little fic rec because i remembered this beautiful fic and gosh this is what started my obsession with isekai jjk genre
beautifully written ( at least to me ), it was so so soft it made my heart ache goshhhhh
Chapters: 9/9
Fandom: 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Manga), 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Anime)
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Gojo Satoru/Reader, Gojo Satoru/Original Character(s)
Characters: Gojo Satoru
Additional Tags: prison realm, Possessive Gojo Satoru, Possessive Behaviour, Yandere, Yandere Gojo Satoru, Isekai, fixing jujutsu kaisen, jujutsu kaisen healing, prison realm fanfiction, Gojo Satoru in the Prison Realm, Prison Realm (Jujutsu Kaisen), Gojo Satoru Out of the Prison Realm, Gojo Satoru Needs a Hug, Top Gojo Satoru, Soft Gojo Satoru, Parental Gojo Satoru, Gojo Satoru-centric, Househusband Gojo Satoru, Househusband, Slice of Life, gojo satoru is now in your everyday life, living with gojo satoru, Gojo Satoru Being an Idiot, gojo satoru is broke, "sugar mommy" reader, reader takes care of gojo, reader is in prison realm
Summary:
Gojo get’s locked in the prison realm where skeletons claw at his perfect skin and skulls chatter in fear of the prisoner. As he sinks deeper and deeper into the prison, past the bones and plummeting into the darkness, there is a door. A door to a world where cursed energy doesn’t exist, a world where he is a mere character in a manga, a world where you call reality.
“Who are you?” Gojo asks after landing in your bathroom halfway through your shower.
“AHHHHH!” you scream from 2024 reality.
(Reverse isekai where Gojo travels into the real world!) Hey Siri, what do you do with a 190cm tall hottie in your apartment in Shinjuku?
uni crush!suguru who everyone had thought was your boyfriend. he brought you warm coffee every morning before your class, just like he knew how you liked, and pinched your cheeks whenever you blushed upon seeing him.
he ruffled your hair when you ran into him in the campus cafe, whispered sweet nothings into your ear while he leaned in so close that you could feel how his body was basically pressed against yours.
uni crush!suguru who was never seen with a girl other than you. he picked you up after class, grabbed your waist gently to guide you through the crowded hallways, bought you the books he knew you wanted and even read them with you solely because you wished him to.
he listened to you tenderly every time you rambled about another book you’ve finished, with a soft smile lingering on his face.
uni crush!suguru who thought you were simply nervous whenever your hands trembled while hugging him, his arms secure around your waist. suguru who called you ‘pretty girl’ because he adored the way how your cheeks reddened cutely over his words.
he glared at any other person who tried to spend time with you, leaning into you immediately and his warm hands finding their way on your shoulder gently, a sharp smile hanging loosely on his face, his annoyed gaze following the said person.
uni crush!suguru who were as oblivious as he was devoted. who drove you mad with the clueless look beneath his eyes, with loving words he scattered around as if they meant nothing for him.
you’ve waited for him for countless nights, for him to come up to you. you’ve spent two years like this, under the pressure of his presence and your feelings. you’ve had enough of his empty words, gestures that messed with your mind, looks that shattered your heart. an absent confession you yearned for.
uni crush!suguru who was a boy who broke your heart. a boy you decided to give up on.
you stopped picking up his calls, and stopped strolling around the campus just to bump into him. you ran away from him in the mornings, leaving him confused with your coffee cup warm against his palm.
uni crush!suguru who was simply devastated, after you and your cute attempts to forget him. he went to your friends who scoffed at him, waited for your classes to end every day, called you and texted you nonstop. the worst thing was that, he didn’t know what was wrong. him and his oblivious heart.
whenever he caught your eyes, he wore the pleading look of his, begging you to talk to him with weak eyes and even weaker knees. he was ready to do whatever it takes for you to talk to him, just once.
uni crush!suguru who was incapable of understanding his own feelings. he thought something was seriously wrong with his heart. while it was just broken.
one day, when his patience which finally snapped, he chased after you after so many days of enduring your absence, his hands trembling when he sought your shoulders, hugging you from behind. he asked what’s wrong, and it flared into a rage in you. he didn’t even know that was wrong.
uni crush!suguru who got yelled in a random street, under the fierce rain. you cursed him, and told him about how oblivious he was to everything you’ve been through, every single feeling he unraveled within your heart. how he crushed your feelings simply by existing and doing nothing, not seeing you, not hearing you, not noticing you.
uni crush!suguru who also had enough, and grabbed you by your waist to crash his lips with yours. who kissed you angrily, angry to himself, and angry to his oblivious heart. angry to not notice how much he liked you. how he loved you.
your boyfriend suguru, who kissed you for minutes under the rain with so much feeling, for you to both end up sick, and him to take care of you as he always did. but now, his heart is not oblivious! and he’s feeling great as your not so oblivious boyfriend.
Your roommate grew up on a ranch before moving to the City and now she INSISTS that you come along with her to one of the biggest rodeos around. Having moved in not too long ago, you reluctantly agree even though dusty, wide open spaces are a foreign concept to your polished City girl demeanor. By chance, you meet one of the biggest names in pro-rodeo complete with a belt buckle as big as his ego. A cowboy through and through, he hates the City and the people that reside it. Little does he know that lasting eight seconds on a bull is easy compared to fighting feelings for a girl he’s supposed to hate.
Content Tags/Warnings Throughout Work: slight enemies to lovers, eventual smut, Sukuna is a rodeo cowboy, reader is a city girl, slight mentions of blood/injury from rodeo activities, happy ending, more to be added
AN: Extra credit if you know what real life rodeo this is based on lol. This was inspired by @indiewritesxoxo's He's (Not) My Man. Dividers by @saradika-graphics.
🎵 Long Haul by Ian Munsick "girl don't worry this boy ain't gonna run"🎵
You were born a city girl. Bustling streets and sirens from various types of emergency vehicles were a background noise you were used to and bike paths along a river were about as outdoorsy as it got.
So when you’d moved to a city wedged between the foot of the mountains and the wide open ranchlands, you began to learn more about this more adventurous outdoor life you’d only heard about online.
While the city part was still very much your typical, urban environment with a vibrant downtown surrounded by sprawling suburbia, the people you met seemed to be drawn to a place with all the city comforts within close proximity to the great outdoors.
It was hard to make friends in a place like this. People seemed to come and go, an almost transient environment where people would spend a year or two, and either go back to where they came from or become assimilated into the weird dueling cultures: working 5 days a week and then galavanting off to the mountains to hike, fish, ski, camp, or partake in any other of the endless adventure activities that was the norm here.
It seemed people would move to and from here in waves, finding roommates among each other to lower the cost of living in a place like there where salaries weren’t quite up to par compared to other cities in your country.
After all, a place like this was a place people went out of their way to move and companies knew it, undercutting new hires knowing there’d be another wave of transplants to take their place who would work anywhere to live within proximity to such a world renowned outdoor paradise where leagues of travelers made their summer vacations.
And while the mountains were their own bustling oasis with their natural beauty, the city was also in the heart of cowboy country. Ranches sprawled across thousands to millions acres of ruggedness where cattle and sheep roamed across the land amongst which tiny towns were sprinkled between vast expanses of nothing but prairie grasses blowing in the constant breeze.
It was quite a mashup of lifestyles, everybody seeming to loathe the others for preconceived reasons and reputations that preceded them. Thanks to the internet, lumping large groups of people into categories without any regard for their individuality had never been easier, an almost mob-like mentality driven by rumors of “things you heard” from friends who mingled in the same worlds.
Truth be told, these subsets of people barely ever crossed paths, never having an opportunity to truly witness and experience the lives of those in these other groups.
This is exactly where you found yourself however as you are seated in your roommate's truck with your other friends, driving north towards what she referred to as the “Daddy of em’ All”.
Aka, a fucking rodeo three hours north in the next state over in the middle of the summer.
“Not too much farther now!” Shoko exclaims as you cross the state line, noticing a mile marker sign whiz by the window as your group barrels both along the highway. You could tell the closer she got to her hometown, the more talkative and animated she was getting.
The complete opposite of you…the landscape became more and more barren, nothing but mountains to your left and dry, desolate prairie on your right, broken up by barbed wire fencing delineating various plots of land.
“Are those cows?” you ask, pointing to some black specs out in the distance.
“Mhmm, mainly beef cattle out here,” Shoko responds, adjusting the air conditioning in the car.
“That is such a city person thing to ask,” Nanami laughs at you from the back seat.
Your roommates. They’d had a room open up in their three bedroom apartment in the heart of downtown, exactly the location you had wanted to be when looking for a place to live. They’d seemed like kind, down to earth people and the rent was much cheaper than the bigger city you had moved from, so it had been a no brainer in your eyes.
Shoko was from a ranching family in the town you were driving towards. She’d stayed in the City after going to college there, opting to not move back to the rural area.
Nanami was in finance at an investment banking firm in the City, having met Shoko in college as well. Their old roommate, Geto, had moved back to his and Shoko’s hometown when his dad started getting older and needed more help tending the ranch.
Your suspicion about them had been right, thinking you couldn’t have gotten luckier with the friends you’d ended up with. They teased you about your standoffish city girl demeanor, but had welcomed you with open arms, including you in their daily lives and helping you get used to the new City.
“Are you excited to be going home?” you ask Shoko.
“I guess. It’s so boring, there’s a reason I didn’t want to move back after school. It’s nice to visit I suppose,” she laughs, taking the exit on your right towards town.
“Yeah, there sure isn’t much to see that’s for sure. Does it get more interesting?” Nanami pipes up as the car slows to a stop at a traffic signal.
“I mean, define interesting. There’s a Main Street we have to drive through to get to my parents’ place,” Shoko giggles.
You try to pull up your Maps app, but realize you have exactly zero service, opting to look around instead as the car starts moving again.
Clearly this rodeo was the biggest thing to talk about because there were signs and banners everywhere welcoming visitors. Almost every building you passed seemed run down with dilapidated parking lots that barely had any striping. Even the people you saw every now and then seemed like they were from a foreign country, relaxed jeans and t-shirts with rusted out trucks; a wild difference from the more image conscious city people you were used to.
Even Shoko, who calls this place home, still has a trendy bobbed hairstyle and high end sunglasses. You’d never even suspect her being from here.
Nanami just looks like your typical, cliche Patagonia ad, the poster child of a stereotypical outdoorsy man that lives in your City. Normally on any given weekend he’d be in the mountains chasing trout in his fly fishing attire and camping along an unnamed stream.
The town is obviously crowded and becoming inundated with visitors as the small Main Street starts to become more like your commute with the stop and go traffic.
“Ugh! Damn traffic is crazy!” Shoko whines, smacking the steering wheel as you sit through another cycle of a traffic light, watching people bustle around on the sidewalks going to one of the little diners and dive bars scattered around.
“Is this normal for this weekend?” Nanami asks calmly, smirking at Shoko’s outburst.
“Unfortunately. The city folk all converge on town while the various people from the rural areas also make the trek over, and of course there’s only so much parking and places for them to stay,” she explains, finally getting through the stoplight and getting out of the main area of town, the crowd beginning to thin out again.
“Normally they have everyone park at huge fields and parking lots outside the city and then they bus them over to the festival area. But right now when everyone is arriving, there’s not much you can do about it.”
You both hum in response, the town quickly morphing back into wide open grasslands and barbed wire fences as you presumably get closer to Shoko’s family’s land.
“This is us!” she exclaims, turning down a dirt road with a fancy wooden archway beckoning you all towards her driveway. You stare wide eyed out the window, dust obscuring your view as the car shakes and rocks on the unpaved surface.
Pulling up to a modest farmhouse, you realize a rolling suitcase wasn’t the best thing to bring as you take note of the hard packed dirt when you get out of the car. The house is set up on a hill overlooking what seems like infinite prairie extending in all directions, the tall grasses rippling like waves as the wind cuts across the land.
“Wow this is beautiful,” you say to Shoko as she comes to stand next to you.
It’s beautiful in a mysterious and empty way, feeling like you’re staring at everything and nothing all at once, eyes searching for something that you can’t put your finger on.
Perhaps it’s the way you feel wildly out of place that is contributing to your current worldview, seeing for miles isn’t something you’re used to, it’s almost too freeing. You almost appreciate having boundaries and walls to guide you along through life, keeping you from straying into unfamiliar and uncomfortable situations.
Like right now as Shoko’s parents are greeting you all and being so friendly it’s almost alarming. They guide you all to a guesthouse in the back yard where you all will have your own space for the weekend.
Farm dogs abound and the smell of manure starts to hit you like a truck as the breeze blows just right.
“Welcome to the country,” Shoko laughs at you, clearly unable to hide the disgust on your face.
“This can’t be something you miss,” Nanami chimes in.
“Fuck no, when you live here you don’t even notice but now? Very apparent,” Shoko shuts the door behind the three of you. The house is quaint, plenty of space for everyone with a nice living room and kitchen area.
“So what’s the plan for the weekend?” Nanami asks as he sits down after unpacking. Everyone had put their belongings away and were now reconvening in the living room.
“Tonight we are gonna go to one of the bars in town. It’s kind of the place to go during Rodeo weekend for both locals and the pros. Thankfully I know the owner so we’ll be able to get right in!” Shoko says excitedly, texting while talking.
“Will Geto be there?” Nanami asks.
“Yeah he’s coming too! That’s who I’m texting now.”
“Yes!” Nanami shares a rare moment of excitement.
“When you say the pros, do you mean like the rodeo participants?” you ask, a little wary of not fitting in with the rest of the crowd.
“Mhmm, like the pro cowboys and cowgirls as well as the folks vying for the amateur events. Mainly locals.”
You swallow hard, suddenly not feeling very excited. Going to the festival and rodeo events was fine, but being forced to mingle with these country folk was not appealing. They just seem…so…
Uneducated? Closed minded? Old fashioned?
All of the above?
They’re the type of people your friends would make fun of when you were younger with their thick accents and uncivilized ways of life.
“Don’t worry, they’re usually pretty down to earth people, you’re friends with me right and that’s the world I came from,” Shoko interrupts your thoughts. She was different though, you both could flame the other for their lifestyles and not get offended, but you knew everyone wasn’t as easy going as her.
“You’re you though,” you laugh, making her roll her eyes.
“Yeah and? I’m sure when you first met me you were judging hard, but once you got to know me your opinion changed. Get out of your prissy, stuck up city mindset and try to relax a little,” she chuckles.
“Bitch,” you giggle.
“You can hang out with me, I’m not exactly a country boy myself,” Nanami butts in, making you feel a little better.
Two hours later, you’re all back in Shoko’s car and heading back into town.
Nanami is in a checkered, collared shirt and jeans giving just a hint of cowboy attire while still maintaining his clean cut appearance.
Shoko went full cowgirl with a jean mini skirt and cowgirl boots, embracing her roots. She wears it well though.
You on the other hand refused to do cowgirl cosplay because there was literally not a bone in your body that leaned that way, so you wore a chic going out outfit that was typical for you on a night out.
Would you stand out?
Probably.
But at least you felt confident in one way or another and quite frankly, would look better than everyone else.
After a short ten minute drive back into town, you’re parked and walking towards a bar and even from down the street you can hear the most god awful country music.
Great, just what you needed, loud ass twangs as background noise for the in person accent you’re sure are going to give you a damn headache by the end of the night.
The sidewalk is dotted with people already drunk and smoking cigarettes, clearly well on their way to getting fucked up.
The three of you walk in the door and are met by a packed establishment. The lighting is dim, the floor is sticky, and there are animals mounted all over the wall like a damn museum.
The music is loud but the crowd is louder, groups of girls in cowgirl boots are scattered about, laughing loudly with men in cowboy hats interspersed, trying to shoot their shot. Some kind of dance floor is around the corner where the live band sits off to the side. People seem to be enjoying dancing to some disgusting song that must be popular because drunk screeches can be heard trying to sing along.
Shoko leads the way towards a table where you recognize their old roommate, Suguru Geto, sitting with an extremely attractive white haired man that looks way too pretty. He’s wearing jeans with a huge belt buckle and a gingham shirt that looks to be some silky material with the buttons undone to show off his toned chest.
Well hello, maybe tonight won’t be too bad after all.
“You made it!!” Geto calls out to your group, Shoko jumping into his arms before smiling at the white haired man who also hugs her.
“You remember her right?” Shoko says your name to Geto while gesturing at you.
“I do, thanks for subletting for me, I was scared I was gonna be stuck with two rents when I went to move,” he says loudly, clearly buzzing a little bit.
“No problem, it worked out really well!” you answer, noticing he’s dressed similarly to Nanami.
The old roommates seem to be focused on catching up, leaving you to sit next to the white haired man.
“You’re definitely not from around here huh?” he laughs, looking up at you with the bluest eyes you’ve ever seen, damn near taking your breath away.
“Is it that obvious?” you smirk, grabbing a cup and pouring yourself a beer from the pitcher on the table.
“Uhhh, yeah, very,” he chuckles.
“Satoru Gojo,” he holds his hand out, shirt sleeves unbuttoned and cuffed, showing off his forearms.
You introduce yourself, noticing his firm handshake and rough palms.
“So are you an actual farm guy or what?” you ask him.
“Farm guy?” he bursts out laughing. “No, I didn’t grow up on a fucking farm.”
“Oh, well I didn’t know, I just assume if you’re dressed for the part on a rodeo weekend, the odds are good that you're not from the city,” you retort, sipping your beer.
He flutters his lashes, looking down at you with an amused smirk.
“You have no idea who I am, do you? Or really anyone here?”
You look back at him, cocking your head in confusion.
“Umm, no. Should I?”
“No, you shouldn’t,” a deep, rough voice sounds from behind you, making you almost inhale your beer in surprise.
“Excuse me?” you retort, turning around to find the source of those fighting words was a tall, broad man dressed like everyone else in this stupid place.
His eyes narrow, brow furrowing as he meets your gaze, a slight smirk on his face.
“You heard me. No, you shouldn’t know anyone because that’s what city bitches like you do. Just show up without a care in the world, not knowin’ a lick about any of this. Getting your pictures for social media, pretending to be a cowgirl for a few days, and then disappear until next year,” the man drawls, speaking annoyingly slow with a hint of a twang.
“Wow, you’re a real gem,” you roll your eyes, crossing your arms in annoyance.
“Easy Sukuna, you’re supposed to ride the bulls, not be ornery like one,” Gojo laughs, shaking his head.
Ride the bulls?
“Wait, are you all…”
“Rodeo cowboys? Yes sweetheart, that’s what I was getting at before he lashed out for no reason,” Gojo says smoothly, making the pink haired man…Sukuna…grit his teeth in annoyance.
“Tch, more like pay to play rodeo cowboy,” Sukuna growls, sitting down next to you and glaring at Gojo.
“Well, this cowboy has gotten the best of you quite a few times this season on the circuit,” Gojo teases back, making you laugh at how obvious it is that he’s trying to get under Sukuna’s skin.
“I’m gonna go take a piss, you’ll be safe with Sukuna even though he might continue to verbally assault you,” Gojo stands up, sauntering away.
No! Please, don’t leave me with this oaf, you think to yourself. You pour yourself another beer, then glance back up at Sukuna.
“Are those face tattoos?” you blurt out, realizing your brain didn’t send the command to keep it in your thoughts only.
Sukuna smirks, the black markings moving with his jaw.
“Sure are. They’re kinda my brand,” he responds, tracing one jaw tattoo with his finger.
“Brand?”
“Yeah. Gotta stand out somehow to garner fans your way. Sponsorships and shit don’t just go to anybody,” he leans back in the chair, spreading his legs, accidentally nudging your knee.
“Don’t you think you take up enough room as it is?” you snap, jerking your leg away and crossing it over the other.
“No. You’re in my way, so move if it bothers you so much.” His grin is starting to get annoying, tempted to slap the smug look right off his face.
“I was here first!”
“No, I was. You just happened to show up while I was up doing something,” Sukuna says in an irritated tone.
That’s what is pissing you off even more. His words are harsh and brazen while his body language is hinting at something more playful and teasing.
You notice your friends all on the dance floor, a place you didn’t dare want to end up in but now given this annoying man was gracing you with his presence, you were trying to decide which was worse.
“Whatcha wanna drink? It’s on me,” his deep voice jars you as he flags down a waitress.
“No thanks, I’ll get my own,” you respond coolly, ordering a strong cocktail to help loosen you up.
He pulls the waitress around to him, making her giggle and blush, clearly smitten with him touching her. Poor lady.
“Put hers on mine, and I’ll also get us each a shot of patron,” you hear him murmur, slipping some bills into her apron.
Whatever. If he’s this desperate to spend his money on some girl he just blatantly insulted, that’s on him. You’ll just reap the benefits.
“So what’s your name and why are you here?” Sukuna pulls your attention back to him after the waitress leaves.
You introduce yourself again, noticing he is in fact, very focused on your words, red eyes glinting as the dance floor lights flash.
“I’m here because my roommate is from here and invited us to come along. Would I ever take the initiative to come on my own? Probably not. But hey, trying new things and all I guess,” you finish speaking, eyes trailing to those sharp jaw lines and cheekbones of his.
Noooo, why does he have to be hot? Why are these country boys suddenly attractive to you?
“Hmm, I see,” he says. The waitress comes back with a tray, two cocktails and two shots.
“I’m not taking that with you,” you bark at him as he moves one of the shots right in front of you.
“And why not? Here’s to worlds colliding, see it as a peace offering,” he drawls.
“A peace offering? More like trying to get a girl drunk,” you retort, picking up the shot and inspecting it.
He gives you an aggravated look.
“Well, unlike your type of guys, I’m not into that, so you better check yourself brat.”
Brat? The fuck did he just call you?
You roll your eyes, secretly relieved though. Maybe you can let your guard down a little compared to going out in a packed club in the city.
“Fine. Cheers,” you hold up the shot glass, clanking it with his before downing it, the burning liquid making you cough.
“Pretty good, now that wasn’t so bad was it?” Sukuna smiles, now picking up his other drink.
“For now, no,” you crack a small smile, pulling your cocktail over. “So what, you ride cows for a living?”
Sukuna chokes mid sip, just as a group of girls comes over, boots clacking on the ground.
“Ryomen Sukuna??” they shriek, making your ears ring. It’s even more irritating that they’ve essentially caged you in as they ogle the tattooed man next to you.
“Mhmm, that’s me,” he drawls, leaning back, not realizing he was resting his arm on the back of your seat.
The girls’ eyes narrow and give you a look. Fuck, they must think you’re ‘with’ him.
“Oh we aren’t together, I’m just waiting for my friends,” you wave your arms around in front of you, trying to drive home the point.
You try to tune them out as they flirt and banter with the man, noticing Sukuna doesn’t seem all that interested. Some of the vulgar shit coming out of their mouths is pretty audacious and a part of you feels bad for him being so objectified, but he’s rich and famous in this space, he can handle himself.
Deciding to sneak away, you quietly rise and go the opposite direction, not even sure what your destination is, just that it isn’t in ‘all that’.
An open barstool calls to you, so you perch atop it, able to have a pretty good view of the entire bar for prime people watching.
You’d talked to not one, but two pro rodeo participants! It’s a shame you couldn’t give less of a fuck, surely a cowgirl would have died to take your place. Sipping your drink, you watch groups of downright wasted guys shooting their shots and girls chasing down what you can only assume are other pros.
It’s not much different from a bumping club if you’re being honest, just with less brain cells, more gingham, and an obsession with horses.
Swirling your drink around in its glass, you watch how a little whirlpool forms, sucking the mixing straws into it. Maybe it’s about time to go find your friends, the drink is starting to make you a little tipsy after ripping that shot with Sukuna, so the dance floor doesn’t sound that unappealing right now.
Leaving your empty drink on the bar, you stand back up, using the stool to help steady yourself. Shoko and crew are taking part in some line dance, waving at you dramatically and dragging you out with her!
“Just watch me and follow my lead!” she slurs her words, clearly feeling the alcohol. You both giggle and laugh as you clumsily try to imitate her, causing Geto and Nanami to join in.
“Girl you are awful, but I respect the commitment,” Geto bursts out laughing as he catches you making a wrong movement and almost crashing into him.
“I’m learning! At least I’m out here,” you snicker, trying to fall back into step with Shoko. The music is kind of catchy, some upbeat song about whiskey or some shit like that. You aren’t the only drunk girl trying to dance, so no one even bats an eye.
The song changes again and you notice people are pairing off to start some fast paced partnered dance. You try to get away, surely not knowing at all how to do this, but Geto pulls you back.
“Nope, you’re not running away that easily,” he grins, “just follow me.”
His hands hold yours and slowly, he starts to move his feet in a pattern. After watching a few times, you start to move with him, catching on quickly.
“Hey, I think I’m getting it!” you grin up at him, squealing when he twists you around. You have a blast, laughing and giggling with your clumsy movements, Geto not seeming to mind in the slightest.
“City girl has moves after all,” he sticks his tongue out as he laughs, slowing down as the song changes.
“Mind if I cut in?”
A familiar deep voice says, Geto looking up over your shoulder.
“Sure thing, if the lady’s alright with it.”
You turn around and it’s Sukuna again! Did he just seek you out after you bailed on him?
“You owe me, leaving me to fend for myself like that,” he teases, holding his hand out for you.
“You again?” you groan, nodding at Geto and taking Sukuna’s hand. It’s rough and calloused, pulling you against him, his other hand snaking around to rest on your lower back, pressing you flush against him.
“Me again,” his husky voice muses, making your cheeks heat up in embarrassment as the metal of his belt buckle digs into the thin material covering your stomach.
“I’d have figured so many girls worship you for your cow riding skills that you had that covered,” you look up at him.
“I don’t fucking ride cows you brat. Bulls and horses,” he twirls you once, almost aggressively, his strength pulling you back against him.
“Same thing,” you mutter, grabbing his bicep after his sharp movement.
Oh god, he’s fucking shredded, you think to yourself as you feel his flexed muscle under your hand, barely even able to grip it. Is it normal for these rodeo boys to be ripped like this?
You start to pay more attention to the way your body is pressed against his, noticing how there’s nothing squishy about him. Sukuna’s chest and abs are hard as a rock, his pecs flexing against his shirt as he moves. Hints of his cologne mixed with whiskey linger in the shared space between you.
“Definitely not the same thing at all, I don’t expect you to be an expert but I’d have assumed you’ve seen a picture of a horse or cow at some point in your life,” his fingers tighten their hold on your back.
“Of course I have. If you’re just going to talk down to me about farm animals then I don’t wanna dance with you,” you try to pull away, but of course you’re no match for him as he doubles down.
“Alright alright I’ll stop,” he chuckles, staring down at you with his crimson gaze, eyes roaming over your chest.
This man is a piece of work.
You glance over to see Shoko dancing with Gojo, both of them having a great time.
Meanwhile you’re here with a man you’d swear was your biggest hater just moments ago.
“So have you played in this rodeo before?”
He bursts out laughing, his dimples are kinda cute.
“Play for the rodeo? Darling you need to learn the language,” he gives you one last twirl before the song ends.
“Come,” he holds out his hand to lead you away, not really giving you much of a choice.
He’s strangely alluring for being kind of a dick earlier. You can’t tell however if he’s being sincere now or if it’s all just a front to torment you again.
For now, you’ll assume the former. It’s not like you have anything else to do.
Sukuna brings you back to your table, leaning back in his chair again, that shiny belt buckle displayed prominently on his waist.
“You here all weekend?” he asks as he takes a sip of his drink.
“Yeah, leave Sunday night to head back home,” you answer, staring at the table below you.
“Kay. Well, what do you know about rodeos?”
“Honestly? Not much. I know a bunch of men ride horses and bulls but other than that? Nothing,” you sigh, shyly looking up at him, expecting another roast.
“God I wanna just flame you, but I’ll play nice,” he teases, leaning towards the table, shoulder brushing yours.
You just slap his bicep with the back of your hand, rolling your eyes while you stare expectantly at him.
“Out with it cowboy.”
“Okay, well to keep it simple, most rodeos have people buy in to compete and winners get prize money. Usually there’s a day of qualifying to see if you move onto the next rounds and if you do, you compete the next day. There’s different events, I do bronc and bull riding, sometimes steer wrestling but that’s more for fun. So my life is basically jumping to different events to try and win,” he says, brimming with genuine excitement. He clearly loves this…sport and cares about doing it well.
“So you’ll be competing tomorrow then?”
“Mhmm,” he hums. “Both broncs and bulls you wanna stay on for 8 seconds.”
“Eight seconds? That’s like nothing,” you scoff.
“Alright miss priss, you wouldn’t last a second on a bull, better yet, no way you’d get near one. That shit’s the hardest 8 seconds of your life, and then you have to get away from the thing when you’re done.”
You’d never really looked into this stuff at all, eight seconds seems like such a short time, but then again, on the back of a bull that’s taller than you, it probably feels like an eternity.
“Tell you what. I’ll give you one of my VIP passes, come over after the events tomorrow afternoon and I’ll show you around,” he smirks, fishing out his phone and wallet.
“Oh no that’s not necessary-“
“I insist. You will come meet me afterwards, it’s not really a question, sweets,” he says in a low, smooth tone, tossing a VIP ticket on the table at you.
“Is this your thing?” you answer as you fold it up and put it in your purse. “You come trolling for clueless girls the night before and lure them into some secluded bull haven?”
“Hah, you’re funny you know that? And the answer is no, I’m Ryomen Sukuna, more often the women come to me. Sometimes someone peaks my interest though, and for some reason you have.”
Oh? You’re not sure if he’s being romantic or just speaking generally, so you let it go and just sip your drink to fill the awkward silence.
“Welp, I’m gonna roll out. Early morning tomorrow and all,” Sukuna throws back his drink, standing up and stretching towards the ceiling.
“I’m tired too,” you yawn, suddenly the long day of working and traveling has caught up to you.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, better be there when I’m done,” he gives you a sly grin, tipping his hat to you and proceeding to walk back towards the front, disappearing into the crowd.
What the hell…you mutter to yourself, shoving your purse back over your shoulder. You can’t deny he’s hot, that's a given. There’s nothing wrong with enjoying a man who’s nice to look at.
Later that night, you and Shoko are giggling on your bed in the guesthouse.
“Wait, he gave you this?” she squeals, inspecting the VIP ticket Sukuna gave you.
“Yes! Said he’d ’show me around’ whatever that means. Probably some code for either humiliate me or try to sleep with me,” you say harshly.
Shoko folds the ticket back up and tosses it on the bed next to you.
“Well, he sure did spend an awful lot of time with you. I don’t know him really at all, only through Gojo and Geto, but I’ve never really heard bad things about him. It’s no secret that women throw themselves at him, but he doesn’t really have the reputation of sleeping around and being a fuck boy,” she explains, pulling out her phone.
You pull your phone out too, searching his name to see what comes up.
Lots of articles about rodeos, bulls, horses, and everything in between. You keep scrolling, coming across what looks like some magazine covers with partially unbuttoned shirts and cowboy hats, looking way too fine.
Your thighs almost clench when you see how his lidded, crimson eyes look into the camera. He’s holding some kind of lasso and has on leather chaps overtop of his jeans.
God help you.
