wadoichimonji0

[wadoichimonji0]

Type Dangerous - R.S.

Synopsis. Five times Ryomen Sukuna’s “wingmanning” family is the biggest cóckbIock in existence, and the one time he finally gets what he wants - you, his nephew’s hot preschool teacher.

Pairing. Ryomen Sukuna x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem!teacher!reader, 5 + 1 things, Itadori family shenanigans, unckuna, he has the BIGGEST crush on you, making him blush, face-ríding, síxty-nine, Sukuna with tattoos, PÚSSYDRÚNK Sukuna, he goes feraI, p sIapping, p talking, he’s BIG, chokíng, tummy buIges, manhandIing, dúmbifícation, creampíes, through pantíes, cúmplay, slight bréeding, getting together, nosy families, lowkey crackfic, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 12.6k

A/N. HEHE TOLD Y’ALL I’D WRITE IT…

“This is my uncle, he just got out of jail.”

“Hell yeah.” Not the most courteous introduction to Yuji’s wide-eyed lil’ friends - but if Jin had bugged n’ blackmailed him into picking the brat up from preschool today then he was going to make sure it never happens again.

And as Yuji starts swinging from Sukuna’s broad, beefy biceps, he grins at his miniature crowd. “He also has tattoos and likes to drink.”

“Hell yeah- don’t forget about the cars, twerp.” Sukuna’s nodding, breezing past the horrified faces of parents that tugged their children at least seven feet away. Seriously, how long was this teacher going to take? He could see your back hunched by another corner of the classroom, hugging a sniffly student goodbye.

“Oh yeah- and he likes driving fast and slashing tires.”

You straighten, probably hearing every word - not that he cared, Sukuna couldn’t imagine who’d want to be around this all day. “Hell ye- oh.”

Until you turned his way.

And Ryomen Sukuna feels his heart drop- right along with the muscular right arm that was stuck out for Yuji to climb all over like a handlebar. And with it, his nephew. 

Who seems quite disgruntled at his sudden meeting with the soft, padded floor of the preschool classroom, standing on his own two feet for the first time since Sukuna had arrived here. He furrows his light brows, “Hey- wha’s the big- oh! Teacher!”

Seems like it runs in the family, Sukuna muses - because all it takes is one glimpse of you starting to head their way before Yuji lights up as brightly as the Sun itself. And to Sukuna, whose nephew was a perpetual Christmas tree, it almost made him wish he wore his usual shades.

At least that would’ve hid the way his crimson eyes sweep up n’ down your figure, languidly. Breath stuttered, mouth partly agape. 

Sukuna’s utterly forgetting himself before he’s called out by one of Yuji’s friends- a squeaky, orange-haired girl no older than five. “Ewwww- why are you red?”

“Shut it, bob-cut.”

“So—” Perfect timing, you sidle up to the bustling little group right as Sukuna spits out the tail end of his sentence. A brow of yours raised, bob-cut? 

And oh- you’re even more perfect up close. Is it really too late for him to enroll in preschool? He didn’t see any age restrictions around, and he could count till ten, surely. Genuinely considering, he’s gulping at the way your pretty eyes narrow. “Jin’s not here today? Yuji, do you know this man?”

The boy in question bounces with excitement, “Of course! This is Sukuna, my uncle who just got out of jail and drives fast cars.”

“Ah- ahah.” Said Sukuna chuckles gingerly, eyes flitting between his beaming nephew and your blank expression. Finally settling on the kid, “Yuji! What have I told you about uh- the benefits of um- safe driving and caring for our fellow civilians on the road?”

And there was Sukuna’s first mistake - asking a question, because surely that was a sign for Yuji to nod solemnly. “That it’s for lame pussies who- mmpf!”

“Ah…” You blink.

The damage was already done- but Sukuna’s clapping a meaty palm over Yuji’s mouth already. Oh, he was smashing this kid’s iPad when they’re home. A thin line of nervous sweat beads down his temple as he stares up at you, “K-kids these days, right, ma’am?”

Yuji frowns, “But you do call them lame pussies who-”

“Yuji!”

“Right right, miss.” The lively girl from before - Kugisaki, he thinks her name was - latches onto your swaying skirts. “And he also likes to drink.”

“And slash tires.”

“Tuna mayo.” 

The crowd mercifully quietens down for a split-second. “…”

Until a grumpy black-haired boy peeks through his bangs at that last line, as if translating. “He says he also sets fires.”

Sukuna never said that - but he doesn’t get a single chance to say so. Too busy staring at the constant knit of your brows, the way your gaze was darting from the children to Sukuna like a tennis match, trying to bite back a smile. “I-is that so?”

“And he has a lotta tattoos.” Yuji pries off his uncle’s muffling palm, back to climbing him like his very own jungle gym. As if to prove his point, he pokes the bulging band of black ink that encircles Sukuna’s bicep. “See?”

And if he was any less devastated about making himself look like an absolute fool in front of his nephew’s pretty preschool teacher, then maybe he’d have noticed that look in your eyes. 

Maybe.

Maybe he’d have seen the slight glint in them as you followed Yuji’s pudgy, directing finger - from the wide tattoos at his biceps, to his wrist, to the circles peeking through Sukuna’s off-white undershirt. So tight that it was like the pale color was nearly painted onto him- if Itadori Jin was the sweet, soft single dad that was always early for pick-up, then Sukuna was just rugged. 

From the dishevelled state of his twinning rosy hair, to the studded piercing on his left earlobe, to the naturally-honed muscles that made him look hulking.

And it almost seemed like you were…checking him out? But surely that was a figment of Sukuna’s imagination, right? Right?

You’re nodding as Yuji looks to you impatiently for approval, “Why, you’re quite right, Yuji.” The corners of your glossed lips curl upwards as you turn to Sukuna - and he feels electricity pang down his body. “Uncles these days, huh?”

Ah, he was gone for. 

It was almost a comical sight, you’re thinking - such a large, towering man well over six feet, speechlessly gawking at you. Leaned forwards, ears red; barely even registering the way his nephew grabs onto the tufts of his coral pink hair like a horse- whispering for the rest of his friends to join in.

Kugisaki makes two treks grabbing onto his sides before she’s looking up and crinkling her nose, “Ew. You’re red again, Mr. Felon.”

“He’s not Mr. Felon, he’s Mr. Tire-slasher.”

Yuji shakes his head, “No, he’s Mr. Mugshot.” Seated upon Sukuna’s broad shoulders, the boy adjusts his body to stick a hand inside his backpack and search. “Would you like to see the mugshot, miss-”

“Okay, time for us to get home.” 

Firmly, Sukuna tries to shoo away the army of toddlers trying to climb him as gently as possible - only four glares, now that’s a record. Nephew still on his back, bag now wrestled into his hand and well away from where Yuji could procure any printouts of his (admittedly flattering) mugshot. 

He’s feeling his heartbeat pick up just a lil’ as he darts his eyes back to you, “I-it was just probation, by the way. Happened to slash some uh- tires…” 

“And also drive fast!” Yuji pipes up happily.

“…That too.” Grouchy face wincing at the amused smile on your face- goddammit he’s never going to be able to show his face here ever again. Sukuna simpers out a wave, making sure to flex his chiseled biceps at you ever-so-slightly - if he couldn’t keep reputation, at least he could make you stare. “See you ‘round, teach.”

“See you around, Mr. Mugshot.”

Fuck. 

.

.

.

“I thought I said I’m not doing shit for the brat’s school again.” 

Jin patiently gestures for him to hush with the swearing in front of the gaggle of children, humming as he keeps handing out sugar cookies - half-off for dealing with Sukuna’s shoddy customer service. “Well, technically, we’re not in the preschool. We’re in the park.”

His younger brother seethes, flicking the ribbons of his pretty pink apron (Jin’s doing, of course.) “Having a damn bake sale-”

“Shush, Ryo. There are children around.”

“Exactly my point!” Was Sukuna the crazy one? He must be the crazy one. And he’s running a grumpy hand through his unruly pink locks- before remembering that one of those damn kids running around this bake sale had called him cotton-candy head and now he’s both irritated and unable to self-soothe.

It’d been Jin’s idea to drag him to the preschool bake sale, held at the nearby children’s park- something about raising money for a talent show.

Honestly, fuck talent shows. It didn’t even take two minutes surrounded by all the fanfare for him to have half the mind to eat those sweet treats himself and just leave-

“Oh hey, you’re Mr. Mugshot.” A little boy wearing a panda mask, one he’s never even seen before, points up at him and giggles as Sukuna glares. Did that nickname really spread?

He’s bending over their frilly pink stall with a damn good word or two about-

“Oh! Jin, thank you for coming.” Before he’s hearing the sound of the pearly gates of heaven, and an angel to accompany right along with it. You. Who’d silently meandered up to their cookie stand with an expression of both delight and concern. Your gorgeous mouth pursing as you stop to think, “And…Sukuna, right? Thank you, too, the children really appreciate the work you’re putting in.”

You remembered his name. He has to hold back a squeal. 

“A-ah, yeah- yeah! Of course, of course.” He’s swiftly leaning over the stall, arms crossed so that you can fully take in the way they streeetch his tight sleeveless turtleneck. 

In the faint distance - honestly, it feels like miles away - he’s hearing the panda-mask boy unsubtly whisper something to his father about how ‘Mr. Mugshot has turned red.’ 

Not! Obviously not- smooth. Ryomen Sukuna is supposed to be smooth, and he’s desperately attacking his features into something that resembles suave nonchalance. “I’m a…real philanthropic type of guy, y’know?” Cocking his head with a smug grin, “So, you come ‘round here often?”

You’re smirking, your giggle sounding like his favorite song. “Well, it is my preschool class.”

Ah, shit. His eyes widen just a fraction, right. 

Scoffing, “Tch, uh, yeah. I knew that.”

So many days spent mentally praying that yet another one of Jin’s work meetings went over time again - just so that Sukuna would have an excuse to see your pretty face. And that’s the first thing he says?

Suddenly, he’s too aware of the ogling toddlers, of the snug pink apron that he was currently donning - and the way your eyes seem to stray down to the gaudy bow settled between his pecs.

At this point, it seems even his brother takes pity on him. Adjusting his glasses with a soft chuckle, “It seems Ryo here had the greatest time at pick-up last week, he only had good things to say about you, ma’am.”

You blink in slight surprise, eyes taking in Sukuna’s large, fidgeting figure. “I’m quite flattered.”

Yes! Sukuna’s pleading eyes snap to the interested twinkle in your eyes, and then to the other man- yes, keep going!

“Of course, Yuji did tell me he was upset he didn’t get to show you his printed mugshot of him. It was all that he could-”

Fuck no! 

Catching the other’s urgent eyes, Jin sputters- “B-but- but, it was just a little vandalism, of course. Just a little ah…a little driving and- eek!” Cutting himself off promptly as soon as Sukuna steps down on Jin’s foot, syllables stumbling, looking ‘round anywhere for any distraction. “Why don’t you- ah! Why don’t you give our lovely teacher here a cookie, Sukuna. Free of charge.” 

You’re waving your hands, oh-so-sweetly, “I could never, please let me pay-”

“Nah, a pretty girl like you? I should give you more, ma.” He could give you a totally different type of cookie but this might just not be the place to say those words out loud- ah, he’s still got it. 

Sukuna’s thumbing out the biggest baked treat between a fluffy tissue and handing it over to you- ready to feel the sweet, sweet graze of your fingertips, if he was lucky.

But oh- it seems like the gates of heaven really have just opened up to him, because instead of taking it from his hands, you’re leaning down and taking a bite. Straight from where he held it. Humming as the candied taste floods your mouth, the soft pushness of your lips taps against the edge of his thumb.

And he wonders how they’d feel on his lips, instead. 

“Ah, sorry.” You’re taking a peek at him through your lashes and maybe he doesn’t still have it because Sukuna feels his breath hitch. “It just looked so good, and my hands are a little…”

And it’s only then that he’s noticing just how many boxes upon bags of things you’d bought from nearly every stall here. Happy to support your students - oh, you really were an angel. 

“Oh, let me.” Ever the gentleman, Jin hastens to move around a few bags so that you’re more comfortable. All while Sukuna can only hold out the cookie and freeze. Slack-jawed. 

Completely ridiculous. 

He doesn’t move a single millimeter, not even when you’re now able to easily grasp the baked good from him. Expectantly waiting, palm raised - while he only ogles you. 

“I uh- let me just-” And it takes Itadori Jin both hands to pry the crumbling cookie from Sukuna’s hands, sighing before wrapping up about two more in apology and handing them over to you. “We do hope you like them, ma’am.”

“Mhm—” Rubbing over the crumbs at the edge of your lower lip with one hand, you look dead-set on Sukuna as you murmur. “It was delicious. My compliments to the chef.”

Sukuna might not have been the chef - baker, whatever you said goes - it was Jin, but he can’t help but feel on top of the world as if he was. Waiting just until you’re out of sight, walking through the sunny Spring park up to the next parent-manned stand, to pump his fist with a low ‘hell yeah!’

“Ryo, you haven’t been this smitten since- well, ever.”

“Daddy, Mr. Mugshot is really weird.”

Sukuna whirls at a few staring parents- “The fuck are you lookin’ at?”

.

.

.

“Remind me why you’re here again?”

“Remind me why you’re here again?”

Arguing with a thirteen-year-old wasn’t very high on Sukuna’s bucket list, and yet, it seemed to happen on a nearly daily basis. He would blame middle school for being the root of Choso’s attitude, but he suspects the new emo look has something to do with it, too.

And maybe the fact that the older man was accompanying one of his weekly visits to Yuji’s preschool playground. Cutting off just the last of Friday’s classes just so that he could walk down the street to see his little brother. Despite seeing him at home every day, but still. 

That’s also what Sukuna himself was here for- of course. Why else would he-

“Ah ah- Kugisaki, what have I told you about using the toy construction hammer for things other than construction? We don’t hit, m’kay?”

Sighing, the way that Sukuna’s towering frame leans against the playground’s cherry blossom tree for support draws such disgust from Choso. Dark eyes flickering between his blushing uncle, and you - in the middle of the sand pit, trying to wrangle a class of toddlers. “You’re pathetic.”

“Shut it, scrawny.”

“Why don’t you just talk to her?”

Sukuna’s life flashes before his very eyes, and strangely it’s mainly made up of every moment where he’s embarrassed himself in front of you. Looking away with a huff, “It’s…complicated.”

The other snickers, “Well, it’s about to get a whole lot more complicated because she’s coming up to us right now.”

Oh, fuck.

Now, he might have had the sense to ‘accidentally’ bump into his oldest nephew just as he was on his route to meet Yuji (Sukuna had memorized his schedule, sauntering by this very block for an hour until he’d run into Choso) - but he didn’t have enough wit for this.

Conversations? With both parties and a classroom of preschoolers participating? 

He was just about ready to race right out of here and leave Choso to the wolves-

“Cho! You’re here as always.” You’re smiling as you waltz up to them, a neat line of toddlers following you as they would a mother duck. Hitting him with your scent of flowers n’ the sunniest of days, “And I see you’ve brought along a guest with you- how are you, Sukuna?”

“F-fine.” F-fine? With a stutter? Sukuna simply bristles at the smirk his nephew shoots his way, already feeling the tips of his pierced ears start to scald bright hot. 

“Bubba!”

Saved by the bell-like shriek of Yuji, enough to make Choso take a few steps over and hug his toddling brother so tight that the former squeals. Checking him over for scratches, dust, stickers- you name it. 

You’re catching the raise of Sukuna’s brows and chuckle, “He is always quite the attentive older brother. You should join us more often, I’m sure Yuji would enjoy having his favorite uncle around.”

Mouth dry, “I’m- I’m his only uncle.”

Yet, your grin still stands - a slight knowing curve in them that makes his brain fuzzy, and his lips just a bit too loose. Did he say he liked drinking again? What a fucking lie, you got him more buzzed than a shot of straight vodka pumping through his nerves. 

And he’s finding himself reaching over to brush a stray petal of cherry-pink from your crown. Blurting out before he can stop himself, “Hey…so what’s your ty- I mean, are you seeing any-”

“She’s mine!” Cuts off an annoying, grating voice - one that understood what you evidently didn’t, with the few syllables that Sukuna had been able to croak out.

And he’s looking over your shoulder to find himself being stared down (stared up at?) by a boisterous, buzz-cut boy slightly older than Yuji. Protectively standing behind you as he glared daggers, “When I’m old like you, she shall be my bride, Mr. Mugshot.”

Huh.

You’re droning out in your nicest tone, wagging your finger. “Now now, Todo Aoi, what have I told you about not proposing to your teachers?”

“To not.”

“And what are you doing?”

“Proposing.” Stifling a sigh, you realise that it would be yet another chat with Todo’s guardian about the boy’s harmless little puppy crush. 

But before you can direct the conversation back towards anything else, he’s stabbing an accusing index up at Sukuna’s looming frame. “Miss teacher here-” Not quite your name, but close enough. “-and my sweet idol Takada-chan are the only ones I shall marry. You can’t have either!”

“Who the hell…” Sukuna furrows his brows- what was this boy talking about? “Listen, kid, I-”

“Pffft–!” He could recognize that burst of muffled laughter anywhere, and at least Choso was having a grand ol’ time- whispering to Yuji, “Don’t you think this is like those late-night dramas dad pretends not to watch?”

No! Sukuna’s internally groaning. 

“Oh- oh yeah!” An over-hearing Kugisaki bounces at the mention of dramas, “My mommy watches those. Times like this the two guys will fight over the pretty girl.”

Todo puffs up his chest, “Then fight me, old man- I demand a duel!”

“I’m not even thirty?”

“That’s old.” Choso nods.

“You’re thirteen.”

“I’m five!” Yuji jumps up, and immediately his older brother’s pulling his phone out to snap a few hundred photographs at the cuteness. 

Todo stomps, “Fight me, fossil–”

And his young nephew - that traitor - is the next one to shrill with glee at the altercation, clapping his hands once Todo charges forward with a damn war cry to pummel Sukuna’s abs with hits about as fierce as cotton. “Fight! Fight! Fight!”

At the slight raise of your brows at the chaos, Sukuna rushes to explain, “Please excuse my nephew’s behaviour, ma’am, I don’t know where he got it from-”

Choso deadpans, “But you’re the one that taught us that the best talk is to talk with your fists because-” The two brothers turn to each other in unison, as if preaching the truth and nothing but the truth. “-we’re no weakass bi-”

“Their father.” Sukuna grits out- okay, maybe that kid’s punches were getting a little more painful. Or maybe it was just the way you were cocking your head at him that made his stomach churn, “Surely.” 

“Defend the honor of your woman, geriatric–!”

Seemingly snapping out of the little reverie of taking in whatever the fuck this was, you clap your hands in that teacherly way to demand silence. “Alright alright, break it up. You wouldn’t want me to take down any of your star points, would you, Aoi?” Tugging away the boy from Sukuna, you grimace up at him. “I’m so sorry about all of- well- this.”

Waving off- remember, Sukuna, nonchalance. Nonchalance. “Don’t worry about it, mama.”

“Y’know how they apologize to each other in the dramas?” Kugisaki speaks up, and honestly, this girl really did speak up at the most inopportune times. She glows at all the attention on her, “They kiss.”

And she was a genius.

An absolute genius, bob-cut!

Yuji - ever his lil’ ally - starts pumping his fist with whoots- “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

Starting up a slight chant within your group, you turn to him in question.

“I uh…” Sukuna starts, tilting his body down ever-so-slightly, until you could could nearly every thread on his dark hoodie. The way his slashing tattoos framing his jaw ripple as he gulps, “You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to, ma- that’s assuming you wanted to do something, and what I meant was-”

It was one second. A singular, heavenly second that your lips graze the right side of Sukuna’s cheek as he rambled - fluttering away right before his skin started to scorch with a blush.

Quite frankly, fuck nonchalance. 

“Ewww, he’s red again. What’s wrong with him?”

“Were you this red when you were setting fires, Mr. Mugshot?”

“He looked nothing like this in his mugshot- wanna see?”

“Salmon.”

Ears tinting a shade that matches his hair, voicebox void of any coherent words, Sukuna barely even functions until he’s hearing the sharp ka-chick! of a camera shutter. Whirling his head ‘round to find Choso with his phone pointed at him, catching him in all his flustered glory. “I’ll send it to the family groupchat.” He turns to you. “And to you on the preschool groupchat.”

Imagine Sukuna’s surprise when he finds you nodding, “Mhm, oh, and I should really be getting the kids back now, it’s almost time for the bell.” Making the kids waddle into a neat line once more, you wave. “Thank you for the visit- do come again, it was quite…interesting.”

And they stare - Choso at Yuji, Sukuna at you - as you and your classroom disappear back within the preschool walls. “No phone for you for two weeks.”

“No hot teacher’s number for you forever.”

Only after a second- “Hey- hey kid. Show me that number again? I’ll make it one week.”

.

.

.

Sukuna had almost, mercifully, forgotten about that damn talent show. 

The bake sale? Gaping at you for nearly five full minutes straight? Never happened. 

And he’d almost convinced himself of that- until the time came for him to be seated right on the very front row of the cozy preschool auditorium. Taking up nearly three chairs as he squeezes himself into the humble seat, arms crossed and scowling. 

“You know…” Jin claps as Yuji and Kugisaki fight to clamber onto stage first, with a reluctant Fushiguro in tow. About to showcase whatever it is that they’d been practising with doves and sticks all week. From the corner of his mouth, “When we had the kiddos over, Megs told me something very interesting the other day.”

“Hm.” Sukuna’s grunts noncommittally when Yuji pulls out a comically large fairy wand - ah, a magic show.

“Something about you duelling with a kid for the hand of a certain someone.”

Letting out a strangled groan, his eyes immediately find you - as they always seemed to do. Stuck on the way you were kneeled by the front of the stage, motivating each little performer tonight. “Y-ya don’t say…”

Jin beams, “You know, you should really ask her out, Ryo- oh! Do you need our help? I can tell you this, the Itadori family makes great wingmen.”

“Ya don’t say.”

Tattletale, Sukuna’s grousing. And just as Fushiguro Megumi finds himself being stuffed into a box - to be sawed in half as all good magicians did, apparently - the older man slowly, menacingly pulls out his prized camcorder. 

Just in time for Fushiguro to glance over and have his face pale at the blinking, recording lens. 

“After all, Megumi did say you were blushing like a- what was it- ��maiden in love’ that day. How cute.” 

“Ya don’t say.” Sukuna zooms in, right on the black-haired boy’s ashen face once the saw raises high in the air to magically cut him in half. And to make things even worse, he starts pointing at his camera, mouthing through a grin, ‘Oh yes.’ At Fushiguro’s slight shake of his head. ‘You are dead.’

But, alas, it was too good to be true.

And instead of having the little snitch be the casualty in one of Yuji’s magic tricks, the talent show goes shockingly smoothly. Hell, Wasuke slept through only about half of it, which was as much of a compliment as one could get. 

All because of your efforts, surely - and when the entire thing ends with (surprise, surprise) every little brat getting awarded a winning prize, Sukuna finds himself not half-annoyed that he’d actually sat through all of it.

Well, right up until about when it was time for the exhausted preschoolers to be taken home by their families. 

And Yuji comes bounding up to the four with a squealing—“Dadda–! Bubba–! Gramps–! Mr. Mug-”

“Another word out of you and I’m throwing your iPad out the window.” Sukuna grumbles, heart leaping to his throat when he’s spotting your chuckling figure follow up behind his nephew, as if Jin’s elbowing wasn’t a sign enough.

Yuji frowns, “Aw, but I already told everyone here.”

Damn gremlin- but before he can get another word in, you’re already greeting his brother and father with a smile. “It’s so great to see you again, Mr. Itadori- I hope that blood pressure you were telling me about is better now.”

“Ah, ya know- I won’t be dying any time soon.” Wasuke barks out a hoarse noise of laughter, before beadily eyeing Sukuna. “This one, however…”

Your gorgeous face drops in worry, and he doesn’t know whether to whine at his father for letting you make that expression, or giggle because you cared about him. Fuck. “Oh no- everything alright, Sukuna?”

But Wasuke answers for him, “No. Not at all, quite the incurable disease, my dear.”

He watches on in matching confusion with Yuji as Jin lights up beside him, “Ah- ah! Right right, that-” Soothing his face into something pitiful as he turns to you, “That ah- thing that only heh- one person can solve.”

About as subtle as a sledgehammer. 

And just as efficient in bagging the woman of one’s dreams.

Because you only furrow your brows in confusion, “I’m…sorry? What?”

Sukuna’s older brother’s smile tightens in desperation, nervously laughing. “You- you know…that thing?” And you tilt your head, eyes darting between the four as if trying to work out the punchline. “The thing like- the heart condition? No- not something serious but like…the butterflies?” Now looking to Sukuna for help - as if the other man wouldn’t just let him rot in the very grave he’d dug for himself. 

Then at Choso, who’d been quietly attempting to disappear into the wall plaster. Trying not to laugh as he dotes on Yuji, “The doki-doki.”

Jin snaps his fingers, “Yes! Like the doki-doki? The-”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake- he wants to fu-”

“That’s enough for tonight, pa.” It really does run in the family - because in a split-second, Sukuna has his palm clapped over Itadori Wasuke’s mouth. Smile painfully plastic, “Did you take your meds today, dear father? I don’t believe you took your meds today.”

He plunges his sprightly father into Jin’s arms, “Say, Jin, why don’t you get dad his meds.” Making note of the way that you - still thoroughly confused, and now thoroughly off your shift helping each student get to their guardian - were toyin’ with the cute decorations of your car keys. 

Letting his mouth work before his brain could regret anything- “And why don’t I walk you to your car, ma?”

“I- what.” You’re somewhat shocked at being addressed so directly, and at the kindly incline of Sukuna’s head. “Don’t you have a heart condition? I wouldn’t want to exert you, Sukuna.”

Wasuke grunts, “Exert him in another- mmpf-” Hastily shushed by Choso’s palm, more for his sanity’s sake than his uncle’s.

These damn- he narrows a glare down at an unabashedly-eavesdropping Jin and Wasuke. “No. No, don’t worry about it, they were just joking. Ha. Ha.” 

Well…it was quite dark outside the building, even with the surrounding streetlights. And your vehicle might just be a little ways away but it never hurt to be extra safe, did it? Especially when his stature was so intimidating anyways?

And so, you nod. 

And he walks with you.

More like floats beside you on cloud nine, actually. Sukuna’s sure you two made quite a sight in the corridor, if the way passing parents whispered to each other signalled anything - him, with his ears flared red, unable to even look at you directly as you two were alone. You, as perfect as ever.

“Ah- so-”

“What did you-”

You’re both speaking at the same time once you’re out of the school building, laughing into the nearly-empty night air that forms clouds out of your puffs of laughter. The few minutes of a walk to the parking lot seemed like eternity - and Sukuna would have gladly let it be. 

“You speak.” You’re urging.

“No you.”

“You-”

“I refuse.”

“Fine.” Rolling your eyes, you never noticed the way he always seemed to nudge his head ever-so-closely to you whenever you spoke. As if he was hanging onto your every word. “What did you think about the talent show?”

“Brilliant. All because of you, of course- got so much blackmail to use in ten years.” He cackles.

Though, that’s stopped short very soon the nanosecond you’re nudging him playfully. Heat touching heat. And he shivers, “Hit me if this is strange.” Letting the tense air clog his throat, at least, that’s his excuse for it. “But do you remember that thing I meant to ask you that one time at the playground…”

“Yes—?”

“Are you-” Sukuna’s husky baritone cracks and he twists his face into a wince, “D-do you happen to be seeing anyone?”

You blink, and there’s something about the way you look at him that makes him feel like you’re holding back such a smile. How he wished to see it right now. Musing into the silent night air, only thrumming with your footsteps towards the car, “Nope.”

“O-oh.” And if this was any other time, then he’d be embarrassed about how obviously relieved he sounds. How you surely must have picked up on it.

Faking nonchalance, he’s stuffing his hand into the baggy cloth of his ripped jeans, “Cool.” And it was a damn good thing you didn’t have x-ray vision like all the heroes in all those weekend cartoons Yuji watched - because then you’d have seen the way his painted nails dig in so deeply into his palms in pure excitement. Nearly hard enough to draw blood. “Very cool.”

“Very cool.” You’re echoing, now stood by the driver’s seat of your car - just waiting for him to say something. Anything. 

Waiting as he opens his mouth- “What’s your ty-”

“Yuji- Yuji noooo- don’t interrupt your uncle’s k-drama moment- oh, dammit.” Itadori Jin, who’d been chasing after an adventure-hungry Yuji, balks at the way you were both so close. Snatching up his struggling toddler, “Forget about me! We- we never here- go back to doing whatever you were doing!”

And somehow, you lurch apart as if you’d just been shocked. Only now realizing just how warm the temperature of his proximity was, fighting to keep your professional façade in front of your spying audience. 

“I bid you goodnight, Jin- Yuji.” Gesturing out a wave, you’re getting into your ride so quickly that Sukuna thinks he must’ve been dreaming you up. “And you, Sukuna.”

Nevermind- not a dream. 

Definitely not a dream. Because even in his sweetest hallucinations he wouldn’t have been able to make you say his name like that. Almost a purr. Almost batting your lashes.

Almost ripping out his heart from his very chest as you then speed down the road.

“That’s the best ya could’ve done, sonny? Even after I taught you everything to know about wooing a woman?” How very much like Wasuke to manifest from nearly thin air, from somewhere out of the shadows of the building. 

“Not that.” 

“Especially that.”

The older man only waves off Jin’s bemoaning concern about ‘ruining the moment- they had a doki-doki moment!’ “Choso’s in the car, can’t believe I lost a bet to a middle-schooler. Dammit.”

Sukuna’s eyes widen, “You…bet on me?”

“Whaddaya think, sonny?” 

Jin smiles, “Guilty.”

“Gwuilty!” 

“No- no, Yuji, not guilty.”

Wasuke paces away, shaking his head. “Thought I raised you better- keh! Thought I’d get grandchildren from you, too. Tch, now I owe a middle-schooler fifty yen, oh, woe is me.”

It takes a second for Sukuna to register the words, ���Wait- only fifty yen?”

“Yeah, that’s just about my belief in you, kid.”

.

.

.

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! 

“Oi- oi, Jin. Go get the door.”

“I’m cooking dinner–! Cho, could you get the door?”

“I’m in the middle of homework- ask uncle.”

Sukuna grumbles, why the hell was he the one to always answer that damn door? Honestly, Yuji could buck up and get some experience yelling at sleazy salesmen sometimes. Sprawled out across the TV room couch, he stares at his nephew playing with a toy bow and arrows set on the floor, “Yuji, could you get the-”

“I can hear you, Ryo.”

Dammit- there was a reason why Itadori Jin was the older brother. 

And there was also a reason why Ryomen Sukuna had a reputation in this quaint neighborhood for being a boor - not that that was much of a brag. But at least it explained why he was stomping up to the oak front door, damn near ripping it off its hinges with a growl- “We’re not buying any- oh.”

‘Oh’ was right.

Because standing right there on his porch was a damn sight for sore eyes - you. 

You, with your mouth parted and your brows slightly raised as you looked from the messy bangs of his locks to the oversized sweater he was wearing. You, who doesn’t even flinch about the fact that he’d just answered the door yelling. You, donned in a pretty lil’ skirt that makes him gulp- 

“You okay, Sukuna?”

“No. So how are you doin’ on this fine day, ma? ”

“Oh!” A happy call of your name makes you turn - even though Sukuna just stares, shell-shocked. Jin shoves him bodily out of the way, opening the door wider, “Please- come in, we’ve been expecting you.”

Looking down at the slight stain of something at the hem of his sweatpants, the other man frowns. It’s not like that was news he’d ever forget - so why the hell was he looking like that? “We have?”

“Yes?” Jin’s showing you the way in- only for you to be dragged in by an overeager Yuji anyways. And as the two of you disappear down the halls, he’s turning to his taller brother in genuine confusion. “Did Cho not tell you that we were having Yuji’s teacher over for dinner tonight?”

At Sukuna’s sputtering, Jin wastes no time grasping a nearby broomstick and thumping the wooden end up against the ceiling. “Kamo Choso–!”

And out comes a muffled reply, “I told grandpa to tell him!”

“Haaah? I told Yuji to.”

It sinks in. The fact that you were here, all prettily dolled-up and at their family home - and you’d happened to see him in nothing but a stained, ratty sweatshirt and pants torn down the side of his thigh to show off one tattoo. 

Jin grimaces, “Um…we can still wingman our way through this?”

“I’m gonna kill you.”

Murder does not, in fact, come before dinner; as all good manners dictate. And Sukuna decides that revenge can wait after he’s totally, completely, utterly made you swoon.

“S-so-” Only after a quick change into his best tightly-fitted turtleneck and his silver chains did he dare to show his face ‘round you again. Spritzing enough cologne to almost overpower Jin’s omurice, he tries to smize from where he was sitting right opposite you on the kotatsu. “Nice place, huh?” 

The shot of extra, extra strong sake that Wasuke slides over is a consolation as much as a ‘you’re not in a restaurant, you fool!’ He finishes the cup in one go.

“You do have a very beautiful home.” You’re nodding over at a proud Jin. 

“And the- food- how is the food?” Another cup- what moral support, father. 

“Mmm- amazing, I usually never have the time to cook much for myself with the kids n’ all.”

Which Jin takes as the cue for him to butt in on the conversation, helping it flow as smoothly as an enclosing dam would to a river. “You like kids, huh?” Kicking Sukuna underneath the kotatsu, he rattles the plates. “Our Ryo here also…tolerates children.”

“Really?” You’re teasing, “I couldn’t tell.”

“Why I love kids, yeah.” Sukuna tuts as he lifts his hand to pat the crown of Choso’s head- who only swerves out of the way, food finished n’ leaving the room to join his brother playing. Hiccuping, you were so pretty sat in front of him like this- too pretty, that the vision of you was starting to get blurry. 

And another cup.

He’s jostled by the tap of Jin’s hand on his arms- “And he’s actually quite sweet in his own way once you get to know him. I’m sure dad agrees-” Ignoring Wasuke’s ‘I don’t’. “-that he’d make such a responsible-”

“U-unless you don’t like kids.” Still stuck on that - still. Sukuna downs it and then shakily pours himself another. “In that case, I don’t like kids either. Yeah, can’t stand them.”

And another. 

Jin and Wasuke share a glance between themselves when the hulking man leans over the kotatsu towards you with what sounded suspiciously like a whine. “Would you want kids with me?”

And- 

“Sukuna-”

“W-well—time for Ryo to be put to bed, I think.” Jin hastily stands up, struggling to hoist his oversized younger brother from his seat. Failing, evidently, as in that time he’s managing to gulp down another two or three sake cups. “Dad- a little- help?”

Wasuke only shakes his head gravely at you, “You should know he was switched at birth.”

“We’re nearly identical twins–”

“Twins? What-” Sukuna babbles, “Does she want twins?”

