Summary: On a mission in the Arklay Mountains, Leon comes across a bioweapon that spews a different kind of virus. Time is of the essence when it comes to administering the antidote.
Tags/Warnings: Fem! reader, explicit smut, sex pollen so dub-con just in case.
Note: I have a few requests left that I am working on, but I needed a break. Haven't written smut in a long time, and I am a sucker for sex pollen, so let's go commit elder abuse ig.
Leon Kennedy fucking hated his job sometimes. To some extent, he always has. It’s unforgiving, thankless work he does, and he feels like he’s on the precipice of officially being too old for this shit.
He was especially irked over his current predicament. He and a newer agent had been deployed to the Arklay Mountains, the very region that had drawn him to Raccoon City nearly thirty years ago. The DSO had caught wind of suspicious activity, strange energy readings, and surveillance footage pointing to someone poking their head into Umbrellas' past. Naturally, they had sent the resident Raccoon City expert to investigate.
He had found evidence of an underground lab—one Umbrella had long ago left abandoned. He’s searching for something, anything, that will provide insight into what could warrant someone rummaging through abandoned research that was decades old.
The old linoleum flooring squeaks under the rubber of his sole as Leon rummages through yellowing papers.
“Find anything?” Your voice calls out from the next room. Leon glances your way, a small smile tugging at his lips. You’re a pretty young thing, and competent enough at your job that Leon, for once, hadn't minded much when they’d assigned you as his partner. Through the years, he’s grown hesitant about having to work with others; he always has a habit of getting too attached, only to lose them in the end. Leon can’t stomach the thought of losing you. The mere thought is enough to make him queasy.
“Not yet,” he calls back. The lights flicker ominously, and Leon hovers a hand over his pistol, dropping the papers as he cautiously examines the room. There’s a sour sweetness in the air, his nose crinkling at the smell as he moves deeper into the lab. The walls are cracked and crumbling as he examines the space. Vines have begun to sprawl over the rubble, thick and covered in thorns. Leon pauses, examining the plants. It shouldn’t be too out of the ordinary, after all, this place was long ago abandoned and far away enough from the missile strike that perhaps whatever radiation or destruction took the city didn’t fully reach this far in the mountain. Still, Leon thinks he’s seen these vines before. His flashlight follows the thickest vine; perhaps it’s just a trick of the light, but it almost looks like it’s pulsating, breathing even. The beam of his light slowly ascends upwards, the vines twisting and vibrating with life.
In the corner of the room, there is a flower. It’s fleshy and pink and dripping. Leon cringes at the sight, tilting his head as he examines it. His gut is screaming at him to run, and he’s learned before that plants in Umbrella labs tend to be bad news. He takes a cautious step backwards, his boot squeaking against the floor. The flower growls, shuddering as the petals bunch up, pulsating.
“That can’t be good,” Leon huffs. He raises his pistol to fire when the flower lets out a wheeze, gas slowly pouring out into the room. Leon can’t escape it, can’t hold his breath. It’s hot and heavy against him and seeps into every orifice.
As the perfumey gas lingers in the air, Leon coughs, the sickly sweet scent invading his nose and burning his nasal cavity. It smelled like musk and rose and chemicals, and the second he registered the smell, he could feel something in him heat up. It starts as a spark in the pit of his stomach, one that causes him to hunch over with a groan. The spark then sinks lower and lower, and it feels like his center of gravity is off as the heat takes hold of his groin. A bead of sweat forms on his brow as the spark grows hotter. He stumbles back into the light, coughing and wheezing.
Leon sees you through the glass window, and you finally notice him, hunched over and sputtering. You're quick to sprint over, banging on the glass as your muffled voice calls to him. You try the door, which is conveniently jammed. He raises a gloved hand, a placating gesture as he tries to stand up straight. A hiss leaves his mouth as the movement plucks a string within him, his insides coiling in tightness as he makes his way to the door. Leon isn’t stupid; he has an educated guess on whatever the gas he just inhaled was, lord only knows that was probably the least fucked up of all the Umbrella experiments he’s learned of through the years.
Leoon has to slam his shoulder into the wood to get it to budge. He stumbles out with a cough, and you're there to catch him. His massive body slumps against yours as he tries to steady himself, the blood from his head rushing south as he grunts at the feeling.
“Oh my god, Leon, are you okay?” you ask, concern in your tone. Leon knows he must look like shit, but he can’t help but give a thumbs up.
“Feel like a million bucks,” he rasped, using your shoulder as he wearily stands straight. His eyes meet yours, and he feels his face flush and his mind grow heady as he looks at you. For a brief moment, he allows himself the selfish desire of admiring your beauty, a desire he’s had since you joined the D.S.O.
He tries to squash down that thought. He’s grown good at ignoring his wants over the years.
“Jesus, you’re burning up,” you gasp, leading him away from the lab. “Let’s find a place where you can sit down and rest for a second.”
Leon lets you take the lead as he limps alongside you. His core feels like it’s on fire, and every movement he makes only stokes the flames inside him. He has to bite his tongue to avoid whimpering, feeling lightheaded. You lead him down to an old break room, securing the old metal door behind you as you help lower Leon onto a ripped plush chair.
“What the hell happened?” You demand.
“Some plant had taken over the lab, released some gas,” Leon groaned. He watches as the color slowly drains from your face.
“A plant–what did it look like?”
“I don’t know, lots of thick vines with thorns, a gross pink flower at the top,” he shrugs, face scrunching up with a hiss as the movement sets off a wave of overwhelming sensation over him.
“Oh God,” you mutter, pulling out the files you had discovered, rummaging through them frantically.
“What? What did you find?” Leon asks, looking up at you. He can smell you from here; he’s never noticed how sweet you smell.
“Well…” your voice trails off.
“Just rip the band-aid off and tell me the bad news, kid,” Leon huffed, feeling the heat wash over him in a nauseating manner. It was like his entire insides were on fire, twisting and turning within him. He was losing the ability to think clearly, and it took more and more energy not just to salivate at the thought of ripping your clothes off.
“Um, well–” you hesitated, shuffling the papers in your hand as you gulped and nervously glanced up at him. His eyes narrow at you as you try to steady your nervous breathing.
“It’s not just a bioweapon,” you start. “It looks like they were researching and testing behavioral override responses—removing inhibition, forcing biological drive into—” Your voice stutters at the last sentence, as if you were embarrassed. Cute.
Leon lets out a long breath, shoulders slumping in defeat. “Yeah–” he cuts in. “I get the gist.” He rubs a hand over his face, wiping away the sweat. “Great, does it mention if it's temporary?” Leon sighs.
“It can be,” you all but whisper.
“You’re killing me here, kid,” Leon groans. The heat is becoming unbearable, and he can feel the perspiration on the back of his neck, rolling down his back.
“It says if the subject follows through with the act of intercourse, the aphrodisiac will wear off and the subject will return to normal once achieving climax…” You trail off again, and Leon thinks you’ll be the death of him.
“If the act is not followed through with, the subject will soon suffer cardiac arrest due to lack of release, according to nine out of ten test trials.”
Perfect, well, isn’t that just great? Damn near thirty years of his life dedicated to fighting bioterrorism, and he’s going to die from not getting his rocks off. Pathetic.
“Of all the traps they could’ve left behind…Just put a bullet in my head, why don’t ya?” he groans, his head falling back as he pants softly. His mouth feels dry, and his clothing feels tighter than normal. Silence falls over the room, and Leon closes his eyes as he tries to think of how to fix this, how to calm down. It’s not the first time he’s been infected with something, but regardless, you should get out before he snaps.
“I could help,” he hears you say.
Well, that was unexpected. Leon raises his head, long strands of hair sticking to his damp forehead.
“What?” is all he manages to say.
“I’m not going to let you die, not when the remedy is so easy.” Easy, right? It wasn’t like this was his perverted dream come true. He’d rather have taken you the way you deserved to be taken. It had always been his hypothetical plan to wine and dine you all the way to his house, where he’d throw you on his silken sheets and have you gripping his comforter and screaming his name while he showed you how a real man treats a lady.
You take a step towards him, cautious at first, a hand outstretched as you reach for his shoulder. His hand caught your wrist, holding it gently as he let out an uneasy exhale.
“Are you sure?” he asks, voice thick as he tries to swallow his excitement.
“I’m sure,” you whisper softly.
His heart skips a beat at your softly spoken confirmation. “Sit on my lap,” he orders. He tries to make his voice steady and strong, but it comes out as more of a whimper. Nonetheless, you obey, shedding your jacket as you slowly slide onto his lap. He hums in the back of his throat, hips bucking up at the sensation of weight against him. The mere pressure of your body alone is already making his head spin.
His mouth is on yours in an instant, his large hand cups the side of your face as he all but melts against your warm lips. He thinks you taste like sugar as his other hand slides up the curves of your body, starting from your waist to the underside of your breasts. You lean into the kiss, relaxing as his fingers slowly slide back down as they worm their way under your shirt. Your skin is soft and warm, and touching your flesh sends tiny electric shocks through his fingertips. Leon lets himself be greedy as his hands tug your shirt upwards, grunting as you pull away from the kiss to work the shirt over your head.
“Loose this too,” he mutters, tugging at the band of your bra. You just smile at his quiet neediness and toss it over your head as well, leaving your torso bare for him. Leon exhales in pleasure as he tries to savor the sight of you.
“So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, his hand roaming from the softness of your stomach up to the swell of your breast, pinching at your nipple as you squirm on his lap. The slight friction feels delicious, and Leon can’t help but grin like a wolf. He leans forward and takes a bud in his mouth, tongue swirling around it as he places a hand on the small of your back, keeping you pressed against him as he toys with your breasts. You moan and writhe slightly, the friction picking up as you grind against him.
“Leon,” you sigh, your fingers entangled in his hair as you tug on his strands, nails scraping against his scalp. Leon hums in satisfaction and pulls away with a wet pop from your breast, the stubble on his chin scraping at your clavicle as he presses hot, open-mouthed kisses to your neck.
“I’ve wanted this for a while,” he admits into your skin, undoing the buckle of your tactical belt, discarding it on the floor. He pops the top button of your pants open and taps your thighs.
“Take them off,” he grunts, working off his own belt and unzipping his pants. He tugs down his boxers just enough to free his cock, immediately fisting the enlarged length, precum dribbling from the tip as he watches you longingly as you strip the remainder of your clothes off. He pumps himself, feeling the heat scorch his insides as he pants softly, hips bucking upwards to meet his hand.
“Come on and ride me, gorgeous,” he groans. Par the drug-induced haze and life-threatening time crunch he’s under, Leon thinks he’s died and gone to heaven as you straddle him and slowly sink your tight, warm pussy down on his cock, impaling yourself with a moan as you slowly take him all.
“Fuck–” Leon chokes out, feeling himself lose all sense of sanity as you begin to bounce. Your hips rock against his as you drag yourself up and down on him. It’s warm and wet, and he wishes he could savor the feeling of your slick folds gripping him tight, sucking him deeper into your cavern. But Leon is a selfish man, and he needs more. A few more teasing bucks from you, and Leon has had enough. He grips your waist and looks up at you with blurry vision as his hips buck upwards, a cry leaving your lips as he fills you up. Again, his cock slides out only to buck back into you with vigor, setting a punishing pace as he feels himself get lost in you.
“Such a good girl for me,” he rasps, watching with a blissed-out expression as you moan and writhe on his cock. It’s the most beautiful sight, watching you unfold, and Leon hopes in the back of his mind you’ll let him do this again. Your trembling, he can feel your pussy spasm around him as short little gasps leave your mouth.
“Please,” you whine, and Leon has to give you what you need as well. His thumb presses against your lip in a silent demand, and you obey without hesitation, parting your lips and sucking on the thick digit eagerly. Leon grunts in approval, pulling it from your mouth and pressing the slick finger against your swollen clit, rubbing it with fervor as he watches you come undone against him. He can feel the slickness coat his dick as you arch your back, eyes rolled into the back of your head. He’s proud of you, really. He just isn’t finished with you yet.
A quick smack to the ass has you yelping as his pace slows down.
“Up,” he orders, his voice coming out strangled. “I want you on all fours.” He sucks in a breath as you slide off of him, mouth salivating as he catches sight of your pussy all covered in slick. He’ll have to discover what you taste like later.
He eyes you hungrily as you kneel on a dusty couch, lowering yourself as he commanded you to. His body feels like it will burst into flames as he pushes himself from the chair, his cock throbbing as he kneels behind you. He can practically hear your heart racing as he presses you down, shifting your weight onto your elbows as you prop your ass in the air for him.
He licks his lips, his hand trailing up your spine as he notches the tip of his cock at your abused entrance. The feeling of this alone has you squirming in desire. “So needy for me,” he slurs, filling you up with a single thrust. You cry out, and Leon can’t help but shudder at the sound of your sinful-sounding moans. The way you're thrusting against his cock has him wondering if you got a whiff of the aphrodisiac, or maybe you're just drunk off his cock. Either way, he’s more than glad to give you what you want and more than happy to take what he needs. His muscular body dwarves you as he leans over you, rutting into your wet heat. His bicep wraps around your throat, two fingers worm their way into the inside of your mouth, hooking onto your cheek as you all but drool around him.
“This pussy’s fucking mine,” he rasps, his breath hot against your ear, hips thrusting faster as the heat spurred him on. He can feel his groin grow tighter, and the fire is ablaze inside him. “Can’t believe I waited – ah fuck – this long to try it.”
You're all but a babbling mess underneath him. Whining and twitching against his thick cock. Leon thinks it’s cute, the way you come undone so easily around him. Your pussy clenches around him just right, and he can finally feel the knot of heat inside him snap. His hips stutter, his arms tightening around you as he fills you up. A low guttural groan leaves his lips as he finally stills inside you. His cock twitches, the final remnants of his seed leaking from him as he slowly pulls out from you. His cock, finally softening, and the heat that raged as an inferno inside him has subsided.
Leon was fine. Well, he was actually much better than fine; he felt better than he had in a long time. He slowly moves off of you, gritting his teeth as he slides down next to you on the couch. You sink against the cushions, too tired to care about the filth. You weakly turn your head to the side, eyes heavy from exhaustion, as you smile at him.
“Think it’s out of your system?” you ask. Leon exhales a chuckle, his lips forming a smirk.
“If that didn’t get it out of my system, I don’t know what else would. If you’re concerned for my well-being, we could always go again,” he suggests. Now it’s your turn to chuckle.
“Ask me again tomorrow, any more right now, and I might break,” she says.
“Tomorrow? My, aren’t you presumptuous?” he teased. He leans over and kisses the side of your temple.
“Maybe someplace more romantic than a haunted lab?” He suggests. “Unless you're into that.”
You roll your eyes at him and smile. “Oh, Agent Kennedy, are you going to take me on a date?”
“And so much more,” he promises.
After he helps you back into your clothes, the two of you make your way to the surface, where the sun has started to set, casting rays of orange and violet across the desolate Arklay Mountains. Leon glances over at you as you bark your coordinates into the radio, ordering the extraction team to hurry up. Even after everything that had happened, you still sounded composed and in control.
For a long time, Leon had convinced himself that wanting things was dangerous. Every time he'd let himself care, the universe had found a way to rip it away from him. It was easier not to hope. Easier not to ask for more.
You finish your transmission and look over at him.
"What?" you ask, catching him staring.
Leon just smiles, “You’re cute when you're bossy.”
You snort a laugh, shoving his shoulder slightly. “And you’re a pervert.”
Leon laughs along, trailing beside you as the evening sun sets. Maybe wanting things wasn't such a bad idea after all.
˖ ࣪૮₍ 𝓥.𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 𓂃 ⭒ is always fucking hero!kuna's pretty daughter :: hero/villain au :: age gap ( 40s/20s ) :: size difference :: overtim :: sukuna's daughter!reader
“fuck, what's he gonna do when he finds out his sweet princess is actually my little slut?”
you chewed a moan into your thumbnail and hugged tighter around your pillow. stuffing your face into the plush to muffle your whorish whines. what, did you think it could save you?
not from gojo satoru, that's for sure.
not from his hard chest shoved against your back. not from the way he squished your ass with mean smacks of his hips. certainly not from the cruel thumb latched on your clit. or his filthy, deep voice rumbling in your ear.
being the daughter of the city's hero was hard.
but fucking your dad's greatest villain and keeping it under wraps was oh, so much harder.
hard like the thwack! he laid on your jiggling thigh.
hard like the feverish bucks of his cock stretching out your poor, spluttering pussy.
“suuuchhh a messy girl. for me? were you thinking of me, all here alone while daddy's out saving the city?”
satoru snickered, dipping his thumb into your slick and landing one more flick to your clit before wrapping long fingers around your jaw. he wrenched your drooling, blushing face from the pillow and stuffed the digit into your messy mouth.
his weight dropped heavy onto you. smushing your tummy into the mattress and adding a sinful pressure to the bulge his cock thrummed within you. thrusts accentuating into an erratic rhythm that sent the headboard clattering against the wall.
you could only mewl around his thumb. slobbering saliva all over his palm as a strong arm hooked round your waist and shoved you into a slutty arch. so that your pretty body was forced to meet his feral thrusts tenderising your ass and slapping heavy balls onto your puffy, sloppy cunt.
right and wrong melted into a thick cream splattering your thighs. justice and malice blurred before your dewy eyes.
morals? what were morals when a villain had you caged and fucked into his pretty little whore?
“please— p-pleaaasseee, ah, I wanna— wanna cum!”
“again?”
his laugh huffed into your ear as he pressed his thumb down on your tongue. leaving your drool webbing all over the pillow as he abruptly slammed! all the way in. to grind on that tender spot and lather it in his frothing cum.
“awww you wanna cum again for me, sweetheart? haven't you creamed my cock enough?”
cruel. but what else should you expect from a man like him? a man your father's warned you about endlessly.
dragging his thumb from your lips, his arm manuevered to hook around your throat instead. choking out your pitiful sounds against his bicep and further trapping you in his blur of thrusts. harder, faster, until he was fucking your eyes into a slutty cross and your pussy into a bubbling mess.
“mngh— t-toru— saattoorruuu,” your nails clawed into his forearm littered with scars. cunt squeezing that throbbing underside vein on his cock just right.
he chewed on your ear with a grunt. “fuck baby, milking me so good.” another wet smack stung your ass as he hunched over your spent body.
“listen to that pretty pussy.”
shlap! he angled just right to smack his balls into your throbby clit. “she's suuuchh a bad girl huh? always so needy for this cock. knows it's too old and big for her but she doesn't care— ain't that right baby?”
yanking himself out amidst your creaming bubbles and stringy sin, he lands a sharp, full-palmed spank to your gaping slit. once, twice, enough to make you whimper and try to hump his callouses.
“please!” you whined as he shoved his hand around your jaw again and wrested your head back until your teary eyes met his. “please— need more, please toru? plea— hngh!”
you're putty in his hands. flipped onto your back within seconds so your plush thighs squished to your chest and your puffy pussy takes him all over again. filthy and squelching and squeezing round his girth as he fucks back to the hilt.
with feral grinds and heavy grunts, he jerked your face back to his. leaning over you through his the frantic haze of pounding your poor little self into the mattress. leaving behind stains you'll have to rush to clean before your dad gets back.
“look at you,” he grit. “fake lil' good girl begging for dick after I've already stuffed her full.”
“I-I — can't, toru—!”
he was barely leaving you empty. stuffing you to the base and fucking your spasming sweetspot until you soaked him all over again. and even then, those sopping, lewd slaps permeated the musky air.
“fuck— course you can baby,” satoru squished your face wet with tears into his strong fingers. cradling you in a tenderness one couldn't fathom from a villain like him. looked at you with icy blue eyes that held a gentleness, a love deep down, just for you. only for you.
his pretty little secret. his perfect slut.
“you can gimme one more. right? one more before daddy gets home, yeah?”
how could you deny him? with your knees dangling over his muscled shoulders. your hand scrambling for his tousled white hair still stained in blood. and your cunt sucking him in and weeping for him to stay. like she knew he'd leave her empty for the next few weeks all over again.
“I—” heat flooded your lungs. clouded your eyes. you clamped around him and scrambled for him. gripping, clawing, holding. anything to keep him close for just a little longer.
“I love you— I l-love— angh, I love you satoru, love you s'much, so so much!”
and fuck, his heart ached whenever you said it.
“ssshh baby,” he cradled you close. fucked you through the blinding orgasm as you sobbed and shattered in his hands. hands that only knew cruelty. “I know, I know sweet girl. fuck, such a good girl f'me.”
Leon comes home feeling better than he has in ages, and he knows just how he wants to show you.
ao3 ✦ wc: 5.9k
tags: Leon Kennedy/cisfem!reader, marathon sex, multiple creampies, p in v, porn w/o plot, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, cockdrunkeness, rough sex, praise & degradation, aftercare, wife!reader, can imagine with or w/o age gap, re9 requiem spoilers
a/n: I meant for this to be love-making but then it turned freak nasty oops
SMS Message: Home tomorrow.
Sender: Leon S.K.
You jumped up from the couch as you read it, the words shaking on the screen you held with trembling hands.
You didn’t think he’d come home so soon. You didn’t think he’d come home at all.
The next 18 hours were a blur, and then you heard it: the purr of a familiar motor in the driveway. It stopped you dead in your tracks, standing as still as a statue in the kitchen. You tensed as you waited for the sound of footsteps outside— held your breath as you heard the key in the lock— watched unblinkingly as the handle turned— when Leon walked through the door, time itself went still.
For a moment, all you could do was stare. You didn’t know what to expect. Every mission changed him, and you didn’t know what new version of him would walk through the door now, or how to react to it. And the stakes had never been higher.
The days before his departure were spent mostly in silence, doing little else except hold each other as his departure neared every second. You both knew the two likely results: he’d either die in the place it all began or come home even closer to death’s door. He’d wait for his disease to slowly consume his soul while he made his own funeral plans, and you’d stay close to your gun to prepare for the moment he went cold.
You’d spent the time between his text and now clinging to hope and preparing yourself for the worst. You’d never felt as fragile as the moment he opened the door.
He looked your way as the lock clicked behind him. It was only a few seconds, but they expanded into eons as you searched him for signs of bad news. A knit in his brow, or a downward tug of his lips. Traces of tears he may have wiped away in the car before you could see them. His steely eyes filling with grief.
But you didn’t see any of that. Instead, he grinned and held his arms out wide.
You flew crashing into them. He was steady, firm, and tight as you clutched your fists into the back of his shirt. His arms wrapped around your head and he kissed the top of it softly, swaying you ever so slightly because he was too overcome to stand still.
For minutes, all you did was stand in the doorway and hold. That was the quiet choreography of all of his homecomings, though it never felt routine. Each time it had a different weight, and this one was the heaviest yet by far.
When you finally were able to pull away, you scanned him again for signs of injury, physical or otherwise. You knew him like you knew yourself, and even the most imperceptible changes never got past you.
Your eyes widened when they dropped to his neck.
You didn’t have to ask; he already knew the question. He answered it, still smiling, his voice gravelly and low, soft and tired, but not weary. All of it built up your hopes until he finally spoke it into reality.
“I’m alright, baby.”
His hands grazed your face, and you nearly flinched at the feeling of his bare fingertips purely out of habit. You’d spent months of him preventing you from coming into contact with his infected tissue. But then you realized what you were feeling: real skin sans leather, flesh devoid of flaw. His fingers were roughened from calluses and nothing more, complete with his wedding band returned to its rightful place.
Your eyes watered in disbelief and awe. A trepidatious smile grew on your lips as he cupped your cheek in his palm. You covered his hand with your own and pressed into the warmth while your other hand traced up his torso, until you were grazing over the skin of his neck and nudging down his shirt collar.
It was free of all black-rotted dry patches, no cracks on the surface to be seen. Nothing but a fresh scar you didn’t need to ask about right now. Right now, all that mattered was that he was whole and solid, returned to his natural state, totally healed and hot-blooded under the surface.
