♡ summary: after two terrible days, all you want is to use your boyfriend as a mattress. unfortunately for you, gojo satoru is very easily distracted.
♡ warnings: 18+ mdni • explicit sexual content • established relationship • oral (f!receiving) • multiple orgasms • piv sex • praise • possessive language • dirty talk • creampie • fluff
♡ author’s note: this was inspired by a post from @silentlunarkiss based on this fanart 😭 i screenshotted it immediately because i knew i wanted to write it, then somehow lost the original post before i could tag them. finally found them again!! ♡
banner by @pixopix
The apartment is quiet when you finally drag yourself through the door, your work bag feeling like it weighs a thousand pounds. Your feet are killing you, your brain is fried, and all you want is to collapse into bed and not move for approximately twelve hours.
You kick off your shoes and shuffle down the hallway, already pulling your hair out of the bun you'd done up that morning, now mostly falling out on its own. The bedroom door is cracked open, and when you push it wider, you find exactly what you were hoping for.
Satoru is sprawled across the bed like a starfish, still wearing his teaching clothes—black pants and a rumpled button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His blindfold is tossed carelessly on the nightstand, and his white hair is an absolute disaster, sticking up in every direction like he's been running his hands through it all day. His eyes are closed, one arm thrown over his face.
He looks as exhausted as you feel.
"Rough day?" you ask, and he groans without moving.
"The first years tried to fight a curse three grades above their level because Yuji said it 'looked easy,'" he mumbles into his arm. "I had to bail them out. Again. Then Megumi and Nobara got into an argument about mission protocol that somehow turned into a full-blown screaming match about who ate whose leftovers from the fridge. I had to separate them like they were toddlers."
Despite your exhaustion, you snort. "Sounds about right."
"And then," he continues, finally moving his arm to peek at you with one brilliant blue eye, "Yaga cornered me about paperwork I was supposed to file last week. Do you know how much I hate paperwork?"
"I'm aware." You're already moving toward the bed, unbuttoning your work pants. "You complain about it literally every time."
"Because it's the worst. I'm the strongest sorcerer alive. I shouldn't have to file incident reports."
"Mm-hmm, very tragic." You shimmy out of your pants and leave them in a heap on the floor—a problem for future you. Your blouse follows, leaving you in just your bra and underwear. "My day was also shit, for the record."
"Yeah?" He's watching you now with lazy interest, too tired to even sit up but still tracking your movements.
"My boss is an idiot, the coffee machine broke, I had to sit through a two-hour meeting that could've been an email, and Janet from accounting passive-aggressively cc'd the entire department on an email about someone stealing her lunch. Which, for the record, I didn't do, but she definitely thinks I did based on the way she was glaring at me."
"Want me to hollow purple Janet from accounting?" he offers, completely serious.
"Tempting, but no." You crawl onto the bed and without ceremony, flop directly on top of him, your full weight pressing him into the mattress. You bury your face in his chest with a long, dramatic groan. "I'm dead. This is me, dead."
"Hi, dead. I'm also dead." His arms come around you automatically, wrapping you up even though you're both too tired to really move. "We're both corpses now. This is our life."
"Our death," you correct, muffled against his shirt.
"Our death," he agrees solemnly.
For a moment, you just lie there, breathing in sync. He smells like his cologne mixed with the faint scent of the training grounds—sweat and grass and something distinctly him. It's comforting in a way you can't quite articulate. This exhausted, collapsed-together moment feels like home.
His hand starts moving on your back, slow and gentle, rubbing up and down your spine. It feels incredible, and you make an embarrassing sound of contentment that you'll deny later.
"You're tense as hell," he murmurs, fingers working at a knot between your shoulder blades.
"You try dealing with Janet's accusatory emails and see how relaxed you are," you mumble, but you're already melting into his touch.
"I'd just block her."
"You can't block coworkers, Satoru."
"You can if you're powerful enough." His hand slides lower, still rubbing your back, and you feel some of the day's tension starting to ease. "This okay?"
"It's perfect. You're my favorite human pillow."
"Just human pillow? Not devastatingly handsome boyfriend who you're lucky to have?"
"That's implied," you say, but you're smiling against his chest.
His other hand joins the first, both of them working at your tired muscles, and you honest-to-god almost start purring. This is exactly what you needed. Just this—him, the quiet apartment, his hands on you, the weight of the day slowly lifting.
But then his hands start to wander.
It's subtle at first. His fingers drift from your back to your sides, tracing the curve of your waist. Then lower, skimming over your hips. And then—
He grabs your ass. Both hands, full handfuls, squeezing appreciatively.
"Really?" you ask, lifting your head to look at him. "We're both dead, remember? Corpses don't grope."
"I'm a very motivated corpse." He squeezes again, shameless, and there's a grin tugging at his lips now. "Can't help it. You're lying on top of me in your underwear. What did you expect?"
"Self-control? Restraint? Basic human decency?"
"Baby, you know me better than that." His hands are still kneading your ass, and despite your sass, you can feel heat starting to pool low in your belly. "Besides, you love it."
"I love that you can't even wait until we've recovered from our respective terrible days before getting handsy?"
"Exactly." He's fully grinning now, that cocky, insufferable grin that makes you want to kiss him and smack him at the same time. "Your ass is the best stress relief. It's science."
"That's not science, you idiot."
"It's my science."
You snort, but you're not moving away. His hands are warm and familiar, and honestly, after the day you've had, this isn't the worst thing in the world. You let your head drop back to his chest, eyes drifting closed.
"Comfortable?" he asks, voice softer now.
"Mmm," you hum in agreement. "Don't stop."
"Wasn't planning on it."
For a while, it's just quiet. His hands keep moving—sometimes squeezing, sometimes just resting there, thumbs drawing lazy circles. You can hear his heartbeat under your ear, steady and strong. The tension in your shoulders is almost completely gone now, replaced by a different kind of warmth, something slower and heavier.
You're half-asleep when you feel it—the unmistakable hardness pressing against your hip.
"Satoru," you mumble, not even opening your eyes.
"Hmm?"
"Are you seriously getting hard right now?"
There's a pause. Then he says, "...Maybe."
You lift your head to look at him, one eyebrow raised. He has the decency to look slightly sheepish, but there's heat in his eyes now, that familiar hunger that never really goes away when it comes to you.
"We were having a nice moment."
"We still are."
"You've got a boner."
"I do…That doesn't cancel the nice moment."
You stare at him for another second before letting out a laugh.
"Seriously?"
"What?"
"I come home exhausted, use you as a human mattress for ten minutes, and somehow I'm the problem?"
"You are absolutely the problem."
"I literally haven't done anything."
"You climbed on top of me, got all comfy, made that little happy humming noise, and then fell asleep on my chest."
"I hummed?"
"You hummed."
"I don't hum."
"You do when you're really comfortable."
You narrow your eyes. "I've never noticed that."
"I have."
You glare at him.
"…Baby." He exhales dramatically, like he's carrying the weight of the world. "You're makin' me so hard."
You snort. "You're unbelievable."
"I'm trying to be respectful."
"Are you?"
Silence.
"…No." He grins without an ounce of shame. "Not really."
Despite yourself, you laugh again, dropping your forehead back against his shoulder.
"You're ridiculous."
"I know."
His arms tighten around you just a little. "But you look so comfortable."
His voice is quieter now. "So happy."
You burrow your face further into his shoulder.
"…I like when you're like this."
You feel yourself smile before you can stop it. "You're such a sap."
"Only for you."
There's a comfortable silence. Then his hands drift just a little bit lower again.
"…Okay," you mumble. "Now you're definitely not being respectful."
"No." He gives your ass another shameless squeeze. "I'm definitely not."
Before you can respond, he's sitting up, keeping you in his lap, and capturing your mouth in a kiss that's hungry and demanding. You can taste his desperation, feel it in the way his hands grip you like he's afraid you're going to disappear.
When he pulls back, his lips are already swollen, his eyes are dark with want. "I need to taste you," he says, and it's not a request. "Get up here."
"Up where—"
But he's already moving, sliding down the bed and pulling you with him. "On my face. Come on."
"Satoru—"
"Please." And there it is, that needy edge that makes your stomach flip. "I've been thinking about this all day. About you sitting on my face, riding my tongue until you come. Please, baby. I need it."
How are you supposed to say no to that?
"You're ridiculous," you say, but you're already moving, letting him position you. He's lying flat on his back now, looking up at you with such raw want that it makes you shiver.
"Not ridiculous. Desperate." His hands come up to grip your thighs, pulling you forward. "Now stop stalling and sit on my face."
"Bossy," you mutter, but you're lowering yourself down, and then—
"Oh fuck," you gasp as his tongue makes contact, sliding through your folds in one long, deliberate stroke.
He groans under you, the vibration going straight to your core, and his hands tighten on your thighs. "That's it," he mumbles against you. "Right there. Don't move."
But you're already moving, you can't help it, grinding down against his mouth as he licks and sucks and devours you like a man starving. His grip on your thighs is almost bruising, holding you exactly where he wants you, and when you try to lift up, worried about suffocating him, about being too much—he just pulls you back down harder.
"Satoru—"
"Stay," he demands, voice muffled. He pulls his face back to look up at you. "Fuck my face. Come on, baby, I can take it. Give it to me." Then he lowers his mouth to you again.
It's obscene, the wet sounds of his mouth on you, the way he's completely lost in it. His tongue circles your clit, then dips inside you, then back to your clit, and you're already shaking, already so close.
"That's it," he encourages, and you can hear the smugness in his voice even now. "You're dripping, baby. such a mess on my face."
"Shut—up," you gasp, but there's no heat in it because he's right—you can feel how wet you are, can feel it on his chin, his lips, and it should be embarrassing but it's just hot.
"Make me," he challenges, and then he's sucking your clit into his mouth, hard, and you cry out.
Your hands fly to the headboard, gripping the edge to steady yourself as the pleasure intensifies. You start to really move now, riding his face with purpose, and he moans underneath you like this is exactly what he wanted all along.
"Fuck, yes," he groans against you, the vibration making you gasp. "Just like that. Use me, baby. Take what you need."
His hands guide your hips, encouraging the rhythm, and his tongue is relentless—circling, flicking, pressing flat against you in a way that makes your thighs shake. You can feel yourself getting closer, that coil of heat tightening in your belly.
"Satoru, I'm—fuck—"
"Do it," he demands, voice rough. "Come on my face.”
His tongue flicks rapidly over your clit, and that's all it takes. Your orgasm crashes through you in waves, pleasure rolling through your entire body. You're grinding down against his mouth, riding it out, and he's groaning underneath you like this is the best thing that's ever happened to him.
When you finally come down, shaking and oversensitive, you try to move off him, but his hands tighten on your thighs.
"Not yet," he mumbles, pressing soft kisses to your inner thighs, your hip bones, anywhere he can reach. "Just—give me a second. You taste so fucking good."
"You're gonna kill me," you pant, but you're smiling.
But he's already diving back in, and you gasp as his tongue finds your clit again. Your whole body jolts at the sensitivity, but he doesn't let up—he's relentless, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you steady as he works you over. The pleasure is almost too much, bordering on overwhelming, and you're already moaning his name.
"Satoru—fuck—it's too much—"
"I know, baby," he groans against you, the vibration sending another wave through you. "But you can take it."
He's eating you out like he's starving, like he can't get enough, and your whole body is shaking. Your hands grip the headboard tighter, your hips moving against his mouth almost involuntarily. The pleasure is building again, impossibly fast, and you're gasping and moaning as he works you toward another orgasm.
"Oh god—Satoru—I'm gonna—"
"That's it," he encourages, his tongue flicking faster.
Your second orgasm hits you like a wave, even more intense than the first, and you're crying out as pleasure crashes through you. Your thighs are shaking so hard you can barely hold yourself up, and he's groaning underneath you, clearly getting off on how much he's affecting you.
When you finally collapse, completely spent and oversensitive, he finally releases you, and you fall onto the bed next to him, breathing hard and trembling.
"And I'm dramatic?" He's grinning like he just won the lottery, his face wet, his hair a complete disaster. "That was—fuck. I love you, baby."
"You're insane," you say, but you're pulling him in for a kiss, tasting yourself on his lips.
"About you? Absolutely." His hands are already roaming again, cupping your face, then sliding down your sides. "But I'm not done with you yet."
"Oh really?"
"Really." He's kissing you again, slower this time, deeper. When he pulls back, there's something vulnerable in his expression beneath all the confidence. "You have no idea what you do to me."
"Then show me," you challenge, and his eyes darken.
"Oh, baby."
He's fumbling with his pants, shoving them down along with his boxers, and his cock springs free—flushed and hard and already leaking. You reach for him, wrapping your hand around his length, and he hisses.
"Fuck, baby—"
"What?" You stroke him slowly, base to tip, and he's already trembling.
"Your hands—shit—they're so much smaller than mine. Look so good wrapped around my cock."
"Yeah?" you tease, giving him another slow stroke.
"Yeah." His voice is strained.
He gently removes your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm, and then he's pulling you against him. His arms wrap around you, one hand sliding up your back, the other gripping your hip possessively. You can feel him, hard and hot against your thigh, and he's just... holding you there.
"Satoru—"
"Give me a second," he murmurs, his voice already rough. His breathing is uneven against your neck, and you can feel the tension in his body—the way he's trying to maintain control. "Just—fuck—you feel so good.”
His hips shift slightly, and you feel the length of him drag against you—not entering, just the pressure of him sliding through your wetness. The friction makes you gasp, and he groans.
"There it is," he breathes. "That sound. The little gasp you make when I—" He does it again, a slow roll of his hips, grinding against you. "When I touch you just right."
"Satoru, please—"
"Please what?" His hand slides down to grip your ass, pulling you tighter against him. "Tell me what you want, baby."
"You know what I want."
"I do." Another slow grind, and you can feel how wet you are, how easily he slides against you. "But I wanna hear you say it. Love the way your voice gets all breathy when you're desperate for me."
"You're killing me—"
"Good." He's kissing your neck now, teeth grazing your pulse point. "You've been killing me all day. All week. Every time you look at me with those eyes, every time you smile at me like I'm the only person in the world—fuck, baby, you have no idea."
His voice is shaking now, and you realize he's not teasing anymore—he's barely holding on. The head of his cock catches at your entrance, and you both freeze.
"I can't—" His forehead drops to your shoulder. "I can't think straight around you. Can't control myself. You just—you exist, and I'm gone."
"Then stop trying to control it," you whisper, and you feel him shudder.
"Fuck." He shifts, lining himself up properly, and then he's pushing in—slowly, so slowly. The stretch is intense, pleasure edged with the sweetest hint of pressure as he fills you inch by inch. "Fuck, baby. You feel so good. So tight. So perfect."
"Satoru—"
"I know. I've got you." He's only halfway in, taking his time, letting you adjust. His forehead is still pressed to your shoulder, and you can feel how much restraint this is taking him—the way his muscles are tense, the way his breath comes in short gasps. "You're taking me so well. You always take me so well."
Finally, finally, he's fully seated inside you, and you both just breathe for a moment, adjusting to the feeling of being completely connected.
"Okay?" he asks, lifting his head to look at you.
"Yes baby," you manage. "You can move.”
"Thank fuck." He pulls out slowly, almost all the way, and then thrusts back in. The drag of his cock against your walls makes you gasp, and he groans. "That sound. Fuck, I love that sound."
He sets a steady rhythm, deep and deliberate, each thrust making you feel impossibly full. His hands are everywhere—cupping your face, tangling in your hair, gripping your hips—like he can't decide where he wants to touch you most.
"You're so beautiful like this," he murmurs, watching your face. "All flushed and breathless. The way your eyes get all hazy when I'm inside you—fuck, it drives me crazy."
"Satoru—"
"I love you so much." His voice is rough with emotion now, not just desire. "Love everything about you. The way you feel, the way you look at me, the way you let me have you like this—"
"I love you too," you gasp, and his hips stutter.
His eyes squeeze shut for a moment, and when he opens them again, there's something raw there.
"Say it again."
"I love you."
"Fuck." His pace falters, becomes less controlled. "You can't—you can't just say it like that when I'm inside you. You're gonna—shit—"
"You feel so good," you tell him, cupping his face. "So perfect. You always make me feel so good."
His breath catches, and suddenly he's kissing you desperately, his thrusts becoming harder, deeper, less measured.
"You're everything," he gasps against your mouth. "Everything to me. The way you trust me, the way you look at me like I'm—fuck, baby, I can't—"
"You are," you insist, and his composure cracks completely.
"Fuck—" He's moving faster now, hitting that spot inside you that makes you see stars. "Love how you fit around me. Like you were made for me. Like we were made for each other."
"We were," you gasp, and his eyes flash with something fierce and possessive.
"Damn right we were." He shifts slightly, changing the angle, and suddenly every thrust is devastating. "There it is. That's the spot, isn't it?"
"Yes—fuck—right there—"
"I know, baby. I know." His voice is breaking now, emotion and desire tangled together. "Gonna make you come again. Wanna watch your face when you—fuck—when you come because of me."
The pleasure is building so quickly you can barely breathe. Your hands clutch at his shoulders, his back, trying to anchor yourself as he drives into you again and again.
"That's it," he encourages, watching your face like he's memorizing it. "I can feel you getting tighter. You're close, aren't you? So fucking close."
"Don't stop—"
"Never." One of his hands slides between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing in tight circles. "Come for me, baby. Let me feel it. Let me see you."
The combination of his cock hitting that perfect spot and his thumb on your clit is too much. Your orgasm hits you hard, pleasure crashing through you in waves that make your whole body tense and shake. You're clenching around him, and he groans at the sensation.
"Fuck, yes," he breathes, still moving, fucking you through it. "That's it. That's my girl. You're so good. So beautiful. Fuck, I love you so much."
When you finally start to come down, gasping and trembling, you expect him to follow you over the edge. But instead, he slows his movements, pressing soft kisses to your face.
"Satoru—"
"Not done with you yet," he murmurs against your lips.
Before you can respond, he's pulling out and lifting your legs, draping them over his shoulders. The new position opens you up completely, and when he pushes back in, he's somehow even deeper than before.
"Oh fuck—" you gasp, and he groans.
"There we go." He starts moving again, and this angle is devastating. Every thrust feels impossibly deep, hitting places that make your toes curl. "How's that, baby? That good?"
"Yes—fuck—Satoru—"
"I love you so much," he says, his voice rough. "You know that? I'm never letting you go. You're mine. Always gonna be mine."
"Yours," you agree breathlessly, and something in his expression goes even more intense.
"That's right." His thrusts are harder now, more purposeful. "Gonna take care of you. Gonna make you feel so good. Gonna love you for the rest of my life."
His hand moves to your stomach, pressing down, and suddenly his eyes go wide. He can feel himself inside you, the bulge of his cock with each thrust, and something feral takes over his expression.
"Holy shit," he breathes, completely mesmerized. His hand traces the outline, feeling himself move in and out of you, and he starts fucking you even harder, unable to look away. "Look at that. Look at you taking me so deep."
You're already building toward another orgasm, the intensity of this angle and his words and the way he's looking at you like you're the most incredible thing he's ever seen—it's all too much.
He's transfixed, watching his cock disappear inside you again and again, feeling the movement under his palm. His breathing is ragged, his movements becoming more frantic.
"Can you feel that, baby?" he asks breathlessly, his voice completely wrecked. "Fuck—I'm so fucking deep—you feel that?"
You look up at him with half-shut glazed eyes, your mouth parted open, completely fucked out. "Yes—fuck—yes, Satoru, I feel it—"
He groans at the sight of you—at how thoroughly wrecked you look, at the way you're falling apart beneath him. "You're so hot. So fucking hot. The way you look right now—fuck—I'm obsessed with you."
He's fucking you harder now, more urgently, his hand still on your stomach feeling himself move inside you with each thrust. The visual seems to drive him wild, and his movements become almost desperate.
"Come for me again," he demands, his other hand finding your oversensitive clit. "I know you can. I know you've got one more in you. Come on, baby. Give it to me."
"Satoru—I can't—it's too much—"
"You can." His thumb presses harder, circling your clit. "You can, baby. I need you to.”
The pleasure is building impossibly fast, almost painful in its intensity. You're so sensitive from your first two orgasms that every thrust, every touch feels magnified.
"That's it," he encourages, watching your face. "I can see it. You're right there. Just let go, baby.”
His voice is breaking, his control completely shattered, and then something raw escapes from him.
"I want you—" His hips snap forward harder. "Fuck—want all of you.”
His composure finally snaps.
"They've been on my ass my whole life about the bloodline. About heirs. About duty." Another hard thrust, his voice is cracking. "And I never—fuck—never wanted it."
He's breathing hard, almost gasping between words.
"Not until you."
His forehead drops closer to yours, his movements becoming more frantic.
"Only you. Want to marry you—want to wake up to you every day—want to call you my wife and—ah—know you're mine—"
Your orgasm crashes through you even harder, triggered by his words, by the desperation in his voice, by the sight of him completely undone above you. You're clenching around him so tight he gasps, your whole body shaking with the intensity.
"Fuck, yes—" He's just… staring at you, still moving, still feeling himself inside you. "So beautiful—The way your face—the way you sound—fuck—"
The sight of you completely wrecked under him, the feeling of you clenching around him, the way you gasp his name—it pushes him over the edge.
"Ah—fuck—fuck—fuuckk—" He buries himself as deep as he can go and comes hard, spilling into you in hot pulses. His whole body shudders with the intensity of it, and you can feel him throbbing inside you, can feel the warmth spreading.
He collapses on top of you, careful not to crush you but clearly boneless. For a while, you just breathe together, sweaty and satisfied.
"Holy shit," you mumble.
"Yeah." He's pressing kisses all over your face—your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, your lips. He can’t seem to stop touching you, his hands running over your skin like he needs the contact. "You're amazing. Incredible. Best girlfriend in the entire world."
"Best girlfriend, or best pussy?" you tease, and he pulls back to look at you with mock offense.
"Both. Definitely both." He's grinning now, that soft, genuine smile that he only gives you. "But mostly you. I love you. Like, so much. An embarrassing amount."
"I love you too, you needy disaster."
"Your needy disaster," he corrects, and he's still touching you, hands running over your skin like he can't bear to stop. "Mine now. No takebacks."
"Wouldn't dream of it," you say softly, and you mean it.
He pulls you closer, tucking you against his chest, and you can hear his heartbeat starting to slow. The exhaustion from earlier is creeping back in, but it's different now—satisfied, content, the good kind of tired.
"We should probably shower," you murmur, but you're already half-asleep.
"Later," he mumbles into your hair. "Right now I just wanna hold you."
"Clingy."
"Yep." He doesn't even sound ashamed. "You're stuck with me. Forever. Hope you're ready for that."
"I think I can manage," you say, smiling against his chest.
And as you drift off in his arms, you think that yeah… you can definitely manage. This ridiculous, needy, perfect man is yours, and you wouldn't have it any other way.
♯ can’t stop thinking about bestfriend!megumi recording you riding a dildo because the two of you want to earn some extra cash, and he insisted this would be the quickest way to save up for that brand new pc you'd both been eyeing. you trust him, and besides, who are you to refuse your horny best friend? (twt link at the end!)
the lighting in megumi’s bedroom was dim, save for the harsh glow of his phone screen and a couple of desk lamps that cast long, flickering shadows across the floor. you were stripped bare, save for a pair of black nylon thigh highs that hugged your legs, digging slightly into your skin. you felt exposed, the cool air of the room hitting your damp skin as you straddled the thick, silicone dildo propped up on the carpet.
you were on your knees, leaning forward with your palms pressed flat against the floor for support. your back arched, creating a tempting curve that highlighted the contrast of the thigh highs against your skin and your cunt began to stretch wide as you slowly lowered your weight onto it.
megumi, on the other hand, sat just a few feet away, leaning back on his elbows, holding his phone steady to capture every angle of your vulnerability. he looked completely unfazed, though his dark eyes were tracking every twitch of your muscles. his dark, spikey hair fell over his eyes, partially obscuring his gaze and leaving half of his face veiled in shadow. it gave him an air of detached mystery, though the way he held his phone, steady and focused, showed he was paying very close attention to every detail.
"you’re hesitating," megumi remarked, his voice cool and flat. he shifted his position, the phone camera zooming in on the point where the dildo disappeared into your soaking wet folds. "you know, if we're doing this for the money, you can't look like you're scared of it. you have to look like you’re enjoying it.”
"i’m not— i'm just.." you whimpered, your voice trailing off as you began to lift and drop your hips. the friction was intense, the girth of the toy hitting that soft spot with every downward thrust.
"just what? flustered?" he let out a small, petty huff of a laugh. "it’s just a piece of plastic, but you're reacting like it's the real thing. if you can't even handle this, how the fuck are you going to take my dick?"
your face flushed a deep crimson, the heat radiating from your cheeks down to your chest. you let out a flustered whine, shifting your hips to settle deeper onto the toy. "shut up, gumi! don't say stuff like that," you whimpered, though you didn't stop moving.
"why not? it's just a question," he muttered, adjusting the camera to get a closer shot of where the dildo disappeared into your soaking wet folds. "put some effort into it. move your hips more."
"besides, im tryna give you motivation. now, lean forward more. arch your back. i wanna to see more of your ass while you ride it."
you groaned, feeling a mix of embarrassment and arousal. you began to bounce, the rhythmic slapslapslap of your thighs hitting the base of the toy filling the quiet room. you focused on the sensation, the way the dildo filled you completely, stretching you wide.
suddenly, you felt a large, warm hand wrap around your hip, pulling you firmly against him. you jumped, a small shriek escaping your lips as megumi reached out. he didn't stop recording with one hand, but with the other, he began to grope your ass, his fingers kneading your soft cheeks with a possessive grip.
"megumi!" you gasped, your rhythm faltering.
"stay focused," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave. smack! he delivered a sharp, stinging slap to your right ass cheek, the sound echoing in the room.
the sting sent a jolt of electricity straight to your clit. you let out a loud, uncontrolled moan, your hips picking up speed. you started riding the dildo frantically, your tits bouncing with every downward thrust.
"thaaat’s it," megumi whispered, his eyes narrowing a little as he watched your pussy grip the toy. he slapped your other cheek, harder this time, leaving a faint red mark. "look at you. so desperate for a little bit of attention. you look like a total slut for the camera."
"i— i'm not— mmmh! shit!" you were losing it, the combination of the stretching fullness and megumi’s touch pushing you over the edge.
as the orgasm hit, your internal muscles clamped down hard on the silicone. your body shuddered violently, and you let out a loud, broken cry, your voice echoing through the room.
"megumi— oh god, megumi!"
you collapsed onto your elbows, panting heavily, your pussy glistening and open, leaking clear fluids onto the floor. you stayed there for a moment, panting, your chest heaving as the aftershocks of the climax rolled through you. slowly, with a wet, suctioning sound, you slid off the dildo, your pussy glistening and open.
megumi didn't put the phone away, though. instead, he crawled forward, bringing the camera inches away from your dripping cunt, capturing the way your folds twitched and leaked.
"fuuuuck.. that's so hot," he breathed, his voice raspy. he looked up from the screen, the shadows of his hair still dancing across his eyes, but the intensity of his gaze was unmistakable. he didn't move to help you up, instead, he shifted his weight, the heavy bulge in his sweatpants brushing against your hip, reminding you exactly how hard he was.
"you look like a complete mess," he murmured, though his voice lacked any real judgment. it sounded more like a compliment. "absolutely drenched."
“yeah, well, i wonder why.. this better earn us quite the money, fushiguro.”
megumi let out a low, humming sound in his throat. "well, i don't think i can just sell this video. i might have to keep a copy for myself. now.. i think it's time i get what i want."
“you’re so greedy,” you giggled.
how he had you later that night.
i need a bf that cosplays so bad. ANYWAYS!! more bestfriend!megumi because WE #wantdat
𓂃✍︎ 18+ mdni · pussy so good, sukuna taps in (longer ver.)
Loving Yūji comes with a package deal you don't necessarily know how to deal with. Granted, you've known and loved him first before this entire ordeal even happened — it still is a matter of when and never an if, per se, when it comes to his special situation.
However, that doesn't truly stop either of you from being intimate around each other. Where Yūji excels with his control against what's residing in him, it seems that the majority of that said will, if not everything, is thrown out the door the second you beg to be fucked.
And fucked real good. Or badly. Whichever way one wishes to put it.
Maybe that's partly on you, or him, or even both of your asses to blame. But, really? Can you blame yourself when Yūji looks stupidly hot all the damn time? Stupidly, massively, hot and bothered?
Especially when he wears a simple white shirt where it accentuates how broad he is everywhere, when he looks like his brain stops functioning and he's looking at you with only the thought of fucking you bone-dry, and his dick decides to run on autopilot and take him to a blissful place right between your thighs.
Yes, can you really blame anyone with how immaculate he is before you?
"So tight, baby," Yūji says between clenched teeth.
A vein appears in the middle of his forehead, contemplating whether he should start moving and ram his cock all the way in or give you a chance to adjust to his girth first.
"Ah, Yūji," you whine, "just go in. Stop teasing."
"T-Teasing? I'm not teasing, sweetheart." He manages to choke an incredulous and breathy laugh at your whining. "You think this is easy for me, too?"
You playfully slap his muscled arm. "Shut up! You know what I mean!"
"Damn, even after all that," Yūji grits. "Even after all the sex we had every night, you're still tight."
With a shuddering exhale, Yūji grinds forward, pressing himself deeper into your petaled hole until you whine and drag your nails up and down his back and coax him closer.
"Oh, yes, baby. Shit —yes, yes, — yes," he incessantly babbles. "You're sucking me in completely. I could come right here — ooohhhh,"
His lips head for yours and capture you in a heartbeat. Your nails drag to the front, then you lift his shirt to feel his toned stomach. A languid moan erupts from your throat, and Yūji relishes swallowing your sounds.
His name echoes past your lips when he breaks contact; each drawl of the consonant is like a song of reverent praise that effectively shuts him up from keeping things slow.
"You're taking me so well." He whispers. "Such a good girl you are for me."
The smell of sex and sweat permeates around the room, despite the window being cracked open. When Yūji leans down and noses his way around the hickeys he's given you littered across your body, you catch the whiff of his musky scent, and it sends you into a ripple of arousal — because why is everything he is doing to you just so fucking hot?
Everything about Yūji is too much for you. It's borderline unfair.
"Baby," you whine again, locking your legs around his waist.
"I know, I know." Yūji moans at the feeling, even when he feels your teeth teasing the crook of his neck.
It's so intoxicating; it leaves his already fogged brain even more fogged that he has to fight through your horniness to keep a steady, level pace. Otherwise, you'd probably not be walking for days, probably even resort to crawling to get to point B. Hell, that doesn't sound bad at all.
"Oh, baby, please don't do that. You know I'm sensitive there." He lightly scolds you, pulling at your hair in warning.
"But you taste so good, though."
He supposes if he's going to fuck you the way he wants to, how long he intends to, and the way you let him, then he's not going to deny you what you want to do with him, too.
In fact, if he isn't so gung-ho with you and your immaculate pussy that's still sucking him in greedily as he continues to stretch you, and if he didn't let his dick dictate his decisions, he will most definitely relish the prospect of you dominating him.
Oh, Yūji will submit. Maybe you doubt he would, given how he always wishes to be inside of you and tell you to do this or that for him. But honest to God, if you tell him to be on his hands and knees for you, he will get that shit done pronto. Put a collar on him or something — he doesn't care. Everything screams sexy and a lot of sex for him. So, who is he to refuse that?
"Harder," you find yourself begging for him, "please. Yes — yes, right there!"
Yūji's arms that are propped against both of your sides buckle before he rebalances and takes most of his weight off of you. "Shh, Fushiguro might hear you. You don't want him to hear us, don't you?"
"Then he should cover his ears!" You rebuke teasingly. "He knows better. Isn't he the smartest? He should put his brain to work. Chop, chop, Megumi!"
"S-Stop! Don't make me laugh right now." Yūji bites his lips. "I'm really horny, and I don't want to be un-horny because I'm thinking about other stuff that isn't you."
"Sorry, I'm sorry," You apologize, but it turns into a chuckle because you didn't think you'd be thinking about it, too.
"Relax for me," Yūji attempts to bring the mood back, salvaging what's left from your silly antics. "That's it, baby. Ease into me again."
Yūji's hold around your thighs changes until your legs rest upon his shoulders, and he pounds against you like an animal in heat. From your new position, his cock sinks further. Skin slaps against skin. While your breathing becomes coarse and ragged, Yūji sounds the same except for minuscule groans of pleasure now and then.
Then, he folds you in half, situates himself a little higher, and pistons his cock back into you. You don't realize you are drooling until he licks the side of your face and kisses you.
"Open your mouth." He says, and when you do, he spits twice. "Swallow."
There's a trail of saliva connecting you two when he pulls back. His eyes are transfixed heavily upon the bulge that's appeared at the base of your stomach.
"Remind me to buy a mirror next time. I want you looking at yourself like this. It's so hot, I swear." Yūji drools. "You're so good, baby. So, so, good. Oh — fuck!"
Just when he spills inside of you, and you're about to come down with your first orgasm, another voice pierces through the solidity of the room and breaks your release easily as if he had done this countless times before.
"Enchain."
Suddenly the ceiling becomes the bed sheets as you are flipped onto your hands and knees. Your muffled confusion doesn't go unheard, but other pressing matters come first. Your hair has been forcibly fisted and yanked until your head is pulled back enough to see your lover covered in tattoos, and a vitriol laugh teases the shell of your ears.
"Yū —?"
"Brat's not here," Sukuna's voice rumbles deeply against your skin.
This is the first time he's ever graced you with his presence. You have heard stories of how Sukuna would frequently pop on Yūji's cheek or his hands whenever he's got something atrocious to say (especially towards your sensei and Megumi), but not once has he ever manifested and broken through Yūji like this before — and right in the middle of fucking, too.
"Heh," he yanks you closer, forcing you to look at his hungry eyes. They look at you as if you owe him pleasure after refusing him for so long. "My vessel lost control. I want to know why."
Before you could have swung a cursed tool at him, to trap him within your cursed energy, enough to stall and ask Megumi for help or anybody else should he decline, Sukuna slams your head against the pillow and fucks you senseless.
Is it to your imagination, or did Yūji's cock grow bigger? For some reason, when Sukuna thrusts into your hole, it's fuller. He is far more brutal and ornery with his movements, too.
"Take it all like you are meant to do."
This is wrong. This is terribly, insanely wrong. Here you are in the mercy of the sadistic curse, cackling like the bastard that he is that he found something to entice himself with, and yet . . . it's wrong to feel how good you're being fucked.
Sukuna nudges your legs with his knees to spread wider for him. His hands busy themselves by mockingly kneading your ass before slapping each cheek hard.
You yelp and bite the corner of the pillow hard. Unfortunately for you, Sukuna notices. He pulls you by the hair again, and tosses everything that would muffle your voice aside. There is a buzz of mischief you can feel swirling around his energy, but you can't decipher it all too well as he shoves you down to the mattress.
"Y-Yūji —"
"My name, brat —"
"—Y-Yūji, Y-Yū—"
"— I said my name." He slaps your sloppily wet clit.
Your back arches unknowingly to the sensation, and before you think twice about it, your body yields and your mouth muddles the name, "S-Sukuna!"
"Good, little one." He mutters sadistically, inhaling the scent of pheromones pumping out from you.
His hands are everywhere that he can touch you, and even when he couldn't reach parts of your body, Sukuna merely bends you to his will and lets himself have you any way he pleases. Since the brat's been constantly denying him of you, it's only right that Sukuna gets to have fun with you now.
He fondles your breasts. He pinches your clit. Your thighs are scraped in a thin line of blood that brings him more arousal. Your asshole is gaping at each tense movement he makes out of you. His canines sink to the thin skin of your neck so deeply, he can taste your blood, fueling him into a messy plethora of moans and pleasure like he's drunk on his own aphrodisiac.
"Again." He orders.
"W-What?"
"My name. Only."
"Su-ku-na,"
"Louder. I won't tolerate what you refuse to give me. Say my name again, little one."
"Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna! Sukuna! Sukuna!"
"That's it. Keep calling my name as you come."
Your orgasm comes to you like a torrent — harsh and unforgiving. Still, Sukuna doesn't stop fucking you even as you try your best to squirm away.
When you barely manage to make him pull out of you, and you start crawling, he easily drags you back.
"Where do you think you're going, hm?" He lifts your ass and flicks your clit hard as punishment. "You do not run away from me, unless you want me to kill you."
"But, I need —"
"No."
"Sukuna, please!" You push his body away from you once more, desperately trying to get out of his strong grip. But damn, because of his strength and that it's also Yūji's body, and you know how sturdy he is, Sukuna doesn't budge. Not even a little. "Please, give me a moment."
"And what did I say?" He raises his brow questioningly.
He's fascinated by the way you react to him. When he lazily drawls his fingers around your inner thighs, you shake. When he lets his tongue graze the cup of your ass, you whine. And when he sniffs your cunt, and it smells promiscuously sour and preposterously sweaty, you sound like you're about to come again.
"N-Not there, not yet,"
"What did I say?" He challenges.
"I —" you sound close to weeping.
He pulls your hair. "What. Did. I. Say?"
"No!" You wail, moving restlessly. "You said, no!"
"You're close. I can tell."
And you are — were. You let yourself go with your orgasm. From your blurred vision, you can see the outline of Sukuna smirking at your writhing figure and how entranced he is by your submission. He taps your hips as if you have served him well, before you feel his hold around your body slackening.
There's an abrupt change between you and Sukuna. Once you've regained a better part of your vision and allow yourself to breathe better, you realize that it's because you've been flipped on your back and your legs are locked around his waist again.
"S-Sukuna?"
"No," Yūji breathlessly says. He leans his face closer until his lips brush yours. "I-It's me, baby. It's me. I'm sorry. I-I lost control. Are you hurt?"
You shake your head with a smile. "N-No, I'm fine. I'm more than fine."
"Yeah?" Yūji perks up. You feel his cock hardening by your entrance.
"Yeah, baby." You laugh dumbly. "That was . . . quite exhilarating."
Yūji presses his forehead against yours. The heat is visible in his eyes, but it is nowhere near as intense as the other pair you were forced to look at before.
"That was hot," Yūji admits. "Watching you . . . like that."
"It was," you breathe out.
There, beneath Yūji's hollowed eyes, your gaze lingers towards the triumphant gleam squinting at you in reds and blacks. It tells you exactly what is going through Sukuna's mind: that he's nowhere near finished with you yet.
You swallow dryly.
"Are you tired?" Yūji brushes your hair tenderly.
You shake your head. "I'll be fine."
"Let me fuck you next, then."
Yūji grabs your hips and plunges into you. He folds you in half, telling you to wrap your legs around his neck, and then proceeds to pound you as he promised.
"Come for me this time." He begs you. He places his hands flat on your stomach, feeling the bulge he caused. "For me. Come for me."
"Yūji — fuckfuckfuck — Yūji!" Something uncontrollable breaks out from you, and you realize a second sooner that you've squirted all over him. Your juices drip from his bare chest and down to his untrimmed bush. "I'm sorry, I —"
"Enchain."
"What the fuck, Sukuna!"
"Oh my God, Yūji, come back! Give Yūji back for the love of God!"
"Do that again. Squirt for me, little one." Sukuna growls.
"That was an accident. I — I — I didn't mean for that to happen." You admit, trying to regain proper breathing because, goddamn it, you won't be able to with this one in the front. "Just give me Yūji back!"
"Let me bring it out of you then."
It's obvious to you now that both of them have their preferences in terms of fucking you. While Yūji prefers that both of you are staring at one another and lose each other together in the art of fuckery, Sukuna does anything but.
He switches the position wherein he's lying down, and he angles you to his face. You grip the headboard for support before you realize Sukuna's hold on you is gentle yet strong. You aren't swaying, even when you feel him blow a warm bubble of air directly to your dripping mound.
Then, his hold tightens, and he buckles you down to his mouth and eats you out.
"Ah, Sukuna!" You squawk. You hear the wet squelches you make from his tongue.
"You're learning." He commends. The deep gravel of his voice vibrates past your pubic hairs and sends you a jolt of pleasure that goes straight to your spine.
And just as when you are once again teetering on the edge of another orgasm, he unexpectedly stops with a loud popping sound and watches your reaction.
You move, yet he keeps you at bay.
Of course, King of Curses be damned, when you're this high in being so aroused and utterly fucked by not one but two of them, the consequences of your actions are the least of your concerns. And not even someone who's feared by all is going to stop you.
You swat his hands that are holding you away and rock yourself against his mouth. Your hair hits his nose and grazes the top of his lips — but you hardly care. If Yūji doesn't care that you're growing your own little forest down there, surely Sukuna wouldn't either. And if he does, then that isn't your problem.
You're in a fit of moans, as you ride your pleasure away. With your palms braced against his pecs, you can feel the steady beat of his heart. It appears that Sukuna is granting you power to do as you please, as both of you know he can so easily pluck it from you like a candy from a child.
"Open yourself wider for me." He speaks quietly.
Your fingers spread your labia open. He sniffs you loudly, then he seizes your pearl between his teeth, rolls it around torturously, and licks you hard. Instinctively, you buck your hips down on him.
Sukuna pulls a few strands of your pubic hair; it's painful, but it does the trick when you finally squirt all over his face.
"Fuck! Please, I'm coming, Sukuna! SukunaSukuna!"
He slaps your ass in delight. "Good, little one."
Sukuna's control weakens again, and you realize Yūji's coming back. You laugh deliriously, because any person would be wondering what on earth is happening. Never have you thought that both of them would —
"Aw, baby," Yūji coos. "You taste so good."
"Yūji," you call out tiredly.
"Are you tired? We can stop, baby. It's okay."
"No, I want you to fuck me. Please, baby? I want you."
"I've been trying to all night, but someone just keeps —"
"Lift her, brat."
Your eyes widen when you see Sukuna smirking at you from Yūji's left cheek.
"Shut up!" Yūji slaps himself.
"She will love it. Lift her. Or I will."
Yūji growls, but obeys nonetheless. He hasn't had his own share of fill with you yet, thanks to some bastard.
He hefts you up with your back pressed securely against his chest, his arms cage you so that even if you move, squirm, or wiggle your ass against his throbbing, veiny cock, Yūji promises you within his hold that you will not be dropped.
"Fold her and raise her legs."
"Baby, I just want to ask if that's all right." He grinds himself to your ass.
"Yes! Fuck yes, Yūji! Just do it! Hurry up and fuck me already before he comes again!"
Yūji groans. He lifts both of your legs until his head is placed between them, and then his dick slides back into your entrance.
You become a sobbing mess for him.
"Did I ever tell you how glad I am that you're so flexible?" Yūji kisses your collarbone. "You're so hot, being folded like this."
In and out. In and out does the motion go. Regardless of whether you're exhausted or not, Yūji's stamina is unbecoming.
Your eyes roll back, your tongue lolls out, and all you can respond to Yūji or Sukuna or even both at this point — you don't care anymore who is fucking you — are all the jumbled slurs of their names, of you begging, of you wanting more, and more, and so much more.
"Enchain."
"Sukuna —"
"Submit to me, little one. Submit."
"I submit. I submit! I submit!"
"Heh, let that shadow brat hear you against the walls. I bet he's enjoying hearing you right now, too. My vessel is pretty turned on by what's happening. He’s not even complaining about the switch."
"Ah! Mpmh! Ah!"
"What is the matter? Where are your words?"
"Mmmh,"
"Oh? Are you enticed by the mere idea that somebody else, who is neither me nor your brat, is hearing you being fucked too good?"
"Nng — mphm — I —"
Sukuna pinches your cheeks and angles you enough to look at him.
"Speak."
"Y-Yes! I love this!"
"Well done. Rub yourself. The brat won't stop talking my fucking ear out, so do it for him. But I intend to make you come before he takes control again."
You nod numbly.
"Do not stop until you have come, you have squirted, or you have fainted. I care little what comes first or if all comes together.”
Sukuna licks the spot where he's marked you. "If you had been born in the era that I was, I would've taken you as my —"
"I-I'm coming!" You pull hard at his pink hair for support.
"Then come, little one. Come as much as you want."
For the last time tonight, Sukuna's control wanes. However, before he returns to his realm, you swear you feel the ghost of his lips caressing the side of your face like a lover he didn't mean to find.
"I got you," Yūji whispers comfortingly, "I got you. Just keep coming, baby. That's it. You're my good girl. You did so well. You're so perfect."
Yūji, with his dick still inside of you, slowly lowers you to the bed, tucks a stray strand of loose hair behind your ear, and nuzzles you comfortingly. "How are you feeling?"
"Baby," you try to speak, "too full."
After several pumps and his own release, Yūji pulls himself out from you. "I'm glad."
Cringing, you ask. "Sorry, was it . . . too weird for you?"
Scratching the back of his neck sheepishly, he admits, "I was surprised that it wasn't . . ."
"C-Can we do it again another time?"
"Baby, I thought you'd never ask." Yūji teases. "Although, maybe we need to set ground rules. Wouldn't want to complicate things, y'know."
With what's left of your energy, you manage to kiss the tip of his nose before nuzzling yourself into his warm embrace.
"We need to do laundry tomorrow. It smells."
"This is all from you, I hope you know." He pauses. "Wait, I like it. Can't I keep it for one more day?"
"Ew. No."
"Didn't hurt to ask . . ."
"Okay," you tap his arm to let you go, "gotta pee before I get an infection."
"Hmm,"
The calm silence between you two — or three — doesn't last long when someone bangs against the door angrily, and you hear Megumi's voice calling out to you and Yūji.
And Sukuna. You might as well drag him with you, too.
Megumi also must've summoned his dog because you hear a couple of growls and something scratching the bottom of the door.
"Whatever orgy you all are doing in there, take it elsewhere next time!"
for the premise of this fic, "enchain" is not going to be a one-time used deal between sukuna and yūji — i need it to be used multiple times just for the plot 😗
hello! i'm so sorry to do this while the entire world is burning and everyone is struggling, but i have to rehome my mother and little sister (both disabled) before the end of the month while my own bank account is overdrawn.
so! i am opening up commissions. i know i am a small account but if you would like to request a fic or moodboard, i have the menu included below. any donations/requests can be made through my ko-fi; just include what characters & themes you'd like to see in the comment and i will get it to it as soon as possible! tentative turnaround by end of august. i tried to keep prices low and fair, but if anyone would like them lowered further just reach out.
check out my masterlist for examples of my work
if i don't respond right away, don't worry! i am just offline working on the move, but i will get to your request as soon as i can.
looking for my normal pinned post? click here
(also nobody apologize for not being able to donate, i know it's rough out here. i'm not doing this to force anyone to empty their pockets for me okay love you bye)
27. jjk men | Hair Pulling – Animal Play – Gangbang
summary: you're the university soccer team's good luck charm
contents: 18+, MDNI, various!jjk characters x reader, smut, explicit sexual content, gangbang, brief hair pulling, brief mention of animal play (suguru calls you bunny), multiple orgasms, double penetration
word count: 1.1k
part 27/31
prev chapter | next chapter
masterlist | link to ao3
notes: hi everyone, hope you enjoy!
It’s official: the boys are going to the playoffs.
And you, as their good luck charm, get a reward.
"Such a good girl for us," Suguru murmurs as he starts kissing down your neck. His lips are gentle, and he's treating you like you're precious, because to them, you are.
“Who’s our pretty little good luck charm?” Satoru croons into your ear as he palms your tits from behind. He's got you between his thighs, watching as Sukuna drags your shorts down and dives into your pussy, licking long, slow stripes up your outer lips. Your hips jolt, but Satoru just holds you tighter, chuckling in your ear.
"Be a good girl," Toji says, nudging his cock past your lips. You open wide, and as you do, your hands stroke Kento's and Choso's dicks.
Then, once Toji is moaning and stroking his own cock, you turn your head and suck on Choso's, then Kento's in turn.
Meanwhile, Sukuna is still licking your cunt, swirling his tongue around your pussy. Satoru plays with your nipples, pinching and rolling them between his fingers, while Suguru nips at your throat, leaving marks on your skin.
You moan, and the vibrations make Kento — whose cock is now in your mouth — hiss through his teeth in pleasure. He grabs your hair and tugs you off so he doesn't cum right there.
Choso replaces him in your mouth, his head falling back at the wet heat. And as you cum on Sukuna's tongue, Choso puts his dick further down your throat, fucking your open mouth as you moan.
Sukuna pulls away, licking his lips. His eyes are dark. "Who gets to fuck her first?" he asks.
Satoru grins. "Me, 'cause I made the winning goal."
Everyone begrudgingly agrees, and Satoru takes his cock in hand and slowly pushes inside you, letting you ride him facing the rest of the room.
He groans, throwing his head back. "Fucking perfect pussy," he gasps, gripping your ass.
Suguru leans down to kiss you, his tongue swirling with yours. Then he pulls away and instead puts his cock at your lips, waiting for you to suck.
You do, obediently, will Satoru fucks up into you. Meanwhile, your hands are stroking Sukuna's and Toji's cocks, while Choso kneels down and starts sucking your nipples.
Kento steps forward, still jerking his cock from base to tip. He groans softly. "Can I cum on your face?" he asks, and when you nod, he takes it as gospel as he starts stroking himself faster, harder, right at the blushing tip— Then he cums, spurting hot seed all over your cheeks, your lips, your closed eyelids.
He groans, deep in his chest. "So good," he murmurs, and he leans down to kiss you, his tongue tasting his own release on your mouth.
You moan into his mouth as Satoru fucks up into you. Satoru smirks, reaching around to play with your clit. "You're such a good girl," he coos.
Suguru grunts. "Hurry up and cum, Satoru. The rest of us want a turn."
Satoru laughs arrogantly, thrusting up into your drooling cunt. "Not my fault I have the best stamina on the team," he says.
The rest of them roll their eyes, and Satoru just laughs again before he's thrusting up into you again. He groans. "Fuck, you feel good," he pants. "So fucking tight. Like you're made to take cock." His thrusts grow uncoordinated, arrhythmic. And then, with another messy push, he's cumming inside you, twitching and pulsing over and over into your tight little pussy.
Then he's graciously passing you to Suguru, whose hands are soft and gentle on your hips. He slowly sinks into you, and you let out a pathetic moan as you drop onto his cock. You plant your feet on the floor and start bouncing on his dick until he's moaning loudly, fingers digging into your waist.
"Suguru," you moan, head thrown back, "gonna cum."
"Yeah?" he pants, guiding your movements on his cock. "Already so sensitive, huh? Can't even wait till I'm ready?" He grabs a handful of your ass and squeezes, dragging you to grind back and forth on his dick. "Like a lil bunny, hopping on this fucking dick." Then, as you clench around him, he groans and throws his head back. "Fuck, baby, you're gonna make me cum way too early."
You whimper and continue bouncing on it. "It's okay," you whine, "just wanna cum together."
And then he's lost. As soon as he hits your g-spot one more time, you're cumming on top of him, grinding down onto him as your pussy flutters and clenches. He cums deep inside you, pumping you full until you're overflowing with the mix of his and Satoru's cum.
Then he's passing you off, over to Choso who is so gentle with you it almost aches.
He rolls you over so you're beneath him, on your tummy while he strokes into you from behind. His hands roam your body, touching every inch, pincing your nipples before he reaches down to rub your clit.
You let out an overstimulated cry. "Too much," you whimper, but he doesn't stop. He just talks you through it, encouraging you, letting you know that you can take it.
"Good girl," he rumbles, fucking you slow and deep as he draws tight, sinful little circles on your clit. "Such a good girl, taking all of us."
You whine, the sound high-pitched and pathetic, as you buck your hips underneath him. Your thighs start to tighten, and Choso groans in your ear as you clamp down around him. "Fuck, pretty girl," he gasps, fucking you through it. "Not gonna last."
And so when you cum, so much faster than the previous times, he cums with you. Filling you up.
When he passes you over, Toji and Sukuna both take hold of you.
"You nasty bastard," Sukuna huffs, grinning over at Toji.
Toji just chuckles, his voice raspy and delicious. "What can I say, I like it dirty." And as Sukuna lies down beneath you, letting you sprawl across his chest while he lines himself up with your cunt, Toji spits in his hand and starts slowly pushing his thumb into your asshole.
Your body instantly tightens up under his touch, and he shushes you quietly, rubbing the small of your back. "It's okay," he says, "just relax."
And while Sukuna fucks up into your drooling cunt — overfilled with other men's cum — Toji starts spreading open your hole for his own use. Then, once you're properly stretched, he takes his cock in hand and starts slowly pushing into you.
You're a moaning mess, nearly incoherent as they fuck you open. You feel so full, stuffed to the brim with cum and cock. And all the while, the others — those who have already cum on or in you — just stay to watch their perfect little good luck charm get fucked full.
And when Sukuna and Toji both cum, they start the cycle over, spreading you open to get another taste.
01. sukuna | masturbation - orgasm control - (pseudo) incest
summary: your new stepbrother sukuna finds you in a precarious situation
contents: 18+, MDNI, various!jjk characters x reader, smut, explicit sexual content, stepbro!sukuna, stepcest, mutual masturbation, orgasm control, sukuna being a creep, degradation, rough sex, creampie
word count: 2.0k
part 1/31
next chapter
masterlist | link to ao3
notes: hi everyone, hope you enjoy!
Having new men in the house has taken some getting used to.
