SUMMARY: based on this tweet. Michael spends months carefully protecting the biggest secret of his life. Then, he sees Prince compliment his wife’s dress and suddenly decides that secrecy is overrated.
CONTENT: michael jackson x reader. established relationship. prince cameo. jelous!michael. husband and wife. fluff. humor. little blurb for y’all
.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・.・。.・゜✭
The event had started normally. Which meant Michael was smiling. Laughing. Charming every reporter in sight. Answering questions. Being Michael Jackson.
Y/N stood across the ballroom speaking with a group of people near the bar while pretending not to watch him every thirty seconds.
Their marriage had been secret for months. A very carefully protected secret. Only a handful of people knew and everyone else assumed they were friends. Very close friends. Suspiciously close friends. But yeah, friends.
Which was exactly how Michael preferred it.
That was, until Prince showed up.
The man Michael had spent half his career competing against and the other half pretending he wasn’t competing against. The man that made Michael jump out of bed in the middle of the night because if he slept just a minute longer, God would give him his idea. The artist that owned the music he once caught his Y/N singing in the shower to. Purple Rain, to be precise. Michael had been moody all day long afterwards.
Now, Michael respected Prince. Admired him. Thought he was ridiculously talented. A genius, even. But at that exact moment? Michael was contemplating violence.
Because Prince had wandered over to Y/N.
And stayed there.
One minute. Two minutes. Three.
The reporter interviewing Michael noticed the exact moment it happened.
Because Michael had been smiling. Sweet. Charming. What everyone would expect of Michael Jackson during an interview.
Then suddenly he wasn’t anymore.
The smile vanished. Jaw tightened slightly. Eyes narrowed across the room.
“…Michael?”
No response.
The reporter followed his gaze after exchanging a confused glance with the camera man, who just shrugged.
The interviewer immediately spotted Prince talking to a very beautiful woman.
“Oh.” Then looked back to the king of pop. Then back at Prince.
Michael kept staring.
The reporter started grinning.
“Oh, dear.”
Michael didn’t say anything it. Didn’t deny anything. Which, apparently, was denial enough.
“What’s happening?” the reporter asked, trying really hard not to laugh at Michael Jackson’s annoyed expression.
Michael folded his arms and shook his head slightly, eyes not leaving the scene.
“People don’t respect a married woman nowadays.” He declared softly.
The reporter blinked.
The cameraman’s mouth hung open.
Silence.
“…a WHAT?”
Michael sighed. Shook his head negatively again. The man looked genuinely disappointed in society.
“A married woman.” He repeated like he hadn’t just sent the journalist nearly into cardiac arrest with the revelation that would be considered the great scoop of their career. Poor guy didn’t even know he’d be interviewing Michael Jackson until a few minutes ago.
The reporter stood frozen, as well as the cameraman
Everyone who walked past nearby froze as the words ‘married woman’ left Michael’s lips.
Because that sentence implied one extremely important thing: Michael Jackson had a wife. And apparently nobody knew about it.
The reporter opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
“Mr. Jackson—”
But Michael was already walking away.
Directly across the ballroom.
People started noticing.
Because Michael Jackson walking somewhere with purpose was an event.
Prince noticed first.
Y/N noticed second.
And immediately thought:
‘Oh no.’
Because her secretly husband (not so secretly anymore, although she wasn’t aware yet) had a very determined look on his face. And that usually meant trouble.
Michael reached them.
Prince smiled politely. “Hey, man.”
Michael nodded.
Never breaking eye contact with Y/N.
“Hi.”
Prince looked between them, feeling suddenly confused.
Y/N looked like she wanted the floor to open and consume her.
Then Michael did something that would be replayed on television for the next decade.
He lifted both hands.
Placed them gently on either side of Y/N’s face.
“Zoom in, zoom in right now!” The reporter whisper-yelled to the cameraman.
The music suddenly felt quieter.
Y/N’s eyes widened.
“Michael—” Too late.
He kissed her.
Not a quick kiss. Not a friendly kiss. Not something that could be explained away later.
A real, passionate, deep kiss.
The kind that immediately answered every and any question anyone had ever had.
People gasped.
People dropped drinks.
“I KNEW IT.” Someone actually shouted.
Prince took one look at the situation.
Took a sip of his drink.
“Well,” he said finally. “This explains a lot.”
And immediately walked away.
Meanwhile Michael finally pulled back.
Still holding her face.
Still looking entirely too pleased with himself.
Y/N stared. Face completely blank. Completely speechless.
“…you are unbelievable.” She finally managed to blurt out.
Michael shrugged.
“People were being disrespectful.”
Y/N laughed despite herself.
“Prince complimented my dress.”
“Only I can complement your dress.”
“That’s not flirting.”
Michael looked very unconvinced.
Then leaned down and kissed her forehead.
“You’re my wife.”
The room collectively lost its mind for a second time as they watched the little moment that unfolded in front of their eyes.
Y/N stared at him as she fought back a smile.
“Michael.”
“What?” He kept his arms around her waist and his loving eyes on her face.
“What exactly was your plan there?” She asked, moving to place her arms around his waist and intertwining her her hands behind his back.
He blinked. “Plan?”
“Yes. Plan.”
“I walked over.”
“I noticed.”
“Then I kissed my wife.”
“In front of half of Los Angeles.” Michael glanced around as if only just now realizing there were other people present.
“Oh.”
“Mhm” She nodded, finding the whole situation entirely too funny.
“Well…” He looked back at her and shrugged. “I got tired of pretending.” Y/N felt her heart stutter. Michael’s expression softened immediately. “You are my wife.”
Like that explained everything. Maybe to him it did.
“Michael…”
He shook his head negatively. “No, really.” His voice dropped quieter. “I don’t like acting like you’re not.”
And suddenly Y/N understood. This wasn’t about Prince, not really. Prince had simply been the final straw.
Months of hiding.
Months of careful, media-trained answers.
Months of watching people speculate.
Months of introducing the woman he loved as ‘just a good friend’.
Michael sighed. “Maybe I wasn’t thinking.”
Y/N laughed.
“You definitely weren’t thinking.”
“Probably not.” The two laughed lightly. Then a small smile appeared on Michael’s lips. “But I saw him talking to you and…” He shrugged helplessly. “To hell with it.”
Y/N laughed harder at his out of character words. “To hell with it?”
Michael nodded, completely serious. “To hell with it.” Then he leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Everybody should know.”
And somewhere behind them, the reporter who had asked Michael Jackson “what happened?” was trying to decide whether he should call his editor, his mother, or a cardiologist first.
Summary: The head of the Kamo and Zenin clan both have failures they wish to be rid of. Killing two birds with one stone, the clan heads decide to betrothe you and Toji together. The two anomalies now forced together in an arranged marriage.
CW: fluff, angst, mention of infertility, arranged marriage, mention of painful menstruation. *The rest of the tags are bc of the toxic clans the character are under, trust they do NOT apply to Toji: verbal abuse, emotional neglect, panic attacks, dissociating, misogyny.
WC: 4.2k
A/N: This is the first chapter of a longer story I want to do. Definitely different from my previous one shots, so wanna try something new. There will be smut eventually FYI! But we gotta build the suspense ;)
╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦
Chapter 1 - Betrothed
“It has been three months since you bled, explain yourself!” Your mothers fingers dig into the unsoiled linen, threatening to tear it open.
“I told you, I don’t know! I’m not pregnant, I just haven’t gotten it yet.” Your heart is racing as you try your best to escape the accusation. “You remember how heavy my last cycle was. I couldn’t get out of bed and I bled so much you had to call a healer. Isn’t that proof I’m not pregnant?”
“I’m not sure what to make of this. It is past time for you to debut, but your fertility has to be certain before doing that.” Your mothers words falter on that word - fertility. The implication in her voice awakens your nervous system and you’re immediately fueled with anxiety.
“You have a scant amount of cursed energy and you failed to inherit the clan's technique. The only thing left for you to provide is heirs. If you have children who can inherit techniques, you can be redeemed. If you can’t even do that…” her words trail off and her hand covers her mouth as if choking down vomit.
Your eyes grow heavy with rage as you examine your own mothers disgust in you. This is all you were to them, a mare to be bred. Nothing else. Not their child or their only daughter, but a means to gain more power.
“I will let you know when my next cycle arrives.” Ice covers your tone as you meet your mother’s eyes.
She drops the linens on the floor and turns on her heels to leave. She looks at you one last time and opens her mouth to speak, but catches her breath quickly. Instead, she drops her head and closes the door behind her.
You are relieved for her to be gone. Falling back onto your bed and grabbing a pillow to redirect your anger to. You’re trying to not descend into the spiraling rage your mother always put you into.
The woman who birthed you has no true love for you. Maybe it was because she wasn’t expected to be a mother, but just a means for your father to have children. Regardless, it made you despise them both. You honestly wished to be sorted into an arranged engagement already, just for the piece of mind that you won’t be here much longer. However, that doesn’t mean the next place will be any better. All the three families were horrible, but maybe you could get lucky with pairing with someone who’s not from a big family.
Your mother had been hounding you for over a year now about your cycle and its inconsistency. Your cycle has never been agreeable since you started it. Either lasting for weeks or not arriving for months. And then when it would arrive, it would be some of the worst pain you’d ever endured. Giving you cramps that make you fall to your knees in tears. You even passed out once from the excruciating pain. You assumed you were just cursed with a painful cycle, but your mother was afraid of what else this could mean.
A healer told her that your symptoms could point to infertility and ever since then, she had been tracking your cycle like a hawk. Because if the only daughter of the Kamo clan can’t produce heirs, then what is she good for?
You toss and turn in bed, wanting to go back to sleep. However, your rage and the morning daylight is preventing your body from relaxing. You don’t want to leave your room and face interrogation or reminders. What if you just lock yourself in your room until they decide to get rid of you?
You pull yourself out of bed and sit by your window. Resting both arms on the sill with your chin on top of your hands. You let the sunlight and breeze fall over you. Taking in deep breaths of the blossoming flowers and crisp morning air. The elements cool that fire that was steadily growing inside you. You take in a deep breath, calling all the remnants of that fire, and then blowing it out with a forceful exhale.
There’s no point in being angered over the situation, there’s nothing you can do about; your life is not your own. You tell yourself that, but it doesn’t actually help. You only hope one day, you’ll believe those words and submit to them. If only to make your life easier.
✦ ✦ ✦
“My nephew is a problem I can no longer ignore. My brother is out of tactics to break his spirit to get him to submit.” Naobito takes a sip of his tea before continuing, “I never wanted to pay him any mind, but he’s leaving us no choice.”
Your father ponders Naobito’s words, “Banish him. Simple.”
Naobito scoffs to himself as he sets his cup down, “Yeah, if I banish him then it’s only a matter of time until he comes back to kill us all. He’s been threatening to kill his father and I since he was a child!”
“Like he would be able to fight off the Hei or the Kukuru units.” Your father says wearily, hoping he’s right.
“Remember, friend. Toji still has a heavenly pact, while that’s useless for us, it still makes him a threat. I can’t have one of our own disobeying and defecting within the clan. It makes us look weak. If I can’t even control my own nephew, how does that make me look?” Naobito stretches his arms, relieving the tension building in his shoulders.
“Marry him off. Let him take that anger out on a woman instead.”
“And who would want to marry a Zenin with zero cursed energy?”
“I could think of a possible match, but it would come with conditions.” Your father smirks to himself, formulating the plan in his head. “We match my daughter with Toji. But with that, you promise that your youngest daughter and my youngest son will be wed when they’re of age. We get rid of our problems while still strengthening our clans with two children with inherited techniques.”
Naobito lips twitch upward, “You want me to declare my daughter for my ass of a nephew?”
“I’m simply proposing a solution. My daughter is of age and I wish to have her wed.” Your father doesn’t explain that he is in a rush to marry you off before rumors of your infertility begin to circulate.
“And why would the head of the Kamo clan want to rid his only daughter to my pathetic nephew? What are you not telling me?” Naobito’s eyebrows furrow with growing suspicion.
“It’s known she has little cursed energy and no inherited technique. No one has yet to ask for her hand or show interest, solely because of that. I do not wish for her to turn into an old maid under my roof.” Your father plays off the half truth with cool features, holding Naobito’s eye contact.
“I’ll consider it and get back to you. Let me make sure there are no other solutions for both of our problems.” Naobito dips his head slightly to show his sincerity.
“Very well, Zenin.” Your father nods in return. He has to hold himself back from cracking the wicked smile that’s hiding beneath his dignified features.
✦ ✦ ✦
The next week was torturous from your mothers incessant hounding. She made it her job to trigger your cycle: different concoctions in teas, long walks in the garden twice a day, followed by hot baths.
You disconnected from yourself that week to survive the regimen. Your body was already not your own, so why stay in it while this happens. You were thankful for your vivid imagination that took you to different places. Your subconscious seeped into your fantasies quickly, always wishing to be far away from here and alone. You could imagine yourself in any place in the world, as long as it wasn’t here. You also liked to imagine the ideal partner, not one that was chosen for you. One that found you and that you chose on your own.
You held onto a sliver of hope that an arranged marriage could afford you an ounce of that fantasy. You knew it would never be true love, but you had hoped for at least tolerable. Especially if you couldn’t have children, if it would just be you and him, let’s hope you can at least make good conversation.
Your mothers knocking on the bathroom door pulled you from your current fantasy. You were lying in a hammock, under tree cover, with a trickle of sunlight coming through and a cool breeze. When all of a sudden, you were shook back to your reality: a dark room and a lukewarm bath.
“Please hurry. Our guests are arriving soon.” You could hear the urgency behind her flat tone.
You didn't reply and instead made obvious noise as you got out of the bath, to show her you were making progress.
As you dried yourself off, you groaned at the reality of having to entertain guests. You weren’t in the mood to plaster a fake smile and make meaningless small talk.
You had to wear a brave face because of your father though. When he told you Naobito Zenin was coming to share a meal, you knew it was expected you would be present. There was no getting out of this, so you begrudgingly dress yourself. You figure you can zone out for most of dinner and go elsewhere. Not like you’ll be adding to the conversation much anyways, it’ll be the men talking mostly.
As you make your way to the dining hall, you see Naobito already greeting your father and mother. Your mother shoots you a harsh look that shows you’re late. You ignore her silent disapproval and make your way to Naobito.
Before you can formally greet him, he turns to your father, “She looks presentable. This will do.”
Did he really expect you to look a certain way just because of his presence? You bite the inside of your cheeks to not show your disgust as you initiate the greeting.
Naobito looks unimpressed by you and moves closer to your father, whispering something to him.
You disengage and take your seat at the table, fidgeting with your napkin that’s still folded neatly.
You hear your mothers hurried footsteps approach from behind and then you feel a thump on the back of your head, “Stand up!” Her tone is hushed but assertive.
Your palms plant on the table edge as you force yourself back up, trying to show as much defiance as possible while still obeying.
As you approach your father and mother again, you see more guests filter in from behind Naobito: his younger brother and two nephews.
Naobito glances over his shoulder to acknowledge their arrival before turning back to your father. “Tonight is actually a celebratory dinner. To announce an arranged courtship between our clans.” He motions for Toji to step forward and your heart drops. It feels like cement is solidifying around your feet, preventing you from moving.
A black pit is growing in your stomach and time halts with the sharp inhale you hold in. Your father gestures to you as those dreaded words come from his mouth, “You and Toji are engaged to be married as of today.”
This is happening today?! You thought you had time, especially while your fertility was still questionable. Is that why your mother was so insufferable this past week?
You are frozen in place as you stare at your father, mouth agape in shock. You let out a whispered, “What?” Your mouth is now behind you and forcing you forward, closer to your betrothed.
Toji isn’t even making eye contact, he looks unbothered and uninterested as his eyes float around the room.
Naobito starts speaking, but it sounds like nonsense. Nothing makes sense right now as your senses falter and you become a soul trapped inside a shell. “It is time for both of you to be wed, we came up with the idea at our last meeting and we’re both delighted by the prospect of uniting our families. With this engagement also comes the future betrothal of my youngest daughter and the Kamo's youngest son.”
You find the strength to move your eyes toward your parents who are smiling ear to ear. Your mother’s head hangs low in gratitude and your father stands tall with pride. This is really happening… They are getting rid of you. You prayed for this day to come, but now that it’s here, you can’t stomach it - literally.
You feel bile gurgling in your stomach and a spurt of foul liquid shoots up your throat. You have to choke it down and your eyes begin to water. That little gag now has your stomach doing flips. You swallow the accumulated saliva in your mouth and widen your eyes to dissipate the tears.
You look at Toji again and your stomach is twisting. They think so lowly of you that they are wedding you to him? The shame of the Zenin clan? How many rumors have you heard about him over the years? You’ve never heard anything positive about him. Then it clicks - that’s why they’ve matched you two. A couple of clan failures now married off because who else would want them? Your head spins at the realization and your knees begin to buckle beneath you.
You hurry out of the room without excusing yourself and run to the closet bathroom. You don’t even make it to the toilet before you vomit all over the floor. Your heart is racing and skipping beats intermittently and the room feels like it’s spinning. You wonder if you’ll just die right in this bathroom, that way none of this has to happen.
By the time you make it over to hug the toilet, you hear a bang on the door. You know from the force alone it is your father. “Come out at once! We didn’t even make a proper introduction before you ran out. Is this the first impression you want to give to your future husband? He’s likely already disgusted with you. If you ruin this then-” Your mind switches a flip and you can no longer hear your father’s hateful words. It’s a distinct murmur in the background as you hang your head in the toilet.
You notice how labored your breathing is and how you’re not getting in enough air. It feels as if there’s not enough air in this room as you focus on your respirations. In through the nose and out through the mouth, over and over. Drool is falling out of your mouth as you hear your father’s final statement, “A servant will be back to help you freshen up. Answer when they knock!” His heavy footsteps fade down the hallway and now you feel like you can finally breathe. A true breath that doesn’t need to be forced in and out. You’re sure there is nothing left in your stomach as you force yourself to stand and look in the mirror.
The woman looking back at you is not you. It’s a woman who’s void of life, dark circles lining her undereyes, flushed cheeks, disheveled hair, and shoulders that are rolled forward. This was the woman that would be meeting that man, not you. There’s no way your true self could come through on a day like this.
✦ ✦ ✦
The servant appeared a few moments later and you were mute the entire time she tidied you up: wiping your mouth, smoothing out your hair, patting powder on your cheeks and under eyes. She didn’t engage in conversation either and you felt a mutual understanding amongst the silence. When you met her eyes once, all you could see was sorrow lining them. At least someone was showing some empathy for you.
Once you exited the bathroom, she escorted you out to the gardens. You wondered why dinner was getting skipped, but you were happy to breathe in the fresh air. On second thought, staying inside was the worst place for you right now.
As you entered the gardens, you saw a man with his back facing you, sitting on a bench in the center of the grassy knoll. You looked at the servant with questioning eyes. She averted your eyes as she said, “Your family and the Zenins are continuing with dinner. This is your time to meet Toji, I’ll be chaperoning. I’ll always be within eyesight, but I will give you your privacy.”
Before you can object or demand she stay closer, she is disappearing behind a shrub.
Your eyes go back to the man facing away from you and that dreadful pit is growing in your stomach again. You’re frozen in place while you decide what to do. Do you approach him? Do you wait for him to look for you? What if you just went back inside and locked yourself in your room?
As your thoughts spiral, Toji turns his head over his shoulder. He rolls his eyes before turning back to look forward. Another moment passes before he loudly declares, “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”
You recoil at his cold statement, but also agree that you just want this to be over with. You make timid steps toward him through the grass. When you approach the side of the bench, you hesitate to sit down. You stare at the spot you’re supposed to sit in, but you’re uncomfortable with the idea of how close you’ll be to him. There will only be a few inches of space between you and you would prefer a few feet of space.
Annoyance covers his features as he speaks, “Sit down. I don’t bite.”
You murmur to yourself, “That’s not what I’ve heard.” You take a seat and position yourself as far against the bar of the bench as you can, gaining any distance between you two.
He lets out a forced exhale at your statement as you sit down. You join him in staring forward, looking out to the rest of the estate gardens. All that can be heard are trees rustling and the wind whispering. You turn to look for the servant, she is standing at your four o'clock and perched between some shrubbery. You relax knowing she is still nearby and you can feel some tension leave your body.
He finally breaks the silence, “I take it you’re not happy about this arrangement.” He sounds unbothered as his eyes peer over to you.
You clear your throat, “I don’t know how I feel yet. I didn’t even know until they announced it just now.”
“I didn’t get much of a heads up either, my uncle told me as we were leaving to come over here.”
You’re not sure how to respond because you didn’t even get that much warning. They really just sprung it on you in the moment and expected you to be fine with it.
“This isn’t the choice I’d make for myself, but I see it this way: my uncle will stop riding me and think I am now under control within a marriage. I know it’s not paradise for you here either, so hopefully you’ll be given that same relief from marriage. I want to think we can live on our terms after this is done.” He stretches his arms back along the bench and turns his head to look at your side profile.
“So, you think our lives will be our own after the most important decision is decided for us?” You scoff at the ridiculous sentiment. You have to lose all control to gain control, is that really what he’s saying?
“Pretty much. This is the last control they have over either of us. Once this is done,” he motions between the two of you, “we can do whatever we want.”
You consider his theory for a moment. He’s not wrong, as long as you’re under your parents' household, they will try to control you. Once you’re married, they’ll recognize your husband as the authority in your life instead. But the question is: is this man going to be just as controlling and demanding as your father? You know how the Zenin’s treat their women, he is likely no exception.
“You’re going to let your wife do whatever she wants?” You chuckle to yourself, “Yeah- right.”
“I don’t plan on treating you like my actual wife. This is a marriage for convenience for both parties. So, no- I don’t care what you do. I just need you to show up and sign that piece of paper. After that, we don’t really need to see each other than to keep up appearances.”
Maybe this isn’t going to be as bad as you thought… Being free of your parent’s control, having the protection of marriage, and your freedom.
You crack a hesitant smile at him, “Deal.”
He stretches his arms outward and yawns, “Okay, let’s go in there and tell them we’re okay with this.” He pushes himself off the bench and now that he’s standing, you’re really taking him in.
He is towering over you with that wide framed body. The sunlight shining from behind you is illuminating him, literally letting you see him in a new light. That jet black hair absorbs the soft sunlight hitting it. A distinct scar that makes a path from above the corner of his lips to below them. And those dark eyes are that are peering down at you. He raises his eyebrows, awaiting your response.
“You act like they’d care even if we weren’t okay with this.”
“They wouldn’t, but it’s tradition for the couple to accept the match. We just need to play nice until the wedding, got it?” He stretches his hand out to you, beckoning you to stand up.
You dodge his hand and stand on your own, “Got it.”
“You’re not even going to take my hand? You know we need to act interested in each other when we go in there.” He says as you walk past him, starting your path back to the house.
“Like they care if we’re interested in each other. I’ll sit next to you, how about that?” You saunter forward as he approaches from behind.
You continue back to the estate in silence and are directed toward the dining hall where the meal has already finished. When you enter together, your father and Naobito look at you with wide, anticipatory eyes. Toji hooks an arm around your waist and pulls you in against his side. It’s instinct to want to pull away from him, but you force yourself to settle into his side. “We accept this match.” He states as his fingers drum against your rib cage.
Your father and Naobito look to each other with shit eating grins, knowing that both of their problems will soon be resolved.
Naobito speaks with a cheerful tune, “Come join us. We were just about to call for tea and dessert.”
You wonder why dinner was not offered to you, are neither of you good enough to even share a meal with them?
The rest of the Zenin's visit goes without any issues. It is mainly your father and Noabito talking and praising themselves. You’re not even fully paying attention for most of it. You’re off in a different reality, wondering if life will be better after you leave this place. Or if it’ll be more of the same shit you’ve already endured.
Every time you’d glance over at Toji, he had this cool, yet arrogant look on his face that pissed you off. You were bothered by how unbothered he was. He’s acting like you two were assigned together on a class project, as if none of this meant anything. A life changing event is about to happen and he doesn’t seem to care. In comparison to your episode earlier when you heard of the news.
You barely acknowledge Toji’s father or brother. His father had a permanent scowl on his face that made your skin crawl. And his brother was not pleasant to look at. A burly, unkempt man who looked more like a neanderthal than a modern day human.
When you said your goodbyes, you forced a fake smile onto your face. As your father and Naobito discussed tentative wedding plans, Toji took your hand when you weren’t paying attention. You snap your head over and he has your hand at his lips. “Goodnight,” he murmured against your skin as he placed a delicate kiss on the back of your hand.
Your breath hitched at the soft contact. That such a man as him was capable of such a thing… He held your hand at his lips for a heartbeat and stared at you through his eyebrows. You felt blood rushed to your cheeks and you didn’t know why.
You simply replied, “Goodnight,” and quickly retreated your hand back to your side.
As the Zenin men made their exit, your eyes lingered on Toji. Wanting to know what was going on behind that calm and collected face. Surely you would find out soon enough… You’ll be married sooner rather than later. And with that realization, your stomach doesn’t turn in disgust. You feel some relief actually. Just off the first impression, he seemed to be true about what he said.
You wonder to yourself, “Is the shame of the Zenin clan really going to the escape I’ve been praying for?”
꧁ mdni. angst. did someone say doomed yuri for pride month?? little mermaid inspired. set in the 19th century-ish. ꧂
"there's my pretty girl."
you shouldn't be so flattered.
not when the pretty blonde coaxing you over had ensnared you far more than any siren ever could.
"you should not speak so-"
"sincerely?" yuki interrupted, her pretty pink lips curling up in a soft smirk you were all too accustomed to. effortlessly charming, her tail splashing the water behind him as you sat down on the shore, readjusting the long dress around your legs.
you had to sneak away from your village, branches and thorns snagging at your ankles on the craggy path to the ocean. it was still far too freezing for most people these days, a rather bitter breeze in the air from a cool spring that felt more like a second winter.
"they will expect me back soon," you informed her with a sigh, drawing faint shapes with your finger in the sand beside you as you avoided her petulant pout. "i told them i was picking berries and collecting firewood."
if they knew you were fraternizing with the merfolk, you’d surely be called a witch. maybe worse.
you didn’t want to consider what they might do if they knew you were fucking one.
they might string her up, claim that there was nothing wrong with feasting on fish, send you to a sanitarium.
her lips were pinched together when you looked up, displeased that she had to share you in any capacity. “you told me that you'd stay longer today."
"i know," you whispered, swallowing the lump in your throat.
"at least swim with me," she whined, her tail splashing in the shore, the yellow scales glittering in the sun.
"is the water not freezing?" you exhaled, not that you weren't terribly tempted to join her.
"i'll keep you warm," she teased.
the shallow-minded villagers would never understand the spell she had on you - even if she had legs instead of a tail. could never comprehend how you were always going to end up stripping off your tattered dress and stepping into the water.
you would always choose her.
even if your teeth chattered as the water rose to your chest, nipples perking up as she immediately threw her arms around you and pulled you into her.
damp skin pressing against yours, the salty scent clinging to her hair as she buried her face into your neck with a greedy inhale. dragging you deeper into the waves, her tail cutting easily through the water as you let her take you where she wanted.
"i missed you," she murmured, her big brown eyes glittering as her gaze shifted down to your breasts.
and before you had the chance to tell her how much you missed her too, her mouth was wrapping around one of your peaked nipples, sucking softly as if the taste of saline didn't bother her one bit. the pressure was immediate, your stomach fluttering as you sifted your fingers through her silky hair, gasping her name as her sharp teeth skimmed over the sensitive bud. "y-yuki, we-"
the beach was still within view, the two of you visible for anyone passing by to see.
"mm?" she hummed, long lashes fluttering as she looked up at you with that familiar mischievous glint in her stare. her hand sliding up your hip along your waist as your resolve weakened.
"we should be more careful," you warned, doing your best to sound stern even if your body was softening for her all on its own. melting into her hands.
"why?" she whined, her mouth slowly moving up your sternum, daintily crossing higher, ghosting over your jaw to press a quick kiss to the corner of your mouth.
"what if we get caught?" you whispered back, tentatively caressing her cheek when you pulled away. kicking your feet to stay afloat, her tail tickling your calves as she let out a twinkling giggle.
you had spent years in love with her laugh. bonded by mutual understanding, sharing your burdens in stolen moments like this, cursing all those fools who wouldn't understand your connection.
your family would expect you to marry eventually. settle down and start a family. hers wanted her to find a mate. urging her to migrate south if she didn't find anyone here suitable.
she had more freedom than you did though. they wouldn't force her to be with someone she didn't want. had oceans she could swim to and start over in.
"there's a sea witch," yuki conspiratorially suggested, tucking a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. nuzzling her nose against yours, leaning forward so her forehead was resting against yours. "she has a spell that could let us finally be together."
"yuki," you murmured, shaking your head, stomach twisting with suspicion, unease crawling beneath your skin at the chance the two of you could end up cursed even more than you already were.
"she'll give me legs, and-"
"i could never ask you to change," you shut it down as softly as you could. "and even if you did, my village, my family, they wouldn't approve of us."
