synopsis: zayne picks you up at the bus station in a downpour, attempting to appease you after a small argument
content: zayne x reader, little hurt/comfort, fluff, established relationship, banters, reader is a lil stubborn and hard-headed
word count: 2,684
author's note: lol this is very self-indulgent and ... sawrry it took this long, i was swamped with work and several travels. likes, comments, and reblogs are highly appreciated!
cross posted in my ao3
“Care to explain what you are doing here in the rain?”
“...No.”
Zayne nearly clicks his tongue at your stubbornness. Instead, he presses the hazard lights in his vehicle and darts his gaze at you again, “Come inside.”
You stare at him with furrowed brows, your arms wrapped around your shivering body with the tiny bus stop shed measly protecting you from the downpour. Zayne seems collected, looking at you expectantly through his glasses from his sleek black Audi, his one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting on the passenger seat with its windows rolled down. The offer is tempting enough, especially with the fact that Zayne has set the temperature just as toasty as you wish it would be.
But the earlier argument from your shared space resurfaces in your brain. Which warrants you to take a step back and look to the other side of the road.
“Don’t wanna,” you persist, folding your arms across your chest.
Your lover swallows thickly at your words, body resuming to driving position and looking straight at the road, “Alright. Have it your way,” he says, rolling the windows back up.
And for a second, you feel panic rising in your stomach, knowing that you do want to get in the car and be comfortable! Not to mention that you don’t know what time the next bus will arrive as you’ve been stuck in the shed for almost thirty minutes now, so getting inside his car seemed to be the most reasonable option. But Zayne just pisses you off at the moment.
Until you hear him adjusting the shift gear and the slamming of the car door. Your eyes followed the sound and your gaze was met with Zayne’s hunched back, his left hand doing nothing from shielding his body from the rain, walking around the vehicle. Your hands fall to your sides as he reaches you under the shed and before you can even get a word out, he already has you over his shoulders like a rag doll and within a minute, you were gently placed in the passenger seat of his car.
You couldn’t even protest when he leaned over your space, “You can roll your eyes at me later but I need you to behave now,” he explains, reaching out to the seatbelt and fastening it to your side. “Because if you think I’d let your idiocy and pride win tonight, you must have forgotten who you are dating.”
You immediately roll your eyes at his words. In response, Zayne presses his two fingers in your forehead, gently pushing it backward, “I said, behave.”
He didn’t even give you a chance to reply as he is already closing your door and walking to his side. You fold your arms across your chest again, huffing a breath as you look at your window, watching the raindrops patter on the glass.
Within seconds, Zayne settles beside you, his hair and clothes damp from the drizzle. You take a peek of him from your peripheral vision, watching water drip from the tips of hair to his shoulders. As he fastens his seatbelt, you reach out to the glove compartment of his car, and toss him the box of tissues he keeps religiously.
“You’ll get sick,” you mumble under your breath, avoiding his eyes, insisting on staring at the bus stop shed you were under just a couple of seconds ago. And you know for a fact that Zayne’s lips slightly twitch upward in amusement at your attempts to care for him.
“Isn’t someone so caring?” He says, humor lacing his tone as he pulls the tissues, patting himself dry.
You let out a huff, almost sounding like a scoff, “Savor this moment, I guess. It won’t happen again.”
You hear Zayne tossing the tissues at his cup holders by his door, “And someone’s being a little moody too, huh?”
You ignore his comment, continuing to stare ahead at the window with your lips pressed into a thin line. Zayne, on the other hand, could still feel your frustrations and anger directed at him. He shifts the gear of the car and proceeds to accelerate slowly, deft hands carefully pulling away from the curb and driving through the familiar roads.
Minutes of silence engulfed in the vehicle, neither wanting to break the tension bubbling, afraid that it may lead into an argument again. But despite the uncertainty of the situation, Zayne could never seem to find himself staying in this predicament with you. And so, he softly exhales, “Would you like to explain why you were shivering in the rain earlier?” He almost whispers under his breath.
You huff, “I wasn’t in the rain. I was at the bus stop,” you mumble.
Semantics, he wants to say. But he holds off his tongue. “What made you decide to be sarcastic today?” He says playfully, which warrants another roll of your eyes, refusing to even face him.
“Because someone would rather defend an intern for unabashedly flirting with him than side with his girlfriend,” you grumble under your breath, enough for him to hear.
Your lover purses his lips, knowing only himself could be to blame for even trying to make the atmosphere lighter. He dug his own grave at that moment. His fingertips drumming onto the steering wheel as he recalls how the argument came about.
Earlier, Zayne just arrived from a gruelling 12-hour shift at the hospital, ranting about how he had sudden back-to-back emergency surgeries to take care of while he was pressing a kiss to your hair and simultaneously shrugging off his coat and lab gown. You hum in acknowledgment, telling him how you had already prepared him a nice warm bath in his stead. He sighs in appreciation, sluggishly dragging himself to the bathroom to submerge himself into the water.
And as he does so, you decide to clean up after him, picking up his coat and lab gown from the rack to toss into the laundry. However, the moment you sling his clothes in your arms, you manage to whiff a feminine scent deeply ingrained in your boyfriend’s lab coat. You were absolutely certain that it’s not one of your perfumes as you have never worn anything so powerful from the one that you caught and the fragrance seemed to be quite fresh, like it was sprayed prior to his clock-out at work.
Your mind spirals with all the possibilities. You were definite that Zayne would never… entertain another woman when he is in a committed relationship with you. You knew his character inside out and if he wishes to see other people, you knew deep in your soul that he’d rather tell you straight up than beat around the bush.
You feel your surroundings spinning and your gut twisting at the thought that somebody is doing this to your lover. You take a moment to yourself, carefully sitting down at the couch as you continue to cling onto his clothes. As the seconds ticked into minutes, you barely heard the sound of the bathroom door opening and your boyfriend’s footsteps padding through the hallway of your shared apartment.
“Darling? Why are you still not in bed?” He calls out, ruffling his hair with his towel.
“Zayne,” you say, and he visibly flinches at the tone of your voice and your lack of endearment. You refuse to look at him, your eyes staring straight ahead.
“Is something the matter, my love?” He asks, confusion written all over his face.
You swallow thickly, glancing up at him, “I need you to be honest with me, Zayne.”
His head slightly cocks to the side, “Is there a problem?”
“Your lab coat smells like a different woman,” you say straightforwardly, staring at him with a blank look that demands an explanation and almost begging that none of this is happening. Zayne scowls at your words, “What?” He muttered, taking the coat from yours and sniffing it. Once he caught a whiff of the familiar aroma, he visibly sighs, rubbing his temples and turning his heel away, “It must be that new intern in our department. She seems too eager to be working with me,” he explains in a flat tone, which would’ve been enough for you on a normal day. But for some reason, the gears in your head just turn. “You do not need to worry yourself over this. It’s nothing,” he continued as he placed his gown in the washing machine.
“Have you done anything to call her behavior out?” You ask, trailing behind him, the frown in your face deepening. Zayne clenches his jaw, pressing into the setting of the washing machine “Is it necessary?”
Suddenly, you felt the rage of all your female ancestors rising within you. “You’re asking me if it’s necessary?” You scoff, folding your arms across your chest, “You’re a smart guy, Zayne. What do you think?” You challenge.
Zayne exhales, “Darling, can I ask you to not do this right now?”
“I just need an answer,” you demand.
His face tightens and he sighs, “I do not think it’s necessary as she is just an intern–”
“Then what about me, Zayne?” You ask, cutting him off, “Are my feelings just… unimportant to you?”
You were certain that you were being a little too much right now, especially knowing that your boyfriend has fatigue creeping up on him after his shift. But there was something in you that felt the need to claw out answers from him, even if it’s in an unhealthy way possible.
“My love, I am serious. I would want to have this conversation another time, please,” Zayne calmly says, almost pleading, the weariness in his face growing evident. And instead of letting the subject go, you huff and walk away, “Fine. Have it your way.”
And being stubborn is one thing you know how to do. Because instead of wrapping yourself under the comforts of your duvet in your shared bed, you grab your blanket and pillow while Zayne is expectantly waiting for you to embrace him for the night and lull himself to sleep with your warmth beside him.
“Darling where are you going–?”
“I am not sleeping with you tonight. I am still upset that you did nothing to call her behavior out.”
You thought Zayne would actually trail behind you and ask you to stop being difficult, using his strength to force you back to bed. But he lets you grumble on the couch, settling yourself underneath the thin blanket that does nothing to warm you up. You toss and turn on the couch, desperate to catch some sleep and a comfortable position but to no avail.
Until you hear careful footsteps padding across the living which elicits a thought from you that maybe he will finally ask you to come back to bed.
You wait for his words as your eyes are screwed shut, pretending to be asleep. Instead, you just hear the front door of your apartment opening and closing.
And in your frustration and anger, instead of following him and asking him to come back home, knowing he just went to the hospital to continue working, you returned the favor. You decided to go to the Hunters Association and finish the paperwork you have been putting off since last week.
Which led you to your predicament of being stuck on the bus stop while the rain poured heavily from the skies.
The car was filled with another minute of silence and he’s finding the right words to say to his lover. In the first place, he was never good with verbalizing his feelings, so being in this dilemma makes him feel a little queasy, especially when this seemed to be the biggest problem you two have encountered as a couple so far.
As he continues to file through his brain on what to say, he decides on a simple thing, “I’m sorry.”
You ignore his words.
“You have every right to be mad at me tonight but all I ask of you is to sleep beside me later,” he said, carefully driving through the slippery streets.
“Bold of you to demand that when you just up and left without a word,” you grumble.
“I had to take care of things,” he replies calmly. And in your head, you were already screaming several sarcastic remarks and rolling your eyes until you were sure you could see your skull. But before you could settle in on a perfect comeback, he speaks up again, “It seems I wasn’t appreciating my girlfriend’s feelings enough that I had to let her go through that emotional turmoil.”
You bite your inner cheek, listening to his words. “And I hope she listens to me tonight and comes home because I have already dealt with a rather… nuisance of a trainee at the hospital. Only to find out from my lover’s colleague that she worked overtime and is shivering in the rain,” he says.
Finally, you turn your head to meet his gaze, which has been glued the entire time on the road. “You did?” You ask, almost in a whisper.
He merely nods, “I could never live with the fact that you feel insecure in this relationship. It is my job to have you feel assured and safe. And if it meant driving back to the hospital to speak with the intern in the midst of her night shift, I would gladly do so.”
Your bottom lip juts out instinctively as you feel your heart swell in his words, “Zayne…”
“Besides, I could also never stand living with someone so grumpy and hard-headed to the point where she’d let me sleep alone in the bed.”
“Hey!”
Zayne’s lips slightly twitch upward as he knows you only focused on the first words. The stoplight glows yellow then transitions into a bright red, opting your lover to pause his driving and turn to you, “Is the little grouchy girl finished with her tantrums?”
“I’m not grouchy! My feelings were valid, Zayne,” you huff.
Zayne suppresses his smile as he presses a hand to your cheek, “I know, my love. Your feelings were and are valid. I apologize if it seemed like I wasn’t prioritizing you.”
You release a small sigh, your lips slightly quivering upward at the feelings of his warm hands, “Okay. I’m sorry too, Zayne. I was being a little harsh and forceful.”
“Apology slightly accepted,” he replies, removing his hand from yours, placing it back on the steering wheel.
Your eyes fly open at his words, cocking your head sideways in confusion, “Slightly?”
“Well you do have to compensate me for spending the night chasing you instead of resting, dear,” he says, pushing his glasses upward. You narrow your eyes at him in suspicion as he slowly accelerates the vehicle again, “What kind of compensation?”
Instead of replying to you, his lips break out a wide smile and his right hand taps on his cheek twice while his eyes remain on the road, and his left hand maneuvering the steering wheel effortlessly (which makes you feel things but you ignore it).
You raise a brow at him “Just a kiss on the cheek?”
Zayne remained silent. Thinking it was nothing, you shrugged and leaned forward, ready to press a kiss to his cheek. But before you can reach the skin of his cheek, he suddenly turns his head, urging you to plant your lips with his momentarily, causing your eyes to widen. He pulls away from the peck, catching a glimpse of your surprised expression with a smug smirk threatening to pull from the corners of his mouth.
“Zayne, that was dangerous!” You exclaim, your fingertips ghosting over your lips while heat creeps up your cheeks. Instead of replying, your lover merely hums, continuing his drive like nothing happened, eyes glued to the road as he feels you beside him still recover from the fleeting kiss.
“At least I fully accepted your apology, did I not?”
You’ve worn your boyfriend Sukuna to the bone, so your other boyfriend Toji takes over.
warnings. fem!reader/tojikuna, threesome, multiple orgasms, piv, kissing, creampie, overstim, ovulation, switch!toji if you squint, dom!sukuna. nsfw 18+ mdni.
──── ୨୧ ────
The first thing Toji noticed when he stepped through the front door was the heat. A subtle humidity lacing the air like the sweet lingering remnants of perfume. There was your lotion, sweet and familiar, and the smell of fresh sweat, layered with something primal and musky - the smell of sex.
The second thing he noticed was Sukuna, splayed over the couch like he’d just run a marathon. Tank top soaked through and sweatpants riddled with little damp patches, dotted across the fabric like stray petals. Toji’s gaze dipped without bothering to hide the way he was blatantly staring at Sukuna’s chest, at the heaving pecs peeking out from his neckline, eyes tracking the little bead of sweat beginning to trail a hot path down the center.
“What’s your problem?” Came Toji’s eventual greeting as he paused by the door, tearing his eyes away just to sling his gym bag over the hook there before continuing into the room, water bottle clasped in his hand.
Sukuna glared in reply, and if Toji were anyone else he might have actually felt intimidated by the sight. But with the way the other man was panting, pink tufts of hair stuck every which way and slicked with sweat, he didn’t paint a particularly scary image. In fact the only sensation the sight triggered within Toji was a mild amusement, alongside a tiny spark of heat low and betraying in his belly.
“I’ve already had her four times,” Sukuna grunted, “the brats insatiable.”
Toji snorted mid sip of water, eyes leaving the couch to instead peer through the half opened doorway to the bedroom, where he managed to catch only a glimpse of your bare leg through the crack. From the looks of it you were naked - splayed over the sheets, hair probably still a little damp from the shower, skin lacquered with lotion, half washed away with sweat by now.
“What, she ovulating or something?” Toji wondered aloud, lowering the bottle to once again catch Sukuna’s gaze over the metal rim.
The other man crossed his arms unceremoniously across his chest, and Toji watched the tendons jump in the winding muscle of his forearms as he shrugged.
“That or she’s in heat, damn near milked me dry.” He grumbled, brows knitted, working a mean line between them. If you were here you’d reprimand him for such an expression, crawl over the couch and run your thumb between his salmon brows until the lines wore smooth, or until Sukuna grew bored and wrapped a hand around your wrist to flip you onto the cushions instead.
Toji laughed then, the sound rough and graveled like tattered velvet.
“Seriously?” He scoffed, lips spread into a sly grin as he licked stray droplets from them, “had to tap out did ya’ Ryomen?”
Sukuna’s scowl only deepened, soured now with genuine irritation.
“Just be grateful I wore her out for you,” he spat, “and watch your tone, or it’ll be you spread eagle and whining for more cock next, Fushiguro.”
Toji chuckled again as he screwed the lid of his bottle on tight, the motion accented with a metallic ‘squeak!’ before he tossed it toward Sukuna, hard enough that he heard the fleshy impact when the other man’s hand shot out to catch it.
“Yeah yeah,” he mused, moving past the couch to instead push through the bedroom door, which creaked beneath the effort, “drink some fuckin’ water and get outta my way.”
If he were being honest, when he’d left for the gym that morning he’d been hoping for this exact scenario. Toji knew you - or at least your cycle - well enough to know that you’d wake up needy and leaking, and he knew Sukuna well enough to know he wouldn’t be able to resist the sight of you humping his thigh like a dog in heat for very long. So he’d left without a word just as the sun kissed the horizon, and he’d been half hard in his sweats since his second rep just thinking about it.
If the living room was warm, the air within the bedroom was stifling. But it wasn’t the heat or the sticky sweet scent that knocked the air from Toji’s lungs on entry, no. It was the sight of you - limbs splayed over the mattress, hair messed and wild where your head was tucked between the pillows. Your jaw lifted back far enough to expose the long column of your throat, giving Toji a stellar view of the dark sucking marks peppered there, indents of teeth that he was sure would melt into bruises by the evening.
Toji took in the sight indulgently - paused in the doorway, a lone hand already trailing its way down the curve of his stomach, teasing until his fingers curled over the bulge forming there. He squeezed once and shivered, reveling in the immediate relief that sizzled over his body like a splash of ice water.
He could feel the weight of Sukuna’s gaze piercing into the back of his skull like the promise of a snipers sight. He didn’t indulge the urge to peer over his shoulder and meet that heated gaze, instead he let his hand drop to his side and pressed a knee into the mattress.
You didn’t move, didn’t speak or even open your eyes when he crawled over the sheets, crowding your space like a panther sliding atop its snagged prey.
His hand met the curve of your waist, skin soft and warm beneath his palm, layer of sweat sticking you lightly to him. He trailed one hand downward over the curve of your belly, the other grazed feather-soft over the slopes of your breasts, pausing to pinch gently at either nipple, perked and willing in his hands.
“You’re soaked sweetheart,” he mused when his fingers finally dipped between your thighs, which gave way to him easily, spreading to make room for his forearm to slot between. He moved slowly, palming soft and teasing over your mound and listening to you mumble mindlessly below him.
You whined something unintelligible in reply, voice nothing but a high pitched whimper, crackled like shattered glass.
With a chuckle, he leaned down and craned his head until his ear rested level with your mouth.
“What’s that sweetheart?” He questioned, head tilted to listen.
You swallowed, hard and dry, and licked your lips before you spoke again. Another croaked string of words hit his ear, a touch clearer this time. He realized then that you weren’t mumbling gibberish at all, you were begging.
“More, more, need more, please ‘kuna, please jus’ one more…”
Toji chuckled and lifted his head back to study you again - he found your eyes still closed, brows now knitted into an expression that was decidedly desperate.
“Old Ryo’ couldn’t keep up, huh?” He mused, hands lifted from your body to instead press into the mattress either side of your head, leveraging the weight of him as he slotted himself properly between your thighs.
You offered a gentle huff in reply, eyelids feeling much to heavy to bother opening. Your limbs felt numb, tingling with residual little sizzles of pleasure.
“Don’t worry doll, ‘m here now.”
Toji didn’t waste time working you open or teasing you with the brush of his lips or gentle caresses, no. He simply slipped his shirt over his head and tossed it sideways. His thumb hooked over his waistband, tugged down to let his length spring free and slap hard and raw against you.
The sensation was enough to have his lips parting around a shuddered breath. You felt like heaven - like slick molten silk kissing each bumped ridge as he rutted through your swollen folds. You jolted when he shifted, hard inches rubbing over your clit, still singing with over stimulation.
He grinned and lowered a thumb to pet at your entrance, leaking slick and dribbles of what he was sure was Sukuna’s spend. He traced your rim beneath the head of his cock slowly, smearing the milky little pearls gathered there and wondering just how many loads Sukuna had managed to stuff inside you before he’d finally tapped out. The thought made his breath catch, and sent another sizzle of heat straight to his throbbing cock.
“C’mon, look at me now,” Toji cooed, watching the way any semblance of coherency on your face melted away when he finally pressed down, sinking inside with a single dizzying press of his hips - testament to just how soaked and used you really were.
It was enough to make your eyes roll behind your lids, fluttering with the delicious sting of being stretched open again. Toji treated you with shallow little thrusts. The hair at his base tickling your clit, thick veins pulsing against your rubbed raw walls where Sukuna had pounded you until you cried, until you bruised. And yet despite the pain, the ache - that needling little bud of desire still burned just as hotly as when you’d first awoken that day, stoking the fire in your belly and dribbling lava hot between your aching thighs.
“Oh, oh…” you moaned dumbly, lashes twitching as you finally lifted them and tried to blink away the layer of hazy film that had settled there. Your mind felt fuzzy, vacant. Drunk on the sensation of being stuffed utterly full once again.
“There she is,” Toji soothed.
“‘Ji, it’s you…” came your delayed greeting, nothing more than a breathy whine, “need’t cum, need to cum again, please…”
“Again?” Toji echoed in faux surprise, hips lowing to a torturous roll, “that’s a little greedy of you, don’t you think?”
“Incredibly greedy,” a distant voice interrupted, flat and deep and utterly serious.
Toji tilted his head back just enough to catch sight of Sukuna’s broad form filling the doorway, looking more like the hired security than someone who actually lived there. Toji peered through strands of ink black hair at the big hand that was beginning to dip beneath the waistband of Sukuna’s sweats, palming lazily at the considerable bulge there. Sukuna’s gaze was equally heavy and heated, lowered past the curve of Toji’s spine to track the way your hole was stretching around his thickness.
Toji swallowed, took a final glance at the sight of Sukuna beginning to work his length free from his boxers. His eyes stuck on the exposed slip of tan skin where Sukuna had tugged his shirt upward, the spatter of hair dusted there, before he turned his attention back to you.
“Haven’t even asked how my day was yet, and here you are begging me to make this needy pussy cum,” Toji teased, “and after Ryo’ took such good care of you too.”
“Please,” you cried, shaking your head furiously against the damp pillows crumpled either side of you, “please don’t tease me.”
“Aw I’m sorry sweetheart,” Toji cooed, voice dripping thick with mock concern, “you just need it real bad, huh?”
The delicate shallow thrusts he had been nursing you with suddenly shifted, turned to long pulls smacked back inside hard enough that you felt the tip of him kiss somewhere deep and delicate. Each buck had your legs quivering, and a sharp little shock of pain and pleasure in equal measure sizzling over your skin.
You were lucid enough only to know that he was moving, slow methodical thrusts that felt achingly tender. Each twitch of his worked muscle was purposeful, each motion entirely controlled and aimed to break you apart.
“Shh, just feel it. You feel me, right baby? Nice ‘n deep.” The words were sin incarnate, purred right into your ear.
You were nodding before you could think, slurring a string of unintelligible words alongside breathy cries of his name, strung together like a prayer.
“Deep… deeper…”
The scent of him was intoxicating, dizzying. The sharp sting of fresh sweat and his own familiar woody musk was enough to have you lifting your trembling legs just to hook a heel over his hip and tug him closer.
“Finally knocked all the brains outta you, huh?” Toji teased, “That’s alright, don’t need to think. Just keep squeezin’ this pretty little pussy around me, yeah?”
One of your hands fled the sheets to instead grasp at one of Toji’s bare shoulders, fingers digging into the muscle there.
“Kiss me,” you panted, blinking up at him with wide wet eyes, blown black and glossy with need, “oh, hng-… please Toji…”
Toji didn’t bother with a reply, instead he simply dipped his head and captured your lips in a kiss so sudden you barely had the wherewithal to suck in a lungful of air before he was swiping any lingering thoughts away with the hot slide of his tongue.
You melted into the touch, letting the roll of his jaw guide your movements - moaning in surprise when his teeth nipped at your cracked lower lip, your grip on his shoulder tightening when his tongue met yours.
When you finally split apart you were sufficiently softened by the blend of his sweet kisses and the steady rock of his hips, brain humming quietly like the static of a tv set to a dead channel.
“Good?” Toji questioned, head tilting.
You just nodded, struggling to keep you gaze affixed on the inky strands of hair slipping over Toji’s forehead, that was until a sudden blur of colour crept into the edge of your vision.
“Oi, what are you?-…”
You watched, motion a little delayed, as Sukuna’s hand slid across the back of Toji’s neck. Toji’s eyes widened an inch, looking genuinely shocked for just a moment before Sukuna’s grip tightened, firm hand forcing his head upward until they finally met in a rough crashing of lips.
Peering up you simply watched, entranced, at the slide of pink tongue between sticky sweet flutters of your lashes. Eyes caught on the way Toji’s brows lifted and his hips stuttered just a little when Sukuna’s hand tightened into a fist at his nape, strands of silky black hair sticking wayward through his thick fingers.
Toji grunted into the kiss, rougher now - a tumble of teeth and tongue in stark contrast to the slow rhythm of the embrace you had shared. One of Toji’s hands curled over your hip, thumb mindlessly tracing the bone there. The other found Sukuna’s chest, grasping a handful of fabric before he was shoving the other man backwards.
You watched a glittering thread of spit link them for a moment before it split, and you must have clenched at the obscene sight because Toji made a choked sound above you, falling into the sensation a little like he were suddenly made of jelly.
“Fuck sweetheart,” he panted, lips glossed as he dug a fist into the mattress beside your head, “that’s it, just like that.”
His thrusts didn’t slow or soften, but they felt sloppier somehow, and when you blinked upward you realized why. Sukuna had stepped in behind Toji, plump chest pressed to his back, massive hand still curled around his nape, thumb rubbing soothing little shapes there. His head turned inward, lips pressed to the delicate little strip behind Toji’s ear, breathing so close you could see the speckle of goosebumps begin to prickle over Toji’s skin.
“C’mon Fushiguro,” Sukuna purred, quiet enough that you could barely hear the sweet syrupy words, “don’t get soft on me now.”
Dazed, you watched Sukuna raise a spare hand to his lips, thumb pressed against tongue beneath the glint of pearly canines before he reached past Toji’s hips and tucked it between your thighs. You jerked at the sudden contact, the searing heat of his slick thumb, calloused and rough and perfect against your abused clit.
“Bastard…” Toji gritted, breaths coming ragged now, panting between barely masked grunts of pleasure as his head dipped beneath the weight of the palm at his nape. His gaze was glassy, glued to where you were clamping around him, where your slick was painting the dark curls at his belly white.
Sukuna only grinned in reply, and you could hear the lazy glee lacing his tone with his next words, thumb still rolling over your twitching nub as you writhed beneath his touch.
“Go on now,” he rumbled, low and filthy over the shell of Toji’s ear, and you swore you felt Toji twitch in response. “make the pretty girl cum.”
You could feel it, the looming buzz of your orgasm, curling like the crest of a wave, hot and tight in your belly like the slow cinching of a knot.
“Close ‘ji…’m close,” you slurred, “gonna… hn!- ‘m gonna…”
“I’m right here sweetheart,” Toji was groaning now, shivering a little as the hand at his nape tightened once more. His thrusts were wild - wide sloppy pumps driven haphazardly into the slick mess between your thighs. Sukuna’s thumb continued its assault, drawing steady heart shapes over your clit, right above where Toji was busy splitting you open.
“C’mon princess,” Toji pleaded, words accented with a kicking throb that you felt all the way in your gut, “give it to me.”
You let your eyelids fall shut, squeezed tightly against the way your vision was beginning to blur at the edges. Senses dulled, sounds and scents becoming more and more distant with each second of rising pleasure until suddenly the knot snapped, and you were unraveling along with it.
Toji cursed somewhere beyond the numbed blackness of your senses, and alongside it you felt a flood of heat and the familiar twitching pulse of him as he filled you. Firm hands gripped your waist like an anchor, holding you in place as you squirmed against his final stuttered humps, wracked with unending wave after wave of white hot pleasure.
“Shh, that’s it, that’s a good girl…” Toji was cooing into your ear, forehead pressed to the pillow, only hair tickling your cheek.
The words were a salve, a balm smoothed over your mind until all that was left was the honeyed buzz of pleasure.
You sucked in a shaky breath and realized along with it that you were crying, cheeks soaked and salted with fresh tears. You let your limbs fall, limp and exhausted against the sheets. A subtle ache was beginning to settle in your muscles, in your bones, and yet beneath it all you still felt it - that itch deep inside, like an unending, desirous pit.
“More…” you croaked, voice utterly broken despite your pleading.
Toji scoffed somewhere above you - sounding equal parts shocked and proud at your incessant appetite. You heard the distant thump of approaching footfalls, followed by the telltale creak of a knee digging into the mattress before the bed was dipping beneath a considerable weight, and you felt Toji slip out with a slick sucking sound.
“Move Fushiguro, think I just got my second wind.”
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a/n: kinda ahhh drabble while I work on longer fics bc I’m stuck thinking about tojikuna, hope you enjoy anyway <3
Synopsis. 8010—DOKI-DOKI-GF: Are you a complete n’ utter nerd that just can’t seem to find a girlfriend? Have you lied to your family and told them that you’re seeing someone (when you really aren’t)? Do you need to save face at the next family dinner before your uncle makes fun of you until the end of time? Well, call our hotline NOW to access Tokyo’s #1 rent-a-girlfriend service!
Choso Kamo, unfortunately, is all of the above.
Pairing. Choso Kamo x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!rentaI girIfriend!reader, nerd!Choso Itadori family shenanigans, meeting the family, fake dating, UncIe Kuna is MEAN, they’re onto you…, getting kicked out of restaurants, Iove hotels, vírgin!Choso, first times (his), PÚSSYDRÚNK CHOSO, making him crawI, oraI (f + m), fíngering, spítting, bíting, p taIking, scientific taIk HAHA, commands (from you), créaming his pants, making him cúm earIy, multiple o’s (him), MAJOR overstím, pánty-sníffing, ríding, making him whímper, making him cry, somewhat gágging (him), teaching him, creampíes, sIight cùmfIation, implied marathon, getting together, happy ending, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 12.0k
A/N. HEHEHEH-
“—I’m so happy you’ve found your person, Cho…” Itadori Jin coos- tearing up.
“P-papa, people are staring.” Choso huffs, spooning the syrupy-sweet cherries on his sundae over to Yuji’s.
“I know, I know.” Jin bats a hand, not-so-discreetly dabbing underneath his eyes using his sweater. “It’s just- your uncle and I were getting so worried, y’know?” He gestures at his younger twin brother next to him—looking comically buff in that pretty pink ice cream parlor seat. Jin had chosen this place. “And although we didn’t lose hope-”
“Who’s we?” Sukuna snorts.
“I uh…well.” Jin adjusts his glasses and looks over at Itadori Wasuke - currently scooping out his own cherries to flick into the neighboring table’s cups when they weren’t looking. “Father and I didn’t lose-”
“I did.” Wasuke looks squarely at his oldest grandson, “No offense, kid- but I bet ¥400 that you’d die alone.”
Sukuna nods seriously, “I bet ¥20,000.”
To which you’re finally…reaching over to intertwine your fingers with Choso’s.
…Choso drops his cherries.
And you’re letting out such a sweet, sweet giggle - even sweeter than the linger of cherries on his tongue - before you duck underneath the table to help him pick them up.
Choso was already on his knees crawling after those damn cherries- and all it takes is a single glance at your face oh-so-close to his, in such short proximity, for him to jolt—and bang his head against the underside of the table. So hard that the glasses clink against one another, and Wasuke groans as he misses in his valiant cherry canons.
So loud that half the parlor stares at your little table.
“Oh no.” You’re reaching out in concern as Choso rubs his achin’ head. “Honey, are you-”
“I-I’m fine—!” Choso turns his face away - and the only things you could make out were the frames of his chunky glasses…and the burning red on the tips of his ears. Blushing. Though you’re not convinced, and once you get a little closer- he’s waving you off more fervently than ever. “I promise, I promise! I can handle it…babe.”
You quirk a brow - “If you say so, sugarplum.”
He almost jolts once more- too much…?
However, before you’re thrusting yourself once more into the stratosphere of emotional fathers (at least, one of them) and glowering uncles, you inch yourself closer to the nerve-wracked man - as quick as a flash. And then you’re pressing your lips to his right cheek—just a graze, just a peck.
But it’s enough for Choso to yelp-
And bang his head against the table once again.
“Easy there, tiger.” You’re giggling at him, “I need you in one piece.”
“N-need me…” Choso whispers to himself- perhaps thinking that you won’t hear.
And it’s a small mercy that you’re handing to him - pretending that you didn’t hear that. Instead, you’re throwing yourself back into your seat, and presenting your most-practiced smile at Choso’s eavesdropping family members.
In little-to-no time, Choso’s popping back up and plopping all those floor cherries into Sukuna’s black coffee. The older man swears.
Jin covers the seven-year-old Yuji’s ears.
And then your boyfriend’s excusing himself hastily to the bathroom. Leaving you alone with them.
Unsure how to proceed, there’s a few minutes of silence before you’re speaking first. “Quite the lovely place, isn’t it?”
“Yes- yes.” Jin snaps out of his little reverie—he’d been watching over your interaction with such unabashed pride. Such loving nosiness. Out of all the fathers of clients that you’d happened to meet, you think he might just be your favorite…He beams. “I’m so glad you like it, dear. I mean- the first girl that Cho’s introducing us to-”
“The only one.” Sukuna coughs.
“-I just knew I had to impress. I picked this one specifically because it advertised itself as a place that’s both family-friendly and open to coup-”
“So you met the wimp…how again?” Sukuna interrupts. And he ignores the look that Jin throws at him.
“Six months ago at university.” Choso’s finally finished up at the bathroom, within earshot of the table. He takes his seat right next to you.
“I hope you washed your hands.” You whisper to him.
“Of course, I did.”
The two of you had already repeated this tried and true story at the very start of your introductions. And it was clear that Sukuna was fishing for something…more.
You make a show of reaching for Choso’s hand on top of the table—intertwining your fingers with his. They were fingers much longer and thicker than yours- that you might not have expected. The most sensual calluses from what you assume to be turning pages of books. The softest touch nevertheless.
You squeeze his hand and shoot him a simpering smile.
Itadori Jin just about faints.
Sukuna scoffs at his overdramatic older brother, “S’that so…?” He then crosses his tattooed arms, “You don’t seem like the type to like ah- biology and hemorrhages.”
“It’s biology and hematology, uncle Ryo.” Choso answers crossly, “And no- we met in the campus library.”
Then you’re the one to pipe up. “Cho here- oh, sorry, Choso-”
“Call him whatever you like—!” Jin cries.
As his brother attempts to wrangle him back into his seat, you smile appreciatively and continue. “Cho here was the one that helped me find a textbook I’d been searching for for weeks.” Just to add a little flare to it, you’re squeezing his hand once more and staring deeply into his big, beautiful brown eyes when you speak. “He knew even better than the librarian! And he was just so nervous- stuttering and- and did I tell you that he almost tripped over himself handing me that book?”
Jin, so very interested in your story, shakes his head aggressively.
Meanwhile Sukuna merely rolls his eyes- though you note that he and Wasuke don’t interrupt you for a second.
“Yeah…that was when I knew.” You conclude. Patting lovingly at his arm, “And of course, it did take a few weeks of being friends for Cho here to finally build up the courage. But he did manage to ask me out in the end—”
Sukuna raises one mean, coral-pink brow.
And you’re elbowing your boyfriend.
“-didn’t you, honey?”
It was rather difficult to convince your boyfriend’s family of the story of you two meeting- especially when your boyfriend himself looked as though this was his first time hearing it…Choso kept an expression of sweet euphoria—something soft. Like he was watching a romantic movie play out.
One that was starring in- and you needed him to say something…
“Huh? Yes?” Choso blinks- sense coming back to him. “O-oh, yes.”
And then he straightens up.
Possessively placing his hand on top of yours, “I saw her and I just…knew she had to be mine-”
“See now, that where yer lying.” Sukuna leans over the table with a devilish smile- pointedly ignoring his brother’s swatting. “There’s no world in which Kamo Ultimate Loser Choso—had his first kiss with a biology textbook, asked out the high school lab skeleton before any real person - would be the one asking you out.”
You’re stiffening as he points at you.
“Are you just someone he’s paying to lie? Because whatever he’s paying, it surely can’t be enough-”
You’re plastering on your smile, “If by ‘pay’ you mean love and cherish me then-”
“Then I know my nephew would no sooner woo a damn lab rat than a real person.” Sukuna scoffs, crossing his arms and falling back into his seat. “Especially one so pretty.”
Jin looked tense- and he’d forgone swatting at Sukuna underneath the table to now openly pinching his bicep. Still, the pain seems to do nothing to bate his suspicion.
“More sundaes, everyone? More sundaes?” Jin asks in a strangely high tone.
The only ones unaffected at the table was Yuji currently plucking at his sundae cherries, and Wasuke who stared at them with the internal debate as to whether or not he should fling those at the neighboring table, too. You almost wanted him to—anything to distract from the terseness that had suddenly taken over.
