#windows over sink | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

madamechrissy · 5 days ago

Text

nowhere to run

art in the banner is from @/woshihedawei on x

pairings - Yandere CEO! Sukuna x Assistant F! reader

summary -You can't wait to give your boss your two weeks notice, and he's furious when you do. He's awful to you, mean, cruel and a conceited dick. You jump at the chance to move on, but then your life falls apart. Your car quits working, you lose your chance at the Gojo corp, and your landlord kicks you out! You're left with no choice but to take Sukuna up on his offer to let you stay with him. You soon find out there's more to him - like a psychotic obsession with you.

warnings - Sukuna is a full yandere, dark subject matter, stalking, videoing against consent, sexual tension, mind games, masturbation (m and f), cunnilingus, facefucking, smacking, thigh riding, degradation, obsession, toxic dynamics, Sukuna is psychotic reader is damaged, manipulation, jealousy, choking, creampie, hints of somno, toxic red flag, MEAN ass Sukuna, fucks all your good sense </3

Today is my one year on Tumblr! ahhh I can't believe it's been a year, thanks to all of you who follow me. <3 enjoy the freaky ahh oneshot! WC- 12.5k

Sukuna scoffs as he watches you from his office window, leaning back with his legs spread wide, fingers steepled together, his black nails reflecting the canned lights above. His office is dark despite the floor to ceiling windows, because he enjoys having privacy.

Especially when he's jerking off to you.

You're giggling right in front of a fucking water cooler, he can't make the shit up. His employee, Takuma Ino, is flirting out right with you, and apparently your slutty ass enjoys it. Twirling your hair around your fingers, sipping on that paper cup, his hand brushes against your upper arm.

Sukuna is fucking furious then, no one should get to touch you, your perfect body should be his and only his, how dare anyone think it's acceptable to come near you. You don't even know how he feels, because Ryomen Sukuna is playing a long game.

He wants to make sure you desperately need him, just as he needs you. Jerking his cock every night when he could fuck whoever he wants, watching you in your little apartment on cam knowing you'd be so much happier in his penthouse.

Sukuna knows you'd be so tight, so wet and pretty. He has seen you enough through the fuzzy video cam he has hidden on your dresser to watch you finger yourself. You're always getting frustrated, rushing to get your vibrator, as if you're waiting for his fingers.

The problem is, you hate Sukuna currently, you despise him so much he fears his games were too effective. The way your jaw sets, your eyes narrow when you look at him? It's enough to make anyone cry damn near, but all it does is make it harder under his slacks.

He buzzes you, over and over when you reach your desk, until you scowl at him through his glass window, the blinds filtering light across you while you sit at that desk. Pretty pink dress on you, one he aches to shove up your hips, wrinkle it under his hands and fuck you stupid.

He grins, a sadistic fucking smirk when you come to his office now. “Mr. Sukuna, how can I help you?”

“Hmm, I seem to have…” He shoves off stacks of papers then, raising a slutty eyebrow at you. If you had no self respect, and no boyfriend, maybe you'd fuck your frustrations out on this complete dick of a man. As it stands, he waits for you. “I dropped my folders, bend down and pick them up.”

Your jaw clenches, breath quickening with your anger, you can't wait to see his annoyingly attractive face when you let him know you're quitting. You make so much money, but nothing is worth how this dickhead treats you.

“Pick. Them. Up.” His plump lips curl up. You sink to your knees, clad in black stockings, struggling to hold your composure and not cuss him the fuck out. You gather the papers and he just looks at you, ruby eyes glinting, while he runs a hand through pink locks.

“Mr. Sukuna…” You stand now. Leaning forward you set them on his cherry wood desk, one he dreams of bending you over on. He raises that brow again, infuriating you with his arrogance.

“Hmm. What is it?” Sukuna eyes your red lip stain, imagining smearing it with the pink tip of his cock. Imagining fucking your throat so good you can't fucking talk, maybe then you wouldn't flirt with some boy.

“I'm putting in my two weeks notice.”

Sukuna blinks then, before his dark brows lower, his hands gripping the desk, black painted nails almost scratching it with the force. “The fuck you just say?”

You take a breath, even you get intimidated by the huge ass boss of yours at times. But you hold firm, hands in front of your lap while his gaze burns you. “I quit. I'm giving you two weeks notice as a courtesy.”

“The fuck!?” Sukuna stands now, looking down at you, so tall your head falls back to maintain eye contact. “You're gonna get paid this good and leave!?”

You raise a brow right back at him, crossing your arms now. “Sure am, nothing is worth having to work for you anymore. Even if I love everyone else here.”

“Tch, fucking bet you do love that boy all stupid over you,” you scoff, he steps closer, dress shoes clicking against the hardwood floor, closer and closer until you're backed up against a wall. You can’t breathe when he’s this close, a hand on the side of your head, you glare up at him.

“Ever heard of personal space, you psycho?”

“Personal space, huh. Wonder what your problem is, you let that boy kiss you right in front of the office,” he tilts your chin up, you smack his hands off, chest heaving with how fucking furious you are. “Is it because I don't suck up to you like every little bitch boy here?”

“No, my problem is you're a fucking dick, Mr. Sukuna. Respectfully.” You shove at his chest, he snatches a wrist, huge tattooed hands taking it over, making you tremble at the contact. “I'll be gone by the end of the month, or I can leave sooner.”

“Who the fuck are you working for?” He squeezes your wrist bruising, as mean as he is it surprises you even, and worse is your stupid body's reaction to him.

If you had just a little less self respect you'd give into the insane, dumb fucking desire you have. To kneel and suck him, bulge in his slacks clear that he's huge. You shake that evil thought off, along with the fact that how terrifying he is turns you on, you'll chalk it up to daddy issues and bury that shit deep.

He sure would never get to know you even find him anything but disgusting as a human being. “Let go of me.”

“I asked who you're working for, brat,” he's hovering, too tall, too broad, shadows cast across the office just making that presence more looming. “”What, you're too dumb to answer?”

“Brat!? Stupid - this is why I’m fucking quitting. Why do you even care, when you treat me like shit anyway!?”

“Answer me.”

“The Gojo corporation, ya heard of them?” You shove at him again, the big ass man doesn’t move a fucking inch, mean smile on your face when you watch his crimson eyes narrow.

“Then I’ll pay you more.”

“I’m already taking a pay cut, and it’s well worth it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a bunch of work to do, unlike a certain nepo baby CEO.”

“Nepo baby!? And you’re working for the Gojo corp?”

“He seems sweet,” Sukuna’s teeth grit together, you shove him hard once more and he steps back, allowing you to move past him, only for him to wrap an arm around your hips, tugging you against him. “HR complaint too, Sukuna?”

“Like you don’t enjoy it,” you don’t move for just a minute, you do enjoy being against his body, turning your head to give him daggers from your eyes, he cups your chin, body too hard against you, cologne smelling too good, filling your nostrils, your senses. “You’re really leaving me? What if I double your salary?”

“Nothing is worth one more fucking day of you.” He scoffs and lets you go, his hands clenching into fists when you stand by the door, turning to him. “If you wanna keep a good assistant, maybe don’t treat her like shit. Two weeks.”

You slam his fucking door, it echoes when you stomp out, it’s not too surprising to anyone considering you frequently get furious at him – in fact he loves to make you mad, see your pretty face all flushed, pretty tits in those blouses rising as your breath quickens. However this time, you’re just fucking done with him.

He punches the wall right next to him, the one he just pressed you against, so furious that you think you have any choice, that you can ever be away from him. He can’t lose you before he has you, before you need him and him only. It’s fucking every single thing up. The plaster cracks, cream white left just a bit red from the blood on the backs of his knuckles, and Sukuna sees red.

You’re not fucking going anywhere.

****

“Are you alright, honey?” Ino asks, when he takes you home, your car is stuck at the mechanic for a week. You nod, and he places a hand over your thigh, the other on the wheel. “You’re doing the right thing.”

“Maybe you’ll follow me?” You tease, he smiles shyly, it’s very new, you two have just kissed and had a couple dates, but you love him around, especially with your complete dickhead of a boss in your life.

“I absolutely could follow you over, work would be so boring without you.”

“Takuma… that’s really sweet.” He parks the car, leaning over to plant a kiss on your lips.

You hate how horny that psycho, pink haired dick of a man gets you, and you want to wash away every thought of him, toxic ones that you will never even let your brain actually think of. Just stupid fucking flashes of the most toxic hate sex with him, slapping his stupid face then getting railed by him.

Fuck that.

Psycho who calls you stupid!? You’re well past your attraction to toxic ass men with mental issues. Hence, the sweet boy next to you, with soft brown eyes and glossy lips, brushing your hair back.

“You’re tense,” Ino mentions, gently running a hand up your spine. “Need me to rub your back?”

“I’d love that, do you wanna come inside-”

“Yes!? I mean, yes. I mean… continue?” You giggle a bit, he’s pretty adorable really.

“Come on,” it’s getting a little dark already, the sky pinks and purples, when you unlock the door to the home you’re renting. When you shut the door behind you, he does just that, he actually rubs your neck, then lower, lips kissing across your neck. “Mnh…”

“Is this okay?” He asks softly, you nod, eyes shutting at the mix of his hands and his kisses – leading to the bedroom soon, he’s lifting you up and carrying you inside there, while you giggle – having no clue you’re being watched.

Oh but Sukuna is watching you.

He watches you every night, typically with his cock in his hand – a desperate, pathetic mess you make him, and he fucking hates you for it, for doing it to him. Just for you to be an ungrateful brat and quit, but now you’re inviting someone in your room, when he’s already jerking it to your moans!?

“You little fucking slut,” he scowls when he watches the sight unfold on the little fuzzy camera, the one he’d slipped on your dresser that’s covered in stupid fucking squishmellows. “You better not even get fucked right now.”

Sukuna had set the camera one day when he’d dropped off your check due to a ‘banking error’ as if he hadn’t watched you in front of the window for months before, you love to undress and even dance in front of your curtains. Like a dumb whore just waiting for someone to stalk you, hurt you, Sukuna wants to make sure no one does, no one ever hurts the girl who he’s tragically fucking obsessed with.

The obsession is so intense it physically hurts, since the moment he saw you when you started. You’re too pretty, too perfect, haunting his every thought, ruining him so he can’t even look at another girl. He attempted to at first, just to make you jealous, flirt with a few of the CEOs that would come in for meetings, but you didn’t even look his damn way.

Nothing worked on you, so he diverted to actively pissing you off, wanting to work you up until he drove you crazy, but it was just fucking backfiring. Now, watching this boy kissing down your neck, pressing you against your bed. His nails press into the wood of his desk so much he leaves scratches, almost crushing the wood with his grip, contemplating just showing up honestly.

If he had to watch you get fucked, he’d ruin you when he finally got you, fuck you until you’re a sobbing mess, begging him to stop. But, he wouldn’t no fucking chance would he take it easy – he would never even let you leave his penthouse once he fully lured you in. Escape would not be any sort of option or thought in your pretty head.

His thoughts drive him mad when your moans are so loud he can vividly hear them, he shuts his eyes, picturing it’s for him. But you wouldn’t just moan softly, no Sukuna would have you stuttering, drooling, screaming out. He hates that it still gets him throbbing, hearing you like this, determined then to make sure you wouldn’t even get to leave him.

Sukuna yanks out a letter hand written by you - your resignation letter you smacked on his desk before you left, grinning then, taking out a pen and a blank paper. He damn sure was not letting you work for Gojo, and he was going to make sure you would need him, it was really for your own good.

“Ino,” Sukuna is gonna fucking kill you. “Mnh!”

Is this boy fingering Sukuna’s girl!?

You’re surprised at his skill, while he’s slipping his fingers down your slit, bracing himself on one arm as he does. “Does that feel good?”

You nod quickly, he finds your clit in just a moment, rolling in torturous circles that have you trembling, thighs on either side of him spread. His lips are sweet against yours, just enough pressure, the pressure just enough to send those signals to your brain. You’re not one to exactly fuck around with new boyfriends, but you’re so on edge, and he’s hitting everything you need.

You’re running your hand down, running fingers over his bulge, watching him gasp when you do, his finger slipping in your hole now. “Mnh, there, fuck…”

“Th-there?” He slides it deeper, pressing up, you nod quickly, cunt gushing while Sukuna is ruining your life from the comfort of his office.

“There, ah! More, please.” Ino’s gentle when he slips a second finger inside, tugging on your top and kissing your breast, rutting your hand – and then – Ino comes in his pants. “Oh…”

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he rests his head on yours, breathless. “You’re too wet, and too sexy…”

“No, god don’t apologize, it’s quite a compliment.” You smile and brush his hair back, while Sukuna is snorting in laughter.

If you saw him, you’d scowl, smack his arrogant face, he’s slapping his thigh with tears in his eyes – he didn’t even have to interrupt you by triggering your alarm system, that was his plan once he was done with the letter. What luck, he thinks, that fingering you made that poor boy cum, he’s running off to clean up, and you’re sitting there with your thighs spread on that bed.

He wonders how good it is, to have that fucking effect. Wouldn’t happen to him, but it makes him curious, staring at you when you whine out, rubbing your slit for just a moment before tasting yourself. He couldn’t have even pictured it, how sexy and slutty the action is, you sucking your arousal off your pretty little fingers, before pressing your thighs together.