Your breath hitched at his body heat. Oh, how you missed his skin.
“You’re really okay..?”
The words were small and barely squeaked out. You didn’t want false hope. You needed to know the healing was more than just skin deep. His reaction assuaged all fears.
“Yeah. I really am.”
The truth took a moment to permeate the air. When it did, he took you in a kiss so firm and certain, it crushed all remaining doubt.
You met it fiercely, pushing yourself against his torso to feel him closer. Your hands threaded into the hair on the nape of his neck as he wrapped his arms around to hold you firmly in place.
Your tongue darted out first, or maybe his did, you couldn’t say. And from there, it happened fast.
His hands moved to the back of your head, then your waist, and then your ass, where they couldn’t help but grope and lift until your legs wrapped around him and he held you in the air. You grabbed his face as your lips parted wider to allow his tongue further inside. He roughly kicked off his boots and then he was walking. He kept kissing you all the way through— he didn’t need to open his eyes, he knew where he was going.
Your back met the cool blankets on your bed and then he was crawling over you, caging you under him in the dark. You wrapped your hands around his biceps and felt the muscles flex as he lowered himself to kiss down your neck, covering each square inch of skin with his sloppy, desperate kisses.
“I feel better than I have in years. Spent the whole trip home waiting to show you.”
'To prove it to you' was in the subtext.
He returned to your mouth hotly and grinded his hips into your center, the friction of his jeans against the soft fabric of your home clothes making you keen into the toe-curling feeling. He pulled his shirt over his head and you took the opportunity to speak.
“Turn the lamp on, need to see you.”
He made quick work of reaching over to it, and then you shuddered as your palms felt the expanse of his abdomen. Tight ab muscles, beefy pectorals, and broad shoulders. The sight you never got sick of that made up his brawny form. All of it healed and renewed.
He kept grinding while you took him in. Your arms went up and around and down again, nearly worshipping the flesh. But when you yanked at his belt, he stopped you with his hands around your wrists, bringing them to each side of your head and caging you in again.
“Spent too much time thinking about what I’m gonna do to you.” He sat back up and you kept your arms where he fixed them as he began to pull at the elastic waistband of your bottoms. He kissed your exposed navel and you shivered as he mumbled into you. “Need’ta show you how I’ve always wanted to fuck you.”
You never felt like his age held him back much in the bedroom— his job relied on stamina and endurance, and though his job was physically demanding and he was not quite in his prime, the toll was mostly seen in the back pain after; it hardly showed in the moment. As his hands and mouth traveled every inch of exposed skin like a starving animal, you wondered if you could even handle him giving you something more. The thought of finding out went straight between your legs.
His mouth went straight there, too.
You nearly yelled as he dove into your cunt with a fervent tongue, lapping and sucking and messily making out with your folds, his thumbs kneading to pull open the soft fatty skin of your vulva. He wasn’t interested in wasting any time on teasing, clearly.
Your thighs clenched around his head and a hand pushed against his head reflexively to fight off the sudden intensity, but it was useless. The pressure of your legs around his head only spurred him on until your cunt was soaked in spit– it certainly wasn’t your own wetness– he devoured every ounce that escaped before it could go anywhere but his mouth.
You bucked and twitched as you cried out his name. “Leon, Leon, s’too much, holy— fuck, Leon—” but he only spread your thighs and kept your there, pointing his tongue to circle sharply around your clit.
“I’m just getting started, baby,” he said, sucking your clit into his mouth and letting go with a flilthy noise, “thought I’d never taste this sweet cunt again, gonna drink my fucking fill.”
Your head fell back as he dove back in, steady and thorough and obscene. You took deep breaths, although they were more like hitched pants and moans until you acclimated to the sensation. He hummed as he felt you melt under him and added a single finger inside, groaning when you arched into it.
He slowed down, his finger rocking and curling in and out and his tongue lapping at you. You looked down to see his darkened eyes gazing at his work between tastes, and you shuddered as he licked his lips before retracting all touch. Your hips flinched upwards to beckon him to return, but he didn’t. He met your eyes and reveled in your wanton expression as he sucked you off his fingers, never breaking eye contact as he rose to kneel between your parted legs.
He finally began to do away with his jeans, and something changed in his tone as he did. You shivered with desire as you watched him move. It was deliberate and slow. He was undressing like a threat.
“Here’s what’s gonna happen…”
His belt fell with a thud against the ground—
“I’m gonna fuck you until you cry…”
The button fell apart with a flick of his wrist—
“Fill you so full of cum you’ll be dripping ‘til next week…”
The zipper seemed to ache as it slowly parted open—
“And you’re gonna fucking take it.”
Unhurriedly and never once looking away from you, he pushed his pants and boxers down until his thick cock sprang free. You whined at the sight of it, eyes fixed where it hung in the air. It was dark pink– definitely darker than usual– his hot blood expanding every vein. He was harder than you’d ever seen him, a full display of the immensity of his desire, so much that it nearly looked painful. When a bead of precum began to appear on his tip, your mouth watered for it.
Your eyes scanned upward as you realized he’d stopped talking and was kneeling there in wait while you stared. You took in his form on the way up; the way his abs tightened with every throb of his cock, the striations of his brawny arms, the few new cuts over old scars. The heavy rise and fall of his chest as he held back for the last time tonight.
And then, you saw his face. His chin was slightly raised as if he was looking down on his next confirmed kill. His lips were still glistening with slick as they were pulled into something not unlike a snarl. His hair was halfway in his eyes, but it did nothing to conceal the intent within them.
“You think you can handle that?”
Your eyes fleeted to his navel, only for a second, assessing him like a loaded gun that was aimed right at you. His hands held his clothes in tight fists and his cock leaked with pre.
You met his eyes again and blinked as you nodded and choked out a needy, “yes,” and your gulp gave away your uncertainty. But that only seemed to spur him on.
He fell forward; suddenly, his face was inches away from your own, one hand on the mattress beside your head to hold himself up, the other yanking his pants off as quickly as he could.
“You know what to say if you can’t,” he grumbled, hunkering down to glide his tip against you until it notched against your entrance, “because telling me to stop won’t be enough.”
He grabbed your wrist at the same time he violently drove in, knowing you’d leap from it and keeping you there anyways. You were nothing but a mess of yelps and moans as he beat his way inside, clawing against his back and shoulders. A single finger wasn’t enough to ready you for this, and the knocks against your cervix were only soothed by the equal force against your g-spot.
Each merciless pounding of his fat cock stretched your walls to their limit, and he truly didn’t give you any other option but to take it. You groaned at the way he used his broad build to keep your legs open to him, every ounce of muscle that you were no match against weighing down to pin you there.
With an arm wrapped under you to hold you by the back of the neck and the other tightening in the hair on the crown of your head, he caged you in to face him. But your dizzy eyes were squeezed shut and could only open to roll back into your skull.
He shook you lightly by the hair. “Look at me,” he growled. You mewled as you attempted it, but your glossy eyes went straight back behind your eyelids. He did it again, harder, pistoning up to fuck you harder, too. “Look at me, you fucking bitch.”
The shock of his words made your eyes shoot open with a gasp and a furrowed brow, far removed from the gentle reverence he held you in at the door. His gaze bore straight into you with a scowl, his adoration replaced with possession.
He was terrifying. Unhinged. A madman on the loose inside of you. A killer who lashed against your walls with uncalculated raw power. Though you could only see his face, it was the hottest thing you’d ever seen.
While you were still reeling from the disparagement, he gritted angrily into your face, crowding you until your noses nearly touched.
“Who owns you?”
You could only attempt to answer, your voice breaking into a sputtering moan as he bottomed out harshly again and again, not needing any of the great focus it took you to speak.
The pitiful noise you’d made wasn’t good enough for him. He squeezed the sides of your neck and you arched off the bed, but that only sent your body flush against his, which didn’t make you any clearer-headed.
“Tell me who fucking owns you.”
You felt like you were floating as your brain was cut off from blood flow, and out of care for your own wellbeing, you managed to answer him.
“Y-you, Leon—“
He let go of the pressure and smirked as you gasped. “Mouth not so good for talking right now, huh? Only good for one thing?”
He unclasped his fingers from your hair and brought them to your chin, delving into your parted lips to hook around your bottom teeth. You let your jaw fall open and watched in shock as he spat inside.
“Swallow it,” he commanded, fingers digging into your face as he pushed it shut. You shuddered as you did, and his own eyes rolled back now.
His head fell into the crook of your neck with a smoky groan. You felt hot puffs of air against your pulse as his hands became gentler, like he revered you for doing what he demanded.
“Gorgeous fucking girl… needed this cunt so bad, went through hell to get back home to you…”
His hold on you may have lessened, but his words held your heart in his fist and squeezed. He’d captured your thoughts so purely on the present, you nearly forgot the context.
Your arms were limp as they tried to wrap around his back, barely able to hold on as he moved with every pounding of his hips. But still, they searched him, chest filling with every inch they felt unmarred by disease, and your cunt pulsed as he searched you for places to grab. Your ebbing breasts, the small of your waist, the meat of your hips, landing finally on the underside of your knee where he changed the angle to impale himself even deeper.
You were losing it, and he could tell. He thrust upwards to meet where your hips rose to help him land in that perfect spot and he kissed your jugular— first a peck, then an open-mouthed kiss, and then a full-on lick of his tongue.
Your legs trembled under him. “Leon, I’m, fuck, please,” you breathed.
He twisted your nipple and nipped under your ear as if to mock how it made you writhe. “Oh yeah? You sure you wanna cum so soon?”
‘So soon’ ..?
Maybe he wasn’t all talk when this started. Maybe that savage look in his eye wasn't a trick of the light. At this rate, he wasn’t going to fuck you until you cried, he was going to fuck you until you died.
But he wanted it. He lifted himself enough to sear your mouth with a kiss, his thrusts slowing momentarily to wedge his hand against your clit. He gathered the wetness between your bodies to easily rub against the silky nub. Your toes curled and your spine curved to seek the friction of his freshly calloused fingers. He deepened the kiss as you moaned, and it became all tongue so he could swallow the sounds in his throat.
He was debauched. Delirious. A bad man smiling as he plucked petals from a flower. Delightfully drowning himself in sin. All you could do was surrender as he brought you your undoing.
You came with wild cries and jolts of ecstasy, nails digging into his deltoids as he sped up even more. You watched him look down at his cock being covered in your cream, a ragged sound in his throat as you tightened around him with each wave of pleasure.
You panted sharply as you barely began to come down, and he lifted himself up on his haunches, kneeling between your legs as he soaked up the sight.
Once your half-lidded eyes met his, he grabbed your hips to brutally fuck you into him.
You clawed at the sheets as he used you like a toy. You won’t be surprised if your ass is speckled with fingertip-shaped bruises tomorrow. All you could see in front of you was your breasts recoiling from each thrust, and behind them, Leon lost in his own world of feeling. His head was tipped back and you saw the stubble under his chin— his pecs were flexed and flushed pink from the vigor— all of him covered in a light gloss of sweat that shone in the warm lamplight.
He was intoxicating to behold, and it was absolutely unfair, because you already lost the ability to think straight. Now you drank him in with your eyes, and you were totally inebriated.
Your moans turned into some kind of mumble. You didn’t know what words you were hoping to form, but it was something along the lines of a warning that he was approaching the realm of too much. He looked down at your babbling with a lust-filled, lazy smirk, all too pleased with himself already.
“Whatdya want, love? You drunk on my cock already?”
He slapped your clit and laughed lowly as you gasped and jolted, then propped your limp legs around him and barreled in even more. Steady, fast, and loud.
Thank god the apartment days were over or the cops would come any minute. Skin slapping against skin, the headboard banging dents into the drywall, you crying out for him like he was carving out your heart. A noise complaint in the making. But when he signed the property deed, it came with the right to make you scream, neighbors be damned.
And scream you did as he held you even tighter and thumbed your swollen clit, evoking your walls to seize in the way he needed to release. He leaned back with a sharp and airy shout, hips sputtering as you felt him unload deep inside, his remaining jerky movements making it trickle out around him.
You were a touch thankful as he slowed down and his hands rubbed soothingly on your thighs. You could finally catch your breath. But your graciousness was short-lived as he flashed a grin and flipped you onto your stomach. The breath was forced out of you as your chest fell into the mattress, and your eyes went wide as he lined himself back up, slowly pushing inside, his cum allowing his cock to slip easily inside regardless of how sore your folds already were.
You whined and knotted your fists into the fabric under you as he bottomed out and pulled away with slow and liquid motions. You heard the faintest laugh rumble in his chest before he spoke.
“I’m not anywhere near done with you,” he huffed.
You buried your head in the soft sheets below. Filled with his load and the promise of another, you felt totally and completely his. Exactly where you wanted to be. Right where you belonged. You couldn’t help but smile, until he moved and it was wiped off your fucked-out face.
He gripped the meat of your ass as he steadily picked up speed, the silver of his wedding band cold against you in contrast to the heat of your bodies. A wet spot collected underneath you from his cock coaxing out his cum with each thrust. The sounds were softer yet even more crude with your cunt so sopping wet.
“Gripping me so good, look at you,” he spread your cunt apart a little more, “goddamn, you’re perfect.”
You felt mildly embarrassed at the messy sight of you that he was undoubtedly staring at right now, but at the same time, you envied his view. To watch his cock disappear inside of your puffy and well-used folds, then withdraw covered in his cum and a healthy mix of your own. To view his strong hands holding you open, to see yourself laid out in submission.
But all you could do was feel, and that was more than enough to sate you. In fact, you were already well past satisfaction, and you kept having to refind your focus so you could keep taking more. You inhaled deeply as you felt the soreness at your entrance and reminded yourself to relax your body, sighing away the tension in the muscles you didn’t mean to flex: your thighs, your back, your shoulders. But then you’d feel the friction of his tip dragging against the gummy walls of your g-spot, and your mind was clouded by pleasure all over again.
He wasn’t going nearly as fast as before, but it was obviously a choice, and not one made out of tiredness or necessity. It just felt too good for him to change the rhythm. With your knees together as you lay prone, your canal was tightened in a way that made you feel dense and so, so warm around his tender cock. You always felt incredible to him, but if sex always felt like this, he wouldn’t just fuck you all night, he’d stay buried in you so long he’d risk starving to death.
You were each lost in your own minds as the feeling went on and on. The air was heady and thick as you breathed against the blankets, and Leon was humping into you like waves rolling into shore– fluid motions that still crashed onto the shore or your center, followed by another and another, a constant ebb and flow that lulled you deeper into euphoria.
“Feels s’good, Leon, oh my god… d-don’t stop.” Your voice was laced in awe.
“Really fucking does… shit…”
The words were airy and held just as much wonderment as yours had. He traced a hand down the valley of your spine, revering the body that gave him such immeasurable bliss. Knowing that he was feeling the same seventh heaven you were made you feel even more connected to him, and your toes curled at the thought.
It kept going, and going, and going. You couldn’t tell how long it remained exactly like that, neither of you searching for your next orgasm, just totally and completely captured by the present. Time wasn’t something that existed in the room. It was a long time, but it’d never be enough.
He groaned as you felt his hips stutter involuntarily as the next thrust landed even deeper inside. The unexpectedness hit you both and turned it back into something needier. The next thrust snapped against your ass and you arched into the air to meet it. He shifted to hold you firmly as he set on a new wanton speed.
You mewled as you keened into him, legs parting slightly to make room for any spare length he had to give, and gripped the sheets as his balls began to slap against your clit. Each time he crashed against your walls, you felt them begin to bloom with electric want, and you braced against the bed to push yourself back into his thrusts as they became gritty, harsh pounds again.
He felt just the same as you, blood rushing to the parts of his brain that demanded another orgasm, and he felt every flutter of your walls around him that beckoned to milk him dry– exactly what he wanted you to do, to drain him until he had nothing left to give. He wanted to do whatever it took to make sure that fluttering didn’t stop.
He reached under you to rub your clit. You yelped as his fingers made contact, gliding easily against the cum-covered nub. His forearm was pressed against your navel, pinned between you and the mattress, and you could feel the size of his cock protrude against it from within you. Your legs spread even wider as you cried out, struggling to hold onto reality as he worked the thousands of nerve endings he’d already made oversensitive. Now, it bordered on torture.
The way you opened yourself only made it easier for him to find purchase to pound even harder, meeting the way you writhed and keened for more, his eyes rolling back as you bore down as if you were trying to squeeze him out. But all it did was drive him harder into all the right spots inside of you, and you were so overcome with sensitivity, you came before you even knew you were close.
And you came hard. Jolting and seizing as you cried his name, your eyes growing wet from the shock of it. He was loud as he reacted to the way you clenched and pulsed around him, your warm, slick cum covering his cock and making his movements sloppy and wet. And you were even louder as he kept going even harder.
He was surprised that he didn’t cum again right then and there, but it only galvanized him to pull your hips back and use you again. Your body was growing limp, you were shuddering and shaking, and his eyes widened with madness as he watched your face contort in pleasure. He was watching for signs that you’d say your safeword, too, but every moment that passed that you didn’t, he took as permission to fuck you even harsher.
Your head lolled and your lip quivered as you took it like a punishment, not a single coherent thought inside your head. You registered that he was close like white noise, simultaneously in the background and all around you. His hands seared in their grip on you as he hammered in once, twice, and then held himself deeply inside with broken rasps and moans. Your lips fell open as you felt his fresh load mingle with the first, pooling hot against your cervix.
He pulled out with a violent hiss, and you cried out as the fluid stung against your sore opening. Your legs trembled until they collapsed back onto the bed along with the rest of your body.
You were vibrating from the inside out, still reeling from how aggressive both of your orgasms were. You could hear him catching his breath, too. You twitched as you felt him touch the outside of your cunt, bracing yourself for more, relaxing when he only stroked the outside. He drew his fingers up and down the crease of your folds, languid and smooth, leisurely playing in his overflow. He pressed them in once just to watch you jolt, and then cleaned them off with his mouth.
He finally gave you a break and turned his focus to taking care of you. By the way you lay there limp, he knew you needed it. He peppered you with kisses as you floated in the afterglow, sprinkling them softly on your rear, up your spine, and onto your shoulder blades, until he placed one on your cheek.
He brushed your frazzled hair away from your face and the corner of his mouth pulled into a smile at the absolute state of you. But then the lamplight reflected off a tear and he furrowed his brow as he gently wiped it away.
“You with me, sweetheart?”
He chuckled at the small sound you made in acknowledgement, the only thing you had effort to respond with. He placed a kiss onto your head.
“Did so good for me, love. So perfect.”
He grunted as he laid down, pulling your back into his chest to spoon you. You weakly held onto his arm as it wrapped around your torso, shifting back into him to steal his body heat.
You closed your eyes with a sigh as you soaked in the way he took care of you after such a brutal display of lust. His thumbs circling against your sweat-damp skin, nose nuzzling against your hair, gravelly voice soothing you with praise.
“M’so glad to be home, baby. You always made me feel young again, but it’s almost like I am young again. Don’t want to take it for granted. Gonna take some time off, take you on vacation, let you see the world. Might fuck you on every continent.”
You giggled at his ambition, still high on happy chemicals and swimming in the dream he laid out. It’d be a significant change, him enjoying the fruits of his labor with things more permanent than gifts and fast cars. You always encouraged him to, but he said it’d be easier for him to cope with losing a material possession than a vacation being ruined by being called on a mission. You hoped it wasn’t just the endorphins talking.
“Yeah, you like that idea? Good, ‘cause I mean it.” He kissed under your ear and squeezed you in closer. “Wanna spend every day making you happier than ever, make up for how long I was sick. Can’t waste any of ‘em not fucking you the way you need me to.”
You gasped as you felt his half-hard cock twitch against your ass, instinctively arching back into it. A shiver ran over your skin as he pressed it against you in turn, and you realized he still wasn’t done, confirmed by the way his voice darkened against your ear and he started kneading your breast in his hand.
His kisses against your pulse turned open-mouthed and erotic, one hand pinching your hardening nipple as the other reached for his cock, slowly stroking himself with the tip resting against your sopping hole. You were so flush together that with each wave of bloodflow that grew him towards full-hardness, it breached your pulsing entrance without him even trying.
Your toes curled as he leisurely thrust into one centimeter at a time. It was just enough of a tease to eat away your apprehension. You really weren’t sure how much more you could take, but as he shallowly fucked his tip into you, you became increasingly desperate for more, until you were squirming and panting in his arms.
You gasped as he suddenly pushed halfway in, feeling your folds and your entrance smart in their soreness. Just a few minutes left empty and you needed time to accommodate him all over again. He wasn’t quite as big as before after two orgasms, but with his size, being slightly smaller was still pretty fucking huge. And now you needed to adjust to more than his size; you needed to adjust to your own overstimulation, too.
He thrust halfway in and stilled there, holding you tight to prevent you from backing into it, feeling your legs shake around him.
You already couldn’t walk, he was sure of it. But it must be well past midnight now. Did you need to use your legs tonight anyways? He decided that you didn’t. Might as well make them truly useless.
He bottomed out in one smooth, sharp thrust, aided by the lubricant of the two creampies inside. His eyes rolled back as he stayed there for a brief moment, just long enough to feel you throb around his cock, like your body was begging him to make it three.
He’d never cum that many times in a row before, not even in his prime. But now, he felt like he’d entered a new prime, and he wanted nothing more than to see just what his limit was. He wondered if he’d reach yours first. But you were a tough girl, he thought. You took him like you were made for it.
His navel thumped against your ass as he drove in with that goal in mind: find out how much cum he could stuff inside your cunt until one of you tapped out.
He started steadily, knowing it’d take him longer to find his finish a third time, and seeing how you were already a mess of moans, both from pleasure and physical overwhelm. It boosted his ego to know he was pacing himself for you much more than for himself.
You felt like an unraveled spool of thread. You couldn’t believe he had the stamina for another round, his age considered or not. You were shocked you could keep going yourself. But at the same time your swollen cunt ached around him, it sucked him in for more.
He twisted your head back to take you in a kiss, swallowing your moans as he beat fast inside again. You reached back to hold onto any part of him you could until your senses were once again flooded and you melted open to him.
“That’s it, relax for me. Just one more, baby, gonna fill you to the brim. Fucking take it.”
And take it you did, until the night sky turned light blue.
Deep in an overgrown valley, far from human stupidity and sorcerer politics, you kept a tiny shrine. Just moss-coated stone, swaying lilies on the lake, and enough silence to drown an entire war. Peace. Blessed, beautiful peace.
Or…it was peace.
Until certain men started treating your sanctuary like it was some kind of cursed Airbnb.
Which is exactly why you opened your eyes the night someone bled on your doorstep.
You didn’t even bother rising at first, you just sensed it—an intruder crouched at the red torii, aura fractured, heartbeat too calm for someone dying. Only one idiot you knew perfectly matched that contradiction.
“Dabura Karaba,” you sighed, still lying sideways on your tatami. “If you die on my floor, I’ll throw you into the lake myself.”
A low voice answered, raspy with pain: “…Good evening to you too.”
You finally sat up, sliding the shoji open with a flick of your finger. Moonlight spilled over him—blood streaked down his side, his expression painfully neutral, as if apologizing for inconveniencing your night.
He bowed slightly. The bow you hated, because it always meant he was hurt. “May I…come in?”
“Only because you ask nicely,” you muttered, grabbing his arm and dragging him in by force anyway. Warm blood hit your wrist. “What happened?”
He blinked, slow. “I was ambushed.”
“By?”
“Someone loud. And annoying.” A beat. “…Your favorite type, apparently.”
You shot him a flat look. His lips barely twitched.
You patched him up with the same ease you would arrange flowers. He watched you with that annoyingly calm gaze the whole time, silent but overflowing with unspoken thanks.
