#I should make names for my other skins too | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

seospicybin · 14 hours ago

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WORSHIP.

CHAPTER II

I.N x reader. (s,a)

Chapters: Chapter I

Synopsis: In the quiet halls of the church and the secrecy of the night, boundaries are tested, faith is questioned, and desires threaten to consume both you and Jeongin. Some sins are easy to resist—others, once tasted, become impossible to forget. (17,4k words)

Author's note: Hot priest Jeongin returns! Please enjoy this one too and leave a feedback ♡

WORSHIP Playlist 🎧

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events and incidents are products of my imagination and used in a fictitious manner. Be aware that there are mentions of alcohol addiction and self-harm implicitly.

The church is quiet, save for the distant murmur of prayers and the soft creak of old wooden pews. Outside, the scent of burning incense lingering in the air, wrapping around the sacred space like a whisper of devotion. Candles flicker along the altar, their golden light casting shifting shadows against stained glass, illuminating stories of faith, sacrifice, and redemption.

But in the privacy of his office, Jeongin feels none of that.

The sanctity of the church should be enough to steady him, to remind him of his place, of his duty. And yet, as he stands before you, his pulse thrums unsteadily beneath his skin, loud enough that he wonders if you can hear it too.

You’re still close—so close that he can feel the warmth of your body in the dimly lit space. The air between you is thick, heavy with something unspoken, something dangerous. It coils around him, testing the limits of his restraint, daring him to step over a line he swore never to cross again.

He should say something. He should tell you to leave, that this—whatever this is—has to stop. But his voice betrays him, staying lodged in his throat as his gaze drifts to your lips, remembering the way they felt against his only moments ago.

His mind is a mess, tangled between restraint and desire, faith and something that feels just as powerful. But when he looks at you—at your glassy eyes, at the way your lips part as if searching for something to say—his resolve fractures.

And then, before he can stop himself, he kisses you.

The moment his lips meet yours, Jeongin feels his world shift. It's soft, tentative at first, but the second he feels you respond—your fingers tightening around his, the slight tilt of your head, the way you sigh against his mouth—something deep within him crumbles.

He knows he shouldn’t. He knows this is dangerous, that crossing this line again will only complicate everything further. But with you pressed close, his hands finding their way to your waist, he feels everything else slip away—the church, his vows, the weight of his title. Right now, none of it exists. There is only you.

A part of him waits for guilt to settle in, for the crushing weight of his conscience to pull him back. But it doesn’t come. Instead, all he feels is warmth—the kind he hasn’t allowed himself to feel in so long.

When he finally pulls away, his forehead rests against yours, breaths mingling in the quiet space between you. His hands linger at your sides, hesitant, as if unsure whether to let go or pull you closer.

“This… isn’t right,” he murmurs, but even as he says it, he doesn’t move away.

You don’t answer immediately. Instead, you search his face, as if trying to understand what’s going on inside his head. When you finally speak, your voice is barely above a whisper.

“Then why does it feel like it is?”

Jeongin closes his eyes, exhaling shakily. He doesn’t have an answer. Maybe because part of him agrees. Maybe because, for the first time in a long time, he doesn’t want to fight it.

But wanting something doesn’t make it right.

And yet, as you stand there in the quiet of his office, as he traces the shape of you with his fingertips, Jeongin wonders if maybe—just maybe—this is the one sin he’s willing to commit.

Jeongin moves before he can think.

One second, he’s battling the storm inside him, and the next, his hands are on you—grasping, pulling, pressing. Your back meets the bookshelves with a soft thud, the scent of aged paper and ink mixing with the warmth of his breath as his lips crash against yours. It’s desperate, consuming, a kiss that speaks of everything he’s tried to bury.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, and he groans against your mouth, his grip tightening on your waist as he presses you further against the shelves. Books shift, a few tumbling to the floor, but neither of you notice. The weight of restraint, of months spent apart, shatters between you.

Then, suddenly, he lifts you—strong hands curling under your thighs as he carries you across the room. The edge of his desk meets your stomach as he turns you, his fingers splaying over your spine, guiding you down. Your breath hitches as he leans over you, his lips trailing along the curve of your shoulder, his hands exploring, worshiping.

As for his hands, they're busy pulling, yanking your underwear down and once it's pooling around your ankle, ha palms your sex, feeling your clit pulsating with every gentle rub of his fingers on it.

The room is silent save for the ragged breaths you share, the faint creak of wood beneath you, and the whispered remnants of his resolve unraveling with every movement.

Here, in the dim glow of his office, Jeongin surrenders. Not to temptation, not to sin—but to the undeniable truth that when he’s with you, he feels whole.

The moment he fully sinks into you, he pauses, giving you a moment to adjust to his size. He hears you breathe in and out, and then suck in a sharp, needy inhale as his hand land on your clit again and begin circling on it. He doesn’t move for several long moments, simply letting you feel his whole length inside you.

His hands grip your hips, fingers pressing into your skin as if to remind himself that you're real—that this moment isn't some fleeting dream. He moves with urgency, with hunger, each motion a confession of everything he's tried to suppress. The need, the longing, the ache of your absence—it all unravels in the way he takes you.

Your body molds against him, meeting every touch, every thrust with the same desperate need. A sharp gasp escapes you, followed by another, and another, until your voice grows louder, echoing through the quiet of the office.

Panic flickers in Jeongin’s eyes. The church is vast, but sound carries, and the thought of anyone hearing you—of anyone knowing—sends a jolt through him. Without thinking, he presses a hand over your mouth, his breath hot against the back of your neck as he whispers, “Shh…”

But even as he says it, he knows he's lost. Knows he can't stop, can't pull away, can't pretend he doesn’t want this, doesn’t need this. And the way you tremble beneath him, the way you don’t resist—only sink further into his touch—tells him that you don’t want him to stop either.

The desk creaks beneath you, your bodies moving in sync, tangled between want and something deeper, something unspoken. His hand remains over your mouth, but your muffled moans still break through, each one unraveling him further.

He’s never wanted anything more than this—than you. And right now, nothing else exists.

Jeongin's grip tightens on your waist, his pace unrelenting, his body pressed firmly against yours. His breath is hot against your ear as he leans in, voice low, teasing, sinful.

"Do you want the whole church to hear you?" he murmurs, his tone laced with something dark, something wicked. "Want someone to walk in and see you like this? See you bent over my desk, moaning like a sinner?"

A shiver runs down your spine at his words, a rush of heat pooling in your core. He feels it—the way your body clenches around him, the way you react to his taunts—and it only spurs him on.

"You like that idea, don’t you?" he breathes, his fingers trailing up your back, your skin burning under his touch. "Filthy."

Your muffled whimper against his palm betrays you, and Jeongin chuckles, the sound deep, knowing. His other hand slides down, gripping your hip tighter as he pushes into you with more force, more purpose.

"Maybe I should take my hand away," he muses, teasing. "Let them hear exactly how much you love this."

But he doesn’t. He keeps his hand firmly over your mouth, swallowing every desperate sound you make, as if he knows you’d be too loud—too lost in the pleasure he’s giving you. And that thought alone—knowing how much he affects you—undoes him completely.

"You like this, don’t you?" he murmurs, his voice a deep whisper against your ear. "The thought of someone hearing, of someone knowing what I’m doing to you right now."

Your body tenses at his words, a shudder rolling through you as your fingers curl against the polished wood. You shouldn’t like it—shouldn’t crave it the way you do—but the way his voice drips with something almost sinful makes your breath hitch.

Jeongin chuckles softly, pressing a kiss against the back of your shoulder, his lips warm against your skin. "You're so eager for me," he muses, his grip tightening, his pace unrelenting. "Maybe it’s a good thing I covered your mouth. Otherwise, the whole church would know just how filthy you sound when I touch you like this."

Your muffled whimper is his only answer, and it only fuels him further. His restraint is fraying, unraveling with every desperate sound you make beneath his palm. The weight of his presence, the heat of his body against yours—it’s overwhelming. Consuming.

Jeongin pulls out just to push it back in, hard enough that he launches you forward, he continues thrusting and slides a hand around your hips to play with your clit. Three or four strokes later, and you come around him.

He follows you over the edge, chanting your name like a prayer andAnd in this moment, with nothing but the heavy scent of old books and candle wax in the air, Jeongin lets himself forget. Forget the weight of his collar. Forget the vows he’s breaking. Forget the world beyond these four walls.

Right now, there is only you.

The weight of the moment still lingers in the air, thick and heady, as Jeongin slowly exhales. His hands move on their own accord, instinctively smoothing down your dress as he kneels before you. His breath is warm against your skin as he leans in, his lips brushing over the inside of your thigh, a soft kiss before his tongue flicks out to taste the remnants of himself on you.

A quiet gasp leaves your lips as your fingers weave into his hair, but Jeongin doesn’t linger—not this time. He’s gentle, thorough, his hands gripping your legs steady as he cleans up the mess he made with his slick, hot tongue, the intimacy of it making something tighten in his chest.

Once he’s finished, he reaches for your discarded underwear, sliding it back up your legs with careful hands. His fingers graze your skin as he adjusts the hem of your dress, his touch lingering a second too long before he finally stands.

Neither of you speak as he helps you straighten your clothes, his hands smoothing out the wrinkles on your sleeves, then reaching down to pick up your purse from where it had fallen. When he hands it to you, your fingers brush, and you look up at him, searching his face.

“Can I see you again?” you ask softly.

Jeongin hesitates for only a second, but he already knows the answer. He’s too far gone to turn back now. His fingers find their way to your hair, gently tucking a stray strand behind your ear as he leans in, pressing a kiss to your lips.

"Tomorrow," he murmurs, his voice low, steady. "I'll see you again tomorrow."

A small smile plays at your lips, and something inside Jeongin eases at the sight. But the moment is fleeting, the reality of where you are settling back in as he glances toward the door. Without another word, he kisses you again, quick and rushed, as if afraid someone might walk in and shatter this fragile moment.

Then, with one last glance, you turn toward the door. As you step out of his office, you flash him a smile—soft, knowing—and then you’re gone.

Jeongin stands there for a moment, staring at the closed door, his heart pounding against his ribs.

Tomorrow.

It should scare him. It should make him second-guess everything. But instead, all he can think about is how he already can’t wait to see you again.

The café is tucked away on a quiet street, far enough from Jeongin’s neighborhood that he doesn’t have to worry about running into anyone familiar. Still, as he steps inside, a flicker of unease settles in his chest. His eyes scan the room, searching—until they land on you.

You're sitting by the window, fingers wrapped around a cup of coffee, absentmindedly stirring the liquid with your spoon. Sunlight filters through the glass, casting a soft glow on your skin, and when you finally notice him standing by the entrance, your face lights up.

Jeongin’s breath catches.

It’s ridiculous, really. He’s been with you before—held you, kissed you, memorized the way your body fits against his. And yet, standing here now, watching the way your lips curve into a smile just for him, he feels his heart stutter like a nervous teenager on his first date.

His first date.

A strange thought, but an accurate one. He hasn’t done this—met someone in a café, taken the time to sit across from them and just exist together—for over three years. The realization unsettles him, but before he can dwell on it, you wave him over.

“Hey,” you greet, your voice warm, inviting. “You made it.”

He exhales, pushing away his hesitation, and moves toward you. “Of course,” he says, pulling out the chair across from you. “Sorry, I—” He clears his throat. “Didn’t keep you waiting long, did I?”

You shake your head. “Not at all.”

For a moment, there’s a beat of quiet between you, but it’s not awkward. It’s comfortable. Jeongin watches as you take a sip of your drink, your eyes flickering toward him with something unreadable in them—something soft, something patient. It grounds him.

The conversation starts naturally, flowing like it always does between you two. You talk about little things—the café, the pastries, the books stacked neatly on a nearby shelf. At one point, Jeongin admits he hasn’t been to a place like this in years, and you smile at him knowingly.

“I guess it does feel a little… date-like,” you tease, your eyes glinting with amusement.

Jeongin scoffs lightly, though his ears burn at the comment. “It’s just coffee.”

“Mm.” You hum, stirring your drink again. “And what if I told you I liked the idea of it being a date?”

He swallows hard, fingers tightening around his cup. “Then…” He exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Then I’d be in trouble, wouldn’t I?”

You grin at that, tilting your head slightly as if studying him. Before he can overthink whatever it is you’re searching for in his face, you reach into your bag and pull something out, sliding it across the table toward him.

Jeongin blinks.

It’s his book—his latest one, the one he spent months agonizing over, the one he thought you’d never read.

“I was going to ask you last time,” you say, tapping the cover. “But… we were kind of preoccupied.”

Heat rises to his face as flashes of last night fill his mind. He coughs, shifting in his seat. “Yeah. Preoccupied.”

You laugh softly before sliding a pen toward him. “Would you please sign it for me?”

Jeongin hesitates, his fingers brushing against the book’s worn edges. He should’ve expected this—he’s signed copies for other readers before. But something about this feels different. More intimate.

Carefully, he flips open the cover, pen poised above the blank page. “What do you want me to write?”

You shrug. “Whatever you want.”

That’s almost worse.

Jeongin takes a moment, staring at the empty space in front of him. He could just sign his name and be done with it. But instead, his hand moves on its own, words flowing before he can second-guess them.

To the one who sees me, in ways no one else ever has.

He pauses, pressing his lips together before adding his signature beneath it.

When he finally pushes the book back to you, you glance down at the page, eyes skimming over his handwriting. Jeongin watches closely, nervous for some reason, but when you look up at him again, there’s something softer in your expression. Something that tugs at the deepest part of him.

“Thank you,” you murmur, tracing the edge of the book.

He nods, clearing his throat. “Yeah.”

And just like that, the café, the people, the outside world—it all fades into the background. For this moment, it’s just the two of you. Just coffee, a book, and something unspoken lingering between you.

The sun hangs low in the sky, casting streaks of gold and orange across the horizon as Jeongin walks beside you. The air is crisp, filled with the quiet hum of the city winding down, the occasional laughter of children playing in the distance, the rustle of leaves beneath your feet.

For a while, neither of you say anything. It’s a comfortable silence, one that Jeongin has grown to cherish. But then, you sigh, gaze flickering toward the sky as if searching for something.

��A lot happened in the last four months,” you murmur.

Jeongin turns his head slightly, giving you his full attention. “Yeah?”

You nod. “I graduated.”

His lips curl into a smile. “I knew you would. Congratulations on that!”

You let out a quiet laugh, but there’s something tired in the way you do it. “Thank you. I also got an internship at a magazine.”

“That’s great,” Jeongin says, genuine. “You always wanted that, right?”

“I did,” you admit. “It’s been… busy, but I’m learning a lot.”

There’s something unspoken in the way you say it, and Jeongin waits, knowing there’s more.

You take a deep breath before continuing, “I moved out of my parents’ house.”

That catches him off guard. He blinks, processing your words. “You did?”

You nod again, but this time, your expression shifts—like you’re remembering something heavy, something that weighs on you. “My mother refused the idea. We fought about it. She said I was being selfish, that I didn’t think about the family.” You let out a dry laugh, shaking your head. “It got bad. And now… we’re not really on good terms.”

Jeongin listens intently as you speak, taking in every word, every hesitation, every flicker of emotion that crosses your face. But what truly catches his attention is your hand—the way it drifts to your thigh, fingers curling into the fabric of your skirt, pressing down, gripping tighter with every mention of your mother. He knows that kind of pain, the kind that doesn’t just exist in your heart but demands to be felt in your body, as if hurting yourself physically could somehow lessen the ache inside.

“I don’t really have anyone now,” you say softly.

And maybe you don’t even realize you’re doing it, but he sees the way your nails press into your skin, the way you try to keep your voice even when it trembles at the edges.

Before he can think twice, he reaches out, gently prying your fingers away and taking your hand in his. His grip is firm but warm, grounding. Your breath hitches slightly, eyes darting to where his fingers intertwine with yours.

"You’re not alone," Jeongin says softly, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles.

You look up at him, startled, as if hearing those words out loud shakes something loose inside you.

"Sometimes we have to leave things behind, even people we love, to become who we’re meant to be," he continues. "And it hurts. But that doesn’t mean you have to carry it all by yourself."

Your fingers twitch in his grasp, but you don’t pull away. Instead, after a moment, you squeeze his hand back, just barely—but enough for Jeongin to feel it.

He exhales, a quiet relief settling over him.

It’s such a simple thing. Just holding hands. And yet, standing here, feeling your warmth, feeling the way your fingers fit so perfectly between his—he knows this isn’t simple at all.

Holding your hand isn’t just about stopping you from hurting yourself. It’s a silent promise, a reassurance that even in the spaces where the past still lingers, where the pain still throbs—you’re not alone.

And he likes it. He likes the way it feels, how easy it is, how right it seems. He likes that everyone around can see that you’re with him and he’s with you, like any other couple walking through the park. Just two people enjoying the sunset together.

Forgetting, just for a moment, that there’s anything complicated about this at all.

As Jeongin walks you home, the city hums around you—the occasional car passing by, the distant chatter of pedestrians, the soft glow of streetlights casting elongated shadows against the pavement. But none of it registers, not really. Not when you're right beside him, your fingers occasionally brushing against his as you walk.

When you finally reach your apartment building, you stop at the entrance and turn to face him. The warm glow of the lights above the door softens your features, making you look even more beautiful, and Jeongin grips the edge of his sleeve to stop himself from reaching for you outright.

"Thank you for today," you say softly, your voice carrying a sincerity that makes something in his chest tighten. "I had a nice time."

He holds your gaze, his fingers twitching at his sides. His first instinct is to say something, anything, but the words don't come. Instead, his hand finds yours again, holding it between both of his, as if reluctant to let go.

A moment passes in silence.

Then, you ask, "Do you… want to come upstairs?"

Jeongin knows what will happen if he says yes. If he follows you up, if he steps into your apartment, if you’re alone together behind a locked door. His body wants to say yes. His heart wants to say yes. But his mind tells him to stop.

Not yet.

He swallows the urge and offers you a small, apologetic smile. "Maybe some other time."

You nod in understanding, though there's the smallest flicker of disappointment in your eyes. But it disappears as quickly as it came when you gather the courage to ask, "Is it too soon to ask when I can see you again?"

Jeongin exhales a soft laugh, warmth blooming in his chest at your shyness. "The church is giving out free ice cream this Sunday," he tells you. "You should come."

You smile. "I will."

He wants to hold you, to pull you against his chest and feel your warmth, not even in a way that would lead to something more—just to embrace you, to exist in this moment together. But it's too public, too risky.

So instead, he swallows the urge and nods toward the entrance. "You should head in."

You hesitate, as if reluctant to leave him. But then you nod, whisper a soft, "Goodnight," and turn toward the door.

He watches you take a few steps away, pausing at the entrance, glancing over your shoulder at him one last time before finally stepping inside.

As the door closes behind you, Jeongin lets out a deep breath, a realization settling heavily in his chest.

He just let you go. And he doesn’t want to.

Before he can stop himself, he moves. His feet carry him forward, past the entrance and up the stairs, two at a time.

When you hear his hurried footsteps, you stop on the landing and turn around, eyes widening slightly when you see him coming up to meet you. He slows as he reaches you, stopping one step lower so that, for once, you're at the same height.

For a second, neither of you speaks.

Then, Jeongin reaches out, his hand cradling your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek. He kisses you. Softly, gently—so different from the way he kissed you last night. There’s no urgency, no desperation, just a quiet reverence, a tenderness that makes your breath hitch. He kisses you like he’s memorizing the feel of you, like he’s terrified he’ll never get to do this again.

And then he pulls away, though not entirely. His lips linger close, his breath still warm against yours, as if he isn’t quite ready to break the moment.

Finally, he steps back, his lips curving into a small smile. "Goodnight," he whispers.

And then, before he can change his mind, he turns and makes his way back down the stairs.

As he steps onto the street, he exhales slowly, his fingers brushing over his lips, still tingling from your kiss.

The church is filled with soft murmurs, the rustle of pages turning in hymnbooks, the occasional cough echoing against the high ceilings. Stained glass windows filter the morning light into fractured colors, casting hues of red, blue, and gold onto the congregation. It should feel like any other Sunday, another routine sermon, another familiar rhythm of prayers and scripture.

But Jeongin knows this Sunday is different.

Because you’re here.

He suppresses the smile threatening to curl at his lips, instead lowering his gaze to the pages of his Bible, feigning concentration. But no matter how hard he tries to focus, his mind keeps drifting—to the soft lilt of your voice, the way you looked at him two nights ago on the stairs, the feeling of your lips against his.

The knowledge that you’re sitting among the parishioners, listening to his sermon, sends a strange warmth coursing through his veins. It’s an awareness that settles deep within him, a silent anticipation that he tries desperately to suppress. He shouldn’t be this excited to see you.

And yet, as he stands at the pulpit, addressing the congregation, his eyes instinctively scan the pews until they land on you.

You’re near the middle, sitting quietly among the others, your hands folded neatly in your lap. Your head is bowed slightly, your eyes fixed on him with an attentiveness that makes his pulse stutter.

For a fleeting moment, the rest of the church fades away.

It’s just you. Just him.

Then, realizing he’s lingering too long, Jeongin quickly looks away, clearing his throat before continuing his sermon.

He reminds himself to keep his voice steady, to not let the words tremble with the weight of knowing you’re watching him. But even as he speaks about faith and devotion, about God’s plan and the strength to follow it, he wonders—if he were to step down from the pulpit, if he were to walk through the pews and take your hand in his… would that be straying from God’s path?

Or was it possible… that you were part of it?

The thought lingers, even as he bows his head in prayer, even as the choir sings its final hymn.

And when the mass ends and people begin to file out, Jeongin finds himself searching for you again, anticipation thrumming beneath his skin.

Because this Sunday, for the first time in a long time, he’s not just waiting for the service to be over.

He’s waiting for you.

The late morning sun casts a warm glow over the churchyard, the air filled with the laughter of children as they eagerly crowd around the ice cream booth. Their voices blend together, bright and full of excitement, their small hands reaching out for the free treats.

Jeongin spots you standing a few feet away from the scene, watching with a faint smile, your hands tucked into the sleeves of your cardigan. He approaches, keeping a safe distance between you, aware of the parishioners mingling nearby.

“You’re not joining them?” he asks, tilting his head toward the booth.

You shake your head, amusement flickering in your eyes. “I don’t want to get hurt.”

He laughs at that, the sound coming naturally, effortlessly. “You’re lucky you’re with me, then. I can get you one without queuing.”

Before you can protest, he turns on his heel and heads toward the booth. The kids part easily for him, greeting him with bright smiles and playful chatter, and within moments, he returns with a small cup of ice cream in hand.

“Here.” He hands it to you, and for the briefest moment, your fingers brush against his as you take it from him.

It’s nothing—just a fleeting touch, a second of contact. And yet, the sensation lingers, a jolt of electricity shooting through him. He quickly looks away, willing himself to act normal, but it’s difficult when you look so beautiful today. When all he wants to do is hold you, pull you closer, press a kiss to the corner of your mouth just to see you smile like that again.

Instead, the two of you stand there in silence, side by side, neither of you quite knowing how to act.

Then, you clear your throat, breaking the quiet. “I, um… I won’t be able to see you for a couple of days.”

Jeongin blinks, glancing at you. “Oh?”

You nod, stirring your ice cream with the small plastic spoon. “I have a work trip—just two days. I’ll be back soon.”

A teasing smirk tugs at his lips. “I thought you were going to ask when you can see me again.”

You laugh softly, a little shy, a little flustered. “Well… maybe I was.”

He’s about to respond, to say something he shouldn’t, when a voice calls his name.

“Father Yang!”

He turns to see a parishioner approaching, one that he recognizes has been a generous donor to the church, smiling warmly as he makes his way over.

And just like that, the moment is gone.

You step back almost instantly, gripping your cup of ice cream a little tighter. “I should go,” you say quickly, nodding toward Jeongin before offering the other man a polite smile. “Thank you for the ice cream.”

Before he can say anything, before he can even think, you turn and walk away, disappearing into the crowd.

Jeongin exhales slowly, watching you go, his fingers curling into his palm as he swallows the urge to follow.

Jeongin tries to focus. He really does.

The late afternoon sun filters through the church windows, casting golden light across the wooden pews, the air thick with the lingering scent of incense. The afternoon mass had gone smoothly, the hymns sung beautifully, the prayers spoken with quiet devotion. But even as he stood at the altar, delivering his sermon, his mind wandered elsewhere—to you.

You, with your soft voice and bright eyes.

You, with your laughter that still echoed in his ears.

You, walking away from him after mass, leaving him with nothing but the ghost of your touch and the lingering scent of your perfume.

He exhales, rubbing a hand over his face as he steps outside, hoping that the cool air will clear his mind. He has some free time before the Bible studies, and a part of him hopes that the distraction will be enough to keep his thoughts at bay.

As if you sense that he's drifting away from you, his phone buzzes inside hus pocket. He pulls it out and sure enough, your name lights up his screen, a simple message waiting for him:

Can I call you?

Jeongin's breath catches, his thumb hovering over the screen. He looks around the church, empty except for a few parishioners coming into the church to pray in the peaceful silence.

With that, he turns on his heel, making his way toward his office. His pace quickens with every step, anticipation buzzing beneath his skin.

Jeongin shuts the door behind him, leaning against the solid wood as he exhales. His phone is still buzzing in his palm, your name glowing on the screen. He hesitates only for a second before accepting the call, bringing it to his ear.

“Hello?”

There’s silence for a brief moment, just the soft sound of your breath filtering through the line. Then—

“I’m so wet.”

Jeongin stiffens. His grip on the phone tightens. “What?”

A quiet laugh escapes you, breathy and teasing, but there’s a slight tremble beneath it. “I started thinking about you… and I just—” You sigh, the sound dragging against his nerves like a slow burn. “I couldn’t help myself.”

Jeongin swallows, his throat suddenly dry. His free hand flexes at his side before gripping the edge of his desk. “Where are you?” His voice is lower than he expected.

“My hotel room,” you murmur. “Lying on my bed… naked, touching myself.”

A sharp breath leaves him, and he clenches his jaw. His mind floods with images he shouldn’t entertain, things he shouldn’t want, yet his body betrays him, heat pooling low in his stomach. He exhales through his nose, tilting his head back slightly.

“What are you thinking about?” His voice comes out rough, unsteady.

“You,” you admit without hesitation. “Your hands, your lips… how you feel against me. I want you, Jeongin.”

His breath shudders as his restraint frays. His fingers move almost unconsciously, yanking open the front of his dark slacks. The pressure has been building since the moment you spoke, his body responding before he could stop it.

He shifts against the desk, eyes fluttering shut. “Tell me more.”

You do.

“My legs are spreading open and it makes me think of you kneeling between them.”

Jeongin exhales sharply, his fingers tightening around the phone as your voice filters through the speaker. The sound of your breath, the quiet rustle of fabric—he can picture it too vividly.

“Tell me,” he murmurs, his voice low, rough around the edges. His free hand moves to palm over himself, feeling the ache growing unbearable. “What are you doing now?”

A shaky sigh comes from your end. “I’m spreading my legs wider,” you confess, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m running my fingers down—” You cut off with a soft, unsteady breath. “It’s so wet, Jeongin. I need you inside me.”

His name leaving your lips like that sends a sharp pulse of heat through him. He groans under his breath, finally giving in as he wraps a hand around himself, stroking slowly.

“Keep going,” he tells you, his voice strained.

“I’m making a mess on my bed and I wish... wish it was your cock instead of my fingers.”

You describe everything in vivid detail, every touch, every movement, every filthy thought that runs through your mind. And Jeongin—he can’t help it. His fingers tighten, his strokes becoming more deliberate, matching the rhythm of your breathless moans.

“I want you in my hand, in my mouth, inside me... I want you all over me.”

He knows he shouldn’t. He knows this is wrong. But right now, with the way you sound, the way you’re whispering his name like a prayer—he’s too far gone to care.

Jeongin’s grip on the phone tightens when his screen lights up with a notification—your name, followed by a video attachment. His breath catches in his throat.

He knows he shouldn’t open it. He knows this is crossing another line. But with your breathless voice still in his ear, whispering filthy things, he doesn’t even hesitate.

The video loads, and then he sees you—naked, spread out on the bed, fingers disappearing between your legs, your lips parted in a soft moan as you arch slightly against the mattress.

Jeongin exhales sharply, his jaw clenching.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, his hand tightening around himself.

On the other end of the line, you let out a breathy giggle. “Do you like it?”

His eyes stay glued to the screen, his chest rising and falling heavily. “You’re a dirty girl,” he rasps. “Filthy.”

You hum at that, clearly pleased by his reaction. “Only for you.”

His fingers flex against the phone. “If you were here right now,” he murmurs, voice low and rough, “I’d have you bent over this desk.”

You let out a soft, needy whimper.

“I’d have spanked you,” he continues, his tone dark with promise. “For being so shameless. For teasing me like this.”

Your breath stutters, and Jeongin feels a twisted sense of satisfaction knowing how much his words affect you.

“Would you like that?” he taunts. “Would you take it, like a good girl?”

“Yes,” you breathe, and that’s all it takes to push him over the edge.

His movements grow erratic, his head tilting back as pleasure crashes through him. He groans lowly, your name slipping past his lips as he comes undone.

Silence stretches between you after, filled only by the sound of your quiet breaths.

Jeongin swallows hard, still gripping his phone like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to the moment. He shouldn’t have done that. He knows it. But right now, he can’t bring himself to regret it.

Finally, he exhales a small chuckle, shaking his head. “You’re dangerous.”

You let out a breathy laugh. “And yet, you can’t resist me.”

He rubs a hand over his face, a helpless smile tugging at his lips. “No,” he admits. “I can’t.”

The tension coils tighter inside him, his breathing uneven as he leans heavily against the desk. His grip on the phone trembles slightly, his fingers flexing against the smooth surface.

“Jeongin,” you whimper, and he swears he can feel it—feel you—even though you’re miles away.

His jaw clenches, his movements turning almost desperate. “I wish I was there,” he admits, his voice thick with need. “I wish I could touch you myself.”

“Me too,” you whisper. “I need you.”

That’s all it takes.

His restraint snaps like a thread pulled too tight, and with a low, guttural sound, he comes undone—his mind drowning in thoughts of you, his body giving in to the pleasure you so easily draw from him.

For a moment, there’s only the sound of your unsteady breaths and his own. Then, silence.

Jeongin swallows, forcing his breathing to steady. He runs a hand through his hair, his heart still hammering against his ribs. He shouldn’t have done that. He knows it. But he doesn’t regret a single second of it.

Finally, he clears his throat, bringing the phone back to his ear. “Are you okay?”

You let out a quiet, breathy laugh. “Yeah. Are you?”

He exhales a small chuckle, rubbing a hand over his face. “I don’t know.”

You hum, a warm, content sound. “I miss you.”

Jeongin closes his eyes, a small smile tugging at his lips despite everything.

“I miss you too.”

The moment the high fades, reality crashes back in like a tidal wave.

Jeongin blinks, chest still rising and falling, as his eyes dart to his desk—where he’s just made an absolute mess. His stomach twists in a mix of guilt and disbelief.

Here. In his office.

His hands move on instinct, grabbing tissues from the drawer, hurriedly wiping away any evidence of what just happened. His mind races as he works, as if cleaning the desk can somehow cleanse him of the sin lingering in his veins.

But it’s not just about the act itself—it’s the way he felt during it. The way he surrendered so easily, the way he let your voice, your breathy moans, your whispered confessions unravel him entirely.

And worst of all? The way he still wants more.

His phone buzzes again.

Did you make a mess?

Jeongin swallows, discarding the last of the tissues before picking up his phone again. His fingers hover over the screen for a moment before he types back:

Yes and you're in big trouble.

Your reply comes almost instantly.

If I were there, I'd lick every drop off you.

A breath of laughter escapes him—soft, barely there. He leans back against the desk, running a hand through his hair, and sighs.

If you were here, it all would have gone into your tight little cunt.

A second later, his phone buzzes with your response.

Yes, please.

Jeongin tells himself it’s just a matter of hours now. Less than a day until he sees you again. He only has to wait.

And yet, someone interrupting his focus as he helps set up the hall for tonight’s lecture, one hand carrying a stack of hymn books he’s arranging.

"Jeongin!"

He looks up and immediately recognizes the familiar figure approaching him—Father Hwang. A smile tugs at his lips as he steps forward. "Sam," he greets, using the name he's always called him by. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm the guest lecturer for tonight," Sam says with a grin, adjusting the strap of his satchel over his shoulder. "Figured I’d get here early and catch up with you."

Jeongin nods, welcoming the distraction as they fall into step together.

“How have you been?” Sam asks, glancing at him curiously. “Still writing?”

Jeongin lets out a small chuckle. “Yeah. My latest book came out a few months ago.”