It used to just be you and your mom, on your own but living your best lives. Now that she’s gotten serious with her new fiance, though, he’s officially moved in, bringing his college-aged son to come live with you all over the summer.
You’re taking summer classes at the local community college, trying to graduate with your bachelor’s early. Thankfully, this means you don’t have to spend much time with your new “family members.”
Which is a blessing, because you think you’ve got a little crush on your new step-brother.
You know it’s wrong; you know. Your mother is marrying his dad, and here you are catching feelings for her step-son. But you can’t help it; he’s charming in that bad boy kind of way, the way that makes your heart seize up like there’s danger around the corner. He’s tatted up all over, and his smile is all canines, and his red eyes stare into yours like he can see the filthy thoughts you have of him.
It’s only when you touch yourself in the silence of your bedroom that you get any relief.
You’ve got your pretty, pink, silicone dildo stuffed inside your pussy, one hand gripping the base as you pump it slowly in and out to avoid making too much noise. You would rather die than be caught with this fake dick stuffed inside you as the fingers of the other hand draw tight little circles on your clit. Your breathing is starting to hitch, and every time the soft tip of the dildo hits your g-spot you hear yourself get even wetter. You feel yourself clench around the silicone shaft, arousal starting to pool at the base as you go a little harder, hoping no one can hear–
Then your door swings open, and you squeak as you pull the blankets up over your body, eyes going wide.
Sukuna stands there in your doorway, a predatory grin on his face. His crimson eyes rake over your form under the sheets, and he leans his shoulder against the doorframe before his eyes finally find yours.
“Enjoying yourself?” he asks, his voice deep and alluring.
“Oh my god, get out!” you squeal.
He chuckles, and instead of doing what you shout at him to do, he stands up straight and comes into your bedroom.
He kicks the door shut, and turns to lock it. You gulp.
He walks over like a tiger stalking its prey, his eyes heavy-lidded. Slowly, he reaches down until his palm presses over your belly through the blankets. Then his hand slides up, up your tummy, up your sternum between your breasts, and grips the edge of the blanket.
Without further warning, he rips the blankets away, throwing them towards the foot of the bed. Revealing your bare legs, which are clenched together in embarrassment, and the pink dildo now discarded to the side of your hips. It’s still coated in your arousal, dripping onto the mattress below, and his eyes take in the sight with ravenous eyes.
Then he looks back up at you and smirks. “So, you were really enjoying yourself, huh? You get this wet just by yourself?” And with that he places his hands on your knees and pries apart your thighs, exposing your swollen, dripping pussy to the cool air of your room. You gasp at the cold sensation on the heat of your core, and his smirk widens as he slides one tattooed hand down the inside of your thigh. “Can I feel how wet you are?”
You stammer, “W-we shouldn’t–”
He hums, hand no longer sliding towards the apex of your thighs. Instead, he massages small circles into your leg, slow and soothing. “Why’s that, pretty?”
Pretty. Your heart squeezes at the compliment. You shake your head to try and clear your head. “Our parents–!” you stress, trying to close your legs.
He tsks playfully and swats your thigh, a quick smack! to keep you from moving. You whimper and freeze under his hand. “They don’t have to know,” he says, like it’s obvious.
“But, it’s wrong…” you explain, glancing away.
He leans in closer, so his face is above yours, his scarlet eyes pinning you in place with a serious stare. “It’s wrong to want you?” he asks, his voice a low rumble. “It’s wrong to want my hands on you, to fuck you like somebody should? Is that wrong, pretty girl? Then tell me, who were you thinking about when you were touching yourself? Whose name was on your mind while you were fucking yourself with that stupid dildo, instead of the dick you really want?”
You flush deeply at his words, because he’s right. You were thinking about him, chanting his name in your mind while you rubbed your clit and fucked yourself stupid. Now you’re left with nothing to say in your defense, staring up at him like prey stares at its hunter.
There’s a sharp, dangerous gleam in his eyes as he looks back at you. “Besides,” he continues, his voice hushed as his hand slowly continues its earlier traversal down your thigh and towards your core. “Our parents aren’t married yet, so it’s fine. I can touch you as much as I want. As much as you want.”
You squirm, but instead of putting his hand where you want it, giving you what you were silently begging for, he moves his hand to the side. You whine wordlessly, hips shifting on the bed, and he shushes you before wrapping his fingers around the base of your dildo. “But first,” he says, placing the silicone shaft into your hand, “I want to see you fuck yourself for me. Show me exactly how you like it.”
You whimper. “No, Sukuna–” but his steely gaze leaves little room for argument. So you slowly spread your thighs and reach down, placing the tip of the toy right to your entrance. Your eyes flicker up to meet his, making sure he really wants this, really wants to see you, really wants you to pleasure yourself while he’s standing right there.
He nods, licking his teeth. You shiver under his gaze. Your hand shifts, tilting at the wrist, and with one slow, steady slide, you push the dildo inside your drooling cunt.
Your body arches off the bed, pleasure crackling up your spine like electricity. You were already close when he walked into your bedroom, your clit throbbing and your pussy clenching. Now that he’s watching you, encouraging you to pump your dildo in and out, squeezing your thigh and whispering filthy encouragement (that’s it, pretty, just like that, take that toy like a good girl), your walls are already fluttering. You reach your other hand down to rub your clit, small lines up and down in that perfect spot that’ll send you right over the edge.
His hand on yours stops you.
You look up at him, betrayal written in the depths of your gaze, a small whimper escaping from between your lips. He grins and shakes his head. “No cumming,” he tells you, voice firm. “Not until I tell you to.”
You whine again, thighs shaking because you’re so desperate to just cum. But you follow his instructions, slowing down the pace of your hands as you continue fucking yourself towards the edge.
You watch him slowly lower his sweatpants and pull out his cock.
It’s huge; bigger even than your dildo, with pretty veins trailing up and down the length. The head is blushed pink, and he gives the base a gentle squeeze before slowly starting to jerk himself off to the sight of you masturbating.
The sight of him touching himself nearly sends you over the edge. It’s a good thing he grabs your hand to stop you once more.
“Not yet,” he purrs, his voice so terribly nasty as he starts up a faster pace, fucking his own fist with his eyes glued to your filled pussy. His breathing is starting to pick up, hips starting to stutter. “Still not yet…”
Your mouth falls open in a wide “O,” eyes rolling back– you can’t take much more of this, oh god, you need to cum. Your thighs tremble, body threatening to shatter apart as you work yourself higher and higher–
“Now,” he grunts, and he spills his cum all over your thighs. At his command, you orgasm in tandem with him, your cunt clenching around your toy as you rub your clit with shaky fingers. You let out a soft little sob, so quiet only he can hear, right there in your bedroom.
He groans at the sound, watching your pussy flutter around the dildo. Then, once he has stopped spurting cum and you’ve come down from your high, both of you catching your breath, he licks his lips and lets out a soft, derisive laugh.
“Fucking filthy thing,” he purrs, coming closer, shoving his sweats down to his ankles and kicking them off. “Cumming like that while I’m watching. You want me to fuck you, huh? Want your step-bro to help you out?”
You whine, nodding desperately. Hands already reaching for him, begging him to come closer. You’re still twitching from your orgasm, your tummy fluttering as he puts a hand on your thigh and pushes it to the side. He still has one hand on his cock, stroking to get himself fully hard again. Then he climbs up into bed, right between your opened thighs.
He tilts his hips forward, dragging the tip of his cock across your slick folds as he gathers up your arousal as lubricant. He’s thick and heavy against your entrance, already stretching you open as he starts to push forward. He’s not gentle or loving, but he is slow, giving you time to adjust as he breaches your quivering, aching cunt.
You moan as he bottoms out, balls deep inside you, pelvis flush against yours. He grits his teeth at the intensity of the sensation, his forehead coming down to rest against yours for a moment as he breathes through it. Then he grabs behind your knees and hauls up your legs until they’re thrown over his shoulder. His pelvis is pressed against your ass, and he pulls back until just the tip of his dick is still inside. Then he slams forward, and you unwittingly let out a cry at how brutal his thrust is.
He slaps a hand over your mouth, and both of you go still, freezing in fear that your parents will come to see what the noise was about.
You give it a minute or two, and when no one comes to knock on your door, both of you slowly relax. He removes his hand from your mouth and whispers, “Can you be quiet?”
You nod desperately; you need him to move. You’re dying just warming him like this, just keeping him inside while he stares down at you, brow furrowed in anxiety at the prospect of being caught.
He takes your nod as enthusiastic affirmation, and when he thrusts into you again, it’s no less violent than it was last time. This time, it’s your own hand that flies up to cover your mouth as your back bows off the bed, arching into his chest. He pulls back before slamming his hips against yours again, and again, and again, until you’re sobbing against your hand, gazing up at him with a broken, teary gaze.
He grins down at you, panting, as he fucks you into oblivion. “Fuck, I could watch you like this all day. You wanna cum again?”
You nod, teeth sinking into your palm as you stifle your moans. Your thighs are quivering against his chest, but he just holds you tighter and forces you to take it. “Come on, then,” he demands, chest heaving as he tilts his head back in pleasure. “Cum for me. Cum on this cock, filthy thing.”
With another smothered cry, you do, whimpering his name as he fucks you through it. And your orgasm forces another one from him, too, milking him dry as your fluttering walls squeeze him tighter and tighter.
He cums inside you, filling you up, and when he finally kisses you for the first time, he whispers a promise to you that it won’t be the last.
a note from angel: im sorry i need to stop making new series this is an addiction of mine that i can't stop, pls sukuna leave me alone, i feel like im making a multiverse of sukunas.
synopsis: trying a new coffee shop didn't end up going your way when a mean barista takes your order. the problem? he's rude as fuck but he's the best at making your drinks. when you end up giving him a taste of his own medicine, you end up in a deal where this grumpy barista finds himself in the habit of making your morning coffee. everyday. for the next seven days.
tags: enemies to lovers, modern au, barista!sukuna, fluff, crack
word count: 3.7k words
Coffee is part of your daily routine.
If you don't start your day with coffee then it can be ensured that the day will be a terrible day.
You're not strict about your coffee, you don't simply stick to one type of drink. You're the type to explore and try new things. From lattes, to espressos, to cappuccinos, matcha, chai tea, hojicha and a lot more. The convenience of living in a big city is that there will always be a bunch of cafes and coffee shops to try with new businesses opening all over the blocks.
You've made it your own personal mission to try as many new shops in the city, not limiting yourself to one place. You want to support as much of the local businesses as possible, staying away from the big corporate brands. You have enough dealing with business and corporate issues in your work life so the least you can do is support your local community in your personal free time.
On your scout to work you happen to come across a new coffee shop. It's slightly hidden on the block but the brand name and minimalist colours catch your eye.
'Fuga.'
You're interested immediately. Coming to a stop outside, the meaning of the shop name is printed in white on the window. 'Fuga — One of the Japanese meanings of this is 'a way of elegance or grace'. We hope to include fuga with every order that we take; there's no rush, just sit back and enjoy.'
The opening and closing times are also unusual. They're open in time for the usual morning rush hour but unlike other coffee stores, they stay open until 9pm. You can't imagine the shifts that their staff must take and how much happens behind the scenes.
Despite being hidden, it is the morning rush hour on a weekday and through the window you can clearly see that there is a queue forming. Underrated coffee shops get discovered pretty quickly these days thanks to social media and it's not long until they'll be announcing a sister location somewhere else in the city.
Stepping inside, a bell chimes overhead but it's drowned out due to the hustle and bustle inside the shop. The scent of crushed coffee beans hits you immediately and the sound of lofi music playing in the background is just about heard over the level of conversations in the store.
Joining the queue, your eyes scan the cafe. It's pretty spacey compared to the other units that most coffee shops rent out. There's clearly more places to sit in the back and all of the window seats are currently taken. There's a handful of students and people in suits either sat working away on their laptops or taking a call. In the corner an old man is sitting back and enjoying a cup of his own hot coffee.
There's three people currently manning the counter and you worry whether that means service is slow but on further observation you notice they work well, weaving in and out of each other. There's a man situated at the till, tall and large you first notice. Then you see that he has pink hair and it's only when you inch closer to being served that you notice he has an array of black tattoos. They're printed on his face as well as around his wrists and you start to wonder how many baristas you've seen with face tattoos.
He seems to be the first.
Behind him seems to be a white haired figure with a plum pink stripe dyed into their hair. It's clear that whoever employs these people are very laid back with how they are presented. The figure moves quickly but also with caution pouring and making drinks before bringing them to the collection section and calling out a name.
You've been so caught up in studying the new environment of the cafe that you don't even realise that it's your turn next. You haven't had the chance to look at the menu so when you finally do, you're left with your mouth open in front of the tattooed man. And on closer observation you find that he's rather intimidating.
"Good morning." you greet.
"What do you want?" he asks in a monotone tone evident that he's been repeating this question for a while. You brush off the fact that he hasn't greeted you back and you simply hum as you stare at the menu.
It's evident that you're irritating the barista by not even knowing what you want, the bored expression on his face and his finger impatiently tapping the counter. Your eyes are scanning the menu until he finally says something that in all of your years of going to local cafes have never heard in your life.
"Can you hurry up?"
"Excuse me?"
"I said," he draws as if it's painfully inconveniencing him to repeat himself, "can you hurry up? There's a queue behind you." It's evident in his tone that he's not asking but rather ordering you to do so and for a split second there's a moment in which you forget that you are in fact the customer.
"I'm aware." you say, "I'm deciding."
"You had two minutes to decide." he retorts.
"I've never been here before, of course I'm going to take my time looking at the menu." you keep a calm tone making it clear that you don't want any misunderstandings.
"Do you want a medal? What's your order?"
Fine. You think to yourself, you're gonna give him the benefit of the doubt.
Maybe it's been a long morning, maybe he wasn't supposed to be on shift today but then got called in, maybe he's just an asshole. You don't care. But what you do care about is getting your morning coffee as usual.
"Vanilla latte with oat milk please."
"We're out of oat milk." he announces keeping his tone flat with enough space to add some frustration into it as if this was your own fault.
"Really?"
He doesn't reply, keeping a blank face that silently asks 'do I look like I'm joking?'
"Uhhh, could I get an iced strawberry matcha then please?"
"We're out."
You hold back a sigh, forcing a tight lipped smile on your face. "Fine. A cappuccino. Any milk you have. Please."
The barista doesn't look up, tapping onto a screen. "Regular or large?"
"What's the difference?" you ask.
He points to the side where the size cup differences are shown and as usual the large is 50p extra.
"Regular."
"Name?"
After giving your name, he mutters something under his breath and if you were in a bad mood this morning then you would have asked him what his issue was but instead you keep quiet, silently wishing he spills lukewarm coffee all over his disgustingly attractive face. Somehow. If it was logical to spill coffee on one's face.
"Four fifty. Tap your card and stand over there." he orders without any patience.
You don't even think twice before tapping your phone and moving immediately. In your mind you continue to curse him forever whilst watching his back muscles move swiftly as he makes your drink. Him and the white haired figure switched places with him making your order and his co-worker now at the till.
You expected a long wait but it takes less than five minutes before he's yelling out your name with impatience.
And he pronounced it wrong.
Whether it was on purpose or he wasn't listening to you at all, you'll never know but you go ahead and take your order. You can't even say thank you directly before he's rushing off and completing another order. Deciding to get out as soon as possible, you grab as many sugar packets you need, a stirrer and you head on out.
"How fucking rude." you mutter to yourself, opening the lid to your cappuccino. There's no latte art and you wouldn't expect there to be given the rush. You pour your sugar in and stir until satisfied, slowly making your way to the office building.
Sure, you know baristas are sometimes not the most welcoming people given the high stress level of their jobs and you've come across some reclusive baristas before but this one…he's just plain rude. You don't usually complain about how people do their job but this one has really struck a nerve.
How was he hired in the first place? Does the manager know he speaks to customers like this? How did he even pass an interview to get hired for this place? Does he act like this with all his customers?
Those are the questions that you continue to ask yourself whilst on the way to work, you get a little distracted after taking a sip of your coffee and coming to find out that your cappuccino is actually pretty good. Usually some cafes don't do cappuccinos the right way but there's something about this cup that makes you wonder what exact type of coffee bean they use.
You make a mental note to check later in your free time and it's not long before you start to feel rejuvenated by your coffee. Despite your bad customer service, you still manage to get a good cup of coffee to support your day and it's almost enough to forget your bad interaction.
***
Almost.
That cup of coffee was good.
Good enough to make you check their company website and check their 'about us' page.
And of course it just so happens that you stumble onto their google reviews.
Fuga Coffee Shop | reviews (54)
Naturally, your laptop cursor clicks onto their reviews. They only opened two months ago so it's understandable why the reviews must be so low, they're just starting out. The reviews are automatically filtered to their top reviews, which is from just over two weeks ago.
ihatemonkeys009
The grumpy tattooed barista is a little anti-social but he makes the best lattes ever! will be coming back again! four stars.
"A little?" you say aloud to yourself, "give me a break."
The review that follows under that is also highly popular.
ghostsarerealiswear2334_67
free wifi and they open early and don't close till late?! best study place ever! (please like my review!) five stars.
kentoforwork89
A nice and newly established restaurant under the Japanese name 'Fuga', the name is fitting for its elegant service and high quality coffee. They have a wide range on the menu and serve food too. The cafe is spacious, plenty of space to study or work and if you use electronics they have power sockets dotted around. Good prices for the service and highly reliable. I will be coming here again as it is not overwhelmingly busy or loud like some other places. I highly recommend. four and a half stars.
ilovesweetssooooooooooomuchhhgojo9838
tHE tattooed barisSta maybe be cold hoever his coffees are the warmest!!!!! xoxoxoxo peefect date location (soz for typos idid this fast on my phone so i coulget fre emochi) FIVE STARTS
You let out a sigh reading the reviews, it's a little cheesy but you get the point. Reading all 54 reviews you've come to find that a lot of people find the same tattooed barista annoying but miraculously all is forgotten once you've tried a coffee from him.
There isn't one totally bad review — maybe from an AI bot who says that the location is in a whole other city but other than that it's clear that this cafe is a new and upcoming contender as one of the best spots in the city.
And that doesn't sit right in your soul.
Taking this personally as someone who runs a company, you understand that if people were talking about your employees in this manner then they would be subject to being fired. You're confused on how this man is still employed even after fifty reviews, surely the owner must be reading them.
You sit in silence for a while as you contemplate.
Should you?
Or shouldn't you?
Hesitant, your fingers hover over your keyboard, testing out a sentence.
i tried this cafe as a new customer — no, no, too cliche, you backspace your sentence entirely.
Thinking for a moment, you reflect on what you want to say. You start typing slowly before it all flows within your fingertips, a mini paragraph forming on your screen. You're writing in the heat of the moment, out of pure frustration and embarrassment. Most people would be able to forgive and forget but well…unfortunately you're not most people.
anonymouscapybara45
this place is relatively new in this city and as a coffee lover i was extremely enthusiastic to try this place out. my high hopes for this cafe were quickly crushed once i was (not even greeted) but completely mistreated by the tattooed barista.
i did not like this service, no matter how good the quality of the coffee was.
i do not think a barista should be talking to customers like this. i felt severely unwelcomed and i am having second thoughts on returning to this place.
there's better and kinder staff in other cafes in the city who i will gladly give my money too.
1 out of 5 stars.
Sure, it's a little…Karen but you feel petty. Highlighting all the adverbs makes you think that your english teacher from high school would be proud. There's a small feeling of guilt in the pit of your stomach as it dawns on you that your review will be the first one star review the company has ever had.
But this is not a baseless review. You actually felt this way at the time. It's a little exaggerated but who cares, they don't know you and they never will because you're not stepping foot there ever again.
There's not much satisfaction in the world that you can get other than pressing post on your review.
***
An hour later you've moved on with your life. You've settled into your home, following your post-work routine and you're now sitting on your couch. Your phone lights up with a notification and your eyes land on the screen.
You get a notification from your gmail that someone has mentioned you in a reply and with your thumb clicking on the message your eyes slightly widen.
The owner has replied to your message.
And for the first time it seems because they haven't seemed to reply to all the other positive messages on the site.
You'd forgotten that this was an option for them, simply thinking that your review would just get the employee removed. Your eyes skim over the reply.
From the Owner of Fuga in reply to anonymouscapybara45
Hello valued customer,
we apologise that you have had this experience recently, it is never our intention to make our customers feel this way. Our company and brand relies majorly on the respect and communication with our customers which is always taught and trained to our employees. We apologise for the actions and behaviour of our barista and on behalf of the company we would like to invite you to have any item on our menu free of charge over the course of the week. We would like to give you a seven day voucher and invite you back to a better atmosphere of our cafe to show you truly how we treat our customers.
Please pop into our cafe at your convenience. We look forward to seeing you and we apologise again for your experience.
Kind regards,
Fuga Owner (Jin Itadori)
Your mind is baffled.
Free drinks…for a week? Because of your bad review?
Not even the other low starred reviews have had this level of response from the owner. You're the first one star review they've had and they haven't even responded maliciously. You can't pass up on this good of an opportunity to have free coffee for the next week? You could be saving a ridiculous amount of money.
You re-read the review a few times to make sure that it still seems real to your eyes.
Maybe it will be the last time that you'll see that barista again.
**
You try your luck the following day. You're a bit more hopeful walking into the coffee shop the next day. It's a little less busier than the previous day and the queue is a little shorter.
But most important of them all, you don't see that tattooed jerk around.
This time serving the till is the white haired figure you saw making the drinks the last time you arrived. Behind them works another person that you haven't seen before who has their back turned making orders.
Soon enough it's your turn to go up to the till.
"Hello." They greet and almost immediately you feel comfortable that you won't be shunned for simply being a customer at this cafe.
"Good morning," you greet back with a smile before explaining your situation. "This may be a bit awkward but uhm, I was the customer who wrote a review of this cafe and uh— the owner said I was given a voucher as some sort of compensation."
For a second you thought you were scammed or that the entire thing was a lie just to catch the poor customer who's written terrible reviews but you watch as the wave of recognition hits the barista.
Instead they nod and say, "one moment" before turning around to head to the back. You shift from one foot to the other, patiently waiting and in the meantime thinking of what you'd want to get as your first free drink.
Your smile soon drops once you see the figure that follows the person that you were speaking to at the till.
That tattooed bastard.
His eyes widen slightly at the sight of you before turning into a miserable frown, clearly he wasn't expecting you to be the customer who wrote the review but there's also something that tells you that he's not totally surprised.
The white haired barista makes their way back to you, "If you go over to Sukuna he can help you with your voucher."
Sukuna. Now you know his name. And now you know he's somehow still employed by this damn coffee shop.
You walk over with hesitation and you can't help but notice Sukuna's eyes watching you as you make your over to a quiet area.
"It was you." he says but there's no bite to his tone. It's merely a statement he's making but you don't miss the judgement in his eyes.
"I was being honest." you shrug, holding your head high. You have no regrets whatsoever, you were merely giving constructive feedback about an environment that felt hostile to you. About a certain someone who was hostile.
Sukuna leans in a little closer to you, one hand placed on the counter as he speaks to you. "Because of you and your stupid review I have to serve you free drinks for a week, which is coming out of my pay by the way."
"Maybe it'll teach you how to speak nicer to customers." you retort back.
You notice his hand turning into a tight fist, gripping the counter, clearly holding back on responding to you. With his other hand he slides over a piece of paper. "Here's your damn voucher and, no I didn't write it, so what do you want?"
You tilt your head a little at him.
Sukuna corrects himself and in a deadpan monotone he starts over. "Hello. Welcome to Fuga. What would you like today?"
A satisfied smile reaches your lips. "Much better. I would like an iced strawberry matcha with oat milk please."
"Regular or large?"
"Hmm since it's on the house, large please."
"It's not on the house…" he mutters.
"What was that?"
"Nothing."
"Hmmmmm."
Sukuna disappears, diving into the hustle and bustle of his other colleagues making your own personal drink. As he makes your drink you look over your voucher, Sukuna's written today's date already and the expiry date is set seven days from now.
Once again, your order doesn't take him long and you spot your green and pink drink in his large hands. Approaching he hands your drink over to you which you thank before taking a sip.
On your tongue, the grassy flavour is immediately sedated by the sweetness of the strawberry at the bottom. There's the perfect amount of ice and matcha in your drink for you to enjoy and it takes everything in you not to fall to your knees and praise Sukuna on how great he's made this drink.
"Not bad." you murmur, downplaying your enthusiasm. "Can I get another free drink?"
"One per day stupid."
"The voucher doesn't clarify that, it's handwritten."
"I don't care."
"Would you like me to write another poor review?"
Now this is what gets Sukuna clenching his jaw together. He takes a pause, calming himself down before speaking to you again. "No anonymouscapybara45 I wouldn't like that because you got me in a lot of shit for this."
You don't flinch when he mentions your username. Ah, so he's read the review then. You quip back, "Your boss fire you yet?"
"No," and there's a slight pout, "he's just annoying the shit out of me at the moment."
"Hmm right, if you make me an iced vanilla latte with oat milk to go I think I might just refrain from writing a bad review about you for today."
You watch as he clenches his jaw in frustration. "Just this once. For the rest of the days you get one drink only."
"And a sweet treat!" you chime in.
Sukuna pauses, mulling over your suggestion. He lets out a sigh.
"A free drink and a snack." He offers.
"Deal." You outstretch your free hand to shake on.
Sukuna looks at your hand in pure disgust like you've just offered to spit in his mouth. "Deal. Just don't make my job harder than it needs to be." he mutters.
"I don't think I can promise that." you reply and you watch in pure satisfaction as he walks away mumbling to himself.
thank you for reading!! i hope you enjoyed :) i won't be running a taglist for this mini series (pls it is mini) but ya comments and reblogs are appreciated!!
❝ in space, no one can hear you scream. they can't hear you wake up alone in a hunk of space junk against your will. they can't hear your ship get engulfed by a much larger and very alien one.
and they certainly can't hear you fall in love with the four-armed grumpy alien you meet while you're trapped within your own ship. ❞
☾⋆ cw ; mdni, 18+ only. strangers to lovers. slow burn. hurt/comfort. angst. fluff. smut. depictions of [likely inaccurate] science experiments. medical discussions. needles. illness. reader and sukuna can't exist in the same atmosphere. they're both huge nerds. bug discussions. mild violence. pet names [human, ange, baby]. trueform!sukuna. piv. inter-species sex. fingering. oral [f! receiving]. monsterfucking. sukuna has 2 dicks. size difference. biting. manhandling. licking. spitting/drool.
inspired heavily by project hail mary/iron lung/alien earth. mild modulo spoilers. sukuna is simurian. changed simurian lore.
☾⋆ wc ; 37.9k.
wattpad || ao3 || main masterlist
Your lashes flutter, eyes opening to sterile, controlled lighting. Lifting an arm feels like a hurdle to overcome when your muscles behave far more like limp pasta than something meant to support a full biological system. After your arm protests the very concept of movement, you flex your fingers, adjusting to the harsh whites of your surroundings.
“Movement detected.”
Blinking hard, you slowly take in your surroundings, expecting a hospital bay, only to be met with smooth white surfaces that tell a different story. Space.
It hits you like a truck and by sheer force of will, you lift an arm to your head, expecting some sort of blunt force trauma. That you must be seeing things. Rubbing your temples makes you aware of several tubes all connected to a tight white suit clinging to your skin. As you begin tugging on the tubes, many release with a hiss while others simply come loose without fanfare.
“Crew aboard: one member. Arrival imminent.”
You have to be dreaming. Hallucinating. Something.
Managing to weakly push to your feet, you stumble through the halls of the ship on a weak gait. It’s a small vessel, with a science bay through a sealing door just outside the medical bay where you awoke, four bunks and a washroom in what you assume is sleeping quarters, and the bridge itself. It’s small, but clearly designed for more than one crew member. Your heart drops at the thought, because that’s when it truly comes flooding back.
Your work. The project. The disease. The creature.
Several pieces of the same puzzle, but each one troubling in its own right.
Still groggy from the induced coma, you force yourself to take a seat in the hall, grateful for what you can only assume is artificial gravity. You might have been sick if you had awoken in zero gravity.
Taking a breath as you sit in the center of a large octagonal hall, you force yourself to breathe. Long breaths, drawing each one out in an effort to keep yourself from boiling over when memories of the very thing that put you here feel fresh in spite of your ten year induced coma. It shouldn’t be you here. You, some entomologist they found online for a paper suggesting beetles are smarter than people think.
You weren’t even really good with people. Just bugs. You spent most of your time alone with your stag beetles, attempting to bring out the very intelligence you’d written about. You never minded being alone. Maybe it’s sad that you spoke to the beetles, but they kept you company in their own way. Yet here you are now, onboard a space ship by sheer coincidence, if it can even be called that. And it’s not the loneliness you fear.
No, you’re content to grab a marker and draw a face on one of the many white walls, call it ‘Wilson’ and name yourself the next Tom Hanks, even if your acting credits are undeserving.
What scares you is the narrow hallways holding you hostage in a vacuum. Once you reach the supposed ‘destination’ that the ship’s programmed voice spoke of being imminent, gravity will cut out. The ship will rely on your ability to navigate yourself through its halls and hell, even navigate the damn hunk of metal through space yourself to send the mission target back. You’re a fucking entomologist. A bug scientist. What the hell are they hoping for from you?
With a sharp inhale, you push back up to your feet, navigating through the cramped hall until you reach the bridge. There are a number of screens and what feel like countless buttons and switches, all labeled with tape. You suppose that’s meant to be for your convenience given that you’re no pilot, but the amount of labels is a textbook in and of itself. Frustrating.
Slipping past the second of two chairs on the bridge, your eyes are glued to the first window you’ve seen. Your lips part as the marvel of space itself comes into view when you slip into the nook by the window.
It’s beautiful. Stunning. It’s full of twinkling stars and the far more consistent shine of distant planets. There’s debris of various different kinds of space rock meandering endlessly through a void. There’s a gorgeous mildly yellow-green planet not too far away with pink and blue accents. Its surface is probably unlike everything you’ve ever seen.
Seeing a planet from space is another kind of beast. Space travel is relatively new to humanity as far as the general public is aware, and you certainly never envisioned yourself aboard a spacecraft. In another world, under other circumstances, it might even be a dream.
The nearest sun has you staring down at your fingers, wondering if the faint heat you feel might be from its rays or if you’re imagining things already, hardly a few minutes into your trip. That is, if you don’t count the several years in which you were in an induced coma.
Flexing your fingers again as you stare at them, it’s not until a shadow takes away the sun’s distant rays, that you notice something incoming quickly. Your eyes widen at the sight of a ship, alien in appearance. Long, slender, dark grays in sharp and jagged angles all come together to build a ship that makes yours look not entirely unlike the very bugs you study. Very, very small. Insignificant.
“Oh shit,” you gasp in wide-eyed disbelief as something straight out of a sci-fi movie moves in a line straight towards you. “Oh shit” you gasp again, racing to push yourself to your feet and clamber for the pilot’s chair as though the labels will push you into action. Paralyzed on the chair, the most you can do is skim each word in hopes that one might magically say ‘turn one hundred and eighty degrees and get the hell away from the giant evil-looking alien spaceship’.
Unfortunately, you never find that button. With your hands hovering over the controls, you find yourself watching in horror as you’re swallowed whole by the other spacecraft. “Oh shit.”
Your ship is harshly jostled as all of a sudden the hull drops like a stone onto something hard and metal, screeching as it slides across what you can only assume is a bay of the other ship as you stare into the darkened corridor of the inside of an alien spacecraft. You grip the chair for purchase in an effort not to get thrown aside while your ship blares warning and lights flicker.
“Oh shit,” you breathe when the lights outside your ship flick on and flood the bridge with the harsh lighting of a warehouse. There doesn’t seem to be any other ships aboard if this is a bay or hangar, but it certainly looks like one… Though you suppose you’re basing that off of movie knowledge, which is probably stupid. Especially for a scientist at the top of your field.
Slowly descending from your chair, you approach the window in awe, staring out into the metal box. It’s largely human, with pipes running up the walls and across the ceiling, lights in long bulbs overhead and lower lighting from small circular vent-like structures. The structure seems rougher than the smooth metals of your ship, almost as though it’s made of an unpolished mineral, with a luster that dictates something akin to quartz or obsidian, but it’s slightly off. The only thing inhuman about the entire thing is the text. It’s not entirely unfamiliar, the sort of thing that you wager you could decipher in time, but when you spot movement at the far bay, you figure time isn’t exactly on your side.
What a way to wake up after ten years.
The alien figure that approaches your ship isn’t human. But… they aren’t inhuman either. You know they aren’t human, with an extra pair of limbs attached to their upper torso and an extra pair of eyes aboard a plate of some sort on the right side of their face, but otherwise the only thing inhuman about them is their massive size, standing at what must be ten feet tall.
A tight shirt clings to their upper torso, some sort of spacesuit loosely draped from their torso in an off-pink that matches their short hair. Markings line their jaw, coming up just beneath their eyes not unlike tattoos, though you can’t be sure whether or not that’s what they are. The most inhuman feature of all, however, is the blood red gaze they fix your ship with as they walk in an even, calm stride towards the door.
A creature with a calm like this is one that knows it’s powerful. It’s the type of confidence befitting of someone who far outclasses everything they’ve ever come across and doesn’t fear the beyond like you do. “Oh shit!”
It’s just about the only words you can manage as you clumsily navigate towards the small porthole of the door where the alien has deduced they may find you. Peering out the small circular window, you can only pray you aren’t about to be probed or something similar.
When the alien approaches your ship with some sort of technology in-hand, you tap on the glass to get their attention. The large alien’s head rises, their brow lowering to a scowl of sorts as they examine you. This close, they look startlingly like a human man. Like the kind of man you might see in a gladiator movie given his sheer size and musculature, sure, but human enough to reason with. He speaks some sort of language, but you can’t understand a word he utters.
The language is a mix of huffs, growls, clicks, and what you would otherwise consider sounds not unlike the languages found on earth. Between each noise that reminds you vaguely of an echolocation sort of noise is a very human syllable. If you were to put the syllables together without the clicking, you might even get something akin to human vocabulary.
By all accounts, this is an intimidating encounter. His gaze is sharp, almost grating in looks alone. His pupils have rings surrounding them that give him a formidable appearance. His mother tongue is so different from any language you’ve ever encountered– human or animal– that the only thing you even can compare it to are films. Some part of you is wired to expect a Xenomorph to uncurl from wires and silently drop to the ground, acidic saliva dripping from its mouth, and yet the man remains still, awaiting your reply before he answers in kind.
Maybe it’s your poor instinct for danger, but you’re far more intrigued than you are concerned.
“Uh– Hello!” You attempt to reply in an effort to keep the peace, further perplexing the alien whose eyes narrow. Your heart pounds behind your rib cage as you give your best effort to not get eaten. Or examined. Or whatever this species does. “I come in peace!” You offer, making a peace sign through the door with a wide grin.
His gaze slides to your hand, his deduction of the action clear in the way his narrowed eyes regard the action. He frowns like you’ve caused him an inconvenience, gliding his finger along the device in his hand briefly as he looks away. You almost wish he was more animalistic. You’re a better read on animal behaviour than human.
“Okay, um– hold on!” You hold up one finger, clumsily dashing back through the ship to the science bay. You grab a white board and marker, making your way back to the porthole. The four-armed alien is tapping on what you assume to be the screen of the device he brought with him, though his attention returns to you once you reappear. You draw a circle and the general outline of the continents, presenting the image to him. “I’m a human. From Earth,” you say, pointing to your drawing.
The alien’s gaze lowers to your drawing, then he taps on the screen of his device, growing more frustrated by the moment. When the device doesn’t seem to give him the results he wishes for, his shoulders visibly fall in frustration as he faces you again. His gaze fixes the drawing, then you once more.
When he doesn't reply, you quickly erase the drawing of earth, and draw something that might be more familiar. You draw the very thing you’re here in search of as clearly as you can from memory.
CRM-12. A creature so foreign, the scientists never even gave it a name. Beetle-like in appearance in spite of its size, which begged your attention, one of the heads in entomology. A creature intelligent beyond any credit they were willing to give it, treating it as lesser than even rodents. It was no more than an experiment, and your reason for being in the middle of uncharted space.
You present the drawing of the creature, a metallic brown beetle with accents that resemble an oil spill, iridescent pinks visible in the sun. Its eyes, however, are completely unlike any insect. Cat-like, they follow movement like the eyes of a higher being. Like they know. You hope that comes across in a crude drawing with a black marker.
The alien looks at the drawing you present, seeming to recognize it. He stares at you and chuffs, almost like a tiger, followed by a syllable unrecognizable to you.
“You know it?” Your brows raise eagerly at the reaction that you’re fairly sure is a yes given the way big cats so often use the first portion of the sound.
Another chuff in reply, then the syllable. You can work with that. The recognition in his gaze tells you that it isn’t a no, which means you’re communicating, even if it’s preschool-level communication. Even if he seems frustrated by the whole ordeal. Or maybe by you. Or the device. You really can’t say.
“Oh my god, you know it? I’m looking for it!” You point with a grin, intrigued by the alien life that seems to be as advanced, if not more than humanity.
He watches your eager movements with hooded eyes, all four following the way your body almost seems ahead of your mind as you attempt communication. In a far more languid movement, he lifts an arm, simply tapping once on the door as he stares at you, awaiting.
You purse your lips, fairly confident you understand. “Oh– I can’t leave my ship,” you glance down at the door’s handle. “Um– hold on.” You raise one finger again, drawing another picture on your whiteboard. This time, you present the alien species with a poorly drawn version of your ship, an ‘X’, and a stick figure of you, with your tongue out and an ‘X’ for either eye. “I would die in your atmosphere. I mean, probably. I guess I don’t know.”
One of his brows raises at the crude demonstration before he looks you up and down once through the porthole. He huffs, something of disbelief or maybe annoyance, before looking around the bay. He replicates your motion, raising one finger in a ‘hold on’ type of manner, disappearing for a minute. When he returns after a few moments, he lifts a lower arm to present to you a new device. From the device comes a hologram far more advanced than anything earth has managed thus far.
Your eyes widen at the sight of the very beetle-like species you’re here for. You nod, giving a thumbs up. “Yes! Yes, that’s it!” You loudly proclaim with a grin.
He recoils, though you can’t quite place why. He watches your reactions, the smile, the thumbs’ up, the nod, and chuffs in reply. Alright, communication.
“Hey, um, there’s–” You stammer over words, before giving your signal for ‘hold on’. Quickly and crudely attempting to draw your best version of the window by the bridge. You hold it up to the person opposite you, pointing in the general direction of the much larger window across the ship.
His sharp gaze follows the direction you point, his head moving in that direction altogether, before chuffing and surprisingly disappearing. You blink, before quickly moving in that direction as well, cables and tubing still drifting listlessly behind your clothing from when you awoke. You stare down briefly at the ordeal, at the mess you’re sure you look, and figure that’s a problem for when an alien isn’t staring you down.
You’re just grateful he isn’t looking at you in the same way humanity looked at that beetle. That stupid, god forsaken alien beetle. Even if he does seem a bit annoyed with you.
Dragging the cables along with you, you slip past the chairs in the bridge to the larger window where your new alien peer is curiously examining the circuitry within the bridge. “This is the bridge,” you explain, pointing behind you. “For the captain.” You turn to face him again, unsure if he understands a word you’re saying, but the need to fill the air is unfortunately at the forefront of your mind. Slipping into the nook of the window, you watch as his crimson gaze tracks your movements, dropping to the cables that he examines for a moment. “These are just cables,” you explain, holding them up.
He grunts through a deadpan expression as though he has that figured out already, and it’s at this moment that you realize how grateful you are that there’s an atmosphere at all in his ship right now to carry either of your voices so that you can communicate. The entire thing is fascinating beyond any kind of entomology you’ve ever been witness to. Of course, you’d have an easier time grasping his behaviour if he were a bug, but you suppose you didn’t get much of a good understanding of CRM-12’s behaviour anyway in light of the events that took place with the species on Earth.
CRM-12. The thought makes you wonder. “Do you have a name?” You glance down at the whiteboard, but you aren’t sure how much it’ll help. “A, uh–” You point to yourself, stating your name, then to him. “What’s your name?”
He straightens, and in a very alien language gives you a series of growls and hisses, along with a series of somewhat more human-sounding syllables. You attempt to replicate the sound, you really do. The problem is that your vocal chords simply can’t shape the same noises that his can. He frowns as you can’t reach one of the clicks in your vocal range, and surprisingly offers something more familiar.
“Sukuna.”
Your lips purse as you stare out the window at him. It’s shockingly close to the syllables that sit intermittently between the clicks and growls in his name, like his language might not be as far off as you originally hypothesized.
“Human.” He adds, then replicates your name, shockingly nearly perfect.
“Yeah!” You agree with a grin. “That’s my name. I’m human.”
“My name,” he forms the words, copying them in his deep baritone voice. It sounds somewhat foreign after you’ve heard primarily chuffs and hums, but he doesn’t struggle to form the words. They’re clipped, like his tone isn’t intentional and there’s a rasp to his words like his throat wants to add the clicking to the words, but doesn’t.
You have an itch to write and document everything you can, but your lab is a few light years away and your journal is… yet to be found, since you awoke. You do what you can to catalogue every detail for later in your mind.
“Okay, okay.” Beyond interested and excited by the ordeal, you make a wild motion with both arms towards– well– everything. “This is my ship.”
Sukuna’s gaze lifts to the exterior of the ship, then returns to you. An upper arm lifts, muscle that’s inherently humanoid rippling beneath what looks to be something similar to a performance long sleeve clinging to his arm. He taps twice on the window. “Ship.” Then directly in front of you. “Your ship.”
“Yeah,” you breathe in disbelief. “Is this your ship?”
He points back, chuffing. “My ship.”
The velocity of his ability to learn is stunning. In fact, you would wager a bet that not only is he so far advanced that he outclasses Humanity by miles, you would be willing to be there’s more to it than that. The scowls, the grimaces, the huffs. Could he be annoyed that you’re not capable of picking up his language? “Are you–” you point to him, then the chair behind you, “the captain?”
His gaze examines you as you point towards the seat on the bridge behind you. Understanding your gist, he chuffs.
“Holy shit,” your breath. Looking eagerly past him into the rest of the hangar bay, you press your hands to the window. He straightens, taking a step back as he stares at you with a raised chin. “Where are the rest of you? Do you have a crew? Do you have scientists?”
He growls, but it doesn’t appear to be a warning. Your limited knowledge of his language tells you it may just be a vocalization that’s within his language, but you can’t say for sure. You can’t be sure whether he’s answering in his own language or simply frustrated with your onslaught of questions. Maybe both.
“Are you alone?” You offer the option. “Just you?” You point.
To that, he straightens slightly, his gaze dropping as he evaluates your stature. He must determine you aren’t a threat, because he finally replies with a chuff. “Alone. Just Sukuna.”
It’s unbelievable, truly. It’s not the fact that there’s other intelligent life that baffles and equally excites you, but the fact that not only does he seem to be far more advanced, but it’s clear you’re both studying one another’s behavior. More interestingly, he’s making sense of your language so quickly without so much as forgetting a word that you’re fairly sure his species can outdo humanity’s feats in an evening. You watch him pick up words before you’ve even used it in much more than a sentence to yourself. He adjusts so quickly that it has you questioning everything you know about life outside of Earth. About life on Earth. About behavior, intelligence, and everything you’ve studied so hard when it comes to entomology.
Much of the… day? Is spent going back and forth, focusing primarily on language using the whiteboard, and you’re surprised to find Sukuna doesn’t just keep up, but clearly surpasses your intelligence. He’s offput by noise and moves at a much slower pace that gives you the impression that he wouldn’t know the expression ‘life is short’. You wonder how many years he’s wandered the universe.
He primarily listens and learns, letting you yap about tenses and grammar with little more than an aloof frown. He rarely inquires, but as his knowledge grows, he becomes more at ease. The rigidity in his upper and lower shoulders releases, and his expression shifts from one of skepticism to intrigue. Before you can inquire about his species or language, however, your ship comes online. With a robotic timbre, an announcement comes across the speakers. “Please report to the lab for documentation.”
You stare back into the ship for a moment before facing your new companion. “I need to go make a report,” you explain. “The humans back on Earth want a video of how things are going.”
You can’t be sure how much of that he understands given that he’s largely a closed book, but he chuffs his general understanding.
“Do you… sleep?” You make a motion of sleeping. “Or eat?” And point to your mouth.
The mere suggestion has him yawning, revealing primordial fangs behind his lips. He doesn’t grace you with a reply otherwise.
In a series of clicks and hisses, he says something you’re unable to translate and turns on his heel. Your best assumption is that he’s wished you a goodnight, so you opt to do the same. “Goodnight, Sukuna!” You call loudly from your side of the glass.
He tilts his head slightly, then shakes it, but doesn’t look back.
You watch the spot where he disappeared for a long moment. In the barren bay, the lights click as one by one they shut off until you’re left with only the ambient light of the interior of your own ship. Stepping back from the glass, you blink to yourself. He’s unlike anything you could have imagined when it came to aliens. It’s not like you haven’t met one, given that your assignment on Earth was studying CRM-12 and your assignment now is simply to retrieve more of them, and while you know even that creature’s intelligence was largely underestimated, you never imagined another planet like Earth could exist.
Maybe the atmosphere doesn’t match your own. Maybe there’s no oxygen. Maybe his planet is overruled by dinosaurs. You wouldn’t know. But somewhere out there is a planet with architecture and entire civilizations that you don’t know the first thing about.
As you make your way to the lab, a small camera prepped for you to record, you swear you’re still jittery with excitement. The scientist that swims in your veins can’t wait for tomorrow to come, ignoring every natural instinct to exercise caution. You don’t see yourself sleeping well in spite of the fact that your body remains heavy with the weight of several induced years of sleep.
Without thinking twice, you flip the camera’s screen to look back at yourself and begin recording. You recount your ship being engulfed, describe Sukuna, and explain your findings in largely scientific terminology.
“I know he’s not what I’m here for, but– This could be… I mean…” You shake your head. “I’m not giving up on this research,” you steel yourself, staring into the camera. Chewing on your lower lip, you reach for the camera, shutting the screen and effectively stopping the recording without signing off.
You take the extra time in the evening to put yourself back together. You’re not trained for space, or even for the use of this vessel as a whole, but you track down a sponge bath and washroom, before finally managing to find a small compartment with your belongings.
Dragging the compartment out from the netted area in which it resides, you open it slowly. Within are some clothes– some your own, most provided by the company responsible for your launch– along with a few general sanitary items. It’s largely impersonal, which you suppose you expected. Having prepared for this, you reach into the pocket of a hoodie and pull out the one thing you hoped to keep with you.
You breathe out a sigh of relief, unfolding a photo. The lines through the center block out only a modicum of the happiness held within it, but at its core it’s everything you wanted to hold onto. You’re holding the camera with a huge grin, an Extatosoma Tiaratum, a large stick insect, climbs along your shoulder, and your beloved Lucanus Elaphus, an Elk Stag Beetle, is in your hand. To your left is your best friend Shoko and her German Shepherd puppy, a month after she adopted him. She’s holding him like her pride and joy in spite of the fact that throughout her entire veterinary medicine degree, she swore she’d stick to an animal with less genetically pre-disposed health problems.
You had just gotten back from a research trip back then and were meeting her pup for the first time while she cared for your bugs while you were away.
It’s strange to think that she’s ten years older now. Your bugs are surely dead, and Shoko hasn’t seen you in over ten years. Your heart pangs as you pull the familiar hoodie on over your head and tuck the photo back in your pocket as you make your way back to the bed that didn’t exactly do wonders for your neck as you make way for the second day in uncharted territory.
–
The morning greets you in the same way it did yesterday. Cold, sterile, and controlled. The white lights flick on without asking, deciding your schedule before you ever do. You blink away the sleep in your eyes, grabbing a dehydrated granola bar sort of thing to bring with you to the bridge as you dress yourself in white pants and your own hoodie.
Sukuna still isn’t there when you arrive at the bridge, so you do the only thing you really can do in the enclosed ship bay. You come prepared this time, with a model of your ship, your whiteboard, some snacks, water, and a journal and pen to note your findings. Not necessarily for humanity’s sake, but out of habit, for you. With everything spread out around you, you reach into your pocket, pulling out your photo with Shoko. Your thumb smooths along the fold lines before you set it off to the side in front of you. Then as you would on any other day, you note your findings with small drawings in the column of your journal.
After a short wait, the bay’s lights flick on one after another with a metallic clang as each one begins pulling electricity to the large hangar. Sukuna has also come more prepared, with another new device in one of his many hands and what looks to be a spacesuit draped over another arm. He’s wearing much the same top in a slightly deeper tone of gray and baggy pants this time around, with that same overall neutral expression on his face.
Neutral is generous, given how grumpy he looks in human terms. Given how grumpy he is. Maybe it’s just his species, you can’t be sure, but he gives you the impression you frustrate him.
You perk up at the sight of him regardless as he approaches in the direction of the door’s porthole, changing his stride when he spots you at the window.
He clicks and grunts, which you assume is a greeting of sorts.
“Hi, Sukuna! Did you sleep good?”
He doesn’t beat around the bush. “Sleep bad.”
“Oh. Why?”
He approaches the window, dropping the suit on his arm into a pile on the floor. “Human loud,” he states, pointing accusingly at you with a finger to the window.
“Me? This ship is huge, there’s no way you heard me. I don’t even snore!” You pout first, but your mind doesn’t give you the time to be offended as something occurs to you. “Wait, is your hearing really good?” You ask, pointing to your ear.
He chuffs. “You loud.” He makes a motion to his chest, demonstratively inhaling and exhaling in kind. “Like that.”
“Oh my god, you could hear me breathing across the ship?” You instinctively bring up your fancy space pen and journal, scribbling down messy notes as your mouth gets a few steps ahead of your brain. “Wait, but the ship is on. I can’t be louder than like– Is your engine not loud? Or the life support systems? You must breathe some sort of gas or–”
He huffs, tapping the glass with a subsequent growl. Much like yesterday, it’s not a warning but something entirely else. “Ship my design. No sound.”
“No sound? Your design?” You gawk, sitting down at the window. Sukuna follows suit opposite you behind the glass. His movements are heavier in nature and far more languid, one corded muscular arm keeping him upright as he takes a seat. In spite of his constant aloof expression, you note that he does still seem intrigued. “Wait– oh my god, are you an engineer?”
He shifts his jaw, eyes narrowing thoughtfully as he attempts to use context clues to put the word engineer into place in his mental dictionary. He says something in his own language, reaching for the device he used yesterday to show you a hologram of CRM-12. This time, he flicks it on into some sort of 2D image, a screen of sorts. In concise, easy strokes, he pulls up a blueprint of his ship. “Engineer?” He queries, confirming the term.
“Yeah,” you breathe in disbelief. “Yeah, you’re definitely an engineer. Holy shit,” you laugh, tone wrought with disbelief. “The photo you showed me with that yesterday, the uh– beetle species?”
His gaze narrows and he grunts, almost a low growl.
“Um–” you lower your gaze to your whiteboard, drawing a quick sketch of CRM-12 again, writing its name beside the image. “This guy.”
The confusion rife across his features dissolves as he chuffs. “Kerm.”
“Kerm?” You blink, unsure where this word has come from.
He points to ‘CRM-12’ like it’s the most obvious thing he’s ever pointed out, blatantly frowning. “Kerm one two.”
You laugh, airy and light, grinning. “Yeah, Kerm. Yeah, okay. Kerm. Um, you’re looking for them too, does that mean you’re a scientist too? Like, um–” setting the whiteboard aside, you tap your fingers listlessly along your thigh. “You study life and elements? And learn about creatures?”
That clicks with him and he chuffs again.
“Holy shit,” you practically bound to your feet, quickly sitting back down at the revelation with a multitude of further questions.
Sukuna’s brow tents as he watches, disdain dripping from his expression as though you’ve offended him in your bout of excitement when he shuffles back slightly. He leans back on one arm, the other three held as though you might present a threat to him. Still, he remains silent.
“Wait, so you’re the captain, engineer, and a scientist? Oh my god, that’s incredible. Human life is so short we could never even dream of studying all three things and exploring space.” You don’t even pause as your thoughts simply spill from your lips. “You must be able to live so much longer than us. Or maybe you’re just that much smarter. Wait–” Your hand presses to the glass. “Where are you from? What planet–”
“Human.”
“–are you from? How long are your years? How old are you?”
“Human.” Sukuna’s hand presses to the glass with a jarring bang as he leans over you in spite of the barrier, the size difference growing apparent. His voice booms, stopping your endless trail of words in their tracks. Once he has your silence, Sukuna proceeds to click and growl in a series you’ve heard once before, though you now recognize it as displeasure.
It doesn’t take an understanding of his language to put together that he’s calling you ‘too much’. He’s telling you you’re annoying.
Your cheeks heat up and you take the opportunity to sit back, sucking in a breath.
Sukuna’s hand peels from the glass, his prints remaining in the spot where it was. He sits back with a loud huff, rubbing at his temple with one hand as he leans back on another. “Planet is–” he states the name in his language first, then pauses to think before providing something you understand. Removing the noises between the syllables, he lands on a simple name. “Simuria,” he starts, choosing one of your questions and going with it. “Age–” he glances down at the hologram, waving his hand through it to erase the blueprint. He makes ten markings through it like a whiteboard, then clicks, his word for ‘ten’.
