synopsis: You die completely at random and wake up in the manhwa you were reading… as the villainous wife of the Duke of the North, no less. The same woman who spent the last six months giving her husband the cold shoulder, ruining their marriage, and basically speedrunning her own execution.
Now you have exactly one job: fix this disaster of a relationship before your husband decides to finish what the original plot started.
a\n: longest fic i’ve written so far. nearly lost my mind, almost scrapped it entirely, questioned every life choice that led me here, but somehow, against all odds… it’s done. so glad its over LOL
You died while reading a manhwa.
One moment you were curled up in bed at 3 a.m., a blanket pulled up to your chin, the only light in your dark room coming from your phone screen. Your eyes were glued to the latest chapter of The Duke’s Black Heart, thumb hovering over the final panel as frustration and reluctant longing twisted in your chest. The illustration was breathtakingly brutal: Duke Ryomen Sukuna standing tall amid swirling snow, pink hair tousled by the wind, crimson eyes empty of mercy, black tattoos stark against his skin as he looked down at the broken body of his wife.
The page loaded one last time. The panel filled your screen. Then your vision blurred, the room spun violently, and everything went black. No pain. No final breath. Just sudden, heavy nothing.
And then you woke up somewhere else.
Cold air rushes into your lungs, sharp and biting. Your eyes flutter open slowly, lashes feeling unusually heavy. You’re lying in a massive four-poster bed, the canopy above you made of thick crimson velvet that drapes down like heavy curtains. The silk sheets beneath you are cool and slippery against your skin in a way that feels far too expensive, far too unfamiliar. Thick blankets weighted with fur press down on your body, carrying a faint scent of woodsmoke and aged iron. Your limbs feel wrong — too slender, too delicate. When you lift your hands, they are smaller, with smooth palms and perfectly manicured nails that catch the dim morning light filtering through tall, frost-laced windows.
You push yourself up into a sitting position. The silk nightgown slips off one shoulder. A large, ornately framed mirror stands across the room, reflecting the lavish bedchamber: dark wood furniture, heavy tapestries on the walls, a fireplace crackling faintly in the corner. You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, bare feet meeting cold stone that sends a shiver racing up your spine.
You turn toward the mirror.
The face staring back at you is not your own. It is strikingly beautiful in a refined, aristocratic way that feels both alien and intimidating.
You have transmigrated.
You are now the villainess.
Duke Ryomen Sukuna’s wife of exactly six months.
The realization slams into you like ice water. Memories that don’t belong to you flood your mind in vivid, unrelenting flashes. The forced marriage ceremony under the Emperor’s decree. The wedding night where her body had lain stiff and unresponsive beneath his, silent tears tracking down her cheeks as she called him a beast under her breath and swore she would never allow him to touch her again. Six agonizing months of total, deliberate silence: never speaking a single word directly to him, never sharing his table, never sharing his bed. Only curt notes passed through servants, hidden schemes whispered to outsiders, and a cold, hateful distance that grew sharper every day. Sukuna’s contempt had hardened into something lethal.
In the original story, he kills her. Publicly. Brutally. Before the year is out — dragging her into the courtyard and ending her life with the same large, scarred hands you’ve fantasized about for months.
And now I’m her.
Your breath catches sharply in your throat. Panic explodes in your chest, tight and suffocating. Your hands fly up to press against your sternum, feeling the frantic thud of a heart that isn’t supposed to be yours. Cold sweat prickles along your hairline and down your back. The room feels smaller, the air thicker. If I don’t change this right now, he will kill me. I have to win him over — the man I’ve been completely obsessed with — before he decides I’m still that same woman who deserves to die.
The heavy wooden door creaks open. Two maids slip inside, heads bowed low, shoulders hunched like they’re expecting the worst. They carry a tray between them with a pitcher of steaming water, neatly folded linens, and a small bowl of scented oil. Their footsteps are quick but nearly silent on the cold stone floor, as if they’re trying to disturb you as little as possible.
“My Lady,” the older maid says quietly, almost whispering as she carefully sets the tray down on the side table. “We’re here to help you dress. Your usual silks today?”
You swallow and keep your voice soft. “No, not the silks. Something simpler and warmer, please. I’m going down to have breakfast with the Duke in the dining hall.”
The younger maid’s eyes go wide. She almost drops the pitcher, water sloshing dangerously over the rim and dripping onto the floor. “Breakfast… with His Grace?” she blurts, voice cracking with surprise. “In the dining hall?”
The older maid quickly elbows her and forces a nervous smile, though her hands are visibly shaking. “Are you sure, My Lady? He always eats alone. He might not… like it if you show up.”
You nod, sliding your legs over the side of the bed. The stone floor is icy against your bare feet, sending a shiver up your legs. “I’m sure. Please help me get ready.” You pause, then add gently, “And thank you. Both of you.”
The maids go completely still. The younger one stares at you with her mouth slightly open, pitcher forgotten in her hands. The older one blinks rapidly, her hands freezing mid-air above the tray. They exchange a wide-eyed, startled glance, the kind that speaks volumes without a single word. The silence stretches for a long, awkward moment, thick with confusion and unease.
Finally, the older maid clears her throat. “Of course, My Lady. Right away.”
They hesitate for another heartbeat, still stealing uncertain glances at you, before hurrying into motion. Their hands are a little clumsier than usual as they help you out of the nightgown and into a heavy charcoal gown with long sleeves. The soft wool feels warm and comforting against the chill in the air. While they brush out your hair and pin it up in a simple style, they keep darting quick, nervous looks at your reflection in the mirror. The younger maid’s fingers tremble slightly as she works, and the older one’s breathing is a touch too shallow.
They finish dressing you in tense, heavy silence. Once they step back, you thank them again. They both bow deeply, still visibly unsettled, and you step out into the torch-lit corridor. Servants you pass press themselves flat against the walls, whispering frantically the moment your back is turned. Your heart hammers louder with every step toward the grand dining hall.
The massive double doors swing open with a low creak.
There he is.
Duke Ryomen Sukuna sits alone at the head of the long oak table. Pale morning light filters through the tall windows, casting sharp shadows across his face. Loose strands of pink hair have escaped their tie and fall across his forehead. His dark tunic stretches tight over broad, powerfully muscled shoulders, the collar open just enough to reveal the edges of intricate black tattoos that swirl across his collarbones and down his arms. Crimson eyes are narrowed in concentration as he cuts into a thick slab of meat with slow, deliberate strokes of his knife. Old scars mark the visible skin of his neck and the backs of his large, calloused hands. He radiates raw, quiet danger — the kind that makes the air feel heavier. This is the man you’ve spent months fantasizing about, the one whose every appearance in the manhwa made your pulse race.
You walk straight to the chair on his right — the seat that has stayed empty for the entire six months of your marriage — and sit down.
His knife stops mid-cut.
The silence is immediate and suffocating, broken only by the soft crackle of the hearth fire.
Sukuna’s crimson gaze lifts slowly. It locks onto you with raw disbelief and burning disgust. His jaw clenches, the scar along his cheek tightening. For a long moment he simply stares, like he’s trying to decide whether you’re real or some new form of insult.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” His voice is low and rough, laced with irritation.
You swallow hard, hands trembling under the table. You force a small, nervous smile and say softly, “Good morning, husband. I thought it might be nice to have breakfast together for once.”
The words hang in the air.
Sukuna’s expression darkens. He sets the knife down with a sharp clink that echoes through the hall. Slowly he rises to his full height, towering over you — tall, broad-chested, every inch the warlord who has killed without hesitation. The look he gives you is ice-cold.
“You thought it would be nice?” His voice is low, cold, and dripping with contempt. “Six fucking months you couldn’t even be bothered to speak to me… and now you suddenly decide to play house?”
He pushes the chair back with a harsh scrape and rises to his full height, towering over you. His large hand clenches so tightly around the back of the chair that the wood groans in protest.
“Just looking at you ruins my appetite.”
Without another word, he turns sharply on his heel. His cloak snaps behind him like a whip as he stalks out of the hall. The heavy doors slam shut with a deafening boom that echoes through the room and makes the silverware rattle on the table.
You’re left completely alone at the long table, staring at his abandoned plate as the food rapidly cools. Your heart pounds violently in your chest.
This is going to be so much harder than I thought.
But you don’t run. You pick up your fork with still-shaking fingers, take a small bite of the now-lukewarm food, and force yourself to swallow. A heavy, determined weight settles in your stomach alongside the food.
The rest of the morning dragged by in a haze of nervous energy. You moved carefully through the castle, speaking softly to the servants, thanking them for small things, and trying not to overwhelm anyone with your sudden change in behavior. Every time someone flinched or stared too long, your stomach twisted. You knew they were waiting for the old you to snap back into place.
By mid-afternoon the light outside had shifted to a softer gold, and the castle felt a little less oppressive. You decided it was time to try something more direct.
You found one of the kitchen maids and asked her to prepare a simple tray — strong black tea, warm bread, and a few slices of roasted meat. These were the things you remembered him enjoying in the manhwa, the small details you’d clung to while reading late at night. Nothing too elaborate. When the tray was ready, you took it yourself, ignoring the wide-eyed, startled looks from the staff as you carried it down the long corridor toward Sukuna’s private study. Your heart beat faster with every step.
Your heart was hammering so hard it felt like it was trying to climb out of your throat. Two guards outside the heavy double doors stared at you in open confusion but didn’t stop you. You paused for a second, took a steadying breath, and knocked once.
A gruff “Come in” came from inside.
You pushed the door open and stepped into the study.
The room was exactly the kind of place you’d pictured him in — tall shelves lined with old books and rolled scrolls, a massive oak desk covered in maps and scattered letters, weapons mounted neatly on one wall. A fire burned low in the hearth, filling the air with the faint smell of smoke and polished leather. Sukuna sat behind the desk, quill in hand, pink hair tied back messily with a few loose strands falling forward. He didn’t look up right away, focused on whatever he was writing.
Then his crimson eyes flicked up.
The moment they landed on you holding the tray, the temperature in the room seemed to drop. His expression shifted from irritation to pure suspicion in a heartbeat.
“What the hell is this?” he asked, voice low and flat, like he was already tired of whatever game he thought you were playing.
You stepped further inside and carefully set the tray down on the edge of his desk, trying not to let your hands shake too obviously. “I noticed you didn’t eat anything at breakfast,” you said quietly. “So I brought some tea and a few things. It’s nothing fancy. I just thought… maybe you’d be hungry by now.”
Sukuna leaned back in his chair, studying you like you were a problem he couldn’t quite solve. The silence stretched out, thick and uncomfortable. He glanced at the tray, then back at your face.
“You brought me food,” he said slowly, almost like he was testing the words. “You suddenly show up with tea and bread like we’re… what? Friends now?”
He pushed his chair back and stood, circling around the desk with slow, deliberate steps until he was standing right in front of you. He was so tall you had to tilt your head back to look at him. Up close he was even more overwhelming — the heat radiating from his body, the faint scent of leather and steel and something darker, the way his broad shoulders seemed to fill the space between you.
You forced yourself to hold his gaze. “I know I’ve been terrible to you,” you said, voice soft but steady. “I don’t expect you to believe me right away. I just… I want to try and do better. That’s all.”
Sukuna’s jaw tightened. He reached out and picked up one of the slices of bread, turning it over in his large hand as if checking it for poison. Then he dropped it back onto the tray with a quiet scoff.
“You want to try,” he repeated, the words laced with disbelief and a sharp edge of mockery. “How convenient. Tell me, wife — what exactly changed overnight? Did someone put you up to this?”
His hand suddenly came up, fingers gripping your chin firmly but not harshly, tilting your face up so you couldn’t look away. His touch was warm, rough from years of fighting, and the closeness made your pulse spike.
“Or are you just scared I’ll finally do what everyone’s been expecting me to do for months?” he asked, voice low and dangerous.
Your breath caught. Being this close to him — feeling the intensity rolling off him in waves — made fear and something far more complicated twist together in your stomach.
“I’m not here to scheme,” you whispered. “I just don’t want things to keep being like this.”
Sukuna stared at you for a long, heavy moment. His thumb brushed once over your jaw, almost absentmindedly, before he let go and stepped back.
“Get out,” he said, the words cold but quieter than you expected. “And take your pity tray with you.”
He didn’t move away any further. He stayed standing there, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching you with dark, unreadable eyes — like he was waiting to see whether you would actually leave… or do something else.
You didn’t argue.
You simply picked up the tray with both hands, gave him a small nod, and left the study without another word. The heavy doors clicked shut behind you. The hallway felt longer than usual as you walked back toward your chambers, the tray growing heavier with every step.
Once inside your room, you set the tray down on a side table and closed the door. Then you sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor.
That went badly.
You let out a slow breath, rubbing your hands over your thighs. The memory of Sukuna’s cold stare and dismissive words kept replaying in your head. He hadn’t even touched the food. He’d barely listened.
Of course he didn’t. Months of silence doesn’t just disappear because I brought him tea.
You leaned back on your hands, looking up at the canopy above the bed. The situation felt heavier now. Fixing this relationship was going to be a lot harder than you’d hoped. He clearly still saw you as the same person who had ignored and schemed against him for half a year. And why wouldn’t he?
If you couldn’t turn this around, things were only going to get worse. You didn’t want to think about how the original story ended, but the possibility lingered in the back of your mind anyway.
You sat there for a while, the afternoon light slowly shifting across the room. Eventually you stood up, walked over to the window, and looked out at the grounds. Your mind kept turning over what to try next. Another small gesture? Giving him more space? Something else entirely?
It was going to take time. A lot of it. And patience you weren’t sure you had.
You sighed quietly and moved away from the window, already thinking about what you could do tomorrow.
The next morning arrived quietly.
You woke earlier than usual, the soft grey light filtering through the tall windows pulling you from a restless sleep. For a few minutes you lay there, staring at the velvet canopy above the bed, thinking about yesterday. The rejections still stung, but you refused to give up after just one bad day.
You got up, washed, and chose a simple but elegant deep-grey gown. After eating a light breakfast alone in your room, you decided on a different approach today. No trays, no forcing your way into his meals. Just quiet presence.
You made your way to the castle’s main library — a spacious, peaceful room lined with tall shelves of books and scrolls. You picked a thick volume on regional history from the shelves and settled into a comfortable chair near the window where the light was good. Not too close to his usual spot, but not hiding either.
About an hour later, the door opened.
Sukuna walked in, still wearing his cloak from whatever business he’d been handling outside. He stopped short when he saw you already there, book open in your lap.
For a brief second his expression flickered with surprise before settling back into that familiar guarded look.
“You’re here too now,” he said, voice flat as he moved toward the large table in the center of the room. He pulled out a chair and sat down, spreading some documents in front of him. “Is there anywhere in this castle that’s still mine?”
You closed your book slowly and looked up at him.
“I can leave if you want,” you offered calmly. “I just thought it might be nice to read in here. It’s quiet.”
Sukuna didn’t tell you to go. He leaned back in his chair and studied you for a moment, crimson eyes sharp and assessing.
“You’ve been talking quite a bit these past two days,” he said, tone dry. “More than I’m used to.”
You gave a small, honest shrug. “I know. I’m trying to change that.”
He tapped his fingers once against the table, watching you openly now. “Trying,” he echoed, like he was testing the word. “That’s what you keep saying. But I still don’t know why.”
You hesitated, then answered simply, “Because I don’t like how things have been between us. And I think we could be… better. If we tried.”
Sukuna let out a short, humorless breath and leaned back further, still studying you.
“Better,” he repeated. “That’s a bold claim.” He paused, then added quietly, “Don’t get your hopes up. I’m not interested in pretending.”
But he didn’t ask you to leave.
You stayed in the library for another hour, reading in silence while he worked across from you. He didn’t speak again, but every so often you caught him glancing in your direction — wary, confused, and just a little unsettled.
It wasn’t much.
But it also wasn’t outright rejection.
You stayed in the library for another hour, the only sounds being the occasional rustle of paper and the soft crackle of the fire. You kept your eyes mostly on your book, though you were barely absorbing the words. Every now and then you felt Sukuna’s gaze on you — heavy, searching, and still full of suspicion.
Eventually, he set his quill down with a quiet tap. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossing over his broad chest as he looked at you directly.
“If you’re serious about wanting to fix things,” he said, voice low and even, “then maybe you should start by actually appearing publicly with me.”
You looked up from your book, surprised. He continued before you could respond.
“There’s a ball tomorrow night at the capital. I’m expected to attend.” He paused, studying your reaction. “Rumors have already reached half the empire that my wife hates me. It would be good to change the public perception a little. At least act like a fucking couple for once.”
The invitation — if it could even be called that — hung in the air. It wasn’t warm or romantic. It was a test, plain and simple.
You closed your book slowly and met his eyes. “I’ll go with you,” you said without hesitation. “If that’s what you want.”
Sukuna watched you for a long moment, as if waiting for you to take it back. When you didn’t, something unreadable flickered across his face.
“Good,” he said simply. Then he stood up, gathering some of his documents. “Be ready by evening tomorrow. Don’t make me wait.”
He headed toward the door, cloak shifting over his shoulders. Just before he left, he paused and glanced back at you one last time.
“And try not to embarrass me,” he added, though his tone was less biting than before. Almost… cautious.
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone in the quiet library once again.
You let out a long breath and leaned back in your chair, heart still racing. A public ball. Tomorrow. With Sukuna.
This was a big step — and a dangerous one. You’d have to be careful. Very careful.
But it was also an opportunity. A chance to stand beside him in front of everyone and start showing that you were different.
You stood up, clutching the book to your chest, a mix of nerves and quiet determination settling in your stomach.
Tomorrow it is.
The next day passed in a quiet blur of nerves and preparation.
You spent most of the afternoon trying not to overthink everything, but as evening approached, the anxiety crept in anyway. When the maids finally arrived to help you get ready, they moved around your room with careful, slightly confused energy — still adjusting to this gentler version of their mistress.
You chose a deep crimson gown made of rich, heavy silk that flowed elegantly to the floor. It had long, fitted sleeves and a modestly elegant neckline that showed just enough collarbone to feel refined rather than daring. The maids helped you into it, lacing the back with steady fingers while you stood in front of the large mirror. The fabric felt cool and luxurious against your skin, the color bringing out a quiet intensity you hadn’t expected.
They brushed your hair until it gleamed, working through every tangle with patient strokes. Most of it was pinned up into an elegant style with delicate silver pins, but they left a few soft strands loose to frame your face. One of the maids added a simple but beautiful necklace with a single dark gem that rested just below your collarbone, along with matching earrings. A touch of rose-tinted balm was applied to your lips, and a light dusting of powder to even your complexion.
You stared at your reflection the entire time, heart beating faster. This version of you looked every bit the refined duchess — poised, beautiful, and completely unlike the cold, silent woman the public had come to expect at Sukuna’s side.
“You look beautiful, My Lady,” the older maid said softly as she stepped back, a hint of genuine surprise in her voice.
“Thank you,” you replied quietly, smoothing your hands down the front of the gown. Inside, your stomach was in knots. This would be your first real public appearance with Sukuna. Everyone would be watching. Waiting for the usual tension or outright disdain they’d grown used to seeing between the Duke and his wife.
A firm knock sounded at the door.
“He’s ready for you, My Lady,” a servant called from the hallway.
You took one last steadying breath, thanked the maids again, and stepped out.
Sukuna was waiting in the main hall, dressed in formal black with subtle gold embroidery along the collar and cuffs. His pink hair was neatly tied back, and the sight of him in full formal attire made your chest tighten. He looked every bit the powerful duke — tall, imposing, and dangerously handsome.
His crimson eyes swept over you slowly, from head to toe. For a moment his expression was unreadable.
“You’re actually coming,” he said, voice low. It wasn’t quite a question.
“I said I would,” you replied simply.
He gave a short nod, then offered his arm. The gesture felt stiff, like he was still testing whether you’d take it or pull away at the last second.
You slipped your hand through his arm without hesitation. His muscles were tense beneath your fingers, but he didn’t pull away.
As you walked together toward the waiting carriage, he spoke again, keeping his voice low enough that only you could hear.
“People talk. A lot. If we’re going to do this, at least try to look like you don’t hate being next to me.”
You glanced up at him. “I don’t hate it.”
Sukuna didn’t respond, but his grip on your arm tightened just slightly — not painful, just… firmer. Like he was anchoring himself.
The carriage ride to the capital was quiet, the only sounds being the wheels on the road and the occasional shift of fabric. Sukuna sat across from you, watching the passing scenery with a distant expression. Every so often his gaze would drift back to you, as if he still couldn’t quite believe you were really there.
When the carriage finally slowed to a stop outside the grand hall, music and warm light spilled out into the night. You could already hear the murmur of voices and feel the weight of the eyes that would soon be on both of you.
Sukuna stepped out first, then offered his hand to help you down. His palm was warm and steady against yours.
“Ready?” he asked, voice gruff.
You nodded, slipping your hand back into the crook of his arm.
“Then let’s go act like a fucking couple.”
The grand hall glowed under hundreds of crystal chandeliers, casting warm golden light across marble floors and velvet-draped walls. Music from a full orchestra swelled through the air, mingling with the low hum of conversation, the clink of champagne glasses, and the rustle of silk and satin gowns. The scent of expensive perfumes, fresh flowers, and roasted meats from the banquet tables hung heavy in the room.
The moment you and Sukuna stepped through the tall arched entrance together, the entire atmosphere shifted.
Conversations faltered. Heads turned. A ripple of surprised murmurs spread through the crowd like a wave.
You felt every eye on you. Some were curious, some shocked, many openly calculating. The Duke and Duchess of the North rarely appeared together in public — and when they had in the past, it had always been marked by cold distance and icy silence.
Tonight was different.
Sukuna’s arm was solid beneath your fingers as he guided you forward. His posture was straight and commanding, every inch the powerful Duke Sukuna the empire feared and respected. You stayed close, your hand resting lightly but deliberately on his arm, chin lifted with quiet confidence.
A portly lord with a heavy gold chain and an embroidered waistcoat approached first, bowing deeply.
“Your Grace, Duke Sukuna,” he said smoothly, then turned to you with a slightly wider smile. “And Duchess… what an unexpected pleasure to see you both together this evening.”
Sukuna gave a curt nod. “My wife wished to attend. I saw no reason to refuse her.”
The lord’s eyebrows rose, but he recovered quickly. “How wonderful. The two of you make quite the striking pair tonight. The Duke and Duchess of the North, united at last.”
You offered a polite, gentle smile. “Thank you, my lord. It’s a pleasure to be here.”
Sukuna’s arm tensed slightly under your hand, but he didn’t pull away. As the lord moved on, more nobles drifted closer, drawn by the unusual sight. You heard the whispers clearly now.
“...the Duke and Duchess actually look civil…”
“I thought she hated him…”
“Look at them. She’s practically standing with him…”
Sukuna kept you close the entire time, one large hand occasionally resting at the small of your back as you moved through the hall. The touch was possessive, almost protective, even if his face remained cool and composed.
Later, when the orchestra struck up a slower, more intimate melody, Sukuna leaned down, his voice low against your ear.
“Dance with me.”
It wasn’t a question.
You nodded. He led you onto the polished floor, one broad hand settling firmly on your waist while the other held yours. He moved with surprising grace for someone of his size and power — confident, controlled, guiding you effortlessly through the steps. You followed his lead, hyper-aware of every point of contact: the heat of his palm burning through the silk of your gown, the solid wall of his chest so close to yours, the faint scent of leather and smoke that clung to him.
For a few moments the rest of the room seemed to fade.
“You’re doing better than I expected,” he muttered, voice barely audible over the music. His crimson eyes flicked down to meet yours. “People are staring less like they’re waiting for us to start arguing in the middle of the floor.”
You looked up at him, a small genuine smile tugging at your lips. “I told you I wanted to try.”
His grip on your waist tightened just slightly. His thumb brushed once over the fabric of your gown, almost absentmindedly.
“Don’t get comfortable,” he said, though there was less bite in his tone than usual. “This doesn’t mean I trust you yet.”
“I know,” you replied softly. “But thank you for giving me the chance anyway.”
Sukuna didn’t answer. But he also didn’t let go of you when the song ended. Instead, he kept his hand on your lower back as he guided you off the floor, staying closer than strictly necessary.
A short while later, a group of older lords approached Sukuna. One of them — a tall man with silver hair and sharp features — gave a respectful bow.
“Your Grace, if we could steal a moment of your time? There are some matters regarding the northern border that require your input.”
Sukuna’s jaw tightened for a brief second. He glanced down at you, then back at the lords.
“Fine,” he said curtly. “I won’t be long.”
Before he stepped away, he leaned in close to your ear, voice low. “Stay here. Don’t wander off.”
You nodded. His hand lingered on your waist for one extra second before he pulled away and followed the group toward a quieter side balcony for their discussion.
Suddenly, you were alone.
You stood near the edge of the dance floor, champagne glass in hand, trying to look more relaxed than you felt. The weight of curious stares hadn’t faded. A few noblewomen still whispered behind their fans, and every so often someone would glance your way with open speculation.
A deep, smooth voice spoke from your left.
“Duchess, I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of a proper introduction tonight.”
You turned to find a tall, broad-shouldered man with dark hair and sharp green eyes watching you with a lazy, confident smile. He was dressed in deep emerald and black, a marquess’s insignia pinned neatly to his lapel.
“Marquess Toji Fushiguro,” he introduced himself with a respectful bow of his head. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you over the years. Though I must say, seeing you here with the Duke tonight is… refreshing.”
His tone was warm and easy, without any obvious scheming edge. You felt yourself relax just a little.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Marquess,” you replied with a small smile. “I’ve heard your name mentioned before. You handle the eastern trade routes, don’t you?”
Toji’s smile widened, looking genuinely pleased that you knew. “I do. Though I’m surprised you’re familiar with such dull matters. Most duchesses prefer to stay far away from trade talk.”
The conversation flowed surprisingly well. He was charming in a straightforward, slightly roguish way — asking light questions about the northern estates, commenting on the music, and even making a dry joke about how stiff most balls tended to be. You found yourself smiling more naturally, the tension in your shoulders easing as you chatted. For the first time that evening, talking to someone felt… comfortable.
Toji tilted his head slightly, green eyes glinting with curiosity. “If I may be bold, Duchess — you seem different tonight than what the rumors suggested. Happier, perhaps?”
You were about to respond when a large, familiar hand suddenly slid around your waist from behind, fingers gripping your hip with clear possessiveness. A warm, solid body pressed against your back, and you didn’t need to turn to know who it was.
Sukuna.
His grip tightened, pulling you back against his chest in one smooth motion. The heat of his body seeped through the silk of your gown, and his thumb brushed slowly over your hip bone — a blatant, territorial claim.
Toji’s easy smile faltered for half a second before he recovered, inclining his head respectfully.
“Duke Sukuna,” he greeted calmly. “I was just keeping your wife company while you were occupied.”
Sukuna’s voice was low and dangerous, rumbling against your back. “I can see that.” His hand stayed firmly on your hip, fingers pressing in just enough to make a point. “Though I don’t recall asking anyone to entertain my duchess.”
You felt the tension rolling off him in waves. His other arm came around your other side, almost caging you against him in front of the entire hall.
Toji raised an eyebrow, still perfectly civil. “No offense meant, Your Grace. It was an honor speaking with the Duchess.”
Sukuna didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he leaned down, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke loud enough for Toji to hear.
“We’re leaving this conversation,” he said flatly. Then, louder, “Come, wife.”
Sukuna didn’t stop walking until he had guided you into a quieter corner of the grand hall, partially shielded by a tall marble pillar and heavy crimson velvet drapes. The music and chatter of the ball felt distant now, muffled. His hand never left your hip. If anything, his grip tightened, fingers digging possessively into the silk of your gown as though he needed the contact to ground himself.
He turned you to face him with surprising care, then backed you gently but firmly against the cool marble pillar. One large hand stayed locked on your waist while the other came up to brace beside your head, effectively caging you in. His body heat enveloped you instantly — warm, solid, and overwhelming. The faint scent of smoke, leather, and something darker clung to him, making your pulse stutter.
“You seemed to be enjoying yourself,” he said, voice low and rough, almost a growl. His crimson eyes burned down into yours with unmistakable intensity. “Laughing with him like the two of you were old friends. Did you forget you’re here with me tonight?”
The jealousy in his tone was unmistakable — sharp, dark, and barely leashed.
You kept your voice calm, though your heart was racing. “We were only talking. He was civil. Nothing more.”
Sukuna’s jaw clenched visibly. His thumb began to trace slow, deliberate circles over the curve of your hip through the thin silk, a possessive caress that sent heat rushing across your skin.
“Civil,” he repeated, the word laced with pure disdain. “I saw the way he looked at you. The way he smiled at you.”
He leaned in closer, his breath warm against the shell of your ear, voice dropping into something dangerously intimate. “And here I thought you were trying to mend our relationship. Yet the second I turn my back, you’re chatting and smiling with another man like it means nothing.”
His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you flush against the hard wall of his chest. You could feel the tension coiled in every muscle, the barely restrained frustration rolling off him in waves. One of his fingers slipped just beneath the edge of your gown, brushing bare skin at your hip — a deliberate, claiming touch.
“I don’t like sharing what’s mine,” he growled softly, lips brushing your ear. “Especially not with bastards like Toji Fushiguro.”
You swallowed hard, breath shallow. “I wasn’t trying to make you jealous. I was just being polite while you were busy.”
Sukuna let out a low, dangerous sound in the back of his throat — half a scoff, half a laugh. His free hand moved to your jaw, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to meet his burning crimson gaze.
“Polite,” he murmured, thumb stroking slowly along your jawline. “You’re lucky I didn’t drag you out of here the moment I saw his hand move toward you.”
His eyes dropped to your lips for a long, heavy second. The air between you felt charged, electric, like the tension might snap at any moment. For a heartbeat you thought he might kiss you right there — hard, claiming, in full view of everyone still watching from across the hall.
Instead, he leaned in until his lips ghosted against your ear again.
“Next time someone approaches you while I’m gone,” he said, voice dark and velvet-rough, “you tell them you belong to me. Clearly. Because if I have to remind them myself… I won’t be nearly as polite.”
His fingers flexed on your hip in one final, possessive squeeze — a silent promise — before he slowly stepped back. His hand remained at the small of your back, heavy and unrelenting.
The music swelled again around you.
Sukuna’s expression smoothed into something cooler and more composed for the public eye, but the heat in his eyes stayed locked on you.
“Come,” he said, voice still low. “We’re dancing again. And this time, you’re not leaving my side for the rest of the night.”
Sukuna led you back onto the dance floor without another word, his hand firm on your waist, pulling you closer than strictly proper for a public setting. The orchestra had shifted into a slower, more intimate melody — strings and soft piano weaving through the air. Couples swirled around you, but you barely noticed them. All you could focus on was the heat of Sukuna’s body pressed against yours, the way his fingers splayed possessively across your lower back, and the unmistakable tension radiating from him.
He moved with controlled grace, guiding you effortlessly through the steps. Your bodies were flush together, chest to chest, his thigh occasionally brushing yours as you turned. Every point of contact felt electric.
“You’re quiet now,” he murmured, voice low enough that only you could hear. His crimson eyes locked onto yours, dark and intense. “What happened to all that polite conversation you were having with the marquess?”
You tilted your head slightly to meet his gaze. “You told me not to leave your side. I’m listening.”
A low sound rumbled in his chest — not quite a laugh. His hand slid lower on your back, fingers pressing in just enough to make your breath hitch.
“Good girl,” he said softly, almost mockingly, though the heat in his eyes was anything but. “Keep listening. I don’t want to see you smiling at anyone else like that tonight.”
The jealousy was still there, simmering just beneath the surface. You could feel it in the way he held you — tighter than necessary, almost like he was daring anyone to try approaching you again.
As you turned under his arm and came back into his embrace, he leaned down, lips brushing the shell of your ear.
“He thought he had a chance,” he continued, voice rough. “Like he didn’t know exactly who you belong to.” His fingers flexed against your waist. “Maybe I need to make it clearer.”
Your heart hammered against your ribs. Being this close to him — surrounded by the swirl of music and watching eyes — made everything feel heightened. The scent of him, the solid strength of his body, the barely restrained possessiveness in every touch.
“Sukuna…” you started softly.
He cut you off by pulling you even closer, until there was almost no space left between you. His breath was warm against your temple.
“You wanted to mend things,” he reminded you, tone dark. “Then stop giving other men reasons to think they can talk to my wife like that. Smile at me. Stay close to me.”
The song began to slow, but Sukuna didn’t release you. He kept you locked in his arms even as other couples started drifting apart. His hand slid up your back, fingers tracing your spine through the silk, a silent claim in front of the entire hall.
When the music finally faded, he didn’t let go right away. He stared down at you, crimson eyes heavy with something dangerous and hungry.
“We’re leaving,” he said abruptly, voice low. “I’ve had enough of these people watching us.”
He didn’t wait for your agreement. His hand stayed firmly at the small of your back as he guided you through the crowd toward the exit. Nobles parted for him instinctively, eyes wide at the sight of the Duke and Duchess leaving together so early — and so obviously entangled.
The cool night air hit you the moment you stepped outside. Sukuna kept you close as you waited for the carriage, his arm wrapped around your waist like he still wasn’t ready to stop touching you.
Once inside the carriage, he sat beside you instead of across from you. The door had barely closed before his hand was back on your thigh, gripping possessively through the fabric of your gown.
The carriage started moving, carrying you both back toward the estate through the dark roads. Sukuna’s hand remained on your thigh the entire ride, heavy and warm — a silent reminder of exactly who you belonged to.
By the time it finally rolled to a stop in front of the castle, the moon hung high in the sky. The journey had been quiet, thick with lingering tension. Sukuna hadn’t spoken a word, but his grip on your thigh never loosened.
When the footman opened the door, Sukuna stepped out first and offered you his hand. You took it, letting him help you down onto the stone steps. The cool night air felt refreshing after the stuffy ballroom, but it did little to calm the nerves fluttering in your stomach.
He walked you inside, his hand resting possessively at the small of your back the whole way through the dimly lit halls. Servants bowed and quickly disappeared when they saw you both. The castle felt unusually still.
When you reached the point where the corridors split — one leading to his private wing, the other to yours — Sukuna stopped. He turned to face you, his expression unreadable in the low torchlight.
“You did well tonight,” he admitted grudgingly, staring at you for a long moment before glancing away. “But if I see him — or anyone else — near you again like that…”
He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to.
Sukuna gave a short nod, almost like he was dismissing you. “Goodnight.”
He turned to leave, heading toward his own chambers.
You stood there for a second, heart pounding, before the words slipped out — soft, shy, and a little nervous.
“Wait…”
Sukuna paused, looking back at you over his shoulder.
You swallowed, cheeks warming as you forced yourself to speak. “You know… we can’t really fix things as a couple if we keep sleeping separately"
The words hung in the air between you. They sounded bolder than you felt.
Sukuna went completely still. For several long seconds he simply stared at you, crimson eyes narrowing slightly as if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d just heard. The silence stretched, thick and heavy.
Then, slowly, the corner of his mouth twitched — not quite a smile, but something darker, more dangerous.
“Is that so?” he said, voice low and rough. He took one step back toward you, then another, until he was standing close again. “You’re asking to sleep in my bed now?”
He tilted his head, studying your face like he was trying to find the trick in your words. His hand came up, fingers lightly brushing your jaw as he looked down at you.
“Careful, wife,” he murmured, thumb tracing your lower lip. “You keep pushing like this… I might start thinking you actually mean it.”
