You are set to marry the esteemed Lord Levi Ackerman, an arrangement since before you were even born - yet you've never even met him. With all your fortunes riding on this marriage, and pressure from your family, you must please your future husband in any way you can! Sent to live with him a couple weeks before your vows - how can you even get to know him when he's ever so aloof and distant? And just what will Lord Levi do when he develops feelings for his bride to be?
pairings - lord! levi ackerman x f! reader
warnings - mdni - set in the 1800s, royal au - slow burn, tons of sexual tension, light angst, we fall first but he falls harder, some fluff and humor, levi being a short little brat tbh, scandalous kissing, more tension, Hange Zoe gets to tutor us hehe
Levi art by @/lanvasko on tumblr!!
hehe this will be like 8 parts! I'll make a mlist soon, this one is gonna be fun for me <3
part one
The carriage wheels crunched loudly along the gravel drive of Ackerman Manor, each roll of those wheels hitting rocks jostling you just a bit, as you get ever closer to the place that would now be your home.
Your home.
Your hands are trembling as you smooth down the silky blue fabric of your gown – it was the finest you owned, but you fear it would seem quite simple to the man you were to be married to soon.
You didn’t exactly come from money, in fact your family name and an old agreement between Levi’s parents and yours before you were born was the only reason you were here like this. That and pretty looks were what your entire family’s fortune banked on, truly, so much pressure at times it made you sick.
You’d never even met him – Levi Ackerman, you’ve only heard stories of your soon to be betrothed by tales of friends and members of your family.
By all accounts, he was apparently short tempered, angry, and aloof – though no one said he was ‘unkind’ at all. Rather a bit cold, and arguably treated everyone with respect, which was more than most women could hope for these days.
Yet you don’t know how to feel.
This was a business transaction, not a fairy tale wedding, your parents so eagerly shipped you off it was laughable; in all other aspects a girl had a dowry, whereas you had almost a non-existent one. This was truly only Levi respecting his father’s late wishes and being ever the gentleman.
Ladies everywhere were ever furious that there was no chance with him, with the richest man in the very city, the one they all seemed to love to go after, but no.
It was you to be his bride.
The carriage door opens now after you’ve come to a halt, and a well groomed servant helps you out and down the steps, guiding you as you take in the sight before you – the pretty manor that’s utterly pristine. You lift your skirts and step up the glimmering stone steps, as the butlers stand aside and open the doors for you.
The very entrance hall was immaculate, sparkling clean unlike anything you’ve ever seen, there was not a speck of dust anywhere, and the faint hint of some sort of lemon polish hits your nose as you take it all in. Even the chandelier overhead was fucking gorgeous and sparkling, you almost feel terrible stepping foot in such a pretty place with your shoe that had fallen into mud earlier.
"Mr. Ackerman will see you in the drawing room," the butler says now, eyeing you carefully.
Usually people waited to move in until marriage, but your parents had sent you off early – about a week early – with the idea of meeting him and staying in one of the guest rooms, but now it all hits.
You’re getting married to a stranger.
The door opens once you sit down in the pretty chair, and you immediately stand right back up – seeing him standing there.
Shorter than you'd expected, surely, but the man commands a fucking room, truly – this presence that almost intimidates you, his dark hair shining just a bit under the chandeliers as if he’d freshly washed it. His eyes were taking you in, assessing you so intensely all you can do is stand there, dressed in a perfectly pressed dark suit that probably cost more than your entire wardrobe.
"You're late," were his first words to you – his bride-to-be. His voice is so fucking bored, too, like he’s annoyed as shit at you. You clear your throat now, curtseying just a bit.
"The roads were muddy from the rains," you manage to excuse. “I’m sorry that I am a bit late.”
“Yes, well,” he passes by the small inn table as he walks toward you, pausing now, running a finger along the surface, sighing as he holds it up to the light.
"There's dust," he shouts, and two servants immediately run into the room. "Did I not explicitly state this room was to be cleaned twice daily?"
"Sir, it was-"
"Then this is unacceptable,” he kneels then, tugging out a handkerchief from his coat pocket. “I'll just do it myself."
Your fiancé – the Lord Levi Ackerman, starts fucking frantically wiping down every surface in the room as you watch, just blinking, the servants are scrambling to help polish silver that does not need it, while the tea sits on the table, cooling. He faintly looks at you as you stare at him, his dark gray eyes taking you in.
“Sit and have tea,” he manages, realizing you’re staring, all pretty in a simple gown that at least is decently clean, if not crumpled by your hands. “I’ll be done momentarily.”
“Oh! Yes…”
You sit there, crossing your legs at the ankles, watching the man you were to spend your life with finding a spot on the floor to clean now.
Just who was Levi?
After he finishes, he looks over at you, standing and brushing himself off, though the damn suit was impeccable, ironed pristine and straight. He walks over like he owns the entire room – you suppose he does, though, sitting across from you and leaning back, crossing his ankle over his knee, an arm thrown back.
For a short man, he certainly had a presence.
"So, you're the little brat I’m to marry."
You blink at him in shock. "I... beg your pardon?"
A ghost of smirk crossed his lips – did they have to be quite so glossy? It was irritating, especially given the shitty words coming from them.
"Don't look so shocked about it, you are that brat, yeah?”
“A brat, my lord?!”
“Mhm,” you are so affronted he can’t help but snort. “Never been called that, I take it?”
“I was not an annoying child, so no! I mean… I was not noticed much in general, I suppose,” you trail off, sipping your tea carefully as he studies you. “A tale for another day.”
“Hmm,” he takes it all in, the mud on your skirts he needs to clean to even have a damn conversation, the delicate way you hold the teacups in your hands, with soft emerald silk gloves.
They’re damn near threadbare.
“I’ll have to purchase you something for the ceremony as well as the ball this week,” he says errantly, sipping tea himself as he takes you in. “Perhaps I’ll have my seamstress come take measurements.”
“This is the finest I have,” you admit, blushing now.
“I see,” he smiles a little softer then. “No worries about that, I’ll have something pretty for you – but don’t get mud on it, please.”
“I will try not to!” He nods just a bit. “May I ask a question?”
“Sure, but make it quick – I am busy.”
And rude.
Sort of?
He’s sort of… hot, too, but you’ll think of that later.
“Why keep the contract when my family fell into misfortune as it did?” He clears his throat now, eyes lowering to his own cup.
“Though it was annoying to have to deal with an arrangement, knowing my whole life it would happen? It was a promise, nonetheless, your money should have nothing to do with that."
“Most men wouldn’t agree.”
“Don’t get all sappy, thinking I’m sweet, brat,” you snort at that, as he leans forward, his elbows on his knees after he sets down the teacup, his gray gaze pinning you in place.
His eyes are impossible to understand, and intense.
"No need for any frivolties, hmm?”
“No need.” You set yours down too.
“This is how it will be,” he starts. “You will have this east wing.”
You blink.
“You mean until the marriage?”
“Altogether.”
“So we will…” You blush a bit at your thoughts. “Won’t we share a room when we are wed?”
“There’s no need to do all that yet,” you blink again. “I have some things that I need privacy for, and you will not enter my study or my rooms without my express permission. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” he smiles a bit softly. “I like that you’re not arguing about it.”
“If you wish for privacy, of course I’ll give it,” you murmur.
How lonely will this be?
“You will ensure the staff maintains this house to my standards when I am not here, and you will be present at required social functions on my arm, those are the only things I really require. In return, you will never want for a thing. Are we clear?"
You can tell he was in the military as many said – he was apparently a commander at a very young age during his duty, all that cold, calculated attitude was right there. It was devoid of all emotion even if it was kind, entirely dismissive without being cruel, as if he had his own wall up.
"Crystal clear, Sir," you whisper, he pauses then, raising a brow.
“Did you call me Sir?”
“I mean… yes? Sir…”
Fuck.
Levi has been called Sir for years before taking over his father’s position as a Lord, but never, ever did it make his damn cock jump as you saying it. He hates whatever the fuck that sensation is.
He’s not extremely experienced with women, he played a bit when he was off traveling before the military, but there was so much to do, he never really did more than a few passing nights. No stranger to stroking himself, he wasn’t always ready for that, with so much to take care of, half the time Levi fell asleep at his damn desk, snoring over papers.
Never has his cock reacted to a woman and some words.
Sir.
“Say that again?” He asks, unsure what the fuck he’s doing, his hands sliding down his thighs.
“Why?”
“Why!? Just…” He sighs. “See, you’re a brat.”
“I am not! Sir,” you murmur again, trying to remain composed with just how much his eyes darken then, the tension so fucking clear you can hardly take it. “Sir.” You say it more firmly. “Do you like me calling you that?”
Does he like it?
He is leaking precum, fuck.
That is something he never expected.
“Hmmph,” he stands up now, his movements sharp, precise as he tugs at his jacket just a bit, walking over towards you and leaning low, tilting your chin up with two fingers.
For a wild moment you think he’ll kiss you.
Instead, he studies you, with such intensity your heart is fucking racing in your chest. "For the dress being muddy and cheap, you do look…”
“I look?”
He trails off, sighing. “You look presentable despite that, good genetics, I’m assuming.”
“Are you calling me pretty?” You tease, smiling in a way that has his cock pulsing. He tugs back, clearing his throat now, not answering you.
“Ahem, for tonight,” he avoids the damn question entirely, of course. “I’ll have one of my staff alter one of my mother’s dresses. She’s about your size, but they’re a little older. Still nice material and clean, however.”
“Oh! That would be an honor, I heard she was lovely.”
“She was…” He trails off, leaving a million more questions to your mind. “Dinner is at seven, brat. Don't be late again."
“Yes, sir.”
Shit.
Levi rushes off with impossibly long strides for just how short those damn legs are, turning and walking toward the door, leaving you sitting there, sipping on the still warm tea once more. You feel so much from where he just touched you, even if it was the briefest of moments.
The east wing.
An entire half of a manor – alone.
Where in the west wing, Levi may or may not be jerking his cock to the very sound of ‘Sir’ coming from your lips, cursing you already for being so bloody irritating.
*****
Dinner is a formal, meticulous affair, and you look lovely in one of his mother's gowns. A little dated but it fits you beautifully with the hasty little alterations the staff made.
“Hello, Sir,” you curtsey to him as you get led to the table, an enormous one made of an old mahogany.
“Good evening, you're one minute late.”
“Surely not!?”
“You are,” his lips twitch up at the corners at your frustration. “Shall I get you a pocket watch?”
“Well perhaps…” the servant pulls out your seat, and you settle in properly, eyeing all the silverware as they bring out hot bowls of soup. “There is so much here.”
“It's important you know the use for each one, and the order,” he cuts open the bread carefully, gazing under his lashes at you. “I was not sure about your dining procedure at home.”
“I know the basics,” you pick up a soup spoon, earning a pleased little nod. “Is there more you'd like to know about my knowledge?”
“Can you read and write? Manage accounts?”
“Read and write yes, accounts… no. Not at all.”
“Were you trained to work the staff, especially one this size?”
“I was! I can… try to do a good job, our staff was just one maid and she was a nanny and much else,” you smile with fondness. “I quite miss her.”
“Get close to her?” You nod a bit, he can see the affection in your gaze, making your face soften all pretty. “It does happen with staff.”
“When you’re not yelling at them for dust.”
“Tch, brat,” you giggle at that, and he likes the sound too damn much. “Well that’s good.”
“Indeed, I’m willing to learn whatever you might teach.”
His gaze on your lips fucks him up.
Imagine teaching you to suck cock?
He leans back slightly as a servant removes the soup bowls in front of you both, he dabs a handkerchief on his lips as they bring in the main course, he can’t help but laugh at your tummy growling.
“Hungry?”
“Oh shit, I mean!?” You curse, smacking your face. “Sorry, Sir.”
“You’ve a mouth on you,” your soup bowl is utterly empty.
“It’s not ladylike to eat like this!”
“Not in public, no,” he smiles though, tilting his head. “Here I do not mind a healthy appetite at all. Can’t have my wife fainting on me.”
Fuck.
Your eyes lock as he realizes how that came out, the tension so thick he can’t take it, even across this huge table from you.
God you look beautiful with the way the candlelight is hitting your skin.
“Your wife…” You whisper softly, practicing it almost.
“So,” he changes his tone, getting all stiff again. “What about music? Can you play piano, can you sing? You'll be expected to host many parties."
"I play the pianoforte passably, My singing is…” you sigh. “Terrible.”
“Terrible?” You nod and he laughs a bit. “I see, at least you’re honest.”
“It’s a virtue, yes?”
“Mhm…” You poke your food with your fork, trying to focus. “I could say maybe my singing could be passable if I’m two glasses in.”
“I see, must be tipsy, brat?”
“Yes, sir,” he adjusts himself underneath the heavy damask tablecloth, so fucking glad you can’t see.
"We'll have to get you a tutor, then, for the music. Can't have the Lady of Ackerman Manor scaring the guests away with her singing.”
“Rude!”
He’s smirking again – though he’s straight up being insulting, it was almost teasing, really – as if this was his form of affection, fucking with you.
It doesn’t bother you like how your parents would shame you, not at all, a welcome relief for all you’ve been through.
"And you, sir? What do you do all day, besides terrorizing the staff over dust motes on your surfaces?"
You say it before you can think.
His fork pauses halfway to his mouth, eyes flickering up.
“Excuse me, brat?”
“I mean!? How do you uh – spend your days?”
“Insolent,” he clicks his tongue, sipping his drink now. “I run the estates, oversee the investments, the docks, the mills. Go to the house of the Lords and of course have to keep up with foolish balls, dances, all part of the season, hosting dinners and negotiations. More than screaming at the staff.”
“I was teasing,” you say now, he sighs.
“I see you’re an insolent girl.”
“Me!?”
“Indeed, maybe you’ll need more lessons,” he sips his drink slower, smiling over the rim of the glass. “A belt to the ass.”
“Sir!”
“Well it works in my experience on bratty children, why wouldn’t it work on you? Though I’d never do it.”
“You wouldn’t hmm?”
“Never, I’ll treat you with the utmost respect,” he declares, though the thought of beating your ass with a belt really has him even harder.
You smell so damn good he can inhale your scent all the way over here.
Infuriating.
“I wouldn’t mind discipline.”
“What!?”
Your lips curve up as you sip your wine. “What, Sir?”
Jesus Christ.
What was he dealing with?
“Ahem,” he tugs at his cravat now. “We have much to prepare for with the ball approaching in the city next week, and of course our wedding. It will be a smaller affair, but I’d like to introduce you as my betrothed, first.”
“Of course,” him snapping a leather belt on your ass fucks you up so bad you can hardly focus – none of your friends had ever shared those sort of stories with you.
Perhaps you were indeed a brat.
“I’ll be the perfect lady,” you say, making him hum a bit, biting his food and then setting his fork down.
“See to it that you are. I'm going to retire early, do you know how to get back to your bedroom?”
“No, it’s huge here,” you admit, looking at him under your lashes as he stands, his hands on the table. “Could you show me?”
“Sure,” he inclines his head. “Come.”
Come.
He almost has to stop himself as he pictures it, spreading your thighs and ordering you to do just that for him, fingers pressing into your flesh, he can hardly take standing near you when you rise up from your chair. He pushes it back with some haste, avoiding just how lovely it felt to have that satin brush against his skin.
Come.
Would you listen if he did?
No, Levi could certainly not just make love to you due to marriage, it still wasn’t your choice, and the last thing he wanted to be was something you had to do. There would come a time where he’d be pressed for heirs, but even then he detests the idea of you having to lay underneath him because you ‘are doing your duty’.
He clears his throat as you stand there looking at him. “Quit gawking and come on now, brat.”
“Yes sir,” he rolls his eyes at your eager steps following behind him. “How are you so fast on those short-”
“Those what!?”
“Nothing, aha,” you pause as he narrows his eyes, stepping far too close and turning, making you crash right into him. “Forgive me, it’s the travel! I have no wits about me.”
“Indeed you don’t, tch…” He turns once more, letting you eagerly follow, back to the luxurious room he’s had set up for you, after climbing two sets of steps, holding the skirts that are just a bit too long up.
It’s quiet in the halls, lit up with little lanterns along the walls, your shadows both casting across them. He stands there a moment, letting you walk inside, curtseying just a bit.
“Your curtsey needs work.”
“I shall try to master it better.”
“See that you do,” he leans forward now, thumb brushing the corner of your lip, making your heart race, your breath catching.
You both pause as he swipes carefully, lingering a little too long, the only sounds in the quiet manor are the house settling, and your own breaths, fast as your heart hammers in your chest.
“You had a speck,” he manages to say, as if the thought of just that annoys him – any mess at all. “Food, you’re a messy eater.”
“I am,” you admit bashfully, hating the moment his hand drops. “I’m a bit messy I fear.”
Oh imagine it being his cum dripping instead.
God.
Levi tenses, this is something he didn’t expect – a brat who would annoy him so much she’d make him ache to do more, to do things he hadn’t even really done before with his limited experience. Yet he’d heard enough stories and done just enough visiting to the brothels in his youth to know the thoughts in his mind were filthy.
Even if you two eventually shared a bed, would you do that with him? Wasn’t that something unladylike?
“What’s on your mind, Sir?”
“Nothing,” he lies with ease, hands behind his back, tilting his head so his dark hair falls across his brow just so.
Something about him is just…
Handsome.
Levi is handsome, even if he’s completely unique, in this way you can’t begin to describe, in one that makes you a little bold, stepping forward slightly.
“Perhaps I should get a tour tomorrow, see your room?” You ask, hands also behind your own back, but your tits are pressed up just so, about ruining him.
“You may see more of the manor tomorrow,” he says tightly. “Do you require anything else?”
“Just some assistance with this corset, if you do not mind? I’m not used to this sort of garment at home…”
“I’ll fetch the-”
“They’re asleep!”
“And? They can clean while they’re up.”
“Really!” He laughs at your glare.
“Like them already?”
“I feel terrible that they have to deal with you.”
“Tch,” you step back, turning and walking over to your little table, eyeing the mirror and seeing the reaction he’s already gotten out of you. “Can’t untie a corset yourself then.”
“No, I cannot – I’d like to see you try!”
“Hmm, well,” he walks over, footsteps quiet on the polished marble floor of your pretty bedchamber, each one bringing him closer. “Move your hair aside.”
You eagerly obey, earning his chuckle as you see his reflection in the mirror.
He’s blushing.
“You can listen, then,” he says even softer, before unceremoniously yanking at one of the ribbons.
“So harsh!”
“Well do I have to be gentle?”
“Yes,” you fiddle with your hands a bit nervously. “I don’t want to harm the dress or anything.”
“Ah,” he brushes a stray strand of hair off your shoulder, his fingertips gliding down the back of your neck, watching the goosebumps rise as he ever so slowly drags it down your skin. “My apologies.”
He unlaces you carefully – precise, perfect movements, perhaps a little unpracticed, which made you wonder.
Did he have experience?
You certainly didn’t due to being a bit isolated and constantly watched, but even if Levi wanted to wait some time – eventually, he would be intimate with you.
What would it be like, to feel him like that?
You have heard a mix of things – horror stories from your relatives, and fun ones from your friends.
Which to believe?
His fingers quickly grasp what they need to do with almost an ease of movements, tugging faster until the last ribbon is loosened. Methodical, precise, careful, efficient.
It's what Levi seemed to be.
You exhale in relief, you ate a lot at dinner due to being so hungry from the trip, and now you can exhale properly. The corset falls to the floor, when he starts working the little buttons on the back of the dress, touching the marks it left on your skin.
You ache for more.
So much so, maybe you're arching a bit, as the remnants of the gown fall, and you're left in the simple silk shift. He sighs, hands slipping down your shoulders, tense and gripping, as if he is holding back when you turn back to look into those eyes.
They're black with need.
“Sir…” he tightens his hold, glaring at your pretty reflection.
Nipples begging for attention underneath thin white.
Collarbones begging for his teeth.
“Don't move,” he manages to breathe out, knowing his cock is throbbing under his breeches, and one more arch would have you against it.
“Should we practice? Kissing and the like… for the wedding?”
“Practice,” it's almost impossible to bite out those words, a hand slipping around your throat – for as short as he was, the fingers were oddly long and elegant, wrapping tightly and stealing your very breath away. “Kissing…”
“If you'd like to,” his lips hovering over yours, you taste the wine on his tongue just from the proximity, so on fire you truly are burning when he steps closer, pressing your hips against the vanity, his hard body against the curve of your spine.
His lips descend as he cups you under your chin, sweet pressure building, a prim and proper kiss with unyielding lips that fucking ruins you. You can't help but cry out softly, making him squeeze harder, moaning into your mouth, pushing it open with his tongue, slipping inside with a breathy exhale.
Just as your own laps across his, tastebuds brushing together, your cunt dripping in a way that's most unladylike, he yanks away.
So quick you're dizzy.
“Oh,” is all you manage, turning to look at him, the soft satin falling down your shoulders, baring them to him. “Was that all right?”
Was it all right?
Levi barely yanks himself away, before he grips your waist and sits you up on that vanity, before he watches himself move inside you. Before he breaks everything he promised himself.
He wanted to make sure this was not just because you're at his mercy, because your family needs it. He wants you to have a goddamn choice, even if it was just the intimacy.
“I must retire,” is all he managed to utter, stepping away and rushing to the door, leaving your lips tingling, your heart pounding in your chest.
“Good night?”
He pauses, looking back at you over his shoulder, his hands clenched right at his sides.
Fuck it's almost impossible not to take you then and there.
“Good night, brat.”
He shuts the door, leaving you to touch tingling lips, backed up against your own vanity, mind wandering all over.
Levi just kissed you.
Then…
Ran away.
*****
Levi is exhausted.
Fucking his fist till his cock was raw was not how he pictured his first day with you here in his manor, he expected to be annoyed, sure, but he had some serious self control. All of that out the damn window at seeing some bare shoulders and a collarbone?
He dislikes that more than anything, he wants nothing more than to make you at least comfortable in his home, and he damn near rutted against your thigh like some dumb fucking dog. Unacceptable for a man of Levi’s discipline, of his structure and sharp upbringing.
“You look like shit,” comes a cheery voice – he glares over at his friend Hange, who he’d hired to come tutor you since she was nothing but brilliant, even if she was hopelessly not a lady.
She could at least pull it together well.
“Good morning to you too,” he grumbles, sipping on his Earl Grey with bored eyes as she bounces in, wearing trousers of all things. “What are you wearing!?”
“I had to ride here, Levi!”
“Bullshit, I sent a carriage.”
“Well, the horses love me, what can I say,” she tugs on her bag, setting it down with a thud, dust all over, making him even angrier as she singlehandly ruins the damn tablecloth. “They love me so much they wanted me to ride them.”
“And my footman?”
“He’s fine,” he comes in and glares at Hange.
“She had me in the fucking carriage like a lady!?”
“Hah – you loved it!”
“I thought I was gonna die.”
“Tsk,” she throws on a little petticoat over her trousers, a bustle and skirt, tying it to cover up her dirty trousers that were making him even more irritated by the fucking minute. “He loved it, don’t let him lie.”
“You’re supposed to teach my fiance, not terrorize my footman,” she sighs, peeking in the mirror on the wall now, fixing herself.
“How do you like her, Levi? Hmm?”
“She’s…” He trails off now.
What does he say about you – he can’t say he jerked his cock like a pathetic man in one damn night, can he? No, even with Hange who is one of his best friends – there had to be some goddamn decorum between them, even if it was really only on his end.
“She’s quite…”
“Morning,” you come out as if on cue, smiling curiously at Hange, she comes up to you eagerly, shoving her spectacles down the bridge of her nose, as if inspecting you. “Oh! Hello, are you a friend of Lord Ackerman’s?”
“All formal,” she clicks her tongue, walking around you now, humming. “Nice hips, huh -”
“Hange!”
“Sorry, they’re cute,” she makes you blush, Levi covers his face and grimaces at the sight. “Breedable, really.”
“Breedable – Hange, that’s it, I’ll get anyone else!”
“No, no! It’s a good thing, you brat.”
“Uh huh,” Levi crosses his legs at the ankles, leaning back and seeing your eyes widen. “You’re scaring my fiance.”
Oh.
You much like hearing that.
After dreaming of Levi kissing you everywhere, you almost can’t face the short, aloof man alone, so this… Hange lady being here? Most welcome in fact, you’re a nervous little wreck. You’ve never woken up soaking wet and utterly confused like you were in your bed.
Soaked the damn sheets.
You hastily washed them, knowing him he’d military inspect the whole damn room or something for dust and look at you angrily if he saw your juices on the bed instead. The thoughts have you burning as Hange steps back in front of you, bowing rather than a curtsey.
“My apologies, I’m your tutor, miss,” she says all formal, hand over her heart as she lowers her head. “I was sent to help you with accounts, how to run things, and a little bit of formalities.”
“I see! Oh thank you very much,” you incline your head as well, holding your dress up to address her.
“She’ll also take you to the seamstress today, I have much to do in town, but I’ll accompany you both,” Levi says, standing and walking over, as stiff as ever, hands behind his back all formal. “Hange has a good eye for style.”
“I see, I would love the company,” you say softly, your eyes catching his, watching them soften for just a moment as he studies you. “How did you sleep last night, Sir?”
He almost chokes on air.
“Uh… well, I…”
“He looks like he slept like shit.”
“Hange!??!”
“Sorry, aha,” she backs off a bit now. “My apologies, let me go grab some tea.”
“Please fucking do,” he scowls as she runs off, stuffing her face with scones to his dismay. “I’m so sorry. I swear she’s one of the smartest people I know.”
“No please, I like her already,” he looks back at you, giggling at the sight of the rather thin woman eating like that. “She’s got that healthy appetite you mentioned.”
“Something like that,” he eyes you now carefully, and you feel it like a touch, the warmth there for a split second before his eyes go a little darker gray. “How did you sleep?”
“Quite well,” you can’t tell the truth – that you had to touch your aching cunt and find it dripping.
What would he think!?
“You, Sir?”
“Slept fine,” you can tell he looks exhausted, but you just nod now, as he takes your hand and presses a small kiss on the back of it, making your heart race.
It was perfunctory.
It was what a lord did.
Yet it melted you.
“Good morning,” he finally says, you smile softly, the sunlight filtering in and making him falter. “Your lessons start today with her. I expect nothing but excellence from you.”
“I shall aim not to disappoint,” you say quietly, as he hums and lets your hand fall – walking off.
He does that, walks off every time he has you trembling, nervous, wanting more of him.
Later that day as Hange starts to pour over numbers in her excited tone, and the two of you are in one of the elegant libraries Levi has, he can’t help but study you both, smiling as he leans in the doorway. You’re giggling as Hange is excitedly waving her eyes around, and for a moment, it feels too…
Homey.
That terrifies him.
What if he ends up falling hard, and you are just… here because you have to be? What if he looks a little too long into your pretty eyes, and he hurts himself as badly as he has done once before? Long, long ago – just a boy then, but the memories of that have helped harden him up.
You catch his gaze and grin all cute, waving over at him, when Hange demands your attention again, and Levi sighs, turning around, getting ready for his day.
He must keep a straight head.
This was an arrangement, after all, even if it would be a good one apparently, he couldn’t forget you were here for the same reason he was.
the halls of arkham asylum never layed silent. there was always the sound of screaming, fighting, crying, basically everything. this particular day the sound of heels clicking through the halls was heard. when the villains of gotham city turn there heads through the bars of there cells, they see a familiar woman.
Dr. Y/n L/n, the famous psychiatrist of the dark city. today was different than no other, you would see your patients like usual. now these were no regular patient’s, these were hardened criminals faced with crimes worse than you can think of. but of course, there was only one person in the whole city that could handle them. and that person was you.
the infamous joker, also known as Eren Jeager, lay in his cell awaiting the visit of the oh so famous doctor. the headlines of the news screamed hooray as they had finally caught the joker 5 months ago. since then he had been lonely, until he was told he would be getting a psychiatrist. the guards of the asylum spat at him and told him to not screw up and to be grateful, he could only smirk with an emotion nobody is familiar with.
“hello Mr. Jeager.” you say as you sit down beside him. The rain poured on the windows making the room rather dark even though it was mid day. “i’m doctor y/n l/n” you speak again this time more confidently as to not come across scared. “the infamous doctor. it’s nice to meet you, ms.l/n” eren says not turning to look at you, just laying flat on his bed. “do you want to tell me a little bit about yourself so i can understand better” you say pushing your glasses up your nose bridge and slightly adjusting your clip board on your lap.
“what’s there too know miss? i’m a deranged killer. that’s all you need to know” eren says finally turning to make eye contact with you. the only thing lighting up his eyes being the lighting from the window with bars on it, and way to small to get out of. you sure were wishing you could escape at the moment. “yes i understand that Mr. Jeager, but i would like to know if there was a specific reason as to why you have made these choices in your life, im only here to help.” you say looking back into those green eyes as to not back down.
“nah, your just like the other doctors. you wanna study me for some scientific shit. i’m gonna get out of here anyways so don’t waste your breath.” eren says before sitting up in his prison bed. only a couple feet away from you. “you’ll be in here for the rest of your life, sir.” you say holding onto your clip board as tight as you can. “is that what you think?” eren says with a slight scoff, never breaking the eye contact. “because i just can’t wait to see you when i leave, and nobody else is watching.” he says breaking the eye contact for a short second for his eyes to flick between the guards. “is that a threat, Mr. Jeager?” you say swallowing hard. “oh no never, i just quite admire you and that beautiful face” eren says voice getting deeper.
𝓒𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 · 𝟏𝟖+ 𝒎𝒅𝒏𝒊 · ꒰ 𝒇. 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 ⋮ improper use of his cursed technique ( 𝒔𝒊𝒙 𝒆𝒚𝒆𝒔 ) ⋮ p in v ⋮ 𝒙 - 𝒓𝒂𝒚 𝒗𝒊𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏 sex ⋮ cervix kissing ⋮ c-pied ⋮ cum play ⋮ 𝒐𝒃𝒔𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒅 toru ⋮ 𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒍 f. rec ⋮ cum eating ⋮ fingering ⋮ stuffing it back in ⋮ kissing꒱
The air hung thick with summer heat. Windows stood cracked open yet offered no relief from the slick, trapped warmth between your bodies. Below, the hum of Tokyo nightlife pulsed faintly, but up here in Gojo's apartment, time felt suspended. You straddled him lazily on the couch. His shirt hung half-open. Yours lay discarded behind a cushion. His hands rested possessively on your hips. Long fingers dragged with deliberate slowness over the sweat-glistened curve of your waist while he remained buried to the hilt inside you.
He made no effort to thrust. Not yet. He simply held you there, impossibly full, stretched wide around the thick length of his cock. Your tight heat enveloped him completely, every inner ripple and flutter drawing him deeper.
“You really don’t get how my technique works, do you?” he murmured. His voice came out rough, laced with dark amusement. One hand slid upward along your spine with torturous patience. “You think it’s just space… barriers… touch.” His palm curved around your throat. He applied no pressure, only the warm weight of possession. “But it’s more than that.”
You blinked up at him. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, still winded from the slow, grinding rhythm that had led to this exquisite stillness. “Gojo…”
He smirked. Six Eyes shimmered faintly in the dimness. “No, baby. Listen.” His grip on your hips tightened. He rolled upward in one deep, deliberate motion. You gasped at the sudden pressure blooming inside.
“I see everything,” he murmured, voice dropping lower. His gaze locked with yours and refused to waver. “Your skin, your heartbeat, the way you clench around me when I say shit like this.” His thumb traced the delicate line of your cheek before drifting downward to press lightly over your lower stomach. “I can see all the way inside. Every twitch, every little flutter around my cock. I see how deep I reach… and how badly you want it.”
Your breath caught sharply in your throat.
“You don’t understand it. You feel full…” He leaned closer until his lips brushed yours. “…but I see how tight you really are. How hard your body works to keep me inside. You’re trying so hard not to push me out, aren’t you?”
You squirmed. The slightest shift only reminded you how thoroughly he filled you. The stretch burned sweetly. The heat pulsed. The overwhelming fullness made your head spin in the most intoxicating way. Gojo’s smile widened. He read every flicker of sensation across your face as though it were written in light.
“You think I don’t notice how your pussy tries to keep all of it? Like it wants the cum to stay. Like it’s trying to breed.” His voice sank into something filthy and deliberate. “I see that too.”
One hand slid down between your legs, middle finger slipping lower until he touched the mess leaking out around him. He brought it up to his lips and sucked it off casually, then sighed with a grin.
“Messy,” he whispered. His fingers returned to trace lazy patterns over your swollen folds. “But not enough. You’re not leaking the way I want you to yet. Guess I’ll have to fill you again… and watch this time.”
The Six Eyes flared brighter, and your entire body tensed in instinctive response.
“Let me show you what it really means to be seen.”
You had no chance to reply. He leaned back against the cushions and pulled you with him. His hips pressed flush to yours. Your walls remained locked tight around every rigid inch of him. Broad hands spread across your thighs. Thumbs dug in with gentle insistence while those glowing blue eyes drank you in.
“I’m not pulling out,” he muttered. The words carried absolute certainty. “Not tonight. Not after what I just saw.”
A violent shiver raced through you.
With torturous patience he began to roll his hips again, deep, smooth strokes never once left your body. They simply rearranged the molten heat already inside you. Leftover release shifted, thick and heavy, pushed even deeper with every measured thrust.
His gaze remained fixed on your stomach. Long fingers dragged upward until his palm settled low, pressing just above your pelvis. “You’re so tight… I can feel how full you are just under my hand.” Reverence softened his tone to a hushed whisper. “Still holding it all in. Still clenching. God, you don’t know how beautiful that is.”
You whined. The sound broke free when he angled himself higher, nudging against that perfect place inside until your lungs seized.
He watched your expression shatter. “You don’t even realize what you’re doing to me. You’re making it impossible to stop. That greedy little cunt of yours just sucks it all in, like it knows what I want. You want me to fill your womb? To stuff you until it can’t take anymore?”
Words failed you. His filthy promises melted straight through your core and set every nerve ablaze.
Gojo licked his lips. Then he lifted you slightly and held you suspended. His cock gave a hard twitch inside your fluttering walls. He tilted his head. Those piercing blue eyes narrowed with feral intensity.
“Stay still.” Slowly, so slowly, he began to pull out.
He leaned forward. His focus zeroed between your spread thighs with terrifying precision.
“I can see it,” he breathed. “Still in there. So deep. Your body’s trying to keep it. My cum— my cum, is sitting right where I left it. Warm and thick and just waiting to breed you.”
A genuine moan tore from his throat. The sound vibrated through your bones.
“Fuck. I could come again just from watching it stay.”
Careful fingers parted your folds. He spread you open and studied the slow, rhythmic pulse of your entrance still clinging desperately to his release. He rubbed his thumb slowly over your swollen folds, tracing the slick, sensitive rim with deliberate care. A single thick drop of his cum attempted to escape, glistening and heavy as it began to slide free. But your muscles clenched instinctively, pulling tight around nothing, drawing the warm bead back inside with greedy, desperate insistence— like your body refused to surrender even a single drop of what he had given you.
Gojo’s breath caught at the sight. His thumb lingered, pressing just enough to feel the subtle flutter of resistance beneath your skin, the way your entrance trembled and gripped at the air in protest. “Fuck,” he whispered, voice low. “Look at that. Even now, you’re fighting to keep me inside,“You’re holding me so well,” he groaned. “Like you’re made to keep me inside.”
Then his mouth descended.
One long, obscene lick swept across the place where your bodies had fused. He gathered the mingled slick and cum on his tongue and moaned low in his throat, savoring the taste like something holy. Another slow drag followed. Then another. Between each filthy pass he whispered praise against your overworked flesh.
“You taste like heaven when you’re mine.”
Your thighs trembled violently. They locked tight around his shoulders. Gojo refused to relent. His tongue worked you into ruin, lapping, tasting, murmuring depravity with every glide across your stretched, dripping entrance.
And still his cum remained locked deep. Thick pulses of heat throbbed inside your spasming walls with every broken sound you made.
“You think I’m done with you?” His voice emerged wrecked and dripping with hunger. “I’m still hard. Still need you. Still leaking into you.”
He licked his lips. The Six Eyes burned brighter, wild with power and obsession.
“You’re not pushing me out,” he growled. The blunt head of his cock nudged your soaked entrance once more. He began to move with devastating slowness. Deep strokes dragged along every soaked, sensitive inch of your walls. “Not yet. Not until I say so.”
You whimpered and tried to twist away from the unbearable stretch. His hands clamped down harder, pinning your hips in place. He rolled upward with sharper intent.
“Ah— there it is. Right there.” His eyes closed for a moment, lashes fluttered as your walls clamped down in response. “You’re squeezing so tight, like you’re about to cum again, aren’t you?”
You managed only a frantic nod. Your lungs refused to draw full breath. Every muscle wound impossibly tight.
“Good,” he whispered, leaning in to brush soft kisses to your jaw, then the sensitive shell of your ear. “So you’ll milk another load out of me. Let’s see how much your greedy little pussy can really take.”
And he slammed into you.