“Ten,” you nod your understanding.
He points at the markings. “Ten tens.”
“One hundred,” you nod your understanding.
“Ten one hundreds.”
Your lips part. “One thousand?”
He chuffs, staring blankly at you.
“You’re over one thousand years old?” Your disbelief is palpable as your jaw hangs slightly ajar, taking in the details of his face and overall physique. He looks to be in his late thirties or early forties, but if there’s one thing you’ve learned in your time interacting with aliens, it’s that you don’t know the first thing about them.
He chuffs again, like it’s plain to see and his age is obvious. “How old you?”
“Um, three tens,” you hold up three fingers. “And a five,” you demonstrate the next number. “But I, uh, spent the last ten years sleeping to get here,” you offer a tight-lipped smile. His eyes narrow as he attempts to decipher the emotion written across your face, but you train your expression back to neutral before he can. “We only live to be about nine tens, though.”
“Nine tens?” He recoils at the mere thought. “Weak.”
You let out an airy laugh. “Weak, yeah. Humans tend to be.”
“Three thousands. Or more.”
“You can live three thousand years?” Once again caught up in the sheer difference in time you’ve both experienced, you’re forced to sit back, leaning on your arms. “Holy shit.”
That’s not even beginning to touch on the fact that his planet’s years could also be longer than Earth’s.
Sukuna has come to recognize your exclamations as disbelief and puffs out his chest. You can’t be sure whether it’s pride or a sort of bragging right he holds over your head, but it’s heartwarming to bond with someone so similar, and yet so different.
“Where your crew?”
“Oh–” You push a hand over your neck, staring back into the ship. “No crew. Just me. Just a scientist. I’m an entomologist. I study bugs.”
His brow dips as he attempts to put together what he understands based on your statements. “No captain?”
“No. No captain,” you reply coolly, the most calm he notes you’ve been since arrival.
“Captain?” He points to the photo of you and Shoko as he peers closer.
“No, that’s my friend Shoko. Another human, on Earth. And these are my bugs. I’m a bug scientist.” You point to the beetle.
“You study bugs?”
“Yeah!” You grin, followed by the familiar feeling of information running through your brain as your most passionate subject arises. “There are thousands and thousands of them on earth. Like, a thousand thousands. More than that. We’ve barely scratched the surface of what we know about them!” You pridefully explain.
“Scratched the surface?”
“Like, we barely know anything about them. So I study them to learn more.”
Leaning back on one pair of arms, he crosses the other pair over his chest, fixing you with a perplexed expression as he clicks and chirps out a word, followed by ‘human’.
You smirk, lopsided but wholehearted. It’s yet another of those familiar moments where you recognize the word from context alone. Weird human, he called you.
“Do you not like bugs?”
“Bugs on Simuria big.”
“They’re big? How big?”
He tilts his head to either side, casting a quick glance off to the side as some sort of debris hits the hull of the ship. His gaze returns to you, unbothered otherwise by the noise. “Big like that,” he presses his finger to the glass separating you.
Following the direction in which he points, you whirl around to find he’s pointing to a duffel bag of sorts. “Oh, we have some like that. Most are smaller though,” you explain as you turn back. “These two are my friends, like Shoko. That’s Spike,” you point to the stag, “and Stipple,” you point to the spiny stick insect.
“Stipple like Simuria bugs.”
“Really?” Your eyes widen, filled with wonder, and Sukuna’s head tilts as he lets out a pleased chuff. The revelation only brings up more questions. “Simuria,” you breathe the word like something sacred. Were the circumstances of your trip to reach CRM-12 any different, you might even be racing to document this beyond messy scribbles in a journal. “Do you all have four arms and eyes?”
Sukuna follows your gaze before he growls, which you take as a no.
“Is it based on region? Or– oh, maybe modification or–”
Sukuna huffs loudly, staring intently at you. “Human weak and loud.”
Ah– insults. The default when you’re bothering him or going too fast. “Sorry Sukuna,” you laugh, still lighthearted and chirpy in spite of his grumpy demeanor.
“Simurians all different,” he explains, waving his hand through the hologram still sitting off to the side to erase it. He draws a stick figure of sorts with horns and an eye on its forehead, then another with a tail that seems prehensile from what you can tell, like a monkey.
“All different? So, it’s not based on regions?”
He growls, confirming your thoughts. “I need four arms for science and making ship,” he points broadly around him.
You blink in complete and utter disbelief, the buzzing of the bay lights audible even over the gears turning in your mind. “So you… grew two extra arms? Like, your body made them yourself?”
He chuffs, pleased once again by your disbelief with a hint of what you might call a smile. You’re coming to notice that he seems to like that. He enjoys praise, even if it’s of his species rather than himself. He enjoys being above you in any way he can. It’s probably one of the most human things about him, in a roundabout sort of way.
“That’s incredible,” you shake your head regardless, watching as he puffs his chest out again, his chin tilted up. You can’t help a smile at the sight of him, the boyish pride on his face is something of a marvel. “What other adaptations do you have?”
He considers this for a moment, before running a hand through his hair and presenting a second ear hidden under pink strands over his humanoid ear. It’s far less human than the first pair, you would consider it closer to an owl. Your lips purse as you near the glass, leaning with both hands splayed across it. He then lifts the hem of his shirt and you damn near choke.
You can’t even decide which part it is that actually chokes you. The fact that he’s sporting a six pack like no other and a second pair of pecks that sends heat to places you do not want to think about while trapped in a box in space, or the huge mouth plastered where a belly button would otherwise be. You cough to distract him from the way your throat seizes, then sit back in an effort to disguise how you’ve reacted to an alien you hardly know.
Sukuna tilts his chin up slightly as he regards you. You want to chalk it up to nothing more than a natural reaction to your cough, but there’s a gleam in his eyes that you recognize. You’re then unfortunately reminded that his hearing is like nothing you’ve ever experienced and he can likely hear your pounding heart. It puts an idea in your head that his sense of smell may… also… be better on that note, too. Breezing past the moment as quickly as you can, you cough once more. “What’s, uh– what’s that for?”
“Eating large food.”
The sensation is jarring, but it occurs to you that you’ve never once asked what he eats. “Like… what?”
To your surprise, he smiles. Actually smiles. “Noisy food. Good food.”
“Are you joking with me? Are you joking about eating me?” You sputter.
His toothy grin is replicated on his stomach mouth as he lets the hem of his shirt drop and for the first time you hear him rumble in laughter.
You don’t even have the instinct to wonder if he’s lying when you’re too intrigued by the whole ordeal and just shake your head. “Oh, so you have jokes now?”
“Always have jokes,” he grins, wide. “You not understand, weak human.”
You scoff. “I see how it is,” you tease, curious about his ability to pick up not just language but the deeper meaning behind it. With a sigh, you cast a glance back at the spot where he revealed the stomach mouth, focusing back on your mission. For as curious as you are, at the end of the day you’re trapped in a box in space with a limit on time and supplies. “How quickly can you evolve?”
He tilts his head from side to side, something he’s seen you do when you reply with ‘maybe’.
“Does it depend? Is it based on how your surroundings are?” You make a motion to everything around you.
“Yes,” he replies affirmatively for the first time in your language, rather than his usual Simurian response.
“How fast are we talking?”
His brow tents, head tilting like the question is stupid. “We talk at normal speed for you.”
You bark a laugh at the realization that he’s now completely misunderstood. “No, it’s a saying, sorry. How fast can you evolve? One planet rotation around the sun? Two?”
Clearly displeased with your laughter, he takes a moment to fix you with a glare before replying. “Not one planet rotation. Smaller time.”
“Less than one planet rotation around the sun or less than one planet rotation?”
“Less than one planet rotation.”
You swear you need to pick your jaw up off the floor. “Less than a DAY?” You shout in disbelief, hand raising to the glass in a slam that echoes over the metal bay.
Sukuna growls, recoiling away from your reaction. It’s not out of fear, but rather that you’re being noisy again. “Human. Weak human. Stop.”
Sitting back down, you offer another apology to the begrudging man sitting across from you. Pieces of the puzzle all suddenly begin to click into place. That’s why he picked up your language so quickly. He didn’t just learn, his throat adapted to the sound. His vocal chords changed in less than a day to work around the fact that humans can’t. His species is advanced in the kind of way you could only dream. Hell, you never even realized he lost the strange rasp to his vocalizations in your language. “Sukuna, I–” you pause, raising a finger as you become aware that you’re about to get ahead of yourself when you go dashing back to the lab.
You gather a space meal, several beakers, pipettes, gloves, and a sterile handling box. When you return and dump it all on the ground beside you in a cacophony of glass, Sukuna still seems displeased with the noise.
“Humans sent me here because of this,” you present a phial of liquid to him. Held within the small glass container is a dark red, almost black liquid with yellow separation. “These are Alveoli. Normal ones. They’re cells in our lungs,” you point to your chest. “And this,” you present another phial, but the color of the liquid is off, almost more of a brown. “Is Alveolarium. It appeared on Earth I guess ten years ago now and we can’t find a cure. Around the same time it showed up, I got called to an island in the middle of nowhere to research a new discovery,” you explain. “They sent a ship somewhere around here back then, and picked up a CRM– um– a Kerm.”
Sukuna doesn’t move, but you have his attention.
“I was sent to research behaviour since it looks like a bug, but they also discovered that Kerm have cells in their shell that are really similar to the pathogen causing Alveolarium which was spreading a lot, but Kerm cells seem to carry properties that might help or stop or kill the disease or something,” you explain, shutting your eyes tightly as you search for vocabulary he’d know. “Basically they have similar cells,” you explain.
Sukuna inhales, long and slow as he sits up. Interestingly, his gaze splits as he looks over both samples at once. His languid movement makes sense when you consider that he’s well over a thousand years old and still has two thousand to go, if not more. Of course life isn’t short for a creature like him.
“We had one Kerm,” you continue. “But it died.”
“Died. Gone?” Sukuna confirms the meaning of the word.
“Yeah.”
He grunts. There’s no real emotion behind it, it’s nothing but sheer acknowledgement.
“So I need to get more Kerm. It’s…” You stare down at the sealed contaminated cell sample. “It’s bad, Sukuna. A lot of humans died. Probably way more since I’ve been gone.”
He stares at you for a long moment, his jaw moving as he evaluates your expression and every little micromovement of your body. He has a way about the manner in which he moves like he’s above life itself, everything in his mannerisms is lazy and unbothered– that is, until you grate on his nerves, anyway. There’s something almost kingly in the way he carries himself. After a long pause, he sets a forearm on his leg, leaning forward. “You want cells. Mine.”
Your jaw hangs open as you attempt to explain yourself. “I mean– you might be able to save us, but obviously only if you’re okay with it! I just– We don’t actually know anything about the Kerm, and I can’t guarantee if it’ll make it back alive or even at all, and–”
“Human.” There’s less heat in his voice as he shuts you up with the low rumbling of his timbre. “I help. You get suit,” he speaks like he’s ordering you, pointing.
“Suit?”
His eyes narrow as he gets to his feet, offense dripping from the very click of his tongue he gives you. “You scientist. You help.”
Your jaw hangs open as you glance back between him and the ship. You seal your lips into a tight line, staring down at fidgeting hands. “Sukuna, I–” You shake your head.
“Your atmosphere weak, humans weak. Use your second heart, my ship pressure not crush you. Stop scared movement,” he points mildly at your twiddling thumbs.
Before you can explain the truth, you’re perplexed by his words. “Second…? I only have one heart.”
He huffs. “Then I help reinforce oxygen tank to survive pressure of sulfur gas atmosphere. Weak human. Foolish weak human.”
You’re left in utter disbelief and mild shock, frozen in place as he turns on his heel to, you suppose, make you a new tank fitting of the pressure of his ship. When the hell did he even pick up the word foolish? Did you say that? Shaking your head of the thought, you need to focus on what matters here.
“Sukuna!”
He stops a short distance away, his gaze thrown over his shoulder.
“Sukuna, I can’t– I can’t leave.”
He crosses his arms– all four of them– unimpressed. “Why?”
“This was always meant to be a one-way trip. I don’t get to go home. I’m sealed in here. I have no depressurization pod, no suit, no way to unseal the ship without losing the oxygen in here. No portable generators, nothing. When the ship loses power, that’s it.”
Slowly, he turns towards you, straightening as he regards you. He doesn’t just look displeased, he looks downright offended. His usual go-to doesn’t seem to cut it either as he spews out something more than just ‘weak’. “Wrong.”
It likely doesn’t convey what he wants, but you get the gist anyway. “Yeah. It’s stupid,” you agree.
“Your stupid.”
“Yeah,” you laugh half-heartedly. “My stupid.”
Clearly realizing you’re butchering your own language to appeal to his limited use of it, he turns on his heel again, muttering something under his breath. Your hand slips away from the glass keeping you safe and trapped in tandem as you watch Sukuna disappear. You find yourself staring at the photo of you and Shoko again. What you wouldn’t give to check in on her right now. Or ever again.
This will be it for you. Your food supply is limited to what it was deemed was a reasonable amount of time to– somehow– procure not just one but multiple specimens of Kerm or CRM-12, or whatever you’re meant to call them. Your power will fizzle out. Your oxygen supply will end. Your ship’s fuel is already near its limit. You’re sealed in a death trap as a final sentencing. You shut your eyes tightly, rubbing your hands over your face in an effort to reset.
When Sukuna doesn’t return in a couple of minutes, you move around the ship in an effort to clear your head and get some exercise. Anything that stops reminding you of just how trapped you are in a void of uncharted territory with an alien that far exceeds any of humanity’s feats.
You grab a bite to eat, rehydrating some macaroni and cheese in a flimsy bag. It’s unappealing as all hell but it’s better than starving. Eating straight out of the bag, you meander back towards the window, blinking when you find Sukuna setting up a mobile science lab of some sort just outside the bridge. You jog closer to the window, taking a seat to watch as he sets out largely similar and recognizable equipment, although the shape and build of much of his technology is infinitely more advanced. Bigger, too, given his size.
One set of eyes glides to your movement, an eerie feat of having an extra pair, while he continues to set up. Your mind goes into overdrive trying to figure out just how much that sets apart his biology from yours to have the energy production and sheer brainpower to manage so much at once.
His nose wrinkles when he watches you spoon food into your mouth. Chuckling, you approach the nook by the window, presenting the bag to him. “It’s macaroni and cheese.” You tilt the bag in his direction.
“It’s bad.”
“Hey!” You chide with a grin. “It’s better than it looks. You can’t call it bad until you try it.”
With an unusually pompous huff, he turns back to the mobile set-up and picks up a box-like device, connecting it to the window by suction. He runs his thumb along the edge like a dial and it comes to life, seeping a sort of caulk onto the glass before it begins drilling through the window. Your survival instinct recognizes the structural instability. Your curiosity chooses to ignore it as the device uses some sort of nanotech to recreate its shape on the inner glass, sealing itself.
You purse your lips, your spoon held in mid-air. “A mini pressurization chamber.”
He chuffs. “Give macaroni and cheese.”
“You need to learn manners,” you mutter more to yourself than to him as he literally holds his hand out to bluntly demand your lunch with that unnatural edge to his voice that never quite fits his genuine intrigue.
“Manners?” He queries, though his hand never moves.
Chuckling to yourself as you give in and offer the small bag and spoon of food to him, you watch as your door closes and the pressure within the device changes. “We say please when we ask for something and thank you when we’re given something if we want to be polite or nice to someone.” When his side opens, the bag and food as a whole are crushed under the pressure of his differing atmosphere, presenting him with a dripping mess of squished pasta.
Admittedly, it does look bad now. As it begins dripping melted cheese that’s entirely too watery out the other side straight onto his shoes, he stares at you with the kind of tight-lipped expression that transcends any language barrier.
He’s not thanking you for this.
“Sorry,” you wince, offering an apologetic grin.
He growls, trudging back across the large expanse of hangar bay to get something to clean up the mess. By the time he returns and cleans up the cheese, he finally opts to take a bite of the crushed food, fixing you with a glare.
“Bad. Bad food for weak human.”
You can only smile, because it figures that he would hate it. “Fair enough,” you laugh, watching as he sets it along with the dirty rag he used to clean the cheese. Your eyes widen a fraction at the thought. “Wait, what do you–”
Rolling his shoulders, he points to the small chamber that connects you. “Give Alveolarium.”
Your thoughts are already long forgotten as you pick up one of the cultures, chewing on your lower lip as you examine the glass. “I think your ship’s atmospheric pressure might crush the vial.” You hold it up to him. “It’s pretty thin.”
With a hum, Sukuna offers a box through the exchange to put the phial in. As you exchange materials and Sukuna begins separating the infected cells into smaller cultures within an oxygen-controlled box with barometric pressure equal to your ship’s, it occurs to you that in spite of your life being cut short, some part of you is happy for this experience. Even if your notes and findings get stranded out here, you can say you found companionship in a grumpy ten-foot-tall genius alien, and that’s pretty cool.
With your plights long forgotten as you watch Sukuna work with your face practically plastered to the glass, the technology and rate at which he’s able to work grabs your attention. Your chest practically rattles in excitement as he moves through practiced motions like he already knows what to do.
“What’s that?” You query, watching eagerly as he injects something into a lower arm.
One pair of eyes flicks to you. “For cells.”
“For stem cells? Like from your bones?”
He chuffs, pulling out a rubber band as he restricts his blood flow to take a sample.
“It’s that fast?” You gawk as he already begins drawing a sample.
His brow twitches as you break his concentration, but he chuffs to give you a reply regardless.
“Oh my god. We have a drug that does that too, but it takes a while before it produces any neutrophils– um– stem cells. You’re so much more advanced than us, I never imagined how much different life could be!” You watch as blue blood is extracted from his arm, and he begins separating the sample in order to work with it. “Your blood is blue? Is that because of the differing atmosphere? Or maybe it’s an adaptation somehow–”
“Human,” Sukuna groans, disenchanted with your rambles. He fixes you with a tired expression, pointing to the experiment in an effort to get you to focus. “Stop. Noisy.”
“Right, sorry!” You apologize with a wide grin.
A series of clicks, syllables, and growls escape the brutish man as he mutters something to himself, undoing the band from his arm and flexing his fingers a couple of times before pulling a sleeve back down. As he introduces his cells to the Alveolar cells that are infected in the controlled environment, he moves a small device over the culture slide, projecting hologram of the microscopic cells. His cells are so different from anything you’ve observed on Earth that you have no issue telling which belong to him in spite of your differing major.
The cells collide once, the Alveolarium attempts to attack Sukuna’s cells, then simply… backs off. “They’re incompatible,” you state dryly, your shoulders dropping.
Sukuna grunts. “Alveolar cells still functional. My cells not see issue.”
“That could be it.” You shrug.
He hums, tapping a finger twice along the table. “Then we change environment.”
“Create artificial stress until your cells react,” you breathe, your hand snapping down to the ground beside you with a metallic clang that has Sukuna flashing you another glare.
“Loud. Loud human.”
“Sorry, I just– I’m a bit overexcited,” you offer with a smile.
Sukuna continues to stare for a moment, then adjusts the pressure within the glass box where the experiment is taking place to something more dense. He attempts to alter the environment enough that his cells recognize a threat, while not outright killing yours. Striking a balance between them proves to be a multi-day endeavor. In the moments where you can only wait, you slowly begin to unravel the enigma that is Sukuna.
You can’t count how many times Sukuna huffs or makes his disdain known with a very dramatic look in your direction when you suggest something altogether dumb, but you also note that he tells you you’re noisy less often. He picks up on more scientific terms, and even begins to pick up on prepositions purely from your use of them. He teaches you about Simuria, how the Simurians all have extra eyes, two hearts, and are fairly large compared to humanity, though they largely don’t resemble one another. He teaches you about one with horns, who you assume is a friend. He, on the other hand, refers to the horned Simurian as a neighbor.
You get the feeling Sukuna isn’t the friendly type.
“You’re invasive,” he gruffs out in reply to your question.
Your head falls back as you stare at the ceiling with a groan. “I literally just asked if you choose to be alone!” You retort lightheartedly. “You don’t even have to give me a reason!”
“You’re invasive. Like Kerm.”
“Like–” You gawk at him, watching a slow smile curl at his lips. “Like Kerm?”
“Loud like them too.”
“Hey!”
His head tilts as you exclaim your displeasure with that statement, but it’s one of the rare moments where he does seem pleased, which brings a smile to your face regardless. For whatever reason, nothing seems to get him boastful quite like belittling humanity. And since his only knowledge of humanity is you, that puts you at the center of his jokes.
“You know,” you meander back to the topic of Kerm, pulling the smile straight from his lips when you change the subject. “You never did tell me why you’re here. You know the Kerm too, so is it for them?”
He chuffs. “I did tell you. The Kerm are invasive.”
“That’s not really a reason. That’s just like– a statement.”
Seated on the floor with his back against the glass that separates you, he rolls his head along the rigid surface, his gaze finding you. “Kerm are smarter than you humans think,” he grumbles out a baseline explanation. He utters something in his language, then puts together a few sounds until he has a new word for you. “Methalonian weapons. They aren’t natural. They’re–” he taps his fingers on the bay’s floor briefly in thought. “Created by another species.”
“Methalonian,” you test the word. “Are they artificial? Or are they mutated? Like, completely not real or mutated from something that already existed?”
He taps his finger decidedly. “Mutated. Another species mutated them. I’ve been circling this planet for a while now to find where they come from,” he explains. “There are no other species here. They ate all of their resources. Now they invade.”
“How do they even leave? Are they that smart?”
He growls. “They attach themselves to ships and invade.”
“Oh. What are you planning on doing to them, then?”
He sucks in a breath. “Killing them.”
You freeze, staring at him as he examines your expression. You’ve never been much good at training your emotions, your pupils narrowing to mere pinpricks. You swallow, gaze averting to the photo of Shoko. “You were never gonna let me take any.”
“... No.”
“That’s why you trapped me. You knew I was here for them.”
“Made a guess,” he agrees with a hand motion that you’d equate to a shrug.
Slumping back against the bridge’s floor, you stare at the ceiling. Your alien counterpart watches in silence as you process what you know of the Kerm, your current situation, and your species’ survival. You consider Shoko back home, and the rest of your family and friends. You consider your nights out together ten years ago and what that might look like now if you ever make it back. You consider the failing government, and how it’s possible everything has completely fallen apart since your launch. But what really gets to you is that if this doesn’t work, there’s no world where Sukuna lets you send a Kerm back.
Maybe you shouldn’t care. You’re physically welded into a ship in the middle of nowhere. Yet here you are, even after everything, still being hopeful. It’s the most human thing you could possibly do. “What did The Kerm do to you?” You quietly murmur, still staring at the ceiling.
He inhales once, long. His eyes shut. “They’re mutated to kill,” he grunts. “The cells your scientists found in their shells…” his jaw ticks as he clicks, something you can’t decipher as syllables follow it. “It is not your cure.”
You lift your head, leaning on two elbows to look at him.
“It is your cause.”
Your lips part, brow furrowing. “But– I– That’s not–” Your chest tightens, emotions betraying you as you feel your waterline wet. Quickly wiping away the evidence, your fingers curl against the metal floor beneath you.
Sukuna doesn’t budge, his fiery gaze pinning you to place.
“But Alveolarium has been around longer than the Kerm was on Earth.”
He moves a knee, tilting his head. “Has it?”
“I… Don’t know, actually.” At last, you admit it, but things don’t fully add up from what you know. You let yourself fall onto your back again. “The company that sent me here, we had a bit of a disagreement. I guess… Maybe they were right, but still.”
Sukuna’s eyes narrow, minute, as he attempts to decipher the vagueness of your statement, but by nature of a language barrier, he can’t make out what emotion it is that you’re so graciously dancing around.
You swallow hard. “Did… Did they kill a lot of Simurians?”
“Yes. Humans?”
“If it’s them then… yeah, I guess. Millions. Like, thousands upon thousands.”
Morbidly intrigued, Sukuna shuffles to get a better look at you, his face closer to the glass than ever. “How many humans are on Earth?”
“Um–” You quickly pull up the whiteboard, demonstrating a number for ten, then a thousand, then a million, then a billion. “There were eight billion.”
This is the most baffled you’ve ever seen Sukuna, who physically recoils at the mere thought. “How do you keep distance? How do you celebrate the union of humans?”
“Union of humans?” You laugh. “Weddings? I don’t know, you invite a hundred people and call it a day.” But the question sparks something in you as you sit up to face your baffled friend. “How many Simurians are there?”
“Seventy nine.”
“WHAT?” You gape, noting that he doesn’t complain about your noise in spite of his narrowing eyes and defensive posture. “Are you guys close to going extinct? Like, being gone? Are you not worried?”
He simply growls in reply. “No, human. Things are…” He hesitates, his gaze averting. “We all have space and resources, it isn’t cramped.” He rolls his shoulders back. “We celebrate all weddings every year. Then stay alone with our partners.”
There’s a pit of jealousy in your stomach that you cover with a smile. “So you have someone you’ll be going back to, hey?” You grin, prodding at him through the window. You equate the unsettling feeling to a yearning for having someone like that back home, or even the option to return, but it would be ignoring the bigger picture that you’ve both been sitting in this bay for several days together and you’ve grown fond of him. You may not have a choice in being here, but he does. And he chooses to help in spite of his own goals. Your heart likes that he chooses you a bit too much.
To your surprise, your question irks him and his eyes narrow. A harsh hiss erupts from his throat as he suddenly turns back towards the pressurized box where your experimentation is taking place.
Your shoulders fall, watching the muscles over his back pull taut as he busies himself with little more than prep work for a next experiment as you continue to wait.
It doesn’t take a rocket scientist (hah) to realize that Sukuna has no partner. The thought trickles through the pockets of your mind. Seventy nine people on a planet total… You can only imagine how lonely that gets. Even you, who chooses to be with bugs a majority of your life, always returns home to Shoko and your bugs at the end of a trip.
Seventy nine. That’s thirty nine weddings. Is he the only Simurian with no partner? “Sukuna…” You watch him work, his movements unbothered as he dilutes samples and ups heat to push his cells to react. “Are you lonely?”
He freezes. A muscle in his cheek twitches as he flexes his jaw, choosing not to reply when he continues in his motions.
Your shoulders fall as you watch him silently work, pulling the rug out from under you on the reality of your relationship. A working relationship, really. He’s always chided you for being invasive, and you suppose this is why.
“I’m lonely,” you offer, quietly. His movements don’t freeze altogether, but they slow. He moves as though any noise might distract him from what you’re saying, in spite of the fact that there’s no keeping secrets from a man with ears like him. “I wish I could go back to Earth. Or maybe meet the Simurians, or see more of the universe. I wish I could study bugs again.”
When he still doesn’t reply, but his movements slow to a crawl, you pick up the photo of you and Shoko, presenting it to him again. “I’d love to tell my friend what we’re up to.”
After an extended moment’s silence, he removes his hands from the box, resting them on the table he rolled in. The dense metal protests his weight, even though it was designed for him. Likely designed by him, too. He still doesn’t face you, choosing to protect himself from your prying eyes by continuing to face somewhat away from you.
“It’s not so bad up here though, you know. I mean, I met you. That’s pretty cool.” You scoot closer to the glass, hoping to find common ground through friendship, if you can call this such a thing.
Your movement grabs his attention. His gaze flickers towards you, the only sign he’s heard you at all. He continues to face forward, his shoulders hunched over the cool metal table.
“Why are you alone?” He finally speaks up, unmoving otherwise.
“I’m uh– pretty noisy,” you offer with a grin in terms he knows well, deflecting the question. “So I guess it just never worked out with other people.”
Sukuna straightens, turning to face you. “Not what I meant.”
You smile, half-hearted. “I’m a criminal, Sukuna.”
“Criminal?”
You nod, pulling your knees into your chest as he slowly nears the glass again. He takes a seat, cross-legged as he leans over his forearms to give you his full attention. “I did a really bad thing. Other humans got hurt and I’m here as a punishment. Our technology isn’t as good as yours and the crew that signed up for this mission knew they wouldn’t get to go back to Earth. The choices I made landed me here instead of them.”
“What did you do?”
Your arms tighten around your legs as you settle your chin along your knees. “The Kerm, you know how I told you we had one?”
He chuffs.
“We put it in a cell, a big cage or room,” you explain to the best of your ability. “I was told they just caught it and I was brought in to study it, because it looks similar to our bugs so people in charge made assumptions,” you haphazardly point at the photo where your bug pets are crawling on your clothes. Their features are close enough to the Kerm that you can see the train of thought that led to you. “In my time studying it, I realized it was smart. Like, way smarter than any bug on Earth. Maybe even smarter than any animal. It was listening. It was learning.”
“You opened its cell.”
With a drawn out sigh, you bury your face in your folded arms, muffling your words. “I opened its cell.”
“It ate them all.”
“It ate the crew for this mission. Every last one of them. And then the people in charge killed it, too.”
With two arms relaxed in his lap and two holding him up, Sukuna watches in relative silence as emotions swim through your eyes. He doesn’t have a name for most of them, but he’s seen them in himself. Over a thousand years of life will do that to you.
Your voice is a mere whisper. “It was so smart, Sukuna. I just couldn’t watch it live out its life in a cell.”
“Now you live your life in a cell.”
You lift your head, gaze flickering across the buttons you never bothered to figure out and the white walls you never quite grew accustomed to when all you ever see is Sukuna. “Yeah, I guess so. Funny how that works, huh?”
“It’s not funny,” he hisses, his brow furrowing in such a way that actually has you curious.
It’s not as though you didn’t consider yourself acquaintances at least with him by this point. You've spent several days together and he chooses every day to return when he could have dropped you off at any point and cleaned up his scuffed hangar, but he doesn’t. Every day, he pushes his own goals and mission back another day into the future and chooses to help the trapped little entomologist residing in the back corner of his ship. The whole thing is funny if you’re grim enough about it.
In spite of his frustration, you shuffle forward, pressing a hand to the glass. “It’s okay. I’m glad we met before I’m gone.”
His brow twitches not once but twice as he stares at your hand like it’s a personal affront. “My ship can get you home.”
Your fingers curl just slightly against the glass. Your body inadvertently winces at the thought. “Maybe. But if I go home, I’ll still be arrested and live life in a cell down there. That’s… worse.”
“Even if you bring back a cure?”
“Humans are… complicated.”
“Stupid.”
A puff of air leaves your nose. “Yeah. Humans are stupid.” You do what you can to mask your underlying sadness as your lips curl up into a smile.
You can’t read Sukuna’s expression as his intense crimson stare burns into you. You know there’s a level of disbelief and maybe even frustration at your self-sacrifice in his eyes. Whether you want to admit that an alien could feel something like that for you is another story.
You can see the internal battle raging within him, although you can’t identify what battle it is that he fights. In spite of his troubled scowl, you’re shocked when an arm slowly lifts from where his elbow rested on his thigh. He brings it to the glass, his fingers pressing first over each digit, before his palm splays over yours. The heat he radiates is warm enough that you feel it through the glass, befitting of a ten foot alien that expends far more energy than you. As if you weren’t already aware, it makes it apparent just how much he dwarfs you.
You peel your gaze from his hand, examining the way he refuses to look at you. Softly, you pose a question that might answer some of your own. “How many Simurians were there before the Kerm?”
His frown deepens, his head falling. “Over one thousand. I evolved. Most… did not.”
Something briefly occurs to you of the whole ordeal. You wonder if maybe there was someone that even he– a scientist and engineer clearly capable of incredible feats– could not save. “Your family?” You query, your voice a near-whisper that you know he picks up on.
His eyes slowly drag across the glass, staring straight through you as his reflection startlingly pins him in place. He swallows hard, refusing to confirm when it’s not you staring him down, but his own misplaced guilt that reflects back at him.
His jaw locks, teeth grinding as he pulls back suddenly, on his feet in an instant with an expression you can’t place. He’s scowling with wide eyes, turning on his heel as he excuses himself with nothing more than an “I’m tired,” trudging away with footsteps that echo throughout the bay.
Sitting back, you let out a sigh as you’re left alone once again.
–
The somber tone of that day never fully recuperates itself into something easier. There’s a constant pressure looming overhead that unfortunately isn’t barometric. It’s that of a ship set to fail and a man who treats revenge like a cure for loss. But on the other hand, one thing does change. Sukuna opens up.
He shows you a hologram with images of Simuria that leave you wistful for the greater universe. Space was never your forte, but the dense petrified wood forests and gaseous craters and mountains have your brain tripping over itself in curiosity of what insects could exist in those biomes, much to Sukuna’s dismay as he brushes you off as noisy.
As the days pass and your food supply begins to run short, you’re left with no option but to eat less as you quietly enter survival mode upon realizing Sukuna eats… well, rocks. So you’re left only with what was packed for you.
You were intended to have sent Kerm back by now. You weren’t intended to find life like Sukuna. You weren’t intended to bond. You weren’t intended to be left with a yearning to explore the universe and see the things he’s seen. You weren’t intended to slowly begin to wither. There was an out for you, as morbid as it is. A single dose ready to take once your mission was complete.
And yet, every day, Sukuna brings something new for you to see or experience. It’s small, but it’s surprisingly meaningful. He shows you the vast cliff faces of a Simurian coast that’s a famous vacation spot. He tells you stories of the gaseous craters within the planet that make much of it uninhabitable, hence the far smaller population across it, even before the Kerm. He demonstrates the use of four arms to their full extent and how his brain adapted. He shows you his tattoos. God, the tattoos.
He tells you all about how they each have meaning. How in Simuria, they’re a mark of life events. His wrists were banded when he finished an equivalent of elementary school at twenty-eight. His upper arms were an equivalent of high school at thirty-six, and something akin to university marked his shoulders at sixty-two. It’s a wonder to hear someone graduating university at sixty-two with their life still ahead of them.
He lifts his shirt and points to stripes along his shoulder and back. You swear you’re paying attention. You swear. He smirks, but he tells you nonetheless that they were from what you might consider a bachelor’s degree equivalent.
“What about your face?” You ask, tracing the ink on his jaw along the glass as you leave behind a smear.
“That,” he states, “was my choice. We all choose what our face will look like.”
“No special event?”
“Just me,” he breathes.
It makes you smile.
He hates how much that very action sits under his ribs. It pokes at him, prods at him like it belongs there, reminding him that this won’t last forever.
One morning, he arrives with dark circles under his eyes. He notes that you both look tired. He knows his reasoning, but he can’t place yours. Your energy is largely spent, yet you just awoke. You’re not noisy anymore. He places a circular device on the ground. A holographic device, you recognize it right away, but it’s far larger than the usual one.
“You wanted to see the mountains,” he states simply, ignoring the failed experiment to his left, in spite of the fact that he needs to start a new one with time of the essence. “You will.”
Awaiting him in your usual nook by the window, you’re wrapped up in a blanket, smiling in spite of yourself. For the first time since you met, weak feels as though it properly describes your appearance, but you refuse to give up despite your body’s shortcomings as your stomach rumbles. Sukuna never points it out.
He runs his finger along the outer dial that his machinery tends to run on and it springs to life. You bring a hand up to block the light protruding from a high-lumen-count projector, squinting as the hologram doesn’t just project something in a controlled, small environment, it extends to every wall as though you’re there. The bulb remains bright as Sukuna steps away from it, allowing you to see a mountain as though you’re there.
It’s not a rebuilt landscape either, you realize as you press your hands to the glass to get a better view. It’s a video. It’s a bit shaky, and you’re certain that if it played audio, you might hear the camera operator panting. Every time it shakes and the hologram can’t make sense of what it’s projecting, you squint, but it comes back in a moment. When it flashes suddenly, you catch a glimpse of Sukuna, following along behind the camera operator. He looks young. In human years, you would guess his twenties. Maybe three hundred for him. You can’t help a smile as you note that he doesn’t seem to have four arms. You wonder if they came later.
The camera flashes again as the operator moves it, revealing his own face along with Sukuna and four laughing Simurians. Sukuna still bears his usual aloof expression, but the joy in his eyes is palpable as they all pose for a photo. The camera operator looks largely like Sukuna, though he bears no facial tattoos and only a simple set of extra eyes. A twin, perhaps.
To Sukuna’s left is a Simurian with shoulder-length white hair who’s much shorter than the rest of them with an eye in the center of their forehead, a tall and slender Simurian with horns and the same third eye, one with shaggy white hair and six striking blue eyes, and one with silky-looking black hair and four eyes, purple beyond your wildest beliefs.
“Are those your friends?” You query, covering a cough in your elbow.
Sukuna intently watches the action, chuffing when the camera turns away. “We went on a trip after my fourth tattoo.”
“You look young.”
He steps around the projector, moving closer to your window. “I was.” He’s never been the most talkative, but he does ask more questions. You chalk it up to scientific curiosity. “Are Earth mountains like this?” Were you more keen, you might realize he’s deflecting you from the subject of the friends of which he’s mostly lost.
You stare around at the landscape. Simuria is largely rocky with giant craters. It’s covered in iridescent minerals that seem to form under the far more gaseous and toxic-leaning environment. “Some,” you decide. “The more harsh environments get colorful like this. Mostly, they’re gray with trees. Kinda spiky green ones with pointed tops. We get snow, too, at the tops where it’s colder.”
Simuria is warm, from what you’ve gathered, and his head tilts curiously at the thought of snow.
“You know when you bring a liquid to a cold temperature and it freezes?”
He chuffs.
“Like that, but tiny shavings of it. It’s white and cold. It falls from the clouds.”
“Fascinating.” And he means it, too. It’s the most intriguing part of all of your interactions with him. You don’t learn through questioning as scientists anymore, you learn through sharing as friends.
“It’s beautiful,” you murmur to yourself, watching the video clip play out. It cuts off without so much as a sound of warning, the room returning to the usual bright and barren metal appearance you’ve grown accustomed to. “Snow doesn’t have much friction, so humans would go to the top of mountains and slide down.”
“You have no cliffs?”
“Not really on the snowy mountains.” You scoot forward, leaning your shoulder against the window as you pull yourself into a tight ball with a blanket draped over your shoulders. “Mostly in deserts. Desert mountains look more like Simurian ones, but mostly one color. They’re warmer, too. Most of the time.”
Subconsciously, Sukuna leans against the glass, his shoulder warming you enough that your eyes flutter shut. “What color?”
You yawn. “Orange. It’s kinda like a darker version of your hair. If you squint.”
Absently running a hand through said locks, he stares out at the hangar’s walls, where the hologram projected mountains mere moments ago. “I think I know the color,” he murmurs mostly to himself. Rising from where he leans against the glass, his lips part to speak when he finds you sound asleep slumped against the glass.
His jaw tightens, a sharp pain rising behind his teeth at the sight of the tiny Human he’s grown fond of curled into a little ball aboard her ship. His friend. Slowly, a hand rises to the glass as something in his chest twists painfully. He recognizes the feeling, he’s no fool. He’s spent over a thousand years alive and isn’t a stranger to the pang gnawing at him as the noisy stowaway he picked up passes out in his presence.
To you, he’s safety. To him, you're more than just company.
And you’re wasting away in his hangar bay because some species he’s never come across decided that would be the case simply for having compassion. It brought about a mistake, sure, but you had compassion nonetheless where they did not.
He sucks in a breath, taking long strides over the metal floor to continue experimenting until you rise again. He works quietly, although he knows your hearing doesn’t compare to his. He moves with silent ease in spite of his lumbering form and watches with a frown as every environmental change he puts either of the cells through doesn’t bring out the result he wants. His cells adapt to the environment, but never recognize the Alveolarium as a threat.
Stepping back as he attempts to re-evaluate, he casts a glance back at you. Even if your energy wanes, your heart still beats steadily in his keen ears. He can get you back to Earth so long as he can figure out a solution to get energy back into your system somehow given that his food doesn’t fit within your diet.
You stir with a yawn, seemingly roused by his glance. You press against the glass, sitting up and blinking a number of times. When you meet his gaze, a spark of energy ignites that has Sukuna wincing. You clamber against the metal, some sort of button or zipper on your clothes clanging hard against the metal. “Sorry, Sukuna! I didn’t realize I fell asleep.”
He growls, rubbing absently at his second ear tucked within salmon locks. “It’s fine,” he grumbles, although your company is more welcome than he gives off as you sit upright to watch his experimentation once more.
You offer suggestions that get you deadpan expressions and a dramatic roll of the eyes given your lack of knowledge on the subject of medicinal chemistry is lacking. You figure you’re better at telling stories anyway, and even if you lose your place here and there when your tiredness catches up with you, Sukuna always offers a guiding suggestion when you falter.
The following day is when he starts to notice a trend that doesn’t greet either of you with warmth.
You drag yourself to the bridge later than usual without your morning granola bar. Sukuna offers you a mineral, but he knows it would break your teeth. He also offers meat, but you both already know your system rejects it. The blanket you’ve been dragging around with you for the past few days is bundled so tightly around you that Sukuna would wager a guess that you’re colder than usual, too.
When you make a motion to point at something on the table, his gaze lingers on your trembling finger. He can hear your stomach. He knows you’re starving. He’s watching your spirit fade, completely helplessly.
Sukuna, a man who’s spent over two hundred years coming to terms with the past and adapting to being alone, finds himself completely at a loss and frustrated beyond his means when he finds you the following morning. Or– more accurately– when he doesn’t find you.
His footsteps are even as he makes his way across the hangar. Your belongings remain at the glass, but you aren’t there yet. He tilts his head, catching your heartbeat as a slow, steady thump that keeps him at bay, and moves to check on his most recent experiment. He frowns as he finds after the allotted time, his cells remain by their lonesome, still unable to identify your Human disease as a threat.
Truthfully, it perplexes him. You determined early on that you share enough DNA to potentially be susceptible to the same diseases. Hell, by all means this is something Simurians have already overcome. It came from the same source, so he can’t figure out why his stem cells have yet to take to yours.
Carding his finger through his hair, he lets out a forlorn sigh, eyes shut for a long moment. Your heart is a steady drum in his ear, a reminder of what it is that he’s working towards. Had someone told him two weeks ago that he’d be helping such a pitiful little species overcome a disease of their own doing, he might not have believed them. But there’s more to you than your brittle bone structure and weak muscle mass. You’re smart. Perhaps not as advanced as he is, but you’re smart far beyond your thirty five years.
You’re smart in the kind of way Sukuna can only dream. He’s seen the way your mind works, how thoughts pour out before you even have time to put them together. He’s seen how resilient you are in the face of certain death. But what really gets him is your attitude. You grin through every shortcoming. You ensure him that if you keep trying, eventually your minds will come together and you’ll figure it out. You never acknowledge that breakthroughs like this take centuries. You didn’t even blink when he revealed that he’s been searching for the source of the Kerm for over a hundred years.
You’re unlike anything Sukuna’s ever known. And something dark crawls beneath his skin when you don’t rouse by the time you’re usually eating. Noon, you called it once.
With his experimental cells set in an extremely cold environment, he leaves the workspace to round your ship. His head tilts as he listens for your heartbeat as though it ever left his periphery, but it’s as sound as it’s ever been. Slowed by sleep perhaps, but sound. He comes to a halt when it grows louder as he nears your sleeping bay. His hand drifts across the scraped metal where your ship tilted on its axis when it scraped the ground as he scooped you up, resting along the damaged hull.
He hones in on you, and finds you’re still breathing. Still there. Still alive. But shallow. There’s no wheeze, no sharp inhales. It’s simple and shallow.
His brow furrows as he turns to fully face the ship. You aren’t just malnourished anymore. Something is wrong. His gaze lifts, traveling along the mechanics that keep your ship in one piece, far more primitive than the smooth and compact design of his. He doesn’t know what he expects to find, but when what he’s faced with isn’t an easy explanation, he turns on his heel.
He moves with more severity than he has in a century, no longer silent as he pads over extended corridors of metal that leave him questioning ever having a ship of this size. When he reaches his lab, he reaches for a scanner and jogs back to your ship.
It only takes a moment to calibrate its sensor to search only for organic matter. He lifts it to your ship. Alveolarium, as expected. Blood, and healthy stem Alveolar cells, as expected. All in small quantities.
Until everything lights up red. Immense amounts of blood, of musculature and tissue, along with a high volume of water. He’s found you. And along with everything he expects of an organic creature, a revelation that makes his blood run cold.
An uncontrolled quantity of Alveolarium. You’re infected.
Somehow, between the multitude of items you’ve exchanged and the experiments you’ve run by your lonesome, you must have been exposed. Your energy is being sapped because your body is fighting a disease engineered to kill.
He harshly clicks and growls to himself in a series of muttered curses, as he stares at the reading. For the first time since the bioweapon you call Kerm was found on Simuria over two hundred years ago, he finds himself completely and utterly helpless yet again. Control slips through his fingers like the sands of time as he raises the scanner once more as though it might reveal a different fate, but it never does.
His chest rises and falls heavily, his arms falling to his sides as he stares blankly. His mind takes a moment to wrap around the reality that you’re not Simurian. You’re human. You’re noisy and weak, your mind can’t keep up with your thoughts, and you’re invasive as hell– you won’t adapt to the illness. And god, is it quiet without you.
Urgency kicks in like a long-dormant volcano coming to life as he moves back to the table, evaluating how many samples he has left. He draws more of his cells, ignoring the tingling feeling in his arm as he injects himself with a drug to draw stem cells from his marrow. He drags more of his lab to the hangar, setting out tables and creating extra boxes able to pressurize to the same barometric pressure as that of an oxygenated atmosphere.
He lowers incubation times to do more tests, changing the parameters so often that his notes become a mess.
You don’t move. He hears you shuffle once on the first day. On the second, he grits his teeth as he listens to your harsh breaths. Your moans, your groans. You move at one point in what sounds like a drag of your feet and he hears water, but he’s not even positive if you make it back to your quarters.
As he watches one of his cells back off from Humanity’s infected lung cells, he leans over the table on two arms, sucking in a long breath. He doesn’t know how long he has. He doesn’t know how long you can survive without food. He doesn’t know if you have more water.
His second pair of hands ball into fists at his sides as he shuts all four eyes tightly. He didn’t know what to do two hundred years ago watching something so similar take out his entire species. He doesn’t know what to do now, stuck in the same situation. His knowledge is far more advanced than everything he knew back then. His technology and abilities exceed everything from back then. So why the fuck can’t he figure it out?
Is it that your suggestions were more useful than he gave you credit for? No, is it that he simply misses them? That they kept his mind from running off-rails into mania?
He works himself to the bone until he’s leaning with his back to your window. With one knee pulled up, he rests his elbow atop it, using his hand to block the light from his pounding head. He absently rubs at the bridge of his nose, eyes shut as he runs through formulas in his head until his mind begins to give in. The only thing he can bring his mind to hone in on is the sound of your heart. The steady reminder of the noisy human he’s doing this for in the first place.
Just as he begins to drift off, the gentle buzz of lights in your ship comes to a halt, a mechanical voice brought to life by necessity.
“Backup power activated. Life support systems online.”
The alien jolts, his slumber interrupted as he stares up at your ship with wild eyes. They flick all around the bridge as he takes in the red light and the way the buttons along the navigation board have dimmed, many shutting off altogether.
“Backup?” He states the word as though the program might respond to him. “Online?” Neither word is in his vocabulary, and as he gets to his feet, all four hands pressed to the glass, he searches desperately for meaning. “Human? Human?” His mind is too worn out to fill in the gaps with context as panic coats his movements like a snake slowly seeping its venom into its prey.
With a final call of your name, his fingers squeak as they drag along the glass. He turns back to his work station, dragging his hands violently over his scalp. He clicks and growls to himself, slamming a lower hand down over one of the sealed pressurized boxes. It cracks easily from his strength, putting his experiments immediately at risk. His eyes widen, two hands raising as though he might be able to stop it with his bare hands. He rushes back through his ship, racing through corridors to find something capable of stopping the crack before it shatters altogether.
Returning with a handful of options, he opts to melt a stone element from his planet into the crack. It’s the safest option he can think of. Sitting back from the soldering gun, he collapses onto the floor in a flurry of exhausted limbs. His stomach mouth parts as his body expends much of his energy on his mental state, only furthering his trouble.
In an effort to gather his thoughts, he leans over his knees, dragging his hands down his face. Backup. Red lights came on, some systems shut down. Using context clues, he can put that together. He pushes down his panic as he works on the second word. Online. He can still hear your ship whirring. He can hear your breathing. Life support must be working.
Okay. One problem down.
No matter how he changes the co-culture or adjusts the selective pressure, no matter how he adjusts his hypothesis or the duress he puts his cells under, the results remain the same. His cells adapt. But never to the disease. They co-exist in separate worlds.
Two eyes flick towards your ship, reminded of you, stuck on your own in a cell of your own doing. His fingers curl into his palm as he drives his focus back to his makeshift lab.
He can’t figure out why his cells won’t recognize yours. You may be different species, but his cells should recognize the pathogen in the Alveolarium as similar to the same illness that took out a majority of Simuria. He’s already adapted past it, and the cell structure isn’t that different.
He drags his nails over his scalp while his lower arms remain in fists. How much power do you have left? How much longer can you survive without water? You’re largely compounded of it based on his scan, can you survive without intake?
With a harsh growl, he pushes to his feet, ignoring the way his muscles protest. Pain simmers as he pushes them, keeping the reins on his control over this situation with an iron grasp. He pushes through the burn, pushes his mind to its limits as he works out chemical compounds with what brain power he has left, all the while continuing to alter the cells’ environment until he has nothing left to give.
–
Your ship doesn’t do its usual chime come morning. What’s worse is that your coughing startles him awake. Your heart stutters, a deadly sound for any species.
Hunched over in an odd position on the floor, Sukuna cracks his neck, rubbing at it as adrenaline pumps through his veins.
You’re dying. For all the tireless work he’s doing, you’re still dying.
He reaches out for the window where you once sat, dragging his fingers over it like your very ship might fall from his grasp at any moment. His breathing accelerates, his chest leaden with the gravity of the situation. Resting his entire body against the glass, all four arms settle along the panel. His head rests unevenly on the panel, off-kilter at the whim of the plate that resides over the right side of his face. A low rumble starts from deep within his chest, erupting in a full-blown furious fit of hisses, clicks, Simurian syllables and roars.
He curses in his mother tongue like he did over a hundred years ago. He’s spent over a century learning, advancing, and searching the damn stars for a bioweapon only for the very same thing to be his demise once again.
Peeling himself off of your ship, he reaches back to rub at a kink in his neck. His first issue was a lack of understanding of your ship system. He fixed that. His second issue is the cells. He can’t fix that without trial and error. His third issue is you dying, which is made up of two issues. The pressure of his ship would crush you, but your own life support systems are failing. When your ship depressurizes, the hull will be crushed, your oxygen will flow out into the sulfuric compounds that make up his air, and you’ll suffocate.
And then there’s the dehydration. And he doesn’t know which one is a more immediate threat. Regardless, his immediate problem is your ship. He stares at it in an effort to figure out how to remove it from the equation.
He could create a new box for you, something smaller than your ship, create his own life support systems for you and pressurize the box by pumping in oxygen and out carbon dioxide, similar to the box he uses for experiments. It’s not impossible in theory, but he doesn’t have the materials on-board to build a box of that size, nor does he have an extra generator capable of creating oxygen at that scale.
The only materials aboard are from your ship, the very thing he can’t tear apart right now.
He drags his hand back through his hair, tearing it straight from the scalp as he fails to find a way to guarantee containment while also pressurizing whatever he can work out. On a small scale, he can manage with what’s in his lab. On a large scale, all he can truly manage is his ship itself. His shoulders fall slowly. His ship.
The pressure of your atmosphere wouldn’t be a big deal on a creature like him. His ship could handle that without question. His muscles would survive. He could wear a suit, pump the sulfuric components through it. He could save you from the immediate threat. For a moment, the thought sits with him. It slips into his chest along his ribs, curling around his pounding hearts. It almost doesn’t feel real.
But when the dust settles and he’s left simply staring at your window, it becomes suddenly, startlingly, real. He turns on his heel like a man on a mission, moving through the ship as he heads for the mechanical room. He wrenches the small metal door with too much force, causing it to bend as he slips down into the tight space.
Machinery hums and breathes around him, worn pipes humming on every side as he shimmies through the space you might think was built by someone else given how much Sukuna is forced to squeeze through it. A whirring tank brushes his skin– hot– burning him in the process, but it’s barely a distraction when he’s aiming for the back of the room.
Sure enough, the sulfuric gas generator residing at the back comes into view quickly. The generator currently keeping his ship pressurized could be repurposed for oxygen through chemical reactions similar to what’s currently generating his sulfuric gasses. He can suit up, and–
His hands come to a halt as he finds himself scanning his surroundings like it might change his fate.
]He only has one generator. He can only create sulfuric compounds for his own atmosphere on a small scale with what he has onboard his ship, but not enough to support him long-term, and what’s currently stored won’t last forever. And that’s only the tip of the iceberg, when he considers that he still has to kill the Kerm, on a planet whose atmosphere he knows nothing about, with creatures built to kill whether through sheer violence or illness. He can’t risk using what sulfuric compounds he has stored while aboard his own ship.
In the cramped space with the generator’s hatch open, he presses the ball of his palm against his temple. There’s an answer. One that he’s already considering. But the cost could be his life. He could make the change to oxygen and pray his body is forced to adapt and maybe save you, should he survive. It’s either that or sit here and listen to your heart and breathing weaken until you’re nothing but a shadow in his hangar bay.