And to your surprise - it’s Choso who’s the first one to speak. “Why, uncle Ryo…” Those doe-like eyes of his narrow into an expression you’ve never seen made by the sweet, sweet boy thus far. “-jealous?”
Sukuna startles- “The hell did you s-”
“Dagnabbit I almost had it this time-” Wasuke gives up on considering and swipes one of Yuji’s overabundance of cherries to throw into their neighboring tables glass. It’s a hole in one.
“Grandma, do that again—!” Yuji squeals and claps his hands.
“Huh, where? I’m grandpa-”
“Everybody silence!” Jin’s voice raises above than the rest - and into every corner of the ice cream parlor. Echoing. He hadn’t realized it in the heat of the moment, but he found himself standing as he stopped the chaos—and rushed to sit down after some apologetic bows at the wider population being subjected to the catastrophe that was…their family.
And his next apology is directed at you. “My dear, I cannot tell you how sorry I am-” Now instead of pinching Sukuna, he outright gives the man a brotherly smack upside the head. Unafraid of doing so; Jin makes it hard enough that even Ryomen Sukuna winces. Now you understand how he kept his title shining as older brother…“-that I am related to a bunch of buffoons, and Yuji.”
“Yuji has been quite the distinguished gentleman.” You’re nodding at Yuji and his ice-cream-covered grin. “But it’s alright, Mr. Itadori. Honestly- promise I wasn’t offended by anything said.”
Your hands have seemed to find a permanent home in Choso’s - at least for the time being - and you squeeze his.
“I understand that you’re just ah- cautious as the first girl to meet you like this but…I get it. Really.” Jin’s expression just seems to melt as you keep speaking. “Cho really is someone special to me. And I want to protect him, too.”
Next to you, you hear Choso suck in a shaky breath.
“Really? And you truly promise that it hasn’t been too much?” He probes with shining eyes. “Ryo here can get a little too mouthy-”
“Hey!” Sukuna starts—then immediately winces as Jin’s fingers twitch towards him again.
“Please do forgive him- it’s in his nature.”
“Absolutely promise. And I don’t hold anything against Mr. Sukuna, either.” You knew to hit juuuust where it mattered - and referring to Sukuna using such a title made the man straighten in his chair a little. “Choso did warn me that his family might be a little…excited. But to be honest with you, I always have had a soft spot for big, loud families.”
“Well…” Jin blushes happily, before reaching across the table and shaking your hand. “You may call me Jin, if you’d like. And I’d like to welcome you into our big, loud family.”
“I’m so honored- thank you.”
“The honor is all ours.”
“Oh no, it’s ours.”
Sukuna glances at Choso and scoffs. Underneath his breath, “That’s as long as that wimp has paid for-”
The table rattles as Jin kicks him underneath it. “The honor is all ours. Isn’t it…younger brother?”
“Ye-yes—” Sukuna wheezes. His large hand comes slamming down- merely something to hold onto his dear life for. “Welcome to the family, girl.”
You beam like it’s the happiest day of your life.
Head rested on Choso’s shoulder, and your head nodding at the flow of conversation. “This is cooler than the Turritopsis dohrnii.” He breathes.
Save for the brief hiccup earlier- you’d consider your first meeting with Choso’s family to have gone swimmingly. And sure, perhaps Sukuna held the faintest inkling of suspicion that what the two of you had was a ruse—but he’d been shot down almost immediately by Jin.
And thank goodness for that.
“Let’s celebrate by getting the double double heart-shaped cones- oh, I wonder how they get them into that shape?” Jin hums. “And then I want chocolate chips, dipped in the bubblegum drizzle and- oh, hello.”
He beams as their server nears the table.
“I would like-”
“Sir, we’ve been getting complaints of cherries being flung into people’s glasses and we’re going to have to ask you to leave.”
“Oh.”
Because of course…Ryomen Sukuna had been completely correct.
As the group gets up to leave - perhaps to another diner downtown or so - you’re refusing to let Jin apologize. And you’re still holding onto Choso as though he was the dreamiest boyfriend in the whole wide world, and you were the luckiest girlfriend—as dreamy as he may be…you weren’t the girlfriend he’d been dating for the past five months.
In fact, you weren’t his girlfriend at all.
In fact, you’d only met two hours prior.
You were #1 Rental Girlfriend in all of Tokyo. And this time, you’d been hired to save face at a family get-together.
Of course, it wasn’t the first time that you’ve had to pretend your way through such a predicament - more people than one would think had less and less time for love. Especially not in this day and age. Especially not when work and responsibilities latched onto you like a starving tick, and though its blood supply might be modest at first, it only grows hungrier and hungrier—greedier, until you’re bone-dry. Bone-dry. Bone-dry. And it still feeds- what’s next? The bones and all?
And society still looks at you with the same standards—yes, the parasite’s gotten bigger, but why are you so frail?
And before you know it, you’re hiring a rental girlfriend to prove to your parents that yes- you can still be a functional and well-balanced adult still!
This was exactly why you continued being a rental girlfriend.
It’d started out as a side-job during your first year of university—your friends were all getting partners or throwing themselves into their studies. And you needed something fulfilling to pass the time.
Then, your best friend suggested getting a part-time job.
You’re sure she didn’t mean as a rental girlfriend.
But you couldn’t help it - it’d been the first advertisement for Hiring that’d popped up once you’d searched online!
And it was meant to be for a few weeks initially- really, you hadn’t planned on continuing this career for so long. Let alone making it a sort of career.
That morning, you’d opened up your approved application for Doki-Doki-Girlfriend and determinedly made your way to the interview section - promising yourself that you’d run at the first sign of anything off. The interview was being held at the Doki-Doki headquarters: this pretty pink-colored building in downtown Akihabara that had formerly been a host club. It’d been dimly-lit and draped in old perfume and even older sex.
Though you’d been nervous the first time you entered, you’d been quickly taken by the Doki-Doki owner—Tsukumo Yuki.
The first thing she asked you was what your type in men was.
And when you’d answered - through your shock - that it was the shy, stuttering type- she laughed that that was about 95% of their clientele. So you’d be lucky, perhaps.
Yuki, as she insisted you call her, explained to you the ins and outs of being a rental girlfriend. To smile. To simper. To be sweet but not overly so.
To never let them pressure you into anything. They weren’t the type of rental business that offered other sorts of services.
What people were searching for above all was a connection- for at least this brief moment in time. And the both of you would understand this transaction: it was the fantasy of a human bond that you were selling, and they were buying. It was your time. It was your emotional investment.
But later…you would come to genuinely connect with most of those you worked with.
After that interview—which you passed with flying colors, you spoke with some of the other girls working there and decided to continue with the job opportunity. Much to Yuki’s delight, who’d taken a liking to you almost immediately. After that was the training period - during which you accompanied some of the other rental girlfriends on their dates.
You were introduced to some as their friend—and as many guys as expected were actually flattered to be seen with two ‘girlfriends’ in public.
You took notes on conversation topics. You watched their behaviours.
You understood how they’d change their approaches according to the needs of their clients, and you absorbed it all.
After a few weeks of observation, you were finally added to the roster of rental girlfriends to go on your own dates.
You just didn’t expect to shoot to the top of the ranks.
#1 in Tokyo.
Perhaps one of the Top 5 in the entire country—only three years after starting, in your fourth year of university.
The clients adored you.
They draped you in gifts. They went on repeat dates - spending extra just for a minute of your time, though you often refused the additional amounts. Of course, there would be no funny business (and this was something you made quite clear within the first few minutes of meeting a new client). And excluding one or two unsavory clients that were quickly blacklisted from Doki Doki, you’d grown rather fond of your regulars.
There was the older woman who’d practice speaking to women through you- for when she planned on getting her first girlfriend. There was the excitable college student who tested out date spots with you. There was the pensioner who wished to take a monthly stroll through the park, simply talking about their day.
It was the feeling of belonging amongst strangers. Connecting with people you never could have imagined finding common ground with before.
And you believe, through this line of work, you began to understand humans better.
Humans were all just…really, really lonely.
Choso had been the same when he came to you.
It had been a working day like any other - you’d been called to the front desk of Doki Doki in order to be given a briefing of your next date. It was all standard processes, really.
Name: Kamo Choso
Age: 23
Occupation: Student
Prior appointments: None.
Prior love life: None.
Purpose: Client seeks a rental girlfriend to sit through a family dinner with his family, pretending to be his girlfriend. Prior backstory required to be able to maintain the conversation and create the illusion of a loving relationship (5 months). Flirting and mild physical affection.
Extra notes: Client says to please be wary of his extra ‘rowdy’ family.
And so, you’d accepted.
You met up with the aforementioned Choso—and found yourself a little taken aback at just how…cute he was.
Nerdy. Nervous.
Pushing his glasses up as he frantically introduced himself - that, too, messing his name up a few times before actually telling you.
Exactly your type. Yuki had been right.
He was your age, and went to - it turns out - the same university as you. Though the two of you hadn’t seen each other before, Choso confessed that that might be because he was cooped up in the library most of the time.
He bowed at least a dozen times through apologies for the trouble- even though you assured him that meeting a family wasn’t anything out of your way. And then he insisted on paying extra, on coming up with a code should you want to leave, on—you shook your head and grabbed his hand. “So, how did we meet, boyfriend?”
You always did enjoy the ones where big families were involved - sure, they might be more awkward in the long run…but those types of dates always did manage to make you feel so warm inside. Big families. Big emotions.
And the biggest, perhaps, of all had been meeting the Itadori family.
They’d been unlike any other family you’ve ever met.
And that was saying a lot.
Thus, you’re letting out a prolonged sigh the moment you’re stepping outside—it was some downtown diner that the six of you had ended up at after your less-than-ceremonious exit at the ice cream parlor. Sukuna had been craving something hearty after living through that introduction on just sweets and coffee - and Jin had suggested one of their favorite ramen places.
It was only after you’d sat down with them at one of the booths - the one they called their ‘usual’ - that Jin had revealed that when they referred to it as ‘their’ ramen place—they really meant the their.
In everything but ownership.
This was the first restaurant they’d gone to celebrate Choso’s first birthday, this was the first restaurant they’d gone to after Jin’s mother had passed, this was the first restaurant they’d gone to after Yuji was born and Jin was granted full custody.
And you couldn’t help but feel a strange sinking feeling at the pit of your stomach. What was that you said about family-oriented dates being the most awkward in the long term?
At least the ramen had been the best you’d ever tasted- and the conversation flowed freely. Even Sukuna seemed to forgo his initial suspicion to make some conversation with you on Akihabara’s best spots.
And in the end, you were walking out of that ramen restaurant with a full stomach and an even more full heart.
Waving to the retreating backs of Jin, Sukuna, Wasuke, and a sleeping Yuji—you’re turning to Choso once they were completely out of sight. “Your family is…”
“Abhorrent?” He pushes his glasses up with a crooked smile. Choso had eased up around you significantly compared to your initial meeting outside the Doki Doki building, stammering through an adequate backstory for your faux-relationship, though he still seemed to be the nerve-wracked type.
“No…” You pretend to think.
“Overbearing?”
“No.”
“Savages?”
“Certainly not.”
“The servers at that ice cream parlor would disagree.” Choso mutters, “How about aneurysm-causing?”
“No.” You’re shaking your head once again, before turning to him with a smile. “They’re loving.”
Choso says nothing, but the tips of his ears burn.
“They care about you a lot- even your uncle was making sure I wasn’t some stranger just taking your money.” Well…
The long-haired man pushes his glasses up with a sputter of confirmation- or at least something that sounds like it. “I-I suppose ah- in their own…ways they’re rather…” Choso swallows a few times, and you’re watching his face as he does so—the Sun was dipping past the horizon now, and cracking its golden yolk over the grooves of his worried face. Handsome. Choso Kamo was just so handsome.
With his lashes dark and draping over his cheekbones. With his lips pouty and bitten whenever he was thinking deeply about something. With his stature so tantalizingly tall—though he didn’t even seem to be aware of it, as he navigated the world like a newly-birthed fawn.
He was the prettiest boy you’ve ever seen - glasses and all.
“—caring.” Choso finally finishes his sentence.
You’re letting a smile stretch across your lips- and before you can think twice, you’re clasping Choso’s hand once more. You’d been doing it so often over the course of the date that it almost feels- natural now.
“You know…you paid for five hours of my time, Choso. Do you know how much more time we have left?”
“Two hours, fourteen minutes and—” He grows ever-redder as he stares down at you. Were you…leaning in? Pressing yourself against him? Fuck. “-f-fifteen seconds.”
“Mmmm, I do love a smart boy.” Beginning to tug him in another direction from the path to the Doki Doki building - though you leave enough leeway that he can stop should he want to. Choso follows you like a dog on a leash. “I don’t usually do this, but if you want to spend the rest of your time with me then…I know this ah- other place we can go to?”
“Like you want me to c-call my family back for another family dinner?” Choso asks, eyes bulging.
“Oh no, no.” You laugh. “This place isn’t family friendly at all.”
.
.
.
“A-a love hotel-”
“One room, please. Standard.” Interrupting Choso, you smile at the receptionist.
“Will that be for an allocated time or overnight?”
“Hmm…” You glance sidelong at the gawking Choso next to you- looking around the hotel lobby as though it was some sort of attraction. “Overnight, please.”
As the woman behind the desk continued tap-tap-tapping away at her keyboard, you take a moment to look at Choso - now adjusting his glasses to make sure that he was seeing right. That really was a bowl of condoms sitting on the front desk. As the heat rushes up the back of his neck, you’re wrapping your arms around one of his own—and pressing your body against his. “Everything alright, Cho?”
He’d been like this ever since you started heading him in the direction of the glitzy love establishment. Pink walls. Fluorescent lights. He’d agreed to going…elsewhere to continue your date- but he’d expected your apartment or something! Choso had been stunned but allowed you to lead him in front of the love hotel, and once outside you turned towards him once more. It was the first time you yourself was doing this with who was supposed to be a client. “And you’re really su-”
“Yes.”
And that was that.
The lobby was quiet…too quiet. In a way that made your spine tingle with anticipation.
“That’s a…a real bowl of condoms.” He exclaims- earning a look from the receptionist.
“That is. Is this your way of saying that we don’t need any?” You joke…mostly. Then the key gets slid over to you - Room 143 - and you’re nodding at the receptionist. “Thank you.”
The two of you make your way down the lust-pink corridor and take the elevator up to your room - jamming in the key to open up a space that looked as if a honeymoon threw up all over it. Rose petals on the floor. Faux candles flickerin’ on the beside cabinet. Rows upon rows of even more condoms lined on the middle of the queen-sized bed.
If you looked at it from the right angle, it formed a few hearts.
“I didn’t mean we shouldn’t use them…” Choso’s the first one to speak- and he visibly gulps as you close the door behind you two. “It’s just…I-I’ve never done this before.”
Your eyes widen—you’d been suspecting this ever since you entered. But to have it actually confirmed…“No fooling around before finals or anything? Nothing to de-stress?”
He shakes his head n’ bites his lower lip. “Nothing. I haven’t even had my first kiss, to be honest…” Choso looks up at you with those nervous eyes. “Is that okay?”
“Okay?” You smile. Walking over to twist your hands into his lapels- and tug him to you. “It’s perfect. And since you’ve shared a secret with me, I’m gonna share one with you, okay?”
He nods.
And so you’re leaning in so that your lips are grazing - just grazing - his pretty, blushing ears. “It turned me on more than it should’ve, seeing you on your knees in that parlor.”
Choso gasps-
And then your lips are on his.
Then you’re tucking his cute, shivering bottom lip into your mouth—and sucking softly. Choso lets out the most guttural groan at the act- and his hands tremble in mid-air not knowing what to do.
“Don’t be shy.” You’re cooing at him - reaching up and guiding one of his hands to be on the back of your neck—the other one on your ass. You lean into his surprisingly firm chest, “Although…I find it really cute when you’re shy.”
His involuntary whimper gets swallowed up by your own lips.
You’re the one that’s guiding him through the sensual motions of your mouth. Kissing and kissing him till he’s senseless.
Till those thick glasses of him have been knocked ever-so-slightly askew.
Till you’ve left him weak in the knees - literally.
Choso Kamo is melting into you—he’s letting his hands grasp your body as though a forgetting man holding onto his last memory, a drowning sailor holding onto a lifeboat. It doesn’t even feel real to him. And he can’t stop himself as his hands, his body, his knees buckle n’ he’s sliding doooooown the expanse of your body- lips breaking contact with yours with a pained grunt.
Before he knows it, his knees are hitting the floor.
And he’s peering up at you with a desperate expression; brows pinched, mouth kiss-bitten and trembling. Expression something of dazed awe. It makes your pussy clench at just how utterly pathetic he looks. “Everything alright, baby?”
“Ngh- yes.” You watch as one of his hands automatically shoots to cover his crotch - he was rock-fucking-hard already.
“You suuuuure?” Teasing. There’s a devilish twinkle in your eyes that’s reflected through his as utter indigence.
And without saying anything more, you step backwards until the backs of your knees hit the bed. Bouncing a few times. You’re sitting yourself down on the plush bedsprings, crossing your legs- and watching him through half-lidded eyes. Not a single word comes out of you.
But it doesn’t take a single word for Choso to realize what you wanted with a jolt—
He crawls to you.
He crawls to you.
Choso’s letting his features twist into something akin to embarrassment - with the tips of his ears so red that they were practically radiating heat - as he edges closer. As he shifts on his knees. As he crawls just as he had been doing in the ice cream parlor—except this time, the only cherry he was searching for was that cute lil’ wet spot between your legs.
Your dress was short and already hiked up to reveal those pale pink panties.
Was that a little bow on top?
Though it seems like an age before he’s finally able to reach close enough to affirm that- yes, that was a little bow on top. Choso finally manages to without combusting, and looks up at you with wide, pleading eyes.
“Please…” He begs.
You’re softly caressing his cheek- almost lovingly. And Choso’s eyes flutter shut, leaning into the touch in an almost feline manner.
Moving to his jawline. Moving to the back of his sweaty scalp.
And then you’re shoving his pretty face between your legs—and Choso’s letting himself gladly be shoved. Manhandled. His chin sticks against the foamy mess of your panties, so wet with all your leaking juices. His nose digs between the plushest parts of your swollen pussylips. And Choso lets out a hallowed breath as he gapes his mouth ever-so-slightly wider-
“Awww, why so shy, baby?” You’re cooing down at him.
With your hand clasped onto the back of his head- you’re guiding Choso’s mouth to better plaster against your pussy. For him to find his balance.
“S-s’like a second kiss.” Choso sputters out. And you’re grinning.
“Naughty, are we?” You had a feeling that this was going to be a loooooot of fun…
Choso’s mouth was parted. And his lips were rubbin’ incessantly up and down the outline of your cunt—up and down, up and down.
That flimsy fabric of your panties was just glued to your sopping wet pussy, and he’s able to slot his lips over your folds perfectly. Managing to string down a line of hot wet kisses where you needed him the most- “Mmmm…” You’re arching your back with a deep groan as his nose fits between your pussylips—the pointed tip pressing on your clit. “Just like that, Cho. You can go deeper if you like, y’know that?”
“H-how, baby?” He rasps. Those pleading eyes of his were just so cute- and Choso can’t last too long speaking without pressing a few more open-mouthed kisses on your cunt.
“You want me to teach you?” You’re asking him, to which he nods. “Mmm, well open your mouth a little wider- just a little wider-”
And he does- his cute canines snaggin’ against the top of your pussylips.
“You can just start off by kissing lightly, baby. Remember how we did all that kissing earlier?” Nodding once more. “Yeah- just try to replicate that.”
“M’gonna do my best, baby…” He’s starting off soft at first- slow. Almost timid in his movements as he properly slots his mouth over your pussy - over your panties - and kisses n’ sucks lightly.
“Fuck- you study biology, so you know where the good spots are, hm?”
“The glans clitoris a-and the…” Kitten kisses. “-the labia minora contain an immense number of nerve endings.” Chaste pecks—but every single droplet of your pussy’s juices splashed onto his tongue seems to leave Choso Kamo reeling.
Eyes drawing to the back of his head. Ragged pants emanating from the back of his throat.
And he’s pushing himself deeper, deeper, deeper - making out with your pussy so desperately, depravedly that his glasses were crushing against your pelvis—“Easy there, baby. Easy.” The only way to even get him to take a breath is to tug him back using his hair. “We have more than ‘nough time, okay?”
“Mhmmmm…” He nods through a pout- lips sucking off the juices seeped into your panties. “All night.”
“Eager boy. Next, I want you to use your tongue, okay?” His expression turns into something startled. “What? Not scared are you, Cho?”
Choso shakes his head furiously—as though he couldn’t stand the mere thought of it. “N-no.” He hisses, hot breath gluing to your leaking core - the way he was just so…greedy to lavish your pussy left you even wetter. And he was gladly allowing the excess residue to land all over his face and end up sliding off, “No no no- not at all. This pretty labia- Mmmpf—”
Whatever else was on the tip of his tongue gets muffled-
For then Choso’s flattening his tastebuds on top of your pussy. Those swollen pussylips. Movin’ his muscle siiiiiiide to the siiiiiide and then up and down the line of your slit.
You whine, “Oh- just fuck me with it.” Tugging on his locks, “Fuck me with your tongue- ngh, the way I know you’ve been wantin’ to since we met. Don’t think I didn’t see the way you were looking at me…”
“I was…” He pleads. He prays between your legs. Zig-zagging his tongue wildly.
And then after he’s sucked off your panties all clean - Choso reaches one of his hands upwards to try and take off those useless undergarments-
But you’re faster than him.
And you’re stopping him with a searing pull at his scalp. The nerdy man lets out a sudden yelp and looks at you with the prettiest doe-eyes. “Ah ah—” It almost ached your heart to act so mean to him, not giving him exactly what he wanted. But more than your heart- it was your pussy that was throbbing. “Now who said you’ve earned the right to take them off, hm?”
“B-but…” Choso’s peripherals widen - they were glazed-over with lust. “How can I reach the tunica mucosa if I don’t take off—”
“You don’t have to take it off, right?” You hum. “Eat me out through my panties-”
Just the mere sound of that sentence makes Choso moan.
“-and…” And you’re cocking your head to get a better look at where his hips were starting to rut. Against the rickety frame of the love hotel’s bed, he was grindin’ and crushing what seemed to be an aching erection. “-don’t touch yourself, either.”
Choso’s free hand immediately halts in its tracks.
He’s shooting you a pained look- but more than that, it was flooded with pure, unabashed need.
Something dark. Something primal.
Choso’s tipping his head back and letting you plough your pussy against his mouth- in rough, rapid grinds. You don’t wait a single moment for him to catch his breath—and that seems far from his main priority in the first place. He’s merely flopping his lengthy tongue out - so pinkish n’ pretty - and slithering it past your panties.
Riiiiiight underneath, after a few tries he manages to ease it past the rim of your puckered entrance.
You’re letting out a semi-shocked gasp once you feel your convulsing walls streeeeetching at the girth of him. He was thicker than you’d expected- with the ridges of his tastebuds melding to your inner channel. And without any experience, Choso doesn’t know how to ease into it - which works just as well for you as he’s expanding his thick tongue inside of you. And then thrashing n’ thrashing away. “Sh-shit, keep going, Cho.”
“What- hck! what do I have to do?” He manages to somehow ask between heavy gulps. And even that amount of time spent parted with your pussy means that he’s letting out loooong, luxurious licks inside your velvety walls to make up for it.
“H-huh?” You blink down at him through your bleary eyes. “Keep going, ngh- faster, baby.”
“No, I just meant…” Choso blinks those big, beautiful peripherals at you. He kept both hands on your thighs to press himself ever-deeper—he couldn’t get enough. “-what do I have to do t-to take off your panties? I wish to see all of you…that pretty vulva like a flower, the- ngh, prepuce…”
The mere thought has him ruttin’ away against the bed once more.
“How about you make me- haaaah, cum, baby? Hm?” You smile down at the desperate man, “And you have to do it before cumming yourself, m’kay?”
He can’t remove your panties.
He can’t touch himself.
He can’t cum before stuffin’ his face between your legs and making you cum first—
Choso was in heaven.
Even through the obscurement of his now-fogged glasses, Choso’s features twist into something primal- and he lets out a looooow whine before drag-drag-dragging his tongue into your clingy walls again. Thrusting in and out at a frenzied pace—the nerd was eating you out like a man starved.
Almost wolfish.
Choso was suckin’ and biting and snarling deep into your cunt. His glasses stick against your clit, and every single time he was forced to part with your pussy in order to breathe felt like fucking torture to him. “The clitoral nerve network consists of about 8000 to- ngh, over 10000 nerve endings-” Before you know it, he’s spitting. Letting it smear down your panties. Then dragging one of his calloused thumbs down that buttony nub. “-and baby, I need you to feel every single one.”
“Ohhhhh, fuck.” Your back arches deeper into him. Hands planting against the mattress in order to steady yourself, “A man that knows anatomy is dangerous.”
“And then the tunica mucosa…those spots there are also-” Such a priggish smile spreads across Choso’s mouth - one that you’re feeling on your cunt - as he swabs his tongue inside and stimulates some of those sweet nerve endings he was talking about. The hooked end of his muscle pushes apart your clingy walls, and somehow manages to find those sensitive areas so easily- “-effective…”
“Shut up and eat me out.” Pushing him deeper between your legs.
“A-and that’s not to mention—” But of course, you should’ve known that it isn’t easy to shut a STEM major up when it comes to their subject of interest. Choso most of all. And that nerdy man is babbling away whilst he’s slipping his tongue in and out, in and out, of you at a furious pace- until it was nothing but a pinkish blur squeezing away between your pussylips. “-the Gräfenberg spot-”
“You mean the g-spot?!” You’re wailing out.
“My favorite.” Choso nods, with your clit sucked into his mouth. Holding your panties to the side. He now alternates between rolling his tongue over your sensitive nub, and pushing it deep into your hole—stretchin’ you out juuuuust enough for his fingers to slip n’ squelch their way inside.
You’re letting out the shrillest keen as two of his fingers scissor apart your cunt’s walls, pushing up into their spongy surroundings to mold his sheer size into you. He’s softer on the tips of his digits, and rougher against the sides - “Easy there. Fuck, easy…” Choso’s sucking in a harrowed breath.
“I should be the one saying that to you.” You huff. Because Choso wasn’t dry-humping the foot of the bed whilst eating you out anymore - he was way past that.
Now solely keeping himself pushed- wedged in one place because just a little more friction and he’s bound to be cumming. “I-I’m alright, baby.” He tells you, “The Gräfenberg spot is located on the anterior wall, so right…up…”
Just a single press up into the roof of your cunt makes you buck - not having pressed on your sweetest spot just yet but-
“And then about two- three inches deeeeeep—” The loudest, sloppiest squelch! echoes across all four corners of the love hotel room as he eases inside. Roverin’ about inside your tight, wet channel for a few strokes before an explosion of pleasure runs right through you. “-right- there-”
“Fuuuuuuuck, oh.” You simper out. “There- right there- ngh.”
And then he’s thump-thumping his perfect fingers inside your cunt- accurately pinpointing that one spot inside you with his digits like a searchlight. Again and again. And don’t think that his mouth wasn’t working overtime—Choso kept his maw permanently gaped on top of your clit and had his lips hollowed with a constant suctioning motion.
Letting out broken moans off into your cunt all the while-
Choso manages to slip in a third finger- though those damn panties kept getting in the way. “Baby…” There’s a rasping, almost guttural tone to his words that you don’t recognize at first- you’re even raising onto your elbows to make sure that this was the same Choso Kamo.
But it sure was.
Glasses pressed up against your cunt—getting wetter by the second. “Baby, you’re experiencing vaginal contractions and tremors. Your pulse is faster. Your transudate is leaking even more- you’re getting wetter. And your clitoris is growing even, mmm-” He savors the feeling of your nub being pulled n’ dragged into his mouth. “-more swollen.”
“A-and that means…?” Though you already have an inkling of it.
“You’re going to orgasm, baby.” He never sounded more confident than when he was speaking science between your pussylips. “And I need you to cum aaaaaall over my mouth, okay?”
“Was planning to.” You whisper-
And it’s with a few more strokes, with a few more gashes of your pussy against his face, that the pressure that’d been building in your pelvic region finally explodes.
It thrums through your body faster than you can announce it—making every single vein, artery, and axiom within you vibrate until they’re sizzling at the sheer pressure. It felt as though your body was on fire. And the hottest it could get was at your sopping core- shoved against Choso’s pretty plush mouth and getting draaaagged through the violent peaks of your high.
The best you’ve ever had.
Choso manages to locate your g-spot right when the pleasure was hitting you the most - and you’re getting the faint suspicion that he was counting your throb-throb-throbs until he’d timed it just right. “One…two…”
Thrashing his fingers deepest.
Damn-near tearing your panties.
Shoving his erection against the bed.
And his tongue would move over your clit in an almost soothing motion- “Your vasocongestion m-means you’re sucking me up even- ngh, more. Fucking tight.” He spits. “Myotonia and contractions. Your orgasm’s strong, baby.”
“Didn’t need science to tell me that.” You comment.
Thrown through your orgasm.
It’s a crescendo then a plateau, and then when you’re finally done - Choso keeps jabbing his greedy fingers into you just for a few seconds longer. Fucking you through it. Fucking you past it.
You’re so sensitive by this point that you’re sobbing- pushing on his sweaty forehead. “Baby—oh, baby I’m done.”
“Done…?” He rasps. Eyes bleary as he raises them up, seeing you on your elbows. “Oh.”
“And you did as I wanted.” It takes much more effort than you expected to detach him from your quivering pussy - still a little sensitive from your previous orgasm. It was incredible. A part of you almost couldn’t believe that it’d been poor, inexperienced Choso Kamo that pulled that out of you.
He’s setting your cunt free with a whimper n’ a loooooud slurp!
Watching slack-jawed as you peel off your soaked-through panties and throw it right at him- it makes you gasp when Choso catches it with one hand…
Then brings that flimsy fabric riiiiight up to his face to sniff, to suck off the remnants of your syrupy sap. Not a speck of regret.
“Filthy.” You leer.
And then you’re tightening your hold on him—merely than sound was enough to wrench out a yearning croon from him. Preventing Choso from chasing after your cunt once more, “Now now…you don’t want to continue losing that virginity of yours, baby?”
“I-I do.” He eagerly nods.
“Good. Then get on the bed f’me.” You’re patting at the space beside you.
Soon enough, your positions are somewhat flipped - Choso finds himself lumbering onto the bed. Back against the mattress. Skin searing at the heat that your body had left behind.
He lies where you did- and you’re making quick work of discarding his graphic t-shirt (proudly claiming ‘I found this humerus’ next to a picture of a bone) and his trousers. The tent in his boxers was jaw-dropping—Choso stood proudly erect, thick and looking heavy between his legs, his bulbous tip kept trickling out more n’ more precum the longer you stared.
And had he just…
Taking off his boxers to make sure—you’re revealing his cock. Long and rock-hard.
It slaps against his soft core, and leaves a heart-shaped mark of sap. Just about seven or so inches in length- though the longer your gaze lingers on him…the longer he seems to look. Shit, was he about nine inches, maybe? And he wasn’t too thick - just flared enough at the tip that he’s sure to make your walls feel it.
But Choso had an abundance of pretty, long veins decorating down the shaft—underneath the tip, creating patterns down to his base. One which had a few sparse tufts of curly brown - almost black - hair.
Yet what you’re interested in the most was how Choso was so damn hard that his blushin’ red tip looked just about ready to fall off—
“I c-couldn’t help myself, baby.” Choso admits shyly. His hands reach downwards to try and cover his mess- but you’re waving him off. “Having you cum aaaaall over my mouth made me- ngh, want to cum as well.”
“I can see that.” You smirk.
“I didn’t mean to.” He insists, voice growing urgent as the silence stretches - fearing that you’d perhaps refuse to continue as he somewhat broke his promise. “P-promise, I didn’t mean to! It’s just that your tunica mucosa was squeezing me so tight- and your vaginal lubrication just tasted so sweet-”
“Choso?”
“Yes, baby?”
“Shush.”
“I- oh.”
Because, initially, you’d planned on riding the man senseless. But now you were leering yourself closer—almost sake-like in motion.
Staring deep into Choso’s widening eyes once you’re hovering yourself over his shivering legs. His long abdomen. And pressing a cute peck right on the top of his frothing tip—the splashes of his precum were syrupy-sweet. And they were combining with Choso’s cum from earlier to add a salty tint-
“So messy.” You’re whispering as you run your tongue ‘round and ‘round the top of his shaft. Cleaning him off until he was shining. “Are you gonna make a mess like this inside me too, hm?”
“D-don’t say something like that…s’gonna make me cum again.” Choso pleads.
And he really was serious - his words were on the verge of shattering.
You’re letting out a giggle- right into his aching hot cock. The vibrations sprint through his body and make him buck up into you—body before his mind, he doesn’t even realize until he’s doing so with a startled yelp. “My apologies-”
“Mmm, keep going. Get some practice in before the real deal.” You hum once more.
Choso seems as though he’s about to sob - this was too good for him - as he fucks his cock into your mouth a few more times. You relax your throat to take down most of him, and the parts that you can’t get milked with one hand.
Once. Twice. Thrice and quadruple before his flared tip starts twitchin’ wildly—draaaaagging up the soft insides of your throat, he leaves a salty aftertaste behind that makes you realize…
You’re pulling off of his cock with an emanating pop! “But you’ve got to save that up for inside, got it?”
He’s nodding so hard you idly wonder whether he might get whiplash. “Yes, baby. Anything for you, baby.”
“Mmm…” Climbing up the expanse of his body, you’re kissing Choso squarely with the same lips. “Just how I like it.”
And then your knees straddle Choso’s slender hips, your thighs press against his sweltering skin - you reach behind you to grab ahold of his cock’s base—and the sudden squeeze is enough to make him jolt. Bodily. He’s letting out a visceral shiver, “B-baby…”
You guide his ruddied tip to you—and just the barest, briefest smooch of your sweet pussy makes him jolt. Just feelin’ his hardness press up against your softness.
It makes him drive his hips off the mattress suddenly.
“Ah ah-” You warn. “Take it easy, baby. We have all night, don’t we?”
“But…” Choso’s eyes flicker between your face n’ where the two of you were about to connect. Something in him seems to almost break. So close. So close- “That’s so unfair. Your pussy feels like this and you’re expecting me to take it easy?”
A hand claws down your arched spine.
“Not even the textbooks could replicate how good it feels- m’not even inside you yet and I feel like I’m going insane.”
You swipe a thumb down his throbbing tip—catching a bead of white that was threatening to pour out. “I told you. As long as you keep it inside, Cho.”
And then you’re letting your hips lower - aiming to seat yourself down on that toned pelvis of his. “Ohhhh, fuck.” Your back bends, your head tips backwards as you’re taking in the inches of him. It’s a slow process - given that Choso was much larger than average - and you’re wrenching out primal moans as his thick length invades your core. A sweet prodding vein down the side of him was already massaging your insides—“You’re so big, baby. It’s always the quiet ones, huh?”
If he heard you, then he doesn’t make a show of it.
Choso’s handsome features scrunch up into something of pure ecstasy as he dives his cock deeper into you. Hands flying to your waist. Bottom lip stuck between his teeth. “Inside-” He whispers.
“Hmmm?”
“Inside- inside.” Choso gets out through heated pants. His mouth was moving a mile a minute- fuck, even his mind was. But he couldn’t possibly juggle any single coherent thought when his cock was sucked between your soft, soft pussylips and getting practically drained already. “A-am I really going inside? Or is this just a dream, baby?”
Without waiting around for an answer- he’s pinching his arm.
It leaves an angry red mark that proves to him that no…life really was this sweet.
“I am?” As though still in disbelief.
As though this in and of itself would be enough to make him cum and- oh, shit.
He really was cumming.
It seems to take the both of you by surprise, and Choso’s lunging his hips completely off the mattress - slamming his cockhead into the springy back of your cunt.