When you wiped the last smear of blood from his jaw, he murmured, “I knew you were hiding out here. I wasn’t sure you’d let me in again.”
You shrugged. “I like quiet, not solitude. And you don’t disturb anything.”
A breath of something warm passed between you.
Which, naturally, was the exact moment the air cracked open outside.
Footsteps. Heavy, arrogant, familiar. Then a scoff.
“Oh, wonderful.” you muttered. “The universe sends me a migraine.”
Dabura closed his eyes knowingly. “You really should put up a boundary.”
“I did. He bites through them.”
The door slid open without permission.
Sukuna filled the entrance like a storm that learned how to smirk. Muscles cut from violence, eyes gleaming with that feral delight he only got when inconveniencing you personally.
“Well, well,” he drawled, eyes landing on Dabura slumped by your knee. “I leave you alone for a century and you start collecting strays.”
Your jaw clenched. “Get off my property.”
Sukuna stepped inside anyway, the tatami whining under his weight. His gaze dropped to Dabura’s bandaged ribs. “Oh? You’re bleeding on her floor? How brave.” He clicked his tongue. “She hates that.”
“I cleaned it,” Dabura said calmly, not bothering to look up.
Sukuna blinked once, slowly. Then laughed. “Shit, you’re so boring. How does she tolerate you?”
You stood up, palm flat on Sukuna’s chest, pushing him back even though your strength barely mattered. “Why are you here?”
He leaned into your touch shamelessly. “To pay a visit.”
“No.”
“To bother you.”
“No.”
His grin sharpened. “…To fuck you?”
“Absolutely not.”
Dabura exhaled through his nose, which for him was the equivalent of a dramatic eye-roll.
Sukuna’s eyes flicked down. “You again. Why are you always here when I want her alone?”
Dabura looked him dead in the eyes. “Why are you always here when she doesn’t?”
You choked back a laugh. Sukuna did not. “Listen carefully, little stone statue,” Sukuna said, stepping closer. “She and I have unfinished business.”
“She and I,” Dabura replied, just as soft, “have a peaceful house. You’re the disturbance.”
Sukuna froze. His jaw ticked. “No one calls me that.”
“I just did.”
The silence was electric. You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Both of you shut up.”
Sukuna clicked his tongue. “He’s getting bolder. Is it because you let him stay here? Hm?” He leaned close to your ear, voice low and wicked. “Or because you let him sleep in that little room near yours?”
Your pulse spiked. Dabura’s eyes sharpened, barely—like a blade unsheathed an inch.
“You’re injured,” he said to Sukuna. “Your right shoulder.”
Sukuna glared at him. “Don’t analyze me.”
“I’m not. I’m stating facts so she doesn’t waste time on you.”
“Oh, look at that,” you muttered, “my two worst decisions talking.”
Sukuna stepped closer, crowding you. “I don’t mind sharing your shrine,” he murmured. “But I won’t be polite about it.”
“You’ve never been polite in your life.”
Dabura rose to his feet despite the pain. “You’re disturbing her peace,” he said.
“And?”
“And she lets me stay because I don’t.” Dabura added.
Sukuna bared his teeth. “Are you implying she prefers you?”
“I’m implying,” Dabura replied, “that she doesn’t prefer noise.”
You burst out laughing before you could stop yourself.
Sukuna snapped his attention to you. “Oh? You’re laughing at him now?”
“No,” you said, wiping your eyes, “I’m laughing because the two of you are ancient terrors of the world and somehow behave like jealous teenagers.”
Sukuna blinked. Dabura looked away, a faint flush coloring his ears.
You stepped between them, hands on both chests—one calm, one heaving with irritation. “Listen carefully,” you said. “I took Dabura in because he needed shelter.”
Your fingers slid up Sukuna’s collarbone. “And you..I tolerate because you’re too stubborn to die.”
Sukuna grinned. Dabura sighed. You continued: “If either of you wants to cause trouble in my shrine, at least do it quietly.”
Sukuna leaned in, breath brushing your lips. “Oh, sweetheart,” he growled, “I can be very, very quiet when I want to.”
Behind you, Dabura’s dry voice cut in, “That’s a lie.”
You snorted again.
Sukuna’s glare sharpened. “Say that again.”
Dabura looked at him, “You’re loud.”
“LOUD—?!”
You shoved your palm over Sukuna’s mouth. “Enough,” you hissed.
He licked your hand. You jerked it back. “Disgusting.”
“Delicious,” he corrected.
Dabura muttered, “This is exhausting.”
You finally exhaled, shoulders dropping. “Both of you,” you said, “sit down.”
Sukuna smirked. Dabura obeyed immediately.
And you realized—you might actually be in hell.
But tonight?
Tonight the quiet shrine in the middle of nowhere was full of tension, heat, wounded gods, and the exact kind of trouble you secretly lived for.
And peace, unfortunately, would have to wait.
“Come with me,” you murmured, brushing your fingers over Dabura’s wrist. “I’ll clean it fully, sweetheart.”
The word slipped out naturally, warm, familiar, the way you always said it when he looked more hurt than he admitted.
Dabura didn’t even blink. He just nodded, eyes softening like he’d been waiting for you to take charge.
Behind you, from the kitchen, came the unmistakable crunch of bone. You didn’t bother turning. “Sukuna, that was wrapped for a reason.”
A low grunt. “He shouldn’t taste this good if you didn’t want me to eat him.”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” you muttered, tugging Dabura gently toward the inner room.
“…I’m not—” Another crunch. “Okay, maybe I am.”
Dabura followed quietly, steps steady despite his wounds. He didn’t complain, didn’t posture. He never did. That’s what you liked about him—he let you handle him without ego.
You sat him down on the wooden floor beside your futon, kneeling between his knees as you peeled away the last blood-soaked wrap.
He winced, not dramatically, just a subtle tightening of the jaw.
You looked up at him. “Tell me if it stings.”
“It will,” he said, deadpan. “You never dab anything. You scrub.”
You snorted. “Maybe I enjoy hearing you hiss a little.”
His eyes flicked down to yours. “I know,” he said softly.
Something warm pulled in your chest. Another crunch echoed from the kitchen. “For fuck’s sake,” Sukuna growled. “You’re petting him now? Really?”
“I am treating a wound,” you called back.
“Looks like petting.”
Dabura blinked once, then murmured in the same calm tone he always used when insulting Sukuna, “Jealousy doesn’t suit you.”
A wooden spoon clattered against your counter as Sukuna choked on outrage. “I am not jealous—”
“Shh,” you interrupted, pressing a fresh cloth to Dabura’s side. He sucked in a sharp breath and your hand immediately steadied. “Sorry, babe.” Your thumb brushed slow, soothing circles into his skin. “Almost done.”
He watched you like you were something holy. Something safe.
“It’s fine,” Dabura whispered. “Your hands never hurt.”
Behind you came a disgruntled scoff. “Oh, Come on—”
You held up one finger without looking back. “I swear to the heavens, Sukuna—make one more noise and I’ll kick you into the lake to cool off.”
Silence.
Dabura’s breath eased. He lowered his head slightly, just enough that his forehead hovered inches from yours—asking without asking.
You leaned in and let your foreheads touch, feeling the grounding calm of him seep into you.
“Thank you,” he murmured. “I always feel better when you’re the one caring for me.”
Your chest tightened. “Good,” you said softly. “Because you’re staying here until you recover.”
He nodded once. Obedient, trusting, comfortable.
From the kitchen, Sukuna muttered under his breath, “I hate both of you.”
You smiled. Dabura didn’t. But his hand slid over yours, slow and warm and deliberate.
He sat down near the kitchen threshold, water dripping from his hair and tracing the deep lines of markings across his bare chest. The horns framed his face like something born out of old myth—dangerous, regal, and very obviously not intimidated by the King of Curses leaning against your counter.
Sukuna eyed him up and down with an expression halfway between amusement and disgust.
“Horns,” he scoffed. “Really? You like horns now?”
Dabura didn’t even bother lifting his head. “Wow.”
Flat. Perfectly deadpan. An answer meant to irritate Sukuna purely by refusing to react.
You stepped behind Dabura and wrapped a towel over his wet hair, ruffling it with deliberate affection, like handling an oversized, battle-scarred dog who only lets you manhandle him.
“Yeah,” you said lazily, glancing back at Sukuna. “I can hold onto them when I ride him.”
Dabura’s breath hitched but only faintly. His mouth almost twitched upward, that near-smile he never showed anyone except you. He leaned subtly into your hands as you towel-dried his hair, head lowering so you didn’t have to reach.
His hand rose without hesitation, settling warm and confident on your thigh. You didn’t stop him.
Sukuna, however, snapped to attention like someone just spit on his throne. “Tch.”
A sharp, disgusted sound—masking something else entirely.
You rubbed Dabura’s hair one last time, intentionally rough, pushing it back from his forehead just to tease him. He lowered his gaze, lashes half-mast, and squeezed your thigh once—a quiet, controlled acknowledgement of you.
Sukuna’s aura spiked so sharply the air thickened. “You dare to touch her in front of me?” he growled, stepping away from the counter.
Dabura didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. Didn’t even look at him.
He kept his hand on your thigh, thumb brushing once along your skin like a claim he didn’t need to voice.
You finally turned toward Sukuna, face blank. “…Are you stupid?”
Sukuna’s eyes widened—just a fraction. You had seen that look before: the moment his pride took a direct hit.
A slow, threatening smile curled on his mouth. “Say that again.”
“No,” you said. “You heard me the first time.”
Dabura’s voice slid into the tension, low and quiet, “She is not yours.”
Sukuna snapped his attention back to him instantly. “Then what makes you think she’s yours?”
Dabura finally looked up. Eyes sharp as a blade kept in perfect condition. “…She put her hands on me,” he said, tone even. “You can imitate power, Sukuna. You can’t imitate being chosen.”
Sukuna’s smile vanished.
Your shrine fell silent. You placed your hand over Dabura’s, still on your thigh, and squeezed once.
Sukuna’s breath stuttered. Just enough for you to notice. “Touch her again,” Sukuna murmured, voice dropping to a deadly whisper, “and I’ll remove your arm.”
Dabura didn’t blink. “I believe she would remove yours first.”
You smirked.
Because both of them were right. And neither of them could handle it.
You stood up from beside Dabura, his hand sliding from your thigh as you moved. Sukuna’s eyes followed you like a predator tracking movement, jaw ticking, shoulders tense.
You didn’t stop until you were right in front of him. Then you poked his chest. Hard. “Let’s review,” you said calmly.
“One: you kicked my door in.” Poke. Sukuna’s eyebrow twitched.
“Two: you annoyed me.” Another poke.
His aura flared hot, warning, instinctive but you didn’t stop.
“Three: you mocked the horns I like.” Poke. His lip curled.
“And four,” you stepped even closer, head tilted, “you ate my leftover sorcerer.”
Sukuna sneered. “He was stale.”
“That is NOT the point.”
Sukuna leaned down, eyes narrowing, voice low and sharp as broken bone. “You’re awfully brave today.”
Behind you, Dabura shifted slightly, not threateningly, not impulsively, just ready. Unbothered, observing.
The still water to Sukuna’s wildfire.
You ignored Sukuna’s attempt at intimidation completely.
“So,” you said, poking his chest one last time, “What are you doing here?”
His grin faltered. Not much. Just enough that you caught it. He hated being asked that. Hated needing a reason. Hated that you demanded one.
His fingers curled at his sides. “…Visiting,” he growled.
“Wrong answer.”
A pause. His eyes darkened.
“Checking on you,” he snapped, then immediately scowled as if furious with himself for saying it out loud.
Dabura exhaled through his nose—barely audible, but absolutely judgmental.
Sukuna glared past you at him. “What was that?”
Dabura, perfectly calm, “Nothing.”
You turned your head slightly. “That sounded like something.”
“It wasn’t,” Dabura said flatly.
Which only irritated Sukuna more, because Dabura didn’t raise his voice, didn’t bow his head, didn’t show an ounce of fear.
Sukuna returned his attention to you, shoulders tight, expression somewhere between frustration, jealousy, and refusal.
He stepped closer, chest brushing your fingertip. “You want a reason?” he asked, voice dropping to a low, dangerous rasp. “Fine.”
His eyes lingered on your lips. Then your throat. Then the hand you’d just laid on Dabura minutes earlier.
“I came,” he said quietly, “because you’ve been letting someone else get too close.”
Dabura’s gaze sharpened. Yours did too. Sukuna continued, teeth bared in a half-snarl, half-confession he didn’t want to make, “And it pisses me off.”
“Does it?” you smirked, chin tilting up.
His grin widened into something wicked. “Yeah,” he said, voice dropping low, “it does.”
“Mhm.”
You dragged your gaze slowly over his features, purposefully unimpressed.
“Too bad you’re not the only big guy with good features.”
His smile vanished. “What?”
You shrugged, completely unfazed. “Don’t look at me like that. Dabura has horns.”
Sukuna’s face contorted. “Yes! He has horns, woman.”
You clicked your tongue. “Yeah. Horns. A third eye. Funny markings. Don’t act like you don’t have four eyes, four arms, and funny markings too.”
Sukuna opened his mouth—then paused. Because you were right. Painfully right.
You stepped even closer, voice dropping into a taunting whisper. “I have a type.”
Behind you, Dabura spoke, tone flat, perfectly timed, as if dissecting the situation with cold logic: “She likes monsters.”
Sukuna snapped toward him. “I wasn’t talking to you.”
Dabura blinked slowly. “I noticed.”
Your smirk deepened.
Sukuna dragged his gaze back to you, jaw flexing, teeth grinding together as he tried to process being compared to someone else.
“You’re choosing him because he has accessories?” Sukuna demanded, gesturing vaguely at Dabura’s horns like they were a personal insult. “This is ridiculous. I’m the stronger one. The more dangerous one. The more—”
You interrupted, tapping his chest twice. “Sukuna. Sweetheart. Strength was never the deciding factor.”
Dabura murmured under his breath: “She likes calm.”
Sukuna snapped, “Be quiet.”
You raised a brow at Sukuna. “…You hear how loud you are right now?”
He froze. Because yes—he was loud. Again. And Dabura wasn’t even sweating.
He sat there shirtless, wet hair dripping, horns gleaming, quietly existing, and somehow that alone was undermining the King of Curses.
You stepped back from Sukuna just enough to look him in the eyes. “You fit my type.” You gestured to Dabura without looking. “So does he.”
Sukuna’s expression darkened into something primal, territorial, and deeply offended. “So I’m competing with that?” he spat.
Dabura tilted his head. “You approached her. Not me.”
Sukuna growled, “I’ll tear your horns off.”
You sighed. “You can eat yourselves alive,” you said, brushing past Sukuna’s shoulder like he wasn’t the most feared curse to ever exist. “I’m going to sleep.”
Silence cracked through the shrine.
Neither man moved.
You didn’t look back—just slid your door open and disappeared into your room, leaving them both standing in your kitchen like two disasters you refused to babysit another second.
The door clicked shut behind you.
Outside? War.
Sukuna blinked once, slowly, like someone had just stolen the punchline he prepared. “She did not just—”
Dabura rose to his feet, water still dripping from his hair, towel sliding off one broad shoulder. “Yes. She did.”
Sukuna turned on him immediately. “Did I ask you?”
“No.”
“Then why are you speaking?”
Dabura looked him dead in the eyes. “Because you won’t stop.”
Sukuna scoffed, stepping closer, aura snarling around him. “You think I’m going to let her walk away after that?”
“You’re not letting her do anything,” Dabura said flatly. “She chose to leave.”
Sukuna’s jaw clenched. He glanced toward your closed door—once, fast, like he wanted to tear it off its hinges.
But he didn’t move. Because if he followed you now, after you dismissed him?
That would mean he was obeying you. Instead he growled, “She thinks she can just go to sleep while we’re—”
“Yes,” Dabura said. “Because she’s tired.”
Sukuna whipped around, rage tightening his expression. “Tired of what?”
Dabura blinked slowly, that quiet patience that always made Sukuna look more unhinged by comparison. “Of you.”
Sukuna’s hand twitched—ready to summon claws, tear something, destroy anything that wasn’t you. And still—He didn’t go after you. He didn’t dare. So instead he spat, “Fine. Let her sleep.”
Sukuna glared. After a long moment, he snarled: “She better not be sleeping on you.”
Dabura didn’t answer. But he didn’t need to.
The quiet confidence in his posture said everything.
Sukuna stalked out into your garden like a banished storm, the earth cracking faintly under his steps, the koi scattering as if they knew better than to swim near him when he was sulking.
Good. Let him cool down outside.
Inside your room, the silence felt like warm silk. A soft knock tapped on your doorframe. “…May I come in?”
You didn’t have to sense him. His calm aura was unmistakable.
“Yeah,” you sighed, shifting the blanket up for him. “But don’t bleed on my sheets.”
Dabura stepped in with that effortless, quiet strength of his. He moved with a grace that made the entire shrine feel smaller.
“And don’t poke my eye out either,” you added.
He huffed something that might actually qualify as a laugh.
“I would never.”
You rolled your eyes but lifted the blanket anyway. He slid onto the futon beside you, careful, fitting his body around yours like he’d memorized the shape of sleeping next to you.
He wasn’t warm like Sukuna, who radiated heat like a furnace.
Dabura ran cooler—comfortable and solid.
You melted into him instantly. His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you subtly closer. He dipped his head and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, then you leaned up to kiss his jaw, feeling it tense under your lips.
You felt more than heard the quiet vibration in his chest. Not a purr. Just contentment restrained by dignity.
Outside, a rock cracked under Sukuna’s heel. Dabura’s lips brushed your hair. “He’s so annoyed,” Dabura whispered, amusement feathering his tone.
“Yes he is,” you whispered back, snickering into his collarbone.
A pause. Then, softer: “It’s amusing,” Dabura murmured. “Seeing him so emotional.”
“It is.” You grinned into his skin. “But he’s hot when he’s mad.”
Dabura exhaled silently—the closest he ever got to laughing aloud. “That too,” he whispered.
You both shook with silent laughter and outside in the garden, Sukuna snapped a stalk of bamboo clean in half.
You buried your face more against Dabura’s throat.
He held you tighter, fingers stroking the back of your shoulder with slow, steady movements, completely unbothered by the King of Curses pacing angrily outside your sanctuary like a jealous beast.
The door slammed open so hard the frame protested.
Sukuna filled the entrance like a calamity, jaw clenched so tight a vein stood out along his neck, the air around him vibrating with the kind of rage only wounded pride could summon.
“Move over,” he snapped, voice low and dangerous. “I am not doing this.”
You didn’t move. Of course you didn’t.
Instead you snickered and buried your face deeper into Dabura’s neck, teeth grazing his skin in a playful bite meant solely to make the situation worse.
It worked.
Dabura inhaled quietly, muscles shifting under you, the faintest curl of a smile threatening his normally stoic mouth.
Sukuna looked like he might spontaneously combust. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” he snarled, stepping fully into the room.
Dabura lifted his head just slightly, eyes half-lidded, voice soft but not submissive in the slightest. “She wishes to sleep.”
Sukuna barked a laugh. “Oh, she wishes to—? Listen to me, you horned ornament—”
You cut him off by tightening your hold on Dabura’s shoulders and biting him again. Dabura exhaled through his nose, steadying himself.
Sukuna’s eye twitched so violently it could’ve counted as a separate attack technique. “Are you taunting me?” he demanded.
You finally lifted your head from Dabura’s neck, giving Sukuna the laziest smirk you could muster.
“I would never,” you lied.
Sukuna took one long step toward the bed, aura crackling.
Dabura didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. Just tightened his arm around you slightly, subtle but unmistakably protective.
Sukuna’s voice dropped even lower. “Move over,” he repeated, each syllable vibrating with restrained violence. “I’m not watching you cling to him like that.”
You raised a brow. “You watching is a you problem.”
“It’s everyone’s problem,” Sukuna shot back.
Dabura murmured, quiet as a blade sliding into its sheath: “You are welcome to sit. Not to demand.”
Sukuna’s glare could have shattered stone. But Dabura stayed calm, steady, warm at your back—everything Sukuna wasn’t in this moment.
You stretched out luxuriously against Dabura, just to drive the point home.
Sukuna growled. “Fine,” he bit out. “I’m getting in that bed.”
You blinked. Dabura blinked. Sukuna kicked off his sandals and climbed in on the opposite side of you with the worst attitude known to mankind.
He glared at you. Then at Dabura. Then at the blanket you refused to share. “Move,” Sukuna demanded.
“No,” you and Dabura said simultaneously.
Sukuna clenched his jaw so hard it cracked. And somehow—somehow—that was still not the worst part.
The worst part was that he stayed.
You kissed Dabura’s cheek, a soft brush of lips that barely registered on his skin but burned in Sukuna’s peripheral vision.
Then you stretched out onto your back like a queen entertaining herself with dangerous pets, sighing dramatically.
“Whimsical and fun,” you mocked aloud, voice syrupy with fake wonder.
Sukuna glared.
You turned your head toward him, fingers lazily sliding over his chest—over ink, muscle and heat.
“I’m the luckiest woman alive,” you purred, eyes half-lidded. “Please just never leave my bed again.”
Sukuna looked like he was physically restraining himself from shoving you down and proving a point. Instead, he muttered: “Tch.”
You rolled to your side to face him fully.
Behind you, Dabura shifted closer with silent precision, his bare chest brushing your back, one arm slipping around your lower waist like he’d claimed it before you even asked.
The weight of him behind you, cooler than Sukuna, but solid, grounding, ever-present—felt deliberate. Like he was reminding you he was still here.
Sukuna’s voice broke through, low and lethal: “If he touches my dick, I bite your head off.”
You smirked. “Mine? Why mine?” you asked sweetly, tracing the edge of his jaw with one finger, then dragging it slowly down the markings on his neck. “I’d love to watch you touch each other.”
Sukuna growled. A real sound, deep in his chest. “No.”
You leaned closer, mouth brushing the edge of his jaw, voice a whisper of heat against his skin. “Don’t act like you wouldn’t like it.”
Behind you, Dabura’s hand flexed. Then slowly, very slowly—tightened on your waist.
“Oh?” You turned your head just slightly, back still pressed to his chest. “You’d like that too, huh?”
Dabura huffed something close to a laugh, more breath than voice but his hand did begin to slide lower across your stomach.
You felt every inch of it.
Sukuna watched it happen with fury burning in every line of his face. “I’ll kill him.”
“You won’t,” you whispered.
Dabura’s palm skimmed lower, just under your navel now. A pause. A test. You tilted your hips slightly back into him—permission without a word.
He breathed out slowly behind you.
Sukuna was fuming—silent now, jaw locked, one hand flexing on the sheets like he was seconds from tearing through both of you just to reassert his place in the room.
You smiled against Sukuna’s neck. “Don’t worry,” you whispered. “I won’t let him touch you.”
“Fucking better not,” he growled, eyes locked on Dabura’s hand.
Dabura, behind you, only chuckled low in your ear.
His hand moved slowly over your stomach, his palm cold, fingertips tracing lines with perfect control. He touched like he thought ahead, like he already knew how your body would react.
No fumbling. No nerves. Just quiet, measured possession.
Your breath hitched once. That was all it took to encourage him further. His hand trailed lower. Not greedy. Not impatient. Just claiming.
And while he explored, your own hand drifted over Sukuna’s chest—because he was there, glaring silently, shirtless and carved like a curse weapon, muscles flexing with tension.
He didn’t say anything at first. Let you touch him. Let your fingers map the ridges of his chest, his neck, the ink that wrapped down his arms.
You admired all of him—the impossible height, the mass of four arms coiled like restrained violence, the marks that pulsed with cursed energy beneath your palm.
The sheer size of him. The pressure of being near him.
And, of course, his problems hidden under that hakama, both of which you were fully aware of, fully familiar with, and fully imagining at the same time Dabura’s hand slid lower.