On the flip side, if he doesn’t adapt, then you’re both dead.
Sukuna has always been a man of certainties. He chose science because it makes sense. He chose science, because variables don’t react without reason. He chose science because it gives him control of his outcomes through error and studious attention. But this decision isn’t about science or reason.
This decision is about the hundreds of Simurians he feels responsible for losing. It’s about his revenge against the Kerm. It’s about the noisy human wheezing in his hangar bay who told him she wanted to see Simuria. It’s about the stupid girl whose heart stuttered as she solemnly lied to him about being okay with her fate. It’s about how cold your hand felt, even through the glass.
He barks out a Simurian curse, reaching for the tools necessary to begin generating a different gas.
He wrenches on a cable, giving it a harsh twist to unlock it from its position. The ship comes alight with warnings that he opts to block out as the pressure of the hull begins to shift. It’s not painful to begin, even as the ship’s very structure complains with harsh moans and groans. He floods the chamber with sodium chlorate and ups the heat until it begins producing oxygen. As the remaining sulfuric gas runs into a reserve chamber, he shuts the generator and continues to ignore the creaking and warnings his ship spews.
Getting to his feet again, he slides through the tight space, sucking in every last breath he can of sulfuric gasses as they begin to dissipate.
Oxygen hurts. He pushes through the pain, trudging through the halls as he fails to catch his breath, certain that the generator is working when his muscles feel loose as the pressure of the ship adjusts to the new gas flowing through its chambers. He turns down a long hall, ignoring the flashing lights along every wall while the hull groans. When he finally reaches the hangar, his chest doesn’t ache or burn, it sears like something is clawing at him from within, begging to be let out. It’s not his first brush with pain like this, but there’s something different when it’s his lungs. Tears form along his lash line as he lacks sulfuric gasses to his brain, the compounds unable to pump blood to his most important organs.
When he reaches your ship, he stumbles into it, still upright through sheer willpower alone. He slams his fist into the panel nearest where he last knew you were, loosening the edge. His fingers curl around the newly revealed edge and with all the might left in his body, he tears it off. Along with it comes a series of mechanics as your ship begins to beep and protest in tandem with his. Only once he tears through some wiring with a series of flashing lights does your ship finally shut off.
This is it– the test of his own scientific capabilities. Whether or not you survive in the environment he’s artificially created within his own ship.
The blaring alarms mitigate his ability to find you, his head whipping one way or the other. He drags himself through the pain, through the mind-numbing brain fog, picking up a half-finished bottle of water he spots on a counter along the way, until he finds you.
You’re sitting awkwardly in a corner, shivering, but conscious. Alive.
Your eyes are harshly lidded when you stare up at him, clinging to your blanket like it’s a lifeline. Your dry lips part, a look of sheer confusion falling over your expression like you doubt what you’re seeing in the dark corridor of your ship whose systems have completely failed.
Sukuna’s chest struggles to rise and fall evenly, every breath furthering the pain behind his eyes as his lungs fail to pump sulfuric compounds into his bloodstream and his brain function falters. He doesn’t let his knees give out until he’s able to hand you the water bottle.
“S’kuna?” Your voice sounds as though it’s been scraped against the very compounds that make up Simurian mountains. You sound as though you don’t trust your voice, let alone your mind.
Close enough to leave the water within your reach, the giant alien’s body finally gives out. The water hits the floor beside you just within reach as one arm attempts to grab the counter that you lean against. His palm brushes the surface, but his body drops like a stone to the floor beside you, scraping his palm. His vision is narrow as he uses what little strength he has left to envelop you in his arms, acting as a blanket for your shivering form.
The moment he touches you, clarity shoots through your mind like lightning. This is no fever dream, you’re not waking up out of sheer necessity of needing water or a way to warm up. It’s a shock to your system in more ways than one. He’s not just warm– his body runs like a furnace in comparison to yours. He’s so warm that curling into him isn’t a choice, it’s survival and he knows it.
The very thing that kept you apart for so long hits you harder than the shock that Sukuna is beside you. “Wait–” the word comes weakly as you give his arm a shove. It barely affects him. “You can’t–” A cough settles at the back of your throat, interrupting your thoughts. “What did you do?” You rasp out between the kind of coughs that wrack your body and send spikes of pain to every receptor that will listen.
But he doesn’t respond, any semblance of consciousness long gone as his arms go limp. You can’t move him. You can barely move yourself. The most you can do is hope that his body takes to oxygen like it did to science, or whatever it was that truly gave him an extra pair of arms. You assume that’s his hope too.
The flashing lights and warning buzzers continue to blare outside the hull. Your ship offers very little cover from the noise, but enough that your already-foggy mind is able to drown out the noise with the static of illness. Unable to fight the heaviness held over you, you shakily grab the water. You may be too delirious to grasp the true gravity of the situation and what Sukuna’s done, but you know better than to overlook the gift of water.
The massive alien wrapped around you on the ground makes it easy to lean into him, basking in his warmth as it quells a modicum of your shivers. The longer you sit there in the flashing lights and blaring sirens, the more your body gives in to the grasps of the sandman. Subconsciously, you lean into Sukuna– passed out beside you– until your head leans against his shoulder. It doesn’t rise and fall, but you find comfort in the fact that when you press a hand to his chest in search of something, anything, that might give you hope, his heart pushes a single beat through. One after another, each of his two hearts continues to push through the unlikely situation.
That reassurance makes it easier to give in to the forces pushing you to unconsciousness. Because you recognize Sukuna’s actions as more than just kindness in the face of danger.
This is a species you’ve never witnessed whose primary goal was revenge, brought to his knees by the very stowaway he huffed and puffed over being noisy. Not by manipulation or force either, but by choice. Sukuna didn’t just choose to save you. He chose pain, he chose to bet on low odds. He chose to put off his mission, and he chose to endanger and expose himself to disease, all for you.
He isn’t just asking you to live. He’s commanding it.
–
Sukuna doesn’t stir for forty eight hours. You aren’t much better, but at least your body faces wakefulness in the face of dehydration. You don’t know how long Sukuna can survive without food or water, but you have no other option but to hope it’s longer than you.
Midway through the third day is when he finally stirs. It comes in twitches at first. It’s not dramatic, but in the few moments where you’re awake and delirious and you spot any semblance of movement, you cling to him like your life depends on it. Because it does.
Next come the wheezing breaths. Then groans, and sharp inhales that sound unnatural. You feel his pain deep in your ribs like a stabbing sensation. His fingers drag so harshly against the metal floor that his fingers break through it, the metal proving to be little more than an ant to his elephant strength.
Consciousness is dramatic for him.
Like a switch being flicked, his body comes to life and with it, his pain and confusion. He flies back, head ramming harshly into the cabinets you had been leaning against. He huffs out his displeasure, but the sensation is harsh in his chest. His lungs may have adapted, but oxygen is a harsh forced change to sulfur. The compounds shred within his chest, something that has one of his many hands flying up to grip at his chest.
He mutters a harsh curse under his breath in his mother tongue that sends pain back through his throat like a ricocheting bullet. In the cramped confines of your torn-open ship’s hull, he rests his head back against the door to the lab. Every breath is fire in the large expanse of his chest, his lungs accepting the oxygen not out of desire, but need.
He mutters a curse again, recoiling far less as he pushes through the pain. Ignoring the deliriousness of pain and the cramping in his gut, he cards a hand through mildly oily locks, pushing them away from his forehead. When his gaze glues itself to you, blearily watching him from the floor in a state of suspended wakefulness, he freezes altogether.
You’re alive.
His chest finds a new way to deliver pain as he hunches forward, sliding back to the spot where he had clearly been your pillow if your odd position is anything to go off of. He glides over the floor, taking a seat where he had been in an effort to provide a pillow.
The sensation of his returned warmth has your lashes fluttering as you stare up at him. He can see the gears physically turning in your mind as you make sense of him being there, awake, and alive as well.
For a moment, his brain betrays him. He moves on instinct, brushing his thumb over your collar. Only to be met with a weak smack to the chest. He blinks, staring down at you with confusion woven within his fondness.
“You could–” you cough, “have died.”
A series of growls and clicks between syllables you don’t recognize fall from his lips like he’s giving you a full scolding in a foreign language. It almost brings a smile to your dry lips as you recognize only two words.
“Noisy human.” His muscles are fraught from disuse as he hoists you into his lap.
The alarms may have stopped blaring, but the lights around him continue to flash in warning, reminding him of the reason he underwent this in the first place. Under the duress of having very little energy after evolution and his chest protesting his every movement, he groans as he pushes to his feet with you cradled close. He pulls you into his chest, casting a glance down at you as even in sickness, your eyes seem to shine as you watch your environment change. You never fail to bring wonder along with you, no matter the circumstances.
He treats you with the fragility of a flower as he brings you to his lab, moving over a panel that has no identifiable buttons, yet as Sukuna moves his hand over it, you hear the shift behind you. A bed reveals itself from the wall, not entirely unlike that of a human, though it’s a far harder material that he makes adjustments to in order to conform to your body as he lays you down.
His medical equipment isn’t unlike yours. He gets you started on an IV without hesitation, preventing the first of his major worries, and watches as your body shuts down, grateful for the new fluid intake. Every time you fall asleep is no easier than the last. One of his hearts skips, then the second one, but he takes the opportunity to continue his work. He moves the samples back to the lab, no longer bothering with the oxygenated box as he’s able to work faster now.
Waiting is the hardest part. It leaves him feeling powerless, pushing himself to his limits to distract himself from the fact that you look weaker every time his eyes glue themselves to you.
“Dabura’s anniversary was yesterday,” he mutters one morning, standing between you and his experiments where he can monitor both.
His lower hands rest on his waist, the upper arms crossed over his chest like twisting wrong doesn’t still send a shock to his system as his lungs continue to mold themselves to their new dual-purpose. He pushes through, idly taking a step towards you and the pile of blankets he stole from your ship that keep you from shivering.
“You would like the celebration,” he remarks, meandering to the side of your bed. He lowers himself to take a closer look at you, before sinking to his knees. His upper arms rest along the edge of the bed, chin seated atop them. “We have a–” he pauses, glancing aside at the realization that he frustratingly can’t even tell you about the celebration because he lacks the words. He growls, his expression pushing into a scowl as he utters the Simurian word for ‘fire’. “A heat light. It’s big,” he presses on. “We use chemicals to create oxygen vacuums,” he continues. “Everyone comes from across the planet. We eat a lot. Drink.”
You don’t stir.
“You would have liked Satoru. He was noisy, too.” His gaze rises from where he sits to sweep your face. You don’t have the gentle look he’s grown accustomed to anymore, your features sunken and permanently pulled into a pained expression. It wrenches at his chest more than the pain of evolution somehow. “He studied the Kaliyans. Some Simurians have deep ties to them. Neither him or I did, so he chose to study them. We never did find answers before…” He huffs, muttering a curse of clicks and growls. He lets his cheek fall to his arms, at a loss. He shuts all four eyes at the sound of a timer going off, sucking in a breath as he wearily pushes to his feet.
He stares at the hologram emptily. It irks him to see the Alveolarium still rampant, but he expects no less at this point. He doesn’t know what exactly he’s expecting to get out of these at this point when experiments like this don’t just take days. They take years. They take materials and vigorous testing and… He throws his gaze over his shoulder, noting how shallow your breaths are now.
He doesn’t have years. He might not even have days, yet again. He bought himself more time, but he’s back to square one with control slipping through his fingers yet again. He grits his teeth so harshly it sends a sharp pain straight to his brain. One would only catch his wince if they were paying attention, as his bottom left eye twitches from the sensation.
Padding out from the room to give himself a break to eat as he overthinks every equation until there’s no semblance of hope left, he sits casually at the bridge, staring out at the planet below. Green clouds and space debris make up the remnants of the species that created the Kerm, long extinct by the hands of their own bioweapon. Below those clouds are the pinks and blues that make up the largely crystalline surface where the beetle-adjacent species now resides, hungry and in search of new prey.
Kerm. The thought settles between his ribs alongside the pain of his evolution. He always envisioned his arrival at their planet to be more triumphant. He envisioned traveling to its surface to ensure that his hypothesis was correct and they’ve eaten beyond their means, invasive to their own planet and destroying its very ecosystem until all that remains are themselves. Then leaving without a trace of the Kerm, the planet, or his own actions.
Yet all this trip has done is resurface every scar he buried a century ago. He scratches at them until what remains are no longer just scars, but open wounds. Forcing down what food he can manage, he drags a hand down his jaw, staring out at the planet, Methalon. It’s silent for a long moment as he inhales and holds the breath.
In Simurian, he finds himself muttering to himself. “What if you’re right, human?” Another extended silence as the thought lingers. “What if… Kerm are more than your cause? What if they’re your cure, too?”
He taps his finger along the panel in which controls reside as he mulls the thought over, before springing into action. He doesn’t have the luxury to consider the consequences, pressing a palm to the controls as they react to electromagnetic pulses emitted from his brain and read through his fingers as he brings the ship to life for the first time in a couple of weeks, disturbing the spacerock that’s settled around the ship.
With a groan, the ship’s nose shifts as he points it towards the planet’s surface. The pressure surrounding the ship shifts as he nears the atmosphere, far more dense than what you would be accustomed to, so he thanks the stars that it’s him going in place of you. He stops the ship a short distance from the planet’s surface, setting it to hover within the densely gaseous atmosphere. It’ll keep you out of reach of the Kerm, which he hypothesizes shouldn’t be able to reach you with their stubby wings.
Should he be wrong, he supposes you’ll both succumb to his stupidity. He almost cracks a morbid smile at the thought. Not that you both might be a lost cause because of his decisions, but because he so often chides you for being stupid, when he’s recklessly allowing himself to be stupid now, too.
But he’s certainly not noisy. No, he talks to you because you like it. Not because he does. He’s quiet.
Suiting up, he drops to the planet’s surface with his limited sulfuric compound supply, his tank unsuited for oxygen. Gravity pulls him down like nothing he’s ever experienced as he drops heavily to the surface. He expected the dense atmosphere, but it still presses down on him like a weight.
Crystallic compounds crunch underfoot, and he shouldn’t consider himself shocked when he comes across the first series of Kerm, or as he knows them, Methalonians. He supposes the name isn’t very fitting, however, given that they’re unnatural. They killed whatever species was more befitting of the name.
The first one turns towards him, its head swiveling as its iridescent shell reflects the gorgeous light of the crystalline environment aiding it to blend in. It regards Sukuna with an entirely animal head tilt that might fool someone who doesn’t know their methods, but Sukuna isn’t fooled. He grips his EMP gun tighter, preparing himself for the inevitable. While the Kerm believe he’s fooled, he sets down a heavy containment pod, opening it with a hiss.
When he faces the group again, all fifteen or so creatures are facing him. Their wings buzz and hiss as they communicate, their antennae twitching through the air as they coordinate what Sukuna already knows to be an attack.
This time, however, he’s prepared. The first one approaches him slowly and curious, feigning a kindness they don’t possess. The brutish alien keeps up the facade in an effort to keep himself from being buried by a sea of Kerm.
He reaches a suited-up and reinforced hand out to the creature, watching its mandibles click together. It approaches slowly, peering up at Sukuna’s outwardly non-threatening demeanor. Its head tilts as it nears, nudging his fingers like it might provoke him.
But it’s not Sukuna that breaks the facade first. The creature zips forward, smashing its mandibles together where Sukuna’s hand just was, giving him enough time to lunge back. As the rest of the group moves in a coordinated hive towards him, he unleashes a small EMP attack that temporarily disorients the Kerm, sending them in more varied directions.
One that approaches him meets the fate of a heated vibrating dagger to its thorax, while another leaps at Sukuna’s shoulder. He spins, wrenching his shoulder in an effort to dislodge it from his suit, but its mandibles dig into the material. The material is impenetrable by their mandibles, but fuck if it doesn’t hurt anyway.
Hissing, Sukuna throws an arm around the Kerm to prevent it from leaving as he pulls the gut-ridden blade from the previous Kerm to lodge it into the next one. He remains largely in control, throwing one off to tear another from its own thorax with the blade the following moment until the smaller crowd re-coordinates itself. Sukuna launches another small EMP attack, throwing two of the group off, while the remaining four all leap at him at once. Mandibles clamp down on one shoulder, while another clings to his abdomen, choosing to methodically jab at the spots where his organs are.
Smart little asshole.
Sukuna recoils, hissing as pain rips through his stomach just beyond where his second mouth can reach. It momentarily disorients him, knocking him to the ground long enough that the remaining two Kerm are able to pile themselves onto him as well. They separate him from both the EMP and dagger, the sound of the vibrating tool over the crystalline earth grating on his nerves.
He shuts his eyes tightly, attempting to reset himself as he evaluates how much he’s been stamped down. He grits his teeth, grunting as he manages to lift an arm and throw one creature off with enough force to disorient it. The freed hand allows him to get enough leverage to flip himself over, slamming one hand straight through the creature’s shell. With one fierce glare, he flips the fight back in his favor, grabbing an incoming Kerm by the head and crushing it in one hand.
With a majority of his movement freed, he picks up the EMP again, blasting the remaining three insects and smashing them too, leaving only the one he tossed aside earlier. He grabs it by the thorax, wrangling it between two arms as he shoves it into the containment box with his spare set of hands. Once it’s inside, he lets out a huff, staring down at his gut-covered suit. He’ll need to be sure he carefully washes himself and his suit after this, given that he doesn’t want to expose you to more diseases that the bioweapon could have hidden beneath its shell.
Getting back to his feet, he better evaluates the surrounding environment. There’s evidence of trees, of civilization and buildings in the distance now turned to rubble and ash. He doesn’t have much sulfuric compounds left to breathe, so he figures he’ll do a once-over of the planet from within the ship, focusing his efforts back on a cure for you as he returns to the safety of his ship.
–
Splaying the Kerm’s insides across his workbench proves to be a disgusting feat. Even within a containment box, the smell permeates the damn room. He ends up moving it into the hangar, which by some grace has better filtration, but Sukuna finds himself further beaten down by the smell. As if his failures weren’t enough.
Unlike his cells, the Kerm’s stem cells do attack the Alveolarium… Unfortunately, no matter how he attempts to alter them, they only ever seem to act as aggressors.
For as smart as Sukuna is, he finds himself missing your curiosity. Your stupid questions. You challenge him. Not just because you’re noisy, but because you’re far more willing to approach the unlikely with an open mind. You lack the knowledge he has, specializing in natural biology where Sukuna excels in chemistry, cytology, geology, archeology, and engineering, but he’s also had a few extra years. Your lack of specific knowledge allows you to excel in general knowledge that Sukuna found himself praising you for.
Mentally. It’s easier to show fondness through actions than words, after all.
Bringing a hand up to his eyes, he presses a thumb and forefinger into them, yawning as every continued failure sets him back not just physically, but mentally too.
He collapses at the base of your bed, your breathing setting his nervous system into a furious rage of emotion as he realizes for the first time how close he truly is to losing you, with no cure in sight. Your species is weak in every sense of the word. Your muscles lack the build that Simurians have, your brain’s capacity is low, your immune system could be knocked over by a harsh wind, and yet Sukuna can’t help but find you endearing. Your lifespan is barely a smear in the grand scheme of his life, and yet the brutish alien, a species who mates for life, finds himself wondering how many ways you might be able to throw his life into disarray.
He wants your annoying quips. He wants your too-loud rambles. He wants to feel you warm in his arms, your eyes bright and wide as he shows you a Simurian mountaintop in some dumb-looking suit of his creation.
He slams his head back against your bed with enough force to rattle the very stone that makes it up. Dragging his hands down his face, the most he can do is stare at the experiments as one by one the timers go off and he’s left with one failure after another. His gaze splits as he looks between not just one, but four separate failures. Pushing his hands back through his hair, he balls his fists within the strands, eyes shut tight. Sitting so close to you, he still feels far. He finds himself mourning something he has yet to lose.
You haven’t awoken in several days, and as much as he wishes he could equate it to illness, the fact is that you’re dying. He can pump as many nutrients as he wants straight into your body without allowing your stomach the opportunity to reject his food, it’ll only do so much when it’s not your stomach fighting you anymore. It’s your lungs.
Every round of failed experiments is another scathing tear at his wounds as he leans against your bed on the floor. His gut aches where the Kerm attempted to strategically puncture his suit and beneath his performance longsleeve are several mild puncture wounds that only serve as annoyances in the grand scheme of things.
“I’m the foolish one,” he states simply out of the blue. “Not you.” He doesn’t follow it up with a long-winded explanation or flourish, it’s as simple as he makes it. You only ever did what you thought was right, giving every living creature the benefit of the doubt. It landed you in a cell, parked in his garage, but god damn it. You gave life your all. You lived without regrets. Sukuna’s lifespan trumps yours, and yet he lives with every weight he’s ever conjured still boiling under his skin.
He’s spent over a hundred years building himself into an impenetrable wall. The kind of man that doesn’t let his past haunt him. Yet here you are, under his skin like a leech and wrapped around his mind with roots that dig straight for his hearts.
He’s so wrapped up in his thoughts that he doesn’t feel your hand at first, as it slips into his hair. He jolts when at last he feels movement against his head, whipping up to face you. He meets your eyes from barely over the bed, heavily hooded as you regard him with a small smile in spite of yourself.
His shoulders fall as he approaches the side of the bed again, resting his head atop his arms. His lips press into a thin line as he doesn’t just let you reach back out, but leans into your touch against his cheek.
“You know,” you rasp, unsurprisingly coughing. “I was wrong about Kerm, but I wasn’t–” another cough, “wrong about you.”
His brow furrows, a deep scowl overtaking his features. Your words sound startlingly like the kind of thing that one might say when they’re coming to terms with the decisions they made in life, further wrenching his hearts.
“Thanks for trying to help Earth.”
He growls and clicks his displeasure with your words, earning a laugh that feels warm even in sickness. When you quiet down, his muttering is nearly unintelligible. “I don’t care about Earth.”
“I know,” you smile, your thumb trailing down his cheek as one lower eye flutters shut. “I like you too, Sukuna.”
He allows himself the peace of shutting his eyes, kneeling beside your bed with his cheek in your hand until his legs go numb and you pass out again. Pain spikes through his knees when he finally rises and straightens them, sighing as he wearily looks over his experiments again. His gaze passes over a hologram displaying one of his cells idly standing by as he considers what the hell he could possibly be doing wrong when something finally hits him like the full force of a jet engine as something dangerous surges into his chest– hope.
His cells are part of a system. A system capable of sending electromagnetic pulses like thoughts to his cells in order to trigger mutation. Sure, the cells will mutate on their own no matter what you put them through, but could the reason they aren’t accepting your cells be because there’s no system to indicate to his cells that there’s an issue?
He’s been approaching the whole situation under the lens of his cells being anti-pathogens, when in fact they’re closer to mutagens. They aren’t a cure, they would never be accepted as a cure. In fact, he’s willing to wager a bet that you’re right and there is a cure that could be pulled from the Kerm, but he doesn’t have the time to figure that out.
His cells could very well re-write your DNA. They could overwrite important information, they could make you more sick. He doesn’t know. His experiments will never work without a live test subject. But on the flip side, they could save you. They could mutate your cells into something capable of handling Alveolarium. Quite frankly, when both alternatives are death, he’s willing to give it a shot.
He moves across the room quickly, hitting a dial that brings to life a hologram in order to act as a whiteboard. He takes your weight and general body size, measuring the exact quantity of his cells that would need to be injected in order to fight a full system infection without the dose being lethal, or possibly mutating beyond control. Gene therapy is a risky move by all means, but he doesn’t have any other options.
He moves through the lab with ease as he extracts a new sample from his lower arm, moving it in a box to ensure his cells aren’t contaminated. He isolates the cells necessary at a dosage he prays is non-lethal and injects them into a sample of healthy stem cells you provided before you got sick to act as carriers.
With a final check of his calculations, he moves to your bedside, praying the healthy cells trick your body into accepting his cells. Sucking in a breath, he injects the gene therapy, and pulls up a chair to wait.
There’s nothing ceremonious about the wait. Sukuna busies himself by continuing to search for a cure, something you can send to Earth assuming he didn’t rip through the return vessels in his effort to get to you. After every pair of gloves he tosses aside, he always returns to the same chair to wait, resting his head on the edge of your bed.
On the second day when he wakes up with his hair glued to his forehead by sweat and drool dripping down his cheek, he moves to wipe it when he finds his head weighed down. He blinks, unable to see past the arms crossed under his cheek, but when he lifts his gaze just slightly, he finds you’ve shifted for the first time in days. Your hand is settled on the back of his head, fingers curled into his hair.
When he tries to tilt his head, your hand falls away again. You’re still asleep, but the hope in his chest surges.
Your face fills out properly over the next couple of days. He seems to miss your waking hours whenever they do happen on his horribly varied sleep schedule, but your coughing fits begin to die down and your breathing evens out.
It’s almost a week later when you wake up with an ache in your muscles like no other, but relief in your chest. The ceiling should be unfamiliar, but even within your fever dreams, you knew glimpses of him were real. Your head lolls to the side, the bedding beneath you rough in spite of its conformity to your body. Across the room, Sukuna moves around the ship in a frantic bout of quick movements. There’s a crudeness to his movements that doesn’t fit the put-together Simurian you’ve come to know. You catch a glance of the side of his face, noting the dark circles under two eyes that rest in a familiar fashion on his face, while those that sit angled along flesh are simply squinting more than usual.
He yawns, betraying the obvious. There’s a slight tremor to his hand as he uses a pipette to transfer cells. He sets a phial down, his lower arms heavily leaning over his work table. It’s obvious weariness plagues him to his marrow, but he doesn’t stop for a second.
“Sukuna?”
Crash!
In the flurry of his limbs leaving the table as he whips around, he sends an empty flask to the floor. Not a single one of his eyes shifts to follow the mess, frantically flickering around your face as he searches for signs of illness. Rather than the dull look he’s faced for the past week, he finds a gleam that he mentally pockets for later. He moves towards you in slow, lumbering steps like he doesn’t quite believe what he’s seeing, before lowering down to a kneel. His skin is deeply calloused, far denser than human skin, as his hands come to rest on your cheeks.
You find yourself biting back a smile as the stoic alien you’ve come to know keeps his intense gaze on you as he nuzzles his nose against you. You may not know Simurian, but you know animals. In some species, that’s a kiss.
“Sukuna?”
He hums.
“Was that a kiss?”
His lips press into a line, nudging his nose slightly against yours again like action is easier than a reply.
“Humans kiss with their lips,” you explain softly.
He doesn’t move immediately, his face a breadth from yours. Something cocky and knowing gleams within his gaze. A laugh bubbles from within your chest but it comes out as a cough, which you attempt to stifle, pulling back momentarily. Sukuna drags you back like he can’t stand the mere thought of distance.
Your laughter subsides quickly as you try hard not to grin.
The stoic Simurian’s breath comes out in an eager puff against your face. “Lips are usually for other things,” he offers with a suggestive tone. But he doesn’t know how to deny you anymore. The corner of his lips quirk up as he surges forward, engulfing you in a claiming kiss. You don’t know what exactly a kiss means for a thousand-year-old being that spends their life with one person when you only live a fraction of his lifespan, but in spite of that you don’t think you mind finding out.
Everything about the kiss is all-encompassing. His smell floods your senses first, the sort of sterile musk that comes with a man working himself to the bone in a lab. His taste doesn’t match it, though. There’s a spice to his taste that isn’t Earthly in nature, but it’s pleasant like a warm herbal tea. It’s intoxicating and addicting all the same, the kind of taste you could get drunk on, should he let you.
His grip doesn’t let up, hands sliding up the base of your scalp as he tips your head back to deepen the kiss. Your hands fly up to his collar, curling into the thick material of his muscle-tight shirt for purchase. It’s dizzying, and not just because your head is spinning with the sheer amount of thoughts bouncing around your overactive mind like ping pong balls. His lips move against yours in the kind of rhythm that doesn’t just insinuate passion, but something far deeper. A desperation that can only be conveyed through actions.
You can sense his resistance as you pull back, but you find yourself laughing as your hands splay across his broad chest. “Sukuna,” you tease. “I’m feeling better, but you still need to give my lungs a break.” You laugh airily, chest rising and falling heavily as he refuses to break contact.
The lumbering giant’s shoulders tense for a moment, then relax, his hands gliding down the column of your neck to rest on your shoulders. He takes the opportunity to envelop you in all four arms, grateful to find you’re no longer shivering. You don’t hesitate for even a moment, arms snaking around his neck as you bury your face into his neck.
“How’d you do it?”
He inhales, letting out a breath of relief as he relaxes into your grip in spite of his awkward hunched position over your bedside. “My cells aren’t like yours. They react to neural oscillations and signals sent through electromagnetism. We were trying to use them like anti-pathogens, but they aren’t.”
“They’re mutagens,” you finish the thought in an excited burst, pulling back to face him with those wonder-filled wide eyes he’s come to adore. “You did gene therapy.”
He chuffs proudly, puffing out his chest under your hands. It’s somehow far more endearing up close.
“Wait, oh my god–” You proclaim suddenly like you’ve come to the greatest realization on earth. “Do you think that means I can breathe sulfur? Or– Or maybe I can grow extra arms,” you murmur, wiggling your fingers over his chest.
His expression deadpans. “No.”
“But if you changed my DNA with alien DNA–”
“That’s–” He breathes out a sigh, amused with your overactive imagination and how fast your mouth moves before your mind can catch up. “That’s not how gene therapy works.”
“Bummer,” you pout. It’s clear the word perplexes him as he narrows his eyes, but he cracks a hint of a smile. He gets it regardless.
You let the moment hang, laughing airily as the reality of your last two weeks truly hits you. Sukuna doesn’t handle the situation with the same lightness as you do, pulling you back into his chest and muffling your laughter altogether. You wrap your arms around his torso once more in reassurance. “I’m still here,” you promise.
“Stupid human,” he mutters, his chin dipping over your shoulder as he locks you tightly against him with a squeeze. When you bury your face into his broad chest, he winces, hiding it behind another squeeze as he attempts to ignore the meager injuries left behind by the Kerm. “Stupid, weak human.”
“I know,” you murmur into his chest. “I know. But I’m here now.”
–
The difference between Human and Simurian traditions turns out to be greater than you think. Not in the sort of grand way you might expect, but in the sense that Sukuna doesn’t quite seem to know what to make of being close. Of course, Humanity aims to choose a person for life, but not without trial and error. For Simurians, there’s some sort of instinct. Something Humans don’t possess that has Sukuna uncertain how to navigate the idea of courting you. In particular, while you’re still recovering.
Your pulse increases to a steady waking beat as your lashes flutter open. You’ve gotten accustomed to the strange way the stone bed conforms to your shape, but you have yet to grow accustomed to the way you’re greeted every morning, even a week into your recovery where– by and large– you just have a cough.
You’ve barely roused when Sukuna’s hand is firmly planted on your jaw, tilting your head left and right. “Nngh, Sukuna,” you sigh, fingers wrapping around his wrist. He doesn’t budge, not satisfied until he’s determined that you’re still on a steady road to recovery. His fingers loosen once he lets out a steady breath, his palm sliding down to your cheek. He doesn’t hesitate for so much as a moment to lower himself to his knees and brush his nose against yours. The Simurian nuzzle is something you’ve grown fond to waking up to and even in your half-asleep state, you find yourself unable to hold back a grin.
“You haven’t coughed yet.”
“I just woke up,” you reply groggily, amused.
“You’re better.”
“Getting there,” you chide, staring down at the mountain of a man on his knees for you. Every morning gets easier, and every morning you have a menacing-looking puppy greeting you at your bedside. It makes recovery easier, especially when you’re forced to eat some sort of alien vegetables he cultivated for you upon converting his compost room to a garden as the only food your body won’t reject, alongside nutrients he continues to inject into your bloodstream.
Slowly pushing up to a sitting position, you suppress a cough that comes across as a personal affront to the bulky alien, who stands upright with you. “How did the experiment from last night go?” You query, your vision still mildly blurry from sleep as you look over the holograms opposite you.
“We’re close,” he murmurs, long strides taking him across the room. “Your hypothesis was right. The Kerm cells react to heat, but not too much heat. I was killing them before.”
Rubbing your eyes, you smile. “So we’re close to a cure that we can send back?”
He pauses, facing you. He’d been unwilling to send his own cells back to the very people who sent you to your death, but at your request, he’d continued experimentation for a cure that didn’t require gene therapy. “I don’t understand why you care.”
“There were eight billion Humans, Sukuna.” Your head tilts in sympathy for the fact that he resents a whole species for their treatment of you. “The hundred or so involved in sending me here shouldn’t be responsible for punishing the rest of the species.”
“Punishing,” he repeats the word, though he doesn’t need an explanation when he can use context clues.
Pushing to your feet, you walk on weakened feet to join him, sidling up to his warmth. “You know, I never got the chance to thank you.”
Two eyes flicker down to you, questioning, while the other two evaluate the weakened state of your muscles.
“You’re breathing oxygen.”
“I am.”
“And you risked getting Alveolarium from me.”
He stubbornly looks up. “I did.”
If there’s one thing that remains the same between your species, it would seem it’s embarrassment. Sukuna is over one thousand years old with no partner. You can only assume he never found someone, or prefers solitude. Or, more aptly, preferred. It’s safe to say he doesn’t know how to navigate your healthy return to his life.
As you jovially grin at his side, Sukuna adjusts the temperatures of his experimentations, each by a fraction of a degree, before he turns to face you. The tension in his shoulders has released upon seeing you eagerly facing him with clasped hands. “Yes, human?”
“Can I see the rest of your ship?”
“Not until you’re well.”
“I’m literally fine!”
He crosses both pairs of arms over his built chest. “You coughed.”
“There was something in my throat,” you counter.
His lip curls in haughty frustration. He clicks with intermittent syllables that you’re unable to put together. Missing the word, he goes with the simplest train of thought. “No.”
Stepping towards him, your palms settle over his lower veiny forearms. Your thumbs rub small circles into his tough skin, the hair on his arms noticeably standing on-end. “Please? I promise I’m okay.” His eyes narrow a fraction. “I wanna see how you keep your food, and where you’re growing those turnip things. Oh–! And the bridge, and– Wait, your ship is so big, what else do you even have here? Do you–”
He huffs loudly, but you note that in spite of the scowl pulling his brow down, relief floods his gaze and his lips fluctuate wildly between a frown and smile. It doesn’t take much for him to give in, loosening an arm as he wraps it around your shoulders in an effort to steady you as he leads the way through the ship.
It’s massive beyond anything you could ever comprehend. Metals you’re not even positive exist on Earth line the walls and natural bioluminescent amoebas are used to light long stretches of hall where wasting energy is unnecessary. Light only exists where needed, like bathing a large medical bay with a missing bed and several bottles and boxes thrown astray as though the room was flipped upside down in search of supplies. Your heart surges with something dangerous at the sight, as you know the stoic creature beside you– who doesn’t so much as bat an eye at the mess– did this for you. He tossed aside equipment and tore through supplies in order to keep you alive, who barely lives a fraction of his lifespan.
Hell, he’s almost twice your height and keeps walking at your unsteady and slow pace without so much as a peep. His hand shuffles from your shoulder to your back as he briefly points out a food hall complete with a garden and a large freezer for overgrowth and cured meats. There’s a pungent smell to the room befitting of what was once a compost bay.
“Is this what I’ve been eating?”
He chuffs, lifting a heavy arm to point at what you would otherwise describe as a radish. He states its name in his mother tongue, not bothering to translate given that the syllables thrown in between each click sound painfully like ‘engine’ and he’s heard you use that word before, so it simply doesn’t translate into a word you can both use. You nod your approval as he continues his tour with little fanfare, his hand gliding from your back to your elbow.
“I’m lucky,” he states, “they’re the only plant that will grow in oxygen from what I tried.”
Next, he leads the way through an exercise hall, a gravity converter, and a communications bay. His ship dwarfs yours in every possible way and it’s all intended for just one person. The real enigma, however, is the way his hand keeps shifting on you, like he isn’t quite sure what to do with himself now that he has you back and you’ve kissed.
“I didn’t think you’d be so awkward,” you blurt out without a care in the world, pleased as you tilt your head to find his expression narrowing just slightly.
“Awkward?” He searches for confirmation despite being able to put the context clues together.
“You keep moving your hand. Seven times now, Sukuna,” you tease, your grin widening.
“I’m guiding you,” he grumbles dismissively.
“I don’t need a hand to guide me through a ship. I’m a good follower.”
His gaze glides to the side, teeth gritting as he clicks his disapproval. “Noisy.”
Laughing, you give him a nudge that pulls his attention back. His usual aloof gaze briefly flickers across your face like he expects signs of sickness before fixing on your chiding grin. “You’re allowed to be nervous, Sukuna.”
“I’m not.” He growls out some sort of curse word in Simurian, continuing on the walk through the ship as he finds the explanation he needs. “I don’t know Human traditions. I don’t know how to move forward.”
You bite back a smile at the sweet admission. “Well, humans are a bit different.” You give him a thoughtful peek from beneath your lashes, catching the way it disengages the tension in his shoulders. “We try to stay partners for life, but we’re complicated. Emotions get in the way, people change–”
“You would separate from your partner in such a short life?” Sukuna sounds utterly shocked at the thought, his nose wrinkling as he stops dead in his tracks. He turns to face you, staring at you like he wants to shake the mere idea from existence by your shoulders.
“We try not to. But sometimes it’s inevitable.” You shrug. “Sometimes you fall out of love with the person you marry or date, or sometimes things change or distance gets in the way–”
“Then you talk about it. Or visit.” His voice comes out clipped with edge. You can’t tell whether he intends it to.
“Our transportation isn’t very advanced. The ship I was in,” you explain, pointing over your shoulder, “it’s the tenth one capable of space travel beyond our own moon.”
The brutish alien’s scowl lessens as something of far greater importance occurs to him suddenly. You allow the silence that stretches on as you recognize his troubled expression. He’s grappling with something he doesn’t know how to address. The ship stands by idly in the moment where Sukuna straightens, settling a pair of hands on his hips while the others cross over his chest. He doesn’t move as he speaks with a flat tone that almost conveys solemnity. “I can take you back. To Earth. Along with the cure, once it’s ready.”
Somewhere between the kiss, the illness, and the acceptance that your fate was to die, you forgot that there was another option. “What if I don’t want to?”
Sukuna’s gaze travels listlessly left and right. It’s clear this is something he’s considered. After all, imprisonment awaits you on Earth regardless of the cure. What point is there in returning? And yet, Simuria would be imprisonment in a roundabout way, too. You can’t breathe the sulfuric gas. He isn’t even confident in your ability to withstand the barometric pressure in one of the suits in his ship.
He doesn’t answer immediately, either pretending something caught his attention by tilting his second ear towards something, or genuinely listening to something. Regardless, he glances aside as he considers your question before proceeding to completely ignore your query. “How do Humans wed?” He mutters, as though the concept that he doesn’t know makes him mad.
“We date first,” you chuckle. “We impress one another. We go out and do fun things together. We give gifts and spend time being intimate. Like, cuddling and kissing. Oh–! And then if things are going well, one person presents the other with a ring with a pretty stone in the middle and if things are right, that person says yes and then they wed and there’s a big ceremony, and then both people get rings, and friends come visit, and–”
Sukuna bends down to your height, nudging your nose once, then kissing you. “What’s a ring?”
Giddily, you can’t help a giggle as he shuts you up without complaint of your noisiness, simply backtracking to the portion of your rambling he doesn’t understand. “It goes around your finger.” Instinctively reaching for his face, your finger traces along the edge of the protruding plate from his face. One of his eyes twitches, but he allows you to do so. “It signifies to humans that you’re in a committed relationship with another human.” Your finger traces the side of his face as he stays bent to your height. “Do Simurians have something like that?”
“Tattoos.”
Your eyes brighten. “Humans do that sometimes in place of wedding rings, too. Basically, you present one ring when you want to get married, and then when you do get married, you get matching tattoos around your fingers instead of matching rings. It’s actually really–”
He kisses you again, that familiar spice of tea flooding your senses pleasantly.
Undeterred, you inquire about Simurian traditions. “What about for you?”
“We simply… Know.”
You pout at the mere thought. “Like love at first sight?” You whisper eagerly.
He nudges your nose, growling his disapproval. “Instinct.” He straightens. “No rings. The date of the ceremony is decided based on when other Simurians are available.”
“Oh right, they’re like holidays.”
He chuffs.
“Were they always, though? You said… I mean, you–”
“There used to be over a thousand of us, yes.” He doesn’t bother skirting around the question. “No, we didn’t always do things this way. We used to be selective.” He sucks in a breath, pushing past the question with little fanfare. “The ceremony has a fire,” he states now that he has the word after some experimentation involving it, “and a ceremonial dance.”
“I can’t picture you dancing,” you giggle.
His eyes narrow. “I don’t. The dancers dance.”
“Of course, of course, my bad,” you grin.
“Then, we braid one anothers’ hair, and an elder tattoos us.”
You smile at the differing culture. “That sounds beautiful.” Your gaze slowly rises to his short, pushed back hair. “Your hair isn’t very long, though.”
“Our hair has to be long enough to braid before Simurians can be wed. Or in some cases, exceptions can be made.”
“So you’d have to grow it out?” When he chuffs, you tilt your head with a grin. “That’s kinda hot.”
Catching the compliment in your tone, Sukuna shifts, a rare smirk crossing his features as he tracks the way your hands rest on your hips.
“Are we talking like a braid in your whole hair or just a small portion?”
“A small portion.”
Your grin widens. “That’s kinda cute. You’d be like a Jedi apprentice! Only, I don’t think it’s fitting to call you an apprentice, you’re more like–”
“Human.” Sukuna’s chiding carries far less annoyance since your recovery. “I don’t know ‘Jedi’.”
“Oh–! Right, yeah, I guess you guys don’t have Star Wars. Well, at least you avoided the sequel trilogy,” you mutter more to yourself than him when he lets out a huff as you turn to explore his ship again. He no longer leads the way, allowing you to explore all on your own, only keeping a hand on you to ensure steadiness as though your dwindling cough might blow you over. At least, that’s what he would tell you if you asked why he insists on keeping a hand on you.
His ship is vast. It could be compared to several acreages where your ship is barely the equivalent of a small apartment. The size is staggering, and you begin to realize exactly what he meant when he said Simurians enjoy having large properties to themselves.
“So, do your instincts just like… line up with the other person?”
“Generally.”
“How do you tell one another that you’re in love?”
Sukuna is silent for so long that you stop at the precipice that leads down into a storage and whip around to face him. He’s scowling at you with that kind of look that has you realizing your bug-based brain has missed a very Human– or in this case, Simurian– social cue.
“We nuzzle.”
You purse your lips as you’re faced with an intensity that’s oddly sweet given the frown it’s accompanied by. It’s not like you haven’t figured out by now that Sukuna is fond of you, but the reality of Humanity and Simurians is that he’ll outlive you. You’ll be nothing more than a distant memory by the time his hair goes gray. Assuming it does that, anyway. That’s not even beginning to address the planetary differences, atmosphere issues and dietary needs amongst other things.
Or the fact that you’ve known him for only a few weeks. Unusual by Human standards to be in talks of marriage, but by Simurian standards, you suppose he’s implying he chose you already. As much as the very Human part of you wants to call him yours, the scientist in you knows only compatibility. He’s a Thorny Devil Stick Insect to your Isopod Cubaris. Everything about the situation is absurd and your brain and your heart are fighting for keeps– Sukuna, or the reality that you should return to Earth and let Sukuna find a Simurian that allows his instincts to kick in.
As you stare blankly at him with pursed lips, he steps closer into your space, examining the way you fiddle with the hem of the hoodie draped over your shoulders. His movement kicks you back into the present.
“O-oh–! The nose, uh– The nose thing? The kiss?”
He huffs, shockingly cross as he averts his gaze. “Yes, the nose thing.”
You swallow hard, the reality of your harshly pounding heart bringing to light every issue you’ve already gone over in your head in spite of the fact that you’ve spent so long craving the touch of this ten foot tall man you have no right to. “Sukuna, I barely live like a thirtieth of your life span.”
The noise he lets out is something between an affirmative chuff that he knows and a grumble of sorts. He lets the moment hang, unsure what to make of it before brushing it off with something too simple. “Instincts,” he grumbles, nearing you again as his face lowers to yours. Without knowledge of dates or Earthly traditions, the most he can do is press his lips to yours. There’s something pleading in it that melts every reservation your brain screams at you.
His lips are never soft, neither in texture nor movement. He’s a being that lumbers around and his strength is beyond obvious. You feel that, too, in the way he aims to claim you, should you let him. When he leaves the ball in your court, you press forward, wrapping your arms around his neck as the kiss deepens.
Your tongue slips against his lips like an invitation that he doesn’t hesitate to grasp as he takes charge again. He still tastes of something with an overall spicy tang that you can’t place, but it’s no less pleasant now than it was the first time. No longer weakened by illness, he takes the opportunity to lift your thighs with his lower arms while his upper arms support your torso as he hoists you up, straightening. His lower hands knead your thighs in what feels like a subconscious manner, thumbs gliding over the stretch marks and scars of a life not yet fully lived.
He stumbles towards the wall, caging you between him and it, the strange coarse texture of the metals that make up his ship cool against the spot where your hoodie’s ridden up. He presses in, his lips moving faster, his body pressed against yours so tightly that you can feel the fact that his stomach mouth is panting.
The things that does to your body should be studied. Just as you grip him tighter, fingers curling into fists in his hair, he pulls back with a strange rigidity to him. “You never– I can still bring you back. To Earth,” he offers through pants in a tone that doesn’t suit his usual clipped and formal one. The uncertainty swimming in his gaze is unbefitting of him.
“Wh–” You look around like someone might be around to share your incredulous stare. “You’re asking that now?”
He swallows hard, the movement betraying his embarrassment. Good to know he’s capable of that, truly. “I want to give you the option.”
“Is it greedy of me to ask for both?”
He tilts his head curiously, something of a clicking noise coming from deep within his throat as he places just enough distance between your faces to take in your expression.
“It would be nice to make sure the cure gets delivered to the right people when we get there,” you admit, “but I’d like to say bye to Shoko and my family.”
He sucks in a breath. “You lost ten years getting here. You would lose another ten returning, and–” his hands dig into your thighs, his shoulders tightening as he calculates distance based on where you identified the Milky Way in your many scientific discussions prior to your illness. “Seven more, at least, on the trip to Simuria.”
Your gaze falls. “Oh.” Leaning back against the cool wall that suddenly feels nice on the back of your head, your fingers curl into Sukuna’s multi-sleeved compression shirt. “So I’d be over fifty,” you murmur. It shakes you to your core, and you lean into Sukuna.
He adjusts his arms to embrace you, nuzzling his face into the crook of your shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
The silence that follows is a welcome one of mourning. You had accepted death sealed in a tin can in the void of space. You had accepted death faced with illness, grateful to have met such a wonderful otherworldly being. You had been satisfied knowing you fell for someone, even if it never came to fruition. It had all been enough.
Until Sukuna came barreling through the hull keeping you imprisoned, unwilling to let death be an option.
To say you fell harder would be an understatement. If the option ever presented itself, there was never a question what you would choose. There is no question what you’re choosing.
After an extended period of silence, you lift your head from Sukuna’s shoulder. “The pods aren’t too damaged to make it to Earth?”
He blinks a number of times, questioning your decision-making. “I didn’t damage them.”
“Then… As long as my friends and family know I made it to the cure, that’s enough.”
Slowly, Sukuna sets you back on the ground, a surprising amount of conflict in the way he runs his tongue over his teeth, casting his glance at the makeshift garden whose artificial sun has set.
The low bioluminescence of the hall light glows softly over his features as you watch his expression pull taut. “You don’t seem happy.”
“I am,” he argues, flashing you a glare as he mutters something under his breath in Simurian.
“Then what’s wrong?”
He sucks in a breath, stepping forward as he leans his massive form down to your height. “You’ll be stuck aboard this ship until I can figure out something better.”
“I could use a suit!” You offer gleefully. “Actually, that would be kinda cool if you think about it–” you begin, your mind wandering. “It’ll be kinda like all the movies and shows I watched growing up and then I can come back to my little– no, actually this place is huge– my huge ship, or I guess our huge ship–”
Sukuna doesn’t interrupt you for once, chuffing not in affirmation but amusement. There’s almost a purr to it as you prattle on about how every kid on Earth dreams of being an astronaut and here you are on an alien ship. He casts you a sidelong glance as you make commentary on the hot alien company you’ve found, sidling up to him with a grin as you compliment him.
“Hey, um– Do you wait until marriage?” You query with warmth in your cheeks, sending the conversation in a complete one-eighty.
“For what?”
“Sex.”
Sukuna’s jaw shifts as he regards the small being beside him. “Sex?”
“Um–” Your gaze averts as your cheeks warm further. “Like reproduc–” you pause when you narrowly catch his lip quirking up out of the corner of your eye. “You know what I mean. You’re fucking with me.” You face him with a deadpan expression.
The creature rumbles in amusement. “Noisy human,” he chides. “I’m not having sex with you here. My ship is meant for one. We don’t wait, but this is unsightly.”
“Oh, so now you have decorum?”
Using context clues to put together the meaning of your retort, he straightens. “When have I not?”
“You call me annoying all the time!”
“I call you noisy. And I’m right,” he puffs his chest out as he crosses his arms over his chest as he continues your little tour.
–
The long-awaited day comes far sooner than Sukuna could have imagined. After countless temperature adjustments and endless suggestions from you that may have had him rolling his eyes weeks ago, the fresh Kerm stem cells attack the infected Alveolar cells, curing them.
He straightens, watching the immediate reaction under the duress of an exact temperature, and replicates it once more. Then again. And again.
You’re already watching, on the edge of your seat as you set aside the roasted turnip you were eating. You both wait with bated breath as the fifth experiment comes out as a success.
“It worked,” you breathe, getting to your feet. “You did it.” Disbelief coats your tone, the dimmed lab lighting reflecting off of Sukuna’s gloves as he discards them and steps back, staring at all five successes.
“A cure,” he states. His disbelief is plain, but there’s something far greater woven within the way his fists ball up at his sides and his shoulders rise.
He failed once and his species suffered for it. Maybe it’s not Simuria, but Earth means something to you. And this time, he didn’t fail.
As control weaves itself back into his grasp, he stares down at his hands, sucking in a breath. Blinking as tears prick his waterline, he stays put so as to not reveal his vulnerability to you.
But you’re already bounding towards him, practically whipping yourself around his immovable form to hug him with unmatched ardor. “You did it!” Your whole body trembles with relief at the thought that just maybe Shoko is still out there, and this might save not just her, but your entire home. Your family.
With a sharp inhalation, Sukuna’s arms curl around you, lifting you effortlessly, as he hides his relief in your shoulder. “We did.”
But as you put together instructions for cell breeding and duplication and prepare the cure to be sent to Earth, so too comes the day Sukuna has been dreading.
Staring out the window after sending off the cure, you lean over the control panel, wide-eyed as the stars twinkle back at you. You whip around to face your companion, but your question is met with a solemnity you aren’t expecting. “What now? To Simuria?”
Sukuna’s lips are drawn into a frown. It’s not unbefitting of him, but the dullness of his cerise eyes tells another story.
The pieces fall into place with every ounce of tension in his musculature. The gleam in your eyes burns out like a solar system’s light at the realization that faces you. “You’re gonna destroy the planet.”
Two slanted eyes turn to face you, followed by the two more humanoid ones, his arms crossed over his chest as his heart pangs at your disappointment. He’ll never fault your compassion, but this is something he can’t let go.
“It’s a sacrifice,” he admits. “A few to save many.”
“I know they’re the cause of so much destruction but… do you have to? It feels… wrong. Even if they’re artificial.”
The alien’s voice is a low rumble. “You’re kind, little human. I like that.” The warmth in his compliment echoes over hard stone lining the interior of the bridge. “I flew over the planet’s surface while you recovered,” he explains as he stares down at the stark green gas buildup around the planet that’s been increasing the longer the ship sits just outside of orbit. “There are no other species on the planet. No flora, no fauna. Where there were cities, there are now ruins. Trees are shredded. There’s nothing left. If I leave them, they will evolve. Someday, they will escape, or another unsuspecting species will do what Simuria or Earth did.”
When he puts it like that, you can understand his reasoning. After two hundred years of searching for the Kerm, you can sympathize with his need to follow through.
“This decision doesn’t need to involve you. This would have happened regardless.”
You turn to face him with your arms around your middle, hugging yourself. “I know, but after letting that one go on Earth, I feel like I’m involved now.”
“You had no way of knowing. Then or now,” he excuses your action, something you’re grateful for, as much as you’ll always harbor that guilt and the vision of a creature tearing through a crew.
After a moment of silence as he allows you to grapple with reality, he moves towards the control panel, sliding his finger along a series of sensors as his ship turns to move further from the planet while more systems come to life as he prepares a laser.
The planet looks beautiful from a distance. Pinks and blues scatter the surface, while a gaseous blue-green surrounds the planet. You don’t doubt Sukuna told the truth, but your heart pangs to know that the gorgeous sight will dissipate in mere moments at the hands of someone you care for. Hell, maybe even at your hands, if you think too hard about it.
Guilt bubbles in the pit of your stomach as the whirring of Sukuna’s ship ramps up, a bright light beginning to form somewhere from the side of the bridge where you can’t see. The brutish alien glides his hand over a few sensors, pressing something with finality before returning to your side. His palm settles along your shoulder, pulling you into him as his chest rises and falls, his own guilt palpable in the air between you.