His gaze dropped to your mouth for a long second before returning to your eyes. The tension between you crackled again, even stronger than it had been at the ball.
Sukuna didn’t move away. He waited, watching you closely, as if daring you to take it back… or push further.
The silence stretched, heavy and charged. His thumb was still resting against your lower lip, warm and rough, while his crimson eyes searched your face for any sign of deception. You could practically feel the suspicion rolling off him in waves.
Finally, he let out a slow breath, almost a scoff.
“…Fine,” he said, voice low and guarded. “If that’s what you want.”
He stepped back slightly, but his hand stayed on your waist, fingers still gripping you with quiet possessiveness. His expression remained cold, cautious, like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“Don’t expect this to mean anything,” he added, tone flat. “I’m still not convinced you’ve changed. But if you’re so determined to play the part of a real wife… then come.”
He turned and started walking down the corridor toward his private wing, keeping his hand on the small of your back to guide you along with him. The touch was firm — not gentle, but not forceful either. It felt like both an invitation and a test.
The halls were quiet at this hour, lit only by flickering torches. Every step echoed softly. Sukuna didn’t speak again until you reached the heavy wooden doors to his chambers. He pushed them open without hesitation and stepped inside, holding the door for you.
His rooms were large and unmistakably his — dark wood furniture, a massive bed with black silk sheets, a low fire burning in the hearth, weapons and scrolls neatly arranged on shelves. It smelled faintly of smoke and leather.
Sukuna closed the door behind you with a heavy click. He leaned against it for a moment, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching you with that same calculating stare.
“You wanted this,” he said quietly, almost like he was reminding both of you. “So here we are.”
He pushed off the door and walked further into the room, loosening the ties on his formal tunic as he went. The movement was casual, but you could feel the tension still radiating from him.
“Get comfortable,” he told you, glancing back at you over his shoulder. His voice was low, almost seductive, but the suspicion never fully left his eyes.
He didn’t say anything else. He simply waited, watching to see what you would do now that you were truly alone with him in his space.
You stood there for a moment, suddenly very aware of how large his chambers felt and how small you felt inside them. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting warm light across the dark wood and black silk sheets. The air smelled like him — smoke, leather, and something faintly metallic.
You swallowed and moved toward the side of the room where a large wardrobe stood. One of the maids had already brought a few of your things here earlier, as if the servants had anticipated this. You picked out a simple black silk nightgown and hesitated.
Sukuna had turned away slightly, pulling off his formal tunic and tossing it over the back of a chair. The movement revealed the strong lines of his back and the black tattoos swirling across his skin. He didn’t look at you, but you could tell he was still aware of every move you made.
You changed quickly behind the privacy screen in the corner, the silk cool against your skin. When you stepped out, Sukuna was already sitting on the edge of the massive bed, wearing only loose black pants. His pink hair was untied now, falling messily around his face. He looked up when you approached.
For a long second he just stared.
Then he let out a slow breath and patted the space beside him.
“Come here,” he said, voice low.
You walked over and climbed onto the bed. The mattress dipped under your weight. Sukuna watched you the entire time, suspicion still clear in his crimson eyes even as he pulled the covers back for you.
You slipped under the sheets, lying on your back. The silk felt cool and smooth. Sukuna stayed sitting for another moment, then finally lay down beside you. The bed was large, but he took up so much space that you could feel the heat radiating from his body.
He turned onto his side, facing you. One arm rested above his head while the other lay between you, close enough that his fingers almost brushed your arm.
The silence was heavy.
“You’re really here,” he muttered, almost to himself. His gaze traced your face, still guarded. “In my bed.”
He reached out slowly and brushed a strand of hair away from your cheek. The touch was surprisingly gentle, but his eyes remained cold and watchful.
“Don’t make me regret this,” he said quietly. “If this is another game… I won’t be kind about it.”
Then he shifted closer. Not enough to touch fully, but close enough that you could feel his breath against your skin. He didn’t pull you into his arms. He simply laid there, watching you like he was waiting for you to prove something — or reveal your true intentions.
The fire crackled softly in the background. The weight of his presence beside you made it hard to relax, but you stayed there, heart beating steadily.
Sukuna’s voice was barely above a whisper when he spoke again.
“Sleep, wife. We’ll see how long this little performance of yours lasts.”
He didn’t close his eyes right away. He kept watching you in the dim firelight, guarded, suspicious… and just a little intrigued.
Morning light filtered softly through the heavy curtains, pale and hazy, casting long golden stripes across the dark wooden floor. You woke slowly, cocooned in warmth that felt both foreign and strangely comforting. Sukuna’s arm was draped heavily over your waist, his broad chest pressed against your back, one leg loosely tangled with yours beneath the black silk sheets. His breathing was deep and steady, the faint rise and fall of his chest brushing against you with every inhale.
For a long moment you didn’t move. This was the first time you’d ever woken up beside him — sharing the same bed, the same space, the same air. Your heart beat a little too fast as the reality settled in. The Duke of the North was holding you in his sleep, even if it was only out of habit or unconscious possession.
Sukuna stirred a few minutes later. His arm tightened around your waist for a brief second, pulling you closer on instinct, before his body went still. You felt the exact moment consciousness returned to him — the subtle shift in his breathing, the way his muscles tensed ever so slightly against your back.
He didn’t pull away immediately.
“You’re still here,” he said quietly, voice low and rough with sleep. There was a hint of genuine surprise beneath the words. “Figured you’d sneak back to your own room before I woke up.”
You turned your head slightly on the pillow to look at him. His crimson eyes were half-lidded, messy pink hair falling across his forehead. Up close like this, without the usual cold mask, he looked almost human — though the sharp suspicion in his gaze reminded you he was anything but.
“I told you I wanted this,” you replied softly.
Sukuna let out a slow breath, almost a huff. He propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at you properly. His hand stayed on your waist, thumb brushing slow, absentminded circles over the silk of your nightgown. The touch was light, but you could feel the weight of his attention — guarded, calculating, searching for any crack in your resolve.
He watched you for a long, heavy moment, suspicion still clear in his expression. The silence between you felt intimate and fragile at the same time. His fingers flexed once against your waist before relaxing again.
“Don’t get too used to this,” he said eventually, tone flat but not cruel. “One night doesn’t fix anything. One night doesn’t make me trust you.”
Then, almost like he couldn’t help himself, he added more quietly, “But… you can stay for breakfast if you want.”
Sukuna rolled away and got out of bed, stretching his powerful arms above his head. The morning light traced every line of muscle and the intricate black tattoos that covered his shoulders, chest, and back. He moved with the casual confidence of someone completely at ease in his own space, yet you could still feel the tension humming beneath his skin.
God, he’s even hotter in person… no wonder I was obsessed.
He grabbed a fresh tunic but didn’t put it on. Instead, he leaned against the wardrobe, watching you in his sheets with that dark, cautious gaze. The fire had burned low, leaving the room quiet and heavy with unspoken tension.
Sukuna tilted his head slightly. “Well?” he asked, voice still rough from sleep. “Are you going to lie there all morning?”
You didn’t make him wait long.
You slipped out of bed, the black silk nightgown clinging lightly to your skin as you moved. The morning air in the chamber felt cooler than the warmth of the sheets you’d just left. Sukuna watched you the entire time from where he leaned against the wardrobe, arms crossed over his broad chest, expression unreadable but intense.
“Breakfast will be brought here,” he said simply, voice still rough from sleep. “No need to go to the main hall today.”
A short while later, servants arrived with silver trays. They moved quickly and quietly, setting the table near the tall windows with practiced care — a pot of strong black tea, warm crusty bread, thick slices of roasted meat, fresh berries, and a small dish of honey. The scent of the food filled the room, warm and savory. They kept their eyes lowered, clearly unsettled by the sight of you in the Duke’s private chambers wearing only a nightgown and robe, but they left without a single word.
Sukuna sat down first. You took the seat across from him.
The morning light streamed in through the tall windows, casting a soft golden glow across the table and highlighting the sharp angles of his face. It traced the black tattoos visible at the open collar of his tunic and the faint scars on his hands as he picked up his knife. For several long minutes, the only sounds were the quiet clink of silverware and the distant crackle from the hearth.
Finally, Sukuna set his knife down with a quiet click and leaned back in his chair, crimson eyes locking onto you with that familiar guarded intensity.
“So,” he said, voice low and guarded, “what made you change?”
You looked up from your plate, heart skipping a beat. Just died and woke up in the body of the woman you’re supposed to kill. No big deal.
There was no point in holding back anymore.
“I like you,” you said simply, meeting his gaze. “I’ve liked you for a long time.”
Sukuna stared at you for a long, heavy beat. Then he let out a short, bitter laugh that didn’t reach his eyes.
“Bullshit.”
The word landed blunt and cold. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, watching you with sharp suspicion.
“You expect me to believe that? After months of silence, after treating me like I was beneath you, after making sure everyone knew how much you despised this marriage… you suddenly like me?” His voice dripped with disbelief. “Try again.”
You didn’t look away. Your voice stayed quiet but steady.
“No, really,” you said. “I do. I like you. That’s why I’m trying so hard.”
Sukuna’s eyes narrowed. He studied your face like he was searching for the lie, the manipulation, the trick. The silence stretched between you, thick and tense. His fingers tapped once against the edge of the table before he leaned back again, the corner of his mouth curving into a slow, dangerous smirk.
“Okay, little liar,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “Then prove it to me.”
You blinked, heat rising to your cheeks.
“Prove it to you…?” you repeated softly, the words coming out a little breathless.
Sukuna’s smirk deepened, but his eyes stayed sharp and watchful. He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table, closing some of the distance between you.
“Yes,” he said, voice dropping lower, almost velvet-smooth. “Prove it. You say you like me. You say you want to fix this marriage. So show me.”
His gaze drifted slowly down to your mouth, then back up to your eyes. The air between you felt heavier now, warmer. He reached across the table and brushed his fingers lightly against the back of your hand, the touch deceptively gentle.
“You’re in my chambers. In my bed,” he continued, thumb tracing a slow line over your knuckles. “If you’re actually serious… then stop hiding behind pretty words and prove it.”
His touch lingered, possessive but controlled, sending a slow shiver up your arm. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he watched your reaction closely, crimson eyes dark with suspicion and something much hotter underneath.
“Prove it, wife,” he said again, voice low and seductive. “I’m right here. Show me how much you like me.”
The breakfast table suddenly felt far too small. The tension had shifted — still laced with his suspicion, but now crackling with slow, deliberate heat as he waited for you to make the next move.
Your pulse thundered under his thumb. You could feel the weight of his stare, the way his crimson eyes darkened as they traced your face, your lips, the line of your throat. He wasn’t touching you anywhere else, but it still felt like he had you pinned.
You swallowed, heat blooming across your cheeks and down your neck.
“…How?” you asked, voice quieter than you intended. “How do you want me to prove it?”
Sukuna’s smirk deepened, slow and dangerous. He leaned in a little closer across the table, his thumb still stroking lazy circles over your knuckles.
“That’s the fun part,” he murmured. “You figure it out. You’re the one claiming you like me. So show me what that looks like.”
His free hand moved, reaching across to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture was almost gentle, but his fingers lingered at the side of your neck, tracing lightly down the column of your throat before pulling away.
“You can start by coming here,” he said, voice low and commanding. He pushed his chair back slightly and patted his thigh once. “Don’t make me ask twice.”
Your breath caught. Heart racing, you stood up slowly and rounded the table. The moment you were close enough, Sukuna’s hand caught your wrist and pulled you down onto his lap. He settled you sideways across his thighs, one arm wrapping securely around your waist while the other rested on your leg, fingers splayed possessively over your thigh.
Up close like this, you could feel the heat of his body, the solid strength of his chest against your side, the way his breath brushed your temple.
“Better,” he said, voice rough. His hand slid slowly up your thigh, stopping just below the hem of your nightgown. “Now… show me.”
He tilted his head, lips hovering near your jaw.
“Kiss me,” he ordered softly. “Like you mean it. Like you actually want your husband.”
His crimson eyes were locked on yours, still guarded, still waiting for the lie to slip through. But beneath the suspicion, there was clear hunger — dark and patient, daring you to close the distance.
Sukuna’s fingers flexed on your thigh, a silent reminder of his patience running thin.
“Well, wife?” he murmured, voice velvet-rough against your skin. “I’m waiting.”
You didn’t hesitate any longer.
Leaning in, you pressed your lips to his. The kiss started soft — tentative on your end, testing. Sukuna stayed still for half a second, as if surprised you’d actually done it.
Then he took control.
His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you harder against his mouth. The kiss deepened instantly, turning hungry and demanding. His tongue swept past your lips, claiming your mouth with a low growl that vibrated against you. He tasted like black tea and heat, and the way he kissed you was nothing short of possessive — like he was trying to erase every other man who had ever looked at you.
You gasped into his mouth. Sukuna used the opening to tilt your head and kiss you deeper, tongue stroking yours with slow, filthy intent. His other hand gripped your thigh tighter, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulled you more firmly onto his lap until you were straddling him.
“Better,” he rasped against your lips when he finally pulled back just enough to breathe. His crimson eyes were dark, pupils blown wide. “But not enough.”
He kissed you again, harder this time. One hand slipped under the hem of your nightgown, palm sliding up your bare thigh, pushing the silk higher and higher until his fingers brushed the edge of your underwear. He didn’t go further yet — just teased, stroking the sensitive skin there while his mouth moved to your jaw, then down to your neck.
“You say you like me,” he growled against your throat, teeth grazing your pulse point. “Then prove how much.”
He sucked on your skin, hard enough to leave a mark, and you couldn’t stop the soft moan that escaped you. Sukuna’s grip on your thigh tightened in response, and you felt him growing hard beneath you, the thick length pressing against your core through his pants.
Your hands moved on instinct, sliding up his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic. He made a low, approving sound and rocked his hips up once, grinding against you deliberately.
“Touch me,” he ordered, voice rough. “If you’re serious, then fucking touch me.”
You obeyed, sliding your hands under his tunic, palms running over the hard planes of his stomach and the tattoos that covered his skin. His muscles tensed under your touch. Sukuna rewarded you by biting down on your neck again, then soothing the spot with his tongue.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, breathing heavy, eyes burning.
“Keep going,” he said, voice dark and commanding. His hands gripping your ass firmly as he pulled you down harder against his growing erection. “Show me exactly how much you want your husband.”
His hips rolled up deliberately, grinding the thick ridge of his cock against your clit in slow, filthy circles. The friction was maddening, heat building fast between you.
You moaned into his mouth. The sound seemed to snap something in him.
He growled low in his throat and rocked you harder against him. “Fuck,” he rasped against your lips, breath hot. “You’re already so wet for me.”
One large hand slipped further under your nightgown, calloused palm dragging up your bare thigh until his fingers found the soaked fabric of your panties. He groaned at the feeling, pressing two thick fingers against your clothed slit and rubbing firmly, spreading your wetness.
“So fucking wet,” he muttered, voice dark and rough. “All this from just sitting on my lap?”
He pushed your panties aside with impatient fingers and dragged two thick digits slowly through your slick folds. The first direct touch made your hips jerk sharply. Pleasure shot through you like lightning — hot, electric, and overwhelming. You were already soaked, embarrassingly wet, and Sukuna could feel it.
He chuckled darkly against your throat, the low vibration sending shivers racing down your spine as he kissed and bit along your neck, marking you with teeth and tongue.
“You’re dripping down my fingers, wife,” he growled, voice rough and filthy. “This greedy little cunt is making such a mess already.”
He pushed one thick finger inside you slowly, stretching your tight walls. Your inner muscles clenched hard around the intrusion, hot and silky. The feeling of being filled by him — even just one finger — made your breath hitch. He added a second finger almost immediately, scissoring them lazily while his thumb found your swollen clit and rubbed tight, relentless circles.
The wet, obscene sounds of his fingers pumping into your soaked pussy filled the quiet morning room — lewd squelching noises that would have made you blush if you weren’t already trembling with pleasure. Your arousal coated his hand, dripping down his wrist and onto his lap as he worked you open with practiced, unhurried strokes.
You whimpered, hands fisting tightly in the front of his tunic. Sukuna’s free hand yanked the neckline of your nightgown down roughly, exposing your breasts to the cool air. He leaned in and sucked one sensitive nipple into his mouth, tongue flicking roughly over the peak before his teeth grazed it. The sharp sting mixed with pleasure made your back arch, pushing your chest closer to his hungry mouth.
“So fucking sensitive,” he murmured against your skin, voice muffled as he switched to the other nipple, sucking harder. “Look at you. Falling apart just from my fingers like a desperate little whore.”
He curled his fingers inside you, stroking that perfect spot with devastating accuracy while his thumb pressed firmer circles on your clit. Your hips rocked desperately against his hand, chasing every thrust, every stroke. The wet sounds grew louder, filthier, echoing obscenely in the quiet chamber.
Sukuna pulled back just enough to watch your face, his crimson eyes dark with lust and that ever-present edge of suspicion.
“Cum for me,” he ordered, voice low and rough. “Let me feel how much this supposed ‘liking me’ makes this tight little pussy squeeze around my fingers.”
His fingers curled harder, stroking that sensitive spot relentlessly while his thumb worked your clit faster. The pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your core, burning hotter with every thrust, every filthy word.
It snapped.
You came hard with a broken moan, walls clenching violently around his thick fingers. Your thighs shook uncontrollably as slick gushed over his hand, soaking his palm and dripping down his wrist. Pleasure crashed through you in waves, leaving you gasping and trembling.
Sukuna groaned deeply at the feeling, still pumping his fingers slowly through your spasms, drawing out every last pulse until you were shaking and oversensitive, whimpering softly.
He finally pulled his fingers free, glistening with your release. Without breaking eye contact, he brought them to his mouth and licked them clean, tongue dragging slowly and deliberately over his skin, savoring your taste.
“Sweet,” he murmured, voice husky and dark. His eyes never left yours.
He lifted you effortlessly and stood, carrying you toward the massive bed. He laid you down on the black silk sheets, hovering over you with that same dark, hungry look.
“Take the nightgown off,” he commanded, already pulling his own tunic over his head, revealing the full expanse of his tattooed, muscled torso. “I want to see all of you.”
His hands moved to his pants, loosening them as he watched you, eyes burning with lust and that ever-present edge of suspicion.
“Prove how much you actually want me, wife.”
You sat up on the bed, heart hammering against your ribs. Under his burning gaze, you reached for the hem of your nightgown and pulled it up and over your head, letting the silk fall to the floor. The cool air of the chamber brushed over your bare skin, making your nipples tighten instantly.
Sukuna’s eyes raked slowly over your naked body — from your flushed face, down the curve of your breasts, your stomach, and the glistening wetness already coating your inner thighs. He let out a low, rough sound deep in his chest, almost a growl.
“Fuck… look at you,” he muttered, voice thick. “So small. So fucking pretty.”
He shoved his pants the rest of the way down his hips and kicked them aside. His cock sprang free, heavy and thick, the veined shaft curving slightly upward. It was meaty — obscenely so — the girth making your mouth go dry. The flushed head was already leaking, a bead of precum glistening at the tip. Even fully hard, it looked almost too big, too heavy, the weight of it making it hang thick and full between his powerful thighs.
You couldn’t help the soft, shaky breath that escaped you.
Sukuna noticed. His smirk was dark and satisfied as he crawled onto the bed, the mattress dipping deeply under his much larger frame. He settled between your spread thighs, his broad shoulders forcing your legs wider apart. The size difference hit you all over again — he was so much bigger than you, his body completely eclipsing yours as he hovered above you.
He gripped his thick cock in one large hand and dragged the heavy head through your soaked folds, coating himself in your wetness. The blunt, meaty tip nudged against your entrance, pressing just enough to tease the stretch.
“You’re tiny compared to me,” he rasped, voice low and rough. “Gonna feel every inch when I split you open.”
He pushed forward slowly.
The thick head of his cock breached you, stretching your entrance with a slow, burning pressure. You gasped sharply at the sheer girth — he was so thick that your walls had to part around him, fluttering and clenching as he sank deeper. The heavy, meaty weight of his cock filled you inch by inch, dragging against every sensitive ridge inside you until you were full, so full, your back arching off the bed with a broken moan.
Sukuna groaned deeply, the sound vibrating through his chest as he bottomed out, hips flush against yours. His balls rested heavy and warm against you.
“Shit,” he breathed against your neck, voice strained. “So fucking tight… this little pussy is sucking me in like it was made for me.”
He stayed buried deep for a moment, letting you adjust to the overwhelming stretch, the way his thick cock throbbed inside you, hot and heavy. Then he started moving — slow, deep rolls of his hips that dragged his meaty length along your walls with every thrust. The wet, obscene sound of him sliding in and out of your soaked cunt filled the room, slick and filthy.
You whimpered, nails digging into his broad shoulders. “Sukuna… you’re so big—”
He growled at your words, hips snapping harder, driving his thick cock deeper. The drag was exquisite, every vein and ridge rubbing against your most sensitive spots. His size made you feel impossibly full, stretched wide around his girth, the pressure bordering on too much but so, so good.
“Take it,” he rasped, voice dark and possessive. “Take every fucking inch like the good little wife you’re trying to be.”
He leaned down and captured your mouth in a messy, hungry kiss, tongue fucking your mouth in time with his deep thrusts. His heavy balls slapped against you with every powerful stroke, the wet sounds growing louder as your arousal dripped down his shaft and soaked the sheets beneath you.
You moaned into his mouth, legs wrapping tighter around his waist, heels digging into his back. The size difference made everything more intense — his broad chest crushing your breasts, his muscular thighs spreading you wide, his massive frame completely dominating yours as he fucked you into the mattress.
Sukuna pulled back just enough to look at you, breathing hard, eyes dark with lust and that lingering edge of suspicion.
“Tell me again,” he growled, hips grinding deep, the thick head of his cock pressing against that perfect spot inside you. “Tell me how much you like your husband’s cock while I’m ruining this tight little pussy.”
You could barely think through the overwhelming fullness. His cock was so thick it felt like he was splitting you open with every slow, deliberate thrust. The heavy drag of his veined shaft against your walls made your toes curl, pleasure bordering on too much.
“I like it,” you gasped, voice breaking on a moan as he rolled his hips again, grinding the fat head against your g-spot. “I like your cock so much— fuck, Sukuna, you’re so deep…”
A low, satisfied growl rumbled in his chest. He hooked one of your legs over his arm, spreading you wider, and drove into you harder. The new angle made his thick cock hit even deeper, the heavy weight of his balls slapping wetly against your ass with every powerful thrust. Your juices coated his shaft, dripping down to soak the sheets beneath you, the lewd squelching sounds echoing obscenely in the quiet room.
“So fucking tight,” he groaned, voice rough and strained. “This greedy little cunt is sucking me in like it doesn’t want to let go.”
He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a messy, dominating kiss. His tongue fucked into your mouth in time with his cock, deep and filthy, while his hips snapped forward harder. The sheer size difference made everything more intense — his broad, muscled body completely covering yours, his weight pressing you down into the mattress as he fucked you with long, punishing strokes.
You whimpered into his mouth, nails raking down his back, leaving red lines across his tattooed skin. Sukuna hissed at the sting and rewarded you by pounding into you even harder, the thick head of his cock bullying that sensitive spot inside you over and over.
“Again,” he demanded against your lips, breath hot and ragged. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to.”
“You,” you moaned, legs shaking as another wave of pleasure crashed through you. “It belongs to you— only you—”
“Good girl.”
He sat back on his heels, pulling your hips up with him so your lower back was off the bed. The new angle let him drive even deeper, his thick cock stretching you wide with every brutal thrust. His thumb found your swollen clit again, rubbing tight, firm circles while he fucked you senseless.
The wet slap of skin against skin mixed with your broken moans and his low grunts. Your breasts bounced with every powerful snap of his hips, nipples tight and aching. Sukuna’s gaze was locked between your legs, watching hungrily as his thick cock disappeared into your soaked pussy again and again, stretching you obscenely around his girth.
“Look at that,” he growled, voice dark. “Taking every inch like you were made for me. So fucking pretty when you’re stuffed full of my cock.”
The pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your core, burning hotter with every deep thrust, every swipe of his thumb on your clit. Your thighs trembled violently in his grip.
“Sukuna— I’m gonna—!”
“Cum,” he ordered, hips slamming into you harder. “Cum on your husband’s cock like the desperate little wife you are.”
It hit you like a wave. You came hard with a broken cry, walls clenching violently around his thick length, pulsing and fluttering as slick gushed around him. Your whole body shook, back arching sharply as pleasure tore through you.
Sukuna groaned deeply at the feeling, hips stuttering. “Fuck— that’s it. Milk my cock.”
He fucked you through your orgasm, prolonging it until you were whimpering and oversensitive. Then, with a low, guttural groan, he buried himself to the hilt and came hard, thick ropes of hot cum flooding deep inside you. He kept grinding his hips in slow circles, pushing his release even deeper as he emptied himself completely.
“We’re not done,” he said quietly, a dangerous promise in his tone. “Not even close.”
Sukuna pulled out of you with a wet, filthy sound, your combined release dripping down your thighs. Before you could catch your breath, he flipped you onto your back and manhandled you like you weighed nothing. He sat on the edge of the bed, pulled you into his lap facing away from him, and hooked his powerful arms under your knees, folding you in a full nelson.
Your back pressed flush against his broad, tattooed chest. Your legs were spread obscenely wide, knees pushed up toward your shoulders by his strong arms. The position left you completely helpless — folded in half, pussy exposed and dripping, his thick cock sliding hot and heavy between your slick folds.
“Fuck, look at you,” he growled right against your ear, voice feral. “So small and folded up for me. Perfect little fucktoy.”
He thrust up hard, burying his massive cock back inside you in one brutal stroke. The new angle made him feel even thicker, even deeper. You cried out, the sound raw and broken as his meaty length stretched you wide open again, the fat head bullying against your cervix with every thrust.
Sukuna went feral.
He fucked you like an animal — hard, fast, and relentless. His hips snapped up with powerful force, slamming his thick cock into your soaked pussy over and over. The wet, obscene slap of skin against skin filled the room, mixed with the lewd squelching of your dripping cunt taking every inch. His heavy balls slapped against your ass with every brutal thrust, the impact jolting through your body.
You were cockdrunk almost immediately.
Your mind went hazy, eyes rolling back as pleasure overloaded your senses. All you could do was moan helplessly, body limp in his hold as he used you. His thick cock dragged against every sensitive spot inside you, the sheer girth stretching you so wide it bordered on pain, but the pleasure was so intense you couldn’t think straight.
“S-Sukuna— ahh— too deep—” you slurred, voice broken and whiny.
He only fucked you harder, arms locked tight under your knees, keeping you folded and helpless as he pounded into you. His chest was slick with sweat against your back, his hot breath panting against your ear.
“Take it,” he snarled, voice feral and animalistic. “Take every fucking inch. This is what you wanted, isn’t it? My cock ruining this tight little pussy.”
You could only moan incoherently, head lolling back against his shoulder. Drool slipped from the corner of your mouth as he fucked you senseless, his thick cock bullying your insides with every savage thrust. The wet sounds were filthy — your juices coating his shaft and dripping down his balls, soaking the sheets beneath you.
Sukuna suddenly pulled out, flipped you onto your stomach, and yanked your hips up so your ass was high in the air. He slammed back into you in one brutal thrust, fucking you in deep, punishing doggy style.
“Fuck— yes,” he groaned, voice wrecked. One large hand came down hard on your ass with a loud smack, the sting blooming hot across your skin. He did it again, harder, the sharp crack echoing as he pounded into you from behind.
Your face was pressed into the sheets, ass up, completely at his mercy as he railed you. His thick cock drove so deep you felt it in your stomach, the heavy drag of his veined shaft making your eyes roll back. He smacked your ass again, gripping the soft flesh hard as he used you.
“You’re mine,” he growled, hips snapping forward relentlessly. “This pussy is mine. Say it.”
You could barely speak, mind blank and cockdrunk, but you whimpered obediently between moans, “Yours… it’s yours—”
Sukuna snarled in satisfaction and fucked you even harder, the bed creaking violently under the force of his thrusts. His heavy balls slapped against your clit with every brutal stroke, pushing you closer and closer to the edge again.
He was relentless now — grunting low and animalistic, cursing under his breath as his hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise. He claimed you with deep, punishing strokes, each one driving his thick cock so deep you felt it in your stomach.
“Fuck— this pussy is sucking me in so greedily,” he growled, voice wrecked and animalistic. One hand left your hip and came down hard on your ass again with a loud smack, the sharp sting blooming hot across your skin. He did it again, harder, gripping the soft, reddened flesh and spreading you wider as he railed you.
Your mind was completely melted. All you could do was moan and whimper into the sheets, drool slipping from the corner of your mouth as he pounded into you. His thick, meaty cock stretched you so wide it felt like he was reshaping you from the inside. Every deep, punishing thrust made the fat head kiss your cervix, sending sparks of overwhelming pleasure-pain shooting through your body.
“S-Sukuna— too much— ahh—!” you slurred, voice broken and whiny, barely coherent anymore.
He laughed darkly, low and breathless, and smacked your ass once more before gripping both cheeks and spreading you obscenely. He watched hungrily as his thick cock disappeared into your soaked, fluttering pussy again and again, your juices coating his shaft and dripping down his heavy balls.
“Look at this greedy little hole,” he rasped, hips snapping forward brutally. “Taking my fat cock so well. You’re dripping everywhere, wife. Making such a fucking mess on my sheets.”
He leaned over you, chest pressed to your back, one arm wrapping around your waist to hold you in place while the other braced beside your head. The new angle let him drive even deeper, his heavy cock bullying that perfect spot inside you with every savage thrust. The wet, filthy plap plap plap of his hips slamming into your ass filled the room, mixed with your broken moans and his guttural grunts.
You were shaking, thighs trembling violently, another orgasm building fast. Your mind was blank — nothing but the overwhelming stretch, the heat, the relentless drag of his thick veined cock inside you.
Sukuna’s breath was hot against your ear. “You’re mine,” he growled, teeth grazing your shoulder. “This tight little cunt is mine. Say it while you cum on my cock again.”
You could barely form words, but you whimpered obediently between moans, voice slurred and cockdrunk. “Yours— it’s yours— Sukuna— please—!”
He fucked you harder, hips pistoning relentlessly, the heavy slap of his balls against your clit pushing you over the edge. You came with a shattered cry, walls clamping down around his thick length like a vice, pulsing and fluttering as another intense orgasm ripped through you. Slick gushed around his cock, soaking his thighs and the sheets beneath you.
Sukuna groaned loudly, the sound raw and feral. “Good fucking girl—”
He didn’t stop. He fucked you through your orgasm with deep, stuttering thrusts, hips snapping erratically as he chased his own release. With a final, powerful drive, he buried himself to the hilt and came hard. Thick, hot ropes of cum flooded deep inside you, pulse after heavy pulse filling you until you felt impossibly full, the warmth spreading through your core. He kept grinding slowly, rolling his hips in lazy circles to push every drop deeper, making sure you took all of him.
You could feel it leaking out around his thick cock — warm, sticky, and messy — dripping down your thighs and soaking the sheets beneath you.
Sukuna stayed buried deep inside you for a long moment, his massive body pressing you firmly into the mattress. His chest heaved against your back, hot, ragged breaths fanning across the side of your neck. The scent of sweat, sex, and his skin filled the air with every shaky inhale. One of his hands stroked slowly up and down your side, almost possessively, while the other stayed gripping your hip, fingers digging in like he still wasn’t ready to let go.
“…Not bad,” he muttered, voice hoarse and low against your ear. “For a little liar.”
He finally pulled out slowly, inch by thick inch. A heavy trickle of his cum immediately leaked from your abused, fluttering pussy, warm and obscene as it ran down your inner thighs. Sukuna let out a low, satisfied hum at the sight before he rolled you onto your back and collapsed beside you.
Without a word, he pulled you against his chest, one strong arm wrapping around you possessively. His skin was hot and slightly damp with sweat, his heartbeat still racing steadily under your cheek as he held you close.
His fingers traced lazy patterns on your skin as he caught his breath.
But he didn’t let go.
a\n: honestly didn't know how to end this but hope you enjoyed! likes and reblogs appreciated!!
[ SERIES SYNOPSIS ] — it was obvious when this started, it was simply a mutual understanding between two horny college students — with very high libidos, and didn’t want any random stds — that this was purely a sexual relationship only. and yet, both of you are unintentionally toeing the line between that and something else ✦ frat!kuna fwb ✦ ongoing series
series masterlist ✮ previous chp ✮ next chp (coming soon)
sukuna wakes slow and heavy-limbed. he’s fogged over with the kind of sleep that only comes after exhaustion and release finally line up for just a moment. the sheets are warm and tangled around his legs exposing his naked torso to the cool air of your bedroom. his body still humming with that dull, satisfied ache that reminds him of last night’s pleasures.
for a moment he doesn’t move. just controlled breathes. eyes half-lidded as he blinks slowly. and he lets the quiet settle.
then he notices you.
you’re framed in the open doorway between the bedroom and the living room, back half-turned to him, pacing softly like you’re afraid of waking the apartment. a phone is pressed to your ear, your voice low and controlled in that way he’s learned — after starting this deal with you over a month and half ago — means you’re holding something back with annoyance.
you’re wearing only an oversized one piece t-shirt, the fabric slipping off one shoulder when you turn, bare legs catching the morning light as you pace. sukuna stays still, eyes tracking you without shame or restraint — the fresh marks on your skin pulls his attention like gravity, evidence of last night written openly where only he can see.
he doesn’t interrupt. he doesn’t clear his throat. he just watches. groggy and unguarded. something unfamiliar and heavy settles subtly over his chest as he takes you in like this, quiet, half-dressed, soft.
the week hasn’t disappeared. neither have the problems he’s quietly pushed back for the moment. but from where he’s lying, tangled in your sheets, it’s impossible to pretend that he isn’t grateful to have this agreement. even with the new condition added on last night, his mind is only circling the moans that slipped your lips. the comforter, tossed on the ground, evidence of your little surprise. and the slight warmth in his chest at the thought of sleeping with you again.
the clanking of your beaded curtains draws his attention back up. your hand tossles your bed hair, his eyes follow the movement, slowly tracking down your figure, and the rise of your shirt. he notices the light hand marks he’d left last night on your hips, along with some hickies along your bare thighs.
“was I loud?” you grumble, tossing your phone haphazardly on the dresser.
sukuna clicks his tongue, hand scratching his chest before tucking his arm behind his head, his bicep subtly flexing. “were ya—“ sukuna stifles a loud yawn, missing the way you cross the room. your fingers graze his warm chest, eyes flicking to the obvious bulge under the thin blanket, his coarse happy trail an invitation.
“ngh—“ sukuna groans at the sudden weight dropped on his lap, but easily draws his free hand to caress your hip under your shirt. “were ya up long?”
you shake your head, hands on his pecs tracing the ink that marks his broad chiseled chest, “do you need to be anywhere?” you ask.
his eyes drop from your face to the subtle way you’re rocking your hips. the sheer blanket barely acts as a barrier between your pussy and his morning wood. his hand squeezes your hips, kneading the soft flesh.
your hands continue caressing his chest, like it it’s the first time you’re touching him, but really, you were just turned on. his hand leaves your hip for a second, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, just for your hand to follow, caressing his veiny forearm.
