[rileysslut]

. . . it’s so depressing how the tear ducts in my eyes . . . They’re so much wetter than the space between my thighs ! ⊹ ࣪ ˖

simon riley’s whore 𓏲 . ݁ 𓈒 𓈒 ݁ . 𓏲 true form sukuna slut

┃ ⏾ / reblogs ┆ main ┆ nav ˶ ꒱

⤿ scarlett ★ eighteen ★ reblog acc ˎˊ˗

[xochaiangelbabyx]

Lights, camera, fake it.

warnings: Explicit smut (18+ only), rough sex, degradation, dirty talk, power play, size kink, oral (giving/receiving), fingering, creampie, multiple orgasms, spanking, choking, possessive behavior, brat-taming elements. Consensual within the story’s context but fueled by real animosity. No underage content.

Synopsis: The famous Pornstar duo Suguru Geto, and Y/n L/n is the perfect porn star couple!.. is what everyone thinks. Suguru hates readers bratty attitude, and reader hates all the teasing and his stuck up attitude! What happens with all this tension?

Wc: 7.2k

The industry called you the perfect duo. “Geto and his girl”—that’s what the comments always said. Fans shipped you harder than any real couple in mainstream Hollywood. Clips of your scenes went viral on every adult platform, racking up millions of views. “The chemistry is insane,” they’d gush. “They look like they’re actually in love.”

If only they knew.

You hated Suguru Geto.

Not the polished, long-haired pornstar version the cameras loved—the one with the lazy smirk, the deep voice that dripped honey when he was on, the broad shoulders and tattooed arms that made viewers weak. No, you hated the real him. The smug, condescending asshole who showed up to every shoot fifteen minutes late, coffee in hand, acting like the set revolved around him. The one who called your attitude “bratty” behind closed doors and then spent the entire scene “taming” it for the lens.

He didn’t hate you, though. Not really. He just hated how you refused to play nice. How you’d roll your eyes at his directions, how you’d snap back during rehearsals, how your sharp tongue made his jaw tick even while his cock stayed hard for the camera.

But the money was too good. The duo brand was too lucrative. So you both pretended. Smiles for the thumbnails. Soft touches that lingered just right. Moans that sounded real.

And the public ate it up.

Today’s shoot was for a “reunion” scene—supposedly after a fake breakup arc the studio had pushed for drama. The script called for passionate makeup sex in a luxurious hotel suite set. Soft lighting, silk sheets, the works. The director wanted “raw emotion mixed with tenderness.” You wanted to vomit.

You were already in wardrobe—a tiny black lace lingerie set that barely covered anything—when Suguru strolled in. Hair tied back in that signature half-bun, black button-up shirt open at the collar, revealing the edge of his chest tattoos. He looked annoyingly good, as always.

“Morning, princess,” he drawled, voice low enough that only you could hear. His dark eyes flicked over your body without shame. “Looking bratty as ever. Try not to ruin the take this time.”

You shot him a sweet smile—the one you saved for cameras—and flipped him off behind your back. “Fuck you, Geto.”

He chuckled, stepping closer under the pretense of checking the lighting with the crew. “You will. On camera, at least. Try to act like you don’t want to bite my dick off.”

The director clapped his hands. “Alright, lovers! Places! We’re going for chemistry today. Make them believe it.”

You took your mark on the bed, heart already pounding with a mix of irritation and that unwanted flutter low in your belly. Suguru joined you, his large frame making the mattress dip. The cameras rolled.

“Action!”

The scene started soft. Suguru’s hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing your lip with practiced gentleness. His eyes softened on cue—those deep, stormy eyes that fans swooned over.

“I missed you,” he murmured, voice velvet. “Can’t stay away from you, baby.”

You leaned into the touch, forcing your expression into one of longing. “Then don’t,” you whispered back, the scripted line tasting like ash. Your hand slid up his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath the shirt. God, he was built like a damn statue.

He kissed you.

It was supposed to be tender at first. Lips brushing, then deepening. But Suguru always pushed it. His mouth claimed yours with just enough pressure to make it look real—tongue teasing the seam of your lips until you parted for him. You hated how good he tasted. Mint and something darker, like the expensive cologne he wore.

Your fingers tightened in his shirt, playing the part of the desperate ex. Off-camera, you wanted to shove him away.

He broke the kiss, forehead resting against yours. “Been thinking about this pussy every night,” he whispered, loud enough for the mics but intimate for the shot. His hand trailed down your side, gripping your hip. “So wet for me already?”

The line wasn’t even in the script. Improv. He loved throwing those in to throw you off.

You bit back a glare and moaned softly instead, arching into him. “Only for you, Suguru…”

The crew murmured approval. “Good heat,” the director called quietly.

Suguru’s hand slipped between your thighs, fingers brushing the lace. You were already damp—traitorous body reacting to the friction and his proximity, even if your mind screamed hatred. He circled your clit through the fabric, slow and teasing, eyes locked on yours with that mocking glint only you could see.

“Such a good girl when the cameras are on,” he breathed against your ear, so low only you heard. “But we both know you’re dying to talk back.”

You nipped his jaw in retaliation, hidden as part of the scene. “Shut up and fuck me like you mean it.”

He smirked against your skin.

Clothes came off slowly for the camera. His shirt first—revealing the full expanse of his toned chest, the black dragon tattoo curling over his ribs, the defined V that disappeared into his pants. You “helped” him out of them, hands trembling with staged need. His cock sprang free—heavy, thick, already half-hard from the buildup. The industry knew him for his size. You knew it intimately from too many shoots, and it pissed you off how perfectly it fit the role.

You stroked him, playing the eager lover. “Missed this so much…”

Suguru groaned convincingly, head tipping back. His hand fisted in your hair, guiding your mouth lower. “Show me, then.”

The blowjob portion was always your least favorite part with him. Not because he wasn’t clean or skilled—he was annoyingly perfect—but because he watched you with those eyes. Like he knew exactly how much you resented kneeling for him.

You took him in, lips stretching around the head. He was big enough that your jaw ached after a minute. You worked him with your tongue, hollowing your cheeks, one hand pumping what you couldn’t fit. Saliva dripped down your chin for the visual.

“Fuck, baby… just like that,” he praised for the camera, voice rough. Then, quieter: “Deeper. Don’t half-ass it because you’re mad.”

You glared up at him through your lashes and took him deeper, gagging slightly as he hit the back of your throat. He hissed in pleasure, hips twitching but holding back for the shot.

The director loved it. “Beautiful. Keep that eye contact.”

After several minutes of you worshipping his cock on film, Suguru pulled you up, flipping you onto your back with effortless strength. He settled between your thighs, spreading them wide. The camera angled for the perfect view.

He teased your entrance with the head of his cock, rubbing it through your folds. You were soaked now—hate or not, your body responded to the friction, the dominance, the way his presence filled the room.

“Look at me,” he commanded softly, all part of the scene. But his eyes said something else: Behave.

You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer. “Please, Suguru…”

He pushed in slowly—inch by thick inch—stretching you open. The burn was delicious, even if you hated admitting it. A real moan escaped you, not scripted. He bottomed out, hips flush against yours, and paused, letting the cameras catch the way your walls clenched around him.

“So tight for me,” he groaned. “Always so fucking perfect.”

Then he started moving. Deep, rolling thrusts that made the bed creak. Not too fast yet—the scene was supposed to build. His mouth found your neck, sucking marks that would look passionate on screen. One hand pinned your wrist above your head; the other gripped your thigh, spreading you wider.

You met his thrusts, hips rolling up, nails digging into his back hard enough to leave marks. Part performance, part genuine frustration.

“Harder,” you gasped, the word slipping out real.

He obliged, pace picking up. Skin slapped against skin. Your breasts bounced with each thrust. Sweat beaded on his chest, dripping onto you.

The director called for a position change—doggy style for the “more intense” portion.

Suguru pulled out, manhandling you onto all fours with that easy strength that always made your stomach flip. He slapped your ass once, the sound sharp. “Arch your back, princess.”

You did, pushing back against him as he slid back in. This angle was deeper, hitting that spot that made stars burst behind your eyes. He gripped your hips, fucking you with controlled power—long strokes that left you gasping.

“Such a brat off-camera,” he muttered under his breath between thrusts, quiet for only you. “But you take my cock so well. Like you were made for it.”

“Shut—ah—up,” you hissed, pushing back harder to shut him up.

He laughed low, spanking you again. Harder this time. The sting bloomed into heat. “There’s my girl.”

The scene stretched on—multiple positions, multiple angles. Missionary again so the cameras could catch your faces. He hooked your legs over his shoulders, folding you nearly in half. His thrusts turned punishing, the wet sounds of your pussy obscene in the quiet set.

You came first—shuddering around him, walls fluttering as pleasure crashed through you. It wasn’t fake. Your body betrayed you every time.

Suguru followed soon after, pulling out to paint your stomach and tits with thick ropes of cum for the money shot. He groaned your name like it meant something.

“Cut! Perfect take, you two. Chemistry was fire today.”

The crew applauded lightly. Lights dimmed. Assistants rushed in with water and robes.

You wiped yourself off quickly, avoiding Suguru’s gaze. Your thighs trembled. The ache between your legs was real, and it pissed you off.

He leaned in as he shrugged on his robe, voice casual but edged. “Not bad, brat. You almost sounded like you meant those moans.”

“Fuck off, Geto.” You tied the robe tight, storming toward the dressing room.

He followed, because of course he did. The hallway was empty—crew busy breaking down the set.

“You know,” he said, catching your wrist lightly, “the fans are eating this up. Our ‘reunion’ clip is already trending on the forums. They think we’re secretly dating.”

You yanked your arm free. “Let them think whatever. As long as the checks clear.”

He smirked, crowding you against the wall without touching. Tall, imposing, that long hair framing his face. “You hate it, don’t you? Pretending to like me. Pretending my cock isn’t the best you’ve had.”

Your face burned. “You’re delusional. I fake it every time.”

“Liar.” His voice dropped. “I felt you clench around me. Twice. Your pussy doesn’t lie, even if your mouth does.”

You shoved his chest. He didn’t budge. “I hate you.”

“Good.” His eyes darkened. “Hate me all you want. But next shoot’s in two weeks, and the studio wants more ‘couple’ content. Interviews. Maybe a live stream Q&A where we act all lovey.”

The thought made your stomach twist. Smiling at him in front of fans, answering questions about “how we met” with scripted lies.

He stepped back finally. “See you then, princess. Try not to touch yourself thinking about me tonight.”

You flipped him off again and slammed the dressing room door.

The next two weeks were hell.

Clips from your shoot exploded online. Fan edits everywhere—slowed-down moments of his kisses, your “orgasm” face, the way he looked at you like you hung the moon. Twitter (or whatever it was called now) was full of #GetoAndHisGirl trending. Fanfics, thirst tweets, even conspiracy theories that you were really together and hiding it.

One popular account posted side-by-side comparisons: “The way he holds her… this isn’t just acting anymore.”

You scrolled through them in bed at night, equal parts disgusted and uncomfortably warm. Your vibrator saw more use than usual, and you hated that his face flashed in your mind every time you came.

Suguru texted you once. Just a link to a fan video with the caption: “Our biggest fans yet. Don’t disappoint them next time.”

You didn’t reply.

The “couple” promo shoot was worse. A soft, romantic photoshoot for a new scene package. Matching silk robes in a fake bedroom. Lots of cuddling, forehead kisses, him feeding you strawberries like some cheesy romance.

You smiled through it all, leaning into his chest while his arm wrapped around you possessively. His hand rested low on your hip, thumb stroking circles that felt too real.

“Relax,” he murmured during a break, lips brushing your ear. “You’re tense as fuck. Fans will notice.”

“I’m acting my ass off,” you whispered back. “Unlike you, who seems to enjoy this a little too much.”

He chuckled. “What can I say? I like shutting that bratty mouth up.”

The photographer loved the tension. “The passion between you two is palpable!”

If only they knew it was mostly irritation.

That night, after the shoot wrapped, you were both in the shared green room changing. The building was mostly empty.

Suguru was shirtless again, wiping off makeup. You tried not to stare at the way his back muscles flexed.

“Admit it,” he said suddenly, turning to face you. “The paycheck makes it worth it.”

You pulled on your hoodie. “The money’s the only reason I haven’t quit.”

He stepped closer. “Bullshit. You cum every time. Hard.”

Heat flooded your face. “Professional response. Doesn’t mean I like you.”

His hand came up, tilting your chin. Not rough, but firm. “Then why are your nipples hard right now?”

You slapped his hand away. “Because it’s cold, asshole.”

He laughed—that deep, rich sound that made your core clench despite everything. “Keep telling yourself that, princess.”

You left before you did something stupid like kiss him for real.

The hate simmered for another month. More shoots. More fake intimacy. A “date night” scene that involved slow, sensual sex on a dining table. Suguru whispering “I love you” lines while buried deep inside you. You nearly bit through your lip to keep from moaning too genuinely.

Fans were rabid. Your combined socials (managed by the studio) were flooded with heart emojis and marriage proposals for the “couple.”

Then came the big one: a full-length feature with no cuts. A “honeymoon” suite scene. Three hours of filming, multiple rounds, the works. High budget, high pay.

You showed up determined to stay detached.

Suguru showed up with that same teasing smirk.

The director wanted “real passion.” Improv allowed. “Make it messy. Make it desperate.”

The scene opened with you “arguing” — a scripted fight that turned into makeup sex. Perfect for your real dynamic.

“Action!”

“You think you can just walk back in here after ghosting me?” you snapped, shoving his chest. Real anger fueled the performance.

Suguru caught your wrists, backing you against the wall. “I came back for you. That’s what matters.”

“Bullshit,” you hissed—off-script but fitting.

His eyes flashed. He kissed you hard, punishing. Teeth clashing, tongues battling. This wasn’t the soft version. This was raw.

You bit his lip. He groaned and lifted you, legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you to the bed.

Clothes ripped off faster this time. Your lingerie shredded for effect. His pants shoved down just enough.

He didn’t tease. He thrust in with one hard stroke, burying himself to the hilt.

You cried out—real, shocked pleasure-pain.

“Fuck, yes,” he growled, hips snapping. No slow build. Just deep, brutal thrusts that rocked the bed.

The camera captured everything: your bouncing tits, the way your pussy stretched around his thick cock, the slick sounds, the sweat.

