sunshinesukuna

[sunshinesukuna]

ROCKY MOUNTAIN HIGH

citygirl!reader x outdoorsman!Sukuna // Masterlist

(11k words) // Explicit - 18+

You were lucky to live an hour away from world class mountains. A place tourists travel thousands of miles for a once in a lifetime chance to experience this outdoor paradise…except for the fact that you avoid it at all costs like your life depends on it. Unfortunately for you, your luck’s run out. Three months into your relationship with your outdoorsy boyfriend lands you in the middle of the summer and your man is finally forcing you to partake, not taking no for an answer. He promises to make it perfect, will do anything and everything to make sure you have a good time, after all, he gives 110% towards anything he puts his mind to. But when has any camping trip ever gone off without a hitch?

Content Tags/Warnings Throughout Work:: established relationship, cussing, fluff, smut (oral - male receiving), slight angst/comfort, mentions of bugs/spiders/general outdoor things, happy ending

AN: Part of @lily-bisque summer collab event! // Dividers by @saradika-graphics!

Raincoat.

That’s what is next on this long ass packing list you’re reading from your phone, only about halfway through it at this point. It’s giving Boy Scout levels of preparedness at this point.

Looking at the clothes on your bed, you’re convinced you could survive a hurricane, blizzard, and a day in a desert with this arsenal.

Except your only destination is a summer camping trip in the mountains outside Breckinridge. 

Considering your weather app clearly shows seasonal temperatures, not too hot and not too cold for where you are going, it all seems a bit unnecessary. 

Long underwear and thermal gear in one pile, gloves, a beanie, dry fit shorts and t-shirts in another, a fleece jacket, a parka, and now a raincoat. 

Then all kinds of socks-wool, moisture wicking, normal tall whites, and your coveted fuzzies for sleeping. 

You also can’t forget your collection of stolen clothes from your boyfriend-his hoodie, flannels, and t-shirts round out everything so far. 

You kick the duffel bag out of the way as you walk across your room to your closet, pulling out your raincoat and slinging it onto the bed. 

All of this for a fucking camping trip. 

Camp isn’t a word in your vocabulary unless it’s describing the funky aesthetic or the jam band Caamp that frequently comes to Denver for concert season. In fact, the most outdoorsy you tend to get is drinking wine on a blanket in a park with your friends or walking on a path by the river to get from lower downtown to the highlands neighborhood where you live on a night of bar hopping. 

You’re a city girl through and through. It’s in your DNA at this point, primal instincts all but driving you away from anything that could be even slightly perceived as an outdoor adventure. 

Yeah you’d moved to Denver after college, but unlike so many others you met, you weren’t chasing that fresh snow for skiing or the earthy pine smell for a day in the woods “finding yourself.” You swear to god if you hear one more person say “powder day” or “pow pow” to describe fresh snow at a resort you’re gonna lose it. 

Drowning a sea of “The Mountains are Calling, I Must Go” bumper stickers on Subarus, you almost feel unique with your Toyota Camry when driving down the interstate, holding out for as long as you can before you give it up for something with more traction.

The outdoor lovers seem to have their own vernacular, using words in the strangest ways that you’ve had to try and decipher since you moved here. 

Suddenly, the buzzer for your apartment sounds, breaking you from your grumpy moment. 

Sighing, you move towards the front door to respond.

“Who is it?” 

You know who it is, the man responsible for dragging you into this.

“It’s me,” his deep voice sounds, making small butterflies flare up in your chest. 

“Kay, it’s open,” you respond, unlocking your apartment door for when he gets up to your floor.

You go back to your room and proceed to dump all your makeup on the bed. His packing list specifically said no scented items, but you were bringing it anyway. Does makeup even have a scent? You don’t think so.

“Hellooooo,” you hear from your living room as heavy footsteps stomp down the hall.

Okay, you’re happy to see your boyfriend, but that doesn't mean you’re thrilled to be going camping and you’re going to let him know at every possible opportunity.

You no sooner start sorting your makeup when strong arms cage you against his hard torso, feeling his pecs press against your back. 

“Sukuna!” you squeal, playfully trying to squirm away as he plants a kiss on your cheek. 

“Hmm?” he hums, moving to pepper wet kisses down your neck.

“I’m trying to pack, your list is ridiculous.”

He plants one last kiss on you before spinning you around. He’s in what looks like one of his fly fishing shirts and hiking shorts, a backwards hat flattened over his pink locks, honestly looking incredibly cute. 

Hey you never said men in outdoorsy gear weren’t a problem, just the outdoors themselves. 

“It’s best to be prepared for any situation babe, I told you this,” he says smoothly, poking through your bag. 

“The weather app says it’s supposed to be plenty warm though,” you pout, crossing your arms.

“It’s the mountains brat, weather changes rapidly,” he quips. “I’ve spent more than enough time out there, I think I’d know unlike you. So you will pack everything because I don’t wanna hear your whining when you get all chilly and I’ll certainly refuse when you start begging me for a jacket.”

You scoff, annoyed that he’s right, like you’d have any ounce of authority on the subject. Moving around him, you start sorting through your makeup again.

“You don’t need all that, it’s just one more thing we’ll need to lock up.”

“Sukuna, let me have at least some of my creature comforts for the love of god,” you snap at him.

He emits a light chuckle, clearly amused.

“Fine, but don’t come crying to me when a bear rips open your side of the tent. I’ll let you handle it.”

Your stomach turns, the idea of a bear being anywhere near you is terrifying enough to make you reconsider. 

“Bears can smell food and food like scents up to twenty miles away,” Sukuna adds, making you groan in annoyance.

“Thank you ranger rick, we get it,” you roll your eyes, gathering up your makeup in defeat while Sukuna plops down on your bed, eying you as you move across the room. 

A glance in his direction has you catching his gaze lingering on you.

“What?” you ask him, cocking your head. 

He gives you his signature grin, blushing a little.

“Just really pretty. I’m excited to spend time with you,” he stares at the floor in front of him before giving you a sheepish smile. 

Your heart melts, it had been awhile since taking any kind of trip together. You’ve been together a little over three months and with both of your busy work schedules, sometimes it was hard to go do activities together. 

“Me too, just wish it wasn’t camping,” you chuckle, moving towards him and planting your hands on his broad shoulders. Sukuna looks up at you through lidded eyes as you give him a small kiss, noses brushing slightly. 

“But I’ll give it a try. For you.” 

You feel his lips curl up into a grin, strong hands gripping your waist as he pulls you closer.

“That’s all I’m asking, just try it once and if you don’t like it, I’ll stop pestering you to come with me,” he murmurs, breath hot on your skin as he trails featherlight kisses down your jaw, making you forget for a moment why he was actually here. 

“Maybe we can just stay here, order shitty takeout, watch movies, enjoy the air conditioning and this plushy bed,” you offer in your most charming tone, those thoughts sounding way more appealing than suffering and sweating through the night in the nylon jail that was his tent. 

“C’mon, Kuna,” you start to climb on him, attempting to push him onto his back as you nuzzle into his neck. He’s a man, surely he could be tempted into staying here.

Suddenly his red eyes snap open, matching the hue spreading across his cheeks. He grabs your wrists and stops you from pushing.

“Woman, are you trying to seduce me into not leaving?” he chuckles, mouth twitching with amusement. 

Fuck. Guilty.

“Maybe, is it working?” you grin at him. 

“Lil bit, not gonna lie,” his grip on your wrists turn into him tracing soothing circles on your skin, pulling one up to plant a soft kiss. “Buuuuuut, I’m not falling for it.

His eyes glance down at your nails, freshly done in your favorite colors.

“These are cute, they new?” 

“Yeah, got them done last night. I hope I don’t ruin them!”

He smirks, leaving another featherlight kiss just below your palm.

“I’ll be doing all the hard work, so they should be safe. Now let’s do one last check that you got everything and then we’re hitting the road,” his deep voice commands, standing up and adjusting his shorts. 

“Ugh, fine,” you huff, walking away to check your duffel bag which looks like it’s about to burst. 

Sukuna joins you, starting to dig through the contents. 

“Okay, you don’t need three pairs of earrings first of all. And a curling iron? Absolutely not,” he starts tossing them back onto the bed. 

“How am I gonna do my hair?” you argue, trying to reach for it while he just boxes you out. 

“Uh, you don’t? Babe, there’s no electricity,” he laughs, making the frustration simmer in your veins even more. 

You wouldn’t necessarily call yourself high maintenance, but you still cared about your appearance and wanted to look good. Just like some people felt confident in their outerwear, a face full of perfect makeup and a trendy outfit gave you a boost. 

Plus, there weren’t many times Sukuna hasn't seen you well put together. Sure you’ve both woken up in the other’s bed, but you could at least race to freshen up the next morning because of modern conveniences like plumbing and electricity. 

As if sensing your strife, you feel Sukuna’s strong arms wrap around you, pulling your back against his chest. 

“It’ll be okay. I’ll take good care of you, I had your comfort in mind with everything I packed. Not gonna subject you to the bare bones setup I usually go out with,” his normally gravelly voice is gentle. 

You let out a long sigh, trying your best to calm down but it’s just not happening. 

“Let’s just get going,” you mumble, brushing his hands away as you move to zip up your bag. The sooner you leave the sooner you can get this over with.

Sukuna hums nonchalantly, throwing it over his shoulder effortlessly, leading the way out the front door. He waits for you to lock up, still sporting his annoying little smirk when you turn towards him.

“Knock it off!” you snap at him.

“Dunno what you’re talking about sweetheart. Can I not admire my girlfriend who looks so cute when she’s grumpy?” he teases, making you grit your teeth in response. 

“Just shut up and go downstairs,” you growl, gesturing towards the stairwell. 

“Yes ma’am,” he answers in a smug tone. As you follow him down, you can’t help but admire the tattoos on his neck peeking out from his shirt, making you think about the ones snaking down his sculpted back.

You still remember the first time you saw them. Even though you had no interest in snow sports, your friend group’s idea of renting a cabin at Aspen’s ski resort appealed to your desire for good Instagram content and cute ski town outfit inspo. 

Little did you know that this included a guy you’d never met before and when you and your girls all decided to go out and flirt in the hot tub, you were damn near speechless when a shredded man with ink winding all over his chest and abs appeared in your line of sight. 

You’d whispered to your friend, trying to get intel on the guy. The devilish grin and the way he did a quick double take when he caught your eye almost made you stop breathing. 

“That’s Gojo’s friend, Ryomen Sukuna. Good luck though, the man will kick you out once he’s done with you so he can wake up at the butt crack of dawn to go chase trout ” your friend snickered, telling you about how he was your typical Colorado outdoor buff. Because of course he was, you’re convinced his type is a regional variant of the male species. 

Well at least he was nice to look at. 

“Ahem,” Sukuna clears his throat, lurching you back to reality. 

“Sorry, did you say something?” you try to cover up your momentary lapse of attention as a result of you daydreaming about your boyfriend’s abs for the thousandth time. 

“I said I’m gonna go get my truck, it’s around the corner,” he says, striding away before you can answer. 

The summer sun is bearing down, so you move to the shade of some street trees to give you reprieve. Multiple people with their dogs pass by while you watch someone attempt to parallel park across the street. 

Soon your view is blocked by a pickup truck whose diesel motor overtakes all the sounds of the bustling neighborhood. 

Never in your wildest dreams did you see yourself dating a truck guy. Growing up, you’d always made fun of them. The bigger the truck, the smaller the dick, weak minded men overcompensating by plunging themselves into debt and vying for who could cause the most damage to the local air quality. 

Except Sukuna ended up shattering all your preconceptions when you first saw the heat he was packing between his legs.

Sure, alcohol may have been involved and you two had an ongoing feud ever since that trip where you crossed paths up in Aspen, him calling you a useless transplant and you calling him a braindead tree hugger. 

You should’ve known you already lost when the only reaction out of him was a hum of amusement as you tormented him in a bar one night about how tiny he must’ve been given his lifted truck. His crimson eyes had just watched your attempts to egg him on, a daring challenge hidden in his gaze and a smug look on his face.

Yeah, you looked like a damn fool later that night once he pinned you under him, reducing you to a whiny mess, taunting and fucking you to within an inch of your life. In group settings he always seemed to be more quiet and reserved with an air of confidence that surrounded him…well you finally learned why.

Even though you didn’t die that night, you experienced what could only be described as an epiphany as to what really could lurk beneath the facade of a man like him. 

He shut your smart mouth up that day because whenever you attempted to give him shit, he’d just stare at you, the glint in those crimson eyes indicating that you were full of shit and he had no problem railing you into submission again to remind you of how wrong you were. 

Quite frankly, deep in your subconscious, you probably wanted it. Going out of your way to sass and harass him was almost routine and if you had to guess, he sought out your sharp mouth for the same reason because it gave him an excuse to get you naked. 

But as time went on, the great sex led to morning snuggles which morphed into breakfast dates and infectious laughter. Before you knew it, you were captivated by the pictures and accounts of him climbing the surrounding mountains, stories of his most memorable fish catches, and videos of harrowing mountain bike rides that terrified you so much yet you weren’t even the one experiencing it!

His drive to be the best and constant commitment to improving his skills in all kinds of adventure activities was admirable. Plus, behind it all, he was a gentleman at heart and by the time you realized you were in too deep, it was already too late. 

“Alright, get in,” Sukuna holds the door open expectantly, meanwhile you have zoned out again.

“Aye! Brat!”

“Ah! I’m sorry!” you scurry towards the curb and climb in, ignoring Sukuna’s curious stare. 

“Are you good?” he asks as he gets in next to you, starting to drive down the street. 

“Yeah…why?” you ask, bouncing your foot nervously.

“Just seem out of it, staring off into space.”

“Oh…well, just thinking about us,” you say quietly, watching the dense city pass you by as Sukuna winds through the grid like streets. 

“Good things?” he hums.

“Ha, more like I wanna throttle you for making me do this.“

“What kind of man would I be if I didn’t force you out of your comfort zone,” he rests a large hand on your shaking thigh, stilling it. 

“A man who plays it safe and placates his girlfriend,” you huff in his direction.

Sukuna chuckles, squeezing your plush skin. Now stopped at a red light, his crimson gaze burns into you, making you look his way.

“And am I really the ‘play it safe’ type?”

“Fuck no. And I knew this going in after you showed me that video of you crashing your mountain bike,” you recall him showing you the pictures of his arms all scraped up and bleeding. 

The truck starts moving again as Sukuna turns onto the highway, now driving towards the mountains. 

“I think you like it.” 

“Hmph,” you scoff, picking at your newly manicured nails and settling in for the drive that lays before you.

About two hours later, the pavement has disappeared and is now replaced by a mix of haphazardly placed gravel and packed dirt. 

It feels like you’re driving over endless speed bumps with potholes interspersed. Where it seemed smooth was actually a washboarded mess that you swear made your bones shake.

The death grip you have on the door could crush glass, new nails digging into the rubbery plastic while the other is braced on your thigh. You press your feet into the floor as you prepare for another violent jostle of the truck given the watermelon sized rock jutting out of the ground that Sukuna seems to have no qualms about going over.

Speaking of, the man looks like he’s having the time of his life navigating the wretched “road”, eyes darting between what’s up ahead and you experiencing your existential crisis.

“Can you like, stop?” you force out, starting to feel sick like you’re in a damn boat rolling with the swells of the ocean…except there’s no water in sight. 

“Stop? Stop what?” Sukuna smirks, glancing over at you.

“The car idiot! I feel like shit,” you gasp out, fear bubbling up in your chest. Everything just feels overwhelming and overstimulating. 

“Okay, just around this curve is a nice view we can stop at,” Sukuna answers. 

It feels like an eternity but he eventually does stop. You’re so eager to touch solid ground that the scenic backdrop behind you goes unnoticed, leaping down from your seat onto shaky legs. 

The truck shuts off while you lean against it, trying to catch your breath. 

Sukuna appears by your side, a low laugh emanating from his chest that’s level with your face.

“What the fuck are you giggling about?” you bark, not looking at him, knowing damn well what it is.

“You,” he says simply because there’s never any finesse with his word choices. 

“Dick.”

“What? You’re fine, there’s literally nothing wrong with you!”

You just grit your teeth with frustration, walking away from him, blindly charging forward as the gravel crunches beneath your feet until you find yourself at the edge of a steep drop off down the hillside.

Looking up, the setting around you starts to come into focus. You’d been so focused on not losing your shit in the truck that you hadn’t noticed the landscape has changed dramatically. 

Crisp blue sky expands out in all directions, pierced by the distant greys and whites of snowcapped peaks. The stark edge of the tree line is evident where mottled browns and green end as the rugged mountain granite starts to take over. 

A light breeze caresses your skin, bringing with it the earthy scent of pine from the evergreens surrounding the clearing. What looks like the waves of the ocean is actually the tall grasses of a meadow billowing directly below where you’re standing. 

It’s…peaceful, noticing your riled up nervous system starting to relax as you let yourself take in the scene. 

A twig snaps next to you, signaling Sukuna once again returning to your side. He’s quiet, just observing the view before you both. The occasional bird chirps from some distant treetop, but other than that, it’s calm. No cars honking, no people talking, no hum of air conditioning, no dogs barking. It’s creepy in a way, not recalling a time in recent history where you could hear a pin drop. 

“Beautiful huh?” Sukuna’s deep voice breaks through the silence. 

“Yeah, it is,” you mumble, a little awestruck at it all. While you were fighting for your life in that metal tube just moments ago, this serenity was just outside. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks bluntly, hand brushing the small of your back. 

The fists you realize were clenched at your sides release just a tad. 

“Scared. I was scared, the road is just so rough and I swear you were trying to be reckless and kill us!” 

He laughs loudly at your strife, making you even more irritated at him.

“What do you think I’m gonna do? Drive us off a clif? Slice you to smithereens? I do this all the time, in fact, since I’ve been old enough to drive. You could not be in safer hands,” his smug voice goes on and on.

“Okay, I understand that. But I have not,” you reiterate, standing your ground.

Sukuna’s response is to grab your hand, tugging you back toward the truck. His strength made it impossible to resist, so you just quickened your strides to keep up with him.

“Get in, I’m gonna show you what I’m doing. Maybe then it won’t be as scary.”

You want to argue back, but instead you just get in, refusing his help as you clamber into the lifted vehicle, slamming the door behind you.

Sukuna joins you moments later, getting in and starting the engine.

“Stop pouting and pay attention,” he drawls, making you just barely flick your eyes over to what he’s doing. 

“See that rock right there in the middle of the road? It’s sticking up high enough that it might scrape the undercarriage if I try to straddle the wheels on either side and drive over. But, if I aim so that one wheel goes over it, even though it's bumpy for a moment, the undercarriage remains safe,” he explains, doing what he says as the truck shakes from the impact. 

It annoys you that it makes a lot of sense, but you do feel a little reassured knowing he’s not just causing chaos for the sake of it.

“So you’re doing it on purpose, but it’s for a reason,” you utter, uncrossing your arms and settling in. 

“Exactly. No, I’m not purposefully trying to make you uncomfortable, but I would like to not fuck up my truck and make sure I can drive you out of here at the end of the trip,” he chuckles, “wouldn’t want to have to leave you up here.”

“Why do we need to even go so far down these forest roads when campgrounds exist,” you whine, now paying more attention to his strategic maneuvers as he navigates the rough road.

“Because babe, the point is to get away from everyone else. Why would I wanna be all up close to other people? I can do that in the city, if I’m coming out here, I wanna get some peace and quiet. The place we’re going I’ve gone to since I was a kid, since before all you out of towners started flocking here in droves and making everything crowded. Plus, the rougher the road, the less likely others are gonna try and come up here.”

This isn’t the first time Sukuna, someone born and raised in the area, has commented on the influx of people moving from other states, you included. It was one of the themes for your recurring spats prior to getting together. Now, it’s more so said in jest with you teasing him relentlessly for falling for one of these horrible ‘transplants.’

“Are you not bringing a dreaded transplant up here right now?” you giggle, egging him on. 

“Tch, doesn’t count. You’re with me,” he grumbles, taking a sharp turn more carefully than before. 

Aw, how sweet, he’s learning. 

“Besides,” he continues, “if this goes on for the long haul, it would be our family’s secret spot, which would include you.”

You can’t help but observe how your stomach flutters at his words, hinting at a future for the both of you. Even though it's relatively early, you do see him as the type of man who would provide a good life for you. Even though he’s gruff and unserious at times, it’s readily apparent that he has you in mind with every decision he makes, and you may or may not have fallen to sleep thinking about a little Sukuna tearing through your apartment, a perfect combination of you both.

You’ve dated enough undesirable losers to recognize a good one when you see it and while Sukuna was more obsessed with his hobbies than finding a partner beyond a fling here and there, it was a no brainer that you were worth him settling down for.

You should really try to have a better attitude about this trip, be less combative and more easy going. It was okay to be nervous and scared, but being passive aggressive (or just straight up aggressive) wasn’t the kind thing to do when Sukuna had done so much work to prepare for this.

“Aw Kuna, getting fluffy on me?” you reach out to entwine your fingers in his while he keeps one hand on the wheel.

You can see the blush spreading down his neck and across his cheeks, clearly embarrassed of what he’d said, like he’s let some big secret accidentally slip out and taint his tough exterior.

“Shush,” he murmurs, squeezing your hand tightly. Your skin warms, his rough palm against yours enough of an answer for you. 

Sukuna turns off onto an even narrower road, flanked on either side by thick groves of aspens and pines. The sun shines through in the distance, indicating a clearing up ahead that comes to fruition after a few more minutes winding through the woods. 

What greets you is nothing short of breathtaking. A large clearing surrounded by rugged mountains rising up like amphitheater walls on all sides. A small stream also cuts through the open area, making the whole scene look like a postcard. Sukuna parks off the road in an area that looks to be packed down next to the stream and sheltered by mature evergreens. It has it all: views, solitude, a babbling brook, and an open area to set everything up.

“We’re here brat,” Sukuna beams, clearly eager to get out and enjoy the ambiance. He drops the tailgate and begins unloading large containers presumably full of camping supplies, those muscular arms of his working extra hard which have captured your attention.

“Now what?” you approach him, arms crossed, eyes darting around the clearing as you begin to feel more and more exposed, getting in your own head as you start to picture who, or better yet, what else is out here with you that you can’t see. 

“I’m gonna set you up a nice spot to get cozy, then, I’m gonna get our tent all set up,” Sukuna answers, running his fingers through his hair after setting down yet another container. He digs through one of them, pulling out a small bag and moving towards some trees adjacent to where you both stand.

You then realize he’s hanging up a hammock, strung up perfectly between the thick trunks in record time, impressing you with his speed of setup. He also sets up two camp chairs, shoving your water bottle into one of the mesh cup holders.

“You’re gonna do everything yourself? Do we have separate tents? I don’t wanna sleep alone!” you start rambling, starting to get nervous all over again.

“Yes I can set up everything, I go camping and backpacking by myself often, it’ll be fine. And yes, I'll set your sleeping bag up on the ground and I’ll be sleeping in the tent, you can keep watch first,” he answers, turning away from you to fiddle with another container. 

Your mouth drops in shock, sleeping outside in the dark by yourself?? Is he insane?

“What the fuck Sukuna! I-I-I need to sit outside alone in the night?” your voice cracks, panic beginning to set in and tears forming at the corners of your eyes.

“Well yeah, you didn’t know it’s normal to take turns guarding the camp at night?”

Then you notice his shoulders shaking, his hand cupped over his mouth. 

He’s being a little shit, a fucking liar.

“No baby, I’m kidding, you’re sleeping in the tent with me,” he snickers, pissing you off again. Looking around, you find a stick about the size of your hand and sling it at his back, making a direct hit.

“Ow!” he whips around, still grinning but confused until he sees the stick at his feet. “Did you just fucking throw that at me?!”

“Yeah I did, punishment for your mean joke you asshole!”

He just gives you the biggest smile, mouth curling up at the edges and dimples popping up as a result, a hint of pride in his gaze.

“I’m impressed, you actually touched a piece of wood,” he laughs, rubbing at his back where it collided. “Nice aim too.”

His response baffles you, expecting him to be pissed, but then you can’t help but be proud of yourself and your successful aim. You end up taking a seat in one of the chairs and just observe Sukuna milling about, setting up a folding table, throwing a small camping stove on it as well as  large jugs of water.

Your man looks like a pro at this as he throws what you assume is the tent bag down a little ways over from the car, nestled up against some of the pines. You no longer lean back and start thumbing through your book when you hear Sukuna curse loudly.

“Shit!”

You look up to see him messing with some metal rods, pulling and bending them in multiple ways before tossing them on the ground and shaking his head. Curious, you peer over your book as he walks back over to where you sit, hand raking through those messy pink locks.

“Everything good?” you probe.

“Uhh, yeah, I’m fine. Just gotta fix something real quick,” he responds gruffly, grabbing a small tool kit from one of the containers and storming back over to his pile he left behind. After watching for a few more moments, you lose interest, going back to your book. 

Every now and then you glance over to your boyfriend, clearly becoming increasingly frustrated with whatever it is he’s doing. You can’t help but giggle slightly, maybe it's payback for forcing you to go on this excursion with him, the universe’s way of saying to leave the city girl in her natural habitat. Plus, men getting mad at inanimate objects will never not be amusing.

Suddenly you feel a tickling sensation on your bare legs, like a piece of hair rubbing on your skin. Except when you look down it’s bugs, ants! Tons of them, crawling up your legs and all over your shoes.

“AHH!” you shriek, leaping up and flinging your book away as you freak out, scared to brush them off but panicking at the thought of leaving them where they are. Jumping around, shaking your legs, you screech some more, tears pooling at your eyes. 

Bugs are one of your biggest fears and to have this many on your without even knowing makes you want to burn your legs off! Sukuna leaps up, running over to you just as you’ve succeeded in brushing them all off.

“What’s wrong?” his voice is loud, looking around everywhere for the source of your strife.

“Ants! All over me!” you cry, practically leaping into his arms thinking this will save you from their assault. Sukuna stumbles, not prepared for you launching yourself at him. He quickly steadies himself, cradling you in his arms while you lock your hands around his neck, shaking violently.

Sukuna holds you tightly while crouching down where the chair was before it flipped backwards from the force of your spastic escape. 

“Oh yeah, ant hill,” he mutters, shifting you into one arm while picking up the chair in the other, transporting both over to where he is working. 

“Can I put you down now?” he asks, chuckling lightly after setting the chair down first. 

“Are there gonna be more bugs?” you blurt out, still trembling in his arms, feeling his large hand come up to rub your back in a soothing fashion. 

“Probably, we’re outside in the wilderness,” he says with a hint of sarcasm and a cheeky grin. “Put some bug spray on, I’ll go grab it.” He starts to put you down but you cling to him instead.

“Ugh, sweetheart I can’t move my arms that well,” he sighs, shifting you up and throwing you over his shoulder instead, making you squeak in surprise.

He pulls a can of spray out, patting you on the backs of the thighs before lowering you gently to the ground. You anxiously look down, staring at the tufts of grass and dirt around you, trying to scan for other hidden creepy crawlies. 

“Hold your arms out,” Sukuna instructs, moving them on his own and stepping back. You do as he says, feeling the cold liquid hit your bare skin, the sterile smell wafting up into your face. He also hits your shoes and clothes, ensuring nothing should find its way onto your body.

Sukuna gives you a quick kiss on the cheek before turning back to the tent while you plop back down into the chair he brought over. Leaning forward, you realize it's the tent poles that are giving him issues.

“What’s wrong with them?”

“Mmm, just seems like the tension wire got hung up, think I got it now though,” he says, checking them one last time before he starts assembling the tent. It's a bright yellow and teal color combo, a stark contrast to the yellowish brown grasses scattered about. Sukuna makes quick work of everything, having the tent up in just a few minutes.