Another article catches your eye…a tabloid about a breakup. You click on it, noticing the woman who looks like a model in a separate photo from Sukuna. It’s from years ago, but it definitely seems like it was very public, noticing comments on the stories insulting both of them.
Part of you feels bad, like you’re invading his privacy. Then again, if it’s public on the web…
“He has a breakup article online,” you say to Shoko.
“Oh? Scoping him out?” she laughs, taking your phone so she can see.
“Oh yeah I remember this. Really ugly back when it happened,” she murmurs, scrolling through. “The well put together city girls never really jive with the rodeo boys. Tale as old as time really. I’ve been following pro rodeo my whole life and have seen so many relationships like this burst into flames.”
“Hmm, interesting,” you sigh, closing out of the app and lying down in your bed.
“Should I use that VIP pass tomorrow?”
Shoko whips her head to look at you.
“Definitely! Those are hard to come by!”
“Well maybe I can just give it to you. This just isn’t really my thing, I feel like there’s someone who would enjoy this a lot more than me,” you mutter, feeling nervous.
“Girl, he gave it to you. Also, as a rodeo virgin, I think it’ll be really cool for you to see all that. If you don’t like it, you can just leave and call me and I’ll come meet you,” Shoko encourages you gently.
“I’ll think about it,” you respond, feeling your stomach turning at the thought. It could be cool though…you’d always felt like you played it too safe, afraid to try new things and interact with people different from your world.
your husband had been in a foul mood all day. he gave one word answers, his tongue poked at his cheek, while his gaze narrowed out the window like he was lost in thought.
you sat in bed, tucked under the navy blue comforter in your silk nightgown, awaiting your husbands return from putting your two daughters to bed.
suguru shuffled back into the room, stopping at edge of the bed and slipping his house shoes off.
“sugu’.”
“hm?”
“what’s wrong?” your back pressed against the head board, head tilting at your husbands gloomy expression.
suguru parted his lips slightly, then closed again, he shook his head slowly.
“s’nothing, sweetheart.” his voice was low, tired, and anything but reassuring.
the bed dipped beside you as he crawled onto his side of the bed, his head immediately finding its way into your lap.
nothing my ass.
his arms wrapped around your waist instinctively, before letting out a soft sigh.
“suguru.” one of your hands gently brushed his hair out of his face, tucking the long raven strands behind his ear.
“mm.”
“what is it?"
he let out a huff, "I found a gray."
your hand froze in is hair, you were confused by what he meant for a split second before you saw it, a long shiny gray strand that loudly stood out in the rest of his luscious black strands.
"oh my gosh, babe I see it!" your husband groaned and pulled the covers over his head, earning a giggle from you.
you pulled the covers back down revealing the slight pout on his face, "sugu' its not that big of a deal, most dads are balding by your age, you have nothing to worry about."
your husband rolled back to his side of the bed, head plopping onto the cold pillow while his arms reached to pull you back into him, your cheek pressed against his shoulder in an attempt to steal the warmth off of his body.
"s'not just that."
your head lifted from suguru's shoulder the slightest bit, brows bunched in confusion.
"the girls didn't want me to give them their goodnight kiss, they said... that they were 'too old' for that."
your heart shattered right then and there. the look on your poor husbands face could've brought you to tears. you wasted no time in pulling his head into your arms and peppering his face with kisses.
"aww my poor baby."
"m'gonna murder whatever stupid kid got that idea in their heads."
a soft snort erupted from you, "sugu' they're in second grade, relax."
a/n this is terrible but I came up with the idea at 1 am, also knight trying to update for more than two days in a row without leaving for weeks challenge, starts now :p
Suguru Geto doesn’t kiss. Only hits it from the back. Doesn’t stay the night. And he definitely doesn’t chase. Everything with him is simple and transactional— until the new girl at the party rejects him without blinking. Now he’s got something to prove. The only problem? The closer he gets, the harder it is to pretend it’s just a game.
a/n: chococat and frat!geto are both so underrated >:( and the amount of times i accidentally wrote fart instead of frat
(credits to @/VoidBringerr on x for that lucious fanart :P credits to @bhavihelps for the divider :D)
Suguru Geto, vice president of the frat, walked like the world had already signed itself over to him. Girls gravitated toward him like it was instinct. He didn’t chase. He didn’t try. He didn’t need to. They lined up anyway.
Suguru Geto who rolled into lectures twenty minutes late—that was if he even showed up at all—and still somehow pulled stellar grades. Suguru Geto who submitted assignments seconds before the deadline, unbothered, unhurried, like time itself would wait for him. Suguru Geto who never really had to work for anything.
Things just came easy to him. Until you.
Shoko introduced you at one of the frats parties.
You’d been her childhood best friend before your parents moved overseas for work, and when she found out you were coming back—same college, same city—she nearly lost her mind. Promised she’d show you everything. The best cafés. The quiet corners of town. And of course, the “hot parties.”
The hot parties were always at the same place.
Infamous brothers. Infamous parties. The kind of place people warned you about and went to anyway. Geto and Gojo at the center of it all, like twin pillars of chaos and charm.
They carried a reputation like cologne—expensive, heavy, impossible to ignore.
Even you, the new girl, had heard the stories.
Frat boys who only did casual. Hook up, have their fun, and send you home before you could even fully come down from the high of it. Don’t linger. Don’t catch feelings. It was practically printed in invisible ink on the walls of that house.
And honestly? The rumors didn’t bother them. If anything, it saved them the trouble.
Most girls knew exactly what they were walking into. Some even liked it that way. No strings. No expectations. No pretending it was something deeper.
And Suguru was always clear. He didn’t chase, he selects.
No lingering.
No feelings.
No kissing.
No sleeping over.
Clean lines. Clear rules. Strictly transactional. Mutual pleasure, nothing more.
You walked into the party trying not to look as out of place as you felt.
People moved through the frat house like they owned it—like they’d been born under neon lights and bass-boosted speakers. You followed behind Shoko as she pulled you through the crowd, grinning like she was about to present you with a prize.
“Satoru, Suguru!” Shoko called out.
Shoko looked like she had personally delivered a miracle. Her hands in the air around you. Basically like that one picture of Will Smith.
They turned immediately.
“Shoko has told me so much about you!” Satoru beamed before pulling you into a hug that was all limbs and spilled alcohol. His drink sloshed onto your top and his shirt. He didn’t even care, or didn’t notice.
“I’m glad I can finally put a pretty face to the name.” He pulled back, still holding your hand, and pressed a soft kiss to your knuckles. Surprisingly gentle. Almost princely.
You laughed, easing your hand back. “I’ve heard a lot about you too.”
From the side, Suguru’s eyes dragged over you—slow, assessing.
“Good things, I hope?” Satoru grinned. He knew better. Most things people said about him weren’t flattering. Just accurate.
“Something like that.” you smiled, soft and amused.
The sound of your laugh did something strange to Suguru’s chest. A small, sharp skip. He frowned internally. That was new. He’d watched girls strip in front of him without so much as a pulse change. Why did a simple smile from you feel different?
“You must be Suguru, right?” you turned toward him.
He’d already been staring. He didn’t even pretend otherwise.
“Yeah,” he replied smoothly, confidence sliding back into place like it had never left.
“It’s nice to meet you.” You said. He stepped forward and pulled you into a hug, hands settling at your waist. Familiar. Controlled. Easy.
“Nice to meet you too, pretty girl,” he murmured, shifting so his arm rested around your shoulders afterward, keeping you tucked neatly under his side.
“Let’s get you something to drink.”
The kitchen counter was cluttered with liquor bottles, and red cups stacked in the corner. He grabbed one and started mixing something without asking what you liked. You took the cup when he handed it to you. Your fingers brushing.
“Thank you.” It was small. Polite. Not breathless. Not flustered.
He showed you around the house, introducing you to the brothers and the regular girls who might as well have been honorary members at this point. The house was massive, loud, vibrating with music blasted by DJ Yu—a freshman who’d apparently been given the job mostly to prevent him from launching himself off the roof into the pool and breaking his bones.
You laughed at that. Suguru liked the sound again. Too much. “Thank you for the tour, Suguru,” you said eventually, still loosely under his arm.
“We’re not done yet,” he replied quickly. “Haven’t shown you upstairs.” He winked. This was the part where girls usually blushed. Leaned closer. Whispered something suggestive. Begged, even. Instead—
“I’m fine.” You stepped away. His arm dropped. The music kept playing. People kept going around him. But something in his head went quiet.
Rejection? That… didn’t happen.
“I’m going to look for Shoko. Thanks for the tour though.”
You waved lightly before heading toward the couch where Shoko sat between Yuki and Satoru. You slipped down next to her, and she draped her arm around your shoulders—the same place Suguru’s had been moments ago.
He stood there for half a second too long.
Then he followed.
He sat on the armrest of the couch, close enough to still be in your space, but not touching this time. Not claiming.
Something in his ego felt… dented. You hadn’t blushed. Hadn’t hesitated, hadn't chased. You just walked away. A strange feeling settled in his chest. It was small, but sharp. Annoying. His pride stung in a way it never had before. This didn’t happen to him. Usually it was easy. A lazy wink. A hand at someone’s waist. A low comment spoken close enough to feel. Girls were already leaning in, already asking to go upstairs before he even decided if he wanted them.
He didn’t chase. He never had to. So why did the thought of you walking away still sit wrong with him? It wasn’t about you. It couldn’t be. It was just the rejection. He had something to prove something to himself now. He saw you as a challenge.
And Suguru liked winning.
He had been so sure he would win.
There was something in him that needed to prove it — not just to himself, but to his friends too. Even though they hadn’t seen him get rejected by you.
Drunk,immature, and his ego bruised in a way he’d never experienced before, he’d walked straight over to the other frat brothers — Satoru, Haibara, Nanami, Toji, Sukuna — like it was nothing. Like you were nothing. “I can bag her,” he’d said with a careless laugh. “Even when she’s being difficult.”
They’d teased him, of course. Raised brows. Doubt. Curiosity. He’d leaned back in his chair, drink in hand, acting like it was already decided.
“I like the challenge,” he’d added. “She’s my challenge.”
And Suguru had always been the one who could make even the most stubborn girls soften. Fold. Give in. And to him you were certainly one of those.
⋆˚꩜｡𐔌՞. .՞𐦯⋆. 𐙚 ˚
Next Friday, he stood near the couch, drink loose in his hand, eyes fixed on the front door more than he’d admit.
Waiting for you.
Satoru had insisted on the pajama party. “Intimate,” he’d called it. No one bought it. It was just an excuse to see girls in lace and silk. Satoru looked unfair as usual. Blue plaid pajama pants hanging low, thin white shirt clinging in a way that made people stare too long. He acted oblivious. He wasn’t.
Suguru wasn’t exactly subtle either.
Grey sweatpants. Black shirt. Sleeves pushed up just enough to expose strong forearms, veins faint but still prominent beneath warm skin. The cotton of his shirt clung lightly to his chest and shoulders, outlining muscle without trying too hard. It stretched when he moved, hinting at the strength underneath.
He looked comfortable. Relaxed.
The sweatpants hung low on his hips, the fabric thin enough to suggest more than it hid. When he shifted his weight or leaned back against the counter, the outline of his bulge noticeable. Not exaggerated. Just there. Impossible to ignore if someone let their eyes wander.
And people were looking. He could feel it. A few girls tried to be subtle. Most weren’t. Normally he’d smirk. Maybe lean back a little more. Let them look. Tonight, though, his attention stayed fixed on the door. Until you walked in.
Your eyes met his from across the room before you started walking toward him.
And just like that, something shifted. The air felt heavier. Quieter.
You were wearing a small purple lace and silk sleep dress — delicate straps resting on your shoulders, the fabric catching the light with every step you took. It skimmed your body just enough to leave very little to his imagination.
He loved your outfit.
The way the lace traced your silhouette. The way the silk moved softly against your thighs. The way it looked like it had been made just for you.
Heat pooled low in his stomach before he could stop it. His hand tightened subtly around the cup he was holding, pupils dilating as his gaze dragged — slow, deliberate — from your face down to the hem of your dress and back up again.
But it wasn’t just desire. It was the way you walked toward him. Calm. Unhurried. Like you knew exactly what you were doing to him.
When you hugged him — when your body pressed against his — he felt exactly how you fit against him. The thin layers of fabric between you did very little to dull the contact. Warm. Close. Distractingly close.
His body went rigid for half a second, hyperaware of every point of contact. The heat pooling low in his stomach felt even heavier, unwelcome in how fast it came.
You pulled away first. His hands lingered at your waist a second too long before dropping. He followed you into the kitchen without thinking about it. “Do you always do this?” you asked, not turning around, focused on pouring yourself a drink.
“Do what?” he replied, leaning back against the counter, palms resting against the edge behind him. Casual. Like he wasn’t watching you over the rim of his cup. “Following girls around,” you clarified, taking a sip before leaning back as well. Now you were beside him. Close enough that your arms brushed lightly.
He didn’t move away. “No. Just you.” Smooth. Effortless. Delivered like it wasn’t a line.
“You’re so rehearsed,” you snickered into your drink. You barely looked at him. Your attention drifted to the kitchen, the music, the people passing by. You adjusted the hem of your dress. Anything but him.
And that — more than anything — got under his skin. Because he was used to being the center of attention.
He was used to being watched. But you? You acted like he was optional. His jaw tightened slightly, though his smile stayed lazy.
“If I’m rehearsed,” he said, pushing off the counter. He stepped into your space, one hand bracing against the surface behind you. Close enough to crowd. Not close enough to touch.
“I wouldn’t be standing here trying to figure you out.” His head tilted slightly as he leaned in, just a fraction closer. There was something different in his tone now. Less polished. Less automatic.
He let it show — just a little — that this wasn’t routine. That he was actually trying. You raised a brow lazily, finally meeting his eyes. “But go on,” he continued, softer, almost coaxing. “If I'm rehearsed, tell me what you think I’m going to say next.”
His other hand came to rest on the counter behind you, boxing you in without quite trapping you. Testing. Seeing how much you’d tolerate. How far he could push before you pushed back.
You only chuckled. Took another slow sip of your drink. Like his proximity meant nothing. Like he wasn’t practically caging you in. You set your cup down and crossed your arms. “You’re trying to figure me out?” you said evenly. “You’re doing a bad job, then.”
A quiet beat passed. “Am I?” His voice lowered, amusement threading through it. He liked this. The resistance. The way you didn’t melt or giggle or fold. “And yet…” A lazy smirk curved his mouth. “You’re still standing here.”
The confidence was still there — but thinner now. Sharpened. His eyes dropped to your lips for a second. Just long enough. Just slow enough.
“I’m still here because I’m entertained. Not because I’m doing you a favor by letting you figure me out,” you said evenly. Calm. Almost absentminded.
You took a small sip of your drink. “I’m also curious what cheesy line you’re going to try next.”
Suguru’s lips twitched. A quiet breath left him — not quite a laugh, but close. “Cheesy?” he echoed softly. He reached up without asking, fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. Slow. Deliberate. Tucking it behind your ear like he had every right to. Then he leaned in. Close enough that his breath ghosted over your skin, lips barely grazing the shell of your ear. “Wanna find out?” he murmured.
He pulled back just enough to watch your reaction. Waiting for the shift. The blush. The swallow. The crack in your composure. It never came. Your expression stayed the same. Relaxed. Mildly bored.
“I'm good.”
Two simple words. You nudged his arm away — not aggressively, just enough to move past him — and walked back toward the couch where Haibara, Shoko, and Yuki were sitting. Like it was nothing.
Like he hadn’t just made a move on you. Suguru stayed where he was. For a second, he didn’t move. He didn’t fully process it. The rejection hit slower this time. Not sharp. Just heavy. Settling somewhere behind his ribs.
His heart was still beating too fast from the closeness. From the warmth of you. From the almost. He wasn’t sure what churned in his stomach more.
The sting of being brushed off. Or the fact that he wanted to try again.
⋆˚꩜｡𐔌՞. .՞𐦯⋆. 𐙚 ˚
Suguru was fucked.
The scene from last Friday wouldn’t leave him alone. It replayed in his mind in sharp, unforgiving detail. The way you looked at him. The way you sounded. The way you said I’m good like he wasn’t worth your time.
He could still remember how close you were. The warmth of your body. The faint trace of your perfume that seemed to linger in his memory no matter how many showers he took.
He had thought about that single interaction more than the dirtiest things he had ever done. And he hadn’t even properly touched you. Every time it replayed, something twisted low in his stomach. Not lust. Not exactly. Something heavier. Stranger.
Something he’d never felt before.
His lecture dragged on endlessly. Some rant about foreign economies and stock markets. The professor also spiraling about his own investments tanking.
Suguru didn’t hear a word. His thoughts kept circling back to you. When class finally ended, he left without thinking, shoulders tense, jaw tight.
Everything felt dull. Boring. Until he saw you. Sitting on a bench outside. Headphones in. Sunlight spilling over you like it was intentional. Like the universe was presenting him with something he wasn’t sure he deserved.
You looked… beautiful. Your legs crossed neatly. Your outfit soft, effortless. Your hair falling perfectly over your shoulders. Brows slightly furrowed as you stared at your phone.
Beautiful.
The word made him pause.
He’d called girls hot. Sexy. But beautiful? Perfect? That was new. And he didn’t like how easily it was when it came to you.
He swallowed the thought down quickly. It was just the chase. That was all this was. Right?
He called your name as he approached. You looked up at him. And his heartbeat ticked up, just slightly. “Oh, hi,” you said, tugging one headphone out.
“You done for today?” he asked casually, already calculating how he could stretch this interaction. “One lecture left,” you sighed, slipping your phone into your pocket and pulling the other headphone out.
“When?”
“Ten minutes.”
“Come on. I’ll walk you.”
He didn’t wait for permission. He picked up your bag from the ground and slung it over his shoulder like it belonged there.
“You don’t have to,” you called, following behind him as he started toward the main building.
“Where’s your lecture?”
He ignored the protest entirely.
“018.”
He adjusted his pace slightly so you could keep up, leading you toward the back of the building without another word.
The hallway was quieter here.
Room 018 came into view on your right.
He stopped in front of you. You stepped closer, reaching up to tug your bag off his shoulder. “Thank you for walking me,” you said lightly. “Even if it was against my will.”
He scoffed, crossing his arms. “So charming,” he muttered.
“I’ll see you later.” He ruffled your hair — casual, almost teasing — before stepping past you and walking away.
Good thing he walked away. Otherwise he would’ve seen it — the slight widening of your eyes, the faint warmth rising to your cheeks where he’d ruffled your hair.
The last time — at the party — he had been closer to you. Closer than this. But there had been dim lighting and music loud enough to swallow hesitation. Alcohol warming your skin. Shadows to hide behind. This time there was none of that.
No haze. No flickering lights softening the edges. Just daylight pouring through the windows. Just the quiet hum of campus around you. Just him standing there, fully aware, fully sober. Good thing he walked away.
Otherwise he would’ve seen it — the slight widening of your eyes, the faint warmth rising to your cheeks where he’d ruffled your hair. He would’ve known he’d affected you.
An hour later, you stepped out of your lecture hall. And stopped. Suguru was leaning against the wall across from the door. Like he’d been there the whole time.
His phone hung loosely in his hand, forgotten. He found your eyes almost immediately, a lazy smirk spreading across his face like this had been inevitable. “What are you doing here?” you asked, walking up to him.
He hadn’t prepared an answer. Not really. “Thought I’d walk you home,” he said honestly. The words leaving before he could dress them up. You blinked at him. “You waited an hour to walk me home?” A small huff escaped you — half disbelief, half something else.
“Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to,” he replied, pushing off the wall. His hands slipped from his pockets, reaching for your bag again and slinging it over his shoulder like it belonged there.
You fell into step beside him this time. “For someone with such a reputation,” you said lightly, “you’re being such a gentleman.”
“And what does that reputation entail?” he asked, glancing down at you like he genuinely didn’t know. Of course he knew. He just wanted to hear what you thought and heard.
“Come on,” you muttered, looking away. “You know what people say about you.”
“I do,” he replied smoothly. “But I’m wondering what you heard.” There was something different in his tone now. Less teasing. More searching. Because for once, it wasn’t about what the campus thought. It was about what you thought.
“You’re a manwhore,” you said plainly. No hesitation. No sugarcoating. His eyebrow twitched slightly. “You don’t do face-to-face,” you continued. “And you don’t kiss.” Your gaze stayed forward, focused on the path ahead. His eyes, however, were locked on you.
“People talk,” he said simply. Even though most of it was true. He had kissed a few girls back in freshman year. Early on. Back when he was still figuring out what he preferred during hook ups.
He’d learned quickly that he didn’t. Kissing complicated things. It made girls linger. Made them think. Made him pretend he wanted something more. “So it’s not true?” you asked, your gaze snapping up to him.
“I didn’t say that,” he chuckled, glancing back at you. This time, you were the one who looked away first. A quiet beat passed.
“Why no kissing?” you asked. There wasn’t judgment in your voice. Just curiosity. That made it harder to brush off. He exhaled through his nose, shoulders rolling slightly as he considered how to phrase it.
“Keeps things easy,” he said finally. “Sex is transactional. You feel good, I feel good. End of story.”
His tone was matter-of-fact. Almost clinical.
“But most people don’t get anything out of kissing,” he continued. “You kiss someone because you want to be close to them.” His eyes flickered toward you. “Seems more personal than sex to me.” He said it like it was obvious. Logical.
Like it was the most reasonable thing in the world. And you could follow what he meant. You understood the train of thought. You just couldn’t understand him. Because to you, that sounded backwards.
Detached. Safe. And maybe that was the point. “How do you even get in the mood without kissing?” you asked. You were trying to follow his logic. You really were.
“You just do,” he replied easily. “You don’t really get in the mood to do your assignments either, but you still do them.” He said it like it made perfect sense. You giggled. It was soft. Unfiltered. And something in him twitched at the sound.
He’d had girls whisper filth in his ear. Beg. Moan. Say things far more obscene. And yet a simple giggle from you did more to him than any of it ever had. “That’s… one way to put it,” you said, shaking your head slightly.
“What about you?” he asked.
“Mh?”
“What do you like?”
The question caught you off guard.
“Uh…”
You frowned faintly, thinking.
No one had really asked you that before.
You knew how to flirt. You’ve had boyfriends before — not many, you could still count them on one hand. From the outside they’d all seemed fine. Good guys. But when it came down to it… They hadn’t really known what to do with you. Everything had always revolved around them. Their pace. Their finish. “I don’t… know?” you admitted, shoulders lifting slightly.
“What do you mean? Even virgins know what they like.” He looked at you, genuinely confused.
“I’ve had a few boyfriends,” you said quietly, a hint of pink rising to your cheeks. “But they weren’t really any good. And whenever I tried to explain or try something different… it didn’t really work.” There was embarrassment there. Not dramatic. Just subtle. Like you’d quietly decided somewhere along the way that maybe you were the problem.
“Maybe I’m just not made for sex,” you added with a small, almost self-conscious laugh.
Something in Suguru hardened at that. Not lust. Not entirely. Something sharper. Because the idea of you thinking that — of some mediocre guys fumbling their way through you and leaving you convinced you were the issue — irritated him more than it should have.
“Or,” he said calmly, cutting in, “you just didn’t have the right partners.”
“When it happens with one boyfriend, it could be coincidence,” you said with a faint, bitter chuckle. “When it happens with two? That’s not really a coincidence anymore.”
He looked at you differently then. Not like prey. Not like a challenge. Like something he wanted to prove wrong. “If you had the wrong ones twice,” he said evenly, “that just means your sample size was bad.” There was a faint smirk there, but softer than usual.
“It doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you.” His tone wasn’t teasing. It was steady. Certain.
And for once, he wasn’t trying to get you into bed (well not completely) He was trying to undo something someone else had planted in your head. And that might’ve been worse for him. Because this wasn’t about winning a challenge anymore. It was about wanting to be the one who showed you differently.
“Thanks,” you said softly. “That’s… oddly comforting.” For a second, something warm settled between you.
“Maybe I could be the one to show you,” he added, a wink following right after.
And just like that, the warmth shifted. A quiet bucket of disappointment washed over you. Right. He was still him. Still the campus manwhore. Still the guy who turned everything into an invitation. “Yeah,” you said lightly, pushing his shoulder with two fingers, “no thank you.”
He laughed, not offended. But something flickered behind his eyes — quick. Almost unreadable. The conversation eased after that. Safer topics. His time in college. Your time overseas. Gossip about mutual acquaintances. Who dated who. Who cheated. Who dropped out.
It felt normal. Almost easy. And that was the dangerous part. Because you genuinely enjoyed talking to him. By the time you reached your building, the sky had softened into late afternoon gold. You stopped at your door. “Thank you,” you said, taking your bag back from him. “I really enjoyed our talk.”
And you meant it. His expression shifted — subtle, but softer than the smirking version he wore so easily. “My pleasure,” he replied. Polite. Controlled.
“I’ll see you around.” He gave you a small wave before stepping back from the entrance, giving you space as you unlocked your door.
He didn’t linger. But as he walked away, hands sliding back into his pockets, something about the interaction replayed in his mind.
He enjoyed talking to you. Not flirting. Not teasing. Talking. And for the first time, Suguru wasn’t sure if that made things easier… Or infinitely more complicated.
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“Where are you going?” he asked when you took a different turn instead of heading toward your building. He was standing outside your lecture hall again, like he had been for the past few weeks. It had become a routine of sorts — he would wait for you, walk you home, and talk with you about nothing and everything.
“I have to go to the library,” you replied. “My professor assigned something last minute, and I want to get it done before the weekend.”
Suguru fell into step beside you without hesitation. “Mind if I join?” he asked, his arm settling over your shoulder in a way that had slowly become familiar. At some point, you had stopped shrugging it off.
“Sure,” you said, looking up at him with a stern expression. “If you promise to be quiet.”
“I promise,” he replied, lifting his pinky in a childish gesture.
You sighed, but your lips curved slightly as you hooked your pinky around his. A pinky promise. The library was warm and quiet when you stepped inside, the faint scent of paper and coffee lingering in the air. You led him toward a quiet corner where a small table with two chairs sat facing each other.
To your surprise, he actually kept his promise. He opened his laptop and pulled up his own assignment, though he barely looked at it. Most of his attention was on you. He watched the way your hair fell forward when you leaned down to write, the way your sweater slipped slightly off one shoulder, the crease between your brows when you concentrated, the back of the pen resting against your soft bottom lip. His textbook sat open and untouched, the words blurring together because he couldn’t stop glancing up at you.
“I have to grab something,” you said eventually, standing from your chair. He stood immediately. “I’ll come with you.”
“You do that a lot,” you remarked as you scanned the shelves. “Following behind me.”
“Are we having this conversation again?” he replied lightly, his eyes focused on you rather than the rows of books.
“You’re like a big puppy.”
He laughed at that, an actual, unguarded laugh. “That’s what I’ve been reduced to?”
“That’s what you’ve been upgraded to,” you corrected as you spotted the book you needed. It was on the top shelf. You stretched up on your toes, your fingers barely grazing the metal edge beneath it. Suguru stepped closer behind you, not quite touching you but close enough that you could feel the warmth of him at your back. He reached over you easily and grabbed the book.
Instead of handing it to you, he lifted it just slightly higher. You turned around with a small frown, your brows knitting together as you tried to reach for it again. He watched you from above, his smirk lazy but his heartbeat louder than he liked to admit.
“Not even a thank you you? Or a please,” he teased. “Didn’t think you were ill-mannered.”
“Do you want me to beg you?” you countered, your tone unimpressed. The thought alone made something stir in him. “Would you?” he asked, leaning a fraction closer.
“No,” you replied immediately, crossing your arms despite the way your stomach fluttered at his proximity.
“Then you’re not getting your book about…” He glanced at the cover. “International politics.” You flushed faintly, embarrassed that he had said the title out loud when it was perfectly normal.
“Fine.”
He waited, expecting more. “Please, Suguru,” you said flatly.
It wasn’t breathless or sweet like he had imagined, but hearing his name leave your lips so casually still did something to him that caught him off guard.
“Not good enough,” he replied, shaking his head.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” you said, refusing to give him the satisfaction of looking flustered. “Do you have some sort of worship kink?”
He chuckled and stepped closer until his chest brushed lightly against your body. “Just trying to teach you manners.”
You scoffed. “Fine. Keep the book.” You pushed past him and walked back toward the table, your pride too intact to play along with whatever game he was trying to start. After a second, he followed you, the book still in his hand. This hadn’t gone the way he imagined. You didn’t fold. You didn’t beg. You didn’t give him what he wanted.
And he hated how much he liked that. “I’m going home,” you said as you began packing your bag. “Already?” he asked.
“Might as well. I can’t really go any further without that book.”
You walked ahead of him again, refusing to look back, your pride too strong to let him win.
And as he followed behind you — because of course he did — Suguru realized he admired that stubbornness far more than he should have.
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His room was quiet, the late afternoon light spilling lazily across the floor. Suguru lounged on his bed with his phone in hand, half-reading through the fraternity council group chat. Over a hundred messages flooded the screen about some reckless freshmen stunt that could get the house in trouble. Arguments about whether to kick them out or just put them on social probation dragged on endlessly. He barely cared.
His phone suddenly rang. Your name lit up the screen. The number you had reluctantly given him two weeks ago. A smile spread across his face before he even realized it.
“Sweetheart—”
“You really took that book with you?” you half-yelled through the phone.
His smile shifted into a slow smirk as he leaned back against his pillows. Usually you were composed, cool, untouchable. Hearing you slightly ruffled did something to him.
“You said I could keep it,” he replied lazily.
“I didn’t expect you to actually take it.”
“You told me to. Who am I not to comply?”
“Did you even register it, or did you just steal it?”
“It’s not stealing if I bring it back.”
He could practically hear your eye roll through the phone.
“What do you even want with that specific book?”
“For someone as smart as you, you’re awfully slow.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I dont want that book. I just want to hear you say please.”
“I already did,” you snapped.
“That wasn’t good enough.”
“Then you should’ve been more specific.”
“I was specific,” he said calmly. “Just say the words and I’ll give it to you.”
“Oh, please, Suguru,” you replied in an overly sweet, dripping tone.
It was sarcasm.
But the effect was very real.
“Go on,” he murmured, smirk widening.
“Fuck off.” The line went dead. He stared at his phone. You really just hung up on him. He almost pouted. Still, he was getting closer. You wouldn’t be this annoyed if you didn’t care.
Twenty minutes later, a knock sounded at his door. He rolled off his bed, expecting Satoru, maybe Haibara or another brother.
Instead, you stood there. Arms crossed. Cute frown firmly in place. “Give me that book.” No greeting. No smile.
“So impolite,” he tsked, leaning against the doorframe. He found it amusing that you had come all the way here for a book you could probably find online. A part of him wanted to believe you were enjoying this just as much as he was.
“Suguru, please. I have plans this weekend, and the deadline’s Monday.”
“You’re getting closer,” he replied.
You stepped inside his room without waiting for permission. It was surprisingly tidy for a frat house. You went straight to his desk and began rummaging through the drawers.