He pinned your hands above your head, fucking you like he owned you. “This what you wanted, brat? My cock ruining this tight little cunt?”

You moaned, legs locking around him. “Harder—fuck—you talk too much.”

He laughed breathlessly and obliged, pounding into you. The angle hit your g-spot relentlessly. Your first orgasm hit fast and sharp, walls spasming around him as you arched off the bed.

He didn’t stop. Flipped you onto your stomach, pulling your hips up and slamming back in. One hand fisted your hair, the other reached around to rub your clit.

“Again,” he demanded. “Cum on my cock again. Let everyone see what a mess you are for me.”

You did—shaking, sobbing his name. The crew was silent, mesmerized.

He pulled out, flipped you again, and ate you out like a man starved. Tongue fucking into you, sucking your clit, two thick fingers curling inside. You came a third time on his face, thighs clamping around his head.

Only then did he slide back in, slower now, drawing it out. His eyes locked on yours—dark, intense, no camera smile this time.

“Say it,” he whispered, just for you. “Tell me you hate me while I’m balls deep.”

“I hate you,” you gasped, nails raking down his back. “So fucking much.”

“Good girl.” He kissed you messy and deep, thrusting steadily until he buried himself and came hard, flooding you with hot cum. The creampie shot was explicit, cameras zooming in as it leaked out around his cock.

“Cut! Holy shit, that was incredible.”

You lay there panting, body boneless. Suguru stayed inside you a moment longer than necessary, forehead against yours. His breathing was ragged.

For once, he didn’t tease.

Aftercare on set was minimal, but the director sent everyone home early with bonuses. You showered in the private bathroom, legs still shaky.

Suguru was waiting when you emerged, dressed casually in sweats and a black tee. His hair was down, damp from his own shower.

“You okay?” he asked, surprisingly soft.

You nodded, avoiding his eyes. “Professional hazard.”

He stepped closer. “That wasn’t all professional.”

Your heart stuttered. “Don’t.”

“Why not?” His voice was low. “We’ve been dancing around this for months. Hating each other. Fucking for money. Fans thinking we’re in love.”

You laughed bitterly. “We’re not.”

“No.” He tilted your chin up. “But the chemistry isn’t fake. The way you cum for me isn’t fake.”

You swallowed. “So what? You still piss me off.”

“And you still act like a brat.” His thumb brushed your lip. “But I like it. More than I should.”

Silence stretched.

He leaned in slowly, giving you time to pull away.

You didn’t.

The kiss was different—no cameras, no script. Just heat and frustration and months of tension exploding. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him. You fisted his shirt, kissing back with equal aggression.

He backed you into the wall, lifting one of your legs around his hip. “Tell me to stop.”

“Shut up and fuck me for real,” you breathed.

He did.

No crew. No lights. Just the two of you in the dim green room.

Suguru dropped to his knees first, yanking your pants down and burying his face between your thighs. He ate you like he was making up for every scripted moan—messy, hungry, fingers pumping while his tongue worked your clit. You came fast, biting your fist to stay quiet.

Then he stood, spun you around, and bent you over the couch. He freed his cock—already hard again—and thrust in raw.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “So wet. Still full of my cum from earlier?”

You moaned, pushing back. “Yes—ah—don’t stop.”

He fucked you hard, one hand around your throat, the other on your hip. Deep, possessive strokes. “This pussy is mine. Hate me all you want, but this—” he slammed in—“is mine.”

You came again, clenching around him. He followed, filling you once more.

After, he didn’t pull away immediately. He held you, catching his breath, pressing a surprisingly gentle kiss to your shoulder.

“This doesn’t mean I like you,” you muttered.

He chuckled against your skin. “Wouldn’t dream of it, princess.”

The public never knew the truth.

The next video dropped, and the shipping intensified. Comments flooded: “They’re so in love it’s unreal.” “Geto looks at her like she’s his whole world.”

You and Suguru kept pretending for the cameras. Smiles, soft touches, “couple goals” interviews where you fed each other lines.

But off-camera?

It was hate-fucking in dressing rooms. Teasing arguments that ended with his hand over your mouth while he railed you against the wall. Bratty comments met with spankings and “good girl” praises when you finally submitted.

He still called you princess. You still rolled your eyes.

But the tension had cracked open, and neither of you wanted to close it.

One night, after a particularly intense shoot, you ended up at his place—against your better judgment. No cameras. Just real.

He took his time. Stripped you slow, kissed every inch of skin like he was mapping you. When he finally slid inside, it was deep and unhurried.

“Still hate me?” he whispered, thrusting lazily.

“Yes,” you gasped, legs wrapped around him.

“Liar.” He smiled against your mouth. “But keep pretending. It’s hotter that way.”

You came together that night, tangled and sweaty, no script to hide behind.

The industry kept paying you both handsomely for the duo.

The fans kept shipping.

And somewhere between the hatred and the orgasms, the line blurred so much that neither of you cared to define it anymore.

After all… the camera never lies.

But sometimes, the best performances are the ones that stop being performances at all.

[kunascuti]

ꪆ꣒ teaching you how to squirt ۪ ݁ ⟡ 𓈒 ౿ nerdjo x reader

𑣲 ⋆ minors 𝙙𝙤 𝙣𝙤𝙩 interact , 𝟭𝟴+ content.

satoru was easily fascinated by many things and one of those things was the human body, specifically the female body. He loved anatomy. He was a man so he knew all about his own… though a females? Not so much.

He knew what his body could do and react from, but not so much a females despite the many anatomy classes he took.

He wanted to understand how squirting worked. Some would say he was weird for this but he didn’t care, he worked hard to study the female anatomy and learn as much as he could before he got his hands on his research partner, you. You were like his lab rat in some way.

whenever he needed help with research, you were there to help. So sweet and helpful. So he was glad when you agreed only too soon learn you didn’t even know how to squirt. It’d be a learning experience for both of you. He’d get to see a girl squirt, figure out how to make a girl squirt while you also got to learn how to squirt.

now it was time. his bedroom light off, only a dim lamp casting a glow of his room. A large shelf with manga, action figures on his desk along with books and notebook for studying. His large bed unmade despite how tidy the rest of his room was. You sat on the edge of his bed, looking absolutely adorable.

satoru let out a breath before confirming you were okay with this, which you just nodded too. He pushed his glasses up before kissing your cheek. “this won’t hurt, right?” You asked quietly. “Shouldn’t. It’s just like coming but it’ll feel better, Kay?” He answered. You nodded and shuffled off your skirt, flashing satoru a faint trusting smile.

oh how sweet and innocent you were. Satorus hands were faintly sweaty as he grew more eager and nervous. When you finally laid on your back he quickly got to work, pulling your panties to the side and just admiring your wet cunt. He sucked in a breath before slowly pushing one finger then another while his thumb focused on your clit, doing just as the websites had told him.

he grinned when he got the hang of it, listening to your faint moans. But that wasn’t good enough for him, he grumbled something and moved his fingers inside of you so they were hitting a whole new place, one that was much much better.

“ohh—oh oh toru” you whined, back arching and legs squirming which only led to him holding them down with his free hand. “That feel good, baby?” He asked to which you could only nod.

you groaned, needy for more. “Hard—harder please more, toru” satoru had never seen you like this before. I mean you were his test partner but it never got to more than just making out. This was a magical time for someone like him… someone who got bullied for being nerdy and a complete geek.

he only nodded and went faster, the wet sounds of your pussy filling the room along with your moans. He was sure he was going to get a noise complaint from the dorm next to his. When you finally tightened around his fingers satoru couldn’t help his eagerness, rubbing your clit faster until you suddenly cried out his name, squirting all over his fingers, shirt, and somehow even a little got on his glasses.

“oh my god.” He said, his pants getting extremely tight. “You did it.” You only nodded, out of breath and trembling. “Toru..” you said, your sweet needy voice filling his ears. “Hm, yeah?” He says, slightly dazed. “I want more.” You whisper, hands moving to his print. He let out a shaky breath, surprised. “Uhh… really?” He asks. You nodded. “Can I?” You ask. He nods and eagerly sits up, letting you unzip his pants and pull them off along with his boxers. You crawl onto his lap, cheeks flushed.

you let out small noises as you line him up with your hole, satorus eyes widen. His hands quickly start pulling off his shirt along with yours, leaving him completely bare and you only in a lacy bra and knee socks. God he felt the precum oozing as you slowly sunk down, sucking in a breath and digging your manicured nails into his shoulder. “Ohh—oh jeez.” You groaned into his ear.

Satoru groaned which was followed by a whimper, he worked to sink you down more before lightly bouncing you up and down half his length. This wasn’t experiment anymore, just two pent up college students. He panted and let out small moans while you moaned into his ear, head buried in the crook of his neck, letting satoru take control bouncing you on his cock. “fffuck, you feel so good. So tight” he groaned, sinking you down all the way.

“torruuu oh I’m close!” You rasp which only makes him go faster until you both were close. He moaned as you squirt again which only caused him to come as well. The two of you left panting for a bit until you suddenly you frowned. “Oh my god you aren’t wearing a condom”, eyes widening as the after shock finally left.

“Satoru you just came inside me!” You squeaked. “Oh fuck.” He said quickly.

a/n: decided to end it with something random since I was out of ideas, so boom this is what you get. Always remember to wear condoms!! Not proof read !!

© 𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀𝐒𝐂𝐔𝐓𝐈 ✶ do not copy, feed to ai, or plagiarize any of my work! If you do take inspiration please tag me <3

[twolegsandbleeds]

once again i am thinking about simon riley's bratty!missus and her fucking awful attitude even though her heart is full of love.

sometimes you're a pain in the ass just because you can be.

sprawled out on the couch, deliberately taking up the entire thing so there's no room for him when he gets out of the shower. when he asks you to move, you just look up at him with big eyes and fluttering lashes and a massive grin plastered all over your face and whisper, “no.”

simon stares at you for a beat, realizing what kind of mood you're in, then simply reaches down, wraps his hands around your ankles and yanks you towards him.

before you get a chance to even squeak, you're on your stomach, one of his hands holding both of yours behind your back, the other landing on your ass with a smack.

“yer an ‘orrible woman, you know that, don't you love?” he mutters - fond, not angry, not even a hint of malice in the words - head tilting to the side as he watches the way you arch into the next spank, knowing you're more than content with your situation. “my fuckin’ ‘orrible woman, though.”

ten minutes later you're curled in his lap, pressing soft kiss to the underside of simon's jaw like you weren't just testing every ounce of his patience for fun.

[rawme-price]

A part two of [this] post where reader met ghost in a chatroom and didn't expect him to have such a massive dick...

"It won't fit!!" You hiss, trying to squirm but unable to with the weight of ghosts hand pinning your hip to the bed.

"C'mon, lovie, look at it. Not that bad." Ghost coos, pressing his cock to lie against your pelvis, fhe tip practically at your belly button. Oh shit. "Bit o' work, but..."

Ghost slips his other hand down to your entrance, three fingers easily pop inside and you still know it isn't enough. Not when his cock jerks lazily and drools precum over your skin.

Some deeper part of you really wants to know what it feels like, wants to feel him in your mouth, between your hands, on your skin, inside you.

"Mh. Good choice." Ghost hums in delight when you allow your thighs to fall open that last bit, nervous but determined. He rubs his tip in circles around your entrance just to make you nervous, laughs to himself as the embarrassed whine you let out before pressing in—

"Fuckin' hell—!" Ghost groans, doubles over and only catches himself from falling on you by bracing a forearm next to your head. You can feel the huff through the fabric of his balaclava "christ— fuckin' tight—"

"Holy shit– ghost, ghost— fuck—" you toss your head back with a high keen, whole body burning from the sudden fullness. You've never used anything but your fingers before and nothing could have prepared you for this.

You grind into him as best as you can both overstimulated and still asking for more, completely lost in just how good it is—

"Fuck– you're so big—" you feel your core tighten and are unable to do anything, back arching off the bed, pulling ghost into a kiss as your orgasm crashes over you.

Only after you've caught your breath you notice ghost shaking, and slowly realize that asshole is silently laughing at you–

"Not even halfway." He snorts, presses a kiss to your jaw then sits up, still inside you, to show his still-hard cock, only a third of the way in.

You just came and ghost is only a third in.

Somehow, this makes you equally excited and terrified for the rest of the night.

[kkunai]

[𝝑𝑒] :: true form!sukuna dealing with your mood swings while pregnant :: tags. wife!reader. fluff, sfw. pregnancy. size diff reader gets called ‘woman, brat’ :: wc. 1.8k

you’re crying in your chambers, the volume of your cries overshadowing sukuna’s arrival at the estate. you hiccup and sniffle as you sit in the corner of your shared chambers. there really isn’t an end to your mental breakdown.

you’re prone to mood changes because of your pregnancy, already being seven months along. your belly is as round as a globe, sticking out from under your kimono.

you hold onto your lower abdomen while mumbling to yourself. “not fair,” you rub your blurry eyes with your free hand.

the bedroom doors suddenly swing open.

you lift your head from your knees and make eye contact with your husband who looks rather . . . upset. somehow more upset than you are at the moment.

you whimper as his big and intimidating stature dwarfs over yours while you’re stuck in the corner. when you look up at him, you cry even louder. seeing that familiar face after two whole days of suffering in this place alone gets you even more emotional.

after sukuna entered the room, his gaze had immediately fell upon your quivering figure.

he raises an eyebrow as you cry louder once you spot him, the sound breaking his ear drums. he lets out a sharp exhale, a hint of annoyance seeping into his tone.

“enough with the tears,” sukuna grumbles as he crosses the room in a few long strides. his presence is both imposing and protective as he looms over your small figure.

his eyes flicker over your body—taking in the sight of your round belly. he can’t deny that the view makes his shoulders relax, relieved to see his wife do well after two days.

sukuna kneels down before you, his eyes narrowing as he notices the tears running down your cheeks. who knows how long you’ve been sobbing? the realisation that no one’s checked on you while you’ve been crying like this irks him.

the king of curses will make sure that every single servant—and especially the ones assigned to you—pay for not noticing your sour mood sooner.

“damn it, woman,” he curses under his breath, his words laden with both irritation and a sense of concern, “what’s gotten into you now, hmm? why the blubbering mess?"

you hiccup, gasping for air as sukuna kneels down to your level, something he rarely does. one of his hands reach out to wipe a tear from your cheek, his expression stoic and unreadable while he does so.

