#not professional just decorating
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a quick jokey comic for mr phoenix wright’s 30th birthday. kristoph is an ass but i love him
#my art#described#image description in alt#phoenix wright#kristoph gavin#ema skye#trucy wright#ajaa#happy birthday phoenix wright 👍 yay#i like the idea that apollo has like pages and pages worth of random talents but they just never come up and he just never mentions them#and one of them is. inexplicably. making and decorating professional grade baked goods#i think when hes not actively trying to murder people kristoph is just this genre of piece of shit#guy who everybody hates but he just will not stop showing up uninvited and making himself the most important person there.#also ema and trucy trying to blow him up with their minds
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You guys don’t understand how much I love this song YOU GUYS DON’T UNDERSTAND WHAT THIS MAN DOES TO ME IN THIS SONG
#exo#baekhyun#love fool#GODDDDDDDD#also those cupcake are so ugly im positive they were decorated by the guys#the cake was made by a professional#but they made those cupcakes#and soo’s sugar cookie that says exo-l#god i love them#for the love of god#someone get them a piping tip#something other than just a circle#get them a star tip#someone HELP them
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Wouldn’t want him getting lost now, would we (Patreon)
#Doodles#SCII#ZEX#The Captain#DAX#Me quietly while watching Muppet Treasure Island: Don't | My brain: Haha anyway- ♪#I don't even have to reread! My brain just does this nonsense! It's still Right There at the forefront of my mind#At this rate I'll have to go pick up Treasure Island from the library *shakes fist* Stevensonnnnnnnnnnn#I will admit that the itch to reread has been growing but mmmmn I've got fics to vet for printing! And that one's technically unfinished!#I mean I might break soon lol but mmmmnnnnn!#Same thing when I was in a Treasure Planet mood years(?! how has it been that long and I still haven't rewatched!) ago#Anyway yes these were inspired by rewatching Muppet Treasure Island lol - it's just one interpretation after the other!#If you happen to go seeking out Professional Pirate you might recognize the second shot as when Jim has been kidnapped by the pirates#I kinda just interpolated from there lol#Same vibe as the set I made a while ago of ZEX piercing the Captain - there's just Something So about ZEX leaving a mark on him!#Not directly altering him (at least more than skin-deep haha) but decorating him! Dressing him up! There's Something about that#Like a living museum - how much does ZEX project onto the Captain? There's a lot of weird vibes around them <3#He wants A Human and he has His Human but hmmm ♪#Well for the time being that's his only human - and seeing as he's collared but without a leash in the last one he's not running away!#It's progress haha#Hhhh drawing the Captain in pirate garb really is one of my favourites <3 I had so much fun the first times around and it's still fun!#His hair is for some reason I cannot explain easier to draw in this setting - there is no explanation I can think of but it is! Why fight it#ZEX is also very fun to draw in pirate gear haha ♫ I really think it's one of his handsomest interpretations#I always think he's pretty! But something about the pirate aesthetic adds to his masculinity? :0#He's still a swishy pirate hehe ♥ Maybe it's the open chest on his tunic haha I just think he's very handsome!
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i made deez
#not just a simmer#a cookie decorator too#not professional at all#but this is for a friends tea party
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They keep adding more cameras to new phones and I'm still not convinced any of them do anything at all
#like ok i can get the idea of 2 rear cameras for depth perception#even though that's an incredibly niche feature#but any more than that is just decorative right#even professional cameras just have the one lens what's your phone doing that it needs FIVE
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this client is gonna snap on my coworker 😳
#I just want to go home I feel like road kill 😭 just let me rot in bed#but also. it’s a little funny. she can’t let them do the decorations the way they want for their moms birthday#these 2 divas are snapping at each other like it’s reality tv#& im just fake smiling & acting professional all the while I wanna dieeeeee#I’m on my lunch break now & after this I’m hiding in my office Idc idc let tehm kill each other
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my big sister's apartment looks like a fuckin pinterest board meanwhile i have mouldy dishes in my sink
#eliot posts#i mean we've known for a long time who the more functional sibling was but visiting my sister's apartment really puts that into perspective#im trying my best i'm just a Mess#also my taste in interior decor is probably not asgood as hers#we used to play a lot of sims and animal crossing as kids and her houses looked so much nicer than mine#i feel like she could honestly be a professional interior decorator#but she loves her job as an ecologist so much and is apparently really good at that too#she's great and i'm proud of her#even if she makes me lookbad by comparison#i can try telling myself it's an age difference thing but it's not. her first apartment was well kept too#albeit with less time to stockpile decor so more barebones
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i was looking through some of my live reactions and i feel i need to mention this again
one of the primary issues of SL S3 is that they have nowhere to skate. cool, fine. AND YET. when the red sharks are about to have their festival.
THEY SUDDENLY HAVE A PERFECT PLACE TO SKATE.
in the si lo sueñas claro scene they found a lovely space - prettily decorated, large enough for all of them to skate spread out, plenty of space for an audience WHERE WAS THIS SPOT THE ENTIRE SEASON
the more i think about the performances of soy luna the more plotholes i find because HOW ARE THESE CHARACTERS STRUGGLING SO HARD WITH A PROBLEM AND THEM MAGICALLY RESOLVING IT ONCE FOR PLOT CONVENIENCE.
IT DRIVES ME INSANE.
#it's not just this#they spent so many times fussing over the decorations for competitions#or the costumes#but whenever that's not today's plot#they magically have access to professional level decor costumes venues and editing skills#soy luna
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Top: gingerbread cookies my kiddos and I decorated a few days ago. Bottom: the gingerbread cookies I baked and decorated today, for the last-ever BONK! (BONK! is a performance—mainly poetry and music—series that has been going in my town for fifteen years, since before I even moved back to this state/town. Since I moved back, it has been a huge part of my life; especially over the past eight years. Life goes on, and we have other stuff happening in town now, but I’ll miss it a lot and I’m kinda sad.)
#rust belt jessie#my photos#food#home cooking#gingerbread cookies#personal#I do love that I got multiple compliments on the cookies tonight#not just the taste but also my decorating skills#I’m no professional cookie decorator#but it’s nice to know people appreciate my hard work
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completely forgot to post this bonkers couch i saw yesterday. i am fascinated by how low it is but it has such a high tufted back
#i liked it and it was a good price#but not enough to move cross country and also get professionally steam cleaned#taking off the skirt and refinishing the arms is just sweat equity#but that is a challenging color to decorate around
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when people asked me what i wanted to be when i grew up i should’ve said an eldritch horror
#but no#i wanted to be a bread baker or cake decorator or professional surfer#and in the fourth grade i wanted to be a physicist#now i just want to be an historian#but an eldritch horror would be a nice second
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Absolute hell on earth trying to find a flat/flatshare from across a fucking sea
#i can't visit shut until late august and by then it'll already be a bit late for the good spots#to be honest it's ALREADY late for the good spots#now it's the 7 beds/2 baths and the suburbs and 750£ a month#and the number of people who only want women (never 'no girls allowed') or they're all 22+ professionals#and i'm there like haha. i'm a -21 student :) from france :) who's never lived on her own before :)#i mean you gotta give it a shot sometimes right#one lady had a cat but she was 27 into crossfit she worked at a hospital and she seemed really into pinterest decoration#i just want to be able to visit places but i am like hundreds of kilometres and a whole sea away so it's tough#insane that in a month i'll be packing though. like holy shit#i need a tag for that too#uh.#england adventures#wow i have a ramble tag now
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Hand Knotted Rugs: A Timeless Craft of Luxury and Durability
Hand knotted rugs are more than just floor coverings; they're works of art that carry the legacy of professional craftsmanship. These rugs, made by artisans who meticulously tie hundreds of knots by hand, offer remarkable durability, beauty, and intricacy in design. At Kaleen Baba, we specialize in high-quality hand knotted rugs, perfect for those who appreciate fine craftsmanship and want to invest in a long-lasting piece for their home.
Hand Knotted Rugs for Sale: A Rich Collection
When you’re looking for hand knotted rugs for sale, it’s essential to understand the value of these exceptional pieces. The process of hand knotting can take months, depending on the size and complexity of the design, which is why these rugs are considered premium in the world of floor coverings. Made from materials like wool, silk, or a blend of both, hand knotted rugs not only add a luxurious touch to your home but also stand the test of time.
At Kaleen Baba, we offer a wide variety of hand knotted rugs, ranging from traditional Oriental patterns to modern designs. Whether you’re looking to adorn your living room, bedroom, or hallway, our collection has something for every taste. Each rug tells a unique story and brings a sense of history and elegance to your space.