Bouncin’ off at the sheer force for a few seconds- it isn’t long before he’s then scouring deep into your walls and letting his bawling divot run free. Cumming in less than a single stroke inside you. “Oh- oh, shit.” Choso’s mouth waters, a single line of spittle running from the corner of his lips. “I’m sorry I…”
But he doesn’t have an answer.
He really, truly doesn’t.
“Pussy got your tongue?” You giggle.
This was his first time - and your pussy just felt that good all wrapped ‘round him and keeping him hostage.
His cum’s flooding you with a warmth, spreadin’ from the in-betweens of your legs and then right upwards. The satiny tresses of it rush uuuuup your walls n’ then right back down—those goopy layers then getting fucked back in by his desperate semi-thrusts.
Squelch after squelch as he accumulates the cum like frosting on top of his swirling tip. Shoving.
Choso scrunches his eyes shut and tears start to well up behind- now he was crying, too? Crying just by putting it in?! Buried like this, he feels like he’d do anything for you right now. He feels like he could lay his life on the line for you right now. He feels like—like—he could really truly ask you to become his real girlfriend now…
“Baby, I think I love you.” Choso blubbers up. “Do you want to marry me?”
“Let’s get dinner first.” You giggle, lovingly patting his cheek.
“Oh…”
If you could feel the way his ruddied tip twitches inside you (and you could) then you’re not teasing him for it…much. Simply a smirk before you’re veering your hips down until he’s bottomed-out.
Clit massaging against the scruff of his happy trail. Pussylips struggling to squeeze around his sheer size. “Fuck.” You’re groaning, starting up a lecherous pace that keeps Choso’s toes curled - his head thrown back into the pillows, his skin blushing. He was flustered.
But more than that- he wanted more.
And sending a silent word of gratitude to the chance of the universe and science itself, Choso slithers that same right hand of his between your sultry legs. Sheened with slick.
You were making such a mess fucking him whilst you’re still keeping his cum inside you—he scrapes his calloused thumb up, up, uuuup the few inches of his cock still left to fit inside. Collecting the slimy layers of slick up until the folds of your pussy. Reaching it up to his mouth-
“Now, now.” You tut. “Are we just going to waste that, hm?”
“Oh…you’re right.” With a quiver of his lips, he then plunges it back inside. Then repeats the motion again and again until you’re feeling stuffed to the brim—with both his cock n’ his sappy fluid. Like you said before, it all deserved to stay inside.
And you better keep it.
The rickety bedsprings creeeeeeak—! as he meets your pace.
Choso continues, “Not just cum.” His curvaceous thumb swipes your inner folds again, “But that bulbourethral fluid deserves to stay inside, too. How else m’I gonna fill you up, baby?”
“Oh, of course.” You coo, something sensual. “But don’t think that that’s going to be your last time cumming tonight, Cho.”
His eyes damn-near bulge out of their skull. “E-excuse me?”
“It’s not even your last time cumming in this hour.” Oblivious - or so you pretend to be - to his growing concern n’ his gaping mouth. You’re bowing your body into his—manoeuvring your hips in somewhat of a circular motion, the slightest figure-eights and curves, that drag his tunneling cock juuuuuust right against every nook and cranny of your walls. Every hidden spot. “You’re gonna cum for me at least twice more, right?”
“I-I—I don’t know if that’s even possible!” Choso sputters, pushing his glasses up with his free hand- it was glossy with the excess of your slick from earlier.
And without warning, you’re leaning down to lightly lick off a bit of that glittering sheen.
Choso moans n’ feels his overly-stimulated length jolting away inside of you. “Baby, just consider the refractory period. Has it even been a few minutes since I last…?”
“Just about.” You’re smile. “Should be enough, no?”
“Though it varies based on age and health- when I can cum next depends on the blood redistribution, and how long prolactin and serotonin lasts in the body.” Choso admits then, albeit a bit sheepishly. “And I’m still fuh-feeling so goooood, baby- fuck I can’t—”
“But my smart boy’s gonna find a way, right?” Even if he couldn’t cum again, however - it was just too cute to watch Choso squirm like this. “When I said I wanted it inside, I wanted it stuffed inside, Cho.”
“S-stuffed…” He breathes - almost hypnotized by your pussy.
You’re grinding and swervin’ and clenching around his vein-loaded length in ways he could’ve only ever dreamed about before…“Mhm. Need it pouring out of me.” You beg, putting your best pleading expression on. “Need it up until…”
Hands scouring up his front to press down on your stomach- almost up to your chest.
“-here.”
You pout.
“If m’not bloated with your cum, Cho, is there even a point?”
“No there isn’t.” Choso’s jaw drops—as though the epiphany had just dropped on him. And no sooner are the words leaving his worry-bitten lips, he finds himself pumping wispy ropes of cum deep past your entrance.
He doesn’t even know how he did it.
His body just seems to listen to you more than himself - and Choso jerks his pelvis up in synchronization with the faintish strings of cum that escape him. Thoroughly into your cunt. Thoroughly coating it on top of your womb.
You’re shivering as you feel the thin excess thwack! against your deepest innards. Such a lecherous feeling that cannot be replicated.
Every time he strikes your spongy cervix, Choso lets out a sudden whimper. He sobs. He groooans. He’s fighting to clamor onto your body in any possible way that he could - your waist, your legs, your tits. It doesn’t matter where, Choso just needed to grab ahold of you and perhaps try to get you to fucking slow down—
“Please.” Every single letter in that word is botched with a cry, “P-please. Baby, keep riding me like this and you’re going to make me cum again-”
“Isn’t that the point? Third time’s the charm?” You ask.
“Oh…” It’s then that he remembers that you’d said twice more- he has to cum twice more. Hiccuping, “You’re going to be the death of me.”
Cocking your head with a smile, “And would you like to stop?”
“Not at all.”
Then you’re planting one hand in the middle of his defined chest for balance. Throwing your head back and ridin’ him silly.
Choso cries beneath you. Choso babbles. Torn between the pleasure of having those sweet, sopping lips wrapped ‘round him- and the insanity of his orgasm just barely bating before you’re attempting to hurtle him into another one. This was almost too much for his just recently-lost virginity, but Choso begs for more, more, more. “Please- please- that anterior wall of yours is so clo-”
With your other set of fingers then shoved into Choso’s pretty mouth- spit splashes from the sides of his lips. But he’s taking you so happily—“No no, keep going.” You tell him once his brows raise in surprise, “I just wanna watch my poor boyfriend struggle just a bit.”
“Mmmmpf- soooo good.” He lets out an agonized moan, muffled through the intrusion of your digits. You’re swirling them ‘round his mouth and watching him lightly choke on them. “I need to c-cum just once more, huh?”
Choso’s tears were enough to wash off the fog from his glasses lens.
And he blinks those teary eyes up at you - a few times before one of his hands slithers between your legs. Almost difficult, considering how the space between your two sweaty, crashing bodies was practically non-existant—but his long fingers find a way to thumb apart your puffy pussylips. Nearly swollen shut.
He runs the doughy tips of his digits across your clit, “Around it…just light kisses.” Choso murmurs to himself. “Juuust a little- ngh.”
A single squeeze of your fluttering walls leaves him reeling.
“And then the good spots-” Peering down at your glossy cunt through his glasses, his half-lidded eyes. “The primary erogenous zones are the clitoris and introitus. Then the periurethral surrounding the urethra is also…oh…” Alternating between bashin’ his swollen cocktip against your g-spot, and thoroughly massaging every good spot he’d memorized.
“Shit…” You suddenly clench around him. “Keep going.”
He was seeing stars at the mere action. “And then the- hngh, even the perineum…” Fingers dipping just a liiiittle downwards to roll over that spot. He was unabashed - not in the state to be as he usually would. “And then fucking- at least as much as I can…here…” Slack-jawed, gaze unfocused. “My favorite is the clitoris.” The nerd presses the crescent pad of his thumb down on that knob.
Your hips are stutterin’ at the sheer amount of pleasure overwhelming you. Choso has taken up stimulating your clit in constant circular motions now. “I th-thought you said your favorite was the g-spot?”
“Both.”
As if on cue, he’s banging his thick tip against that ooooone spot.
Choso was stimulating you almost too well. Leaving you the one speechless as he drills his hips into you at a relentless pace—almost painfully desperate.
“Good boy.” You whisper.
“Just need to make you- mmm, cum soon.” He states. “Because if you cum…then I’m sure to cum, too.”
Shoving a third finger in his mouth, he moans as he sucks. You hum, “And you’re sure you’re a virgin?”
“S’just everything you t-taught me.” He insists, mouth full yet listening to every word you said - if you expected an answer, then he was giving you an answer. “And sometimes…I’d search up…things online…”
“Online? Poor, innocent Choso Kamo watches porn?”
“Not that, I get too shy.” Choso responds. He blushes all the way down to the roots of his hair, “But using my textbooks, I’d- hah, read through them…study them…look at all the diagrams…”
You smirk. “Ever jerked off to a textbook, Choso?”
His jaw drops. “No…” Although you remain rather suspicious of the ever-deepening blush that seems to invade his cheeks—all the way down to his collarbones. “But I did jerk off just today.”
“Today?” One of your brows raise, “Don’t tell me this was- hah, before we met or…?”
He shakes his head. “After. After.” Big, bulbous tears make their way down his cheeks - and Choso tastes the salt on them as they splosh across his lips. You do too, as you kiss him. “S-snuck right into the bathroom at that ice cream parlor and- oh—”
“And what for? Saw a pretty someone at the neighboring table?”
Shaking his head even harder- “It was…you.”
“Me?”
“You said that thing- fuck, you said you needed me.” Choso’s dark chocolate-brown eyes glaze over as if he’s reminiscing the very moment. Living in it. “Under that table. And I couldn’t run to the bathroom faster to r-relieve myself.” Ah, this was that time then…
Your faux-boyfriend’s brows are then knitting.
His cock tunnels into you at an even more accelerated pace - one that leaves your head dizzy. Flinching at every run of his thumb down your pulsing clit.
Choso finishes, “But I only lasted two pumps- the thought of you, ngh—” Thrusting in so deep that it felt as though, if he could go past your gooey cervix, then he long since would have. Choso thumps against the back of your cervix and remains there, “-wrapped around my cock and usin’ me to make your anterior- pussy feel pleasure was just too good of a fantasy for me.”
It’s a lewd admission.
It’s almost startling to hear this from Choso above all.
And it’s exactly what’s making you cum—just in time that he is. Your orgasm is prolonged and has been building up ever since he tickled your g-spot for the first time- “C-cumming—!” Belatedly, the announcement leaves your lips.
But Choso already knows.
He can already feel the rhythmic clenches of your sopping wet walls - the soft thing he’s ever felt. They’re tightening around him and tuggin’ on his pistoning cock like you didn’t fucking want him to leave.
Toes curling. Back arching.
The bang after bang after bang right on that target of your g-spot meant that your orgasm was being intensified. Every peak left your thighs clenching around his waist, and you bounce your hips up n’ down furiously. Up n’ down. Up n’ down. “Yes- yes, yes, yes—and you’re c-cumming too, Cho.”
“I am?” Choso blinks his teary eyes down at your lower halves. The smacking of skin-against-skin was deafening, and Choso’s pelvis was rawly red due to the sheer friction.
But more than that…he was feeling his even redder tip twitch a few times. Once. Twice. Thrice- before the warmth of bliss takes over his body. It’s a wave of euphoria even stronger than the last few, and it makes the nerdy boy flinch his hips up into yours- agonizingly good. He was hammering into you so animalistically- jabbing short, sloppy semi-thrusts. “I am.” Choso gasps out. “I’m cumming-”
He’d predicted as much earlier, but it actually worked?!
“M’filling you up, aren’t I?” Choso blabbers, a crazed smile on his face. “This virgin…I was able to stuff this pussy full.”
Lovingly patting your cunt.
“So much so that- hah, look she’s even struggling to- ngh, take me. That cervix uteri is all flooded, huh? All drenched in me?” Through the waves of your high, you’re feeling your orgasm fizzle and pop as he rolls his thumb doooown your clit a few more times. “And these pretty labia of yours are all swollen- bloated with my cum, hm?”
“Mhm…” Before you blink a few times. “Oh- this one was shorter than the last though, wasn’t it? Maybe we need to go again- heh.”
“S’it already done? I…but I’m still…” Choso jabs out numerous more thrusts before he’s pulling out.
And whilst you’re interested in the squelch! and the feeling of hot, wet cum splashin’ out of you and onto his toned hips—Choso himself is more interested in the way his cock twitched n’ feels like he’s cumming…but nothing is actually coming out.
“Orgasmic anejaculation?” He states in shock. “Baby, you’ve made me cum dry—”
“Oh.” Lips parting, you look down to watch as his pretty reddened tip jolts about irritatedly as though he was in the throes of his orgasm - and he was. It’s just that nothing was coming out.
“I-it’s likely that this is due to the lack of semen replenishment. Thus, if there’s none left to-”
“So fourth time’s the charm, right?” You cock your head down at him with a smile.
Another time?!
His half-hard length twitches in interest.
“You really are going to be the death of me.”
Choso really, really needed to ask you out after this.
.
.
.
Ryomen Sukuna knew that the two of you weren’t dating.
He knew it.
He just had no way to prove it.
That is…until one day, just a week after that initial introduction to you, Jin had bothered Sukuna into visiting his nephew. He’d made some cookies—some of your favorites that you’d briefly mentioned at the ramen place, and Jin had immediately gotten to work scouring through his recipes. Flipping through some of grandma’s old cookbooks - he really did get his love for cooking and baking from her.
And then trialing batch after batch of cookies in order to make the perfect one.
And Sukuna hadn’t minded, of course - no one in the house had. They each got to scarf down the ones that Jin deemed as ‘failed’ and they turned out as great as ever. Sukuna honestly didn’t know what more perfection Jin was searching for—especially not for someone he knew Choso was surely paying you in some manner…
There was no conceivable world in which his nephew - as much as Sukuna respected him, for the sole reason that he was related to him (and anyone in some proximity to the great Ryomen Sukuna can’t be all that bad…) - would ever have enough courage to ask a real person out. Let alone someone as electric as you?
Let alone have you say yes?!
Something was up. And Sukuna was on the case.
At least after he finishes this mountain of cookies…
Either way, it took an entire week for Jin to perfect his cookies. And once completed, he’d thumped Sukuna over the head with a couch cushion and told him to go deliver them to Choso.
Unfortunately they hadn’t managed to catch your address or anything of the sort - and there was no telling when Choso would have enough time between his studies and library-haunting to visit. Thus, it’d be easier to just have Sukuna (who was far too busy doing a whole load of nothing) drop the cookies off at Choso’s apartment and let him give it to you.
Jin could trust Choso with handing them to you safe n’ sound.
He couldn’t trust Sukuna not to swallow them whole on the way, however…
So it was with a tonne of brotherly intimidation and threatening brandishes of that cushion that Jin waved Sukuna off—‘you better not eat those cookies, Ryo.’
But Sukuna promised. He promised.
He had other, more important, things on his mind - like cornering Choso into admitting that the two of you actually weren’t dating. Maybe if he didn’t relent so easily, he’d even look around the apartment to check for signs of you or anything you’d left behind—after five months of dating, surely, there’d be some evidence, wouldn’t there?
And then maybe he’d eat the cookies- hah!
The perfect plan.
Ryomen Sukuna what a genius you were, what a mastermind—who said that Jin was the smarter brother?! It was Sukuna that liked literature and poetry (wait, was nerdiness genetic?) No one should underestimate the sheer underappreciated brilliance of a prodigy like-
“Choso’s uncle?” He gapes as you answer the door- and you’re just as beautiful as he remembered you. And oh, alright—Sukuna admits you’re beautiful. Gorgeous, actually.
Which is also why he found it hard to believe that Choso could ever manage to bag you- sure, he wasn’t bad looking…but that’s only because Choso was related to him.
Then again, he wasn’t any Ryomen Sukuna.
A Ryomen Sukuna that was feeling rather…a lot…small as he looks at you.
Your eyes widen as you recognize who your visitor was, though your smile never falters.
“Oh, Cho should be right out. Please come in, have you eaten breakfast yet? You should join us!”
Opening the door even wider, though he stands as still as a statue.
“Is…everything alright.”
No movement once more. No answer, either.
“Ummm, maybe it’s more comfortable there then?” You’re awkwardly smiling at his lack of a response - this certainly wasn’t the Ryomen Sukuna that you’d met at the family dinner…And perhaps at the same time, you’re realizing why.
Because you weren’t just answering Choso’s apartment door—you were doing so in nothing but sleep shorts and a humerus-related t-shirt that was most definitely not yours. And above the hem of that ratty t-shirt were a series of bite marks, nail marks down your neck…such an obscene display that makes you immediately yelp and tug your neckline upwards.
Though Sukuna remains gawking. “I uh…”
“I am so sorry.” You’re blubbering away, and when your neckline fails to cover you adequately without showing off the similar marks on your midriff- you’re reaching your hands up instead. “We’d just been making breakfast, and I’d completely forgot-”
“No, that’s fine uh…” Goodness, when has the rough n’ tough Sukuna ever floundered like this? “It’s my fault for coming unannounced um…”
“What’s this?” Another voice sounds from inside the apartment.
Soon enough, Choso’s joining the two of you at the door—he’s in JBA sweatpants and pulling on a t-shirt as he walks. With whatever mercy that the universe had granted Sukuna, Choso sneaks up behind you, so he doesn’t see whatever similar markings might have been left on him as Choso finally wears his t-shirt properly.
There’s amusement in Choso’s tone as he adjusts his glasses and speaks, “I never thought I’d see the day that you apologize to anyone, uncle Ryo.”
Choso throws an arm over your shoulder - the intimacy was palpable. Something far more different than at the ice cream parlor, and yet…Sukuna should’ve recognized the same admiring glint in Choso’s eyes back then, too.
The apartment behind was messy in that domestic way. There were eggs frying on the stove.
“Sh-shut it.” Sukuna spits. “This is all your…girlfriend’s fault.”
Ah, you really were his girlfriend. The great Ryomen Sukuna has been wrong. How could this be? How could he fathom such a thing?
You little brother just doesn't know any better. Or does he?
cw: pseudo!incest but actually real bone i think now, didi caleb/jiejie mc, dub!con/non!con, jealous paranoid unhinged caleb, pussy inspection, just the tip, xav sort of appears again hence the previous, choking (not the sexy kind), emotional blackmail, soft launch of caleb's mommy complex/kink, mc should not have been the one raising caleb,
Caleb tries to calm you down in the days that follow. He keeps insisting that it isn’t a big deal, and that the girl hadn’t heard much. That she was just pissed off that she couldn’t get him off and he had to do it himself in her bathroom.
But you know better. You have seen the comments spreading across the DAA’s social media platforms like wildfire immediately after that night. The posts featuring Caleb in his flight gear looking like a movie star as he stands in front of his aircraft went from being flooded with smitten comments and endless praise for the handsome young pilot to questions and mocking remarks about his suspected incestous tendencies.
Is that the guy who gets off to his sister?
He’s so hot, but don’t bother. Total siscon.
Isn’t his sister older than him? Wonder what she did to him to make him turn out this way.
I’ve heard he jerks off to his sister. Is that true?
Why are all the hot ones such freaks?
So this is why he can’t stay with a girl for more than two dates. She gotta be related to him or his dick goes limp lmao
I’ve met his sister before. She basically plans his entire life for him. Poor guy.
Heard she literally called him in the middle of sex because she was jealous he was with someone else. What a psycho.
Damn, she must be insanely hot if he’s that obsessed. Anyone got a picture of her?
Though the comments only stay up for a few moments before they’re scrubbed clean, with the posters receiving warnings from the faculty about spreading harmful rumors, they still send you spiraling. Not just for Caleb who still doesn’t seem to understand the gravity of the situation despite this shitstorm, but for yourself too. People are asking questions about you, their curiosity to know more about this older sister that has fractured the image of the DAA golden boy is dangerous. If any of this leaks beyond the academy and reaches your coworkers at the Hunter’s Association, your job could be in jeopardy. The thought alone makes your blood run cold.
Caleb tries to tell you that none of it means anything and that it will all blow over soon. It fucking drives you up the wall. How can he still downplay the severity of the situation? People know now! Your lives could be ruined forever! What will it take for him to finally get it?
But to your shock and utter disbelief, he’s mostly right.
After the initial flood, the comments taper off. The deletions and warnings do their job. What remains are only occasional stray remarks here and there, quickly dealt with. Caleb has no shortage of admirers, and they quickly take over the narrative, painting him as the victim of haters who can’t compete with him, can’t have him, or are simply jealous of him.
Soon, the tide shifts back in his favor and his fans fawn over him even more for oh-so-bravely weathering this hate campaign.
Caleb relays all of it to you in the hopes of convincing you that it’s all over now, but you know better. You know these things never truly die. You know people are still talking about you, just amongst themselves and behind his back. But he doesn’t care. If anything it’s as if the idea of it spurs him on. He doesn’t shy away from mentioning you. He talks about you even more openly now, daring anyone to question him. Nobody does. And his college life carries on as usual.
But you can’t do the same.
Those comments were only a taste of what your life could become if your secret is found out. You would spend the rest of your days plagued by judgment and suspicion, even if no one ever learns the full truth—that seed of doubt is like a weed, once its roots have dug in, it’s impossible to get rid of.
If this ever breaches the confines of campus gossip and gets into the real world, would you be able to hold on to the few friends you've managed to make for the first time in your life? If Tara or Simone hear about this, what will they think of you? Will they understand why you’ve had to do it or will they absolve themselves of you? Will you be able to find a partner? How would anyone tolerate such rumors about their lover? Especially when all they need is to take one look at how Caleb behaves around you for all their suspicions to be confirmed?
Yet despite it all, you know you can’t solely blame Caleb for this. You know this mess is as much your fault as it is his. You should have told him no that night. You should have ended the call as soon as you realized where he was and what he was doing. But you were hurt, your pride was wounded, and some ugly, starved part of you had wanted to be wanted so badly, you were blinded by it.
But it’s not just that. You shouldn’t have started any of this in the first place. The problem is, you can’t even pinpoint when it truly began. Agreeing to jerk him off that first time had pushed the floodgates wide open, but the water had been rising long before then. He had told you as much. Had it started in your teenage years? In childhood? Had the current always been there inside him, waiting to sweep you under? Or had you been the one slowly feeding it, drop by drop, until it could no longer be contained?
Your thoughts rise and churn, turning more tumultuous by the day, and yet Caleb isn’t the slightest bit phased. Once the worst of the storm had passed and he was still standing tall, he stopped trying to calm you. His tone shifted from flippant reassurance to reckless excitement, maybe even triumph.
“See, jie?” He says happily, pulling you into his arms with a bright smile. “Even if they know about us, nothing bad will happen. We can be together. No one will stop us. I’ll make sure of it.”
Your stomach drops. Nothing bad will happen? Is being ostracised as incesteous freaks nothing bad? Is the chance of losing any existing or potential meaningful relationship outside of each other nothing bad? Is spending the rest of your life whispered about, judged, and isolated nothing bad?
“I don’t want that, Caleb.” You answer in frustration. This is not what he’s supposed to learn from this. He’s meant to realise how wrong this is and snap out of it, not grow bolder in his delusions. “I don’t want to live a taboo life. I don’t want people smiling to my face and cursing me behind my back.”
“So this is what it’s really about, huh?” His tone turns accusatory. “It’s not about me or what’s best for me. You’re just ashamed of what being with me will bring.”
And so what? Are you not allowed to not want to be a pariah? Is that such a terrible thing to him? Must you throw everyone and everything else away to make him happy? You would lay your life down for him in heartbeat, but to be forced to live in ridicule and isolation… that may be too much for you to bear, even for your precious didi.
“It’s about both of us.” You snap back defensively, “You’re fine with this now, smug even, but how long are you going to tolerate being ridiculed? Being abhorred? Having everyone look at you like you’re some disgusting freak?”
“Forever.” He says without hesitation, his gaze burning into yours. “As long as I get to have you.”
Guilt wells up in you at his simple answer. You hate yourself once for making your little brother this way, and twice for then not being strong enough, or selfless enough, to sacrifice everything for him the way he wishes you would.
But this is for him. He may think he wants this now, but years down the line he will come to resent you. He will see everything he’s lost—all the love, relationships, and community he could have had, and he will hate you for it. And then neither of you will have anyone else to turn to. Your anger and bitterness will build and build until you—
You rub your forehead, a pounding headache throbbing behind your eyes. “I don’t have time for this. I need to get ready for my work social.”
“Then let me come with you.” He springs up quickly.
“No.” You hiss at him with all the ferocity of a cornered kitten. “This is my work, Caleb. I can’t let you fuck it up.”
He regards you with offense, his jaw tightening. “You think I did it on purpose? I wouldn’t have even been there if you hadn’t forced me to do it under the threat of leaving me!”
“Oh, cry me a river, Caleb.” You retort, your frustration and guilt making you more unkind than you’d ever wish to be to your baby brother. “You could have controlled yourself until the next day. But that’s impossible for you, isn’t it? Golden boy Caleb can’t go a single day without getting off to his big sister.”
He barks out a bitter laugh. “I controlled myself my entire life living around you while you were flaunting your tits and ass in my face.”
You flush hot, the emotions burning through you so fierce they all meld together, kicking your instincts into overdrive. Here he goes giving voice to your worst fears again—It's all your fault. You did this. You've broken him and now you can't fix him. Dammit, why won't he let you fix him?
“Well, if you were fucking normal, you wouldn’t have been looking!” You lash out at him in your frenzy.
“Normal?” He breathes out with a strained smile. “What am I then, jiejie? A freak? A disgusting pervert? Is that how you see me?”
The fire in you wanes and almost gutters out. “No, baby, you know that’s not what I meant—”
“But the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, jie.”
You flinch back. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“If I’m a freak, what does that make you, jiejie?” His smile turns cruel.
“Don't.” You warn shakily. You can't handle this right now, but Caleb doesn’t stop pushing.
“You’re the one who raised me.” He says it like he’s delivering your sentence.
“Stop it, Caleb.” You bite out, voice rising with panic.
“What kind of sister lets her brother sneak into her bed at night?”
“You were having nightmares.” You justify yourself. What’s wrong with providing your baby brother comfort? Maybe it was more intimate than what most other siblings would have done but how could you have been expected to turn away his scared little face?
“What kind of sister helps her brother shower into his teens?” He counters, and your breath hitches. Your defense sounds more tenuous this time. “You refused to clean up after basketball unless I helped you!”
He cocks his head to the side, and his teeth glint like fangs within his gleeful smile. “What kind of sister lets her baby brother suck on her tits?”
You feel yourself choke. The memories come flooding back unbidden. You had almost forgotten all about that, blocked those memories out of your psyche for the sake of your sanity, and hoped the years had stolen his away too. But the world isn't so kind, and neither is Caleb.
You… you had both been so young. You weren’t sure what you were doing. You didn’t know the first thing about caring for yourself, let alone a baby brother. All you knew was that Caleb was prone to anxious fits. He would cry and cry sometimes over the littlest things. You knew from a young age that the only way to shut him up was to give him something to occupy his mouth. You’d witnessed it in the way he would suck at his own thumb, soothing himself despite your grandma's discouragement. He had been much too old for that even back then, but he never outgrew it, perhaps because as a baby he never got to experience the comforts that only a mother can provide, and he had to make do with what he's got—Josephine who was too old to give him what he needs and you who were too young to know what that was.
For a long while he had contended himself with his self-soothing, but as he grew older and his world filled up with more than just you and your grandma, there were more things to stress him out—fear of failing a class, or losing a game, or someone else stealing your attention from him…
And suddenly he didn’t know what to do with himself anymore. His thumb was a poor substitute for the nurture he needed. In his frustration, he started biting down on the digit, and pulling at his nail, trying in vain to calm himself down. When you had seen that first drop of blood, you’d panicked, replacing his finger with yours, and braced for the pain. But it never came. He didn’t bite you. Instead he sucked on your finger gently, and slowly settled down.
You should have stopped there but the way he had looked at you then, like you were the solace he had been seeking, had you doing it again and again. For a long time, it worked like a charm, though you had to do it behind your grandma’s back after she scolded you harshly the first and only time she caught you doing it.
Until you started middle school and had to leave him behind to go to a different school. He fell into one of his fits again, worse than any you’d ever seen, and neither your fingers, nor endless promises of walking him to school, picking him up, and spending every after-school hour and weekend with him could calm him down.
Caleb had cried so hard, his face had turned red and his tears had gone dry, yet he still wouldn’t stop. You held him in your arms and rocked him for what felt like hours with no relief. His tears and saliva had soaked completely through your shirt when his listless mouth found one of your nipples through the fabric and latched on. Suddenly, he had quieted down, distracted with his desperate, hungry suckling as if he’d be able to pull something out of you if he tried hard enough. You would have said something—you should have said something—but he had cried so much, he had worn both of you out and you were just happy that you’ve finally managed to make it better. So you just held him close, stroking his hair and whispering that everything would be okay until he finally went to sleep.
For some time after that, it became your well-kept secret, your last ditch solution to calm him down, the only thing that could soothe his anxious fits when all else failed—though he had tried many times to get under your shirt at the smallest inconvenience or upset.
Deep down, you always knew it was wrong. That's why you made sure your grandma never found out about it. The shame had burned hot in your chest even then. But it worked so well! He always became so calm, sweet, and obedient in your arms whenever you allowed it to him. He listened to you. He went to school. He did his homework. He attended his practice. It was like your secret weapon, and you used it more often than you’d like to admit.
You only stopped when one day he had sighed into your chest and said something unthinkable.
“You knew what you were doing.” Caleb scoffs, “You made me this way… mommy.”
Your hand flies up before your mind can catch up. Your palm meets his cheek with a loud smack, his head snapping to the side from the force. For half a second, he stands there frozen, head tilted to the side, a red mark blooming on his cheek. Then his head whips back around and he surges forward, kissing you hungrily, almost violently, as if he’s avenging himself.
You push at his chest, trying to shove him away, but he’s stronger than you and it takes everything in you to get him off. His knees hit the bed as you push him back, and he topples onto it. You try to step back, but before you can escape, his arms fly out and grab onto you, pulling you on top of him on the bed.
“I am exactly how you raised me, jiejie.” He tells you miserably, “Why are you running away from me?”
You slap a hand over his mouth to silence him, but he opens his mouth and kisses your palm filthily. “Stop it.” You demand, almost pleadingly, but he ignores you, grabbing your hips and pushing you down against his hard cock.
“This is what you’ve always done, Caleb.” You hiss down at him bitterly, “You never let me say no. You keep pushing and pushing until I give you what you want.”
He moans against your palm, as if proud of his doing, and his hips roll up again, rubbing his hard cock against you shamelessly.
“Are you listening to me?” You ask desperately, begging to be heard, but he just stares up at you with heavy, needy eyes—wanting, wanting so much from you, always wanting.
“Fucking listen to me!” You snap, anger and despair taking hold of you, awakening your darkest thoughts and giving them grotesque shape. They puppeteer your body, making you surge forward and wrap your hands around his throat.
For one terrible second you feel relief as he finally stops, his eyes flying wide open in shock. You’ve done it. He’s finally looking at you. He’s finally listening to you.
“Jiejie?” He chokes out, and the vibrations of his voice, of the air struggling to pass through his windpipe, shock some sense into you. You blink and the haze of fury melts away to reveal your baby brother’s face, and what you see there—shock, worry, confusion, fear—smothers every tendril of rage licking up your body, freeing you from its murderous blaze.
You fling yourself away from him and stumble to your feet with a horrified gasp, your hand burning where it had just gripped his neck.
“I need to go.” You wheeze, your entire body shaking. But Caleb stops you, his fingers locking around your wrist as he too rises, chasing after you like a moth to flame. “Take me with you.”
“I already told you no.” You tell him raggedly. Please, please, get away from me. Just this once.
“I won’t make a scene, I promise.” He begs pitifully, still seeking comfort in you despite the unforgivable pain you've inflicted. “Please… I can’t be alone right now. Not after this…” His hand drifts up to touch the sides of his neck where your fingers had been moments ago. “I’m scared, jie.”
You heave in a choked cry and reach out to cradle his face in your hands, your knees buckling when he flinches ever so slightly.
“I would never hurt you.” You vow, guilt strangling you the same way you'd strangled your baby brother. “You know that. You just… frustrate me so much.”
He shakes his head. “You want to kill me.”
“No!” The word bursts out of you in scream as if it could banish the troubling thoughts away. “No, never!”
“You keep pushing me away.” He insists, tears gathering in his eyes like storm clouds breaking the skyline. “That’s killing me.”
“Baby, stop it…” You plead, drowning under his tears.
“If you leave me, I’ll die.” He tells you, his voice surprisingly steady in its condemnation. “You know that, jie. You know I can’t live without you.”
“You’re being so unfair.” You lament. All you want is a good, well-adjusted, happy life for him—a normal life where he has a lover and a sister that aren't the same damned woman.
“I don’t care about fair. I only care about you.” He says as if you ever needed to hear that. You knew it all too well, that Caleb will continue to fight that perfect future you dream for him every step of the way.
_______________________
To your surprise, Caleb is on his best behaviour at the gathering. His tears have dried, leaving his pretty eyes shiny and full of stars, and his broken voice has taken on that boyish, inviting lilt that disarms everyone who meets him.
He’s dressed up in one of his nicer shirts and a pair of tailored dress pants. They’re nothing fancy but you’re not used to seeing him in something other than his sweats and tanks or cargo pants with a million pockets and three jackets on, and you don’t like the way this unfamiliar outfit shows off his physique. The shirt emphasizes his broad shoulders and muscled arms and the fitted pants draw attention to his thick thighs and round bottom. Even his hair is slicked back neatly, revealing his forehead and thick eyebrows, and you wonder what the purpose of the new look is.
To you, he still looks like your baby brother putting on a grownup’s skin, but to others he must look like an alluring young man they could sink their teeth into, because they gravitate towards him like flies. Most of them content themselves with stealing glances they think go unnoticed, however some braver ones—or perhaps more idiotic—gawk openly, while a brazen few come up to speak to him directly.
Your coworkers take to him faster than they ever did to you, and you swallow back the complicated emotions that bubble in you in response, and that you refuse to name.
For most of the night, he stays close by your side, chatting up your coworkers who come up under the pretense of wanting to talk to you, only to end up directing most of their attention toward him. And when they learn he’s your brother, they coo and fawn, praising you for raising such a charming, well-mannered young man.
Caleb keeps one arm wrapped securely around you the whole time, his smile growing wider with each compliment, and his chest puffed out as if he’d achieved some secret goal he’d set out to prove.
“I like playing brother and sister more than boyfriend and girlfriend. But I think I’d like it more if I could kiss you right now.” He whispers in your ear the moment the two of you are left alone. “They wouldn’t mind right? Your friends all love me.”
“That’s not funny, you little shit. You promised you’d behave.” You scowl at him. So that’s why he’s dressed like this and acting this way. He thinks your friends liking him as your brother will make them accept him any more as your lover. It’s almost endearing how delusional he can be sometimes, his way of thinking so child-like it makes you wish you could protect him from his own misguided beliefs.
“Besides,” You say with a sickening sense of deja-vu. ”They’re not my friends.”
“Really, what about Tara? I thought she was your best friend.” He pushes back, recalling all the times you’d told him about her. “She loves me too. You saw how she invited me to come along on the camping trip next month.”
“I’m going to text her tomorrow and tell her you can’t make it after all.” You glare at him. Really, what was he thinking accepting her invitation? That he’ll impress them all so much, they’d overlook the fact that he’s your brother? That he’d be so amazing, they’d congratulate you for being with him?
“But I want to come.” He whines.
“And I said no.”
“But jiejie—”
“I’m going to get a drink.” You snap at him, already turning away. He immediately starts to follow, but you put a hand out to stop him, pointing to the floor where he is standing. “Stay here.”
“Jie—” He pouts but you don’t wait to listen to his whining.
It’s probably not the smartest idea to leave him unsupervised and surrounded by a bunch of your coworkers, but you desperately need that drink if you’re going to survive the rest of the night and the whirlwind of emotions that bringing him into the your workplace have conjured up… and it’s not just because you’re afraid of what he might do and how he could cost you everything if he so wishes, but also because he’s once again invaded the one place that belonged only to you.