Sukuna didn’t even look at you. Not at first. He just turned his back, throwing the blanket slightly off as he rolled to face the wall like a sulking titan. Like some massive, furious, scolded child who didn’t want you to see how affected he really was.
You grinned.
Then you let go of Dabura’s wrist and leaned over, pressing yourself to Sukuna’s back. Your leg curved around his thigh. Your arm slid over his waist and your hand cupped his crotch.
You squeezed. Just once. Firm and slow. He jerked slightly, jaw clenching, muscles twitching. “You know, Sukuna…” you purred in his ear, lips ghosting the edge of his neck, “Dabura has a split tongue.”
Silence. Tense. Hot. Then your tone dipped into a taunt:
“Wouldn’t you like that?”
Behind you, Dabura exhaled faintly—still touching you, still calm, still present.
Sukuna’s hands gripped the bedding like he might rip straight through the floor. His voice, when it came, was low and violent: “Get your hand off me.”
You smiled into his skin. “Why? You’re hard.”
His back tensed more. All four arms flexed once.
“And you’re jealous,” you whispered.
“I am not jealous,” he growled.
You dragged your hand again—slow, with just enough pressure to feel him twitch. He was already halfway there. And you knew it. “You’d let him suck you off,” you whispered, biting his shoulder lightly. “If I told you to.”
“No,” Sukuna snarled—but it cracked. Just a little.
Dabura, behind you, murmured with maddening calm: “If she told you to, you would.”
You choked on a laugh.
Sukuna shot up in bed, turning his head toward you both with a snarl but he didn’t shove you off. Didn’t push Dabura away.
He just sat there—muscles trembling, cocks straining under your palm, and refusing to admit how badly he wanted all of it.
The heat in the room was thick now. Not just from bodies, but from the raw imbalance of power—the way you lay on your side, both hands wrapped around Sukuna’s twin cocks, stroking slow, uneven, teasing.
The way Dabura’s chest pressed flush against your back, both of his arms coiled around your middle, hands exploring your skin like he was reading scripture he already memorized.
Sukuna was shaking. Not from weakness.
From rage. From the humiliation of this, being pleasured by you while watched by another man. Not just watched—spoken to. Directed. Analyzed.
He was on his side, facing you, panting through his teeth like every second of this was killing him.
Dabura’s voice, low and soft behind you, brushed your ear like silk-laced poison. “Go slower,” he murmured, guiding your wrists with light pressure.
“Not too tight—he likes control, but he breaks when it’s taken from him.”
You exhaled a breathless laugh, licking your bottom lip.
Sukuna’s teeth were bared. “You think I’ll let this—”
“You already are,” Dabura cut in smoothly.
Your grip around Sukuna’s cocks shifted—just the way Dabura instructed. He twitched in your hands.
“See?” Dabura whispered. “He hates this.”
You smiled. “And that’s what makes it so fun.”
Sukuna snarled, jaw flexing hard enough to crack. Dabura kissed the back of your shoulder. His voice dipped lower, filthy but still calm. Almost clinical.
“Stroke the bottom one slower,” he whispered, fingers sliding over your navel now, dipping lower. “He’s more sensitive there. It drives him mad.”
You obeyed.
Sukuna groaned—a raw, furious sound like something scraped from the pit of his throat.
He wanted to throw you down, dominate you, erase Dabura’s presence entirely.
But your hands stayed wrapped around him. And Dabura’s voice stayed in your ear. “He’s close already,” Dabura murmured. “All that pride, and nothing to show for it.”
Sukuna was trembling now. “Shut the fuck up—”
Dabura didn’t stop. “Poor thing,” he whispered over your skin, fingers now between your thighs, barely touching. “You want me to help?”
Sukuna glared at him with murder in his eyes.
And Dabura—calm, dangerous, fully hard now against your ass, held that stare over your shoulder and asked:
“You want me to hold her open for you?”
A beat.
“Would that help?” His tone stayed polite. Too polite. “Would that make it easier, Ryomen Sukuna?”
Sukuna snapped. Not forward. Back. He grabbed your wrist, yanked your hands off his cocks with a growl that shook the walls. His claws dug into the sheets, teeth gritted so hard they ached.
“Touch me again,” he snarled, eyes glowing, “and I’ll fuck you so deep you’ll forget his name.”
Dabura chuckled behind you. “Come up, lovely,” he said softly.
There was no force in it—just certainty.
He pushed himself up and settled back against the headboard, posture relaxed, confident, entirely in control. When he pulled you over his lap, it felt natural, inevitable. Your back pressed to his chest, his legs spreading slightly to make room.
For Sukuna. Just in case.
Dabura adjusted you with deliberate care, guiding your thighs over his own, grounding you there like you belonged. One hand slid under your thigh, steady and warm; the other stayed possessive and slow, reminding you exactly where you were.
You exhaled, breath hitching despite yourself. Dabura didn’t rush. He never did.
“My offer stands,” he said calmly, eyes lifting to Sukuna over your shoulder.
Sukuna hadn’t moved. He was rigid, coiled, eyes burning as he watched Dabura arrange you like something precious and dangerous at the same time. Every line of his body screamed restraint—rage sharpened by want.
Dabura’s thumb traced a slow, maddening line, voice dipping just enough to be cruel. “You want to sulk,” he continued evenly, “or you want your ego back?”
Silence stretched. Sukuna’s jaw flexed. His teeth ground together. “You think this is about my ego?” he snarled.
Dabura hummed thoughtfully, fingers never stopping. “No,” he said. “I think it’s about control.”
Your head tipped back slightly against Dabura’s shoulder. You smiled. “And you hate losing it,” you murmured toward Sukuna.
That did it.
Sukuna came closer, presence flooding the room again, heat rolling off him in waves. He loomed there, furious and magnificent, eyes flicking between Dabura’s hand, your expression, the way you sat so comfortably claimed.
“You’re enjoying this,” he growled at you.
“Immensely,” you replied.
Dabura’s arm tightened subtly around you, protective and provocative all at once.
“She invited you,” he said to Sukuna, tone almost kind. “I’m simply…accommodating.”
Sukuna laughed once. “You don’t accommodate,” he said. “You provoke.”
Dabura finally smiled. “Only when it works.”
Dabura’s arm around your waist held you steady as he slid two fingers into you, firm but slow—like a man unbothered by anything, not even the furious legend standing three feet away. His palm curved perfectly between your thighs, guiding the movement like a ritual.
Your breath hitched. Your head dropped back against his shoulder, mouth parting, lashes fluttering.
And the whole time? You never broke eye contact with Sukuna.
Face locked in a mixture of rage, need, and disbelief that you were letting someone else do this while he watched.
You didn’t flinch. You just reached out and grabbed him.
One of them.
His breath caught. His whole body jerked once like something sharp had struck through his spine.
“Get between my legs,” you said flatly.
A command. Not a request. For a moment, he didn’t move—too many thoughts crashing through the warped temple of his pride.
Then, slowly, furiously, he leaned forward and of course, the first thing this stupid man did was threaten. His eyes, glowing and violent, locked onto Dabura like he might tear out his throat for breathing the same air as you.
Dabura didn’t even blink.
He just pulled his fingers out, slow and wet, keeping his grip firm on your waist—then reached over with the most casual shit-eating grin you’d ever seen, and slid those same fingers straight into Sukuna’s mouth.
“Taste what you miss.”
Silence. Sukuna froze. His jaw flexed. He glared at Dabura like he might kill him in nine ways and still bring him back for a tenth. He didn’t suck. Didn’t bite. Just glared and gave you the filthiest, most betrayed side-eye with all four eyes.
You choked on a laugh.
“Oh? No?” Dabura said, voice mock-polite. His fingers glistened in the low light. “What a shame.”
He licked them clean. Slowly. Still holding direct eye contact with Sukuna.
Sukuna twitched like he might detonate.
Your hand squeezed his cock once. “Poor thing,” you murmured. “Outnumbered again.”
Sukuna’s hands slammed into the mattress on either side of your legs, caging you in, eyes locked on Dabura as if trying to set him on fire by will alone. “You think I’ll let you play with me like this?” he growled.
“No,” you purred.
Dabura’s hands slid to your thighs. He opened your legs wider for him.
The movement was deliberate enough that Sukuna felt it like a challenge. Like an invitation he didn’t want—but absolutely couldn’t refuse.
Sukuna looked up at you with the most offended, betrayed expression you’d ever seen on an ancient curse. All four eyes burning with accusation.
A silent, how dare you.
And still—He knelt between your legs. “I will kill you both,” he muttered, voice low, wrecked, already losing.
He adjusted you again, tilting you just enough, just cruelly enough, to make Sukuna’s breath hitch. One hand firm at your hip, the other guiding without asking.
“Stay with the top one,” Dabura said softly, sweet as poison.
Sukuna growled, lining himself up, shoulders tense like he was bracing for impact. “I will destroy this bed,” he snarled at you. “And you.” Then his gaze snapped to Dabura. “And you will regret this.”
Dabura smiled. “That’s fine.”
Then he pushed you forward. Just enough.
Your breath broke into a moan before you could stop it. Sukuna answered with a rough groan of his own, teeth bared, body going taut beneath your hands like he was hanging on by instinct alone.
Dabura’s grip tightened—satisfied. Not jealous. Watching. For now.
“You’re unbearable,” Sukuna hissed through clenched teeth.
“You’re welcome,” Dabura murmured.
You were caught between them, pulse racing, fully aware that this was a mistake, a war crime, and the best decision you’d made in centuries.
It felt criminally good.
Sukuna had you fully caged between his four arms, hips slamming into you with brutal rhythm, bracing himself with one set of hands gripping the headboard—splintering it by degrees—and the other slipping possessively to your thighs.
He shoved Dabura’s hands aside like he was reclaiming you inch by inch.
Dabura didn’t argue. Didn’t fight it.
He just wrapped his arms fully around your waist, pulling you back against his chest, holding you there—like he had no intention of letting go, no matter how hard Sukuna fucked you forward into him.
You felt every inch of both of them.
Sukuna’s rhythm was punishing.
And Dabura—he breathed quietly, every inhale brushing warm against your ear, every exhale timed perfectly with the way your body ground back against the obvious hardness pinned under you. He didn’t move. Just let it happen.
Sukuna’s bottom cock, caught between you and Dabura’s lap, slid helplessly between your bodies—completely useless in the position.
It twitched once, trapped, frustrated, hot as hell and utterly denied.
Dabura felt it. Of course he did.
You moaned, head dropping back into his shoulder, breath ragged. Sukuna growled, low and violent, his fingers bruising your thighs now. “Fuck—you’re the one making it worse,” he snarled at Dabura. “She’s rubbing on me because of you.”
Dabura let out a soft, maddening sound—half a laugh, half something filthier. “Not my fault you’re built inefficiently,” he murmured.
“You want me to tear that smirk off your face?”
“You’d have to pull out first,” Dabura said smoothly. “And we both know you won’t.”
You gasped at that—whether from Sukuna’s thrust, or the vicious tension between them, you didn’t even know.
Sukuna slammed in deeper, teeth gritted, jaw clenched like he was hanging on to his sanity by seconds.
Dabura held you tighter. His mouth brushed your neck. “You’re so good like this,” he whispered, just for you. “Soft and wrecked. You should see yourself.”
You whimpered.
Sukuna snapped. One hand left the headboard and grabbed the back of your neck, forcing you to look forward—at him. “You look at me when you fall apart,” he snarled. “Not him.”
Dabura smirked, lips pressed against your shoulder, utterly unbothered. “That’s not what she was doing a minute ago.”
“Keep talking,” Sukuna growled, rhythm brutal again. “I’ll make you watch her come all over me.”
Dabura’s fingers brushed lower. “Maybe I’ll make her do it first.” His voice was soft. Too soft. “Let me take care of you too.”
He said it with that same calm authority he used for killing—low and deadly sweet—like the idea of pleasuring Sukuna wasn’t terrifying, but mildly amusing.
Sukuna snarled under his breath, still buried inside you, all four arms bracing or gripping or trembling from the sheer violence of his own restraint.
But Dabura didn’t wait for permission. He never needed it.
One of his hands slid down between your thighs, right where Sukuna was thrusting into you and found your clit with surgical precision. The pressure was slow, perfect, maddening.
You twitched in his lap. Sukuna groaned through gritted teeth.
Dabura’s cock, not human in the slightest—long, ridged, alien in its movement—shifted beneath you and slid lower. Around. Forward.
It coiled around Sukuna’s lower cock, slick and smooth and deliberate, wrapping and twisting in perfect rhythm with your movement.
Sukuna shuddered.
He looked down in disbelief as Dabura jerked him off—without touching him, just using his own strange, pulsing body. The way his cock slid against Sukuna’s length was obscene—slow, teasing, designed to drive him insane.
“You—” Sukuna gasped.
Dabura kissed your neck like it was nothing. “You’re doing good,” he whispered—to Sukuna.
Smug. Deadly. Completely in control.
“Keep that pace,” Dabura murmured, his fingers circling your clit with slow, brutal confidence. “Just like that. She’s so close, can’t you feel it?”
Sukuna growled but his hips stuttered. Because he could.
Dabura’s cock twisted tighter. You whimpered. “She clenches when you angle left,” Dabura added, voice lower. “There. You feel that?”
Sukuna bared his teeth. “I’ll kill you.”
“You’ll come first.”
You cried out, torn between them, devoured between violence and control. Sukuna slammed deeper, groaning, head dropping forward. And Dabura just whispered, “Make her finish, Sukuna.”
Your body arched.
“Right on your cock. Come on.” He added.
Sukuna growled through his teeth—“Fucking hell—”
Dabura’s grip tightened. Their rhythm matched.
Your breath shattered. You cried out, shaking, as Sukuna followed you into it, choking on a moan, his jaw locked and entire body wracked with the kind of climax he’d never admit broke him a little.
Dabura sighed like he’d just cleaned up someone else’s mess.
Dabura slid back just enough to free himself from the chaos, calm even as Sukuna’s release streaked across him—warm, messy proof of what he’d just orchestrated.
He didn’t rush. He never rushed.
He lined himself up with quiet precision as Sukuna finally pulled away from you, breath ragged, eyes burning, both of them still shaking from what they’d just been dragged through.
“Won’t be long, lovely,” Dabura breathed, voice low and intimate, fingers adjusting you with deliberate care.
You swallowed, chest rising and falling fast. “You close already?” you whispered.
“I am.”
That honesty hit harder than any growl.
You shifted forward instinctively, legs straddling him as you leaned away from his chest, body arching toward Sukuna instead. The movement drew a sharp breath from both of them.
Sukuna caught you instantly.
One hand closed around your throat, just enough to hold you there, to remind you who was watching. His grin was feral, satisfied, wicked.
Both of his cocks still slick, still dripping, still twitching with residual heat. “Look at you,” he murmured, eyes dragging over your face. “Can’t even stand on your own.”
Dabura’s hands slid up your hips from behind, grounding you, steady and unhurried. “She’s perfect,” he said calmly. “Let her be.”
Sukuna’s thumb tipped your chin up, forcing your gaze to his. “You going to break for him,” he said, almost amused. “Or for me?”
You smiled through it. “Both,” you whispered.
Dabura exhaled behind you, low and satisfied. And Sukuna laughed.
Dabura’s grip was bruising your hips now as you moved—grinding in that rhythm he couldn’t handle much longer. His composure was cracking, but even now he held it together. Barely.
You were straddling him in reverse, thighs burning, hands gripping his legs for balance, body arched forward into—
Sukuna.
Who still had one hand around your throat, holding you upright like a trophy between monsters. He leaned in and kissed you, rough and claiming, swallowing every moan you let slip for Dabura beneath you.
And you were moaning now. Because the shape of Dabura’s cock, those patterns, those shifting, inhuman ridges—were stroking all the wrong places perfectly. Too deep. Too good. Too much.
You whined into Sukuna’s mouth.
Dabura groaned behind you, low and wrecked. His hands gripped harder, holding your rhythm like his life depended on it.
Your walls tightened again. Too close—again.
Sukuna pulled back from your mouth, breath hot, eyes wild, cocks still twitching between your bodies like he hadn’t even begun to calm down.
He looked down at you, then back at Dabura—grinning like a beast. “Mhm…give him that,” Sukuna chuckled, deep and dangerous. “Come on. He earned that.”
Dabura’s breath hitched. One last thrust up into you. His jaw clenched. His fingers dug in as he broke. Spilling into you as his whole body shuddered beneath you.
You cried out for him, head falling forward—right into Sukuna’s chest, mouth open, shaking with your own release. Again.
Sukuna laughed against your ear, low and feral. “You look so good when someone else ruins you,” he murmured. “Almost makes me jealous.”
Dabura’s hands slid up your sides, still trembling, still holding you like you were his.
You were panting now—spent, ruined, caught between chaos and stillness.
Dabura tilted his head back against the headboard, chest rising and falling in sharp, measured breaths. His eyes were half-lidded, damp hair clinging to his temples, one hand still resting on the side of your ass like it belonged there.
You had no bones left.
You slumped forward, face-first into Sukuna’s chest, arms loosely wrapping around his waist with the grace of a body tossed from a cliff.
Your cheek pressed against his skin, hot, sweaty, still humming with cursed energy and he caught you automatically. Two of his arms circled you tight, the other two just hanging there, as if not sure what to do after nearly killing a bed with raw power and ego.
“For the record,” Sukuna muttered, voice still rough, “I still can’t stand you, asshole.”
Dabura huffed a dry laugh, lazily rubbing his palm over your lower back. “I made you cum really good, huh.”
His smirk could’ve shattered kingdoms. Sukuna rolled his eyes hard enough you felt it in his chest. You just laughed, dead, wheezing, face still pressed into him. It made Sukuna grin like the bastard he was.
You were covered, sore, dripping, and pinned between the two most annoying forces in existence.
And unfortunately…it wasn’t that bad. But here you were.
Cradled by a curse with four arms and an ego problem. Spoon-fed comfort by a horned nightmare with a split tongue and zero shame.
You weren’t sure if this counted as divine punishment or the best decision you’d ever made.
Probably both.
You’d figure it out later. For now? You were tired. Held.
And, unfortunately…They were both staying the night.
Fuck.
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ full already? didn’t think so. my masterlist’s right here.
Summary: ‘Mysterious girl’ — that’s what people in Jackson call you because of your amnesia. All your memories lost, alone in the world, you’d probably be miserable and lonely if it wasn’t for your saviour, Joel Miller— a man who filled a hole in your heart with love and became your friend, your lover, your family. He makes you happy and you accept him with all his flaws. During a heated argument Joel reveals a shocking truth about your past and you come face to face with a dilemma — can you trust the person who became your whole world?
Tw: 18+ mdni smut, angst, fluff, big legal age gap (Joel’s in his late 50s, reader is said to be much younger), reader has amnesia due to a head trauma, daddy kink, ddlg dynamic, the best of both worlds — mean! Joel and soft! Joel, toxic relationship, jealous/protective! Joel, canon typical violence, allusions to reader being kidnapped, SA-ed (not by Joel/not described), symptoms of SA PTSD, size kink, praise kink, degradation, f/m!oral, rough sex, somno, fingering, spanking as a punishment, mention of fisting, unprotected piv, creampies, cumeating, swearing, alcohol consumption, no Ellie sorry. Joel can lift reader. Reader wears dresses. Heed the warnings!
Word count: 10,3k (don’t look at me)
A/n: this story is written for @tateypots ‘s Naughty or Nice writing challenge. Thank you for the cool event, Kate, and I apologize for being so late💞 My trope was amnesia + naughty/dark. Writing this fic was truly challenging but I loved working on it! It would definitely be harder if not for my Milla @milla-frenchy ILYSM!!♥️ Thank you for beta-ing this big boy, for giving me helpful advice and for coming up with the title inspired by the song - Fade Into You by Mazzy Star. I’m very excited to finally share the story with you all! I hope you’ll enjoy it💕 Dividers by @pixopix Ty!💕
MASTERLIST || Read on AO3
“Ggrrglll”
Tears are running down your cheeks, your lashes wet, your eyes reddened, your chin and chest covered in your spit. You look like hell. It’s not surprising — Joel’s been fucking your mouth for what felt like eternity. He’s older than you so it takes a while for him to come and usually you’re happy that he can use you for his pleasure for hours, manhandling you like a rug doll, fucking your holes in whatever position he desires, but giving him head… that’s a challenge. Especially when he’s pissed at you.
Joel’s big hands are holding your head in place and you dig your nails into his meaty thighs, fighting for a breath, close to suffocating while gurgling around his cock that’s throbbing in your mouth. Your heart is pounding in your ears and your vision starts going black when Joel finally starts coming down your throat, draining his heavy balls and filling your tummy with his jizz.
As soon as he lets go of your head, you push yourself off him and plop on your butt onto the wooden floor. You’re gobbling up air, wheezing and panting like you’ve been running from a pack of wolves.
“Da—daddy… what the hell..?” You croak between coughs, staring up at him with teary eyes.
Joel tucks his softening but still huge cock into his grey sweatpants and throws you a glare. You see a trace of guilt in his expression or maybe it’s only your wishful thinking.
“Hmm?” he grunts and gets into bed.
“I nearly choked.” You’re on the verge of fresh tears now, your lower lip shaking. Joel gets under the duvet and sighs, finally reacting to your pain.
“Jesus.. C’mere.”
You slowly get up and walk on shaky legs to his bed, then sit on the edge and stare at your hands on your lap. Joel lifts his torso on one forearm and glides his big hand over your back. The warmth of his skin immediately seeps through your thin dress and your soul feels lighter. Yet your throat still hurts like hell, your whole body is sore, you’re trembling.
“Needed relief,” he mumbles and you turn your face to him, your lips in a pout.
“You coulda been more gentle.”
Your whine makes his eyes go dark and your insides freeze. You want to avert your gaze from his, but don’t dare.
“Sorry,” you whisper, apologizing for misbehaving, for upsetting him, for being a bad girl, for …for everything.
“You know why I’ve been rough,” Joel says in a calm tone that makes you wish he was shouting at you. You swallow hard and drop your head.
“I didn’t want to upset you,” you say the truth, shaking like a leaf.
“But you did.”
You nod, still not looking at him, and Joel pinches your chin and turns your head so you’d face him. His eyes show no mercy when he says,
“Next time somethin’ like this happens I’ll shoot the fucker on sight.”
Your breathing stops, your blood runs cold and you nod, feeling with all your being — he’s not joking.
“Yes, daddy.”
Joel lies down and turns onto his side, away from you.
“Go to bed,” he grunts so you stand up and quietly walk to the door. Your pussy is so wet, your panties are soaked through. You’re shivering from the cold, while your core is on fire from sucking Joel’s cock. You want it inside you so much, want to scream and come on it, want Joel to fuck you hard. The lust clouds your mind, makes you bold or rather ruthless, so you turn around at the door and mewl pathetically, your chest full of hope.
“Daddy, can I sleep with you?”
Joel’s voice is muffled by the duvet as he replies,
“No. Go to your room.”
You sigh, your hopes shattered into pieces, and obediently follow his command.
You get into your cold bed and cover your head with a blanket. It’s ok, he still loves you, you think, swallowing your salty tears. He still wants you. He’s just mad. Tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow he’ll kiss you.
It would be easier for you to endure Joel giving you the cold shoulder if he wasn’t your everything. But he is and he’s always been. After all, he saved your life — found you in the woods dying, your head bleeding, brought your unconscious body to Jackson, gave you another chance.
You woke up in the town hospital, injured and weak, without a trace of memory of who you were, or what had happened to you. The doctor said you had amnesia and while he was explaining your condition and future treatment, you were staring at your saviour, Joel Miller, who was standing in the corner of the room.