Sukuna’s aching now, settled back down to watch you – you’ve reduced him to this, a pathetic man who just does this rather than fucking anyone, being with anyone. How can he when you exist, fucking his brain up with how pretty you are when you’re mad at him, and now you’re acting like a whore.

And it just makes him eager for the moment he’ll ruin you.

He bets you’ll talk so much shit before your throat is fucked raw, and then you’ll only have a hoarse little whisper left. He smirks as he watches you step out of the room, presumably to walk Ino out, maybe make him feel better. Sukuna is already working on a severance package for him, multitasking truly, because he damn sure couldn’t stay here around Sukuna’s girl.

His, all his.

“Ino, it’s fine, really. I had a lot of fun.” Ino’s brows draw together, slipping his hand across your cheek.

“I didn’t get you off, do you want me to?”

“You’re so sweet, you can next time.” He sighs, still clearly embarrassed with a flush of his cheeks, but you really love his sweetness, especially when you have to deal with Ryomen Sukuna every day. “Promise, we’ll continue this later.”

“All right, good night pretty.” You giggle and give him a kiss, leaning against the door when you shut it, left in the quiet of your home. You walk into your room, busting out the vibrator in the dresser, along with the lubricant, slipping off your shorts and laying back in the bed.

You loved to play with yourself before bed, but especially now, when you could think of anything other than your dickhead, pastel haired boss that you absolutely hate. Shutting your eyes and spreading your legs, bent at the knee, letting the silicon touch your clit, vibrating with the sticky lube, making you whine out.

Now Sukuna can actually stroke himself, you’re all alone, just how he enjoys you, playing with your cunt just for him. He’s leaned back in his chair, the office is entirely silent as he’s the only one here, the quiet times where Sukuna can let his long cock release, slapping his dress shirt with pre. His tip is reddened, leaking the pearly drops he can’t wait to stuff inside your hole.

He’d fill you so good, till you’re pouring him, dripping his milky cum from the soppy little cunt you’re running a pretty red little rose on. He hopes you enjoy it for now, because once you’re his, you’ll never be able to touch yourself again, never play with what is his. He can’t wait till you’re running your cunt on his leg, pathetic and desperate for his touch while he fucks your mouth, the thoughts pushing him over the edge.

He’s murmuring your name, timing his orgasm with yours, grinning psychotically in his dark office, lapping just a bit of his own cum that has spilled onto his fingers,. It drips along the piercing on the underside of his tip, mirroring you. He’s going to have far, far too much fun with you, he muses, he can’t wait to see you crying and begging him to stay.

*****

“What the fuck did you do!?” You’re shouting in his office the next day, he stomps over to where you’re shouting in the open, people are just looking at you two. Though it’s not unheard of for you to lose your shit on Sukuna, he shuts the door quickly, smirking down at you.

“What’s wrong, mad your little fuck toy is out of the office?” You haul back and smack the fuck out of his cheek, leaving your handprint, he glares and presses you against the door, a hand gripping your chin. “Ya really gonna think you can just slap me?”

“Sure the fuck can.” You slap him again, on the other cheek as hard as you can, he grips both wrists and pins them to the wall, chest heaving with his breaths. “Fuck you, Sukuna.”

“You wanna fuck me so bad, don’t you?”

“Hah, you wish I did.”

“Aw, did he not make you cum, little brat?” You gasp now, shoving him off you when he lets go of your wrists.

“You did something to him, psychotic dick. I know you did! He wouldn’t just leave me like that… leave the job like that, just cut off contact, no way.” Sukuna raises one of his slutty pierced eyebrows at you, making you itch to smack that look off again, fingers stinging from the contact.

“I got rid of his position, and gave him a huge severance package and recommendations, I didn’t fucking ask him to leave you,” Sukuna lies right to your face, watching it fall then, you’re blinking back tears he can’t wait to see fall down your cheeks. It’s for your own good, so he can’t feel bad about it. “Why would I?”

You blink rapidly, wracking your brain now, he watches the gears turn with a sick satisfaction. “I don’t… I don’t know…”

“You’re leaving, anyway right? Why do I care if you fucked-”

“I didn’t fuck him, not that it’s any of your business. We just started dating and I…” you trail off again, your lip trembling, Sukuna lets you go then, just standing there, looming over you. “Why’d you let him go suddenly?!”

“I planned it,” he’s watching you start to believe it, barely hiding back his smirk now. “I didn’t tell him to leave you. That’s the dumbest shit I’ve heard, why do I care who you’re with, tch.”

“Mr. Sukuna…” he’d looked terrified when Sukuna called him in, chuckling at the kid when he handed him the check. “What is all this money?”

“It’s a hell of a severance package,” he walks up to him now, smirking and tilting his head. “And I’ll give you double that if you break up with her.”

“You what now?” His eyes narrow at Sukuna for just a moment, even though Sukuna towers over him.

“Stay. Away. From. Her.”

“She hates you, you know that right?” Sukuna just raises a brow, hands in the pockets of his slacks, leaning even lower, watching him swallow nervously.

“If you’d like to keep all your fucking fingers, stick them inside someone else, she’s not available.”

“How the fuck would you-”

“Take the money. And go. Be smart, it’s way more than you make in a year.” He contemplates it for a moment, sighing then.

“I’m not going to break up with her just because you’re letting me go-”

“Yes, you fucking will,” he slams him on the wall, grabbing him by the collar. “If you’d like to keep intact you’ll break up with her right fucking now.”

“You’re fucking insane!” He rushes off, and Sukuna watches with a devious little smirk when he breaks up with you quietly in a corner of the office.

“Oh.” You’re turning away then, taking a shaky breath, Sukuna loves it, loves watching you lose whatever feelings you had for that boy, that doubt fucking setting in is delicious.

Just one step closer to making sure you can’t leave him.

He’s picturing lifting your pencil skirt up, pressing you against that door, it takes everything not to touch you yet, but you’re just not where he needs you. He puts a hand on your shoulder, almost comforting, giving you just enough caring to make you wonder, to make you look back in shock, even as he remembers exactly what happened this morning with that boy.

He can’t bother to feel guilty for lying when it’s all for your own good, really, you’ll be so happy when you’re his. You won’t work, won’t have to even cook, clean, anything, just be pretty and let him keep you to himself. Your eyes are all glossy with that sheen of unshed tears you’re holding onto, your breaths coming in little huffs.

“Do you need the day off?”

“You’ve never asked me that,” you laugh out meanly, his teeth clenching together. “Now that I’m leaving you’re trying to be somewhat kind? Too late for it, I’m still going regardless.”

You stomp out of the office, furious with him, he’s right though – why would Sukuna want to break you up with Ino? It doesn’t make sense, even if he’s a dick boss and can’t stand that you’re leaving him, what’s a boyfriend have to do with it… it’s not as if Sukuna had some weird interest in you.

But it was so sudden.

He’d looked terrified when he ran out of that office, asking you not to call him or message him, that he needed to get a clean start, that there were no hard feelings. After last night when he’d kissed you like that? You feel emotions welling up, a mix of anger, suspicion, and just being fucking sad.

You’re more determined than ever to get a new start with the Gojo corporation, you’d met the CEO himself, and you were so excited, the pay was really good too. Sukuna’s pay was something you would never find again, but nothing in the world was worth the stress of handling him every day. You should still be able to swing keeping your rent up with your house too.

Things will get better.

*****

Things get worse.

It’s like some fucking dark rain cloud is just following you around and storming all over you, all over everything. A steady domino effect happens that week that makes absolutely no sense. One moment, you’re ready to start a better life – or so you think – only for it to be disillusioned.

A receptionist calls and tells you the position is filled at the Gojo corporation, and that somehow something got crossed. A background check didn’t come in, and they apparently couldn’t get ahold of you. It seemed bullshit truly, but who was this random woman to lie about it?

Then, even worse, your landlord who is usually so sweet and kind, comes over and tells you they’re selling the house you rent, and you have to be out in ten fucking days. You were in shock as they came over apologetically, claiming someone offered them way more than it’s worth, and with cash. You don’t blame them, but now you are completely fucked.

Your parents are out of town, but imagine telling them your situation? Jobless soon since you already put in your resignation, and homeless? How can you even face them or live with them after being on your own since you were eighteen? You can’t just move back at twenty four.

You’re a mess when you’re back at the hell you call Sukuna Ryomen’s corporation, you hate it so much, knowing what you’re gonna have to do. Even if you stay with your family when they’re back in town, you have to have some source of income to get a new place, nothing nearby is even available for rent, so how long would it take?

No boyfriend.

No home.

No job.

And your car is still fucked up!?

You’re close to tears that monday, knocking on Sukuna’s door, the man you slapped in the fucking face last friday. Well, well deserved, sure, but what are the chances he’ll keep you? And if he does, will he make everything worse for you than he already did in the past? All you know, is for at least a few months, you’ll basically be at this shithead’s mercy.

“Come in,” he says gruffly behind the door, you take a breath, opening it and stepping in. He barely acknowledges you as he’s typing away on his keyboard, wearing a pair of glasses on the bridge of his nose. “What is it?”

“I um… well, I um…” You barely hold it together, he closes the laptop then, frowning over at you.

“You’re never at a loss for words, with that mouth,” you should scowl, but you just wanna fucking cry, you feel it coming, cursing yourself – you can’t, especially in front off him of all people! “Shut the door.”

“Right…” You do just that, closing it with a quiet click and leaning against it, eyes fluttering shut, missing his satisfied smirk just long enough for him to fix it. “Mr. Sukuna, um…”

“Um, um, um. Speak, don’t you know how to?” He’s such an ass, you barely can stand not punching him in his stupid face.

But he pays stupidly well.

“I need to keep my job.” You whisper, he blinks in surprise, standing up.

“Come here.” He says, almost softly, you step up to him, heels clicking on the polished hard wood, taking several breaths, bracing for his mockery, something fucking mean and cruel.

“Go ahead, say it, I’m pathetic for asking.” He frowns now, you’re just a breath away from him, too close for comfort.

“Why do you want to stay, thought you had the nice cushy Gojo job?” He leans his hip on the desk, crossing those big arms, his dress shirt struggling to stretch over all those muscles.

“I um…” You’re trembling in front of him, eyes welling with tears, and you’re so fucking sexy like this.

You need him.

It’s what he always wanted, you needing him.

“Will you just-”

“I lost the job opportunity,” your tears fall, hot and sticky down your cheeks, making him throb in his pants at the sight. They’re glimmering under the can lights in his ceiling, your red lipstick bitten off in places from your nerves.

You’re perfect like this.

You’re just one step closer to where he needs you to be.

“I also got kicked out of the place I’m r-renting, a-and I really can’t lose this job now. I know I said I’d quit, but fuck just let me stay for a bit. You can throw your papers on the floor, I just need it, okay?” You gasp when he brushes your tears away almost gently, not smirking, not mocking you.

He resists the urge to lap a tear off his thumb, fully hard at the sight of you so small compared to him, trembling and pathetic really.

It’s perfect.

“You can stay,” you gasp, eyes shooting up to his in shock. “What, think I’m that fucking horrible?”

“Yes, yes I absolutely do,” he scoffs, and you curse, shutting your eyes and shaking your head. “Shouldn’t have said that when I’m asking for a favor.”

“I like that you talk shit, it’s why I pay you so much,” your eyes narrow, irritation flitting in between emotions. He sighs, hands on your arms now. “C’mere.”

“What?”

He tugs you against him then, you wonder if on top of losing everything you’ve lost your mind and are having straight up delusions, his big hand brushing up and down your back. You’re against his chest, tears making his button down wet in spots, struggling to catch your breath.

How can you be comforted by this man, in any way!?

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Holding you, shit what does it look like?” You shake your head, but you don’t move. You hate to admit he feels good, he’s so warm he’s hot, that warmth seeping against you, his big, bulging muscles too comfortable. “You can stay with me.”

“I’ve really fucking lost it. What now?” You sniffle, looking up at him then, he brushes a lock of your hair in a move you can only describe as gentle, it doesn’t fit any of him.

“You’re a good assistant, I know I’m kind of a dick.”

“Kind of!? You’re a horrible, completely terrible, mean ass, conceited shit-”

“Fuck off, I’m trying to help!?”

You bite your inner cheek, heart racing now, pounding in your chest. “Letting me keep my job is nice enough, don’t act weird.”

“Weird, tch,” he tugs you closer, letting you cry more, smiling against your hair as you do. Every tear just makes him want you more. “You can stay with me till you get a place, I have a big ass penthouse, not like we’ll see each other much. Plus, isn’t your car in the shop? I can bring you to work.”

“How do you know that?”

“You don’t wanna stay with your parents, do you?” He avoids the question completely.

“Shit, no.” You sigh, pulling back and swiping those tears, realizing it is your best option. “Are you as much of a dick at home as you are at work?”

“Worse.”

“Then-”

“It’s a joke?” You glare, and he chuckles a bit, his eyes bright fucking red, almost scary when they assess you carefully. “I’ve been too harsh on you, huh?”

“Harsh is an understatement, sadistic asshole fits better,” his scowl deepens, grip still firm on your waist even though you’ve backed away. “You really won’t mind me living with you?

“Nah, like I said we won’t even see each other much. I feel a little responsible,” – he literally caused all of it – “I made you wanna leave. So let me at least do something to make it up.”