"so what if they don't?" she huffed, brows pinching together in frustration. "we can go somewhere else."
with what money?
you were both women.
anything you earned went to your father rather than you.
and what terrified you even more was the idea that she'd be miserable as a human. resent you once she realized that being together didn't mean happily ever after.
"what is she asking you to do for her?" you asked, struggling to voice all the concerns that were taking shape in the back of your head. as much as you craved her presence, ached for her smile, her skin, the most you'd ever accepted you would have of her were these secret meetings.
"my voice for legs," she admitted, stubborn as ever, chest rising with the sharp breath she sucked in. water droplets racing down her beautiful breasts, beading up before returning to the ocean.
no.
you would rather waste your life as someone else's wife than never hear her voice again. to never hear her laugh, to know she gave it up for you, was a kind of torture you couldn't bear.
"it's my trade to make," she insisted, sensing your incoming refusal.
this wasn't her.
she was sturdy. strong. an enigma you'd spend your life enthralled by. ethereal being you were just lucky enough to hold for a little while. build a statue for, devote altars too, offer all your love for.
but love could never be enough.
it didn't magically make her a human, or make you a mermaid.
"you can't make it for me," you muttered, dragging a thumb over her eyebrow, chest straining to contain your heart while it threatened to crack and crumble under the weight of your adoration. you tried to kiss her again, lips barely grazing over hers before she pulled back to scoff.
tilting her nose up in the air, frustrated by you not automatically agreeing to her absurd plan. "you can't stop me."
you couldn't.
but you couldn't watch her do this to herself either.
Tw/Cw~ Some nsfw is hinted at. Religion mentioned.
Synopsis~ Alone in the castle, how can you not dowel on the rumours about your lord husband. For Sir Gojo does not belong to you, he is the vessel of his liege lord - the king.
Author's Note~ This was born of listening to Choosin' Texas bardcore version by Hildegard Von Blingin on repeat and reading Kristin Lavransdatter 1: The Wreath.
Divider by @/saradika-graphics
It is the duty of a wife to serve her husband, to see naught but good in him. But how were you to serve him if he was never there? You sighed, setting the household accounts aside. You had done what you could with them tonight. Tomorrow you would see if you could haggle a lower ale and wine price and perhaps get the north tower’s roof repaired. But until tomorrow, you are done. You have no husband to please, so you are left to your own pleasures.
“Lady Gojo,” your husband’s steward greets you.
“What brings you Rodrick?” You ask, pushing the parchment aside. He stands awkwardly, putting his weight on one foot and then the other. “Sir Gojo writes to say that he will not return until the harvest feast. The King needs him in an affair involving a castle being seized by the crown.” Ah, that was it. You hadn’t seen your husband since last autumn, he had ridden off before the winter rains came. Both the winter and spring rains had kept him from returning. And even now, at summer's peak, he had yet to return.
“Very well, Rodrick.” You said.
Rodrick furrowed his brow. “Do you have anything I should write to tell my Lord?”
You paused. “No, there is nothing I have for him.” You nodded to Rodrick and swept from the room.
When noon turns into evening, you sit at your bedchamber’s window. Your hair hangs out the window, drying in the sunlight and evening breeze, just as your mother and mother before her had done before her. Light peaks in through the branches of the tree that stands just outside your window. You did not mind the dim light, you had candles lit, besides you did not like being seen while you sat at your window. You closed your eyes, remembering the day before you were wed. Your sisters had washed your hair with extra lye to make it shine, they had scented it, and oiled it, and braided it. Even Eline had come from her convent to tend to you before your vows. It had tasted sweet to laugh and behave like silly maidens even though most of your sisters were wed and Eline was the bride of Christ. Even though you could not claim the title maiden after those stolen moments in the wood.
The cold metal of the chain around your neck brings you back to the earthly realm. The key on it is to the box where you lock your jewels and all the other keys of the Castle.
Voices rise up to you from below your window. “Our Lord is not to return till the moon rises for the harvest feast.” The voice belongs to Ingrid, a serving maiden.
“Alfred says the king has called him to arms.” That is Stephanie, your handmaiden.
“To arms or his arms,” that is Gunnar, another one of your handmaidens. The girls laugh as the move passed your window. You lean your head against the window frame. You should have known. You should have always known. What kind of man seduces the daughter of the man who has offered him a roof? Shared his cup and a place at his table?
Had you been seduced? No, you had known what it meant when he hurried you to an abandoned gallery while the other men were away on a hunt. He had begged off, claiming an injury to his knee. You had understood when his kisses grew fervent, when he looked at you like pagan goddess, instead of a virtuous maid. You had understood when he came upon you in the woods. You had understood when he took and claimed you. He would marry you, he had panted into your ear, before kissing it. He would take you back across the channel and to his keep. You would be his pretty bride and he would be your protector.
But that had been five springs ago. You had lingered in this castle for four years. Wed to a man who sits at the right and of the King, and more. A smile tightens your face. You would have never met Sir Gojo if King Suguru hadn’t exiled him. Sir Gojo, for you could never think of him as your husband, even alone, had told you almost laughingly that they had quarreled. “Suguru will forget about it in a few months and call me back,” he had said. You should have known. But you had been doe eyed at the champion, even a famed figure in your own land. Your heart had been tender as the first shoots of grass in early spring.
You stood. One by one you blew out the candles, except for the one on your nightstand. You carefully braid your hair and bind it with ribbons before sitting on the edge of your bed. Forgotten in a castle. You watch the flame flicker back and forth. Your father would welcome you back, he had Margot after her husband had risen in rebellion and tried to abduct King Kento. Your husband has done no such thing, you think. But technically your homeland was at war with Sir Gojo’s. Surely, your father would welcome you, your mother would and then he would have to. If he didn’t you could go to Eline’s convent. Perhaps being the bride of Christ would be a warmer lighter bed than the one you slept in now. The flame flickers as a breeze blows through your bedchamber.
The idea has already been formed in your mind; your fingers have run over it in the years since your marriage, smoothing over the rough edges. But even still, you know the price of leaving one’s lawfully wedded husband is a high cost. Your own aunt, your father’s sister, had left her lord husband for a knight without lands or title. He had coaxed her with promises and embraces. You had no doubt he promised her dimpled babes, sweet scented nights, and passion. Instead she had been exiled from kin and kith. You hoped that she had had a happy fate. That her knight had won fame and land and she had her sweet smelling dimpled babes. But perhaps you will find peace in your father’s halls, or with Eline, or perhaps one of your other sisters. You would not mind taking care of their children. Your husband’s absence had denied you the children that used to haunt your dreams.
The flame is burning bright, despite most of the candle being melted away. You stare into it. Willing it to give you an answer. But you are alone. And only you can make this decision.
You will go. You will return to your father’s house and entreat him for mercy for his foolish ill wed daughter. The pit in your stomach gapes. You squeeze your eyes shut. You remember when your sister Matilda had taken the fancy of a lord your father disapproved of. The lord had abducted Matilda while she was out maying. Your father had been furious and weeks of bloodshed had followed. Now years later, your father treated the lord like a son, despite the blood that had marked your sister’s nuptials.
You doubt blood would follow you to the shores of your homeland. The man you wed cares naught for you. But what of honour? What would happen to Sir Gojo’s pride after his wife fled to her father’s house?
As you enter the haziness of half slumber, you remember when he asked for your hand. The day had been cool. Rain had been falling for two days now, and the entire castle was growing antsy from being trapped inside. But not you, you loved the cool stone hall and the warm fires lit. But your Knight did not. You could see by the way his fingers strained as he looked out the turrets, the way his eyes never fully looked at you, the way he read and read again the letter from the court of his king.
It had scared you, if you were being truthful. That day, all he had done was pace back and forth. You had watched him in between stitches of your embroidery. He had spun to face you, his eyes bright. In seconds he crossed the room and seized your hands.
“Sir!” You exclaimed as he tugged you. “Where are we going?” You asked, as he pulled you from the turret.
“Your father, I’m going to ask for your hand.” He said laughing sharply, but you hadn’t noticed, and if you did you had tucked it away.
He would be your husband! You knew knights kept their word, Eline said only holy men kept their word and regular men were not to be trusted. But your Knight was brave and true. They called him ‘The Honoured One’ in songs, and his feats were told in song and at table. You knew to believe him.
He led you to your father’s study. He knocked. When your father called for him to come in, he turned to you. “Wait here, when I return we will have a date for our wedding.” He grins at you. Your heart tinges, he doesn’t look like a man in love. But he had a week ago, when he kissed and took again what he claimed was his right.
You wait. The minutes pass by slowly.
Finally, the door to your father’s study opens and closes. Sir Satoru Gojo stands in all his glory before you.
He embraces you. His mouth finds your own, hot and craving, he kisses you. When you part, he pulls back, hands on your shoulders. He smiles at you like he won.
You will not know what he won, until you put the pieces together. One of them being the letter, detailing King Geto’s favor of one his men-at-arms. You had been wed in spite. He had never been your knight, and he never really had been your husband.
[𝝑𝑒] :: trueform!sukuna has never apologised to anyone, until you came along :: tags. concubine!reader. fluff, angst, suggestive. ‘brat, woman’ used :: wc. 1.8k
sukuna’s never felt the need to apologize. he’s never in the wrong if you ask him. apologising to someone he deems ‘lesser’ would be a sign of weakness.
yet the king of curses always has this secret need to make his favorite concubine feel better after (unintentionally) hurting her.
you’ve got this hold on him that he will never acknowledge. although there are moments where he will indirectly show you that he regrets upsetting you.
it’s a quiet saturday evening and you’re relaxing in your bedchambers after eating dinner. you didn’t go to the dining hall to eat with sukuna and the others. no, you made sure your head lady-in-waiting brought your food to your room.
sukuna and you got into a ‘little’ argument yesterday. you both spent the entire day and night alone instead of in each other’s presence, which is the norm. even the people around you have noticed the growing tension whenever sukuna and you would cross paths.
of course, the other concubines seized the opporunity to vie for sukuna’s attention now that his favored concubine was no longer by his side. yet, their efforts proved in vain.
sukuna had grown more irritable over the past twenty-four hours, his mind relentlessly preoccupied with thoughts of you—a fact that only frustrated him further.
you weren't in the mood to speak with him again, so why did that bother him so much?
it should have made him scoff, made him see you as weak and driven him to demand that you speak to him.
yet all sukuna can think about is how to get you to cling to him once more. as much as he says that it’s exhausting to have a needy 'brat' at his side all the time, your abscence makes him realise he secretly enjoys having you around.
snapping back into your own thoughts, you realise you’ve been staring at your cup of tea for the longest time. you sigh and get up from the table, your feet dragging over the tatami flooring. however a sudden knock on your doors causes you to stop in your tracks.
“come in,” you murmur, thinking it is one of your ladies-in-waiting with your dessert. but the silence that follows afterwards is nearly ominous.
you frown and sigh before going over to the shoji. you slide the screens aside, only to be met by a wall of muscles you know way too well. you tilt your head back and your eyes widen slightly at the sight of the one man you stubbornly refused to talk to.
sukuna looms over you, his massive frame dwarfing your smaller one. he invites himself inside, not waiting on a response from you. he steps into your room and turns around to face you. his dark red eyes narrow as he tries to decipher the emotions playing on your face.
you don’t say a thing. you don’t look at him. you don’t smile at him. you don’t move a muscle. no acknowledgment at all.
sukuna hates it—it’s unusual for you to be so cold. your eyes dart to the floor and your bottom lip subtly forms a defiant pout.
sukuna scoffs. he’s made the decision to break the silence between you two first, coming all the way to your bedchambers to talk. he would never have done such a thing for anyone else—would have waited for them to grovel before him and beg for his forgiveness.
and yet here he is, standing in front of his concubine, ready to confront the issues between them.
he feels pathetic and it angers him from within. he desires to command you to get on your knees and apologise to him, to obey him and forget what happened. however an annoying voice in the back of his head tells him to be patient with you.
“tch, what’s with the face?” sukuna's deep and commanding voice fills the spacious room. he doesn't go about it the gentle way—he’s still him after all. “y’re still sulking about that little thing? i thought i told ya to stop thinkin’ about it.”
hearing sukuna say the latter makes your heart ache and your eyes water from frustration. everything seems like it’s not a big deal to him—even when you’re clearly upset.
“that was not just a little thing, my lord!” you raise your voice just a little, surprising yourself as the words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them.
you swallow thickly and bite your lip. you've done it now, the thought echoes inside your head.
sukuna’s eyebrows raise in surprise at your outburst, not used to you raising your voice to him like that. although in an instant, his eyes flash with something dangerous. you may be his favorite and he may let you get away with a lot of things, yet there are boundaries. rules that even you must obey.
the king of curses would probably find it amusing to see you snap back at him, thinking you will achieve something with that, but today is not one of those days.
the shimmering tension between you two has agitated him more than ever.
sukuna closes the distance between you two and reaches out to grab you by our jaw. his fingers curl tightly beneath your chin and force your head to turn, making you face him.
“you dare raise your voice at me, woman?” sukuna growls, his face mere inches from yours.
his grip borders on painful and you wince at the ache in your jaw. he doesn’t let go and instead tightens his hold, “i don't have time for this fuckin' nonsense.”
sukuna releases you with a light shove. he takes a deep breath to try and calm down, to remind himself that he came her to clear things up. but it’s difficult because he’s never had to do this before. never had to listen to someone else, always expecting them to simply endure and move on whenever he caused harm.
you stumble a bit, rubbing at the your chin. you don’t get it; is sukuna here to make it worse for you? to rub it in? to remind you again of what he said to upset you? to make fun of you for being upset about it?
it certainly does hurt.
you replay that moment again in your head. the moment when sukuna told you he could replace you with someone else whenever he desires. it is a fact; sukuna can do that whenever he pleases. but it stung to hear him say it so explicitly. to hear him say it to your face, as if that doesn't already keep you awake at night.
little did you know, sukuna didn’t mean to hurt you too much with that comment. he didn’t expect you to ignore him, to avoid him, all because of what he said. he simply said it because he was struggling with his own emotions—denying that he feels anything for you. he said it to remind himself that he isn’t getting attached to a human.
but that failed terribly. seeing you like this—your teary eyes glaring up at him with fear, hurt and betrayal made him feel an uncomfortable pang in his chest. something that resembled guilt.
“have a good night then, my lord,” you dismiss sukuna and turn away, your voice strained with emotion. you don’t want to start another argument with him.
the king of curses grits his teeth. there it goes again. ‘my lord’ — yes, it’s what most others call him, but not you. you always called him by nicknames he deemed foolish. ‘kuna, ry’ or even ‘dear’. he strangely longs to hear your voice call him as such again.
sukuna stands there, trying to reign in his anger and other overwhelming emotions. he grabs your wrist and tugs you back to him, making you stumble and catch yourself against his chiseled chest.
he doesn’t know what to say—doesn’t trust himself to speak. he knows he’ll make it worse by speaking, knows he’ll rile you up even more. thus he chooses not to utter a word for a moment.
your eyes meet and you’re surprised when sukuna leans down to catch your lips in a kiss. your hands fist into the collar of his kimono, your mind telling you to back off. this man is dangerous—playing with your emotions like this.
telling you one thing, but contradicting himself with his actions. it’s extremely confusing yet also exhilarating.
you close your eyes and respond to his kiss with equal fervor. the pink-haired man groans against your lips, swiping his tongue over your bottom lip before biting on it. a habit of his.
sukuna’s large hands roam over your body as he presses you as close to him as possible. it’s like he’s reassuring you with his touch—melting away all your worries. it’s a manipulative tactic that somehow always gets you. or perhaps it’s just his way of apologising.
which of the two it is, will always be vague and unknown.
eventually, he pulls away, leaving you both breathless. you stare up at him with a huff before glancing the other way. you’re still sulking, still pouting.
sukuna rolls his eyes and easily lifts your body up into his arms. two of his hands settle on the back of your thighs, the other two grazing the side of your breast and waist. he carries you over to your bed and sits on the edge with you on his lap.
“y’re a fool,” sukuna clicks his tongue. his fingers slither up the exposed skin of your arm and against your cheek to flick your forehead. he gains a whimper from you which urges him to do it again.
you frown and rub at the tingly skin on your head. your eyes are still watery, lashes clumped together due to your tears. it’s almost cute. almost.
“and you look pathetic,” the man in front of you adds with a condescending smirk.
you weakly smack sukuna’s chest, making his grin widen. there you go—there is the woman he knows, slowly making a comeback. slowly warming up to him again. slowly being playful with him once more.
sukuna sighs. to you, it may seem like a tired sigh, but in reality it’s a sigh of relief. he may not have solved this issue between you two in a normal, healthy way, but it worked out anyway.
“you’re mean,” your comment breaks the moment of silence.
your bottom lip trembles and you look like you might just cry it all out. the frustration, the fear, the hurt, the relief—it’s overwhelming.
sukuna inhales briefly. he doesn’t respond to your little remark, instead, he holds the back of your head and presses your face into his chest. he holds your body against him, nestled warmly between his muscular arms.
you don’t protest at all. you close your eyes and breathe in his familiar scent, nuzzling your nose into his pecs. you know this is his way of making you feel betted so you will not complain.
an apology will never leave the prideful man's lips and you’ve come to accept it. this way of reassuring you counts as something at the very least.
it doesn’t matter who or what gets between you two, at the end of the day, you’ll find each other again. one way or another.
series synopsis - in a world where soulmates were real, fate ties you to ryomen sukuna like some cruel and twisted joke. where people felt their soulmates in soft touches and quiet comfort, all you’ve ever known was phantom pain, sleepless nights, and a violent rage that didn’t belong to you. by the time you finally meet the man ruining your nervous system, the city already knew him as its most feared underground boxer. how would you survive? [mdni 18+]
chapters
⚡︎ ⋆.˚ prologue
⚡︎ ⋆.˚ one - no surprises
⚡︎ ⋆.˚ two - coming soon
⚡︎ ⋆.˚ three - tbd
⚡︎ ⋆.˚ four - tbd
⚡︎ ⋆.˚ five - tbd
⚡︎ ⋆.˚ six - tbd
no taglist!
credits: art by @/cinaillus | divider by @/uzmacchiato
After a tragic accident erased your memories, you no longer remember the man you married. Unfortunately for you, Ryomen Sukuna remembers everything. And he'll do whatever it takes to make you remember him too.
Everything was so much weird.
When you first opened your eyes, the world was a blur of harsh lights and a rhythmic, annoying beep that made your head throb. A crowd of people were hovering over your bed, their faces twisted into expressions of pure horror and desperation. It felt like they were looking at a ghost or maybe a god that had suddenly fallen from the sky. The moment you blinked and stared back at them with blank, unrecognizing eyes, the room dissolved into quiet, breathless weeping.
You were completely utterly lost. Who was the woman with the dark circles under her eyes calling herself Shoko? Why was she gripping your hand like her entire world was ending? You knew your own name y/n echoed clearly in the empty caverns of your mind, but beyond that single fact, there was only a vast, terrifying void. You understood the modern world. you knew what a smartphone was, you recognized the concept of Wi-Fi, and when you mumbled those details, the doctors in the room let out collective, gasping sighs of relief.
But the real shock came twenty minutes later.
The heavy door to the hospital room burst open with a violent slam. A man lunged inside like a madman, his chest heaving as he fought for breath. You had never seen anyone look like him. His hair was a soft, striking shade of pastel pink so pretty and unexpected that you wondered for a fleeting second if he had dyed it just to stand out. Dark, intricate tattoos mapped across his skin, curling around his sharp cheekbones and framing his eyes. And those eyes... they were a piercing, burning red, swirling with a volatile mixture of terrifying rage and profound, shattering sadness.
You just sat there in your oversized, faded blue hospital gown, looking small and fragile as your confused gaze met his. The man froze, roughly brushing a strand of pink hair out of his face. His clothes were covered in a layer of grey dust and dried grit, looking as though he had sprinted straight off a construction site the second he got the news.
"Fucking... God. Hey, princess... fuck, don't you ever scare me like that again" he breathed, his deep, gravelly voice cracking as he took two massive strides toward your bedside, staring down at you with a desperation that made the air feel heavy.
You shrank back into the pillows, your brow furrowing. Princess? Were you in some bizarre historical simulation? Did kings and horses still exist? No, the blinking medical monitors around you disproved that immediately.
"Mr. Sukuna, please. I need to speak with you in private for a moment" a woman in her mid forties interrupted, her expression incredibly grave as she stepped between you and the huge man. She glanced at the other people lingering by the door. There was a teenage boy, maybe sixteen, who had the exact same pink hair as the tattooed man, his face streaked with tears. Beside him stood another boy with unruly, spiky black hair and a dull, stoic expression that couldn't quite hide the anxiety in his eyes. At the doctor's quiet command, they all slowly filed out into the hallway.
Left alone for a moment, you stared at the stark white walls, the untouched glass of water on the bedside table, and the crushing, dull monotony of the room.
When the door clicked open again, the female physician returned, holding a thick medical chart. The tattooed man followed closely behind her. He tried to offer you a small, reassuring smile, but it looked incredibly strained on his rugged face. His crimson eyes locked onto you, tracking every breath you took as if you might literally vanish into thin air if he dared to look away for a single second.
"Hello, y/n. I am Dr. Jennifer" the woman said kindly, stepping up to the mattress. "Do you know why you were brought here today?"
You frowned, looking between her and the towering man. "No."
The syllable was short and hollow. Beside the doctor, Sukuna’s entire frame stiffened. His jaw clenched so hard a muscle feathered violently beneath his tattoos, his knuckles turning white as he balled his hands into fists.
"Right. But you do remember your name?" she pressed gently.
"Yes... y/n I am Y/N." you answered firmly. You knew the name belonged to you, even if the history attached to it was completely gone.
"And do you know where you are right now?"
"A hospital?"
"Correct" Dr. Jennifer nodded, opening the document in her hands. "Look, I am going to explain exactly what happened, and I need you to listen very carefully, alright?" You gave a small, hesitant nod. "You were in a severe accident yesterday evening. You were walking home from the local market when a car veered off the road and hit you. It is a miracle you walked away with minor physical injuries, but the trauma to your head has caused a severe case of retrograde amnesia. Honestly, it's a surprise you even remember your name right now."
You let out a quiet hum, your eyes drifting down to your own hands resting on the thin blanket. That was when you noticed it a slender, platinum band set with a brilliant, flawlessly cut diamond resting securely on your left ring finger. It looked incredibly expensive, classy, and entirely foreign
So you were married.
"Y/n" Dr. Jennifer’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. You snapped your head up to look at her. "This man standing beside me... he is your husband."
The doctor tilted her head toward the giant. He was massive easily over six feet of raw, intimidating muscle, his tattooed face giving him a terrifying, dangerous aura. Your very first instinctual thought was that this man looked incredibly scary.
Sukuna didn't say a word. He just stood there, letting you analyze him, before he offered you a tiny, incredibly vulnerable nod. You tilted your head, staring into his intense red eyes, desperately searching for a single spark of familiarity. Did I really marry this giant?
"His name is Ryomen Sukuna, and he is going to take care of you" the doctor continued, closing her chart. "For the next few weeks, you need to let your brain rest, but you also need to gently stimulate it to try and regain those lost memories. Spending time in a familiar environment, in your own home with your husband, is going to be the best medicine for you."
You nodded mutely. You didn't exactly have a choice. You were being handed over to a complete stranger who happened to hold a legal claim to your entire life.
"Alright then. I wish you a safe and speedy recovery" Dr. Jennifer said with a final, empathetic smile before slipping out of the room.
The heavy silence that followed was suffocating. Sukuna cleared his throat roughly, taking a few slow, tentative steps toward the edge of your bed. He moved with an immense amount of caution, as if he genuinely believed a sudden movement might break you into pieces. He pulled up the small plastic chair, sinking into it.
"Hey" he said softly. Even in a whisper, his voice was incredibly manly, deep, and rough.
"Hello" you replied shortly, your eyes tracking his hands.
To your surprise, his large, scarred fingers were trembling slightly as he fidgeted with them, refusing to meet your eyes. When he finally looked up, you realized the piercing red of his irises was completely glossy, swimming with unshed tears.
"Yo... you're getting discharged today" he choked out, taking a deep, ragged breath as if the mere act of speaking was causing him physical pain. "I'm going to go sign the paperwork, and then I'm taking you to... our house. I'm going to do whatever the fuck it takes to help you remember, princess."
You stared at his rugged, tattooed face for a long moment before letting out a soft, distant hum.
An hour later, you were sitting in the passenger seat of a sleek, black Jeep, The man Sukuna kept his left hand firmly on the steering wheel while his eyes flicked toward you every sixty seconds, his intense gaze making a nervous flutter erupt in your stomach.
You stared out the window, watching the city buildings, sprawling neighborhoods, and vibrant green trees blur past. Intrigued by the warm breeze, you raised your hand, pressing your palm gently against the glass as if you wanted to touch the passing leaves. Instantly, the window smoothly rolled down. Startled, you turned your head to find Sukuna adjusting the master controls, his eyes locked onto you with an unreadable warmth.
"Can I ask you something-" you murmured softly.
"Yes." The answer came incredibly fast, almost desperate. He was hanging on your every word, practically begging for you to speak to him.
"How... how did we meet?" you asked, leaning your elbow on the door frame as the wind whipped through your hair.
"We met in high school" he answered quickly, navigating a sharp turn onto a quiet, "We've been married for seven years."
"High school?" You tilted your head, a faint smile touching your lips as you extended your hand just slightly out into the rushing air. "Were we friends back then?"
"Careful" he commanded firmly, though there was no real heat in his voice. You obediently pulled your hand back inside. A faint, nostalgic softness crept into his red eyes as he looked ahead. "Friends? no. You could say we didn't liked eachother each other when we first met. You thought I was a loud, arrogant mannerless jerk and I thought you were a stubborn, bossy brat."
He smoothly pulled the Jeep into a long brick driveway, coming to a stop in front of a breathtaking, modern two story house. It was painted a crisp, elegant white with sleek charcoal-grey accents, boasting massive, floor to ceiling windows that caught the afternoon sun.
"This is...our house" Sukuna murmured, his voice dropping an octave. "We've been living here for about four years."
He killed the engine, threw his door open, and practically sprinted around the hood of the car to open your door before you could even reach for the handle. He extended a massive, tattooed hand toward you, his palm open and waiting. You stared at his hand, your eyes traveling up the thick muscles of his forearm, before you deliberately stepped down onto the driveway without taking it.
Sukuna’s hand froze in mid-air. You watched his fingers slowly curl back into a fist before he pulled his arm away, a flash of pure, agonizing heartbreak crossing his features before he quickly masked it with a stoic expression.
As your feet hit the pavement, you looked up at the towering structure, desperately begging your brain to spark even a single ounce of familiarity. Nothing came. But as you turned around, you caught a glimpse of the man standing beside you. He was on the absolute verge of tears. His chest was tight, his jaw locked as he stared at you. You were his entire world, his beautiful wife, and yet you were looking at him like he was a total stranger. He suddenly felt a wave of profound hatred for every single time he had ever been mean or stubborn with you in the past, even in jest. He just wanted his girl back. His sweet innocent girl.
"The house is beautiful" you murmured gently, walking toward the porch.
'The house.' Not our house. The detached wording made Sukuna’s jaw clench painfully.
"Of course it is. I built the damn thing" he muttered, following closely behind you.
It was your exact dream house. Years ago, back when you were just broke college students dating in a cramped apartment, you had traced a clumsy design on a napkin, telling him you wanted a modern white house with endless windows, three bedrooms, and a kitchen large enough for the two of you to bake and slow-dance together while listening to old jazz records. Sukuna had kept that napkin. The moment he made his fortune, he hired a crew but did the vast majority of the heavy structural work with his own two hands. He had gifted you the keys on your third wedding anniversary, and he could still vividly remember the way you had wept tears of joy, throwing your arms around his neck and kissing him until you were both breathless. He wanted that smile back. He would give anything just to have you look at him the way you used to.
You stepped inside, ignoring the heavy emotion rolling off him. Sukuna quickly gathered your small hospital bags and followed you into the foyer, shutting the door behind him.
Your eyes immediately gravitated toward the kitchen. It was vast, open, and undeniably stunning, featuring a massive quartz island and a huge sliding glass door that opened directly into a manicured backyard garden. The entire layout felt strangely perfect.
"Let me show you... around" Sukuna offered quietly.
He spent the next half hour guiding you through the corridors of what was supposed to be your life. But as he showed you the grand master bedroompointing out the side of the bed where you used to curl into his chest every single night your face remained entirely blank. You felt a twinge of heavy guilt pooling in your stomach. He showed you the living room, drawing your attention to a collection of large, breathtaking canvas paintings hanging on the walls.
"You painted those" Sukuna noted, a faint trace of pride in his rough voice. "You're a brilliant artist, princess."
You blinked in genuine surprise, looking down at your hands. "I drew these?" You were suprised, you don't even remember touching a brush in your life. But this is your new life. New start.
"Yeah." Sukuna stopped at the edge of the hallway, looking down at you with completely bloodshot eyes. He hadn't slept a single second since the hospital called him about your accident. All he wanted to do was wrap his massive arms around your waist, pull you flush against his chest, and bury his face in your hair until the nightmare ended. But he couldn't. "Look... you can sleep in the guest bedroom down the hall, or you can take our bedroom and I'll stay in the guest room. Whatever makes you feel comfortable. I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable you."