Not rough in violence, but in obsession. In need. His strokes turned sharp, brutal, wet— the sound of skin against skin and slick squelch of overstimulated friction filled the room. You could feel it building again, the rush, the bloom of something raw and unbearable curling through your core.
Gojo’s mouth found your neck now hot, ragged breaths fanned across your skin.
“You’re gonna cum again, yeah?” he rasped softly. “Then I’ll fill you again and push it in deep and watch it all try to stay. You’ll be dripping for me until morning, sweetheart.”
Your body convulsed around him, another shattering orgasm tore through you. His name spilled from your lips in a broken, desperate cry.
Gojo followed with a long, choked groan. He ground impossibly deeper. His cock throbbed violently inside you. Thick pulses of heat flooded your core, warm and endless. Your walls milked him greedily, drawing out every last drop.
And when it threatened to spill?
He pushed in even deeper and whispered against your ear, “Not yet. Keep it. You’re not done.”
Time stretched thin and syrupy.
His breathless groans still echoed in your ears. Your exhausted cries lingered in the humid air. The relentless stretch and exquisite fill left you dizzy. Finally he settled. He never withdrew. He simply held you close.
Your cheek rested against the solid warmth of his shoulder. Your legs trembled in his lap. Sweat and slick heat coated you both. His hand traced slow, soothing patterns along your spine while quiet murmurs spilled from his lips.
“Hey…” He pressed a tender kiss to your forehead. “You okay?”
You nodded weakly, and he smiled against your hair.
“You took me so good,” he said. Tenderness softened his voice now. “Held me through all of it. Kept every drop. Think I’ve ever cum that hard?” A soft chuckle rumbled through his chest and eased the lingering tension inside you.
He still twitched faintly inside your overworked heat, you could feel him and the fullness grew heavier as your body relaxed against his. He shifted slightly, sliding a hand down to rub gentle circles over your lower belly.
“So full…” he murmured. “I can still feel it in you. Still warm. Your body hasn’t let go.”
He tilted your chin upward and kissed you slowly. Soft lips moved with lazy affection. Tongues slid together in unhurried exploration. The sweetness felt almost shocking after so much raw intensity.
“You don’t have to push it out,” he whispered against your mouth. “Let it stay for a while. Let it soak. You deserve to rest, all filled up like this.”
You whimpered into the kiss. He smiled wider.
“Want me to carry you to bed like this? Still inside, still stuffed? Keep you close until morning?”
You nodded again.
He eased you both onto your sides. Strong arms wrapped around you. He never once left your body. Warmth and intimacy enveloped you completely.
In the quiet darkness Gojo whispered one final confession.
“You know, I saw it. Right there inside you. My cum sitting in your tight little cunt like it was meant to stay. I’ve never wanted anything more in my life.”
The light filtered through the curtains in soft, golden ribbons, painting lazy shapes across the rumpled sheets. You woke first. A deep, throbbing ache had settled into your hips. Your thighs burned with sweet, lingering exhaustion. Every inch of your skin still flushed fever-hot from the endless night of surrender. Gojo had scarcely moved. His body remained molded to yours from behind. And he was still inside you. Thick and rigid. Unyieldingly hard. Every last drop of his release sealed deep within the fluttering, overstretched grip of your walls.
He exhaled a slow, sleepy breath against the nape of your neck. His lips nuzzled the sensitive skin there, warm and possessive. “Mmm… morning.”
The smallest shift of your hips sent sensation roaring back to life. His cock gave a lazy twitch inside you. The slow, heavy drag reignited every swollen nerve ending. Thick heat sloshed deep in your core, trapped so completely it twisted your stomach into fresh knots of greedy, aching want.
Gojo pressed a lingering kiss to the curve of your shoulder. His voice rolled out low and teasing, velvet wrapped around sin. “Still haven’t pushed me out?”
“No,” you breathed. The word trembled on your tongue. “It won’t come out.”
A pleased hum vibrated through his chest. He shifted behind you with deliberate care. One large hand coaxed your thigh higher, opening you wider to the morning air. His palm glided across the slick skin of your inner thigh before settling just below the soft swell of your lower belly. “I can feel it,” he murmured. Long fingers splayed possessively, pressing lightly. “So full. So warm. You really held onto it, didn’t you?”
His hips rolled forward in one languid, devastating motion. Not to chase pleasure. Simply to savor. The wet squish of his own thick release shifted around the length of him, coating your sensitive walls anew, soaking you even deeper until the fullness bordered on delirious.
Then, quieter now, almost reverent, he whispered against your ear, “Wanna see?”
You nodded. Breath already coming shallow and quick.
He eased back. Only an inch at first. Then two. Immediately a hot, slippery flood bloomed at your entrance. White and creamy, impossibly thick, it began to spill in slow, obscene trails down your slit.
Gojo’s gaze turned molten. He leaned down. Broad hands parted your thighs with something close to worship. “Look at you,” he breathed. Warm lips grazed the trembling skin of your inner thigh. “So creamy, so messy… it’s dripping even though you’re still tight around me.”
Then he kissed your thigh. Then higher still. His tongue flicked out. One long, deliberate stripe gathered the warm spill leaking from your stretched folds. You jolted violently. “Satoru—!”
“Mm,” he moaned against your core. The sound vibrated straight through your overstimulated nerves. “Still tastes like me.”
His tongue returned with slow, filthy devotion. He lapped at the creamy mess, savoring every trace with unhurried hunger. Long fingers gently spread your swollen folds wider so he could inspect every obscene detail: the flushed, puffy rim still trembling, the helpless flutter of your entrance as though it mourned the loss of fullness, the thick white rivulets painting your thighs in glistening streaks.
He teased a single finger in beside the leaking heat. Slid it deep with obscene ease. Your walls immediately clenched around the intrusion, greedy and desperate. He groaned at the tight, sucking grip.
“Still stretched open for me,” he whispered. Voice rough with awe. “Still leaking. And I’m still hard.”
A wicked, filthy grin curved his lips. “You sure you don’t want it again?”
Before you could scrape together an answer he was already guiding himself back. The blunt, swollen head nudged your soaked entrance. He rubbed slow, teasing circles through the warm mess he had made, smearing it everywhere until you glistened. Then he pushed.
“Let’s see if you can keep all of it this time.”
He sank into you slowly, deeply, without mercy. Thick inch after thick inch stretched you open again, claiming every fluttering inch with inevitable, relentless pressure. Your tender walls parted around him with a wet, sucking sound that echoed in the quiet room. The stretch burned sweetly through every overworked nerve. Your body fluttered helplessly, trying to draw him deeper even as your thighs shook from the overwhelming intensity.
“God, you’re tight,” he groaned. The words tore from his throat like prayer. “Like your pussy was made to hold my cum.”
You whimpered when he bottomed out again. Every rigid inch seated perfectly deep. Your walls spasmed around the fresh invasion. His fingers twisted into your hair. Hot mouth found the side of your neck, teeth grazing just enough to make you shiver.
“Don’t cum yet,” he whispered. Breath fanning damp across your skin. “Not until I feel you spill again.”
Then he began to move, slow and unhurried, every motion sinking deep with languid, consuming intent. Each languorous drag of his cock stroked along every swollen, hypersensitive ridge of your inner walls, coaxing shivers from flesh already raw with want. Each measured roll of his hips drove the flushed, swollen head flush against your cervix, pressing there in slow, possessive kisses that claimed the deepest place he had already flooded and marked as his own.
“Feel that?” His voice rasped hot against your ear. “Feel me pressing up there, where it’s supposed to go?”
You choked on a moan as he nudged higher, possessive and unhurried, grinding until the pressure bloomed white-hot behind your eyes.
“I want it all in there this time,” he rasped, voice scraped raw with need. “Just your sweet pussy swallowing it all down.”
The words landed like a brand against your skin. Gojo’s hips stilled for one long, torturous heartbeat— letting you feel the full, throbbing weight of him seated to the root, the flushed head pressed flush to your cervix like a promise carved in heat. Then he moved again, slower than before, every roll of his pelvis so controlled it felt obscene.
He dragged out almost to the tip, letting your walls flutter desperately around the sudden emptiness, only to sink back in with devastating patience. Thick ridges of his cock stroked every swollen inch of you on the way down, spreading you open wider, forcing your body to yield again and again. The head kissed your deepest place with each measured thrust— soft, insistent nudges that made your womb flutter, made your breath hitch into broken little whimpers.
You could feel it building already: the molten pressure low in your belly, the way your cunt clenched greedily around him, trying to pull him impossibly deeper. Slick and his earlier release coated every slide, turning each motion into a wet, filthy glide that echoed softly between your bodies.
Gojo’s hand slipped beneath your stomach again, palm flattening over the subtle bulge his cock created inside you. He pressed down gently— enough to make you gasp, enough to feel the hard ridge of him shift beneath your skin.
“Right here,” he murmured, voice thick and sugared. “I’m gonna flood you so deep you’ll feel me for days. Gonna pump every drop straight into your womb until it’s soaked, until your pretty little cunt can’t hold anything else.”
His rhythm never faltered, each thrust ended with a subtle grind, hips circling so the head rubbed relentlessly against that sensitive ring of muscle, coaxing it to open just a fraction more for him. Your walls spasmed in response, milking him without mercy, and he groaned low against your neck, teeth grazing skin.
“Feel how tight you are around me?” he whispered. “How your body’s begging to keep me? That’s it, baby. Swallow it. Take every fucking pulse. Let me fill you until you’re dripping nothing but me.”
He leaned closer, chest pressed to your back, one arm banding around your waist to hold you flush against him while the other hand stayed low, fingers splaying over your mound. He rocked into you with short, rolling thrusts now— never pulling out far, just grinding deep, stirring his cock against your cervix until pleasure blurred into something almost painful.
You sobbed his name. Legs shaking. Core clenching so hard it hurt in the best way.
“That’s my girl,” he breathed, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Cum for me again. Milk it all out. Let your sweet pussy drink every last drop while I stay buried right here… filling you… claiming you… until there’s nowhere left for it to go but inside.”
His rhythm deepened further. Slower now, and more purposeful. Every roll of his hips ground against that perfect, swollen spot inside you until your moans turned ragged and pleading. His hands slipped beneath your belly. Large palms massaged in firm, slow circles, feeling the subtle bulge of his cock moving beneath your skin with every deep thrust.
“Cum on me,” he whispered. Voice ragged with raw need. “Cum while I fill you again.”
Pleasure coiled unbearably tight in your core. Your body shook with the effort of holding back.
“C’mon, baby. Let go. Show me how you take it.”
His next thrust was deeper, harder, the head kissing your womb with bruising intent— and you broke.
The orgasm ripped through you in violent, shuddering waves. Your walls clamped down hard around his cock. You soaked him completely, trembling, sobbing his name into the sheets. Gojo groaned low and broken behind you. He slammed deep one final time and held himself there, buried to the root. You felt every thick, pulsing surge as he came again. Heat flooded your core. Endless. Overwhelming. Your greedy cunt milked him through every shuddering release until the weight of him inside you felt almost too much to bear.
He stayed buried. Panting hard against your shoulder.
“I’ll check again in a minute,” he murmured. Breath still ragged and hot on your skin. Lazy fingers brushed between your slick, trembling thighs. “But for now… let it soak in, yeah?”
His cock continued to twitch faintly inside your stuffed, fluttering heat. Your thighs still quaked with aftershocks. Your pussy throbbed with exquisite overstimulation, stretched impossibly wide, drenched through, impossibly full of him.
And Gojo did not pull out.
Not even a fraction.
He simply remained there. Heavy and warm and utterly claiming all of your tight heat. His weight settled over your back as his breathing gradually slowed to match yours.
But the morning had only just begun to unfold. Gojo’s hunger had not dimmed in the slightest.
Not when you were still dripping.
Not when your cunt had clenched around his cock like you’d been made to keep it in.
“Shhh,” he whispered, kissing the inside of your thigh as he slowly pulled back, inch by torturous inch, until your stretched entrance fluttered open around nothing. “Just wanna see it again.”
A sticky mess immediately followed. Slick, warm, heavy with his cum, it spilled down your slit in a slow, syrupy trail.
He stared. Completely mesmerized.
Then he brought two fingers up. They slid in with obscene ease, pushing his release back inside as you moaned brokenly.
“You’re gonna waste it,” he scolded gently, pushing deeper. “All this work… and your pussy’s just letting it go?”
Your walls clenched hard around his fingers. He groaned at the greedy grip, slowly fucking them into you, not for pleasure but to stuff every drop back where it belonged. Knuckles curled. He pressed higher until you gasped.
“Still tight,” he murmured. “Even after all night. Still so greedy…”
He pulled his fingers out with agonizing slowness, letting them glide free inch by slick inch until your entrance fluttered open around nothing. The moment they left you, his cum answered— thick, white, and still fever-warm, it welled up from deep inside and began to slip out in a slow, viscous ribbon. The creamy strand stretched between your swollen folds before breaking, trailing down your slit in a heavy, glistening path that painted your inner thighs and soaked into the sheets beneath you.
Gojo watched it all with rapt, predatory focus. His breath hitched audibly at the sight of his own release leaking from your pretty, overworked cunt— proof of how thoroughly he had filled you, how greedily your body had tried to keep every drop locked away until now. The thick white gathered at your entrance, pooling there for one obscene heartbeat before gravity coaxed another lazy bead to slide free, warm and sticky, clinging to your sensitive rim like it didn’t want to leave either.
“Fuck,” he breathed, voice low and wrecked. “Look at that… still so much of me trying to stay inside you.”
Then he pushed his fingers back in.
Deeper. Slower.
Two long digits sank into your soaked heat with filthy ease, parting your tender walls and gathering the escaping cum on their way down. He curled them deliberately, knuckles dragging along that swollen, hypersensitive ridge inside you until he reached the furthest place he had flooded. The wet squelch was loud in the quiet room— obscene and intimate— as he pressed those thick ropes of his release back where they belonged, stuffing them deeper, smearing them along every fluttering inch.
Your cunt clenched hard around the intrusion, greedy and desperate, trying to pull his fingers— and the cum they carried— even further in. Gojo groaned at the tight, sucking grip, hips twitching involuntarily like his cock remembered exactly how good that same greedy clutch felt wrapped around it.
He twisted his wrist just enough to spread you open from the inside, letting you feel the warm, slippery weight of his seed being pushed and stirred deeper still. Another slow pump followed, his fingers sliding out halfway only to plunge back in, slow and possessive, forcing more of the thick cream to coat your walls until you were glistening anew from the inside out.
“Stay,” he murmured against your thigh, lips brushing sweat-slick skin. “Keep it all right here for me. Let your sweet little pussy soak in every drop… let it sit heavy and warm inside you until you’re dripping nothing but me again.”
He pressed his palm flat over your lower belly once more, feeling the subtle give beneath his hand where his cum pooled deep. Then he curled his fingers again pushing one final thick rope back toward your womb with reverent pressure, like he was sealing it there, marking you from the inside until there was no space left that didn’t belong to him.
“Hold it,” he whispered. His voice turned hot and low against your neck as he climbed over you. “C’mon, baby. Keep it in for me.”
His fingers twisted. Spread you just enough to reveal more of the creamy mess inside, the obscene stretch of your cunt around his hand. “God,” he hissed. Lips brushed your ear. “I could stay here all day, watching you twitch around my cum like that.”
You whimpered.
He kissed your cheek. Still so smug.
“Wanna be filled again? Or should I keep using these fingers ’til you leak for me slow?”
You could barely think.
Your body was trembling, thighs slick and twitching, cunt stretched and so full your belly still felt heavy. Gojo’s fingers remained buried deep and slow, not moving to pleasure, just to feel, to press, to keep his release exactly where it belonged.
He leaned back on his heels behind you. Eyes fixed between your legs like he studied something sacred. Two fingers still pushed deep, curling just slightly every few seconds to remind you who owned you.
“You’ve been holding it so well,” he murmured. “All night. Didn’t even drip on the sheets.”
You whined. Hips shifted as his fingers flexed. It squelched. Hot, thick, and wet.
“Still so fucking full,” he whispered.
His other hand came to your ass. Spread you wider. Tilted your hips until he could see everything. The creamy ring around his knuckles. The tremble of your entrance. The fluttering clench that begged to keep his cum locked deep.
“But now…” His voice lowered with a filthy edge. “I wanna see it.”
Your head snapped back. Breath hitched as his fingers began to move. Not fast. Not rough. Just a gentle twist and pull. Just enough to make you feel the unbearable weight of it.
“Push it out for me,” he whispered.
You gasped. “I can’t—”
“Yes, you can,” he said. Voice velvet. “C’mon. You took all of it. Kept it for me. Let me see it now. Show me how you drip for me.”
He pulled his fingers out with an obscene sound. Your entrance tried to follow, slick and stretched. The second he withdrew, a slow trail of white began to leak out, thick and warm between your folds.
“Mm, that’s it,” Gojo cooed. His hand stroked down your lower back. “Just like that. Don’t rush. Let it spill.”
He seized your thighs in strong hands, prying them wider apart with possessive force. The sudden stretch alone coaxed a fresh gush of his thick cum oozing slowly from your swollen puckered hole in warm, heavy waves.
Gojo watched, transfixed on the creamy release dripping in languid, glistening strands, stretching obscenely from your fluttering pussy before breaking to soak the sheets below in sticky pools.
Then his fingers returned. He scooped the warm spill with deliberate care, gathering the viscous white on his fingertips before smearing it back over your sensitive rim in slow, filthy circles, his fingertips, tracing lazy patterns so reluctant to let even a single drop escape his touch.
“That’s my girl,” he whispered. “Letting me see how deep I filled you… how messy you are.”
He pushed his fingers back in. Not all the way. Just enough to feel the heat, then pulled back again, drawing out another thick trail.
“You wanna keep going, don’t you?” he teased. Smearing more around your folds. “Even after leaking like this, you’re still clenching. Still empty without me.”
You whimpered. Tried to arch back against his hand. His fingers returned. Pressed deeper. Curled. Stroked that sweet spot with slow, devastating precision.
He leaned close. Lips brushed your ear as your body jolted again.
“Push out the rest,” he murmured. Voice ragged. “Then I’ll fill you again. We’ll see how much your pretty pussy can really hold.”
You hadn’t even finished leaking.
His cum still dripped from your swollen pussy in slow, syrupy trails. Slicking your thighs. Staining the sheets. Still warm as it oozed from deep inside. You tried to breathe. Tried to stay still. But Gojo didn’t let up.
Not for a second.
He pushed your hips higher. Kept you spread wide open. One hand pressed at the small of your back while the other stroked slowly around your twitching entrance.
“You really tried,” he murmured. Voice dark and low as he watched more of his mess spill out. “Kept it in all night. But look at you now…”
His fingers were coated. Milky and wet, before he brought them back to your entrance again. Pushed two in slow, like he missed the way you stretched around him.
And you squeezed them.
Hard.
“Still tight,” he groaned. Fingers curled deep. “Still so fucking greedy…”
You gasped when he pressed down on your lower belly with his palm, right above where his fingers reached. The firm, deliberate pressure forced a sharp jolt through your entire body. Your walls spasmed hard around his knuckles. A fresh, hot stream of his cum rushed out of your cunt in a thick, slippery gush, coating his fingers and dripping down the cleft of your ass to pool warm and sticky against the sheets.
Gojo groaned like the sound had punched straight through him.
“Fuck… there it is,” he rasped. His voice came out wrecked, thick with hunger. “Look at all that. Still so much of me inside you.”
He didn’t give you time to catch your breath.
He withdrew his fingers slowly, obscenely, letting you feel every inch of drag as your entrance clung to them, reluctant to let go. The moment they slipped free, another lazy trickle followed—white and viscous, clinging to your folds in long, creamy strings. Gojo’s eyes darkened to something feral. He spread your thighs wider with both hands, hooking under your knees and pushing them back until your hips tilted up, exposing every glistening inch of you to his ravenous gaze.
“So pretty,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Your pretty cunt’s leaking my cum like it can’t help itself.”
He lowered his head without another word.
His tongue met your entrance in one long, greedy swipe at your cummy hole, collecting the thick spill that had just escaped. He moaned deep in his throat at the first taste, the sound vibrating against your oversensitive flesh. Then he dove in properly.
Lips sealed over your swollen folds. He sucked gently at first, drawing the creamy mixture of his release and your slick into his mouth like he was drinking something sacred. His tongue pushed inside you next, slow and insistent. It plunged deep enough to curl against your fluttering walls, scooping out thick ropes of his own cum with deliberate, filthy strokes. He dragged it along every sensitive ridge, gathering more of the creamy heat he had flooded you with, savoring the heavy taste of his release mingled with your slick arousal.
Every long, greedy lap echoed wetly through the room. Nasty, squelching sounds filled the humid air as he devoured you without restraint. He was loud about it. Shameless even, filthy moans vibrated straight against your core with every swallow. He sucked and licked like a man possessed, like the flavor of his seed leaking from your swollen cunt was the only thing keeping him alive.
Gojo groaned deep in his throat. The sound rumbled through your overstimulated flesh and made your hips jerk involuntarily. He pressed his face harder between your thighs, nose brushing your clit while his tongue fucked in and out in slow, possessive thrusts. He chased every last trace deeper inside, lips smacking wetly as he pulled back just enough to let another thick bead well up at your entrance— only to dive forward again and suck it straight from your pulsing rim.
“Fuck,” he panted against you, voice wrecked and dripping with lust. “So much of me still in here.”
He spread you wider with both thumbs, opening your dripping folds until nothing was hidden. Your entrance fluttered helplessly under his gaze, trying to clench around the emptiness he had just left behind. Another slow trickle of white began to spill. Gojo watched it with dark, obsessive hunger before leaning in to lap it up in one long, dragging stripe from your perineum to your clit. His tongue flattened broad and heavy, collecting every viscous drop, then curled to push it back inside only so he could taste it again on the next filthy pass.
He was relentless. Greedy beyond reason. Lips sealed over your clit once more, sucking hard enough to make your vision blur while his tongue continued its obscene work below— thrusting, swirling, scooping, swallowing. Wet slurps and low, guttural moans spilled from his mouth as he fed on you. On himself. On the messy, intimate proof of how thoroughly he had claimed your body.
Your thighs trembled violently around his head. Slick coated his chin, his cheeks, glistened on his swollen lips. And still he pressed deeper. Tongue spearing inside you again. Curling and lapping. Drinking down every thick pulse of his cum that your greedy cunt tried to give him, like he would never be satisfied until he had licked you completely clean, only to fill you all over again later.
You whimpered, hips twitching. The overstimulation bordered on unbearable. Every drag of his tongue sent sparks racing up your spine, but he only tightened his grip on your thighs, keeping you spread and pinned exactly where he wanted.
He pulled back just enough to watch another thick bead well up at your entrance. His thumb brushed over your folds again, spreading you open wider so he could see it glisten. Then he leaned in and sucked it straight from the source— lips pursing around your fluttering rim, tongue flicking rapidly to catch every drop before it could escape.
“Mine,” he growled against you. The word was muffled, vibrating straight into your core. “All of it. Every fucking drop.”
He shifted higher. His mouth closed over your clit, tightly. The hot, wet suction made your back arch off the bed. He sucked hard, tongue lapping in tight, relentless circles while two fingers slid back inside you, not to fuck, but to press and curl, coaxing out more of his cum for him to devour.
You were shaking now. Thighs trembling violently in his hold. Breaths coming in broken sobs. He didn’t stop. He couldn’t. Gojo was ravenous— greedy in a way that felt almost violent. He ate you like a man starved, lapping and sucking and swallowing every trace of himself he could reach. His chin glistened. His lips were swollen and slick. And still he pressed deeper, tongue thrusting inside again to chase what lingered furthest in, groaning every time your walls fluttered and tried to give him more.
When another gush coated his tongue he pulled back just long enough to look up at you, eyes wild and pupils blown, cheeks flushed, mouth shining with the evidence of his obsession.
“You taste so fucking good full of me,” he panted. Voice hoarse. “I could do this all day. Just keep you spread open and eat my cum out of this greedy little pussy until there’s nothing left to lick up.”
Then he dove back in.
Lips sealed over your clit again. Sucked hard, tongue flicking out mercilessly, his fingers curling even deeper, pressing against that spot that made your vision white out.
He was relentless.
Greedy.
Gojo was completely, shamelessly addicted to the taste of his own release spilling from your trembling cunt, to the thick, salty warmth of it coating his tongue, mingling with the sweet-slick flood of your arousal, to the way your body kept trying to give him more. Every flutter of your walls, every helpless clench, pushed another slow bead of his cum toward his waiting mouth, and he drank it down like he was starving, greedy moans vibrating against your swollen folds as he lapped deeper, sucked harder, chased every last drop with filthy devotion.
His chin glistened. His lips were swollen and slick. His cheeks flushed from the heat between your thighs. And still he pressed on, his tongue spearing inside one final time, curling to scoop out the deepest traces, swallowing with a low, guttural groan that made your hips jerk against his face.
Only then did he finally pull away.
He rose slowly, crawling up your body with predatory grace, broad shoulders caging you in as he settled over you. His mouth was a mess— shiny with your combined slick, lips parted and breathing ragged. Before you could catch your breath he leaned down and kissed you, messy and unapologetically.
His tongue pushed straight past your lips, carrying the raw, heady taste of his cum and your pussy straight into your mouth. Thick and warm, the flavor bloomed across your tongue, the salty, musky, unmistakably him that mixed with the sweet tang of your own arousal that still clung to every surface of his mouth. He groaned into the kiss, low and wrecked, like the simple act of sharing it with you was enough to unravel him all over again.
One hand cupped the back of your neck, tilting your head so he could lick deeper, stroking along the roof of your mouth, painting every inch with the filthy evidence of what he’d just devoured from between your legs. His other hand slid down to grip your hip, holding you flush against him while he kissed you slower now with languid, possessive drags of tongue against tongue, letting you taste how thoroughly he’d claimed you, how thoroughly he’d feasted on the mess he’d made inside you.
He broke the kiss only long enough to murmur against your lips, voice hoarse and dripping with satisfaction.
“Feel that?” He licked into your mouth again, slow. “That’s us. Me inside you… still leaking out… still on my tongue. You taste like mine, baby. Every fucking part of you.”
Then he sealed his mouth over yours once more, kissing you deeper, messier, until the taste of his cum and your cunt was all either of you could breathe.
Telling Nerdjo to Help Film Your Content | MDNI 18+
Your fingers click against the keyboard as you desperately try to run from the creature chasing you in one of the horror Roblox games you picked out to play. You're playing on your best friend's computer, munching on chips while he's studying at his desk.
Satoru is way too focused on his notes for someone who has a girl screaming behind him and bouncing around in his gaming chair like a hyperactive puppy.
Until you scream as the creepy creature finally catches you.
“Oh, come on! Why is it so hard to win this game? I never make it out of this damn mansion.” You huff as you respawn in the lobby.
Satoru smiles and turns to look at you over his shoulder.
“You’re rushing to win. Slow down, sweetheart. Understand the game first, then move when there’s no threat," he says, nodding toward the screen. “Or you could just let me play. I’ll have you out of that mansion in five minutes.”
“Okay, whatever you say, Mr Know-It-All."
Satoru shakes his head, a smile curling on his lips, before turning back to his studies.
𓂃˖ ࣪⊹𓂃˖ ࣪⊹𓂃˖ ࣪⊹𓂃˖ ࣪⊹𓂃˖ ࣪⊹𓂃˖ ࣪⊹𓂃˖ ࣪⊹𓂃˖ ࣪⊹𓂃
You sigh and stretch your arms over your head as you finally win the game, leaning back against the gaming chair. But as you do, your eyes drift toward Satoru’s bedroom.
You study the lighting, taking in how good everything looks. the bedpost, the dark tones, and the way his room looks beautifully dark yet intimate under the dim, cozy lights.
An idea pops into your head, and you grin to yourself before turning the gaming chair toward Satoru.
“Toruuu,” you sing-song.
“Hmm?” he says, not looking up from his textbook, too busy searching for God knows what.
“Your room lighting is good,” you say, and that makes him smile.
“Thanks. Installed them myself,” he says proudly.
“And your bedpost, plus your walls—they look so clean. Your room looks perfect,” you continue.
Now Satoru looks up from his textbook, smiling, yet clearly confused by where all these compliments are coming from.
“Okay, thanks,” he says, still smiling, but looking a little confused as to why you’re suddenly complimenting his room.
“Can I film here sometimes?” you ask, smiling widely like a ray of sunshine.
Satoru drops his pen.
“Film what—?”
His brain refuses to think about what you mean, so he clears his throat and decides to clarify what you mean.
“I’m sorry, film what exactly?” he asks, adjusting his glasses.
“My... only...fans?”
“...”
“...”
Satoru blinks. You blink. Then—
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Fineee.”
You smile before adding, “And you’re going to help me film it.”
“...”
“...”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Damn it—fineeee.”
Satoru knows for sure he’s about to have a heart attack, but he can’t say no to you. When has he ever said no to you?
You need help with an assignment? He helps without question. You’re hungry? He cooks for you. You need a shoulder to cry on? He’s right there.
But this feels different.
It’s not like he doesn’t know what kind of content you make. Oh, he does. But he’s never dared to watch it because he respects your boundaries.
But now you’re pulling him right into it, inviting him across that line he’s never dared to cross.
So all he can do is pray to God to give him enough self-control and strength.
𓂃˖ ࣪⊹𓂃˖ ࣪⊹𓂃˖ ࣪⊹𓂃˖ ࣪⊹𓂃˖ ࣪⊹𓂃˖ ࣪⊹𓂃˖ ࣪⊹𓂃˖ ࣪⊹
So when the weekend kicks in, you’re back at his apartment. You take off your clothes and change into your flimsy lingerie. Meanwhile, Satoru watches you, his gaze following you as you move around his room, adjusting the lights and setting up your playlist to make the filming look even better.
Satoru finally decides to break the silence. He pushes himself off the doorway he was leaning against and looks at you as you set out your sex toy. one that looks like a thick tentacle?.
How is that even possible to fit— he shakes his head. He won't entertain that imagination.
Satoru clears his throat and tries to escape.
“Where are you going?” you ask.
Satoru freezes mid-step out of his room, his shoulders rigid, the muscles in his back flexing beneath his grey T-shirt.
“Um—I—I've got to, um... right. I need to run to the grocery store. I’m running out of some stuff.”
“Okay, be quick then. I’ll wait for you,” you say while touching up your makeup.
Shit. Think, Satoru. Think.
“Actually, you can start filming... No one will be here to disturb you anyway—”
You sigh and look at him with your arms crossed.
“You said you’d help me film it.”
Satoru is two seconds away from bolting out the door. He doesn’t know why he agreed. He thought it would be easy. You’d do your thing while he filmed it. It wouldn’t be that hard.
But now, as you stand in front of him in that flimsy, almost transparent nightdress, he regrets saying yes.
“Yes—but I... I don’t think I’m good at filming.”
“Says the one who loves making niche short content about science and galaxies. And I’m tired of changing the angle and cutting the video. Why not film it in one go? That’s why I need your help. I can’t do it myself.”
Satoru looks at you.
“You trust me?” he asks in an uncertain voice.
“Of course I do. You’ve been my best buddy since the start of this hell of a university.”
Satoru sighs, then his lips curl into a soft smile.
Just do it, man. It won’t do any harm, right? You’ve got this. You’ve got this. Plus, she trusts you.
“Alright... where’s the camera?” he asks, nodding as he moves over to the other side of the bed.
You beam and pull the camera from your bag.
15 minutes later.
“Ready?” you ask Satoru.
Satoru takes a deep breath before nodding.
“Yep. Ready.”
You turn and get on all fours on his bed.
“Okay, just press the red button. I want to start—”
THUD.
“...”
“...”
“Are you okay?" you ask, watching him reach down to pick up the camera.
“Yep... all good.”
No. Nothing is good.
He drops the camera after getting one glimpse of your round ass, which he swears winks at him first. And now he has no idea how he’s going to survive the rest of the filming session.
Satoru finally hits the start button and nods.
You drop to all fours, shaking and wiggling your ass up in the air. He bites his lip, trying so hard to focus on filming, but how can he when his hands are starting to tremble?
Slowly, you kick off your clothes, sitting on his bed, cupping and tweaking your nipples as they're wrecked. Your hips move against his mattress, and a moan leaves your lips.
Satoru doesn't know why, but his ears are ringing, and his body is warming up. He shifts closer to get a better angle of you, and god, you look so breathtakingly erotic. The way you're looking at the camera, those lust-glazed eyes of seduction, are sure to make your viewers pull in, drawn to your siren's call.
The way your hips grind on his mattress has Satoru overcome with the urge to bite down on that delectable curve of your hips. His gaze is fixated on your clit, that tantalizing little nub peeking out from between your thighs, which he knows is flirting shamelessly with him.
And when you reach to grab that large dildo, moving it between your folds, Satoru bites back a whimper but suddenly gets into his best filming mood. He takes off his glasses and kneels at the foot of his bed to get an even better view of your soaked pussy. His eyes are glued to the sight of yours moving the toy up and down between your slick, needy folds.
Your eyes light up with lust as he films you, that nerdy nervous energy nowhere to be seen, just an intense, piercing blue gaze fixed hungrily on your body. You get even wetter just from his intense stare, so you place the toy between your legs before sinking down on it, the sight alone making Satoru hiss through clenched teeth and his cock twitching urgently in his pants. It's the most depraved, beautiful sight he's ever seen.
You moan and gasp as you move up and down, bouncing your hips on the dildo which is hitting every right spot, your pussy clenching tightly around the toy. It's all sticky with your wet cunt juices dripping down. Satoru looks at the sight of your cunt swallowing the toy and he wants it to be his cock, you desperately moving on it instead of that lifeless, silicone toy with no heartbeat.
Oh, how desperately he craves that cunt on his tongue, your slick pussy juices dripping down his throat. Just the thought of it sends a jolt through him. making him grind his hips forward involuntarily on the air.
"Yes, gonna cum," you moan, slapping your ass as your toes curl in ecstasy, feeling the tight dildo in your stomach. The pleasure is building, your body tensing, ready to shatter at any moment. "Mmm, ahh, so good," you gasp, your voice high and needy. Satoru's eyes are glued to you, his own need growing with each passing second, his cock throbbing in his pants, aching to be buried deep inside you.
Hold yourself together, Satoru.
But how can he resist your pussy, beautifully drooling on that toy and his mattress? You meet his gaze and come with a scream, making his jaw clench and his knuckles go white around the camera.
Your lower body shakes and jerks, rolling you onto your stomach as the intense orgasm subsides. You stretch your legs before getting up, blowing a playful kiss to the camera, just as you always do at the end of your videos.
“Oh God... that was so amazing.”
You laugh breathlessly as you sit up and look at Satoru, who’s still staring at you. No smile, no sarcastic remark, no eye roll, just an intense gaze fixed on your face.
Your laughter falters slightly.
“You good?”
He doesn’t answer. He simply walks toward his study table to set the camera down.
Your lips twist in confusion.
“What are you doing?” You tilt your head to the side as you watch him set up the camera.
Satoru’s lips curl into a knowing grin.
“Setting up the camera.”
His answer does nothing to clear up your confusion. If anything, it only makes you more suspicious.
“We just finished filming.”
Satoru pauses and looks back at you.
“You did. Not me...”
He turns to face you and pulls his T-shirt over his head.
“Lay down, baby. I’m featuring in your next video.”
𓂃˖ ࣪⊹𓂃˖ ࣪⊹𓂃˖ ࣪⊹𓂃˖ ࣪⊹𓂃˖ ࣪⊹𓂃˖ ࣪⊹𓂃˖ ࣪⊹𓂃˖ ࣪⊹𓂃
AN: Finally posting this draft after two months 😭 I hope you enjoyed reading it! 🫶🏻
𝒲𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 · 𝟐.𝟒𝐤 · ꒰ 𝒓𝒆𝒖𝒑𝒍𝒐𝒂𝒅 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 : @!torusbabe ꒱ · 𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒃𝒚 : @!mossmaybe1 on X ·
Satoru’s long limbs are tangled around you like he is afraid you will vanish if he lets go. His white hair is a soft, messy halo against the pillow, tickling your collarbone as he nuzzles closer in his sleep. You press a gentle kiss to his forehead, right between those unfairly long lashes, and feel the way his breath hitches, even unconscious. He is warm, solid and annoyingly perfect.
You slip out from under him carefully, because if he wakes up fully he will drag you right back under the covers with that lazy grin and those wandering hands. The sheets pool around your waist as you sit up, and you glance back once. Satoru sprawls on his stomach now, face half-buried, one arm thrown out like he is still reaching for you.
The bathroom mirror shows you looking thoroughly wrecked in the best way: kiss-bruised lips, faint marks on your neck, hair standing up in every direction. You brush your teeth with his stupid mint toothpaste that tastes like candy, smiling around the toothbrush because yeah, this is your life now.
It started as nothing. A late night, pulsing bass in some dark club downtown, bodies pressed too close under neon lights. You locked eyes across the crowd, those piercing blue ones that cut straight through the haze, and next thing you knew his mouth was on yours in the hallway, then in the cab, then against his apartment door.