The whirring of the ship comes to a sharp halt, the laser’s light suddenly brighter than the sight of the sunlit planet itself. Sukuna’s grip on your shoulder tightens as he moves deftly, pulling you face-first into his chest and wrapping you tightly in all four arms to prevent you from seeing the blast. With one hand on the back of your head, he prevents you from turning your head.
Even in your peripherals, you see the light. You shut your eyes tight, Sukuna’s grip on you increasing as the blast goes off. Some part of you expects to hear something, forgetting that space is a vacuum, and you’re met with nothing. But nothing is worse. An entire species eradicated, and you’re met with nothing.
Sukuna’s heart pounds hard as he watches the planet splinter. His curse to live with, but never your burden to bear. He won’t let it be. He holds you tight until the planet’s remains are little more than debris floating every which way. You’re far enough away that whatever else was blasted into space isn’t visible, and for that, he’s grateful.
He holds you so long that he isn’t sure whether it’s for him, or for you.
“It’s done,” he murmurs, allowing you at last to look out over the wreckage as his ship’s whirring slowly winds down.
“They won’t hurt anyone else,” you murmur as your brow tents when you look over the wreckage of stone and crystal that floats where Methalon–as Sukuna referred to it– once was.
“Let’s hope that’s true,” he murmurs in return, his body hunching over as he drops his face to your head, eyes shutting tightly.
–
It’s a wonder you make it to Simuria at all. Not because of any extenuating circumstances, but because you have so many questions and queries and noisy impulses that Sukuna seems to perpetually scowl at you. On equal grounds, however, you catch him with a longing stare when you least expect it.
In the midst of a full explanation on the reproduction of Scorpions. When you’re desperately trying to yank a Simurian radish’s roots from the ground while it protests you, sweat dripping down your spine. Even when you’re sifting through the remnants of your belongings from Earth. He trails after you with nothing short of zealous loyalty.
When you arrive on Simuria, you’re trapped on the ship as you expected, only able to experience the planet from the bridge’s window. Still, it’s more than you ever could have hoped. Not unlike Methalon, Simuria is primarily crystalline in nature with petrified trees growing crooked from mountains. You’re able to expand your diet to more vegetables, supplementing your vitamins with injections that Sukuna is damn-near overbearing about.
“Sukuna, I can do it myself!” You try to insist as he nuzzles you, intermittent with kisses.
“It’s my job to take care of you,” he insists into your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin to distract you before pulling back to inject your daily supplement into your thigh while you’re distracted.
“You’re a menace!” You insist through giggles, and the injection becomes nothing more than an afterthought.
Still stoic, you see his warmth within that familiar four-eyed gaze. “You chose me without instincts,” he points out in a teasing manner, pride held within his straightened back. “Now come.”
Rolling your eyes at his shockingly witty retort as he gets too good at your language, you let him lead the way through the ship until you reach the exit door. You’ve only seen the planet’s surface through glass as he promised you an oxygen tank to withstand his atmosphere someday. It had been taking so long that you figured he ran into a snag, but as you stand at the bay and watch his hand glide along the sensors, you realize just how foolish you had been.
For the first time, the bay opens up and you find yourself instinctively trying to search for a way to protect yourself from the sulfur.
“Sukuna, I–”
“Give me your trust, ange.” He holds your bicep as you begin to back away, his gaze insistent.
Ange. The syllables that, intermittent with clicks and growls, make up the word ‘angel’ in Simurian, and french–the language of romance– and his favorite nickname for you. He had explained that when he takes you to meet the rest of his kind, it would be helpful for you to understand more of his language, and that if you paid attention to– and spoke– in only the syllables of the words, you would largely be able to communicate with his kind without issue. The clicks and growls come out of necessity of Simurians having broadly low voices and living in craters. The second ears and extra sounds in each word allow them to communicate from longer distances without the necessity for the syllables, but the same is true for communicating without the clicks. The syllables can also stand, mostly, on their own.
Your jaw tightens as you stop resisting his grip, allowing him to lead you through a small bay door where you’ve often seen him leave through the pressurized chamber. When he leads the way through it, there’s shockingly no change in barometric pressure. Or oxygen.
Off to the side of the ship where you aren’t able to see from the bridge, Sukuna has built out a massive domed biome with oxygen production within, allowing you to touch the surface for the first time. Your lips part as your feet scuff over the crystal-threaded dirt beneath your shoes.
You take small steps at first, glancing to the left where petrified trees protrude from a cliffside within the barrier of the biome, hanging over the mild seafoam that coastal waves leave behind. You tread towards the beach, your shoes sinking into the sand as you take in the smell of the salt water, your mouth still agape at how massive the space is.
To your right is a cavern that you know to be partially artificial, Sukuna’s home held within. You turn to face him, the shock of it all pinning you in place, when you’re met with another surprise.
He’s not down on his knees, but in his hand is a ring crafted from metal with a gorgeous off-pink crystal in the center, clearly carefully procured. It’s simultaneously gorgeous and obvious. The jewel matches his hair. It’s romantic, but it’s claiming too, something you’ve realized of Sukuna over the months that you’ve resided within his ship.
Your hand raises to cover your lips as you stare down at it. “Are you…?”
He runs a hand through his locks. “My hair’s not long enough yet for a ceremony,” he states, the strands falling through his fingers, “but I think your traditions are different.”
“I–” You breathe, staring down at the stone. It’s not like you didn’t know this would all happen in time, but to wrap your brain around being proposed to by an alien who made a barometric dome of oxygen for you is still a feat. Slowly, you reach for the gorgeous stone. “Yes. I’ll marry you.”
His brow scrunches as though there was no need for an answer and he already knew such a thing, but he hands the ring over regardless, watching as you slide it down your ring finger with a gorgeous grin.
“This is beautiful, Sukuna,” you breathe.
He chuffs pridefully, four palms finding their place along your body– two on your hips and two your waist. He doesn’t hesitate to pull you in, his fingers kneading your skin as he nuzzles you hard. His hooked nose rubs against yours before he dips down to kiss you passionately.
Given that kissing in its Simurian form is so different from Humanity’s version, it’s almost unfair just how good he is at it. Your body goes warm as you grip the Simurian robes he’s begun wearing now that he’s home.
Kisses with Sukuna are never slow and sweet. There’s intention behind every swipe of his tongue as he invades your mouth, pleasantly flooding your mouth not with the usual herbal tea you’ve come to expect, but something more minty, like there was thought behind this kiss that makes you smile into it.
He swallows your smile as he deepens the kiss, tilting your head up. There was a point where you were convinced you would die alone in the darkness of a welded ship without feeling the warmth of the sun on your skin again, and by some miracle, the very man who held your life in his hands now holds your heart instead.
When he pulls back, his thumb brushing your waist softly, he inhales, long and deep. “It isn’t Earth,” he concedes, a rare vulnerability within his baritone voice. “But I hope you’ll be happy here.”
Reaching for his cheeks, your thumb brushes the plating along the side of his face. “Sukuna, this is everything I could have hoped for.” You smile softly, turning around in his grip to stare out at the ocean as you shed your shoes and wriggle your toes in the sand, his hands never once leaving you. “I could live here for a lifetime.”
“Good,” his chest rumbles behind you as he chuckles, watching the tide swim ashore to your feet. “Because you very well might, ange.”
You grin up at him, wading further into the warm water. The planet is so much warmer than Earth due to the heavily gaseous atmosphere that the water isn’t cold like much of Earth’s oceans, pleasant around your ankles. “I’m kinda like Sandy Cheeks, if you think about it.”
“What?” Sukuna’s nose wrinkles, perplexed.
You laugh heartily, staring down at the stone around your finger. “Don’t worry about it.”
–
“Are you sure I look okay?”
“You,” your fiancé heartily purrs, “look like my dinner for tonight.”
The worst part is that you can see the maw on his stomach grinning from under his white robes.
You whack his arm softly, earning a playful chuff in reply as he looks you up and down, already mentally undressing you of the traditional Simurian wedding gown that Sukuna had an elder Simurian make for you, giving your measurements and no further details as he perplexed the poor elder on just who his bride-to-be might be.
The robes drape over your shoulders elegantly, the pale green accents of the off-white robes complimenting your traditional makeup. The sweet young (in Simurian years, anyway) woman doing your makeup and using traditional natural skin dyes hadn’t stopped gushing the entire time about Sukuna finding a mate, something you had picked up through broken understanding of their language.
You had even caught on that as it would turn out, he was the only Simurian adult who lacked a mate of those remaining.
“Have you picked out your tattoos yet?” She excitedly inquires, sure to slow her speech down so you can piece together what you can.
In extremely broken Simurian, you reply, “Yes! He chose design and I chose placement.”
She squeals in excitement, going on to tell you about how a Simurian named Dura recently took up tattooing, and you two would be his first wedding tattoos. There’s a certain solemnity in knowing that, with dwindling numbers, you very well may be his last, too.
Your nerves hit hard as you grow closer to emerging from Sukuna’s home where you’ve been prepping.
“If you’re still worried,” Sukuna offers as the young woman heads off to prepare herself for the ceremony, “just remember you and I are the only ones that can breathe oxygen. They’ll all be in suits.”
You’re pretty sure he just told you to picture them all in their underwear essentially, but it helps ease some nerves regardless.
“You’ve got a point,” you breathe out a sigh of relief before sucking in a breath. “Remind me how this goes again?”
Sukuna steps towards you, lowering himself to a knee to speak with you. His hand raises, his fingers gliding along your palm as he takes a moment to stare at your palms pressed together. To think that glass once separated you feels like another reality now. His gaze moves from your hands to your eyes as he intertwines your fingers. “You will wait in a tent by the beach as I am readied,” he explains, referring to his own traditional makeup that needs to be applied, his hair shaggy and a complete mess now that it’s much longer and ready to be braided. “Dabura is to wed us, as he’s my closest ally. He’ll come get you. There will be a ceremony with dancers and a large bonfire, then Dura will tattoo us.”
“And then?” You chew on your lower lip eagerly.
“Then,” he nears you, his fingers delicately brushing your robes. “The night is ours.”
You let out a breath, biting back a smile at the thought given that you had chosen to wait to have sex after all when it took so long to get you out of the ship.
“Are you nervous?” He gruffs, tilting your chin with a calloused hand.
“For the sex, or the wedding?”
“Either.”
It takes you a moment to consider the thought. “Yeah, I guess so. Both.”
“No one can understand your language. If you need something, just say so. I’ll be here the whole time.”
“You know, you never would have had me thinking you were so sweet when we first met.”
His brow twitches, his gaze averting. “I’m not.”
Stubborn.
“Noisy.”
Your eyes narrow. “Just curious, can you hear my thoughts?”
“No, why?”
“No reason.”
The night carries out as he promised. Seventy eight Simurians gather from far and wide, of tribes from a bygone era, of all ages and appearances. A fire is stoked and dancers do what you’re sure was once a much more elegant dance without the added bulk of spacesuits beneath traditional outfits.
The Simurians are kind to you, regardless of your broken ability to speak their language. They pick up on the occasional word in your language too, not unlike Sukuna.
Once the grand part of the ceremony is over, the rest of the Simurians take their seats on the beachside surrounding you and Sukuna as you both take small portions of your hair and braid them for one another. Your husband’s fingers are surprisingly deft, and upon finishing the braid, he gets the rest of his hair cut back down to his preferred length. Once the ceremony is complete, you’re met with cheers as Dabura declares you officially wed.
The horned alien is somehow more aloof than your husband, and the largely disinterested looks he shoots everyone you come to realize is his neutral. Were you not surrounded by far more boastful Simurians, you might even think they’re all like this.
Following the cheers of the ceremony, as things begin to quiet down, you’re approached by a Simurian with long, flowing white hair tucked into his spacesuit. He has a friendly look about him as he grins at you. “Dura,” he introduces himself, extending his hand.
Your brow raises at the realization he’s given you his name in your language, keen to the fact that your ability to speak is broken. Sukuna seems to respect that, taking a step back from the protective shadow he’s been all night with so many people so close to you, wary that someone might disprove his choice to wed a Human. You shake Dura’s hand in turn, offering your name as though he hasn’t been hearing it all night.
“Have you chosen a design?” He asks in his mother tongue.
He speaks slowly, allowing you to keep up. “Sukuna chose design, I chose– um–” your brow furrows as you attempt to place the syllables for the word in Simurian.
“Placement?” Dura steps in.
In a harsh tone, Sukuna steps forward, his lip curled into a snarl. “My wife is talking,” he snaps, the growls and clicks far more bitter than you’re used to hearing.
Dura’s hands raise. “I was just helping with words, Sukuna,” he smiles easily, waving the white flag before anything breaks out amongst the Simurians still lingering from the ceremony. “I wasn’t interrupting.”
You exchange a sympathetic glance with Dura, setting a hand on your husband’s arm. “It’s okay, Sukuna,” you murmur. “I just didn’t know the word, he was helping,” you agree.
Your husband’s shoulders fall slowly into something less aggressive, his gaze immovable as it glues itself to Dura. The tension between the two men is brief, before Sukuna gives into your sweet touch and softens, describing the design and placement to Dura. The white-haired man proceeds to prepare a table for you, sanitizing everything and pulling out what, by Earth’s standards, would be traditional handpoke tattoo materials.
Once ready, Sukuna goes first. The design is small, two zigzags mirroring one another with a simple tear in the center right where you chose– on the ring finger. He’s completely still throughout the process without any complaint, and you find yourself embarrassed when you wince at the first tap of the stone tool. Dura does what he can to distract you, attempting to speak with you– though at you is probably more apt given how broken your Simurian is. Still, you’re proud of yourself for your proficiency with the language and your ability to sit through the tattoo, which isn’t so bad once the first few punctures are through.
Once it’s complete, you hold your hand up to Sukuna’s, comparing the ink to one another with a bright smile before Dura bandages them. Your husband leans down to nuzzle and then kiss you, succinct but meaningful.
As the night winds down and the attendees begin to take their leave in ships of varying sizes, you sit by the entrance to your now-shared home with Sukuna. The stars twinkle overhead as you marvel at how different they are from Earth’s. In spite of everything, you stare out at the same vast expanse of space as your family back home does. You wish they could see that you got married. Pulling your knees to your chest, you rest your chin on them as you stare up at the sky, only able to wonder.
A bulky shadow leans over you after saying his goodbyes to Dabura and shutting the dome for the final time of the night. He blocks your view of the stars, pulling your attention to his ever-intense gaze. His chest rises and falls evenly as he regards you fondly. “I’m sure that was a lot.” Sukuna doesn’t often apologize, and you’re fairly sure it’s what he intends when he speaks.
“I liked meeting everyone,” you shake your head, relaxing as you lean back on your splayed palms. “I just wish my friends back home could see.”
“See how well the robes compliment you?” He comments in a smooth tone, although his expression remains unchanged.
You scoff, shaking your head. “The ring. The tattoo. That I’m married. Here, Simuria. All of it, really.”
Sukuna’s fond smirk fades as the moment hangs. The waves washing ashore have an ambient white noise that barely manages to hide his small sigh. “I’m sorry,” he starts, kneeling down to your level in an act that reminds you just how big he is. “But Humanity doesn’t deserve my ange.”
You let out a breath through your nose, offering a lopsided smile. “Thanks, baby.”
It took him a moment to get used to that nickname, but now he fondly chuffs. “But,” he tacks on, a little more chipper than you’re accustomed to. “I do have something for you, too.”
“For me? Is that something we were supposed to do?” You worry. “Oh god, I didn’t get you anything– I don’t even know what I would–”
“Always so noisy,” he jeers, growling out what you recognize as a Simurian word for ‘mouthy’ even as he offers his hand to help you to your feet.
“Hey!” You smack him playfully, earning a grin as he casts a glance at you, his gaze dipping down to the portion of your leg that protrudes from your robes as he helps you up.
He’s quiet as he leads the way into your shared home, strings of lights and domed bulbs decorating the walls at your request given that your then-fiancé lived largely in the dark aside from bioluminescence, much like his ship.
It seems to be the Simurian version of when men just put a chair and a TV in a room and call that decorating. Despite living in a cliffside, the rest of the house is well-decorated, just not well lit. It isn’t largely personal by any means, something you hope to change with art and photos, but at least you can say he does have furniture.
When you reach your bedroom, the most expansive room in the house, decorated with plants and a small bug-like creature you found within the dome that you’ve been studying– to Sukuna’s dismay– he reaches within a closet and pulls out a large box. Blinking as you stare down at what you recognize as a device, you slowly approach the box as he sets it atop the bed that you requested he make plush, rather than the conforming stone he was accustomed to. With a glide of his thumb, a hologram comes to light.
“What is it?” You ask your engineer husband, nothing immediately giving it away as the light displays nothing.
“Your species uses frequencies to speak from long distances on Earth, right?”
You straighten, staring at the brute in disbelief as he continues fiddling with the machine. “Sukuna, you didn’t.”
It’s all you can manage as you watch Sukuna fiddle with a dial, tapping his nail along the smooth surface of the machine as he makes calculations to figure out how many parsecs the signal will need to travel and at what speed in order to allow you to speak to your friend in real time. Once he’s finished fiddling with it, he turns back to you like this is just another day, handing you what, effectively, looks like an old phone hooked up to the box.
“You use numbers, right?” He chuffs for the latter portion of the sentence, completely ignoring your slack-jawed expression.
“I don’t– I can’t– You did all of this for–”
“Ange.” He chuffs, nuzzling your nose as he pulls you close. “Dial the number.”
A lump sits at the back of your throat, but no amount of swallowing will rid the feeling as you stare at your husband. Tears prick your eyes as slowly you find yourself needing to set the device down in shaky hands, curling into his chest as warm tears trail your cheeks. “You did this for me?” Your voice is hardly a whisper, frail in its delivery into his chest as your makeup inevitably stains his white robes.
“Obviously,” he clicks in his mother tongue, positive you know the meaning.
“You didn’t have to,” you sniffle, muffled. “I brought a bug into our room and I know you think I’m loud–”
“Human,” he growls, his voice clipped as he pulls back. The ceremonial red makeup streaking across his forehead and nose has smeared with the day’s activities, a sheen of sweat over his skin as he lowers himself to your height, holding your cheeks. “You are loud. You are noisy. And you are my wife. I want you to be those and more.”
“Even the bugs?”
A pair of eyes swivels across the room to the beetle-esque creature in a large glass enclosure. A grumble begins in his chest. “I’m less fond of those,” he admits. “But, yes.”
You smile. Lopsided, but genuine. “At least you’re honest.”
“Put in the number for your friend.”
Given that it’s not common to memorize numbers anymore, you’ve never been more grateful in your entire life that you actually know Shoko’s off the top of your head. Your fingers betray your disbelief by trembling as you turn back to the remote of sorts that he gave you, typing Shoko’s number with no regard for what time it might be. It rings once, twice, three times, and a final fourth before your friend picks up.
“Hello?”
Your voice breaks into something between a sob and a gasp the moment you hear her. She sounds older. There’s a rasp to her voice that betrays the weariness of her trade, but she also sounds well. Not sick. Alive. “Sho?” You breathe her nickname in sheer incredulity.
The shuffling on the other end is immediate, a flurry of static as you can practically imagine her flailing out of whatever chair or bed she was slumped over in. “You’re alive?” More static follows, a distraught shout for someone, then, frantically, “oh my god, I thought you were dead, or– I mean after the cure got here, I just had to assume you had taken the drug and I just– where are you? Can you facetime or something?”
It brings a smile to your face to hear your friend again, tears continuing to silently trail down your face in disbelief as tremors ripple through your muscles like waves. You laugh airily at just how much she sounds like you, her mouth at least ten steps ahead of her brain. Turning to Sukuna, you wipe your tears with the back of your hand. “Sukuna? Is there a way to connect to video?”
Standing idly behind you, his gaze lowers to the glimmer of fresh tear trails, his adam’s apple bobbing as he steps forward. He lowers himself to nuzzle your nose first, undoubtedly wiping tears along his own cheek, before fiddling with the box. “What frequency are your videos run on?”
Shoko is practically vibrating on the other end of the line. “Oh my god, who is that?”
“I don’t think Facetime uses frequencies, I think it’s on like… internet. Or LTE, or something.”
Sukuna hums, though he doesn’t seem confident.
“Google says two point four gHz to five gHz!” Shoko much more helpfully adds on the other side.
“Tell Google that helps,” he gruffs as he fiddles with frequencies until the blank hologram gains static.
There’s a brief silence on the other end as Shoko attempts to process how strange that sentence comes across to someone on Earth, but she doesn’t have time to question it when at last a video is displayed for each of you.
It’s clear when the video connects that life has been harsh in far different ways on each of you. Neither of you are the spry twenty-five year olds finishing up degrees and putting out papers that put you at the top of your fields at young ages. Smile lines adorn the corners of her mouth and her eyes have an ever-lidded look to them that only time and exhaustion could bring about. To your surprise, you recognize another acquaintance in the background in Utahime Iori, Shoko’s biggest crush at the time and a big rock on her ring finger.
A wide smile crosses your face and if she were right in front of you, you would surge forward to hug Shoko. Utahime, too.
Shoko’s gaze flicks around your surroundings as she holds up her phone. “Where the hell are you?” She queries as Sukuna rises from where he was fiddling with the long distance radio, popping into the frame behind you.
“Simuria. It’s gorgeous, and the people are so kind, you would love it here.”
“What’s on your face?”
“Oh–! Right, it’s ceremonial makeup,” you explain as you hold up your ring finger to display both your engagement ring and wedding tattoo. “I got married like two hours ago,” you giggle, bubbly.
The sight has your husband closing in on you, unable to stand so far apart when the very sound of your happiness draws him in like a moth to a flame.
With her jaw already on the floor at the revelation of your marriage, she can hardly contain her next question. “Who is that?” Shoko exclaims again, her image a blur as she nearly drops the phone at the sight of your husband.
“This,” you hold a hand out to the brutish alien, “is my husband. Sukuna, this is Shoko.”
It’s not often that Sukuna greets others in your mother tongue, so as he leans into frame, revealing four arms and four eyes, he simply waves at your gawking friend.
“Nice to meet you!” She starts, before it devolves into that scientific disbelief programmed into her brain. “He’s– I mean–” Shoko shakes her head incredulously as she attempts to make sense of the situation. “Aliens are real,” she mutters to herself. “Not just beetle things, either.”
“I feel like you’re really breezing over the four arms and eyes part here,” Utahime comments, surprisingly calm given the situation. You were never particularly close, but the way she evaluates you both seems to anchor your best friend. “Also hey,” she greets you by name with an easy smile. “We’re married too.”
Before you can even congratulate them as well, Shoko is already continuing, too many things to catch up on in too little time. “Honestly after CRM-12, nothing comes as much of a shock.” It comes as an observation more than any kind of blame as she evaluates your towering husband behind you. When he hums, you note that his more talkative personality may be reserved for you only.
“Congratulations, by the way! Wait– Sho, did the cure get there?”
“THE CURE!” She cries out suddenly. You grin through a laugh as everything hits you both at once, over ten years to catch up on. “Girl, yes. You saved– I don’t know, billions of people. And you didn’t even need to send any of those fuckass beetle things back. The company was pissed at first, but I swear they didn’t actually want a cure.”
“They still spread the cure out though, right?”
“They didn’t have a choice. One of the pods landed with NASA. We got lucky.”
“Thank god. I was worried about that.”
“Wait, speaking of beetles–” The hologram flashes and flutters as Shoko moves about the room, a clicking noise followed by something snapping and at last the camera faces her again. “Look!”
You stare in disbelief at the Stag Beetle on her fingers. Sukuna curiously leans forward.
“There’s no way in hell Spike survived this long.”
“Meet Spike Thirteen!” She grins as the stag’s antennae reach for her phone, its mandibles curiously snapping together.
Barking a laugh, you lean back into Sukuna’s warmth. Under the dim lighting of the strung up bulbs, he relaxes into your touch as he instinctively reaches for your waist. “Thirteen makes way more sense.”
Changing the subject again with so many things she wants to go over, Shoko sets Spike on her shoulder. “Are you able to come visit?”
You knew the question was inevitable. The one you were dreading hearing, for there’s no easy way to say it. “I can’t. We’re about seven years apart. I’d be almost sixty by the time we get home.”
There’s a brief somber silence, but it surprises you when Shoko smiles, genuine and kind. “Home.” She repeats the sentiment. “Never thought you’d find one. I think I’m okay with that, knowing that you found a home.”
Your vagabond tendencies make her sentiment make sense, and a tender smile graces your features as Sukuna’s remaining two hands find your hips, like he’s grounding himself in his own home. “Yeah. I hope you did, too.”
“Yeahh, Hime and I are doing pretty well,” she agrees, mirroring the sentiment that perhaps home can be unconventional. For you, an alien in a dome (and just one little bug in a tank), and for her, a person.
“Good. That makes me happy,” you murmur softly.
Shoko’s lips part and it’s clear she has further questions and ten years’ worth of stories to fill you in on, but she shuts them with a smile. “I should let you enjoy your wedding night.” She sits back, Utahime’s hand barely in frame as it rests on Shoko’s shoulder, opposite Spike Thirteen. “Can we talk again?”
You swivel towards Sukuna for confirmation. He shrugs. “I built it for you. Use it as you wish.”
Your hand finds his, threading your fingers through the thick ones resting on your waist. “Yeah, I’ll talk to you soon, Sho.”
“You too,” she can’t help her grin as the line cuts out.
Leaning back into Sukuna, you bask in the thrill of seeing your closest friend again. It doesn’t quite compare to your old dinner and ice cream outings where you claimed dessert was for your second stomach and nearly threw up when that proved to not be the case, but it’s more than you could ever have expected. The lumbering form of your husband leans down slowly, nuzzling your neck from behind. His hooked nose nudges your chin. “Happy, ange?”
“Than I ever thought I could be,” you murmur, tilting your head as you allow him access to the sensitive skin of your neck. There’s a level of harshness to just how much he grinds his face into your neck, earning a giggle as he pulls you closer with ease.
“My wife deserves nothing less.” His lower arms anchor you to his chest as his upper hands trail delicately along the green accents of your robe. One hand dips between your breasts, resting on the tie around your waist. In Simurian, he mutters, “may I make you mine?” against the warm skin of your neck.
A shiver runs stark up your spine as you nod. He sets the transmitter aside, effortlessly lifting you onto the plush of the bed.
“I don’t know how you ever had sex on those stone beds,” you comment breathily as Sukuna parts your legs with a knee.
“My skin is denser,” he replies between nips and licks at your skin. “You’re weak.”
“Yet you married me.”
“Weak and noisy.”
“Whatever you say,” you hum when his lower palms press your hips into the mattress, his torso slipping between your thighs. It comes as a shock when he’s wet on his abdomen and you’re damn sure you’re not the reason. You instinctively search for the cause to find his stomach maw must be drooling under his own robes, more emotive than your husband is himself.
Eager to feel him, your hands slip to the tie of his robes where he leans over you, pulling one end until they hang loosely from his shoulders, revealing a toothy smile along his stomach. The maw’s grin widens, his tongue slipping from within teeth so jagged one would almost think your husband were a predator, not that he eats rocks. Along with his drooling maw, you discover something far more debauched that you had yet to come across.
Simurians don’t typically wear undergarments during wedding ceremonies given that it’s typical to give oneself to the other following the ceremony, hence why the party left at a reasonable hour.
So why on Earth– or in this case, Simuria– does this man have two massive dicks?
“Why do you have two?” You query in bewilderment as he deftly unties your robes.
His expression twists as he lifts his gaze to you, searching for an explanation to your perplexity in the fact that–
“Why don’t you?”
“Why would I need two?”
He points to his two throbbing dicks, each with a black band around the base. “Two,” he states plainly.
“Yeah, I–” You chuckle at the absurdity of it all. “I see that you have two dicks, Sukuna.” Covering your face as you can’t help laughing, you shake your head from behind your palms. “But why?”
“Twice the pleasure,” he states, letting out a throaty noise that you recognize as Simurian for ‘duh’. “Where’s your second one?”
“I don’t– Humans don’t have a second one, Sukuna!”
He hums, something of a grumble. “We’ll make it work.”
Left staring straight through your husband as he moves on while you’re still caught up on him having two dicks, on top of the fact that he’s almost twice your size, he returns to his musings. His nose trails the length of your neck, nudging your robes aside and kissing along the red dyes used to mark you for the ceremony, leaving new marks in their place.
“Gorgeous,” he clicks and purrs in his mother tongue, slipping his hands beneath the ceremonial garments as he pulls your mind to the present. Slipping your arms from the sleeves, you let your hands run along the tattoos that wrap over his shoulders, reveling in the way his rough skin still seems to get a rise from your touch, goose bumps following your fingers’ trail. Ten feet of alien bulk and a tiny human still brings him to his knees.
You let out a gasp as drool from his stomach drips to your abdomen, trailing down to your thighs, warm and wet. If he wasn’t already obvious with how hard he is, his stomach mouth gives him away entirely.
“You’re soft,” he comments, the words slipping from his lips like an idle thought unintended to be spoken. A large tongue swipes from the bottom of your slit to your clit, the sensation sending shivers up your spine as you breathe in a soft gasp.
The room is already warm with the anticipation of arousal, the musky smell of the night’s earlier activities pungent around you. Your husband drinks in the way your back arches for him when he gets a taste of you, a languid pace to his movements as he crawls further over you in spite of his eagerness. Once he realizes he has something, he’s not quick to let it go. The size difference between you allows him to lap at your entrance with his second mouth while he delves his tongue between your lips. Your fingers curl into his shoulders as your nails leave stark half-moons in their wake.
When he adjusts the way in which he laps at your dripping pussy, the flat of his tongue puts pressure on your clit as you realize that his tongue has a mildly rough texture as though it’s intended for your pleasure. Your back arches once more, separating your kiss. One pair of hands drives your hips further into the mattress, while the other pair steadies your cheeks, allowing him to swallow your moans once more.
It’s downright euphoric the way he uses his tongue to work you to the edge so quickly. You want to chalk it up to being over ten years since you’ve felt this sensation, but the only thing to blame here is him. Not unlike your language, he’s learning your body. Fast.
“Hah- fuck–” You breathe when he finally lets up for air, his chest heaving as you cling to him for purchase. “Don’t stop, Kuna.”
His chest rumbles as he lowers himself to one pair of forearms, continuing to knead the plush of your hips with the other pair. His fingers run along the imperfections of your skin, committing each and every stretch mark, scar, and beauty mark to memory without so much as pulling his gaze from your expression.
He drags his massive tongue slower against your clit, the barbed texture pulling you closer and closer to the edge and leaving you breathless altogether. Blood roars in your ears as he slows his pace to keep you right where he wants you, crimson irises mere rings as his blown pupils watch whimpers pour from your slacked jaw.
“I like you like this,” he murmurs, his nose nudging your cheek where makeup has already smudged. “At my mercy and begging me not to stop.”
“That’s because you have a superiority complex,” you mutter even through the haze, still mouthy at the worst of times.
His tongue pulls back, your head lifting in disappointment just in time to watch his stomach maw nip at your inner thigh. You yelp, clinging tighter to his shoulders as you undoubtedly leave behind marks. “I like you noisy during sex, but not mouthy,” he coyly remarks.
“You’re such a–” You sharply gasp when his tongue returns to your clit with another long drawn out stripe up your slit.
“Don’t be smart,” he chides in Simurian, although he speaks so fast he’s positive you don’t catch it. Your head’s already in the clouds, thrown back into the mattress as you cling to him for purchase when at last he gives you what you want.
Adding to the pressure of his tongue, he finally throws you over the edge with shorter, faster licks. Stars encroach on your vision, your nails digging into his tough skin as he nuzzles your chin affectionately while your body twitches with each jolt of static to your abdomen that could damn well be slowing time and you would never know.
When your vision begins to even out, you shift against your husband, suddenly very aware of just how much drool and cum has collectively pooled between your thighs. Your movement rouses his attention as he lifts his head to inspect you. The bliss lighting up your features has his chest puffing out, that stupid prideful and boastful purr that you’ve grown fond of rumbling his chest.
Your lips part as you catch your breath, pulling him back into your shoulder. He doesn’t protest, nuzzling into you so hard you might think he wanted to live there.
“I love you too, Sukuna.”
He lifts his head, his slanted eyes curiously narrowing. “Is that how humans express partnership?”
You smile as he picks apart your traditions so scientifically. “It’s one way,” you murmur softly, tracing a finger along his cheek. His left eyes flutter shut, only opening when your nails rake through his hair.
He chuffs his approval, returning his attention at last to your body with kisses to your breasts. He shifts you up the bed, spreading your legs over his thighs as he sits between them. His cocks are heavy against your stomach, twitching, and equally slick with his own drool and your cum.
As he leans over you, kissing you once more with ease given his extra height. Two thick digits gather the mix of cum and drool, bringing it to his mouth. He runs his tongue along his lips, bringing his wet fingers down to your core. Regardless of species, he clearly knows better than to try sex without adequately working you open for him. You’re small and he has no intention of hurting his wife.
One finger eases in without any friction, the saliva coating it acting as a natural lubricant. The second is met with little resistance too, and he uses the opportunity to pump them slowly. He moves his fingers not like a human might, but as though he’s searching. Like he knows, biologically, that you derive pleasure from a specific point. And god, does he find it. Your hips buck for him as he locates your g-spot, a devious smirk curling on his lips. Your nails rake down his back with each slow pump of his fingers, your arms trembling as you cling to him.
A third finger swipes up the amalgamation of drool and cum and slowly he slips it in to the first knuckle. He watches your shoulders tense, allowing you to pull him closer until your chests are slick with one anothers’ sweat. Your walls don’t clamp so tightly around his fingers as you adjust and slowly, he slides the third one in to the knuckle.
The stretch of three fingers from your massive husband is immense as-is. You both know he isn’t fitting the second of his dicks in you, but he seems satisfied regardless as he watches your expression with blown pupils.
“Fuck, that feels good,” you breathe as he works you open slowly but surely, picking up the pace until he’s got you damn-near at the edge again.
He hums, pulling his fingers away with a wet squelch just as your nails dig into his skin. “Keep that feeling going for me, ange.”
When he lines himself up with you, a shudder rocks your body. He’s always been big. From this angle, he looks massive and his cocks are no different. The upper cock is heavy as it rests atop your abdomen, leaking pre-cum and coated in saliva all the same, both of you equally a mess. When he pushes in the tip, you suck in a breath, a hand flying to his chest to stop him from pressing in too quickly.
He hisses at how tight you are, the size difference more apparent than ever. Swallowing hard, all four eyes turn their attention to you. “Relax, baby,” he coos, his voice dropping an octave as he uses your preferred pet name for him on you. Anything to allow you to anchor yourself. His gruff attitude flips on a dime, with no intention of causing you anything but pleasure and the knowledge that it’s not only been a long time, but you aren’t the same species.
He wets his thumb with his mouth, bringing it down to your clit to massage small circles into it. Your lashes flutter, the muscles in your arms slackening as the pain of the stretch twists into ecstasy, searing and hot. His body runs so warm that the sensation of him stretching you open all the while warming you up is nothing short of heady and intoxicating. Slowly, he sinks in past the black band around his cock until he reaches the hilt, heavy balls resting against your ass.
Your walls convulse, still short of an orgasm but grappling with his size, until they finally let up and he shifts his hips slightly, testing how you react. You throw your head back in a searing moan as you grab his shoulders again, the kind that rips from straight in your chest and to your surprise, your husband groans in response. “Fuck, that’s it,” he gruffs with a pleasureful lilt to his tone. He’s only ever heard you curse twice, but it seems he got the gist of its meaning quickly.
He pulls out to the tip, his breath hot on your sweat-slicked chest, gliding back in swiftly, though he watches you carefully. When he’s met only with a louder moan and your hands raking down his back, he takes the opportunity to dive in.
His hips rock slow at first, speeding up as he chases both of your highs. He keeps one finger perpetually on your clit, moving in calculated circles in spite of the fact that his hips now snap into you. Moans, pants, and the sound of his balls slapping against your ass fill the air as the scent of sex fills the room.
Your head is too hazy to look, but you’re fairly sure his stomach’s tongue is pleasuring his upper cock, if the feeling of pressure on your abdomen is anything to go off of. It’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced before, and just as his hands ball into fists in the sheets where they rest on either side of your head, both begin twitching. A heavy load of cum fills your pussy and coats your stomach all at once. He doesn’t stop once they begin jerking, chasing your orgasm and riding his own out.
The sensation of his cum filling you is enough to push you over the edge moments later like glass shattering as it rocks your body in ways you’ve never experienced before. You cling to him as your vision goes black, the world around you fading into an afterthought when all you can think of is your massive husband, hunched over and finally having stopped his movement. All four of his arms hold him upright and in one unsteady movement, he lowers himself to his forearms.
Both of your chests heave as you ride the highs, eyes lidded when he nuzzles the crown of your head. “I love you,” he murmurs into your hair, a hint of a question to the statement, as though he isn’t positive that he’s using it correctly.
Through pants, you chuckle at his uncertainty, lifting your hands from his back to the nape of his neck. “I love you too.”
He slowly pulls himself from within you, rolling to the side so as not to crush you. As you come back down, you give yourself a onceover, blinking at the mess along your stomach and thighs and coating the sheets.
“Sukuna, there’s drool everywhere.”
“That’s your fault,” he grumbles, eyes shut as he lays to your left.
“Literally how?”
With no words in your language for the matter, he replies in his mother tongue. “You feel too good.”
You can’t help a smile, but you do take the opportunity to turn and curl into him, coating him in every fluid you’ve shared.
“Mm,” he hums as you intertwine your legs, your head resting on his bicep. “You might be right.”
“Just a little bit.”
“I’ll clean us up,” he murmurs, leaning down to nuzzle the crown of your head. “Just give me one more moment of this.”
–
The tides are low as you sit with your bare feet in the wet sand. The water scarcely reaches your toes, coming up to your husband’s calves as he naps in the sun, a hat laid over his head. He stirs every so often as you read a Simurian romance novel with your legs thrown over him, the written text coming easier to you these days.
The couple in the novel are so young– relative to the species– that it has you feeling wistful for days long past.
“Sukuna?”
You know he’s awake, having recently adjusted his hat. His chest rises and falls in a content sigh before he chuffs.
“What will you do when I’m gone?” You wonder about your husband, a species that mates for life.
He moves lazily as he sits up, hunching over you to parse what you’re reading. When it isn’t of interest to him, he adjusts the hat back over his head to block the sun. “I’ll mourn you.” He stares out across the ocean of the dome he’s grown into a much larger space over the years. “But I’ll celebrate your life, too.”
The thought brings a smile to your face in spite of the somber tone of your conversation. “Will you take care of my bugs?”
“That’s what you’re worried about?”
You shrug. “Yeah, a little.”
He sighs. “Not the ones that sting. I don’t like them.” He wrinkles his nose at the thought of them. “But the rest, yes. I like the ones with extra legs.”
“Yeah, the tarantula-looking ones are pretty cool,” you agree, leaning back into his chest.
His gaze softens as he looks over your features. You’ve aged beautifully over the past several years of marriage, and he knows your reservations about the difference in your species’ lifespans, but he knows something else, too.
Your aging has slowed to a near-halt. At around forty in Human years, your body stopped showing the signs of age that you so often describe. He’s more than positive that you haven’t noticed, but every minute change in your features is something he categorizes mentally.
It was never on purpose, but by the will of some God, whether Human or Simurian, his injected cells have slowed your aging. He isn’t sure if he’s gained a lifetime with you, or simply a few more years, but he considers the action the sort of thing you might call star-crossed. Like the gene therapy that saved your life acted as a string of fate too, bonding you together not just for your life, but several Human lifetimes.
One pair of arms holds him up as he leans back on them, the other pair sliding around your waist as he pulls you closer, the feeling of your bare skin familiar and comforting to the lumbering man. His fingers curl into your skin as he watches you happily turn a page, content with his reply. His gaze lingers on the ink on your ring finger that matches his.
However many lifetimes it may be that you’re blessed with, he knows he’ll cherish each and every one.
☾⋆ a/n ; okay so i watched phm and between that, iron lung, and alien earth, i got alien sukuna brainworms. i didn't anticipate it being like 38k 💀 i hope you enjoyed though!! this one was a lot of fun and i'm proud of how it turned out. you may also notice a difference between the tumblr and ao3/wattpad versions of this fic which is because i found tumblr's post limit (1000 paragraphs) and had to do some quick combining/editing. forgive me for any strange pacing on this piece in the tumblr version <3
i also wanna take the time to thank you all for the patience while i deal with some medical issues, i promise my regular series should be coming back soon <33
☾⋆ taglist ; @lilrosyhaven @tiny-mimi @grimm3r @yujisredkicks @knittybritty98 @sukunahs @saezzi @epicderpface @ynishalee @pandabiene5115 @silibiliballs @ane5e @feyrinnn @jkslvsnella @maomimii @megumuro @beereadzzz @sukunas-one-n-only-peach @beaniesayshi @ryomeowie @suguusatoo
never in a million years did you expect your first date to be at your favorite stationary shop. the owner was this adorable grandma that knew your name since you frequented her store often. it’s where you shopped for all your pens, notebooks, and highlighters from—plus any cute miscellaneous things that caught your eye.
sukuna picked you up at 3pm on the dot in his fancy sports car. you took note of the car brand to research later. it was the least you could do, he was taking you to a store that specialized in aesthetic stickers, which was totally not his scene…but, you appreciated his effort.
the second you sat in the passenger seat, he handed you the wire for aux. “surprise me.”
crap, you weren’t sure what he would like. you've never really talked about music to get a good enough idea of what was acceptable to play around him…in his car too, mind you. you chewed your bottom lip anxiously and skimmed your playlist. you were taking way too long, but you didn't have even the slightest idea of what to play. you felt his eyes on you. he was probably confused on why you were taking five million years to play a single song.
"don't overthink it. just play what you like," he said. "i wanna hear what you listen to when you're making our study plans," he smirked at you. you froze. how did he know that…
as if he could read your mind: "i've seen you, before our sessions, going through your practice problems and flashcards, headphones on and all. you're pretty thorough." oh. the thought of him watching you go over your session notes made you a bit self conscious. were you really that thorough? what a big word for him. how could he tell just by watching from afar? and why in the world was he watching in the first place?
"wait—so you just watch me like some stalker?" you teased him. you noticed the way the tip of his ears turned a blush pink. you had no idea teasing him had that effect on him. you needed to do it more.
"nah, i just so happened to come a little early and saw you already hard at work without me there." he scoffed, lips curving into an exaggerated frown. he pulled into a parking space and put the car in park. "it's okay though, you can make it up to me by putting me onto ball at this store."
you sighed dramatically and pretended to think about it. "hmm, i guess i could. you know, charity work is good for my applications," you shot back with a huge grin on your face.
he gaped at you and you smirked. corny teasing did the trick it seems like. though, he didn't expect you to come up with something so quickly. but you were smart —you were his tutor for goodness sake—so he needed to step his game up.
"oh, so you've got jokes now?"
"i've always had jokes, you just weren't smart enough to comprehend them." you blurted out. you clasped your hand over your mouth. was that too far? the charity work joke was light, but you basically just called him dumb. and he wasn't. at least, not really? you contemplating folding and apologizing profusely so he didn't think you were a jerk, but his grin only grew wider.
"yeah well, luckily, i have you now."
the air in your lungs thinned as your heart thumped rapidly. it was like it was threatening to explode. it's moments like these where it didn't matter how clever you were. his words—plain to the naked eye—dug deep, stunning your fast tracked mind into absolute shock. he said them so simply, like he was merely just stating facts, but they were so much more to you. they hinted that he possibly thought of you in That way and you weren't delusional. at least, not completely.
"yes, yes you do." you quickly looked away, flustered at just his words once again, and reached for the car door.
"hold on." he said abruptly. you shot him a puzzled look as he got out of the car and jogged over to your side of the car. the way your eyes widened when what he was doing dawned on you made he only made his smile grow bigger as he opened the car door.
“jesus woman, it looks like your eyes are about to pop out of their sockets.”
you blinked rapidly at him before getting out of the car. you cleared your throat to buy yourself sometime to recover. of course you sold the bag by being a dork over him opening your door. but you couldn’t help it. you liked how he was with you. it was sweet and made you blush…like excessively. it was bad.
“thank you,” you mumbled softly as he closed the car door shut. he shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “no big deal, just doing what every guy should do.” he took in your flustered state with a quick glance. “i’m guessing this might be the first time in a while?”
“first time…ever.” you corrected him, voice barely above a whisper. your dating life was pretty much non existent considering the fact you were too afraid to talk to people and you were convinced that you were reading too much into things half the time. sukuna was the exact opposite, having his fair share of girlfriends. you’ve heard some of the stories too. how close they got was a stark contrast from what you’ve done.
“how am i doing then?” he asked, a little to confidently. your embarrassment dissolved as you crossed your arms. “not bad, could be better.” you teased him again. he didn’t make you feel bad about it. you were glad, you were sure the shame would swallow you whole if he had.
“yes ma’am,” he replied. he gestured to the store. “time to step into my mastermind tutor’s world.”
you scoffed and walked up to the store door. “this is my safe haven. that’s a better way to put it.”
he opened the door and held it for you. “wait…does that mean i’m special?” he raised an eyebrow as he waited for you to walk in. he followed behind you and waited patiently, expecting a response. by default, he was special. you’ve never done anything remotely close to this with any of your other peers you've tutored with. but would pointing that out water down how monumental this truly was? it’s your first ever date. you’ve watched enough romcoms to have high expectations, and he wasn’t doing too bad. you decided right there and then to take a leap of faith.
“i suppose you could say that…” you trailed off. okay, you never said it was a big leap. he grinned at you, but his attention shifted as pam approached the two of you.
“i’ve been wondering when you’d come back to visit me,” she squealed. “ooo, and you brought a guest? my, my, my, isn’t he handsome? who’s this?”
you wished for a way to disappear. you forgot how strong of a personality she was. you’d been needing to warn sukuna, though he seemed to be eating it up.
“you’re too kind,” he replied with the fattest grin on his face. “i’m sukuna, nice to meet you. and you are?” he asked, extending his hand out.
“pamela. but you can call me pam,” she took his hand with a wink. she turned to you, smile still huge. “you have excellent taste, i’m proud. you look so cute together.”
“thanks pam,” you mumbled, embarrassed out of your mind. she was adorable, yes, but there wasn't anything crazy going on here. you didn’t want to scare him off. “i’ve missed you. i had to cut myself off, i was draining my bank account.”
she laughed and shook her head. “oh honey, don’t worry. i’m just glad to see your face again. now,” she clasped her hands together. “anything you have in mind? i received a new shipment of pens and stickers if any of you needed some…” her eyes darted between the two of you.
you shook your head. “oh, it’s okay. he’s looking for the same highlighters i use actually, that’s why we’re here.”
“alright, then i’ll leave you two to it!” she exclaimed, disappearing as quickly as she appeared.
you turned to sukuna with a small smile. “sorry about that, she’s a bit…” you hesitated. you weren’t sure how to explain it. excited you had a “boyfriend.” he wasn’t anything of the sort.
“what? no i loved her. she’s funny.”
you tilted your head at him. “okay, just making sure. let’s go find the highlighters.”
you led the way to the infamous corner where she had her highlighter display. infamous because it’s where a lot of your money has gone. not only did it have highlighters, it had stickers, pens, and bakery themed erasers… your weaknesses. you kept your eyes zeroed in on the highlighters. you were out of mysterious sources of income, so you couldn’t afford to go ham.
“lo and behold. the savior of my grades. now i definitely won’t get kicked out of college.” he reached out to grab a packet, but stopped abruptly. “wait—why are there so many different versions, what the hell??” his eyes scanned the rows. “pastel rainbow. pastel pink. pastel cotton candy, pastel…” he listed off. “i just want the one you have, holy crap.”
you snorted. he couldn’t be serious. “i have several of these actually, so just pick your favorite. odds are i probably already have it.”
he sighed. “it’ll take forever to pick one. pastel sunset, pastel gelato,” he muttered under his breath and started to search. a soft laugh bubbled out of you from the sight of the fraternity leader going crazy over pastel markers. you’ve truly seen it all.
in the corner of your eye, you saw a display you haven’t seen before. you walked up to got and almost gasped. it must be the new shipment pam had mentioned earlier. stickers and pens galore—they lined the shelves and your heart broke into too. they were so adorable. you wanted them all. too bad your bank account wouldn’t be able to take it. it was a stationary geek’s wet dream.. your wet dream. you just stared in awe, taking it all in. you didn’t notice sukuna spearing behind you, arms full of aesthetic highlighter packets.
“these are so you,” a voice said behind you. you spun around to see the pink haired man siding you carefully. “i’d definitely see you having these things. this pink vomit.”
“you say that while having pink hair,” you pointed out, slightly annoyed. this idiot.
“…good point.”
you both laughed and shook your head at his stupidity. “i’m joking, i love your pink vomit, it’s much better than mine.” he gestured to the packets in his arms. “so, what’s it gonna be?”
“huh?”
he nodded to the display in front of you. “what do you want from there?”
you waved your hands frantically, alarmed by his gestures “nothing, it’s okay, i’m just looking since she mentioned it earlier and all.” you plastered a fake smile on your face, but somehow, he saw right through you
“bull. you’ve been starring at it longingly the whole time i was getting the markers. pick what you want or else—” he narrowed his eyes at you.
“or else… what?” you challenged him.
“i’ll buy the whole thing.” he said simply. it took everything in you to not laugh in his face. the only time he bluffed this hard was when he was sure his answer was right over yours during tutoring, and everyone knew how that ended. you were in shock. this was not first date behavior. this was a whole other beast.
“you don’t believe me?”
“…not really, no,” you admitted. who would?
without a word, he turned and marched to the cash register. you followed, hot on his heels, absolutely terrified of how this would play out.
“pam, sweet pam,” he started off. you rolled your eyes. “would you please encourage her to pick something from the new display that she likes. she won’t stop eyeing it.”
pam peered over her reading glasses. “well, of course! let him spoil you. and me too," she giggled. "i'm just joking, no pressure on either side."
sukuna glanced at you over his shoulder. "take your pick."
maybe he wasn't bluffing. frankly, all of this was ridiculous and unserious. you walked back over to the display, dragging your feet. you grabbed a restock of stickers and made your way back to the cashier's counter.
sukuna swiped his card with the biggest grin on his face. you pouted, but the second you said goodbye to pam, you thanked him.
"thank you so much...even though you basically peer pressured me into doing it." you said half jokingly.
he unlocked the car and shrugged. "you constantly set time aside to take care of other people to make sure they succeed, including me, so you deserve a treat for yourself. there's no need to thank me, don't be ridiculous."
he opened your car door and you scrambled to get in. as he started the car you just sat there, processing what he said. he wasn't wrong, but you didn't want him to feel obligated to do this. to feel like he owed you. you tutored people because you genuinely liked helping them—and the subjects too of course.
"thanks 'kuna, that means a lot," you started, reaching to buckle your seatbelt. "but i don't want you feel like you owed me a favor back or anything. i love our sessions, they are fulfilling enough." you reassured him. you played with your hands in your lap, anxiety bubbling in your stomach.
he furrowed his brows and frowned. "i did it because i want to. i know how badly you wanted them too, you aren't slick," he shook his head, "maybe we just, you know, enjoy each other's company and wanna see the other happy?"
you pressed your lips together, eyes widening at his words. you nodded slowly before looking away and he laughed. "okay, rate our first date?"
he actually called it a date. you didn't expect that. sure it was pretty obvious, but still...it felt good to hear.
"10/10!" you beamed at him.
he smirked, pleased with himself. "i agree. now, the real question is... is your playlist 10/10?" he handed the wire over for the second time today and this time, you grabbed it with confidence. you weren't as self conscious around him as you were earlier. you had fun today. you already put him on one today, might as well add to the list.
"be prepared. you heard pam... i have excellent taste"
he laughed and the two of you jammed out all the way back home.
Lifeguards Kirishima and Bakugo were eye candy for every woman on the beach.
Their red five-inch shorts sat dangerously low on their hips, exposing sharp v-lines and tanned skin. They had no business looking that good.
Between Kirishima’s broad shoulders and easy smiles, and Bakugo’s toned arms and permanent scowl, they were day and night but they had the attention of all.
Girls constantly crowded around their tower.
Some asked fake safety questions just to hear Kirishima talk. Others “accidentally” wandered too far into the water so Bakugo would yell at them to come back.
Neither lifeguard cared. Because the only person either of them watched was you.
“You’re distracted again,” you called, rolling the volleyball beneath your foot.
Bakugo’s sharp gaze snapped toward you from atop the lifeguard chair.
“The hell I am.”
“You’ve blown that whistle at us six times in the last ten minutes,” your teammate said. “We’re not even in the water.”
“Seven times,” Kirishima corrected helpfully.
Bakugo glared at him.
You snorted, stepping back into position on the sand court. The game around you resumed quickly, shouts and laughter mixing with crashing waves.
You jumped.
Served.
Ace.
Your teammates erupted into cheers while the opposing side groaned dramatically.
From the tower, Kirishima whistled loudly. “Nice one!”
A group of girls nearby immediately turned toward him, giggling when he smiled politely their way.