“I heard.” Sam smirks. “A detective novel, right?”

Jeongin nods. “It’s doing well, I think. I haven’t really been keeping track.”

“Well, my sister’s a fan. She told me I should ask you for an autograph while I’m here.”

Jeongin laughs at that. “I didn’t know she read my books.”

“Oh, she does. She even said she has a theory about your next one,” Sam says, nudging him playfully. “She thinks the main detective and the love interest are finally going to get together.”

Jeongin swallows, his smile faltering for a split second. Love interest. The word alone makes something in his chest tighten.

Sam notices the change in his expression. “You okay?”

Jeongin forces a small smile. “Yeah. Just tired.”

Sam hums, clearly unconvinced but doesn’t push further. Instead, he changes the subject. “How’s life here? The church? Everything going well?”

Jeongin nods, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Yeah. Everything’s… normal.”

Sam raises an eyebrow at his choice of words. “Normal?”

Jeongin hesitates. “I guess.”

Sam studies him for a moment before shaking his head with a knowing smile. “You know, I always admired how devoted you are to this life. Even when we were in seminary, you were so sure about your path. It was never a question for you.”

Jeongin opens his mouth to respond, but the words catch in his throat. Because for the first time in years, he isn’t sure if that’s still true.

Before he can dwell on the thought, his phone buzzes in his pocket. At first, he ignores it, keeping his attention on Sam. But then it vibrates again.

He hesitates, already knowing who it is before he even pulls out his phone.

A part of him feels guilty—he hasn’t seen Sam in months, and cutting their conversation short would be rude. But at the same time… he wants to hear your voice. To talk to you, even if just for a few minutes.

Sam, perceptive as ever, glances at Jeongin’s phone and chuckles. “You should get that.”

Jeongin looks up, startled. “I—”

Sam waves him off with an easy smile. “Go on. I need go get ready anyway.”

Jeongin hesitates for only a moment before nodding. “Thanks, Sam. I’ll catch up with you later.”

He pulls out his phone, unlocking the screen with an ease that speaks to how often he checks his messages these days.

I'm here.

Two words. That’s all it takes to send his pulse into a frenzy.

Here?

Panic grips him before he can stop it. The church is busy tonight—people are arriving early, chatting, gathering in the halls. What if someone sees you? What if someone knows?

He presses the call button before his thoughts can spiral further. The moment you pick up, he’s already walking, leaving behind his task without a second thought.

“Where are you?” His voice is hushed, urgent.

“In the hallway,” you answer.

Jeongin doesn’t hesitate. His feet move faster, shifting from a brisk walk to an outright run as he pushes past the heavy wooden doors and into the dimly lit hall. His breath catches the second he sees you.

Standing beneath the glow of flickering candles, you look almost unreal—soft, waiting, your expression easing into a smile the moment your eyes meet his. Relief crosses your face, as if you had been holding your breath this whole time.

He doesn’t stop to think. He reaches for you, his hands finding yours, gripping them tightly. “Why are you here?” His voice is barely above a whisper, but the question carries weight.

You squeeze his hands, your fingers curling around his and a grin painted your face. “I just couldn’t wait to see you again.”

His heart stumbles in his chest. He shouldn’t feel this way—shouldn’t feel this kind of elation just from your words, just from the way you look at him like he’s someone you’ve longed for.

But he does.

He shifts closer, his gaze dropping to your lips, ready—so ready—to taste you again. But just as he tilts his head, footsteps echo down the hall, followed by murmured voices.

His stomach lurches.

Without thinking, he grabs your wrist and pulls you toward the church doors. You don’t resist, letting him lead you past the altar and toward the confessionals at the back. He tugs open the wooden door of one of the booths, glancing around quickly before whispering, “Get inside.”

You don’t ask why. You just obey, slipping into the tight space, the scent of aged wood and candle wax surrounding you.

Jeongin follows a second later, shutting the door behind him. The moment the latch clicks into place, his restraint crumbles. His hands cup your face. His lips find yours.

The kiss is urgent, reckless—nothing like the gentle press he gave you last night on the stairs. This is raw, a collision of breath and need, the kind of kiss that speaks of stolen moments and unspoken desires.

You sigh against him, melting into his touch, and Jeongin thinks—God forgive me, I don’t want to stop.

The confessional is small, barely enough space for two people, but in this moment, Jeongin uses that to his advantage. Your back is pressed against the wooden wall, breath uneven, lips swollen from his kiss. His hands tremble where they rest on your waist, the weight of what he’s about to do pressing down on him, but it’s nothing compared to the fire burning in his veins.

"You really couldn’t wait, could you?" His voice is low, just above a whisper, yet it carries the sharp edge of control. "Had to come find me here, of all places?"

You shake your head, but your body betrays you, pressing closer as if drawn by something stronger than logic.

Jeongin exhales, his hand trailing lower, fingertips teasing the hem of your skirt. He knows he shouldn’t. He knows where you are, knows the kind of sin he’s inviting.

And yet—

His fingers slip beneath the fabric, his hand easily finds the heat pooling between your legs and the sharp breath you take in nearly makes him curse. You’re warm, soft, and so wet, so... ready for him. The realization sends a shudder through him.

"Bad girl," he breathes against your ear. "So desperate you made me do this here."

You whimper, a sound too loud for a place like this. He doesn’t even think—his free hand is on you instantly, fingers slipping between your lips, pressing down against your tongue to stifle your noises.

"Shh," he warns, dark amusement lacing his voice. "Or do you want someone to hear how filthy you are right now?"

Your breath hitches. He smirks.

His fingers move deeper, slow and deliberate, feeling the way your body reacts to him, the way you tense and then soften, surrendering to his touch. He leans in closer, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

"You’d like that, wouldn’t you?" His voice is barely audible, a ghost of a sound against your skin. "Want someone to walk in and see what I’m doing to you? See how you let me ruin you in the house of God?"

Jeongin works on your clit in earnest now, circling it hard and fast, loving the way you’re thrusting against his hand.

You whimper around his fingers, your body trembling as you struggle to keep quiet. The thought alone makes heat coil low in his stomach, his own restraint hanging by a thread.

"I could do this all day."

But Jeongin isn't ready to let go just yet.

Not when you’re this vulnerable beneath him. Not when you’re this beautiful in your surrender.

The tension inside you snaps, waves of pleasure rolling through you under his relentless touch. He feels it—the way you shudder, the way your fingers clutch desperately at his wrist as if to anchor yourself. He doesn’t stop, not yet, not until he’s sure he’s wrung every last bit of pleasure from you.

When you finally go limp against him, he exhales a shaky breath, wrapping an arm around you to hold you up. His lips find your temple, then your cheek, soft kisses pressing into your skin as you come down from your high.

“You did so well,” he murmurs, his voice thick with something unspoken. His fingers—now wet with your release—trail up to your hip, lingering there before he finally pulls away.

You sigh, eyes fluttering open to meet his. There’s warmth there, something tender despite everything that just transpired between these walls.

Jeongin swallows, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he tells you, voice softer now. “Until then…” He smirks faintly, tilting your chin up. “Be a good girl and go home.”

You nod, though your fingers curl slightly in the fabric of his sleeve, reluctant to step away. “I can’t wait for tomorrow.”

The words are barely out of your mouth before he’s kissing you again—slow, deep, as if he’s memorizing the shape of your lips against his. He lingers, drinking you in, letting himself have this moment before he has to let you go.

Eventually, he does.

With one last look, you slip out of the confessional, smoothing down your skirt, composing yourself. Jeongin stays behind, leaning against the wooden wall as he listens to the soft echo of your footsteps fading into the church hall.

As Jeongin takes his seat at the front of the lecture hall, he clasps his hands together, willing himself to focus. But then—he smells it. The faint, intoxicating scent of you lingers on his fingers, a ghost of what just happened in the confessional booth. He flexes his hand, bringing it closer to his lap, but it’s no use. The memory of you is branded onto his skin.

And then, there’s the smudge of color on his other fingers—a trace of your lipstick. It’s subtle, just a faint stain, but it’s enough to make his stomach tighten.

He should feel guilty. He should be ashamed. Instead, all he can think about is tomorrow.

Jeongin shifts the plastic bag in his grip, glancing at the number on your apartment door. His heart pounds in his chest, a steady, nervous rhythm that refuses to slow down. This shouldn’t be a big deal. He’s just bringing dinner. Just spending time with you. But something about standing here, outside of a place that is yours, away from the church, away from everything that defines him as Father Yang, unsettles him.

He raises a hand and knocks. The sound is firm but betrays the slight tremble in his fingers.

It only takes a moment before the door swings open, and then—there you are.

You’re smiling, bright and warm, like you’ve been waiting for him all day. And before he can say anything, you slip into him, wrapping your arms around his waist in a hug so natural, so easy, that his entire body relaxes before his mind can catch up. Your lips brush against his cheek, soft and fleeting, but it leaves warmth spreading across his skin.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” you say softly, looking up at him.

And just like that, the tension in his chest vanishes. He forgets about the nerves, forgets about the careful restraint he had tried to build on his way here. It's just you. Just him. Just this moment.

His hand comes up to your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek as he tilts his head down. He doesn’t think—he just moves, closing the space between you and pressing his lips against yours in a soft, unhurried kiss.

And somehow, this feels right. Natural. Like he’s done this before—coming home to you, being welcomed into your warmth.

You stay like that for a moment, lips barely apart, breathing in each other’s air, until you pull away with a gentle tug on his wrist.

“Come in,” you say, still smiling.

The food is simple but warm, filling the space between you with something comforting. Jeongin hadn’t realized how much he needed this—an ordinary meal, shared with someone who looks at him like he’s more than just Father Yang, more than just a priest trying to keep himself together.

After dinner, you stand and pick up the wine bottle, pouring him a glass with a teasing smile. “It’s not communion wine, but I hope you like it.”

Jeongin huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he takes the glass. He follows you to the sofa, sitting beside you, still holding the wine as if unsure what to do with it.

“You look like you need it,” you add, tilting your head. “You’re so tense.”

Jeongin exhales through his nose, amused. He lifts the glass and takes a small sip, the rich taste spreading over his tongue. When he lowers the glass, he catches you watching him, your gaze steady and warm.

You reach out, your fingers brushing against his arm as you speak softly, “We don’t have to do anything. I just want to be with you. Get to know you better.”

Something in Jeongin eases at that. The tight coil of uncertainty unwinds, and he nods, taking another sip of his wine before glancing at you. “What do you want to know?”

At that, your eyes light up, and you shift closer, resting your elbow on the back of the sofa as you begin.

“What’s your coffee order?”

He blinks at the unexpected question, then chuckles. “Ice Americano. Extra shot.”

You hum thoughtfully, nodding. “What’s your favorite movie?”

“Uh…” Jeongin tilts his head, pretending to think. “Do I lose points if I say I don’t watch many movies?”

You gasp dramatically. “Unbelievable. We have to fix that.”

Jeongin laughs, fully relaxing into the cushions. The questions continue—his favorite color, his favorite season, if he has any siblings. With each answer, he feels more like himself—Jeongin, not just Father Yang. The more you learn about him, the more real he becomes, and for the first time in a long time, he doesn’t feel trapped in his own skin.

And then, he notices the way your eyelids grow heavy, the way your fingers curl loosely around the fabric of his sleeve as you fight off sleep. He watches you for a moment, the way your breathing slows, and then he brushes the hair away from your face as he murmurs, “It’s time for you to go to bed.”

You blink up at him sleepily, then reach for his hand, holding it gently between your fingers. “Will you stay?” Your voice is soft, hesitant. “Just until I fall asleep?”

Jeongin swallows, his heart skipping. He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t. But the way you look at him, the quiet plea in your voice—it weakens him.

He nods. “Okay.”

You smile at that, tugging him toward the bed. Soon, he’s lying beside you, the two of you facing each other in the dim glow of your bedside lamp. The warmth of your body seeps into his, and he’s surrounded by the scent of you—clinging to the sheets, to the pillow, to the very air he breathes. It’s intoxicating, and yet, it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

His arm is wrapped around you, holding you close as your head rests against his chest. He feels the steady rise and fall of your breaths. So quiet, peaceful, serene.

Then, in the quiet, you speak.

"You might think I don’t have to worry about anything because I have money," you whisper, voice barely above a breath. "But that’s not true. I’m scared. I feel so alone."

Jeongin’s heart clenches at your words. He tightens his hold on you, his fingers tracing slow, soothing circles against your back. He understands. God, does he understand.

"I know what that’s like," he murmurs, his voice raw with something he rarely speaks of. "When I was struggling with my drinking… people turned their backs on me too. I had to deal with it alone, with no one to help me climb out of it."

You shift slightly, looking up at him with soft, searching eyes. "How did you do it?"

Jeongin exhales, his grip on you tightening like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. "I just kept going. I clung to the belief that I could be better. That I could be more than my mistakes." He pauses. "But it was lonely. So lonely."

You reach up, your fingers grazing his cheek, grounding him in the present. "You’re not alone anymore."

His chest aches at your words, at the quiet sincerity in your voice.

"And neither are you," he whispers.

He tilts your chin up gently and presses a soft kiss to your lips—not out of desire, but out of understanding, of shared pain and quiet comfort. Then, he pulls you even closer, pressing his lips to the top of your head.

And in the dark, as he whispers quiet prayers against your skin, Jeongin feels it—this thing between you, slowly consuming him, pulling him under. Love.

And for once, he isn’t afraid of it.

The church is silent except for the flickering of candles and the distant creak of old wooden pews. Jeongin kneels before the altar, hands clasped together, eyes closed. The scent of burning wax fills his lungs as he exhales a breath that feels heavier than usual.

"Is this what You want from me?"

His whispered prayer disappears into the vast, hollow space of the church. He has never questioned his path before—not once since he took his vows. But now, every moment with you tugs at the very fabric of his being, unraveling convictions he once thought were unshakable.

You are not a temptation; you are warmth. Peace. Love. And yet, desire coils inside him like something he’s afraid to name.

"If I love her, does that mean I am failing You?"

Silence answers him, as it always does. He wishes for clarity, a sign, something to confirm whether this love is a blessing or a mistake. But all he has is the weight of it, pressing against his ribs like a second heartbeat.

The vibration of his phone in his pocket jolts him out of his thoughts. He blinks, the golden glow of the altar candles sharpening into focus as he pulls out his phone.

It’s a text from you.

What should I do? My mother wants to meet me tomorrow.

He can feel the nerves in that short message, the anxiety woven between each letter. He knows how much this weighs on you, how every interaction with your parents leaves unseen bruises on your heart.

His fingers hover over the keyboard for a moment before he types out his response.

Come to the church tonight.

He presses send. He will see you soon. And maybe, just maybe, being with you will quiet the storm inside him—if only for a little while.

The church is empty when Jeongin steps inside, the quiet humming around him like a sacred lullaby. But before he gets to you, he stops by his office, reaching into his desk drawer to retrieve something—his fingers brushing over cool beads before he carefully slips them into his pocket.

When he pushes through the wooden doors, his breath catches at the sight before him.

You’re not sitting in the pews, nor waiting by the entrance. You’re standing in front of the altar, bathed in the soft glow of flickering candlelight. Your head is tilted upward, eyes fixed on the crucifix, and in this moment, Jeongin swears you are in a state of divinity—here, now, standing in the presence of God.

He doesn’t feel like an intruder as he steps closer. If anything, it feels like he belongs in this moment too.

Slowly, he walks up behind you, his movements careful, reverent. And when he reaches you, he doesn’t stop. He lets his chest meet your back, his arms slip around your waist, his head rest beside yours.

You don’t flinch, don’t pull away. Instead, you lean into him. And then, in a hushed voice, you ask, “Do you feel it?”

Jeongin’s eyes flick to the crucifix before closing for a brief second. “Yes.”

Your voice is a whisper now. “Is this how you always feel when you pray?”

His lips curve into a small smile. “Not always but sometimes.”

And then, silence. Not the kind that feels empty, but the kind that feels full—of something holy, something sacred. The two of you just stay like that, breathing in the stillness, existing in the same presence. As if God Himself is here, witnessing this moment, embracing both of you as His children.

After a while, Jeongin turns his head slightly, and you do the same. Your gazes lock, an unspoken understanding passing between you. And then, as if guided by something beyond himself, Jeongin leans in.

The kiss is soft, slow—gentle in a way that doesn’t feel like it violates the sanctity of this place, but instead, becomes a part of it. Like this, too, is a prayer.

When he pulls away, he lingers, his forehead nearly touching yours. A breath, a heartbeat. Then, he slowly steps back, standing in front of you.

“I have something for you,” he says.

Curiosity sparks in your eyes. You watch as he reaches into his pocket, fingers closing around something before he carefully pulls it out. A rosary.

Taking your hand, he wraps the beads around your fingers, binding them there before enclosing your hand in both of his.

You stare at it, wonder and awe flickering in your expression. “It’s beautiful.”

Jeongin smiles softly. “This was the first rosary I received when I decided to become a priest.” His voice lowers, turning earnest. “And I want you to have it.”

Your smile falters slightly, hesitation flickering in your eyes. “Are you sure? Is it really okay for me to take it?”

Jeongin doesn’t waver. He nods, his grip on your hand firm, warm. “I want you to have it.” A pause. “Whenever you get the urge to hurt yourself, I hope you’ll hold this rosary instead.”

Your breath hitches. And then, something shifts in your expression—a different kind of smile forming on your lips. Sad, yet thankful. A quiet acceptance.

Jeongin gently squeezes your hand. “Promise me you’ll always keep it with you.”

You nod, voice barely above a whisper. “I will. I’ll keep it close at all times.”

Relief washes over him. A sense of peace settles in his chest. With his hand still wrapped around yours, the rosary binding you together, he leans in once more—this time, pressing a chaste kiss against your lips.

A kiss that seals this sacred moment.

The next night, Jeongin finds himself standing in front of your door once again.

Unlike the previous night, there's no hesitation when he lifts his hand to knock. Maybe it's because he spent the entire day thinking about you, picturing the way you smiled when he gave you the rosary, the way your fingers curled around it like something precious. Maybe it's because the moment he finished evening mass, he felt a pull—one that led him straight to you.

The door opens, and there you are, standing before him.

Your eyes light up the second you see him, and without hesitation, you step forward, wrapping your arms around his waist, pressing yourself against him in a hug that feels warm, familiar.

"You came," you murmur against his shoulder.

Jeongin exhales, his arms coming up to hold you just as tightly. "Of course."

For a while, neither of you moves. You stay there, wrapped up in each other, as if this is the only place either of you is supposed to be. And maybe, in some way, it is.

Eventually, you pull back just enough to look at him. Your smile is soft, full of something unspoken. "Come in."

Jeongin follows you inside, shutting the door behind him. The air in your apartment is warm, scented faintly with something floral—something distinctly you. He catches sight of the rosary on your coffee table, neatly placed as if it’s waiting for you to pick it up at any moment.

Something settles in him at the sight.

You glance over your shoulder. "I made tea," you say, leading him toward the living room. "I wasn’t sure if you’d be hungry, but I have some food too."

Jeongin shakes his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Tea sounds perfect."

You pour him a cup before settling onto the couch beside him, close enough that your knee brushes against his. For a while, you both sit in comfortable silence, sipping tea, letting the presence of each other be enough.

Then, quietly, you say, "Thank you for last night."

Jeongin looks at you. "You don’t have to thank me."

You smile, but there’s something deeper in your expression—something vulnerable. You lift your wrist, letting the rosary dangle between your fingers. "I’ve been holding it. Just like you told me to."

Warmth spreads through Jeongin’s chest.

He reaches over, gently brushing his fingers against yours, against the beads. "I’m glad," he murmurs.

Not that he doesn’t trust you but Jeongin feels the need to check on it himself. He leans back against the couch, his gaze steady as he studies you. Then, softly, he says, "Come here."

You blink at him, uncertain. "Here?"

He nods, patting his lap. "I want to make sure you held in like you said."

A flicker of hesitation crosses your face, but eventually, you move, shifting carefully until you're perched sideways on his lap. His arm wraps around your waist, keeping you steady, his other hand resting gently on your thigh.

He looks at you for a long moment before his fingers move, reaching for the hem of your dress. Slowly, deliberately, he lifts it just enough to reveal your thigh, his eyes scanning for any fresh marks. When he finds none, he exhales, something softening in his expression.

"You really didn't," he murmurs, as if he can't quite believe it.

You meet his gaze, nodding. "I promised, didn't I?"

A slow smile spreads across his lips—pride, warmth, something deeper flickering in his eyes. His hand moves up, brushing your hair back, his touch lingering at the nape of your neck. "You did so well," he says, his voice low, affectionate. "I'm proud of you."

Before you can respond, he leans in, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips. His mouth is warm, gentle but firm, like he's savoring the taste of you. When he pulls away, his lips graze your cheek, his breath fanning against your skin.

"Good girl," he whispers.

Heat pools in your stomach at the way he says it, his voice filled with quiet reverence, with something possessive and sweet all at once.

Then he dips his head, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. His voice is barely more than a murmur, but it sends a shiver down your spine.

His fingers trace slow, idle circles on your thigh, featherlight and teasing, his touch both soothing and electrifying. Then, he asks, "And do you know what happens to good girls?"

A bashful smile tugs at your lips as you glance at him. "What?"

Jeongin smirks, his fingers tracing slow, teasing circles against your thigh. "Good girls get rewarded."

His eyes glint with something mischievous as he watches your reaction, and you feel your breath hitch, anticipation curling in your stomach.

“You did so well,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your temple. “Keeping your promise… being such a good girl for me.”

His praise makes you melt, makes you pliant in his arms, and he feels it—the way your body leans into him, the way your breathing hitches ever so slightly.

His hand drifts higher, slipping beneath the hem of your dress, fingertips skimming over your skin, testing. He hums when he feels the heat of you, the way your thighs press together instinctively.

“You don’t even realize, do you?” he muses, his voice like velvet against your ear. “How easy it is for me to tell when you need me.”

His fingers tease at the edge of your underwear, a featherlight touch that makes you shiver. Your breath stutters, and he smiles against your skin.

“Say it,” he coaxes, his voice both gentle and commanding. “Tell me what you need.”

Your answer comes out in a whisper, barely there, but it’s enough. “Please. I want to come,”

It’s all he needs before his fingers push aside the last barrier, dipping into warmth, finding you already soft and wet, ready for him.

A pleased hum rumbles in his chest. “Of course,” he murmurs. “Always so good for me.”

He doesn't need to look to know how to please you. His fingers part your folds, allowing him to touch your bundle of nerves, applying gentle pressures on it as he rubs on it.

His touch is slow, deliberate, savoring the way you react—how your fingers clutch at his shirt, how your body trembles in his hold. He keeps you close, his other hand firm on your waist, steadying you as he works you open, coaxing pleasure from you with careful precision.

His mouth on your neck, placing hot, wet kisses on the sensitive spot on your neck, teeth faintly scraping the skin just to edge you. He watches you, drinking in every little sound, every flutter of your lashes, every way you shift against him. His lips graze your ear again, his voice thick with something indulgent, something dangerous.

“Just like that,” he praises. “Let me take care of you. Let me make you feel good.”

And he does. With how drenched you are, he can easily slips his two fingers inside you, pumping them in and out of you. He moves with patience, with reverence, as if he’s unraveling something sacred, something only meant for him. As if this moment—just the two of you tangled together, bodies pressed close, his name slipping past your lips in a breathless whisper—is all that has ever mattered.

You make a tiny cry that is muffled by his kiss, squirming under his touch for a long minute before finally come down, sagging against him. He keeps his hand there, tenderly palming you for a minute or two longer, loving the way it

look drenched in your essence, loving the way it feels, and then reluctantly withdraw.

Jeongin watches you, eyes dark with something unreadable yet intoxicating. His fingers, still coated in the evidence of your pleasure, hover just before your lips. He doesn’t have to say a word—your lips part instinctively, your tongue flicking out, tasting yourself as you take him in.

His breath catches. His free hand tightens on your waist.

“Such a good girl,” he murmurs, his voice rich with satisfaction. “Always so eager for me.”

You swirl your tongue around his fingers, sucking lightly, and Jeongin groans low in his throat. His thumb brushes over your cheek, a tender contrast to the heat pooling between the two of you. When he finally pulls his fingers away, he presses a sweet, lingering kiss to your forehead, grounding you, letting you settle in the aftermath.

But then, softly, he asks, “What else do you want, mmh?”

You don’t answer right away, just blink up at him, lips still slightly parted, your breath uneven. “More.”

There’s a pause—a moment suspended in the space between you. Then, without a word, your hand drifts downward, slow and deliberate, until your fingers press against the growing strain in his jeans.

Jeongin’s breath stutters. His grip on your waist tightens.

“More what?” he asks, teasing, his voice huskier now, laced with something heady.

You still don’t answer, just press your palm a little firmer, feeling him twitch beneath the fabric.

Jeongin exhales sharply through his nose, tilting his head slightly, watching you with something dangerously close to reverence. He hums, almost amused, almost resigned.

“Greedy,” he murmurs, the word dripping with fondness. Then, his lips ghost over your jaw, just barely touching. “But I suppose my good girl deserves it, doesn’t she?”

Jeongin shifts beneath you, his strong arms guiding you gently as he lays you down against the cushions. The leather is cool against your heated skin, but all you can focus on is him—the weight of his body as he hovers over you, the warmth of his breath fanning across your lips before he captures you in another slow, intoxicating kiss.

His hands roam your sides, mapping every curve, every dip, before he pulls away just enough to tug his sweater over his head. The dim lighting casts shadows over his toned torso, the sharp ridges of his muscles shifting as he moves. Instead of pulling you back into a kiss, he takes your hands in his and presses them against his bare skin.

“Go on,” he murmurs, watching you with half-lidded eyes. “Touch me.”

You do—fingertips tracing the firm lines of his abdomen, feeling the way his muscles tense beneath your touch. Your breath catches, and when you meet his gaze, he smirks, clearly pleased by your reaction.

“Do you like that?” he asks, his voice dipping lower.

You nod, swallowing hard.

He rewards you with another kiss, deeper this time, before he begins a slow descent down your body. His lips brush over your collarbone, then lower, each kiss leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. His hands slip beneath your dress, pushing the fabric up inch by inch, exposing more of your skin to him. The anticipation coils in your stomach as he moves lower, closer. He gently bites your inner thigh and earned him a sharp gasp from you, then he stops.

You whimper in protest, earning a quiet chuckle from him. He tilts his head, teasing. “Wouldn’t this feel better in bed?”

Before you can argue, he presses a firm hand to your waist, keeping you in place as he effortlessly scoops you up in his arms. Your legs instinctively wrap around him as he carries you, the strength in his hold undeniable. He walks with purpose, each step deliberate, and when he reaches your bedroom, he gently sets you down on the mattress, hovering over you once again.

He smirks, brushing his thumb over your swollen lips. “Now,” he murmurs, eyes dark with intent. “Where were we?”

The air between you crackles with tension, thick and charged, as Jeongin hovers behind you. Both of you are naked, he's standing at the end of the bed while you're on the bed, on all fours.

His big hand glides over the curve of your ass before squeezes on the flesh, his thumb hovers over your entrance, slippery wet, ready to take him.

“Be a good girl and hold still,” he instructs, his voice is heavy with want.

His hands ghost over your hips, firm yet patient, waiting for you to obey him. But you don’t. Instead, you push back just slightly, teasing, challenging—just enough to test his patience.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” he murmurs, voice dark with amusement.

You hum in response, feigning innocence, but he sees right through it. A slow smirk tugs at his lips as his fingers tighten on your hips, holding you still as he aims his cock toward your entrance. Then, without warning, he drags you back toward him, your breath catching as his warmth presses flush against you.

“You really want to be difficult tonight?” he muses, leaning in until his lips are right by your ear. “Fine. Let’s see how long you can last.”

The next moment, he begins thrusting, slow and deliberate, driving you to the edge with every controlled motion. You bite your lip, refusing to give in so easily, but he notices—of course he does. He always does.

“You’re holding back,” he taunts, his hand sliding up your spine, pressing between your shoulder blades until your chest meets the mattress. “That’s cute.”

Then he pulls away and you mewl at the suddenloss of contact. Then he slips it into you again, all at once and proceeds to thrust into you, hard. A choked sound escapes you before you can stop it, and he chuckles, low and pleased.

“There it is,” he murmurs.

You try to push up again, just to regain some control, but his hand presses firmly against your lower back, keeping you in place.

“Not so fast,” he says. “You wanted to be a brat, didn’t you?” His fingers trail down, teasing, punishing in the slowest way possible. “Now take it like one.”

The fight within you starts to crumble, your body betraying you, giving in to him. He feels it—the way you’re starting to submit, your stubborn defiance slipping away with every passing second.

“That’s a good girl,” he praises, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “Now, let’s see if you can behave.”

And with that, he makes sure you do.

Jeongin doesn't ease up—not yet. He keeps you exactly where he wants you, every slow, controlled movement drawing out the pleasure until you’re trembling beneath him. His hand slides up your arm, over your shoulder, then tangles into your hair, giving a gentle but firm tug that sends a shiver down your spine.

“You still with me?” he asks, his voice teasing, laced with dominance.

You nod breathlessly, but that’s not enough for him. His fingers tighten just slightly in your hair, tilting your head back so your cheek is almost against his lips.

“Use your words,” he commands softly.

“Yes,” you whisper, your voice shaky but obedient.

A pleased hum rumbles in his chest as he presses an open-mouthed kiss against the side of your neck. “That’s my girl.”

Your hands grip the sheets beneath you, knuckles going pale as he keeps pushing you further, his pace calculated, his touch relentless. Every time you try to regain control, he meets your rebellion with something stronger—something that pulls you right back under him.

“You thought you could win, huh?” His voice is a slow drag, intoxicating. “But look at you now…” His hand slides over your hip, his fingers curling, gripping—owning. “Completely at my mercy.”

You let out a broken sound, and Jeongin chuckles, low and satisfied.

“Are you done fighting me now?” he asks.

You hesitate for half a second, the last trace of defiance flickering in your eyes as you look over your shoulder at him. And then he moves just right, tipping you over that fine line between resistance and surrender, and the fight in you shatters.

Your answer comes in the form of a whimper, your body melting under his touch. That’s all he needs. He leans down, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “Good girl.”

And this time, you don’t push back. You let him have you, completely.

Three more of his hard, deep thrusts into you and you come undone before him, your body collapsing onto the bed. He can feel his release is close as well, he leans down, his mouth hovering close to your ear as he asks, “Where do you want it, mmh?”

You're clearly too disoriented to respond so he buries his head in your neck and places a slobbering kisses there. “Should I come all over your back and claiming you as mine, mmh?”

You turn your head slightly to the side and nod. He smirks at that, his hips keeping the pace going as he grips yours, taking himself to his high almost immediately.

Jeongin pulls out just in time, his seed spurting out and painting pearly white streaks on your back. He slips it back in, wanting to feel you pulsating, quivering around him as you both come down from your highs.

He looks down at his claim on you and smiles in pride. “You're all mine now,” he sighs, before lowering himself on you and roughly kisses your open mouth, “All mine.”

Jeongin hums as he wipes a warm cloth across your back, his touch now gentle, a stark contrast to the way he’d handled you earlier. His other hand strokes soothing circles on your arm as he takes care of the mess he left on your skin. Once satisfied, he sets the cloth aside and climbs back into bed beside you, immediately wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close.

His lips find your forehead first, then your temple, then your cheek—sweet, lingering kisses that make your heart swell. His fingers brush your hair away from your face, tucking the strands behind your ear before his lips meet yours in a slow, affectionate kiss.

You sigh into him, utterly content, and then, out of nowhere, you ask, “What’s your favorite ice cream flavor?”

Jeongin pulls back slightly, blinking in amusement. A small chuckle escapes him. “That’s the first thing you want to ask me right now?”

You nod, watching him expectantly.

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head before answering. “Vanilla.”

“Vanilla?” You raise an eyebrow, as if unimpressed.

He grins. “It’s a classic. You can never go wrong with it.”

You hum in thought before moving on to your next question. “Okay, favorite book?”

“That’s tough,” Jeongin admits, running his fingers absentmindedly over the curve of your shoulder. “But I think it would have to be The Little Prince.”

Your expression softens. “That’s a good one.”

He nods, smiling. “It is.”

Your next question makes him pause. “How many languages can you speak?”

Jeongin tilts his head, thinking for a moment. “Korean, English, a little bit of French... and Latin.”

That catches your interest. “Latin?”

He smirks at your intrigue. “Yeah.”

“Say something in Latin,” you request, eyes glimmering with curiosity.

He chuckles and takes a second to think. Instead of a single word, he decides to share one of his favorite proverbs. “Ubi amor, ibi fides.”