“It could save you a real headache if you just asked nicely enough,” he said, watching you search. You straightened and finally turned to face him. There was something different in your eyes now. Determined. Slightly desperate.
“Suguru,” you exhaled. “I really need the book. Please.” That one was more sincere. And it hit harder than the sarcastic ones. He didn’t move. From the outside, he looked unbothered. Inside, his stomach was flipping and his heart was beating fast enough to power a small city.
“Please,” you said again, softer this time. He swallowed. “Knew you could be polite,” he said lightly, ruffling your hair before stepping past you.
He grabbed the book from his bag. It hadn’t moved since the library. Your hands reached for it immediately. He pulled it back again. “What are your plans this weekend?” he asked casually.
Your expression shifted to mild annoyance. “Seeing a friend.”
A friend? His jaw tightened slightly. What kind of friend? Why did that word suddenly irritate him? “What friend?” he pressed.
You scoffed. “I came here to get a book, and now you’re interrogating me about my social life.”
“You want the book?” he challenged. You hesitated for a second. “I’m going on a blind date. Now can I please have my book?”
A blind date. The word landed heavier than he expected. Jealousy flared before he could stop it. It didn’t make sense. You were a challenge. A game. A mission to see how long it would take to get you in his bed. So why did the idea of someone else sitting across from you make something ugly twist in his chest?
He lowered the book without another word. You grabbed it immediately. “Thank you,” you said, smiling.
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Suguru laid quietly in his bed that same night you came storming into his room. His head clouded with jealousy and also lust.
You saying ‘please' and almost begging him really did something to him. It may have been because you wanted a book and not because you wanted him, but that didn't matter to him. The words that bordered on begging had taken their toll on him, and especially on his cock.
The room was dark, except for the faint glow of moonlight slipping through the curtains, casting shadows over the rumpled sheets. Suguru's chest rose and fell unevenly, his mind replaying the scene over and over.
'Suguru, I really need this. Please.' Fuck, the way your eyes had locked on his. It twisted something deep in his gut, even when he had completely taken your words out of context.
A hot coil of envy still in his stomach because of that stupid blind date, but his dick still throbbing with need.
He groaned low in his throat, palming himself through the thin material, feeling the heat radiate from his skin.
With a frustrated huff, Suguru shoved his boxers and sweats down his thighs, freeing his cock. It sprang up, thick and heavy, the tip already glistening with pre-cum in the dim light. He wrapped his hand around the base, squeezing firmly, and let out a shaky breath.
His mind flooded with images: you on your knees, not for your blind date, but only for him. Begging to touch him, to taste him.
'Please,' you'd probably whisper, lips parted, eyes dark with want.
He started stroking, slow at first, his fist gliding up the shaft, thumb swiping over the sensitive head to spread the slickness. A jolt of pleasure shot through him, making his hips buck involuntarily. Fuck, he was so hard it ached, veins pulsing under his grip. He picked up the pace, hand twisting slightly, imagining your mouth instead—wet and warm, sucking him down greedily.
His free hand clutched the sheets, knuckles white, as he jerked faster, the slick sound of skin on skin filling the quiet room. His balls tightened, drawing up as the pressure built low in his belly.
He muttered your name, head falling back against the pillow.
In his mind, you were there, begging louder, your voice breaking as you rode him, pussy clenching around his cock. He thrust into his fist, chasing that fantasy, breaths coming in ragged pants.
He couldn't hold it anymore.
With a choked groan, Suguru came, hot spurts of cum shooting over his hand and stomach, his body shuddering with the force of it. He milked himself through it, every last pulse, until he slumped back, spent and sticky. The jealousy lingered, a dull ache.
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Suguru had almost manifested it — the worst possible outcome.
And somehow, the night had gone exactly that way.
That’s how you ended up still wearing your date outfit — burgundy dress, black heels — on a grimy frat couch, completely out of place in the chaos of the house. But right now, you didn’t care.
The bass thumped through the house hard enough to rattle the walls, music vibrating through the floorboards. The air was thick with sweat, perfume, and cheap alcohol. Out in the yard, a small group lingered in the glow of porch lights, passing a blunt between them and laughing too loudly. Satoru stood near the kitchen island, effortlessly charming two girls at once, his grin bright and shameless, while across the dance floor Toji had a girl pressed flush against him, moving in a way that made it very clear neither of them cared who was watching.
Suguru sat beside you, arm wrapped loosely around your shoulders. His thumb traced slow, absentminded patterns along your arm while he held his cup in the other hand, occasionally bringing it to your lips so you could take a sip.
You leaned into him slightly.
He leaned back into the couch, gaze lazily fixed on you, pretending he wasn’t studying every expression on your face.
“He was barely taller than me,” you complained, arms crossing. “And in the same sentence he claimed he was 6’1.”
Suguru brought the cup closer to your mouth again. You took a sip.
“That sucks, sweetheart,” he murmured, rubbing your arm soothingly.
“He wore this stupid expensive watch and could not stop talking about it. I swear I just sat through a forty-five minute TED Talk about watches.”
You let your head fall back lightly against his chest.
His heartbeat picked up immediately.
Your perfume. The warmth of your body. The way you looked — dressed up for some idiot who didn’t deserve it.
He kept his expression neutral. Secretly, he was relieved it had gone badly.
“And then,” you continued dramatically, “he showed me his stock portfolio. And then not even his car — the car he’s planning to buy after college. Like that’s supposed to impress me.”
“Business major?” Suguru asked knowingly.
“Ugh. He was.” You groaned into your hands. Hands completely covering your face now.
He chuckled quietly, then set his drink down and gently grabbed both of your wrists with one hand, pulling them away from where you’d buried your face.
You reached for his cup instead and took a long drink before handing it back to him.
“I don’t get it,” you sighed. “I think I’m cursed when it comes to men.”
His jaw tightened slightly at that.
“Or,” he said calmly, “your taste is just terrible.”
You shot him a look. He smirked faintly. “Good thing I could fix that for you.”
You chuckled and nudged him lightly with your shoulder. For once, you didn’t follow it up with a snarky comment or a casual rejection. You just laughed. And he hated how much that did to him.
It shouldn’t have mattered. It was just a laugh. Just you relaxing around him for once. But something warm and unfamiliar twisted low in his stomach. Maybe turning this into a challenge hadn’t been his smartest idea. Because somewhere along the way, it had stopped feeling like one. He told himself it was still about the chase. About winning. About proving that even you would fold for him eventually.
But hope had started to creep in. And that was dangerous. “Wouldn’t that just make you one of my bad decisions?” you asked, tilting your head up at him.
His eyes were already on you.
“You think I’d treat you like that?” he asked, and for once there wasn’t much teasing in it. There was something almost earnest there, like he genuinely needed to know.
“You want me to be honest?” you chuckled lightly.
“Depends,” he said, though his voice wasn’t as steady as he wanted it to be.
You studied him for a second.
“I think some bad decisions could be worth it.”
His breath caught before he could hide it. For a split second, his composure cracked — eyes widening just slightly, jaw tightening like he was processing what you had just given him.
Worth it.
His heart was pounding in his throat now, loud enough that he was sure you could feel it through his chest.
His hand on your shoulder tightened slightly, pulling you closer without him fully realizing he was doing it. Your gazes didn’t break — not once. Slowly, his free hand slid down to your wrist. He lifted it carefully, like it was something fragile.
His lips brushed against the pulse point there — soft, lingering just long enough for you to feel the warmth of it.
Then higher, to the center of your palm. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t showy. It was deliberate. He looked back up at you. The music in the other room felt distant now. The world narrowing to the space between you.
“You won’t regret me,” he said quietly.
At first, the kiss was soft — exploring, tentative. But as it went on, it took on a life of its own. His tongue flicked against your lower lip, seeking entrance. When your mouth opened for him, he pressed closer, his body fitting against yours.
The kiss grew more urgent, more demanding. His hand left your cheek and tangled in your hair, pulling you even closer. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the way his body pressed against yours without an inch to spare. And the sounds he made — low, almost desperate — sent a shiver down your spine.
His mouth left yours, trailing hot kisses down your jawline, to the spot where your pulse thundered in your throat. You felt him smirk against your neck — he knew what he was doing to you.
“Wanna go?” he murmured against your neck, his breath hot where your pulse fluttered.
You nodded eagerly. he was already on his feet.
Your hand stayed in his as he pulled you up with him, fingers tight around your wrist as he led you through the crowd and up the stairs. The music downstairs faded with every step, replaced by the sound of your own breathing and the rush of blood in your ears.
The second you stepped into his room, the door shut behind you with a heavy click.
He didn’t waste time.
His hands gripped your waist firmly, pulling you closer as his mouth crashed back onto yours. Tongues tangled languid and heated– exploring each other with deliberate strokes.
You toed off your heels with a quick kick, the clatter lost in the thrum of music drifting up from downstairs. His fingers found the zipper of your dress, tugging it down slowly.
The fabric loosened, slipping around your shoulders like a whisper of surrender. "Let me make you feel good," he murmured against your lips, voice low and rough, pulling back just enough for the words to sink in.
"I'll show you what your previous ones couldn't." His hands slid the straps down your arms, the dress pooling at your feet in a silken heap, leaving you exposed in nothing but your lingerie—lace clinging to your skin, a fragile barrier.
His mouth claimed yours again, the wet smacks of kisses echoing in the room, mingling with the bass-heavy rhythm from below. Both hands cupped the underside of your ass, lifting you effortlessly. Your legs hooked around his hips, and he carried you like that, devouring your mouth as if it were the last kiss he'd ever steal—deep, insistent, stealing your breath.
He lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, settling you on his lap. One hand traced the curve of your waist, skin warm under his palm, before dipping lower to toy with the delicate lace of your panties.
His fingers lingered, teasing the edge, brushing close enough to make you ache. Then he slipped inside, parting your folds with a confident stroke. His thumb circled your clit in slow, firm circles while two fingers curled into you, pressing against that sensitive spot deep within. The stretch was perfect, building friction with each deliberate thrust—curling, twisting, scissoring to stretch you open. "This okay?" he asked, voice a husky murmur, smirking as he watched your face twist in pleasure.
"Must feel good, huh?"
You could only nod, breath hitching as he ramped up the pace, fingers pumping faster, thumb relentless on your clit. He leaned in, capturing your mouth briefly before his lips trailed to your neck, nipping at the skin. With his free hand, he reached behind you, unhooking your bra in one smooth motion. The lace fell away, and he palmed your breasts, thumbs flicking over your nipples, rolling them until they peaked hard under his touch.
Your whimpers filled the air, soft and desperate, and he groaned low, his cock twitching harder against your thigh. It had been straining against his pants since you kissed him back, thick and insistent, your sounds only adding to it.
Pressure coiled tight in your core, his fingers relentless, curling just right to hit that spot over and over. Your body arched, thighs trembling around him as the wave crested. A burst of colors exploded behind your closed eyelids—an orgasm ripping through you, fierce and shattering, the kind you hadn't felt in ages. Your walls clenched around his fingers, pulsing as you came undone, slick coating his hand.
You panted, chest heaving, but he was there instantly, mouth sealing over yours, swallowing your gasps like they were his to claim. You tried to kiss back, lips clumsy against his, but the aftershocks still quaked through you, leaving you boneless.
"Need a moment?" He leaned back onto the bed, propping himself on his elbows, biceps bulging against the fabric of his shirt, veins standing out in sharp relief.
The haze cleared just enough, and you slid off his lap, dropping to your knees on the cool hardwood floor. The chill bit into your skin, grounding you.
"You don't have to," he said, thumb brushing your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze.
"Let me give you something back," you whispered, hands already at his belt, fumbling with the buckle in your eagerness. Your fingers shook, haste making them clumsy.
"Calm down, sweetheart," he chuckled, the sound dark and fond, his hand covering yours to steady it, unfastening the belt and popping the button with ease.
His cock sprang free as you tugged his pants down, thicker and longer than any you'd known before—heavy, veined, the tip already glistening with precum. You wrapped your hand around the base, stroking once, twice, before leaning in to swirl your tongue around the head, tasting him on your tongue.
He hissed, fingers threading into your hair as you took him deeper, lips stretching around his girth. You bobbed slowly at first, hollowing your cheeks, tongue pressing flat along the underside as you sucked. Saliva slicked him, your hand twisting in tandem with your mouth, working him with eager pulls.
"Fuck, you feel so good," he groaned, hips bucking slightly. "So proud of you, taking me like this. My sweet girl." His praise washed over you, spurring you on, but just as his breaths grew ragged, his grip tightened in your hair.
He pulled you off with a wet pop, right before he could tip over the edge. "Not yet," he rasped, eyes dark with intent. "I want to be inside you when I come."
In one fluid motion, he shrugged off his shirt, revealing his muscular chest and abs. Then he scooped you up from the floor like you were weightless, manhandling you onto the bed. He flipped you flat on your stomach, the mattress dipping under his weight as he settled behind you. His cock pressed hot and heavy against your ass.
"Sugu," you moaned, voice muffled against the sheets, body arching back in desperate invitation.
He didn't make you wait. Lining up, he thrust in deep, filling you in one smooth stroke. The prone position let him grind against you, cock dragging along your walls with every snap of his hips.
His hands roamed—one sliding up to cover your mouth, fingers pressing against your lips, "Open," he commanded softly, and you did, sucking on his fingers as he fucked into you harder, the wet sounds of skin meeting skin filling the room.
"Bet you've never felt this good, huh?" he groaned against your ear, pace unrelenting. "You're so gorgeous like this.”
“How does my cock feel? Come on, tell me."
You could barely form words, pleasure overwhelming you—mewling around his fingers, body rocking with each thrust. It felt too good, too full, his dirty words stoking the fire higher.
But after a few minutes, he slowed, a frustrated huff escaping him. This position—it wasn't hitting right– not like he thought it would. He usually stuck to from behind, keeping emotional distance, but now... He pulled out fully, the sudden emptiness making you whine.
Grabbing your waist, he flipped you onto your back with effortless strength, manhandling you again, your legs splaying open. His cock looked even harder, flushed and straining as he positioned himself between your thighs.
"Fuck, needed to see you," he muttered, slamming back inside, the angle deeper, hitting new spots that made stars burst behind your eyes.
"Want to see your pretty face." His hand found your clit, rubbing in tight circles as he drove into you, mouth descending to yours in a messy, claiming kiss.
The combination shattered you—his cock stretching you, thumb working your clit, lips bruising yours. Tension snapped like a wire, your orgasm crashing over you, walls fluttering around him as you cried out into his mouth.
"I'm right behind you," he panted, thrusts erratic now, chasing his release. With a final, deep grind, he came, spilling hot inside you, body shuddering. "My pretty girl," he whispered, voice wrecked. "So pretty just for me."
You both rode out the waves, breaths mingling as he collapsed beside you, pulling you close. The high faded slowly, but even as warmth lingered, his thoughts lingered.
He had broken two of his rules to get you into his bed. No kissing. No face-to-face. Both gone. And he had hopefully broken your man-curse.
This was supposed to be simple. A challenge. A bruised ego that needed repairing. A girl who had rejected him and needed proving wrong. That’s what he had told himself from the beginning. That he was chasing the thrill, not you.
But somewhere between kissing you and needing to see your face, something shifted. He had never needed that before — never cared about eye contact, never cared about expressions. It had always been easier that way. Detached. Controlled.
With you, it hadn’t been controlled at all. He wanted to see you. Needed to. Needed your face in front of him like proof that this wasn’t just another meaningless night.
And that realization unsettled him more than anything. He liked you. Not because you rejected him. Not because his pride had taken a hit. Not because he had something to prove. He just liked you.
Still, even as that truth pressed against his ribs, he tried to smother it. This is why you don’t kiss. This is why you don’t do face-to-face. It complicates things. It makes it real.
You were just a challenge– a bet he had made with himself. So why did something twist painfully in his chest when he saw you slipping out of his bed?
You moved quietly, gathering your dress from the floor, smoothing it down like you were preparing to step back into your own world.
His hand reached out before he could stop himself, fingers closing gently around yours.
“Where are you going?” he asked, and the softness in his voice surprised even him.
You glanced over your shoulder at him with a faint, knowing smile.
“Thought you had rules,” you said lightly. “No staying over, and all that”
His thumb brushed slowly over your knuckles. Instead of letting go, he lifted your hand to his mouth and pressed a slow kiss against your skin.
He tugged you back toward him, and you fell against his chest, your body fitting against his like it had earlier. “I don’t think those rules really matter when it comes to you,” he admitted quietly.
He leaned in, pressing slow, unhurried kisses along your cheek, your jaw, your temple. There was no rush this time. When he reached your mouth, he paused, studying you for a second before kissing you softly. “Rules don’t apply to you,” he murmured against your lips.
You smiled despite yourself. The rational part of you knew better. It told you he probably said similar things before, that this was just another smooth line delivered in the afterglow.
But the part of you still tangled up in him, warm and softened and wanting to believe, chose not to argue.
“Besides. I'm not done with you”
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You and Suguru had settled into something dangerously undefined in the six weeks you’d been seeing each other.
Not official. Not casual.
If he wasn’t at your apartment, you were at the frat. There was barely a day you didn’t see him. He still walked you home almost every evening like it was routine, like it had always been his place beside you. But now it didn’t end at your door.
Now he’d stop halfway down the street and say, “You studied for hours. That deserves food.”
He called it a reward. He always paid. And when you’d protest — because you always did — he’d just shrug with that lazy grin of his. “You already do enough for me,” he’d say lightly when you would try to pay him back. And without fail it would always send a wave of heat within you.
And it turned out you weren’t cursed when it came to men. The men before had only cared about themselves. Suguru had proven that wasn’t a universal rule.
Your things had started to mix with his. Your apartment was slowly overtaken by his hoodies, sweatpants, jackets, a toothbrush he’d left behind and never taken back. But his room wasn’t much better. Duplicates of your skincare products lined his sink because he “wanted you to feel at home.” Your panties mixed into his laundry. Your perfume soaked into his sheets.
It was a challenge for Suguru at first, but that feelings were quickly replaced by something real– feelings? love?
You were tucked away in the library now, headphones snug over your ears, soft music humming in the background as you tried to focus on your textbook. Four hours of studying had drained you, and nothing new was sticking.
With a quiet sigh, you packed up your bag and started weaving between the shelves toward the exit. That’s when you heard it. “Have you seen Suguru and his girl?”
Satoru. You recognized his voice. Too loud for the library. You slowed instinctively. “Looks like he’s finally mature enough to have a girlfriend. Finally done with the ‘I have rules’ bullshit,” Satoru added, amused.
“Yeah, right,” another voice responded. Sukuna his voice.
You couldn’t see them clearly from where you stood, just shapes a few shelves away. You should’ve walked away. You didn’t. “Remember what he said?” Sukuna continued.
Satoru sounded confused. “What?”
“His ego got dented when she rejected him at that first party she showed. Said it was a challenge for him. Wanted to see how long it’d take for her to give in.”
The words hit before you could brace for them. Your heart dropped. The air felt thin.
“Oh,” Satoru muttered after a beat. “I feel bad for her. She’d be good for him.”
“She would,” Sukuna said. “Too bad he’s… him.”
Your vision blurred before you even realized tears had gathered.
Challenge.
The word echoed louder than anything else.
All the late nights. The borrowed hoodies. The way he’d said rules didn’t apply to you. Your stomach twisted violently. You didn’t wait to hear more. Your legs moved on their own, carrying you down the aisle and out of the library before your brain could catch up.
You were supposed to go to him today. You couldn’t. If Satoru and Sukuna knew, how many others did? How many people had watched you and thought you were just part of some ego game? The humiliation burned hotter than the hurt.
By the time you stepped outside, tears were already spilling freely down your face. You walked fast, almost blindly, ignoring the strange looks from people passing by.
You didn’t care. You just needed to get home.
You got home after what felt like eternity, and let your bag drop by the door. Your apartment felt different now. Smaller. Louder with memories.
Every corner held him. The couch where he’d pull you into his side. The kitchen where he slow danced with you at 4:00am after a rager. The bed where he made love to you multiple times. The faint trace of his cologne still lingering in the air like it refused to leave.
You walked to your closet to grab pajamas. It was littered with his stupid hoodies and shirts. You’d stolen them absentmindedly over the weeks, and he’d never asked for them back.
You pulled one down. Even after sitting in your closet for days, it still smelled like him. Ridiculous. Your throat tightened again. You changed slowly, forcing yourself to breathe, pushing the tears away with the heel of your hand. But the second you lay down on your bed, it all came rushing back.
Challenge. You were just a challenge to him
The words echoed over and over. Apparently that’s all you were. A dented ego. A game. A timer he had started the moment you rejected him. Your mascara smudged against the pillow, but you didn’t bother fixing it. You were too embarrassed. Too humiliated.
How many people knew? How many had watched you walk into that frat house nearly everyday while they secretly pitied you. The room blurred. You cried until exhaustion dragged you under.
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When you woke up hours later, the apartment was dim. Your face felt tight, puffy. You reached for your phone. Notifications flooded your screen.
Seven missed calls.
Twelve messages.
All from Suguru. Right. You were supposed to go over after the library. Your chest twisted. You dropped the phone back onto the mattress like it burned.
In the kitchen, you opened the fridge and stared at it without seeing anything. There was food. Plenty of it. You just weren’t hungry. Your stomach felt full of something heavier. Regret. Shame. Hurt. You closed the fridge and went back to your room, curling in on yourself again.
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Suguru stood outside your lecture hall the next morning, scanning the crowd. You weren’t there. He checked his phone again. Still nothing. That wasn’t like you. You always texted back. Always.
He sent another message.
Then another.
Then called. This time it went straight to voicemail. You declined him?
Something cold slid down his spine. Had he done something? He replayed the last few days in his head, searching for a misstep.
Nothing made sense.
Within minutes he was outside your apartment, slightly out of breath from walking too fast. His heart pounded harder than it should have.
He knocked.
No answer.
He knocked again.
Still nothing.
His jaw tightened as he knocked a third time, more urgently.
The door finally opened while you stood half-hidden behind it. Your eyes swollen. Skin blotchy. Dark circles under your lashes. It hit him like a punch.
“Sweetheart—” He stepped forward instinctively, but you shook your head. “Don’t,” you whispered.
His chest tightened immediately. “What’s wrong?” he asked, voice softer than he meant it to be.
“I’m not feeling well,” you said. The lie was obvious. Being sick might explain missing class. It didn’t explain the puffy eyes.
“Let me take care of you,” he said quickly. There was uncertainty in his voice now. Fear, almost.
“I’m fine.”
You started to close the door, but his hand caught it gently. Your eyes lifted to him again. God. The sight of you like this hurt more than he expected.
“Sweetheart, please,” he said quietly. There was no cockiness left. No smirk. No lazy grin. Just concern.
“No,” you said, firmer now. “I said I’m fine.” There was bite in your voice this time. He hesitated. But then slowly stepped back.
His hand dropped to his side and the door closed. And he stood there, staring at it, something unfamiliar and heavy settling in his chest.
He knew it now. You were mad at him.
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Suguru tried everything. For two weeks straight, he showed up at your door.
Sometimes you didn’t open it at all. Sometimes you did. And every single time, his heart climbed into his throat. The seconds between knocking and hearing the lock turn felt unbearable. A mix of dread and hope twisted together in his chest. Relief when you opened it. A selfish flicker of happiness just from seeing you.
And then the guilt.
Because every time you stood there, you looked a little more tired. A little more guarded. Like something inside you had dimmed. It was subtle to anyone else but not to him.
Your eyes didn’t light up when you saw him anymore. You didn’t lean into the doorway. You didn’t tease him. You didn’t call him Sugu.
He stood in front of your door with coffee from your favorite place and the sandwich you always ordered. It was early, but he knew you’d be awake by now. He had gotten up earlier than usual just to make sure he got it before the morning rush.
It took a while before the door opened. When it did, you looked the same as the night before. Puffy eyes. Skin slightly blotchy. A fragile kind of tiredness that made his chest tighten.
“How are you feeling?” he asked carefully, like speaking too loudly might break you. “Fine,” you said again, your voice still rough from sleep.
“I got you breakfast,” he added, holding up the cup and the small paper bag. He tried to smile, but it felt wrong when you didn’t mirror it. You took the food from his hands.
“Thank you,” you said politely. The door closed before he could say anything else.
You didn’t eat it. You couldn’t. The sandwich stayed untouched in the fridge. You took a few sips of the coffee, but even that tasted wrong.
The next day he showed up again, this time closer to evening. You still opened the door for him. That alone gave him a flicker of hope. “Hey, sweetheart,” he said softly.
Your eye bags were lighter, but the tiredness hadn’t left. Your lashes looked heavy, your nose faintly red like you’d been crying recently. He noticed. He didn’t mention it, he didn't want to push it.
“Dinner from your favorite place,” he said, lifting the bag slightly. You hesitated before taking it.
“Thank you.” The door closed again. More firmly this time.
The day after that, he tried something different. Maybe it wasn’t about food. Maybe it was about effort.
It was noon. You didn’t have lectures. He stood outside your door with a bouquet of your favorite flowers tucked under his arm. He raised his hand to knock. The door opened before he could.
You startled slightly when you saw him there. You were dressed to leave — skirt, sweater, jacket, scarf wrapped around your neck. You looked put together.
Beautiful.
But the dullness in your eyes was impossible to miss. The spark that used to be there when you looked at him wasn’t there.
“Hi,” he said quietly. It felt strange standing this close to you again.
“Hi,” you replied.
“Going somewhere?”
“grocery store.” A lie. Your fridge and pantry were still stocked. You just needed some air.
“Ah,” he said, holding out the bouquet. “These are for you,” He watched your face carefully, searching for anything — softness, annoyance, something.
You took them. “Suguru, please stop doing this.” The flowers rested against your chest.
“Doing what?” he asked, though his voice was tighter now.
“Whatever this is. Stop wasting your money.”
You stepped back into the apartment and walked toward the kitchen. He half expected you to throw them in the trash. Instead, you grabbed a vase and placed them inside. Careful.
That hurt more.
He stepped inside slowly, unsure if he was overstepping. You returned to the doorway and stood there, leaving a respectful distance between you. Too much distance.
He took a step closer. You took one back.
His heart shattered.
“Please tell me what’s going on.”
You looked at him for a long moment.
Not angry. Not screaming. Just tired.
“Did you win?” Your voice was steady. Cold. But your eyes betrayed you — glossy with tears you were trying very hard not to let fall. He frowned slightly. “What are you—”
“The challenge,” you cut in, your hands sliding into the pockets of your jacket like you needed something to hold onto. “Did you win the challenge?”
You said it clearer this time. Slower. His stomach dropped.
It had started as something stupid. A careless comment. An ego he didn’t know how to soothe when you rejected him. He had never been rejected before. Not like that. Not calmly. Not without you even flinching. You had unsettled him. And instead of admitting that, he’d turned it into a game. A challenge. Something to conquer. He had said it drunk once. Careless. Laughing it off in front of people who didn’t matter. But somewhere between chasing you and actually knowing you, it had stopped being about pride.
It had become something else. Something he hadn’t planned on. You leaned back against the counter, watching his expression carefully — the shock, the dawning realization.
“Where did you hear that?” he asked, trying to keep his voice even.
“That’s what matters to you?” you scoffed, pushing yourself off the counter. You walked toward the door.
A bitter laugh slipping out before you could stop it. One tear finally escaped, sliding down your cheek. He moved before thinking, his hand closing gently but firmly around your wrist.
You didn’t turn around.
“It started out that way,” he admitted. The words felt heavy coming out. “But it didn’t stay that way.” Silence filled the space between you.
“The first time you rejected me, at that party” he continued quietly, “I didn’t know how to handle it. I’ve never been told no like that. You left me feeling… off. And instead of dealing with that like an adult, I said something stupid to my friends.”
He stepped closer. You didn’t pull away this time.
“But when I got closer to you— when I realized I actually wanted to get closer to you… not to win, not to prove anything, but because I wanted you—” His composure held, but his voice cracked just slightly. “That’s when it stopped being a challenge.”
You finally turned your head just enough for him to see your profile. “How does that fix anything?” you asked quietly.
Your eyes were glossy now, tears threatening to spill, but you refused to let them fall again. You stood straighter, trying to hold yourself together. He saw through it immediately. And it broke him.
“I can’t fix how it started,” he said, voice low, steady but strained. “I can’t erase what I said. I can’t pretend I didn’t humiliate you.”
For a second, he just looked at you.
Then, before he could overthink it, he let go of your wrist — only to drop down in front of you.
Not dramatically. Not loudly. Just… down. Both knees hit the floor. You blinked in shock.
“Suguru—”
He took your hands in his before you could pull away, holding them gently, like he was afraid they’d disappear.
“I can’t change the past,” he said, looking up at you now. No smirk. No ego. No control. “But I can change what I do next.”
Your breathing faltered.
“I don’t want to win you,” he continued. “I want to deserve you.”
His thumbs brushed lightly over your knuckles.
“It started stupid. It started with my pride. But after everything. it stopped being about proving anything.” His jaw tightened slightly. “You weren’t a game to me. You weren’t something to conquer. You were the first person who made me want to stay.”
That word hung heavy between you.
Stay.
“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” he added, quieter now. “And I don’t expect you to believe me just because I’m here.” His grip softened.
“But I’m not getting up until you understand that you were never just a challenge.”
Your fingers threaded through his hair, the movement so natural it felt like second nature. When your lips met his, he inhaled sharply, the sound almost a gasp. Your touch was soft, the kiss gentle but filled with longing.
His eyes fluttered shut as he leaned into the kiss, his hand coming up to cradle your face. He held you like you were something precious, something fragile.
As you broke away, he looked up at you, his expression vulnerable.
“Stand up," you ordered, voice sharp like shattered glass, cutting through the heavy silence of the kitchen. He rose slowly, eyes locked on yours,
You pushed up on your tiptoes, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that was more punishment than passion—fierce, biting, a reminder of the hurt you carried. Pulling back just enough, your breath ghosted over his mouth. "I'm still mad at you."
Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging lightly, not in affection but in the raw need to anchor yourself to something, anything, amid the ache in your chest. "That's okay," he murmured, voice breaking just a fraction as he leaned in, capturing your lips again.
His hands found your hips, shoving you back against the counter, the cold marble slamming into your spine like a slap. It stole your breath, the chill seeping through your shirt. He broke away for a heartbeat, eyes dark and pleading. "Take it out on me."
Your hands fisted the collar of his jacket, yanking him with you as you backed toward the bedroom, the hallway blurring in your periphery. He followed without resistance, letting you lead, letting you use him like a weapon against your own pain–something he caused.
In the dim light of the bedroom, you shoved him down onto the bed, the mattress creaking under his weight. You climbed onto his lap seconds later, straddling him, your skirt riding up your thighs. His hands hovered at your sides, hesitant, waiting for your cue. "Tell me what you need," he said, voice thick with desire, eyes burning into yours like he was memorizing every fractured line of your face.
"Touch me," you replied, the words vague, laced with the numbness you wielded like armor. But he knew. God, he always knew.
In a swift move, he flipped your positions, pinning you beneath him on the bed. The shift stole the air from your lungs, his body heavy and warm over yours, a stark contrast to the ache inside. His hands slid down, hooking into the waistband of your skirt and panties, dragging them off in one rough pull. Leaving you bare and exposed for him.