Bakugo looked irritated by the noise. Or maybe irritated by the way he couldn’t ignore the sweat clinging to your skin after diving for the ball.
It was always hard to tell with him.
“You gonna keep staring,” you called up at the tower, “or actually do your job?”
Kirishima laughed, an obvious blush stained his cheeks; while Bakugo leaned forward against the railing.
“Thought my job was watching the beach.”
“It is.”
“And you’re on the beach,” he smirked cockily.
A dangerous blush crept across the bridge of his nose while Kirishima nearly choked laughing beside him.
You only grinned, spinning the volleyball in your hands.
“Careful, lifeguards,” you teased. “People might think all this extra attention is you two flirting with me.”
Bakugo clicked his tongue loudly, sinking back into his chair.“Shut up and play your damn game.”
"Cum home and ruin me"| Bakugo Katsuki x Female Reader
Pairing: Bakugo Katsuki x Female reader
Summary: During a long agency meeting, Bakugo receives an explicit nude video from his girlfriend. He rushes home and claims her body relentlessly through the night. The next morning, he smirks watching her wobble in his oversized t-shirt, her neck covered in dark bite marks and hickeys.
Word count: 5,6k
Content: 18+, explicit content, adult sexual content, Bakugo x female reader, rough intimacy, teasing video, nude video, multiple rounds, creampie, biting, marking, hickeys, nipple play, nipple sucking, possessive behavior, morning after, wobbly legs, size difference, dirty talk, power dynamics, established relationship, smut, lemon, there will be shown a warning when the smut happens
a/n: This is my first ever time writing something this long, especially a smut fic. Im really proud of this but i feel like I kept using repetitive words so if you read and see the same words used over and over again, im sorry🥹 im still a newbie at writing smut so i hope you can let it pass this once😅
Also a quick warning, this one is kinda gross so please scroll if any disturbs you, and this proofread really badly so im sorry of any mistakes!
Also im tagging a certain mutual who i know is a freak for this ahem ahem [@pro-herokatsukispubies]
But Without further ado,
Enjoy my loves♡
You knew exactly what you were doing.
Katsuki Bakugo sat at the head of the long conference table in the top-floor war room of his agency, Dynamight Hero Agency, arms crossed tight over his broad chest, scarlet eyes narrowed at the holographic map floating above the center of the table. The afternoon sunlight slanted through the floor-to-ceiling windows, catching on the sharp lines of his hero costume, still half-zipped because he’d stormed straight from patrol into this bullshit meeting. His sidekicks and a couple of visiting agency reps droned on about patrol routes, villain sighting patterns in the eastern district, and some new support gear prototype that was apparently “revolutionary.”
He wasn’t listening. Not really. His jaw was clenched so hard it ached, one boot tapping an impatient rhythm under the table. All he could think about was you, his fiery little girlfriend who’d texted him right before he walked in: "Miss you already, baby. Hurry home." With that little heart-eyes emoji you knew pissed him off and turned him on at the same time.
The meeting had dragged for two fucking hours already. Two hours of “yes, sir” and “we should consider” and idiots who couldn’t read a goddamn map. His phone sat face-down on the table beside his water bottle, silent. For now.
“and that’s the projected impact on response times if we reroute Unit Three through the industrial zone,” one of the reps finished, clicking to the next slide.
Bakugo grunted, the sound low and dangerous. “Fine. Whatever. Next.”
He didn’t even look at the slide. His mind was already halfway home, imagining you spread out on his bed in nothing but one of his oversized tank tops, waiting for him like you always did after a long shift. The thought made his cock twitch lazily in his pants. He shifted in his chair, thighs flexing under the reinforced fabric.
Then the clock hit 3:45 PM.
“Ten-minute break,” his head of operations announced, standing up and stretching. “Bathroom, coffee, whatever. Back at four sharp, boss wants the full tactical review done before patrol shift change.”
Chairs scraped. People filed out, chatting, laughing, grabbing snacks from the side table. Bakugo stayed seated for a second, rolling his shoulders, cracking his neck. The room emptied fast. He reached for his phone, thumbing it open with one hand while the other dragged through his spiky blond hair.
A new notification. From you.
His lips curled into a smirk. Finally. He expected a voice note, maybe a teasing photo of your tits in that lacy bra he liked. He tapped it open without thinking.
It wasn’t a photo.
It was a video. Thirty-two seconds long. The thumbnail was dark, but he caught the glint of your skin, the curve of your shoulder, the way your hair spilled over bare collarbones.
His pulse kicked hard.
He glanced once at the open door, no one in the hallway visible then propped the phone against his water bottle, angled so only he could see the screen. Volume all the way down. He hit play.
The video started with a soft giggle, your voice, low and breathy, the one that always made his dick jump. The camera was propped up on the nightstand in your shared bedroom, the big floor-length mirror behind the bed catching every angle. You were already naked. Completely. Standing at the foot of the bed in nothing but the thin gold chain he’d bought you for your anniversary, the one that dangled right between your tits.
“Hi, baby,” you purred straight into the camera, voice dripping honey and sin. “I know you’re stuck in that boring meeting… but I’ve been thinking about you all day.”
You ran your hands up your sides, slow, deliberate, cupping your breasts and squeezing. Your thumbs flicked over your nipples, already hard and pebbled. A soft moan slipped out of you, and Bakugo’s cock thickened instantly, pressing against the front of his pants like it had a mind of its own.
“Miss your hands on me,” you whispered, pinching harder, rolling your nipples until your back arched. “Miss your mouth… the way you bite right here—” You tilted your head, dragging your nails down your throat, leaving faint red lines. “and the way you growl when I’m wet for you.”
You turned around, giving the camera a full view of your ass. Plump, perfect, the kind he loved to grab and spank until it glowed red. You bent forward slightly, reaching back to spread yourself open with two fingers. The camera caught everything, your slick, glistening pussy lips, the tight little hole he’d fucked raw more times than he could count, already dripping down your thighs.
“See what you do to me, Katsuki?” Your voice cracked with need. “I’m so fucking wet. Been touching myself for an hour thinking about your cock stretching me open.”
You sank two fingers into yourself right there, moaning loud enough that even with the volume low he could hear the wet, obscene sound. Your hips rolled, fucking your own hand slow and deep, ass jiggling with every thrust. The mirror showed your face, eyes half-lidded, lips parted, cheeks flushed dark.
Bakugo’s breathing went ragged. His cock was fully hard now, thick and aching, trapped painfully against his thigh. He palmed it once through his pants, squeezing hard, but it wasn’t enough. Not even close.
You pulled your fingers out, shiny and coated, and brought them to your mouth. You sucked them clean, eyes locked on the camera like you were staring straight into his soul.
“Want you to come home and ruin me,” you gasped, climbing onto the bed on all fours. The camera angle was perfect, your pussy and ass on full display, tits hanging heavy, nipples brushing the sheets. “Want you to pin me down and fuck me so hard I can’t walk tomorrow. Want your cum dripping out of me while you go back to work like nothing happened.”
You reached between your legs again, rubbing tight circles over your swollen clit, moaning his name like a prayer. “Katsuki… fuck—Katsuki, please—”
The video ended right as your thighs started to shake, right on the edge.
Bakugo stared at the black screen, chest heaving. His cock throbbed so hard it hurt. Pre-cum had soaked through his boxers, leaving a wet spot he could feel cooling against his skin. He was rock-hard, balls tight, every muscle coiled like he was about to explode, literally. His palms itched with the urge to spark, tiny explosions popping between his fingers before he forced them down.
“Fuckin’ hell,” he growled under his breath, voice wrecked. He locked the phone and shoved it into his pocket, but the image of you, spread open, dripping, begging for his cock—was burned behind his eyelids.
The break was almost over. He could hear voices coming back down the hall. He adjusted himself as best he could, crossing one leg over the other, but the bulge was obvious if anyone bothered to look. He didn’t give a shit. Let them stare. His mind was already racing ahead, picturing exactly how he was going to destroy you the second he got home.
He was going to shove you against the wall the moment he walked through the door. Rip those soaked panties off with his teeth. Bury his face between your legs and eat you until you screamed his name loud enough for the whole building to hear. Then he’d flip you over, ass up, and fuck you raw, deep, brutal strokes that would have the headboard slamming against the wall. He’d make you cum on his cock twice before he even let himself finish, filling you so full his cum would leak out around him while he kept pounding.
And when you were a sobbing, shaking mess, he’d pull out, flip you onto your back, and do it all over again. Slower this time. Meaner. Until you were crying and clawing at his back and promising you’d never tease him during a meeting again.
The door opened. People filed back in, chatting, settling into chairs. His head of operations gave him a nod. “Ready to continue, sir?”
Bakugo’s smirk was sharp, dangerous, feral.
“Yeah,” he said, voice low and rough, already tasting you on his tongue. “Let’s make this quick. I got somewhere I need to be.”
He shifted again, cock still painfully hard, the memory of your video looping in his head like a goddamn highlight reel. The meeting dragged on for another hour, but he powered through every slide, every question, every decision with terrifying efficiency. Because the sooner this shit ended, the sooner he could get home.
And when he did?
You were going to get exactly what you’d asked for.
He was going to fuck the absolute shit out of you.
The meeting wrapped exactly the way Bakugo wanted it to, fast, brutal, and with zero room for questions. He slammed his palm on the table the second the last slide clicked off, sparks popping between his fingers like warning shots. “We’re done. Anyone who’s still talking when I walk out that door is on overtime for the next month. Move.”
Chairs scraped. Sidekicks scattered. He was already halfway down the hall before the door even shut behind him, boots pounding the polished floor like he was charging into a villain fight instead of racing home to wreck you. The drive back to your shared apartment was a blur of snarled traffic and his knuckles white on the steering wheel, his cock still half-hard and throbbing against his thigh from that goddamn video looping in his head on repeat. Every red light felt like torture. Every second without you under him was too fucking long.
He didn’t knock. He didn’t even bother with the elevator, took the stairs three at a time, explosions crackling at his heels for that extra burst of speed. The front door slammed open so hard the hinges groaned, and there you were.
Exactly how he’d left you in his mind, only better. Still naked, sprawled across the living room couch like you’d been touching yourself again while waiting, one leg hooked over the armrest, fingers lazily circling your swollen clit. Your eyes flew wide when you saw him, lips parting on a breathless little “Katsuki-” but that was all you got out.
He was on you in two strides.
Bakugo didn’t speak. He grabbed you by the thighs, yanked you up, and crushed his mouth to yours so hard your teeth clicked. His tongue shoved past your lips, devouring, claiming, tasting the faint sweetness of your own fingers from earlier. One big hand fisted in your hair, tilting your head back so he could bite down the column of your throat, sucking a dark mark right over the spot you’d teased in the video.
“Fucking tease,” he growled against your skin, voice wrecked and low. “Sending me that shit in the middle of a meeting? You wanted my cock that bad, huh? Couldn’t wait five goddamn minutes?”
You whimpered, nails digging into his shoulders through the thick fabric of his hero suit. He didn’t give you time to answer. He spun you around, bent you over the back of the couch, and dropped to his knees behind you like a man starved. His palms, rough, calloused, still faintly warm from the explosions he’d used to get here—spread your ass wide open. The cool air hit your dripping pussy and you shivered, but then his mouth was on you and everything went white-hot.
He ate you like he was pissed at you. No gentle licks, no teasing. Just his tongue dragging flat and filthy from your clit all the way up to your tight little hole, sucking your folds into his mouth with wet, obscene sounds that echoed through the apartment. Two thick fingers shoved inside you without warning, curling hard against that spot that made your knees buckle.
“Shit—Katsuki—!” Your voice cracked as he sucked your clit between his teeth, flicking it mercilessly while his fingers pumped deep and fast. Your juices coated his chin, dripped down his wrist, and he groaned into your pussy like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted.
“Yeah, that’s it,” he snarled, pulling back just enough to spit on your cunt before diving back in. “Drip for me, baby. Gonna fuck you so full you’ll be leaking my cum for days.”
You were shaking already, thighs trembling, but he didn’t let you cum. The second your walls started fluttering around his fingers he pulled out, stood up, and shoved you down onto the couch on your back. His hero suit jacket hit the floor. Then the belt. Then his pants, kicked off with his boots still half-laced. His cock sprang free, thick, heavy, flushed dark at the tip and already leaking pre-cum in a shiny bead that made your mouth water.
He didn’t give you a second to breathe.
Bakugo grabbed your ankles, pushed your knees to your chest, and lined himself up. The fat head of his cock nudged your entrance once, teasing, threatening before he snapped his hips forward and buried every inch inside you in one brutal thrust.
The stretch burned so good. You cried out, back arching clean off the cushions, nails raking down his arms as he bottomed out with a guttural groan. He was so deep you swore you could feel him in your throat.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” he hissed through clenched teeth, eyes locked on where your pussy stretched obscenely around his girth. “Still so fucking wet from that video? Greedy little slut. My greedy little slut.”
He didn’t ease in. He fucked you like he’d been holding back for hours, hard, deep, punishing strokes that made the couch creak and your tits bounce with every slam. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room, mixed with your broken moans and his low, filthy growls. One of his hands pinned your thigh open wider, the other braced beside your head so he could watch your face twist in pleasure.
“Look at you,” he taunted, grinding his hips in slow, filthy circles just to feel you clench around him. “Taking my cock so pretty. Bet you were fingering this tight cunt the whole time I was gone, thinking about me splitting you open.”
You could only nod frantically, tears of overwhelming pleasure pricking at the corners of your eyes. Every thrust dragged against that perfect spot inside you, sending sparks shooting up your spine. His balls slapped heavy against your ass, and the faint scent of smoke and caramel, his nitroglycerin sweat, clung to his skin, making you dizzy.
Bakugo leaned down, biting your bottom lip hard enough to sting before he licked into your mouth again. “Gonna ruin this pussy,” he promised against your tongue, picking up speed until the couch was rocking. “Gonna fuck you till you can’t even remember your own name. Then I’m flipping you over and doing it again. And again. Till you’re sobbing for my cum.”
He hooked one of your legs over his shoulder, folding you in half so he could drive even deeper. The new angle made you scream, loud, shameless, the kind of sound that would’ve had the neighbors banging on the walls if you cared. His free hand slid between your bodies, thumb finding your clit and rubbing tight, mean circles that matched the brutal rhythm of his cock.
Your walls fluttered hard around him. You were so close, right there on the razor’s edge, but he felt it. Of course he did. He slowed just enough to keep you dangling, hips rolling deep and lazy now, dragging his cock along every sensitive inch inside you.
“Not yet,” he growled, voice dark and commanding. “You don’t get to cum till I say. I’m not done with you, baby. Not even close.”
He pulled out suddenly, leaving you empty and clenching around nothing. You whined at the loss, but he flipped you over like you weighed nothing, yanking your hips up so your ass was high and your chest pressed into the cushions. He slapped your ass once, sharp, stinging and then twice more on the other cheek just to watch the skin bloom pink under his palm.
Then he was back inside you, sinking in to the hilt in one smooth glide. This angle was even deeper. Meaner. His hand fisted in your hair, arching your back as he started pounding into you again, slow and hard and relentless.
“Gonna keep this pussy stuffed full all night,” he panted, voice rough with effort. Sweat glistened on his chest, dripped onto your back as he leaned over you. One arm wrapped around your waist, holding you exactly where he wanted you while his cock dragged in and out, thick and veiny and perfect. “Feel that? Feel how deep I am? This is what you asked for when you sent that fucking video.”
Your moans were muffled into the couch, body shaking with every thrust. He was everywhere, inside you, around you, owning every inch. His free hand reached around to pinch and roll your nipple, then slid down to rub your clit again, keeping you right on that agonizing edge.
Bakugo’s hips snapped harder, faster, the wet squelch of your pussy taking him echoing louder now. His balls drew up tight, cock twitching inside you, but he held back with sheer stubborn will, growling low in his throat.
“Yeah… just like that,” he rasped, grinding deep and staying there for a second, letting you feel every thick inch pulse against your walls. “Keep squeezing my cock like that. We’re not stopping. Not till I’ve fucked every last bit of that tease out of you.”
He started moving again, long, punishing strokes that had you gasping his name like a prayer, the couch creaking dangerously beneath you both, his body heat scorching against your back as he fucked you harder, deeper, meaner, with no end in sight.
Bakugo’s hips snapped forward again, burying his cock to the hilt in one savage thrust that punched the air out of your lungs. The couch creaked violently under the force, the fabric scraping against your tits as your chest stayed pinned down, ass arched high for him like an offering. His thick shaft stretched you open so perfectly, every vein and ridge dragging along your fluttering walls, and the wet, filthy squelch of your pussy swallowing him echoed louder than your broken moans.
“Fuck—yes, just like that,” he snarled, voice gravel-rough and dripping with that smug, feral edge. His fingers tightened in your hair, yanking your head back just enough to make your spine curve deeper, forcing you to take every brutal inch. “Squeezing me so goddamn tight, baby. This cunt’s mine. You hear me? Mine to wreck whenever I want.”
He didn’t let up. His pace stayed punishing, long, deep strokes that pulled almost all the way out, the fat head of his cock catching at your entrance for a split second, before slamming back in hard enough to make your ass ripple. Sweat slicked down his chest, dripping onto your back in hot little splashes that made your skin prickle. The arm wrapped around your waist held you exactly where he wanted you, fingers digging into your soft belly so he could feel the way his cock bulged inside you with every thrust.
You were a mess, thighs trembling, juices dripping down to soak the couch cushions, your clit throbbing under the relentless circles of his thumb. Every time you clenched around him, trying to pull him deeper, he growled and rewarded you with a sharp snap of his hips that made stars burst behind your eyes. But he never let you tip over. The second your walls started fluttering harder, the second your moans pitched up into that desperate whine he knew so well, he slowed just enough, grinding deep and filthy, rolling his hips in slow circles that dragged his cockhead right against that spongy spot inside you without giving you the friction you needed to cum.
“Not yet,” he panted hot against the shell of your ear, biting down on the lobe hard enough to sting. “You don’t get to cum on my cock till I’ve had my fill. You teased me all fucking day with that video, now you’re gonna take everything I give you.”
He pulled out suddenly, leaving you clenching around nothing, a pathetic whimper ripping from your throat. But before you could even beg, he flipped you onto your back on the couch like you weighed nothing, shoving your knees up to your shoulders in one smooth motion. The new angle folded you in half, your soaked pussy on full display, glistening and puffy from how hard he’d already fucked you. His cock—shiny with your cream, veins pulsing, slapped heavy against your clit once, twice, before he lined up and drove back inside with a single, punishing thrust.
“Shit—Katsuki—!” Your cry cracked as he bottomed out again, even deeper now, the head of his cock kissing your cervix with every roll of his hips. He braced one hand on the back of the couch, the other pinning your thigh open wider, and started fucking you in earnest, hard, steady, relentless strokes that made your tits bounce and your breath hitch on every impact.
“Look at you,” he growled, scarlet eyes locked on where your bodies joined, watching his thick cock disappear into your tight heat over and over. “All spread open for me, dripping everywhere. Such a pretty little slut when you’re stuffed full.” His thumb found your clit again, rubbing faster now, mean little circles that had your back arching clean off the cushions. “Bet you’d let me fuck you right here in the living room every night if I wanted. Let the whole damn city hear you screaming my name.”
Your nails raked down his back, leaving red lines across the hard muscle, and he hissed in pleasure, hips stuttering for a second before he doubled down. The couch was soaked beneath you, the air thick with the scent of sex and his nitroglycerin sweat, caramel and smoke and pure Bakugo. He leaned down, capturing one of your nipples between his teeth, sucking hard while his tongue flicked over the sensitive bud. The dual sensation, his cock pounding deep and his mouth claiming your tit, had you sobbing his name, legs shaking around his shoulders.
He switched to the other nipple, biting down just enough to make you jolt, then soothed it with a slow, filthy lick. “Gonna mark you up so everyone at the agency knows exactly who you belong to,” he muttered against your skin, voice muffled. “Gonna leave bruises on these pretty tits and this perfect ass so you remember who fucked you stupid every time you move tomorrow.”
His thrusts grew even deeper, slower for a moment so he could grind against your clit with every roll of his hips, keeping you right there, teetering on the edge, body burning, pussy clenching desperately around his girth. Pre-cum leaked steadily from his tip inside you, mixing with your wetness and making every slide even wetter, even louder. His balls slapped heavy against your ass with every drive, tight and full, but he held himself back with that iron control, jaw clenched, sweat dripping from his blond spikes onto your chest.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned, low and wrecked, eyes half-lidded as he watched your face twist in pleasure. “So hot and wet and tight, gonna keep this pussy full all night. Gonna fuck you till you’re crying, till you’re begging me to let you cum, and then I’m gonna flip you over and start all over again.”
He pulled your legs off his shoulders just long enough to hook them around his waist, then scooped you up off the couch entirely, cock still buried deep inside you. Your arms flew around his neck as he carried you across the room like it was nothing, every step jolting his cock deeper into you. He pressed your back against the living room wall, the cool surface a shock against your overheated skin, and started fucking you upright, hard, upward thrusts that had you bouncing on his cock, gravity driving him impossibly deeper.
“Hold on tight, baby,” he growled against your throat, teeth scraping over the fresh hickey he’d sucked there earlier. One hand gripped your ass, spreading you open so he could watch himself disappear inside you with every brutal snap of his hips. The other braced against the wall beside your head, muscles flexing as he used the leverage to pound into you even harder. “That’s it, take it. Take every fucking inch like the greedy girl you are.”
Your head thunked back against the wall, moans spilling out nonstop now, broken and needy. His cock dragged perfectly along every sensitive spot inside you, the angle hitting that spot over and over until your vision blurred. His thumb returned to your clit, rubbing in tight, relentless circles, pushing you right back to the brink again, closer, hotter, more desperate than before. But he felt it. He always felt it. He slowed his thrusts to deep, grinding rolls, keeping you stuffed full and throbbing but refusing to let you tip over.
“Not done yet,” he rasped, voice dark and commanding, lips brushing yours in a messy, possessive kiss. “We’re just getting started. I’m gonna fuck you against this wall till your legs give out, then I’m carrying you to the bedroom and bending you over the bed. Gonna keep this cunt dripping and full until you can’t even think straight.”
He started moving again, long, powerful strokes that had the wall rattling behind you, his cock slamming home with wet, obscene sounds while his thumb never stopped teasing your swollen clit. Your bodies were slick with sweat, pressed so tight together you could feel his heart hammering against yours, his breath hot and ragged in your ear as he kept fucking you deeper, harder, meaner, with no intention of stopping anytime soon.
Bakugo’s hips slammed into you with a wet, punishing slap, driving his cock so deep against the living room wall that your back arched hard enough to lift you off your feet for a split second. Your legs were locked tight around his waist, ankles digging into the small of his back, but it wasn’t enough—he needed more. Always more. One massive hand gripped your ass cheek hard enough to bruise, spreading you wider as he fucked up into you with short, brutal thrusts that had the wall rattling behind your shoulders.
“Fuck—Katsuki—please—” Your voice was shredded, raw from how long he’d kept you dangling on that edge. Your pussy was a sloppy, fluttering mess around his thick cock, cream coating his shaft and dripping down to soak his balls with every savage plunge.
He snarled against your throat, teeth sinking into the soft skin right below your ear as he ground his pelvis against your swollen clit. “Beg louder, baby. I wanna hear how bad you need it after teasing me all goddamn day.”
Your nails clawed at his shoulders, leaving fresh red lines down the hard muscle. “I need it—need you to cum inside me—please, I’m so close—”
That did it.
Bakugo’s control finally snapped. He shifted his grip, both hands locking under your thighs to hold you open like a toy, and started fucking you in earnest, deep, relentless strokes that punched the breath out of you. The wet slap of skin on skin mixed with your broken cries and his low, animalistic growls. His cock dragged perfectly along that spongy spot inside you with every thrust, the fat head kissing your cervix over and over while his thumb found your clit again and rubbed tight, merciless circles.
“Yeah? Gonna cum on my cock like a good little slut?” he panted, voice wrecked and filthy. Sweat dripped from his spiked hair onto your tits, rolling down your stomach as he pounded you harder. “Squeeze me—fuck—milk it out of me. I’m gonna fill this pussy so full you’ll be leaking for hours.”
Your walls clamped down hard around him, fluttering wildly as the pressure finally crested. The orgasm hit you like an explosion, white-hot, shattering, ripping through your body so violently your vision whited out. You screamed his name, thighs shaking uncontrollably around his waist, pussy gushing around his cock as you came harder than you ever had.
Bakugo cursed loud and raw, hips stuttering once, twice, then he buried himself to the hilt and let go. His cock throbbed violently inside you, thick ropes of hot cum pulsing deep against your cervix as he came with a guttural groan that vibrated against your neck. He kept thrusting through it, slow and deep, grinding every last drop into you while your walls milked him dry, drawing out both your orgasms until you were trembling and gasping in his arms.
“Shit… that’s it… take every fucking drop,” he growled, voice hoarse, forehead pressed to yours as the last weak spurts of his cum filled you. Your combined mess dripped down your thighs, slick and warm, but he didn’t pull out. Not yet. He stayed buried deep, rocking gently, letting you feel him soften just a little inside your fluttering heat while he kissed you slow and messy, tongues sliding lazy and spent.
You stayed like that for long minutes, pressed to the wall, his cock still nestled inside you, both of you breathing hard and slick with sweat. Eventually he carried you to the bedroom without pulling out, every step making his softening dick shift inside your sensitive pussy and draw little whimpers from your lips. He laid you down on the bed, finally sliding free with a wet pop, and collapsed beside you, one heavy arm dragging you against his chest.
But even then, he wasn’t done. His fingers slipped between your legs, pushing his cum back inside you with lazy strokes while he kissed the fresh bite marks blooming across your neck.
“Round two in five minutes,” he muttered against your skin, voice already darkening again. “Then three. Then four. You’re not sleeping tonight, baby.”
You woke up the next morning to sunlight spilling across the sheets and the heavy, familiar weight of Bakugo’s arm draped over your waist.
He was already awake, propped up on one elbow, scarlet eyes half-lidded and watching you with that lazy, satisfied smirk that always made your stomach flip. His blond hair was even more of a disaster than usual, sticking up in every direction, and the sheet had slipped low on his hips, showing off the deep scratches you’d left down his chest and abs last night.
You tried to sit up, big mistake.
Your legs felt like jelly. Actually, worse than jelly. Every muscle from your thighs to your core ached in the best, most filthy way possible, and when you swung your feet to the floor and stood, your knees buckled for a second. You caught yourself on the nightstand, wobbling like a newborn deer as you reached for the glass of water you’d meant to bring him.
Bakugo’s low, rumbling laugh filled the room, deep, smug, and way too pleased with himself.
“The fuck are you laughing at?” you grumbled, shooting him a glare over your shoulder. But even that came out breathy and weak.
He didn’t even try to hide it. His smirk widened into a full grin, sharp and feral, as he watched you shuffle across the bedroom in nothing but his oversized black tank top. The hem barely reached mid-thigh, and every shaky step made it ride up, flashing the dark purple bruises he’d sucked into your hips. Your neck was a complete wreck, covered in overlapping bite marks and hickeys that ranged from deep red to angry purple, trailing all the way down to your collarbones like a goddamn map of where his mouth had been.
You looked thoroughly, gloriously ruined.
And he was loving every second of it.
“Careful, princess,” he drawled, voice still rough from sleep and everything you’d done last night. He folded one arm behind his head, the other resting on his abs as he openly stared. “Those legs look like they’re about to give out. Maybe I went too easy on you.”
You stopped halfway to the bed, glass of water trembling slightly in your hand, and turned to give him the most unimpressed stare you could muster. “Easy? You fucked me against the wall, on the couch, bent over the bed, and then made me ride you till I cried. I can still feel you leaking out of me, Katsuki.”
His eyes darkened instantly at the words, that smug grin turning hungry again as he let his gaze drag slow and deliberate down your body, lingering on the way his tank top clung to your tits, the fresh marks on your neck, the way your thighs pressed together like you were trying to keep his cum right where it belonged.
He laughed again, softer this time, but no less arrogant.
“Yeah? Good. Means you’ll remember exactly who owns that pussy every time you try to walk today.” He patted the bed beside him, eyes gleaming. “Now bring me that water before you fall on your ass. And when you get back here… lose the shirt. We’re not done yet.”
You narrowed your eyes at him, but the heat already curling low in your belly told you exactly how this morning was going to go.
Still, you wobbled back to the bed, handed him the glass, and gave him one last defiant little stare, just to make him laugh again.
Because you both knew you’d be losing the shirt in about ten seconds flat.
Credit for dividers: @firefly-graphics @enchanthings @saradika-graphics @dividers-are-us
Let me know if I tagged the wrong account or didnt tag you at all!
🌴Synopsis: When you decide to take a vacation to an island resort with your husband, you think that this is the perfect opportunity to rekindle the lost spark and romance in your relationship. But when your hubby doesn’t exceed your expectations, or even attempt to fulfill them, you start to think that this was a horrible idea…until you meet the sexy celebrity married couple at the pool who are interested in getting to know you on a more personal level and showing you the wonderful vacation that your husband won’t…and can’t.
🌴Warnings: 18+ (MDNI); Reader is Black and Fem; Pro!KiriBaku (Late 20s-30s); Cheating/Infidelity; Baecation; Strangers to Lovers; Alcohol Use; Drunk Sëx (but still consensual); Threesome; Dual Blowjob; Dual Cunnilingus/Analingus; Anal Play; Gaping; Double Penetration; PIV; Anal Sex; Hubby Calls While Y'all Fucking teehee; Slutification; Cock Drunk!Reader; Pussy Drunk!Kiribaku; Creampie/Analpie; Aftercare; Dom!Kiribaku x sub!Reader; Reader Cums 3x
🌴Word Count: 12.9k
🌴Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!
🌴Writer's Note: I got this little idea after I came back from a cruise vacation & thought about getting dicked down the whole time lmaoo. This fic came out last summer & I wanted to revise it for the new summer era! I hope y'all enjoy it! <3 -love, Jazz
🌴Credits: Kiribaku Fan art credit goes to syrinide! Follow them on Twitter HERE! Dividers made by @feldiesgraphics & @dollywons!
You thought that experiencing sex on vacation would be a lot hotter.
You thought that smelling the sea breeze and hearing the call of seagulls would make for a sexy ambience to ignite that spark.
But lying beneath your panting, sweating husband as he ruts into you from behind doesn’t make even the least bit of your pussy twitch. While the foreplay started off good, it started during a moment where you were just chilling, reading a book, kind of hungry, and not in the mood for sex…but of course, your husband can’t read the room and is always thinking with his dick.
So when he proceeds to speed up and repeat that “oh, yeah, oh, yeah” mantra that he does when he gets close, you lie there on your tummy and let it happen, just letting him enjoy it.
You feel like you owe him this. After all, you did take him away from his job and responsibilities as a businessman for a seven-day trip at a resort along the Caribbean sea. Maybe lackluster sex isn’t too bad. Not like other things in your marriage.
And you are reminded of those things when you feel him pull out and spray his cum on your ass, stilling his hips and letting out a loud grunt as he grips your ass so tight that you wince with pain. When he finally lets out a sigh of relief, he stares down at you, a lazy smile on his face. “Did you cum?” he asks. You nod though you certainly didn’t. But you are the dutiful wife, moaning when you should and pumping up his ego.
Satisfied, your hubby gives you a chaste kiss on the lips and rolls off of you, leaving you lying naked on the pristinely white sheets of your king-sized bed. You purposely ordered a suite for the two of you for this trip, complete with sofa bed, a vanity for your makeup, a mini-bar, and a balcony overlooking the beach. Perfect for a “baection” with your man to get your marriage back on track and spend time together…or so you thought.
Once again, reality smacks you in the face when he moves to the edge of the bed naked, showing off his toned body. He truly is a beautiful specimen, but if any woman got him in the bedroom now, they would dumb his ass before he could bust a nut.
The sex while you were dating was quite good, but now? He barely takes the time to make you cum. One could argue that it’s because of his demanding career, but you always take the time to make him “arrive” when you are intimate.
But him? Crickets. Not to mention no consideration for your pleasure, no care, and no spark. You can’t remember the last time he even attempted to make you cum!
And then…there is the worse part. You turn over on your side as he slides on his robe. “You’re not gonna cuddle?” you disappointedly ask. Your husband pulls a face like he doesn’t believe you’re serious. “You know I don’t cuddle after sex, Y/N. It’s nasty.”
You scowl at him. He didn’t used to be like this at all. He used to snuggle with you afterwards. Now after sex he is more concerned about cumming and then cleaning up, barely regarding you as his wife. “And cumming on my ass isn’t?” you ask, your tone snipped. He pauses from tying his robe and grimaces. “Well, I was gonna ask if you wanted to join me, but not with that attitude.”
You rise from your position and get under the covers, the cool sheets feeling like silk against your naked body. “I’m sorry, I just…we never cuddle anymore. I thought this trip would change that.”
Your husband only sighs as if you pouring your heart out to him is more of an inconvenience to his shower than not. “We can cuddle after my shower, Y/N. Don’t be so impatient.”
And then he is gone, disappearing into the bathroom and leaving you alone to feel hurt. And then that hurt stews into irritation. When you hear the water running, it steams just as your anger does.
You start to wonder what you did any of this for. Stressing over the best resorts and just to appease a husband who could care less about the waning romance in your marriage? Four years together, one year married, and all of it hanging on a thin thread because he refuses counseling, therapy, or to talk about your issues.
Your anger pushes you to rise from the prison of the bed, wipe your hubby’s spunk off your ass with some tissues, and get dressed in your brand new bikini. It is a vibrant yellow that makes your brown skin pop and makes your ass look absolutely delectable. It is among one of the pieces of sexy vacation outfits that you brought along for this vacation. After dressing, you begin packing your beach bag, barely turning around when you hear the shower shut off and footsteps approach.
“Hey, where ya goin’?” your husband asks as if he didn’t just reject you. You don’t turn around as you toss sun tan oil and a romance book in your bag. “I’m going to the pool,” you snippily reply. “Alone.”
Your husband is silent, watching you pack. “But I thought we were gonna cuddle.” You scoff, finally turning to face him dripping wet in his towel. “Well, we could’ve, but you wanted to shower first after fucking me when I told you about three times that I wasn’t in the mood.”
You watch his face change from confusion to irritation. Yet another fight and you’ve only been on this ship for a day! “So now I’m the bad guy now?” he scoffs. “You always do this, Y/N. You always wanna twist shit around on me when you don’t get your way!”
You tilt your head at him, glaring daggers. “When I don’t get my way?” you parrot, enraged.
You could smack him with the sunscreen you’re holding gripped in your hand. “All I did was ask for a fucking snuggle with my husband who only shows me affection when he’s got his dick in me.”
“That isn’t true!” he barks. You scoffingly laugh. “Oh, it’s not? I had to beg you to come on this vacation just to try to re-spark our romance…and you didn’t even wanna do that!”
You had been planning your introduction to the idea for months, praying that he would agree. He only agreed when you mentioned that you would pay for it and all he had to do was take off for the week. Thank God for your high-paying job and you saving up money for this trip.
Your husband stands before you now, fuming and fumbling for something to say. You continue to pack until completion and grab your wedges and key card before putting on your sunglasses. “I’ll be back up later,” you grumble. “Don’t wait up.” And you leave him standing in his towel, shutting the hotel door behind you before venturing off to the pool for a cool dip and a cool drink.
Your pool time to decompress proves to be a good plan. Deciding that the pool is too crowded for your liking, you head to the adults-only area complete with two bars, hot tubs, and ocean views galore. You go to the bar to order yourself a pretty and strong cocktail to take the last ten minutes out of your head.
As you sip on your drink with its pineapple and orange wedges on the glass, your phone rings in your bag. You fish it out, grinning as your friend’s name flashes across the screen. Thank God for the wi-fi package. “Heeeey, babes!” she shouts when you answer. Hearing her voice makes you homesick instantly. “Hey, babes,” you greet. “God, am I happy to hear from you.”
“I guess the plan isn’t going well,” she replies. “I was gonna ask how your trip is.”
You cross your legs on the stool, showing off your legs and skin glowing with sun tan oil for all to see. “Oh, I’m loving it, but not being in the same room with a man who won’t even cuddle me after fucking me.” You have admitted some things to your friend about your romance issues in your marriage, but not this.
“Daaamn, it’s like that?!” she gasps. “Girl, you should've been divorced that loser! I don’t know why you’re even bothering with this BS. You’ve only been married for a year!”
She’s been telling you this since you got married, reluctantly becoming your maid of honor despite her clear disdain for your fiancé. “But we’ve been together for four,” you remind her. “I can’t just walk away from that. When things are tough in a long term relationship, you try to work ‘em out!”
‘Until you can’t anymore,’ a little voice in your head remarks. ‘And maybe you’ve reached that limit.’ You wipe the thought away with another sip of your cocktail, your tastebuds exploding with the taste of rum and guava fruit.
“Yes, but why bother if you’re not happy?” your friend asks. “I mean, are you doing any of this because of you or him?”
You stop short, thinking about this. Is any of this for you anymore? What about your happiness? Your feelings? “This is for both of us,” you finally reply. “I can’t go on like this anymore. No touching, kissing, or romance…”
Lately, it’s been happening more since your husband’s promotion as you expressed to your friend months before. The dates have been dwindling, the connection is fading, and the sex is less than enjoyable. You aren’t happy, but you aren’t willing to give up either.
“How’s he been on the trip?” your friend asks. You use your straw to stir the ice around in your glass. “Just not paying much attention to me, drinking a lot…looking at other women.”
You wince as your friend begins to explode with rage. “EXCUSE ME?!” she bellows. “Oh, heeeell no! You’re gonna have to get even, girl. If he’s gonna do what he wants on this trip, so will you.”
“What does that mean?” you ask, not entirely sure you want to know the answer. She is happy to elaborate regardless: “It means finding the hottest guy there and getting some vacay dick, no strings attached.”
You nearly choke on the bit of pineapple wedge you bite into. “I can’t cheat on my husband!” you hiss into the phone. “What kinda girl do you think I am?!”
Your friend huffs in response. “Fine, then just flirt. Y/N, this is about your enjoyment too! You’re there for another six days, so why not make the most of it with an international stud?”
You can’t believe you're hearing this. You must have heatstroke. “You’re insane,” you scoff. “I can’t just pick some random guy and—“ You cut yourself off reaching across the bar for a napkin only for your hand to brush against someone else’s.
“Oh, sorry!” you gasp. “I wasn’t paying any….” Your words immediately die when you catch a glimpse of the red-hot stud sitting next to you at the bar. Literally, his long hair is red-hot, cascading down to his broad shoulders and chest exposed through the few unbuttoned buttons to his Hawaiian top. He is a big guy, at least six-foot something and all muscle as he sits in the stool next to you, bigger than you even while sitting down.
Your eyes trail down to his red trunks hanging loosely from his muscular thighs and calves right down to his big feet in his open-toe slides. Your eyes lecherously slide back up to his beefy arms, one of them inked with a sleeve, and the sharp, toothy smile he gives you.
“Don’t sweat it,” he replies, his crimson eyes kind, sparkling in the summer sun. “It’s my bad. I was actually gonna ask what drink that was.” You are so gobsmacked by this sexy stranger than you barely hear your friend screaming at you. “Y/N?!” she screeches. “Who is that?! Is he hot?!”
“Gottagocallyoulaterloveyabye,” you say in a rush before hanging up. The red-hot stranger continues to smile, making you sweat more than the hot rays above. “U-Uh, it’s called a Sex On The Beach.”
He laughs, the sound making your stomach curl. Even his laugh is sexy! “Interesting drink name,” he chuckles. “I heard they have a Cherry Popper and somethin’ called a Pink Pussy here too. Bakugou likes those.”
“Bakugou?” you question. He tuts, smacking himself on the forehead with a sheepish smile. “Oh, sorry; my husband.”
Your eyes glide down to the gold band on one of his thick ring fingers. Of course, he’s married. “Oh,” you sigh, wilting in disappointment…but why? You’re married! “I’ll have to try those ones. My husband ain’t a fan of cocktails like that; he calls them girly.”
You may as well let the stranger know that you’re married too. It’s only right…right? “Girly or not, they’re still hella good!” he laughs. “I know me and my man don’t care. I’m Kirishima, by the way.” He sticks one of his big, calloused, scarred hands out for a shake. You ignore the way your pulse jumps as your palm connects with his.
Kirishima? Where have you heard that name before? Suddenly, it clicks. “Wait, are you—“
“Red Riot?” he chuckles. “Just don’t blow my cover. I think the Hawaiian shirt is working.” You are shocked. You’ve never met a celebrity before, let alone a pro hero. You’re not used to seeing him without his gear either!
“It’s a pleasure, Red Riot,” you whisper, once again shaking his hand. It’s really just an excuse to feel his calloused palm gripped in yours again. “So you guys are here on a much-needed vacation?” you ask, sipping on your drink.
“Emphasis on ‘much-needed’,” he sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Plus it’s our fifth year wedding anniversary and we wanted to celebrate. We’ve been together since our UA days.”
High school sweethearts?! You could melt right here on your stool. “That’s so sweet!” you coo, raising your glass to him. “Well, happy anniversary to the both of you.” The redheaded hunk smiles, blinding you. “Well, thank you…uh…”
“Y/N,” you introduce. “L/N.” The pro’s raises his sexy, pierced brow in interest. “Full government?” he chuckles. “Ejirou Kirishima then. My friends call me—“
“Oi, shitty hair!” someone barks from the lounge chairs. “What’s the hold up?! You went to get drinks five minutes ago!” You turn your head to the rough n’ gruff-sounding voice, nearly dropping your drink at the sight of the platinum blonde stud standing before you.
He is ALL man, just as his husband is: big, tall, all muscle, and all tattoos. In opposition to his husband, Dynamight has two sleeves plus a large dragon tattoo snaking around his left slave. Its tail trails up to his orange swim trunks that match the black skull tank top he wears.
Despite the Raybans covering his eyes, you can tell his eyes are as intense as his handsome face etched in seriousness is. The sun glows against his blonde undercut and the piercings glinting in his ears. His plump bottom lip and brow are pierced as well, definitely exposing you for your fetish.
The redhead turns to you with a smirk. “It’s Kiri, actually,” he whispers. He then rises to greet his husband, smiling extra big. “Sorry, babe; I got caught up talkin’ to my new friend here. Y/N, this is my husband Katsuki Bakugou.”
When Bakugou finally stops in front of you, you have to use every ounce of energy to appear normal while sitting with the two mountain-sized pros while they stand over you. Bakugou takes his shades off, putting them on his forehead. Those vermillion eyes are like lasers, intensified by Bakugou’s brooding look your way. His stare is hotter than the damn sun and you lose your cool.
“N-Nice to meet you,” you stammer. You stick your hand out for a shake. Bakugou stares at it for a brief moment before he takes it in his inked hand. “Likewise. You tryin’ to steal my husband from me?” His expression is so steely that you nearly miss the quirk at the corner of his mouth.
“He’s joking,” Kiri chuckles, nudging Bakugou in the arm. “Don’t scare the poor lady! I was just telling Y/N here that we’re on our anniversary trip.” Bakugou rolls his eyes but his cheeks are flushed pink. “Ya might as well tell it to everybody on this fuckin’ island.”
Kiri laughs, pressing a kiss to his husband’s cheek. “So are you here on your own anniversary trip?” the redhead curiously asks. You mentioned your hubby.”
“Oh, uh…” You freeze, thinking of something to answer with. “Maybe with friends?” Kiri adds. “Family? Or a solo traveler? Which would be cool too!”
“Jesus, shitty hair, what’s with the third degree?” Bakugou criticizes, glaring at his husband through his shades. The redhead goes red in the face, somehow making himself look sexier. “Sorry. I might’ve had too much before this.”
“I’m here with my husband,” you finally answer. “Nothing too special.” You take a sip of your drink to cool yourself down and give yourself some liquid courage. Discussing your marriage woes with strangers isn’t ideal for a starter convo for you, yet here you are. The couple look confused and quite perturbed at your statement. “What does that mean?” Bakugou asks, raising a pierced brow at you.
You shrug, feeling hot all over and the breeze from the ocean provides no comfort. You shouldn’t have talked. “Just that it’s not an anniversary trip or a honeymoon. It was my idea for a vacation.” You almost say that the entire trip came out of your pocket as well. “We’ve been together for four years, married for one.”
“Well, that’s somethin’ to celebrate!” Kiri exclaims, obviously trying to lighten things up. “And if you’re thinkin’ up fun trips like this, he should feel lucky to have you.” The genuine nature of his tone and the kindness in his eyes nearly make you fold. “You wouldn’t be the first to think that,” you bashfully reply, “but thank you.”
Kiri looks like he wants to say more but a tray of shot glasses wedged with lime and filled with clear liquid stops him short. “Shots on the house for the happy couple?” the bartender asks with a grin. When he motions to you with the tray, you realize with horror what he’s referring to. “O-Oh, we’re not—“
“Don’t be so coy, honey,” Kiri laughs, giving you a wink. “Thanks, sir! We’d love free shots!” He takes the tray from the bartender with no problem and gives him a thankful grin. You stare at him, wondering what in the world just happened and if you’re possibly hallucinating. Bakugou nudges your hip with his, smirking. “Don’t think nothin’ of it. You looked like you needed some tequila.”
He passes you a shot, the strong aroma nearly singeing your nostril hairs. An open invitation. After all, how often do you find yourself drinking with celebrities? Let alone pro heroes? And it is a vacation. “I guess I do,” you giggle, taking the shot from his thick fingers. You ignore the way your stomach flip flops as your fingertips brush his. “Cheers then!”
Bakugou’s eyes are full of mirth and interest. “To what?” he asks. You give him a secretive smile, placing a lime wedge in your mouth and sucking on it. You think the couple’s eyes flitting down to your mouth is just a trick of the sun. “To an unforgettable trip,” you respond.
Clink!
The three of you clink shots and down them in unison, laughing when Kiri coughs his lungs out. For the next fifteen minutes or so while Kiri orders cocktails for himself and Bakugou, you chat.
You learn about Musutafu, their home in Japan, is riddled with even more pro heroes than in the U.S.
You learn about Kiri’s love for spicy foods and Bakugou’s secret obsession with the manga series
‘A Sign of Affection’ that you both gush over. You tell them about your job and daily life; your likes and dislikes; your relationship with your husband.
You notice the way Kiri keeps a hand on Bakugou’s knee while sitting to stop him from bouncing it so much. Your eyes catch the way Bakugou’s fingers toy with the hair at the nape of Kiri’s neck. Little things like this make you envious. Not just of them, but of the fact that you can’t join in such PDA. Your husband would never hear of it.
By the time the convo comes to an end, you feel that buzz and rush of warmth from your drink and three tequila shots. And that recklessness that causes you to eye the couple’s crotches too much.
You should lay down before you do something you’ll regret. “You two should probably head back to your seats,” you tell the couple. “That family with the five kids looks awfully desperate for a chair.” You nod at the stressed-looking couple hollering at their kids to pick up their beach towels and stop fighting.
Bakugou grumbles something, already getting up to lay claim on their chairs. “Well, maybe we’ll see you around again,” Kiri says with a smile. “Me and Bakugou are thinkin’ of going to Club Paradise. You should bring your man along.” You blink in confusion before your brain, fuzzy from the tequila and the couples’ mixed cologne, realizes that he means the resort’s nightclub.
“Or just bring yourself,” Bakugou cuts in, not even caring how this suggestion sounds. “Sounds like your man is a wet blanket…no offense.” He shrugs passively though he doesn’t look like he’s that apologetic.
You’re sure the tipsy details you provided to them about your hubby doesn’t help: he doesn’t dance, he hates going out, and he’s all about work. “It’s fine,” you chuckle. “He might be interested, but we’ll see. I’ll give it some thought.”
“You should,” Kiri replies, unintentionally flexing as he stretches. You do your best to not stare. “A good drink and a dance always helps to…ease the tension.” Your ears perk at the way he says the last three words: seductive. Suggestive. A hot promise lying between the lines. If he meant it to come off this way, he succeeded because your body instantly responds.
“Especially with good company, I’m sure,” you say, shocking yourself by flirting back. Even more so with the way you stare straight at Kiri and Bakugou while you say it, memorizing their eye color for later. The two look like they want to say more to you, but they are interrupted by two pineapples being shoved at them.
“For Mr. Kirishima?” the bartender calls. Their drinks are done which means they are leaving now. You feel a pang of disappointment, but it ebbs somewhat when Kiri shoots you a smile. “See ya around, Y/N,” he says before walking off with his husband. As they leave, Bakugou turns back to look at you, his crimson eyes playing with you over the rim of his shades.
When you turn around to order a cool drink of water (because you desperately need it), your bikini bottoms feel sticky and you’re bothered. Extremely bothered. Especially when you sense that the couple is still eyeing you down from the back. Your nipples tingle beneath your bikini top and everything feels too stimulating. You haven’t had any guy make you feel this horny in years, let alone your husband!
Maybe you will take your friend’s advice tonight. There is no shame in flirting and having a little fun that doesn’t involve infidelity. Luckily for you, your husband has the same idea that the hot couple did: a night at Paradise.
When you go back upstairs for a shower and a nap, he peppers you in apologetic kisses. “I thought a lot about what you said earlier and I wanna make it up to you. Tonight will just be about you and me.” You believe him when he says this, trusting his word….until you actually get there.
After a shower, a nap, and some dinner at the buffet, you dress in your vacation clubbing finest: a short, backless dress that ties at the neck and some strapped gold heels with your white toes out. You leave your braids down, spray some fruity body mist on your skin, slather your body in shimmery oil, and you feel delicious as you stare at yourself in the mirror.
You wonder, briefly, if the sexy couple you met earlier will think so too. You’d be lying if you said you aren’t looking forward to seeing them tonight if they come. It’s the only thing worth staying for as you watch your drunk husband flirt with an Amazonian woman with the skin-tight dress, spray tan, and veneers right in your face. You can’t even enjoy the beautiful, tropical ambience or the music because of how irritated you are.
First, your husband decided to pre-game by ordering a whiskey with dinner. Now he’s here barely spending time with you when you look like a whole snack and disrespecting you?! He wouldn’t even be here if you didn’t pay for the trip!
The woman gives a raucous laugh at something he says, her teeth reminding you of a camel’s. “I can’t believe you live so close to me! What’s it like there? Are the guys as handsome as you?”
Your husband grins, sloppy and proud. You decide you’ve had enough and stroll up to them, putting a possessive hand on his shoulder. “Yes, they are,” you reply to the irritated woman. You whip your husband around to face you, fixing his collar. “Babe, why don’t we go get some drinks? There’s tons of cheap choices.”
At the mention of more booze, he nods and goes into his shorts for his wallet. Then he pats himself down. Then he checks his phone. “Shit, I left my card in the room,” he huffs. “Why don’t you get the drinks, babe? You’ve got your money, right?” You stare at him, your anger boiling like hot soup. “You left your credit card upstairs?” you hiss.
“But it was your idea to come here. Not mine.” Your husband begins to look around the room, concerned about other people but not you. “Listen, let’s not do this here, especially in public. Just get us some drinks and we can discuss this later.”
He gives you a look like he isn’t down with your “BS” tonight and you quickly storm off, heading to the bar. You could leave him standing here if you wanted to. Then he can be concerned with what other people think.
You are so angry that you nearly miss someone calling your name from the end of the bar. You look and your heart flips at the sight of the sexy couple that have been invading your thoughts since your first meeting at the pool.
Both are wearing Hawaiian shirts in differing ways (Kiri’s is slightly unbuttoned at the chest while Bakugou keeps his open to expose his white wife beater underneath) and shorts that don’t drag your attention to their dicks at all.
“Hey, you made it!” Kiri announces, looking overjoyed to see you. Bakugou sits on a stool, a smirk playing on his juicy-looking lips. “So she decided to show up. Where’s your husband at?”
He looks around the club glowing with pink and purple lights shaped like palm leaves.
“Oh, chatting away with new friends,” you passively reply, so glad that you sprayed yourself with your favorite body mist. “So nice to see you two again.” Bakugou shrugs, his eyes flitting across your form. “Well, we did say we’d be here.”
“Correction: I said we MIGHT show up,” Kiri states, earning an eye roll from his husband. “But now that you’re here, I’m glad we decided to come tonight. You look great.” His crimson eyes drink in your outfit and legs glowing with shimmery, gold oil, much to your satisfaction. “You two don’t look too bad yourselves,” you flirt, shooting them both a smile. “The Hawaiian print fits you.”
“Bakugou hates it,” Kiri whispers, making you giggle. He raises a brow at you, curious. “So your man sent you to get drinks? Or are you just that independent?”
You can tell he is trying to joke with you, but knows that your answer is the latter. “Both,” you sigh. “He’s a little occupied right now, but he wanted us to come here tonight. Something we could both do together.”
You resist the urge to roll your eyes. What a crock of shit. “And where’s he at now?” Bakugou wonders aloud, still looking around the room. Why he wants to meet your spouse so badly is beyond you. “He should be right…”
You turn, pointing an acrylic nail behind you at the spot where your husband was before…but he is gone. Your stomach drops and you begin to look around the club at unfamiliar faces. He couldn’t have…he wouldn’t…
Then you hear his ridiculous, drunk laugh and peer across the dance floor where he is sitting in a wicker chair with another woman with enough Botox in her face that her muscles don’t move. You feel your anger reach its breaking point. He left you. He left you.