You blink, waiting for him to translate. “And that means…?”

“Where there’s love, there’s faith,” he explains softly.

You let the words settle between you, their weight sinking in.

Jeongin continues, his voice calm, thoughtful. “Love originates from God, which means when we love, we reflect God himself. Love and faith go hand in hand.”

You watch him, admiration clear in your eyes, and Jeongin can’t help but smile. He brushes his lips against your forehead, murmuring, “You’re proof of that for me.”

A warm silence fills the room, and Jeongin just holds you, savoring the quiet intimacy of the moment.

Jeongin keeps his gaze on you, his fingers tracing slow, absentminded patterns along your arm as he lets the weight of his own words settle between you.

"Ubi amor, ibi fides," he repeats, this time softer, like he's tasting the meaning all over again. “Faith isn’t just about believing in something unseen—it’s about trust. About surrendering to something bigger than yourself. And love… love is the same.”

You stay quiet, listening, the warmth in your eyes urging him to continue.

“When you love someone, you place your trust in them. You put faith in them—faith that they won’t hurt you, that they’ll cherish you, that they’ll choose you just as you choose them. Love and faith, they aren’t separate. They exist together.”

A beat of silence passes, and then, you smile. It’s small, gentle, but it holds so much—understanding, appreciation, something deeper that makes Jeongin’s chest ache in the best way.

“That’s beautiful,” you whisper, voice barely above a breath.

Jeongin’s lips quirk up, his heart warming at the way you look at him. He leans in, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then to the tip of your nose, and finally, to your lips—slow and tender, like a silent prayer.

Ubi amor, ibi fides. That’s why, to him, loving you doesn’t feel like he's turning away from God. It feels like he's turning toward Him.

Jeongin hadn’t expected to see Sam so early in the morning, much less kneeling at the altar, his hands clasped together in deep prayer. The solemnity of the scene makes Jeongin hesitate for a moment before he quietly takes a seat in the pew behind him, deciding to wait. The church is silent aside from the occasional flicker of candlelight and the distant creak of wood as the old building settles.

When Sam finally finishes, he makes the sign of the cross and pushes himself up, turning toward Jeongin with a calm but knowing expression. He slides into the pew beside him, settling in with a sigh before speaking.

"Do you have something to confess to me, Jeongin?"

Jeongin blinks, caught off guard. "Confess?"

Sam tilts his head slightly, studying him. "I saw you."

Jeongin’s breath catches. His heartbeat stumbles before picking up pace, his mind racing to decipher Sam’s meaning.

"Saw me…?" he echoes, feigning ignorance.

But Sam only offers him a small, almost amused smile. "That night. Inside the church." He turns his head slightly, watching Jeongin's reaction. "I saw you kissing her."

Jeongin’s stomach drops. The memory of that night floods back—the hush of the church, the warmth of your body pressed against his, the way your lips felt against his in the dim candlelight. He had been careful, or so he thought. But Sam had seen.

Jeongin swallows, his fingers curling slightly against his knees. "...How much did you see?"

"Enough." Sam exhales, leaning back against the pew. "Enough to know that it wasn’t just some passing moment of weakness." He turns his gaze forward, eyes fixed on the altar as if waiting for some divine intervention. "It’s more than that, isn’t it?"

Jeongin doesn’t answer immediately. He looks down, staring at his hands as if the answer could be found in the lines of his palms. He could deny it. He could try to brush it off as a mistake, a lapse in judgment.

But he knows that would be a lie.

So instead, he closes his eyes briefly, exhales, and admits the truth. “Yes.”

Jeongin keeps his gaze lowered as he exhales slowly. "Yes," he repeats, quieter this time. "It’s more than that."

Sam doesn’t react immediately. He simply hums, nodding slightly as if he already knew the answer. Then, after a pause, he says, "Are you here to confess, then?"

Jeongin finally looks up at him, his brow furrowed. "Would it matter?"

Sam tilts his head, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Not really."

That catches Jeongin off guard. "What do you mean?"

Sam leans forward, resting his arms on the back of the pew in front of them. "I mean, there’s no use in confessing if you don’t intend to stop."

Jeongin’s mouth parts slightly, but no words come out. He suddenly feels exposed, as if Sam has reached straight into his soul and pulled out the conflict that he’s been trying so hard to ignore.

"Are you going to stop seeing her?" Sam asks, voice even.

Jeongin opens his mouth, but hesitation clings to his tongue. He should say yes. That would be the right thing to do. The expected thing. But the words won’t come.

Sam watches him carefully, his silence speaking louder than any confession. With a small sigh, he shakes his head. "Then there’s no use in absolving you."

Jeongin tenses. "Sam—"

"You’re not sorry, Jeongin. At least, not in the way confession requires you to be." Sam turns to look at him directly. "You’re not asking for forgiveness. You’re asking for permission."

Jeongin’s throat tightens. He wants to deny it. He wants to argue. But deep down, he knows Sam is right. He’s not looking to be absolved. He’s looking for reassurance. Validation. Someone to tell him that this—you—isn’t a mistake.

Sam lets out a sigh, leaning back against the pew. “Jeongin, I’ve known you for years. You’re not the type to act on impulse. So tell me, is it something more?”

Jeongin lowers his gaze, his fingers curling together. “It’s more,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “I tried to fight it, but I can’t. Being with her… it doesn’t feel like a sin. It feels right.”

Sam hums in thought before turning to look at Jeongin fully. “Then you have to ask yourself, what do you want?”

Jeongin remains silent, his mind tangled in conflicting emotions.

Sam sighs again but offers a reassuring smile. “I won’t tell anyone. Not yet. You need to figure this out on your own, without the weight of judgment hanging over you.”

Jeongin lifts his eyes, gratitude flickering in them. “Thank you, Sam.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” Sam replies. “But know this—there’s no shame in choosing love. The only shame is in living a life of regret.”

Jeongin feels the weight of those words settle deep in his chest. He nods, even though his decision isn’t fully made yet. But one thing is certain—he doesn’t think any amount of penance could make him stop wanting you.

The church is quiet, save for the faint crackling of candles and Jeongin’s own restless breathing. He sits in the pew, his hands clasped together, fingers digging into each other as if grounding himself. Sam’s words replay in his mind—The only shame is in living a life of regret.

But what if choosing you meant turning his back on everything he had built? What if staying meant turning his back on you?

His chest tightens.

Jeongin exhales shakily and reaches for his phone. His fingers hover over your name before he finally presses the call button.

It barely rings twice before you pick up. “Jeongin?” Your voice is soft, warm, familiar.

He shuts his eyes for a moment, hating what he’s about to say. “I… I can’t see you for a while.”

There’s silence on your end. Then, “Why?”

Jeongin clenches his jaw, his grip on the phone tightening. “I just—” His voice falters. He takes a breath, steadies himself. “I need time to think.”

Another pause. Then you ask, quieter this time, “Think about what?”

His heart aches at the way your voice trembles, but he forces himself to stay firm. “About us.”

The word hangs in the air, suffocating.

When you finally speak, there’s hurt in your voice, but no anger. Just quiet understanding. “Okay.”

It makes his chest ache even more. He almost wishes you would be upset, would demand answers—but instead, you accept it. Just like that.

“I’ll wait,” you add after a moment.

Jeongin swallows the lump in his throat. He nods, even though you can’t see him. “Thank you.”

Then he hangs up, staring at the screen as if it holds the answers he’s looking for.

But it doesn’t.

And for the first time in a long time, Jeongin feels completely lost.

He has always believed in God's plan. In His guidance, His timing. But for the first time, Jeongin feels completely lost.

His heart aches with the weight of his own decision—to put space between you and him. To think. To figure out if he's making the right choice or if he's simply running away from the inevitable. The words he said to you over the phone—"I can't see you for a while."—echo in his head, and he wonders if they hurt you as much as they hurt him to say.

Jeongin exhales sharply, his fingers pressing into his forehead.

He misses you already.

Misses the way you look at him, the way your touch grounds him, the way you make him feel like more than just Father Yang. Like he’s Jeongin, a man with desires, fears, and a heart that longs for something more than a life bound by vows he’s no longer sure he can keep.

But what does that say about him?

What does that say about his faith?

His grip tightens. He feels selfish. Faith is supposed to be about surrender, about putting God above all else. But if love, true love, comes from God—then why does it feel like he’s betraying both?

A sharp breath leaves him as he forces himself to sit back against the pew.

Maybe space will give him clarity. Maybe distance will tell him if what he feels for you is temptation or something deeper, something worth changing his entire life for.

Or maybe...

Maybe he’s already made his choice, and he’s just too afraid to admit it.

The scent of burning wax and aged wood lingers in the air as Jeongin listens to the soft-spoken confessions of the parishioners before him. One by one, they enter the booth, voices hushed, burdened with sins that they seek to be absolved from.

A woman confesses to speaking harshly to her husband. A man admits to faltering in his faith. Another prays for forgiveness for the resentment he holds in his heart. Jeongin listens, guiding them with gentle words, offering penance and solace in the name of God.

Then silence.

He waits for the next person, expecting another familiar voice, another routine confession. But when the door creaks open and the last parishioner steps inside, his breath catches in his throat. He doesn’t need to see your face to know it’s you.

The moment you settle in, the moment your quiet, trembling breath slips through the lattice screen, he feels it. A shift in the air, a tightening in his chest—something unspoken, yet undeniably there.

And then your voice comes, barely above a whisper.

The wooden divider separates you from him, but the air between you is thick—heavy with unspoken words, raw emotions, and the weight of everything left unresolved.

Jeongin sits on the other side, his fingers curled tightly around his rosary, knuckles white. He hadn’t expected to hear your voice through the lattice screen tonight.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.” Your voice is quiet, trembling, but laced with something deeper—pain, desperation. “It’s been… some time since my last confession.”

Jeongin swallows, his heart hammering in his chest. “What is it that burdens your heart?” His voice is steady, but his hands shake.

You exhale shakily. “I don’t know if this is a sin, Father, but… I love someone.”

His breath catches.

“And I miss him,” you continue, your voice cracking slightly. “I’ve been praying every night, asking God to bring him back to me. I kneel beside my bed, clasp my hands, and beg Him to let me have him again.” A bitter laugh escapes you. “But nothing changes. He’s still gone. And I don’t know if that means God is telling me to move on… or if that means he never wanted to come back.”

Jeongin shuts his eyes, his grip on the rosary tightening as a deep ache spreads through his chest.

“I don’t know what to do,” you whisper. “How long am I supposed to wait? How long until the emptiness goes away?” You inhale shakily. “Because the truth is… I feel more alone than before.”

Silence stretches between you.

Jeongin’s throat tightens, words clawing at him, begging to be spoken—but he can’t. He can only press his fingers to his lips, as if to hold back the confession that wants to spill out of him.

That he misses you too. That every night, he fights the urge to pick up his phone, to hear your voice, to run to you and never look back. That he doesn’t know how to be whole without you anymore.

But he stays silent. Because if he speaks, if he admits what his heart already knows… he’s afraid he’ll never be able to let you go.

You wait, but no answer comes.

And that’s your answer.

You let out a small, broken sigh before whispering, “Thank you for listening, Father.”

Then you rise, footsteps retreating, the door creaking as you step out of the booth.

Jeongin doesn’t move. He just sits there, staring blankly at the wooden divider, feeling more lost than ever.

The next day, Jeongin commute for almost an hour to get to St. Augustine church, where Sam is assigned in. The church is quieter than he expected. Even as he steps inside, the echo of his own footsteps feels almost intrusive.

He makes his way toward the pews, taking a seat in the dim light of the sanctuary. The flickering candles cast long shadows, their glow barely reaching the vaulted ceilings. Jeongin folds his hands in his lap, staring ahead at the crucifix mounted above the altar.

He waits.

Through the silence, he hears faint murmurs from the other end of the church. Sam must still be finishing his Bible study. Jeongin doesn't mind. If anything, the stillness gives him a moment to steady himself—to gather what little resolve he has left.

It isn’t long before he hears footsteps approaching.

Sam doesn’t say anything at first, only making his way to the pew beside Jeongin and settling in next to him. They sit there in silence, the weight of unspoken words thick in the air.

Then, finally, Sam exhales.

“You didn’t come here for confession,” he says, his voice calm yet knowing. “That must mean you’ve already made up your mind.”

Jeongin keeps his eyes ahead, staring at the altar, his fingers loosely intertwined in his lap. He hears the certainty in Sam’s voice, the quiet understanding behind his words.

For a moment, he doesn’t respond. Because Sam is right. He didn’t come here to confess. He came because he already knows what he wants—what he has to do.

Jeongin inhales slowly. “I thought it would be harder,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “Making the choice.”

Sam hums, tilting his head slightly as he studies him. “And yet, you look like it’s tearing you apart.”

Jeongin’s lips press together. Sam has always been able to see through him.

He exhales, his hands tightening slightly. “I love her,” he says at last, the words raw, unfiltered. The moment they leave his lips, a wave of something crashes over him. Relief, maybe. Or certainty. “And if love is supposed to reflect God, then why does it feel like I’m betraying Him?”

Sam is quiet for a moment before he speaks again. “Because you were taught to believe that loving someone this way is a betrayal.”

Jeongin swallows.

“Did you ever want to be a priest?” Sam asks, not unkindly. “Or did you just think you had to be one?”

Jeongin turns his head, meeting Sam’s gaze for the first time. The older man’s expression is unreadable, but his eyes are steady, patient, waiting.

Jeongin wets his lips. “I wanted to serve God,” he says, and it’s the truth. “I still do.”

Sam nods. “Then serve Him.”

Jeongin blinks. “What?”

“You said it yourself,” Sam says. “Love originates from God. Serving Him doesn’t have to mean shutting yourself away from the world.” He pauses. “And it certainly doesn’t mean shutting your heart away from someone He led you to.”

Jeongin breathes in sharply. His mind reels, but somewhere deep in his chest, something settles.

Sam clasps his hands together, leaning back slightly. “You’ve made your decision, Jeongin. You came here to say it out loud.” He tilts his head. “So say it.”

Jeongin looks at him, then exhales.

“I’m leaving the priesthood.”

The words linger in the quiet air of the church, heavier than anything Jeongin has ever spoken before. But this time, for the first time, they don’t feel like a loss. They feel like freedom.

Jeongin stands outside your apartment door, his heart pounding, his hands trembling slightly at his sides. This is it. The moment he’s been working toward, the choice he’s finally made. There’s no turning back now—not that he would ever want to. He raises his hand and knocks.

It’s barely a few seconds before the door swings open, as if you had been waiting for him all along.

And then he sees it. The rosary. Wrapped tightly around your fingers, clutched to your chest like a lifeline.

His breath catches.

Your eyes meet his, wide and shimmering, disbelief and relief crashing together in one overwhelming wave of emotion. Your lips part, but no words come out. Instead, tears spill over your cheeks, and before Jeongin can even think, you launch yourself forward, arms wrapping around him in a desperate, shaking embrace.

A choked sound leaves you, something between a sob and a breath of his name, muffled against his shoulder.

Jeongin closes his eyes and holds you tighter. “I’m here,” he murmurs, his voice steady, unwavering. “I’m here now.”

Your fingers dig into the fabric of his coat, like you’re afraid he’ll slip away, like you need proof that he’s real.

He presses his lips to your hair, his grip firm, grounding. “You’re not alone anymore,” he whispers. “You have me.” He swallows, voice thick with emotion. “Always.”

You sob again, but this time, it’s lighter, almost a breath of relief. You nod against his chest, your whole body trembling in his arms.

As Jeongin stands there, holding you in his arms, he realizes that this moment—this fragile, breathtaking moment—is the answer he’s been searching for all along. The weight of uncertainty, of fear and hesitation, slowly unravels, replaced by something steadier, something undeniable.

Love.

Not just the kind he’s always known, the kind that’s bound by duty and sacrifice, but the kind that feels like warmth after the cold, like light breaking through stained glass. The kind that isn’t separate from faith but a part of it, interwoven in every whispered prayer, every unspoken longing.

He cups your jaws with both hands and tilts your head toward him, as he looks into your eyes, he knows—this is where he’s meant to be. Right here. Holding you. Loving you.

Then he kisses you, with every fiber of his being, committing himself into this love but at the same time, breaking away from the doubts and fears that shackles him.

You pull back just enough to look at him, your face streaked with tears, but your lips curve into a small, wobbly smile. He lifts a hand, gently brushing away the dampness on your cheeks with his thumb, his touch lingering, reverent.

“Come inside,” you whisper.

And Jeongin follows, stepping over the threshold not just into your home, but into a future he’s finally ready to embrace.

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i-dared-myself · 1 day ago

Text

Name on My Skin

Jisung x reader

In which you meet the perfect soulmate for you.

In a world of soulmates, it is chaos. Oftentimes, meeting your soulmate is love at first sight. Other times, they meet their best friend. Occasionally people die before meeting theirs.

Or there are the times that people’s soulmates weren’t nice people. You would meet someone who you had positive ideas about for your entire life, only for them to be an asshole.

Your greatest fear is for your soulmate to be a jerk. For them to be some kind of psychopath or someone who should be in prison.

That is why you always avoid any chances of meeting your soulmate. You don’t go on blind dates. You refrain from physical touch, not wanting a mark to linger on your skin.

Your mother is not pleased.

“Who��s going to take care of you?” she yells, hands on her hips.

“I have friends,” you tiredly remind her. “And why are you here?”

She huffs and turns around, looking at all the shirts. “I don’t know why you even bother buying it. It’s not like the love of your life is going to appreciate it.”

“I have a job interview.” You rub at your forehead, fighting off a headache. “This is very important to me, okay?”

Your mother breathes out through her nose, barely hiding her disdain. “I don’t know how you expect to make any money there. Makeup? For men?”

“Men can wear makeup.” You peruse the options carefully. You don’t want anything too flashy, but you do want to stand out from all the other candidates. “And it’s their job, too.”

“What are they, models?” Your mother shakes her head and scoffs. “I don’t think this is a good fit for you, dear.”

“It’s just an interview.” You select a shirt off the rack and hold it up. You smile as you bring it out to checkout with your mother trailing after you. “It’s no guarantee of a job.”

Your mother sighs. “You’re right. You probably won’t even get it.”

But you do.

You get the job.

Now you’re a makeup artist for Stray Kids, finally making use of your degree. You had always been told it was a mistake to go into the field, but here you are.

When you walk in on your first day, you’re given the run down. Where the styling room is, who your coworkers are, and everything important.

You’re slightly ashamed to admit to your coworkers that you’d never listened to Stray Kids.

You had heard of them, just never gotten into it. You had never listened to them, nor watched anything with them.

You weren’t against them; it just had never peaked your interest enough to risk your mother’s wrath. She deeply disapproved of most things; boy bands being one of them.

So when they walk in, you might possibly be confused.

A man sits at your station, settling onto the raised stool. He smiles at you, eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’re new.”

“Uh, yes.” You bob your head, reaching past him for your tools.

“So who’s your bias?” he asks, making you pause.

You hesitate because you don’t know any of their names. “Uh, you?”

He grins, poking the one next to him. “Do you hear that, Hyunjin? I’m the favourite!”

Hyunjin scowls and closes his eyes as his makeup artist moves to his eyes. “And?”

You try to swipe the brush over this man’s face, but he’s bouncing around wildly. You’re attempting to wrangle him back into his seat when a man walking by frowns.

“Stop it!” he scolds. “Can’t you see they’re trying to work?”

You smile softly. “It’s okay. We have time.”

“Sorry,” the man mutters. He slumps back and looks up at you, smiling sweetly. “I’ll be good, I promise.”

“Jeongin gave him too much coffee. I swear, I have to limit their caffeine intake.” The man shakes his head with a heavy sigh. “Anyways, you are…?”

You tell him your name before hesitating. “Right. Um, it’s nice to meet you…”

“Bang Chan.” Dimples form at the corners of his mouth.

“Wait.” The man sitting in your chair frowns. He straightens and looks at you in horror. “Do you not know who I am, either?”

Hyunjin laughs, shoulders shaking. “This took a turn.”

“Sorry, no.” You wring your hands nervously. “I promise I’m not trying to disrespect you and- and-“

“I’m Jisung,” he declares. He crosses his arms over his chest and lifts his chin. “You lied to me.”

Your face burns with embarrassment. “Sorry. I just- You-“

“So I was your favourite without you even knowing who I was!” Jisung exclaims. He begins to slap Hyunjin’s arm excitedly. “Did you hear that! Did you hear that?”

Hyunjin wordlessly slides out of his seat and pads towards the door.

Jisung winces at you. “He’s not a morning person.”

“Jisung!” Bang Chan calls from the other side of the room. “Hurry up!”

Jisung grimaces. “Right. Sorry, let’s do this.”

You finish the rest of his face, smiling gently at him as he bounces away. He tries to take you with him, but you dodge his hand.

“I’ll be here if you need a touch-up,” you tell him, feeling bad when he pouts.

“I’ll try my best to not smudge it!” Jisung vows solemnly, as if the weight of the world is on his shoulders. “I don’t want you working so hard on your first day.”

“Aw, that’s sweet.” You laugh lightly. It’s nice that he cares so much. “But that’s why I’m here. Don’t worry about it.”

Jisung just giggles as he runs off, going the way Bang Chan had gone. You shake your head, hiding a smile as you clean up your station. You have no idea how it got so messy already.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You hoist your bag over your shoulder, checking your phone. You don’t have any notifications so you open the weather app so it looks like you’re still busy. You love your new job, but you’re tired after training and training and smalltalk galore.

Your nose is so buried in your screen that you don’t even notice the man sprinting in your path, head turned in the other direction. He knocks into you and your phone clatters tk the ground. You collapse as well, and his hands grip your forearms to help you up.

“Jisung?” You frown as he bends down to pick your phone up. “Are you okay?”

“I should be asking you that.” He scratches the back of his neck, eyes flicking up from where they had been focused on the ground. They widen a fraction and his lips part in surprise.

“Jisung?” You wave a palm in front of his face. “You good?”

“You- I-“ He gasps and points frantically to your arm, where there’s a tattoo of his name.

You blink at it. “That’s new.”

“Oh my gosh.” Jisung stumbles away from you. “You’re a crazy stalker!”

You shake your head desperately. “No! I have no idea how that got there!”

He wets his lips with his tongue. “Then that means…”

You both stare at each other for a minute. Neither of you seems to want to say it, but the words seem to hang in the air.

You found your soulmate, and he’s Jisung. Jisung is your soulmate. What you had been avoiding for years finally arrived.

“Um.” Jisung’s throat flexed as he swallows. “This is a thing.”

“Yes,” you agree. “This is a thing.”

Jisung watches as his name fades from your skin, never to be seen again. Now that you know who the other is, the only thing left to do is discuss where this leads.

“Are you gay?” Jisung blurts out. He winces. “I mean- I’m totally okay if you are. I support! I love, um, lesbians? Okay that came out wrong. I just mean that like-“

“I like men,” you assure him, heart melting. This… Jisung is the type that you wouldn’t be scared of. “And I would be willing to explore a relationship.”

His shoulder slump as he blows out a heavy breath of relief. “Okay, I’d like that. Can I buy you dinner?”

“Sure.” You nod and tuck your phone in your bag. “How was your day?”

Jisung seems taken aback by your question, but walks by your side as the two of you go out the door. “It was really good. I bet you can guess why.”

You smile, feeling all gooey inside. “I bet I can. Uh, I know it’s not great if we’re seen in public together, so is there anywhere specific you want to eat? Somewhere you go often?”

Jisung considers it for a moment before brightening. “Oh! There’s a really small shop near here. Good food, and no one is ever there.”

“Lead the way,” you say. You’re so glad your soulmate is someone like him.

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#han jisung x reader #jisung x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids #soulmates #soulmate au #gender neutral reader #stray kids x gender neutral reader

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on-wine-dark-seas · 2 days ago

Text

The Invitation

Dedicated to the little Black girl who wanted to be all things when the world told her she was nothing. You are everything. 🍯

🪧 Summary: Heian Era. One full moon, Sukuna meets a dancing storyteller at the Hida Harvest Festival. But after a tragically violent evening robs her of everything, she winds up in a strange alliance with the King of Curses as his guest. 📚 Series: Sonder ⛩️ AO3: The Invitation 🔞 Rating: Explicit ⚠️️ Warning[s]: Rape/Non-Con [not from Sukuna don't worry], blood, gore, description of wounds and dead bodies, cannibalism, recreational drug use [ganja, psilocybin, opium], slow-ish burn, hurt/comfort, PTSD, revenge, catharsis, eventual romance, eventual smut, Ryōmen Sukuna is his own warning. 💋 Pairing[s]: Sukuna x The Writer [⛩️🍯] 🎧 Playlist: [ the invitation ] ⛩️ AO3 𑁍 Parallax OCs 𑁍 Sonder OCs ⛩️

🖋️Author's Note: Well, we've arrived at the moment of truth[s]. Enjoy. This entire chapter is just 16.5k words of self-indulgent smut courtesy of Sukuna's absolutely batshit stamina, my untutored sexual ardor [giving way to a nigh insatiable sexual appetite], and a lot of fucking feelings we've been tap dancing around the whole story.

Y'all are about to learn some shit about me. Mainly, how I like to get down when my pleasure is wholly my own. See you on the other side. —Muse

⚠️️Warning[s] for this chapter⚠️️ EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT. References to sexual trauma [remember, this shapes how Sukuna and I get down], Sukuna's two glorious cocks finally make their debut, Sukuna uses multiple mouths, ALL FOUR HANDS ON DECK [and DICKS], masturbation, spit-as-lube, cum as lube, vaginal AND anal fingering, cunnilingus, squirting, analingus, blowjobs, cock and ball worship, double penetration, double creampie, rough sex, mirror sex [REAL THIS TIME], choking, possessive biting [it's Sukuna], talking-while-fucking, trauma-informed body exploration and worship, praise kink, the hot pleasures of jealousy real and imagined [again, it's Sukuna], rounds on rounds oh my god. Recreational cannabis use. LOTS OF AFTERCARE. COMFORT. FLUFF.

🍯 IX. 金契 Bonded by Gold

Everyone is mesmerized by the fireworks.

Sukuna does not care, save that they illuminate Asiri’s face in bursts of radiance, the dying sparks fading to nothingness in her dark eyes. She’s looking at him as if the world around them means nothing and he is everything. He is used to reverence, but that is reverence born from the seed of fear.

This is something else. Something so much more fragile, so much rarer. He won’t name it; he can’t name it, for fear that if he does, the world will take this from him too. So he basks in it, allows himself to enjoy this oasis of humanity before his curse finds its fangs at her throat and destroys her.

Sukuna takes a deep breath.

“Do you know what you’re asking?” He growls out. His lower eyes flick to her lips, full and stained the deep, bluish red of spilled blood in the cold.

“No,” she breathes as the fireworks burst above them, the crowd’s awed murmuring rising to an excited cheer. “But I know I want this. I know I want you.”

Why, he wants to ask her. Why him? He is the last thing she should want. But here she is, telling him and fucking meaning it. His lower eyes drag their gaze down from her lips to her throat, sees the fluttering of her pulse beneath that tender skin. He wants to sink his teeth into her, taste the coppery sweetness of her misplaced devotion. He can break her; he knows he can, and part of him wants to for the sheer pleasure of it all. But he can do something else too: he can make her his. Inextricably. He can ruin her tonight, and every day after. Undo all the damage Takeshi has done and imprint himself upon her again and again until her thoughts are as consumed by him as his have been by her for months. Her and that alluring storm inside of her that he wants to hold in all four of his hands so very badly.

He reaches for her, and she does not pull away, does not recoil in disgust, and does not look upon him with abject fear. All the things he has come to expect are absent in her lambent gaze. When his knuckles brush the soft contour of her cheek, her eyelids flutter, the corners of her mouth lift, and he watches as she leans into his touch slightly, unthinking.

Sukuna inhales, watches her tense before he leans down, bringing his face close to hers. His lips trace her ear in a teasing caress with feathery weight.

“I am going to take you,” he says to her, and delights in her quiet intake of breath, and the resulting shiver that makes the earrings dangling from her lobes sway prettily. “Again, and again. And then I’m going to bind you to me. Is this acceptable?”

It is as close to a marriage proposal as Sukuna himself understands it, and as close as he dares. He half-expects her to decline, to have some good sense and run screaming in the other direction before willingly offering her throat to the tiger she mistakenly thinks is tame. But she is not a wilting flower with bruised petals any longer, nor is she prey.

She’s something more. Something divine. Something he wants with a yearning that kindles to the furnace in his soul.

“Yes,” comes her whisper, so delicate the roar of the crowd nearly steals the thrill from him, and Sukuna feels something thrumming in his blood that he can almost call delight. It’s heady and wicked, and he thinks of all the ways he is going to bind her, until he tames the storm inside her for himself. Until she is his and no other’s.

“Good,” he murmurs, malevolent pleasure making his voice a deep, ominous purr. “Very good.”

He lingers there for a moment, and then she turns her head. He sees the shadowy luster of her eyes beneath her lashes, and then he feels her lips brush against his cheek. Soft, tentative, exploratory and curious. He moves his head, feels her gasp as his lips meet hers. A soft kiss, he decides. Let her enjoy this last bit of sweetness before he shows her what she has so boldly asked him to give her.

“Come,” he murmurs against her mouth. “Let’s go home.”

She doesn’t correct him, she simply nods, wordless and heavy-lidded as he draws her away from the crowd, away from the bursts of fireworks, away from the world neither one of them have ever had a chance of belonging in. The crowd yields open to allow the King of Curses to pass. Rippling murmurs and whispers follow when it’s seen that his hand grasps hers. Sukuna does not care. He’s sure the Zenin brat has run home to report to his father that the King of Curses has taken a foreign sorceress as his wife. Never mind that it’s a lie, the bait will do as it is meant to do and lend legitimacy to her challenge for a duel.

And then, when the Zenin brat is dead, Sukuna will see just where his lost flower intends to go. He does not dwell on that eventuality too long, focusing instead on the searing present. Her hand is so small in his, delicate bones malleable in his grip, but he holds her with the gentleness of a breeze cupping a stray feather. He retrieves Akechi, mounting and pulling her up in a fluid moment that sees her settled once more in front of him, sharing the saddle. He secures an arm around her waist, but unlike before, his hand splays across her ribcage, the warmth of his palms seeping through the silk. He can feel her heart fluttering in her chest, beating against it like a trapped hummingbird. He can feel the expansion of her inhales and exhales, the change in her breath as they lurch forward, following the lantern-lined path toward the forest.

They pass beneath the first torii gate, the one that is more recent. Erected to mark the border of his territory. The hills may belong to the people, but the thick, velvety darkness of the forest belongs to the God of Hida, naught else.

Asiri shifts in the saddle, leather creaking in the quiet as they slip through the tree line, the festival forgotten, leaving only the two of them and the moonlight to guide them back to the shrine. Sukuna knows this path by rote, and easily guides Akechi over treacherous ground, picking the familiar path.

They pass the clearing, though it is completely different. The entire place is blackened as if burnt, trees splintered to kindling, and cratered depression in the center where the remnant of a burned-out wagon still stands.

“I did this,” Asiri whispers, her voice tinged with fearful awe. Sukuna resists the urge to draw her closer, as if to keep her safe from the memory of her own brutality, but he knows that’s the last thing she needs in this moment.

“Yes,” he says, his voice pitched low. “And I will teach you to do it until you can stay conscious. And even do it multiple times in a day if you wish.”

Asiri lets out a wry laugh, and he feels her heart flutter against his possessive palm.

“When would I ever be in a situation where I’d need to do that kind of damage multiple times a day?” She asks him. Sukuna doesn’t answer. He wants to tell her that if she intends to continue to practice jujutsu, there will be plenty of situations, but he knows she still believes that Takeshi Zenin is the only life she will take with her strength. She doesn’t know that she has initiated herself into a world that will demand she wash her hands in blood or be slain herself.

He will teach her this lesson, or her duel with Takeshi will.

Tonight, however, he has his mind on more pleasurable pursuits.

The rest of the ride slips by quickly, and still Asiri’s heart hammers against his hand. When they pass the ghostly glow of the hitodama of the massive torii marking the entrance to the shrine grounds, he feels her pulse race, hears her try to stifle a soft sound that sounds almost like anticipation. He shares a smirk with the preternatural dark, Akechi’s hooves marking the return of the shrine’s lord and master, clipping on the smooth stones of the courtyard.

The shrine doors open, and Oboro, Okoi, and Uraume come out to meet him. Ren is already waiting, and he tosses the boy the reins without thinking. Oboro, Okoi, and Uraume bows respectfully as he dismounts, and helps Asiri down to stand. He does not greet them except to give a curt order that he and Lady Asiri are not to be disturbed for the remainder of the evening.