“touchy this mornin’,” he grumbles, dropping the hand back to your waist. the soft pads of your fingers trace up the veins of his arms, squeezing and groping the tattoos wrapped around his biceps. “I don’t needa be anywhere. do you?” he eyes your phone, causing you to glance away from his muscles, to the deep red eyes.
you wet your lips, hesitating for a moment, then shaking your head.
his brow quirks, hand twitching when you start rocking a little quicker, the blanket slipping lower with each rock, his thick happy trail scratching at your puffy clit now. a satisfied sigh escapes your lips as you press your hands to his lower abdomen, his abs flexing under your palms as you begin humping him quicker. you were absolutely shameless, that was his favorite part about you. you can feel his hard cock pressing up against the blanket, pushing against your ass.
“pretty turned on,” he snorts, biting his lip as you give another delicious roll of your hips, moaning softly, eyes fluttering. you’re unbelievable. “wanna put it inside?” he spreads his thighs, hand grabbing at your waist, but instead your lips fall down connecting with his collarbone, shocking the man briefly.
but what takes him completely by surprise is when your lips continue trailing south. the slow drag of your wet lips on his warm skin, the gentle possessiveness of your fingers feeling his body.
you were in a different mood than last night.
his jaw tenses, watching you closely as you suck a bruise on his lower abdomen, your hand feeling the deep ridges of his hard earned abs. you push the blanket further down, crawling between his thick thighs. your lashes bat gently, savoring every kiss you press against the man, until your fingers gently touch his wrist.
his pupils dilate, breath hitching in his throat.
you’re staring up at him, breath fanning against the thick groomed hairs of his pubes, and your gentle fingers have firmly gripped his wrist, gently placing it on the crown of your head.
seriously? his neck strains with control, wetting his bottom lip as you nuzzle subtly into his hand.
something’s definitely up…
“you’re fucking insane,” his words come off colder than he’d intended, but if there was one thing about you, it’s that you’ll almost always bite.
you hum in quiet confirmation, lashes batting as you kiss his lower pelvis. your manicured nails brush his thick pubes as you kiss him lower, hand pushing his thick cock down as you glance up at him through your lashes. you don’t think twice about nuzzling your cheek in his musk, as if you’re oblivious to the obvious stench of sex from last night, and he could’ve sworn your eyes were just a bit more glossy than usual as you subtly inhaled.
that’s when he finally flexed his forearm, his hand that you’d placed on your head, finally brushes your hair, thumb falling on your forehead as he caresses the soft skin. petting.
his cock stirs. stomach twisting. the calmness quietly takes him by surprise. your lashes flutter shut for a moment, breath fanning against his most private area, tension forced off your shoulders. and he watches closely, the way you melt between his legs just from the action of petting your head.
your expression turned gentle. the knit in your brows from your phone call eased, and your lips part with even breaths, your shoulders rise a little more, until your fingers flex, gripping his cock in surprise.
“shit,” a sharp hiss escapes his lips, cock jumping in your hand as you nuzzle closer, kissing his base. his muscles flex with control, slightly irritated by your pace, but not completely oblivious to your distant gaze.
so he continues petting you.
occasionally brushing your cheeks before returning his large hand to the top of your head, humming in satisfaction when you begin kissing his cock with more intention. your lips suck on the veins at the base of his cock, tongue flat before dragging it up to his flushed red tip, spitting. his thighs spread, hand holding the side of your head, allowing his thumb to grant you whatever relief you needed by caressing your cheekbones.
“good girl,” he rasps, voice still groggy from the morning. his cock twitches as he feels your spit slide from his tip to his girthy base, your hand lubricating him as you kiss his tip again and again. the coil already starts twisting deep in his gut as you take your time. your jaw opens wider, holding his cock as you slap it against your tongue.
eyes locked on him.
a low groan escapes his throat, hips rising slightly. his leg is bent open just for his impressive cock to twitch some more, slit leaking bitter pre for your tongue to lap up like ice cream.
you’re fucking messing with him.
his head tips back, throat bopping and arm draping over his face. his bicep flexing, controlling himself. he’s snapped at you to get on with it before, he might as well snap now. but there’s a great fucking chance you’d just stop. pull away. glare at him. and though he’s sure he can convince you to keep going. it still feels like you’re both walking on thin ice.
you’d just mended things. he’s not a complete idiot to act like an asshole after that, even if he thinks bickering during sex is what your relationship is—but you’re acting uncharacteristically different. so he bites his tongue, keeping a hand on your head allowing you to go at your pace like his cock is there to serve you and not him.
it’s torture.
are you punishing him? that can be the only explanation to why you’re suckling his painfully engorged tip for the past ten-fifteen-twenty minutes??? you’re acting like it’s the first time you’re seeing a man’s cock.
your lips part, a soft moan escaping as you get a taste of his bitter cum, swallowing more of his length as you bob your head slowly, hand pumping the rest as you cup his heavy balls.
“fuuck me,” he grunts low and dangerous, fingers tightening around your hair, pushing you down as you gag. your whines go straight to his cock, his head dizzy from the edging, and screaming for release.
your fingers tighten around his base, before pushing against his toned thighs, trying to push off, but his hand remains firm on your head, keeping you down as you swallow more of his length. deepthroating.
“haah fuck, jus’ like that, baby, fuckin’ mouth feels like heaven—ngh gun’ cum in this hole,” his words strain, forearms flexing as he bucks his hips up. his cock hits the back of your throat immediately triggering your tears.
your nails dig into his thighs, breathing through your nose as your throat constricts around his cock, finally sending him over the edge.
“fuck-fuck—“ the loud unfiltered groan fills the bedroom. his thick cum spills down your throat, suffocating you as you finally push his hand off.
his cum hits your face as you gasp for air, swallowing the cum that filled your mouth as the rest paints your chin and lips. “fuuck me,” he groans, chest heaving as his hand falls from his face to his stomach.
your cheeks flush, heart hammering as you catch your breath, watching the huge man on your bed soak in his post nut bliss. your brows furrow, anger quietly bubbling under the surface, just to still when you see the lazy grin on his face, canines peaking. the furious heat that blows your face, triggers your realization that you’re absolutely soaked. he’d just used your face and you’re unbelievably wet—
“are ya mad?” he sighs, opening an eye to glance at you. his hand comes back to your face, wiping his cum from your chin, just to push it to your lips. “open.”
you’ve definitely lost your mind.
your soft lips part. his thumb pushes in. eyes locked on your glossy lips sucking the rough digit, cleaning his cum off. his cock stirs again, eyes lidded as he maintains eye contact. your lashes bat up at him, curiosity and anger mixed together, just for his eyes to break your skin, face a hot mess.
“taste good?”
sukuna scoffs as you shake your head. you pull off for a moment, fingers brushing his forearm as he holds your jaw.
“it’s more bitter,” you admit, “were you drinking a lot this week?”
his jaw tenses, remembering the events of the past week without you—
“i like it when it tastes sweet,” you say. his hand falls as you pull away. your fingers grab the hem of your shirt, lifting it over your head and tossing it.
“when does it ever taste sweet?” he scoffs, watching as you stand up, eyes flicking to the way your nipples harden at the cool air, tits swaying as you grab a new box of condoms from your drawer. he catches sight of your ass, bruised and gorgeous.
“most of the time it does,” you answer, taking out a condom, and tossing it on his stomach. then you climb back between his legs.
his eyes widen briefly.
you face away from him. your hips rise as you position your feet under his bent legs. his muscular thighs flex, biting back a groan as he grabs a handful of your ass, tearing the wrapper with his teeth. he moves slightly up, resting his back on the pillows and headboard.
“don’t wanna face me ‘cause i came down y’er throat?” he jerks his cock, before sliding the condom on. he’s not complaining about the view, yeah, he loves seeing your face twist in pleasure, but this view was an easy fucking turn on.
“i wanna go at my pace,” you huff, raising your hips as your hand comes between your legs. sukuna bites back a grin as you grip his cock, positioning it at your hole.
“y’er pussy looks fucking tiny from here, sure y’er not gonna cry?” he teases, holding your ass apart, thumbs close to your entrance keeping you open for his greedy eyes.
“m’ fine,” you mumble, biting your lip as you push his tip against your cute little cunt, slowly sinking down. the smallest whimper escapes your throat at the stretch of his engorged tip. “haaah…”
his jaw slacks, a low airy chuckle sinks in your ear as the athlete watches your ass bounce and shake over his tip, making it snug right into your gummy walls to suck in.
“c’mon a lil’ more finesse, babe,” he comments, amused at the way you lean forward grabbing fistfuls of the bedsheet, back arching even deeper. “fuuck.”
spank.
a shocked gasp leaves your lips. ass bouncing with more vigor, pussy sucking in more of his length.
spank!
“angh!” your moan pierces the air, your pussy oozing slick as you ride his big chubby cock. every spank to your ass a signal to go faster.
god, it feels so good.
“keep shakin’ your pretty ass in my face—“ spank! “fuck—take this cock like a good girl. ya like havin, this pussy filled, don’t ya?” spank!
“yeeah,” you pant, ass slamming down to meet his hips. your eyes fluttering with every drag, mind growing numb every time his tip hits your cervix,
“yeah, keep going—ngh keep goin’,” his rough grunts from behind you has you chasing the coil twisting in your gut. “missed this pussy all week…you missed it too right? missed this big cock stretching y’er cunt?
“anngh ryo-ryo wanna cum on you, ry—haah ah,” your lips part, choked whines flowing out with each hard spank to your ass. his grip tightens on your hips, slamming you down harder, suffocating his cock around your weeping pussy.
his hips rise to meet yours halfway, your eyes roll back at the delicious stretch. biting your lip as you fist the sheets. you ignore the sting in your thighs as you keep bouncing, tongue falling out like a dumb slut as he spanks you harder. unsympathetic to your cries as he keeps your ass bouncing over him.
then, his eyes flick to your other hole. his pupils blow black, heart hammering as his thumb slowly moves to the puckering hole. “fucking winking at me,” he mutters to himself.
“feels so good, ryo,” you whine, unaware of his new sudden attention. his thumb rubs the dip in your spine, biting his lip as you slam down again. fuck your asshole looks so pretty, he thinks, face burning. “ryo—“ your moans pitch higher, snapping him back.
“slutty pussy,” he grunts, biting his lip to spank your ass again, pupils dilating at the recoil. “yeah,” his hands glide over the globes of your ass, chuckling as your bouncing grows sloppy. whines carefully hitting the walls as you sit up, hands on his knees, as you start slamming down harder. “shiit.”
his knuckles turn white, gripping your hips as he feels you start clamping, your hands go back to the sheets between his legs, panting like a little slut that’s never fucked herself on a big cock before.
“gunna cum-gonnacumgonna—ahh—“ your hips still, his cock fully sheathed inside your tight pussy, whining. he feels you clench around him in spasms. your glossy lips slick with drool, choked whines escaping as a hot white orgasm rocks through your veins.
“god, this pussy is dirty,” he spanks your ass again. a low groan crawls up his chest as you slowly rock back n forth, dragging your climax.
then with just his tip in, pussy stretched and oozing around him, balanced on your forearms and knees, you glance over your shoulder.
“use my pussy, ryo.”
he blinks.
his heart stutters.
then his face blows hot bright pink.
he’d just woken up. the man had been holding back for your sake. even though he can tell you’re not all there. mind wandering with that distant look in your eyes. he’s a man at the end of the day. and if you’re batting your lashes at him like that, with that look in your eyes, asking him to use you? well, there’s no stopping him.
your head was stirring from quiet to loud. you’d been up around an hour ago to use the bathroom, and mistakenly detoured to your buzzing phone in the living room once you’d stepped out of the bathroom. the pit in your stomach felt bigger now that finals is officially over, and today was the start of summer.
with that realization, your dads caller id felt like everything you’d been avoiding finally toppling onto your shoulders, and suffocating you into the ground.
your sister had decided after she’d left your niece, yazzy, with you for too long and almost made you miss your final, that it would be a great idea to come over the same night, and thursday, and friday. all the way up until your brother-in-law finally finished his meeting, and was ready to head to the airport.
however, this quality time with your older sister couldn’t have been at a more inconvenient tome:
“what?!” your eyes widen, lurching back. you were sitting on the couch, yazzy was playing with some legos on the floor, and your sister was scrolling on her phone.
jennie nods, “yeah I know, weird.”
“that’s really really weird. why the hell is everyone getting married so early? like we’re still in college??” you ramble, shocked by the news your sister had just told you. another one of your close family friends just got engaged, mind you she’s your age, “and the guy is her age too?”
jennie nods, cringing, “yeah, he’s still in school, and mom was saying that their gonna live with his parents until like, he makes money.”
you cringe, “I’d actually kill myself.”
jennie snorts, nodding along, “no like I’d actually kill myself.”
“dunno why she wouldn’t wait until they at least graduate and get a little stability. that’d actually be the worst possible thing, living off your in-laws money and they’re not even that wealthy,” you judge, only being able to do that around your sister. “wait— I literally thought she was still with leo?”
“no actually,” you sister easily agrees, and shrugs to your second inquiry. she’s scrolling through her messages until she finds the photos she’s looking for. “this was the engagement party mom went too, her dress is pretty here.”
you lean over, taking the phone from your sister to look, “yeah, she looks really pretty.”
“mama was telling me how they met in school. they were in the same student club, I think she was president and he was vice president or something,” jennie explains, while you swipe through the pictures. “they talked for like five months before getting engaged.”
“what?!” your eyes blow even wider. “just five months?!!”
you sister snorts, “yeah, insane.”
“yeah what the actual hell?,” you hand her back her phone, mind slowly wandering…. “yeah, I’m definitely not getting married in school or straight out either. I’d rather die.” your sister quietly snorts, not in a way she’s hiding either. your brows furrow briefly, rolling your eyes the second you see that look on her face. “what?”
“nothing. I didn’t even say anything.”
you frown harder, “you’re making that stupid face. so what?”
jennie rolls her eyes, “you say you’re not gonna do a lot of things and you end up doing it.” she trails.
but you’re already frowning.
“you’re so annoying —you always get mad and I haven’t even said anything—“ she starts.
“yeah, because I know what you’re gonna say and I literally said that’s not how I am. sorry i can’t act out once. I guess that’s your thing,” you tsk.
jennie barely bats an eye as she speaks over you, “if you don’t want to go to med school. don’t. you’re a doormat about literally everything. you’re scared to make mom and dad upset and then you come complaining to me. you’ve always been like that. I’m not gonna do it, I don’t wanna do it. then you end up doing it. it’s annoying hearing you whine,” jennie huffs.
your eyes feel sore from how much you’ve rolled them, “like it’s that easy when he’s literally taking out loans and paying for me to go to school.”
“he did the same thing for me and i still dropped it. I’d rather have done anything else than go to med school,” your sister makes that annoying ass so what face. “you’re just a goody-two-shoes.”
“I’m literally not. and unlike you I actually feel bad when dad wastes money—“
“It’s your future. he’s not even forcing you to do it. you just keep saying you wanna do it—“
“I never said I wanted to do it—“
“well you basically did when dad asked what else are you gonna do and you didn’t even wanna tell me him you’re interested in other stuff. and then when he pushed you to go pre-med you just went along with the it…like a doormat.”
your jaw ticks, blood pumping viscously in your ears. “I’m not a doormat, I’m just indecisive.”
“yeah, well same thing,” your sister says, your mouth opens to reply when her phone starts buzzing. your face goes pale at the caller id.
“don’t pick up—“
“hey dad.”
you sink into the couch, heart beating against your ribs as you anxiously hear the sound of your dads voice. you hadn’t spoken to him since you’d told him you’re not taking your mcats this summer. it’s almost been two full weeks of you dodging his calls, and dryly replying to his texts.
“yeah she’s sitting right next to me,” your sister puts him on speaker.
you inhale sharply, taking a deep breath as your dad greets you. his tone calm, clearly cautious, as if you’ll run away from a phone call. which you’ve been doing, but it’s irritating nonetheless because he already knows you’re there.
“how are your finals going?” he asks.
your lips purse, “fine.” your eyes flick up, “i can barely study with jennie here though.”
“I don’t even bother you—“
“I was up all night because I couldn’t do anything in the morning. she had me babysit yazzy all day and yesterday, and she knows I have finals. I almost missed my exam yesterday because she didn’t pick up yazzy in time.”
“that wasn’t my fault—“
“jennie,” your dad cuts the argument.
your sister gives the biggest eye roll known to man, and you know she’s going to give you attitude after the call. but you’d rather snitch and distract your dad, than give him the chance to turn his attention on you.
however, he’s a surgeon. meaning, he’ll get to the point easily and never beat around the bush. even after scolding jennie on your behalf, he quickly shifts, your name cutting through the speaker, “did you sign the forms I emailed you?”
your sister glances up, eyes boring into yours as you sink back, head falling on the cushion as the anxiety quickly crawls up your throat.
“I got your friends forms, she signed them quickly, so I need you to do that soon,” your dad certainly has a way of talking at you, rather than to you. however, you’re not one to confront him, especially when you’re not even confident in what you’ll be doing this summer. all you know is you do not want to work with your dad, but you’d rather die than ever say that to his face.
“I’m still like…waiting to hear back from some other places, so I don’t wanna commit to that,” you scratch at the cushion.
your sister rolls her eyes — it’s almost like that’s the only thing she knows how to do.
“what exactly are you waiting for you? you said you’re going to work in the summer, are you backing out?” his harsh tone quickly has you clenching your jaw in frustration.
“it’s the summer before my senior year. I said I had things that I wanted to check out—“
“you can’t just keep going back and forth when you agree to something,” he snaps. “that’s what being an adult is. you said you would take your mcats in the summer, and work. if you don’t have anything to do than you’re going to work. I don’t wanna come home everyday and see you just sitting at home waking up past twelve—“
“I wasn’t going to just sit at home,” you tsk.
“then what’re you going to do?” his harsh tone immediately shuts you up. there’s no talking to him when he’s like this. it was the sureness in his tone that always made you feel incompetent, like every second you spend indecisive, is another day wasted. you roll your eyes, getting up. “if you have something that’ll keep you busy for the summer, that’s not just sitting at home, then tell me and I’ll leave you alone. but you don’t.”
“okay, whatever,” you storm off grabbing your bag shoving your laptop in.
your sister mutters how you’re leaving and it’s not long until the call ends and your sister is turning in her spot on the couch. “you have a problem with criticism,” she starts.
“I don’t,” you mumble, slipping your shoes at the door. “I have a problem with everyone pushing me around when I literally said I needed time.”
“when have you ever said that?” she throws back.
your jaw ticks, “all the freaking time,” you grit. “I’ve been volunteering at the hospital every summer since high school, and did those programs too. it’s annoying and boring and I don’t know why he’s obsessed with me doing a new one every summer.”
“you never tell him though—“
“because I don’t have anything else!” you snap, mind getting tangled. why is it so hard for her to understand? out of everyone, she should be the most sympathetic. but unlike you, she doesn’t care if she upsets your parents. it’s one thing you hate about your older sister. she’ll do, quite literally, anything she wants. and if she doesn’t want to do it, she won’t.
jennie stifles a loud groan, rolling her eyes as she turns back to the tv. “go, ohmygod I’m so tired of your excuses.”
“it’s not—tch,” you don’t even bother. instead you twist the handle of your front door and leave.
you aren’t clueless. you definitely think you’re self-aware — like many others do — but it’s difficult to be self-aware and prideful. you hate the idea of going to med school, you hate the idea of doing the same thing every day. if you pursue it, you wouldn’t settle for anything other than a surgeon, that’s what dad is. but you don’t even want to be doctor in the first place! but you’re too scared to fully commit to something in the arts—
your mind pounds as you hole yourself in the uni library for that entire thursday night. you couldn’t even bring yourself to fully process whether you smelled or not. instead, you took your final two exams friday morning and noon. desperately racking through your brain why you’re trying so hard for something you care so little for.
it wasn’t a subject you liked pondering. in fact, you actively try to avoid thinking about your future. it’s a blaring red topic that only brings you anxiety, insecurity, and many other negative feelings.
maybe that’s why you spent a majority of your day on campus, wandering from the student center, to the cafe, to the courtyard— all with the intention of avoiding your apartment until you sister leaves.
but you can only distract yourself for so long. your stomach churned with anxiety as you wasted the day away on the grass. your heart picking up as the inevitable responsibilities you’ve put off began to loom over your head like a dark cloud. one that had you curling inward on the grass. hand pressing over your heart as you rubbed it, hoping it’ll ease the tightness that continues to wind.
“fuck me,” you mutter, swallowing the lump in your throat. your eyes feel hot, tears collecting before your can control it. this sucks so bad.
the heat in your chest was a familiar sensation. one that left you sinking deeper and deeper. you’ve been trying so hard for the past three years…you’ve mentioned your scripts to your dad…to your mom….but you’re always met with the logistics. if you showed a little interest in something, they automatically assumed you were a pro….
you quietly try to swallow your self-loathing, wiping the few tears that managed to fall. it’s inevitable, you repeat, making your way to the bus when your phone goes off.
CALLER ID: DUMBASS
your breath hitches.
…is he going to apologize? end the deal? your stomach churns uncomfortably. fuck, your head feels like it’s gonna explode—
you pick up, “hello?”
—
“ngh fuckfuck—fuck m’ cumming—shiit—!!” sukuna growls in your ear, muscles glistening with sweat as his stomach flexes against your back. his muscles lock up after a few more sloppy thrusts. his biceps flex, arm wrapped around your middle, keeping you arched down on the bed as he slams his brutal length from behind. his other hand interlaced with yours on the bed, squeezing it as he buckles over.
“fhuckk—nghhh—“ his groans wavers on the precipice of sounding like moans, completely falling over the edge as he shoots his load into the rubber.
his hips roll viciously, grinding right against your sweet spot, earning a moan like whimper from you, until he’s finally stilled behind you.
his warm breath fans against your ear,
the morning weekend traffic sounds outside. the quiet calm that falls after a good fuck settles in the bedroom, along with your mixed pants.
your stomach fully relaxes on the mattress, body laying down. sex is fulfilling…you think. your mind feels all mushy, your limbs sore, your ass definitely more bruised—yet your stomach still manages to churn uncomfortably.
you swallow a thick lump, resting your cheek further into the mattress, eyes closed. why does it have to be summer already?
jennie is such a selfish— your eyes clench tighter, heart speeding up at the memory of yesterday, after getting back home from the bus….
“why do you always finish inside me?” your voice comes out before you can stop it, distracting yourself.
sukuna lazily blinks, pulling out, chest still pressed against your back as he tugs the condom off tying it. “what kinda question is that?” he mutters, cock pressing against your ass.
your lips part, unsure where it came from, but still managing a response. “i thought you hate condoms—“
“i do,” he quickly cuts, rolling beside you, chest rising and falling. “and I’ve cum on your ass n tits and face multiple times,” he tsks.
your lashes gently blink, palm sliding against the comforter. mind in quiet scrambles. his head turns, gaze falling to your palm now resting on his bicep. his eyes flick to your face, your lidded gaze fixated on your own fingers tracing his tattoos. there was no rush, not like the times before where he’d have practice, or you had to study. instead, there was an ambiguous tension of anxiety bubbling in you, not wanting to leave his side right now.
“hey,” your voice is much softer, as it always turns after he’s had his way with you. “what’re you gonna do this summer?”
sukuna shifts, biceps flexing as his other arm tucks behind his head getting comfortable beside you. “gonna go back to my gramps. have some shit i haveta deal with that I’ve been putting off,” he vaguely explains, eyes pointed at the ceiling. so far he hasn’t heard from kaori since he and toji paid her a visit a few weeks ago. then again, he hasn’t spoken to toji outside of practice, which strictly stuck to tactical and strategic moves on the pitch.
and let’s not forget the other headache of choso dodging his calls and texts. the most updates he’s received is when yuuji calls him from the house line, or texts him from gramps phone. and the most information given is yuuji’s two sentences about choso spending a lot of time with his band practicing for a show at the end of the school year. then he’ll go on a rant about some shit he dragged megumi and his new friend, nobara, into that landed them in in-school detention.
“do you live with your grandpa?” you question, curiosity always getting the better of you.
sukuna lets out a hum like grunt from the back of his throat, his hand scratches his sweaty stomach, biceps flexing under your palm as he does so.
“your brothers too?”
sukuna’s pupils flick to you from the corner of his eye. intimidating glare boring into you. “what’s with the interrogation?”
you sigh, closing your eyes, “was just wondering. am I crossing a line?”
his jaw ticks, you really have a way with words, and he doesn’t mean that in a positive way.
“yeah, my brothers live with him.” he could’ve easily snapped, but maybe it was the post-nut bliss swimming in his veins that allowed him to reply in a leveled tone.
your mind quietly begins to wonder…so him and brothers live with his grandpa…so where’s his dad? if he has a step mom, did his parents get a divorce? is his mom still in the picture? is his dad still in the picture? what’s the issue with his step-mom? he doesn’t seem to have a good relationship with her—
“what’re you gonna do this summer?” his words cut your wandering thoughts, focus snapping back to him with an uncomfortable twist settling over your shoulders. he doesn’t miss the way you inhale deeply.
“probably…” you mutter, trailing off as your palm slides off his bicep, “gonna work at the hospital…for my…yeah…”
his brow quirks in subtle confusion, “yeah?”
you sigh through your nose, glancing at the veins around his biceps…how can someone be so strong? how long did it take him to build all that muscle, do soccer players even need huge biceps?
“hey,” he snaps you back.
your lips part, blinking.
“your yeah?” he repeats, intrigued now that you’re acting weird.
“my dad,” you mutter, eyes closing. “shoko is also gonna stay over for a few weeks for the program, so like, that’s good,” you add quietly.
his brow remains up, confused why you’re answering so cryptically, ignoring how similar your tone is to his, “do you not like y’er dad or some shit?”
your eyes flick to him with shock. the silence was unconvincing before you finally respond. “it’s not like that,” you swallow a lump, tongue poking your lips.
“so you don’t like the program?”
you sigh louder, why can peace never find you? “I’ve been working up this program for a thousand years… I hate it.”
“then don’t do it,” his simple response immediately sets you off. he catches the quiet tsk from your mouth, his brows furrowing as his head turns to you. “sore subject much?”
you glare up at him.
he scoffs, settling himself again, “just tell me to fuck off then,” he tsks, “fucking keep my mouth shut next time.”
you frown at his reaction, “does everything trigger you?”
his face morphs into a deeper scowl, rolling his eyes. “maybe we should add another fucking condition: no fucking talking after sex,” he growls.
your brow hits the ceiling, eyes wide, as you snap up, “what?!” your screech pierces his ears, making him flinch back. “what the hell! i don’t agree. if that’s a condition then no deal, man!”
sukuna shoots you a bewildered look, “you can’t keep your mouth shut after fucking?”
“no, what the hell,” you shoot, eyes wide as they bore down at him. “you can’t ban me from talking. that’s a dumb freaking condition,” you ramble. the fratboy scoffs lightly, eyes glancing between yours as you continue. “what happens if I break the condition huh? you’re gonna end the deal then, let’s just end it now, because I don’t agree, and I don’t approve of adding it. it’s dumb and literally makes no sense. god forbid I wanna say something once in awhile, it’s almost like I have a brain.”
your rant turns into more of a dumb explanation of your disagreement, while sukuna gives you the most deadpan unamused look ever. it’s like this whole thing has turned into one big fat (amusing) inconvenience for him.
with some miracle, you finally notice him. your face twists, “what?”
the man slowly blinks, “I’m surprised you stopped talking for a minute.”
“hilarious,” you roll your eyes. “well I disagree. so your choice: no condition, or no deal.”
“is that an ultimatum?”
you don’t even glance at him, you’re sat up resting back on your arm, the ball in his court, as you wait.
he scoffs, rolling his eyes. you’re a goddamn handful. “no condition.”
“that’s what I thought,” your quick response earns a genuine snort from the man. your gaze flicks to him with amusement subtly dancing behind your eyes. “you’re acting like you don’t talk after sex.”
“not as much as you,” he throws back, eyes tracking over your face, then down to your breasts. you looked mouthwatering sitting up beside him like this. the afternoon sun shining throw the sheer curtains, highlighting every mole he’s definitely put his lips on. his mind felt surprisingly calm, even if the inevitable summer has finally arrived, at least he’s still in your presence.
“you’re not even listening to me. does a naked girl really distract you that much?”
“yeah,” he husks, leaning up to kiss the soft flesh of your breast, hand groping the other as he sucks with a low hum. your lips part in mild surprise, sigh escaping as he hallows his cheeks. his touch is firm, cupping the underside of your breast as he brings his lips to the other.
your lidded gaze drags over him, holding back your amusement seeing his flaccid cock twitch and easily grow hard again. unbelievable…
“ngh—shit that was good,” sukuna grunts, sweaty back hitting the mattress after another quick round. his satisfied smile whilst he catches his breath was amusing, especially when your lips part, kissing his neck.
“you gonna be gone all summer?” you ask into his neck, arm loosely laying across his chest, his arm still tucked around your torso keeping you pressed to his side as you come down from your climax.
“dunno—I live an hour away, but I’m always comin into the city so,” he shrugs. you hum quietly, thinking. “you?”
your fingers quietly touch his ear lobes, missing the heated flush that crawls up his neck at the sensitive touch. “I live in the opposite side of the country…I’d rather stay here,” you murmur, eyes gently falling shut again, desperately trying to keep your brain mushy. “let’s just go back to sleep….”
his chest quietly rises, gentle breath slipping past his lips. he glances at you tucked by his side. and even if it was the afternoon, having your body heat and scent surround him, the gentle caresses of your fingers against his neck, and your warm breath fanning against his chest. well it all made it significantly easier for sleep to take over.
sukuna can’t know for sure how irresponsible it was to sleep for a majority of the day at your apartment. groggy as he woke up to take a piss then join you again. it truly felt like a recovery day from the stressful semester, and even more stressful week. but, before crashing beside you again, he’d managed to plug his dead phone into the charger.
that may have been a mistake. especially when he’s waking up to his phone pinging with notifications.
his arm stretches over, yawn racking through his body as he scrolls through his lockscreen, vision blurry with sleep, ignoring the insta tags and messages in the frat chat.
however he reads the message from toji.
call me when you’re free.
sukuna licks his lips, rubbing his eyes as he scrolls to his gramps.
when are you coming home???
gramps said today or tomorrow?!
I wanna show you the new haunted house nobara was telling me!!
HELLO
HELLO
HELLO
HELLLLLOOOOO
It’s Saturday why are you not answering???
sukuna sighs removing his other arm wrapped around you to reply to his brother. what time is it?
you shift quietly beside him.
sukuna continues flicking through his messages, brow furrowing. a banking alert flashes across his screen — choso’s account. incoming wire transfer completed.
“the fuck?” sukuna’s eyes snap open. the sender’s name making his blood run cold.
ACH CREDIT — $1,500.00
Sender: Kaori Kamo Holdings LLC
Posted to Choso’s Checking •••4877
what the fuck?!
sukuna immediately blows his lid, ripping the sheets off him as he storms out of the bedroom. his fingers already pressing his home’s line, waiting for the ring until the phone suddenly picks up.
“RYO! ARE YOU ON YOUR WAY—“
“yuuji—“
“megumi is sleeping over, so i can totally show you the new video game too. megumi thinks he’s better than me, but I’ve been letting him win—“
“don’t lie,” megumi interrupts in the background.
sukuna tsks, shoving his shirt on as he buckles his jeans. “yuuji zip it for a sec!”
yuuji goes silent.
sukuna moves the phone to his ear, shoving his wallet in his pocket. “where was choso today?”
“all you ever ask me anymore is choso this, choso that,” the eleven year old grumbles, obviously sulking, no longer interested in talking to his older brother.
“yuuji,” the older grits, frustration bubbling as theories start floating in his mind. why the fuck did she wire transfer choso money? is this some power play? she hasn’t contacted him in weeks, is she scaring him? rubbing it in his face that she can access choso through money?
yuuji huffs through the speaker, “he just woke up. he was sleeping all morning—cho!”
…
“CHOO!”
“WHAT?!” the loud bark of the middle child resounds through the speaker, quietly easing the knots that have already formed in sukuna’s shoulders.
“see,” yuuji shifts his attention back to sukuna.
sukuna slips his shoes on. not batting a single eye at the chaotic state he’s leaving your apartment. unfortunately for him, his mind is quickly consumed with thoughts of his brother, that he’s unable to process how he’s leaving things for the summer with you…
“was he home all of yesterday?”
“no. he went to school, duuuuhhhh—“
the vein snaps in sukuna’s neck.
“yuuji.”
sukuna audibly hears yuuji gulp on the other line, sulking once again. “he was in the garage with his band. then gramps came home tired so they went to ino’s place to practice.”
“ino?”
yuuji hums, “yeah. he’s choso’s friend from like middle school. he’s really really funny, and is part of cho’s band.”
a boy with a beanie loosely comes to mind, but sukuna remains focused, exiting your building. it really is almost two in the afternoon, streets quietly bustling with saturday lunch plans. “what time did he get back home?”
yuuji groans on the other line, “I don’t know maaan, jus’ ask him yourself. I’m bored.”
sukuna tsks, frustrations bubbling up again, “get him on the phone.”
“choso!” yuuji shouts, earning a loud scold from the middle child, and sukuna ripping the phone from his ear, “ryo wants to talk to you!”
“tell him he can suck. my. ass!” choso shouts.
another veins snaps in sukuna’s neck.
“he said you can suck his—“
“I heard him,” sukuna snaps. fucking teenagers. he inhales sharply, going down the subway. “I’m coming tomorrow morning.”
“WHAA?? I thought you said today,” yuuji whines.
sukuna runs a hand through his hair, completely unaware of the women that ogle him as he hops on the train. “I got busy this morning and I still need to pack.”
“but—“
“I’ll talk to you later. call me if choso leaves the house,” sukuna hangs up.
the sound of choso’s movie plays in the background, while megumi eats beside yuuji on the counter. yuuji quietly stares at his plate as the phone rings.
“you okay?” megumi looks over at him, french fry hanging from his mouth.
yuuji hangs the phone, biting his cheek as he sulks further in his seat. “he never asks how I’m doing anymore,” he mumbles.
sukuna likes to pretend he has control over everything. at least he tries his hardest to make everyone think that. however, it doesn’t always come out as control when he has a temper as short as his.
the moment the frat came into view he should’ve known.
his neck cracked as he walked up the trash littered front lawn. his shoulders rolling back, muscles popping from the long sleep. he steps into the house, the floor covered in a layer of spilled beer, red solo cups, and other trash. but his final straw was walking up the stairs, and turning just a fraction to spot his bedroom door ajar.
his blood runs cold.
he’d stormed out without warning last night, leaving everything behind. had he forgotten to lock his bedroom door before the party started?
his steps were loud and heavy, blood pumping in his ears as he crosses the hallway. if he finds a single fucking cum splatter, or condom on his bed, he’s punching another hole in the wall. unfortunately, sukuna now regrets thinking either of those results. instead he’s frozen at the doorframe, eyes blood red with anger as he sees a familiar set of long black hair laying on his bed.
the smell hits first, the stale perfume, sweat, alcohol, something sour that doesn’t belong to him. it crawls up his throat. his jaw locks so tight it aches.
yorozu is sprawled across his sheets like she owns them, tangled in his soccer jersey, bare thigh thrown over the blanket, panties riding up, and his pillow tucked under her arm. a naked pledge-recently turned member— lays on the floor facedown and dead to the world, breathing loud. one of sukuna’s hoodies twisted under his head like a trophy. for half a second the scene doesn’t register as real — just an insult assembled out of the worst possible outcome.
then the heat detonates.
the door SLAMS open the rest of the way, wood cracking against the wall so hard the frame shudders. the sound is violent enough to shake the posters. yorozu jolts upright with a gasp, hair wild, blinking into the light, and when she sees him, the color drains from her face.
sukuna doesn’t move at first. that’s what makes it worse.
he stands there breathing slow and huge through his nose, shoulders stretched tight, veins raised in his forearms, eyes burned dark and sharp enough to cut. his hands flex once. twice. like he’s deciding whether to grab someone or the furniture.