He was the most beautiful man you had ever seen up close. Tall, lean, all sharp angles and effortless charm, white hair glowing under the club lights like he belonged somewhere ethereal, not grinding against you in a sweaty back room. You expected one night, rough, fast to be gone by morning.
But he pulled you into his bed like you were something precious, fucked you slow and deep until you were shaking, whispering filthy praise against your ear the whole time. And when it was over he didn’t kick you out. He just curled around you like a cat, murmured something sleepy and sweet, and passed out with his face in your neck.
One night became weekends. Weekends became stay over's. Stay over’s became you leaving a spare toothbrush, became him whining when you tried to leave for work. Became this, mornings where you wake up to him clinging like you are his personal teddy bear.
You rinse, pad back to the bedroom in just your briefs. Satoru is stirring now, blinking those ridiculous crystalline blue eyes open, voice rough with sleep.
“Mm, where you goin?”
“Breakfast,” you murmur, leaning down to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Go back to sleep, menace.”
He hums, already reaching, but you dodge and head for the kitchen instead.
The apartment smells faintly of last night’s takeout and his cologne. You start the coffee maker out of habit even though you know he will ignore it. He has the palate of a literal child, lives on sugar and spite. Bacon sizzles in the pan, eggs scrambling soft the way he pretends he doesn’t care about but always eats faster when you make them like this.
You are shirtless, barefoot, just briefs riding low on your hips. A little softer around the middle than him, a little rounder, but he never makes you feel anything but wanted. If anything he seems obsessed with it, hands always finding the curve of your stomach, squeezing like he cannot get enough.
The bedroom door creaks. His footsteps. Then arms slide around your waist from behind, chin hooking over your shoulder. He is still sleepy-warm, chest bare against your back, morning wood shamelessly pressing into you through his boxers.
“Whatcha makin,” he mumbles, voice all gravel and affection, lips brushing your neck.
“Bacon with eggs. The usual, since you’re a spoiled brat who likes being fed.”
He chuckles low, the sound vibrating through you. “You love spoiling me.”
You smile, “Shut up.”
His big hands splay over your chest, thumbs circling lazy over your nipples just to make you twitch. Then lower, tracing the soft dip of your stomach, possessive and gentle all at once. You can feel how hard he is, thick and insistent against your ass, and it takes effort not to grind back.
“Satoru,” you warn, voice already thinner. “Do not. Last time breakfast burned to hell and we didn’t eat till noon.”
He grins against your skin, teeth grazing gently. “Didn’t hear you complainin’ when I had you bent over the counter.”
He follows it up with facts,“You smiled like the devil while the smoke alarm screamed.”
“Yeah, yeah, not letting that happen again.”
He gives you one last teasing squeeze and finally lets go, stepping back to grab orange juice from the fridge like nothing happened. You roll your eyes and plate the food, golden bacon, fluffy eggs, toast on the side even though he’ll pick at it.
Dining table? Forgotten, as always.
You both end up on the living room couch instead, legs crossed, thighs pressed together. He scrolls through his phone with one hand, the other resting warm on your bare knee, thumb stroking absently. You eat side by side, shoulders bumping, quiet except for the occasional hum he makes when something tastes good.
He steals a strip of bacon from your plate. You elbow him. He laughs, bright and stupid and yours.
The dining table sits there in the corner like some forgotten piece of furniture someone else bought. You are pretty sure neither of you has ever actually eaten at it, not once. Not breakfast, not takeout, not even that one time you tried to be normal and set out plates like adults. It lasted maybe thirty seconds before Satoru tugged you onto the couch instead, whining about how the table felt too far away, how he couldn’t reach you properly.
So yeah on the couch. Always the couch.
Legs crossed, thighs slotted together like puzzle pieces, bare skin sticking slightly from the warmth of sleep and the kitchen heat still clinging to you both. Your plate balances on one knee, his on the other. Shoulders pressed, elbows knocking every time one of you reaches for more toast. It is messy but comfortable with him always.
He is scrolling through his phone again, probably looking at the same three memes he has already sent you six times this week, but his free hand never leaves your leg. Palm flat against your bare knee, thumb dragging slow, absent circles over the skin there. Every few seconds the motion changes: he squeezes once, gentle, like he is reminding himself you’re real. Then back to stroking. You don’t even think he realizes he’s doing it anymore.
You take a bite of the eggs. He immediately leans in and steals the next strip of bacon right off your plate with his teeth, grinning around it like a feral cat.
“Thief,” you mutter, elbowing him in the ribs.
He laughs, bright, loud and stupidly happy, and the sound bounces off the living room walls. Then he turns his head and presses greasy lips to the side of your neck, right under your ear. Bacon fat smears. You feel the warm slide of it and groan.
“Satoru. Gross.”
“Mmm. Tastes better like this,” he mumbles against your skin, kissing again, deliberately sloppy this time. His lips drag, leaving a shiny trail. You shove at his shoulder but there’s no real force behind it.
“You’re being disgusting.”
“You love it.” He tuts back smugly.
You do. That is the worst part.
He pulls back just enough to look at you, blue eyes crinkled at the corners, mouth still shiny. Then he goes right back to his phone like he did not just mark you up with breakfast grease. His hand slides a little higher on your thigh now, fingers splayed, possessive in that casual way only he can manage. You don’t move away. You never do.
The quiet stretches again, easy. Just chewing, the soft clink of forks, his occasional pleased hum when he gets a particularly crispy piece of bacon. Every now and then he leans over to bump his forehead against your temple, or drops a lazy kiss to your shoulder, or just breathes against your neck like he is trying to memorize the way you smell in the morning.
You think about how ridiculous this is. How you went from a one-night stand, sweaty and frantic, clothes barely off, to this: half-naked on his couch at 9 a.m., eating eggs while he absentmindedly gropes your leg and leaves bacon kisses on your skin like it’s normal. Like it has always been this way.
The dining table stays empty. Untouched. Probably collecting dust.
It doesn't matter.
Because mornings like this, greasy, annoying and stupidly domestic, are worth every single burnt breakfast that came before. Worth the way he steals your food and laughs like an idiot and holds onto you like you might disappear if he lets go for even a second.
You finish your eggs. He’s still eating slowly, savoring it, his thumb still stroking your knee.
You lean your head on his shoulder.
He turns just enough to kiss your temple, clean this time, no grease.
“Love you,” he mumbles, so quiet you almost miss it. Like it slipped out by accident.
You don’t say it back right away. Just squeeze his thigh once, hard.
He smiles against your hair anyway.
Yeah.
You are both so far gone it is not even funny anymore.
You’re already running late, alarm ignored twice, coffee half-drunk on the counter, phone buzzing with that one work email you've been pretending doesn't exist. You’re standing in the bedroom trying to pull on your work pants, one leg in, hopping slightly, when Satoru decides the morning is not over yet.
He’s still in nothing but those low-slung gray boxers, hair a disaster, eyes bright and mischievous like he’s planned this ambush. You barely get the waistband over your hips before his long fingers hook into them and tug them right back down, sliding your boxers along with them until your cock springs free, already leaking at the tip from the way he has been touching you all morning.
“Satoru, I have to—”
“Shh.” He’s already dropping to his knees in front of you, hands sliding up the backs of your thighs, warm and sure. “Five minutes.”
“You said that twenty minutes ago.”
He just grins up at you, that devastating, lazy smile that always wins. “Yeah, but this time I mean it.”
You open your mouth to argue, something about deadlines, about how your boss is already side-eyeing your punctuality, but then his tongue flicks out first, slow and deliberate, lapping up the bead of pre that has gathered at your slit. He hums at the taste, eyes fluttering half-closed like it is the best thing he has ever had, before he wraps his lips around the head and sucks gently, tongue swirling.
Not teasing. Not slow. He leans in and takes you straight to the back of his throat like he’s been starving for it, lips tight, tongue flat and filthy against the underside. Your knees buckle. One hand flies to his hair on instinct, gripping white strands, the other slapping against the dresser for balance.
“Fuuck, Toru—nghh.”
He hums around you, the vibration shooting straight up your spine. His big hands knead the soft flesh of your ass, pulling you deeper, encouraging you to rock into his mouth. You try to be gentle, he isn't fragile, but you still worry sometimes, but he just moans louder when you thrust a little harder, blue eyes flicking up to meet yours, watering slightly at the corners, pupils blown wide.
He looks so fucking pretty like this. On his knees for you, your thick cock filling his greedy throat, cheeks hollowed, spit shining on his chin already, light lashes against flushed skin. The most beautiful man you have ever seen, reduced to nothing but a hungry mouth and greedy hands because he cannot stand the thought of you leaving without this first.
You're shaking. The pants around your ankles trip you up when you try to widen your stance anddd he doesn’t care. Just hooks one of your legs over his shoulder so he can get even closer, nose pressed to your pelvis, throat working around you like he wants to swallow you whole.
“God, slow down, I'm gonna—”
He pulls off just long enough to rasp, voice wrecked, “Come on my tongue. Want it.”
Then he is back on you, sucking hard, messy, one hand wrapping around the base to stroke what his mouth can’t reach. The other slips between your legs, fingers circling your hole, not pushing in, just pressing, teasing, promising more for later maybe.
Your hips jerk. Heat coils tight and fast in your gut. You are trying to warn him, trying to be coherent, but all that comes out is a broken, “Toru—mnghh fuck, m'gonna—”
He just takes you deeper, his tight throat swallowing around you. And that is it.
You come hard, pulsing down his throat, vision whiting out for a second. He doesn’t pull away, just milks every shudder, every drop, until you’re oversensitive and whining and tugging weakly at his hair.
When he finally lets you go, lips swollen and glossy, he licks them slow and sweet, like he's savoring the taste. Then he presses one last soft kiss to the head before resting his forehead against your stomach, breathing hard.
You're still catching your breath, legs trembling, when he looks up again, smug as hell.
“Now you can get dressed.”
You laugh—breathless, disbelieving. “You’re unbelievable.”
He stands, slow and graceful and crowds you against the dresser, leans in and his soft slick lips meet yours. He kisses you deep, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. His hands are gentle now, smoothing down your sides, fixing your briefs and pants back into place like nothing happened.
“Wear the blue tie,” he murmurs against your lips. “Looks good with your eyes.”
You roll your eyes, but you’re already reaching for it.
He steps back, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you button your shirt with that soft, stupidly fond look he gets when he thinks you aren't paying attention.
eren jeager is the typical frat boy you see in your nightmares & also in your wet dreams. this night will play out like every other friday night does for him,
•frat party
•hookup with random girl
•ghost her the next day
eren has never been the type to care about a girl. sure he cared about mikasa but she was always too pushy to him and all he wanted was to be free.
he wanted to be free from anyone telling him what do with his life. he decided he would never settle down unless he found the love of his life, but of course to him that would be impossible.
the music at the party blared loudly through his ears. he wasn’t in a particularly bad mood but also not a good one. eren stood in the kitchen of the sigma chi house with a red solo cup filled with some concoction of juice and alcohol.
eren takes a sip before looking around the party. looking for the perfect girl to give his attention to for the night. just then, his eyes land on a girl. you, to be exact. the pink bandage two piece dress your currently wearing hugs your body so tight pushing your boobs up just right. the skirt is short and shows off your plump thighs. you laugh with your friends, with what looks to be a cigarette or preroll of some sort hanging from your lips.
erens chest stops breathing for a minute when he sees the way your eyelashes bat while you talk. “what the fuck” he thinks to himself. you just happen to be the most beautiful girl he has ever seen.
eren grabs the nearest frat boy he sees by the shoulder and pulls them in. “who is that?” eren says pointing in your direction. “the girl in the pink? holy shit i havnt seen her since highschool. that’s y/n” jean says taking a sip of his drink and smirking slightly.
“you know her?” eren says finally letting go of jean and turning to look at him now. “i don’t know her that well but we went to the same highschool and she was always so bad. we would play eye tag in the hallway” jean says, then throws his head back like he’s reminiscing. “so you never made a move or?” eren says and then takes a slow sip of his drink still staring your way.
“lowkey i texted her and she never awnsered.” jean then says rubbing the back of his neck before looking back your way too. “why? you tryna get on that?” he speaks again. eren laughs slightly before saying “something like that” as he pushes himself off the counter and starts walking straight towards you.
“good luck” jean mutters under his breath before turning back to whatever conversation he was in. “yo” you hear from beside you. you turn to the side and are faced by a very tall attractive man, “yo?” you say back pulling your pre roll from your mouth to in between your fingers. “whatchu smoking?” he says looking down at you with a husky voice and bright green eyes. “weed, you smoke?” you say almost with no care.
“yea” eren says looking down into your eyes aswell. just then you pop the pre roll between his lips. he’s caught of guard but he plays it cool. eren takes a hit of it without touching it. he then exhales and pops it out and back into your mouth like you did to him. “good stuff right?” you say casually smirking up at him. just when he’s about to reply you speak again, “cya, frat boy.” you say before turning on your heel around and walking away from him. hips swaying and curls bouncing, you walk away so confidently something churns in his stomach and maybe in his pants too.
eren stands there for a minute before he sighs in defeat and makes his way back to the kitchen. he didint even feel like hooking up with a random girl anymore. there was only one girl he wanted now, and that’s you. he didn’t know if it was the rejection, or maybe the confidence you radiated. but it was something about you, something that told him he had to have you.
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hello you guyssss this is my very first tumblr post my tiktok friends bullied me into coming on here so here i am! my name is jay and i just love writing and also anime. i usually make texting fics but recently i ventured here. i will make an introducing me post soon but i thought of this story last night and i had to write it down. i love yall. -jay
CHECK JAY OUTTTT SHE MY GOATTTT 🥹❤️🩹 #gladshe’sfinallyonherehypeherupppp #ilovejay #thebestfraterenfici’vereadifearineedaparttwo #plsnevergobaldonmetwinilysm
note written for this request ! hope u enjoy cutie!! also when you're making tea do u guys squeeze the teabag or nah… cuz my dad always tells me not to he claims it makes it bitter but icl i do it anyways like i don't want the tea to go to waste. also i love bush ive never shaved a day in my life, max ill do is trim for better access u know ;)
cw pinv, crempie, barely proofread sawry
morning sunlight streams into the kitchen, warming the quiet space as you pour hot water from the kettle into a mug. as you stir it, watching the once-clear liquid swirl into dark brown, you feel satoru’s arms wrap around your waist from behind. he pulls you flush against his chest and rests his chin on your shoulder, dropping a soft kiss against the sensitive skin of your neck.
his hands naturally slide down to rest low on your hips, fingers dipping beneath the elastic waistband of your flimsy pyjama shorts. he pauses for a second, fingertips tracing the bare skin of your hip bone, edging down until his palm rests directly over your mound.
“what’s the special occasion?” satoru murmurs, voice still raspy from sleep, laced with curiosity. his breath is minty fresh and warm against your skin. his forefinger and thumb come together to twirl your pubes between the pads of his fingers.
“nothing,” you reply easily, squeezing the teabag against the side of the ceramic, discarding it in a small bowl. “just letting her breathe from time to time, you know?”
“oh yeah? okay, okay…” he trails off, but you can already feel the sudden shift against you lower back—a slow heat pressing through his pyjama bottoms. satoru drops his head onto your shoulder with a low groan.
“you’re so predictable, satoru,” you scoff, shaking your head. “getting a semi from just the thought of me going pantless? you can barely control yourself.”
“what? no.” he pulls back swiftly and spins you around to meet his gaze. flashing that signature, boastful smirk, he shakes his head lightly. “i can control myself fine. i'm the strongest sorcerer alive.”
you roll your eyes. “yeah, right.”
“ohhh, i see. it’s a challenge, then.”
and of course he would take it as a challenge to his self-control. this is satoru, your hardworking partner whose ego needs to be checked at the door. but, by early afternoon, the self-imposed challenge is clearly wearing on him.
strike one arrives on the couch. you’re casually watching a show, satoru stretched out beside you, one arm draped over your waist. before the show even gets to the intro, his warm fingers are slipping underneath the hem of your shorts, palming over your bare mound with a slow, rhythmic pressure. you shoot him a sharp sideways glare.
“what?” his eyes are wide behind his sunglasses, feigning innocence. “i’m just giving you a massage. you know, to help her breathe or whatever you said.”
“right, right…” you smile to yourself. “whatever you say, satoru.”
strike two hits an hour later, in the kitchen. you had meant to grab a glass of water, but satoru pinned you gently against the cool countertops, pulling you into a kiss. he couldn't help himself! now, as your lips work in tandem with his, tongues sliding against one another, he’s practically grinding his growing bulge directly into your pussy.
smiling into the kiss, you pull back just enough to softly laugh against his lips. “control it, satoru.”
once again, he groans, pressing his forehead against yours before reluctantly stepping back. “i’m taking a break,” he mutters, turning towards the hallway, hand hovering hesitantly over his cock. he pauses at the doorway, flashing you a wicked grin. “unless you want to join me in the bathroom?”
“no way,” you call out to him. “this is your punishment. i told you that you have no self-control, and you're gonna prove me right by jerking yourself off alone in the bathroom.”
“ugh, fine,” he sighs melodramatically. “watch me.” and, instead of going to the bathroom, he stubbornly drags a barstool to the very vcentre of the kitchen, sitting down with an exaggerated exhale. you shake your head and leave him sitting there, alone in the kitchen, trying to physically will away the ache in his pants. if satoru is anything, he is determined to win.
strike three comes at bedtime. you crawl into bed first, settling in as the little spoon (for once). the moment satoru slides under the covers next to your warmth, all pretence of restraint gone. he pulls you against him, chest heaving, practically humping your ass from behind as he buries his face in your hair.
“baby,” he whines softly into your ear, voice breaking on a suppressed moan. “please. i want to feel you around me, it’s driving me crazy.” the sheer desperation in his voice and the heavy press of his cock against your thigh gets you much more worked up than you’d like to admit. your shorts grow wetter by the second, but you hold your ground.
“no. not until you admit that i was right.”
gojo squeezes his eyes shut tightly, letting out a frustrated breath before finally snapping. “fine! i admit it, i lose. can i please fuck you, now?”
“nooo,” you tease lightly. “say it properly. that the great gojo satoru has no restraint around his girlfriend.”
“fiiine, whatever,” he growls, wrapping his arm tight around your waist. “you were right and i can't control myself around you. please, baby. it actually hurts.”
“okay, toru,” you whisper. “go ahead.”
and he doesn't hesitate, not for a single second. satoru hooks his fingers into your shorts, pulling them cleanly off your legs and tossing them to the foot of the bed, pushing his boxers down in one swoop. hoisting your top leg up, he guides his bare tip through your dewy folds. you can feel him, throbbing and hot against your cunt. you both let out a moan at the contact.
“fuck, you're already this wet for me?” he teases, voice low and husky as he lines himself up with your needy entrance. “looks like i wasn't the only one who couldn't control themselves today.”
“shut up and fuck me already,” you breathe out.
“yes, ma’am.”
satoru pushes into you with one smooth motion, filling you completely from behind. he’s angled well, his dick hitting deep inside your velvety walls, hands gripping your hip to pull you back with every thrust into you. the friction of his skin against yours sends electricity straight down your spine, making you shudder with pleasure. his rhythm grows faster, desperate to make up for lost time from today.
“you feel so—hah—good, baby,” satoru chokes out.
you clench and squelch around his thick cock, mouth agape against the pillow under your head. your thighs tremble and satoru is grunting into your ear whilst you moan his name out. his fingertips squeeze into your plush flesh tighter, dragging your leg back even further so that you’re even more spread for him. one of your hands grips the soft bedsheets as the other comes down to rub tight circles against your clit.
“c-close— mmh— toru—” you babble, and you feel him nod behind you.
the sensation is all too much for you, and within mere minutes, both of you are coming undone, him spilling his warm cum inside of you as your walls flutter around his dick. he groooaans your name out and you whimper his as your orgasm washes over your entire body.
as your breathing gradually slows and your legs falls back onto the mattress, gojo rests his hand over your bare hip and pulls the blanket over both of you.
“you know,” he murmurs, pressing a warm kiss to your nape. “you should go pantless more often.”
you reach back and smack his thigh playfully. “you’re such a perv.”
When Ryomen 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 found a temple girl still on her knees after he had burned it to the ground, he thought you'd be perfect to take as his.
𝓒𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 · 𝟏𝟖+ 𝒎𝒅𝒏𝒊 · ꒰ 𝒇. 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 ⋮⋮ 𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒎!𝒔𝒖𝒌𝒖𝒏𝒂 ⋮⋮ mentions of weapons (knife) ⋮⋮ reader at one point tries to take his life ⋮⋮ mention of blood ⋮⋮ 𝒗𝒊𝒓𝒈𝒊𝒏 reader ⋮⋮ p in v ⋮⋮ his two cks mentioned ⋮⋮ cervix kissing ⋮⋮ tummy bulges ⋮⋮ cum-flated ⋮⋮ c-pied ⋮⋮ 𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒍 f. rec ⋮⋮ he eats you out under a pear tree ⋮⋮ bathtub 𝒔𝒆𝒙 ⋮⋮ dp ⋮⋮ nipple play ⋮⋮ mentions of pregnancy ꒱
The Heian era stretched long and bloody under skies that never quite cleared of smoke. Villages burned not for conquest alone, but because Ryomen Sukuna found the sight of flames prettier than the thatched roofs they devoured.
He moved like calamity given legs, four arms thick with corded muscle, tattoos crawling black across scarlet skin, eyes the color of fresh-spilled blood and just as hungry. They called him the King of Curses long before any true cursed spirit bore the name; humans feared him the way prey fears the open mouth of a tiger, and with good reason.
He slaughtered priests mid-chant, crushed shrine maidens beneath his geta, left offering bowls overturned and spilling rice across blood-slicked tatami. Faith irritated him. Devotion irritated him more. It was the only thing that ever made him pause long enough to really look at someone.
You were different in the way a single unbroken flower is different in a field turned to ash.
The temple sat modest on its hill, cedar beams darkened by centuries of incense. You had spent your life inside its walls. Sweeping stone paths at dawn, replacing withered chrysanthemums, murmuring sutras until your voice felt less like your own and more like something borrowed from the kami themselves.
Your hands were calloused only from scrubbing floors and carrying water; your body soft in the way of someone who had never known violence except as stories whispered after dark. When war finally clawed its way up the mountain road, you did not run. You knelt deeper. Forehead to the cool floor, palms pressed together, lips shaping the same prayer you had spoken every morning since childhood.
Sukuna found you like that.
The sliding doors exploded inward in a spray of splinters. Smoke curled around his silhouette as he stepped inside, two of his arms crossed, the other two loose at his sides. Blood still dripped from the knuckles of his rightmost hand; somewhere behind him a monk’s severed head rolled to a stop against a lantern post. He tilted his head, regarding you. You did not lift your gaze. You did not scream. You only whispered the next line of the sutra, voice trembling but unbroken.
He laughed once the sound of it came out low and rough, amused in a way that made the air feel heavier.
“Still praying,” he said, voice like gravel dragged over silk. “Even now.”
You swallowed. Tears slipped free, hot against your cheeks, but your hands stayed joined.
He crossed the prayer hall in three strides. One massive hand closed around the back of your neck. Not cruel yet, only possessive. He lifted you as though you weighed nothing, your knees scraping the floorboards before they left them entirely. Your prayer beads clattered to the ground. You reached instinctively for them; he caught your wrist mid-motion and pinned it behind you with casual strength.
“If I’m not there,” you managed, voice cracking on every word, “who will take care of the temple?”
He went still.
For one heartbeat the only sound was the crackle of distant fires and your own uneven breathing.
Then he leaned in until his mouth brushed the shell of your ear.
“That’s what I like about you already,” he murmured. “You think the gods still need you.”
He carried you out of the ruined temple slung over one shoulder like a prize of war. You beat uselessly at his back until your strength gave out; tears soaked the fabric stretched across his shoulder blades. The last thing you saw of your home was the torii gate tilting sideways, half-consumed by flame.
His fortress crouched against jagged black cliffs, more cavern than castle—rough-hewn stone corridors lit by flickering braziers, air thick with the smell of iron and cedar smoke. Servants scattered like leaves when he entered, heads bowed so low their foreheads nearly kissed the floor. Only one did not flinch: Uraume, pale and composed, white hair falling straight as a blade. They regarded you with cool interest as Sukuna dumped you unceremoniously onto the wide, low platform that served as his sleeping mat.
You scrambled backward until your spine hit the wall, kimono tangled around your knees, chest heaving. The room was vast, shadowed, dominated by his presence even when he turned away to shrug out of bloodied outer robes. No partition. No second mat. No door that closed between you and him.
You were his now.
He did not speak the words. He did not need to.
Uraume approached without being summoned, carrying a lacquered tray. Steaming rice, grilled fish, pickled vegetables arranged with meticulous care. A clay cup of water. They knelt before you, expression unreadable.
“Eat,” they said simply. “He does not tolerate weakness in what belongs to him.”
You stared at the food, stomach twisting with nausea and hunger in equal measure. Your fingers shook when you reached for the chopsticks.
Later, after the tray had been cleared away. Uraume returned with folded yukata of soft undyed silk and a wooden tub already filled with heated water scented faintly with yuzu. They gestured toward a screened alcove at the far side of the chamber.
“Wash,” they instructed. “He will want you clean.”
You obeyed because there was nothing else to do.
The water was almost too hot; it turned your skin pink as you sank into it, knees drawn to your chest. You scrubbed mechanically, arms and shoulders, the crook of your neck, until every trace of soot and temple incense had been erased. Your hair hung heavy and dripping when you finally stepped out. Uraume waited with a dry cloth and the yukata. They did not touch you; they simply watched until you had dressed, until the sash was tied neatly at your waist.
When you emerged from behind the screen, Sukuna was already reclining on the wide mat, one elbow propped beneath him, four eyes fixed on you with lazy predatory interest. The yukata clung slightly to still-damp skin. You felt naked beneath his gaze despite the layers.
He crooked two fingers.
You hesitated.
He crooked them again, but slower this time, deliberately.
You crossed the room on unsteady legs and sank to your knees at the edge of the mat, head bowed, hands folded in your lap the way you had been taught to approach superiors. The posture felt wrong here. Too reverent. Too much like prayer.
He reached out, caught your chin between thumb and forefinger, and tilted your face up.
“You still smell like incense,” he said, almost thoughtful. “I’ll have to fix that.”
His thumb dragged once across your lower lip rough and warm, a soft press.
Then he released you.
“Sleep,” he ordered, lying back and closing two of his eyes while the other two remained trained on you. “You’ll need your strength.”
There was no spare futon. No corner to curl into. Only the space beside him on the wide mat, close enough to feel the furnace heat rolling off his body.
You lay down carefully, on your side, facing away from him, every muscle rigid. Tears slipped silently into the thin pillow beneath your cheek.
Behind you, he let out a single exhale that sounded almost like a laugh.
“Good girl,” he murmured into the dark. “Faithful things last longer when they learn their place.”
The braziers guttered low. The fortress settled into uneasy quiet.
And you, stolen from the gods, lay awake listening to the slow, steady rhythm of the monster’s breathing at your back, knowing he had only begun to claim what he wanted.
The first days blurred into a haze of stone walls and flickering firelight. You kept to the edges of the chamber like a shadow trying to disappear into itself. Every time Sukuna moved, your body tensed up, waiting for the strike that never came. Not yet. He lounged on the wide mat most hours, sometimes sleeping with all four eyes closed (a rare vulnerability you noted and immediately regretted noticing), sometimes watching you with the lazy patience of a cat that has already cornered its mouse. Uraume appeared at regular intervals with trays of food you refused to touch. Rice cooled untouched. Fish grew dull-eyed on the lacquer. Pickles wilted. You told yourself it was defiance. You told yourself starvation was preferable to accepting anything from the thing that had burned your world down.
Hunger, though, was not impressed by principle.
Your stomach clawed itself hollow. Your limbs felt heavy, your head light. You sat with your back to the wall, knees drawn up, arms wrapped tight around them as though you could hold yourself together that way. Sukuna noticed. Of course he did. He noticed everything.
On the fourth evening or perhaps the fifth; time had begun to slip like sand. He rose from the mat abruptly. Uraume had just left another untouched meal on the low table. Sukuna crossed to it in two strides, picked up the bowl of rice still faintly warm, and carried it to where you sat.
You pressed harder against the stone.
He crouched before you. He was too close, always too close. Balancing the bowl on one massive palm. The other three hands rested loose at his sides, deceptively calm.
“Eat,” he said. Not an order this time. Almost conversational.
You stared at the floor between his knees. “No.”
A beat of silence. Then a low sound escaped from him, not quite a laugh, more like air pushed through teeth.
“You think starving yourself hurts me?” He tilted his head, studying the stubborn line of your jaw. “It only makes you weaker. And I don’t keep broken things.”
“I’m not yours to keep.”
The words came out quieter than you meant, cracked from disuse and thirst. Still, they hung between you like a thrown gauntlet.
He considered them. Then, without warning, one of his lower hands lifted in a slow and deliberate motion to cup the side of your face. Not rough. Not gentle either. Just there. Warm. The calluses on his thumb rasped once against your cheekbone.
“You will eat,” he said, softer now, almost amused. “Or I will make you.”
You jerked your head away. “I said no.”
His grip tightened, just enough to still you but not enough to bruise. The other hand, the one holding the rice moved closer. He scooped a small clump with two fingers, brought it to your lips.
You clamped your mouth shut. Turned your face aside.
He waited.
The seconds stretched. Your pulse hammered in your ears. Hunger roared louder than pride.
Then slowly, so slowly you hated yourself for it. Your lips parted. Just enough.
He pushed the rice inside.
You chewed mechanically, eyes stinging, hating the way your body betrayed you by swallowing. The grains were perfectly soft, faintly sweet from whatever subtle seasoning Uraume used. You hated that too.
Sukuna watched every motion. The way your throat worked. The way a single grain clung to the corner of your mouth until his thumb brushed it away.
“Good,” he murmured.
He fed you another bite. Then another. Never rushing. Never forcing more than you could take at once. One of his free hands settled at the small of your back, not pulling you closer. Just resting there, steadying you as though you might topple sideways from the effort of hating him while your body demanded to live.
You ate half the bowl before shame choked you again. You tried to turn your head.
He didn’t let you.
The last bite he held between his fingers longer than necessary, letting you feel the heat of his skin, the faint pulse beneath it. When you finally took it, your soft lips closing around the pads of his fingers for one humiliating second and then something flickered in his eyes. Not lust, not yet. Satisfaction. The quiet pleasure of something stubborn beginning to bend.
He set the empty bowl aside. His hand lingered on your cheek a moment longer before falling away.
“You’ll eat tomorrow,” he said, rising to his full height again. “And the day after. And every day I decide you’re still useful alive.”
You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, glaring up at him through wet lashes. “I hate you.”
He gave a small and sharp smile that was entirely genuine, you feared.
“I know.”
He returned to the mat, stretched out on his side, and closed two eyes while the other two stayed fixed on you. You stayed where you were, back to the wall, knees still drawn tight, tasting rice and salt and the ghost of his fingers on your tongue.
Hunger sated. Defiance cracked, just a little.
And in the shadowed quiet of the fortress, the King of Curses watched his stolen faithful with the patience of someone who already knew how this story ended.
Days bled into one another until the rhythm of captivity began to feel less like chains and more like gravity was inescapable and constant. Wearing down edges you once thought sharp. You no longer pressed yourself to the farthest wall when he entered the chamber. You no longer flinched at every shift of his massive frame. Vigilance replaced panic; observation replaced despair.
....
You learned the fortress the way a prisoner learns the bars of a cage. The low wooden chest near the alcove held his smaller blades. A curved tanto with black-wrapped hilts, edges honed to split hairs. You watched him retrieve them once, twice, committing the latch’s soft click to memory. Uraume never lingered near it; Sukuna himself seemed to forget it existed most days, as though no one in this place would dare touch what was his.
You told yourself the knowledge was survival. You told yourself the plan forming in the quiet hours, when his breathing evened out beside you and the braziers burned low....was justice that you'd claim. The temple still haunted your dreams: splintered beams, overturned altars, the last prayer dying on your lips as he carried you away. Revenge felt righteous. Necessary.
And yet.
His body had become a fixture. Four arms that could crush stone now draped carelessly across the mat at night. One slung over your waist when he slept deepest, another curled beneath his own head, the remaining two loose at his sides. The heat of him seeped through silk and skin alike, a furnace you could no longer pretend to ignore. You hated how your muscles learned to relax against that warmth instead of locking in terror. Hated how, when he spoke in low commands, mocking observations and that your replies came edged but quieter now. Less venom. More resignation. Familiarity was its own slow poison.
He noticed.
Of course he did.
Sometimes his gaze lingered longer when you answered him. A faint curl at the corner of his mouth. Not quite a smile. Something pleased. Something patient.
You waited for the right night.
It came without fanfare.
The moon hung thin and pale beyond the narrow window slits. Sukuna had returned late from whatever carnage called him away, reeking faintly of smoke and copper. His outer robes discarded carelessly near the entrance. He collapsed onto the mat with a grunt, eyes sliding shut faster than usual. Exhaustion, perhaps. Or arrogance. Two eyes closed completely; the other pair fluttered half-lidded for a moment before drifting shut as well.
You lay motionless beside him until his breathing deepened slowly, even pulls that lifted the wide plane of his chest. Minutes stretched. Your heart slammed against your ribs so hard you were certain he would wake from the sound alone.
He didn’t.
You moved.
Silent as temple shadow, you slipped from beneath the thin cover. Bare feet met cold stone. You crossed to the chest on trembling legs, fingers numb as they worked the latch. The blade came free easily, it was lighter than you expected, wicked curve glinting faintly in the dying ember light. You gripped it so tightly your knuckles ached.
Adrenaline sang in your veins. Fear. Fury. Something darker.
You returned to the mat.
Sukuna laid on his back, arms splayed, tattoos stark against scarlet skin. Vulnerable in sleep the way only predators can afford to be. You swallowed once hard, then swung one leg over his waist. The yukata rode up your thighs as you settled your weight astride him, knees bracketing his hips. He was massive beneath you; your thighs strained to accommodate the breadth of him. The heat of his body immediately soaked through the thin layers separating you.
You leaned forward.
One hand braced on his chest. Feeling the steady thud of a heart too strong, too steady while the other brought the blade to his throat. The edge kissed skin just below the sharp line of his jaw. A single bead of blood welled where steel met flesh, dark and sluggish.
You pressed.
Not deep. Not yet.
Just enough to feel resistance. Enough to imagine the rest.
Your breath came in shallow pants. Tears pricked your eyes. Not from fear now, but from the sheer weight of what you were about to do. What you had to do.
He didn’t stir.
Not yet.
But beneath you, his body registered the new pressure. A subtle shift of his muscles tightening minutely under your thighs, the slow rise of his chest hitching once as though some animal instinct registered weight, warmth, threat.
His four arms remained lax.
His eyes stayed closed.
The blade trembled in your grip.
And still he slept. Deep enough that the King of Curses had not yet woken to the faithful girl straddling his waist with death at his throat.
He felt you.
Not the weight of your body first, not the press of your thighs around his hips or the tremor in your knees but the cold kiss of steel against his throat. A single drop of blood had already slid down the side of his neck, dark against scarlet skin, before instinct finally pulled him from sleep.
His eyes opened slowly.
Two at first, then the other pair followed, crimson slits widening into lazy, unhurried focus. No jolt. No surge of violence. Just that deliberate unfurling of awareness, like a beast deciding whether the thing on its back was prey or amusement.
He tilted his head just enough that the blade bit a fraction deeper, another thin line of red welling up. His gaze locked on yours.
You froze.
The hand holding the tanto stayed firm, knuckles white, but the rest of you went still as temple stone. You had never been this close. Not really. Not like this. You had seen him bare-chested after baths, yukata slipping low on his shoulders, tattoos shifting over muscle as he moved. You had felt the furnace heat of him at night when one careless arm draped across your waist. But this, straddling the King of Curses, your thighs spread wide over the hard plane of his abdomen, faces inches apart, was different. Intimate in a way that made your pulse roar in your ears. His breath ghosted warm against your lips. His eyes held yours without blinking, pupils blown wide in the low light, drinking you in.
“You’re quite brave,” he murmured, voice rough from sleep, low enough that it vibrated through your joined bodies. “Finally took your chance.”
Your mouth opened. Closed. The words came anyway, cracked and furious and trembling all at once.
“You took everything from me,” you whispered. “You’ll take from others just like you did me.”
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t deny it. One corner of his mouth curled small, almost fond.
“I will,” he said simply. No apology. No justification. Just truth laid bare between you like an offering.
Then quieter, almost gentle: “You should follow through with something if you’ve made up your mind.”
The blade trembled. Your arm ached from holding it steady. This was it. The moment you had rehearsed in the dark, the righteous stroke that would end him, end the fear, end the slow unraveling of who you used to be.
You couldn’t.
The steel stayed pressed to his throat, but your fingers wouldn’t close. Wouldn’t push. Tears burned hot at the corners of your eyes; you hated them as much as you hated him.
His lower pair of hands moved first slow, carefully. Sliding up your arms until they settled on your shoulders. The grip was firm. Not bruising. Just enough to anchor you.
He shook you once—light, almost playful.
“Do it,” he said.
You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe right.