Hand Knotted Runner: Style and Functionality
A hand knotted runner is an excellent way to add both style and functionality to narrower spaces like hallways, entryways, or staircases. These long, slim rugs offer the same beauty and craftsmanship as larger hand knotted rugs but are designed to fit in more compact areas.
Not only do runners provide a decorative element, but they also protect your floors from wear and tear, making them both practical and stylish. At Kaleen Baba, our collection of hand knotted runners includes both traditional and modern designs, ensuring you find the perfect piece to match your interior décor.
Hand Tufted vs Hand Knotted: Understanding the Difference
When comparing hand tufted vs hand knotted rugs, the main distinction lies in the crafting process. Hand tufted rugs are made by punching wool or other fibers through a canvas backing using a hand-operated tool. This process is faster and less labor-intensive, which makes hand tufted rugs more affordable than hand knotted ones.
On the other hand, hand knotted rugs are crafted by tying individual knots onto the foundation of the rug. This intricate process requires a great deal of time and skill, resulting in a rug that is more durable and luxurious. Hand knotted rugs tend to be more expensive but are also more durable and considered long-lasting investments. If you’re looking for a rug that combines beauty, craftsmanship, and durability, hand knotted rugs are the way to go.
Conclusion
Whether you’re interested in the timeless beauty of hand knotted rugs, searching for hand knotted rugs for sale, or need a stylish hand knotted runner, Kaleen Baba offers a wide selection to meet your needs. For more information, feel free to reach out to us at [email protected] or call +91-900-590-0831. Explore our collection and bring home a piece of art that will enhance the beauty of your living space for years to come.
#Hand Knotted Rugs: A Timeless Craft of Luxury and Durability#Hand knotted rugs are more than just floor coverings; they're works of art that carry the legacy of professional craftsmanship. These rugs#made by artisans who meticulously tie hundreds of knots by hand#offer remarkable durability#beauty#and intricacy in design. At Kaleen Baba#we specialize in high-quality hand knotted rugs#perfect for those who appreciate fine craftsmanship and want to invest in a long-lasting piece for their home.#Hand Knotted Rugs for Sale: A Rich Collection#When you’re looking for hand knotted rugs for sale#it’s essential to understand the value of these exceptional pieces. The process of hand knotting can take months#depending on the size and complexity of the design#which is why these rugs are considered premium in the world of floor coverings. Made from materials like wool#silk#or a blend of both#hand knotted rugs not only add a luxurious touch to your home but also stand the test of time.#At Kaleen Baba#we offer a wide variety of hand knotted rugs#ranging from traditional Oriental patterns to modern designs. Whether you’re looking to adorn your living room#bedroom#or hallway#our collection has something for every taste. Each rug tells a unique story and brings a sense of history and elegance to your space.#Hand Knotted Runner: Style and Functionality#A hand knotted runner is an excellent way to add both style and functionality to narrower spaces like hallways#entryways#or staircases. These long#slim rugs offer the same beauty and craftsmanship as larger hand knotted rugs but are designed to fit in more compact areas.#Not only do runners provide a decorative element#but they also protect your floors from wear and tear#making them both practical and stylish. At Kaleen Baba
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I WANT TO HEAR YOU SCREAMMM!
summary: whatever you do, do not fuck mr.ghostface!
tags: ghostface!geto x fem!reader, naoya mention .., set in the 90s and inspired by fear street!!, smut, ōral sex (m and f receiving), knife play, slightly mask kink, humiliation kink, exhibitionism kinda, death, mentions of blood, etc, mdni
w.c: around 3.6k (sorry I got carried away …)
a/n: THANK U GUYS FOR 1.6K WAAAATTTT WE GOIN UPPPPP YEASSS
+ geto in tbis fic looks just like this fanart 🙂↕️
kinktober masterlist
you lean against the register, bored out of your mind as you scribble distorted faces on your company’s notepad. working a night shift sucks—especially a closing shift. you huff as the intercom blasts the latest rock song, a weak attempt to liven up the dead atmosphere. lately, the cd shop has been busy with customers buying vinyls, posters, and movies. ugh, it was so annoying having to scan the newest movie, scream. the line was always so long it nearly wrapped around the whole building!
you glance out the glass front doors, scanning the empty, dark streets, genuinely debating whether you should close two hours early since no one is coming. your attention shifts as you hear the bell ring, indicating a customer entering.
ugh.
your smile drops when you see naoya, your annoying coworker who flirts with you in the weirdest ways. he’s always condescending and putting you down until you found out from another coworker that he’s actually attracted to you. he walks toward you, standing in front of the register as if he were a customer. you honestly forgot he was still here after he said he would take a ‘five-minute’ break an hour ago.
“you don’t get paid to draw, now do you?” he says, leaning over to grab the notebook. you let him take it, but he rips the page clean, crumpling it in his fist. gosh, you hated when he acted like the manager. “anyways, I’m clocking out! must suck having to stay for another… two hours!” he laughs, glancing at the clock above. he giggles as he walks behind the counter into the bright red font ‘employees only’ room, leaving you scoffing in annoyance. you waste time fixing the decorations on the register as every minute drags by.
ring!
your heart stops when you hear the company phone ringing. who the hell calls at this hour? you pick up the corded telephone and force yourself into a professional tone.
“thank you for calling cursed tracks, how may I help you?” you say, lazily watching over the store. there’s a long pause, and your brows furrow. is this a prank call?
“hello—”
“what’s your favorite scary movie?”
you burst out laughing, doubling over at the blatant prank call. there’s no way. it’s beyond cringey that you would be a victim of ghostface’s evil scheme. tears roll down your cheeks as you hang up the phone, your laughter still ringing in your ears. but then, you stumble backward, colliding with something solid—no, someone. your laughter halts as you slowly turn your head, gulping hard as your eyes drop in horror. screaming in genuine fear, you see him: ghostface, knife in hand, just like in the movies.
you stumble back into the counter, panic rising as you cry out, cornered in the booth. he drops his hand and bursts into laughter, and your brows furrow in confusion. he lifts his hand to remove the haunting mask, and embarrassment floods over you.
seriously.
“naoya, that wasn’t funny,” you snap, shoving him away as he continues to laugh uncontrollably. “you— you should’ve seen your face! I wish I recorded this— we would’ve been stars!” he wheezes, still amused as you find none of this funny. he continues to mimic your reaction, and you bite your lip to keep from lunging at him.
“stop wearing display costumes, asshole! you’re gonna get us in trouble,” you scold, turning away as he playfully bonks your head with the fake plastic knife. irritation washes over you.
“jeez, naoya— just leave already, you’re ruining my alone time,” you say coldly, clearly annoyed by his antics. you hear his footsteps retreating to the employee room, allowing you to calm down from his stupid joke.
you lean against the counter once again, watching over the store in boredom, your eyes feeling heavy as each minute passes. maybe you should really quit- you’re not getting paid enough for this. you roll your eyes at the ruckus coming from the room behind you—nayoa’s making way too much noise.
bastard, you mentally insult him.
you close your eyes to rest them, feeling exhausted from the long shift when you suddenly sense someone standing behind you. your eyes shoot open, and your heart drops again as you turn around to see nayoa in that damn ghostface costume.
“very fuckin’ funny, naoya,” you scoff, trying to ignore him, but he doesn’t move. he’s breathing heavily under the mask, staying still as if waiting for your reaction. you turn to yell at him, but the words choke in your throat. your eyes drop to the knife he’s gripping in his hand, and it looks too real—dripping with what looks like blood. your breathing quickens as you glance at the fake plastic knife that naoya left on the counter, your eyes twitching in disbelief.
“o-okay, naoya, you’re scaring me.”
“darling, who’s naoya?” the male voice says, distorted through the mask’s speaker. tears rush to your eyes as you see blood seeping from under the employee room door.
you step back, your back hitting the counter, trapping you just like before when nayoa scared you. the male steps closer, tears spilling down your cheeks as fear overwhelms you; you can’t call out for naoya—he’s fucking dead!
without thinking, you attempt to jump over the counter, but before you can touch the ground, you feel yourself being yanked back by strong hands. you squeal at how fast he moves, pinning you against the wall with one hand holding you in place and the other gripping the sharp, bloody knife to your throat. your eyes widen, the blade too close to your artery. if you looked up at the popcorn ceiling. you’d see the end of it—your life flashing before your eyes.
“oh pretty, you were just acting like a big girl,” geto coos, his voice soft yet terrifying. the grip on the knife loosens slightly as he pulls back his head, and your eyes remain shut, fear washing over you.