"Okay" you hummed softly.
His heart broke a little more at the compliant, distant tone. "I'll go start on some dinner, and then I'll get your medication ready. If you need a single damn thing, you just call out for me, alright? Your clothes are all in the dresser, undergarments in the top drawer, pajamas in the second..."
You nodded, offering him a polite murmur of thanks before retreating into the guest room. You changed into a simple, comfortable t-shirt and sweats. A little while later, his deep voice echoed up the stairs, announcing that dinner was ready. You walked down to the dining room, sitting at the large table like a polite houseguest waiting to be served.
"Do you need help?" Sukuna asked, carefully sliding a steaming bowl of homemade chicken soup and a large spoon toward you. You shook your head, grasping the utensil and taking a quiet sip. He sat across from you, his own bowl entirely untouched as he just stared at your face. "Y/n... you really don't remember a single damn thing about me?"
His voice cracked completely on the last word, the raw vulnerability of a ruthless man exposed right in front of you. You looked up, meeting his glossy red eyes.
"No... I don't. I'm really sorry" you whispered genuinely.
He let out a slow nod, swallowing the lump in his throat as he forced himself to look away. "Don't apologize. It's not your fault."
"Do I... do I have parents? Or friends?" you asked, a sudden curiosity about your own forgotten life bubbling up.
"Yeah. You have parents. Your father—"
"Where are they?" you interrupted quickly, leaning forward. "Do they know I was in an accident? Why aren't they here?"
"They haven't spoken to you in over seven years. Not since the day you married me" Sukuna said, his tone dropping into something cold and bitter.
"Why?"
"Your family is rich as fuck. Extremely strict, arrogant aristocrats" Sukuna explained, his red eyes locking back onto yours. "They completely forbade you from seeing me because I was just a rough, tattooed bastard from the wrong side of the tracks with a criminal record and a unstable future. They told you that if you walked out that door with me, you’d be cut off permanently."
You stared at him, a sudden spark of heat flaring in your chest. "Well, that's so stupid of them. It sounds like a good thing we don't talk to them then."
The sheer, unyielding loyalty in your voice made Sukuna’s lips twitch, a genuine, heartbreaking smile threatening to break through his stoic mask. Even with a wiped memory, his sweet wife still possessed that exact same fiery, protective spirit.
"Yeah" he chuckled hoarsely, letting out a long sigh. "You have an incredible best friend named Shoko. You two are both doctors. you work in the exact same surgical unit at the city hospital. We have a ton of mutual friends we met back in our high school days. And those kids at the hospital? The pink-haired teenager is my nephew, Yuji, and the dark-haired one is Megumi, our friend's kid. They practically worship the ground you walk on, princess. You love those brats to death."
"Can I see them?" you asked, a genuine smile finally breaking across your face.
"Of course. Whenever you want." he promised, his eyes tracking the way your lips curved.
Sukuna let out a sudden, rough snort, a wicked glint flashing in his eyes. "Old or not, woman... you're still completely breathtaking."
A deep, violent blush instantly stained your cheeks. You hadn't been around an attractive man or any man, for that matter in your conscious memory, and having this giant, dangerously handsome individual throw such a raw compliment at you made your heart do a chaotic somersault. You quickly looked down at your soup, missing the way his eyes softened at your reaction.
Over the next three weeks, the fragments of a life began to surround you, even if the puzzle pieces wouldn't quite lock into place.
Yuji and Megumi came over to the house constantly. Yuji spent hours enthusiastically teaching you how to make his signature protein shakes and weird jello molds, his loud laughter filling the quiet house, while Megumi sat nearby with his usual serious expression. But the moment you offered Megumi a soft, encouraging smile, his sharp features would instantly melt into something deeply tender. Yet, beneath their smiles, you could see the underlying sadness in their eyes every time you failed to remember a shared inside joke.
When Shoko finally visited, she broke down completely, throwing her arms around your neck and sobbing into your shoulder. It was a bizarre maybe stupid too, overwhelming feeling being fiercely loved by people you couldn't even remember and a heavy weight of guilt began to settle deep in your chest. You even met Toji, Megumi's father, a tall, stoic man who didn't say much but looked at you with a quiet, profound pity that made you realize just how broken your situation truly was.
And then, there was Sukuna.
Your husband spent every single day patiently guiding you through your routines, driving you past your old university, cooking your favorite meals, and trying every gentle trigger possible. But your mind remained a stubborn, locked vault. Sukuna was growing desperate furious and completely fucked up by the stagnation.
To make matters worse, just one week before the accident, you had playfully taken down every single one of your framed marriage photographs to rearrange the living room gallery wall, hiding them away in a "genius spot" that Sukuna had completely forgotten more like you didn't even told him. He had spent hours frantically tearing the house apart while you were out, searching for a single modern photo of the two of you together.
He was completely unraveling. He couldn't sleep. The woman he loved was sleeping in the room next to him, yet she looked at him with the polite, distant eyes of a stranger. He felt like a ghost haunting his own home. One evening, he sat alone in the dark kitchen and wept the third time he had ever cried in his entire life. The first had been tears of pure joy on your wedding day when he saw you walking the aisle. the second had been out of terror when the ER doctor told him a car had struck you. and now, he was crying simply because he missed his wife so damn much
His phone offered no help either. his gallery was filled entirely with candid photos he had taken of you you stepping out of the shower with a towel wrapped around your head, you laughing in a department store dressing room, or a hilarious picture of you biting into a raw lemon and making a completely disgusted face. He had no photos of the two of you together on his device, you had always been the one insisted on keeping the physical, printed albums. The only joint photos he could find were a few faded, wrinkled prints from your high school days, showing a younger, wilder version of himself wrapping his arms around you from behind while you laughed into the camera. When he showed them to you, you just stared at them blankly. It was killing him.
At the end of the third week, Sukuna was sitting heavily on the living room sofa, completely exhausted after another failed search through the house. He was mindlessly scrolling through the candid photos of you on his phone, a faint, melancholy smile touching his lips. His fingers traced your face on the photo, your bright smile. your bubbly laughter at his most unfunniset jokes, now all of that are vanished.
The heavy front door clicked open. Shoko had taken you out for an afternoon of shopping to get you out of the house, and she had just dropped you off at the curb. You stepped into the foyer, balancing several shopping bags in your arms.
Sukuna instantly locked his phone, shoving it into his pocket as he stood up, his red eyes drinking in the sight of you. "Had fun, princess?"
"Yes, I did. And thank you... for letting me use your credit card" you said softly, walking over to the coffee table and gently sliding the black card back toward him.
"You bought dresses?" he asked, pointing toward the bags. Honestly, he didn't give a single fuck about the money. you could have emptied his entire bank account and he would have gladly signed it away just to see you happy.
"I bought a few things..." You cleared your throat nervously, your fingers twisting together. "But... I actually bought something for you, too."
The words hit his chest like a physical blow. Even with her mind completely wiped, your beautiful, kind soul was still looking out for him. "Really?" he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Can I see it?"
You gave a small nod, walking over to the couch and tentatively sitting down right next to him. The close proximity made his heart start to hammer against his ribs like a trapped bird.
"I don't know if it's really your style, or if you'll even like it..." you mumbled bashfully, reaching into a small velvet pouch and pulling out a heavy, intricately braided silver bracelet studded with raw, brilliant red stones. "The color... it just immediately reminded me of you. Of your eyes."
You gently reached out, grasping his massive, calloused wrist to drape the metal over his skin. Oh God, if you only knew how fast his heart was racing beneath his chest. Your soft, warm fingers lingering against his pulse point was pure, exquisite torture.
"It looks incredible, Y/n. Thank you." he whispered, a genuine, breathtakingly soft smile spreading across his tattooed face as he looked down at the crimson stones.
"Thank you... for being so incredibly patient with me" you said quietly, looking up at him through your eyelashes.
Sukuna let out a long, ragged sigh, his hand hovering over yours for a fraction of a second before he pulled back. "I will always be patient with you, princess. Always."
You looked directly into his burning red eyes, and for the first time in three weeks, a warm, genuine smile broke across your face. Sukuna felt his breath hitch. he was entirely certain he was about to pass out from the sheer weight of his love for you.
"Can you stay right here for a bit? I need to go jump in the shower real quick. I'll be fast" he muttered hoarsely, his hand instinctively reaching out to gently ruffle your hair a comforting, domestic habit he had carefully maintained. You let out a soft chuckle at the gesture.
The moment his heavy footsteps disappeared up the stairs and the sound of running water echoed through the pipes, you stood up, wandering aimlessly around the quiet main floor. Your feet pulled you toward the small, cozy library nestled just off the living room. The walls were lined with hundreds of books some ancient leather volumes, others modern art textbooks. You pulled one off the shelf, flipping through the pages before sliding it back into place.
As you stepped back, your eyes caught a glimpse of something hidden on the absolute highest shelf, shoved far back into the shadows near the ceiling. It looked like a massive, heavy frame leaning flat against the back wall, obscured by a decorative ceramic vase. Intrigued, you stood on your tiptoes, stretching your arms up as high as they could go, blindly reaching for the top edge of the wooden frame.
Your fingers caught the molding, but as you pulled, the heavy ceramic vase shifted, losing its balance.
Crash!
The vase shattered against the hardwood floor with a deafening, echoing smash. Startled, you let out a sharp cry, stumbling backward as the massive hidden frame came tumbling down from the top shelf, striking the edge of the desk before landing flat on the rug. The backing of the frame split completely open upon impact, and a massive cascade of loose, glossy photographs erupted across the floor hundreds of them, scattering like playing cards across the room.
You gasped, placing a hand over your racing heart as you looked away from the broken pottery, your eyes drifting down to the sea of images covering the floor.
You froze.
Right at your feet lay a massive, professionally printed portrait. In the photograph, you were sitting securely on Sukuna's lap. You were wearing a breathtaking, flowing white lace wedding dress, holding a vibrant bouquet of sunflowers, and laughing so brightly your eyes were crinkled shut. Sukuna was clad in a sharp, tailored black tuxedo, his massive arms wrapped fiercely around your waist from behind, an absolutely massive, unbothered, triumphant grin plastered across his face.
Your breath hitched violently. You stumbled forward, falling to your knees as your hands frantically snatched up another photo from the pile. In this one, you were hoisted high up on Sukuna's broad shoulders at a crowded, flashing outdoor music festival; your mouth was wide open in a breathless scream of laughter, while his large hands were clamped firmly around your thighs to keep you safe, both of your faces painted with pure, unadulterated euphoria.
You grabbed a third photo, and the entire world stopped spinning. It was a quiet, intimate shot taken right in the backyard garden outside. You were sitting cross-legged on the green grass, wearing a simple summer dress with a soft, shy smile, while Sukuna’s heavy head was resting completely in your lap. He was looking up at you with an expression of such pure, unconditional adoration it made your soul ache, while your fingers were woven gently through his soft pink hair.
Pink hair.
The backyard.
The jazz music.
The napkin.
A sudden, violent explosion of memories ripped through the barriers of your mind. It wasn't a trickle; it was a catastrophic, roaring tidal wave. Seven years of laughter, fierce arguments, passionate late-night apologies, the smell of his skin, the exact weight of his body pressing you into the master mattress, the sound of his deep voice whispering "I've got you, princess" into the dark. It all hit your brain at once with the force of a freight train.
The sheer, overwhelming velocity of the memories made the room spin violently. Your vision blurred into a vortex of white light and crimson eyes. You let out a choked gasp, your strength entirely giving out as your body collapsed sideways onto the hardwood floor with a loud, heavy thud, the scattered photographs of your life pooling around your unconscious form.
When you finally opened your eyes again, the harsh glare of the ceiling lights was gone, replaced by the warm, dim ambiance of the living room. You were laying flat on the soft fabric of the sofa.
"She's waking up! Sukuna, look, her eyes are moving!" Yuji’s panicked, loud voice cut through the quiet room.
You blinked heavily, your vision slowly focusing. Megumi was standing right beside his cousin, his dark eyes wide and completely swimming with anxiety. Shoko was hovering over you, a small medical flashlight in her hand, her face pale as she checked your vitals.
But your heart didn't care about any of them. Your eyes frantically scanned the tight circle of people, instantly landing on the massive, tattooed man standing frozen at the foot of the couch. His pastel pink hair was damp from the shower, his chest heaving under a plain black t-shirt, and his face was a mask of pure, absolute terror.
As your eyes met his, a single, heavy tear spilled over your eyelid, tracing a hot path down your cheek. The vast, terrifying void in your mind was completely gone, replaced by the roaring, beautiful fire of your reality.
"Ryo..." you choked out, your voice a broken, breathless sob.
Sukuna froze, his entire frame visibly violently shuddering at the sound of the nickname the private, intimate name only you were ever allowed to call him.
Before anyone else could even blink, you threw yourself forward off the sofa cushions, completely ignoring the dull ache in your muscles. You lunged straight into his space, your arms wrapping fiercely around his massive neck. You buried your face in the crook of his collarbone, gripping the fabric of his shirt with a desperate, white-knuckled intensity as you pressed a hard, crying kiss directly against his tattooed jaw.
"I remember... us" you sobbed violently into his skin, your entire body trembling as the tears flowed freely. "I remember everything, Ryo... I remember you."
Sukuna’s mind completely blanked. For a single, breathless second, he couldn't even process the words. And then, a raw, ragged sound escaped his throat a mixture of a sob and a laugh. His massive, powerful arms came crashing down around your frame, pulling you so close against his chest you could barely breathe, lifting your knees entirely off the floor as he buried his face into the crook of your neck.
And there, in the middle of his living room, surrounded by his family and the scattered photographs of your love, Ryomen Sukuna closed his eyes and wept for the fourth time in his life.
"I fucking love you" he whispers
(not me me writing all night just for 36 like and one reblog😣🙏🏾)
apocalypse - one
undergroundboxer!kuna x reader [soulmate au]
warnings [mdni] - angst | implied trauma | mean sukuna
wc - 7.3k
series masterlist
∞
ryomen sukuna knew three things about his soulmate.
she drank too much caffeine, she slept curled on her side whenever anxiety crawled beneath her skin and whenever she read for hours on end or colored, the noise in his head quieted enough to let him breathe.
it was fucking irritating.
the first time she got under his skin, it was in the middle of his first match.
he’d nearly put his fist through the guy, rage sitting ugly beneath his ribs as blood pooled in his mouth and sweat dripped down his spine.
then suddenly, he was overcome with serenity he’d never experienced before.
a calmness that wasn’t his own, never his own.
something soft slipped beneath his skin then, warm and quiet in a way he wasn’t used to. like somebody had pressed cold hands against the back of his neck after years of burning where he stood.
he’d won that match.
“again?” toji muttered from across the gym, cigarette balanced lazily between scarred fingers.
sukuna rolled his jaw once before slamming another punch into the heavy bag hard enough for the chains overhead to rattle violently.
“fuck off.”
toji smirked, tongue peaking out to lick at the scar against his lip.
the gym smelled like rust, sweat and the metallic ting of blood that both men were used to. it was a shitty set up buried beneath the city in the lower levels of an abandoned parking structure. it barely looked legal from the outside and the inside wasn't much better.
the concrete floors, flickering lights and men all too violent to exist comfortably above ground.
and it was the place ryomen sukuna felt alive.
sukuna had been fighting since he was fifteen and filled with a rage even he couldn’t understand.
toji found him bloody outside a convenience store after some older guys tried jumping him for gambling money.
it was clear they didn’t get the money but sukuna took that fire in his gaze out on them.
sukuna still recalled the way toji looked down at him, droplets cascading down his sharp features and dark hair, damp cigarette hanging from his mouth while blood dripped steadily from sukuna’s split brow.
“you fight like an animal,” toji began, taking a drag of his fading cig before tilting his head at the salmon haired boy, “what if i told you that you could beat the shit out of guys every day and get paid for it?”
a fucking dream is what that was. he gets to utilize his anger and he could finally get out of his father’s house.
how could sukuna even say no?
somehow, it turned into this.
years later, ryomen sukuna had become the name whispered through underground rings across the city. not because he was the biggest or the strongest, but because he was cruel.
there was something deeply unsettling about the way sukuna fought.
controlled, almost lazy sometimes. like violence came so naturally to him that he didn’t even need to think about it.
people feared men who fought emotionally.
they feared ryomen sukuna more because he never did.
most nights, he fought beneath screaming neon lights while crowds chanted his name loud enough to shake the walls.
they bet on him like he was a sure thing and fuck, did he get a shitload of money from it.
he’d leave each night, beaten and bruised with a duffel of cash hanging off his shoulder.
he was living the dream.
that was until he arrived home, in his apartment downtown, and sat in silence while somebody else’s emotions bled quietly into his chest.
a girl he’d never met yet somehow knew like the back of his hand, all too intimately.
he knew she liked coffee because of the bursts of energy he’d feel during mornings where he usually slept in because his fights usually carried into the night.
he knew she did yoga often because his muscles weren’t as sore as they would get when he was younger and god knows it wasn’t his doing. he didn’t stretch nearly as much as toji nagged at him to.
he also knew that she despised him.
that one was obvious.
their bond always sharpened after his fights. her irritation sat bright and hot beneath his ribs every time he came home bruised and bloody.
sometimes he couldn’t differentiate between his own rage and hers.
maybe they were more alike than he thought.
truthfully, sukuna didn’t know how to do things any differently and frankly, he didn’t care enough to.
he hated this whole soulmates shit. why would the universe ever pair two people together with the utmost certainty that they were perfect for each other?
and what fucking masacre did this girl commit to be bonded with him of all people?
violence was the only thing sukuna had ever been good at and he wouldn’t change that for anyone, especially some girl who was almost a mere figment of his imagination.
he did that sometimes. pretended that he was a non-existent and that he was merely hallucinating her.
non-existents made up a very small part of the population and they were essentially humans who didn’t have soulmates. like toji was.
lucky bastard.
sometimes sukuna believed toji was lying because he’d get this distant look on his face some days, kind of like himself when he felt his own soulmate torment him.
so maybe he was a late bloomer?
either way, he was in a better situation than sukuna was.
“your girl’s pissed again?” toji commented dryly from where he leaned against the boxing ring ropes, head tilted with a knowingness sukuna hated.
toji was the one sukuna had to confide in because who else did he have?
when he was overwhelmed as a young teenager about his soulmate, toji would be the one he would reluctantly go to. the older man had taken him under his wing, so yes, he did trust him more than anyone.
he also knew that toji cared about him in his own fucked up way.
sukuna’s knuckles ached tonight, phantom annoyance curling beneath his skin that didn’t belong to him. it was her.
probably studying somewhere in the city while silently wishing death upon him.
the thought almost made him grin.
throughout the years, pissing her off became a hobby of some sort, though he knew she didn’t find it nearly as amusing as he did.
“at least you know she’s got personality.” toji stated once more as sukuna finally stopped punching and turned to shoot the man a glare.
“shut the fuck up.”
toji huffed out a laugh, “god help you both when you finally meet.”
the thought made sukuna freeze momentarily.
it was almost sad.
usually, at least from what sukuna knew, people usually couldn’t wait to meet their soulmates.
then there was sukuna, filled with dread at the mere idea.
sukuna hated even talking about the bond.
he hated how aware he was of her.
because despite everything, the distance and never seeing her to begin with, she felt woven into him already, like a haunting.
some nights, when his insomnia clawed violently at his nerves after fights, he’d feel her wrap her arms around herself beneath warm blankets god knows where.
and sleep came easier those nights.
he couldn’t explain it and truthfully, he didn’t like to think about it.
he hated talking about her because the truth was ugly.
that he didn’t particularly hate her. which is exactly why he knew meeting her would ruin everything.
naturally, his solution was to sabotage everything which is why he started to sleep around with non-existents whenever he got the chance.
and he knew what it did to her.
good. he hoped it made her despise him enough to never want anything to do with him, whether they meet now or twenty years down the line.
sukuna didn’t want anything to do with her.
∞
you hated downtown on friday nights.
it was always too loud and all too crowded.
neon signs bled into rain-slick streets while bass-heavy music spilled from every open doorway along the block.
girls stumbled across sidewalks in tiny dresses and tall heels, drunken laughter cutting through the humid summer night air while taxis lined the streets endlessly.
the city looked beautiful after dark, but you still wanted to be everywhere but here.
“stop looking at people with that judgy look of yours.” shoko muttered beside you, nudging your shoulder lightly as the three of you crossed the street.
“i’m not judging, i’m just looking around…” you defended with a huff as you hugged yourself protectively, little kitten heels clicking against the pavement.
“you are judging,” utahime confirmed, “it’s your classic disgusted and glare-ey look.”
“well excuse me, you’re the ones who brought me to crackhead-ville.” you glared at the two girls as shoko rolled her eeys before hooking her arm through yours anyway.
she pulled you towards the entrance of yet another overcrowded building downtown.
apparently, tonight’s party was being held somewhere above an abandoned old bar. or beneath it.
either way, something you found entirely too ominous but you were too distracted when shoko was explaining to actually disagree.
your soulmate had spent the entire evening restless beneath your skin. not angry but worse.
aware.
you felt him constantly tonight.
a steady pulse of adrenaline humming through your bloodstream that didn’t belong to you.
your chest had felt tight since leaving the penthouse, some strange tension settling low in your stomach like your body was anticipating something before your mind could catch up.
it was unsettling.
you blamed the lack of sleep, or rather, you blamed him. you blamed him for it all.
“ew, ew…” you muttered as shoko pulled you through the door into what you could only describe as chaos.
warmth and noise hit you instantly.
bodies crowded wall to wall beneath flashing lights while music shook violently through the floorboards.
cigarette smoke lingered in the air despite the open windows somewhere deeper inside the space.
you physically recoiled.
“oh my god,” utahime muttered beside you, laughing softly at the expression painting your features, “you look horrified.”
“i am horrified!”
shoko snorted, “rich kids.”
you threw her a glare before the three of you squeezed through the crowd until you reached a quieter section tucked near the back of the room.
a curved leather couch sat half-empty beneath dim red lights, thankfully far enough from the speakers that your skull stopped vibrating the second you sat down.
you exhaled deeply, chest deflating as you blinked up at your friends who were looking at you with amusement.
“drinks?” utahime questioned as shoko nodded eagerly while you merely hummed, shoulders tense as you gazed around the sea of bodies.
utahime disappeared toward the bar while shoko took a seat beside you, the leather beneath you sticky in a way that had you shuddering, sitting at the very edge of the couch.
fuck, you hated this and you couldn’t explain why.
yes, you hated parties in general but you just felt wrong.
“you’re being weird tonight.” shoko observed, eyes narrowed on your tense figure.
you frowned faintly, “i know…i feel weird.”
your skin felt like it was buzzing, chest vibrating in a way it usually wasn’t.
it wasn’t necessarily bad, but simply off.
you felt your soulmate more than ever tonight, you were almost hyperaware.
he felt electric.
every emotion coming from him felt sharper somehow, close enough that you could almost mistake them for your own.
your pulse kept jumping for no reason.
fuck, you hated this.
“is it devils dick?” shoko casually asked as your eyes closed momentarily.
how would you explain that it was both yes and no.
yes, the bond felt different tonight.
but no, it wasn’t muscle aches or phantom pain you were feeling on his end, though you didn't want to speak too soon.
it was a friday after all. friday nights usually meant bruised ribs by saturday morning.
“oh my god, guys!” hime stood before you, handing shoko her drink before placing a water bottle in your hand, “everyone’s saying gojo and his crew are gonna be here!”
your eyes rolled gently, very much aware of utahime’s obsession with those random illegitimate fighters.
underground fights happened constantly throughout the city.
illegal betting rings buried beneath clubs and abandoned buildings, violent enough that respectable people pretended they didn’t exist despite everyone secretly knowing otherwise.
your father even told you how known politicians and well known figures even placed bets they hid from the public.
and lately, there was one name that everyone kept talking about-
“do you think sukuna would show up?” shoko questioned, eyes wide with excitement, taking a sip of her cherry vodka as you looked between the two girls.
ryomen sukuna.
you’d heard it constantly from utahime the past few months.
uathime, shoko, sora and percy often went on double dates to these underground fights you had zero interest in.
you were very much used to fifth wheeling alongside your friends, that wasn’t the issue. the issue was rooted in the prospect of spending the night in a filthy underground boxing ring riddled with people and violence alike. yuck.
still, amongst all the fighters utahime gushed about, ryomen sukuna seemed to be the most known.
the undefeated underground fighter with pink hair and a snake tattoo across his shoulders and collarbones.
people were terrified of him just as equally as they were obsessed with him.
“percy says sukuna knocked his opponent unconscious in under thirty seconds last week!” shoko stated, taking another sip as utahime nodded frantically.
“he’s insane!” utahime gushed, “like, gojo is obviously a show off and just cares about the clout he gets but sukuna? he’s terrifying…”
utahime continued, you were sure. you could see her mouth moving but you didn’t-couldn’t register the words she'd uttered.
the world around you turned hazy, just enough to feel like everything slowed in a way that definitely wasn’t normal.
your heartbeat stopped, not metaphorically, but physically.
a sharp wave of adrenaline crashed violently into your chest hard enough to steal the breath straight from your lungs.
you went still, every muscle in your body tightening instinctively.
you could see both of the girls leaning towards you, brows furrowed in concern, mouths moving and uttering words you knew were dipped in concern. you couldn’t hear any of it.
you swallowed hard, eyes darting up and around you, as if a siren was luring you towards the crowd, come to me, come, come.
fuck, were you drugged or something?
your heartbeat stuttered painfully beneath your ribs, once, twice then again.
you felt like you’d been dropped underwater while everyone else remained above the surface.
the bond felt raw and entirely too overwhelming.
it felt like standing at the edge of something life-altering, like your soul had recognized something before your mind could catch up to it.
for the first time since you’d first felt your soulmate, he didn’t feel far away.
you had grown used to the idea of him, something intangible and not truly real.
merely a ghost haunting the edges of your nervous system, phantom bruises in the middle of lectures and an adrenaline rush at three in the morning.
he was the deep-seated exhaustion that riddled your body but didn’t belong to you.
but this felt real. close enough to touch.
the sensation crawled slowly beneath your skin, winding around your ribs like invisible string being pulled tighter and tighter and tighter until you thought you might choke on it.
the realization hit your bloodstream like a drug.
he was here, you knew it. you could feel it in your bones.
your eyes darted towards the door that had swung open, summer air rushing inside alongside four figures dressed almost entirely in black.
the first thing you noticed was height.
they all carried themselves with the same dangerous sort of confidence, the kind that came from men who had never truly feared consequences before.
one of them had snowy white locks, the tallest of the bunch, bright enough to catch beneath the flashing lights, sunglasses balanced lazily across his nose despite the fact that it was nearly midnight.
another stood beside him, quieter with shoulder length black locks with stretched gauges in his ears and sharp eyes that swept across the room once before settling into bored indifference.
the third one was shorter than the rest but still tall, black locks in two spiked buns with a joint resting between plump pink lips, eyes hooded in a way that exposed that joint not being his first of the night.
they were all attractive in a way that felt almost unfair and dangerous.
people moved out of their path without being asked.
your eyes turned to the one trailing just a step behind them and your breath caught so violently, it hurt.
the salmon colored locks gave him away.
ryomen sukuna.
tattoos curled dark against tan skin disappearing beneath the collar of a black shirt that stretched across broad shoulders.
even from where you stood, you could see the dried blood and bruises across his knuckles.
he looked nothing like what you’d imagined from shoko’s descriptions.
and simultaneously, exactly like it too.
something deep inside you snapped taut, your stomach dropping.
you could tell he was dazed too, jaw locked and eyes blinking at a slow pace, eyes looking around the sea of bodies.
the soulmate bond surged so hard beneath your ribs, you physically recoiled, fingers gripping the edge of the leather couch.
oh god. no, no, no.
oh my god…
“oh my god,” utahime whispered beside you, though unlike you, she sounded impressed rather than horrified.
shoko looked moments away from passing out entirely.
“that’s him!” she breathed out quietly.
you couldn’t answer, breath stilling and hands trembling.
because sukuna had stopped walking.
fuck, the realization came slowly enough to feel cruel.
maroon eyes met your own and the room around you dissolved entirely. the music became muffled noise, lights blurring and the crowd disappeared.
all you could see was him. him. him. him.
he was all you could see, feel and you knew all he could see was you.
sukuna felt it the second he stepped through the doorway.
you.
the bond snapped violently alive beneath his skin hard enough that his entire body locked for half a second mid-step.
he almost thought someone had drugged him until he remembered he hadn’t even drank anything yet.
then what was this feeling?
his eyes locked on yours and he felt the most alive he’d felt in his life.
something even the ring and the violence couldn't offer.
there you were, all too pretty and wide eyed.
he barely heard gojo speak beside him anymore, the lanky man rambling on about some idiot from last week’s fight who apparently called him out on twitter after.
sukuna ignored him completely because across the room sat a girl staring at him like she’d seen a ghost.
and in some ways, he was your ghost.
he haunted you and lived under your skin in ways he was sure you didn’t appreciate in the slightest.
his soulmate.
years of phantom feelings crashed together all at once so violently, it almost made him sick.
because the realization hit him harder than he’d anticipated and yes, he had anticipated this.
the moment he’d meet his soulmate.
well, he dreaded more than anticipated it.
it hit him hard because he realized that he knew this girl.
sukuna had never met you, yet, he bet he knew you more than the two girls hovering over you. more than fucking anyone.
you were the girl whose stress bled into his bones during finals week, the girl who wrapped her arms around herself at night and somehow lulled him to sleep from miles away.
you were real.
and you looked soft.
that was the first thing he took note of.
soft skin, soft wide eyes, soft pink shimmery gloss coating your plush lips he recognized only through phantom warmth he’d felt against his own skin before.
his soulmate was a pretty little thing, so pretty it almost made his chest ache. in your tiny skirt and halter top.
far too fucking pretty to belong anywhere near him.