He was the most handsome man you’d ever seen — tall and broad, with a head full of salt and pepper curls, pouty lips under his moustache, a patchy beard and piercing brown eyes. You didn’t hear what the doctor was saying, it was like a hum in the background. At that moment in the hospital room your body and your soul found something grounding, someone to hold on to. As if you were a balloon floating through a vast sky until his hand gripped your string. Destiny brought Joel to you, or rather he became your destiny.
With all your heart you hoped that the attraction you’d been feeling was mutual, and soon you started seeing that it was the case. Joel visited you at the hospital almost every day, brought you treats, told you everything about the town and its people. You didn’t talk much, mostly listened to him. The headache following the head trauma was killing you but somehow his deep raspy voice alleviated the pain, gave you comfort and peace. You almost purred listening to him, it was amazingly pleasant. A couple of times he even lulled you to sleep as he was reading you a book that he’d brought for you.
That big gruff man quickly became your friend, but calling him that felt wrong— he was so much more. What do you call a person who helped you choose your name?
Your mind had no trace of your identity so Joel called you ‘sweetheart’ during his visits. The pet name warmed your heart and set your core on fire, but once you laughed bitterly that it should be your name - Sweetheart. Joel frowned.
The next day he brought you a baby names book. God knows where he’d found it but you two spent an hour reading the names. When Joel pronounced your current name and commented that it would suit you perfectly, your heart skipped a beat and you knew immediately — it was the one.
Right from the moment you saw that man, your soul longed for him, your body needed him. Your face lit up at the sight of him, walking into your room, your whole being craved him carnally, and after your discharge from the hospital, the day Joel brought you to your new house, you kissed him. It was the scariest, the boldest thing you’d ever done in your recently-started life. You froze, clinging to him, your lips pressed to his, scared to death that he’d push you away. But he didn’t. Instead his arms wrapped around your torso, the kiss deepened and the groan that you licked off his lips told you everything — he needed you just as much as you needed him. After tasting him you knew for sure — you two were meant to be together.
Of course, the townsfolk weren't too happy about Joel and you becoming a couple. You were much younger than him, alone in the world, no past experience to keep you from being used. That was what they whispered behind your back — ‘Joel’s using that lonely girl.’ They were probably right. You lost your memory but you weren’t stupid. Joel absolutely had you wrapped around his finger. But what all those busybodies didn’t understand was that you were happy he was using you however he pleased. Your body was the only thing you could give him, so it became his. Joel could ask you to do anything and you’d do it in a heartbeat. And he rarely asked. He took it with a gentle or rough hand, depending on his mood, claimed every part of you, and you never objected. Even when it hurt, even when it felt like too much or too fast. Joel replaced all the empty space in your head with himself and only while being by his side you felt whole.
The head wasn’t the only part of you Joel was filling. He fucked you so well, you would scream his name in ecstasy until your throat was sore, until the neighbors knocked on your door, scared that you were being killed. You’d slip out of his arms and run downstairs to apologize for the disturbance, your lips swollen with kisses, your eyes hazy as if you were drunk.
You didn’t know if they really cared about your safety or the curiosity made them interrupt Joel and you fucking but one day he grunted “Fuck ‘em,” and moved your things to his place. No one would dare come to Joel Miller for any explanation so you could moan as loudly as you wanted there.
That’s how you two started living together. You couldn’t be happier — your reality seemed like the most amazing dream. Joel took great care of you — cooked, read you books in front of the fireplace, cuddled you to sleep. Waking up in the middle of the night with him fucking your unconscious body was the hottest thing ever. But your nights weren’t only filled with sex and love.
From time to time you had terrifying nightmares — rough hands groping you, dirty nails scratching your skin with the ferocity of an animal, phantom pain piercing your body. You’d wake up crying and screaming and Joel would always be there by your side, whispering to you, his voice warm, ‘It’s jus’ a dream. I’m here. You’re safe.’ He’d hold you until your breathing got steady, until your tears dried up and you fell back asleep.
The first time you called Joel ‘daddy’ would forever stay in your memory. His cock was deep inside you as you were riding him, relishing the way he was filling your core. The word fell from your lips and the next second Joel growled, pulled you off him and pinned you to the bed. His weight was pushing you into the mattress as his big hand wrapped around your neck.
“What d’you call me?” He hissed through his teeth, glaring down at you.
You were trying to push his fingers off your throat, scared that he’d hurt you, but he wasn’t choking you, only holding you in place.
“M’sorry,” you squeaked, staring up at him with widened eyes. The adrenaline in your blood was adding to your arousal and your pussy was desperately clenching around nothing, despite fear gripping your heart.
Joel’s dark eyes were darting between yours, as if he didn’t know what to do next. You wanted to make it right, you hated the idea of upsetting him, so you murmured,
“I won’t ever say it… I promise.” After a few long seconds, Joel’s hand left your neck.
“Sorry,” he muttered and pressed his forehead to yours. Then he gently settled between your thighs and you moaned when he entered your wet pussy again. He continued fucking you slowly and steadily, your eyes locked, his body flush against yours. Soon you forgot about your slip up, swept by the sensations and your love for Joel, but he didn’t.
Looking deep into your eyes, with his hips rolling against you, he said,
“You can call me that if you wanna.”
“No, no, I—,” you hurried to reassure him, trembling with the way his cock was working you open. “I don’t wanna do anything you don’t like.”
Joel leaned in and softly kissed your lips. His breath tickled you when he mumbled,
“Maybe I liked it a lil’ too much.”
You pulled away so you could look into his eyes and found no trace of a joke there.
“Ok.. daddy.” Overwhelming arousal washed over your whole body when you said it.
Joel swallowed hard and licked his lips.
“My little girl… my love.”
“Oh, daddy,” you doubled down, clenching hard around Joel’s fat cock. “You’re making me feel so good.”
“Uh-huh? Daddy’s taking good care of your tight sweet pussy?”
“Oh yes. I’m so— so close,” you whimpered, arching your back, feeling the burn of a climax growing stronger.
Joel picked up the pace, pumping you full of his cock, growling and panting over you.
“Give it to me, c’mon, baby. Come on my cock.”
You screamed as you unraveled under him, your toes curling, your pussy flooding Joel’s length with so much wetness you felt it dripping down to your asscheeks. Joel followed you soon, his grunt sounded like a roar as he began spilling his big load inside you.
Sex with Joel was always great but that night you both came so hard it made you speechless. By accident you found what you both were missing: you - a person who could be anyone for you when you had no one, Joel - someone who needed him more than life.
Despite the absence of your memories, your health improved a lot, and wishing to be useful, you asked Tommy for a job. Patrolling was out of the question, Joel told you adamantly, and you didn’t object. That’s how you ended up working in Jackson’s clothing store. Inevitably you met new people, got a couple of good friends and Joel was ok with it only if they weren’t men.
As your connection was deepening, Joel’s jealous nature started coming to light. Even a conversation with a guy could land you in hot water. If Joel saw you with a man, he’d ask you what he talked to you about, why you needed to speak to him in the first place, and even if you offered him a logical explanation, he’d still be mad. He’d give you a silent treatment for days on end, wouldn’t kiss or fuck you, wouldn’t even sleep next to you.
One night, punishing you for smiling at a customer, Joel asked you to stay in the guest bedroom. Soon it became your bedroom, a place he’d send you to if he was angry. It was unreasonable, hurtful, upsetting but a sick little part of you loved his possessiveness. It meant that he cared, that he wanted you only for himself, that you were his.
Yesterday you fucked up royally. It was Sunday and you went to the Tipsy Bison with your friends — girls only, of course. A group of young men approached your table, and not wanting to be weird and standoffish, you chatted with them. Joel was busy that evening, overseeing the construction of a few houses in town, and you thought what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
You were standing alone at the bar, waiting for your beer, when one of the men, Jonah, approached you.
“So you’re that mysterious girl everyone’s talking about?” He was a few years older than you, quite handsome and tall.
“I’m not mysterious,” you replied with a friendly smile before taking a bottle from the bartender. Jonah’s eyes slid over your body, hugged beautifully by a new dress you’d found at the shop, and his attention flattered you but at the same time your stomach churned— Joel would hate it if someone was looking at you like that.
“You really don’t remember anything?” The man stepped up a little closer as if waiting for you to tell him a secret. His gaze was curious but warm, besides it was a usual question — everyone in town wanted to know that.
“No, I don’t,” you shook your head and Jonah sighed,
“Must be lonely.” You saw pity in his eyes and pain shot through your heart. Being pitied was the last thing you wanted.
“I’m not lonely,” you said with defiance, holding your head high. “I have Joel.”
“Yeah, right.” Jonah’s eyes darted to the crowd of people at the bar and you could bet you noticed fear in his expression. You smirked. It was wrong to say that people were afraid of Joel but they definitely kept their distance from him and you loved it. Only you could see his soft side.
“He’s working,” you said, having taken pity on the man who was still trying to spot Joel among the crowd as if he was a big bad wolf. Jonah turned to you and his lips spread into a big smile.
“Can I ask?” He leaned forward and lowered his voice so only you could hear him. “He’s so much older than you, aren’t you like … bored with him?”
Suddenly a desire to slap his face burned in your chest. You took a deep breath and then scoffed,
“No, he keeps me very entertained. I barely have time to sleep.” With that you brought the bottle to your lips and took a sip, staring right into Jonah’s widened eyes.
After a few seconds of gawking at you, Jonah chuckled and mumbled,
“Joel’s a lucky guy.”
“I’m the lucky one,” you said dreamily, wishing Joel were there with you.
As Jonah and you were speaking, you couldn’t help but start gushing over Joel, how brave, how useful for the community he was and your heart eyes were sparkling. Jonah surely got a clear message that you were ears deep in love with your man.
You were having a great time that night, laughing and drinking with your friends, and when Jonah offered to teach you how to play pool, you agreed. You had always lost to Joel and desperately wanted to win the next time you two played.
To your horror, the moment you bent down over the green cloth and Jonah leaned over your body, directing your hands, you saw Joel entering the bar. Your heart dropped into your stomach — you knew you were fucked.
You pushed the guy off you and rushed to Joel but he was already out of the door. You ran after him and as he was striding along the street you were hurriedly explaining to him that it was nothing, just a game of pool. You were begging for forgiveness, but he wouldn’t spare you a glance and your heart was breaking with every second he was ignoring you.
Joel came home and without saying a word went upstairs to his bedroom. You followed him like a beat up dog, sad and pathetic. He sat on the bed and unbuckled his belt.
“On your knees.” That was all he said. He didn’t need to tell you anything else. You kneeled and crawled to the spot between his legs.
In the morning as soon as you open your eyes you run downstairs, planning to make Joel an apology breakfast, but on the table you find a note - ‘Left for work.’
You sigh deeply. Your body wants to hug him, your soul needs his warmth. Your throat tightens, tears well up in your eyes, but you wipe them off, slightly reassured by the fact that he left you the note. Maybe he forgave you. Full of hope you start getting ready for your shift at the shop.
All day you’re thinking about Joel. Guilt is eating you alive and at lunch you grab a few sandwiches at the mess hall and run to Joel’s office but find it empty. Feeling lonely and sad you drag your feet back to the shop.
When the evening comes you rush home, hoping to finally see Joel. It’s fine if he’s still mad at you, you’ll be happy just to see him.
“Joel!” you call as soon as you step inside the house.
You hear heavy footsteps down the stairs and see Joel walking down. He is wearing his favorite green plaid shirt and your heart skips a beat at how handsome he looks. He’s not smiling as he approaches you but his expression is warm.
“I missed you,” you admit, throwing your arms around his neck, and Joel hums approvingly.
“Me too, sweetheart. I have a surprise for you.”
“Really?” You part from him, searching for his eyes.
He nods with a little smile and butterflies dance in your belly. You can’t believe your luck. Not only is Joel being so sweet with you, he also prepared something for you.
“What is it?” Your eyes glint with tears of happiness as you ask,
“Nah-uh. It’s a surprise, silly girl, I ain’t tellin’ you.”
He pecks your nose and you giggle.
“Go put on that dress of yours I like. I’ll wait for ya.”
You squeal and run upstairs.
Soon you’re walking down the street with Joel by your side, his hand splayed on your lower back. When you walk up to the Bison your eyes widen and you stare at the man.
“Joel?”
“Let’s go in,” he smiles and leads you inside.
When you enter, a weird feeling overtakes you. It’s almost dark, only a few overhead lights are switched on. The place is usually packed with people and buzzes with chatter even on a weekday but now an eerie silence fills the bar. With worry in your eyes you turn to Joel, who’s locking the door.
“Why’s no one here?” you ask.
“Tonight it’s just for the two of us.”
You blink at him as your face lights up, your chest expands with joy, meanwhile Joel takes your hand and leads you to the bar.
“Whiskey?” He asks, walking behind the counter.
You shake your head and giggle,
“You know I don’t like it, daddy. Beer’s fine.”
Joel opens you a bottle and pours himself a glass of whiskey. You marvel at him, proud of your man for being such a respected member of the community that he can get this popular place just for the two of you.
After taking a sip, Joel motions for you to follow him and walks to the pool tables. Your smile drops when he stops at the table you played on last night, the horror you felt when Joel saw you right there, too close to another man, strikes you again.
“Daddy…,” you mumble, your voice already trembling, but it’s like Joel doesn’t notice your distress. He turns to you with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes and says,
“Let’s play.”
You shake your head no but it wasn’t an offer. He grabs a cue stick off the wall and breaks the rack while you’re standing there clutching the beer bottle in your clammy hands.
Joel sinks a ball into a pocket and you cheer for him, at the same time feeling like you might be sick from the nerves.
After one miss, Joel hands you the cue stick but you shake your head.
“Ehm… I don’t really wanna play. Can I just watch you?”
Joel frowns.
“No. C’mon. I’ll teach you. You wanted to learn, right?”
That’s what you claimed yesterday so you have no choice but to take the stick, put away your beer and step up to the table. Your heart is beating loudly in your chest while you’re choosing a ball to hit. Finally you take a stance and hold your breath, aiming carefully. Suddenly Joel steps behind you, so close you can feel his big bulge against your ass.
“Daddy,” you purr and wiggle your butt, flirting with him. “You’re distracting me.”
“Yeah?” Joel gruffs and you shiver when he puts his warm heavy hand on your lower back. “Was that fucker distracting you too last night?”
Your smile drops and you try to straighten up, ready to object, but Joel grabs the back of your neck and holds you bent down.
“Stay,” he orders. “I asked you a question.”
“No, he wasn’t.. I mean… he wasn’t this close, daddy,” with your cheek pressed to the cloth you mutter, your voice shaky.
“Liar!” Joel hisses and thrusts his hips against your ass, making you gasp as you slide forward. “He was on top of you! In front of everybody. Mounting my woman.”
“Daddyyyy..” you whine, your eyes filling up with tears, your nails scratching the table under your palms. “It wasn’t like that. He was just teaching me …”
“Teachin’?!” he gruffs. “I’ll show you teachin’.”
With that he grabs the hem of your dress and pulls it up exposing your ass covered by your panties. He rips them off you and you whimper in fear, as his other hand grips the back of your neck tighter, not letting you move an inch. You’re breathing heavily on the verge of crying, knowing well you have no chance to fight Joel off — he’s so much bigger and stronger than you, all you can do is surrender and take whatever punishment he sees fit.
Despite your soul being ready, your body is not.
Slap!
You cry out and jerk when Joel’s heavy hand lands on your naked ass, the sting taking you by surprise.
“Silly girl,” he growls through his teeth. “Needs to be reminded who she belongs to.”
“Daddy, no..,” you start begging for mercy but Joel replies with another slap, making your ass juggle and burn.
“Stay still and take your punishment.” His voice is strained when he says it.
Despite Joel’s command you’re fruitlessly thrashing in his grip as he’s spanking you again and again. You’re whining and sobbing but he taught you to take everything like a good girl. Your ass is burning but you love the way your pussy clenches every time a slap stings your flesh.
The pain grows bigger and soon tears are running down your face onto the table, your nose itching from the wet streaks.
“Stop… please,” you plead, your body shivering, your shaky legs too weak to hold you up.
Joel slaps your asscheek one more time and then his chest presses to your back, his breath tickles your ear as he hisses,
“Have ya learnt your lesson, babygirl?”
“Yes, daddy,” you mutter, sniffing. “It won’t happen again. I promise.”
“Good girl,” he gruffs and straightens up.
You expect Joel to let you go but his hand doesn’t leave your neck. You mewl when his palm caresses your burning asscheek and his fingers graze your pussy lips from behind.
“Hngggg… loved your punishment this much?” Joel rasps, breathing heavily, sensing the wetness on your heated folds. He pushes the tips of his digits between them and you bite your lower lip, feeling shame for your body’s reaction — your cunt was crying for cock while Joel was spanking you.
“Or maybe your pussy drips for any man when you bend down, huh?” Joel’s digits glide up and down your slit, his finger catching on your wet hole that’s clenching for him, luring him inside, begging to be ruined.
“No, no, daddy...only for you,” your voice is trembling with desire and desperation, as you assure him. Yet Joel continues taunting you,
“Last night… when he was here…,” Joel’s fingers leave your pussy and he grips your hips, his bulge pushing against your naked cunt. “You liked it?”
“No, Joel, no— I want only you. You’re the only one I need! I love you so so so much…,” you blubber desperately, trying to make him believe you. And you seem to succeed. Joel sighs behind you and a few seconds later, keeping his clothed cock pressed to your heat, he grabs your shoulder and lifts your front up and off the table. Holding you close, your back flush to his chest, he murmurs in your ear,
“Hope you ain’t lyin’, little girl. For your own sake.”
“M’not,” you mumble, your head turned to the side. You wish he’d see honesty in your eyes, the love that’s pouring out of them even after his harsh treatment.
Joel pushes his nose against your temple and breathes you in. You melt when his lips brush against your neck and he starts leaving kisses there, soft and gentle at first but soon they turn rough as he sucks your delicate skin into his hot mouth and parts from it with a pop.
“Gonna make ‘em know you’re mine,” he growls against your neck like a feral animal. “Mark you all over.”
He does it again and again and you whimper as he puts a hickey after a hickey on your neck, his arms wrapped around your torso with the strength of a python. You probably should object to him possessively painting your skin but your core is burning, your hole’s leaking, leaving a sticky mess between your thighs, while Joel’s mouth is latched onto your neck.
“Ohh daddy,” you moan, tilting your head to the side to give him better access, your hand gripping the back of his neck to keep him close. Joel breathes out, “I’m here, baby. I got you,” and takes your dress off your body, almost ripping it. Then he spins you around and makes you lie down onto the table, your limbs weak, ass sore and burning.
“Damn…,” he groans at the sight of your blooming pussy and takes a stand between your legs, his fingers digging into your thighs.
You moan when his clothed bulge meets your naked cunt and rub yourself against him searching for any pressure. Joel smirks.
“Needy lil thing.”
He’s towering over you in the dark bar, his eyes full of fire and lust, his hand’s sliding over your front — from your neck down to your belly. Your back arches off the table and you whimper when he presses his big hot palm to your wet pussy and holds it there possessively.
“Please… please,” you mumble, barely breathing, hoping he’d put down the fire that's been burning you up since last night. You need him so much it hurts.
“Tell me what you need, little girl” Joel gruffs, licking his lips.
“Your cock, daddy. Fuck me, I’m begging you.”
Joel watches you for a few moments, probably relishing how desperate he’s making you, his eyes hungrily running over your heaving chest, your pebbled nipples, your puffy cunt.
Slowly he glides his hands over your thighs and then grabs and spreads them wider. You crave to be ruined by him so you place your feet on the pool table, offering yourself like a cheap whore.
“Fuck..,” Joel mumbles, watching your pussy leak for him, his jaw slackened, his eyes obsidian. He almost moans when his middle and ring fingers delve into your hole, your slick flooding his digits as he begins finger-fucking you, his other hand splayed on your lower belly. Lewd sounds of your sopping cunt fill the bar and you moan loudly when Joel presses his calloused thumb to your clit and rubs it up and down with every thrust of his hand.
“Hungry pussy… grippin’ me like this. Gonna suck in my whole fist one day,” Joel grunts, with a twinkle in his eyes but his blown out pupils tell you he’s not kidding.
“Ahhhh yes, daddy…,” you whine at the image your mind is drawing for you—-Joel’s hand deep inside you, your hole stretched impossibly wide around his thick wrist. Losing your mind from the pleasure you twitch your hardened nipples, pull them roughly, moan and squirm on the table, letting Joel see how good he’s making you feel.
It doesn’t take long for you to come, and you explode, screaming ‘Daddy!’ in the empty bar, your walls fluttering around Joel’s fingers.
“That’s my girl,” he praises you, not stopping, pumping his thick fingers in and out of your hole relentlessly, your cum drops spraying everywhere.
When the ecstasy turns into pain you push his hand away and Joel starts unbuckling his belt. Not waiting for you to catch your breath he frees his hard cock and pushes it inside you in one go.
“Yeahhhh,” you moan at the insertion, his length spreading your walls, the fat tip kissing your cervix. Taking his cock hurts you a little as always, especially after you’ve just come, but you welcome the pain like a gift.
“Thank you, daddy,” you purr with your voice coated with lust and adoration. Thrusting in and out of you Joel pants,
“What for, babygirl?” He knows for sure but he needs to hear it. Moving back and forth over the table with each stroke of Joel’s hips you reply,
“For giving me your cock.. for filling me so well..ahhhhh… for being in my life.”
Joel gives you a soft smile but then an animalistic growl falls from his lips and he picks up the pace, fucking you hard and fast, the snaps of his hips making his heavy balls slap against your sore ass.
“Daddy—-daddy—daddy—!!” You chant, losing your mind on the brink of ecstasy, and when Joel starts spilling his warm cum inside you, you come again with him.
“Yeahhh…,” he groans, dropping his head back in pleasure as your tight pussy is milking his cock greedily, drinking every drop he’s giving you. Only when you’re full to the brim, Joel stills and pulls out. You hastily place your hand between your thighs, keeping him in, not letting his pearly jizz slide out onto the table and make a mess.
As you’re putting your dress on, your inner thighs wet with cum, your eyes flick to Joel again and again. He’s already tucked his cock back into his jeans, now he’s sipping whiskey on a bar stool, breathing heavily, not looking at you.
You swallow hard — what if he’s still mad at you? He made you come twice but he didn’t kiss you even once. Maybe his praise during sex was just a part of the dirty talk.
After fixing your hair and clothes, you come up to Joel and place your hand on his thigh. He looks at you, his expression impossible to read.
“I’m sorry, Joel. And I meant it— thank you for being in my life.”
Joel’s face softens and he pulls you close for a hug. His palm runs down your back and when it reaches your ass cheek you hiss in pain.
“Hurts?” Joel asks, quickly pulling his hand away. You nod but, appreciating the guilt in his voice, you add, “It’s gonna be ok soon. And.. it was hot.” You flash him a playful smile and Joel chuckles. The sound of his laughter fills your heart with joy and full of happiness, you say,
“But you can’t deny that you overreacted?”
When Joel’s smile falls and his brows furrow, you immediately realize that you’ve screwed up again. Ire rumbles in his voice as he gruffs,
“Overreacted? That’s what you think?”
He gets up and you take a step back from him in fear.
“No, I mean… you didn’t have to… I was wrong I get it but.. but you can’t stop me from interacting with all men.”
Slowly walking towards you Joel tilts his head and spits,
“Can’t I?”
You chuckle nervously, backing away, and try to save the situation.
“I don’t have any male friends and I don’t want to. But I work and… well.. I have to talk to men sometimes.”
Joel’s obsidian eyes are piercing you, his jaw shifts until he hisses,
“Maybe you shouldn’t work at all then.”
Now you can’t help but scoff.
“What? That’s ridiculous. I can’t sit at home all day. I wanna help the community.”
Joel’s nostrils flare as he gruffs,
“How were you helpin’ the community last night? Pushin’ your ass out for another man’s cock?!”