He walks back to the truck to grab another container, giving you a chance to assuage your curiosity by getting up and inspecting the tent. Touching the material, it just seems so flimsy, like a nylon jacket, offering hardly any protection from anything outside. How will this keep you warm at night and protected from any creatures trying to get in?

“Are we sleeping in a sleeping bag?” you ask Sukuna as he drops another container at your feet.

“Nah, got a better setup since you were coming,” he wipes the sweat collecting on his forehead.

“Can I help you at all?” you ask, noticing he looks a little stressed.

“No, it’s easier if you just stay over there,” he points at the chair you got up from.

You can’t help but feel you are being a burden as he tries to wave you off. Retreating back to the camp chair, you sit quietly, picking at your nails while bouncing your knee absentmindedly. Fluffy clouds come and go in the bright blue sky, providing hints of shade in the summer heat. The stream provides constant background noise as it flows by, busying your thoughts.

“Wanna come see?” he calls to you, snapping you from your daze. 

You join him at the tent, noticing it’s unzipped and you can now see inside. A plush air mattress covers the floor, complete with flannel bedsheets and multiple cozy looking blankets. Full sized pillows complete the ensemble and to you it looks very comfortable. In fact, it seems leagues better than what you imagined this would be.

“Aw, that actually looks really nice!” you exclaim, not dreading bedtime as much anymore.

“Good, wanna try it out?” Sukuna asks, starting to take his shoes off. You do the same and climb into the tent, rolling onto the mattress, leaving space for Sukuna to join you. It’s actually very comfortable, even though it’s not as thick as a normal one, it’s still plenty soft and supportive, barely dipping under even Sukuna’s large frame.

“Does it meet your standards princess,” Sukuna rolls onto his side, hair tousled, studying you intently.

You wiggle your way up against his chest, his arm reaching out to hold you close.

“Mhmm, exceeds my expectations!” you burrow your face into his chest and neck, inhaling his familiar earthy, cinnamon scent mixed with musk. 

“Good, now I need to go get some wood. I shouldn’t be long, mainly just kindling to get our fire started since I brought our own big logs with me.” he nuzzles his face into your hair.

The thought of staying here alone scares you but wandering around in the woods terrifies you even more.

“Sure, I’ll just rest here if that’s okay.”

In this one millimeter thick shelter.

“Sounds good, I’m just gonna go right out there,” he gestures in the direction of the adjacent forest. Leaving behind a firm kiss on your forehead, he moves away and zips the tent back up.

“If you want to get out, just make sure you rezip it back up so bugs and shit stay out,” he demonstrates a few times.

“I understand how zippers work Sukuna,” you huff, earning you a side-eyed look from your boyfriend before he disappears.

Rolling onto your back, you stare at the ceiling of your new home for the next two nights, well maybe only one if you call it quits. This bed arrangement is quite comfortable, you have to give it to him. Obviously smaller than back home, but at least it doesn’t feel like you are sleeping on rocks. Looking around, you realize both of your duffel bags of clothes are in here as well as a little string of lights threaded around the edge of the “ceiling” as well as a small battery operated light hanging from a hook hanging from the center of the ceiling. 

Closing your eyes, you become more aware of how quiet everything is around you. The sounds of birds singing seems louder than you’ve ever heard, crisp and sharp in your ears with varying degrees of pitches. You wonder how many kinds there are contributing to the symphony. 

You pull out your phone, planning to scroll, but you quickly realize there is no service up here, not even a measly 3G network. Sighing, you just drop the phone on Sukuna’s side, staring back up at the ceiling again.

Eventually the chorus of birds quiet down until all you can hear is the wind blowing across the clearing. Your heartbeat starts to pick up, the prick of chills washing over your skin as the silence becomes more and more unnerving.

The rustle of leaves makes you jump, gasping in surprise. Then your mind starts to dive down all kinds of rabbit holes as to what could be causing it. 

You’re alone, your ripped boyfriend nowhere around. 

A bear? Mountain lion? You’ve heard stories of both, convinced that they were definitely stories of them mauling unsuspecting girls alone in the woods. The rustling gets louder and you could swear it sounds like it's coming closer.

Or, what about another person? Some deranged mountain man looking for young women to steal and drag back unconscious to some secluded cabin to do unspeakable things. 

Now you’re on the verge of tears, mind running through all these dangerous scenarios. A final loud crash of something in branches is the last straw. You open the tent, throw your shoes on, and run towards the forested area where Sukuna said he would be.

“Sukunaaaa!” you call out, jogging through the forest floor, trying to catch sight of the pink haired man somewhere among the greens and browns. The dry leaves beneath your feet crunch with each footstep, startling you constantly.

This just isn’t your scene, you’re like a fish out of water as you blindly wander around, always keeping the clearing in your sights because there’s no fucking way you were getting lost out here. Suddenly you feel your face entangled by something sticky.

Spider web!!

You scream, clawing at your skin imagining thousands of spiders now crawling all over you and inside your shirt. Ripping your shirt off seems to be the next best move to make sure nothing got down there, but in all the chaos you slip on a stick, falling straight on your ass shocking you more than anything else. The white web material is now stuck all over your hands and fingers, making you shriek again, rubbing them on your shorts, the ground, anything you can find!

Loud footsteps sound from behind you. This is it, whatever scary creature is trying to hunt you down is finally going to succeed. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Sukuna’s voice calls your name, a mix of confusion and amusement lacing his words.

He appears before you, bundles of twigs and branches in his arms as he peers down at you curiously. The tattoos on his jaw twitch as he tries to fight back a smile.

All you can respond with are tears running down your cheeks as you break into a sob, all the fear finally released now that you feel safe in his presence again.

“Baby…” he bites his lip as he watches you lose it. Placing his piles of sticks down, he crouches to your side, resting a hand on your shoulder.

“Did something happen?” he’s looking around now, trying to find the source of your breakdown.

“I-ugh, sorry,” you sniffle, trying to wipe your nose. “I just heard sounds outside the tent, so I came to find you, then just walked through like three spiderwebs-”

You start choking on your words as you cry into his shirt.

“Hmm, I see that,” he hums, starting to pick stray web pieces and leaves that ended up caught on your clothes in the shuffle. 

“I know you just wanna laugh at me and tell me how pathetic I’m being, I feel like I’m ruining the trip, I-”

His hand covers your mouth, making your breath hitch in surprise.

“Hush! I said no such thing. Okay yeah it’s a little humorous, but you aren’t ruining anything,” Sukuna says softly, sitting down in front of you. “If anything, I’d say I’m proud of you for doing something so foreign to you and so outside of your comfort zone. Are some of your reactions funny? I mean yeah, but you’re cute and that’s why I like you.”

Your heart swells with his encouragement, feeling like less of a failure and a burden.

“Really?” you sniffle again, peering up into his crimson gaze, eyes that you realized you could drown in a thousand times, perfectly content with never finding solid ground again as long as he was there.

Sukuna wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you tighter against him. 

“Yes brat. The only thing that’s annoyed me so far was myself breaking a tent pole, you had nothing to do with that.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier though if I was more of an outdoorsy nature girl? You could have more fun that way, wouldn’t need to be showing me the ropes for everything,” you mutter, noticing your legs are just coated in dirt now.

He chuckles lightly. “When have you ever known me to take the easy way out? I love a challenge, live for the thrill of taking a risk and watching it be so worth it when it’s all said and done.”

He holds your shoulders up so he’s looking into your eyes. “I knew you weren’t going to be a natural at this. I’m enjoying showing you something I enjoy, love the idea of teaching you about it all and watching you learn. I’m right where I need to be, don’t sit here and try to tell me what’s best for me either. I’m an arrogant bastard and I already know, and that’s you.”

His response makes you want to cry all over again, but in happiness not fear or embarrassment. It’s why you like him too, for similar reasons. He’s an enigma, a person whose world you aren’t familiar with in the slightest, but who is nonetheless intriguing and the more layers you peel back, the perceived preconceptions become more and more palatable, even sweet enough to stick around for seconds.

“I like watching you too, it’s impressive how you just know how to do everything,” you say with a hint of shyness.

“Good, now just let me take care of you. I promise I will get you out of here in one piece, some of the stories I could tell you of the situations I’ve been thrown into…this is nothing,” he starts to stand up, pulling you up with him. 

“Wait, what kinds of things are you talking about?” you ask, curious as to what he means.

“Let’s save them for campfire stories, it’ll be dark in a little bit and I wanna get this fire made and make us some dinner,” he says, picking up his wood bundles, handing a few to you to hold.

He leads the way back out to the campsite, dumping the sticks down near a patch of scorched earth. The bushes begin shaking again, the scuttle of leaves from earlier is back again. You instinctively wince, staring at the spot until two squirrels tumble out, making you exhale with relief.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the reason my girlfriend busted her ass out in the woods,” Sukuna gestures at the small rodents chasing each other through the meadow.

“I hate you,” you chuckle, shaking your head.

Sukuna comes back over with a small axe and shovel and starts to dig a hole out, lining the edge with stones from around the clearing.

“Lessens the risk of a rogue flame getting out and catching something on fire. Plus, sitting down in this depression, I could cover it with dirt or something if it got out of hand,” he explains while snapping the branches and twigs he collected, building everything up into a pyramidal shape similar to a small pyre you’d see in a movie.

The sun has disappeared behind the tall peaks, casting long shadows across the clearing. Even though there’s still likely a couple hours of daylight, you can feel the air cooling off rapidly, making you eager for the heat of the flames. You head back over to the tent to grab a jacket, freezing in your tracks when you realize you never closed it when you ran off earlier. 

It was Sukuna’s one request of you!

Sure enough, there are bugs all over the walls of the tent now. You have to go tell on yourself…

“Sukuna?” you call to him when he comes back from the car with some matches and a lighter.

“Hmm?” he sets his things down and comes over to you.

“Heh, you left the tent open didn’t you?” he chuckles, making you giggle as well. “It’s fine, I’ll handle it. But I guess you want something out of here huh?”

You nod, feeling a little embarrassed. Sukuna hands you your duffle bag from inside, letting you fish out one of his big, flannel sweaters that you’ve stolen at some point during the time you’ve been together.

“I should complain about you swiping my shit, but you look good in my clothes, so I’m gonna keep my mouth shut,” he says with a twitch of his lips, eyes roving over how the sweater hits the top of your thighs, sleeves chunky and oversized, cuffed at your wrists.

Sukuna retreats back to the fire pit, kneeling down to adjust everything one more time before striking a match and dropping it onto the pile of kindling.

“Were you a boy scout?” you walk up behind him, pulling one of the camp chairs over.

“For a little while,” he answers, moving around his wood arrangement to better catch the small flames crackling up from the kindling. The fire continues to grow and grow, reaching a point that seems to meet Sukuna’s standards. The warmth is a godsend on your bare legs in the cool dusk air. 

“Move over here,” he shakes the chair, making you get up. “The wind is gonna blow the smoke on you if you stay right there.”

You let him guide you to a different spot around the fire, sitting back down when he seems satisfied. The smokey scent wafts up combining with the smell of cedar wood from the burning logs. Sounds of nighttime creatures faintly start to sound, growing steadily louder as the sun goes down. The harmony of crickets, frogs, and all other small creatures combined with the lapping of the stream creates a comforting white noise, interrupted only by the occasional crackle and pop of the fire. 

Huddling deeper into Sukuna’s sweater, you inhale his familiar scent from the fabric, a comforting feeling washing over you. Speaking of, you turn around and see him playing camp chef behind you at the set of folding tables from earlier. He’s still in his short sleeved fishing shirt and shorts, but then again you can rarely pinpoint times you’ve seen him in thick cold weather clothes. Even the times your friend group hung out in the winter ,you caught sight of him maybe twice with a heavy coat on.

Whenever you spend the night together, you sometimes end up needing to push him away in the night, especially at his place that doesn’t have good air conditioning to keep yourself from burning up. He’s a damn furnace, perfect for a night like tonight in the mountains, but not so much back in the city. 

Glancing up, you catch a glimpse of yellows and pinks streaking across the sky, all leading to an orangish-red glow blooming out from behind the mountains. You can’t recall ever seeing such a spectacular sunset!

“Sukuna! Look!” you call to him, pointing at the explosion of color. 

You grab your phone, snapping a picture that comes out more beautiful than you expected. Turning towards chef Kuna, you take another picture without him knowing, his silhouette perfectly set in front of the twilight heavy sky, spikey pink hair dark against the pinkish hues in the sky.

“Dinner time brat,” Sukuna looks in your direction just as you are fumbling to put your phone away. “Were you just taking a picture of me?”

“Ummm maybe,” you feel your cheeks heat up, averting your gaze. “It looked cool with the sunset and all.”

He smirks at your response, but doesn’t say more, opting to hand you a plate of food instead. Corn, beans, and a perfectly grilled hot dog are ready for you to devour, realizing now how hungry you were. Sukuna grabs a similar plate, moving towards the fire where you were sitting.

Everything is delicious, very fitting for a camping dinner. You and Sukuna joke back and forth while sitting around the fire with Sukuna absolutely demolishing four hot dogs compared to your one. The man can eat!

He can also cook, one of the more surprising things you learned about him when you started hanging out, sometimes opting to cook you a dinner rather than taking you both out. It was more intimate and relaxed, which sometimes was better than fighting the traffic to some hip, overpriced restaurant. 

After he puts everything away, he comes back with an outdoor type blanket and lays it down next to the fire, tossing marshmallows, graham crackers, and chocolate bars down in the grass. 

“Dessert time, plus I wanna sit closer to you than we could in those damn chairs,” he sprawls out on one side. He grabs two of the branches from earlier and pulls out his pocket knife, starting to sharpen the tips.

“What’re you doing?” you ask, lowering yourself down next to him, the heat of the fire still warming your body. 

“Making something to roast the marshmallows with. Then, s’mores.”

S’mores! You’ve tried one before, but they always seem like they are the quintessential outdoor snack that’s in movies and books.

“I’ve never made one before. A s’more I mean,” you mumble, making Sukuna jerk his head to look at you in surprise.

“Whaaaat? I’ll be your first? Taking your s’mores virginity?” he teases, elbowing you in the side.

“I mean this whole trip is a first technically, so yeah, add that to the list of first times,” you roll your eyes, watching him begin to sharpen the second stick like the first.

“So honored you waited for me,” he replies, pretending to clutch at his chest.

“Oh shut up, if anything you coerced me into this,” you slap his thigh making the both of you fall into a fit of laughter.

“Alright, they’re done,” Sukuna grabs both sticks, handing one to you. He opens all the supplies, grabbing a big, fluffy marshmallow from the bag.

“Watch and learn from the master,” he jokes, shoving the treat onto the sharp end. “So if you just want it lightly toasted, hold it further back near the smaller flames. This way it won’t catch on fire,” he demonstrates, avoiding the fire for the most part. “But if you like some char, get that shit up in the fire,” he exclaims, shoving the end into the heart of the flames, the marshmallow igniting in seconds.

Sukuna pulls it back towards him, a gentle flame burning the white substance, spreading around the other sides of the treat. You grimace at the thought of the fire being so close to you, but he soon blows it out, leaving behind a brownish char on the once white marshmallow. 

“Ta-da,” he hums, sandwiching the marshmallow with chocolate and graham crackers until it looks like a little sandwich. “Try it,” he hands it over to you.

It looks so odd and feels even weirder in your hands, everything squishy but held together by the melted sweets. You take a big bite, the crunch of the cracker soon relieved by the soft chocolate and marshmallow interior. 

So sweet. So delicious! Whoever decided to combine these three things was onto something.

“Wow, that's so good!” you exclaim, not even waiting for his response to take another bite.

“Fuck yeah it is. Hold on, got something here,” he leans toward you, swiping the side of your mouth with his thumb. He presents it to you, covered in melted chocolate.

“What are you expecting me to do with that?” you arch a brow at him before sucking it into your mouth, swirling your tongue along the skin of his thumb, tasting both the sweat of the day and the sweet chocolate on the tip. Hollowing your cheeks, you nibble on his knuckle, soothing it immediately with a swipe of your tongue, hearing a light gasp from Sukuna in response.

With a loud pop, you release him from your mouth. Lidded eyes meet yours and his parted lips are frozen in an “O”.

“Shit baby, have some mercy using that mouth of yours,” Sukuna utters, jaw clenched with a faint blush spreading across his cheeks. He leans back on his arms, watching you as you finish up the s’more he made.

“Want me to make you one?” you ask innocently, knowing damn well you just reduced this man to mush right before your eyes.

“Uh, yeah, let’s see whatcha got,” his husky voice answers, handing you one of the sticks. 

You do what he did earlier, letting the flames lick at the marshmallow, eventually igniting. Gingerly you pull the stick back towards you, mesmerized by the small flame, before you lightly blow it out, the scent of char and smoke wafting up. Sandwiching it between the chocolate and crackers, you smash it all together before handing it to Sukuna. 

“Pretty good,” Sukuna says after swallowing his first bite. He quickly finishes the rest, tossing the sticks to the side.

“You all riled up now?” you tease him, noticing that he keeps fidgeting with his shorts and running his fingers through his hair. 

He just stares at you, his red eyes reflecting the dancing flames, skin illuminated by the orangish glow the fire is giving off. His nose and hair are casting shadows across his face, sharp cheekbones even more prominent in the dim light.

“What do you think?” he chuckles before abruptly standing up. “I’m going to get changed, you want some sweats?”

“Yes please,” you nod, realizing the fire wasn’t enough to warm your bare legs anymore. 

Sukuna is back in a flash in his own sweat pants and a hoodie, tossing you a pair of pants. You quickly change into them, feeling all comfortable and cozy in his oversized sweater and your roomy sweats. 

“Come here,” he utters, pulling on you before you can even respond. You settle into his lap, noticing just how worked up he was given the hard bulge under your ass. 

“You’ve been working hard all day, why don’t you just relax a bit,” you whisper against his neck as he pulls you closer. Sukuna’s breath hitches as you start to trail soft kisses along his throat, focusing on the sensitive spot beneath his ear, earning a low groan from the rugged man. 

He doesn’t speak, just tips your chin up so he can capture your lips in a needy kiss. Sukuna nips at your lower lip, causing his tongue to invade your mouth when you gasp in surprise. His arms wrap around your back, holding you steady while he hungrily kisses you, tongue ensnaring yours, trapping you in a desperate rhythm like he can’t live without it.

Your back heats up when he pulls you against him to straddle his hips, now facing away from the fire towards a different kind of heat. The kind that flares up quickly and can only be tamed by you.

Sukuna releases his hold on you, leaning back on his hands and letting you move as you wish. His lidded eyes look almost black from his dilating pupils, a lazy grin tugging at his lips as you force your own tongue into his mouth. The sweet taste of chocolate envelopes your senses when his tongue meets yours. He’s not running, if anything, he seeks yours out as you trace along his gums and teeth, groaning whenever you nip at his lips.

Your fingers thread through his hair, twisting into his pink locks as he hisses at the sharp tug. With more of his neck exposed, you move down to his adam's apple, running your tongue along the prominent bump, causing him to swallow hard. 

“Fuck…” he groans as you start to suck on the sensitive skin just below his jaw, feeling him quiver below you. He hisses through his teeth when you grind yourself against the bulge in his sweats, nipping at his skin when you feel him pressed against your clothed core. You move off of his lap, guiding him to lay down next to the fire. 

You push his hoodie up just enough to see his lower abs, continuing your fiery trail of kisses down to his waistband, licking along the edge of his boxers. His hips jerk as you drag your teeth across his sharp V lines, feeling every ridge and sharp edge of his toned abdomen beneath your touch. 

With your whole side exposed to the fire now, your body heats up even more and soon you are wanting to tear his sweats down and suck him off right out in the open. 

Unsure of how he’ll respond, you coax his hips up as you pull his sweats and boxers down, freeing his thick cock from its confines and exposing his slutty ringed thigh tattoos.

“Sukuna, is this okay? Out in the op-”

“Yes…god just suck my cock baby, or do whatever you are gonna do. I don’t fuckin’ care, just want you,” his raspy voice makes you want it more, so thick with need and desperation. 

Grabbing the base of his shaft, you start to run your tongue along his length, base to tip as you softly talk to him.

“Took such good care of me today Kuna didn’t you?” you say as you swirl your tongue around his sensitive head.

“Ugh, fuck. Ye-yeah, I did,” he forces out when you kiss his tip. Glancing up, the light flickers across his face as the fire continues to burn.

“Deserves to be rewarded, hmm?” you suck just the tip between your lips, a spurt of pre-cum coating your mouth as he groans in response.

“Mhmm,” he can’t even talk as you swirl your tongue along the edge of his defined head, stopping to suckle on the sensitive area just below his slit you know he loves. 

He’s fucking trembling beneath you as if fighting every force threatening to crumble his restraint. Each teasing stroke of your tongue along the ridges of his prominent veins has his breaths becoming more and more ragged. 

Glancing around makes you realize just how alone the two of you are, everything dark except for this one oasis of light from the campfire. Even if someone far away saw the light, they wouldn’t know what you were doing to your boyfriend. The thought of someone watching turns you on though, albeit unlikely. 

You turn your attention back to Sukuna’s cock, now glistening with your saliva and dripping precum, just begging to be lodged in the back of your throat. 

Which you do, making Sukuna gasp in surprise.

“Baby fuuuuuck,” he moans, fingers digging into the blanket and bunching it up near your knees as you slacken your jaw to accommodate his size. 

As an independent woman from the city, you always liked to think there’s an air of class about you, that the thought of getting on your knees for a man out in the woods was out of the question and beneath you.

For him though? 

You’d do anything. Even choke and sputter on your tattooed man’s cock by the light of a fire, the only witnesses being him and the twinkling stars above. A moment only remembered by you and Sukuna because he knows you’d have his balls on a silver platter if he ran his mouth.

And there was no fucking way he would risk losing this. Never before had he felt fucking worshipped by a woman, not until he found you; sharp minded with an even sharper mouth, challenging and surprising him at every turn. 

He fucking folded for you. 

Even now, he could overpower you, fuck your face and bully his cock down your throat, have tears streaming down your face while you take every inch of him.

He didn’t dare disrupt your show though, like you said, he’d done enough today. Sukuna knew you were more than capable of working his cock in the ways he loved, there was no reason to interrupt. It’d be a shame to miss out on seeing the way your lashes fluttered when you made eye contact with him, the way you slowly worked him into your throat, sheer determination in your movements making him know how badly you wanted to please him. 

You feel him become incredibly hard, abs and hips tensing up as he nears his release.

“Fuck, baby, s’close. Jus’ like that,” he groans as you take him even deeper, gagging on his hard length until you feel the first hot rope coat your throat. Each jerk of his hips fills your mouth with his seed as you feel his veins pulse against your tongue, swallowing every drop he gives you.

You’d never waste it. 

His body starts to release all the tension, loosening up beneath you once he has no more left to give. He just lays on his back, eyes glued to the sky like he just caught a glimpse of heaven.

You move to his side, looking down at your boyfriend. The fire has burned most of itself out, now reduced to the remains of the large logs from before and a pile of hot coals. Snuggling against him, you try to consume some of his body heat in the chilly night air. 

Silently you lay together, his arm wrapped around your waist, head resting on his chest. He still hasn’t bothered to pull his pants back up, so fucked out he hasn’t yet descended back to earth. 

You can’t get over how bright the stars are, noticing it for the first time. Even the empty space between the brightest ones give way to faint white spots, suggesting every square inch of the fabric of space might actually be filled with stars, even though they’re too faint to see with the naked eye. 

It’s beautiful, cold, and empty.

But you’re thankful to be here with Sukuna, experiencing it all. 

A fire in the darkness, providing warmth and comfort in this desolate world. Sure the flames may fade over time, but the coals will remain, burning hot for years to come, not extravagant, but still providing that heat you yearn for.

“I love you Sukuna.” 

The words slip from your mouth, vulnerable but true, the only sound to be heard now that even the crickets have died down for the night, the entire clearing now focused on your confession.

He shifts next to you, the first sign of coherence since he finished. Pulling his pants back up, he turns on his side, now facing you.

“Say it again.” he demands with softness in his voice, cupping your cheek.

“I love you,” you whisper with a hard swallow, curious as to how he’ll respond.

He gives you a sincere smile.

“I love you too,” he voice is scratchy, slowly closing his eyes before opening them again.

You can’t suppress the giggle that bubbles up from your chest, feeling all giddy knowing he feels the same way. 

Sukuna’s tattooed jaw moves as he smiles with genuine affection. He moves to plant a loving kiss on your lips, then your cheek, and finally your forehead.

“Tired?” he asks, stroking your cheek with the backs of his fingers.

“Mhmm,” you yawn, not having a clue what time it is, but just knowing you want to snuggle up under the blankets until sleep finally claims you both. It’s odd like that out here, driven by feeling alone, not bound by any schedule or numbers on a screen.

He carries you to the tent, laying you down on the mattress before tucking you in with all the blankets he packed.

“I’ll be back, just gotta put the fire out and pack the food away,” he says to you, a longing look in his eyes like he can’t bear to leave you alone now. 

“Hurry back,” your groggy voice is heavy with sleep. 

You’re not sure how much time passes, but the unzipping of the tent alerts you of his presence. The mattress dips under his weight as he reaches up to tinker with the small lights illuminating the space. 

“I’ll leave them on, but just dim them,” his deep voice assures you, glad to not be plunged into darkness.

He pulls you close, the bare skin of his chest brushing against your cheek as he settles behind you. Sukuna tucks a stray hair behind your ear, kissing your cheek one more time. 

“Love you,” he whispers, nuzzling his face into your hair.

“Love you too,” you murmur, teetering on the precipice of sleep. You close your eyes smiling, not realizing that Sukuna has the exact same one plastered on his face as you both fall asleep. 

You’ll both forever treasure this little summer vacation, which in the beginning seemed like a huge mistake, but in reality, ended up being one of the best times of your life.

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed this little story! Thank you again to @lily-bisque for hosting this adorable event!

Masterlist

@yuujispinkhair @hiccupberries

[sunshinesukuna]

you’d been dodging him all day.

a door closed gently in the morning, an excuse at lunch that even you didn’t believe. you drifted through your home like mist, choreographing your disappearance with practiced steps - ducking around corners, shrinking into silence each time you caught the rustle of his newspaper or the soft clink of his watch as he adjusted it for the third time.

you wore invisibility like a cloak, moving as a ghost through the rooms you used to share with ease.

because your skin had betrayed you again - four angry blemishes rising red and bright across your cheek and jaw, blooming like a constellation born to shame you.

it wasn’t the worst you’d had, sure. but it was enough to make you recoil from the mirror, to keep your face turned away, to lower your face when nanami passed too close.

you couldn’t bear to let him see you like this.

not with the wedding two weeks away, not when the final fitting was tomorrow. not when he was the nanami kento - precise, composed, impossibly, effortlessly elegant - and you felt like a child masquerading in grown woman skin, unraveling just when you should have been most beautiful.

you braced for the change, waited for it like rain preparing to ripple through the clouds, for the shift in his gaze, the falter in his tone, for the quiet moment where his warmth would begin to dim as the fading sunset, and the words you’d feared might surface:

this isn’t working, i didn’t sign up for this, maybe we rushed things.

but of course, he never said any of that - instead, he let you vanish until dinner, when you padded back to the bedroom with a bowl of noodles and a bruised kind of shame, closing the door like it could keep your insecurities contained.

half an hour later, it opened.

you were curled cross legged on the bed, hoodie drawn up over your mouth like a veil, the ceramic bowl empty on the nightstand.

nanami stepped inside with the quiet certainty of a man who never needed to raise his voice to be heard, to be seen. he closed the door behind him. the silence shifted.

you stilled, your eyes stayed low: fixed on the wall in front of you. your shame flared redder than your skin.