“sukuna?”
choso’s voice cut through the haze faintly and sukuna snapped out of it, gaze finally leaving hers to glance at his friend who tilted his head towards the other side of the room.
sukuna resisted the urge to glance at you as he made his way across the room.
fuck, fuck, fuck!
this couldn’t be happening, this was a fucking nightmare.
just as he made it across the room, he felt it.
warm fingertips brushing his own skin despite his hands at his sides.
his pulse stuttered once.
his gaze snapped to yours once more and your eyes widened instantly when you noticed his hand drift to his neck where your own hand was resting.
slowly and carefully, sukuna lifted his own hand.
his fingers brushed lightly against the side of his jaw, a barely there touch.
yet, across the room, your breath hitched sharply as warmth bloomed against your own jawline seconds later.
not imagined or coincidence. it was all real, so so real.
your stomach twisted violently.
oh no. no no no no.
shoko was gazing at you, “what’s wrong?!”
you couldn’t answer, eyes stuck on a pair of crimson that held you hostage.
her eyes narrowed as both her and utahime followed your gaze before catching sukuna’s eyes on you.
then they both looked between you both a total of five times before realization hit.
“wait,” shoko whispered harshly, hand shooting out to grip your arm, “WAIT.”
utahime’s jaw physically fell open, “holy shit…”
your heartbeat pounded so violently, you thought you might faint right then and there beneath the flashing red lights.
what you despised most is that it made sense.
of course it was him. a violent and dangerous underground fighter, fuck, that explained everything so perfectly.
if fate was a person, you’d have her by the neck right now.
because sukuna was still staring at you, as if he knew you already and perhaps, he did.
then horrifyingly, he smirked.
and suddenly, you understood exactly why the entire city feared ryomen sukuna.
sukuna moved before he could really think about it, jaw clenched but determined.
one second he stood on the other side of the room and the next, his body was already weaving through the crowd toward you like the bond itself had wrapped invisible fingers around his spine and dragged him to you. you. his soulmate.
people moved instantly to let him pass.
you took note of that immediately.
you noticed the way conversations died around him, the way bodies shifted out of his path and nobody dared touch him, even accidentally.
it was fear, you realized. people feared him.
the recognition made your stomach twist.
“oh my god,” shoko whispered harshly beside you, nails digging into your arm, “he’s coming over here!”
“i can see that.” you hissed back faintly, though your voice barely sounded like your own.
fuck, you should leave. you should absolutely leave.
except, you couldn’t move, body drilled to where you sat, frozen in place while ryomen fucking sukuna rossed the room toward you like some predator chasing prey.
closer and closer and closer.
until suddenly, all his 6’4 glory was towering above you.
your breath caught embarrassingly hard.
up close, he was worse.
taller than you’d imagined and broader too.
there were faint bruises scattered along his jawline beneath the dim lights, on the very spot that you woke up feeling sore. fresh cuts healed across his knuckles.
and his eyes, god, they looked at you with the same recognition burning through your own chest.
sukuna looked down at you for a moment too long.
fuck, you were even more ethereal up close.
that thought hit him first and annoyingly hardest.
his pretty little soulmate sitting curled into the edge of a leather couch looking at him with wide doe eyes, almost expectantly with a mix of fear and restraint.
“hey.”
his voice slid down your spine like smoke.
low, dangerous and rough in a way even your mind couldn’t conjure up.
fuck, was this really happening?
your throat tightened instantly, “hi.”
the word left you horrifyingly softer than you’d intended and sukuna’s lips twitched at the sound.
your voice was his favorite sound, instantly.
“um,” shoko hummed, eyes wide as she shared a glance with utahime, “we’ll give you two a second.”
you almost wanted to yell in protest, but the two girls were already shuffling away, shooting you encouraging looks.
as you glanced up at the dangerous man once more, you felt your heart still in a way you hadn’t ever felt before.
not in fear or apprehension but calm.
he made you feel calm, your body stilling and quieting in a way you hadn’t expected.
regretfully, fuck, you despised it, but when that gentleness overcame you and you looked up at him…
his disheveled pink locks, his handsome rugged features and his dark eyes, all of it was him.
and you felt stupid for trying to deny that this man was your soulmate.
who else would it be?
“i’m sukuna,” he stated lowly, moving to take a seat beside you, leaving an appreciative distance between you, “ryomen sukuna.”
your name left you softly with a nod.
as you gazed at each other, the same realization overcame you both.
even with barely an introduction, you knew each other.
while sukuna had only fond memories of what you’d done for him, your mind was riddled with poisonous ones.
this was the man who often trained in the middle of the night, filling you with soreness and a rush of adrenaline that left you sleepless most nights.
he was the one who fucked other girls knowing what that put you through.
your heart clenched.
beyond all those things, he was the one who hugged himself to sleep after that one night of utter hell.
he was the one who held a hot water bottle to his stomach when your cramps left you nauseated and pained in bed.
as much as you wanted to forget those things, to snap yourself out of the sad patheticness that riddled you, how could you?
how could you when those were the only memories that kept your hope that he wasn’t a total monster alive?
your eyes travelled along his bloodied knuckles, “you get those a lot.”
sukuna’s fists instinctively clenched at the attention.
“and you burn yourself with whatever you do your hair with at least twice a week.”
your eyes widened instantly.
“and you get punched like every other day!”
sukuna’s mouth twitched and you hated how your eyes drifted towards the movement and your heart stuttered.
“barely.” sukuna stated cooly, a small smirk painting his features.
your eyes drifted toward him again before you could stop yourself.
and then you remembered.
every phantom feeling, every sleepless night and every ache.
all attached to him.
the violence, the pain, the girls.
your jaw tightened, "you’re not exactly the best person to be connected to, you know.”
sukuna’s expression didn’t shift much, still cool, but you felt it. the hollow drop in your stomach that wasn’t yours. guilt.
real and immediate, it almost made you laugh in disbelief.
of course he felt guilty, he had to know he was a fucking nightmare.
sukuna leaned back slightly, jaw working once as his gaze flickered away from yours for half a second, “yeah, i bet.”
your brows lifted, “that’s it?”
his eyes returned to yours, low and indifferent.
you scoffed, anger bubbling up so quickly, it nearly startled you, “that’s all you have to say?”
sukuna let out a breath through his nose, “what do you want me to say?”
“oh, i don’t know,” you let out a sharp little laugh that held not an ounce of humor, “maybe sorry would be a good place to start?!”
sukuna’s head tilted, “sorry.”
you stared at him in utter disbelief before a laugh left you once more, this time softer and dripped in something worse than anger, “wow…”
sukuna’s eyes borrowed, “what?”
“you’re unbelievable is what!”
“you asked for sorry.”
“not like that!” you nsapped, voice rising just enough to have your cheeks flushing, “not like you’re apologizing for stepping on my shoe!”
his expression hardened slightly and you felt it immediately, the irritation beginning to curl beneath his skin.
ugh, you hated how the closeness made both your emotions so heightened.
“you have no idea what you put me through,” you continued, voice trembling despite you rbest efforts, “none.”
sukuna’s gaze darkened, “don’t do that.”
“do what?”
“act like i wasn’t there too.”
you blinked at him, something hot and ugly twisting in your chest.
was he for real?
“you were there?” you repeated quietly, “you were there?”
his jaw clenched, “don’t-”
“no, please,” you leaned forward slightly, anger sharpening every word, “explain it to me. because to my knowledge, you were the one making my life miserable while i was the one trying to keep us both sane!”
sukuna looked at you for a long moment, jaw clenching and unclenching. the lights washed over his face in flashes of red, making him look even more unreal than he already did.
“you think i wanted this?” he stated more than asked and your heart clenched.
hurt shot through you, your eyes growing glassy against your will because you knew he wasn’t referring to the pain he’d put you through.
he meant the soulmate thing in general, fate as a whole.
he didn’t want you.
you bit the inside of your cheek, willing your tears to stay in your eyes before breathing out, “no. but neither did i.”
silence settled between you then, not peaceful but loaded.
sukuna could physically feel your hurt and his eyes dropped briefly to your hands where they trembled in your lap.
your fingers curled instantly, too proud as you hid the movement.
it was too late. he’d seen it.
even worse, he’d felt it.
“i didn’t know.” he stated lowly and you froze.
your eyes flickered up, “what?”
his tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, expression unreadable.
“at first,” he clarified, “i didn’t know what it did to you.”
your chest tightening, knowing what he was referring to and his words didn’t soothe you in the slightest.
“and after?”
in fact, it made it all worse.
especially as he said nothing.
your face fell slightly, all the anger in you cooling into something quieter and melancholic.
“after, you knew.”
his gaze remained on you as his fingers flexed once against his thigh, “yeah, i knew.”
your eyes burned and you hated yourself for it. you hated that it still hurt despite knowing already, you hated that hearing him say it aloud made it real in a way the bond never had.
“why?” you asked, the one word absolutely humiliating as much as it was devastating.
sukuna looked away first and somehow, that hurt too, “because it was easier.”
your lips parted faintly, “easier?”
he lout out a grunt, “if you hated me, you wouldn’t look for me.”
the words settled between you like something deadly.
for a second, you genuinely couldn’t speak.
then you did, “that is the stupidest, shittiest thing i’ve ever heard.”
hsi eyes snapped back to yours, scowling, “careful.”
“oh, fuck you!” you hissed lowly, “you don’t get to do that! you don’t get to hurt me on purpose and then act like it was some noble sacrifice.”
his jaw tightened, “it wasn’t noble.”
“yeah, no shit.”
“it was necessary.”
you laughed once, incredulous, “necessary? well, congrats, you got what you wanted, i absolutely fucking despise you.”
sukuna’s jaw clenched, eyes glaring at you, “good. because you don’t know shit about me, this saves us both the hassle.”
“i don’t know you?” you shot back, “i know you more than anyone, probably. i know your body hurts more often than they don’t. i know you clench your jaw when you’re mad. i know you can’t sleep because of your nightmares and unless somebody practcially forces your nervous system to shut down, you could go days without it. i know you’re so angry at the fucking world, it makes you so hateful.”
sukuna went still, too still.
you swallowed hard, eyes burning once more, “and i know that for years, i was the one cleaning up the damage you left behind.”
his eyes darkened, “cleaning up?”
“yes,” your voice cracked despite yourself, “me. i was the one hugging myself to sleep because you wouldn’t. i was the one stretching every morning because your body always felt like fucking concrete. i was the one coloring like a goddamn toddler at three in the morning because it was the only thing that made your anger stop choking me!”
sukuna said nothing and you hated that even more.
you wanted him to argue back, to answer, to fucking care.
“do you know how pathetic that feels?” you whispered, “taking care of someone who kept hurting me?”
his expression shifted, barely, but you felt it again.
the guilt, even deeper this time.
sukuna looked at you like he wanted to say something cruel and couldn’t quite manage it, settling with, “you didn’t have to do all that.”
your laugh came out watery, tears now trickling down your heated cheeks.
fuck, you felt nauseous, you felt so fucking sick.
“yeah, i know that now.”
something passed across his face then, a flicker of pain so quick, you almost missed it.
but the bond didn’t allow you to miss anything. you felt it bloom in your own chest, sharp and unwanted. his.
for one terrible second, you almost let it soften you.
almost.
because there it was again.
that tiny, stupid sliver of hope you’d spend years nurturing because it was the only thing that kept you mildly sane.
the one that whispered that maybe he wasn't all cruelty. maybe there was something beneath all that violence and pain.
maybe the boy who held a hot water bottle to his stomach when your cramps got bad had to exist somewhere inside the man sitting in front of you.
you looked at him then, through your blurry vision, really and truly looked.
the hard line of his jaw, the coldness in his eyes and the casual arrogance sitting across his shoulders like armor.
and that hope crumbled quietly inside your chest.
not dramatically or all at once, but piece by piece, like something old finally accepting it had been dead for a long time.
utter disappointment filled you then. you should have known better.
this shouldn't be surprising.
sukuna had spent years telling you exactly who he was, painting you the worst image of himself and you had hoped it was just that.
the worst of himself.
except the worst was all of him.
sukuna was cruel. not because he didn’t know better but because he did.
because he’d known what hurt you and decided hurting you was easier than wanting you.
you swallowed around the ache in your throat, suddenly exhausted in a way a thousand years of sleep couldn’t fix.
all you wanted was to be home now, cuddled up with ani in your room alone.
“right,” you whispered, nodding once to yourself.
sukuna’s brows pulled together slightly, “right what?”
you pushed yourself to your feet, smoothing trembling hands over the front of your skirt because you needed something to do. anything that didn’t involve looking at him.
“this was enlightening.”
his eyes narrowed, “sit down.”
the command sparked something sharp beneath your ribs, the thorn twisting in your heart.
you let out a hollow laugh, “fuck you.”
his jaw flexed, “don’t make a scene.”
your name left him then and you hated the way your stomach fluttered at the melody of it in his voice.
fuck, your heart hurt.
because he was your soulmate. yours.
because some sick, twisted part of you had expected the universe to redeem itself when you finally found him.
you expected the first moment to feel like every story you’d grown up hearing, witnessed amongst your friends.
warmth, recognition and relief.
instead, you were standing in front of the man who had turned your body into a battlefield and your heart into collateral damage.
“i hope i never see you again.”
something flickered across his face then and you didn’t stay long enough to decipher it.
you turned around, the crowd swallowing you almost immediately as you walked away.
music slammed back into your skull, bodies pressing close as you pushed through them with shaking hands and blurred vision.
your chest felt too tight, lungs too small for the oxygen your body ached for.
behind you, you felt sukuna rise before you saw it. the immediate pull.
his presence growing closer and your heart stuttered stupidly.
some miserable, pathetic part of you sparked alive at the thought before you could kill it.
maybe he did care.
maybe he was going to take back all the words he regretted, that he would stop you and apologize properly this time.
he would say what you’ve been waiting years to feel.
the thought was so humiliating, it almost made you sick.
“fuck are you lookin’ at?!”
you heard his voice aimed at the crowd of people that were watching you both, probably since your conversation on the couch.
you shoved through the door and stepped into the narrow hallway outside the main room, the music muffling instantly behind you.
the air was cooler here, damp with rain and cigarette smoke, blue neon bleeding through the cracked windows at the end of the corridor.
you took in a breath like you hadn’t breathed in days, eyes shutting as your heart hammered against your chest, trying to simply process everything that had taken place.
“hey.” his voice followed you out and you froze, heart stilling.
stupid, traitorous thing.
you turned slowly, eyes fluttering open.
sukuna stood a few feet away, tall and shadowed beneath the hallway light.
away from the party, he seemed even more dangerous. less like a person and more like a warning your body had spent seven years failing to understand.
he was an enigma.
for one breath, neither of you spoke.
your hope stood there too, fragile and shaking, fucking pitiful.
waiting.
sukuna’s gaze dragged over your face once, catching on the wetness beneath your eyes and his expression tightened faintly.
say it, you thought bitterly.
say sorry! say you didn’t mean it!
say something!
his jaw worked once, “no one can know.”
your brows furrowed, the hope dying cleanly.
“excuse me?”
sukuna stepped closer, voice lower now.
his mouth opened to clarify when his gaze met your own once more.
your wide glassy eyes. your pretty face that was streaked with tears, your plump bitten lips.
the little sniffles that left you, making his ribs ache.
and suddenly, he froze, the words stuck in his throat.
fuck, he had to get it together.
“about this.”
your lips parted faintly, “about us?”
the word us felt absolutely pathetic in your mouth.
all too soft and hopeful. undeserved, even.
something in his eyes shifted at the sound of it but it was gone before you could hold onto it.
“there is no us.”
oh. you actually felt that one.
not through the bond, nor as some phantom ache borrowed from him.
the pain was yours, all yours.
you laughed once, quiet and disbelieving as you took a small step back, “wow…”
sukuna followed you, taking one step forward as his jaw clenched, “listen to me-”
“no,” you shook your head slowly, voice trembling, “no, i think i understand perfectly.”
sukuna’s eyes darkened, “you really don’t.”
“oh my god,” you shook your head, “i can’t believe i thought-”
you stopped, humiliation burning up your throat.
sukuna stared, taking a step closer, his chest now brushing your chin, “thought what?”
his voice was almost desperate and you swallowed, blinking hard, “nothing.”
his face tightened and he felt it anyway, of course he did.
the hope and hurt.
the fact that some tiny, unbearable part of you had wanted him to come after you because he simply couldn’t let you leave.
sukuna looked away first as you took a step back. fucking coward.
“it’s dangerous.” he stated as you stared at the side of his face.
“dangerous?”
“yes.”
“for who?”
his gaze cut back to yours, “for you.”
you almost laugh but he continued before you could.
“people know me and if they know about you, they’ll use you. you make me weak.”
the words landed colder than you'd expected.
sukuna watched you closely, as if waiting for the fear to register and maybe it did.
somewhere deep, deep down, but anger got there first.
“so that’s what this is?” you whispered, tears leaving you without you noticing, “damage control?”
his silence was answer enough and you nodded faintly, tears burning hot once more.
“right.”
“you need to keep your mouth shut about it.”
you flinched before you could stop yourself and sukuna paused, regret flashing through instantly.
“don’t talk to me like that.” you stated lowly and his jaw clenched.
“i’m trying to keep you safe.”
“oh, how big of you.”
the hallway seemed to shrink around you both.
outside, rain tapped gently against the glass.
inside, bass thudded like a second heartbeat through the walls.
you looked at him then, this man that fate had tied to you with an invisible string and cruelty dressed up as destiny. and for the first time since you’d felt him at sixteen, you stopped wondering what it would be like to find him.
because now you knew and god, you wish you didn’t.
it felt like losing something you’d never even had.
“is that all?” you questioned lowly, clearing your throat once.
sukuna stared at you, nose flaring and throat bobbing once, “yeah.”
another piece of you gave out as you nodded, “okay.”
the word was so calm, it made his eyes sharpen.
you turned away, walking past him but his hand caught your wirst before you could take full step.
skin met skin and the bond went silent, completely and utterly silent.
no buzzing or aching or distance.
just him, all warm and real. terribly real.
your breath hitched at his touch. it was the first time he’d ever touched you.
sukuna froze too, fingers wrapped around your wrist like he’d touched fire and couldn’t make himself pull away.
for one second, just one, all the cruelty fell quiet.
and you felt him beneath it, scared and lonely, wanting and waiting.
you felt it and you hated him for letting you feel it now.
slowly, you looked down at his hand then back up at him, “let go.”
his grip tightened by a fraction, “this is the best thing for the both of us.”
your face crumpled before you could stop it.
you pulled your wrist free and this time, he let you.
“oh, trust me, not having to be stuck with you? i couldn’t agree more.” venom laced your words as sukuna’s expression changed, tightened and you felt the hurt then.
sharp and immediate and you were glad for it.
you turned and walked away then, tears streaming down your cheeks and a sob left you as soon as you were out of his vicinity.
for the first time, the bond didn't feel like a thread pulling you closer…
it felt like noose.
∞
an | was so late with this but had the worst past few days so SORRY! anyways PLSSS lmk what u think cuz i'm iffy abt the direction of this BUT this is lowk my fav thing i've written omg! this is kinda like a prologue pt2, next chapters will deffo be longer! i cannot wait to write more of these two and sukuna's a dick but bear w him ! also each chapter in the masterlist will be titled a song and i recommend listening to it while reading for the vibes 🫡
also lowk need toji BAD i wanna give him some lore so lmk if u want a one-shot of him in this au!
synopsis: michael’s shaking with arousal at the mere small of your touch, bringing him close to tears at how much he needs you. he wanted your first time together to be special — but by god, he’s so horny he can’t wait to fuck you. all just from your touch.
warnings: sexual themes, smut, 18+, sub!mike
multiple anon requests! & inspo from this fic by @moonlitjane
A touch — that’s all it took.
A touch to have Michael suppressing a tremble that threatened to break from deep in his soul to travel through his tense body.
A touch that the receiver didn’t even notice they were giving.
Michael swallowed thickly — saliva trickling down his throat so slowly he worried he’d choke. But, anything to save him from the tantalising restraint he was forcing himself upon in this moment.
His eyes flickered over to your relaxed frame — a soft smile evident on your lips as your gaze remained on the TV in front of the pair of you, popcorn being nestled into your mouth.
To a passer-by, the scene was innocent — a young couple, going steady, spending the evening together with a warm, salty snack and their favourite late-night Television show.
What they wouldn’t notice is your leg — your oh so taunting leg that suddenly came up to rest against his own, pressing together so tightly there was no space left between.
Again, to a passer-by, this would be seen as fairly straightforward act from girlfriend to boyfriend — a leg pushed up against one another’s as they practiced close proximity.
But, to Michael, it was an enticing gesture that threatened to break any vices he had.
All because of one touch.
Your warm laughter at a particular humorous scene made Michael jump — something you still failed to notice. His mind, running away with itself at the simple push of one’s leg against his had him spiralling.
You and Michael had been seeing where things go, as they say, with your newly established relationship. You knew as he, being a global superstar and all, had slight experience with female companions in the past, but he’d assured you it was nothing too serious — nothing quite like what he felt for you.
Michael was a darling — something beyond a gentlemen, a gift sent from God himself. Generous, kind, gentle, tender and affectionate — Michael was your man. He treated you with the utmost respect, bowing down to his lady like his life depended on it, tending to any need you wanted, just because he wanted to see you smile.
You were desperately in love.
But, something.
Something was missing.
Something as little as a touch could fix.
You knew Michael was shy, especially so when it came to the topic of sexual activity.
You’d overheard conversations he’d had with his older brothers — Michael being teased for still not making love to his girl, and Michael’s shy, embarrassed response gave you every answer you needed as to why those acts had not occurred yet.
He was nervous.
Nervous beyond words.
Exactly how he felt right now.
You moved again, a subconscious shuffle, readjusting your self in your seat — harmless, right?
Not for Michael.
The way your jeans rubbed against his own, thigh on thigh, had his brain reeling with desire — his heart thumping so loud in his chest he was sure you could hear it. He felt utterly helpless as his body threatened to betray him right next to you.
"Popcorn?"
This time, when Michael physically jumped at your soft voice, you noticed — a playful giggle leaving your lips.
"Someone’s jumpy." You teased, "Everything okay?"
Michael swallowed again — forcing a smile onto his face to maintain his calm and collected persona as he met your sparkling eyes, a wave of infatuation cascading through him.
"A-All good." He forced out through pursed lips, feeling bashful under your gaze.
You hummed in response — clearly suspicious of his response, but choosing to brush past it, as you turned your attention back to the TV.
Michael let out a silent, shaky breath he didn’t know he was holding — his eyes fluttering shut momentarily as he composed himself. He was 20 years-old for Christ sake and was stuttering and blushing in front of his girl like he was a frigid adolescent.
"Knew something was up."
Michael jolted in his seat, eyes shooting open as they met your own, a knowing smirk on your face. But, what didn’t you didn’t realise and what he knew would make matters worse — was your manicured hand resting innocently on his clothed thigh.
Oh, Lord.
The one thing Michael was dreading in his passionate state of pining was the intimate feeling of your beautified nails on his strained leg. Your soft, perfect skin against him properly, no more denim on denim, his girl’s real-life hand, metaphorically burning a hole into his jeans.
Dreading it purely as he knew his traitorous cock would stiffen at the mere touch of your loving hands on his tensed leg.
And that it did.
"Hm?" He croaked out, voice breaking in his throat. Jesus, Michael, he thought.
"You’re tired, aren’t you?" You observed, incorrectly, "Shall we head up to bed?"
In your head, that translated to getting ready to fall into a slumber you assumed Michael needed. In Michael’s corrupted brain, he instantly went to the other activities couples get up to in bed.
With a bite of his bottom lip, his timid gaze flickered down to your hand, now rubbing comforting circles on his stiff leg. If there wasn’t a tent in his trousers before, there definitely was now.
You giggled softly at his shy demeanour, taking his warm hand in your own, missing the way his breath hitched, "Come on, I wanna get cosy."
Michael obeyed as you stood up, dragging him with you — your hand still encased in his, leading him towards the stairs. Humming as you flicked off the lights in each hallway, Michael gnawed his bottom lip continuously, anticipation radiating off him like heat.
Michael’s bedroom was relaxation encapsulated — dim, warm lighting, a record player waiting for his own beautiful voice to fill the room and a beautiful, large four-poster bed adorned with clean, cream linen sheets, almost begging to be used.
You sighed softly as Michael pressed the door closed, your hands disconnecting, a whine threatening to leave his lips at the sudden loss of connection, before you reached for the hem of your t-shirt. With your front turned to him, your nimble fingers began lifting your shirt over your head.
Michael gasped, turning his head the other way before his eager eyes came in contact with your bare skin. His heart drummed in his chest at the near vision of your breasts, the tent in his trousers throbbing at the thought.
You laughed lightly, "Michael?”
He huffed softly, words suddenly failing him as he still refused to look your way, "Y-You can’t just do that." He admitted, his voice laced with defeat.
You let your shirt fall from your fingers, back to its original placement around your middle, "What? Get changed?"
"Yes." Michael’s voice was one octave away from a whine.
"Why not? I’m your girlfriend, aren’t I?"
"Well, yes."
"And you’ve seen them before, haven’t you?"
Michael’s ears burnt at the thought, "Clothed but I suppose yes."
You chuckled at his frame — facing the window as still as statue, like he had committed a crime and was damned to never move again unless he wanted instant death. He looked utterly hopeless — his eyebrows furrowed nervously and his hands shaking at his hands at the mere idea you were threatening to get bare in front of him.
"Michael." You muttered, approaching him slowly, raising a hand to cup his red-hot cheek, burning with need, "I don’t mind you lookin’"
He shook his head rapidly, "I can’t."
You gently manoeuvred his face to look you in the eye, the visible bob of his throat highlighted his anxiousness, "Baby." You chuckled breathily, "Why not?"
"Because if I do, then I’ll wanna do things to you I shouldn’t."
Now you were the one whose breath was hitching in their throat. Your eyes widening slightly in shock at your ever so timid boyfriend’s words — you had been taking this slow as you knew he was new to sensual acts, as were you, but the way he was speaking had your clit twitching at the possibility of him being ready to go all the way.
"Michael." Your voice was quiet, tender — anticipating his next words as the unpredictability of him increased.
Your hand slid down his cheek, to the back of his neck, your fingers lacing through his curls that tapered the nape — a whine of need slipped past his lips that sent shivers down your spine.
His forehead dropped to yours — his body twitching at the feeling of your slender fingers twirling his tiny ringlet curls around each digit, the relentless feeling of undeniable arousal spreading through him like a rash.
Now flush against his body, heat exuding from him like a scolding furnace perforating your own skin, your clothed cunt was deliciously pressed against the reason Michael was so tetchy. You leaned up — pressing your needy lips against his own, a whine of pure joy emitting from Michael’s throat as you connected. His hands pressed against the small of your back tentatively, pushing you closer to him, if that was at all possible, as he pushed his tongue into your mouth. You gasped into him at his boldness, the desperate side of him blossoming at the mere touch of your lips.
His ever-growing, throbbing cock pushed against your crotch so perfectly, if your clothes weren’t on, he’d have slotted between your slick folds like a puzzle piece. A quiet whimper ripped from your throat at the feeling of him — hard and thick, a statement of his lust.
You peered up at him once more, disconnecting your lips, as your heart skipped a beat at the sight — Michael’s bottom lip pulling down in a pout, cheeks flushed pink, paired with his beautiful eyes brimming with tears at the overwhelming desire his body was yearning for.
"Oh, baby." You whispered, your fingers instinctively curling against his skin, the longing to protect and please him growing in your chest at his teary-eyed expression.
"I’m sorry." Michael whimpered, pressing his clothed boner into your body, "Can’t help it. Just wanna feel you."
Your knees nearly buckled at the submission he was providing you — his whiny, needy persona had you buzzing, your mind running away with itself.
"Honey, it’s okay." You reassured, his puppy-dog eyes meeting your reassuring ones, "Let me make it better."
Michael nodded quickly, his furrowed eyebrows deepening as you fell to your knees in front of him — his mouth falling agape at the sight of you below him. The most you’d ever done was desperately hump one another, clothed, before mutual orgasming in your underwear — you’d never seen one another fully bare before, let alone have him in your mouth. Just as your eager reached for the buckle on his slacks, his hands grasped yours, swiftly but gently.