His fingers parted your thighs, tracing the slick between them before diving in. One digit slipped inside you first, slow and deliberate, testing your readiness despite the tension coiling in the room.
You were wet—traitorously so—your body responding even as your heart screamed no. He added a second finger, curling them deep, pressing against that spot that made your hips buck involuntarily. His thumb found your clit, rubbing in firm, insistent circles, building the pressure with each thrust of his hand.
The wet sounds of his fingers working you filled the space, obscene against the quiet sobs building in your throat.
He watched you, unblinking, as your breaths turned ragged, your walls clenching around him. "Let go," he whispered, voice raw, like he was begging for absolution.
The coil snapped, pleasure ripping through you in a violent wave—your orgasm crashing hard, leaving you trembling and spent. Tears welled up, spilling hot down your cheeks, not from bliss but from the pain he gave you, the reminder of what he had done to you. You cried softly, the sound muffled against his shoulder as he held you through it, his touch gentling but never pulling away.
He kissed the tears from your skin, murmuring your name like a prayer, but you turned your face away, the intimacy too much, too raw. When the haze cleared enough, you shifted, rolling onto your stomach, presenting your back to him—a wall he couldn't breach. He paused, hands stilling on your hips. "Why are you turning around?" His voice cracked a little, laced with confusion, the question hanging heavy in the air.
"Don't wanna see you right now," you said, the words heartless, slicing through him like a blade. You heard his sharp intake of breath, felt the way his grip faltered for a second, his heart shattering audibly in the silence. But he didn't stop. He couldn't. Positioning himself behind you, he freed his cock—hard, aching, a testament to how deeply he still craved you, even in ruin.
He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, filling you with a stretch that bordered on pain, your body yielding despite the emotional chasm. He moaned your name, voice breaking on each syllable as he began to move, thrusts deep and measured, grinding against you from behind. "I missed you so much. Fuck, I missed you–." His words were a litany, desperate pleas wrapped in groans, his hips snapping harder as if he could fuck the distance away.
You bit the pillow, stifling the moans that threatened to betray you, the pleasure building traitorously even as tears soaked the fabric. He reached around, fingers finding your clit again, rubbing in time with his pace, drawing you under despite yourself. Your body clenched around him, the orgasm pulling you apart—waves of heat pulsing through you, leaving you gasping, spent once more. He followed seconds later, spilling inside you with a broken groan of your name, his release hot and claiming, body shuddering as he collapsed over you.
He always came with you, your body the one thing that could still unravel him completely. But the warmth faded fast. He barely caught his breath, chest heaving against your back, before you were shoving him off, scrambling out of the bed. The sheets tangled around your ankles as you snatched your discarded clothes, pulling them on with frantic hands.
"I have to go," you said coldly, the fleeting spark of vulnerability from moments ago snuffed out like a dying ember. You didn't look at him, couldn't bear the devastation in his eyes. "Please leave as soon as you can."
The words landed like a final blow, the door clicking shut behind you as you fled to the bathroom, leaving him alone in the wreckage of the bed, heart in pieces on the floor.
To your surprise, when you stepped out of the bathroom, Suguru was gone. For a second, you just stood there, staring at the empty space where he had been. You had expected him to still be there. Leaning against the wall. Waiting. Stubborn.
A part of you had wanted him to stay. You just didn't want him to see you fall apart again. During Sex? a little embarrassing but could just be from the pleasure. But afterwards?
You needed a distraction. And he was right there. But now the silence felt heavier.
The tears came again, hot and uncontrollable. You didn’t bother wiping them away this time. You let them fall as you changed back into your clothes, hands trembling slightly as you pulled your sweater over your head.
You didn’t crawl into bed.
Instead, you slid down beside it, sitting on the cold floor with your back against the frame. Your knees pulled tightly to your chest, arms wrapped around them like you were trying to hold yourself together.
You missed him. That was the worst part. Not the humiliation. Not the anger. The missing. Because after he made a joke out of you and your self-respect, you still missed him.
His words replayed in your head.
It started that way, but it didn’t stay that way.
You didn’t know if you were strong enough to believe.
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Suguru was a wreck.
He sat on the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees, his face buried in his hands. The dark circles under his eyes were deeper than they had been when he’d stood outside your door. His room was quiet, but his mind wasn’t.
It felt like he was already halfway to completely losing you.
You had gone cold. You stopped replying the way you used to. No calls. No lingering touches. No softness in your voice. And the worst part was that just a few days ago, he’d thought things were finally going well.
You had let him into your space. You had kissed him. You had sex with him. And then you’d looked at him with those same eyes and said you didn’t want to see him when he fucked you. When you told him to leave, he felt something in his chest physically crack.
A knock sounded at his door. He didn’t move. “Come in,” he called out, his voice rougher than usual. Satoru pushed the door open without hesitation. “You missed the meeting today.”
Right. The fraternity council meeting. It had completely slipped his mind. Then again, everything had slipped his mind lately. The only thing replaying on a loop was the way you had looked at him when you said he needed to leave.
“Sorry. Forgot,” he muttered, still staring at the floor.
Satoru raised a brow and walked further into the room before dropping down beside him on the bed.
“What’s up with you?” he asked, nudging Suguru lightly with his elbow, trying to keep it casual.
Suguru turned his head slightly.
The dullness in his eyes, the exhaustion etched into his face, the way his hair hung loose around his shoulders — it was enough to wipe the grin off Satoru’s face. Suguru looked forward again, jaw tightening.
“She found out.” That was all he said. Satoru didn’t need more context.
“I’ve been trying to fix it for two weeks,” Suguru continued, his voice quieter. “I thought I was getting somewhere.” He stopped there, but the strain was obvious. Satoru leaned back slightly. “What happened?”
“She let me in,” Suguru said. “She let me into her apartment. She kissed me. We had sex. And then she told me she couldn’t look at me when i was fucking her. Said she didn’t want to see me.”
He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “And then she made me leave.”
Satoru tilted his head. “Isn’t that usually your thing?”
Suguru let out a hollow laugh. “Yeah. It was.”
The old him would have shrugged it off. No strings, no expectations. A girl walking away first would’ve been convenient. But this wasn’t convenient. “I don’t want that with her,” he said quietly. “I don’t want it to be casual. She’s not like the others.”
Satoru studied him for a moment before placing a hand on his back. “Then tell her that.”
“I did.”
“Then tell her again,” Satoru replied simply. “And again. Until she believes you. You don’t get to mess something up like that and expect one confession to fix it.”
Suguru frowned.
“You hurt her pride,” Satoru continued. “You made her feel like a joke. That doesn’t disappear because you look miserable.”
Suguru’s jaw clenched.
“So what do I do?”
“Show up. Not to win her. Not to convince her. Just show up because you want to be with her. "Be consistent." Satoru said while he gave Suguru a pat on his shoulder.
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A month had passed. Almost every single day, he showed up at your doorstep and would walk you to school or the library.
At first, it was awkward. You would put your headphones in and walk a step ahead of him, pretending he wasn’t there. But he didn’t complain. He was just grateful you hadn’t told him to leave.
After a while, the headphones disappeared.
You still weren’t chatty like you used to be. Conversations were short, polite. “Hi.” “How are you?” “Good.” But even that felt like progress. Hearing your voice again felt like something he didn’t deserve but desperately needed.
He felt like he was starting over. Now he carried the weight of every silence, wishing he could go back to one stupid drunken comment and erase it from existence.
Two weeks in, you spoke to him first.
Just a question about class. It was small, almost insignificant, but it felt like a door cracking open. After that, conversations came in fragments — short, cautious exchanges. He didn’t push. He took whatever you gave him.
His feelings didn’t fade with time. They worsened.
Every day you looked impossibly prettier to him. He found himself craving small things — the sound of your voice, the way your perfume lingered when you walked past him, even your soft smile that wasn't even directed at him but a stray cat lounging on the pavement.
After three weeks, it almost felt like before. You walked beside him instead of ahead. You talked about something dumb a professor said. You even laughed once. You were still guarded. He could feel it.
But he was a greedy man.
After four weeks, you let him wrap an arm around you once. Just once. He had to focus on breathing because his heart felt like it was trying to climb out of his throat.
And now, a full month had passed. He stood outside your apartment like he had every day before.
“Hey,” he said softly when you opened the door. You weren’t dressed for class. You were wearing a simple white dress and a jacket. Casual, but clearly not for studying. You looked beautiful.
“Suguru… it would be better if you didn’t walk me today,” you said, leaning against the doorframe.
Something uneasy stirred in his chest. His brows furrowed. “Why?”
You hesitated just a second. “I have a date.” The word hit him harder than he expected.
Date.
His mind went blank for half a second, like someone had cut the power. “What do you mean?” His voice came out softer than he intended.
“I’m going on a date,” you repeated.
He felt it then — panic. Not loud. Not explosive. Quiet and suffocating. Like something tightening around his lungs.
“Why?” he asked again, the question more raw this time.
“I thought it would be good for me to get back out there,” you replied.
Get back out there.
Like he was already something behind you. He stood there for a moment, unable to process it. He had known he wasn’t entitled to you. He had known you didn’t owe him anything. But hearing it felt like the ground shifting under his feet.
“Please don’t,” he said quietly. The air between you grew heavy. He wasn’t jealous in the old way. This wasn’t ego. It wasn’t competition. It was fear. Fear that he had taken too long. Fear that the progress he thought he’d made wasn’t enough. “Please don’t go,” he repeated, his voice unsteady now. You looked at him, unreadable.
“I don’t think you’re in a position to tell me whether I can,” you said, crossing your arms. You were right. That made it worse. “I’m going to be late,” you added, pushing off the doorframe.
He moved without thinking, his hand landing on your shoulder. He stepped closer, gently pressing you back against the frame. Not rough. Not forceful. Just desperate.
His hand slid from your shoulder down to your hand, his fingers wrapping around yours.
“Please,” he said again. His eyes were glossy now, and he didn’t even try to hide it. “It took me too long to say this properly,” he continued, his voice cracking just slightly. “But I’m in love with you.”
The words hung between you, heavier than anything he’d said before. “I still want you,” he went on. “I still need you. This past month has been torture. Watching you walk ahead of me. Not knowing if you’d ever look at me the same again.”
He swallowed hard. “I don’t care about pride. I don’t care about being right. I just— I can’t watch you walk away like this.”
“I’m so sorry I made you feel like you couldn’t trust me,” he said, the words rushing out before he could stop them. His grip on your hand tightened slightly, not to hold you there, but like he needed something steady. “I would do anything to prove to you that you’re going to be it for me.”
“Suguru,” you said softly.
Your voice wasn’t sharp. It wasn’t angry. It was tired.
A tear slipped free despite yourself, trailing down your cheek. His thumb came up instinctively, brushing gently beneath your eye to catch it before it fell further.
“Stop,” you whispered. But he shook his head slightly. “You’re the first girl I’ve ever wanted to prove myself to,” he said, his own eyes glassy now, his composure barely holding. “And I plan on you being the last.”
Your breath hitched, and that small sound almost broke him.
“I don’t want to win you,” he continued, his voice quieter now, steadier in its vulnerability. “I don’t want to chase you because my ego’s bruised. I want to choose you. Every day. Even if you don’t choose me back right now.”
“I want to be better for you,” he said. “I really do. Even if it takes the rest of my life to prove it.”
There was no cockiness left in him. No pride. Just something raw and honest sitting in his chest, waiting for your answer.
Your hand found his wrist and gently pushed it away from your face.
“I want to believe you,” you said, your voice trembling despite your effort to keep it steady. “But I don’t trust you.”
This time, you wiped your own tears away. He didn’t try to stop you.
“I felt used and stupid” you admitted, the word sticking in your throat. “Because of you.”
His expression shifted immediately, something wounded flashing across his face. “I never used you,” he said quickly. “And you’re not stupid.”
“But that’s how I felt.”
That landed. Hard.
It knocked the air from his lungs because he knew it was true. It didn’t matter what he meant. It mattered what you felt.
And he had done that.
He had let you fall for him while knowing how it started. He had kept that piece of truth tucked away because it was easier.
“Please,” he said quietly now. “Give me the chance to replace that feeling.”
He looked wrecked. Not dramatic. Not performative. Just… worn down. Like someone who hadn’t been sleeping properly. Like a man who knew he had messed up something precious and was terrified of losing it. His shoulders weren’t squared the way they usually were. His confidence wasn’t sitting on him the same.
“I’m scared, Suguru,” you admitted, your voice softer now. “I don’t ever want to feel like that again.”
His jaw tightened. “Then I won’t give you a reason to,” he said, almost immediately.
His hand rose slowly, carefully, giving you enough time to pull away if you wanted to. When you didn’t, his fingers slipped gently beneath your chin, tilting your face up just slightly. So gentle.
“Please,” he murmured. “Let me prove it.” There was no arrogance in him now. No ego. Just hope. And for the first time in weeks, you smiled at him. Small. Fragile. But real. The tight, suffocating feeling in his chest loosened instantly, like something had finally unclenched.
“I really don’t know what to do with you,” you said with a shaky chuckle, another tear slipping free. The sound of your laugh — even broken like that — made warmth spread through him. That faint sparkle in your eyes, the one he’d been missing for a month, flickered back to life.
And he realized he would spend the rest of his life protecting that sparkle if you let him. “Don’t make me regret this,” you whispered as you wrapped your arms around him.
For a second he just stood there, stunned. Then his arms came around you — firm, almost desperate — pulling you into his chest like he had been holding that hug in for weeks. His warmth surrounded you again, familiar and grounding, and something inside you finally unclenched.
He exhaled into your hair. When he pulled back, it was only enough to look at you. Your eyes met his. You rose onto your toes slowly, giving him more than enough time to move away if he wanted to. Instead, he stayed completely still.
You pressed the smallest kiss to his lips. Barely there. Soft. Careful.
It had been a month, but it felt like relearning something delicate. Testing if you still fit each other.
His breath hitched almost imperceptibly.
One of his hands came up to cradle your cheek, not guiding you, not pulling you closer — just resting there. Letting you know he wasn’t taking control this time.
You were. You kissed him again. Still soft. Still unsure. Like the two of you were introducing yourselves all over again.
When you tugged him gently inside and shut the door behind you, he followed without resistance. No urgency. No hunger.
Just closeness.
Your lips met his once more — slow, polite, almost shy. There was no claiming in it. No desperation.
Just warmth.
He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours, his breath warm against your skin. For a moment neither of you moved. It felt fragile — like one wrong step could undo the careful rebuilding of the past month.
You kissed him again. Soft. Intentional.
He followed your lead immediately, matching your pace, letting you set the rhythm. There was no urgency in him, no greedy pull of his hands. Just patience. Every time you shifted closer, he responded. Every time you slowed, he did too.
He wanted you to feel it — that you were in control.
His hands rested at your waist, steady but light, as if he was afraid of holding you too tightly. When your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, he let out a quiet breath against your lips.
Not rushed. Not claiming. Just there.
You tilted your head slightly, deepening the kiss by a fraction, and he followed without hesitation, his thumb brushing gently along your side in a slow, grounding motion. He wasn’t leading. He was responding. Learning you again.
When you pulled back just slightly, he didn’t chase your lips. He stayed close, his nose brushing yours, waiting.
He let himself be guided by your movements, his mouth moving softly against yours. His hands remained at your waist, his touch light but firm, anchoring you to him.
He was almost hesitant with the way he kissed you, like he was re-learning the shape of your lips, the touch of your tongue. Every movement was deliberate, every breath synchronized.
He was letting you set the pace, following your every whim, like your body had become his compass. And as your hands tangled in his long hair, drawing him closer, he went willingly.
Every sense was heightened — the taste of him, the way he smelled, the way he felt under your fingertips. It was intoxicating, the way he responded to your touch.
You pulled away from his lips, but only to wrap your arms around him again. Your hands slid around his neck, your cheek resting against his shoulder as if you needed to make sure he was real.
“I missed you,” he whispered, his voice low and almost disbelieving.
One hand stroked gently over your hair, slow and soothing, while the other traced absent patterns along your waist.
“Me too,” you replied softly. It was barely audible, but he heard it. He always did.
His arms tightened slightly around you, like he was afraid the words might disappear if he didn’t hold you close enough. Without rushing, he slipped one hand beneath your thigh and lifted you carefully. You instinctively wrapped your legs around him as he carried you toward your bedroom, steady and protective.
He set you down gently on the edge of the bed. Instead of climbing next to you, instead of escalating, he walked to your closet.
He pulled one of his hoodies from where it hung among your clothes and handed it to you.
“Change,” he said quietly. In his other hand were the sweatpants and shirt he’d left at your place weeks ago.
“I’ll change in the bathroom,” he added before stepping out.
When he returned, he was wearing gray sweatpants and the black shirt you loved on him— the one that made you stare a little too long whenever he wore it. The hoodie swallowed you the way it always did, sleeves falling past your hands, fabric bunching around your thighs.
You sat on the edge of the bed waiting for him.
You did actually have a date tonight.
But you hadn’t been excited about it. Not really. Shoko had pushed you to try. To move on. To protect yourself. But your thoughts stayed on Suguru.
And here you were, listening to Suguru like it was second nature. He placed his folded clothes neatly on your desk before turning back to you. Then, instead of climbing into bed, he knelt in front of you. Right at your feet.
His head rested gently against your knee.
“Wanna be with you today,” he said quietly. “Forget that date please. I just want it to be me and you.”
Your fingers slipped into his hair, guiding his face up slightly. Your thumb brushed over his cheek.
“Please don’t go,” he added, looking up at you — eyes soft, vulnerable in a way he rarely allowed anyone to see.
“I won’t,” you said. You leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his lips — slow, certain.
Then you tugged at his hands, pulling him up with you. He let himself fall back onto you– his arms keeping from crushing you, both of you landing in a quiet tangle of limbs and fabric.
He pulled the blankets over you instinctively, wrapping them around the two of you like a shield from the outside world. For the first time in weeks, there was no tension. No fear. Just warmth. He held you close, your head tucked beneath his chin, your legs tangled together.
His heart felt full — steady, content. And this time, he wasn’t going anywhere.
The rest of the day blurred into something warm and quiet. You stayed in bed far longer than either of you meant to. At some point your phone buzzed again — the date calling, then texting, asking where you were.
Suguru reached over without hesitation, glanced at the screen, and blocked the number before you could even respond.
You blinked at him. “What?” he muttered defensively. “He doesn’t need an explanation.”
You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue.
Eventually you crawled out of bed, but Suguru followed immediately — wrapping himself around you and following behind you like an oversized puppy. you complained half-heartedly as you tried to move toward the kitchen.
“And yet you’re not pushing me away,” he replied, his chin resting on your shoulder.
You ended up making dinner while he hovered behind you, arms loosely around your waist, occasionally pressing a kiss to your shoulder or cheek. It wasn’t possessive. It wasn’t heated.
It felt like he was afraid that if he let go for too long, the moment might disappear.
You ate at the small table in your kitchen, talking about mundane things — a professor’s weird habit, something stupid Satoru had said, a cat you saw earlier that week.
Halfway through a show on the couch, you noticed Suguru wasn’t even watching.
He was watching you.
When you caught him staring, he didn’t look away.
You fell asleep curled into him, his arm firm around your waist, your legs tangled together. The television kept playing long after neither of you were awake.
Morning light filtered through the blinds, casting soft stripes across the room. The TV screen displayed a quiet, glowing message:
Are you still watching?
Suguru was breathing steadily behind you, his chest rising and falling against your back.
You tried to gently shift out of his hold, wanting to brush your teeth and freshen up before he woke. His grip tightened instinctively. “Don’t go,” he murmured, still half asleep, his face nuzzling into your shoulder.
“I’m just going to the bathroom,” you whispered. He groaned softly but loosened his arms.
A few minutes later, as you stood at the sink, toothbrush in hand, you caught movement in the mirror.
Suguru was leaning in the doorway, hair messy, eyes still heavy with sleep.
He walked over without saying anything and reached for his toothbrush — still sitting in the cup beside yours.
He paused briefly, almost surprised it was still there. You hadn’t thrown it away. He didn’t comment on it. He just started brushing his teeth next to you.
The bathroom was quiet except for the soft sound of running water and the hum of the light above you. It felt strangely intimate — domestic in a way that didn’t require effort.
When you finished and set your toothbrush down, he immediately stepped closer again.
His front pressed gently against your back, arms slipping around your waist.
He rested his chin on your shoulder, eyes half closed.
You could feel it now, his hard-on pressing against your ass. He left a small kiss on your shoulder, before turning your chin gently to meet his gaze in the mirror. His eyes held yours, full of quiet intensity. "Tell me if you want me to stop," he whispered, voice low and earnest, giving you the space to breathe, to choose.
But you didn't want to stop. You leaned into him, your head tilted to his and he captured your lips in a deep kiss.
His hands slid up your sides, turning you around when he broke away for a second. He lifted you effortlessly onto the bathroom sink counter, the cool porcelain a sharp contrast to the heat of his body. Your legs parted instinctively, the kiss growing hungrier, tongues sliding together in slow, languid strokes.
His palms roamed your body without a word, one hand cupping your breast, thumb circling your nipple until it peaked under his touch. The other hand traced the curve of your hip, dipping lower to squeeze your thigh, pulling you flush against him. You arched into his caresses, fingers threading through his long hair, tugging lightly as his mouth trailed from your lips to your jaw, nipping softly. He kneaded your ass, grinding his erection against you through the fabric, the friction building a delicious ache. Your breaths mingled, heavy and uneven, bodies pressing and shifting in a wordless dance of rediscovery, his touches tender yet possessive, mapping every inch like he was afraid you'd vanish.
Finally, he broke the kiss just enough to scoop you up again, carrying you from the bathroom to the bed with ease. He laid you down gently on the soft sheets, his eyes never leaving yours as he hovered above.
Starting at your collarbone, he pressed a feather-light kiss there. He moved to your nipple, taking it into his mouth with a gentle suck, tongue flicking over the sensitive bud until you gasped, his mouth ghosted wet kisses across your stomach, each one a promise, leaving a trail of heat.
His hand was already between your thighs, fingers finding your clit with unerring accuracy. He rubbed slow circles at first, coaxing slickness from you, before dipping lower to tease your entrance.
Then his head followed, settling between your legs. He licked a broad stripe up your folds, groaning against you as if savoring the taste. "You're so gorgeous," he murmured, voice muffled but fervent, before diving in fully—tongue lapping at your clit with frantic urgency, sucking gently as his fingers slid inside, curling to stroke that perfect spot.
"Missed you so much," he breathed between licks, the vibrations humming through you. His free hand gripped your hip, holding you steady as you writhed. "Never letting go of you again."
He sucked harder onto your clit, tongue swirling, drawing whimpers from your throat. "So sweet," he praised, fingers thrusting deeper, faster. "Let me spoil you—let me make it all better." The words spilled out in a rush. His mouth working you relentlessly until the pleasure washed over you, your body tensing and releasing in shuddering waves.
“Sugu” A soft cry on your lips.
He crawled back up, lips glistening, and kissed you deeply. You didn't care about the taste of yourself on his tongue—it was intimate, raw, a shared secret that made your heart swell.
Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer as he positioned himself, the blunt head of his cock nudging at your entrance. He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, stretching you open with a delicious burn that turned to fullness. You moaned into his mouth, and he swallowed it, kissing you through the initial thrust, his hips rolling in a steady rhythm.
It was all soft moans and heavy breathing now, the room filled with the quiet sounds of skin meeting skin. He braced on his forearms, gazing down at you with eyes full of adoration, thrusts deep and unhurried, grinding against your clit with each pass. "My sweet girl," he whispered against your lips,
voice breaking with emotion. "I love you." He kissed your forehead, your cheeks blushing with each declaration. "I'm so in love with you." His pace quickened, but it stayed tender, loving.
"I'm all yours—always." He said through panting. You clung to him, nails digging into his back. Lost in the connection, the way he filled you completely, body and soul.
A few tears slipped from your eyes, A mix of overwhelming joy and the relief of being wanted so fiercely.
He noticed immediately, pausing to kiss them away, his lips soft on your damp cheeks. "I've got you." he murmured, nuzzling your nose with his
He shifted then, pulling back from your face to grab your leg, lifting it gently. He pressed a kiss to your calf, eyes locked on yours, before draping it over his shoulder. The new angle let him sink deeper, his cock hitting that spot inside you with every thrust, drawing gasps from you both.
The pleasure coiling tighter with each shared breath, each whispered endearment. Your walls fluttered around him, and he felt it, hips stuttering as he chased the edge with you. "Come with me," he breathed, voice husky, and you did—climax crashing over you in sweet, rolling waves, your body arching into his.
He followed right after, spilling deep inside with a muffled groan against your neck, holding you close as tremors shook you both.
His arms wrapping around you, peppering your face with lazy kisses as you came down, murmuring how much he loved you.
He stayed buried inside you for a moment longer, his chest heaving against yours in rhythm with your slowing breaths. His weight was a comforting anchor.
He lifted his head just enough to gaze into your eyes, a soft smile curving his lips. “So proud of you,” he whispered. He brushed a damp strand of hair from your forehead with his thumb, then leaned down to press a lingering kiss to your temple.
Slowly, he eased out of you. “You did so well for me,” he murmured, his lips finding the shell of your ear. “My perfect girl.”
You melted into his touch, the praise wrapping around you warmer than the sheets tangled at your feet. He left you for a short while to come out of the bathroom with a warm damp towel.
With deliberate care, he began wiping you down, starting at your neck where sweat glistened on your skin. The cloth glided over your collarbone, tracing the swell of your breasts, circling each nipple until they pebbled again under the gentle friction. He paused to kiss the spot he'd just cleaned.
The cloth pressing tenderly between your thighs. Mindful of your sensitivity, his free arm holding you steady. “Look at you,” he said softly, eyes dark with lingering heat but softened by love.
“Still so beautiful, even after I wrecked you.” He kissed your shoulder, then your arm, working his way down to your wrist.
He tossed the cloth aside and gathered you closer, pulling the rumpled sheets over both of you. His body molded to yours from behind now, spooning you perfectly, one arm draped over your waist while the other pillowed your head. He nuzzled into your hair, inhaling deeply.
Your eyelids grew heavy under the weight of his warmth, the steady rise and fall of his chest lulling you. His hand splayed possessively over your stomach, fingers tracing lazy circles as sleep crept in. You drifted off, limbs entwined, hearts beating in sync—the world reduced to this moment.
⋆˚꩜｡𐔌՞. .՞𐦯⋆. 𐙚 ˚
Suguru was waiting outside your lecture hall again. He still insisted on walking you everywhere. To class. To the café. Back home. Today, though, he didn’t turn toward your apartment. He turned toward the frat. You glanced at him but didn’t question it. He held your hand the whole way up the stairs, a little quieter than usual.
When you reached his room, he opened the door and then turned to you with a strange expression — somewhere between excited and terrified. “Stay here,” he said. “And close your eyes.”
You raised a brow. “Suguru—”
“Please.”
You sighed dramatically but shut your eyes anyway. You heard him moving around. Something fell over. A soft curse. Then the sound of plastic rustling. “Okay,” he said, a little breathless. “Open.”
You opened your eyes.
He was standing there holding a huge Chococat plushie and a bouquet of your favorite flowers. The plushie had a small tag tied around its neck.
You took a step closer, reading it.
Will you be my girlfriend?
Your lips parted in surprise before you let out a soft giggle.
“Sugu…”
You took the plushie from him first, then the bouquet. He looked almost painfully nervous — hands hovering like he didn’t know what to do with them.
It had only been a couple of months since you’d started seeing him again. Officially unofficial. Rebuilding. Healing.
And even though your anxiety had lingered in the beginning, even though some nights you still remembered the hurt — the way he treated you now didn’t feel like strategy. It felt like certainty. He looked at you like you were the only person in the room. Like you were the only person.
“Well?” he asked, trying to play it cool and failing miserably. You stepped forward, your hand sliding up to rest against the side of his neck. Instead of answering, you kissed him. Slow at first. Then a little deeper. When you pulled back, his eyes were wide.
“Is that a yes?” he asked, a nervous laugh slipping out. You nodded eagerly. Relief washed over his face so fast it was almost funny. He let out a breath he’d clearly been holding for the last thirty seconds — maybe the last month.
“You bought Chococat because I said you reminded me of him?” you teased, hugging the plush to your chest.
He nodded immediately.
“You said I had the same energy,” he defended. “You do,” you giggled.
He didn’t waste another second. He wrapped his arms around you, lifted you clean off the floor, and spun you around like he couldn’t contain himself.
“You’re officially my girlfriend,” he said, grinning like an idiot.
You laughed, clinging to him.
He set you down only to cup your face and press a firm, happy kiss to your lips.
“Won’t be long until you’re my wife,” he added, half-joking, half-not. You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide your smile.
Listening to Monster High Fright Song and it got me thinking about Gorgon Suguru with a Reader who is so fond of his semi - sentient snake hair.
Imagine those raven serpents loving your cooing pets and giggling at their gentle nibs nuzzles? You grew an unconscious instinct to run your hands through them when you're just hanging out, like reading, napping or anything that takes less rigorous action and staying in one spot.