Asiri catches a glimpse of Oboro’s surprised and questioning glance over her shoulder as Sukuna leads her inside. The shrine doors shut behind them, and they pass through the brazier-lit halls toward his bedchamber, stopping at the closed shoji door leading to his inner sanctum. Asiri stares at it, trying to calm her breathing and steady her mind and pulse.

“Before we cross this threshold, Asiri,” Sukuna’s voice cuts through her daze and she looks up at him. “I would have your consent that this is what you truly want. Nothing will change if you choose to refuse: you are the one who requested this, after all. And if it is what you truly want, I would have you tell me now.”

Asiri swallows hard.

“It is, my lord,” she whispers. One of Sukuna’s hands lifts, caresses her cheek.

“Then so be it. Understand this: out here, you are wholly your own, free to avail yourself to the shrine as you wish and explore as you wish. But when we cross this threshold, within the sanctity of my bedchamber, you belong to me alone. Is this acceptable?”

Asiri stares up at him, willing herself to bear the weight of his gaze, how his face looks so stern, so much like a god and yet she has seen the humanity that softens the harsh lines no matter how he hides it.

“Yes,” she says softly. “But only on the condition that you belong to me too, my lord.”

There it is: that slow, predatory grin, the hooded look in his eyes, hiding a secret she longs to be the keeper of since she’s trusting him with the handling of her broken body. His eyes gleam like droplets of blood in the firelight, cupping her face in his hand, running an unhurried thumb over her cheek.

“Thou, and no other,” he affirms. “Is this acceptable?”

“Yes,” she whispers. “Lord Sukuna?”

His name brings him up short and he looks at her with deadly expectancy.

“Is this something you truly want too?” She asks him. Sukuna smiles in that easy, arrogant way and slides open the door.

“Let me show you,” he says, and guides her inside, the door shutting behind them.

The bedchamber is lit by a single hanging lantern, which throws a beautiful lattice shadow over the center of the room and warmed by a large brazier. Outside, the trees rustle and whisper with the wind and thunder rumbles in the distance. Sukuna glances down at Asiri, brushes his fingertips along the back of her neck.

“Remember to breathe,” he tells her and there’s a teasing edge bleeding into his voice, a little derisive, but those crimson eyes bleed warmth as she looks up at him. Asiri nods and focuses her beathing. Thunder rumbles again. Sukuna frowns. Not her, then?

“I am breathing, Sukuna,” she tells him, and he smirks. So his lost flower has some control at last. Good.

He pulls her close, delighting her gasp as he lifts her feet from the floor, crushing her against him.

Their lips meet, and Asiri feels something steal the very breath from her lungs as his kiss turns hungry. It is nothing like the petal-soft gentleness he accorded her earlier in the evening, amidst fireworks and a crowd.

This is ravenous, and Asiri, heaven help her, she wants him to devour her. She wants to be the tender prey between his sharp teeth, wants him to bite into her and taste her until there’s no trace of her left.

She kisses him back. She has been kissed before, and has kissed, but never anything like this. Sukuna does not yield to her, holding her against him as she makes a moaning sound when his tongue traces her lower lip, tugging it gently between his teeth.

She’s panting, now. Dizzy with the heat swimming the rich currents of her blood, dripping down between her thighs. She squirms in his arms, rubbing her thighs together with an almost pained whine. Aching.

Sukuna chuckles darkly, and then sets her down.

Slowly, he guides her to the mirror, sees her gaze flinch away from her reflection. The last time she was here, only the light of the Divine Flame had illuminated them. Now, the soft light of the lantern shows them in full.

“Look,” Sukuna tells her, and she does. She is his, after all.

In the mirror, she stands clad in the soft white and blue of his kimono, her lips love-swollen from kissing, a few braids escaping her hairpin. Looming behind her is Sukuna, still clad in the deepest black. One of his hand spans over her belly, crawling upward as he begins to loosen and untie her obi with another. Deft and swift—these are his garments, after all—the obi slips free as his front hand grasps her kimono to pull it open. The lush weight of her breasts strains against the silk, then bounces free. Asiri watches his reflection, sees the flare of excitement in his eyes at the sight. Her nipples pebble as the cool air pricks against them. Sukuna watches their reflection, feels her ribcage expand as she inhales, feels her shiver as she exhales.

The kimono whispers over her skin as it slides from her shoulders, pooling around her bare feet. Sukuna sucks in a breath at the sight of her as she steps from the fabric and turns away from the mirror to face him. He looks down but keeps his eyes on her reflection. He can take her all in at once.

And take her in he does.

Asiri tilts her head, smiling slightly.

“I want to see you too,” she tells him. For a moment, Sukuna simply stares at her as if she’s the first naked woman he’s seen. She’s clad in naught but her dusky skin, that collar of shells and coins, waist beads, and her anklets. He finds it erotic, reaching to run a hand over her skin, finding it feverish and sensitive. He traces her collar bones, the curve of her shoulders, the band of scar tissue over her bicep that matches the band of black ink on his own.

He cups her breast, feels her heart leap, sees that old fear surface in her eyes. He stops.

“Šetû,” his voice isn’t sharp, but there’s an edge of command in it. “Stay with me.”

For a moment, she is trapped, but then she breathes again, and meets his gaze.

“There is no shame here,” he reminds her. “Only simple desire. Inhale, then let it go.”

She shuts her eyes briefly and nods, allowing him to continue as she regains ahold of herself. Sukuna strokes her skin tenderly like one would a nervous animal brought into the home. She shivers, calms, and meets his gaze. The fear is gone, quieted by the weight of the decision they’ve made together. Her skin is so soft. Sukuna passes his thumbs over her nipples.

She cries out in surprise, back arching into his touch automatically.

Sukuna smirks. His hands grasp her waist, giving it a generous squeeze before guiding her to the bed, down until she obediently lays back. Here, on his bed, Sukuna takes her in once more.

Asiri reaches up and grasps the hairpin, taking it out. Her braids tumble over the pillows and over her shoulders. Gold, bistre, burnished umber, contrasted against the white linen bedding. His lower eyes study every curve and slalom, every bend, fold, and stretch mark. He commits her to memory because they will never be lovelier than they are in this moment. He notes more tattoos. A symbol on her right arm: a hand with an open eye in its palm. Asiri shifts on the sheets, and he sees another tattoo. A peacock limned along the length of her right thigh, all the way up to the hip. So, not a criminal, then.

Sukuna begins to undo his own sash, and Asiri watches him, her breathing even, but her pulse is telling a wilder story. He never breaks her gaze as he slides his kimono off, revealing his bared torso first, followed by everything else. He knows she hasn’t seen all of him, and he expects her reaction to be as it has been with others before her.

Asiri’s eyes widen as she takes in Sukuna—all of him—for the first time since she caught a fleeting glimpse in the hot spring.

She starts with his face. His gaze, as always, is inscrutable. She lingers on his lips, watching them part in a breath. She notes the dusting of color in his cheeks, his even breaths. She studies the bold limning of ink on his form, following the lines until her gaze comes to the maw on his belly. She tilts her head, but then her gaze slips lower and—

“Oh!”

The cry shocks her, and makes his jaw tense. Asiri’s eyes are wider now as she sees both of Sukuna’s cocks, fully erect to the point of straining. She studies them with scarce-concealed awe. They too bear black markings, sharp and bold, following the curves. She sits up, crawling to the edge of the futon. Her gaze flicks up at him and there is a strained intensity in his eyes, his jaw tight.

“May I…?” She whispers. Sukuna gives her a nod. Asiri reached for him, but it’s not his cocks she grabs, which surprises him. Of the few that have shared his bed, that’s always what they want to touch first. Instead, Asiri stands on the futon, and reaches for his face.

She cups his face with her palms, stroking the bone-like plating. Sukuna’s brow pinches slightly and a look of concern crosses her features, a question forming. She begins to take her hands away, but he quickly grabs her wrists, making her gasp. A wordless look, and she continues her exploration.

“Sukuna, lay down for me,” she says. “I want to do this properly.”

Sukuna smirks at her, even with his face cupped between her hands and him grasping her wrists.

“Is that a command I hear?” He asks, menacing in his expression, but there’s a teasing edge to it all that makes her give him an arch look.

“You are very tall,” she huffs. “Lay down.”

Sukuna chuckles and Asiri yelps as he takes her into his arms and lays back on the futon, settling her on top of him. Her thighs spread over his torso automatically, and she’s dizzy from the sudden contact as she realizes how close they are.

How naked they both are.

Heat burns across her face before she swallows hard.

Sukuna props his top arms behind his head, his lower hands settling on her hips.

“Go on, mayoi-hana,” he purrs. Asiri purses her lips at his smirk but reaches for his face again and resumes her exploration of his body, tracing the markings on his face with her fingertips, before settling on his lips. Without breaking her gaze, Sukuna presses a kiss to the pads of her fingers as if in private worship. She bites her lip, tracing her fingertips along his throat, settling on the pulse. It’s as steady as a heartbeat. He’s not the least bit anxious. It makes her even more nervous. His lower hands are still on her hips, warm palms seeping that unusual heat into her.

She traces the markings over his shoulders, biting her lip on a little grin. Sukuna smirks. He knows the source of her private excitement. So he has been on her mind all this time, then. Good. This will make this moment all the more savory on his tongue. She rounds her touch over the strong muscles of his top shoulders, and biceps. Frowning, she makes a gesture.

“Hands?” She asks. Sukuna grins. One of his lower hands leave her hips and he presents it to her. She shoots him a look and he makes a shrugging motion. He has plenty of hands to spare.

She traces his palm, his fingers, the thick band of ink around his wrist. She’s about to continue when that hand suddenly seizes her wrist, making her gasp. He smirks again. She tugs once and Sukuna relents before her hands settle on his chest, gliding over every muscle and curve. When she goes lower, she shifts backward. The maw on his belly is closed and Sukuna looks at her with an almost innocent expression. Her brows knit.

“Open for me?”

Sukuna doesn’t know why but the way she says those words makes both his cocks twitch. The maw parts its lips and she traces it with her fingertips. It smiles at her, all fangs and tattooed tongue, which slithers out to lick her hand. She yelps and Sukuna lets out a pleased chuckle. In her annoyance, Asiri shifts again, and sits directly on top of it. Sukuna’s eyes flare brightly, his grin turning sinister.

“What do you hope to accomplish, little flower?” He asks, and watches as Asiri shivers when the tongue slithers out of his belly to trace a wet path along her inner thigh. His lower hands clamp down on her hips, holding her in place.

“Sukuna…” She whispers, and Sukuna holds her gaze, his expression suddenly deadly.

“Mine,” he murmurs, and the tongue slips above, the tip taking a slow, agonizing path through her folds.

A low, desperate moan slips from her and spirals into the air as she braces herself on his chest, digging her little nails into his skin. Sukuna does not move from that easy recline, watching as her body folds over, bringing her closer to him. His hands slide reverently over the curves of her rear, cupping and then grasping and then spreading her wide, exposing her to the tender onslaught of his massive tongue.

Asiri trembles, and a whimper ekes out of her as her hands scrabble for purchase, torn between wanting to escape the mounting pleasure of his tongue with each idle pass over her clit, and wanting to push back against it. She has never done anything like this before, has never had anything like this done to her, and she sits up slightly, shooting Sukuna a pitiful, plaintive look, lip quivering.

Sukuna meets her gaze with the impassive amusement of a god in his domain.

“Something the matter, mayoi-hana?” He coos to her. “Regretting your decision to give yourself to a monster?”

Asiri shakes her head, mouth dropping open in a soundless cry as Sukuna’s tongue circles her clit. Maddening, desperate, and utterly irresistible. She keens, rocking her body in his arms, giving herself unto the sensations unfurling in her body like a supplicant. Sukuna chuckles as she pushes against his grasping hands, seeking more.

“Oh fuck…” Her voice drags out of her roughly, trails toward the ceiling, her nails digging into his skin again. One of Sukuna’s upper hands comes from behind his head, pushing a stray braid from her face. He studies her, his tongue still slipping through her folds, circling her clit, holding her steady as she trembles.

He watches as her face melts into an expression of agonized ecstasy.

“Oh fuck,” she whines, as she listens to the tongue slipping back and forth, back and forth, so wet and slippery and sticky. “Right there, oh…kar a tsaya…pleasepleaseplease…” The words shiver out of her in a husky, throaty moan. Sukuna strokes her back tenderly, holding her gaze, lambent with tears of insurmountable pleasure.

“And there you are,” Sukuna groans, pressing the flat of his tongue against the whole, swollen, slippery mess of her cunt as she spills and spills against his tongue, shivering as he squeezes her rear. He strokes the tongue back and forth, adding pressure. She keens weakly, burying her face in the firm muscle of his chest.

“You’re fucking soaking, little flower,” he coos, relishing her taste on his tongue. He wants to drink her down, and he does. He chuckles when she rocks her hips, whimpering at the friction.

For a moment she simply lays still on his chest, listening.

Badump.

So steady, and strong, and loud. His breathing is like a cavernous wind to her, his chest expanding. He has expended no effort and already her skin shimmers with a thin sheen of sweat. The room looks hazy in her vision, and her lids are heavy, a small smile on her face.

Is this what it was supposed to be like?

“Hey,” Sukuna growls. “Don’t tell me you’re done already?” He laughs, and Asiri grins at the vibration of it under her.

“No,” comes her quiet, slurred response. “But this is nice, Sukuna. Thank you.”

“We aren’t done,” he growls. Asiri laughs, sitting up, biting her lip when Sukuna slides his tongue back into the maw of his belly, grinding against her swollen sex every step of the way. He grins when she swats his chest.

“I know,” she breathes. “Give me a moment…”

Sukuna heaves a sigh, rolling his eyes.

Asiri feels wonderful. There’s something about the world that feels new, and she feels charged with energy. Thunder rumbles outside, and lightning flashes through the shoji leading to the engawa. Sukuna takes her in as she looks down at him, smoothing his lower hands over her thighs, then back up. Her expression softens, dark eyes soft and blurred, those kiss-swollen lips parted, giving her a look of soft reverent wonder. His hands smooth up her waist, delicate and knowing. He has butchered humans aplenty and is intimately familiar with their form. But that had always been meat for consumption, for nourishment.

Šetû Asiri is for worship.

His hands continue their journey, cupping her breasts. She doesn’t freeze; the old fear does not rear its head in her beautiful eyes. She’s here with him. Her hands come up, settling on his forearms, smoothing up to touch his wrists. She lets him continue, biting her lip on a small sound as he drags his palms over her nipples.

“The first night I saw you,” Sukuna says, “I thought you were a dream spirit. A trick of the fire.”

Asiri laughs as one of his hands settles on her throat, large enough to circle it and hold her fast by that delicate column alone.

His other hand smoothes over her shoulder, behind her head to dig his fingers into her hair.

“It was your smile,” Sukuna says. “There was something sharp about it, like a blade unsheathed. And then it was your eyes. You know more than you let on, and all your secrets are kept there.”

His lower hands lift her hips, and she obliges. She feels the blunt tip of his cock nudging her lips apart. Her eyes widen briefly. So big, but she’s dripping all over him already. She understands now what his aim had been with his tongue.

“And now?” She whispers, her voice tremulous. Sukuna tenderly strokes her hip and begins to slowly ease her onto him.

“Now it’s the rest of you,” he murmurs.

Asiri’s head tips back as she feels him begin to stretch her. She remembers that night, feels herself clench. Sukuna freezes.

“Šetû.”

She comes back to herself as she feels his hands roving her tenderly, grounding her.

“Eyes on me,” he tells her, and she nods. “Breathe for me, mayoi-hana, just like I taught you.”

She breathes, and he relishes the feel of her ribcage expanding in his grip, and as she exhales, she relaxes, and he pushes her down.

The sound that comes from her likely wakes the entire shrine.

“There you go,” Sukuna coos and she’s sobbing, holding onto his forearms to anchor herself. “You’re doing so well. Let me in…”

He groans deeply when she is fully seated on him, and she lets out a high-pitched wail. She pants, leans her head back and lets out a sound.

“Sukuna…” She calls out, dragging his name through her throat like a desperate beseeching prayer to her gods, and without thinking—

Crack!

She yelps, and Sukuna hisses when the slick, wet velvet of her cunt grips him so thoroughly he thinks he may not get his cock back. His hand immediately palms her ass, warm from his strike.

Asiri rubs her backside.

“Mscheww!” She hisses through her teeth, annoyed, and swats his chest. “What was that, eh?!”

Sukuna laughs.

“I wasn’t sure if…” He laughs at her expression. “Ah, the way you moaned my name was like music…”

Asiri stares at him, eyes narrowed.

Sukuna tries to quiet his laughter. “It won’t happen again, mayoi-hana, I promise.”

Asiri swats his arm lightly.

“We can consider it retaliation for your little flower stunt,” he says. Asiri’s mouth opens and before she can retort he lifts her hips. She moans, making him grin harder, gripping his forearms so tight her knuckles drain of color.

Up. Down. Slow, so achingly slow.

His name spills from her mouth, dripping with a pleasure that frightens and exhilarates her all in the same scintillating turn. Up and then down until she realizes why this feels so familiar. She forces herself into a semblance of clarity, looking down at him. He grins at her, sees recognition flit across her features like a glint of light. His lower eyes slide down her body, watching as her waist begins to undulate of its own accord, and soon she is lifting herself up and down. He relaxes his hold on her, watches her find the rhythm and the pleasure it brings.

Asiri has never felt anything like it. Sukuna is big…so big she doesn’t understand how he’s able to fit even as slick as she is, but her body accommodates him as the pleasure begins to build.

Faster.

Sweat beads on her skin, and Sukuna’s eyes chase the path before one of his palms splits into a mouth, tattooed tongue chasing the droplets between her bouncing breasts before he captures one, sealing his mouth over her nipple to lash at it with his tongue.

“Gnh…!” The sound is choked out of her as the additional sensation pricks at her nerves like electricity along her skin. She moves faster; up and down, a bouncing rhythm she’s familiar with, but not with a man inside of her.

Not with the God of Hida inside of her.

His name becomes a mantra she flings heavenward, and Sukuna relishes the sight of his cock vanishing inside of her only to come out gleaming and slick, the black markings stark against the engorged flesh.

“Don’t give up on me, now, mayoi-hana!” He growls at her, moves to strike her again, but stops himself, and instead grips both curves of her ass, digging his fingers into the ample flesh hard enough that it will bruise. Spurs.

“Gambare,” he purrs. Asiri doesn’t stop, but now she screams his name, begging, pleading. A hand slips between them, a tongue lashing at her clit with every movement. It’s enough. Her cunt seizes around him in a series of quivering flutters, and there’s a wash of slick that soaks the dark, blush-colored hair around his cock. Sukuna holds her steady as she shivers, mewling, her vision unfocused.

Sukuna keeps her on his cock, burying himself deep as she spends her energy trying to cram her soul back into her body. He sits upright, and she moans as his hips shift, his cock dragging against her sensitive walls. Her legs tremble as she tries to wrap them around him. His hands roam her sweat slick body tenderly, as if he is indulging himself. He clucks his tongue as her head lolls, and she struggles to meet his gaze.

“Don’t tell me you’re finished already?” He coos in that nettling tease that always goads her pride, and he grins as her gaze sharpens and she glares at him. He pulls her closer.

“No,” she whispers, trembling hands coming up to cup his face. Sukuna allows her to touch him, and she’s careful of his lower eyes. Again, that soft look in her eyes, the tender parting of her lips. The reverent wonder as she threads her fingers through his hair as if he is something precious.

As if he matters to her.

It blooms in his blood like magma, the answering twinge in his chest when she drags her touch to his ears. She rubs the lobes, and he tries to keep his eyes from fluttering. Her hands travel down his throat, slick with sweat. She lingers there, feeling his pulse.

“Masoyí…” She whispers and Sukuna’s brow furrows in confusion. It is not a word he knows.

She draws his head down, pushing up slightly to kiss him. He obliges her, tasting the salt of sweat on her lips, tugging the tender flesh between his teeth. Alive, she is as tender and delicious as he imagined. Had he decided to eat her in the beginning, he has no doubt she would have been delicious.

But now, he does not want to devour her flesh and bone. He wants to possess them.

“I want more,” she says to him as he presses his forehead to hers, their noses rubbing against one another’s.

“Think you can take it, mayoi-hana?” He asks her. She smiles, giggling when he swipes his tongue over her lower lip.

“Gambare.” She says to him. Her accent is different, but he chuckles nonetheless hearing his own words thrown back at him in this instance. With a lissome speed he lifts her off of him, mindful of her gasp. She makes a small sound of protest at the loss, but he lays her on her back, spreading her legs wide, exposing her slick and swollen cunt to his full sight.

He licks his lips as she adjusts, sitting up on the pillows to watch him.

His lower hands grasp both his cocks, and he begins to stroke himself. Asiri’s hand reaches down, her eyes watching in carnal fascination as his hands pump both his cocks. She tentatively spreads her soaking folds with two fingers, revealing her clenching hole and noting with delight that he grips himself harder, pumps faster.

“Come back?” She asks. Sukuna freezes in place, all four eyes focusing on her, then flicking down to her cunt, spread open so prettily for him, dripping and melting all over the sheets, her inner thighs shining with it.

He wants nothing more than to folds her legs back and slide both his cocks into her, but his tongue craves another taste of her, and she watches as he shifts and adjusts, bringing his face level with her cunt. His mouth hovers above her as he watches her. His lower eyes keep watch on the sheen of slick all over her lips and fingers. His jaw works, and then he spits on her cunt. She gasps.

He leans in, meets her pussy in an open-mouthed kiss. She moves her hand, and his mouth keeps her spread for his pleasure. He looks up at her as he devours her cunt, and she’s unable to look away, her breath coming in fits and starts.

He pulls away with a wet pop, flicking the tip of his tongue over her swollen clit before he adjusts, pressing her thighs against his shoulders to push them back. He’s delighted at how easy she folds in half for him. A flexible dancer, he’d almost forgotten. He drinks in the sight of her cunt and the puckered bud of her asshole winking at him.

“Exquisite,” he breathes, watching her sex quiver before him, lowering his head.

Asiri lets out a shrill squeal when she feels the firm, slick muscle of his tongue swirling around that puckered rosebud. She shudders, the sensation new and confusing, but then…

“Oh…” She breathes. Sukuna’s tongue pushes past that tight ring of muscle, loosening and relaxing her. “Oh…” A longer moan, and Sukuna feels her entire body seemingly melt into the futon, her head falling back against the pillows as her eyes roll back and then shut.

“Fuck…” The word comes from her gut as Sukuna’s slides two fingers into her pussy, and one into her asshole, slow and deliberate, working her open in stages.

“Sukunaaaa…” She moans, feeling delirious from the sensation. It aches, but in the best way an ache can feel. She squirms in his grip, but he’s holding her still, her entire nether-region at the mercy of his mouth and hands. His fingers pump slowly, and she can hear the soft, sticky noise of her pussy growing wetter, can feel her entire body vibrating as the heat begins to coil and coil and coil, white-hot in her belly.

He pulls his mouth away from her cunt long enough to chuckle, his breath making her pussy lips quiver.

“Louder, mayoi-hana,” he breathes into her sex, his eyes watching her arch, spreading her thighs wider for him. Longing colors every shade of her undulations.

“I want Heaven itself to hear who you belong to,” he whispers, nipping playfully at the slick lips of her pussy before his mouth fastens on the bud of her clit, sucking rhythmically in tandem with his pumping fingers.

Asiri begins to yelp: short, staccato sounds that match his pace, and then she dissolves into begging, tossing her head, reaching down to grip his hair. He grunts from the sudden tug, then growls into her, relishing the bite of her demands that he bring her shuddering to climax.

But he doesn’t. He prolongs her torment, pushing her toward the edge, then drawing her back.

“Zagi, Sukuna, please…!” Her voice breaks on a frustrated sob, tugging at his hair but his head won’t budge. He rolls her clit between his lips playfully, slowing his fingers before spitting again, watching it drip down to her asshole.

He adds another finger.

Asiri’s back bows from the bed, and her legs come down, heels pressed into the hard muscles of Sukuna’s shoulders as he sucks her clit again and again. Fingers fucking into both of her holes until the coiled heat inside of her snaps outward.

She screams his name while chanting a refrain of yesyesyes just like that.

Sukuna relishes the splash of slick that coats his face as he sucks at her cunt greedily, then pulls away with a satisfied groan, licking his lips and wiping his mouth with a smug laugh.

Asiri lays on the bed, breathing deeply, her body boneless and pliant. Sukuna sees the pillows moist with tears…or drool, he can’t really tell. She turns her head to look up at him, her eyes heavy-lidded, her smile slipping across her face as if it will slide off if she isn’t careful.

“Still with me?” Sukuna asks with a toothy grin. Asiri sits up, arms trembling. His grin is at once cruel and tender and he leans in, slotting himself between her thighs. Asiri is still as he closes the distance between them. His face is one kiss from her own. She doesn’t break his gaze, seeing the flaring crimson closer than anyone ever has and lived to tell about it.

“Always,” she whispers, and regrets it. Sukuna blinks, almost as if the word confuses him. As if she confuses him. For a moment she thinks he may pull back, may put a stop to this exploration of their shared pleasure, but instead, he lowers his gaze.

“Then you’re going to take all of me tonight, mayoi-hana,” he says. “Turn over on your hands and knees.”

She blinks; eyes wide. Sukuna makes a face.

“It will be more comfortable in this position, I promise,” he assures her. “After you feel it, I promise I will do other things to you that will make you sick with desire at the most inopportune moments at the mere memory.”

“Zagi…” She ekes out. Sukuna grins, understanding the meaning.

“You have no idea, but you will.” He pats her thigh with his lower hand. “Up.”

Asiri gets up, frowns when he doesn’t back away, resulting in her pressed against him, and he grins at her playfully before easing back to help her maneuver onto her hands and knees.

“This feels…undignified,” she murmurs, yelping when she looks over her shoulder and Sukuna spreads her thighs wide with his knees. She eyes the black bands of ink around his thighs. Later. She’ll attend to other things later. She’s curious about what it feels like to be taken by him in full.

“Sex is not about dignity, it’s about desire,” Sukuna says, a set of hands engulfing her hips, smoothing over the tender curves of her rear, spreading her open. He spits into her asshole, and she hisses from the sensation. His thumb massages the saliva while he spits into his hand and strokes his slick, top cock.

“Do you desire this, Šetû?” He asks as he guides his cocks into her. She arches her back in response, exposing herself fully.

“Yes,” she shivers out as his cock presses against her asshole, the other nudging itself into her cunt. “I desire little else these days.”

Sukuna hooks a brow, watching with deep satisfaction as he begins to feed both his cocks into her holes, watching her stretch around him. He grits his teeth, growling as the fit becomes a snug one.

“Oh? Is that so? So you’ve wanted me to fuck you for a while, then.” Sukuna’s tone is casual even as Asiri makes an anguished noise that dissolves into a helpless moan of wordless pleasure.

Sukuna grins, then leans his head back and groans as his hips finally sink flush against her rear. He holds her hips but then slides his hands up to grip her waist.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he breathes out, pulling his hips back.

“Sukunaaaa…” Comes her keening moan. Sukuna laughs, stroking his thumbs along her skin in a soothing manner. He drives his hips forward.

Asiri screams, her head dropping between her shoulders, her hands reaching to grip the headboard, nails digging into the carved wood. Sukuna narrows his eyes. She’s so tight around him, clenching as if she doesn’t want to let him go. If he’s not careful he might indulge her and just stay buried in her until the world crumbles around their ears.

He takes a moment to stroke her with his hands, tracing the tattoo limned into her nape, the curves of her ass split so prettily around his cock. He growls.

And then he begins to take her.

But is it taking when she gives so willingly? He does not know. He only knows that he sets a punishing rhythm, and Asiri throws her braids over one shoulder, gripping the headboard and enduring him. Every strike of his hips against her ass, his balls slapping wetly against her swollen clit, punctuated by her throaty moans…all of it serves to nourish him in ways he never thought he’d want from another living soul.

Lust is a serpent whose bite had never taken a permanent hold in him. But this is beyond lust. Asiri is reclaiming her body’s pleasure one obscene cry of his name at a time. And he is her personal god, answering those plaintive, beseeching calls to him.

“Yes!” She cries. “Oh yesyesyesyes, just like thattttt…” One of her hands splay against the headboard, and Sukuna listens as her nails drag against the wood, leaving shallow claw marks. He takes a smug pride in knowing that her pleasure is so great that she must mark the site of its birth. He pulls her back and forth along his cocks, reducing her to high-pitched keening notes, and mindless begging in her mother tongue.

Sukuna groans at how tight she is. Gods, the grip she has on his cocks should be decidedly unfair. He wants to bury himself inside her depths every minute of the day. Every fucking night. He wants to wring her limp of her sweat, of her tears, of these beautiful songs no one will ever be able to make her sing save for the King of Curses himself.

One hand encircles her throat, a firm but comfortable grip and she gasps, but then moans.

His thumb slips into her mouth as he pulls her head back, the arch becoming absolute as he forces her to meet his gaze while he pounds into her. Again and again.

“Open your mouth,” he growls, eyes flaring. Asiri doesn’t think—there are no thoughts in that pretty head of hers in this moment, he’d wager—and he spits into it. She moans when it hits her tongue, and he leans down to devour her mouth with his own. She kisses him desperately, he kisses her ravenously. Between their hungry mouths, their saliva trails, a wet smacking and devouring to accompany the rhythmic slap of skin against skin as Asiri’s eyes glaze over with that softness that makes the center of Sukuna’s chest twinge, not in discomfort, but exhilaration.

Briefly—very briefly—he thinks about her smile, about how she must look just opening her eyes in the morning, still clinging to sleep. The smell of her hair when they rode to the festival. Her laughter when he tells a particularly grisly joke. Those dark eyes, glimmering with secrets as she dances. He wants all of her, all of the time, and he’s beginning to think he might be driven mad from it all.

He fucks her harder, holding her tight to him as she pants and squeals for him.

“Don’tstopdon’tstopdon’tstop…” She whimpers, begging him as he feels her pussy and ass clench around him. She’s so full—feels more full than she could ever imagine one person possibly being.

Tears slip from her eyes, and the King of Curses licks them away, growling at her to take it.

And she does. She takes it deep, she takes it hard, and most of all, she enjoys it.

So this is what it’s supposed to feel like… Her dazed, fuck-drunk mind thinks, the thought spinning like smoke on the breeze beyond the reach of clarity. Everything about that horrible night feels like another lifetime. Sukuna’s touch, possessive and tender and cruel and all-consuming, burns it away. The rot that has been a festering wound within her, burning under the onslaught of his hands. The self-loathing, torn out at the root with his teeth. All of it, undone, undone, undone.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” He growls and her eyes are wide. She can’t speak, only sob out a plea that he give her something—anything.

“Go ahead and come for me, mayoi-hana,” he growls into her skin, sucking marks into her neck, tugging her earlobe with his fangs. “Let me feel how much you want this.”

Her climax shatters like a star within her, and thunder rattles the temple walls, the wind howling in harmony with her screams.

Sukuna can’t take it. He shoves her down, hammers her with powerful thrusts, chasing a climax that he wants to bury so deep inside of her that any other after him will feel the splinters of his soul within her like barbs.

“Oh, Sukuna…” She gasps when all four of his arms come around her, crushing her body to him, burying both his cocks deep as they twitch, filling her; filling her until it leaks between her thighs, slick and sticky.

The storm unleashes its fury as he holds her tight, and they breathe with it—through it—sweat-slick skin slipping against one another. Asiri is limp and boneless in his arms, eyes heavy-lidded as he slowly begins to untangle their limbs. The process of slipping from her results in a mess, and him having to catch her before she tumbles. He lays her down gently, and she gladly hugs one of the massive pillows, catching her breath. Sukuna smirks down at her, already feeling refreshed, his cocks slick and dripping. Asiri peers up at him before she moves, quickly.

She leans in as Sukuna watches her with sharp, predatory eyes. Then, in a moment of carnal curiosity, she licks a drop of pearlescent and salty come from the tips of both his cocks, looking up at him. His jaw tenses and a low sound comes from him. She bites her lip and pulls away with an almost secret smile, as if she cannot believe her own boldness.

“How do you feel, mayoi-hana?” He asks, reaching to cup her chin, tilting her gaze back up to him. Asiri shamelessly leans into his touch, now, still smiling. It is the look of a woman who has realized that she is not a broken thing. Sukuna sees her come to the realization as her gaze meets his.

“Sated,” she murmurs, still biting her lip with a girlish smile. “For now.”

Sukuna grins slowly at that, stroking her jaw and carding his fingers through her braids to examine the flushing purple bruises forming on her neck from where his mouth claimed her tender flesh. Then, he moves off of the futon, retreating to the partitioned wash room. He doesn’t bother to dress, and Asiri takes that moment to truly observe him.