Glassy eyes blinking n’ squinting furiously down at you as if trying to figure out whether you were real. Before ultimately giving up, it seems.

Because he’s stumbling a few unsteady steps forwards, pulled by Jin, before dropping to his knees and toppling his head over your lap, just by the gap of the kotatsu edge and your stomach. He’s nuzzling his face right against your tummy, “Mmm— maybe triplets. Would be the cutest fuckin’ things if they looked anything like hck! her.”

You giggle and he gasps- as if the epiphany had just struck him. “Quadruplets?”

Starin’ down at him, at the rosy blush painting his ears, you’re muttering. “You wish.”

“Dammit- even this hck! illusion of her is fine as fuck. Shit. I wonder if her type is…” 

Trailing off, he looks to his older brother for assistance- who helpfully supplies, “Sad and drunk?”

Wasuke’s contribution- “Zero game- as the kids say?”

“Dangerous?” You pretend to think, assessing over the mountainous heap of a man. “Actually- only pretends to be but is really a softie inside?”

“Yes! That- wonder if he type is dangerous…pretend dangerous. I’d give her all the kids she’d ever want- all big…n’ glowing…” It was almost like the setting of the sun, and just as quietly that Sukuna’s dipping past the edge of consciousness. “And…mine…if she wants. Oh, only if she wants- I’ve gotta- hck!” He turns up slightly to you, “-gotta woo her first, you see? Gotta date her…marry…but- but most of all…” Words slowing, heartbeat still racing whenever he looked at you. “I…just want to love you, pretty girl.”

And with that, he was out like a flickered light. 

With only Wasuke, Jin, and Choso with his camera snooping through the doorway as witnesses for when you’re snaking a hand down to the phone bulging in Sukuna’s pocket. Quickly entering a few coordinates and a date. 

And a heart emoji.

.

.

.

“Oh- oh, shit, mama.” Sukuna’s tongue lays over the sheeny insides of your thighs, throat muddled with groans and the cloying taste of your slick gluing to his rovering mouth.

Honestly, fuck whatever tips his family had made him memorize before coming over for his lil’ ‘talk’ at your cozy apartment, as promised. Because the two of you had barely made out two or three words before Sukuna found himself sprawled on his back on your bed. 

Your knees framing his face, your clothed cunt right near his mouth.

Right near where he’s dotting your skin with hot, open-mouthed kisses that make your entire body tremble. Whimpering over your shoulder, “D-didn’t think you’d be such a tease, Kuna.”

“Because this isn’t real.” He’s breathing out, as if he’s just so sure of that fact. As if he can glide his ringed index down the dampened slit of your folds and drool- because this feels like a dream n’ he was going to savor every moment. “Fuck, there’s no way this is-”

And just at that very moment, he’s craning his head up further between your pretty, pretty legs. Greedy tastebuds darted out just so he can catch the treacly splat! of your leaking slit.

Dampening his tongue n’ drooling all down the edge of his tattooed chin, “Do you even know how many times I’ve imagined this exact moment?”

“Mmm- no-” You’re wrenching out a heady puff of air- spread on your front in the meanest sixty-nine. You gulp down your parched throat as you’re taking in the wet, bulging outline of Sukuna’s erection through his boxers. “But I can guess.”

He was just so big, aching- 

Ryomen Sukuna wasn’t just rock-hard. He was hard enough that he’s sure his round, bawling tip was damn near ready to fall off, twitching oh-so-painfully in his pants as he’s snapping back your soaked panties with a wet thwack!

Just a glimpse of the wet haven you were hiding and he’s groaning throatily, “Guess-” He hisses, close enough that the straight end of his nose slides down your puffy pussylips. Nudging your panties to the side and sniiiiiffing you, “You’ll never be able to guess how badly I want you, pretty girl.”

Never.

Never would you have even been able to register that within mere split-seconds, he’d have one beefy arm looping around your hips to make you sit on top of his mouth.

Slamming the edge of your cunt against his chin, plopping your full weight down until he’s nose-deep between your quivering legs. “Fuck-” Letting the first gush of your saccharine juices flood his throat, lips against lips. “Fuck fuck fuck- what was I even…saying?”

“W-wait–” Your breath hitches, spine arching into such a perfect curvature. You claw onto his meaty thighs in an attempt to regain balance, “You won’t be able to breathe like this, Sukuna-”

“You think I fucking care?”

It’s spat - spat - out right against the swollen nub of your clit. Hazed crimson irises rolling to the veeeery deep, dark depths of his skull at the first long gliiiide of Sukuna’s tongue from top to bottom of your pussy. 

Cheeks hollowed the very moment he’s pushin’ himself even closer, “You think I ngh- can care about anything else?” The very moment he’s tugging you back down - with the full force of his upper strength, hard enough that your heated aches with raw, primal bruises. “Be a good girl n’ put that hah- pussy on my face. Fucking- sit-”

“I don’t- fuuuuck—” Fingers twitching, it’s all you can do to fumble with the drawstrings of his wettened boxers. 

Thighs shaking at every flicker of his slimy tongue swirlin’ and stirrin’ every inch of your outer pussy. Your head muddles with the realization that Sukuna’s tongue was just so long that he could lap at your glisten hole n’ still have enough length left over to snag on your clit. “You’re not going to be the only hah- one-”

Whimpering, you find your eyes blurring up each time the ridged texture of his tastebuds glissade between your folds. Curlin’ in just past the elastic circle of your entrance-

And you’re gasping - but you don’t know whether it’s because of the lecherous intrusion or because of the way you’re pushing down Sukuna’s snug underwear to free his massive cock.

Reddened, swollen.

He’s bulging all solid and girthy that it makes your hole clench ‘round his flexible tongue. The cutest ruby-red at the top of his shaft, forming a gradient all the way down to his tight, heavy balls. Mentally, you’re counting about nine- fuck, maybe even ten damn inches that hit the end of your chin as he springs up. 

And from where you’re straddling him, you can make out what looked like a matching thick, black band of ink around his bulky hilt. 

Letting the polished pink crown of his cockhead smear out a generous dollop of pre, you’re teasing your tongue out just enough to taste the salted caramel taste. 

“You’re so…” Sinking him past your spit-slicked lips, his swabbing mushroom tip is just so big that your jaw aches just by looking at him. Just by fitting him inside, right until his drivelling slit- “-s-sho big, Sukuna.”

“Fuck- fuck-” He’s spitting into your cunt and you find yourself flinching, hard enough that his pearly white canines nip at your thighs and you cry out.

And he’s only holding you back - not letting you shift your restless hips even a single centimeter as he’s eating you out like a man dying of thirst. Dry tastebuds lavishing himself with wads of slick, Sukuna’s stuffing your tight hole with the entirety of his tongue. “You’re m-making me drool.”

You swear you’re feeling the thin line of his wet spittle stain the front of your cunt, whimpering around his bulbous cockhead. “Made ya stutter, too, Sukuna.”

“Ohhhh- talkin’ smart, are we?” Snickering, he lets off a loud spank against the front of your pussy - one that makes your bones reverberate, and your mind numb. Pushin’ back to ride the circling girth of his tongue, to ride him. “Why don’tcha put that mouth into use elsewhere?”

Elsewhere - his cock was so hot and throbbing between your swollen lips. Just the slightest slip n’ slide makes it feel like he’s pulsing all the way at the back of your throat. 

Creamin’ out a spray of syrupy precum that slides down your tongue, “So big- too big.” And yet- it was just so cute how you’re suckling him like your favorite lolly, eyes criss-crossing when you’re trying to take more. He couldn’t even bottom out. “Mmm– dunno if it’ll even all fit.”

“Well…” 

The way he’s drawling out in a smoky tone makes you ponder that this won’t be ending well for you. And Sukuna’s dark chuckle hits your cunt in a murky gust, “You’re takin’ it in from here—” Just at that sultry second, he’s crowning the snug circle of your hole with two fingers. 

Making you break out with a shrill waiiil as he sinks in the thick, calloused curves of his fingerpads. Letting such thick digits stretch you out fully, make your head spin. “So shut it n’ take this looong fucking cock, ma.”

All that it takes for him to plunge a few more throbbing inches past your maw, oh-so-big that you’re drooling down the sides of your mouth already.

Striking the edge of your throat and making you choke on his sheer size, your nose wrinkles as you’re tickled by the curly tendrils of his pinkish hair. “This enough or you want three, pretty girl-”

“I-”

Letting out such a cloying squelch that spurts from your pussy once he’s teasin’ your entrance, “Not you, mama. She wants three.”

Moaning away wildly after each pump of his fingers- Sukuna doesn’t even have to try to dip into each nook n’ orifice. Slamming to fingers down to each knobbly knuckle with a resounding slam- “See? See?” 

So cockdrunk on the feeling of his velvety tongue that you’re only partly registering the way his vocals are higher. Unsteady. 

The way you’re clamping your dewy walls in a cute, squelching smooch ‘round his digits makes his voice fucking crack. “J-just take it a bit- fuck- deeper.” Mindless little half-thrusts up into your heated mouth like he can’t even control it- “You can swallow it up like a reeeeal good girl, can’t you?”

“Mmm—” Purposefully letting off your pretty sounds all over his fleshy girth, “Yes- yes yes yes- more.”

“More?”

“More.”

As if he wouldn’t fucking ruin you if he could. 

“You want more?”

“Y-yes- oh.”

Only to be gifted with such a rude slap of his doughy palm, “Not you.” And he’s waiting for the soppy squelches leaking out from your cunt, the way you’re talking to him from your swollen lips just to continue. 

Squelch after squelch.

Your pleas only spur him to tug at the sweet, softened ring of your cunt, latching his lips over the flexing muscle. “If you say so—” Crooning, you can feel the cold hiss of his metallic rings upon the insides of your thighs. Sukuna’s biceps shifting as he starts to tug them off–

“A-actually-” You’re popping off of the strawberry-pink curve of his cocktip with a plop! a few glittery strings of pre and spit still connecting you lewdly to it. “…Keep them on?”

“Oh. Ohoho- you naughty lil’ thing.” He’s swatting over the slope of your dripping wet pussy n’ giving your clit a good pinch with his ringed fingers. “You like it like this- like- this-?”

He’s spitting out each word into your cunt, thrusting the barrelling tips of his fingerpads to graze just below your pulsating g-spot. “All those mouthy lectures?” In vulgar tandem strokes with the thwack! of his heavy, curvaceous balls slapping your chin. “And you wanna take it like- this- mama? Ohhh, it just makes me wanna…”

Trailing off, Sukuna’s body is just bulky - oh-so-tall that he can bend and reach down to cup your throat with his one free hand. 

Digging five of his fingertips into the side of your throat as he’s holding your neck and squeezing- feeling the cylindrical outline of his cock bulging your poor mouth. Up n’ down, up n’ down- he’s feeling for the precise moments his plump cockhead lodges at the back of your throat. 

“Who’d have known the cute lil’ teacher would be such a slut f’me. Cat got yer tongue, girl, orrrr—s’it just my dick?” Humming over your clit, he’s adding a fourth finger that swabs at the texture of your gummy walls. 

“F-fuck off- ngh-”

“Wha’s that? Try- try and say my name?” Squeezing. Only feeling your ripped, pathetic vibrations. “Can f-feel myself over here.”

With four neatly pushing fingers. 

Pulling back with a sluuurp–! Slowly, just so that you whimper that the knobs of his joints, just so that he can thump right on the target of your g-spot and make you cry out in cute bliss. “So s’only fair that I’m over here, pretty girl.”

“Yes- yes yes yes—” Words bubble out and slur out of your maw, in unison with such sloshing spurts of saliva. 

You’re drooling everywhere - from both pairs of lips. Your mouth over Sukuna’s hard, vein-covered erection, glazing his puffy lines of veins with sap. And your pussy slide-slide-sliiiiding down the gaping area of his mouth, wide open and eagerly lapping up each sloppy drag of your hips.

Faster.  

And now that Sukuna had actually found your most favorite spot, he couldn’t fucking stop.

Not when each whack at that same exact spot makes you splash your sweetened slick all down his throat, not when you were clenching your walls and cryin’ out at the frigid brush of his thick rings.

Again and again, he’s probin’ his crowned fingertips to push against the insides of your pussy, “Don’t think m’gonna last ngh-”

 “Yeah-” And that’s not to say his tongue was letting you off easy, either- simply aching with the feverish state of his movements. But it hurt Sukuna more any moment he wasn’t snogging your glossy cunt, n’ so he’s slapping your clit with a wet one-two. Spank after spank to make your hips jerk back and forth, “Whaddaya want? To cum? S’that it?”

Blubbering over the taste of his slick, sensitive slit, “Yes- yes, please- m’so fucking close.”

“Not. You.” Each word ended with two swats on your simmering pussy, you’re webbing his chin all down with syrupy sap. 

Moving off from your throat with a final squeeze, a bicep tightening ‘round your hips to squeeze you in place. “Not you- but you, pretty girl.” Slickly gliding back and forth all over your pried-open cunt, all over the quivering rim of your hole. Everywhere and anywhere. “Why don’tcha talk louder?”

And it’s not just you riding his tongue dry - it’s Sukuna bucking animalistically upwards, too. Pressing the ridges of his washboard abs up against your front, you’re just fountaining out so much sappy slick that it’s running down to the large mouth that he had tattooed across his stomach. As if both his ravenous mouths were gulping up each of your slick puddles. 

Crooning at the oversaturated squelch that spills out of you- he’s nodding like he’s never heard a sweeter sentence. Nudging his knuckles to bump against your g-spot, “If you say so—”

You don’t get to find out what he’s hearing - but you’re registering the gist soon enough.

Because by then Sukuna has his ringed index swiping your g-spot, coldly massaging that bundle of nerves. Hard. Sloppy. At the very same second he’s settling the fringes of his canines on your perky clit and streeeetching-

“O-oh my god I’m—” Keening out a whimper, your high runs you over like a rollercoaster. And you’re rocking your boneless body to and fro just as much, thumping your thighs into Sukuna’s sharp jawline. 

“Yes-” Clenching around his motions so hard that he has to fight to unstick his digits from the sides of your bubblegum walls, still fucking you through your lecherous high. “Oh, hell yeah, been so good for you, mama- why don’tcha reward me? Use me- hck- use me.”

As if you weren’t thrusting your cunt back into his face in a frenzy already, he’s using the arm holding onto your waist to keep you repeatedly moving. 

Tired-out. Fingers tugging into each crevice of your velvety walls. Cheeks aching and hollow where he’s putting such force on your throbbing clit to suck- “Ride my- mmmf-” Talking with his mouth full, “Ride my fuckin’ face raw- wanted to taste y’cumming on my tongue for so long.”

With your spine arched, you’re pulling off of the bulged tip of his cock just as he’s spewing out a slimy ribbon of ivory white. Just a single drivel of cum- just from the way you’re cumming. 

“God- god fucking dammit.” Sukuna spits, right into your cunt. And he barely even takes his eyes off of your slobbering pussy to snake a free hand down and plug his geysering orifice with his thumb.

Stopping himself promptly from cumming if it isn’t anywhere near your pussy.

But that didn’t mean he was letting you get away.

Oh, no- he’s still pulling you back with inclines of his head like a man addicted. Thoroughly drunk on the heady globs of slick that travelled between your legs, pushing and pushing himself upwards to glue his glossed lips all over your cunt.

You can feel yourself squealing with each lap of his scratchy tongue- the primal overstimulation too much that great droplets of tears take over your eyes. 

“O-oh– fuck- m’so sensitive, Sukuna.” You’re arching your back away- “I don’t know if I- oh!” Only to get pulled back down. Toes curling when this only spurs him to dive himself even deeper, flopping out the flexible end of his tongue to try n’ flit past your squeezing hole. 

Drawling, “Remember those fuckin’ sugar cookies? You taste- hah- even fucking better.”

Sniffling, your spine zings with a few more zaps of electricity as he’s starting to caress your sweetened g-spot once more. 

And the only thing you can do is try and pathetically pry his firmly-planted palm from his lengthy shaft, trying for the life of you to just get another taste-

“Oh. Oh.” Sukuna gasps from behind, pink brows raising. “I see what you’re doing, pretty girl. H-heh…hungry for more, are you?”

He didn’t need any further answer - because the way you’re cutely clenching to glaze his scouring digits tells him more than enough.

And before you know it, you’re finding yourself pulled off of his long, aching cock like some glorified ragdoll. Sukuna was just so large - in every sense of the word - that he could manhandle you with only one arm. 

Clinging onto the side of your waist as he’s sitting up, he makes you straddle the twitchy length of his cock. And now that you were seated upon his lap- oh, could you admire him.

Ryomen Sukuna was a fucking masterpiece. 

From the bands of tattoos circling his biceps, his wrists, straight down to the plush of his sculptured thighs. “Like what you see?” He tilts his head cockily down at you, slouching sexily back on your wooden headboard to let you take in all of his tensed core. 

Glistening pecs all temptingly large, abs ripped. 

“M’gonna get those pretty haaah- fucking initials of yours tatted.” He’s tapping the prominent side of his left v-line with a polished finger, “Right here.”

Climbing further upon his lap, you rest your ass cheeks back against his swaying cock, bobbing so hard n’ proud between your sheeny thighs. Pouting, “Only if you fuck me, Kuna— ngh-”

“Kuna? Tch- you see that lil’ tattoo here, mama?” He sounded as if he was shattering, and he’s leaning back so that you can take a goood, long look at the circular tattoo on his base. Nuzzled by the tufts of his pinkish happy trail, and his tender underside - but it was still there.

Like a target. And Sukuna’s thinking the exact same thing, “You’re gonna take it riiiight- till- here-” Lodging the swollen end of his shaft to plug your hole, it’s such a tiiight fit as he starts bullying inside. “Until- hah-” Feeling a hand down your tummy, your womb. “-here.”

He was going to fit himself until your pretty pussy won’t be able to forget him.

And it takes only seconds for you to be clawing onto his tattooed deltoids for dear life, feeling the inner parts of your thighs slip n’ slide down his own with perspiration. You scramble with the stringy, slightly-torn fabric of your panties still on- “Kuna- Su–Kuna, this-”

“Nah, let it stay.” Snickering, he claws onto the top of your scalp. “You have much…heh- bigger ngh- problems ta worry about, pretty girl.”

Bigger - his prolonged shaft was simply ravaging your walls. Plumply ballooned-up enough that his veiny layer rubs your sweetest spots without even meaning to, and you’re just seeing stars with every inch deeper his mazing cock spears through. “Fuck- fuck, it really is big-”

“Mhm– and you’re going- to take- it all.” Times like this he’s wishing he had just about four fucking hands. Because one’s pushing down, down, down on the lolling top of your head, the other’s pushin’ your trembling thighs apart just so you could straddle his meaty hips. “All hah- say my name. Say my name while you take it-”

And he always did love the way you said his name.

The way you’re letting free a few bubbly spurts of saliva as you’re babbling away–”Sukuna- Su-” Throat clogging up with so many sobs of utter bliss, “Kuna—”

“Again with the ‘Kuna’- s’not my name, silly girl.” Even though each sound of that slurring nickname makes him twitch against your deepest insides. 

But you can’t even hear him properly, eardrums distantly popped until the only thing you can feel is the thump! of your heartbeat between your legs. And the way that his reddened, slick-glazed tip was thrashing your tight insides, “Kuna- ngh, please, Kuna. Wan’ it a-all hck! Inside.”

The swabbing girth of his cock was so fat that he has you stupid with just his size, biceps bulging as he’s pressurizing down on your head. “God-” And you can only blink pathetically once he’s bringing up his free hand to your blurry line of sight. Hissing, “Bite down-” Lips smirking as you plant a kittenish bite, he fucks up into you once to make your force increase. “Bite down harder and take it.”

He wasn’t wasting any time - he didn’t have the fucking patience.

He barely even had the sanity to tease you and edge you for hours on end like he’d always wanted to. Instead fucking up into you like a damn animal- he’s swatting your cunt with the edge of his throbbing cock. Spitting through clenched teeth, “O-oh, if yer gonna ask for all of it then m’not playin’ around, ma.”

You sink your teeth in and nearly scream into the flesh of his forearm, gnawing down right at his tattoo. “Mmmpf- big- nghh–” Unable to fucking take it, the only thing you can do is arch your hips deeper and let his pummeling rams spike your poor insides.

Hitting the very back of your cervix with a wet thwack! that makes your eyes damn near bulge out of your head.

He…bottomed-out. 

“Lemme check now…” Taking a single peek at the way his hilt was all covered up by your bloated folds until he couldn’t see that tattoo anymore. “S’all in.”

And the towering man wasn’t celebrating once he did - he was pumping all his fleshy inches into you like he’d gone feral. 

Eyes dazed and hooded, mouth frothing with a line of silver drool - Sukuna grunts after each singular gliiiide of his watery orifice drawing down the bottom of your pussy. Sloppy. “F-fucking hell, never felt like this- what the…”

“Are you okay- oh god nghh–”

“M’fuckin’ more than okay.” Spitting out crassly, Sukuna swerves his hips off of the rickety bedsprings to drag his cock harder down your cunt. And it just felt so delicious to have his swollen veins stir up your walls, “S’just— who let you feel this good?”

Your honeyed cunt has made him way too pussydrunk that now he’s tattling out everything from his melty mind. And you can only whine– “Heh-” One hand grazing his scorched ear, “You’re blushing, Kuna- better not be ngh- tapping out on me.”

“Tapping out?” Punctuated by a hard spank against the door to your womb - exactly where he said he would be - and then a harder one against your mapped-out g-spot. “Me? Me tappin’ out?”

Blinking through the splotchy whites sparking in your vision, “Y-yeah- fuck!”

SPANK!

Oh-so-hard, he’s swatting your pussy with enough stinging force that it makes glittering drops of slick splash across his slamming palm. “You n’ this smartass pussy are gonna see.” He’s gritting through dangerously grinning teeth, “There’s a fuckin’ reason I’m Ryomen fucking Sukuna.”

Because he’s rude - and he fucks even ruder.

Pounding away upwards into you like he doesn’t care if he’s bruising great purple bruises at the bottom of your cervix. The mattress creaks in fervent protest after each gyration of his hips, “P-please-” The only thing you’re mewling out like a broken record, “I-it just feels so…”

Trailing off, your movements are sluggish as your hand starts to slither down between your rutting legs. Yearning to just touch your neglected clit-

SPANK!

“Oi- and who’d ya think you are to touch- hngh- my pretty girl?” He’s grinning, manhandling you in an instant. Before your candied brain can catch up, Sukuna has both your arms pinned behind your back, chin hitting his cushy pecs. “I’ll touch her when I feel like it-”

Such a fucking tease, at the constant timing of his slimy mushroom tip spearing your cunt like a headlight- Sukuna lifts off one of his hands downwards.

Replacing your own with his roughened fingers, he pinches your poor clit—“Sh-shit m’so sensitive there- keep going, Kuna–”

And at this point you weren’t just drooling you were sheening the entirety of his smooth pectorals with a shiny polish. Letting it smear down the side of your cheek as you drunkenly lean on them like pillows, “Chehhh-” He’s spitting out, staring down at the glistening glaze dripping down to his bumpy abs. “Tha’s supposed to stay inside, pretty girl.” 

“I-inside?” Dazedly, the only thing you can think of were your rummaging insides, the way that Sukuna was fucking you like he hated you.

But it was the complete opposite. And he’s draggin’ on your clit, giggling to himself like he’s in love as he watches you huff n’ puff. “God you love it like this- c’mon, ngh- teach, milk this fucking cock- why don’t ya?”

“I-I am-”

SPANK! 

“Harder, mama, make me feel it.”

With a right spank to emphasize his sentence, he’s jostling his hips upwards so you’re left throwing your head back at the full, stretching impact. Unable to even handle the slightly spring recoil that comes with striking your cervix, he’s bouncing you on his pelvis. 

“S’this what you thought about every- hah- time you saw me?” Taking hold of your neck for a brief moment, he’s spitting doooown your throat. “Wantin’ me to fuck this- ngh- pussy raw?”

And the locked restraint on your neck helps bend you into the perfect geometrical curvature to stare up at him as he collapses forwards. Hot breath wafting your features, you whimper- “Y-yes.”

“Not you.”

“Kuna.”

“I’ve been dreamin’ of this for aaages now-” His clammy forehead crinkles as he’s scratching down your clit with the rough texture of his happy trail. Leaving it all stinging n’ raw to make sure the impact is extra sensual as Sukuna rubs over a slooow ‘K’ right on top. 

Rutting into your poor cunt so hard that the skin surrounding his v-line was all reddened- and he can’t help but take one look and moan. “M’getting that tattooed.” Watching as his mean, curvaceous cock molded your walls constantly to him. “Oh- trust when I say-”

And then a ‘U’

“Fuh-fuuuuck, please-” It almost feels like you’re begging for your damn life by now, lungs ripping with moans every time he’s thumping up. You ride your hips in a sexy figure-eight and feel the way Sukuna’s thumb trembles on your clit. 

A wobbly ‘N’

And you already knew what was headed next- oh, you were already prepared. 

But what you weren’t ready for was the completely vicious way that he’s accelerating his papping hips, so fast that the dark tattoo nuzzling your entrance was almost a blur. Thump after thump- 

You’re falling over until that symbolic inking of a widely-opened maw on his stomach licks up your core. Body twitching with white hot flashes of something electric running through your veins, “F-fuck- fuck, s’not gonna last-”

“S’that soooo—?” Sukuna asks down at your pussy to confirm, and only after a few ‘uh-huh’’s does he bore into your stupidly heart-shaped eyes. Tongue lolling straight out for him to lap up into his own mouth, “She says you’re close-”

A firm ‘A’

Another SPANK!

“-and I say you’re cumming already.”

“Wh-what…”

He’s ending off with a perfect heart shape rolled over your clit. What’s that spell- he’s asking mentally. 

Only for you to mewl wantonly as if you’d just heard. “Kuna- Sukuna- Yes- yes m’cumming m’cumming—” 

It’s like you’re enveloped in a tidal wave - you didn’t know where your orgasm started and where it ended. Just that Sukuna’s moans break into something octaves higher as he fucks you through your bliss.

You claw down the expanse of his flexing back with each burst of pre splattering your gooey insides. Toes curled, eyes all teary. “I-it’s so- hck! Feels too good…”

Turning you into absolute mush every time he pumps his thorough inches into you- and the mean fingers on your nub just tug n’ tug.

And it’s only after a few more of your shrilling whines that you’re still feeling the hot entrance of his shaft plummeting through, your walls squeezing ‘round his flared tip. “I want you to cum, too, Sukuna.”

“F-fuck.” He lets out, softly.

Cupping his attractive face, if you thought you were gone then you weren’t ready for the way that Sukuna looked. Cheeks burning hot and red, mouth parted with overspilling drool, brows furrowed into such an expression that it almost makes you feel shy.

Repeating those very same words, you start sloppily swervin’ your hips straight to his. “Cum inside m- ngh, please?”

All this time and his cute lil’ teacher was still minding her p’s and q’s. 

So, of course, when you’re asking him that nicely- it’s the least he could do to listen. To let out a final, vulgar stroke that has him spilling over the edge.

In great, piling heaps of ivory cum that puddles at the bottom of your pussy. There’s so much of it that your ears ring with the lecherous sluuurp–! as your cunt walls suck up every last steaming drop. 

You can feel it trailing down the insides of your thighs like a waterfall and keen, “Just like that, f-fuck…” Almost like you’re hypnotized, you drag one of his much-larger hands to palm the outside of your tummy. “Can feel it all the way here.”

“O-oh my god…” He’s groaning, eyes drifting off to the back of his head as soon as you’re meeting his tempo. Slamming down to rob his aching balls, milking him all dry - you were overspilling and it still wasn’t enough. “Y’really are a dream.” 

And there’s something about the way he’s sluggishly brushing away a stray bead of perspiration from your temple. Something about that lazy, half-lidded look in his eyes, the complete n’ utter reverence in his tone as he asks- “So…s’your type ‘dangerous’, mama?”

Almost…shy.

Oh, it hits you. He’s pussydrunk.

You’d made big, bad Ryomen Sukuna completely and utterly pussydrunk.

To the point where his studded ears flare a deep crimson once you giggle, “Mmm- pretend dangerous, Kuna.” His eyes shine. You think back to that night at the Itadori household, “And I also remember something about quadruplets?” 

It’s then that Sukuna whimpers. 

Not even pulling out. Not even considering such an impossible feat for even a split-second before he rolls your weakened body over.

Hovering over you now, it’s so easy for his beefy arms to tug your legs over his shoulders. Still shaking. Still suffering from the aftermath of your orgasm as he’s holding them tight and bending down, down, dooooown.

Straight into a mating press. 

Oh, your breath catches.

“Before I pound you until you can’t haaah- walk, mama-” Uncharacteristically, Sukuna gulps as he shifts his crimson eyes away from you. “-m’I giving you quadruplets that’ll have my last name?”

Now that was a round-about way to ask someone out- and he knows it, too. 

But it only makes you shuffle up onto your elbows on the now-ruined sheets, sticking to you like glue. You place a lingering peck on Sukuna’s wobbly, overstimulated lips, “Mm- I love you, too, Kuna.”

Oh, how he loves you. He almost cums right then and there. 

Fuck.

He does. 

.

.

.

“You.”

“You.” Yuji narrows his eyes down at the sight of Ryomen Sukuna towering over the busy preschool pick-up. Trying to look over his broad shoulders for any sign of his father, “Huh? But dadda said he was coming to pick me up today?”

Sukuna gingerly scratches the back of his head, “Yeah, well…listen, twerp- I mean, kid. There’s something I need to-”

Only to be cut off by a dramatic gasp—“Oh no- Did dadda go to jail just like you-”

“No,”

“Did he drive fast-”

“No.”

“Did he drink-”

“No-”

“Did he slash tires-”

“Maybe once?”

And fuck- he really didn’t understand tiny children, because explain to him why the pink-haired boy starts bawling in his arms. Pitiful enough to draw the glares of parents wrenching their own children away from the perpetrator, loud enough to draw the sweet concern of you.

Walking from your station saying goodbye to one other student, “Yuji what- oh!” You’re pressing your lips together to contain your smile as you happen to see who was throwing Yuji on his shoulders to soothe him. Bouncing him lightly until he smiled- and you did, too. “I didn’t expect you so early today, Kuna.”

“Yeah, well.” He’s using Yuji’s palms to cover the pinkish ends of his blushing ears, “Decided I wanted to see ya off from work today.”

Now past grief and straight into utter nosiness- “Wait- what do you mean ‘see off’.” He gasps, “Is she going to ja-”

“Brat-”

“What your uncle means to say, Yuji-” Playfully pinching his chubby cheeks, you try to ignore the gawking stares of every other one of your remaining students as you promptly turn to face Sukuna. Giving him a sweet, sweet peck on his. “-is that you’ll be seeing a lot more of me around.”

Another gasp - well, multiple.

One from Itadori Yuji, who gapes, open-mouthed between you and his uncle - as if wondering how he ever managed to bag you, and wait does that mean you’re his auntie now?

About twenty from your crowd of students, right along with a few whispers. 

“Hey, isn’t that weird Mr. Mugshot?”

“So that’s why Mr. Mugshot was always red- eugh! In my momma’s dramas they don’t get together, they just die.”

Fushiguro frowns, “I would rather die than watch him like this. Gross.”

“Caviar.”

Walking up from the group, Fushiguro tugs on your skirt. Innocently - but Sukuna could feel the evil intent. He just knew that boy was a villain. “Inumaki asks whether you mind that he sets fires, miss.”

What the fuck is with the fires-

And then finally - three distinct, unfortunately familiar gasps that make Sukuna dread turning around. Struggling against it, even as his nephew tugs on his locks of pink hair with a delighted squeal- “Dadda–! Bubba–! Gramps-”

You smile, watching Choso take flustered pictures of his uncle. “How the hell did you even win her over? All of these are going in the blackmail folder. Maybe your wedding presentation too.”

Sukuna bites back a shy blush- turning it into a scowl, “Maybe…”

“Well, I’ll be.” Wasuke nods his head in approval, “All thanks to the ah- ‘wingmanning’ as the kids say. I’ll be expecting at least three grandchildren in the future, sonny. And when I say ‘future’ I mean in nine months-”

“Dad! It’s too early for that.” Jin, ever-the-voice-of-reason, gives you a breezy handshake. “Congratulations- by the way.” And it’s all soft. It’s all sweet- that is, until you’re trying to pull your hand back and he only tightens his grip. Smile still tightly in place, “I will be the kids’ godfather, by the way.”

Settling an arm around you now, You and Sukuna don’t know whether to laugh or stand in shocked silence as Jin finally sets you free - but you don’t have to make the choice.

Because the annoying, grating voice of Todo Aoi breaks through—“Noooooo– my bride!” 

A/N. Hope you have a lovely week <3

Plagiarism not authorized.

[wadoichimonji0]

shota looks up from his papers when you heave what’s probably the most dramatic sigh he’s ever heard. he casts you an exasperated glance before asking a reluctant, “what?”

you look up at him through your lashes from where you’re sat on the other side of the couch, prodding him with your foot. “do you even like me?”

he holds his deadpan gaze for a second longer before returning to his work. “i’m not going to answer that.”

“what?!” you sit up, appalled and scowling. you crawl over to lean heavy on his shoulder, determined to interrupt his peace. “what the hell does that mean?!”

“there’s no good answer for that,” he replies, (mostly) unbothered to your pervasion of his personal space. “if i say yes, you’ll say something like ‘so you don’t love me’ and if i say no, you’ll have a fit. if i say ‘i love you’ you’ll say i didn’t answer your question. there’s no winning.”

you sit, dumbfounded. he’s got you there... 

“but—”

“yes, i like you. love you, even. no, i don’t want to break up. yes, i think about you every day and yes, i miss you when i’m away on missions. and no, i do not want anyone else. just you.”

he looks up and holds your gaze steady, the hint of a self-satisfied smirk tugging his lips at your wide eyes and flushed cheeks. you huff a little, bashful as you settle back onto him, placated by his answer (…for now).

several moments pass in soft silence until you open your mouth to say something else and shota drops his pen, heaving out a long-suffering sigh. 

“and yes, i would still love you if you were a worm.”

[wadoichimonji0]

never seen a more accurate thing on tiktok

[wadoichimonji0]

"English isn't my-"

Hush now my friend, and let me read the absolute beauty of a fic that you have bestowed this world and humiliated the first English speakers with

[wadoichimonji0]

STRONGEST - G.S.

Synopsis. The strongest. The most feraI. Gojo Satoru’s powers aren’t the only thing that goes out of control after a battle.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, fix-it, Shinjuku showdown, Gojo wins, established relationship, FÉRAL Gojo, Gojo’s powers, ínnapropriate use of jujutsu, oraI (fem. rec), fíngering, limitless, pússydrúnk Gojo, máting presses, overstím, rough s, he’s a little bit ínsane, brief male mast., size kínk, tummy buIges, squírting, cervíx kíssing, p sIapping, making him whíne, happy ending, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 8.2k

A/N. I’m Gege I say this is canon mhm.