Your little brother has never really been good at letting you have anything that didn’t also involve him.
“So that’s your little brother, huh?” Simone’s voice makes you jump out of your skin as you’re pouring yourself a drink, and you almost drop the cup to the ground.
“Yeah.” You mutter, a little unfriendly, not really in the mood to discuss him when you’ve finally managed to get a couple of minutes away from him.
As if she can hear your thoughts, she laughs. “He’s… clingy, isn’t he?”
You snort in response. “What gave it away?”
“Well, for one, he’s currently staring at you like a dog waiting for its owner outside of a shop.”
You throw a glance back towards him, and his sad face perks up for a second as your eyes meet before you force yourself to look away.
“He seems like a good kid.” She continues, and you feel a pang of guilt in your chest as you almost contradict her. Instead, you force out a small smile. “Yeah… he is.”
“Is everything okay?” She frowns, finally noticing your gloomy mood, and you kick yourself internally for failing to control your emotions.
“Yeah. He’s just a bit of a handful.” You wave her concern away. What can you even tell her? That he was a good kid up until he started demanding you give your body to him? That you don’t know how to control him anymore? That… your own little brother scares you a little bit?
Instead, you plaster on a bright, fake smile. “But you’re not wrong. He’s like an overexcited puppy—very needy and high maintenance. He wouldn’t even let me come today if he didn’t tag along.” You spin it in a humorous way and she laughs again. “If he’s that needy, why don’t you get him a girlfriend so he’ll bother her instead?”
“Believe me, I’ve been trying.” You mutter, and pretend it’s the drink you’re sipping on that is the cause of your sour expression.
“Is he into jiejies?” Her question catches you off-guard, and you choke on your drink, the alcohol burning your nose as you cough. “What?”
“Does he like older women?” She repeats with a knowing smile that almost brings you to your knees. But then she continues, “Because if so, I think Christine is trying to gobble him up.”
You snap your head to where she is looking to see your brother cornered by Christine, one of the Captains at the association, her hand gripping his bicep and her tits practically shoved against his chest.
“Better go save him before the poor boy has a heart attack.”
You barely hear Simone’s amused voice over the ringing in your ear. You discard your glass, uncaring that it topples over and ruins the tablecloth, and march quickly towards them.
“Didi, there you are!” You exclaim, tiptoeing up on your already high-heeled feet to wrap an arm around his shoulders, pulling him down in an exaggerated sisterly manner. “What are you up to, you little rascal?”
“Jie…” He whines as you mess up his hair. “Stop.”
But he’s smiling down at you, happy to have your attention again. You stare up into his bright eyes, his height still taller than you even with the uncomfortable hunch you’ve forced him into, and suddenly you’re pushing his hair down, fixing it back into the boyish banged look he has always sported, your anxiety only settling when he’s all patched up and back to being your baby brother.
The sound of someone clearing their throat makes you jump, but Caleb’s own hands around your waist stop you from pulling away from him completely. That’s fine. You’ll let him have this for now. You have more important things to focus on, like pinning the older woman down with a fake smile.
“Oh, hey Christine. I see you’ve met my baby brother.” You tell her pointedly, hoping she'd get the hint to back off.
"Oh, he’s your brother? I didn’t know.” She lies horribly, and you fight to keep the ugly scowl off your face. Bullshit. Caleb has been proudly proclaiming to anyone and everyone who will hear him that he’s your little brother. No way she didn’t know.
“Gosh, you’re a pair of good looking siblings, aren’t you?" She chirps, and you don’t miss the annoyance in her eyes at you interrupting them, before her gaze flits back towards Caleb, sliding up and down your brother’s figure brazenly. And god how you wish you could throw your body over him to hide him away from her lecherous eyes. "Bet you're as popular with the ladies as she is with the guys."
You feel Caleb tense against you.
"Is that so?" He turns towards you, still smiling but you can see the start of a fire in his eyes. "Are men bothering you, jiejie?"
And suddenly you feel like you’re the one being warned.
"She's just flattering me." You wave your hand in the air, trying to dispel the tension you feel building up. But Caleb isn't satisfied with that answer, and Christine keeps running her mouth, "Nonsense. She's such a heartbreaker, your big sister. She’s got so many admirers but they’re all too scared to approach her because they know she’d coldly brush them off.”
What the hell is she talking about? Men don't approach you because you're not the type of girl they like. You’re not fun and bubbly like Tara, and you’re not cool and charismatic like Simone. You're not sweet or nurturing either—it’s hard to be when all your supply of those goes towards caring for your full grown brother. You just go to work and focus on your job and get on with your day. The only men who ever talk to you are Xavier and Nero, and that’s probably because they have to.
“Now I know why. She is just too busy spoiling her little brother.” The woman laughs obnoxiously, and you feel queasy by how close her little joke is to the truth. “Maybe I can keep her brother busy so she can finally have time to date."
"She's not interested." Caleb says curtly, no longer smiling. "She needs to focus on her work. And I also need to focus on my studies. I'm still in college, you know."
Despite her cluelessness, whether real or feigned, Christine gets a little thrown off by the sudden change in Caleb’s demeanor—sudden for her anyway. But it seems she doesn’t know when to quit.
"But you're an adult, right?" She asks shamelessly, "Besides, she already seems to have her eyes on someone."
"Who?" Caleb barks, all pretense gone now, and you feel a dragging sensation in the pit of your stomach that you know isn’t just your nerves.
Christine’s smile turns anxious, and you know she must feel it too. But she has no fucking survical instincts because she keeps going. "Xavier, her mission partner. They're always together, talking secretly about god knows what. The sparks are definitely flying."
"We're just discussing mission details. It’s classified intel." You interject, but the stupid woman rolls her eyes and winks at you. "Suuuure. Missions. Is that why you were grinding against him at the club the other day? Did his—ah!”
Her eyes widen as you feel the force of Caleb’s Evol crushing down on all of you.
“We have to go!” You squeak, grabbing his arm and frantically attempting to pull him away, every step heavy as if you’re wearing boots of lead. “Caleb, stop it!”
But he’s not looking at you. Instead, his eyes are darting all around, searching the crowd for a face he doesn’t know. “Which one is he?”
“Don’t.” You plead with him, gripping his arm tightly. “Caleb, this is my workplace. You’re making a scene.”
"Oh, I haven’t even started yet, jiejie." He spits out and finally looks at you, his gaze dark and spiteful. "You wanted me to date so you can be free to fuck him, huh?"
You gasp, panic flooding your veins as a few curious heads turn in your direction. You quickly press your palm to his chest, catching him off guard and forcing him to resonate with you, allowing you to finally move him. You yank him toward the nearest exit, muttering hasty excuses to your concerned friends about your brother not feeling well and you needing to take him home right away.
The second you’re out of the main hall and away from prying eyes, Caleb pushes you against the wall, his breathing comes out fast and heavy as his large frame cages you, like a rabid animal waiting to pounce.
“Did you fuck him?” He demands, the rage in his voice making you tremble, and you shake your head vehemently. “No.”
But your denial doesn’t calm him down.
“Let him eat your pussy?” He asks and you flush. “No!”
“Sucked his dick?”
“Caleb, no!” You whisper furiously, mortified at his wild imagination that is getting him all worked up. “I did none of that!”
“Just grinded against him in front of all your coworkers?” He spits out and you cower, suddenly not feeling so righteous anymore.
“We were just dancing.” You insist weakly, the fear of being caught by one of your coworkers with your little brother in this compromising position, and the mortification at having been caught by Caleb for your drunken fuckup twisting together so tightly around your throat until it’s hard to breathe. “She‘s exaggerating.”
“So you were dancing with him.” He latches onto the wrong part, his eyes narrowing down at you. “Why?”
“It was a work outing, just like this one. Everyone was dancing.” You try to justify yourself but Caleb will not let this grave sin against him slide. “You could have danced with Tara or Simone. Why did it have to be him?”
“I don’t know!” You lie, all the humiliation from that night flooding back in. “I was drunk, okay?”
“You were drunk?!” Caleb barks, incredulous. “You know how useless you get when you drink. Why the hell would you do that around strange men? What if you were so out of it, you didn’t even know what he was doing to you? What if he took you home and fucked you while you were passed out?”
“Is that why you used to try so hard to get me drunk?” You bristle, refusing to let Caleb chastise you. He has done so much worse than drink and rub against a coworker. He has forced you to defile him again and again, and now he’s mad at you for the one thing you shouldn’t feel guilty for.
“And what if I did?” He sneers, not even denying it.
You falter, shocked at how brazen he’s being. ”That’s disgusting, Caleb.”
“That’s what I am, isn’t it. Disgusting.” His lips curl around the words bitterly, “But this isn’t about me. This is about you getting wasted and rubbing your ass against some other man in front of everyone.”
“I told you I didn’t do that!” You lie through your teeth. This is about him. Everything in your life has always been about him, even your stupid decision to dance with Xavier.
A strange expression suddenly takes over your brother’s usually sunny face, and you have nowhere to run as he leans down, trapped as you are between him and the wall, unable to escape from the darkness in his eyes and the unsettling smile on his lips. “You think he’ll still want you if he finds out what you’ve been doing to me?”
You gape at him. What is he saying? Doing to him? Everything that has happened between you was to try to contain his desires. You didn’t want any of this. He made you. But who would people believe? The precious, little brother who loves and trusts his jiejie so much or the reclusive, unfriendly older sister who never had a man in her life and barely has any friends? You had to have been the one to latch onto him, to blind him so he can only see you, to sink your claws into his heart so it bleeds for you, to break his bones so he could only crawl into your arms.
“Are you threatening me, Caleb?” Your ask, your voice wavering. “How could you?”
“You’ve left me no other choice.” He says it like it hurts him more than it hurts you.
“You’re unbelievable.” You hiss at him, feeling your heart stutter at his betrayal, and you know it would rather stop all together than believe he’d ever do such a thing to you. “After everything I did for you. I let this go on for so long because I didn’t want to hurt you, and now you’re threatening me?”
“Liar.” He snarls, “You’re hurting me! You don’t give a shit about me!”
“What are you talking about? I do!” You whisper harshly, “I care about you so fucking much!”
“You left me!” He cries, “You abandoned me again and again, and every single time I was the one who had to run after you. I was the one who followed you to your college apartment, and I was the one who followed you here, even though it takes me hours to get to you and back, yet I still do it every single week just so I can see you!”
“I didn’t ask you to!”
“I know! Because you don’t care about me!” He says, eyes wild now as if he actually believes his own words. And you don’t know if you should be hurt for him because you’ve somehow made him doubt your love towards him or hurt for yourself because he refuses to see all the things you’ve done for him. “You never even tried to contact me after our fight. Would you have never talked to me again if I didn’t reach out first or if I refused to get into the DAA?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” You scoff, “You’re my brother.”
“And you sent me away!”
“So you could pursue your dream!”
“My dream means nothing without you.”
“Don’t say that.” You protest. It can’t all hinge on you and this forbidden love. There has to be hope still. You need to believe it, otherwise you don't know what you'd do with yourself… or him.
“Do you love me?” He asks and your reply is instantaneous. “Of course, I do.”
“Then how could you bear to force me to be with someone else?”
“Because ours is a different kind of love.”
“Then I don't want any other.” He says with conviction, “You can be everything for me. You are everything for me.”
You shake your head. “Caleb, please. I am your sister. I can only ever be your sister. You need to get that through your head.”
He scoffs and looks away for a moment, the pain clear on his face even with his head turned away.
“Baby—”
His eyes snap back to yours, and you take in a shuddering breath at the vulnerability you suddenly see in them. “Do you find him attractive?”
You hesitate for half a second too long. “I—”
His face twists in anger. “Did you let him touch you?”
“I told you, I didn’t.” You lie again.
“How can I trust that?”
“Caleb, me and Xavier aren’t even together.” You try to convince him but he snorts derisively.
“And we’re apparently not together but you’re letting me touch you.” He mocks, and as if to make his point, a hand comes up to palm your breast as he presses his body flush against yours. “If you’re letting your own brother touch you like this, why wouldn’t you let a man you find attractive do it too?”
“That’s low, Caleb.” You growl and try to push him away but he doesn’t budge. He’s using your over-indulgence of him against you, treating you as if you’re just giving it away to anyone, and not like it’s taken everything in you to give him what you thought he needed because you love him that much.
“Do you love him? Is that it? You found someone better and now you're throwing me away?” He interrogates you, and the fury and pain you see in his eyes almost pull you under. “What do you like about him? Is it the way he looks? The way he treats you? His voice? His profession? I can change. I can be anything you want me to be, jie.”
But you can never not be my brother.
“I don't love him.” You insist, pained at seeing the way your little brother is so willing to mangle himself in order to try to fit into a mould he thinks you might want. “We barely even talk, Caleb.”
“That’s not what that woman said.” He mutters accusingly and you frown. “It’s what I’m telling you.”
But like anything you’ve tried to tell him lately, it goes into one ear and out the other.
“I won’t let you make a fool out of me, jie.” He shakes his head, a mirthless smile twisting his lips. “I only hooked up with that woman because you forced me to. That doesn’t mean I’ll let you fuck around with other men.” He spits out, his gaze hardening. “If I find out you’ve been with him, I’ll—”
You feel it before he even finishes his sentence… the harsh, oppressive weight of his Evol pressing all around you, making your spine creak, your muscle ache, and the air in your lungs feel like water.
“I haven’t! I won't!” You proclaim frantically, not trying to defend your right to a hypothetical date you know would only end in disaster.
“Prove it.”
You look up at him helplessly, and croak out, “How?”
__________________________
“Caleb, please, I promise, nothing happened.” You plead, laid back on your bed with nothing but your underwear on. The same underwear he’s now tugging down your legs.
“I don't believe you.” He grunts, peeling them off completely. The moment they’re off, you instinctively press your legs together, a rush of embarrassment flooding through you. But Caleb’s hands grip onto your thighs and shove them apart. “Let me see, jie.”
You bite your lip and look away, squeezing your eyes shut as your heart hammers wildly in your chest. For a long moment, he’s completely silent. All you can hear is his heavy, uneven breathing as he stares down at your exposed pussy. You can feel tears stinging your eyes, moments away from flowing freely, exposing your shame to his greedy eyes as bare as he’s exposed your body.
He hates it. He doesn't like how you look. He’s disgusted by you.
But then his voice comes out soft and awed. “You're so pretty, jiejie. Better than I ever imagined.”
You gasp, daring to sneak a glance at him, fully expecting to see a mischievous smile on his face as he mocks you. But he’s not looking up at you at all. Instead, he’s staring down between your legs like a starving man.
“Look how wet you are.” He bends down, his warm breath ghosting over your sensitive skin, sending tingles racing up your spine. “Is that because of me? Or him?”
You bite down on your lip harder, and stay quiet.
“Tell me, jie. He demands, and you feel his fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs. “Or I’ll be really mad.”
You shiver, recalling his threat from earlier. Swallowing harshly, you taste your own blood, metallic and nauseating, just the same as your shame. “It's you, didi.”
A pleased sigh escapes him. “I knew it. I know you want me just as much as I want you.”
You feel yourself drowning in self-loathing as his fingers trace over your slick folds, unable to deny your unforgivable desire when the evidence of it is right at his fingertips that spread you open so he can commit every debauched inch of you to memory.
“So pretty for me, jie.”
“Just get to it.” You squirm, your cheeks burning with a flush that spreads down your neck and into your chest at how closely he’s staring at this very intimate part of you—a part of you that no one else has seen before, and yet once again you’d given it away to your little brother.
“So demanding.” He huffs as if you’re the one who wants it. But you don’t dare contradict him. You just lay there quietly and wait to be vindicated so you can finally put this behind you. You’ll never try anything with another man again, not until Caleb has moved on and whatever this is between you is dead and buried six feet under.
Caleb gathers your slick on his fingers, coating them generously before pushing one inside of you slowly, only managing to get to the first knuckle before it meets a tight resistance that makes him groan low in his throat.
“Fuck, you’re a virgin.” He breathes, and you can hear both the relief and arousal clearly in his voice.
“There you go. I'm untouched.” You mutter in resignation, feeling so mortified and helpless at having had to prove it in this humiliating way. But it's your fault really. You should have never danced with Xavier. And you should have raised your brother better.
“You should be touched. You’re perfect. Prettier than any pornstar. I knew you would be.” He sighs dreamily.
You open your mouth to scold him but you're cut off when he lowers his head between your thighs, his mouth descending on you eagerly, his lips enveloping your slick folds and his tongue dragging along the full length of your pussy.
You feel more than hear him groan in appreciation, his lips and tongue working to lap up every drop of your arousal as if just that could sustain him for the rest of his life.
“Caleb!” You squeak, flustered by the sight of your little brother between your legs, kissing your pussy the same way he kisses your lips.
He looks up at you, not shying away from staring you dead in the eyes as he pulls his face back every so slightly so you can see how his tongue sticks out to flick at your clit, the wet sounds of his saliva and your juices squelching in your ears.
“Baby, baby, wait—” You plead out, feeling yourself hurling towards a nauseating orgasm. You cannot handle the way he looks up at you, so blissful and hungry like he’s finally where he wants to be, and you fucking hate how sinfully arousing he looks doing it.
Will any man ever want you as much as he does? Did you do this to him because deep down you knew it would be the only way to get the love and attention you so desperately needed? Is this a trap of your own making?
“Didi, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” You cry out as you cum, soaking him in more of your sin. But Caleb is not interested in your pathetic pleas for forgiveness. He feeds on your guilt and arousal like a ravenous beast come to collect your soul.
And he keeps feasting even as your shameful cries of pleasure turn to sobs of pain. “Please, didi, stop, it hurts.”
It all hurts so much.
He finally pulls back with a whine, taking his mouth off your pussy so he can climb up to kiss your lips, feeding you your own sin, the taste of it sour and bitter on your tongue but Caleb moans around it as if it’s the sweetest nectar.
“Baby, it hurts.” You repeat, whimpering when you feel his finger continuing to prod at your hymen, pressing against it again and again as if to make sure it’s still there.
“Yeah? It’s because you’re so tight, jie.” He blames you once again. “So tight I don’t know how you’ll fit my cock.”
You squirm uneasily, trying to get away from his persistent finger. “Stop it, Caleb. I don’t like it when you talk like that.”
But he’s not listening. He pushes your hips down with his palm, keeping you still. “It’s okay. I’ll make it fit. I was made for you,”
And then he’s reaching for his pants, fumbling with the zipper in his haste as he stares hungrily at the spot where part of his finger disappears into your heat.
“Caleb, no!” You cry out in panic and try to snap your legs shut, but his Evol slams down on you, making you yelp in pain as your legs are suddenly forced back open, your thighs spread for his scrutiny and his cock that now rests against your pussy.
You’ve seen it many times before. It has always been impressive in length and girth, but seeing it resting on your pussy now, the length of it reaching all the way to your belly button makes you break out in a cold sweat.
“Baby, what are you doing? Please, don’t do this.” You tear up as he rubs his cock along your slick folds, coating himself in your wetness, preparing for something terrible.
“Caleb, stop it!” You yelp when he presses the large head right at your entrance, your pussy screaming in protest as he tries to force his way inside.
“Shh, it's okay, jiejie.” He leans forward to kiss away the tears that escape you. “Just the tip, okay? Even your little pussy can take that.”
You shake your head harshly. “Didi, please, don’t do this. This is wrong.” You try to reason with him but your words only bring back that anger that started it all. “What's wrong is you sending me away and pushing me onto other girls so you can whore around with him.”
“You—” You shout, but your words come out garbled as he shoves himself inside you, forcing your pussy to stretch around the flared head.
“Stop, stop!” You hit his chest repeatedly as he continues to push, bullying more of himself inside. You feel him reach your hymen and then press further, the pain of it making your head spin.
You stare up at your little brother, his angry face swimming in your vision, and you wonder if you’ve truly lost him.
But true to his words, he stops. “F-Fuck, jiiieee. You—ngh—feel so good.” He moans, his head falling down to the crook of your neck as he pauses to catch his breath, his entire body shaking.
“Why?” You croak out, the fire between your legs nothing compared to the ache in your heart.
“I can't let anyone else—hah—have you, jiejie.” He pants, covering your neck in wet kisses.
You shiver, and reach your arms out to wrap around him, seeking solace but knowing you can only hope to find it in the same boy, no… man, who hurt you. Your baby brother who used to cry if he even mistakenly upset you, has somehow turned into a man who takes what he wants regardless of how you feel. And he wants you intimately, profanely. “I told you I didn’t do anything with him. I proved it.”
“You only proved that he hasn’t had you yet.” He grunts, and pulls back to stare at your bodies where you're so precariously connected, his expression turning desperate as his eyes flick back to yours, and you feel queasy seeing the same look your little brother always gives you when he asks for something he knows he shouldn't, but also knows you wouldn’t deny him either. “Fuck, do I have to wait? I don’t want to wait. I want you so bad. What if I wait and you fuck him. I'd go crazy.”
As if he’s not already there.
“I won't, Caleb.” You promise with all the conviction in your rotten soul. You won’t. You won’t. You never want to see him like this ever again.
“I wish I could believe you.” He murmurs sadly, his gaze locked with yours as he pulls his hips back only to thrust forward again, the tip of his cock barely slipping out before he's burying it back inside you. You don’t hold back your whimper of pain from him, and he doesn’t hold back his vengeance from you. “Holy shit…That woman said you’re with him all the time, hiding away from others. She saw you rubbing against him in front of everyone, yet you won't even let me kiss you in public.”
“It’s not true, baby. She’s lying.” You deny, still hoping it would save you from an even worser fate.
“Why would she lie?”
“Why would I lie?” You implore the part of him that trusts and respects his jiejie, hoping it's still alive. But the smile he gives you is not that of your doting little brother. “Because you know I'll chop his hands off and feed him his own dick if he touched you.”
Bile rises in your throat. You can't tell if he really means it or if it's just the heat of the moment, and that fucking terrifies you. Would your brother really try to hurt Xavier if he finds out the truth? How far does his obsession really go? Is there any remaining hope at all?
“It didn't happen, okay?” You cower, unwilling to face the possibility of your precious baby brother doing something so violent, even as he unleashes some of that same violence upon you. “I promise, di.”
“I want to believe you, jie. I really do.” He sighs, his hand gripping your chin tightly as he stares deep into your eyes, trying to seek out the truth. “I will lose it if I find out you’re lying to me.”
You cradle his face in your hands and pull him down for a passionate kiss, coaxing him to soften for you. “I’m not, baby. I promise.”
Let me in. Don't do this. Please, come back to me.
And he does, his face crumbling into the needy look you're so familiar with, his eyes shining wet and pitiful with yearning. “I love you, jie.”
You sigh in relief. “I know, baby. I love you too.”
“You don’t. Not as much as I do. Or you wouldn’t keep saying no to me.” He whines, and sits back on his heels, his hands gripping your hips as he resumes his thrusts, watching the head of his cock disappear in and out of your hole again and again. “I want you s-so much, jie. I wanted you before I even—hah—knew what my cock was for.”
Because there is something seriously wrong with you, didi.
And there is something seriously wrong with me.
And I can’t tell which one of us had this sickness first.
But the disgust that his confession brings up in you does nothing to dampen the pleasure you feel as your pussy slowly starts getting used to the intrusion, moulding around his cock in order to accommodate him. Every part of you will always yield to your little brother, even this.
“You were made for me.” He moans and your pussy flutters around him in answer, producing more slick that makes the slide of his cock easier. It sucks him in hungrily, and suddenly you can feel just how empty you are inside.
Do it. He can fill up that hole inside you. He feels it too. Just give in. Take what you both need.
A voice calls out from deep within your mind, the sound distant and muffled as if buried under layers of rubble. Something in its enthralling tone seems so terrifyingly familiar to you, like a desire you'd long buried but has now returned from the dead to drag you to hell.
But you resist its call. It’s not your little brother’s duty to fix what you lack. If you have influenced him to think he needs to then you must correct him before you ruin him completely.
"Does it feel good for you too, jie? Tell me, please..." He whimpers, the anticipation and worry on his face almost have you spilling to reassure him. “It feels so good for me. This is where I belong. Fuck, do you feel it too, jie?”
His thumb brushes over your clit, the friction making your hips rock against his hand involuntarily, mindlessly chasing more of that pleasure.
“Please, say it, jie.”
You shake your head, trying to rebuke both your brother's delusional pleas to join him in his lunacy and the incriminating demands coming from your own mind.
This is not right. He should have never known what the inside of you felt like, let alone think he belonged there. It would have been less abominable for him to dig his hand into your chest and stifle the life out your heart that you'd already given to him so many years ago.
Caleb sees your denial for rejection. “If you can’t feel it then maybe I’m not deep enough.” He grunts, his thumb flicking over your clit more roughly now as he pushes his cock further inside you, the head of it painfully stretching your hymen. “I need to go all the way inside you. I need to feel your blood that runs through my veins dripping down on my cock.”
You don't know if it's fear or arousal you feel at the thought of the blood that you both share staining your little brother's cock after he takes you in a way no other man has, and no brother ever should… but whatever it is, it pushes you over the edge. Your back arches off the bed as you scream, an overwhelming pleasure ripping through your body.
“Fuck, jiejie—” He groans, his hips twitching as he tries to fuck your pussy, but it clamps down on him, mercifully preventing him from acting on his threats. “Shit—shit—you're milking my c-cock, jie. You're gonna make me cum… fuck, please, jie, please—I need—I’m cumming! I’m cumming!”
Amidst your violent orgasm and his frenzied reaction, a rational thought somehow makes it through the swill of shame and pleasure, and you yelp out. “Caleb, pull out. You need to pull out, baby. I'm not on birth control.”
You hear nothing in return but his delirious babbles of ‘I love you. I love you. Jiejie, I love you so much.’
“Caleb, did you hear me?” Your voice rises with panic, “Pull out!”
Though his eyes are locked on you, he doesn’t acknowledge your frantic pleas.
You feel his cock twitch.
Oh god.
Your little brother is going to cum inside you. You're going to get knocked up with your baby brother's child. Your lives will be ruined forever.
But at the last second, he pulls out, and you feel his hot cum land on your pussy, covering you in his seed that thankfully wasn’t given the chance to take.
“Fuck…” He groans, staring down at the mess he made of you as if mesmerized. “You… you bled a little.”
Your eyes snap down to see the ever so small streak of your blood marring his otherwise pearly white cum.
He must have slightly torn your hymen when he tried to go all the way. Shivering, you think of how close he got… and that emptiness inside you yawns wider.
“Shit, jie.” He sucks in a harsh breath, his fingers smearing his release over your swollen lips. “You came so hard on my cock. Did you like hearing what I want to do to you?”
"No, Caleb." You croak, voice strained as you shake your head weakly. “I didn't—I don't like it.”
“Liar.” He purrs, grabbing his still-hard cock and dragging the thick head along your soaked folds, coating himself in the mess of your blood and his cum. “I felt how tight you got around me when I said—”
“You were playing with my clit.” You snap quickly, “That’s why I came.”
Caleb shakes his head as he slides his cock lower and lines the blunt tip up with your entrance once more. “That’s not what happened. You want it, jie. You want your little brother’s cock—”
“Stop it, Caleb!” You push your legs shut and kick at his hips, trying to shove him back. “I don’t want to hear it. It’s fucking disgusting!”
He catches your legs easily, forcing them back down onto the mattress as he climbs over you again, caging you beneath his larger body.
“You can deny it all you want, jie, but I know the truth. I felt it.” He growls, and you cower into the sheets, but you have nowhere to run away from this frightful version of your little brother he blames you for.
“Caleb, you’re hurting me.” You tell him meekly, and worry if that even means anything to him anymore.
“What about me?” Caleb counters, pressing his hips forward so the thick head of his cock stretches your sore entrance again. The burning overstimulation makes you whimper, your abused pussy clenching involuntarily around him. “You hurt me every time you deny our love.”
“Caleb, please… don’t do this.” You plead, the jagged pieces of your broken heart cutting up your throat. “Not this way.”
He glares down at you, his entire body taut as his wants and desires battle with his need for your acceptance and approval.
“You don’t want your first time to be like this.” You press on, trying desperately to reason with him.
“Our first time.” He hisses, jaw clenching so hard you can see the muscle jump. But, finally, he pulls his cock out, making you both shudder, and you tell yourself it's from relief. “You’re mine, jie. You can’t run from it much longer. You’re my sister… my best friend… and my mother.”
You frown, opening your mouth to protest, but he pushes his thumb between your lips, pressing down on your tongue to silence you.
“And one day soon, I’m going to take your pussy and make you my woman too. Then you’ll be all mine and no one will ever take you away from me. Not even you, jie.”
A/N: didi is really starting to lose it now, however will mc control him now (she won't). i need to know what you think of the mommy aspect bec mc is in a way his mom. i won't go too heavily into it, it will still mostly be jiejie kink but during moments of extreme duress or when he's trying to get to her he'll use it. also next chapter is the dreaded other woman entrance that will really throw jiejie for a loop. how do you imagine another woman can fit in caleb's jiejie obsessed life? and will jiejie feels when another woman seems to finally challenge everything she's been telling himself and her?
oh btw there are only 2 (maybe 3) chapters left!
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i feel like caleb is notorious for taking your leftover stuff. he’ll eat after you, he’ll drink after you. if you leave a cup of juice out on the counter, he’ll down it in one go before he puts it in the dishwasher. if you throw out your body wash a bit early and there’s still some left in the bottle, he’s stealing it, finishing it off, scraping the sides clean. he’s just always there to tidy your mess, to shoulder your burden—whether it’s one you created in earnest or one he orchestrated himself. he’s spoiled you for years, making it rare for you to clean up after yourself all the way—but it’s only so he can make use of what you leave behind.
somehow this got me thinking about bottom feeder fish caleb x angelfish mc, especially in that he debases himself while exalting her. he’s doomed to the darkness, only privy to remnants of her light, etc etc. or a less pleasing metaphor: he’s a scavenger animal, mc’s the carcass. he's picking at all the parts of you he can because those fleeting moments of unbridled access are all he has—he doesn't know when, or if, the next one will come
݁˖𝜗ৎ caleb asks if there's room for one more | 18+
pairing: zayne x reader x caleb
contains: MDNI, college au, sneaking around, smut, threesome, spit-roasting, double penetration, yeah just mild filth
words: 1.2k
note: FINALLY A DRABBLE!
it was no secret that caleb was the most experienced out of your trio. you still recall how grossed out you were when you watched him suck faces with a pretty girl on the swings at the park back in middle school.
the disgusting saliva swap put you off until puberty hit and you found yourself sneaking glances at his lips, wondering what they'd taste like. zayne would catch you while caleb remained oblivious, loved and adored by everyone around him.
confessions and crushes never came to you, no one seemed to want you the way they did caleb. hell, even ever reserved, socially inept zayne would get a locker flooded with chocolates and cards on valentine's day while you sulked and ate their treats when they shared it.
your dry spell came to a head in college when you were treated like a damn baby of the group because you were a virgin. you planned to change that though with the help of your trusty friend, zayne!
he'd refused at first, said kissing was merely an unnecessary exchange of bacteria that could give you cavities if the other person had them. that's a lot coming from a guy who loads his coffee with sugar and loathe the dentist's sugar-free advice.
nevertheless, he offers to help and it's awkward at first—teeth clinking, his glasses digging into your cheeks, you biting him too hard—but then he teaches you, slow and confident. now you're disappearing from the group to steal kisses during hangouts and at parties.
does anyone have a clue? not at all and it's so thrilling doing things in secret, glances across the room all knowing and sly from those hazel-green eyes, fingers brushing in ways that make your heart stutter and your stomach flip.
zayne and you are the epitome of stealth even when after one movie night—minus caleb who had basketball practice—lead to the next base. for all his nerdiness and emotional constipation, zayne fucked you so good that you could barely meet his eyes the next morning while he panicked wondering if he ruined what you had for good.
thankfully, he didn't but now you'd pounce on him whenever the opportunity arose and he couldn't deny that he relished it. sexually repressed men were a different breed even if he was the only breed you knew.
alas, secrets can only be hidden for so long especially if the bearers of it were as insatiable as you two. in this particular case, it's aired during a group camping trip with tara, gideon, simone, jenna, caleb and other friends.
taking walks through the forest, canoeing together, sitting next to each other around the bonfire and sharing drinks were common in close friendships but caleb felt differently as he saw just how cozy zayne and you were during the trip.
gideon told him that he was crazy and that you two are attached to the hip now that caleb is busier. still, that didn't sit right with the guy. so imagine his surprise when he woke up to drink so water in the middle of the night and caught zayne slipping into your tent?
triumphant and smug, he ducked inside after a few minutes, going “aha!” only for his voice to die down with shock as he walked in on you folded under the other man, a sheen of sweat covering your naked bodies as you both looked like deers in headlights.
no wonder the lights were off in here! if they were on, caleb would've seen your silhouettes melding and moving as one from outside the tent. and he thought this thing was moving with the strong wind like the rest of the tents were.
“zayne, you sneaky bastard,” he hissed, voice light and playful but there was a flash of something in his gaze as he stared at you both with those darkened sunset eyes. “corrupting our silly girl all by yourself? no wonder you've been skipping out on our hangouts.”
said man's jaw flexes as your heart drops to your fucking ass, his cock still hard and throbbing inside your fluttering cunt.
“i can assure you that no coercion or manipulation took place for this to happen. she was the one who proposed the idea,” cool and calm, zayne informed him.
“he's telling the truth, caleb,” you confirm, blood roaring in your ears. you did not want it to come out like this.
squinting in suspicion, caleb hums as his dark brows lower. “is that so? well, i guess that means i’m the first to find out.”
guilt gnaws at your gut. for some reason, zayne doesn't get off you and you don't want him to. “yeah, please don't tell anyone.”
caleb sighed, lowering his voice. “relax. i’m not going to tell anyone.”
silence stretched as relief sunk into your bones.
“but,” he added, ametrine gaze shifting between you, “I had a feeling something was going on. and I don’t exactly hate the idea.”
“i'm just hurt that no one let me in on all the fun,” he adds so casually as if he didn't just drop a bomb.
the air inside the tent felt thin.
stumped, you looked at him. then at the other man you've known your whole life.
no one laughed like it was a joke this time.
the decision wasn’t impulsive. it was cautious, wordless, built on years of trust. the man above you shifted to make space to the other who crawled over.
moments later, your childhood best friends were in a position they only dreamed of with you—you taking zayne in your mouth while caleb snapped his hips up against yours, rough and hard.
“careful, you'll bruise her,” zayne scolds, cutting the other man a glare as he holds your hair away from your face, making sure you don't choke even if his hips stutter with the urge to fuck your throat.
your glassy, red-rimmed eyes peering up at him as your lashes bat while you drooled around his cock were not fucking helping.
a crooked, sleazy grin flashes across caleb's face, unruly bangs falling over his eyes as he thrusts faster just to piss the oldest of you three off, causing you to garble a squeaky moan of surprise around zayne's leaking cock.
“oh, i think she doesn't mind a little bruising,” he purrs, legs bend as he plunges into you again and again that you can barely focus on swallowing around zayne as your pussy convulses and gurgles with filthy squelches. “don't you, baby?”
a hum in approval leaves your throat, the vibration thrumming through zayne's cock as his hips cant and his head drops forward.
moments later, you're laid back against zayne's sweat-speckled chest while caleb hovers above you, both their cocks nestled deep inside your overstuffed cunt, rubbing together as they stroke you into a fucking coma all while bickering about being quiet. grunts and groans punctuated their hushed argument.
the older of the two men scoffs when the younger lets out fucked-out little whimpers. "you sound so whiny," he mocks.
affronted, caleb freezes momentarily then gives him a shit-eating smirk. "yeah? you seem to like it with how you're throbbing against me, nerd."
zayne's taunting falters at that. "i am not."
puffing out a breath, you interject, "you kinda are, i can feel it."
wow, even at a time like this caleb and you are ganging up on him. but your words just draw their gazes to you and their verbal sparring is forgotten.
they're both enamored by your half-lidded drowsy gaze, kiss-bitten lips parted on soft pants and quiet mewls, hair fanned out messily and the way your breasts bounce with their thrusts. groping at your supple flesh, they trace all the indents of their teeth and blooming hickeys littering your skin with reverence.