“y’r sooo fuckin’ nasty, huh,” geto comments, and your brows furrow as you stare at the creepy face behind the mask. he chuckles, and you follow his gaze down—oh fuck. you wish your body wasn’t reacting on its own! you’re grinding your hips against his knee placed between your thighs, your rhythm so subtle you didn’t even realize.
“let’s test how nasty you really get.”
those were the last words that echoed in your head as he had you behind the counter, knees grinding against the freezing floor, your jaw aching from the relentless thrusts. his thick cock slammed into your mouth with brutal force—so deep that you swore you could feel him in your chest, the bulge in your throat visible as he used you mercilessly. both of his hands gripped your head with brutal force, his long fingers tangling in your curly locks as he fucked your face like a filthy fucktoy. his groans, muffled by the infamous ghostface mask, sent shivers down your spine, the hollow black eyes staring soullessly at you as he threw his head back in ecstasy. the obscene sounds of wet gags and sloppy suction filled the store, the mess overwhelming—drool and spit spilled uncontrollably from your mouth, coating his shaft and dripping down your chin, soaking into the front of your work shirt.
your nose repeatedly slammed against his crotch, the rough patch of his pubes tickling against your skin, making you tear up even more. the strain in your jaw was unbearable, his fat cock stretching you wide, each thrust so forceful you thought your jaw might snap. but you kept your grip on his jeans, fingers digging into the fabric as your throat was pounded raw. his heavy black boot was wedged between your legs, you couldn’t stop grinding on him. each roll of your hips against his boot sent delicious friction through your core, and you were drenched, your panties soaked through your pants, sticking to your swollen folds. the slick sounds of your cunt rubbing against his boot mixed with the wet slurps coming from your mouth, each grind making you moan pathetically around his cock.
geto’s head dropped down to watch, eyes behind the hollow mask taking in the sight of you—a filthy, drooling mess on your knees with his cock buried so deep down your throat that a bulge swelled in your neck. drool poured from your lips in thick strings, and your hips moved desperately against his foot, grinding on him like you couldn’t help yourself. but he didn’t let you keep going. his movements stopped abruptly, and with a harsh yank, he pulled your head back off his cock, making you gag and cough, gasping for air. the sound of your desperate choking echoed through the store as strings of spit connected your swollen lips to his twitching tip, your eyes wide with lust and tears. the sight of you, completely ruined in your leggings, face soaked and pussy grinding against his boot, only made him harder, his cock throbbing in front of your face.
“you jus’ can’t help it, can you?” geto growls, his voice thick with cruel amusement as he grinds his boot harder into your cunt, your soaked panties doing nothing to dull the friction. the pressure sends jolts of filthy pleasure up your spine, making you cry out pathetically, your body writhing against him. his grin stretches behind the ghostface mask, those empty black eyes staring down at you, drinking in your desperation.
in a single, brutal motion, he rips you off the ground and slams you onto the counter, CDs clattering to the floor around you. your legs fly up, bent and spread wide, exposing you to him completely. his eyes rake over your body like you’re nothing more than prey. with a harsh tug, he rips your pants off, tossing them carelessly behind him. the moment his gaze lands on the soaked crotch of your panties, your clit twitches in response, your cunt clenching involuntarily, knowing what’s about to come. the fabric is practically see through now, drenched in fear and filthy arousal, and it only makes his smirk widen behind the mask.
your eyes are glossy, chest heaving as your legs stay bent up, thighs trembling with anticipation. you should be terrified, and you are—but the heat pulsing through your core is undeniable. the sight of him towering over you with that eerie mask, black eyes hollow and unfeeling, does something sick to you.
without warning, geto pulls a another knife from behind him, the blade gleaming dangerously in the store light. you gulp hard, a whimper escaping your lips as he waves it inches from your face, the cold steel sending a wave of fear coursing through you, but it only makes your cunt throb harder.
“don’t move,” he whispers darkly, dragging the tip of the knife down your neck, making your skin break out in goosebumps. the blade hovers over your chest, your nipples hardening as he traces your curves. he presses just enough to remind you of its sharpness, enough to let you know he could cut deep at any second. the threat lingers in the air, the thrill of it making your thighs tremble.
he doesn’t hesitate when he reaches your shirt. with a quick flick of his wrist, you hear the rippppp of fabric as the blade slices your work button-up clean open, exposing your bare chest. the sharpness of the knife cutting through the material like paper sends a shiver of fear and arousal down your spine.
“cheap shit,” he sneers, but the way your nipples perk in the cool air has his cock straining even harder. his hand moves lower, the tip of the blade dragging dangerously over your trembling stomach, inching closer and closer to your cunt.
you gasp when he finally reaches your panties, the cold metal resting against the swollen lips of your pussy. “y’know. . .” he trails off, voice thick with lust as he presses the flat of the blade against your clothed clit, the cold, sharp edge making you jerk involuntarily. “never had someone so . . .desperate in their final moments.”
it’s humiliating how your clit twitches at the contact, how your cunt clenches around nothing, soaked and aching for him. he notices, of course, the way your hips twitch toward the blade, and the wetness that’s already beginning to drip down your thighs.
“fuckin’ embarrassing,” he mutters, but his voice is laced with something darker—he’s getting off on this, on how soaked you are for him. the knife slides lower, grazing your inner thigh, just shy of cutting you, the scrape of the blade against your skin sending shivers through your body. you can feel your pulse in your clit, each drag of the cold steel only making you wetter, more desperate.
“this turning you on, baby?” he asks, his voice low and mocking. you can’t even respond, too lost in the filthy heat coursing through you.
with a quick flick of his wrist, the knife slices through your panties, the sharp blade cold against your slick folds. you gasp, your pussy finally exposed, clit twitching as the cool air hits your drenched core. the knife grazes your swollen lips, barely a whisper of pressure, but it’s enough to make you moan, your cunt clenching desperately.
he hums in approval, staring down at your glistening pussy, the wetness dripping from your folds, thighs trembling as you lie there helplessly. geto’s exposed cock twitches painfully at the sight, his eyes narrowing behind the mask as he drinks in how ruined you already are.
“fuckkk,” he mumbles, voice thick with lust. he lets the knife trail up, dragging it over your clit just enough to make you gasp, the cold edge sending waves of agonizing pleasure through you.
you’re fighting the urge to touch yourself, legs trembling with need, but he’s dragging it out, watching you suffer, savoring every filthy, desperate moan that spills from your lips. your cunt clenches again, dripping, aching for more, but all he does is graze the blade over your sensitive skin, keeping you on the edge, waiting for him to finally take what’s his.
without a second thought, geto rips off the ghostface mask, revealing his face in all its sinful glory. his long black hair cascades down his back, a few loose strands framing his face just right, giving him that perfect, messy look. your heart nearly stops at the sight—those silver piercings in his lower lip glint under the lights of the CD store. fuck. your breath catches as you realize just how devastatingly hot he is, a man who could ruin you in every sense of the word.
“f-fuck, mr. ghostface. . .you’re so fucking hot,” you moan, your cunt clenching involuntarily at the sight of him. he smirks, catching your reaction instantly, bringing the blade right back to your dripping cunt, but now it’s different—now you can see every twitch of that gorgeous smirk, every glint in his wicked eyes. nothing is processing in your mind at this point. you’re too far gone, body shaking as he holds all the power over you. he could do anything right now, and you’d let him.
geto leans in, inhaling deeply, letting your scent drive him mad before diving headfirst between your thighs. his lips find your cunt with no warning, devouring you like a fucking beast. his tongue plunges into your soaked hole with reckless abandon, the wet, obscene sounds echoing through the empty store. your back arches violently against the counter, the cold glass windows around the store only barrier between you and the outside world. if anyone walked by and caught sight of this—fuck, you’d be fired in an instant. but the thrill of that thought only makes the heat in your core burn hotter.
your body reacts before your mind can catch up, hands flying to tangle in his thick, soft hair, yanking him closer. he groans deep, the sound vibrating through your clit as you pull his head in tighter. mr. ghostface loves his hair being pulled—check! you think, feeling the way his body reacts to your grip, only making him devour you more ruthlessly.
his nose nudges your clit, adding to the torment as his tongue relentlessly works your insides, the metal ball of his tongue piercing sending shockwaves of pleasure through you. it’s so nasty, so fucking loud as he slurps up your juices, the slick sound echoing around the store. you can’t believe your body is making this much of a mess, slick dripping down your thighs, pooling on the counter beneath you. you’re losing it, completely undone by how he’s devouring you.
geto’s tongue is merciless, and just when you think it can’t get any better, he brings two thick fingers to your entrance, thrusting them in deep. the stretch makes your head spin, his digits spreading you open wide as his tongue continues to work your cunt. he groans low in his throat, the vibrations sending another wave of ecstasy through your core. the sensation of his tongue, his piercing, and his fingers all working together has you seeing stars, your walls clenching around him uncontrollably.