“welcome home,” you utter, remembering to greet him properly.

you wipe your own tears away and try to explain the situation without it sounding absurd. “i—i went down to the kitchen to get som-something,” you stammer, trying to spit it out before sukuna’s irritation spikes.

“but they didn’t have the food i craved. they’re out of mangoes,” your wailing starts again just at the mention of the fruit. it felt like the most devastating moment in your life when the maids told you that they were out of mangoes.

sukuna’s annoyance quickly dissolves upon hearing your explanation. the revelation that you’re crying over mangoes seems so unbelievable, so absurd, that he can’t help but let out a dry huff of laughter. an amused smirk tugs at the corners of his lips.

he brushes the remnants of the tears away from your face. his rough fingers pause at your chin, giving it a light tap. “mangoes, huh? y’re out here bawling y’r fucking eyes out like a baby for some damn mangoes?”

despite his tough exterior, sukuna knows that pregnancy hormones often amplify emotions, making even the smallest things a cause for crying. and right now, you’re stressing and sputtering over some mangoes.

“mangoes,” you nod and cry softly, watching as sukuna rubs your cheeks with his manly fingers, enjoying his rough touch.

you guess by just the increased toughness of his calluses that your husband has worked hard while he was gone.

though, mangoes are your current craving and not having them meant war to you. it’s all you can focus on—even if your beloved is right in front of you.

“i need them,” you whine and pout again. your hormones make it difficult for you to calm down.

you do, however, try your best to stop crying. you clean your face with the sleeve of your kimono and bite on your bottom lip to refrain from bawling your eyes out.

“i want my mangoes,” your voice is hoarse as you glance up at sukuna, “please?”

sukuna hates to admit it, but his expression softens upon hearing the hoarse tone of your pleading voice. the view of your tear-streaked face and the knowledge that you’re experiencing pregnancy cravings makes it difficult for him to maintain his usual firm demeanor.

the king of curses sighs, his annoyance replaced by a reluctant acceptance of your plight.

“tsk, damn it,” he mutters, lazily resting his head against the palm of one of his hands, “y’re really gonna make me fetch you some mangoes?”

here you are, a grown woman crying and begging like a kid for a sweet, juicy mango. he’s seen you in many states—happy, sad, tired, excited—but never quite as emotionally overwhelmed just for a piece of fruit.

sukuna’s large hand reaches out to pat your head in a surprisingly gentle manner, a rare display of his softer side.

you pout at him and lean into his touch. you come up with something witty to say, as you always do.

“well, yes, you’re the one who got me pregnant,” you comment in a teasing way, sticking your tongue out at your husband.

no matter what sour mood you’re in, you can still be sassy.

though it doesn’t last long before your bottom lip trembles again. “i can’t do anything about it. the baby craves mangos,” you sniff as you rub your baby bump to emphasise your desire.

sukuna’s smirk wides at your retort and the playful gesture. even in your distraught state, you had the audacity to sass him. cheeky little woman, he thinks.

your husband scoffs, his large hand roughly ruffling your hair again before pulling away.

“‘n i don’t regret a thing. even if i gotta put up with y’r cranky ass.”

you roll your eyes at sukuna’s reply. you know you’re an emotional mess, but you can’t care less. you’d dl anything for your mangoes—those juicy ones that you can eat a dozen of in one sitting.

“the maids said that the mangoes were out of stock in the towns ‘nd villages nearby,” you continue while you carefully stand up from the corner. you’re trying your best to stay rational.

you’re extremely hungry and haven’t eaten ever since breakfast. that’s how stubborn you are being.

“but i’m hungryyyyy. want my mangoes,” you sigh and nearly stomp your feet out of frustration.

“yeah, yeah—fuckin’ hell,” sukuna groans, watching you slowly stand up, your pregnant belly protruding like a perfect sphere. it’s a constant reminder of the effect he has on you and it makes him proud.

he helps you stand up by holding onto your arm, sharp eyes focused on your body to make sure you don’t strain a single muscle.

after you manage to stand up straight, you walk with sukuna to the kitchen to find something to eat—perhaps some other fruit will satisfy your cravings for now.

sukuna follows behind you, his steps long and leisurely while your shorter strides keep the pace with him. as the two of you walk towards the kitchen, he continues to listen to your repeated mantra.

it’s driving him insane.

“mangoes, mangoes, mangoes. i fuckin’ get it, brat,” the king of curses swears he can feel the vein in his forehead throb.

you’re lucky that he ‘tolerates’ you as his wife.

it’s something more than just ‘tolerating’ you, of course, but openly admitting to loving you, even in the slightest, is something sukuna would never do.

if someone would ask him why he goes the extra mile for you, his answer would be that it’s simply because you’re carrying his heir. however only he knows the full truth, the sappy secret he’ll forever keep to himself.

before you arrive at the kitchen, you bump into uraume.

they glance from sukuna to you and bow. “good day,” they greet you with as much respect as they do to sukuna. they’ve been doing so ever since you gained your title as his wife.

the king of curses folds all four of his arms over his chest. his lower pair of eyes are still focused on your impatient self, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. he just knows you’re holding yourself back from asking for your craving again.

sukuna clicks his tongue and nods his head at you while he speaks to uraume.

“keep an eye on her while ‘m gone. feed her what she wants,” he says in his deep voice, his tone commanding and firm.

uraume remains quiet for a second. sukuna had recently came back from a mission and is once again heading out for some ambiguous reason, but they know better than to question their master.

“where are you going, hubby?”

you of course, get a free pass.

you don’t hesitate at all before questioning your husband. sukuna scoffs when he hears your voice ask him such in an oblivious manner. you should known where he is departing to.

“where’d you think, smartass?” he pinches your nose, causing you to swat his fingers away out of instinct. he gives up on your nose and moves to squeeze your cheeks together in a gentle yet firm manner.

you huff at his antics. sukuna grins at your frown and pout before releasing your jawline with a faint push.

“you better hold on ‘til i come back with y’r stupid mangoes,” he scoffs while turning around to walk to the entrance, “and when i do, i don’t wanna hear ‘nother squeak, understood?”

sukuna seems to have made another mission for himself; find his heavily pregnant wife mangoes before she goes absolutely insane.

your face lights up and you nod repeatedly. your heart melts when you realise that he’s actually putting effort to satisfy your needs. he may be harsh and stern at times, but his actions speak louder than his words.

“okay! love you, ryo!” you call out to your husband as he disappears behind the gates.

as expected, your words are met by silence.

that’s fine with you. not hearing an ‘i love you’ back doesn’t hurt you as much as it did at the start of your relationship.

you know sukuna cherishes you in his own special way. if he didn’t, you’d be dead long time ago. on top of that, he would not go out on a hunt for mangoes right after coming back home if he didn’t like you.

and that’s all that matters.

[getoslamb]

⋆ ｡⋆ any pov (petnames 'sweetheart/love') ୨୧˚ wc: 500 contains: nsfw (mdni)

P★rnstar!Simon who was ready to leave the industry until Johnny showed him a video of yours one night.

Maybe one more video wouldn’t hurt.

P★rnstar!Simon who’s on the phone the next morning telling his manager to get something booked. He doesn’t listen when Price rambles on about how you have completely different audiences so it might not work.

“All due respect, I don’t care. Either way if I’m in a video, people will click regardless and by the looks of it the same goes for them and their viewers.”

P★rnstar!Simon who insists the two of you get to know one another before filming because if you want an intimate shoot, he’ll give you exactly that. What better way than to become familiar with each other? You know, just to double check the chemistry will be convincing. And who are you to turn down a free lunch date with an attractive man?

“No no, don’t worry about the bill, it’s on me.”

P★rnstar!Simon who brings you your favourite tea on the day of filming and thoroughly listens to you over everyone else on how you want it to be carried out. His usual onscreen genre hasn't been so tame but he finds himself looking forward to this scene with you more than anything he’s ever done in his career.

P★rnstar!Simon whose touch is so gentle and caring whilst filming. He takes his time, making sure everything he does is the way you want it. He keeps an eye on your every reaction, every sound he brings out of you. The scene is raw, natural and he forgets for a moment that the cameras are on the two of you. Has to stop himself from getting carried away, reminding himself that it’s all fake, even when it feels truly genuine.

“God, you feel so good wrapped around my cock, love.”

P★rnstar!Simon who has tons of videos published, and not a single one of them has him kissing his scene partner. Yet he just can’t stop his lips from connecting with yours as he shoots his cum deep inside you, hands intertwined.

P★rnstar!Simon who checks on you as soon as the cameras are off, making sure that you’re alright and everything's good.

“Y’alright sweetheart? Can I get you anything?”

P★rnstar!Simon who manages to get your number but is too scared to contact you after that day in case he screws up and says something that comes across as weird. It takes a lot of convincing from Johnny before he finally calls you one night.

P★rnstar!Simon who smiles to himself when you pick up. The two of you talking on the phone for hours about the most random things in the world until you both fall soundly asleep, phones still in hand.

Maybe next time you the two of you could have your own personal scene off camera...

[fireladylisa]

˚ ༘ 🍼𖦹⋆｡˚ a pledge to keep series masterlist ˚ ༘ 🍼𖦹⋆｡˚

summary: getting knocked up by your older brother’s fratbro wasn't exactly apart of your five year plan. least of all with notorious fuck boy ryomen sukuna.

pairing: frat!kuna x reader

content: everything in this series is considered 18+ so not minor friendly! contains mature content such as rough sex, breeding, spanking, spit play, lactation kink, descriptive child birth, postpartum depression, probably more

dividers by: @petalpxl | series moodboard | art by lorinmower

chapter one: how you met \ chapter two: of course it's yours, you fucking idiot!

chapter three: meeting the itadori's \ chapter four: hospitals and hot dad walks

chapter five: fratuncles \ chapter six: more than co-parents

chapter seven: graduation \ epilogue

series oneshots/drabbles:

1. stinky feet bandit ❀ 2. late night feeds ❀ 3. daddy's little poop monster ❀ 4. baby carrier experiment ❀ 5. yuji loves his baby cousin

[madamechrissy]

MDNI - top fan! Satoru Gojo

'Till death do us part, hah,' your number one top fan! Satoru Gojo can't help but stroke his thick, veiny cock as he recites those vows he'll have for you soon, blushed tip just dripping all that milky pre cum drippin' from that little hole on the head.

Oh, he'd say them very, very fucking soon indeed.

You, the pretty OF star on his screen, bent over and giggling right at him, he swears it. You're surely not looking at any of these other losers' names, no, you must be looking at his.

'Gonna f-fuck...' Satoru's stroking his cock faster, whimpering out as you glide that dildo he bought you in and out of your pretty little cunt, stretching it out and whining as you take it.

Well, it was a direct replica of his cock, so of course you couldn't stuff it all. But don't worry - when Satoru gets you finally, and he folds you in a mating press, fingers pressed into the backs of your thighs? Oh, he'll have you take all of him.

'Till I can see my print inside,' he's chuckling again, lost as he takes some of that messy pre and licks it, moaning and gliding it across his lips. He's fucking his fist in time to your sad attempts at fucking yourself with his veiny replica, he can't help but smirk, using one hand to type.

Having trouble takin' cock, sweetheart?

Well you are indeed, you've never had something so big and long trying to fit inside you - in fact, this was the first time you've used more than a cute little plug or a wand on your pussy on cam. Yet, when it's from your top fan, you can't help but want to show off for him.

Your puffy lips are pathetically trying to fit around it, no matter how wet you are, you can't even get half - the tips are just rolling in, but none like him - like DigiMaster89.

truly -what a fucking name. Yet you know that he loves when you spread wide, and you truly want to be a good girl for him.

Even if you don't even know what he looks like, you'd love to make him proud, taking more and more of that cock and shaking, thighs trembling as your cunt is spasming, begging for a little reprieve with how full you're stuffed.

'Ngh!' You're crying out now, as Satoru leans forward, remembering his vows.

he got distracted.

'Oh, where was I?' he caresses the screen, before spitting down his cock again, letting it slip to the base. 'Ah, I remember. To fucking cherish that slutty lil' cunt. Ah, baby I solemnly swear and all that sh-shit....'

White locks fall across a brow as you squirt all over for the first time on camera, clear fluids just gushing out, just in time for his white to squirt right on the screen, right against his future wife, some of it even smattering against his glasses. He can't help but whimper out your name, hand just trembling, taking his glasses off to lap a bit of his sticky mess.

God, imagine when you're squirting all over his glasses?

Satoru can't wait to finally have you all to himself, don't you know you're already his future fucking wife?

****

i'm doing better so here is filth hehe <3

[moondvncer]

EXCUSE YOU?!?!?! THE OG MASK AND GLASSES?????? PEAK SIMON IS BACK!!!!!!!!!!!

[leafington]

CW !! - perv!toji, he’s also your knight TEEHEE, some parts of this arent accurate so i both apologize and don’t really care, suggestiveness, age gap (around 10 years), royal au ofc, perving calls for panties!!!, masturbation, panty stealing, sniffing, (implied) jerking, you name it, somnophilia kinda?, f!receiving oral, lowkey a pos but wtv, sexting but with letters, nsfw

TAGLIST 🏷️ - @prome911 @sirensorestic @rmmazz

A/N !! - for my big cuzzo lia bia (i lob u)

PERV!TOJI who’s worked under your family’s rule longer than you’ve been alive, but wasn’t aware of your existence until last year when your parents went all out for your debutante, and there you were, dressed to the nines in a beautiful creamy white dress, diamonds and jewels plucked from the deepest parts of the ground and pearls that have been shined beyond description. It was then where he popped one and could slowly feel himself leaking a similar color to that of your pearls.

PERV!TOJI who, since then, took a rather concerning liking to you. suddenly at your every blind spot and in your shadow like there was nowhere else he had to be.

“shouldn’t you be manning the training grounds?” you asked with a small glare in your eyes.

“not today, princess.” he’d lie, and it was then a young knight turned the corner, fear and desperation on his face.

“fushiguro…” he’d huff, taking a minute to catch his breath. “the captain’s looking for you!”

PERV!TOJI who finds every excuse in the kingdom to be by your side, even when he doesn’t have permission to. but when he does… you’re in for it, because he’s constantly breathing down your neck with how close he gets—never backing down when you push and swat at him like a flea, which inherently only turns him on more.