“i’m only going to ask once,” he said, voice calm accompanied by the kind of steadiness that cuts through any lie you could form. “are you avoiding me because of a breakout?”

your heart stuttered.

you didn’t answer, just sank deeper into the hoodie, into the fabric, into yourself. the sting behind your eyes crept closer to the surface.

he sighed - not with anger, but with weariness. the kind born not of frustration with you, but with the invisible wall you’d built between you both. with the absurd, aching notion that a few angry patches on your skin could shift the foundation of his love for you.

“darling,” he said, the word felt like gravity sucking you into him.

you heard his steps, slow and deliberate, as he crossed the room. felt the bed dip beneath his weight, his hand reached up and gently tugged the hoodie from your face. you turned away of course, instinct as sharp as breath.

but his palm found your jaw, and turned you back, “no,” he murmured. “let me see you.”

you hesitated, then lifted your eyes.

he saw everything - the irritated pink, the heat of humiliation, the unshed tears clinging to your lashes like dew. and in return, gave you no wince. no judgment. just his gaze - gentle, grounded - and his thumb, brushing reverently over the most inflamed of the blemishes.

“i’ve seen you exhausted,” he said. “in pain. crying. afraid. do you really think something as small as this would ever make me hesitate?”

you tried to laugh. it came out watery, brittle.

“kento… don’t say that. it’s not just a breakout. it’s me, i always fall apart before big things happen, and you’re… you. i thought maybe you’d-”

“call it off?” he offered, a brow lifting, eyes calm, you nodded, breath catching, gaze falling.

for a moment, he was quiet.

then, softly, he muttered, “unbelievable.”

you flinched - when he leaned in and pressed his lips to your cheek, to the angriest mark on your face. a kiss - comforting.

“kento -”

“again,” he said, kissing the blemish near your jaw. “and again.”

you squirmed, laughter startled and sharp, pushing at his chest. your face burned now for a different reason.

“stop -!”

“no,” he said, finally brushing his lips against yours. “i’ll stop when you understand this: i didn’t choose you because you were flawless. i chose you because you’re you. skin and all. hormones and all. all of it.”

your heart ached. the kind of ache that cracked you open just enough to breathe as if a weight has been lifted off your chest.

he exhaled, softer now, and pulled you into his arms. folded you beneath his chin, like something precious, something sacred.

“you’re marrying me in two weeks,” he murmured into your hair. “don’t run from me again, sweetheart. i’m not going anywhere.”

you nodded, a sound caught in your throat, small and raw, your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt like roots into earth.

divider by @/cafekitsune // art by ThisUserIsAngry on twt // not proofread.

[sunshinesukuna]

I have a request! I am currently in bed with a badly sprained ankle sadly. Can you do a military!Rafe x reader where she gets hurt and Rafe thinks she’s overreacting since he’s in the military and has been hurt a lot? Or something along the lines of her getting hurt?

you’re on the couch with your foot propped up on two pillows, a blanket tossed half-heartedly over your legs. face scrunched up, eyes glassy, you’ve been fighting back tears since you limped through the front door.

“baby,” rafe says with a lazy drawl from the kitchen, “i got shot in the thigh once and still made it to dinner.”

he leans against the counter, arms crossed over his massive chest. “you gonna tell me you’re down for the count over a little twist?”

you glare at him. “i heard something pop.”

he rolls his eyes but walks over anyway, still chewing a bite of protein bar. “c’mere, let me—”

but the second he lifts the blanket and sees your ankle?

swollen. angry red. already bruising.

his whole body freezes.

“jesus,” he mutters, crouching down. all that lazy teasing melts off him instantly.

his hand cups your calf so gently it almost makes you cry more. “why didn’t you call me? why’d you walk on this, baby?”

you sniffle. “you said it wasn’t a big deal.”

“well yeah…. ‘cause i didn’t see this. shit, sweetheart…”

he disappears and comes back with ice, your favorite hoodie, and one of the kids’ juice pouches because “you need sugar and comfort, not just water.”

he sets everything up just right. lifts your foot like it’s made of glass.

tucks the blanket around you tighter. sits on the floor right in front of you.

“you’re not gettin’ up ‘til that’s healed. i’ll carry you to the bathroom if i gotta.”

then he says quietly, “can’t believe i made you limp around like a damn jackass.”

you blink at him. “rafe… are you pouting?”

he glares at you, ears slightly pink.

“don’t test me, woman. i’m already about to spoon-feed you applesauce and run you a bath.”

[sunshinesukuna]

Prison-Based Animal Programs: Cats, Inmates, and Masculinity

​​by Sophiane Nacer, Metropolitan State University of Denver

I. Introduction 

Prison-based pet programs (PAPs) are a relatively new phenomenon, though interactions between prisoners and animals are anything but (Furst, 2006). PAPs present an opportunity for inmates to engage in meaningful work and give back to the community while also experiencing the therapeutic effects that animal companionship provides (Fournier, 2016). However, there may be more to PAPs than meets the eye. In a prison environment where the inmate code legitimizes the destructive ideals of toxic masculinity, opportunities to practice compassion, empathy, vulnerability, and emotional breadth can be vital to preventing inmates from recidivating upon release (Fournier, 2016). PAPs that use cats may be particularly helpful in inmate resocialization, rehabilitation, and reintegration due to the traditional association between felines and femininity that provides the unique potential to dismantle destructive masculine ideas, ideals, and behaviors in inmates (Fournier, 2016). 

II. Hegemonic Masculinity and Toxic Masculinity 

Hegemonic masculinity is defined as the dominant notion of masculinity in a given context, both historical and geographical, that is comprised of both prosocial and antisocial notions of masculine expectations (Kupers, 2005). Fatherhood, pride in accomplishments, self-reliance, courage, and action-orientation are all examples of masculine attributes that are culturally accepted and valued (Fournier, 2016). Misogyny, ruthless competition, devaluation of feminine attributes, a need to dominate and control others, a readiness towards anger and violence, and hierarchical intermale dominance, are all examples of socially destructive masculine attributes that are perpetuated by the contemporary hegemonic masculine standard (Kupers, 2005). The term toxic masculinity is used to delineate these destructive attributes from the prosocial ones, creating a constellation of socially regressive male traits (Kupers, 2005). 

Toxic masculinity is literally coded into prison life as the “inmate code”, which dictates that a “real man” or a “stand-up con” does not display weakness, does not display emotion other than anger, does not depend on anyone nor display any vulnerabilities, and is quick to violence to defend his place in the prison hierarchy (Kupers, 2005). Men who may not have displayed any overtly toxic masculine behaviors on the outside are forced to adapt to the culture of hypermasculine posturing and violence as a way to survive, through a process known as prisonization (Fournier, 2016). Toxic masculinity within prisons is also reinforced by the institution itself. Both inmates and staff, particularly correctional officers, are expected to be tough, show no vulnerabilities, constantly engage in an intermale struggle for power, and solve problems through brute force (Kupers, 2005). A key example of this is the practice of cell extraction, in which inmates and officers, dressed in riot gear and heavily armed, engage in an acute fight for dominance (Kupers, 2005). Inevitably, cell extractions serve to confirm an inmate’s loss of power and control, two things toxic masculinity requires of a “real man”. With no other acceptable or attainable means of confirming his masculinity, the inmate seeks to overpower and control weaker inmates through acts of violence, such as rape and other forms of physical assault (Fournier, 2016). 

The internalization of and socialization to prison’s culture of toxic masculinity is deeply harmful, both to the inmate himself and to society. Six out of seven inmates will be released back into society after serving their prison sentence, making the need for effective rehabilitation and tools for reintegration critical to decreasing recidivism and social harm (Nellis, 2021). However, the shift from rehabilitation to incapacitation and confinement seen in the 1970s coupled with male resistance to therapy has deeply impaired the ability to counter these devastating effects of prison (Kupers, 2005). 

III. Men, Mental Health, and Prison 

The 1970s not only marked the transition from rehabilitation to incapacitation, but it also marked the beginning of a massive increase in incarceration (Kupers, 2005). As the prison population has quadrupled in the last three decades so has the proportion of inmates needing treatment for significant emotional and psychological problems, a trend attributed to deinstitutionalization, tough-on-crime initiatives, and a shrinking public mental health budget (Kupers, 2005). Prison mental health resources have failed to increase alongside their ever-growing population, meaning that said resources are typically reserved for only the most serious cases, such as prisoners suffering from acute psychosis, suicidal ideation or attempts, schizophrenia, and bipolar disorder (Kupers, 2005). This leaves many individuals, including those court-ordered to attend therapy for anger management, sex offenses, and substance abuse, without any recourse (Kupers, 2005).  

Further compounding the limitations of prison mental health treatment is the lack of confidentiality and privacy. Oftentimes, particularly in maximum security units where prisoners are confined to their cells for 23 hours per day, there is inadequate staff to facilitate transport to and from private treatment areas (Kupers, 2005). As such, “cell front” therapy has become increasingly popular (Kupers, 2005). Cell front therapy occurs with the inmate talking to their mental health provider through their cell door, in full view of neighboring inmates and passing correctional officers (Kupers, 2005). This prevents any measure of confidentiality and may put the prisoner at risk depending on the topic being discussed. Institutional rules surrounding mandatory reporting further compromise the privacy of the inmate and any confidentiality cell-front therapy could provide (Kupers, 2005). Lack of resources paired with poor confidentiality serves as external barriers to prisoners obtaining necessary treatments, though these are not the only barriers. 

Men, both outside and inside of prison, tend to underreport emotional and psychological distress, only seeking help when things have reached a point of crisis (Kupers, 2005). This reluctance to seek mental health treatment has been attributed to toxic masculinity, in that it encourages men to repress all emotions other than anger and avoid actions that could be interpreted as dependency or weakness (Woodson, 2019). To succeed in therapy, men must reject a certain amount of the hegemonic masculinity that they have been socialized to since childhood, and in doing so place themselves in a position of rare vulnerability (Kupers, 2005). This is especially difficult for incarcerated men, who are subjected to toxic masculinity at a far greater intensity yet who are also most in need of treatment. Studies have shown that over half of all inmates in US jails and prisons suffer from mental illness, a rate 2-4 times higher than the general population (Satlin, 2013). Suicide rates are also high amongst the incarcerated population at 46 in every 100,000 in US jails (Carson, 2020a) and 21 per every 100,000 in US prisons (Carson, 2020b), compared to 13.4 per every 100,000 in the general population as of 2016 (Suicide, 2021). Men represent 85.7% of jail suicides (Carson, 2020a), 96.2% of prison suicides (Carson, 2020b), and are 3.7 times more likely to commit suicide than women amongst the non-incarcerated US population (Suicide, 2021).  

Mental health services in US correctional facilities today are ineffective, unsafe, and in dire need of both reformation and increased funding. Society’s idealization of traditional masculinity, the most destructive traits of which are perpetuated by pervasive toxic masculinity, has created a significant barrier to men seeking the help they need (Kupers, 2005). The exaggerated form of toxic masculinity that exists within prisons, reinforced both by the inmate code and the institution itself, is directly antithetical to the purpose of corrections as prisoners adopt antisocial traits as a survival technique rather than prepare prosocial coping mechanisms for their eventual reentry into society (Woodson, 2019). For as long as the incapacitation model remains favored, it is unlikely that we will see drastic restoration to rehabilitative efforts. However, prison-based animal programs offer some hope of not only facilitating therapeutic efforts but also minimizing the assimilation of toxic masculine traits and preparing inmates for successful reintegration. 

IV. Prison-Based Animal Programs 

Inmates and animals have a centuries-old history of interaction. Whether its pigeons, lizards, mice, or cats, inmates have shown an appreciation for animals that has surpassed that of the non-incarcerated (Furst, 2006). Researchers studying inmate poetry commented that “perhaps the scarcity of opportunities to develop relationships with non-inmates and the difficulties inherent in connecting with fellow prisoners are responsible for the striking number of poems about the importance of animals" (Furst, 2006). One of the most famous displays of animal admiration from an inmate is that of Robert Stroud, the “Birdman of Alcatraz”, whose rearing of canaries in Leavenworth Federal Prison led him to be recognized as a published ornithologist while incarcerated (Strimple, 2003). There are also less famous cases, such as the first successful prison-based animal program that was established accidentally in 1975, when inmates at Lima State Hospital for the Criminally Insane found and cared for an injured sparrow (Strimple, 2003). After noticing an improvement in inmates’ cooperation with each other and staff, the hospital initiated a year-long comparison study between two identical wards, with one allowing pets and the other not (Strimple, 2003). They found that inmates residing in the pet ward required half the amount of medication, had fewer violent incidences, and had no suicide attempts where the non-pet ward had eight (Strimple, 2003). Considering the body of research that exists supporting the use of animal-assisted therapy in individuals with both physical and psychological illnesses, such as hypertension, cardiovascular disease, anxiety, PTSD, and depression, these results showed that animals could have the same beneficial effects for a criminal population (Furst, 2006). This prompted other institutions to create their own prison-based animal programs (PAPs), and by 2006 a nationwide survey of PAPs found that there were 159 PAP sites in forty-six participating states (Furst, 2006). Although this number has continued to grow, a more recent survey has not yet been conducted. 

PAPs are generally categorized into eight different models- visitation programs, wildlife rehabilitation programs, livestock care programs, pet adoption programs, service animal socialization programs, vocational programs, community service programs, and multimodal programs (Furst, 2006). The most common PAP design found in the study was the community service model (33.8%), in which participating inmates train and care for companion animals that are then adopted out to the community, followed by the service animal socialization model (21.1%), which typically train dogs to assist individuals with disabilities (Furst, 2006). 66.2% of PAPs used dogs, followed by cattle (12.7%) and horses (12.7%), where only 1.4% used cats (Furst, 2006). The majority of PAPs required interviews prior to participation (71.8%) as well as a history of good behavior or standing within the institution (54.7%) (Furst, 2006). 59.2% excluded inmates charged with certain crimes, most commonly crimes against animals (59.5%) and sex offenses (45.2%) (Furst, 2006). Funding for PAPs was reported to come primarily from fundraising (52.1%) amongst inmates, staff, the public, and privately-owned companies like PetCo, Petsmart, and Walmart, with further donations received through the humane society, shelter, or rescue with whom the prison partnered (Furst, 2006). 

When asked if they would recommend PAPs to other prison administrators, 60 out of the 61 respondents (98.4%) confirmed that they would, with the one exception commenting that although beneficial to the inmates the programs are not revenue-generating (Furst, 2006). In support of their recommendation, respondents noted that PAPs had many benefits for inmates, including instilling a sense of responsibility and heroism, teaching job skills and parenting skills, providing meaningful work, encouraging patience, boosting self-esteem, reducing violent incidents, and decreasing anxiety amongst both inmates and staff (Furst, 2006). These attributes seem to run in direct contradiction with prison’s culture of toxic masculinity, by substituting it with a culture of compassion, community-mindedness, cooperation, and patience. A study that surveyed both program participants and members of the general prison population who interacted with PAP animals found that inmates “were more nurturing than aggressive, more expressive than stoic, and more cooperative than competitive” (Fournier, 2016). Participants also demonstrated an increased range of emotions which they openly expressed in the presence of others- discussing the joy of successes, the patience required for training, and the grief that comes when their dogs got adopted- something quite different than the heavily constricted expressions of emotion dictated by the inmate code and even normative hegemonic masculinity (Fournier, 2016). PAPs provide inmates with the opportunity to practice healthy masculinity through dedicating their time and efforts to the care of PAP animals. In return for their efforts, inmates are given unconditional positive regard and companionship, enabled to receive and give physical affection, and provided a confidant in an isolating, lonely, and treacherous environment (Fournier, 2016). 

When asked, administrators at facilities with PAPs said that there were no downsides to the program (60%), with only 10.1% citing staff resistance as the only negative, rather than a flaw in the program itself (Furst, 2006). Anecdotally, administrators believed that recidivism amongst PAP participants was drastically lower than the general prison population, but no empirical studies have yet been performed to confirm this (Furst, 2006). With more than 2 million people incarcerated in the US and more than 6.5 million pets who become homeless every year the overwhelming support for PAPs presents a promising, life-saving option (Pets by the Numbers, 2020). PAPs, particularly the community service model in which prisons partner with animal shelters and rescues, are an opportunity to help both animals and prisoners by encouraging the unique bond that has long existed between the two and giving a second chance to two populations in dire need of one. 

V. The Evolution and Perception of Cats 

Cats were improbable candidates for domestication. Wild cats are territorial and live a solitary existence outside of mating and rearing young, making them the only domesticated asocial animal, though the extent to which cats are truly domesticated remains up for debate (Driscoll, MacDonald, & O’Brien, 2009). Dog domestication began 27,000 to 40,000 years ago after humans, living as nomadic hunter-gatherers, found utility in less fearful wolves as barking sentinels and began a long process of artificial selection (Driscoll, MacDonald, & O’Brien, 2009). Cats, on the other hand, do not appear to have been artificially selected by humans at all. Instead, approximately 10,000 to 12,000 years ago, they pioneered their own domestication through natural selection after having seen the benefit of hunting near human granaries and settlements (Driscoll, MacDonald, & O’Brien, 2009). In this sense, cats co-evolved alongside humans, where dogs evolved under direct human influence. 

In addition to their asocial origins and relatively short period of self-domestication, cat behavior is shaped by their status as both predator and prey (Dowling, 2020). Renowned for their hunting skills, cats have traditionally been used to deter mice and other pests; however, their small size places them at risk of being hunted by predators such as large canids, birds of prey, larger felines, and other carnivores (Driscoll, MacDonald, & O’Brien, 2009). As such, cats tend to be cautious, especially in new situations, and have developed a sophisticated body language that masks signs of physical and psychological distress in an effort to avoid predation (Dowling, 2020). This leaves many non-cat-savvy people with the impression that cats are unfriendly, unapproachable, and unpredictable, when in fact cats are simply outliers (Dowling, 2020). 

Oftentimes the principal mistake people make when trying to understand cats is to compare them to another very popular pet- dogs. Dogs, who have undergone many years of domestication during which friendliness and obedience were intentionally selected for, are prosocial predator animals who tend to be confident, approachable, and expressive (Dowling, 2020). Over the course of their evolution, dogs even evolved a special orbital muscle that allows them to mimic the facial expressions of human infants; cats, lacking this muscle, are often denigrated as having “blank stares” or “evil eyes” (Dowling, 2020). Research has shown, however, that there is no difference in the strength of bonds that cats and dogs form with their owners, nor is there a difference in the health benefits owning either provides in terms of lower rates of anxiety and depression, better cardiovascular health, and self-esteem (Dowling, 2020). 

VI. Felines and Femininity 

The oldest example of cats and femininity being linked together is found in Bastet, the cat goddess of fertility, domesticity, childbirth, and sexuality (Mark, 2016). Bastet and the cats of ancient Egypt, a relatively egalitarian society, were revered by both men and women (Mark, 2016). As time progressed, however, the association between cats and femininity persisted while the reverence was lost. 

In 1891 F. B. Harrison, a statesman who would later become the Governor-General of the Phillipines, wrote in The Journal of Education: 

"The fiery spirit, the loud bark, the watchful temperament of the dog give him always a male aspect; and the sleek sleepiness, the treble mew, the spiteful deceit of the cat combine to render her female in character." (Gleeson, 2016) 

By the 19th century, a distinct trend could be noticed in English writing where cats were associated with women and the feminine, while dogs were associated with men and the masculine (Gleeson, 2016). Unlike ancient Egypt, cats and women were not elevated through this comparison. Instead, traits such as aloofness, disloyalty, unpredictability, greed, selfishness, hypersexuality, pettiness, and spitefulness were attributed to cats and the women who were said to resemble them (Smith, 2009). Single women with one or more cats were- and still are- derogatorily labeled “crazy cat ladies”, physical altercations between women are called “cat fights”, and sexually aggressive women are “cats in heat” (Smith, 2009). Furthermore, associating a man with cats- and, by extension, women- is used to challenge his masculinity. Calling a man a “pussy” is considered a grave insult for its association with both female genitalia and cats, and is a sure way to start a fight (Smith, 2009). Even just owning a cat can cause a man to be seen as less masculine, gay or, according to a recent study, less datable (Kogan & Volsche, 2020). 

This delineation separating men from cats is an example of toxic masculinity’s drive to separate all things male from all things female, lest a man’s masculinity be degraded by feminine associations (Smith, 2009). Dogs are “man’s best friend”- action-oriented, quick to please, and obedient- one does not usually have to work hard to gain a dog’s affection, or at least not as hard as one might have to work for a cat’s (Gleeson, 2016). This dynamic caters to toxic masculinity, which has taught men that they should not have to work hard for anyone’s affection; instead, women- and animals- should flock to them and vie for their attention (Gleeson, 2016). According to these same standards, both cats and women are small, weak, and difficult to handle (Smith, 2009). This makes them legitimate targets for abuse, which can be used to affirm masculinity when men feel powerless or when he needs to prove his masculinity to his peers (Smith, 2009). 

However, a new movement- prompted by urbanization, apartment living, and social media- is encouraging men to discard this toxic interpretation of masculinity and “embrace a gentler, more thoughtful kind of masculinity” through cat ownership (Gleeson, 2016). Male cat owners in Australia were found to be 24% more likely to vote for liberal candidates, 29% less likely to believe homosexuality is immoral, and more likely overall to read and play boardgames (Gleeson, 2016). This indicates that, in addition to embracing a traditionally feminine pet, they have globalized their disregard for masculine ideas, such as conservativism and homophobia. While we cannot say which one caused the other- if owning a cat prompted them to adopt a non-traditional masculine identity or if adopting a non-traditional masculine identity prompted them to own a cat- the correlation suggests that associating with cats may do more to combat toxic masculinity than with other animals (Gleeson, 2016). 

VII. Prison-Based Cat Programs 

While still extremely rare, the number of cat PAPs has increased from the solitary program noted in the 2006 PAP survey (Can you have a cat in prison?, 2020). Perhaps the most famous is Indiana State Prison’s cat adoption program where inmates in the maximum-security prison, including those on death row, can apply to adopt a cat from the local animal shelter- a privilege so popular amongst inmates that there is an extensive waitlist (Can you have a cat in prison?, 2020). The program is funded by the inmates themselves, who are expected to keep a job and pay for all associates expenses, with many choosing to make their own cat furniture and toys as well (Can you have a cat in prison?, 2020). With the exception of death row inmates, who are prohibited from interacting with others, cats are permitted to wander the cell block under their owner’s watchful eye to interact with inmates who do not have cats of their own (Can you have a cat in prison?, 2020). This program is one of the few PAPs that are therapeutically focused, in that the element of community service comes secondary to the long-term benefits inmates receive from permanently adopting a cat (Furst, 2006). Maleah Stringer, the executive director of the Animal Protection League, the shelter partner that provides cats to the prison, says: 

“There’s no more risk of the animals being hurt in prison than there is when we adopt to the normal public. The guys stay out of trouble because they know if they get in trouble, they’re going to lose the program. We’ve had more issues with mistreated animals coming back from adoptions than we ever do from the prison program.” (Can you have a cat in prison?, 2020) 

Seeing the success of this program- including a significant decrease in violent incidences and improved mental health among inmates and staff- another cat PAP was established at the Pendleton Correctional Facility, another maximum-security prison in Indiana (Can you have a cat in prison?, 2020). This program operates using a community service model where inmates prepare cats for public adoption (Furst, 2006). The cats remain in a community room rather than in individual cells, and inmates report to the room every morning for their work hours (Can you have a cat in prison?, 2020). Inmates in this PAP along with other cat PAPs focus on socializing cats, building their confidence, addressing any acute behavioral issues, and teaching them basic tricks (O’Conner, 2020). Socialization is particularly important for feral cats, semi-feral cats, and cats who have undergone traumatic events or circumstances, all of whom make up a large percentage of homeless cats (O’Conner, 2020).  

The process of socializing a cat is very rewarding but requires an excess of patience and the understanding that cats will acclimate on their own time rather than yours (O’Conner, 2020). This is one of the attributes that perhaps most differentiates cats from dogs, and may prove even more effective when it comes to socializing inmates towards prosocial behaviors and away from toxic masculinity. Patience, empathy, and compassion are exercised in any PAP, but seem to be especially pronounced in inmate interactions with cats (O’Conner, 2020). Dog PAPs are centered around obedience training and task-completion, which actually reinforces some aspects of toxic masculinity- such as a need for control and dominance over others (Fournier, 2016). Recognizing and adapting to the needs of others is a critical skill for prosocial interactions and reintegration, both of which are necessary when working with cats (Kupers, 2005).  

Cats being a symbol of femininity and their traditional role as “women’s pets” also presents a unique opportunity to overcome toxic masculinity (Gleeson, 2016). Cat PAPs allow inmates to safely embrace a kinder, more compassionate culture of masculinity through their acceptance rather than degradation of a feminine symbol. The value inmates assign to animals, for their nonjudgmental and affectionate companionship, makes cats an ideal form through which to introduce non-hegemonic masculinity into a hypermasculine environment where displays of femininity are traditionally met with violence (Fournier, 2016). In theory, through this introduction, global improvement would occur to the point where the inmate is not influenced by the ideals of toxic masculinity in either choosing his pet, nor in his actions, choices, and opinions (Fournier, 2016). This theory is supported by the aforementioned survey of Australian “cat men”, who showed a global denunciation of toxic masculinity in their rejection of homophobia, conservativism, and stereotypical male hobbies (Gleeson, 2016). This globalized version of healthy masculinity may also remove some of the barriers that prevent successful mental health care within prisons; although cats can do little to increase the funding available to prison mental health services, their promotion of healthy masculinity may leave inmates more open to therapeutic intervention and, if nothing else, can serve as the most confidential of confidants (Kupers, 2005). 

Finally, cats are well-suited to the structural limitations that prisons impose. Cat- more than dogs- can live in cells where space is limited and outdoor exercise may not be guaranteed (Can you have a cat in prison?, 2020). They also do not require frequent outdoor access, which decreases the need for staff involvement and makes them ideal for high-to-maximum security units where PAPs are otherwise difficult to accommodate (Kupers, 2005). While there has not been a survey comparing PAP expenses, it seems likely that cat PAPs incur fewer expenses given the amount the average cat owner spends yearly versus that which a dog, horse, or cattle owner spends (Pet Care Costs, 2017). In a time where prisons are looking for cost-effective methods to reduce recidivism, violent incidents, and mental illness amongst their populations, and animal shelters are looking for ways to save the 860,000 homeless cats euthanized each year, cat PAPs present a unique solution to both (Pets by the Numbers, 2020).  

Conclusion 

The culture of toxic masculinity degrades both women and cats while legitimizing their abuse as a way of affirming one’s masculinity (Smith, 2009). That same culture amplifies the physical and psychological dangers of confinement by creating intermale competition, encouraging violence and anger, and legitimizing the abuse of weaker inmates in the interest of confirming one’s power within prison walls (Kupers, 2005). In this way toxic masculinity serves to both manufacture and perpetuate violence, crime, and societal harm. Finding novel, inexpensive, and prosocial ways to combat the destructive aspects of hegemonic masculinity both within and outside of correctional facilities is critical, particularly in a time where rehabilitation is set aside in favor of incapacitation and funding is being diverted away from mental health resources to pay for an ever-growing prison population (Kupers, 2005). PAPs are on the forefront of innovative therapeutic methods that benefit both the participating inmates and the community at large (Fournier, 2016). Cat programs, although currently rare, should be considered especially effective for their potential to globally dismantle socialized toxic masculinity and prisonization. 