“If I don’t kill you,” you managed at last, voice breaking, “you’ll harm more.”
Something flickered in his eyes— amusement, maybe, or recognition. Then motion.
In one fluid roll he flipped you.
The world tilted. Stone mat rushed up to meet your back. Air punched out of your lungs. He loomed above you now. He was massive and unyielding, entirely caging you beneath the breadth of his chest and the weight of four arms. One hand braced beside your head. Another pinned your waist to the mat, your trembling fingers keeping the blade trapped between your palm and his throat. The edge still kissed skin; a fresh bead of blood slid down to drip onto your collarbone, warm and slow.
He didn’t pull away.
Didn’t disarm you.
He simply looked down at you, his eyes half-lidded, mouth curved in that same unreadable almost-smile.
You stared up at him, chest heaving, the tanto still clutched in your shaking fingers, steel pressed firm to the pulse at his neck.
Neither of you moved.
The braziers crackled faintly in the silence.
Blood dripped.
And in the shadowed space between your bodies. He was close enough for you to feel every rise and fall of his breath against your skin and you both simply looked at each other, suspended on the razor’s edge of what came next.
His lower arms moved first, slowly. Wide palms broad and warm as they settled around your waist. Fingers splayed wide, thumbs brushing the dip just above your hipbones. He held you firmer then, not trapping, not bruising, just claiming the shape of you as though measuring how perfectly you fit in his grasp. The pressure was steady. Inescapable. Your yukata was already loosened from the roll, it slid higher under the coaxing slide of his hands. Silk whispered against skin until cool air kissed the bare curve of your thighs, the soft swell of your hips, the vulnerable heat between them.
You were bare underneath.
He was bare too.
The realization hit like a struck bell: the hard, thickening length of him—two cocks, heavy and hot pressed flush against the slick seam of your cunt. No fabric between you now. Just skin on skin. The blunt heads nudged against your folds with every shallow breath he took, smearing warmth, promising stretch, promising ruin. Your body clenched on nothing; a shameful pulse of wet heat answered him before your mind could catch up.
It was too much.
Too aware.
Too close.
He never looked away.
Those four crimson eyes held yours, unblinking-unhurried— watching every flicker of defeat cross your face. Your lips parted on shallow pants. Tears clung to your lashes. The tanto still trembled in your grip, edge kissing the steady throb at his throat, but the fight had bled out of your arm. You looked small beneath him. Broken open. Waiting.
He leaned forward until his mouth hovered a breath from yours.
“Stupid girl,” he murmured, voice gravel-rough and almost tender.
Then he kissed you.
Slow.
Sweetly.
His lips caught yours with a gentleness that felt obscene coming from him a soft press, slow drag. His tongue tracing the seam of your mouth until you opened for him on instinct. He sucked at your lower lip, gentle pull that drew a broken sound from your throat. One of his upper hands cradled the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair, tilting you deeper into the kiss while his lower hands pushed the yukata higher still, to bare the soft plane of your stomach, the undersides of your breasts, every inch of skin he could reach.
He moaned into your mouth low and hungry, it vibrated through your chest.
The blade slipped.
Your fingers loosened. The tanto fell from your grasp, clattering sharp against the stone floor somewhere to the side. Forgotten.
Then your now empty hand rose instead, hesitant and trembling and unsure, until your fingers found the nape of his neck. Tangled in the coarse silk of his hair. Pulled.
Not away.
Closer.
You arched beneath him without meaning to, breasts brushing the hard planes of his chest, cunt sliding slick against the underside of one thick cock. The friction dragged a whimper past your lips; he swallowed it, tongue stroking deeper, tasting the salt of your tears and the faint sweetness still lingering from the rice he’d fed you nights before.
His lower hands tightened on your waist, his thumbs stroking slow circles over your hipbones. Keeping you pinned, keeping you open, keeping you his.
He broke the kiss only long enough to drag his mouth along your jaw, down the column of your throat where his lips felt your pulse flutter against it. His tongue flicked over the skin there, tasting your defiance turned to surrender.
You shuddered.
Your fingers tightened in his hair.
And beneath him, bare and trembling, you stopped pretending you wanted anything else.
His lower hands tightened on your hips, thick fingers digging into soft flesh just enough to bruise tomorrow and he rocked you forward in a slow, steady grind. Your slick cunt dragged along the thick undersides of his cocks, parting around them, coating them in the shameful evidence of your want. The friction was obscene: hot, slippery, relentless. Every slide nudged the swollen heads against your clit before gliding back, teasing without entering, promising everything and giving nothing yet.
A raw and broken moan tore from your throat in an entirely involuntary rush. You couldn’t swallow it down. Couldn’t pretend it wasn’t there.
He exhaled against your skin, a low, pleased rumble that vibrated through your ribs.
“That’s it,” he murmured, voice thick with dark satisfaction. “So wet for me, doll… so wet already.”
The words landed like a brand. You swallowed hard, throat clicking, but your arms only wound tighter around his neck, your fingers knotting in his hair, nails scraping scalp as though you needed to anchor yourself to the very thing destroying you. Your thighs trembled where they bracketed his waist; your hips jerked once on their own, chasing the pressure before shame could catch up.
He kissed down the column of your throat, slow and open-mouthed, then lower still. His mouth found the soft swell of your breasts, tongue flicking once over one peaked nipple before he closed his lips around it. Sucked. Hard. The wet pull drew a sharp gasp from you; your back arched off the mat, offering more without meaning to. He switched to the other, teeth grazing just enough to sting before soothing with slow, languid licks. Your nipples throbbed under the attention, so sensitive and aching now flushed dark from his mouth.
One of his upper hands slid down the inside of your thigh, palm rough and warm, pushing your leg wider. Then the other was spreading you open until the cool air of the chamber kissed the slick heat between your thighs. Exposed. Vulnerable. His cocks slotted perfectly now, the thick lengths gliding through your folds, the blunt heads catching on your clit with every roll of his hips. Harder. Faster. The rhythm built until wet sounds filled the quiet room: your arousal, his low groans, the slick slide of skin on skin.
A high and helpless whimper escaped your lips, lifting your hips to meet him, cunt clenching around nothing, desperate for more than friction. Tears slipped free again, sliding down your temples into your hair, but they weren’t from fear this time. Not entirely.
He lifted his head just enough to watch your face, with eyes half-lidded, mouth wet and swollen from kissing you earlier. One hand came up to thumb away a tear, almost gentle.
“Look at you,” he rasped, rocking you harder against him, letting you feel every ridged inch of him glide over your clit. “Already dripping. Already begging without saying the word.”
Your breath hitched. Your fingers dug deeper into his shoulders.
He leaned in again, his mouth brushing yours, not quite kissing, just breathing you in.
“Say it,” he murmured against your lips. “Tell me what you want, little faithful. Or I’ll keep you right here teasing your eager cunt, until you cry for it.”
Your thighs shook. Your cunt pulsed. The heat between you was unbearable now so wet, achingly unbearable.
And still he waited with slow patients, rocking you slow and filthy along the length of him. Watching every flicker of surrender cross your face.
You broke first.
The words slipped out on a trembling exhale, soft and fractured that was barely louder than a whisper. “Please…”
It wasn’t surrender spoken in anger. It was need, raw and stripped bare, voice cracking on the single syllable like glass under pressure. Your thighs shook where they cradled his hips; your fingers clenched in his hair so tight it pulled at the roots. You were shaking apart beneath him, cunt fluttering uselessly against the slow, torturous glide of his cocks along your folds, and still he waited. Watching you succumb. Drinking in the way defeat looked on your face when it finally wore your pride thin.
His mouth curved against your temple, almost gentle.
“That’s it, sweet girl,” he murmured, voice low and thick with something darker than amusement. “I’ll fill you up.”
He shifted then in a slow and purposeful motion, aligning the thicker of his two cocks with your entrance. The blunt, leaking head nudged past your folds, parting slick lips that had never known anything but empty ache. You were untouched. Virgin. He could feel it in every instinctive clench, every flutter of your inner walls trying to decide whether to push him out or pull him deeper. Your body was too eager and too overwhelmed, tight untrained muscles fluttering wildly around the intrusion before he’d even breached you properly.
He kissed you again, deeper this time. His lips pressed more firmly, tongue sliding slow and possessive against yours, swallowing the small, helpless sounds that spilled from your throat as he began to press forward.
The fat tip breached you.
Your cunt squeezed hard, reflexive and impossibly tight around the sheer size of him. A sharp, startled cry muffled against his mouth. He groaned low in his chest at the resistance, at the velvet heat clamping down like it wanted to strangle him already. Precum smeared inside you, thick and hot, easing the way just enough that he could inch forward another fraction. Your walls fluttered desperately around the fat crown trying to accommodate the sheer size of it. Failing and trying desperately again. Too much. Too full already and he’d barely started.
He held your hips steady with his lower hands, thumbs stroking soothing circles over the sensitive skin just above your mound while one upper hand cradled the back of your neck, keeping your mouth locked to his. The other braced beside your head, caging you without crushing.
“Relax,” he rasped against your lips, voice rough with restraint. “Breathe for me, doll. You’re taking it so well already.”
Another slow push.
Your back arched off the mat, a sharp gasp tearing free as another inch sank in. The stretch burned sweet, aching and so overwhelming. Your cunt spasming around him, milking the thick head like it couldn’t decide if it hated or craved the invasion. Tears slipped hot down your cheeks; he licked them away without breaking the kiss, tasting salt and surrender.
He didn’t rush.
He rocked into you with tiny, shallow thrusts working the his fat tip deeper with every careful roll of his hips, letting your body adjust inch by torturous inch. Your nails raked down his shoulders; your thighs trembled wide around him. The second cock laid against your cunt, still hard and heavy, it dragged along your clit with every motion, smearing slick, keeping the pleasure sharp and constant even as the stretch threatened to undo you.
You whimpered into his mouth a high and broken but there was neediness layered in.
He swallowed it.
Pressed deeper.
Your cunt yielded another reluctant inch for him, your walls fluttering, squeezing then fluttering again, your walls clinged to him so tightly he had to grit his teeth against the urge to slam home. Not yet. Not when you were still trembling like this, still so sweetly overwhelmed, still giving him every fractured sound and shudder.
He broke the kiss only to drag his mouth to your ear.
“Good girl,” he breathed, voice wrecked with want. “Let me in. Let me fill that tight little cunt the way it’s begging to be filled.”
Another slow, relentless push.
Your body opened a little, just barely around the thickest part of him.
And still he kept going in slow patient amd mercilessly trusts, determined to bury every inch until you were stuffed full and weeping for more.
Too big.
The thought looped through your mind like a broken sutra, too big, too big, too big as the thick head of his cock sank deeper, stretching you beyond what felt possible. Your walls fluttered wildly around him, spasming in protest and pleasure both, forced to yield inch by merciless inch. He swelled inside you, filling you up up up until every shallow breath pushed your belly taut, until you could feel the blunt pressure of him high against the deepest place inside.
Your body had no choice but to mould itself around him.
Soft inner walls reshaped themselves to the heavy ridge of his cock, clenching desperately, fluttering around him trying to push him out and pull him deeper all at once. He pushed in again slowly and relentless, and your cunt gave another reluctant inch, the stretch burning sweet and sharp until tears spilled freely down your cheeks. He was rearranging you from the inside, carving space where there had been none, claiming every fluttering inch as his.
The fat head kissed your cervix properly then, it pressed harder. You gasped, high and startled, hips jerking uselessly beneath him. He didn’t stop. Another shallow thrust and the tight ring of muscle yielded fully opening for him like it had been waiting, like your body had always known it would bend to this. He bottomed out with a low groan that vibrated through your joined bodies, cock buried to the hilt, pulsing hot against the deepest part of you.
“So tight,” he rasped against your throat, voice wrecked with restraint. “Look at you… taking it all. Opening right up for me like a good little thing.”
You whimpered softly, overwhelmed by the feeling, your nails digging crescent moons into his shoulders. Your cunt clenched hard around him, milking the thick length instinctively, every spasm dragging a rough sound from his chest. He stayed still for a long moment, letting you feel every inch, every throb, every vein. Letting your body adjust to the brutal fullness.
His second cock was still hard, still leaking as it dragged heavy along your clit with every tiny shift of his hips, smearing precum and your slick in filthy streaks. He could imagine it: both cocks splitting you open, stretching your poor cunt until it gaped around him, until you sobbed from the overstimulation alone. The thought made his hips twitch forward once sharp and involuntary, bumping your cervix again and drawing a choked cry from your lips.
But not yet.
He wasn’t going to force it. Not tonight.
He wanted to work this tight little cunt open on one first, to train it to take him properly, to crave the stretch, to weep and flutter every time he sank in deep. He rolled his hips in slow, grinding circles. Keeping himself buried to the root while the blunt head rubbed insistently against that sensitive inner spot. Your thighs shook around his waist; your breath came in ragged little pants.
He kissed you again messy, open-mouthed. Swallowing every broken sound from your quivering lips as he began to move.
Shallow thrusts at first, barely pulling out before sliding back in, letting your walls cling desperately to every retreating inch. Then deeper. Harder. Each stroke dragged along your fluttering walls, bumping your cervix, forcing it to soften further under the relentless pressure until it kissed the tip of him like a welcome.
Your body trembled beneath him, you were sweat-slick, overstimulated and utterly full. Your cunt squeezed him like a vice wet and hot around him but greedy now, coating him in slick that dripped down to soak the mat beneath you.
He groaned low into your mouth.
“That’s it,” he murmured, hips snapping onc deeper, it felt punishing, made your back arch and your toes curl. “Let it open for me, doll. Let me ruin this pretty cunt until it only knows my shape.”
Another thrust, harder still. Your cervix yielding completely now, letting him grind against the deepest place inside you.
You sobbed against his lips, the pleasure and pain blurring into something white-hot and overwhelming.
And yet still he moved slow when you needed slow, hard when your body begged for it. Working you open, reshaping you, claiming you until there was nothing left but the slick slide of him inside you and the broken, needy sounds spilling from your throat.
Fuck, it was so sloppy.
The way your cunt finally gave in and opened wide and wet and greedy around the thick length of him, cunt making obscene, slick sounds with every slow withdrawal and deeper plunge. Your walls clung desperately, fluttering and spasming, coated in a thick sheen of your own arousal that dripped down his shaft, down your thighs, soaking the mat beneath you in dark, glistening patches. No resistance left. Just raw, yielding heat that swallowed him whole every time he sank back in.
He watched it happen.
Watched the way your soft belly began to bulge properly now, unmistakably every time he bottomed out. The fat head of his cock pressed high against your cervix, then higher still, stretching your insides until the outline of him showed beneath your skin. A slow, obscene swell that rose just below your navel, then receded slightly when he pulled back, only to bloom again with the next deep thrust. He could see it. Feel it. The way your body reshaped itself around him, forced to accommodate every ridged inch until the shape of his cock was etched into your flesh.
He was mesmerised.
One of his upper hands left the mat and slid down, his palm broad and warm. His hand settled right over that curious swell. Fingers splayed wide, pressing gently at first, then firmer, feeling the hard length of himself moving beneath the soft layer of your stomach. He groaned low in his throat with rough, reverence. Hips stuttering once at the sensation.
“Look at that,” he rasped, voice thick with dark wonder. “Look how full you are, doll. Look how your little cunt bulges for me.”
You whimpered high and helpless, your head tipping back against the mat, tears slipping sideways into your hair. The pressure of his hand only made it worse, made you feel every inch more vividly, every throb, every slow grind against that deep, sensitive place inside. Your walls clenched hard around him in response; slick gushed anew, coating him, easing the next brutal slide home.
He rocked deeper but deliberately now. Watching the swell rise and fall beneath his palm like he was mapping new territory. His thumb traced the outline once slow, it felt possessive, larger fingers following the exact ridge of his cock as it pressed outward. Another groan tore from him, low and wrecked.
“Fuck,” he breathed, almost to himself. “I could watch this forever. Watch you take me… watch this pretty belly swell every time I fill you up.”
He leaned down, his mouth finding yours again, messy and hungry, kissing you through the next deep thrust that made the bulge bloom higher. His lower hands gripped your hips tighter, angling you just right so every stroke dragged along that spot that made your thighs shake and your cunt flutter wildly.
You sobbed into his mouth overwhelmed and overstuffed on his cock, ruined in the sweetest way, your nails still raking down his back as your body surrendered completely.
He didn’t speed up.
He kept it slow, torturously slow. Savoring every sloppy, wet slide, every visible proof of how thoroughly he was claiming you. Hand still pressed to your belly. Eyes fixed on the swell. Mesmerised by the sight of his own cock reshaping you from the inside out.
And still he moved against you deeper. Watching and feeling you. Owning every trembling inch of the faithful girl who had once held a blade to his throat.
Now you only held him. Deep you felt him, tummy bulging with how big he is, you felt full. Claimed and utterly his in this moment.
The wet noises filled the chamber were filthy and unmistakable. Every deep plunge of his cock dragged slick sounds from your stretched cunt: the lewd squelch of your walls clinging desperately to him, the wet slap of skin meeting skin, the obscene drip of your arousal coating his shaft and pooling beneath you. No hiding it. No pretending this wasn’t happening. Your body sang for him in every sloppy, soaked rhythm.
He fucked deeper into you now, faster. His lower hands locked around your waist like iron bands, holding you steady while he pulled you down hard onto every thick inch. The force of it jolted through you: cervix kissed roughly with each snap of his hips, the bulge in your belly rising sharp and obscene every time he bottomed out. Your thighs trembled uselessly around him; your nails raked red lines down his back. You couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe right. Only felt full, stretched and utterly claimed.
His second cock, still untouched against you dragged heavy and hot along your clit with every brutal thrust. The fat, leaking tip slid over the swollen bud in perfect, relentless friction: up when he pulled back, down when he slammed home. Edging you mercilessly. Building the pressure until your whole body wound tight, thighs shaking, cunt fluttering wildly around the cock already buried to the hilt.
“Fuuuck, look at you,” he growled against your throat, voice wrecked and reverent. “Taking it so deep… dripping everywhere… gonna cum for me, aren’t you, doll?”
You couldn’t answer. Only whimpered high, broken and needy, as the dual assault pushed you higher. The thick length inside you grinding against every sensitive spot; the second cock rubbing filthy circles over your clit until sparks burst behind your eyes.
Then it hit.
Hard.
Your cunt clamped down like a vice. Cunt spasming wildly and milking him in violent waves as you came undone around the fat cock splitting you open. A sob tore from your throat; your back arched off the mat, hips jerking uncontrollably as pleasure ripped through you in white-hot pulses. Slick gushed around him hot and messily coated his shaft, dripping down to slick the second cock still teasing your oversensitive clit. Your walls fluttered and squeezed, greedy and relentless, trying to pull him deeper even as your body shook apart.
He groaned low, almost sounding pained. His hips stuttering once at the sudden, brutal grip of your orgasm. His fingers dug harder into your waist, holding you pinned as he fucked you through it: short, punishing thrusts that dragged every last tremor from your cunt, making the bulge in your belly pulse with every slam.
“That’s it,” he rasped, mouth brushing your ear, voice thick with dark satisfaction. “Cum all over my cock… make it sloppy… make it yours.”
You shuddered, the aftershocks rolling through you. Hot tears now slipping down your cheeks as your cunt kept fluttering around him, still so full, still so stretched, still weeping slick with every slow grind he gave you now.
He didn’t stop moving.
Didn’t pull out.
Just kept you impaled deep on him, steadily watching your face with half-lidded eyes as your body trembled in the aftermath, the second cock still dragging lazy, teasing strokes over your throbbing clit.
Ready.
Patient.
Waiting to see how much more his sweet, ruined faithful could take.
He fucked into your creaming cunt with purpose now, his deep, punishing strokes that slapped wet and filthy against your thighs every time he bottomed out. Your slick had turned thick and white around his shaft, frothing at the base with every brutal plunge, coating him in creamy evidence of how thoroughly your body had surrendered. The bulge in your belly pulsed visibly with each thrust, rising sharp when he buried himself to the hilt, receding only to bloom again as he dragged back and slammed forward. Your walls fluttered helplessly around him, milking greedily, still spasming from the orgasm that had ripped through you moments before.
He groaned low, his voice was wrecked and ragged, his hips now snapping harder with speed. Chasing the tight, wet heat that gripped him like it never wanted to let go.
“Fuuuck look at this messy little pussy,” he rasped, one hand still pressed to the swell of your stomach, feeling himself move beneath your skin. “Creaming all over my cock… taking it so deep… gonna fill you up, doll. Gonna stuff this cunt so full you’ll feel me for days.”
Your head thrashed against the mat, fat tears streaming down, your mouth opened on broken moans you couldn’t swallow down. Your nails dug into his shoulders; your thighs trembled wide and useless around his waist. Every thrust knocked the air from your lungs, bumped your cervix, ground the fat head against that spot inside until stars burst behind your eyes again.
He was close.
You could feel it, the way his cocks throbbed heavier inside and against you, the way his rhythm stuttered, the low growl building in his chest. His lower hands clamped down on your hips, bruising and possessive. Sukuna yanked you down hard onto every upward snap as he fucked his way toward release.
Then it hit him.
A rough, guttural sound tore from his throat. Half growl, half moan as he slammed in one final time, burying himself to the root. His cock pulsed violently inside you, swelling thicker still, and then he came..hot and it felt endless inside of you.
Rope after thick rope flooded your fluttering pussy, his hot cum spurting deep against your cervix, filling you so fast, so much, that your walls couldn’t contain it all. Your cunt clenched reflexively around the invasion, milking him greedily, but there was too much. It leaked out around his shaft in creamy white streaks, dripping down to soak the mat, yet still he kept pumping his cum deeper. His hips grinding in slow, deep circles now, forcing every last drop higher inside you.
Your belly swelled visibly, bloating with the sheer volume of his release. The bulge that had once only shown his cock now rounded softer, fuller, stretching your skin taut as cum packed your womb and pussy full. You whimpered overstimulated, overwhelmed. Feeling the obscene pressure build inside, the heavy slosh of it every time he shifted even slightly.
He stayed buried deep, his cock still twitching, still leaking the last weak spurts inside you, while one hand slid up to cup the new, soft swell of your lower belly. Fingers splayed wide, pressing gently, feeling the warmth and fullness he’d forced into you.
“Fuck,” he breathed, voice low and reverent, eyes fixed on the way your cunt bulged around him, lips stretched tight, creamy cum seeping out in slow, thick rivulets. “Look at you… stuffed so full… bloating with my cum like a perfect little vessel.”
You shuddered beneath him, body trembling, your cunt still fluttering weakly around the thick length keeping you plugged with his cum. Tears slipped hot down your cheeks; your breath came in shallow, hiccuping pants.
He leaned down, mouth brushing your ear, voice dark and satisfied.
“You’re mine now,” he murmured, hips giving one last lazy roll that made more cum leak out around him. “Every inch… every drop… every swell. All mine.”
And still he didn’t pull out.
Just stayed seated deep letting you feel the heavy, warm weight of him inside, the obscene bloat of your belly, the slow drip of his seed claiming you from the inside out while the braziers flickered low and the fortress held its breath around the ruined faithful girl who had finally, completely, fallen.
The chamber settled into a heavy, humid quiet.
Only the low crackle of dying braziers and the uneven rhythm of your shared breathing remained. Your body felt foreign. Softened, swollen, reshaped from the inside out. His cock still rested deep inside you, softening slowly but not withdrawing, keeping every thick drop of his release plugged tight where it belonged. The obscene bloat in your lower belly had settled into a warm, heavy fullness that shifted with every shallow inhale. When you moved even slightly, you could feel the slow, lazy slosh of cum deep within you. It was thick, warm and still too much to be contained.
A faint trickle escaped anyway, creamy white slipping from where your stretched lips clung to the base of his shaft, sliding down the cleft of your ass to pool beneath you on the already ruined mat. The scent of it filled the air: musky, salty, unmistakably him. Mixed with the sharp tang of your own release. It clung to your thighs, your skin, your hair. There was no escaping it.
You lay limp beneath him, your limbs heavy and trembling faintly in aftershocks. Your cunt throbbed around the softening length still buried inside, fluttering weakly every few heartbeats like it couldn’t decide whether to mourn the stretch or beg for more. Tears had dried on your cheeks, leaving salty tracks; your lips felt swollen from his kisses, bruised and tingling.
He hadn’t moved much.
One lower hand stayed splayed over the soft swell of your abdomen, his palm warm. One thick thumb tracing idle, slow circles over the place where his cum had bloated you full. The other lower hand rested at the small of your back, holding you arched just enough to keep him seated deep. His upper arms braced on either side of your head, caging without crushing, while his face hovered close, his breath warm against your temple.
He watched you.
Not with hunger now. Not with that predatory gleam. Something quieter. Almost contemplative.
His thumb pressed once, gently against the rounded curve of your belly. You whimpered at the pressure; more cum leaked out in a slow, warm trickle. He exhaled through his nose, almost a laugh.
“Still leaking,” he murmured, voice low and rough from exertion. “Even plugged like this… your greedy little cunt can’t hold it all.”
You swallowed. Throat raw. No words came.
He shifted up slow, pulling back just enough that the fat head dragged along your oversensitive walls. You gasped sharp, startled as another thick gush of cum followed the motion, spilling free in a messy rush. Your thighs trembled; your hips jerked involuntarily.
He stilled again. Didn’t pull out completely.
Just watched the way your body reacted, how your cunt clenched around nothing now that he’d eased back an inch, how more of his seed dripped out in slow, obscene rivulets.
One hand slid up and cupped your cheek. Thumb brushing away the last damp track of tears.
“You took it well,” he said. Simple. Almost soft. “Took every drop. Look at you… all swollen and full. Marked inside and out.”
Your breath hitched.
He leaned down and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth. Not demanding. Not claiming. Just there.
Then he finally began to ease out.
Inch by torturous inch.
Your walls fluttered desperately around the retreating length clinging and fluttering, trying to keep him inside even now. When the head finally slipped free with a wet pop, a fresh flood followed thick and hot, pouring from your gaping cunt in a slow, creamy cascade. It soaked your thighs, the mat, everything beneath you. Your belly deflated slightly as the pressure eased, but the fullness lingered: a deep, aching warmth that pulsed with every heartbeat.
You whimpered again, the sound even more small and broken, legs falling open wider on instinct as your body tried to adjust to the sudden emptiness.
He stayed above you, watching silently.
One hand dipped between your thighs, then two thick fingers sliding easily through the mess, gathering the slick mix of cum and your release before pushing back inside. Slow. Deep. Plugging you again with just his fingers while the rest continued to leak around them.
“Shh,” he murmured when you shuddered. “Keep it in. Let it settle.”
His fingers curled once to press against that spot inside that made your hips twitch again, then they stilled.
He withdrew them slowly. Brought them to his mouth. Licked them clean with deliberate swipes of his tongue, his eyes never leaving yours.
Then he gathered you.
Four arms moved at once, lifting you effortlessly, cradling you against his chest as though you weighed nothing. Your head lolled against his shoulder; your legs draped limp over one arm. Cum still dripped from between your thighs, warm trails sliding down his skin now too.
He carried you to the alcove where the wooden tub still waited, water long cooled but clean. Uraume had prepared it earlier, before everything unraveled.
He lowered you into it carefully.
The water stung at first, cool against fever-hot skin, then it soothed. He knelt at the edge, one hand supporting your neck so your head rested against the rim, the other dipping beneath the surface to cup water and rinse the mess from your thighs, your folds, your belly.
Gentle.
Methodical.
He washed you like something precious. Something his.
When the water turned cloudy with the evidence of what he’d done, he lifted you out again and wrapped you in a thick, dry cloth, carried you back to the mat (a fresh one already laid out; Uraume was nothing if not efficient).
He laid you down. Pulled the thin cover over your trembling body.
Then he stretched out beside you. Close always close, with one arm draped over your waist, palm settling once more over the soft, lingering swell of your lower belly.
“Sleep,” he said against your hair. Voice low. Quiet. “You’ll need it.”
Your eyes fluttered shut, exhaustion crashing over you like a wave.
The last thing you felt was the steady rise and fall of his chest at your back, the warmth of his hand cradling the place he had filled, claimed, ruined, and somehow kept.
The flood had passed.
But the aftermath lingered, with you. You'd never been this close to being worshiped, oh how the roles were reversed and he would always keep you tethering between God and him.
Waking up felt entirely new after being so thoroughly claimed.
Your body no longer belonged only to you. Every slow breath reminded you of the night before in vivid, aching detail. Between your thighs your pussy throbbed with a deep, sweet pain that radiated outward from the very center of your cunt all the way into your womb.
The soft folds were swollen and tender, still slick with the remnants of everything he had pumped into you. Your inner walls felt stretched and sensitive, fluttering around nothing yet remembering exactly how it had felt to be split open and filled beyond capacity.
Your stomach carried a lingering heaviness, a warm fullness that made your lower belly feel softly rounded and claimed, as if his cum still sat heavy inside you even after the slow leak that had happened during the night.
You awoke first.
The chamber was dim, lit only by the faint glow of embers that had burned low through the hours. Cool morning air drifted in through the narrow slits high in the stone walls. Ryomen Sukuna lay asleep beside you, his massive frame taking up most of the wide mat.
One of his lower arms was still draped heavily across your waist, palm resting possessively over the gentle swell of your abdomen where he had pressed so many times the night before. His breathing was deep and even, chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm that you could feel against your back. Two of his eyes were closed in true sleep while the other pair remained half lidded in that strange way of his, as though even unconscious he refused to be entirely vulnerable.
You could not sleep any longer.
The intensity of every sensation kept your mind spinning. You wanted to push him off, to scramble away from the heat of his body and the weight of his claim, to reclaim some small piece of the girl who had once knelt quietly in a temple.
Your hands twitched with the urge. Yet when you shifted slightly, the solid warmth of him pressed closer instead of repelling you. His arm felt strangely comforting in the quiet dawn, heavy and steady like an anchor keeping you from drifting into panic. The scent of him clung to your skin, musk and smoke and something darker that made your pulse flutter even as shame burned in your cheeks.
Instead of shoving his hand away you reached down slowly and wrapped your fingers around his much larger one. You lifted it carefully and pressed his palm flat against your chest, right over the frantic racing of your heart. The contact was warm, rough, grounding.
Your heart hammered harder beneath his touch, wild and unsteady, begging for something you could not name. You wanted it to stop, wanted the frantic beat to quiet so you could think clearly again, so you could remember how to hate him properly.
He stirred.
Not fully awake yet, but aware enough. His fingers flexed once against your skin, then pressed harder, spreading wide so the heel of his palm rested firmly over your racing heart while his fingertips brushed the upper swell of your breast. The increased pressure stole your breath. A soft gasp slipped from your lips as the weight of his hand grounded the frantic flutter inside your chest.
He opened his eyes the rest of the way, crimson gaze settling on your face in the dim light. His voice came low and rough with sleep, rumbling through the quiet space between you.
“Does that feel better?”
You could only nod, small and shaky, unable to form words. Fresh tears slipped free from the corners of your eyes, sliding silently down your temples and into your hair. They were not from pain or fear this time, but from the overwhelming tangle of sensations and emotions you could no longer separate. The sweet ache between your thighs, the heavy fullness low in your belly, the comforting press of his hand over your heart, the way his body still curved protectively around yours even in half sleep. Everything felt too much and somehow not enough all at once.
He didn't pull away.
Instead he kept his palm exactly where you had placed it, pressing with steady, reassuring strength while his thumb brushed once, almost tenderly, along the curve of your collarbone. His other arms remained relaxed around you, one still cradling your waist, the rest loose but close.
You lay there in the quiet morning light, heart still racing beneath his touch, tears slipping free, pussy throbbing with the intimate memory of how deeply he had claimed you, stomach full and warm with the evidence of his release. And for the first time since he had carried you from the burning temple you did not try to run from the monster who held you.
You simply held his hand tighter to your chest and let the tears fall.
As the tears continued to fall your breathing slowly evened out once more. Exhaustion pulled you under again, your body surrendering to sleep despite the lingering ache and the storm of feelings swirling inside your chest. Your lashes fluttered once then stilled, cheeks still damp, lips slightly parted on a soft exhale.
The morning light filtering through the narrow slits in the stone walls painted gentle shadows across your face, highlighting the faint redness around your eyes and the way your brows had relaxed in unconscious rest.
Sukuna remained awake, propped on one elbow, four eyes fixed on you with an unusual stillness. He never wondered how he made anyone feel. Pain was something he understood perfectly well, something he could cause with casual ease and never lose sleep over. He had spilled rivers of blood without a second thought, had watched villages burn and priests scream and never once asked himself if his victims hated him in their final moments. Their pain simply existed because he decided it should.
Yet now he found himself watching the slow rise and fall of your chest and wondering.
Were you in pain because of him?
Not the sweet ache between your thighs or the heavy fullness still settled low in your belly, those he expected and even took quiet pride in. But something deeper. Did you hate him now, truly hate him, after he had taken you so completely? After he had spread you open beneath the monster who had ripped you from everything you once held sacred? After he had flooded your untouched cunt until your stomach swelled with his cum and your voice broke on moans you could not hold back?
His fingers moved without conscious thought, the rough pad of one thumb tracing the glistening path of a tear that had slipped down your temple. The skin there was soft, still warm from sleep and emotion. You looked tired in a way that went beyond the night’s exertions. A little more delicate, perhaps, the faithful servant girl who had once knelt in prayer now lying claimed and tear-streaked in the bed of the King of Curses.
And yet.
He remembered how you had pulled him closer.
When the blade had clattered to the floor your hand had risen not to push him away but to tangle in his hair and tug him down into the kiss. You had arched beneath him, thighs spreading wider, cunt clenching greedily around the thick cock that split you open. Even at the height of your surrender you had chosen to draw him in rather than shove him out.
That had to mean something.
If you had truly wanted him gone you would have pushed when the knife dropped. You would have fought when he rolled you beneath him. Instead you had whimpered into his mouth, nails raking down his back, hips lifting to meet every deep thrust until you came hard around him and then again when he flooded you full.
His thumb brushed another tear away, slower this time, almost careful.
He studied the relaxed lines of your face, the way your lashes cast faint shadows on your cheeks, the subtle parting of your lips. The hand you had pressed to your own chest still rested beneath his palm, your heartbeat steadier now in sleep but still quick enough that he could feel it. He did not move his hand. The weight seemed to comfort you even unconscious, and for reasons he did not bother examining he found he liked keeping it there.
Sukuna shifted slightly closer, careful not to wake you, letting the heat of his body wrap around yours once more. One of his lower arms remained draped across your waist, palm resting lightly over the soft swell of your belly where his claim still lingered warm and heavy inside you.
He watched you sleep for a long time, tracing idle patterns along your tear-damp cheek with the gentlest touch he had ever allowed himself. The questions lingered in the back of his mind, unfamiliar and strangely persistent.
Pain?
Hate?
Or something else entirely that had made a temple girl pull a monster closer instead of driving him away?
For the first time in his long, bloody existence Ryomen Sukuna did not have an immediate answer.
And so he simply lay there, holding you, watching the slow rhythm of your breathing, wondering quietly what it meant that you had chosen to keep his hand against your racing heart instead of pushing it away.
Daylight brought no mercy.
When you woke the second time the chamber was brighter, pale morning light spilling through the high slits and painting long stripes across the stone floor. Your body ached in ways you had never imagined possible. Every small movement sent fresh waves of soreness through your core. Sitting up hurt. The simple act of shifting your weight made the tender muscles between your thighs protest sharply, a deep, dull throb that radiated outward from your swollen pussy all the way into your womb. Your lower belly still carried that heavy, warm fullness, a constant reminder of how thoroughly he had flooded you. Even the soft silk of the yukata brushing against your skin felt too much against the sensitive folds that had been stretched and used so relentlessly the night before.
You moved slowly, carefully, wincing as you rose from the mat. Standing hurt. Walking hurt. The ache pulsed with every step, a sweet, shameful reminder that your body had been claimed and reshaped by the King of Curses. Shame burned hot in your cheeks. You felt weak for the way your cunt still fluttered faintly at the memory, for the way a fresh trickle of his dried cum clung to your inner thighs when you moved. You told yourself it was only pain. Only the aftermath of violence. Yet your mind kept drifting back to the heat of his hands, the low rumble of his voice, the way he had held you afterward.
Sukuna did not crowd you.
He sat across the chamber on the wide ledge by the window, one knee drawn up, four arms resting loosely. He watched you but did not rise. Did not approach. Did not speak. There was deliberate space between you now, an invisible line he refused to cross. He wanted you to come to him if you needed anything. He wanted you to choose, even in this small thing. After taking everything else he could at least grant you the right to decide when you sought his presence. He would not rob you of that last fragile scrap of agency.
You felt the absence of him immediately.
At first you told yourself it was relief. You busied your hands folding the thin cover on the mat, smoothing wrinkles that did not exist, avoiding his gaze. But the longer the silence stretched the more your body betrayed you. A quiet longing bloomed beneath the shame and the pain. You missed the solid heat of his frame behind you. Missed the weight of his arm across your waist. Missed the strange comfort of his palm pressed over your racing heart. The realization made fresh shame flood your chest. How could you want the monster who had burned your temple and stolen you away? How could you crave the very hands that had spread you open and filled you until you bulged with his release?