“what,” he says quietly, voice scraped raw, “is this.”
not loud. not shouting, but that low, controlled tone that means the explosion he’s chosen only delayed.
the pledge stirs at the sound and groans. wrong move. sukuna’s gaze snaps down to him with open contempt, then back to yorozu, who is doing anything but moving from her spot, eyes wide, and doing her best to subtly fix her hair. Sukuna doesn’t bat an eye. he’s already stepping forward, each footfall deliberate, the floorboards creaking under the weight of it. the air in the room feels thinner, preparing for the inevitable.
he takes one step toward the bed — and something on his desk catches in his peripheral vision.
the black envelope. split open and shifted from where he left it. the edge of the paper inside no longer tucked clean.
his stare cuts to it, then back to yorozu. the calculation is instant. she’s seen it.
that alone nearly snaps the leash on his temper.
he doesn’t raise his voice. doesn’t posture. he just moves fast enough that she barely has time to inhale before his hand closes around her bicep in an iron clamp. no hesitation, no gentleness, fingers digging in as he yanks her off the mattress in one brutal pull. the sheets rip loose with her.
she yelps, stumbling, she tries to twist toward him with that same cloying tone, already starting to explain, to perform.
“wait— sukuna, listen, I was just—”
his leg swings out without even looking and connects with the pledge’s ribs, not full force, but hard enough to knock the air out of him and roll him across the floor.
“up,” sukuna barks, voice lethal. “get the fuck out of my sight.”
the pledge scrambles, half-awake and absolutely terrifyingly mortified. he grabs at the scattered clothes and crawls more than standing as he bolts for the door.
yorozu tries to anchor herself, nails catching in sukuna’s wrist, leaning into him instead of away, still trying to make it intimate, like this is a lovers’ quarrel instead of a removal. he doesn’t even look at her face. he just drags her, across the room, past the desk, past the open envelope she absolutely touched, deaf to the whining pitch of his name.
“sukunaa, you’re hurting me,” she whines.
“good,” he says flatly, hauling her into the hallway.
“you’re being dramatic! I came to talk to you—and you weren’t even here!!— you’re mad I slept with someone else, right? you have no right to be jealous —who are those girl’s clothes in your room? do you have a girlfriend? why weren’t you at the party last night—you’re not even going to be here in the summer because you’re going to— ahh!” yorozu is slammed into the wall. her face pales as sukuna towers over her with bloodshot eyes. his red irises violently cut through her like she’s some bug on the bottom of his shoe.
“you psycho bitch. when is it going to get through your thick skull that I can’t stand you, huh? I spelled it out for you and ya still break into my room, go through my shit, and wear my fucking clothes after getting fucked like a stupid whore—“
“you gave me the passcode to your room—“
“I don’t give the code to any slut I sleep with. and you’re a fucking sleazy whore that bribed that dipshit of a freshman to give it to you in exchange for sex. I’m not fucking dense like you,” he snaps coldly, unbothered by the tears that immediately well up on her waterline.
“you said you wanted to spend time with me outside of parties! but you just had sex with me and ghosted! you’re the disgusting one!” she shouts in his face, tears already breaking, waking the house. gojo steps in from the front door followed by geto. the two coming back from the gym, immediately overhearing the shouting at the top of the stairs.
“you hit on me!” he shouts, his eyes are blown blood red, his fist tightens around his jersey instead of her arm, squeezing the material as he crowds her space. “fucking doesn’t qualify for anything else. you sucked me off and I fucked you as a drunk courtesy,” anger seeps from his pores, getting angrier the more he speaks, his blood pumping viciously as she scoffs loud.
“doesn’t qualify for anything else — so what’s all the shit in your room. you keep your sluts panties and shirts as trophies like some sick pervert?”
“at least I can stand her outside of sex,” he snaps, unaware of how quick he defended his sex buddy. quickly imagining you this morning sucking his cock, stroking his hair, kissing his neck. “and when she fucking talks I don’t feel like stabbing my ears.”
“she she she—“ yorozu cracks, eyes wide and psychotic. “it’s that bitch from the party? utahime iori’s friend right? you know how much I hate her and you’re sleeping with her friend now—“
“you’re not listening to me!” sukuna losses it. his eyes manic. as if the the universe is cursing him, yorozu throws her arms around his shoulder, getting closer to him. “what the fuck—“
“she’s not your girlfriend right? the guys were telling me she wasn’t—“ her face draws closer. obvious she’s attempting to seduce him.
sukuna tsks, loud and sharp. aggressively shoving her off him as he steps back, “fucking obsessed,” he spits with contempt. but her face contorts manically. desperate. it was easy reading a psycho, especially an influencer as fake as her.
“I’m going to spain too!” she interrupts, clawing at anything. however, his blood spikes, eyes flashing as an unknown expression crosses his face. if he wasn’t intimidating before, now he looked like he would snap her neck if she utters one more word, and that isn’t an exaggeration.
however, yorozu’s highly problematic obsession with the infamous short-tempered soccer captain is what makes her dangerous. her obsession started their second year when he was named captain of the division one team and easily ranked in the top ten then top six players in the nation. his reputation growing every season, as did her following and advertisements. it only made sense that they should be a couple.
but her courting was another level.
one that involved rumors. threats. any possible road that would lead to interacting with the fratboy. however, even after two full years, the man could not stand her. he couldn’t fall for her charms, her reputation, or her body—
“why can’t you give me a chance?! I’m the one stooping down to your level. some frat guy that fucks anything that walks— you let women and men fuck themselves on your disgusting cock — what haven’t you had sex with? you’re the pig here! you’re lucky I even talk to you!” her chest is heaving, eyes manic as her face scrunches glancing over his clothes. “and you smell like another fucking whore too.”
sukuna’s breathing is slow and heavy, shoulders tense as he rolls his neck back. he turns away, heading back to his room.
another vein snaps in yorozu’s neck.
“what the fuck?! I’m talki—“
her breath hitched. heart dropping to her ass. sukuna’s gaze snaps over his shoulder. muscles taunt under his shirt, fists clenching as his jaw locks.
the hallway warped around him.
yorozu has crossed the line before, but she’d never admit to being absolutely terrified of the man. but in this moment, she felt like a single misstep would end her life. literally.
she swallows a thick lump. cautious. unaware of the way her hands are trembling and goosebumps break out across her body, hairs standing up in the back of her neck.
then his voice cuts through. low, cold, violent.
“know your place before you speak about mine.”
her face pales, tears cascading in a mixture of fear and frustration.
“say one word about that envelope and I bury you with it. and take my fucking jersey off before I rip it off you. you look stupid pretending I gave it to you,” sukuna spits.
yorozu’s face is red with humiliation. shivering as she fidgets with the hem of the oversized jersey. sukuna disappears into his room, returning with her dress and purse in hand, tossing them at her feet. yorozu blinks up at him as she watches him cross his arms over his broad chest, jaw locked as he leans against his doorframe with disinterest.
he doesn’t need to repeat himself.
yorozu can feel gojo and geto’s eyes on her back, standing at the top of the stairs, watching.
“can i change in the bathro—“
“strip.”
her heart skips a beat, face and neck red, hesitating for a second before she grabs the hem of the jersey and lifts it over her head. her bare breasts touch the warm air, nipples pink and perky. her cheeks flush, is he looking at me? he wanted to see my tits.
the jersey drops to the floor as she picks up her dress, making a subtle show of bouncing her bare breasts…i got the surgery over winter break for him. it’s subtle and definitely healed by now, he notices how much bigger they are—
her heart drops.
red humiliation breaks across her body. glancing up through her lashes. sukuna is scrolling on his phone. not a sliver of his attention directed at her. a level of disinterest and inconvenience encompasses his entire body language.
he doesn’t care for her.
her lips purse, anger and humiliation bubbling up as she quickly pulls her dress on, snatching her purse up as she whips around.
the athlete finally glances up. his eyes flick to the two men pressing their backs against the wall of the stairs allowing the sorority president to storm towards them and down the stairs.
“enjoy the show?” she snaps, anger out in the open.
gojo and geto shrug, “not much to see, sweetheart,” gojo quips.
she scoffs loudly, storming down the stairs, angry tears bubbling out. the front door slams behind her.
gojo and geto shift their attention. sukuna types on his phone, still leaning against the doorframe, unbothered. he briefly glances up, dead eyes flicking at the two before going back to his phone. “what?”
gojo pushes off the wall, headphones around his neck, as glances at his friend. “you left pretty angry last night.”
“and you let this psycho fuck some pledge in my room,” sukuna snaps, glaring up at the blue eyed man.
“i dunno how she got in man, we barely let any of the pearl girls in so how was i supposed to know she went to your room?” gojo defends. “and we don’t have any pledges, they’re members now.”
“not him,” sukuna cuts flatly, “revoke his membership.”
“that’s kinda fucked up, man. they went through hell this semester—“
sukuna shrugs, disinterested, “don’t care.”
geto’s eyes narrow, gaze flicking over him. “so you guys made up?”
sukuna’s gaze snaps up, alarmed, “fuck no. fucking psychotic bitch is what she is—“
“no not yorozu,” geto shakes his head, then utters your name. the two notice how the tatted man suddenly goes quiet. his gaze falling to his phone as he gives a casual shrug and nod. “so what now?”
sukuna’s brows furrow, glancing up at the raven haired man. “what d’you mean what?”
gojo’s now furrowing his brow as geto gives him a incredulous look which he reciprocates. geto bites the bullet, “well are you dating now?”
sukuna’s eyes blow wide. real shock written all over his face. then he scoffs, loud and untamed. “what?” he laughs, “we fuck. we made up so the deal’s still on.”
“what?!” gojo and geto shout in union.
sukuna’s brow lifts higher looking between the two. “you guys fucked in the head? I’m not saying this shit for the hundredth time. we’re not fucking dating—“
“you always sleep over there and she sleeps here?” gojo snaps, trying to find the missing piece here.
sukuna gives them a very derogatory so what? face. “we’ve all let girls sleep over—“
“not you,” geto jabs, irking the man as he glares at his friend. “plus that fight you guys had…”
“and we made up. she’s the one that wants the deal to keep going. and her libido is insane—“
“so you do wanna date her!” gojo jams a finger in his direction, laughing loudly. “oh shit! she reject you or something?—“
sukuna’s eyes roll to the back of his skull, “I didn’t say that, dipshit,” he snaps, “we agreed together. it’s fucking equal ass partnership. she’s just sensitive to drama, which whatever, it’s that psychos fault anyways,” sukuna quietly gets riled up at the memories of your argument. yorozu seeming to be the core of it all…albeit, you weren’t in a good mood when you came to the party either.…should he have asked about your meeting last week? his jaw clenches in thought.
“whatever, man,” geto shakes his head, walking towards his room as he peels his sweaty shirt off. “call coach, he’s been tryna get ya all morning.”
gojo waits for a moment, studying his friend before tipping his head to the side, “so are you not gonna tell us what you decided about the invitation?”
sukuna scowls, jaw tense.
“geto is still waiting, but I’m planning on taking him with me in a couple weeks to see the grounds there,” gojo isn’t really an idiot. he’s more calculating than people like to give him credit for, or it could be they don’t see it because of how charismatic he comes off as. that can’t be said for his two closest friends though. sukuna can see right through his bullshit, the man just wanted to pry more information out of him.
“stay out of my business, satoru,” sukuna spits coldly.
gojo scoffs, “you get so fucking defensive. is it so hard to think that your friends are happy for you? we all know how much you’ve been wanting this invitation after….” gojo realizes immediately that he shouldn’t have resurfaced that.
he lit the match on a open wound.
“you don’t know a single fucking thing, so fuck off!” the slam echoes down the hallway like a gunshot, the frame shuddering under the force of it. a second later something else crashes inside —wood against wall, maybe his desk chair— hard enough that the vibration travels through the floorboards.
On the other side of the door, sukuna doesn’t move at first. his chest is heaving too fast, air cutting in sharp through his nose, like he just came off a sprint. his fingers flex once, twice, tendons standing out, like he’s deciding whether to break something else. the word after is still ringing in his skull. it’s not what came after, but what came before. the crash….the spiral… all of it chained together whether he likes it or not.
he drags both hands down his face slow and hard, like he can physically wipe the past. his blood pumps loudly, he hates how fast it got to him.
outside, gojo doesn’t knock again. he doesn’t joke or push it.
inside, sukuna stands in the wrecked silence of his own room. his is jaw locked, eyes burning. he’s not furious at gojo, not even at the words. but he’s bubbling with anger at the fact that one unfinished sentence still has the power to drag him straight back to his seventeen year old self.
…….
sukuna’s muscles are pulled tight. his high school soccer teammates laughed loudly around him. his best friend, kashimo, had his arm thrown over the seventeen year old, cackling loudly.
“man! if sukuna got that red card we all would’ve been so fucked!” kashimo barks, the entire team laughing as they sit outside the town’s hot spot, the corner-side diner and shops. other kids that watched the game were all packed around eating ice cream and fries, as the mood lit up the night sky.
sukuna and his team sat around the outdoor table chomping down burgers.
“what’s up with you? you’re so quiet after barking like a dog on the pitch,” one teammate points at sukuna. the rest glancing at the salmon haired player. his face has been in prominent scowl since they left the game. his eyes are sharp, glaring at the idiot that looked at him. his teammate nervously laughs, as another pitches in.
“did you see that kid on the other team! gojo was insane. no wonder they were hyping him up all fucking season, that match would not have been good if it wasn’t for him. he’s a fucking genius,” one kid gushes.
sukuna scoffs, rolling his eyes, “he lost. why’re you hyping him up?”
the team’s laughter dulls, glancing at kashimo, who seemed to be the only one that’s gotten close to the toxic player.
kashimo throws his arm over sukuna, head thrown back, “he’s right! he was talking shit all the way leading up to our match and looses in the end!”
sukuna’s deathly quiet. the table quickly gets louder as the team joke and talk about their plans. they had another few weeks until graduation, but a majority of the team are going to college, except for two…
“wait so when are you guys moving? I can’t believe two people from our team got into the under twenty club team— you have to get us vip tickets when you get to the World Cup!” a teammate shouts, as kashimo smiles widely.
“it’s a trial contract for now, but we’re definitely getting into the team—“
sukuna suddenly stands up. the team’s attention snap to him, confusion crossing their faces as sukuna walks off.
kashimo is quick to brush off the team to sprint after his friend, alone.
“woah,” he laughs, halting in a steady walk when he reaches the boy. “not even gonna call me?”sukuna gives his friend one glance. while the two disappear in a direction familiar to them. the team is left at the table watching and frowning.
“we’ve played with him for four fucking years and he’s still gonna treat us like his servants,” one scoffs, flipping a french fry to the ground. “he wouldn’t have gotten that invitation if we didn’t pass him the ball—“
“he’s a dick.” and the team just piles on all the horrible things sukuna has done and put them through. “he’s gotten suspended and put on probation a million times. how the fuck did that not deter any recruiters?”
“he’s a good player, that’s all that matters,” one tsks, rolling his eyes as he remembers sukuna being allowed to participate in a game during nationals even though he was suspended. the coach went behind the schools back to do it and was willing to take the heat for it after. all because whenever his star athletes, sukuna and kashimo, were on the field, then his name was always in people’s mouths too.
“I’m surprised he’s such a psycho when his dad is a fucking psychiatrist,” one adds, the others hum. “the call’s coming from inside the house.”
another senior scoffs again, “good things happen to bad people. this is just another example.” this line sours the mood as the entire team grows envious of the biggest and most important opportunity of a young player’s career, and it falling right in sukuna’s lap. how can someone be so lucky?
“isn’t his mom a psycho too though?”
the team shrugs, murmurs spreading around. “dunno, he never talks about her, and I’ve only ever seen her a few times, and today was one of them.”
“yeah….he doesn’t even look like her, but damn,” one laughs, “my mom was telling me how she’d seen his mom in a few commercials a couple years ago. pretty sure she used to be an actress or something.”
“yeah, I’ve heard that before. but she looked drunk at the game today. I never noticed her, but she went insane during halftime then stormed off,” one recalls, as others chime in about the rumors that surround sukuna’s home life. specifically his mom.
“my younger sister is in his brothers class in elementary school, so my mom’s seen his mom a few times. she just tells my sister to stay away from his brother and says his grandfather is more normal than the mom,” another adds.
it didn’t matter how long sukuna spent somewhere. he knew the rumors people would whisper behind his back. all of it made it easier for him to be an asshole (as if that was his excuse). at the end of the day, he’ll come out on top. he’s better than his step-mom, his school, his town— all of them are beneath him. including his shit dad—
sukuna laughs loudly, the alcohol burning a line down his throat as he exhales through his nose. the night is thick with heat, the kind that sticks to the skin. crickets grind in the grass beyond the field fence, and the stadium lights behind them have finally gone dark, leaving only the parking lot glow and the distant hum of traffic.
sukuna and kashimo had made their way back to the empty pitch after grabbing a four pack. sukuna’s sweater is half zipped, hood on while his jersey is damp with dried sweat underneath. his hair still messy from the match, from the argument he walked away from without looking back.
kashimo sits on the curb beside him, long legs stretched out, can dangling loose between his fingers. “you realize,” he says, smirking sideways, “half the grade is suddenly into soccer now that we got scouted. they all showed up tonight.”
“they’re into attention,” sukuna mutters. “they don’t even know the rules.”
kashimo snorts. “didn’t stop them from screaming your name.” he recalls, “there was one on the left. the girl that never talks in calc? she looked like she was gonna faint.”
sukuna scoffs, rolling his neck. “they jus’ like guys that win games. that’s it.” he takes another sip, already feeling tipsy from one can. “same ones wouldn’t look twice last year.”
“please,” kashimo says. “you fucking mess with them on purpose.”
sukuna doesn’t deny it, he just smirks into the can.
they drift into lazy, mean humor. ranking couples they know won’t last, poking fun at classmates who suddenly started dressing different to get asked to the prom, like that’ll grab the jocks attention. joking about how their history teacher definitely favors the guys that flirt with her more. it’s crude, unserious.
a warm breeze cuts through, carrying the smell of distant fryer oil from the late-night diner and shops down the road. sukuna leans back on his hands, staring at the empty sky above the field lights, pulse still half in the game, half in the future everyone keeps talking about like it’s already decided. and it drags him right back to halftime.
his blood had still been roaring with adrenaline then. sweat dripping off his jaw, chest heaving, fingers curled tight around the water bottle as he chugged half of it in one go. the locker room door had been propped open to the tunnel for air, the roar of the crowd still rolling like thunder overhead. coach was barking adjustments. someone was laughing too loud. tape was being rewrapped around his ankle.
and once they came onto the pitch, again. warming up. the shouting cut through it. not cheering, not chanting—screaming. it was sharp, unhinged, and it sliced clean through the stadium noise.
his eyes snapped up instinctively, predator-fast, scanning toward the stands. players around him started turning toward the same disturbance. you could feel the ripple of everyone’s attention bending in one direction.
then there it was, three sections up, kaori was on her feet, face twisted, arm jabbing downward toward where his father sat beside her.
“you think this fixes anything?!” she screamed. her voice carried, horribly, and impressively across the crowd noise. “you fucking parading him around like some golden child won’t erase what he is! how many times do I have to tell you! are that incapable of caring about me, about giving me your attention!!”
people around her recoiled. a couple stepped away.
his father looked mortified, reaching for her wrist, trying to lower her arm, trying to sit her down. calm voice. always calm.
“not here,” his dad said, sukuna could read it off his lips even from the pitch. “please.”
but she yanked free and got louder, eyes wild,
“begging me for what? to care about his game now? you’re pathetic. both of you are pathetic!”
a wave of murmurs spread through the rows. phones started lifting. teammates beside sukuna went quiet. one of them muttered, “yo… is that—”
sukuna’s stomach turned. it wasn’t embarrassment. no, it was something colder and sour. disgust curling up his throat.
his father didn’t fight back. didn’t snap. didn’t walk away. he just kept trying to soothe her. his hands open, posture small, like she was the one wronged, like she was the one owed any patience. that was the part sukuna couldn’t stand.
fuck the screaming and fuck the spectacle. he’s thrown a million fights publicly, he could care less about the optics. but what he couldn’t stomach was witnessing the submission. the way his dad absorbed the humiliation like it was his fucking job.
the whistle blew to call players back and the noise swelled again. the moment dissolved into the games chaos. but the image stayed burned behind sukuna’s eyes. her mouth twisted, his father apologizing for something he didn’t do and that rage followed him straight back onto the field, and after.
it was his day. his last game. his fucking win.
and still he brought her. still he told him he had to go find her after she vanished mid-match, like managing her public breakdown mattered more than watching his eldest son finish what could’ve been the best game of his life. he’d looked sukuna dead in the eye and picked the woman who humiliated him in public without hesitation, or shame, over him.
“women are fucking psychos,” sukuna mutters, voice flat and bitter.
kashimo glances over, brow lifting as he watches sukuna crush the can in one hand, metal folding with a sharp crack before it hits the pavement. “isn’t that what makes them hot?” he smirks.
sukuna scoffs. there’s nothing hot about being degraded by a lunatic. his jaw tightens. or having two kids with her.
they start down the main street with loose steps and warm faces, alcohol humming low in their veins. the night air sticks to their skin, neon signs flickering across the storefront glass. a few people pass by them going the opposite direction, shouting congratulations when they notice their jerseys.
then the crowd appears. too dense and still. people are packed along the sidewalk ahead, phones raised, voices talking over each other. something is very wrong. red and blue lights wash out the buildings.
the alcohol fog clears in a snap.
a car is violently rammed into the side of a truck at the intersection. the car’s front end crushed like paper, hood peeled back, windshield spiderwebbed and caved. one door is sheared half off. glass litters the street. the engine block is exposed and torn.
kashimo keeps talking for another half-second, then stops at the sight of the accident. his breath catches, mind toggling for a moment before, “yo…” he says, quieter now, trying to place what he’s seeing. “…isn’t that your dad’s car?”
he glances at his friend standing beside him—
sukuna is ghost-white. completely still. eyes wide, unblinking, like the world has dropped out from under him. his fingers hang slack at his sides, knuckles scraped, lips parted with no sound coming out.
he knew the second he saw the color. the dent in the side panel. the stupid dealership sticker still clinging to the bumper. he knew before the question was asked.
a/n: guys, like don’t get mad at me ab the spelling/grammar, ik it’s ass so forgive me. I really did my best to post this chapter before ramadan, and I didn’t want to make it a waste so I really focused on plot. sorry you guys waited longer for this one tho, I’ve just been crazy swamped with work, I haven’t even seen the new episode of jjk or knight of the seven kingdoms 💔💔 anyways i really hope u guys liked the chapter <3
also this chapter was supposed to be titled summer break, but it changed since i cut my plans for the chp short bc i ran out of time. so now chapter 7 is titled summer break — dividers: @/lariesographic
The scene that inspired this, always such a good watch.
I just rewatched Kung Fu Panda for the first time and strangely enough Tai Lung gives me such Sukuna vibes??
Do not ask my why or how idk but snowleopard!Sukuna rotting in his little over-secured prison box, listening to the whispers that drift through the cracks about how his former lover has been chosen to wed the new Dragon Warrior.
But you were his.
Promised to him before either of you could even stand on your own feet, tiny hands tied together by families who spoke of destiny like it was already written in stone.
But that was before the title of Dragon Warrior was ripped out from under him and naturally you went with it.
Not because you wanted to, not because you stopped caring but because that’s what you did, wasn’t it? Sweet, soft and eager to please those around you.
Your gentle little bunny heart was always bending, always trying to make things easier for even when it broke you quietly in the process.
The thought of your family placing your hand into someone else’s, into his replacement’s, smiling like this was how it was always meant to be, made something ancient and vicious coil tighter in his chest.
You were supposed to be waiting.
You were supposed to be his future.
Instead, while he rotted in chains, you were being dressed in silks for another warrior.
The image of you standing beside someone else, smiling that soft, obedient smile while your eyes quietly begged the universe to be kinder to you was enough to fuel his violent escape.
His claws split stone as he dragged himself forward, muscles reawakening, restraints snapping one by one as sheer hatred fueled every movement. He crawled out of his hell inch by inch, driven by the memory of you, your warmth, your softness, the faint, sweet scent that used to cling to his fur when you’d curl against him without fear.
That memory lit something feral and possessive deep inside him, something that had never understood the meaning of letting go.
Fools, thinking he would ever let them take you from him.
The scene that inspired this, always such a good watch.
I just rewatched Kung Fu Panda for the first time and strangely enough Tai Lung gives me such Sukuna vibes??
Do not ask my why or how idk but snowleopard!Sukuna rotting in his little over-secured prison box, listening to the whispers that drift through the cracks about how his former lover has been chosen to wed the new Dragon Warrior.
But you were his.
Promised to him before either of you could even stand on your own feet, tiny hands tied together by families who spoke of destiny like it was already written in stone.
But that was before the title of Dragon Warrior was ripped out from under him and naturally you went with it.
Not because you wanted to, not because you stopped caring but because that’s what you did, wasn’t it? Sweet, soft and eager to please those around you.
Your gentle little bunny heart was always bending trying to make things easier for everyone even when it broke you quietly in the process.
The thought of your family placing your hand into someone else’s, into his replacement’s, smiling like this was how it was always meant to be made something ancient and vicious coil tighter in his chest.
You were supposed to be waiting.
You were supposed to be his future.
Instead, while he rotted in chains, you were being dressed in silks for another warrior.
The image of you standing beside someone else, smiling that soft obedient smile while your eyes quietly begged the universe to be kinder to you was enough to fuel his violent escape.
His claws split stone as he dragged himself forward, his muscles reawakening. Restraints snapped one by one as sheer hatred fueled his every movement.
He crawled out of his hell inch by inch, driven by the memory of you, your warmth, your softness, the faint sweet scent that used to cling to his fur when you’d curl against him without fear.
That memory lit something feral and possessive deep inside him, something that had never understood the meaning of letting go.
Fools, thinking he would ever let them take you from him.
At a human fetish bar for aliens, the waitresses are taking bets on something. The winner has to drink a mystery liquid and must go about her shift as normal. Dear old y/n is the winner and her breasts and nipples start to feel pretty sore. Then her breasts start getting bigger. Customers start to notice, and glue their eyes when her tits start pressing against her top and leaking profusely. y/n is trying to do her job but is getting really turned on from all the eyes on her. Luckily a tentacles alien that helps her out by publicly milking and fucking her.
The tentacle alien watches you struggle all night.
He watches you trying to take orders and balancing trays while your swollen, leaking tits bounce and ache under that too-tight top you wear for work. Dark wet patches bloom across the fabric with every step you take between the tables and under the burning stares of the others. You are a mess. A breathless, panting mess with sore nipples and dripping pussy.
So, of course he offers his help.
Well... offers is perhaps a generous word for it...
You are up on the bar counter, skirt bunched up around your hips, knees spread wide to give way to the ridged tentacle that slams deep into your soaked pussy over and over until your vision blurs. It stretches you open until your eyes roll and your thoughts scatter. Every thrust sends jolts of raw pleasure up your spine as your pussy clenches greedily around the slime-slick limb that makes your juices pool on the wooden surface beneath you.
Another appendage has your wrists pinned tight behind your back, offering your milk-drenched tits to the crowd like a prize. Your shirt is forgotten on the floor somewhere, and your bra is yanked down under your breasts. They are massive now, forcing your back into an arch that has you mewling while two more tentacles latch onto your puffy nipples. They are raw, throbbing, so sensitive you could come just from the milking alone.
And the whole bar is watching you struggle between pain and pleasure, but you don't really care about them because all you feel is the fat tentacle ruining your cunt and the vicious milking of your tits. You’re nothing but a leaking, trembling, overstimulated mess, and you’re about to come so hard you might black out in front of everyone.
MAGNETIC — jock boyfriend!yuuji series masterlist.
⊹ ᡣ𐭩 — about. the theory of magnetism states that opposite poles attract one another, while the same poles repel. the same case can be made for laws of romantic attraction, where weird girls attract jock boys. or the story in which the all star jock yuuji itadori bags himself a weird girlfriend.
⊹ ᡣ𐭩 — warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact! nsfw, sfw, smut, fluff, angst, non-canon compliant, college!au, characters are aged up to 20s, not in chronological order, collection of fics / drabbles, fem / weird girl!reader, jock bf!yuuji. each work will have its own separate warnings.
⊹ ᡣ𐭩 — notes. this masterlist has been a long time coming ! i’m so in love with this series and i hope you guys do too !! i can’t wait to explore the rest of it with you all hehe - m.list ! ִ ࣪𖤐₊ ⊹
current status: open 4 suggestions! | last updated: 11/08/25!
𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ — ONE-SHOTS !
chapter one - the first time i laid eyes on you !
before that day, you thought that you knew everything there was to know about the infamous yuuji itadori. you thought that he was cocky, that he was full of himself, that he was a fuck boy - but after that day, after meeting him, you realise how wrong you truly were. | fluff.
𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ — ENTRIES !
one - touch ; mature.
reasons why the all-star jock boyfriend always has to be touching his pretty, ‘weird’ girlfriend.
two - shyness ; fluff.
the all-star jock reassures his girlfriend.
three - team jersey ; fluff and suggestive.
the all star jock asks his freaky girlfriend to start wearing his jersey to games. it shouldn’t be a big deal, right? since she’s always asking to live in his skin and all.
four - growth ; fluff.
the jock boyfriend is proud of how far his shy girlfriend has come.
five - pockets ; fluff.
jock boyfriend loves how many pockets his girlfriend has.
six - pleasure prioritised ; mature.
just some scenarios of an incredibly strong jock boyfriend pleasing his girlfriend in different ways.
seven - poor practice ; mature.
the jock boyfriend has a shitty practice, luckily his adoring weird girlfriend is there to make him feel better.
eight - just the tip ; mature.
our favourite jock takes his special girlfriend’s virginity. well…kind of.
nine - first meetings ; fluff.
a scenario in which the campus’ favourite jock lays eyes on his future freaky girlfriend for the first time.
ten - babies, lots of them ‘em ; mature.
the all star jock has an intense breeding kink that leads him to confess the plans he has for he and his weird girlfriend’s future.
eleven - makeout sesh ; suggestive.
the jock boyfriend convinces his girlfriend that making out is always more fun than studying.
twelve - training pays off ; mature.
the all star jock spend weeks preparing his sweet, weird girlfriend to take every single inch of him. and once she’s finally able to, yuuji itadori realises that training really does pay off.
꒰ how is he in bed as a husband? ⋆ distraction ⋆ dad’s best friend!gojo ⋆ with virgin!gf ⋆ melting into the kiss ⋆ overprotective older bf!gojo ⋆ virgin!gojo ⋆ eyp w/ olderbf!gojo
ryomen sukuna
꒰ how is he in bed as a husband? ⋆ riding his stomach tongue ⋆ dad!kuna ⋆ melting into the kiss ⋆ his child’s first steps ⋆ enemies entwined ⋆ pregnant!concubine ⋆ with his rebel son
toji fushiguro
꒰ how is he in bed as a husband? ⋆ protecting his shy gf ⋆ save a horse, ride a cowboy ⋆ comfort in a thunderstorm ⋆ midnight visits ⋆ melting into the kiss ⋆ protective toji & megs ⋆ back of his car
series: outlaw!toji
suguru geto
꒰ how is he in bed as a husband? ⋆ melting into the kiss
kento nanami
꒰ how is he in bed as a husband? ⋆ shaving his stubble ⋆ sitting on sheriff!kento’s lap
Apologies for my lack of attention towards Revenant on here, I’m currently posting the rewritten version of chapters on WATTPAD - the autosave feature on there has saved my ass more times that I’ll ever admit.
I have chapters 1-12 live and public, the rest will be coming hopefully over the following days or weeks. However, I’m not touching anything or editing on Tumblr until I have all chapters finished.
Does any of that make sense?
My handle for Wattpad is @Whoreish_behaviour !!! I hope yall had an amazing New years 💋
🍓 pairing: miles quaritch x human fem reader x varang
🍓 tags: nsfw, alien cultural misunderstandings (you guys know the drill at this point), oral sex, scissoring, vaginal sex, threesomes, fingering, size kink, miscommunication
masterlist
reblogs are always enormously appreciated!
General Ardmore might just be the scariest woman you’ve ever met. You don’t think you do a very good job at hiding how intimidated you are when you’re sitting fidgeting at her desk under her narrow-eyed, cold stare.
On the other side of the desk, Ardmore hasn’t looked up from her datapad since she first grunted a greeting at you when you’d sat down. It’s a powerplay – you both know it’s a powerplay. But damn, it’s working.
“Um… Ma’am…” You start to say, awkward and stilted, but she raises a hand to stop you.
You shut up immediately, cowed.
Ardmore flicks through whatever it is she’s reading for another minute. In the silence of her sparse, impersonal office, it feels like an eternity.
Finally, she lifts her head and fixes you with a stern look.
“You know, I’m trying to figure out just what it is you do, exactly.” She says, and her voice is just as cold as her eyes.
You swear it feels as though the temperature in the office drops.
“Oh.” You say. You’re trying to keep your voice light, but it just comes out strained. “I, um. Well, I suppose I manage the–”
“The purpose of the Recombinant Support Team,” Ardmore cuts across you cleanly, as though you had no voice at all. “Was to handle the administration for the unit so that they could focus on their missions.”
There’s a slight pause.
“Yes.” You say weakly, though you’re not sure if she was actually waiting on a response or not.
“As far as I can see, you do very little of that.” Ardmore is staring at you with an impassive expression. “You seem to spend most of your time doing their laundry.”
You feel your skin get hot and prickly with embarrassment. You don’t always do their laundry. Just… just a handful of times. But you don’t get a chance to defend yourself before she’s continuing.
“You have no experience, no real skills. I can’t rightly see how you got hired in the first place. You should have been reassigned when the useful members of your team were killed.” She huffs, the first edge of irritation beginning to creep into her tone. “But Quaritch has always liked a pretty young face.”
The prickling humiliation gets worse. Your shoulders are hunched, and you can’t meet her eyes.
What she’s getting at is something that you have been aware of on some level, despite your attempts at denial. You know that you were always the least efficient member of the team, but you had thought that you had worked with enough enthusiasm to make up the difference. And even when you were the only one left, no one had ever complained.
But you weren’t completely stupid. You know that the Colonel didn’t treat you like just any assistant.
“I–” You start to say, but she interrupts you yet again.
“I’m going to give you a choice.” She says, folding her hands in front of her.
There’s a pause, but this time you don’t speak. You just wait, your tummy clenching anxiously. This doesn’t sound like it’s going to be good. Are you being fired? Or demoted? Or finally reassigned? You suppose it was just a matter of time.
“The Colonel has become increasingly difficult to handle of late,” Ardmore says, setting the datapad down in a way that comes across as too casual. “He’s unruly, resistant to command. Seems to think he knows how to deal with the Na’vi insurgents better than anyone else.”