“Are you in therapy or on meds or some shit? Who are you?”

“You’re such a little fucking brat, ungrateful-”

“Ah, there he is,” you smile, that mean little one even with your tremulous lips, stepping back then. “Well I really have no choice.”

“You’re sounding really thankful.”

“I am, though. I guess I’ll bring some things over tonight if that’s okay?”

“I’ll bring you to your place, we can grab what you need.”

You walk off, then turn around, looking at him and wondering if there’s something more than an arrogant, self entitled dick in there. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, get back to work, you’re slacking.” You roll your eyes as you walk out of his office, and he can’t stop his grin from spreading.

*****

You thought you’d hate living with Sukuna, even if he has a fancy decked out penthouse, with cleaners making sure it was immaculate. You don’t know what you expected, some pretentious bachelor pad with nothing but beer and no food in the fridge? He’s in his mid thirties and since, which raises every red flag along with his horrible personality.

Surely some sugar baby would deal with him or something, he’s that attractive really, some people could probably get past how much of an asshole he was. Yet, he’s alone, you don’t see him talk to any women the first week you’re there at all, and it almost gets comfortable, driving back to his place together, cooking dinner and then bitching about idiots at work.

Fuck it’s almost domestic?

Sukuna is still a dick at work, sure, but he’s eased up a bit, he’s actually said a praise or two which he never has, and at home he’s quite kind, even intelligent. Coming off like a nepo baby airhead, he surprises you more with just how smart he is, when he’s typing away at that computer working some finances, while some science show is on his big ass tv.

Sukuna’s almost a little nerdy, especially with those glasses. He walks around shirtless, that shithead, and that really fucks with you more than you’ll admit. You figured he had a good body judging by how his suits fit, but nothing really prepared you for waking up and seeing him completely bare aside from some boxer briefs that hugged a rather caked out ass.

He was cooking this morning, making what smelled like bacon and eggs, scrambling them around when you wake up, yawning. One week and you haven’t killed each other, in fact as you’re staring at the black tattoos across his back, he turns his head a bit to look back at you.

He’s unfairly attractive, that conceited ass smile plastered on his face when he looks back at you. “Checking my ass out?”

“Hah, not even, I’m just tired and want coffee,” you’re next to him then, arms brushing against each other when he looks down at your body. “Are you staring at my tits?”

“Yes.”

“The fuck,” you shove at him and he chuckles, almost playfully, you can’t stop your nipples from tightening at the gaze, at his laugh. Fuck it’s almost pleasing, making you hate him more. “Pervert.”

“Says you,” he reaches across and turns on the coffee maker for you, it heats up with a whir. “Wanna eat?”

“You’re making me breakfast?” You ask, pulling out a coffee pod, Sukuna barely hides his erection when he fully gets a look of what you’re wearing, some thin little crop top and shorts that barely cover your ass.

You look slutty, tits half out, almost the entirety of those thighs bare, thighs he’d die to have one either side of his face. That makes him angrier, the amount he wants to pleasure you, worship you, and because of your bratty attitude he has to wait. You look like you need his cock inside you.

He wants to give you what you need, it’s torture to jerk it next to you every night, when you’re a room away, but he knows damn well you don’t need him that badly yet. But you’re getting there, he can almost inhale the scent of your arousal, so sweet like the panties he buried his face in last night.

He despises you for reducing him to that, to lapping your sticky arousal from them, and they were coated in your slick. Despite you acting fine, you were clearly wet around him, your nipples poking out of your top and drawing his gaze, his wide grin, you cup them then, gasping.

“Don’t stare dickhead, I’m just cold!”

“Sure you are, they like me, at least.”

“They so do not.” He smirks, and you struggle to focus on anything other than wanting him to throw you on that counter.

Stupid.

It’s stupid.

One week of being a semi decent human being doesn’t eliminate everything he’s put you through. “I’ll eat some.”

“Good girl.”

“Yuck, never mind.”

“Fucking brat,” he scowls, and you can’t stop a little giggle, the first he has ever heard from you, he grips the spatula so hard it bends. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, it does look yummy though.”

“Then sit down, I’ll bring you some.” You both fall into a comfortable silence, eating side by side, he’s peering at his laptop while you’re poking at your phone, knees brushing under his pretty white bar. He leans over and swipes a bit of coffee off the corner of your mouth, and that’s when you pause.

He’s not touched you like that, your couple of interactions were slaps, and then that weird hug he tugged you into. But this week he’s made sure not to, and when he does, you ache, desire ruining your brain chemistry. You stare at him with dilated eyes when he brushes his thumb across your lips, watching the plush of it gently move, knowing what it’s doing to you.

He knows your cunt is pulsing around nothing, knows what his eyes are doing while they look down at you. He knows how to push you over that edge until you beg for him, or so he thinks. You pull back and smack at his hand, he clenches his teeth, about to bend you over and beat your ass black and blue, but he can’t. He has to make you want him, not just need him.

“Weirdo.” You stick your tongue out, he scoffs at you, back to watching the news on his screen, and you run to the bathroom when you’re done.

You can’t help but reach down and find your cunt slick.

Fuck Ryomen Sukuna.

*****

It’s been two weeks now, Sukuna lets you sit on the couch and you two actually watch movies together, you sit out on the balcony with him and drink his ridiculously expensive vintage of wine. It’s peaceful almost, he’s quiet and doesn’t talk too much shit, and you unfortunately find yourself enjoying him, wanting him more and more despite your mind knowing that’s the dumbest idea.

Do you just want to get fucked, are you just horny and he’s hot? But how can you ever want someone who was that awful? It’s almost hard to remember, sitting next to him tonight, eyes getting heavy, you rest your head on his shoulder before you think better of it, feeling him tense.

His hand is on your thigh, you’re shifting your hips, dying for him to just touch you. You see the way he looks at you now that you live with him, you’ve seen the bulge in his boxers in the morning, hear how he catches his breath, notice the dilation of his eyes. You know he wants you, but he makes no move ever, the hand not inching the tiniest bit higher.

You sure the hell would never ask him, it’s dumb to even be open to it, but the more you’re around his psychotic ass, the more your body reacts so stupidly. You can only chalk it up to so many issues and a massive need of therapy, perhaps you’ve just been consuming too much hate sex smut, and it’s altering your brain.

But you want it.

You shift again, closer now, pretending you’re falling asleep, thighs spreading just a bit, some insane part of you wonders if he’d touch you in your sleep. He inches his fingers just a bit higher, you bite back a gasp, keeping your eyes fluttered shut, hearing the quiet click of the remote now as he turns off the show. He brushes back your hair for a moment, rather than what you need.

His fingers inside you.

His mouth on you.

What the actual hell is wrong with your mind you don’t know, inhaling that expensive scent, more and more alluring with every breath you slowly take, feigning sleep while he runs a finger across your jaw line. You bury your face against his neck now, breathing heavier, he pauses, unmoving then, until he shakes you just a bit.

“Gonna drool on me, brat?” You pull off now, scoffing and going to stand with a yawn.

“Sorry for being sleepy, dick.”

“Tch…”

When he grips your wrist with long, thick fingers that you keep wondering about. You wonder if they’d hit your cervix, those black painted nails against your skin, leaving marks. You’re so done with his bullshit, the push and pull, one moment acting kind enough that you wonder if you’re wrong, then the next snapping, being a whole psycho – and the entire time making you throb with need every time he’s close to you.

“Come drool on me then, if you’re gonna be all pouty about it,” he gives you a mean little smile. You tug away, freeing your wrist, seeing marks he leaves from just that touch. You wonder if he’d leave them all over your body. “Going to bed?”

“Sure am.” He chuckles like the asshole he is, you stomp off and sigh, resting your head on the door.

He’s trying to tease you, it’s so obvious to you then, when you hear quiet moans and huffs next to your room. Like he’s wanting you to cave, to desire him, but you sure the hell would never give him that satisfaction. You’re undressing when you see it then, a little small black tube, and then it all starts to hit you.

Is this pervert watching you!?

He knew about Ino, he knows too much.

That should scare you, really, but instead you undress right in front of that camera, ever so slowly, letting your tits bounce. You hear his moans get just a bit louder, hiding your smile when you lay on the bed, holding your phone and texting a guy back who asked you out. You proceed then to touch yourself, moaning loudly the name of the date.

“Oh, Suguru, oh!”

Sukuna pauses, dick in his hand, almost crushing the phone he’s watching you on now, his jaw tensing as you say some other dudes fucking name!? Not even the boy you dated – why is he so desperately in love with such a mean, evil thing really? He should go in there and beat your ass, fuck you so good all you know is him, but it would just fuck everything up.

He flings his phone across the room, all while you’re in the other room getting off to the thought of making this stalker furious.

*****

You certainly can’t stay here much longer with Sukuna.

One, he’s a psycho.

Two, he’s a dick.

Three, you want to fuck him.

All of that together pushes you to start peering at places, there is a brand new condo building that’s just constructed, and it’s in your price range. You submit a pre application, then decide to get ready for your date with a handsome man you’d run into last week. Some sick, dark part of you gets off on the idea a cocky ass man like Sukuna is so obsessed he spies.

You wonder the extent of it, honestly, when you step out into the living room in a slinky little black dress, red lips just a little glossy, pretty earrings dangling with your hair done up. You had done a couple little spins to make sure everything looked good, slipping on a pair of red bottom heels, a splurge you’ve never even worn before. All in all, you know you look good.

When Sukuna’s eyes catch you, for a moment his lips part, his heart hammers at how gorgeous you look, but just as quickly, he realizes it’s not for him, and clenches his jaw, narrowing his eyes now when you step closer. You do a little spin and giggle, making him want to throw your ass down on the mattress in his room, and fuck you into it.

Tear your dress into nothing, so you never wear it again, use that pretty silver necklace to choke you until it snaps in half. He can hardly handle just standing there, his ‘unbothered’ act about to fail with what you’re putting him through. Sukuna has never cared about anyone but you, never felt any of this, and yet here you are about to go out with someone else?

He’s read your signals, but the game he’s playing is apparently too slow for you and how needy your cunt apparently is.

He’s furious.

“How do I look, Sukuna? I think I like this dress on me.” You say with a little quirk of your lips, like you know what you’re doing to him.

His gaze dips to your breasts, cupped tightly in that dress, too low cut, fuck he could almost see your nipples if you bend over. And he’d surely see your ass if you did, the shape of it outlined in the little black thin ass material, a pathetic excuse for clothing he’d never let you out in once you’re his.

“Where ya going dressed like that huh?” You scoff, crossing your arms.

“Excuse me? I think I look hot.”

“You look slutty as fuck.” You scowl at him, he walks closer, until your back is pressed against the counter, heart racing. “Shouldn't let you out like that.”

“Would it kill you to just say I look pretty once?” You blink back frustrated tears, because why the fuck do you care what he thinks!? Why do you want him to!? The toxic pull is worse when you feel his body against yours, feel his heat, wanting it to soak into you, even knowing he’s dangerous and terrible.

Sukuna grips your face too tightly, a thick, muscled thigh slipping between your own, you bite back a gasp of pleasure so hard it makes your lip almost bleed, struggling to focus. “You know you're fucking gorgeous, tch. It doesn't change shit about this slutty ass outfit.”

“Oh fuck you,” you grip his wrists, shoving his hands down, just for him to bar you with his arms, thigh pressing higher, making you almost let out that moan threatening to spill from your throat. Your eyes fly to his, unreadable and dilated to almost pure blackness. “I'm going on a date.”

“A date, huh?” You nod, swallowing nervously now.

How dare you show off all that pretty skin. That pretty body that belongs to him and only him!?

“Look like you’re going to a dick appointment.”

You slap the fuck out of him now, his cheek decorated with your handprint, breaths faster and faster, a mix of anger, hatred and being so turned on you’re about to soak his thigh. He can tell, you swear he feels it already, merely grinning and cupping your face now.

“You love to hit me, huh?”

“You’re an ass who deserves to be hit, so yes. So what if it is a ‘dick appointment’ do you not think I have needs?”

“Needs, hmm?” He presses up again, big hands gripping your hips and tugging you down, you can’t bite that whine back even though you try, you curse internally with his satisfied grin. “What exactly do you need?”

“Need someone who wants to get me off,” you shove at his chest even as you rock your hips, he’s throbbing when he feels it – how hot you are, your needy cunt just pressing on him. “Don’t you date, Sukuna? Haven’t seen a girl here.”

“Do you want to hear another girl screaming while I fuck her in the next room?” He’s leaning against you, all six feet something of him imposing while you’re pressed on his chest, his thigh, cunt pulsing around nothing.

“What would I care?” You whisper, chin tilted up to eye him in the face defiantly even as you soak him, trembling thighs and hands just resting on his chest, gripping his shirt. “What if I fucked someone, would you watch me, Sukuna?”

“Would I what now!?” You smile deviously, yanking him down, until he’s dangerously close to your lips, the scent of your perfume flooding his senses, sweet breath minty and cool against his lips.

“Would you watch me, would you get off to that?”

“You think I’m some sicko, huh,” he’s chuckling and pressing his thigh up again, you’re so close from just that it’s dumb, while he slips up your dress, hands gripping the thin material. “Maybe I just worry about you.”

“Hah, worry for me, hmm? Mnh-” His cheeks are flushed red, you feel it – his thick, heavy cock against your waist now, pressing and insistent despite him trying to compose himself.