“toji! let me dine in peace!” you use your elbow to put some distance between you two, but with his stature and build, it’s almost like you did nothing at all.

toji chuckles and a dirty smirk creeps on his stupidly attractive face. “‘m keepin’ an eye on you, daddy’s rules, sweetheart.”

PERV!TOJI who, since being at your side a lot more, has become addicted to your scent. Your fragrance being one of the few things that gives him the energy to get up and do something productive. When he’s walking behind you, he catches the perfect whiff of your royally floral scent, a mix of roses and peonies dancing upon the flush of royal powder that the maids dapped upon your collarbone and neck.

When PERV!TOJI leans in to breathe in your scent, it hardly phases you anymore since you’ve long given up on pushing him away, however, the contrast of his musk overriding your sense of smell is what gets you going. He smells of dirt, sweat, and oddly enough, timber, and if his nose just so happens to brush you, you jump, flush hot, and command he stops, knowing he never will.

PERV!TOJI who’s progressively becoming more obvious in his odd behavior, which you don’t pinpoint it as so until you find him lurking around in your chambers one afternoon, specifically near your wardrobe.

“have you no dignity?” you chide, your annoyance and embarrassment fighting for dominance in your voice.

“whatever do you mean? i was jus’ scannin’ the room, princess.” he quips smoothly, and honestly got to the point where you weren’t sure if he was addressing you by your title, or by petname…

“if by ‘scanning’ you mean disrespecting my privacy, then yes!”

“guilty.” he’d grin, moreso at your attempts of getting him out the room.

PERV!TOJI, even after scoldings, would still show up in your room, but this time, more secretive. how do you know? because your undergarments suspiciously begin to disappear when the spring subsides and summer arrives as the temperatures rise (bars.) yet everytime you ask him, he gives you a gruff “nope.” and turns his back to you knowing he’s got around two pairs of your lace underwear hidden within the crevices of his armor.

PERV!TOJI who, when returning your undies, always left a big mess in them, their condition varying between globs of precum, sometimes still warm from his use, drenched in his scent, dried reminiscences of his tongue, it was so gross! and there was nothing you could do about it because it would raise suspicion, as if asking the maids to wash your own clothes wasn’t concern enough.

in the late nights of the palace, when all the lights are out and the sun dives down, PERV!TOJI is assigned to keep watch over your chambers, something about you rebelling against your court advisors and needing to be punished. and as soon as he ensures no other guard’s route passes by his, he slips through the doors and the quiet of the night is disturbed by faint shlick! shlick! shlick!’s behind the door. the sound coming from the wetness of your clothes that toji burried himself in.

you wriggled and writhed, a little disturbed that he snuck in, but with how much he was teasing you, you weren’t sure you wanted him to stop, let alone leave. he exhales on your skin, this thick cock pushing between the combination of the both of your messes, chuckling when you let out a tiny whimper. “fushigu—” he then pulls your garment aside and slaps his top against your clit, urging you to scream but a large hand comes up to your mouth to stop it. “it’s toji to you, doll.” he huffs as he ruts against your lips yet again.

just like PERV!TOJI couldn’t get enough of you, you couldn’t get enough of him (though in a less perverted sense). when he’d begin touching you the moment eyes were not on you, though not far, such as when you were taking the carriage to a dinner with a neighboring family and he slipped his hand just beneath your dress to play with your clit, and you’d grunt out for him to cease and he never would unto you creamed on his thick digits.

but in turn, you’d storm into a meeting the knights were having, everyone bowing in your presence as your heels clacked on the floors, stopping just ahead of toji. “might i borrow this degenerate, sire?” you demean him in front of his superiors, inferiors—everyone practically. “o-of course, your highness..”

little did they know toji wasn’t in for a scolding, rather assisting you in relieving the hot feeling in your abdomen that you on your own couldn’t quench.

you have him on his knees, similar to that as when he took his oath, kitten licking your cunt as you guide him through your journey to seeing pleasure. “pretty princess taking her knight’s tongue so fuckin’ well…” his burning muscle is hot against your bud, eventually pocketing his lips to suck and encase it.

“hah… right—there, toji…” the sensation is enough to push his head closer, your airy moans motivating him to proceed in this so called “punishment.”

PERV!TOJI who promises he’ll be good when you’re in the middle of your nightly routine, but the very moment the maids alert him of you in the middle of your bath, his thoughts wonder and his slacks tighten. he strategically gets them to leave your side by causing a ruckus in the kitchen, and informing them that it needed to be clean, and as soon as they’re gone, he frees himself from the confines of the uniform and watches you bathe through the crack of the door.

his cock heavy and his balls heavier as he drags his rough hand up and down his shaft, wondering just how soft your skin would be after leaving the perfectly curated bath that was ran for you, how wet your cunt skin would be if he were to take you right then and there.

PERV!TOJI who can only imagine what you’d feel like taking his cock, stripping you clean of your innocence that he believes no prince deserves the luxury of having. so he claims you in others ways such as cumming in your panties when you decide to mouth off to him about him doing exactly that because you can’t walk around with his seed between your legs.

whenever PERV!TOJI leaves with the knights on a mission, he sends you letters under an anonymous title, detailing how much he misses so and even going so far as to leave a specific scent and odd stain that you can’t quite nail on the letter. only to realize it’s his own sweat and cum on the paper, when you flip to the back and read ‘p.s. This was written with one hand ;).’ and you were tempted to burn it if the sentiment wasn’t admirable.

©2026 leafington dont steal please, rework, or feed into ai !! :)

[yut2achoya]

mdni. your boy best friend.ᐟgojo pops your cherry—for real this time…

cw: explicit sexual content. boy best friend.ᐟ gojo x fem virgin.ᐟ reader. smut w/ plot. oral (again), p in v, raw, tummy bulge, wtv it’s called when there’s a mirror, he’s actually lost in it (me next i’m begging).

song: friends—chase atlantic

(part one ‹𝟹 part two)

𝜗ৎ

things between you and gojo had been strangely normal—especially considering that a couple weeks ago he was eating your pussy like a man starved.

he didn’t mention it after that night.

so, neither did you.

he continued to come over and play games. text and ask if you wanted to get food together. sit next to you in every class you shared, seek you out in the library, invite you to his friend’s parties. talk to other women at those parties.

that last part pissed you off more than you cared to admit. but if he was gonna be mr. nonchalant after spilling all over your sheets just from eating you out, then you were going to be the president of nonchalant town.

even if behind closed doors, you couldn’t stop touching yourself to the mental image of his clothe-less body, pretending your fingers were his.

nobody else had to know about that.

you’re in the shower now, eyes closed, head dizzy with the memory of the way it felt as he guided your hips, creating the perfect friction. the way he looked absolutely ruined when you said you wanted him inside you.

it’s cerulean blue eyes that you see as you brace one hand against the cool tiles, while the other dips between your legs.

you pull your bottom lip between your teeth at the first circle of your fingers against your swollen clit, your breaths becoming heavier, your arousal diluted by the hot stream of the shower. you let it cascade over your head as you slip a finger inside yourself for the first time, jaw dropping.

it isn’t the same.

your eyes squeeze shut as you curl your finger, timidly, searching for that spot he found. his name tumbles from your lips the same way it did that night.

it. isn’t. enough.

“fuck,” you moan, words lost to your ears by the sound of the downpour. “what am i doing?”

“i’m wondering… the same thing.”

at first, you’re certain your ears are deceiving you. you’re so horny that you’ve gone prematurely senile, and now you’re conjuring up the voice of your best friend echoing around your bathroom whilst you fuck yourself with your fingers.

you look up and turn to your left. lift the hand from between your legs and push your soaked hair out of your face. use the other hand to clear the condensation from the glass divider.

“satoru,” you say, voice far too casual. “what are you doing in my bathroom?”

he steps forward, dazed. “i was waiting in your room, ‘nd, ah… i heard my name. thought you needed help.”

you watch as the blurred figure of your imagination takes another step forward. notice the way his hand reaches down to palm his cock while he watches the rise and fall of your tits with every ragged breath. it looks almost subconscious, like he isn’t even aware he’s doing it. his eyes are burning into yours, voice hoarse when he says,

“do you need help, y/n?”

“satoru, wh—” your pussy throbs, aching at the mere sight of him. something vaguely similar to a sob chokes out of you. “yes. help me, toru.”

he nods, entranced. drags his t-shirt over his head, tousling his hair. pushes his shorts and underwear down and off. steps out of his slides, and rounds the divider.

you press your back against the tiled wall behind you, making room for the way his frame crowds the space, and you know this is real. you know it because your brain couldn’t conjure up a masterpiece such as this one. it couldn’t fabricate the way his cock hangs hard, heavy and leaking between his thick thighs, so much more than how you remembered it. or the way his abs ripple with every breath, just as laboured as yours.

couldn’t capture the way the spray of water dampens the greatest’s hair as he lowers himself to his knees in front of you.

the way he doesn’t look away as his hands move up to stroke your sides. one hand rests at your hips, while the other tracks the soft curve of your ass. it stops at the back of your thigh. lifts your leg and positions it until it’s draped over his broad shoulder.

you moan, and he hasn’t even touched you where you want him.

satoru watches you as he buries his face in your wet cunt. watches the way your mouth falls open on a silent ‘o’, the way your brows pull down, and your stomach sucks in on a breath.

he sucks, licks, kisses your pussy like it’s a meal he’s been craving for weeks. squeezes your ass while looking up at you through white lashes dripping with water.

you thread your fingers through his hair, hips jerking forward involuntarily as his tongue swirls around your clit. it’s a great effort, trying to keep your eyes open, to memorise your best friend’s face nuzzling your pussy for a second time.

“satoru,” you moan breathily, voice pitchier than usual.

he looks up at you as if his tongue isn’t dipping into your hole. as if he isn’t drinking up your arousal like it’s the elixir of life.

“i want you to fuck me,” you sigh, cunt grinding against his face. “please, i want it so bad. i need it.”

you thought you might die if he didn’t.

he pulls away from your pussy, nods his head silently, lips still parted. stands up to his full, towering height so that he can grip your face. shoves his tongue into your mouth while it’s still coated with your juices.

you’re panting by the time he pulls away to look at you with dark, hooded eyes, lips pink and swollen. you inch your face forward, desperate to taste him again, but he draws back, mouth tilting up into a smirk.

he flicks off the shower. reaches down to grip you beneath your ass, and lift you up. your clit drags along his abs as he steps around the glass divider, carrying you through the bathroom, into your bedroom, and leaving a trail of water in his wake.

satoru drops you down onto the bed, less gentle than the time before, and stands over you, imposing. keeps his blue eyes trained on yours like a predator stalking his prey as he walks over to your chest of drawers that he always dumps his belongings on.

you watch the muscles in his back ripple as he opens his wallet, pulls out a black foil wrapper.

“satoru,” you say quietly.

he turns.

you swallow. “are you clean?”

his eyes flick over your face as he nods.

“m’on birth control.” you shake your head. “don’t use it.”

his eyes flutter shut, head tipping back as he pushes a hand into his hair and grips it at the scalp. he nods at the sky. drops his wallet and the foil back on the wooden surface.

“y/n,” he says softly as he climbs between your legs. you drag your attention away from his shaft. “i really want this. i want it too badly.”

“so do i,” you tell him.

“i don’t know if…” he swallows, eyes on your stomach, hand stroking your calf. “if you’ll be able to handle it—”

“always so worried. look at me, gojo.”

slowly, he does.

you glide your hand down your damp body, stopping when your fingers meet your clit. he watches the way you press your fingers into the bud, and you watch him while you stroke yourself.

“i hughhm—h-haven’t been able to think about anything other than your cock in weeks,” you tell him. watch his dick jump at your confession. “when you left your sweater here the other week, i put it on, and i touched myself. came s-sooo hard, just because it smelled like you.”

his throat works, eyes jumping back up to yours.

“fuck me, toru. i won’t ask you again.”

he nods like a man under a spell, settling between your legs and gripping the base of his cock. his hand trembles, movements restrained as he lines it up with your heat, jaw clenching, eyes falling momentarily shut. he glides his tip between your folds and mixes your arousal with his. your hips buck up, shifting forwards.

satoru studies your face as he tilts his hips forward, and when the first inch pushes into your hole, you gasp. toru’s lips part, brows furrowing.

“fffuuuck, y’re s-so tight,” he whines, already panting. “are you—nngh, okay, baby? want me to keep going?”

you pull your lower lip between your teeth. nod.

he nods in return. grips your inner thigh with his free hand, unintentionally bruising, while he uses the other to guide his cock inside of you. the stretch is like nothing you’ve ever felt before. so achingly full as he slides against your walls, pushing into your wetness. you squeeze your eyes shut, breath caught in your throat.

“y/n…” he says quietly.

“more,” you moan. “don’t stop.”

he groans low in his throat, cages your head with his arms as he continues to sink into you. you look down, watch the way your pussy swallows him whole. and every moment you think he’s finished—that he couldn’t possibly have more to give— another inch glides in. you’re so full that it momentarily paralyses you.

“holy fuck, ‘s big,” you sigh as you shift your hips, testing, adjusting.

he isn’t listening, though. he’s looking down between your bodies. his fingers ghost over the bulge in your lower stomach.

“y/n,” his voice is just above a whisper. “i can see myself inside of you.”

it’s ridiculous that your best friend can have such an affect on you after years of friendship, because the sheer wonder in his voice makes you clench around him. it sends waves of pleasure pulsing from your pelvis.

it takes you saying his name twice for him to finally look up at you, irises swallowed by his pupils. he looks distraught, lips agape, chest heaving.

“toru, move,” you tell him.

“can’t,” he moans. “i’ll— mmngh, i’ll cum, y/n.”

a strangled sound leaves your lips before you pull his face down. he presses his forehead against yours, lips ghosting over your mouth, his breath filling your lungs. you buck your hips up, and the sound that leaves his throat is pathetic. he grips your hip to stop you, fingers digging into your skin.

“i can’t…” his voice breaks on the word. “baby ju—mmm, just give me a second.”

you nod, wrap your arms around his shoulders as he blankets your body with his, stroke the curves of his back as he buries his face into your neck, taking deep, ragged breath.

after a minute, or maybe two, you feel his hips rut up, experimentally. his hand slides down your waist to grip your ass, to hitch your leg up over his hip. he kisses your neck. grazes his teeth against yours throat as he begins to rock into you.