You blink. You had been aware on some level that there had been tensions between Quaritch and Ardmore, but you don’t know why or what happened. No one tells you anything around here, and you’re too focused on just getting by to really worry about the bigger picture of the RDA’s long-term goals on the planet.
“You’re aware that he left the city, unsanctioned, three days ago?’
That makes you tense. It’s an accusation, really.
Of course you knew – there had been some kind of disagreement. You knew that Quaritch had asked for a ship and been denied, but not the particulars. You also knew that they had received some intel about Sully’s whereabouts, and had disappeared on their ikran mounts before anyone even knew they had gone.
You’re aware of all of this because you’ve already been chewed out by the higher ups in SecOps. You’re meant to be up to date with the Recoms every move, after all, so it’s easy to drop the blame in your lap.
“Y-yes,” You say, guilty and anxious all at once. “I didn’t sanction that–”
Ardmore continues over you, once again completely ignoring your attempt at speaking. It doesn’t seem like she cares much if you know what she’s talking about; you get the impression that she’s off-loading some of this onto you like this is a stopgap therapy session.
“The reason he was brought back was to complete a specific mission, and he has failed that mission several times.”
Retrieving or killing the betrayer and insurgent, Jake Sully. You know this one. It’s hard to miss the holovids shimmering all over Bridgehead, declaring him an enemy of humanity.
“So… is the Colonel being recalled, or something?” You ask.
Ardmore looks as though she’s stopping herself from rolling her eyes through sheer will power.
“The Recoms represent a significant investment by the company, so no, they’re not ‘being recalled, or something.’” Her voice is harsh in a way that makes you sit up straighter, your stomach curdling. “But they do need some… incentive to ensure they stay in line.”
You nod dumbly. “An incentive.”
“And that’s where you come in.”
Truthfully, you haven’t been following along with her reasoning very well in the first place, but now you’re flummoxed.
“Me, ma’am?” Despite your confusion, you work to keep your voice as even as possible. Ardmore is clearly already irritated about your very existence; you don’t want to give her a reason to hate you even more.
Your caution goes to waste, because Ardmore’s eyes flash in aggravation anyway. You suspect that there’s nothing you can do to please her, and it makes your spine go stiff. Your knees are watery, too – if you were standing, you might have gone weak.
“Yes, you.” Ardmore says sharply. “Next time the Recoms are sent out, you’re going with them.”
The order falls between you two like a lead balloon. You blink at her, turning the words over in your head. It takes you a moment to parse their meaning, and then another moment to discern that she’s one hundred percent serious. The General isn’t the type of woman to make jokes, but the statement is so bizarre that you honestly can’t quite get your head around it.
“Out.” You say at last. “Into… into the field?”
The General’s nostrils flare slightly as she takes an inhale, like she’s trying to regulate her patience. Then she forces a smile.
“That’s right.” She says. “Quaritch has been reckless recently. Let’s see if he takes the same type of risks when he’s toting you around behind him.”
You gape at her. You understand the basic premise. Quaritch has become a pain in her ass, so she’s decided to shackle a weight to his ankle to ensure he doesn’t go rogue like he’d done before.
But why does that ankle weight have to be you?
Your mouth is dry when you swallow. “Uh… I don’t… I don’t know if that… I don’t think the Colonel would care too much if I got killed in the field, ma’am.”
Ardmore snorts a little, which isn’t a reaction you had been expecting.
“Right,” She murmurs, glancing at the datapad. “You were on sick leave the day we rolled out against the Metkayina. The rest of the Support team were with the Recoms, but not you.”
You blink, picking anxiously at a hangnail on your thumb. “Uh… Yes, ma’am. I had a cold.”
You swear her cold blue eyes actually flash at that.
“A cold.” She says the words slowly, as though tasting them. “A bad cold, was it?”
You hesitate, because no, it hadn’t been a bad cold. It was really little more than a case of the sniffles, but Quaritch had looked at you with such an expression of disgust when you had blown your nose near him that you had thought he was going to have you quarantined. Instead, he had ordered you to take a few sick days.
You hadn’t thought about it too much at the time; you had been all too happy to take the excuse to skip what you had thought was going to be the straightforward arrest of Jake Sully. But now, you can recognise that it’s a little strange that you were pulled off duty just for a runny nose, especially by a hard-ass like Quaritch.
“It could have been contagious.” You say weakly.
Ardmore ignores that.
“Pack a bag. Keep it light.” She says bluntly. “They want to head out tomorrow.”
There’s any number of reasons you could give to illustrate how this is a bad idea. You’ve never been outside Bridgehead, you have no combat training, you aren’t even very good at the job you have! The Recoms may not have complained, and Quaritch may not have demanded your reassignment, but that doesn’t mean that he actually wants you around. In the last few months, you’ve hardly seen him at all!
But you’re stressed and confused and not thinking clearly, because the only thing you blurt is; “Tomorrow? But they just got back!”
“Quaritch has a fire under his ass at the moment.” Ardmore grunts, already picking up her datapad again. “But that isn’t much good if he fails again.”
She redirects her attention to her datapad and it’s clear that you’re dismissed. But you’re not quite ready to go.
This is the stupidest plan you’ve ever heard. You’re not the smartest around, but even you can tell that this is irresponsible, ridiculous. Why send a civilian out with two Recoms, who have been engineered to fight back against the nine feet tall, vicious hostiles that want all humans dead?
“You said there was a choice.” You manage to say without your voice trembling. “What… what’s the other option?”
Ardmore’s eyes flick up to you.
“Other option.” She repeats without inflection. She sets the datapad aside again, then clasps her hands to look over you properly.
The once-over is brief, and you get the distinct impression that you’ve been found wanting.
“If you choose not to go, then there is no need for you on this planet.” Ardmore says after a pause. “Your presence here is superfluous. With only two Recombinants left, there’s not much need for a Support Team as they now report to me directly.”
“So–” You begin, blinking.
“So,” Ardmore cuts across you again. “You’ll be sent back to Earth.”
The words land like a suckerpunch to the chest. Your breath hitches, and you stare at Ardmore with wide eyes.
You’ll be sent back to Earth.
You can’t let that happen. There’s nothing for you back on Earth. Your city is a wasteland, buckling under the weight of a population that it doesn’t have the resources to sustain. Pandora had been a new start for you – signing up for the RDA had been an act of desperation. The thick smog of the cities had begun choking up your lungs, the oppressive atmosphere of the dying planet contributing to your chronic migraines, and you had known in that instinctive, bone-deep way that if you didn’t get off-world soon you would die in that dark, mouldy apartment that you were spending most of your paycheck renting.
You couldn’t go back there. You couldn’t.
And judging from the way Ardmore is looking at you right now, she knows it.
“I’ll go pack my bag then, ma’am.” You say, defeated and dull.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ
The jungles of Pandora are beautiful. You’ve only ever seen photographs, but nothing could have prepared you for the reality of it. It pulses with energy and life, vast swathes of lush greenery stretching up towards the sky like hands. When you stare down from the Samson aircarrier, you can see the lines of rivers criss-crossing like veins. Up here, you really can almost subscribe to the idea of the planet as one big living entity, like the native Na’vi believe.
It’s so different to the decaying atmosphere of Earth and the industrial hellhole of Bridgehead, but you don’t really get the opportunity to admire it properly because you’re so focused on the fact that Quaritch is angry with you.
It’s not necessarily obvious, but you’re rather embarrassed to admit that you’re incredibly attuned to Quaritch’s moods. It’s partly a survival instinct; Quaritch can be a scary motherfucker, and you feel a certain pressure to ensure that he’s kept happy. You tell yourself it’s because you’re the last member of the Support Team, but that doesn’t quite ring true.
The truth is, you have a big fat embarrassing crush on the Colonel.
You tamp it down the best you can, but Quaritch doesn’t help things. You know that he’s aware of your crush; it’s obvious in every interaction he has with you. He calls you pet names – baby, honey, cupcake – he pats your rump when you walk by, his hands linger all over you.
You’ve become so accustomed to his attention that when he turns surly, you swear to god you turn into a sad wilting houseplant taken away from the sun.
You know you’re acting like a total loser, but it’s like you can’t quite help yourself. Quaritch’s attention is intense, and it feels all consuming in the most exciting way, so when it’s taken away it feels like a shock to the system.
It’s not that he’s ignoring you or anything, but for the few days after you’re first assigned to follow him and Wainfleet, he’s cold. He doesn’t engage much in conversation, just grunting at you, and there’s no head pats or even little ass slaps. You pretend it’s not completely pitiful to be so affected by his irritation, and you pretend not to see the sympathetic looks Wainfleet sends you when you gaze after the Colonel.
You’re good at pretending.
But one day, maybe four days after you first set out, he softens again. You’re not sure what the trigger is, but you’re so relieved that you’re not about to question anything.
And that brings you to… whatever this is. The unconventional part of your dynamic with your boss.
His cot on the air transport is tiny and narrow by Recom standards, but you fit on it just fine. With Quaritch on it too it’s a narrow squeeze, but neither of you mind. The low hum of the Samson engines thrums through the metal floor of the cargo hold, a steady rhythm beneath the quiet creak of the cot’s frame and the slick wet sounds of your mouths moving together.
Quaritch is massive even in repose, resting heavily on his back. You’re curled against his chest, one of his big arms looped around your waist to keep you anchored against him. His lips are much bigger than yours, but you’ve done this so often now that the honeyed slide of your mouths together fall into an easy, languid rhythm.
The dim red standby lights paint Quaritch’s broad Na’vi features in warm contrast, the little freckles on his face incandescent in the gloom. His golden eyes are heavy-lidded – you’re not sure if it's from arousal or fatigue. It’s the end of a long-day, and he and Lyle had been trekking around various tribes all day. He hadn’t said anything when they’d gotten back, so you had assumed that it hadn’t gone well.
When he’d tugged you into the small room where the cots are held, the only compartment on the transport where the air is regulated for humans, that only confirmed it. Lyle had watched the two of you go, rolling his eyes.
Your breath catches as his tongue slips against yours, dominant even in leisure. One large hand slides down from your neck, tracing the curve of your spine before settling firmly on your ass, squeezing hard enough to make you squeak.
His mouth moves over yours with practiced ease, coaxing you to open, to sigh, to melt. And you do, instantly. Your hands slide up his arms, over his shoulders, fingers tangling into the knot of his braid at the base of his skull, tugging just enough to make him growl low in his throat.
When he pulls his big head back, breaking the kiss, a thin string of saliva pulls taut, creating a bridge between your swollen mouths.
“Damn, you’re messy,” he huffs, thumb swiping over your glistening mouth, smearing moisture.
His gaze darkens, but he doesn’t lean in for another kiss. Instead his broad nose nuzzles at the side of your neck, placing slow wet kisses to your jaw. Your body is quivering under his attention at his hot breath huffs against your sensitized skin.
“I gotta favour to ask, sweetpea,” He murmurs, tongue lashing just under your ear.
“A-a favour?” You repeat, shivering.
“Mhm,” He hums, reaching up to prod a thumb at your lower lip again just to watch the soft flesh give. “Just a small one.”
You blink, trying to collect yourself. Your skin is hypersensitive, feeling every point of contact between you and your boss right now. God, this is so inappropriate. You’re pretty certain that if Ardmore were to learn of this little routine, where you make out with the Colonel every damn evening as a fucked up form of stress relief, you’d be reassigned to work in the onbase McDonalds so fast your head would spin.
“Uh… yeah.” You say, sounding completely fucking stupid. “A favour. Mm. What is it?”
There’s a soft huff of breath against your damp throat, and it takes a moment to recognise it as a laugh.
“Need you to approve a weapons requisition for me.”
You’re still feeling a little damn slow on the uptake, but you nod anyway. That’s not really a favour, is it? That’s part of your job. Weapons requisition forms are pretty standard, and he usually just leaves any paperwork he wants you to sign on your desk. Maybe he’s only asking because you’re out in the bush, and there’s nowhere for him to drop it off or something.
“Of course I can do that.” You say breathily, already leaning up to him in the hopes of getting another kiss. You’re so relieved that he’s not angry with you anymore that you think you’d agree to anything.
God, you know you’re pathetic, but when he gives you that sharp, arrogant smile, sharp canines gleaming, you feel your stomach give a sharp lurch. You try not to squirm too obviously, but your thighs press together instinctively.
“That’s my good girl,” He purrs, his chest rumbling as he leans down once more. “Keepin’ the team goin’, aintcha?”
It’s so obviously not true, just a bone he’s throwing you, but you nod your head anyway. It’s good to feel wanted, to feel useful. It’s not a feeling that you’re used to here on Pandora, always living with the heavy awareness that you’re only here because Quaritch has taken a liking to you on a whim. Even then, you’re not stupid enough to think that just because he likes to make out with you whenever he’s had a hard day, that he’s sweet on you.
The Colonel is a man on a mission, and you’ve never been under any illusion of where your place with him is. It’s just… stress relief. When the Colonel has a mad day, he often seeks you out for lazy make out sessions, fingering, a little groping. Never any more than that, no matter how you writhe and beg.
“You gonna get that?” He murmurs against your throat, teeth dragging over your pulse point.
“Huh?” You pant, mind hazy and a little stupid.
Your conscious awareness has narrowed down to his mouth on your neck, the suckling motions of his tongue as he licks over the marks he’s leaving. A prey instinct in the back of your mind has kicked in and is screaming at you for allowing such an enormous predator to pin you down and press his sharp teeth to your throat, but you’re so horny and dazed that you stuff that survival impulse down deep.
“I said,” He nips at your earlobe, pulling a breathy squeal from you, “Are you gonna get that?”
At first you don’t notice the beeping, too busy chasing his mouth again, lips parting eagerly. But then he pulls back to look down at you, cat-like eyes darting over your sweaty, dazed expression, and you begin to come back to yourself.
Your head snaps around, your eyes falling on your datapad where it sits across the room on your own cot. The screen is lit up as it vibrates, emitting steady beeps.
General Ardmore calling.
You let out a startled shriek, scrambling out of the cot.
Quaritch lets out a low huff, falling back onto the standard issue bunk and lazily pillowing his head with his two arms. He watches you with darkened eyes, looking both amused and annoyed.
You scramble to straighten your uniform—it’s wrinkled, blouse misbuttoned, one strap of your bra peeking out near your shoulder. You yank it back in place, flustered.
“Oh, god,” You hiss, panicked. “Shit.”
You ignore the low rumbling chuckle from behind you as you grab the datapad. Low-level panic is causing your fingers to tremble, but you clear your throat and affect a pleasant expression as you answer the call.
The connection is a little spotty this far out, and the video feed flickers as Ardmore’s familiar scowl appears on-screen.
“Ma’am.” You greet, attempting to surreptitiously smooth down your hair.
Even through the fuzzy video, you can see her cold eyes narrow.
“Sitrep.” She barks, audio crackling.
You clear your throat, struggling to gather your thoughts. “Yes. Um. The… the Recom unit scoped out another one of the Reef clans–”
“Any sign of the kid?”
Behind you, the cot creaks as Quaritch shifts, listening in.
“Not yet, ma’am.” You say, fighting the urge to glance over your shoulder.
Even through the shitty videofeed, you can feel Ardmore eyeing you, assessing you. You’re hyperaware now of the rumpled clothes, you’re messy hair. Can she see the hickeys Quaritch’s sharp teeth have no doubt left on your throat? All you can do is pray that the connection is too bad for her to see details.
“And Quaritch?” She asks.
You hesitate, just briefly.
“He’s conducting interrogations with the clan.” You say. “Within mission parameters.”
Truthfully, you don’t have much of an idea of what goes on when Quaritch and Wainfleet move out into the wild. They leave you on the transport with the other humans, mounting their ikran and flying off to intensify the search for Quaritch’s son. When they get back they smell of gasoline and ash, and neither will offer any information about what they’ve done.
“That wasn’t my question.” Ardmore’s voice crackles, but you can hear the undertone of impatience.
You steady your voice. “He’s focused, ma’am.”
You don’t look behind you, afraid of what you might see on Quaritch’s face. He knows that Ardmore calls every night for a sitrep, he knows that she’s using you to check up on him, but you’ve never talked about it. It’s probably part of the reason he’s so reticent with information, why he keeps you in the dark on his plans.
But Ardmore doesn’t seem happy.
“Have you been out in the field with them?” She demands. “That’s what you’re there for.”
There’s no point in lying. You can tell by the look on her face that she already knows the answer, and you know where this is going.
“Um… no, ma’am.” You say hesitantly. “It was deemed too dangerous for a non-combatant–”
“I want you out there with them tomorrow.” She barks, as you had suspected.
You deflate a little, anxiety curdling in your stomach. “Yes, ma’am.”
Her eyes flick briefly past the camera, then back to you, calculating.
“And you are not to involve yourself beyond observation,” she adds. “No heroics. No fraternisation.”
Your cheeks burn, hearing the unspoken accusation. “Understood.”
There’s another pause, during which Ardmore studies you like a pawn on a board she hasn’t quite decided how to use.
“Keep the channel open,” she says finally. “If anything changes, I expect to hear it immediately.”
You’ve barely begun to answer when she hangs up, the videofeed going dead. In the ensuing quiet, the hum of the air carrier and the low hiss of the oxygen tanks only seem to emphasise Quaritch’s silence.
Finally, you turn, and as soon as you catch sight of Quaritch you flush. He’s still stretched out on the cot, right where you’d left him, but what you hadn’t noticed was the unmistakable bulge in his cargo pants. God, you’re glad you hadn’t glanced behind you in the middle of that call – you’re certain you would have lost your train of thought and humiliated yourself in front of Ardmore.
But then your eyes lift to his face, and the warm simmer of arousal that had started in your belly is tempered. His jaw is clenched, his eyes dark – no longer in arousal, but now in unmistakable annoyance.
“I guess I’m coming with you two tomorrow,” You say, keeping your voice as light as possible as you stand. “Where did you say you were going?”
Instead of answering you, Quaritch stands up. He fixes his vest, ignoring his hard-on. His ears are flattened against his skull, and your stomach sinks as you realise that he’s angry.
“Next time,” he says, voice rough, “you tell her less.”
“Oh.” You say, voice small. “Right. I’m sorry. I just–”
But he’s not interested in speaking to you, because he doesn’t wait for you to finish speaking. He just grunts, stepping past you and heading for the door.
You watch him leave, lip trembling.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ
Quaritch and Wainfleet are keeping their plans from you again.
It’s obvious in the way that Quaritch doesn’t look up from his datapad once, even with you sitting by his side jabbering away. He towers over you, enormous even when sitting, with his broad shoulders and lithe waist. His brow is furrowed in concentration as he stabs a big finger at the holodisplay. He’s not the best with technology, and his ears are pinned flat against his skull in irritation.
The transport judders, an air pocket causing the small aircraft to lurch, but it barely puts a pause in your story as you lean into his side.
“But Elena said that if Kyle was going to keep sleeping around on her, then she may as well…” You trail off slowly, realising that the only one listening to you is Lyle.
Quaritch is still frowning at something at the datapad. You squint and crane your neck, but can’t quite catch a glimpse of what he’s looking at.
“Do you want help with that?” You ask.
You’re already reaching for the pad, used to helping him with whatever he needs, but this time he lifts it up out of your reach.
“No,” he grunts. “Leave it.”
You blink, surprised. He never usually refuses your help. If anything, he usually shoves whatever piece of tech he’s messing around with into your hands and leaves you to sort it. But this time, he angles the datapad out of sight so you can’t see what he’s doing.
It shouldn’t be surprising at this stage, but you still feel the little sting of hurt.
Lyle leans forward. “What did Elena do next?”
“Huh?” You blink, distracted now.
Lyle is watching you, tail coiling impatiently, waiting for you to finish your story.
“Oh, right.” You clear your throat, gathering yourself. If Quaritch is going to be like that, fine. You’ll just ignore him for a while until he decides to act right again.
“Right. So, Elena said that if he was going to keep sleeping around, they may as well just open the relationship.”
Lyle gasps, letting out a low cackle of delight.
The rest of the flight is quiet, the silence only broken by you and Lyle murmuring together. Quaritch is distant, focusing on whatever is on his datapad. His huge hulking body is pressed right against yours, but he may as well be miles away.
It’s not until later that you really regret not asking more questions, demanding answers.
It’s late by the time the air carrier landed at a sort of village, and you’re forced to rely on the too-bright artificial floodlights to illuminate the surroundings. It’s some sort of Na’vi settlement, though it doesn’t look like any that you’ve seen photos of. It’s built between the roots of what had once been an enormous tree though its surroundings are sparse, as though the plantlife has been purposely burned back to create an ashy expanse of dirt on which they’ve constructed their raw-hide tents and wooden yurts.
The people, too, come as a shock. You’ve never actually seen a Na’vi before – the Recombinants don’t count, too human in nature to really count as alien – and you’re a little taken aback by how… different they look. It’s not just the red and black paint, or the shaved heads, or the near nudity. It’s the way they move; catlike, crouching low to the ground, hissing at each other.
Mangkwan, Lyle had muttered to you lowly.
Crates are hauled off the carrier and dropped into the dirt with heavy, final thuds. The Mangkwan swarm the crates immediately. Someone laughs, sharp and breathless. Another lets out a shriek of delight when a crate is cracked open and the contents revealed. Long blue fingers drag over dark metal like it’s something holy. The rifles are lifted, weighed, admired, before being passed hand to hand with reverence that tips quickly into glee.
You watch with a dry mouth, feeling sick to your stomach. You’re not sure what you’ve agreed to be a party to by ordering those damn weapons, but watching the exhilaration in those strange alien faces has you feeling an irrepressible feeling of sinking dread.
And then there’s the woman.
Nine feet tall, slender in that muscular Na’vi way, she towers over you. She moves like a panther, as though she’s aware of every inch of her body as she saunters around, her face lit up with a dangerous sort of delight.
You can only assume that this is the leader of the clan. Her skin is ash-streaked like the others, but unlike the others her body modifications are minimal, and she hasn’t shaved her head. Her tight braids are crowned with a headpiece that fans out in a way that reminds you a little of a frill-necked lizard you’d seen once in a nature doc.
She’s a little bit terrifying. It’s difficult not to stare.
Quaritch is sauntering around. Ostensibly, he’s overseeing the weapons drop, but to you it seems like he’s… showing off. Peacocking, almost, displaying how powerful he is, how strong, how he keeps his promises. It’s important to emphasise those things to his new allies, you know this, but the way he looks at the woman makes you… edgy.
He had pulled you in front of her, his enormous hands cupping your shoulders and pinning you in place for her perusal. The way the Na’vi around you treat her with nothing short of obeisance only solidifies your initial impression that she was the leader of the clan.
“Here she is,” He says, his chest all puffed out. “The little girl who organised all these weapons for you.”
He says it in English, then repeats it in Na’vi. You bristle at being called little girl, but don’t dare to correct him. Not while the woman is staring at you, mouth parted, like she wants to eat you alive.
You’re pretty sure you’re the first human she’s seen up close, though admittedly she doesn’t seem too interested in the human soldiers behind you who are unloading the crates. She stares at your face and features, your hair, the dimensions of your body, as though she’s trying to unravel you with her eyes alone.
When Quaritch shows the strange Na’vi woman – Varang, he had called her – the FT-M3A1 Flamethrower, he stands so close to her that he’s practically pressed up against her back. His hands linger in a way that you’re so familiar with, because it’s usually your body that they’re lingering on.
And Varang leans back into him as they press the trigger together, hungry flames spraying out and catching onto the raw hides that they use for the village tents. Her girlish laughter rents the air as she watches the fire catch and spread across her own village.
“Booyah!” Quaritch booms, grinning wide as he watches Varang torch one of her own people’s tents.
“Booyah!” Varang echoes, almost girlish with excitement, hollering it like a war cry.
The smell of gasoline is choking even through the breathing mask, and you have to tamp down your nausea as you watch her spin on one foot, grabbing at Quaritch’s hand as the other Mangkwan descend on the shipment.
Quaritch disappears into the tent after Varang, the beaded curtain parting just long enough to swallow his broad shoulders before falling closed again.
Your stomach clenches so hard you thought you might be sick, though you try to brush your instinctive panic away. You tell yourself that he’s just gone to talk strategy, to negotiate, to do whatever it is he does when he’s being the Colonel instead of… whatever he’s been to you.
But the way Varang had smiled at him, so thrilled and coy, the way the curtain settles behind them, the finality of it, makes something ugly twist in your gut.
You wait for them to come back out, flinching as a Mangkwan man lets off a spray of gunfire behind you. But the curtain remains still, and no one returns.
An hour later, you’re still sitting by the cookfire in the Mangkwan camp, with Wainfleet tense at your side. Your fingers fiddle constantly with the pack at your side, the one keeping breathable air flowing steadily to your mask.
“Stop messing with that.” Wainfleet grunts without looking at you.
His eyes are fixed on that stupid beaded curtain hanging over the entrance of Varang’s tent. He’s barely looked away since the Colonel had disappeared inside.
You had realised pretty quickly that the leader of this tribe, Varang, was crazy. Like, clinically fucking insane.
It was the way she had laughed, high and girlish and totally incongruous with the way she had wrought destruction on her own village. Her eyes had glinted wildly in the reflection of the inferno, and when she had turned to Quaritch you had seen desire there. Admiration, even.
“What do you think they’re doing in there?” You ask, unable to help yourself.
Wainfleet finally tears his eyes away from the beaded curtain, only to give you a look of disbelief.
“What do I think they’re doing?” He repeats.
Under his disbelief, there’s the unmistakable thread of sympathy. God, he feels sorry for you.
You wince, then turn away again. Probably best not to think too much about it, or you might be ill.
Behind you, the air is rent with sporadic gunfire and ululations from the triumphant Mangkwan who are still messing around with the brand new shiny weapons. You don’t even flinch anymore; they’ve been like this for the last hour, and it doesn’t seem like they’re going to stop anytime soon.
Wainfleet barks something at them in Na’vi. Your grasp on the language is poor; you’d taken a few classes when you were new and idealistic, but it was tough. Still, you know enough to know that he’s ordering them to stop wasting ammo. You doubt it’ll make a difference though – the only person they seem to respect enough to take orders from is Varang herself.
Sure enough, the two causing the ruckus merely sneer at Wainfleet, hissing.
The ones that aren’t shooting into the sky are dancing around the fire, their movements rough and hypnotic. When the fire spits sparks, they cheer. The atmosphere is charged, celebratory. You’re not sure what the weapons mean to them, but it doesn’t feel good.
A few are sitting near you and Wainfleet at the fire. They’re staring at you, hard. Anytime you make eye contact with them, they hiss at you, chuckling throatily when you flinch. Again, you suspect you’re the first human they’ve seen up this close. Or maybe it’s just that they usually kill your kind when they’re this close. It certainly looks as though they’re thinking about it.
Ever since you stepped foot on Pandora, the RDA had been impressing upon you how dangerous the Na’vi were, how vicious and bloodthirsty. Looking at these people before you, you can believe it. The relish that they wield the weapons with is alarming, and you feel a seed of panic in your stomach.
You had done this, even if you didn’t realise it. It was you who had ordered the weapons, it was your signature on all those forms.
“Fuck,” You moan, burying your face in your hands. “Ardmore is going to kill me.”
Wainfleet doesn’t bother reassuring you. He just keeps watching the curtain.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ
Varang has taken to watching you. A lot.
It feels… challenging. Or appraising, maybe.
You avoid her to the best of your ability. You can’t look at her without thinking of the way she and Quaritch have gotten so much closer recently. They spend most of the day together; ostensibly talking strategy, but you see the way their touches linger. Even the way they look at each other like they’re the only two people in the world, as though everything else is just background noise. When she laughs at something he says, his mouth quirks in a way you’ve only ever seen when he’s pleased. Really pleased.
It makes your chest ache.
But as the days pass, you realise something. When she’s not watching Quaritch with those bright, lamp-like eyes, she’s watching you.
It had been easy enough to ignore at first. You’ve taken to avoiding Varang, and by association Quaritch, since that night the weapons had been delivered. Perhaps part of you had been hoping that Quaritch might notice and come looking for you, leaving Varang’s side just to ensure that you are okay, but you were destined to be disappointed on that front.
You only make it two days without seeing them. You had hoped that you would be returning to Bridgehead after dropping the weapons off, convinced that your little excursion out into the wilds of Pandora had come to an end.
But instead, Quaritch insisted that you were staying.
You’d been too flustered and bewildered to argue, simply retreating back to the aircarrier.
It was big enough to comfortably transport everyone it needed to transport along with its cargo, but it wasn’t built for staying on longterm. The bunks are narrow and cramped, and highly uncomfortable. The only net positive was that you could take that stupid mask off and breathe the stale processed air.
That’s where you are, all curled up on the bunk that Quaritch had been sleeping in before he met… her. The thought leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, but despite yourself you still find his scent comforting.
You’re trying to catch up on reports, but your mind is buzzing and you job at the datapad more violently than you should. You’ve never been very good at keeping your paperwork in order, and you know that your quality has slipped even further since all this started.
You’re currently struggling through a report for Ardmore, chewing absently on your lower lip as you try to find a neutral way to word your explanation for just what’s happened over the last few days. Things had spiralled out of control so quickly, and it’s hard to ignore the hard knot of anxiety in your tummy when you think about it.
Apparently, Quaritch had met Varang before, on the Recoms last excursion into the forest. She had connected their neural queues together and performed some kind of freaky alien connection, and now Quaritch seems to be obsessed with her.
At least, you’d like to blame the freaky alien connection; Wainfleet certainly did. He’d told you all about the connection, all about what Spider had told them. The first connection for a Na’vi baby was their mother, then father, then the trees. You’d be lying if you said that you understood it all, but Wainfleet speaks with such grim gravity about it. You know the only connection he’s ever performed is with his ikran, and the idea of connecting with another person seems to unnerve him. He also seems convinced that the reason Quaritch is so… enamoured with Varang is because she’s taken the place of the first connection.
You’re not so sure. You’re not blind, after all. You can see that Varang is one of the hottest women you’ve ever seen in your life. She might stare at you, but when she’s not looking you stare right back.
You had been fascinated by the Colonel’s Na’vi form, no matter how you’d tried to hide it, but despite the new body his body had still very much been human. But Varang? She’s so alien to you. Your eyes trace her narrow waist, her small bound breasts, the way her hips sway like a metronome when she walks.
How could you blame the Colonel for being so enchanted with her? You can see why. They both have the same wildness to them, like their sharp edges fit together.
You’re so lost in your miserable thoughts, that you barely notice the door sliding open or the heavy footsteps approaching.
“The hell you doin’ in here, kid?”
The Colonel’s voice has you jolting, looking up in surprise. And the sight of him standing there, breathing mask around his neck, with Varang at his side? Oh, that has you bolting upright.
Quaritch approaches with the ease of navigating familiar surroundings, and normally the sight of him coming to seek you out might have your heart thrumming. But instead, your attention is drawn to the woman following behind.
Varang’s big golden eyes are flicking around the bunks, curious about the surroundings but clearly finding them wanting. Within seconds, her eyes land on you and stay there.
“Sir,” You blurt, your voice pitched higher than is entirely natural. “I– The General wants a report.”
He lets out a low, unimpressed rumble.
“She’ll survive without one for the next few days,” he says. “We’ll report to her when we’ve got something to report.”
That makes you hesitate. You absolutely do have something to report. Several things, in fact; starting with Quaritch’s new infatuation with the tsahík of the Mangkwan. You had also been hoping to do a bit of damage control before Ardmore learned through the grapevine that the weapons that had been requisitioned by you had been gifted straight to a hostile Na’vi tribe.
“I don’t want to get in trouble.” You murmur, frowning.
That makes Quaritch laugh, the familiar low chuckle that has the hair on your arms standing up. Up to this point Varang had been standing quietly by his side, eyes fixed on you. It feels like being under the watchful gaze of a predator, and you’re afraid to make any sudden movements. In this environment, in the air carrier with its sleek metal walls and artificial air, she seems more naked than ever.
Next to Quaritch in his fatigues and vest, and you in a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, her long legs and lean waist draw your eyes like they’ve been magnetised.
You look away from her, flustered.
Quaritch turns to say something to Varang in Na’vi. Your grasp on the language is still weak, but you catch the gist of it. Something along the lines of; ‘Such a good girl, isn’t she?’
You’re not sure if you understand all the nuances, but Varang finally looks away from you. She raises her eyes to Quaritch, and her mouth splits into a wide, fanged smile. She looks wild and fierce under her paint, and you feel gooseflesh beak out on your skin. If she wanted to, she could split your spine up the middle with one hand. And with the way she looks at you, sometimes you think she does want to.
You feel distinctly humiliated. They’re talking about you in another language as if you’re not right in front of them, and Varang’s eye contact feels predatory and feline. You don’t miss how Quaritch’s big fingers coast over her waist, or how she coyly sways into him.
Quaritch turns back to you then. “Pack your things. You’re staying in the village.”
You double take.
“In the– what?”
Quaritch isn’t waiting around for you to wrap your head around that new order. He’s already stepping back, heading back to the main control centre of the aircarrier, but he speaks over his shoulder.
“The air carrier is rolling out tomorrow alongside the Mangkwan.” He says. “Varang here has so kindly agreed to help us with our search for Sully.”
“Oh.” You say, determinedly not looking in Varang’s direction. “Okay. But why do I–”
“You’re staying here.” Quaritch says firmly. “Don’t need you out there gettin’ in the way, or gettin’ yourself hurt.”
Getting in the way?
You stare at him in disbelief.
“But–” You begin, “Sir, my job is to–”
“Your job is to do what I tell you to do.” Quaritch barks. “Ain’t much good to me if you get yourself killed in the field.”
And with that he’s gone, already yelling orders at some of the soldiers in the control centre. You’re left alone with Varang, who isn’t even blinking as she looks at you.
You simmer with rage, feeling like a pot that’s about to boil over. This is such bullshit. You’ve done nothing wrong! Why have you been sidelined like this? It’s true that you’ve never been an essential member of the team, but you’ve received direct orders from Ardmore to stick with him. And besides that, you were hoping that he wanted you to stick with him.
It’s not like you and Quaritch were ever in a relationship. He never struck you as the type, anyway. If anyone had bothered to ask, you would’ve said he didn’t want strings, didn’t want expectations, didn’t want to answer to anyone. You’d never talked about what the two of you were doing. You’d just fallen into it, assumed there was some kind of unspoken understanding there. It hadn’t been serious, but it had been consistent. He’d pulled you into dark corners of his office for quick kisses, his hands always finding your ass when you walked past, and you’d spent too many long evenings pressed against him, making out like it was nothing more than stress relief. Something easy. Something contained.
And now he’s found some local tail to occupy himself with, and you’ve been quietly shuffled out of the picture like you were never more than a convenience to begin with.
It shouldn’t hurt as much as it does.
And even worse is that fact that even though he’d walked off without a second glance, Varang is still there.
Her braids are pulled tight to her head, and with her ash-painted skin and black-rimmed eyes, there’s nothing to soften her features. But her eyes are what unsettle you the most. They’re such a clear shade of honey-gold, but there’s nothing bright about them. They’re dark, always sharp. You don’t know how to place the look she gives you.
There’s no open hostility, no contempt, but you can’t help but feel as though she hates you. There’s too much energy in her stare to be anything else.
She’s a full foot shorter than Quaritch’s towering frame, but her presence is palpable. Ignoring her is impossible; it feels like she’s sucked all of the air out of the room.
When she steps closer, you don’t manage to stifle your flinch. She crouches, peering closer at you, and you feel like you’re a bug under a magnifying glass.