BIoody. Broken. Breathing.

Only that last one came from Gojo Satoru— the sole person in the entirety of Shinjuku’s ravaged battleground that was. 

Twitching, he could sense sorcerers rushing out of their hiding spots to inspect the disintegrating, blob-like form of the former King of Curses before they even moved. Others sprinting medical instruments towards Fushiguro’s sprawled-out - alive, Gojo made sure to keep his boy alive - figure.

Not many dared to step towards the strongest, who towered in the midst of the chaos. 

After all, it was only Itadori who could grit his teeth and force himself to walk through the waves upon waves of magnetic cursed energy radiating off of his teacher. Bulldozing, gasping- “G-Gojo-sensei!”

And all at once, the power ceases. 

For the first time since the showdown started, everyone could finally breathe without the pressure of over a thousand sorcerers emanating from the body of one man.

That is, until Gojo snaps his eyes behind and mankind flinches. “I need my wife.”

Oh.

By destroying one monster, they might just have created another. 

.

.

.

You didn’t want to be here - you couldn’t.

Planted prettily like some prized porcelain doll behind the countless wards of the Gojo Estate, its location so classified that it wasn’t disclosed to even you.

You knew why you were here; your husband may be the strongest, but that didn’t stop Ryomen Sukuna from being the most treacherous. And in the unfortunate fate where he might’ve - heavens forbid - won, it was obvious that one of his next targets would be you.

A war prize for a war-bringer.

Your chest tightens at the notion, and you’re struggling to manually lug in smoggy pants- no, that couldn’t happen. Fingers seconds away from shattering the dainty ceramic bowl of tea that you’d made out of pure nerves, it couldn’t.

“Damn higher-ups.” You’re hissing into the now-frigid drink, and yet it still blisters down your tastebuds. Almost as much as the memory of those orders to stay put lest you wanted something to happen to Gojo’s precious students. A warning. A threat. “Leaving me here to rot- fuck, when I get out I’m going to kill those ol’ toads- oh!”

Your sip of tea was a tightened ball of lead that simply refused to go past your larynx– and your brows furrow as the pale glass slips like water flowing between your fingers.

Tumbling. Shattering a puddling splash on the tatami-covered floor below.

And yet, you don’t even remember weakening your grasp - almost as if the cup was magnetized towards the edge of your decadent bedroom. 

“I must be going mad.” You’re muttering to yourself, feeling even more so as you do. Shaking your head to some semblance of clearance, you crouch down with a sigh to pick up the chipped shards-

Only to find that the ground was trembling. 

What…the fuck? Urgently smoothing the mountains of your palm flat on the firm mats below, it felt like something was thundering. Rampaging. 

Something was happening. 

You should run, you should surrender. 

But you stay rooted to where you are, feeling the tips of your ears tingle with a whirrrr of energy clashing against energy, a monstrous sort of crackling power in the air. Tummy tensing as the ancient protective jujutsu of the estate bends and bends and bends - generations of power that snaps!

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK.

Right in time with three sharp, repeated raps from behind the paper-thin sliding doors to your chamber. 

Impatient. 

It certainly couldn’t be one of the elders, they’d no sooner left you here to brace the impact of Sukuna’s looming victory and die rather than keep you company. Perhaps one of Gojo’s students? Shoko?

The King of Curses himself? 

Squinting at the yolky outline of shadows drawn by the setting sun, your heart soars at the shape of those familiar broad shoulders and unruly hair.

Ones you could never mistake.

“Sa…Satoru.” You’re breathing, voice strangled as if not even your own words believed you. 

Your calves sting with the impact of your running before you even register it- Satoru. Satoru was behind this door. Satoru won. 

Almost out of breath once you reach the entrance, it’s all you can do to startle out a happy chuckle as your finger knot on the lattice handle and draaaag it open– “Sato- oh.”

Except…the man behind the door wasn’t your husband at all.

At least, not a version of your husband that you knew.

Because the Gojo rampant at the door was slouching, heaving.

Loooong, rasping breaths that made the mahogany doorframe clutched underneath his tense white knuckles crack into the tiniest of splinters. Every second wheeze fills the air up with so many charged atoms of cursed energy until you could barely even move. 

Skin-tight black compression shirt torn in a jagged scratch right down the middle, billowing white pants tattered and sagging until you could almost see a few curls of creamy white. Could see allll of his washboard abs. 

It looked like he’d clawed through hell himself just to take you there with him.

As your mouth opens and gapes wordlessly, your husband takes - well, more like stumbles - a singular step towards you that makes the expensive mats underneath break into a crater. 

You’re catching the way his meaty thighs tremble through the cracks of his trousers, a singular dewdropped bead of sweat trickling down the side of Gojo’s flushed temples - almost as if he’d…run the entire way here instead of his usual teleportation.

Breath bated, your eyes cross over the lines of his sculptured deltoids to look at the destroyed mess of the hallway leading up to your room. Only your door was left untouched. 

So he did run.

“Oh- Satoru.” Your voice drops into a sweetened tone unknowingly, and that makes Gojo stiffen with a hoarse breath. 

With every pretty sound falling from your mouth, the sweltering hot atmosphere sizzled so many temperate degrees higher, until your skin was humid with power and want and power. 

Instantly fighting against the rigid air to close the distance, all you wanted to do was hold him. “Are you- are you okay- what happened-”

And then Gojo lurches- as if he’d just been struck with your presence and it had electrocuted him, until he’s raising his eyes up to meet yours and-

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

Never in your life had Gojo Satoru looked at you like that.

Heavy lids only half-open, the semi-crescents of his pupils so dilated that they shone Stygian black, tendrils of miniscule blue lightning shoot from the corners of his gaze as Gojo fights to keep his long lashes from fluttering shut. 

He looked ravaged.

The very instant you’re thinking of inching yourself closer to wrap his bruised body in a long-overdue embrace, he’s flinching. 

Like he’d read your very mind. 

And maybe he did, because in mere nanoseconds, Gojo’s kissing you and kissing you until you’re tasting everything iron and him- 

Fuck, you couldn’t even stickily part your lips from his plush, puckered ones to breathe without him letting off a pained grunt. He’s so engulfing. “My wife.”

You’re gasping at the pressurized layer of power that sticks to him like a second skin - and it fights, yearns until you’re being pressed flesh-to-bloodied flesh. Drinking in the scent of candy and something metallically sharp, “Satoru.”

A few calloused fingers tighten ‘round your tender throat so that Gojo could drink all those cute wailing whimpers of yours. 

Crushing you to his toned front, you weren’t sure if your fingerpads were digging into his chiseled shoulders out of his magnetism or pure greed. Still reminding yourself to be careful of his injuries-

“You-” Words warbling like never before, the crowned edges of your digits skim his undercut. Struggling through loudly snogging crashes of his lips, “Wh-what happened? Can you stand? Does it hurt somewhere? Do you need me to-”

“My wife.”

Oh… 

“My wife.” His parched throat slackens to suck on your pinkish tongue like his favorite candy, “My wife-” Ivory lashes trickle your cheeks, and suddenly his honed canines nip your wobbly lower lip. Tugging sensually, “My wife.”

He couldn’t get enough.

“T-Toooru–” Your maw slicks with a thick gloss of spittle, and Gojo immediately catches the dangling strands on the flat of his lecherous tongue to laaaap it up like he was a man who’d been dying of thirst for eons. 

“Need you.” 

And it was the way he said it - so low, strained. A guttural groan that sounded almost like a growl, spat right through Gojo’s clenched pearly whites. 

Devotion and power overflowing so much that he simply had to have you. He had to.

Silky locks of ivory brush your sweat-simmered forehead, “My wife- you- need you.” He’s snarling against your tightly smeared lips, almost as if stringing together coherent sentences had wrenched out whatever was left of his control, too. 

In only two flaps of your shocked lashes, Gojo’s trailing his hotly opened maw down your neck. Fangs dipping right near your throat to feel the way your pulse pounds. Power thrumming underneath his touch, air stifling– “Need you always.”

Your lips buzz at the sheer cursed energy flowing through him, vocal cords too smoky to produce a proper noise, “Need- Toru–” 

But the strongest didn’t need you to struggle out your words right now.

He’s widening his blazing sapphire peripherals once your weakened legs squeeze almost unnoticeably together. Nostrils flaring slightly and-

Ah. There.

Gojo Satoru knows the exact moment that particularly gummy droplet of slick escapes from the crevice of your throbbing pussy - because he can smell it. 

Oh, that heady, hypnotic aroma that has your husband collapsing onto his knees in front of you with a resounding CRASH! 

So hard, so rough that you’re wincing at the way his very own limitless flickers and falters to make Gojo’s capped knees bruise against the floorboards. Ground now shattered underneath his inhumanly strength- “Fuck- Toru- you just came back from-” 

But any and all shrilling words evaporate on your tastebuds, replaced with the tangy excitement of having him loll his head drunkenly between your jittery legs to sniiiiff–!

“Neeeed you-” He’s croaking out, oh-so-raw. Your spine works as a runway for your goosebumps as he’s letting his cherry-pink lips twitch up into a sleazy grin. “-my wife.”

Perhaps it’s your melty brain trying to make sense of things, perhaps it’s Gojo’s teleportation working in overdrive - because one split-second you’re slouching your weight on his sturdy figure to hold yourself standing, and the next you’re being splayed out on the cool tatami floors like such a slut.

Gasping, head swimming. 

The moment your legs fall open with a slurping pop! already talking from your oversaturated pussylips, you huff. “Did- did you just teleport us onto the floor, Satoru?”

“Teleport?” He’s barely removing his glassy pupils from the adorably damp spot peeking from between your legs. Gojo’s eyes flicker with faint recognition as he airily looks around like he wasn’t even sure how he got here.

All pinning you to the mat with one massive palm clung onto your hips, shuffled downwards so that the scorched breezes of his breaths hover over your clothed cunt in muggy lil’ gusts. 

It takes your squirming buck for Gojo to finally, finally realize his position and startles out a shocked chuckle, like he himself didn’t even realize whether he teleported. 

“Are- are you okay, Toru–?” You’re breathing out, concern rippling the rational part of your brain.

Jostling back your satiny skirt to bare your slick-sheened inner thighs to the chill air, Gojo only halts his laughter to answer - airy, about five octaves higher than you were used to. 

“Do I look okay, sweetheart?”

Fuck. 

You didn’t doubt that he wasn’t.

You were fucked. 

Because the very second Gojo tugs down your skirt, “Fuck- fuck.”

“Toru, do you need h-” And riiiips it straight off of your hips to take a good - good - long look at the sodden, see-through underwear flimsily bunched at your quivering pussy, his half-opened eyes quiver shut. 

You can’t even complain about your skirt being limited edition because Gojo just looked so ruined. And you were addicted. 

Icy brows furrowed, jaw ticking, you’re watching speechlessly once he’s taking another deeeeep inhale. Pecs constricting, the curvaceous edges of his smirk dapples with a slight geyser of drool at the sweet, sweet smell of your cunt.

“Fuuuck, my sweetheart- my wife.” The flesh of your inner thighs clam with a thin layer of perspiration at Gojo’s reverent whisper. Taking in yet another deep breath- “All mine.”

And there’s something so primal in the way the edges of his sharpened teeth come snagging down on the thin layer hiding your pussy. The very slimy tip of his tongue grazes that slight moistness of your panties and the man finds himself snickering. 

Gnawing down on the fabric– you don’t know if he realizes, you don’t know if he even cares that he’s teasingly nibbling on one of your plump labia. 

“Missed you- missed this- fuck.” He’s only making his mouth grow more waterlogged, his teeth toyin’ and grinding near your aching hot pussy– Gojo slurps up another taste of you and his hips come humping down on the firm ground. “Missed her.”

Before you know it, Gojo’s superhuman reflexes have hooked a slender finger underneath your panties and he’s tearing them. Biting them. Clean off.

“T-Toru!” You’re squealing, your dripping hole slopping out yet another splosh! of sap at the act. Your heat races as your husband lazily trawls that translucent skimp of fabric up, up, up over to give it another drunken gnaw–

Groaning, “Oh, my wife-” His darkly predatory gaze snatches back open at the cloying dredges of syrup that tack onto his tastebuds, wide. Wild. “My wife- my wife.”

There it is again, and you’re just about opening your mouth to ask about his sultry little mantra- before Gojo’s bullying out every syllable in the back of your throat with a sudden, firm push of his tongue - flopped out right where your folds were leaking the utmost.

“O-oh my ngh- god!” Your dewy lashes moisten because his probin’ muscle was just so big. And he was never this urgent before, this hurried. 

Never this filthy.

Gojo only nuzzles your flinching thighs further to give you such a sinful view, gawking at the way his bubblegum-pink buds spread wiiide open to act like a lil’ road for all your ribbony wires of slick. Every puddling bead slipping from where his tongue was plunged inside you n’ down to the target of his throat, “O-oh.”

Oh?

And Gojo was stuttering, just one taste of your soaking wet pussy and he’s letting his high cheekbones burn a bright blossoming red. Hips bludgeoning forwards to press his aching, heavy bulge into the floor. 

He was a man gone.

“So sweet. Wet- s-so wet.” He’s sucking in a few breaths before veering up a single hand to plant a rude spank right on your soaked lips. 

And imagine the strongest’s raw, carnal delight when that only makes your saccharine cunt even wetter. So drenched that your globs of slick were gathering on the point of his chin and formulating a slick puddle. 

Voice wavering, stuttering. Almost like he couldn’t even believe it even though the evidence was clinging and dripping from his very maw, “So…wet. Like a waterpark- dessert- oh…So wet- f-fuuuck s’she drooling f’me? F’me?”

“For you- o-only for you.” You’re whimpering as his hand comes slamming down again. 

Slap after slap after slap, until you swear his fingertips were starting to buzz with power. Speckles of pearly sheen flying from the knobs of his fingers and straight into his parched mouth.

“Ohhh don’t say that- don’t you say that.” He’s warning, “S’gonna make me- make me…” Prolonging the crown of his tongue to take more of you and stretch and stretch inside your elastic cunt. “Oh- fuck, m’fucking you-” Prominent Adam’s apple bobbing with a gasp– he’s tasting you. He’s really, really tasting you now. “-I’m h-haaaa…fucking you.”

“Fuck- fuck fuck fuck, Satoru you’re being so…”

Insatiable? Depraved? 

“Can’t stop-” Comes out his ragged gulps, wanting to coo at your cutely twisting expressions and yet unable to even bear the thought of breaking his lewd French kiss with your cunt. “Can’t stop, sweetheart- fuck!”

He really couldn’t. Swabbing ridges of his tastebuds just keeping on swirlin’ into the tenderest spots of your gummy walls, and Gojo’s tongue is so long that every thrusting push past your snug hole leaves you feeling so dizzy.

You’re sucking in a sharp inhale, “T-Toru-”

Faring worse off, he couldn’t even speak. 

Instead of an actual answer, the only sign that shows he even heard is one of his visceral flinches, as if just the way you said his name was enough to drive him crazy.

The scratchy tip of his tongue scours in a welcoming heart right where your hole was and playfully back - no hesitation, no shyness.

“Puh-please, Satoru–” He was fucking into you now. A great big helping of saliva slobbers down the side of your mouth, your foggy pupils starting to circle at just the exact tempo of his dipping tongue. 

The only thing you’re able to let off is the wetly glistening gush of another clingy wave of sap. Swashing Gojo’s swollen lips until they’re soaking wet, your fingers scrape their way through his sweat-matted strands. Babbling, “M-more.”

And there you said. There. 

You knew the instant that those strained syllables ripped from your throat that it would not bode well for your poor pussy. 

Because Gojo’s Herculean shoulder muscles tense, lengthy lashes flapping, and you wonder if he’d stopped fucking breathing. 

Not even the slightest gust of air leaves him as he’s wafting his eyes to your teary ones in shock– “M-more?”

You can’t even tease your dear husband for the way his husky bass was cracking at the very ends, because simply repeating the words makes his cerulean irises spark with bolted lightning. Staring dead-on as he keeps muttering away to himself—

“More?”

You’re mewling as soon as his fat wad of spittle strikes your heated core, slimily slithering straight down your puffed-up lips. 

Just the sight of your glistening entrance so vulgar that, without even a second thought, Gojo’s once more surging his lips against your other pair until his pointed chin. So hard that he’s slapping the base of your treacly pussy until his skin’s all delicate n’ raw.

The curved ends of his jaw slipping n’ glissading up and down while his tongue sliiiides in.

“More-” He’s half-giggling to himself, the straight line of his nosebridge crushing your perked clit and sending your spine sparking. “More more more more- my wife- hah!” You swear you feel the cute crater of his dimples press against the skin of your thighs. Drooling, he’s crooning– “My wife wants more.”

And it’s the last thing said before your eyes blotch pure white with a sheer rummaging stretch. Wider n’ wider - not only was Gojo snaggling your leaking hole open with his tongue, he was adding in his long fingers, too.

The nearly six-inch length of his middle finger tucking between your slick-stained folds with a thundering squeeeelch–! 

“Want more- gonna get it-” You can make him uttering in a gravelly tone against your swollen lips, grunting. Repeatedly swervin’ his padded digits back n’ forth, “-gonna- gonna get it.”

“Toru- Toru oh my god- fuck, s’too good-” Your knees tremor weakly as they bend in the air, head tumbling backwards as your eyes roll to the dark depths of your skull.

“Raise.” 

It’s all you hear before a scouring tendril of cursed energy curls around your neck and your head is being forced to tilt upwards and stare deeply into Gojo’s dimly-lit eyes. Ravenous. 

You didn’t even think that he had the ability to do that, but with the way he was ruining your cunt from the very inside out you wouldn’t be surprised. 

And you think this might be the dopiest you’ve seen Gojo’s pretty smile. Something that would be so completely endearing if it wasn’t for the way that his azure eyes were flickering with cursed energy. “N’  let me ruin you, my wife.”

It wasn’t a promise - he was already doing it.

Barreling the tippy-tops of his two slippery digits so far deeply into your g-spot that you’re drooling. A wave of spitballing drool flapping from your gluey lips, “Are you- Toru are you- using Six Eyes?”

Fuck, that’s what it was.

That had to be it - he’s treating the treasure trove of your sweet spots so meanly. Like a lil’ dartboard that he’s carving out the exact spheroid circumferences of his fingertips, again. And again. And again.

Until his manicured fingernails were leaving that lil’ bundle so overstimulated that even the merest, slightest graze had you weeping out in slicked drool.

You’re crying out by the time that Gojo’s tucking the edges of his tongue inside your gaping entrance with three girthy fingertips - sweat-sleek brows knitting as he pushes and pushes against the resistance. 

Doubly filling you up, and it was such a stretch that it left your hip restless.

“M’n-not gonna hck! last, Satoru.” Your lips pucker into such a cute sob, the melody of it going straight to the plump, aching tip filling up his pants.

He’s rasping, mouth barely giving the time of day for anything other than making out with your creamy pussy. “Cum.” Urgent, rapid strokes of his fingers like he was dragging that stormy high from you. The faster his sloppy movements were becoming, the more crazed his eyes were becoming. “Cum.”

And even though you were too dumbstruck to notice it now, Gojo was so feral for your leaking pussy that loose pieces of furniture in the room had begun to clatter. 

Torrents of cursed energy zipping down to his fingers and concentrating there, “All f’me.” Breaths hoarse with belated pants, he’s groaning when the bzzzz–! of power on your battered g-spot makes your back arch prettily. 

Like a perfect bullet vibrator that was precisely and never-endingly whacking your favorite area, faster. Sloppier. 

So, so filthy.

Gojo was already widening his eyes and letting his spit-adhesive lips crack into a wild smile by the time you’re trilling about your orgasm - because he knew. Oh, he knew.

His Six Eyes could see it coming from a mile away; the way your heart was racing in a pitter-patter that matches the flicks of his narrowed tongue. Every sopping slap! making you clench your scalding insides ‘round him instinctively until it was almost difficult for him to press back against the mushy recoil of your g-spot.

But the strongest always got what he wanted.

And what he wanted was you cumming right now, your nails clawing adorable crimson rainbows all down his shoulders, his neck. “T-Toru- cu-cumming- ngh! M’c-cumming, fuck fuck fuck–”

Gojo would throw his head back and moan if it didn’t mean moving his rovering lips away from your pretty pussy.

“No- c’mon c’mon c’mon- wanna taste. Need to taste-” He’s letting you ride your peaks of euphoria out on slobbering drags of your hips. Face crinkling, his free hand darting up to cushion your tempo with reverse cursed energy so you won’t get too tired n’ stop.

He wouldn’t have been able to handle it if you did.

Wouldn’t have been able to bare- “Again. Again-” Slapping down a hand on the slick-shined inners you’re crying out once the energy-capped crowns of his fingers inch dangerously towards your clit. “Taste- on my face. All over my face, alright?”

He didn’t just want you to cum - he wanted you to squirt. 

“O-oh my god, Tooooru!” Your mouth clogs up with both spit and sultry whines, heels starting to dig into the dimples on Gojo’s sexily flexing back. “M’so sensitive, dunno if I can-”

“No.” He’s cutting you off, and you almost startle. A dull thud! emanating from where his v-line angrily hits the floor in a grindin’ push, another sparking spank punishes your sobbing slope. “No no no no- have to. Wanna taste- think m’gonna die without it.” 

Practically begging on his knees right now. And if you thought that the vibrating sensation of his fingerpads were bad, then you surely weren’t ready for the way that Gojo’s lacquering his sizzling tastebuds over with a flimsy layer of energy.

“C’mon- c’mon c’mon c’mon–” His reverse cursed energy bolts mindlessly from the left hand attached possessively to your waist, and you’re tearing up all over again with a fresh batch of salty tears when that thrumming tongue of his flops over your driveling hole. 

The textured vibrations just felt so good that it was making your mouth flap sappily open, you’re sure that the only reason you could even think right now was because of his reverse cursed energy.

Circlin’ your fleshy folds, where your plugged-up hole was being thrashed with all his pummeling fingers, then up, up, up to your twitchy clit. 

Gojo’s nimble muscle was drawing circles- no, hearts. No, a cursive T-O-R-U ♡ 

He wasn’t even trying - didn’t even have to - to let buzzing bursts of power flicker at your cunt. So teasing on purposeful, those shockwaves were making your thighs twitch with bliss each n’ every time. Every part of him.

“What does that saaay?”

“Toru- Toru” Right before you throw your head back and get steamrolled by your high like never before, such a crashing, blissful wave. “I-I’m…” 

You don’t even have to finish your soft gasping moan because your squelching pussy does so for you. In the loudest, rawest sluuuurp that Gojo laps up gratefully- a drink made especially for his dry throat. 

Ears popping, skin all tingly - you can only slouch your legs further open and take it.

Stringy, wadded splashes of syrupy sap that escape out of you even if you tried to stop. “Gonna fuck-” He’s grunting, throatily. Ruminating growls locked away in his chest, he spits into your fluttery cunt. “-gonna fuck you- fuck you so good.”

You’re so wet that Gojo’s finding himself soaked-through all the way from the tips of those creamy white curls by the shell of his ear down to his chin. A round goblet of slick glues to the sharp line of his jaw and makes a slithering trailway doooown his bobbing throat.

“S’here-” Letting go of your hips, he’s pointing to the mouthfuls of you that fill up his sloppy maw. “Down, down–” The very tip of Gojo’s lecherous finger points a pathway doooown his pale, handsome neck, “-down. All inside. Finally got ta t-taste ya, sweetheart.”

You’re still blinking back the full vignette of your vision by the time that your husband’s pulling his dexterous digits out with a noisy squelch! 

Letting the proud layer of juicy slick smear all over your pussylips once he’s giving your cute, quivering clit a lil’ piiiinch. “And m’s-still thirsty.” He’s grumbling, grinning. Watching as your mouth falls into an awe-struck ‘o’ when you feel his buzzing cursed energy flowing through him again. 

“Toru- fuck fuck fuck–!” It takes every ounce of strength in your body to lift yourself up onto your elbows. “Want…” You wanted him - namely that aching hot bulge you could peek at if you angled your head just right.

And even pushing your trembling thighs together doesn’t do anything to falter Gojo, because he’s simply pushing himself deeper between your gooey legs and gasping. Not for air, not for a breath, but for another taste of you.

Poking down the mushed tip of his tongue until he was pressing on your buttony clit. Hard. He’s seriously happy to die a death suffocated between your pretty thighs, “But why–?” 

Walls clenching needily, you shoot your hand to clutch the strongest’s angelic hair and pull–

“Fuh-fuck–!” Gojo’s dizzy head falls back, breaking off from your syrupy pussy with such a sinfully wet pop! Through your tears you see his right hand shake, quiver down between his trousers. 

And it makes your mouth water greedily to watch the schwf! of tattered fabric motioning back n’ forth as he’s grabbing his rock-hard bulge and thrusting. Angrily. Furiously. “Look what- look what you did- what you- ngh!”

Before you know it, Gojo’s clawing his free hand somewhere in the air hovering above you - all that it takes for him to snap his jujutsu powers and help draaaaag you down like some glorified doll. 

Charred breaths labored, his meaty knees clatter on either side of your body. So urgent that you wonder whether it doesn’t hurt him to scramble up your figure this way, alllll up until you’re finding your face straddled by a heaving Gojo Satoru.

“S’your fault.” He’s grouching out in a gruff tone, and you’re taking the moment to just fully admire him in all his sinful glory.

Skin-tight clothes still hanging off of him in tatters, back oh-so-arched, and his expression– oh, his expression almost made you regret pulling him away from your cunt. 

With a rosy blush flooded all the way from the tips of his ears to the back of his perspiration-glossed neck, heady gaze practically shuttered, lips dripping wet with all your essence still. A few glittery spatters of it slobber down from his cheeks to hit your own face once Gojo lets his lips fall into a soft oh!

Wheezing, “S’your…” You can only gape as he’s tugging down the ivory hem of his pants just enough to let his swollen, heavy cock free. “-fault.”

He was throbbing and big, flinching from the very tip of his lollipop-red cockhead just as soon as he’s feeling the cold breeze of your bedroom. Gojo’s biceps flex sexily as he nudges the moist skin of his tender shaft against your left cheek and pumps.

Sloppy.

“Didn’t have to be s’fuckin’ sweet-” Gojo hisses through gleaming clenched teeth, your blinking expression too gorgeous. “Didn’t have to be- so- ohhhh– m’gonna marry you. M’gonna marry you m’gonna marry you.” 

“Toruuu–” You’re cooing out, gazing as he’s biting back into a snarl. Drooling strawberry orifice sprinkling a wispy jetstream of white, vulgar. “-we’re already married, baby.”

Fuck- and then he’s cumming.

He’s cumming and cumming so much that Gojo’s overworked brain half-wonders when he might stop. The rounded curve of his ballsack squeezing with every elongated ribbon of seed that he’s letting out- more once he catches sight of the way it glissades in a sheeny polish down your features. 

Steaming hot and aching, just as much as he was. 

“Th-there’s so much, Toru-” You’re whining when the salted caramel flavor edges near your tongue, every fat goblet of sap positioned exactly to drool down your face. “-Toru?”

Gojo was on cloud nine, and you didn’t even know he was even listening to you.

Only letting out a dreamy sigh, the knobbly curve of his thumb comes brushing down that pooling slick mess he was making on you. 

Giggling - giggling, “Whoops.” He’s prodding over those webs of seed past your poutily puckered maw, purposefully gliding his fingerpad alllll the way down your wobbly bottom lip. “-missed a spot.”

You’re ogling with an ajar mouth once he glistens it over like some sultry lipgloss, you just looked so beautiful like this that Gojo feels his heart race. He feels his breath hitch, his wide length throbbing-

“Oh.” He hiccups, still sensitive with the shivering wracks of his high. And Gojo’s gaze hastily flickers behind him - to his second favorite pair of lips, after your mouth, of course. “Missed a spot there, too.”

Whatever shred of practicality left in him promises he’ll make it up to you later, he’ll take it slow and make mind-numbing love to you later. Much, much later, but for now: you’re being pushed against the bouncy mattress of your bed. 

You gasp, “A-again? Toru you-” Faltering weakly for just the slightest second when Gojo corners you on the bedcoils and rids of his shirt. All pale, chiseled muscles and power for daaaays. Fuck, he was so hot. “-do you even hck! realize you teleported us?”

The only answer he gives you is a savage grin, voice dipping into just deepest territory as he muses. “No.”

He didn’t. He really, really didn’t even register it when his powers were thrusting you into the bed and making the bedroom lights flicker once he all but tears off those damn overlarge pants. 

And then he gets closer.

Cornering you, a soft pant of shock lets off from you at the faint scars and cuts decorating those familiar muscles of his toned front. “W-wait, Satoru, are you feeling-”

“What? This?” With the click of his fingers, most of those bloodied injuries fade into obscurity. Leaving only a few scars and the remnants of reverse cursed tingling in the air. “Now ruin me, my wife.”

“Fuck…”

“Can’t think.” Gojo’s rasping voice wafts over your lips, making sure to draw out a wet sluuuurp when he suckles on your white-topped maw. Tasting you, tasting himself. His eyes flare madly wide, “-don’t want a-anything but you…”

You’re squirming sluttily at the faint bolts of lightning that decorate his creamy skin, flickering down from his eyes- down to where his ravaging cock was hanging low between his thighs. Slapping a wad of drooling precum on your inner thighs. 

Gojo was so big and hard that you could count every ba-dump–! his ruby crown was thumping against your poor bloated folds. Squelch after squelch, you got the feeling that he was repeatedly rubbing his chubby tip just to drive you mad.

“Don’t have- condoms.” And Gojo could merely lift himself off to grab those familiar foil packets in that bedside drawer - hell, he could even teleport himself there. 

But doing so meant that he had to be away from you and this cutely drooling cunt of yours. And though you didn’t mind if he went in purely raw, Gojo had another idea in mind. 

Whimpering, “Then give it-” Gojo’s breath catches when you buck your hips impatiently, “Need you, Sato- fuck!”

He was never one to disappoint, of course.

Your eyelashes flap tearily at the sudden snagging streeeeeetch being pressured between your glued pussylips. Gasping, struggling to take a look and-

“S’gonna work.” 

“I-it’s not.”

“It will.”

“Won’t- mmpf–!”

Pushing and pushing to try and fit the limitless-capped ends of his length into your tight hole. “Gonna-” He’s poking the reddish tip of his tongue between his teeth in a way that sends shivers down your spine, “-gonna work. Trust me- hck! Trust me, sweetheart.”

If you thought you’d ever gotten used to the maddening girth of your husband before, then you sure weren’t ready for right now. 

For when he’s coating his near-ten inches, thick inches with a layer of crackling limitless. Forcin’ your poor entrance even more full, the pointed corner of his head slips once more between your sandwiching lips and Gojo growls. 

“Fuck- fuck!” In both your carnally muddled minds, you’re barely registering the way something in the bedroom shatters. Sounding halfway through tears, “Not even the tip- Gotta fit- s’gotta. I have to.”

You’re whining with every rutting push, “Wh-why the hell are you so big, Satoru–?”

“Shhh m’gonna make it fit- gonna hah- make it.” He’s urgently soothing you with a big hand on your forehead - not just to caress your forehead, no. Gojo’s clawing your sweaty crown and pushing you down onto where his bulky length was pulsating. Desperate. 

And the smooch of his boiling hot length was so wiiide that your vision is shattering into something bleary. 

Pupils rolling until your eyes were only pure white, you almost don’t catch the rippling forearm being planted right in the middle of your line of sight. “Bite.” Gojo grits out, tension ticking. “Bite.”

So you do - hard enough to draw blood, and that’s exactly the way he wanted it. 

“Yeah- yeahhh jus’ like that.” He’s groaning underneath his breath once you’re gnawing, letting off the prettiest noises when Gojo keeps pulling his hips back and forth. Like some animal, he’s dolloping out a slimy topping of pre on top of your cunt and rutting– “Take it.” Somehow easing in his ridiculous length, “All of it, like my g-good wife now. All-”

And he meant it. 

Slamming his toned hips so hard into yours that sparks - literal, powerful sparks - are sent flying from his body. Pants raspy, maw slackening, “Where is it?” Roaming his eyes rapidly down your body, your skin prickles with atoms stood on edge. “Where- fuck! Where am I…ah. H-here.”

“Here?”

“Here.” A trembling, vibrating finger of Gojo’s comes drifting absent-mindedly up from the start to your folds. And the deeper this fat, vein-covered cock was bludgeoning in - the further his digit was drawing. “Here- m’riiiight here, sweetheart.”

It’s only then that your saccharine brain thinks to understand that he was using his Six Eyes, targeting the sight where his swollen cock was probin’ around your sweet insides.

“Watch me- watch me get deeper.”

You’re watching with an unfastened jaw as Gojo precisely draws where his bulbous tip was smearing out your walls to their maximum. Subconscious, short jabs back and forth back and forth baaack and forth.

Just to fit inside.

“S-shoooo deeeep–” 

“Not deep enough.” 

Stupidly prattling with every knock of his size. Gojo was so damn big that you didn’t even need his outlining digit, your goopy innards were already bulging with his size. A bumpy cylindrical outline that only went deeper, deeper-

“-deeper.” Gojo rests his woozy forehead on top of yours, just as ruined as you. So close now that his chiseled abs gliiiide down your front, “F-feels good, huh? My cock so ngh- deep- my limitless. So, so…deep.”

And it’s at that very second that once your husband bottoms out, that he breaks. 

SLAM!

His sanity, his palm collapsing down to splinter the headboard, and limitless. All at the same time.

Hours and hours later, you’ll both be told that there was a suspicious spike of cursed energy in this area during this exact time. One so strong that it alerted almost every sorcerer in the territory.

But right now you’re too focused on the way that Gojo’s mushy, furiously leaking tip was crashing head-first into your sponged cervix. And suddenly it’s not just the airy feeling of his limitless, it’s the feeling of you. 

Warm and wet. So so wet.

It’s then that Gojo gnaws down on his rosy, trembling lower lip and stalls. It’s then that he’s scrunching his eyes to stop the outpour of power. It’s then that he gasps–

“Didn’t work.”

Letting out a high, wild bout of laughter that makes you wonder just how high the kill count would be.

Confused, “Wh-what?”

Gojo only removes his hand from the bedframe to reveal a scalding handprint exactly in the shape of his, a few shards of wood falling onto the floor. 

“Didn’t…work.” His voice was hard, rough. And there was a jagged tone to them that you hadn’t ever heard before- “It didn’t- work- fuck fuck fuck- didn’t work. Didn’t work didn’t work.” All that he could even think to bellow out in moans every time that Gojo rocked his hips thoroughly. “And I…you…”

Running out of the fucking syllables, he’s letting go of your scalp to fully throw both of your legs over his shoulder and buck. So soft.

“S-soft-?” You’re making out through your pressured eardrums, clinging onto Gojo’s broad shoulders for dear life. You almost - almost - miss the way that his mouth drops, shit- he said that out loud?