“shit, isn't she pretty?” caleb breathes dreamily, violet gaze alight with awe as he regards you with admiration reserved for goddesses.
“fucking gorgeous,” zayne grits out, breath hot and condensing against the shell of your ear, sounding just as ardent as his friend.
it's dazzling and dizzying at the same time to be the woman of both their affections as you're sandwiched between them.
scrambled as your mind is from all the sensations, the stretch, the burn in your muscles and their scents engulfing you along with the toasty air that warms your damp skin, only one thought floats through your head.
you should've let caleb in on this sooner.
“crap, how are we gonna do this when we go home for the holidays?” caleb suddenly asks, seemingly full of energy like a dog with zoomies despite how many hours and orgasms have passed.
“what?” zayne and you ask at the same time.
scratching his head, caleb frowns as he thinks long and hard, hips lazily rolling against yours before his eyes brighten and he snaps his fingers.
“we can do it in the old tree house! i’ve always wanted to try—”
too exhausted, exasperated voices grumble out, “shut up, caleb,” as the man in question chuckles boyishly into the night.
note: glad to have this out of my head lol @peachygelic
synopsis: after all the hardship the man has been through at the hands of your people, you never thought he'd submit to you willingly.
contains: MDNI, unedited, historical au (ancient rome), gladiators, aristocrats, discrimination, slavery, a bit of dom!reader, masturbation, shackles, drinking wine, spitting, unprotected sex, breeding kink, mentions of blood, violence and death, 5k words
note: man, i just wanted to write gladiator sukuna lol. art by 3aem!
Many iron rings like the one set on your table had known the weight of many men. Sukuna Ryomen was familiar with the bite of them, the cool, heavy metal and the clinking of the links. Tonight he would wear them out of his own free will rather than the obligation.
He holds his arms out without being asked, having already clasped the other around his neck.
The lamplight trembles across your bed chamber in the villa, catching in the bronze of his skin, intricate ink he wore proudly from his homeland and the thick cords of muscle that battle and the arena have carved into him. Scars cross his chest like pale lightning. To the people of this city he is a monster of the sands, a beast on the loose to entertain crowds.
To you, he has become something else.
“Are you certain?” you ask quietly.
The Roman Empire had taught its daughters many things: obedience, modesty, silence. None of them prepared a noblewoman to lock a gladiator in chains at his own request.
He smiles faintly and even that is laced with ill-intent. Though it could just be the nerves buzzing within you.
“Your hands shake,” he observes.
Clenching your fists, you crumple the sides of your robes. “They do not.”
There's a flash of teeth, light flickering across the shiny enamel of them. “They do.”
You hate that he can read you so easily. Perhaps it's because he's always watching. Gladiators who failed to watch everything did not live long.
That and he's shadowed you for the past few months, attending gatherings like a bodyguard more than a “pet” as people tried to address him. Entering the arena only to defend your honor and sometimes out of the primal need for violence that he learnt during his captivity. At parties, you'd stand with him and gossip about the snobby aristocrats and snicker at suitors trying to gain your favor as if you were not cut from the same cloth.
Before anything else, he was your friend. Your father would surely have a stroke if he heard that. Much less saw what you were about to do.
Still, you lift the iron shackles.
The metal closed around his wrists with a heavy clack.
He does not resist. He does not even tense. Instead he leans his weight back, sitting on his calves, the chains stretching taut between his hands, enormous shoulders rolling as though the restraint meant nothing.
Which, you suspect, it didn’t.
“See?” he rumbles, voice laced with mockery as he feigns a displeased frown. “Now the terrible barbarian cannot frighten you.”
You huff softly despite how nervous you are. “You frighten everyone.”
“That is the idea.”
“And you're not a terrible barbarian,” you add, offended on his behalf, having never liked when people called him such, earning a toothy grin from him that he dips his chin to hide.
The pink-haired man quite enjoyed you eloquently telling people off for disrespecting him while you admired how he held his head high despite his unfavorable circumstances.
He was the son of a fallen chief, taken after the war that shattered his tribe beyond the northern seas. The arena had renamed him, caged him, blooded him for sport. But sometimes when he spoke of home—of rivers that sang through mountains and women who were honored beside men—you glimpsed the fair leader he must have been.
The man before you lowers his voice.
“You said you feared my strength.”
Swallowing, you nod. “I do.”
“You said you wished to lead.” His eyes lift to yours, expectant.
Your cheeks warm as you make a noncommittal sound.
True, you had said that weeks ago, wine loosening a secret you had never spoken aloud. In this empire, wives obey. Lovers please. Women do not command.
He had laughed then—deep, warm, utterly unoffended.
“Where I come from,” he had told you, “women command kings.”
Now his gaze held yours across the lamplight.
“I leave in three nights,” he reminds you and you ignore the ache behind your ribs. “Your plan will free me.”
“Yes,” you affirm. You had bribed guards, arranged a burned corpse, forged records. Soon the city would believe its fiercest gladiator died of severe wounds.
Believable, it was. For Sukuna had made many many foes especially now that he was at your side, the daughter of a high-ranking nobleman who suddenly did not wish to entertain suitors.
Everyone suspected that you were having an illicit affair with your gladiator. They simply could not comprehend the thought of you opening your home to him and letting him stay as a guest for any other reason.
The plan had been brewing from the moment your father presented him to you among other treasures as if he were a part of the spoils of war. Guards with spears pointed at him as if he were a wild beast where he was kneeling with his hands bound behind him and a glare that promised vengeance.
Pitting animals against each other already made your stomach turn so the thought of hosting fights for him to participate in had you queasy. You accepted him as a gift simply to ensure he didn't become a weapon of destruction for someone crueler or a plaything for a noble with “exotic tastes.”
Everything had gone according to plan but the thought of him vanishing beyond the horizon left an hollowness you had not expected.
His chains shift as he leans forward slightly, wrists shackled in front of him as his gaze bores into yours, carmine darkening with conviction that has your heart in your throat.
“I have fought lions,” he tells you as he had once before under the moonlight on the balcony when you couldn't sleep and he was there sharpening his sword. The man is wise and you adored gaining knowledge from all that he had seen and heard. He was fluent in many tongues as well. “Men twice my size. The arena roars my name because they think nothing can master me.”
The iron rattles as he tugs deliberately against it to draw your eyes down to it.
“Tonight,” he murmurs as if it were a solemn vow, “you can.”
Your stomach flips.
“You trust me that much?”
“I trust you more than anyone in this cursed city.”
Silence stretched between you, thick with the heat of the oil lamp.
“You could break those chains,” you whisper, understanding dawning on you.
“Yes.”
“And yet you—”
“I offered.” His smirk was slow, almost wolfish. “You wished to lead, my lady. I wished to honor you.”
He tilts his head, coral hair brushing the back of his neck, having grown out a bit under your care. He was due for a trim before he left. Everything about him looks healthier, his muscles had a layer of fat over them rather than being painfully saturated from the lack of nutritious food, clean water and a sanitary home.
“In my homeland, the gods favor bold women.”
His voice drops lower.
“Show me you are one.”
You stare at the enormous warrior shackled before you—this terror of the arena with a frightening wingspan and who's usually bathed in blood has willingly given you the power Rome would never allow you.
And slowly, very slowly, you step closer.
“Sukuna,” you began, not knowing where to start or if you truly wanted to do this. For all you knew, it could have just been a mere fantasy, a distant daydream of something unattainable that only appealed to you since it was out of reach.
“Ryomen,” he corrects.
The name weighs heavy on your tongue like it did the day he shared it with you. His real name, not the titles bestowed upon him by entitled men who'd be running for the hills if he wasn't on the low end of the food chain. The significance of it was not lost on you.
Your inner thighs are still sticky from your fingers earlier, when you were writhing in your bed, strumming your clit as his name fell from your lips like a prayer. Honestly, you wish you could lie and say you don't know what came over you.
However, it all stemmed from a few nights ago when you'd passed by his quarters and heard a grunt. Peering inside, you almost knocked, assuming he had gotten injured again and were ready to scold him about unnecessary brawls when you caught a glimpse of something that dried up your throat.
A glimmering sheen of sweat coated his inked body in all its naked glory as he'd slumped on his bed, head tipped with his thick cock fisted in his big hand, angry red tip leaking with pearls of precum. His pink tresses fell into his eyes, brows pinched as he sucked air in through his teeth. Muscles on his abdomen danced, dark markings creasing, as he stroked his cock, squeezing just right, pulling a deep groan from his throat.
Face flushing, you should have left then and there, thighs clenching and pussy pounding in shame, but then he murmured your name, startling you. You'd almost thought you were caught in your perverted peeping but he was in the throes of his pleasure, blushing a rosy pink across his cheeks as he called out for you.
Hot all over, you had scurried away, aroused and embarrassed that you witnessed such a vulnerable moment of his, guilt gnawing at your gut.
Yet tonight, when he entered your room and saw you like that, it felt like deja vu but the roles were evidently swapped. Then he proposed this idea and well, here you are.
A bottle of wine on your table is the savior for your awkward, antsy hands that aren't quite ready to reach for him yet. Sukuna is the picture of patience as he watches you, dry amusement twitching at the corner of his mouth.
“Thirsty?” he asks as if he's truly concerned for your hydration.
“Mhm,” you hum, popping the cork off and drinking straight from the bottle while he chuckles at the glug, glug, glug of flowing liquor.
His eyes on you are like a physical touch, tracking the bottle pressed to your lips and down the line of your throat as you gulp the liquid courage down. Tongue pressing to the back of his teeth, he's suddenly parched too. It helps that you're drinking one of his favorite ones.
“Quite a good selection you have there,” Sukuna chimes, his interest obvious.
Gaze sliding over to him, you arch a brow as you hold the bottle out to him, a taunt you don't realise is one until you remember he's restrained. “Would you like a sip?”
“I would, yes. Could you pour it into my mouth?” he requests politely, something you've never heard him do with anyone else and it makes you preen.
Stepping forward, you're about to take the bottle over to him when a wicked thought passes through your mind. There's a hulking, handsome monument of a man kneeling for you and you would be a fool not to make the most of it.
Emboldened by the sloshing wine in your belly, you take another mouthful of it, holding it there. Sauntering over, Sukuna watches as your hips sway hypnotically, lamplight caressing your skin like he wants to, plush thighs rubbing each other when he wants nothing more than to be smothered between them.
Coming to stand before him, you're towering over the man for once, shadow casting over him as he looks up at you through low-lidded eyes, anticipation building in the air between you, as sweet as the essential oils from your bath and spicy as the scent that clings to him as if it's his natural musk.
Gripping the chain of his collar, you tug and the muscle in his jaw flexes. A knowing glint passes through his crimson irises and his mouth opens. Then you're bending, the mint on his breath wafting over you as your lips part, blood red liquor pouring from your mouth into his.
He drinks it down like it's his only sustenance, Adam's apple bobbing as he tastes the candied citrusy undertones of the warm liquid that came from being in your mouth. The moment he swallows, his resounding hum is muffled by your lips, tongue swiping across his as you lick up the traces of wine and dizzy him with your greedy mouth, barely letting him breathe. A harsh exhale hits your nose as he tries to get a gulp of air in.
Breaking away with a pant, your swollen mouth kicks up into a satisfied smile that Sukuna wants to see for the rest of his days. The robe you're in is thin and white, leaving nothing to the imagination as the gold bands around your biceps glint. Not that he hadn't seen it all when he came in earlier to find an angel sprawled on the bed, hair fanned out like a mural.
Still, the plump swell of your breasts and the valley between them teases him as the fabric falls open, just shy of dropping down your shoulders and tantalizing him with more of your skin glistening from your oils and lotions.
A thrum of heat trickles down his spine, molten hot as it dips in his stomach and fuels the fire stirring behind his leather loin cloth. The only article of clothing he has on this late at night other than his strappy brown sandals that weave around his bulging calves. And yet, it feels like too much as if he's wearing layers in the height of a scorching summer.
Watching you ease into this fantasy of yours has his chest bubbling with pride that he's the one coaxing it out of you. He'll play along for as long as you wish—or as long as his patience lasts, whichever comes first.
For the first time, there's a gleam of condescension in your eyes, something he detests from others but he knows yours is fuelled by budding sexual prowess and not a place of superiority—he'd let you walk all over him regardless if it meant your skin touched his. It has his cock kicking beneath his loincloth, throbbing as he stares up at you from the floor while you loom over him like a deity of depravity.
“Would you like some more?” Your voice is a smooth rasp that brushes over his skin, goosebumps raising off his flesh as a breath passes his lips, an exhale that makes his chest quake.
“Yes, my lady. If you would be so kind,” he confirms, gaze flickering between your face and the bottle in his hand.
Spurred on by his compliance, you down the rest of the wine in a couple of long draughts, your swallows loud. Popping your lips off the rim, a drip of dark red dribbles down your chin but you pay it no mind, having too much fun messing with him.
“How unfortunate,” you muse as you shake the bottle, emphasizing its emptiness. “I'm afraid there is no more.”
Some of Sukuna's amusement dampens at that, eyes narrowing slightly as you were certainly not remorseful at all. Lips thinning, his jaw tightens. “Indeed, very unfortunate.”
You put the bottle aside and clap as if you just got the brightest idea, beaming at him. There's a mischievous mirth in your twinkling eyes.
“Fear not, I have come up with a solution,” you announce cheekily.
Rolling his head to the side, he sighs. “Ever the problem solver, my lady.”
A huff of laughter leaves you as you approach him again, you place a hand on his jaw and turn his face to yours once more. “Open up, Ryo,” you coo, the nickname tickling him.
Obeying, his lips part, curious as his eyes trace your pretty features. A glob of spit lands on his tongue, warm and fruity from the wine. He swallows it like he would the juice of the sweetest grape then opens his mouth to show you that he did.
You weren't expecting proof so it throws you off slightly but the heat pooling in your stomach sizzles from the gesture. “Was that better?”
“Absolutely delectable, my lady,” he purrs, the rumble of the sound sending a shiver down your spine.
Despite being confined and groveling, it still feels like the man has power over you. There's just this authority about him that cannot be contained even in such a docile position.
Hence, you decide to act like an audacious man. Just a man would suffice since they seemed to have entitlement written in their genetic code.
Shoving your fingers into his mouth, you watch as grunts and wraps his lips around them, cheeks hollowing as he tastes the remnants of your slick on them, humming in approval as your stomach swoops.
Lowering your head, your smile is lascivious. “Is it sweet?”
“Mouthwateringly so,” he puffs against your digits, tongue prodding between them to spread them before he cranes his neck and licks the sticky wine from your chin clean off.
From his spot, he's at eye level with the apex of your legs so you use that to your advantage. Sweeping the front of your robes behind you, you bare yourself to him, resisting the urge to shudder when his breath hits your mound, cooling the slick that's coating your thighs.
Spreading your legs, you set one on the footstool beside him, parting your thighs so that your glistening pussy is revealed to him. His attention immediately drops to it, gaze attention and ardent.
The gladiator thinks that the shade of your folds is prettier than the loveliest flower petals he's seen. And he has seen many as he comes from a nomadic tribe. Shimmering webs of arousal cling to your slit, the hood of your clit and more drips out of your fluttering hole.
“It's like a seashell with a pretty pearl tucked within,” Sukuna murmurs, reverent in a way that has you ready to squirm. “This must be where the heavens part,” he whispers as if he were a traveler that finally came upon the mythical place he had searched for.
Brave-faced, you reach down, slipping your fingers between your folds to spread them while pulling the hood of your bud back with your middle finger to reveal your pearly bud to him. “Give me your mouth, Ryomen. I want to fuck it.”
The vulgarity of your command has him tearing his gaze away from your cunt with a start, brows furrowing as he peers up at you. He never quite liked it when you cussed and you don't do so often but his cock still jumps at the instruction.
Eyes locked on yours, he leans in, mouth agape as presses to your sex, hot, wet and soft. Your eyelashes flutter, hand going to his hair for a semblance of control as he kisses you between your thighs.
Flat and wide, his tongue lashes against your folds, stealing a gasp from you as he groans at your tarty sweetness coating his taste buds. He cares naught about your essence smearing all over his face as he suckles at your clit hard enough that you're keeling over. Straightening up once more, you use his salmon strands like they're reins, hips rolling against his laving pink muscle as he nods his head, strong nose nudging your clit as you instinctively buck into it.
Nipples prickling with an ache, you feel your breasts tighten as your breaths grow choppy, dreamy sighs and hitching gasps filling the quiet of your room as he hums and groans into your pussy, slick and saliva wetting your skin and his face. It's messy, sloppy and downright filthy as he delves his tongue into you with a squelch that seems deafening.
“Ryo,” you murmur through a long, drawn-out moan, fingers tangling in his hair and tugging harder.
His eyes flick up to yours, glazed with desirous heat that seems to brighten them, eyelids heavy. “My lady,” his words came out mumbled.
Kissing your teeth, you scoff a shaky sound. “It's impolite to talk with your mouth full.”
Something sharpens in his gaze and before you can question it, there's a sharp sting as his teeth sink into your clit lightly. Jolting, you try to lean away from the assault but he chases, licking over it as it pulsed from the pain.
“Fuck, you're cruel,” you hiss, pulling at his hair.
The prickle of pain on its scalp has him grunting into your pussy, goading him to suck, lick and lap you up, slurping loudly and nuzzling his face deeper like he wanted to burrow into the intoxicating syrupy musk of your sex and never come out.
The heat in your belly rose like an overflowing pool, getting higher and higher until the knot of the barrier keeping it contained snapped and it all dropped abruptly, rolling down your spine in a crashing wave that had your back arching and your frantic hips stuttering as you came in his mouth.
Sukuna wasn't done with you, drinking down all your cum until he was certain that all that was left of your thighs was his slobbery saliva. Catching your breath, your bleary gaze observed him incredulously. His face glistened with the sweat, fat glow of a self-satisfied man.
There's a radiance to you in this moment that Sukuna cannot look away from. Soft curves, lax posture, luscious hair cascading down your shoulders in wispy waves. Your expression aglow with pleasure and warmth, eyes half-closed and lips painted with a gentle smile. Light traces your silhouette, making your presence feel powerful, intimate, and mesmerizing.
“What would you like next, my lady?” he asks as if you're not still reeling from his gluttonous maw.
Scowling at him, skin flushing with hot embarrassment and irritation, you set your foot down from the footstool, legs a little wobbly as you nod towards your bed.
“Get on the bed. I wish to mount you.”
Cocking a rosy brow, he rises to his feet, towering over you again like a pillar in the colosseum as he walks backwards to the bed. Following, you're a bit aggressive as you rip off his loincloth, the roughness making his cock bob.
Gulping, you take in the monstrosity. You should have expected it to be proportionate to his bulky form but it was bigger than you imagined. Veins and ridges branched out along the shaft, skin taut and smooth as it wraps around the length of him. The blushing tip is shiny and glossy from the precum trickling out of his slit.
“Do not doubt your capabilities, my lady,” Sukuna brings you out of your thoughts as if he could see them spiraling as he loops his shackled hands over your head so they band around your torso. “You do not have to do anything you're unwilling to.”
Affronted, you straddle his lap, an electric sparks zapping through you as your pebbled nipples brush his sculpted chest, feeling his heart thundering just behind his pecs. It was dizzying. Exhilarating.
Chin raised, you fix him with a defiant glower. “I said that I wish to mount you and that is exactly what I shall do.”
His responding scoff is cut off by a his as your pussy pillow his cock, nestling it between your puffy, slippery folds. Rocking up and down, you slather him in your juices as he bites back a cuss, both of your groans whenever your clit nudges his tip.
Sukuna's fingers flex, the shackles seemingly tightening now, finally feeling like actual confinement as he wants nothing more than to touch you now. Slipping a hand between you, you grip his cock as he gasps, your knees pressing into the bedding as you lift up to hover over it, aligning it with your entrance.
“Fuck,” he grounds out as his tip dips into you, pain spreading from the intrusion to your stomach the deeper you take him. “Gods, I have wanted to stuff your cunt with my cock since the very first time you smiled at me.”
The confession has blood roaring in your ears, emotions that certainly did not belong in this lustful fog cloaking you both making you giddy but the sting of his snug fit distracts you.
Sukuna's darkened gaze flies up to your face and his hard features soften, sharpened edges dulling at the sight of your features twisted in pain. He presses a gentle kiss to your cheek that has your heart somersaulting.
“It's okay, love. Take it easy,” he assures you, the soothing tone of his voice relaxing the muscles you didn't even realise were tense. Again, his shackles rattle and he growls a low sound of frustration.
“Since I'm compromised, could you rub your clit for me?” Nodding, mind hazy, you bring a hand between your legs and circle your bundle of nerves, your clamped up walls slowly and steadily going lax. “That's it,” he encourages with kisses to your shoulder and the side of your face, lips to your ear. “Let me in.”
Twitching around him, you sink all the way down until your clit kisses his pelvis. Slick, sensitive and searching for more friction. A little whimper leaves you as you bury your face in his neck, his smoky burn paper and sandalwood scent concentrated here. There's still a slight ache but it's more uncomfortable than anything.
When it wears off, you circle your hips, spearing your gooey, clinging walls with his shaft to get used to it, sucking in a breath when he rubs against all your sweet spots. He rewards you by ducking his head and taking one of your neglected nipples into his mouth, your cunt fluttering and quivering from the sensation.
“You must move, my lady,” Sukuna sounds pained as he says that into your plush chest. Threading your fingers through the back of his hair, you keep his face smushed to your breasts as you lift yourself and drop down on his cock, finding a pace that has you both sighing and moaning. “Please.”
Adapting to your rhythm, Sukuna slams his hips against yours, bouncing your body like a rag doll as he starts fucking up into you. You thought he couldn't stretch you further but he does and you gasp out a cry, the pain fizzling into a delicious friction and balmy heat that sets all your nerve endings alight.
The expression on his face is devastatingly raw—ink bunching, brows knotted, jaw slackening, lips reddened and kiss bitten. Sometimes he'd bite the inside of his cheek or roll his tongue against it like his mouth had to be occupied in one way or another.
The noises his panting into your ear grow feral, grunting and growls that he cannot hold back hot against your damp skin as he nips at your earlobe. You try to keep up but you can't. Orgasms are ripped out of you like you've watched him tear men apart and steer stubborn beasts to their pens.
Stars burst behind your eyelids, white hot flashes as another release is yanked out of you, skin slick with sweat and overheated against his, the plap, plap, plap of your colliding bodies nearly violent as your moans shake with the brute force of his thrusts. His harsh grunts mingle with your soft, high-pitched moans, bed rocking beneath you.
Just when you think you're both spent after who knows how long, a dark, menacing chuckle rumbles out of him and cools your skin in an icy dread.
“I hope you don't mind us playing fair, my lady, as I believe it's my turn,” he tells you as the taut hold on your waist falls away.
Bleary eyed, head swimming, you look behind you to see that he broke the cuffs right down the middle. Your mind screams at you to run but you know he won't hurt you. Still, the suspense has your stomach churning as you look back at the maniacal smile on his face.
Moments later, your back is plastered to his chest, crushing the air between your bodies. The cold of the metal cuffs kiss your skin where one of his big hands holds your wrist captive while the other is cupping the back of your thigh, ensuring your body stays open for him as he plants his feet on the floor and plunges into your feverishly. Your free hand his crawling at his neck, leaving streaks of red in the wake of your manicured nails.
Sukuna takes it all with a malicious grin on his face, licking at his canines as his cock drills into you over and over again, your breasts jiggling as he stares down the line of your soft body to where he can watch himself pump in and out of you.
“You're perfect, my lady. I have half the mind to fill you with my barbaric seed and take you home with me,” he voices his thoughts against your ear, the bulge in your tummy showing you exactly where his baby would grow if he did.
The idea is absurd, entirely absurd. You'd certainly get outcast if your father found out that your “dead” gladiator happens to be the father of the child you're suddenly carrying. It was a disaster waiting to happen but at this moment, with your thoughts turned to mush and your body boneless, it doesn't sound so bad.
“Only if you ask nicely, Ryo,” you find yourself saying, voice breathy and salacious.
The man's brain stutters along with his hips at your response that was far from reluctant. Thoughts of whisking you away with him, showing you his people, teaching you their ways and traditions had his cock pulsing with another swell of cum ready to spill inside you.
“Please,” he grits out, having never begged even when the consequences were lashing or beatings. “Please let me fill you up, my love.”
The endearment doesn't register as you nod dumbly, brain scrambled and rationality racing from you like the lamps going out from the sudden gust of wind that seeps in through your windows.
“Thank you,” he breathes as if he's relieved. “Thank you for this honor, my lady.”
Vision dimming, Sukuna gripped your hips bruisingly, dull nails digging into your supple flesh as he rammed into you, cockhead punching into your cervix and your lungs from what it felt like as your gasping moans devolved into breathless cries, back bowing as your limbs locked with another shattering release.
His muscles clenched, chest ceasing as his stomach caves and then he was coming inside you, pinning your squirming body to his lap when it became too much, ensuring you milked him for all he had.
“Very well. It's settled then. You will come home with me and become my bride,” he decides while you're half-asleep on his sticky chest while he pets your damp hair but your eyes shoot open at that.
“I beg your pardon?”
Chuckling, the sound vibrates through you as if you were the one laughing. “It was inevitable, my lady. Your contraceptive tea will not work this time. The seed of my people is extremely fertile,” he boasts as he splays a palm on your bloated belly. “It will certainly take.”
note: i have come to the weekly realisation that a lot of my works are gonna be slop but that's okay because some of them won't (eventually) also thank you for 1k followers!
pairing: emperor!sukuna x previous emperor's concubine!reader
synopsis: when his father passes away, sukuna ascends the throne, ready to rule as he was always supposed to. but there's one problem: a sneaky fox who runs through his palace as if it were a hen house who needed to be dealt with. he punishes you by demanding you sleep in his chambers at night so you don't gallivant. what could possibly go wrong?
contains: mdni, oneshot, childhood enemies to whatever this is, trueform!sukuna, bisexual reader, wlw content, sukuna (reads notes) sucking himself off with his stomach mouth, mutual masturbation, degradation, wet dreams (sleep-humping?) his stomach mouth is kind of sentient, reader rides his forearm, thigh fucking, mischievous antics, smoking, mentions of cannibalism, 8k words
note: inspired by this and this. art by kassuyak on x! answering this reader's question!
In the luxuriously furnished courts of the imperial palace, where lacquered corridors gleamed like still water and silk whispered across polished floors, the late emperor, Wasuke, kept many consorts—but one among them was less consort than curiosity.
You had been brought to the palace as a child, too young to understand the weight of brocade sleeves or the meaning behind the bowed heads of servants. The emperor never visited your chambers, not once; by the time you were old enough to be noticed, he was already old enough to forget. And so you grew within the palace like a fox raised among cranes—fed well, clothed in pale silks, and utterly unsupervised.
Without the burden of imperial expectation, you became something the court had never quite seen before. A concubine who behaved like a spoiled young lord. The Crown Prince, Sukuna, despised you from the start. He was diligent, measured, and painfully aware of reputation, while you laughed too loudly and treated palace rules like loose threads of a tapestry begging to be tugged.
Make no mistake, you did try to entertain yourself with the usual courtly lady pastimes but it was rather pathetic, how poor you were at them. There were zithers to pluck (you snapped strings), embroidery to master (your peonies looked diseased and you bled on silk), poetry circles (you rhymed “moon” with. . .“moon” and called it avant-garde). The elder consorts played go and traded rumors like jewels. You preferred climbing the fig trees along the western wall and listening to the guards gossip about border skirmishes.
Then when you grew older and your interests changed, you found people to be far more interesting than you used to.
Desire came quickly and unwelcomed. You preserved your chastity like a prized heirloom, yet you were not saintly. How else were you meant to maintain your chastity? How else was a young, impressionable lady supposed to resist the eunuchs with the endearing smiles? The soldiers who steadied you with a hand on the small of your back when you nearly tripped up in your skirts? This was the only way and your ladies were most honored to be of service to stave off your lust with their hands, mouths and cunts.
You had your ladies-in-waiting entertain you—hands in your hair, lips at your throat, mouths under your robes, silhouettes pressed close beneath gauze curtains. You pretended at lovers in the dark, soft and sighing as bodies that were said to be mismatched glided like honey against one another in the most delicious ways, because you refused to be ignorant when your body demanded answers.
If you were to be caged, you would at least know the shape of the bars.
Whenever you gathered the lowest-ranked consorts and ladies-in-waiting for illicit tea parties—smoke curling from the bitter root reserved strictly for men, cups clinking while you draped yourself among them like a mischievous prince—Sukuna appeared as if summoned by scandal itself. You swore he was like a hound sniffing out a scent when it came to you.
Once he slid open the door only to find you lounging amid flushed faces, spools of unpinned hair, and loosened robes, head popping up from between a pair of milk soft legs and laughing as you kissed the startled lady’s cheek and pulled another close in playful affection that lingered a little too long, tongue swiping across her to let her taste the other.
“Shameless,” he spat, lip curled as he took in the scene with those accusing, crimson eyes, painted by the lanterns.
You extended the pipe toward him as smoke curled from your mouth, the tug at them lazy with content. “Would you like to join?”
His jaw tightened. “I would sooner drink poison.”
“Suit yourself.”
Bristling, his eyes narrowed and the women covered themselves, ready to be scolded and sent to their chambers while you were unfazed, watching him with intent amusement.
“Bedding His Majesty's ladies is strictly forbidden. You ought to be beheaded for this,” he reminded you as the ladies gasped.
Lifting a shoulder, you gave half a shrug in response. “I'm merely getting them wet for His Majesty's convenience. It is the least I can do since I'm quite useless to him.”
Jaw tight, the coral haired man's brows lowered. He glowered at you for long enough that the room grew hotter and your companions began to sweat while you held his stare like you were a block of ice, unmoved. You even slipped your slick fingers into a gaping lady's mouth which she sucked on instinctively, earning a lascivious grin from you. Then he whirled around, robes swishing and slammed the doors shut, retreating.
Your palace became a sanctuary of forbidden things. Laughter thick in the air. Music winding through lantern smoke. Your ladies-in-waiting and other concubines sprawled around you like adoring courtiers while you played the flute poorly but enthusiastically.
The crowned prince's scandalized report traveled swiftly to the emperor. His father, the emperor, merely chuckled, waved a wrinkled hand, and told his son the palace could use laughter and the bored women would prove dangerous if they set their sights on other men so this was no problem.
After all, was it not the men who decided a woman would only stop being a virgin if she was split open on a man's cock? Then it could be deduced that you were still a precious white lily despite your salacious rendezvous.
Sukuna grit his teeth so hard that they might shatter. His father had always been fond of you. Dismissed his disdain for you as childhood disputes.
Your rebellions grew more inventive with the years. You once entered an archery tournament disguised in a man’s robes, your aim steady and fearless. When Sukuna marched into the changing rooms to congratulate the mysterious victor, he instead found you calmly unwinding your bindings, dark hair spilling free as if the entire charade were the most natural thing in the world.
Another evening you appeared at the guards’ barracks soaked through from the pelting rain, white robes clinging scandalously to your bare body beneath as you claimed to have “lost your way in the downpour.” The soldiers, red-faced but disciplined, escorted you respectfully back to your wing—much to the prince’s annoyance when he heard the tale.
You delighted equally in tormenting the eunuchs, sending them fragrant letters sealed with kiss marks, praising their loyalty and teasing that the absence of certain anatomy hardly diminished their talents—their deft fingers that wrote scripts and pretty mouths that recited poetry would work just as well. The prince once intercepted such a letter and waited in the storage room where you had summoned the unfortunate recipient; when you arrived you merely tilted your head, unconcerned, and asked if he planned to scold you or join the conversation.
“You mistake castrated men for safe toys?” he asked coolly.
“I'm simply ensuring that no one is neglected,” I replied, snatching the letter he'd dangled above you like it was some grand revelation. “They work so hard. Rewards are deserved. Do tell daddy dearest.”
His outrage only deepened when he discovered you had begun teaching the neglected consorts ways to entice the emperor—producing illustrated, detailed manuals from who-knew-where and demonstrating positions with a scholar’s enthusiasm. Yet when the prince reported it, the emperor laughed outright and declared you were merely helping.
“She instructs the women on marital duties?” he repeated. “Good! Increase my lineage in spirit if not in flesh.”
When the emperor died and the prince finally ascended the throne, he imagined peace would follow. Instead the troublesome concubine matured into something even more dangerous—a clever woman who knew everyone’s secrets. You wandered through the women’s quarters like a gossiping breeze, whispering which colors caught the emperor’s eye or which features he seemed to favor, guiding nervous newcomers with a conspiratorial smile. Naturally, this incited disputes that you watched from afar, giggling behind your fan.
Suitors from noble houses occasionally requested permission to marry you and remove the disturbance from court, but the emperor refused each petition with curt finality. Officially it was punishment for your endless mischief—especially the rumors that you still stole moments with his own concubines, leaving them giggling and flustered long after you departed. Guards blushed when you leaned over the railings to chat. Ladies of the court lingered too long at your doors. Once, scandalously, you were found sharing wine and laughter in his most favored concubine’s chambers well past midnight.
Unofficially, though he would never admit it even to himself, he had grown used to the chaos you carried like perfume. The palace without you would be orderly, respectable, and unbearably quiet. And so the concubine who had never once shared the late emperor’s bed continued to rule your small empire of scandal beneath the new emperor’s watchful eye, smiling every time he pretended he wished you gone.
Sukuna who used to leave the palace for campaigns, the imperial army and councils returned a man in his mid-twenties, carved sharper by responsibility as he ascended the throne. You were no longer the child concubine forgotten in a side wing. You were a woman in your prime, reputation trailing behind you like cherry blossom petals.
Alas, with him around once more misfortune became the mistress of your life.
Bad luck and jinxes slink into the shadows behind you as you walk like the self-proclaimed cat of the palace, Yaku, content, smug and entitled as he prances around the extravagant courtyards and lush gardens of the inner palace as if he were the emperor himself. Tail curling, high and lazy, he preens beneath the attention he receives, the pristine obsidian coat of his appraised rather than feared by skeptics.
Hatred between you and the new emperor had not faded. It had matured.
To complicate matters (for him, not you), you found yourself intrigued by his advisor, Uraume—clever, composed, devastatingly polite. You intended to slip into Uraume’s chambers one night, heart racing for once with something softer than rebellion.
Unfortunately, palace corridors are treacherous at night. Therefore, you took a wrong turn while ducking from the patrolling guards.
The doors you slid open did not reveal the advisor’s austere room. They revealed the new emperor’s.
He looked up from a scroll, disbelief sharpening into something darker.
“Have you finally come to feed?” he asked dryly.
“You would press your lips to your mirror to try and devour your reflection if you could,” you drawled, calling him conceited for thinking you intended to see him, but you were mortified. “I was not looking for you.”
“Of course not.”
Sukuna dropped the scroll onto a table scattered with maps and rose, the lanterns in his room flickering from the gesture.
“You still wander where you shouldn’t.”
“You still assume the world belongs to you.”
Silence thickened.
“You haven’t changed,” he said.
“Neither have you.”
“You’re still reckless.”
“You’re still nosey.”
He stepped closer, the scent of burnt paper and smoky, cherry wine washing over you, pink hair licked by the yellow light, melting into a warm orange at the edges.
“For years you've had your way within these walls,” he began, glaring at you down the line of his strong nose. “Doing what you please, flirting with everyone, putting your mouth on women who do not belong to you, fucking them, teaching them unseemly thing—”
“That is quite the mouthful of words for someone trying to say he is jealous he's never been my conquest—”
His eyes narrow into slits, kind of like the cat that resides in the courtyard. “And now, you pursue my chief advisor?”
Your lips purse. “Uraume is quite the handsome, skilled person. I simply think that their calm, precise and thoughtful exterior would be a marvel to unravel and watch those eyes like still water well with tears of satisfaction—”
“Silence!” He barked, looking over you, expression severe while you tucked your lips into your mouth to bite back your amusement. “You may have had your fun all these years under my father's rule, ridden his guards and put them away wet but he is no more and I am in charge now.”