You keep your eyes fixed on her face, wary and on guard. Her tail coils behind her, slow and undulating like a rattlesnake.
And when she speaks, her voice is almost menacing in its softness. You’re a little distracted by how close she is, so your attention isn’t solely on her words, but you’re pretty sure you catch the gist of it.
“I will take your mate.”
Your spine stiffens, and your eyes dart to the door Quaritch had disappeared out of. There’s no chance that he had heard her, of course.
What the fuck was that supposed to mean? Did she think that Quaritch was your mate? And if so, she was planning on taking him from you? To steal him for herself?
Maybe you were overreacting. It’s not stealing if he was never really yours. But you’re shocked by her boldness. There’s not an ounce of apology in her smug gaze as it flickers over your face, watching you carefully. Her tail is coiled and pleased. She seems confident, as though she doesn’t have an ounce of doubt in her ability to do so.
And you hate to admit it, but you don’t doubt she could take him from you, either. You’ve seen the way he looks at her, the way he wants to please her. You can’t really blame him, either. She’s… well, she’s alluring as fuck. Even now, with her in your space and vaguely threatening you, your body strains towards her like you’re entranced.
She’s still staring at you, as though waiting for an answer.
There’s nothing you can do but muster up your best glare, then gather up the scraps of your dignity and stalk past her. You don’t look back once as you flee, unwilling to spend one more second under her golden-eyed scrutiny.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ
Varang’s tent is one of the most solid structures in the village, with stitched animal hide reinforced and anchored into the ashy ground with wooden posts that have no doubt come from the remains of the enormous burnt tree that this village is nestled under. You hadn’t thought that Na’vi built with wood – something about not upsetting the flow of nature – but every dealing you have with the Mangkwan makes you think that you know nothing about the Na’vi at all.
Maybe you need to break out that little Pandora for Beginners book you had downloaded on your datapad back when you first arrived here.
Quaritch had left you here hours ago, saying something about staying out of trouble and seeing you when he got back, but he was distracted. His mind was clearly elsewhere, taken up with hunting Sully and retrieving Spider. And, you suspect, taken up with Varang, too.
So now you wander around this weird little yurt, unsettled by the… decor. There are bones everywhere, threaded into hanging decorations like windchimes and suspended from the tent ceiling, or carved into strange little bowls containing all sorts of powders and ointments. There are other decorations made from woven plant fibres that you can only assume have been stolen from other clans, as they don’t match the style of anything else. It seems cluttered on first glance, but as you look around, trying not to feel as though the strange skins overhead are about to fall down on you, you begin to see that everything is arranged with some kind of order.
You step around the various decorations hanging from the animal hide ceiling – narrowly avoiding what you think may be a spine – and continue your exploration.
At the back of the dwelling, past yet another beaded curtain, is what you can only assume to be the sleeping area. It looks… cosy. The floor is lined with plush furs, providing a soft-to-the-touch cushion that you’re sure would be very comfortable, if you could stop imagining Varang coiled around Quaritch upon them.
You’re trying not to feel too bitter about whatever the hell it is that’s going on between them. You think you’ve been doing a decent job, but watching the Mangkwan mount up on their ikran and take off after the air carrier, leaving you behind like a spare part, is kind of doing a number on you.
She’s my Jolene, you think miserably.
You spend the day in the tent. You finish a preliminary report to Ardmore that you don’t send, and then you just… lounge around, lost in your thoughts. There’s nothing to do but think – you don’t even nose around, because you’re terrified of disrupting something of Varang’s that might cause her to come back and eat your head off.
Quaritch has always sort of treated you like a little pet. The worst part though, was the way you kind of liked it.
As the least competent person on the Recom Support Team, hired last and trusted with the least amount of work, you’ve always been aware that the Colonel hired you because he thought that you were soft and pretty to look at. You had thought that you would be offended by that, but instead you’re… kind of flattered. No one else had ever seen anything worth remarking upon when it came to you.
You liked the head pats, the pet names, the way he’d guide you by the elbow or keep you tucked just behind him like something fragile but owned. It was humiliating, if you thought about it too long. It was also intoxicating. Being useful was nice, even if you knew he was only indulging you.
It’s stupid and humiliating to admit, even to yourself, but you miss the attention, the casual possessiveness, the way he used to keep a hand on you like he was absentmindedly checking you were still there. You miss being noticed, being managed. Being indulged. Now his focus slips past you too easily, caught by something sharper and louder and far more interesting than you ever were, and it leaves you painfully aware of how conditional your place with him has always been.
And why were you being kept in Varang’s tent anyway?! It felt like salt being rubbed into an already raw wound.
‘I will take your mate’, she had said. There was nothing ambiguous about that.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ
To your bewilderment, even when Quaritch and the Mangkwan return from their outing, you’re not permitted to return to the air carrier.
It feels like the worst kind of joke, having to share a tent with the two of them. Quaritch had returned with a supply of spare masks for you, but there had been no conversation about it. It’s like he had just assumed you’d be happy to move in with him and his weird witchy alien girlfriend.
God, it boils your blood.
Varang had even set up a tiny little sleeping area for you, right next to theirs! She had maintained eye contact with you as she had done it, arranging those small plush furs so close to theirs that it was impossible to take it as anything other than mockery. Why the hell did she want you so close if not to wave in your face what you couldn’t have?
And then to watch you so closely for a reaction! God, she’s the worst.
You refuse to give her the reaction she’s so clearly hoping for. You just turn up your nose, and move the furs immediately to the other side of the yurt.
She watches you set up your new sleeping station, scowling, and you feel a rush of triumph. She’s not going to get to you that easily.
You’re so used to having Quaritch’s attention all to yourself, but now it’s split. He doesn’t even really ask you to do anything anymore. Now, it’s like you’re a pet for real. You spend most of the ensuing days lounging in the furs, bored out of your mind.
When Quaritch had first come back to the tent and seen your new bedding set up on the opposite side of the tent, he had rolled his eyes and huffed in irritation.
“Sulkin’ don’t suit you, baby,” He warns even as he steps past you. “Gotta adapt.”
You scowl, and don’t bother answering.
Quaritch is always busy, either planning with Wainfleet or whispering and grinning with Varang. When they come back to the tent, you make yourself scarce. You really don’t want to see whatever goes on between them when they’ve got privacy. The scenes that your imagination offers up when you finally sneak back into your little furs at night to sleep are bad enough.
One good thing that comes of your strange little stint in the Mangkwan village is that your grasp on the Na’vi language improves drastically by being so immersed in it.
During the times that you’re avoiding Quaritch and Varang, you wander around the Mangkwan. They’re not as scary as they had initially seemed to you. They don’t bother you when you walk by them, at least, and some even exchange some words with you. You assume it’s down to your proximity to Quaritch, or maybe the fact that you’re currently staying in their tsahìk’s tent.
But their tolerance doesn’t extend to Wainfleet, who they often brush off, hissing at him.
You’ve spent the day wandering the village, eager to escape Varang’s relentless staring. You swear that her scrutiny has gotten worse recently, or maybe it’s just because now that you’re sharing the tent with them, it’s difficult to escape her attention unless it’s fixed on Quaritch.
By evening time, you end up sitting with Wainfleet for a while, watching while the Mangkwan eat and dance and wrestle with each other. Sometimes you can’t tell if they’re playing or fighting – everything just seems so violent, enough that you flinch into Wainfleet’s side every time they clash.
At your side, Wainfleet is cleaning his sniper rifle. His eyes are watchful, darting around the gathering in a way that makes it clear he doesn’t trust anyone around him. On your other side is Zari, a Mangkwan woman who has taken to the human-style weapons with great relish. She’s learning how to use a rifle just like Wainfleet’s, and she’s watching him and trying to copy his cleaning motions with her own gun.
A few days this week you’ve tagged along with Wainfleet to watch him train the Mangkwan with the weaponry, just to get out of the damn tent. Zari is one of the few that deign to exchange some conversation with you in Na’vi, so that you can improve. She was injured in a raid, so she seems to find extra enjoyment out of training with the guns, and she has plenty of time to speak with you.
As you hold a fairly clumsy conversation with Zari, you struggle to ignore the stare piercing into the side of your head.
You’ve begun to get a little better at pretending you don’t notice Varang’s ceaseless staring, but Zari is quite clearly affected by it. She’s tense at your side, ears pinned to the side of her head and tail held very still at her side. Occasionally her eyes dart towards her tsahìk, before glancing quickly away again.
You simply refuse to look in Quaritch and Varang’s attention. You know that they’re sitting together, probably leaning all into each other’s space, tails entwined like usual. Watching them like this makes you feel a little crazy. Bad enough you need to share a sleeping space with them, listening to them whisper and giggle like goddamn teenagers at a sleepover. You don’t need to watch them playing footsie over dinner, too.
Zari is shifty enough under Varang’s watchful eye that your stilted conversation doesn’t last very long. You huff quietly when she ducks her head to return her full attention to her gun again.
Varang is doing this on purpose, you know it. At first the staring had felt like a challenge, like she was mocking you. But now it feels as though she’s trying to be intimidating, like she doesn’t want you making friends around the village or getting too comfortable. But then why invite you to stay in her tent?
Sighing, you turn to Lyle to speak in English.
“I still don’t get why I’m not allowed to stay on the air carrier with the rest of the humans.”
Wainfleet just grunts. “Boss doesn’t want you staying with the soldiers.”
You frown. There’s a kernel of logic there, you suppose. As the only civilian woman on this mission, it could be argued that you were removed for your own safety. But that argument fell apart when you considered that you had been moved into a tent with an alien woman that hated you and probably wanted you dead for being previously entwined with your boss.
“I don’t like staying in the tent,” You complain, feeling like a petulant child. “Why can’t I just stay in your tent? You know I don’t take up much space.”
Wainfleet doesn’t answer, his attention taken up with oiling the bolt on his rifle.
You scowl, irritation settling heavily over you. Around you, the Mangkwan are still eating or dancing, shoving each other and issuing challenges, or yipping in victory. While a few of them still side-eye Wainfleet, not fully happy with his presence, you don’t even seem to register to them. Quaritch, at the other side of the fire, is the subject of reluctantly admiring glances.
As eclipse approaches and the sky darkens into a deep burnt umber, Zari pauses her cleaning in favour of turning to you.
“Tsahìk will want you to return to tent before dark.” She says, speaking slowly for you.
Despite yourself, you like Zari. She’s been nice enough to you, though her shaved head, bone piercings, and war paint is still alien enough to you to give you pause. But just like all the Mangkwan, she has that weird, almost worshipful reverence towards Varang.
You hum to show her that you’ve heard, but make no move to return to the tent. Why the hell would Varang care if you were back before dark?
Instead, you look at Wainfleet with a pout.
“I hate her.” You grumble, kicking your feet.
Wainfleet just grunts.
Irritated, you turn your scowl on him. “Seriously? Is that all you have to say?”
“Kid,” he says tiredly, finally looking around at you. “I ain’t stupid enough to get all twisted up in… whatever this is.”
He makes a vague hand gesture that seems to encompass you, and Quaritch and Varang, and the tent behind the gathering.
You bristle instinctively.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Wainfleet finally sets the gun down, giving up the pretense of distraction. When he turns to you, he looks a little bit pained.
“Look, I didn’t really get what was between you and the boss even before this,” He says lowly. “But whatever the hell is going on between you two and the witch lady really ain’t my business.”
You gape at him, mouth open and stunned.
“Nothing is going on between us!” You say when you finally manage to regain your senses. “I thought that maybe the Colonel– that maybe– I don’t know! But there’s certainly nothing now that he’s with her.”
Wainfleet gives you the kind of look that suggests he thinks you’re an idiot.
“You sleep in their tent with them.” He points out.
“Not with them!” You snap reflexively. You feel like a prickly cat, overdefensive. “That’s just– that’s where the Colonel put me!”
He just huffs, shaking his head, and turns away.
“Yeah,” he mutters. “Whatever. If you wanna get fucked nasty by them, I’m pretty sure all you gotta do is spread yourself out in that crazy lady’s stupid furs and wait for them to pounce.”
Once again, you’re struck dumb. Wainfleet has never spoken to you so bluntly. You’ve seen him in action mode, intimidatingly serious and quiet, but most of the time around you he’s been pretty light-hearted. He plays up the stereotype of stupid army grunt, but he’s wicked sharp and unfailingly loyal.
He’s been stressed lately, on edge around the Mangkwan and tense ever since they’ve been armed, but this is the first time he’s directed any of that stress towards you.
“I– I don’t–” You say stiffly, but you can’t even bring yourself to finish.
God, this is embarrassing. Do you want to be fucked nasty by them? You’d been so distracted by your changing circumstances that you haven’t thought anything of the sort. At least, not really. Nothing that you’d be willing to admit to.
Wainfleet has picked up his gun, finishing cleaning and oiling it with quick, jerky moments. The conversation is clearly over.
Humiliation simmers in your belly as you gather yourself up, refusing to look Wainfleet’s way. To your immense frustration, you feel tears pricking at your eyes.
Since you came to Pandora, you’ve been so damn lonely. You’d been a bit of an outcast within the Support Team, with such an obvious gap between capability and experience. The way that Quaritch had treated you had set you apart from them, and you’d never managed to make any friends even after they had been wiped out in the battle with the Metkayina.
You weren’t friends with Wainfleet exactly, but there had been a sort of camaraderie you’d had with him that you’d taken comfort in. Now, you’re embarrassed as hell.
What had you been thinking, dumping all your problems onto Wainfleet? He’s a soldier, and he’s currently got much bigger problems with the ongoing conflict – he doesn’t have time to listen to you whine.
You slink away from the cookfire like a kicked dog.
The idea of returning to Varang’s tent and having to watch her and Quaritch curl up close whispering to each other feels like way too much for you to deal with right now. So you decide instead to return to the air carrier. You doubt Quaritch will even notice that you’re missing.
As you slip out of the village, you garner a few curious looks from the Na’vi you pass. Thankfully, no one tries to stop you.
The huge shining metal frame of the Samson air carrier is tucked into the sparse vegetation a short walk from the village. It sticks out like a sore thumb; the Mangkwan avoid it, and the human soldiers avoid approaching the clan without Quaritch’s directive.
It feels like it’s been an age since you’ve been to the Samson, though it can’t be more than a week since you’ve arrived with Quaritch and he’d struck the deal with Varang. So much has happened in the last week, but at the same time you’ve been doing hardly anything other than stewing in your own thoughts.
Still, you’re eager to get inside the carrier, looking forward to the opportunity to remove the damn breathing mask and get some sleep. The cots are austere and uncomfortable, but at least you’ll get a break from Varang’s stupid yurt.
As you approach the Samson, you see some of the soldiers gathered around outside, guns in hand. You think for a moment that they’re just practicing their shooting, though it strikes you as off that they’re doing so as dark falls.
Then you get closer and hear the sloppy laughter, and see the glassy eyes, and you realise that these morons are drunk. They have their guns, but they’re just shooting at some of the glowing mushrooms that are growing in the underbrush. They’re not hitting much, either, their shots going wide and spraying dirt up.
The sound of their slurred goading and snickers has your steps faltering.
Shit.
You know exactly what these guys are like when they’re drunk, and you know it’s not a good idea to go anywhere near them. It’s an even worse idea to go near them without either of the Recoms near you – their enormous stature is usually enough to scare off even the most persistent of creeps.
You think of the way Quaritch had insisted that it was safer to stay in Varang’s tent, how he had been insistent that you weren’t to stay on the Samson. As much as you hate to admit it, he might have been right.
But you’ve already stormed away from the village, and the air carrier is right there. Maybe you can slip by without them noticing.
You aim for nonchalance as you attempt to skirt around them, giving them a wide berth. You figure if you don’t look at them, if you don’t acknowledge them, there’s a chance they’ll stay in their own little orbit of stupidity and leave you alone.
The ramp to the air carrier is within a stone’s throw when one of them staggers back, laughing, and catches sight of you.
“Hey,” he calls, voice thick and sloppy. “Hey, sweetheart.”
You don’t respond. You pretend you didn’t hear it, your feet crunching softly over ash and dead leaves as you keep walking. When Quaritch had started going around barefoot, you had copied him without thinking too much about it. You regret that now – if you have to run, it’s going to be harder.
There’s snickering behind you, and even without looking you’re unnerved to find that they sound like they’re closer now.
“C’mon,” another man says. “Don’t be like that.”
A shot cracks through the air, close enough that you flinch despite yourself. Dirt sprays up a few feet ahead of you, glowing faintly where some bioluminescent spores are disturbed. The laughter spikes, ugly and filled with macho overconfidence.
You freeze, shoulders tense. Jesus Christ.
“Whoa, she jumped,” the first guy snickers. “Didn’t mean to scare you, sweetheart.”
Slowly, you turn your head just enough to look at them, keeping your body angled away. There are three of them. Maybe four. It’s hard to tell in the low light, as they’re still standing in a loose group. You can’t see their faces all that well behind their masks, but their weapons are loose in their hands and their posture is sloppy in that particular way that means they think they’re untouchable.
The moment feels fragile, and you have a distinct awareness that these men are drunk and reckless enough to snowball things well past the point of no return.
“I’m just heading back to the carrier,” you say, forcing your voice to stay even. “You guys should probably pack it in. It’s, uh, getting late.”
There’s a beat of silence, and for one wild and naive moment you actually think they might listen. But then they share a look, and burst into ugly, snickering laughter.
“Jesus,” one of them says. “Hear that? She’s givin’ orders now.”
Another takes a step closer, eyes dragging over you in a way that makes your skin crawl. “You ain’t supposed to be out here alone, are you?”
Your pulse starts to thud in your ears, acidic panic rising up your throat.
“I– the Colonel knows I’m here.” You lie.
“Oh, yeah?” He grins, slow and ugly. “‘S the Colonel able to look beyond that little blue piece of ass he’s been hangin’ out of?”
“He’s–” You start to say, but cut yourself off when they start to move.
They don’t move quickly or anything, but there’s nowhere for you to go as they start spreading out. They box you in, so there’s no way to slip past them.
“I don’t want any trouble,” you say, hating the way it comes out smaller than you intended.
“That’s good,” the first man says, grinning as he steps forward. “Neither do we.”
“Just thought maybe you’d keep us company for a minute,” the second man adds. “Gets lonely out here.”
You swallow thickly, and your dry throat clicks in the silence. “No, I– I should be getting back to Quaritch– actually.”
A few of their expressions change at that, smiles dropping into something unfriendlier. The two at the front keep their sloppy drunk grins plastered on, though irritation flickers over their faces. You know you’re dealing with the fragile egos of men who aren't used to being told no, and they feel unpredictable.
“You need to relax,” One of them says with the air of imparting sound advice. “You’re wound tight as hell. You been neglected, huh?”
Your skin prickles as he steps forward, and you tense.
You stiffen as he closes the distance, every instinct in your body screaming at you to move, to run, but there’s nowhere left to go. The Samson ramp is behind them now, blocked by broad shoulders. Their size is nothing compared to the towering Na’vi you’ve been spending so much time around recently, but they’re still big bulky military men. You know you don’t stand a chance against them.
The third one laughs, low and ugly. “Bet she’s bored stiff. All alone in that ash pit with the freaks.” He steps forward, reaching for your arm. “Want a good time, sweetheart?”
Your jaw tightens. You can feel your heart hammering, loud enough you’re half-convinced they can hear it too.
“I said no,” You say, your voice thin but sharp. “Back the fuck off.”
That finally wipes the grin off his face. Not completely, but enough. His eyes harden, the drunken amusement souring into something resentful.
“Watch your mouth,” he snaps. “You ain’t in Bridgehead anymore.”
You’re so busy running through scenarios in your head – which way you’ll dodge, how you’ll escape, how you’ll lose them if they follow, how you’ll scream – that when they actually make a grab for you it catches you totally by surprise.
You squeal, attempting to twist out of his grip, but several things happen in quick succession.
In your panic, your mind registers the low hissing sound as being akin to air being let out of a pressurised container. It’s low, steady, accompanied by an odd snarling rumble.
Nearly in the same moment, the man who had grabbed her is town roughly away. You yelp as his blunt fingernails leave scratches on your arm, though it’s more from shock than pain.
Everything happens so fast that your mind barely keeps up. The men are yelling, and then one of them staggers back and knocks into you, hand cracking across your mask hard enough to rattle your skull. You go down hard, sprawling in the dirt and knocking your head on the way down.
By the time you pick your head up, your eyes are watering and two of the three guys are unconscious on the ground. The last, the one who had grabbed you, is the only one left standing, though it doesn’t look like he will be for long.
Towering over you all, face contorted in a look of poisonous rage, is Varang. But you’ve never seen her like this.
She seems impossibly tall, her spine curved as she bares her teeth at the man cowering below her. Her red headpiece flares over her head, giving the impression of a threat display as if her wickedly sharp canines aren’t enough. In the dark, she looks like some sort of vengeful demon.
The man is babbling something, panicked and frantic, but it falls on deaf ears. Varang doesn’t understand a word he’s saying, nor does she seem interested.
She brings her hand down on him in one hard, brutal slap, and he hits the ground with an ominous crack. He doesn’t get back up again. In fact, he doesn’t move at all.
“Oh god,” You babble, scrambling to try and get to your feet again. “Jesus, fuck–”
Varang turns on you then, and for a wild moment you’re certain that you’re next. You flinch when she steps forward, whimpering.
But no blow comes. She crouches in front of you, that familiar stare darting over you, assessing. She’s angry – you can feel it rolling off of her in waves.
Ridiculously, your eyes begin to sting, welling up with tears. Maybe it’s delayed shock from that horrible encounter, or maybe it’s the fact that Varang is angry with you, but it all suddenly feels like too much.
The first sob that escapes you is so loud that it hurts your chest, jarring your whole body.
Varang stiffens.
A large hand encloses around your wrist, tugging you to your feet. Bizarrely, you think she’s actually trying to be gentle, but she’s twice your size and doesn’t seem to really understand how much stronger she is.
You yelp once when she yanks you after her, and she seems to make some attempt to slow, but the pace she keeps is clipped and rushed. You stumble after her, sobs melting into anxious gasps as you try to keep up with her. She’s holding your wrist, and you end up toddling clumsily alongside her like a child.
She leads you back to the village quickly, hissing at a few Na’vi who are in her path. They scramble aside, their large eyes watching curiously as you stumble alongside their tsahìk. Some of them call after her, asking questions, but you’re too distracted to parse the words and Varang isn’t stopping to answer.
For the first time since you’ve gotten to this place, you’re relieved when you make it to the tent. Sometime during the walk you’d started clinging to Varang’s hand, and she’s not shy about towing you behind her.
Inside the tent, Quaritch lounges shirtless in the furs. To your surprised bewilderment, all he’s wearing is a loincloth, same as the other Na’vi you’ve seen. He’s scrolling through a datapad of his own, his tail curling languidly at his side.
He glances up when Varang appears, shoving aside hanging hides and bone decorations, but you don’t think he really registers the expression of fury on her face or the tears on yours. His eyes have instead fallen on your joined hands, and a pleased smirk spreads across his face.
“You finished throwin’ your hissy fit then, sweetheart?” He drawls, setting the datapad aside so he can lean back lazily. “Good to see you’ve finally come around to–”
But then he catches sight of your faces, and he sits up again. His sanguine grin disappears, replaced by a furrowed brow as his Colonel personal falls down like a curtain.
“What the hell happened?” He barks, and his eyes linger on your tear-streaked cheeks under mask.
Varang finally releases your hand; to your surprise, it’s you that clings to her. When she lets out a little rumbling noise you snatch your hand back, but there’s no time for shame to set in before she plants one of her large hands between your shoulderblades and starts pushing you towards the furs.
All the fight in you has gone, because you simply allow yourself to be pushed.
She says something to Quaritch, but it’s fast and angry and you only catch a handful of words; ‘man’, ‘take’, ‘mine’, ‘slap’.
Quaritch’s back is stiff as he listens to her, frowning. His eyes fall on you then, and he reaches an arm and quirks two fingers at you, the command clear: ‘come here’.
You don’t even hesitate. You practically fall into the furs, clambering on your hands and knees like a whimpering little kid as you crawl toward him. You’re vaguely cognisant of Varang crawling after you, twice your size and still emanating waves of irritation.
Quaritch’s big hand cups your jaw just beneath the mask, tilting her head back so he can take a look at your face. You’re still sniffling, eyes red and puffy, and your nostrils are beginning to itch where the blood is drying and crumbling.
“Got a crack across the face, didja?” He murmurs lowly, thumb stroking over the corner of your jaw and earlobe.
Despite yourself, you bristle. Your shock is beginning to wear off a little, and now you’re getting defensive and angry. How the hell have you ended back up in the one place you were trying to avoid.
“Is that all you have to say?” You ask for the second time that evening.
God, you’re starting to get seriously sick of military assholes.
He raises a brow, then gestures at Varang. “Well, I’m guessin’ that she took care of ‘em.”
You think of the way she had brutally smacked them into the ground, the sickening crunch of their bodies hitting the ground. You’re pretty certain they hadn’t been moving. Jesus, had she killed him?
Varang sits behind you, her tail swishing lazily like a cat. She has no idea what you two are saying, but her ears had pricked up when Quaritch had gestured at her. Now, she’s looking at you as though she’s expecting something from you.
You glance away. Her stare is even more intimidating up close.
“I was just trying to–” You begin, but to your frustration your voice cracks in upset.
Two twin rumbles erupt, making you flinch a little. Then two big hands land on your hips and suddenly your world flips. You squeak, startled, suddenly finding yourself on your back staring up at the animal hide tent ceiling. But then your vision is filled with Varang’s face as she leans over you, and suddenly she’s all you see.
She begins tugging roughly at your shirt, and you squeal in surprise as the fragile fabric tears with a loud rip.
“Jesus, woman,” Quaritch swears in English, before switching to Na’vi. “Easy! I told you, slow–”
“Have been doing slow!” She hisses back, teeth bared. “Not working!”
You’re startled to see that her canines are a little longer than Quaritch’s. Maybe it’s just a difference between native Na’vi and Recom bodies, but it adds to the wildness of her.
Quaritch huffs, but he doesn’t seem annoyed. He seems… amused?
He turns back to you, grin turned a bit wry. “Sorry, sweetheart. Gonna have to take your clothes off.”
You goggle at him.
“Take my– what?”
Varang is tugging at your trousers now, but they’re proving more of a challenge for her. She seems to be familiar with the mechanism of the button and zip – and there’s a pang that comes with the knowledge that it’s probably from unbuttoning Quaritch’s fatigues – but the belt seems to be an obstacle. She hisses at the buckle, aggravated.
“She don’t like all these clothes,” He says, though he needn’t have bothered. You could see that. “Just take ‘em off while you’re in the furs, yeah? Make life easier for yourself.”
You’re a little annoyed that he capitulates to anything she wants, but with the way she’s so damn insistently tugging at your clothes even you have to admit that it’s the easier option.
“Okay!” You snap at her, unbuckling your own belt and shuffling out of your trousers.
She sits back, pleased, and watches. You try not to tremble under her big yellow unblinking stare as you strip down to your simple, functional cotton underwear. You wish you were wearing nicer panties, then you curse yourself for thinking something so stupid. The underwear issued by the RDA are simple, functional, and unflattering, but it’s not as though either of them were expecting lingerie.
Varang’s eyes dart over you. For a moment you think she’s checking you for injuries and you spare a second of surprise – you hadn’t thought she cared. But then you see her eyes linger on your tits in your ill-fitting bra and the greying cotton clinging to your hips.
“She’s staring.” You whisper to Quaritch, mortified. You raise a hand to press over your chest.
But when you look to Quaritch, he’s staring too.
“She’s been so excited to get to know you,” He drawls without taking his eyes off you. “But I told her to take it slow. That you’re a skittish little thing.”
You stare at him, feeling as though you’ve missed a step.
“...What?”
Varang has nestled herself into the fur now, coiled like a jungle predator. A tiger, maybe, or a lioness. Even at rest, her long grey-blue limbs folded in elegant lines, she gives the impression of latent energy, of danger.
When she reaches out with one long dusky finger and begins to trail a light touch over your bare shoulders, you have no idea how to react.
Up close, her scent floods your senses even through the mask-filtered air—hot earth, cinders, salt, something musky and deep. When you don’t flinch away from her she rolls closer, as though taking your stillness as tacit permission to keep touching.
“What’s happening?” You whisper, and your voice comes out pitched higher in uncertainty.
Quaritch just chuckles. He’s leaning back with his arms folded behind his head, looking for all the world like this is a totally normal occurrence. His interest is betrayed though by the flicking of his tail and the intensity of his eyes as he watches Varang’s fingertips coast over your collarbone.
“We’ve been waitin’ for you to get your damn panties out of the twist you’d knotted in ‘em,” he says. “But Varang ain’t a patient lady.”
“My panties are not in a twist.” You snap reflexively, before actually thinking about what he’d said. “Patient?”
Quaritch huffs, rolling his eyes.
“Jesus, kid,” He says in exasperation. “I know you ain’t always the quickest, but c’mon now.”
You fumble for an answer but before you manage to say anything, there’s a weight in your lap. Varang’s every movement is so quick and sinuous that you barely even see her begin to move – one minute she’s reclining at your side, and the next she’s swung herself to straddle your legs.
“Eep.” You let out the least dignified sound you’ve ever made, staring up at her with wide eyes.
Beside you both, Quaritch lets out a breathy snort. “Like I said, impatient. You've been playin’ hard to get for too long.”
Hard to get?
Varang looms over you, the size difference stark and shocking. She’s so tall but so lithe, her proportions alien and alluring. Her tail flicks behind her as she stares down at you with quiet intensity. Up close like this as she leans over you, you can see the small round bumps from scarification over her hairless brows and the bridge of her nose, down her long abdomen. You had originally thought that she didn’t have as many little glowing freckles as Quaritch did, but now you can see that they’re just covered by the scars or the ashy streaky paint she’s covered in.
She leans down, nostrils flaring slightly as she inhales your warm human scent from your neck. You hold very still, eyes wide. The prey instinct in the back of your mind is screaming – she could so easily bite through tendons and sinew with those sharp teeth, and she’s very close to your throat.
But then she leans back, huffing in a way that sounds pleased.
Her fingers are calloused from archery, and they tickle a little as they slide over your collarbone, pausing at the worn strap of your bra. That strange little half-smile of hers lingers around her lips as she tugs at it just to watch it snap back into space.
Her large thumb brushes over the swell of your breast, lingering on the nub of your hardened nipple through the thin cotton.You squeak, startled, but there’s nowhere to escape to; it feels like Varang’s bulk is encompassing you, like she’s the only thing left in the world.
She tugs at your bra. The fabric strains, stitches popping, but holds firm.
“I do not like this.” She says to Quaritch, her expression turning a little scowly. “How do I remove, Quaritch?”
The way she says his name, accented and all drawn out, is actually a little bit cute. You don’t get much time to think on it though, before Quaritch’s big hands are worming their way under your back.
“Hey–” You start to gasp, but then Varang takes you by the shoulders and pulls you up so that you’re sitting, giving Quaritch more access to your back.
With a practiced hand, he undoes the clasp of your bra in one easy snap.
You gasp as Varang tugs the shitty fabric aside, tossing it carelessly over her shoulder.
You think you should probably be giving at least a token protest, even just to maintain your own dignity, but you’re embarrassed to find that you can’t. It’s been a very long time since you’ve been bare in front of anyone. And even longer since someone has looked at you so hungrily.
Sure, you’ve had your lazy make out sessions with Quaritch in his office, or in the Recom bunks when no one else was around, but you’ve never been unclothed. Even those few times he’s fingered you with those gloriously big long fingers of his, you haven’t been fully naked.
“What’s happening?” You whisper, eyes darting between them uncertainly.
Quaritch says something to Varang, and she shifts. As she swings her leg over you, moving off of you, you’re distracted by the coiled strength in her thighs. She’s pure muscle, the carbon fibre-infused bones adding even more weight to her, but she moves with an ease that you’re grateful for. One wrong move would probably crush you, but she’s too nimble for any stray hits.
You’re able to sit up now, and you do so slowly. Now that her tall body isn’t curtaining you, you’re more self-conscious than ever. You feel exposed, and you cross your arms over your chest in embarrassment.
“Overthink it?” You repeat in disbelief. “She took my clothes off!”
Varang is still smiling; just a coy little curve to her lips. She might not understand your words, but she still looks amused by you. Maybe your human modesty is a novelty to her.
“‘Cause she wants to fuck you.” Quaritch says bluntly. “Thought that was obvious.”
It feels like your world has been turned on its head, again. For a very long moment, all you can do is stare. The words ‘fuck you’ and ‘obvious’ keep replaying in your mind, and you can’t quite decide which element to address first.
“Fuck me?” You repeat at last, eyes darting anxiously towards Varang and her coiling tail. “You mean… like, fucking me up?”
Varang smiles, a finger reaching out to brush over your nipple. To your mortification, it stiffens further under the attention. You don’t quite have the presence of mind to pull away.
But Quaritch is staring at you, looking stumped and a little irritated.
“What?” He says. “Why would she–”
“She hates me!” You hiss. “I thought–”
“Hates you?” Quaritch has the nerve to look flummoxed. “Kid, she’s groping your tits.”
“I can see that!” You shriek, voice cracking.
That makes Varang pause, her broad brow furrowing in confusion. She looks to Quaritch, clearly seeking an explanation for your distress.
Quaritch just snorts, leaning back. The fact that he’s not taking you seriously only makes you more irritated. You’re sure that you’re stiff like an angry cat, your expression like thunder.
“You’ve been ignoring me all week!” You accuse. You want to sound angry, but you fall just short. Embarrassingly, you sound hurt instead.
You attempt to rally yourself, scowling weakly. “You don’t get to ignore me and then try to drag me into a threesome–”
Quaritch has the audacity to roll his eyes.
“Come on, honey. It’s not like that.”
“What is it like, then?” You shoot back.
Honestly, you’re a little impressed by your own spine. You usually find the Colonel scary enough to have your knees weakening, and you’ve never managed to work up the courage to express your feelings to him. But this time it’s different; you’ve had a shit day after a shit week which has followed a shit few months. You feel like you’re about to burst.
“I’ve given you space, sweetheart, but my patience is at its limit.” Quaritch sighs. “Can a man not want his girls to get on?”
His girls? You blink, thrown off. Quaritch doesn’t seem to notice your pause, and Varang is still curled behind you – despite not understanding your conversation, her elegant long fingers are tracing curious patterns over your ears, the sides of your neck, the length of your spine and each knob of your vertebrae.
“Can’t help that we’re mated now,” Quaritch says, his eyes darting over you to Varang. “Not like it was planned, but there’s no gettin’ out of it. These people do it for life, you know.”
He reaches over your head to brush one of her thin braids behind a pointed ear, and she playfully nips at his finger. You feel a deep throb of envy.
Mated. You had suspected that they weren’t just fucking, but it hadn’t been confirmed until just now. It feels like a punch to the gut, but Quaritch continues before you can wallow.
“I gave you space to think about things, but you shuttin’ down ain’t helping anything. Varang’s been chewing my ear off all week to get you into the damn furs with us.”
The whole conversation has been one bizarre revelation after another, but this one might actually take the cake. Varang wanted you naked and in their furs? You had thought she wanted you dead.
“She hates me,” You blurt. “She doesn’t want me near you.”