Anger burns your belly and your throat tightens when you hear Joel’s harsh words. You’ve submitted to him a thousand times but your patience has its limits.
With your lips trembling, tears risking to spill, you cry out,
“It’s unfair, Joel! I didn’t do anything bad and you keep talking to me like I’m a town slut! Like you own me!”
Joel chuckles darkly and then bites back, “I do own you. I fuckin’ bought you!”
Silence follows his words. For a few seconds you two are staring at each other, Joel’s eyes full of fire, yours— glossy and widened.
“What?”
“Ya heard me!” Joel’s chest is rising and falling rapidly as he grumbles, “Think I found you in the woods? Just stumbled upon you by a goddamn chance?!”
He takes a step closer to you, his nostrils flaring.
“I bought you off a group of raiders, saved you and brought you here! I hope you’ll appreciate it in future cause right now you’re behavin’ like an ungrateful brat!”
His words are swirling in your mind so fast you can’t catch them. ‘Raiders.’ ‘Bought you.’
Hyperventilating, you lean against the table behind you and shake your head in disbelief and shock. You set your gaze on your feet, scared to look up and find sincerity in Joel’s eyes. The idea that he’s telling the truth terrifies you.
“No… I was lost and alone … I got hurt. That’s what you told me.”
“I lied.” Joel’s words sting like a slap to your cheek, and as you face him you find only traces of anger in his expression. What you see mostly is pain and guilt.
“Fuck…” He rubs his face with his hands and turns away from you. For some time he says nothing and you’re staring at his back, needing him to speak yet at the same time dreading it.
Joel drags his feet to a nearby stool and sits on it. His voice is low when he talks as if he’s afraid that someone might hear.
“Been doin’ business with them for a short time. Tradin’ food for whatever they had — medicine, guns… then bringin’ it all to Jackson. They were the scum of the earth. Maria would never let them behind the town walls and they knew it.”
He groans as if it pains him to continue but he still does.
“One day I saw you in their camp. You looked…” Joel pauses, his jaw clenches, his fists are twitching.
“Hell knows what they’ve been doin’ to you there but…. I can imagine… fuckin’ bastards.”
You’re listening to him so intently you don’t realize that tears are streaming down your face.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” you croak. “Why don’t I remember… that?”
Joel doesn’t reply and you sense he’s hiding the answer from you.
“Joel… tell me…please.”
Pain twists his face when he sees your tears, your trembling lips. He averts his eyes and mutters,
“I offered them ammo and food in exchange for you. They agreed.. probably were gettin’ desperate with the winter comin’. I was about to take you with me but when they freed you… you ran.”
You hug your middle, trying to calm your shaking body, your heart pounding loudly in your ears.
“I couldn’t let you run away. You were too weak. Wouldn’t survive the first encounter with the infected.”
Looking you straight in the eye, he confesses,
“I caught you but you started fightin’ me. Couldn’t blame you… considerin’ the life you’d been livin’.”
You swallow your tears, your chest tightens more and more the closer you step under the shadow of your past.
“You scratched me. I pushed you off…on instinct.. you fell … hit your head on a rock.”
Joel chokes on his words, his eyes full of tears.
“I didn’t mean to, I swear…”
The truth hangs in the air like heavy smoke, it stings your tearful eyes, fills your chest. Joel wipes his eyes with the back of his hand and croaks,
“You know what happened next. You were bleedin’ so I carried you to Jackson. When Doc said that you lost your memory I thought maybe— maybe it was for the best. You didn’t have to carry all that horror with you. You could start a new life here.”
Not being able to stand on your feet anymore you slump on the floor, press your knees to your chest and bury your face in your hands. You don’t want to see Joel at the moment, your heart feels ripped apart — the most important person in the world has been lying to you.
A miserable sob falls from your lips but you hate to show your pain to Joel right now so you clumsily stand up and walk past him to the exit.
“Where’ya goin’?” Joel asks, getting up. Heavy footsteps follow you when you walk out into the street, big tears rolling down your cheeks, your hands shaking.
You walk to the only place you can — home, Joel’s house. Your legs are trembling, carrying you there, and you’re walking with your head downcast, hiding your pained and tear-stricken face, the night helping you to conceal your misery. You know that Joel’s following you but don’t look back.
At home you immediately run upstairs to your room. You close the door and fall into your bed, finally able to cry in earnest. Everything you’ve known in the world was a lie, written by a deceiving hand of a man you would give your life to. What else has he lied about? His love for you? Was it even real? Or was it his possessiveness, his ownership of you, that pulled him to you like a magnet?
‘I bought you!’ Joel’s words are ringing in your head over and over as you’re soaking your pillow with bitter tears. You hear Joel downstairs and even hating him you’re grateful that he didn’t follow you to your bedroom.
An hour later your throat hurts from weeping, your face is puffy, your eyes barely see anything behind your tears and you close them, still sobbing while your mind is torturing you with the images from your dreams. Every vision stabs your heart with a sharp knife. You can’t be sure if all of that happened, dreams can be dreams, only that, but your intuition and the ache in your body tell you they were your reality, the world you lived in.
You cry and cry but the exhaustion of the day takes its toll and you drift off.
Daddy…
His lips are soft, his hands are rough and calloused. They keep your legs open, pressing onto your inner thighs, as his warm wet tongue is licking your pussy.
Your hands fly to his head and you clasp his locks, pulling him closer to your heat.
Baby…
Up fly your hips, making his tongue dive deeper, and it pushes into your sopping hole and starts fucking you, your juices flowing into his mouth, his nose rubbing your clit.
Ahhh…
A hot wave rises fast in your core and you explode, whimpering and arching your back off the sweat covered sheets. Ecstasy is lighting up every cell of yours as your eyes flutter open and you stare at rays of the early morning sun that’s painting the ceiling amber.
Joel groans against your pulsating cunt and you look down to watch him prolong your orgasm, his lips gliding over your puffy folds and clit, his eyes closed in pleasure, his moustache and beard wet with your slick.
He’s gorgeous.
He’s perfect.
He’s a liar.
“No…” Your sleepy voice objects, your weak hands push Joel’s head off you, when a flood of memories from last night bursts into your mind. You feel tears welling up in your eyes, your belly burns with anger, pain squeezes your chest. Joel looks up, frowning, but as soon as you start squirming away from him, he quickly climbs over your body and pins you to the mattress with his weight.
“Shhhh,” he shushes you before your scream rings in your quiet bedroom,
“Get off me!”
You start hitting his broad back and sides but he grabs your hands and pushes your wrists into the pillow over your head.
“Stop it, girl!” He groans, hovering over your face, his glare stating clearly that you need to listen to him.
You’re thrashing under him for some time, your tears flying in all directions, curses leaving your twisted lips when you remember what he did to you, what he lied about.
When strength leaves your body you lie still, crying quietly, your eyes shut.
Joel’s voice is the warmest it’s ever been.
“Look at me, my love.”
You shake your head in defiance, still keeping your eyelids closed.
“Please, baby, look at me. Please…”
There’s so much surrender in his tone it doesn’t sound like him at all and surprised you stare up at him. His pupils are still blown out, but his gaze is warm and remorseful, eyes reddened with a lack of sleep.
“I’m sorry”, he mumbles, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
After each ‘sorry’ he kisses your wet cheeks, chin, forehead and you keep squirming under him, crying.
“No… I — I hate you… stop,” you sob, disgusted that your body yearns for his caress, hating how your heart is fluttering in your chest every time he presses his lips to your skin, his breath warming up your cold cheeks. When he looks at you his eyes are full of tears.
“I’m sorry for throwin’ the truth at you like that. I didn’t want to hurt you with it. I wanted you to understand..”
“Understand what?” You’d shout if your voice weren’t so fucked up from crying all night so all you can do is rasp, glaring up at the man. “Understand that I’m your possession? Understand that I’m nothing without you? That I owe you my life?”
He shakes his head and a single tear rolls down his cheek and falls on your lower lip. You mindlessly lick it off.
“I know I owe you everything”. Your tone is full of surrender as you say, “You did save me. But you lied to me. I lost all my memories because of you.”
“It was an accident!” Joel exclaims desperately, his palms squeezing your wrists. “I’d never… I hate myself for it.”
You choke on another sob, a myriad of emotions swirling in your chest, squeezing your heart. You can’t help but feel sorry for the man you love deeply and when Joel lets go of your hands and drops his head on your chest, you don’t push him away. You feel him sob silently, his guilt wetting your skin, and his despair suddenly dries your own tears.
Yes, he lied, you think, but he wanted to protect you from the pain. Everyone’s past is haunted these days and you’ve been living carefree until yesterday, not knowing how dark yours was. Wouldn’t you wish you were clueless again? Wouldn’t it be wonderful to think that the visions of cruel hands, spreading your legs and taking you by force, were just a fantasy, a nightmare that fades in the air with the first rays of the morning sun. Yet now you know it’s not just that and chills run down your spine, making you shiver. You wrap your arms around Joel’s back, seeking comfort in the only place you know— his embrace. He gives it to you immediately— his arms slide under your back and he holds you tightly. Then he lifts his head and his puffy eyes find yours.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
You can’t forgive him yet but your expression softens and when he leans down, searching for your lips, you kiss him. Your mouth parts welcoming his tongue, you tilt your head to deepen the kiss and moan, melting under his big body.
Suddenly Joel parts from your lips and presses his forehead to yours.
“I killed ‘em. Killed ‘em all, my love,” he gruffs, his breath hot on your lips.
“Who?” You ask but in your gut you already know the answer.
“Those raiders… who had you.”
He plants his forearms on the bed by your shoulders to lift himself up and says, his eyes fiery,
“About a week after I brought you to Jackson, Tommy and I sneaked out at night... tracked them down.”
You’re staring up at him, your eyes widened, taking in every word hungrily.
“Tommy knows? About me?”
Joel swallows hard, probably scared of your reaction, and gives you a curt nod.
“I had to tell him. Needed back up in case it went sideways.”
You feel anger rise again in your belly at the realization that Tommy has been lying to you, too, hiding the truth, but you suppress it, your whole being needs Joel to keep talking.
“How d’you do it?”
Joel cups your cheek gently before speaking,
“Got into the leader’s tent.. cut his throat while he was sleepin’. The others were outside.”
“No one woke up?” Your voice is shaky as you ask Joel.
“Some did. I dealt with them. And those who tried to run… Tommy took ‘em out with a sniper rifle.”
Your body is trembling as you listen to him, butterflies swirling in your belly. To your surprise or horror you realize that you love hearing all that. It not only brings you joy, his confession turns you on.
“You could’ve just shot them all. During the day.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Joel presses a kiss to your forehead before saying, “but I wanted to watch them bleed to death.”
Your breath hitches and you buck your hips, pressing your naked pussy to Joel's clothed bulge. When you feel him big and hard your lips part and you moan,
“Wish I could’ve seen it.”
Joel’s dark eyes dart between yours as understanding flashes across his face. A corner of his lips curves up and his hand slithers down between your bodies.
“Wish to see what daddy did for you?”
A shiver runs through your body when you hear his words and you nod eagerly, parting your legs wider to accommodate his hips.
Joel chuckles darkly, his face hovering inches from yours, his body big and strong pushing you into the bed, and you moan when his hot cockhead delves between your folds and rubs your clit up and down.
“Oh daddy,” you whimper softly, your pussy clenching around nothing, your slick sliding out of your needy hole.
Joel leans down and grunts into your ear, as his tip nudges at your wet entrance,
“You’d wanna see me cut the fuckers’ throats?”
Saying the last word he pushes his cock inside you, parting your walls with his stiffness and your lips form an O when you take all his inches in one go.
“Yes—yes—yes,” you breathe out, going cross eyed with the way he fills you up. Joel begins fucking you hard, growling and panting, his lips brushing your temple,
“I killed ‘em all. Every jerk who’d hurt you. Would’ve done it a thousand times over... again.. and again.. and again.”
With every word he pushes his cock deeper inside you, his fat head rubbing against your soft spot as he almost pulls out, only to pierce you with it again.
You drool with how amazing you feel, your eyes roll back to the back of your head as you’re rising higher to your peak.
“Thank you, daddy,” you moan. “Thank you for sending them to hell. For me.”
Joel’s hips slow down and he glides his thumb over your lower lip.
“Of course, sweetheart.” His voice wavers, he’s visibly touched by your words of gratitude.
He kisses you gently and then murmurs against your lips.
“I love you more than life.”
“I love you, daddy.”
A soft moan falls from his wet lips and he keeps fucking into your pussy but now his movements are slow and steady, his thrusts gentle.
“Come on my cock, sweetheart. It’ll make daddy so happy.” You whimper as he’s kissing a path down your neck and then latches onto your breast. He’s swirling his tongue around your pebbled nipple, nibbling on it while he languidly rolls his hips, feeding you his cock again and again.
You unravel with his name on your lips, your pussy fluttering around his fat girth and soon he grunts and starts painting your walls with his warm cum. The symphony of your moans fills the room and your heart sings when you hear how amazing you make Joel feel. This big gruff man whose hands ended lives is whimpering because of you, pressing his body to yours like you’re the most precious thing in this world. You hug him tightly and you two are slowly coming down from your highs together, his cock still spilling cum into your core, your walls gripping him from time to time.
Then Joel rolls over and immediately scoops you into his embrace. You nuzzle his neck, breathing in his musky scent, your eyes closed, your body heavy with a pleasant tiredness.
“You hate me?” he rasps after a few minutes of silence. You don’t need to look up at him to know that his eyes are filled with tears.
“I love you.” Your voice is quiet but unwavering as you reply.
The truth about your past doesn’t easily settle in your heart. Your nightmares still come, always the same ones, always about them. In your mind you understand that those are ghosts and nothing else. They’re dead and gone, rotting in the cold ground, while you’re here, alive and well, thanks to Joel. When those ghosts come to haunt you at night, you wake up and cuddle up to the man who saved you, the man who takes care of you, the man who loves you.
Joel still guards you from every man in Jackson but now you know why — his protective nature demands him to act this way. He probably sees your abusers in all the guys who approach you, talk to you, lay their eyes on you.
Soon you see them, too. Fear twists your heart when a man steps into your shop, when his eyes linger on your chest or your lips a little too long. The attention that used to flatter you now feels like a punch in the gut. Your pulse quickens, your heart pounds in your chest, and panic subsides only when the person leaves.
Not being able to do your job properly you quit. You lie to Maria that your headaches are back and you need more rest. Joel confirms your deceitful words, satisfied that you’re going to be home more often. So you spend your time cooking, reading and waiting for him to return from work.
Tonight you’re both reading on the sofa in the living room, your feet on Joel’s lap, his hand resting over them, keeping you warm. It’s quiet except for the wood crackling in the fireplace. When you read the same sentence for the fifth time, you realize that there’s another thought swirling at the back of your mind. You close the book and sit up.
“Joel,” you call softly. “Can I ask you something?”
The man glances up at you from behind his reading glasses and when he sees your worried face he takes them off and puts the book aside.
“Of course, sweetheart.”
You drop your head and fumble with the hem of your nightie, all of a sudden too nervous to speak on the topic of your past. You rarely discuss it with Joel, your previous life and what he did still feel like an open wound.
Noticing your hesitance Joel scoops you up and puts you onto his lap. With your hands on his broad chest, his warmth comforting you, you finally speak,
“When you met me.. there.. what did they call me?”
Joel takes a deep breath and his brows furrow. He glides his palms up and down your arms and nods,
“Yes, I asked them about your name.”
Your breathing quickens as you lean forward.
“What was it?”
Joel cups your cheek, gives you a warm smile, and pronounces your name, the name you both chose at the hospital.
“What?” You frown in confusion. “But… we picked it together. You brought the name book to my room, remember?”
“Yeah,” Joel nods. “And I said it would suit you perfectly.”
You’re gawking at the man as he says,
“Your name was the only thing I learnt about you. I wanted you to have it.”
His gaze is so loving you feel close to bursting into tears so you push your face against Joel’s neck and take full lungs of his scent, trying to calm a tsunami of emotions in your chest. Joel hugs you tightly and sighs,
“I shoulda learned more about you.. interrogated them, asked about your past. But I was so damn angry… wanted them dead and gone. For what they’d done to you.”
“No, no,” you mumble, clinging to his big torso. “I don’t need it.” You sit up on his lap and say, “I can’t miss something I don’t remember, right?”
Joel looks at you pensively and then nods,
“Yeah, I reckon.”
You rest your head on his shoulder and sit quietly for a few minutes. He’s rocking you gently on his lap and you feel so peaceful and warm you can purr.
On the brink of reality and sleep you feel Joel’s hand slide under your nightie and between your legs.
“Daddy…,” you whimper softly, spreading your thighs wider for him.
“Yes, baby. Let me make you feel good.”
You nod weakly and close your eyes, trusting Joel to give you the most amazing pleasure, to take care of you only he knows how.
A moan falls from your parted lips when Joel pushes his thumb between your folds and slides it down to your clenching hole. He gathers some wetness and then covers your clit with it. You bite your lips as he starts slowly rubbing it, torturing you with the languid pace. Turned on and needy you grind your hips back and forth, seeking more stimulation, and Joel cooes,
“Uh-huh? D’ya wanna come, babygirl?”
With your eyes still shut you beg, your lips brushing Joel’s neck,
“Yes, daddy, please.”
Joel hums and his hand leaves your pussy. You whine pathetically and your eyes snap open only to see Joel sucking on his thumb, his eyelids fluttering close in pleasure. He hums around his finger, tasting your desire, and then carefully pulls it out of his mouth and returns the drenched digit to your pussy.
“Gonna soak your lil’ clit. Make it nice ‘n wet”
He grunts and presses his saliva-covered finger to your hardened bud, making you moan loudly and arch your back. You feel lightheaded as he starts rhythmically pleasuring you, bringing you closer to your peak. You dart your tongue out and lick Joel’s neck, his skin hot and salty, until he turns his head and catches your eager lips with his. He’s swallowing your moans and whimpers while his thumb is drawing infinities over your clit. Soon it starts twitching under his thumb and Joel growls into your mouth as you come undone in his arms, your pussy crying onto his lap.
“My good girl,” he whispers into your ear, his thumb gently gliding between your folds, prolonging your shuttering orgasm yet being careful not to overstimulate you.
When your bliss dissipates, your body goes limp on his lap and you’re panting against Joel’s neck, exhausted and satisfied. You hear smacking sounds and flutter your eyes open to see Joel lick your slick off his fingers.
“Can never get enough of you, baby. Daddy’s gonna lick it all off later.”
“Yes, please,” you murmur before your eyelids close and you fall asleep.
As Joel’s carrying you upstairs you’re dreaming of him walking through the woods with your unconscious body in his strong arms. It looks like you’re sleeping peacefully but soon your pulse skyrockets as you see a black smoke following you two. The darkness is licking at Joel’s feet, wishing to drown you in its poisonous cloud and you try to scream and warn him about it but your voice won’t work. Joel’s walking confidently, his steps sure and determined, and you hope or rather know that he’s going to get you to safety. You can trust him to do it. Jackson’s walls soon appear in front of Joel and the huge wooden gates open, welcoming him and you. Your man carries you past them and as they close behind you two, the black smoke crashes against the thick walls and clears up. Your heartbeat slows down and a little smile curves your lips. You’re safe.
You never share the truth of your past with anyone else. You don’t want to be pitied but most of all you’d hate if people blamed Joel for your amnesia. He broke you, took your past from you, but he was also the one to build you back up, he gave you his love, support, he gifted you a home, a chance for a fresh start. Joel became your best friend, your lover, your family. He’s not perfect, he’s not a saint, but who is?
Thank you for reading! Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed the fic! I’d love to know what you think, loves💞
you learn that early on. the way satoru gojo exists in the world—larger than life, a force of nature disguised as a man—means that you're always sharing him. with the jujutsu world, with his students, with the endless parade of missions and meetings and responsibilities that come with being the honored one.
you knew what you were signing up for when you fell for him. but knowing and living are two very different things.
so when suguru geto—his best friend, his other half, the one person who can match him wit for wit and stare for stare—starts looking at you a little longer than necessary, you tell yourself it's nothing. when his hand brushes yours passing the salt shaker at dinner, you ignore the shiver that runs down your spine.
when he finds you alone in the kitchen during one of satoru's rare nights home, leaning against the counter with that lazy, knowing smile, you pretend not to notice the way your heart races.
"he's late again," suguru says, voice smooth as honey. "surprised?"
"he's busy."
"he's always busy." suguru pushes off the counter and steps closer. close enough that you can smell his warm and woodsy cologne. "you deserve better than 'busy,' don't you think?"
you should step back. you should say something, anything, to shut this down. but your feet are rooted to the floor, and your mouth is dry, and when his hand comes up to cup your jaw, you lean into it like a flower turning toward the sun.
"tell me to stop," he murmurs, thumb tracing your lower lip.
you don't.
and that's how you end up here: bent over the kitchen counter, suguru's chest pressed against your back, his breath hot against your ear as he fucks you slow and deep. your fingers grip the edge of the marble, knuckles white, biting your lip to keep from crying out.
"shh," he purrs, one hand splayed across your stomach, the other gripping your hip. "gotta be quiet, pretty girl. wouldn't want satoru to hear, would we?"
the words send a thrill through you, shame and pleasure tangled so tight you can't tell where one ends and the other begins. you shake your head, a broken motion.
"good girl."
he picks up the pace, just slightly, and you bury your face in your arm, muffling the moan that threatens to escape. the rhythm of his hips is relentless, driving into you with a precision that speaks to experience, to knowing exactly what he's doing. his teeth graze your shoulder.
"f-fuck—suguru—"
"that's it. say my name. tell me who's making you feel this good."
you do. over and over, a desperate litany, until the world narrows to the heat of his body and the slide of him inside you and the terrible, thrilling knowledge of what you're doing.
but neither of you hear the front door open.
neither of you hear the footsteps, light and cautious, approaching the kitchen.
neither of you notice until a voice cuts through the haze, casual and bright, with an edge sharp enough to draw blood.
"since when do you like fucking from the back?"
you freeze. every muscle in your body locks up. suguru stills behind you, but he doesn't pull out. instead, he lets out a slow, controlled breath, almost like he's been expecting this.
"satoru," he says, and there's no guilt in his voice. no shame. just a lazy amusement that makes your blood run cold.
you turn your head, heart hammering, and there he is. satoru gojo, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, head tilted. his sunglasses are pushed up into his hair, revealing those impossibly blue eyes. he's smiling. that's the worst part. he's smiling, but it doesn't reach his eyes.
"oh, please. don't stop on my account," he says, waving a hand dismissively. "i was just coming to grab a snack, but i can see you're already... occupied."
"satoru—" your voice cracks. tears prick at your eyes. "i-i'm sorry—i didn't mean—"
"didn't mean to?" he repeats, raising an eyebrow. "didn't mean to what, exactly? fall onto suguru's dick? because from where i'm standing, it looks pretty intentional."
suguru chuckles, low and dark, and you feel the sound vibrate through his chest, still pressed against your back. "language, satoru. you're scaring her."
"oh, i'm scaring her? that's rich, coming from the guy currently balls-deep in my girlfriend."
you flinch at the word. girlfriend. the reality of what you've done crashes over you like a wave, cold and suffocating. you try to pull away, but suguru's hand on your hip tightens, holding you in place.
"let me go," you whisper, voice shaking.
"not yet," suguru murmurs, lips brushing your ear. "we're not done."
you look at satoru, expecting rage. expecting hurt. expecting him to storm out, to curse you out, to break things. but instead, he's watching you both with an expression you can't quite read. his eyes are dark, pupils blown wide. his breathing has changed—shallow, quick.
"toru—"
"no, no, keep going." he takes a step closer, then another, until he's standing right beside you. he reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear with surprising gentleness. "i want to watch."
your breath catches. "what?"