Works Cited 

Can you have a cat in prison? (2020, November 18). Retrieved May 01, 2021, from https://prisoninsight.com/can-you-have-a-cat-in-prison/ 

Carson, E. A., & Cowhig, M. P. (2020a). Mortality in Local Jails, 2000-2016 – Statistical Tables (pp. 1-29, Rep. No. NCJ 251921). Washington, DC: Bureau of Justice Statistics. doi:https://www.bjs.gov/content/pub/pdf/mlj0016st.pdf?utm_content=mci&utm_medium=email&utm_source=govdelivery 

Carson, E. A., & Cowhig, M. P. (2020b). Mortality in State and Federal Prisons, 2001-2016 – Statistical Tables (pp. 1-24, Rep. No. NCJ 251920). Washington, DC: Bureau of Justice Statistics. doi:https://www.bjs.gov/content/pub/pdf/msfp0116st.pdf 

Dowling, S. (2020, May 20). Why do we think cats are unfriendly? Retrieved May 03, 2021, from https://www.bbc.com/future/article/20191024-why-do-we-think-cats-are-unfriendly 

Driscoll, C. A., Macdonald, D. W., & O'Brien, S. J. (2009). From wild animals to domestic pets, an evolutionary view of domestication. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, 106(Supplement 1), 9971-9978. doi:10.1073/pnas.0901586106 

Fournier, A. K. (2016). Pen pals: An examination of human–animal interaction as an outlet for healthy masculinity in prison. Men and Their Dogs, 175-194. doi:10.1007/978-3-319-30097-9_9 

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Gleeson, H. (2016, December 11). Hail the rise of cat men, an antidote to toxic masculinity. Retrieved May 01, 2021, from https://www.abc.net.au/news/2016-12-11/the-rise-of-cat-men-antidote-to-toxic-masculinity/8082618?nw=0 

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[sunshinesukuna]

Bunnywife reader goes out with the kids alone and a stranger insult her or even hit her.. she doesn’t wanna tell it to rafe but the kids tell it to rafe as soon as they get home.. Rafe get really mad

the whole thing was so small it almost felt embarrassing to even bring up. a rude man at the farmer’s market. he muttered some comment about how she was “taking up the whole sidewalk with that huge stroller”.

she shyly laughed it off, tugged the twins closer and offered a sweet “excuse me.” but then his elbow bumped her. hard. could’ve looked accidental to anyone else, but she knew, it wasn’t.

she didn’t cry, but she kinda wanted to, didn’t make a scene. she just kept walking. jamie was the only one who saw her hand shaking.

rafe was already on edge lately, closing deals, short-tempered, protective as ever, she didn’t wanted to complain and stress him even more. so she smiled when he kissed her forehead at the door.

“daddy,”

jamie said with a pout, clutching his toy car,

“a man hit mommy…”

ten minutes later, rafe was back in the car. he made jamie describe the man. where they were, what stall they were near.

she begged him not to go. “oh, it wasn’t a big deal, rafe. i didn’t even fall-”

“you didn’t even fall?” he repeated, eyes narrowing.

“some guy put his hands on you.” she flinched and he ran a hand through his hair.

“he touched you. with our kids there. and you were just gonna let it slide? don’t ask me not to protect you, baby. that’s the only thing i know how to do right.”

the next day the guy’s car got mysteriously pulled, his store was flagged for code violations. and though rafe didn’t say anything, there was a quiet donation from “cameron foundation” to rebuild a family-run fruit stand that some idiot had been harassing.

[sunshinesukuna]

#SMAU ──★ they forget your anniversary dinner while spending time with someone else [ ALTERNATE ENDING ]

featuring. g. satoru, g. suguru, n. kento, k. choso, f. toji, r. sukuna h. hiromi, k. shiu, i. takuma, i. shoko

cw. hurt/comfort, fluff-ish (texts occur after part three)

kit's note. hii i know this took forever and i’m sooooo sorry! this isn’t super great, but here’s the happy ending!! i hope yall enjoy :) likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated <3

i’m begging yall to ignore the typos, i swear i have a degree in english >< i just make these at like 2am when im eepy </3

previous parts — smau m.list — send a request

© all works belong to SLUTURU 2025. do not copy or repost.

[sunshinesukuna]

Hello! Hope you're good.

May I ask for more sexist!Rafe, please? I don't really have any ideas for you (sorry) but I really like your stories

— sexist! rafe headcanons

“you don’t need to drive, baby. that’s what i’m for.” and he would rather kill himself than let you take a cab.

gets irrationally pissed at your friends if they let you get tipsy without him there. “like are y’all dumb?? what if someone tried to touch her?”

unironically says “men were hunters for a reason”, when you ask why he insists on carrying everything, your bags, your water bottle, your purse, your dog if needed. and he gets offended if you open the car door. “don’t emasculate me like that again.”

he buys you every pink product he sees “just because it looked like you.” the type of guy who thinks all makeup looks the same but will still scream “what do you mean you’re out of your rhode blush?”

thinks every single man that breathes near you is trying to steal you from him. the barista compliments your drink choice? he goes “do I need to break his jaw?”

says “she doesn’t even know how dumb she is, it’s adorable” to his friends with the most deranged affection

he acts like he wants a housewife but in reality he just wants his little babygirl sugarplum wife who wears hair bows and says “what’s a recession?”

[sunshinesukuna]

Rafe fixing a car with his shirt off😖 so hot

-🧁

what i love about sexist!rafe is that ofc he has money, obscene amounts of it. but he isn’t exactly sitting in an air-conditioned glass office in a zegna suit sipping an oat milk flat white. he’s in a custom-fitted white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow, buzzcut, boots on instead of loafers, smelling like cedarwood.

he’s the CEO but still walks around supervising construction sites like he’s the foreman. he’s making multi-million-dollar land deals on his phone while physically checking the foundation of a new build because ohhh he’s so “masculine”.

for me he he has that blue-collarish aesthetic with white-collar authority. he talks to his finance guy like “don’t gimme numbers, gimme bottom line” and still thinks things like “taking care of your wife and building your house with your own hands” is the height of masculinity.

he buys land, owns properties, hires men twice his age, but he also smokes cigars like he’s in a scorsese film and still physically throws a toolbox into the bed of his truck.

and bunnywife!reader? she’s there at the end of the day with cookies and glossed lips, sitting on the hood of the bronco in a white frilly dress like “how was work, baby?” while he wipes sweat off his neck with a rag and tells her he thought about knocking her up again during lunch.

[sunshinesukuna]

How about Rafe teaching his sons to always protect bunny wife reader and report back to him like his little soldiers :)

it all starts when jamie, maybe four or five. bunnywife is fussing over his collar before a little family brunch at the country club, and rafe is standing behind them, arms crossed, watch gleaming, looking very serious.

“alright, bud,” he says, crouching to jamie’s eye level. “new rule,” the little boy blinks.

“you see anyone makin’ your mama upset, you come tell me. you see someone lookin’ at her wrong? you come tell me. you hear someone sayin’ anything about her, i better hear it from you first. understand?”

jamie nods, “like a secret agent?”

rafe smirks, “more like a soldier, my soldier.”

so from then, it’s like a mission.

colten copies jamie, and also becomes a little soldier, even telling rafe the most harmless things, “mama said she was tired today.”, “a man looked at mama in the grocery store. he was ugly.”

rhett parrots whatever his brothers say but looks very serious doing it. she once found him standing outside the bathroom door while she was showering “just in case someone tried to peek.”

and rafe is so proud, he even brags to his friends about it, “my boys know what matters. they’d lay someone out if they hurt their mama. i got ‘em trained early.”

[sunshinesukuna]

Can we get dilf!rafe and milf!reader? Max lets it slip to rafe that his buddies ogle and find milf!reader so hot when they saw her pick up Max and Winnie from school a few times? You can choose how it goes afterwards!! I love your writing of their fam saurrrrr much

awe thank you bb 💕 I'm so glad you like it 🤭🤭🤭 sorry this one got a little long—but I hope you enjoy 😋💕 This story is meant to be read either alone or with the rest of the au.

+18 -> smut

𝓭𝓲𝓵𝓯!𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓮 𝓬𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓻𝓸𝓷 𝔁 𝓶𝓲𝓵𝓯!𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

c/w: teenage boys being gross, jealous rafe, swearing, ownership kink, possessive rafe, pet names, multiple orgasms, overstim., squirting, fingering, unprotected p in v, mirror sex, dirty talk, spanking, lots of cum, female oral (post-shared climax)

cameron kids= Max (18), Winnie (17), Rory + Poppy (4)

You lean into the counter, absentmindedly squeezing lemon after lemon into the glass pitcher. Cold juices run down your fingers, sticky as it slips into the creases of your palms and drips to your wrists. The whole kitchen smells like sugar and citrus, with that warm, buttery hint of cookies still cooling behind you.

The plate’s already half gone, devoured by teenage boys lounging in the common space: tall, tan, loud, sprawled across your furniture like they own the place.

“Sugar, please?” You ask, gesturing toward Kelce’s son, perched in front of the one cabinet you need.

“Yes, ma’am,” he hums, flashing you a grin as he hops down to grab it.

His hand brushes yours as he passes it off. You smile, polite and sweet as ever, returning to stir the mix.

“Fuck, she wants me,” he mutters to Max—just out of earshot.

Your son groans, tipping his head back against the cabinet. “Fuck off, Tripp.”

“Why else would she be in here squeezin’ her lemons?” Tripp groans, dragging the sentence out like it’s a double entendre.

“You’re still goin’, huh? Not scared?”

“M’not scared of shit—”

Before Max can answer, the door opens with a thud.

“Hi, Mom!” Winnie calls, sandals slapping the marble as she breezes in. Her boyfriend Jackson’s behind her, arms full, carrying the twins, still damp from the sprinkler, dressed like they’re headed out.

“Is it cool if we take the twins out for ice cream?” Winnie asks. Her tone’s breezy, but she looks sharply toward one of Max’s friends eyeing her up.

That same boy yelps when Max nails him in the arm. “M’gonna fuckin’ kill you,” he mutters, while the kid doubles down, clearly unbothered, shooting his shot at your daughter like it’s all just part of the game.

“Of course, sweetheart,” you say, crossing the counter for your purse.

“Mrs. Cameron, really—I’ve got it,” Jackson says, voice firm.

“That’s very sweet. But not necessary… Thanks for taking them off my hands.” You kneel in front of the twins gently brushing back your daughter’s curls; cupping your son’s cheek lovingly. “You two be good for your sister and Jackson, okay?”

You lean in to kiss their cheeks, and without realizing it, your sundress shifts. The neckline dips, your breasts press softly together, the hem lifts just enough to tease. You linger, whispering something about sprinkles and chocolate.

Behind you, the room goes silent.

One boy swallows hard. Another just stares—slack-jawed—like he’s forgotten how to breathe.

“Max… Dude. This is your life?”

“Didn’t I tell you to shut the fuck up?” Max mutters, jaw clenched.

“I’d move in tomorrow,” Tripp grins. “Be your stepdad today.”

“Bet she tastes like sugar—”

“I said shut up,” Max snaps, louder this time.

Just then, another boy walks in from the hallway, Trevor. He catches sight of you, still bent low in front of the twins, and freezes. Smiling like the goddamn Cheshire Cat, he lifts both hands like he’s gripping your hips and starts thrusting the air behind you in slow-motion silence.

The other boys lose it—coughing, choking on laughter, trying and failing to keep it together.

You straighten up, sundress swaying back into place as you smooth it down with both hands, blissfully unaware.

“All right, go have fun,” you sing out, waving them toward the door.

You turn back to the pitcher, lift it to the sink, and flip the tap without thinking.

Water churns—lemon juice and sugar swirling, rising to the rim—as your gaze drifts out the kitchen window. And then you see him. Rafe…

His white t-shirt’s soaked through, hose in hand as he rinses down the G-Wagon. Sunlight turns the spray to glitter. Water drips down his arms, soaking the cotton clinging to every curve and cut of his chest and abs.

He turns, flipping his hat backward with one hand, jaw flexing as he wipes his brow.

Your thighs press together. Grip tightening on the pitcher just as the lemonade spills over, cold and sticky down your wrist. You fumble the tap, blinking fast, but your eyes don’t leave him.

His shirt clings to his back, practically painted on, while his blue swim trunks ride low on his hips and high on his thighs.

One hand coils the hose, and the other grabs the wash bucket. His chest flexes with every move, muscles rolling under wet cotton like sin in motion.

“Have fun, boys,” you call out, pouring lemonade into a glass, still watching him.

The front door clicks shut as you step outside barefoot. The grass is crisp beneath your feet; sun shining hot on your shoulders.

Rafe looks up the second he hears you. His mouth curves into a slow, knowing smile. “Oh shit, pretty,” he drawls, eyes dragging down your body. “That for me?”

“Mhmm,” you hum, offering him the glass—but he doesn’t take it. He steps closer, warm, wet arm curling around your waist, pulling you flush to him like he can’t help it. His mouth finds yours instantly—hot and slow. Your fingers hook behind his neck, greedy for more.

You giggle into the kiss, breathless. “How much longer?”

Rafe pulls back just enough to smirk, water dripping down his temple “What? You want somethin’, baby?”

ᝰ.ᐟજ⁀➴ 15 minutes earlier…

The garage is quiet at first—just the clatter of golf clubs and the squeak of a sponge as Rafe scrubs the green off his chipping wedge. The radio hums softly from the corner, low and easy. But that peace doesn’t last.

Beer bottles clink inside the fridge; ice rattles in the machine. And just around the corner from where Rafe sits, the boys start talking their shit like they don’t have a care in the world.

“I’m done,” your son mutters—tone flat and fed up like he’s been saying all day.

“Not my fault your mom’s hot as fuck, Maxi.” One of the boys fires back, voice deep and smug. “M’just waitin’ for the day she gets stuck in the washer. I’ll pound her shit right there—”

“Fuck you,” Max hisses. There’s a sharp thud and a groan; Max hits his friend hard enough to give him a moment's peace from him, but it doesn’t stop the rest of them.

“Did you see her in that swimsuit the other day? Playing with the twins? That bikini? She’s still got an ass on her. Those tits too?” Trevor chimes in, practically drooling. “I wanna play with her twins. Slide my dick right between ‘em—”

“I’ll fuckin’ kill you,” Max growls.

“Hey, you fucked my sister, Max. Both of ‘em. Think I get to tug one to your mom… every night—”

“She’s so hot, bro. Like stupid hot,” another pipes up. “Your dad doesn’t deserve that. He can’t keep up. Can’t handle all that. His stamina’s gotta be shot.”

“She made me cookies like it was foreplay,” one of them says, breathy and laughing. “You think she ever looks at us and wonders…”

“She made cookies for my dad,” Max mutters.

“Yeah. That’s what I said—”

And then Rafe clears his throat, loud and measured. The sound slices through the room like a blade. So quiet you could hear the soft clink of a stolen beer cap hitting the concrete.

The boys scatter like mice out the side door and back into the house. Their smug laughter from moments before dies on their lips, replaced by frantic whispers of “do you think he heard” and the squeak of boat shoes skidding across the floor.

“Come here,” Rafe says, low and calm.

Max exhales hard, stuffing his hands in his front pockets. His shoulders drawn up to his ears as he drags himself across the garage floor.

“You wanna explain what that was?” Rafe asks without looking at him, voice steady as he cleans his club.

Max shrugs, sullen. “I mean, you heard it.”

“Yeah… I heard everything—”

“Every fuckin’ day,” Max mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “Anytime we’re at the house. I try shutting it down—it’s impossible.”

“They were talking about your mother,” Rafe says. “You just gonna let that fly?”

“They’re fuckin’ idiots,” Max scoffs. “Just givin’ me shit. They’re not gonna do anything. And what am I supposed to do, huh? Beat the shit out of every guy who opens his mouth about mom?”

“Nah,” Rafe says, smiling without humor. “They’ll get the hint some way or another.”

“Well that’s not horrifying,” Max mumbles, giving him a side-eye—because he knows damn well Rafe might handle this himself.

“She’s not just your mom, you know. She’s my wife,” Rafe says, nodding toward the garage door. “So yeah. I know exactly how hot she is.”

“Ew.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Rafe grins. “I just had to listen to that perverted pissin’ contest over your mother. And Trevor’s sister? Really?”

“…Sisters,” Max murmurs, not meeting Rafe’s eye.

He cringes, face twisting in the exact same way his son’s had moments earlier. “Aren’t you dating Top’s daughter?”

“They’re Trevor’s sisters,” Max repeats. “Doesn’t count.”

Rafe stares at him. “And what’s the math on that? It doesn’t count? You serious?”

Max shrugs, then deflects. “Hey—remember who the enemy is here, alright? He was talkin’ about Mom.”

That earns a dry laugh. Rafe crosses his arms, leaning back against the wall, still giving Max a look like this conversation’s not over.

“I like that excuse better,” he breathes. “Y’all headin’ out?”

“Mhmm,” Max hums, already inching toward the door like he’s trying to disappear. “Just gonna grab some snacks.”

“Yacht Club?”

“Mhmm,” he confirms, eyes on the exit.

“Be safe,” Rafe says, a little quieter now.

Max mumbles something back as he pushes into the house, and the door shuts behind him with a soft thud.

Rafe doesn’t move. He just stands there for a second, staring at nothing, letting the quiet settle. He knows what he feels. Always has. He just doesn’t always want to name it.

He used to love the attention. The looks. The envy. Part of him still does. When you were younger, his friends couldn’t keep their eyes off you. Couldn’t help the comments, the sideways glances. And he loved it—loved knowing that no matter how many mouths whispered your name, it was his bed you came home to.

You were his. All his. Always. But this? This was different. Hearing that kind of shit from teenagers—his son’s idiot friends, their mouths full of his food, beers stolen from his fridge, spending long, lazy days on his boat—no. It didn’t feel flattering. It felt like a fucking insult.

The way they talked about you was like you were some option. Like if given half a chance, they’d step right into his role. As if they could touch you. As if they could handle a woman like you. His wife. It pissed him off. And he knew it shouldn’t—not like this.

It wasn’t new. It wasn’t shocking. But today? It got under his skin in a different way. Raw and hot and fucking personal.

He let out a sharp breath, dragging a hand through his hair. This is what happens when your wife is you. People want you. They always have.

He laughs under his breath—half at himself, half at the absurdity of it all—and reaches for the sponge and bucket again. He wasn’t gonna fight them. He didn’t need to. There were better ways to remind them where they stood.

They wanted to act grown? Act like they could love you, care for you, fuck you like a man? Fine. Let them watch. Let them see what a real man does.

Rafe lets the door swing shut behind him and strolls across the drive, relaxed, deliberate. His gaze lifts straight to the window above the sink—and there you are, stepping into frame like you were waiting for your cue.

Rafe squeezes the hose handle, blasting water against the side of the G-Wagon. He shifts a little closer, just enough to let the spray bounce back misting his skin, ricocheting off the glossy paint.

The sun is hot, but the water is cool against his skin. The soaked fabric clings to the muscles of his chest and abs. He tugs his shorts a little higher on his thighs, watching the droplets slide down his body.

Then he smiles again—cocky and quiet—as he pulls the oldest trick in the book: flipping his cap from front to back like he’s not thinking about it at all.

Next, his shirt. He peels it off slowly and casually and tosses it aside, revealing his tan, chiseled frame. The gold chain with your initial catches the light.

“Five… four… three…” Bang. The door claps shut. He chuckles to himself, smug, reading you like a favorite book. He doesn’t even have to look to know it’s you. But he does.

Rafe glances over his shoulder as he hears your bare feet brushing through the grass; sundress swaying in the summer breeze. And then he sees you, glass of lemonade in hand, eyes already locked on him like he’s the only thing you’ve ever wanted.

“Look at you,” he mutters, watching you float closer. You took the bait. You always do. And he lives for it.

He spots movement through the glass, Max’s friends still inside, lingering, pretending not to watch.

Rafe praises you as he always does, a breathy “mhmm” buzzing past your lips is the only thing passing before he’s kissing you deep, hot, and possessive—right there in the driveway, letting them see. Letting them know who you belong to. How good you fit in his arms. How easily he could take you wherever and whenever he wanted.

He pulls back just enough to breathe you in; Rafe brushing his lips across yours like he can’t stop touching you. His big hand drifts lower, sliding over the slight curve of your back before grabbing a handful of ass—firm, slow, and so intentional it makes your breath catch.

Heat rushes to your cheeks. You laugh quietly, barely holding it in. His shirt’s been tossed somewhere behind him, skin warm and bare against yours, that heavy gold chain glinting faintly against his chest.

The teenage boys barrel out of the house, faster than usual. Lugging the cooler through the grass as they look anywhere but at you.

“Where are you headed?” Rafe calls out, still holding your waist.

“Told you—yacht club,” Max grits, like a chore.

“Yacht club, huh?” Rafe echoes. “Sounds real productive. Why don’t y’all finish cleanin’ the car before you go burnin’ my gas?”

“Dad, seriously?” Max groans, letting the cooler drop to the grass with a thud.

“You’re about to torch another five hundred dollars of fuel,” Rafe says, grinning as he jams the sponge into one of the boys’ chests hard. “Don’t even get me started on yesterday. Three-fifty in food, six bottles of cheap-ass liquor—none of which I’d let past my lips or hers… It’s the least you can do.”

“Pretty sure that was all Winnie—”

“Spare me the bullshit,” Rafe drawls, his Southern accent soaked in judgment, cutting like his smirk.

“Since when are you washin’ cars anyway?” Max mutters, dunking a sponge into the soapy bucket. You try not to giggle but you can’t help it. Rafe’s flair for the dramatics is so visible in Max it’s like looking in a mirror.

Rafe laughs as well, already turning back to you. He reaches up, wiping a drop of water from your cheek with his thumb, pressing a kiss to your lips—gentler this time, like he’s taking back the moment before their arrival.

“Now what did you need, baby?” Rafe murmurs as the boys start scrubbing the truck. You glance up at him, feeling nothing but butterflies. Rafe bites his lip slightly, head tilted slightly, making your brain short-circuit. “Name it, princess,” he mumbles, thumb tracing slow, possessive circles on the small of your back.

“You.”

That one word has him grinning, dark and knowing. “You want me, huh?” He mutters, voice dropping an octave. “Alright. Do somethin’ for me.”

“Anything…”

“Go on back inside. Head to the guest room. Get on the bed, just like this. Don’t take a single thing off,” he adds. “I wanna take it off you. You think you can do that for me?”

“Yeah… yeah, baby,” you murmur, lifting up just enough to press your mouth to his.

He leans in, lips lingering like he’s already counting down the seconds. “Beautiful,” he mutters, voice low, that crooked grin spreading as his hand lands on your ass with a lazy smack. “I’ll be right behind you— ”

“Love you, Max! Have fun, boys. Be safe,” you call out, voice bright and sweet as you disappear toward the house.

The driveway shifts the second the door closes, all the sunshine snuffed out the second you’re gone. The boys go silent, scrubbing like their lives depend on it.

Rafe’s shadow stretches long across the driveway. He folds his arms over his broad chest as he surveys the group, his gaze unreadable—far colder than anger.

“Yacht club, huh?” He says, nodding toward the cooler. “Gonna load up the boat? Burn my gas, drink my liquor, make some memories? I hope y’all have fun,” Rafe adds, and if they didn’t know any better, they might think he means it.

“Thanks, Mr. Camer—”

“Maybe you’ll even get lucky,” Rafe cuts in, clean and easy. “Pick up a few country club girls: pearls, spray tans; the kind who won’t notice your hands shakin’ while you fumble with their bras.”

A nervous chuckle slips out, quickly catching Rafe’s glare, his lips curling into a fake smile.

“You’ve seen my wife, yeah?” He asks casually. “Beautiful. Fuckin’ stunning actually. Prettiest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

He looks back at the house giving the boys a moment to breathe before shifting his sights to them again.

“I’ve been working since I was eighteen. Built this house. That boat. Everything you boys use like it’s yours.” He leans in slightly, voice tightening. “And even after all that—I don’t deserve her.”

That hits. You can see it land—all of them blinking like they’ve just been slapped across the face.

“So what makes you think you do?”

“We were just joking, Mr. Cameron. I swear—”

“That’s my wife,” Rafe snaps. The words hit like thunder in their chests. “Mine. Always has been. Always will be. And I don’t give a shit if you go home and jerk off thinkin’ about her—hell, that fantasy’s older than any of you.”

His smile returns, slow and razor-sharp. “But if you say another word—if you breathe another comment about something you’ll never fuckin’ touch…”

He steps forward, and they shrink; stepping toward Max is self-preservation. His eyes zero in on Trevor. The kid nods before Rafe says another word, like he’s praying it’s enough to stay alive. “I’ll make sure the only thing you’re sliding into is a fuckin’ ditch. We clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Trevor stammers.

Rafe claps a hand on his back hard. The slap echoed through the grounds, making the boy stumble forward with a wheezing gasp.

Then, just like that, Rafe turns and walks away. Calm and steady, like it didn’t happen. He passes Max on the way back to the house, resting a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Love you, kid.”

“L-Love you too,” Max mutters, the lot of them holding their breath until he’s gone for good.

ᝰ.ᐟજ⁀➴

You shift on the bed the second he walks in, soft and shy, biting your lip as your eyes meet his. His gaze darkens instantly, heat rolling off him like a wave.

“I know I changed…” You murmur, voice gentle as a pout tugs at your lips.

The robe’s already falling off your shoulders. Just hanging there. Lace underneath—barely visible, but that’s the point. One leg crossed, stockings tight on your thighs, garters showing just enough to make him stop breathing.

Rafe’s tongue drags slowly across his bottom lip as his eyes roam over you like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again.

He’s already hard, straining against the front of his swim trunks, jaw tight as his fists curl at his sides—like it’s taking everything in him not to rip that robe off you.

“Baby… Don’t apologize. Not when you look that fuckin’ good for me.”

Rafe steps closer, making your thighs part without thinking, giving him room, inviting him in. His hands slide up your legs—rough palms dragging higher—his thumbs hooking under the garter straps, snapping them against your skin.

“You bought this for me, didn’t you? Knew I’d lose my mind over this. Fuck, you know me too well…”

Your pussy clenches at the raw need in his tone. You toy with the satin belt at your waist, slowly teasingly letting the knot fall loose. The robe slips open completely as you lean back, arching your back, tits round in the pretty lingerie.

“Fuck... You don’t even realize what you do to me. The way you picked this out thinkin’ of me? Wantin’ me to see you like this?”

He kisses you, soft and slow, then starts to trail lower—his mouth brushing along your jaw, every touch unhurried, deliberate. His hand glides up your thigh and grips tight, spreading you open. His eyes are sharp, blue, and hungry—fixed on yours.

“Rafe…” You whine, already feeling your thoughts blur.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ ruin you for them,” he groans, hardly holding himself together. “Make sure they never look at you the same. Make sure they know it’s me in your head when you close your eyes. You know what they’ll never have?” He whispers, breath fanning across your lips.

“This. This soft little mouth. These legs wrapped around them. This sweet pussy drippin’ for them.” His voice drops even lower. “All mine.”

You blink up at him, a little crease forming between your brows like you’re trying to figure him out

He lets out this low breath, almost a laugh, but not really. “Fuck, you’re perfect… You don’t even see anyone else, do you?”

“Who, baby?” You whisper.

He scoffs, low and humorless as he tugs down his trunks, tossing them to the floor. “You should’ve heard what they were sayin’ about you.”

“Rafe…” You blink. “Is everything okay?”

Your words tip up into a gasp as he pushes you back suddenly, one knee sinking into the bed, his body climbing over yours. “Those boys,” he mumbles. “They want you.”

“Max’s friends?” You gasp as your face twists in disgust; eyes flicking toward the door.

Rafe grabs your cheeks, forcing your focus back to him. His fingers slip under the lace and he groans—low and guttural—when he feels how wet you are.

“Already soaked,” he mutters, almost to himself. “You’ve been sittin’ here all sweet and innocent, like nothin’s goin’ on—when your pussy’s this fuckin’ desperate for me. Say you're mine… Who do you belong to?”

You whimper, breath hitching as he slips your panties to the side and drags two fingers through your slick slowly, savoring every second.