That earns a harsh bark of laughter from Quaritch. You’re aware, of course, that it’s a ridiculous thing to say when you’re all hunched almost naked in her weird witchy tent. They’re both looming over you, practically sandwiching you, and Varang hasn’t taken her hands off of you once since your bra came off.
“Well,” Quaritch drawls, grinning. “As much as I like the idea of havin’ two pretty girls fightin’ over me, I'm not all too sure that’s what was happenin’, baby.”
There’s a beat of silence as that settles over you. The events of the last week begin reshuffling and recontextualising in your head. You had thought that Varang had been mocking you after mating with Quaritch and pulling him away from you, but now you feel stupid and self-obsessed. But why would she want you like that? Just to satisfy a curiosity?
“It’s normal for ‘em,” He continues as though you have any idea what he’s talking about. “They got no hang ups about it.”
You stare at him. Slowly, you’re beginning to put the pieces together. You’re not stupid, but it all seems so silly and unlikely that you’re having a hard time believing it.
“Threesomes?” Even saying it out loud has your body flushing with embarrassed heat.
God, you’ve never done anything like that before. It feels like a fever dream that this is even being suggested.
Quaritch shrugs, the motion lazy and almost insouciant. “Well, it’s the natural solution, ain’t it?”
Wet heat runs up the side of your neck, and you lose track of the conversation instantly. You jolt, squealing, but Varang’s tail has wrapped around your waist and she’s baring her teeth.
“Too much talk, Quaritch,” She says, her voice low and smokey. “Stop distracting her.”
Quaritch just grins and lies back, outstretched in the furs in just that tiny loincloth. The yurt is dimly lit with small flames in the braziers littered around the place, and the flickering light casts the musculature of his lean Na’vi body into sharp relief. God, he’s so hot. His arrogance should probably be a turn off, but you’re embarrassed to admit that it only adds to the wetness between your legs.
“She screws like she fights,” He whispers like he’s sharing a secret. “Brutal and fiery. But I’ve told her to take it slow and easy.”
And with that he folds his arms lazily behind his head, cushioning his skull with his biceps as he watches the two of you with a grin.
For a moment you just sit there, feeling like a spare part. You’ve never had a threesome before, so you’re not sure what you’re meant to do right now. Are you both meant to suck his dick at once? Do you, like, fight for who goes first? Is there meant to be a weird sort of competition over his dick? You’re not sure you could beat her–
But Varang isn’t moving on Quaritch. She’s moving on you.
All you can do is gasp as she pushes you down. It’s not that she’s rough, but she moves with purpose and she’s so much bigger and stronger that even a light nudge completely flattens you. Now that you’re looking at her in this new light, her smile doesn’t look so mocking. Now it looks pleased, excited even.
Your legs are splayed open and Varang crawls between your thighs. Every move is deliberate, and she’s slowed right down. You think she’s going slow on purpose – obviously, Quaritch’s words have stuck with her. Where she had been forceful earlier, she’s cautious now.
You swallow thickly, and hear your throat click in the quiet.
“Off.” Varang coos, her long fingers hooking into your cheap panties. She’s smiling at you like she thinks you’re a bit stupid.
You glance at Quaritch reflexively. He’s watching the two of you closely. You think, a little uneasily, that he looks like he’s trying to guess her next move.
Still, when she tugs at your panties again, you allow her to pull them off you. She tosses them aside carelessly to join your bra, and then her big eyes fix between your legs.
When she sees you fully naked for the first time, her reaction surprises you. She laughs, high and girlish.
Your legs snap shut so quickly. It doesn’t even matter that she’s still between your thighs, blocking them from shutting fully, because you scramble to get up. The immediate impulse is to flee – you don’t even know where, because it’s not like you have options, but you’re so embarrassed that you almost feel like braving the air carrier despite the soldiers.
“Calm down,” Quaritch hastily, reaching out to place a big hand on your shoulder. He doesn’t exert much pressure, but he’s strong enough to hold you in place. “It’s the hair.”
“What?” You snap, feeling like a cornered animal.
“The hair,” He repeats, gesturing at the thatch of hair between your thighs. “Unclench, sweetheart. It’s new to her, s’all. She did the same to me.”
You really hadn’t thought too much about Na’vi pubic hair, but you suppose it makes sense that they don’t have any given their lack of body hair overall. Equally, hadn’t thought about Quaritch having pubes – maybe a holdover from his human DNA, like his eyebrows.
Varang is looking between you, head tilted. She’s assessing you, trying to figure out what the problem is. She glances down between your legs again, and this time she shifts so that she’s laying on her belly between your legs.
You’re trying to keep your legs closed, but Quaritch shifts so he’s lying behind you now. He pulls you flush against his chest, your back to his front. His arms wrap around your waist, one large hand splayed possessively over your stomach, with the other dropping to ease your legs apart so Varang can have a proper look.
Utterly exposed, all you can do is lay there and try not to melt in embarrassment.
Between your legs, Varang lets out a low, churring rumble. When her nostrils flare and you realise that she’s scenting you, your embarrassment reaches its peak and you simply can’t take anymore.
“Why am I the only one naked?” You practically shriek, wriggling. Then you screw up your bravery and make a stab at using the meagre Na’vi you have. “Clothes off!”
Varang stills, and for a moment you think you’ve made a mistake. This is a woman comfortable in her own authority, who is used to getting things her way. What if she takes badly to you attempting to order her around in her own home?
But then her smile blooms into a sharp, delighted smile. It’s broad enough to crinkle her eyes but with an edge to it, as though you’d offered her a cache of weapons all over again.
“Little Sky Girl speaks Na’vi?” She purrs, leaning down.
She licks a line from your sternum up your throat, and you jolt a little in surprise.
“A little,” You say shakily. “I’ve been learning.”
Without your panties, the wetness between your legs feels completely obscene. Your thighs feel sticky in a way that you really don’t want to examine considering you’ve barely been touched.
“Full of surprises,” Quaritch chuckles. He’s looming behind you, watching you with Varang as if you’re his favourite TV show.
You don’t reply, because your attention is captured by Varang now. She’s reached behind herself, beginning to untie the thin length of animal hide binding her breasts. Every move is a provocation, fluid and intentional – she tosses the binding aside, revealing her small, proud breasts. She starts on her loincloth next. Though you can practically feel the impatience radiating from her, she doesn’t rush.
She maintains eye contact with you as she tosses the loincloth aside next, and your cheeks burn.
You glance down, unable to help yourself, and your eyes stick.
Jesus.
You’ve never seen a Na’vi pussy before, and you’re a little struck by the sight. It’s both alien and familiar in a way that jars you. The anatomy is similar to yours, except for the fact that it’s… well, blue.
She has a perfect seam of blue, neat and glistening with arousal. Her folds are a few shades darker than the rest of her skin, and to your fascination, the inside of her winks purple, not pink. Her clit peeks out from beneath its hood, glinting almost pearlescent in the dim firelight of the tent.
You feel a little dizzy. You’re naked in Varang’s tent. Varang is sat in front of you, also naked, spreading her legs for you proudly like she wants you to look.
You should do something. Say something.
You point uncertainly at the indents in her skin from the tightness of the binding that had bound her breasts. “Pain?”
Varang just looks at you. You get the impression that she’s assessing you, like she doesn’t quite know what to make of you. She had undoubtedly been expecting a different reaction from you after showing off her cunt.
Then, she laughs, low and pleased.
“No pain.” She says it as though she thinks you're adorable.
It’s a little condescending, but you feel your nipples tighten anyway, puckering into hardened nubs. Quaritch noticed too; you can hear him chuckle, and then he shifts so that he’s beside you.
“You’re gonna make her real happy, baby.” Quaritch says. His words come out in a low, pleased rumble that you can feel vibrating into your back. “She’s been wantin’ to play with you for a while now.”
“Wanting to–?”
You’ve barely even gotten your sentence started before Varang decides to lay down on her back, legs spread and cunt exposed. You stare, struck dumb yet again. Fuck, that’s a sight. Her body is long and lithe, small breasts and shifting musculature under her velvety skin. The length of her legs! Have they always been that long?
She’s unself-conscious in a way that makes you sweat. Her eyes are fixed on you again, but now her impatience seems to be simmering at a low boil.
She barks something at Quaritch, but this time she speaks too fast for you to catch it. Her tone is unmistakable; whatever she said, it was a demand.
You had never pegged Quaritch as a man who would take orders from someone who was once an enemy, but his hands scoop under your armpits and lift you before you can protest. You’re not all too sure where he’s taking you; until he lifts you right over Varang.
You squeak as you’re settled into her lap, your legs slotting right between her much larger ones until you’re settled with your pussies pressed together, slick against slick.
“Oh, now ain’t that a sight.” Quaritch purrs out.
Your breath catches, staring down at where you’re scissoring with an alien. Her powerful thighs bracket your hips and waist, her powerful muscles flexing as she grinds up in slow, rolling motions. With a commanding sort of pressure she pulls you down against her further.
She doesn’t start slow, and she’s certainly not gentle. When her clit glides over yours, aided by the slick slide of your joined arousal, you both moan.
“Jesus,” Quaritch’s voice has dropped huskier as he shifts closer to get a better view. “Look at the two of you, all juiced up. You hear that?”
And you do – as Varang uses her grip on your hips to pull you down as she humps her cunt up against yours, the room fills with the wet, squishy sounds of your aroused cores rubbing.
Every roll of her hips is hypnotic; even on her back below you, there’s not an ounce of submission in her body. She’s grinning, wild and unrestrained with her teeth glinting, as she uses her grip on your hips to set a steady, hungry pace.
There’s no teasing – it’s a straight to the point sort of pleasure that soon has you panting. With an audience that responds to you so vocally, purring and moaning every time you roll your hips of your own accord, you soon find yourself responding eagerly with no real care for how you appear.
The bead of her clit is much larger than yours, serving as a perfect little bump to rub yourself against. It serves the dual purpose of stimulating you until you’re sweating and whimpering, and also satisfying her. Her head is thrown back as she pants, eyes half-lidded as she watches you rub yourself against her. Her long-fingered hands remain on your ass; you may have the illusion of control, but there’s no mistaking who’s really calling the shots.
“Like two cats in heat,” Quaritch says. He’s watching with an amused expression that does a poor job at hiding his avid interest.
“Ah!” Varang’s back arches as your cunts slot together just right, clits rasping over each other with a friction that has stars flashing before your eyes.
The moan that’s torn out of your mouth is long and low, a little breathless. You don’t think you’ve ever made such a slutty sound before, but you don’t have the presence of mind to feel embarrassed about it because Varang is still moving, her grip on your ass encouraging you to keep humping your pussy into hers.
You’re both so wet that the slide is easy, syrupy and sticky. Pleasure is sparking through your veins, your breath catching every time the eager beads of your clits grind together. It doesn’t take long before your hips are rolling against her with a desperate sort of speed.
It feels so good, enough so that you actually don’t have the presence of mind to feel embarrassed. Varang doesn’t seem to care that you’re grinding against her faster now; you’re both panting, sweating.
“Oh god.” You whimper, squeezing your eyes shut as you feel a trembling down deep in your pussy. “I’m–”
You don’t even get the words out before you cum in a convulsive wave. Your cunt clenches in a series of hard spasms, twitching against Varang’s as your clit grinds against hers.
“Fuck!” You shriek, clinging to her blindly.
She bares her teeth in a victorious grin, and doesn’t pause. You ride out your orgasm against her, whimpering as the glide gets wetter and slicker as your pussy grows juicier with release. Varang milks every last shock of sensation out of you, until the catch of your clits together grows too much.
You shiver, wanting more and less all at once, when suddenly a big four-fingered hand is clasping over your mask.
“I want your mouth.” Varang is saying, her large fingers fumbling with the unfamiliar mechanism of the mask.
You’re very horny. That’s the only excuse you have for the way your hips keep rolling lazily, your jaw soft and dropped as you pant. Even in the face of your only source of breathable air being pulled from you, you keep humping against her pussy.
Thankfully, Quaritch still has some firing neurons left. He swoops in quickly, grabbing Varang’s hand away and placing it on your loose breast instead.
“No mouth today,” he says. “Next time, when she has air.”
Varang hisses at him, but it seems more reflexive than anything because she doesn’t appear upset. Her attention has already been captured by your breasts; softer than a Na’vi’s, with more fleshy give to them when compared to the much firmer breasts of Na’vi women.
“Soft.” She mutters thoughtfully, her thumbs rolling over your beaded nipples with relish.
Quaritch chuckles.
Then, suddenly, she twists up and pulls you from your perch slotted against her. You yelp, but there’s not much you can do other than go with the flow and allow her to manhandle you. She moves quickly, flipping you onto your back and settling between your thighs on her hands and knees.
“Quaritch.” She says, glancing over her shoulder. Her tone has hardly changed at all, yet it’s clear that this is a demand.
Quaritch, still laying on his side as he watches the two of you, raises a brow. He seems quite content to watch, amused and pleased by the sight of Varang on her hands and knees between your legs. Varang is seemingly always aware of the eyes that follow her, and this time is no different – her back is arched, her narrow hips swaying as her tail undulates playfully in the air.
“Tsahìk.” Quaritch purrs her title lazily, though he doesn’t come closer.
Her title pleases her, you can tell by the way her tail flicks. Still though, she frowns impatiently at him.
“Come.” She says, a little clipped with impatience. “You will pleasure me, as I pleasure her.”
The steady, practiced amusement on Quaritch’s face breaks, only to be replaced by a genuine grin.
“Oh, will I?” He asks sardonically, though he doesn’t bother maintaining the pretence for a full minute – within fifteen seconds, he’s moving closer to slot himself up behind her.
Varang only arches more, the pert globes of her ass offered up to him like fresh fruit on a platter. She even waves it a little, tauntingly. Quaritch must be used to this sort of taunting, because he just snorts a little and delivers a quick open-handed smack to the side of her ass. It’s not particularly gentle, and the sound rings out in the yurt.
Varang gasps, jolting at the blow, before letting out a sharp laugh and grinding back against him.
You watch with widened eyes and shortened breath as Quaritch reaches down to untie his loincloth. Though he seems collected, the roughness of his movements as he shoves his pants down reveals his restlessness. You take a breath as you crane your neck, eager to see what he’s packing.
But to your bewilderment, there’s nothing but smooth space between Quaritch’s legs. Well, there’s hair, coarse and straight, like he had said. But it doesn’t border anything at all. Where you had expected a cock, there’s nothing at all.
You gape. What the fuck? He’s like a big blue Ken doll with pubes.
“Where’s your dick?” You blurt, unable to control your reaction.
Quaritch huffs a short laugh, but his ears lower a little. Shit, is he embarrassed? Maybe it was rude to point it out, but… Varang was acting like she wanted to be fucked. Was the Colonel dickless? Jesus, was that why he’s been so angry recently?
But no, that can’t be right. You’d seen the bulge in his pants after long makeout sessions, and you’d felt him the few occasions you’d dry-humped like horny teens.
“It’s still there, smartass.” He grumbles. “Gotta work for it now, though.”
That doesn’t answer your question at all. You frown, embarrassed and confused and too horny for this. Thighs squeezing together lightly, you glance at Varang. She’s already looking at you; her ears had pricked up the moment you spoke, clearly interested by what you have to say.
“Where?” You ask clumsily, pointing at Quaritch’s smooth blue crotch.
Varang tilts her head and for a moment you think she doesn’t understand what you’re asking her. But then her eyes dart to Quaritch’s crotch and she grins, sharp and eager.
She moves, pushing herself back up so that she can spin round and push him onto his back in the furs.
Quaritch allows himself to be pushed down. He’s rolling his eyes and huffing, but you know it’s for show because his lips are curving into a smug, self-satisfied grin. He looks as though he’s exactly where he wants to be.
“Come,” Varang demands, gesturing you closer.
This time, you don’t hesitate at all. You crawl closer until you’re at her side, both of you kneeling between Quaritch’s large, densely muscled thighs. Varang leans into your personal space, confident in the knowledge that you’re not going to be running away any time soon. Her smooth blue skin is hot to the touch against yours, and she maneuvers you closer with ease until you’re right where she wants you; tucked half under her as the two of you lean over Quaritch’s groin.
Now that you’re so close that your breath is brushing his skin, you can see that your initial impression of there being just blank space isn’t entirely correct. Under the light dusting of hair, you can see… Well, you’re not entirely sure what you’re looking at.
It’s not until Varang reaches out to touch him, parting the hair and prodding at the soft mound there, that you realise there’s a small vertical slit.
“What’s that?” You ask curiously.
Varang says a word that you’ve never heard before, her fingers pressing on either side of the slit and tracing it playfully. She doesn’t quite touch the slit itself; rather, she plays with the slightly swollen flesh on either side.
“Is that a pussy?” You blurt, eyes wide.
The concept of the Colonel, the scariest man you’ve ever met, with a pussy has you reeling. But just as soon as you’ve voiced the thought, Quaritch is huffing in irritation.
“Don’t be a jackass, kid.” He grunts, his voice a little gravelly. Clearly, whatever Varang is rubbing feels good.
Under her fingers, the slit seems to dilate slightly. The tip of something seems to be poking out from just inside, and when Varang leans in to lick at it, Quaritch throws his head back with a groan.
Under her attentive tongue, what appears to be Quaritch’s cock begins to extend. It doesn’t happen all at once; rather, it distends in increments. Feeling bold, you reach out to stroke your fingers along the squishy blue base of his length. He doesn't seem to have a scrotum; you wonder if it’s internal, same as his cock was.
And his cock is big. Fully proportional, long and thin (but still bigger than any human cock you’ve taken before). Those little glowing freckles are dotted along the underside, forming a pretty little trail all the way up to his purple mushroomed head.
“Shit.” Quaritch picks up his head so that he can watch you and Varang play with his cock at the same time.
He must like whatever he’s seeing, but his pupils are so dilated that there’s nothing left of his iris but a thin ring of gold. Varang clearly notices too, because she bares her teeth in a grin before licking up the length of his cock. If Quaritch is nervous about her sharp fangs near his delicate bits, he doesn’t show it. If anything, he humps his hips up to get more of himself inside her mouth.
Rather than indulge him though, Varang just gives one teasing suckle to the swollen, purplish tip before pulling away. Quaritch huffs as though he’d been expecting that, though he doesn’t complain. He’s watching her closely, waiting for her next move.
You’re watching her closely too, taking your cues from her. When she takes a hold of your arm and pulls you like a ragdoll onto your back in the furs in front of her, you go easily. Then she settles on her elbows and knees, settling low with her ass in the air. Her tail is held high, swaying coyly in the air in a way that is unmistakably teasing.
Your attention is fixed on her pert little ass, distracted by the way she’s waving it to taunt Quaritch, so when a dextrous, hot wet tongue slides through your sticky folds, you nearly shriek.
“O-ohhh, fuck.” You sigh, spreading your legs eagerly.
You feel like a bit of a slut with the way your every inhibition has flown out the window, but you refuse to let your mind linger on any shame. It feels too good – you can’t remember the last time someone ate you out, but it feels like a lifetime ago, and it certainly had never felt like this. Your makeout sessions with Quaritch had often ended with his big fingers stuffed down your panties to rub you until you creamed, but while it scratched the itch for a while, the wet heat of Varang’s mouth is making your eyes roll back in your damn head.
It feels like you’re boiling up inside. Your temples are sweat-slick, hair sticking to your forehead in a way that you’re certain can’t be attractive. Your cunt is so wet and sticky that every lap of Varang’s tongue against you makes a squelching sound that is truly mortifying. You don’t even know how much of the wetness is your own arousal or Varang’s saliva.
She’s sloppy about it, which you hadn’t expected. She just always seemed so put together, but she’s tonguing into your cunt like she wants to lick the flesh off your bones. You mewl and arch and wriggle, but her powerful hands keep you pinned so she can mouth at you as she likes.
You’d almost forgotten about Quaritch until he settles himself behind Varang. He looms over her, even taller than she is, and leans over so he can get a better look at her licking your cunt.
“Slow down,” He drawls, though he sounds amused. “You’re gonna lick her raw.”
He wraps a big hand around the base of Varang’s tail and tugs lightly, playfully. She pulls back from you just so she can hiss over her shoulder at him.
“She wants it now! You deny her–”
“I am not denying her.” Quaritch rolls his eyes, exasperated. His accent is thick, causing the words to form a little clumsily in his mouth, but you find yourself grateful for it. It’s much easier for you to understand the language when it’s pronounced slow and intentional.
His yellow eyes turn to you then, and he lifts a brow. “You okay, sweetheart?”
Okay? You don’t think you’ve ever felt so excited in your life. You’ve been content with Quaritch’s lazy makeout sessions and the clandestine fingering, but that was because you hadn’t dreamed of expecting more. Laying here sandwiched between two enormous bodies that could crush you with ease has you gooey between the legs in a way you couldn’t have expected.
You nod, breathless.
He gives you a sharp grin, and then drives into Varang in one short roll of his hips. Varang keens, high and drawn out, before it tapers into a moan. You watch her face, enraptured by the way her expression slackens in pleasure. The self-satisfaction that she’s been carrying herself melts away, replaced by raw want.
The thing that so fascinates you about her is that even like this, bent over between you and Quaritch, there’s not an ounce of submission in her. She’s so self-assured in her own desire that it makes you feel small, like you’re blessed and lucky to be allowed so close to her while she allows Quaritch to sink inside her.
But then her eyes fix back on your face, piercing even through the transparent plastic of your mask, and she lowers her mouth to your cunt again, laving over the sticky arousal that has collected in your folds.
Your eyelids flutter as you sigh, finally allowing the last of your tension to melt out of your spine.
God, that feels good. Maybe it’s okay to just let yourself enjoy this. You’ve never had an illicit encounter like this, and the thrill adds to the airy, electric build up in your cunt. If a nine foot tall sexy alien woman wants to involve you in her sex life with your boss, who the hell are you to deny yourself? Especially when you don’t think you’ll ever experience anything this crazy again in your life.
When Quaritch starts fucking into her, the rhythm of her tongue is disrupted against you. You try not to be too disappointed but you can’t help the whine that slips out of you unbidden. You think that maybe they miss it, considering the air is filled now with the wet slap of skin against skin and Quaritch’s low grunts matched by Varang’s little gasps.
But then both of their eyes swing around to you, and Quaritch grins.
“Feeling neglected again, baby?” He asks, a little mocking.
You nod, mortified. Then you wonder why the hell you had nodded at all. Was he making fun of you? It all abruptly feels too overwhelming – you don’t think you’ve ever felt so vulnerable in your whole life.
He says something, too low and quick for you to catch, and then Varang is grinning. Her head lowers between your legs once more, purring lowly, and begins licking again. Her tongue rasps over your clit and your thoughts evaporate, all higher level thinking disappearing in favour of sheer instinctive desire.
When you spread your legs wider, breath hitching, Varang’s purring kicks up a notch. The rumbles from her mouth make your eyes roll back in your head – it’s like having a hot, wet vibrator that licks at you. You feel too hot, too overwhelmed, like your skin is several sizes too tight.
Your eyes slide closed in an effort to block out some of the world before you get sent into sheer sensory overload, but when Varang squeals you snap them back open as if your eyelids were spring-loaded, unwilling to miss a thing.
Quaritch has taken a grip of Varang’s tail in his hand, pulling her back to meet her every thrust as he sets a brutal pace.
She’s letting out high, vulgar moans of pure delight. The sounds she makes are absolutely outrageous; completely lewd, wanton, and totally shameless. You don’t think you’ve ever heard sounds like that outside of a porno, but there’s not an ounce of disingenuity in her noises.
There’s no performance at all; just sheer enjoyment. The fact that she’s making those noises into your already sensitised cunt makes you feel like you’re going insane. Each little yip, purr, and moan thrums against your clit whenever she’s not suckling sloppily at it.
Your nerves spark, and your legs convulse without conscious thought. You can feel another release bubbling in your lower belly and the tips of your toes, your mind narrowing down to those points of pleasure as Varang’s rough tongue undulates against your swollen clit.
“Oh god,” You pant, your hips twitching up into her mouth again. “I’m gonna– I think–”
Quaritch is humping into Varang like a dog in rut, low intense grunts spilling from his lips as his hips move in brutal, near frantic spasms. You think – as much as you can think right now, with your higher-order awareness beginning to slip away from you – that you would love to watch him fucking her properly, from a different angle.
The thought takes you by surprise even as it floats through your mind. Even earlier that day, such a thought would have had you stewing in a bitter sort of envy. But everything seems softer right now, fuzzier around the edges – encapsulated in their furs, warm and buzzing like a live-wire, you can’t imagine allowing a single negative emotion to touch the sides of you.
You can feel your climax build deep in your belly like a cresting wave, and your toes curl in anticipation of it.
You orgasm violently. When that pleasure snaps it feels like it ricochets through every nerve and synapse in your body – your legs clamp shut around Varang’s skull hard enough that if she was human, you’re sure it would have hurt. As it is, you think she actually enjoys it, because she starts to lick you harder, faster.
It’s too much almost immediately, but you can’t form the words to tell her to stop. Your hands form fists in her glossy micro braids, though you don’t remember reaching to grasp them. All you can do is cling to her, keening wordlessly as her rough textured tongue works you into a cascade of bliss that feels endless.
You’re a pathetic little puddle of sweat and spit and spasming limbs, hardly able to tell up from down. You’re vaguely aware of Varang squealing in a way that suggests her own orgasm has knocked her out of the running at the same time as that heavenly, too-much tongue pauses in its tireless licking.
“Oh, fuck,” You breathe, your eyes blinking hazily up at the hide ceiling of the yurt.
The wet slap-slap-slap of flesh against flesh is still echoing as Quaritch fucks Varang almost brutally hard. You blink rapidly, trying to clear your head and regain some feeling in your numb buzzy fingers after your orgasm as you watch the two of them.
Varang is loose-limbed and soft, the expression on her face satisfied as she rests her face against your naked belly, panting. She’s clearly already came, small tremors running through her slick thighs, but that doesn’t stop Quaritch from chasing his own end.
“Fuck,” He snarls. “Fuck, fuck–”
His movements turn sloppy, then jerky, then he stiffens with a hissed moan. Your own spent cunt clenches around nothing as you watch his face, drinking in the details as he cums; his pinched brow, slack mouth, glassy eyes. God, he looks good.
Your thoughts are slow and soupy; you wish you had had the presence of mind to watch Varang’s face while she came. You want to be filled. You want to curl up right here and never move again.
Quaritch lets out a low groan of pure male satisfaction, his broad shoulders going lax as he hunches over Varang’s back. She’s still laid out on top of you, her back arches and hips tilted towards him, but once Quaritch pulls out of her she practically collapses onto you, spent.
The weight of her body slumping onto yours forces all the air from your lungs in an exhausted ‘ooof!’, and Quaritch hastily pulls her off. She goes easily, allowing him to settle her gently on the furs next to you.
She curls around you almost immediately, her chainsaw-like purring reminding you of an overlarge sundrunk housecat. It’s almost endearing enough to forget that you thought that she was a total psychopath.
Quaritch reclines next to you. He’s still grinning, no doubt immensely satisfied. It seems like his orgasm has softened some of the tension that’s been running through him like a steel rod in his spine. When he slides down on your other side, there’s a boneless quality to him that certainly wasn’t there before.
You stare up at the ceiling, wide-eyed and a little stunned. As the feeling comes back into your fingers and toes, reality is sinking in.
Jesus Christ, you just engaged in a threesome with your rogue boss and his new alien mate.
Varang is sleepily playing with the shell of your ear, one of her long lithe legs is draped over your hips – it’s long enough to reach over to Quaritch, her toes playfully prodding at his thigh. He grunts, grabbing at her ankle and coasting his hand the whole way up her leg before groping at her pert ass.
You’re squashed right in the middle, still a little bewildered about how you managed to get into this situation.
“Should I– go fur?” You ask in badly accented, halting Na’vi. In case it wasn’t clear what you meant, you point over to the small pile of furs that you had dragged over to the other side of the tent.
You’d been sleeping in that sad little pile for the last week, and you just assume that they’ll want you to return now that they’re satiated. You’ve tried to avoid them at night, slinking in after they’ve fallen asleep or curling up with the furs over your head, so you’re not all too sure what their night routine is.
Do they always cuddle like this after fucking? How often do they drag a third person into their furs? Or is this the first time?
It certainly seems… adventurous to drag you into this considering they’ve only been together a week, you think a little sourly.
But when you look up at the two of them, they’re both looking at you as though you’re speaking in tongues.
Had you misspoken? Maybe what you said meant something completely different. You scramble for a moment, working back over your words in your head.
But then–
“Mates sleep together.” Varang says, frowning.
She seems irritated, and the sight of her painted brow pinched in a frown has you nodding swiftly. You pull back, unwilling to linger in the furs when they don’t want you there.
But before you can go anywhere, Varang’s leg tightens over your hip and an arm winds under your waist as she hisses softly. You go very, very still.
“She told you to stay.” Quaritch grunts, though he doesn’t bother to open his eyes.
“No she didn’t,” You whisper back, keeping your voice low as if that might keep Varang soothed. “She said that mates sleep together.”
Quaritch peels one eyelid open just so he can give you a look like you’re a little slow.
“What’s the difference?” He grumbles.
He’s relaxed enough after his orgasm that he doesn’t seem to be able to work up enough energy to devote to the conversation. As a result, he doesn’t see the way you’re gaping at him blankly.
Admittedly, you’re not always the quickest, and the Na’vi language and their customs are so foreign to you that you don’t understand a lot of it. But it sounds as though Quaritch is including you in the mates statement.
Which is ridiculous, because you’re barely even a situationship to him. At least, you hadn’t thought so. Now, you’re bewildered. You lay still, compressed between their much larger bodies as they curl around you and each other in the most surreal three-way cuddle pile you’ve ever experienced.
It takes a bit of wriggling to sit up, since neither of them seem all that interested in lifting their heavy limbs to make it easier for you.
“Did you…” You manage to say, your voice cracking. “Did you sign me up for some kind of weird alien polyamory without asking me?”
“Hah?” Quaritch squints at you through one lazily opened eye, but you don’t wait for him to say anything further.
You smack at his arm. You’re so much smaller than him that it bounces off ineffectually, but it makes you feel a little bit better.
At least, it does before Varang lifts her head, looking between the two of you. You stiffen a little, wondering if she’s going to smack you down for daring to strike her mate the way that she had smacked that soldier outside the air carrier.
But she surprised you by smacking Quaritch instead, a little harder than you had but right over the same place.
This time Quaritch moves, his thickly muscled arms moving to wrap around your waist and Varang’s at once. He hauls you both atop of him, grumbling something about “Two damn women at once… pain in my ass”.
You wriggle, still unsettled, but Varang grins wide, settling down against the length of his body like she belongs there. She purrs, and her tail coils playfully around your upper thigh.
“Not like there were many conversations.” Quaritch mutters. “You mad about it?”
You can feel his words rumble lightly in his chest as you lay against him, and despite yourself you find yourself relaxing against him. The steady thrumming of Quaritch’s voice and Varang’s purring, their velvety skin, their encompassing warmth, has you melting reluctantly against them.
You allow yourself to think. It’s difficult to answer the question. You’re not all too sure what’s happened tonight. One moment you’d been angry with Quaritch for tossing you aside for Varang, the next you’re squashed between them in their furs and they’re talking about mates like it was a given that you were part of that arrangement.
“I… don’t know.” You say slowly. “I’m not sure I really understand.”
Quaritch just snorts.
“Yeah, me neither.” He grunts, reaching down to scratch at the light thatch of hair above his cock. To your fascination, you see that his length has retracted back into that little internal pouch.
“She said that she was going to take my mate.” You protest, mortified even to be saying it out loud. "As in, you."
Quaritch huffs a lazy, tired laugh. He says something to Varang in her ear, too quick and quiet for you to hear. She grunts, eyelids fluttering, and mumbles something back.
Whatever she said has Quaritch rolling his eyes back to look at you with a single sardonic brow raised.
“You gotta improve the language, honey.” He mutters. “She said she’s gonna take you as a mate.”
You gape at him. Even with it being stated in plain English, your brain cycles around the words without engaging with them fully.
“What the fuck?” You blurt.
Had they known the whole time that you were involved in this weird little ‘mating’ situation? Was that why they had been so amused with your sulking, your insistence at sleeping apart?
What you had thought was mockery from Varang might just have been an expression of interest.
“Too much talking.” Varang mumbles in Na’vi.
She’s clearly trying to sleep, her ears twitching in irritation every time someone speaks.
You quiet down, biting your lip. It seems like you’re the only one confused by any of this. They’re certainly not wasting much time having moral quandaries or wondering what this means for your standing among them.
A little hesitantly, you allow yourself to relax fully against them.
Never in your wildest dreams would you have first imagined this when you came to your pencil-pushing job in Pandora – squashed between two enormous alien bodies, one of them your resurrected boss, in a tiny village in the middle of nowhere filled with Na’vi that are hostile to basically everything.
But the furs are warm and comfortable, and paradoxically you feel small and safe pressed against the bulk of Quaritch and Varang. Everything outside of the tent feels distant and hazy, like the only real thing in the world is right here narrowed down to the palpable heat of your bodies in a post-coital pile.
Just maybe, you could postpone your little meltdown until tomorrow.
Quaritch must feel you surrender to the situation, your body relaxing against his, because you feel his lips curve into a smile where they’re pressed against the top of your head.
When he leans down to speak in your ear, you shiver lightly.
“Best leave this out of the field report to Ardmore.” He says with a low laugh, his large hand delivering a quick, fond slap to your ass.
Apologies for my lack of attention towards Revenant on here, I’m currently posting the rewritten version of chapters on WATTPAD - the autosave feature on there has saved my ass more times that I’ll ever admit.
I have chapters 1-9 live and public, the rest will be coming hopefully over the following days or weeks. However, I’m not touching anything or editing on Tumblr until I have all chapters finished.
Does any of that make sense?
My handle for Wattpad is @Whoreish_behaviour !!! I hope yall had an amazing New years 💋
I renamed him Adriel Abner Graves bc yanno..free will and all that.
FINALLY after over a month, she’s done. This is probably the darkest/weirdest thing I’ve ever written, please read the warnings before and minors istg SHOO!! enjoy
Warnings >~< : Choking, man-handling, dubcon, nasty ah hands, corpse present at ‘tango’ time, no aftercare, rough stuff. I probably missed a few, lmk pleaseee
The rain pelted down, the shallow puddles splashing up and lapping at your exposed calfs as you stomped through them.
The night had been growing darker with each passing moment but you refused to stop, pushing on until you walked upon familiar land - the details of the Graves’ family farmhouse growing clearer as you paved your way through the mud.
You knew is was borderline disrespectful to ambush your married neighbours at a time like this but what other choice did you have.
Catherine was your only trusted source of comfort in this whole town, the only one who knew every grimey detail behind your failing marriage and your disgusting cheating pig of a husband.
You knew she was not one to judge, she had problems of her own.
Your hushed conversations as you left church together usually ended with her expressing that ‘he was getting worse’ and that ‘she wasn’t sure how much longer she would be able to live under the same roof as him anymore’.
The him in question being her husband of course, the tall mysterious man who had invaded your town a few years ago and had snatched Catherine up within a few weeks, decorating her ring finger with a silver band before anyone had even learned his last name.
She had anywsys said his eagerness had been flattering and part of you couldn’t blame her. You couldn’t even remember a time your husband had been so hungry to make you his.
Spoiler alert, he never was.
Your thoughts trailed on and on until you ended up at their door, the paint peeling and revealing the rotting wood underneath.