“I should take you, your car is still in bad shape,” he whispers, you shake your head. “No, what if some weirdo gets you?”

“I’ll be f-fine, I’ll be in by curfew dad.”

“You’re such an insolent-”

“Brat, yeah you say that. Can you get out of my way? I have a date to go to.” He pulls back, and raises a brow when he looks at his slacks, you peer down in horror, seeing the spot glistening with your slick. “I’ll be g-gone soon, too.”

“Leaving huh? Tsk, you’re messy, aren’t you?” He runs his thumb over it now, coating it in the damp, sticky clear arousal, your thighs tremble when he steps forward, taking your chin with his other hand now. “Ruining my thousand dollar slacks?”

“You put your leg there, weirdo - mmm!” Sukuna runs your own juices across your lips like a gloss, smirking as he does it, slipping his thumb between your lips.

“Should make you clean it off,” he murmurs, tilting his head and looking at you like some predator, when you sink your teeth against the pad of his thumb he doesn’t even flinch. “Make you lick it off, on your knees.”

You pause instead of coming back with something, the thought of him making you do it fucking you up, your tummy clenching when he runs his thumb across it again, lapping it off a finger now. His eyes flutter shut, cheeks hollowing, sipping your slick cunt off them, as you watch, lips parted.

“Have fun on your little date.” Is all he says then, walking off and leaving you clenching nothing, clit twitching with how badly she wants friction. You rush out quickly, leaving Sukuna with your flavor sunk in his tastebuds, peering at his phone after a few minutes, tracking your exact location.

As if he wouldn’t watch you.

He has to make sure you act right, going out like that with your cunt teased too, he sure the fuck wasn’t going to let anyone touch you.

Sukuna watches you from the car window later, dark and tinted just across from the restaurant, you’re sitting right by the window, giggling with your hand in front of your mouth, some tall dude next to you. He assumes it’s the name you moaned last night, your hand is on his thigh, you’re sitting right against him. Sukuna’s hands grip the steering wheel tightly.

He watches you kiss him, plotting just what he’s gonna do when you walk through that door tonight. How is he supposed to hold back when you’re running around and letting other men touch what belongs to him. He scowls at his phone and texts you out of curiosity, you peer at the phone and don’t respond, instead sipping on your glass of wine and throwing your head back.

You’re absolutely done for.

*****

You had way too much fun tonight, you even had a little make out sesh in the car, he’s handsome and sweet and easy to talk to. Knowing you have to go back to Sukuna should fill you with some sense of dread, he’s a dickhead and at this point lives to edge you, he’s clearly watching you – you don’t know the extent – but that all just makes pissing him off more thrilling.

You slip off your heels at the door, stepping into the quietness of the penthouse, it’s completely dark in there, not a light left on, and not a sound. You didn’t expect Sukuna to be up and running around, but the darkness is a little disconcerting, especially with the dizziness from the wine in your blood stream. You blink a bit, reaching for the light switch, when you hear him.

“You’re back, huh?” He walks to you, your eyes adjust to him in the night, his big frame casting shadows when you hit the lights just barely, enough to be able to see him, before he snatches your wrist.

“Yes, I’m back, did you worry about me, Sukuna?” You murmur, leaning close to him, letting him hold them, letting him press you against that door. “That’s so sweet, you care huh? Why are you waiting for me like some creep, anyway?”

“Hah, a creep,” he slides a hand up, yanking out all the pins that have your hair in that pretty updo. You gasp as they clatter to the floor around you, the pins echoing off the hardwood.

“What are you doing?”

He says nothing, so done with you, so furious, ready to fuck your throat till you can’t talk anymore. “What, mad I had fun, want me miserable? Or are you… jealous, imagine, Ryomen Sukuna jealous.”

You run your hand up his chest, little glint in your eyes while he yanks your hair at the roots, so hard you cry out at it. “Get on your fucking knees, now.”

“Excuse me- ah!” He’s pulling harder, a hand on your shoulder pressing you down, you feel his strength along with your tummy clenching with hot need.

“On. Your. Knees.” He orders again, voice gruff as you kneel for him, you glare but you want this. You want to be on your knees, him yanking your hair just makes you wetter, the pain along with looking up at him like this.

The fuck is wrong with you!?

Sukuna undoes his pants now, your hands go to touch his thighs, earning a sharp smack. “Put 'em behind your back, now.”

You do as he says even with a mad little look on your face, cunt already soaked at the thought of his cock in your mouth, hands behind you, fingers entwined, he chuckles now, brushing your hair back. He uses two fingers to tilt your chin up, before going to his belt buckle, your breaths coming faster and faster.

“So you can listen, then,” he taunts you, you go to stand, just to get shoved back down, exciting you more. “Open that mouth, time I put it to better use than you running it, then you kissing other men.”

“You are jealous,” you whisper, he grabs your hair in a ponytail now, pulling until you’re in tears.

“Jealous of you being a pretty little whore? Don’t scowl, you asked me to call you pretty, didn’t you?”

“Oh, fuck you, mnh…” He pulls your hair harder, yanking your head so you’re forced to look at him when he lets his cock slide out, heavy and thick, two faint blue veins wrapping all the way to his reddened tip that’s just leaking pre

“I said, open your mouth.” You do as he says, mouth open for him, tongue out and ready. “Look, you can behave, can’t you?”

Sukuna drags his tip against your lips, smirking as he smears your lip gloss, balls filling heavy with how much cum he’s ready to pour inside you. Your red tint makes his tip a pretty shade of ruby, before he presses it further, the weight of it right on the tip of your tongue, the barbell cold against the roof of your mouth. You taste him, salty little drops against your taste buds, a whine snapping his control, his teasing.

He shoves his cock deep in your mouth then, dragging your face so he can fuck it, leaving you choking on him, tears in your eyes when he hits your uvula. “That’s it, aww can you not take it all, ya that fucking pathetic?”

You just get wetter the meaner he gets, it’s making you grind helplessly on the heels of your feet pressed against your cunt, he yanks you up. “Ngh!”

“You don’t get any pleasure yet, not after all the shit you’ve put me through,” Sukuna wraps a hand around your throat now, feeling the bulge move underneath your delicate skin. “Know how long I’ve waited for this? To use you, fuck your mouth like the useless little cocksleeve you are.”

He’s lost in your suction, in how you’re taking him, the moans just vibrating against his cock, he’s sucking in a breath when you suck harder, your cheeks hollowed, letting him drag you by the hair, uncaring. Your throat constricts around his cock so tightly, he can only picture how perfect that cunt will feel.

“You’re so desperate,” he whispers. You're lost in the sensations of being used by him, his leg comes between your thigh now, you're rutting against it, whining with need. He gasps out when you suck hard, swirling your tongue around his tip. “You’ll fuck my leg, like some bitch in heat huh?”

You hate him, you hate the need that’s been building for weeks, hate the desperate way he ruts your mouth, you’re choking and gagging, sucking breaths through your nose. You let him use you for his pleasure, let his hands cup your face on either side, while your slick cunt just drips down his leg, seeping against his pants, cunt dying for any pressure, any friction.

“That's it. Throat is so fucking slutty, she wants me to ruin her. Huh? Aw, can't talk, baby?” He fucks your throat now, cursing softly as he thrusts that cock so deep, piercing dragging the roof of your mouth, the cool barbell shockingly different from his burning hot length. “Can’t run your mouth, can’t kiss some random fucking guy now, can you?”

He pulls back with a ragged breath, yanking you up with a hand on your throat, squeezing tightly, lips just a breath away. He’s fucked your throat and not even kissed you. He squeezes tighter, pressure against either side of your jugular, chuckling deeply now while you whimper.

“Could snap your little neck, y’know that?” He whispers, watching your eyes go glossy and black with need. “And you’d like it, wouldn’t you? Want me to just use every fucking hole you have?”

He kisses you, filthy and messy, more intimate than swallowing him, and that’s when he loses it fully, shoving you against the door, cock coated in your spit and saliva, wrapping it in thin gossamer strings. He tastes himself on you, along with the wine you drank, heady and making him almost bust when he pulls back, turning you.

“Let me suck you off, psycho,” you whisper, he chuckles then, teeth sinking into your neck, painful as he rips your dress off. “You dick that was expensive!?”

“I’ll buy you a new wardrobe, fuck you’re stupid, don’t you know what you do to me?” He whispers, needy and desperate himself, his hand slipping around you cup your bare breasts, leaving you in nothing but panties, the remnants of your little black dress around your ankles.

“I know you watch me,” you whisper, looking back at him then, he falters for just a moment, before smirking. “You want to fuck me, then do it.”

“You’re not in control, brat, shut that pretty mouth before I-”

“Fuck it again, I like it.”

“The fuck…” you’re a menace really. “You’re such a-”

“You gonna fuck me or? Need to go to the room and recor-” He’s shoved you forward now, sinking two fingers deep in your cunt. “Ah!”

“This what you been needing, rutting on my leg, on my thigh, making a whole fucking mess? So pathetic and needy, just to have your hole stuffed?” You gasp out, he’s rocking his fingers deep inside while your face is shoved against the door with one of his hands. “That’s it, lemme feel her, already drooling.”

You’re clenching around him, head pressed with his weight, while he scissors those thick fingers in and out. “M’gonna… f-fuck…”

He yanks them out, shoving them in your mouth, pressing your tongue down and groaning with your teeth bite at them. “Should make you beg for it.”

“I’d never, should make you,” he scoffs, tongue licking up your neck, bending over to press the fat tip of his cock against your quivering hole, his free hand turning your face, hovering so big over you then, shadows cast and covering you in darkness, it’s just him, everywhere.

“Only I will ever fuck you, touch you, kiss you,” he sloppily kisses you then, pressing his tip past that tight ring of muscles, pulling back and feeling you gush down him, moaning. “You’re all fucking mine, my pretty little whore.”

“M’not yours - ngh!” Sukuna shoves his cock half way in, you’re struggling to take it, thighs trembling, cock stretched out, all while he watches you.

“Perfect cunt is f’me, jus’me fuckin say it,” he’s groaning when he begins to move, achingly slow yet rough thrusts, slamming you into the door. One of his hands entwines, tattooed and rough, swallowing yours. “Say it, that you’re just a stupid little slut for me.”

“F-fuck you, Sukuna, not yours,” your cunt is gushing arousal, so much he’s moving easier despite the stretch, he’s all bent as you arch your ass more, whining out at the stretch. “Too much!”

“Hah, too much? Don’t tap out, all that talk, all that play, knowing I could fucking see you,” he slams his cock hard against your cervix, you scream out, hoarsely. “Your throat is so sore, isn’t it?”

“Shut up,” you’re lost in him, in his mean thrusts, in his nasty words, he lifts you then, letting your legs dangle in the fucking air, arms wrapping you. “Psycho, put me down!?”

“You can still talk,” he slams his cock inside your hole, using you now, up and down his cock with your body like you’re nothing. “Dumb fucking toy, aren’t you? Is this what you needed?”

You open your mouth to protest, but he’s railing your cunt with sharp thrusts, making drool spill from your mouth, you’re shaking in his hold, he slams you down hard and you shatter, pulsing around him as you cum so hard you can’t fucking see. You’re blinded, blink back fuzzy stars when he yanks out of you, making you whine out at the emptiness.

He unceremoniously sets you on the ground, you wobble, sadistic fucker eats it all up too. “So fucked out you can’t walk? I just started.”

“Back in.”

“If you say you’re mine,” he’s cupping your face so tightly it hurts, his eyes terrifying, voice just a whisper. “Fucking say you’re mine.”

“No.”

“You little…” He picks you up, you cling to him, letting him carry you to his room, he practically flings you on his bed, pressing you into the mattress and lifting your thighs, eyeing your cunt. “It’s perfect, fuck you.”

“Fuck you! Get back in, mnh.” He’s past chuckling and teasing, he’s lost when he sees your pussy, ready to bury himself inside it. He spreads your thighs, leaning over you and sinking inside now, watching your tummy move with him. “You’re too deep.”

“Your slutty hole can take it,” he slams his cock inside, bottoming out as deep as he can go, pushing your thighs up and making you feel the stretch, rolling his hips and looking down at you. “So tight, f-fuck… all mine, shit…”

Your pretty face, drenched in perspiration, lipstick smeared and half missing, mascara streaks down your cheeks.

“You’re a fucking mess, look at you,” Sukuna fucks you deeper, one hand braced next to you, the other under your chin. “Look, I’m fucking ruining you.”

You barely register, looking down and seeing your tummy move now. “Mnh…”

“Can’t run your stupid mouth huh?” You smack him, he pins your wrist, pulsing inside you now, you’re whimpering, whining, a mess as he lays into you. “Going to fuckin’ ruin you for anyone.”

You shake your head, making him laugh, pressing your thighs up until you’re in a mating press, bending in ways you didn’t think you could, just fucking you harder. The loud sounds of the smacking of his thighs on your ass mix with your cunt squelching, his huffs and moans and your breathy gasps, while his cock does wreck you.

It hurts you, stretches you, the skin around his cock burning from it when he pulls fully out, smacking his heavy cock against your cunt. “Say you’re mine.”