You felt too weak for wanting him.
When it came time to dress you turned your back to him completely. Your fingers trembled as you slipped out of the night yukata and into a fresh one, trying to hide the marks he had left on your skin, the faint bruises on your hips where his fingers had gripped, the soft swell of your belly that had not yet returned to its usual flatness. You kept your shoulders hunched, arms crossed over your chest, shrinking into yourself as though you could disappear from his sight if you made yourself small enough.
He saw every motion.
He saw the way you hid yourself from his gaze, the deliberate angle of your body, the nervous hunch of your shoulders. Something tight and unpleasant twisted in his chest at the sight. He did not like it. Not one bit. The faithful girl who had once met his eyes with trembling defiance now curled away from him like a wounded animal. But he made no comment. He did not rise. He did not reach for you. He simply watched in silence, jaw tight, four eyes narrowed with an emotion he refused to name.
The distance stretched between you, heavy and unspoken.
You finished tying the sash with shaking hands and stood there, back still turned, heart hammering against your ribs. Pain pulsed between your thighs with every heartbeat. Shame burned in your veins. And beneath it all, quiet and insistent, the growing need to cross the chamber and seek the very monster who had caused it all.
Sukuna waited.
Patient.
Silent.
Wondering how long it would take before the girl who had pulled him closer in the dark would choose to come to him again in the daylight.
The days that followed carried the same heavy ache between your thighs, a constant, throbbing reminder that refused to fade.
When you bathed alone in the wooden tub, the warm water only made everything more obvious. Your pussy had become a terrible, swollen mess. The outer lips were puffy and sensitive, the inner folds still slick with an unusual, persistent wetness that had nothing to do with the bath. Your fingers slipped between your thighs almost without permission, parting the tender flesh to inspect the damage. Heat bloomed instantly at the lightest touch. Thick, creamy remnants of his cum still clung inside you, mixing with your own fresh slick until everything felt glossy and overheated. Every gentle press made your cunt flutter and leak a little more, the slickness coating your fingertips in a shameful sheen.
You hated how aware your body had become.
Your eyes kept drifting to him whenever he was near. You told yourself you were only looking, only noticing. But the stares lingered. Over the sharp lines of his face, the powerful set of his four arms, the broad expanse of his tattooed chest, the hard ridges of his abdomen. Then lower. Always lower. The heavy, intimidating weight between his thighs that you now knew so intimately. Your imagination supplied every detail without mercy: the thick veins, the way both cocks had throbbed against you, the brutal stretch, the endless flood that had left you bloated and dripping.
Your cunt clenched hard at the memory, another rush of slick slipping free to trail down your inner thigh. Shame burned so fiercely you had to turn away and press your forehead to the cool stone wall until the feeling passed. Your body knew exactly what it wanted now. Your pussy knew what it craved. The knowledge made you feel impossibly dirty, impossibly weak. You pushed the thoughts aside with gritted teeth and forced yourself to finish bathing.
Eventually the longing for the outside world grew stronger than the shame.
One quiet afternoon you finally gathered the courage to approach him. He was lounging on the wide ledge again, watching the horizon through the window slit. You kept your gaze lowered, voice small and hesitant.
“May I… go outside? Just for a little while. I miss the feel of grass beneath my feet. Sunlight on my skin. Fresh air.”
He studied you for a long moment, crimson eyes unreadable. Then he gave a single nod.
“I will take you.”
He did not make you walk far. He carried you most of the way, one set of arms cradling you against his chest while the others remained free. The journey ended at a secluded lakeside not far from the fortress cliffs. Tall reeds swayed gently at the water’s edge. Smooth rocks lined the shore, warmed by the sun. The air smelled of pine and clear water. Sunlight glittered across the lake’s surface like scattered jewels.
You had not asked for the lake specifically, but Sukuna had chosen it anyway, thinking the open view and soft grass might please you. He set you down on a broad, flat rock near the water and stepped back, giving you space once more.
At first it was perfect.
You closed your eyes, tilted your face toward the sun, and let the warmth sink into your skin. Bare feet pressed into cool grass. Fresh air filled your lungs. For a few blissful moments the constant ache between your thighs faded into the background.
Then you sat.
The moment your weight settled on the rock the soreness flared again. Your swollen pussy lips spread slightly against the smooth stone through the thin layers of your yukata. The unusual slickness that had been building all morning could no longer be contained. A warm trickle escaped, then another. You felt the wet heat seep out of you in slow, shameful pulses. Your cunt clenched uselessly around nothing, leaking more with every flutter. Within moments a small, glistening puddle had formed beneath you on the dark rock, catching the sunlight in a blatant, shiny evidence of your body’s betrayal.
You froze.
Heat flooded your face. You pressed your thighs together tightly, but the damage was already done. The puddle shimmered between your legs, unmistakable.
Sukuna noticed immediately.
He had been standing a few paces away, arms crossed, scanning the treeline out of habit. His gaze dropped to the rock beneath you. Four eyes narrowed, then darkened with recognition. The corner of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile but something far more dangerous. He took one slow step closer, then another, until he loomed over you.
His voice came low, rough, and far too knowing.
“Look at that.”
He crouched, bringing himself eye level with the evidence. One large hand reached out, fingers hovering just above the glistening puddle without touching it.
“Still leaking for me, even out here in the sunlight. Your greedy little cunt doesn’t care where we are, does it?”
You couldn’t speak. Could only sit there burning with shame, the warm slick still slowly dripping from your swollen folds onto the rock while he watched every shameful drop with open, hungry fascination.
The lake sparkled innocently behind you.
The sun continued to shine.
But the ache between your thighs had just become impossible to ignore.
You stuttered the moment his words landed, voice cracking like thin ice.
“It is not… I did not mean…”
The denial died on your tongue. Heat crawled up your neck until your entire face burned. You swallowed once, twice, then forced the truth out in a trembling whisper.
“I have been… wetter there. Since that night. It will not stop.”
Sukuna’s smile widened, slow and wicked, four eyes gleaming with dark delight. He stayed crouched in front of you, one hand still hovering near the glistening puddle on the rock.
“Yes,” he drawled, voice low and teasing. “Why did you not tell me about that specifically earlier? I could have helped.”
You stared at him as though he had begun speaking in some ancient, forgotten tongue. Your mind refused to process the casual way he offered to fix the mess he had made between your thighs. The sheer audacity of it stole every thought from your head.
Tell him.
Tell the King of Curses that your pussy was a leaking, swollen, dripping mess because of him.
The words would not come. Humiliation crashed over you so violently that you twisted away, turning your back to him completely. Your shoulders hunched, arms wrapping tight around your middle as if you could hide the evidence of your body’s betrayal. Fresh tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. Your face felt scalding hot.
Behind you, Sukuna let out a soft, amused huff.
A big hand settled on your shoulder, warm and surprisingly gentle. The weight steadied you even as your heart hammered wildly. His fingers brushed upward, threading carefully through your hair, stroking slow and soothing from crown to nape.
“You have nothing to be ashamed of,” he murmured, voice quieter now, almost tender. “Do not cry.”
You were mortified anyway. Tears slipped free despite his words, sliding down your flushed cheeks. Your swollen cunt continued to leak in slow, warm pulses, the slickness soaking through the thin fabric of your yukata and making the rock beneath you even wetter. Every tiny shift reminded you of the mess, of how your body refused to forget the way he had stretched and filled you.
Sukuna’s hand slid from your hair to cup your jaw, turning your face back toward him with careful insistence. His thumb brushed a tear away.
“Come on,” he said, the words rough but coaxing. “I can make it all better.”
He glanced around once, scanning the quiet lakeside until his gaze settled on a nice, soft patch of grass beneath a large pear tree. The branches hung heavy with white blossoms and early green fruit, casting dappled shade over the thick carpet of clover and soft earth. Sunlight filtered through the leaves in gentle golden patches. It looked peaceful. Private.
Without waiting for permission he scooped you up, four arms cradling you against his chest as though you weighed nothing. You gasped at the sudden movement, the ache between your thighs flaring sharply, another rush of slick escaping to smear warm and wet against his skin.
“Sukuna, what are you doing?” Your voice came out high and shaky. “Put me down!”
You had no idea what crazy idea had taken root in his head. Your heart hammered wildly as he carried you the short distance toward the pear tree. One of his upper hands came up to cup the back of your head, thumb stroking slow and soothing along your scalp.
“Do not make a fuss,” he said, low and calm, the words rumbling through his chest into yours.
Then you saw the tree.
He carried you beneath its wide, blossoming branches and lowered you carefully onto the soft grass. The ground was cool and yielding beneath your back, blades tickling your bare calves where the yukata had ridden up. Sukuna settled himself on the grass beside you, massive frame casting you in cool shadow. His big fingers brushed along your thigh, gentle but possessive, tracing the sensitive skin just below the hem of your robe.
You squirmed under his gaze, heat flooding every inch of you. He looked at you for a long moment, eyes dark and intent.
“You do trust me, right?”
The question caught you off guard. You nodded shyly, barely able to meet his eyes. The heat was unbearable now. Being held so close in his arms had stirred something deep and needy inside you. Whatever he was about to offer, your body already wanted it.
Sukuna knelt between your parted knees, his massive frame blocking out the sky. One of his lower hands rested on your thigh, thumb stroking slow, lazy circles over the tender flesh. His eyes never left your face.
“Lie back,” he told you, voice dropping into that low, commanding timbre that made your stomach flutter and your cunt clench. “Let me see how much of a leaking mess this pretty cunt has become for me.”
Your breath caught hard in your throat. Shame and desperate want twisted together so tightly you could barely breathe. But the gentle pressure of his hand, the patient way he waited, and the memory of how good his touch had felt even through the pain chipped away at your resistance until nothing remained.
Slowly, trembling all over, you leaned back onto the soft grass beneath the pear tree. Your cheeks still burned crimson. Tears still clung to your lashes.
Sukuna’s smile returned, darker this time, full of wicked promise.
“Good girl,” he murmured. “Now open your legs for me. Let me take care of what belongs to me.”
You obeyed.
Your thighs parted wider on the grass, yukata pooling around your hips. The moment the cool air touched your exposed pussy a fresh gush of slick slipped free. Your cunt was soaked, puffy and glistening, inner lips swollen and shiny with the constant leak that had tormented you for days. Creamy strands of his earlier release mixed with your own arousal, making everything look obscenely wet and needy.
Sukuna’s eyes darkened further at the sight. He leaned in slowly, lowering his head between your spread thighs. His breath ghosted hot over your dripping folds.
“So needy,” he growled softly. “This cunt is dripping and aching so much. All this slick just for me.”
He spread you open with two thick fingers, parting your swollen lips so he could see every glistening inch. Then he gave you the first slow, broad lick from the bottom of your slit all the way up to your clit.
The moan that tore from your throat was loud and broken. His tongue was hot and rough, dragging through your creamy mess with deliberate hunger. He licked again, slower, savoring the taste of you mixed with the remnants of his own cum. A low, appreciative groan vibrated against your pussy.
“Relax,” he murmured against your folds, the word warm and wet. “All this mess… you should have told me sooner.”
He licked deeper, tongue pushing inside your fluttering entrance to scoop out more of the creamy slick. Your hips jerked involuntarily. Another moan spilled from you, high and helpless.
“How could you keep this from me?” he continued, voice rough with something close to anger, though his tongue never stopped its slow, thorough exploration. “I would have licked this pretty cunt the moment I knew it was leaking for me. Would have buried my face between your thighs and cleaned every drop until you stopped aching.”
He sucked gently on your swollen clit, then licked back down to push his tongue inside you again, fucking you with slow, wet strokes. Your hands flew to his hair, fingers tangling tight as pleasure crashed through the soreness. Your cunt fluttered and leaked even more onto his tongue, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet shade of the pear tree.
Sukuna growled against your pussy, clearly enjoying the taste, the mess, the way you trembled and moaned beneath his mouth.
“Never hide this from me again,” he ordered between long, hungry licks. “This cunt is mine. If it aches, if it leaks, if it needs to be eaten until you cry… you tell me.”
He sealed his mouth over you once more, sucking and licking with renewed intensity, determined to devour every drop of the slick, creamy mess he had created.
And beneath the pear tree, in the warm daylight, Sukuna feasted on your dripping cunt like a starving man who had finally been given exactly what he craved.
He was greedy for it.
Ryomen Sukuna lapped at your cunt with shameless hunger, broad tongue dragging slow and heavy through your soaked folds again and again. He could still taste himself from that night, the thick, musky flavor of his cum mixed with the sweet, slippery heat of your arousal. The combination made him groan low against your pussy, the sound vibrating straight through your swollen clit and deep into your core.
His large tongue tunneled inside you without mercy, thick and hot, working your tight walls open with every wet push. Your cunt fluttered desperately around the intrusion, trying to clench and pull him deeper at the same time. One of your hands flew to his hair, fingers clutching tight in the coarse strands as you unconsciously fed his tongue even deeper into your leaking heat.
Deeper.
Deeper.
His saliva mixed with your slick and the remnants of his earlier release, turning everything into a messy, creamy glide. He fucked his tongue into you in slow, deliberate strokes, curling the tip to press against that sensitive spot inside that made your thighs shake violently. Then he pulled back only to seal his lips around your fat, aching clit. He sucked hard, tongue flicking rapidly over the swollen bud while two of his fingers spread your pussy lips wider, exposing every dripping inch to the warm daylight filtering through the leaves.
The pleasure was overwhelming.
Patches of golden light sparked across your skin as the breeze moved the branches above, warm little spots dancing over your bare thighs and heaving chest. The grass beneath your back was soft and cool, blades tickling your spine every time your body arched. In the distance the lake lapped gently against the shore, a soft, rhythmic hush that blended with the wet, obscene sounds of his mouth devouring your cunt.
It all felt too surreal.
Too good.
You moaned loudly, the sound breaking into a whimper as he sucked your clit harder, tongue still thrusting deep inside you. Your hips rolled up against his face without shame now, chasing the relentless pleasure. Slick poured from you in fresh waves, coating his chin, his lips, dripping down to soak the grass beneath your ass. Every greedy lap of his tongue pushed more of his saliva into your fluttering hole, mixing everything into a warm, slippery mess that made your cunt feel even more open, even more sensitive.
Sukuna growled against your folds, the vibration sending sparks shooting up your spine.
“Look at you,” he rasped between long, filthy licks, voice thick with lust. “Soaking my tongue like a good girl. This cunt was made to be eaten. Made to leak for me.”
He spread you even wider with his fingers, thumbs pressing firmly on either side of your clit while his tongue drove back inside, fucking you deeper, harder, faster. Your hand tightened in his hair, nails scraping his scalp as your back bowed off the grass. The ache that had tormented you for days melted into liquid heat under his mouth. Every suck, every thrust of his tongue, every wet slurp dragged you closer to the edge.
The pear blossoms continued to drift down around you like soft white snow.
Golden sunlight danced across your trembling body.
The lake whispered in the background.
Sukuna was still buried face-first between your spread thighs, your cunt pulsed and leaked and fluttered around his greedy tongue while pleasure built higher and higher, threatening to drown you completely in the most surreal, overwhelming bliss you had ever known.
He was getting hard from your scent alone.
The sweet, musky smell of your dripping cunt filled his lungs with every greedy inhale, thick and heady, making both of his cocks twitch and swell heavy between his thighs. They hung thick and full, the fat heads already glistening with beads of precum that dripped slowly onto the soft grass beneath him. The more he tasted you, the harder they throbbed, veins standing out sharply along the thick shafts, the second cock brushing against the first with every slight shift of his hips. Yet Sukuna refused to touch himself. Not yet.
He wanted you to cum on his tongue first.
His large tongue kept tunneling deep inside your fluttering cunt, fucking in and out with wet, obscene strokes while his lips sealed tight around your swollen clit. He sucked harder, tongue curling and pressing against that sensitive spot inside you until your thighs trembled violently around his head. Your hand clutched desperately at his hair, fingers twisting tight as you fed him deeper, hips rolling up to meet every thrust of his mouth.
“Fuck… that’s it,” he growled against your soaked folds, voice muffled and rough. “Let me taste how much this greedy little cunt needs me.”
He spread you wider with two thick fingers, thumbs holding your puffy lips open so he could bury his face even deeper. His tongue plunged in again, long and hot, licking up every creamy drop of slick and leftover cum. He drank you down like he was starving, saliva mixing with your mess until everything was sloppy and shining. Then he pulled back just enough to suck your fat, aching clit into his mouth again, tongue flicking rapidly over the swollen bud while two fingers replaced his tongue inside you, curling hard against that spot that made stars burst behind your eyes.
Your moans grew louder, broken and desperate, echoing softly under the pear tree. The golden patches of sunlight danced across your arched body, highlighting the way your breasts heaved with every panting breath, the way your stomach tensed and quivered. The grass felt cool and soft against your back, blades sticking to your damp skin as you writhed beneath his relentless mouth.
Sukuna’s cocks leaked harder, thick strings of precum stretching from the tips to the ground, but he ignored them completely. His focus remained entirely on you, on the way your cunt clenched and fluttered around his fingers, on the sweet, slick taste flooding his tongue.
He sucked your clit harder, tongue lashing fast and firm, fingers thrusting deep and steady.
“Come on, doll,” he rasped against your pussy, voice dark and commanding. “Cum for me. Cum on my tongue like a good girl. Let me feel this pretty cunt squeeze and flood my mouth.”
Your whole body tightened, thighs clamping around his head, back bowing sharply off the grass. The pressure built unbearably fast, the wet sounds of his mouth and fingers filling the quiet air beneath the tree. The lake whispered in the distance, blossoms continued to drift down like gentle snow, but all you could feel was the hot, greedy pull of his lips and tongue dragging you right to the edge.
Sukuna groaned deeply, the vibration shooting straight through your clit as he sucked harder, fingers curling relentlessly inside you.
He was not going to stop until you came undone on his tongue.
He kept licking you with long, greedy strokes of his tongue, lapping deep into your fluttering cunt while one thick finger circled your swollen clit in slow, firm spirals. The dual sensation was relentless. His hot, wet tongue fucked into you in steady thrusts, curling and dragging along your inner walls, while that single finger pressed and rubbed your clit with perfect, merciless pressure.
Your legs shook violently.
Sukuna noticed. With a low growl he shoved your thighs wider apart, spreading you obscenely open on the soft grass. Two of his hands gripped the backs of your knees, pinning them down and outward so nothing could stop the building storm inside you. The position left your dripping pussy completely exposed to his hungry mouth and the warm daylight filtering through the leaves.
It built fast. Too fast.
A strange, overwhelming pressure coiled low in your belly, heavy and urgent, completely different from the orgasms he had already forced from you. Your cunt clenched hard around his thrusting tongue, walls fluttering wildly as slick poured out in thick, continuous streams. Your hips tried to twist away, but his grip held you firmly in place.
“No… Sukuna…” you gasped, voice high and broken. “It feels weird… feels like you’ll make a mess…”
He did not stop.
If anything, your desperate little plea only made him hungrier. He shoved his tongue deeper, fucking it into you harder, faster, while his finger rubbed tight, relentless circles over your clit. His saliva mixed with your slick, making everything wetter, sloppier, louder. The obscene squelching sounds of his mouth devouring your cunt filled the quiet shade beneath the pear tree.
“It is going to feel good,” he growled against your folds, the words vibrating straight through your oversensitive clit. “Let it happen. Do not fight it.”
You whimpered, head thrashing side to side on the grass. The pressure kept building, sharp and terrifying and impossibly intense. Your stomach tightened, thighs trembling uncontrollably in his iron grip. Every lick, every circle of his finger pushed you closer to something you had never felt before. Your pussy felt too full, too hot, too ready to burst.
“I… I’m gonna…” Your voice cracked into a sob. “It feels like I’m going to make a mess… Sukuna, please…”
He sucked hard on your clit, tongue still thrusting deep inside you, finger rubbing faster. His crimson eyes flicked up to watch your face, dark with lust and wicked satisfaction.
“Then make a mess for me, doll,” he rasped, voice rough and commanding. “Squirt all over my tongue. Flood my mouth like the needy little thing you are. I want every drop.”
The words pushed you over the edge.
The intense pressure suddenly snapped. Your entire body seized, back arching sharply off the grass as a broken, keening cry tore from your throat. Your cunt spasmed violently around his tongue, walls clamping down hard before releasing in powerful, rhythmic pulses. A hot, clear gush of fluid burst from you, squirting hard against his tongue and chin, soaking his face and dripping down onto the grass beneath you.
You kept squirting, wave after wave, unable to stop as he continued licking and sucking through it all, greedily drinking down every drop while his finger never stopped circling your throbbing clit. The orgasm crashed through you harder than anything you had ever felt, leaving you shaking and sobbing, pussy gushing messily all over his mouth and the soft ground.
Sukuna groaned deeply, the sound vibrating through your oversensitive folds as he lapped up every bit of your release, refusing to pull away even as you trembled and whimpered beneath him.
Now you were ready.
Your body had gone completely limp on the soft grass, every muscle loose and trembling in the aftermath of that shattering release. Sukuna could feel how thoroughly he had wrung you out. Your cunt still fluttered weakly, puffy and glistening, but the desperate, aching need had finally eased into a deep, hazy satisfaction. He pressed one last slow, reverent kiss to your swollen pussy, lips brushing tenderly over the oversensitive folds. His tongue gave a few final, gentle laps, licking up the last of your slick with lazy indulgence, savoring every creamy drop. His chin was shiny and wet, glistening with your release and his own saliva.
He eased your trembling legs down carefully, letting them rest on the cool grass instead of holding them pinned wide. Then he shifted, stretching his massive frame out beside you on the soft ground. One of his lower arms slid beneath your shoulders, pulling you close until your face tucked into the warm curve of his neck. His skin smelled of smoke and salt and something darker, masculine, grounding. The other three arms settled around you, one hand gently threading through your hair, stroking slow, soothing pets from crown to nape. His fingers were careful, almost tender, as they combed through the strands damp with sweat and grass.
You felt weightless.
The warm sunlight filtered through the pear leaves above, painting shifting golden patterns across your skin. The faint sound of the lake lapping at the shore blended with the soft rustle of blossoms drifting down. Your body melted against his, boneless and heavy with exhaustion and pleasure. You could feel how hard he still was. Both thick cocks pressed hot and heavy against your thigh, leaking steadily, the blunt heads smearing warm precum across your skin with every subtle shift. Yet he made no move to take you. He simply held you close, petting your hair in slow, rhythmic strokes while his chest rose and fell steadily beneath your cheek.
You closed your eyes.
The world narrowed to the warmth of his body, the gentle drag of his fingers through your hair, the heavy, comforting weight of his arms wrapped around you. For the first time since he had stolen you from the temple, the ache between your thighs felt soothed rather than tormenting. Shame still lingered somewhere distant, but it could not reach you here, not while he held you like this.
Sukuna’s voice rumbled low against your ear, rough but quiet, laced with quiet satisfaction.
“See?” he murmured, lips brushing the top of your head. “Didn’t I help?”
You did not answer with words. You simply pressed your face deeper into the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent, letting the steady beat of his heart lull you further into the soft, floating haze. His hand continued its slow, comforting strokes through your hair. His cocks remained hard and leaking against your thigh, patient for now.
Beneath the pear tree, in the warm daylight and drifting blossoms, Sukuna held his stolen faithful close, content to let you rest against him while the evidence of your messy release dried on his chin and the grass beneath you both.
You fell asleep on the way back, cradled securely in his arms.
The walk from the lakeside to the fortress was not long, but the warm afternoon sun, the soft sway of his steps, and the deep exhaustion that had settled into your bones after everything beneath the pear tree pulled you under almost immediately. Your cheek rested against the broad plane of his chest, one hand loosely curled into the fabric of his robe. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat and the faint heat rolling off his skin lulled you deeper into sleep, safe and heavy in his hold.
Sukuna carried you without effort, two arms supporting your body while the other two remained free. In one of those free hands he held a small cluster of ripe pears he had plucked from the tree before leaving. Their smooth, golden-green skins caught the light as he walked, stems still bearing a few delicate white blossoms. He did not eat them. He simply carried them, turning one slowly between his fingers every so often, as though the simple act of holding something soft and sweet pleased him.
The fortress loomed ahead, stone walls dark against the bright sky. Servants scattered at the sight of their lord returning with the sleeping girl tucked against his chest, but no one dared speak. Uraume stood waiting at the entrance, pale eyes flicking once over your relaxed form and the pears before offering a small, knowing bow and stepping aside without a word.
Sukuna moved through the familiar corridors in silence, careful not to jostle you. When he reached the chamber he lowered you gently onto the wide mat, arranging your limbs with surprising care so you lay on your side, facing inward. The yukata had slipped slightly during the journey, baring one shoulder and the soft curve of your breast, but he did not adjust it. Instead he set the cluster of pears on the low table beside the mat, their faint sweet scent already beginning to fill the room.
He stretched out beside you, close enough that the heat of his body wrapped around yours once more. One arm draped possessively over your waist, palm settling lightly over the lingering softness of your lower belly. The other three hands found their places, one beneath his own head, the others resting near enough to touch if he wished.
You remained asleep, breathing slow and even, lashes dark against your cheeks, lips slightly parted. The faint marks of grass and blossoms still clung to your hair. A small smear of dried slick still glistened on the inside of one thigh, a quiet reminder of how thoroughly he had taken care of you by the lake.
Sukuna watched you for a long time in the quiet of the chamber.
He did not wake you.
He simply lay there, the stolen pears resting nearby, their sweetness mixing with the heavier scent of sex and skin that still clung to both of you. One of his fingers idly traced the curve of your shoulder while his mind turned over the strange, unfamiliar feeling of carrying something fragile and warm back to his den instead of leaving it broken behind him.
Outside the narrow windows the daylight slowly began to soften into evening.
Inside, the King of Curses kept his faithful close, pears and all, letting you sleep undisturbed in the circle of his arms.
You woke up dazed, the world soft and hazy around the edges.
For a long moment you could not remember the walk back. The lake, the pear tree, the overwhelming rush of pleasure beneath its branches, all of it felt like a fever dream that had slipped between your fingers. Your body was still coming down from the high, heavy and languid, every limb weighted with sweet exhaustion. A faint fever lingered beneath your skin, a warm flush that made your cheeks glow and your breathing slow and shallow. Between your thighs your pussy still throbbed gently, swollen and tender, the constant low ache now mixed with a deep, satisfied warmth that refused to fade.
The chamber was quiet, lit by the golden haze of late afternoon light slipping through the narrow windows. The faint sweet scent of ripe pear filled the air.
Sukuna was already awake, propped on one elbow beside you. In two of his hands he held the cluster of pears he had carried back. With the third he used the small, curved tanto to slice one open with precise, unhurried movements. The same blade you had once pressed trembling to his throat now moved steadily through the soft fruit, juice glistening along the edge as he cut neat, crescent-shaped slices.
He noticed the moment your eyes opened.
Without a word he brought a fresh slice to your lips, holding it between two thick fingers. The sweet, juicy flesh brushed against your lower lip, cool and sticky.
You stared at the knife for a heartbeat, then at the slice, then up at his face. A slow roll of your eyes was the only protest you could manage in your dazed state. Still, your mouth opened obediently. You took the piece of pear from his fingers, lips closing around the pads of his fingertips for a brief, intimate second as you accepted the offering. The fruit was perfectly ripe, bursting with cool sweetness that soothed your dry throat and made your fever-flushed cheeks feel a little less warm.
Sukuna watched you chew with dark, half-lidded eyes, the corner of his mouth curving in quiet satisfaction. He cut another slice, juice dripping slowly down the blade, and brought it to your mouth again. This time you did not roll your eyes. You simply parted your lips and let him feed you, the sticky sweetness coating your tongue while his fingers lingered a moment longer than necessary.
He fed you piece after piece in silence, the ironies of the moment hanging thick between you. The same knife that had once promised death now delivered something gentle and sweet. The monster who had stolen you from your temple now sat patiently slicing fruit and pressing each slice to your lips with careful fingers. Your body still hummed with the memory of his tongue between your thighs, yet here you were, drowsy and fever-warm, accepting every offering like it was the most natural thing in the world.
When the pear was nearly gone he set the core aside and wiped his fingers on the edge of the cloth nearby. One large hand returned to your hair, stroking slowly through the strands while another rested possessively over the soft swell of your lower belly.
“Better?” he asked, voice low and rough, but quieter than usual.
You swallowed the last sweet bite, the fever making your thoughts slow and heavy. Instead of answering with words you simply turned your face into his palm, pressing a small, tired kiss to the center of it.
Sukuna’s eyes darkened further at the gesture. He did not speak again. He only continued to pet your hair in slow, steady strokes, letting you drift in the warm, hazy space between sleep and waking while the faint scent of pear and the lingering taste of sweetness stayed on your tongue.
The blade lay forgotten on the low table beside the empty core, its edge still faintly sticky with juice.
And in the quiet chamber, he kept feeding his stolen girl small, sweet pieces of fruit, watching every flutter of your lashes with something dangerously close to tenderness.
Later that evening the air in the fortress had grown cooler, the faint scent of cedar smoke drifting through the corridors as braziers were lit for the night.
Sukuna had risen from the mat without a word, shedding his outer robes as he moved toward the private bathing chamber attached to the main room. You watched him from beneath half-closed lashes, still drowsy and warm from the pear and the long rest. Then you noticed.
His two thick cocks were fully hard, heavy and flushed dark, the fat heads glistening with steady beads of precum that dripped in slow, shiny trails down the veined lengths. They bobbed slightly with each step he took, leaking openly, untouched since the lake. He had given you everything beneath the pear tree and taken nothing for himself.
Something hot and liquid stirred low in your belly.
You crept after him on silent feet, heart hammering, the fever still lingering in your cheeks. The ache between your thighs had returned, softer now but insistent, your pussy growing slick and warm again at the mere sight of him. When he stepped into the bathing chamber you followed, hovering just outside the doorway, hidden in shadow.
He stood beside the large wooden tub already filled with steaming water. One of his lower hands reached down, wrapping loosely around both cocks at the base. He gave a slow, firm stroke from root to tip, smearing the leaking precum over the heads with his thumb. A low groan rumbled in his chest as he palmed himself, thick fingers barely able to circle both shafts together. The motion was lazy, almost absent, like he was simply easing an ache rather than truly seeking release.
Your breath caught.
He looked beautiful like this, massive frame backlit by the flickering lanterns, tattoos stark against scarlet skin, four arms moving with powerful grace. And those two leaking cocks… heavy, dripping, untouched because he had spent the entire afternoon taking care of you instead.
Your pussy clenched hard, fresh slick coating your folds and beginning to trickle down your inner thigh. Shame and desire twisted together until you could no longer stay still.
You slipped out of your yukata without a sound, letting the silk pool at your feet until you stood completely naked. Cool air kissed your fever-warm skin, making your nipples tighten and your swollen cunt throb. Heart racing, you stepped forward and pushed the sliding door wider, the soft wooden sound announcing your presence.
Sukuna turned his head slowly.
Four crimson eyes locked onto you immediately, taking in every inch of your bare body, the way your thighs pressed together, the faint sheen of wetness already visible on your skin. His hand stilled on his cocks, still gripping both thick lengths, the heads flushed and glistening.
For a long moment neither of you spoke.
Then his voice came low and rough, laced with dark hunger and something almost surprised.
“Look at you,” he murmured, gaze dragging slowly down to the slick glistening between your legs. “Coming to me naked and wet again. Did watching me stroke myself make that greedy little pussy leak for me?”
You stood there in the doorway, completely exposed, chest rising and falling quickly, the ache between your thighs growing unbearable. Your eyes kept flicking down to where his hand still held those two heavy, leaking cocks, precum still dripping steadily from the tips.
Sukuna’s lips curved into a slow, predatory smile. He gave himself one more lazy stroke, eyes never leaving yours.
“Well?” he asked, voice dropping even lower. “Are you just going to stand there… or are you going to come here and help me with this?”
Steam rose from the bath behind him.
Lantern light flickered across his skin...
You stepped inside.
Shy, but eager.
Your bare feet padded across the warm stone floor until you stood right in front of him. Sukuna’s four arms opened for you without hesitation, the gesture surprisingly gentle. He reached down, large hands sliding beneath your thighs, and lifted you effortlessly into the air. The moment your body left the ground you felt weightless again, cradled against his broad chest as he stepped into the large wooden tub with you.
The water was warm, almost hot, fragrant with yuzu and something faintly herbal that Uraume must have added. Steam curled up around you both as he lowered himself slowly, settling against the back of the tub and pulling you with him. He pressed you flush to his front first, your soft breasts squishing against the hard planes of his chest, your legs automatically parting to straddle his hips. The heat of the bath seeped into your skin, soothing the lingering ache between your thighs even as fresh slick continued to gather.
He leaned in and kissed your cheek, slow and surprisingly sweet, lips lingering against the flushed skin. The contrast between that tenderness and the heavy, leaking cocks trapped between your bodies made your head spin.
You settled fully against him, thighs spread wide over his lap. The sight of the large, grinning mouth on his stomach made your breath hitch. The moment your belly pressed against it, the thick pink tongue flicked out, dragging a wet, playful stripe across your soft skin. It curled lazily, tasting the faint sheen of sweat and the sweetness still clinging to you from the pear. One of Sukuna’s big hands settled on your lower back, holding you close while his thumb stroked slow circles over your spine.
He teased you then, voice low and rough against your ear.
“Your eager little pussy is still greedy for more, hm?”
You looked up at him with wide, glassy eyes, heat flooding your face. You could not hold his gaze. Your eyes dropped instead, lashes fluttering as you watched your own finger trace the seam of the stomach mouth. The moment your fingertip brushed the soft lips, the large tongue flicked out again, wrapping playfully around your finger and sucking gently before letting go with a wet pop.
You swallowed hard, voice barely above a whisper.
“I… I shouldn’t have all the pleasure.”
The guilt was quiet but real. He had taken nothing for himself earlier, only given and given until you shattered on his tongue. The thought made your chest tight.
Sukuna stilled for a moment, studying your downcast face. Then understanding softened the edge of his smirk.
“Guess we really should stop keeping secrets from each other then,” he murmured.
He tilted your chin up with one gentle finger, forcing your eyes to meet his again. Before you could look away he leaned in and kissed you, slow and deep and thorough. His tongue slid against yours, tasting of pear and your own slick, claiming your mouth with the same lazy hunger he had shown between your thighs.
You melted into the kiss, arms winding around his neck as you settled fully against him. His two thick cocks pressed hot and slick between your bodies, trapped against your soft belly and the dripping seam of your cunt. They throbbed heavily with every beat of his heart, leaking steadily, the precum mixing with the bathwater and your own fresh arousal until everything felt slippery and warm.
His stomach mouth continued to lick lazily at your skin, tongue dragging slow stripes across your abdomen while his hand on your back kept you pressed close. The other three arms held you securely, one cradling the back of your head, another resting possessively on your hip, the last stroking gently along your thigh.
He broke the kiss just enough to speak against your lips, voice dark and rough with want.
“No more secrets tonight, little one. Tell me what you want… and I will give it to you.”
The steam rose thick around you both.
The fragrant water lapped gently at your joined bodies.
And in the warm bath, straddling him, his leaking cocks pressed slick against your greedy pussy, you felt the last fragile wall between you begin to crumble.
“Please…”
The word slipped from your lips, soft and trembling against his own. “Need you.”
Sukuna’s mouth curved into a slow, wicked smile against yours. He did not answer with words at first. Instead one of his lower hands slid down between your bodies, gripping the thicker of his two leaking cocks at the base. He dragged the fat, precum-slick head slowly through your folds, teasing the blunt tip up and down your dripping slit. The heat of him was searing, the sheer size of just one cock already making your pussy flutter in anticipation and nerves.
Your slick coated him instantly, mixing with the steady leak of his precum until the glide became obscenely wet. Every slow pass nudged against your swollen clit, then dipped lower to kiss your entrance, spreading your puffy lips around the wide head before pulling back again. The teasing made your thighs tremble on either side of his hips.
He kissed you once more, slow and deep, then pulled back just enough to speak against your mouth, voice low and rough with hunger.
“Let’s just start with one tonight then,” he murmured. “Let’s see how good you’ll stretch for me.”
He lined the thick head up with your entrance and began to push.
The stretch was immediate and overwhelming. Even after everything he had done to you earlier, your cunt still had to open wide around the fat crown. A broken whimper escaped you as the head popped inside, your walls fluttering desperately around the intrusion. He was so thick, so hot, the veins along his shaft dragging against your sensitive inner walls as he slowly fed you the first few inches.
Sukuna groaned low in his chest, the sound vibrating through both of you.
“Fuck… still so tight,” he rasped, one hand gripping your hip to hold you steady while the other kept guiding his cock deeper. “Look at this greedy little pussy swallowing me up. Taking it so well already.”
He rocked his hips in shallow thrusts, working himself in inch by inch, letting your body adjust to the brutal girth. Your slick and his precum made the slide easier, but the stretch still burned sweetly, forcing your cunt to mould around every thick ridge. When he was halfway buried he paused, letting you feel the heavy throb of him inside you, the way your belly already began to bulge faintly from just one cock.