“fuck, look at you,” he growls against your cunt, his voice muffled but still dripping with arrogance as his fingers curl inside you, finding your sweet spot instantly. your eyes roll back, legs shaking uncontrollably as the tension in your belly coils tighter. your grip on his head tightens, forcing him further into you, needing more, more of that perfect, filthy mouth. his lips close around your swollen clit, biting at it just enough to drive you insane, while his fingers pound into you relentlessly.
you catch a glimpse of his face between your thighs, his half-lidded eyes fluttering shut as a moan slips past his pierced lips, his tongue flicking out to lick your slick from the corner of his mouth like he can’t get enough. he’s completely lost in you, ruthlessly making out with your cunt, leaving you trembling and gasping for air. the sight alone nearly pushes you over the edge, your body trembling violently as you feel your orgasm building, heat burning in your stomach, your cunt clenching around his thick fingers.
“listen to how talkative she is,” geto sneers, a wicked smirk stretching across his face. without hesitation, his free hand grabs the store’s telephone, fingers working quickly to connect it to the intercom. before you can process what he’s doing, he presses the microphone right up against your drenched, sloppy cunt.
your eyes go wide in horror as the filthy, wet sloshing of your pussy echoes through the entire store. the slick, obscene sounds of your cunt squelching and dripping around his thick fingers fill the air, amplified by the speakers. every thrust makes it squirt, the embarrassing symphony of your slick coating his fingers making your stomach drop with humiliation. you’re completely exposed, the sound of your body’s desperate reactions bouncing off the store walls, reminding you just how nasty this is.
the wet slaps, the relentless gushing of your cunt, and the squelching noises leave you utterly mortified. It’s so loud, so filthy that if anyone were to walk by, they’d hear everything—and know exactly what a mess you’re making for him. every slick, nasty sound screams your shame, broadcasting to the entire store that you’re getting off to a literal serial killer!
“look at you,” geto chuckles darkly, his voice dripping with arrogance. “so fucking nasty for me. all this for a killer? huh? you like knowing what a filthy slut you are?”
geto throws the telephone, letting it dangle by the cord, before roughly flipping you onto your stomach. your feet barely touch the ground as your chest presses into the counter- bent over, giving you a full view of the empty store. his eyes darken as he takes in your position, biting his lip at the sight of your ass wiggling back, grinding against his hard cock. you can’t help but plead, your voice breathy and desperate.
“please, mr. ghostface, you’ve been sucha tease,” you whine, turning your head to watch him as he toys with his lip piercing, eyes fixed on you like he’s weighing his options. before you can beg again, he makes his choice—sliding his fat, mushroom tip past your dripping entrance. the stretch of his tip slightly burning but- oh it felt so good. your body jerks forward with the slow, agonizing thrust, his thick crownhead teasing innn and outttt of your needy, aching walls. you cry out, wanting—no, needing—more.
desperation overtakes you, and you try to fuck yourself back onto him, but his hand comes down hard, swatting your ass. the sharp sting only makes your pussy clench harder, and you hear him tut in disbelief at how filthy you’ve become for him. “unbelievable how you’re this horny,” he sneers, gripping your hips tighter as if to hold you still.
“if you’re a virgin, just say—ahh,” you taunt- gasping loudly when his fingers wrap around the back of your neck, his grip firm as he pulls you flush against his broad chest. his thick tip remains lodged inside your cunt, teasing you with how little he’s giving, yet how desperately you crave more.
he leans in close, his breath hot on your ear. “i’d love to stay and prove your point,” he purrs, eyes flicking to the front of the store, where the bright blue and red lights of approaching police cars flash in the distance. your mind is too foggy, too consumed with lust to understand what he’s hinting at. “but baby, your little coworker—the one you never bat your pretty lashes at,” he continues, his tone darkening as his grip tightens around your neck, turning your head toward the ‘employee’s only’ door.
that’s when you see it—the large, dark puddle of blood seeping from under the door, your coworker’s lifeless body hidden from view.
“i-i don’t care, i wan’ you,” you plead, tears stinging your eyes as your walls grip his girthy tip, trying to coax more from him. geto chuckles darkly, the sound sending shivers down your spine. he turns your head back toward the front of the store, where the police cars are getting closer. his hand slips away from your neck, leaving you trembling as he cruelly pulls his cock from your addicting cunt, leaving you empty and desperate as he swiftly tucked it back in his pants.
tears spill from your eyes as you feel him slipping away, denying you what you need. “he’s the one that ruined our fun,” geto says, his voice soft but menacing. “and sadly…” his words trail off, and you freeze as you feel the cold tip of a sharp blade pressing against your neck. you gulp hard, heart pounding as the reality of the situation sets in.
“’m really sorry, baby, but i can’t have you snitching to the police, can i?” he whispers, and with a swift motion, the blade slices cleanly across your throat. blood trickles down in a warm line, your breath catching in your chest as your body collapses to the floor. the cold tiles beneath you feel distant as your vision blurs, the last thing you see is geto standing above you, pouting as he watches the life drain from your body.
#jujutsu kaisen#jjk x reader#jjk fanfic#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#getou suguru x reader#geto suguru smut#geto suguru x reader#suguru geto smut#geto smut#geto suguru x you#geto suguru x y/n#geto suguru#anime smut#smut#jjk x reader smut#geto x black reader#jjk x black reader#jjk x black!fem reader#jjk x black y/n#geto suguru x black reader
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Irene x Male Reader
word count: 3.2K
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You drive up to Irene's mansion, where every inch of the lawn looks meticulously manicured, and the fountain at the entrance shoots water in a pattern that can only be described as "obscenely expensive." You still can't believe you were hired to train a woman who doesn't seem to need a single day in the gym, but money is money, right?
You step out of the car and walk to the front door, a massive wooden structure that probably weighs more than your car. Before you have the chance to knock, the door opens as if the house has been eagerly awaiting your arrival. Irene appears, and the first thing you think is that the photos simply don't do her justice.
She's like an upgraded version of a classic diva, someone with a beauty that would be admired in any era of humanity, now enhanced by all the improvements time could offer. Black hair cascading in soft waves, feline eyes that devour you in a fraction of a second, and a posture that makes you wonder if you're standing before a queen or a trap disguised as a woman.
"Oh, I was excited to finally meet my personal trainer," she says.
"Ms. Irene," you reply, offering your hand in a gesture that feels outdated in her presence. Her hand is soft and firm, and the grip is just enough to make you feel that you are, without a doubt, in foreign territory.
"Come on, I'll show you the house," she says, turning quickly without waiting for a response. You follow her, walking through a house that is a maze of marble, stainless steel, and glass. Every piece of art on the walls screams in a flamboyant way, "I have more money than you can imagine," and the faint scent of fresh flowers lingers in the air, as if even the aroma of the house was custom-made.
"This here is the living room," she says, passing through a room larger than your entire apartment, and you pretend not to be impressed. "And over there is the kitchen. You might need something to drink after the workouts. Or during, if I decide to tire you out too much."
She smiles again, and this time you can’t help but smile back, with that kind of irony that only arises when you know you're in trouble.
"This is the bedroom," she says, stopping in front of a closed door. You feel the tension rise a bit, and she notices it. "Not that you’ll need it, but I thought you'd like to know where it is." She opens the door and reveals a room that looks like it came straight out of a decor magazine: an immense bed, silk sheets, and a view of the garden that seems hand-painted.
"Nice place," you say, more out of politeness than anything else.
"Thank you. Now, the gym," she says, as if this was the true purpose of the entire visit. She leads you to a room where all the exercise machines seem to shine with newness. "I need to stay in shape, after all," she says, leaning casually on a treadmill, her posture suggesting that the idea of sweat is something completely alien.
"Shall we begin, then?" you ask, already pulling out the water bottle from your bag, trying to appear professional.
You decide to start the session with the basics, which seems like the best approach when dealing with someone whose idea of physical effort probably consists of reaching for the remote control.
"So, Irene, have you trained before?" you ask, but in your mind, she doesn’t exactly look like the type who frequents a gym.
She smiles, that smile you're already beginning to associate with trouble. "Only if you count marathon shopping trips and half-hour Pilates sessions with my instructor who told me to breathe deeply and think of happy places. Does that count?"