Sukuna is, for lack of adequate description, beautiful.

Her eyes trail over him from head to toe and she thinks to herself that he is perfectly made. Whatever features she once found grotesque are in fact the keys to his perfection. Every muscle and sinew, every movement…he is everything self-contained in one flesh; an entity wholly unto himself. She looks away briefly, wondering why her heart hurts and feels so full at the same time; why it races and skips and skids as if every movement and gesture he makes yanks it from her chest. The sight of him fills her with something she cannot name. It is not lust, nor is it anything that could be called true admiration. Joy? No, even that fails to do it justice.

She decides not to think of it, now.

Sukuna returns with a bowl, an ewer, and a wash rag. Asiri watches as he wipes her down, smiling as she sinks into the pillows.

“I want more,” she whispers. Sukuna gives her an incredulous look.

“You have probably scared every cursed spirit in the forest out into the hills with your delicious screaming; are you sure you can handle more of me?” He asks dryly.

For a moment, Asiri says nothing.

“Yes,” she breathes. Then Sukuna watches as she breathes, shutting her eyes. Her cursed energy flares, moving around her body, slipping between her thighs. His eyes narrow. There’s no way she’s…

Her hand follows, and his gaze sharpens: main eyes on her face, his lower eyes tracking the movement of her hand.

“Clever,” he snorts, lower eyes dropping to her cunt automatically as she adjusts, her thighs spreading wider. He can see the glistening trail of his seed all over her.

Asiri takes two fingers, spreads her lips open and Sukuna nearly cracks his teeth his jaw is so tight, but he doesn’t move.

She gathers the commingled juices, slipping her fingers around the lovely shape of her cunt, trapping her swollen clit between her knuckles. Back and forth, spreading his seed all over her, grinding her hips. She whines in pleasure and he watches.

It doesn’t take long, and Sukuna finds himself breathing with her as she strokes herself to climax, moaning for him and giving him a show; and he watches that lovely hole clench and flutter and spasm and spill her essence and his all over her stroking fingers.

Her eyes flutter open, and she lets out a pleased little sigh before bringing her fingers to her lips.

Sukuna’s hand snatches her wrist, startling her, and she stares at him with wide, eager eyes as he brings her slicked fingers to his lips, sucking them down to the knuckle, relishing the taste of both of them on his tongue. It’s almost enough to stir him again, but he wants a break. He’ll not rush any moment of this, and they have the entire night to themselves. No one will disturb them. Still, he will admit that was the sexiest thing he’d seen anyone do in front of him without prompting or commanding.

He retrieves the rag from her and pulls on his hakama. Walking to slide open the shoji leading to the engawa. Outside, a steady downpour is going, rain dripping in curtains from the upturned edges of the pagoda roofing. The engawa remains relatively dry, and the air is pleasantly mild and cool against his skin. He retrieves a long lacquered case, and takes a seat outside.

Not to be left behind, Asiri climbs out of the futon, and in lieu of anything else, grabs Sukuna’s black haori, throwing it over herself. She comes to join him out on the engawa and he looks up in the midst of…her brows furrow.

Sukuna is crushing pungent, green flower buds of ganja into the bowl of his kiseru. He glances up at her as he snaps his fingers over the crumbled flower, igniting it as he inhales. He breathes out a cloud of reaper gray, the air pungent with the burning flower. He gazes at her standing there, naked under his massive haori. With that same preternatural grace, he rearranges himself and she goes to him, settling in his sphere. He passes her the kiseru wordlessly and she takes a draw, holding in a cough before releasing it.

Almost immediately, she feels sluggish and languorous.

“Mmm…” Comes her pleased hum as she watches rain pour out in the garden, lightning occasionally illuminating the entire scene. She leans into Sukuna, and one of his arms comes around her as he smokes. Asiri feels something lower in her mind’s defenses along with her eyelids. There’s a light feeling in her limbs and chest and she bites her lip on a mindless giggle. Sukuna’s lower eyes flick down to her, and the corner of his lips lift.

“Sukuna,” Asiri breathes. Sukuna hums in acknowledgement. “When you found me that night…why did you save me?”

Sukuna frowns. She wants to do this now? He sighs, exhaling smoke. He supposes there’s nothing to lose at this point.

“I didn’t save you, Šetû,” he breathes in a reluctantly laconic tone. “You saved yourself, I merely watched. Had you died that night I simply would have eaten you.”

Asiri’s eyes widen. It’s callous, but it’s honest. It still stings. Sukuna has never been one to mince words not matter how much they hurt. She breathes deep, ignores the stinging prick of tears in her eyes before blinking them away.

“But I knew you wouldn’t die,” Sukuna continues and Asiri looks up at him. He’s watching the rain, the embers of his kiseru still burning as he passes it to her. “Uraume wanted to know why I refused to heal you, and the truth is Šetû is that I knew you were more than capable of doing it yourself. I knew it from the first moment I tasted your cursed energy the night we met. I knew you had it in you to dig out of the shallow grave that pitiful Zenin brat left you in.”

“You were testing me,” Asiri breathes. Sukuna dips his head in a nod.

“In a sense,” Sukuna says nonchalantly. “Once you healed yourself, I brought you here to get answers. I saw the residuals of cursed technique usage around the site of the attack, but I knew if you survived, you could give me a name.”

Asiri takes another drag.

“Why was it important to you to know who attacked me?”

Sukuna growls.

“I invited you and your family as my honored guests. I had planned to formally hire you to entertain me. Zenin attacking you was a direct insult to me, violating the tenets of my hospitality, such as it is.”

Asiri leans her head against his shoulder.

“When he was raping me,” she says. “He said I was your creature. Said you’d hired a foreign sorcerer to aid you. At the time I didn’t know what he meant. I had no idea who you were, not really.”

Sukuna snorts. “And do you know who I am, now, little flower?”

Asiri smiles. “You are mine,” she says with a mischievous twinkle in her dark eyes. Sukuna stares down at her with his lower eyes and says nothing.

“You promised,” she reminds him. He snorts.

“So I did,” he grumbles. “And what does it mean to belong to Šetû Asiri, I wonder. What glorious sights will I behold while beneath you?”

Her cheeks burn and she looks away when he grins to see his joke land exactly where he intended. He nudges her gently.

“You are no one’s creature,” he tells her. “Least of all mine. Too stubborn.”

She nudges him back, annoyed when he doesn’t budge.

“But I am yours,” she says. Sukuna turns the full of his gaze upon her.

“Thou, and no other,” he reminds her. She smiles at him, leaning her head against his shoulder again. The rain sounds like a waterfall, but it’s muted against the lush grass. For a moment they sit in silence, listening to it, breathing with it.

A question forms in Sukuna’s mind, one he finds himself reluctant to ask. There’s only two answers to his question, and only one he wants to hear.

He remains silent.

“Sukuna,” Asiri says quietly. “More.”

Sukuna’s brows go up. “Insatiable little minx,” he teases. “Tell me what you want.”

Asiri pulls away from him, watches as he taps out the ash of his kiseru and replaces it in the lacquered box. She sits on her heels.

“I want to taste you,” she murmurs and that draws the full of his gaze again, hard and sharp and unblinking.

“What?” He asks quietly. Asiri gulps, taking a deep inhale.

“Your cocks, I want to taste them…” Her cheeks burn. “Every part of you, really. You are so…”

Sukuna smirks and leans back on his lower hands, one of his upper hands beckoning her closer. For a moment, Asiri wants to resist him, but he looks too much like some god out of an old myth, reclining in leisure. She closes the distance slowly, once again wondering what she must do. She tries to remember any frame of reference before that horrible night. Sometimes her cousins would visit brothels on their travels, and she tries to remember the glimpses of that life she managed to catch. Women far bolder in sex than she, gossiping about sex.

Nothing in her memory is helpful.

“The night won’t last forever, mayoi-hana,” Sukuna growls impatiently.

Asiri shoots him a look.

“Mscheww. Jirgin da ya kawo Bilal shi ne jirgin da ya kawo Musa.” She snaps back impatiently and Sukuna’s eyes go wide. Then he tips his head back and laughs. While he laughs, she reaches for the waistband of his hakama, loosening it and freeing one of his cocks, already straining and hard. It bobs, veined and tattooed, and she marvels at how big it is. To think it was inside of her not too long ago. Sukuna watches her as she reaches and wraps her hand around the base of the shaft, but her fingers don’t meet on the other side.

She strokes him once, gaze sharpening when a strained sound comes from Sukuna’s chest.

Again, up and down, squeezing tighter, and Sukuna’s lids lower slightly, a lazy smirk curling his sensuous mouth. Asiri watches as a bead of pearlescent seed forms at the tip of his cock and then, as before, she leans in and licks the droplet.

Sukuna groans from the contact, still somewhat sensitive from earlier. Asiri smiles, gives a circling lick around the head, slow and indulgent. Sukuna lets out a soft, reverent swear at the sight of those dark eyes looking up at him, his cock in her grip, her tongue swirling and eager to taste him.

She lowers her head, coming down to the heavy sack of his balls. Sukuna’s eyes widen as she brushes her lips against the sensitive skin, tests the weight of them on her tongue, lifting his cock and stroking as she sucks one into her mouth, blinking up at him.

“Fuck…” Comes his guttural growl. “You are so gods-bedamned beautiful, Šetû. Perfect, just like that.”

She sucks on one, then the other, relishing and lavishing every part of him that brings her pleasure, tracing the seam between them with her tongue from front to back. He hisses when her tongue tickles close to the back, and the sight of her with them resting on her lips is enough that he wants to spend on her pretty face at least once.

Asiri explores some more when her lips close around the head of his cock. For a moment, that’s all she does, but her tongue rolls against the head and Sukuna’s hips shift slightly, the small muscles in his thighs twitching from the effort of trying not to lose control as Asiri explores this new avenue of pleasure. Slowly she lowers her head, and inch by inch he enters her mouth.

“Yes…” Sukuna breathes out in a harsh hiss. “Just like that…”

Asiri takes as much of the shaft into her mouth as she can, pausing to find out how to work her stroking hand in tandem with her mouth. She pulls up, hollowing her cheeks to hold the head longer while her tongue lashes back and forth across the tip. Sukuna grits his teeth on a groan.

“Faster…” He hisses reaching to grab her head and force her down. He hears her choke and cough slightly as the thick head of his cock bumps the back of her throat. Then he pulls her up and she looks up at him, eyelashes fluttering.

Down. Choke. Cough. Wince. Drool.

Up. His cock glistening with her drool. Eyelids fluttering. Groaning.

Down. Choke. Drool. Cough.

Up. Down. Up. Down. Faster.

In the privacy of his engawa, Sukuna watches as Asiri’s head bobs in a fluid rhythm in his lap, taking to the task of pleasing him with eager relish. She strokes and sucks him, relishing the taste of their commingled fluids. She looks up at him, eyes glimmering with something akin to admiration and pleasure at having pleased him.

“Fuck, that’s good…” He praises, only slightly winded. “You sure you haven’t done this before?”

Asiri pauses long enough to shoot a smirk with her eyes alone, tracing the veins of his cock with the tip of her tongue.

Down. This time, Sukuna forces her further, until he feels her neck relax in an effort to get the head of his cock past the tight entrance of her throat. Once there, he feeds the rest of his cock to her, watching tears run down her face as he sheathes himself in her throat, her nose pressed against the soft, downy blush-colored hair at the base. He holds her there until he feels the small muscles of her throat working in swallowing motions, relaxing her jaw until he hears the wet, sticky sound of her drool dripping down her chin and soaking the heavy sack of his balls.

“Oh fuck!” Sukuna groans. “Fuck yes. That’s it.” His head tips back and he moans louder, pulling her up as she makes a high-pitched gasp for air and then she’s down again.

Her head bobs faster, and he leashes her by her hair, guiding her until all he can hear is the lewd, wet sucking noises of her mouth and the deep, guttural sound of her choking as he fucks her beautiful face. And what a beautiful face it is. Sukuna thinks she has never looked better, her full lips stretched around his cock, tears in her eyes, drool dripping down her chin and neck as she struggles to take him deep every single time he pushes her head down.

Faster.

Deeper. One hand shifts to feel that bulge in her throat, stroking it tenderly. She gags, but then forces it down.

The rain pours. There’s a rapid series of wet squelching and sucking noise as Sukuna reduces Asiri to the pleasure of her lips, tongue, and throat, and Asiri relishes being used for his enjoyment. She relishes pleasing him.

Faster. Deeper. Choke.

Sukuna’s breaths come heavier, and he feels the telltale tingle at the base of his spine. He’s so close.

Tears runs down her face as Sukuna forces her down with a primal sound that is right at home in the wild places of the earth,; right at home in the storm raging just steps away from them. His cock fills her mouth, pulsing and twitching, and she holds her breath as copious amounts of his seed paints her throat. Hot enough that it nearly shocks her into coughing, and plentiful enough that what doesn’t make it down her throat fills her mouth and leaks from the corners, dribbling down her chin. A beautiful, messy creature.

Sukuna waits until the last spurts and twitches subside before he pulls her off of his cock, listening with residual pleasure as she gasps desperately for air, lips swollen and glistening with seed and saliva. She licks her lips, sitting back on her heels and swaying as she regains her composure.

Sukuna lays where he is, breathing deep.

“Fuck…” He murmurs quietly, catching his breath. “Ah, you are more than I could have dreamed, Šetû. Where did you learn such obscene skills?”

Asiri shrugs. “I didn’t. I simply…guessed what to do.”

Sukuna hooks an incredulous brow.

She reaches forward, runs a fingertip over his softening cock making him hiss. He glares at her but does nothing to stop her.

“It’s pretty straightforward in its workings,” she says matter-of-factly. Sukuna snorts. He won’t argue that. It’s rare he meets virginal women who know anything about the body. Though he remembers telling her this was a dance for which the steps would come easy to one such as her.

He smirks, and with that frightening speed, leans up, reaching to pull her into his lap, freeing his other cock. Divining his desire, Asiri lets him maneuver her, hooking her legs over the elbows of his lower arms, before dropping her unceremoniously on his cock.

She screams, but she’s already wet and tender for him as he stretches her pussy again. He wraps his arms around her completely, keeping her folded in half and crushed against him. He has complete control and he sees none of the fear in her.

She trusts him.

“Sukuna…” She whines. “Sukuna, I can’t…too big…”

Sukuna laughs and without preamble begins bouncing her helplessly on his cock. Asiri wraps her arms around his neck, fingers gripping his hair. Sukuna murmurs against her mouth.

“I saw potential in you,” he repeats his earlier words amidst her whimpering as he slows his pace to torment her with deep, languorous strokes. Up and down, a wet, sticky sound as her pussy is parted around his thick cock again and again. So big…so fucking big. She almost feels too full.

“But not just for sorcery,” he continues. “I wanted to taste you on my tongue, wanted to feel you split on my cock just…like…this…ngh!” He punctuates those last words with a hard, pounding thrust.

Asiri’s mind is wiped. There’s only the King of Curses there, occupying her every fleeting thought. She babbles mindlessly.

“Sukuna, don Allah zan yi komai kawai...don Allah…” She sobs. Sukuna doesn’t understand and he grins at her in the dim light, only the glow of his eyes visible.

“Are you begging?” He mocks. “You think you can just beg me in any tongue that flits into that pretty head of yours and I’ll just concede to your demands?”

She’s crying, but not out of shame or embarrassment or anger, but the pleasure. God, she feels like she’s coming apart.

And that’s exactly when Sukuna reaches between them, strumming her clit cruelly with his thumb. He wants her to come apart. Wants to run his hands through the shattered bits of starlight that is her soul, and fuse them to the gold of her own strength.

There’s a high, keening wail that competes with the thunder and lightning, and then a clamping of lust-slick, velveteen muscles. Sukuna lets out a surprised groan and chuckles.

“Oh, how magnificent: she’s crying and coming all over my cock again…and she thinks we’re done.”

The night stretches endlessly it seems. When she comes, it undoes the last of the chains she’s carried since autumn. The guilt, the grief, the fear…all of it melts away as Sukuna gathers her in his arms and carries her inside, sliding the shoji shut behind him. He heads to the partitioned bath chamber, pulling a lever to bring water into the massive, beaten copper tub from the rooftop cistern. He lights the incense and coals beneath the tub.

Asiri is vaguely aware of his actions, head lolling against his chest as he strips her of the haori and abandons his hakama. She feels him move, and then they sink into the bath. He arranges her between his legs, and the warm water immediately makes her melt.

Asiri doesn’t question it, she simply leans back against him. Sukuna shifts, spreading his upper arms along the edge of the tub to rest, his lower arms around Asiri, pulling her back against him.

“Won’t your belly mouth drown?” She asks lamely, her words only slightly slurred. Sukuna blinks, nonplussed. Ah, she’s still inebriated from the ganja. What a stupid question. He doesn’t dignify it with an answer, reaching for a wash rag and an earthenware jar of soaps and oil.

Asiri leans forward as she piles her braids atop her head. Sukuna looks down, sees the mark on her nape clearly in the lantern light. He reaches, traces it with his fingertips much like she’d done with his own tattoos. And like her, he doesn’t ask her what this mark means. He feels something powerful about it, something resembling protective warding. A barrier seal, perhaps?

“My mother called it psychic armor,” Asiri says in a lazy tone. She smiles, drawing her knees to her chest to rest her cheek on them. “She and someone designed the mark to protect me from harm by those who harbor ill thoughts about me.”

Sukuna says nothing, tracing the black limned marking with a reverence one paid to gods.

Gods…like him.

Goddesses…like her.

“And now you command the sky’s wrath,” Sukuna murmurs in an amused tone. Asiri laughs softly.

“Yes,” she agrees. “I command the sky’s wrath…as my grandfather did.”

“So you knew you were a sorcerer,” Sukuna says darkly. Asiri, sensing his displeasure, sits up and shakes her head.

“No,” she says in her defense. “My grandfather’s gift had always been a paternal one. It had only ever manifested in the men of his line. It had been my parents’ hope that the gift died with my grandfather. Islam has taken root in my homeland and they frown upon such magics in their faith. It had been Amadou’s hope that it passed to him.”

Sukuna begins to understand, now. It must have galled Amadou to see such a gift passed to one who was not supposed to have it…and Sukuna has learned that it’s precisely that kind of spiritual and secret greed that forces the universe to dispense a lesson in the form of beings like her. And beings like him. Sometimes those lessons were permanent in nature.

“That was another reason we had to leave,” she says softly. “Had it gotten out that I had his gift, it would have destroyed my family.”

Sukuna’s lip curls. “Sounds like your family was no better than the Zenins or any of the other sorcerer clans who care more about breeding sorcerers with certain techniques rather than training the sorcerers available to them to be good at jujutsu.”

Asiri snorts and laughs as well.

“Yes,” she says softly. “Still, Amadou never held it against me. And for a long while, whatever the shaman had sensed in me, was quiet. For a few years, I was just Šetû. Just a marokiya with…quirks, I suppose.”

Sukuna’s lower hands cup her breasts beneath the water and she takes comfort in his touch as it roves over her, rubbing her abused muscles into tenderness.

“Now you are more.” He says in that deadly quiet finality. But it doesn’t scare her anymore. It thrills her.

“Now I am more.” She agrees, and believes it.

After their bath, Sukuna helps her dry off, and leers at her shamelessly. She smiles shyly, squeezing out her braids before pushing them over one shoulder. She leans over to adjust her anklet. Sukuna watches her and thinks he can get used to seeing her in this bedchamber.

Not as his guest, or pupil, or ward. Not even as food.

Something more.

Asiri leans back up, her gaze snagging on his.

“What is it?” She asks, her tone one of hushed expectancy, her expression guileless. Sukuna wants to take all that softness in her and put it inside himself for safekeeping. The world will take it from her otherwise, but within his soul, he can keep her safe.

He doesn’t answer.

They return to the futon, and Asiri mounts the empty, rumpled sheets, and he watches her, briefly on her hands and knees as she attempts to smooth the rumpled bedding. He gets a glimpse of her swollen and abused cunt, and feels his cocks getting hard again. She sits back on her heels and looks at him.

“Sukuna?” She ventures. “You haven’t been a shit to me for a full five minutes, are you sure you’re alright?”

That brings him back and he frowns.

“Watch your tongue, brat.” He warns. She hooks a brow at him, tilting her head. She doesn’t respond but she does climb out of bed to stand before his full-length mirror. He joins her as she observes herself. She runs her hands over various planes of her body, squeezing and pinching. He turns her to face him and she looks up.

“Say something,” she says.

“I want your throat around my cock again,” he responds without missing a beat.

Her eyelids flutter and her mouth opens and then closes.

“That’s funny,” she breathes. “I wanted both your cocks inside me again.”

That bloodthirsty grin spreads across his face and Asiri wonders if this is the final sight of his enemies before he slaughters them. He places his hands on her shoulders, turns her to face the mirror. She meets his gaze in their shared reflection, watches as all four of his hands caress her reverently, learning every contour that shapes her. The darkling Galatea to this monstrous and possessive Pygmalion.

For the second time, they sink to the floor together, one of his arms wrapped around her waist as she folds her knees under her and he spreads her thighs. Without breaking her gaze in the mirror, one of his hands slides between her legs, fingers tracing her cunt.

She shivers, and he feels the first pearls of moisture form. Lightly, he moves his finger forward and back, lightly grazing her clit. She trembles.

Back and forth.

Her eyelids flutter.

Back and forth.

A small, restrained groan. More wetness.

Back and forth.

She falls forward onto her forearms, exposing herself further.

Sukuna hears the music he has come to love the most: the slick sound of her cunt waking up just for him. He dips a finger in, carefully. One would think after hours of this, the tissues would become numb to overuse, even injured, but he watched her use reverse cursed technique to heal herself earlier while bringing herself to climax. Who knew beneath that soul scar was such a devilish and insatiable little minx?

She shifts, spreading her thighs wider. Sukuna eyes watch her in the mirror, his lower eyes watching his fingers gather her juices with each thrust.

Another finger.

“Oh,” comes her soft moan. A few droplets spill.

Dripdrip. Against the wooden floor, glittering like obscene dew. Sukuna licks his lips. He wants to devour her, and he wants to fuck her.

“I love how wet you get for me,” Sukuna groans. “Hotter than a forge and wetter than tears. I’m going to enjoy this.”

Another hand presses against her back, deepening her arch, and she bows herself for him obediently—eagerly. Sukuna is quietly impressed with her flexibility, though he should not be surprised.

Asiri focuses her vision and looks up; comes face to face with a captive dream spirit in a position of vulnerable supplication, the God of Hida on his knees behind her, his cocks swollen and straining, pearly drops of seed beading at the tips. With his main eyes on hers in their reflection, his lower eyes flicker down as he spreads the curves of her ass apart and admires her, circling his thumb around the puckered bud and smirking when it clenches from the contact. She’s more pliant now that he’s prepared her and used her.

The maw on his belly parts in a hungry grin, the tattooed tongue rolling out of from between the fangs like a serpent. Saliva drips from it like acid, splattering onto the small of her back, and she shivers.

Then, it slides between the spread globes of her ass, teasing the puckered hole.

“Oh fuck…!” She whines, watching in the mirror as the tongue slides up and down, saliva dripping all over, making a messy of her. The tip of it pushes that puckered bud and he feels it give, stretching slightly, and Asiri’s eyes screw shut as she whines helplessly while the massive tongue pumps in and out of her in shallow thrusts. There is only her voice, and the wet, sticky sound of his tongue.

“Look how beautiful you are,” Sukuna praises with the mouth on his face, the other preoccupied with her asshole. “On your hands and knees for me, at my mercy, and whining like a whore for me to fuck you. Are you still mine, Šetû?”

He shapes her name like a leash and collar, and she lets him slip it around her throat. Lets him pull it tight, demanding her submission.

“Yes,” comes her strained, desperate whimper as he adds another finger to her cunt, fucking both of her holes with rhythmic pumps. She keeps whimpering. It’s unfair that he can do all of this to her, bring her to such unimaginable pleasure that it feels almost criminal to enjoy it. It feels like the sweetest taboo.

“Keep talking, little flower, I want to hear how much you belong to me.”

“Ciki…na…masoyí…” She begs, her dark eyes pleading with his in the mirror. Sukuna will never tire of that lambent, plaintive gaze she gives him, as if he holds the very air she needs to breathe and will do anything for one, desperate inhale.

“Come for me,” he murmurs. “Come for me and I’ll give you exactly what you crave, mayoi-hana. Drench me as only you can.”

And she does. That light circling of her clit, his pumping fingers, that fucking massive tongue, and the silken honey of his voice all serve to bring her shuddering to climax and she watches in the mirror as he withdraws his fingers, sucking her juices from them indulgently. The tongue lolls and the mouth on his belly grins in satisfaction.

Asiri’s body quivers both in anticipation and in the aftermath of her climax.

Only then does her fill her with his cocks, feeding one and the other into both her holes. This time, there’s more give, the slide slick between them, and he sinks into her much quicker and smoother, hands pulling her hips back until she lifts her head, eyes blurred and unfocused.

“Stay with me, Šetû,” he grits out, pulling his hips back and driving forward. Long, throaty moans tear from her, more hoarse than before—he’s had her screaming for most of the night—and he holds her head up with one hand, not allowing her to look away from their reflection.

Asiri is mesmerized by the sight. Sukuna’s face is flushed in the cheeks, sweat gleaming on his brown skin. The muscles of his abdomen work as he pumps himself in and then out of her, again and again, until the sound of skin meeting skin is all there is, as loud as her cries for more. Louder than the storm that is both her doing and not.

“Oh fuck!” She moans, words trailing as she endures him. “Don’tstopdon’tstopdon’tstop…” She begs and chants, bracing herself even as he holds her by the throat. Tears slip from her eyes again, and another arm bands around her waist, leashing her more securely so that he can pound her more thoroughly.

In and out. Again and again and again. She hopes he never stops. She hopes he wrings everything out of her, until all she knows is to belong to him.

Plapplapplapplaplapplaplap—

“You want this,” Sukuna tells her, but it’s a question also, the only sign that he wants her reassurance as much as her surrender. “You need this…”

“Yes,” she ekes out, the words dragging like a chain through her throat straight from the belly. “Yes…!”

And she means it. Something moves through both of them as he plows her, like a dark wind.

Another hand, stroking her clit while he stuffs her full, relishing those tight confines of her body, and the look of absolute bliss in her reflection. For his part, Sukuna looks like some feral beast, all teeth and maw and growling, but he pulls her up to him, holding her suspended against him so he can kiss her, and drink down her cries like rare wine. His lower eyes watch their reflection, wanting to commit this moment to memory.

His lips travel down, and he sinks his teeth into the tender meat of her shoulder, just enough to bruise. She cries out and shudders in his arms. He tightens his bite, breaking the skin, and the coppery sweetness of her floods his mouth as she mewls in pain. He licks the wound he’s made, the closest thing to an apology, but also a self-indulgent excuse to continue to taste her in every way he can.

“Mine,” he growls, unthinking. The one thing in the world Asiri is that she is to no one else. He won’t let her be anyone else’s after this.

“Yours,” she whimpers, her voice warbling with her tears; agreeing, pleading, begging for it to be true. Begging him to make it true; her eyes shining with tears and his heart stinging from that other look in her gaze that makes him feel more naked than he is right now. As if she’s looking at his soul and not him. As if the rot of his own curses within his viscera does not repulse her.

He presses his fingers against her clit, trapping it and stroking it relentlessly.

“Give me one more, mayoi-hana,” he pants. “Gambare, gambare.”

She gives him two. And then one more, breaking in his arms as she dissolves into helpless sobs, the pleasure insurmountable.

And then he fucks her harder. He wants to undo everything that bastard Zenin did to her, wants to strip it away so completely that she does not remember the pain of that violation, only the pleasure of his touch, only the pleasure of being his.

Just as he is hers. Gods she’s had him since their eyes met that night and he was inevitably drawn into the invitation of those beautiful forest pools in her beautiful face.

Love.

That realization is what sends him over the edge, and in their shared reflection, two people who do not find themselves worthy of love, find themselves tangled within it like moth wings in the gossamer of spider silk. Sukuna spends himself inside of her again, his thrusts ragged and staggered as he groans loudly, thoroughly sated as he claims her in full. Though not nearly as copious as the first time, it is still a generous amount and he watches with satisfaction as it drips out of her onto the wooden floor. He groans again, deep and from the belly, tipping his head back and panting, muscles twitching, body gleaming with sweat.

Their reflection is like erotic art. His limbs tangled with hers, her spread and impaled on him. Heaving together in their shared breath, mouths seeking one another’s like breathing.

Sukuna slides out of her with a low groan and her soft whimpering mewl.

He has strength aplenty, but he knows she is at her limit from the dazed look in her eyes. He carries her back to the futon, wiping her down with a clean rag before joining her. He douses the lantern with a swipe of her hand, plunging the room into the softer, dimmer light of the brazier, which burns low, mounted on a plinth.

Asiri stretches out along the bed on her stomach, eyes already heavy with fatigue, body limp and boneless and replete.

Sated.

“Sukuna,” she murmurs, her voice slurred. “Thank you for…”

Her eyes slip closed as she shivers and he turns to look at her. Has she fallen asleep so quickly?

“Sorry,” she mumbles, then giggles and shivers again before Sukuna pulls the covers over them both. “Aftershocks.”

He sucks his teeth but the annoyance has no bite to it. He watches her as she blinks slowly at him, her smile lazy and dreamy. For a moment, he almost says something to her that he has said to no one before, but instead he decides to watch her in silence. She reaches for him, clumsily finding his face before stroking it.

“You didn’t have to save me,” she tells him. “But you did. I don’t think all of your bad reputation is warranted.”

Sukuna grins. “Oh, it is,” he tells her. “But I have been known to follow my interests and whims.”

Asiri adjusts with a soft groan.

“And am I an interest or a whim?” She asks him. Sukuna reaches over, traces his fingertips down the length of her spine, over the curve of her hip. Asiri watches him with expectant, guileless eyes, her skin glowing in the aftermath of their rigorous fucking.

“You are…something else,” Sukuna admits. “What that is, I cannot readily say. If you want me to call you my lover, I cannot. That has never been something I could give to anyone.”

Asiri’s brows furrow. “I do not want you to call me that if that is not what I am. I merely ask…am I interest or whim?”

Sukuna brushes a braid from her face.

“Interest,” he replies and Asiri smirks as if he has just told her a delicious secret.

“Interest is good,” she murmurs. “Interest means you think of me often.”

Sukuna snorts. “Hardly.”

“Sukuna, you don’t fuck someone the way you just fucked me if you don’t think of them. You think of me. It’s alright.”

Sukuna’s nose wrinkles and he frowns. Asiri laughs, rolling onto her back. She laughs like she’s just heard the sweetest joke, or learned the most ridiculous information about someone she hates. She laughs and he sees that sharp smile of hers from the first night they met. Perhaps a night of vigorous fucking was part of what was needed to get that spark back.

“I think of you often, too,” she admits when her laughter quiets and she lays on her back, staring at the ceiling. She turns her head to look at him.

“I think of how you looked at the harvest festival, like you wanted to be anywhere else. I think about how you and Uraume came to our camp, and how I felt so honored that you’d even be interested or curious about us. I think of you and your fire, helping me reclaim the map of my body’s pleasure. And I’ll think of you long after all of this is done.”

Sukuna lays back with a sigh.

“And what will you do?” He asks. “When all this is done? Where will those dancing feet take you?”

Asiri rolls closer to him, and Sukuna marvels at how different she is compared to when they first met. Seeing her relaxed and comfortable in this state is…

“I don’t know,” she says softly. “I hadn’t thought that far…” She stifles a yawn behind her hand.

“That is a problem for future Asiri to handle,” she mumbles and carves out a space at his side. Sukuna surprises himself when his arms automatically come around her and he folds her into his embrace, hauling her on top of him so she can lay there. His lower hands slide down to cup her rear, his upper arms wrapped around her, hands smoothing up and down her back.

The rain pours outside, and Asiri’s eyes lower, sleep calling stronger with every breath, Sukuna’s breathing and heartbeat lulling her deeper.

“Goodnight, masoyí…”

That name again. He wants to ask her what it means.

Sukuna feels her breathing even out, and then hears a light snore indicating she’s asleep.

He watches the rain through the windows a while longer, and soon, shuts his eyes.

The rain stops at some point in the night, just before dawn. The brazier’s fire has died down to a few embers, leaving the room much cooler. There’s a lingering scent of sandalwood in the air…and sex.