“Say it,” he demands, his forehead pressing to yours; hand working you open.

“You,” you whisper. “I belong to you—”

“That’s right… Mine to spoil. Mine to love. Mine to fuck.”

You go to touch him, but he grabs your wrists before you get the chance. Forces them up over your head, holding you there. His body presses into yours and when his hand slides down your thigh, it pulls a shiver straight out of you. “Uh-uh, angel. Not yet.”

His fingers curl just right, pressing into that spot that makes your hips jolt off the sheets. He keeps it slow, steady—watching your face with quiet adoration. He’s memorized every flutter of your lashes, every soft gasp that slips from your swollen lips. He knows what it takes… what you crave. And he knows you’re close.

“You’re gonna come for me, pretty,” he murmurs. “Just like this—”

You nod rapidly, falling apart not a moment later. “Fuck, Rafe,” you cry out, trembling as your pussy clenches around his fingers.

But he doesn’t stop. He keeps working you through it, fucking you with his fingers until you’re gasping into his mouth, thighs twitching, hips jerking away from the overstimulation. You reach for his wrist, gripping tight, trying to slow him down—but he groans against your lips, loving how little it takes for him to unravel you.

He catches the lace of your panties and rips them clean off, the tear sharp and sudden. The sound snaps through the room, and your legs twitch from the jolt.

Rafe pulls you off the bed, guiding you right where he wants you, not wasting a moment. “Hands on the glass,” he says, voice rough as he unhooks your bra with one practiced flick. His other hand clamps around your waist, steadying you.

You press your palms to the glass, cool beneath you. Your reflection stares back: hair a mess, lips wet, chest rising fast—tits bare as you beg for more, fighting to keep your eyes open already as they flutter shut.

“Eyes on me,” Rafe whispers roughly, his chest pressed to your back now; hips flush against your ass.

He pushes into you slowly, giving you every delicious inch, your greedy pussy pulling him in. “Shit, baby… You’re tight.” Rafe grinds in deeper, hand splayed across your stomach as he holds you there, impaled on his thick cock. “This,” he pants, dragging back and slamming in again. “This is my pussy. My house. My fuckin’ wife.”

Rafe sets a brutal rhythm, hips snapping against your ass with each thrust. The sound of skin slapping skin fills the room, lewd and filthy. He spanks your ass, hard enough to make you jolt forward into the glass.

“Let ‘em hear it,” he growls. “Let those little bastards outside hear what I do to you.”

Your body trembles with every ruthless thrust; the mirror rattles under your grip, the sharp slaps of skin echoing round the room.

“Gonna cum for me, baby?” Rafe grits out, voice rough and hoarse.

“I’m gonna cum,” you gasp, voice breaking as the knot in your belly coils tight, ready to snap.

“Yeah?” He growls, dragging you closer, rough hands holding you right where he wants you. “Then fuckin’ give it to me.”

One arm binds around your waist while the other slips down, fingers working your clit in rough, relentless circles that make your legs shake. “Show me what I do to you.”

Your mouth drops open in a silent scream as your body jerks—cunt clamping down around him. You peel your eyes open, desperate to see him. And there he is in the mirror behind you: jaw tight, lip caught between his teeth as his hips slam into you again and again.

“Good girl,” he snarls, not letting up for a second. “You ain’t done yet.”

Rafe yanks you upright, chest to back, one big hand wrapping gently around your throat, thumb stroking just under your jaw as he fucks you deep and hard—so deep it’s almost too much.

You break with a choked sob, another orgasm tearing through you so hard your vision blurs. You go limp in his arms, legs shaking, body spent. He doesn’t let go. Just grunts out a rough “Fuck, baby,” right against your neck as his hips pump forward. One last thrust and he’s coming, cock throbbing inside you, breath hot on your skin.

You feel every pulse of it, thick and messy, spilling deep as he holds you there, buried and shaking, not ready to move.

Rafe nuzzles into your cheek, soft kisses dusting your jaw as your breath comes out in shattered little gasps. He listens to every sound. “You still with me, baby?” He murmurs, peeking over your shoulder with a teasing smirk.

“Barely,” you whisper, still catching your breath as you slump into his chest.

He lets out a soft laugh, mouth skimming the edge of your lips. “That smile,” he mutters, voice thick. “Prettiest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever seen.”

You let your eyes fall shut, head resting against him.

He slips out of you slow, gentle to the last second, then gathers you up without a word. Carries you back to the bed like you weigh nothing, sets you down easy, and smooths your hair from your face with the back of his hand. Just stands there for a beat, staring like he can’t believe you’re real.

“Rafe…” you breathe, voice soft and pathetic, so sweet it nearly breaks him. He smiles, crawling between your thighs. “You gonna tell me you can’t take another?” He whispers, hands sliding under your knees, pushing your thighs open wide. “Yes, you can… You always do.”

Rafe kisses the inside of one thigh, then the other, mouth warm against your sex. His stubble drags across your skin, rough enough to make your lip tremble.

Your hands shoot to his hair the second he dives between your thighs. His tongue works you over, lips locking around your clit as he sucks hard. You cry out, fingers gripping his hair, and he groans into you, the sound vibrating so deep it makes your legs shake.

Rafe’s fingers slide inside without warning, drilling his cum back into you until your back bows and your eyes blur with tears.

You sob, thighs quivering as your heels dig into the mattress, your body barely able to take it anymore; your brain not able to think of a single coherent thought.

“Give it to me. Let ‘em know who owns this fuckin’ bed, aight. You and me… You. And. Me.” A scream rips from your throat, so cock-drunk you cum without warning, soaking his hand, his face, the sheets beneath you, everything drenched in the proof of your pleasure.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” Rafe sighs in relief, licking and kissing through the mess, savoring every drop. He slaps your pussy once, firm and wet, just to hear the sound of it. “Atta baby. That’s what I fuckin’ needed… So damn good to me.”

He drags his mouth up your body. Every touch lingers, every breath shared. He settles over you, wrapping you up in him.

You reach for his face, thumb stroking along his slick jaw. He leans into your touch, his mouth just a breath from yours.

“I love you,” you murmur, voice barely there.

Rafe’s leans in, resting his forehead against yours. A quiet smile breaks across his face.

“I love you more, sweetheart,” he says, low and steady. “Always have. Always will.”

ᝰ.ᐟજ⁀➴ the next morning

“I warned you,” Max mutters.

Tripp doesn’t reply—just stares into the void like something sacred was taken from him last night. Trevor’s slumped next to him, hoodie up, eyes hollow, chewing his thumbnail.

“Warned us?” Tripp breathes, voice shot. “About the wet bed? The screaming? The headboard hitting the wall like a metronome set to ‘destroy pussy’ all night long?”

Knock. Knock. Knock. Bauer adds, thumping his fist against the kitchen table. “All damn night.”

Max shrugs, calm as ever. “I told you not to talk about my mom.”

“…She was crying about it,” Bauer mutters. “Crying about dick—”

“Enough,” Max snaps.

Tripp rubs both hands over his face. “I’ve got PTSD. Did you sleep?”

“You think I slept?” Trevor huffs.

“You could’ve knocked,” Max says casually, sipping his orange juice.

All heads turn to him fast. “Knocked?” They spat in unison.

Max shrugs again, scrolling aimlessly on his phone. “Could’ve asked to crash in my room. I slept great.”

You walk in like it’s any other morning—light on your feet, humming under your breath, dressed in a tiny pajama set that has no business existing in a house full of teenage boys. Your tank’s stretched snug across your chest, love bites just barely visible where your robe slips open at the collar.

You pull the cinnamon rolls out, set them on the counter, steam rising fast. Without thinking, you grab the icing, swipe some with your finger, and lick it clean. You smile, small and sleepy, still feeling kind of floaty from the night before.

And for the first time in god knows how long they sat there in silence.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” Tripp whispers as heavy footsteps echo down the hall.

And then—Rafe.

No shirt, just his signature gold chain catching the light as it rested against his chest. His skin was tanned, muscles cut sharp, and those sweats hung low on his hips like he’d just rolled out of bed—or hadn’t bothered to pull them up all the way.

“Mornin’, baby,” He murmurs, already reaching for your waist.

“Good morning,” you hum, letting him pull you into him—cinnamon roll tray still in your hands—as he kisses your skin; fingers curling around the handle of the fresh cup of coffee you poured him, steam rolling over the rim of the handmade Daddy mug from a Father’s Day past.

“For me?” He asks softly, like the entire house isn’t holding its breath.

You giggle, warm and syrupy. “Made your favorite.”

“Already had my favorite last night.” It’s a whisper meant just for you, but every boy hears it.

Rafe grabs a roll, swipes his thumb through the icing, and licks it clean like he’s still tasting you. He sips his coffee slowly, his focus unwavering.

“Breakfast on the porch, baby?”

“Yeah,” you smile like he asked you on a date.

Then finally, with one last glance at his house, his wife, and the group of broken boys who will never forget last night, he mumbles, smug as ever…

“Ya’ll have a great day. ”

[sunshinesukuna]

Sincere Apologies

A/N: apologies for being MIA for a week, finals and papers were just stabbing me violently as i sobbed in a corner. hopefully i pass everything, as an apology, have some cute/darkish nanami content

warnings: trophy wife, kinda sugar daddy behavior, not realistic relationship, nanami dilf, very rich nanami, obsessed nanami, reader that knows exactly how to play the game etc. slight smut? idk, i mean theres dirty talking.

The heavy oak doors to Nanami Kento’s office slam open.

His fingers freeze over his keyboard. His shoulders go stiff. His breath stills in his chest.

Because he already knows.

Before he even looks up, before he even sees you—he knows.

His wife.

His stunning, painstakingly perfect, effortlessly devastating wife.

And she was pouting.

He had a weakness for that pout. It was a dangerous thing—plump lips slightly pursed, red catching the light just enough to remind him that they belonged to him. It was a silent declaration of displeasure, one that he already knew was going to cost him. Dearly.

And when he does lift his gaze, slow, measured, bracing for impact—fuck.

You’re breathtaking.

Black Louboutins clicking against the marble, each step a deliberate statement. A dress that fits so exquisitely it looks like it was painted onto you—sleek, elegant, and sinful all at once, the kind of thing that demands to be touched. Silver jewelry gleaming against your skin, subtle but devastating, the perfect complement to perfection itself. Hair styled, nails manicured, every detail painstakingly crafted. You’re a masterpiece, a walking vision of power and indulgence, and all of it—every inch of it—is his.

And yet—you’re pouting.

A slight downturn of those plush lips, a delicate furrow of your brow, the barest tilt of your chin—but it guts him. Slices through him like a blade.

He knows exactly why you’re here.

Knows because he pays people to know.

His phone had buzzed earlier, a series of updates from the security detail assigned to you—updates he gets religiously.

12:30 PM: Madam has left the penthouse. 12:45 PM: Madam has arrived at Restaurant L'Ambroisie. 1:05 PM: Madam is still waiting. 1:20 PM: Madam has left the restaurant.

And now?

Now you’re here, standing in front of him, looking like that, dressed like that—for him. And he had made you wait.

Nanami’s jaw tightens. His fists clench against the desk.

“Darling—”

“You forgot.”

Your voice is soft. Too soft. Dangerous in a way that makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand.

You step closer, impossibly close, hands resting lightly on his desk. The scent of your perfume—expensive, delicate, the one he handpicked for you—wraps around him like a noose. His control is a fragile, fraying thread, snapping one fiber at a time.

His eyes roam—devour. The curve of your waist, the way the fabric hugs your body, the smooth expanse of your throat where your necklace rests.

The pout on your lips.

God, that mouth.

He wants to bite. Wants to mark. Wants to ruin.

“I—” He stops. Swallows. He doesn’t forget things. His mind doesn’t work like that. But work had been relentless, drowning him, dragging him down into a cycle of meetings and reports and phone calls that never ended.

And you—you had been waiting for him.

Dressed like this, expecting him, and he had left you alone.

“Sweetheart.” His voice is rough now, thick with something dark, something possessive. He reaches for you, fingers brushing your wrist—where the bracelet he gifted you glints under the soft glow of his office lights.

Your arms remain crossed.

Your lips press together.

“You know I didn’t mean to,” he says, voice lower now, almost pleading. A thing that no one—not his employees, not his shareholders, not his competitors—would ever think possible.

But with you?

With you, he is nothing if not desperate.

You tilt your head, lashes fluttering, and he knows you’re toying with him. Knows because you are brilliant, because you are calculated, because you know exactly how to play the game.

And Nanami—Nanami will always lose to you.

“Oh, I know,” you hum, stepping forward, placing your hands on his shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his crisp white dress shirt. You lean in, lips brushing just barely over his ear, voice syrup-thick.

“You’re so busy, Kento.” Your tone is laced with something dark, something teasing, something lethal. “Too busy to eat. Too busy to see me. Too busy to keep your promises.”

His grip on your waist tightens—too tight.

You let out a soft little sound—half a sigh, half a taunt.

Nanami’s jaw clenches. He wants to snap. Wants to drag you into his lap. Wants to press you into his desk and make up for every second you were sitting at that restaurant alone.

He breathes in slow. Forces restraint into his bones. Forces control into his voice.

“You know that’s not true.”

Your fingers trail down his tie- the very same tie you picked out for him this morning, playing with the silk, teasing him.

“Then make it up to me, Kento.”

His fingers tighten on you.

His vision blurs with want.

*-*

7:45 PM

Nanami Kento is waiting by the car, hands in the pockets of his tailored suit, watching the screen of his personal phone with the same level of intensity he reserves for high-stakes deals.

It’s a habit. A ritual. A necessity.

The only notifications that ever dare to light up this device are hers—or the ones detailing her movements.

7:30 PM: Madam is in the walk-in closet. 7:35 PM: Madam has selected a dress. 7:40 PM: Madam is trying on jewelry.

Nanami Kento had cleared his entire schedule.

Meetings? Cancelled. Calls? Postponed. Obligations? Nonexistent.

For the first time in months, the empire he meticulously built—the empire that consumes every waking hour—takes a backseat. Because his wife—his beautiful, brilliant, ruthlessly enchanting wife—deserves his undivided attention.

And he is a man who learns from his mistakes.

So when you want the best sushi in the country—you get the best sushi in the country.

Never mind the twelve-month waiting list. Never mind that reservations are impossible, that even the country’s elite have to pull strings for a chance at a table.

None of that matters.

Because Nanami fucking Kento wants a table, and when he wants something, the world bends to accommodate him.

So now he’s waiting outside the penthouse, leaning against the sleek, obsidian-black Maybach, his personal driver stationed at the front. His fingers drum against the cool metal of his phone, the only device he keeps on him after hours.

It only has two active notifications:

— You. — And the security detail assigned to you.

(The rest of the world can fuck off right now.)

The screen dings.

🔔 1 New Message [You]: Which necklace? The diamond choker or the one you got me in Milan? I’m wearing the dark blue dress.

Nanami’s breath stalls.

Because attached to the message is a photo.

You—standing before the full-length mirror in your dressing room.

The dress—deep, satin-dark blue, the kind that whispers power, elegance. Form-fitting, thigh-high slit, dangerously backless. But that’s not what sends blood surging through his veins like liquid fire.

No.

It’s the way the plunging neckline showcases your décolletage in unforgivable clarity. The soft, luminous glow of your skin. The subtle curve of your collarbones. The perfect swell of your breasts, barely contained, teasing at the edge of sinful.

His jaw flexes.

Nanami doesn’t move for a full minute.

Two.

His grip on the phone tightens.

His pulse hammers.

Because you know exactly what you’re doing. You’ve always known. You’re a woman who wields your beauty like a blade, precise and devastating, and he is your willing casualty.

He forces himself to exhale, thumb hovering over the screen.

But he’s not stupid.

You want him to suffer.

And he deserves to.

So he forces himself to wait—forces himself to stare, to commit every goddamn detail to memory, to let the slow burn of punishment sear into him.

Only after three minutes of grit-tooth restraint does he finally reply:

[Nanami]: The choker.

And then, because he hates himself:

[Nanami]: Send another photo.

You leave him on read.

God.

By the time you descend the marble staircase, heels tapping softly against polished stone, Nanami is already at the car door, opening it for you.

And fuck.

You are stunning.

No—beyond stunning. Otherworldly. The kind of beauty that destroys men. The choker sits perfectly against your throat, diamonds catching the soft glow of the city lights.

Nanami is silent.

Because words don’t belong in a moment like this.

You step closer, tilting your head up, lashes fluttering. “You’re staring, Kento.”

“I always stare.” His voice is low. Dangerous. “You know that.”

A small, wicked smile curves your lips. You step past him, sliding into the car with all the grace of a woman who knows she owns the room.

Nanami exhales sharply before following.

*-*

The restaurant is decadence incarnate.

An exclusive, private location overlooking the city skyline, filled with only the wealthiest, most powerful names in the country. The kind of place where privacy is sacred, where menus don’t have prices, and where each dish is a masterpiece.

But Nanami doesn’t give a fuck about any of it.

Because you’re across from him.

Because you’re sitting there, fingers delicately tracing the rim of your crystal wine glass, lips just barely brushing the edge before you take a sip. Because you tilt your head, watching him with knowing amusement, eyes full of mischief.

Because you haven’t stopped teasing him.

“You’ve been very quiet tonight,” you muse, voice honeyed. “Something on your mind?”

Nanami’s grip on his glass tightens.

“You know exactly what’s on my mind.”

You let out a soft, syrup-sweet laugh, taking another slow sip of wine. “Oh? Care to elaborate?”

His jaw ticks.

Your foot brushes against his ankle under the table—light, teasing.

Nanami barely suppresses a groan. His entire body is tight, heat simmering beneath his skin, because you haven’t stopped playing with him since the moment you stepped into the car.

You lean forward slightly, elbows resting on the table, giving him a devastating view of your cleavage.

Nanami forces himself to meet your gaze.

A mistake.

Because you’re smirking.

“Distracted?” you ask, voice smooth as silk.

His fingers drum against the table. Slow. Measured. Controlled.

Barely.

“You’re enjoying this,” he states.

Your smile is all innocence.

“Enjoying what?”

Nanami exhales through his nose, clenches his jaw.

Oh, you are so very cruel.

But he deserves this.

He deserves every second of torture, every ounce of punishment, for making you wait at lunch, for making you doubt—even for a second—that you were the center of his world.

And so he lets it happen.

Lets you tease.

Lets you toy with him.

Lets you sit there, whispering filthy little nothings while you sip your obscenely expensive wine, eyes dancing with mock sympathy every time he struggles to maintain composure.

Because tonight—

Tonight is about you.

And when the night is over—when he finally has you alone, pinned beneath him, your lips bruised from his kisses, your body trembling under the weight of his obsession—

You won’t be smirking anymore.

*-*

The torture continues.

Your eyes, bright with mischief, your lips, sweet with wine, your voice, a weapon in silk and lace—you flirt with shameless abandon, reveling in the way your husband unravels before you.

And Nanami lets you.

Lets you drag him to the edge with every low, sultry laugh, every innocent little touch, every deliberate brush of your knee against his under the table.

He sits there, tense, his restraint hanging by a thread, watching the way your tongue darts out to catch a drop of wine from your lip.

“You’re staring, Kento.”

“You give me no choice.” His voice is low, wrecked, his grip tightening around his glass as if it’s the only thing keeping him tethered.

Your smirk is wicked.

“I give you plenty of choices.” You tilt your head. “You’re just a little obsessed with me.”

Nanami exhales sharply, a dark, humorless laugh escaping his throat.

Obsessed?

My love, obsession doesn’t even begin to cover it.

But he doesn’t say that.

No, he lets you play your game, lets you lean in too close, lets your fingers trail over the rim of your glass too slowly, lets your words sink into his already fevered skin.

“Tell me,” you hum, tracing the stem of your wine glass, “are you enjoying dinner?”

Nanami drags a hand over his face. “Dinner?”

You blink, feigning innocence.

“Yes. The food. You know, the thing you forgot to show up for this afternoon?”

Ah.

So that’s what this is.

Nanami licks his lips, tapping his fingers against the table in slow, deliberate movements, eyes locked onto you with unwavering intensity.

“You’re cruel,” he murmurs, voice deep, edged with something dangerous.

Your eyes dance. “Am I?”

His lips quirk—not quite a smile, not quite a warning.

“You know you are.”

You sigh, all soft and mockingly indulgent, tilting your head as you drag your nails lightly against the table’s surface. “I could go easy on you,” you muse.

Nanami exhales, slow. Measured.

“But you won’t.”

You grin, lifting your glass. “Of course not.”

And Nanami takes it.

Takes the punishment, the taunting, the pure, unfiltered temptation of your presence like a man devoted to suffering.

And when dessert arrives—when the decadent dark chocolate soufflé is set before him, when he takes a bite and it melts like silk on his tongue—he thinks, for a fleeting second, that this might be the best thing he’s ever eaten.

Until he remembers that he’s tasted you.

And then—then nothing compares.

*-*

By the time you return home, you’re still smirking.

But it doesn’t last.

Because the second the door clicks shut, Nanami moves.

You let out a delighted little squeak as he cages you against the wall, hands bracketing your head, his broad, towering form pressing into you, his scent—woodsmoke, spice, and ruinous devotion—curling around you like a promise.

The air thickens.

The teasing, the power play, the entire night of slow, torturous foreplay—it all boils over in an instant.

His fingers graze your jaw, tipping your chin up, and his hunger is absolute.

“I should make you beg,” he murmurs, voice rough, laced with dangerous affection. “I should drag this out, make you feel every second of what you put me through tonight.”

Your pulse skitters.

But then he exhales, a harsh, heavy thing, his forehead dropping to yours as his hands skim over your waist, down, gripping the curve of your hips like he needs something to anchor him.

“But I can’t.” His voice is raw, desperate. “Because I—”

He stops.

Swallows.

Closes his eyes.

When he speaks again, it’s almost reverent.

“I just want you.”

A sharp inhale.

Then—his mouth crashes into yours.

*-*

Nanami takes his time.

Because he can. Because you’re his. Because he will never rush through the ritual of undressing the most beautiful woman in the world.

He peels away your dress, inch by devastating inch, fingers trailing over every new expanse of bare skin as if mapping out something holy.

When he picks you up—when your legs wrap around his waist, when your arms lock around his neck, when he carries you to the bedroom like you weigh nothing at all—you giggle, head thrown back in pure, gleeful delight.

And Nanami smiles.

Because that sound—that sound is everything.

He makes love to you with devotion, with worship, with the kind of reverence only a man who breathes for one person can possess.

And his favorite moments?

When he licks his fingers clean, and the wet sheen catches on his wedding band.

When he laces his fingers with yours, and the glint of your ring reminds him that you are his.

When he kisses you stupid, over and over, until you’re laughing, until you’re sighing his name, until you’re clinging to him as if he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to reality.

Because, to him—you are.

*-*

The next morning, you wake sore, satisfied, and thoroughly adored.

Nanami watches from the bed as you slip out of his grasp, stretching like a lazy cat, striding toward his walk-in closet.

It’s routine, the way you pick out his tie each morning.

And when you return, holding a rich navy silk tie between two fingers, he smiles.

You press it into his chest, tilting your head.

“This one.”

He hums, looping it around his collar, fingers moving with effortless precision.

Then—before he leaves, before he lets work consume him again—

“Lunch date?”

Your eyes light up. “Of course.”

And Nanami swears he’ll move heaven and earth to make sure he never misses another one.

*-*

And all morning?

He watches you.

Because his security team keeps him updated on your every move.

And every time his phone dings—every time he gets a notification that you’re shopping, reading, drinking coffee, existing somewhere in the world without him—he exhales, taps the screen, and reads every word like scripture.

Because he may be at work.

But his mind?

His mind is always with you.

A/N: i wanted to make this slightly poetic i hope y'all see it. anyways after the angst, a bit of happy fluff is always nice.

Masterlist.

:)

[sunshinesukuna]

Whats on my mind… oh nothing 😞 just uhhh reverse cowgirl mirror sex where Nanami forces you to watch yourself 😔

"do you trust me?"

you nod slowly in the bathroom, pressed against the counter with your husband at your back. it's date night, your favorite and a pain in the ass for kento. you two have a standing agreement - twice a month. he plans everything, never asking for further input, because loving you was not your responsibility, it's his.

the night went off without a hitch -- expensive dinner in the city, shimmering diamond boxes, and your sweet smile wrapped up in a modest dress.

six hours outside of the comfort of his home has him treasuring the twenty minutes back. now, he's watching you pick your jewelry off in the bathroom mirror, smiling shyly at him every few seconds when you feel his eyes linger.

you're playing your stupid sad music, and he's dealing with it for so long, because you just look so beautiful. so pristine and stoic when you're coming undone. almost... edible.

"look at you," he mutters, thick fingers finding the hidden zipper on your dress. in the large front-facing mirror, you give him a passing side-eye, swallowing back a giggle. "beautiful."

"stop," you tease, placing your bracelet upon your pile of gold to filter through later. "I'm not even doing anything."

"you don't have to constantly perform to be beautiful to me," he reassures, kissing over your bare shoulder before pulling the zipper to your waistline. the fabric bunches around your figure, loose and welcoming. kento's lips meet the middle of your back, just under your neck. it tickles, you draw a half-smile.

and you know it's coming, but you still gasp. he presses a hand to the small of your back, forcing you into a perfect ninety-degree over the cool porcelain.

your dress comes undone around you, falling from your body and hanging on like a vice. nanami tugs it from your skin and tosses it away. all you're left in, blinking up to see him through the mirror, is your underwear. no bra, no slip, no cover—just you and your flesh-colored decency.

"you always know the right things to say." you reply, voice muffled as you rest your chin on crossed arms. behind you, he's pulling open his shirt, smiling so fast that you could blink and miss it.

making love is muscle memory, now. kento's always and easily hard for you -- you're always welcoming with slickness and beauty. if you were counting, surely it'd be the fourteen-hundredth time he's slid your panties to the side and dragged his beautiful flushing tip between your cunt, sending a steady stream of air between his teeth.

he closes both big hands over your waist, guiding you back to slide against his cock. you're coating him thoroughly in all of your arousal, whining stupidly in your skin, begging for more.

"please, baby." you bite, furrowing your head deeper into your arms as his cock just eases right in that perfect little dip of your entrance before popping free.

breathless already, kento nods. "look at me, doll. can i see your face?"

"put... put it in." you ignored him, so kento ignores you. instead, he wraps his hand around the front of your neck, pulling you flush to his clothed chest. you're bare, blushing, and completely at his visual mercy. the soft hum of background music covers your little whines enough that you weren't as embarrassed.

"look at me." he tries again, peeking his head in the crook of your shoulder. he leans down, kissing your dewy jawline and licking over your neck. he's humping over you from behind, tight hips focused and precise as he hits the promise of penetration every time. "nanami, open those eyes."

"so embarrassing," you shake your head, brave enough right now to defy him without second thought. you could open your eyes to study his flushed, serious face bright against your skin, but that means you'd also have to see your flushed, horny skin and smudged makeup.

"what is embarrassing? i don't understand. it took you nearly two hours to do your makeup in this same mirror tonight."

"that's different-

"no, it's not." he cuts you off, tone dipping into that familiar authoritative way that makes your knees buckle.

your nanami is strong enough to lift anything. with or without his curse, so it's nothing for him to lean down, sliding his hands behind your knees. you're not sure what you're expecting, but it's not for him to hoist you up.

jarred, your hands fly up for some kind of stability. you end up with one curled around the back of his neck, the other digging into the muscle of his arm that's holding you up.

"what are yo-

"hm," he answers for you, taking a step closer to the edge. he guides your dangling heels down into the counter, kissing all over the back of your neck. he drags one hand free from holding you up, taking it down to his cock to position it just right for gravity to sink you down half an inch. it's enough to pull a reaction out of you, just to knock you breathless.