You smile back. "Well, let's start with something simple. A warm-up. Just to prepare the muscles."
"Oh, I love a good warm-up," she replies.
You guide her through some basic stretches, and of course, she starts asking for help. "Can you show me how to do this one? I've always had trouble with it," she says while trying to touch her toes.
You approach, placing your hands on her waist to guide her, trying to ignore the fact that she’s perfumed for a workout. "Like this, push a little further forward... That’s it."
She lets out a soft sigh, almost inaudible, but you notice. "I don't think I've ever had someone help me like this," she says, making you realize that "help" has multiple connotations for her.
"Practice makes perfect," you respond, trying to stay focused.
After the warm-up, you lead her to the weight machines. "Let's start with something simple, like the leg extension machine. This will work your quadriceps."
She looks at the machine as if it were some kind of medieval torture device. "Quadriceps... Right. And this does what exactly? Makes me gain muscles?"
"Exactly. You sit here, adjust the weight, and lift your legs to extend the knee. It’s great for toning the thighs."
She sits down, but instead of following your instructions, she just pretends to be confused. "I don't think I'm getting it. Can you show me again?"
You lean in to help her adjust the position of her legs, and you feel her gaze fixed on you. "Like this? Is it good now?" she asks, her voice softer than it should be for a simple exercise instruction.
"Yes, it's perfect," you reply.
"So, have you been training for a long time?" she asks as you guide her through the exercise. "It’s noticeable, you know... by your physique, the way you explain…"
"I’ve been training for a few years. It’s a passion of mine."
"Passion? Interesting," she says. "And are you single? Or is there someone waiting for you at home after you spend the day helping women like me stay in shape?"
You hesitate, realizing that the conversation is veering off course.
"I'm single. I guess my work takes up most of my time. What about you? You told me your husband is always traveling, right?"
"He's away most of the time, yes. His work is... demanding. But luckily, I know how to take care of myself," she says, lifting her legs on the machine with a little more enthusiasm. When Irene was done, she paused to drink water, then walked between the machines until she chose the next one. “Hey, help me here. I don't want to mess up the movement, I need your guidance." She says, standing in front of the lat pulldown machine.
"Oh, great. This one’s for your back and shoulders," you explain, adjusting the weight. "You hold here, pull the bar down, and then release slowly, feeling the resistance."
She looks at the machine as if it were an abstract art piece.
"Looks complicated. Show me how it's done?"
You demonstrate the movement, feeling her eyes on every motion of your body. When you finish, she positions herself, but instead of pulling the bar, she holds it for a second, looking at you with a false expression of confusion. "I think I’m not doing it right. Can you guide me?"
You approach again, this time placing your hands on her arms, helping her execute the movement. "Like this," you say, your voice a little lower. "Pull with your back muscles, not just your arms."
"Since you’ve been working out for a long time, you must be very strong," she comments as she pulls the bar, her muscles tensing softly under your hands. "And you must be used to lifting heavy, right?"
"It depends on the workout," you respond, trying to ignore the fact that every word she says seems to have a double meaning. "But it’s always good to vary, to do a bit of everything."
"So, how many of these should I do?" she asks, as if she’s genuinely interested in the answer, but her eyes say something else.
"Let's do three sets of twelve reps," you reply, trying to keep a professional tone. She does the first set with you close by, watching every movement, and then asks for your help with the next machine.
The dynamic continues until, by the end of the workout, she’s sweating, but in a way that looks more like a healthy glow than discomfort. She stretches, her muscles relaxing, and looks at you with that same smile that started everything. "I think you made me work pretty hard today. Maybe I’ll need a massage afterward," she says, her tone provocative.
You smile, unsure whether to take her seriously or laugh. "Massages aren’t part of the package, but we can talk about a relaxation stretch."
"We’ll see," she says, stepping closer with that smile that always precedes trouble, the kind you should have learned to avoid. “It seems like I’m the only one sweating here,” she says, with a sweetness that’s pure venom, before leaning in and, without warning, licking your cheek.
You take a step back, your heart pounding in your chest. "Ms. Irene, what is this?!"
"I told you, you’re not very sweaty. And I licked you to prove it," she responds with the casualness of someone asking the time.
"But what the hell does that mean? I came here to work—"
"And you’ll get paid at the end, of course!" she interrupts, her smile widening in a way that only makes things worse. “I just want… to have a little fun with you. Include that in the deal. You could earn a bonus for it, if you’d like.”
She takes another step forward.
“Irene, you’re married. Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not a good idea.”
“No one needs to know, sweetheart,” she whispers, as if it were a secret you truly wanted to hear. “You’re too young to be so worried about life.”
You try to speak, but the words come out jumbled, as if your mouth forgot how to work.
“I-I… This isn’t right.”
She laughs, a sound that makes you feel like a mischievous boy caught in the act. “I bet I’ll make you change your mind once you see what you’re missing.” With a quick, decisive movement, she removes her top, revealing small, pale, perfect, and provocative breasts. Her smile widens, and you feel your face flush with heat. Worse than that—you feel your cock pulse in your pants.
“What do you think?” she asks, each word dripping with irony and certainty.
“Cover yourself, please!” Your voice comes out louder than you intended, but the plea is almost pathetic.
“Oh, don’t play the saint with me,” she retorts, suddenly stepping closer, grabbing your hand with firm resolve and placing it on her breast. The touch is warm and soft. You swallow hard, but it feels like the lump in your throat is stuck there for good. And the worst part? You can’t pull your hand away.
“What do you think? My boobs are small, but they fit perfectly in your mouth,” she teases, her voice lower, more intense.
“This isn’t right, Ms. Irene…” you try, but your resistance is fragile.
“Shh! Just call me Irene,” she orders, and before you can protest again, she seals any chance of escape with a kiss—warm and commanding, as if she already knew you wouldn’t say no.
Before you could even process what was happening, Irene had already wrapped her hand around your cock. With force. With a desire that you felt reverberate down your spine. “You’re so hard for me,” she whispers, her lips pulling away from yours, but the heat of her proximity still clinging to your skin.
“Irene…” you murmur, the name escaping as a whisper, almost a plea, but for what? For her to stop or to keep going?
“That’s right,” she continues, giving you no room to regain control. “I want to hear you moan my name while you fuck me good.”
Before you could refuse—or worse, agree—she pulls you toward a weight bench like she’s practiced the move a thousand times. It’s astonishing how a woman so small, so delicate, can exert such absolute control over you. You feel like a toy in her hands, powerless to resist.
You take off your shirt while she kneels to untie your shoes, making sure every detail is perfect, that you’re comfortable—but not for you, for her. When she asks you to take off the rest, you comply without question, feeling the cool air caress your exposed skin. She compliments your physique, her words sliding over your skin like hot oil. Her hands roam over your muscles, her fingers tracing the contours of your biceps.
“You’re so hot,” she murmurs, kissing your chest, her lips warm and soft. The excitement builds within you, uncontrollable, wild.
You sit back down on the bench, Irene kneels between your legs, her smile a mix of wickedness and pure desire. She takes your cock with a confidence that makes you hold your breath, her touch firm, almost possessive. “Wow… you’re much bigger and thicker than my husband,” she murmurs, licking the tip, teasing, while her eyes remain fixed on yours. “I’ve always wondered what it would feel like to have something like this… I’m going to love gagging on this cock.”
She slowly opens her mouth, her lips stretching around the head of your cock, and the sensation is mind-blowing. You watch, mesmerized, as she starts to take you in, inch by inch, until her mouth is completely full. “Oh, yes,” she mumbles with difficulty, her words muffled as she struggles to accommodate your size.
She begins to move her head up and down, faster and faster, the wet, warm sound of her mouth creating a steady rhythm. Her small mouth adjusts to your cock, fighting the instinct to pull away, but instead, she pushes forward, making it clear she wants more.
The sight of her, drowning on your cock, is almost unbearably arousing. You can’t resist, your hands go to her hair, pulling to gain more control. With a decisive move, you push deeper into her throat, and the muffled moan she lets out is a mix of pleasure and challenge. “Just like that,” she moans, tears welling in her eyes from pleasure and effort, but with no intention of stopping. She wants this as much as you do.
You feel her throat tightening around your cock, each movement sending waves of pleasure through you as she takes you as deep as she can, not giving up even when her air becomes scarce. The mix of pain and pleasure on her face only fuels your desire further, and you continue, deeper and deeper, until she finally has to stop to breathe, gasping, but with a satisfied, lascivious smile on her face.
Irene stands up, her gaze burning with a desire that mirrors your own. She starts to take off her leggings, revealing she’s not wearing any panties. The sight of her like this, naked and ready, is enough to take your breath away.