Well, now that he started - Gojo couldn’t stop.

Spitting out nonsense between every jackhammer- “Y’feel s-so…soft.” He’s continuing on in an airy tone, gripping a good handful of either side of your hips. So strong that it barely take even a fraction of his strength to jostle you hip n’ down to meet every thrust, “So…sweet- fuck! Even sw-sweeter without a ngh- condom.”

So fucking looooong that every jackhammer from the tip of his geysering divot to his hefty hilt felt like it took ages. Your toes curled helplessly every time he was stirrin’ your insides right up to your cervix, crazed. 

“M’really hitting her-” His breath fans your face in steamy gusts that humidify your skin, “-really, really can feel her.” Peking you once, twice, thrice. “Kissing you- kissing her-” A slam to your cervix, “-there, too.”

You’re letting off mumbled whines of something that sounds like “yes!” and “Toru!” as Gojo slows his craving pace down just a tad to splash out a stringy drawing of a heart right at the bottom of your pussy. 

Long, thorough digging drills that bruise his exact circumference size, “N’ m’seeing her- seeing her take me so welllll, oh…deserves a lil’ treat.”

Too nervous to think about what he would consider a ‘treat’, you’re shoving your face into the clammy crook of Gojo’s neck and biting. Leaving him just as rawly red and stinging as his cock was, the action was enough to make him nibble his bottom lip.

Babbling, “Yeah- yeah, a t-treat. A treat for my good girl- my wife.” You’re feeling it before you register it, that stickily sweet buzzzz–! of cursed energy coating Gojo’s fingertips. 

He unabashedly drags it all the way across your hardened nipples - giving just a lil’ pinch - down your tummy, that bulging outline he was fucking into you, down.

Until Gojo had his sparking fingerpads locked around your throbbing fat clit and refused to let go- “You like that? Yeahh fuh-fucking like that-” Hiccuping, every new roll of his hips plapping against yours made him twist your perked nub just the way you liked. “-like seeing me like this? Th-the strongest fucking you like this?”

“Yes-” You’re sobbing out, your hip gyrating lewdly upwards in tandem with his. And it makes both you and the ancient bedsprings sing in unison when Gojo reaches so deep, “-like it, like it- ngh! Love it.”

Oh.

Oh. 

If you thought that Gojo had nothing left to lose at this point then you were wrong, because with a rummaging spank of skin-on-skin, he’s probin’ a kiss so deep into your g-spot that you can almost taste Gojo’s candied caramel flavor. 

Swiveling his hips just right to maze his lustrously crowned head into that filthy, filthy target. Thumping veins bloated enough to circle your elastic walls and make you remember each lightning bolt pattern. 

Pulse leaping through your mouth, your head bangs backwards into the plush pillows, “There- there, Toruu–!”

“I already know.” Fuck, did he know - and he almost wished you could see the way he could with his Six Eyes. Just how lecherously you glutinous walls were bending to gulp him up straight into your plush g-spot. Every whack thrashing dead-on into that bullseye, “There- there. M’right there- fucking you right there.”

He was pounding into you like he was crazed at this point, and with every white-hot star of pleasure bursting behind your eyes, you could feel yourself sinking further into the cushy bed.

“-the bed, huh?” If you were in any better state of mind, you’d have been wondering about the fact that your husband seemingly had the ability to read minds.

But even Gojo doesn’t seem to realize.

A simpering smile falling over his features as he hoists your boneless legs further up his shoulders - locking them with a simple curl of his cursed energy. Before bending down, down, down until you’re all folded in half like a lawnchair and helpless. 

Completely at the mercy of his sloppy, spanking cadence, “S’what I k-kept thinking about- ngh- a-allll today.” At just the mere mention, Gojo’s throwing his head back with another wave of excess power.

“R-really?” You’re questioning cutely, and he’s forced to concentrate on a lil’ patch of limitless on top of his weepy crownhead to stop himself from fucking cumming right then, right there. 

“Thought about you- ngh- your lips. Your smile.” That explained why he was so ravenous, biting back grunting whimpers at the throbbing clench of your melty walls - molding ‘round his barreling girth. “And your…pussy.”

“S-so filthy, Satoru.”

Your features crinkle with a tiny, blissful twitch - so faint that you almost don’t even register it. 

But Gojo does.

Fuck- of course, he does. He’s slouching forwards until the drenched tufts of his stark white happy trail scratch your already-buzzing clit. Until his superhuman senses can distinctly make out every slurring mwah-! being pulled out from your soppy folds, nodding along as if in conversation. 

“Yeah- mhmmm–” He’s tittering at your starstruck expression, kissing away the clumps of dumbfounded drool splattering from your lips. Gojo squeezes the bullet vibrators of his fingers harder ‘round your clit and lets his eyes glow once you squeal, “-knew it. You’re close, my sweetheart.”

“I-I am?”

“Mhmm—”

And his Six Eyes was never incorrect.

Within only a few more vulgar, touching strokes you could feel that familiar tightness at the bottom of your tummy. Gojo’s giving your cunt another good spank to keep your legs twitching, “C-close.”

“Yeah? Yeah?” Taking on that maddened tinge, “Gonna cum- gonna cum f’me.” He’s giggling into your open mouth, letting a few oodles of spit let slip. “Can tell- so close so lose that- ooooone—”

Your hips jiggle hysterically up into his feverish pace, chasing your high with every uncontrolled thrust. Every spark of power– “Two- two.”

“Twoooo–” He’s calling out after a confirming glance downwards with his Six Eyes, manhandling your restless body pliably. Spattered specks of sweat hit your chest when he’s aligning his tip for once last crash into your tenderest spots. One. last- “Thr- fuck–!”

Right on time. And it wasn’t just you crashing into your high, it was Gojo, too.

Every bedroom light shattering, loose furniture hovering copious inches. 

Gojo was like a monster, his skin decorating with sparks of blue lightning after every long, aching bout of overstimulated euphoria that make the strongest’s famed eyes blur with big, fat goblets of tears. 

Whimpering - whimpering - in muffled noises as he fucks you full with a roped, creamy sap. It knocks around your deepest insides and pushes up in fat wads against your cervix, that little puddle swashing around to and fro with every pump. “Milk me- yeah yeah milk me.”

He’s fucking and fucking you until his rock-hard cock rubs red n’ raw.

Your own high simply zapping tingles by now from the arched curls of your toes up to your sweltering head, Gojo slides his puffy veins just past your g-spot and your legs go weak.

“P-pleeeease–” You’re mumbling through streaky cries of your own, the feeling so filthy that you didn’t know whether you wanted more or to crawl away.

Before a splat! of something wet and viscid on your shoulder jolts you out of you reverie - and only then do you realize that Gojo fucking Satoru was drooling. 

“Don’t you fucking run.” Before you know it, both Gojo’s handless cursed energy and his own right hand curl around your throat to draaaag you back into his ruthless hips. 

His shivering thighs against yours, the stony ridge of his v-line grinding into your stinging ass cheeks just so. Gojo’s pounding you so full of his seed that you feel oh-so-sluggish, “But- but Tooooruuuu–” You could already feel every ounce of blood in his body rush to make his cock twitch, dangerously. Oh. “-a-again? More?”

It’s like the very word is enough to make him jolt. “More?”

“Will it even ngh- fit?” Your lower lip juts out into a pout, feeling the gluey mess of syrup sticking your thighs together. A few gumdrops of pearly cum already pouring out of your sheened hole and dripping right down onto his base. 

“Well…” Gojo’s peripherals were so very hazy now, and they take their languid time falling to the cumflated bulge he’d jackhammered into you. Chuckling - pitched high, he’s plugging those escaping ribbons back into your milky pussy and licking off the excess. “-how many?”

“Wh-what?” You’re gasping as he leverages the hold at your throat to spit the mess right back onto your tongue. 

“How many kids d’you want, hmmm-?” Gojo purrs right back, nuzzling the sweat-stuck side of your face. He’s whispering into your ear, “Because my Six Eyes tells me it h-hasn’t taken-” One thrust, and just about millions of angels and stars flashing behind your lids. “-yet.”

Reversed curse technique was just seeping out of Gojo, and for a second you wonder what time it was. What day- sore arms wrapping around his neck, you’re muttering your answer.

And he only chuckles– “B-because- limitless void, my wife.” And there’s a soft breeze of cracking energy washing over you - soft, loving, and so Gojo. Twinkling eyes drifting meaningfully to your humming cunt, “-m’gonna make you my ngh- cum…dump.”

He…did he just- your eyes widen, he did. Abusing that limitless void on your bawling pussy…oh, how it made you clench with need. 

Power having him crazed.

The bedroom air prickles with a gush of energy so thick it makes your skin burn slightly, and makes Gojo throw his head back with a whine. A whine. 

Eyes ablaze until only its faint bolts and the dusky sun were your sources of light right now - yet, little did you know that none of Tokyo had power, either. None of its wards. None of Japan.

The surge of power so ridiculously high that your comfy bed was sagging on one end, furniture unruly, the flowers of the estate’s gardens blooming. 

He’s letting go of your skin with a faintly steaming handprint, breath catching at the mark- Gojo similarly guides his own zapping fingers to brand your own steaming initials on his v-line. Electric. Twitching. 

“N’ who knows…” Giving you a probin’ dig of his swollen, ravaged cock, your husband grins. “-maybe I'll summon my haaaa- clones for this next round.”

A/N. Also I know most of y’all probably don’t celebrate but happy Sinhala and Tamil new year! Smooching all you lovelies <3

Plagiarism not authorized.

[wadoichimonji0]

SECOND masterlist! This masterlist has all my writing from 02/10/24 up until now — for my earlier works check out my FIRST MASTERLIST <3

👻 = from my Kinktober!

MONSTA! 👻

WILD WILD WILD 👻

Bad Bad Boy 👻

PONY 👻

Girl, I'm Into It! 👻

KNOTTY GIRL! 👻

NNN

Madam.

BUTTER

FEVER FEVER FEVER

BUMPIN' THAT!

DDD

CHERRY-POP!

JUNO

O-O-O-OBSESSED!

D!LFMAS?!

BIIIG STRETCH.

STICKYYY

Like a Dog!

P*SSY POWER!

TALKIN' BOOODY!

STUFFED.

OL-F*CK-TORY ETHICS?!

ABRACADABRA

Can't Feel My Face.

ATTACK ON P*SSY!

BIG BOYYY!

TRACKSTAR?!

JUICY!

FEVERRR?!

KREME!

RAW-MANCE!

Jujutsu? Gnarly.

FIT CHECK?!

FAST N' FURIOUS!

BAD INFLUENCE

KiIlin' It Girl!

BAD DESIRE.

Animals — Yes, your best friend is secretly an alpha. Yes, he acts like a fúcking anímal when he rúts. No, you don’t think you’ll make it out alíve. 👻

Corpse Groom — Till déath do you part…or does it when a déathly error leads your newly-wedded husband to be from beyond the gráve? 👻

The Initiation — From now onwards, you’re the madam of the Gojo clan - and your clan leader husband is going to prove it to everyone.

Cake or Fake — The only birthday gift your brother’s best friend wants? You. And not just for fake-dating…

Sweetheart Online — Isekai-ed into another world, or isekai-ed into your pants?! Gojo Satoru is in danger - in danger of losing his prized, otaku vírginíty, that is.

Knight of Roses — You, heir to the throne and fated to be married off to a royal you’ve never even met. Gojo Satoru, your personal knight and the one man that will not let this happen. He will not.

Night(wing) Crawler — Trapped with a too-smug, too-handsome Nightwing by the very same villains you were trying to swindle was not how you planned to spend your night. Luckily for you, Gojo can think of a much better way to pass the time.

To Tame A Monster — Gojo Satoru, the most dangerous underground fighter in all of Japan - and the…hottest, too. You, the cute nurse that takes care of him, and totally not his favorite prize, right? Right?

STRONGEST — The strongest. The most feraI. Gojo Satoru’s powers aren’t the only thing that goes out of control after a battle.

Hot Nerd Summer — The best way to beat your tall, nerdy, hot academic rival during finals? Fúck him!

Cruel Summer — The five times Gojo Satoru would rather díe than marry you, his (infuriatingly pretty, oh-so-irresistible) arranged fiancée - and the one time he comes back from déath to.

Amen (Hey, Men!) — BIoodshed. BIoodIust. Vampires. It was no wonder you’d turn to the charming new priest in town during dark times like these…but Father Gojo seems to be interested in you in ways that are more than sinful. And there’s nothing holy about him, either.

Heavy Metal Lover — A group project with your tall, nerdy, hot academic rival and your handsome punk best friend? Oh, you’re getting a D++

SODA POP! — Five times Gojo Satoru - the hottest k-pop idol right now - gets exposed for wanting you, his pretty, totally-not-girlfriend best friend. And the one time he gives them headlines to talk about.

SLAM DUNK — Gojo Satoru - campus boyfriend, MVP of the basketball team - can score a slam dunk but he can’t score you?! So what could go wrong when he asks you for pointers…in the bedroom?

Love Thy D!LF — Yes, your neighbor is a hot, pérvy D!LF. Yes, he’s a total tease. No, you don’t think your poor new bed frame is going to stay in one piece…

Bed Chem — No, you’ve never gone through a heat. No, your big bad neighbor, Toji Fushiguro, hasn’t had a rút in years. No, you don’t think you’ll make it out alive when all that changes with your…bed chem.

Bat(man) Romance — Running into Batman AKA your ex-husband, Toji, after a heist? Could this night get any worse? Well, there’s also one tiny problem…you’re both covered in séx pollen.

Lady & The Sick Man — Most people would run away from the ghost in their shabby new apartment, Toji Fushiguro makes you lose your mind.

To Have Your Eyes — Toji Fushiguro - strong, hot, and your steadfast personal knight. And his duty to the crown means that Toji should…help the princess he’s always loved with obtaining an heir, right? Right?

Love Island — Islanders, you’ve got a steamy date! An unfortunate recoupling leaves only you and one other participant unpaired - the mean, smug, hot Toji Fushiguro. Too bad you hate him, right? Right? 

SCREEN QUEEN! — To see a movie or to make one? Four times Geto Suguru absolutely ruined you for the cameras, and the one time outside of them.

Video Game Lover — Suguru Geto, the resident nerd who “helps” you with your homework. Tall, gloomy, mean, and- and an alpha? And he’s in rut?!

Heavy Metal Lover — A group project with your tall, nerdy, hot academic rival and your handsome punk best friend? Oh, you’re getting a D++

Sweetener — You, hit by your heat cycle and accidentally calling your best friend over in a daze. Choso Kamo, your utterly sweet best friend - and totally not an aIpha, right? Right?

Madam Kamo — Bréeding kínk? Going feraI? What the hell is that? Maybe your sweet clan leader husband knows the answer…

Hey, Venom Boy! — Venom’s had enough of his host’s racing heartbeat and tíghtening pants around you. So he does what any good symbiote would do - help Choso lose his vírginíty, of course!

Heat Waves — The two things they don’t tell you about a hot emo half-curse? 1. He’s in heat. 2. He needs you badly.

Tokyo Drift — A bad boy? Check. Your parents hate him? Check. Considers you the cute lil’ good luck charm for his high-speed street races? Check. But you’ll be riding more than just Choso’s car…

Your (Super)Man — He’s not a bird. He’s not a plane. He’s…just Nanami Kento from the journalism department. But you have a feeling that Nanami’s hiding a super big secret - and not just the one down there.

50 Shades of Kento — You help your hot uptight boss blow off some much-needed steam, and he makes an absolute mess of you - that annoyingly flirty new employee of his. Deal?

Heaven — An aIpha? Please, your arranged husband was the perfect gentleman - soft, strong, shy to even look your way and- and damn feraI when he’s in rút?

The Duke and I — Dearest gentle reader, it is with great pride that we introduce this season’s most eligible bachelor, Duke Nanami Kento. However, ladies be warned, rumors swirl that our most gallant gentleman already has his eyes (and hands) set on a particular chambermaid. You.

Part of Your World — Prince Nanami Kento would give anything to be part of your world - his tail, his voice, and yet, his heart is already yours. You would give anything to know more about the mysterious suitor from across the seas - and why you just can’t stay away.

My Oh My — Trick or treat! The mean ínmate in Room 6/9 doesn’t want halloween candy - he wants something else much, much sweeter. 👻

Executioner Style — How long does it take for the demon king, Ryomen Sukuna, to figure out why you summoned him? Three hours. How long until you wonder whether you’ll make it out of the bed aIive? Well…

Type Dangerous — Five times Ryomen Sukuna’s “wingmanning” family is the biggest cóckbIock in existence, and the one time he finally gets what he wants - you, his nephew’s hot preschool teacher.

©2025 tonycries. All work belongs to @tonycries. Do NOT repost, modify, translate or plagiarize in any way on ANY platforms. This includes themes, headers, and pinned.

[wadoichimonji0]

Ode to the Third Leg: A Ballad of Flesh, Fear, and Foreplay

AKA: The Divine Dicking: A Cock So Mighty, It Humbled You.

A/N: Toji Fushiguro x fem!Reader. Smut, crack, unhinged poetic rambling, filthy comedy, NOTE: image is just a screenshot from the anime (thats what is said on pinterest). Warnings: size kink, vulgarity, reader being borderline unwell, explicit language, Toji being a slut, discussions of penis architecture, mild Megumi mention (he's NOT in the smut), safe sex concerns, and… reverence. Divine Dicking Series: Nanami vers. Gojo Vers. Hiromi Vers, Shiu vers; Sukuna vers, Geto vers, Choso Vers, Ino vers

To be fair, you weren’t expecting dick today.

That’s not to say you didn’t want it. You’re three months into dating Toji Fushiguro, the walking contradiction: all scars, smirks, and silent brooding—and you’ve been toeing the line between “I could suck his soul out through his dick” and “maybe I should ask him how his day went first.” Balance, babe.

But today?

You opened the door in a robe. A lush, velvety, deep-green robe with nothing underneath but vibes, a sense of superiority, and the faint lingering smell of cinnamon coffee. You had today off. A sacred, holy sabbath in your modern cathedral of Not Putting Up With Shiu’s Bullshit. You’d planned on doing face masks and reading Nabokov, maybe watch some trashy reality TV and judge people from your couch with all the scorn of a Greek chorus.

And then.

Toji fucking Fushiguro. On your doorstep. Black shirt tugged halfway up his chest, one hand in his hair, other on the doorframe, looking like all seven sins rolled into a man with poor impulse control. His eyes were dark, jaw clenched, and his entire aura screamed “I’ve murdered three people today and I might add one more.”

You opened your mouth to ask if he was okay.

But then he was on you.

Lips, tongue, hands, grabby hands—oh he was in it. And by “in it” we mean gripping your ass through your robe like it personally insulted his bloodline. A titty is groped with intent. You let out something between a squeak and a moan and he growls—growls—against your mouth like this is a fucking werewolf fic.

The door slammed shut behind him (probably with his foot, because multitasking), and next thing you knew, your back hit the nearest surface—was it the wall? The door? The veil between reality and the afterlife? You couldn’t say. He tasted like cheap gum, bad decisions, and salt, and you were into it.

Life is beautiful.

“Fuckin’ needed this,” he growled into your mouth, like your lips were the only holy thing left in his life.

You barely had time to squeak as he manhandled you like a stress toy, stumbling toward your bedroom while shedding clothing like he was allergic to fabric.

Your brain was soup. You had one functioning neuron left and she was hanging on to the bannister, sobbing.

Somewhere in the whirlwind of tongues and teeth and his knee between your thighs, Toji lost his shirt. Then his pants. Then—

Oh.

Oh.

Oh.

You stopped.

Dead in your tracks.

Stared.

And stared.

He was naked. Naked like a Greek statue. Naked like forbidden fruit. Naked like a problem.

And you were the problem now, because you were looking directly at his dick like it owed you money and you were calculating interest.

"...You good?" he asked, confused. Not cocky. Not smug. Confused.

Because you weren’t saying anything.

You were just... staring. Unmoving. Reverent. You need a second. Maybe two.

Because.

That’s not a dick.

That’s an entity.

It was less of a cock and more of a declaration. A blunt instrument of sex and confusion. Veins? Present. Prominent. Pulsing. The man had a happy trail so criminally well-groomed you were half-convinced he trimmed it using sacred geometry. And his balls—dear God the balls—those were like testicular furniture. Full. Heavy. Sitting there like a pair of smug cats on a radiator.

Finally, you whispered, “Damn. That’s some heavy machinery.”

His brow creased. “Huh?”

You didn’t move. You couldn’t. Your brain had short-circuited and you were running on instincts now. You tilted your head like an art critic examining a new Monet.

You’re fully transfixed. You lean in a little. Not too close—you’re brave, not stupid.

“You really just walk around with that thing? Unrestrained? In pants?” Your gaze flicks to his balls. “And those. Like. Don’t they get in the way? When you run? Sit down? Turn around too fast?”

Toji is looking at you like he’s never seen you before. “You’re not okay,” he says. “You’ve never acted like this.”

“I’ve never been faced with the final boss of cocks, Toji.”

He squints. “It’s not that big.”

You gasp, offended on his dick’s behalf.

“Toji. Baby. Sweetheart. That’s a two-hander. That’s an elbow-bender. That’s a kneel-before-me and pray for forgiveness type of situation.”

You shift to the side to look at The Thing at an angle.

“That’s—Jesus Christ, Toji. I've never seen a dick that could double as a melee weapon!””

Toji blinked. “What are you even—”

“You’re not built like a man. You’re built like a war crime.”

He stood there. Still shirtless. Still dick out. Still large enough to terrify livestock. “You’ve seen me shirtless before.”

“I saw your shoulders, Fushiguro. Not your goddamn Mjölnir.”

You approached like one might approach a wild animal. Slowly. Curiously. Possibly about to risk it all.

“You got a happy trail, too?” you whispered. “Jesus. The commitment to aesthetic. That’s not a man, that’s a curated visual experience.”

Toji, now deeply confused, crosses his arms. “You gonna suck it or write it a fucking poem?”

You ignore that. Your eyes are still on the monster. You whisper to yourself, “We’re gonna need more lube.”

“You haven’t even touched me yet,” he says, dry.

“I was going to!” You reach a hand out, and he slaps it away like you’re a toddler and his dick is an open flame.

“What the fuck?” you whine. “You brought it out! Now I’m curious! It’s all veiny and proud. Like a sentient baguette!”

Toji deadpans. “Sentient. Baguette.”

You nod solemnly.

“Are those—veins? That’s a vascular highway. How’s the blood circulation? You gotta irrigate that thing? Is this why you’re always sleepy after sex dreams? Because your entire cardiovascular system is working overtime trying to power The Monolith?”

Toji stared. You reached out again, slowly this time, one fingertip ready to poke like you were testing the density of alien material.

He slapped your hand away. Again. Fucking rude.

“Stop that,” he said, clearly alarmed by your scientific curiosity.

“I’m not trying to jack you off!” you protested. “I’m just—I mean, can I measure it?”

“Absolutely the fuck not.”

Toji looked helpless.

You were not done.

“Do you walk around like this all the time? Just dragging it? Don’t the balls get in the way? Do they get stuck in your jeans zipper? What’s your life like? Do you have to adjust every time you sit down or do you just accept the pain like a masculine ritual?”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. He looked at you like you’d grown three heads. “You’re... you’re making it weird.”

You scoffed, dramatically fanning yourself with your hand. “I’m being honest. That is a structurally ambitious cock.”

Toji shifted on his feet. “It’s not that big.”

You turned to him, blinking. “Do you even own condoms that fit? Or do you use, like, kitchen trash bags with rubber bands?”

He looked both alarmed and flattered. “What the fuck?”

“Is this why you have Megumi?!” you demanded, pointing an accusatory finger at his crotch. “Was it an engineering issue? Did no condom fit so you just said, ‘fuck it, raw’ and now there’s a child?”

Toji made a noise. A noise between a cough and a snort. “You’re deranged.”

“You should be in a museum,” you muttered, “or a zoo. Or an archaeological site. The Smithsonian should know about this.”

“Are we having sex or are you writing me an obituary?”

“Oh, now you wanna talk logistics?” you gestured vaguely at the beast between you. “That’s not going in here—” you pointed at your poor, unaware vagina “—without a safety plan and consent form.”

Toji smirked. The bastard smirked.

“I’ll go slow.”

“Oh, you’ll go slow, he says,” you scoffed. “That’s not ‘going slow,’ Fushiguro, that’s forcible remodeling. My cervix’s union is going to file a complaint.”

You were still talking. You could not stop talking. You were now pacing. Naked. In your own bedroom. Processing.

You inhaled deeply. "Just—note: if I die mid-dick, know it was an honorable death. My cervix and I loved bravely.”

You stopped pacing.

“Can I name it?”

“No.”

“I feel like it deserves a title.”

Toji, by now, was sitting on the bed, legs spread like the damn king of Sparta, dick still at full mast, practically casting a shadow across your bedroom floor.

“You do know we were about to have sex, right?”

You paused.

“…Oh, right.”

Then immediately started up again.

“BUT WITH THAT?!”

You pointed at it again, accusatory. Like it had wronged you personally. But you still climbed into bed like a soldier going to war.

Toji rolled his eyes, leaned over, and kissed you like he was trying to erase your brain entirely. “You’re fucking insane,” he murmured.

“And you’re holding a medieval battering ram,” you whispered back.

He snorted. “Do you want it or not?”

You gripped the sheets.

“Don’t impale me, you monster cock bastard. But yes.”

He smirked. Monster cock bastard. New contact name.

You took one last look at the glorious, terrifying, veiny monument to fuckery before you.

“Also,” you added breathlessly, “we’re gonna need lube. And prayer. And a first aid kit.”

Toji grinned, leaning down to bite at your neck. “Better call off the rest of your week.”

He leaned in, kissed you again, hard and hot and grounding.

You blinked. Then tilted your head.

“…Is this why you keep stretching in weird ways when you stand up?”

“What—”

“Like, your balls are clearly in the way. Is that why you got beef with Shiu? He made a dick joke once and now you’re rivals for eternity?”

Toji looked at the ceiling like he was asking the universe why he ever pursued you.

Then he looked down at you—at your stupid grin and wide eyes and the fact that you were still, somehow, so damn into him it hurt—and he exhaled.

“You done?”

You grinned. “Not even a little.”

“Shut up and lie back.”

“Ohhh, daddy commanding me now. Must be the dick confidence. Dickfidence.”

“Jesus Christ—”

“I think I saw Jesus when I looked at it, actually.”

*-*

There he was. Naked. Leaning casually against your dresser like this wasn’t a pivotal moment in your vaginal history.

And there you were. Legs open, mouth open, brain open—to God, the universe, and whatever eldritch force sculpted this man like a sin. You were lying back against your plush pillows like a blessed little sacrifice. Just waiting. Heart racing. Core throbbing. The room smelled like sex and impending poor decisions.

Toji was at your nightstand.

He opened your drawer. Blinked.

“…Why do you have four different lubes?” he asked.

You smiled dreamily from the bed. “Options, babe. You think greatness happens with mediocrity? You think my pussy doesn’t deserve variety?”

He held up the first bottle, sniffed. “Strawberry.”

“Good for blowjobs,” you said helpfully. “Also tastes like lip gloss. Makes me feel like a mall slut in the best way.”

The second bottle. Peach vanilla. He stared at it in disbelief.

“That one smells like a candle I cried to in 2019.”

“…You cried to a candle?”

“I cry to a vibe, Toji.”

He found the third. Watermelon-scented. Sparkly. SPARKLY.

Toji visibly flinched. “Why does it have glitter in it?”

“Oh, that’s my ✨festive✨ lube.” (you throw jazz hands in there for good measure).

“Your what.”

“Birthday sex, obviously.”

He blinked. “You’re unwell.”

You grinned. “Wait ‘til you see what it does under blacklight.”

He muttered something about demons and hell and “this is what I get for dating Shiu’s secretary.” And then he picked the plain, scentless, water-based lube—like the joyless man he was.

“A coward’s choice,” you murmured.

“I’m going to split you in half,” he said flatly.

And God. You wanted that.

You watched him lube up, casually coating his fingers with clinical efficiency like this was just another day at the office. (But the office didn’t usually involve your legs splayed like the gates of heaven and your brain slowly turning to soup.)

Also, somewhere between lubing and rolling his neck like a bored MMA fighter, you got distracted.

“Hey.”

He looked up.

“You got a great ass.”

Toji blinked. “What.”

“I said—” You made a vague hand gesture. “Your ass. Peachy. Excellent. 10/10. Made for grabbing. Also, your tits are stupid good.”

He did a full-body sigh.

“You’re not helping me focus.”

“You’re hot. I’m horny. This is your fault.”

“Everything is my fault with you.”

“You could suffocate a Victorian woman with your thighs,” you continued, dreamy. “If I die tonight, I want it written in my will: ‘Death by dick. Buried with glitter lube and Toji’s nipple between her teeth.’”

Toji gave up trying to be serious around the same time he crawled back between your legs, mouth curved into a smirk. “You gonna keep talking,” he muttered, voice low and dark, “or do I need to shut you up?”

Spoiler alert: he shut you up. So good.

Because...Toji doesn’t kiss. He devours.

Tongue, teeth, lips, hands—he’s all of them at once, everywhere, all the time. Your neck? Marked. Your nipples? Worshipped. The spot just below your ear that makes you do the full-body shiver? Exploited.

And when he gets his fingers between your legs? Babe.

He’s not just good.

He’s evil.

Two fingers, curling just right, rubbing that one spot like he’s got a GPS for your pussy. The man knows where the clit is. Not just that it exists, but how it functions. Like he took a masterclass. Studied abroad. Has a thesis.

Three fingers now. Lube. Skill. The man plays your pussy like a Stradivarius. He finds your g-spot like it owes him money. Every curl of his fingers sends lightning through your spine. You come again, like your body is trying to tap out and your brain’s screaming MORE.

“Still wanna talk shit?” he rasps, voice low and cocky.

You pant, eyes glassy. “Yes. But I’ll do it respectfully.”

You’re moaning. You’re twitching. You’ve said “oh my god” four times in different accents.

He hums low, like he’s enjoying the view. “You always this sensitive?”

You, sobbing: “No?? Maybe?? Am I alive???”

He grins. Evil. Gorgeous. Dangerous. He drops his mouth between your thighs.

You’d like to take a moment to personally thank the universe for giving Toji a mouth. Because what that man does with his tongue should be illegal, or at the very least heavily taxed.

He's methodical, and intentional, and he eats you out like he’s starving and you’re the last meal on death row. Licks slow and deep. Sucks your clit like he’s teasing. Fingers still moving inside you, spreading you open with this maddening rhythm that has your hips bucking.

He doesn’t say much. Doesn’t need to. But the eye contact?

Oh, you’re dying.

Murdered. Slaughtered. Taken out like a broken Victorian heroine.

He hums against your clit like the cocky bastard he is, and the vibration makes your entire spine do the Macarena. You briefly consider writing your will. Then you remember you're illiterate now because he tongue-fucked your reading comprehension away.

“Stop smirking,” you pant, tugging at his hair, “you smug fuck—ahh—fuck, fuck—”

“Don’t tell me you’re close already.” He’s got the audacity to sound amused. AMUSED. “I haven’t even stretched you all the way yet.”

You whimper something that might’ve been, “You’ve emotionally stretched me,” but he dives back in before you can form a thesis.

Toji eats pussy like it’s his side hustle. Like he’s collecting Yelp reviews. His tongue is obscene, his lips focused, his nose doing work from an angle that should be criminally effective. He moans into it too, which is disgusting, because now you’re the one moaning back like some girl in a cursed hentai.

You try to speak. Fail. Moan instead. Clutch his hair like you’re holding on for dear life and grind—not gently, but like a woman trying to ride out a minor apocalypse.

He takes it. Encourages it.

Thumb on clit. Tongue inside. You’re losing braincells by the second.

“I—fuck, Toji, I—”

He doesn’t answer. He just groans into your cunt like it’s the last meal before execution and flattens his tongue like he’s trying to baptize your entire soul.

You come hard. Like full-body tremble, earthquake legs, soul-leaving-your-body hard. You might’ve screamed. You might’ve cursed. The Earth rotated a little faster.

But oh no. He’s not done.

He pulls back, mouth wet, chin shining with the evidence of your very real, very sacred near-death experience, and lines himself up.

You blink. You remember. The dick. The third leg. The Great Divider.

“Oh.”

He chuckles. “Still scared?”

“Not scared,” you say bravely, like a fool. “Just—mentally drafting a eulogy for my cervix. Also I’d like to note that my will leaves my skincare to Megumi. Kid deserves hydration.”

“You’re annoying,” he says, dragging the head of his cock through your soaked folds, catching on your clit and making your brain reset like a corrupted file.

“And you’re about to fuck me like I owe you rent, so I guess we’re both contributing to this relationship,” you shoot back.

Finally—finally—he reaches for the condom.

You sit up like Frankenstein’s monster, snatching it mid-air.

“Wait. What size is this??”

“…Really?”

“Excuse me, I’m a scientist. This is for data. Research purposes.”

You squint.

“XXL? Toji! You're batshit crazy— these are for horses! You got these from the secret aisle at CVS that only centaurs know about.”

He rolls his eyes. “You done?”

“Do you declare that on your taxes? ‘Professional Destroyer of Vaginas: Equipment expenses.’”

Toji doesn’t answer. He just rips the packet open and starts sliding it on, and oh—

Oh.

You blink. “That’s not a condom. That’s a tarp.”

He climbs between your legs. Grabs the lube. Pumps enough to moisturize a small country. Spreads it on both of you with painfully skilled fingers.

And then—without warning—

It happens.

Toji just smirks again—smirks like he knows something you don’t, like you’re the plot twist in a Greek tragedy—and pushes in.

Slow. Agonizing. Sinful.

You gasp. Not a dainty little gasp. A "I think I just saw through time" kind of gasp.

He’s big. He’s huge. He’s splitting you open like a peach. Like a poem about ruin. Like a fucking event horizon.

Once he’s fully seated inside you—how?? how did that fit?? physics who??—he pauses.

“You okay?” he murmurs, thumb stroking your hip.

You blink up at him, dazed, thoroughly filled like a donut at Krispy Kreme. “My cervix is singing Ave Maria but otherwise yeah, totally great.”

He leans down. Kisses your neck. Your jaw. That little space behind your ear that makes you shiver.

“I’ll go slow,” he whispers.

And he does. At first.

Deep, rolling thrusts that make your eyes flutter and your toes curl. His hips grind into yours like a rhythm he was born with. Like he knows every sweet spot inside you, and he’s playing you like a damn instrument.

Lubed up and patient, but even still, it was like trying to park a truck in a glove compartment. Your mouth dropped open in a silent moan as he inched deeper and deeper, his thick cock stretching you around every ridge, every veiny inch, every blessed second.

You moan. Loudly. Repeatedly. You call him names—“menace,” “dick devil,” “hellsent bastard”—and he just fucks you harder.