His stomach mouth licked a slow, wet stripe across your abdomen, tongue flicking playfully over the small swell as if tasting the place he was claiming from within.
You clung to his shoulders, nails digging into scarlet skin, forehead pressed to his as you panted against his lips. The water lapped gently around your joined bodies, steam curling thick in the air.
Sukuna’s eyes stayed locked on your face, watching every flutter of your lashes, every little gasp.
“That’s it,” he whispered, voice dark and coaxing. “Take all of me tonight. Let me feel how deep this pretty cunt can take one cock before I decide whether you’re ready for both.”
He rolled his hips again, sinking another thick inch inside you, stretching you open with slow, deliberate patience while the bathwater rippled around you both.
And in the fragrant steam, you gave yourself to him once more, soft pleas and broken moans spilling from your lips as the King of Curses began to fill you all over again.
You felt him immediately.
The thick head pushed past your entrance and the stretch bloomed all over again, sharp and sweet and overwhelming. Your cunt had to open wide once more, soft walls yielding around the heavy girth as he sank deeper. Every slow inch forced your body to remember him, to take his exact shape again until the blunt head kissed high inside you and the thick veins dragged along every sensitive spot. Your belly swelled faintly beneath the water, the faint outline of his cock visible just under your skin.
Sukuna let out a low, satisfied groan, eyes half-lidded as he watched your face.
“Looks like your cunt didn’t forget me after all,” he murmured, voice rough and pleased. “Still so tight… still sucking me in like it missed being full.”
Your hands pressed flat against his broad chest, fingers splaying over the dark tattoos as you tried to steady yourself. The water lapped gently around your hips with every tiny movement. He kept one large hand on your lower back, holding you close, while the other guided your hips down to meet his slow upward thrusts.
He fucked up into you with unhurried strokes, deep and deliberate, letting you feel every thick inch slide out until only the fat head remained inside, then pressing back in until he bottomed out again. Each thrust made your breasts bounce softly against his chest and sent ripples across the fragrant bathwater.
You were trembling.
The stretch felt so good it bordered on too much, but your body craved more. The empty ache where his second cock should be became impossible to ignore. Your pussy clenched hard around the one already buried inside you, leaking fresh slick around his shaft as the need built higher.
“Please…” you whispered, voice small and breathless against his neck. “The second one… I want both…”
Sukuna stilled for a moment, buried to the hilt. Then a dark, amused chuckle rumbled through his chest.
“Fuck… you’re eager,” he said, the words warm against your ear. One of his hands slid up to cup the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair. “Already begging for both after I’ve barely given you one. Greedy little thing.”
He rocked up into you again, slower this time, grinding the thick head against that deep spot inside while the second heavy cock rested hot and leaking against your lower belly, trapped between your bodies.
“You sure?” he asked, voice dropping even lower, teasing but edged with hunger. “You want me to stretch this pretty cunt even wider tonight? Fill you so full you can barely breathe?”
You nodded frantically, cheeks burning, eyes glassy with need. Your hips rolled down to meet his next thrust, taking him deeper as you whimpered.
“Yes… please… both…”
Sukuna’s smile turned sharp and satisfied. He tightened his grip on your hips with two hands while the other two cradled your face and back, holding you steady as he began to shift beneath you.
“Alright then,” he growled softly, pressing a slow kiss to your swollen lips. “Since you’re asking so nicely… let’s see how well this tight little pussy takes both my cocks tonight.”
He kept the first one buried deep inside you, holding still for a moment while the fat, leaking head of the second cock nudged insistently against your already stretched entrance, sliding through the mess of your slick and his precum.
The water steamed around you both.
Your hands clutched tighter at his chest.
He worked the second cock in slowly.
The thick, leaking head pressed firmly against your already stretched entrance, nudging beside the first one that was buried deep inside you. The stretch was immediate and brutal. Your cunt had to open wider than it ever had, soft walls straining around two heavy girths at once. You clenched up instinctively, a sharp gasp tearing from your throat as the second cock forced its way in inch by slow, relentless inch.
“Oh fuck—”
The curse slipped out before you could stop it, raw and broken. The temple girl who once spent her days murmuring sutras had never spoken such a word in her life. Sukuna’s eyes flashed with dark delight at the sound.
“Oh?” he teased, voice low and rough even as he fought to keep his composure. “The temple girl’s first swear. Committing so many sins tonight, aren’t you?”
Your cunt was impossibly tight around both cocks, fluttering and squeezing in panicked little pulses that made sweat bead along his temples. He could feel every ripple, every desperate clench as your body struggled to accept him. It hurt for you too. The burn was fierce, stretching you to your limit, tears already gathering at the corners of your eyes and spilling down your flushed cheeks.
Sukuna kept one big hand stroking slowly up and down your back, never stopping the gentle, soothing motion. His palm was warm and steady against your spine, thumb tracing comforting circles while he held perfectly still inside you, giving your body time to adjust.
“No, pretty girl,” he murmured, voice gentler now, lips brushing your temple. “Relax for me. Breathe.”
You whimpered, forehead pressed to his shoulder, nails digging into his chest. The stretch felt like too much and not enough all at once. Both cocks throbbed heavily inside your overstuffed cunt, leaking steadily, the dual pressure making your belly bulge noticeably even through the bathwater.
“You said you wanted both,” he reminded you softly, pressing a slow kiss to your wet cheek. “Don’t fight me, sweetheart. Let me in. Let this greedy little cunt take everything I give it.”
His hand kept stroking your back in that same soothing rhythm, slow and patient, while the other three arms held you close, one cradling the back of your head, another gripping your hip to keep you steady. He rocked up into you with the tiniest movements, just enough to ease the second cock deeper, letting your walls flutter and slowly loosen around the impossible fullness.
Tears kept slipping down your face, but the pain was already beginning to melt into something hotter, something deeper. Your cunt clenched again, this time less in resistance and more in desperate need.
Sukuna groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating through his chest into yours.
“That’s it,” he whispered against your ear, still stroking your back with steady reassurance. “Good girl. Just relax and let me fill you completely. You’re doing so well for me.”
Both thick cocks pulsed inside your stretched, dripping cunt as he waited for you to open up fully, the warm bathwater rippling gently around your joined bodies while he coaxed you through the overwhelming stretch with patience and dark, hungry praise.
Your cunt kept stretching.
It hurt, it burned, it felt impossible, but it took him.
More and more. Inch by thick, veined inch, both of his heavy cocks sank deeper into your fluttering heat until the stretch became something else entirely. Something overwhelming and perfect. Your walls yielded slowly, clenching and fluttering around the brutal double invasion, molding themselves around his shape like they had been waiting for this exact moment.
The way your tummy bulged was obscene.
You could feel it, see it, the soft skin of your lower belly rounding outward, the clear outline of both cocks pressing up from inside you. Every shallow breath made the swell shift and move. Deeper and deeper he pushed, until the fat heads nudged against your cervix and then beyond, forcing the tight ring to open for him, letting him claim space no one had ever touched.
Your eyes slid shut, lashes wet with fresh tears. A broken little sound escaped your trembling lips.
Sukuna cupped your face in two large hands, thumbs brushing away the tears as they fell. He pressed his forehead to yours, breath mingling with yours in the steamy air.
“Look at you,” he whispered, voice rough and awed. “Taking both my cocks so deep. Your pretty cunt is opening so well for me.”
He kissed your tears one by one, slow and tender, lips brushing over your closed eyelids, the corners of your eyes, the salty trails on your cheeks. When he finally reached your mouth he kissed you deeply, swallowing the soft whimper that left you as your cunt gave one last fluttering pulse and took the rest of him.
He was fully seated.
Both thick cocks buried to the hilt inside your overstuffed pussy, stretching you wider than you had ever been, your belly swollen and round with the proof of it. Your walls clenched helplessly around him, rippling and squeezing in waves, trying to adjust to the impossible fullness.
Sukuna held perfectly still, forehead still pressed to yours, hands cradling your face like something precious.
“There you go,” he murmured against your lips, voice low and soothing. “That’s my good girl. You did it. You took all of me.”
Your lips trembled. Another tear slipped free and he caught it with his thumb, then leaned in to kiss it away again.
The bathwater lapped gently around your joined bodies. Steam curled thick and fragrant between you. Your hands stayed pressed to his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart beneath your palms.
He stayed buried deep, letting you feel every throb, every pulse of both cocks stretching you open, while he continued to kiss your face softly, patiently, giving your ruined little cunt time to settle around the overwhelming fullness he had given you.
“You feel that?” he whispered, one hand sliding down to rest over the swollen curve of your belly. “That’s me. All the way inside you. No more secrets. No more holding back.”
Your cunt fluttered hard around him at his words, another rush of slick leaking out around the tight seal of your stretched lips.
Sukuna smiled against your mouth, dark and satisfied.
“Good girl,” he breathed. “Now breathe for me… and let me feel how well this greedy cunt is going to take everything I give it tonight.”
Your cunt was sucking and pulling at both of his cocks with every tiny movement.
The slightest shift of his hips made your walls flutter and clench desperately around the thick double intrusion, greedy and overwhelmed all at once. Any little motion sent sparks of too-much pleasure shooting through you. The stretch was constant, burning and perfect, your swollen folds stretched shiny and tight around the bases of both cocks. Your belly bulged obscenely, the rounded swell rising and falling with every shallow breath you took.
Sukuna watched your face with dark, hooded eyes, one hand still cradling your cheek while the other rested possessively over the swollen curve of your stomach.
“You’ve already done the impossible,” he murmured, voice low and rough with restraint. “Taking both my cocks all the way inside this tight little cunt. Such a good girl.”
He could feel every ripple, every helpless suck of your walls trying to milk him. But he insisted on doing the work now.
“You’ve done enough,” he told you softly. “Just let me take care of you.”
When he asked if you wanted him to move, you could only nod, lips trembling, eyes glassy with overwhelming sensation.
That was all the permission he needed.
Sukuna lifted you sweetly with two strong arms beneath your thighs, raising you just enough that several thick inches of both cocks slid out of your dripping heat. The drag was slow and devastating, your cunt clinging wetly to every veined inch as he withdrew. Then he rocked you back down, sinking both cocks deep again in one smooth, controlled motion.
A broken moan tore from your throat.
He set a slow, steady rhythm, lifting and lowering you on his lap with careful strength. Each time he pulled you up, your cunt fluttered and sucked around him, trying to keep him inside. Each time he rocked you back down, both cocks plunged deep, bumping your cervix and pressing against that spot that made your toes curl in the warm water.
The bath rippled around you with every gentle rock, fragrant steam curling thicker in the air. Your hands clutched at his shoulders, nails digging into scarlet skin as he fucked you on his cocks with slow, deliberate strokes.
“That’s it,” he praised quietly, forehead still pressed to yours. “Just let me move you. Feel how deep you’re taking me, sweetheart. Feel how full you are.”
Your belly bulged visibly with every downward rock, the obscene swell pressing against his stomach mouth. The large pink tongue flicked out lazily, licking across the rounded curve as if tasting how thoroughly he had stuffed you.
You whimpered helplessly, eyes fluttering, tears still clinging to your lashes. Every rock sent waves of overwhelming pleasure crashing through you. Your cunt kept sucking and pulling at both thick cocks, greedy despite how impossibly full you already were.
Sukuna kept rocking you sweetly on his lap, never rushing, letting you feel every inch, every throb, every slow slide as he filled you completely again and again.
His voice stayed low and soothing against your ear between soft kisses to your temple.
“Good girl… such a good girl for me. Just keep taking it. Let me rock this pretty, stretched cunt on both until you can’t think of anything else.”
The water lapped gently around your joined bodies.
Your swollen belly rose and fell with every controlled thrust.
And in the warm, steamy bath, you were held close and rocked slowly on both of his thick cocks, letting your greedy, ruined little pussy suck and flutter around him while he took perfect care of you.
Huge.
That was all you could think as Sukuna rocked you on both of his thick lengths.
Your pussy stretched impossibly wide around the twin girths, soft walls squishing and clinging, milking him in messy, greedy pulses with every slow lift and drop. Wet, filthy sounds filled the steamy bath each time he moved you, slick and precum mixing together until everything between your bodies was slippery and obscene.
He pressed one large hand firmly against the swollen bulge under your tummy, feeling the way both cocks moved inside you, the heavy ridge of them shifting beneath your skin with every rock. The pressure made you whimper, made your cunt flutter harder around him, sucking desperately at the thick lengths as if trying to pull him even deeper.
One of his lower hands settled on your waist, holding you steady while he began to fuck up into you with more purpose. The thrusts stayed controlled but deeper now, lifting his hips to meet every downward rock, driving both cocks into your overstuffed cunt with wet, heavy strokes. Your belly bulged more noticeably with each upward thrust, the rounded swell pressing against his palm.
His other lower hand slipped lower, palming the soft curve of your ass, fingers digging into the flesh to spread you open even wider. He used the grip to help guide you, lifting and lowering you onto his cocks while he fucked up harder, the head of both lengths kissing your cervix with every deep plunge.
You were a trembling, moaning mess in his lap, forehead pressed to his, lips parted on broken little sounds. Your pussy kept milking him greedily, fluttering and clenching, leaking fresh slick around the tight seal of your stretched folds. The water sloshed gently around you both with every thrust, fragrant steam curling thick in the air.
Sukuna groaned low in his chest, the sound vibrating through you as he pressed harder against the bulge in your belly.
“Feel that?” he rasped against your mouth, voice dark and rough. “Feel how deep both are? Your greedy little cunt is sucking me in so messily… taking me so deep like it never wants to let go.”
His hand on your ass squeezed tighter, spreading you wider as he fucked up into you with slow, powerful strokes. The other hand stayed pressed to your swollen tummy, feeling every movement of his cocks inside you while he rocked you on his lap.
You could only moan helplessly, eyes glassy, body trembling as he took you apart so sweetly and thoroughly in the warm bath. Your pussy continued to milk him in wet, greedy pulses, stretched and full and completely his.
Sukuna kissed your trembling lips, then your tear-damp cheek, never stopping the slow, deep rhythm of his hips.
“That’s my good girl,” he murmured, palming your ass and pressing against your bulging belly at the same time. “Keep me in just like that. Let me feel how much this pretty cunt loves being stuffed full.”
Every slow rock of his hips made both thick cocks rub deep inside your pussy, dragging heavily along your fluttering walls in a constant, filthy grind. Your swollen clit caught and rubbed against the dark, coarse hair of his happy trail with every downward motion, sending sharp sparks of pleasure shooting through you. The friction was relentless, perfect, turning every thrust into something overwhelming.
You were creaming on his cocks.
Thick, white rings of your arousal coated both shafts, frothing messily at the stretched entrance of your cunt with every deep plunge. The wet, squelching sounds grew louder, echoing softly off the stone walls of the bathing chamber as your pussy milked him greedily, sucking and fluttering around the double intrusion.
Sukuna groaned low, one hand still pressed firmly to the bulging swell of your tummy while the other palmed your ass, spreading you wider so he could fuck up into you just a little harder. His thumb found your clit, rubbing slow, firm circles over the swollen bud while he kept rocking you on his cocks.
“That’s it,” he murmured against your ear, voice dark and coaxing. “Make a mess all over both my cocks like a good girl. Let me feel how much you want it, how much you pretty pussy will take.”
The added pressure on your clit was too much. Pleasure coiled tight and hot in your belly, sharper and sweeter than before. Your thighs trembled violently around his hips, your cunt clenching hard around both cocks as the orgasm crashed through you.
You moaned, high and broken, body seizing in his lap as sweet, pulsing waves rolled through you. Your pussy gushed around him, fresh slick mixing with the creamy mess already coating his shafts. Sukuna kept rubbing your clit through it all, drawing the orgasm out until your vision blurred and your moans turned into soft, helpless whimpers.
When the peak finally began to ebb you collapsed forward into his chest, face buried in the crook of his neck, trembling and panting against his skin. Your arms wound weakly around his shoulders, body limp and spent in his hold.
Sukuna did not stop moving.
He kept fucking you deeper now, hips snapping up with more force, driving both cocks into your creaming, fluttering cunt with steady, powerful thrusts. The water sloshed harder around you, splashing against the sides of the tub as he used the grip on your ass and waist to pull you down onto him again and again.
His breathing grew rougher, chest rising and falling heavily beneath your cheek. You could feel his cocks swelling even thicker inside you, throbbing with his building release.
He pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your temple, voice wrecked and low.
“Fuck that's it! He said sharply.“Good girl… such a good girl for me… let me give you every drop, let me fill your cunt full.”
His thrusts grew deeper, harder, chasing his own pleasure while he held your limp, trembling body close, fucking up into your messy, overstuffed cunt with raw, building need. Your pussy continued to milk him greedily, squirting and fluttering around him as he drove closer and closer to the edge, determined to flood you full once more.
His cocks throbbed with heavy, insistent pressure deep in his abdomen.
The stomach mouth on his torso had its jaw locked tight, lips pressed into a thin line as if even that part of him was fighting to hold back. Both thick lengths swelled impossibly larger inside your already overstuffed cunt, stretching you even wider, the veins pulsing strongly against your fluttering walls. The first cock twitched hard, swelling thicker at the base, the fat head pressing flush against your cervix.
Sukuna’s breath hitched, a low growl rumbling through his chest as he fucked up into you with deeper, more urgent strokes. His hands gripped your ass tighter, spreading you open while he drove both cocks as far as they could go.
Then the first one came.
Hard.
Thick ropes of hot cum erupted straight into your womb, flooding you in heavy, pulsing spurts. The force of it made your belly swell even more, the rounded bulge growing visibly as he pumped you full. Your cunt clenched violently around him, milking every drop while creamy white seed leaked out around the tight seal of your stretched lips, mixing with your own slick in the bathwater.
Before the first cock even finished pulsing, the second one followed.
It swelled even thicker, stretching you to the absolute limit as it began to cum deep inside you. Another powerful flood joined the first, hot and endless, filling your womb until you felt impossibly bloated, stuffed beyond reason. Both cocks throbbed in tandem now, pumping load after thick load into your greedy, creaming cunt while your walls fluttered and sucked desperately around them.
You moaned weakly against his neck, body trembling, tears slipping down your cheeks again from the sheer intensity of being filled so completely. Your belly rounded out heavily between your bodies, the soft skin taut from the sheer volume of cum he was forcing into you.
Sukuna held you close, one hand still pressed firmly over the swollen curve of your tummy, feeling every powerful spurt as it filled you. His forehead rested against yours, breath ragged, voice rough and wrecked with pleasure.
“Take it all,” he growled softly, still rocking you slowly on his cocks even as he came. “Every drop. Let me fill this pretty cunt until you’re dripping with me for days.”
His stomach mouth finally relaxed, the large tongue slipping out to lick lazily across your bulging belly, tasting the evidence of how thoroughly he had claimed you from the inside.
You stayed collapsed against his chest, limp and shaking, your pussy still milking both throbbing cocks as they continued to empty into you, flooding your womb with thick, hot cum while the warm bathwater rippled around your joined bodies.
Sukuna kissed your temple, then your tear-streaked cheek, murmuring low praises against your skin as he kept you impaled deep on both of his cocks, letting the last heavy spurts pulse into your overstuffed, creaming cunt.
You had never felt so full.
So claimed.
So completely his.
Twin loads poured into you, thick and heavy, flooding your womb in endless, pulsing waves.
Sukuna kept fucking them deeper, hips rolling up in slow, deliberate thrusts even as he came, pushing every thick spurt further inside you. The obscene wet sounds of his cocks churning through the mess echoed in the steamy bath, cum and slick mixing together until your overstuffed cunt could barely contain it all. Creamy white seed leaked out around the tight stretch of both shafts, floating in cloudy ribbons through the water, but he refused to let any of it escape without effort. He rocked you down harder, grinding both cocks as deep as they would go, forcing the heavy loads back into your womb with every thrust.
He was sure it would take.
So much cum. More than your body had any right to hold. Your belly was already swollen and round, taut beneath his palm, and still he kept pumping more into you. He imagined it so clearly, his eyes sliding shut as pleasure and something darker, more possessive rolled through him. In weeks or months to come you would still be swollen, but not just with his cum. He pictured you utterly round and heavy with his babies, belly stretched tight, breasts full, cunt still greedy and leaking for him even while carrying his heirs.
A low, guttural groan left his throat.
His hand pressed firmer against the swollen curve of your stomach, fingers splaying wide as if he could will it to happen by touch alone. He pushed gently, feeling the way your belly gave under the pressure, feeling the obscene slosh of cum inside you as he fucked it even deeper.
“Take it,” he rasped against your ear, voice thick and wrecked. “All of it. Let it settle deep. Let it take root.”
Your cunt fluttered weakly around both cocks, still milking him through the last heavy spurts. You whimpered softly into his neck, body limp and trembling, completely overwhelmed by the sheer volume he had pumped into you. Your belly felt impossibly full, heavy and warm, the skin stretched tight over the twin loads he refused to let leak out.
Sukuna kept his hand there, palm pressed possessively over the swell, thumb stroking slow circles as if soothing the place he had just flooded. His other arms held you close, one cradling the back of your head, another wrapped around your waist, keeping you impaled deep on both cocks while the last thick pulses emptied into your womb.
He stayed buried inside you long after the last spurt, breathing hard against your hair, eyes still closed as the fantasy lingered behind his lids. You, swollen and glowing, carrying his children. The thought made his cocks twitch again inside you, another small leak of cum escaping despite how tightly he filled you.
He kissed your temple, then your cheek, voice low and dark with satisfaction.
“You’re going to look so beautiful like this… all round and full with what I put in you.”
The bathwater had gone cloudy around you both, thick with the evidence of his release. Your belly rose and fell heavily with every shallow breath, swollen and claimed, while Sukuna held you close, hand never leaving the soft, rounded swell he had created, already imagining how much more he would fill you in the nights to come.
After you took both his cocks, he held you like something breakable.
The water had gone thick and cloudy with his cum, the fragrant scent of yuzu now drowned beneath the heavy musk of sex. Sukuna felt a flicker of something close to guilt when he looked at the mess he had made of you, but it was quickly swallowed by the deeper satisfaction of seeing you so thoroughly claimed. Still, he needed to clean you. He could not leave you like this, leaking and trembling and swollen.
When he finally began to slip free, both cocks sliding out of your ruined cunt with a wet, obscene sound, you cried.
A soft, broken sob left your lips the moment the thick heads popped free. Immediately a flood of creamy white poured from your stretched hole, thick ropes of his cum gushing out in heavy pulses, sliding down your thighs and swirling into the already filthy water. Your poor pussy gaped for a moment, puffy and red, unable to close after taking both of his cocks so deep. More cum kept leaking, slow and endless, as if your body refused to let go of what he had given it.
You did not let him go.
The moment he tried to shift you, your arms locked tight around his neck, legs wrapping around his torso with surprising strength. You clung to him like a vine, face buried in the crook of his neck, eyes squeezed shut. Tired as you were, every ounce of remaining energy seemed to have gathered in your limbs. You would not release him, not even for a second.
Sukuna exhaled softly, one large hand cradling the back of your head while the other supported your ass, holding you securely against his chest even as cum continued to drip from your cunt onto his skin.
“It’s okay, pretty girl,” he cooed, voice low and soothing against your ear. “I’m right here. I’ve got you.”
He shifted carefully in the cloudy water, you still attached to him like a second skin, legs locked tight around his waist, arms wound around his neck. With one free hand he grabbed a clean cloth from the side of the tub. With another he reached over and unplugged the drain, letting the filthy, cum-laden water begin to swirl away. Fresh warm water poured in from the spout, clear and steaming, slowly refilling the tub around your joined bodies.
He held you the entire time, rocking you gently, pressing soft kisses to your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. Every time a fresh sob slipped from you, every time more cum leaked out of your swollen pussy and trickled down his abdomen, he murmured quiet reassurances.
“Shh… I know, sweetheart. I know it feels like too much. But I’m not going anywhere. Just let me clean you up.”
He dipped the cloth into the fresh water and began to wipe you gently, starting with your thighs, then carefully between your legs. The warm cloth soothed the tender, puffy folds, but every pass still made you whimper and cling tighter. More thick white continued to spill from your cunt no matter how carefully he cleaned, as if your body was determined to keep every drop he had pumped into you.
Sukuna did not mind.
He simply held you closer, kissing your closed eyelids, stroking your back with slow, steady hands while the clean water rose around you both. Your legs stayed locked around his torso, arms tight around his neck, face hidden against his skin as you trembled and leaked and refused to let go.
“It’s okay,” he whispered again, pressing another kiss to your hair. “I’m right here, pretty girl. I’ve got you. Let it all out. I’ll take care of everything.”
The bath slowly filled with fresh, steaming water.
Your cunt continued to leak his cum in slow, creamy pulses.
And Sukuna held you through it all, cooing soft praises and gentle reassurances while you clung to him with every bit of strength left in your tired body, safe and claimed in the arms of the monster who had ruined you so sweetly.
When he had you mostly cleaned, Sukuna gathered you up once more.
You were still latched onto him, arms locked tight around his neck, legs wrapped firmly around his torso as though letting go might make the world disappear. Even in your exhaustion your body refused to release its hold. He did not mind. He simply rose from the tub with you attached, water streaming off both of you in rivulets, and stepped out onto the cool stone floor.
One of his large hands petted your hair in slow, soothing strokes, fingers combing through the damp strands while he murmured quiet words against your temple.
“I’ve got you. Just keep holding on, pretty girl.”
He reached for a thick, soft towel and dried you as best he could while you remained clung to his chest. He wiped your back, your shoulders, the curve of your ass, moving carefully around the places where your bodies pressed together. The towel came away damp with bathwater and the last traces of his cum that still leaked slowly from your swollen cunt. Every gentle pass made you whimper softly, but you only tightened your grip, face buried deeper into the crook of his neck.
Sukuna carried you like that all the way back to the main chamber, your legs locked around his waist, your arms wound tight around his neck. He moved slowly, deliberately, one hand supporting your weight beneath your ass while the other continued to pet your hair in steady, comforting rhythms.
When he reached the wide mat he lowered himself down carefully, keeping you cradled against his chest the entire time. Only then did he try to coax you into drinking.
He reached for the clay cup of water Uraume had left on the low table, bringing it to your lips with gentle insistence.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice low and patient. “Just a little. You need it.”
You turned your face away at first, eyes still closed, too tired and overwhelmed to do anything but cling. Sukuna did not push. He simply waited, stroking your back, pressing soft kisses to your hair until you finally parted your lips. He tilted the cup slowly, letting you take small, careful sips. Cool water slid down your throat, soothing the dryness left from all your moaning and crying. You drank in tiny mouthfuls, swallowing obediently each time he encouraged you with quiet praise.
“Good girl… that’s it. Just a little more.”
When you had taken enough he set the cup aside and wrapped both arms around you again, holding you close against his warm body. Your legs stayed wrapped around his torso, your arms locked around his neck, your face tucked safely into the curve of his shoulder. Fresh tears slipped from your closed eyes, but they were softer now, exhaustion winning over everything else.
Sukuna continued to pet your hair, slow and steady, his other hands resting possessively along your back and the curve of your ass. He could still feel the occasional warm trickle of his cum leaking from your cunt onto his skin, but he made no move to clean it further. He simply held you, letting you cling as tightly as you needed.
“Sleep now,” he whispered against your hair, pressing one last gentle kiss to the top of your head. “I’m right here. I’m not letting go.”
You stayed latched onto him, trembling faintly, body heavy with fatigue and the deep, lingering fullness he had left inside you. The chamber was quiet except for the soft sound of your breathing and the steady rhythm of his hand stroking through your hair.
And Sukuna held you through it all, content to let his stolen faithful remain wrapped around him like you never wanted to be anywhere else.
He eventually pulled your tired arms away from his neck.
It took gentle coaxing, his fingers carefully unwinding your grip until your limbs fell limp and heavy against his chest. Even in sleep your body protested the loss of contact, a small, unconscious whimper slipping past your lips. Sukuna gathered you closer, all four arms cradling you against him like something infinitely precious. One pair supported your back and thighs, another rested along your sides, keeping you secure in the wide span of his hold. His massive frame curled protectively around your much smaller one on the wide mat.
He looked at you.
Really looked.
This small woman who had taken all of him so eagerly, who had cried and begged and still opened wider when he asked. He had put you through so much. From the burning temple to the blade at his throat, from the first brutal claiming to the bath where he had stretched you beyond reason and flooded you until your belly swelled. The memory of your tears, your broken moans, your desperate clinging lingered in his chest like an unfamiliar weight.
Guilt, quiet and unfamiliar, settled deep inside him.
One large hand came up to cup your face, thumb brushing slowly across your cheek. Your lashes were still damp, lips slightly parted in exhausted sleep. So delicate. So human. And yet you had taken the King of Curses into your body twice tonight and held him there like you never wanted him to leave.
His gaze drifted lower.
His hand slid down to rest over the soft, swollen curve of your tummy. The skin was warm and taut beneath his palm, still rounded from the sheer volume of cum he had pumped into you. He caressed it gently, fingers tracing slow circles over the place where his seed now rested deep inside your womb. The thought of it taking root sent a strange ripple through him.
He had never cared for heirs.
Rulers did not need bloodlines. Conquest was eternal. Legacy was written in blood and fear, not in small hands and soft cries. It was such a human thing.
But then he remembered the lake earlier that day.
You beneath the pear tree, sunlight dancing across your skin, blossoms drifting down while you came apart so sweetly on his tongue. The image shifted in his mind, unbidden, and suddenly he saw you again, months from now, belly round and heavy with his child, glowing, soft, still looking at him with those wide, trusting eyes.
It was not such a bad sight.
In fact, it felt… right.
The realization clicked into place with surprising clarity.
He would only want that with you.
Not with any trembling village girl or fearful shrine maiden he could have taken on a whim. Only with the faithful one he had stolen, the one who had once held a knife to his throat and then pulled him closer instead. The one whose body had learned to crave him, whose heart still raced beneath his palm even in sleep.
Sharing a life with you suddenly seemed possible.
Not just possession. Not just claiming. Something quieter. Something that looked like mornings with pears and evenings in the bath and nights where you clung to him even after he had ruined you.
Sukuna’s hand stayed cupped over your swollen belly, thumb stroking slow, almost reverent circles. His other arms tightened around you, pulling you closer until your cheek rested against his chest and your legs draped over his hip.
He pressed a single, lingering kiss to the top of your head.
“Sleep, little one,” he whispered into your hair, voice barely audible. “I will take care of you now. Whatever comes… I will take care of you.”
The guilt still lingered, but it was softened by something warmer, something dangerously close to tenderness. He kept his hand on your belly, feeling the faint flutter of your breathing, imagining the day it might flutter with something more.
For the first time in his long, bloody existence, Ryomen Sukuna allowed himself to picture a future that was not only conquest and fear, but one that included you, soft and full and his in every possible way.
He closed his eyes, still cradling you close, and let the quiet thought settle deep inside him.
You.
His.
Perhaps even carrying his child.
The King of Curses held his stolen faithful through the night, one hand never leaving the gentle swell of your belly, already wondering how soon he could make that vision real.
You laid on your back in the cool hush of his chamber, the thick bedding Sukuna had carefully arranged around you cradling your body like a nest. The night air was still, carrying only the faint crackle of a low brazier and the soft rhythm of your breathing. From across the room Sukuna stood watching for a long moment, four crimson eyes fixed on the peaceful sight of you.
Your eyes were closed in deep sleep, lashes resting against your cheeks, lips slightly parted. The thick layers of bedding he had swaddled you in kept you warm, but every time you shifted even the smallest amount the weight of your growing swell became more and more apparent. The soft curve of your belly rose gently beneath the covers, rounder now, heavier, undeniably full with the life he had planted inside you. The sight held him transfixed, something ancient and possessive stirring low in his chest as he stared at the proof of what you had taken from him and made your own.
You were pregnant.
The knowledge still felt new, strange, and yet utterly right.
The moment you began to shift again, a small furrow appeared between your brows. Your hands moved restlessly beneath the bedding, fingers clutching at the empty space beside you, searching, reaching for the solid warmth that was no longer there. A quiet, distressed sound slipped from your throat, barely more than a breath.
Sukuna was already moving.
He crossed the chamber in three silent strides, sliding onto the wide mat beside you before your hands could grasp at nothing again. His large palms found yours immediately, fingers threading through your smaller ones, pulling your hands against his chest. He drew you close with all four arms, carefully turning you onto your side so your swollen belly rested safely against the hard planes of his body. One arm slipped beneath your head as a pillow, another curled around your back, the third settled protectively over the curve of your tummy, and the last stroked slow, soothing lines along your spine.
The moment he had you tucked against him your breathing settled. The tension melted from your shoulders, your face relaxing once more into peaceful sleep. You nuzzled closer, cheek pressing to his collarbone, one leg instinctively draping over his hip as if even unconscious you needed to be as close as possible. A soft, contented sigh left your lips.
You had found utter comfort in Sukuna now, even more so since the pregnancy had begun to show. The fear that once lived in your eyes had long since softened into something warmer, something that sought him out in sleep and in waking. He had become your safety, your anchor, the only place where the weight of your changing body felt bearable.
Sukuna kept his hand splayed wide over the swell of your belly, feeling the faint, steady pressure beneath his palm. He could sense the life growing there, the subtle movements that had only just started to become noticeable. His thumb traced slow circles over the taut skin, reverent and quiet.
He had never imagined he would want this.
Yet here you were, swollen with his child, clinging to him even in dreams, trusting him completely with the fragile new life you carried. The guilt he had once felt had faded into something deeper, something that made him hold you a little tighter every night.
He pressed a slow kiss to the top of your head, lips lingering in your hair as he whispered against the strands, voice barely audible in the quiet chamber.
“I’m here, little one. I’ve got you both.”
Your fingers tightened faintly around his in sleep, as if answering him. Your breathing stayed even and deep, your body heavy and warm against his, the swell of your belly pressed safely between you.
Sukuna closed his eyes, but he did not sleep.
He simply held you, one hand never leaving the gentle curve where his child grew, listening to the soft sounds of your breathing and feeling the quiet wonder of how completely you had changed everything.
The King of Curses laid awake in the cool darkness, cradling his pregnant faithful close, already certain that he would burn the world again if it meant keeping this peace intact.
In the quiet dark of the chamber, with you safely tucked against his chest and the soft swell of your belly pressed between your bodies, Sukuna let his mind drift back.
He remembered the first time you had started craving fruit.
It began with pears, ironically enough. You would wake in the middle of the night and ask for them in that small, shy voice, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He had laughed low and fetched them himself, slicing the sweet golden flesh with the same blade that had once rested against his throat. You ate them with such quiet greed, juice running down your chin, eyes fluttering in simple pleasure. He had thought nothing of it then, only that his stolen girl had developed a taste for something soft and sweet.
Then the sickness came.
Mornings where you would suddenly turn pale and rush to the basin, retching until there was nothing left. He had frowned and blamed the pears at first, muttering that perhaps they had been too ripe, too cold, too much. He brought you warmer broth instead, held your hair back, and told you to stop eating so many. You had only shaken your head weakly and asked for another pear once the nausea passed.
Then your body began to change.
Your breasts grew heavier, more sensitive. Your hips softened. And your belly… your belly started to round in the gentlest way. At first he told himself it was only the constant fullness he kept pumping into you every night, the thick loads he refused to let you waste. But the rounding stayed even on the rare days he did not fill you.
The truth finally struck him one evening after you had bathed.
You were still wet and naked, skin glistening, towel having slipped from your fingers to pool on the floor. You bent to retrieve it, back arching, the curve of your spine leading down to the plush swell of your ass. Sukuna had been behind you in an instant, drawn by the sight like a moth to flame.
He stepped close, chest brushing your back, and slid one large hand around to cup the front of your tummy. The moment his palm settled over the gentle curve, something clicked into place. The weight felt different. Warmer. Alive.
His voice had come out low, almost hesitant, each word measured and slow as if he were testing the shape of something dangerous and beautiful.
“…It is not the pears,” he had murmured against the damp skin of your shoulder, fingers spreading wider over your belly. “I think… something else has taken root here.”
He paused, letting the silence stretch, letting you feel the weight of his hand and the weight of his meaning.
“Life,” he said at last, voice dropping even lower, almost reverent, “is growing inside you.”
Your breath had stilled completely.
Your smaller hands flew to cover his where it rested on your tummy. You exhaled shakily, the sound trembling in the quiet room.
“Pregnant…” The word left your lips in a stunned whisper. Then again, softer, disbelieving, “I’m pregnant.”
It sounded surreal even to your own ears.
Sukuna had pulled you back against his chest immediately, both arms wrapping around you from behind, holding you tighter than he ever had. No discussions had come before this moment. You had both known the possibility was there, after all the countless nights he had come deep inside you again and again, flooding your womb until it overflowed. Yet hearing it spoken aloud made the truth settle heavy and wonderful between you.
You looked down at your own tummy, watching the way his large hand cradled the gentle swell, and a soft, overwhelmed laugh bubbled up through your tears.
Sukuna’s chin rested on top of your head. His voice rumbled through you, low and teasing, but warm.