“No, f-fuck!” Sukuna’s putting his weight on your thighs, fucking you bruisingly rough now. He’s not holding back anymore, the bed shaking with every thrust, looking down at you with lidded eyes, all black with a ring of ruby.

“If you wanna cum, you’ll say it,” he pauses his thrusts, you shake your head even when his tip presses your cervix, that ring dragging on your spot. “If you want me to keep fucking you like the slut you are, you will.”

“No.” He yanks out of you again, leaving you empty and twitching, smacking your sore cunt. “Ow!”

“You just don’t listen, you just don’t realize you’re mine, have been mine, only mine.” You blink rapidly, shaking your head. “Wanna cum, don’t you? You’re so needy.”

You nod weakly, he smacks your cunt again with a sharp smack that stings, you’re crying out, tears slipping down your cheeks when he does it again. “Mnh…”

“Cunt is all puffy, all fucked up already, bet it I just…” he runs a thumb over your twitching clit, left untouched until now. Your head falls back at it, while he holds your thighs up, running quicker and quicker. “Bet you squirt all over me, huh?”

You shake your head, he shoves his thick cock back in, he needs you too much to keep holding back, needs to ruin you, fill you, mark you his. Sukuna rubs your clit while his fat cock stuffs your hole over and over, harder and faster, you’re twitching, overstimulated quickly, clit sensitive when he presses harder now. You gasp out, so close, making him halt.

“Make me cum, you stalker,” he smirks, slamming into you again, moving your thighs so that they’re up in the air now.

“You love that I watch you, admit it.”

You shake your head, he smirks and leans over you, thumb paused, just sitting on your little clit as it twitches, cunt spasming around his cock. “No it’s w-weird, creepy…”

“You love that I’m fucking obsessed with you,” you shake your head again, he drags his finger up, showing you his sticky, soaked hand. “Admit it.”

“No – g-god!” Sukuna slams into your cunt again, so hard you can hardly handle it, a writhing mess underneath him.

“I have watched you for months, watched you suck your cum off your fingers,” he runs your juices now against your lips, the pressure builds more and more, your breaths coming out in short pants, your nails digging into the bedsheets. “Watched you with that boy, seen you fucking dancing around your room naked.”

“Creep, ngh!” Your eyes roll back in your skull as he slams again, rolling his hips, letting your thighs grip them, hands brutal against your thighs, leaving bruises.

“You’re wetter, you get off on it, huh? Let’s test it,” he kisses up your neck, your ear, whispering in it now. “I stroked my cock just thinkin’ about your cunt, licked you off your used panties.”

“Oh fuck…” you’re gushing, so close with every filthy image he throws in your head, as he slams his cock, heavy balls making little plap plap plap sounds, his cock throbbing inside. You feel every vein, every ridge of his dick inside you, nails digging into his strong biceps in response.

“Your cunt can’t lie like you do, you like making me desperate, don’t you?” You bite your lip, tears from being edged falling, making him groan when he feels them against his cheek. “Yeah, cry, hah – pathetic dumb baby.”

“Hate you,” you bite his shoulder, but he fucks you harder, losing it, desperate and needy – a whimper in your ear that pushes you over the edge. “Hate you so m-much.”

“Fuck,” he’s kissing you again, hands folding you in half, then gripping your face, sweat dripping on your skin. “You’re never leaving me, I’ll fill you so much, so much cum you’ll drip me at work.”

“Sukuna…”

“Give you so many fucking reasons to stay, fucking keep you to myself,” you’re lost in his insanity, losing all sense of preservation for his thick cock and the way he looks at you. “You’re mine.”

“Fuck it, just… let me cum…” He pauses at that, lips parted. “Please.”

“Begging? Look at you, perfect fucking whore for me only, only want my cum inside you, huh? Fill you till you’re begging me to stop.”

“Shut up and – f-fuck, fu-uckkk,” your orgasm ruins you, you’ve never felt whatever the fuck the psycho is doing, and he just fucks you through it, hands pressing so hard against your head you think you’ll break.

“Can you take it all? Greedy cunt is fuckin’ begging for it, feel her milking me, she knows who she belongs to at least,” you’re getting fucked from one orgasm into another, the room spinning, making you dizzy as he works you over and over. “Fuck you stupid, huh? Stupid little whore.”

“Fuck you, hate you. Dumb fucking… psycho…” You’re getting filled then as he moans while you insult him, while you’re digging your nails so hard he bleeds, kissing you desperately as his cum floods your cunt.

“Feel you, so fucking good, g-god, she’s all mine,” you’re sobbing, shaking underneath him, all just making him want you again. “She is, you are. Not going anywhere.”

“Just once,” you mumble, he chuckles then, yanking out of you, dripping with all the fluids from you two, it’s filthy to see. He grabs a pillow, flipping you onto your stomach and slipping it right under your hips then. “Sukuna, f-fuck are you doing back there?”

“God, look at her, she took me s’fucking good, she took so much,” he is spreading your legs while he watches your cunt pushing out his pearly white cum, spreading your ass wide so he can look. “Arch that ass up for me.”

“Again!? I- S-sukuna ngh,” you feel it then, his tongue lapping from your clit all the way to your little unused hole. “What are you d-doing?”

“Gonna taste us together, god your pussy is so slutty, mnh.” Sukuna laps his long tongue deep in your cunt now, scooping out his own cum, while his hands take over your ass, gripping it and dragging it on his face.

“Are you l-licking… my… your… oh, there, shit there,” you’re arching more now, he dives deeper, cleaning every inch of your cunt with his mouth, tongue flicking deep inside and scooping more that pours. “Cumming!”

He pulls back now, laying prone over you with his long limbs, tattooed hands pressing your lips apart. “Open, taste us.”

You do just that without argument, letting Ryomen Sukuna spit in your mouth, swapping the mix of both of your cum with dripping saliva. “You’re freaky as fuck, S-sukuna.”

“You haven’t seen shit yet, I’m not taking it easy this time,” you go to ask what the fuck he means when he shoves all of the nine inches he can in your cunt, wrapping his fingers around your throat. “Gonna fill you again, and again, and again, till you learn who the fuck you belong to.”

*****

You’re blinking as the sun shines in the big windows of Sukuna’s room, feeling something wet against your tummy. You gasp and lift the sheets, watching as Sukuna’s pink haired head sinks lower. “What’re you doing, you weird fucking freak!?”

“Gonna have you a pathetic mess, hurt your little cunt, bet she’s sore,” he bites your clit now, you jerk, yanking on his hair, shaking when he slides two fingers in, eyeing you with a lazy smirk and bright ruby eyes. “Aw, poor little pussy.”

“I s-said once…”

“I came inside you five times,” he spreads your pussy lips now, moaning. “Still some leaking out of your beat up cunt, too.”

“D-did you record that all? Gonna jerk off to it?” You gasp as he flicks his demon tongue on your sore clit, sinking another finger inside and stretching you out so much you’re jerking back.

“Ah - ah, don’t run, brat. You’re all mine, belong to me,” he flicks his tongue again, after fucking you stupid all night, your brain is still fucked. “You’re never leaving me.”

“Y-yes I will.”

He smiles against your skin, letting you think that for now, before making sure to put more cum inside you, fuck you even dumber, until you don’t even remember what you were saying, what you were thinking. When you’re passing out, he’s still inside you, chuckling at how cute you are, tears drying on your cheeks, your lips swollen, and he knows you’re not going anywhere.

Surprise, she isn't going anywhre :')

Comments/rbs very appreciated if you enjoy!!

Kofi link if you wanna buy me a glass of wine 🍷

#sukuna #ryomen sukuna #sukuna smut #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujustu kaisen #sukuna x y/n #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna smut #sukuna ryomen #jjk x reader smut #jjk x you #yandere smut #yandere jjk #yandere sukuna #sukuna ryomen smut #jjk sukuna

3K notes · View notes

tangledinlove · 19 days ago

Text

lovestruck and looking out the window

PART ONE | part two

pairing: clark kent x fem reader 4.6k

summary: you see your friend clark without his glasses for the first time. he looks… oddly familiar

content: clark kent invents what it's like to be a gentleman time and time again. reader finds herself in trouble quite a bit lol. title from superman by tswift of course. divider from hyuneskkami ♡

Addy19 @Addison_Malii Anyone else in Arkham District hear the evacuation sirens turn on and off? Was that a test or should I be running for my life lol Mark 💸 @markusup ↳ replying to @Addison_Malii That’s what you get for living in “Arkham District” bro 💀💀💀 cait (old acc got hacked…) @batmanslawyer ↳ replying to @markusup don’t speak on arkham district with metropolis in ur bio lmfao. i hope ur insurance covers ur house the next time superman drops a building on ur ass Mari ♡ @mightycrabjoysluvr ↳ replying to @batmanslawyer superman haters can not be real. like damn do you guys hate joy happiness fun and rainbows too cait (old acc got hacked…) @batmanslawyer ↳ replying to @mightycrabjoysluvr are we forgetting the fact that he’s an ALIEN from KRYPTON? i don’t care how hot he is i will take batman over him any day Mari ♡ @mightycrabjoysluvr ↳ replying to @batmanslawyer a vigilante defender in my replies shitting on superman… i have really seen it all. bookmarking this tweet for when the police finally catch batmans ass btw

“—you want some?”

“Hm?”

Clark sinks into the couch next to you, his weight tipping you closer in his direction. The edge of the bowl in his hand prods your side.

“You really shouldn’t hold your phone so close to your face. You’re going to wreck your vision.”

You finally look up at him, unimpressed. “Didn’t know you believed in old wives’ tales.”

“It’s not a myth!” He insists. “Put your phone down. We’re putting the movie on, and I know you’re going to complain when you don’t understand what’s happening—”

“I don’t complain, you liar.”

“—but you do, and then you’re gonna beg me to rewind. But then you’re gonna fall asleep and ask me to rewind it again, but I won’t want to because I’ve rewatched the same part five times—”

“That’s never happened before,” you lie blatantly. It happened last week and he won’t stop bringing it up. You toss your phone somewhere onto his couch and ignore the look he’s giving you when you take the bowl from his hands. “You made popcorn? Why didn’t you say anything?”

Clark laughs, the sound full and warm. He drapes a throw blanket over your laps — one of yours that he stole from your apartment — and hands you the remote. “I did. You were too busy scrolling.”

“Sorry.” You make yourself comfortable on his couch, pressing yourself into his side and stretching your legs out onto the ottoman. “I was busy doing some very important things.”

“Such as?” he asks, watching you flick through his TV subscriptions. “Oh, come on. We aren’t watching that one again.”

You frown as you click past one of your favorite movies. “I was just looking at it.”

“I’m sure.”

You kick at his ankles and watch the dimples crease on his face. It’s hard not to stare too long at the way he looks in the golden lighting from the TV. The blue of his eyes seems warmer.

“Whatever,” you grumble. “You can pick. As long as it’s not that trashy zombie show you like.”

He takes the remote from you, leveling a look at you from under the frames of his glasses. “It’s not trashy.”

“We can agree to disagree, babe.”

You fight the urge to laugh. You aren’t sure Clark realizes it, but he has the same reaction to that nickname every time — he looks up at the ceiling, and then away from you as the blush creeps up his neck. It’s even easier to see when his face is lit up like this, his sweet face tinged pink.

The two of you scroll through the movie and show selections in relative silence after. You’re sitting close enough that you can nudge him in the side when you want him to skip something, and he does so with only some complaints. You make it all the way down to the romcom section before he breaks the silence.

He coughs. Then asks, “So, what were you doing on your phone? Texting someone?”

You hum absentmindedly, inspecting the movie thumbnails. “I was reading through some Superman hate posts, actually.”

It’s not the most accurate description of what you were doing, but you say it just to get a rise out of him. Clark would never admit it, but you’re almost one hundred percent sure that he’s a secret Superman megafan.

There’s a look that he gets in his eyes whenever he reads something about him. It’s hard to place, but it kind of looks like he’s a little kid again, his entire face lit up with emotion.

But if he really is as big of a fan as you think he is, you have no idea how he’s so blasé about all those interviews he gets with him. Clark Kent really is one of the most interesting people you’ve ever met.

He looks at you sideways, glancing away from the TV. “You were,” he says, less of a question and more of a statement.

“Kidding. Kinda. You know what people are like. Your friend’s famous, you know. People are going to scrutinize him no matter what he does.”

Clark clears his throat and his eyes dance back to the screen, but you know he’s only half paying attention to it now. “And you… do you agree with them? With what people say about him?

Something in his voice is odd. You sit up against the couch to look at him properly, though all you can see is his side profile.

On the screen in front of you, he clicks past the titles the second they load, uncaring of what he’s scrolling past.

“I think Superman’s great,” you say honestly. You speak slowly, trying to gauge his reaction. The only change in expression you get is the slight twitch of his mouth. “Don’t know why people complain so much about someone who saves lives. Like, who cares if he’s from Kirpton?”

“Krypton,” he corrects.

You smile. “Right, sorry.”

The slight tension in his shoulders release. “You really think he’s great?”

“Yeah.” You slip the remote out of his hands and click play on the first movie you recognize. Surprisingly, Clark doesn’t complain. “He’s gorgeous, too. You think you could introduce us? I hear his harem has quite the waiting list.”

He laughs, tossing the blanket back over your leg where it’s exposed. “He’s not my friend, and there’s no harem. And hopefully, you won’t be meeting Superman anytime soon.”