You're about to argue when the grin on his face grows toothy, sharp canines catching the firelight as he flashes his teeth at you like a tiger baring its fangs, poised to attack.
“From tomorrow night, you will sleep here in my chamber where I can keep an eye on you, sly fox,” he declares and your lips part, “lest I wake up to find you’ve bedded half my court.”
“I beg your pardon?”
With a flick of his inked wrist, he dismisses you, walking back to his table with a smug saunter. “You are pardoned. I advise you to enjoy your last night of freedom. Do use it wisely.”
Time does fly when one is having fun as the sun greets you, beaming brightly the next morning only to set, dipping like a biscuit in tea, that evening far sooner than you'd like.
By this morning, the entire palace knew the decree: the troublesome concubine would henceforth sleep in the emperor’s chambers. His explanation was simple—he intended to keep an eye on the pest who treated the palace like a playground, like you were a fox in a hen house.
Now, you sat cross-legged on a cushion that evening while servants withdrew, staring mournfully at the moon through the open screens.
“This is cruelty,” you declared to the quiet room. “You understand this, don’t you? My entire social standing has been ruined.”
Sukuna was reviewing petitions at his desk, though the brush in his hand paused as you continued your lament with theatrical despair.
“Every night I visit the ladies’ wing. We drink tea, we gossip, sometimes we… explore the mysteries of affection.”
You sighed dramatically, flopping onto the bedding as if stricken. “Now I must stay here like a trapped bird. And for what? I will die untouched by a man. According to court standards I am still a virgin, Your Majesty. A tragic relic. You’ve doomed me.”
The emperor’s brush resumed moving across the paper. “If you are so distressed,” he said dryly, “perhaps you should have thought twice before sneaking through restricted corridors at midnight.”
You lifted your head, hair cascading down your shoulder like water. “I was not sneaking into your rooms.”
“No,” he replied, glancing up at last, “which is precisely the problem.”
Your expression shifted between indignation and boredom. You rolled onto your side and propped your chin in your hand, watching him.
The lamplight threw long shadows across his inked face, emphasizing the asymmetry that had once frightened courtiers and envoys alike. Time had sharpened those features rather than softening them, and he had learned to wield that intimidating presence like a blade. Enemies trembled under that gaze. Ministers lowered their voices. Yet you had never reacted the same way.
“You know,” you said suddenly, “when we first met you were even more unpleasant.”
The emperor leaned back slightly, remembering despite himself. You had been eight years old then, newly delivered to the palace with a procession of servants and silks far too large for your tiny frame. He had been ten—already the Crown Prince, already accustomed to whispers about his strange appearance and the cold way adults studied his peculiarities. When he first saw the new girl in the courtyard he had sneered, repeating something he’d heard an older noble say.
“You,” he said, as if the word tasted foul. “You warm my father’s bed.” He was as disgusted by his father as he was by you if not more. You were just a child, no one would be able to differentiate you from a boy at this stage if not for your clothes.
You were in the lotus courtyard, barefoot, sleeves rolled, trying to spear carp with a hairpin.
“I would sooner warm a serpent's nest.” Turning your head, you blinked at him, eyes clear and bright with defiance. “And you warm his temper. How diligent.”
His gaze sharpened. “Parasite.”
“At least I don’t tattle like a court scribe with a broken spine,” I shot back. “Go report me for breathing too loudly.”
He stared.
Then he laughed — but it wasn’t kind. It was the sort of laugh that meant he would remember this forever.
From that day, you hated each other with the bright, feverish intensity only children can manage.
Most children shrank from him. You had marched straight up to him when he riled you up too far, fists on your hips.
“There’s nothing wrong with how you look,” you had told him bluntly, something the court would walk on eggshells around. “Your personality is what I find hideous. You throw your weight around because you’re in a position of power.”
The surrounding attendants had gasped. He had stood there, stunned that anyone—least of all a tiny concubine child—would speak to him that way.
“You’re bold for something kept,” he said once he gained his resolve. “Like a jeweled parasite.”
“And you’re loud for something heir-shaped,” you shot back. “Try earning your crown instead of announcing it.”
Behind you, the Emperor who was watching from the balcony above only laughed.
“They quarrel like betrothed,” he mused to a minister.
You both recoiled at the suggestion. It was not a crush. It was a war.
Now, years later, you stretched lazily across the emperor’s bedding with the same fearless irreverence.
“You’ve improved slightly,” you added as your eyes roved over him, no longer lanky with knobby knees and too tall for his baby face but now filling out his frame with bulky muscle and sculpted features. “Your personality is still questionable.”
The emperor set down his brush and regarded the woman who had plagued him since childhood. It hurt to look at you sometimes because you were infuriatingly beautiful. If only you were as ugly as he found your personality.
He had ordered you into his chambers to keep watch over your mischief, yet the truth was less tidy. Chaos followed you like your shampoo, and somehow the palace—and perhaps even Sukuna himself—had grown accustomed to its scent.
“Sleep,” he said at last, nodding towards the futon for you to lay down. “Tomorrow you may resume irritating the court. But tonight, you remain where I can see you.” You sighed again, dramatic to the end, though the corner of your mouth twitched with unmistakable amusement.
Unfortunately, “under his thumb” had become quite literal. You sprawled across him each night like a satisfied cat, one arm flung across his chest, your cheek resting against the steady rise of his breathing as if you weren't pinned between his four massive arms like a captured bird. At first you wriggled constantly, shifting for comfort until his patience snapped.
“Stop moving,” he would mutter sharply in the dark.
“You were the one complaining about ruined sleep,” you would mumble back, already half-dreaming.
This was an arrangement meant to demean you, yet as the weeks bled together, the King of Curses found his legendary composure fraying.
You were small, a fraction of his weight, but your warmth was a constant, irritating brand against his chest. Even worse was your restlessness. You shifted, your knees digging into his thighs as you sought a soft spot amidst his iron-hard physique.
"Be still, nuisance," Sukuna growled, his voice a low vibration that rattled your bones. "One more movement and I’ll throw you from the balcony."
You would freeze for a moment, roll your eyes, mumbling a soft apology into the crook of his neck before drifting back into a deep, stubborn slumber.
But lately, your sleep has changed. It was no longer the quiet stillness of exhaustion; it was something far more provocative.
Sometimes you sighed softly and pressed closer, humming faintly as if chasing some pleasant thought through sleep. Your brows would pinch together in concentration, and then—without waking—you would shift your hips in a slow, absent motion that sent a jolt of unwanted awareness through him. The pink-haired man would lie rigid, jaw clenched, trying very hard to think about tax records, border disputes, anything but the warm, restless woman draped over him.
“Now what are you dreaming about to utter such sounds and smell this sweet?” he mused to himself, carmine eyes tracking your movement. Then, angering himself, he imagined that you were dreaming of sleeping with his women and grumbled.
Cupping the back of your head, he shifted it just so when he felt some wetness on his chest. A huff of exasperated amusement left him as he found a little puddle of drool on his skin. “Slobbering wretch.”
His fingers caressed the side of your neck incidentally and you craned it, leaning into his touch as if he welcomed you. Sneering, he was about to rudely drop your head but then your hips canted again, more intentional like you wanted to get closer.
You began to hum, a soft, melodic sound that signaled the onset of a dream. Your brow pinched, delicate hands clutching at the silk of his robes as you began to rub against him. At first, it was a slow, languid slide of your hips, but it quickly grew more insistent. You sighed into his skin, your breath hot and smelling of sweet tea, as you pressed yourself flush against his growing heat.
Sukuna’s lower eyes snapped open wider in the dark. He felt the familiar, treacherous surge of blood to his loins. He was the emperor, a god among men, yet he was being reduced to a state of agonizing tension by a dreaming woman he wouldn't dare bedding.
Then, you moved with purpose. You hiked your silks up, straddling his thigh and beginning to grind your clit against him for desperate friction, treating his massive frame like nothing more than a plush pillow. A quiet, broken moan escaped your lips—a sound of pure, unadulterated want that was muffled from your cheek squished to his rapidly rising and falling chest.
Cocks throbbing, Sukuna, for the first time in ages, felt a surge of panic. Patting the top of your head, your skull engulfed by his big hand, he tried to wake you gently, something that pissed him off because why was he being considerate?
Scrunching up your face, your lips thinned at the disturbance before you turned your head, rolling your hips once more as you turned away.
“It's too early for this, Aya” you mumbled groggily and his masked eyes twitched at the mention of one of his frequently visited concubines.
That mean that you weren't just rolling in the sheets with his consorts—you were spending the night in their beds and taking them again in the morning!
Soft pants and quiet moans fell from you, a little louder now that you were somewhat conscious.
Sighing in exasperation, he gripped your hair lightly, noting how it would wrap around his fist a few times if he tried, and lifted your head. Wispy lashes fluttering, your dazed, glassy gaze met his for a heartstopping moment before your eyes rolled back and slid shut again.
“Enough!” Sukuna roared, face aflame now, his four hands seizing your waist and hoisting you into the air.
You startled awake, your eyes bleary and wide with confusion like a newborn kitten. You dangled above him, your hair a wild curtain, your face flushed with a deep, guilty warmth.
“You are an insatiable harlot,” he hissed, his primary eyes burning with a mixture of rage and stifled desire. “To satisfy your filth against your Emperor while he sleeps? Have you no shame?”
“I... My Lord…” you stammered, and he would have reveled in your rare loss for words if not for the situation, still half-lost in the haze of the dream. Your voice was thick with sleep, your body still trembling from the phantom pleasure of your subconscious. “I am sorry. I didn't mean... the dream felt so real…”
The abomination of a man grunted, a sound of pure frustration, and slammed you back down onto the futon beside him—not on top, but a safe distance away. He turned his back to you, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs.
“Forgive me, Your Majesty. You're not the only one who's experiencing a dry spell.”
He knew it was his own fault. That night of forced observation, of making you watch his own depravity, had planted a seed of hunger in you that was now blooming into a midnight obsession. He had intended to punish you, but as he lay there in the dark, aching and furious, he realized he had only succeeded in creating a tormentor who could bypass his defenses without even opening your eyes.
Beside him, you sulked, missing the mountain of muscle and heat that you had grown accustomed to sleeping on. The dream was vivid and you were rather disappointed when you woke up and realized it was just a memory of the punishment he had given you for batting your lashes at Uraume, touching their arm and having tea with them. What had irked the emperor more was that his advisor who was aloof and uninterested in forming alliances much less making acquaintances had smiled at you and even graced you with a laugh.
You recall the events that had followed that afternoon tea like it happened yesterday. It was engraved in your memory like the flowers carved into your favorite tea bowl.
The scent of sandalwood and old blood permeated the emperor's private chambers, a heavy, stifling luxury. Ryomen Sukuna sat perched upon the edge of his sprawling futon, his headdress discarded, four eyes tracking the woman kneeling before him.
You were a relic of his father’s neglect—a concubine meant for a ghost, now a thorn in the new Emperor’s side. Your crimes were many—you haunted the corridors like a fox-spirit, tasting the lips of his consorts, whispering filth to the eunuchs, and reducing disciplined guards to stammering fools with a flash of your ankle.
But Sukuna was not his father. He was not lenient and has sliced powerful men in half for simply looking at him wrong. He did not ignore, he conquered.
He didn't call for the executioner. Instead, he signaled for you to retire earlier with him tonight and stay, his upper hands loosely gripping the edges of his dark, heavy robes.
“You treat my household as your own personal harem,” Sukuna rumbled, voice rattling the paper shoji screens. His lower hands rested on his knees, while his upper pair slowly untied the heavy silk of his sash. "If you are so starved for entertainment, you shall find it here. But you will not move. You will not speak. You will only observe."
The silks fell away, revealing the marble-like perfection of his form. You didn't look away. Instead, your breath hitched, a soft, sharp sound in the quiet room. You had spent your life in the company of women, finding solace in soft curves and delicate touches.
You had never seen a man outside of books—not truly—and certainly not a tyrant like the man before you.
While women were blessed with pretty little flowers tucked between their legs for one lucky lover to spread and indulge in their sweet nectar, men had jutting shoots that threatened to spear one's insides.
However, you never expected one—two—to look like this.
Angry red tips with slits beading pearls of precum, the skin of his shaft resembling the gradient of a peach as it started off red then pink then lightened into the hue of his tawny complexion towards the base. It was thick from root to tip, green veins branching out along the length of him and ridges that you could already feel.
“It’s time you learned the price of such appetite.” Sukuna’s smirk widened, his stomach-mouth splitting open to reveal a long, prehensile tongue.
He didn't use his hands. As you watched, paralyzed by a mixture of terror and an unwelcome, blooming heat, the tongue from his second maw lashed out. It began to slide over his dual cocks, slicking the dark, heavy weight of him with expert precision like it had done many times before.
The sight was hypnotic. The way the slick, pink muscle coiled, the friction of it against his skin, and the low, guttural groan that escaped both his mouths. He was immense, a double-pronged testament to his own excess.
"Fascinating, isn't it?" Sukuna taunted, his four eyes gleaming.
“Gods, I cannot take both,” you blurted dumbly.
A cruel chuckle fell from him, ink near his eyes crinkling. You sounded like a minister who was presented with a hearty feast. “I could tell.”
Expression flat, you lifted your hooded eyes to his. “It's not a matter of me not being capable but rather it would be a nuisance later if my handmaiden could not finger me properly after.”
His amusement died a quick death. “Insolent wench, you will not be granted the privilege either way.”
Then that long, wicked, dribbling tongue curled around both his cocks in a way yours, you enviously thought, would never be able to. Constricting them, the tight, wet ring of muscle worked up and down, drawing gravely, drawn-out moans from the man. It was torturous watching the pearlescent liquid drip down and be slurped up and tasted by a mouth that wasn't yours.
You reached out, your palm itching to feel the heat you could see radiating from him, but his lower hand caught your wrist in a crushing grip, pinning it to the floor.
"Look, but do not touch," he commanded, letting go of your wrist that now burned with a feverish heat. "You have played with dolls for too long. Now, you witness a man."
Much to his dismay, stubbornness was in the very marrow of your bones.
You felt a desperate, localized throb behind your navel. Your hand, acting of its own volition, slipped beneath the layers of your robes. You wanted to feel the heat you saw, you wanted to know if anything could truly be that firm, that demanding.
Your fingers sought your own wetness, spreading yourself wide as you tried to mimic the rhythm of his stomach-tongue. You used two fingers, then three, stretching yourself in a poor imitation of the girth he presented, your breath coming in ragged gasps.
The front of your robe gaped, teasing him with the full, heavy curve of your breasts. One was just short of flashing him and he prayed to the gods that long forgot him that it would. Your other hand pushed beneath it, cupping the plush mound, your fingers pressing against the fabric so he could tell when you pinched at your nipple. That is if your gasp didn't give that away already.
As you groped your bosom, your moans grew louder with each harder squeeze at your breast like you were trying to imitate how you imagined he would do it. At the same time, the pads of your fingers circled your aching clit. Licking your lips as if parched, you peer up at him, gaze clouded with desirous heat.
Fuck, you must be so snug and warm in there. Sukuna thought he'd go to war to get a feel of you.
Bending your knees, you part your legs further as you grind your palm against your cunt. Airy gasps and high-pitched sighs poured from your plump lips. “Ryo, I can't take it anymore.”
His pulsing cocks kicked in the grasp of his stomach tongue, half-lidded eyes nearly bulging when you moaned his given name, or half of it, in that whiny voice. He was ready to abandon this torture and crawl over to sink into you but his sense—whatever was left of it, at least—stopped him.
Instead, he squeezed his cocks tighter, a groan punched out of his shuddering chest, as he worked himself to his release faster, wanting to get this over and done with. His stomach flipped when he watched the pump of your fingers pick up in tandem.
"Let me lick it," you whispered, your hips hitching unconsciously toward him, tousled hair framing your salacious, needy face. You wanted to taste the salt of him that he could on his tongue, to feel that monstrous weight replace your trembling fingers as they struggled to wrap around his cock instead.
"No," Sukuna gritted out, the word a physical blow. He leaned back, his lower tongue working faster now, the wet sounds filling the space between you. "You may watch. You may even ruin yourself for me. But you will not touch what you are not worthy to hold."
You let out a frustrated sob, your fingers working frantically against your own slick skin, a squelch sounding out, your gaze locked on the sight of him—beautiful, cruel, and utterly out of reach.
The corners of his vision darkened as a zap of electricity sparked down his back and struck his groin. Shutting his eyes, he threw his head back with an unbidden groan, inked body rippling as he spilled on his wide, flat giant tongue that licked him clean into overstimulation.
“Oh, fuck,” he had made the lust-drunken mistake of calling out your name while he came.
He doubted you heard it over your own moan that you hiccupped out, a shudder running through you as the air thickened with the sweet, tangy scent of your orgasm.
When he recovered, he stormed out of the bedchamber and went to wash off whatever the fuck that was in the springs, far away from you.
Keep friends close and your enemies closer, the adage went. But tonight, the King of Curses’ enemies felt entirely too soft, too warm.
The moonlight filtered through the shoji screens, casting long, distorted shadows of his massive frame. Sukuna lay on the futon, his sheer size dwarfing the woman tucked against his chest.
He was spooning you—an act of containment, he told himself. But the reality was more visceral. Your back was pressed against his abdomen, his lower set of arms was tucked away, while his upper left arm draped over your waist.
The proximity was a curse. He could feel the heat radiating from your skin, the scent of jasmine and something sharper, more intoxicating, clinging to your hair. His pulse hammered in his throat. His arousal was a heavy, bothersome weight in his gut, an itch he refused to scratch for the sake of his pride.
In hindsight, that was certainly the reason why he stroked himself in front of you that day—he'd been denying himself from visiting his consorts so he could keep you under surveillance.
Eventually, the steady rhythm of your breathing lulled his irritation into a restless sleep, burying his face in the crook of your neck.
The shift happened in the dead of night.
Sukuna woke not to a sound, but to a sensation. He felt a dipping, desperate weight against his lower right forearm. In his sleep, that arm had instinctively sought warmth, sliding down past your hip and nestling firmly between your thighs.
He stayed still for a heartbeat, his crimson eyes narrowing in the dark. You were moving. Your hips were rolling in a slow, agonizing grind against his large, calloused palm and the thick muscle of his forearm. A soft, broken whimper escaped you, muffled by the silk pillow.
The sheer audacity of it—using the King of Curses as a common bed-toy—sent a jolt of heat straight to his gut.
If that wasn't bad enough, there was a new meaning to being one's own worst enemy as he could taste your tarty, saturated arousal on his mouth which was strange because he—
With a wet, sloppy squelch that made him freeze, he glanced down to watch his stomach mouth withdrawing its glistening tongue from between your thighs, the maw sporting an unapologetic smile as it sealed shut.
How dare that fucking thing?
"Release my hand at once," Sukuna’s voice rasped, vibrating through your spine. He called out your name after only for you to mewl in response as he felt your clit against the pad of his thumb, pressed between your folds.
He tried to pull his arm back, but you reacted instantly. Your thighs clamped shut like a vice, trapping his hand against your slick heat. Your small hands reached back, fingers digging into his wrist with a strength born of desperation.
"No," you gasped, your voice thick with a haze of pleasure. "Don't... It feels so good. It’s so big... just a little more, Ryo."
Sukuna stiffened. He should have struck you. He should have peeled you off him and thrown you into the koi pond. Instead, he watched the way your head lolled back against his shoulder, your eyes blown wide and glassy. The sight of you undone by him, even if it was unintentional, fed his ego in a way blood never could.
He went still, allowing you to use him.
“It feels good?” The words rumble out of him, incensed despite how he rubs your swollen, flickering clit and relishes the cry you pant out.
Humming low in his throat in response, he licks up the side of your throat, tasting the saltiness there all the way to your ear where he bites down.
He felt every shudder, every frantic tilt of your pelvis until you finally buckled, your body trembling as you found a messy, gasping release against his knuckles.
Silence reclaimed the room, broken only by your labored breathing. Sukuna finally wrenched his hand free, the skin wet and cooling in the night air.
"You are a deviant," he sneered, though his voice was dangerously low, licking the essence off his skin. "How long have you been doing that? Using your Emperor's hand to fuck yourself?"
You didn't answer, only shivered. Your silence was the final straw for his patience. Fine, if you were going to pretend to be all meek and shy now, then he would play along.
If you wanted his hands, you would have them properly.
Slipping his hand back between your legs, he cups your pussy and squeezes a gasp out of you, feeling your slick ooze out, slippery and wet while another hand grabs a handful of your aching breast which you arch into. His lower arms knead at your plush hips.
Coating his fingers in your arousal by rubbing up and down your folds, he shoves one inside your drooling hole, a dark satisfaction pooling in his chest when your cunt struggles to take him as you choke out. Hips bucking, you press down on his digit as he familiarises himself with your soft, squishy insides.
“You're dripping this much from fucking my arm?” He clicks his tongue, probing at your gummy walls with his finger, slipping it in and out easily. He didn't have to do much before dipping another finger in, cock throbbing as you sucked in a surprised breath at the stretch. "Or was it my blasted tongue?"
“Ah, Ryo,” you breathed, hand moving down to his to keep him there, grinding yourself against the palm of his hand.
“Who said you could address me so fondly?” he grumbled against your neck, hating how his treacherous heart fluttered against your back. He had half the mind to rip it out and have Uraume prepare it for him to eat. Might throw your heart while he's at it.
Batting those thoughts away, he distracted himself by rubbing his clothed cocks against your rear, finding it to be round and plump, the perfect cushion for his humps. You welcomed it, pressing back against them and letting them slot, barely, between your cheeks.
Pinching your nipple, he smiled into your hair as your breath hitched, rolling the hard bud between his thumb and index finger while his fingers strummed you like a harp. Your nails dug into his wrist as your back bowed, cunt clamping down his thick digits as choppy, sighing moans fell from you.
“Ryo, don't be mean. You're such a tease,” you whined in complaint, petulant almost.
“You're awfully needy for someone who should feel guilty.” As if responding, you grab his wrist to get his fingers deeper and rub your clit faster on his palm.
A soft growl came from your throat, it was cute if not demanding. “If you're going to do something, do it right.”
He pinched your clit, chuckling at your pained gasp as he rolled it side to side, doing the same to your nipples with his other hands while his cocks ground against your ass.
"You want my touch?" he hissed into your ear, his teeth grazing the lobe. "Then take it all. You're nothing but a hole for me to fill, aren't you? A bored little fox looking for a master."
Spurred on, he drove his fingers deeper inside you, curling them and scissoring you open while you spread your legs further, inviting the intrusion. You cried out, writhing as he began to pump them with a brutal, rhythmic efficiency. Faster and forceful as he pulled your orgasm out of you, an arm banding around your waist so you don't curl into yourself as you came with a pretty, wet sob while your cunt twitched and spasmed.
Rustling sounded behind you, hasty and rough, as his fingers slipped out of you, leaving you clenching around nothing. Before you could miss his warmth, he pulled you back against his now bared body, heat radiating off his skin.
“Now,” he muttered, his voice a command. “Return the favor,” he emphasized his words by thrusting his cocks forward and nestling them between the lips of your pussy, shuddering from how your folds cushioned him.
You turned your head slightly, eyes fluttering open and narrowing at him. To his absolute shock, you let out a weak, shaky breath and shook your head. “No, Ryo. We can't have sex.”
The rejection hit him like a physical blow. The fearsome tyrant, the great emperor, the calamity, told no? A flash of genuine anger sparked in his chest—a sting of wounded pride that he masked with a terrifying grin.
“I don't want to fuck you, woman,” he denied as if he wasn't about to spear you open on one of his thick, throbbing cocks. “Your thighs will do just as well as your cunt. You owe me as much after disturbing my slumber and having me make you come twice. If you would please be so kind.”
Flushing in embarrassment, clearly assuming you misread his intentions, your bitten lips part then press together as you nod. He felt relief loosen the knot in his chest. If you refused him again, he would have been livid but he would have accepted it. He may be known for desecrating empires, his cannibalism and his ruthlessness but he wasn't a monster. Consent was important.
He didn't force your legs open. Instead, he grabbed you by the hips and pulled you flush against his groin. He began to pump his cocks between your closed thighs, fucking the tight space you provided from behind. The friction was intense, but it wasn't enough.
With a growl of frustration, he flipped you onto your back, watching your hair spill on the bedding in an inky halo as your drunken gaze met his. He ignored your startled protest, grabbing your ankles and hauling your legs up. He bent them at the knees, squishing your thighs together and pressing them down against your own chest. It created a makeshift, incredibly tight squeeze of flesh.
“Look at you,” he hissed, his voice a gravely snarl as he began to thrust into the improvised vise of your legs. “The Great Emperor Wasuke's widow, reduced to a footstool for his son's pleasure. You look pathetic like this—folded up and about to be used.”
From below, Sukuna was an eclipse of muscle and malice. The flickering, weak candlelight catches the obsidian of his body markings, which seem to writhe like living snakes across his broad chest, alluring and ancient. His upper arms were braced beside your head, corded with tension, while his lower pair hugged your thighs with bruising force, anchoring you to the futon. Looking up, you saw a god of war unraveled; his jaw was set in a jagged snarl, and all four eyes were blown wide, shimmering with a primal, predatory hunger that reduced you to mere prey.
Under his immense weight, the sly fox was a beauty in strewn, crumpled silks. Your hair was a dark, winding river against the valley of damp pillows, tangled and sweat-slicked. Your skin, flushed from the friction of his coarse strength, looked fragile against his hulking frame. You're folded, your breath coming in rapid hitches as his sheer strength overwhelmed you. Your eyes were glassy, rolling back as his degrading whispers filled your ears, your body vibrating with the terrifying, ecstatic rhythm of an emperor who takes what is his without mercy.
A mewl came from you as you bit down on your bottom lip when the ridges of his cock rubbed against your clit. Brows furrowing, your gaze dipped to what was happening between your thighs and you reached out to touch his cocks.
Teasing the heads of his cocks, Sukuna felt a heady drip of arousal pool in his groin when your curious fingers swiped at his leaking tips and you retracted them, tongue poking out to lick at them tentatively. Then your eyes brightened like you liked what you tasted.
“Fucking hell, you're filthy,” he ground out as if the giant maw on his stomach didn't part to drool between your thighs so the glides became wetter and wetter.
Each thrust was punctuated by a cruel remark. He called you a parasite, a glutton for pleasure, a creature who didn't deserve the silk you slept on. The verbal vitriol seemed to fuel him, his movements becoming more frantic and powerful.
Harsh grunts and guttural growls meld with your soft, breathless moans, staccatoed by the sloppy, erotic slapping of his hips against yours. One of his arms braced a hand on the bedding beside your head so that he was looming over you, two of them still holding your thighs together.
Body bouncing with the force of his thrusts, you helplessly grasped and clawed at his abdomen and forearms, pussy fluttering when his stomach tongue licked at your palms as you blushed.
Your breasts were tight, nipples aching and thankfully pet by his spare hand. You squeezed your thighs around his cock tighter in appreciation. Each time the ridges of his cock nudged your clit, you felt the rolling wave of your orgasm creep closer. Admittedly, you were beginning to regret rejecting him but you knew you wouldn't be able to take him tonight, not having the courage for it and you doubted this brute could be gentle. If he could, he wouldn't extend that graciousness towards you of all people.
But this felt so good, almost as good as when you were ravishing his consorts, smug knowing that he'd taste you in their mouths or cunts later. The sloshing, slick sound of his cock rubbing between your sopping folds was mind-numbing. You wanted to sink into the sheets beneath you and melt into a heap of bliss. His precum, saliva and your arousal was smeared all over your thighs and his. Your soft body jostled from his thrusts, breasts jiggling in circles against your chest.
The snap of his hips was unrelenting, fast and hard. He felt the build-up, the inevitable snap of his control. And when you caressed the gnarled, masked part of his face with your feathery finger tips, he snarled with one final, deep groan as he spilled himself against your stomach and thighs, his body heavy and steaming in the cool air.
Fingers digging into his wrist, your eyes rolled back as from the intensity of it all, body locking up so tight that you cramped as your back arched off the bedding. You tried to shove him away to escape it as your cunt clenched around nothing and more slick seeped out.
Sukuna wouldn't let you slip away now, not a chance. He clutched your hips and dragged you back down to him, pulling the sheets with you as he continued to roll his hips against yours, cocks spurting sporadically.
“Trying to run away so I don't see how you're about to pathetically come from me fucking your thighs?” He kissed his teeth. “Come here and take it like the naughty little nymph you are.”
And you did, a tingling brewing deep inside your pussy threatening to spill out and flood your entire body. Tossing your head back, your pretty cry was nearly a scream as your orgasm lashed through you like a whip.
Sukuna didn't stop, drawing out soft, wrecked whimpers from you as he rode you through the delirium until the violence of it all dulls and your ears are clogged with cotton. Once the throbbing between your thighs softens into a subtle ache, you slump against the futon with the occasional twitch of your muscles.
For a long time, neither of you moved. The room felt smaller, the air thick with the scent of sex and unspoken tension. Sukuna finally rolled off you, cleaning himself (and you, begrudgingly) with a wet cloth with practiced indifference. He didn't look at you as he stood up and donned his robes.
“I'm going for a stroll,” he sighed in irritation as if what you just did had no relaxing effect on him whatsoever. You wouldn't put that past him.
“That should not have happened. I forbid you from mentioning this,” he said, his voice returning to its usual cold, imperial clip. “To anyone. It was a lapse in judgment. A heat of the moment thing brought on by your incessant squirming.”
And then, like a shadow of the night, he's gone, quietly despite his size, leaving you there. Huffing in disbelief at how he went from hot to cold in the blink of an eye, you laid there, staring up at the ceiling.
Then a coy, scheming feline curve tilted the corner of your mouth. So the mighty King of Curses wasn't immune to your charms after all.
only talking to sukuna's stomach mouth when he pisses you off
Sukuna’s developed an irritating habit. Whenever he’s fed up with you, or whenever he doesn’t want to entertain one of your questions, he’ll simply stay quiet and gesture towards his stomach. It’s kind of like saying ‘talk to the hand’. But in his case, it’s ‘talk to the stomach mouth’.
Then his stomach mouth will shoot you this wide, smug grin, like it’s more than happy to converse with you. And you’ll just toss up your hands and groan, annoyed that your husband won’t even bother to speak with you face to face.
But recently you've taken Sukuna up on his offer, turning the tables to give him the silent treatment while still chatting away with his stomach. Because Sukuna underestimated just how much that mouth of his likes to rile someone up. Even if it’s the rest of his body.
Now, Sukuna’s lounging on the bed, limbs draped carelessly along the mattress. He’s trying to feign indifference. Trying to pretend he’s unphased by the fact that you haven’t spoken to him in four whole days.
But you know better. You see the slight clench in his jaw, the scowl that deepens on his face each time he steals a look your way. He watches as you sit by the window, gazing at the scenery outside.
When the silence stretches on longer than he can bear, Sukuna sets his pride aside to clear his throat and ask, “Are you still doing this?”
You don’t even spare him a glance, continuing to look out the window. “Middle Mouth,” you say, “will you please inform the rest of Sukuna that I have no idea what he’s talking about?”
Sukuna scoffs in disbelief, but that mouth of his flashes its teeth and singsongs, “Sukunaaaa. She doesn’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I heard you,” Sukuna huffs, speaking to you instead of his stomach.
He hates this whole situation. Hates that you're not speaking with him. Hates that you’ve given his stomach mouth a nickname. And he hates that the mouth is entertaining it at all.
His jaw clenches once more, and he sighs before saying, “You’re ignoring me.”
He’s not wrong. For almost a week, you’ve been avoiding your husband, refusing to interact or even look at any part of him other than his stomach maw. But despite all of his sulking and sour moods, you act as if nothing is amiss.
“Middle Mouth, will you please inform the rest of Sukuna that I am not ignoring him. You and I just had a lovely conversation, didn’t we?”
“Sukunaaaa,” the mouth singsongs again. “She isn’t ignoring you…well, me.” That grin returns, and you can’t help but let out a quiet laugh. Why didn’t you start speaking with your husband’s stomach mouth sooner? He really is entertaining.
“Stop that. Don’t humor her,” Sukuna scolds.
“Middle Mouth, you can converse with me as you please.”
“I intend to,” his maw replies.
Sukuna’s eyes narrow, but he’s not sure whether to direct his glare at you or his abdomen. “How long do you intend to keep up these antics?”
You brush an imaginary piece of lint from your clothes and say, "Middle Mouth, please inform the rest of Sukuna that I’m still waiting on a proper apology from him."
“I’m warning you, do not–”
“Sukunaaaa. She is waiting for a proper apology from you.”
Sukuna stares murderously down at his lower half. He’s finally met his match. The only ‘enemy’ that he can’t silence by force. Himself.
And secretly, you think that he slightly enjoys that you’re speaking with his stomach mouth. It shows him that despite this silent treatment, you still desire some form of communication with him.
So he’ll put up with the teasing, the inside jokes, and the fact that his wife is being stolen by his own body.
You decide to press your luck a little bit further, and say something you know will send your husband over the edge. “Middle Mouth–”
“Not again,” Sukuna groans, tossing his head back.
“Do you remember what I told you? What we talked about last night?”
“What?!?" Sukuna demands, sitting up abruptly and sending the covers around him flying.
“Oh, I remember,” his maw says, immediately grinning and playing into it.
“Well, I was thinking about it and–”
“Why are you speaking with my wife at night?”
“Our wife. And what we discuss during late hours does not concern you.”
“Anyways, as I was telling you, Middle Mouth, before I was rudely interrupted–”
“No. This ends now."
In seconds, Sukuna’s beside you, all 7 feet of him towering over you intimidatingly. He rubs a hand across his jaw, like he has to physically force the words out of his mouth. “I.. apologize for not answering when you asked me which of my cocks I urinate from.”
“…”
“The answer is both of them.”
Immediately, your mood lifts. You turn away from the window, smiling and facing your husband like nothing was ever wrong. “Apology accepted.” And then to his stomach mouth, “We’ll continue our conversation later.”
a/n: idk why the mouth is referring to him in third person...js to be annoying ig lol
synopsis: when you're stationed at an outpost on a barren planet with your eccentric scientist colleague, you stumble upon an android in the sand and decide to fix it up. harmless, right?
contains: mdni, sci-fi, sukuna's back story inspired by astro boy and detroit: become human, porn with plot, a little angst, gojo as a data scientist, mechanical jargon, sukuna's missing a leg for a bit, fucking on the pretext of “running diagnostics,” they get walked in on, sukugo sneak if you squint, 5.3k words
note: this is probably gonna get sucked into the void since i'm WRONGLY FLAGGED @staff but anyway
Aethel-4 is a miserable dust-choked rock of a planet. It's a rust-colored wasteland with winds that bellow a gritty howl that sets your teeth on edge. But the pay for three weeks of maintenance is enough to buy you that shiny new ship engine you've been eyeing.
Normally, a person would be delighted, relieved even, to have company on a barren planet where the dust got into everything and the scent of ozone and hydraulic fluid are akin to home.
However, you are fortunate (see: sarcasm) enough to be accompanied by one Gojo Satoru. A man who lives in white lab coats as bright as his messy hair, blue eyes that feel blindingly invasive behind the glass of his glasses as he cackles like a mad scientist over his latest findings in soil pH levels and wind-shear graphs.
“The atmospheric density is fluctuating again, Tink!” The silvery-haired data scientist gushes with childlike wonder, practically bouncing on his heels as he beams at you. That nickname he gave you is sticking. “If this keeps up, we might actually find microbial life in the subterranean aquifers!”
What a whole lot of word vomit that you barely comprehend but at this point you're used to his enthusiasm and match his smile with a grimace disguised as one.
“Riveting, Gojo! Let me know when the microbes can solve our water crisis for the machines,” you chirp, wiping the grease from your forehead, your coveralls heavy as it hangs on your hips.
You'd gotten to work the second you landed—replacing rusted solar brackets and rerouting fried copper lines—all while this nerd skipped along, eating diabetes-inducing treats and venturing off to collect samples for hours on end.