“What was that just now?” He gave the slightest roll of his hips, pressing the heavy line of his cocks against the curve of your ass. “Having lewd thoughts about how I filled you so well that it took?”
Your face burned, but you could not deny the fresh slick that had gathered between your thighs at his words. You nodded shyly, biting your lip, still staring down at the place where his hand protected the new life growing inside you.
He chuckled softly, pressing a slow kiss to the side of your neck.
“Good,” he murmured, hand gently rubbing circles over your belly. “Because I plan to keep you this full for a very long time.”
Back in the present, lying together in the cool chamber, Sukuna’s hand remained exactly where it had been that day, splayed protectively over the now much rounder swell of your pregnant belly. He felt the faint, fluttering movements beneath his palm and smiled into your hair.
The pears had only been the beginning.
Now you carried his child, and every night he held you just like this, quietly marveling at how completely one stolen faithful girl had rewritten his world.
☆ Series Summary: Your roommate borrowed money from the wrong man and left you to pay the price. Levi Ackerman knows how to collect what he’s owed, but he doesn’t expect himself to protect the very person he meant to break.
☆ Chapter Summary: You’re trying to build a life outside Levi’s home, but every closed door makes the walls around you feel smaller. When hope falls apart, comfort comes from the last person you should want it from.
☆ Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Female Reader
☆ Genre/Tags: Modern AU, Crime AU, Loan Shark Levi Ackerman, Smut, Angst
☆ Content Warnings: Captor/captive relationship, power imbalance, stockholm syndrome elements, lima syndrome elements, morally grey Levi Ackerman, TW job hunting (lol), explicit sexual content, mildly dubious consent, possessive Levi, fingering, praise kink, unprotected PIV, hickeys/marking, creampie
☆ Word Count: 9.6k
☆ AO3 Link
☆ a/n: surprise! releasing this early because I felt like it lol. please try not to ask when the next chapter is coming out, I haven't even started the next chapter.
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[ Art by leviluminary on Pinterest ]
You think you’re starting to go insane.
Every job listing is another promise you’re beginning to distrust. Administrative assistant, receptionist, customer service representative, cashier, part-time bookkeeper, weekend front desk support. Must be self motivated, must be reliable, must have three years of experience for minimum wage, must be comfortable in a fast-paced environment which just means we will overwork you.
You sit at Levi’s kitchen table for hours, elbows planted on the wood he’s already wiped down twice now. Your resume is open in one tab, your email in another, and seven job sites spread in your top bar. You feel either almost qualified for some, and for others, it feels like you’re insulting the entire job market by applying to them. But you keep going.
You send one application, then another, then another after that. It has to count for something, right? Because sitting here all day with your spine stiff and your hands shaking has to mean something, because if nothing else, you’re proving that you’re not just taking up space in Levi’s home, eating his food, sleeping under his roof, and taking advantage of his protection. You’re trying. You really are.
Levi doesn’t hover over you, but he passes through the kitchen often enough that you start to notice a pattern. He comes in for a drink he doesn’t drink. He checks the lock on the front door even though you watched him check it twenty minutes earlier. He opens the fridge, stares into it, closes it again, then looks at the back of your head. You ignore him mostly.
Around noon, your stomach starts to growl, but you don’t bother getting up. You have four listings open that look possible if you squint, one rejection email sitting unopened because you already know what it says, and a sick little hope that the next application will be the one that changes everything. Food just feels like a distraction.
A plate lands beside your laptop. You look down at it. Salad. Actual salad, not just a handful of leaves thrown into a bowl, but greens, sliced vegetables, grilled chicken, and some kind of dressing on the side. You look up. Levi is already turning away, one hand tucked into his pocket.
“I’m not hungry,” you say, looking back down at your laptop.
“Didn’t ask.”
“I’m working.”
“You’ve been glaring at your laptop for hours now.”
You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Levi glances at the laptop just long enough to see the rejected application notification sitting in the middle of your screen. His eyes narrow, but you catch it, because you’ve grown so used to the tiny movements of his face. You half expect him to say something, but he doesn’t.
He leaves, and a few minutes later, he comes back with a cup of tea and sets it down by the salad. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t tell you it’ll all be okay or to stop sulking, because he knows neither of those will do anything to ease your worries. He just gives you a little pocket of warmth and walks away.
You stare at the steam rising from the cup. You try to fight the urge, you really do, but between your stomach growling and the strange comfort you always feel when you’re around him, you eat the salad, drink the tea, and keep applying.
.
The next week and a half is a series of repeated humiliation.
You learn too many company names. You edit your resume until it no longer sounds like you but as if artificial intelligence wrote it. You write cover letters full of cheerful lies about passion and growth and exciting opportunities, and every time you type I would be grateful for the chance, you die a little bit more inside.
Levi notices more than he lets on. He notices when you stop tapping your foot and start picking at the skin around your nails instead. He notices when your eyes go glassy after another automated rejection. He notices when you reread the same listing three times before clicking away with a sigh. He never asks if you’re okay, which would be useless because you would just lie, but he starts leaving tea beside you more often, starts making food without asking whether you want any, and starts lingering in the kitchen under pathetic excuses that frankly feel like an insult to your intelligence.
It shouldn’t matter. He’s only doing it because keeping you alive and functioning is in his best interest. At least, that’s what you tell yourself. And you have a very bad habit of lying to yourself.
Then, on a Thursday afternoon, you refresh your email and see it. You stare at the first message for so long that the words don’t make sense. Then you open it, and then you read it again. Then, you click back to the inbox and realize there’s another one beneath it.
Two interview requests. Two.
You sit there for a moment, frozen, your heart pounding in your chest hard enough to make your ears ring. Hope rises so quickly it almost drowns you. Levi suddenly appears, summoned by the hitch in your breath.
“What?” he asks.
You look up at him, gripping the edges of the laptop tight. “I got interviews.”
He looks toward the screen, then back at you. “How many?”
“Two.”
“When?”
“Tuesday. One at ten, one at one-thirty.” You swallow as the excitement wobbles under reality. “But they’re on different sides of town.”
“I’ll drive you.” He says it immediately, like the decision was made long before you were even part of the conversation.
The hope in you dies just slightly. Of course he’ll drive you, because even with interviews and resumes, you’re still not allowed to walk out the front door by yourself. You’re still a woman living under the protection and control of a man who locks you inside while calling it safety. You’re still breathing borrowed air.
“You don’t have to act like my parole officer,” you say.
“You’re not going alone,” he says.
“I know the way by bus.”
“Good for you.”
“Levi.”
“You are not going alone,” he repeats firmly this time.
You look back at your laptop because looking at his face feels like too much right now. These interviews were supposed to feel like freedom. “Fine,” you say quietly. You think for a moment he’s going to explain himself or try to soften the blow, but he doesn’t.
“Eat something,” he says.
He walks away. Your eyes don’t leave him until he’s out of sight.
.
Two days later, Levi drives you to the first interview in a black car that smells like his cologne. One hand is loose on the wheel while the other rests on the gear shift.
You had changed outfits twice, checked your bag five times, and reread your printed resume to look for any typos. You bounce your knee against the passenger-side door, your fingers playing with the strap of your bag.
“I’m going to mess it up,” you say, looking through the window.
“You won’t,” Levi says.
“You don’t know that.”
“You’ve been practicing answers in the shower for two days.”
Heat rushes to your face. “You heard that?”
“The walls aren’t made of concrete.”
“You could’ve said something.”
“It was cute,” he says under his breath.
You turn to glare at him, and he keeps his eyes on the road, mouth flat, though you see a suspicious twitch at the corner.
Your anxiety surges again when the car turns onto a busier street. You see the city spread out around you: pedestrians under awnings, storefronts with neon signs, a woman balancing coffee, two shopping bags, and an umbrella, traffic lights blinking red through rain-blurred air. The outside world looks almost painfully ordinary.
You’re out. You’re actually moving through the city. You’re seeing something other than Levi’s apartment, his kitchen, his couch, his bathroom.
But the relief is swallowed by bitterness quickly, because even though you can see the sidewalks, you can’t step onto them unless he lets you. You can watch people come and go with bags on their shoulders and phones in their hands without needing permission, while you’re still buckled into Levi’s passenger seat, being taken from one point to another.
“I’m scared,” you admit. “What if they can tell? What if they know I’m desperate? What if I say something stupid, or—or they ask about my previous job, or I sound like I have no idea what I’m doing? Oh my god—I feel so useless right now.”
Levi glances at you. “You’re not stupid. You’re not useless. You’re just panicking, so get it together and stop crying.”
You turn slowly toward him, pouting slightly. “I’m not crying.”
“You’re about to.”
“I am not!”
“Then why are you doing that thing with your face?”
“What thing?”
“The thing where you look like someone just slapped you and you’re trying to kiss ass about it.”
You stare at him, offended, embarrassed, and unfortunately somewhat calmer than you were thirty seconds ago. “That is the worst pep talk I’ve ever heard.”
“It worked.”
“It did not.”
“You stopped spiraling.”
“I stopped because I was too busy being insulted.”
“Same result though, huh?”
You, unfortunately, laugh. Levi’s eyes flick briefly toward you again before returning to the road. Eventually, he pulls up outside the first building and puts the car in park. You stare at the entrance, your stomach dropping.
“Hey,” Levi says. You look at him. “Breathe. Walk in like you own the place.”
“And if I feel like I don’t?”
“Lie.”
For some reason, that helps more than any encouragement could have, so you breathe and you get out. Levi waits in the car. You’re about to walk away when he suddenly rolls down the window. He calls your name. You stop and turn around, then lean down, locking your eyes with his.
“Don’t pass out in there,” he says.
You huff out a laugh. “No guarantee.”
The first interview isn’t perfect, but it’s not a disaster either. Your voice shakes once, maybe twice, but you recover. You answer the questions, you smile at the right times, you remember to ask about the role, the team, and the schedule. When you step back outside thirty minutes later, Levi is waiting for you.
The second interview goes better. By the time you return to the car after one-thirty, your back hurts from keeping a straight posture for too long, your mouth is dry from talking too much, and the exhaustion has finally settled into your bones. Levi notices before you say a word.
“Well?” he asks as you slide into the passenger seat.
You buckle yourself in, then look down at your hands. “I think they went well.”
“Both?”
“Yeah.” You hesitate, then continue. “I mean, in my opinion. I didn’t completely embarrass myself.”
“Atta girl.”
You don't know how to properly respond to that without embarrassing yourself, so you settle for a dry, “Maybe they’ll hire me out of pity.”
The car goes quiet. Levi reaches over before you can look away from him, his thumb brushing along your cheek with a touch so brief your whole body freezes around it.
“Stop talking down on yourself,” he says. Your breath catches. His thumb leaves your skin, but the warmth of it lingers. You want to crack a joke to ease the tension between you, but nothing comes, so you just look out the window.
“Okay,” you say, and it comes out softer than you mean it to.
Levi drives. A little while later, he turns into a small parking lot instead of taking the road back to the house. You look around in confusion until you recognize the shop. Your favorite drink place. The one you had mentioned once, a few days ago, offhandedly, in the middle of complaining how nothing in his house had enough sugar.
“You remembered?” you ask.
“No,” he says, unbuckling his seat belt.
“Levi.”
“I have a functioning memory. It means nothing more.”
You follow him inside, still wearing your interview clothes. You watch him order your drink without asking. He must have remembered when you told him which drink you always ordered. When he hands it to you, the condensation cold against your fingers, your throat tightens.
“You survived two interviews. You deserve it,” he says.
It’s just a stupid drink. Sugar and ice in a plastic cup with a straw punched through the lid. It isn’t the freedom you’ve been craving. It isn’t a promise that your life will be worth living again. But it's a celebration because Levi treats it like one, even though you think he would rather chew glass than call it that.
And that scares you, because he’s starting to sound like he cares. Or maybe, he’s cared for longer than you wanted to notice.
You sit in the passenger seat afterward with the drink held tight in your hand. The city passes by you outside the window. You try to come up with a hundred different reasons why you should hate him. He’s dangerous. He’s controlling. He’s the reason you only have freedom in the form of a car ride. He’s the man who says you’re not going outside alone and expects you to just sit and take it like a good girl.
But he’s also the man who’s given you a roof, food, protection, transportation, tea when you’re stressed, salad when you refuse to eat, and now this stupid, sweet drink.
You take a sip and hate him for remembering. You take another and hate yourself more for smiling.
.
That night, you cook dinner. The kitchen is warmed by the steam curling from the pot on the stove. Your knife slices through the vegetables on the cutting board. You let yourself imagine it while the pot hisses and the smell of garlic rises around you: a job. A real one. Maybe not a perfect one, maybe not something you would’ve chosen before this, but a job that pays actual money. Money means options. Money means you can move on. It means you’ll be able to give something to Levi that isn’t an apology or an excuse.
You’ll pay him back. You’ll get out of here. You’ll be able to go outside alone and stop needing him.
Levi sits at the table while you cook, his chair angled so that he can watch both you and the front door, because even now, he’s on edge. He doesn’t offer to help, which you’re grateful for, because you want to do this yourself. You want to feed him tonight. You want one small piece of evidence that you can contribute something other than problems.
But you realize quickly that nothing about him should matter this much.
When you set the plate in front of him, Levi looks down at it, then up at you, and for one unbearable second, you feel self-conscious under his gaze. He picks up his fork, takes one bite, chews, swallows, then says, “Good.”
Just like before. Simple and blunt. Too small to be called praise. You cross your arms and lean against the counter. “You know, one of these days, you should try being grateful without sounding like you’re being tortured.”
“I said it was good.”
“Real convincing.”
“If I hated it, you’d know.”
“You’re a poet.”
“I’m eating it, aren’t I?”
You roll your eyes, but a smile threatens your mouth. You turn away before he can see it. You busy yourself with your own plate, trying not to focus on how normal this feels: the table, the food, Levi eating what you made.
Across the table, Levi watches you. His gaze shifts down when you finally sit, when you pick at your food before eating it, when your shoulders finally ease after the first few bites. She’s smiling, he thinks, and then shoos away the thought before it can mean anything. It doesn’t mean anything. It can’t.
You getting a job would be better for both of you. A step toward whatever comes next when this arrangement ends and he no longer has you under his care. But the thought of you raises more emotion in him than he’d like—emotions that he would rather die than say aloud.
Dinner passes with small conversation, mostly about the interviews because you can’t stop circling back to them. Levi listens more than he speaks. He makes one or two comments, dry enough to make you scoff. Afterward, he clears his own plate, but you take it from him at the sink before he can wash it.
“I’ll do the dishes too,” you say.
“You cooked. That means I do them.”
“Not tonight.”
He looks like he wants to argue, then decides, for once in his life, to not push. “Don’t break anything. My dishes are expensive.”
“Your faith in me is inspiring.”
The water runs lukewarm over your hands. You listen to the clinking of the dishes, the rustle of Levi moving somewhere behind you. You wash slowly, mostly because you don’t want the evening to end. Once the dishes are done, the hope will have nowhere to go. Once the kitchen is clean, you’ll have to return to the couch and the knowledge that this isn’t your home, no matter how many meals you cook inside it.
You’re rinsing the last plate when Levi comes up behind you. You feel him before he touches you. Your body recognizes the proximity of his. Then his hands settle on your hips. Your breath catches, and the plate nearly slips from your soapy fingers.
“Levi,” you whisper.
He leans in, his chest brushing your back, and presses his mouth to the side of your neck. The kiss is slow, almost restrained, his lips warm against your pulse point which jumps beneath his mouth. A shiver travels down your spine, and his fingers tighten slightly at your hips.
For a shameful second, you want to lean back. You want to feel him. You want your mind to go blank. Then the thought hits you so hard your stomach turns. You’re still dependent on him. You have nowhere else to go. The food you cooked, the interviews he drove you to, the drink he bought you, the roof over your head, the safety, the care he’s been showing you—all of it gathers at once in your gut.
Maybe this is what you owe. Maybe this is how you repay him.
Levi presses closer, his hips fitting against your ass, and whatever held you in place finally snaps. You turn around, wet hands shoving against his chest.
“No,” you say.
Levi stops. His hands leave you like the contact burns him. He steps back once, then again, putting enough distance between your body and his. You stand there, breathing too fast, fingers dripping water onto the floor. You brace for anger or something horrible to leave his mouth, something to make you feel stupid for thinking you could refuse him.
But Levi says nothing. He only looks at you for one long second, something unreadable moving behind his eyes, and then his gaze drops to the floor. He backs away fully.
“I’ll be in my room,” he says, leaving you standing in the kitchen with the sink still running and your heart pounding.
You turn the water off with shaking hands. For several minutes, you just stand there, gripping the edge of the counter. You stare down at the unfinished dishes, at the water draining in the sink. Shame crawls over you even though you know, somewhere underneath the panic, that you did nothing wrong.
You said no. He stopped. That should be the end of it. But it isn’t.
Night comes, and you lay on the couch beneath your blanket, curled onto your side with your back to the room, staring at nothing while the city keeps moving outside. You try to sleep, but every time your eyes close, you’re back at the sink with his mouth against your neck and his hands on your hips, back inside that terrible second when you wanted him and feared what wanting him meant.
Your body remembers the warmth. Your mind remembers the debt.
You feel ashamed for pushing him away, then ashamed for feeling ashamed. Then angry that you miss the contact you rejected. How dare your body ache for something that you fear? How dare loneliness turn you into someone who wants comfort from the man who hurt you?
You roll onto your back and press the heels of your hands over your eyes. You did nothing wrong, so why do you feel like you did? You lie there until the house goes near silent. Levi’s bedroom door remains closed. He’s given you so much space it feels like near abandonment. You told him no. He listened. Now you’re lying here hurt because he’s respecting it.
There’s something wrong with you.
You feel a wave of loneliness move through you. You want another body nearby. You want warmth. You want to close your eyes and feel safe with someone else. You want to sleep without listening for footsteps, without wondering what tomorrow will take from you.
You sit up before you can talk yourself out of it. The blanket slips from your shoulders. You simply sit there in the dark, staring toward the hallway that leads to Levi’s room. Then you stand. Each step feels louder than it is. The floor is cold beneath your bare feet. Maybe you’ll just go to the bathroom. Maybe you’ll get a glass of water. You tell yourself so many lies so weak that they fall apart before you finish thinking them.
You stop outside Levi’s bedroom door. The house is dark around you. There’s no light spilling through the bottom of his door. He might be asleep. He might be awake. Knowing Levi, he might be laying perfectly still on the other side with his eyes open, staring at the ceiling.
Your hand rises. All you have to do is knock.
You could ask. Just ask. You could say you can’t sleep. You could say you don’t want to be alone. You could tell him it’s not about earlier, even if that would be a lie and you both would know it. You could ask for comfort without offering your body as payment. You could see what he does with that kind of trust.
Your knuckles hover inches from the wood. Then you realize, with a rush of fear, that Levi already has too much power over you. He decides when you leave. He decides how far. He decides what danger is worth risking and what isn’t. He knows what you eat, when you sleep, how you take your tea, what drinks you like, how your voice changes when you’re trying not to cry. He already sees too much.
If he knows you want comfort from him, what is left? If he knows you’re lonely enough to come to his door after pushing him away, how much smaller will you become?
Your hand slowly curls into a fist. You let yourself imagine knocking anyway. Let yourself imagine the door opening, his tired eyes narrowing as he takes you in, his voice low and rough with exhaustion as he asks what the hell you’re doing standing there. Let yourself imagine stepping inside.
Then you lower your hand.
You turn away before you can change your mind and walk back to the couch with your arms wrapped tightly around yourself. It feels like the most sensible thing you’ve done all night.
You lie down beneath the blanket again. And down the hall, behind the door you chose not to knock on, Levi lies awake longer than he should, staring at the dark, listening to nothing, telling himself that giving you space is the right thing to do.
It is. He knows it is.
So he stays where he is.
.
A few days pass, and hope becomes a nervous habit. You check your email too often. People do that kind of thing—it’s normal, you know this. The waiting makes everyone a little jumpy. But then an hour becomes thirty minutes, then fifteen, and every time the silence stretches too long in the house, your mind searches desperately for something to cling onto.
You check it from the kitchen table with your tea going cold beside your hand. You check it from the couch with the television playing some random daytime show. You check it standing in the hallway, halfway between rooms. And nothing.
Then you get newsletters. Spam. A coupon from a store you haven’t been to in three years. One automated response from a place you applied to two weeks ago. No interview follow-up, and no offer.
Levi is gone for most of those days, swallowed up by whatever version of work he disappears into when he leaves the house. He doesn’t tell you where he goes, and you’ve learned not to ask. One day he comes home late smelling faintly of smoke and something metallic you don’t think about identifying. One day he comes home with a bruise across his knuckles and acts like you’re committing a crime against him for noticing.
But, he’s mostly gone, so you’re left alone with your own thoughts, and your thoughts are vicious little things that eat away slowly at your mind.
The house feels larger without him, and somehow less breathable. It becomes hollow. You try to apply to more jobs one morning, but every listing looks impossible. Every paragraph of requirements makes you feel like no one will want you. Not like this. Not desperate. Not half-owned by circumstances you can’t explain.
You’re being dramatic. You know this. You check your email again.
On the fourth morning, both rejections come in less than an hour apart.
The first one arrives at 9:17 a.m. You see the subject line before you open it, and part of you knows before your finger even touches the trackpad. Your heartbeat slows instead of quickening, sinking as you click, as the message opens.
Thank you for your interest. We appreciate the time you took to meet with us. We have decided to move forward with another candidate.
It stings. Like a slap you were bracing for and still somehow felt across your entire face. You sit there at the kitchen table, staring at the screen, trying to stop yourself from spiraling by telling yourself it’s just one job, one place, one decision, and the other interview went better anyway. The other one had to go better. You remember the hiring manager smiling. You remember answering clearly. You remember leaving the building with your shoulders lighter, letting yourself think, just for a few minutes, maybe.
You close the first email. You don’t cry. You’re proud of that for exactly forty-three minutes.
Then the second rejection arrives, and it crushes you.
Your hope breaks without dramatics. You simply feel empty, like everything inside you has been scooped clean out. You read the email once, then again, then a third time, because your mind refuses to believe that two doors can close so quietly after you spent days trying to force them open.
You don’t move for a long time. The laptop sits open in front of you. The kitchen clock ticks. You close the laptop, then you leave it there. You don’t job hunt for the rest of the day. You don’t make yourself tea. You don’t clean the counters, even though there’s a ring of water near the sink that would normally irritate you enough to wipe it away. You don’t fold the blanket on the couch. You don’t change out of the pajamas you slept in. You don’t cook, because the thought of food makes your throat close.
You lie on the couch instead. The television plays for hours. A woman laughs brightly on a game show. Commercials play, promising a better mattress, clearer skin, and a medication whose side effects sound like a disease in itself. Someone in a cooking segment explains the importance of fresh herbs. The world just keeps moving. You stare through all of it.
You can’t leave. You can’t pay Levi back. You can’t get hired. You can’t even turn two decent interviews into one mediocre offer. You’re stuck in Levi’s home, stuck under Levi’s protection, stuck waiting for permission to step outside, stuck eating food you didn’t buy and sleeping under a roof you didn’t earn, and the worst part is that you're not even afraid of him anymore.
You’re realizing now that the cage is softer than you thought, that the lock on the door has kept other monsters out, that the man holding the key remembers your favorite drink and notices when you skip lunch. You despise him for that. You despise yourself more.
By the time the front door opens that night, the sky beyond the windows has gone dark. The living room is lit only by the flicker of the television. You hear Levi’s keys first, then the click of the lock, then his footsteps stopping just inside the apartment.
He notices immediately. The television is on, but you’re not watching it. You’re lying on the couch in the same pajamas he saw you in that morning, your hair a mess against the cushion, your body curled up defensively. The kitchen is empty. No dinner. No dishes in the sink. No smell of garlic or tea or anything that proves you existed inside this house today.
Levi stands there for a moment, the door closing behind him slowly. “What happened?” he asks.
You don’t look at him. “Nothing.”
A pause. You can feel him staring. “You’ve been lying there all day?”
“No.” That’s a lie, and a bad one. You don’t even have the energy to make it convincing.
Levi’s mouth flattens. He sets his keys on the small table by the door, removes his coat, and drapes it over the back of a chair. You wait for him to push, for the interrogation, the command, the force he’ll use to cut the truth out of you whether you want to offer it or not.
But he just says, “Fine. Don’t tell me.”
You wish you didn’t feel abandoned by his words.
He walks into the kitchen. You stare at the television, your vision blurring. You half-listen to the sound of him moving through the kitchen, opening the fridge, setting a pan on the stove. You don’t know what he’s making because you don’t bother to turn around, but the house eventually fills with the scent of something savory.
Levi doesn’t ask if you want any. He already knows you’d say no, so he sets a plate on the coffee table in front of you. You look at it, then him. He’s changed nothing about his expression, but his eyes move over your face too carefully, taking inventory of the damage you’re hiding.
“Eat,” he says.
You push yourself upright and pick up the fork. You take a bite. It tastes good. You take another, then you stop. Levi sits in the chair across from you, his own plate balanced on his knees. He barely touches it though—he’s too busy watching you.
“Eat more,” he says after a while.
“I’m not hungry,” you say.
“That’s bullshit.”
You stare down at the plate. “I’m not hungry.”
Inside his head, Levi’s first instinct is to demand an answer. It’s ugly: press until something gives, use violence if he has to, pull the truth out by your hair. It would be easy. You’re tired and breaking. One hard question and you might just crack open right here on the couch.
But he doesn’t do it. He thinks about your hands shoving against his chest in the kitchen days ago. The way your voice shook when you said no. The way you looked at him like you expected him to become every bad thing you feared. He sets his fork down.
“Fine,” he says again. You wish he would stop saying that as if he’s leaving a door unlocked, waiting for you to walk through it.
The rest of your dinner goes cold. Night comes slowly, then all at once. Levi goes to his room after cleaning up what little you ate. You remain on the couch, the television turned off now. The house is dark except for the strips of moonlight coming in through the windows. You lie on your side with the blanket pulled to your shoulder, staring at the back of the couch. The silence is overwhelming, and then, finally, there’s nothing left to distract you from yourself.
What if this is it? Another week. Another failed application. Another month of him driving you places because it’s not safe. Another meal you cook because you need to feel useful. Another night listening to him move behind a closed door while you lie on his couch. What if you never get out of here? What if he never lets you? What if he does let you, eventually, and you have nowhere to go?
You think of the people he protects you from, whoever they are. You think of the violence that sits dormant in his body. You think of his hands and mouth on you. You think of how quickly he stopped when you said no both times. You think of how badly you wished, hours later, that he had opened his door and given you somewhere to put your loneliness.
You’re afraid he’ll hurt you. You’re afraid he’ll keep you. You’re afraid he’ll get tired of keeping you. That’s what scares you the most, because what are you if you can’t pay him back? What are you if you can’t get hired, can’t leave, can’t offer anything useful except dinner and the occasional warmth of your body when you’re too lonely to be proud? What happens when Levi realizes you’re not worth the trouble or the danger?
You don’t like that you want to be useful to him. You don’t like that disappointing him hurts—more than it should. You don’t like that part of you isn’t crying because you failed, but because failure means you’re still here with nothing to give him.
The first sob slips out before you can swallow it. You slap a hand over your mouth, but it’s too late. Another follows, harder, your body shaking beneath the blanket. You try to keep quiet, because you can’t bear to ask him for anything else. Not comfort. Not mercy. But the harder you try to stop, the worse it becomes, grief clawing up your throat in humiliating sounds you can’t control.
You don’t hear Levi’s door open at first. Or maybe you do, and the sound simply doesn’t reach you because you’re too busy drowning.
He stands in the hallway for a second, barefoot, shirt wrinkled from lying down, his hair messy in a way you’ve only ever seen a few times before. He doesn’t move at first. He gives you a chance to notice him, to tell him to go away if that’s what you need, but you’re curled up so much that you don’t see him at all.
Levi crosses the room quietly and crouches beside the couch. He says your name. You jolt, turning your face away immediately, one hand dragging clumsily over your cheeks as if you can erase the evidence before he can see it.
“Go away,” you choke.
“No.”
“Levi—”
His fingers touch your face before you can finish, brushing the wetness from your cheek. You push at his hand. It’s weak and pathetic, barely a refusal.
“I said go away.”
“I heard you.”
“Then why are you still here?”
He looks at you for a long moment, and whatever answer he has must not be satisfying enough to him because he doesn’t speak it. He only slides one arm beneath your shoulders and the other beneath your knees. Your body tenses, fear waking fast as he lifts you off the couch. The blanket slips. Your hands fly to his shirt, not knowing if you’re trying to push him away or keep yourself from falling.
He doesn’t put you down, and instead carries you down the hall. You should fight. You don’t know what he plans to do with you. You should twist and kick and make yourself impossible to carry, but his hold on you is firm. Grief has emptied you so much that resistance slips through your fingers. You clutch at his shirt instead.
He pushes the bedroom door open with his shoulder. His room is dark and extremely clean. The bed is made, as if he wasn’t just sleeping in it. The air smells like him, faintly like soap and cologne and cedar. Your crying hitches into smaller breaths.
He lays you down on the bed. He doesn’t climb over you. He sits at the edge at first, giving you space even now. That small amount of restraint breaks you even further, because you know what it means to him. You know he could have demanded answers by now and has chosen, again and again tonight, not to.
You reach for him before you can stop yourself. You grab his shirt, and then you’re pulling yourself toward him, or he’s moving toward you, or both of you close the distance at the same time because neither of you has the strength left to pretend this isn’t what you need. He pulls you into his chest, one arm wrapping around your back, the other hand coming to the back of your head as you bury your face against him and sob like no one is listening.
Levi holds you. He doesn’t mock you or sigh or tell you to stop crying, though part of him wants to because crying means that something is wrong, and he’s always been better at breaking wrong things than fixing them. He only keeps his arm around you, his palm slowly moving over your hair. You can’t imagine where he could have learned such tenderness.
Your tears soak into his shirt. He lets them. For a while, the only sound is your crying and his breathing, low beneath your cheek. His heartbeat is calmer than yours, and you cling to it because your own feels frantic and trapped in its ribcage.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, the words coming out mangled against his chest.
His hand pauses in your hair. “For what?”
You don’t even know where to begin. For failing. For crying. For needing him. For pushing him away. For wanting him anyway. For sitting in his house all day doing nothing. For becoming another problem in his life.
“For everything,” you say. “I feel useless.”
Levi shushes you and resumes the path of his fingers over your hair. “You’re not useless, baby doll.”
You squeeze your eyes shut. The sob that follows is weaker than the others, almost exhausted. “You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
“You don’t.”
“I do,” he repeats, and this time, he says it more firmly, filled with a hint of anger on your behalf. He would gladly put his fist through whatever part of your mind keeps feeding you this poison—if only it had a face.
You breathe unevenly against him. “I’m never getting out of here.”
The truth comes out. The truth beneath the job rejections, beneath the shame, beneath the untouched dinner and the crying you couldn’t silence.
Levi goes very still. You feel his entire body lock up. You think you’ve said something wrong for a moment. Maybe you have. Maybe there’s no right thing to say in a bed that isn’t yours, against a man who’s both the reason you’re protected and the reason protection feels so much like captivity. His hand shifts from your hair to the back of your neck.
“You’re not stuck because you failed two interviews.”
He says your name. You pull back just enough to look at him. His face is close, shadowed in the dark, his eyes fixed on yours with an intensity that makes it hard to breathe. He looks tired, like the sight of you breaking has forced him to face a part of himself he doesn’t want to face.
The room is too quiet. The bed is too warm. His hand still rests at the back of your neck, and yours are still gathered in the front of his shirt, wrinkling the fabric because letting go feels impossible now that you’ve already humiliated yourself by reaching for him. Your tears have slowed, though your face is still damp, and your breath still catches now and then.
Levi watches one of those breaths tremble out of you. He tells himself not to do it. You’re upset and vulnerable. You’re in his bed because he brought you here. There are a dozen reasons to stand up, put space between you, tell you to sleep and leave before this becomes something neither of you can take back. He knows all of them. He's counted them. He’s survived this long by knowing when want is a liability.
But then your gaze drops to his mouth for one brief second, and when you look back at his eyes, there’s fear there, yes, but want as well. Loneliness. Need. The same contradiction that’s been floating between you for days.
“Tell me no,” he whispers.
Your breath stops. He’s not touching you like he did in the kitchen. He’s not pressing. He’s not taking. He’s giving you the word before he takes anything else, placing it in your hands because you both know what happened last time.
You should say it. You should pull away. You should lie down on the far side of the bed and let this pass through you without turning it into another complication, because that won’t fix the rejections, it won’t pay your debt, and it won’t make you free. It doesn’t solve anything. It might ruin everything.
But Levi’s hand is warm at the back of your neck. His shirt is damp beneath your cheek. The room smells like him. You’re so tired of being alone with yourself that the thought of pulling away feels like stepping back into the cold.
You understand the consequences. You see them clearly. You choose him anyway.
You lean in. Levi meets you halfway, and the kiss is nothing like the hunger that sparked in your apartment or in the cell. This is slower, more careful. Tender in a dangerous way, because tenderness means trust, and trust is the one thing you’ve been trying not to give him.
He’s holding himself back by force, and every second of softness is a choice he has to keep making. You kiss him back with a shaky breath caught between you. You grip his shirt a little tighter, your body turning toward his before shame can turn you away.
All you feel is comfort for a moment. Then desire pools beneath it, terrifyingly alive. Levi feels the change in you, the small shift of your body closer to his, the way your mouth follows when he starts to pull back. Something fractures in him. He pulls back a sound he refuses to make. He keeps one hand at your neck, the other at your back, holding you carefully as if you’re fragile.
He draws back only enough to look at you. You open your eyes slowly. His forehead nearly touches yours.
“Still with me, sweetheart?” he asks.
Your chest aches. You know what the right answer would be if you were smarter, if you were freer, if wanting him didn’t feel like handing him another key. But you’re here. You’re in his bed. You’re not crying anymore. And for the first time all day, your mind is quiet.
So you nod. Then, because nodding isn’t enough, because he told you to use your words once and the memory rises unbidden, you whisper, “Yes.”
Levi closes his eyes for half a second, then he kisses you again. He’s soft at first, lips barely brushing against yours. The warmth of his breath mingles with your own. There’s no rush here, only the slow press of his mouth, letting you decide how much to meet him.
Your fingers tighten in his shirt, pulling him ever so closer. Levi’s thoughts flicker with restraint. He wonders if you can sense the effort it costs him to keep his hands on your neck and back instead of letting them roam. The rejections and the weight of the day fade under the kiss. You taste the faint salt of your earlier tears. He’s here, solid and warm, and the cage of his arms no longer feels like confinement. It’s a place where vicious thoughts can’t reach you as easily.
The hunger begins to surface. He deepens the kiss with a low sound he can’t quite suppress. His tongue traces the seam of your lips, seeking entry, and when you part them, he takes it with growing intensity, the gentleness finally giving way to the need that surges through him. He rolls on top of you, your bodies aligning from chest to hips. The grind of his pelvis against yours sends a spark through you. You feel the hard line of him through his pants as he moves once, then again. Your legs part to accommodate him. The fit of your bodies draws a shared breath from both of you.
Inside Levi’s head, the sight of you beneath him like this pulls at old instincts to both claim and protect. He tempers it with the memory of your earlier sobs, choosing instead to let the motion speak of comfort laced with desire. Your thoughts race with the same fear. The fear of losing yourself to him warring against the pull of wanting to be wanted, to matter in a way that doesn’t require payment.
Levi’s hands move to the hem of your shirt. He lifts it slowly over your head. You don’t stop him. The fabric slips away. Your shorts follow, leaving you only in your underwear. The air of the room brushes your bare skin. His gaze drops for a moment, taking in the curve of your breasts. He removes his own shirt in one fluid motion. The muscle of his torso comes into view. Tattoos snake down his arms. He lowers himself again to kiss you, skin meeting skin. You arch into the contact, your hands sliding up his back to feel his warmth. The praise he murmurs against your mouth comes low.
“You’re so beautiful like this.”
He trails his hand down your stomach, slipping beneath the waistband of your underwear. One finger parts you gently, finding the slick evidence of how his kisses and touch have already affected you. Levi circles your entrance with tender strokes, his mouth never leaving yours as he kisses through the first soft gasp you give him. He adds a second finger, easing them inside with a slow push that stretches you in a way that draws a whimper from your throat. His pace is slow at first, thumb brushing your clit in light, passing circles.
Levi increases the pace, your hips moving with him. His fingers thrust deeper and faster, thumb pressing more firmly against your clit. The kiss grows hungrier, his tongue matching the rhythm below as he swallows the sounds you make. Your mind is finally at peace, the fear of tomorrow replaced by the immediacy of his touch. The pressure builds steadily, your thighs trembling around his wrist as he works you through the pleasure. Two fingers curl just right. His thumb maintains its relentless circling.
Your climax catches you with a sudden rush, your walls fluttering around his fingers. The pleasure crests and breaks through you in waves. Levi kisses you through it, his movements slowing only when your body begins to still. His thumb eases pressure to gentle strokes that draw out the aftershocks without overstimulating you. He stays close, forehead resting against yours. Your breathing evens.