Imagine having sex they'd give you booping kisses or their little tongues flicking at the skin of your face. When he eats you out they'd coil around your wrist and bind your hands to his scalp.
yandere satoru gojo jērks off to you through the hidden camera. 18+
tw: dub-con (ish), reprehensible content!
satoru gojo, hair white as snow covering dry land, eyes the shade of soft teal that contained specks of innocence hidden behind the glasses of his thin frame.
satoru gojo, the known nerd, who always pushed the bridge of his eye glasses whenever it slipped down. satoru gojo, the quiet one who bestowed his voice when necessary. satoru gojo, the campus’ ‘virgin’ (apparently) only because he avoided girls like they were infected by the plague. that’s how people knew satoru gojo as.
but there was also something they didn’t know. when the sun had decided to paint the skies in orange, when the knob on his door didn’t need any twisting because everyone fell asleep, when papers were scattered on the table, he had his cock within his fist. his moans were constricted because of his other hand covering his sinful mouth, his eyes rolling back from lustrous thoughts.
about you. the campus’ sweetheart. the one whose smiles brightened up his rough days, the one who shared her juice boxes with him, the one who had been defending him ever since junior high school.
fuck, he truly adored you. loved you. and yet, you never knew because he was a coward.
there were days in a row where he would have his laptop screen on and instead of actually focusing on informational videos found on youtube, he had different websites open. porn infested his computer after evenings and midnights. he would browse through ’em, had paid memberships— just to enjoy girls that looked even somewhat similar to you.
he was such a pathetic loser for this. he knew. and he promised himself he would stop it, if, you would say yes to him one day when he asks ‘the question’. but right now, this was all he could do. and right now, it was evening. he was feverish in his seat, his pale cheeks stained cherry red because of the view on his screen. his pupils dilated— there you were.
you had placed his given teddy bear on your bathroom vanity. yes, the teddy bear, which was the vessel through which satoru could now see you far more than usual. it was a plush toy, a soft brown similar to the shade of the first coffee you had shared with him. you had promptly favored it as soon as he handed you the ‘gift’ with a sheepish smile and a rub on his nape.
and now, it was in your house. it’s eyes focusing. on you. camera lenses for irises. you had just gotten in the shower, nothing covering you, of course not.
and shit, blood immediately rushed in to his deplorable lovesick brain. fuck, fuck and fuck. he internally damned himself for this breach of privacy but his hands were already moving against his morality.
he palmed himself. he saw it. not too distinct but enough to harden his length beneath his boxers. water droplets slid down your body— down your breasts, kissing your areoles and finding it’s path to your hole.
he had imagined that pretty pussy so many times— your worn out thighs spread apart with his slender fingers, your puffed folds spread out for him with slobbering wetness as he would slide his big cock in and out of there with a deliberate slowness to make you beg for more.
with each lewd thoughts, he increased the pace of his hand. his cock was out, hard and aching. his gaze did not falter. the sight of you so naked and bare, caressing your body, unaware of his eyes.
his tip was pulsating a flushed pink, embellished with pre-cum. sticky white cream scattering further down his pulsating base with the help of his filthy hand. “mhm shit, you are so fuckin’ pretty baby”.
a guttural moan left out his chest. what would you do if you knew? would you slap him hard, eyes red with disgust? or would you let him get on his knees, tongue having a taste of your sweetness?
what if you found out about his actions? about him placing this hidden camera inside the teddy bear. about him sneaking in to the dorms of boys who had confessed to you and suffocating them with pillows in their sleep. about him writing in his notebooks on meticulous ways in which he would have you— get you married to him and fully stuffed with his load that you wouldn’t be able to do anything other than breed his children.
his strokes were faster and faster, his glasses fogged up from the heat of the moment as it slid down the slope of his nose, his teeth clenching on to his lustrous bottom lip.
soon enough, he spurted thick loads of his pasty cream all over himself. his firm thighs, the messy desk and some landed on to the screen. he was huffing, puffing with his forearm over his eyes.
he peeked at the screen, still exhausted and ashamed, your shower had stopped. you wrapped a soft towel around yourself— taking slow wet steps. the view becoming clearer, the lenses were able to focus on you more. his breath hitched, shit, you were so pretty. shit, you were too up close. you looked directly in to the teddy bear’s eyes. frankly. too intensely. with a smile, you left it there and turned off the bathroom lights. gone.
shit, did you know?
hesitancy latched on to himself, eyes flickering as a nauseating feeling conquered his heart. then, his luminous cerulean eyes fixated on to that one thing. a pen. a black and gold pen. given by you. wait. but it’s clip was odd today.
a sudden red flicker.
idk how i feel abt this. wasnt able to execute this the way i wanted to ㅠ ㅠ (not proofread!)
synopsis: you thought you were doing a good deed by taking in the biggest problem resident at the hybrid rescue you work for! but now you're stuck waking up to a six foot plus tiger hybrid who steals your panties and snores on your chest. good thing it's only temporary...right?
pairing: tiger hybrid!sukuna x f!reader
wc: 4.7k
content: mdni, smut smut smut!, porn with plot, hybrid au, he's got fuzzy ears and a tail, he's handsy and huge, oral sex (f! receiving), unprotected piv sex, knotting, mating bites, shower sex, sukuna packing a massive cock what else is new, creampie, degradation, dirty talk, possessive sukuna, mates
a/n: this was a commission for the lovely @stardust-sprinkler hehe <3 KUNA ART BY THE AMAZING @alukaforyou !
“Can you please come in? Sukuna’s…”
Bitten another staff member? Clawed up their calves just because they brought him the wrong food while he was in heat? Threatened to slice one of the other hybrids in half?
You’d gotten enough of these phone calls since you started working at your local hybrid rescue to take a guess at what would come out of your coworker’s mouth next, already rolling out of bed and rubbing your eyes as you flicked on your lamp, internally groaning and grumbling as you listened to the latest issues that always seemed to surround the most feral resident of the shelter.
But still, twenty minutes later, you were pulling into the parking lot in pajama pants and a hoodie, shutting your car off and spinning your keys around your finger as you walked down the dimly-lit sidewalk, bracing yourself for whatever you’d find inside.
Shoko was standing by the front door, white vet’s coat swaying in the wind and a cigarette delicately placed between her lips as she puffed out a little ring of smoke. Nodding at you as you drew near, one corner of her mouth curling up all crooked before she plucked the cigarette back out, “Good luck.”
Great.
You already knew you’d need it.
It wasn’t like you knew when you took the job that you were basically signing up to play Sukuna whisperer – you hadn’t even wanted anything to do with the bulky beast that was technically still mostly human when you saw him through the thick one-sided glass during your initial interview. But from the first evening you shyly stepped into his room to feed him, anxiously glancing at his broad frame curled up in the corner while you offered him dinner and softly introduced yourself, he had given you a quick glance over and apparently decided you were the most tolerable staff member.
There didn’t appear to be a rhyme or reason.
He just picked you.
A miracle, your boss said. Like you didn’t hear your coworkers whispering to each other that they were so glad it wasn’t them.
The halls were empty, oddly quiet as your footsteps padded down various corridors, sneakers squeaking on the linoleum as you scanned your keycard to get through to the section that was reserved for the more…wild hybrid variants. Bears, wolves, snow leopards, not your typical bunny or cat most people would choose to take home. These days, some hybrids even lived and worked on their own, had the same rights as humans.
But a few couldn’t help their more, ah, animalistic instincts.
With Sukuna?
You couldn’t exactly tell what was his hybrid half and what was just his personality.
Sighing as you found yourself standing outside his room, pausing to peek through the now cracked window, watching Sukuna sitting on his too-small bed, back against the concrete wall with his muscled arms folded across his chest, completely fucking naked as his furry ears bristled in irritation.
He was attractive, annoyingly so, enough to remind you every time you saw him why the hybrid population kept increasing every year, but you as quick as the thought floated up, you shoved it back down.
You knocked twice on the door before scanning your card again, peeking inside before stepping in, feeling his stare on you before you looked up at the man of the hour. Or well, tiger of the hour.
“Took you long enough,” he tch-ed, a low growl escaping his throat as he sauntered to his feet.
“What did you do this time?” You wryly asked, nose scrunching up as you let your eyes scan the rest of his room. Someone must have tried to toss some toys in, as if he was a cub instead of fully grown, the remains of a plush mouse scattered across the floor.
“The blonde tried to bathe me,” he indignantly scoffed, head held proudly up. You were tempted to tell him that he had a perfectly good bathroom already attached to his room – complete with a shower and tub he could use to wash himself, if he wasn’t so high and mighty to insist on being babied. Or, according to his perspective, treated like the king of this place he frequently insisted he hated so much.
You exhaled, shutting your eyes for just a second to massage your temples in an attempt to stall the headache brewing behind them only to open them and find him standing six inches away. Looking down at you.
“I told her you’re the only one that can touch me,” he muttered, low and almost lethal. His hand reached out to skim over your bicep, barely touching but still enough for you to feel the pressure behind his fingertips. “She sent in the fucking vet to try to sedate me.”
“And how did that go?” You sarcastically asked, as if you didn’t have a pretty decent inkling.
“Well, they called you, didn’t they?” He sharply retorted, cocking his head to the side, jaw clenched as you chewed on the inside of your cheek.
He got what he wanted.
And you got to scrub a ridiculously oversized man in a tub for twenty minutes while he complained about not having enough bath salts, rubbing a sponge over his ridiculously ripped back muscles as he muttered about how awful everyone else here was. Grumbling with gritted teeth while your hands ran over his spine, damp sleeves rolled up over your elbows as you traced shapes along his strong arms, his slightly musky scent still invading your nostrils no matter how much soap you used.
It wasn’t bad, even if it was strong.
All masculine and warm, whatever pheromones he was putting off having a funny effect on your head the longer you knelt so close to him, sighing as you reached into the water and pulled up the drain.
“Bath time’s over,” you muttered softly, standing up and grabbing a thick towel to hold out for him, making a point to not look past the thick patch of his happy trail when he wrapped it around his waist, even if you couldn’t not notice the way his damp tail dripped water behind him after he got out.
“Where are you goin’?” He growled when you started to walk back out, his claws poking out in protest as your hand paused just before you could scan your key card to get out.
“Home,” you muttered. “You better have some clothes on when I come back.”
The shelter sure spent fucking enough on custom robes big enough to fit him.
He snarled, two seconds from making a snide comment, but you slipped out before he could.
You were ready to crawl back into your own bed, curl up and get some sleep, maybe message your boss before you passed out that you’d be a little late in the morning since you had to come in overnight. Let yourself get an extra hour or two of rest before you had to deal with him again.
Except, uh, your boss was already waiting for you in the lobby, Yaga leaning back against the receptionist desk and grimacing at the fluorescent lights as you stopped and stared.
“Is everything okay?” You blinked a few times, just for him to fix you in a solemn stare.
And still, while your brain scrambled to come up with a reason for him being here too, you didn’t expect what left his mouth now as he jutted his thumb in the direction you came from.
“Do you think you could foster him?”
No. No, there was no way-
Except, um, apparently, there was a way when they offered you a hefty bonus and a few days off, and Shoko slipped a strong sedative in his breakfast so you could transfer him from his room back to your place – which you promptly had to Sukuna proof.
You expected him to throw a fit when he eventually woke up, to try and break through your front door and escape.
But he just sniffed the air slowly before he even lazily opened up his dark eyes to glance around your apartment, a crooked smile curling up as he centered his stare on you.
“So I’m your problem now?”
Was it too late to take him back?
Trade in your annoying tiger hybrid for a fluffy housecat?
In your personal experience, all felines were funny in that they could listen perfectly fine – they just didn’t care.
And Sukuna was no exception.
Shredding your curtains when you went out without telling him, sinking his sharp teeth into your pillows after you made him floss between them, turning your couch into his personal little nest and dragging your clothes from your closet into it. Judging the comfort of your blankets and commenting on how boring it was being here, acting like he’d rather be back at the shelter as he ate half the food in your fridge in a few hours.
He was insufferable and spoiled and a million other awful adjectives you could assign him, but it wasn’t totally terrible to come home from your shifts to someone warm. Who’d begrudgingly let you scratch behind his ears and stroke his pretty, pink hair. You took him to the park as much as you could, ignoring the pointed stares you’d receive and the people who muttered that he should have a muzzle on while he begrudgingly stayed by your side.
It wasn’t like you had a backyard he could stretch his limbs or lounge in.
And two months in, you hadn’t exactly envisioned starting off your mornings with fur in your mouth and the weight of a full-grown man on your chest, but you guessed there were worse things.
You might even miss him when all this came to an end, which, according to the text message you woke up to from Yaga, might be sooner than you think. Some rich guy had apparently called asking about him, claiming he owned thirty acres of land he used to house exotic hybrids and wanted to add Sukuna to his collection.
Now you just had to figure out how to tell him that he might have a new owner.
You tried to sneak over to the bathroom after carefully extracting yourself from underneath him, bare feet padding out while you glanced over your shoulder at the slumbering mass in your bed, a little bit of drool leaking down his lips as he snored on your pillow.
He almost looked peaceful like this.
As if you hadn’t gotten back from work last night to discover a stash of your panties underneath the daybed he’d currently taken over in your spare room. And the, um, dried substance they seemed to be coated in you’d
desperately been trying not to think too hard about.
Okay, perhaps he was closer to a perverted roommate than a pet.
But you couldn’t scrub out the guilt that seemed to cling to your skin in the shower, hot water running over your body as you sighed to yourself and debated on how you’d break the news when he had started to settle in here.
At least there he’d be able to have the space he needed, time outdoors, probably better nutrition than what you could afford to keep in your fridge and pantry, even with the added provisions your work provided for him. He was about as antisocial as it came – but there might be other hybrids there that he could actually stand being around. Closer to his spot on the food chain instead of the other ones he usually sneered down at.
His new owner might even treat him like the king he thought he was.
The shower curtain was abruptly pulled back, your arm rushing to cover up your tits, but his eyes were just on yours, his sharp nose scrunched up in a familiar scowl as he grunted good morning, his clothes already stripped off as he stepped in after you.
“What is your problem?” You huffed at him, but he just yawned, toothpaste stuck to his bottom lip as he reached past you to grab the bottle of specialty hybrid shampoo you bought for him.
“Didn’t you tell me yesterday we have to conserve water or some shit?” He grunted, lathering up his hair like his rock hard dick wasn’t out and poking you in the thigh.
“I didn’t mean-” You started to groan, lips pressed together in a flustered frown. Swallowing hard as you struggled to keep your stare somewhere appropriate. You’d like to pretend your relationship was entirely platonic. That it fit perfectly in the boundaries of what it was supposed to.
Where the only spot of your heart he occupied was pure. That the growing intimacy you’d been ignoring was innocent.
It was getting a lot fucking harder to believe it when he felt more and more like a person to you every day. More human.
“You were takin’ too long,” he added, moving over to bump his hip into yours to start hogging the hot water for himself.
You stepped back, goosebumps trailing down your arms once you were out of the stream, holding your breath as you debated on ripping the bandaid off while he was washing himself for once.
“Someone wants to buy you,” you heard yourself say, unsure of what emotion it was in your voice as he suddenly went still, tail twitching as his shoulders straightened. “Um, adopt, I guess.”
He turned his head, just barely, enough for you to catch his nasty side-eye and locked jaw.
“That’s not fucking funny,” he growled.
“Yaga texted me,” you continued, careful to keep your tone steady. “Said some guy with a ton of acres wants to take you in. Guess he like, collects rare-”
“No.”
“No?” You incredulously repeated. “You can’t just-”
“I’m not going to be some fucking breeding stock for an asshole who wants to stick me in an enclosure,” he declared, your mouth hanging open at the wild assumption he jumped to just from a couple sentences.
“Who said anything about breeding?” You gaped, eyebrows arching up as you stopped yourself from stomping your foot.
“You’re delusional if you don’t think that’s the only reason someone would want a problem hybrid like me,” he half-glared at you, molars grinding as you tried to come up with a reason to argue with him.
“I-” You stopped yourself, blinking too hard and fast.
“Tell them no,” he spat the word back out, thick brows furrowed together tightly as he shut off the water.
“What if someone else wants to-” You started, and his whole body twisted around, his arms suddenly caging you in as you shrank back against the cold walls of the shower, all the air in your lungs ripped from you as he pinned you in.
“I’m yours,” he hissed. “You can’t just toss me out like I’m some fuckin’ stray.”
You were pretty sure you were gawking, grasping at straws to push him away when heat was pooling and simmering in the pit of your stomach.
“They’ll be able to give you a better life than-”
His mouth crashed into yours, fingers tangling in your hair while he shut up your stuttered gasp with his tongue slipping past your lips.
He didn’t ask for permission.
But maybe it was because he didn’t need to.
Because when it boiled down to it, you’d let him into your home. Your shower. Let him slice and carve out half of your heart, even when you knew he’d probably just chew it up and spit it out.
“Mmph, S’kuna,” you tried to breathe, placing a damp hand on his bare chest, fingers pressing down as he just kissed you again, struck by how strange it was to taste your own toothpaste on him, smell your soap on his skin and see the strawberry-scented shampoo suds running down his chiseled chest. His cute fuzzy ears standing up straight between his wet strands of pink hair.
“You want me to stop?” He dared between kisses, moving down to your jaw, painting your skin with greedy wet sucks as he dragged his rough tongue across the sensitive skin. “Wanna keep pretending that I’m just your pet?”
He wasn’t.
And when your eyes skimmed down his pretty chest and his dripping cock, you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him no.
“You know you’re not,” you whispered, as close as you could come to a confession.
Let him grab you by the ass next, hoisting you up as his mouth returned to yours, matching his starving fervor, wrapping your wrists around his neck as he groaned into the kiss. And maybe it was how wrong it was, but you didn’t think any kiss before this had ever felt so right.
His fingers dug into your soft flesh, dimpling it as he tried to claim you with his tongue and teeth, a low growl ripping from the deepest part of his chest you felt his cock catch right at your entrance.
You sort of expected him to just cave into the desires you knew were hardwired into hybrids like him. Just jam his cock in and breed you until he had his fill, or uh, filled you up. It wasn’t like he could even get you pregnant, not when you’d been on birth control far before you met him.
But before you could brace yourself for the burning stretch that was surely coming, he was ripping free from the kiss to lift you up higher. Like, a lot higher.
Using that ridiculous strength of his to balance your weight as he pressed your damp body against the cold wall of the shower, ignoring your squirming until his your cunt was presented right in front of his mouth.
Dragging his rough tongue across it, worming his way in before you could so much as mumble the probably needed what the hell was he doing.
You guessed you already knew what the answer was.
He was always starving, after all.
You’d just become his breakfast.
Your head leaning back against the shower wall while his hands steadily supported your weight, keeping your thighs spread enough to make room to bury his head between them. Sloppily swirling his tongue inside you, using the thick muscle to map you out, explore you with an expertise you hadn’t expected. An attention to detail you hadn’t thought he was capable of when it came to something that didn’t benefit him.
Although, judging by the feral moans reverberating through you from his mouth, you guessed he was getting some pleasure in eating you out.
Fingers digging in possessively to your soft flesh, his tongue flicking in-and-out fast, your chest straining to contain your rapid heartbeats as little jolts of electricity raced through the rest of you. Arousal and anticipation bleeding into each other as they overwrote your anxiety over what you were letting him do.
Just when his tongue slid back out, traced a messy line up to your needy clit, and you foolishly thought he was about to make you cum for him, his head turned up, looking up at you almost accusatory through half-lidded eyes.
“You’re soakin’, brat,” he scoffed, and you could make out a hint of a crude smirk on his lips.
“We’re in the shower,” you tried to retort, like heat wasn’t flooding your face – and between your legs.
“Water’s been off for like, five minutes,” he reminded you.
Your mouth fell open, but you couldn’t come up with a reply sharp enough to shut him up.
It didn’t matter though. Because his hands shifted, and you were falling, a scary second passing before he grabbed you and pinned you back in the first position, chuckling with amusement as he lifted your thighs up, pressing them against your chest and squishing your tits as you tried to wiggle in his renewed grip.
Stupid.
He was too strong, his hold too tight, the tips of his claws teasingly pressing into your skin as you whined, more aware of the emptiness in your pussy than you’d like to be. The ache he’d left you with desperate to be soothed, stuffed.
“You should go dry off,” he mocked, your heart stopping at his suggestion, playing right into his hand. “Aren’t you going to be late for work?”
“Can’t you just shut up and fuck me already?” You hissed at him, swallowing the spit pooling in the back of your throat instead of stomping your foot like you instinctively wanted to. A little swish, a flash of orange caught your attention in the corner of your vision, a smile curling up on your lips when you realized his tail was wagging.
He could play coy.
Act sly and in control.
But his body gave him away.
And while you were distracted, he’d taken the chance to line himself up, angle and all, just to slide himself in like it was nothing, his saliva acting as lube as he shoved inch after inch in. His rather, ah, large girth barely able to make it through, your thoughts immediately fizzling out into a chorus of holy fucking shit, how much more is there only for it to keep going.
His mouth returned to your face, leaving messy kisses all over your cheeks, down your jaw, wherever he could reach, like it could coax you through the mean stretch of his cock spearing you open.
“So fuckin’ tight, brat,” he groaned, teeth gritted, his breath warm on your skin as you whined at the intense sensation of his hips moving, rolling up while you were struggling to even manage breathing at all.
“Not my fault you’re so-” You couldn’t even finish, lips clamping shut as you realized you were about to stroke his ego.
“M’so what?” He dared you to finish anyway, stalling inside you, making it obvious he wouldn’t move a muscle until you said it.
Biting your lip as you begrudgingly murmured, “Big.”
You were wondering who was really the pet here when it felt like you were being rewarded for good behavior after he pulled his cock out and pushed it back in, quickly picking up a steady rhythm – one that seemed specifically designed to unravel you.
Pull you apart until you were reduced down to your basest instincts.
Until you were like him.
And even worse?
It was working.
A babble of syllables that sounded like his name falling from your mouth when he kept grinding into the soft, spongy spot in the back, pressing into it over and over again like it was a button built for breaking you down. Your sanity slowly dissolving into something he could swallow, his sharp teeth glinting when he bared them at you in a crooked smile.
“You love me rutting into you like this, huh?” He growled, your head bobbing uselessly as his cock split you open deeper, grinding meanly into your cervix like it was his to claim.
You did, and it, you were his, even if you sold yourself some other story to make yourself feel better.
“A-asshole,” you groaned, grabbing a fistful of hair to try and find something to pull on, holding onto the slivers of rationality you had left by threatening to rip some of his hair out of his scalp.
“Filthy fuckin’ girl,” he half-spat out, kissing you again so you couldn’t argue with him. His tongue returning to your mouth as he thrusted up faster, fucking you so full you were pretty sure you felt him in your lungs. Whining into the kiss until he pulled back, his dark red eyes glinting in the warm yellow lighting of your bathroom as he smirked, “What would your friends think if they knew you let me fuck you like this?”
Pushing his lips out in a dramatic pout, but you just pulled his hair harder, trying to make him wince to match the weird feeling he kept stuffing down your throat, the hint of humiliation at knowing what he was trying to imply.
That everyone you knew would judge you for sleeping with Sukuna. Say that you shouldn’t fucking have sex with the hybrid you were literally fostering. For good reason, too.
But how the hell were you supposed to say no when his hands felt like they fit you?
When every ridge of his swollen cock stretched you open just right?
“I-I don’t care,” you protested, puffing out your chest despite your sore thighs being pinned to them. Muscles aching, straining as the rubber band you were currently clinging to threatened to snap hard the longer he rutted into you.
But then, right as his fat tip grinded up against your womb, he stopped, ignoring your irritated huff for him to continue.
“Kuna,” you started, but before you could form another syllable, you felt it. Him.
The base of his cock slowly ballooning, his knot trying to take hold and work its way up inside you, to lock himself in. You made some strangled noise you didn’t even know you were capable of, a guttural sound torn from the deepest part of your throat as the pressure built and soared, feeling yourself getting molded and practically reshaped by his size.
“C’mon,” he growled, just as raw and rough as you expected from him, one of his huge hands slipping between your thighs, a calloused thumb covering your clit as he started rubbing mean circles over it. Distracting you from the fact you were being destroyed, remodeled around his cock, flames of lust licking over your sensitive bundle of nerves as he sent another set of shudders down your spine. “Don’t tell me you can’t take it.”
You could.
You would.
Just as stubborn as he was, even if you were shutting your eyes and biting the inside of your cheek until you tasted blood, the pain of the stretch melting into white-hot pleasure as he began kissing your collarbone, trailing up higher until his lips were pressed against the crook just above it.
His teeth sank into your throat, your entire body shivering under the sheer force to it, something inside you pulling tight as you gasped some broken cry of his name. But he didn’t let go. Didn’t retract. Just bit down harder, feeling you spasm and squirm around him as he held on, the knot at the base of your entrance somehow managing to inflate more.
You dragged your nails down his back, probably shredding the skin there, leaving long scratches of your own to mark him as yours too.
“Mine,” he growled, licking the sore spot while your brain struggled to process what was happening. What he’d just done.
You couldn’t exactly drop him back off at the rescue when he’d made you his mate.
Left a huge fucking hickey you’d be stuck living with, a bond forged from baths and breakfasts and boring movies.
You knew it was a bad idea.
But you didn’t want to break it.
He was yours, wasn’t he? Wasn’t it only right that you were his too?
Letting all those negative thoughts fade as you gave into how fucking good he felt, his mouth on your neck and his thumb massaging your clit and his cock filling up every crevice until you weren’t sure where you started and he ended anymore.
“Say it,” Sukuna gruffly grunted, his thumb hesitating, knowing just how close you were and still teasing you anyway.
“I’m your mate,” you admitted, your weak voice coming out in a whimper as he dragged you to a climax with just a harsh swipe of his thumb. White stars splotching and staining your vision, heat simmering through you as your thighs trembled, muscles begging for relief as his heavy breathing undercut the drone of the bathroom exhaust fan.
“That’s fuckin’ right,” he hissed, cumming right after you, still rubbing your clit through it, warm ropes of cum filling you up and getting plugged inside by his knot. Not even able to leak down your thighs as it held fast, your thoughts distant and dreamy as slowly floated back down to earth.
Hesitantly meeting Sukuna’s dark eyes only to find them already focused solely on you, clouded with something that looked an awful lot like love up this close.
“I’m staying here,” he grumbled, nose scrunching up as his tail wrapped around your leg.
You didn’t think you’d be able to get rid of him even if you wanted to.
Now how the hell were you supposed to tell your work?
reblogs + comments are always greatly appreciated <3
18+ cockwarming nerdjo while doing your makeup ❤︎
you're perched on satoru's lap by your pretty pink vanity (that your sweet dear boyfriend bought and built for you), applying your glittery eyeshadow to the lids of your eyes. as you lean forward, satoru's fingers dig into the flesh of your hips, a small moan leaving his lips.
you shift a little bit, adjusting yourself as you sift through your makeup bag. and that makes him mewl softly under his breath, "baby... don't move so much."
you look at your boyfriend through the mirror and the way he's fluttering his eyes shut, mouth parted slightly, and cheeks flushed a bright pink, it make your pussy clench tight around his length. "now you're being mean," he pouts, pressing his chest flush against your back, planting a gentle kiss to your shoulder.
"how am i being mean?," you coo in faux innocence, batting your lashes so coyly and prettily. you raise your hips up and slowly come back down on him while putting on your blush, and the subtle movement makes satoru whimper, burying his face in the crook of your neck, taking a small nibble of your skin.
"you know what you're doing," he huffs, pushing his glasses up his nose and his eyes look so wide and dejected like a puppy's, it makes your heart and pussy flutter. you hear him curse quietly, bucking his hips a little to gain some sort of friction and pleasure. and when he tries to continue, you pinch his thigh which makes him both squeak in pain and annoyance.
"c'mon," he whines, jutting his bottom lip out even further. "please. can we just have coitus before you leave?"
"stop saying 'coitus' and say 'fuck' or 'sex' like an adult," you say, applying your soft rosy blush to your cheeks. "and no. you're going to be a good boy and listen to me, right?"
satoru's dick twitches inside your syrupy cunt, drops of pre leaking from his flushed tip and dribbling inside of you when he hears you call him a 'good boy'. you know the effect that little name has on him and so with a defeated sigh, he rests his cheek on your shoulder, watching you with hearts in his eyes as you do your makeup.
though all he can think about is bending you over the vanity and fucking you senseless as you scream his name and cream all over his dick ♥︎ !
"FIRST DAY WAS UNREAL... WAIT, HOW'D THIS GUY GET MY INSTAGRAM?"
art in banner created by Djuney9 on x | banner created by @kikiiconique SYNOPSIS you just started as an intern at this biggg company, hopeful for the future. you love it there! your coworkers are sooo nice to you. especially the other interns. but one of them seems too nice...
CONTENT afab!reader | reader is 23, suguru is 25 | smut, literal filth in like maybe every chap | public sex | workwife/workhusband dynamic | cheating, suguru has a gf (don't do this irl guyz) | raw p in v (wrap it before you tap it irl guyz) | suguru is down bad | jealousy | angst | happy ending | use of y/n | masturbation (both f and m)
YOU STEP OUT of the cab, peering up at the tall building before you.
it's your first day working at jujutsu tech inc. well, technically you're only an intern. but one day, you'll be an employee! you'll make sure of it. four years of uni and very impressive recommendation letters that you totally didn't guilt-trip your professors into writing have gotten you here.
you've predicted how your first day is going to go. you assume you won't have to do much. you'll be given a tour and be introduced to your coworkers and the other interns, and maybe you'll make a few coffees for your supervisors. you've scripted a whole new personality specifically to make a good first impression, memorizing a certain set of lines based on your prediction. you need everything to be perfect.
you exhale a shaky breath, clutching the leather briefcase you impulse bought in your hands, and enter the building.
the first floor was just the lobby, with a little cafe in the corner. it smelled like coffee and ink. you approach the front desk, clearing your throat.
the woman behind the front desk looked up at you, a bored expression on her face. 'uruame' was engraved into the name tag over her chest. "name?" she asked simply, already typing something into the monitor in front of her.
"y/n l/n," you say, a small smile gracing your face.
uruame pauses. "... ah. the new intern." she opens a drawer, pulling out a lanyard. "here's your id. i'll send for another intern to give you a tour and help you set up your work account. i'll email you a debrief." she then waves you off, gesturing towards the waiting area. you nod, muttering a thank you, and go to take a seat.
you admire your new work id, ignoring how painfully terrible the lighting in your photo is. i got here all by myself, you think to yourself, pride seeping into your thoughts. your train of thought is halted by a tap on your shoulder.
you look up and almost flinch, seeing a pretty man with snow white hair and the scariest blue eyes looking down at you. "hi. you must be the new intern, i'm satoru."
you introduce yourself, standing up and shaking his hand. he smiles, charm seeming to be a natural instinct for him. he leads you to the elevator.
"excited for your first day?" he asks, glancing at you side-long as he watches the elevator doors begin to close.
you nod. "i am. i'm glad i've been presented this opportu-"
once the elevator doors have shut completely, he sighs dramatically. "let's cut the bullshit. you don't have to act so formal, i know it's tiring."
his sudden change of personality shakes you a bit. "what?"
"it's okay, you don't need to be so up-tight. i was like this my first day as an intern too, but you honestly don't need to give a shit once the superiors are out of the room." he explains, loosening his tie.
your brow furrows as your shoulders relax. "right,"
maybe your first day wasn't going to be so predictable.
═╬═╬═
SATORU GIVES YOU a basic run down of the whole building, how everything works. you know now that the interns have a whole floor to themselves with one supervisor, so they technically do whatever the fuck they want, as long as they don't catch the attention of said supervisor. which, throws you off guard.
you expected a lot of things to happen on your first day, but finding out that interns, though there aren't many, are basically free to do whatever as long as they finish their training courses? not one of your predictions.
the intern floor looks like a regular office, with the meticulously organized two-person cubicles and the depressing overhead lights and the fake plants that smell like burnt rubber. most of the cubicles are empty as you and satoru pass them.
the only things out of place are the interns, which satoru basically described to a tee. because they weren't doing anything.
you finally get to your cubicle. the person you were sharing it with wasn't there, but their desk looked... lived in. definitely.
satoru leaned against the cubicle wall, watching as you sat in your office chair.
"i'm just going to set your account up for you," he muttered, grabbing your lanyard and pushing you aside. the back of the chair bumped into the other desk. "i'm too hungover for this..." he muttered, switching between looking at your id and typing.
you huff, crossing your arms. this guy had a real attitude, that was for sure. he was hot but he had an attitude.
he stepped back, dropping the id onto your desk. "y'need anything else?" he asks tiredly. you shake your head. "thank fuck," he murmurs, leaving you alone in the cubicle. you roll yourself back to your desk, enjoying your office chair a bit too much.
at least you thought you were alone.
"what's up his ass?" a voice behind you sounds out, making you jump. you turn around in your chair, look up at the stranger. your mouth runs dry and your thighs press together the tiniest bit more at the sight of him.
he was gorgeous, to say the least. he had the longest, silkiest hair flowing down his shoulders, some of it tied back. he had pretty purple eyes and a face chiseled by the gods themselves.