“Hold my spot,” you growl to the couple, and then you’re storming off, titties and hair angrily bouncing as you do. Your eyes are set dead on your husband, ready to tear him a new one.
When you finally stop in front of him, it takes him a while to even register your presence. In the time you were at the bar, he has gotten even drunker, his collar askew and his eyes glassy. “There you are!” he exclaims.
You place a hand on your hip, glaring down at him. “And here you are, abandoning me and talking to a chick who isn’t your wife.”
The Botox woman’s face pales and she scowls at your man. “Your wife?” she scoffs. “You didn’t tell me you were married! Where’s your wedding band?!” Your eyes shoot down to his hand. Sure enough, it’s gone. He took it off.
“That was just so I wouldn’t lose it!” your husband quickly protests. He stands and puts his hands up as if calming a crazed animal. “Relax, babe. She’s just interested in a possible investment in my company.” You cut your eyes to the woman sipping her martini, looking like a kid caught in the cookie jar. “Oh, I’m sure she is,” you mutter. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
You turn and begin to walk off, but you hear your husband sigh, “Oh, here we go”. That enrages you even further. You storm off to a secluded area in the club, arms crossed and fuming. Your husband follows, looking aloof to your rage. “What’d I do now, Mommy?” he drunkenly asks.
You shove him, earning a few looks of interest and alarm. “Don’t talk to me like that!” you hiss. “How could you just abandon me like that in a place I’m unfamiliar with and with people that I don’t know?!”
Your husband glares at you, confused and irritated. “I didn’t abandon you! You were getting the drinks!”
But you barely listen to this half-assed argument, firing off like a firecracker. “That’s the other thing; you wanted to come here tonight and you left the room without your money. So now your wife has to pay for everything while you get drunk off of my dime and flirt with other women.”
You flash your hand at him where your diamond ring glistens. “And I didn’t leave my ring either!”
Your husband rolls his eyes, his face growing red. “I wasn’t flirting with—“
“Oh, save it!” you snap. “Or were you too trashed those other times too that you don’t even remember?” He pulls a face, looking at you as if you’re the crazy one. “What is this about, Y/N? Why are you being this way?”
You can feel tears pushing at your tear ducts, but you push them away; you refuse to cry in public. “I wanted to come on this trip for us to get closer,” you lament. “For us to build that romance again; that spark that we’re missing! And you’re not even trying even a little bit!”
And instead of showing you compassion and understanding, your husband continues to neglect and invalidate your feelings. “Listen…I don’t know what you want me to fucking do,” he tiredly sighs. “I can’t be the perfect man that you’re looking for, Y/N. He doesn’t exist.”
‘Clearly,’ you bitterly think. He has shown you that.
“I do everything for you and this is how you repay me,” he scoffs, still scowling. “Well, fine, if you feel that way, I’ll just leave you be.” He takes a step back and then turns around, walking towards the exit. Your eyes widen at him, gobsmacked. “Wait, you’re leaving?” you gasp. “You can’t be serious. You’re gonna leave me here alone?”
Then your husband turns around and you think he’s going to apologize; to tell you he is just joking…but then he motions his hands at you in a ‘shoo, shoo’ motion as if you are a mere, pesky fly. “Come upstairs when you’re done acting like a bitch to me,” he cooly says. And then he leaves you alone for good, standing in the club completely humiliated and heartbroken.
Luckily, someone comes to your rescue to save you from your heartbreak. They tap you on the shoulder and you turn to see Kiri standing there with a gigawatt smile on his handsome face. “Excuse me, miss; me and my husband saw you across the bar and really dug your vibe. Can we buy you a drink?”
He gives you a wink that somehow masks the heartbreak you’re feeling. “Just make sure it’s strong,” you joke back.
He begins to lead you back to the bar where Bakugou sits, sipping on a mai tai. “Did you find your husband?” Kiri asks, taking the mojito that Bakugou passes to him. “Where’s he at? I thought we were meeting him.”
You stare warily at the pros, biting back tears. “Uh…he wasn’t feeling too good and went upstairs,” you lie.
Bakugou sees right through it like it’s glass. He takes a final sip of his drink, draining the glass, and nearly slams it on the bar. “Y’know, you’re just as bad as this one when you lie,” he roughly says, nudging Kiri in the arm. “Eyes goin’ off to the side, a little pause like you’re thinkin’ of somethin’ on the spot…you’re not slick.”
You feel your body flush under the strobe lights. ‘Oh, no,’ you think, lamenting to yourself. ‘Now he’s gonna ask you why you lied, you dummy!’
But to your surprise, Bakugou leans one beefy, inked arm over the bar, waving down the bartender. “But if you’re truly hellbent on coverin’ your man’s back, we won’t push it. If anything, I respect it…can’t understand why the goofy left you here though.” He waves a hand again at the bartender, growing irritated at being ignored.
“Yeah,” Kiri agrees, standing behind Bakugou’s stool and rubbing his shoulders to calm him. He is so tall that he towers over you, somehow making you feel more safe than intimidated by his sheer size. “It’s kinda weird he would just leave without you, unless he had food poisoning or somethin’.”
Maybe it’s the hot wash of lights or the men accompanying you, but you feel the truth push at your throat. “He didn’t,” you admit. The couple immediately turn their attention to you. “I caught him talking to another woman, we had a fight, and then he left.”
Kiri blinks his crimson eyes at you. “He left you alone?” he asks in disbelief. “Here?”
You slowly nod, biting your lower lip to keep from crying in front of these two strangers. “He told me to come upstairs when I stopped being a bitch,” you add, cracking a wry smile at the two. “Can you believe this is my marriage?” You laugh it off, but the couple can tell that it is fake and icy.
“Shit, I already thought the guy was a loser; now, it’s a fact for sure,” Bakugou grumbles.
“Leaving your wife or girlfriend in the middle of a club is NOT manly,” Kiri growls, eyes flashing with anger. “Good thing we’re with you. We can keep you company as long as you’re here!”
Bakugou passes Kiri's mojito to you, coaxing you to sip. “And you can tell us more about this asshole you decided to marry.” He bangs on the bar, scaring a few people. “Yo, bartender! You’re about to lose your tip!”
You take a tiny sip of the mojito, your tastebuds exploding with the taste of mint, lime, and rum. Kiri pats the empty stool beside Bakugou and you sit, crossing one leg over the other, your dress riding up slightly on your thighs. Kiri sits on your left, sandwiching you between himself and his husband.
The bartender returns, sweating slightly and out of breath. “Apologies, Mr. Bakugou! Free rounds for the happy couple?” The couple turn to look at you, asking you in silence. “It’s free rounds, darlings,” you giggle, flipping your braids over one shoulder. “I’d be happy to share…and a rum punch too, please!”
Two rum punches and three tequila shots later, you are spilling your guts to the couple. The three of you sit in a secluded lounge area overlooking the beach, the silver moon glowing off of the waves softly crashing on the shore.
Most people are on the dance floor or at the bar, so you have privacy with the two hunks who sit across from you in lounge chairs. You sit on a small hammock held between two fake palm trees, talking on and on about your husband’s neglect and bummy, crummy ways.
Through it all, the couple stay quiet, paying close attention to you. You appreciate their listening ears, feeling better just getting it all out.
“So we packed up and came on this vacay in the hopes of rekindling our romance,” you explain, nursing a glass of water that Bakugou ordered for you. “It was my idea and he went along with it, but…now I’m thinking that this was a total waste of time.” You place a hand on your head, mostly because it is spinning but also because you feel so stupid.
“For him?” Kiri says, sipping his second mojito. “I’d have to say yes; there is NO gettin’ through a guy like that, sweetheart. But a trip like this for yourself is never a waste! You come here to enjoy the pool, the excursions, and makin’ new friends like us.”
You laugh, finding his words adorable. “We’re friends?” you giggle, not realizing how this sounds: like you want to be more. “Well, I guess only friends would buy me drinks and listen to me trauma dump.”
Bakugou clucks his tongue, rolling his vermillion eyes. His eyes are so pretty…like rubies. “It’s not trauma dumping if we wanna hear it, silly girl.” Kiri nods, agreeing. “Bakugou’s right, sweetheart. We like you; plus, you’re the first girl we’ve met here that isn’t tryin’ to have a threesome with us.”
He doesn’t know how wrong he is. And if he keeps calling you ‘sweetheart’, who knows what will happen next. “I like you guys too,” you admit, flushing bashfully. “You make a cute couple; I’m almost jealous!”
Bakugou cracks a humored smile, sipping a piña colada now. “Well, don’t be. The bartenders already think we’re together.” His tongue glints with something–a piercing, you realize–as he toys with the straw in his glass.
Suddenly, a thought pops into your head that you have no business saying aloud: “Wouldn’t it be funny if we acted as a couple this whole trip just for the hell of it? Two sexy husbands and their pretty wife?” You begin to laugh a little too much, your cheeks hurting and tears pricking at your lashes coated in mascara.
When you stop, you realize that the couple aren’t laughing. They’re just staring dead at you. “Yeah,” Kiri deadpans. “Hilarious.”
Suddenly, the air feels tense and the magic from the alcohol is fading. You don’t feel sexy or confident anymore; just awkward. You take a couple sips of the water and place it on the “W-Well, it’s getting late and my husband is probably wondering where I am.”
“No, he’s not,” Bakugou argues. The finality in his tone stops you short, rendering you speechless. “Any dickhead who leaves his wife alone in a club isn’t thinkin’ ‘bout her well-being at all.” His gaze is intense and unwavering as he stares at you over his glass rim. “Sorry to break it to ya, babe.”
Babe? Sweetheart? What the fuck is going on here? ….And why are you so okay with it? You’re so wrapped up in decoding this situation when suddenly, the couple leave their post and come to sit with you in the hammock. Gently, they both climb in and sandwich you between them, their tree-trunk legs dangling off of the side with you.
“So why not spend the night with two guys who actually want your attention?” Bakugou asks, his lips just a little too close to your ear. You suddenly lose the ability to function like a human being. “W-What?” you stammer, turning to the blonde. “What do you–”
“You know what I mean,” he interjects. “Can you really sit here and act like you don’t want us too?” One of his hands lays on your knee, making your skin tingle.
“We’ve been watchin’ you for awhile now,” Kiri confesses, his hand brushing your fingertips. “It wasn’t our intention to ever do anything with another person on this trip, but when we saw you at the pool…” He pauses, taking a breath. “Shit, Y/N, our want for you was instant.” Your pussy gushes at his sinful confession, leaving your thighs trembling.
“And when we found out your bitch ass husband left you alone here?” Bakugou’s lips stretch into a smile, his eyes mischievous. “It was a wrap.” You can’t believe what you’re hearing. Out of anyone else in here, these two happily married men want you tonight?
“We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with,” Kiri gently says, taking your silence for discomfort. “If intimacy isn’t on the table for you, we can just stay here, share some drinks, and dance…or if you really feel uncomfortable, just tell us and we’ll leave you be. Your comfort matters to us, Y/N.”
This man barely knows you and he is showing you more consideration than your husband has in months. Bakugou’s lips brush against your ear, the smell of mint and rum on his tongue. “Either way, we wanna make your husband regret ever leaving you here alone tonight,” he murmurs. “So what’s it gonna be, little one?”
Little one. How did he know that name makes you wet?
You have never been hornier than you are right now sitting between these two studs. The tequila and rum you’ve consumed over the hour helps too. It helps you make the first move by turning towards Kiri, cupping his face in his hands, and pressing your lips to his. He makes a small noise of surprise before he melts into your kiss, his soft lips moving against yours. “Mmm,” he hums against your lips, the sound seducing you.
When you pull away, his crimson eyes are dazed and hooded. You then turn to Bakugou who watches with bated breath. “You get one too, Dynamight,” you giggle before your lips are crushed against his. Just like his hubby, Bakugou’s kiss causes sparks to ignite in the air and your arousal to switch to hyperdrive. The yearning you feel for these two is instantaneous and intense.
When you pull away, you take their hands in both of yours and interlace your fingers. “So I guess it’s your room then, boys?” you seductively ask, peering up at them through your lashes.
Somehow, moments later, you find yourself in between the two married pros on a big bed, stark naked and their big, hard, throbbing, pretty cocks stiff in your hands as you stroke them up and down, up and down. You keep your dress on, but your straps were tugged off by Bakugou to expose your tits while Kiri stripped off your heels, blushing as he told you how pretty your feet were.
You pay close attention to their luscious moans and responsive hums of pleasure as your hands, slick with your saliva, twist around the base as you scale them up to their bulbous tips dripping in pre all for you. You take a couple licks at the white pearls, smiling as their moans grow louder at the feeling of your tongue on them. They felt your tongue minutes before once they stripped, letting you indulge in every rippling muscle they had.
When they finally took off their pants, you were amazed. While both big and veiny, they have their differences too: Bakugou is smooth and curves upward while Kiri is thick, has a happy trail, and has a dick piercing. You gaped at both of them while the two softly chuckled, finding your reaction endearing.
“I’m guessin’ your man is lackin’ in this department?” Bakugou asked, his hand curling in your braids. Staring at the cock in your face, you silently nodded. Severely, your husband was lacking.
Tap-tap.
Bakugou tapped his tip slightly against your lips, his hooded eyes exploding with lust. “Well? You just gonna stare or take care of ‘em?” Kiri bit his lip and watched, silently urging you to do as you wanted to his dick.
You do just that, sliding Bakugou’s hard cock into your mouth while you continue to stroke Kiri, loving their eyes on you as you take the blonde deeper, hollowing your cheeks. You raise your eyes to him, watching his handsome face flush red as he watches you throat him, his hips slowly grinding to push himself deeper. “Ah, shit,” he sighs, his eyes sexily rolling back to show the whites and red tendrils of his eyeballs.
Kiri toothily grins at his husband fucking your mouth, still slowly fucking your hand. “Feelin’ good, Kats?” he chuckles. “Me too. She’s bein’ such a good girl, isn’t she?” He sticks two fingers under your chin to catch the drool that has begun to drip down from your lips and sucks your saliva off of them, staring straight at you as he does.
“Almost,” Bakugou replies, laughing to himself. “She needs to take this dick a little more.” So he speeds up, increasing his speed so the sounds of you gagging and your wet throat flexing around his cock are more intense and lively, causing him to groan.
“Open wide, baby,” he grunts. “Open that throat up for me.” You’re feeling good and used now as he begins to fuck your face, ruining your lip gloss and staining your cheeks with mascara.
“God, yes, baby!” he groans. “Deeper. Take me deeper.”
You don’t know how much deeper he can go. Your eyes sting with tears as you feel your throat protest against being filled, causing you to gag more. But you push through, breathing through your nostrils and letting the pro fuck your jaw off of its hinges, your spit dripping down to your tits from your chin.
“Don’t make her choke now, Kats,” Kiri says, though his cock throbs in your palm at the sight of you gagging on husband’s dick. “I still need my turn.” Bakugou huffs with irritation, but slides out, letting you suck in some air. “Fine; just don’t hog her. That’ll piss me off.”
Then it’s Kiri’s turn. He is thicker than Bakugou so when he slides into your mouth, you feel it. The wet walls to your throat stretch around him as he slides in deeper, causing you to open your throat as if you are preparing to yawn to accommodate him.
The redhead tilts his head back and moans to the ceiling, his big hand gripping the back of your head. “Oh, fuck!” he moans, pumping his hips forward and back, fucking your throat as if it were a toy.
You feel absolutely, positively used. You feel like the sluttiest woman who has ever walked the earth. And you love every second of it. Bakugou smiles sinfully as he watches you deepthroat Kiri, making his husband moan and whimper as your throat constricts and flexes around hum.
“I knew you’d be good at this, cutie,” he groans. He pulls you off of Kiri to look deep into his eyes. “You’re just our type too: pretty and eager.”
His lips crash against yours and his tongue slips into your mouth, never mind that you just sucked two cocks. He kisses you passionately and eagerly, relishing and swallowing the muffled moans you make. And then he’s taking Kiri’s cock and sliding it back into your mouth for you, using his hand to push you down on his husband’s shaft.
“And very small,” Kiri adds, chuckling through panted breath. “Small enough to pick up and put in any position you wanna get fucked in tonight.” He peers down at you through red slits for his eyes as you throat his cock, sucking and glucking as if it is your profession, spit and pre placing your lipgloss.
“Would you like that, baby?” he murmurs. You peer up at him through your lashes, feeling heat pool between your thighs. “Mmm-hmm,” you hum around his cock.
Bakugou snatches you away and replaces Kiri’s dick with his, fucking your mouth once more. Your eyes roll back as his cock slides against your throat, filling it, taking it for his own. “Oh, fuck, yes,” he groans, his fist full of your braids. “Take it, baby. You take it so fuckin’ good.”
His muscles tense as he pistons into your mouth as he would a fleshlight or Kiri’s ass, his balls full of cum and slapping slightly against your chin.
You feel Kiri’s big palm on your ass, stroking it over your dress. “You’re still wearin’ too much,” he growls, squeezing a handful of your ass. Bakugou watches with interest, loving how you look arching your back as you suck him dry. “Not a bad view,” he hums. “‘Specially from this angle.”
SMACK!
Your body flinches and you moan around the cock in your mouth as you feel a sting from Bakugou’s assault on your asscheeks. Kiri’s thick fingers curl under your chin, forcing you to stare up at his handsome, flushed face. “Look up at me, cutie pie. Show me those pretty eyes while you suck my husband’s fat dick.”
SMACK!
Bakugou smacks your ass hard again, definitely using some of his quirk because of the sharp zap you feel licking across your skin despite the fabric of your dress. “Arch that back a little more, babe,” he gently coos despite rudely fucking your throat. “I wanna see that pussy while you suck me off.”
He pulls the hem of your dress up to reveal the thong settled between your asscheeks..and currently being eaten up by your pussy, wet pussy. Kiri practically drools at the sight, grabbing your ass at the same time Bakugou does.
“A thong?” he tuts. “What a slut we’ve got, Kats.” Bakugou growls in agreement, palming the soft globes of your butt. “Betcha wore this hopin’ you’d get fucked by another man tonight,” he growls. “Or maybe by us.”
SMACK!
“Am I right?” he asks. You feel your asscheeks recoil against his palm, the zap of electricity from his sweaty palm making your senses fire up.
“Y-Yes!” you whimper out. Despite the pain, there is pleasure mixed in the stinging sensation, causing your clit to throb against the slick, sticky fabric of your thong stuck against your pussy lips.
SMACK!
This time, Kiri does it and he hits very hard. You wouldn’t be shocked if he left a handprint. “Sorry, little one,” he chuckles. “I just couldn’t resist you anymore.”
He continues to spank your ass, lighting fire across your cheeks and possibly using his quirk too to make his hand a lot rougher. Bakugou slips his cock out and feeds you Kiri’s instead, his dick throbbing and twitching as his husband roughly fucks your mouth this time around.
You feel his sneaky fingers wrap around the thin waistband of your thong, pulling it so it rubs against your needy slit. “Such a little minx,” he continues as he toys with your thong. “Wantin’ to get fucked by total strangers.”
SNAP!
He snaps the thin string back into place like a rubber band, making you jump from the slight sting as it hits your skin. “Shit, look at how wet she is!” Kiri groans. “It’s drippin’ all down these thighs.” He and Bakugou stare at the slick staining your inner thighs which you didn’t realize either. You’ve never been this wet before.
“All of this just for a couple of spanks on that ass and dick in your mouth?” Bakugou chuckles, thoughtfully stroking your asscheeks. “Yeah, we’re definitely not lettin’ you go back to that dickhead now.”
Kiri pulls his cock out of your wet mouth, causing a string of spit to connect from his tip to your bottom lip. “You’re stuck with us tonight, baby,” he says, his voice low and sultry. “And maybe for the next six days too.”
He lays you back on the bed, dangling your legs off of the edge as he and Bakugou kneel before you. Their eyes glint at you like twin moons, hot with lust. “Now let us show you what we do to pretty pussies like yours.”
Somehow, you find yourself on your back with the entire room spinning and swirling as the married couple proceed to share your pussy like it is their last meal on their vacation. Sometimes they share, both of their tongues and soft lips sucking, slurping, licking, and caressing every inch of your sensitive, sopping wet cunt. They alternate between each other too, both of them individually eating you out too.
Kiri is a whole munch, diving deep into the wet depths of your pussy, moaning about how good and sweet you taste. His crimson eyes lock dead on you, paying attention to the way you respond to his tongue flicks and swirls. Your husband has NEVER eaten you out like this: so eagerly and sloppily yet still considering your pleasure and what you need.
You writhe and squirm against Kiri’s mouth, gripping his red locks for dear life. “O-Oh, shit!” you moan. “Oh, fuck yes, yes, yes! That’s s-so, so good!”
The redhead hums in amusement, tearing the lips on his face away from your wet, puffy ones below with a wet pop! “Such a squirmer,” he cackles, his big hands squeezing the flesh where your thighs meet your ass.
Bakugou, who has begun to fist his leaking, hard cock, has his sights set dead on your pussy. “Hold her down. She’s not gonna do shit when I’m tongue fuckin’ that pussy.”
The blonde is a little rougher and more possessive than Kiri, but still eager to slurp up everything you give him. He holds one of your thighs, pressing one leg open while Kiri has the other, the both of them working together to ensure that you can’t move as Bakugou eats your pussy with abandon.
You cry and sob at his tongue lashings, the cold metal of his tongue piercing melting like ice cream against the soaking, hot walls of your pussy.
You feel another tongue caressing the other hole you have down below, the wetness of his spit slipping down your asscrack. “Mmm, fuck, Kiri,” you whine. The redhead grins against your asscheeks, one hand massaging the globes while he wiggles his tongue against your asshole.
“Yeah?” he teases. “You like gettin’ this ass eaten too?” You whimper as Bakugou sucks on your clit at the same time Kiri presses an open-mouthed kiss to your asshole. “Little slut,” he whispers before his tongue is rimming the tight hole of your ass.
Your eyes widen and your mouth falls slack. You have never had anyone eat your ass before, but this was something you discussed with the couple before coming in here. During the walk back to their room, you discussed all the things you want to try and enjoy in the bedroom, including the possibility of anal sex–something your husband wouldn’t dare to discuss.
“Hey,” Bakugou suddenly growls, nipping at your inner thigh with his teeth. “Don’t neglect me. I’m the one puttin’ in work down here too.”
SMACK!
You shriek, damn near cumming as his palm comes down on your clit, a zap of electricity making your toes curl and your thighs buckle. “I-I’m sorry!” you sob. “I won’t do it again, Daddy, I promise!”
His vermillion eyes glare at you as he smirks, cocky and proud. “Damn right, you won’t; not if you wanna cum…and you do wanna cum, don’t you, little one?” he murmurs before taking your clit into his mouth and gently sucking on the nub.
He and Kiri continue to slurp at your holes, their saliva dripping down your thighs and your asscrack, soaking you and making your holes even more lubricated. It helps for their tongues to dip in and fuck you, causing your moans to grow louder, so loud that you’re sure that the entire resort can hear you. You dig your hands in their hair and grip their scalps as you feel yourself peaking, your orgasm cresting so much that your back arches.
“Oh, my God, I’m gonna cum!” you wail out. “I’m gonna…I’m gonna fucking…!”
The two men lick faster, their tongues and lips encouraging you to spill your cum all over them. In a split second, you do and you nearly scream to the heavens as the pleasure engulfs you, washing you away on a wave. The couple moan and growl in appreciation as you spill your cream all over their tongues; they lick away, cleaning up every inch of you. The cum that spills down your asscrack, Kiri catches, feral grunts escaping him.
When you are finally twitching and whimpering, the two stop, their lips coated in your juices. You watch in awe as they begin to kiss in front of you, mashing their lips together in a sloppy kiss. You could cum again just by looking at them.
“Let’s give this hole a break now,” Kiri suggests, his smile mischievous and lustful. One finger rims your asshole, making you flinch at the sensitivity. “I think this one here needs some more playin’ with.”
He turns to Bakugou, puckering his lips at him. “Get the lube for us, won’t you, hubby?” he teases.
Minutes later, after Bakugou grabs a travel bottle of warming, edible lube from the nightstand, you are turned over and bent over the bed, your ass sticking in the air and gripping the sheets as one of Bakugou’s thick fingers gently probes your ass. “Oh!” you gasp, your eyes rolling behind your head. “Ah, fuck!”
“Does it hurt?” Bakugou asks. You whimper, shaking your head into the bed, but he thoughtfully strokes your ass, envoking a response from you. “Answer me, little one. Gotta know you’re okay.”
“N-No,” you squeak. “Just…a lot.” It is a foreign feeling that is different from Kiri’s tongue, but the lube and copious amounts of spit that Kiri provided earlier help a lot. Bakugou slips his finger in a little more, taking in the way your body talks to him. “Nice and slow, little one. Gotta make sure we don’t hurt you.”
Hurt isn’t even a word in your vocab at this point. Your pussy is gushing like it hasn’t before, slipping down your thighs as Bakugou slowly fucks your ass with his finger, opening you up more and more. “Fuck, you’re so tight here,” he grunts. “I’ve been watchin’ this ass all night. Just wanna fuck you here.”
SMACK!
He gives your ass a playful slap that has you singing and crooning like a songbird into the sheets stained in your makeup. “Stretch you out the way you need to be,” he murmurs with want, his cock throbbing and pulsing with need between his thighs. Kiri wraps a hand around his husband’s cock and slowly begins stroking him while he brings his lips over to your pussy.
“But don’t worry, cutie; we’ll fuck you here too. Can’t neglect her, now, can we?” He puckers his lips and spits on your pussy before slurping it back up, stimulating your kitty while Bakugou continues to fuck the puckered hole of your ass. “Fuck, look at you,” he rasps. “Little vixen is gettin’ wetter from this.”
Kiri hums in agreement, your cream and his spit sliding down his chin.
“All it takes is some fingers in your pretty little asshole, don’t it?” the blonde asks before he adds his tongue into the mix, licking around your hole as he continues to probe the tight hole with his finger.
“Oh, fuck!” you whimper. “Please! More!” Bakugou laughs, taken aback. “More?” he parrots, grinning. “What, you want these dicks now? Is that it? Are these fingers and tongues not enough for some slutty holes like yours?”
You can’t help it; his dirty words coax your body to move on its own and you toss yourself back into Bakugou’s finger, taking the digit fully in your ass. “That’s a good girl, little one,” Kiri murmurs, his tongue swirling around your clit. “Fuck yourself on Katsuki’s finger. Make yourself cum again.”
And you do. The stimulation and the warming lube are too much, making every part of your body sensitive to the touch. “H-Ha, o-oh, m-m-my G-God!” you stutter, your hips bucking like a bull’s. “I-I’m gonna cum again!”
“Oh, yeah?” Kiri laughs against your pussy. “Do it, cutie. Cum for us again. Make that pretty hole cum for us.” He and Bakugou continue to lick, grunting and moaning into your holes, pushing you further to the edge.
But instead of that warmth in your core, you feel a tickle in your bladder and you realize with horror what is happening. “Wait, you guys!” you shout in a warning. “Wait, I don’t think…I’m gonna pee! Stop!”
But they don’t and unfortunately for you, liquid squirts and spills wildly from your pussy and into Kiri’s mouth. He sputters in shock though he doesn’t pull away, slurping up every ounce of you.
“Shit, she squirted!” Bakugou gasps, laughing in disbelief at the scene. “I’m guessin’ her man never made her do that,” he cackles. He dives down and licks some up for himself, moaning in appreciation and satisfaction at your taste. “There’s plenty more where that came from.”
You don’t even know what ‘more’ looks like for you. You think squirting when you’ve never before just about takes the cake, but as the two men climb up on the bed with you, you know that this is not the case for them.
Kiri gently rubs your back, placing his palm at the middle of your spine as you huff and puff, exhausted. “Tuckered out, little baby?” he coos. Wordlessly, you shake your head. Despite your exhaustion, your need for their cocks is more. “No?” he chuckles. “Even after all that, you still want us?”
“Oh, baby, we’re gonna have some fun with you,” Bakugou groans. He hikes you up with ease, sitting you down in his lap, his hard cock throbbing against your tummy. “Tell us you want us to fuck you,” he demands, his eyes drilling hard into yours.
Your response is automatic, your want ignited. “I want you to fuck me,” you reply. “Want you both inside me. Need you both to fill me up and make each other cum.” You wrap a hand around both of them, earning wanton groans in response to your touch. “Please, Daddies?” you beg.
That plea and your doe-like, brown eyes peering up at them lead to you straddling Kiri’s lap while his thick cock slides against your slit, nudging your clit and making you slippery enough to slide down his shaft. The big, beefy redhead leans back against the headboard, his big hands massaging your ass while you straddle his thighs, grinding your pussy against the shaft of his throbbing dick. “You feel so good, Kiri,” you moan, gripping his shoulders.
The redhead jerkingly nods in agreement, biting his lip at the feeling. “You do too. Easy now, cutie. I’m bigger than your husband, so take all the time that you—“
Evidently, you already had enough time because you’re suddenly sliding your dripping pussy down on him. You both loudly moan at the explosive pleasure, your gummy walls tight and silky around his velvety, pulsing cock. “That was easy,” Bakugou chuckles. “Cock slut couldn’t wait to take you.” He is on his knees behind you, rutting his cock up against your asshole.
You feel tears prick your eyes, making them glassy and wet as you bring yourself up and down on Kiri’s thick cock, whimpers and sobs leaving your sticky lips. “Oh, fuck, Kiri!” you sob. “You’re so fucking big! You’re stretching me out so good!”
You can feel it–everytime you come down, you somehow feel yourself stretching more. Despite your husband’s nice penis, he could never make you feel this needy. This desperate to take more.
Bakugou presses a kiss to your shoulder, his pre-cum staining your asscheeks. “Slowly, baby. There’s no rush for this. I’m lettin’ you use my man, so be grateful.”
You bite your trembling lip, doing your best to go slow. “I-I am,” you whimper. “Thank you!” The blonde groans at your sweetness, his tip nudging your asshole.
Kiri watches your bouncing tits as you come up and down on his cock like a little bunny, his face flushed red and his eyes crimson slits. “Such a little sweetheart,” he groans. “And such a sweet little pussy too, f-f-fuck!” He grips your ass tighter, drawing you to him.
“Ride me, angel,” he begs, staring up at you. “Please bounce on my cock. Keep usin’ that dick like a toy, little one. Use me.”
You do as you’re told and begin bouncing a little faster on him, creating an orgasmic rhythm that takes you both to paradise. You dig your nails into Kiri’s shoulders, damn near breaking skin, but he doesn’t care. Not when your cunt is this good.
“Guess you ain’t the only slut here,” Bakugou chuckles. “Does she feel good, Eji?” The redhead whimpers in reply, his fangs digging into his bottom lip. “Words,” the blonde growls.
“Y-Yeah!” Kiri grunts out. “So good!” Bakugou hums in enjoyment and satisfaction, tucking his hand between you to rub Kiri’s heavy balls. “Then fuck her back. Don’t make her do all the work.” Kiri does as he is told, raising his hips to meet you as you come down, plunging his cock deeper inside of you.
As he does this, Bakugou’s tip passes the threshold of your ass a bit, making you gasp. “I’m gonna go in now, baby,” he warns. “Just relax. You feel nice and loose now. It’s fuckin’ gapin’ for me.” You can feel it, the walls of your ass nice and stretched, the cool air making you shiver.
“Fuck, that’s hot!” Kiri groans. “She’s stretched out here too.” And he’s right–you are so stretched open by his cock that he has no problem fucking you dumb, sliding you up and down, up and down, along his cock slick with your juices and his pre-cum.
“You ready, baby girl?” Bakugou whispers, his lips toying with your ear. “Just tap my thigh if you need me to stop. That goes for shitty hair too.” It takes a moment to find your words, but you do despite your head dizzy with pleasure. You turn to hook an arm around his head, pulling him closer. “Yes, sir,” you mewl.
“Just the tip,” he grunts before he slides the rest of the way in, pushing past the rim of your ass. He grunts in pleasure as a strange howl escapes you, making you feel like a totally different person. A stranger. A slut who likes getting fucked by two fat cocks in both of her holes.
“Oh, my God!” you wail, your head falling against Kiri’s chest. Bakugou slides the tip out an inch and goes back in, repeating this action for a couple of minutes, allowing your hole to grow familiar with his cock. “Easy; just fuck me back slowly. Take your time. Gotta make sure you can take all this dick.”
The two of them begin to fuck you in unison, Kiri slowing down to match Bakugou’s tempo and not overwhelm you. Their luscious moans and feral grunts fill the bedroom smelling of sex, lube, and mingled cologne and body mist, their sweet whispers of “you’re doin’ so good, little one” and “such a good fuckin’ slut for us” making your body tingle with need.
At some point, the slow fucking flies out the window and Kiri begins to rut up into you, his hips slamming up against yours. Bakugou chuckles, still rolling his hips slow and easy as he fucks your asshole. “So much for nice and slow. You’re fucking her like you wanna nut, shitty hair.”
“Can’t help it,” the redhead grunts. “She feels so perfect!” His balls, soaked in your juices, slap against your clit as he pounds up into you, grunting with each thrust. “Goddammit,” Bakugou hisses, “if you keep poundin’ her like that, you’ll make me wanna speed up too.” His balls stimulate you too, your needy button nearly exploding from the pleasure.
“Go ahead,” you beg. “Fuck me faster! Please!” The couple stare at you in astonishment, slightly pausing to regard you in shock. “Faster?” they ask in unison.
You nod, pressing your face into Kiri’s shoulder. You don’t want them to see your face–you know you look a hot ass mess. Bakugou gives your ass a smack, chuckling as he does. “You’ve got it, little one. Just don’t run from us.”
For the next blissful minutes–or hours?–, the couple fuck your holes in unison, their cocks frotting and rubbing against one another, making them moan, grunt, and whimper into your ear. You bounce pathetically on their dicks, forced to take all of it as you whimper and sob, tears threatening to drip down your cheeks stained with ruined mascara and foundation. You have never felt this good before.
Brrring! Brrrring!
Your eyes open, your vision blurry, and you look down at the nightstand where your purse is. “My phone!” you whine.
Kiri yanks your purse open and takes your phone out, looking at the caller ID. “Oh, it’s the man of the hour!” he jokes. He grins toothily at you, flashing you your phone screen. “Your husband’s calling, baby.”
‘Oh, shit,’ you think. What time even is it? How long have you been here? He must think you’ve been kidnapped or something!
“Answer it,” Bakugou grunts. “Put it on speaker.”
“W-Wait!” you protest, but it’s too late. Kiri answers the phone and continues to fuck you as he stares, his breath coming out in short pants. “Helloooo? Bakugou residence.”
You clap a hand over your mouth to muffle your pathetic, slutty moans as the two men fuck you stupid, Bakugou yanking on your braids while Kiri rubs your clit. “Who are you?” your husband demands. “Where’s Y/N? This is her number, isn’t it?”
Kiri smirks at you. “Oh, it is, but Y/N can’t come to the phone right now. She’s too busy gettin’ her brains fucked out—something you can’t and won’t do.”
Bakugou tears your hand off of your mouth, forcing those loud moans and whines to escape you, exposing the truth to your husband about his dirty little wife. “Y/N, answer me!” he shouts.
You do so, moaning Bakugou’s name as his cock fills your ass. Your husband grows enraged, screaming belligerently. “You bitch! How could you do this to me?! I’m your husband!”
Bakugou snatches the phone from Kiri, giving your husband a piece of his mind now. “Then you should’ve thought about that before actin’ like a damn loser,” he growls. “Now shut the fuck up and stop ruinin’ my fun with your wife. It ain’t our fault you’re gettin’ cucked.”
He then hangs up before your husband can reply and ruts into you faster alongside Kiri, their thrusts intense and merciful, making the bed shake beneath them. With their dick-alicious dicks and the saucy excitement of your husband hearing you get fucked, you can’t help but feel another orgasm coming on. “M’gonna cum again!” you whimper. “I’m so close!”
“Cum with me,” Kiri demands, his dick jackhammering into you as you frantically rub your clit. “Cum on that dick, little one. It’s all fucking yours!”
Bakugou is close too judging by how his cock pulses in your ass and his fingers dig into the flesh of your buttcheeks. “Thaaat’s it,” he coos through gritted teeth. “That’s my girl lettin’ me fuck that drippin’ little hole.”
It doesn’t take long for all three of you to cum together, the couple’s thrusts stilling for a moment as they fill you to the brim with their spunk.
You moan loudly, so loud that it bounces off of the bedroom walls, as your holes clench around their cocks and your pussy spasms, spilling your honey all over Kiri’s thick, beautiful cock. Your eyelashes flutter and your muscles clench, your intense nut sending you through the stars and across the galaxy.
When the high fades and you go limp, the couple gently pry you off of their cocks and lay you down on your back. Like a rag doll, your body is limp and loose, allowing Bakugou to hook your legs up to expose your ass. “Stay there,” he grunts. “Stay right fuckin’ there. I wanna cum all over that ass.”
Kiri kneels over you, his semi-hard cock hanging in your face. “I’ve still got some for these pretty titties too. I want your bitch ass husband to smell us when you go back to your hotel room, cutie~”
The two fuck their cocks with their hands, sending spurts of cum all over your tits and ass. You gasp at the warm droplets coating your skin, already drying. Then the couple pull you up onto your knees, holding their cocks out for you. They are coated in cum, slick and juicy. “Clean us off, naughty girl,” Bakugou gruffly demands. “You caused it, so it’s your responsibility.”
You do as told, kitten-licking and slurping up the taste of your holes and their cum from their cocks, relishing the soft moans and hushed swears as you do. Once you finish, the two gently lay you on your back and lick you clean too, being extra gentle with your pussy and putting a soft pillow under your sore ass. Your entire body feels sore, but deliciously so.
The pros then lay side by side with you between them, Bakugou on your right while Kiri takes your left. The redhead snuggles into your backside, his hair tickling your face.
“You were amazing, sweetheart. You definitely made this trip unforgettable, that’s for sure!” He wraps his big arms around you, encasing you in a warm, sweaty embrace.
Exhaustion makes your brain foggy and you can barely focus on what he is saying to you. “Mmm-hmm,” you sleepily agree.
Bakugou tsks, wrapping an arm around your neck, allowing his arm to be your pillow. “Such a baby,” he huffs. “Close your eyes. Don’t fight it if ya need to sleep.”
In your blissed out, sleepy state, you ask the question, “So I can spend the night?”
The blonde once again tsks, scowling down at you. “What kinda stupid question is that? Why else would we be cuddlin’ your ass?” He presses a kiss to the crown of your forehead, making your skin flush with warmth.
Kiri chuckles behind you, becoming the big spoon as he squeezes you between himself and Bakugou, protecting you from the darkness and tomorrow. “That’s a yes. You could even stay the entire trip if you wanted to, cutie.”
He too kisses you, pressing one softly against your cheek. “And Musutafu’s only a plane ride away,” he adds. “Anything’s possible, baby.”
You sleepily smile into Bakugou’s chest, feeling his heart beat against your cheek. That all sounds so nice. The three of you? Together? They, your sexy boyfriends and you, their pretty little girlfriend? It sounds so perfect…
Yet so unpredictable. Tomorrow is only a sunrise away and the future is uncertain. You know eventually, you will have to go back to your hotel room and face your husband. Face your problems. Face the inevitable crash and burn of your marriage. You know that you will have to return home soon and figure things out from there.
Everything feels unsure right now, but one thing in your mind that remains as you fall off to sleep is for sure: you’re getting a divorce.
izuku had always thought he’d settle down with a somewhat composed girl, eyes beady and bright when gathering new information, notes scattered on an already messy desk with coffee stains.
hair talloused and socially clueless, always mumbling nonsense out loud.
so how on earth did he find himself getting asked out by the most sparkliest girl in existence?
it was hot, children swinging their small feet on benches as vanilla and strawberry ice-cream dripped onto the floor, short skirts and sunglasses dotted all over as passer-bys fanned their flushed cheeks.
“you’re super cute! could I get your number?” you gushed confidently, tapping his pink button nose.
“I- uh-”
izuku midoriya had found himself rendered completely and utterly useless, years of taming his stupidly awkward nature of helpless stutters and red cheeks to a somewhat socially acceptable standard was thrown pathetically out the window.
your eyes were love dazed as you stared at fidgeting boy in-front of you, lashes curled and painted while your lips were glossy against the warm summer sun— shirt cropped and jeans tight with an abundance of jewellery.
“so?” you quirked a brow, “whatcha’ say cutie?”
cutie?!
“yeah— uhm, okay.” he croaked, tugging the collar of his simple tee as be handed you his phone.
you couldn’t help but loudly gasp at his large, calloused hands, ridden with rough scars. “woah! your hands are like—”
great. she thinks I’m ugly.
“super hot!”
“HOT?!”
if the sweltering heat wasn’t going to make izuku midoriya faint,
you sure were.
KATSUKI ⠀ BAKUGO
katsuki was loud, tongue brash and vermilion eyes rivalling sharp daggers— his bluntness painfully cold.
so, of course, he’d be the most suitable candidate and put in a situation where sweet kindess would be required.
“oh- I’m so sorry!” you squeaked, quickly picking up his array of spicy seasonings and fresh vegetables.
even worse, and much to katsukis dismay, your drink had slipped from your grip and tainted his crisp-white tee.
“fuck—” he grunted, lifting the hem of his shirt and annoyedly shook it, watching the sweet drink drip to the shop floor and stick to his stomach.
“look where your going dammit’—” he abruptly cut himself off as he looked down at you, making direct eye contact with you.
were you . . . cute?
you were, eyes doe as you peered up at him through your lashes, hand still outstretched over a small bottle of spice— your hair littered in pink clips and shoulders blanketed with a soft cardigan.
he clicked his tongue, tick mark visible on his forehead and he grumbled out a small. “..s’whatever.” ears slightly pink.
“are you sure?.. I feel so bad..” you mumbled, gathering the last of his shopping.
he clenched his jaw at your honeyed voice, scoffing. “nah s’cool..”
you stood up, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth, “I really am sorry.. I wasn’t looking where I was going..”
he scrunched his brows ,“you apologise a-lot ya’know.” bakugo noted, voice voided of teasing— just noticing.
“sorry…” you quickly shot a hand to your mouth, looking down and twisting your ankle.
“if it’d help.. you could -uh- give me your number? I could pay for a new shirt if you want… or something..?
bakugo gave you a look over, low eyes trailing over your body before a soft smirk graced his lips. “tch’ fine.”
yeah,
bakugo was gonna hold you to that.
SHOTO ⠀ TODOROKI
shoto was rational, rational but quite unaware.
he lacked knowledge about phones, trends and social media in general—
“just trust me todoroki!”
“so you’re saying.. if I put my face as my profile picture.. I’d be famous?” mina giggled at his air quotes, patting his shoulder giddily.
“mhm, mhm! you’re s’handsome todoroki! a girl clicks on your page and boom!— she drops dead!”
shoto gulped, shutting his phone promptly off and stuffing it in his pockets. “no, sorry mina, I don’t want anybody to die..” he murmured.
“my smile is already a danger, do you remember what mt.lady said? she said—”
mina sighed, zoning the clueless boys rambling out— rubbing the crease between her brows. “for all-mights sake..”
but he made up for it academically, full marks on every paper written out in fresh red ink and a small smiley face.
he’d dealt with mina, sero and even denki—
so why were you so hard to understand?
“yeah cus’ I’m a youngho.”
“. . .”
shoto blinked, “uh- you’re not a.. hoe. just young.” he flushed at the crude word, rubbing his nape uncomfortably.
you pursed your lips, “y’know” you began, ignoring his innocent remark, “you kinda’ have yearner eyes.”
“yearner.. eyes?”
“mhm!”
todoroki coughed, trying to deflect the conversation. “do you have a favourite hero?”
“uh— duh? hawks is a total snack! I like- tots’ hastag need that.”
“snack? as in to eat?”
you giggled, resting a palm against your cheek as you leaned forward. “..your cute.”
todorki felt his blood rush to his face, ears thumping as he toyed with his fingers.
curse denki for setting him up on this date,
and curse his heart for beating so much.
more ⠀ sweet ⠀ treats
mokis ⠀ notes ﹕ hehehe whyd i lowk cook eheheh this was sm fun to write im gonna do this with the jjk men👩🏽🍳👩🏽🍳 aswl #stanpinkpanthress i was listening to ice cream by yuna pls stream its rlly cutesy ..… anyway lmk if you guys want more mha boys since i only did three :o TYSM FOR READING TILL THE END I LOVE UU 🧁🧁 ❤︎
content warning: timeskip!au, suggestive 18+, fem!reader, kinda explicit oopsies, + their fav position, crack-ish lmao I was just having fun
wc: 1.9k
a/n: muahahaha lowkey got a little unhinged the more I wrote but yolo we ball
IZUKU MIDORIYA
If you were to ask him on the spot, he wouldn’t be able to come up with an answer. Truly, he loves every part of your body. It’s practically his drug. Every curve, every mark, every inch is his favorite.
But— after thinking long and hard. He would say your tits. Cliché or not, half the time he can’t keep his focus off those pretty mounds. He tries his best to keep eye contact, maybe it’s the inner virgin in him. But with the way they spill over your cute tops, he can’t control it.
One of his favorite things to do is lay on your chest, not even sexually. He just likes to listen to your heartbeat and each breath you take. It oddly comforts him.
Especially after a long day, he comes home beat and exhausted. Desperate for a sense of peace, and if it’s what helps the man sleep at night, who are you to deny him?
He might have a few dirty fantasies about your breasts, yes. But he’s just not that type of guy.
Though, if he ever built the courage to ask. He would most definitely want to suck on them as if he were dying tomorrow!!
KATSUKI BAKUGO
He’s an ass man no doubt. He absolutely loves groping you randomly just to get on your nerves. If you’re in public, he almost always has a hand wrapped tightly around your waist, kneeling the muscle underneath his calloused palms.
And god forbid you wear a dress or skirt. That man will be clawing at you all night long, desperately unable to keep his hands to himself. His hands would’ve all over you nonstop. By your hips, on your ass, genuinely anywhere he can get them.
He loves a mean doggy though, the slapping of your skin to skin contact feeds him for days. He loves leaving red hand print marks on your plush skin. The stinging sensation lingering on your skin for the next few hours. He’s mean with it too, but you’re right where you wanna be.
One of his favorite things to do is just have his hands rest on the curve of your ass. Sometimes tracing shapes mindlessly, a little squeeze here and there.
This man is beefy so I know a nice slap would sting like a bitch. He literally works with hands of course he has skill.
He would also be a mean ass muncher, but what do I know!
SHOTO TODOROKI
Honestly, he’s a mix of both. He kinda just loves anything to do with you, or your body. He feels guilty if he stares at either of your assets for too long. But can you blame him? You’re quite literally shoving the prize in his face!
He tries to be polite with it, he’ll drop cute compliments about how good you look and leave small kisses on your skin. But nothing gets this man more worked up than your thighs.
They are literally the grounds between heaven and paradise. He loves burying his face between them, leaving kisses among the inside of your thighs and leading up to your core. He could honestly eat you out all day and have no complaints, he’s right where he wants to be.
His hands always find their way to your thighs, just to caress them. Especially when he’s driving it’s just second nature, It’s the little signs of affection that matter.
He would want to die between those goddess legs of yours. The only right way to go.
To be honest, he realllyyyy wants to slide his length in between your plush thighs and just hump your legs. But that’s a thought for another day.
EIJIRO KIRISHIM
ASS ASS ASS ASSSS, AND DID I SAY ASS. He loves squishing your robust, plush muscle. If he finds you lying on your stomach, best believe he is using that ass as his own personal pillow.
A weird thing he likes doing is using hardening to just punch you in the ass, not hard enough that it hurts, but it’ll definitely leave a mark and bruise. You always scold him afterwards but the jiggle that comes from it is always worth the lecture!
He LOVES PRONE BONE. Something about how he can just slide between your thighs and watch those cheeks clap back onto him alters his brain chemistry. It’s also a great workout if you ask him, his favorite form of cardio.
If he comes home after long and manly day of working out, he just wants his favorite stressballs to relive all his problems. Will you ever deny him, nope. Will you always bicker at him, yes.
He loves slapping your ass too whenever he passes by. A simple “damn girl, when did you get all this ass?” Leaving a red mark and most definitely a bruise the next day.
That jiggle and recoil keeps him going during hard days, and definitely keeps everything else hard too.
DENKI KAMINARI
Ladies feel free to throw your bras and show your TITTTIESSSS.
Self explanatory, he likes tits. What man doesn’t? He can’t control the urge to stare at those pretty, soft pillows. And stare he does. He can’t help it when you’re practically wavering them in his face.
He loves motorboating you to the point where he is on the verge of suffocation. Don’t be fooled, he is most definitely content with his placement.
This man is a reformed pervert, he will absolutely have no shame in staring at your godly sculpted chest. He will so casually ask if he can jerk it on your tits and then be shocked when you get mad at him (you do later but that’s besides the point).
He will so purposely do anything to watch them jiggle in his face. He’s so childish about it too like he’s never seen a woman’s body before. Like he will purposely flick at your nipples just to get a reaction out of you.
And god forbid you wear shirt with no bra. There will be no eye contact for the next 48 hours. Just him and those bitties against the world.
He SWEARS BY letting you ride him. To be honest he might just enjoy it so much just because they’re bouncing in his face. A. You’re bouncing on his dick and B. He has front row seats to those ladies bouncing everywhere.
HITOSHI SHINSO
He would never admit it but he definitely catches himself eyeing them titties resting in your top. Drool pooling in the corners of his lips.
He still shows affection to every single other part of your body. Practically worshipping you. He’s not very open with pda but he likes holding your hands close to him. Just a small gesture that leaves him aware of your presence.
He likes biting on them for some reason— walk with me. He doesn’t do it hard or painfully, but enough to get a reaction of you. He also likes that they keep his hands warm, he always just cups his abnormally cold hands underneath your breasts like his personal handwarmers.
You don’t complain of course, but the cold sensation definitely makes your nipples perk up.
He enjoys missionary than most positions, he likes the closeness between you two and it feels more intimate. The lewd expressions on your face as he does loonnnggg and slowww drags. Making sure you feel every vein.
It makes his brain go fuzzy and he doesnt know exactly why. It also gives him a great view of the ladies bouncing.
He likes cumming on them too, but I digress.
TAMAKI AMAJIKI
Thighs. Next question.
He’s so shy with touching your body, he feels so perverted for doing so even though you literally explained that you enjoyed it when he did. He was very hesitant at first to display and signs of pda.
Now, he’s definitely warmed up to it. His hands find their way to your hips or your thighs. Mindlessly drawing small shapes on your skin softly.
He honestly just likes showing small signs of affection. He seriously has an addiction with kissing your body everywhere and anywhere.
He’s a lil freak in the sheets tho and I KNOW it, he’ll act all cute and shy in public but the moment you have him all to yourself he’ll be a whining, needy mess. HE LOVES WHEN YOU RIDE HIM, it literally lets his brain reset while you make a sticky mess on his thighs. His hands roaming shamelessly all over your body, trying to find a piece of reality to keep him from blacking out.
Poor boy seriously doesn’t know what to do with his hands when it comes to intercourse. It just feels too good :,( and he’s just a whiny, mess desperate for your touch.
also ik he puts them tentacles to WORKKK.
KEIGO “HAWKS” TAKAMI
I see him enjoying ass tbh. Like idk he just seems the type to eye those pillowy mounds and genuinely need his hands ALL over them. He’s like so unserious with it tho, like he’ll genuinely whistle at you if you pass by him wearing anything SLIGHTLY revealing.
He likes having a hand rest in the back pocket of your pants— email me. Like it’s just a habit he has and like he doesn’t even realize it. He’ll like also pull you by your belt hoops if you’re too far out of reach for his liking.
Honestly he’s down for any position tbh. As long as he’s inside of you he’s happy lmao. THOUUUGHH I know he would be very sensual with it and likes to take his time and not rush things. If he has a bad day though, he’ll take out his pent up stress on your body :,( but you fucking love it when he gets a little rough every once in a while!!
He wants the cheek clapping in his face, it’s his final request if he were to die tomorrow.
He’s just such a tease tho like he purposely just pisses you off. And he KNOWS it makes you mad but that’s exactly why he does it.
He gives you a good laugh tho, like sometimes he’ll say something SOO out of pocket you can’t help but laugh.
If you can make em laugh and giggle, you can make those cheeks clap and giggle!
TOUYA “DABI” TODOROKI
Ass. I will not go further into depth okay.
He’s a freak like have you seen this man. Like he WILL slap dat ass no hesitation. And then will just look around like nothing ever happened. He’s not a fan of pda, he didn’t get much loving as a kid so he doesn’t know how to reciprocate his feelings very well :(
Okay hear me out but like I feel like he might be into SOME temperature play. He’ll purposely heat up his palm and then place it onto your bare ass, the sudden change in temperature genuinely has you dripping though.
And I KNOOWWWW it’s pierced. Have you not SEEN all that metal already on his body? Also I think he has his nipples pierced idk he’s a freak.
He likes doggy, his stamina IS unmatched though. Honestly he’s down to fuck anywhere he doesn’t give a shit. If he needs that he needs that NOW. He WILL pull your panties to the side, rearrange your guts, then walk off like nothing even happened.