“i can feel you e-verywhere, toru,” you whimper, brows furrowing.

“oh my god, y/n,” he mumbles into your skin. “feel so good. y’re squeezing me so good.”

his pelvis strokes your clit, cock drags along your walls, tip nudging a spot so deep inside of you that you feel it in your stomach. he sits up, hovering his pretty face above yours.

“more. please,” you say.

he nods. pushes himself up with the arm that isn’t gripping your ass so that he can kneel between your legs again. he pulls out to the tip, then watches your face as he sinks back into you, bottoming out.

“fuck,” he murmurs, pressing his palm to your lower stomach as he fills you up again, and again. “look at how well you’re taking me, baby.”

he grips your chin in his hand, then. turns your head so that you can see your reflection in the mirror propped up on the other side of the room. you see yourself, hand between your thighs. you see satoru’s hips moving fluidly as his cock repeatedly disappears inside of you. you see his eyes on your face, watching you, even in the reflection.

the pleasure builds quickly, frighteningly so, and you grip his thick bicep. “toru, i’m gonna cuh-uum,” you tell him.

he just watches you, hips snapping into yours roughly, hands gripping your skin tight enough to bruise.

he dips his head down to kiss you deep, achingly soft. your vision turns as white as the hair on his head.

you moan, almost heart wrenchingly, into his mouth as you climax around his cock, wave, after wave, after wave of heat spreading from your pussy throughout your entire body.

satoru pounds into you, eyes tracing every detail of your reaction, even as his own face crumples in pleasure. even as his hips begin to stutter, and a long, deep groan spills from his lips.

you feel him emptying himself inside of you, stream after stream of warmth filling your hole until it’s spilling down the crevice of your ass and onto the already damp sheets beneath you.

even then he doesn’t stop, dropping his head back to the crook of your neck and making pathetic little noises while he continues to thrust into you, until he’s spilling into your hole again. stuffing you full, again.

“ohhhmigod.” his words come out muffled.

minutes later, he’s still inside of you. you physically feel his cock soften, and regain its blood while it’s still warming your hole. you stroke the back of his head, pussy numb, eyelids heavy.

“toru,” you mumble quietly.

he presses a kiss to the curve of your shoulder. “yeah, doll?”

“i made the greatest cum twice…” you sigh, eyes fluttering shut from pure exhaustion. “s’that give me the title of the greatest pussy?”

it’s so ridiculous that you feel his body shake with laughter on top of yours. don’t even have it in you to stop yourself from snorting as you cradle his head to your chest.

“yeah, baby,” he chuckles, lifting his head to plant a kiss on the side of your jaw. “i think you have the greatest pussy in all the world.”

𝜗ৎ

@ yut2achoya. do not copy, feed into ai, or repost on any other platform!

a/n: the way he locks in and goes nonverbal over that super soaker slip n slide coochie… genuinely bit a huge chunk out of my phone while writing ts. if i can’t join in, i’ll be fine with a cuck chair, thanks. also did you notice i tried to write in protection for once… didn’t end up accomplishing it, but it’s the thought that counts 😊 well done me.

༄.° taglist for dada’s princesses:

@uchiha-kaguya @mimimovv @oceanfyre @tatispm @0nutsforfaye @yxo7 @dihconnoisseur @anime-heathen @hannahzg8 @1stmagnoila @s1xeyes4em1ko @sophrxsyne @lem-hhn @thoughts-from-the-trash @paparaysstuff @rhaewinsdaughter @cjdjfhfhfufjfdj @hoppindihdihdihh

[sugurusbeloved]

❤︎﹕nerdjo is soo fed up with you, so he... complains to your pussy?

“you,” nerd!gojo says, not to you, but to the part of him his six-inch-long fingers are devouring. “you’re always so quiet when she’s yelling at me. you could at least make a little noise for me then, y'know?”

you seize up, surprise and confusion hitting at the same time. “gojo, what the hell are you—”

but he only shushes you with a patronizing little tsk, thrustsing two fingers deep in you just to watch you moan while his other hand clamps over your mouth–firm enough to cut your words.

“i’m talking to her. not you.” his eyebrows furrow in that petty, childish pout he gets whenever he’s mildly inconvenienced, his bottom lip jutting out just the tiniest bit. “you see, baby? she always tries to interrupt. just like when i was trying to study and she snatched my notes and threw them in a pond. called me a useless nerd right in front of everyone.”

his long fingers sustain a languid rhythm, his sculpted chest heaving with a short, annoyed huff at the memory. when you jerk your hips to throw him off, the heel of his hand cracks against your poor cunt—a sharp, stinging smack that forces a wet squelch against his palm.

“and the hitting,” he continues, voice pitching into a whinier, petulant cadence. “you wouldn’t believe it. last week, i got a bruise on my arm.” he adjusts his angle, the pad of his thumb rubbing your clit in coarse circles. “just because i corrected her answer in advanced calculus. i was right! i always am! but she just likes making me feel small, doesn't she?"

stop it" you shove against his shoulders, but satoru doesn't even rock back. he just pushes his fingers deeper, the heel of his hand pressing roughly against you.

“no,” his bright blue eyes are huge and glassy, talking to your cunt like it’s his only friend. “she doesn’t get to tell me to stop. not after she made me do her entire literature thesis. not after she tripped me in the cafeteria, and my tray went everywhere. i had to clean it up myself.”

he pumps his fingers into you harder, the wet sound of your body fluids becoming obscenely loud. “you understand me, don’t you? you’re the only one who’s ever nice to me.”

“g-gojo, please...” you whimper, not even sure what you’re asking for. you’re so close, and the humiliation from this boy you’ve spent all semester tormenting only fuels it.

“s'okay,” he coos, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “you can show her, right? show her what happens when she’s mean to me. do it f'me, baby.”

it’s the final, bizarre permission your body needed. you come, a hot, gushing release that soaks his hand, his wrist, the inside of your thighs. it sprays, pearly streaks against the white sheets.

satoru goes perfectly still. his whining ceases as he cocks his head like a curious puppy. he slowly draws his glistening fingers out, staring at the wet trails sliding down his knuckles with an expression of rapt, awe-struck wonder, as if he's just successfully completed a difficult laboratory experiment. a long, satisfied exhale escapes his plush lips, his broad shoulders finally relaxing.

"you did it," he breathes, his voice reverent. he brings his soaked fingers to his mouth, never breaking eye contact with the only thing that never disappointed him. he licks a stripe across his wrist, swallowing your fluids eagerly. “you did so good. congratulations. see? i knew you had it in you.”

he looks up at your eyes then, his azure gaze blazing with triumph behind his crooked glasses. a whiney, desperate nerd, glowing with perverse pride.

“see?” he whispers, leaning in to kiss your jaw. “i knew you liked me.”

[lilithkleii]

your fwb frat!sukuna is a massive softie !

frat!sukuna, who first insisted that your relationship was strictly sex, nothing more—with some flimsy excuse about how he doesn’t have the time for a relationship, doesn’t have the time to commit to something that serious, and about how a relationship would only drag him down.

so he does what any good friend situationship?would do—he shows up to your place, fucks you until you can’t remember your own name, and leaves before something in his chest convinces him to stay.

frat!sukuna, who has to have you facing him to cum, something about just looking at your face contort in pleasure while you take him in, the way tears rim your eyes while he thrusts into you languidly—he simply can’t bring himself to cum if he isn’t look at you and your pretty face drunk on his cock.

frat!sukuna, who tries to walk out of your apartment the second he’s done with you, but he just can’t bring himself to do it. so he lingers, hovers around your sleeping form until you finally drag him back under your sheets, calling him ridiculous while he presses soft kisses to the back of your neck.

frat!sukuna, who has your drink order memorised to perfection, always leaving your sugary concoction of a drink on your desk before each class begins with a scrawled on note that says ‘don’t get any ideas.’

frat!sukuna, who never denies anything when his frat brothers start calling you his girlfriend—it’s too much work to correct them, he says, but you don’t miss the way his cheeks tinge the same shade as his hair every single time one of them pats him on the back and calls you his girl.

frat!sukuna, who always has to have you close to him, with his arm slug around your shoulders or wrapped around your waist when he’s near you.

“it’s to make sure you don’t run away.”

“now, why would i do that?”

frat!sukuna, who almost decks toji in the face when he sees him flirting with you, his split lip curled into a girl while you laughed at his stupid jokes and for one second, sukuna’s afraid he’s going to lose this, that he’s going to lose you.

frat!sukuna, who starts tiptoeing around the idea of a relationship, insisting he takes you on dates—taking you out to fancy restaurants and late night bike rides when he knows exam stress starts to take over your brain. he’s spent enough time around you to know everything there is to know, but what sukuna doesn’t know is how to handle a relationship.

frat!sukuna, who’s been treating you like his girlfriend since the start, never skipping aftercare, always being there at your every beck and call—and avoiding every girl that had eyes for him like the plague since he met you.

“good god, did she neuter you, kuna?” toji slurred between drinks while sukuna tried to dodge the sorority girls coming his way.

“shut up.”

frat!sukuna, who’s softer during sex now, worshipping your body endlessly, covering you in soft kisses and bites marks before he eats you out like a man starved.

frat!sukuna, who’s basically a guard dog around you, glaring at everyone who so much as shows even mild interest in you, clinging to you like a needy puppy every second of the day that he possibly can.

frat!sukuna, who has words stuck in his throat every single time he tries to ask you out, always stuttering out nonsense he didn’t mean to say because, what if you turn him down? and what if there’s someone better?

frat!sukuna, who gets you a massive bouquet of your favourite flowers, showing up to your apartment in the dead of night, flowers scrunched in his hand, his chest heaving when he finally asks you out.

frat!sukuna, who tries to hide his flustered face when you finally say yes, spinning you around in his arms while he kisses the top of your head—because after all the mental gymnastics he’s done to have you in his arms, he finally gets to call you his girl.

eek.

all works belong to @lilithkleii do NOT copy, translate or feed to AI, lest you wish upon toji’s worm to crawl up your ass.

[indiewritesxoxo]

THE GIRL WHO CRIED WOLF

what do you do when you think a werewolf is stalking you? have sex with him, of course!

synopsis: you tried to live a normal life on your family's farm. until a werewolf bit you as a child and no one seems to believe you when the same one starts to follow you for years. branded an outsider and browbeaten towards an arranged marriage, you start to think that maybe you are going mad - until a certain werewolf shows up to wreak havoc again!

pairing: werewolf!sukuna x f!reader

wc: 8.0k

content: mdni, angst + smut, porn with plot, werewolf sex, he's hairy and has fuzzy ears + tail for it, unprotected piv sex, knotting, breeding kink, creampie, marking, biting, bonds, sukuna is lowk a yandere and VERY obsessed with reader, reader is an awkward loser, toxic family/environment, a sprinkle of violence against an asshole, kissing, oral sex (f!receiving), scratching, feral lovemaking, happy ending

a/n: the sukuna art is by @winterrbluess ! this was a super fun commission for the lovely @martianzmars <333

There were beasts in the woods. 

Creatures the townsfolk whispered about in hushed tones out in the market, a tight hand on their children’s wrists to keep them tugged close as they ushered them back to the safety of their cottages. Monsters made into bedtime stories your mother warned you about before tucking you into sleep at night. 

Stay on the trail. Never go out by yourself. 

But hunger makes people do stupid things. 

And you were no exception. 

Just a clumsy child yourself, tumbling over roots and avoiding breaking any twigs as you snuck through the brush, going to check a trap you carefully crafted yourself after listening to your parents complain about not having any meat to preserve for the coming cold days. Not when all your livestock were going missing lately. Stolen or slaughtered by the predators lurking unseen. 

They wouldn’t approve of you sneaking out in the woods, but if you brought back any animal, you were sure they’d forgive you for it. You were tired of being just another mouth to feed, something fragile to keep an eye on who’d yet to contribute much to the farm. 

So you just huffed and held your tears in rather than start to bawl when you hit the rough forest floor and scraped your knees up, messing up the patched-together trousers your mother just mended last week, a hand-me-down that probably wouldn’t last to make it to another kid. 

Biting your tongue as you made it past a familiar trove of trees, steeling your nerves with the thought that at least your trap was close – and then you heard it. 

The whine of an animal. 

Your hand reflexively reached for the battered hunting knife sheathed tucked in your pocket. You had to steal it from your father’s drawer this morning, but he should be too busy tending to the crops to notice your little theft. 

Had it truly worked? 

Did you really snag yourself an animal to bring home and brag about? 

You swallowed hard, barely containing your anticipation as you struggled to stay silent the rest of the way. Too distracted in your own excitement to realize all the bugs and birds had gone quiet too. 

Of course, even if you had, you still never would have considered the cause being what you caught. Who you caught. 

Peeking beneath a branch to get a glimpse of your prize only to discover a pup. 

And not the cute, fluffy kind the boy down gravel road had. 

A werewolf pup. Somewhere between human and wolf, caught between two different forms and completely, totally feral. With scraggly pink fur and searing red eyes, barking out a low growl at you as he struggled to get out of your trap. There was…something in there with him. A small animal you must’ve snagged before he tried to steal it, only tufts of brown and orange left of it and bits of bone. 

But when you looked back at his face, the shape of his quivering mouth and the way his eyes widened with pure panic, you couldn’t help but feel awful for him. He was even smaller than you, scrawny and starving, his fingers trembling as he fought to break free. 

“It’s okay,” you tried to soothe him, swallowing hard to quell your own fear. “I’m not gonna hurt you.” 

You pulled out your knife, moving slowly to not scare him as you showed him the blade. From what you’d pieced together from your parents late-night hushed conversations over the town’s werewolf problem, they were intelligent. Had families too. Made their homes in caves rather than out of wood and stone. 

Was he your age? Maybe a year younger? 

Did he have parents out there waiting for him to return to them like yours were? 

“I’m just going to cut you free,” you half-whispered, careful to keep your tone even as you started to dismantle your own handiwork. 

You didn’t know if he could understand you. 

But his growling had turned into low huffs. 

If you didn’t know better, you’d almost think he was impatient.

You worked faster, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you nervously stole glances back at the pup, hesitant to even think of him as a beast when he was so…scraggly? You’d always thought werewolves were vicious, too smart to get caught by a silly contraption like yours, strong enough to bust their way out of it if they did. 