"... he said he was hungover." you respond, trying not to sound like an idiot in front of the hottest man you've ever laid eyes on.
he hums, taking a seat at the other desk in the cubicle. shit, he's the one that sits there?!
"makes sense. was partying like an animal at my place last night." he says, leaning back in his seat. you force yourself not to let your eyes wander, seeing in your peripheral that he's manspreading. "i'm suguru. you can call me whatever."
you nod. "i'm y/n. you can call me whatever too, i guess." you immediately regret that last part, you sound like a dork.
he smiles softly. "... okay... does sweetheart work?"
you nearly choke on air, not knowing how to respond. "i... i don't know. if you... want?"
he hums. he seems satisfied, almost. "i was just teasing, but if you insist. i'll leave you alone now. sweetheart."
you nod awkwardly, turning in your office chair. your face was burning.
he tilts his head, turning to his own desk.
═╬═╬═
YOUR FIRST DAY was... hectic, to say the least.
uruame had sent you a "debrief" of what you were going to be doing. this "debrief" was a 104 page pdf run-down of all the courses you were to finish to complete your two year internship if you even wanted to be considered to be hired, and a three page nda constricting you from talking about what you do and say during working hours (with a threat written in micro-text that if you did, mr. sukuna would gut you out with his bare hands.)
when you opened your course for the week, your eyes began to water from how much words, questions, and articles were on it.
yeah, your first day definitely wasn't predictible.
apart from noticing that the interns basically do nothing after
chat-gpting their way through their course for the week, it's also apparent that jujutsu tech inc. has numerous cases against them for fraud, which they only avoid because of the nda's everyone's signed.
you only get through about three pages of course work during your first day. the only relief you find was at the cafe during lunch time.
not because of the food and the iced coffee's they serve, though. no, it's because you can finally openly stare at your new cubicle-mate, suguru. he's sitting on the other side of the cafe, eating a sandwich and sipping from a cup of plain black coffee. he doesn't notice you shamelessly ogling him, too busy doomscrolling on whatever social media app he was using.
your eyes trail down his face, to the sliver of collarbone you can see peaking out of his shirt that you could only see at an angle, to the bulge pressing against his work slacks. he didn't even look hard either, he just looked that big.
you feel your thighs starting to press together, the uncomfortable friction your velvety tights make the only thing pulling you out of your daze. you focus on the food in front of you, distracting yourself.
when you glance up again, you can see him looking your direction in your peripheral. you absolutely refuse to look up, refuse to look him in the eye after you had daydreamed about what his dick looked like.
there was no way your first day of work resulted in a work crush.
═╬═╬═
IT ABSOLUTELY ENDED with you having a work crush.
so much so that you urged your cab driver to find a shortcut back to your apartment complex. so much so that you basically sprinted to your floor, slamming the door shut behind you and disturbing the elderly woman carrying in groceries down the hall.
after lunch, he kept teasing you for the rest of the day. kept brushing against your shoulder as he got up, kept getting too close when he asked if you needed help or anything. every time, you felt yourself soak your panties a little more, and every time, you felt so bad. he was just trying to be helpful, right?
well, what his intentions were didn't matter. not right now, not when you were basically tripping into your bedroom and stripping yourself of your little pencil skirt and tights, a kitten heel dangling from your foot as you collapsed onto your bed, scrolling furiously through twitter as the ache between your legs throbbed sinfully.
when you found a video close enough to what he looked like, you shoved your panties to the side, your fingers slipping and sliding through your dripping folds, before finally pushing inside.
you tried to imagine that your fingers were his, that the hand between your legs wasn't yours, imagining the veins going up the back of his hand.
but it wasn't good enough. your fingers could never hit deep enough.
you're sure that his could, though.
your eyes are fixed to your phone screen, moaning into your pillow as you thrust your fingers inside you with reckless abandon.
a million thoughts enter your brain abruptly. his hand around your throat. him putting you in a headlock with his bicep and forearm as he wrecked your cunt from behind. him pulling your hair back as he fucked your throat.
you crashed into your high, spasming around your fingers as your back arched. you whined into your pillow, the cotton stuck between your teeth as you tried to muffle your sounds as much as possible.
you sit there for a few moments. "what the fuck..." you mumble to no one, realizing what you just did. what was wrong with you?! he'd probably be so disgusted with what you just did!
that's what you told yourself, forcing yourself to get out of bed and take a cold shower.
the embarrassment seemed to sting your skin more than the freezing water did, leaning your forehead against the tile wall.
when you're settled in bed, you distract yourself by doomscrolling, abusing the repost button.
you get a notification, your eyes flicking up briefly to look at it, before ignoring it.
sugu.xx has followed you.
you do a double take. who followed you just now?
you try to tell yourself that maybe it was just a person with the same name as you click on the notification.
shit. shit. it really was him. you hesitantly follow him back, scrolling through his profile. you were a bit curious.
okay, maybe you were really curious. because you went through his followers and noticed most of them were women and then went through his following and noticed maybe a quarter of them were women. you went through his highlight, which was just a bunch of thirst traps (you weren't complaining).
you scrolled through his posts, pausing to look at his cat.
twyla. a pretty name. you scroll past, not noticing the little red hearts appearing on your screen.
WRITTEN AND CREATED BY @kikiiconique. DO NOT FEED MY WORK INTO AI, REWRITE, OR COPY.
you love it when sukuna praises you while he’s buried deep in you !
you’ve always been a slut for sukuna’s praises.
the tiniest “good girl” when you plate dinner just how he likes it already has your thighs squeezing together. a soft “you did so well today, baby” murmured against your temple after a long day makes your heart stuttering and your cunt throbbing like it’s been edged for hours.
but when he’s actually inside you? when that stupidly big cock of his is splitting you open and his voice drops low to talk you through it? you turn into something helpless and downright pathetic.
right now , he’s got you folded in half beneath him, knees shoved up near your ears, your smaller frame swallowed by his sheer size. beefy arms caged around you. his heavy balls smacks wetly against your ass with every brutal plunge and your poor pussy keeps fluttering like it’s trying to suck him deeper. your slick coats his shaft in thick, milky rings that smear down to his balls and drip onto the sheets in sticky webs. every time he bottoms out, you could feel the fat tip bruising your cervix so hard you see sparks behind your eyelids.
“look at that pussy,” he rasps, voice all gravel. he swipes his thumb through the mess where you’re stretched taut around him. “she sure loves it, huh? clenching so fuckin tight every time i tell her she’s good.”
you try to answer but it comes out a slurred whimper, drool slipping from the corner of your mouth. your head tossing side to side, earning a chuckle from him.
“nah-uh, keep those pretty eyes on me.” two thick fingers grip your chin, focing your glassy gaze back to his face. “wanna see that cute face while you take dick.”
you slurred again, your drooly mouth opening into a silent scream everytime he gaves you a hard thrust.
“use your words. c’mon, talk to me, baby”
“ryooo... ahhnn s’too—mmnghh” the words melt into a broken sob when he snaps his hips harder, bullying that ridge right against the spot that makes your toes curl.
“too much?” he coos, almost sweetly. but then he plants both feet flat on the mattress, angles his hips down and starts pounding so deep your tummy bulges with every thrust, making you let out a broken wail. “you can take it. you always do. you’re my good girl, yeah? always so perfect f’me.”
your cunt spasms hard at the praise, gushing another slick wave that squelches loudly around his fat girth. he groans at the feeling, pulls out halfway just to watch how your hole tries to cling to him, then slaps the heavy length of his cock against your swollen clit— once, twice— before shoving back in with a single punishing stroke.
“holy— mmmnghhh...!” you wailed, your legs shaking violently against your shoulders.
“fuck— thereee we go,” he rasps, eyes glued to the way your pussy creams for him. “creaming so much you’re making a mess of my cock, baby. hear that? listen to how wet you are. such a good girl for me.”
you can’t even form a sentence anymore. just pathetic little whines while tears bead on your lashes.
he leans down to lick a slow stripe up your cheek to catch one that escapes, then presses the softest forehead kiss there like he isn’t currently rearranging your guts. like it’s just another day to him.
“can’t even talk properly anymore, huh?” his voice is so gentle it almost sounds cruel. “dick’s got my girl all dumb and drooly. s’okay. just let me fuck you properly.”
he shifts again, one massive hand splaying over the little swell in your lower belly where he’s pressing in so deep you swear you feel him in your throat. the other hand finds your already swollen clit, rubbing it in messy, firm circles until your thighs shake violently and another orgasm rips through you without warning.
your vision whites out for a second. your pussy clamping down like a vice around his pistoning cock, making him hiss between his teeth.
“that’s it— shiit— milk me just like that,” he growls. “gonna give it to you, yeah? fill this greedy little cunt up.”
he doesn’t slow down. if anything he goes harder, chasing his own release with short, punishing thrusts that make your sore walls ache in the best way. “shit, you feel so fucking good— fuck, i could fuck this cunt for hours.”
then he buries himself to the hilt, hips stuttering, and pumps you full. thick spurts of cum painting your insides until it’s too much— until it leaks out around his cock in creamy rivulets even while he’s still twitching inside you.
he stays like that for a long minute, breathing hard against your neck, letting you feel every pulse.
eventually he eases out with a wet sound that makes you whimper at the sudden emptiness. his cum dribbles from your puffy gaping hole, mixing with your own slick, pooling beneath you.
sukuna hums low in his throat, almost pleased.
he drags two fingers through the mess between your thighs, scoops up a thick glob of cum, then pushes it back inside you slow and deliberate. your overstimulated cunt flutters weakly around the intrusion.
“keep it in,” he murmurs against your temple, voice soft now. “gonna plug you up later so none of it wastes.”
then he gathers your boneless body against his chest, one arm banded around your waist, the other stroking lazily through your damp hair. his lips brushing your forehead again gently.
“did so good f’me,” he whispers, barely audible. “my perfect girl.”
i lowkey hates this but i rly want to post sumth today so yup!
You know, being a blood bag for your boyfriend wasn't exactly how you imagined spending your nights six months ago. But when the boyfriend was Suguru Geto?
His teeth had already sunk into your skin, his cold fingers and clipped nails had carved out your heart - and you let him.
"Are you sure?" His low murmur was in your ear, all the hairs standing up on your arms as a sharp shiver went down your spine. Canines, no, fangs scraping over your pulse, pressing down to test just how much the thin skin could take before it'd break under the pressure.
"Please."
You didn't just let him.
You begged him to do it.
Suguru was cold, but the blood? It was warm. The sharp pain fading into soft pleasure, the fuzzy feeling buzzing around in your chest as he sucked hard. His deep moan reverberated through your body, his chest pressed against your back as his fangs pierced the vein.
It shouldn't feel so good.
But you guessed it was just designed that way. He could drain you dry and you'd be dying for him to do it again.
"God," he groaned, pulling off with a small pop! to slowly drag his tongue flat back over the twin punctures to clean you up.
"Are you done already?" You asked, your voice coming out as a weak whine. A tiny drop of blood dripped onto the sheets underneath you, something you'd need to strip off the mattress and toss in the washing machine before the dark stain could set in. It would be the second time this week.
Or maybe the third.
The late evenings had started to blur together, the nights where he took you apart just to glue you back with long showers and hungry kisses.
His cock was still throbbing inside you, his skin cool where yours was sticky with sweat, the weight of him caging you under his large frame. He delicately traced back over the bite, pressing his lips to it one more time with a quiet sigh.
"Have to be careful," he muttered, cum leaking out onto your thighs while he slipped out of you and climbed off the bed. You folded your arms underneath your head and watched him, the moonlight streaming in from the cracked curtains casting long shadows across his sculpted body. The smooth, pale skin, the carved ridges and divots of his muscles, the dark patch of his happy trail and the cream-colored ring around his cock from where it'd been buried inside you. "I can't hurt you."
"You won't," you replied, your eyes flicking up to his serious face and furrowed brows.
His eyes were dark, the line between his irises and pupils indistinguishable.
He didn't have to say it for you to know he didn't think the same.
Suguru started to walk towards the bathroom, his steps silent until he pushed open the door and switched on the light, the soft white glow cutting through the dark he preferred while he started the bath.
You sat up, hands clasping together in your lap like you needed something to hold. Soothing yourself like a child as you tried to tell yourself the icy distance steadily spreading between you was imaginary.
Conjured up from insecurity, spiralling until it felt solid, like if you simply stretched your arm out you'd hit an invisible wall.
But you saw it in his face when he stepped back out. Felt it in his frigid posture as he picked his clothes back off your floor and started putting them back on, as if you couldn't hear the water running in the bathroom behind him.
"I should go," he murmured softly, and if you squinted, you could almost make out a hint of remorse, a sliver of sadness in those beautiful eyes of his. You knew what he'd say next, tried to open your mouth to interrupt, to stall him, but it was too late. "I don't think I should come back."
"Don't do this," you whispered, throat constricting as something warm continued to drip down your collarbone. Splotches of red hitting your blanket as you weakly shook your head. "Please, Suguru."
"You know why I have to," he spoke firmly, keeping his tone softer than a feather as if it would make it feel less like you were being stabbed.
"I don't care if you kill me," you cried out, eyes begging him to come over and stop before he said something he couldn't take back. "You said-"
"I know," he cut you off, his jaw clenched tight as his own dark stare drifted to the bite mark on your neck. To the blood on your skin, waiting for his tongue to drag over it and lick you clean. "But I don't think I can control myself around you much longer."
"Then don't," you dared him.
But Suguru Geto would rather choke on his own leash than let go of it.
So by the time you blinked, he was gone. Your bedroom door left open and the bathwater still running, waiting for you to go wash away the evidence he'd been here at all.
── synopsis .✦ married as a truce, you are bound to emperor suguru geto, a man who keeps you at a careful, infuriating distance. when your patience finally snaps, an argument forces the truth into the open: his restraint was never indifference, but love he believed was unreturned.
── contains .✦ emperor!suguru, arranged marriage trope, princess!reader, fem!reader, light angst, miscommunication, or lack of, brat taming, hair pulling, spanking, doggy style, missionary, belly bulges, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, cockdrunk!reader, whipped!suguru, pussydrunk!suguru, breeding kink, degradation kink, praise kink, oral (f!recieving), aftercare, suguru might be a little crazy about reader, obsessed!suguru?, mdni!
── word count .✦ 4.1k!
You had always known that your life was not entirely your own.
As the daughter of a beleaguered king from a small, resource-strapped kingdom on the fringes of the empire, your existence had been shaped by the whims of politics and survival.
Whispers of war had echoed through the marble halls of your family’s palace for years, growing louder with each passing season as the mighty Empire of the East expanded its borders like an unyielding tide.
Your father, a man whose crown weighed heavier on his brow than on his head, had exhausted every diplomatic avenue, every tribute of gold and grain, to appease the emperor who loomed over all like a shadow.
And then came the proposal – not a request, but a decree.
The emperor, Suguru Geto, would spare your kingdom from conquest if you were offered to him in marriage.
It was a bargain struck in desperation, your hand traded for the lives of thousands. You had no say in the matter, of course. Your protests fell on deaf ears, drowned out by the clamor of relief from your father’s advisors.
“It is an honor,” they told you, their voices laced with false cheer. “The emperor himself has chosen you.”
But honor felt like a chain around your neck as preparations for the wedding consumed the kingdom.
Servants bustled about, draping your chambers in silks imported from the imperial capital, fitting you for gowns that whispered of elegance and submission. And through it all, the stories about him painted a portrait that chilled you to the bone.
Suguru Geto was no ordinary ruler; he was a force of nature cloaked in imperial robes.
They said he was cold, his precision in governance as sharp as a blade. He commanded entire rooms without uttering a word – his mere presence enough to silence dissent and bend wills. Always serious, never one for frivolity or warmth, he ruled with an iron fist wrapped in velvet gloves.
Rumors swirled of his unyielding stare, capable of stripping away pretenses and exposing the raw truth beneath. You imagined him as a statue come to life, beautiful perhaps, but devoid of the spark that made men human.
The journey to the imperial capital was a blur of guarded caravans and endless roads flanked by the empire’s vast armies.
Your heart pounded with a mix of dread and resignation as the towering spires of the palace came into view, piercing the sky like the teeth of some ancient beast.
The wedding itself was a spectacle orchestrated to perfection, a union of power and sacrifice under the watchful eyes of nobles, generals, and foreign envoys. You stood at the altar in a gown of crimson and gold, the colors of the empire, feeling like a lamb adorned for the altar.
And then he appeared.
Suguru Geto stepped forward from the shadows of the grand hall, his presence rippling through the assembled crowd like a stone dropped into still water.
He was taller than you had envisioned, his frame lean and commanding, clad in robes of deep black embroidered with silver threads that caught the light from the chandeliers above.
His long, dark hair was tied back in a neat ponytail, framing a face that was both strikingly handsome and profoundly unreadable. High cheekbones, full lips pressed into a firm line, and eyes – those piercing dark eyes – that seemed to hold the weight of empires within them. He moved with a deliberate grace, each step measured, as if the very ground yielded to his will.
You expected the coldness, the precision, but not this... politeness.
As the ceremony began, officiated by a high priest whose voice echoed off the vaulted ceilings, Suguru turned to you. His gaze met yours for the first time, and there was no disdain, no indifference – just a quiet intensity that made your breath catch.
“It is an honor to stand before you today.” He said, his voice smooth and low, carrying the weight of formality without the edge of cruelty you had feared. The words were polite, scripted perhaps, but delivered with a sincerity that surprised you.
When the time came for the exchange of vows, his hand reached for yours. His touch was firm, fingers encircling your wrist with a possessiveness that sent a murmur through the onlookers.
To them, it must have looked like a claim, a silent declaration of ownership over the bride offered from a conquered land. His thumb brushed lightly against your pulse point, a fleeting contact that lingered just a moment too long, possessive in its subtlety.
But to you, it felt restrained, as if he were holding back a tide of something deeper. He didn’t squeeze or demand; instead, he released your hand with a gentle precision, stepping back to allow the priest to continue.
The feast that followed was a whirlwind of opulence: toasts raised in crystal goblets, platters of exotic fruits and roasted meats, musicians playing melodies that wove through the air like silk.
Suguru sat beside you at the high table, his posture impeccable, engaging in quiet conversations with his advisors. He turned to you occasionally, offering a nod or a brief question about your journey, always polite, always reserved.
“I hope the capital treats you well.” He commented at one point, his eyes flicking to yours before returning to the room. There was no overt possessiveness now, just that careful distance, as if he were navigating an invisible boundary.
You nodded, murmuring your thanks, but inside, confusion swirled. The man before you was not the monster of rumors; he was serious, yes, but his politeness disarmed you.
Yet, as the night wore on and the guests departed, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was merely the beginning of a life tethered to a stranger.
The first weeks of your marriage unfolded in a haze of adjustment.
The imperial palace was a labyrinth of grandeur: endless corridors lined with tapestries depicting the empire’s triumphs, gardens that bloomed eternally under the care of silent gardeners, and chambers that dwarfed anything you had known back home.
Your days were filled with the quiet routines of a new empress: lessons in court etiquette from stern-faced tutors, audiences with the emperor’s inner circle where you were introduced as a symbol of unity, and solitary afternoons wandering the palace grounds, trying to find your place in this vast, impersonal world.
Suguru, true to the tales, was a phantom in your shared life.
He rose before dawn for council meetings, his days consumed by the machinery of empire – decrees on trade routes, strategies against border skirmishes, audiences with vassal lords.
You saw him at meals, formal affairs where conversation was sparse and laced with protocol. He would inquire after your comfort with that same polite detachment:
“Have the seamstresses provided suitable attire?” or “Does the library suit your interests?”
His touches, when they occurred, were minimal: a hand at the small of your back to guide you through a crowded hall, fingers that rested there with a firmness that bordered on possessive, drawing sidelong glances from the courtiers.
But he never lingered, never crossed into intimacy. He was trying, you sensed, not to overstep, to respect the boundaries of an arrangement born of necessity rather than choice.
Nights were the hardest. Your shared bedchamber was a masterpiece of luxury, with a canopied bed draped in silks and a balcony overlooking the city lights.
But Suguru retired late, often after you had feigned sleep, slipping into the adjoining study to pore over scrolls by candlelight.
When he did join you, it was with a quiet efficiency – he changed into night robes, bid you goodnight with a nod, and turned his back, leaving an ocean of space between you on the mattress. No overtures, no attempts to bridge the gap.
You lay awake, staring at the ornate ceiling, wondering if this was to be your existence: a beautiful cage, shared with a husband who treated you like a fragile artifact.
Months slipped by in this rhythm, the initial novelty of palace life giving way to a creeping isolation.
You threw yourself into diversions to fill the void: studying the empire’s history in the vast library, where shelves towered like ancient trees; tending to a small herb garden in the secluded east wing, the soil grounding you in something tangible; even hosting modest teas for the wives of nobles, though their conversations often skirted around you, laced with curiosity about the “foreign bride.”
Your kingdom’s tribute arrived regularly, reports from your father assuring you that peace held, but the letters were tinged with gratitude that felt like another layer of your sacrifice.
Suguru’s routine remained unchanging. He commanded the court with effortless authority, his presence alone quelling debates in the throne room.
You observed him from afar during public sessions, noting how ministers straightened at his approach, how his rare words cut through noise like a scalpel.
He was precise in everything – his edicts fair but unyielding, his gaze assessing without cruelty. Yet, in private moments, when your paths crossed in the halls, his politeness persisted.
A slight bow of the head, a murmured “Good morning,” and that occasional touch – a brush of knuckles against your arm as he passed a document, possessive in its intent but withdrawn before it could unsettle.
But the distance gnawed at you. As a married woman, you were expected to embody grace and companionship, yet your husband barely acknowledged your existence beyond duty.
Whispers among the servants reached your ears: “The emperor is reserved,” they said, “but perhaps he finds the arrangement... unappealing.”
It stung, fueling a frustration that simmered beneath your composed exterior. You were no longer the sheltered princess; you were an empress in name, but a ghost in practice.
Nights alone in that vast bed amplified the loneliness, the silk sheets cold against your skin, the silence broken only by the distant toll of bells marking the hours.
One evening, after six months of this silent coexistence, the weight became unbearable.
The sun had dipped below the horizon, painting the palace in hues of amber and shadow. You had spent the day in the gardens, pruning roses that bloomed defiantly despite the chill in the air, but your mind wandered to the man who shared your title yet not your life.
Dinner had been a solitary affair in your chambers, the food tasteless on your tongue. Suguru was late again, his study door closed against the world.
You couldn’t take it anymore. Straightening your shoulders, you crossed the room and knocked firmly on the study door. Silence, then a quiet “Enter.”
Pushing it open, you found him at his desk, surrounded by maps and ledgers, his hair slightly disheveled from hours of work – a rare glimpse of vulnerability. He looked up, surprise flickering in those dark eyes before it was schooled into his usual composure.
“Is everything alright?” He asked, setting down his quill.
You stepped inside, closing the door behind you with a decisive click. The room smelled of ink and parchment, a masculine scent that mingled with the faint trace of sandalwood from his robes.
“No,” you began, your voice steadier than you felt, “everything is not alright. We’ve been married for half a year, Suguru, and you treat me like a stranger in my own home. You command empires with a glance, yet you can’t even look at me without this... wall between us.”
He rose slowly, his height unfolding like a shadow lengthening. For a moment, he was silent, his expression unreadable.
Then, he moved around the desk, stopping a respectful distance away.
“I apologize if I’ve made you feel unwelcome,” he replied, his tone polite as ever, but there was a tension in his jaw, a subtle shift in his posture. “This marriage was arranged for the good of your people. I did not wish to impose upon you more than necessary.”
“Impose?” You laughed, a sharp sound that echoed in the quiet space. “We’re husband and wife, not distant allies. You leave me alone to wander these halls, doing ’your own thing’ while I do mine.”
Your voice rose, laced with the bitterness that had been festering for months. “Months have passed, and I feel more isolated here than I ever did in my father’s palace. Do you even see me? Or am I just a symbol to parade at court?”
Crossing your arms, you glared at him, your cheeks flushed with the heat of confrontation. “I gave up everything – my home, my freedom – for this sham, and you can’t even pretend to be interested? It’s humiliating. Everyone whispers about the distant emperor and his unwanted bride. If you hate this as much as I think you do, just say it. End this farce.”
Suguru rose from his chair in one fluid motion, his height towering over you as he rounded the desk.
His expression shifted, the polite mask cracking to reveal a glint of something wilder, more intense: a slight craze flickering in his eyes, like a man on the edge of unleashing what he’d kept chained.
He closed the distance between you in two strides, backing you against the wall with his body, not touching yet, but close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him. His hands planted on either side of your head, caging you in, his face inches from yours.
Those dark eyes bored into you, pupils dilated with obsession, his breath coming a touch quicker.
“You think I ignore you?” His voice was low, a growl edged with that controlled madness, his lips curling into a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes – eyes that burned with possession.
“Gods, woman, you’ve been driving me insane. I love you– obsess over you. Do you have any idea how many times I’ve jerked my cock to stop myself from bending you over the nearest surface?”
His words hit you like a wave, raw and unfiltered, his body pressing closer now, one hand sliding to your waist in a grip that was firm; unyielding.
You opened your mouth to retort, frustration still sparking. “You could’ve just—”
But he cut you off by crashing his lips against yours, the kiss fierce and demanding, his tongue sweeping in to claim every inch.
It wasn’t gentle – it was a release, his obsession pouring out as he devoured you, one hand tangling in your hair to tilt your head back.
When he pulled away, both of you breathing hard, his forehead rested against yours, eyes wild.
“No more waiting,” he murmured, voice husky with need. “You’re coming with me. Now.”
Before you could protest or process, he scooped you up effortlessly, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist as he carried you out of the study and down the dimly lit corridor to his private chambers. The palace was quiet at this hour, servants dismissed, leaving only the echo of his boots on the stone floor.
He kicked the heavy door shut behind you, the sound final, and deposited you on the edge of the massive bed, its linens rumpled from his earlier retreat.
You glared up at him, heart pounding, a mix of anger and something hotter swirling in your chest. “You think you can just manhandle me like that? After ignoring me for months?”
Suguru’s eyes darkened, that slight craze sharpening as he loomed over you, shrugging off his outer robe to reveal the taut lines of his chest beneath a simple tunic.
“Oh, I think I can.” He mused, his tone laced with something dark. “And I will. You’ve been a bratty little thing, haven’t you? Snapping at me like you don’t crave this as much as I do. But don’t worry, I’ll fix that attitude.”
He grabbed your wrist, pulling you to your feet and spinning you around with surprising gentleness despite the command in his movements. His hands worked quickly at the ties of your robes, peeling them away until you stood bare before him, the cool air raising goosebumps on your skin.
You shivered, trying to twist back to face him, but his palm pressed between your shoulder blades, guiding you down onto the bed on all fours.
“Stay.” He ordered, voice firm. “Ass up, like the needy wife you are.”
Heat flooded your face, frustration bubbling up as you shot a glare over your shoulder. “Needy? You’re the one who’s been—ah!”
The first spank landed sharp on your ass, the sting blooming into warmth that made you gasp. His hand soothed the spot immediately after, rubbing circles that contrasted the correction.
“Watch that mouth.” He warned, though his voice held a thread of praise. “Such a pretty slut, thinking you can talk back to your emperor. But you’ll learn.”
You bit your lip, trying to hold onto the fire, but another spank followed, harder, jolting you forward. “Suguru, you can’t just—”
He tugged your hair then, pulling your head back gently but insistently, forcing you to arch as he leaned over you, his breath hot against your ear. “I can, and I will. You’ve teased me for months without knowing it. Now, spread those legs wider. Show me how wet you are from this.”
Defiance flickered, but so did desire, your body betraying you as you complied, thighs parting to reveal the slickness between them.
Suguru groaned low in his throat, shedding the rest of his clothes until his hard cock sprang free, thick and veined, the tip already glistening. He positioned himself behind you, the head nudging your entrance, teasing without entering.
“Look at you, dripping for it. Such a good girl under all that attitude, aren’t you? Or do I need to spank this greedy pussy to remind you?”
You pushed back against him, bratty even now. “Just put it in already, or are you all talk?”
His chuckle was dark, obsessed, as he yanked your hair again, the pull sending sparks down your spine.
“Eager wifey.” He murmured, degradation mixing with the way his free hand praised by stroking your hip. “But you’ll beg properly soon.”
With one thrust, he buried himself inside you, stretching your walls around his girth.The sensation was overwhelming – full, burning, perfect – and your attitude shattered in an instant.
A moan tore from your throat, your arms buckling as you melted beneath him, body going pliant, obedient. No more fight; just surrender to the cock that filled you so completely.
Suguru stilled, buried deep, his hand releasing your hair to grip your hips instead.
“There it is…” He teased, voice smug as he rocked shallowly, letting you feel every inch. “One push of my cock, and the brat disappears. Look at you, melting like the cockdrunk wife you were meant to be. So obedient now, aren’t you, sweetheart?”
You whimpered, nodding into the sheets, the words hitting harder than any spank. “Y-Yes... please, Suguru...”
He laughed softly, starting a slow rhythm, pulling out almost to the tip before sliding back in, dragging against your inner walls. Each thrust built the pressure, his hands roaming: one spanking your ass lightly now, more for emphasis than punishment, the other tugging your hair to keep your back arched.
“That’s better. My perfect little whore, taking it so well. You’ve been begging for this without words, haven’t you? Strutting around, making my cock ache every night.”
The pace quickened gradually, his hips snapping forward with precision, the slap of skin on skin filling the chamber.
You pushed back to meet him, lost in the drag of his length, the way he hit that spot deep inside over and over. Dialogue flowed between thrusts, his voice a constant tease.
“Tell me how it feels, wife. Does my cock shut that smart mouth of yours?”
You tried to respond sassily at first, the remnants of frustration lingering. “It– it’s good, but you could—oh fuck—go harder...”
Another thrust, sharper, making your ass jiggle and your pussy clench tighter around him.
“Harder? Greedy– n-ngh, greedy brat.” He growled, tugging your hair to pull you up slightly, his chest pressing to your back. “I’ll fuck you until you can’t talk back if you don’t learn to beg f’me.”
“Please,” you gasped, the word breaking free as pleasure coiled tight. “Harder, please, Suguru...”
He obliged, pounding into you with relentless force, his cock bulging your belly slightly with each deep plunge – you could feel it, the outline pressing against your skin from inside.
“Good girl.” He cooed, dragging out each syllable in an almost childish manner. “Look at that – my cock reshaping your pretty pussy. You’re mine now, all mine.”
The first orgasm crashed over you without warning, walls fluttering wildly as you cried out, soaking his length with your release.
But he didn’t stop, thrusting through it, his hand slipping around to rub your clit in firm circles. “Holy shit.” He murmured, obsessed edge in his voice. “Cum again for me, show me how much you need this.”
You were a mess, babbling incoherently as he dragged it out, the overstimulation making your thighs quake. “Suguru—ah!—too much... can’t...”