Every drag of his cock stretches you, owns you. His hands pin your hips in place like you might run—as if your legs aren’t currently jelly—and every time you clench around him, he groans like he’s the one suffering.

You lick the scar at the corner of his mouth during a particularly deep stroke and he loses it.

“Brat,” he growls.

“Whore,” you grin.

He fucks like he’s training for something.

Not just deep. Precise. Hits the spot over and over like he’s playing your body like a favorite song.

You clawed his back. Nails dug in. Deep. You left road maps and warning signs. He hissed through his teeth, and you felt a twinge of pride.

“You’re… taking it so good,” he murmured, forehead against yours, voice dark silk.

You were not. But you appreciated the compliment.

He fucked like he knew what he was doing. Because he did. Angled just right. Grinding against your clit. Whispering absolute filth in your ear—dirty words in that low, smug voice that made your toes curl and your sanity fray.

You came. Loud. Full-body shaking. Again. Again. Again.

You lost count at five.

Toji came with a low, broken groan, hips stuttering as he pressed as deep as he could go. You felt him pulse, body hot and heavy against yours.

You lay there. Wrecked. Boneless. Pussy wrecked. Mouth slack. Hair ruined.

“…I can’t feel my face,” you mumbled.

“I wasn’t fucking your face,” Toji muttered, but he kissed your cheek anyway.

He pulled out slowly. You whimpered. Genuinely whimpered. The emptiness felt spiritually offensive.

“Why does your dick feel like a betrayal when it leaves?” you whispered in literal, genuine awe.

Toji just sighed.

“I need to clean you up,” he mutters, already helping you sit up.

“Carry me.”

“You can walk.”

“I came five times. I need a crane.”

He walks you to the bathroom. You pee (important). Toji slips into boxers while you’re still on the toilet.

You narrow your eyes.

“Coward.”

“What now?”

“You didn’t let me watch it deflate.”

“You’re a menace.”

“You brought this on yourself.”

You wash your hands, then slap his ass on the way out.

He rolls his eyes.

You grin.

*-*

The moment you realized you'd found love. And possibly a new religion. Its name? Toji’s dick.

Blessed be thy girth. Amen.

A/N: i find myself purely hilarious thank you. sorry for any mistakes, beta reader still gone.

Masterlist.

:)

[wadoichimonji0]

𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐤𝐢𝐫𝐭

You like to rush things. Clark takes things slow until he can’t anymore. (Or, you attempt to seduce your coworker in a series of little skirts, and while Clark falls in love with all of you, the skirts don’t hurt.) 4k words, fem.

˚‧꒰ა ❤︎ ໒꒱‧˚

It’s mildly manipulative, what you’re doing to him. Subtle seductions stretched far and wide between weeks of work, your eyes alighting a moment too long on his lips and his neck and his arms. 

You don’t flirt. That’s important. You don’t tell him how handsome he looks when the cold has rosed his cheeks. Won’t mention the poor fit of his gray suit, how it’d look far better on a bedroom floor, or draped across a bathroom stall. Nothing severe. You’re… teasing him. 

For no reason, really. It might be frustration, but wow, wouldn’t that be introspective? You know you could never land a guy like Clark, so you pretend. Blah blah blah, it’s all very boring and your skirt is very short. 

Alright, it’s not that short. It’s the illusion of the thing. The idea that he could get a glance at something, even though the skirt has an inner lining. 

You’re not, you know, obvious about it. Clark might not be looking. But you place your hand on the counter as you reach up with the other for a mug, and you know there’s a stretch of thigh on show if nothing else, heat of a real or imaginary eye on the backs of them as you sigh softly. You genuinely can’t reach. 

You settle back on your heels and turn to find Clark not too far away. “Hey, would you help, please? If you can reach it.” 

You can’t glean any overt interest from his expression, but he says, “Sure,” with warmth on his lips, like he’d gone to say something else and let it fizzle out. 

Clark opens the cabinet door wider and reaches in for a pink mug. It has ��sweetheart’ written on the side in white, textured font, though the script is elegant. 

“Here, sweetheart,” he says. 

You laugh, mostly to see his satisfied smile. “Thank you.” 

“Can I make it for you?” he asks. 

Clark could hang you upside down and shake you for spare change if he wanted. “You know how I like it.” 

Teasing aside, you spend the afternoon sipping at your coffee with Clark a desk away, Lois adjacent, listening to the click of tens of keyboards and the scritch of shuffled paper on the edges of desks. You work on your small cooking column in relative silence. Three recipes a week, minimum. If you do especially well, Perry lets you slide a conversational piece across his desk for reviewing. You’ve had a couple on the third page. Clark has taken the front page again this week —an exclusive interview with Superman about the Jelly-Mecha that attempted to swallow the WGBS building. 

You’re leaning back with a leg over your knee, your eyes dedicated to the little clock in the corner of your monitor, when somebody hooks the empty chair in the desk beside yours and wheels it over. Clark is sitting next to you before you can protest, a dark-sugared donut in his hands. 

“Okay?” he asks. 

“Are you sharing?”  

“Obviously.” He grins, pulling the donut in his hands apart. Sugar crumbles down into his lap, and the smell of it erupts between you. Apple-cinnamon, miraculously warm when he presses it to your fingers. 

“Thank you.”

Your quiet doesn’t perturb him. He matches your tone, “Yeah, don’t mention it.” 

“Where’s this from?” you ask, taking your first bite.

He takes his own, covering his mouth with his hand as he answers. “Beanies.” 

“That explains why it’s still warm.” 

He shrugs. You don’t get what it means but you don’t care to argue, savouring each mouthful of dough and sugar. You lick the crumbs from your fingers and the corners of your mouth. Clark ate his own half fast, ‘cos he’s a giant with an appetite you envy and revile; in your most humble opinion, it is both impressive and audacious to watch Clark house a BLT in half a minute. 

“Was that good?” he asks quietly, his eyes on your shining fingertips. 

You wipe them on the edge of his napkin. An achy heat eats at your stomach. “You’re spoiling my appetite.”

“Do you have big dinner plans?” 

“Huge! I’m testing something new tonight. Snow mountain garlic and pea risotto, for health week. It’s not particularly healthy,” you confess. “But snow mountain garlic has all these supposed special properties. Doesn’t matter if it’s true, though.” 

“Why not?” 

You like his tone. “It has more allicin. That’s what makes it taste good.” 

“Allicin is antibacterial,” he says. 

“Brilliant. Antibacterial risotto.” 

He holds your eyes for a moment, his own big and especially blue behind his straight frames. “I hope it goes well,” he says. 

It’s a measured sentence, like he’s crafted each word carefully as he said it. 

“I’ll bring you some if it does.” 

“I’d like that.” 

You hide how warming it is to be spoken to like that, carrying the feeling home with you to unravel against the stovetop. If you try harder than usual to make a good meal, it is nobody’s business but your own, and Clark’s, who sits waiting and ready at his desk the following morning. 

“Clark Kent on time?” you tease, letting the handles of your handbag fall into your elbow. “Who would’a thought we’d ever see the day?” 

“I can be punctual,” he promises. 

“Can you? Aren’t you on probation?”

“That wasn’t for tardiness, it was for sick days, and no. I’m no longer on probation.” He smiles with white, shy teeth, a peek of them from between his lips. “I’m on the straight and narrow.”

You imagine the hardness of them against your own lips as you lean in for a kiss, for a split second. The clack you’d inevitably make as your teeth knocked into his, as you hooked your arm behind his neck and dragged him down to you for some light force. 

“‘Cos you’re a good boy,” you murmur, mumble, more to yourself than him (though he is definitely meant to hear you). 

Clark’s face is still. His hands less so, a fist curling against his thigh. His smile is remarkably genuine. “Coffee?” 

Calling Clark a good boy might be flirting. Or not! What’s important is the way it softens him for the working day. How quietly awed he sounds as you unveil a Tupperware container full of risotto for him. He tells you it’s good between big bites. You want to nibble on him, taken by the curve of his bicep each time he brings up his fork, and the tip of his tongue darting out to catch a grain of rice. He’s killing you. You’re dying at the Daily Planet. 

Dramatics aside, he compliments your risotto egregiously, returning the Tupperware with a pristine shine. You don’t play short-skirt with him for days. 

When you do, the skirt is a delicate thing that isn’t as short as you’d expect considering the name of the game, but it’s nearly sheer. Standing in the right light, your hip smushed to the pillarway near his desk while Jimmy tells you about a new kind of giant slug they found living in West Africa, you assume you’re displaying what you’d seen in the mirror that morning. Given enough sunlight, the lavender fabric of your skirt goes translucent. Anyone in looking distance can make out the barest hint of your legs, their shape, a shadow of your thighs and the neat little underwear you have on beneath. You aren’t trying to harass him, but, this is Metropolis. It’s not the most conservative place when it comes to fashion. It isn’t much different to wearing a pair of daisy dukes. 

They’re cuter than denim shorts, though. Velveteen paisley overlaying plain panties. 

It’s not entirely a sex thing. It’s to feel sexy, sure, as an arm to feeling beautiful, desired. You want to know that Clark (handsome, kind, beautiful Clark) sees it, that he wants it, even if it’s a fleeting flash of lust and nothing else. 

And Clark —he doesn’t notice. Doesn’t say a word about it, doesn’t clench his fist or take in a sharp breath. 

You decide you like that just as much and return to your desk, happily ashamed. 

—

The pasta you made yesterday is far better today. The mushroom sauce has soaked into the fusilli. With a scratching of fresh cheese, you lay it over a fresh bowl of rocket and watercress, coat the entire thing in lemon juice, balsamic vinegar, olive oil, and flaky salt, and eat it enthusiastically behind your computer. 

“That smells amazing.” 

You lighten at his dulcet tone. “It’s pretty good. D’you want some?” 

“I’m trying to keep you fed, sweetheart,” Clark says, placing down your ‘sweetheart’ mug and a small plate, “not the other way around. Thank you.” 

His thank you is diligently gentle. He must work at it, to sound so docile. It has to be practised. 

The small plate homes two cupcakes. One has golden cake with a great dollop of fresh cream and cut raspberries atop it, and the other looks like a darker flavour. Ginger? The buttercream is thick and caramelised, with cookie crumbs between its peaks. 

“What have I done to deserve all this?” you ask. 

“You don’t have to do anything at all. It’s your afters. Your dessert.” 

“I haven’t done anything?” you ask. 

He shakes his head kindly. “It’s inherently deserved.” 

If he’s charming or teasing, you can’t tell. 

His eyes fall from your face. You get distracted by his details, the clean hills of his cheeks, his dark brows, sweet mouth and a sweeter nose broad enough to take a kiss or two, and you almost miss the stroke of his gaze lingering on your collar. His fingers twitch. “Can I?” he asks. 

You follow his finger. One of your straps has fallen down, leaving the simple pale elastic of your bra alone. You couldn’t have faked it better. “Sure,” you say under your breath. 

Clark hears it regardless, slipping a fingertip up your arm, a backwards tumble that threatens to send tattle-tale goosebumps over your skin. He hooks the strap under his fingers and brings it over your shoulder, pulling at it enough to make your eyes widen. Then his touch is gone, leaving a strange sensation in its place. 

“You’re dressed really pretty, today,” he says. 

You smile at the joke before you’ve said it. “As opposed to every other day,” you say. 

“This is beautiful. You look beautiful.” 

You duck your head. Sincerity in the face of your sarcasm inspires an amazingly dizzy feeling in the stem of your neck. You have to force back a smile. 

“Thank you, Clark. I’m… glad you think so,” you say eventually. There’s emphasis there for him to take or leave. 

You can see his hesitation, then, a palpable pause while he makes a decision. 

“It’s a nice skirt,” he says quietly. 

There’s nothing imposing in his tone, but there doesn’t need to be. He isn’t tall, dark, and handsome, he’s incredibly, scarily brilliant. He’s smiling at you like you’ve given him a compliment. 

“It’s a little brave,” you say. 

“Bravery suits you. Anyways,” —he touches your arm briefly— “don’t let me keep you. Eat your lunch. Hopefully your coffee won’t be too cold to enjoy when you’re finished.” 

You wish he’d press you up against a wall. He did notice the skirt. He has the self control to leave it alone, or at least to wait for you to bring it. And… yeah, that’s working for you, actually. Really working. You stood in the sunshine to give him an explicit view of your legs and he brought you cupcakes to say thank you. 

—

Apparently, there are limits to Clark Kent’s self control. 

You’re lavishing in Centennial Park under a gorgeous sun. It’s barely seventy two degrees, a tame heat for July in Metropolis, and yet the sun is hitting you just right, kissing at your skin, leaving you sated and heavy under its weight. Clark has rolled up his sleeves (a contributing factor, perhaps, to the contentness you’re carrying) and loosened his tie, sitting where you’re laying down, a sweet hand held to your knee. Today’s skirt is a bias-cut midi dress made of a dark sage green. There are bell-sleeves like petals and a neckline you aren’t worried about, not when he’s guarding you like this. You shift on your back to better feel the sun on your face, and he pulls the skirt along the inside of your thigh. Keeping it in place to protect your modesty, setting every nerve-ending you have aflame with pleasure. 

“Tell me if you feel too warm,” he says. 

“I’m not worried about the sun.” 

“What are you worried about?” 

“Oh, the usual. That some weird space creature is gonna break the atmosphere and kill us,” you croon. 

He delights in your tone, his thumb sweeping a line into your leg. “I won’t let anything kill you.” 

You’d kissed his cheek in the elevator because the line of his nose had looked rather unkissed, and his cheek had been the politer option. You hadn’t expected the quick turn of his head, or the complete lack of nonchalance about him as he’d smiled and laughed and pressed that same cheek to your temple as he’d hugged you with one arm. 

So now you’re here in the park because you hadn’t wanted him to stop touching you. The summer dress wasn’t part of your seductions but it seems to be working all the same. You’re hoping you’ll get a kiss of your own to settle the score before the sun goes down. With where his hands are resting, you aren’t sure where you want one most. One hand on your thigh, one on your knee, his body turned to you like it’s the natural thing to do. He could be generous and give you a kiss beneath both palms. You think you’d quite like that. 

“Do you worry about that a lot?” 

“Hm?” 

“The aliens… The space creatures, do you worry you’ll get hurt?” 

“Not really. We have a great protection detail, don’t we?” you ask. 

He’s quiet for a bit. “What do you think about him?”

You don’t ask, Superman? Of course he’s talking about him. “He’s extremely handsome.”

Clark laughs boisterously and shakes you by the leg. “Alright. Knock it off.” 

“Or what?” 

“Or nothing. Just knock it off.” 

He makes everything sound so satiny. 

“I wouldn’t let anything happen to you,” he adds. 

“Promise?” 

Half a joke. Clark pushes his glasses up onto his nose and finally leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your elbow where your arms are crossed over your chest. “Yeah. I promise.” 

You let him walk you home. That night, one of the star-shaped superaliens appears in the air near your apartment and then there’s a breathless Clark on the line asking if you need some company. You tell him no, ask if you can see him tomorrow when the dust settles, and he promises you that his Saturday was all yours. He actually says it, says, “I think you could ask me for anything after today and I’d try to do it for you.” He’s laughing to diffuse the weight of it, but you take it to heart. 

A Saturday turns to Sunday. A week turns to two. You and Clark trade careful kisses anywhere but the mouth and he doesn’t mention your little skirts. You keep wearing them, especially the velveteen lavender one too sheer for summer, layered over a short silk underskirt to protect your own wits. You’ve seduced him (have you?) but now you’d really like to keep him. 

It’s a Tuesday morning with little to give. The air is already warm, the tram platforms are full. You commute to the Daily Planet for another day of dedicated journalism. 

Jimmy begins the morning with praise. “I made your honeycomb macarons. I actually made them.” 

“And?” 

“And? They were amazing! You’re such a goddamn genius,” he says. 

He gives you a macaron from a tin shaped like Yoda. The cookie is sweet with that perfect, delicate crunch, and the honeycomb ganache is better than your own. You take another one from his tin, giving him a congratulatory pat on the elbow. “They’re amazing!” you say, shells and honeycomb pieces thick in your mouth. 

“What’s amazing?” 

You remember where you are urgently. 

“I made macarons,” Jimmy says. 

Clark doesn’t make fun of his pride. “Really? That’s awesome, man. Can I try one?” 

You swallow the lump in your mouth, washing it down with a quick swig of coffee. 

“Morning,” Clark says. 

“Hi. Good morning.” 

“Hi,” he says, fond. “How has your day been so far?” 

You lick your lips without thinking, sweetness lingering in the stick of your lipgloss. “It was good, yeah. The tram was hot.” 

“You look good.” 

Jimmy wrinkles his nose. “Guys, we talked about this.” 

“‘Bout what?” Clark asks, finishing his macaron in one bite. 

Jimmy is kind enough to roll his eyes and leave it alone, wandering off with his tin clutched to his chest. Clark rolls his eyes too, a secret gesture that has you laughing through your nose. 

“You do look good,” he says again. 

You look down in mild bewilderment. “It’s laundry day.” 

You’re in a pair of black slacks that threaten to slip off your hips at any moment and a button up that should be tight to the waist but unfortunately isn’t. You’d saved the outfit with a necklace and a handful of jewelled rings, but it’s nothing like the stuff you’ve been wearing as of late. Of course he’d notice. 

“This…” He raises a hand to your hip but doesn’t touch.

“What?” 

His thumb presses to a slip of skin so small you hadn’t noticed it was visible. His brow creases like he’s been burned, yet his hand remains where it is. After a heavy second, he squeezes, and he says something too quiet to hear to himself. 

“Clark?” you ask tentatively. “You okay?”

“You have no clue… no clue what you do to me.” 

His eyes are all on you. Deep, indigo-blue. 

Heat leeches up your neck. Your heart capers suddenly. “What do I do to you?” you ask, your tentativeness turned to silk.  

“Don’t.” 

“What do I do, honey?” you ask, nearly whispering now. “I don’t have a clue, right? So tell me, then, what I do to you?”

“What am I supposed to do?” His fingers adjust against your hip. “Why would you do this here?” Clark’s voice breaks with a put-upon heartache. He’s still smiling. “What am I supposed to do, here?” 

“Take me somewhere else.” 

His hand falls away from your hip. You can feel where his fingers had shaped your skin for minutes afterward, following him with a poorly faked casualness to the elevator. 

He hits the button for the basement as you step in. 

“I think they’re still printing,” you say. The mock-up copies get made in the basement, and it’s an all day affair. “It’ll be as busy there as it is–”

No sooner has the elevator started moving than Clark is hitting the emergency stop. 

“Clark!” you say. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

He doesn’t laugh. You lean away from him to take in his long body, his grey suit and red tie and the wetted run of his bottom lip. He has honeycomb in the very corner of his mouth. 

You raise your hand to wipe it away. 

“Yeah, okay,” you say, tilting your chin up slowly. 

Clark grabs two great, heaping, greedy handfuls of your back, long fingers spread out and guiding you in for a kiss you aren’t expecting. There’s genuine hunger there, your teeth clicking as you’d always imagined, a voracious sort of meeting that quickly gentles. He lets out a sigh against your lips and melts against you like a stick of butter over a flame, lax, a hand traversing upward and over and– and his mouth, his kisses are these open, warm mouthings you meet with a stammering heart. This isn’t the slip of control you’d imagined it to be. 

Clark’s kissing you without an ending in mind. You can feel it in the tenderness of his open palm, seemingly laid to sleep at the small of your back. 

“How long does that work?” you ask in a murmur, your lips happily stung. 

“I don’t know. I’ve never done that before.” 

“Really?” 

“When would I have had reason to try?” Clark asks, cupping your cheek in his hand. “You’re so pretty.” He steals another quick kiss. “Do you know that?” 

“I can’t believe this is what got you to crack,” you laugh. 

His eyebrows pinch. “What?” 

“This,” you gesture to your clothes. “Of all the things I’ve worn.” 

“I don’t understand.” Though it’s dawning on his face quickly. “Oh. You– The… Oh.” 

His neck goes all shades of rose. 

“Sorry,” you whisper. 

He tips your head back nicely. “For what? I would’ve cracked anyway. You could’ve worn anything, but… The little purple skirt, that was for me?” 

You press your flushed face to his chest, arms crossing lazily behind a strong neck. “Clark…” you mumble. 

He digs his face into your neck to kiss the softness beneath your ear. You’re surprised he doesn’t whine your name back to you, what with the mood he’s in, but Clark’s got a propensity for sweetness that won’t quit. 

“On purpose,” he whispers, vindicated. “I knew it.” 

The elevator chugs back to life. 

—

You are delightfully, blissfully human. There comes a time when you need saving, and it just so happens that Metropolis brags its very own (and very only) Krypton superbeing. One minute you’re being squeezed in the fist of a raspberry-furred mega fox thing, and the next you’ve been freed and grabbed and propelled through the air in arms that feel oddly familiar. 

“Miss, are you okay? Miss? Miss, are you alright?” 

You look down at the ants of your city and nearly puke up your dinner. “Oh my fuck,” you squeeze out. 

“I’m sorry! I’m taking you back down. There’s a girl, breathe in for me. Deep breaths.” 

You can hardly breathe at all, but your shallow breaths earn you a thank you and a proud pat on the back. Your legs are shaking so hard at touchdown that Superman has to physically arrange them beneath you, his arm glued to the small of your back when you list unsteadily. 

“You’re okay,” Superman assures you. 

His little curl is ever so darling. “Like Clark’s,” you say unthinkingly, wrapping the short strands of hair around your finger. 

“Are you alright?” he asks, generously ignoring your moment of delusion. 

“I thought I was gonna die.” You blanche, glancing back over your shoulder for signs of the megafox. “Fuck.” 

“Everything’s fine, now. I promise you.” 

You take a deep breath. Superman holds you by both shoulders, forcing you to copy a second, deeper breath, then a third. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs. 

Too much like Clark. “My boyfriend, he was–”

“Everyone’s safe.” 

You let out a shaky breath. The last of your panic ebbs from your shoulders. “Okay.” 

“Okay?” 

“Yeah, thank you. For saving me. Thank you so much.” 

“You don’t have to thank me for anything,” he says. His voice goes bendy and weak. 

“I really do. If I died in this skirt, my boyfriend would never forgive me.” 

Superman gives you an appraisal, up and down. Heat flares in your stomach and refuses to cool as he smiles. “Wouldn’t wanna ruin a skirt like that,” he says knowingly. 

You shake your head, not without fondness.

All boys are the same. 

˚‧꒰ა ❤︎ ໒꒱‧˚

thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed <3 and thank you Bec for reading it twice at different times

[wadoichimonji0]

𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐦 𝐋𝐚𝐩

Clark stays the night for the first time. fem, 3k. [explicit] 

˚‧꒰ა ❤︎ ໒꒱‧˚

“Are you bringing the briefcase?” 

“What’s your obsession with the case?” Clark asks. 

You shrug, tipping your head back to give him a better view of your eyes, widened in a mock-doe ogling, like he’s the biggest, brightest thing in your universe. It’s not that far from the truth. 

“I like the case,” you confide, bedroom eyes and a fresh coat of lipgloss waiting to be kissed off, ‘cos you know he’s too much of a gentleman to do anything about it. And because it’s nice, so nice, to see the way his face splits into a smile. He’s like sunshine bearing down on you. 

“Then it’s coming with me. Go get your coat, Peitho.” 

“Who’s that one?” you ask. 

“The goddess of persuasion…” —he leans down to breathe your air, just for a bit— “…and seduction,” he finishes, kissing your nose quickly. “Get your coat. Let’s go.” 

You collect your things into your bag and put on your coat. Clark presses a hand to the line of muscle between your shoulders, leading you out of the Daily Planet and toward the tram. You take it down to the station on your block, and Clark convinces you to double back for the greengrocers. Or, he grabs your hand and pulls you along, citing a deep need to find some snow mountain garlic. You make a boy risotto once and he thinks he calls the shots. 

Your love story with Clark isn’t exactly convoluted. He made you coffee and brought you out in the sun to watch ducks in Centennial Park. You’d teased him with delicate outfits and long stretches, had occasionally brought him dinner. And it isn’t a long story, either. It’s been, what, three weeks? Nearly four? Too long to be this nervous, and yet. Clark squeezes your hand as your heart trips for the third time in as many minutes, caught on the sharp cut of his jaw and his messy curls. He doesn’t say anything as you weave between tight aisles looking for the specialty foods, but you get the sense that he knows you’re nervous. 

“I can’t believe you remembered where I got the garlic,” you say conversationally. 

“It’s rare, right? From the Himalayas.” 

“Did I tell you that, too?” 

“Your article, honey,” Clark says, his eyes tracking the jars of preserves and a row of open-basket offerings. “Single clove, golden… ah-ha!” He lets your hand fall to grab a paper bag and the tongs buried within. This basket has a plastic covering over the top that clicks and folds upward, releasing a heavy scent. 

“Careful, Clark, it’s like, a billion dollars per pound.” 

He shakes his head, unworried. “How much do you need for the risotto? Tell me when. And don’t short it.” 

You decide not to short it —you’ll pay. But when you and Clark get to the counter, baggie of garlic, fresh oregano, ginger stems and tangerines dumped unceremoniously onto the counter by the cash register, he bats your hand away with the most aggression he’s ever shown you and offers the clerk his card.  

“I don’t like mean Clark,” you murmur, squinting in the sun as Clark shepherds you back outside. 

“No? You should get used to him.” 

“Didn’t peg you for a bully, Kent.” 

“I’m not.” He swings an arm over your shoulder, careful not to hit you with the groceries (what a loser!). “I could never bully you, you’re too nice. And who will make my dinner, if you’re upset?” 

“So funny.” 

“I know,” he says against your cheek. Your skin warms under a prim kiss. His lips part and the wet of his tongue doesn’t touch you, but you can feel it regardless, the humidity of his breath rolling over your skin. 

“Off!” you demand. 

He grins and takes back his arm. “Off,” he says, looking very much like he’d like to kiss you again. It’s awful how palpable the need is on his face. You ignore it as best as you can, too worried he’ll get you home and kiss you against the door, fumbling blindly for a bed he’s never seen. 

He’s less desperate than you’re making out. In fact, if Clark wants to seduce you is anyone’s guess. He holds your hand down the street to your apartment building, laughs lightly when you tug him behind the staircase toward the back, and holds your handbag while you rummage for your keys without protest. 

He places his case, your bag, and his shoes at the side table on the way in. You try to see your trimmings through his eyes, hand on his arm to balance as you pull off each of your shoes. You like the process of it, your fingers in his muscle, his eyes on your knee as you bring your foot up behind you, and your fingers as you slide them into the back of your shoe to tug it off. You like the sound they make as they topple to the floor, and the way you slip across the floor as Clark gathers you up for a hug right there in the door. His hair makes a sound as it falls around his face, Clark burying his nose in the side of your head. You hold his back. Feel for ridges. Find thick layers of fabric in the way. 

“Wanted to do this all day,” he says. 

If it weren’t so endearing to be wanted, you’d laugh. Clark doesn’t make you guess about his affections. He’s unlike anyone you’ve ever met, if only for his honesty. His earnestness. 

You duck your head into the curve of his neck. “Smell nice,” you mumble. 

“Are you tired?” 

“No… You’re… putting the moves on me.” 

“Is that what I’m doing?” His laugh vibrates at your temple. 

“Can you make me dinner?” 

He pulls away from you to hold your face. “Yeah, I can make you dinner.” 

The plan had been Clark would come over and you’d make dinner, considering your expertise. A chef’s column for the biggest news outlet in Metropolis doesn’t come easy. You’re good at what you do. And that risotto had been half the reason Clark fell in love with you, if he’s to be believed. (Though he doesn’t say love.) (The other half a thin, pale skirt.) 

Clark is a quick study. Your cooking lessons have helped him some. It’s nice to see him in your kitchen, waving a wooden spoon at you as he talks, stripping out of his suit jacket and rolling up his perfect white sleeves.

He gets broth up his arms and on his tie. You stand in front of him with the heat of the stove kissing your side and carefully work the knot from his neck. 

“Kiss?” he asks. 

You use his tie to guide him down. 

—

Clark brought his pajamas in the briefcase. 

He made you garlic butter and pesto by hand, plated up your risotto with a kiss. He hoisted your legs into his lap when you’d started to falter during the movie and he’s rubbed them until you’d dozed, and now he’s in the shower, having taken his pajamas and his shower things with him. His shampoo had been macadamia and argan oil. 

And his pyjama pants are blue. 

He rolls into your room with wet hair slicked to his neck and roughly towel dried at the front, blocking the TV with his height, a pair of socks still held in his hands. “I put my clothes in the laundry. Is that okay?” 

You’re hoping you hadn’t left your delicates at the top of the bin. “Yeah, of course it is. I’ll wash them before bed, they’ll be dry again before morning.” 

He shrugs. “I brought slacks for tomorrow.”

“How much fits in that briefcase?” 

“You’d be surprised. Move over?” 

You shuffle to one side of the bed so Clark can sit down beside you. He seems large against your headboard. You trace the curve of his neck to a relaxed jaw. There’s no stubble there when you run over his skin with your fingers, but there’s a teeny-tiny spot of blood under his chin. You wipe at it until it comes off. “I’d kiss it, but I’m worried it’ll get infected.” 

“Kiss me anyway,” he says, lifting his chin. His collar is tacky with water. 

You lift yours in turn to reach, lips pressing with the utmost care to his chin as he wraps an arm behind you. You can’t see the cut, but you worry you’ll hurt him if you aren’t careful, and he feels your hesitation under his hand. 

“It’s okay. You can’t hurt me,” he says, like this is normal to say, like it doesn’t have your heart cradling itself in the heat of your stomach. 

You kiss him again, then his neck, the column of it solid beneath your lips. You wait there with your nose tip digging in, but he doesn’t say anything. 

A small gasp floods from you as he grabs you by the waist and pulls you into his arms, on top of his legs, long and lithe and dipping the mattress underneath him. Your face falls flat against his collar, warm to damp, startled but far from unhappy by his sudden show of strength. He closes his arms around you and hugs you. In a moment, his nose rubs itself against your cheek in a nuzzle. It’s animalistic only in the sense that it’s without thought, his nose rubbing into the same spot over and over again. 

He doesn’t moan, but nearly. The sound he lets out is one of relief. Like you’d evaded him all day, and this is a victory. 

“Is this the part where we start telling each other secrets?” he asks.

“Are you okay?” you ask softly. 

“I didn’t know how badly I needed this.” 

You needle your arms behind his back to hold him, too.

“Do you…” 

“What?” he asks. 

“It will sound like I’m flirting, and I am a little, but it’s a genuine question, okay?” 

“Alright,” he says. You can tell he’s not about to laugh at you, which is nice. 

“Do you work out?” 

He smiles against your cheek. “Some. In the morning, when I can. I lift weights.” 

“I know that– I realise it’s a silly question. I don’t think people tend to look like you naturally.” 

“Is this still part of the genuine question?”

“No, this is the flirting.” 

“Oh, gotcha.” He knocks under your chin lightly. 

You look up to let him kiss you. 

He makes another wretched sound, like the beginning of a groan half-smothered by your mouth. Clark parts his lips, turning his head to the side, the taste of him pressed into your tongue as he breathes you in. It is incredibly foreign to be breathed in while you’re kissing, but Clark pulls at your back like he’s worried you’ll move away, feeling and breathing, sudden fingertips tumbling down your back. 

“Where are you going?” he whines. 

“You’re tickling me.”

“On accident. You really are Peitho, you know. She’s cunning and cruel when she wants to be.” 

“Don’t pressure me.” 

“Now that’s not funny, is it?” he asks, grinning as you lean down slowly. 

“Let me feel your heart.”

You press your fingers to his pulse. He lets you count the beats, says, “That’s sixty seconds,” like he’d known you would struggle to time it with your fingers. 

“I think you’re dead at a hundred.” 

“What’s that mean, doc?” he murmurs. 

You stroke his jaw with the flat of your nail. Not teasing —thinking. 

“I think I need to shower, too,” you say. He knows why. His eyes go lax behind his glasses with fondness. “Okay?” you ask, tapping his glasses with your nail gently. “You can clean the smudges off of your glasses while I’m gone. How’d they get this dirty, that’s crazy.” 

He rubs the small of your back with pressure. “I think it might’ve happened when I tried to get my face in your neck. And your ear. And, you know, your head.” 

He sounds delightfully bashful. It begets another kiss. 

You lose time in his lap. Really, you’d stay. But you need a minute in the shower to breathe through your nerves, and Clark is remarkably in touch with feelings, so he kisses you and sits up to encourage you away. “Go on. I’ll be here.” 

“Don’t look through my stuff. Promise?” 

“Sure,” he says, like a liar. 

You come back some twenty minutes later in your nicest pointelle pyjamas, skin slicked with a tiny bit of body oil and lotion atop it that smells of figs, ‘cos it’s the only one Clark’s ever mentioned liking aloud. He doesn’t skimp on compliments and loves to tell you that you smell good, but the fig one, the first time he smelled it, stopped him cold side by side on a couch in the coffee shop by his apartment. “What is that?” he’d asked. 

Your smug smile drops. “Clark,” you breathe. 

He pulls your teddy bear by the back and makes him wave. “Hi, honey.” 

“You found Charlie.” 

“You were hiding him.” 

“He was tastefully placed on my desk.” Where you’d hoped he wouldn’t be seen.

Clark pets Charlie’s downy head. “How could you hide him? He’s lovely. He told me–”

“Charlie didn’t tell you anything, he’s my teddy.” 

“Since you were young?” he asks. 

Charlie’s all worn around the armpits, the fur kissed anxiously from his cheeks. “I’ve always had him, yeah.” 

“I think I’d be remiss not to tell you that you look beautiful,” he says, “and Charlie says the same.” 

“Don’t talk through my teddy.” 

He presses Charlie to his chest like he’s a baby.

“He loves you.”

It turns your heart. You’d been ready to lay back in his lap and have him kiss you dizzy, tucking curls behind his ear to whisper saccharinely into the shell of it, but you’re thinking now that you want to curl up with him and find that box of chocolates he’d given you last week (for looking oh so morose for all of five seconds, apparently) to share. Have him rub your arms as you pretend to watch a movie. 

“Okay. Okay, come and hug me,” you say, leaning against your desk expectantly. 

Clark is up in three seconds flat. 

—

You wake with a start. 

There’s a shape beside you in bed, turned toward you, so close to you that you struggle to see him beyond the dark curls of his hair against your flowered pillow case. 

He has freckles on his shoulders. You hadn’t seen them last night in the dark, or even in the lamplight Clark begged for, just to see you, of course I want to see you, you’re beautiful like this, and they surprise you. There’s a handful of them across the hills of his shoulders. Barely any at all, but enough to kiss. 

He feels your mouth and wakes up quicker than you’d wanted. 

“Shit,” he says, grappling backwards for his glasses on the nightstand. 

“Clark?”

“Sorry.” When he turns back to you, he’s wearing his glasses again. You frown.