Without a second thought, you grab her firmly, your hands holding her slim waist as you lift her off the ground with an ease you didn’t even know you had. Irene lets out a low, sensual moan as she wraps her legs around you, locking her ankles behind your back, pulling the two of you even closer. With a decisive movement, you press her against the nearest wall, the cold concrete contrasting with the growing heat between you.
“Ohhh, yes,” she moans as you penetrate her for the first time, her head falling back, hitting the wall, but she doesn’t seem to care. “You’re so thick!”
With each thrust, Irene responds with louder, more desperate moans. “Just like that, baby… more, please, more!” Her voice is a mix of command and plea, her nails digging into your shoulders, pulling you closer, as if she wants to merge with you.
“That’s it! Oh, God! You fuck me better than my husband!”
That somehow spurs you on, every movement becoming deeper, stronger, as if you’re trying to shove every inch of yourself into her. Irene bites her lip, her face in pure pleasure, and then she starts babbling, as if facial expressions weren’t enough to describe what she’s feeling. “Yes… fuck me… fuck me hard… do what my husband never could…”
But she’s not the only one on the edge. The heat of her body, the almost painful tightness around your cock, every moan and sigh, it all makes you want more, makes you lose control.
After what feels like both an eternity and an instant, you feel like you need more. With a quick move, you pull away from the wall and carry her to the bench. Irene drops to the floor, turns around, positioning herself on all fours while you sit down. She positions herself, slowly lowering onto your cock, moaning as she feels you stretch inside her, filling every inch.
She leans back against you, her head resting on your shoulder, her body sinking even further into your lap. Your hands immediately move to her small breasts, squeezing them, while your lips find her delicate neck, biting and sucking the soft skin. Irene lets out a loud moan, the sound of pure satisfaction, and arches her body, pushing herself even deeper.
“Yes… leave a mark… mark that you were here… that you fucked me like no one ever has,” she pleads, her words breathless, interrupted by moans that only grow louder as you squeeze and thrust into her.
You don’t hesitate, biting harder, leaving a visible mark on her neck, a testament to what’s happening. Irene shudders in response, her pussy tightening even more around you, each of her movements sending waves of pleasure through you, making you forget any shred of morality. She moves against you, her rhythm frantic, the need for more, always more, evident in every gesture.
“Yes… yes, baby… fuck me until I can’t take it anymore,” she moans, her hands reaching back, grabbing your neck, pulling you closer as she continues to move, to lose herself in the sensation.
Irene, breathless, leans in closer, and with a soft voice, almost a whisper, says in your ear, “I want you to fuck my tight ass.”
Her words are like a match striking the box, igniting something fierce within you. Irene rises off your lap and walks to a corner of the gym, where she grabs a bottle of lube. She returns with a mischievous smile, shaking the bottle in the air. “I brought this just for this moment,” she says.
“You had this in mind from the start, didn’t you?” you ask, already knowing the answer.
Irene doesn’t bother replying. Instead, she kisses you before lying down on the padded floor, her pale skin contrasting with the dark material, her body exposed in a posture of pure submission, but with the confidence of someone who knows exactly what they want. “Come here, you naughty boy,” she calls, her voice like poisoned honey.
You kneel beside her, your hands trembling with desire as you reach for the lube. Irene smiles at you, then gets on all fours and arches her back. With steady movements, you pour the gel into your palm and begin applying it to her ass, feeling the warm, soft skin under your fingers. Irene lets out a low sigh, closing her eyes, savoring the sensation. "That's it... get me ready, I want to feel every inch of your thick cock inside me."
You don’t waste any time. With one hand, you spread the lube around and inside her ass, your fingers gently penetrating to prepare her. Irene bites her lip, her body slightly writhing, a mix of pleasure and anticipation. "Feels good, keep going... make me ready for you."
When you feel she’s sufficiently lubed, you apply the rest to your cock, rubbing it until it’s fully coated, hard and throbbing.
Irene changes position, lying on her back on the floor. You position yourself between her raised legs, and she looks at you with eyes full of desire. "Come on, don't wait any longer," she begs, her voice low and sweet. You press the tip of your cock against her tight entrance, pushing slowly, feeling the initial resistance. Irene lets out a moan of pain mixed with pleasure, and you keep going, advancing inch by inch, feeling the heat and pressure around you.
"Ahhh… yes," Irene moans, her eyes closed, her hands gripping the padding beneath her as you penetrate her slowly. "It's so big… so tight…"
You keep pushing, feeling her ass open up, millimeter by millimeter, her body adjusting to your size. The heat, the pressure, the sensation of filling her completely is indescribable, and the low moan she lets out only fuels your desire. "Yes, yes, yes! Fuck me deeper," she pleads.
You obey, pushing deeper until you're finally all the way inside her. Irene lets out a muffled moan, a sound of pure satisfaction, her body arching with pleasure. "Yes… like that… don’t stop," she begs, her eyes shining with wild desire. You start to move, slowly at first, savoring every second, every contortion of her body, every moan that escapes her lips.
As you gain rhythm, Irene’s moans grow louder, more desperate. "Yes… fuck my ass… do what I never let my husband do… ahhh… harder… please," she moans, every word an encouragement for you to go deeper, to push both of you to the limit.
And you do, increasing your speed and force, your hands gripping her thighs firmly, guiding each thrust with precision, feeling her body tremble with pleasure until it all comes down to heat, sweat, the pure desire consuming you both.
Irene then begins to tremble, her body stiff with imminent pleasure. She looks at you, her eyes burning with lust and urgency. "Mmm, I’m about to cum, babe… Let’s cum together?" she asks, her voice broken by moans.
You feel her body pulsing around you, each contraction almost pushing you over the edge.
"Do you want to come inside my pussy? Fill it with your cum?"
The desire and madness of the moment take over you. “Can I?” you ask, your voice tense, almost disbelieving.
“Of course you can,” she replies with a wicked smile, "I'm on the pill, darling. I want to feel you unload everything inside me."
With that, you both move into the classic missionary position. Irene spreads her legs and bends them, her feet planted on the floor, while you kneel between her thighs, your cock positioned exactly where she wants it. Irene wraps her legs around your waist, pulling you closer. The warmth and tightness of her pussy confirm your decision: you need to cum inside her.
You start thrusting into her, each stroke deeper and faster than the last. Irene moans loudly, the sound of her moans echoing through the gym. “Ahhh, yes… more… harder…” she screams, her eyes closed in pure ecstasy. “Fuck my pussy… Make me your cum dump.”
You’re on the verge of exploding, your entire body tense with the anticipation of climax. Irene feels it and, between moans, murmurs, “I’m almost there… I’m going to cum…”
“Me too… I’m almost there…” you reply, your breathing fast.
She opens her eyes, her gaze burning with intensity. “Have you ever cum inside a stranger before, huh? Ever filled a married woman with cum, you pervert?” She asks, her words hitting you like a wave of heat.
Those words make you lose control. With one last, powerful thrust, you bury yourself deep inside her, feeling your cum release into the depths of Irene’s pussy. She screams as she cums at the same time, her body writhing beneath you, her legs tightening around your waist.
“Ahhh… I can feel it all… it’s so warm… so good…” Irene moans, her words loaded with pure pleasure, her breathing ragged as she feels every hot stream filling her. You keep moving, even as the orgasm leaves you breathless, prolonging the pleasure for both of you.
When you finally pull away, your cock slipping out, cum begins to slowly drip from her pussy.
Irene smiles, a satisfied and wicked smile, as she looks at you, her breathing still uneven. "That was… exactly what I wanted," she says, her eyes gleaming with contentment, as the cum drips between her thighs, and you watch, fascinated, as she uses her fingers to spread her lips, letting the cum flow freely. She collects some of the semen with a finger and brings it to her mouth, tasting the result of your mix.
Irene kneels beside you and leans in for a deep kiss, her lips warm and moist against yours, while her hands glide over your body, caressing you with a certain tenderness.
“So, handsome, what did you think of the workout?” she asks.
You, still with your body pulsing with residual pleasure, respond with a smile, “I loved it. It was… incredible.”
Irene smiles back. “Good to hear that,” she says, with a note of amusement, “you can consider yourself my official personal trainer now. And the best part, you’re still getting paid for it. Isn’t it the best job in the world?”
You laugh, a mix of incredulity and amusement, realizing that your concept of ‘job’ will never be the same. “So that’s it? Daily sex with a gorgeous woman and I’m going to get paid for it? What are the downsides?”