“You can.” He commanded, spanking once more for good measure, the sting pushing you higher. “Be my lovely wife and cum on your– mmf, your emperor’s cock.”
The second climax built slower, deeper, his pace varying: slow grinds that let you feel the belly bulge, then fast snaps that had you seeing stars.
When it hit, you squirted, gushing around him in hot spurts that drenched the sheets, your body convulsing as you wailed his name.
Suguru groaned, his control fraying. “Fuck, yes—take it all.”
With a final, brutal thrust, he came, flooding your pussy with thick ropes of cum, his hips jerking as he painted your insides white.
He stayed buried, grinding to push it deeper, whispering, “Gonna breed you, fill you up until you’re swollen with my child. My pretty girl, carrying my heir.”
He pulled out slowly after, cum leaking from you, but he wasn’t done.
Flipping you onto your back with ease, he settled between your thighs in missionary, sliding back in with a wet squelch. Your legs hooked around his waist instinctively, pulling him closer as he loomed over you, eyes locked on yours: wild, loving, crazed.
Now, with him face-to-face, the teasing shifted.
You were fully cockdrunk, mind hazy, body pliant as he rocked into you languidly at first, letting the sensitivity build anew.
“Look at you,” he cooed, mixed praise dripping from his lips. “So fucked out already, but still greedy for more. Pussy milking me like it never wants me to leave.”
You nodded hazily, not really processing, just agreeing on instinct. “Uh-huh... more...”
He chuckled, low and affectionate, thrusting deeper to emphasize the belly bulge again, his hand pressing on it. “That’s right, just agree. You’re not even listening, are you? Too cockdrunk to think, huh?”
“Mmh, yeah.” You murmured, eyes half-lidded, lost in the sensation as he picked up speed.
Conversation turned to moans and affirmatives from you, while he teased relentlessly. “Such a good girl now, no more brattiness. Just my pliant girl, taking every inch. Gonna cum inside again, ’kay?”
The rhythm dragged on, his cock stirring his previous load inside you, the slick sounds obscene.
He kissed you deeply, swallowing your whimpers, then trailed bites down your neck as he angled to hit your g-spot. “Feel that? Yeah? Tell me you’re mine, sweetheart.”
“I’m yours…!” You breathed, the words automatic, mind adrift in bliss.
He laughed again, the sound vibrating through you. “Damn right you are. Fucked so stupid, aren’t you? But you love it.”
The final orgasm built like a tidal wave, shared this time. Your walls clamped down, squirting weakly around him as you shattered, crying out.
Suguru followed seconds later, groaning as he emptied another load, hips stuttering. “Hngh, fuck! Take it…!”
Spent, he eased out, but instead of collapsing, he kissed down your body, settling between your legs. “Gonna clean you up.” He promised, voice soft now, obsessed tenderness shining through.
His tongue lapped at your folds, gathering the mix of cum and your juices, sucking gently on your clit until you twitched oversensitive.
“M’kay…” You mumbled, too tired to do anything but agree, especially when he talked so sweetly.
He hummed approval, delving deeper, fucking you with his tongue to scoop out his seed. “Can’t let it go to waste. Taste so good mixed with me.”
You carded fingers through his hair, boneless, as aftershocks rippled.
When he finished, he crawled up, pulling you into his arms. Your bodies tangled, his chest to your back, hand splayed possessively over your stomach.
“Sleep now, my love.” He whispered, pressing kisses to your shoulder. “Won’t avoid you anymore.”
Exhaustion claimed you both, drifting off in a cocoon of warmth, the months of distance forgotten in the intimacy you’d finally claimed.
a/n: can you guys tell when i started rushing this.. i also tried to get fancy i dont know if it worked i just hope you guys like it..
Husband!Nanami is no saint. Everyone thinks he is, but you know the truth: he has his odd quirks. Starting with a specific before-work morning routine.
Husband!Nanami hates leaving you all alone for a whole day — if he had his way, he’d be with you 24/7. To quell that possessive, clingy part of him, he tucks his heavy cock between your thighs and ruts against your sopping, swollen folds. His cockhead catches on your clit, spreading your lips apart to nudge and bump the pulsing button. All while, he grips your hips to keep you in place and he grunts into your mouth.
He cums on your panties with an "oh, darling", and he shuffles it up back into place, letting the combined wetness of your juices smush together with a sloppy squeeelch!
Husband!Nanami explains that he likes to make sure you both cum before he has to leave, and he just doesn’t have the time to fuck you nice and good like you deserve. But the real reason is, he likes that you’re constantly reminded of him every second of the day, as he is of you.
During work, he makes little picture requests. Sure, they start off innocent enough — a selfie of his darling wife, your outfit, whatever you’re looking at right now, and your wedding ring on your pretty hand. Soon, however, they turn more and more lewd — a selfie from a high angle (so he can see down your shirt), holding a random object (usually long tubes, like deodorant or a broomstick, so he can imagine it’s his cock you’re clutching), and you drinking through a straw (doesn’t need an explanation).
Husband!Nanami gets bolder with every request fulfilled, and, before it’s even 3pm, he becomes completely upfront. A picture of you bent over so he can see your pussy print through your still-soaked panties, cupping your bare tits and covering enough of your nipples to leave him salivating for more, and your fingers spreading your cunt so he can see the glimmering of his favourite place in the world as he fills out progress reports.
It gets him through the day.
And finally, when Husband!Nanami comes home at the end of a long day, his first order of wifely business is a hasty sampling of your perfect pussy right by the door, before he’s even taken off his shoes. With his expert tongue, he cleans out the cum he let marinate, moaning unashamedly as he does, all so there’s room for a pump of a fresh load, and he can bask in your sweet smell.
Voice muffled, and clit flicked by the tip of his tongue, he says, “Mmm, you taste like the perfect reward for a hard day’s work, my love.”
How easy was it to have the mightiest, the most frightening and stern God wrapped around your finger? Easy, apparently, because Hades, God of the Underworld, a gloomy, lone figure, so powerful as the oldest one of the three brothers, was nothing but a whimpering mess for his dearest Goddess!
part of the Gods, Heroes, Warriors collection!
pairings: Hades!Choso x Aphrodite!Reader
content/warnings: Ancient Greece AU, mythological settings, lots of plot and lots of smut, super pathethic Choso, yearning Choso, size difference, cunnilingus, pussydrunk Choso, fingering, whimpering Choso, tummy bulges, mating presses, breeding kink, creampies, happy ending, dominant reader
WC: 11k because I'm insane
a/n: firstly, sorry for the break, but I was on two weeks winter holiday and didn't have much time to write something this long! secondly, this one's not very mythologically accurate, considering that Hades was with Persephone and Aphrodite with Hephaestus, but wait, I HAVE A VISION. Bc imagine the most beautiful, desirable goddess AND introvert, hidden, shy God of the Underworld <333
divider by @fae-and-wolf
art by @/neverrisa on TikTok
Wine was flowing like a river into the golden cup that you've held. Laughter filled Olympus, and the small feast the gods decided to hold "just because". It was quite an usual event, although the moment Dionysus came and filled cups with his ambrosia, the next mornings were difficult to remember, with always a new lover, usually a demigod, lying in your sheets. Feasts with him were always dangerous, but ones without – impossible.
Apollo, no, wait, Gojo, his name was, played softly on his lyre in the background, and muses hummed softly. He smirked once, and a moment later, white locks were touched by an ocean breeze and golden rays of the setting sun. His hand went towards one of the nymphs, cupping her reddened cheeks gently, already drunk on sweet wine. Such a womaniser he was, and although most of the Gods slept with one another as they wished, Gojo was truly one and only, a troublemaker and a genuine gentleman at the same time, even fumbling through your bed more than once.
You looked behind, seeing gentle waves glistening under a golden sky, with darkness slowly setting in, before the only thing you could see was a white foam lightened by the pale moonlight. God of the Sea sat happily and relaxed, talking Zeus's ear off. It was a good dinner, indeed, while most of the Gods and demigods feasted in the embrace of the warm summer evening.
You turned back, seeing Gojo looking at you, smile sly and gaze slightly dimmed, as if drunk on constantly flowing wine. You heard Zeus bickering with the God of Wine over his attempts to alcoholise everyone, but his voice alone wasn't quite clear either, with golden hair already slightly messy and white robes sliding down muscular shoulders.
"Aren't you just a womaniser?" You hummed, already seeing the glimmering bottom of your cup and Gojo pacing towards you. "Leave my nymphs alone, or I'll be the one listening to their cries about your mischievous promises."
He scoffed, sitting down next to you and clinking your cups together. "I've never promised them anything aside from having fun. None of them ever complained." He settled comfortably, a hand behind your back and a lone finger caressing your bare shoulders slowly, slowly. "Who are you taking home today, hm? You know I'm free if–"
This time, you scoffed. "Forget it," you took a sip, never asking him to keep his hands off you. It was nice. He was nice, but there indeed wasn't much chemistry between you two when it came to sex life. "We're not good lovers. Besides, a little dove whispered to my ear that you've been having an affair with a mortal," You stopped, glancing at him with a smile dancing in the corner of your lips. "A male mortal. Prince of Sparta Geto Suguru, from what I've heard. Such a beauty, isn't he?"
Gojo laughed quietly, his eyes following your cunning smile. "Isn't your birdie quite well-informed, hm?"
He seemed taken aback, almost wanting to hide his secret affair from the prying eyes of the Gods. But he didn't know that nothing could have been hidden from you, and little, white doves flying above the skies of the mortal world, maybe following him here and there if you were bored and amused enough to watch his secret romance with a Spartan prince bloom like a pristine flower.
"What? Getting jealous? I thought God was above it."
He snorted, eyes glued to something, someone, over your shoulder.
A dark figure, sitting quietly among the most powerful Gods, one of the three brothers ruling the three dimensions of this world. The "Unseen One", a grim and ghastly figure, as if mute and solemn, always in the dark corners or ones barely flustered by candles' gentle tongues. Everyone knew he was there, but barely glanced towards him, as if ignorance was the only way to handle one of the three most powerful Gods in all of Greece. The one having power over the domain so dark and eerie, mortals prayed to never meet him directly, as if bathing in Tartarus was more pleasant than standing face to face with him.
Hades.
"You also have an admirer, I see," Gojo murmured, while you looked back.
Your eyes met with panic.
Not yours, his.
He looked absolutely terrified, with a glance so flustered and lost, as if your attention alone was the absurdest and scariest thing he could experience. His stare escaped quickly towards his two younger brothers, before, just for a second, it slipped back to you again – your lips and breasts, wrapped tightly in pinkish robes and soft hair caressing your cheeks, reddened like a wine and flushed in a smile.
You indeed had an admirer. For a long time now.
"The oldest one, but also the most peculiar, don't you think? He looks a bit miserable." Gojo hummed to your ear, sitting so close you could feel his sweet breath on your ear. The man in the corner moved slightly, looking between you and the other God with a little frown and eyes so anxious, a small chuckle escaped your lips. "And so jealous!"
"You know, that you've just insulted one of the strongest Gods, right? Also, he has quite good relations with three sisters." Gojo shrugged his shoulders, as if a vision of his thread of life being cut didn't scare him in the slightest. But you, he, and every other God in this feast knew that if there’s anyone Gods and mortals should be the most polite and thankful to, it should be Hades.
Because what could be better than being on good terms with God of the Underworld himself?
"So that's why you haven't slept with anyone recently?"
You hummed softly but didn't answer.
And it was true that as a Goddess of Love, Beauty and Fertility, quite... a few lovers have stumbled through your sheets. All of them just for one night, with both mortals, heroes and demigods always wanting more, but never having a chance with a Goddess herself.
You also never wanted anything more from either of them. Never needed, but just a few gentle touches and charming words whispered to your ear, maybe a thrust one or two and a spasmic tremble of their body, while you were left quite satisfied but never fully.
Gojo was a fine lover, good even, but he was too, well, overpowering, you would say. Too confident, always in control, such a tease, with nymphs hanging off his shoulders and sheets dirtier than you could imagine. He was a fun person to be around and sleep from time to time if you were extremely bored, but… well.
He didn't know how to handle you as a Goddess. Worship, like a plain mortal, so pathetically and desperately down on his knees, creaming all over his pants just from your one glance.
But you knew a man who could do it.
Because he was always there, in the night sky and quiet wind, within a soft flickering of the candle and moonlight coming to your chamber through a window. In the seeds of the pomegranates that were left in your temple – your attribute, a symbol of desire and fertility, almost as if he wanted to be noticed, let you know that he’s here and has been for a long time.
Hades, no, Choso, a God of the Underworld, barely showed himself up here in Olympus, almost always down in his realm of death. He wasn’t very social, if it was the correct way to describe his rare appearance during all the Gods' gatherings, be it a feast or holiday celebrations.
He avoided every meeting as much as he could, but somehow appeared every time he knew you also would be there. And during the feasts, he would sit at the table for the highest and mightiest, but always keep himself in the dark, even if the sun shining upon Olympus couldn’t be any brighter.
You glanced at him once again, noticing little nods he gave Zeus and lips curling in a barely visible, timid smile, before he chuckled. And you could swear that softness of his voice was the reason your throat tightened around the swallowed wine.
You coughed, bringing his attention, a worried gaze, and a hand, almost, slightly reaching out to you, before he hid it once again in the wide sleeve of his dark robes.
“Isn't our beauty already drunk?” Gojo cooed, patting your back.
Wine spilt all over your robes, leaving a dark stain on your half-bare breasts. Gojo chortled, his hand too touchy and too close to your lower back, while Zeus sighed deeply, almost disappointingly. It was hard to see him not disappointed in Gojo and all the troubles, orgies and affairs he was always getting himself into.
Gojo was still patting your back before something stopped him.
Someone.
Choso stood up at some point and came closer so quietly, you didn’t even notice him leaving the table. Just a hint of greaminess filled the atmosphere, with hushed voices and faint whispers of the demigods and nymphs, glancing upon a looming figure bathed in darkness.
Your coughing stopped, but warm tongues of flames scratching your skin were suddenly dimmed by a tall man with dark hair touching his shoulders and cupping pinkish cheeks softly. Dark eyes, filled with so much concern it made your stomach turn, looked down at you, with surrounding them purplish circles, giving his handsome face even more earrines. Your gaze slipped to his long earrings swinging lightly with every step, one of delicate shell and the other of snake, so opposite to one another but harmonising so beautifully, you couldn’t help but feel a pang in your heart.
But. Wait a second.
Wasn’t a shell an attribute of–
“Here,” you heard a low voice, and the next second, a black handkerchief was extended towards you. “You can use it to, um, to clean yourself. It’s black, so i-it won’t leave a–“
Oh dear god.
How pitiful he looked, with eyes running between your face and breasts, cheeks flushed in a cherry, such a contrast with his deadly-pale skin, and long fingers holding on to a handkerchief with a slight tremor.
You were terrified to even think of the face you did at that moment, but Gojo's elbow brushing yours and his silent cough told you that your eyes may or may not have changed into two small hearts, beating furiously at the sight of the pathetic God standing right in front.
Gojo wanted to take black material himself, but Choso's gaze was so strongly fixated on your trembling figure (not with dreadfulness, but a desire you've never felt before!), he quite literally was afraid to break such a precious moment.
So he coughed again and stuck his elbow even harder, before you finally noticed a fair palm extended to you.
"Oh," you muttered, taking a handkerchief and wiping your dirty clothes immediately. "Thank you so much, my Lord."
He shrugged visibly, nodding his head and looking at your plush breasts, soaked in reddish wine and coated in your pink, almost transparent robes.
And you, as a Goddess of so many beautiful and fertile things, were mostly known for one thing – your sexual appeal. Greeks loved to sculpt your body almost naked, rarely dressed, but even if, always in skimpy robes and translucent garments. Some presented you wrapped in a golden girdle, a myth and a gossip going on around the mortal world, of the belt whose wearer could make anyone fall in love with them.
It was funny at first to even think that the most beautiful Goddess needed a mere accessory to seduce her admirers. But the gossip turned out to be so appealing, you decided to create such a belt and give it to Hera, for... well, seducing the highest and mightiest of all, of course.
But you've never used it yourself, keeping it only for your friends and demigods, maybe sometimes water nymphs, who used your accessories to play with mortals and some heroes. It was fun, safe and without any commitment.
But you?
Choso gulped, a droplet of sweat forming around his temple as his eyes couldn't leave your drenched skin, too bare and too soft under flushed material, to have every other God around see you in such an harmless state.
Maybe he was hallucinating or maybe not, but you stood up, slowly, confidently, with breasts almost falling from your already too skimpy robes. Knowing his eyes followed your body, you glanced at him with such a stunning smile and a hint of foxy craftiness in your glimmering gaze, he almost passed out.
Literally, because his knees gave out, and the long scepter was the only thing that saved him from complete humiliation in front of the whole of Olympus.
"I'll clean it and return, my Lord. Maybe you could give me a hint or two regarding navigating the Underworld, hm?" You said so quietly, he may have been the only person who had heard your honeyed voice.
He could swear it was as sweet as your body, which turned out to be definitely too close to his, spreading a fragrance of fresh roses and an ocean breeze, stuck to your flowing hair and velvety skin.
But how could a Goddess like you even think of going down to his grim and mournful domain, filled with nothing but eeariness and cries of descendent souls, left at his mercy. "No, my G-Goddess, you shouldn't–"
"I insist." Your voice was firm and touch even firmer, almost burning his creamy skin, when your fingers brushed his bicep and gripped it lightly.
Only now you've noticed a delicate, black stripe spread on his nose and rosy cheeks, almost hidden under the muted candle's light, but visible enough the moment you closed the distance, suffocating him with your–ah, too close, too close, too close.
"My Goddess, I'm afraid you're too–"
But how could he push you away when his body betrayed him so clearly? Your hand on his bicep, plump breasts almost grazing his dark robes and flushed cheeks raised to meet his furrowed brows, oh so lost in your sweetness and a soft giggle, which already sounded like the most graceful melody.
Saying he was tall would be an overstatement, but stating he was well–built would be a pure untruth – his muscles trembled under your small hand, but you could feel their sturdiness. You caught how tight the dark robe was around his shoulders and the way it perfectly fit his muscular back and veiny forearms, peeking from wide sleeves.
He clenched snowish fingers on a long scepter, looking anywhere just not at you.
And when you touched your wine-wet breasts with his handkerchief, it was over.
He couldn't handle it anymore, so he did what every other wise and powerful God would do in the presence of a lustful and most beautiful woman walking on this Earth – turned on his heels and ran away.
"I'm sorry, my Goddess, I need to–um, I truly need to g-go–"
And he went indeed.
With such a hurry and a shade of delicious apple you've never seen spread on his face before, the only thing you could do was stand still and stare at his broad back slowly going down from Olympus's peak.
"My, my," you've heard a whistle and a second later, Gojo stood next to you, with a face not much different from yours. Flushed, stupefied, maybe a bit more amused. "He really is a lost cause, hm? Maybe calling him miserable was an overstatement. He's the most pathetic God in this Pantheon."
You inhaled heavily, feeling a warmth coiling in your belly, so familiar but at the same time intense, you've tried to remember the last time it felt as pleasant as now.
Hm, never?
"You're wrong," Gojo glanced at you with a raised eyebrow. And his amusement was even higher when he saw this weird look in your eye. Delight? Lust? No, lo– "He's pathetic for me only."
Days were passing by, filled with responsibilities mostly.
You've spent your time on listetning to worshippers – young girls, future mothers, women praying to bestow them with fertility, couples wishing for productive sexual life – and devoted sunny afternoons to bathing in the warm sun dancing on Olympus.
It was your favourite time of the day, so the moment your feet dipped into the crystal water, a blissful shiver ran through your spine, soothing both mind and body with a delicate touch of the waves. Nymphs surrounded you like ducks, dipping their heads in the pool and chirping among themselves like little birdies.
Your open bathhouse sat at the top of Olympus, built encircled by creamy columns, growing tall as trees, scratching cotton clouds with a serene feeling of quietness.
Small stairs led directly to fresh water, warmed by gentle rays of sunlight and glimmering on the velvety skin of playing nymphs.
Your statue stood right next to the open pool, tall and proud, almost naked too, representing which God this place belonged to.
When your body finally dipped fully, and eyes closed in ease, a faint sight escaped your lips. Sun rubbed your skin as you slumped against the pool’s wall and took a deep breath of the air dripping with an ocean breeze.
One of the nymphs slouched next to your naked body, her eyes looking at you with awe and curiosity, before she asked softly. "My Lady, my Lady, wasn’t Lord Hades quite rude to you last time?"
Another one swam closer, peaking at your body like a gem, something so beautiful and precious, no one deserved to touch— no, maybe even look at it. "That’s right, my Lady, doesn’t Lord Hades lack in manners? He’s never gonna find a wife with such a temper!"
You chuckled first, but the second sentence seemed to pique your curiosity. Your eye opened, glancing at a few nymphs floating peacefully around.
Such silly and adorable creatures they were, quite coquettish if they wanted to, and you understood why Gojo seemed to have a soft spot for them.
"And why would he need a wife?" You murmured, a strange feeling coiling in your belly.
One girl hummed, as if wondering, long hair flowing on the water, golden like wheat.
"My Lady, I’ve heard Lord Zeus talking to him about this. It seems like there’s a woman called Persephone and quite interested in Lord Hades she seems to be."
Your lips immediately fell flat in line.
Persephone? Isn’t she just a small sprat living under her mother's wings? What in the world could she want from Hades himself?
"Zeus said that, hm?" You mumbled, but didn’t listen to the rest of what Nymphs had to say.
Wife. Wife. Wife.
Why the hell he needed a wife?
You juggled this question like a mantra, like a woman obsessed, although there was truly nothing to be obsessed with.
That night was still vivid in your mind when Choso left the feast in a hurry – speechless and with ears burning like fire. The picture of his face was stuck in your memory, so lovely and pathetic, haunting you every night till the first sun rays hit your chamber.
You’ve seemed to lose your mind over him, how touch-starved he seemed to be, wanting, needing your attention desperately.
So why couldn’t you feel him anymore?
You wondered.
Why did any trace of his presence suddenly disappear, slip through the corners of your temples, together with pomegranates and shells scattered around your altars?
Why your chamber seemed to be lighter in the night, and what happened to the ragged, shortened breath you swear could hear during the deepest sleep.
Why has he left you?
Why—
A shriek brought your thoughts back, with a crystal water suddenly flowing in streams over the edge of the swimming pool. Nymphs were running away, as if scared – no, terrified, pointing with their fingers at something behind you.
"M-my Lady, look out! There’s a creature!"
A creature?
You turned head slowly, glancing over your shoulder. And suddenly, shock crossed your face, but only for a moment, before you raised an eyebrow in interest.
"Oh?" A hum escaped your lips, bringing your attention entirely to the so-called creature, being nothing more than a black snake.
For your nymphs' justification, some of them were quite… uneducated, you would say. Maybe a bit stupid, never seeing a world outside Olympus. Although snakes belonged to various Gods living on the Mountain, many usually associated them with the earth.
And the underworld.
"What brought you here, my dear? Are you lost?" You cooed, looking at his long body, slowly moving towards you, with yellowish eyes focused on nothing but your small, white dove, sitting calmly near your dipped body.
The snake was big, truly looking quite monstrous, but the dove didn't seem to mind his presence, as if her curiosity was piqued by the creature. Its black skin glimmered under the scorching sun, pinkish tongue sliding in and out of a closed mouth, checking the surroundings.
Nymphs left the pool, still warning you with faint screams and pleadings to leave it alone.
But how could you leave it alone if it was the first sign the God of the Underworld has sent you since that feast?
How could you ignore his weak and unsatisfying presence, sending your way such a creature instead of himself?
You stretched out your hand, brushing its hard skin. The scales were warm under your touch, but the snake completly ignored you, instead grazing with its big head the snowy feathers of the dove. "Where's your master, hm? Did he send you?"
Your birdie glanced at it, for a second only, before she lowered her head and touched the snake's raven skin with her soft feathers.
And then–
Snap!
Dove cried, one of the white feathers falling from her delicate body. You almost saw a furrow between her small eyes and stare shooting daggers at her bully.
She flew up, sitting on your arm, as you lifted your fingers to gently caress her.
"My poor baby," you whispered, as she cooed softly to your ear. "Isn't he just a mean bully? Quite different from his master, hm?"
Her small head pushed against your fingers, starved for your delicate touch, soothing her snowy feathers with slow brushes.
And when you looked at the snake, with a feather in his mouth, he sent you one last glance, before hiding back in the forest.
It seemed like you needed to fulfil your promise and pay the God of the Underworld a visit.
So a few days later, you finally found the only person who could help you get down to Hades's domain.
"Sorry, what?" Hermes looked at you with a furrow, scanning your body covered in pink, flowy robes, full of beauty and charm, definitely not accustomed to and made for a journey to the underworld. "Are you bored? Why in the world would you like to go down there?"
Your lips pressed in a line, hands clasped on your chest, with gold bracelets hugging your bare arms. It was always weird to hear other Gods – men – question your choices, and aside from Gojo who indeed had this privilege solely because of being your friend, it was always quite irritating to see others not giving you what you asked them for.
And if going to the underworld was that easy, you would do it yourself.
But it wasn't.
In fact, only one God was responsible for taking souls to the gates of hell, and it was he – this charming man, but just a dick to be honest, with wings on his feet and a golden helmet sitting tight on his raven hair.
Toji.
Your once-lover and Gojo's nemesis.
"Lord Hades invited me over," you said, but the only reaction you've got was a soft scoff.
"I doubt it." He murmured, broad back still turned away.
You took a deep breath, placing fingers on your temple. "Okay, what do you want in exchange?"
"Nothing." He stood back to you, focused on repairing something in his winged sandals, ignoring your boiling figure completly.
You really hoped that this pink dress, hugging your hips gently, with skin smelling like rose oil and a golden necklace sitting calmly right on your plump breasts, would convince him to grant you a pass.
You blinked.
"Nothing?" you repeated slowly, not quite believing your ears.
Toji finally turned to face you. The movement was lazy, unhurried, like a lion stretching only because it felt like it. Sunlight caught on the metal of his winged sandals, and the golden helmet resting carelessly on his head tilted as he studied you with dark, amused eyes.
“Did I stutter, doll?”
Your eye twitched.
Men like him were always like this – acting as if they were above bargains, above temptation, above you. As if the Goddess of Love herself standing in front of them asking for help was nothing more than a mild inconvenience.
"I don’t believe you," you said flatly.
He smirked. "Smart."
Crossing his arms over his broad chest, he leaned against the marble pillar behind him, muscles shifting beneath his tunic. Even relaxed, he looked built for war – dangerous in a way that made other gods nervous and foolish mortals worshipful. He was cunning, smart, a God of Travellers and thieves, mostly, somehow having responsibility over guiding poor souls to the underworld.
You had fun back in the days, but he, like any other God, was too overpowering. Too pushy, brutal, with his fast and heavy thrusts, indeed giving you pleasure, but never satisfying some deep need coiling in your belly. He wouldn't drop down to his knees. Worship you like a Goddess, a pathetic man eager to lose his Godly status just to have you exclusively.
"You don’t want gold," you continued, ticking possibilities off in your mind. "You don’t care for favors. You’ve never been one for politics. So what is it, Toji? What do you want?"
For a moment he only watched you, gaze dragging slowly over your face as if he were trying to decide something.
Then he laughed.
Low. Rough. Infuriatingly confident.
"What I want," he said, stepping closer, "is to see something interesting."
Your brows knitted together. "Interesting?"
"Yeah." He shrugged. "You, of all people, marching into the Underworld for the brooding King of the Dead? That’s entertainment money can’t buy."
So that was it.
Curiosity.
Amusement.
Typical Hermes.
"You’re unbelievable," you muttered.
"So I’ve been told." His grin widened. "Alright, doll. I’ll take you."
Relief loosened the knot in your chest, though you hid it well to not give him satisfaction.
"But," he added, holding up a finger, "you follow my lead. No wandering off. No charming the shades. And absolutely no crying if you get scared."
"I don’t get scared," you said coolly.
"We’ll see."
Without another word, he extended a hand to you. Rough, warm, steady.
Hesitating only a second, you placed your fingers in his.
The world shifted.
Air folded in on itself. The brightness of Olympus faded like a curtain being drawn, colors draining away into something colder, heavier. The scent of flowers and honey dissolved into ash and stone.
When your feet touched solid ground again, it wasn’t marble beneath you.
It was black sand.
The sky above was no longer sky at all – just a vast, endless ceiling of shadow. Rivers of dark water cut through the land like veins, and distant wails echoed from places you couldn’t see.
Toji released your hand.
"Welcome to the Underworld," he said casually, as if he’d just shown you a new café instead of the realm of the dead.
You barely heard him.
Because ahead of you, towering higher than any palace of Olympus, stood the gates.
Massive iron doors carved with ancient symbols, wrapped in chains that seemed to breathe, guarded by looming statues with hollow eyes. Beyond them stretched a kingdom of eternal night.
Hades’s domain.
Your heart fluttered in your chest.
"So," Toji drawled beside you, watching your expression with open amusement, "still sure about this?"
You lifted your chin.
"Open the gates."
The underworld turned out to be... quiet.
The shriek of massive gates filled the stifled air, but when you entered through, there was nothing once again.
No, maybe there was.
Soft whispers coming from the long river stretching in front of you, with a small, wooden pier lightened by a single candle. Its flame whizzed in the darkness, inviting you as if offering a bit of warmth.
Black sand sank beneath your sandals, your pink dress grazing the ground as you followed Toji’s broad, confident back toward the pier.
"My company ends here," he stated, walking slowly. "But Charon will take you straight to Hades’s temple."
You frowned slightly, glancing around the boundless land. No sun. No moon. Only endless twilight, air shifting between cold and warmth, sticky and hollow, sending uneasy shivers down your spine.
"He’ll be there. Don’t worry," Toji added, noticing the tension in your shoulders. “You’ll be fine.”
You noticed shades hovering nearby – dim, almost transparent figures gliding aimlessly, faces pale and empty, hands reaching out as though searching for something they had long forgotten. "Who are they?"
"Dead who weren’t buried with coins," Toji replied, casually swatting away one shade that drifted too close to you with cupped, pleading hands. "Charon can’t take them across the Styx without payment."
"And what happens to them?"
Your feet touched the wooden pier. The boat was already waiting – long and narrow, with a single lamp hanging from its curved prow. A small figure sat at the back, cloaked in black, nothing visible but pale, bony hands protruding from wide sleeves, one extended expectantly, the other gripping a worn paddle.
"They wander," Toji said with a shrug, snapping his fingers towards the boatman. "Hey, grandpa, she's a Goddess, no need for payment. Take her right to Hades. She's a guest."
Charon slowly withdrew his outstretched hand and placed it back on the paddle, waiting in silent invitation.
You inhaled slowly, gathering the folds of your dress, and stepped into the boat.
The wood creaked beneath your weight, and the small vessel rocked gently as Charon pushed away from the pier with a single, practiced motion. The candlelight swayed, throwing trembling reflections across the dark water.
Toji remained on the shore, arms crossed.
"Try not to die down there," he called after you with a lazy grin.
"I’m a Goddess," you glanced back, lifting your chin. "I can't die."