“Okay, there you-” 

You didn’t even get to finish your sentence, the second he’d been released, that scraggly body of his was launching off the ground – and on top of you. Knocking you onto your back, all the air forced out of you as you let out a sharp gasp, trying to shove him off only to get the knife knocked out of your hand. 

And your wrists pinned by your head just a moment later, his claws digging into your skin as his iron grip bit into your bones. 

You were sobbing before he had even leaned in a little, big fat tears rolling down your cheeks as you squirmed and attempted to roll out from underneath him. “Pl-please don’t hurt me, I-I-” 

Blubbering like a baby, shaking your head desperately as fear struck a dagger of its own straight through your core, primal terror setting in as you began to sweat. Your whole face felt wet, your lip wobbling as you tried to stammer out another desperate plea for your life, as you realized what a moron you were for having pity for him. 

Starving dogs would always bite. 

He was growling, barring sharp teeth as his canines glinted in the afternoon light, ready to sink into your throat and tear it out. You had a momentary surge of strength at the thought you really might die, managing to almost wrestle free as you screamed for your family, one hand slipping out of his grasp only for him to lunge forward, his teeth sinking into your wrist to stop you as a flash of white hot pain shot up your arm and-

Stopped? 

His eyes snapped up to meet yours, squinting almost accusingly before the hurt morphed into a relaxing tingle, like your body was being bathed in warmth, shivering at the strange connection in his locked stare. All the apprehension disappearing, your anxieties melting as if you weren’t in danger, as if you weren’t surely seconds from death. 

And then he was letting go, recoiling away from you like he tasted something rotten, nose scrunched up before he started to sniff the air. 

Blood was dripping down your wrist, leaving red splotches on the plants beneath you as you scooted backwards, breathing hard and heavy as you debated on trying to make a run for it now, weighing the risk of if he’d pounce again. Feeling for where the knife landed, unable to bring yourself to break eye contact with him. 

His mouth opened again, not in a snarl this time, but before he could bark or speak, there was the rustle of branches behind you, your parents calling out your name with worry in their voices. You glanced over your shoulder, just for a moment, but by the time you looked back, he was gone. 

Disappeared deeper into the forest, into the safety of the thick brush. 

Leaving you with a wounded wrist and a funny flutter in your chest as you stumbled to your feet after grabbing the knife, stumbling back towards the sound of your parents shouting for you. 

You made it out of the woods with your life. 

A story that got you scolded for years to come too, not to mention a scar that made the townsfolk sneer at you for doing something so foolish. 

And a werewolf who just wouldn’t stop coming around. 

Although, it had taken you until your teenage years to figure out that you were being stalked by the creature you made the mistake of saving as a child. You found his fur on your family’s porch, tufts of pink left behind in the mornings your family never seemed to notice. Scratch marks etched against the walls, grooves left in the wood from claws that were meant for slicing through flesh. 

You caught glimpses of him. Sporadic at first, spread out between months and weeks. A flash of sharp teeth through the treeline. A phantom stare that seemed to constantly trail after you as you carefully kept your distance from the forest during the days while you tended to the farm. Hair pretty much perpetually raised on the back of your neck as you pretended you didn’t feel like you were being watched the second you walked outside. 

The livestock had stopped disappearing, at least. 

No more waking up to missing chickens or goats left with gashes strewn across the yard. 

Your parents thought that all the werewolves in the area had moved somewhere else. Retreated deeper into the woods or somehow all slaughtered each other, victim to their own instincts, their own aggression. 

You knew better. Kept waiting for the beast lurking and lingering around to…well, do something. 

Not just watch. 

You wondered if he was hoping for your guard to slip. If maybe he liked to play with his food before he scarfed it down. 

Every time you’d step foot into the forest, he would seemingly be there. One hand on a silver dagger, not that you thought it would be much use if he’d been able to pin you down back when you were still bigger than him, especially now that he had a massive frame that lumbered between the trees, too big to be stealthy if he tried. Yet, not a single other person had seen him. 

But you didn’t really have a choice. Someone had to collect herbs, had to get fresh water from the river, had to bring back branches and berries. 

And no one believed your stories of the pink werewolf who just stood there and stared without ever attacking. 

Everyone in town thought you were just a crybaby who called wolf. 

“Stop staring and hang those clothes up,” your mother huffed, an elbow digging into your side snapping you out of your daze. Daydreaming about a world where they all listened to you instead of ignoring every word that left your mouth. “The neighbor’s boy will be by soon.” 

Of course. 

You wouldn’t be their problem much longer anyway. 

Soon you’d be married off, sent to be the bride of the farmer’s eldest son next door. Most people married their daughters off the second they came of age, became adults who were too much of a burden to keep around, but your reputation had bought you a couple extra years. 

No one wanted to wed a woman who weeped about creatures the rest of the folk were desperate to forget about. 

Except for the boy with the bad temper you whispered to through the fence. 

You had only started speaking to him a handful of months ago, back when you were hanging the sheets on the line and overheard a rustling sound through the rotting wooden planks separating your family’s land from the neighbor’s. 

“Hello?” You called out, glancing over your shoulder anxiously, picturing a mass of pink on the other side. Considering the chance that you had gone crazy, cringing as you realized your paranoid mind might just be playing a trick on you. “Is someone-”

“Hello?” A man’s voice had echoed yours, equally uncertain. It came out all gruff, like someone was dragging a wooden rake over gravel, a rough rumble to it you automatically liked. 

He didn’t try to sound smooth or honeyed. No pretending, nothing pretty or pompous. 

And more important than anything else, real. 

“Oh, um, my apologies,” you awkwardly cleared your throat, not sure what to say to him, belatedly realizing it had to be the boy your parents kept bringing up as a potential marriage prospect for you. “I just heard a noise and-” 

“Did I scare you?” 

“A little,” you admitted, laughing it off as you stared at the wood blocking him from your sight. “There’s a werewolf that roams around here.” 

You waited for him to mock you for suggesting it. To dismiss your claim the same way everyone else did. 

“Oh?” 

He didn’t. 

You informed your mother that night you wouldn’t mind marrying him after all. 

And before long, you were confiding in him about everything. Sitting by the fence whether the weather was warm or cold, picking flowers while you poured out the years you’d spent looking over your shoulder, scared that you wouldn’t make it through another season. 

He never told you your suspicions were stupid. 

But he did tell you that if the werewolf hadn’t attacked you yet, there might be another reason it was there. Suggested one drizzly day that the object of your fear might actually be protecting you, that he could’ve scared off all the others that used to wreak havoc on your family’s farm. 

You had never considered it before him. 

But he made a point you were doing your best to talk yourself into believing. 

It had helped calm some of your nerves. Turn your nightmares into something more…managable. They weren’t scary anymore, just, well, strange. 

Your werewolf was still there. 

But your body no longer tensed with terror when he came close and crouched low. Your heart still thrummed, pounding against your chest as you reached out a hand, but the beast who occupied so much of your brain had begun to let you pet him in the scenes it conjured up. Stroking his surprisingly soft fur as his mouth parted to purr, sharp teeth hidden behind his curled-up lips. 

You had told your future fiancé about it, excitedly recounting the details as he gruffly hummed along. You asked about his dreams too, tried to return the favor he’d done you by easing your fears by getting to know him.  

But he avoided that altogether, always redirecting the conversation back to your day. What you had for breakfast or what chores your family would be making you do later. 

He didn’t flirt, never made any kind of crude suggestions of sneaking over the fence to spend the night — despite the rather unsavory reputation you heard he had around your village. 

When you got close, your knees pressed to your chest while you rested your cheek against the wood, sometimes you could almost swear you felt some invisible string tying you to him. A natural pull you had a hard time resisting, reluctant to ever end the conversation or step away when your heart wanted to plant itself on the spot. Fingers itching to pry apart the boards so you could see his face, touch his skin. 

You told yourself that it was a pretty fantasy.

Something your mind was weaving to keep yourself from actually going crazy from sheer loneliness. 

Despite all of your stolen conversations, the minutes you snuck away to speak to him, you had never met him in person.

Until today. 

You hurried to hang the clothes per your mother’s request, hands trembling as you worked and your head snapping over your shoulders as you hoped to hear his voice. 

“Are you there?” You called out, aware that you’d look as crazy as everyone said you were if you got caught. It was a miracle in itself that you hadn’t before now. 

But you didn’t get a reply. 

Brief disappointment burned through you, but you shut it down. 

Ignored the way it stung as you finished up, casting a wistful look back before returning to the house, stepping over trampled wild flowers and dying grass until you were climbing back up the stairs to your porch. 

Your head hanging low, mulling over what you’d actually say when you got to see him. 

“Ahem,” your mother cleared her throat, and your stare snapped up to find her waiting for you with-

Oh. 

Your shallow disappointment immediately deepened into a lake you could drown you. 

“Hi,” you breathed, struggling not to let your dismay show for the man in front of you. He wasn’t awful looking. No, he was attractive, you guessed, in his own way. 

But he didn’t fit what you had in your head. He was too…clean? Normal? 

His eyes weren’t filled with the warmth you dreamed they’d have. They were cold. Slipping over your frame cautiously, as if he was calculating what he should make of you. 

You didn’t feel that tug towards him, no spark or gravity drawing you in. You didn’t feel anything for him. 

“I’ve heard quite a bit about you,” he greeted, nodding as his stare dipped from your face to your chest. 

He didn’t even sound the same either. 

Could a piece of wood really change the quality of his voice that much? 

“I’ll leave you two to it,” your mother chirped, disappearing back inside like she wouldn’t be watching through the window. 

“You don’t have to pretend like you don’t know me,” you said once you were sure she at least wasn’t eavesdropping. Telling yourself that you were surely just overthinking everything, trying to claw back some comfort in your one safe person. “Speaking to you has often been the highlight of my days these last few months.” 

He looked at you incredulously, mouth curling up in a sneer you’d seen so many times before. 

It was the one you usually got in the market from the townsfolk who thought you were mad. 

The delusional farmer’s daughter. 

“We’ve never spoken before.”

˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀

Would you be mad at him for murdering your fiancé? 

Sukuna mused on how hard it would be to catch that imbecile off-guard and slice through his throat as the idiot scoffed and sneered at you. 

He always knew it was a matter of time before you figured out your future groom wasn’t the man on the other side of the fence. 

But he thought he had a little more time. 

To warm you up a little more on the whole werewolf thing. 

He heard the fear in your voice when you first talked about the pink beast stalking you through the woods without realizing it was the creature you were so terrified of that you were crying to. 

It wasn’t like he wanted you to think he was a fucking creep. 

But the longer he stayed away, the harder he fought and resisted the bond tying you to him, the more of a monster he became. Slowly becoming more animalistic, giving into the primal parts of him, pain scorching through every muscle and limb and threatening to melt his mind when he strayed too far from your side. 

Werewolves needed their mates. 

And you were his. 

Bonded from the moment he bit you, his heart claimed to only beat for you from that day forward. Most werewolves had packs to keep them sane. Families they counted on to maintain their control on the monstrous parts of them that would go unchecked without that connection.

He had been an orphan. An abandoned pup who figured out how to survive on his own. 

Lone werewolves, the ones like him, eventually became more wolf than man if they never found their other half to hold onto. Too aggressive to ever come close to someone that could tame them. 

Sukuna had learned to make due with what he had. 

You’d gotten good at avoiding him, running from him the second you caught so much as a glimpse, which honestly, was rather rude if you asked him. 

Forced to creep up to your house at night, prowling around your porch to protect your farm from any other predators that might come sniffing around. Sleeping beneath your window at night just so he could stave off transforming into more of a beast, telling himself that he wasn’t being weird as long as he didn’t peek through to watch you dream and drift off in your bed. 

He only ended up talking to you through the fence out of impulse. 

Creeping along the other side of it to stay close to you and keep his instincts at bay, knowing those morons next door barely tended to their fields enough to notice him even during the day, caught off guard by the sound of your pretty voice calling out to him. 

A single conversation was enough to have him hooked though. 

And he was nothing if not addicted to the tiniest tidbits of your attention. 

Desperate to feel the faintest warmth of your affection.

Sometimes, he was tempted to burst through the rotting wood, rip the whole fence down until he was face-to-face with you, shake your shoulders and beg you to see that it was him, that every part of him belonged to you. 

Humans didn’t feel the bond the same way werewolves did, but he wanted to believe you could sense it too. 

You had kept coming back. 

And now you were standing on your front porch, frozen with a different type of fear that he could feel from here. 

Your emotions seeping into his, curdling with his own shame for screwing everything up with you from the start. 

He couldn’t hear what you were saying, but he could tell you were stammering, your lips quivering just for the man in front of you to laugh. Reaching out to pat your head condescendingly before jutting a thumb back towards his own property. 

Sukuna was silently begging you to shake your head. 

To keep your feet firmly planted on your porch. 

You were too soft. Too trusting. 

The sort of girl that set him free. Let a wild wolf pup loose with no regard for your own safety. And apparently you never learned your lesson judging by the way you began following that fool back to his house. 

Clueless that his own family had conveniently left it empty for him to have his way with his future bride. 

Sukuna had listened to your complaints about the way you were treated by everyone else. How no one else ever seemed to see what you did. No one else cared to believe you when it was more convenient not to. 

You had trusted him. 

And now you were putting this faith in that man because he hadn’t told you the truth? 

Sukuna knew what would happen if he let you go inside with him, snarling as his claws started to grow, the bones in his fists cracking and popping as they formed a fist, creeping just deep enough to not be spotted as he trailed after the two of you until you crossed over onto his property. 

He kept hoping you’d turn around. Tell him that you weren’t sure this was a good idea. 

But you didn’t. 

Even if the look on your face was nothing short of sharp discomfort as you walked up a winding path to his house. 

Shit.

Sukuna was really going to scare you this time, wasn’t he? 

But he wasn’t just going to let you stay there alone with an even bigger predator. 

One who wouldn’t hesitate to bruise your skin or make you bleed for his own pleasure. 

He stepped out, his canines barred as his chest quickly began to rise and fall with heavy breaths, aware that there really might be no going back from this as he waited for just one of you to look back. But no, that asshole just slid his hand down the small of your back, attempting to grope your ass through your dress and ignoring the way you were recoiling from him as you tried to politely brush his arm off. 