“What’s wrong?” 

Your stomach hurts. Like, hurts, the explanation loaded in one fell swoop. He slept with you and he didn’t mean to stay because he hadn’t ever meant to stay–

“No, sorry, nothing is wrong.” Clark clears his throat. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I wake up badly, sometimes.”

“Was it me?” 

“No.” He smiles like you’re the sun, blinking sleep away lazily. His eyelids and mouth are both puffy with it. “No, of course it wasn’t you, come here. I slept well.” 

You’re aware, then, of his missing shirt, the way your thigh slides between his as he pulls you tight to his chest. 

Just like that. 

You press your face to his shoulder, rather than let him see your expression. The night before comes back to you in a heated rush, every soft touch and softer kiss. You shudder under his tracing patterns.

“Can see you better like this,” Clark says, bringing his hand to your cheek to angle you in the sunshine.

You’re too tired to move, but you want to be kissed. Fortunately, your boyfriend is as generous as he is kind, and he promises to do all the hard work. “You can make yourself comfortable, honey,” he murmurs, turning you onto your back with an easy strength.

You cover your mouth with your hand. 

Clark can see your smile regardless. “So pretty,” he says quietly, kissing your chest, glasses slipping down his nose as he cranes his neck further.  “God, you’re perfect like this.” 

“You didn’t kiss me good morning,” you murmur, mostly to tease him. 

“I will.” His hand finds the pulp behind your knee. “I will. I promise.” 

˚‧꒰ა ❤︎ ໒꒱‧˚

thank you for reading!! this was two requests (here and here) put together thank you both<3 

[wadoichimonji0]

DUDE! SHE LIKES YOU BACK

spencer reid x fem! reader

synopsis: in which reader has returned from a field injury and Spencer surprises her.

Being shot wasn’t the badass experience all those cop shows made it out to be. It hurt, like a bitch and the recovery made you feel weak and useless. You werent allowed to work and were limited to doing paperwork from home.

However, today was the first day Hotch had allowed you to come into the office and work. Everything remained the same, the vending machine in the hall still required a good kick for it to actually give up the food inside, the ladies bathroom still had that one out of order stall and all your employees hadn’t changed one bit.

The thing that did catch you by surprise was the sight of beautiful spasms of colour put into a glass full of water.

Flowers.

They looked way too particular to be the generic $5 bouquet that had been bought from a supermarket. There were pink tulips, a few stems of lavender, peonies and a delicate sunflower in the middle of them all and the stems were wrapped in a white bow which was now drenched into the water but was further proof for its individuality.

You took a seat at your desk picking up the flowers and inspecting them closely, an attempt to see if anyone had left a note- a clear sign as to who sent them but your question was soon answered when a familiar voice sounded behind you.

“Oh! Do you like them?”

Spencer.

Before you could even say anything to him he started rambling

“I read up about botany and found out many believe that pink tulips symbolise affection and care, lavender represents healing and that peonies present good luck.” He paused his explanation by pulling his lips into one of his straight lined smile and nodding his head nervously.

“Oh! And the sunflower was just because I thought it looked pretty and you have Van Goughs portrait in your apartment.”

You smiled laughing at the clear thought he put into them. He looked like he want to say something else but you interrupted him by pulling him into a hug pressing your head into his neck. He seemed surprised at the hug but willingly reciprocated and wrapped his arms around your lower back. You both ignored the wolf whistle clearly made by Derek.

“Thank you, Spence, they’re beautiful.”

He blushed at the gratitude, “It’s the least I could do after your injury. Speaking of can I help you with anything?”

You laughed sitting down, ”God no. Thank you. But seriously, everyone is making this way big of a deal than it actually is. I’m not running a marathon I’m just writing files.”

He laughed again the blush still evident on his cheeks. You stood up and announced you would be right back - fleeing to grab more files from Hotch. The coworkers who saw all began heckling Spencer at what just happened.

“My man! Who knew pretty boy had this much game?” Derek hollered slapping Spencer’s back. Whilst Penelope almost jumped up and down in delight. “Oh my god they’re gonna have baby geniuses.”

“Garcia I gave her flowers not an engagement ring.” Spencer stated.

“Who’s getting an engagement ring?” Emily asked finally arriving for work.

“Nobody…yet” Penelope answered wiggling her eyebrows and walking back to her lair.

Spencer was so pleased with himself but a question Emily asked made his blood run cold.

“Yikes! Who got L/N flowers?”

“Me. Why? Is that a problem? Oh god is she allergic? I should have known!”

“No it’s just she hates flowers. I offered to get her some after she told me her had cat passed but she told me not to and that although she was grateful she couldn’t imagine a worse gift.”

Spencer’s eyes were practically gouging out of his head with anxiety and Derek couldn’t help but laugh as he joined the two.

Spencer looked between them rapidly and stuttered out, “What? But she gave me a hug and said they were beautiful? Do, do you think she lied?”

Emily raised her eyebrows mouth opening as she let out a knowing laugh. Derek looked at her and soon reacted similarly.

“What?” Spencer asked growing annoyed feeling like a child being left out of a game by their peers.

Derek offered an explanation. “You know how you’re a germaphobe but had no problem making out with Lila Archer that one time in the pool?”

Spencer blushed with embarrassment, “Why do you always bring that up?”

Emily rolled her eyes brushing him off and added to the point. “Spencer I think this is one of those situations.”

He furrowed his eyebrows confused. And Emily leaned in waiting for him to get it. His brows remained furrowed as he spoke again.“I don’t get it. Is this supposed to mean something?”

Derek rolled his eyes all concepts of being subtle gone out of the window.

“Dude! She likes you back.”

[wadoichimonji0]

You Deserve It

Pairing: Clark Kent x Reader

Summary:

Your landlord starts to turn away, then pauses, glancing over his shoulder with a look somewhere between amusement and exasperation. “Oh, and one more thing,” he says, pointing a finger half-heartedly between the two of you. “Try to keep the noise down. Every time you two go at it, it’s like the whole building shakes.” Clark makes a strangled noise that might’ve been a cough. His face turns crimson. You blink, mouth falling open for a second before your brain catches up. Your landlord shrugs. “Just saying. I’ve had complaints from apartment 4D and 5B. They thought there was an earthquake.” Or Clark has a tough day so you decide to make him feel better. You both just hope your neighbours don't kill you with how loud the two of you tend to get.

Tags/Warnings: 18+ Explicit Content, oral sex (male receiving), p in v sex, cuddlefuck, creampie, established relationship, Clark being cute and bringing you pie

WC: 4.5k

A/N: When I tell you I dove at my laptop as soon as I got home from the cinema to start writing about him. Hope you enjoy!

***

Clark was exhausted. He's finally on his way to your place after a busy day. He had saved a derailed train, stopped a bus from plunging off a bridge, and spent half his afternoon fighting a mechanical octopus that some genius decided to let loose in downtown Metropolis. All his deadlines for Perry were miraculously met. He needed to relax. And as always, his favourite pick-me-up was you, and your beautiful smile.

Even though he was tired, he'd gone out of his way, stopping by that little bakery in France you said you liked, just to bring back a pie for the two of you to share. It was only a quick flight, after all. And you? You were more than worth it.

Climbing the stairs to your apartment, box in hand, he was just about to knock when he felt eyes on him. 

He turns and finds a man standing on the landing nearby, arms crossed, expression unreadable. His gaze sweeps up and down Clark like he’s scanning for faults.

“Can I help you, sir?” Clark asks. 

“So this is the Clark, huh?”

Clark blinked. “You… know me?”

The man smirked. “You’re famous around here.”

The thought that you might’ve gushed about him, even just a little, made his stomach flip with happiness. 

“She’s talked about me?” he asked cautiously.

The man let out a sharp laugh. “If you call her screaming your name for five hours last Tuesday talking about you, then yeah. She talked plenty.”

Clark has faced alien warlords, collapsing buildings, and a multitude of near-death scenarios. But he had never turned such a vivid shade of red in his life.

He cleared his throat, awkwardly adjusting the bakery box in his hands, trying desperately not to combust on the spot.

“…Good to know,” he muttered.

Hearing voices outside, you furrow your brow and make your way to the door. You open it slowly, only to find your landlord standing there… and Clark, awkwardly frozen beside him, holding a very fancy pie box and looking like he'd rather be anywhere else.

“I was just coming to let you know there’s going to be some work done,” your landlord says. “The electricity guys are coming tomorrow around noon. Shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours.”

You nod politely, though there’s… something in the air. A weird tension you can’t quite place. Your landlord starts to turn away, then pauses, glancing over his shoulder with a look somewhere between amusement and exasperation.

“Oh, and one more thing,” he says, pointing a finger half-heartedly between the two of you. “Try to keep the noise down. Every time you two go at it, it’s like the whole building shakes.”

Clark makes a strangled noise that might’ve been a cough. His face turns crimson. You blink, mouth falling open for a second before your brain catches up.

Your landlord shrugs. “Just saying. I’ve had complaints from apartment 4D and 5B. They thought there was an earthquake.”

He walks off whistling, and you just want to hide in a hole. Maybe that’s why your neighbours were giving you the evil eye. 

Clark clears his throat, eyes fixed firmly on the pie box in his hands. “I, uh… I brought pie.”

You stare at him, then burst out laughing. “You better come in, Earthquake.”

Clark steps inside, cheeks still flushed, pulling off his shoes and setting them neatly by the door. He watches your back as you walk into the kitchen, the soft hem of the oversized shirt brushing your thighs.

“Is that my shirt?” he asks with a lopsided smile, eyes narrowing playfully. It looks familiar, something he must’ve left behind weeks ago after a late-night visit, and clearly, you’d commandeered it.

“You don’t mind, do you?” you ask over your shoulder, pretending not to notice the way his gaze lingers.

That’s the last thing he minds. It’s simple, it’s soft, and yet somehow it’s the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. You, in his shirt, in his space, like you belonged there all along.

“You look…” he trails off, stepping closer, his voice rough from everything he’s held back today. “...like something I want to come home to every night.”

You blink, caught off guard by the honesty in his tone. Your smirk falters into something softer. “Well,” you say, turning to face him, “I guess you’ll just have to keep leaving shirts here then.”

He closes the distance between you in two strides, one hand settling gently on your hip, fingertips brushing the hem of the shirt. “I’ll leave a drawer if it means I get to see this again.”

You giggle before your eyes land on the dessert box, the familiar design making you gasp.  "Did you get that from France?" you ask, your eyes widening. 

“Having Superman as a boyfriend has some perks.”

Your fingers trace the edge of the pastry box, still in awe. “You crossed an ocean for a pie.”

“I’d cross a galaxy if it meant seeing that look on your face,” he says, almost shyly.

Your heart clenches because you know he’s serious, you can tell.

“You didn't have to fly all the way out there for me. Thank you, Clark.”

You wrap your arms around him, warm and unhurried, and pull him in for a kiss. It’s sweet, just like the man in front of you. His free arm, the one not cradling the bakery box, slides instinctively around your waist, pulling you closer with a low, contented sigh.

For a guy who can lift entire buildings, he’s impossibly gentle with you. The kiss deepens just slightly before he murmurs against your lips, “Next time I’m taking the fire escape. Fewer witnesses.”

You laugh, and he grins, finally starting to relax.

But still feeling a little tension in his shoulders, you say, “Long day?”

“You can tell.”

“Always,” you smile back. 

Clark always carried himself with the calm confidence of someone who could hold the world together and often did, even when everything around him was chaos. But you could tell he’d been through the ringer today, and you had an idea of how you could cheer him up. 

“Come here,” you murmur, pulling him in by the tie, your eyes locked on his with a teasing smile.

“Is that an order?” he asks, already following as you step backwards down the hallway toward the bedroom.

“More like a light suggestion.”

The truth was, you could order him around all you wanted. Superman or not, when it came to you, Clark was more than happy to obey.

You both get to the bedroom, and it doesn’t even take a second before your lips are connected. It’s like you’d both been waiting all day for this moment. The tie slips from your hand, forgotten, as your arms wrap around his neck.

He lifts you with effortless strength, lips never leaving yours, and you gasp softly against his mouth as your back hits the mattress in a rush of motion. Clark follows you down, bracing his weight so carefully.

He shifts, smooth and sure, flipping your positions so you’re straddling him now, hands resting on his chest. You had to admit, you loved the view.

Those pretty lips, slightly parted from the kiss… his dark hair tousled just enough to be unfair, with that one perfect curl resting stubbornly on his forehead. You could stare at him for hours and never get bored.

You reach for his glasses, sliding them off playfully before slipping them onto your own face. You strike a mock-serious pose.

“How do I look?”

Clark’s breath catches in his throat, eyes softening as he takes you in. 

You, in his glasses. He’s never seen anything so perfect. 

“…Cute,” he says in complete awe, like you’d just stolen the air from the room.

“I’ll keep them for now, then.”

And Clark didn’t fight to get them back one bit. 

His hands slide up to rest on your thighs, warm and steady, fingers pressing gently into your skin like he’s grounding himself, like you’re the only thing anchoring him right now.

And you, with a grin tugging at your lips, lean down to kiss him. It’s slow at first, before deepening and becoming more intense, feeling the way his breath hitches as your fingers expertly begin to unbutton his shirt.

“Your landlord—” he murmurs against your mouth, voice already fraying at the edges.

“We can be quiet,” you whisper, brushing your lips along his jaw.

“And your neighbours—” he tries again, even as his hands tighten on your hips.

“It’s okay, I swear,” you mumble, moving to kiss his neck, and take off all your clothes. With each touch and kiss, more articles of clothing are tossed aside until you’re both in just your underwear.  

You start kissing your way down his body, taking your time, savouring the warmth of his skin, the way every inch of him is sculpted like he was carved out of something divine. He’s all strength and softness, breath shallow as he watches you through heavy-lidded eyes.

“You don’t have to…” he says quietly, a flicker of hesitation in his voice.

Clark was big. 

Like really big.

Like make your jaw click big. 

He never wanted to inconvenience you or hurt you, so for the most part, he shied away from blowjobs. But you loved it; struggling for air as you try to take as much of it down, tears welling in your eyes when it hits the back of your throat, hearing him moan your name as he fucks your mouth desperately. 

But most of all, you wanted him to feel as good as he could make you feel. Wanted him to know just how much you appreciate him stretching you out with his cock and fucking you into next week. 

You pause, looking up at him, your fingers toying gently with the fabric of his boxers.

“I want to, okay?” you whisper. “I want to take care of you. Will you let me?”

His eyes search yours for a second, then he nods, just once.

“I will,” Clark relents. He knew you just wanted to make him feel good, and who was he to deny you of that? 

You pull down his boxers and pull out his hard cock, licking a few stripes from the base to the head. He gasps out your name, and it’s like music to your ears. 

You loved the way his brow would furrow, that little crease between his eyebrows he got when you teased him just enough to toe the line. It was equal parts adorable and dangerously hot. His jaw would tense, his eyes would darken, and then he’d say your name in that low, warning tone that made your stomach flip.

“I’ll be good, Clark, don’t worry,” you’d say sweetly.

If you were in a more wicked mood, you might tease him a little more, but your main goal was to help him relax; you had to remember that.

You lick his tip a few more times before taking as much of him into your mouth as you can. Saying it’s a tight fit would be a gross understatement, but still, you venture on. Moving up and down his cock with hollowed cheeks, and jerking whatever you couldn’t manage. 

His girth feels heavy on your tongue, stretching your lips as far as they can go, but it’s all worth it to see him like that. He’s fisting the sheets, his head thrown back against the pillow, trying his best not to moan too loud. 

But you want him to, you want to hear him say it, to feel his voice raw with need. So you start moaning softly, the vibrations travelling up his length, making him tremble and let out a low, guttural sound. There’s no way he could keep quiet now.

“Oh please… just like that,” he groans, his hands lifting from the sheets to find their place tangled in your hair. He’s hungry for you, just like you like him. 

Hearing that you take his cock even deeper in your mouth. You look up from where you are, and what you see is beautiful. Clark is usually calm, all discipline and controlled strength. Seeing him like this, glistening blue eyes and desperate like he’s about to cry, vulnerable, his body softening as he pulls you close, needing you like he needs nothing else but you, was perfection.

It was a side of him that few got to see. You adjust as he rocks hips up into your mouth, but can’t stop yourself from gagging when his cock hits the back of your throat.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly, pausing for a moment, his hands moving gently from your shoulders to cup your face.

You look up at him, still wearing his glasses with wide, doe-like eyes and a small hum of reassurance, your mouth still occupied. Without breaking the connection, you take his hand and guide it back to your head, inviting him closer, letting him know that you’re more than okay.

All polite-like, he holds you by the hair gently, not pulling, but cradling the strands as he respectfully fucks your face.

“So good, too—too good,” he gasps. 

Wanting to push him all the way to the edge, you deepthroat his cock. Taking him as deep as you can go, fighting off your gag reflex.

“Good…golly…” he groans, voice rough and breathless.

Your eyes flutter open, burning with tears from the searing intensity, the lack of air, but beneath it all, exhilarating.

The sloppy sounds fill the room as you suck him off with a kind of dedication that should be rewarded. His fingers curling in your hair, muscles trembling with the building tension. The sounds of ragged breathing, and your name echo in your head, which sounds especially good coming from him.

You’re flooded with sensation, swallowing hard as quickly as you can, your eyes rolling back, caught in the overwhelming rush.

He helps pull you up gently, both of you gasping for air, still wrapped in that beautiful haze that lingers long after.

“Are you alright?” he asks softly, concern threading his voice as his fingers brush a stray lock of hair from your damp forehead.

You nod slowly, a shaky smile tugging at your lips. 

“Perfect,” you whisper, and you mean it. You could do that all day.

Clark doesn’t miss a beat. 

He takes his glasses off your face and pulls you in to kiss you senseless. It’s a slow and deep kiss, your tongues teasing and tangling with one another, tasting him on your lips like something you’ve been craving for days. His hands cup your face, thumbs stroking your cheeks as he pulls you impossibly closer, smiling into the kiss like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. 

“Clark—” He cuts you off with another kiss, deeper this time, sucking on your tongue and dragging a moan from your throat as your brain turns into absolute mush. His teeth graze your bottom lip before he bites down gently, just enough to make you gasp.

In your time together, you’ve come to realise something very important: Clark Kent is much freakier than he looks.

He finally pulls away, lips swollen and breath shallow, one hand steadying your dazed, breathless self as he grins. “Sorry,” he murmurs, not sounding sorry at all. “You were saying?”

“I don’t remember,” you reply with a goofy smile, and you aren’t lying. Maybe that’s another superpower he has, kissing you so hard it gives you amnesia. 

“Lie down,” he orders. It’s gentle, but with that unmistakable edge of command that makes your heart flutter.

You roll onto your side, and he follows, settling in behind you before wrapping his arms around your waist. His bare skin presses against yours, like a living shield around you. You melt into his embrace, feeling his breath against the back of your neck as he snuggles closer, one leg slipping between yours.

It’s been less than a minute since he came, and you feel his hard cock, pressing against your entrance.

“Can I?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you murmur, bracing yourself. Even after all this time you’ve been together, it’s still a sensation that takes your breath away, adjusting to his size, to the way he fills you completely.

Finally, he pushes inside of you, your walls stretching to accommodate him, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. Your arms reach back instinctively, your nails digging into his bicep.

“Clawing at me now?” he chuckles.

“You can take it, Superman.”

He pulls you closer by the waist, matching his thrusts to yours with a slow, steady rhythm that sends shivers down your spine.

“I sure can,” he murmurs, nuzzling against your neck. He guides your hips up and down, matching it to his own movements, moving you like you weighed nothing. 

“Clark…” you whimper, voice trembling with need and affection.

Slow, deep thrusts follow, each one hitting you right where you’re weakest, unravelling you bit by bit. Your pussy flutters around him like it’s trying to suck him in, and Clark would love nothing more than to sink into you and never come out. 

“I love you so much,” he mumbles into your ear, his voice thick with emotion.

“I love you too.”

Your breath hitches as Clark presses his hand gently against your stomach, feeling the steady rhythm of his moving in and out of you.

“K-keep doing that,” you whisper, voice trembling with need.

The little gasps and moans you let out spur him on. Nothing else feels so right, so electric, as being this deep inside you, your walls pulsing around him like they were made for each other.

“Just a little more…” you plead, voice breathless.

“I got you,” he promises, tightening his grip, holding you steady.

You feel so at home in his arms. You swear his arms were made for cuddling and fucking as well as lifting derailed trains and whatnot. 

And then, finally, you finish, knocking all the air out of you, every shudder and sigh a perfect, messy symphony of release.

His release comes soon after, but he doesn’t stop. Just keeps fucking you through your orgasm, the copious amount of cum he pumped inside of you, spilling out onto the sheets with each thrust.

“Love it when you cum inside,” you whisper breathlessly, your voice thick with desire.

He presses a soft kiss to the back of your neck, his lips warm and reassuring against your skin.

“I know,”

He slows to a stop, giving you a moment to blink repeatedly as you come back to yourself. Your heart’s still racing, limbs deliciously heavy, pussy pumped full but still wanting more. 

You knew this wasn’t the end of the night. Not even close.

Without pulling out of you, he gently positions you on your back, strong hands guiding you with a tenderness that makes your heart stutter.

“I want to see you,” he murmurs, voice low and reverent as he settles between your thighs, arms braced on either side of you, caging you in.

He starts kissing you everywhere he can reach. Your cheeks, your neck, the curve of your collarbone. Each touch of his lips is a promise.

“You’re…” he whispers against your skin, planting a kiss just below your ear.

“So…” another kiss, this time over your racing heartbeat, his voice growing huskier as his body moves with yours.

“Beautiful…” he breathes, looking into your eyes as he presses deeper.

His pace quickens as he moves against you, the tension building with every breath. It’s hard to hold back with you, but even now, even with the fire in his veins, the last thing he’d ever want to do is hurt you. His strength is immense, but his control? Unwavering.

His hand slides up to cradle your face, eyes locking with yours, vulnerable in a way only you ever get to see.

“What did I do to deserve you?” he whispers, voice thick with emotion.

He could stay like this forever. Filling you up, again and again and again. Watching you whimper your way through another orgasm. It was overwhelming in the best way. He was overtaken by you, by your body, by the way you moved with him like you were made just to fit together. He could hear your heartbeat fluctuate with every kiss, every shift, every whispered moan, and he caught it all.

Nothing hit him harder than the sound of you like this: breathless, aching, saying his name like a prayer.

He knew your body so well, all its secrets, all its tells. The way your breath hitched when his fingers grazed that one spot on your hip. The tremble in your voice when he took his time. The way your nails dug into his back when you were close.

When he shifts, angling his hips just right, a sharp cry escapes your lips before you can stop it, his name, raw and desperate, tearing from your throat as your fingers clutch the sheets beneath you.

“Clark… Clark… Clark!”

It’s the only word you can remember, the only one that matters, echoing between you like a mantra.

No wonder your neighbours were pissed. 

And the way he looks at you, utterly undone, you know he feels the same. 

“Don’t stop—please, I can’t—” you beg. He’s fucking you so good, you don’t know which way is up. The sound of your bed’s headboard hitting the wall repeatedly echoed through the room, a steady, rhythmic thud, and you bet there’s another dent forming. Which is a shame since Clark took the time to fix it the first time you both put a hole in the wall.

“That’s it, Clark…” you breathe out, voice trembling, your fingers digging into his shoulders as your body arches into his.

“Wanna be so full…,” you whine, need thick in your voice, every inch of you aching for him, for more, for all of him. If you were being honest, you wanted his cum spilling out of you for weeks.

He groans at your words, the sound deep and rough in his throat, control hanging by a thread. “You will be,” he promises. As if to accentuate your promise, you feel his large hand press gently down on your stomach, like he needs to feel how deeply he’s a part of you. And it’s deep. 

“Just for you, Clark… just for you,” you gasp, your voice barely more than a breath as your toes curl and your body tightens around him, every nerve lit up and alive.

You’re so close, your body trembling, every breath coming in shallow gasps as the pressure builds, sharp and sweet.

“Clark…” you whimper, voice high and wrecked, so needy, so soft, so pathetic on your tongue, but it only makes his hold on you tighten.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs against your skin, “Let go for me.”

That’s all it takes for you to give in.  Your legs tremble as your climax washes over you in fierce waves, every nerve ignited and alive.

Feeling you tighten around him, he buries himself deep inside again, filling you up completely.

But again, this wasn’t the end of the night. You keep fucking into the early hours of the morning because Clark’s stamina is godly. 

But you had accomplished your mission. Gone were any thoughts of the day before. All the stress, the exhaustion. All that mattered now was this. You and he, melting into one another with ease, with familiarity, with a kind of quiet devotion that needed no words.

After each orgasm, Clark kissed your skin with a reverence that made your breath catch, like every inch of you deserved worship, like he was reminding himself you were real, here, his.

***

After the dust settles, you and Clark lie together, coming down from your highs. Clark ought to have tough days more often if it meant having sex like that.

“I don’t think we stayed all that quiet,” Clark murmurs, brushing his fingers through his tousled hair, the faintest blush still lingering on his cheeks.

You groan, flopping back onto the bed. “Yeah, my neighbours are going to kill me.”

“There must be an alternative,” he says thoughtfully. “My place?”

You glance over at him, raising an eyebrow. “And have your neighbours mad at you? No thanks. Let’s keep one of our reputations intact.”

You pause mid-stretch, then slowly sit up, pressing a finger to your chin as if putting on an imaginary thinking cap. A mischievous smile begins to tug at the corners of your lips, the kind that always made Clark just a little nervous.

“I know that look.”

“We could always…,” you say, wiggling your eyebrows suggestively. You both knew exactly where that sentence was going. 

Clark lifts a brow. “We can’t have sex in the sky all the time.”

You smirk. “Some of the time.”

 “Okay… some of the time,” he agrees. 

You lay back down and rest your chin on his chest, fingers idly tracing patterns on his bare chest. “What about your ice castle?”

“The Fortress?” he chuckles. “The flight there might be a little tough on you unless you want to land with frostbite.” He pauses, thinking. “Maybe we should look for somewhere with thicker walls, you know… together.”

You blink slowly, thinking, ‘Is this really happening?’

“Clark Kent,” you say slowly, voice full of suspicion and amusement, “is this your way of asking me to move in with you?”

“It is,” he answers resolutely. He’s only the slightest bit worried you were about to tell him to kick rocks, only slightly, totally not nervous at all. 

The thought of having a place that felt as much yours as it was his. Shared routines, quiet mornings, and loud nights made something warm bloom in your chest. An assortment of both your books scattered across the coffee table, indulging his love of breakfast for dinner when you cook together, waking up tangled beside one another, no longer needing to say goodbye.

You shuffle your way around, draping yourself lazily across his body, your chin resting on his chest. “I’d love to move in with you.”

Clark’s eyes soften instantly. “Yeah?”

“Yes,” you say, grinning. “And I think that calls for a celebration.”

You slide back on top of him, straddling his waist again with a wicked smile.

He laughs, breathless. “You’re insatiable,” he says, right before pulling you back in for another kiss, arms wrapping securely around your waist.

“Wait, what about the pie? We could celebrate with that,” Clark says innocently.

“The pie? In bed?” you smirk, tilting your head. “What exactly are you planning to do to me, Clark?”

His eyes widen a little. “You know that’s not what I meant… I actually don’t even know what you’re insinuating—”

You shut him up with a kiss, slow and hot, fingers sliding into his hair. “We’ll eat it after,” you whisper against his lips.

“Dessert before dessert. Got it.”

Main Masterlist

[wadoichimonji0]

SMILE LIKE YOU MEAN IT! │ clark kent

You and Clark have a fight. You leave his house and go to the Daily Planet after hours to work and calm down. Clark finds you there and helps ease your mind.

CONTAINS: 18+ SMUT MDNI, fem!reader, oral sex (fem!receiving ofc,) vaginal fingering, hair pulling (rawrrr his curlsss,) arguing, playful banter, TEASING, & no use of y/n.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: been thinking about making this little fic since i watched the movie and i finally finished it! i need this midwestern goober so bad. it’s not even funny. on that note, i hope you enjoy this horny concoction!

"You're giving me a headache," you sigh, taking a deep sip of your water as you lean against Clark's kitchen sink, watching him hurriedly untie his tie. Your voice is tinged with frustration and exhaustion.

"Oh. Am I?" he replies, sarcastically tossing his tie onto the coffee table.

You set your glass of water down on the counter and massage your temples. "Clark, I know you care about me. You want to keep me safe, but I feel like you're suffocating me," you say earnestly.

He walks over, his voice firm and unwavering. "I'm trying to protect you. You don't understand the risks."

You shake your head with a humorless laugh. "For Christ's sake, Clark, you secretly arranged for someone to escort me home after brunch with Jimmy. You didn't even ask if that's what I wanted. That's not trust,” you insist, crossing your arms over your chest. 

Clark mimics your stance, crossing his arms over his chest, a hint of frustration in his tone. “I trust you; you know that. I just don't trust most other people.”

“You’re interfering with my work,” you accuse.

“I wouldn’t say that,” he responds, tilting his head.

“No?” you answer, your tone sharp. “You’re still trying to convince me to drop my exposé on that crime ring in Gotham because it’s too ‘cliché.’ But I know you’re really just worried about me getting hurt,” you say, giving him a knowing look.

He bites his tongue before speaking again. “Do you honestly believe those criminals wouldn’t come after the pretty news reporter who put them on blast?”

You give him an unamused look, your anger simmering just beneath the surface. "What about the other night? When I was walking home from the library, and you swooped in out of nowhere, 'coincidentally' walking me home. You didn't trust me to take care of myself then, either, even though I'm perfectly capable," you assert, your displeasure evident.

"I'm not saying you're not capable," he replies, spreading his hands in a placating gesture.

You take a deep breath, eyeing him for a moment before uncrossing your arms and resting them at your sides. "It just… it feels like you're more concerned with protecting me than actually being with me."

"That's not fair," Clark’s voice rises, his jaw clenched with tension.

"Fair? You're the one who's being unfair. You try to keep me in a bubble and control every situation." You flail your arms to emphasize your point. Clark opens his mouth to respond, but you cut him off. "And for the love of God, do not blame that on Superman. Just don't."

"In case you forgot, I am Superman. He's a part of me. You knew that going in," he declares confidently, lifting a finger to point at you.

You roll your eyes and push off the counter, your feet padding around him. "Whatever, Clark," you mutter, feeling fatigue take over.

"No, no. Don't 'whatever, Clark' me," he says, turning his head to fix his piercing blue eyes on you as you walk toward the couch to grab your jacket. "Just—at least look at me," he pleads, his voice tinged with desperation.

You spin on your heels to face him, scowling slightly. “Just tell me—are you my boyfriend or just Superman trying to protect a civilian?”

His lips press into a flat line, clearly showing his frustration. “Don’t do that,” he replies, his voice strained.

You shrug nonchalantly. “Do what, Clark?”

He twists his head and closes his eyes in a display of impatience. “You always bring that up when we argue,” he snaps.

As you adjust your jacket and stride toward the front door, you mutter under your breath, “It’s hard not to.” You look up to lock eyes with him; his gaze is already fixed on you. “I just... I need some space.”

“Okay,” he nods lightly, wiping the exhaustion from his face before lazily pointing to the couch. “I’ll take the couch. You can have my bed.” He turns on his heels toward the couch, swiping a pillow off the cushion. 

“No, Clark,” you begin, your voice catching in your throat. “I just—I need to be away from you.”

He turns around, a pillow in hand, a stunned expression on his face. “You’re leaving me?”

You take a deep breath, trying to muster more courage. The way he looks at you, his bright blue eyes sunken and sorrowful, makes you want to run and jump into his arms, but you resist.

You need him to respect your bodily autonomy.

“I just need to be alone,” you say firmly, your fingers fiddling with the hem of your jacket. “At least for the night.”

He stares at you for a moment before nodding. “Okay, fine,” he replies, glancing away as he tosses the pillow back onto the couch. “Whatever you want.”

“Alright then,” you murmur as you reach for the door handle. “Goodbye.”

“Will you—can you at least text me when you get home?” His voice is so soft that you almost miss it. “So I know you’re safe?”  

You pause, caught in a moment of indecision, your silence lingering in the air.  

The door swings open and then closes with a soft, definitive click.  

You should have responded, but the fear of breaking down in his kitchen left you speechless.  

Clark's gaze remains fixed on the front door until he catches a whiff of your perfume, making his vulnerability crack through.

At that moment, he realized he couldn’t hide behind the bright cape or the shiny name. 

He could feel the full weight of his humanity, and it was crushing. 

The Daily Planet, although it is your day job, has always served as a sanctuary during times of unrest after hours. However, being here now is giving you an even bigger migraine than you already have.

You feel the strain in your eyes as you stare intently at your computer screen for the third hour. Your fingers tap anxiously against the keyboard as you struggle to find the right words.

The cursor blinks ominously behind the few words already on the page, a silent mockery of your writer's block. Doubt and frustration seep in, clouding your thoughts and making it even harder to focus.

Your mind keeps drifting back to your fight with Clark. 

The look on his face when you turned down his offer to stay over feels like a weight pressing down on your chest. His expression was filled with pain, as if he believed you would never return to him.

You stretch your fingers, trying to stave off the creeping carpal tunnel, before sinking back into your chair with a soft squeak.

"Thought I'd find you here," a deep voice booms from beside you, making you jump and whip your head around to see who spoke.

"Shit," you curse, holding a hand over your heart, and find Clark standing there, still dressed in his white long-sleeve shirt and black slacks. "You scared me," you admit. "What are you doing here?"

He sticks his hands in the pockets of his pants. "I came here for you."

You exhale a sigh and turn to look back at your computer screen. "I don't want to talk to you right now, Clark," you confess, squinting to read the few words on the page.

"You don't have to, sweetheart," he says, taking a few steps closer. "Just hear me out, okay?"

Your eyes remain fixed on the screen until you feel your chair being spun around, forcing you to face him. "Clar—" you start to say, but he interrupts you, his hand still on your chair.

"You're stressed. I get that," he begins, looking at you with intensity. "You work too hard and don't sleep enough."

"I also have a boyfriend who doesn't trust me to take care of myself," you interject, raising an eyebrow.

He pulls back his head in faux shock. "Hey, who's this other boyfriend? Do I need to fight him?"

A smile breaks through your lips as you playfully push against his chest. "Shut up, you dork," you tease, your tone light.

Clark smiles as he glances at your computer screen. "Let me see this," he says, already moving behind your chair to take a closer look.

You turn to him, aware of him hovering over your shoulder. "I'm just working on this exposé. It's nothing."

"Mhm. Nothing is right," he teases with a playful smile, his dimples showing. "There's hardly anything on here."

"Hey," you point to the very few words on the page. "Don't you see the top line?"

He leans in closer. "Oh, yeah," he replies with a sardonic tone. "I have to keep an eye on you. With just those three words, you'll have me out of a job in no time. Very hard-hitting stuff," he jokes.