“Why not? Don’t want to mix your friend groups?”

He nudges your side, relaxing into his cushions again. His arms cross over his chest, and you try not to focus on the way his biceps pull against the sleeves of his shirt. “No. If you ever run into Superman, it probably means you’re somewhere you shouldn’t be.”

The two of you sit quietly with the weight of his words. Sure, he’s right, but you’re sure a totally normal Superman interaction isn’t out of the realm of possibility.

You wonder if the superhero has a favorite coffee shop. And how he would even order from it if he did. Would he wait in line? Maybe he’d have a priority lane specifically for him on the roof.

“Wait, what?” Clark’s voice cuts into the silence. His features have scrunched up in confusion. “When did we agree on watching this?”

“It’s Saw.”

“I can see that.”

“I chose it when you were too busy talking.”

“You sure you want to watch this one? You remember what happened when we watched The Exorcist, right?”

“The lights went out, Clark. What was I supposed to do, not scream?”

“I was sitting right next to you. Nothing was going to happen. If anything, we’d get possessed together.”

“That’s so not funny. As long as nothing supernatural happens, I’ll be good with this one, I swear.”

He blinks at you.

“I swear.”

You wake up drooling on Clark’s t-shirt.

Thirty minutes into Saw you were holding onto his arm so tightly that he put you out of your misery and put on National Treasure instead. The last thing you can remember is Nicolas Cage asking for lemon juice before the comfort of Clark’s shoulder became too much to resist drifting off.

You untangle your legs from his to sit up properly, a different movie playing in the background. Much like you a few seconds ago, your friend is fast asleep, his head leaning against the armrest in a way that can’t be comfortable.

His glasses are askew now, resting politely on his chest. You worry about the chances of them getting squished and leave them on the side table for him to find.

It’s only then, when you’re staring at the black frames on the wood, that you realize something silly.

You’ve never seen Clark without his glasses on.

He often talks about how his bad eyesight is why he’s so adamant about wearing them. You’ve asked him once before about wearing contacts, and he’d said something about how he has sensitive eyes and didn’t like them much.

You don’t mind at all. He looks very gorgeous with them on, and you find it very cute how they fog up when he gets flustered enough.

You’re grateful for the light of the TV, because it means you can still somewhat see Clark’s face. You rub the sleep from your eyes to look at him, and—

Huh.

You wonder if it’s normal to look this different without your glasses on. Sure, they can sometimes change the size of a person’s eyes, and losing a significant feature on anyone’s face is bound to make them look a little different, but…

Clark looks different. Still familiar, but undoubtedly different.

It’s weird. The changes are so subtle you wonder if you’re hallucinating. The differences are written clear as day on his face, but it feels impossible to put them into words.

Is it the shape of his jaw? You don’t remember it always looking so carved, and you would know, with how often you look at him. Maybe it’s the shape of his mouth.

Something in the back of your mind twitches, like a memory begging to come to the surface. It’s a slight tension against your skull, a pressing feeling trying to nudge you in the direction of something.

You have no idea why you do it, but your hand moves without thinking. Your fingers thread through his hair, the same way you do when you tease him for looking like he’s just rolled out of bed in the morning. As you do it, the features of his face shift just so, and…

Woah.

Clark doesn’t just look familiar.

He looks exactly like fucking Superman.

You pull your hand away so quickly the joints in your arm protests. Clark shifts underneath you, his eyes twitching as he rouses from sleep. He pats the fabric of the couch before he feels you under his hand, and he squeezes your thigh when he does.

“You alright?” he mumbles, voice rough with sleep. “What’re you doin’?”

“Nothing. I just woke up.”

The sentence is true in more ways than one. It feels like you’re seeing Clark’s face for the first time. How had you not noticed just how much he looks like the same man that saves the city for a living?

He blinks himself awake, and it’s like your heart flips. Staring at his devastatingly long eyelashes, it’s like everything becomes ten times clearer.

You weren’t hallucinating — he looks just like Superman. It’s uncanny.

He pats you as he sits up, still clearly in the last dregs of sleep. His words slur together when he asks you, “What time is it?”

“Uh,” your eyes search the couch for where you’d ditched your phone earlier, and you find it on the floor next to the ottoman. It’s covered in spilled popcorn from the bowl that must’ve fallen off Clark’s lap during the night. “It’s two.”

The reminder is enough to make you yawn, and you rub your eyes to clear your vision. He leans over to the side table to get the lamp, and the room is filled again with warm light.

“Geez,” Clark says. “My neck hurts like crazy. Is your back okay?”

You turn back to face him, and with the lights on you can see him a lot better. His glasses are back on, and he…

Looks absolutely nothing like Superman anymore.

You must look a little surprised, because he stops massaging the back of his neck to scan you with his eyes. “Is everything okay?”

“Has anyone ever told you that you look just like Superman without your glasses on?”

The words land awkwardly.

Clark laughs, but it’s not real. He scrubs his hand over his jaw. “What?”

“You…” It feels like you’ve said something you really shouldn’t have. “You just look a lot like him.”

“Oh,” he says. His hand rises to adjust where his glasses sit on his face. “That’s funny.”

If he really thinks so, you aren’t hearing much laughter from him.

You aren’t sure why he’s so unsettled at the thought. Based on the limited information you have about him, Superman kind of seems like the perfect guy. He’s kind, selfless, great with kids, and…

Oh no.

It’d been such a brief stint in your conversation — there’s no way he remembers it. It’d been a joke, albeit one wrapped in underlying truth.

“He’s gorgeous, too. You think you could introduce us?”

Clark is one of the most rational people you know. It’s no question that he knows you were kidding about that — hell, he’d laughed — but your technical confession is enough to make embarrassment rush through your entire body.

He seems completely upended by your comparison between the two of them. You stand abruptly, suddenly wishing you were anywhere but here.

“It’s late. I should go back to my apartment.”

It’s not far. Few people in the world live closer to Clark actually, with your apartment being directly below his. When that dog he’s fostering is running around too much, you can hear his footsteps scurry above your head.

(Oddly enough, you’ve never actually seen the dog in person, and Clark refuses to tell you what his name is, but you’re pretty sure he’s real.)

The furrow Clark gets between his brows is so deep you wonder if it hurts. “You don’t want to take the bed?”

You slip your phone in your pocket and start looking for where you’d kicked off your shoes. “No, it’s okay. Your neck deserves a break from the couch,” you say, busy checking underneath the kitchen table.

There’s nothing there. You wonder if it’d be weird to leave without them.

Clark places one of his broad hands on your lower back before he passes your shoes to you. He is so irritatingly perfect it borders on unfortunate for you.

“Thanks,” you say, quickly. You’re even faster to slip them on, uncaring of the way the heels fold uncomfortably inward.

“Hey. Hey.” His hand encircles your wrist when you turn away from him. He’s frowning, eyes darting over your face like he’s looking for something. “Are you okay? You know I don’t mind taking the couch.”

The smile that softens your expression is real. “So selfless, Clark Kent. I just want to sleep in my own bed tonight. Thank you, though.”

He tries one last time. Glances furtively at the door, like he’s hesitant to let you go. “It’s late.”

You feel evil. It can’t be ethical to turn down Clark when he looks like this, sleep mussed and soft and a little worried about you.

“You can watch me walk to the elevator if you’d like.”

“I’ll walk you downstairs,” he offers instead, opening his door for you and stepping out. “It’ll help me sleep better.”

Looking at him waiting for you in his pajama pants and his wrinkled shirt, you wonder how you haven’t proposed.

But when he leans against the doorway of your apartment downstairs, smiling at you with sleep in his eyes and telling you to get some rest, you come very close to it.

Your friendship with Clark Kent kind of started the same way — with him taking you home.

The Daily Planet is a block away from your office building, a much smaller structure with just enough windows that you can watch the next world-ending threat from anywhere inside. Once, you got to watch Superman save an entire floor of people in the building across from you before some creature gutted half the skyrise.

You’ve witnessed enough extraterrestrial villains to not be too surprised when you see them on the news, or catch a glimpse of them in real life.

The one thing you didn’t expect, though, was to run into one from this planet.

It’s late when you’re walking to the metro after work. You’re barely half awake, exhausted after dealing with some data issue that had you and a few other people on cleanup duty late into the night.

You’re digging around in your purse, searching frantically for your phone. To make a bad night even worse, you come up empty.

“Shit,” you say under your breath, stopping to press your fist to your forehead. You remember it vividly, now. You’d left it on the counter when you’d cleaned up the cup of coffee you spilled when you were dead on your feet.

You let out a few more curses under your breath as you continue walking, hoping that you didn’t throw out that old alarm clock you found in your closet.

It happens a few minutes later, and it’s nothing like in the movies. There’s no anticipatory music, or a suspicious sound that makes you turn your head, or the hair on the back of your neck standing up. You’ve walked down this street countless times before, one well-lit by the street lights and store signs, and felt safe every time.

The universe gives you no warning. It only lets you make it three blocks before someone seizes your arm and tugs you into a damp, dark, Metropolis alley.

You don’t have time to scream. A hand, grimy with sweat and something else clamps hard over your mouth, muffling any sound you could’ve let out.

Your back presses into the rough brick of the alley. You recognize where you are immediately — a small deli that you and your coworker frequent. You don’t know how you’re going to tell her that you’re never coming back here ever again.

“I’m going to take my hand off your mouth. And you’re not going to scream, or lie to me, because I will stab you.” The man’s voice is thick and gravelly, almost as sharp as the blade he presses into the give of your stomach. “Nod if you understand me.”

You jolt when he presses hard enough to nick your skin. The nod comes immediately after.

“You’re going to give me all the money in that purse of yours, and your phone. I need your phone.”

You glance over to your purse where it sits on the pavement. It must’ve fallen when he’d pulled you into this alley.

“Take it,” you say quickly, voice wavering with stress. You aren’t going to fight with this man over chump change and your lip balm. “You can have all of it.”

He ducks down immediately to reach for the purse, and sniffs out the money quickly. He shoves the few pathetic crumpled bills into the pockets of his worn out jeans, before turning his attention back to the inside of the bag.

You swallow, glancing towards the entrance of the alley. He wouldn’t chase you if you made a run for it, would he?

There’s a sickening crack as your stuff hits the floor, and your daydream is crushed. The man is shaking his head, pressing his hand to his forehead, mumbling to himself in hushed tones.

You press yourself further against the wall, like the extra inch of space between you will save you.

“Your phone. I need your phone.”

Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth. You know he won’t believe you. You’ve never been more scared to speak.

“Did you hear me?” His voice shakes uncontrollably, his eyes narrowed to near slits. “Your phone. I need… You have to give me your phone.”

“I don’t have it with me,” you choke out. Your hands curl protectively in front of you. “I forgot it at work.”

He turns the knife back at you, though his hand wavers. Spit flies from his mouth and onto the ground in front of you. “You’re a liar.”

“I’m not lying, I swear. I swear. Please, you can take whatever I have—”

Another voice pierces the silent street, one firm and so authoritative that both of you turn to look.

The man doesn’t waste another second. He turns and flees down the dark alley, taking the few things of worth in your purse with him. You don’t feel strong enough to move until he’s completely gone from your sight.

The adrenaline crash doesn’t take long to set in. Your head feels light, like it’s filled with helium. You think that’s why you don’t notice yourself walking directly into the other person there with you.

The universe had been the reason why you’d gotten mugged, but the universe also brought Clark Kent into your life.

You had caught glimpses of him at your shared apartment all the time, your similar schedules meaning you often left for work and came back around the same time. He’d held the door open for you a few times, and you’d seen him help some of your neighbors with their groceries before. You’d always known he was nice, but you had no idea stopping crime was on his list of talents as well.

After he’d saved you from that man in the alley that night, he’d walked you back to your apartment.

He did the same the next night. And almost all of the nights after that, too.

It didn’t take long for the two of you to become close friends, and for your lives to start merging together. You’d invited him over for dinner as a thank you, and it slowly turned into a regular thing. You soon found yourself splitting your time between your apartment and his.

You really like Clark, and can barely remember life in Metropolis without him.

That’s probably why it feels so terrible to ignore him.

[4:29] farmboy kent: I’ll be running a little late today

[4:29] farmboy kent: White sent us out to Park Ridge and the train back is delayed. I’ll be by your building around 5:20

[4:33] you: No problem!! also no need to swing by today. my cousin invited me over to hers so i’ll be in civic city until late

The message is marked as read a few seconds after you send it, making the next few minutes agonizingly long.

Around 4:35, Clark finally starts typing, only to delete his message. A minute later, he continues again.

[4:38] farmboy kent: Ok. Be safe

[4:39] farmboy kent: I’ll pick you up at the station later

[4:39] you: Are you okay with that? i’m not sure when i’ll get back

[4:40] farmboy kent: Of course. Text me when you know what time your train will get in

You feel like a dick pressing the thumbs up reaction on his last message. What kind of person lies to Clark Kent?

You aren’t even sure why you do it. It’s probably the lingering embarrassment from last night — it was the closest you’ve ever come to telling him how you feel about him.

So… maybe a Clark-free day is what you need.

You can’t remember the last day you’ve spent without seeing him at least once. On your days off from work he’d come by after his shifts, and even on days that one of you were busy, you would still show up at his place to say hello.

No wonder he makes you crazy. You haven’t had a Clark Kent detox since the day you met him.