Rage ripped through him in one hot burst, spilling over and souring any chance of his sanity winning out. Only half-monster this time, pink fur sticking out across his back as he lumbered forward. He didn’t have a real plan. Or any plan. 

Just the deep-seeded instinct to protect you at any cost. To not let another man lay a finger on you.  

Your husband-to-be never saw him coming. 

Blood splattering across the grass as he hit the ground from just a shallow scratch, whining in pain like a baby before Sukuna delivered a swift kick to his skull. 

It wasn’t particularly powerful, but he supposed humans really were just that much weaker given how fast it seemed to knock him out. 

“Sorry,” he growled, glancing over to you, expecting you to scream at any second, give him away. But you were stuck in place, those big eyes that had haunted him in his memory for so long finally locked onto his. More tears welling up in them, your shoulders shivering as the explanation on his tongue died. 

Your hand reflexively reached for your wrist, the scarred skin there still raised from where he’d clamped down on it as a child, and he flinched, guilt curdling in his stomach. 

He hated that he hurt you. Hated that he was terrifying you now. 

The bond burned, being so goddamn close to you, able to feel all your fear, all your messy emotions tangled and twisted together, your heart racing so fast he could hear the wild thumps as he tried to force his body to revert back to his most human form. 

“He was going to hurt you,” Sukuna defended himself with a low growl, kicking his limp body on the ground for a second time, like it would make himself feel better. A man like that would only waste your life. Force you to work the fields for him, bear his children and still pretend you were the burden. 

You blinked, sucking in a broken breath as you stared at him. The terror that had been radiating off of you fading faster than he expected as your pretty lips parted, as if you pieced together the rest of who he was on your own. 

“You’re-” You started, unable to finish the sentence. 

“I’m protecting you,” he grunted, before you could come to any other conclusion. 

You’d given him this life. He was devoting it back to you. 

“Why would you do that?” You whispered, unsure of whether or not to stay or sprint as far from him as you could. Your stare quickly shifted back to the body on the ground, biting your lip when you realized he was, unfortunately, still breathing. 

“You’re my mate.” 

˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀

The werewolf you’d spent well over a decade running from had declared you were his mate – and the man you thought you’d marry was bleeding in the grass. 

Great. 

You were blinking back tears, torn between twisting away and taking a step closer. Your blurred vision started to clear as you hastily wiped away the damp streak from your cheeks, starting to see the werewolf in front of you as what he might have been this whole time. 

Your protector. 

Were you a moron that misread everything? 

Maybe. 

Or were you once again a fool about to fall for his trap? 

He’d done it to you before, hadn’t he? 

A small voice in your head suggested that you were thinking about it wrong. You had set him free. And now he was repaying that favor by saving you from spending the rest of your years chained to a stranger.

“What did you mean about him hurting me?” You tentatively asked, jaw tensing as you stole another peek at the man bleeding onto the already dead grass. 

“You’re not that naive,” he scoffed, his mouth twitching when he looked too like he was tempted to kick him a third time. 

Your mouth pressed together in a thin line, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you replayed the way he tried to grab you despite how derisively he laughed at you before. How he commented that he didn’t really care if you were crazy before glancing down at your cleavage. 

But you had still walked with him anyway, starting to think that maybe you were losing it, that you were simply so lonely, you’d made up all those long conversations. Convinced that some jerk who just wanted you for your body was the best you’d be able to get. 

“So it was you? This whole time?” You asked, trying to make the pieces fit together in your mind as you pictured him on the other side of that fence. Listening to you complain about him. “You never said-” 

“Can you blame me?” He grunted, shrugging his massive shoulders up like it didn’t bother him.

“I called you a creep, like, a thousand times,” you pointed out, bottom lip quivering as you found yourself teetering on the verge of an apology you couldn’t decide if he deserved or not. 

“Yeah,” he grimaced. “If I stay too far away from you, it’s hard to stay human.” 

Your heart lurched. 

Eyes lingering over him as you realized that he could almost pass for human. 

Disarmed by how different he looked up close. His broad chest outlined with defined muscles, bulky and thick with scars and markings crisscrossed and etched deep into his tanned skin. There were sparse spots of fur that appeared to almost…shrink the longer he stood in front of you. 

And not a scrap of clothing to cover his rather large cock. 

You’d never seen one in person before. But you had overheard some of the girls gossiping about the men they were seeing in the market, comparing sizes to fruits and giggling about how they rarely seemed to make good use of them. 

Were werewolves just more well endowed? 

Heat coiled in your stomach, more enthralled than you should be as you got distracted by the shape of it, the way it curved a little to the left, a thick vein running along the side of it as your breath got stuck in your throat. 

His tail wagged behind him as he stepped closer, something irritatingly familiar inside you instinctively aching to move towards him too. 

That invisible string pulling tight, tensing up at the proximity of his presence, trying to draw you into his space as you felt what little resolve you had to resist him crumbling by the second. 

You didn’t want to stay here. 

Didn’t want to spend your life as the wife to an asshole or be the disappointment of a daughter your family treated you like. 

You were already an outsider in your own village. 

Why not give being a werewolf’s mate a try? 

It wasn’t like your situation could get much worse. 

“So,” you started, clearing your throat as you dragged your stare back up to his face. “What now?” 

“Would you run away with me?” 

In a strange way, his serious grumble felt romantic, his hand outstretched and all those sharp claws retracted waiting for yours as his red eyes pried apart and pierced through your soul. 

Somewhere deep inside you, you knew that you were never going to say no. 

That your path was always going to wind back to him one way or another the moment you slid your palm into his. 

Still, you kind of thought he’d be taking you back to some poorly-constructed hut in the forest made out of twigs and branches – not an actual cottage of his own. 

Buried deep within a twisted grove of trees tightly-spaced, tucked away far enough you doubted any hunters or folk from your village would ever discover it on their own. 

It was old, vines sprawling over the walls, the thatched roof freshly-repaired as he pulled you through the front door. The inside was nice, a little small, but comfortable. Furniture mix-matched, most of it either roughly handcrafted or well, stolen, you supposed. 

“This is yours?” You asked, stepping inside as he shut the wooden door behind both of you. Slipping off your shoes, not sure if that was considered polite or not in werewolf culture. 

“Uh-huh,” he wryly nodded, not even glancing around when his gaze was focused solely on you. Looking at you sort of like you might be his next meal. “

“And I’m your mate?” You continued, mostly just wanting to hear him say it again. Confirm whatever this funny feeling inside you was. The connection that seemed to just intensify with each passing breath, each step he took closer. 

“You’re mine,” he murmured, bridging the distance in just two long strides. He didn’t touch you. Not yet. Just let his calloused palm hover above your cheek like he was considering it – and using every ounce of his restraint not to cave in and caress you. “And I’m yours.” 

“Do you want to be?” You swallowed hard, finding it hard to hold yourself back too. To not feel how firm his chest was, to not skim your fingers over his defined jaw. “Or is it just part of your werewolf-” 

“I want to be,” he shook his head, like he didn’t even want you to entertain any other idea. “I want you. I think I’d want you even if we weren’t bonded.” 

Enough to sit there and resist the bond between you for months while you whined and whispered about your boring life. 

Enough to stop you from being sent off in an arranged marriage. 

You got up on your tiptoes, letting your fingertips ghost over his cheeks as you pressed your lips to his in a timid kiss.

It was meant to be soft and slow. 

But the second your mouth connected with his, it was like someone had set your skin on fire. Pleasure you hadn’t planned on racing through your limbs, across your body in one massive rush. Shuddering at how sensitive everything abruptly was, abruptly aware of the breeze in the air, the pressure of his hand as he grabbed your waist and pressed your body up against his. 

As if it hurt for there to even be an inch between his chest and yours. 

His tongue danced across your bottom lip, asking for entry you quickly granted, exploring your mouth with a flattering fervor. 

Your thighs were already pressing together, warmth pooling as your walls clenched around nothing. But in between the heat, you felt a funny throb starting to build, begging for attention. 

“W-what’s your name?” You asked, belatedly realizing you still didn’t know it. 

“Sukuna,” he muttered, fingers sliding around to splay possessively over your spine, his steps guiding you back as he kissed you again. 

His tongue slipped back in your mouth as his hand travelled over the rough fabric of your dress, pausing to tch at how it rubbed against your skin. 

Sukuna was quick to pull it up over your head, throwing it down on the creaky wooden floorboards as he pushed open the door to his bedroom. 

You had a brief flash of contemplation, wondering whether or not you were really about to offer your virtue up to the beast that had been haunting you for well over half your life. 

But then you gave him another onceover, felt that fierce tingle travelling straight to your core, and you were committing to the animal inside you too. 

He pinned you to his bed in a flash, although it looked more like a nest. A few of your clothing items, shawls and dresses that had gone missing over the last couple years you assumed your mother had thrown out were all bundled up on the surface along with a tattered blanket, the warmth of his own scent mixed with your sweeter one striking you the second your back hit the thin mattress. 

“Are those-” Your voice died in your throat at how alarmingly cute the sheepish expression that crossed his face was. 

“I’m sorry,” he begrudgingly grunted an apology, jaw tense as he paused on top of you, his hands on either side of your head, hesitating like you might slip out and make a break for it. 

“What else did you steal?” You tried to tease, fingers loosely running over your old shawl close by.

“Nothing,” he grunted, not particularly believable as your lips curled up in a smile. 

Was it morally questionable? 

Yes, but when you’d wasted so long thinking that no one would ever like you, finding a man obsessed with you was too intoxicating for you to second guess it. 

You leaned forward and kissed him again, trying to match the frenzy behind his lips, a fever of your own starting to make all your thoughts feel loose, fuzzy. 

Limbs relaxing as your cunt started to ache, your fingers brushing through his soft hair, feeling his furry ears as his tail thwomped against the bed fast. 

His cock was digging into your thigh, throbbing and twitching with every little move you made. 

“You smell so fucking good,” he groaned, moving down to leave a messy trail of kisses down your jaw, over your throat as he began to sniff you. 

Sucking in deep inhales, grunting as he ran his tongue in sloppy circles over your nipples, lapping over your exposed skin with no real rhyme or reason. Skimming his teeth over the sensitive peaks, letting out lewd noises like he was the one being driven mad with his mouth. 

Nipping at you lightly, travelling lower until he was hovering over your pussy. 

“Jus’ need a taste,” he breathed, and before you could even fully spread your legs for him, his tongue was pushing inside you. 

It felt like he was trying to devour you. 

Lick up every single drop, dragging his tongue against your walls in messy strokes, dipping in-and-out at a mind-melting pace. 

Nails clawing at anything on his bed for grip, gasping for air as he lifted your hips off the bed so he could dive even deeper. 

None of the girls had ever talked about this. 

His thick digits were digging deep into your thighs, keeping you there as he worked his tongue in and swirled it with a devotion you were struggling to handle. 

You were losing it. 

Unravelling at a rate you never expected, wiggling and whimpering at how good it felt. How right it was to run your fingers through his soft strands. 

And despite it all, you were still greedy for more. 

Aching for him to stuff you with something bigger than his tongue. 

“P-please take me,” you whined, ruffling his hair as you peered down at his position between your soft thighs. 

His dark eyes widened, pupils completely blown, just a thin ring of red left as he processed what you had said. 

You didn’t take it back. 

Lips parted as you sucked in a shallow breath, silently daring him to do it. 

Before you blinked again, your thighs were being pressed up against your chest, squished and squeezed as he lined his leaking length up against your entrance. 

“Yeah?” He huffed, eyes narrowing as he saw the sweat starting to drip down your forehead, the way your thighs tensed and trembled before he even slid in. “You want me too?” “I do,” you nodded, feeling almost like you were making a vow you wouldn’t be able to take back as he pushed the first few inches in.

The pressure seared. 

Your stomach twisting into knots as your walls desperately squeezed down around him. He had to go slow, not desperately rutting or shoving, just slowly sliding into your warmth, his saliva and your slick making it easier for him to enter. 

“You’ve been keeping this from me this long?” He asked, his voice raw and reverberating through you as you found yourself looping your wrists around his neck. Thick tendons straining and flexing as he unclenched his jaw, your thighs straining from the way his fingers dug into your supple flesh. 

“I thought you were going to eat me,” you argued, pouting as he tilted his head back, using every ounce of his focus when his cock slipped in deeper, starting to rub against all those sensitive spots you had a hard time reaching yourself. 

Your own hand was nothing compared to him. 

“I might,” he chuckled, low and gritty. 

Tension thrumming thick in the air as you looked down and realized he still hadn’t bottomed out, your lips parting as you stared at the connection between your bodies. 

That intoxicating tingle you’d felt when he kissed you back had returned, your body squeezing and clenching and…changing? 

It finally struck you what was happening. 

His cock was literally molding you around him. 

The bond working its weird werewolf magic to make sure you’d be able to accommodate him not just comfortably, but pleasurably. So you wouldn’t be in pain as he pushed you to your limits. 

“Is this normal?” You gasped, not sure if you should be grateful or freaked out as he slipped another thick inch in. 

“You’re my first,” he shrugged, the lump in his throat bobbing like he was currently too preoccupied just by the way you were wrapped around him to think straight. 

“And werewolves don’t have multiple mates?” You questioned, lips pursed as you felt his cock prod that soft, spongy place in the back, your back arching up off the bed just for him to press you right back down. 

“You can’t be serious right now,” he froze, his cock twitching in time with his mouth. 

“I’m just asking,” you frowned, but he was quick to fuck your pout off, pounding back into you as you saw something in his face shift. 

Crack. 

Coming undone as he struggled to slow down once he started, his pace just picking up as he kissed you to wipe away your silly assumptions. 

“You’re it for me, got it?” He grunted, the taste of you on his tongue as he kissed you again. 

How were you supposed to not fall for that? 

Not turn to putty for him to play with when his calloused hand slipped down the inside of your thigh, the tantalizing tips of his claws lightly tracing over your skin to tease you. Swirling the tip of his fingers over your clit, toying with the bud there too as he ruthlessly rutted into you like an animal in heat. 

Was that all the two of you were now? 

“M’sorry,” he moaned, his mouth right next to yours as you sucked in a broken breath. “I can’t hold back.” 

“You don’t have to,” you whispered back, your voice all airy, half a pitch too high right as he rolled his hips forward, forcing the last few inches in. Your eyes rolled back in response, a whimper ripped from the back of your throat. 

Perhaps you should’ve asked Sukuna to reign it in a little. 