"ohmygod, can't-

"you will." he's demanding you with a dark edge to his careful tone, pushing his hips far enough for the angle to give his cock the perfect shot at that spongy, sweet spot inside of you.

you're tossing your head to the side, warding off his dark stare over your shoulder. then, he's taking a big step back, leaving your toes grasping for friction and your body loose enough to slide all the way down his thick length.

the intrusion sucks a deep cry from your lungs, eyelashes fluttering as your eyes squeeze shut. "f-fu, kentooo!"

in the mirror, nanami's eyes are hooked onto the slick intrusion, obsessed with the way his cock disappears inside of you. your thighs are trembling in your reflection, warm pussy blooming deep red from the stretch. he has to swallow down anxious gobs of want just so he doesn't loose control and fuck you in the way he knows he shouldn't

But it's hard—impossible, really. you're whining so pretty, clawing at him so needily, saying his name like it's your gospel. he's obsessed with it—with you and how you take him like it's the first time, every single time.

he thinks all of these sinful thoughts as you gather your bearings, eventually blinking open your eyes for an intense blush to coat your naked body.

the reflection you find yourself staring into is lewd but personal and beautiful in a way only you and kento could achieve. he's so tall behind you, big and caring as his hips rock upward, fucking you so gently and loving. he's kissing all over you, but only where he can still blink up and watch your needy, perfect cunt swallow him up like a pill.

smudged makeup runs down your face as tears spring to the surface. you're so off balance, that you let yourself fall back on him, and he doesn't even falter. kento holds you tighter, completely pressing your thighs into your chest and running his tongue across your shoulder.

"watch it, dear. look how you're taking me," he bites out, tongue running over his top lip. thick lines of arousal drip and squelch against his cock and it's so filthy to watch, but you do. you're a good listener, and nanami loves how embarrassed you get when he steers too lewd. "it's my favorite view. just wanted you to see this time."

"st-stop, it's too muchhhh -- fuck!"

"it's okay, you're okay, i know."

"mmh, i'm gonna..!"

"yeah? keep those eyes open." kento's whispering in your ear and his voice is so sinful and graceful, laced with so much beauty and love. "ah - open'em."

for the first time in forever, ken cums before you. he's biting into your shoulder, keeping his eyes open and staring into your stretched cunt. like a gentleman, he fucks you through it, staccato grunts growing more desperate with each dragging thrust.

this time, you're caught staring as the seed coating his length forms a sticky, white rim against the base. it's so unapologetically sinful that it drives you crazy and fuels your heart and mind in so many beautiful love-licked ways.

his familiar face is stoic, yet ever-changing as he pants and kisses your ear. thoughtful to the core, kento doesn't stop until you're crying his name and gushing warmth all over his stained cock, begging him for more he's already given, but would give you ten times over.

you two have found it—that perfect semblance of give and take that makes every emotion and touch light fires you didn't even know existed. kento is so gentle when he puts you back down on your feet, chasing kisses when you turn around that you give, and he takes.

it's a lifetime thing. an unsaid thing.

a beautiful thing.

[sunshinesukuna]

Is Two Really Better Than One?

Summary: in which Nanami's wife gets hit with a curse and he comes home to two wives, not one... Warnings: smut, married couple/established relationship, f!reader, threesome, dom!nanami, mention of being used as a sex toy, cunnilingus, penetrative sex, spanking, paizuri, spitting, doggy, dual ride/double cowgirl position, cum eating, fingering, dirty talk, degradation, praise kink, slight size kink, slight yuri action, voyeurism/exhibitionism?, totally inaccurate use of the curse science or whatever, not proofread - like literally not at all sowwy Word Count: 4.5k

Nanami is flabbergasted. 

When he came back home after a long hard day’s work, he was impatiently waiting for his wife’s loving embrace and reviving kiss. There’s a routine you two follow and he upholds it like a knight pledging allegiance to the crown – arrive home at 6pm, you greet him, he takes a shower and changes into comfortable clothes whilst you prepare dinner, and then you dine together. He expected you to be at the front door with an excited grin and open arms, just as you did yesterday and the day before that.

What he wasn’t expecting, however, was two wives waiting for him. 

“Ken! Make her go away,” you scream. 

The other you snarls, “No, you go away.”

Apparently, you’ve been hit by a spirit splitting curse – it fragmented your soul into perfect halves. There is no ‘original wife,’ just two different parts of the same woman he loves. At least, that was how Shoko explained it on the phone. How long the effects will last is indeterminable, though Nanami’s simply glad it’s a harmless consequence and not something more disastrous.

“I want her ugly ass gone, Kento,” you growl.

And other you shrieks. “Excuse me? I am literally you. If I’m ugly, so are you, idiot.”

“Yeah? Well, somehow, I’m just prettier, so suck it.”

Sitting in the living room, he loosens his tie and stares up at the ceiling. He supposes it really was just too much to ask to have peace and quiet in his life, to be able to catch up on some rest and sleep, and have dinner with his wife, his only wife. Right now, the two of you are smacking throw pillows at each other’s faces, exchanging limp blows over his body, and insulting one another.

This animosity is unfounded. She is you and you are her. You are both his wife, with the exact same body, personality, past, hopes and dreams. And yet you’re at each other’s throats like there is a long feud between your warring families. Nanami sighs again. “Please, stop fighting. Let’s just get on with our evening and wait for the effects to subside.”

Both of you press close to him, taking a side each. You cling to his arm, cradling his bicep between your breasts, seeping warmth into his skin through his work shirt. Nanami clears his throat. You smell nice – always do – but right now, the scent of you is engulfing him from all sides. Other you pokes his chest. 

With an accusatory tone, you question, “Why aren’t you pushing her away, Kento?”

He leaves a kiss on your head, hoping to soothe your irritation. “I could never push away my wife, darling. I’d sooner die.”

“But I’m your wife.”

“No, I’m his wife.”

Nanami wraps his arms around the both of you, rubbing comforting circles on your backs; if he doesn’t do something, he might just come out of this with no wife. “You are both my wives. Just as beautiful as the other and just as ferocious. So, there’s no need to fight, alright?”

“Oh my god, what if we’re stuck like this forever? I can’t share you, Ken! I won’t. And! What if you start to like her more than me? I’ll kill myself.”

Gaze softening, he holds you tight. “That won’t happen, my love. It just wouldn’t. I’m confident things will go back to normal soon enough and you’ll be whole again. That’s our biggest concern, not ‘who will I prefer.’ That’s a silly thought; I love you in all the possible shapes and forms you come in. I could never choose just one side of you to love, it’s simply impossible.”

A moment of silence passes. 

“He is such a sweet talker, isn’t he?” You ask yourself.

You reply with a chortle. “The absolute sweetest. Thank god we put up with his grumpy ass before he fell for us.”

His heart swells. To watch you two get along fills him with so much pride and he can’t quite explain it. Perhaps it’s because he loves your smile, the way your cheeks get so plump with the force of it. Maybe it’s because he knows how long you’ve struggled to reconcile with the need to love yourself, truly, and how you find it torturous to confront yourself and see all those flaws he thinks creates your perfect soul. 

Maybe it’s simply because he loves you so much; there’s no need to question it.

“Ugh, get your hands off my husband!”

“No, you get your hands off my husband.”

And Nanami sighs again.

On and off, you two keep bickering, momentarily being quieted by his hushed commands to behave before starting up again shortly after. Slowly losing the will to fight, he accepts his indefinite reality. His house might never know peace again and he might never truly clock off work even once he returns home. It seems, outside of the office, he also has to manage stubborn individuals and rising tension. 

Still, it’s not so bad, he thinks. Having two of you is a blessing; he’s always encouraging you to eat more with the rationale of wanting more of you to love, after all.

But, his reasoning at this moment isn’t so pure.

The feeling of your plush bodies in his grasp is distracting. Two sets of your breasts are bouncing against his sides and in his face with every move you both make. Hands rove all over his body, staking their claim, and teasing the skin underneath his clothes. Nails scrape against his thighs, digging in when you try to control your anger, using him as the punching bag. He needs to keep his cool, to maintain control so he can ease your worries and dispel trouble at any time. But damn it if it isn’t taking a lot of effort to stand his ground. 

“Ken,” one of you whispers in his ear, lips brushing the shell, “you’re hard…”

Looking down, he comes face to face with solid evidence of your observation. How embarrassing – his wife was hurt and is facing an indubitably anxiety-provoking situation whereby she might never recover as whole from again, and despite that, he’s aroused. What kind of man is he?

What kind of terrible husband would be so self-centred?

“We can help… if you’d like.”

The kind that’d be married to you, apparently. 

Speechless, Nanami can do nothing but sit back and let his wife unbuckle his belt whilst the other unzips his trousers. One has a look of complete glee when she finds his hard cock already leaking and the other sports a focused expression, working her hand up and down his length. You really are his wife, split or not. No one could ever touch him so seductively, so enticingly, already threatening to shake his entire foundation with simple grazes. 

He should stop you both, should establish boundaries and get on with dinner. Instead of giving into baser instincts, he should lead by example and ensure your safety and wellbeing by being patient. But…how can he when your velvety palms play with his balls, fascinated by the weight of them?

“Come here, sweetheart,” he mutters, losing all grip on reason. He discards his glasses. “Come give Kento a kiss.” 

Two heads rush to his face. They collide with a bang. Hissing, you throw aggravated looks at each other. “He meant me.”

“Uh, no, he meant me.”

Tutting, he cradles both of your faces and brings one up to his lips. He lays a kiss where you bumped your head and then another to your mouth. Slowly and gently, he indulges in your taste, swallowing your breathy moans and teasing your tongue with his. Then, parting ways, he pushes your head down, eager to feel those juicy lips wrap around his throbbing cock. 

He meets your gaze. “You too, love.”

Mirroring the ministrations, he loses himself in the steamy kiss, groaning into your mouth when the you that’s licking his cock from the base to the very tip slides her wet tongue on the slit. Fuck, he needs more. He needs to feel you. 

A hand of his slides down your body, groping a breast, tweaking the nipple, before it ventures further down to between your legs. You’re soaked. Pussy lips swollen, he wastes no time in working two calloused digits inside. Wet, tight, and hot, he can’t get enough of how your cunt clenches around him. 

“Ah, Ken! So good. Thank you!”

The wife that’s drooling on his balls pouts. “Me too, Ken. Make me feel good too, please.”

He smiles. “My sweet wives, always so polite. Tilt your hips this way, darling, show me your pretty pussy. That’s it. And you, sweetheart, let me kiss your beautiful breasts.”

Now, both of his hands are being thoroughly coated in your wetness, squelching their way inside your pulsing canals. Mouth full of your breast, sucking and flicking your hard nipple, he lets himself be consumed by your scent, your warmth, your softness, and the wondrous sounds of your barely subdued whimpers and squeals. 

Being weighed down by your body, the reminder of your love and need for him, of which reflects his own for you, is the purest form of bliss he never would have thought he was deserving of. There is nothing more rewarding than drawing out your pleasure, than curling his fingers in just right against that gummy spot inside you that pushes out even more sloppy juices, and washing away your fears and worries. 

In this moment, as both of your hips are grinding down onto his hands, he wishes there was another of him. He can meet all your needs at once, overwhelm you with his body and drive you crazy. Then, there’d be no need to be jealous or possessive. Though…Nanami has a dark realisation that perhaps the sight of a cock that isn’t really his pushing its way inside your body would drive him to madness and not the pleasurable kind.

“Fuck, Ken! I’m gonna–”

“Cum!”

You orgasm at the same time as your other half, juices flying and soaking the sofa underneath your bodies. Speckles land on his creased trousers, drowning his hands and dribbling juices down his wrists. Nanami throbs, cock jolting in the cold air.

Slumped over his body, one of your heads perks up. “Hey, uglier me, wanna give him a boob job together?”

“I’m ignoring that insult, bitch, but yeah, whatever.” You roll your eyes and then land a peck on Nanami’s cheek, giving him a wink.

Getting down onto your knees, you force his legs to spread wide to accommodate yourselves. A little frazzled at seeing you two collude and leave him out of the decision making process, no word of complaint can manifest before he throws his head back, unable to stand the sight of impish joy all over your irresistible eyes doubled as you watch his cock bob once and twice. 

“Ugh, isn’t his dick so pretty?”

The kitten licks you leave on his frenulum are your answer. Then, you both wrap your breasts around his cock, nipples kissing each other and his sharp intake of breath elicits giggles. Up and down, you rub his heated length with your supple breasts. His fingers thread through your hair, unable to keep his hands off you. 

“Is it good, Ken? Do you like it?”

Nanami groans. “Y-yes, it feels amazing, sweetheart. You’re so good to me…always so good to your husband, aren’t you?”

Giggling again, you two exchange grins, feeling mighty proud of yourself, he supposes. And he knows he can cum just like this, that his cum will spurt all over your faces and breasts. It’ll coat your plump lips and you’ll be able to taste his salty spend. Lightheaded, he gasps for air, intent to get his bearings, to not let you two have your way with him, but then you surprise him one more time. 

Lips locked, you two make a big show of moaning into each other’s mouths, tongue twisting together in an obscene display that has his heart thumping faster and faster until he’s sure he’s losing his mind. 

You might never stop surprising him no matter how long he’s loved you. 

He can’t take it anymore. The smell of your sweetness, the evidence of your euphoria coating his skin, the doughy blanket of your breasts around his cock is driving him insane. He needs you and he needs you now. In agile haste, he stands and takes his clothes off all while you both watch. 

“I-I need to be inside you, darlings.” There isn’t enough space on the sofa for what he wants. So, with a grunt, he lifts you two and carries your bodies up, biting back a smile when you squeal and giggle, into the bedroom. You both bounce into each other’s embrace when he drops you off on the mattress. “Strip.”

Clumsily, you remove every article of clothing. Your arms get caught in your shirt and your panties get tangled around your ankles. “Ugh, Ken, help.”

“I’m here. I’m here.” He helps you two out, wrangling your clothes off. “There we go, honey. Upsi-daisy.”

Though he might never admit how pleased he gets when he’s needed, he’s sure you know. There’s no way you don’t. You feel the evidence of it when he pins you to the kitchen counter to fetch the plate you’re reaching for and you surely see the way his eyes darken as you place a foot on his lap, wordlessly asking him to clasp your heels on for you.

As soon as your clothes are off, he pounces – sloppily swallowing your wet moans, he devours you and then the other you, swapping and switching till he gets frustrated and gasps for air. 

“Oh, sweetheart. I love you so much. All of you. In every life, in every time. Always.” You’re lying so prettily for him. Whatever he has done to deserve you today, he hopes he’ll do it again and again so he may never part from you, not even in death. His hands don’t know where to stay, exploring, groping and squeezing and pinching wherever they please. There’s so much of you he wants to feel at once and it’s like an urge he can’t fight. The need to be with you, to please you, to immerse himself in your essence wholeheartedly is choking him up, calling forth tears in his eyes. “God, if only you could see yourself from my eyes.”

“Ken, I love when you get all emotional, I swear, but please just fuck me already.”

He gulps. “Yes, love. I will.”

“No, wait, fuck me first.”

“Wait your fricking turn, oh my god.”

Another fight breaks out. 

Nails are out, hands are flying, hair is being pulled. Kento huffs. He’s trying to get in between you two without using force, without accidentally hurting you, and just as he’s about to pull you apart, a resounding SLAP!echoes. It’s a grating noise that steals his breath. In a flash, he’s got you behind him and you pinned to the bed. 

“No.” Nanami growls. Breathing hard, he shakes off the sudden anger coursing through his veins. Wide eyed, you just watch him release his punishing hold on your neck that he didn’t even realise he had on you. The scolding fire in him doesn't disappear. “No one hurts my wife. Not even you. Understand?”

You nod frantically. 

“Good. You know I hate to punish you but you won’t disagree when I say you need to be reminded of the rules, would you?” You shake your head. “Use your big girl words.”

“I need to be punished, Ken. I need to be reminded of the rules.”

Satisfied, he leans back on his haunches and beckons the other you to his front. There’s a mark on your cheek and it makes his chest squeeze painfully. “Oh, look what you’ve done to your pretty face. My darling wife and her penchant for violence. You’re going to give me more grey hairs.”

“I hope so; you’ll be a silver fox. Yum.”   

A fruitless frustration builds inside – it’s akin to that cuteness aggression you claim overcomes you often, he thinks. Well, he won’t deny himself any longer. He tugs your neck and kisses you. It’s rough, it’s messy, it’s sloppy. And he does it all while keeping his eyes on the you that’s in near tears. “Why don’t you -hah- show my wife how to be a good girl? Show her the reward you deserve.”

“Okay, Ken.”

Leaning back into his firm, sturdy body, you hiss as the threatening stretch of his fat cockhead pushes through the tight ring of muscles at your entrance. Slowly but surely, he’s worming his way into your pulsing cunt. Nanami grunts when he finally bottoms out, balls constricting with the labour of keeping his cum in his balls and not in your pussy prematurely. This is all far too much for him. To be thrusting into you, holding you upright by your arms as you watch his cock shine with your juices, is an insane fantasy he never even dreamed of, but it is his reality and he damn sure will make the most of it. 

“Ngh, tell my wife h-how you’re feeling, sweetheart.”

Breathless, you try to talk despite the delirium-inducing pleasure he’s ramming into your tight cunt. “G-good. I feel good. Ken’s so big a-and I’m feeling so full. Fuck, Ken, fuck me harder.”

The sound of skin slapping, the squelching of your pussy, and the heady moans and grunts are all going straight to his head. Overstimulated, he clutches your breast for a tether, grounded by the weight and the softness. His pace quickens. “Like this? Hmm? You like this, darling?”

“Yes, Ken! Fuck, I’m close. More, Kento. Fuck me more.”

Over your shoulder, he watches you writhe and squirm on the bed, a hand squeezing your breast the way he is and fingers pumping inside your needy cunt at the pace his cock is working its way into your other half. Impatient, you whine. “Hurry, Ken. I want your cock too.”

He licks his lip. Sweaty, eyesight ever so slightly blurry, and growing closer and closer to his climax, urged on by the tight pulsing of your pussy, he continues thrusting inside. “Behave. Can’t you see I’m -ah, fuck- p-pleasuring my wife? Bad girls don’t get to touch, do they? They don’t get to have their cake. And. Eat. It. Ngh. Too!”

To highlight his point, he lets you slip through his grasp. You fall on top of yourself, bouncing breasts pressed tightly against each other. Your face is buried into the crook of your neck, uncaring about how loud your moans are. Nanami finds purchase against your slippery ass and holds it still as he fucks his cock into you, using you as a glorified cock sleeve. 

“Give me something. Anything, Ken. Please. Pleasepleaseplease.”

Nanami grunts. “Open up.”

A fat drop of his spit lands with a plop onto your awaiting tongue. You gulp it down eagerly. Your fingers work themselves inside your cunt even faster, unperturbed by the weight of yourself pinning you to the bed, sweaty and shaking. Dare your husband say, you rather like it. His cock pulses.

“Soon, honey. Just be patient, a-alright? And then I’ll -hah- fill you up. Just have to -ngh- make my wife cum first.” 

Expert hips grind into your tight pussy, cockhead hissing your g-spot and stretching out your gooey walls again and again. If he had it his way, he’d never leave your cunt, but he has a responsibility to make you both cum. He can’t be selfish.

“Ugh, hurry up, you whore,” you mutter into your ear. Then, he sees your mischievous hand trail down your other’s spine until it descends between your legs. When the moans get louder and the clenching of your pussy steals Nanami’s breath, he can only assume you’ve taken matters into your own hands.

You cum around his cock with a scream. 

Hips stuttering, his orgasm soon follows. “Ah, f-fuck! So tight. So fucking good.”

His choked groans are all that can be heard as you lay limp. He too falls to the bed, lying beside your bodies. That had to have been one of the strongest orgasms he had ever had. Never a dull day with you. Just when he thinks he’s got you all figured out, you prove him wrong. What a privilege it is to learn all about you every day for the rest of his life.

“Hey, my turn!”

Brushing back his blond locks, he chuckles to himself as he watches his cock throb back to life. It seems his body has adapted to be sure he can attend to his wife’s needs. Both of them. “Get up here, sweetheart. Take what you want.”

Excited, you shove your other half off and rush to straddle your husband’s hips. You don’t wait; his cock slides inside with ease from your juices. “Oh, god, yessss. Fuck, Ken, I can feel you in my lungs.”

Bracing himself by holding onto your thighs, he can do nothing else against the desperate bouncing of your ass. The pleats inside of your perfect pussy are attempting to wring him dry all over again and Nanami’s abs flex with the building pressure. His cock is still recovering and it’s sensitive but you don’t care. Now, he’s the one being used like a mere toy. 

“S-slow down, honey.” He hisses. “Hah, slow -hngh!- d-down.”

“Hmm, shit, Kento. Y-you’ve gotten so big…” Ignoring his pleas, you must be referring to the layer of fat that’s grown on his body, thanks to the delicious food you’ve been cooking for him. Wholly embracing married life by skipping visits to the gym in lieu of staying longer in bed with you, he’s realised that his clothes no longer fit as they did. It’s embarrassing for a man who prided himself in being fit and put together but it gets you so wet and so needy, he doesn’t dare change a thing. “I want to -ah ah ah fuuuuck- drown in you.”

His chuckle is punctuated by the grunts that your incessant bouncing is forcing out of him. “If it’ll make you happy, my love.”

You clench down. 

“Ah, don’t -oh fuck- squeeze so tight.” He reaches for your clit, thumbing at it. You yelp, hips bouncing faster. Looking so absolutely beautiful, he can’t keep his eyes off the recoiling breasts in his line of vision. Suddenly, his mouth is suffocated with something hot, wet, and delicious. “Hmmph!”

You’ve sat on his face, leaning forward on his stomach, clearly keen to be involved once more in the fun. Submerged in your scent and taste, he doesn’t hesitate to slurrrrrrp! up your juices. He can taste his cum too and it dribbles down his chin. Cunt wrapped around his cock and another leaking wetness right into his mouth, Nanami swears he’s in heaven, delirious with the devastating gratification of pleasuring his wife. “Ride me faster…my face…my cock…that’s it, dear…doing so -ngh- great for me…my -hah hah- perfect wife.”

Lapping up your juices, he throbs when you squeal on his tongue.

“Is that how I really sound when you eat me out? Ew.”

Other you growls. “And is that what I really look like when I ride you?”

SMACK!

SMACK!

“Don’t t-talk badly about yourself. I won’t have it.”

Rubbing your sore ass, you mumble, “Mmm, sorry, Ken.”

“Yeah, s-sorry.”

Soon, you three work back into a punishing rhythm. Nanami hates to be so strict, but he can’t bear to hear you be so mean to yourself. It makes the hairs on his arms stand. If his eyes aren’t rolling to the back of his head, he’d lecture you about the importance of loving yourself. Again. But he can’t string full sentences together. Not right now. Now when you’re all so close. 

Your clit is bumping against his nose whilst his tongue pierces your cunt and he wonders if you can both feel the specific kind of bliss the other is – a cock kissing your g-spot, filling you up, and your pussy being thoroughly ravished by his greedy mouth. 

“Yes, Ken, suck my clit…hmm, just like that… yes yes yessss.”

“Fuck, Ken, your cock feels so good. I love it! More more more. I need it.”

Whatever his wife wants, he’ll oblige. Planting his feet, he fucks up into you, jostling your body. You shriek. His pace is relentless, merciless, and they push you further and further until your climax nears. Off balance, your face falls in between other you’s breasts. Whatever you’re doing to those tits he loves so much is making his wife’s eyes roll to the back of her head too. 

Nanami’s nearing his end. He needs you to get there first. Always. “Come on, sweetheart. Make me –ah make Kento– proud, won’t you? Let me h-hear, feel a-and taste my darling wife -hah- cum.”

“Yes, Ken!” You both screech.

And soon after, your husband finds himself covered in a flood of your juices. 

“FUCK!” 

“SHIT!”

“OH GOD!”

Nails dig into his skin, scratching and stinging. The grip you have on his cock tightens until he’s robbed of his breath and forced over, hips pumping up into your scalding cunt. Your moans are muffled between your breasts when his searing cum paints your walls white. 

Clinging to each other, the three of you black out. 

Minutes or hours later, Nanami is the first to wake. Finally, the sight that greets him is not anomalous or extraordinary – it’s just his wife, singular and whole, draped naked across his lap and snoring. He’s trying to catch his breath, staring down at your sleeping form. “I’ve -hah- tired you out, huh? Poor thing.”

Just as he wanted, he’s covered in sweat and your juices, owned by you in every way possible. This is how he’d like to spend the rest of his life if he could: attending to your needs and drawing out a smile even in your sleep. He pets your head, a shaky smile on his lips. Your eyes flutter open. 

“There’s my beautiful wife. Hi. I’ve missed you, darling.”

Groggily, you ask, “Am I fixed now, Kenny?”

Bringing up your face to his, he skims his nose against the tip of yours. “You were never broken to begin with, my love.”

“That’s sweet…can we go eat now? I’m hungry.”

Petting your pussy and seeking out your heat as if his fingers are magnetised to it, he whispers against your lips, “You can take one more round, can’t you, honey? For me? For Kento?”

You both know it won’t stop at just one round. 

It never does. 

And thank fuck.

[sunshinesukuna]

all my heart | geum seongje

summary: a glimpse into what loving geum seongje looks like—messy, soft, deeply yours. and after all these years, he still has all of your heart.

pairing: geum seongje x fem!reader

genre: romance, slice of life

word count: 5.1k

first.

you and seongje had been together for a while now. you'd somehow made it through that rocky stretch hand in hand, and now here you were, college students at different schools, in completely different rhythms of life, but still orbiting each other.

at first, everyone had an opinion. they had plenty to say when you started openly seeing the mad dog of ganghak high. but after a few months, the noise died down. there was simply nothing left to say. you weren't going anywhere, and neither was he.

your parents had been the hardest. not surprised, really. they weren't strict about dating, never hovered too close. but the night they saw him for the first time, walking you home, eyes dark, cheek split, knuckles raw, it was written all over their faces. alarm. disappointment. a hundred questions they didn't want the answers to.

he looked like every bad decision a parent warned their daughter about.

still, they didn't try to tear it apart. maybe because you've never given them a reason not to trust you. you were a good daughter. they hated the idea of him, hated the way he looked at you like the world owed him blood, but they didn't interfere. not yet. not unless they had to. you could feel it hanging in the air though. one day, they'd say they wanted to meet him officially. and when that day came... well. you'd deal with it.

college life came with its quiet perks. one of them being the blessed indifference of your peers. no whispers. no curious stares. no one cornering you to ask what you saw in "that guy". people mostly kept to themselves, and for the most part, you liked it that way. you were finally able to like him without feeling like you owed the world an explanation for it.

which is why it threw you completely off when he showed up. out of nowhere. again.

you had told him you were going out with your friends, just a casual hangout after class. you hadn't bothered to mention where, because you didn't think you needed to. it wasn't like you were hiding anything. but it turned out you didn't even need to tell him. somehow, seongje always found you. like he had a sixth sense for when you were around other guys. or a tracker. you still weren't sure which one it was.

and this time, he didn't just lurk from afar like he sometimes did. he walked straight into the middle of your day and picked a fight. literally.

he didn't like the look of the guys in your group. or maybe it was just the fact that there were guys. you could tell he had already made up a story in his head about who they were and why they were there, and that was enough for him to square up like it was high school all over again. you tried, really tried to pull him aside, to talk him down, to tell him that he was blowing things out of proportion, but he didn't even look at you. like your voice didn't matter once his temper had already started rolling downhill.

and to make things worse, it turned out the guys in your group did have some kind of history with the union. not deep, but enough to make seongje grin like he'd just been handed an excuse on a silver platter.

the tension cracked. words were exchanged. chairs were scraped back. and you stood there, stuck, watching the day spiral while your friends looked at you with wide eyes and quiet apologies.

one of the girls leaned over to whisper, "sorry... the guys shouldn't have egged him on."

but all you could do was shake your head, eyes still fixed on seongje like you were trying to make sense of how quickly things had unraveled.