"Wait — I-I can’t make you strain yourself for me." He revealed, worriedly.
You smiled lovingly up at him, the reminder that no matter how aroused he was — he was still that perfect gentlemen underneath.
"Just for tonight — since it’s so uncomfortably hard for my baby."
Michael thought for a second — his brain fighting his gentlemanly instincts against his pleasure-hungry opponent, before nodding once more, giving you all the consent needed. Your hands worked quickly — the buckle of his smart trousers coming undone and being pushed down his legs, along with his boxers, before he could even register.
You gawked at the sight before you — Michael’s thick, heavy cock bobbing in your face, pre-cum drooling from the flushed tip keenly. Your lips fell open, subconsciously begging to have him slip inside your mouth, as you admired his manhood. Michael groaned above you in embarrassment — his hands coming up to cover his blushing face, the sight of you marvelling at his hard-on had him bashful.
With a shaky wrist and a glob of saliva, your hand wrapped delicately around his shaft — the noise that left Michael’s covered lips had you rubbing your thighs together. Your slick palm instrumentally pumping him, up and down, up and down, up and down, dangerously slow. He was a mess above you — arms around his head, buried into his inner elbow as he whined, pushing his lips into your enclosed fist, the sensation of his throbbing cock fucking your lubricated hand had his knees threatening to buckle.
Your lips encased around Michael’s tip without warning — sending the poor boy into shock. His hand flew to your head, entangling his long fingers in your hair as you slid him deeper into your warm, wet mouth.
The feeling that did send Michael’s knees buckling was when your eager tongue, cock still 5 inches deep in your throat, traced the pulsing vein underneath his shaft.
Michael crumbled to the bed, his bare backside hitting the mattress in a tumble — his mewls of burning desire failing to mimic his fall, but only increasing as you hummed in surprise around him, your hands grasping at his meaty thighs at the sudden flail.
In the chaos of his collapse, Michael’s pulsating dick forced itself perfectly at the back of your throat — all of his inches slithering into your willing mouth. You cried around him — tears now brimming the corners of your eyes as Michael yelped beneath you, succumbing to the feeling of his tip abusing your uvula. The rumble of your wail around him had Michael purring out whimpers of pure ecstasy, revelling at the feeling of you gagging around his cock.
Michael could sense the climb of his climax becoming increasingly clearer — his shaking hands coming up to slide your mouth off of him. With a huff of desperation, his antsy voice sounded in your ears.
"Please — wanna do it inside you."
Nodding restlessly, climbing up his seated frame — pushing his chest back against the bed to lay him down fully. Standing, you slithered out of your clothes — your bare body rendering Michael speechless as your glorious hips, tits and waist hit his vision. Finally, you climbed out of your undergarments — pulling your damp panties off your quivering legs, holding them in your hand as you crawled to slide either side of his hips.
"Open." Your commanding voice had Michael throbbing against his stomach — his cock achingly hard as he obeyed you willingly, sliding his mouth open.
As your enthused hand wrapped around his base, sliding his drooling tip between your folds — your hands crawled to his face, obsessing over the needy expression on his face.
"Be a good boy for me and stay quiet, okay? Gonna make my baby feel so much better."
Cramming your damp panties into his keen mouth, you stuffed your wavering cunt full of his cock — a predictable groan of his relief filling the material. Michael revelled at the taste of your arousal his tongue as he stretched your cunt to the sheer size of him — the sweet, tangy essence of you clouding his taste buds. His hands shook against your hips where he gripped you so tight you were certain bruises would be remain. You too let the tremor of pleasure possess your body as Michael stuffed you full to the brim, his tip dripping against your fertile cervix.
Your name fell from his lips like a prayer as you began to move, lifting yourself from his pelvis in a slow, teasing movement that had him whining beneath you in despair.
"Please, please — God, oh, baby, please." He cooed, spitting your panties from his mouth, saliva coating his lips and chin, chest heaving, "God—I love you, I love you so much—So good to me, sweet girl, fuck, oh—“
He was blabbering — like his mind had turned to mush at the pure stimulus of his dick, relishing as you bounced on him. Your tits jerking with every leap, a fucked-out expression on your face and the way your cunt clenched around him had his head pounding. You were literally fucking him dumb.
"God, Michael — cock’s so perfect." You cried, leaning down to press a kiss to his swollen lips, "Feels so good."
Michael whimpered on your mouth, "Thank you, God, baby, thank you, thank you." He chanted, his hand sliding around to grasp a handful of your ass, "N-Never felt anything like this in my life — you’re angelic."
His praise sent floods of adoration through your veins, your cheeks flushing as you admired the beautiful man beneath you — his own cheeks reddened, lips swollen and slick with his spit and your juices, and his eyes a needy, silent plea of arousal.
Michael grew curious — temptation taking over he slid a careful hand around your body, his agile fingers latching to the agonised nub that was begging for touch the most. You exclaimed in delight as Michael’s eager fingers rubbed tight, practised circles on your clit.
"Oh, Michael." You murmured, your hands sliding down his heaving chest, "Doing such a good job, baby."
"Yeah? Am I doing good, mama?"
"So good, darling — gonna make me fucking cum around your cock."
"Oh, Lord." Michael squeaked, his lips slipping under his teeth as a way to suppress his submissive noises.
You could tell he was close by the glint in his eyes — so eager, desperate, longing to fill your tight cunt up to the brim with his hot seed. But, you, unbeknownst to your betraying body, came in surprise. The orgasm hit you like a train at a thousand miles per hour — your legs shaking at his hips, your mouth wide open as noises of theatrical ecstasy slipped from deep within your chest. Michael whimpered at the mere sight of you cumming around him — the feeling of your clenching cunt, now forming a white, frothy ring of sweet nectar around the base of his cock, had him peaking, too.
Though, Michael came a lot more desperately than you.
"Oh, Lord, god, please forgive me for I have sinned." He cried, tears streaming down his cheeks, head thrown back against the sheets as he held you tighter, pulling your body down against his chest as he squeezed his eyes shut, "Lord, please, God — forgiv—"
His orgasm rendered him mute — his voice shutting off as he moaned louder than you ever had, bewitched by the sensation of your cunt milking him for all he’s worth. He stuffed your quivering pussy to the brim — his never-before sexually released seed squelching out the side of where you connected, cum drooling from both of you, pooling on his abdomen.
Michael’s tears soon subsided, sniffling as he nuzzled deep into your neck, rubbing his face into your sticky skin — wanting nothing more than to be as close to you as possible, doing so by keeping his softening cock inside your stretched cunt. Your gentle hands, shaking with the aftermath of your climax, came up to stroke his sweat-stricken curls, cooing him to calmness.
"You okay, sweet boy?" You spoke quietly, your voice hoarse from all the screaming — cupping his face to lock your eyes.
Michael knew he could’ve said a thousand words to show his adoration and pure appreciation of how you just blew his mind and rocked his world all in the space of an hour, but instead he met your gaze with a hazy, fucked-out expression on his gorgeous face, and spoke two words he’d been meaning to say all night that he felt were more fitting.
"Thank you."
i got this idea from another creators fic, but can’t for the life of me find the user. if anyone knows who it is pls lmk!!! reqs are open! edit: found it!!
synopsis: michael notices that his brothers find his girlfriend hot and he gets jealous, proving to them that you’re all his.
warnings: marlon attempting to flirt with you, jealous michael, angry sex, fingers in mouth (bring it back), overhearing, smut, dom michael, that’s genuinely just dada.
a/n: guys i’m sorry i’m ovulating i don’t know what came over me with this one. i got a little carried away.
you, michael and his brothers—tito, jackie, jermaine, marlon, and randy—were all having a pool day at hayvenhurst as it was a hot summer day. all six boys were dressed in their swim trunks, you were dressed in a skimpy red bikini that sat on your body perfectly.
michael’s eyes were fixed on you as you emerged from the house in your red bikini. the colour complimented your sun-kissed skin, and the string ties on the sides accentuated your curves.
his brothers all looked your way as you walked out the door, walking towards them—tito let out a low whistle, jackie raised his eyebrows, jermaine smirked, and marlon sat up straight in his lounge chair—michael felt a surge of possessiveness he hadn’t experienced before.
as you walked towards michael, his eyes darkened with desire and jealously. he knew his brothers were checking you out—your long legs, your toned stomach, and your tits that sat perfectly—he wanted to throw a towel over you and carry you inside. “baby,” he called out softly.
you heard michael’s soft call and looked over at him, a warm smiling spreading across your face. his eyes were dark, intense—focused on you with that hungry look he only ever showed when they were alone—you walked over to him, sitting on a lounge chair.
“what’s up?” you asked, tilting your head slightly at him.
before michael could answer, his brothers were making their presence known, clearly appreciating the view. marlon was the boldest, sliding his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose to get a better look, his eyes shamelessly sweeping over your body.
“damn, mike,” marlon called out with a teasing grin, leaning back on his elbows. “where have you been hiding her?”
michael’s jaw tightened, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. he stepped closer to you, his hand finding the small of your back possessively as he pulled you against his chest. “she’s not hidden anywhere, marlon,” michael said, his voice tight with restrained irritation. “she’s mine. has been for two years.”
marlon just laughed, clearly not taking michael’s warning seriously. “relax, mike. we’re just admiring the view.” he grinned, pushing michael’s buttons on purpose.
tito chuckled from his lounge chair, flipping through a magazine but clearly paying attention. “marlon, you’re gonna get your ass kicked today.”
jermaine smirked, swirling the drink in his hand. “can you blame him though? that bikini is doing something to me.” he said, joining in on the teasing.
jackie joined inc leaning forward on his knees. “mike, you better put a collar on her man. we’re all thinking the same thing.” the competitive teasing among the brothers was escalating and michael’s body was rigid against yours, his hand tightening on your waist as he pulled you flush against his wet chest.
his lips brushed against your ear, voice dropping to that whisper that you knew meant he was dangerously jealous. “ignore them, baby. they’re just being stupid.” but his hands were already sliding lower, his fingers playing with the strings of your bikini bottoms possessively.
marlon wasn’t done with his teasing, standing up and stretching deliberately. “two years, huh?”
you rolled your eyes at the brothers’ antics, used to their teasing by now. you wrapped your arms around michael’s neck, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw to calm him down. “pay them no mind,” you murmured, nipping lightly at his earlobe.
michael’s breath hitched at your touch, his eyes fluttering briefly closed before he opened them again, dark with desire and frustration. he cupped your face with one hand, thing brushing over your lip. “i wish they’d shut the fuck up,” he whispered.
marlon laughed like he knew exactly what he was doing. “two years and she’s still not as when you first snatched her. you fucking that every night?” everyone went silent. michael’s body stiffened dangerously. “marlon…” tito warned.
michael’s eyes narrowed to dangerous slits, his fingers stilling on your waist. he didn’t answer marlon’s crude question. instead, he grabbed your wrist and turned toward the door. “mike, we were just playing!” jackie called out, but michael didn’t turn back.
without a word, michael dragged you into the house, his strides long and purposeful. he didn’t stop until he reached his bedroom, kicking the door shut behind you. once inside, he stood in front of you, chest heaving with angry breaths.
“i swear to god, ive never wanted to punch marlon more in my life,” michael muttered, pacing away from you. he was jealous and clearly trying not to explode. “that was so disrespectful.” he ran a hand through his curls.
you watched him pace, knowing he needed to cool off. when he finally paused, you stepped up behind him, pressing a soft kiss between his shoulder blades. michael’s shoulders sagged slightly, his voice strained. “don’t touch me right now, okay?”
he sounded mean, but you knew it wasn’t directed at you. you kept kissing his back softly, his shoulders, his neck. michael didn’t push you away. he groaned instead, his body relaxing gradually. “baby, stop,” he muttered softly, but his voice lacked real irritation.
“i’m not stopping until you stop being so mad at your brothers,” you murmured against his damp skin, your lips trailing down his spine.
michael exhaled sharply, his hands bracing against the dresser. “they were looking at you like they wanted to fuck you,” he admitted in a low, wounded tone. “and marlon…”
“and marlon was being an asshole,” you finished for him, your fingers working to massage his tense shoulders. “but you’re the one i’m with, mikey. not them. i’m wearing your ring on my finger, not theirs. i’ve been sleeping in your bed for two years.” you pressed closer.
michael turned around slowly, his dark eyes searching your face. the jealousy was still there, simmering beneath the surface, but your words had softened him. he reached out, cupping your face in his hands, his thumbs caressing your cheeks. “two years,” he repeated softly, leaning his forehead against yours. “and you still look at me like that.”
his lips found yours gently, a soft, apologetic kiss meant to reassure rather than arouse. his hands stayed on your face, thumbs brushing over your cheeks as he kissed you slowly, deeply.
you pulled back just enough to breathe, your forehead still resting against his. “you know i only have eyes for you, michael.” you smiled softly, pecking the tip of his nose. “always have. always will. those brothers of yours can look all they want, they’ll never have me.”
michael chuckled softly, the tension finally leaving his body. “yeah, well, i don’t like them looking.” michael admitted, his voice dropping low. “especially marlon, he’s got a dirty mouth.”
you laughed softly, cupping his jaw. “marlon’s a shit-talker, everyone knows that. you’re the only one i want, mikey.”
michael nodded, the last of his jealousy fading away as he looked into your eyes. he took a deep breath, then sighted contentedly, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you closer. “let’s go back downstairs,” he said, resting his chin on top of your head. “i’m sure they’re wondering where we disappeared to.”
you both returned downstairs after a few more calming minutes. the brothers were still by the pool, now joined by randy who’d just arrived. when they saw you both walk out together, the teasing immediately resumed.
“look who finally decided to come back!” marlon called out with a grin. “did you finally get some, mike? you seem less tense.”
michael shot him a death glare but kept his arm wrapped firmly around your waist. “funny. real funny.” he guided you to sit with him on one of the lounge chairs, your back against his chest.
you smiled at marlon sweetly, “actually, yes. your brother is amazing. you should find yourself a good woman instead of staring at other people’s girlfriends.”
marlon laughed, looking away exaggeratedly. “damn, she’s got a sharp tongue.” the other brothers chuckled, knowing marlon deserved it. michael smirked, “that’s my girl” he murmured possessively.
the teasing and joking continued, but michael kept you close, his arm around you all the time. you could tell he was still a bit territorial, but the real anger was gone. when jackie started playing around in the pool, splashing everyone, michael actually laughed.
marlon suddenly dove into the pool, surfacing near you with a mischievous grin. “come on, get in.” he splashed water playfully in your direction. you laughed, standing up from the lounge chair. “oh, you’re on.” you walked up to the edge of the pool and jumped in.
michael watched you with a smile, leaning back on the chair as you and marlon started messing around in the pool. they were just playing, but michael couldn’t help noticing how comfortable you looked with his brothers. you fit in so well with their crazy dynamic.
marlon splashed you playfully, ducking when you tried to retaliate. “come on, princess, let’s see what you got!” he teased, grinning widely. you wiped water from your eyes, laughing. “princess? ill show you princess!” you lunged at him, splashing water everywhere as you both splashed around.
marlon caught your wrist as you splashed at him, pulling you closer with a smirk. “you know, you’re even prettier when you’re mad.” he lowered his voice, leaning in slightly. “ever thought about dating a jackson properly? i could treat you real nice.”
you rolled your eyes, shoving his shoulder. “in your dreams, marlon.”
marlon chuckled, refusing to be deterred. “hey, just saying. michael’s got the temper, but i’ve got the charm.” he winked, making a show of flexing his arms. from the lounge chair, michael leaned forward, his voice carrying across the pool deck. “marlon, keep your charm to yourself before i drown you.”
marlon raised his hands in surrender, laughing as he floated backward. “i’m just playing, mike! damn, can’t a man compliment his brothers girl?” he shot you a wink. “you look better wet anyway, sweetheart.”
you laughed, splashing water directly into marlon’s face. “keep dreaming, marlon.”
marlon wiped water from his face dramatically, then swam closer to whisper in your ear. “but seriously, princess. when this inevitable blow-up happens, you know where to find me.” his hand brushed your waist under the water.
before you could respond, michael was already in the pool, coming towards you and marlon. michael grabbed marlon’s shoulder, his grip tight. “i swear, marlon, if you’re hitting on my girl…” his voice was deadly calm. “i’ll break every bone in your body.” he then looked at you, “baby, come here.”
you didn’t hesitate, swimming away from marlon and straight into michael’s waiting arms. he wrapped them around you securely, glaring daggers at his brother. “keep your hands to yourself,” michael warned him, kissing your temple. marlon held his hands up, splashing water innocently, “i was just playing!”
michael scoffed, pulling you closer. “yeah, right. you’ve been flirting with her since she got here.” he buried his face in your neck, his possessiveness on full display. “i’m not stupid. i can see what you’re doing.”
marlon grinned unapologetically, swimming backward. “and what if i am? she’s gorgeous. any man would try his luck.” he looked at you appreciatively. “those legs, that smile…damn, mikey. you got yourself a keeper.”
michael’s arms tightened around you possessively, but you could tell he was trying not to explode. he took a deep breath, “marlon, shut up and go flirt with someone else. like jackie’s girlfriend. she seems into your smooth talk.”
after a few more minutes of acting like kids in the pool, everyone finally climbed out of the pool. you wrapped yourself in a towel, sitting on one of the lounge chairs next to michael. everyone sat close, drying off and chatting casually. marlon sat closest to you and on your other side.
marlon stretched out on the lounge chair next to you, propping himself up on his elbow. “you know, i bet you look even better without this towel.” he smirked at you, eyes trailing down your body lazily. michael’s jaw clenched so hard you heard it.
marlon reached over and tugged lightly at the corner of your towel. “just a peek, princess? come on”
that’s when michael snapped. he was off the lounge chair in an instant, grabbing marlon by the collar and yanking him up. “touch her one more time with that tiny dick energy and i’ll leave you floating in the pool with a broken jaw.”
marlon laughed, holding his hands up in surrender. he was used to pushing michael’s buttons, but he knew when to back off. “whoa, okay! jeez, you’re touchy about your girl. i was just messing with you.” he grinned mischievously.
michael slowly released marlon’s collar but didn’t look away. “if you ever pull that shit again, i don’t care if we’re brothers. got it?” his voice was low and dangerous. marlon raised his hands, still smirking. “got it, mike. god, possessive much.” he flopped back onto his chair dramatically.
you laughed softly, shaking your head at the two of them. michael kissed your forehead then sat back down, pulling you onto his lap. “ignore him. he’s got no self-control.”
marlon shot back, “me? days the guy who nearly murdered me for complimenting his girl.” michael rested his chin on your shoulder, “you were doing more than complimenting.”
marlon rolled his eyes, grabbing his sunglasses form the side table. “i’m going in to get the rest of them. at least they appreciate my presence.” he sauntered off towards the house, calling over his shoulder, “call me if you get tired of mr. grumpy!”
once the house quieted down and the brothers filtered inside, michael was still angry. he stood up, taking your hand firmly. “come on. upstairs. now.” his tone left no room for argument.
you followed him up the stairs, noticing how tightly he gripped your hand. you reached his bedroom, he kicked the door shut behind you.
michael paced the room, running his hands through his damp hair. he looked frustrated, jaw tight. “i swear, if he touches you again—“ he stopped, turning to face you. “why did you let him get away with it? you laughed it off like it was nothing, as if you liked it.”
you smirked, knowing what game you could play with this. you crossed your arms over your chest, grinning. “maybe i did like it. maybe i liked how he touched me in the pool.” you watched michael’s face darken with anger, exactly the reaction you wanted. “what if i want him to do it again?”
michael stood in front of you, his face inches from yours. he was breathing heavily, his jaw clenched. “don’t test me. you know exactly what will happen if you let him touch you again.” his voice was low and dangerous.
you tilted your head, looking up at him through your lashes. “or what, michael? you’ll hit your own brother? break his jaw like you threatened?” you stepped closer, poking his chest. “maybe i like making you jealous.” michael grabbed your hand, pinning it against his chest. “you think this is funny?”
his grip tightened slightly around your wrist. “you think my possessiveness is a joke?” he backed you up until your legs hit the edge of the bed, forcing you down. “i don’t share. period. and i sure as hell won’t share you with my brother.” he leaned over you, caging you in with his arms.
michael’s breathing was heavy, his eyes dark with jealousy as he hovered over you. “you’re mine. do you understand me?” his voice was rough, desperate. “i can’t stand the thought of anyone else touching you.”
you could feel his anger and jealousy radiating off him in waves. you looked up at him calmly—even though you were anything but calm, you were extremely turned on by the jealous side of him that you had never seen before—a small smile playing on your lips. “prove it then,” you whispered, leaning back on your hands, spreading your legs slightly in a silent challenge. “if you’re so jealous, prove it.”
michael’s eyes darkened further at your challenge. he didn’t hesitate. one moment he was hovering over you, the next his hands were on your thighs, pushing your legs wider apart as he settled between them. his mouth crashing against yours with a fierce, almost punishing intensity.
his kiss was rough, possessive, and demanding—everything you’d teased him about. he bit your bottom lip hard enough to sting, then soothed it with his tongue. his hands roamed your body possessively, gripping your hips like he was staking a claim.
his hands traced over your bikini clad body, rough and urgent. “i’ll remind you who you belong to all night long.” he marked your neck, marking you where everyone would see. “let him flirt with his heart out when you’re walking around with my markings on you.”
michael’s hand slid under your bikini top, his thumbs brushing over your nipples. “these are mine. not his. never his.” he leaned down, capturing one in his mouth through the fabric, the feeling of his tongue running over you made you gasp.
he wasn’t playing games anymore—he was staking his claim loud and clear.
with a sharp tug, he removed your bikini top altogether, exposing your chest to the cool air and his hungry gaze. his hand immediately replaced his mouth, squeezing and massaging your breast possessively. “if he looks at you again, i’ll rip his eyes out.”
he kissed down your body, tugging at the strings of your bikini bottoms with his teeth. “and if you ever say anything like that to test me again, i’ll make you scream my name so loud the whole house hears you.” his lips found your inner thigh, trialing slow, torturous kisses.
you gasped as his teeth grazed the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, your hands tangling instantly in his curls. “is that a threat or a promise?” you managed to breathe out, arching your hips up towards him. “because i think i like making you jealous.” you looked down at him, biting your lip. “fuck me.”
michael growled low in his throat, his eyes flashing with dark possessiveness. “oh, i’m going to fuck you alright. until you can’t remember your own name, let alone marlon’s.” he ripped the fabric of your bikini bottoms aside, not bothering to untie them properly, his fingers sliding through your wet folds. “wet for me already, baby.”
he slid two fingers inside you, you gasped as his fingers pushed inside you, “god yes—“ michael’s eyes darkened as he leaned in, his mouth replacing his fingers. he ate you out with a desperate, possessive hunger, tongue deep, his hands gripping your thighs like you might try to escape. he wasn’t gentle, but he wasn’t rough—he was obsessed.
his mouth was relentless, sucking and licking like he wanted to devour you. his fingers joined back in, curling inside you as his tongue circled your clit. “michael…michael…” you moaned his name repeatedly, your hands gripping the sheets tightly.
hearing his name fall from your lips like a prayer only made him more possessive. he doubled his efforts, adding another finger and sucking harder on your clit. one hand snaked up to cover your mouth as he muffled your loud moans against his palm since his brothers were still downstairs. “shh…quiet, baby.”
you whimpered against his palm, squirming beneath him as he worked you over mercilessly. his fingers pumped faster, hitting that spot inside you that made your toes curl. “that’s it…take it all.” he murmured against your thigh, feeling you clench around his fingers. your hips buckled upwards, chasing his mouth.
“i can’t—“ michael pressed his hand harder against your mouth to silence your broken moans. “yes you can. come for me.” he curled his fingers just right, sucking harshly on your clit, sending you tumbling over the edge instantly. your body shook violently, your back arching off the bed as you came hard against his mouth. “that’s it…” he praised softly.
michael didn’t stop until your tremors subsided, lapping up every drop of your release before pulling away, his mouth glistening. he kissed his way back up your body, hovering over you as he removed his hand from your mouth. you were breathless, chest heaving, “still think jealously is a joke?”
you were panting hard, eyes dazed and lips parted, still catching your breath. your chest rose and fell rapidly as you looked up at him, a lazy, satisfied smile spreading across your face despite the lingering haze of your orgasm.
“mmm…proving a point, baby.” you whispered, reaching up to trace his jaw.
michael caught your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm before moving lower, trailing his lips down your stomach. “point proven.” he looked up at you, eyes dark with hunger again. “now it’s my turn.”
he stood just long enough to strip off his clothes, revealing his body before lowering himself between your legs.
you watched him, biting your lip as he settled between your thighs. he was hard and thick, the head of his dick pressing against your sensitive entrance. he leaned down to kiss you deeply, swallowing any sounds you might make as he slowly pushed inside. “shhh…quiet baby.”
you gasped into his mouth, your nails digging into his shoulders as he filled you completely. he paused, letting you adjust to his size, his forehead pressed against yours. “you feel so good…” he groaned, his hips twitching forward. “so tight.” he started moving slowly, pulling out until only the tip remained before plunging back in deep.
you threw your head back against the pillow, a choked moan escaping your throat as he set a slow, deep rhythm. your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer. “michael…god…” you whimpered, your fingernails scraping down his back. “please…faster.” you arched your hips up to meet his thrust.
hearing you beg and whimper his name snapped something in him. he grabbed your legs, pushing them back to expose your chest and stomach completely, changing the angle to hit that spot inside you that made you cry out loud.
you bit your lip hard, trying to stay quiet as he pounded into you relentlessly. your thighs trembled around him, your eyes rolling back. “can’t—can’t be quiet—“ you gasped, your back arching off the bed. “feels too good—you’re too deep—“ his grip on your thighs tightened. “i know, baby…”
michael leaned down, his moth hovering over yours as he picked up the pace, each thrust making the headboard bang against the wall. he didn’t seem to care if his brothers heard anymore. “you like this, huh?” he slammed into you hard, hitting that spot inside you over and over. “yes—fuck yes—“
michael swallowed hard, watching you writhe beneath him. your tits bounced with ever thrust, your face contorted with pleasure. he realised something—you were loud as hell when you had sex. like, really loud—he covered your mouth with his hand experimentally, muffling your moans.
you moaned against his palm, the vibrations sending shivers through you. your walls tightened around him involuntarily. “mmph—“ your eyes fluttered shut, overwhelmed by the depth and angle. he removed his hand, replacing it with his mouth, kissing you deeply, swallowing every guttural sound you made.
he broke the kiss, his breathing ragged against your lips as his hips snapped harder into yours. “you gotta be quieter, mama…” he groaned out, though his rhythm didn’t slow down. instead, he went deeper, “they’re downstairs…” he groaned out. “i know—im trying—“
michael suddenly pulled back, his eyes blazing with intense possession. he slipped two fingers into your mouth, pushing them deep as he continued to fuck you. “suck…” he commanded hoarsely, watching your cheeks hollow around his fingers. “keep quiet for me.”
you sucked on his fingers obediently, muffling your moans a little ad he thrusted deeper and faster. tears pricked at your eyes from the intensity, your walls clenching around him relentlessly. “mmph—“ you mumbled around his fingers, your hips meeting his in desperate, hungry thrusts. your orgasm crept upon you unexpectedly, your thighs trembling dangerously.
michael watched you closely, noticing the way your eyes squeezed shut and your jaw clenched around his fingers. he knew exactly what was happening. he spread your legs wider, going even deeper inside you, hitting that spot over and over again as he silently commanded you to come apart around him.
the coil in your stomach snapped violently, your back arching off the bed as you came silently. your walls fluttered and clenched tight around him, your scream muffled perfectly by his fingers buried deep in your mouth. your entire body shook violently, your toes curling tight. “that’s it…” he whispered, fucking you through your release.
michael groaned deeply, feeling your orgasm crash around him. he didnt slow down, determined to chase his own release. his hips snapped harder, faster, his fingers still deep in your mouth as he chased your climax. “come again…for me…” he hissed through clenched teeth, his own pleasure building rapidly.
you gasped for air, your mouth sore from sucking hid fingers as he came down hard inside you. his whole body shuddered, groaning your name against your neck as he spilled deep within you. he collapsed on top of you, breathing heavily, his heart pounding against your chest..
“fuck…” he muttered against your skin, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your shoulder.
you lay there stunned, your body over sensitive and shaking from the intensity of it all. michael’s fingers were still curled inside your mouth as he recovered on top of you. the only sound throughout the whole house was the muffled conversation from downstairs and their laboured breathing.
michael slowly pulled his fingers out of your mouth, watching as you licked your lips, still feeling the ghost of his fingers on your tongue. he pressed a gentle kiss to your mouth as he felt you squirm underneath him, feeling his come leaking out of you.
he rolled off you gently, pulling you into his arms. your body was a mess—hair disheveled, lips swollen, thighs shaking and sticky with sweat and come. he kissed your temple softly. “i’m sorry…i got carried away.”
from downstairs, you could hear the faint voices of his brothers. “mike, you coming down?!”