You turn to look at him, perhaps to throw another playful jab, but instead, he seizes the moment to kiss you deeply. His lips are warm and soft, and the taste of his breath takes your own breath away.

"You didn't text me," he murmurs against your lips.

You almost don't register what he's saying. "I didn't say I was going to," you reply with a dry mouth. "I thought that implied I wasn't going to."

“Oh, is that what you thought?” He presses another kiss to your lips, pulling back slightly to speak. “I know you can take care of yourself. You’re my tough girl, right? But it puts me at ease to know that you’re safe.” He kisses you again.

“Mhm,” you hum against his lips, your lips brushing against his. “I just need you to respect my boundaries, okay? You can keep me safe without suffocating me,” you bring your hands up to touch his cheeks lightly.

He leans in closer, his voice low and husky. “Was that so hard?” 

You pull him closer by his cheeks, whispering, “Don’t talk. Just kiss me.”

As soon as the command slips from your lips, he leaps into action. He kisses you with an intense passion, a fervent need that consumes you both.

His hands gently cradle your cheeks, deepening the kiss with each passing moment. They then slide down to your waist, pulling you closer as you find yourself pressed against the desk, the kiss never breaking.

His fingers fidget with the hem of your shirt, skimming across your bare skin and making you shiver. “Are we really about to have sex in the workplace, Mr. Kent?” you ask, breathless, as your fingers thread through his curls.

“I think we are, sweet girl,” he breathes, moving to pop open the buttons to your blouse.

He shoves the blouse off, pressing hot kisses against your collarbone. “I hate when we fight,” he murmurs into your skin, his hand gripping your ass through your pencil skirt.

“Certainly makes for an enticing night,” you say, tilting your head back so Clark can kiss up your neck.

He pulls back for a moment, fidgeting with his belt. You move your hand to stop him, locking eyes with him. “You want to take care of me, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” he replies without hesitation.

“Then, show me. Show me how well you can take care of me,” you say, biting your bottom lip as you slide onto the desk, opening your legs wide enough for him to see your red lace panties.

His eyes glance to look at your panties as he stands with his hands on his hips. “I thought you didn’t want me to do that anymore,” he darts his tongue across his lips, eyes still honing in on your cunt.

“Get on your knees, Clark,” you direct, voice low, letting your heels drop to the floor.

He smiles, his dimples appearing. “You’re demanding,” he accuses, with humor, as he sinks to his knees, big hands coming to rest on your thighs.

“And you’re not putting your mouth on me fast enough,” you whine, head tilting back as his grip tightens.

“Oh, you mean like this?” He leans in, pressing a deep kiss on your cunt, your panties rubbing against your clit gently. 

“Fuck—yes,” your hand drifts to rest on the back of his head, putting him where you need. “Just like that,” you encourage, pulling him closer. 

He brings a finger up, pulling your panties to the slide so he can feel your bare cunt on his lips, already twitching and wet under his lips. His tongue flicks against your clit, making you surge forward. “You’re sensitive,” he mutters into you.

“Well, your tongue is in my—ah, Clark,” you moan, back arching, feeling his tongue drag across your aching clit.

He pulls his head back slightly. “What was that, sweetheart?” 

Your hand rests on the edge of the desk, knuckles white. “Goddamn it—you… you,” you say, voice strained and breathless.

“Took your breath away, did I?” His tongue slides across your puffy clit, eliciting a whimper from you.

His hand braces impossibly tighter on your thigh, and you’re sure you’ll have bruises on your skin as his skillful tongue prods against your needy bud.

You're practically grinding against his face, trying to chase your high. Your finger in his hair pulls him up to look at you with one of his curls. “Give me your fingers,” you order, the thought of release burning away at your senses.

He obliges; naturally, he’ll do anything to please you.

“Mhm. See,” he tuts. “Demanding,” he hums as he brings two fingers up to push in and out of your greedy cunt, not allowing you time to respond. Your head is tilted back as your loud moans fill the office.

“Ah, listen to that. Music to my ears,” he says, eyes hyper-focused on his fingers plunging in and out of you. “They’ll hear you all the way in Gotham.”

“So, let them—fuck—so… so close,” you manage to choke out, his fingers making you fall apart faster than you expected. 

“Yeah?” he prompts through a breath. 

You nod your head, your lower stomach tight and skin sizzling as you come undone, your thighs trembling on his fingers as you come.

You glance down at him, your eyes heavy with fatigue. “Shit,” you curse with a dry laugh.

He makes you laugh as he moves to stand, watching you before brushing the hair out of your face. “How’d I do?”

“There’s always room for improvement,” you toy, your chest still heaving.

“Uh-huh. Yeah, yeah,” he replies, stepping closer to dip his head to kiss you, sweet this time.

Well, aside from the fact that you can taste yourself on his lips.

He pulls back, studying the glint in your eyes, a silent conversation passing between you. “Am I still your Superman?”

“No,” you begin, wrapping your arms around his neck, making him raise a confused eyebrow. “You’re my Clark.”

MINI AUTHOR'S NOTE: i clearly got carried away with the dialogue, but it's always my fav part lmao i hope you enjoyed! muah!

[wadoichimonji0]

bringing you back to earth

a stressful day has you running to clark, and he knows just how to set you straight.

a/n: more superman hehe i have so much motivation all of a sudden

cw: clark kent x fem!reader, established relationship, smut mdni, comforting, thigh riding, praise, pronebone <3, finger sucking, putting r in a headlock, he's soooo nice and soooo horny

wc: 2.3k

mlist

(reblogs are the only way to promote fics on tumblr! please reblog if you enjoyed it :) )

Bang.

The door shuts harder than you intended, but you can barely bring yourself to wince. Feet aching, you kick off your heels, shoving them haphazardly into the shoe rack by the door. Roughly hanging up your coat and bag, you shuffle into the living room in socked feet.

Your head’s killing you, a hand drifting up to rub at your temple. It’s like you have no awareness of anything around you, exhaustion narrowing your focus until all you can think about is this no-good, shitty day. 

Clark looks up from his spot on the sofa, and the weight on your chest lifts for a moment, but everything still suffocates. He can tell immediately, of course he does, lifting an arm to beckon you over as he puts away his book. 

You pad over without preamble, collapsing like a pile of limbs in his lap. A soft sigh leaves him, chest rumbling against yours as he rearranges you, biceps bulging as he lifts you into straddling his thighs, pulling your arms over his shoulders. 

There’s silence for a few seconds, Clark gazing into your eyes as you look off into the middle distance, mind stuck on everything but this moment. 

He squeezes your waist lightly. 

“What is it, baby?”

It takes a beat, but the words slowly come. 

“I don’t— I don’t know why I’m all… like this, but…”

He rubs an encouraging hand up your back, bringing stinging to your eyes. 

“I just had a shitty day. That presentation to the board was all messed up, the projector didn’t work and then I think they all got an email because they weren’t paying attention, then my manager gave me so much to do in like, less than a week, and—”

The all-consuming pressure starts up again, and the words dry up. 

Clark’s hands have migrated up, cupping either side of your face with a tenderness that makes you want to melt into him, if you could. His large thumbs swipe away the tears that drop to the apples of your cheeks, bringing a soothing heat with them. 

“Oh, honey…”

He’s more than experienced with all of your moods, but this one has only come up a couple of times in your relationship. When you get like this, stuck too far in your brain to be able to crawl out alone, you can be coaxed in different ways. 

“What do you need? I’ll give it to you, anything.”

He lowers his forehead to press it against yours.

You might need slow comfort, a bath with his searing-hot chest against your back. Or you could want to stay still, listen to his breathing until your quickened breaths slow to match his. Otherwise…

“Can you… Can you fuck me? Please?”

The plaintive request is followed by a heartbreaking sniffle, and he all but liquefies for you. 

Right. Sometimes you need to be overwhelmed by him, so much so that no other thought can even penetrate your mind. You need him to take the reins for once, to let you ride it out until even the notion of stress evaporates. 

He can’t lie, he relishes when you let him take care of you like this.

“Yeah, baby. Of course I will.”

Just the assent seems to relax you a little, your shoulders dropping just a little from where they were nearly touching your ears. 

A rush of pride runs through him. Knowing that he can have such an effect on you is a heady, intoxicating feeling. 

With a kiss to your temple, you feel his hands slip down to your thighs, wrapping your legs securely around his middle. With a soft grunt, he maneuvers up off the sofa, fingers tightening indulgently on the plush of your ass over your slacks as he guides you both into the bedroom. 

For a moment, all you feel is the warmth of his hands on your body, his hips against your pelvis. Once he lays you back on the sheets, you’re yearning for him, for him to get you better. 

“Please, Clark, want you to fix it.”

He nods down at you, laying his body over yours with careful precision. You love the feeling of his weight pressing against the length of your body, but you know he’s being cautious, making sure enough of him is braced on his elbow and knee so he won’t crush you.

“I will, just gotta be patient. Can you do that for me?”

His words have slowed, the enunciation much more pronounced. It causes your back to straighten subconsciously, your body reacting to his implicit command without a thought.

The room quiets until all you can hear is the drone of downtown Metropolis outside, and Clark’s slow, measured breaths. His hands have started to wander, broad, sweeping strokes up and down your side until his deft fingers meet your waistband. 

“Taking off your pants, sweetheart.”

You nod automatically, hips raising so he can pull off your slacks and panties in one go. His mouth has lowered to your jaw, lips brushing over the sensitive skin, making you shudder. 

“Want your shirt on or off?”

It’s muttered against your jaw, teeth scraping softly against you after his question. You need a few seconds to process it, but your answer comes quickly. 

“Off, please.”

He nods his assent, fingers slipping under your shirt and pushing the fabric up your chest. Raising your arms before he can ask, you allow him to shuck off both the shirt and bra, leaving you bare below him. 

His hands get to work immediately, greedily grabbing handfuls of flesh wherever he can. Groping at your chest, your stomach, your thighs, your thoughts follow him, reacquainting yourself with your body. 

His mouth has returned to your jaw, travelling the expanse of your neck to settle on your collarbone. 

“My smart girl, aren’t you? Always working so hard.”

He bites your skin softly, as if punctuating his statement. It prompts you to arch your back, pressing your body to him as hard as you can. You want him to get to it. 

“I know, I know. Be good, I’ll give you what you want.”

You’re expecting him to shift so his hand can snake down to the apex of your thighs, but he grips your waist firmly instead. In a sudden movement, he flips your positions on the bed, rearranging you so he’s the one settled against the many pillows, your legs spread to accommodate the bulk of his thighs under you. 

“Clark?”

Without responding to your question, he shifts you again, so your bare cunt is angled over one mouthwateringly wide thigh.

“I want you to get yourself there like this, baby. Can you do that for me?”

You’re a bit caught off guard, having expected him to lay you down and do the work for you, like he always does. But you can’t lie, his thigh does feel good pressed up against you, and you trust him. 

“I… Yeah. Yeah, I can.”

He shows his appreciation with a firm squeeze to your ass, lips curling up into a smile against your neck. 

You begin slowly, dragging your hips against the rough texture of denim over muscle. You’d expect it to be harsh, but every shift sends sparks up your spine, pleasure tinged with pain slowly bringing you back down to Earth. 

Clark doesn’t part from you, his large hands helping you move along his leg, mouth practically glued to any inch of skin he can access. 

It’s like you’ve fallen into a trance, tunnelvision until all you can think about is his thigh under you and his hands on you. 

“Clark, Clark, I—”

He soothes you with a soft cooing sound, lips travelling up to your forehead. 

“I know, baby. Feels good, huh? That’s good!”

His hands spur you on further, hips bucking wildly against him. There must be a wet patch on his jeans by now, but you can’t bring yourself to care. 

“You deserve to feel good, deserve— You deserve everything.” 

His voice is ragged, as if he’s the one getting off right now. Judging by the size of the tent in his pants, you suppose he is. 

You’re single-minded now, your only goal being getting yourself there. That just-out-of-reach, intangible climax that you’ll do anything to get. Clark seems to understand, his hands forcing you down further in his lap, grinding his thigh up until you cry out. 

He’s hit a perfect angle, pressing deliciously against your clit while giving you enough friction to want to hump him like a bunny. You’re damn near doing that anyway, hips moving incessantly against him. 

You’re cresting, getting higher and higher until, all at once, the wave comes rushing towards you, and you crash. Pleasure continues to arc up your spine, and you realise Clark was right. 

Your mind’s returned to you, and you feel more yourself than you did half an hour ago. It’s frankly overwhelming, and you choose to bury your face in his chest. 

Clark laughs breathlessly, a hand coming up to pet your hair affectionately. 

“Yeah? Feeling better?”

It takes some time before you’re recovered enough to come out, peering up at him with your chin pillowed on his chest. 

“Yeah…”

Your thought’s unfinished, though, and he knows it. He waits patiently for you to pipe up again. 

“But Clark?”

“Yeah, honey?”

“Can we still fuck?”

He can’t help but laugh, chuckles vibrating his chest until you join him in his mirth. It takes him a moment until he can sober up, but you know he won’t deny you. 

“Of course, baby. I’m never going to say no to that.”

With that, he surges forward, capturing your lips in a searing, filthy kiss that puts you in a haze. 

Even within that haze, you’re eagerly moving, knowing exactly what you want. 

He watches you get off his lap, watches as you stretch your legs out with a languid moan, and watches as you settle on your stomach on the sheets next to him, looking up with a cheeky grin. 

“This okay?”

Your Cheshire-cat grin only widens when you see him scramble to tear off his clothes, feeling him settle on his knees between your parted legs. 

You know he loves to have you like this, lying prone under him as he gets to overwhelm you with everything he’s got. But this is also for you. The feeling of him laying all his weight on you from behind never fails to ground you, and this will do wonders for bringing that last bit of you out from the cold. 

He lays his body over yours gingerly, pelvis pressing to your ass as he makes sure his weight is distributed evenly over you. It pushes a satisfied sigh from your lips, feeling rooted to the spot in the most wonderful way. 

It doesn’t hurt that you can feel the fervent heat of his cock, nestled between your thighs. You can feel that one vein of his pressed up against your slit, shuddering with anticipation as you recall how it feels inside you. 

One arm is laid on the bed next to your head, forearm so close that you could bite it. His other arm moves down, down, until he can grab himself, lining him up with your dripping entrance. 

With a tender kiss to the nape of your neck, Clark pushes forward. 

The burning stretch is blissful, the weight of his body on top of yours even more so. The gasps and moans leave your mouth unbidden by you, unable to resist the allure of his slow, solid thrusts. 

The vein is nudging perfectly against your walls, and the near-suffocating feeling gets your head right. 

“Good— God, you feel good. You good, baby?”

“Y-yeah, feels so good, Clark,”

You can’t finish your sentence, a particularly dirty grind of his hips against yours robbing you of the ability to speak. Each knock of his pelvis against you leaves you openmouthed, craving just a little more. 

His hand is right there, by your face, if you could just…

It’s like he can hear your thoughts, moving his left hand so he can cup your jaw a little. 

“What is it, babe? Y’want something… Oh.”

You don’t bother asking, craning your neck so you can envelop two fingers with your lips. 

The rough pads of his fingers brush against your tongue, and you feel sated, finally. He smells exactly like he should, soap, sweat, and something uniquely him that has you humming around his digits. 

A deep, guttural groan looses itself from his throat as he feels you suck on his fingers, sending yet another shiver down your spine. As if possessed, his free hand moves up to your neck, the length of his arm carefully wrapping around your most vulnerable area. 

He’s put you in a headlock, and you’ve been sent to heaven. 

Crowding you even further into the sheets, Clark lets loose, drunk on the sight of you. Gone are the slow, soft movements. Instead, he’s rutting feverishly into you, chasing the high that you’re approaching as well. 

With the cumulative pressure of his fingers on your tongue, his bicep digging into your throat, and the sounds of his moans, it’s no surprise that you’re falling apart nearly immediately. Tremors run through the length of your body, and you know your leg would be shaking if he didn’t have you pinned down. 

Clark, ever the giver, reaches his peak at the first sight of yours. His hips stutter once, twice, against you, until he pushes in as deep as possible, as if to ensure you’ll stay right there. 

You have no reason to leave, not when the stress that weighed you down has been lifted off your shoulders with his careful hands.

[wadoichimonji0]

Regarding Wotans

Paring: Zoro x Reader

Raiting: Explicit (minors DNI)

Summary:

You and Zoro are no secret.

The rest of the crew don’t address it directly, but they know. To others, the two of you are normal crewmates. You laugh and drink together, you fight and protect each other. You bicker and argue with each other. There are no obvious displays of affection that just any passerby can pick up on.

But the crew sees you give Zoro your extra servings of meat at dinner. They see the way Zoro is always aware of your movements when you’re in his vicinity. The hushed conversations, shoulder to shoulder and leg to leg.

There is no big announcement, no celebration. You and Zoro just are.

Or so Usopp thought.

-or- You and Zoro get into a fight about something stupid. Naturally, the crew gets involved somehow. Ends with smut.

A/N: Listen ya’ll, I am a diehard ZoSan fan, they are my OG ship and I will ship them until the day I die. But for some reason, my hetero side was really screaming at me to jot this down. So here ya go. Crossposted on Ao3.

Tags: strawhat shenanigans, female reader-insert, established relationship, squirting, aquarium sex (if that's a thing), make up sex.

---

You and Zoro are no secret.

The rest of the crew don’t address it directly, but they know. To others, the two of you are normal crewmates. You laugh and drink together, you fight and protect each other. You bicker and argue with each other. There are no obvious displays of affection that just any passerby can pick up on. 

But the crew sees you give Zoro your extra servings of meat at dinner. They see the way Zoro is always aware of your movements when you’re in his vicinity. The hushed conversations, shoulder to shoulder and leg to leg. Or even, the more obvious sight of the two of you emerging from the broom closet looking thoroughly and unabashedly disheveled. Sanji had once yelled at the two of you for almost getting to second base on his kitchen counter, made the both of you bleach and clean every surface of the kitchen for the afternoon, then cooked a combination of yours and Zoro's favorite dishes for dinner that night.  

There is no big announcement, no celebration. You and Zoro just are.

Or so Usopp thought.

The sharpshooter watches in silent shock as you and Zoro pass each other on the deck; the swordsman towards the kitchen, and you towards the helm. The look you two exchanged could freeze over Akainu himself. 

Usually, Usopp notices you two at least nod to each other, or you’re walking to the same place together. Sometimes, much to Usopp’s delight, you would fake swat at Zoro and start a weird shadow boxing session with the two of you, leaving Zoro with a happy flush on his face. 

Usopp shivers as you walk past him. More like stomped, with the way your boots are slamming on the floorboard. “Hey, take it easy on Sunny,” Usopp calls to your back as you descend the stairs. You pause for a moment, probably feeling a bit guilty, then take noticeably softer steps towards Jinbe. 

“What’s up with her?” he says to himself, scratching the back of his head. 

To his horror, he turns around and sees Zoro also stomping his way towards him. Usopp squeals as Zoro gets in his face. “Hey, you know things about giants,” Zoro accuses him. 

“Y-Yeah, sure I do,” Usopp stammers. 

“Is it true that–”

“--that giants and fishmen are able to reproduce?” You look at Jinbe with your arms crossed, a steely determined look on your face. Jinbe looks at you in mild horror, then clears his throat. “Well,” he starts, “technically–”

“--I don’t want technically, Long-Nose,” Zoro pinches Usopp’s nose between two fingers, ignoring the sharpshooter’s pained yelp. “Is it true or not??”

“There’s been a lot of discussion amongst scholars about Wotans, but–OUCH–”

“--but yes, it is true. They’re called Wotans.” Jinbe looks at you as your face morphs from upset to smug, and hesitantly continues, “You can ask Captain Luffy–”

“I ain’t asking Luffy, you crazy?” Zoro lets go of Usopp’s nose and huffs. Usopp clutches his face and glares halfheartedly at Zoro. “Sure, I’m the crazy one,” he grumbles. 

“Whatever,” Zoro turns on his heel and stomps away. 

Usopp calls after him, “I do NOT want to know why y’all were talking about Wotans, but just apologize to her already, doofus.” Zoro flips him off without turning around, and Usopp’s eyebrow twitches in annoyance.

“And stop stomping all over Sunny!”

—

That night at dinner, Zoro has a permanent frown on his face, while you sport a relaxed, self-assured smile. Usopp looks between the two of you as Zoro stabs at his sea-king steak, and you chat happily with Robin about something Usopp couldn’t bother to decipher. 

Nami leans conspiringly towards him. “Looks like those two really got into it,” she mumbles to him. Her eyes also flick between you and Zoro. 

“Someone has to do something soon, my sense of smell depends on it,” Usopp mumbles back. 

“Are you kidding?” Name hisses. “The last time those two got into a stupid fight and I tried to help, Zoro got so mad at me for not giving me extra money for booze, he almost pulled Enma on me. Enma. I had to tiptoe around him for almost a week!” 

“I don’t want to be involved more than I already am!” Usopp complains right back. Him and Nami watch as Sanji swats at Zoro’s head for being too violent with his food.

Usopp rolls his eyes and returns to his food. “Whatever the case, they need to make up, quickly,” he says. 

Luffy pauses from stuffing his face to look between you and Zoro, then says matter of factly (and with no shortage of glee), “Zoro needs to apologize to Y/N.”

You glance extra smugly at Zoro, who just angrily “che!”s. At the same moment, Luffy attempts to steal the rest of Zoro's food. The swordsman futilely gets himself tangled in Luffy's rubber appendages as the happy captain gobbles up the rest of his plate. 

Nami groans, and meets Robin’s eye from over your shoulder. When the archeologist winks, a smile slowly grows on Nami’s face. “Looks like a solution is already in the works.”

—

You enter the aquarium and immediately pause at the doorway. 

“You’re not Nami,” you say. 

Zoro just looks at you. “You’re not Luffy.”

You close the door behind you. “Looks like we’ve been set up.” 

"Looks like."

There's an awkward pause. Zoro hates this part of the petty fights between the two of you. You are the person he can feel the most comfortable with, the most vulnerable with, and yet here you are, fidgeting with the hem of your shorts and avoiding his gaze.

You glance at Zoro. He is positively lounging on the chairs that line the aquarium. Arms stretched along the tops of the comfy cushions, legs spread lazily, head lulled to the side to look at you. His three swords lay to his side. He’s the picture of relaxation. And he's studying you with such an intensity you don't dare look away.

Despite being set up, the sight of him pisses you off.

You cross your arms and stand there, gathering the strength to level the swordsman with a look that screams, I’m waiting. When you start tapping your foot impatiently, Zoro groans. In truth, he doesn’t mind admitting he’s wrong in most situations. He knows that a good leader always owns up to their mistakes. The only two exceptions to this rule are when you or Sanji are involved. You have a way of getting under his skin that Sanji never could. It tugs on his more primitive side. It makes him want to challenge you more than you challenge him. 

He gives you a long look over, eyes traveling hotly from your eyes, to your exposed collarbones, to the long lines of your legs. 

You feel the warmth of his attention, but you're just as stubborn as he is. Especially when you know you're right. You start tapping your foot louder, and Zoro’s eyebrow twitches. 

“Alright, alright fine,” he drawls, then mumbles. “M’sorry.”

“What was that?” You cup your ear and lean forward. “I can’t hear you.” 

Zoro rolls his eyes. “I am sorry.” 

“For…?”

“For not believing you when you said that fishmen and giants can reproduce,” he says, knowing very well that's not what you want to hear. 

“Wrong,” you take a few slow steps so you’re closer to the man. “Try again.”

Zoro watches as you take measured steps towards him until you’re right in front of his spread legs. He tilts his head up to look at you as you tower over him. You unapologetically meet his eye. 

When he first met you all those years ago, you were the first woman in a long time to hold his gaze without flinching away. It was the first thing about you that Zoro found attractive. You became the challenge he always needed. In that way, and many more, you have helped him grow to be the person he is today. Now he meets your gaze, and he knows you see both his strengths and his weaknesses, and you love him all the same for it.

His eyes go ever so slightly fond when he speaks next, and you almost cave right then and there when you see it. “M’sorry for not believing you.” 

You step forward again, the sides of your knees touching his inner thighs. “Wrong.” you whisper. 

Zoro watches as you lean forward, his eye never leaving you. “I’m sorry for not trusting you with this small thing, when I already trust you with my life,” he says quietly. The rumble of his voice vibrates through you when you’re this close to him. 

You tilt his head up with a finger below his chin to get a better look at him. You see the silent apology in his eyes just as you hear it in his words. He sees the forgiveness in your eyes, and remembers there was a time when he didn’t think he deserved any sort of forgiveness from anyone. You helped him see that he was worth it, and more. 

Zoro caves. 

He surges up to press his lips to yours, grabbing your knees to bring you closer. Your body naturally follows the movement and you straddle him, winding your arms around his neck and pushing yourself against his chest. You want to feel every plane of his body against you. You want to feel the press of his full weight against you. You grab at him and pull him flush to you as much as you can. You want your hands on his skin, his saliva on your tongue, his teeth on your neck. He grants every one of your wishes without you asking. 

Your lips press and mold together frantically, almost no finesse as a carnal desire overtakes the both of you. He hisses as your nails drag over his skin, and bites your lower lip in retaliation. The sounds of you both panting heavily are loud in the silence of the aquarium. 

There are no words exchanged. There’s no need for it, not with you.

Effortlessly, Zoro moves through a set of motions that leaves you breathless. He grips your thighs and stands, turning so that you are laying with your back on the couch and one leg hitched over the top. Then he's on his knees between your legs before you could take another breath. 

You let out a puff of air as you fall back. Zoro pulls once and your pants and underwear are both gone. You open your mouth to protest, but he almost desperately grabs the back of your thighs and raises them so your knees are practically at your chest, and his mouth attaches to your core. 

His tongue and lips and teeth press at you with such an urgency and intensity, you slap both hands over your mouth to prevent the moan that is bubbling quickly in your throat. His tongue slides over your folds and circles your entrance. His grip on your thighs tighten as he bends you even further in half to reach more of you. He eats you out like a man starved, like someone eating their first meal in weeks, like someone who has been craving the taste of you and only you. 

Zoro’s mouth deliciously trails up to your clit and stays there. He traces the nub expertly, alternating between the flat and the tip of his tongue. You see stars, heat boiling and coiling in your pelvis so quickly you don’t know what to do with yourself. Zoro plays your body like a master musician, and you’re helpless to do anything but let him. 

Zoro suddenly pulls away, and you gasp at the loss of sensation. "What--" You shut up when you see him shed and fold his yakuta, then lift your hips with one hand and shove the jacket under your back.

Oh. You meet his knowing stare and can't help but blush. He knows you far too well.

Zoro wastes no time and dives back between your legs. You reach the precipice at an almost alarmingly fast rate. Zoro feels when your orgasm begins to crest. Your body tightens, your breath quickens, your back arches from the cushion. He knows your body so well at this point that he can pinpoint even the smallest shifts in your countenance. He quicklyy burries two fingers inside you, and in the same moment, shifts beside your open legs on the floor. You gasp, then press your palms to your mouth harder as he curls his fingers and moves perfectly against your g-spot. You see white and cum almost instantly, but Zoro doesn’t stop. Your legs shake as his fingers continue to work in and out of you, building upon a familiar pressure. You’re too weak at this point to resist it, with the way the man had you riled up since your stupid argument, and soon something inside you snaps. Your eyes roll back and you silently scream as you feel yourself squirt on his fingers. Zoro groans low in satisfaction, his other hand pressed against your lower belly as he works you through your orgasm. 

You squirm and push against him enough that he finally lets you go. He breathes in heavily as he takes in the sight of you. Your thighs glisten with your release in the low light of the room. You’re half turned away from him, chest heaving, hands still covering your mouth. Your eyes are watery and you look at him with such feral desperation, it makes him grin wickedly. 

Zoro runs his damp fingers over your legs, pushes your shirt and your bra both up above your chest. He grips tight at your nipples and you gasp. You're desperate to feel more of him, running your hands down the thick of his forearms as he palms you. He bends forward and swipes your bottom lip with his tongue. You immediately open up in response, and you moan at the taste of yourself on him. 

He moves closer to you and whispers in your ear, “Turn around.” Your move quickly to your hands and knees, gripping the tops of the cushions. You arch your back and spread your knees, stretching your arms as much as you could at this angle. Zoro hums as he rises to his feet and grabs at the flesh of your ass appreciatively. He kisses his way back down your spine before he straightens. 

He doesn’t bother to take his pants off fully and pulls them down just enough to free himself. He sighs in relief, and relishes in the picture you paint with your body stretched in front of him. He debates teasing you for a bit longer and rubs his tip along your entrance. You buck once desperately against him, and Zoro has no choice (or strength left to deny either one of you) and sinks into your tight warmth. 

You gasp as you feel him stretch you, your walls instantly accommodating his size. You were wetter than you think you’ve ever been, and the stretch is easy. Zoro sinks all the way to the hilt, but he does so slowly. You feel every inch of him, from the soft bulbous head to every vein and bump, to the slight burn of the stretch that you knew would soon turn into pleasure, until his pelvis is flush against you. You almost sigh in relief of finally being full. Zoro begins to set a steady pace, knocking the breath out of you with each soft slap of his skin against yours.

You look back at Zoro as he makes love to you. You love it when he gets like this, all soft and slow and tender. His hands push up your shirt as he palms your back. But now is not the time for that. You push your ass against him, trying to encourage him to go faster. 

Zoro chuckles. “Impatient brat,” he mumbles. “You want it that bad? Fine. Take it.” He lifts one of your legs up and bends your knee so it's hooked on the top of the cushion. You have to brace on your elbows, but your complains are literally fucked out of you as Zoro starts plowing into you. Your head tips back with a gasp. Zoro drives his powerful hips forward over and over and over again until you see stars and he fills all of your senses. His spiced scent, the heat he radiated already has you sweaty, the taste of him and you on your tongue, the sound of his hushed pants and groans. One of his hands moves up your back and grabs your neck, physically pulling your body onto his cock. Your leg falls and you're hands grab for any part of Zoro that you can to anchor yourself. You could practically feel him in your chest with how deep he is.

You look back at Zoro again as he fucks you into oblivion, and you see the desperation in his face, you feel the weight of his hands gripping your waist, the way sweat beads down his chest, his eye is completely piercing yours in a way that lets you know that you’re his and his alone. He’s mostly quiet save for his panting breaths, though he knows you love it when he’s loud. The sheer size of him leaves you beyond words, and it’s all that you can do to press your face in your arms and just take it. 

He adjusts his grip on your waist and leans you both forward so his chest is flush with your back, and you absolutely see stars as he hits you deeper than before. Your shriek is muffled and your eyes roll as he slows his pace, but does nothing to dull the strength of his thrusts. Your back arches almost impossibly to take on the weight of his thrusts. You feel the heat radiate through his skin as he covers you with his large frame.

The amount of desperation clouding his and your judgment was almost palpable in the humid room. Zoro is quickly losing his ability to stay silent, so he can’t help but to hiss at how tight you begin to grip him. He wants to take his time with you, feel the full expanse of your soft skin under his palms, savor the way you flutter and pulse around his cock. But he is way too wound up to do that now. Not with the way you drove him wild all day. 

You're starting to lose strength in your arms, and you drop one arm to rest a cheek against the couch. Seeing this, Zoro pauses his moments only briefly to straighten. He grabs both your biceps and pulls your whole weight back on his cock. You're practically fully impaled on him, and with nothing to muffle yourself with, you let out a guttural moan.

Zoro smiles wickedly and resumes his pace. It doesn’t take long (how could it with the way he’s going to town on you) before you feel your orgasm approach. You try your best to keep most of your moans down, you really do. Zoro doesn’t do much to help either, with both your hands occupied. But Zoro fucks you like he will never fuck you again, and he’s desperate to be burried within your very essence. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, Zoro…!” you whisper desperately before you break. You groan desperately, deep in your chest, as if the orgasm was ripped from somewhere deep within you. You shake and pulse around Zoro’s cock, and he throws his head back to let out a sinfully low moan as he cums with you. You can barely feel anything but the pulsing of your walls around his cock and the thick gushing of his cum inside you. Heat runs like magma from your chest to your toes as you continue to cum. Zoro finally has mercy on you and stops with his pelvis flush against the globes of your ass as you both calm down. 

Zoro gently releases one of your arms and presses his palm against your chest to push so that your back is flush to his chest. His embrace is warm and tender. You sink heavily into his weight and let him do all the work of keeping you upright, your orgasm sucking all the energy out of you. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers again. I love you. His breath fans your ear as the both of you pant. You feel his heart beating powerfully in his chest against your back. You tilt your head on his shoulder to look at him.

“I forgive you,” you whisper back. I love you, too. He graces you with a smile so endearing, you can't help but to lean in and kiss him. Zoro caresses your neck softly as he swipes his tongue against yours languidly, enjoying the feeling of being as close to you as possible. 

Later, Usopp, Name, and Robin watch from the bridge as the two of you emerge from the aquarium. To anyone else, it looks like the two of you just parted ways without a word. But they sees the way your hands brush as you leave, notices the flush on Zoro’s face and the messiness of your hair. You both have a noticeably lighter foot as you walk to opposite ends of the ship. Usopp leans against the railing and sighs. Nami and Robin share a subtle high five. Balance has been restored, it seems. 

“Finally.” 

[wadoichimonji0]

Snail Navigation Masterlist

Hello and welcome, I'm Snail!

I write mainly for the One-Piece fandom, all catalogued below the cut in a series of individual masterlists. Some of my work is NSFW, meant for 18+, so please minors do not interact with my content.

It is an absolute pleasure carving out worlds that you get to be placed in the middle of. This page is specifically to be positive and enjoy sharing creativity. I hope you enjoy your time spent with me!

Tobiuo: My One Piece Original Character: Heart Pirate Security Chief, 7'2 Fishwoman.

Commissions: Closed.

Request: Temporarily closed.

Gift Swapping: Temporarily closed.

Pirate Snail: Gift by @/remisloves @/torao-chan. I love this snail, and I love the beautiful person who made it for me.

Divider Links: waves, 18+ by @/firefly-graphics

I have divided up my large collection of fics and drabbles into their own categories. Each fic has a description within their own Masterlist, including content warnings should minors be present. I hope you enjoy your time exploring my writing, and happy reading!

Straw-Hat Masterlist

Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Brook, & platonic crew

Heart-Pirate Masterlist

Law, Shachi, Penguin, & platonic crew

Kid-Pirate Masterlist

Kid, Killer, Heat, Wire, & platonic crew

Red-Hair Pirate Masterlist

Shanks, Beckman

Donquixote Masterlist

Doflamingo, Rosinante / Corazon, Caesar Clown

Cross-Guild Masterlist

Sir Crocodile, Dracule Mihawk, Buggy

Misc & Marines Masterlist

Koby, Helmeppo, Sabo, Kuzan, Bogard, Garp, Marco, Zeff, X Drake

Giants Masterlist

Katakuri, King, Loki (Elbaf)

Drabbles Masterlist

Shorter fics for light reading

Original Characters Masterlist

Content includes OC x OC, OC x Canon, and OC x Reader content within. This is with my original characters, and others' OCs with permission to create for them. All NSFW fics marked accordingly.