“The south array is rattling. I'm going back out for a bit to check the subterranean wiring,” you tell him and he merely nods, eyes glued to a monitor of scrolling green code.
In reality, you just wanted to escape his frantic energy and incessant humming that makes you feel as if a whole crew is here rather than one man draining your social battery with his overstimulating presence.
Outside, the planet is a monochrome expanse of violet shadows and jagged rock. You plan on checking the perimeter sensors, but really, you just want to hit something with a wrench to rid yourself of this restless energy.
Under the bruised purple glow of the planet’s twin moons, you catch a glimpse of something that stands out against the dreary colour of the landscape.
At first, you think it's a discarded strut from a transport ship, a weather sensor or maybe a satellite dish but as you approach, you see five distinct, tan digits poking out of the sand.
A hand.
The realisation has icy dread sliding down your spine, stiffening your muscles. God, you hope you aren't about to uncover a dead body. No one told you about this when you agreed to come here.
Swallowing the bout of anxiety that had sweat beading on your forehead, you pick up your shovel and dig. It strikes something dense and metallic yet padded. You slump, glad that it isn't a corpse.
Digging it out is a chore that leaves your lungs burning, but as a torso emerges, your curiosity turns into a fever.
It—he is a behemoth. A six-foot-nine titan of tactical engineering encased in synthetic skin that feels like a strange high-grade polymer blend. His hair is the shade of coral, there's dark markings running parallel from his face and disappearing beneath his tattered military uniform.
The android is battle-worn, covered in carbon scoring and deep gouges. His chest plate is cracked and he's missing a leg from the knee down, which you miraculously locate ten yards away, half-buried like a bleached bone.
“Jackpot,” you whisper, awestruck, feeling like a thrifter who just discovered an item worth millions going for a few bucks. You're sure your eyes are alight with pumping hearts.
Driven by a cocktail of boredom and professional spite against “irreparable” tech, you decide to take it back with you. Using the outpost’s heavy-lift sled, you smuggle him into the maintenance bay under the cover of a localized dust storm, hiding the massive frame beneath a heavy tarp.
For three days, while Gojo is out planting sensors, you work on your new passion project, finally having something to entertain yourself with other than buffering movies or glitching games.
Cleaning the grit from his synthetic pores, you begin the delicate process of re-sleeving his neural filaments. You'd rigged a pulley system to get the behemoth onto the examination table.
The android is a masterpiece of ex-military engineering. His skin could warm and feel uncannily reminiscent of human flesh though with a slight plastic friction that betrayed its synthetic origin. He's scarred, chest plate dented by kinetic rounds but his structural integrity is terrifyingly intact.
As you peel away the worn remains of his tactical gear to access the abdominal power core, you freeze. You'd seen your fair share of pleasure models on Earth, android companions outfitted with vaginas mostly but those were lithe, delicate things.
This is a war machine equipped with a full-fledged, uncircumcised cock that seems entirely impractical for combat. It's even pierced with two metallic beads at the tip and two at the base, matching the steel hoops in his eyebrows and lower lip. You're certain those aren't allowed in the military.
A former owner’s aesthetic choice or a soldier’s grim hobby, you did not know. Perhaps he was a member of a Special Ops unit. Those were always rumored to go above and beyond for deep-cover infiltration.
Either way, it is surprisingly realistic and impressively sized, sitting heavily between his thick, muscular thighs, dark-veined with a mauve tip.
Face heating up when you realise you've been gawking at it, you resume your task at hand, warmer than before. Fine, hair-thin seams ran across his tatted pectorals, torso and limbs like puzzle pieces—access ports for internal maintenance.
(The seams are also on his cock, inches stacked upon each other in segments as if one could link or detach a part according to their size preference but you don't let your impulsive thoughts win.)
Using a specialized pick, you pop open a panel of his bicep, revealing a dense nest of fiber-optics and gold-plated servos.
On the fourth day, Gojo left for a twelve-hour soil-sampling trek. You're convinced he's found some tentacle alien babe out here because there's no way the man is that committed to his work.
No matter, it is time.
Straddling the android’s waist to gain leverage, your thighs press against his cold, muscular hips. You ignore the way his cock presses against your tail bone as you lean over his chest, mind swept up in the flow of your tinkering as you solder the fried vocal processor to fix the crackling speech module.
You bypass the primary and sync it to a secondary backup.
“Let's see if anyone is home,” you mutter to yourself with a sigh. “Booting in Safe Mode,” you say louder, tapping the command into your data pad.
The android’s eyes snap open—glowing a predatory crimson. Icy hands grip at your sides over your coveralls and squeeze your plush hips.
“Identify,” a crackle of static demands.
“Whoa there, ‘droid. I mean no harm. I'm [Name], a friend,” you introduce in a calm, placating voice.
A big, scarred hand shoots out and clasps around your throat before you can blink. He surges upward, pinning you to the examination table with horrifying strength.
Clawing at his forearm as a floaty, inflated sensation spills into your head, you struggle.
“Access…denied,” he rasps, voice a wreckage of gravel and static, distorted by the fried modulator that needed a bit more fixing. “State…objective…scavenger. Functions limited. Restore full control. Now.”
“You're in safety mode—Fuhh,” your voice is stolen again when his hold on your throat tightens.
Despite your vision swimming and the lightheadedness, you refuse to panic. Reaching for the high-voltage taser in your belt, you hold it to the side of his neck, the rapid clicking of the electric sparks causing him to wisely loosen his hold.
“Let go or I'll fry your logic board back to the Stone Age, you oversized toaster.”
The android stares at you, the crimson in his eyes pulsing. Slowly, he releases his grip and you slump back, standing up as you cough and clutch your throat.
He mirrors the action but not to copy you. A current dances around his chassis, making him flinch. Hissing at the zaps of electricity in his throat, he looks around the bay in what you can only describe as irritated confusion. He flexes his restored leg, the servos whining.
“What the fuck?” The static crackles again as his face twists in disgust. “What the hell happened to my voice? I sound like a shitty prototype.”
“You're welcome for the repairs, bot,” you scoff, rubbing your sore throat that is surely going to bruise. “Consider yourself lucky that I didn't use you for scrap metal.”
His scowl is eerily human.
“Designation,” you state, annoyed that he knows your name and you don't know his.
“RYO-1,” he answers, the static in his voice lessening the more he uses it. “Unit designation: Ryomen Sukuna. You're a sloppy medic, woman.”
“I'm a mechanic,” you snap at his ungratefulness as if you didn't just raise him from the dead. “And I'm the only reason you're no longer a part of the geography.”
Standing up, he tests his mobility, mildly impressed that his leg is in working condition despite initially feeling like it was held together by prayer and duct tape. A slow, cocky smirk tugs at his pierced lip.
“Not bad, bot doc.”
“I'm led to believe that your system memory is intact? As well as your emotional neuro-link?” you inquire seeing as he doesn't ask what happened to him so he knows he died.
“Mostly,” he replies casually as he sits down on your office chair, lip curling at the sight of some of your low-tech tools.
You allow him a moment to gather himself, process all that may have happened to him while you busy yourself with putting away your equipment so you don't chew him out for judging the precious tools that brought him back.
Dr. Wasuke Itadori had lost his son, Jin, to a catastrophic logic error in a domestic ‘droid of his own making—a ten-year-old boy crushed by the very technology meant to protect him. Consumed by a desperate, oscillating madness and mourning, the grief-stricken engineer spent years trying to code a soul, building a vessel for his ghost.
Pouring Jin's carefree laughter, warm smiles, golden memories and endless kindness into a frame that grew as the boy should have, RYO-1 aka Ryomen, was the perfect, polite reincarnation of the lost child.
But the AI was too sophisticated—a flaw of his creator's ingenuity. As Wasuke upgraded RYO-1's chassis to simulate a late-teen growth spurt, the “hormonal” sub-routines took over. Sukuna became a rebellious adolescent, too human.
Growing to over six-foot, he covered his synthetic skin in black-ink tattoos and pierced his face with silver metal. He wasn't the sweet boy Wasuke remembers, he was a brooding, agreeing young man who participated in bot fights and picking on the laboratory drones, testing his strength as a mechanical part of him ached for a father who only seemed to look at him through a diagnostic lens.
Wasuke began to withdraw, no longer taking him on father-son trips, grocery shopping and other mundane errands such as that, no longer shaking his head and chuckling when an attractive female android or human woman made his son's head turn. Now he buried himself in his lab.
He didn't see that RYO-1 was acting out because he was desperate for his father to look at him with something warm, with something other than the disappointment that made home in his wrinkling features.
The breaking point came on a rainy Tuesday. Sukuna had come home with a fresh lip piercing and busted knuckles.
“You're not working, Sukuna,” Wasuke muttered, shaking his head, buried in his terminal. “Your temperamental levels are 25% outside Jin's baseline.”
“I'm not a baseline, Dad!” Sukuna roared, the static of frustration crackling in his throat.
God, he wished he wasn't given the fucking burden of feeling. Because of it, he was silently begging for a glance that wasn't a repair check but Wasuke only saw a failing experiment.
“You aren't him,” Wasuke whispered, voice trembling with an old, raw pain that was rearing its head now that he was accepting rather than denying the gut-wrenching truth. “You're a disgrace to his memory. A parody of a dead boy.”
“I'm standing right here, Dad!” Sukuna flung his hands out as he shouted.
“Don't call me that!” The old man snapped, eyes wild and bloodshot. “You aren't my son. You will never be Jin.”
Sukuna flinched but he didn't back down even if it felt like his system was malfunctioning. “I am your son. I'm Sukuna, Dad. Not Jin. I'm Sukuna. Look at me!”
“You are a machine with a dead boy's voice. A defect,” Wasuke fired back. “If you call me ‘Dad' one more time, I will trigger your internal self-destruct sequence. I'll wipe out every bit of you and start over.”
Something breaks in Sukuna's logic core—something that felt exactly like books would describe a shattering heart. He stepped into his creator's space, baring his chest, his jaw set.
“Then do it. Kill me! If I'm such a broken toy to you, press the fucking button and scrap me!”
Wasuke's hand shook over the remote but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Couldn't kill another son. So he pointed at the door instead.
“Leave. Go. Get out of my sight and never come back.”
RYO-1 left that night. With no home and a high-functioning combat build he chose himself, he took his rage to the only place that rewarded violence: the military.
He thrived on the front lines, his lack of fear and imposing form making him a god of war. Eventually, he was head-hunted for an elite aerospace unit tasked with securing “Aegis-7,” a rare flora on a barren planet rumored to cure a terrestrial plague.
The mission was an ambush. Mercenary units swarmed the landing site. RYO-1 fought like a man possessed, serving as a shield for his squad and holding the line to let the scientists escape. He took a direct hit from a pulse cannon that sheared off his left leg and a concentrated EMP fired his cognitive dampeners
As his systems entered an emergency shutdown, he collapsed into the copper sand, the last of his power reserves draining as he watched the twinkling stars, a discarded son on a dead world—until the headlamp of a curious mechanic cut through the dark and found a hand sticking out of the dirt.
The mechanic who is currently feigning nonchalance as she pretends to busy herself with utter nonsense.
“You're a shitty bot doctor, you know,” he starts, voice still thick with static. “My vocal resonance is only at 75%.” It was a lot more than what he awoke with but Sukuna always did enjoy getting on humans’ nerves.
“I saved you from becoming a permanent sand dune,” you shoot back, turning to face him and crossing your arms over your chest. “I'm still calibrating your nerve simulators. Why the hell does a combat unit have…all that?”
You gesture broadly to his lap.
Glancing down, then back up at you, a lazy, wicked grin that flashes his sharp canines curls at his mouth. “Infiltration, sweetheart. High-society targets. Sometimes the best way to get intel is between the sheets.”
“But if you're so worried about my ‘nerve simulators’ why don't you run a proper diagnostic? I need to know if the taste effectors are functional and test the sensory feedback loops.”
After all his complaining about your amateur work, which you're quite proud of since you don't specialise in androids, you're surprised that he's so cooperative. It's very suspicious.
Completely unbothered by his nakedness, RYO-1 spreads his knees wide, his thick cock that's rising with a soft whirring sound swaying between his thighs.
“You missed a spot, doc. The nerve simulators in my primary interface are throwing a 404 error. Run a diagnostic,” he reiterates with a teasing lilt that's remarkably human for a machine.
To be more specific, he nods to his cock while you stare, dumbfounded. “You want me to…what?”
Jutting his chin, he bites back a smile. “Suck it, sweetheart. See if the sugar-processing units are still online. Or are you done with your work?”
Sugar-processing units? You've never heard of that before. Just who was this bot and who was his creator?
Unsurprisingly, your curiosity wins over your common sense. You kneel between his bulky, scarred thighs. “For science,” you try to convince yourself.
Sukuna's entire body heats when you take him into the wet, warmth of your mouth. The coolant in his body thickens, working in overdrive so the sudden wave of hotness doesn't fry his newly repaired circuits.
He watches your brows jump and a cute noise sound in your throat when you taste his artificial precum. It isn't acidic or salty like a man's, not like oil and metal either. Wild cherry and tarty citrus coat your tastebuds as you hum in approval. It's a candy syrup designed for high-end units.
Popping off, an airy sigh passes through your lips as you peer up at him with those bright, glazed eyes. “Oh wow, you weren't kidding,” you breathe.
“Pheromone coating,” he explains on a groan, his head hitting the backrest of the chair that creaks as his hips give a sharp, involuntary buck that has your pussy clenching. “Designed to…keep the target coming back for more. Play with my piercings, tech-girl. They’re connected to my internal wire-mesh.”
Obliging, you duck your head and lick at his yummy lubricant again bubbling in a pearly bead at his tip. It's messy, pearlescent and creamy, smearing on your lips and cheek as it spills out profusely from your ministrations. Flicking your tongue over the cold metal at the head, you prod at it with the tip of your pink muscle.
A glitchy, bass-heavy growl rumbles from his chest plate that's rapidly rising and falling. You almost think he's a cyborg.
“Yeah,” he pants, reaching down so his rough hands tangle in your hair, pushing your head lower as you relax your throat for him. “The haptic feedback is coming online.”
The contrast of his rugged, battle-worn exterior and sweet, addictive taste makes your head swim and you try and fail to grind down on your calves for friction.
His hips buck, the heavy thud of his pelvis against your poor chair echoing in the bay. You work him faster, bobbing your head up and down, salivating on his cock. It's fascinating how the “skin” bunches and wrinkles. When he peaks, a thick, warm stream of pearlescent, sugary liquid fills your mouth, melting on your tongue like honey.
“Why?” you ask, licking your lips as he pulls you up. “Why would a war-bot have a dick?”
Grinning wolfishly, he scrunches up one side of his face boyishly. “Undercover operations,” he replies easily then huffs a chuckle when you look unconvinced.
“Tough crowd, huh? Fine, I like having sex with humans,” he admits without shame or embarrassment as he gauges your reaction.
When you don't respond immediately, as if stunned that an android could possibly enjoy sex when the pleasure ones are designed to give pleasure rather than receive it, he continues.
“There's much to explore, many variations of you in shapes, sizes and sexual preferences unlike with other androids. I enjoy finding what makes you tick, what gets you wet, what spots to touch to make you putty. Making you feel good is my…kink, as you say.”
Warmth blooms on your face, spreads through your chest, breasts tightening and nipples prickling as the steam inside you condenses into liquefied arousal that pools in your stomach and rushes between your thighs, dampening your panties.
Familiar with the signs of lust in a human, Sukuna hums at the sight of your blown out pupils and can hear your heart hammering against your ribcage.
“Am I your kink?” he questions mockingly, carmine gaze raking up and down your body in unabashed appreciation as though you're already bare before him. “The lonely bot-doc finding a toy in the sand.”
Truthfully, you've never been with an android but now you can't think of any man you want more than him. Sure, you'd considered Gojo in those fleeting moments of weakness when he walks past in tight compression shirts, sometimes even shirtless, with gray sweatpants slung low on his hips, but you didn't want to complicate your professional dynamic with sex.
Hence, this development is very much welcomed in your touch-starved, sex-crazed brain.
Emboldened, you strip off your coveralls, pretending you don't feel his gaze like a caress brushing your naked skin that flushes under the pale glow of the bay lights.
Climbing onto his lap, you don't even allow yourself a chance to prepare with his fingers, hasty in your defiant hunger. As you sink onto him, splitting yourself open, the burning stretch is all-consuming but the sting simmers into a greedy, feverish itch that has you sitting down so your slit is kissing his pelvis.
“Ahhn—you're burning up,” you note.
RYO-1's brows knot, jaw unhinging as it slackens like he truly feels the ribbed, squishy walls cuddling his cock. There's even a heartbeat in the appendage that makes it pulse like a human's would. His hardness within your softness is mesmerizing.
The bejeweled head kisses what feels like a rounded dome with a small, soft dimple in the middle, your cervix. He's incredibly hot, his internal cooling systems struggling to regulate the sudden surge of power so soon after his revival. A sweet, dizzying scent washes over you and makes your mouth water.
“Mm, just—hahhh—really turned on right now,” he grounds out, lifting his hips to stuff you with more of him but there's no more to give and he's already filled you with a lot more than you can handle.
“What's that?” you sniff the air, the tantalizing scent coming from his exhales as you perk up, tilting your head. “Cotton candy?”
“Coolant,” he supplies.
Something clicks in your head and a lascivious smile paints your lips as you purposely clamp down on him to hear the air kick out of him.
“Oh? You want to fuck me that badly that I can taste it? Don't burn out before the fun even starts,” you croon and you swear his left eye twitches.
His large hands grip your plump hips bruisingly as he bucks upwards. “Isn't this what you wanted? Fixing a war machine just so you can see if the rumors about ‘droids who fuck are true?”
“Shut up,” you gasp, back bowing as he drives deeper, bouncing you up and down on his cock with feral intensity, the sloppy, slick sounds of your coupling filthy as it reverberates along with the low, vibrating hums he lets out that make your stomach quiver.
His thrusts only let up for a bit when your insides swell and you come with a choked, wrecked sob.
Sukuna doesn't give you time to recover as he grabs your waist and hauls you onto the examination table. Sliding his cock between your glistening slit, he's enamored by how your puffy folds part and cushioning his veiny shaft that's blushing now with the heat warming it.
A mean chuckle comes from him as you twitch with a sharp intake of breath when he nudges your flickering clit with his tip, tapping it against the swollen bud a few times to watch your body jerk from the sticky smooches.
“Quit messing around and check your hydraulics,” you fuss, wrapping your legs around his trimmed waist to pull him closer.
Hiking up your thighs, they push the breath out of your lungs as he shoves them to your chest while hooking your knees over his broad shoulders. His scarlet eyes glow as they bore into yours while he angles his cockhead against your hole, the slit kissing your clenching entrance.
“You like the way this machine feels, don't you?” he purrs in a seductive rasp. “So much better than the men before me, hmm?”
Eyes narrowing at the emotion in his tone that sounds too much like envy, you cant your hips impatiently. “Won't know until I actually feel you a few times to make an accurate assessment, Sukuna.”
“Ryomen,” he corrects.
Sliding into you with a mechanical precision, low moans pour from both of your mouths, relieved and drunken just from him slipping it in. His hips snap against yours like each thrust is calculated to hit every spongy spot that has the puddle in your belly sloshing and your pussy fluttering.
The metal surface groans under your combined weight as he fucks you with a relentless, consistent rhythm that has your orgasm welling steadily. The tight knot coiling in your belly snaps violently, stars exploding behind your eyelids as tingles disperse from your clit all the way up to flare in your chest as his piercing catches on your gummy walls.
Flipping you over, he pulls your hips up high, ass perked in the air, back in a perfect arch and your cheek pressed to the cold steel of the table as he enters you from behind, his hands gripping the metal so hard that it starts to dimple.
“Nerve feedback optimal,” he grunts into your ear, his breath cool against your hot skin. For a bot, he sure is ravenous, snatching fistfuls of your hair to pull or cupping your tits, hips and ass, swatting and groping with pleased hums as he ogles the jiggling flesh.
“Ahhh, fuck. Love how you humans feel,” he groans a ruined, thrumming sound as he kneads your supple flesh in gluttonous handfuls, using it as reins to pull you back on his dripping cock that's braceleted with a frothing ring at the base. “So fucking soft n’ pliable.”
Frantic, broken breaths, whiny moans, salacious mewls and whimpers of his name spill from your lips, shaking with the force of his thrusts and slurred as you're swept up in the bliss of it all, the clinical fluorescent lights of the bay smearing in your blurry vision.
“The subject is emitting rhythmic, low-frequency vocalizations. Initial scan for respiratory distress: Negative. Pulse oximetry: 98%. Conclusion: The sounds are consistent with high-arousal states rather than physical trauma,” he announces in a robotic tone that's so obviously fake even in your dazed mind.
“Really, Ryo?”
“Orgasm imminent,” he adds, earning a swat to the forearm from you.
A laugh bubbles in his chest as he squeezes your hips playfully and you lift them, dropping down on his cock, your ass rippling with each smack to his abdomen as he groans guttural, unbidden sounds that crawl up your spine in delicious shivers.
“Look at you,” he croons into your ear, his teeth grazing the lobe. “Comin’ apart for a pile of circuits.”
The lewd, loud sound of real flesh slapping against synthetic skin is almost as deafening as your mingling moans, punctuated by the quiet whirring of his metal joints and his low, distorted growls.
“Fuhh—fuck me, Ryo,” you babble, eyelids fluttering as a pool of drool seeps out of your mouth and onto the table, wetting your cheek but you couldn't care less.
“I am,” he retorts with a husky huff of amusement, relishing how he's doing you so good that you're unintelligible. “Do you know how—nnnghh—good you feel? Sucking me in so fuckin’ deep,” he puffs out, the sheer gurgling of your slobbering cunt.
All he gets in response is a garbled, “Ah! Ah! Ah!” and butchered fragments of his name which makes him smile.
“Would you say I'm doing well?” he questions as if this is a damn survey, like his fragile speech modulator isn't straining. It can't be helped, he loves servicing.
“Hh-ah, yeah. Fucking me so well, Ryo,” you clumsily reach back and pat his thigh, his cock jerking inside you from the praise as his pace quickens, spurred on by your encouraging feedback.
No human could match his stamina. His hands wander over your back that glitters with perspiration, akin to a sky full of stars. He traces the dip in your spine as he drills into you again and again. When he finishes, he doesn't collapse since he's unable to experience exhaustion like men do.
When his analytics of your homeostasis suggest that you're past hypersensitivity post-orgasm—where further touch is perceived as irritating or even painful rather than pleasurable—his hips rock into you again, the drag of his pierced cock drawing a slurred moan from you.
“It took you less than five minutes to grow aroused again?” He marvels, allured by your high libido.
“Shut up and fuck me.”
His internal gyroscopes hum as he adjusts the angle to hit your deepest spots, your noises growing needier and pitching higher.
Sukuna is mid-thrust, his thick thighs clapping against yours, when the airlock hisses open upstairs. Lolling his head to the side, he rolls his eyes as he reluctantly pulls out, petting your ass when you whine in protest at the loss. “What a shame. Looks like we've got company.”
“Tink! You won't believe the mineral readings!” Gojo's voice echoes down the hall, bouncing off the walls like a rude awakening that you have a damn colleague that you evidently forgot about.
The bay door slides open as you scramble to your feet in silent panic, frantically pulling up your coveralls and smoothing your hair, tying it up, your face dewy and flushed.
Diving into your chair, you grab a random thermal regulator and pretend to calibrate it with shaking hands.
Footsteps grow closer and Gojo appears, wiping the dust from his goggles. “The silicate deposits out there are—”
He stops dead, ivory hair bouncing and gleaming in under the fluorescent lights.
Sukuna is still sitting on the examination table, stark naked. He's manspreading shamelessly, his thick, tatted thighs framing his bobbing, wet cock, elbows resting on his knees. The android looks every bit the apex predator.
Gojo blinks those wide, cerulean eyes, pretty pink mouth falling open as he's speechless for once. “Uh, what is—Who is this?”
The pink-haired ‘droid greets him with a condescending, curt nod. “Evening, Doc. Nice dirt you got there. Name's Sukuna. She was just checking my internal wiring.”
Your colleagues eyes flit between him and you as you're picking at a piece of scrap metal and a soldering iron with intense focus. “He's an android, Gojo. Found him in the sand. I'm just seeing if he's functional.”
RYO-1 releases a low chuckle that sounds like a well-oiled machine. “Oh, I'm fully operational,” he winks at the gaping scientist then turns to you, “Don't forget the second round of diagnostics in a few minutes. You're free to join, Doc.”
Gojo nearly drops his sample case at the invitation and Sukuna cocks his head like a predator who just found new prey to fuck with. “I'll, uh, just come back in a year,” he declares, whirling around and leaving the bay faster than he entered it.
A mortified whine sounds in your throat while Sukuna barks out a laugh.
“So,” the android starts, glancing at the door. “Round two or are you actually going to fix that rattling sound in my left actuator?”
“Can you put some fucking clothes on?”
“Relax, I doubt you have anything that'd fit me.”
“I have plenty that fit you,” you tell him haughtily, nose cocked in the air as you recall there being a range of attire in different sizes at the outpost when you first arrived.
Rising to his full height, he walks over to where you're standing all tensed up and stubborn, backing you up as he cups you between your wobbly legs.
“Well, the only thing I wanna wear now is this sweet pussy of your—”
“That's it, I'm deactivating you.”
“Aw, come on. Let me go out with a bang then, baby.”
note: this is based on a scene from androids who dream which is a NSFW comic by incarnatecomics, inspired by 42 (@/mintmatcha's oc)
summary : you’re a magic user! you really thought you were getting the hang of it until Jason appears and you make the mistake of hypnotising him. woops. CW : suggestive and mentions of sexual subjects, accidental hypnosis/mind influence, light touching and swearing, kinds MDNI. Based on this request
You really, really needed to stop experimenting with new spells when you were half-asleep and stressed.
It had started innocently enough. Jason had shown up at your apartment window at 2:17am, still in the Red Hood gear minus the helmet, looking like a walking bruise with a side of exhaustion. Patrol had been brutal - some new gang causing chaos in the Bowery - and he’d taken a couple hits that left him sore and grumpy. He’d climbed through your window like it was his second home (which, honestly, it basically was at this point), dropped onto your couch with a groan, and muttered something about needing “five minutes of quiet before I go back out and punch more idiots.”
You’d been practicing a simple calming charm from an old grimoire you’d borrowed from Zatanna’s stash. Nothing major. Just a soft glow of magic meant to ease tension, lower heart rates, maybe nudge someone toward a peaceful nap. You’d whispered the incantation while stirring your late-night tea, half-distracted by how unfairly hot Jason looked even when he was scowling and covered in dirt.
The glow had flared brighter than expected. A shimmer of silver-blue light had rippled out from your hands and straight toward him before you could stop it.
Jason had gone very still on the couch, eyes glazing over for a split second. Then he’d blinked, tilted his head like a confused dog, and… smiled. A soft, lazy, almost dopey smile that did not belong on the face of the Red Hood.
“Oh… shit,” you whispered, panic slamming into your chest like a truck. The grimoire slipped from your fingers and hit the floor with a thud. “Jason? Hey, Jay, look at me - can you hear me?”
He turned his head slowly, that serene little smile still plastered on his face. His voice came out low and relaxed, the usual gravelly edge smoothed into something warm and hazy. “Yeah… I hear you. Feels… nice. Kinda floaty. Like the world’s on mute for once.”
Your heart hammered so hard you thought it might bruise your ribs. Hypnosis. You’d accidentally hypnotised Jason Todd. The man who trusted almost no one, who had more trust issues than Gotham had rats, who once threatened to shoot Tim for breathing too loud near his books. And now he was sitting there looking at you like you’d hung the moon and stars, pupils a little blown, body loose in a way you’d never seen outside of post-orgasm cuddles (not that you’d ever admit you’d thought about that).
“Oh my god, oh my god, okay- stay calm,” you muttered to yourself, pacing in front of the couch while your hands flapped uselessly. “This is fine. This is fixable. I just need the reversal incantation. Where did I put that damn grimoire-“
Jason’s hand reached out lazily and caught your wrist, tugging you gently toward him. His grip was loose enough that you could pull away if you wanted, but the touch sent warmth racing up your arm anyway. “Hey… don’t freak out. It’s nice. Really nice. Like someone turned the volume down on all the noise in my head. Batman who? Joker what? Just… you.”
He tugged a little harder until you stumbled closer, ending up half-standing between his spread knees. Up close, the hypnosis made his usual intensity soft around the edges - his eyes half-lidded, a faint flush on his cheeks from the magic, lips curved in that rare, unguarded smile. He looked… peaceful. And unfairly attractive.
Your brain short-circuited. “Jason, this is bad- I didn’t mean to- the spell was supposed to be a tiny calming thing, not full-on hypnosis! What if it messes with your head? What if it lasts forever? What if you wake up and hate me for this? Oh god, what if you start clucking like a chicken or telling me your deepest secrets or-“
He chuckled, the sound low and rumbling in his chest. One big hand settled on your hip, thumb rubbing slow, soothing circles through your sleep shorts. The touch was casual, almost absent-minded, but it made heat pool low in your belly anyway. Suggestive without trying.
“Deepest secrets, huh?” His voice was still that dreamy, relaxed drawl. “Like how I think about you when I’m on patrol? How your laugh makes my head quieter? How I got hard in the shower last week imagining you wearing my jacket and nothing else?”
Your face went nuclear. You made a strangled squeaking sound and tried to step back, but his hand stayed gentle on your hip, holding you in place without any real force.
“See?” he continued, tilting his head with that soft smile. “This is weird. Really weird. But… nice. Kinda like I finally get to say the shit I usually keep locked up. Am I learning something about myself right now? Maybe I like being told what to do when it’s you doing the telling.”
You were going to die. Right here on your living room floor. Spontaneous combustion from embarrassment and the way his thumb kept stroking your hip bone, slow and warm and way too suggestive for someone who was magically chillaxed.
“Jason, focus - I need to reverse this,” you pleaded, even as your free hand came up to brush a strand of white-streaked hair from his forehead. He leaned into the touch like a cat, eyes fluttering half-closed in pure contentment. “The reversal spell is… somewhere. Just… don’t move. Or say anything else embarrassing. Please.”
He hummed, the sound vibrating through you where your legs brushed his. “Can’t promise that. Feels good to let go. You smell nice. Like vanilla and that fancy lotion you use after showers. Makes me want to bury my face in your neck and stay there.”
Your knees actually wobbled. This was dangerous. Jason Todd - sarcastic, guarded, “I’ll shoot you if you look at me wrong” Jason Todd - was looking up at you with hazy, affectionate eyes and saying things that belonged in late-night texts you’d never have the courage to send.
You finally spotted the grimoire on the floor and lunged for it, nearly tripping over his boot. Jason made a soft disappointed noise when your hip left his hand, but he didn’t stop you. He just watched with that lazy smile, chin resting on his fist like he was enjoying the show.
“Okay, okay- reversal incantation. Page 47. ‘To release the gentle hold…’” You muttered the words under your breath, tracing the glowing runes with a shaky finger. A silver-blue shimmer around Jason flickered, then started to fade.
As the magic lifted, his eyes cleared gradually. The dopey smile faltered, replaced by a slow blink and a faint flush creeping up his neck. He sat up straighter, running a hand through his hair as awareness flooded back in.
“…Well. That was new,” he said after a long beat, voice back to its usual rough gravel but still softer around the edges. He looked at you, really looked, and the flush deepened. “Did I… say all that shit out loud?”
You clutched the grimoire to your chest like a shield, face burning. “Every word. Including the part about the jacket and nothing else. And the neck-burying thing.”
Jason groaned, dropping his head back against the couch and covering his face with both hands. But there was a laugh bubbling underneath it - embarrassed, but not angry. “Fuck. Of course I did. Magic roofies my brain and the first thing it does is spill my horny little secrets.”
You bit your lip, the panic finally easing into something warmer, fluttery. “You seemed… happy. Like it was nice to let go for once.”
He peeked at you through his fingers, his eyes softer than usual. “It was. Weird as hell, but nice. No noise. No Pit whispering. Just you.” He lowered his hands and reached out again, this time more deliberately, tugging you down onto the couch beside him. “C’mere. Before I overthink this and go back to being a brooding asshole.”
You let him pull you close, ending up half-draped across his lap with his arm around your waist. His hand settled on your lower back, fingers tracing idle patterns that felt suspiciously suggestive - light pressure, slow strokes, the occasional dip just under the hem of your shirt.
“So,” he murmured, voice low against your ear, “on a scale of ‘never speak to me again’ to ‘we should test how that hypnosis felt in other ways,’ where are we?”
You laughed, hiding your burning face in his shoulder. The scent of leather and gun oil and him wrapped around you. “Somewhere in the middle. Mostly mortified. A little… intrigued.”
Jason’s chuckle vibrated through his chest. “Intrigued is good. Means I didn’t completely ruin my chances by admitting I jerk off thinking about you.”
“Jason!”
“What? It’s honest.” His hand slid higher under your shirt, palm warm against bare skin, not pushing but definitely teasing. “For the record - if you ever want to try that calming spell again on purpose… I wouldn’t say no. Felt like I could finally breathe. And if it leads to more of this…” His fingers pressed lightly into your back, pulling you closer until your thighs straddled one of his. “…I’m very okay with that.”
The air between you thickened, suggestive tension humming like a live wire. His free hand came up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your bottom lip as he looked at you with that half-lidded intensity that made your stomach flip.
“You’re dangerous when you’re hypnotized,” you whispered, leaning in until your noses brushed.
“Yeah?” His voice dropped to a gravelly murmur. “Wait till you see me when I’m fully in control and still this soft for you.”
He closed the distance, kissing you slow and deep - nothing frantic, just warm pressure and the faint taste of the mint gum he chewed after patrols. One hand stayed on your back, the other threading gently into your hair as he tilted his head and kissed you like he had all the time in the world.
When you finally pulled back for air, both of you breathing heavier, Jason rested his forehead against yours with a soft, self-deprecating laugh.
“Next time you test magic on me,” he said, voice husky, “maybe warn a guy first. Or at least let me take the helmet off so I don’t look like a dumbass when I start confessing my kinks.”
You grinned, heart still racing but lighter now. “Noted. But for the record… the jacket thing? We can workshop that.”
Jason’s eyes darkened with interest, that lazy suggestive smile returning full force. “Oh, we’re definitely workshopping that. But first - you owe me for the emotional whiplash. Cuddle tax. Minimum one hour. No escaping.”
You let him pull you fully into his lap, arms wrapping around his neck as he leaned back against the couch. His hands settled on your hips, holding you close but gentle, the earlier hypnosis haze replaced by something warmer, more intentional.
As the city hummed quietly outside your window, Jason pressed another slow kiss to your temple and murmured against your skin, “Thanks for not freaking out too hard. And for the nice floaty feeling. Even if it did make me spill my guts.”
You smiled, nuzzling closer. “Anytime, Jason. Just… maybe next time I’ll aim for a back rub instead of hypnosis.”
He chuckled, the sound warm and content. “Deal. But if the back rub turns into something else… I’m not complaining.”
The night settled around you both - soft touches, quiet laughter, and the kind of comfortable tension that promised a lot more “workshopping” in the very near future.
And if Jason’s hand occasionally wandered a little lower than strictly necessary while you cuddled?
Well. That was just part of the magic.
a/n : embraced my inner bg3 crazy girl shit for this brah. REQUESTS OPEN <3 sorry if this is booty I’m so sleepy
olderbf!nanami who never rushes you, no matter how impatient you get. you’re standing in front of your closet, frustrated, pulling out dresses and tossing them onto the bed.
"i have nothing to wear," you groan. he’s sitting in the armchair by the window, his tie already loosened, watching you with that calm, steady gaze.
"we have forty-five minutes," he says, his voice low and even. "take your time."
you huff, turning to face him. "you’re always so patient. it’s annoying."
he smiles, small and fond. "i’ve waited forty years to find you. i can wait forty-five minutes for you to pick a dress."
olderbf!nanami who always makes sure you eat before you leave the house. you’re running late, your heels clicking on the kitchen floor as you grab your purse.