Levi withdraws his fingers slowly, watching your face for the flutter of your eyelids. The absence of his touch leaves you momentarily untethered until his hands move to the waistband of his pants. The fabric slides down his hips and off his legs to reveal his hard length. He climbs over you, movements almost predatory.
He lifts your legs, positioning them over his shoulders gently, a stark contrast from the pure dominance in his gaze. His palms slide down the backs of your thighs to grip firmly before he aligns himself with your entrance. You feel him press against your heat before he pushes forward with a pressure that stretches you open around every inch.
Levi’s thoughts are a storm, his jaw tight with the effort of holding back when every instinct demands he bury himself to the hilt. He watches your face, searching for pain, for hesitation, for any signs that he should stop. Only when he sees your lips part on a gasp that contains no distress does he sink fully inside. He fills you, and you’re able to feel the pulse of him against your walls.
Your hands fist in the sheets as your body adjusts to the intrusion. Levi holds still, his chest heaving with controlled breaths. When he begins to move, it’s with slow, testing thrusts. Each withdrawal and return means to let you feel every sensation. You find yourself arching into him. Your legs over his shoulders creates an angle that makes each stroke press against a sensitive spot inside you.
The contrast of his gentleness and his power, how he holds you open and vulnerable yet shields you from the roughness you might fear, feels almost terrifying. You let your head fall back, exposing your throat to the air. But the inhibition in Levi’s movements begins to falter as your body submits to him, your muscles relaxing to accept him. His hips snap forward with increasing speed, the careful rhythm giving way to a harder, deeper pace.
He leans forward, folding your legs back further. The change in angle makes you cry out. Your hands fly to his forearms where they grip your thighs, holding on as he fucks into you with a force that rocks the bed beneath you. The control he maintains is a thin thread, snapped and rewoven with each sound you make, each clench of your body around him that tells him you’re with him, that you want this, and that you’ve chosen to be here beneath him.
You can’t speak. The words you want to say are reduced to gasps and whimpers that he swallows with your gaze. You let him set the pace, let him use your body for his pleasure. He drives into you harder, seeking the places that make your vision white at the edges. Levi curses under his breath.
“Fuck, just like that.” he groans. “Take it, sweetheart. Take everything.”
He lowers your legs then, guiding them down to wrap around his waist. The shift brings him closer, chest to chest, his face hovering inches above yours. You feel the difference immediately, the intimacy of his mouth claiming yours as he fucks you. His tongue mirrors the rhythm below. His hand finds your breast, thumb circling the nipple before pressing down lightly.
Your body moves with him rather than merely receiving him. Your hips rise to meet each downward stroke that pounds into you. It should hurt, but it builds an exquisite pressure. Levi looks at you, marveling at how you’ve transformed from the weeping creature on his couch to this responsive, hungry being in his bed. He thinks, suddenly, that he would kill to keep you here. Safe, and his.
“You’re mine,” he whispers against your mouth.
You nod frantically because in this moment, suspended between the threat of tomorrow and the reality of his body inside yours, you want to be his. You want the protection he offers even if it comes with chains.
“Say it,” he demands, his hand leaving your breast to brush your clit in a sudden touch that makes you whine. “Tell me.”
“Yours,” you gasp, the word breaking on a moan. He hits a spot that makes your toes curl. The admission feels both like surrender and relief, a confession of need that you’ve been denying for days.
The pace becomes relentless then. Levi’s control slips entirely as he chases his release. His hips work in powerful, grinding thrusts that leave you breathless. His hand comes to rest on your hip, gripping and holding you steady for his use. He curses again, a stream of praise and obscenity washing over you.
“So fucking good. You’re doing so well, taking me so deep,” he moans.
Each word brands you, marking you as his, transcending physicality. You feel the tension in him building. His rhythm stutters as he swells inside you. He buries his face in your neck, teeth grazing the tendon there. He sucks hard, a hickey blooming across your skin, throbbing, leaving a visible claim that you’ll wear tomorrow.
He cums with a broken sound, a groan that vibrates against your throat as he spills inside you. He fills you in pulses that seem to go on forever, grinding lazily as he empties himself. But he doesn’t stop, even as his own climax breaks through him. His hand slides between your bodies to find your clit, rubbing tight circles that force you closer to the edge.
“Cum for me,” he commands. “I wanna feel you squeeze me, baby doll. Give it to me.”
Your body responds to him even as your mind reels. The stimulation on your throbbing clit is intense, almost too much, but his fingers work you as if he knows your body by heart now. You still feel his hardness in you. You finally tip over the edge, and your orgasm crashes through you, making you cry out against his shoulder. Your walls clamp down on him, milking him as your vision goes dark and your body bows off the bed. He groans at the feeling, free arm wrapping around your back to hold you through it, whispering praise that you barely hear through the rushing in your ears.
“That’s it. Good girl, so beautiful.”
When the wave finally recedes, you’re limp, trembling, and utterly spent. It leaves no room for thought or fear or shame—only the floating aftermath of sweet release. Levi pulls out slowly, hissing at the sensitivity. You feel the loss of him and whine. He collapses beside you with a graceless fall, exhaustion claiming him. His chest heaves as he drags air into his lungs. For a moment, you lie apart, the sweat cooling on your skin, the sound of your breathing filling the dark room.
Then his arm reaches out, pulling you toward him. He guides you to roll onto your side, and he fits himself against your back. His chest is a solid wall of heat. You’re too tired to resist, too undone to maintain the boundaries that seemed so important hours ago, and you let him move you as he wants. It almost terrifies you how trusting you are.
His arm comes around your waist. You find his wrist with your hand, holding onto him like a lifeline. Your fingers circle his wrist in an absentminded caress. Levi shifts, his hand moving to find yours, threading his fingers through your own. He locks your hands together before he brings them to rest of your stomach, just below your navel where you can feel the phantom pulse of his release.
The gesture is so intimate, so domestic in its possessiveness, that you almost forget who you’re lying next to. You lie there in his arms, your hand locked in his, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing against your back. The warmth of him envelops you. Sleep pulls at you, your body demanding restoration after this mess of a day. Your mind fights to stay awake, to remember that this is temporary, that you’re still trapped, that the rejections still wait in your email and the debt still hangs between you.
Yet, as consciousness fades, the conflict within you worsens instead of resolves. You fear him—the violence you know he’s capable of, the control he exerts over your life, the way he’s made you need him not just for safety but for the warmth of his praise and the shelter of his body. But you want him with a hunger that shames you, want the safety of his arms and the sound of his voice calling you his, want the way he looks at you as if you’re precious even while he fucks you until he leaves marks.
The duality tears at you, the knowledge that you’ve handed him a piece of yourself tonight that you can’t take back. You crossed a line from which there may be no return, and yet the comfort of his heartbeat against your spine lulls you toward surrender.
You fear what he’ll demand tomorrow, what price this intimacy will be, whether the gentleness will vanish with the dawn and leave you with only the cage you dreaded. But you want to wake up still held, still his, still protected from the world that has shown you no mercy beyond these walls. The last though that flickers through your mind before sleep claims you is the awareness of his thumb stroking the back of your hand.
You sink into darkness with his name unspoken on your lips, your body curled into his, your hand prisoner to his on your stomach, and caught between the terror of captivity and the terrible, aching sweetness of finally—finally—not being alone.
cold. rivals. that was the only way to describe your relationship with sukuna. since middle school, you've been fighting to see who's smarter— which always came out with you on top.
naturally, sukuna's furious. not at you, oh no, definitely not at that pretty face of yours, just at how smart you are. he couldn't think of a better person that fits the stereotype. ever since you joined that middle school halfway through the year, he's known to keep his eye on you. even up until university, where you two are still competing— and he's still losing.
98 percent. he knew you got that hundred. and when you lifted up your paper from across the lecture hall only to show full marks, his suspicion was confirmed.
he pulls at his salmon hair, laying his head down on the table. he feels a tap on his shoulder.
he knew it would be those perfect glossed lips and neat manicured nails.
as expected, it was you with a huge, cocky smirk playing on your lips.
“what, pissed off i got a higher score than you, ryomen?” you raise an eyebrow, crossing your arms.
“you never shut the fuck up about damn scores, do you?” his nails dig into the desk, turning his body to face you.
“you know me so well.” you roll your eyes, a small smile gracing your mouth.
he tsks, watching you skip off to go talk to a small group of friends.
**
sukuna and his friend, suguru, lounge in his dorm, passing a cigarette to each other in the process.
“so you're saying. . .” suguru stated, twirling the cigarette through his fingers.
“this girl,”
“you're mad at her because she's smarter than you? and because she's rubbing it in your face?” he raises an eyebrow, passing the cigarette to sukuna.
“i guess so? what are you implying?" he responds, taking a deep drag— exhaling grey smoke everywhere.
“i'm implying that she's totally justified. man, if i was smarter than you i would remind you every hour.” suguru flicks sukuna's forehead, snatching the cigarette back in the process.
“gee, thanks for the great advice, suguru.” sukuna remarks sarcastically, a grim look painting his features.
**
if sukuna hated you so much, why is he balls deep into your pussy right now? if he really envied you, he wouldn't put in an effort. why is he fucking you over the 98 percent that he's oh so ashamed of purely because you got one hundred?
“fuck, kuna!” you hiss, gripping onto his white sheets while he works his cock deep into your pussy cruelly.
“be quiet. the whole frat doesn't need to know i'm fucking you like this.” he shivers, grabbing you by your neck.
“oh, they definitely have to fuckin' know, sukuna.” you growl, slapping your hips against his, milking his firm cock from in front.
he has one hand binding your arms back, the other holding your neck. not enough to cut off your breath, but enough to send a clear message that he's been trying and wants to be on top bad.
you moan, fluttery walls spasming around his sloppy dick— squelching noises filling the otherwise quiet room.
“don't be a brat. you're already smarter than me and you're fighting back?” he thrusts into you with pure passion, twisted lust filling his eyes.
“yeah, i'm fighting back. i'm not gonna sit here and take dick from someone who's been actively competing against me for years!” you cry out, eyes rolling to the back of your skull.
mascara runs down your sweaty cheeks, tears stinging and blurring your vision.
“ah, shit!” you sob, eyes stinging with warm tears as that familiar feeling pools low in your stomach.
he lets out a guttural groan, frantically moving to ride with the waves of his release.
“fuck!”
his palms meet his watery eyes, rubbing them wildly.
you lean your head back, adams apple bopping in your throat as you swallow your own saliva.
you bask in the afterglow of his frenzied loving, laying spread out on his now stained bedsheets.
☆ Day 7 of Levi Month 26 | Streamer AU | Event by @levievent
☆ Summary: Levi does not get jealous. He is simply very committed to maintaining order in his chat, especially when that chat starts flirting with his girlfriend.
☆ Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Female Reader
☆ Genre/Tags: Modern AU, Established Relationship, Streamer AU, Domestic Fluff, Humor, Jealous Levi, Flirting
☆ Word Count: 1.2k
☆ Check out the other days!
☆ AO3 Link
☆ a/n: thank you to my beta reader @slaytherinthoughts. pls don't ask for a part two. the council is watching me. if you ask for a part two, even jokingly, I will block you.
Levi’s stream setup is unsurprisingly spotless. There’s not a single crumb near his keyboard, not a single cable out of place, not a single fingerprint on his glossy microphone. Even the little cup of tea beside his monitor sits on a coaster. His camera is angled perfectly. He looks so deeply unimpressed by the game he’s playing at the moment that anyone watching would think he’s being held at gunpoint. Which, according to Levi, is exactly what streaming feels like.
You sit just out of the frame on the couch behind him, wearing one of his hoodies as you pretend not to watch him more than the show playing muted on your phone. He’s wearing his headset, his brows drawn together in concentration. He leans a little closer to the screen, his fingers moving over the keyboard.
“If this idiot runs into the open one more time, I’m letting him die,” he says.
A laugh escapes you before you can stop it. “You say that every round,” you tease from the couch. “And then you save him anyway.”
Levi looks toward you, a softness hidden so well under the annoyance he displays that most would miss it, but you don’t; you catch it every time. And every time, it makes you smile.
“Keep talking. You’re next,” he says.
You thought you spoke low enough that the microphone wouldn’t pick up your voice. Unfortunately for you, the chat heard you. Messages begin moving faster along the side of the screen, a blur of usernames and custom emojis. Levi looks at them briefly, knowing trouble is coming.
Then the donation alert chimes, and an automated voice reads aloud, “Donation from CleanFreakSupremacy: Levi, tell your girlfriend her voice is cute.”
Levi freezes for a brief moment. You press a hand over your mouth, stifling a laugh. He says nothing for one second, but the silence is funnier than any audible reaction could have been. His jaw ticks, his eyes narrow at the monitor, and when he speaks, his voice is so flat he almost sounds bored.
“No.”
You can see enough of the chat from your spot to catch small pieces of the messages pouring through.
Tell her hi!
WAIT SHE’S REAL?
LEVI HAS A GIRLFRIEND?
her laugh was so cute
COMMON LEVI W
MOVE THE CAMERA
that was so adorable
Levi silently wishes he could intimidate the thousands of strangers watching him into silence through a deadly stare. “She’s not part of the stream,” he says. Then another donation chimes immediately.
“Donation from midnightrose55: Respectfully, girlfriend, you sound adorable.”
Levi grips his mouse harder. You bite the inside of your cheek, trying so hard not to laugh that your shoulders begin to shake. It shouldn’t be this funny. It really shouldn’t. But Levi, who can face the most terrifying horror games with a bored expression, is more affected by a few flirty donations.
“Stop donating to flirt with her,” he warns.
The chat moves faster. Another chime.
“Donation from ShortKingEnjoyer: is she single?”
Levi slowly looks at the camera. “No, my girlfriend is not fucking single.”
You lose the fight and burst into laughter on the couch, nearly curling into a ball as warmth rushes to your face. You tap the couch cushions in a fit. You know he’s not actually angry. Levi is far too secure for that… at least, you think he is. But you know he hates sharing attention, least of all with someone named ShortKingEnjoyer. It makes your heart squeeze.
“Levi,” you manage, still laughing, “be nice.”
“I am being nice,” he grits. “Nobody’s been banned yet.”
Chat picks up on the looming threat immediately.
BAN ME LEVI. IT’S WORTH IT
ask her to say hi!
girlfriend cam when?
SHE SHOULD STREAM INSTEAD
You watch his mouth twist into a frown, and because you both love him and love tormenting him, you stand from the couch and move closer to his chair. Levi senses you approaching before you even reach him. His posture changes slightly, his shoulders rising and his head turning slightly. His hand pauses on the mouse.
“Don’t,” he whispers.
You lean into the webcam frame anyway, resting one hand on the back of his chair and giving the camera a little wave. “Hi, chat!”
The messages fly by too quickly to read. The alert chimes again, again, again, the beginning of the stupidest war to exist. Levi looks at the camera, then at you, then back at the screen, and the redness creeping up his cheekbones is so cute it should, frankly, be illegal.
“Donation from bashfulwolf6599: Oh, she’s gorgeous. Levi, blink twice if you want a third person in your relationship.”
Levi’s face goes blank. You make a strangled noise that’s half laugh and half gasp. He clicks something on the screen, and it takes you a moment to realize what he did.
“You timed them out?” you ask.
“Five minutes,” Levi mutters.
“You banned someone for complimenting me?”
“I’m giving them time to reflect.”
Another donation chimes.
“Donation from reiner0010: sounds jealous to me.”
Levi squints. You see the moment his patience snaps, but it honestly doesn’t take much to tell, because soon, that user is banned too. “You’re gone too,” he mutters, clicking again. “You people are getting too comfortable.”
“Levi, you cannot keep banning people because they’re teasing you,” you scold, although you’re barely containing your giggling.
“I can. Watch me,” he says.
HE’S SO MAD
she should start a channel! i’d sub
girlfriend stream WHEN?
JEALOUS LEVI HAHAHAHA
You look at the screen before looking at him, and your smile grows wickedly. “Maybe I should start my own channel.”
Levi whips his head toward you. “No.”
“You don’t think I’d be good at it?"
“I didn’t say that. I just—”
“They already like me.”
“That’s the problem.”
You should probably be annoyed that Levi is getting jealous over a bunch of pixels and harmless teasing, but seeing him sitting there with reddened cheeks and a clenched jaw because strangers on the internet have complimented the woman he loves makes you want to crawl into his lap and kiss every bit of irritation off his face.
So you bend down and kiss his cheek. Levi freezes. The camera hides nothing. The chat messages dissolve into hearts, screaming, keyboard smashing, at least three people demanding a public wedding stream. Levi looks at the chaos unfolding for a long second, then he shifts the mouse and clicks. The stream ends. Silence drops over the room so suddenly that your laughter fills all of it. Levi removes his headset, sighing quietly.
“You’re so ridiculous,” you say.
“And you’re banned from my stream.”
“You can’t ban me. I live here.”
“You’re banned from the house too,” he says, though his hands find your waist before he finishes speaking, pulling you a little closer. You stand between his knees as he swivels to face you. You lift your hand and lightly brush your thumb against his ears, which now match the redness of his cheeks.
“They can donate all they want. I’m still going to bed with you at the end of the night,” you smile.
Levi’s skin flushes an even deeper shade of red. He stares at you for a moment, caught somewhere between embarrassment, victory, and a tenderness he always tries and fails to hide from you. Then he clears his throat, looks away, and tightens his arms around your waist.
the king's mistress runs into the arms of the enemy prince!
You were the King's secret lover, and he is going to be married to another, a beautiful, perfect Princess in fact. You, just a lowly maid and servant can't bear to see the love of your life with another, even with his 'generous offer' to stay a mistress. So you rush off to the neighboring prince and seek employment dick elsewhere - with a man the king utterly hates! what could go wrong?
cruel! yandere king x maid! reader x mad! yandere prince
patreon original series- chapter six is right here
preview below (If you use the code DC52C it's half off the month, hehe <3)
“You didn't want a person with thoughts and feelings, did you? No, you just wanted a pretty little maid welcoming you every day – that warm mouth, her perfect cunt, huh?”
“How the fuck do you know!?” He leans forward now, brows lowering. “Say you touched her and I’ll cut your cock off.”
“You have no claim on her,” the Prince looks at him in disgust. “She's not a thing to be owned, you damned Neanderthal."
“Me? As if you don’t want her for yourself,” he grimaces now, swiping a hand across his face. “She’s not property, I just meant she is mine.”
“Something to conquer, like land, hmm? You’re the pathetic one here, your majesty.”
“You don’t want to own her, huh?”
“I just enjoy her, fuck,” of course the Prince feels possessive, protective, but hearing you spoke of like that?
It makes him sick.
“She’s just a pretty toy for you to dress up,” the King says now, standing up. “I saw her last night, at least I never lied to her about her damn station, filling her head with nonsense.”
“I just wanted to see her in something pretty, not everything is some fucked ass reasoning like your mind,” the Prince says, rising to his feet. They are of about the same height almost, but the Prince was lean where the King was thick and broad, a mountain of a man really.
Yet he didn’t intimidate him, not when they’re eye to eye.
“She's under my protection now. She's my maid, and you have no stupid, idiotic caveman claim over her."
The King laughs at that, a harsh sound escaping otherwise terse lips. "Your maid?”
“Indeed.”
“Don't make me laugh, I see the way you look at her,” he slips his hands into his trouser pockets, ready to fling the Prince into a fucking river, to behead him for having touched you.
You’re his.
The choosing of his words was wrong, but the King always wanted things to himself, and he made sure to keep them. He did not share women, he did not share anything, and he especially never shared you. When men even looked at you he had sent them far away, banishing them or beating them till they lacked proper eyesight.
Those were things you’d never known.
He should have chained you to his goddamn chambers, made sure you never left, done anything and everything to keep you forever bound to him.
“How I look at her, hmm?”
“Yes, like a dumb puppy you’re so pathetic and desperate,” he snorts, as if you’d know how to handle her.”
The prince smirks, and the King’s hand twitches, eager to smack the look on his too pretty face.
“I think I could handle her,” his voice lilts. “Maybe I already know how to.”
“What does that fucking mean!?” The prince simply grins – far too fucking wide for the King’s liking, truly.
are we going to see reader & kuna get back together??? my heart can’t take this angst🥹🥹🥹
yap: idk if anyone noticed, but i rearranged the drabbles on the masterlist to where the storyline makes somewhat more sense because this all started with the flustering fic. it was just some random idea off the whim and it blew up...like a lot. so did the following fics, so i started writing an actual oneshot and incorporating the drabbles, but i'm still putting out drabbles simultaneously to feed yall while i write it 😭 this is definitely NOT how you write a story but i got insanely lucky and found my target audience that wanted more from reader n sukuna, so i've been trying to navigate how to do both. i want the storyline to make sense even tho its been posted out of order 🥲 which is my fault for sure i just didn't expect it to be so well received and for people to want an actual story not just a quick drabble...like yall really, REALLY like it it seems like. i posted a frat gojo fic first, the very same day as the first opposites attract drabble, and i thought that would be more popular since it's gojo duh. but it wasn't. and here we are. i started the recent one AGESSS ago with a happy ending in mind, but i finished it yesterday and changed my mind. there was just so much smut and fluff w this series like i needed angst im sorry 😭 i do want them back together though they are very cute
tldr: leaning towards yes, but stick around n find out. tho keep in mind upcoming drabbles will be before the breakup while i work on the oneshot. so they'll be together. is that close enough? i feel evil sorry
seven minutes in heaven w frat!kuna gets a bit heated ... (shy!reader)
you shouldn't be here. no—you shouldn't have even considered being here. the idea crossing your mind in general was laughable, but, here you were. sitting criss cross apple sauce in a circle with some of the most popular people at your university. sukuna had invited you, claiming it was your turn to have a "taste of his world." you reluctantly agreed, uneasy at what it might entail, and you were right to. you were always right.
"it's her turn," the white haired one, gojo, nodded to you. you swallowed hard and reaching a shaky hand in the middle of the circle. before you could reach the bottle, someone objected.
"this is getting boring," shoko, the dark haired one who was close with gojo, complained. "it doesn't help this is a game designed for edgy middle schoolers. make it interesting."
"seven minutes in heaven?" another brunette suggested. the people in the circle murmured as they considered the idea.
"you said that a little too quickly choso," gojo said suspiciously. "anyone you got in mind?" he clapped his back and choso turned a deep red.
"dude..." choso said, clearly embarrassed.
"still designed for edgy middle schoolers..." shoko grumbled.
"i'm down for seven minutes in heaven." your head shot up at sukuna's voice. he entered the kitchen with a few more bottles in his hands. he handed them to a few of his friends before settling down beside you.
"you okay?" he whispered to you.
you nodded before turning your focus back to the circle. you didn't want him to coddle you. sure, this wasn't the way you'd typically spend a friday night, but you were fine. sort of. as long as he didn't leave your side. it dawned on you that he might have to during this game to go makeout with someone. you didn't like the uneasiness that settled into your stomach at that thought. he's probably done that and more a hundred of times...but still. you couldn't shake the icky feeling.
"okay, stop stalling. let's start then,” geto, another frat bro, urged. seems like the discourse was finally over. "whose turn was it again?"
everyone's eyes landed on you. your stomach churned and you nodded awkwardly. god, you really needed to stop nodding. you probably looked stupid. but you felt stupid. whoever it landed on, you'd tell them you weren't interested and just sit in silence for all of the four hundred and twenty seconds. that was your master, foolproof plan.
you spun the bottle and watched as it did almost a full 360, just falling a bit short of where you were sitting, but just enough to stir things up. the entire circle cheered when it landed on sukuna. they cheered on as he stared at the bottle in disbelief, looked at you to make sure you were okay with it, and even when you dragged your feet to the closet with him trailing behind you.
the darkness that engulfed the closet was daunting. you stepped on his foot at least twice and accidentally elbowing him. you apologized profusely and he reassured you it was fine, then silence fell over the two of you.
was your plan really that foolproof? it was created with being picked to kiss a stranger in mind. sukuna was no stranger. if you had to be completely honest, you wouldn't mind kissing him. to fulfill the challenge of course. nothing more.
"what are the odds?" he said finally.
you laughed at his stupid pun. "close to none since you were sitting right beside me."
he scoffed, "you always seem to make the impossible possible. why are you surprised now?"
you frowned. "huh?"
"i have the best grade i've ever had in all my years in college right now, thanks to you. i actually give a shit about school in general, thanks to you. if you told me i'd be where i am now a year ago, i'd laugh in your face." he sighed. "i just wish you could see the impact you make."
you were stunned. you didn't expect the two of you to sit in silence for almost ten minutes, but you didn't expect it to get deep.
"no, you're okay. i'm just processing." another minute passes before you break the silence.
"you're the only would i'd feel comfortable doing this with," you blurted out. you winced immediately as your confession hung heavy in the air. it was silent before you heard a low chuckle.
"sitting in the dark in silence...or making out?"
it was your turn to keep quiet. you hesitated, before replying with a simple, "both." it wasn't long before sukuna fumbled around the dark and finally found you. his lips crashed against yours and the two of you walked backwards until your back hit the wall. the two of you both groaned into the kiss. your fingers found their way in his hair as you kissed him back. this kiss was hungry: weeks of built up tension finally adding up this moment. you tugged his hair lightly and he grunted. he pulled away to trail kisses down your neck and you gasped. his lips were hot on your skin and you whined softly.
“kuna.” you gasped once more as he started sucking on the sensitive skin on your neck. your skin was on fire. he pulled away and leaned in to whisper in your ear.
“tell me to stop.”
your eyes widened as his hands traveled down your body. you didn’t want him to stop. you were probably violating multiple rules in your handbook, but right now, you didn’t care. you held your breath as his hand dipped under your skirt and in your panties.
“jesus christ,” he muttered, “you’re soaked.” you bit you lip and spread your legs a little wider. he chuckled and leaned in even closer.
“i’m guess you don’t want me to stop?”
you shook your head even though it was dark. “no,” you swallowed hard, “please don’t.”
with that, sukuna pulled your panties to the side and slipped two fingers inside of your weeping cunt. you trembled as he started pumping them slowly inside of you.
“shit,” he groaned. your slick was bound to be coating his hand by now, but the two of you were too turned on to care. he buried his head in your neck and sighed. you moaned as he curled his fingers, velvet walls clenching around him.
“shhh, they’re right outside,” he shushed you and clamped his hand over your mouth. he continued fucking you with his fingers, muttering about how wet you were. sukuna’s long fingers reached where your own couldn’t, even the spongy spot deep inside of you. you whined as he reached your g spot, moans muffled by his hand. heat pooled in your stomach as you got closer and closer to the edge. your heartbeat faster as he chased your high.
"isn't this a-against like f-five different rules?" you asked nervously. the pleasure building in your abdomen made you feel slightly guilty. no wonder it felt so good, you weren't supposed to be doing anything like this at all. when you first signed up, you'd promised treat mentees with respect...and your current predicament was anything but respectful.
"who cares?" sukuna murmured. "we started breaking rules when we had our first date," he kissed your neck and chuckled. "you're close, aren't you? cum for me. need to feel it." he kissed your cheek and you groaned. you prayed the lewd noises coming from you weren't audible for the audience outside. with one last shaky breath, you came undone. you clenched around his fingers and shuddered as he kept going, pushing you past overstimulation. your body shook, overwhelmed with the pleasure as you gasped.
"k-kuna." your broken cries were barely coherent. your thighs shook and you clutched his arm to steady yourself.
"hmm?" he asked you mockingly. "you always take what i give you so well." he pressed a kiss to your temple.
you opened your mouth to reply but you both froze as someone knocked on the closet door loudly. "yo, the seven minutes have been up."
with an exasperated sigh, sukuna pulled away and helped you put yourself back together. your legs felt like jelly as you did the walk of shame out of the closet. you didn't dare meet sukuna's eyes or any of the other people in attendance. you were sure what you had just done would be evident on your face. it definitely was on sukuna's. other than his messy hair and his slightly swollen lips, he had that mischievous glint in his eye once again. the two of you sat back down and watched as the next duo was picked.
"you okay?"
you titled your head slightly and saw sukuna eyeing you warily. you were more than okay. whatever the hell went down in the closet wasn't something you expected at all. to be honest, you were sad your time was cut short.
"mhm... i kinda wish we had more time," you admitted. your eyes quickly scanned the room to see if anyone had heard your confession. they were too busy teasing choso for being next.
sukuna chuckled and leaned in. "that can certainly be arranged."
No coz why does “for every first i was having with him, he had already had his with her.” remind me of Hit The Wall by Gracie Abrams? If u haven’t heard it yet u shouldddd it’s such a good songgg!!! Not many authors can break my heart this was and u reached in DEEP gahhhh it’s been so long since I felt this heartbroken (the TALBILB reference just drove the dagger deeper into my heart) but trust when I say ilysmmm and if u do come out w a part two I’ll be the happiest person on earth!!! But all things aside how r u doing? It’s been so long! I hope you’ve been eating well and doing okay 🥹❤️🩹!!
i haven't listened to gracie since 2021 woah holy pull. AGAIN, I KISSED ALL BRICKS AND DAGGERS BEFORE I POSTING, I PINKY PROMISE (you'll understand this later🤫) I'M OKAY could be better, how are you??
∙ 𝟏𝟖+ 𝒎𝒅𝒏𝒊. Toji can't get enough of his pregnant wife.
𝓒𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 · ꒰ 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 ⋮⋮ 𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝒕𝒐𝒋𝒊 ⋮⋮ mentions of pregnancy + childbirth ⋮⋮ reader dealing with post-partum ⋮⋮ p in v ⋮⋮ toji & his 𝒃𝒓𝒆𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒌 ⋮⋮ lactating ⋮⋮ breast worship ⋮⋮ 𝒃𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒕!milk drinking ⋮⋮ c-pied꒱
𝑩𝒂𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 : 𝒂𝒔𝒌
The baby had finally fallen asleep.
You could hear the soft even breaths from the crib across the room. Four weeks postpartum, and the nights still felt fragile, but tonight, the house was quiet. Dinner dishes sat washed in the dishwrack. The soft glow from the lamp on the nightstand was the only light left on.
Toji had been touching you all evening.
It started at the table. His hand on your thigh under the cloth, thumb stroking slow circles while you ate. Then after, when you stood to clear the plates, he came up behind you and wrapped both arms around your middle, face buried in the curve of your neck.
“Pretty,” he murmured against your skin. “Missed this.”
You leaned back into him. His body, solid and warm. The hard line of his cock pressed against the small of your back almost immediately.
Pregnancy had changed him... well it changed you as well obviously, but for toji it made him all the more caring and attentive ¹⁰ fold.
You still remembered your early months. Morning sickness that left you shaky and pale. Toji would sit on the bathroom floor with you, one big hand rubbing slow circles over your back while the other held your hair up and when the worst of it passed he would help you stand, walk you back to bed, and pull you against his chest until the nausea faded.
“I got you,” he used to say. “Just breathe for me, Doll.”
His hands never left you for long after that. If your back ached, he would ease you onto the couch and knead the tight muscles until you melted. If your feet swelled, he would lift them into his lap and press his thumbs into the arches while you dozed. At night, he'd curl around you, one arm under your head, the other draped over the growing curve of your belly, palm resting there like he was already protecting what was inside.
And the cockwarming.
He would plead for it almost every night by the second trimester.
“Please baby,” he whispered against your ear, voice low and sincere. “I just need to feel you. Just like this. You don’t have to move.”
You always said yes. Sliding down onto his thick cock in the dark, letting him fill you while you both stayed still. The stretch helped the deep ache in your hips. The heat of him inside you made the rest of the world feel smaller. He held you close, one hand stroking your belly, the other cupping a heavy breast, and stay buried for hours in you if you let him.
Your breasts had been his other obsession.
Even before the milk came he loved them. Once they grew heavy and tender he could barely keep his mouth off them. He would tug your shirt up in the middle of the afternoon and suck slowly, tongue working over the sensitive peaks until your toes curled. After the baby arrived and the milk let down he treated it like a privilege. Some evenings he would settle you in his lap, unbutton your top, and nurse from you while the baby slept in the next room, eyes half-closed like he was the one being soothed.
“Always loved these,” he would murmur between long pulls. “Even before.”
You never minded. It felt natural. It felt like it was always meant for him.
Tonight was different.
Four weeks of healing and careful touches had left him restless. The second the baby’s breathing evened out he had steered you toward the bedroom with a hand at the small of your back. Now he had you on your side in the middle of the mattress, facing the crib, his chest pressed to your spine.
He kissed the side of your neck, soft and open-mouthed.
“Pretty,” he said again. “Missed being inside you like this.”
His cock was already hard and hot against the cleft of your ass. He had pushed your sleep shorts and panties down just enough. The fat head rubbed through the wetness that had gathered the moment he started kissing you. You were still tight. The doctor had cleared you only a few days ago. Everything felt sensitive and new.
Toji reached around and cupped your lower belly with one large hand. The soft skin there was still rounded from pregnancy. He held it carefully, almost reverently, while he lined himself up.
“Tell me if it’s too much.”
“It’s not,” you whispered.
He pushed in slow.
The stretch made you gasp. Your walls fluttered around the thick intrusion, still getting used to him again after the long wait. He groaned low against your neck and kept going until he was buried halfway.
“Fuck. Still so tight for me.”
He worked the rest of himself inside with careful rolls of his hips. When he finally bottomed out, he stayed still, breathing hard, the hand on your belly tightening just a little. The pressure of his palm against the soft curve felt grounding. You reached back and gripped his thigh.
“Missed this too,” you said.
He kissed the spot under your ear and started to move.
The thrusts were deep and measured at first. He kept you locked against him, chest to back, one arm under your neck, the other still wrapped around your middle. Every stroke dragged his thick cock along your walls. Slick sounds filled the quiet room. Your body opened for him the way it always had, wet and willing even after everything it had been through.
“That’s it,” he murmured. “Take me. Just like that.”
He fucked you steadily, the bed shifting under the force of his hips. Your cunt clenched around him every time he sank deep. The hand on your belly never left. He held you there like he needed the reminder that you were still his, still soft and full of the life you had made together.
After a while he slowed again, almost to a stop, and just stayed buried.
“Can I stay like this a minute?” he asked, voice rough. “Please baby. I just need to feel you.”
You nodded. He exhaled against your shoulder and held you tighter. His cock throbbed inside your tight heat. The warm weight of him pressed against every sensitive place. You could feel the faint stickiness of precome already mixing with your slick.
Minutes passed. The baby slept on. Toji’s hand drifted up from your belly to cup one breast through the thin fabric of your top. He squeezed gently, thumb brushing the nipple until it beaded with a drop of milk.
“Still so full,” he said.
He tugged the neckline down and guided the heavy breast free. Then he leaned over your shoulder and took the peak into his mouth. The first long suck made your cunt flutter hard around his cock. He groaned and sucked deeper, tongue working, drawing milk while he stayed buried to the hilt.
You arched into him. The dual sensation was almost too much. His mouth on your tender breast. His thick cock stretching your still-sensitive cunt. The careful way he held your belly the entire time.
Nursing on your soft swollen breasts, switching sides when one side softened, all while his hips gave the smallest shallow thrusts that kept you full without overwhelming you. When he finally lifted his head, his lips were shiny.
“Taste like you,” he said. “Missed that too.”
He started fucking you again in earnest.
The careful rhythm gave way to deeper, harder strokes. He kept you pinned on your side, one leg hooked back over his thigh so he could sink even further. The wet slap of skin on skin grew louder. Your juices coated his shaft and dripped down onto the sheets. He kissed your neck between thrusts, murmuring soft praise against your skin.
“Love this cunt. Love how it squeezes me. Gonna fill you up again. Want you full of me.”
His hand stayed firm on your belly the whole time, holding the soft curve while he drove into you. The idea of it clearly worked on him. His breathing turned ragged. His cock swelled thicker inside you.
“Gonna make you a mommy again,” he growled against your ear. “Want another one. Want you round and soft and full of me.”
You came first.
The orgasm rolled through you in long waves, your cunt clamping down, tight around his thick shaft, milking him while you moaned into the pillow. He fucked you through it, never pulling out, chasing his own release with short hard thrusts until he buried himself as deep as he could and spilled.
Hot thick cum flooded you in heavy pulses. He held you through every one, hand still cupping your belly, mouth open against your neck as he groaned your name. When the last pulse faded he stayed locked inside, cock still twitching, the mess of both of you trapped deep.
He didn't pull out, he didn't need to.
Instead he adjusted you both until you were more comfortable on your sides, his chest still pressed to your back, his softening cock still nestled inside your pretty cunt. One hand roamed your body, stroking you tender and lovingly. The other came up to cradle the breast he had been nursing from.
“Stay like this,” he whispered. “Just for a while. Let me feel you.”
You reached back and laced your fingers through his where they rested on your stomach.
Outside the crib the baby shifted once and settled again. Inside the quiet bedroom Toji held you the same way he had through every month of the pregnancy: close, careful, and completely unwilling to let go.
His cock stayed warm inside you long into the night, and every so often he would press a soft kiss to your shoulder and murmur the same thing he had said a hundred times before.