Sukuna slips from bed just as dawn begins to bring color back into the world. He watches Asiri, who lays unmoving amidst the rumpled bedding, her face relaxed in sleep, her breathing deep and even. Reluctantly, he turns away from her and heads to the engawa. Outside, water drips from the pagoda roofing, and there’s a feeling of freshness in the air as he breathes deep. The hot spring is steaming, and he contemplates waking Asiri to join him for a soak. Instead, he opts to have a contemplative smoke from his kiseru and head back inside.

She’s still sleeping.

Sukuna tries to ignore her presence, but all he can think of is everything from the night. Her whimpering, her moaning, her eagerness to please and be pleased. Her taking joy in something that had been tainted for her for so long. He thinks of that name she called him before slipping into sleep. The same name she called him when she held his face in her hands and looked at him as if she were looking upon—

He cannot even lie to himself and say he’s imagining it, and it irritates him.

Never has he needed anyone to satisfy him. He has been a solitary creature since his mother abandoned him for death when he was barely old enough to understand what death actually is. He has lost track of the years, and the only thing he knows is the velvet crimson of the blood that stains his soul so dark he fears Asiri will fall prey to his curse.

He can protect her from anyone. From everyone. Just not himself. So he must make sure she is strong. Otherwise, it will be him stealing the light from her eyes, even when he doesn’t intend to.

He sits on a low stool, and he watches her. She’s unmoving in her sleep, lips parted as she breathes. She shifts rarely, content to stay curled amidst those sheets, as if the they are the tattered remains of a cocoon that birthed her exquisite form. She lets out a soft moan, brow pinched as she rolls onto her side, her back to him. His eyes follow her movements, lingering on the limned mark on her nape.

Psychic armor.

Sukuna has heard tell of a sorcerer, more myth than anything, called the Marquist. They specialize in tattoos for sorcerers. He has heard of sorcerers meeting with this mysterious figure, but no one speaks of it directly. He deduces that most of the truth is locked behind a series of complex and iron-clad binding vows. Still, he lingers on Asiri’s tattoo a moment longer, and wonders.

His lower eyes snap to the door as it slides open. Uraume is there, a tray laden with a teapot, a small jar of honey, and a cup. Sukuna knows the contents of the tea, and watches as they glide inside and set the tray on the low bedside table.

“Lord Sukuna,” they greet with a reverent bow. “Shall I prepa—”

Sukuna holds up a gentle forestalling hand, then puts a finger to his lips indicating silence. Uraume’s lilac gaze drifts like snowfall toward the sleeping Asiri, a small, nigh imperceptible smile curving their mouth. It is a fondness Asiri herself has earned from them, and not just because she has enamored their lord.

“Understood, my lord,” they say, and excuse themselves from the room. Sukuna doesn’t even hear them leave down the hall. He’s trained them well in stealth.

His gaze returns to Asiri, who sleeps continuously, and he wonders what her answer will be when her vengeance is done.

I’m going to take you, and then I’m going to bind you to me.

He hasn’t offered the Pact of the Wheel yet, and he’s reluctant to do so. Not because he does not want to be bound, but he cannot fathom what will become of her being bound to someone like him. Everything he touches corrupts eventually. He does not want her to be one of those.

Asiri’s eyes flutter open, drawn from sleep by the rapidly cooling sheets that mark Sukuna’s absence. Sunlight floods the room, and she stretches indulgently in the bed, groaning from the ache in all her parts. Her inner thighs are sore with each movement, quivering in protest when she tries to lift her legs. There’s a stinging soreness on her shoulder and she sits up abruptly when she feels the wound of Sukuna’s bite, scabbed over. There’s a few bloodstains in the sheets, dried to the color of rust. She bites her lip on a smile before she turns and lets out a scream when she sees Sukuna seated on a stool, still as statuary, and watching her intently.

She presses a hand to her chest in a gesture to calm her hammering heart and steady her breathing.

“How long have you been up?” She asks, her voice coming out split and reedy, hoarse. Her throat aches, and she looks at the teapot, the steam curling from the spout, the jar of honey. It’s been so long since she’s had honey. Without thinking, she pours herself a cup, adding the honey and stirring. Then, she drinks it down, soothing her throat. There’s a bitterness to the concoction but her thirst makes for a sharp contrast. She knows what kind of tea this is.

“Long enough to know that you snore,” Sukuna says dryly and she makes an affronted sound, but there’s mirth dancing in her eyes as she crawls from the bed, testing her strength as she stands. Then, she comes to him. Sukuna moves like poetry, his thighs spreading, all four arms moving to allow her to step close, before his lower arms close around her, squeezing her thighs and rubbing her tenderly. Her hands come up, cupping his face, stroking the bone plate with a tenderness that aches, her eyes studying his, seeking to know him even more than he’s allowed up until now.

He tilts his head and she presses her face closer to his, brushing his lips with hers. Sukuna, ever-ravenous, does not allow her to stop there, and his mouth claims hers as they kiss, and this time there is no starvation in it; no desperation. Only the tender aftermath of everything that wasn’t said the previous evening.

“Thank you for last night,” she whispers against his lips. “I hope I pleased you as much as you pleased me, my lord.”

Sukuna’s hands are all over her.

“More than, mayoi-hana,” he murmurs, nipping her lower lip and making her smile. “You’ve an appetite that could rival my own, I think.”

Asiri laughs. “High praise indeed, from the King of Curses himself,” she says and laughs when a mouth spawns on one of his hands to nip at the curve of her ass. She swats him gently on the shoulder.

“Come,” he says, and for a moment they both freeze, remembering the activities of the previous night. Asiri’s cheeks flush dark with heat and she looks away, suddenly shy at remembering all the things she willingly did and let be done to her body. Sukuna simply picks her up, carrying her outside.

To the hot spring.

They soak for some time, and Asiri admits that she needs this. Her body melts with relief and unlike before, when fear an uncertainty made her shy, she curls against Sukuna’s body, an arm around her waist, a hand on her thigh. She feels her eyes get heavy and she rests her head on his chest. It only takes a second, but Sukuna knows she’s fallen asleep again, her body weary from the hard usage he knows she’ll come to crave in time.

He lets her sleep while he leans his head back, staring at the rain-washed blue sky. Colors seem brighter, even the birdsong seems hopeful. He looks down at the sleeping girl curled into him and tries to imagine life before her. He can’t seem to recall, but he imagines it was rather dull.

He strokes her body, listens to her murmuring, and she yawns but does not try to move. Sukuna chuckles.

“Hopeless,” he mutters, but there’s no heat or bite in his words or tone. Only an amused affection he did not know himself capable of, only the fruits of interest rather than whim.

Do you dream of me, mayoi-hana?

Sukuna lets himself guiltily hope for once in his life. Hope that she does dream of him, and that all of those dreams are pleasant. Hopes that those dreams lead her to the answer she seeks, the one he needs to hear.

Stay.

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cheynovak · 17 hours ago

Text

Fevered Confessions part 7 - Final

Characters: Soldier boy x Y/N Female character

Summary: Y/N got hurt during a mission with Soldier boy, Ben feels guilty and tries to take care of her. But the fever makes her believe she is imagining it.

Warnings: Mentioning of fever/wounds/ fighting/... -> 18+ ish. Nothing too explicit.

English isn't my first language.

*Please do not copy my work, reblog/comments/likes are appreciated*

**Y/N’s POV**

Years passed, but Ben never left my mind.

My memories had came back in pieces—slow, fragmented, like a puzzle I wasn’t sure I wanted to finish. Some things made sense. Others felt like they belonged to someone else, a different version of me.

I went back to the man who had once helped me control my powers the second I knew his name again. He was older now, grayer, but still sharp. He said I’d made more progress than I ever had as a teenager. That should have made me feel accomplished.

It didn’t.

Because the nightmares were worse now.

I had only lost control of my power once when I was young. But now? It happened almost every night. Every time he asked me what I saw, I told him I didn’t remember. That it was just noise, static. But I was lying.

I did remember.

I was reliving that moment. The mission. The gunfire. The explosion. The heat of the blast, the radiation burning my skin, knocking the air from my lungs. And then—nothing. Flashes of an old, dirty motel. Pain. Fever. and him... Ben.

He was there.

He had always been there. And that was the worst part of all. My mentor said I needed to confront my fears, not hide behind them.

But how could I? I couldn’t confront Ben.

So instead, I hid. I found an old abandoned apartment complex, the kind no one cared about, the kind where it wouldn’t matter if my powers slipped at night. If I woke up screaming and the walls were covered in frost, there’d be no one around to see it. No one to get hurt.

During the day, I worked in a freezer, cutting meat at some factory on the edge of town. The cold didn’t bother me. It never had.

I wasn’t happy, but I was safe. The world was safe from me. And I had a paycheck. A way to exist without looking over my shoulder, without the danger of catching bullets. That was, until my boss called me into his office.

His expression was careful, apologetic. The kind that told me whatever came next, I wasn’t going to like it.

“I’m sorry, kid” he said. “We have to let you go.”

I couldn’t hold back the anger that surged when I got home. I paced around my apartment, frustration burning through me. It wasn’t enough that I’d been stuck in this place, a prisoner of my own past, but now I had no job to keep me going either.

That night, the dream came again. The familiar, haunting one. But this time, for the first time, something changed.

I saw it clearly. The bullet hitting me, the pain shooting through my chest. But then, as my vision blurred, I saw his face—Ben’s face—frozen in horror.

I heard his voice, filled with guilt and panic. I saw him rushing to me, trying to stop the bleeding, but there was nothing he could do. The look in his eyes… it wasn’t anger. It wasn’t hatred. It was horror.

And right before my eyes closed I saw our enemies come closer, Ben stood up to then and then a flash of white heat... and pain.

I shot up in bed, gasping for air. The cold sweat dripped down my back, and I looked around in a panic. My hands trembled, but to my surprise, there was no ice on the walls. No frost spreading over the floor. The room was warm.

I realized then, Ben didn’t attack me. He lost control. He saw me hurt, and it did something to him. That explosion, the chaos, the rage—it wasn’t about me. It was his desperation.

He wasn’t the monster I thought he was. He was just as scared as I was. The realization hit me hard, deeper than I expected. I misjudged him.

I wiped my tired face, staring at my reflection in the cracked mirror. The black circles under my eyes did little to hide the fact I hadn't slept good in ages. The walls around me were silent, but inside my head, everything had changed. I had to face the truth. The real truth. And it terrified me.

I still cared for him.

**Ben’s POV**

Ever since Y/N left, life had been a goddamn blur. Days bled into nights, and I drowned them all in booze; drugs and whatever else I could get my hands on to ease the pain, failure. I didn’t care.

TV blaring, empty bottles on the floor, cigarettes burning out in the ashtray—nothing mattered.

But then I heard her voice. At first, I thought I was hallucinating, just another trick my fucked-up mind was playing on me. But when I turned my head, there she was.

Butcher stood near the door, watching her, but I barely saw him. My eyes locked onto her, and Jesus Christ, she looked good. Strong. Confident. Or at least she tried, I could see how tired she ws but still. No longer the broken girl I let walk away.

She smiled, soft and hesitant. “Hi, Is Ben here?”

That voice, the way she looked at me when Butcher took a step aside—it did something to me. Something I wasn’t ready for. Then her brows knitted, probably noticing the state I was in. The mess I’d let myself become.

I didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate. I stepped toward her, faster than I should have, closing the distance between us. And before I could stop myself, I had her pinned against the wall, my hands caging her in.

She let out a sharp breath, her eyes widening just a fraction, but she didn’t push me away. I leaned in, my voice low and rough. “You shouldn’t have come back.”

I couldn’t let her do this. Couldn’t let her get in my head again, make me hope for something I didn’t deserve.

“Leave,” I said, shaking my head. My voice was rough, barely controlled. I wasn’t the man she used to know. Hell, I wasn’t even sure I was a man anymore, just a broken thing pretending to function.

But she stood her ground, her chin lifting. Stubborn as ever.

“No.”

Her hand pressed against my chest, pushing me back just enough to make me feel it. “I need to know the truth, Ben.” Her voice wavered, but her eyes burned with determination. “Did you attack me that day?”

I stiffened. My throat felt like it was closing. I didn’t answer.

“Did you?” she demanded, her voice thick with emotion.

“For fuck’s sake, Ben, did you?”

“No!” I roared, the word ripping out of me.

Silence stretched between us, heavy and suffocating. She searched my face for something—proof, maybe.

“Then why didn’t you say that?” Her voice was quieter now, edged with something I didn’t want to name. I scoffed, running a hand through my hair. “Would it have made a difference? Would you have stayed?”

She hesitated, just for a second. Then, almost too soft to hear, she whispered, “Maybe not.” She turned for the door, and something inside me snapped.

“If you leave again, don’t bother coming back!” The words came out sharp, venomous. I hated how desperate they sounded, how much weight they carried.

She froze, her back stiffening. For a second, I thought she’d just walk out without another word, but then she exhaled, slow and measured.

“Fine,” she said, just as irritated. Then, with a glance over her shoulder, she added, “Then get some sleep, and we’ll talk when you’re sober.”

"I'm sober enough."

"No you're not."

I clenched my jaw, staring at her. She wasn’t playing my game this time. No yelling, no storming off—just standing her ground, like she always did.

I hated that she still knew me so well.

**Y/N’s POV**

I looked over at Ben, passed out on the couch, his chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. He looked different—tired, worn down, like he was carrying the weight of something too heavy to bear.

"How did he even get this drunk? Nothing would ever effect him like this." I murmured.

Butcher sat on the other end of the table, sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Gallons of the strongest stuff we can get. 100% alcohol, straight. Ain't even mixed anymore. Some fucked up drugs no one would ever survive. He takes it like it's candy"

My stomach twisted. "Why?"

Butcher shot me a look like I was daft. "What do ya think? It's his way to numb the pain. He don’t talk about it, but it’s clear enough—he’s been drinkin' himself to death ever since you left."

I swallowed hard, guilt creeping in. I should have believed him. Or at least, I should have pushed harder for the truth instead of running. Maybe then, he wouldn’t be like this.

It took hours of listening to his breathing. Butcher got tired and said if I needed anything I'd give him a ring and left us alone. I walked to the kitchen to pour myself a drink.

Just as the door closed after Butcher, I heard Ben.

"Finally," he said, his voice rough. He ran a hand through his messy hair, watching me with those dark, tired eyes. I set my glass down, gripping the counter. "Finally, what?"

"You've been sittin’ there for hours with Butcher, I was waiting for that ashole to leave. Figured you’d leave too." He took a slow step toward me.

I shook my head. "Not this time, I said I'd wait." Ben let out a dry chuckle, but there was no humor in it. "Yeah? We’ll see."

He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, looking at me like he was trying to figure out if I was real or just another dream he'd wake up from. I could see the exhaustion, the anger, the hurt—all of it simmering beneath the surface.

Yet, I couldn't wait anymore, I took a deep breath. "I want the truth, Ben. All of it." His jaw tightened. "And if you don’t like what you hear?"

I met his gaze, steady this time. "Then at least I’ll know. But maybe I should start by apologizing."

Ben shook his head, stepping closer. “Don’t. Don’t apologize to me.” His voice was low, rough with emotion. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I did. I let you believe something that wasn’t true because I was too much of a coward to face what I did.”

I swallowed hard, my throat tight. “I should have stayed,” I admitted. “I should have pushed for the truth instead of running.”

He let out a breath, his hands flexing at his sides like he wanted to reach for me but didn’t trust himself.

Ben let out a rough breath, raking a hand through his hair as he paced the small kitchen. He looked wrecked—tired, strung out, but there was something else there too. Something deeper, something breaking.

"You wanna know the truth?" he said suddenly, his voice raw. "Fine. Here it is—I don't deserve you. I never did. And I sure as hell don’t now. But that doesn’t change the fact that from the second you walked through that damn door all those years ago, I was done for."

I blinked, my breath catching in my throat as he pointed at the front door.

Ben kept going, his hands clenching into fists like he was trying to hold himself together. "You didn’t even look at me like I was a monster. Like everyone else always did. You looked at me like I was… just Ben. And it scared the shit out of me. Because I knew—I knew—that I was gonna love you. And I did... I do.” His voice cracked, but he didn’t stop.

"I screwed up. Over and over. I lied, I pushed you away, I let you believe the worst because it was easier than admitting I was afraid of losing you. But I lost you anyway. And I’ve been paying for it ever since."

He let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “You wanna hear something pathetic? Every time I closed my eyes, it was you. Every time I got so damn drunk I couldn't see straight, I still saw you. Every time I was high, I heard you. Like it was some fucked up lesson."

Tears welled in my eyes, my heart hammering in my chest.

Ben exhaled sharply, finally meeting my gaze, his expression desperate, vulnerable in a way I’d never seen before. “I know I don’t deserve you. I know I don’t have the right to ask for anything from you. But I love you, Y/N. And I don’t know how to stop.”

The room was silent except for the rain pattering against the windows, for the sound of my own unsteady breathing.

I swallowed hard, stepping closer, my voice barely above a whisper. "Then don’t."

I must’ve misheard her. I had to have misheard her.

But then she said it again, her voice softer this time, like she was scared I might run. “Don’t stop loving me. Because I sure will never stop loving you.”

A tear slipped down her cheek, and I just stood there, frozen.

I couldn't hold back anymore. The second my body caught up with what my heart already knew, I stormed toward her, knocking over the chair I’d been leaning on.

Before she could say another word, I grabbed her, pressing her against the counter, my lips crashing into hers. It was needy, desperate, a kiss that spoke of years of longing and regret.

She gasped against my mouth, and I took the chance to deepen it, my hands cradling her face like she was the only thing keeping me tethered to this world.

Without hesitation, I lifted her, her legs wrapping around my hips, she belonged there, she always had. Her fingers tangled in my hair, nails scraping along my scalp, down my back, pulling me closer.

Her breath was deep and quick, her body moving against mine with the same urgency, the same hunger. It wasn’t just passion; it was relief. Like neither of us could stand another second apart.

I pulled back just enough to look at her, to memorize the way she looked in this moment—lips swollen, eyes dark with want, chest rising and falling as she fought for breath.

“Say it again,” I rasped, my forehead against hers. Her hands slid over my jaw, her thumbs brushing over my cheekbones as she whispered, “I love you, Ben.”

I groaned, "You have no idea how long I wanted to hear you say that." Pressing another kiss to her lips, then her jaw, then down her throat, savoring every sound she made. If this was a dream, I’d burn the world down before I let it slip away.

I carried her to the bedroom, my grip firm but reverent, like she was something sacred. Laying her down on the bed, I took a second just to look at her—more beautiful than I ever remembered, glowing with want, with something deeper than lust. Something I didn’t deserve but would spend the rest of my life worshipping.

Patience was never my strong suit, and I sure as hell didn’t have any now. My fingers curled into her shirt, and instead of taking my time, I just ripped it clean off her.

She let out a surprised laugh, eyes bright with mischief before she grabbed my shoulders and yanked me down against her. “Impatient, are we?” she teased, breathless.

I smirked, my lips tracing down her jaw, her throat, the curve of her collarbone. “You have no idea.”

Her nails scraped down my back, her hips shifting beneath me, seeking, needing. I lined myself up, my hands braced on either side of her, my body practically shaking with restraint.

I looked into her eyes, needing to be sure. “Are you sure?” My voice was rough, unsteady. “Because once we cross this path again, there’s no going back. You’re mine.”

She reached up, brushing my hair back, her fingers lingering on my face like she was memorizing me. Then she kissed me—slow and deep, leaving no space for doubt.

“I’m already yours,” she whispered.

Her heel pressed against my hip, pulling me closer, and that was all I needed. I gave in, completely, finally, and there wasn’t a force on this earth that could tear me away from her now.

I guess my hard and needy thrust spiralled us quicker than we wanted towards the orgasm. Her moans I heard so often in my dreams where real. her scent, her touch all of it was to real.

But then she begged me to stop, I was confused. but I saw the fear in her eyes. "It's ok," I said, "you won't hurt me."

"Ben... I..."

"I don't care if you freeze me, this room or the God damn world. all I care it for you, to enjoy and have a fucking orgasm that I fucking gave you." She started to laugh, I held her close my lips on her neck and her laugh changed to moans again the second I moved my hips again.

A high pitch "Ben" left her lips before she came.

She came... and it was the best feeling i've ever felt.

**Y/N's POV** The next day I woke up.

Feeling a pleasant warmth under my cheeks. I looked up and noticed how Ben lay beneath me, holding me in his arms. His warmth was a nice feeling against my freezing skin, I looked closely to see if he was ok, but I hadn't froze him and the room was clear.

I leaned in to make sure he was breathing.

"Staring is rude sweetheart", he said, eyes still closed.

I felt my cheeks heat up as his raspy morning voice reached my ears. Caught in the act. His arms tightened around me, keeping me pressed against his chest, his warmth steady and grounding.

“I wasn’t staring,” I muttered, but even I didn’t believe that lie.

Ben finally cracked one eye open, smirking. “Liar.”

I huffed, trying to push myself up, but he didn’t let me go. Instead, he rolled us over effortlessly, pinning me beneath him, his face hovering just inches from mine. His hair was messy, his lips slightly swollen from last night, and damn, if he didn’t look ridiculously good like this—half-asleep, content, mine.

“Room’s still intact,” he murmured, one hand brushing down my arm, stopping where his fingers met my bare skin. “No ice, no frost—just you and me.”

I swallowed, glancing around, realizing he was right. No frozen sheets, no crackling frost creeping up the walls. Just warmth.

Ben must’ve noticed the realization on my face, because his smirk softened. “Told you, sweetheart,” he whispered, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to my lips. “You’ve got this.”

I let out a shaky breath, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him back down into me. “Only with you,” I admitted.

His lips curled into a grin against my skin. “Then I guess I’m never letting you go.”

Taglist: @jackles010378 @libby99hb @winchesterwild78 @suckitands33 @mostlymarvelgirl @deans-baby-momma @ancles @tulipsvanilla @thesilmarillionblog @jays-bonnie-on-the-side @kr804573 @kamisobsessed @hobby27 @globetrotter28 @kindollss @muhahaha303 @shadysoulangel @lyarr24 @spxideyver @impala67rollingthroughtown @panickedbitch @deansimpalababy @livya99 @yvonneeeee @ladykitana90 @stoneyggirl2 @imsiriuslyreal @panickedbitch @roseblue373 @n-o-p-e-never @ariasong11 @lmpala1967 @sherlockstrangewolf @spnaquakindgdom @writtenbyhollywood @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @healojane @star-yawnznn

#jensen ackles #fanfic #x reader #jensen fucking ackles #fluff #soldier boy #the boys #smut #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy fanfiction #the boys fanfic #the boys soldier boy

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waterdeep-weavemoss · 2 days ago

Text

Gimme a Taste

A/N: I've been ignoring Gale. He's not happy about it... thus:

She rounded the corner, keeping to the perimeter of Candlekeep's biggest library. An elegant hand entered her field of vision, insistent heavy warmth pressing her into the shadows.

'It's been a while,' purred a familiar voice, deep and just a touch playful. 'Have you been avoiding me, Doe?'

'I've been busy,' she said lightly, trying and failing to stifle a giggle. 'Gale-'

'Mhm?' His mouth was pressed to her ear, breath hot. It was too steady; he was too in control. 'You're going to give me some excuse, my love?' He took her by the shoulders, turning her to face him. His brown eyes glittered with mischief and more than a little wickedness as her cheeks flushed under his scrutiny. Her back was against the wall now and he pressed his advantage. 'You're not going to lie to me.' He licked his lips. 'Are you?'

She shook her head. 'I don't think we should-' she began. 'Gale, don't look at me like that... we'll get kicked out!'

He smirked, his clever fingers trailing down over her collarbones, slowly undoing the ties on her leather armour. 'You've been avoiding me,' he said, his lips hovering over hers. 'And you know how I simply loathe being ignored.'

As she tipped her head up seeking his mouth, he grinned and leaned back. 'Gale-'

He laughed, low and dark; in one smooth movement he captured her lips, his teeth grazing pillowy softness, his hands grasping her wrists, his knee prying her thighs apart.

'Well well,' he murmured against her lips. 'At my mercy now, pretty girl.'

Her stomach dropped through the floor. 'Are you going to fuck me in public, Gale Dekarios?' she asked, finally finding her voice. 'That doesn't seem like you.'

In answer, his mouth lowered to her neck, hands releasing her briefly to shove the armour from her shoulders. When she moved to touch, he growled. 'Don't you dare.' He peppered the canvas of her skin with hickeys and bites, made her skin gleam with his tongue.

'I uhn- don't think-'

'Good,' he crooned into her ear, pressing his hardness against her soft stomach. 'I don't want you to think.'

'What's gotten into you?' she gasped. Gale lowered his head, biting softly at the swell of her breast. His tongue swirled over her nipple and she groaned softly, desperate to cover her mouth, to thread her fingers in his hair and pull, to make him snarl. Instead she braced her hands against the wall and melted.

'Tease,' he breathed, unlacing her leather trousers with one hand and yanking them down, freeing himself with the other and fucking slowly into his fist. 'Do you want this?'

'Yes,' she said, breathless.

His lips pressed to the shell of her ear, his whisper sending shivers through her. 'You want to be full of my cock, pretty girl? You know if you're not quiet I'll have to put you on your knees.'

'Mhm,' she squeaked, not trusting herself to speak.

'Good girl,' he said, satisfied. 'And for all your protests-' he sheathed inside her smoothly, palm covering her mouth. 'You're a wanton little thing.'

She moaned against his palm and he grinned, teeth glinting. He slipped two fingers into her mouth, over her tongue, and watched as they stifled her cry when he thrust hard, his other hand gripping her hip hard enough to bruise. His fingerprints, his teeth marks, his saliva, his seed. He'd make her his over and over again.

Gale stilled, listening for any movement nearby- there were scholars in the library at all hours, even now when the candles burned low and the sky was black. Silence stretched ahead of them. 'That won't do,' he murmured. 'Say my name.' She narrowed her eyes at him; his fingers were still in her mouth. He only gave her a falsely sympathetic look. 'Doe, you're usually so good at doing as you're told...'

She bit gently at his fingers and he retaliated with a thrust so hard she almost saw stars; the strangled cry out of her mouth was to his satisfaction, however; his fingers left her mouth, tangling in her hair. His teeth found her neck as he fucked her into the wall and she cried out his name as she came on his cock; he kept to his punishing pace, her whimpers bliss to his ears, until he dug his fingers hard into her skin, holding her against him as he came inside her.

'You see?' he said softly, sweat-slick hair sticking to his brow. 'Our mutual satisfaction. Hopefully you've learned a lesson?'

'Ignore you more often,' she said, yelping when he pinched her nipple between his fingers. 'Okay, okay,' she said. 'I yield. I shouldn't have ignored you, I'm sorry.'

'Good girl,' he said with a smug smirk. 'I'd say we should retire to your room, but I'm not so sure you can walk...'

Tags:

@bluerosetarot

@forget-me-maybe @poetryvampire

@boufsy @lanafofana

@aryancunin @marlowethebard

@crimson-and-lavender

@roguishcat @galedekarioswifey

@feedthepheasants @sanguinesexmachine @ladyofcrowsandcoffee

@dr-demi-bee @spooky-lil-bee @12thhouse-sun

#gale x tav #doekarios #mine #gale smut

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vandme12 · 3 days ago

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heyy! i love your writing!! how about headcanons about the reader Ronin trying to make him jealous on purpose? like, the reader talking to and spending time with some other guy more than with Ronin. hope this makes sense! ❤️

Ronin Beaufort isn’t the jealous type—jealousy is for people who lose, and he doesn’t lose. If you think flirting with some other guy will rattle him, you’re adorable. He’ll watch you play your little game, leaning back like a king on a cracked throne, waiting for you to crawl home. And you will crawl home.

He makes a show of it. Mock-pouting, hand over his heart like you’ve wounded him. "Damn, babe, didn’t know I was on a break. You auditioning replacements, or just tryna make me work harder?" His words drip sweet, all honey and venom—but underneath? He’s laughing at you. Sweetheart, there’s no other option. It’s always gonna be him.

If you’re hell-bent on pushing his buttons, he’ll let you—but don’t expect to get away clean. He’ll play it cool, act unfazed, and then? Oh, he’ll take you apart later. Slowly. With his hands. With his mouth. Until you forget what other people’s names even sound like.

. You spend too much time around another guy? Cute. Ronin’s first move isn’t jealousy—it’s possession. He’ll drape himself over you like a leather jacket no one else is allowed to touch. Casual as a knife to the throat. "Miss me yet, or should I leave you two lovebirds to it?"

He never says, Don’t touch what’s mine. No. That’s too easy. Instead? He gets creative. Whispered secrets in your ear just loud enough for your little “friend” to hear. A sharp-toothed grin when he pulls you into his lap mid-conversation. He doesn’t need to say he owns you—he makes it obvious.

You want to make him sweat? Good luck, baby. He’ll turn it back on you without missing a beat. Flirt with someone else, and he’s suddenly the sweetest, most devoted boyfriend in the world—to someone else. He doesn’t play fair, and if you want war, he’s more than happy to escalate.

In private, though? Different story. If you push too far, too long—oh, sweetheart. You’ll feel it. All that mock-jealousy turns sharp-edged when no one else is looking. His teeth on your skin, his voice in your ear. "Wanted my attention so bad, huh? Got it now, Darlin."

Don’t mistake his calm for indifference. If he’s quiet? If he stops playing? You’re in trouble. Real, delicious trouble. It means he’s thinking. About how to remind you exactly who you belong to—and Ronin never does anything halfway.

He’s a menace. If you ignore him for someone else, he’ll find ways to make sure you can’t stop thinking about him. Sending you a bloody smiley face mid-conversation. Texting you, “What’s he got that I don’t? (Besides a pulse)”—just to watch you react <33

At the end of the day? He isn’t worried. Why would he be? He’s already under your skin. You could talk to anyone you want—you’ll still dream of him. And when you finally come back? He’s there. Waiting. Smirking. Ready to ruin you all over again.

#kc #killer chat #killer chat x reader #killerchat #killer chat ronin #ronin x reader #kc ronin #ronin beaufort #kc ronin x reader #killer chat ronin x reader #ronin beaufort x reader #ronin killer chat #ronin

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annakwashere · 3 months ago

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Designed another Christmas skin, say hi to Snowglobe Sprout!

(Without sticky note)

Variants below

#brawl stars #my art #Silly little guy #I should make names for my other skins too #Brawlidays 2024 #sprout #Snowglobe sprout #brawl stars fanart #brawl stars sprout #sprout brawl stars #Theheh

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terrestrialnoob · 2 months ago

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Gut Feeling

DPXDC

Commissioner Jim Gordon meets an odd kid in the precinct.

“Come on, you really don’t have a way to directly contact Batman?”

Jim smiled. Kids came to the station and asked that all the time. Usually, it was just curiosity and showing them the signal was enough to get them to sign up for the Junior Police program. This one looked a little older than most, teenagers were often “too old” to believe in Batman, but again, give them a little faith now and they’ll never loose it.

“Lookin’ for the Bat, kid?” Jim asked, knowing he was about to make this kid’s –

Jim froze. The kid turned to face him and it was Bruce Wayne. Not playboy billionaire Bruce Wayne, but freshly a teenager Bruce Wayne. The Bruce Wayne who Jim had checked in on time and again from age eight until he ran off on a globetrotting trip to find himself. The little Bruce Wayne with too pale skin and dark bags under his eyes, and not enough love to make up for all the grief weighing him down. And he didn’t look like Damian either, where Bruce was obviously his father but there were distinct traits from his mother. This was a carbon copy of a boy Jim remembered vividly.

“I am.” He even sounded like teenage Bruce. All business, like he was on a mission.

“I might be able to help you, but it’ll take a while.” Jim said and the officer the kid had been talking too gave him an odd look. He waved her off and told the kid to follow him to the commissioner’s office. Normally, he’d be more dramatic, put on more of a show for the kid, but his gut told him this was different, this was important. He offered the kid a styrofoam cup of water then closed the door behind him. “So, what do you need to talk to Batman for?”

“It’s personal. I need to talk to him in person.”

Jim took a sip of coffee from his cup. “He doesn’t appreciate me calling for no reason in the middle of the day.”

“So you do have a direct line?” The kid nearly jumped out of his seat. “If he’s upset, it’ll be my fault, just call him, please.”

“Who should I say wants to talk to him?”

The kid hesitated. “He doesn’t know me, but I have to talk to him.”

Jim frowned. “What’s your name, kid?”

He swallowed and looked like he wasn’t going to answer for a moment. “Danny.”

“Danny…?” Jim wanted a last name but Danny kept quiet. Jim sighed, “He’s likely not going to show up until sundown.”

“I can wait, as long as you guarantee he’ll show.”

“And you’re not going to tell me why you need Batman?” Jim just got a glare in response. “What about one of the other heroes?”

“Only Batman, no one else can help.”

“You sure about that? Not even Superman?”