"no," you muttered, jaw tight. "i should be the one apologizing."

because he came uninvited. he started it.

and it wasn't just the fight, it was the way he completely brushed off your voice when you told him to stop. like your presence wasn't enough to make him pause. like your boundaries came second to whatever score he thought he had to settle. you knew how seongje was, violent, impulsive, always bristling with the urge to break something, but he wasn't supposed to treat you like noise in the background.

he didn't need to protect you from anything today. he just needed to respect you. and right now, he didn't.

the doorbell had been ringing for ten minutes straight.

you'd muted your phone after the fifth message. then came the calls. then knocking. then the doorbell again, rhythmic like he was playing a game. you didn't have to check to know who it was. no one else was that annoyingly persistent. eventually, your patience snapped, and you stormed to the door just to shut him up.

he barely looked relieved when you opened it, like he expected you to slam it in his face instead. his phone was still clutched in one hand, unread messages stacked like unfinished apologies. his hair was a mess, his jacket crooked, but his eyes were locked onto yours.

"...can i come in?"

you didn't answer. just stepped aside.

you didn't say anything as you walked back in either. didn't acknowledge the way he followed you like a puppy that didn't know where to sit. his mouth opened, maybe to try something stupid, but when you shot him a look over your shoulder, he shut up for once.

he settled on the couch. quietly. which was almost suspicious.

you turned, intending to retreat to your room, but the second you passed him, he hooked a lazy finger into your belt loop. the tug was gentle, but it halted your escape. you huffed, glaring down at him, but he didn't even look fazed. he just pulled you in.

you didn't resist, though you did sigh in disbelief as he shifted you onto his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. his arms wrapped loosely around you waist, then his forehead came to rest against your shoulder.

no smirk. no cocky remark. just stillness. he stayed quiet, but it wasn't peace.

it was tension. his arms were around you, but his jaw was clenched. you could feel it, he was holding back, like if he spoke, the wrong words would come out. again.

you sighed and stared straight ahead. "we already talked about this."

his fingers tightened a fraction around your waist. "...i know."

your throat tightened. "i already told you not to pull that shit again, seongje."

"...i know."

you pulled back, just enough to look at him, and he didn't meet your eyes. that alone annoyed you more than the words. it was like he was agreeing just to make it stop. like this whole thing wasn't serious, like he hadn't embarrassed you in front of your new friends, ignored you when you told him to stop, acted like you didn't matter in the middle of it all.

"if you're gonna talk like that," you said, voice sharpening like a blade, "then don't talk to me at all. and don't bother showing up if you're just gonna ignore everything i say."

that landed.

you felt it immediately, the way his arms stiffened around you, the sudden cold edge that cut through his expression. his head lifted slightly, and when he looked at you, his eyes had lost that sheepish desperation.

not angry at you, not quite, but he was frustrated. at the situation. at himself. at the fact that this wasn't going his way. seongje never liked not getting what he wanted. and right now, what he wanted was you to forgive him without making him feel small.

but he wasn't stupid. he knew what would happen if he pushed you again.

you'd gone silent on him before. days of unread messages, no answers, no sightings. it drove him halfway mad.

he'd sworn to himself he wouldn't let that happen again.

"...fine." his tone came sharp, his voice clipped. "i won't do it again."

you narrowed your eyes. that tone—like he was doing you a favor.

you stood up.

he grabbed your wrist before you could walk away, firm but not forceful. he didn't pull, just held.

then, in a voice that barely registered above a breath, he said, "i'm sorry."

you froze. he didn't look at you when he said it. his head was lowered again, gaze locked somewhere near the floor. his grip loosened slightly, as if expecting you to pull away. as if he'd already braced for the worst.

you didn't say anything.

you were still pissed. but still... there was something about the way he said it.

he did not apologize. not to anyone. he didn't believe in it. thought it was dumb. weak. but ever since he met you, he'd been doing a lot of things he never thought he would. giving in. holding back. trying.

and right now, it was written all over him, the struggle, the resentment, the need.

you didn't melt, not entirely, but something in you softened. just a little. because you knew what it took for him to say that word. and how much it killed him to be the one begging to be forgiven.

you stayed still. not because you didn't hear it, but because you did. because it sounded so unlike him that you needed a second just to let it settle in.

then with a quiet motion, his hand slid gently around your wrist, then your waist, coaxing you toward him until you were standing between his knees. he wrapped his arms around your hips, slow and steady, and leaned his head against your stomach.

not a word. just his arms, warm and solid. his forehead pressing into your shirt like he was waiting. not demanding, not begging. just waiting for you to forgive him.

you let out a long sigh, loud enough for him to hear. you weren't ready to let him off easy, not when you had every right to be upset, but you also weren't cruel.

your hand moved slowly to the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair, rubbing at his scalp in small, deliberate strokes. that was all he needed.

seongje exhaled deeply, almost in relief, and pulled you into his lap again without a second's hesitation.

his forehead met yours, eyes locked on you with something softer than guilt. apology. maybe even gratitude. you could feel it, the way he was turning soft for you, even if he didn't know how to hold it. his rage never vanished, it just curled its way into something quieter.

your hands came up to cradle his face, fingers pressing gently into his cheeks. "i'm serious." you said, tilting his face toward yours so he couldn't look away. "you don't get to pretend like nothing happened. you have to actually try."

he didn't answer. didn't agree, didn't joke. just leaned in closer, and closer, waiting.

you didn't make him wait long.

the kiss wasn't rushed or hungry, it wasn't sharp like most of what existed between you. it was slow and careful. his mouth brushed yours like he still thought you might pull away. you didn't.

he sighed into your lips like he needed the kiss to steady him. and maybe he did.

when you finally pulled away, the kiss still warm on your lips, you let out a breath. not with frustration this time, but something gentler. something that settled deep in your chest.

you stared at him, eyes tracing every detail like you were trying to memorize him all over again. the dark lashes that curled a little too perfectly, the stubborn cut near his cheekbone, the beauty mark under his eye.

"you've got such a pretty face," you murmured, brushing a thumb across his cheek. "makes it easier to forgive you."

that was all it took. seongje flushed so fast it was almost impressive. his whole face went red, the color kept crawling down his neck and all the way to his ears.

"fuck off," he blurted and shoved you off his lap.

you stumbled backward with a yelp. but he was just as quick to shoot his hand out, fingers curling tight around your wrist to yank you right back in.

"fucking—stay still," he muttered, flustered beyond repair. he crushed you against his chest like a feral cat with its prey. his heart thudding hard against your ear, giving away everything he wouldn't say out loud.

you wriggled a little in protest, not really trying to escape. "you are so infuriating," you muttered, breathing out a laugh despite yourself. "you're lucky i love you."

you felt him stiffened. he didn't respond right away. just slumped forward, pressing his forehead against your shoulder like he couldn't take it. like those words short-circuited something inside him.

every single time you said it, he folded like a paper.

his breath faltered against your skin before he bit you. sharp and sudden, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make you gasp. you jerked against him in surprise, only to feel the swipe of his tongue over the spot like an apology.

"fuck," he rasped, voice rough. "stop saying shit like that."

"like what?" you asked, breath catching. you were still reeling from the bite.

he scoffed, but it was weak. almost like he choked on it. "you know what it does to me."

"so you want me to stop?" you tilted his chin up, forcing him to meet your eyes. "really?"

he didn't answer, didn't have to. because the look on his face said everything. the ache in his eyes, the way his mouth pressed into a tight line, the way his hands were still gripping your shirt like he was terrified you'd slip away if he let go.

"we're getting sidetracked. you can't just bite me and hope i'll forget."

he scowled. "worked last time."

"it didn't," you lied.

he narrowed his eyes. "then why aren't you yelling anymore?"

you rolled your eyes, shaking your head. "you are the worst."

eventually, he leaned in again. pressed his forehead to yours like he didn't know how else to be close. like saying sorry with words still felt foreign, but this, this closeness, he could do. you smiled.

"you're so adorable sometimes."

"shut up," he hissed through clenched teeth, burying his face into your neck to hide what little pride he had left. his arms coiled tighter around your waist, every inch of his body pressed close like you were the only thing anchoring him to the moment.

god, he belonged to you in ways even he didn't understand.

you ran your fingers through his hair, rubbing slow circles until his breathing evened out. he melted further, practically boneless in your arms. it would've been funny if it weren't so stupidly endearing.

it was that time of the month again. and like clockwork, seongje was at your beck and call.

it was funny, really, how he responded to your cramps like it was a code red emergency every time. he didn't hover exactly, but he was always there. like a shadow. like a guard dog. like someone who had once made a silent promise to never let you suffer alone, even if the enemy was just your own hormones.

it was during the early months of your relationship, back when everything still felt too new. seongje had texted you one saturday morning, casually demanding your presence like he always did. as usual, he expected you to say yes.

instead, you replied with, 'not in the mood'.

it was short, not your usual way of responding to him. well, unless you were upset.

his call came seconds later.

"what the hell do you mean, not in the mood?" his tone sharp, offended, as if the very idea of you turning him down was a personal attack.

you didn't even flinch. just lay there in bed, clutching your stomach. "i'm on my period. i have bad cramps," you answered, voice flat, tired, unbothered.

then there was silence. total silence.

you pulled the phone away from your ear to check if the call had ended.

"hello? still there?"

"...yeah." his voice was lower now. unsure. "i'm here." he paused. "is there... anything i can do?"

you would've laughed, only if you weren't doubled over from pain. it was obvious he didn't know how to react, probably regretting all his impulsive dramatics from three minutes ago. his brain spiraling now that you dropped a truth too real and too biological for someone like him to handle without mentally imploding.

"no, you don't have to do anything. i'll see you next week once i stop dying."

you had imagined him on the other end, slack-jawed and helpless. no cocky comebacks. no pushback. just stunned silence as he tried to process that there were some things he couldn't fix by throwing fists.

but it turns out he had a way of surprising you.

later that same day, he'd shown up at your doorstep. no warning, no messages. just him, standing there with a plastic bag in one hand, a pint of your favorite ice cream in the other, and the most unconvincing attempt at indifference painted across his face.

you blinked at him, confused. "what are you doing here?"

"well," he muttered, eyes darting away. "didn't say i couldn't show up."

his tone was clipped, almost sulky, but you could see the way his eyes flickered nervously, scanning your face like he was bracing himself for rejection. he stood there stiffly, shifting his weight from foot to foot. ready to bolt if you said the word. instead, you let him in.

you spent the afternoon on the couch. he kept his distance, which was weird, suspiciously well-behaved. seongje didn't like giving you space. physical contact had been his default setting ever since he stopped feeling awkward about it. but that day, he was stiff as a board, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the tv like he was forcing himself to focus on the movie.

you didn't comment. just accepted the ice cream and slowly ate it beside him in silence.

and after a while, once the worst of the cramps dulled, you quietly shifted closer and tucked yourself against his side.

"thanks," you murmured, lips brushing the sleeve of his shirt.

he didn't say anything. just exhaled, and finally let his arm wrap around you. not possessively, not urgently, just enough to keep you close, careful not to press where it hurt.

it was the first time he took care of you like that. the first time he showed that he could. it became a routine ever since.

and now, he was still at it.

seongje was sprawled on the floor in front of you, leaning against the coffee table with a bag of heating pads and snacks. he reached up to hand you a warm bottle wordlessly, brows furrowed like he was the one in pain.

"you look like a kicked dog," you mumbled from your cocoon of blankets.

"i feel like one," he grumbled. "you act like you're dying and i'm just supposed to watch?"

"i am dying."

he rolled his eyes but didn't argue. instead, he sat back and stared at the tv, clearly bored. his leg bounced. his fingers drummed.

"wanna fight?"

you didn't even look at him. "no."

"not even verbally? i could call you something mean."

"you could leave."

"or i could stay and be annoying."

"you already are."

he smirked because you were talking. which meant you weren't mad at him for hovering. slowly, he crawled onto the couch, ignoring your half-hearted attempts to push him off. when he finally wedged himself beside you and laid his head in your lap, you sighed.

"i didn't forget your favorite dessert this time."

"that's called being decent."

"it's called caring, brat."

you snorted. "say that again. i dare you."

he sat up halfway, looking like he might say something bold, but thought better of it and flopped back down.

"don't die. i'll get bored." he muffled.

you laughed quietly. when you leaned down to press a kiss to his temple, his eye twitched, like his brain malfunctioned.

"what now?" he asked suspiciously.

"nothing," you said, lips curving into a soft smile. "i just really like you."

he grunted, annoyed. but the red tint in his ears said everything else.

you both weren't doing anything particularly special. just walking. trees lining the path had turned shades of amber, rust, and gold. seongje walked beside you, hands in his coat pockets, shoulders loose, completely at ease.

it was nice. quiet. comfortable.

and maybe that was why it hit you.

you blinked up at the sky, pale and moody in that late-autumn kind of way, and suddenly felt it settle in your chest—that ache. the one that always came with change.

"we're graduating soon," you murmured without meaning to.

he glanced at you, squinting against the sun. "yeah?"

you hummed. there was no need to elaborate, but your brain wouldn't stop there.

soon you'd walk across that stage. soon you'd be holding a degree in your hands. and what then?

what would you be without exams, without early morning classes, without the label of student tied neatly to your identity like a tag?

what would you do?

what would you be?

would everything change?

you didn't mean to spiral, but—

your eyes flicked toward seongje again. he was half a step ahead now, kicking at a stray pinecone. wind caught the ends of his hair, curling them against his cheek. his profile was all sharp lines and shadows, beautiful in the way he always was, aggressively so.

and just like that, it steadied you.

there was a time you thought you wouldn't make it past the first year. too different. too messy. too much history clinging to his name, and too much doubt hanging in the air.

but now, years later, here he was. still beside you. still loud and reckless and impulsive, but softer. only for you. not always, not overtly, but in the little ways that mattered.

he was still him. but somehow, better.

you didn't notice when your steps slowed. he did.

"you good?" he asked, brow quirking.

"yeah," your voice cracked on the word, embarrassingly emotional. you cleared your throat. "just thinking."

"that's dangerous," you let out a breathless laugh.

"do you ever think about how far we've come?"

he stared at you like you just asked him to solve a math equation. "from where?"

"from where we started."

he rolled his eyes. "you hated me when we met."

"you deserved it."

"no arguments there."

you smiled. "but still. you're here."

something passed over his face then, brief, unreadable. but then he was looking away, jaw shifting like he didn't know what to do with the way your words made his chest feel tight.

you reached out and took his hand.

"thank you," you said.

"for what?"

"for everything."

"you're acting like i'm gonna die tomorrow."

you huffed. "you're impossible."

"and you're sappy."

"only when it comes to you."

he made a face, looked away quickly. you caught the tips of his ears turning pink.

maybe it was the way the sunlight filtered through the orange leaves. or maybe it was just the clarity of a moment where nothing else seemed to matter. but you felt it again.

the weight in your chest. but this time, it wasn't fear. it was peace.

with him, the world felt a little less terrifying. a little more manageable. like no matter what the future threw at you, how uncertain, how intimidating, how vast, he'd still be beside you. loud and annoying and occasionally stupid, but there.

yours.

you linked your arm with his, casual like it meant nothing. then you leaned your head against his shoulder. he didn't say anything. just bumped you gently with his arm.

you two kept walking.

but that was everything you could have asked for.

you were making something simple for the two of you, moving around the kitchen with that quiet ease he'd grown used to. the soft clinks and rustles of your movements, it filled the room like background noise he never wanted to lose.

it was the way your presence still settled into his space like it was meant to be there. even after all these years, it still caught him off guard sometimes. how much of his life had quietly shaped itself around you.

he'd never tell you this, wouldn't even admit it if you pried it out of his skull. but somewhere between the convenience store runs and moments he found you sleeping on his shoulder, something in him had slowed down.

he knew then. fuck, he knew. that this was it for him. that there was no one else, and there wouldn't ever be.

and if he wanted to keep you, if he wanted to deserve that kind of peace, then he couldn't keep living like none of it mattered. something had to give.

not because you asked him to. you didn't, even when he was at his worst. you never looked at him with disappointment, never threw his mess in his face like you could've. you saw him. took him as he was, back when he was still half-feral and too wild to sit still for anything except your voice. that was the thing. you loved him without conditions. and that's what made it worse.

because no one ever asked him to be better. and now he wanted to be. just for you.

so he started small. stopped smoking around you the second he realized you didn't like the smell. you never said anything, but then he noticed the way your nose crinkled slightly when he leaned in too close. you still held his face, kissed him like nothing was wrong. but that was enough. he wanted you to want to be close.

he stopped picking fights for the thrill of it. started actually thinking ahead. he still cracked jaws if someone touched you or looked at you the wrong way, but he wasn't out for blood just to feel alive anymore. not when he had you. not when you made him feel alive more than anything else.

he had something better, something real.

he didn't say anything at first. just watched you from the couch, arms draped across the backrest, hair messy, shirt still wrinkled from sleep.

you were just making breakfast like you sometimes did when you stayed over.

but goddamn, he could barely breathe just watching you move.

there were some moments, fleeting and unpredictable, when the weight of how much he loved you knocked the air straight out of his lungs. when his body didn't know what to do with the feeling, and his heart felt too small to hold it all.

this was one of those moments.

he got up without thinking.

you didn't notice him watching. you were too focused, hands moving with quiet intent, your eyes fixed, lips set in that soft line you always wore when you were busy doing something.

he hovered nearby, restless, pacing, almost like he didn't know where to put himself. until finally, he reached for you, curling his fingers gently around your wrist.

you looked up, and there it was again.

the second your eyes met his, the entire world silenced. your lips parted, breath hitching, because that look in his eyes, it always made you want to cry.

he was looking at you like you were the whole damn world.

and you were.

"something up?" you asked in a quiet voice.

he didn't answer. instead, he gently took your hand, fingers a little clumsy, a little too tight, and interlaced them with his own, like it was the only way he could keep the feelings from spilling out of his chest.

and then, with a quiet breath, he brought your joined hands to his lips.

he kissed your ring finger.

slowly. tenderly. reverently.

not like someone touching skin. but like someone touching a vow.

your breath caught.

he held your gaze. "i don't want anything that doesn't have you in it."

his voice was low. rough. not quite steady. his eyes flickered, not with fear, but something close to desperation. like the feeling was too big, too much, and he didn't know how to bleed it out except through touch.

and you understood.

it was all there. in the way his fingers clung to yours, in the way his lips trembled slightly as they brushed your skin, in the way he looked like he'd shatter if you even thought of letting go.

his face became blurry, but you blinked it away.

you just smiled softly and pressed your forehead against his. "good," you whispered. "you're the only one i want to do this life with."

he exhaled, slow and uneven, like your words reached somewhere deep in him that he didn't let anyone else near.

being with him was never easy. there were days he'd withdraw into himself, frustrated with things he couldn't name. times when you wouldn't understand why he shut down, or lashed out, or made things harder than they had to be.

there were arguments, silence, sometimes it hurt, and it took time to come back from that.

but love like yours and his was never meant to be easy.

it was raw. unforgiving in its honesty. and undeniably real.

you never regretted a second of it. not even the ugliest parts.

and maybe—

maybe he didn't have a ring now. maybe it was still hidden in a drawer, still waiting for the perfect moment.

maybe he'd already gone to your parents, awkward and twitchy and sweating like a fucking idiot, asking for your hand even though the very idea of "asking permission" made his skin itch.

maybe it was the first time in his entire life he had ever felt that afraid.

maybe they'd said yes.

they'd seen it, eventually. what you saw. what he'd become for you. what he would always be.

and maybe, just maybe, he was going to give you that ring on your graduation. when the future is right in front of you, when you'd already proven to the world and each other that you could survive it.

but for now, this was enough.

your forever didn't need a clock.

because he knew that he'd keep loving you like it was still the beginning. like every day was the first time you made his chest hurt just by looking at him.

even when life got dull. even when things slowed down. you'd still have all of him.

always.

[sunshinesukuna]

Too Hard and Too Big

✣ All the reasons Brown bear hybrid!Nanami is just right for you. 3k

Brown bear hybrid!Nanami sings. Well, not full on ballads, but he does hum as he rocks the cubs to sleep. Low and ever so slightly gravelly, he skims his lips against the shells of their ears and lets the vibrations soothe them to slumber. It never fails to get them snoring in no time. Of course, his melodies aren’t just reserved for the babies; he mutters the lyrics to the song that plays in the background whilst you slow-dance in the kitchen, late at night. He sings like he wrote the songs for you, like he means every word, like they're a secret you share, and presses a kiss to your forehead to seal his vow. 

It's rather funny, actually, to see someone so big, so burly move so elegantly. Standing on his feet, he moves you two along, holding you close and leaving a trail of kisses from your shoulder to the other, almost as if he can't help himself.

Brown bear hybrid!Nanami can build anything. Before the cubs came along, you once, on some random afternoon you can’t even fully remember, mused that the glass coffee table suddenly seemed out of place to you. You didn’t know he was listening as he read his book, your legs draped over his lap, a foot being massaged by his firm paw. The next day, there, in your living room, was a smooth, wooden table with rounded edges, built-in divots for candle holders, a bottom shelf for your books, and a vase full of your favourite flowers. His reply when you asked him why he would go out of his way to build you a whole freaking table?

“My darling wife wants something, I make it happen. It was in my wedding vows, remember, honey?”

He's renovated every inch of the house, turning it into the perfect home. You wanted stained glass windows? Done.

A bay window so you can cuddle up and read your books whilst you watch him work in the garden? Easy.

The doorways need to be arched? Agreed.

You wish the pantry was bigger? Well, of course, your family's going to grow bigger and you'll need to be able to feed them so he better get on that quick.

Every single inconvenience, every whim, every dream board is handled as soon as it even registers on his mind that you're itching for change. He never complains. He just works diligently in the garage, sanding the wood down in fear that you might get a splinter, adjusting the height of shelves according to what you can reach, and inviting you over to paint however you please, wanting to have your essence in every project, in every room, and in all the the inches of the home you're building together.

Brown bear hybrid!Nanami is ready when you are. Just one sniff of the air, even all the way outside of the house, from his car, and he knows exactly what his wife needs. The door will fly open and you’ll find your body pressed against the wall, panties to your ankles, and a face buried between your cheeks. His tongue is long and wide, covering the whole area of your pussy and not missing a single drop as he quenches his thirst with your nectar. And when he worms it inside? 

Oh, you’re shaking and whimpering, nails clawing down the wall. Wriggling it with expert skill, he reaches deep inside you, teasing your pleats and that soft, gooey spot inside you that has you seeing stars.

"W-welcome home, Kenny! Missed you."

His cheek nuzzles against your ass, tongue licking the errant dribbles of your sweet juices, and mutters, "Hmm, I can tell. I missed you too, sweetheart. Now, why don't you help your husband and spread your legs just a little wider, hmm? Good girl."

Honestly, he could stay there for hours, bruises on his knees and crick in his neck be damned. And he has.

Many times. 

Brown bear hybrid!Nanami is territorial. He marks you before he leaves for work every day and even when you're just going out to meet friends. You don't mind; it's in his nature, after all. But, he does drive himself mad over making sure you smell only of him.

Like, this one time your friend's boyfriend had shown up last minute to brunch and had given you a hug. He was touchy, not in a bad way, but you did cringe when he'd brush up against you, knowing your husband was gonna throw a fit.

Brown bear hybrid!Nanami sensed something was wrong immediately when you returned home.

"Whose scent is that?" He asked, voice low and monotone.

Trying to do damage control, you cuddled up on him, making a face when he didn't wrap his arms around you automatically. "My friend's new man. He's nice."

Oh no.

You complimented another man.

Fuck, you thought. You just wanted to reassure him no one had hurt you.

Brown bear hybrid!Nanami walked away, unbridled tension oozing from his muscular frame, shaking the house. He hid himself away in the garden. With a sigh, you got out of your outside clothes and showered, scrubbing your body as best as you could. You didn't take the sudden distance to heart — he wanted to calm down before he said or did something he'd regret, you knew that.

After a while, when he returned, you thought maybe he'd got it out of his system by running or tearing down a tree or two. But the dark shadows in his eyes, as he stepped into your bedroom, said otherwise. So did the thick piece of wood he held in his hands. It was long with three holes. The smell of new wood lingered in the air; it was freshly made.

You sat up. "Is that a stock?"

"On your knees."

That was how you found yourself, ass spanked raw, wrists trapped, head stuck, on the bed. He was behind you, not filling you up just yet. Grunting, he jerked himself off for the third time in the hours you'd been there in that position, accepting that he needed it and making a show of the puffiness of your drenched cunt. All for him.

Intent on marking you with his cum, you could feel his spend drying on your back and on your thighs, and when you squeezed your legs together, you moaned at the dull friction, hungry for the scalding brand of his possessiveness on your skin.

"Who's your husband?"

"You, Ken!" The tip of his cock, hot and soaked, met your clit, rubbing through the slick there. Jostling with your squirming, the, somehow, expertly made stock protested your attempts to free yourself — you so badly wanted to touch him, to feel and soothe him. "Put it in! Please. I want to cum too!"

Brown bear hybrid!Nanami's sardonic laugh was foreign. You felt your nipples tingle at the sound. "Bad girls don't get to have what they want. Good wives are supposed to behave, to not drive their husbands wild with the stench of another man all over their whorish bodies. Now, look, our house reeks with his scent. What will our cubs think?"

"I'm sorry, Kento! I didn't mean to. I promise. I'm so sorry."

The head of his cock breached the entrance of your pussy, teasing and reminding you of just how amazing it felt to have him inside, reaching every inch, rubbing and filling you up. A thumb pressed against your clit. Your back arched.

"I know you are, sweetheart." He gathered some of your juices onto his fingers. You couldn't see him bring it to his lips but you heard the dirty sluuurrp! "It's why I'll eventually let you out of your restraints and let you ride me. You can make yourself cum on my cock. I think that's more than you deserve right now, but Kennypooh just can't help himself; he needs to make his wife happy. But you'll put up with me, with Kento, for a little longer, won't you?"

"Yes! Yes, Ken! Cum all over me. Mark me. Drown me in your cum. I want to feel you on my skin. Fuck, take what you need, baby!"

He groans. "Thank you, sweetheart. So good to me. So good to your stupid husband, w-who can't get a fucking grip! Who can't stand the -fuck!- thought of some man stealing you from him. Who'd kill anyone who tried."

And drown you in his cum he did. You were leaking from all holes, aching and sore. The mattress had to be replaced. So did the broken bed frame and the stock which he tore off you with his bare hands, when the desperate need to feel you around him overwhelmed his spirit.

It'd be nice to say you learnt a lesson but truthfully, when he becomes too nice, too worshippy, you misbehave just a little so you can watch him unravel all over again.

He loves it deep down.

Brown bear hybrid!Nanami loves outdoor sex. You live in a very foresty area, with a huge garden for your cubs to roam around. But even then, your family goes camping very frequently; your husband firmly believes in disconnecting from technology and the quiet thrum of suburbia. So, whilst the children explore the river and compete to catch the most fish, you two busy yourselves with your own competition – who can make the other cum the fastest.

Dirty sounds of wet squelches, the slapping of skin, and low groans and growls are masked by the rushing of the water in the background, the chirping of the birds overhead, and the slow whooshing of the wind, which, with his broad, hulking body, he covers you from. There’s no one around for miles and the kids are close enough for their father to hear if they need help but far enough for their developing senses to not know a thing. Still, the threat of being discovered by unsuspecting hikers or fellow campers urge you two tighter together.