"we’re going to be late," you say, already halfway to the door.
he steps in front of you, a plate in his hand—toast with avocado, a soft-boiled egg, sliced fruit arranged neatly. "eat first."
you stare at him. "nanami, we don’t have time—"
"we have time," he interrupts gently, setting the plate on the counter. "you’re not leaving this house on an empty stomach. sit."
you sit. you always do. because when he looks at you like that—like taking care of you is the most important thing in the world—you can’t say no.
olderbf!nanami who never raises his voice, even when you’re being difficult. you’re arguing about something stupid—where to go for dinner, maybe, or whether you should cancel plans to stay in—and your voice is getting louder, your hands gesturing wildly.
he just stands there, hands in his pockets, watching you. "you’re not even listening!" you snap.
"i am," he says quietly. "i’m listening to every word. and when you’re done, we’ll talk about it calmly. like adults."
you deflate, your anger fizzling out. "you’re too kind to me," you mutter.
he steps forward, his hands finding your waist. "you’re worth the kindness."
olderbf!nanami who takes his time undressing you, like every layer is a gift he’s unwrapping. you’re in his bedroom, the lights dimmed, and you’re already reaching for his belt, impatient, wanting him now.
"slow down," he murmurs, catching your hands. "we have all night."
you pout. "i don’t want to wait."
he leans down, his lips brushing your ear. "i know, baby. i know. but i’m going to make you wait. because the longer i take, the better it’ll feel when i finally touch you." he undresses you slowly, his fingers working each button, each zipper, until you’re standing in front of him in nothing but your underwear. he steps back, his eyes raking over you. "beautiful," he says. "now lay down."
olderbf!nanami who eats you out like it’s a meditation, like he could spend hours between your thighs and never get bored. you’re on your back, your legs over his shoulders, and he’s taking his time, his tongue moving in slow, deliberate strokes.
"n-nanami—please—" you gasp, your hands fisting the sheets. he looks up at you, his mouth glistening.
"patience," he says, his voice calm even as he slides two fingers inside you. "i’m going to make you cum. but i’m going to do it my way." he curls his fingers, finding that spot that makes your vision blur, his tongue circling your clit with agonizing precision.
you’re moaning, your hips rolling, but he holds you down with one hand on your stomach. "stay still," he orders gently. "let me take care of you."
olderbf!nanami who fucks you slow and deep, his hips rolling in a rhythm that has you seeing stars. you’re on your stomach, your face pressed into the pillow, and he’s behind you, his chest pressed to your back, his cock buried so deep you can barely breathe.
"nanami—h-harder!!—" you beg, trying to push back against him. he stills, his hand sliding up your spine to grip the back of your neck.
"no," he says, his voice firm but kind. "you take what i give you." he starts moving again, each thrust deliberate, each roll of his hips dragging against your walls in a way that makes you sob. "you feel that?" he murmurs against your ear. "that’s me. all of me. and you’re going to take every inch, just like this. until you can’t think about anything but how full you are."
olderbf!nanami who makes you ask for what you want, his voice low and commanding. you’re straddling him, his cock inside you, but he’s not moving.
he’s just watching you, his hands on your hips, his thumbs stroking your skin.
"p-please, i.... i can't—" you whimper, trying to roll your hips. he holds you still.
"use your words," he says. "tell me what you want."
"i-i want you to move," you gasp. "i want you to fuck me."
he smiles, small and satisfied. "good girl. now ask nicely."
you bite your lip, your face burning.
"please fuck me, nanami. please."
he rewards you with a slow thrust upward, his cock hitting that spot inside you that makes you moan. "that’s it," he praises. "that's my girl."
olderbf!nanami who holds you after, his arms wrapped around you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. you’re lying on his chest, your body still trembling, your mind fuzzy with pleasure.
he’s stroking your hair, his lips pressed to the top of your head. "you did so well," he murmurs. "so beautiful. so perfect." you nuzzle closer, your eyes already drifting shut.
"you’re too good to me," you whisper. he kisses your forehead.
"no such thing. you deserve everything. and i’m going to give it to you for as long as you’ll let me."
olderbf!nanami who wakes you up in the morning with his mouth between your legs, because he’s not done taking care of you yet. you’re half-asleep, your body warm and heavy, when you feel his hands on your thighs, spreading you open.
"nanami—" you start, but then his tongue is on you, and you’re gasping, your hands flying to his hair. he looks up at you, his eyes dark.
"good morning," he says, his voice rough with sleep. "lay back. let me love you." and you do. because when nanami wants to be patient, you let him. every single time.
“softenin' it,” your husband replied, his voice completely deadpan. he didn’t look up, his face carved into an expression of such absolute, scholarly focus you might have thought he was doing open-heart surgery rather than kneading you ass.
you’d been trying to get some rare peace and quiet, lying face down on the bed half-asleep, when the attack started. toji had the massive, beefy build of a pro athlete, a guy made wholly of dense muscle who had absolutely zero concept of "personal space"
yet, for the last ten minutes, those huge, scarred hands—hands that literally killed people for a living??—had been thoroughly squashing and massaging your ass with the obsessive devotion of a baker molding a piece of sourdough.
“softening it?” you repeated, the mere insanity of it wiping away the last of your drowsiness. “toji, it’s an ass, not a cheap steak. you’ve been doing this for ten minutes. let go.”
he was lying on his stomach right next to your thighs, his nose hovering close over your asscheeks. feeling suddenly frustrated, you planted your forearms on the sheets, trying to crawl away from... whatever he was doing.
and you couldn't even make it an inch.
a heavy, coarse palm slapped down on the small of your back, securing you to the mattress like a literal ton of bricks. when you twisted your neck to glare at him, his stunning profile was pulled into a focused, childish pout. his emerald eyes stayed glued to his work while his other hand went right back to its aggressive squeezing, paying no attention to your feeble protests.
“keep still,” he grumbled, his voice getting petulant like a boy refused candy “you’re messin' up the texture.”
“the texture?” a sudden rush of heat hit your cheeks—the result of your frustration and being vividly aware of how his face was glued to your backside. “i am trying to sleep, you psycho. your hands feel like sandpaper.”
“then don't move and it won't scratch,” he reasoned in a plain tone as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
and yet, there was something weirdly mesmerizing about how engaged he was. he looked almost peaceful sitting there, if you ignored the thick fingers poking at your crack.
finally comprehending it was useless to fight a fatty bitch with two hundred pounds on his body, you collapsed face-first into the pillow, letting out a defeated groan.
“...if i see any bruises, you're gonna pay for it.”
that lazy, almost boyish grin finally shattered his straight face. toji didn't bother lifting his chest or moving back. he just rested his heavy jaw in his free hand, watching your clothed butt devotedly.
“can’t charge a guy who's broke,” he reminded, his deft fingers continuing their task. “now shut it. 'm not done tenderizing.”
꒰ summary ꒱ when a misunderstanding leaves your family convinced you’re bringing a plus one to your cousin’s wedding in Japan, the last person you expect to volunteer for the role is your infuriatingly observant intern, Satoru. it’s supposed to be temporary. professional. strictly off the record. but with your mother already sold on the idea of your mystery boyfriend, and Satoru proving far too good at the role, pretending starts to feel a little too dangerous. also, why is your “intern” secretly the heir to gojo corporation?!
꒰ tags/warnings ꒱ fake dating ⚹︎ undercover ceo! satoru ⚹︎ accountant! reader ⚹︎ satoru is 29, reader is 26 ⚹︎ lots of family pressure. reader has a complicated relationship with her mom ⚹︎ forced proximity ⚹︎ one bed trope ⚹︎ slow burn ⚹︎ mutual pining ⚹︎ wedding chaos ⚹︎ angst and fluff ⚹︎ some suggestive content but no explicit smut ⚹︎
꒰ authors note ꒱ hi cuties! this is a commission piece, and it is about 12k total. this first part is just shy of 6k and the second part will be out next week. i hope you enjoy 🫶🏻 (art by @/hanamin_0123 on x)
"Oi. Boss lady."
“No.”
One problem at a time, and the spreadsheet in front of you wins by default. Because Column F is wrong. It’s been wrong for forty fucking minutes, and if it stays wrong for forty seconds longer, you may actually die here at your desk — hunched over, half-blind, and found by Shoko on a Monday morning with your face pressed into a pivot table like a cautionary tale.
"But… you don't even know what I was gonna—"
"—the answer is no, Satoru."
Unlike the human embodiment of a headache currently lingering on the other side of your desk, the spreadsheet in front of you is at least pretending to be important.
The chair beneath him creaks, and then comes the silence you know too well. It’s the one that comes right before he decides to be a problem on purpose. Attention is gasoline and Satoru is, structurally, a fire hazard. Still, your eyes flick up, and—
"No fair…” he huffs, that ridiculous pout tugging at his lips. “You didn't even let me finish the question."
Your eyes roll back down.
“Mhm.”
"And it was such a good question.”
You turn a page. "Really?”
“Yup.” He’s draped over the corner of your desk now, like gravity has wronged him, whining. “It was such a thoughtful… personal… deeply relevant… extremely genius level getting-to-know-you tier question that—”
You scowl. "—Satoru, enough. Just do your job."
It lands harder than expected. The sigh he lets out is deeply, theatrically offended. And when you glance up again, he’s sprawled over that same corner of your desk you made the mistake of clearing for him on day one because you’d thought, foolishly, that giving him a designated surface might contain him.
It had not.
Nothing about Satoru had ever suggested he could be contained.
Snowy white hair falls against his brow, sleeves rolled to his elbows; looking far too expensive and far too comfortable for someone whose official title is intern. His coffee is sweating beside your open planner — the one with a date next week circled in red: WEDDING, scrawled across the margin in your own handwriting. The condensation trails towards a stack of vendor invoices and—
…
Wait.
Are those the same vendor invoices you asked him to file yesterday?
Fucking great.
“Oh, c’monnn,” he grumbles, blinking at you over the rim of those absurdly expensive sunglasses he insists on wearing indoors. “One question. Just a tiiiiny one. It’s completely harmless. Humor me, yeah?”
You narrow your eyes.
“Satoru, you’ve been trying to ask one question for the last four months.”
“Yeah,” he says. “And you’ve been dodging it for four months. Imagine that.”
Technically… four months and four days. But who’s counting?
With an exhausted groan, your eyes fall shut, pinching the bridge of your nose. Noise drifts in from the hall — the elevator, the printer, a phone trilling somewhere nearby. But when you look up again, it all seems to fall away.
He’s gone strangely still. The smug grin hasn’t disappeared, but it’s softened at the edges, hooked at one corner with his head tilted slightly. And those eyes…
Oh.
That’s — no. You’ve seen his eyes before. Obviously. Four months of them. But right now, with the morning light doing something cruel and unhelpful behind him, they catch in a way that makes you forget you were mid-thought. The kind of blue that doesn’t ask if you’re looking. It already knows.
Which means of course, you look away first. “Fine.” Your hand drops as you mutter. “One question. But if it’s stupid, I’m sending you back to HR.”
It’s not much of a threat. It’s his last day, after all, and for reasons you still don’t fully understand, Satoru has always seemed oddly immune to consequences — which, frankly, feels statistically improbable given the amount of shit he’s managed to pull in the few months of being here.
“One question?” his grin sharpens. You point your pen at him. “Don’t make me regret this.” Yet his pleased chuckle is already making you. “Awhh… look at you. Finally yielding.” His pen twirls between his fingers, nodding with false solemnity. “Okay. So, here’s the thing… throughout these four months working beside you, I’ve seen a lot—"
“—that’s not a question.” You deadpan.
But ignoring you, he reclines back in the chair, hands clasped behind his head.
“Liiiike… I’ve seen the exact face you make when Mei-Mei emails you,” he smirks. “Even noticed you work through lunch more than you should. And I’ve noticed that little line right here—” he gestures vaguely between his own brows “—every time the budget goes sideways.”
Lips parting, you blink.
…why is he so observant?!
For someone who acts like he doesn’t give a shit, he’s strangely attentive.
You clear your throat, huffing. “Okay… what’s your point?” Your hands straighten a stack of papers that doesn’t need straightening. “Is there a question in here somewhere, or are you just reciting my habits back to me for fun?”
His grin is far too pleased. “Relax. I’m getting there.” And leaning forward, his voice drops, like he’s unraveling a conspiracy. “I just find it interesting how you answer work calls before the second ring. Every damn day. Doesn’t matter who it is.” His head tilts with a smug grin. “But for whatever reason, for the past month, your personal phone’s been ringing off the hook, and you never pick up. Not once.”
Heat creeps up your neck. Not because he’s wrong — but because he’s right. And he said it like it was nothing. Like noticing the pattern of your avoidance was just something that happened to him between stamps.
Oh.
Way too observant.
Shit. He couldn't have settled on what's your favorite color!? Or, what superpower would you have!? No. Of course he had to go for the fucking jugular.
His eyes drop to the planner lying open beneath the invoices. The circled date: WEDDING. And his grin sharpens. “Ohoho… I get it now,” he whistles, leaning back in his chair and kicking one leg over the other. “What’d your fiancé do to screw up this bad? Is the wedding off?”
Your head jerks up. “F-Fiancé?!” And he rolls his eyes with a scoff, still grinning. “Knew it. God, he must be really in the doghouse. Or maybe he’s just clingy as hell to be calling that much.”
You blink.
Okay. Nevermind. He’s wrong. That is not even remotely what’s happening. The most committed relationship you’ve had is the one with your coffee machine. And yet… part of it feels almost cosmically cruel.
Because somehow, this is the second time in a month that someone had looked at the scattered pieces of your life and decided a man must be hiding inside them. Except the first time, you never even got the chance to correct it.
After all… how do you tell your mother she’s wrong?
Last month, you still answered her phone calls.
Not because you expected anything different. But because somewhere between the second ring and the third, there’s this gap — this stupid, paper-thin gap — where you still believe she might ask how you’re doing and actually wait for the answer.
Some habits taste like smoke. Some burn like liquor. But yours, unfortunately, had always looked a lot like hope.
Hope is a terrible habit you’ve never been able to kick.
“Oh—uh, hi mom!”
Your phone was wedged between your ear and shoulder while you stepped out of your car, juggling your purse and what was left of your sanity. You were already behind schedule, and your mother was calling — which meant the day had already made its intentions very clear.
“What’s up?” the door slammed shut with your hip. “I’m actually about to—”
“—Trish sent the venue photos,” she blurted, launching into a conversation like always.
Blinking, you shook the bitterness away. Striding toward the towering glass of Gojo Corporation. “That’s—yeah, that’s great,” you muttered, badge in hand as you pushed through the front doors. “But I’m actually heading into work right now? So—”
“—It’s such a beautiful venue,” she ignored you. “Very traditional, very grand. But you know the Zenin family—they never do anything small.” And as she sighed in awe, you resisted the urge to roll your eyes.
The rational part of your brain told you to let this go to voicemail. But the rational part of your brain has never once won this fight. Because…
Hope is a terrible habit you’ve never been able to kick.
"Mom, I'm sure it's lovely, really… but I'm kind of—um, excuse me…" you pivoted around a man in the bustling lobby with a sigh. “Sorry. I’m literally walking into the building right now? But maybe we can revisit this later and—"
"—have you booked your flight yet?"
Your mouth flattened.
Clearly, your half of this conversation is optional.
“No… not yet,” you mumbled, as patiently as you could manage, jabbing the up button harder than necessary. “It’s been a crazy ass week so I haven’t had a chance to, but—”
“—every week is a crazy week for you.” The huff she let out sounded almost offended by the inconvenience of your life. “Why can’t you just book it now while we’re talking? I mean, it literally takes five minutes.”
A miracle, really, that your blood pressure isn’t a medical emergency.
Every week is a crazy week?
Yeah. No shit.
Two managers resigned last quarter. Another got escorted out by security. And their work didn’t disappear. No. It landed on your desk. Because that’s how it goes. That’s how it’s always gone. Group projects. Internships. End-of-quarter disasters no one else wanted to touch. If something needed fixing, it found its way to you.
You’re the one people relied on.
Just… never the one people chose.
“Mother. I’m at work,” you said, stepping into the elevator as the doors slid open, dropping your voice as you stabbed at floor fifteen. “Look—I’m about to walk into an eight a.m. meeting. But I’ll book it tonight, promise.”
“…eight a.m.?” she repeated slowly, before letting out a small, unbothered laugh. “Oh! Right. It’s eight p.m. here. Silly me. I keep forgetting.”
…
Keep forgetting?
She keeps forgetting that she’s ten thousand miles away? Forgetting that twenty years ago she abandoned you in another country to live abroad in Japan—handing you to your grandparents like a detail she'd get back to later?
How convenient that she forgot that.
The elevator slid shut, and you watched the numbers tick upward. “Um. Yeah…” you managed, trying to keep the hurt out of your voice. “Anyways. I’ll book it tonight. After work. Okay?”
"Okay, okay. Sure. Sounds good. But are you bringing anyone?”
Squeezing the strap of your bag, you swallowed the lump in your throat. This again? The last thing you needed was to walk into your shitty eight a.m. meeting looking emotional.
No thanks.
“I… uh…” you cleared your throat. “I um—actually—haven’t decided yet. But anyways, I gotta go, so—”
“Waitwatiwait. Haven’t decided? Does that mean… you actually found someone?!”
Her voice pitched up so fast it almost startled you, and your mouth dropped so low it could’ve hit floor one.
Shit.
“I-I—I didn’t say—"
“—oh, thank God. This is incredible!!” she squealed. “We’ve been so worried. I mean—Trish is younger than you and she figured it out,” her tongue clicked. “People have been asking questions, you know. Your aunt Sara keeps bringing it up every time I see her and—”
“—Mom, I—"
“—It’s about time,” The laugh she let out was relieved, like a problem in her life had finally begun resolving itself. “You can’t keep putting love on hold forever, because men aren’t going to wait around forever. You’re already twenty-six—not getting any younger, dear.”
Love?!
Who has time for that?
And why the fuck is twenty-six the age a woman expires?!
“What’s his name?” she pressed, practically beaming through the phone. “What does he do? Is he from there, or—oh, is he Japanese? Your father would love that, he always said—”
And she was off.
Spinning an entire man out of thin air. An entire future, really. Building him in real time from a tiny slip up you had because you were too tired and cornered and desperate enough to answer the phone in the first place. And you stood there, letting her. Because interrupting her has never once worked in the history of your life.
“—actually, never mind,” she chirped a moment later, as if she was being considerate now. “You have work. I’ll call tomorrow and you can tell me everything, yes? Okay, bye-bye honey—”
Click!
And just like that, the elevator went quiet. You were left staring at your reflection in the metal doors, phone pressed to your ear, listening to the silence where your mother’s voice had been.
‘We’ve been so worried.’
…
If they were so worried… why had you spent most of your life learning to take care of yourself? And yet, the second there might be a man, suddenly you’re worth getting excited about?
Funny how that works.
Scoffing, you lowered the phone, shoving it into your bag just as the elevator chimed open. Itadori Yuji’s head snapped up behind the reception desk.
“Morning, boss,” he waved, radiating sunshine as you walked towards the conference room. “Kento’s asking if you’re still good for the budget review at eight… or if I should just tell him to panic.”
Your smile softened, burying the sting. “Yes… I’ll be right there.” And as you stepped through the polished glass doors, you played the role you’d always played.
The reliable one. Twenty-six years old, with two master’s degrees, a career at one of the most competitive corporations in the world, and a team of seven that would quietly fall apart without you.
But…
None of that glitters quite like a diamond ring, does it?
“Oi,” Satoru frowns. “You’re makin’ that face again.”
“Huh?”
Blinking out of your spiral, your eyes trace back to the man across from you. His chin is resting in his palm, those impossibly blue eyes fixed on you with a quiet stillness that makes something in your chest trip over itself — like a lock turning in a door you didn’t know was closed.
“Oh.” You clear your throat, forcing the pen back into motion. “…what face?”
“The one you make when something’s wrong,” he says quietly, gaze unmoving. “When you’re upset and trying to act like you’re not.”
For a second — one terrible, unguarded second — you don’t have a single thing to hide behind. It’s just him, looking at you like your well-being is something he’s been keeping track of in a column you didn’t even know existed.
But then the sarcasm kicks in, right on time. "Wow," you say, forcing your hands back to the papers in front of you. "So… now you read faces?"
“Mm... nah. Just yours, sweetheart.”
And that grin — god, that fucking grin — hooks at one corner like he knows exactly what just detonated inside your chest. You don’t acknowledge it. Acknowledging things have consequences, and consequences with this man are not something you can afford.
"…that’s highly inappropriate," you mutter, shoving it down. "Let’s maybe redirect some of that insight toward the invoices, yeah?"
“Sorry, sorry.” He leans back, hands up like he’s the picture of innocence. “Wouldn’t wanna start shit with your dear future husband.” His grin goes sharp as he twirls his sunglasses between two fingers. “Though, wow. Tough look for him. Whatever he did, he clearly fucked up bad.”
Why does he sound… bitter?
No. You must be imagining it. This is Satoru. Satoru, who treats everything like a joke until proven otherwise. Satoru, who doesn’t care enough about anything to sound bitter over a man who may or may not exist.
You scoff. "You’re making some wildly stupid assumptions right now…"
He perks up at that. "Oh?" With his grin hooking higher, almost hopeful. "Wait. So, there’s no fiancé, then?"
Your lips purse.
What does he care? He’s not your mother.
“I wish you’d be this interested in your actual job,” you sigh, arms crossing. “Those invoices have been sitting there all week.”
“Uh-huh.” He tips his head. “And yet somehow, I noticed you still didn’t answer me.”
You frown.
What the fuck are you supposed to say!?
Oh. Um. Actually, Satoru, there is no fiancé. That’s the problem, actually! My mother invented him the other morning and I haven't worked up the nerve to call her back.
Yeah. No. You'd rather die at this desk.
“Maybe because it’s none of your business.”
“But I—”
“Drop it.”
He stares at you for a beat, then he flops back in the chair with a dramatic huff, long legs kicking out in front of him, mouth dragging into a sulky pout.
“Well, damn,” he grumbles, pushing his sunglasses up into his hair, rolling his eyes. “No wonder you’re single if this is how you shut people down…”
The second the words leave his mouth, he blinks. His gaze flicks up to yours like he hears it too late — like he realizes, all at once, how shitty that sounded.And it only feels worse the moment he sees your face.
God.
Of all the places to hit.
“Oho… wow. Okay. This?” you say with a thin, self-deprecating laugh, chair scraping as you shove back from your seat. “Yeah. This is exactly why I shouldn’t have let you ask, Satoru.” You reach for your planner, your purse, anything to do with your hands besides let them shake.
He straightens, watching you scramble. “Whoa. Wait. I—"
“—because you don’t know when to stop!” The words come out louder than you mean, blinking at the sting behind your eyes. “You just keep pushing and pushing and pushing until you get what you want. Well good. I hope you’re happy.”
Before you can turn away, he’s on his feet. “Wait—” And the moment his hand catches yours, you freeze, breath snagging.
His voice is quieter now. His grip is firm yet gentle, and the air between you shifts, while something warm and uneasy twists low in your chest. The kind of feeling that makes you want to lean in and run in the same breath.
Though your eyes stay down. “Satoru… let go.”
“I didn’t…” he starts, then stops, gaze flicking to where his fingers still circle your wrist — before climbing back to your face, slower this time. “I’m… sorry. I just—” His mouth tightens. “I see how hard you work, okay? I see it. And every time that phone rings, you get this look on your face like it’s already ruined your day before you even touch it. And…” His brows pinch. “Fuck. I dunno why, but it pisses me off!”
Your gaze hesitantly drags to his, and the look in his eyes is softer than they have any right to be — all that blue, stripped of its usual sharpness, turned careful. Like he’s stepping toward something breakable and knows it. Like… if he asked once more, something in you might actually give.
“Satoru…” your breath hitches. “I-I—"
“Oh, finally.”
Shoko’s voice trails in, and your head snaps up so fast your neck almost goes with it. She’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, coffee in hand — looking like a woman who arrived exactly on time for something she's been expecting all week.
Her gaze flicks down to where he’s holding you, and the corner of her mouth twitches.
"Sooo… not to interrupt whatever this is," she says, taking a sip, "but Kento's one eye-twitch away from a medical event. He needs you to sign off on the variance line before he starts reconciling his own will and—"
You're already jerking your hand back. "Yup—coming!" And as you step away, heat floods your face, but you don't look back. Not once. Not even when you feel him still standing there, watching you go.
Because looking back would mean acknowledging that something just shifted. And you are not — not — doing that today.
Unlike those invoices, perhaps some things are better left… unfinished.
You’re gone in a blur of heels, nerves, and professional self-preservation, leaving Shoko trailing behind and Satoru staring at the empty doorway like maybe the conversation might wander back through it.
It doesn’t.
And it’s not long before his mouth is pulling into a slow, petulant pout—just before he flops back in the chair with all the elegance of a man personally betrayed by the universe.
Un-fucking-believable.
He’d almost had you! After four months and four days of being stonewalled, redirected, and professionally shut down, you’d finally looked like you might give him something. A crack. A sliver. And then Kento had to ruin it with his stupid reconciliation sheet, his stupid earnest face, and his stupidly impeccable timing.
…
He could fire Kento.
Should he fire Kento?
As tempting as that thought is, Satoru settles for glaring at the empty doorway a second longer before dragging a hand down his face and raking it back through his hair. There’s no point. This performance will end soon. Because by this time tomorrow, he’ll be on a flight back to Tokyo. Where he can resume the slow, agonizing process of preparing to inherit a company he didn't actually give a shit about.
'Grow up, Satoru.'
'Apply yourself, Satoru.'
'You have no idea what it takes to run something like this, Satoru.'
Right. Because apparently, the heir to a multinational corporation needed to learn humility. Alphabetize files. Sit in a cubicle. Fetch coffee like some goddamn spreadsheet slut with a trust fund and nowhere to put it.
Four years of business school, two years shadowing his father; and yet, this is what they had for him?!
He scoffs. And when his gaze drops to the wreckage of your desk, he’s pulling the stack of vendor invoices toward him with a sigh that sounds put-upon even to his own ears. You’ve been nagging him about filing them for the better part of the week and… the least he can do is clear one thing before he goes.
The stamp thuds against the first page. Then the next. Then the next. And with muscle memory taking over, his face goes blank in the way it always does when boredom finally wins. It’s mindless shit. Still, he’s used to it. So naturally, when the phone on your desk buzzes, he doesn’t think twice; snatching it up, tucking it between his ear and shoulder as he reaches for the next invoice.
It’s probably another budget nuisance. Or Mei. Or one of the other thousand little crises that seem magnetically drawn to your extension.
“Yo,” another stamp echoes. “Satoru speaking.”
There’s a sharp inhale. “…who?”
His brow lifts. “Uh… Satoru?” Another thud of ink slams against the paper and he huffs, annoyed. “What do y’need?”
The line goes quiet for a beat too long. Before the woman on the other end finally murmurs, “Satoru…” Sighing in awe. “What a lovely name. Is that Japanese?”
"Uh… yeah?” he snorts, flipping to the next page. “I mean. Last I checked.”
“Mm… I thought so!” She giggles. And her voice pitches like she's just unwrapped a present she didn't know she was getting. “So… Satoru. Why exactly are you the one answering her phone, hm?”
…
Why the hell does this woman sound so invested? And why is she asking questions that should be obvious?
Frowning down at the invoice, he stamps it harder.
“Because it rang?” He says it like it’s obvious. “And uh—sorry, but. Maybe because I’ve been with her for months, so… why the hell wouldn’t I?”
"Months?!” A soft gasp crackles, far too delighted. “You've—you've been with her for months?!"
"Mmm… four months and four days, technically."
He’s been her intern for that long.
That’s the question, right?
"—technically?!" she squeals, like the word personally seduced her. "Ohmygoodness—oh, this is perfect. Four months and four days—that is so specific.”
He blinks. But she doesn’t give him time to process.
“Look at you Mr. Devoted. Keeping track. I was starting to worry she’d never find someone like you. Every time I asked it's like pulling teeth. But I knew there had to be someone. I told her father—I said, there is a man, I can feel it.”
Pausing mid-stamp, the words slowly begin to catch up. Satoru straightens.
"…sorry. Who is thi—"
“—everyone is so excited to meet you at Trish’s wedding. I already reserved your seat and—"
Her voice keeps going… and going… and going. He pulls the phone away slowly as her voice echoes on the receiver, staring down at the phone in hand to see:
📞 Mom
Oh.
Oh, shit.
This is not your work phone. Your work phone is currently sitting at its dock twelve inches to his left. And it dawns on him that he accidentally just spent the last sixty seconds answering your personal phone like an absolute jackass and—
"Uh…” he backpedals. “Wait. I—"
"I told Sara, I said, we have to meet him and—”
"Stop. I-I really think—"
“—Satoru, what are you doing?’
His head snaps up at the sound of your voice, mouth dropping as he sees you standing at the doorway, eyes wide in horror.
Oh, fuck.
“Who is on the other end of that phone,” you hiss.
He winces, pulling the phone from his ear like it’s toxic — and you’re snatching it right out of his hand. He lets you have it without a fight, sinking back into the chair like he’s trying to physically dissociate from the situation he’s just created while you press the phone to your ear.
“And I mean…” she rambles. “I certainly was never one to wait around at twenty-six, believe me. But—"
"Mom."
"Oh! Honey!” She gasps. “Oh, my goodness, hi—I was just having the loveliest chat with—"
"I'm at work. Gotta go."
"—okay! I can't wait to meet Satoru, he—"
Click!
The phone sits in your hand like evidence.
And Satoru — to his credit — has the decency to look like a man standing in the blast radius of his own stupidity. His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. Like he’s rehearsing an apology in a language he hasn’t learned yet.
You stare at him.
He stares at you.
And somewhere ten thousand miles away, your mother is already calling your aunt Sara.
“Sooo… funny story…”
“—what did you do?!”
Satoru flinched, and now, the tears were already rolling down your cheeks — hot, fast, completely unauthorized. Not the kind you could disguise as allergies or blame on the air conditioning. No. The ugly kind.
Great. Fucking great.
You were standing in the middle of your own office, in the building where you work, crying in front of your intern. And Satoru felt the weight of it all at once. In the last four months, he had seen you in every flavor of workplace misery there was. Pissed off, stressed out, one spreadsheet away from actual murder.
But cry?
Never.
And this had his fingerprints all over it.
"Shit," he breathed, panic flashing across his face. "I—fuck. Okay. Please don't—I can fix this. I can—"
"Fix this?" A splintered laugh ripped out of you, and you hated how thin it was. "Fix what, Satoru? You just confirmed a boyfriend to my mother, a boyfriend that doesn't exist—and she is, at this very moment, probably already—"
Another break in your voice cracked, and you squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your hand to your forehead hard like you could hold the tears in by sheer force. But it only made it worse, because now you could feel the wetness on your own face, the heat of it under your palm, and the mortification landed like a second wave.
God. How fucking humiliating.
"Hey, hey—it's okay,” his voice softened. “We'll just… call her back. Right? Tell her it was a misunderstanding. Easy."
“Easy?” you scoffed, the word coming out strangled. “Y-You don’t understand my mother, Satoru,” you managed, voice gone thin as thread. God, you sounded like a child. “If she thinks something is true, then it’s true. That’s it. That’s—there’s no correcting her, there’s no walking it back, she’s already told my aunt Sara by now and Sara’s told Trish and—oh, fuck—”
Another sob tumbled out, and your fingers dug harder into your temple.
God. Stop it.
Stop it stop it stop it.
Think.
Think logically. You're good at this. You solve problems for a living.
But every time you tried to grab onto a thought, it slipped — replaced by the echo of your mother's voice, high and delighted. The happiest she'd sounded talking to you in years. Maybe ever.
…what look will she give you when you show up alone?
"I can’t," you whispered, and the word came out waterlogged. "I-I'm supposed to get on a plane to Japan in a week and—do what? Tell them there's no one? Tell them I'm still—"
Single.
The word sat in your mouth like a stone. You didn’t realize you’d gone silent until the silence itself started ringing — your sniffling, the hum of fluorescent lights, the muffled life of the office continuing beyond the door like yours wasn’t actively coming apart at the seams.
And through all of it, you could feel Satoru looking at you. His stillness; holding you with an expression you'd never seen on him before and couldn't categorize if you tried.
"Um…” he looked down, scratching the back of his neck. “Soooo... the wedding's in Japan?"
You blinked. “What?” And as you wiped your face with the back of your hand, his gazed tentatively flicked back up. “The wedding…” he repeated, voice careful. “It’s in Japan?”
"Yes." Your brow furrowed, not understanding. "Why?"
He didn't answer right away. Just looked down at the floor for a second, jaw shifting, like he was turning something over in his head — something he hadn't fully assembled yet but could already feel the shape of.
"Huh… okay."
Okay what?
You watched his expression change in real time — from guilt to calculation to something else. "Right then!" He said, clapping his hands once, bright and sudden. "No biggie. I'll just go with you."
No biggie?
Your mouth dropped.
That wasn’t even an option, was it?
…is he crazy?
“You’re kidding,” your laugh was awkward and breathless. His eyes rolled with a smug grin. “Sweetheart, c’mon,” and he was gesturing between the two of you like the answer was sitting there in plain sight and you were the only person in the room committed to not seeing it. "Your family thinks you're bringing someone? Cool." A hand pressed to his chest with theatrical solemnity. "I'm someone."
You stared at him. Genuinely stared.
Oh. He wasn’t kidding.
Yup. He’s crazy.
"You are not 'someone,' Satoru. You are my intern."
“Yeah. For like… another six hours?"
He checked his watch with a shrug, and your lips flattened.
"…that is not the point."
“Mm… feels a little like the point."
He smirked, but it faded faster than usual, dimming at the edges as his blue eyes hesitated on yours. Something shifted in his posture; the performance pulling back, like a tide going out. "Um… look…" He pushed off the desk, stepping closer. "It’s really no hassle." He said, hands sliding into his pockets. "I already have a flight scheduled. My family's in Tokyo. And I was going back after this internship anyway, so… this just moves my timeline back a little."
He was shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal. Like he wasn’t agreeing to fly across the world with you and walk straight into the disaster that was your family.
…
His family’s in Japan too?
You barely knew anything about him. He kept his life sealed off with the same practiced deflection you kept yours — jokes in place of answers, charm in place of honesty. You never bothered to ask, because asking meant caring and that was a door you never intended to walk through with anyone.
But…
"Just… let me come with you. I’ll be your boyfriend for the weekend. For the wedding. For… whatever you need,” he said. And this time, when he stepped closer, there was no grin to hide behind. "I can be useful. I caused this. So… let me fix it."
Heat creeped up your neck, and you scoffed, weakly.
"Okay… but you can't fix my mother."
"No…” he murmured, tilting his head. His hand came up and brushed a tear trailing down your cheek with a careful gentleness. “But… I can make sure you don't have to walk in there alone?"
Your breath hitched, and when your eyes finally lifted, the morning light was being cruel again — catching in that impossible blue and turning it soft. Like stained glass dipped in sunlight. Like something holy made dangerous by the simple fact that it was looking straight at you.
“Mhn. So, do I get the job, boss lady? Because that look you’re giving me…” a slow smirk curls up the corner of his mouth. “Very encouraging for my boyfriend résumé, by the way. Might get addicted to it and wanna make it a full-time gig.”
“Shut up,” you mutter, looking away too fast to be convincing.“That was not a look. I was just—” You grimace. “…never mind.”
He’s chuckling as you brush past him. And his words are what scared you the most. Which was bad. Very, very bad. Because your mother was one problem. Japan was another. But Satoru looking at you like that?
Shit…
That felt like the kind of complication that didn’t stay neatly contained. And you knew better than anyone. Nothing about Satoru had ever suggested he could be contained.
a/n: hehe. this has been fun to work on! i am excited to share the next part. clearly i love these fake dating/fake marriage tropes aha 🙂↕️ bc this is like... what—my third time doing it? soooo i tried to change things up and make it feel less standard/generic :) but anyways, like i said pt 2 will be out in a week, pls lmk if you wanna be tagged 💖