Surely all good friendships need time apart, right? You’ll just spend a day by yourself and when you see him again tomorrow, you’ll be back to normal. There won’t be any more slips where you compare him to one of the most gorgeous people you’ve ever seen, or where you tell him he’d be a great husband, or something friendship-ending like that.

It’ll be good for you. Tomorrow will be a great, much needed, neighbor-free day.

You’re buying a paperweight for Clark when a building falls on top of the Metropolis Museum of Art.

The remorse from your little white lie followed you through every second of your Clark Kent boycott, effectively ruining it. Your plan was to head down to the park and enjoy the weather, but you found yourself making a quick detour to the souvenir store inside the museum.

You’d come here with him a few months ago, and he’d seen the paperweight and loved it. It was a little glass sphere depicting Superman flying over Metropolis, and he’d almost bought it before reading the price tag. The guilt following you around now was enough to choke a horse, and you decided that it’d make for a great apology gift.

(Not that he was aware you were apologizing for anything.)

The crash of the building sends plumes of dust into the room, coating everything in a haze of white. The emergency sirens start their crying almost immediately, joining in what sounds like the actual crying of children on an after-school field trip.

You cough to clear your throat and find that even the air is saturated in thick dust, the cloud becoming even worse as more debris drops from the ceiling.

The roof of the museum is clearly trying its best, but it seems like the entire structure groans in protest. One of the overhead lights hangs precariously above your head, and you take a few healthy steps back from it.

Distantly, you can see the blinking red light that marks the exit. The cashier you were talking to a second ago makes a mad dash for it, ducking under a fallen beam while she does. Hordes of people crowd by the door as everyone rushes out, eager to flee.

The sun shines through the gaping hole in the museum made by the other building, and through the light it offers, you see it on the floor— the gift you’d gotten Clark.

The little paperweight sits sadly on the tile about five feet away from you.

If you weren’t afraid of inhaling too much dust, you would’ve groaned. There’s no way you’re abandoning the thing after all this trouble you’ve gone through to get it.

Against your better judgement, you move further from the exit to go and pick it up.

In the end, though, it doesn’t matter.

There’s a strong gust of wind and a bright flash of light, and you’re outside again.

When your feet hit the pavement, you resist the urge to vomit. It feels like your stomach has been flipped inside out and then put back again. The dizziness makes you double over, but you’re braced by a pair of firm hands around your forearms.

You’re halfway through a mumbled thank you when you look up.

You blink a few times to clear your vision. When nothing changes, you’re forced to wonder if you hit your head somewhere in the museum.

Standing in front of you, with his perfect hair disheveled and windswept, is Superman.

notes: theyre both losers LOL. thank u for tuning into my fic lmk if u enjoyed! :) i do have a part 2 planned bc i think clark kent deserves to be kissed

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plaidcowboy · 18 days ago

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“just hold me”

( synopsis ) — a badly injured clark comes to you after a losing fight against the kaiju. not only does he need to be patched up, but his ego needs a little fixing to. and luckily for you, your praise does just the trick.

( warnings ) — none. suuuuuper fluffy n cute. i love sensitive crybaby puppyboy clark!

( tags ) — @pittsick @dumbbandpoetic @alvi-alvi-alvi @jordiemeow @hrtfilm @ryyvkkr @freddyfazblair @cryptic-doe @summerwriting @eeveedream @cestdommage @ohyouluckysaint @weeeeeeeeeeeezle @matildavol6 @fishie-baby-apple @drunkinthemiddleoftheday [to be added]

“Shit,” you whisper from where you sit on your bed, a deep frown tugging at your mouth as your teeth press down on your index knuckle. Your eyes are locked on the screen in front of you, anxiety etched into every part of your face.

The TV plays live coverage of the chaos downtown. The setting sun casts a warm hue through your window, an almost cruel contrast to what you’re watching unfold. Superman soars across the sky, moving fast and focused, his fist connecting with the kaiju’s eye and forcing a roar of pain from its throat. The blow stuns it, but only for a second.

The monster recovers quickly, lashing out with a powerful arm. Its massive claws grip Superman’s cape, yanking him out of the sky and slamming him through a high rise. You flinch as glass explodes outward, his body crumpling against the steel frame inside before disappearing into the shadow of the building’s interior.

You can’t watch anymore. Your hand reaches for the remote and shuts the screen off just as the Justice Gang steps in, finally giving Superman a chance to catch his breath.

Silence fills the room like smoke. You sit there, frozen, your hands still clutching the fabric of your blanket as your mind races through everything you just saw. You know Superman is stronger than anyone. Practically invincible. But that kind of impact would break bones on anyone. And he’s still human in some ways. He still feels pain. That has to mean something.

Before you can sink too deep into your thoughts, the sound of glass crunching in the distance makes your head snap up. The noise barely registers before your bedroom door creaks open and Clark steps through.

He looks wrecked.

There’s blood on his lip, slowly trailing down to his chin. His suit is in pieces, torn in too many places to count, revealing scrapes and bruises along his torso and arms. His eyes are red, glossy with unshed tears, and for a second he just stands there, chest heaving from exhaustion. Then he moves.

He crosses the room and collapses onto the bed on top of you without a word, his arms wrapping tight around your middle. His face presses into your chest, the heat of him soaking into your skin. You hear him sniffle before everything else goes still.

“Clark..?” you whisper, hesitant, your hand slowly lifting to rest in his hair. Your fingers begin to move without thinking, brushing gently through the tangled strands. He lets out a shaky breath, his shoulders starting to fall, the tension draining from his body with every slow movement of your hand.

“No,” he mumbles into your chest. His voice is rough, strained. “Don’t wanna talk. Just hold me.”

“I can do that,” you whisper, your fingers continuing to move gently through his hair, the quiet rhythm comforting for both of you.

You sit together like that in silence for a while. The room is dim now, lit only by the last slivers of sunlight filtering through your window. The sounds of the city outside feel distant, like they belong to another world. All you hear are the soft groans of pain Clark tries to muffle against your chest.

Eventually, your other hand lifts to tilt his face up. His cheek is warm against your palm. You press a soft kiss to his forehead, barely there but enough to make him look at you. His eyes are glassy and tired, and your heart breaks all over again.

“Let me clean you up,” you whisper. “Just some ointment. A few bandages. We’ll get you home to heal tomorrow. The sun’s already down.”

Clark nods. The motion is small, slow. Tears slip from his eyes again, rolling down his cheeks and soaking into your shirt as he whispers, “Alright… yeah.”

You help him out of what’s left of his suit, easing him into a clean pair of sweatpants. His skin is warm and bruised under your touch, but he doesn’t flinch. He just sits on the edge of the bed, breathing slowly, his hands moving under your shirt to rest against your sides. He keeps his touch gentle, steady, like he needs the connection to ground him.

You press the last bandage over the cut on his forehead, then place the ointment tube aside. Your hands come to his face again, thumbs resting on either cheek as you look at him closely.

“How’s the pain medicine feeling?” you ask quietly.

“Hasn’t kicked in yet,” he mutters. His tone is flat, but you can tell it’s more than the pain. It’s everything else. The failure he thinks he’s shouldering alone.

“You did a good job out there,” you murmur, brushing one of the bandages flat softly. “That was more than anyone should’ve been expected to handle.”

“I lost,” he says, barely above a whisper. His hand moves from your waist to wipe at his eyes. “I didn’t do anything good.”

“You did everything you could, Clark. That’s what matters,” you say softly, tilting his chin up again to keep his eyes on yours. “You might be a metahuman, but you’re still only one man. And you saved people. A lot of people. That thing would’ve crushed half the city if you hadn’t slowed it down. You gave others time to escape. You gave the Justice Gang time to arrive. You did that.”

He doesn’t respond right away. You can see the war behind his eyes, the stubborn pride he’s trying to hold onto, clashing with how much he wants to believe you.

“I’m really proud of you,” you whisper, and the change in him is immediate. His eyes lift to meet yours again, wider now, a new kind of emotion breaking through.

“You are?” he asks, voice cracking slightly. His pupils dilate by ten sizes at the simple fact that you’re proud. He made you proud, that’s all he’s ever wanted. “You’re proud of me? You mean that?”

“Of course I do, baby,” you reply, brushing your thumbs along his cheeks. “Everyone’s proud of you. You’re Superman. The one people count on. The one kids pretend to be when they play heroes. You’re more than just strong. You give people hope. And you’re loved for it.”

“And what about you?” he asks after a second. His hands slide up your waist, pulling you closer between his legs.

“And I also love you, Clark,” you whisper with a chuckle, leaning in until your forehead rests against his.

He presses a soft kiss to your lips. There’s no urgency behind it. No need for anything more. It’s slow, full of gratitude, and when he pulls back, your hand rises to nudge his chin playfully.

A small, tired smile appears on his face.

“I love you too.”

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kurooh · 4 months ago

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☆ US AFTER POUNDTOWN ! — JJK

⊹₊˚. what aftercare looks like with gojo satoru, geto suguru, nanami kento, fushiguro toji, & kamo choso.

warnings: 18+ content — mdni, fem! reader, intimacy, cleanup, fluff, no graphic smut, pillowtalk, showering, brief discussions of pregnancy and kids. i needed to write this okay

GOJO SATORU.

silky pink ribbons slide off of satoru’s wrists, curling into themselves once they hit the bedsheets. he can’t help but watch you, more wide-eyed and teary than he should be, as you take each wrist between your fingers and rub gently. his skin is flushed where he’d been securely tied to the headboard, and it doesn’t hurt in the least, especially when compared to fights he’s been at the center of.

you hum, thumb kindly sweeping over his pulse point. “you okay, ‘toru? i know that went on a little longer than usual.”

you watch as he blinks, diamond eyes glassy with traces of euphoria. he’s still coming down, he realizes, when your words bounce around his brain after you speak them, echoing endlessly in the space.

“i’m okay, sweetheart,” satoru replies, feeling something in his chest begin to melt when you settle beside him on the bed. the air still smells faintly of sex, though the scent rides away on the breeze filtering in through an open window. it is almost completely dark in the bedroom, to make the strain on his eyes a little easier after a long day—he closes them, automatically wrapping a strong arm around you.

“there’s a new restaurant a few blocks down,” you begin, fingers reverently stroking over the curve of his side, “many of the reviews mention the dessert and sweet treats. it’s supposed to be good.”

fully nude, satoru curls against you, taking note of how easily you fit in beside him. like you were always meant to be here, something whispers in the back of his head. “heh, sounds like you’ve already vetted ‘em. i’ll take a day off next week and we can go.”

“you’re always so busy,” you tease, pulling him closer as though he might just slip away when you fall asleep. as you breathe, satoru feels the swell and sink of your back beneath his palm, and he considers maybe not going to work tomorrow. as if he could take days off on a whim—he might be the strongest in the jujutsu world, but he can’t even make his own choices. then, more quietly, you murmur, “i hope you aren’t overworking yourself too much, satoru.”

when he replies “‘m not,” reflexively, your body momentarily goes rigid, as if he wasn’t meant to hear you. before you can look up and refute him, satoru tugs you closer, making sure to sit his chin atop your shoulder. “really, angel, i’m okay. i can totally handle it.”

he totally can’t, even if he won’t admit it to himself. but satoru doesn’t want you to worry, get caught up with his issues during your day to day—this is simply what comes with the weight of ‘the strongest’ as his title. you huff like you don’t entirely believe him, although you don’t pull away.

“if i don’t pry any further, do you promise to sleep more than three hours tonight? and in this bed, not at work.”

you’re not even asking that much of him. if satoru can wipe out hundreds of curses in less than five minutes, he can definitely try to sleep until sunrise. at home. when there’s work to do. right?

he bites his lip, protesting weakly, “i don’t need to sleep, though, baby. i’ve also gotta get in early to deal with the first years.”

the coolness of sheets in an empty bed flashes through your head, and you decide to push, though there’s a tinge of selfishness behind it all. “please? you still need to rest and let your technique cool down.”

it’s not that difficult to convince satoru to stay after all, especially when he’s feeding off your body heat and you his. the bed does feel more comfortable than his office chair, and just as he comes to this realization, a headache has the nerve to come on, only persuading him further. slowly, like he’s submerging himself in a pool, his body begins to succumb to the comfort of the queen bed, the softness of your skin, the sweet smell of your body wash.

“fineeee. but only because you asked so nicely, angel.”

GETO SUGURU.

“i’ll get the water started for you, honey.”

so he does, turning on the faucet and letting the water heat up as it rushes through the pipes, then out of the shower head in a warm spray. from your seat on the toilet, you can’t help but feel a lovesick, fuzzy warmth building in your chest.

muscle ripples in suguru’s back as he carefully takes down his hair, undoing the band to allow the dark tresses to fall past his shoulders. his hair is impeccably taken care of—he lavishes it in only the best shampoos and conditioners every few days, his side of the shower almost overtaking your own. it’s made up of hair products and a few scented bars of soap, the way a shower should look. (not barren and home to a single bottle of two in one, two dove bars, and a dull razor, like satoru’s.)

when the glass door slides shut and suguru steps into the spray, you hear him exhale with relief. the toilet flushes and you stand, joining him in the shower.