You hands and fingers were frozen as you reached up to knock on their door, knuckles so stiff and numb you didnt even feel the hard wood as you tapped tapped tapped.
Sniffing quietly to yourself, you reached up to adjust your soaking wet hair and wiped your running nose, what a mess you must resemble.
Seconds turned to minutes as you patiently waited, the wind pushing against your back - almost gently nudging you into the door.
Please answer, you thought. Don’t make me go back there, dont make me go back to him..
You felt your lip tremble, both from the cold and the knowledge that you’d have to turn back around and trudge your way back to your home in the dark.
Until you heard the familiar creek of their doorknob turn, the wood groaning as the door was forcefully pulled open and a tall body filled the gap.
Gulping, your regret sparked up at his aggressive entrance - lowering your head you tried to hide your sheepishness.
‘I’m really sorry to disturb you both at a time like this Adriel, I-..I wasn’t sure where else to go. Is Catherine there?’ You glanced up just in time to see Adriel’s long nose twitch as if what you said had disgusted him.
You were met with his silence and he seemed to mule over your question.
‘And if she isn’t?’
Your lips parted, taken aback slightly at the bite in his tone.
Well where else would she be? You thought, brows furrowing in confusion and suspicion.
You already knew he wasn’t one to let her leave the house unattended, she had said so herself. He had a nasty habit of keeping her trapped in the house, safe for your weekly food shopping and Sunday mass.
‘Oh, er-‘ You stammered, feeling embarrassed, uncomfortable and out of place all at once. ‘Do you know when she’ll be back?’
He regarded you quietly, chin tilting up and to the side slightly as he pondered an answer. You could almost see the lightbulb flicker on in his head if you had looked hard enough…you didnt.
‘Soon, come in.’ He stepped to the side, his broad shoulders moving and giving you a sight into the dark house.
Again, you stalled - noticing the lack of light..anywhere in the house.
Strange, the warmth that usually glowed from their homey country house seemed like it had dimmed and died completely - leaving a sad, hollow and eerie skeleton behind.
You felt as if you had walked into something you shouldn’t have, like a parasite trying to worm its way into their house.
‘No, I wouldn’t want to intrude. I’ll stop by tomo-‘ You spoke quietly but he was quicker.
‘I insist.’ The bite in his tone was back, his top lip pulling back into a snarl almost.
His attempt at masking it with a smile failed miserably and only seemed to put you further on edge.
Sensing your lack of usual eagerness and enthusiasm when coming to their home, he reached a hand out - tilting his head in mock kindness.
‘Come on pet, wouldn’t want you top catch a cold standing out in the rain all by yourself.’ His subtle reminder that out here you were indeed alone was enough for you to take his hand and step over into the threshold.
You didn’t look at him as you passed, instead taking in the surrounding - keeping an eye out for any sign of Catherine.
‘Again I’m really sorry to barge in on you both like this, I just- I wasn’t sure who else I could go to.’ You explained again once you both had walked into the dark living room.
No candles, no fireplace. Weren’t they cold? It was the beginning of winter after all and with a house like this, so out in the open. Surely it would be freezing for them?
‘Don’t waste your breath, you know you’re welcome here. Sit.’
You nodded in submission, not wanting to push your luck anymore than you already had.
You watched him stare at you before leaving silently, a chill crawling its way up your back at the thought of you being alone together.
Thoughts of what Catherine had been telling you over the last few weeks pushing to the front of your mind.
Apparently something has shifted between them, a distance had wedged itself and while Catherine seemed to enjoy the smaller newfound freedom, Adriel only seemed to grow more feral each day.
Things had started to be broken, plates thrown and smashed, furniture torn and ripped with his hunting knife.
You even recall her saying that he had once held it to her once, lips pulled into a snarl as he accused her of all sorts of things.
Things you knew yourself to be false. While you might not know her as well as her husband, you knew she was no cheat.
You swallowed as you sat down, tucking your knees together and smoothing out your dress as your eyes wondered the dark room.
Surely turning on a lamp wouldn’t hurt?
You were reaching over to their small side table before you had even thought it through, hand reaching under the lamp shade and blindly feeling for the switch before gently flicking it.
The light flickered briefly before straining on, basking the room in a low light.
It was only when you pulled back your hand from under its cone of fabric that you notice the blood.
Your hand was smeared with it, from the palm all the way to your still cold numb fingertips - the same hand he had lead you into the house with.
You immediately felt the pit of your stomach drop, your heartbeat thrumming up and beginning to pound at your ears - face warming with dread and fear.
Something wasn’t right.. you had felt it from the minute he had opened the door.
And still, there you were sat at his couch - how stupid you were.
You glanced down at your white dress, seeing that the fabric was also stained from where you had adjusted yourself, hands and shoulders shaking as the danger of the situation settled.
Where was Catherine?
Where was he?
The uncanny silence had a newfound sinister feeling, your body shaking and you reached back to to extinguish the light, drowning the room in darkness once more.
If you could get back to the front door, he wouldn’t even be able to notice your absence.
You imagined sprinting for your life once you got outside, readying yourself as you stood to your feet.
The wooden floor creaked and groaned under your weight, the bones of this house must’ve been at least a decade old.
Creeping in the dark felt like a sick game of cat and mouse, peeking your head around the corner of the hallway to see where he had disappeared off to.
You couldn’t hear his footsteps and with his size and built you knew you would’ve been able to.
You felt like a shadow, keeping your footsteps light and slow and you crept on, reaching a hand out on the wall to feel your way out.
The surface was smooth and cold, the shredded wallpaper scraping your fingers until you touched something softer, something warmer.
You shrieked in horror, attempting to pull your hand back like it was on fire but it was too late.
You don't understand how you didn't see him at first, he was as big as a giant - with his widespread shoulders and long legs that made him crouch under most doorway.
Yet the leanness of his build served him well and he blended in easily, too easily for your unsuspecting eyes.
He gripped your hand hard, almost crushing your smaller fingers as he chuckled - the sound was enough to bring tears to your eyes.
He really was a madman you thought, feet stumbling as you tried yanking your hand back, unable to break free from his hold on you.
He wasted no time moving in on you, pulling you to him as he lured closer, tipping his head down as if to have a better look at your horrified expression.
‘What’s wrong dolly? Why the long face?’ He downturned his lips like a party clown, brows dipping in mock sadness.
You had no words, squirming as he drew closer - his nose was a featherlight touch from yours and you screwed up your face in disgust when the smell hit you all at once, coppery and metallic.
The tang made your teeth ache and you recoiled instinctively but he only followed, as if drawn in by your revulsion.
‘Please let me go, you’re hurting my hand.’ Your voice was meek and shaky, just as much as the rest of you was.
He didn’t respond, the silence defeating as the creaks of the house filled the void, only serving as a reminder that you were all alone with him.
He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, the rise of his chest slow and deliberate as though he were forcing patience into his veins.
The smirk that had lingered on his mouth fell away, vanishing into something harder, emptier.
Then, just as quickly, it returned - his lips curling with a venomous edge.
This time it wasn’t a smile at all, darkler and more evil than you thought a human expression could ever become.
He licked his tongue over the front of his teeth, an action you could only describe as animal-like, a predator fantasising and salivating at the thought of what his prey might taste like.
He bet you were sweet enough to make his teeth rot right out his mouth if he sucked hard enough.
‘Of course’
Your hand flew back to your chest with a startled thump, heart hammering against your ribs harder than it ever had before.
You hadn’t expected him to surrender it so easily and for a flicker of a second, relief washed over you, warm and dizzing.
Before you could even draw another breath, his bear-like hand shot forward, closing around your throat with a grip far tighter than before.
His blunt nails dug into the fragile skin at your neck, not quite sharp but unforgiving and merciless, dull claws pressing harder and harder.
You could feel your pulse flutter wildly beneath his palm, like a trapped bird and the panic made your vision spark at the edges.
You were sure that if he pressed any deeper, your skin would tear under him like tissue paper.
The thought alone made a sob break free, shuddering through you as your fingers clawed at his wrist, desperate for air and release.
You babbled by like baby, the unrelenting pressure making his face blurry as he drew you up closer to his body.
You felt like a toy stuck in a claw machine, immobile and helpless as you were dragged up the length of his torso to your prize winner who revelled in his victory. You felt his grip beginning to match the thumping of your heart, loosening and tightening on beat as he laughed sickly, mocking your poor little heart as it tried to beat its way out your chest.
Just as you felt yourself slipping away, dark spots begining to float over his face, he flung you back - your body reaching halfway down the hall before landing with a harsh and loud bang.
You felt your head smack the floor, your brain not even registering the pain as it was once again supplied with much needed oxygen.
You felt drunk, eyes blinking open as you leaned up on your elbows, one hand coming to rest of your aching head.
You watched his shadow step away from the wall, swift and casual as he turned to face you from the bottom of the hallway - the front door behind him illuminated like a sick joke, a taunt that you had been so so close.
His figure swayed left to right, almost as if he was dancing as he made his way to where you were still laying - the floor shaking and creaking with every step.
It almost felt like a countdown, your time running out the bigger his fame got.
That was enough to kickstart your need to get away, legs scrambling and you turned and crawled away - mind still fuzzy when you got to your feet.
You knew this was quickly turning into a life and death situation, it was you or him.
Your options were dwindling, there was no way you'd be able to get out the house with him blocking the only passage out.
Catherine had told you that he always kept the windows locked, your memory replaying how many times shed complain about the house feeling too stuffy with the lack of fresh outside air.
Now you knew first hard that the lack of ventilation wasn't the only thing that seemed to suck all of the air out the room, his presence alone was enough.
Your only other option was getting something to defend yourself with, something that would send a shock to his system and hopefully keep him at arms length enough for you to make run for it.
The only thing you knew would be perfect was down in the basement and you had one shot to make it, a shot that needed to be worth the risk of cornering yourself down there.
You only prayed that firing a shotgun was as easy as it looked.
Your shoes pounded the floor, vibrating up your legs as you sprinted away from him - huffing out as you tried to regain control of your breathing.
The basement door was cracked open and you slammed your palm against it, the door crashing into the basement wall.
You didn’t care.
The darkness terrified you but the laughs that grew louder every second scared you even more.
You took the steps two at a time, your buckling knees weak with enough fear that you were half falling down them, hand tight on the railing to balance yourself.
You didn’t think, you just fled - running to anywhere he was not.
The air grew colder the lower you went, thick with dust and something that clung wet in the back of your throat.
You couldn’t see but that also meant he wouldn’t be able to either.
You then felt yourself trip and stumble, your balance completely leaving you as you crumbled to the floor in a heap of tears.
Your knees took most of the fall and you whimpered in pain as you turned to sit on your bottom, hands laid out beside you as you looked at what had tripped you up.
You froze.
Her body was slumped where you’d tripped, hair matted to the stone, lifeless eyes glassed wide and staring through you.
Her nightdress was torn open, stained dark as the wound in her chest leaked like a second mouth.
You were lying in a pool of her.
Catherine.
Your palms sank into it, sticky and warm despite the chill in the air. Fresh. You lifted your hands and they glistened back in the faint light from the basement windows.
Blood. It was so much..
She soaked your clothes, your skin.
You gagged, the smell too much for you as tears erupted from your eyes - the heartbreaking mourning for your longtime friend already enveloping your heart.
This was a violent attack and the closer you looked, the more wounds you saw. Her head, her neck, her everything.
She had been brutally hacked to death, the aggression clear as daylight even in the darkness and you were sure even a bear attack would’ve been more merciful.
You cried for her and for yourself.
You knew you were next, you couldn’t even bring yourself to stand - your heart sinking so low into your chest that you were sure it was in your belly.
On cue, you heard the basement door reopen - the sound of something heavy and metal dragging along the wood of the door followed by a sick and twisted humming.
You lifted your tearful gaze, a desperate part of you wanting to lean over and embrace your dead friend, wanting her lifeless arms to cradle you back as if to comfort you one last time.
The thought made you cry harder.
‘Aw, no tears please pet.’ His voice dripped with condescension above.
From the ground, the world tilted up in a nightmarish angle.
The basement door hung open above you, the faintest glow from the house spilling in just enough to frame his silhouette.
He filled the doorway completely, a towering figure blotting out what little light there was, nothing but a dark mass of shoulders and legs.
You watched as he slowly descended the steps, each step he took down into the stairwell made him loom larger, his shadow stretching long over you, swallowing you whole.
You then saw the axe, glinting and taunting you as he drew closer and closer, the sound of its heavy metal head scraping the walls growing louder.
‘What did you do to her?’ Your voice was meek, shuffling back in the dark to try and add some distance between you.
He didn't bother with an answer - instead he only laughed harder, the noice raw and bellowing as he widened his smile.
His final step down onto the cobble flooring silenced everything - the groan of the wooden steps, the echo of his laughter.
Even your own breath stilled, caught in your chest as though holding it could somehow make you invisible, though his gaze had already pinned you in place, digging straight into your soul.
The only thing between you both was Catherine's poor lifeless body and you sobbed harder.
This was it.
‘Save your sorrow dolly, she was no less filthy than that sly husband of yours.’
Gone was his humour, his expression was cracked and on edge - tip lip lifting as his nose twitched in aggression.
You shook your head, crawling up onto your hunches - knees slipping in the dark crimson bath.
‘You’re wrong, she..she wasn’t like that at all! She loved you Adriel…so much-‘ You were cut off by your own scream as he lurched at you, the axe swinging dangerously close to your head.
You scrambled back, crying out your pleas as he erupted into a fireball of anger.
The sharp edge of the blade imbedded itself into the one of the wooden beams surrounding you, the sound of the wood chopping and falling away.
He left it there as he moved in on you, his huge mass of a body moving too quick and too swift.
He gripped your throat once again, pulling you up from the floor so much so that the tips of your toes barely brushed the ground.
‘Is that what you think?’ He taunted, daring you to disagree with him again.
You pressed your lips together, your face soaked in your tears as they ran down your cheeks. There was no way they didnt run along his hand, his hold on you tighter then it had been before.
‘Is that what she told you hm? That she loved me?..that she loved you?’
His face broke into a grin and within a second he had lowered you back down to the floor, his grip on your neck still strong as he turned you both around.
He made you face towards the stairs, stepping closer so his front was to your back.
You felt trapped as he held you, now stood between him and his wife’s corpse.
You ears pricked like a dog’s, hypersensitive to any sound he made, as he reached just ahead - the metal buckle of his dungarees clinking as he took hold of the light cord, tugging with little effort.
You flinched as the light sputtered, dimming before flooding the dingy room with a dark wavering orange glow.
Nausea twisted in your gut, yet you couldn’t stop your gaze from sinking to the floor before you.
Some dark, perverse part of you was curious, compelled, though you had never witnessed anything like this before.
You swallowed, Adriel’s hand loosening his hold on your throat slightly as if to let you.
You gagged again, your whole body convulsing as the scene tore itself deeper into your vision.
Every detail screamed at you - too vivid, too raw to look away from.
Her blood wasn’t just seeping, it gushjed in rivers, thick and dark, pooling beneath her like the floor itself was trying to drink her dry.
Her skin wasn’t just torn - it was shredded, cleaved open in jagged layers where the axe had struck again and again, carving flesh until bone showed and peeked through.
Chunks of muscle hung loose and her limbs looked hacked at in desperation…as if he had been determined to sever them but had missed his mark over and over..until nothing resembled what it once was.
You choked on your sobs, hands pressed to your mouth to cage the scream clawing its way up, while his grip on you only tightened, forcing you to witness every grotesque detail.
You trembled violently, body quaking as you shoved back against him, desperate to put even an inch of distance between yourself and her..between yourself and the image already burning itself into your mind.
‘Shh, shh…’ His whisper was low and coaxing, almost tender if not for the iron grip at your throat.
He bent into your space, long strands of black hair brushing your skin, his nose grazing the hollow beneath your ear.
‘Look, dolly. See anything familiar?’ he goaded, his fingers tightening around your throat before giving you a slight, taunting shake.
Your head lolled, your body caught between hyperdrive and complete shutdown.
You obeyed, you had no choice.
His eyes were on you, waiting and you knew you’d do anything, anything, to avoid ending up like her.
You had already seen what he was capable of and the thought of him turning that same violence on you..or worse made your entire frame quake.
You forced yourself to look, to trace her ruined body from head to toe.
Her pale, rolled-back eyes seemed to mock you as you scanned but then your stomach sank further. The dress, ripped, shredded and soaked through.
However it still carried the trace of a delicate, fairy-like design.
One you knew.
One that was yours.
Your lips trembled.
‘Is…is that my dress?’ You stammered, praying you had guessed right. A desperate attempt to satisfy him, to give him what he wanted before he forced you closer.
The sound he made was low, approving - almost affectionate.
A hum of contentment as if you had pleased him by playing your part exactly as he intended.
‘And why would a whore like her be wearing one of your pretty little dresses?’ he murmured, voice edged with cruel amusement as he gave you a sharp nudge.
His grip shifted, steering you forward, slowly and deliberately, toward where she lay crumpled.
You whimpered, digging your heels into the ground in a desperate attempt to resist, your feet skidding uselessly as his strength dragged you closer regardless.
‘I don’t know! Please just stop, I don’t want to look anymore!’ you begged, your voice breaking, shrill and desperate.
In an instant, his grip shifted.
He released your throat only to seize your waist with both hands, spinning you around so violently it knocked the air from your lungs.
The sudden change in him was terrifying - the softness gone, replaced by raw anger and frustration.
You sobbed harder, your body wracked with helpless shudders.
‘Think!’ He hissed, his voice cracking with feral demand as he shook you hard enough to rattle your teeth.
Your hands shot up to shield your face, swiping at the hot tears streaming down your cheeks.
‘Move your hands. Now.’
You folded in on yourself, gasping for breath, retreating into a child’s defense as if hiding could undo him.
Slowly and with shaking hands you lowered your them, eyes swollen and raw. Your lips trembling as a pitiful whimper escaped.
The sight seemed to ignite him.
His gaze devoured you - wild and hungry, a predator desperate to force you to see what he wanted.
His eyes burned with the ferocity of a starving beast and you knew he wouldn’t stop until you gave him what he demanded.
There was also something disturbingly intimate in the way he looked at you, as though your fear itself was precious to him.
‘I honestly don’t know.’ you forced out, trying to level your voice.
‘The only way she could’ve got hold of your clothes,’ he murmured, letting the words draw out like a knife, ‘..was if she had been in your house.’ His gaze burned into you, unrelenting.
‘Who do you think opened the door for her?’
You went still.
The truth slid into your bones like ice water, numbing and suffocating.
For months, months, you had bared yourself to her, confessing every insecurity, every fracture in your marriage, every secret you thought was safe.
And all along, she had been the source of it.
She had been in your house.
In your bed.
In your clothes.
Anger surged hot and violent, curling your hands into fists at your sides.
Your chest heaved with the weight of it but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at Adriel - not when it meant that you had to face that he had been right all along.
But none of it could excuse what he had done.
You looked up at him with a newfound confidence.
‘You murdered her.’ The words fell from you like a verdict, cold and final. He grinned at you, slow and pleased.
He closed the distance, hauling you belly to belly until you could feel the hard press of him against your ribs. You didn’t react, part of you felt already dead.
‘You disgust me,’ you spat, each syllable a blade. ‘All this because you couldn’t stomach your wife running into another man’s arms.’
Something in him then snapped.
The grin peeled away, his eyes narrowed until nothing but a void was left. Veins stood out along his jaw, the calm folding into something raw and cold.
His hands tightened on your waist until the ribs beneath your breastbone pressed sharp and hot.
You couldn’t breathe, a gargled sound leaving your lips.
He let go as if your small, ragged sound meant nothing.
In the same movement he pivoted to the battered wooden beam where the axe was buried, the metal wedge still driven home.
He wrenched it free, the blade came out with a wet, tearing pop, wood splinters scattering across the floor.
The axe head swung heavy on its shaft, a living weight in his hands.
For the first time you saw the plan behind his actions as he moved with the efficiency of someone who had practiced violence until it was muscle-memory.
You saw an opening and without hesitationjn took it, adrenaline shoving you forward like a tidal tide.
You whirled around, lungs burning and for one wild second you thought you might make it.
If you could just put distance between you and that dark, swarm of anger he'd become.
Catherine's body lay between you and the stairs leading to the basement door, a grotesque obstacle blocking your path out.
You tried to vault her - one frantic, clumsy step to get over the contorted limbs of her body.
As soon as you had made it over her, spearing her with one last farewell in your head, you lunged for the steps but as soon as you grazed the bottom step with the sole of your foot, you felt the whoosh from his axe.
The wooden step under you vibrated as it was violently pieced beside your foot, cracking and popping as he retracted the weapon.
You screamed, hands reaching for the banister and you tried to climb your way up.
He was on you in an instant, his large oversized paw grabbing and twisting your ankle cruelly before he dragged you right back downto hell.
You landed on top of her, horror clawing its way out your throat before he descended onto you, crushing your body into hers.
‘Stupid little girl.’ His voice shook with rage, the axe still in his hold - except now he had replaced the wooden handle with the metal head.
He pressed the blade to your cheek and you could feel that whatever blood was left on it was smearing across your cheek.
‘Murderer!’ You batted back at him, turning your face from the blade as you looked towards the stairs, praying that someone, anyone, would save you.
You sobbed to yourself, feeling his unwavering crazed gaze on you, your irritated eyes starting up again as clear streams left them.
‘Cry for her all you want…but your mouth belongs to me now.’
His words were low and firm and you faltered - he was heard but you couldn’t listen.
He snarled something guttural under his breath, the words lost in his teeth as his grip shifted from the axe’s flat edge.
Fingers like iron clamped your jaw, wrenching your head toward him until your lips crashed against his.
It wasn’t a kiss, it was a violation.
His mouth crushed yours, teeth cutting as if he was trying to eat you whole.
You tried to turn away but the harder you squirmed, the deeper he pressed, shoving you down into Catherine’s cold flesh until her stiff arms and his crushing weight pinned you between the dead and the crazed.
The taste of iron bled into your tongue as his laugh rumbled low in his chest, vibrating through the brutal press of his mouth as his teeth caught on your lip.
His kiss wasn’t tender, was barely even human - it was a claim, a punishment, tainting his hunger across you as though branding you his.
You screwed your face up, the disgust piling up inside you all until you felt like you could explode with it.
Before you could even think it through, your lips curled into a snarl of your own - your teeth lowering into his feigning ones.
You felt the flesh give way as you bit down, your hold on him with your teeth just as tight as the one he had on your face.
You heard a low growl rumble deep in his chest as his hand slipped viciously from your jaw down to your throat, closing like a steel trap and cutting off your airways before he tore his mouth yours.
Blood was streaking down his lip, fresh and dark where you had wounded him.
For a heartbeat he just stared at you, chest heaving,
The look on his face was electric…alive in a way that chilled you to your bones.
He looked intoxicated, drunk on the sight of your struggle as if the mix of pain and defiance had lit something inside him no one had before.
His smile was a slash of red, his teeth stained but his gaze was all hunger - feral, unstoppable and frighteningly pleased.
‘Keep fighting,’ He purred. ‘I want to see it..’
Leaning up on his hunches, knees on either side of your shuddering waist, you cried out as he took his other hand - clawing at the bust of your dress before he ripped it in a downwards motion.
The flimsy fabric gave way almost immediately, the sound sickly and humiliating.
You were bared down to your stomach, nipples puckering up into hardened pebbles as the basement’s cold atmosphere swarmed over your newly exposed skin.
‘I want to feel you break.’ He finalised, grinning so hard that his face almost morphed right in front of you.
You could almost imagine it - horns jutting sharp from his temples, a sinuous tail lashing behind him.
In the wavering light he looked like Satan himself, risen from the pit to drag you down with him.
You sobbed, watching with horrified eyes as he leaned his head down over you - your stomach hollowed inward as a means to escape his intentions.
‘Fucking..get off!’ You spluttered, still unable to take in a full breath before you felt it.
The heat from his tongue was vile and wet, landing just above your pelvis before he slowly and deliberately made his way up.
He dipped his tongue into your bellybutton as he went, his grin growing more feral as he cruelly savoured the salty taste of your terrified sweat.
You thrashed left and right, your hands reaching into his dark hair to yank and pull his roots - anything to push him off but he remained unwavering, indulging on you - all the way up between the valley of your breasts.
His eyes were hooded, lazily watching you and all the cute little expressions you were making.
Unable to take his gaze anymore, you threw your head back - the harsh knowledge that you were both still piled on top of his dead wife slammed you when you felt the hardness of her head, your own aching painfully from the hit.
‘I ought to wash your filthy mouth out with soap.’ He rumbled before he took his other hand, now free after tearing into your dress, and shoved the tips of his middle and ring finger between the gap of your top and bottom teeth.
Hr angled your head back down to him with a harsh pull, stubborn and cruel.
You froze in your shock and he took the opportunity effortlessly, forcing his fingers in until he couldn’t anymore.
You gagged on the salty, metallic taste - images of what he had been doing with these same hands mere hours ago flooding your mind.
The nausea in the pit of your stomach grew heavier, your body retching as you gagged.
The hold on your throat continued to push you further down, the pressure rising until you felt like both you and Catherine would burst through the floor.
He watched, chuckling as he leaned down to your chest. The cold tip of his nose ran gently along your skin, a sickly contrast.
Eventually, his slipped his fingers back so they rested just on your tongue and you heaved, the following silence of the basement left you feeling hopeless and defeated.
You were stuck down here with a madman who had nothing to lose.
You didn’t want to think anymore, losing your eyes as you cried to yourself.
His hair brushed your skin, goosebumps rising in his wake until you felt the heat of his mouth again, this time closing around one of your nipples before suckling.
You felt your knees twitch, itching closer together as your body naturally responded to the unexpected simulation - your mind screaming as you how wrong this was.
He was going to kill you!
You hissed when his teeth teased before biting down, his head pulling back and taking the sensitive peak with him - tugging callously before letting you go.
You attempted to plead him, a gargled ‘Please’ and ‘Let me go’ landing on deaf ears. Instead he just switched to the other, reining the some attention until your nipples felt raw and pulsed.
‘Go on, beg..’ He murmured, ripping his fingers from your mouth before using those same wet digits as he twirled and tugged on one of your hardened buds again.
‘Cath did the same..except she didn’t get so wet.’ He humoured darkly and you whined, shame flooding your bloodstream - hius dark chuckles featherlight against your skin, so hypersensitive to his every movement that you could feel the gaps in his breathing.
Shutting your eyes, you willed your mind to leave your body, locking into his pattered breathes against your skin and hoping your body would numb itself long enough for him to finish whatever the fuck this was.
A sick part of you wished for him to embed his axe in your throat now, was this really a life worth living?
A cheating husband.
A lying best friend.
And a murderous neighbour.
‘Let’s take a look shall we?’ His sentence made you flinch, eyes briefly opening to see that his were already trained on you - dimples popping as he smugly grinned like a cat that got the cream.
You didn’t give him the satisfaction of your begging, tipping your chin away as you felt him remove the ripped remnants of your tainted white dress.
‘How sweet.’
Your lip trembled at his voice, dripping with a newfound need as the frills of your undies came into view.
‘So innocent.. and soft..’ He wasn’t even talking to you anymore, muttering to himself as he trailed down your stomach.
You firmly pressed your lips together and tensed your stomach, his bites on his way down painful and blood-thirsty.
‘I’m sure it’s eating you alive up there.’ He addressed you once more and you peeped down at him.
For once he wasn’t looking at you - eyes solely trained on your restless body.
‘What kind of fool could turn such a delicate flower away for a weed.’ His tone gained a vicious bite towards the end, his hair brushing you as he turned his head back up. His face was serious, any ounce of mockery gone.
His sincerity irked you.
Not because he was wrong…but because what he said had indeed been the truth.
Every night you plucked, pulled and shaved yourself raw, scrubbed your skin pink, slathered yourself in the latest lavender creams from down market. ..you made sure not a single sliver of hair was out of place for your husband and for what?
For him to go dump himself into the nearest whore.
Fresh tears burned your eyes, your lip trembling under the weight of the truth.
Your self-pity was silenced by the insistent tug at your cotton panties.
Your tears fell harder.
‘Not me.’ He whispered before you felt your legs being abruptly pulled apart.
Bear-like hands, far too large to be handling you, pressing flat on the inside of your trembling thighs.
You whimpered as he lifted your knees, your ass lifting slightly from his brute strength as he descended onto your fresh with a feverish hunger.
His tongue was just a large as the rest of him, your lips opening to beautifully for him. Just like a real flower..
You felt him hum hungrily against you before his movements turned almost animalistic.
You could feel the bluntness of his teeth as he sucked one of yours lips into his mouth, sucking harshly until it felt swollen and tender. You struggled against him, back arching at the new sensation.
He was filthy and disgusting.
He quickly moved to the other, repeating the exact same action until your pussy was pulsating with need, your juices dribbling out of you and you flinched at the thought of who they were dripping down onto.
‘Please stop this Adriel.’ You pleaded once more, your tone shifting lower…more needy.
He ignored you.
Instead, he swirled his tongue back down to your sprouting source, lips smacking lewdly as he shoved his tongue into your shallow channel - wedging himself so deep that his nose was pressed to your untouched bud.
You hated the moan that escaped your lips almost as much as the thought of him actually listening to you.
You could feel his long locks of hair brushing your skin as he shook his head, almost as in he was trying to consume you from the inside.
You could feel his tongue moving back and forth out of you, dragging more and more clear wetness with him until he finally moved up to where you were pulsing for him.
You sobbed as his mouth wrapped your clit in heat, sucking just as harshly as he had done to your nipples and lips.
It was loud and messy, the wet sounds scrambling your thoughts as you struggled to pull back and twist out his grip.
‘It’s too much, stop it!’ You begged, hands moving to where his head was - pushing at his slick forehead until he broke away with a sickening pop!
He glared at you - the silence between you, broken only by your combined heavy breathing, tightening around you both.
Neither of you spoke for a beat…until you felt the heat of his body slip away from you completely, your legs like jelly - still open and painfully vulnerable.
Your eyes tracked him until his hand hooked around your leg, dragging you off Catherine’s limp body - the shift disturbing as you almost felt her almost come with you
He yanked you up before shoving you back down, your hands barely saving your face from slapping into the cold concrete as your belly hit the floor.
His sudden movements and manhandling left no room for arguments as you felt him wrap his arms into the dip of your waist and thighs from behind, roughly pulling you up until your lower body was completely off the ground, the blood flooding to your head.
Since he was only kneeling behind you, your elbows balanced your upper body - the position depraved and degrading as he granted himself full access to you.
‘Do not disturb me again.’ His tone was final and you braced yourself - body jerking, unbalanced, as you tried to steady yourself.
Immediately he reined punishment to your sensitive and newly exposed nub, biting and sucking repeated until you screamed and wiggled in his hold - your fight just as unrelenting as his suction to the poor bundle of raw nerves.
‘Stop, please-I’m..fuck begging you Adriel, it hurts.’ You cried over and over again and still he didn’t let up, only pausing to retrace his way back to your hole to gather more of your addictive taste, groaning to himself.
‘So sensitive hm?’ Your tears dripped from your eyes as he paused, his nose tracing your lips and sniffing, inhaling your scent.
‘Your no-good husband never trained you to have your cute little cunt ate?’ He questions before you felt one of his arms wrap around you more secularly, pulling you tigher to his frame to balance you better as his other slid free - moving to trail two thick fingers over your pulsing pussy-hole.
You half moaned half screamed as he wedged a single digit inside - immediately curling towards himself in a come hither motion.
The sensation mixed with the blood flowing to your face was enough to send you over the edge, thighs shaking uncontrollable as he continued to fuck you brutally with his finger, the warmth of his mouth returning as he listening to you peak.
‘Such a good girl for me dolly.’ His voice dripped with need.
You kicked and wailed, the feeling new and unfamiliar - your body felt reduced to an exposed nerve and he pressed against it with deliberate cruelty.
Pushing you harder, he slipped his second finger in along with the first - breaching your tightness with a stubborn forced that refused to do anything but push deeper until his knuckles were pressed flush to your pussylips.
You couldn’t even decipher the noises that left your mouth, babbles and nonsense leaving your cute like fucked out face.
The noises coming from above were disgustingly loud and obscene as he thrusted them mercilessly into you, over and over again.
Adriel grinned as he felt your little pussy open up more with each thrust.
‘No more.’ The breathless words left you as you heaved, trying to recontrol your haywire body.
‘How are you supposed to take my cock in this tight little hole if you don’t let me stretch you out?’ He muttered in between gentle kisses to your clit, gasps leaving you after every one as you shook your head.
‘Please, fuck just- just not that. I’m married Adriel and I cant- I wont.’ Your words were fast and shaking, your elbows begging to ache from holding your weight - shaking with your lack of strength.
His kisses stopped, the heavy sigh he let out blowing air onto your raw pussy.
You winced when you felt him slow his fingers before retracting from inside you, the sound shameful and loud from your wetness.
Of course before he pulled his hand away completely he ran his fingers and down, softly swirling your clit before reaching and pulling back the small hood of skin that hid the complete nerve from him. You shut your eyes in embarrassment, knowing he was staring and that there was nothing you could do about it - you let him, the strain in your body easing slightly in compliance.
He hummed contently to your response.
‘Such a pretty flower.’
Was the last thing he said before he slowly released you, easing you back piece by piece as you felt your body regulate again. He stayed on his knees, watching as he laid you on your side.
The sudden tenderness felt unnerving but you didn’t dare open your mouth, instead you chose to just clench your thighs together and lift your calfs to somewhat cover you.
You looked at his ragged breathing, his wide shoulders heaving as you regarded eachother in silence, the reality of what just happened slapping you in the face.
Never before had you done anything like that.
You didn’t even know such filth could happen between people.
You hated how much you wanted the feeling of his heat on you again.
Bowing your head in shame, overwhelmed by the craving gnawing at you, you stared at the floor. A disgrace, no better than a whore and you knew it.
Adriel could see your turmoil and he fought back the smirk that wanted to peek out, such an innocent thing. Loyal to a fault, like a dog that stays at its master’s heel - no matter how much he mistreated and used you.
Licking his lips, he savoured your taste before reaching over and taking your white little frills - the material soft and delicate against his callouses. Shamelessly, he lifted it - catching your eyes once again as he inhaled.
Your lips parted, brows furrowing as you watched him, thighs twitching as your body fought your brain.
Silently, he stood as he pulled the material away from his nose, he cocking to the side as he reached his full height.
So small..
He blinked away his own want, taking another whiff before he turned his back to you, steps heavy as he walked to where he had laid his whore wife to die.
He almost felt bad having to leave her filth down here with you..
‘Adriel..?’ You reached out, lifting yourself to sit up - shivering as you covered your breasts with both arms.
What was he doing?
He wasn’t going to leave you here to rot was he..?
Your panic returned as your breaths turned rapid, disbelief and hurt swallowing you whole. You watched him reach for his axe before pausing, his shoulders beginning to shake - quiet and restrained chuckles filling the basement.
His figure moved further and further away until you could hear the sad creaking steps groaning under his weight, one by one as he began to ascend them.
You scrambled to your knees, your nakedness adding a whole new layer of entrapment.
‘Please don’t leave me here.’ You begged, the darkness feeling as though it was now suffocating you.
He didn’t falter at your plea, continuing his trek until the squeak of the basement door opened..
‘Death do you part indeed.’
Then he was gone, door slamming shut behind him.
Apologies if the ending feels rushed at all, I really just didnt want this sitting in my drafts. Left the ending a lil open, tell me what you think
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