He likes cumming on your ass, literally right next to all the marks and bruises he left.
He’s literally the toxic ex you keep going back to, but you can’t help it! He just fills you up every way you need him to!
a/n: first tumblr post! what do we think?? posting my series soon lolol sorry I got side tracked
Summary: Private relationship! Bakugo grows jealous when you’re shipped with his former classmate, Hanta Sero.
Bakugo sat at the kitchen table like he did every morning, eating his six eggs and drinking his coffee with the news playing silently on the TV. He didn’t want to wake you, of course. This morning, though, he ate with a deep frown and muttered curses under his breath.
He had already rewatched the scene on the TV three times. This time, he turned the volume up slightly.
“Thanks to their perfect teamwork, this rescue was completed quickly and efficiently. Cellophane and y/h/n have our respect,” said the commentator.
The news channel showed a clip of the rescue, then another—his old classmate Sero wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you both up onto a platform with his tape.
Bakugo sat with one hand clenched into a fist, knuckles white, and his phone in the other to opened Twitter. (As if he wanted to make himself even angrier).
Herolover2343: they make such a cute couple OMGOMGOMG
Cellophaneobsessed420: the hand placement… I have nothing appropriate to say
Dynamightcelloicyhot: AHHHH new couple alert 🚨
He squeezed his phone tightly, close to shattering it in his grip.
He was interrupted by the soft pattering of your clammy feet against the floor.
He shut his phone quickly. He was far too upset to talk about this. Instead, he leaned down, kissed you briefly, and muttered that he was going to be late.
“Hey! Don’t you start at nine?” you asked, confused and still half-asleep.
“Somethin’ at the agency. See ya later,” he said dryly…and that was it.
You stood there alone and disoriented, before texting him a few minutes later.
Love you, have a good day 🩷
———
Bakugo’s mood was set for the rest of the day. He snapped at his assistant without meaning to and even flat-out refused an interview, something that only happened when he was on edge.
On the way home, he glanced at your text from that morning again.
He scoffed quietly and locked his phone, jaw tight.
It wasn’t anyone’s fault but his own that your relationship wasn’t public yet. He liked the privacy—no cameras, no opinions, no bullshit. But this… this was the downside. Watching people speculate. Watching him touch you like that while the world cheered.
By the time he got home, the apartment was dim and quiet. You were curled up on the couch, scrolling on your phone, hair still a little messy from a patrolling shift. You looked up when you heard the door.
“Hey,” you smiled. “You’re late.”
“Tch.” He kicked off his shoes harder than necessary and dropped his bag by the door. “Yeah.”
You watched him for a moment, sensing it immediately. The stiff shoulders. The way he wouldn’t look at you.
“…You okay?” you asked gently.
He shrugged. “I’m fine.”
A lie. A bad one.
You stood and crossed the room, stopping just short of touching him. “You’ve been weird all day and you didn’t answer my text.”
“That’s ‘cause I was busy,” he snapped, then immediately clicked his tongue. “—I’m sorry.”
Silence stretched between you.
You tilted your head. “Katsuki.”
He exhaled sharply through his nose, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t—” He stopped. His jaw clenched. “I don’t know how to say this shit without soundin’ like an idiot.”
You stepped closer this time, placing a hand on his arm. “I never think you’re an idiot. C’mon.”
He looked down at your hand resting on his arm, it grounded him.
“…I saw the news today,” he muttered.
Your expression softened. “Okay.”
He looked up at you, studying your face. You seemed completely unaware of the footage that had been taken.
“And those comments,” he continued, voice low and rough. “Everyone actin’ like you’re with Sero because of a dumbass mission. Like I don’t even exist.”
You opened your mouth to reassure him, but he spoke again, faster now, words tumbling out like he was afraid he’d lose the nerve.
“I know I’m the one who wanted to keep things quiet. I know that. But seein’ that crap—seein’ him touch you and people eat it up—” He cut himself off, fists clenched at his sides. “It pissed me off.”
You searched his face. “Are you… mad at me?”
“What? No!” he snapped instantly, then softened. “Never at you.” He took a breath.
“…I just—” His voice dropped. “I don’t like feelin’ like I gotta pretend you’re not mine.”
Your heart skipped a beat.
He finally met your eyes, red gaze intense and honest.
“I wanna go public,” he said, blunt but uncertain. “I want people to know you’re with me. That we’re together. I don’t care what that brings anymore.” And after a second he added, “If you’re okay with that.”
You stared at him for a second, then smiled slowly. “You’re sure?”
“Tch. I wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t.” He looked away, ears faintly red. “Just… didn’t know how to bring it up without soundin’ jealous or possessive.”
You laughed softly and wrapped your arms around him. “You do sound alittle jealous,” you teased. “But I like it.”
“Shut up,” he muttered, but his arms came around you anyway, pulling you close. “Only ‘cause I care.”
synopsis . After losing your precious attention to his dorkier twin brother Toru (nerdjo), Sato (fratjo) decides to take matters into his own hands by corrupting his brother into being more like him. Unfortunately for him, Toru’s too strong willed to fall for his tricks and Sato ends up being the one with quite the personality switch by the end of the night.
content . afab!reader, more porn with plot, attempted corruption, praise, eventual threesome, Sato causes a slight scene, partying, possessiveness, jealousy, pervertedness, humiliation kink, filth, begging, a whiny Sato, whimpering, dry humping, confessions, panty fucking, teasing, tit play, obsession, reverse cowgirl, degrading, dom!reader at times, crying, dacryphilia, edging/orgasm denial, pet names, mentions of panty stealing, cock stepping, overstim, dirty talk, Sato has a pain kink, slapping, drama, voyeurism, alcohol, drunk sex, squirting, frat!kuna & frat!geto appearances, dom!nerdjo, oral sex, semi-public sex, etc.
word count . 10.8k | author's note: banner art by @/aransmind!! this is technically a part two of this, but they can be read separately. lil’ teasing surprise at the end btw, hope u enjoy! ;)
In your defense for a second time, he begged for it to happen.
Sato Gojo was never one to do that. He was much too prideful and egotistical to ever let a lowly please slip from his perfectly rosed lips. Especially not towards you.
You were a mere fling—albeit his favorite—a warm body to sleep next to on the coldest nights, and a damn good fuck for when he needed one. That’s all Sato swore you were to him. Nothing more, and absolutely nothing less.
So, why did it irk him so much to constantly see you paying attention to anyone that wasn’t him? To the point where he spends all his time begging for just a sliver of it for himself…
——
Simply put: Sato is an idiot.
One tall, stupidly handsome, and annoying charming idiot.
For him to have spent so many months playing around with you and your feelings while subconsciously neglecting his own has got to be the dumbest thing he’s ever done in his life. And to make matters alarmingly worse, it took his brother stepping into the picture for him to realize all this.
You and Toru had a relationship Sato could only ever dream of having with you.
Toru was polite and sweet, the picture perfect boyfriend without even being your boyfriend. He always listened to you, cared for you in ways no other had, and brought you to unimaginable heights of pleasure time and time again.
All things of which Sato had many opportunities to do for you in the past but failed on one too many occasions. The straw that broke the camel’s back in your relationship with the frat brother was his whole obsession and ordeal with wanting to make you squirt without putting in the true effort it took to get you there.
Now it had been months since that took place but the memory of it all still bothered Sato to no end.
Especially since he had to live with the results of his wrongdoings every day.
Toru would parade about the Gojo household with the happiest expressions on his face, beaming about the smallest things you said or did. The elder twin by six seconds had to hear his nerdier sibling giggling wee hours into the night whilst on the phone with you, taking up all your time and attention.
Sato tried to go back to the way things were with you and text or call you over like nothing ever happened, but you were slowly making it quite clear that things were over between you both.
The cherry on top of it all had to be the days Toru invited you over and you’d show up promptly—the two of you disappearing into that dork’s bedroom for hours upon hours.
On those days, Sato would have his ear pressed up against the singular wall between he and Toru’s bedrooms. He hated how nosy he’d become over the past few months but could you blame him? He missed how things were.
Like, really missed it.
The muffled sound of your voice alone was enough to prompt a twitch from in between Sato’s legs. Sure, he had other women he could call to help him take care of the arising issue but none of them were you.
Your chuckles at whatever yapping fact Toru gave to you was all it took to have Sato’s hips adjusting themself. He missed being the one making you laugh, even though it happened only so often—considering he used to focus on getting moans out of you instead of sounds of amusement.
So now here he was, pathetically longing for a woman who his brother treats ten times better than he ever could.
Sato knows he fucked up, he knows he should apologize and just try to be better.
And yet, he doesn’t at all work towards doing any of that.
Instead, the only thing he works up is a plan for himself. One of which he was so very sure would work out for him.
The night this plan comes to forition is one where he’s listening to the sounds of you and Toru ravishing one another.
From start to finish, Sato had his ear pressed firmly against the wall so he wouldn’t miss a sound.
You came in Toru’s room needier than normal, Sato could hear it in the way you spoke to his brother—how Toru would stammer on his words with the way you’d press your body against him.
Even though Sato couldn’t see what was happening, he had good enough ears to hear and then picture what was taking place rather vividly.
“I thought you said you had a surprise for me?” Toru had squawked as awkwardly as ever, his tone uneven due to his rising nervousness.
You were sitting on top of him with your arms wrapped around his neck and your tits pressed neatly into his firm chest. “I do.” You whispered, pressing another soft kiss into his lips.
He cutely tries to push himself closer for more as your mouth draws away from him seconds after but he just barely misses. Batting those pretty blue eyes up at you from behind his glasses, “But, you didn’t bring a bag with you or anything. What kinda surprise is it?”
“You’re holding it, silly,” You purred before moving past his face and then down, peppering kisses into his jawline and then down to his neck.
“O-Oh,” Toru gulped and the hands he had resting against your hips suddenly grip the fabric of your shirt—well, his shirt that you so politely stole from him a few weeks ago.
He told you that you could keep it since he thought you looked pretty in it but, truth be told, he knew if you returned the shirt to him it’d just end up stuffed against his nose while he wrapped his fingers around his cock and got off to the scent of you.
Toru was quite the pervert, after all.
Which is another thing the twins seem to have in common aside from dashing looks. Along with their mutual obsession with you.
The shirt on your body is carefully adjusted as Toru’s fingers slip beneath the fabric to brush against your bare skin, steadily trailing up. Your lips are still at his neck and the moment he feels your tongue dart out, his hips unconsciously roll up.
You feel his cock hardening beneath you and instantly rock forwards to create some friction between you both. “You’re my surprise?” Toru whispers out shakily as his body gets increasingly hot from your touches.
He feels your lips curve against his neck as you smile, “C’mon, I thought you were supposed to be the smart twin?” You teased.
To which he let off a short huff and rolled his eyes, “I am the smart twin.” He argued, “Just… not when it comes to uh, this stuff.”
At the sound of that, you pull back so that you could meet eyes with him. “Toru you’re literally the only guy who’s ever made me squirt,” You remind him rather bluntly, watching as crimson flushes over his cheeks. One of your hands lift to run through the smooth whites of his hair and his head leans back with your touch, blue eyes lowering. “If you want your surprise, you’ll have to find it.”
He bats his lashes up at you and you slowly watch as that hidden confidence of his takes over within his expression. “Always making me work for things, huh?” Toru puffs.
Then, before you can quite respond, the grip he has on you tightens and he lifts you up in one fell swoop.
“Toru!” You gasp, trying to keep your legs wrapped around him for support as you go up into the air.
You’re tossed down onto the plush of his bed seconds later as if you didn’t weigh a thing and he makes you watch him drag his shirt up over his head flawlessly. And there it is again, those clean cut lines ‘n creases that are so perfectly bulked at his torso—all tight and defined in a way that damn sure doesn’t match the dorkish look he carries on his face all the time.
You’ve laid eyes on his abs more times than you can count by now but every time your brain stutters to process the sight. Where Sato was bulky in ways that he often showed off, Toru seemed to have this sleeper build that he kept hidden to most.
The details of your relationship was never clear—and it didn’t have to be—but he was only showing you this side of him.
His hands tenderly move to your legs and he pushes them apart to make room for himself. Slotting in between and hovering over you with his arms caging your head, “I thought about you all day, y’know,” Toru whispers. “Then you come over with a surprise for me. Do you even realize what that does to me?”
His eyes are hungry on yours, heavy hips slowly rolling down so you can feel the answer to his question through the weighty hardness of his dick. It’s already bulging against his sweats, leaking from the swollen pinkened head and waiting for even more of your attention.
Part of him worried that by the time he found this little surprise of yours, he’d have already came in his pants.
That happened rather often with you too. After crushing on you from afar for so long, it took him some time to adjust to having you in real life instead of in those nasty fantasies he had of you before.
Toru’s hand shuffles down in between your bodies to tug your (his) shirt up off of you, leaning back and then gaping at what lays beneath.
There’s a nasty dribble of precum building up against his tip in reaction to the sight of lacy blue hugging your tits. Your surprise for him was nothing more than lingerie in his favorite shade of blue.
“You spoil me,” He whispers, working that shirt further up and soon completely off your body.
Then he leans down to kiss at all your exposed skin before you could even respond. His lips were a wet mess against your neck, slipping down to your collarbone and leaving a slick trail of hickeys and love bites to silently claim you as his own.
He’d never tell you but he often tried to leave marks on you just for his twin brother to see. Toru wanted nothing more than for Sato to be jealous of his newfound relationship with you.
Especially since you told him that Sato was never allowed to leave such things across your body before. It was yet another thing that made Toru feel like he was the favored Gojo sibling.
Whether or not that was true remained unknown.
His kisses eventually met your collarbones as his hands tugged your bottoms down. Then his eyes flicked into that direction and he nearly came at the sinful reveal below him. The lingerie set you wore was a picture of perfection in his eyes.
It complimented your skin tone, highlighted your very best features, and made his cock twitch stupidly in excitement.
The exhale that falls from Toru’s lips sounded nothing short of feral, his brows twisting up as a soft whine from his throat follows shortly after.
He runs his fingers over the lace of your panties, tracing the delicate edges and shifting his positioning so that his hips could be flush with yours—his leaking bulge sneaking closer to press against your pussy lips.
Toru's always had an obsession with your panties. Even before when you were wrapped up in his asshole of a brother, he always found a pair of your panties lingering around somewhere in his room. You were unaware of it, of course, but the Gojo twins had been quite the panty thief for some time now.
Hooking a finger under your current pair, Toru draws an upward pull from the fabric and watches as it snugs against your cunt, creating the cutest outline as your puffy lips soak the lace.
“Fuck, that's hot,” He grunts as his brows twist up.
Then his hand leaves your body for a few seconds to remove the rest of his clothing, tugging his cock out and letting it hover over your pussy whilst you remained clad in your surprise set.
“Toru,” You murmured all pliantly.
His pupils nearly dilated from the sound alone, flying up to your face as he wrapped a hand around his cock. Toru stroked himself a couple times to your expression before he looked back down and furrowed his eyebrows.
This was a thing he did constantly whenever he focused on something. It was something you found oh-so-cute. You loved watching his lips push out ever so slightly as he let his attention fixate on something.
“I’m sure this was expensive,” He husked out, running a thick thumb down the center of your panties and noting how your hips faintly lift as if to guide his touch to where you want him.
The gesture makes his lips twitch.
Then he slowly tips his head to the side, “I don’t wanna ruin it.” Toru tells you while inching his bobbing cock forward. The feeling of his plump head glossing against your folds makes you flinch, “But I do wanna appreciate it—and you—properly.”
Toru takes his dick into his hands and swabs the tip up and down your slit, purposefully grinding forward whenever he gets up to your clit just to tease you. You let off a string of breathy moans in reaction and a dopey grin sprawls out at his lips.
Slowly, Toru lifts his cock and then slaps it back down against your cunt with soft taps, listening to the cute squelch that shyly rings out as he does so. You feel his stout head flick across your clit, swatting against the throbbing bundle of nerves just to earn more eager sounds out of your throat.
"Is this your way of appreciating both? By teasing me?" You ask with a pout tugged out across your lips.
Your words seem to go through one ear and out the other due to Toru's incapability of focusing on multiple things at once. It's hard when you're prettily soaking up a set you purchased and wore just for him. How is he meant to think straight at all?
Part of him wants to find a way to brag about this to his brother later but he knows he's too shy and humble to ever go do such a thing. At first glare from Sato, Toru would clam back up and probably forget about this whole thing.
The sound of his name being whispered and a hand poking at his leaky tip makes him snap out of his selfish thoughts, gaze finally rising to your face again. "H-Huh?" Toru squeaks.
You let your finger round his cockhead, collecting the precum that's resting there before moving your hand further down his length and adjusting your hips, "You zoned out on me. Do you not like—"
"I do," He cuts off, body relaxing under your touch as he sighs. The nerve of you to lay there and try to suggest something like that as if he wasn't seconds away from cumming on that gorgeous ass set of yours! "Sorry, I was uhm.. I was thinking about bragging about this to my brother."
"There won't be much to brag about if you keep that up." You huff.
His cock rudely slaps at your pussy, "Like hell there won't."
Happy to have him focused again, you smile up at the man and then watch as he hooks a long finger under the fabric of your panties—tugging them over to the side to reveal your soppy cunt. Toru gulps as if he hadn't seen it multiple times prior to this, letting the thick of his thumb greet your clit with a languid little roll.
You moan and he compliments that by taking his free hand to gather the rest of his cock into his palm, pushing forward and poking at your entrance just to feel how you throb around him. The feeling spurs him into teasing you more so he pulls your panties up and then thrusts.
A heightened gasp rings out of your mouth at the mean feel of nothing entering you. Toru had thrusted himself against your pussy instead of in, releasing the fabric he'd pulled to the side and instead moving his hands to your thighs to sprawl them further open.
"What are you-," Your words fall flat as you watch him—his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose a bit before his expression contorted into something purely sinful.
His cock slid back and forth against your folds, your slick having wet up everything in the area. Toru got breathy within a matter of seconds whilst you began to whine for him to slip inside you.
Ignoring you, he uses one of his hands to adjust your panties and pull it over his tip, quickly fucking himself into the fabric. You feel the weight of his shaft gliding over your clit in dizzying motions, every trailing vein felt twitching over you. The width of his dick causes your folds to sloppily part around him as his grinding causes a nasty slosh of arousal to echo out from in between the two of you.
"I told you," Toru pants, angling himself down closer to you. "I don't wanna ruin this since I know it's-, hahh, fuck... expensive." With his explanation comes a heavier roll of his hips and your face twists up with how stupidly good his cock feels teasing you.
"Then fuck me in it," You demand rather brattily. This attitude of yours wasn't one he was unfamiliar with. Hell, he's learned how to deal with it quite well over time.
Scoffing as his tone leaves with notable sarcasm, "That's not fair to the lingerie," Toru argues with a smirk on his face, his breath hitching at your pussy idly throbbing around nothing. It was almost dizzying how he could feel everything without being in you, "A-And I cum inside you all the time... Maybe it'd be good for me to cum on this instead."
You pout, "But-"
Toru cuts you off by rutting his cock back 'n forth more methodically, letting its heaviness bump up against and around your clit. Putting on this innocent-like tone, "Doesn't that feel good?" he asks.
You try not to roll your eyes from not getting exactly what you want, "Yes, but-"
"Then hush," He coos, hip bucking forward and causing his tip to get caught on the soiled fabric, more of your combined juices spilling out through it. "Jus' focus on how it feels, nothing more."
"Toru," You whine in protest.
He ignores the sound—just barely—and quickly moves his hand to push his glasses up on his face, "Fuck, you're so wet." Toru points out in tandem with being able to see things more clearly. "Makin' it so easy to slide against you."
Then you glance down and nearly drool at the sight. The head of his cock is evenly flushed over with glazed shades of pink, filthily slathered in slick 'n cum, and sticking out against your panties.
When he tugs his hips back, you nibble on your bottom lip to conceal yet another moan. The draaaag of his cock is what had you all tense with pleasure. It almost felt like he was truly fucking you and yet he hadn't even put his tip inside.
You adored the intimacy you found with Toru. Whenever you really wanted him to fuck you, he would. But after dealing with his asshole of a brother who only ever fucked you—you think you quite relish in this side of sex.
Even though you know Toru only does this because he gets off on teasing you like crazy. Hell, he ends up cumming within the next few minutes just from fucking your panties while your spread pussy glosses him up with every thrust.
It was such a nasty sight too. Toru lost his breath entirely somewhere between his thrusting, his hips unconsciously bucking forward whilst he struggled to keep your panties in place so he could watch his cock slip 'n slide against it, catching how the expensive fabric streeetched out until it eventually ripped with a loud cloth-like tear.
You had gasped at the sound and he tried to quickly distract you with kisses, his tongue slotting in between your lips before he double downed with his distraction and angled his cock down into you. You both had made enough of a mess for him to slip right in.
Then a broken gasp of your name was hushed out against your lips in a searing pant, his eyes rolling back and his glasses falling off entirely just to land on your face. You managed to snicker at feeling them, moving your hands to cup his cheeks into your palms, and then helping to put his eyewear back on.
"Hold them f'me," He hushed out just as his tip met the back of your cunt with a greedy smooch!
You kept your hands in place, fingers a bit shaky while he began to finally fuck you properly. The fabric of your lingerie was well tattered against your thighs now—soiled with a mix of obscenity—but neither of you really cared at the moment.
His cock was doused in his own cum, easily bucking another load into your sweetly clenched pussy as he whispered soft praises into your lips. All while you held his glasses against his face to stop them from falling again—loving the way they fogged up whenever his thrusts became especially erratic.
Meanwhile, Sato was a mess within his room. Because of all the whispered conversation, he could barely hear what was going on. His ears caught a moan or two but that—unfortunately—wasn't enough to get him off. By the time you and Toru finish up in there, Sato's left blue-balled 'n uncomfortable.
He thinks he caught the gist of what happened but he's not entirely sure, which pissed him off to no end.
So that plan of his from earlier? The one that he almost called it quits on, yeah, it's coming back in motion with full force.
——
It's simple too.
All he wants to do is drag that dorky brother of his to a couple parties and possibly get him to harp over someone else-, hell, anyone that's not you for once. And hopefully, this'll work long enough for Sato to steal a moment with you.
He could barely remember the last time he had a proper conversation with you up until he runs into you one weekend.
You're over at the Gojo estate for the hundredth time and he manages to catch you alone in the kitchen.
He spots you digging through the fridge as he's just coming out the pantry, his entire posture stiffening up at the mere sight of you. For a split second, he debates on turning around and ducking back into the pantry before you spot him.
Which... is weird considering he's never felt such a shy instinct gnaw at him like this before. It's just you, the same woman he's charmed time and time again. Surely not that much has changed between the two of y—
Your eyes suddenly land on him and he feels his heart sink to his ass as if he'd been caught doing something he had no business doing. You cock a brow his way, letting your gaze flock up and down his body to size him and his uncharacteristically awkward posture up. Him and his brother really shared more traits than either of them realized.
Whatever snack he had in his hands begin to slip and he fumbles with the item for a moment, causing you to snort as you look off to save him from further embarrassment. You're hardly sure why you do that, considering all the heartache he'd given you in the past.
Clearing his throat, "Didn't know you were here already, sorry." Sato says, the naturally suaveness of his tone highlighting the few differences between he and his brother. The levels of confidence between the two was hardly comparable, no matter how bumbling Sato seemed to be around you now.
You shrug, "I've been here for an hour. Toru's in the study and I figured I'd grab something to eat." Part of you wanted to add how if you knew he was in here too, you probably would've gone hungry for a little longer. "I'm surprised you're here and not at a party or something."
His eyes widen a little at that before he blurts out, "That was a lie, by the way."
"Huh?" You blink.
"What I said," His hand moves to the scratch the back of his neck—another thing the twins do when nervous—and he sighs, "I knew you were here, I dunno why I said I didn't. I was even hoping to talk to you."
Sato steps closer and you instinctively step back, to which his heart reacts weirdly. It was almost like you'd silently rejected him just now. Something of which he really wasn't used to.
Folding your arms, "Talk to me about what?" you ask.
Your body language around him now was entirely different than what he remembered it to be last. The distance between you two, how you looked at him as if you carried no more interest in him, and even the careful way in which you carried yourself in his presence. He felt like a stranger to you—while standing in his own home!
"There's uh," Shit, his words weren't even leaving him like they normally do. He never used to have this many verbal pauses around anyone. "There's this party—which is funny since you just mentioned me being at one—and I.. Well, I wanted to see if you and Toru would come."
You weren't buying that one bit. Humming, "Oh." before your brows furrow and your eyes run over his face suspiciously, "You don't normally invite Toru to parties. Actually, I don't think you've ever invited him to one."
Sato shrugs, "Maybe I'm trying something new." When he sees the roll of your eyes that earns, he lets out a sigh, "And I have invited him to parties before, he just doesn't like going to them."
"So why are you trying to get him to go now?" You press.
"'Cause I know you can help me convince him to come," He fires right back.
To which you take slight offense, "Ah, so you're using me." you scoff, "Again."
"N-No, shit, wait. That's not what I'm doing." Sato emphasizes while stepping closer again, noticing how you don't move back this time. "I just think it would be good for him to get out some more, I've always thought that. And before you, I never had anyone or anything to help me convince him to see that."
You're not entirely sure you're convinced here but, you go along with it, "Right..." Then you keep your brow raised and don't let him think for a second that you're not still skeptical of the whole thing. "Well that still doesn't change the fact that he doesn't like parties, like you said."
"He might if he gave them a chance," Sato suggests, "Especially one with me. You'd know that better than anyone else."
You look off to the side at that. He wasn't wrong there, you were one of the main people he used to drag to every party he could get into; having you on his arm for a good half of it until he got distracted by one of his frat brothers or even some other chick.
"I guess." You concede softly.
Sato smiles, "See? And I promise to keep an eye on him, make sure nobody drags him into anything stupid. He is my brother, after all."
You should've known better than to trust him when he said that but—if you were being honest with yourself here—Sato seemed pretty sincere, "Fine. I'll ask him"
"Thank you," He beams after, genuine appreciation gleaming through his eyes as he stares down at you.
Though, you felt as though that was less about your agreement and more about the proximity. Which is ultimately why you pull yourself away and quickly make you way out of the kitchen.
For your first conversation with him in months, it didn't go nearly as bad as either of you thought it might've.
——
And luckily for Sato, things work out perfectly.
When he went to tell his brother the details of the party they'd be attending, Toru didn't seem too put off by the idea like he had been in the past. In fact, by the time said party comes about, things go quite according to plan for Sato.
Loudly thumping music had the frat house walls rattling, the base hitting hard enough for you to feel it all throughout your body as you walked in. It was quite the cliche but you didn't mind it much, considering this used to be your usual weekend scene. Plastic red cups could be spotted in every other pair of hands, bodies were rolling against one another, and you could hear the distant sounds of excited shouting over the music.
You were loosely holding Toru's hand as the two of you walked in together, feeling his fingers tighten against you due to the number of people gathered about. His hold only seemed to loosen when Sato spotted the two of you and came walking over with his usual shit-eating grin plastered across his face.
"See? S'not that bad, is it?" He greets loudly, swiftly moving to Toru's free side and slinging an arm over the man's shoulder to tug him closer.
Toru's body is shuffled into his older brother's, having to move a hand to stop his glasses from going all crooked against his face. Clearing his throat whilst his eyes nervously fly around the party, "There's uhm, there's a lot of people here."
Sato snorts, "Astute observation, four eyes." he teases before pulling him further to steer him deeper into the room.
Just as Toru gets his glasses properly adjusted on his face, he feels heat flush into his cheeks at the sight of heads turning their way. The reason why he doesn't like coming to parties—especially with his brother—is quickly highlighted for him again.
An assortment of reactions fly out from different people as they look at the two twins together. The sound of someone saying, "No way there's two of them," almost makes you snort as you keep close behind them, letting the siblings bask in the oncoming attention from partygoers.
Before you realize it, there's a mild crowd forming near and around the two of them. You recognize a few faces—courtesy of being here with Sato so many times before—and send a wave out to some. Amid the excitement, you manage to catch a great deal of questions flying their way.
'Sato when did you start wearing glasses?' Directed at Toru jokingly. 'Are you two actually twins?' Asked to the both of them, as if their identical looks were a mere coincidence or something. 'Where have you been hiding all this time?' Toru receives that one and even though you can't see it, you could vividly picture how that makes him blush.
The final question you hear before walking off is an idiotic one of, 'Which one's which?'
God, it was chaotic.
So much so that you end up slipping back as that crowd grows larger, a sense of fondness stirring up in your chest since you'd had your fair share of the both of them before anyone else here. That, and the general feel of the party reminded you once more that you used to be dead center at these events with Sato every other weekend.
Which is exactly why you knew how to slip away easily.
Someone hands you a drink as you scope out the rest of the scene, you laugh at jokes made as you walk between people, and ultimately allow the party to wrap itself around you completely.
——
The party wasn't bad at all for you or the twins. Hell, you might even say it went perfectly.
Or, it was going perfectly. Y'know, until you made the mistake of running into Geto and Sukuna in the kitchen.
You were standing in between the two catching up on things that'd happened since the last time you'd seen them, pretending not to notice how they both looked at you. Fairly enough, back when Sato used to drag you here, the two knew better than to set their eyes on you the way they were right now.
But, since it had been so long, they'd forgotten all about that.
Geto was the closest to you, his head all tilted as he watched every word slip past your alcohol-slicked lips. Meanwhile Sukuna was on the other side keeping his husky voice low and greedy eyes lazy as they trailed down your figure.
You could feel the tension between the three of you building but, whether or not you wanted to go somewhere with it was unknown to you.
Meanwhile, a pair of annoyed azure eyes bored over the three of you. The sounds of surrounding people dulled out in Sato's ears as he watched from a distance, feeling his jaw unconsciously tighten whenever Sukuna's arm would brush over yours or whenever you laughed at something Geto said.
It only pissed him off even more to see you allowed the two to be all over you like that.
Seeing that happen with Toru was one thing—at least he and Sato shared the same face—but those two? Yeah, that wasn't sitting right in his heart at all.
Shit, it was almost worse.
Before he even realizes what he's doing, Sato tosses his head back to down the rest of the drink in his cup and then taps at his brother's arm. "Hey, you remember that one game I told you about?" He asks, taking his eyes off of you for a second, "The card game?"
Toru blinks innocently, "The probability one..?"
Sato nods, "Yeah.. Yeah, that one," He doesn't even remember himself. But, if this would serve as a distraction decent enough for him to sneak away from his brother to stop whatever the hell was going on between you and his friends, then fuck it. Snapping his fingers, "These guys over here were just asking me about it but I think you should explain. Since you're better at explaining things than me, y'know?"
Poor eager-to-help Toru looks towards the people Sato was referring to and shrugs, "Uh, yeah. I-I can do that." He stammers as he notices the curious eyes on him. He swallows thickly, "So, the concept is fairly simply. First—"
Anything that's said after that falls on non-listening ears as Sato takes that as his chance to slip away.
He weaves through people, offering half-smiles to those who try and stop him, managing to grab another drink on his way, and eventually making his way towards what really mattered: you.
By the time he gets there, Geto's mid-sentence with you while Sukuna had managed to get a hand onto the small of your back. That ticks Sato clean off.
He doesn't even say anything to either of the men as he pushes past Sukuna and snatches at your arm, tugging you along and causing your feet to stumble against the floor. Your eyes go wide and you shoot curses his way but, he wasn't hearing—nor caring for—any of them.
Sato hauls you all the way upstairs, unknowingly being watched from his twinning pair of eyes as he does so.
His hand on your arm is gripping enough to pain you and despite your half-attempts at pulling away from him, you end up shoved into a room anyway.
The door slams and he pants heavily as he struggles to get a grasp at his own emotions. You're collecting yourself after being flung so easily into the room, straightening up where you stand and scoffing at the sheer audacity of this man.
“Sato, what the hell is wrong with you? I was in the middle of-,” When you turn around, all the words on your tongue seem to die out entirely.
In all your years of living and in all your time of knowing Sato Gojo, never could you have expected to see him down on his knees and peering up at you like a desperate puppy. Pouting rather cutely and letting his hand snake up behind your leg, “Please.” he whispers shortly.
You blink. Then you look around for a bit, trying to decipher whether or not this was something your drunken brain had come up with or if it was real. “Please… what?”
His head tilts and the dim lighting in the room catches against his blue eyes, a soft look noticeable in them now. “Touch me,” Sato continues, pout deepening as he shuffles forwards on his knees. “Look at me, yell at me, give me your attention—something.”
“Are you okay?” You ask with genuine curiosity. It was weird to see him like this all of a sudden. “You’ve been acting strange all night and then you pull me in here for this?”
Ah, so you'd noticed it? You noticed how he couldn't keep his eyes off of you, how he kept steering his brother in the opposite direction of you, and how your talking to Geto and Sukuna drove him absolutely insane?
Sato’s close enough now that his head ends up resting against your thigh and he nuzzles his face into your skin, “You don’t get it.” He insists, “I will do whatever you want-, whatever it takes to get your attention back on me instead of—“
“Toru?” You finish for him.
His jaw tenses as he grits his teeth, “Yeah. Anything it takes to bring you back to me.”
You fall silent for a moment long enough to worry him.
Then, he watches your hand lift in slow motion and his heart-rate spikes immediately. You go to flick that stupid backwards hat of his off the top of his head, hearing it hit the floor with a light little thump, and then thread your fingers through his hair. A shiver runs up his spine and his lashes begin to bat up at you.
Fuck, it'd been so long since he felt your touch that he was on the verge of embarrassing himself even more soon.
Your touch sinks deeper into his hair before you shift your hand down to his face, and eventually his jaw. Cupping it in your palm, you force his head up and tug him closer—still keeping him on his knees—and flash this look at him that makes his cock jump.
He’d never seen you gaze at him so hungrily before. Needy? Sure, plenty of times. But hungry-, starved? Now that was something different.
“…Anything?” You whispered before you drew that plastic red cup of yours up to your mouth and took a slow swig of your drink.
With the way things had been going on this fine night, you were starting to wonder if you were being greedy. Had he not dragged you up here like this, you might've ended up in a new bed with new people...
Sato gulped in tandem with your steady sips. His eyes fawning up at you all doe-like, “Y-Yeah, anything.”
He’d never been on to stutter. Hell, he’s never even been on his knees like this for anyone and yet here he was. But if he had to watch Sukuna and Suguru—of all people—lounge around in your attention any longer than he just did moments ago, he might’ve lost his mind entirely.
Your hand leaves his face and his breath hitches at the loss. “Lean back a bit, Sato.” You direct, watching as he instantly angles his torso back enough for you to see his entire frame below you.
Your body was buzzing from the alcohol and you don't think you ever would've acted on these thoughts of yours had you been sober.
Letting your gaze saunter down his body until it lands on his parted legs, your foot already in between them, the sight thrusts an idea into your head and you end up smiling down at him almost wickedly.
“Now spread,” You hum with a subtle nod of your chin.
His cock twitches again. Then he’s sprawling his legs out further as blush decorates his cheeks. “Like.. like this?” Sato mumbles.
Fuck, he was so embarrassed right now. Why did he do this? Why was he doing this?
Noticing your expression, his answer becomes quite clear.
“Just like that, good boy.” You praise before lifting your leg and soon nudging at his crotch with the tip of your foot—poking the bulge that’d revealed itself there. “I kinda like you like this, y’know.”
He gulps again, trying his damndest to ignore the way precum drooled out of his plump cockhead in reaction to your foot, “Do you?”
You nod, "Mhm. Had I known you were dragging me up here for this, I would've came along willingly."
Sato nearly moans at that. It revealed to him that you somewhat still cared for him, albeit in a sexual context.
You apply some more pressure onto his dick and watch his entire expression break out as he gasps. Then he hunches forward and grabs onto your leg as if to beg for mercy or something, grunting a searingly low, "Fuck."
Moving your gaze further down, you see how cute his cock looks all hard 'n smushed up against his thigh, twitching beneath your foot like he craved more. You wonder faintly if you're being too mean to him with this but, with the way he's breathing against your leg and holding onto you for dear life, you quickly realize he likes it.
You reel your foot back for a few seconds before stepping down harder, causing him to straight up whimper at how deliciously that pains him.
Flipping his head up to look at you with glossy eyes, "More," Sato moans. Then he's rutting his hips and your foot slips down off his crotch. To which he follows by humping your leg.
That seems to catch you by surprise with the way your hand grabs onto his hair and you tug at his head, "Hey, did I say you could do that?"
Something pathetic wisps out of his lungs and he shakes his head, "No, fuck.. m'sorry." He mumbles.
Then he shuffles back again and lets you return your foot to his cock, looking down to watch how you rub against his bulge.
"Don't touch it either, jus' watch." You order rather cruelly. Something burning coils up in his abdomen, perhaps a hungry need to buck his hips up and meet the friction you were so graciously gifting him with.
Sato nods his head obediently and then leans back further so that you could better watch how you were stepping on his cock. His mind feels muddled. He wanted your attention but, he didn't realize he wanted it this badly—to the point where he was letting you treat him like this.
Your foot taps at the head of his dick and he flinches cutely, simpering a whine out from his tongue.
"Aw, that's adorable." You comment with a smile on your face, "Did you always want me to do this to you or are you only like this because I forgot about you for all that time?"
His eyes are hazy as they meet yours and you can tell there's hardly a thought running through that unfairly pretty head of his. "...Both?" He heaves out. The pressure against his cock increases again and his eyes start rolling back, hips unconsciously moving to grind up against your foot. "Ah, f-fuck.." Sato whispers helplessly.
His swollen cock was relishing in the weight that pressed against it, tip sticking to the fabric of his boxers and even beginning to seep through with the liquids as he began to move. The rest of his body felt hot and his mind was taut with sin, drool steadily building up against his lips.
You let your foot smack at his length all meanly and Sato swears he came for a second based on what nearly spurted out of his tip.
Those slightly soaked lashes flutter up at you, his pout deepening as his muscles flex from tension, "M'gonna cum," He warns.
You promptly snatch your foot away and roll your eyes at him, “No you aren’t.”
Oh, at the level of depravity he'd reached, he almost got on all fours to crawl after you as you stepped back instead of further on him.
The only thing that stopped him from doing so was a gentle gesture from your fingers, beckoning him to get up on his feet. He shuffles up messily and you notice the wet spot on his pants where his cockhead is proudly poking at.
Creeping near him again, your smile widens as you lift your eyes up, “How much did you miss me, Sato?”
So much so that his body is burning with the desire to touch you right now...
Not that he says that, though.
Sato's tone is a little breathless from his near orgasm but, he still manages to speak without stuttering. Which should count for something considering how desperate he's gotten. “I almost came from you stepping on my cock, how much do you think?” He huffs sassily.
You slap him.
You don’t know if it was the alcohol resting in your system or simply the heat of the moment but, your hand had flown across his face faster than you could think. You didn’t much care for his sass, especially since you’d spent far too long letting him talk to you and treat you however he wanted.
Sato blinks and stares off into that direction, baffled by the pain sitting on his cheek and the quiver it earned from his dick. He doesn’t even realize he whined as if aroused until his eyes fall on you again.
You look surprised at yourself but then he sees how you’re scrunching your brows at him.
It’s then that Sato realizes he’s smirking at you, his head spinning with the most lustful ideas before he stalks closer to you. “Please,” He nearly groans, “Do that again?”
“What?” You gape. “N-No, I didn’t even mean to—“
“I don’t care,” Sato cuts off. “Slap me again. I-I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that, I forgot my place.”
“Your place? What? I—“
“Here,” He drops to his knees again with a heavy thud. “My place is here, remember?”
No, you don’t remember at all. Is he acting like this because of a few minutes ago or has he really gone this crazy? Did all that time truly get him this bad? This desperate for you?
“I’m sorry,” Sato whines, reaching for your hand to pull it to his mouth so he can kiss across your knuckles. “M’so sorry for how I treated you before—how shitty I was.”
“Sato, i-it’s fine, I…” You trail off because of how submissive he looks kissing your fingers as if it’s the only thing keeping him sane. "I didn't even mean to hit you... I just..." Then something clicks in your brain.
His eyes flock up but he doesn’t get long to process why your words had trailed off. The same fingers he was kissing end up in his mouth within only a few seconds.
He groans against your hand and sucks dearly, nodding his head as if to coax you into continuing. “M-Mhmm..” Sato hums.
“God, you're pathetic,” You hum.
He's so hard he feels like he's gonna pass out.
Your fingertips plummet into his mouth, tapping at the back of his tongue. “Sucking on my fingers like this, letting me step on your cock, liking it when I slapped you...” You lean down all of a sudden and his eyes get wide, “Jerking off to the sounds of your brother fucking me…”
Sato feels dizzy now. He wants to pull his mouth away and protest—tell you that it’s not true, that he’s never done that before—but he knows he can’t. He wouldn’t be able to breathe a lie into your direction. Not like this.
So when you take your fingers out his mouth and grab his face to tug his head up again, he thinks his brain turned off entirely.
“How... How do you know about that?" He asks hoarsely.
You slowly lean down to him and shrug, "I heard you moaning my name out one time."
Surprise colors itself into his eyes before he looks away. You tilt your head into that direction and then force him to look at you one more time, inching in fully to catch him by surprise as you kiss him.
His previously turned-off brain comes to life at the feel of your lips against his. The familiarity in which your mouth moves with his is enough to bring him up to his feet again, his hand quick to meet your waist and then pull you in.
“I missed you so fuckin’ much,” Sato sears into your mouth, nipping at your bottom lip before his tongue dives in. “M’sorry for bein’ so stupid, let me make it up to you. Please?”
Who were you to say no to such a thing?
It’s only natural that you indulge in his wishes since it’d been so long.
But, by the time you both tear one another’s clothes off and he’s one layer away from a face full of your pussy—the door to the room you’re in swings open.
Your legs clamp around Sato’s face in reaction and you hear him groan frustratedly.
Standing at the door with a face flushed from alcohol consumption is Toru, who’s wearing the same expression Sato was earlier when he saw you with Geto and Sukuna.
Scoffing, the man steps into the room fully and kicks the door shut behind him. The sound of it locking clicks throughout the air seconds after.
Sato opens his mouth to say something—hoping to protest his twin brother joining in on this, but getting cut off by the glare that’s sent his way from behind perfectly clean frames.
A low, “Move over.” husks past Toru’s lips as he stems closer to the bed and soon into it.
Your legs get stretched further apart and you’re looking at the Gojo twins settle themselves in between them before you have a moment to understand what was going on.
“Tch.” Sato grits out as he's rudely nudged to the side.
"Don't tch me, you can share." Toru argues half-drunkenly, elbowing him slightly.
His older twin has a scowl pressed onto his face now, "Didn't wanna share."
"Cry about it, loser."
"Hey, quit calling me that."
"You've been up here for like thirty minutes 'n still haven't gotten her to squirt," Toru sounded disappointed. "Are you sure you're even a part of the Gojo family?"
Sato quickly takes offense to that—the two of them wrapped up in their bickering and forgetting about you for a moment. "Excuse me? I was the first born, dipshit. M'older than you."
"By six seconds."
"Still older-"
"Hey." You huff, instantly earning both of their eyes back on you. "Less talking and more makin' me feel good, yeah?"
"Yes ma'am," The two breathe out in sync, quickly getting to work.
Toru's mouth latches onto your inner thigh again while Sato goes straight for your cunt—greedy, like always. He ignores your panties being in the way and suckles your taste onto his tongue while tugging the fabric into his mouth.
You felt teeth against your thigh as Toru bit at you here and there, tickling your skin with his tongue afterwords. All while Sato makes his oral muscle quite familiar with the your prettily twitching pussy, salivating against it to let the liquid mix in with the slick collecting against your panties.
Things started out slow between the two of you but got nasty very quickly.
They could only kiss 'n nip at you for so long until Toru looked over and got impatient just from watching the technique his dummy of a brother used to tease you. Palming the side of his twin's face, he shoved him over to the side even more and then scoffed again.
"Lemme show you a thing or two," Toru sighed heavily, moving his hands to your panties and then quickly riiiiiping the fabric that still hugged your cunt. As you're revealed to him, he lets out a sound of relief and greets your lathering folds with a soft kiss. Whispering, "Hey baby. Mmph, miss me?"
When his tongue rolls out his mouth, it's instantaneous how your back begins to arch up. Sato notices it and feels a pang in his chest. He doesn't know why he can't seem to do that with the same ease as his younger sibling.
"Mmnh, Toru!" Then came that gorgeous moan of yours, having the nerve to utter his brother's name as if he hadn't been in the room for much longer so far.
Was he really that bad at making you feel good? Or was there just some sort of bias for the nerd who's currently mumbling filth into your pussy and only ever reeling back to shoot a thick glob of spit onto you?
Having grown tired of not being enough for you, Sato decides to force himself back into the equation by snaking his hand up towards your pulsing hole the moment he sees Toru's tongue glissading up to your clitoral hood—the tip of it catching there before he swats at it.
You're pleasantly surprised to feel two lengthy fingers thrust past that stubborn lil' ring of resistance, spurring a sloppy squelch out in reaction.
Toru's making out with your clit as if he'd never done it before, his tongue clumsily dragging shapes out into it while Sato curls his digits into you. Splatters of your slick fly out onto the both of their faces and you're shamelessly letting your moans fill the room.
It's not long before a gloss of your cum is decorating Sato's entire hand and the lower half of Toru's face. Having both of them work you over the edge was an experience like no other.
Toru lifts his face to spit on his thumb next, moving it to your clit again and swirling his saliva around it as he spells something out. You could just barely make out the letters of their family name being rubbed into you.
“Here, she tastes sweeter when you do this,” Toru instructed in a sultry whisper as he rubs at your clit in sync with Sato’s mouth soon latching onto your slobbering hole.
“Mmgh,” Sato ends up moaning as if heaven itself had just spilled out onto his tongue.
To which his twin tilts his head in awe and then smiles, “Sweet, right?”
“S’fuckin’ sweet,” Sato grumbles, his hips idly rocking against the lower end of the bed for some sort of relief. Adding a low, “Why didn’t I do this before?”
Toru scoffs, “Cause you’re an idiot.”
“Mmph.” Is grumped into you just before you feel Sato pouting against your pussy.
Your puffy lips smear out against his own, leaving a gushing trail against the lower half of his face with the way Toru's insistent thumb never let up on your overstimulated bud.
Even as your legs began to shake, both of their hands had you pinned to the bed as they selfishly got their lusting tastebuds full off of the honeyed slick that continuously oozed out of you.
Sato let his tongue smack at your quivering hole a few times in between his slithering thrusts back in, the thick tip of his tongue grinding against your soft walls to coax more of your juices out.
All as Toru watches and steadily grew proud of his brother for finally using his brain for once. Then he looked up at you and kept his thumb in place as he began to move up. Soon enough, his mouth was meeting yours to let you taste yourself in a smearing kiss.
You had one hand wrapped around Toru to keep him close and the other gripped onto Sato's messier head of hair as his mouth mumbled praises into your pussy.
Your body was quickly being worshiped by the twins as if nothing else could keep them sane. Sato wouldn't let up on your pretty cunt no matter how many times you whined for a break and Toru had made his way to your tits, sucking your perked nipples into his mouth and letting his tongue round the buds in eager fashion.
At the rate they were going, you just knew you'd end up entirely fucked-out sooner rather than later...
"See? If you wanted to make her squirt so bad, all you had to do was work her up to it." Toru says right after popping his slathered mouth off of your swollen nipple, rolling it in between his fingers as he glances down at his pussydrunk twin.
"I can," Sato pants all of a sudden, prying his mouth off of you for the first time in forever, and then looking up at you, "Please let me try again. I can do it this time, I-I'll be patient for it, I'll cater to you, please."
With glossed over eyes, you just barely manage to peer down at the desperate man in between your legs. "You're so cute when you beg," You snicker breathlessly, "C'mere, Sato."
...Was he dreaming? Were you really about to give him another chance?
——
In short, yes!
But, not in the way he'd exactly hoped for.
See, what Sato wanted most was to bring you to that level of pleasure and see the look on your face when it happens.
So when he finds himself dumbly splayed out under you as you ride him in reverse, he's all but frowning grumpily since he can't see a single expression on your face.
He misses how your eyes roll back when you first ease your weepy pussy down onto the erect standing of his cock, how you bite down on your lower kiss-bitten lip to conceal a needy lil' whimper, and how pleasure washes over you completely as the swollen lips of our cunt come flush with his deftly standing base.
The only thing Sato gets to see is the gorgeous arch in your back and the rhythmic recoil 'n slap of your ass while you bounce up and down expertly. His hands are anchored to your hips as his jaw flails open, drool trickled all down his jawline and dripping onto his abs filthily.
It was rare that he let you ride him in the past. The reasoning behind it being the simple fact that he could never handle it!
"O-Ohhh fuck.." Sato groaned out into the air with his head cleanly tossed back.
Your walls were meanly gripping around his aching shaft, causing his mushroomy head to throb ploddingly at the spongey spot inside you. He was forced to watch your pussy sliiiiiiide up 'n down his cock at a pace that ringed such squelchy sounds out into the sir.
"Wait," He panted out in hopes of getting you to listen for just a second. It was hard to believe that this was the same guy who'd fucked you to tears so many times before when he was the one tearing up now. "S'too f-fast. I can't-, hahh.."
His complaints were hardly heard by you since you were quite busy with the man standing over you as you rode him. Another fat cock currently held your attention with the way it dangled in front of your face.
Toru was occupying the same face that Sato desired to badly to see. He had his hand firmly wrapped around his shaft as he tapped your cheek with the rest of his length, coating your skin with his cum and making a complete mess of you.
You'd squeeze around Sato especially tighter with every rude smack of Toru's cock against your face. It was downright whorish the way he was smiling down at you, gaze demeaning from behind those damply fogged glasses of his.
“Focus on the tip, sweet girl.” He told you as he angled his dick downwards to your lips and let the tip smear against the outline of your mouth. He pushed forward just so that his slit drooled specifically onto your bottom lip, smiling when your tongue darts out in response, “Thereeee you go. I like bein’ teased too, see?”
When you nod your head, he takes that as his sign to fully enter your mouth and relishes in the way you swallow him in—the warmth of your mouth enough to make his hand fly to your head to hold onto you. He doesn't even have to say anything for you to start sucking on his cock in the sluttiest way imaginable.
Your tongue laps against the underside of his cock, head reeling back slightly just so you could spit on his tip and then smear the saliva in with a sloppy kiss. Humming, “Mngh!” and causing his balls to feel heavier with the need to release.
While you orally satisfy the nerd in front of you, your hips are swerving and grinding perfectly against Sato—who's still losing his ever loving mind at being inside you again. He's trying to match your movement with a few thrusts of his hips but the one time he does that, he hears you gag on Toru's cock and feels bad.
Not to mention the way it bruises his ego to hear the dork tease you by chuckling, “Fuck, don’t choke.”
To which you soak profusely around Sato.
The only bad thing about all this was the mean fact in which you hadn't let Sato cum.
Toru's been allowed to make a gooey mess on your face, you'd expereined more orgasms than any of you could keep track of—including a stream of squirt that Sato claims to be the cause of—but any time he kindly asked you if he could cum inside you, you'd look back at him and tell him no in the same tone that only made holding it in all the more difficult.
Hence why his voice is barely there now as he heaves out a despairing, “I-I’m gonna pass out if you don’t let me cum,” His fingertips were bruising at your hips and he weakly ground up into you, his cock felt pulsing against your gummy insides. “Please.”
“Give her a second, she’s too busy to give you permission for that.” Toru hummed confidently as he rubbed his palm against your head and forced you to take him deeper down your throat.
Your mouth relaxed around his dick and he moaned lightly once his tip thumped into the very back of it.
“Fuck you a-and what she’s busy with,” Sato protested, “I need to cum.”
“So cum,” Toru says as if it were the simplest thing in the world, trying not to laugh at his brother's pitifulness and the way you were sending him a disapproving look.
“I can’t,” His brother frowns, “N-Not without her-, hnngh! p-permission.”
“How unfortunate.” Toru says as he lazily fucks your throat a little deeper, his balls tapping against your chin along with his alleviated thrusts.
You slurp at him harder, cunt clenching around Sato’s cock again when the one in your mouth bulges against your throat and then chokes you.
Sato thinks he’s on the verge of death with how long he’d been holding back his release—his dramatics evident in the way he tries to pull himself away from you for a moment to breathe.
It's not until you swallow down a sleek load of cum and pull off of Toru's length with dewy strings of pure filth hanging from your lips that you whisper the quietest permission to Sato, allowing his load of warm cum to stuff up until you instantaneously.
The three of you are left worn out just like last time within a matter of moments.
All limbs move languidly to clean up and you just barely notice that the three of you hadn't been in a some random room that entire time. Sukuna's name is caught printed across a jersey in the corner of the bedroom and it makes your eyes go all wide.
Shit.
And if that wasn't enough to worry about, you hear the way Toru snickers from somewhere behind you now. When you glance back at him, he gestures towards his dazed twin, “Guess he was right about one thing..."
Staring innocently, “Hm? What’s that?” you ask all softly.
“You really are a whore for some Gojo cock.”
You roll your eyes, “I think I’m more of a slut for it. There’s only two of you so whore is a bit of a stretch, y’know?”
The twins exchange a glance as you say that.
Then, Sato moves to scratch at the back of his neck, “Yeah, about that…”
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