“There aren’t any. As long as my husband never finds out, of course. But that’s my problem. Your only requirement and concern is to keep me satisfied.”
With that, she gets up nonchalantly, and starts gathering the clothes scattered on the floor.
You also get up, and as you’re dressing, you can’t help but think about the absurdity of the job you’re accepting.
When you’re almost ready to leave, Irene approaches, casually adjusting her hair.
“Don’t forget, tomorrow is training day again,” she says, her voice full of light arrogance. “Same time. Don’t be late. I want more of that… energy,” she adds with a smile.
You nod, laughing to yourself as you try to regain some of your composure.
“Sure, I’ll mark it on the calendar.”
#kpop smut#male reader#male reader smut#smut male reader#x male reader#x male smut#smut#gg smut#irene smut#irene red velvet#red velvet irene#red velvet smut#m!reader#smut oneshot#irene x reader
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Okay but imagine if Sukuna's fav concubine successfully runs away from court life because she's tired of the bullying and walking around eggshells with Sukuna? (bonus points if he continues to be with other concubines) She ends up working in an orphanage or something ☠️ But do you think Sukuna will look for her or not???? 🤔🤔🤔 (manifesting that it's an angst to comfort 😌😌😌🤞🤞)
“betrayal”
heian era sukuna, just a tad different from the exact request but with the same principle
ryomen sukuna x concubine!reader
Synopsis: sukuna wakes one morning to find that you, his favorite concubine, are nowhere to be found. now, he must make your absence everyone else's problem.
to sum it up: you do not understand your relationship with sukuna, and it burdens you more to endure the abuse you receive from his favoritism than to stay
WC: 5,760
Warning(s): suggestive themessss, destructive treatment of some concubines, violence, twinge of angst
“WHERE IS SHE?!”
Sukuna’s voice is a roaring boom of thunder that can be heard even from the farthest floors of his grand estate, its bass shaking the walls as servants and concubines alike tremble upon hearing it.
The quivering hearts of those nearby are not at all settled when the sharp, alarming symphony of glass shattering and furniture toppling resounds against the wooden floorboards and into the meticulously decorated wallpaper. A line of servants stand directly outside of Sukuna's quarters with sweat beading down their foreheads, serving to provide assistance if or whenever the lord calls for it.
And those who could keep far away, they avoid stepping anywhere near the vicinity of a raging Ryomen Sukuna for fear that the next thing broken will not be an antique lamp but their heads.
Sukuna's order of women, specifically, cower in their chambers, listening carefully to muffled noises so distant from them to catch even a glimpse of what may happen next. Concubines decked in floral kimonos huddle together, staring up at the ceiling with each crumble of debris that showers from overhead as a result of the large king's monstrous frame thudding about.
Uraume stands alone within Sukuna's chambers, having been called there directly, doing their best to keep a professionally calm face despite the subconscious jolt in their shoulders every time one of Sukuna's arms thrusts down into yet another expense that they will have to add to the day's damages when it.
"My lord," the king's right hand begins pensively, sneaking a hand out from its regal place within the cuffs of their kimono as the salmon haired demon resorts to furiously pacing back and forth. The white-haired servant tries their best to keep their balance with each step he takes, which could only be described as the parade of an elephant dancing around mice. "The handmaidens, butlers, and I have searched everywhere for her. There is no trace of her left in the estate."
Another loud crash shoots throughout the room, Uraume wincing yet quickly regaining their composure once Sukuna's crimson eyes snap back to them lividly. Uraume has seen their master in many forms, including anger, but this rage levels that of which they have seen displayed in him before. Sukuna's practically a ticking time bomb, waiting to explode with his arms swinging heavily at his sides, one occasionally switching to swipe over his chin, another propping over his hip temporarily. He's antsy, frighteningly so, and Uraume unfortunately, for the first time, has no clue what to do in this situation.
Mainly because this entire tantrum has been sparked by you, a lowly concubine, who has dared to betray her king's trust and loyalty to sneak off without a word. No one knows how long you have been gone, as it is the early morning, but Sukuna took notice the moment he began his day.
The entire estate is well aware of Sukuna's selective favoritism over you, though no one is exactly sure how it started. You are fairly new as well, having been with them for about half a year when the other concubines and servants have been lingering around for far longer.
When the King of Curses was first led to you, your kneeling stance with your head bowed to your hands and your beautiful purple kimono draping over your figure to the ground, he had little interest in you. Sure, your figure looked appealing on a general basis, and granted the demon had not even allowed himself five seconds to truly look at you, but he is unimpressed until your head raises and your (e/c) eyes meet his on command.
There is something in your gaze that Sukuna decided stands out against the desperate pleas whispering in those of previous concubines. Perhaps a bit of pain... disdain... a sourness that you attempt to mask with the generous warmth of your (s/c) skin and butterfly lashes, rather involuntarily, and Sukuna has to pause as he stares down at you with indifference.
Are you angry? He knows that the concubines in his care are hardly treated nicely by those bringing them to his feet, but boo hoo. You're a woman, and a concubine at that. If you're wallowing over unfair treatment, then you surely have no place in his brothel.
But then, you hold his stare for as long as he examines you. His eyes scatter over your features, taking them in silently with no care for whether you are growing nervous under him. Even if you are, however, he can not tell. Your eyes are so clear as if they have never told a lie, and you are not challenging him but giving him the opportunity to soak you in even longer.
"Stand," he suddenly, gruffly orders, and you do with such poise. You close your eyes politely and push yourself to your feet slowly, opening your eyes once more once you are on your feet.
Hell, you're tiny, much like the rest of the women compared to all of his seven foot glory, yet you do not shrink under his shadow. You stand proud, serene, as though you know you are a rare prize, and Sukuna can do nothing but make a strange noise of unitelligible affirmation under his breath before turning on his heel and leaving the room.
"Send her to my chambers in an hour. I shall see if this lowly woman can appease me."
And by the grace of his name, you do.
He doesn't even have to be inside you for longer than a second to be completely thrown by your warmth, the way your tight cunt responds to him so obediently after he's bullied one of his lengths into your drooling hole, the plush of your ass gripped lethally within his claws and drawing strands of blood as he plows into you inhumanely.
And you take it. You whine, and groan, and cry, but you beg for more and thank him for every monstrous inch he gives you. He does not even mean to go over his normal set time with his concubines of about twenty minutes when he finds he's been fucking you for hours, and your body is still with him.
You've become a babbling, tear-stained, overstimulated mess with your fingers digging into the pillow that your face is smashed in, his second throbbing cock well situated now into your bum as he thrusts relentlessly like some sort of vicious animal. You're aching, trembling and hardly speaking a lick of sense, but Sukuna only pushes you farther, for he just can not get enough.
Consequently, you slowly begin to find yourself in his bed once a week, then twice, then about three or four times... then maybe twice in a day, and hell, why not just drag you along with him as much as he possibly can all seven days of the week?
Sukuna takes an immense liking to you, so much so that he begins to allow you to speak less and less formally with him behind closed doors. He'd ridicule you for being late, and with politeness still soaked in your voice, you'd say something smart like:
"I was not aware that thirty seconds was considered late, my lord."
Sukuna knows then that he's begun to let you get away with too much, yet as he fucks you into next week as punishment, he tells himself internally that he could get used to this.
You are far more than beauty. You are class, grace, and character that the other concubines severely lack, and the next thing you know, Sukuna is ordering you to sit on his thigh upon his throne with him as he listens to citizens or servants speak.
The salmon-haired demon has attempted to entertain other selections of his concubines, simply to conduct an experiment for himself if he can still derive pleasure from the others, but after at least ten rather boring fucks with women who are not you, he concludes that you are the best of them. Of them all.
And you are so humble, taking on his attention. You walk about the halls as though you are no more special than the others, which you are, and it has the girls boiling over the top with jealousy.
The bullying starts rather quickly after your favoritism is known.
You return to your quarters to find your bedding ripped apart, or feel elbows jab into your back as you pass by that is often brushed off as an "accident" with a conniving snicker and a toss of hair, or insults splattered in ink all over the inside of your kimonos that you can not wash out.
You have never brought this to Sukuna's attention, for you felt there was no need, especially since all of you are under his care despite the feuds spreading about. Whenever you need a new kimono or sheets, you go to Uraume, who asks no questions and simply replaces the things damaged. They already know what’s going on, and though they recognize you as a favorite, they do not share anything with Sukuna either on the direct order that he should not be bothered by concubine business unless it has to do with him.