“i’ll wash your hair,” you say, as if it’s second nature. though it seems simple on the surface, he’s allowing you to touch one of the most intimate parts of him—his scalp has only known his own hands, and yours, on the occasion that you help him wash it. “shampoo, please.”

suguru laughs, angling the shower head down so you don’t get too wet. shampoo is squirted into your extended, expectant palm and the ritual begins.

“are we taking more showers after sex specifically so i can wash your hair, suguru?”

there has been an increase in the amount of showers after sex. he’ll make a mess of you on the couch, drink some water afterward, and carry you to the bathroom like a princess to her chariot. you can’t quite place your finger on when, but you’d started washing his hair at some point during your baths.

“the curses really have been . . taking a toll on my arms,” he says cheekily, settling on that excuse just to hear you laugh, “perhaps i’ve been having difficulty reaching back and dealing with my hair.”

suguru’s got quite the mane, which anyone could surmise just from looking at him. but as wet hair slides through your fingers, you can see why he likes your help so much. you’re gentle with him, making sure to never yank on anything as you make your way through his hair. even the light sensation of your nails raking along his scalp relaxes him deeply, and all the tension in his shoulders bleeds out and washes down the drain, along with the suds.

“yeah, okay. if i mess up one of my arms, you’re outta luck.”

“we could take epsom baths together, so then you’d have no excuse.”

it’s endearing, the way he’s able to come up with a solution so quickly. you laugh again, light and airy in the thick steam, and suguru decides he never wants to leave this place.

“wash my back while the shampoo sits, sugu?” you ask, switching places with him to get your back thoroughly doused with water. white suds slip down his temples and he pushes back his hair from where it’s piled on top of his head, looking like a child’s sloppy sand castle on the beach.

“want me to pick the body wash this time?”

“that’s a trick question,” you say, eyes sparkling when you look at him, “you’re just going to choose peppermint vanilla like always.”

suguru already has the bottle in his grasp and is squeezing the wash out into his palm, but he still manages to look affronted. “no, i wouldn’t.”

you turn around, stepping out of the spray to playfully wiggle your ass at him. “i can barely smell it anymore, that’s how much you’ve worn it out.”

“it’s your smell,” he shrugs, shoulders rolling with the motion, “it’s your signature soap scent. you can always cover it up with perfume tomorrow anyway, it’s not that strong.”

“is that why you’re always sniffing me at night?”

you can hear him breathing you in when you’re cuddling at night? embarrassing! still, his eyes crinkle at the corners. “it’s comforting, so sue me.”

you sigh in relief when his hands coast over your skin, palms firmly pressing the soap into your back to both wash you and make the scent stick. a comfortable quiet settles between you, and he continues to lave your back with the wash, fingertips tracing the dents and lines of muscle.

it’s domestic, and entirely him.

he pauses, sputtering and gracelessly coughing on the water. “i’m sorry.”

you turn, helping him rinse the bubbles away from his face. “what’s wrong, sugu?”

“not to ruin the moment, but, well, i got soap in both my eyes.”

NANAMI KENTO.

“i can’t believe you made me breakfast, ken.”

kento returns to the bedroom with one of those lap trays made for eating at the couch, carrying a plate of fluffy waffles garnished with a colorful array of sweet berries. there’s even a full cup of syrup on the side to pour to your heart’s content.

he’s pulled on his boxers, the ones that are tight around his ass, and an apron with kiss the cook in calligraphic script embroidered across the front of it. a smile plays on his lips, the kind he wears when he’s biting back an ear-to-ear grin, and he takes a seat beside you. your excitement is something he thinks he’ll never get tired of. with a creak, the bed dips under the newly added weight, and you carefully slot the tray over your lap.

“how’d you know i was craving something sweet?”

“sweetheart, i know you,” kento shakes his head, laughing around the words. “go ahead and try them, i added something new.”

red blooms around the bite marks littered across his collarbone and around his chest, only becoming visible with his occasional shifts beside you. kento watches you eat with a distinct softness in his eyes, his heart swelling in his chest as your face lights up with every bite.

light and sweet as can be, the waffles burst with flavor, although a small tweak has been made to the recipe. maybe kento’s added finely chopped coconut or a few extra spoonfuls of sugar?

“you’re staring,” you point out, cheeks growing warm. his gaze is obviously lovesick, and strong enough to make you feel the littlest bit shy—a hand comes up to rub at the back of his neck, and he looks away with a short chuckle. “we can share, ken.”

“that’s okay, honey. i had some while i was making them earlier. so, how do they taste? have you figured out the extra ingredient yet?”

“i’ve got no idea,” you reply after a large bite, setting the fork back on the tray before gently nudging it away. kento’s forearms flex as he lifts it, placing it on the bedside table for later.

he unties the apron and scoops you into his arms, pulling your giggling form close to his chest. “i decided to add more buttermilk.”

a warm kiss is pressed to the space beneath your ear. through your back, you can feel his heartbeat syncing up with your own—relaxed and content in the presence of one another.

“thank you for this morning,” kento whispers, adding, “was i too rough with you, angel?”

“perfect, ken. you almost put me back to sleep, though.”

you share a laugh with him, curling up in his warmth. kento’s fingers trace mindless, ticklish doodles into your side as he begins to slip further into a state of drowsiness. “i don’t like to make excuses, but i find it difficult to hold myself back with you.”

the admission isn’t inherently sexual, not in the way it’s said so delicately. kento is right, he does have difficulty holding back, but only because he’s so known. you’re essentially on the same wavelength, finishing his sentences for him before even he’s able to conjure up the word he’s looking for; you understand him wholly, in the kind of way that transcends the surface and physicality of it all. unspoken feelings make no difference—kento’s open like a book for only your eyes to pore over.

even now, in this embrace, it’s nearly impossible to tell where one body begins and the other ends.

“all mine?”

“all yours, ken. pinkie promise.”

“pinkie promise?” he sighs without exasperation, letting you loop your pinkie with his own. if this wasn’t something he was doing with you, kento would be the first to ask something like isn’t this a bit childish? but this isn’t like making an agreement with gojo; this is a promise he wholeheartedly intends to fulfill. after all, what would he be if he wasn’t yours?

“pinkie promise.”

FUSHIGURO TOJI.

“on your stomach.”

you turn back to throw him an incredulous look, eyebrows drawing together in surprise. “more? toji, i thought you—”

he scoffs, rolling his eyes and motioning toward the couch cushions. “yes, ya heard me. on your stomach, doll. don’t make me ask again.”

“don’t make me ask again,” you mimic him, flopping forward onto your belly as requested. it’s odd that toji’s even vying for more when he’s the one who tapped out first, panting so hard he could barely form a sentence of explanation beyond a few muttered words.

instead of positioning himself at your ass, toji remains sitting beside you, though he turns to press his hands into your upper back. faint as can be, the scent of lavender curls in the air as the worship begins—toji’s suddenly a professional at effleurage, palms circling upward near your shoulder blades.

slow and firm, his hands seem to iron out any aches that may have taken root there. lotion spans almost the entirety of your upper back, serving as both moisturizer and lubrication for the easy glide of skin against skin.

“really, toji?” you ask, lips curling up in amusement, “you wanted to give me a back massage?”

you completely expect him to retort something sassy and annoying, maybe even call you a damn brat or start torture tickling you. instead, toji’s voice rumbles low and meaningful from his chest. “had ya laid out on your back for a while, and on the couch, no less. jus’ wanted to make sure you’d be able to sleep comfortably tonight.”

toji’s answer does something that it never has before. it shuts you up, and at the same time, makes heat rush to your cheeks. embarrassment and a particular fondness, of all things, stir in your chest at his thoughtfulness. you haven’t messed around on the couch in many months, and yet he still remembers the small, almost unnoticeable hunch of your back after getting up last time.

he laughs at you, feeling proud to have finally ‘won’ all the bantering.

“didn’t expect that, huh?” toji pauses, fingertips lightly dragging down the planes of your back. before he even speaks, you can already hear the smirk in his voice. “anyway, i wish ya could see how pretty you look right now.”

“you can’t even see my face, toji.”

a huff escapes him, and he makes sure to dig his fingers in, just so he can hear you squeal in both laughter and pain. “just can’t take a compliment, huh? you’re such a brat, swear to god.”

“your brat,” you remind him cheerfully, feeling his hands slide to the middle of your back. “as much as i’m enjoying this, i wouldn’t mind taking care of you, baby.”

he snorts. you’re calling him baby like he isn’t 6’3 and nearly 200 pounds of muscle—but there’s something endearing about the idea of being taken care of too. toji actually . . . wouldn’t mind it.

“oh yeah? and what do ya plan to do to me?”

you hum thoughtfully, turning your head around to fix him with a playful look. “i’d turn on one of the movies i’ve been telling you we need to watch and then scratch your back so you wouldn’t get up in the middle of it.”

“this better not be about—”

before he can begin trashing on your favorite movie, the one he hasn’t watched yet, you bulldoze right over him. “as the movie starts, i’d be whispering sweet nothings into your ear.”

“wouldn’t that just make me bend ya over? kinda defeats the purpose of aftercare, doll.”

“the key word is sweet, toji,” even with your clarification, he still looks a little lost, making the same confused face he does when shiu cracks a sly joke at his expense in front of you. “sit down and i’ll show you what i’m talking about.”

the comforting pressure on your back lets up, and for a split second, you almost wish you hadn’t suggested to demonstrate. toji sits down, remote looking dwarfed in his closed palm, and smirks expectantly, like there’s something funny to say. “i was just thinking. what if all the aftercare turns me into a spoiled brat?”

you scoff as he turns on the tv, settling on your knees behind him. “we can’t both be spoiled brats, toji.”

KAMO CHOSO.

“did i hurt you?” is the first thing to come out out of choso’s mouth when you finally return to yourself, a few crystalline tears starting to dry on your cheeks. you hadn’t quite noticed them during the pandemonium, too wrapped up in the overwhelming sensations of sex to focus on something so unimportant. but now, there’s a warm stinging that you trace to your neck—where he’d been biting and sucking the most in the moments before orgasm.

“‘s okay, cho. i’m okay, just tired now,” you laugh breathlessly, watching the worry drain out of his face, “i’ve gotta get up and wipe off, or i’ll end up getting pregnant.”

choso’s eyes are shining. “our kids would be so pretty, all ‘cause of you.”

you sit up on your elbows, a knowing smile tugging at your lips. this is the same look you give him every time he mentions it, and not wanting to nag you too much, he remembers himself. “okay, i know. have to wait more than five years first, i got it,” with the mildest degree of resignation making its way through his huffed words, choso slips off of the bed and pads toward the bathroom.

shortly after, he returns with a damp washcloth and settles on his knees between your thighs. even in the low light, his movements are perpetually delicate and skillful, a direct result of his understanding of your body, built through touch. with the way he’s comfortably wiping cum off your inner thighs, it’s hard to believe that choso had once been so awkward he’d stalked off mid-sex to let out a few tears of embarrassment.

“it’s not too hot, is it?” he checks in, more worried than he should be. it isn’t difficult to imagine him as a father, gasping as your child toddles around recklessly, jumping off of the couch and into his awaiting arms. he’s the type to always come to the rescue, no matter what.

“no, it’s just right,” you murmur, feeling the sweep of the lukewarm washcloth at the top of your thigh. “no need to be so concerned, choso. i trust you, baby.”

pink blooms in the apples of his cheeks at your words, just as it always does whenever you pay him an innocent compliment. he takes comfort in your relaxed sigh, folding the washcloth into itself and setting it on the bedside table before sliding himself up to lay his head on your chest. “you need to stop indulging me so much,” he groans when your fingers slip into his hair, combing gently though the dark strands, “keep up the ‘put a baby in me’ and i might actually do it.”

choso feels his entire face burn once he repeats a line that’s supposed to be yours, a shudder rippling through his body when a memory from earlier flashes behind his eyes.

“i know, cho,” you hum, nails lightly raking against his scalp in your odyssey through his hair. it’s painfully intimate, and impossibly soothing for him—he could say just about anything to you, even confess something deep and dark without the usual constraints of your daily routine. this is just you and him, simple and naked.

then you giggle, “but i also know how crazy it makes you.”

it does make him more wild than it should, the idea of getting you pregnant and then the concept of raising the baby itself. choso pauses meaningfully before he answers you, letting his eyes close. “maybe something’s fundamentally wrong with me.”

a gooey hybrid of affection and sadness races through your veins upon hearing his words. it’s hard to say something—even anything at all—when you know just a little about his struggle being half-human, half-curse. choso is constantly feeling guilty about taking the easier path in life as a human, wondering if someone like him could possibly deserve something greater than himself to love and care for.

it’s quiet now, save for the steady hum of the fan and sweep of your fingers through his hair, loose and languid. “sorry,” choso exhales softly, tilting his face to the side, “i didn’t mean to become so negative.”

“there isn’t a thing wrong with you, choso. i know you’re wanting a family of your own, and i don’t disagree with that in the slightest. i see a future with you, but there’s no shame in taking it slow, is there? we aren’t even engaged yet, baby.”

“engaged?” he echoes quizzically, voice low.

“it’s when two people agree to get married in the future after a proposal with a ring,” it’s hard not to smile at the thought of the two people being you and him, even though choso’s baring his soul to you right now, raw and all himself. he hugs you tighter, arms straining as if he’s trying to prevent you from slipping away. “don’t worry, cho. we both still have a lot to learn.”

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