“two minutes!” he yelled back before getting up and putting on fresh clothes for himself and grabbing you fresh underwear and his oversized tee for you, then getting you a towel. he leans down, softly wiping between your legs, as he comes back up he presses a soft kiss to your lips. “you okay?” he asks softly as he begins dressing you.
you nod your head as you stand up on wobbly legs, attempting to fix your messed up hair.
he watched you closely, making sure you were okay before opening the bedroom door. he stepped out the door, then turned back to offer you his hand.
as you both entered the living room, the chatter died down instantly. all five brothers turned to look at the two of you—michael looking slightly disheveled, your hair messy, lips swollen, and wearing his oversized shirt—their eyes flicked between the two of you, eyebrows raising.
jackie leaned back on the couch, a knowing smirk spreading across his face.
michael tightened his grip on your hand, pulling you closer to his side. he looked at his brothers calmly, his expression neutral. “what?” he asked simply, challenging their stares. he didn’t look guilty or ashamed.
you and michael sat down on the loveseat, his arm wrapping around your shoulders. the silence stretched for a few seconds before jermaine suddenly cleared his throat, his face breaking into a grin.
“oh—oh god, yes” jermaine mimicked, his pitch high and mocking. tito and marlon burst into laughter, echoing the sounds.
jackie joined in, throwing his head back dramatically. “michael…michael…can’t—can’t be quiet—“ he pitched his voice impossibly high, clutching his chest dramatically. “oh, the humanity!”
marlon was practically wheezing, slapping his knee. “i thought the ceiling was gonna come down!”
michael just sat there, letting them mock you both. he didn’t look embarrassed or angry—just amused, trying not to laugh. “you guys are ridiculous.” he laughed out.
you blushed deeply, burying your face in michael’s chest as they continued to laugh and tease you. “i do not sound like that!” you protested weakly, your voice muffled against his shirt. michael just chuckled and kissed your head, enjoying your embarrassment way too much.
marlon wiped tears from his eyes, still giggling. “i was just trying to get him riled up to annoy him…” he grinned sheepishly. “i did not bargain for hearing him put his girlfriend through a mattress!” everyone burst out laughing again, even you and michael.
SYNOPSIS: Michael is nosey nosey noseyyy. After his girlfriend leaves him in her apartment alone, Michael accidentally ends up wandering. He doesn't steal, he's just curious (iykyk).
CONTENT: fluff, super sweet fluff, thriller!Michael, no use of y/n, light teasing, era 1982
Michael was not a snoop. At least, that’s what he always told himself, and others for that matter.
To Michael, a snoop would be someone who looked to find something. Searching and invading other people’s privacy.
But Michael, he was simply, curious. So painfully curious that some would say nosey.
Michael had been this way since a child, innocently curious to the point of mischief. His mother would often chastise him for wandering one door too far, or opening one drawer too many.
But importantly, to Michael there was a difference between a snoop, and a curious simpleton like himself.
To him that difference was very important.
Unfortunately, nobody else seemed to agree. Especially not you.
Sauntering into your living room, you leaned against the door frame with your hand on your hip.
Michael watched you, admiring your walk and the way your hips swayed effortlessly. He slowly trailed his gaze up your frame.
He wasn’t a lustful man, but something about you made him yearn.
“Michael.”
His gaze finally found your face. Your eyebrows were knitted together with frustration. The expression told him everything he needed to know.
“Oh god, she knows” he thought to himself as he nervously bit his lip.
And you did. Immediately, somehow, every time.
"Have you been going through my things?"
Michael had been avoiding eye contact. But now, he looked up from the couch. Far too quickly.
"No."
He answered so fast that even he himself didn’t believe it. You narrowed your eyes, tilting your head as you stared at him.
"Michael."
"I haven't." he said quickly. Then he paused.
"I mean, not really."
Your jaw dropped.
"Not really?"
Sighing dramatically, Michael rubbed a hand over his face. This wasn’t how he planned for this conversation to go.
Ideally, he was hoping the conversation wouldn’t happen at all.
In all fairness, he had every intention to behave himself. He really had. The day started innocently enough.
You'd left for work that morning after reminding him—twice—not to touch anything.
The reminder was accompanied by a hard glare. You knew your boyfriend all too well, and to be frank, he was very nosey.
Michael remembered that look.
It was the same look you gave him when he wandered off into rooms he wasn’t supposed to be in. Or when he opened cabinets and drawers that didn’t belong to him. Or when he just asked entirely too many questions.
Michael was deeply affectionate, and if he could literally fuse with you he would. He yearned to know as much as he could about you, to his detriment.
You bit the inside of your cheek.
“I just know you weren’t going through my stuff while I was gone.”
You raised an eyebrow as you tapped your manicured fingers on your arm.
Michael could have melted into the couch, he was so embarrassed. He hadn’t intended to poke around, but one thing led to another and before he knew it, he was in your closet.
Still, attempting to maintain innocence, Michael smiled innocently and tilted his head.
"Why would I do that baby?"
"Because you're nosy."
"No, I'm curious."
"That's not better."
At the time, Michael had laughed.
Now, several hours later, he was beginning to realize you may have had a point.
The first thirty minutes after your departure had gone well, surprisingly.
He watched television. Ate cereal. Walked around the apartment. Admired the plants you'd somehow managed to keep alive.
Michael was a restless man, and he often need to move his body to be content. Whether it was dancing, or poking around his girlfriend’s apartment, it was just too hard to sit still.
Then he noticed the bookshelf. And the bookshelf wasn't the problem.
The photo sticking out from one of the books was. Michael had only intended to straighten it.
That's all. Just straighten it.
Instead, he'd found himself staring at a photograph of you at sixteen years old.
There was little you. Braces, oversized jacket and the most miserable expression he'd ever seen.
He laughed so hard he'd nearly fallen onto the floor. And after that?
Well.
Things escalated.
One photo album became three. Three became an old memory box. The memory box led to a stack of school papers.
The school papers somehow led to an old wallet of yours. Which led to the ID cards.
Michael had spent nearly twenty minutes sitting cross-legged on your living room rug examining every driver's license photograph you'd ever taken.
Each one demonstrating different periods of your life.
Including your experimental style. Each era somehow worse than the last.
He couldn't stop laughing. He was so tickled.
The woman currently standing in front of him was beautiful. Unfairly beautiful.
The woman in those photographs looked personally victimized by the Department of Motor Vehicles.
"Michael."
His attention snapped back to the present.
"What?"
You pointed to the table in front of Michael.
"Why is my 1979 driver's license on the coffee table?"
Silence. Michael could have kicked himself for forgetting to check all flat surfaces before you came home.
"...I can explain."
You closed your eyes slowly.
Like someone praying for patience.
"I knew it!"
"I wasn't snooping!" Michael exclaimed, holding his shoulders high like a child that had been caught doing just that.
"You are literally holding my old driver's license."
"I was appreciating it."
Your eyes flew open.
"Appreciating it?"
"Yes."
"You were making fun of me."
Michael pressed a hand to his chest.
"I would never."
The offended look on his face lasted approximately two seconds. Then he started laughing again.
You groaned. "Oh my God."
"I'm sorry."
He wasn't. Not even a little.
"Look at this picture."
"No."
"Come here."
"No."
"Please."
“Baby, I’m not trying to embarrass you!” he approached you, gently pulling you to him by your hand. He gingerly wrapped his arms around your waist.
You buried your face in your hands. Michael's laughter softened. When he looked up again, the teasing expression had disappeared.
"Can I tell you something?"
You hesitated.
"What?"
He glanced down at the pile of photographs spread across the coffee table. He gently swayed back and forth with you in his arms, lulling you. His smile grew smaller, gentler.
"I like seeing all this."
Your eyebrows knitted together.
"The embarrassing photos?"
"Everything."
His voice was quiet now. The playful energy replaced by something more sincere.
"The pictures. The old IDs. The report cards."
You stared at him. Michael picked up one of the photographs. You couldn't have been older than ten. Missing front teeth, hair sticking out everywhere. You were grinning proudly while holding a science fair ribbon.
His thumb brushed the edge of the photo.
"This was you before me."
Something in your chest tightened. Michael looked up. His large brown eyes were impossibly earnest.
"I don't know."
He laughed softly.
"I think it's amazing."
"Amazing?"
"Yeah."
He looked around your apartment. At the books. The photographs. The little trinkets scattered throughout the shelves.
All the tiny pieces of you.
"You have all these stories."
He sat down on the couch, gazing at the photos again.
The way he said it made your face grow warm. Not because he was flirting. Because he wasn't.
Not intentionally.
Michael simply had a habit of loving things completely. Most other people would look at something, compliment it, and go on with their day.
Michael was different. He would gaze at things that interested him as if he had never seen anything like it. It was child-like, and one of the things you loved about him. He looked at everything with fresh eyes.
And unfortunately for you, that now included every strange little detail he'd discovered about your life.
Including the terrible driver's license photos. Especially the terrible driver's license photos.
Sitting down next to him, you remarked,
"You're ridiculous."
Michael grinned. He pulled you into his chest, intertwining his fingers with your own.
He pressed a gentle kiss to your head and then your temple.
"You love me."
You rolled your eyes. But neither of you missed how quickly he'd answered. Or how true it sounded.
Husband!Michael who carries you through the doors of Neverland after your wedding. You told him he didn’t have to but he said he wanted to do it like how it is in the movies.
Husband!Michael who comes home from a long day of rehearsal and flops beside you on the couch with a dramatic sigh. His whole body is sore, and he could really use a nice massage from you, but is too stubborn to ask. He keeps sighing loudly and rolling his shoulders with a groan. You side eye him, catching his gaze already on you.
"Michael," you hold his name out, "Do you want me to rub your shoulders?"
He tries to play it off cool, shrugging, "Well, if you're offering then yeah, sure. I guess that would be nice." All the while he's immediately moved to sitting in front of you, waiting patiently for your touch.
Husband!Michael who never ever fails to open the door for you. He never lets anyone beat him to it, and he most certainly doesn't allow you to open the door.
Husband!Michael who constantly takes photos of you, even when you're doing the most mundane of tasks. Reading? Picture. Talking? Picture. Watching a movie? Picture. Breathing? Picture.
Husband!Michael who starts leaving hints that he's ready for a kid. He buys books on parenting, leaving them purposely in plain sight. Talks about how sweet his nieces and nephews are, all while side eyeing you to see your reaction.
One time he was sitting beside you on the couch and without prompting said, "Yknow, you would look really good pregnant. Like really really realllly good."
You look at him like yeah right, but he's looking incredibly serious.
Husband!Michael who runs victory laps around the Neverland estate when you tell him you're pregnant. He’d take a long lap, and run back to you panting.
“you’re positive???”
When you nod he would scream and take yet another lap.
Husband!Michael who immediately starts building a nursery and buying all sorts of baby clothes, despite not knowing the gender. He buys you anything and everything that could help make the process easier for you. You have a whole closet now full of pregnancy balls.
Husband!Michael who just about faints when he first sees the baby through the ultrasound. He held your hand tightly, eyes brimming with tears. The sight of him made you emotional, and you squeezed his hand.
He kneeled beside you and kissed your hand, "I promise you, I will always be here to take care of and cherish you and our baby."
And there wasn't an inch of you that didn't believe him.
I have a story (smut??) idea where Michael (any era idc) and reader are the hottest new celebrity couple in Hollywood but one day Michael makes a sex tape of the two of them and it gets leaked…
Sorry if this isn’t the best description cuz i am not good with explaining things 😭😭
Thank you :)
t/w: 18+ mdni, smut, p in v, oral (f! receiving), sex tape, hair pulling, you get ran through a mattress, choking, mature! era, controversially young gf? soft!dom michael, after the tape leaked no one ever thought he was asexual again and the “are you a virgin?” questions stopped
wc: 2.4k
⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹
You sat on the bed with your hands in your lap, messing with the edge of the glove you wore. A new outfit Michael had bought for you and insisted that you wore.
He was leaving in two days and would be gone for a while, not to mention you were about to go on a press tour for your new movie, and he had been slowly working up your confidence to get you to say yes to making a tape.
A sex tape.
The thought made you blush as you watched him set up the camera, the lens positioned directly at the bed. Your eyes then cautiously trailing to the door— because of course he chose to do this when your family was visiting. Not only that, you two were supposed to go to dinner with them in an hour.
You already felt light headed. Even though it was just you and Michael, you still felt watched. One half of you found it terrifying, the other a little thrilled.
You loved trying new things, especially if he was excited about something.
Thus your current get up of black latex.
Your eyes then flicked down- it was crotchless.
And there you go feeling lightheaded again.
"Okay," Michael muttered, mostly to himself. "I think that's good." He then stepped behind it, checking to see the angle and the grin that stretched his face as he saw you through the monitor was down right fiendish.
“You look beautiful, baby.” He said softly, “I’m gonna start recording now, okay?”
You bit your lip, eyes glancing at the door one last time before you nodded. “Ready.”
That flashing red light started a moment later and you watched in bated breath as Michael lowered his boxers, his lips tilting in amusement at the immediate starstruck look to your gaze.
You barely had time to appreciate the size of his cock when his mouth pressed to yours in a heated kiss, his hands raking along your bare back and you melted against him. His teeth grazed along your bottom lip and opened for him, his wet tongue sliding into your mouth and tracing every inch.
The feel of your breasts pressed against him sent blood all the way down to his already painfully hard cock and he had to hold himself back from grinding into you. Instead he pushed forward, pressing your back down into the sheets. His lips trailed down to your jaw, a hand winding in your hair and he yanked your head to the side to expose your neck, earning a lovely sound from the back of your throat.
Open mouthed, he latched onto your soft skin, sucking and biting lightly, careful not to leave a mark even though he desperately wanted to. That was fine though, he’d mark you a different way.
“We… we need to be quick.” You managed, your fingers burying themselves in his hair.
“Not too quick, I plan to wreck you baby,” he muttered into your skin as his mouth drifted to your collar bones, his free hand coming up to caress and tease your nipples and that made you groan and buck against him, your bare pussy peeking out from the slit in the crotch and sliding against him.
Michael shivered, reeling in his self restraint. “None of that. Keep still.”
Nonetheless, he pushed against you harder and your hips rolled again, causing him to pull on your hair harder and you whimpered, but it only made you more wet. “You’re a needy little thing, aren’t you?”
“All for you, honey.”
He hummed and you yelped as he suddenly hooked a hand under each of your knees and pushed your legs up and out.
You could hear the voices of people passing by down the hall, but you didn’t have time to dwell as Michael lowered his hips and you ground against his length, an electric sort of friction against your clit and you moaned and a groan tore its way up his throat.
His hands dug into your sides and his mouth latched onto your right breast, causing you to arch into him. Your hands came up to hold his head to you, but before you could manage, your wrists were then pinned above you, Michael holding you against the mattress with his hips to yours and he ground into you again. “Don’t try to take control, baby. You don’t want to embarrass yourself.”
“Usually the man finds it hot when the woman takes control.”
“It’s an entertaining thought but I rather like the sight of you writhing beneath me, and I bet you just love it when I do this…” Michael slowly snaked a hand up your throat, his fingers dancing along the soft and vulnerable skin of your throat before his grip slowly tightened.
You could still breathe, but you could feel your pulse thudding violently and you shuddered as he pressed against you again.
“Keep your hands above your head, don’t move them.” He ordered, his voice a caress on your skin and you nodded, eyes heavy as he started to move down your body.
Then his fingers were pulling the latex out of the way, a blissful sigh leaving him as his breath hit your exposed pussy, making you shiver. “God, look at you… your fucking dripping, baby.”
And then his mouth was on you, tongue flattening from the bottom of your opened and dragging up to your clit before he wrapped his lips around it, rolling his tongue in a point and your back arched off the bed. You bit down harshly on your bottom lip, trying to keep your moaning at a minimum and your fingers grasped at the sheets, desperate to reach down into his hair but wanting to do as told.
You felt like your soul was leaving your body as his mouth dragged down, tongue fucking you as his ofher hand came up to play with your clit.
“Michael, please.” Your tone was torn between a moan and a whimper.
“Use your words.”
“I need your fingers—“
He abided immediately, lips dragging back up to your clit while two of his long fingers sunk into you. Dragging and curling up, his pace quick and deep and you threw your head back, feeling euphoric.
You came embarrassingly quickly, the sensation taking you by surprise but then he kept going— his other hand pressing low on your abdomen while he fucking you with his fingers and his tongue flattened on your clit.
“Michael, I feel… what—“
“Come for me, babygirl. I know you can do it again.”
He pressed down on your pelvis just a bit more and you came again, liquid squirting out of you and all over his face and fuck… he looked so pleased.
“Such a good girl for me,” he praised, bringing up his hand to suck his fingers clean as he then settled his hips against yours.
You bit your lip, your gaze becoming even more hungry as you took him in. Like everything else about him, his cock was an impressive length, thick, and the tip flushed as pre-come leaked out.
Brushing his hips forward, the head of his cock slid through your folds and rubbed against your clit, causing a buzzing moan to leave your lips and you rolled her hips forward, desperate for more but his hand danced back up to your throat and tightened. “None of that,” he warned, his dark eyes nearly looked feral as he glanced down at your dripping and awaiting cunt.
Slowly, he began to enter you, not taking his eyes off the way you stretched around him as he sank in.
“Fuck ,” you hissed, throwing your head back against the bed and you felt dizzy with your lower lack of air supply, his hand warm and firm around your neck.
A groan rumbled in the back of his throat, you were so tight but he didn’t stop pushing in until he was at the hilt. Then slowly pulling out, you clenched around him and he bit into your shoulder to bite back his own moan.
Michael’s thrusts were slow and steady, in no hurry and every few seconds his grip on your throat would loosen before tightening again. He rolled his hips forward, stretching you out and his pelvis created friction against your clit and you moaned loudly, momentarily not caring who heard you but his mouth swallowed the sound as he kissed you, wet and opened mouth.
Picking up his pace, his thrusts rammed into you, rocking the bed frame into the wall and the wood groaned in protest.
You continued to moan and whimper into his mouth, your arms tingling and begging to hold onto him. Michael must’ve read your body language and he pulled back, “rest them on my shoulders.”
They fell immediately, your nails digging into his shoulders and your eyes watered as you were temporarily deprived of air.
“You feel so good, baby.”
He shifted the angle of his hips, dragging himself in deep to the point where he hit your cervix. It was painful and wonderful and maddeningly delicious all at once.
Michael tilted his hips forwards and ground into you, his pelvis creating a slippery friction against your clit, then as he pulled out the the head of his cock dragged against that sweet spot and for fuck’s sake you practically screamed.
“Fuck! Do that again, please, oh my-”
Michael clamped a hand over your mouth, not being able to help it as he laughed and he didn’t stop his rough thrusts—
There was suddenly a knock on the door.
“Sweetheart, we’re gonna leave for dinner in about half an hour.” Your dad called through the door. “You okay? Or still getting ready?”
Michael’s cock continued to drag against your inner walls, slamming into you, his grip on your throat tight and tears slipped down your cheeks. He looked at you pointedly before removing his hand from your mouth, instead burying it in your hair as his mouth latched onto your neck.
“Yeah… yeah, I’m okay. I’m still getting ready… fuck-” Michael bit into your neck. “My hair won’t cooperate.” You bit down on your lip so hard to stop yourself from screaming again as his hand left your hair and dragged down to rub tight circles into your clit.
“Do you want your mom to come help?”
“Fuck no,” your voice was breathless and you cleared your throat the best you could, “I’m sorry, I think she’ll stress me out more. I’m okay… God, I’ll be down soon.”
“Okay, sweetheart.” Your dad walked away and Michael nearly laughed but it turned into a moan of his own as you clenched painfully hard around him. You were close.
“Did that excite you, baby? Nearly getting caught while I fuck you?”
You whimpered, your nails biting into his shoulders painfully and he took in the tears that were streaming down your cheeks, how your chest was heaving, how he stretched you out and how your clit was swollen.
“Come for me, come all over my cock, baby. I want the whole fucking house to hear you.”
The head of his cock rammed into that spot again and he rubbed another circle into your clit and you came with a hard cry, the sensation felt like you just shattered from being struck by lightning.
Michael didn’t stop, but he shuddered violently as you clamped around him.
His rough pace slipped into something erratic, fucking you harshly and the bed slammed hard into the wall, rocking violently on its legs and your heels dug into his lower back, pushing him in deeper.
“Fuck,” he panted, you were trembling and your skin was flushed, his pelvis grinding into your oversensitive clit and you clenched again.
“Just like that baby,” his grip on your throat tightened to the point where it hurt and you genuinely couldn’t breathe.
“Michael!” you cried out, your voice a rasp and laced in pain and arousal.
His whole body shuddered as he came with a deep moan tearing up his throat, his come filling you up, spurting and hot and you felt full.
Michael had never finished inside of you before.
You weren't on any contraceptives, but the thought was lost in the shadows of your subconscious as Michael rode out his high before pulling out, sighing as he watched how his cum mixed with your pooled between her pussy and dripped between your thighs. He ran a finger through it and you whimpered.
Michael lifted his hand to your lips, his eyes burned as he looked at you, “open.”
Doing as told, you parted your lips and his finger slid against your tongue, which you then took to swirling it around the digit and sucked on it.
He could only long to have those pretty lips of yours wrapped around him, but he knew they didn’t have the time before dinner.
You let go of his fingers with a pop and immediately after his mouth pressed to yours, though this time much more gentle and he slowly lowered your legs and rubbed circles into your thighs through the latex.
“You did so good for me,” he muttered and your hands buried in his hair and pulled him closer, your lips molding together.
⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹
It was seven in the morning and you had only just forced yourself up to make a cup of coffee after the London premiere for your movie when the phone rang. Your tired eyes blinked at it, confused as to why it would be doing such an offensive thing at this hour.
You picked it up on the last ring, voice rough around the edges with sleep, “hello?”
“Baby? Did I wake you?”
Your sleepiness waned a little bit at the sound of Michael’s voice. “No, I got up a few minutes ago. You okay? Isn’t it like two—“
“Have you turned on the tv or read the paper at all?”
As your grogginess faded, you started to pick up on the edge to his voice.
Your brows furrowed. “No? Why?”
He sighed. “Baby, I’m really sorry. Really. I don’t know how it happened, someone must’ve gone through my things. I’m gonna have to have Bill do a screening on everybody and—“
“Michael, slow down.” You pinched the bridge of your nose. “What happened?”
The other end of the line was dead silent and you gnawed at your lip, dread suddenly pooling low in your stomach.
“…No.”
“I’m really sorry.”
Your knuckles tightened on the phone and your teeth sank into your bottom lip before you threw your head back— “Fuck!”
You slumped against the wall, not having the faintest idea on what to do with yourself.
“I mean,” Michael started, tone cautious, “on the bright side, you looked great—“
“Michael, do not finish that sentence.”
You lowered the phone and stared up at the ceiling. Mind reeling because of course this had to happen. Your manager was going to kill you and you dreaded the phone call you’d undoubtedly get within the next hour.
Your gaze then flicked down to the kitchen counter, breath hitching because you had completely forgotten you’d taken a test last night. Two, actually. Just in case.
“Michael,” you started slowly, staring at the two pink plus signs.
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— SUMMARY: After 6 months of being together, Michael decides that tonight’s the perfect time to ask for just one anniversary gift; he wants you to start controlling him in the bedroom.
— WARNINGS: sub!mike, needy!mike, lots of tension, body worship, size kink, angst (if you look through a microscope), dumbification (kinda…?), face sitting, oral (f receiving), mike has a big dick, handjob, unprotected p in v, nipple play, dacryphilia, no use of ‘y/n’, soft!dom reader, mean!dom reader, use of mommy (kinda), use of ma’am, mike is kinda pussy drunk, timestamps are unimportant, kinda slow burn, gets kinda fluffy at the end, implied aftercare.
— WC: 5.1k (I got carried away…)
— A/N: The winner of this poll. I fs got carried away lmaooo. Like, comment, n reblog! And don’t be shy to flood my asks, i don’t bite..always.
It wasn’t even noticeable at first. Well, not really, until you connected every small instance like one huge puzzle. A particularly suggestive flutter of his eyelashes, a nearly crimson blush on his cheeks whenever you praised him for anything. Then, there was that one time when you called yourself ‘mommy’ as a joke.
You’d just arrived home from your 4-month anniversary dinner date. Your feet were aching; clad in a pair of deep red 8-inch pumps that Michael practically begged you to wear. “I think it’s sexy that you’re taller than me in those heels. Your legs look extra long and beautiful. Please m-, baby? Please, wear them.” That just about undid you.
You’d started regretting letting him sway you like that, though, because you swore that with every step, you could feel a new callous forming on your pinky toe.
“Come help mommy take these things off, baby.” It was said so casually, because it was. Yet, his reaction had you thinking you’d said something offensive. He’d just finished taking off his own loafers, one knee on the floor. He nearly toppled all the way over, and he looked up at you with this almost pained expression. You could’ve sworn you saw tears welling up in his eyes.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so direct. It’s probably the wine…I’ll take them off mys–” He’d waved off your thought with his left hand, cleared his throat, and mumbled something along the lines of “…seriously driving me insane” under his breath, but it sounded lighthearted enough for you not to question him further. The two of you had your best sex yet that night.
Last week, though? It got to a point where Michael damn near made you lose your mind. You put on a pair of jeans that were slightly too long, and you didn’t have time to get them hemmed, so you asked your boyfriend to cuff the bottoms for you, playfully pretending to press your stiletto onto his chest while he knelt down.
“Yes ma’am,” he responded earnestly. He looked up at you while he said it, eyes glazed over with sparkles and something else you couldn’t quite place. There was a faint, crooked smile playing on his lips. One that read: I’m right where I want to be. He clasped his hands behind his back and bowed his head like he was in the presence of royalty, then continued on with the task.
Really, it was a very quick exchange. Almost even casual; you just so happened to remember every aspect of it because it ruined you and your panties for the next two days.
That’s what’d been on your mind all afternoon. The two of you decided to spend your 6-month anniversary at a beachfront resort. Michael rented the whole thing out nearly two months in advance, your display of subtle dominance on your 4-month anniversary influencing the idea. He had a plan, and all he needed to do was gather up the confidence to act upon it.
You two took a series of photos on the digital camera he gifted you, involving various activities; a photo of you eating the breakfast he cooked the two of you in your suite’s kitchen, one of him almost missing his step on the jetski he was gonna race you on…One of you towering above him as he adjusted the delicate golden anklet he gave you the day prior, the cursive M glinting in the sunlight. He coughed hysterically to cover up the sound of its shudder, internally chastising himself for forgetting to turn off the sound in its settings.
When you two got home, he seemed overly eager about the evening, his attitude rubbing off on you. The both of you were a giggling mess, and you were completely sober. Just high off of the presence of the other.
The two of you had dinner reservations at 6:30pm, so you decided to shower together to ‘save water’ and time. Michael basically did the showering for the both of you though, making sure to do every step like you would. You’ve showered together enough for him to know your whole routine, and it made your heart swell with warmth, and your thighs unnoticeably squeeze together with want. He even rinsed and dried the both of you, making sure you didn’t lift your pretty fingers to do anything but grip onto his shoulders for balance.
It made you insatiable.
While you put on the finishing touches of your makeup, Michael approached you with a pleading look settled onto his face.
“Does this shirt look weird untucked? Should I button it up some more?”
You turned around, your unset makeup almost plastering onto his black button up. He looked delicious. Your mouth actually got watery at the sight right in front of you. You gulped down your lust, and met his eyes.
“Michael, you look beautiful. Leave it untucked and unbuttoned just like that. Wow.”
He ducked his head slightly, a faint blush crawling up his neck, as he let out a nervous chuckle. For a man so gorgeous, you’d think he’d be used to compliments from his own girlfriend by now.
“Y-you sure? Tonight’s important. I wanna look like we belong together. Like I belong with you.”
It took everything in you not to ruin your dinner plans and prove it to him right there, your hands fighting the urge to push him onto the bed and show him just how pretty you thought he was.
You cleared your throat and answered with a joking, “Michael, I’d swear you have a praise kink or something, because there’s no way you don’t see just how tasty you look right now.”
You turned back to the mirror, powdering up your face and putting on the remainder of your lip combo.
You didn’t notice just how badly Michael was holding it together from that point forward.
The two of you played the rest of the night cool, though. Nothing out of the ordinary, save for Michael fighting off his neediness when you ordered for him because you noticed him get shy, and when you wiped enchilada sauce off of his face, calling him your ‘clumsy baby.’ Or, the instance where you almost dragged him to the bathroom when you asked if he wanted dessert, and looked at you all lovesick with a, “Yes, please.”
He aggressively adjusted his black jeans, not so subtly, after you told him to pick up the napkin he (purposely) dropped. He felt like he was drunk. His nerves and his body were on fire. He started to down the bottle of wine he purchased for the two of you, for liquid courage. You quickly followed suit. It did nothing to help either of your states.
On the walk back to your suite, Michael’s demeanor nearly killed your buzz. He looked terrified.
“Mikey, baby. What’s wrong?” you asked, stepping in front of him and tilting his head up by his chin so he’d look you in your eyes. The heels you wore had you standing taller than him, and, unbeknownst to you, that only made it worse.
“It’s nothin, baby.” he responded, but his voice wasn’t matching his actions.