"you heard me." his gaze flicks to suguru over your shoulder, and something passes between them—a silent conversation, years of friendship distilled into a single look. "you've been wanting this for a while, haven't you, suguru?"
suguru's smile widens. "can you blame me?"
"no." satoru's hand trails down your cheek, your neck, coming to rest on your collarbone. "she is pretty when she's being fucked, isn't she?"
you're trembling, caught between them, unsure if this is real or some kind of cruel dream. "i don't understand—"
"you don't have to understand," satoru says, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead, soft and tender. "just let us take care of you."
suguru begins to move again, slow at first, testing. satoru's eyes never leave yours, watching every flicker of expression, every bitten-back moan. his hand slides down, wrapping around your throat, not squeezing, just resting there. a reminder of his presence.
"look at you," satoru breathes, wonder in his voice. "taking us both so well. such a dirty girl, aren't you?"
"i'm sorry," you gasp, tears spilling over. "i'm so sorry—"
"stop apologizing." his thumb brushes away a tear. "i'm not mad. i could never be mad at you." he glances at suguru, a smirk tugging at his lips. "him, maybe. but not you."
suguru huffs a laugh, increasing his pace. "flattering."
"shut up and fuck her properly."
and suguru does. he drives into you with renewed vigor, each stroke hitting deeper, harder, while satoru holds your gaze, his hand warm and steady on your throat. the dual sensation—suguru's relentless rhythm, satoru's possessive touch—sends you spiraling, your orgasm building fast and fierce.
"that's it," satoru murmurs, watching your face contort. "let go. we've got you."
you shatter with a cry, your body convulsing around suguru, who follows moments later with a guttural groan, spilling deep inside you. he stays there, breath ragged, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.
for a long moment, no one moves. then suguru pulls out, and you slump forward, barely catching yourself on the counter. satoru catches you, pulling you into his arms, cradling you against his chest.
𝜗𝜚 you're only supposed to be doing your job as he requested- but what happens when it turns out that trueform!Sukuna is actually… a slut for praise?
more like this
ೃ࿔*:･
The sharp smell of the ointment ordered freshly from the mortar and pestles of the nearby apothecary cleaves through the humid air of the room, steam curling upwards from heated water to dampen the ends of your hair and lap at soft, naked skin.
Silks lie in a pool at your bare feet, dropped to the floor at Sukuna’s request- you assume the King of Curses doesn’t enjoy being the only naked one, even if the steam hides his hulking body mostly from view. And even if you've seen it all before.
Your palms tremble as you dip into the ointment again, the cooling sensation doing nothing to quell the nervous beating of your heart. You’ve touched him before, in more intimate places than just his back, but this feels different somehow.
Maybe it’s the way you’re the one touching him as you see fit, and not the other way around. Maybe it’s the clear imbalance between your job title and the actions of current.
As a concubine, perhaps this is not your intended position. Perhaps the men and the elderly councillors they represent would prefer you to remain as is, hidden away inside rose scented corners, as a body wrapped in silk, while a trained maid takes care of this. But you were requested specifically- as always.
When you were summoned to the baths, you were expecting to serve as usual; women had fixed your hair with rosewood pins and jade combs, tied your silk with trembling hands. You yourself had walked patiently, anticipating the moment you would be left to fend for yourself.
“We cannot go further.” One of the women had whispered, eyes wide as she made a final unnecessary adjustment to your outfit. “We are not permitted within the bathhouse.” She’d thrusted a pile of heavy robes into your steady hands.
“For… for after. For him.”
You’d nodded then, waiting for their leave as steam licked under the door and curled around your ankles. Instead of finding him spread out in the bath, grinning at you with glinting canines as expected, you found a small pot of healing ointment and Sukuna reclining calmly in the heated water.
“Apply more pressure.” He grunts, snapping you out of it, your practiced hands dabbing softly at the gashes on his muscled back.
“It looks painful.” You grimace, ointment settling across the skin, healing the sinews and swelling. No doubt the blade lies shattered, metal twisted just as grimly as the body of the person who did this. “The cuts are-“
“I do not feel it.” Sukuna says, adjusting his position in the bath. His frame is so large that water laps around, wavering around the spread thighs resting below the surface. “I said more pressure.”
Brows furrowed in concentration, your fingers work the muscle but avoid the cuts directly, the broken flesh slathered with swathes of minty ointment.
You balk, wincing and pausing your ministrations as a small dribble of blood cuts through the shallow scabbing. “I do not wish to hurt you, my lord-“
One of four clawed hands darts out of the water, encircling your wrist tightly- his eyes (all of them) are narrowed darkly in a glare that makes your knees weak. “Do not pity me." He spits, as though the mere notion disgusts him, "Move your hands.”
He doesn’t bother to look back as he speaks, merely loosening the grip on your wrist while his eyes narrow, facing forwards. He knows you'll obey, because everybody does.
You do as asked, terror surfacing in your bloodstream, but the familiar feeling of his skin on yours awakens a desire you’d be futile to resist. Gentle, terrifyingly sweet human hands grace Sukuna’s body, dipping below where the warm water flows against his chest.
He does not react outwardly, but you hear the way his breath deepens.
“I do not pity you.” You murmur, pert nipples brushing against his back, “I envy you.”
Your hands creep lower, fingertips brushing the already stiffened head of his first cock. Sukuna’s hips roll lazily upwards, just once, but it’s enough to make your mouth water.
“How so?” He asks roughly, reclining pleasurably against your chest.
“Well…” you begin breathily, lips moving prettily around the honeyed syllables. “I envy your strength-“ the noun is punctured with your palm wrapping around his cock as the other strokes along his biceps. He makes an odd sound low in his throat almost akin to a purr, but you know better than to acknowledge it.
“Your endurance never ceases to thrill me-“ thumb nicking the smooth tip, the skin feels hot under your grip- even hotter than the bath, as tiny strips of slick bead into the water.
“Mmm.” Sukuna groans in agreement, eyelids flicking shut as pleasure creeps into his body, stemming from the feeling of your touch.
The hand slowly working on his first cock bobs to his second, applying pressure to the neglected veins zigzagging around the length. How you wish you could see clearly through the steam, warmth enveloping his sharp features and the prominent ridge on his nose.
“I envy your beauty-“ his eyes snap open in warning. Nobody has ever dared to call the King of Curses beautiful- except maybe you.
“Yes, your beauty.” You continue boldly, spare hand dragging marks down his spine and chest, “your markings-“ a thumb presses over the inky black tattoos, “your eyes…”
His chest, his back, his four arms, his cocks- nowhere is missed as you lavish attention and praise onto him, thighs clenching together at every pleased sound released from his parted lips.
It isn’t long before his hips are bucking up languidly into your awaiting palm, your hand switching expertly between both lengths; squeezing at the base, flicking your wrist at the tip the way he loves.
He comes undone with a low rumble in his chest, your words of praise never ceasing their relentless attacks on his ears; the soft titters work as well as the ointment left abandoned on the side.
Sticky, slow trails of his release string in the scented water, bypassing the way they’d usually streak across your fingers.
You allow yourself a small, self-satisfied smile into his skin, hand still working him through the aftershocks. Who would’ve guessed that Ryomen Sukuna was such a slut for praise?
Your lips press tentatively to his jaw. “Would you like me to fetch your robes? I brought them in fresh-“ the words are cut off by your own spluttered gasp as four strong hands connect with your body, manhandling you down into the bath.
There’s an unnervingly calm grin cracking across Sukuna’s features, his nails laying claim to the soft skin he’s so accustomed to touching as he splits your thighs apart across his lap.
“What were you saying about my endurance?”
ೃ࿔*:･
masterlist
a/n: @kissthesword ty for the idea! <3 + I knowww I said I was on a hiatus, but I enjoyed writing this so much I couldn't let it stay in the drafts!!
♡ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟎𝟐 :: 𝐇𝐄'𝐒 𝐀 𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐅 𝐈𝐍 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐒𝐄 ੭ ⌗ serial killer!satoru x prosecutor!reader
you're one of japan's best and most notorious prosecutors. but when you meet your match, how do you handle looking straight into a morbid mirror? when an old flame lights the courtroom— and you're met with the man you haven't forgotten since law school. now sat in the defendant's chair with an infuriatingly charming smirk to woe the jury and a new title to terrify them: the reaper's successor.
⌗ wc. 8k
♡ ₊˚‧ cws. violence :: violent descriptions :: death (duh) :: obsession :: manipulation :: so much smut :: angst :: mystery drama :: law aspects :: blackmail :: mental illness & disorders :: clinical psychopathy :: free will vs fate :: courtroom drama :: detective ex!suguru x reader :: smut :: rough sex :: biting :: choking :: fingering :: multiple orgasms :: praise :: degradation :: bloody descriptions
♡ ₊˚‧ sweetheart. enjoy ! <3
꒰ masterlist :: playlist ꒱
As if your night couldn't get any worse; you were met with a mess.
The office's smoke pierced your tongue. Sickened a warmth on your skin as you entered and shut the door. Closing out the bright, cheap lights of the general workspace.
Scattered papers all over an oak wood desk. Documents, files, notes. Some half-open and others halfway there. Sprawled with images and evidence.
Three plastic cups filled the bin beside the desk, while a fourth rested on it. Etching the wood darker with overlapping coffee-stains.
"Hey," he called, casual from the window he stood tall at. Brushing away long, dark strands and carelessly flicking his fingers to an ashtray on the desk. Stuffed with cigarettes. He added to the ash graveyard.
Geto Suguru was always messy when he worked. In his mind. Emotionally.
It's what you hated about him.
"Hey." You spread your sanity thinner by stepping towards the desk. Pens and pictured littered like lice across the surface. You resisted the urge to reach over and align them all. Pens in colour arrangement, images in event order.
Suguru smiled. He always bothered to. "How's your night? Looked like a nasty day in court."
You never bothered to humour him. "What did you find? You said you had leads." Folding your arms, you ignored his pleasantries— he ignored your tone.
Clearly, given the fact he was still smiling. He left the window and stepped around the table, somehow fishing out whatever document he needed amidst the chaos of yellow paper and scattered stationary.
"It wouldn't kill you to breathe for a second, you know." He hummed.
He's one to talk. He always breathed. Always needed room to breathe. Always needed you to help him breathe.
And now, here he was. Breathing in plumes of nicotine.
You didn't reply to him. Only stared at the documents and their crumpled edges. Fuck, you hated clutter. How were you to solve a case if everything wasn't precise? Perfect? Your nerves that had already been licked by irritation's flames were now scalding.
He handed you a file. You pretended to miss how his fingers shook on the edges and wrinkled the corner in his grip. His hands still jittered, just as they did back in uni.
Still tried to brush on yours as they did back then, too.
You straightened the documents, observed. His handwriting was still neat. The only orderly thing about him. You wondered how he managed it despite the tremor in his hands and the mess that was his mind.
"Victim profiles," he explained, leaning against the desk. Craning for you. Always, craning for you. "The thing that's throwing a wrench in the case is we don't have a victimology. Just a link. Most judges would see that as a coincidence."
"Most judges are stupid." You bit.
He smiled. "No, most judges just aren't you."
You weren't sure if it was a compliment or an insult. You took it as neither. Veering to one would suggest that you cared— and you stopped caring about Suguru a long time ago.
"Twenty five women and they're all linked to his company. That's hardly a coincidence." You muttered as you paged through the file. "But there's no clear physical link. One's got dark hair, one's got light, one's clearly dyed. Body types vary. Eye colours."
"Some are mothers, some single, some young and some old." Suguru pointed out. "Which cancels out the sexual gratification part."
"Oh he sure as hell looks like he's getting off in court." You grunted. Chewed frustration between your teeth and dropped the files. Still, they were somehow neater next to everything else on the desk.
Plastic caught your eye. Clear. A bag. The only other neat thing on the table. Three bags with three knives. Untouched by the mess. Sealed away. Similar. The sight relaxed your shoulders. Finally. Something normal.
Then tensed them when you realised the irony of it. Why were the murder weapons the only thing that seemed to ease your mind?
Great. Guess you're not sleeping tonight either.
You snatched one of the bags, observing. Then took another in your other hand. "These have been swabbed?"
"Mhhm. Not a trace of DNA."
"They're the same make," you observed. "Same make, same kind, same everything. He's consistent."
"The crime scenes say that much," Suguru mused, tilting his head. "These were found near the scenes. Discarded but not hidden."
"He wanted us to find them."
"Maybe the sexual gratification thing comes from the media focus, then?"
"Still doesn't explain the motive. If we're banking the case on his psychopathy we especially need a reason. They're often personal. Not statements."
You hated how it sounded on your tongue. Psychopathy. It slipped from your mouth like it slid from its home in your mind. What an ugly word.
Sucking in a breath, your shoulders refused to sag. Not now. Not in front of him. Instead you placed the bags back in their order and ignored your appreciation for them being the only precise thing in this room.
You leaned against the desk. Narrowed your eyes. Tense in your spine and taut in your jaw. Trying to ignore the shift in your peripheral as Suguru drew closer.
Didn't he know how to take a fucking hint?
"You're tense," he sighed, right beside you now. His arms mirrored yours, folded over his brown coat. "I'm serious, you know. You need to breathe sometime."
I'm not you. You wanted to bite back. Instead you blunted. "That's not gonna solve this case."
"Neither will sleep deprivation." He said.
And a part of you wanted to stab him.
Especially when he spoke again.
"Look," he started. "You're not gonna be able to focus on anything while you're this wound up. How about we get a drink? Coffee?"
As if he wasn't on his fourth cup.
"That cafe you like isn't too far away. . ."
Ah, of course. Whisk you off to that cafe you both visited in uni and, what? Reminisce? Pretend you were anything other than strangers now?
"I'm fine, thanks." You rejected him before you'd have to do it harsher. In a cafe, across from him after he'd placed your order that you're sure he still remembered.
You shrugged away from the desk and already headed for the door. You couldn't waste time with him if all he had to offer was broken nostalgia disguised as supposed evidence.
"I've got a girl's night anyway." You still added, because a part of you still felt bad. Or at least, there was a part of you that told you that you should feel bad.
For how things ended. For how you left him. How you're leaving him again without so much as a glance.
From the corner of your eye, you watched him fish out another cigarette. Watched his lips bite down harder on the bud.
He was always messy. In his mind. Emotionally.
"Stay safe out there."
His voice was thin, but he sounded like he still cared. He did. And that's what bothered you.
Even then, you never bothered to humour him.
So you stepped back out into the brightly lit police station and walked past officers that lined the walls like mutts.
They wore their badges on their faces. Arrogant. Eager. They barked loud and bit quicker. Even then, most still nodded in acknowledgement to you. Because as many said: prosecutors were just cops without the badge.
But you were no mutt.
And you certainly didn't chew on dry bones yet think yourself a wolf.
The car ride felt longer. Dreary. Even though girl's night was only fifteen minutes away. Some bar. Or restaurant. A club you didn't remember. One you never danced at but one the girls liked. Where you could put on a mask and pretend you were smiling when really your eyes were analysing every single person in the room and all their tells.
Shoko joked that you hardly blinked. Like a reptile.
Those same, unblinking eyes pierced through the windscreen as you stare off into the night and its sea of headlights. Hands steering in directions that your brain had stopped giving. Too preoccupied with the events of today.
The courtroom. The swooning jury. The unconvinced judge. That smile.
That same. Damned. Charming smile.
You huffed a breath. Tried to think of something. The morgue.
How you didn't flinch. How you couldn't feel. How you thought the murder weapons looked neater than everything else on Suguru's messy desk.
How the word psychopathy felt like shoes you were breaking into.
Damnit.
You shoved the radio on. Gripped the steering and hoped some obnoxious song would distract your thoughts instead. And it did. For some time.
But the fate you never believed in was always so cruel.
A news segment. A reporter too bubbly for this time of night. For the hit story they prattled on about.
The case. It had been everything. Gaining more media traction than any of them have for the last decade.
The public always latched onto things like this. Morbid curiosity, you guessed. But this— was turning into a craze. Especially with its newest focus being mental health awareness.
How did a case about a psychopathic killer stir into a fucking mental health movement?
You should have turned the radio off. Maybe then you would have missed the voice that grated on your dwindling sanity.
"I have no shame for my psychopathy. It's a shame that the case has taken such an obvious turn. Psychopaths are often judged poorly based on the way they were born alone. Can't say I'm surprised."
Your nails bit into the steering. Your teeth ground down. Wishing you could chew on his words and spit them back out at his stupidly handsome face.
Out of all the things that the radio could've graced you with. It just had to be the interview that almost had you throwing a fit in a morgue, huh?
"Would you say it's unfair for the court to focus on this sole part of you?"
"Highly. I've put in a lot of work to be considered what society now calls, 'a successful psychopath'. Weird, ain't it?"
That's where you should've turned it off again.
That's where you should have broken your radio.
"Most people like me try to hide from who they are. But I'm not one of them. This is who I am, and I've never been one to run."
Run.
Run.
Your stare might've shattered the windshield. Your grip might have ripped the steering out.
The rest of the interview drowned out to your ringing ears and that one word.
Run.
Run.
Run.
Your hands swerved the wheel.
Cut a red light. Overtook a car. Ignored a blaring horn as your foot slammed on the accelerate.
People like him tried to run, huh?
No, you'd face that monster head on with all his sharp teeth and grins. If your research served correct, you knew where he lived. It was for the sake of it. A just in case. An emergency.
You needed answers. You wouldn't run.
You weren't like him.
The headlines loved you, but the courts loathed you. Why? Because you took risks.
Because you understood that in order to catch a monster, you needed to think like one. Wine and dine like one. Flash your canines and offer your claws, like one.
That's why you're here. Stood at a doorstep in your coat and red lipstick with the tiles turned into hot coals. Trying to deter you. So that you turned.
So that you ran.
Instead, you knocked. Stuffed your hands back into your pockets and stared the door down. As if your bulleted glare would strike the man down the second he stood before you.
If you could even call him a man. Gojo Satoru was a monster in your books.
Not the kind with crooked grins and ugly eyes. But one with charming smiles that won over juries and brilliant blue irises that wooed the judge.
The same blue that brightened when the door opened— and there he was.
Still in the outfit he wore to court. A black dress shirt that hugged around his biceps with the top button undone and a pair of grey suit pants. Missing his suit jacket and the matching tie.
"Prosecutor," Satoru propped against his doorway. Arms folded, further straining his shirt. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Grinning. Again. Like he always fucking did. Like his tongue had so much to say and his teeth just had to steal the spotlight.
He was calm. Casual. Too calm for a man staring down the woman who's been viscously chasing him down the courtroom. Too casual for someone who understood legal procedures. Who should know that you shouldn't be anywhere near his apartment.
You wasted no time. Because beasts never hesitated before sinking their canines into throats, so neither should you.
"You're well in your right to turn me away." You plucked a strand of hair from your coat. Dropped it to the mat beneath your heels, but never shyed away from his stare.
"But I'd like to catch up with my law school buddy and understand why he's in the headlines. So would it be too bold to request of you to let an old friend in?"
Friend. The word scorned your tongue.
You weren't Satoru's friend. But then again, you never really had friends in university. He was your rival. Someone you looked forward to seeing every day simply so that you could rub it in his face that you scored higher on an exam.
That sounded something like companionship, right?
You wondered if he'd keep playing oblivious. Call you 'prosecutor' and ask if you'd met before again as if his cocky stare wasn't burned into your soul and your names were never said without the other's following back then. Stitched together by some pesky red string.
Instead, his grin widened.
"I'm not a monster, y'know."
And yet he smiled like one.
"Who am I to leave a pretty girl out in the cold?" He shoved himself off of the doorway and stepped aside. Welcoming you into his den.
But he didn't acknowledge you. Didn't verbally confirm that he remembered you. As if he didn't want to give you the satisfaction.
Damn him.
You entered. No halt nor hesitance. No fear, no falter, only frigid confidence. Cold like the air in his apartment. Black marble tiles and sleek furniture. Dim. Neat. Investigators scavenged every inch of this place to find something— he must have made their job easy. Not a hair was out of place.
You hated that you appreciated the clean belly of the beast over Suguru's office.
"Are you hungry?" He asked as he shut the door. Locking you in with a cold-eyed predator and his charming smile. "I've got a sushi bake in the oven. Should be finished any minute."
To catch a monster. You must wine and dine like one. So you accepted.
"Sure, thank you." As you stepped into the foyer and made your way to his expansive living room.
A rug probably worth more than your annual salary laid at the centre. Atop it was a glass coffee table, and behind it was a grey l-shaped couch, backlit by a window wall and Tokyo's city lights. You made yourself comfortable. Too comfortable for someone in a beast's lair.
It was cold. Crisp. As clean as it was calm. But quiet.
Most things were in the presence of a predator.
Satoru black dress shoes clicked on the cold tiles as he made his way to the open kitchen on the other side of the living room, separated only by a marble counter. Hands shoved in his pockets and shoulders relaxed. He panthered about. Smooth. Assured.
You watched him like a hawk. As he opened his cupboards and placed two black plates on the counter. Laid out perfectly squared sheets of seaweed. Two metal spoons. Two pairs of chopsticks. Everything mirrored. Exact copies.
But before he could open the oven, his phone rang.
He slipped it from his pocket. Looked at the screen and then turned off the oven instead. You looked away as he brought the phone to his ear, but never lost your focus.
Something about business. Something about the finance department. Nothing you could dig your claws into and fish out a clue from. He spoke as smoothly as he did to you. Not a hitch in his tone.
"Mhhm. Yeah. I'm sure you can handle it, Enari."
That name. However. Was more than you could chew on.
Gojo Enari. Your brother's best friend back then. Before the disaster. Before he was found in his apartment. In a pool of his own blood. Face untouched. Body disembowelled.
You remembered his face at the funeral. The tears. How he refused to leave the grave site. You remembered sitting with him. Remembered how you extended comfort because you didn't know how to cry over your brother; so perhaps it would have made up for the sin.
Enari was always gentler than Satoru. A part of you forgot they were even related in the first place.
How could someone so graceful share blood with the gory monster that was Gojo Satoru?
The phone call ended, and that same monster's voice called to you with a grace he dared to mimic. "Do you drink?"
"Water's fine," you replied. It was bad enough that you were here sober. You didn't need alcohol to blur the legal lines any further.
You watched him again. Magnetic to his every movement. As he scooped two generous helpings of sushi bake out onto the seaweed and sprinkled precise portions of furikake atop. Everything about him was such. Precise. Sharp. Calculated.
Something you could appreciate. Something you loathed.
He was before you in an instant, placing your plate in front of you and his directly beside yours. Aligned perfectly. Effortlessly.
"You must be hungry after that vicious cross questioning." He mused.
And oh, the spoon in your plate suddenly looked like the perfect murder weapon.
You struck. Fast. Some might say impatient.
"Let's cut the crap." You shrugged off your coat and folded it. Flawlessly pressing the corners into one another and laying it beside you. Neat. Exact.
You slipped your phone from your pocket and faced the screen towards him. Letting him watch as you turned the device off and dropped it to the floor without a care.
"A month from now, you're expected to be released. Free of any charges. So how about we agree to speak on terms we both know are the truth."
Your eyes narrowed. Watched as his barely twitched. Instead, the bastard smiled and stood straight. Tall. Eased.
"I'm all ears." He turned, approaching a mini fridge near the counter and crouching once he opened it. Unbothered by your little display and the implication in your tone.
Still, you didn't waver.
"Twenty five women. Mangled." Your brow arched, stare never leaving his back. As if you could glare into his soul and weed out even a hint of reaction.
"You didn't even hesitate, did you?"
"Hesitate?"He stood again and was before you in a few strides. Silent to your question as he placed a water bottle beside your food and what you assumed was a bottle of juice beside his. Oddly sweet for a sushi bake. "No, of course not."
Frost sliced from beneath icy lashes. Cold. Clinical.
