered lowly, not realizing that the previous statement he made wasn’t directed towards you. Marco silently held you like that, searching for the eyes that looked up at him in a bright way, but you do not look back up. You might not have had the ability to when your eyes only continued to flood with tears.
“Look at what you did.” Thatch tsked loudly from the background to purposefully voice his displeasure, but Marco didn’t respond, he could only stare at you after you uttered words with heartbreak and fear clearly caught in your throat. Your scent, although masked by a synthetic, was in the precipice of sweetness, only for it to plummet back into nothing.
Then, Thach sighed, dangling the ring of keys he had used in his hands. “We have to get going, Jozu and Namur’s divisions are coming to recover the cages soon.”
Your face pointed down to the floor as soon as he retracted his hand, wringing your hands into your clothes. Now that he had a better look on your hands, he could see the bruises that were formed around your wrists from the chains and cuffs that held you, the bruise that you were attempting to hide in your skirt.
“Hold your hands out.” Hesitance, then obedience, although they’re trembling harshly when you lift them palms-up. He placed a single hand under your arms, the length of his palm from pinky to thumb was large enough to encapsulate both your wrists. The skin was tender and was beginning to develop into a bruise that went the entirety around your arm like bracelets. Marco’s expression darkened.
Thankfully you weren’t looking up at him to see it, it would have probably worsened your mood even more. His fingers tightened in their hold around you to secure you in place. You do not struggle, but you do jolt back when the familiar blue flames that you have been admiring before suddenly burst to life where his skin touched you. He watched your face intently, watched as the initial fear from his flames spread throughout your face before melting back into trepidation when his flames didn’t harm you like you had expected.
The lovely blue reflected from your irises and your dwindling tears before extinguishing to a small flickering flame. He pulled away slowly as if any sudden movements would scare you any further. You were still looking at your hands, now looking at it more with wide eyes.
The bruises and the pain was gone.
“.. Good girl.” Marco whispered, placing the palm he used to hold your face on your head. The praise translated well, your tears finally subsided.
He then took a step back, disentangling his fingers from your hair that he longed to brush through, and allowed his arms to be swept with his flames, turning his arms back into his brilliant wings.
Ah, and there it was again, the look of astonishment in your eyes. Although more hesitant to appear this time.
“Wha-I know I said we should probably leave but I wanna introduce myself properly too!”
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