“Not unless Superman can get me in the same room as Batman.”

“Why’s it so important that you meet him in person?”

“It’s personal.”

Jim liked this less and less by the minute. “Do your parents know you’re here?”

Danny looked away but right when it looked like he wouldn’t say anything he mumbled. “They wouldn’t care anyway.”

After another moment to give the kid time to reconsider, Jim pulled out the Bat-phone. It was a normal Wayne-Tech cell phone, but Jim had been given very specific instructions on how and when to use it. The phone listed all the Gotham Vigilantes without visible numbers so they couldn’t be copied and handed out. He pressed the one for Batman.

“Stand outside, would you?” The kid gave him a look, but followed the request. Jim could see his shadow in the door’s window, not so subtle eavesdropping.

It rang a few times, and Jim sat there awkwardly with a teenager listening to his every move. Finally, a familiar voice picked up the other end of the line. “Commissioner Gordon.”

“Sorry to call you out of the blue Batman, but I’ve got a kid here who needs your help.”

“Who?”

“Says his name is Danny, that you’ve never met him but you’re the only one who can help him.”

“Why?”

“Refuses to tell me.”

“What’s your best guess, Commissioner?”

Jim looked at Danny’s shadow, it looked like he was straining his ears to try and hear what he was saying. Danny had given him almost nothing to work with. Just his name, that he’s never met Batman but needs to talk with him in person. But Jim was here because he listened to his gut. A feeling like when you see a random rock on your neighbor’s doorstep but you’d never go in without an invitation. A feeling like you know what’s in the present and are preparing your surprised face. A feeling like when you cheated on your wife and you know she knows.

“He looks like Bruce Wayne.”

A beat of silence. “What?”

“Danny looks exactly like Bruce when he was a teenager. Exactly the same.” Jim hoped Batman would get it, feel in his gut what Jim felt.

“And he wont say why he’s there?”

“No, and he demands to see you in person.”

“I’ll be there in an hour.”

“10-4.” The line cut off before Jim had finished saying it. He called Danny in again. “He’s on his way.”

Danny glared at him. “If he’s not, if you called some social worker or something, you’ll regret it.”

“I’m sure.” Jim sighed and downed the rest of his now cold coffee.

The sun hadn’t set, but only just barely. Jim ended up taking Danny up to the roof in the end after all, if only to save his window from being broken into. The kid had a red hoodie on, but he was still shivering in the autumn chill and it was just going to get colder by the minute as the sun made its way behind the horizon.

Jim checked his watch and, at exactly an hour from when he called, he acted surprised when Batman and Robin appeared out of nowhere. “Bats.”

“Commissioner.” Batman greeted but his eyes went straight for Danny. “Danny, I assume.”

“Yeah, I…” Danny hesitated, looking at Jim and Robin.

All it took was four words from Batman. “What do you need?”

The kid held out his hand with a flash drive in it. “I’m your clone. My par- The people who made me wanted to make a stronger version of you, but they got ahead of themselves. My DNA is degrading and I’ll die if I don’t get your DNA to stabilize me.”

Holy cow.

“You don’t expect us to believe that, do you?” Robin sneered at him.

“The flash drive has all the info on it. All the data about the cloning process and the, uh, relevant experiments after that.” Batman gave the kid a look. “I didn’t want to waste time on unnecessary data.”

“If what you’re saying is true, why are you here, alone? Are they working on a different solution?”

Danny’s shoulders hiked up. “I’ve been a failure for a while now, I’m not worth the resources and they’d learn more from an autopsy.”

Oof, kid. Jim looked at Batman who seemed to feel the same… if Jim was reading him right.

“So, you wont object to a DNA test?” Robin asked with a cocky head tilt, at least he was relatively easy to read.

“You can try.” Danny said, and then realized what that sounded like. “I mean I wont stop you, but my DNA degrades faster outside my body. You’ll have to take me to whatever lab you plan on using.”

“Then we will.” Batman said and jerked his head towards where they’d probably parked that ridiculous car of his. But then he looked at Jim with a nod. “Commissioner.”

“Batman.” Jim returned the nod. “You’ll tell me how things turn out, yeah?”

“I’ll give you a report.” Batman joked – Jim could tell, it was gut feeling.

#dpxdc #danny fenton #jim gordon #batman #fanfic #my writing #danny phantom #danny is bruce's clone #batfam #bruce wayne #dc robin #damian wayne

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tiza0925 · 11 months ago

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Hello! I'm new to this but have you ever thought about any of your favorite characters while they're in the act and you look down at a certain part and they're so big on you that it scares you but they're pretty sure it could fit.I don't know if you could write something like that, sorry if it makes you uncomfortable.

hellooo, absolutely love this prompt so much ty for this ♡

men that make it fit | 18+

warnings/tags: nsfw, afab/female!reader, size difference, fingering, pet names, praise kink, squirting, raw sex, implied multiple orgasms, large cocks ♡

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Big men who just cover your entire body with theirs when they’re on top of you.

Guys who make you feel so small when you’re on their lap, their hands are so damn big that they can cover your entire waist, legs, and hands—practically engulfing you.

Big men that just pin you to the mattress while making out with you, they’re so strong without needing to try, and you probably should feel scared by the difference in strengths but god—you feel so secure.

And you know he’ll take care of you even if he can hurt you sometimes—never on purpose unless you want it—because of how massive he is.

Guys who feel just a little bad when they hear you cry from them pushing their thick fingers inside you—stretching your poor cunt and making you leak all over his hand as he curls his fingers inside your plush walls, coaxing out a throbbing orgasm from you.

“Such a sweet little thing for me,” You hear him murmur, watching as your face twists with pleasure, and he can see the slight worry in your eyes as he fucks you with his fingers. “My baby is taking me so well already.”

But can you take his cock?

Fuck—what if it’s too big?

It must be—his fingers are already too much for you—his dick will be nearly impossible to fit inside you.

“You think you can be good and take my cock?” You whine, feeling heady and muddy as he pins both of your hands above your head on the bed, while his other hand continues to twist and curl inside you, his thumb pressing and rubbing your swollen clit. “I want to feel my favourite pussy, sweetheart.”

But you suck in a shaky breath, eyes wide and scared because you know you can’t fit all of him in, and he chuckles breathlessly as he kisses your lips so softly, making you melt against him.

“Don’t be scared,” He kisses your cheek, then gives your trembling lower lip a gentle pull with his mouth, trying to get you relaxed as he strums his fingers through your sopping folds, his voice low and deceptively soothing. “I’ll be gentle with you, okay?”

He always is—and that’s the thing.

No matter how gentle he tries to be—he still ends up stretching you so wide that you think you might actually split in half, the sting of him inside you being too much that you cry sometimes.

He kisses you, and reassures you, hand running up and down your body to spread goosebumps all over your skin.

Then he’s pushing his pants off to let his fat cock bounce free—it lands on your belly, all hot and heavy, and your breath hitches as electricity sparks through your body—and your heart rate doubles with every passing moment, just waiting for him to stuff you with his cock.

“Relax for me,” He says while guiding his dick to slide between your plush pussy, letting your slick folds hug his length and coat them in juices as he rocks his hips—his cock head bumping against your clit every time his hips are flushed against yours.

“You feel that, baby?” Your lashes flutter, your eyes half-lidded as he works you up, making your cunt pulse as he glides his heavy cock over it. “You’re gonna be so good and fit all of me, okay?”

You gulp, but you still nod—because you want to be good for him.

You want to feel him and make him feel good.

And he watches you, focused, taking in every twitch of your features as he slowly pushes the head of his dick inside you—his eyes alight with heat when he sees the way your mouth pops open with a gasp, already feeling the intense stretch of him.

“You’re okay, baby,” he shushes you, sliding his hands under your thighs to guide them around his waist, and you whine as you hook your arms around his neck, bringing him closer, sloppily kissing him as he waits for you to adjust. “You feel so tight already—fuck—”

He groans, his voice vibrating against you, and you begin to breathe heavily as he pushes his fat cock into you—making you feel every agonizing inch as your pussy struggles to swallow him whole.

“I—“ Your sentence gets cut short as you choke, already feeling him in your lungs and he’s only halfway in, “I can’t—”

“You can,” One of his hands comes up to swipe a fallen tear on your cheek with his thumb, while his other hand pins you to the bed by the waist. “I know you can, baby, you always did before.”

Which is true—you always did but—

It’s just so fucking big—holy shit—

You bite your lip, and your eyes squeeze shut as you try your hardest to relax—your fluids being pushed out as he lodges his dick inside your warm, plush walls, causing a wet mess all over your thighs and bed.

You hold him as if you’re clinging onto dear life—taking all of him as he kisses you through it—until his hips finally press against your ass, his cock so deep that your limbs grow numb and you swear you can orgasm already.

“There you go, sweetheart,” He purrs, waiting a moment as your pussy throbs around him, feeling abused and soaked, and he smiles down at you so achingly soft. “Taking me all like a good girl for me.”

Then he pulls back—

“Oh god—” And you keen when he rocks his hips forward, sliding his cock along your walls, and he sets a pace of fucking you—getting you wet and your eyes to roll back as he becomes greedy with your pussy.

“Look, baby,” He grunts, thrusting his cock in and out, his length coming out slick and creamy from your arousal, and he grips your face—fingers squishing your cheeks—to make you look down. “Look how well you’re taking me.”

Your vision is foggy, you’re barely able to comprehend anything except for the dick inside your sore cunt, and you blink blearily as you try to look at what he wants you to see and—

Fuck.

You watch the way his cock disappears into your pussy, his girth forcing its way into you—and you let out a shaky breath at the way you’re taking it all in.

Just like he said you would.

“Told you I’ll make it fit, sweetheart, I always do,” You hear him murmur, and you force yourself to relax into a ragged breath as your limps melt into the mattress beneath you.

You feel like you’re being split in half as he fucks you over and over, bringing you higher and higher until you’re cumming all over him—gushing out liquid as you squirt on his cock with a wet moan, his name on your tongue—

And he takes good care of you throughout it all. His aftercare overwhelms you with cuddles of love and affirmation.

He loves you too much, anyway.

End.

Bokuto, Oikawa, Ushijima, Atsumu, Suna, Gojo, Choso, Sakusa, Geto, Sukuna, Nanami, Akaza, Oda, Kuroo, Hinata, plus any of your fav characters ♡

Masterpost

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alex51324 · 9 months ago

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So, the NDA signed by producers of The Apprentice just expired, and one of them has published a tell-all article. Most of the article is about how they used standard reality-TV tricks to portray Trump as being wealthy and intelligent, when in reality he was, and is, a deeply indebted buffoon.

The money shot, however, comes when Trump and the producers are preparing for climax of the final episode, when the winner will be decided.

Per the FCC's rules for game shows, producers could not be involved in deciding who would be fired each week, or who would ultimately win: it had to be Trump's decision alone, like contestants and viewers were told it was. The producers could, and did, give him a presentation about the strengths and weaknesses of the contestants each time he had to make a decision. These were recorded, in case questions ever arose about whether the producers had crossed the line.

So, for the final episode, there were two contestants remaining. Both were men, one white, the other Black. They'd both done well in the final challenge of the competition. As the producers were summarizing the points for an against each candidate, this happened:

“Yeah,” he says to no one in particular, “but, I mean, would America buy a n— winning?” Kepcher’s pale skin goes bright red. I turn my gaze toward Trump. He continues to wince. He is serious, and he is adamant about not hiring Jackson.

In the finished program, Trump chose the white contestant as the winner.

(Four years later, Trump would propagate the baseless conspiracy theory that Barack Obama was not a native-born US citizen and therefore had not legitimately won the presidency.)

The article also describes how women working on the production faced discrimination based on whether or not Trump wanted to look at them while they did their jobs:

While leering at a female camera assistant or assessing the physical attributes of a female contestant for whoever is listening, he orders a female camera operator off an elevator on which she is about to film him. “She’s too heavy,” I hear him say. Another female camera operator, who happens to have blond hair and blue eyes, draws from Trump comparisons to his own Ivanka Trump. “There’s a beautiful woman behind that camera,” he says toward a line of 10 different operators set up in the foyer of Trump Tower one day. “That’s all I want to look at.”

And there's a third anecdote where he pressures a woman producer to break the FCC rules, while being casually misogynistic toward a contestant:

Trump corners a female producer and asks her whom he should fire. She demurs, saying something about how one of the contestants blamed another for their team losing. Trump then raises his hands, cupping them to his chest: “You mean the one with the …?” He doesn’t know the contestant’s name. Trump eventually fires her.

This information is pretty unlikely to persuade anyone who wasn't already persuaded by any of the other things Trump has done and said, which would for anyone else be a career-defining scandal. But it is a useful reminder of who we're dealing with.

(Link is to Slate, an x-number-of-free-articles-a-month site, but the incognito window trick works.)

#defendant trump #us politics #also I just saw the news and wow Trump is having a bad day today

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itoshiexx · 4 months ago

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when you're mad and use their full name

how the blue lock boyfriends react when you're mad and use their full name

pairings: isagi yoichi, nagi seishiro and itoshi sae x gn!reader (separate) | warnings: little arguments, angst if u squint, reader is kinda hot headed? lol, mostly fluff and the boys wanting to be in your good graces.

notes: did i kick depression in the ass to finish this? not really. but it worked, and here i am! this is my nagi seishiro debut omgggg hopefully i did him justice and he's not too ooc. also new design for the scenarios to match my theme. enjoy, lovelies! let me know if you'd like especific scenarios and send me an ask :)

masterlist

ISAGI YOICHI

yoichi hoped he would die.

really.

it’s the least he deserved for making you angry — even more so because he didn’t know what made you angry in the first place. he spent the last fifteen minutes excavating his mind to try and remember what could have ticked you off so much that you don’t even wanna look at him.

he hates it. isagi needs your eyes on him, needs to hear your voice and touch your skin. and with the way you’re so silent and distant, he might be just like a man in the desert without water.

“baby,” he looked at you on the other end of the couch, intently watching the tv show in front of you. just a glimpse would make him breathe again. just a nod would ease his nerves. hell, he would even take a glare, as long as you were looking at him.

but he got nothing. zero. nada.

“baby, please,” he tried again. “i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to make you mad.”

you furrowed your eyebrows, but still didn’t spare him a glance. he sighed.

“i’ll never do it agai—”

“do you even know why you’re apologizing, isagi yoichi?!” you asked, exasperated. your boyfriend froze on the spot when hearing his full name, because of course he didn’t.

as far as he knew, you were having a great day together. he bought you breakfast from your favorite bakery, you made a delicious lunch and then you two went out shopping. he even gifted you with a beautiful necklace after an enthusiastic shop employee offered to show him some pieces—

oh.

“you got jealous of the saleswoman?”

“blah blah you got jealous of the saleswoman? heck yeah I did!” you impersonated him with a high pitched, sarcastic voice that showed just how mad you were. “she was all over you, yoichi, and you didn’t do anything!”

he swallowed thickly, daring to approach you on the couch. he hugged your frame, despite the crossed arms in front of your chest making it a little hard.

“i’m sorry, darling. i didn’t even notice she was being inappropriate because you’re the only one i pay attention to. and i always figured people would never dare be so bold if you’re by my side and we’re clearly together.”

his sweet words coated you, making you glance away, knowing that looking at his puppy eyes would end you for good.

“you should have done something anyway.”

“i know. i totally should, and i’m sorry i didn’t. i never meant to make you feel bad or let people disrespect you.” he rested his chin on your shoulder, breath shuddering right on your ear.

the sincerity in his voice was enough to chip away your anger, and you visibly relaxed in his embrace. yoichi held a breath of relief, knowing he still had to be careful.

“i’m sorry, baby. it won’t happen again. forgive me, please?” he placed a sweet kiss on your cheek, and god, how could you keep being mad like that?

damn isagi yoichi and his genuine blue eyes.

you uncrossed your arms, embracing his instead, and finally looked at him with love again.

“fine. but just because you’re so charming, ‘ichi.”

he chuckled. “you’re the charming one. i’m totally under your spell, darling.”

and when your lips met, yoichi hoped to keep living just to have more of you.

NAGI SEISHIRO

people would often ask him if his detached, nonchalant persona ever got in his way through his life. seishiro would always say no, because everything and everyone he did care about understood his lazy way and inability to do… pretty much everything.

that didn’t mean he never made the effort, though. as much as nagi liked to live like a sloth and just go on with his life playing video games, there were still things in his life that were worth it. like football. his friends. and you, of course.

ever since you met, seishiro discovered that being with you wasn’t a bother. and after he fell in love and you became a couple, he found himself eager to indulge you, even if it meant going out of his way. his friends congratulated him and expressed genuine happiness to see how much he improved, and that, along with your beautiful smile, filled his heart with joy.

however, no matter how much he tried, he was still…

“nagi seishiro.”

a shiver ran down his spine with the sound of your voice, and not the good kind. he had never heard you sound so stern, so angry, so… disappointed, even. enough to leave a sour taste in his mouth. so much so he immediately lifted his eyes from his console, only to find your harsh gaze.

“ehh? wha’ did i do, angel? don’t say my name like that,” he pouted, crawling towards your body splayed on the bed.

even when you tried to fight his embrace, nagi took advantage of his large frame to engulf you and lay his head on your chest, so you wouldn’t walk away in case you got any angrier.

“babeeeee,” he whined, hugging you tighter.

“let go of me,” you said, and he just shook his head. “you deserve it. you weren’t even listening to what i was saying, were you?”

what a hassle. he really wasn’t listening, but… well, he got way too focused on beating the last boss. could you really blame him?

he heard you scoff. “oh, my bad, i should have known it was the last boss. it’s more important than me anyway, right, nagi?”

fuck. fuck. fuck. did he say that out loud? he sounded like a dick. you had every right to be mad and call him by his full or last name.

nagi lifted his head from your chest to look at you, feeling his throat tighten with the sight of your teary eyes. guilt gnawed at his chest when seeing how upset and frustrated you were.

“eh, ’m sorry, pretty thing. i got too caught up ‘n didn’t notice you were talking t’me.”

“am i that invisible to you?” a tear almost rolled down your cheek. seishiro shook his head, a little more exasperated than usual.

“huh? ’f course not, angel. y’re never invisible. all i see is you. y’re the most important to me,” he held eye contact, and even though you wanted to tear your gaze away, seishiro’s eyes were more magnetizing than ever, even if your view was a little blurry.

you knew your boyfriend wasn’t the type to lie, since he always claimed it was a hassle. you knew you were important to him, but his lack of consideration still hurt.

“i’ll apologize as many times as you wish. ‘m sorry for not listening and making you feel bad. i never wan’ you to feel bad, pretty thing.”

nagi used his strength to roll around and switch your positions, in a way you were on top of him instead. he started caressing your hair in a soothing motion, making your eyelashes flutter. “y’can talk as much as you want. i promise i’ll listen t’you.”

your eyes welled with tears for a different reason, and you hugged the striker as hard as you could. even if he faltered, seishiro never failed to make up to you and make you feel loved.

“promise, sei?”

“promise.”

ITOSHI SAE

although sae wasn’t exactly smart in the emotions field, he always knew when you weren’t happy with something. you scowled, huffed and rolled your eyes, keeping an eerie silence that was only broken when absolutely necessary.

at that moment, he was sure you weren’t happy with him.

you both kept to yourselves while still at the event, masquerading any problems for the cameras. sae had a hand at the small of your back and he could feel how stiff you were. the midfielder wouldn't admit that seeing you so uncomfortable around him made his heart pang.

at the limo, the path to your shared penthouse was quiet, and you brushed him off when he tried to hold your hand. sae could only stare at his window with furrowed brows, itching to dissipate this awkward atmosphere. he never liked when you were mad, especially at him.

he expected some sort of explosion when you got to your apartment, but you kept your glaze off him, trying to walk to the bedroom for your night routine without even sparing him a word.

nuh-uh. that wouldn’t do.

he held your wrist before you could go, and lightly pulled you so that you were facing him. your eyes widened with the sudden movement, but narrowed as soon as landed on his face.

“why are you mad?”

you scoffed. the audacity of this man.

“you know exactly why i’m mad, itoshi sae.”

shit, the government name? you were really fucking angry.

“i wouldn’t be asking if i knew,” he answered, immediately regretting it when you glared at him, as if saying that wasn’t the right answer. “i-i mean… i didn’t realize what was wrong, amor.”

you walked closer to your boyfriend, making him release your wrist. despite his typical stoic face, sae was clinging to your every word.

“itoshi sae, you can not talk to your little brother like that!” you nearly growled on his face, surprising him. “you were very rude and condescending, and that’s no way to speak to rin!”

he frowned. you were mad because of rin? the little green monster inside of him threatened to grow, but he forced him to stay put. sae didn’t want to anger you further, so he simply let his hands slither to your hips, pulling you closer to him.

“i don’t think i was rud—” you lifted one eyebrow, and he rolled his eyes. “fine. i might have been kinda harsh.”

“and?” you crossed your arms.

he sighed. “i will apologize.”

“i’m serious about this, itoshi sae. i will ask rin—”

“i’ll tell him i’m sorry, okay? no need to keep talking about rin.” he interrupted, palms traveling to your ass while he nosed your neck. he planted a small kiss under your ear, huffing a minty breath that made you shudder. sae smirked. “and no need to keep calling me by full name, either. what happened to ‘cariño’?”

you held onto his biceps for some grounding, but still didn’t budge.

“you weren’t very sweet today, so it’s not fitting.”

he pouted while hiding in your neck, taking full advantage that you couldn’t see him, but was quick to withdraw to face you once again, touching your noses. one of his hands cradled your jaw, and you sighed with the pathetic effect your boyfriend had on you.

“perdóname, amor?” he whispered against your lips, eyes sincere like you knew he could be. your poor little heart could never resist him when he was like this, rarely vulnerable and eager for you.

you gave a long exhale, arms moving to tangle around his neck. and folded.

“as long as you make it right, mi cariño.”

if you like my writing and would like to support me, you can 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐚 𝐭𝐢𝐩 𝐨𝐧 𝐤𝐨-𝐟𝐢 ! any amount is welcomed and very appreciated! ♥

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fairy-angel222 · 1 year ago

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𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐀 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐑𝐀𝐖 𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

—telling the jjk men to forget about the condom.

ft. 𝗀𝗈𝗃𝗈, 𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗈, 𝗍𝗈𝗃𝗂, 𝗇𝖺𝗇𝖺𝗆𝗂, 𝗌ukun𝖺, 𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗌𝗈

content. smut, choking, praise, breeding, spit, unprotected sex, dirty talk, squirting, finger sucking, passing out, belly bulge, slight cervix fucking

requested by: anon

͙͘͡★ 𝑮𝑶𝑱𝑶

Grins when you moan out the words. Feeling his teeth against your skin as he kissed up your neck, stopping just below your ear with a breathy chuckle.

"Yeah? Wan' feel my veins sliding against those walls when i fuck you baby?" He cooed, watching as you nodded with a whimper, tugging at the rubber material stretched over his cock.

"P-please, wan’ it so bad." you choked out a mewl, greedy cunt aching to feel him deep inside you.

He hummed, slender finger pushing back the hair on your forehead, his head tilting as he ran it across your bottom lip instead. “What do you wanna feel, hmm? Tell me how you want it.”

"Raw.. wanna feel you raw." Your face burned as Gojo continued to rub his cock teasingly between sopping folds. “My pleasure baby.”

Your boyfriend tugged off the only form of barrier between you two. Your lips parted in a loud moan when Gojo thrusted into you. Back arching off of the bed as he found a pace, rocking you back and forth each time his cock prodded your gummy spot.

“Satoruu, so good— haah. Can feel all of you. So, so deep— fuck.” You cried out, arms reaching up to scratch at his back as your legs wrapped around his waist. The man slamming his hips down roughly onto your pelvis.

He was right. You could feel every inch of his cock rubbing against your gummy walls. His full length taking its time to kiss your spot before bottoming deep, your head falling back with a series of loud mewls.

“Satoru.”

“You like feelin’ me like this baby?” He rasped, breathing getting heavier when you clenched down on him. “Fuck- can feel all of you too. Slutty pussy’s squeezing me so tight.”

It was so much more intimate than usual, being able to feel all of each other was sending you over the edge. Your noises only became louder and as you neared your high. Eyes rolling back and brain turning to mush with every roll of his hips. A high pitched mewl falling past your lips when he reached down to rub your sensitive clit.

“Should just pump ya full of my cum while we’re at it. Fill you real good.” He grunted, thrusts hard and bruising as he bullied your pussy stuffed. An incoherent babble falling past your lips when his lips brushed over yours. Blue eyes darkening as he grinned, “Gonna do just that baby. You want that? Want my cum leaking out of your perfect pussy?”

You nodded with a shaky whimper, body trembling as you dumbly cried out his name, squirting messily onto him and his cock. Gojo letting out a deep groan as his thrusts became sloppy, hammering even deeper into you until he stilled with tensed abs. Pumping your stomach round and full with his cum.

“There we go, fuck. Take it nice and s-shit— deep. Good girl.” Pressing a kiss to your lips and pulling out of you, letting his cum seep out of you in thick spurts as you shivered from the loss of contact. He’d been waiting for that for way too long.

͙͘͡★ 𝑮𝑬𝑻𝑶

Raises an eyebrow when you stop him from sliding on the condom. A smirk eventually gracing his face making your cheeks heat up. “Oh? My girl wants to get dirty tonight hmm?”

You let out a small whine, your hands over your face pulling out a hum from your boyfriend. You sure about this baby?”

“Mhm.. wanna feel you raw.”

“Whatever you want princess.” He wasted no time before he was behind you. A deep arch in your back with your ass in the air and face buried in a pillow. Your grip tight on the sheets as Geto’s thick veiny cock pushed into you.

You let out a mewl, his length grazing your walls while pressing into your g spot.

“Fuck. Didn’t think this pussy could get any better.” He groaned, a hand on the back of your neck with the other on your hip. A loud cry escaping your throat when he began fucking into you relentlessly.

“Suguru, oh f-fuckk. Nngh— so good.” you moaned, eyes teary as he continuously slammed into you, rocking your body with each of his mean thrusts.

You could feel him so deep inside you, practically kissing at your cervix every time his hips landed onto your ass. There was so much more contact, being able to feel every inch of his curved length as it pummeled your gummy spot. Your cries of his name muffled as you drooled onto the sheets beneath you.

“You feel that princess?” He grunted, lifting one of his legs so that he could roll his hips into you. A loud moan leaving your mouth as you nodded, clearly able to feel any change in his movements. “Feel good ain’t it?” Keeping up his pace until you were falling apart under him.

Brain turning to mush as your eyes rolled back, Geto pressing down harder into the back of your neck to support his high thrusts. Almost bouncing himself off of the flesh of your ads just so you could feel his deep.

“S-suguru. So good Suguru. So— haah,” you could barely process your own words. Mind filled with nothing but how good he felt inside you. Stretching your cunt so good as you clenched around him, wetness trailing his cock with your slick.

“Pretty pussy’s so greedy f’ me. Look at how much she’s sucking me in.” He rasped, breathing speeding up as he let out a series of groans and grunts. “Fuck, gonna cum for me baby? Cum for me nice and hard while i fill you up?”

You nodded shakily, body trembling as a choked scream echoed through the room. “F-fuck.” Letting out cries of his name as you fell off the edge. Making a mess on his cock while his thrusts became sloppy.

“Shit, can i cum in you princess?” He breathed, your dumbed down hum of confirmation being enough for him as he stilled. Coating your insides with ropes after ropes of his sticky cum.

͙͘͡★ 𝑻𝑶𝑱𝑰

Is elated when you utter the words. Immediately stopping whatever he was doing and practically carrying you to your bedroom. “Fucking finally. I hate the feeling of that shit on my dick.” He smirked, towering over you until you fell back onto the bed.

The large man on top of you with a groan as he buried his face into your neck. “Gonna break that little pussy tonight. You’re on the pill right baby?”

“Yes.” You whimpered, Toji’s hand snaking around your throat with a hum, “Good.”

It wasn’t long before you were naked, your knees pressed into your chest as your loud moans and mewls filled the room. Toji’s broad hips slamming roughly into yours as he fucked you deep.

Thick girth hitting your g spot with each speedy thrust. You let out a whiny cry, your lips parted in short mewls that matched his harsh movements. Body being rocked into the bed at an inhuman pace as your sopping pussy was bullied.

“T-tojii— nngh, so g-ood.” You whimpered, Toji’s grip on your neck tightening as he leaned further onto you. “Yeah? Feel me deep in ya?” Grinning darkly when you nodded, “Let’s see how much deeper i can go hmm?” You let out a tiny sob when he forced his cock even deeper, stretching you open to take all of him as he bottom out.

You couldn’t help your loud noises as you felt every part of your boyfriend’s dick inside you. Feeling every vein and every curve rubbing against your slippery walls as his hips rammed forward.

“Needed to feel this bare pussy f’ so long now, fuck.” He grunted deeply, “She’s so fucking greedy.”

You mewled shakily, “O-oh fuck- Toji, ‘m close. Can feel you so deep.” Your boyfriend keeping up his pace with a groan. “Open f’ me baby.” Letting a glob of his spit fall onto your tongue, a twitch running through his cock when you swallowed tearily.

He was fucking you stupid, brain fuzzy and your vision blurred as you were brought closer and closer to orgasm. Chest heaving heavily when your eyes met Toji’s. “Look so fucking pretty under me.” Your pussy spasming at the gruff undertone of his voice.

You let out a string of cries of his name, your eyes rolling back as your legs quivered. Toji’s hand threatening to tighten as he growled lowly. “Look at me when you cum baby.”

Your eyes met his, the man’s thrusts sending pleasurable shivers through your body as you reached your high. Trying your hardest to keep your eyes open as you came. A slap on your clit forcing them back on his as you made a mess.

“That’s it. My messy fucking girl. ‘M gon’ fill you up so good.” He breathed, sloppy movements coming to a halt as he buried himself deep inside you. Pumping you full with his hot cum while pressing his lips to yours. It was about time you let him do that.

͙͘͡★ 𝑵𝑨𝑵𝑨𝑴𝑰

He was pleasantly surprised to hear you utter the words, chin still glistening with your juices as he pulled away from your wet pussy. “You sure you don’t want me to use one sweetheart?”

“Nuh uh, wanna feel you raw.” You assure, tugging the man closer to you to sit him down. Nanami pulling you onto his lap with a small smile when you whimpered, your sensitive clit accidentally bumping into his thigh.

“Whatever you want sweetheart.” Pressing his lips onto yours for a kiss, allowing you to taste your sweetness as he ran his cock between your folds, collecting your wetness before lining himself up.

You moaned when the large hands on your hips guided you to sink down. His thick cock stuffing you full as you struggled to take all of him, already feeling him deep inside you.

You could feel all of him, pale colored cock grazing your walls perfectly as he reached further and further into you. The outline of his tip visible on your belly when the underside of your thighs touched his lap.

Nanami groaned, hands on your hips helping you to move up and down while you rolled your hips back and forth. Loud mewls falling past your lips as your arms draped over his shoulders, nails digging into his muscular back when he sped up the pace.

“Kento— so good. So deep.” You cried, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as your g spot was pressed into over and over again. The feeling of him kissing your walls so sweetly making your mind grow foggy.

“Look you beautiful when you ride me. Feels so amazing, sweet pussy was made to take my cock like this.” He grunted, watching as your head fell back with a high pitched moan, feeling another orgasm swirling in you.

Nanami’s breaths sped, guiding you to move even faster on his length as his name fell off your tongue. “Kentoo— ‘m so close. Want you to cum in me.”

Nanami groaned, mouth latching onto one of your breasts as you clenched down on him, your hands finding their way to tangle in blonde strands as your back arched.

“Kento, oh f-fuck.” Your toes curled as your eyes closed. Body trembling lightly when you messily gushed onto his thighs. The man feeling his cock twitch as he used your cunt to milk him dry. Allowing his cum to paint your insides a sticky white.

His hands never stopped moving you, whiny mewls leaving your lips at the slight overstimulation as he kissed up your neck. “Don’t know how i’ll ever be able to go back sweetheart. All i wanna feel is your bare pussy like this.” He breathed, letting his hips do all the work in fucking you to yet another orgasm.

͙͘͡★ 𝑺𝑼𝑲𝑼𝑵𝑨

Sukuna would never tell you, but he sometimes never used condoms anyway. He only made you think that he did. He just needed to feel you. So he’d fuck you till you passed out, giving you no chance of finding out.

When you tell him you finally want to not use one he grins with a head tilt, fingers under your chin as he backed you up onto a wall. “Hmm? Why’s that?” Eyeing you hungrily making you whimper under his gaze.

“Just.. wanna feel you raw.”