“Michael, come on, it’s me. What’s going o-”
“I said it’s nothin’,” he cut you off sharply. His voice was loud- too loud- and he wouldn’t look you in the eyes. He grabbed ahold of the hand that you had underneath his chin, and rushed the two of you the rest of the way to the hotel.
You were furious. Concerned by his terror-stricken face, mostly. But, his sharpness with you stirred something inside that you thought you’d buried, only fueled by the ache in your feet from nearly running in stilettos.
As you made it to your room, you pushed past his usually taller frame, and sat down onto the nearest plush chair, bending over to undo the straps of your pumps. You heard the door close with a click and looked up to see Michael rushing his way towards you, trying to stop you from removing them yourself. The two of you had your hands tangled in a mess; his fingers trying to gently push yours off, and yours almost aggressively shoving his.
“Enough, Michael.”
He gulped loudly, seeming almost embarrassed to look at you.
That was almost enough to ease the fire on your lips. Almost.
“Look at me while I’m speaking to you. What happened, and why are you acting so weird towards me?” Your voice quivered on the latter half of your question, insecurity starting to creep its way through your tone. Your cleared your throat and waited for him to speak.
He sighed visibly at the beginning of your monologue. The words affecting him in a way you couldn’t understand.
He continued removing your shoes as he answered, needing something to keep his eyes away from yours, due to the vulnerable truth behind his actions.
“I…” he cleared his throat. “I want you to control me.”
That was not what you were expecting. You waited, scared that you’d misinterpreted the intentions behind his words, hoping he’d expand on it further. By this point, both of your shoes were off, and he was still kneeling in front of your legs, both of his hands opting to massage on one of your aching feet. He still wasn’t looking at you.
“Mike…?” you asked. Your voice slightly deepened with a lust you were fighting so hard to control. You ran your fingers through his hair softly, eliciting a soft whine from his throat. You used the hand in his hair to gently guide his face up to yours. He obeyed your silent command as soon as you slightly tugged, actions already proving that he meant what you thought he did. Your stomach did a flip. The alcohol in your system was making you extremely sensitive to your emotions, everything heightened. Apparently, Michael was going through the same.
“I-I mean. Well look at you…Your legs are so long, ‘n you take care of me so good. You’re so good at telling people what to do and I always wish it was me on the other end of that. I- I think about you doing things to me. Things that I can’t control. I sometimes try ‘n push your buttons just so you can finally snap at me, but you’re so patient, even though your energy is kinda scary, and that somehow drives me even crazier.” The alcohol had him saying quite literally every word that came into his brain. He’d managed to fully massage all the tension from your feet during the rambling. He gave them each a quick peck and set them down gently onto the plush carpet beneath you. Then he sat up on his knees, properly. Both of his hands were placed on his lap like he was preparing for prayer.
“Please, baby. I can’t take it anymore. I want you to use me and control me and take everything I have. I want you to be mean to me and I want you to punish me for being rude earlier. Put me in my place, please. Please, pleasepleaseplease. It’s embarrassing, but I really do want this.” He added the last part after he noticed you weren’t responding, embarrassment and alcohol settling into his bones. He started sniffling, his eyes rimming with tears.
You didn’t say a word. Silently, you stood up, gripping Michael by the collar, dragging his frame up with yours, and then crashed your lips into his. He whimpered loudly. The sound shred the last bit of sanity you had left. The two of you tumbled through the doors that led to your room, his socks being kicked off and your shawl strewn onto the floor on the way there.
You turned him around and shoved him onto the bed forcefully. Michael looked up at you like you held the universe up just for him. Your hands made their way to his shirt first. The opened buttons were driving you crazy all day. You started unbuttoning, but grew impatient, opting to just aggressively pull them apart instead, buttons popping off and flying onto the floor in the act.
Michael was a whimpering mess beneath you, and you hadn’t even touched him properly. His hands were at his sides and his body was rigid. He hadn’t even tried touching you.
“Mikey, baby. You know you can touch me, right?”
“I just wanted your permission first ma- ahem. Baby.”
“What was that?” you questioned, catching his slip-up.
“Nothin’,” Mike said, clearly embarrassed. He tried kissing you after to cover it up, but the alcohol in your system made you not care. You pushed his torso back down onto the bed.
“Don’t lie to me, Michael. I can stop all this right now,” you said sternly.
“I..Uhm. It’s just.. sometimes I kinda wanna call you..mommy…?” He phrased it like a question.
That’s how you ended up the position the two of you were in right now. Him with his head propped up on the spare pillows he requested earlier, and your body propped up on his face, straddling it. Michael was going dumb beneath you, fully letting your core and the alcohol in his veins consume him.
“Mmm, Mikey. I didn’t know you had this in you,” you say with surprise laced into your voice. And it’s true. The two of you had sex a few times, but he usually seemed okay with taking over for you. Only now did you realize that it was more of him servicing you than taking control.
“I’ve always had it in me, m- ah baby,” he says, slightly pushing his head further into the pillow so he can speak.
You grab one of his nipples and pinch it harshly.
“Did I say you could stop? Don’t think I forgot about your little attitude earlier.”
That only turns him on further though, his hips jutting into the air immediately at the rough contact.
“N-no. I’m sor- ah- sorry baby. You’re right. I’ve been s-so bad,” his voice melting into a needy whine on the last word.
“Yeah, so bad. I- mmm- s-should teach you a lesson, shouldn’t I?”
“P-please. Please do whatever you want to me. I’ll make it up to y…ou, mmm.”
In one swift movement, you climb off of his face, and settle your soaking core onto his bare chest. You take your right hand and place it onto his neck with no pressure- yet.
“How sorry are you?” you question, his fucked out face only fueling your actions.
“Really sorry. Sorrier than I can even put into words,” he jumbled out. Not good enough. You give him a slight slap on the face, and then grip onto his neck with more fervor. He moans like it’s his first time being touched sexually.
“That’s it? You’re sooo sorry you can’t even say it?” you scoff at him, playing up your anger just to see him fold beneath your grasp. You begin grinding down hard onto his chest, reveling in this.
“N-no! I mean, yes, b-but, fuck keep using me like that please. I just, I have to show you. Let me show you?” he says, still trying to work your pussy between each word.
“Hmm, go ahead then,” you respond almost immediately, intrigued by his request.
He tenderly grabs onto your thighs and lifts your body up off of his chest, and places you next to him, sliding from the bed in the same movement. Then, he eagerly walks to the foot of the bed and sinks onto his knees, beckoning you toward him with two of his fingers, his twinkling eyes never leaving yours.
“Join me, please?” he asks, voice laced with desire.
You seductively crawl toward him, his body looking meek in this position. You can feel your core drip more at the sight of him. He uncrosses your legs for you, making sure to do all of the work. He’s gonna prove to you just how sorry he is for not being a good boy.
He takes one of your legs and starts to press hot, open-mouthed kisses to every inch of it; from the tips of your toes, to the backs of your knees. His eyes never leave yours. He’s waiting for some sign of approval, a praise, anything that tells him he’s making up for it, but you sit there in shock, staring at the submissive man beneath you. You’re almost too scared to move, afraid that any action or sound will break the spell.
Then he starts to speak. “You’re so beautiful. Your body’s like a painting that only Michelangelo himself could’ve imagined. How could I have been so stupid? You deserve everything. I’m gonna give you everything,” he says between kisses.
“This?” he says, kissing your inner thigh, “I don’t even deserve it. I’m lucky to be able to touch you like this. Lucky ta even see you like this.”
He grabs onto your hips, and looks up at you, pleading.
“M gonna make you feel so good. I promise.”
Michael kisses up the soft skin of your stomach, making sure to save what’s beneath it for last. Then, he makes it to your breasts, and drool dribbles out of his mouth as he speaks.
“I don’t even deserve these,” he says, almost to himself with a sigh. He peppers kisses to the undersides of them, teasing his way up to your erect nipples. Then, he takes one into his mouth, suckling like a man starved. You nearly scream from pleasure at the contact, causing Michael to look up with worry, only for him to see your blissed expression. He grabs your other nipple and rolls it between his fingers, still holding eye contact with you.
“F-fuck Michael, that’s it baby. Just like that.”
He switches his ministrations to your next nipple, replacing his mouth with his hand, and his hand with his mouth. He starts whimpering louder and louder with each gasp you take, your arousal fueling his tenfold. You feel high. You try clamping your legs together, but his lanky body is blocking you from doing so, eliciting a whine from your lips. He notices this. He notices everything. He removes the hand from your nipple and immediately starts rubbing languid, deep circles on your clit. You let out a loud moan straight from your diaphragm, internally thanking Michael for renting the whole resort out for the two of you.
Michael’s lips detach from your tit with a pop. “You like this?” he questions genuinely, wanting to be good for you.
“Mike- fuck- yes! L-love it! So good!” You can barely even think properly, your mind only focused on how his long fingers work your clit with ease.
“Mmm,” he responds, not fully satisfied with himself. He doesn’t want you to love it. He wants you to crave it.
He gets up and straddles your waist, fingers still slowly rubbing your clit, searching your neck for its sweet spot with his lips. When you buck your core into his hand at a particular area, he starts licking and biting on it, hungrily inhaling the perfume on your neck in the process.
“You-ngh. You smell so sweet. Did you wear my favorite perfume for me?” he asks, a wave of gratitude crashing onto him.
“Y-yes Mike. Come on- more. I need more. Give me more.” You’re desperate now. You have half a mind not to start fucking yourself on his fingers right there, but he’s one step ahead.
His fingers slide straight into your pussy, and your walls clenched around them immediately, not expecting the intrusion so suddenly. Your back arches up off the bed, lifting both of you in the process.
“M sorry. I’m gonna get you there baby. I promise.” Without another word, he carefully slides back down your frame, and starts suckling at your clit like he’s tasting ice cream for the first time ever, his fingers still curling and pumping in and out of you. Your eyes start to water.
“Ohhhh my- fuuuuuck. Mikeyyy, baby mmm. S-shit. I feel sososo good. So good. You’re so good to me baby. My perfect- ah. My perfect angel. S-so pretty on your knees for me.” You smile at him weakly and squeeze his head in between your thighs forcefully, grinding yourself onto his mouth and nose. The dichotomy is giving him whiplash.
The praise that you give Michael is driving him halfway insane. He moans erotically into your squelching pussy, pumping his fingers into you faster and harsher, squeezing his thighs together for his own relief. The sight of you using him like this is making his brain go numb, the only thing on his mind is making up for his behavior earlier. Making sure you’re feeling good.
Your legs start to shake uncontrollably now, a telltale sign of your orgasm approaching.
This fuels Michael further.
“Please cum on my face. I wanna taste it, ma.”
You almost do it on the spot, but you have other plans. You lightly kick his face from between your legs and his mouth detaches from your pussy loudly. He looks at you confused, his face glistening with your arousal.
“I’m sorry. Did I do something wro-” You interrupt him by slamming your lips onto his, the force of it pushing his torso onto the floor. You moan at the taste of yourself on his mouth, your tongue searching for his in the process. You break the kiss and lean into his ear with a seductive whisper. “I want to fuck you, Michael.”
His entire body goes rigid and he gasps loudly. You palm him through his jeans, feeling his dick straining against the black fabric. He sucks in a sharp breath, wanting so desperately for more friction, while simultaneously wanting to show you he can be good.
“Ohhh, were you this hard all this time, baby?” you coo at him, loving how the condescending tone in your words feels.
“A-ah yes. I just wanted you to feel good,” he replies between choked breaths, seemingly trying not to pass out. He loves how dumb you’re making him feel.
“Aww my good boy, you did so well for me. I think it’s time for us to both feel good together, hmm?” you ask him, eager for his response. He looks so pretty like this, and his whimpers sound even prettier.
“O-only if that’s what you want. Ngh- everything’s your choice. Everything, everything,” he slurs out, already losing his grasp on reality due to the way you’re speaking to him and the way you rub hungrily against his clothed erection.
You unzip his jeans faster than he can even process and pulled them down off his legs along with his boxers, his leaking erection slapping against his abdomen harshly.
“Look at me,” you command him. He obeys without a second thought.
You take your pretty manicured hands and begin to jerk him off slowly, enjoying the way he tries not to grind up into your hands because he’s your good boy.
You speed up your actions faster, faster, faster, until you see Michael nearing his climax. He’s warning you over and over that he’s gonna cum, not wanting to before you do. Not after his behavior today. He didn’t deserve it, and you agree.
“Baby, pleeeeease, ‘m so close. Can’t do it. You have ta first. Iss too good ‘n i can’t hold it,” he whines, tears threatening to fall from his eyes. You kiss them away and go faster, ignoring his cries. The tears only turned you on further.
“F-FUCK! BABY I’M GONN-” You stop moving your hand entirely, and squeeze down on his dick hard.
“Wh-wha..” Michael trails off, not knowing how to speak anymore.
“Thank you,” he says, looking up at you with tear-filled eyes, chest heaving. He knew better than to complain- you touching him at all was enough.
You lean up to give him a quick kiss, before lining his dick up with your entrance and sinking down onto it. The stretch was enough to make your legs shake and almost make you fall over. You can’t take it all at once, opting to go slowly, grinding yourself against it in the meantime.
“Oh my GOD,” Michael cries out, propping himself up on his elbows so he can look at you. You look like an answered prayer.
“Mikey, you’re too big,” you whine out, drawling the last word out on purpose.
“I’m sor-ry,” he sincerely apologizes. It would’ve made you laugh if you weren’t so turned on by his facial expression. You sink the rest of the way down, too impatient to care about the burn. You grip onto his neck for support and start riding him slowly, your thighs burning with pain and pleasure. Michael moans at the feeling of your delicate fingers around his neck again and he loses his filter completely.
“Please choke me again. Hard. Control when I can breathe,” he begs you. You do just that and start bouncing against his length, the begging and whimpering from your boyfriend turning you on more than you’ve ever been.
His eyes start to roll back, and you loosen your grip so that he can gasp for air, his lungs greedily swallowing the oxygen creeping in. He starts rolling his hips up into yours to help, knowing riding isn’t easy for women. Always the gentleman, even when you’re fucking his brains out. He looks into your eyes, grabs your free hand and starts sucking on your fingers, muffling his moans with them from embarrassment. You don’t know whether to be angry that he won’t let you hear them, or turned on from the sight, so you grind and choke him harder.
His eyes fog over and he drools onto his chest, arching his back up to meet all of your grinds. You loosen your grip once again.
“Let me hear your pretty voice, baby,” you drawl at him, removing your fingers from his mouth and using them to play with your nipple. That basically does it for him.
“Baaaaaaby. Oh my god I-I can’t even think. You’re s-so good to me and- YEAH keep touching yourself like that please. You’re so beauti-f-ful. I’m never letting you go. You’re t-too perfect iss driving me crazy. Plea-” you choke him again- “Mmmfuck. Please cum on me. Please use my body to cum.”
“Then fuck me like you want it, Mike,” you order, dragging your fingers down from his neck, using your nails to scratch all the way down to his chest.
“Yes, ma’am.”
He flips you over and pins you beneath him, and begins thrusting into you the exact way he knows you like it, totally focusing on your pleasure.
“I won’t, baby.” He presses a hand onto your stomach for comfort, but what he felt flipped a switch in him. He looked down and saw himself moving inside of your belly.
“Oh my god…” he gasped out, making you look at him with concern. “B-baby. I can see myself inside of you,” he says, genuinely surprised.
“It’s ‘cause you’re so big,” you say, pouting at him. “G-go ahead, baby. Fuck me until m’ cervix is shaped like your dick.” He groans at the filth in your words, doing just as you say. His body begins to shake with pleasure. He feels so good, too good. Like something only his imagination could come up with. He starts drooling again.
The sight above you is getting you so close to your release. You reach your hand down to your clit and started playing with it, making sure to tilt Michael’s face down to watch before you do so. You want to put on a show for him. It is your anniversary, after all.
“M gonna cum for you Mikey. ‘M gonna make a mess of that pretty dick of yours,” you say nastily. You can feel the knot in your stomach start to tighten more and more.
“Y-Yes! Please cum all over me. Please turn me into a mess,” he begs, and that did it. Your entire body locks up and your vision turns blurry.
“Michael FUCK!” you scream- genuinely scream- out in pleasure. You grip onto his shoulders with all the force you can muster, mumbling out praises of “You’re so pretty” and “Did so good” until your lips fall numb. He rides you through the whole thing, legs shaking and forehead dripping with sweat.
“C-can I please cum? It hurts…” You look at him with surprise, not realizing he was still going for you, and it almost does enough for you to want a round two.
“Oh, Michael. You’re so obedient. I didn’t realize you were still going, love. Cum inside me, baby. Fill me up.”
He whimpers and cums on command, his body stilling and his toes curling up in pleasure. His eyes roll so far back into his head that you can’t even see his irises anymore.
“Thank you, thank you, thank y- ahh, thank you. ‘M so so-ahhhgghh, so sorry. I’ll be good forever ‘m sorry my pretty girl.”
His sweaty body collapses onto yours, and you two lay there for a while, his dick still inside of you, fully softened up.
After at least ten minutes of this, Michael speaks.
“So…Can we do this again?” he asks hesitantly.
“Michael,” you start, “I don’t think I can ever go back. Do you know how sexy you are when you’re submissive?” Your thighs start to clench again at the thought of what you two got up to tonight.
“O-oh. Really? It wasn’t too much?” he asks shyly as he rolls off of your body.
“Really. You should’ve said something sooner, angel face. I prefer being dominant,” you reveal, although you’re sure it was obvious.
“I was just shy, is all. But you? I don’t think- no, I know I’ve never seen anything or anyone as sexy as you were tonight. I feel like I died from bliss and met God. Truly, you were heavenly. I didn’t want any of it to end.”
“It doesn’t have to…We still have a whole weekend to spend here,” you offer, wiggling your eyebrows playfully. He blushes a deep red.
“I’m gonna go get our stuff ready for a bath,” you say. “Tidy up the room for when we’re back, yeah?”
“I’ll do anything for you,” Michael says, clearly still pussy drunk. He grabs your hand before you head to the bathroom.
“I love you. I’m not just saying that because of what we did tonight, you know that. But I love you. Thank you for being the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I’ll cherish you for all of my days, and even afterwards, if I can.“ He gives you a brief, yet passionate kiss on the lips. “I’ll be as quick as possible. Happy anniversary, pretty girl.”
“Happy anniversary, Michael,” you say, trying not to cry. You don’t know how you’d gotten so lucky.
━ SUMMARY: when a phone call with his producer cuts into your date night, you decide to take matters into your own hands or mouth
━ CONTENT: 18+, smut, cursing, giving michael a blowjob while he’s on the phone, established relationship, mike’s down bad what’s new, oral m & f receiving he eats it like it’s his last meal, lots of teasing, a tiny bit of jealous michael bc why not, unprotected sex!!! (not a good idea y’all be safe out there), creampie, switch michael supremacy, them fuckin on the living room couch….idk they’re young & in love leave them alone
━ AUTHOR’S NOTE: i implore you to imagine off the wall michael with this one… (post otw but pre thriller) he was pregnant with the lady in my life here. idk let’s just imagine he was an absolute freak in the sheets during this time, mans was topping charts & winning awards nobody could stop him
Exactly forty-seven minutes had passed since Michael answered the call from Quincy.
“This’ll only take ten minutes.” His famous last words were uttered through a smile when he first held the phone to his ear, His producer’s voice audible even from where you sat on the other end of the couch.
You kept yourself busy with twiddling thumbs, ready to resume the rest of your evening, when ten minutes came and went. Then twenty— then thirty— leaving you to wonder if you’d ever get your boyfriend back at all.
Michael mouthed a voiceless, “I’m sorry” as he carried on the conversation nearly an hour later.
Your legs crossed and uncrossed against the couch cushions, as you picked at the bowl of popcorn in your lap. You listened to him talk, your gaze trailing over to where his fingers were wrapped in the phone cord, twisting and twirling as he went on and on about the sound of his next album.
You were supposed to be having a movie night tonight. It was a rare occurrence; Michael having the house to himself. He was excited to have you over, just the two of you, alone.
Although, he did love having you around his family— loved parading you around in front of his brothers.
He’d spent far too long listening to them give him a hard time. All their remarks about “when little mikey would ever get a girl.” So when you came into his life, he didn’t hesitate to show you off. You were just so perfect, and you were his.
He thanked his lucky stars for that late night at Quincy’s house. You’d met there when Michael was arriving to work on some demos and you were just heading out. You caught his attention immediately.
The producer’s house was always a revolving door of new faces, but you, he’d never seen you before. He would’ve remembered a pretty face like that— such delicate eyes, and the most mesmerizing smile he’d ever seen. He was instantly infatuated.
You made your exit after a quick introduction where Michael learned you were a close family friend of Quincy’s. You rushed out the door, assuring them that you didn’t want to “impose” and that you were “just leaving.” But Michael nearly begged you to stay. A three minute conversation wasn’t enough, he needed more. And despite his best efforts, he was less than subtle when he could barely wait for the door to close at your heels before asking about you— he was just too eager. Eager to know more, to hear your voice again, he was so determined that he got your phone number from Quincy and called you the very next day.
And while you were thankful that their close-knit relationship led to date nights snuggled next to Michael on his couch, you didn’t love that it also meant the two of them would be having brainstorming sessions at nine o’clock on a Saturday night.
Which is exactly why Michael had spent the better half of an hour talking on the phone, only sparing you a few glances and a handful of apologetic smiles.
It didn’t bother you, not really, but sitting there, watching his long slender fingers play with the coils of the telephone and seeing how his brows furrowed as he took charge of the conversation, made your thighs clench.
There was an undeniable heat running rampant between you, a raging, sweltering fire that neither of you were interested in putting out. Everything was just so new and addicting. The mutual infatuation was all consuming, both of you living in desperation for just a single minute alone so you could get your hands on each other.
And right now— you were needy and he was just so tempting.
The gentle cadence of his voice filled the room as he spoke, soft and sweet. It was reminiscent of the low sighs he would let out when you were beneath him.
His finger kept twirling, hooking and bending the handset cord while he bit at his lip, listening intently to Quincy on the other line, and you couldn’t help yourself. The subliminal movement of his slender digits sent you over the edge.
You set the popcorn bowl aside, inching your way closer to Michael until your shoulders were nearly touching.
You did your best to bat your lashes and pout your lips to convey a silent— “pretty please hang up the phone Mikey, I need you.”— But your efforts to sway him failed miserably as he held up a single finger in your direction, telling you to wait like you were some sort of impatient child getting scolded.
With a slight annoyance buzzing through your veins, and the damp sensation of your panties between your thighs, you sent your hand trailing up his leg, palm flat and heavy against his jeans.
A stern frown tugged at his lips, eyes narrowing as he looked your direction— a silent warning.
But you could see something fighting beneath the straight line of his lips, a twitch, a little grin pulling at the corners of his mouth— a challenge.
His eyes followed intently as your hand brushed against the denim at his crotch, your fingers dancing pompously at his zipper before he reached down to grab your wrist.
It was a light touch— cautionary and relaxed. And when your eyes met his again, the grin he was trying so hard to keep off his face was now a painfully obvious smirk. His hands were urging you to stop but his facial expression told an entirely different story.
Abandoning his attempt to be the responsible one in the situation, he lifted his hips in compliance as the gradual purr of his zipper echoed in quiet surrender.
A lazy “Mhmm,” hummed past his lips and into the phone.
The response was meant for Quincy. A soft murmur of agreement; but the way his eyes watched carefully as your head ducked down— the tip of his cock just barely meeting your lips— made you wonder if the sound was secretly meant for you. A quiet hum of encouragement.
You pressed your tongue flat against him, slow and sloppy, and he had to pull the phone a few inches from his ear, letting his head fall back and his teeth bite into his bottom lip, hard.
“Yeah, I think-“ he brought the phone back to his ear, ready to respond but stopping mid sentence.
Your lips wrapped around him, tongue swirling methodically against his tip, and he sucked in a shallow breath through his teeth to keep from moaning.
“No, I think that’s a good idea…” His voice was barely above a whisper as he squeezed his eyes shut, trying his best to focus on the conversation.
His brows pulled together and his hands twitched, nearly flying to the back of your head, when you took him so deep into your mouth that you nearly gagged. He had to bite at his knuckles to keep from groaning straight into the telephone.
With his dick down your throat, you gazed up, hoping to see his pupils blown out in pleasure, but instead you were met with his eyelids— his eyes still closed, teeth digging into his hand, and phone at his ear.
It wasn’t until you wrapped your fingers around his shaft using your hand in tandem with your mouth, that his eyes shot open.
His glare was laced with submission as he watched you work up and down between his legs. The sight of your lips around him causing a mess of noises to choke into his hand as he tried to keep quiet.
His sounds were muffled and you could hear the murmur of Quincy’s voice drowning on through the phone, clueless that Michael wasn’t paying attention to a single word.
You worked faster, palm slick against his length and mouth messily sucking, with muffled whines sliding past your lips.
“Q I gotta- I gotta go.” Stammering out each word, Michael finally gave in, unsure if he could carry on with the way your little sounds felt against his cock.
“Yeah, I’ll call tomorrow.” His voice was weak and rushed as he tried to end the phone call. He’d have to come up with an explanation for the abrupt goodbye tomorrow, but for now he just needed the distraction gone.
The phone landed back in the switch hook with a quick “click” just as Michael let out the loudest groan you’d ever heard.
“Good God mama, you’re gonna kill me.” The words drained from his lips, hips involuntarily bucking into your mouth.
His hands found the back of your head, caressing and guiding you onto his cock.
“Couldn’t even let me take a quick phone call.” He muttered the words with his head falling back against the couch, but as soon as it leaves his mouth, you sit back, pulling your lips off of him and causing a broken whine to break from his chest.
You stare up at him, lips plump and a single brow raised in bewilderment.
You were preparing to make a sarcastic comment before leaving him to take care of himself after his smart-ass remark, but he uses the break to his advantage, pulling you from between his legs and flipping your body until your back met the couch cushions.
“Someone needs to learn how to be a little more patient.” His voice was like silk traveling between your bodies as he hovered over you. His delivery was so soft and supple, you almost didn’t mind that he was using it to chastise you.
“If I know what I want, why wait?” There was a slight irritation in your tone that Michael picked up on immediately.
Laughing against your skin, he brought his face down to your neck leaving a trail of tender kisses in his wake. He moved down your body, nose brushing against your torso, as his hands pushed at your shirt, giving him access to your stomach. Slow kisses littered the waistline of your pants as he took his time, teasing.
“Sometimes all the fun is in the waiting...” He doesn’t even look at you when the whisper leaves his lips, too busy running them along your skin.
“anticipation.” The word hums against you and you can feel his lips curl into a smile.
“Mikey please.”
He gives in, peeling the clothing from your legs until you’re bare, back arching off the couch, needy for him to do something, anything.
“I like it when you beg. Sounds real pretty.” He’s cooing as he watches the way your legs spread for him, his stare fixated on the glistening mess between your thighs.
“Just fuck me- please.” With a desperate whine in your last word you give him exactly what he wants— you beg.
“Wanna get a taste first.”
Michael would spend hours between your thighs if you let him. He was obsessed with your pleasure, fixated on the way your body would react. Listening for the little sighs that would seep from your chest and flicking his tongue over the same spot until your legs were clenching around his head. He loved that he could make you feel like that— on the verge of complete ecstasy with just his mouth.
Lowering himself flat against the couch, he presses his tongue flat against your center, wasting no time; lapping at your core and moaning into you with the taste of your arousal dousing his tongue.
He ate like he was starving, only satisfied through every gasp on your lips and tug in his hair.
He sucked at your clit. Lewd sounds filled the room as his mouth suctioned around your wet pussy, his groans muffled and yours ringing out across the room.
Thank god no one would be home tonight.
Michael loved showing you off in front of his brothers but he couldn’t handle the thought of them seeing you like this. A dark shade of envy clouded his vision at the mere idea of it. They couldn’t love you like he could— couldn’t make you feel the way her could.
The warm, wet muscle of his tongue met your gummy walls and you had to keep yourself from clamping your legs around his ears. It was sloppy and desperate the way his tongue fucked in and out of you.
His lips enveloped your cunt, every inch of his mouth hot and wet against you, dedicated to your pleasure. Hungry to have you writhing against his face until you were on the verge of tears.
His hips pushed into the fabric beneath him. Shamelessly grinding into the couch, too worked up by the way your juices and his saliva intertwined as they dripped between your thighs.
He was so focused on the task at hand that he almost didn’t feel you pulling at his shirt collar, fingers desperately grasping at the material in an effort to pull him up— to feel his chest against yours as he pushed his length into you as deep as he could. Fucking you relentlessly and making you cry out every time his cock threatened to kiss your cervix.
“Need it so bad, Mikey please.” Your pathetic little mewl finally caused him to come up for air. As much as he wanted to keep going, he couldn’t deny you any longer, and after all, he did love to hear you beg.
“What d’ya need baby?” His lips were back on your stomach, kissing and lingering on your skin, still hungry for your taste.
“Need you to fuck me Mikey, c’mon.”
Your hands were still tugging on his shirt, while his tightened around your thighs.