Calm.
"But I did take my time picking them out."
It should have chilled your bones. Rattled your heart in your ribcage. Should have sent you to your feet and snatching the nearest thing that could be used as a weapon to defend yourself—
Instead. You sat there.
Stare unblinking. Unwavered.
Sharp.
"You're disgusting."
You said.
And all he did. Was tilt his head.
Smile.
"Aren't you a darling?"
Satoru stepped around the glass table that glinted with his sharp teeth, and sat beside you. Legs spread and pants strained as he swiped his plate onto his thigh. Picked at his food with his chopsticks and snatched a bite. As if he hadn't just confessed to murder.
And you sat there as if you weren't beside a killer.
You couldn't use much of what he said now in court. Why would you? Rather beat the bastard fair and square at whatever twisted game he wanted to play, right? Since he was so confident in aimlessly confessing to his heinous crimes.
You picked at your food next. Ignored the creep of his stare peering into your temple as you took a bite. Perfect. Everything about him was. You weren't surprised that a psychopath could follow a recipe to the t.
It irked you.
"Disgusting and so infuriatingly particular." You took another bite. Not missing how he mirrored you. Synchronised.
"You didn't hide the bodies. But you only left their faces untouched. Disembowelled and yet the investigators found this apartment squeaky clean. Every murder gets bloodier but not a speck of it is found on their hair. You used the same blade, but discarded many."
Your spoon dug at the plate. The rough clink kept your mind from spinning. Kept your mask from slipping into the frustration that twitched at your brow.
"You're perfect."
"The jury sure seems to think so."
He shot you a wink. A charming curl at the corner of his lips as he snagged another bite. Fucking flawless even in his obvious attempt to rustle your feathers.
He dangled the meat above your head.
"The only reason that the jury love you is because they loathe me. A default's not a win, Gojo."
You clamped it between your canines without missing a beat.
A snap to his serene. He only hummed, arched his brow. "Now, who said anything about winning?"
And oh, the spoon really was sharpening into a knife in your hand.
Ironic, really. That you sat beside a killer and contemplated murder when he could easily overpower you. His chopsticks could be a blade. His plate could be shattered and daggered into your throat. Hell—
His hands alone could splatter your blood across the glass coffee table.
"Because that's all this is, isn't it?" You dared to turn to him. "A competition you haven't laid to rest since law school?"
"Seems like you're the only one that's hung up over law school." He mused, setting his plate down. Arms stretching only to lay one directly over the backrest behind you.
His stare frosted over, glinting in the city lights that phantomed his ivory hair and one side of his face.
"Makes me wonder why you're really here. Certainly not to 'catch up', by the looks of it."
Clink.
You snapped your plate to the table.
"I'm here to ask why."
Your voice quavered. Not with fear. Never that. But with something uglier that crawled up your throat and possessed your sharp tongue. "You were top of Waseda every semester. Could have been whatever you wanted to be in the field. Then you dropped off the face of the earth and the next time I see your face it's in a case file?"
Your stare locked to his. Fire to his ice. Match to his gasoline.
"So tell me, Satoru." His first name was a confession on your tongue.
"Why?"
Silence.
Not the kind that mattered. The kind that maddened.
Because Satoru's smile only curled higher, into a smirk. Arrogant, smug, as his knee nudged into yours and his body craned closer.
You didn't pull away. And that was the dangerous part.
But his unblinking, amused stare, was deadlier.
"We're more alike than you realise, sweetheart." On his tongue, the name sounded like a conviction.
"So tell me, why would you kill twenty five women?"
His eyes were a mirror you couldn't help staring into. Couldn't help but mimic as you leaned closer. Not missing a beat. No halt nor hesitance.
No fear. No falter.
Only frigid confidence.
"Revenge."
It slipped from your lips as easy as the word psychopath.
"Revenge. Rage. Envy. People kill for a lot of reasons, Satoru."
At last, you blinked. But you didn't withdraw. Only narrowed your eyes into that same glare that pierced him across the courtroom. "But I'm not you. I wouldn't kill twenty five women. I'd put my head on a block to protect even five."
Silence.
No. It didn't matter, either.
It maddened.
A clap.
Then another— slow. Taunting.
Satoru leaned back. Clapped his hands. Chuckled. He fucking chuckled at you as his smile wretched into a wide grin. Still so charming. So controlled. Showing off his canines.
"Ten out of ten." He mused, and you wanted to dig that spoon into his sharp teeth.
"Spoken like a true predator."
Only to pause when he said that.
Your glare froze. Lips stiff.
"Prosecutors protect, sure. But that's not what you do, hm?" His head crooked. He called you the predator and yet it was his canines that glinted in the dim light. His eyes that glowed in the dark.
As he propped himself from the couch's backrest and faced you. Audaciously pressing his knee back into yours. Not brushing. Blading.
"You pursue, you chase. Hunt. I watch you in that court room, y'know."
He leaned in. Dangerously.
You let him. Disgustingly.
"Do you know the difference between a hunter and a predator, sweetheart?" He asked.
Your eyes answered.
"Unlike hunters, predators don't kill for the love of the game. We kill. . ." his hand brushed your leg.
Claws crawling over your knee. Teeth biting a whisper.
"Because it's our nature."
Your heart stopped. And he smiled again.
"You stalk through that courtroom and hunt down whoever you please. You claim that it's all for justice but really— You don't care about the victims at all, do you?"
"I'm not you." You spat.
"But you smile like me in that courtroom."
His voice was a smooth cyanide. His tongue a sharp cleave.
"You love the chase. The power. But a part of you knows it's wrong, so you chew convicts between your teeth because it'll make you feel better about yourself. I know what you are."
A cold finger tapped on your temple. His breath brushed your ear.
"A pretty little psychopath, huh?"
Your heart stopped. He withdrew, teeth still on full display as his finger slipped under your chin. Crooked it up to his croon.
"So c'mon,"
He batted his lashes at you. Squeezed your knee and pressed closer until his cold eyes spilled frost into your very soul.
Colder lips brushed yours.
And for the first time, you froze.
"Just admit that you like the thrill of control."
The ice to your fire. The match to your gasoline.
Your hand snatched him by the jaw.
His grin never faltered. Your grip never fractured. As your stare struck from his eyes to his lips.
As fire burned in your whisper.
"Maybe."
And crashed into his mouth with a scorching kiss.
Frost melted into your very hands. Satoru's body slumped into yours. Into the kiss. Toppling you over against the couch and thumping his forearm on the armrest above your head.
Your nails chewed on his jaw. Left indents in the pale skin. As you pressed your lips harder. Vicious. Pouring that old flame back into his mouth in hopes to burn his throat. His heart. His twisted soul that dared to sit there and say you were like him.
Even with his strong, heavy body weighing you down, you controlled the kiss. Bruised his lips and urged a shiver up his spine that you felt in the goosebumps of his skin as your hand slipped down to his throat.
Squeezed. Tight.
"Reckless, aren't you?" You rasped as you parted. Lips swollen with his. Still brushing. Still dangerous.
He could tear his teeth into your throat.
You could claw your nails into his eyes.
Instead, your mouths caressed. As you muttered.
"Kissing your prosecutor? Bold."
"Oh baby, you wanna see bold?"
His knee wedged between your legs. Hand clawed at your hip. Trapped your body further into his couch. You wondered if this was the method to his madness. Inviting pretty girls into his home with the promise of a warm meal only with the threat of a cold blade.
And yet his mouth was hot as it crashed back into yours. Opened. Tongue shoving past your lipstick and stabbing for yours that grated back in a fight for control.
You knew he wanted it. But unfortunately, he was right.
You loved the thrilled of control.
No matter how much you hated that fact.
As your tongue wrest with his, your fingers clawed with the conflict that you were here. In a serial killer's apartment. Letting him kiss you into his couch and threaten your sanity with his velvet words.
Your nails dug into his scalp. Heaved his deep groan that vibrated into your gums as you wretched his mouth from yours. Stringing a filthy web of saliva between your glossy lips. Only to smear it in kisses down his sharp jawline.
Satoru's breath stuttered. Heavy. Wispy, ivory strands shadowing his dilated eyes as he burrowed into your neck and collapsed his hips onto yours. Grinding. Pitiful.
Sparks curled up your spine at the friction. Your hand squeezed his throat and shoved your thumb into his pulse to feel how it hammered for you.
Was this what he felt with his victims?
The though raked your nails in cutting red lines down his throat. To his shirt where your fingers peeked in the gaps between his buttons and scratched up the pale skin there.
So soft on his flesh. Even when you made sure to leave marks that stung.
"Pathetic," you hissed to his ear as his hips stuttered on your thighs.
The large hand on your hip flexed. Shot to your waist. His knees digging into the sofa as he jerked himself from your hold and dragged you up with his sheer strength. Jostling you over him until his broad shoulders hit the backrest of the couch and your legs hooked over his thighs. Hiking that dress up further and exposing more skin.
You felt his heart hammer between your shoulderblades. Racing, rushing— like his long fingers that ripped down and fisted the waistband of your panties. Yanking it up so that the thin fabric suffocated your cunt. Dragged just the right friction over your clit and slit.
A surprised whine fell from your lips. Hands scrambling to grip at whatever you could as he mouthed on your ear.
"Pathetic."
Oh. Damn him.
"Gonna have to fight me for control if you want it, sweet girl." His other hand bundled your tit in his palm, rubbing the callouses on your perking nipple. His teeth caught your lobe. Breath fanning hot.
"Don't forget who's stronger than you. Smarter."
Your breath hitched as your hips rolled into the fabric bunched tight on your dampening velvet. One look down would remind you how much bigger he was than you. His hand alone dwarfed your cunt and made your panties look like a ribbon.
He was bigger. Stronger.
But smarter?
"In your dreams—" you huffed, flushing your ass back on the growing bulge pressing hot on your thighs. You nursed the heat with your plush and grinned as his groan flopped into your shoulder.
"Big talk for a guy who got caught. Messy's more like it."
His grip coiled in your panties. Once. Twice. Before a wretched riiipp! tore the gusset and stung your thighs. Stuttering your hips and urging a small squeak from the pitch of your throat.
"Yeah? I'll show you messy." Two fingers flushed to your exposed clit. Rubbing over the bud in quick, calculated circles to murder the rebuttal on your tongue.
Your hips twitched into his hand. Then bucked. Your grip fell to his forearm and dug those same nails in. If you clawed enough maybe you'd get to his veins. Cut him up and let him bleed for you here and now.
Maybe you'd be into that.
Maybe your sick mind would love that control.
Instead you were here. Trembling in his cold and biting back whimpers as he cruelly played with your clit. His fingers slipped down. Soaked in your wetness. His teeth shoved to your ear. Breathing hard through his nostrils and voice husked like a hollow corpse.
"Come on sweet girl, lemme hear you moan for a killer."
Two fingers plunged into your slippery slit. Shoving to the knuckles and curling in an expertly sinful way. Callouses pressed into a bundle of nerves with ease. Rubbed in circles on the gummy spot while you were still trying to catch your breath— while your cunt hadn't even registered to clench.
"Shit," you gasped. Biting on your lip. Loving the burn of his thick fingers stretching you out and hating how it turned you on.
Hated how you were here. In your rival's lap.
Full of his fingers.
Loving how he wrecked you.
Was this justice? The sweet sin of his thumb on your clit? The wretchedness of his canines on your ear?
You tried to hold your shame. Hold your moans. But the hand on your tit shot to your throat and squeezed in time with his fingers curling inside of you.
Was there any justice in the way your pussy squeezed and spilled all over his hand that were soaked in the blood of twenty five?
"There— fuck, right there," your head tossed back.
Your croak sounded like a confession.
His fingers curled like a conviction.
"Yeah baby? Right there? That's the spot?" Satoru's grin cut into your ear as he worked that weak spot within you. Squirming your usually stiff body in his lap and spluttering your cunt all over his knuckles.
His grip clamped harder on your throat. Threatened you with the same fate that befell twenty five. And yet.
As he fingerfucked you. Chewed on your lobe. Ground on your ass and held you down onto him so that you just took whatever he gave you.
You still didn't fear him.
You only feared that he might stop.
The hand on your throat slipped up. Clutched your jaw. Shoved another two fingers into you— this time your mouth. Pressing down on your tongue and spluttering your drool down his wrist while his hand down below splattered your slick all over his couch.
"What a slutty prosecutor, gushing all over her killer's fingers. This what that dirty lil' mind of yours thinks in court? Yeah?" He sneered to your cheekbone.
All you could focus on was the her.
Her killer.
He was yours. In every twisted, terrible way. With his fingers choking you and another pair suffocating you.
Hated. You hated it.
"I hate you—" you gasped, as he slipped from your mouth. Smeared your saliva all over your lipstick smudged from the kiss. Painting your lips red.
Bloody like his victims.
Oh, how he mangled your body and left your face untouched.
"Oh but your pussy loovveesss me."
He grinned as your hand clawed. Gripping pitifully at his wrist that worked brutally between your thighs that tried to squeeze around it. His fingers surged with animalistic vigour as he clamped down on your throat once more.
"Slutty pussy's telling on you," he cooed, deep and drawled as his nose dug into your cheek. "This all it takes to make you squirt? Ten minutes and a couple fingers?"
His thumb flicked back. Trapped your clit. Stirred the surges of hot bliss up your spine and thrashed your thighs.
Still, he held you. Tight.
His.
You hated that he was right. Hated that he was in control. That he played with your body the way he probably cruelly played with his victims.
Hated that he was working you to a high you hadn't felt in ages.
Hated how you didn't want him to stop.
Your hips bucked. Pathetic. Stern voice melted into a shivered whimpered as your muscles locked up. Nerves flayed. Skin burned. Pussy pulsed. Tighter— and tighter—
Until you burst into a ruinous, blistering flame.
"Sat— toru."
Whined, and hot, and scorching as your head tossed back and your body jerked. Cunt clenching round his reckless knuckles and squirting a filthy stream of wetness.
Messing his palm. Puddling the couch.
Staining your dignity.
He fucked you through it. Pumping his fingers in filthy strokes that rode out your orgasm and trembled your once proud voice into something pathetic.
So much for a predator. In his arms: you felt like prey.
"Thaatt's it, good fucking girl."
His huff fanned your cheek as he yanked his fingers out with a wet pop. Fiddled with your folds and smeared the messy web all over— before he shmacked! you cunt with the flat of his palm.
You jolted. Whined. Wished you could tear your teeth into his throat and hear him whimper for you again. Spill his blood the way he did your shame.
Through the haze, you barely registered his big hands squeezing your thighs. Or his dress shoes that dug into the rug. Satoru bundled you up in his arms as he stood. Hoisting you off up the stairs. Down a marble hallway. Through a door that slid open for him.
You only came to when your back hit linen. Fresh. Dark too.
Blue eyes leered over you. Pale hands prowled over your sides. Pressed you into the sheets. His knees trapped your hips.
A wretched maw fell back to your mouth. Hot. Burning. An icy hell of tongue and teeth as his touch roamed you. Owned you.
In that moment, you forgot how you found yourself here. Splayed back on a killer's bed and vulnerable beneath him.
He could have ended you here and now.
Could have pulled a knife. Slit your throat and soaked your blood into his sheets. Ended this decade-long cat and mouse with a blade.
Instead, he nurtured it with a kiss.
Your dress shredded beneath his claws. His canines dragged down your throat as your hands remembered themselves and tethered to his shoulders. Gripped. Then ripped at his buttons because his skin looked prettier when stinging red under your nails.
He shook of the shirt. Shot his hands down and wretched off his belt the second yours got eager and beat him there.
"Greedy," he grunted on your pulse. "This why you came here? Wanted to be under me, prosecutor?"
"Lot of talk for a man throbbing for me," you thumb snuck a stroke over the bulge in his briefs.
His hand reclaimed your throat. Shoved you back into his wrinkling sheets. Hard. As he hissed above you.
"Lot of talk for a woman who slut up my hand."
He made sure to smear the drying wetness over your pulse. Dig his thumb on the thrum in an action you could only describe as a cutting reminder.
That he could end you if he wanted to.
And yet— you still grinned.
Shoved yourself up with your forearms. Pressing further into his grip. Offering your throat to the jaw of a wolf.
"C'mon, killer." You crooned. Batting your eyes dazed with your high. Still sharp as ever.
A mirror to his.
"Make me your twenty sixth."
"Sick slut."
He shoved you back down in time with his briefs. His cock slapped back onto abs and only then could you appreciate his build. He'd bulked out since law school. Not that you could focus on that when his throbbing tip stole your attention.
Heavy. Hot. His cock stood proud and thick. Flushed at the top and pulsing a prominent vein down the underside.
Your mouth ran dry.
Satoru wasted no time swiping between your folds. The hand that wasn't on your throat cramped on your thigh and wretched you open for him. Spreading your slick-webbed folds and smearing his tip on the filth
"If only they could see you now," he bit. Grinning as he pushed up on your slit.
He didn't hesitate. You didn't think he had it in him.
Breaching and brutal, his cock pushed through the first ring of resistance. Halting only at the squeeze of your cunt and your nails that clawed on his pale shoulder.
Not out of consideration. Not with the way his pupils shrunk and his grin widened above you.
No, he wanted to see you. Like a predator sadistically watching its prey squirm.
"Where's that big mouth of yours?" He cooed, abandoning your thigh to stroke up your side. Tauntingly tender for how he stretched you out. Inch by agonising inch. Until your cunt spasmed.
Until he sharply knocked forward, and you felt him in the pit of your gut.
Strangling you on his cock like you were his pretty little twenty sixth.
Your breath thinned. Struggled with his palm clamped tight over your airways and hips heavy on yours. Chewing whines between your canines as he bottomed out. The burn etched in your velvet. Stinging. Addicting.
Your eyes fluttered. Nearly shut. Nearly.
If he hadn't breathed like that.
Not heavy. Not heaved. But shaky.
Something dangerously close to a whimper.
His hips jutted forward. Stuttered. The hand on your side slipped to the sheets. Gripped tight. Threatened to tear into the dark lined.
Jaw ticked. Brows furrowed. Shaking.
His shoulders were shaking.
"Fuck," he grit. Pulling out just an inch only to stuff back in. "Knew she'd love me."
He laughed, breathless. Lashes fluttering as blue eyes threatening to roll back into his scalp.
You'd never seen anything like it.
The bed creaked under his vigour. There was no build up. No slow and sensual. Only something raw. Carnal. Violent.
His hips snapped into yours with that same, animalistic vigour. His teeth clenched and claws digging into whatever part of you that he could as he fucked you into his mattress. Plunging his cock into your messy cunt and spluttering the slick all over his trembling thighs.
Your hands latched onto him. Gripping on his shoulder blades. Scrambling for some kind of grounding as his ferocious pounds surged your spine into a filthy curve.
Nothing coherent spilled from your lips. Whines, whimpers, gasps and rasps. Sometimes his name— sometimes a plea. Something crossed between a confession and a conviction as he pummelled your pussy into a puffy mess.
You couldn't think. Not when heat dizzied your mind and your air grew thinner with every squeeze of his firm hand on your throat.
Couldn't think about how wrong this was.
Couldn't think about the legal repercussions.
The moral implications.
The fact that you had a serial killer ball's deep and and choking your cunt, your throat— when you fear what he could do to you.
Not love the threat of it all.
"Where's that spunk from the courtroom?" He sneered above your. Releasing your throat to clamp his large hand behind your neck instead. Wrench you up further into him as his cock speared at an angle that spluttered your drool.
His blue eyes glinted at the sight. Teeth grinned with something filthy as he hammered into that spot. Stroked, and hit, and pummelled until you spluttered a pitiful whine.
"Satoru— fuck."
"C'mon sweetheart."
He huffed. Blunt nails digging into your throat as his fingers curled. Nose bumping into yours as he shoved his face closer. Breaths fanning. Moans mingling.
"Fight me. Fight me off. Bite me baby."
So you clawed. Nails on his back dragging jagged scratched down his back. Cutting swollen, red lines into his pale flesh. Threatening to tear into his ribcage from behind and clutch at his heart. Squeeze it like he squeezed your throat.
He whined.
Satoru fucking whined.
Hips stuttered. But his maw made up for it before you could muster a mock. Sharp teeth gouging on your shoulder and gurgling a yelp from the back of your throat.
Pain seared under his bite. His jaw clamped. Hard. Like a wolf wrestling a lamp into carnage-riddled submission. Even as you squirmed. As your nails bit back into his shoulder blade until blood bubbled down the curve of his spine.
Till it spilled around his lips.
His teeth mauled on your shoulder. Blurring pain with pleasure as his cock fucked harder— brutal. Dizzying you with pummelling pounds against your cervix that crossed your eyes and croaked curse from your whining throat.
When he finally relented, Satoru's tongue laved savagely over the bite mark. Lips stained in deep scarlet as chest shaking with a guttural groan as he feasted on the metallic mess.
He dragged his lips over your face. Shoved off the red stain on his teeth before his mouth snared yours. Fierce in his kiss as he smeared the blood across your swollen lips.
"Fuck— fuck."
Abandoning your throat, he clutched your jaw. Squished your face under fingers that wielded knives and mangled corpses as he parted from your tongue. Now stained in the bitter taste of your own blood.
His eyes were hazy. Irises shrunk. Crazed. As his lashes hung low and his lips pulled back in a snarl.
"Look so much prettier than them," he hissed. Nails scraping into your cheeks as his thrusts turned ferocious. Shallow. Cock stuffing you to the brim and scraping his veins into all of your weak spots.
"Y'know how boring they are? You scream prettier than them when I slit their throats—"
He rammed! into a sweetspot just to hear you cry. To prove his point.
His breath shuddered. Eyes fluttering. "Fuck. Cry so much prettier. They're so messy when I gut them. Messy like this pussy—"
Wrenching your thighs open, he shoved on back. Toppled your further into the sheets so that the angle turned filthy. Wet, loud, and lewd with slick slapping all over as his balls smacked ruthlessly on your folds.
"They gush their filthy blood all over. Filthy— you hear me? Not sweet like yours."
He was grunting. Grave.
Grunting about all the women he'd slaughtered.
About the women he murdered. Mangled like sheep.
You shouldn't be clenching— you shouldn't. But your pussy spasmed around him. Clamped so tight that his moans came out strangled.
He collapsed into you. Wrecked. Strong arms clutching around your shaking body and holding you down. Holding you against him. Simply holding you because he could. Because in this moment there were no killers. No prosecutors. No sinners nor saints.
Yet he still tainted you.
"S'tight when I tell you 'bout my killings? You really are a sick slut."
You hated how he was right. Hated how you pussy kept squeezing his cock. How your legs scrambled around his waist and your hands clung to him as his thrusts turned shallow. Feral.
The heat thrashed between you both. An old flame turned into a blistering storm as the pleasure swelled into something sweltering. Maddening.
Something that fucking mattered.
"Fucking—" his face burrowed into your neck. Teeth latched again. So tight you thought this was it. That he'd finally tear into your throat and splatter your blood across his sheets.
Instead, he whimpered.
"Cum for me. Cum on this cock. Cum on a killer's cock."
And with your mind spinning. Heart seething. Soul splintering—
You couldn't fight him back this time.
The heat surged into something filthy. Frightening. Your nails clawed down his back while his dug your spine. Arms hugged around you. No— trapping you. Under him. Beneath this feeling. Powerless to the orgasm that broke you.
Shattered you.
Your body tossed. Head thrown back. Voice cracked into something raw, something wrecked, something that sounded like his name.
"T-Tor— Toru, Satoru."
You're not sure if he stopped after that.
Not sure if he stopped at all.
All you knew was that you kept creaming his cock. Kept crying his name. Kept spilling his blood as he spilled yours.
Smeared across the sheets. Claws scratching, skin swollen.
kaledo-art
ellievsbear
turnnoffyourmind
blakekathryn
theartofmadeline