"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, already turning away. "Tell that Sisyphus."
You wanted to snap back that he, in fact, wasn't a God, but the boat already moved, sliding over the dark waters of the Styx with gentle waves woven by a wooden paddle.
The River Styx stretched endlessly in both directions, black as polished obsidian, its surface smooth and unmoving. No wind touched it. No ripple dared disturb it. The only sound was the slow dip of Charon’s paddle cutting through the water.
Around you, shades hovered in the mist, faint faces pressed together like memories too worn to remember themselves. Some reached toward the boat with hollow eyes, others merely watched, envy etched into their pale, fading forms.
You wrapped your arms around yourself.
For the first time in centuries, you felt small.
“Don’t listen to them,” Toji had warned before you left.
But how could you not?
One shade drifted close to the boat, its hollow eyes meeting yours, and for a heartbeat, you felt a wave of sorrow so deep it nearly stole your breath.
You looked away quickly.
The further you travelled, the heavier the air became, until at last the boat scraped softly against another shore.
And there it was.
The entrance to the Underworld.
You looked over your shoulder at Charon, wishing to hear his voice, but he only stretched his skeletal hand, pointing at something.
You left the boat, feet once again touching soft, black sand.
The closer you got to Hades's temple, the warmer it became, with a gentle wind moving folds of your dress. As Toji said, it wasn't a place for you.
Dark, isolated, gloomy, hugging your shivering body covered in the sweetest, most beautiful shimmering gown worn only on the sunny land of Olympus.
But here? You looked truly like a clown, with gold jewellery looking almost bleak under the darkness looming over your figure.
Another gate appeared in front of you, once again massive in its heaviness, but this time with no chain in sight.
Actually, it looked as if... slightly opened?
Impossible.
You moved closer, step by step, white sandals sinking in sand, black grains moving between your soft fingers. The gate was right there, so close, with a mere few steps and–
Your body froze.
Because there, from the darkness emerged a creature so massive it seemed carved from nightmares themselves.
Enormous, monstrous even, with three heads moving towards you, teeth wet with saliva and eyes burning like coal.
A guard of the underworld, you've heard.
Hades's pet.
But you didn't see any assembly to a pet, rather a monster talked about only in tales, one usually killed bravely by heroes or spreading annihilation over mortals.
Your heart skipped.
"Oh," you breathed. "You must be the Cerberus."
The beast stepped closer, paws heavier than thunder, breath warm and smoky against your skin. Each head watched you with suspicion, nostrils flaring at your unfamiliar scent.
You straightened your shoulders.
"I am Aphrodite," you said softly, holding out a hand. "Goddess of Love and Beauty. I mean no harm."
For a tense moment, nothing happened.
But then, one of the massive heads tilted. In curiosity, playfulness, maybe, with this glint in his eye, you knew animals had every time they saw you.
Another gave a curious sniff, as if your rosy oil scratched his nostrils in pleasure.
The third promptly leaned forward, and before you could fully process it, a rough, warm tongue dragged across your cheek.
"Oh–!" You gasped, stumbling back in surprise.
The second head followed, then the third, each nuzzling you with embarrassing enthusiasm. The fear melted instantly, replaced by startled laughter.
The great hound wagged its monstrous tail, the ground trembling with each happy thump.
"Well, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. You're just like your Master." Faint giggle bubbled in your throat, fingers scratching one of the enormous heads under its chin, the other one behind its ear, while the third licked your skin once again, leaving you with another gasp and its saliva dripping down your robe.
"Such good puppies, aren't you? Can you take me to your Master? We have stuff to discuss."
Cerberus escorted you the rest of the way, walking proudly at your side as if you were already expected.
And beyond the heavy gate and rocky path, rising higher than any structure you had ever seen, stood the temple of Hades. Stone steps rose upward toward a structure carved into the cliffs themselves – dark marble pillars wrapped in shadow, torches burning with pale fire.
Cold.
Majestic.
Eternal.
Your breath caught in your throat.
"So this is where he lives," you whispered, feeling Cerberus' nose pushing you towards the temple. "Yes, yes, thank you, my dear. Such a good dog you are. The best, maybe."
You gave him one last scratch before going towards Hades's domain.
Did he expect you? You thought.
Will he be surprised?
Did Toji tell him you're here?
But if he did, wouldn't the God of the Underworld wait for you already?
And as you stepped closer to the looming entrance, licked by the cold fire of the hanging lanterns, something in your gut told you that he, in fact, didn't know that you were here.
And when you entered, looking around the cold stones, your heart suddenly skipped a beat.
You expected the inside to be quite cold, sheathed in gloom, a feeling of sadness, weird eariness that would send a chill through your bones. No one actually knew what Hades lived like. No one ever cared. And it seemed like he didn't care too – about making an appearance, trying to change the way people see him, particularly about other Gods.
But, oh, how wrong you were.
Because on the tall walls and high ceilings, an altar quietly put in the middle and columns wrapped in paintings – was you.
You, bathing in a pool, painted with a steady hand on one of the walls.
Your body wrapped around the column, one of the flowy dresses slipped on it casually, hair fluttering in the wind, and a smile spread on plump lips.
The sculpture of your body, naked, but covered with a transparent robe, presenting only a part of your full breasts and hips, ending just in the middle of thick thighs, standing just in the middle of the entrance. It looked dampened, with the robe sticking to your skin, barely covering perked nipples and fat gathering around your hips.
Your gaze moved to the altar.
Shells scattered around its flat surface, together with roses, apples, seeds of pomegranate, a white feather, a piece of your– wait a minute-
"M-my Goddess?"
A low voice brought your thoughts back.
Choso suddenly emerged from one of the chambers, his tall figure covered in black robes and face – oh, his face – twisted in emotion closest to pure agony. He looked at you with furrowed brows, biting lower lip and deciding whether he should come to you or, maybe, once again, run away.
"My Goddess, what are you doing here?" He asked, staying in place.
You glanced last time at the piece of clothing lying on the altar and grinned. It was weird to see it here, from all places, but something coiling in your lower belly told you that perhaps it was the only reasonable place to see your undergarments stolen a while ago.
"I promised to give it back," a black handkerchief appeared in your hand, clean and fresh, smelling exactly like your favourite body oil. "Last time you ran away so quickly, my Lord, we didn't have a chance to properly talk."
His throat moved and eyes followed you nervously as you slowly walked towards him.
You didn't fit here, he thought, to this disgusting place.
Because he had seen beauty before.
Choso was old as bone and shadow, older than kingdoms, older than grief. He had watched empires crumble into dust and souls pass through his gates like autumn leaves. Nothing startled him anymore. Nothing truly moved him.
But then, oh, then he saw you.
Aphrodite.
A name whispered among Gods and mortals, and yet no story, no hymn, no jealous prayer had ever done you justice.
He watched you approach with a steady pace, swaying hips, and long robes dragged behind your feet. His mouth was dry, heart beating too fast, pale skin sweating with dread, nervousness, terror. Because every time he saw you, smelled your skin damped in the sweetness of flowery oils, heard a laugh always caused by Gojo or another God he absolutely despised – his body was in flames.
Your gown flowed like liquid dawn – soft folds of pink and gold clinging to a body sculpted by the heavens themselves. Each step you took was unhurried, graceful, unaware of the havoc it caused in his heart.
Your hair caught the dim torchlight and turned it into silk. Skin held a glow that did not belong to this realm, smooth and untouched, as if the moment he would sink his teeth into the curve of your ass, pure ambrosia would drip down his chin.
And your face–
Gods had waged wars over less.
There was something unbearably gentle in your expression, something kind, a beauty truly worthy of the Goddess of Love. And the smirk on your lips, a cunning smile, words slipping so casually, constantly with a drop of lewdness as if you knew the effect you had on him.
Choso knew it was over for him.
He had always wondered, distantly, what it would feel like to have your hand in his. To feel that warmth against his eternally cold skin. To have you say his name the way only lovers did, low and familiar, as if he was something precious instead of something feared by Gods and mortals.
His fist clenched, when you walked closer – body mere centimetres from his, breast almost touching his burning skin, and he prayed, truly prayed, for your gaze not to go down any further, because he couldn't stand your lustrous eyes on his cock leaking through black robes.
"My Lord, won't you invite me to a cup of wine, at least?" You asked carefully, quietly, noticing his dark eyes running around your face. His hand trembled, and throat cleared when he showed you a way inside the temple.
To his inner chambers, you guessed.
You walked past him, fingers slightly brushing the bulging part of his robes, and he, well, he almost fell down to his knees in an utterly embarrassing and completly failed position he found himself at.
The inside of the temple was cosier than you thought it would be, with the next room filled with warmth and red carpets, candles fighting the darkness with their reddish tongues. There was a long table too and a balcony, with a view of – oh.
"That is Tartatus, my Goddess," Choso said, when he saw your shocked gaze looking down at the deep abyss filled with faint moans and shrieks, as if souls were cooked alive there, tortured in the most terrifying ways. A dungeon for the most wicked ones, true monsters and creatures that should never see daylight. "I don't use it unless I have to. Some of them deserve to be there."
A hint of nervousness still lingered in his voice when he stood behind you. Heat radiated from his body as he stood close enough to cage you with his muscular forearms. How lovely it would be!
You moved your head away from the painful screams, turning your body back towards him.
Gentle eyes looked at you from under the purplish circles, black stripes moving together with his knitted eyebrows and tightened lips.
"Aren't you lonely here? It doesn't seem like the happiest place in the world," you asked with actual curiosity, but he frowned even harder, as if thinking about the proper answer.
Some servant in the back put two glasses of wine on the table and melted away in the darkness of the temple.
"I never had a choice," Choso finally whispered, inviting you with a gesture back to the room. He moved away a chair and let you sit first, before taking a seat right next to you. "That's how I was raised and born. That's the only place I know."
You watched him carefully as he spoke.
There was something painfully honest in his voice, something raw and unpolished, as if no one had ever truly asked him such a simple question before.
You lifted a glass to your lips, taking a sip of red wine, melting sweetly on your tongue.
“So no visitors?” you asked lightly. “No celebrations? No festivals in your honour? Is there truly no one who worships the God of the Underworld? There must be some benefits to it.”
He huffed softly at that, something almost like embarrassment flickering across his face.
“The dead do not celebrate,” he replied. “And the living fear me too much to bother.”
“Yet you welcomed me,” you pointed out.
At that, his fingers tightened slightly around his own glass. Face slightly flushed, red like a cherry, with its juice going through his cheeks up to hair-covered ears.
"B-but you're not like them," he mumbled so quietly, you needed to use all of your might to hear those words.
Not like them.
Your head tilted, letting a small smile play at the corner of your mouth.
“And how am I different, my Lord?" you asked, voice gentle and confident, nevertheless pinning him down to his seat in nervousness. "Oh, and the paintings at the entrance? Truly wonderful! I've never thought I'll have devotees among the Gods."
For a moment, he didn’t answer.
Dark eyes traced your face again, as if committing every detail to memory. The plumpness of your lips. The shine of your skin. The soft rise and fall of your chest with each breath. This rosy dress, too tight and too transparent, allowing him to see the curve of your breast and the pinkish aureola of your soft nipples.
He gulped.
"I-if you're bothered by them–"
"I'm not. I love them, truly," Choso shifted in his place, when you slightly loosened on your chair, legs spread a bit wider than they were, fiery gaze stuck at him. "But the altar, dear Lord. How did you even get such stuff? The feather, I believe, is a treasure captured by one of your small servants, although he indeed was a bit brutal with my birdie," His face was burning, air almost knocked out from lungs in embarrassment and desire he felt under your heavy gaze, with his eyes focused on your parted thighs, hugged by a robe, opened for him as if in invitation. "Though the undergarment? Aren't you–" But before you could finish, he dropped down to his knees, head heavy on your thighs, muscular arms wrapped around your legs as you felt something hard and leaking under your foot. "Just a pervert?"
"M-my Goddes, I'm so s-sorry," he murmured, looking at you from below, with dark eyes filled with pathetic pleading, beefy arms tightening their embrace around your legs as he rubbed his cheek against your warm thigh. "I am, I am a pervert, I-I am nothing more than a pervert, j-just please let me–"
Your hand gently caressed his cheek as he nuzzled into it with a heavy breath.
Dear God, he was truly perfect, with those trembling lips and eyes gazing at you so lovingly, so desperately, something warm coiled in your belly.
His hands touched your ankles, slowly, slowly, going up, catching the hem of your dress, rolling it up to your knees, while he still looked at you with begging eyes.
"Let you do what?" you hummed, foot pushing against his throbbing dick with gentleness, "What are you willing to do to have me, my Lord?"
His fingers clenched on your skin before pulling the dress up to the middle of your slick thighs with one swift motion. "Whatever you want, my Goddess. Just ask me, p-please just ask me. I'll give you sun and moon if you'll ask me to."
He put your legs on his shoulders, hands roaming on your bare skin, feeling the heat radiating from your core, bare but not quite visible for his hungry, despairing eye.
Your head tilted, fingers combing his hair. "Anything? Would you die for me, my Lord?"
"Yes."
No hesitation.
"Would you degrade yourself as a God, my Lord?"
"Yes."
You raised an eyebrow.
"Would you kill your brothers, my Lord?"
You knew this one was completly inappropriate, something others could kill you for, but–
"Yes."
And you didn't have time to react, before Choso spread your thighs even wider and took a looong lick of your creamy pussy. Your breath hitched, he moaned, a grumble going straight to your pulsing core, fingers squeezing his hair stronger.
"My Lord!"
But he was completly lost, with his mouth drenched in your leaking pussy, tasting, as he anticipated, like the purest form of ambrosia, the plum wine going sweetly down his throat until he moaned, no, cried right into your spread folds.
You involuntarily bucked your hips towards his open lips as he sucked on your clit.
"S-so good, my Goddess, s-so mmm–"
But the hard chair was brushing your velvety skin, and a quiet groan escaped your throat when he folded you even harder.
"My Lord, please let's move to–"
You didn't have to say it twice, before he slumped you over his shoulder, like a sack of grain, with bare ass and leaking cunt, kept in place by his beefy arm.
"Call me Choso, my Goddess," he mumbled, not able to keep his lips from your skin, kissing, biting, licking the bare curve of your ass, fingers slightly parting your pussylips as he drenched them in your juices.
And although you couldn't see him, a moment later, you heard him licking something, moaning so loudly you felt another wave of warmth flowing in your belly.
Your back hit a soft surface, and soon you found yourself spread on a bed. Lightless sky peeked through the windows, faint flames kissing Choso's fully dressed body, panting heavily as he looked down at your glistening folds. A second later, his black robe landed on the floor, with absolutely nothing on his tall body aside from heavy mountains of muscles, with muscular thighs dropping down to plush carpet and toned arms again parting your legs.
"M-my Goddess, can I?" He glanced at you pleadingly, looking like a child ready to cry if his mama won't give him his favourite sweet.
You bit lower lip, eyes sparkling with excitement at seeing him in such a hopeless state.
"Only if you'll eat me out like a good boy, Cho. Can you do it?"
Oh! And if it didn't fire him up, with a frown on his handsome face, nodding quickly, obediently, truly like a small puppy. Just maybe ten times bigger and much heavier than you, with enough strength to pin you down against his bed and fuck you senseless like an animal.
You've kept your weight on your elbows, seeing Choso going down once again, giving you a looong drag of his tongue against your glistering folds, as he parted them with his two fingers. His hot breath on your clit, as he sucked on it gently, needily, moaning and crying every time a fresh batch of creamy cum went down his throat. When your walls clenched around his tongue, rummaging inside you, and a sharp breath escaped your throat.
His hands roamed around your ass, hips, pulling you even closer, before going up up up to your breasts. Oh, Goddess of Love and Fertility, you truly were, because the thought of milk dripping from your pinkish nipples, of him sucking your tits and pushing his cock deep down your cunt at the same time made him almost cum on the spot.
He thought about whether you would allow him to cum inside.
Whether you would want his babies, to walk heavily pregnant and let him worship you day and night, by keeping your pussy always warm and pleased.
Would you–
"Yes yes yes, to all of them," you moaned with head lulled back and eyes crossed, as Choso, accidentally or not, murmured all his wishes riiiiight into your pussy, squeezing around his two fingers. "You better keep your promise and fuck me pregnant then."
He licked your pussy unhingeldy, like a starved dog, with a frown between his brows and black stripes moving every time the tip of his tongue dragged down your puffy clit, slick folds, not allowing even a single drop of your honey slick dto rip down the sheets.
His face was so beautiful and truly Godly, with pale skin drenched with your juices and contrasting red lips wrapped around your sweet bud. You looked down on him, mouth parted and breath heavy, as he pressed you closer to his open lips and stuck out tongue. "M-my Goddess, I-I promise–ngh–your pussy tastes so delicious, I can't stop ahhh–p-please tell me it feels good."
A giggle escaped your throat, but was soon strangled by a moan, when his fingers curled riiiight into that spongy spot, sending shivers down till your cervix, making your belly clench and head throw back. And seeing your reaction, he curled them again and again again again, pairing it with his tongue licking your soaked pussy and lips sucking on sweet bud, pushing his face even deeper into your folds, almost wishing to get inhaled by them.
"Mhmmm so good Cho, you're eating me s-so fucking good ahhh–"
But gone he was, eyes closed in pleasure, lips puffy, and head nodding faintly when you moved your hips and rubbed them against his tongue.
"S-so good, mhmm feels so good, this pussy," he mumbled, not quite sure whether to you or your cunt, gasping and wailing with a mouth full of your sweet juice. "Feels so mhm so good, m-my Goddess, my baby mhm, so pretty pretty–"
A pressure coiled in your belly – feeling, that with another thrust of his fingers and looong stripe of his tongue against your cunt, you will completly, pathetically break under his muscular arms pinning you down to bed.
"Choso, I'm gonna–" You gasped, fingers clasping his hair, to take him away from your pussy just for a second. "I wanna cum on your cock."
He looked up. Gaze lost, hair messy, chin drenched, a pearl of sweat running down his pale temple.
"Don't underestimate me. I'll make you cum on both my tongue and cock," His fingers stretched every corner of your cunt, thrusting against the tight muscles, drawing even more of your sweet juices from your tight hole as you moaned at the pressure building in your stomach. "What, my Goddess, your lovers never made you cum twice?"
You shook your head, gaze blurred by the heavy feeling in your belly. Choso smiled, curling his fingers against your sweet spot brutally, sucking on your clit with the lovliest cries, looking sooo satisfied and confident, with this precious knowledge of having the honour to make his Goddess go stupid on both his face and his dick.
"Even Gojo?" He continued, looking completly drunk on your slick juices, nevertheless still making sure that he indeed would be your best, the first, the only lover that will ever make you cum countless times, till your clit is sore and womb plump from his seed.
"I never had a good lover," you mewled, feeling him groan against your cunt.
"Mhmm, m-my Goddess allow me to–"
And you indeed allowed him, because not a second later, your back rose in an arch, fingers curled and thighs clenched on his head, cutting off his air supply for a few seconds, with your body trembling under his toned arms, keeping you pinned to bed.
You weren't quite sure who had an orgasm, because while a heavy whine ripped from your throat, and a shock waved through your body, Choso seemed to go through his own pleasure, crying, whining, moaning, muttering under his nose, hiccuping on your gushing slick – completly, utterly lost in the taste of your pussy.
Pretty pretty pretty pussy.
Seconds later, your positions changed, with you straddling his hips and his back slumped against soft pillows. Two hands landed on your ass, pushing it against his throbbing cock, sticking so obediently to his lower abs, with precum dripping down his shaft and smeared all over his happy trail. With hips on top, your folds hugged in wetly, last traces of creamy cum gushing over his aching shaft, with head so reddish you thought no one ever needed you that desperately.
"My Goddess, r-ride me, please?" And for a God of Underworld himself, one of the most powerful creatures in the whole Pantheon, Choso truly couldn’t stand giving you orders.
It was always please and would you, and I’m sorry, with this absurdly massive body and his eyes filled with so much gentleness, you instantly felt your cunt twitch once again.
"Oh, where did you see that position, Cho?" A smile danced in the corners of your eyes, and your hips moved slightly with your warm folds sliding up and down his cock.
It’s veiny shaft, looking so deliciously wet, fat around your pussylips and so so so pretty, you moaned faintly and put palms on Choso’s chest.
This question seemed to strike him dumb, because you saw the answer bubbling somewhere in his throat, too extreme to see the dawn.
"Tell me, baby, where have you seen it? Aren’t you a virgin, after all?" Your syrupy voice and wet pussy, fluttering hole slightly catching on the head of his cock made him whine and shudder under your weight.
He nodded, clenching his palms on your hips. "I-I am, I s-stayed for you."
For you.
And with these words, you slid his cock inside you a bit, truly barely, with the feverish tip hugged warmly by your pinkish walls. But you didn’t go further, waiting for his filthy confession.
"Such a good boy you are, right? I’ve never met better," you leaned over, lips mere millimetres from his, caressing them gently in a soft kiss. Your tongue slipped and licked his lower lip, trembling with mere inches of his cock sank inside you. "So tell me now, where did you see it?"
There was something pervy within him. Great Lord Hades, fearsome Choso, a dreadful figure living in darkness, always there but never caught by anyone. Everyone thought of him as a ghost, a demon almost, so powerful in his might yet somehow always unreachable.
But you knew.
You saw it, felt it, his presence, your disappearing panties, the rosy smell on his neck, this look when his eyes traced your body, smooth skin, a giggle escaping your lips, and single glances shot towards him, enough to give him false hope and obsess over you within the dark chambers of his temple.
A drop of sweat rolled down his forehead; his voice clearly dipped in utter embarrassment and yearning. "I-I saw you with Gojo."
You raised a brow, lips curved in an o, when you tried to remember the last time you and Gojo had sex.
Dear God, wasn't it like–
"Two years ago, you mean?"
He nodded his head, biting lower lip. Cock still only catching on your entrance, and as much as he wished to sink deep into your soaking cunt, with insanity hanging by a thread, he squeezed fingers on your hips and took a deep breath.
"Y-you rode him them, I-I saw it–"
"What do you mean, saw it?"
Oh, you loved it.
Loved loved loved it.
This blush spreading over his cheeks, a pathetic gaze he bestowed you, paired together with soft whimpers every time you squeezed slightly around his aching head, precum drenching your walls in salty droplets.
"I watched you f-from the c-corner of your chamber," admitting his perversity was a true nightmare, but you couldn't stop this pleasure coiling in your belly.
"You watched me, baby?" You sank lower, just a bit, giving him a prize for being such a good and obedient boy. "Did you touch yourself too? Hm? My cunt riding Gojo's cock excited you that much?"
His head nodded again, fast, a whimper escaping his throat when his huge cock went deeper inside your fluttering walls. The stretch was delicious, absolutely devastating, with a soft moan escaping your lips right into his parted lips.
"M-my Goddess, p-please can you move? Just a b-bit, please, please," He gasped, restraining the urge to buck his hips and push his cock into your drenched pussy till his pumping head will hit your cervix.
"How many times have you watched me?" Your questions were coming one by one, next more difficult than the other, giving Choso almost a cardiac arrest, with his heart beating so fast and his eyes almost glossy, he could not stand another embarrassing answer.
"E-every time, my Goddess, please–"
"Every time?" The last time you satisfied yourself was just after the feast. Did it mean that...?
Tears prickled in the corners of his eyes, lips wobbly when you finally, finally, sat on him with your full weight, heavy cock deep inside your cunt. You deflected, back arched, hands resting on his thighs, legs parted, allowing him to watch a creamy ring forming at the base of his cock.
"S-so good, dear Goddess, oh it feels so fucking good, y-your pussy–" He cried, whimpered, hips finally bucking up to meet yours, cock thrusting deep inside you, squeezed, kissed by your muscles and cervix, sucked every time he tried to pull out.
His eyes met yours – cunning, glistering, with this lovable hint of gentleness and desire he never ever saw with your previous lovers. And he observed you every time another God fucked your tight cunt.
Every time with your panties around his leaking cock, every time noticing what brought you the most pleasure.
So that's how he knew that if he put his hand on your lower belly, bulging with his fat cock, and pushed it slightly, your pussy would clutch him ever harder.
He knew that if his thumb would circle your sweet clit, a sharp whine would bubble in your throat, and your eyes would cross in pleasure.
So he watched your face twist in delight, hips riding him even faster, stronger, wilder, with tits moving together with your sharp back-and-forth moves. He sat up and leaned over to suck your perked nipple, cupping another one with his big palm.
Oh, how he wanted to taste the sweetness of your milk, feeling the heaviness of your breast sitting tightly in his palm, so soft and squishy, he whimpered heavily with his cock sinking in even more. "M-my Goddness, you're squeezing me so hard, feels so good mhmmm. D-do you feel g-good?"
You nodded your head, sweat dripping down your temple, but not for long, because Chose leaned and licked it from your honeyed skin.
Oh, how fucking delicious you were.
"Let me take over? I-I promise I'll be good," His hands on your hips helped you move, fucking himself back into you harder with every thrust, but it was clear that you were getting tired. "I'll be good, good, so so so good for you my Goddess–"
Although he absolutely loved this view, needing to have it in front of his eyes every morning – your full hips bouncing obscenely on his fat cock, belly bulging with his shaft, reddened lips parted and brows furrowed, with sweat dripping between your heavy tits, fitting his palm just perfectly. He would truly be ready to give over his Godly title to see it every fucking day.
"Mhmm yeah please baby, gonna fuck me with your cock?" Your lost gaze met his, even more miserable. "Mmm Cho baby, you're the best, the best fucking lov–"
You didn't manage to finish your sentence before he changed your position fast. You knew he was strong, with muscular arms and great posture, back filling his black robes and heavy, massive cock sealing your thigh cunt juust in the right way.
But you truly underestimated the power he possessed. And maybe you realised it the moment his hands appeared under your thighs, puuushing them far until your knees were almost around your head, with ass lifted in the air and breath knocked out of your chest.
And he?
He was massive. Obsessed. Lost. Bubbling under his nose, with eyes glued to your open pussy. About how delicious you were, how pretty your cunt was, how he'll breed it until it flows with his cum. He parted your lips with two fingers, whimpering at the sight of you, oh so lonely and needy hole, with saps dripping down the sheets.
Choso needed one thrust only – short, absolutely brutal, stretching a still tight ring of your muscles, absolutely devouring every panted cry that escaped your lips with his wet kisses, mouth covering yours fully, and tongue sinking down your throat.
"Mmm Cho, just like that, yes yes yes." He was swallowing your every moan like a madman, thrusting his cock deep aaall the way down to your cervix, head catching on your spongy spot and hammering it with every push.
"You make me, fuck, m-my Goddess, you turn me into fucking animal," He whimpered right into your mouth, fat tears prickling in the corners of his eyes, dangerously close to sliding down his flushed cheeks every time your cunt clamped down on his drenched cock. "I-I dreamed about this for s-so long."
And you started to feel it – this warmth in your belly, your hitched breath, head spinning, and back slightly arching with Choso's brutal thrust, obscene moans filling his chamber and nothing but squelch squelch squelch of your absolutely soaked folds drenching his fat cock.
"C-cho I'm close, I'm so so so close mhmm p-please!"
Nothing could prepare him for your sweet cumming – cunt clenching hard, creamy rings stuck to his shaft and slick gushing down your thighs. You cried, shuddered, rolled your hips against his, squeezed on his cock so hard, you felt every vein of his throbbing shaft. And he continued to pound you madly, brutally, cock sinking balls deep into your hole, a whimper escaping his throat when he drove his mass on your body even harder.
Folding you in half, preparing for a proper breeding, the thought of fucking the most fertile Goddess made him go insane.
Oh god, oh dear fucking god, how many children could you give him?
How delicious your milk would be when he would fuck your pretty pussy while drinking it riiight from your plump tits?
"M-my Goddess, can I p-please cum–"
"You better not spill any drop." Your voice was raspy but still possessed this domination that made him cream his pants on the spot.
So with another thrust, he completly crushed, body shuddering, thrusts not stopping until his tip pressed fully against your womb, filling you with loads and loads, oh god he really was a perv and a virgin, of cum, until it stuck gluey to your walls.
And with a heavy breath, he finally plopped down, embracing you with both arms and placing a cheek on your breast.
The silence filled his chamber, with sky still showing no traces of sun, only the nighttime quietness and, oh, were those crickets singing outside his temple?
"They're also dying, you know?" He whispered, as if reading your mind.
A laugh escaped your throat as you combed your fingers through his hair. "So you decided to put them in your garden?"
He chuckled too, dark eyes closed as if preparing for deep slumber. "I hoped you'd like it. To have something... alive, more familiar here."
Your heart squeezed faintly at the thought of God of the Dead himself wanting to make you comfortable in his always gloomy, always eerie domain.
And maybe you didn't much enjoy the shrieks coming from Tartarus and all the lost souls wandering around his territory, you truly thought that with more aliveness here, you could make it work.
That's why no God or nymph could ever imagine, that during the next feast, Hades himself, a God feared by them all, will sit obediently, flushed on red wine, with a such a beauty on his lap – Aphrodite herself, chippering something sweetly to his ear and may or may not moving her hips in circles on his, oh sooo tight robe!
I’ve been contemplating sugu’ with a punctuality kink hehe ^3^
Suguru Geto has always been punctual.
al least- as far as you’re aware.
never a minute late to any date, requesting ’five more minutes’ on lazy mornings in bed with you and actually getting up on the fifth minute.
you haven’t really questioned as to why, but the time seems to always weigh on his mind.
whenever you do ask, he simply babbles about how every minute is precious and he likes to cherish the subtlety of our mortality.
morbid and oddly cute, but hey- you love him anyway.
there’s no shame in admitting that you tend to fuck like bunnies- and now is no different.
every swivelling drill of his weeping tip into your cozy lil’ channel results in the wiping of coherence- babbling from both lips.
the frothy pile pooling at his base talks for itself, every little coo from suguru so demeaning it only makes you throb more saccharine rivers out of your poor pussy.
through the haze, you snag on something that isn’t his puffy mushroom-head as he pounds relentlessly.
“s-sugu’, why do you- fuck- keep looki- nnghh- at the time?”
He raises an eyebrow, simpering expression contrasting the mean probing ‘n swiping of his cock.
Pulling out in one flush movement, you whine at the lack of friction as he manhandles your legs to press against your chest, a mating press- before he slams back into you at an even harsher pace.
He never once slows to answer.
“30 seconds left. C’mon baby- be a good girl and cum f’ me?”
realisation dawns on you as he reaches down a hand to rub at your aching clit, soaked in your juices.
clenching around him- your big strong sugu’ whimpers as he asks you- begs you to cum for him.
he succeeds with 12 seconds remaining, givin’ every drop up to him as he thrusts and thrusts, not letting down as you ride out your high.
“good girl. Thats twice in 10 minutes baby- you reckon you can give me another one in 3?”
His smirk is such a pretty threat- and with his tip still leavin’ kisses on your cervix, how could you say no?
who knew punctuality could turn into a kink?
mdni div creds to @cafekitsune
jjk taglist: @sonicthedinosaur @sweethearticism | ask to be added<3