“Please.” The whine squeaked past your lips as your fingers continued yanking on the cotton at his shoulders.
“Only cause you asked all sweet like that.” He purred looking up at you, the cadence of his voice was angelic and smooth despite his heavy grip on your thighs.
His body hung above yours, his shaky breath warm against your face as he lined himself up at your entrance. He was still teasing, running his tip through the mess pooling at your opening and rubbing it against your clit, listening carefully to the needy little gasps rolling off your tongue.
Your hands fell to his lower back, pushing up his t-shirt enough to lightly scrape your nails against his skin, ushering his body down into yours in a desperate attempt to feel him push into you— even just an inch.
He obliged. His length easing into you nice and slow, stretching you out in a way that had your eyelids fluttering shut.
You felt his forehead rest on yours, a deep sigh falling from his lips as he found solace in the way you hugged him in just right.
“Mmm baby you feel s’good.” His voice was so soft you could barely hear it, even with his lips so close to yours. You’d been waiting for this side of Michael all night. The part of him that became a blubbering, groaning mess, drunk on the feeling of your velvet pussy wrapped around him like a petty little bow.
He pushed in deep, letting his dick bury all the way inside, before stopping for a few seconds just to feel the way your walls squeezed around him, like they were begging for more.
Both of you were already so sensitive, so wound up, so close. When he started moving you couldn’t help the hums of encouragement rising from your chest, “Yes Mikey- fuck. That’s it. Right there.”
Your hushed praises made him pick up the pace, pulling out of you completely before thrusting back in, hitting a spot each time that made your back arch and your eyes water.
He kept going, driving into you with the carefully measured movement of his hips. He knew you were close; your body tensing and nails digging hard into the skin of his back.
The crude hymns that had just been spewing from your lips were growing almost inaudible.
Almost.
But Michael could still hear it. Your quiet little whimpers, “Fuck baby- so good.” Your body was almost rigid, jaw slack and eyebrows pulled together as you grasped at his back.
“You’re so- so good Mikey.” Each word billowed up to Michael with his forehead still pressed against yours. He had to squeeze his eyes shut, focusing on the rhythm of his hips to keep himself from spilling into you. Your needy whines of admiration sending him spiraling toward release.
“So good to me.”
“So perfect.”
Engulfing your words in a long drawn out moan, your voice was a melody of satisfaction. Little noises of pleasure melted against Michael’s ears as you pulsed around him— coming undone through each languid stroke of his hips.
He lost it then; the sounds you were making, the tight grip of your pussy sucking him in, the sticky ring of you at his base building with every pump— it was almost too much.
He didn’t even ask if it was okay— didn’t even give you a warning before he let himself go, every last drop of his release nestling deep between your thighs. A broken whimper dying in his throat as he emptied into you.
With your foreheads still pressed together and your chests heaving, Michael thought about apologizing, wracking his brain for the right thing to say after coming in you without warning. He knew better.
He should feel ashamed for doing something so wrong— so risky. But instead of shame he felt a strange sense of pride, like he wanted to do it again and again.
With his dick still twitching, he pulled out, angling his head to watch where his spend leaked out between your bodies— seeping from your swollen folds.
“You should probably get something to clean that up.” Your voice broke into his mind, timid and sweet.
When he looked up, he was met with a wild smile, your lips curling with amusement as you watched him staring at the mess he’d made between your legs: a mess that was now dripping onto his living room couch.
“Mhmm.” His hum of agreement sounded distant as he fought not to look back down at the remnants of his release dribbling from your center. His weight rolled off of you; his body on a mission to find a towel, but his mind buzzing with a plan to have you full of him again before the end of the night.
if it was harder then / it will be better now
for i am here and changed / i couldn't tell you how
there before the / grace of god go i / laughing to myself
forgetting what about
credit to @novagif for the beautiful image!
tags: dark and religious themes (aka blasphemy) [dead dove do not eat!], ddba!dex x nun!reader, explicit sexual content, catholic guilt, sadomasochism, power play, corruption k*nk, dex & reader are both virgins duh :3, implied age gap (reader in 20s-early 30s), dry humping, fingering (f receiving), unprotected p-in-v (4 the love of gawd wrap it up), praise and edging (both receiving), perv!switch!dex (well, yes!), creampie, c0ckwarming, use of "sister" as a pet name (twice; not in sexual context), catholic imagery obv, intentional lowercase, low key religious crisis bc dex is that hot (same gf)
summary: nun!reader finds benjamin poindexter at the altar of her church seeking absolution. ✪
"i need absolution. i've betrayed people. i've betrayed myself."
his voice skittered across your skin like a flat stone across still waters. the hairs raised on the back of your neck.
your kind eyes widened as the large man turned around to face you, sporting a knife between his fingers. the flickering candlelight from the altar distorted his features slightly, but you made out a wide, jagged scar across his right cheekbone. his brow made a crease in his forehead as curious, fiery eyes studied you. he was in his late thirties or early forties, years decorating his skin. you tried not to entertain the thought that he was handsome.
"can you absolve me of my sins?"
you cleared your throat, heartbeat thrumming in it. "uh, i'm afraid only priests can do so—"
the stranger grinned something wicked, still spinning the silver weapon expertly in his hands. he held it out into the rays of light to purposely catch your gaze. "i'm not too picky."
your eyes stole to the confessional tucked away along the right wall of the church.
"yes. somewhere quiet."
he lumbered toward it, steps heavy on the marble floor like his skeleton couldn't handle the amount of muscle on his body. you followed dutifully, still on your guard given the presence of the knife.
it was late in the evening, almost morning, so the church was mostly empty save for a few lost souls remaining scattered among the pews. the sun had set hours ago, so only the candlelight from the altar lit the room, reflecting off the stained glass windows pleasantly. this was typically when you'd come to pray, but as you were a novitiate, you could use all of the guidance opportunities you could get.
your hand closed around the knob of the left side door and turned, pulling it open to be hit in the face with the scent of myrrh. you nearly coughed, instead letting out a gasp when the stranger slipped in the left side compartment behind you.
"don't worry, i closed the other door."
the smirk on his face stretched too easily. if you weren't nearly a nun, you were certain you'd have put hands on him.
"excuse me, sir, you must go—"
a raised thick eyebrow silenced you as he turned fully towards you. "ain't going anywhere, sister."
you sighed, realizing defeat, and sat down on the bench cushion a few feet away. "i'm not a nun yet. you needn't call me 'sister.'"
"that's why you're in white?" dex remembered sister maggie's black veil well.
you nodded, gaze falling to your twiddling fingers. your veil was stark white, contrasting to the rest of your benedictine black habit, covering your hair and ears to promote modesty. it also signified that you hadn't yet taken your final vows as a nun.
"what brings you to our congregation seeking penance?"
you met his eyes, peering up through your bare eyelashes, and dex's rusty heart stumbled in his chest. after weeks of watching you from afar, he was stunned close up. the tip of the knife he was playing with sunk into his left index finger and he barely registered the pain, entranced by your natural beauty and sincerity.
dex was acutely aware of the amount of space he took up in the confessional room. quite frankly, it was most of it. he loomed over you, craning his neck to fit into the room properly.
something about the way you were looking up at him from your seat had dex's buzzing mind wandering toward desire — something he rarely indulged himself in.
christ. a nun, dex? really?
the taboo of it all had dex's blood pumping faster in his veins. he cleared his throat. "i wish to be free of this guilt."
"guilt for what, mr…?"
"call me dex," he said, moving a few inches further into the confessional. his scent invaded your nose: a clean, woodsy, musky fragrance.
the red and black gems clinked together on the silver rosary chain as you clenched your left fist tight around it, making the sign of the cross over your chest. you kissed your fist, eyes closed, murmuring a silent prayer to st. teresa of calcutta for guidance to help serve others. she had never led you astray before. you willed yourself to take a steady breath and look dex in the eye.
"how does this go…?" dex trailed, baiting you to give him your christian name. you gave it willingly, voice dancing along the incense-threaded air. he repeated it, chewing on it like sinful bubblegum.
you crossed your legs at the sound, squeezing your thighs together, creating accidental, delicious friction under your skirts. with your hands folder over the top, you were certain it went undetected.
you didn't know benjamin poindexter.
he certainly knew you.
dex's eye twitched with the effort of remaining still. his gaze — now hooded — dragged slowly, intentionally, from your clasped hands up your torso, as if he could see straight through the black scapular and habit that covered your holy skin. you felt exposed; laid bare for his hungry eyes to behold you.
clearing your throat, you felt a stubborn blush creep up your neck as dex's focus reached your face.
"t-typically, in confession, a priest will sit on this side while the patron receives penance from the attached room." you gestured to the screen that separated the rooms on the left wall.
"why would i want to go in there to repent when the pretty girl who's gonna save my soul is in here?" he asked, a wild glint reflecting in his eye.
you let out a nervous laugh, blush creeping higher and higher.
dex fell to his knees like a sack of bricks and you swore you heard them crack against the wood floor beneath the worn persian carpet. he held out the small throwing knife to you with both hands in offering, desperately blinking up at you. your delicate fingers closed over his, softly folding over the blade edge as if he were trustworthy.
your sweet voice was melodic in dex's ears. "you'll begin with: 'forgive me, father, for i have sinned.'"
he swallowed, watching your carotid pulse in your neck a little too attentively. his pink tongue darted out to wet his lips, a smirk growing on them. he couldn't believe his own boldness.
"forgive me, father," he repeated with a deep sigh, near short of breath, mind far from christ, "for i have sinned."
"when was your last confession, dex?"
"i've never had the honor, sweetheart," he chuckled, smirk widening at the thought. "you'll be taking my confessional virginity."
your complexion burned shades darker, averting your bashful eyes at his insinuation. your voice squeaked when you spoke.
"oh, okay, well in that case, you may state that for his lordship's ears."
"gladly." you got a perfect view of his muscular throat as dex's head tilted back, adam's apple bobbing. you'd reprimand yourself later for wondering what it might feel like under your lips. "it's my first time, big 'G'. thanks again for sending me your loveliest angel."
dex threw you a charming wink and your lips twitched into a smile.
"i-i thank you f-for your kind words," you stammered.
dex's hands, brandishing the knife and holding your own with a grip you could've escaped, eased into your lap. his chest brushed your knees from his position kneeling on the floor, only centimeters apart now.
"forget about it."
a beat passed. "and if i don't want to?"
another stretch of silence. this time longer, as dex tried to wrap his mind around the situation he found himself in. his greenish gaze bore into yours, flaying you alive layer by layer. a long-forgotten, now-forbidden feeling stirred in your core.
"then don't."
the air in the compact room seemed to still, as if bating it's breath in anticipation. you could hear your heartbeat in your ears.
"i won't," you whispered, reaching out cautiously to trace his cheek scar. dex froze, soaking in the feeling of your warm, soft, little fingers dancing patterns on his abused skin. he couldn't breathe — not with you touching him, looking at him like he mattered. you could tell he wasn't used to grace.
"tell me your sins, baby," you coaxed softly, comforting him the best way you could think of.
a quiet groan slipped from that back of dex's throat before he could stop it, one of raw pleasure from the pet name.
"hnn…fuck."
"language," you challenged with a dignified, raised brow, despite the disgraceful wetness dripping onto your panties.
"yes, ma'am," dex responded, vast shoulders straightening slightly. his voice rumbled through you deliciously. your knees pressed into his abdomen with how close he leaned now.
benjamin poindexter's eyes flickered back and forth between your kissable lips and the ornate crucifix carving in the wall behind you, and that was the moment he was certain he was going to hell.
you cleared your throat, shifting in your seat again, trying to subtly relieve the tension between your thighs. dex, with his hawk eyes, saw every movement for exactly what it was.
and it was true what they said about him: he did get obsessed fast.
"my sins…" he mused.
"tell me," you prodded eagerly, eyes wide open in youthful anticipation. "tell me the first one that comes to mind."
dex's blonde brows knit together as if he were in pain, leaning into your hand. "wanna kiss you."
your mouth made an "o," plump lips giving dex horrific ideas. you swallowed slowly, feeling sweat begin to bead under the heat of his gaze. shame gnawed at your ankles like a stray animal.
dex pulled you by the wrist within an inch of his face. "now, you can be honest. you can confess. d'you wanna kiss me, sweet girl?"
your teeth sunk into your fat bottom lip in indecision, guilt paralyzing you. what would god think?
"yeah, that's it, i know you do. you can say it, honey. it won't leave this room. you can say you want me, too, 's alright."
a pitiful, borderline-submissive "yes" fell from your divine mouth and dex felt religious all of a sudden. a sick smile settled on his handsome face, eyes fluttering shut in a moment of absolute peace. he was on the righteous path—he was certain.
with no warning, his mouth swept yours up in an exchange of breath and lips and teeth and tongue. you moaned into the kiss — by god, when was the last time you were properly kissed?
the hand you had on dex's cheek slid back into his graying-blonde hair, fingernails gently scratching his scalp. he steeled himself to hold back a moan.
you broke away first, fingers wrapped in rosary ghosting over your swollen lips like a salve. "shit."
dex laughed.
a real, honest-to-christ-himself laugh.
and when the light caught his white, bunny-like smile just like that as he glanced back to you, cupid released his bow, and you were done for.
"tell me," dex's straight nose nudged yours, teasing, "how about you pray for us while i kiss your neck a little?"
"yes." the word tumbled out and you couldn't have stopped it. you were blushing to your hairline by now.
god help you.
dex grinned, highlighting his handsome crows' feet. before you could blink, he switched your positions, so you were now sitting on his lap and he was sitting on the confessional cushion. with no room on the sides to settle properly, your knees bit into his tree-trunk thighs. you heard the thunk of the knife as it fell onto the carpet.
he wasted no time before his lips were back on yours and your head was spinning. your lips clashed together, mouth opening wider so his tongue could dip in and explore. you whined softly into him as an experiment, feeling dex's hold on your waist get tighter, lips get hungrier.
dex's sinful mouth tore across your jaw with abandon. you unconsciously ground your hips against his rhythmically. his cock stirred, already half-hard. shame had you nearly in tears, the stimulation from grinding only adding to your frustration.
he groaned against your delicate skin, tongue licking and swirling, teeth skating and biting over the sweet spot on your neck he found. you arched your chest into his frame.
his whispered plea traveled straight to your cunt, "pray, baby."
you squeezed the rosary beads around your left hand — an anchor of reality — as you looked up and begged st. francis to forgive you on behalf of god. surely he knows better than anyone that you're simply following god's path as it's been laid out for you.
"o-our father, who art in heaven, h-hallowed be thy name."
your voice wavered with pleasure, though somehow not missing a beat even when mischievous fingers teased the hem of your skirt, flirting with your ankle.
"thy kingdom come." a shaky breath loosed through your chest.
"thy will be done, on earth as it is in h—" you bit the inside of your cheek to suppress a moan at the friction against your core, exhaling sharply through your nose. dex smiled against your tender skin. "heaven."
"…'and lead us not into temptation,'" he chorused with you, kissing and suckling just below your ear.
"'but'…what?" dex cooed patronizingly, kitten-licking your earlobe. you were a mess in his arms, purely pliant for him to use and you both knew it.
your traitorous lower lip wobbled as you finished the prayer with him:
"but deliver us from evil. amen."
his cock throbbed below you and dex pulled his leeching mouth off you. a chill raced down your spine at the way his blown pupils drank you in, getting a glimpse of the thing that shifted just beneath his skin and near-black eyes.
you didn't flinch, dex noted.
the calloused fingers playing at your ankle dragged upward, slipping under the fabric and ghosting over your nylon-covered skin, testing the waters. your lashes fluttered shut at the sensation, a gasp stealing into your lungs.
"i confess," dex sighed, "i want more than your lips."
your eyes shot open, brow furrowed in confusion. why? what could he want from you?
before you could raise your concern, dex's hand trailed up your calf, sending electricity through his touch. you were breathless as you maintained eye contact with him, noses inches apart, breathing the same air. your skirt bunched around your waist as dex burrowed further under it, dragging his enormous hand over your knee. your blasphemous core churned and you ground down onto his zipper. the metal bit into your cunt, pulling a moan that sounded like angels singing from you. dex grinned in triumph, climbing higher on your thigh until he reached the lacy edge of your stockings.
his hawk eyes snapped to your thigh, a slow, wolfish smile gracing his features. he looked back up at you without raising his head, words low and broken in your ears.
"tell me you're wearing a fucking garter belt."
he reached the strap connecting the alleged belt to your stockings and hummed down at you, like you were food to play with. a finger slipped between the strap and your smooth, holy skin, and pulled it away just far enough to snap back against your skin audibly.
fth.
it echoed loud — too loud — in the confessional. you bit a sigh as he soothed the reddened skin with brushes of his thumb.
"i may be," you whispered, inhaling sharply as he released the taut strap against your thigh again.
fth.
"fuck," dex sighed, nearly vibrating in restraint. he crashed his mouth to yours before he did something he probably wouldn't regret.
dex's lips were suffocating on you, not realizing his punishing intensity, but dutiful as you were to your congregants, you took what he was willing to give. his rough grip on your plushy thighs would certainly leave bruises in it's wake, but desire had you drunk enough that you couldn't care less.
his soul needed this. you could feel it.
perhaps it truly was god's will that brought the two of you together.
that's what you told yourself over and over again, trying to drown out the whine that stretched through the silence when dex pushed your hips away from his and slipped his hand the remaining distance downward to cup your cunt.
oh.
"shh, stay quiet, pretty girl," dex bit out, feeling blood rush to his cock at the feeling of the soaked lace. "you don't wanna get caught, do you?"
you shook your head 'no' fervently, but felt your cunt betray you, clenching around nothing at the idea.
"mm, maybe you do?" dex teased, cocking his head like a curious dog. you continued to deny it despite your hips' constant bucking, chasing any friction you could get.
his rumbling laugh seemed to echo through you as his fingers ghosted over the bead of your swollen, covered clit. your breath caught in your throat, sparks of pleasure blinding you as dex studied your reactions intensely.
"right there, honey?"
"yes," you exhaled, floating. utter pleasure washed over your face, creasing your brow. dex had the sudden realization that expressions of pain and pleasure are nearly identical. how interesting, the human condition, he thought.
with a smirk, dex set a steady rhythm of circles against the small bundle of nerves.
"feels so good, dex, please don't stop," you whispered.
he groaned sensually, bathing in the praise, thrusting up into nothing. "yeah?"
you nodded your head, a soft sob escaping you. your nails dug into his solid biceps in a desperate attempt to ground yourself, teeth sinking into your bottom lip to muffle your sweet moans. his methodical fingers kept their pace, the pressure delicious on your clit. your hips stuttered as you felt a tightness build in your abdomen.
"please," you begged.
"tell me what you need, sweetheart, use those words."
"more," you said, nearly in tears, "just need more…please…"
dex wasted no time, sliding his middle and ring finger beneath your ruined panties and deep into your desperate pussy. a gasp stole into your chest, throat turning raw. he curled his thick digits toward him, gently stroking the spongy muscle that had your back arching and eyelids fluttering again.
"yeah?" he goaded, "you like that?"
your answering, breathless "yes" made goosebumps erupt on dex's flesh. each sigh and whine from your lips erased any remaining self-doubt in this unfamiliar territory.
his warm, large palm pressed wonderfully against your aching clit, creating the perfect friction when he thrust and curled his fingers inside you. the stimulation was mouth-watering. you clung to dex's broad shoulders, nearly riding his fingers, babbling praise against his neck.
"so good, dex, p-please don't stop."
another chuckle. "i won't, baby, don't worry."
your core felt taut, as if it were an elastic band with too much tension. the pleasure had you taking down big gulps of air, discipline being the only thing standing between you and the moans that threatened to expose you both.
his fingers worked you right to the edge, then you were one, two, three strokes too close, and a panicked look crossed your features. the pressure was too much.
"it's okay." dex's lips brushed the shell of your ear as he spoke. "it's okay, honey, you can let go. you're allowed to feel good."
having permission to turn off your guilt was liberating. pleasure mounting fast like a damn ready to break, you turned your head to look him in the eye. your mouth hang open as you rode the waves of your orgasm all over his hand.
"that's it," he encouraged, voice hoarse, "keep cumming, good girl. that's it."
you didn't feel entirely in control of your own body, as if someone else were jerking your hips against the callouses of his palm. a white-hot sensation exploded within you. the high was overwhelming to your senses; the pleasure deafening. sound tuned out of your ears for a few moments as you squeezed your eyes shut, determined to not let shame ruin the moment.
dex slowed the pumping of his fingers to a halt inside you, feeling your slick walls flutter around him. he barely registered his hips thrusting in tandem with each drag of his digits. it was heaven—your warmth—and dex wanted.
how many of his fantasies involved this? his expert fingers between your holy thighs? he may have lost count. a smirk slid onto his handsome face at the thought that it was between him and god.
he was straining painfully against his jeans' zipper, cock stiff and leaky. a shaking hand guided your smaller one to rest on his bulge. you should have known he'd be well-endowed.
"you feel what you do to me?" he whispered hoarsely.
"yes," you breathed.
his lustful gaze met yours, pupils blown so wide his eyes appeared black in the candlelight.
"can you pray for me, sweetheart? while i fuck you?"
a pathetic noise left you then; somewhere between a whine and an "uh-huh", which, in the end, sounded like a high-pitched "huh." your cheeks blazed in embarrassment, but dex was all smiles.
"yeah?" he teased, nodding as he planted kisses to your cheek.
"please," you managed, mirroring his nods. "please."
"fuck," dex cursed. he pushed his hips out, nodding encouragingly as you undid his belt buckle and zipper. he slid his jeans and boxers out from underneath him, halfway down tree-trunk thighs.
mother mary.
"you're stunning," you complimented, and it might have been a trick of the light, but you swore color reached dex's scarred cheeks. "it's true: he made us all in his perfect image, of course, but you are…something."
a coy smile met his pink lips and your heart did a flip in your chest. he wasn't used to flattery, you could see it.
frantic eyes tracked your movements as your soft hand closed around his girthy cock. your cheeks burned feeling his slight twitch at your touch. you watched pre-cum dribble down his thick shaft and swallowed the mounting spit in your mouth.
you met dex's captivating eyes once more and lifted yourself, adjusting to sit just above the tip of his cock. he kissed you with a passion you felt from the inside, hot tongue licking into your mouth. strings of wetness fell to cover him, tip teasing your clit and entrance methodically.
you felt like the whore of babylon as he parted your lips beneath your panties and pushed inside past your reborn virginity. sex in a confessional. what the hell were you thinking? god would never forgive you.
then again, he hadn't seemed to forgive you for much of anything recently. what was one more sin?
you grasped the edge of your white veil and pulled it clean off. letting it fall behind you, you leaned into dex. in turn, he sank you further down on his length, stretching you from the inside.
"dex," you whispered between sweet gasps. your fingers grazed his lips, hovering just centimeters from your own.
sweat slid down his forehead, the heat between you two in the confined space overwhelming. his mouth hanged open, cock throbbing inside you as he struggled to breathe. it struck you in that moment that you may be taking his virginity, too.
"it's okay, sweetheart," you said, pressing soft, gentle kisses to his mouth. he deserved a good first experience, too, as far as you were concerned. your hand stroked his hair on instinct as you began slowly moving your hips against his. "it's okay. it feels good for me, too."
you paused, letting him adjust to your heat. now was as good as any to pray for him, for both of you, at this point. your sweet voice was saintly in his ears:
"hail, mary, full of grace,
the lord is with thee.
blessed art thou amongst women
and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, jesus.
holy mary, mother of god,
pray for us sinners,
now and at the hour of our death.
amen."
dex let out a sob as you began moving again and you slapped your unoccupied hand over his big mouth. surprise lit up his face at your aggression, reading the don't get us caught in your gaze. his dark eyes twinkled with something akin to approval. you felt the edges of his lips curl beneath your palm, so you took that as permission to do as you pleased.
and god certainly knew you would. you threw your head back, bottom lip tugged between your pearly whites, as dex bottomed out. his tip kissing your cervix, one arm slithered around your waist to pull you tight against him while his other hand rested on your hip. you lifted yourself slowly until only that aching tip remained inside, feeling the thick veins along his cock pulse. dex let out a low groan, vibrating against your hand, as you pushed back down and he hit deep inside once again. desperation knit his brows together, coloring his doe eyes something beautiful. he looked like a fallen angel; lucifer if he begged for forgiveness.
you built a gradual rhythm as you rode him. dex thought none of the church choirs in the world sounded as good as the little moans slipping out of you, the delightful harmony of wet sounds from where you two met sending shivers down his reinforced spine.
he pulled your hand away from him, only for a moment.
"this what you needed?" his deep voice was wrecked, cracking at the high point in 'need.' you felt yourself clench around his cock at the sound. "this what you meant by 'more'? just needed to get fucked?"
you nodded enthusiastically, only able to manage a quiet "mhm." your mind was as scrambled as your eggs this morning. your grip tightened in his hair as he watched you heatedly, intently, breath coming out in sharp, short pants through his straight nose.
dex craned his head, mouth meeting the spot just below your ear. "i know it feels good, baby…i know…i know."
your arms lost their fight at his words, wrapping around his shoulders in comfort and surrender as he met your thrusts. you muffled your uncontrollable moans against the smooth skin of his neck.
"f-fuck, that's it, honey, don't stop," he whispered. "please, just don't stop."
you could only sob promises into his leather jacket that you wouldn't as you bounced up and down on him. the musky, salty fragrance of him invaded your nose and you drank it in, pressing closer like you couldn't get enough. dex found a wicked grin creeping onto his features at the pleasure you derived from his body—from him.
how many times had he not found sleep until he had a hand around himself, stroking at the thought of you and your righteousness?
his north star.
a shattered moan left him then. the poor thing so drunk on pleasure that he didn't notice how close he already was.
"shit, i'm…" dex wheezed. you were nodding, grinding on the panties that bunched near your swollen clit.
"me too, dex." hearing your broken voice had him on edge.
"oh," he moaned, eyes rolling back until they closed. dex could only whisper now. "so close, so fucking close…need you…need you to cum, baby."
"yeah?" you teased, echoing his tactic from earlier. he whined in response, bucking wildly, muscles flexing. your hips began to shake as that elastic sensation tightened in your core, each stroke hitting your g-spot, rubbing your clit delectably.
your fingertips sank deep into dex's arms, trying to anchor yourself to him. he welcomed the biting pain from your nails, surely leaving crescent indents beneath his shirt.
"just a little longer," you nearly wept, "you can do it."
"i-i can't," dex groaned, "'s too good."
"yes, you can," you encouraged, trailing sweet kisses up and along his strong jaw: now ticking, grinding hard in patience. if there was one thing dex was used to, it was patience. maybe he could edge himself inside you, hovering on absolute bliss, the masochism written all over his pretty face. after all, he had waited this long. dex steeled his remaining self-discipline and nodded, arms lifting your waist, up and down, just so, to hit the spot inside you hard enough to have your toes curling in your mary janes.
the sight was more erotic than dex could have ever imagined: you, hair loose on your shoulders, arms thrown around him, rosary tickling his ear, as you rode him, habit dress still on, with shaking legs, your pace becoming sloppy, and that same, beautiful look on your face as you neared orgasm once again.
"dex, i'm…" you exhaled, hovering on that cliff you so desperately wanted to tumble over with him.
"that's it. go 'head, angel, cum all over me."
the filth of his words and tone of his voice—the raw command in it—had your walls gushing around him instantly. dex crashed his sinful mouth to yours to swallow each others' moans as you came simultaneously. you cried out against him, pussy soaking, milking him. a warmth filled you from within, his cock throbbing while his balls emptied.
a thin layer of sweat covered you both as you fought to catch your breath. euphoria had your head in the clouds, resting your forehead gently against his. dex shuddered in your arms, his whole body twitching with pleasure. you thought he looked the most handsome like this: relaxed, without a sneer or scowl to be seen, his beautiful face free of worry.
he let out the softest of whines when you met him with a chaste kiss. your arms tightened around him, cradling his clear head gently. dex leaned into you, then, as well. his tongue explored your mouth lazily as your shaking pace slowed. the buzzing plaguing him earlier was silent now, chased away by sweet release.
dex felt obsession crawling under his skin like it was sentient. his desires were suffocating him and he could only get one thing straight: he wanted you, this, forever. he was on the divine path, now certain that you were a part of it. even better, a willing part of it.
your lips left his and pressed against his slick forehead in forgiveness.
“god has forgiven your sins. you may go in peace.”
a low chuckle sent a shiver through you. the pleasure coursing through his veins fueled his boldness. "i ain't going anywhere, sweetheart."
the bright smile that touched your lips was undoubtedly an act of god, dex thought. he could get used to it.
a/n: hey guys i'm going to hell! pls forgive me for the amt of blasphemy. this wasn't requested i'm just a fucking freak. god 2x02 had my head SPINNING i couldn't write this fast enough but i wanted it to be Perfect, so i've been working on this for a minute. was this tew much? *elijah wood voice* maybe!
either way i hope u dexxed it. ;) #we'reback
pls lmk your thoughts! and as always, asks and requests r opennn! :)
xoxo, b
poindextergirl™ 2026. do not feed my work into ai, repost, or translate my work. reblogs are very much appreciated! ♱