Your boyfriend licked his lips with a hum, “I can definitely make that happen.” Not giving you a chance to so much as blink before his arms were hooked under your thighs, lifting you up against the wall with a deep inhale. “Wet f’ me already huh? I love that.”

He didn’t bother taking off your underwear, ripping your panties right down the middle while your legs secured their place around his hips.

You moaned loudly when he stuffed his full length into you. Able to feel every part and every inch of his cock against your walls when he began fucking up into you. Slamming his hips up at a toe curling speed that had your back arching against the wall.

“K-unaa,” you mewled, your boyfriend’s cock forcing its way in all the way. Leaving a painful stretch as his tip threatened to push past your cervix.

You let out a string of cries, arms holding onto him tight as you were moved up and down at an inhuman pace. “Fucking pussy’s so perfect.” He groaned, his movements remaining unaltered as he brought a finger to run across your swollen bottom lip. Shoving it into your mouth to sit at the back of your tongue. “Taking me so well.”

You moaned, eyes clouding with tears as your spot was relentlessly slammed into. Turning you to putty in his hands while your brain went dumb. “Kunaa— feels- nngh.. feels s’ g-good.”

“Yeah? Like when i turn you into my little brain dead doll?” He grunted, watching as you nodded with a whiny cry. “Mhm, can feel you so deep.” His single hand on your hips allowing him to fuck you to his liking.

You could feel yourself getting closer and closer, your legs beginning to tremble as your noises got louder. Eyes rolling back with an incoherent babble of his name, letting out a short scream when his spit coating finger reached down to rub at your clit. Circling the small bud with a wide smirk.

“Gonna make mess f’ me yeah? Let that pussy spray me like it always does?”

His words went unprocessed in your head, feeling yourself slowly slip in and out of consciousness as you were moved up and down his thick cock like a ragdoll. His cock leaving a visible bulge in your stomach as he neared his own orgasm.

You came with a choked sob, head resting against the wall with an opened mouth. Body quivering uncontrollably in your boyfriend’s arms as you squirted harshly. Coating his cock and legs in your wetness.

Sharp teeth bit at your neck as Sukuna’s thrusts became sloppier. Finally coming to a stop so he could pump you to the brim with his cum. Something that he’d wanted to do for a very long time. “It’s about time i got to fill you up like this.” He breathed, glancing up to see you yet again passed out.

Sukuna chuckled. His size and his speed put together was just too much for you.

͙͘͡★ 𝑪𝑯𝑶𝑺𝑶

His dick hardened the second you said it. Pouncing on you with widened eyes, “Really?”

You giggled, The boy looking at you with pure need in his puppy like eyes. Hoping that you were being serious about it.

“Yes baby, really.” You smiled, feeling your boyfriend’s erect cock pressing into you. “You sure?” He mumbled, “I won’t be able to pull out.” You pressed a short kiss to his lips, “I don’t want you to pull out, wanna feel you raw.”

That was all he needed to hear. Handling you on your knees with your back pressed against his chest. His hips rutting roughly into you as he basked in the feeling of your warm cunt around his bare cock.

“So good.” He moaned, “You’re so snug.” Hands on your waist as your head fell back against his shoulder, giving the boy the perfect view of your lewdly bouncing breasts.

You mewled, Choso’s cock rolling into your g spot at a pace that drove you insane. Your moans competing to be just as loud as his as you too got lost in the feeling of his bare cock. You could feel both his distinct veins grazing your walls when his pace sped up.

“Nngh— feels so perfect. Wanna fuck you like this forever.” He whimpered, burying his face into your neck as his legs weakened. Finding yourself lying on the bed with Choso hovering over you from behind, slamming his hips down onto you sloppily. Loud squelching joining skin slapping in the air.

“C-choso. Haah, so good baby.” You cried, back arching as he shoved himself even deeper at the praise. Chasing his high while bringing you to yours.

He let out a string of whiny cries, the snapping of his hips losing their rhythm as his cock twitched. Not allowing himself to cum until you did.

It was just so hard, you felt so good. Gripping his cock tightly every time you clenched down on him. The boy unable to help the way he fucked into you with desperation.

You and Choso let out matching mewls, your hands gripping the sheets as your spot was hammered at a merciless pace. Your moans turning into choked sobs as your body shook along with the bed. Toes curling and eyes rolling back as you neared your orgasm.

“Choso— nngh, cummin’ baby.”

“Please, cum f’ me. Need you to cum so i can too.” he breathed with a tremble, voice going up a pitch when you began squirting. Drenching his cock in your juices as your pussy spasmed.

Choso moaned in content, hips eventually halting their movement as he buried himself in you. Spurting all of the thick substance into you with a sigh. He kept himself in that position, his cock preventing any of his cum from escaping as he began to roll his hips once more. Addicted to how amazing your pussy felt.

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honey-tongued-devil · 4 months ago

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Arcane preference reacting to a s/o with a mental health issues (eating)

My disclaimer, as someone with this issue, I’m sorry if this isn’t what you wanted. I’ve actually been thinking about it for a while, but I was a bit cowardly about doing it, so I’m taking the opportunity now. I don’t want to go out of character, so I’m sorry if some characters come across as harsher than others. Unfortunately, I know I should write the name of the illness, but if I post it that way, Tumblr will take it down.

Jayce:

- He’s academically intelligent, but it takes him far too long to notice that something’s wrong. But you can’t blame him, it’s something so far removed from him that he couldn’t have understood it sooner.

- When he does realize, his first reaction is panic.

- Jayce can’t feel like just a blade of grass; he feels emotions deeply, taking on any blame, especially if something happens to the people he loves. His first thought is that he did something to make you feel that way, inadequate.

- But once the panic phase ends, the responsibility phase begins.

- He does the grocery shopping, he cooks, and his workouts become more regular, where he has you climb onto his back while doing push-ups or holds you in his arms during other exercises.

- He doesn’t know why you do it, but the quickest way to show you that your weight isn’t a problem is by showing you how easily he lifts you.

- And maybe, if you feel up to it, he can hold you in his arms with one arm supporting you while he cooks, letting you taste various ingredients.

Viktor:

- Unlike Jayce, it only takes two suspicious behaviors in a row for him to understand what’s happening. It’s something far from his world, sure, but he recognizes it.

- And he confronts you. He doesn’t beat around the bush, doesn’t stammer; he might even sound angry because he doesn’t understand why you’d hurt yourself like this and willingly give up your well-being.

- I won’t lie, I doubt that an open discussion about something this delicate with him wouldn’t lead to at least one hysterical cry.

- But he’s not brutal for the sake of being brutal; his suffering and frustration turn into anger. It takes him a while to calm down, but he won’t accept compromises.

- You’ll have meals together at home, either returning to your rooms together or straight to the house, so no one can see you and you won’t feel bad.

- And he won’t force you, he tries to handle it with as much care as possible, but there’s no day that goes by without him getting up from the table if you haven’t eaten at least two food items per meal.

- He loves you too much to see you hurt yourself in that way, and knowing that he can't do anything about it makes him feel powerless.

Ekko:

- It takes him a week—not to understand, but to process it.

- Having grown up in total poverty, the idea of giving up food “for whim” makes him react in a way that is only human.

- And the whole thing is too distant for him: everyone’s skin is grayish, 90% of the population of the Lanes has missing limbs and monstrous prosthetics, and everyone’s goal is to survive as long as possible. What does it mean that you’re against your own survival??

- As unsupportive as he might be regarding the issue, he becomes incredibly vigilant and concerned.

- He’ll always make sure you’re warm enough, that you’re comfortable, and no matter how frustrated he is, he’ll always try to stay close to you, even just holding you in bed until you fall asleep.

- Every single comment you make about your body, he’ll respond with, “Don’t talk about my partner like that,”

- no one can speak badly of you, not even you.

Vander:

- The most understanding: he was young once too, and although in his size meant an advantage, he and Silco snuck into various galas when they were younger, and there, even though he never had these problems, he would feel a strange sensation seeing that he was the biggest in the room or that it was hard to find someone to steal clothes from that would fit him.

- He doesn’t lecture you or anything like that, he doesn’t get angry despite how he grew up; he just feels sadness for you that you can’t see how little that complex matters and how beautiful you already are.

- His compromise is vegetables. If you don’t feel like eating every meal every day, it doesn’t matter, but at least four days a week, you have to have three meals.

- And for the rest, he’ll cook, making sure to prepare the best dishes made from vegetables so that you don’t feel guilty and your body doesn’t deteriorate.

- But he doesn’t support your illness, he simply ensures that you get everything you need and never go below the necessary intake without having you feeling guilty about it.

Silco:

- Hoping that the most attentive and watchful man in the lanes wouldn't notice how, suddenly, meals go from moments of lightness to something you try to avoid at all costs is a bit foolish, but he says nothing.

- He waits for as long as necessary, basically to see how long it lasts and how much you're not planning to talk to him.

- When he realizes you won’t, not anytime soon, he waits for you to be alone in his office, where you’ll find a slice of cake on his desk. Sure, it’s a low blow, but it’s also the fastest way to get you to confront the issue without too many escape routes.

- He’s a big fan of the saying “dirty laundry is washed in the family,” so if you act strange about meals in front of others, he won’t allow questions or jokes, but in private, he won’t accept “no” for an answer.

- He has enough problems already without you crying from hunger pains or having psychotic episodes due to sugar deficiency, so as long as you're under his watch, under Zaun's eye, he won't let you live with unhealthy standards.

- During meals, he becomes the strictest. He doesn’t say anything, but one look is enough to make you think twice about contradicting him. In the evening, though, when your mental health is most fragile, he becomes gentler, comforting you as much as you need.

Jinx:

- You find fertile ground, but like any good bearer of the same issue: she feels she can do it, but you cannot.

- Being with her or in her space becomes like a live-action version of Thumbelina: she’ll leave sweets, chocolates, things she knows you like to encourage you to eat so you can’t hurt yourself.

- She usually forgets to eat herself when she’s caught up in her studies and work, but if she has someone to care for, it doesn’t matter how, she’ll make sure to remember. Even if it means setting a few colorful bombs with timers.

- She feeds you. In the most visible, worst way. It’s easy that if you turn your head, you’ll find a cookie shoved in your mouth unceremoniously.

- And every single tight-fitting outfit disappears from her lair. Magically, whatever clothes you pick up from her pile fit loosely, but if you ask her about it, she’ll claim she doesn’t know what are you talking about.

Vi:

- Want to see Vi in a panic, becoming super protective and possessive in a way? Just wait for one episode, and you’ll see everything you haven’t seen.

- She’ll check on you at least three times a day, and in the evening, when you have pain or a crisis, she’ll run back and forth from the room, thinking about everything she can do to help you feel better without making you feel guilty.

- During meals, she’ll hold you in her arms and insist that you eat, but not aggressively—in a way that’s almost frightened: she’s always been used to fighting big, real monsters, but even when it came to her sister, she could never defeat the invisible ones, and the fear of failing or hurting someone she loved again terrifies her in an agonizing way.

Caitlyn:

- Like Jayce, she’ll also try a more physical way of reassuring you, like body worshipping when you’re alone or working out with you to show you that your weight doesn’t matter.

- She doesn’t know how to react; she realizes it quite quickly but fears that by acknowledging it, she might only make you feel worse.

- One day, she gathers the courage to ask if everything is okay and tells you that she’s noticed those behaviors. When you open up to her, telling her about the issues, she doesn’t respond right away and simply hugs you.

- She becomes more caring, making sure that you don’t have to attend banquets or dinners where you wouldn’t feel comfortable, bringing you food in your room to eat together, and sometimes even leaving the room so as not to put pressure on you.

- When you mention a craving, she immediately springs into action to get it for you, even if you complain that you weren’t serious. Once she understands how your condition works, she orders everything in three portions, so she can eat with you and then be the first to say that she wants more, asking if you want to share the third portion.

- If you have fat accumulated in any area, she’ll knead it with her hands while kissing you, to let you know that she loves every inch of you.

Mel:

- She notices you're having a crisis before you even realize it yourself.

- She’s a ruler, but what she learned from a young age is that a leader must appear reliable and look good, so even if unconsciously, she too sometimes experiences small crises when she feels like she isn’t looking perfect.

- No conversations, no lectures, just an increase in cuddles, moments of intimacy, and later, she brings home sweets.

- “They were a gift to me today at the council,” she lies, but sometimes she says she got them for both of you.

- She doesn’t want to make you feel like you’re in the wrong.

- She knows that when you’re ready and if you want to, you’ll bring up the issue with her, but for now, the best thing she can do is help you get through the episode with euphoria, love, and treats that encourage you to listen to your hunger rather than the illness.

Sevika:

- Like everyone in Zaun, the idea that someone would voluntarily give up food is simply incomprehensible to her.

- But she won’t comment on your problems. She doesn’t intend to invalidate them, but she also won’t encourage it.

- “Are you sure? That’s a bit too little,” will be her comment when you eat something ridiculously small, before making you a proper portion of food herself. If you try to argue, she’ll respond with a smug smile, saying that if you eat that little, you’ll end up breaking when you’re in bed together.

- If a crisis is particularly bad, she’ll try to finish her work as quickly as possible to be able to stay with you for the rest of the day and not leave you alone.

- As much as possible, she’ll try to get the best, freshest, and most natural food, to reassure you that you don’t need to worry, but she’ll never insist that you eat if you say you don’t feel up to it.

- She’ll gesture for you to come sit on her lap and keep you there, occasionally offering you things she knows you like, telling you that she’s really craving them, and if you want them too, she’ll go get them.

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dollyichi · 2 months ago

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PET-NAMES ᯓ★ kirishima eijirou x f ! reader. m—dni / f*wb / not proofread

kirishima accidentally calls you ‘dude’ in bed while you’re riding him for the first time—it wasn’t intentional, he calls everyone that, and it became a habit to regard his friends as ‘dude’ when things get crazy, and this was definitely crazy.

you technically are still his friend and he calls you that all the time, though never when you fuck. you just end up stopping in the middle of it because you’d rather hear your name instead of ‘dude.’

he was getting so close too.

kirishima can’t help but whine when he feels you stop, teary eyes opening half way while his hands grip onto your hips trying to bounce you up and down to feel the pleasure once more, “n-no… w-why’d you stop?” he asks, with a pout on his lips.

“dude?” and he realizes his mistake that manifests a bright flush on his cheeks. he makes up for it when he moves on his own and you’re just sitting back watching him buck up into you, alongside spewing a string of soft curses and your name in breathy moans.

thinks he’s in absolute heaven right now, how this position makes it easier to see all of you in full view. the way your tits bounce or how your face contorts when he’s fucking into you.

you didn’t move at all but that’s fine, “yeah, an angel like you should just feel good.”

and he’d ask for a kiss but you didn’t want to as ‘punishment.’ so he clicks his tongue.

kirishima sits up abruptly, shocking you, feeling his cock push even deeper inside you that has you crying out in his ear. he’d use your waist with one hand to roll against him. and you’re forced to cling to him. pressing your chest even closer on him and you could feel his hot breath on your skin.

he’s reaching with his other hand to cup your face while you unconsciously start moving your hips on your own without his ‘guidance.’

“i won’t say that again baby~ i promise.” and he’s kissing you, squeezing your cheeks together so you could open your mouth to let him in.

you shouldn’t be calling your fuck buddy ‘baby’ though, kiri.

well, you kinda like the sound of that anyway.

do not copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost my works

note : he didn’t mean to call you dude! he’s just in love and he might blurt out something else!!!!! (they should date they’re both dumb!!!)

#bnha smut #mha smut #kirishima x reader #kirishima smut #eijirou smut #eijiro smut #kirishima eijirou smut #kirishima eijiro smut #ᦾִ⁠❤︎ by cola

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ayyy-pee · 8 months ago

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ℍ𝕚𝕕𝕕𝕖𝕟 𝔸𝕗𝕗𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕤

Discord 18+ - Twitter

Pairing: Sanemi Shinazugawa x Female Reader

Summary: But you can see - in those deep violet eyes of his - three little words swimming behind them that he's been itching to say to you for quite some time now. You want to say them too, have for as long as you can remember.

But you're both Hashira. It's already enough that you both keep towing this dangerous line, finding yourselves in this exact predicament more often than not.

Sanemi is just so down bad for reader.

Story Warning: Smut, Alley Sex, P in V sex, Profanity bc c'mon...it's me, Vaginal Sex, Jealousy, Jealous Behavior, Fingering, Unprotected Sex, Creampie, Sanemi being bad at feelings, Secret Flings, Secretly in Love, Sneaking Around, Some canon Giyuu hate from Sanemi, Reader is a Hashira too!

Art by: krit961 (Twitter)

A/N: This is my first time writing for this fandom ever, but the Sanemi brainrot has been so INSANELY strong I just had to write SOMETHING up. It's nothing crazy and I'm rusty because it's been awhile for me but ugh. THIS ONE IS FOR YOU SANEMI!!!! Also shoutout to @lemonlover1110 for helping me with the title!

“We should head back…” You sigh, breaths coming rapidly. “Before…” A quiet gasp interrupts your words when you feel the sting of teeth sinking into your neck. “Before the others notice…”

”Fuck the others,” a gravelly voice growls into the juncture of your neck. Large hands grasp your thighs hard, holding them wide open as a hard form sits between them. “Don’t give a fuck if they notice, either. Maybe Tomioka will stop staring like a lovesick puppy if he figures it out.”

He buries his face further into your neck, grumbling against your skin. Something along the lines of “I hate that guy” and “I should gouge his eyes out”.

Your fingers slip into the snowy white tresses at the nape of his neck, gripping hard and pulling so that you can see his face. Pretty, long lashes cover hooded purple eyes that soften the moment they catch sight of you. The softness is such a contrast to the deep, pitted scars scattered along his face. But he’s beautiful all the same.

“Sanemi…”

At the sound of his name on your lips, he rolls his eyes. “If you’re gonna defend him–”

“Sanemi –”

“I don’t wanna hear it.”

Your lips set into a deep frown, and Sanemi matches your expression, stubborn as ever. “What is your issue with Giyuu anyway?”

Sanemi scoffs, “Giyuuuuuu,” he mocks with a nasally tone. “Stop talking about him.”

“You brought him up!”

His mouth finds yours, rough and hungry, all consuming. It’s all teeth and tongue, nipping at your lips because he knows they’ll still be just swollen enough by the time you both get back. He’s marking his territory in his own way, as much as he can. Possessive and jealous, even when he knows he has no reason to be, no right to be. But he can’t help it.

You don’t belong to him, you don’t belong to anyone. Because you know it wouldn’t be smart to commit to any one person. Not in this line of work.

Sanemi has you pressed against the bamboo fencing in the darkest part of an alleyway, just outside of the Ubuyashiki Mansion with your legs wrapped tightly around his waist. It’s your usual meeting spot when you’ve been separated for some time, both of you too impatient to wait until the early morning hours when the Hashira meeting has finally ended to see each other.

“Fuck me,” Sanemi groans against your lips. He places an arm beneath your ass, holding you up as his other hand hikes your uniform skirt up to your waist. “Swear this gets shorter every time I see you.”

A giggle slips past your lips, because it absolutely gets shorter every time he sees you. You do it on purpose because you know it drives Sanemi up the wall to see little peeks of your ass and not be able to do anything about it. Makes him even crazier that he knows others can see it, too, and he can’t do anything but shoot death glares at anyone who dares to let their gazes roam.

But you can’t let Sanemi know that. So you pout, laying your palms against his exposed chest and tracing his scars with your fingertips. You watch as his eyes flutter, sensitive to the touch. “You don’t like it? I can always request a change in uniform…”

Sanemi groans, leaning forward and kissing you hard. “Don’t you fuckin’ dare.” He presses his groin into your, evidence of his arousal against your soaking core. “You look so good in it.” His hand slinks between your bodies, thumb going straight to your clit, where he presses down, a shit eating grin spreading across his face when your back arches off the wall and you moan. “Look even better in it when you’re making that face.”

Your nails dig into his scars and Sanemi’s reaction is automatic, hips rocking forward roughly and now you’re both whining into each other’s mouths. You’re sure if anyone came across the two of you, you’d appear as this horny couple who couldn’t bother to wait until they got home to dry hump each other. And outside of the couple part, they’d be correct. Sanemi ruts against you, his erection running deliciously along your clothed cunt. Your lips slot together, tongues deep in each other’s mouths as Sanemi grunts into yours, and you keen into his.

There’s not much time to waste, you’re meant to be at the mansion soon. It would be suspicious if one Hashira, let alone two were missing when the Master arrived and if asked, the crows would spill your secrets in a heartbeat. You need to hurry. And Sanemi feels the pressure too. Even though he loves to annoy you pretending he doesn’t care about being late or cluing in the others on what’s going on, he would never disrespect the Master.

Pausing his movements and leaning back to peer down at you, Sanemi sighs. He’s so painfully hard, his length throbbing within the confines of his uniform as he drinks in the sight of your kiss swollen lips, just the way he wanted them. And your face flushed, pupils blown wide as all hell with arousal. He’s sure he looks much the same, knowing you’re just as possessive as he is, though you hardly show it. It’s simply easier to hide your little territorial marks, the scratches you leave on him when they blend in so well among the rest of his scars.

Your fingers ghost along his chest, finding his nipples and you pinch the hardening buds, smirking when you see the way Sanemi’s eyes almost roll back. He can’t take another fucking second of this teasing. Not after he hasn’t seen you in who knows how long. He wants you badly that even your voice is enough to make him ruin his pants right now. It’s the semi-annual Hashira meeting tonight and he’s not willing to wait until Himejima is done yapping to have you.

Sanemi tugs at his uniform, getting his pants down just barely enough to pull his cock out. The tip is angry, red, just as desperate to be inside you as Sanemi. It glistens with his desire for you and you only.

“Gonna fuck you now, okay?” He tells you, hooking a finger into your undergarments and pulling them to the side. He runs his digits through your folds, hissing when he feels how drenched you are. It helps when he slips two fingers into you, mouth falling open when you throw your head back with a cry, your walls clamping around him. This Sanemi’s favorite part. Watching the way your brows knit together, how your pretty teeth dig into your plush bottom lip to bite back your moans, how your pussy makes the most lewd noises as he pumps his fingers into you.

You are glorious.

Always have been. It’s why he can never get enough of you. You’re insanely strong, clearly. You’re a Hashira, standing alongside him and some of the strongest in the corps. But you’re also blessed with a beauty that rivals every woman Sanemi has ever laid eyes on. He’s drawn to you in ways he cannot explain, ways he doesn’t need an explanation for. It’s why he hates catching the little glances from a certain other Hashira. Not that anyone knows what you two have going on, but all Sanemi knows is that he –

“Sanemi…” you whimper, eyes gazing softly at him. “Please. I need you.”

And he doesn’t need to hear more. His lips crash against yours as he swiftly pulls his fingers from you, gripping his length tightly and pumping himself. “How bad do you need me?” He asks. Because he needs you so fucking bad right now he can’t think straight. His mind is foggy, his body burns with his lust for you.

“So, so bad, Sanemi,” you loop your arms around his neck, kissing him just as eagerly as he kisses you. “I need you more than anything.”

Sanemi groans, pressing the tip of his cock to your entrance. But his eyes never leave your face, even as the tip breaches your walls and makes him want to shut his eyes and focus on not cumming embarrassingly fast. He wants to see you, watch the way you lose yourself when he splits you open. The thought of it has him pulsing painfully in his hand. He rolls his hips forward, slowly, gritting his teeth when your wet warmth envelops him. “Still so goddamn tight for me,” he grunts. “Your greedy cunt is sucking me right in, fuck.”

Your nails dig into the fabric of Sanemi’s shirt, hanging on for dear life as Sanemi pushes deeper and deeper into you. As many times as you’ve been in this position with Sanemi, it always feels like the first time. He’s so long and thick, you have to adjust every time he slips into you.

“Oh my god,” you whine, and Sanemi pauses.

“You okay?”

“Yes…just…fuck me, please, Sanemi…”

He grips your thighs, pushing you back against the bamboo fencing to hold you in place. And then he thrusts forward, bottoming out in one swift motion and you both cry out in unison, the overwhelming pleasure making you both shudder.

“Fucking hell,” Sanemi sighs. He places his hands beneath your ass, keeping you still while he rears his hips back, only to slam back into you over and over. He pounds into your pussy at a relentless pace. Half because you’re on one hell of a time crunch, and half because he can’t help it. He feels animalistic when it comes to you, fucking into you mindlessly because it just feels so goddamn incredible. Every thrust feels better than the last, your warm walls clenching around him with each snap of his hips.

“I can’t go that long without you again…” Sanemi croaks, catching himself because he feels he’s getting too sentimental. “...without your pretty little pussy.”

“God, just say you missed me, you asshole.” You tell him, moving your own hips to meet his strokes. Though your words come out as more of this pathetic whimper than an actual demand and it makes Sanemi’s hips stutter. Just briefly. His hands on your ass lift you up before pulling you to sink back down on him.

Sanemi chuckles, leaning back just enough so that he can look between your bodies, watch the sticky strings of your slick connecting you, watch how his dick disappears. “Did you miss me?”

“Yes!” You cry when Sanemi hits a particularly tender spot. “Shit, I missed you so much, Sanemi.”

His brows rise, a little surprised by the confession, and a loud one at that. “Oh?” He kisses you hard, keeping his pace. Your confession turns him on more than he’s willing to admit. He missed you, too, though it’s harder for him to say so. Instead he fucks all of his feelings into you.

How he misses you when you’re apart, because his thoughts are dangerously distracted wondering what you’re doing, who you’re with, if you’re alive.

How he wishes you’d be assigned missions together, so he could watch you tear a demon's head straight from their shoulders. Then find somewhere to stay the night so he can fuck you on every surface possible (He’s done this with you before. He wants to do it with you again).

How he wishes he could open his mouth and tell you how he truly feels.

But those feelings have always been foreign to him. Sanemi is lucky you understand his silence, that you accept his actions for what they are and let them speak for him. You accept everything he gives you happily. And as you tighten your legs around his waist, as you quietly let your pleasure be heard by him and him alone, as your walls clamp down around him with your release, convulsing and pulling him into you, Sanemi can only thank the Gods for every shitty circumstance that led him to you.

Does he deserve you? Probably not. Does he care? Absolutely not.

Because you chose him. This secret…whatever this is. Out of anyone in this world, you chose Sanemi.

And it’s enough to send him over the edge with you, gasping desperately for air as he tries to find your lips again. He closes his eyes, pushing himself as deep as he can as his release floods your walls. It’s so much, a build up over time and he knows his seed will be dripping out of your core before he’s even had a chance to pull out. It’s always this way. Because Sanemi doesn’t bother entertaining other women when he’s away. He only wants you. So the second he’s within the same vicinity as you, he has literally so much to give.

You never seem to mind.

Sanemi breaks the messy kiss, placing gentle, sweet pecks to your cheek before he leans back to stare down at you. That fucked out look on your face almost has him getting hard again. But you don’t have time for that, so he just watches you and you watch him. And he’s glad for the fact that you can’t see the way his mind is racing with only thoughts of you, thoughts of this feeling he’s buried so deep trying to claw its way up Sanemi’s throat.

But you can see - in those deep violet eyes of his - three little words swimming behind them that he's been itching to say to you for quite some time now. You want to say them too, have for as long as you can remember.

But you're both Hashira. It's already enough that you both keep towing this dangerous line, finding yourselves in this exact predicament more often than not.

It's a little more than ridiculous actually, the way neither of you can resist sneaking glances, hiding touches, making excuses to leave on missions together. You and Sanemi…you're drawn to each other, your strings of fate knotted tightly together. It’s become impossible to leave each other alone. You don't think you'd be able to resist what you're doing even if you met as two civilians on the street. Hell, you couldn't resist each other all those years ago when you were low ranked corps members.

Training was a confusing hell back then, every session filled to the brim with fury and a strange and thick tension neither of you could put your finger on until way down the line. It wasn't until one particular training session when Sanemi had you pinned to the ground, his strong hips pressing into yours, that you then understood what that tension was. The evidence was apparent in the way Sanemi's hard stare bore into yours, how the heat between your legs began to ignite when you felt Sanemi’s thick length pulse against you, how something akin to a whimper fell from his lips when his gaze snapped down quickly just in time to watch the hem of your uniform skirt slip further, enough for him to see the way your bodies seemed to just…fit.

Then his eyes were back on your face, your lips, now parted as harsh breaths escaped you. Your eyes, wide and wanting, peered up at him from beneath your lashes and Sanemi remembers this being the very moment he stopped denying what he had always known. You are breathtakingly beautiful. He also recalls this being the moment he knew he was done for.

So when your hands found themselves placed against his not yet scarred chest, balling the sweaty fabric of his shirt in your fists…when he leaned closer and curiously rolled his hips against your clothed core and heard you let out the most captivating sound he'd ever heard, a sound he's been obsessed with since he's heard it…when he pressed his lips lightly to yours and you whispered into his mouth “I've never done this before”.

Yeah, Sanemi knew then that he was fucked.

And though that night was not the night you'd given your virginity to Sanemi - that would happen years later - it was the night Sanemi tasted you for the first time. And he devoured you time and time again like a man starved. He would have you any way and any time that he could, if you allowed him.

That was only the beginning.

Not much has changed in the years that you have been keeping up this arrangement with Sanemi. It's the only thing that you both keep coming back to, the only thing that feels solid. Though you both know it's stupid to feel as if anything in this line of work is not at risk.

Every night that you lie awake, together or not, is a reminder. Every semi-annual meeting with the Hashira, mentally taking a headcount of everyone is a reminder. Every Hashira meeting without Rengoku, without Tengen is a reminder.

Death is always standing just outside your door.

You can't afford to delude yourselves into thinking you can freely love and care for each other. Not until this thousand year war is over. Not until you are free to roam beneath the stars together without the scent of blood, the cries of pain and loss tainting the night.

So, as you and Sanemi slip into the gates of the Ubuyashiki Mansion, your fingers brush together just briefly - a silent display of those words you dare not mutter aloud. You make your way to your respective places amongst the strongest of the Demon Slayer corps; you, next to Tomioka and Sanemi beside the Serpent Hashira. And while you quietly mingle with those around you before the Master appears, you miss the hushed conversation further down the line.

“You reek of her,” Obanai remarks. Resting around his shoulders, his snake whips his tongue out at Sanemi in almost an agreement.

“Shut up.”

“You're more tense than normal. Did you finally confess? Did she reject your advances?”

“I said shut up,” Sanemi growls. The chatter of everyone is already grinding on his nerves and your voice is not helping. He wants to look at you. See what - or who - has you giggling and speaking so sweetly that it's making him sick. It shouldn't matter. You can talk to whoever you want.

‘Except Tomioka,’ Sanemi thinks. But it's only because he's so clearly in love with you! He can't understand how you don't see it.

“Looks like Tomioka is making his move,” Obanai notes quietly, like he read Sanemi’s mind.

Sanemi can hear the teasing tone in his voice. The asshole is really getting a kick out of this. Even still, it's enough to have Sanemi’s gaze snapping over to you just in time to see Tomioka and you smiling sweetly at each other, nodding and whispering amongst yourselves.

It shouldn't make Sanemi as upset as it does, just seeing you enjoy yourself with him, seeing him enjoy himself with you. Your smiles, your laughs, your kindness. It should only be for Sanemi. But you're a kind person…too kind. So kind you'd allow a monster like himself to fall in love with you.

Tomioka is much kinder, more understanding, better for you than Sanemi could ever be.

And so, seeing you and him bond…Well, it fills Sanemi with a rage so hot he finds himself standing, eyes locked on the back of your head. You must feel it, his gaze beating down on you like rays of heat from the sun itself, because you fall silent and your head snaps around. Your eyes find Sanemi's immediately, gaze wide and questioning.

Tomioka looks confused as well. ‘Good,’ Sanemi thinks. He can't wait to see the look on the Water Hashira's face when Sanemi does what he's been wanting to, but admittedly too scared to do for so long – claim you as his in front of everyone.

He lets the fumes of his anger fuel him, gritting his teeth so hard his jaw hurts. And then he's opening his mouth to speak, tongue on the roof of his mouth as all other chatter dies and the eyes of the other Hashira land on him.

“I lo-”

“The Master has arrived!” Twin voices call in unison.

And it's like muscle memory for every single Hashira, falling in line on one knee with their heads bowed as the Master approaches. His arrival extinguishes the fire that burned hazardously within Sanemi just seconds before, soothes the scorching left behind. His head is clear now, the reminder of why you both choose to keep your meetings between just you two evident.

You have a job to do. Defeating this evil comes before all things, even you. Though with the way Sanemi almost blew the lid off of your secret, he's not sure how much longer can go on without openly being with you.

But it sparks something within him - a new fire. One that burns solely for one purpose.

To defeat Kibutsuji Muzan…so that he can finally, and fully have you.

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