Because moments later, the base of his cock that already barely fit started to get bigger. 

He was knotting you. 

And somewhere in your lust-addled head, you liked it. A primal voice in the back of your brain begging to be bred. 

For him to fill you up and never let you go. 

“It’s-” You started, struggling to get any coherent words out when it didn’t feel like you had any room left in you for anything.

“Too much?” He grunted, starting to slip back out, to release you before it was too late. 

But you pulled at his hair, squeezing your thighs and sorta wishing they were wrapped around his waist instead to stop him. 

“No,” you spat out, straining to shake your head as he stalled there. “I need it.” 

You needed him. 

The idea of being apart, separated just a little suddenly seemed hellish, like it would be sheer torment to not feel the full force of him lodged inside of you. 

His knot stretched you out, your nails raking mean scratches down his massive back as the base of his cock continued to swell. Unable to so much as squirm, stuck in place as he split you open on his thick length. 

And truly? You wouldn’t trade him for any farmer’s son. 

Wouldn’t want to be anywhere other than here, in this cozy cottage being fucked stupid by a werewolf. 

He might be a beast, but at least he was wholly yours. 

His fingers returned to rubbing soothing circles over your swollen bud, coaxing you towards a climax as he staved off his own. Lips leaving kiss after kiss across your face, your thighs still held against your chest by his weight alone, folded and straining as he fit all of him inside of you. 

“You don’t know how crazy you make me,” he growled into your throat, and you were starting to think you had an idea. 

Infected with his intensity, itching for release as he dragged you to higher and higher peaks of pleasure. 

Sukuna rocked into you hard and fast, those pointy teeth sinking just above your collarbone to claim you, hard enough that you were sure you’d bleed, but it just heightened the bliss still burning beneath your skin. Unlatching just to drag his tongue over it in warm licks, his sniffing not stopping even as he sucked and kissed the sore spot better. 

“Make me wanna put pups in you,” he continued, half-delirious and drunk on you alone as his hips smacked rudely into your skin. 

“Do it then,” you half-whispered, so close yourself as his thumb pressed down delectably over your clit, the thin string in the pit of your stomach holding you together ready to snap right there with him. 

Sukuna’s head snapped up to you for just a second, the fading light of the day casting shadows across his face as he let out a ragged little laugh like you didn’t know what you were requesting of him. 

He looked softer somehow, shoulders more relaxed, his thrusts slowing as he stared, becoming more steady as you felt blinding need warping what little sense of reason you had remaining. 

You were digging at his shoulder blades, thighs trembling as you leaned up to kiss his throat this time, craving even more of him. Tearing at his skin as you started sucking on his collarbone, leaving lovebites that made him grit his teeth and groan your name while he fought the parts of him that made him so different from you to start with. 

“I’m gonna cum, fuck,” he hissed, barely holding on as you nodded along.

His fingers roughly massaged into you faster, to make sure you came right as he did, your body shaking as you broke down for him, pretty little stars splashing across your vision as you scrunched your eyes shut and probably left a fresh set of scratches across his skin, feeling him shudder and shake on top of you as he called out your name again. 

You let out your moan, something that was supposed to sound like Sukuna but just came out strangled, too stuffed to really care about anything other than the size of him still filling you up so entirely. 

Unable to move back or forward, feeling something wet on your face as the scent of sweat and sex and something sweet invaded your senses. 

You let go of his shoulder blades, blinking a few times as you went to rest your arms over your head instead – just for him to snag your wrist and flip it around to examine the scar his old bite had left there.

“I guess I’m your problem forever now, hm?” You asked, the bond between you feeling a little less like a thin string and more like a heavy chain tying you to him. 

Unbreakable. 

“You’re not a problem,” he wryly muttered, not quite as amused as he tenderly dragged his thumb over the marred skin. “Just a brat.” 

Like he wasn’t the one whose cum was plugged up inside you thanks to his still-throbbing knot. Keeping him locked in place as you blinked up at him with damp eyes, tears of pleasure streaked down your cheeks this time.

Sukuna cleared his throat, his pretty jaw tensing as he stared down at the narrow space between your bodies.  

“So, uh, how do you feel about werepups?”

meanwhile reader’s fiancé

[slvttyplums]

 nerd!gojo with a corruption kink ՞. .՞

satoru is obsessed with the idea and making you do things you wouldn’t do. 

he likes the fact that you’re sweet and quiet and only save your giggles for him, but he also likes when you’re gagging on his dick with tears filled to the brim dripping out of your eyes with your hand in between your thighs. 

his eyes glued to yours with mischief, his stomach swirling with butterflies because of how easy it is to get you to do things with him and him alone.

you and satoru are one and the same, both perverted freaks; the only difference is that you never explored it. 

way too sweet and fragile before, not even realizing when satoru asked you to come study at his place it meant him being balls deep inside of your mouth giving you instructions. 

you didn't even touch yourself alone; that’s when satoru knew he had a gem, his own personal doll to corrupt and bark orders to, knowing you would do them. 

the first thing he did was have you sit in his lap while he showed you porn of women that looked exactly like you, talking you through the video while his hand slowly slid in between your thighs, rubbing you through the thin fabric you had on for panties. 

“already that wet just from videos? "fuck, you’re cute.” 

this was his own wet dream come to life, having you unexperienced, wet, and horny in his lap waiting for what came next.

the first thing he ever made you do was try to touch yourself while he watched, knowing you had no prior knowledge on how to do it, his eyes glued to your hand and how it trembled while your index and middle fingers made contact with your slick that coated your slit. 

“there you go, you’re a pro already.” 

a sly smirk on his face while he watched, saliva coating in his mouth and his palms getting sweaty watching. 

as much as he wanted to swoop in and put his hand over yours guiding, watching felt better, naughtier, like a guilty pleasure. he wanted to see you ache and get frustrated with yourself because you couldn’t properly get yourself off. 

the more this went on, the more stuff he started bringing to you.

“it’ll feel good, i promise. if it doesn't, you can slap me.” 

before sliding in between your thighs and licking down your slit, gathering all your sweetness that coated his tongue and fingers that slipped into you.

gasping as time went on, his tongue flicking repeatedly on your clit and his fingers curved inside. 

every time he put his hands on you, a wave of shame hit you, but still, you stayed, doing every naughty thing he wanted.

[kkunai]

𝜗ৎ true form!sukuna takes care of his favorite concubine once she falls pregnant.

tags. fluff, comfort. pregnancy. morning sickness. reader is called ‘woman’ :: wc: 1.5k :: mlist

the faint light of dawn barely creeps through the shōji screens of your chambers, painting the palace in muted grays and soft lavenders.

ever since the physician had knelt before sukuna and confirmed your pregnancy—declaring you the first of his concubines to successfully conceive and carry his heir—the king of curses had all but abandoned the rest of his sprawling estate.

he spends nearly every day and night after his duties in your chambers now, dismissing his other women with curt, impatient waves and sharp commands that sends them scattering.

his four crimson eyes linger far more often on the subtle swell of your belly than on any battlefield or blood-soaked conquest.

you lay nestled against the immense, radiating warmth of his large form. your back presses to the hard planes of his lower torso while one of his four powerful arms is draped possessively across your midsection. as though even in sleep he needed to remind the world—and the child growing inside you—that you both belonged to him alone.

in the months since the news, sukuna had taken to curling his massive body around yours protectively each night, a silent vow that nothing would touch what was his.

for you, sleep has been fitful these past weeks. the nausea of the first trimester is relentless. it’s a constant, churning storm low in your gut that never fully abated. tonight it has worsened, building in slow waves until it claws viciously at your throat and drags you from uneasy dreams long before the sun fully rose.

an involuntary whimper escapes your lips as you shift. you try desperately to find a position that might ease the sickness without disturbing him.

another wave crashes through you. your stomach lurches hard enough to make your vision swim and you curl inward on yourself. both hands press protectively over the gentle curve of your abdomen. you rub slow and desperate circles there, as if the pressure of your own small palms could force the nausea back down.

the silk of the futon rustles beneath you and you bit your lip until you taste copper, trying to stifle the next pathetic sound. but it slips out anyway, a small and broken whine that hung in the quiet air.

sukuna’s lower eyes snap open first, the crimson irises narrowing in the dim light, followed by the upper pair. all four fixate on you with immediate and almost predatory focus. a low, rumbling growl rolls from his mouth, deep enough to vibrate through your bones.

“tch. what is it now, woman?” sukuna’s voice is rough with sleep and clear irritation, the kind that could make seasoned warriors drop to their knees.

the thick arm draped over your belly tightens. not enough to hurt, but enough to still your restless rolling completely, “y’ve been squirming like a damned worm for the past hour. i need my rest, and so do you.”

you swallow hard, the motion sending fresh fire up your throat. “i… i don’t feel good,” you whispered, voice small and trembling.

tears prickle at the corners of your eyes as another cramp twists inside you. your hands keep rubbing your stomach in futile circles, “it’s the same sickness again. it woke me… i tried not to disturb you, my lord, i swear.”

sukuna exhales sharply through his nose, the sound carrying mild annoyance. “again?” one of his free hands rake roughly through his wild pink hair while the other two prop his massive frame up slightly.

he looms over you like a crimson mountain. he studies you with narrowed eyes, “this brat is already more trouble than it’s worth. weakenin’ you before it’s even drawn breath.”

the words are harsh—even though you had learned, over the months of his newfound attention, not to take them fully to heart. still, the nausea and exhaustion make tears spill over, hot trails down your temples into your hair.

“am s-sorry,” you turn your face into the futon, breathing shallow and quick, fighting the overwhelming urge to retch right there.

sukuna stares down at you for a long and silent moment. the chamber is utterly still except for your ragged breathing and the distant chirp of early birds beyond the screens. you can feel the weight of his gaze, the way he assesses you like prey—yet something in it had shifted since the pregnancy began.

then, with a low, muttered curse that sounds suspiciously like frustration with himself, he moves.

the arm around your waist slides lower, his enormous palm easily spanning most of your belly as it replaces your trembling hands. the heat of his skin seeps into you immediately. it’s a stark contrast to the clammy chill that has settled over you.

slowly, deliberately, he begins to rub wide and firm circles—far steadier and more effective than your own weak attempts. the pressure is perfect, easing the knots of the cramping almost at once.

“stay still,” sukuna orders gruffly, voice still edged with irritation, though his touch contradicts every word.

one of his upper hands reach across the futon to the small lacquered table beside it, retrieving the porcelain cup of water uraume always left prepared for you.

he brings it to your lips without ceremony or request, tilting it with surprising care so you could sip. “drink. slowly. you’ll only make this worse if you let y’rself dry out.”

you obey instantly. you take small, careful swallows. the cool water soothes your raw throat, if not the roiling in your stomach. when you pull back with a shaky breath, he sets the cup aside and shifts his massive body again.

with effortless strength he pulls you more securely against the broad plane of his chest, your back cradled fully by his lower arms while the upper pair remain free.

one continues its rhythmic massage over your belly whilst the other brushes damp strands of hair from your forehead with a gentleness that would have shocked anyone who knew only the king of curses’ reputation.

“it’s still far too early for y’r whining,” sukuna grumbles, “but if this heir is going to sap y’r strength like a parasite, i won’t have ya wasting away to nothing.”

his tone remains sharp, almost scolding, but the pad of his thumb traces idle and soothing patterns across the silk covering your skin, betraying the truth he would never voice plainly.

“uraume brewed some concoction yesterday—ginger and herbs, supposedly calms the gut. i’ll have them bring it at once,” he adds gruffly.

your eyes widen slightly even through the haze of sickness. “you… asked uraume to make medicine for me?” the question slips out before you can stop it, soft with genuine surprise.

sukuna’s eyes narrow dangerously, fangs glinting in the low light. “don’t make me repeat myself, woman. i said i’ll handle it,” he leans closer, his teeth sinking lightly in your ear, “i won’t have anything—not even my own spawn—tormenting you without consequence.”

the fierce possessiveness in his words wraps around you warmer than the thickest blanket. you let your head sink back against his chest before breathing in the familiar scent that always clung to him. incense, iron, and something darker. like the promise of violence held in check.

the nausea still lingers. it’s a dull ache rather than sharp stabs now, but his steady touch and the low vibration of his voice as he continues muttering half-hearted threats at the unborn child for daring to inconvenience you both—it eases something far deeper than mere physical pain.

minutes stretch in silence. his large palm never stopped its slow circles, the heat and pressure lulling your body into reluctant calm.

outside, the first true rays of sunlight begin to filter through the screens, gilding the edges of his markings in gold. somewhere in the corridors you hear the soft shuffle of servants beginning their day, but none dare enter this chamber without summons.

eventually, the door slides open with barely a sound. uraume enters while carrying a small tray with a steaming cup and a plate of plain rice crackers. their expression remains impassive as always, but their eyes flick briefly to sukuna’s hand still resting protectively on your belly before bowing low.

“my lord. the infusion you requested.”

sukuna doesn’t bother acknowledging the bow. “give it here,” one hand snatches the cup while the other keeps its steady rhythm on you. he brings the steaming liquid to your lips himself, “drink. all of it.”

the scent of ginger and honey reaches you first and it’s surprisingly gentle. you sip obediently, warmth spreading through your chest and finally quieting the last rebellious twists in your stomach.

when the cup was empty, he set it aside and nods once at uraume—a silent dismissal. they vanish as quietly as they had come.

“better?” he asks after a few minutes pass, though his touch hasn’t faltered once.

you nod weakly. exhaustion pulls at you now that the worst had passed, “yes… thank you, my lord.”

the king of curses huffs as he settles back down. he tugs the heavy silk covers higher over both of you.

“don’t thank me. just don’t wake me again before the sun is fully up,” the threat is delivered with a slight smirk, but his arms only tighten around you. his palm remains warm and firm on your belly, resuming its slow, protective circles as though it has never stopped.

“now rest,” sukuna sighs, voice low and rough, “if this brat causes you more trouble tonight, i’ll have words with it.”

the absurdity of threatening an unborn child draws a tired smile from you. typical of sukuna to do such a thing.

with that you’re already drifting, lulled by his warmth and the steady thrum of his heartbeat against your back.

and for the first time in weeks, you slip into true, peaceful sleep. safe in the arms of the most dangerous being in the land, who had quietly decided that nothing, not even his own nature, would harm what is his.