Multi-Character Series

Dance Series Masterlist

A series of one-shots where you, the reader, get to dance with your favourites. Written with a f!reader in mind, but can be read gn.

The Kissing Booth

A selection of kisses with you as the blindfolded recipient.

Yandere Masterlist

To love so much it makes you sick with blind devotion and intense infatuation. Sweet, caring, and innocent before switching into someone who displays an extreme, often violent or psychotic, level of devotion to a love interest. You are that special person, and they will stop at nothing to make you theirs, and keep you close.

Pollen Masterlist (NSFW 18+)

Dust from the lust-plant burrows into the lungs of all that inhale it, prompting desperate and primal urges to eclipse their natural senses. All that inhale the pollen need aid in navigating through their urges, some urges stronger than others.

Dreaming of You Masterlist (NSFW 18+)

They couldn't help it. You looked so heavenly in their dreams. The way they had you wrapped around their body as a marionette in their minds, dancing for them as they awoke to sticky blankets when they jolted upright. Their thoughts got the better of them, and they are wracked with guilt. NSFW, mdni, 18+

2024 Birthday Event (NSFW 18+)

A variety of kinks explored with a multitude of different readers (gn, afab, amab, F, M) all explicit and incredibly NSFW with a few favourite characters.

Drawing Masterlist: One Piece Original Characters

Art with my fics: short dialogue

Fic Inspo: mood boards, clips and prompts for all to use.

Ko-Fi: If you feel so inclined to support me as I keep creating works, this is a link to enable that should you so desire.

Side blog: @sultrysnail for content away from One Piece

[wadoichimonji0]

Regarding Wotans

Paring: Zoro x Reader

Raiting: Explicit (minors DNI)

Summary:

You and Zoro are no secret.

The rest of the crew don’t address it directly, but they know. To others, the two of you are normal crewmates. You laugh and drink together, you fight and protect each other. You bicker and argue with each other. There are no obvious displays of affection that just any passerby can pick up on.

But the crew sees you give Zoro your extra servings of meat at dinner. They see the way Zoro is always aware of your movements when you’re in his vicinity. The hushed conversations, shoulder to shoulder and leg to leg.

There is no big announcement, no celebration. You and Zoro just are.

Or so Usopp thought.

-or- You and Zoro get into a fight about something stupid. Naturally, the crew gets involved somehow. Ends with smut.

A/N: Listen ya’ll, I am a diehard ZoSan fan, they are my OG ship and I will ship them until the day I die. But for some reason, my hetero side was really screaming at me to jot this down. So here ya go. Crossposted on Ao3.

Tags: strawhat shenanigans, female reader-insert, established relationship, squirting, aquarium sex (if that's a thing), make up sex.

---

You and Zoro are no secret.

The rest of the crew don’t address it directly, but they know. To others, the two of you are normal crewmates. You laugh and drink together, you fight and protect each other. You bicker and argue with each other. There are no obvious displays of affection that just any passerby can pick up on. 

But the crew sees you give Zoro your extra servings of meat at dinner. They see the way Zoro is always aware of your movements when you’re in his vicinity. The hushed conversations, shoulder to shoulder and leg to leg. 

There is no big announcement, no celebration. You and Zoro just are.

Or so Usopp thought.

The sharpshooter watches in silent shock as you and Zoro pass each other on the deck; the swordsman towards the kitchen, and you towards the helm. The look you two exchanged could freeze over Akainu himself. 

Usually, Usopp notices you two at least nod to each other, or you’re walking to the same place together. Sometimes, much to Usopp’s delight, you would fake swat at Zoro and start a weird shadow boxing session with the two of you, leaving Zoro with a happy flush on his face. 

Usopp shivers as you walk past him. More like stomped, with the way your boots are slamming on the floorboard. “Hey, take it easy on Sunny,” Usopp calls to your back as you descend the stairs. You pause for a moment, probably feeling a bit guilty, then take noticeably softer steps towards Jinbe. 

“What’s up with her?” he says to himself, scratching the back of his head. 

To his horror, he turns around and sees Zoro also stomping his way towards him. Usopp squeals as Zoro gets in his face. “Hey, you know things about giants,” Zoro accuses him. 

“Y-Yeah, sure I do,” Usopp stammers. 

“Is it true that–”

“--that giants and fishmen are able to reproduce?” You look at Jinbe with your arms crossed, a steely determined look on your face. Jinbe looks at you in mild horror, then clears his throat. “Well,” he starts, “technically–”

“--I don’t want technically, Long-Nose,” Zoro pinches Usopp’s nose between two fingers, ignoring the sharpshooter’s pained yelp. “Is it true or not??”

“There’s been a lot of discussion amongst scholars about Wotans, but–OUCH–”

“--but yes, it is true. They’re called Wotans.” Jinbe looks at you as your face morphs from upset to smug, and hesitantly continues, “You can ask Captain Luffy–”

“I ain’t asking Luffy, you crazy?” Zoro lets go of Usopp’s nose and huffs. Usopp clutches his face and glares halfheartedly at Zoro. “Sure, I’m the crazy one,” he grumbles. 

“Whatever,” Zoro turns on his heel and stomps away. 

Usopp calls after him, “I do NOT want to know why y’all were talking about Wotans, but just apologize to her already, doofus.” Zoro flips him off without turning around, and Usopp’s eyebrow twitches in annoyance.

“And stop stomping all over Sunny!”

—

That night at dinner, Zoro has a permanent frown on his face, while you sport a relaxed, self-assured smile. Usopp looks between the two of you as Zoro stabs at his sea-king steak, and you chat happily with Robin about something Usopp couldn’t bother to decipher. 

Nami leans conspiringly towards him. “Looks like those two really got into it,” she mumbles to him. Her eyes also flick between you and Zoro. 

“Someone has to do something soon, my sense of smell depends on it,” Usopp mumbles back. 

“Are you kidding?” Name hisses. “The last time those two got into a stupid fight and I tried to help, Zoro got so mad at me for not giving me extra money for booze, he almost pulled Enma on me. Enma. I had to tiptoe around him for almost a week!” 

“I don’t want to be involved more than I already am!” Usopp complains right back. Him and Nami watch as Sanji swats at Zoro’s head for being too violent with his food.

Usopp rolls his eyes and returns to his food. “Whatever the case, they need to make up, quickly,” he says. 

Luffy pauses from stuffing his face to look between you and Zoro, then says matter of factly (and with no shortage of glee), “Zoro needs to apologize to Y/N.”

You glance at Zoro, who just angrily “che!”s. At the same moment, Luffy attempts to steal the rest of Zoro's food. The swordsman futilely gets himself tangled in Luffy's rubber appendages as the happy captain gobbles up the rest of his plate. 

Nami groans, and meets Robin’s eye from over your shoulder. When the archeologist winks, a smile slowly grows on Nami’s face. “Looks like a solution is already in the works.”

—

You enter the aquarium and immediately pause at the doorway. 

“You’re not Nami,” you say. 

Zoro just looks at you. “You’re not Luffy.”

You close the door behind you. “Looks like we’ve been set up.” 

Zoro is positively lounging on the chairs that line the aquarium. Arms stretched along the tops of the comfy cushions, legs spread lazily, head lulled to the side to look at you. His three swords lay to his side. He’s the picture of relaxation. 

Despite being set up, the sight of him pisses you off.

You cross your arms and stand there, leveling the swordsman with a look that screams, I’m waiting. When you start tapping your foot impatiently, Zoro groans. In truth, he doesn’t mind admitting he’s wrong in most situations. He knows that a good leader always owns up to their mistakes. The only two exceptions to this rule are when you or Sanji are involved. You have a way of getting under his skin that Sanji never could. It tugs on his more primitive side. It makes him want to challenge you more than you challenge him. 

He gives you a long look over. You try your best to not fidget as his eyes travel hotly from your eyes, to your exposed collarbones, to the long lines of your legs. 

You start tapping your foot louder, and Zoro’s eyebrow twitches. 

“Alright, alright fine,” he drawls, then mumbles. “M’sorry.”

“What was that?” You cup your ear and lean forward. “I can’t hear you.” 

Zoro rolls his eyes. “I am sorry.” 

“For…?”

“M’sorry for not listening to you,” he says, knowing very well that's not what you want to hear. 

“Wrong,” you take a few slow steps so you’re closer to the man. “Try again.”

Zoro watches as you take measured steps towards him until you’re right in front of his spread legs. He tilts his head up to look at you as you tower over him. You unapologetically meet his eye. 

When he first met you all those years ago, you were the first woman in a long time to hold his gaze without flinching away. It was the first thing about you that Zoro found attractive. You became the challenge he always needed. In that way, and many more, you have helped him grow to be the person he is today. Now he meets your gaze, and he knows you see both his strengths and his weaknesses, and you love him all the same for it.

His eyes go ever so slightly fond when he speaks next, and you almost cave right then and there when you see it. “M’sorry for not believing you.” 

You step forward again, the sides of your knees touching his inner thighs. “Wrong.” you whisper. 

Zoro watches as you lean forward, his eye never leaving you. “I’m sorry for not trusting you with this small thing, when I already trust you with my life,” he says quietly. The rumble of his voice vibrates through you when you’re this close to him. 

You tilt his head up with a finger below his chin to get a better look at him. You see the silent apology in his eyes just as you hear it in his words. He sees the forgiveness in your eyes, and remembers there was a time when he didn’t think he deserved any sort of forgiveness from anyone. You helped him see that he was worth it, and more. 

Zoro caves. 

He surges up to press his lips to yours, grabbing your knees to bring you closer. Your body naturally follows the movement and you straddle him, winding your arms around his neck and pushing yourself against his chest. You want to feel every plane of his body against you. You grab at him and pull him flush to you as much as you can. You want to feel his hands on your skin, his saliva on your tongue, his teeth on your neck. He grants every one of your wishes without you asking. 

Your lips press and mold together frantically, almost no finesse as a carnal desire overtakes the both of you. Your hands shove into his yakuta to claw at his smooth muscled chest. He hisses as your nails drag over his skin, and bites your lower lip in retaliation. The sounds of you both panting heavily are loud in the silence of the aquarium. 

There are no words exchanged. There’s no need for it. 

Effortlessly, Zoro moves through a set of motions that leaves you breathless. He grips your thighs and stands, turning so that you are sitting on the couch and he is on his knees between your legs before you could take another breath. 

You let out a puff of air as you fall back. Zoro pulls once and your pants and underwear are both gone. You open your mouth to protest, but he almost desperately grabs the back of your thighs and raises them so your knees are practically at your chest, and his mouth attaches to your core. 

His tongue and lips and teeth press at you with such an urgency and intensity, you slap both hands over your mouth to prevent the moan that is bubbling quickly in your throat. His tongue slides over your folds and circles your entrance. His grip on your thighs tighten as he bends you even further in half to reach more of you. He eats you out like a man starved, like someone eating their first meal in weeks, like someone who has been craving the taste of you and only you. 

Zoro’s mouth deliciously trails up to your clit and stays there. He traces the nub expertly, alternating between the flat and the tip of his tongue. You see stars, heat boiling and coiling in your pelvis so quickly you don’t know what to do with yourself. Zoro plays your body like a master musician, and you’re helpless to do anything but let him. 

He feels when your orgasm begins to crest. Your body tightens, your breath quickens, your back arches from the cushion. Zoro knows your body so well at this point that he can pinpoint even the smallest shifts in your countenance. He brings your hips closer to the edge of the seat, knowing what's coming. He hums and quickly buries two fingers inside you. You gasp, then press your palms to your mouth harder as he curls his fingers and moves perfectly against your g-spot. You see white and cum almost instantly, but Zoro doesn’t stop. Your legs shake as his fingers continue to work in and out of you, building upon a familiar pressure. You’re too weak at this point to resist it, with the way the man had you riled up since your stupid argument, and soon something inside you snaps. Your eyes roll back and you silently scream as you feel yourself squirt on his fingers. Zoro groans low in satisfaction, his head now resting against your thigh and holding you open so he can watch you gush around his hand. 

You squirm and push against him enough that he finally lets you go. He breathes in heavily as he takes in the sight of you. Your thighs glisten with your release in the low light of the room. You’re half turned away from him, chest heaving, hands still covering your mouth. Your eyes are watery and you look at him with such feral desperation, it makes him grin wickedly. 

You blink and Zoro is out of his yakuta jacket. He runs his damp fingers over your legs, pushes your shirt and your bra both up above your chest. He grips tight at your nipples and you gasp. You're desperate to feel more of him, running your hands down the thick of his forearms as he palms you. He bends forward and swipes your bottom lip with his tongue. You immediately open up in response, and you moan at the taste of yourself on him. 

He moves closer to you and whispers in your ear, “Turn around.” Your move quickly to your hands and knees, gripping the tops of the cushions. You arch your back and spread your knees, stretching your arms as much as you could at this angle. Zoro hums and grabs at the flesh of your ass appreciatively. He kisses his way back down your spine before he straightens. 

He doesn’t bother to take his pants off fully and pulls them down just enough to free himself. He sighs in relief, and relishes in the picture you paint with your body stretched in front of him. He debates teasing you for a bit longer and rubs his tip along your entrance. You buck once desperately against him, and Zoro has no choice (or strength left to deny either one of you) and sinks into your tight warmth. 

You gasp as you feel him stretch you, your walls instantly accommodating his size. You were wetter than you think you’ve ever been, and the stretch is easy. Zoro sinks all the way to the hilt, but he does so slowly. You feel every inch of him, from the soft bulbous head to every vein and bump, to the slight burn of the stretch that you knew would soon turn into pleasure, until his pelvis is flush against you. You almost sigh in relief of finally being full. Zoro begins to set a steady pace, knocking the breath out of you with each soft slap of his skin against yours. He is mesmerized at the sight of you.

You look back at Zoro as he makes love to you. You love it when he gets like this, all soft and slow and tender. His hands push up your shirt as he palms your back. But now is not the time for that. You push your ass against him, trying to encourage him to go faster. 

Zoro chuckles. “Impatient brat,” he mumbles. “You want it that bad? Fine. Take it.” He grips your hips and tilts you up. You have to brace on your elbows, but your complains are literally fucked out of you as Zoro starts plowing into you. Your head tips back with a gasp. Zoro drives his powerful hips forward over and over and over again until you see stars and he fills all of your senses. His spiced scent, the heat he radiated already has you sweaty, the taste of him and you on your tongue, the sound of his hushed pants and groans. One of his hands moves up your back and grabs your neck, physically pulling your body onto his cock. You could practically feel him in your chest with how deep he is. You lean forward to bite your forearm; it’s all you can do to keep from screaming. 

You look back at Zoro again as he fucks you into oblivion, and you see the desperation in his face, you feel the weight of his hands gripping your waist, the way sweat beads down his chest, his eye is completely piercing yours in a way that lets you know that you’re his and his alone. He’s mostly quiet save for his panting breaths, though he knows you love it when he’s loud. The sheer size of him leaves you beyond words, and it’s all that you can do to press your face in your arms and just take it. 

He adjusts his grip on your waist and leans forward so his chest brushes your back, and you absolutely see stars as he hits you deeper than before. Your shriek is muffled and your eyes roll as he slows his pace, but does nothing to dull the strength of his thrusts. Your back arches almost impossibly to take on the weight of his thrusts. You feel the heat radiate through his skin as he covers you with his large frame.

The amount of desperation clouding his and your judgment was almost palpable in the humid room. Zoro is quickly losing his ability to stay silent, so he can’t help but to hiss at how tight you begin to grip him. He wants to take his time with you, feel the full expanse of your soft skin under his palms, savor the way you flutter and pulse around his cock. But he is way too wound up to do that now. Not with the way you drove him wild all day. 

You're starting to lose strength in your arms, and you drop one arm to rest a cheek against the couch. Seeing this, Zoro pauses his moments only briefly to straighten. He grabs both your biceps and pulls your whole weight back on his cock. You're practically fully impaled on him, and with nothing to muffle yourself with, you let out a guttural moan.

Zoro smiles wickedly and resumes his pace. It doesn’t take long (how could it with the way he’s going to town on you) before you feel your orgasm approach. You try your best to keep most of your moans down, you really do. Zoro doesn’t do much to help either, with both your hands occupied. But Zoro fucks you like he will never fuck you again, and he’s desperate to be burried within your very essence. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, Zoro…!” you whisper desperately before you break. You groan desperately, deep in your chest, as if the orgasm was ripped from somewhere deep within you. You shake and pulse around Zoro’s cock, and he throws his head back to let out a sinfully low moan as he cums with you. You can barely feel anything but the pulsing of your walls around his cock and the thick gushing of his cum inside you. Heat runs like magma from your chest to your toes as you continue to cum. Zoro finally has mercy on you and stops with his pelvis flush against the globes of your ass as you both calm down. 

Zoro gently releases one of your arms and presses his palm against your chest to push so that your back is flush to his chest. His embrace is warm and tender. You sink heavily into his weight and let him do all the work of keeping you upright, your orgasm sucking all the energy out of you. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers again. His breath fans your ear as the both of you pant. You feel his heart beating powerfully in his chest against your back. You tilt your head on his shoulder to look at him.

“I forgive you,” you whisper back. He graces you with a smile so endearing, you can't help but to lean in and kiss him. Zoro caresses your neck softly as he swipes his tongue against yours languidly, enjoying the feeling of being as close to you as possible. 

Later, Usopp watches from the bridge as the two of you emerge from the aquarium. To anyone else, it looks like the two of you just parted ways without a word. But Usopp sees the way your hands brush as you leave, notices the flush on Zoro’s face and the messiness of your hair. You both have a noticeably lighter foot as you walk to opposite ends of the ship. Usopp leans against the railing and sighs. Balance has been restored, it seems. 

“Finally.” 

[wadoichimonji0]

Regarding Wotans

Paring: Zoro x Reader

Raiting: Explicit (minors DNI)

Summary:

You and Zoro are no secret.

The rest of the crew don’t address it directly, but they know. To others, the two of you are normal crewmates. You laugh and drink together, you fight and protect each other. You bicker and argue with each other. There are no obvious displays of affection that just any passerby can pick up on.

But the crew sees you give Zoro your extra servings of meat at dinner. They see the way Zoro is always aware of your movements when you’re in his vicinity. The hushed conversations, shoulder to shoulder and leg to leg.

There is no big announcement, no celebration. You and Zoro just are.

Or so Usopp thought.

-or- You and Zoro get into a fight about something stupid. Naturally, the crew gets involved somehow. Ends with smut.

A/N: Listen ya’ll, I am a diehard ZoSan fan, they are my OG ship and I will ship them until the day I die. But for some reason, my hetero side was really screaming at me to jot this down. So here ya go. Crossposted on Ao3.

Tags: strawhat shenanigans, female reader-insert, established relationship, squirting, aquarium sex (if that's a thing), make up sex.

---

You and Zoro are no secret.

The rest of the crew don’t address it directly, but they know. To others, the two of you are normal crewmates. You laugh and drink together, you fight and protect each other. You bicker and argue with each other. There are no obvious displays of affection that just any passerby can pick up on. 

But the crew sees you give Zoro your extra servings of meat at dinner. They see the way Zoro is always aware of your movements when you’re in his vicinity. The hushed conversations, shoulder to shoulder and leg to leg. Or even, the more obvious sight of the two of you emerging from the broom closet looking thoroughly and unabashedly disheveled. Sanji had once yelled at the two of you for almost getting to second base on his kitchen counter, made the both of you bleach and clean every surface of the kitchen for the afternoon, then cooked a combination of yours and Zoro's favorite dishes for dinner that night.  

There is no big announcement, no celebration. You and Zoro just are.

Or so Usopp thought.

The sharpshooter watches in silent shock as you and Zoro pass each other on the deck; the swordsman towards the kitchen, and you towards the helm. The look you two exchanged could freeze over Akainu himself. 

Usually, Usopp notices you two at least nod to each other, or you’re walking to the same place together. Sometimes, much to Usopp’s delight, you would fake swat at Zoro and start a weird shadow boxing session with the two of you, leaving Zoro with a happy flush on his face. 

Usopp shivers as you walk past him. More like stomped, with the way your boots are slamming on the floorboard. “Hey, take it easy on Sunny,” Usopp calls to your back as you descend the stairs. You pause for a moment, probably feeling a bit guilty, then take noticeably softer steps towards Jinbe. 

“What’s up with her?” he says to himself, scratching the back of his head. 

To his horror, he turns around and sees Zoro also stomping his way towards him. Usopp squeals as Zoro gets in his face. “Hey, you know things about giants,” Zoro accuses him. 

“Y-Yeah, sure I do,” Usopp stammers. 

“Is it true that–”

“--that giants and fishmen are able to reproduce?” You look at Jinbe with your arms crossed, a steely determined look on your face. Jinbe looks at you in mild horror, then clears his throat. “Well,” he starts, “technically–”

“--I don’t want technically, Long-Nose,” Zoro pinches Usopp’s nose between two fingers, ignoring the sharpshooter’s pained yelp. “Is it true or not??”

“There’s been a lot of discussion amongst scholars about Wotans, but–OUCH–”

“--but yes, it is true. They’re called Wotans.” Jinbe looks at you as your face morphs from upset to smug, and hesitantly continues, “You can ask Captain Luffy–”

“I ain’t asking Luffy, you crazy?” Zoro lets go of Usopp’s nose and huffs. Usopp clutches his face and glares halfheartedly at Zoro. “Sure, I’m the crazy one,” he grumbles. 

“Whatever,” Zoro turns on his heel and stomps away. 

Usopp calls after him, “I do NOT want to know why y’all were talking about Wotans, but just apologize to her already, doofus.” Zoro flips him off without turning around, and Usopp’s eyebrow twitches in annoyance.

“And stop stomping all over Sunny!”

—

That night at dinner, Zoro has a permanent frown on his face, while you sport a relaxed, self-assured smile. Usopp looks between the two of you as Zoro stabs at his sea-king steak, and you chat happily with Robin about something Usopp couldn’t bother to decipher. 

Nami leans conspiringly towards him. “Looks like those two really got into it,” she mumbles to him. Her eyes also flick between you and Zoro. 

“Someone has to do something soon, my sense of smell depends on it,” Usopp mumbles back. 

“Are you kidding?” Name hisses. “The last time those two got into a stupid fight and I tried to help, Zoro got so mad at me for not giving me extra money for booze, he almost pulled Enma on me. Enma. I had to tiptoe around him for almost a week!” 

“I don’t want to be involved more than I already am!” Usopp complains right back. Him and Nami watch as Sanji swats at Zoro’s head for being too violent with his food.

Usopp rolls his eyes and returns to his food. “Whatever the case, they need to make up, quickly,” he says. 

Luffy pauses from stuffing his face to look between you and Zoro, then says matter of factly (and with no shortage of glee), “Zoro needs to apologize to Y/N.”

You glance extra smugly at Zoro, who just angrily “che!”s. At the same moment, Luffy attempts to steal the rest of Zoro's food. The swordsman futilely gets himself tangled in Luffy's rubber appendages as the happy captain gobbles up the rest of his plate. 

Nami groans, and meets Robin’s eye from over your shoulder. When the archeologist winks, a smile slowly grows on Nami’s face. “Looks like a solution is already in the works.”

—

You enter the aquarium and immediately pause at the doorway. 

“You’re not Nami,” you say. 

Zoro just looks at you. “You’re not Luffy.”

You close the door behind you. “Looks like we’ve been set up.” 

"Looks like."

There's an awkward pause. Zoro hates this part of the petty fights between the two of you. You are the person he can feel the most comfortable with, the most vulnerable with, and yet here you are, fidgeting with the hem of your shorts and avoiding his gaze.

You glance at Zoro. He is positively lounging on the chairs that line the aquarium. Arms stretched along the tops of the comfy cushions, legs spread lazily, head lulled to the side to look at you. His three swords lay to his side. He’s the picture of relaxation. And he's studying you with such an intensity you don't dare look away.

Despite being set up, the sight of him pisses you off.

You cross your arms and stand there, gathering the strength to level the swordsman with a look that screams, I’m waiting. When you start tapping your foot impatiently, Zoro groans. In truth, he doesn’t mind admitting he’s wrong in most situations. He knows that a good leader always owns up to their mistakes. The only two exceptions to this rule are when you or Sanji are involved. You have a way of getting under his skin that Sanji never could. It tugs on his more primitive side. It makes him want to challenge you more than you challenge him. 

He gives you a long look over, eyes traveling hotly from your eyes, to your exposed collarbones, to the long lines of your legs. 

You feel the warmth of his attention, but you're just as stubborn as he is. Especially when you know you're right. You start tapping your foot louder, and Zoro’s eyebrow twitches. 

“Alright, alright fine,” he drawls, then mumbles. “M’sorry.”

“What was that?” You cup your ear and lean forward. “I can’t hear you.” 

Zoro rolls his eyes. “I am sorry.” 

“For…?”

“For not believing you when you said that fishmen and giants can reproduce,” he says, knowing very well that's not what you want to hear. 

“Wrong,” you take a few slow steps so you’re closer to the man. “Try again.”

Zoro watches as you take measured steps towards him until you’re right in front of his spread legs. He tilts his head up to look at you as you tower over him. You unapologetically meet his eye. 

When he first met you all those years ago, you were the first woman in a long time to hold his gaze without flinching away. It was the first thing about you that Zoro found attractive. You became the challenge he always needed. In that way, and many more, you have helped him grow to be the person he is today. Now he meets your gaze, and he knows you see both his strengths and his weaknesses, and you love him all the same for it.

His eyes go ever so slightly fond when he speaks next, and you almost cave right then and there when you see it. “M’sorry for not believing you.” 

You step forward again, the sides of your knees touching his inner thighs. “Wrong.” you whisper. 

Zoro watches as you lean forward, his eye never leaving you. “I’m sorry for not trusting you with this small thing, when I already trust you with my life,” he says quietly. The rumble of his voice vibrates through you when you’re this close to him. 

You tilt his head up with a finger below his chin to get a better look at him. You see the silent apology in his eyes just as you hear it in his words. He sees the forgiveness in your eyes, and remembers there was a time when he didn’t think he deserved any sort of forgiveness from anyone. You helped him see that he was worth it, and more. 

Zoro caves. 

He surges up to press his lips to yours, grabbing your knees to bring you closer. Your body naturally follows the movement and you straddle him, winding your arms around his neck and pushing yourself against his chest. You want to feel every plane of his body against you. You want to feel the press of his full weight against you. You grab at him and pull him flush to you as much as you can. You want your hands on his skin, his saliva on your tongue, his teeth on your neck. He grants every one of your wishes without you asking. 

Your lips press and mold together frantically, almost no finesse as a carnal desire overtakes the both of you. He hisses as your nails drag over his skin, and bites your lower lip in retaliation. The sounds of you both panting heavily are loud in the silence of the aquarium. 

There are no words exchanged. There’s no need for it, not with you.

Effortlessly, Zoro moves through a set of motions that leaves you breathless. He grips your thighs and stands, turning so that you are laying with your back on the couch and one leg hitched over the top. Then he's on his knees between your legs before you could take another breath. 

You let out a puff of air as you fall back. Zoro pulls once and your pants and underwear are both gone. You open your mouth to protest, but he almost desperately grabs the back of your thighs and raises them so your knees are practically at your chest, and his mouth attaches to your core. 

His tongue and lips and teeth press at you with such an urgency and intensity, you slap both hands over your mouth to prevent the moan that is bubbling quickly in your throat. His tongue slides over your folds and circles your entrance. His grip on your thighs tighten as he bends you even further in half to reach more of you. He eats you out like a man starved, like someone eating their first meal in weeks, like someone who has been craving the taste of you and only you. 

Zoro’s mouth deliciously trails up to your clit and stays there. He traces the nub expertly, alternating between the flat and the tip of his tongue. You see stars, heat boiling and coiling in your pelvis so quickly you don’t know what to do with yourself. Zoro plays your body like a master musician, and you’re helpless to do anything but let him. 

Zoro suddenly pulls away, and you gasp at the loss of sensation. "What--" You shut up when you see him shed and fold his yakuta, then lift your hips with one hand and shove the jacket under your back.

Oh. You meet his knowing stare and can't help but blush. He knows you far too well.

Zoro wastes no time and dives back between your legs. You reach the precipice at an almost alarmingly fast rate. Zoro feels when your orgasm begins to crest. Your body tightens, your breath quickens, your back arches from the cushion. He knows your body so well at this point that he can pinpoint even the smallest shifts in your countenance. He quicklyy burries two fingers inside you, and in the same moment, shifts beside your open legs on the floor. You gasp, then press your palms to your mouth harder as he curls his fingers and moves perfectly against your g-spot. You see white and cum almost instantly, but Zoro doesn’t stop. Your legs shake as his fingers continue to work in and out of you, building upon a familiar pressure. You’re too weak at this point to resist it, with the way the man had you riled up since your stupid argument, and soon something inside you snaps. Your eyes roll back and you silently scream as you feel yourself squirt on his fingers. Zoro groans low in satisfaction, his other hand pressed against your lower belly as he works you through your orgasm. 

You squirm and push against him enough that he finally lets you go. He breathes in heavily as he takes in the sight of you. Your thighs glisten with your release in the low light of the room. You’re half turned away from him, chest heaving, hands still covering your mouth. Your eyes are watery and you look at him with such feral desperation, it makes him grin wickedly. 

Zoro runs his damp fingers over your legs, pushes your shirt and your bra both up above your chest. He grips tight at your nipples and you gasp. You're desperate to feel more of him, running your hands down the thick of his forearms as he palms you. He bends forward and swipes your bottom lip with his tongue. You immediately open up in response, and you moan at the taste of yourself on him. 

He moves closer to you and whispers in your ear, “Turn around.” Your move quickly to your hands and knees, gripping the tops of the cushions. You arch your back and spread your knees, stretching your arms as much as you could at this angle. Zoro hums as he rises to his feet and grabs at the flesh of your ass appreciatively. He kisses his way back down your spine before he straightens. 

He doesn’t bother to take his pants off fully and pulls them down just enough to free himself. He sighs in relief, and relishes in the picture you paint with your body stretched in front of him. He debates teasing you for a bit longer and rubs his tip along your entrance. You buck once desperately against him, and Zoro has no choice (or strength left to deny either one of you) and sinks into your tight warmth. 

You gasp as you feel him stretch you, your walls instantly accommodating his size. You were wetter than you think you’ve ever been, and the stretch is easy. Zoro sinks all the way to the hilt, but he does so slowly. You feel every inch of him, from the soft bulbous head to every vein and bump, to the slight burn of the stretch that you knew would soon turn into pleasure, until his pelvis is flush against you. You almost sigh in relief of finally being full. Zoro begins to set a steady pace, knocking the breath out of you with each soft slap of his skin against yours.

You look back at Zoro as he makes love to you. You love it when he gets like this, all soft and slow and tender. His hands push up your shirt as he palms your back. But now is not the time for that. You push your ass against him, trying to encourage him to go faster. 

Zoro chuckles. “Impatient brat,” he mumbles. “You want it that bad? Fine. Take it.” He lifts one of your legs up and bends your knee so it's hooked on the top of the cushion. You have to brace on your elbows, but your complains are literally fucked out of you as Zoro starts plowing into you. Your head tips back with a gasp. Zoro drives his powerful hips forward over and over and over again until you see stars and he fills all of your senses. His spiced scent, the heat he radiated already has you sweaty, the taste of him and you on your tongue, the sound of his hushed pants and groans. One of his hands moves up your back and grabs your neck, physically pulling your body onto his cock. Your leg falls and you're hands grab for any part of Zoro that you can to anchor yourself. You could practically feel him in your chest with how deep he is.

You look back at Zoro again as he fucks you into oblivion, and you see the desperation in his face, you feel the weight of his hands gripping your waist, the way sweat beads down his chest, his eye is completely piercing yours in a way that lets you know that you’re his and his alone. He’s mostly quiet save for his panting breaths, though he knows you love it when he’s loud. The sheer size of him leaves you beyond words, and it’s all that you can do to press your face in your arms and just take it. 

He adjusts his grip on your waist and leans you both forward so his chest is flush with your back, and you absolutely see stars as he hits you deeper than before. Your shriek is muffled and your eyes roll as he slows his pace, but does nothing to dull the strength of his thrusts. Your back arches almost impossibly to take on the weight of his thrusts. You feel the heat radiate through his skin as he covers you with his large frame.

The amount of desperation clouding his and your judgment was almost palpable in the humid room. Zoro is quickly losing his ability to stay silent, so he can’t help but to hiss at how tight you begin to grip him. He wants to take his time with you, feel the full expanse of your soft skin under his palms, savor the way you flutter and pulse around his cock. But he is way too wound up to do that now. Not with the way you drove him wild all day. 

You're starting to lose strength in your arms, and you drop one arm to rest a cheek against the couch. Seeing this, Zoro pauses his moments only briefly to straighten. He grabs both your biceps and pulls your whole weight back on his cock. You're practically fully impaled on him, and with nothing to muffle yourself with, you let out a guttural moan.

Zoro smiles wickedly and resumes his pace. It doesn’t take long (how could it with the way he’s going to town on you) before you feel your orgasm approach. You try your best to keep most of your moans down, you really do. Zoro doesn’t do much to help either, with both your hands occupied. But Zoro fucks you like he will never fuck you again, and he’s desperate to be burried within your very essence. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, Zoro…!” you whisper desperately before you break. You groan desperately, deep in your chest, as if the orgasm was ripped from somewhere deep within you. You shake and pulse around Zoro’s cock, and he throws his head back to let out a sinfully low moan as he cums with you. You can barely feel anything but the pulsing of your walls around his cock and the thick gushing of his cum inside you. Heat runs like magma from your chest to your toes as you continue to cum. Zoro finally has mercy on you and stops with his pelvis flush against the globes of your ass as you both calm down. 

Zoro gently releases one of your arms and presses his palm against your chest to push so that your back is flush to his chest. His embrace is warm and tender. You sink heavily into his weight and let him do all the work of keeping you upright, your orgasm sucking all the energy out of you. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers again. I love you. His breath fans your ear as the both of you pant. You feel his heart beating powerfully in his chest against your back. You tilt your head on his shoulder to look at him.

“I forgive you,” you whisper back. I love you, too. He graces you with a smile so endearing, you can't help but to lean in and kiss him. Zoro caresses your neck softly as he swipes his tongue against yours languidly, enjoying the feeling of being as close to you as possible. 

Later, Usopp, Name, and Robin watch from the bridge as the two of you emerge from the aquarium. To anyone else, it looks like the two of you just parted ways without a word. But they sees the way your hands brush as you leave, notices the flush on Zoro’s face and the messiness of your hair. You both have a noticeably lighter foot as you walk to opposite ends of the ship. Usopp leans against the railing and sighs. Nami and Robin share a subtle high five. Balance has been restored, it seems. 

“Finally.”