Usually, with his thick, curving cock, he can wrangle a couple orgasms out of you within ten minutes so he has an upper hand. As a breed known for their ferocity, he’s learnt to keep his cool in any and all situations, thus, no matter how tight your pussy is or how saccharine sweet your barely muted moans sound to his sensitive ears, he holds out to win.

"Come on, sweetheart. The poor things will be h-hungry. Why don't you just give in, hmm? Show me -hah- how much you love your husband."

Delirious and dizzy, you hiss, through your moans, "No way. Why don't you give in, Kento? Show your -ah, fuck! harder, yessss- y-your wife how much you love her."

He plunges his cock in. Hard. Ramming through that tight ring of muscle at your entrance and pulling squelches after squelches out of your greedy pussy.

"I."

Thrust.

"Am."

Thrust.

Most of the time, he does win, and you have no cause for complaint, but, when you’re feeling particularly bratty, you cling onto him, fighting for purchase through the sweat and crumpling of clothes you haven’t even bothered to take off before mauled you like a beast, and whisper your trump card:

“Fuck another -ngh!- baby in me, Kenny. I want a-another cub!”

Brown bear hybrid!Nanami growls.

“You -hah- said, t-two was enough.”

“I changed my mind.” He’s pummelling his cock harder inside you, pelvis grinding against your clit. The friction is delicious. “Didn’t you –yes, right there! Oh fuck– you said, whatever I want, I get, didn’t you?”

Hair a mess, glasses strewn off, he throws his head back, eyes glossy with the image of you full and round with his seed, your breasts heavy and leaking, and all reliant on him and only him. “Y-yes, honey. Kento will give you whatever you -fuck!- want.”

With his hot cum flooding your pussy pushing you over the edge too, you grin into his lips when he mouths baby names.

You win. 

Brown bear hybrid!Nanami makes for a really nice heater. Body soft from hyperphagia, anticipating hibernation, you love to lay on him, feeling the pudge on his pecs or stomach and groping everywhere you can reach like a stress ball. Years later, he still gets embarrassed. Sometimes he shuffles away, trying to cover himself up, but then you’re climbing back on him again and chomping on his neck in threat, much like he does to you when he overstimulates your poor clit too much and you attempt to squirm away. Oh, how he hates when you do that. 

“Sweetheart, please don’t squeeze my pec like that,” he pleads. "I know I've gained more weight than last year. I'll work it off soon."

You pinch his nipple, laughing when he gasps. “Shush, Kennypooh. I know you’re feeling a little insecure ‘cause you’re not all ripped or whatever, but I love this phase. It's my favourite time of the year. Your body turns so perfect for cuddling. God, I never want to get off you.”

Sighing, the tension fades away from his body and he melts into the bed, one arm cradling your waist to keep you on him and the other creeping up to your ass so he can grope you too. “If you say so, sweetheart. But perhaps, you should move your hips so we can finish in time for pick-up?”

Ah, right. His cock is wedged inside your weeping pussy, keeping each other warm in the best way. How funny. You’d almost forgotten that your juices are leaking down his balls, which have grown bigger somehow too, and pooling on the sheets. Once and twice, your walls clamp down on him. You're so full you feel him in your lungs.

Brown bear hybrid!Nanami’s growl sounds pained. His grip on you tightens. “C-careful, honey. I -hah- almost came before you.”

“Would that be so terrible?” You tease, sucking a mark on his collarbone where the hair is more sparse.

“Not usually, but we won’t -hmm, you’re so warm, my love- won’t h-have time to make you cum on my face at least three times. You know how I get.”

You sigh and he takes that as a sign to flip you over and rut into you, huge, hot body pinning you down and unfurling that growing bundle of pleasure inside. In your little cave like this, it’s easy to forget that autumn is waning into winter and, out there, it’s beginning to snow, leaving a thin sheet of frost all around. With him holding you to his body like you could disappear at any second, you don’t feel the shift in the seasons, not the whistling of the wind, or the call of nature.

It’s just him and you. 

As it should be.

Full of his cum, sweaty, and deeply satisfied, you lie on his chest, playing with the hairs on his chest. Your eyes threaten to shut. He pats your ass. "It's time to get our little troublemakers, honey. I wonder what they got up to in school."

Brown bear hybrid!Nanami is terrific with the cubs. Truly. Well, you always knew he would be, but to see all those traits and virtues you fell in love with in practice with the product of your love is mesmerising. He’s so patient – he doesn’t raise his voice when they make a mess or they can’t follow his instructions on their homework. Instead, when they don’t quite understand a thing or another, he changes his approach, recognising that children learn in ways different to yourselves.

When they were respectively newborns, he had carried the brunt of the nightly cries and the tantrums. He has a way of navigating through their big feelings and calming them down, using firm, but gentle parenting to encourage them to use their words. All the mothers at their nursery are practically in love with him every time he shows up the other fathers with his hands-on approach.

You just know those bitches are plotting your divorce. And, well, you don't blame them.

Every persistent, nonsensical question they have are met with seriousness, giving power to their inquisitive, growing minds.

“Why does that man rub himself on that woman, Papa?” Little Kenji asks. 

Sat on a picnic blanket and making full use of the warm weather, you all enjoy a nice lunch under the sun. The youngest, Mio, is in your lap, twirling your hair as if it’s the most amazing thing she’s ever seen, whilst the eldest is using his father’s back like a rock climbing exercise. 

Musing for a second, he eventually answers, “He’s of a breed similar to us. And just like bears, he’s leaving his scent on her.”

“Oh, yeah! It’s called, ‘marking,’ isn’t it?”

Brown bear hybrid!Nanami smiles. “That’s right, son. We mark to make sure everyone knows our loved ones are ours and they shouldn’t even think about taking them away from us.”

Kenji glances at you and frowns. “Do you do that to Mama?”

“Yes. Very often.” 

You roll your eyes playfully when he shoots you a wink. 

The little boy stomps over to your corner of the blanket and squishes your cheeks in his grubby hands from behind, sending a fierce glare to his father. “Good. Because I don’t want anyone taking Mama away!”

Mio makes a sound in agreement. 

“No one’s taking me away,” you say, tickling your cubs and laughing along with their giggles. “Your Papa wouldn’t let them, would he?”

You look up at him.

Brown bear hybrid!Nanami’s eyes shine with something you know you mirror. He roves over all of your features, trying to commit the view to memory, and when those beautiful eyes finally land on yours, his smile channels a message only you know. His thumb brushes against the gold band on your finger. He raises it to his soft lips and whispers yet another vow you know he’ll forever uphold.

“Never.”

Part 1 of the Brown bear hybrid!Nanami story if you want more!

[sunshinesukuna]

"DON'T STOP LOVING ME."

synopsis: things were always easy between you and katsuki. until suddenly, they weren't. (aka you pull back and katsuki notices and hates it)

notes: ALWAYS w the unofficialbf!katsuki agenda. wc ~5k. childhood bffs bc duh. barely proofread sorry

ever since you were three years old with your scraped knees and sticky fingers to now, where teenage life could not be more confusing, there has always been one, unwavering, constant fact.

you're absolutely, utterly, head-over-heels in love with bakugo katsuki.

and you've never been afraid to show it! backhugs, tackling him to the floor, jumping on top of him and climbing him like a jungle gym, telling him you love him like it's the most obvious thing in the world. (it is)

he always scoffs and grumbles, but you'd never take it personally, because when he tells you to get off, he pulls you close. when he complains that you're annoying when you're sick, he brings you soup and medicine and cuddles you to sleep. when he blushes and tells you he hates you, his eyes tell a different story.

so what if he doesn't express it the same way you do? everyone has different ways of showing they care. even if he doesn't say it much, you know katsuki loves you.

right?

-

it was late when you accidentally overheard it. when you froze up and felt your heart drop to the floor. when you started shaking and sweating, eyes darting around for a trash can in case you threw up.

"bakugo, bro, when are you and y/n gonna make it official?" kirishima had teased, throwing an arm around katsuki.

katsuki scoffed and shoved him off. "tch. it's not like that."

"you suuure?" sero questioned. "you two seem awfully close for just friends."

"mannn, if i was bakugo, i'd be all over that. y/n is such a pretty girl!" kaminari chimed in, clearly jealous over his lack of love life.

the teasing continued. you couldn't see him from your angle, but you knew that katsuki definitely had a vein on his forehead that was getting larger by the second.

"you're always carrying her bag, walking her to class.."

"cuddling with her during movie nights, scratching her back.."

"oh! and don't forget how she never forgets to tell him she loooves him whenever they say goodbye!"

"c'mon, bakubro, just spit it out! you two are practically married already!"

the three laughed heartily, clearly enjoying the rise they were getting out of katsuki.

"all of you, shut the hell up!"

"just admit it. you're in love."

he gritted his teeth.

"i'm not in love." he grimaced, venomous anger bubbling to the surface.

"she's just there all the fucking time! always fucking doing girlfriend-y shit when she knows damn well she's not! always clinging and trying to cuddle and all that stupid sappy shit. she's just an annoying fuckin' habit ive learned to tolerate." he spat.

you froze.

what?

was he serious? like, really, truly, deadass serious? you knew he wasn't exactly the super affectionate type, but even still! you thought he really cared about you! clingy? annoying? tolerated?

your head spun as you broke out into a cold sweat. you could've sworn that that wasn't true. you and katsuki have been friends forever. surely he wouldve gotten rid of you by now if he hated you that much, right? and he cuddles you! and hangs out with you! he takes care of you when you're sick! there's just no way, right? he's just angry because he's being teased, right?

..right?

"damn, dude, that's pretty harsh," sero snickered. "you always take care of her, though, no?"

you held your breath.

"tch. doesn't fuckin' mean shit. just gotten used to her because she's been around so long."

your stomach dropped to the basement. he tolerated you. he thought of you as nothing more than an annoying habit.

insecurity pooled inside of you. now that you think about it, was he really cuddling you, or just not bothering to move you off when you laid on him? maybe he just thought you were too much of a hassle to get rid of when you came to hangout, so he just let you stay even thought he didn't want to. when he brought you medicine and stuff, maybe your sickness made you delirious and made you think he was being more affectionate and caring than he really was.

you felt nauseated. you recall all the times you threw a quick "i love you!" over your shoulder or while you clung to him. had he ever once said it back? ever? the room started spinning as you realized you couldn't think of a single time. he'd always deflected. gave you a classic "tch." rolled his eyes. messed up your hair. you dont think you'd ever even heard the word "love" from his lips.

had you just been deluding yourself all this time?

you couldn't take it anymore. sweating, you sprinted out before you could be spotted.

-

it's been two days since you overheard that conversation, and you'd been avoiding katsuki ever since. or rather, not quite avoiding completely, but there was an undeniable shift in your behavior. you stopped trying to cuddle with him. you stopped showing up to his dorm room to hangout. you especially stopped saying "i love you," even though it killed you every time.

katsuki hadn't shown much of a reaction to your change in behavior. he'd raise an eyebrow when your usual daily hugs disappeared or ask a gruff, "where were you?" when you didn't show up to your unofficial but completely established after school hangouts, but he had otherwise put up no protest.

you didn't know whether to be relieved or heartbroken.

on one hand, katsuki's kind of scary when he's confrontational. also, you don't know how you would be able to talk to him. "i overheard a conversation where you said you hate me but im madly in love with you and want to marry you and have your kids?" yeah right. you were sort of glad to be getting off easy.

but on the other hand, you were devastated. his apathy served as further confirmation that he meant every word he said. he really didn't mind that you were pulling back, and seemed perfectly content not being nearly as close as before.

you really had been deluding yourself. secretly, you had been hoping that he was just saying stuff in the heat of the moment and would actually be upset if you pulled back. because that would mean he cared. but he didn't give two shits about you. you really were just some stupid childhood habit he'd learned to tolerate.

you became less energetic as a person. not just with katsuki, but simply in general. your days seemed unbearably longer and darker without him. you had a hard time engaging and staying in the present, your mind wandering to katsuki again and again. it was pathetic, really. you two had never even dated. why were you so hung up about it? you two were just friends, and in fact, it seemed like he never even liked you in the first place. you were just stupidly hopeful and naive.

-

katsuki was dying.

two days. it had been two fucking days since you'd touched him or even just been remotely affectionate with him and he was going crazy. hell, he'd give the whole damn world even for just a smile at this point. he was desperate.

he didnt understand why you were being like this. it was like everything he knew about you had shifted, and he was just standing there, waiting for some kind of sign or something like an idiot.

katsuki had noticed the shift in your behavior immediately. of course he did. he knows you better than he knows himself, after all. at first, he thought you were just playing some dumb game or pulling some stunt to get his attention, but that wasn’t it. you waved instead of hugging. said a simple "bye" instead of "love you, bye bye!" it's not like you were completely avoiding him. you still talked. you still laughed. only now, it didn't quite reach your eyes.

and it was fucking killing him.

he hated that you were pulling back. he hated how off everything felt. he hated how fucking empty his dorm room felt when you weren't there to pester him. but most of all, he hated how he couldn’t even figure out what he'd done wrong. he couldn't think of any fights or reasons to be angry, but if that wasn't it, what was it? why were you suddenly just.. leaving?

he wanted to confront you. he wanted to pull you aside and demand to know where the fuck you went. but for the first time in his entire life, he didn't know how. because this wasn't like confronting stupid deku about his new powers. it wasn't about asking icyhot what his fuckin' deal was. it was you. his whole fucking world, even if he never said it out loud. he was nothing short of terrified to ask, because he feared it would drive you away even further, and he couldn't think of any alternate universe where he'd be able to handle that.

he found himself looking for excuses to be near you, to talk to you, to just be around you in any way possible. the last two days had been a torture of silence, of missed chances to sit next to you or casually reach out and tug you into his space like he used to. the times when he’d shove his arm around your shoulders or playfully mess with your hair, it had all stopped. he didn't feel like he could anymore. like he'd somehow lost the privilege. and now, all he was left with was this gnawing feeling in his gut that something was horribly wrong.

he had finally worked up the courage and tried asking you once, but you had shut him down with that all-too-familiar "nothing, just tired" bullshit and that damn closed-off look on your face that made him feel completely hollowed out.

he was desperate. he needed to feel you. needed to hear your bright laughter and see your stupid smile. it was so fucking stupid and sappy and so unlike him, but he couldn't even bring himself to care about that. he needed to cuddle with you until you fell asleep. have you curl up on his chest and get swallowed up by his much larger frame and watch you as your breathing quickly evened out from his touch. you could never stay awake long when cuddling with him. he found himself smiling at the thought.

he scowled. this is so fucking stupid. he thought to himself.

-

it all came to a bubbling point for him on friday. 5 whole days of "hi's" and a half-smile instead of "KATSUKIIIII's," and a running hug. he was losing his fucking mind.

usually, you convinced him to join the weekly 1a movie night by taking his hand and dragging him out of his room. he'd grumble about it, but he'd never refuse. he'd sit on the corner of the couch and you'd sit close to him before gradually inching closer, the night ending with you two cuddling. now, he willingly trudges to movie night of his own free will and sits in the same corner of the couch, but this time alone.

the room buzzed with quiet chatter and the flicker of the TV as the opening credits rolled and iida turned the lights off. it was some dumb romcom movie katsuki couldn't bring himself to care about in the slightest. you would definitely like it, though. kirishima passed around popcorn, sero argued with kaminari over which movie was the best, deku was doing his stupid nerd rambling as todoroki and hagakure gawked at him. and you? you sat on the other end of the couch.

not just away, but away from him.

the usual spot right beside katsuki, practically in his lap, head on his shoulder, knees draped over his thighs sat empty. you sat next to mina instead, curling into the armrest and pulling your legs up to your chest. you offered sweet smiles to everyone, laughed when something was funny, made conversation when prompted. but katsuki saw it. he saw you.

and he saw that you weren’t you.

he stared.

throughout the entire first half of the movie, he barely processed a single second of it. he kept looking over, waiting for you to glance at him, to shift closer, to give him a sign, anything, but you stayed curled in on yourself, legs angled away from him. he hated it. he hated how you looked like you were trying to make yourself smaller. like you were trying to disappear.

katsuki’s heart thundered. his leg bounced impatiently. his jaw was tight. he couldn’t take this shit anymore.

he stood up abruptly, catching your attention. he stalked straight over to you, jaw clenched and shoulders tense. he hovered over you, looking down and saying nothing.

you blinked up at him. "...what?"

his eyes were sharp and unreadable to most. but to you, who knew him better than he knew himself, you could see the anxiety and desperation swimming in his eyes.

no, no, no. remember, don't delude yourself. he doesn't like you, not even as a friend.

"are you okay..?"

"no." he snapped, his tone making you flinch. he softened at your reaction. "i just.. you've been.." he started, but his tone cracked, eyes flashing, and something in him snapped. "fuckin’ hell, just—"

he reached down and grabbed you.

gently, but with zero room for argument. strong arms slid under your knees and behind your back like it was the most natural thing in the world, and you barely had time to yelp before he was sitting down again, with you in his lap, pulled tight into his chest like you were his lifeline. (you are)

you froze, wide-eyed and stiff, but he just held you. his arms locked around you. he didn’t look at anyone else, didn’t give a shit about the stares or the knowing grins. he buried his face in your shoulder, muttering low and rough into your neck.

"i don't know what the fuck i did," he said. "but you don't get to just... take all that away. not from me."

you blinked, suddenly breathless.

he held you tighter. his voice cracked again, this time softer. "whatever i did, 'm sorry. i'll make it up t'ya, i swear. but don't just.." his voice trailed off. "dont stop loving me." he wanted to scream.

you felt your heart stutter, but you didn't say anything.

not at first, anyway.

because what is there to say when your heart is lodged in your throat and your body is caged in the arms of the person you swore you were going to get over?

you just sat there, crumpled in his lap like some lost puppy that finally found its way home again. your face is pressed into his shoulder, and you think if you speak, you’ll cry. so you don't. you just let yourself relax and melt into him.

he doesn’t say anything else either. his grip doesn’t loosen, not even a little. his fingers press into your back, not hard, just steady. grounding. enough to keep you pressed firmly against him. like he’s trying to convince himself you’re real.

the room’s still noisy with all the side conversations, but it's all background noise now with you two just in your little bubble away from the rest of the world. you feel safe and like you’re about to fall apart at the same time.

you shift a little in his lap and glance up at him.

“…you didn’t have to drag me across the room, you know,” you finally mutter, voice hoarse.

he scoffs, eyes flicking down to meet yours. “yeah, well. you weren’t comin’ on your own.”

you wrinkle your nose at him. “you could’ve asked.”

“whatever." he grumbles. "this is more efficient."

you snort. "the hell?"

he shrugs, completely unapologetic. “worked, didn’t it?”

you don’t answer. because yeah. it did.

instead, you rest your head back on his chest, and he immediately shifts to accommodate you. your legs drape over the couch, his arm hooked under your knees to keep you anchored, and his other hand settled at the base of your spine. he starts tracing slow, absentminded circles there, hand slipped under your hoodie to rub at the bare skin like nothing had ever changed. like you hadn’t just gone five whole days without touching him. like you hadn’t spent those five days trying to unravel every version of reality where he didn’t love you back.

you sit like that for a long time.

finally, he speaks up, his voice low.

"what did i do?" he asked, his voice oddly shy. "why'd ya stop.. you know..?"

your breath hitches. because you do know. but you don't know what to say or how to say it. "i thought you completely hated me" doesn't quite seem like an appropriate response.

"nothing," you settle with.

he gives you a look.

you sigh. you never could lie to katsuki. he's known you for too long and too well to fall for them.

"i just.. got insecure. overheard some conversation where you said i was, um, clingy and annoying." you murmur, your voice small. if katsuki wasn't pressed up against you and hanging on to your every word, he wouldn't have been able to catch it.

but he did.

and you swore you saw complete heartbreak in his eyes.

you let out a small gasp of surprise when he pulls you flush against him, arms tight around your body and face nuzzled deep into your neck. he holds you with such a gentle intensity you think you might cry. he holds you in a way that makes you feel loved and safe.

"'m sorry." he mumbles into your neck, voice watery. "didn't mean it. i was just.. mad that they were makin' fun of me. none of it was true. at all."

your breath hitches.

"you're.. so fuckin' special to me. i mean it. these last few days without you have been hell."

you think you might cry.

"been missin' your fuckin' smile and your damn laugh. and your stupid hugs that make me almost topple over."

you hold back a giggle.

"i love you."

the world stills.

you don’t move.

you don’t speak.

hell, you're scared to breathe.

your heart is beating so loud you’re worried he might hear it. your face is burning, your lungs feel tight, and your throat’s a warzone of words you can’t quite say.

he said it.

he said it.

and now he’s quiet. breathing you in. arms wrapped around you like you’re something precious. like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go.

you pull back just enough to look at him. your hand comes up to brush his bangs from his eyes, and your fingers linger at his temple, trailing down his cheek like you’re memorizing him.

his expression is soft in a way you rarely get to see. wide-eyed. hopeful. a little scared.

you offer him a tiny, quiet smile.

no teasing.

no trying to be brave or play it all off.

just soft. honest. the kind that only he gets to see.

you lift your hand and touch his face. not dramatic, not shaky, just steady. fingers brushing along his cheekbone, thumb ghosting over the edge of his jaw like you’re memorizing the shape of him again.

his eyes close for a second and you swear you see him leaning into it a little.

you say nothing.

you don’t need to.

because you’re here. because he’s holding you. because you’re not pulling away, and he's pulling you in.

you nuzzle your face into his neck, like it's right where you belong, and you breathe in.

he breathes in too.

slow. like the world’s stopped spinning for a second just so you can exist like this, tangled up in each other without saying anything. no talking about what's going on, no complications, just.. being.

you both don't notice how mina and kirishima are gossiping wildly about how you two are practically married and wondering how you still claim not to be dating. you don't notice the way that ochaco squeals after glancing over at your position, and you don't notice the way izuku looks fondly at you two with soft eyes. (he's been shipping the two of you since childhood)

you and katsuki are the only two people in the world who matter.

"i love you," you whisper as you feel yourself dozing off.

you think you feel his lips press gently against your forehead.

"i love you too."

masterlist

[sunshinesukuna]

I loveee your geom seongje fics so much!!! What about reader who hates smoking because either she doesn’t like it orr has breathing problems (you pickk) and seongje has an unspoken rule in the union that if someone smokes within 6ft of reader they’ll get…beaten up 🤗🤗

-🦕

+ SIX FEET OF SMOKE AND SILENCE

in which seong-je makes a rule in union to not smoke within six feet of his girlfriend, only for him to not follow it.

Geum Seong-je x reader

slight angst, fluff

Everyone in the Union knew one rule without needing it posted on a wall or barked across the courtyard:

No one smoked within six feet of Seong-je’s girlfriend.

There was no memo. No warning. But the message spread fast after one poor bastard lit up too close to her during lunch break behind the gym. He hadn’t even finished his first puff before he was on the floor, coughing blood and gasping through a broken nose. Seong-je didn’t say a word after. He just stepped over the guy, lit his own cigarette, and leaned back against the wall like nothing happened.

Since then, the six-foot rule was sacred.

She hated smoking. The smell. The burn. The heavy feeling it left in the air. It clung to her skin when she walked through the old wing where delinquents spent their time. And Seong-je—for all his stubborn chaos—smoked like it kept his pulse steady.

She didn’t ask him to quit. That wasn’t her way. But he knew how she felt. She never looked away from the truth, and when she wrinkled her nose or shifted just slightly away, he knew.

Today, the courtyard was empty, save for them.

She’d been looking for him, half-pissed, half-worried, when she found him under the awning behind the old practice rooms. A familiar white stick between his fingers, the faint hiss of fire at the tip.

He was already mid-drag when he looked up and froze.

Their eyes locked.

She didn’t speak. Just walked forward. Each step deliberate.

And Seong-je, for once, didn’t smirk.

The cigarette dangled loosely from his fingers, smoke curling lazily up like it wasn’t in trouble.

She stopped three feet from him.

He exhaled slowly. "I thought you were in the main hall."

She crossed her arms. "Didn’t realize that changed your personal radius."

He stared at her for a beat. Then, with a quiet breath, he flicked the cigarette to the ground and ground it beneath his boot. No dramatic sigh, no annoyed glare. Just a muted act of surrender.

She blinked. That…was new.

"You mad?" he asked, watching her expression closely.

She tilted her head. "You made a whole rule for me, Seong-je. But you can't follow it yourself?"

"That rule’s for everyone else," he replied, deadpan. "I make exceptions for myself."

She narrowed her eyes.

He hesitated.

Then his voice softened. "But I wasn’t thinking. That’s on me."

Silence stretched.

It wasn’t just about the cigarette. Not really. It was about the things that built up over time. How he always took care of her in his own violent, twisted way. How he respected her space, protected her name, and never let the world touch her with dirtied hands.

But still smoked like it didn’t matter.

"Why do you need it so badly?" she asked, arms still folded, but her voice quieter now.

His lips parted. He looked away, tongue running along his inner cheek.

"It shuts things up in my head," he said eventually. "Gives me something to do with my hands when I’m not picking fights."

A beat passed.

"You always seem calmer when I'm around."

He looked back at her.

"I am."

The silence grew thicker. Tension slipped in between them like static.

She stepped closer. Two feet now.

He didn’t move.

"Then maybe you don’t need it," she murmured.

His breath caught. Not from the words. From how close she was now. How she tilted her chin up, how the wind caught strands of her hair and lifted them between them like whispers.

"Maybe," he said, voice low. "But habits die hard."

Her eyes flicked down to his fingers—still twitching slightly, like they missed the cigarette already.

Then she did something that made him pause.

She reached into his pocket and pulled out the pack herself.

Seong-je blinked. "What are you doing?"

"Testing a theory."

She pulled one cigarette out, then held it up between her fingers like she’d seen him do a hundred times.

"You hate smoking," he said, stepping closer. Just inches now.

"I do."

"Then why?"

"Because maybe if you see me do it, you’ll stop."

He stared at her. Hard.

She was bluffing. He knew it. But then—

She raised the cigarette to her lips.

His hand shot out.

But instead of pulling it away, he held it for her. Between his fingers. Just like he always did.

"This is how you hold it," he murmured. His voice dropped, the space between them now non-existent.

His girlfriend didn’t move.

He brought the cigarette to her lips. She looked at him, stubborn but nervous. The kind of nervous she never let anyone see.

He lit it.

"Now inhale—slow. Then let it sit for a second. Then breathe it out."

She tried.

And immediately coughed, turning away, shoulders shaking.

He chuckled, low and smug. "Yeah, that tracks."

She glared at him with watery eyes. "Asshole."

"You tried to play cool. That’s on you."

She shoved him, but it was half-hearted. He caught her wrist.

"You hate it, don’t you?"

She didn’t answer.

His fingers curled around hers gently. "Don’t do that again."

"Then stop making me worry."

They stared at each other.

And something cracked open.

He raised her hand still holding the cigarette. Took it back between his fingers. Then brought it to his own lips.

Smoked.

Exhaled away from her.

Then tossed it aside.

He leaned in, close enough that she could smell the smoke clinging to him and feel the heat of his breath.

"I’ll quit."

She blinked.

"But only if you keep looking at me like that."

She shoved him again. He caught her around the waist this time.

Pulled her close.

"You really want me to stop?"

She nodded. Small. Honest.

He lowered his head, lips brushing her ear. "Then kiss me. And mean it."

Her breath hitched. She hesitated.

Then she kissed him.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t perfect. But it was raw, honest, and more addicting than any nicotine high he’d ever chased.

When they broke apart, her forehead pressed to his, he smiled. Not the usual arrogant smirk. Something quieter.

"Guess I found a better habit."

And for once, the air between them was clean.

---

AUTHOR'S NOTE + MASTERLIST

I hope you enjoyed <33 I love how everyone's making requests!! Also in case anyone's wondering how I am so quick at doing the request 😭 The exam gaps are the best motivation to do anything other than studying lmao.