And that is what you are. A concubine, no matter how the lord favors you, how often he tells you with his fangs dipped into your neck and his fingers gripping any limb of your body that it feels as though you are made for him. No matter how delicately he has begun to grip your waist when you approach him, dull eyes glinting with lust and interest as he stares down at you and you up at him. No matter how your heart has begun it’s pitter patter each time he addresses you by your name, something he has not bothered to learn from the others but has sworn to remember by you.
You were still one of hundreds of women here to serve only for Sukuna’s pleasure. You’re a number, and while Sukuna may not see you as such any longer, the other concubines ensure that you remember your place and who you are.
You’re a secure woman, and initially you did not allow the insecurities of others to impact you, but as the cruelty and frequency of the bullying increases, it wears down your tolerance bit by bit. Nudging turns to pinching and shoving, you can no longer eat in their presence without food landing in your hair or down your clothes, and you barely sleep at night for fear that one of them will come to harm in you in your slumber as they have on many occasions prior.
And you’re tired. So very tired. Sukuna himself even begins to notice a shift in you, how dull your eyes look when you meet him and how quiet you have become. He has demanded you tell him what is wrong, which you always reply that you have not gotten enough sleep, which is not necessarily untrue, and Sukuna has no reason not to believe it because he is not aware of the world that transpires amid the concubines when they are not actively serving him.
He is no fool, though. He has an inkling that something is going on, but he holds off on saying anything. He waits, watches.
But unfortunately, he has waited too long when you decide upon yourself that you can not take this torment anymore, that you are no more worthy of Sukuna than then next peasant. That both you and him would be better if you parted, if he no longer had a woman to favor that created such profound rifts within the community.
There is no place for you, a concubine hopelessly in love with your lord, within the estate. Sukuna feeds off of your unspoken and unknowns affections, and it has created nothing but hell for you and everyone else. So you vanish.
And Sukuna is pissed.
“You mean to tell me that she just fucking left in the middle of the night and nobody saw her?” he seethes. “You did not see her?!”
Uraume takes in a deep breath. “Unfortunately not, my lord. I was in the kitchen all night making preparations for today’s courses as usual. I’m sure the other servants were asleep as well.”
“That ungrateful brat,” he addresses you as if cursing you, your name a sweet, sick poison on his tongue. “She’s got some fucking nerve.”
“It is appalling that a concubine would do such a thing as flee your court,” Uraume instantly agrees.
“After everything I’ve given her!” he grows angrier by the second, thinking back to the privilege he bestowed upon you. You dare now to make him look weak? Another fist lands into a vase that smashes it to pieces, the memory too overwhelming to mull over without feeling as though he is going to murder someone. “When I get my hands on that girl…”
“How would you like to proceed? I have men already on the hunt-“
“Send them back.”
“…Pardon, my lord?” Uraume blinks.
“You know I do not enjoy repeating myself, Uraume.”
“I apologize. I will-“
“I want every one of them back in this estate. No one is to come or go, and if they do they shall suffer directly at my hand,” Sukuna snarls. "I will look for her myself."
Uraume bows their head. “Yes, my lord.”
“And what of the concubines?” he grunts.
“What of them?”
“I find it hard to believe that they did not hear (Y/n) take her leave, nor think it a matter not to inform me of immediately.”
Sukuna stops his pacing, standing heavily in the middle of the room as he glares to the side now in thought.
“It would be wise to inform you that when I asked them about her disappearance before coming here, they all behaved as though they were unsure of what was going on,” Uraume speaks with a hint of disdain, and Sukuna’s eyes darken.
Slowly, it pieces together that they have something to do with this.
“All of them in the throne room. Now.”
-
Petrified faces line before Sukuna as he uncharacteristically stands before his throne rather than sits, his personal arm candy nowhere to be found and frankly making him all the more uneased. Uraume, who has rounded up the women, stands to the side as they all kneel in rows on the floor, shivering with fear.
"Someone start talking," Sukuna's voice grumbles out, so menacingly, so deep that it shakes the women's cores. Those who bully you have lost any lick of confidence they found in your wake as they keep their widened eyes to the floor, mouths clamped shut, paralyzed with fear. "Do not play dumb with me. I know you all know exactly what I am referring to."
Silence filters the air, the concubines unsure of how to proceed or what to say.
"Where is she?"
The question ehcoes again, and "she" falls like a boulder crushing to the earth. You are so prized that Sukuna does not even need to address you by your name for everyone to know who he is talking about. It makes their blood boil, to be petrified on behalf of your absence. What makes you so special anyway?
"Your lord has asked you a question," Uraume adds firmly, fueling the tension within the room. "I suggest one of you answers it."
"Must I begin punishing you one by one until you learn to use your mouths and speak when I ask you to?" Sukuna fumes when he is still met with nothing, and this threat finally encourages on concubine to twitch her head slightly then speak.
A brunette girl. One of your abusers.
"We do not know where (Y/n) is, Lord Sukuna," she says with a trembling voice, head still bowed. "We... we woke, and she was gone-"
"And yet no one said a word until I took notice, and Uraume in turn."
She whimpers. "We did not think to-"
"Silence." She stops, for Sukuna can read rather clearly through her facade. He can read the energy of the entire room, in fact. It does not seem that any one of these women cares very much about your whereabouts or what has happened to you, almost as though they wanted you go in the first place. "You," he gestures to a short haired woman, who takes the risk of peeking upward to ensure that Sukuna is addressing her, for somehow she just knew.
She quickly looks back down. "Yes, Lord Sukuna?"
"Tell me why (Y/n) ran away."
She gulps, eyes scattering over the floor as she conjures up a response. "I do not know, my Lord."
The king's eyes slim, one set of burly arms crossed over his chest. His patience, at this point, is non-existent. He needs to know where you are. He needs to find you know, and so help anyone who got in his way.
"Liar," he says.
With the flick of his wrist, a slicing motion resounds through the air followed by a pitched scream of agony. The victim stares down in hair as her hands fly from her wrists within an instant, sprouting blood from her wrists and pooling over the floor. The concubines grow aware of the action, having no choice but to look up upon hearing such a sound and panic at the sight of blood and the woman now stripped of her hands.
"Now, let me make myself perfectly clear," Sukuna announces over the rise of cries throughout the room. Uraume closes their eyes with a deep sigh, watching everything unfold. "The next one of you who dares to lie to my face will lose more than just her hands. Understood?"
Warbled sobs of understanding and nods flutter about the room while short haired woman struggles to sit up, lifting her trembling limbs to her teary eyes with quivering parted lips of shock. It does not take long before she is passing out, and Sukuna rolls his eyes.
"Uraume, get her out of here."
Once the wounded woman is removed from the environment, a pool of blood left in her spot and trailing behind her, the concubines double down into sniveling submission.
"Why did (Y/n) leave?" he repeats.
Suddenly, overlapping voices jump out with their own explanations in desperate attempts to plead their cases. Sukuna's eye twitches as he listens on for only a few seconds before shutting it down.
"I do not recall telling you all to ramble ontop of each other. Speak one at a fucking time. Tch. You should know better than that."
The room dips into instant silence, followed by one meek voice that speaks out. “S-She never said anything about leaving,” she shivers.
"Of course she didn't, that would have defeated the purpose of sneaking away," Sukuna growls. "Clearly, however, something has transpired within this group to encourage her to leave, am I mistaken?"
"Yes, my lord. I'm sure, my lord," she is quick to go along, for she is not one of your bullies and Sukuna can tell by the look on her face and the way she obliviously rambles on. "Perhaps... she felt unwelcome...?"
And oh, there it is. The icing on the cake, the very piece that sets those guilty for your absence into a momentary state of shock and solidifies Sukuna's assumptions.
"Unwelcome?" he cocks a brow, reciting the word slowly. "By who."
The crimson eyed king's eyes do not miss the way the concubine flashes a glance over to the brunette from earlier swiftly, only to look back down and swallow hard.
With a slow tilt of his head, Sukuna follows her brief line of sight with a hum. While he may not know just exactly what has been transpiring between you and some of these women, he knows that he has identified one involved. One who likely pushed you to run off so disrespectfully.
Sukuna does not know what it is about you that has him driven onto the brink of insanity due to your absence. He knows its not just because of sex, because he can find sex anywhere. He's surrounded by women who provide those services. There's something about you specifically though that makes fucking feel less of a habit, a simple release for pleasure and more so a desire, a thrill, a need. A need with you.
It's your company that he has grown so accostumed to, his frequent access to you, and to be stripped of it so suddenly is a crime in itself. You can not deprive the King of Curses of the very thing you were hired to do. You can not just leave and expect him not to scrounge and burn every corner of this earth until he finds you and punishes you for putting him through the trouble of searching for you. You're a brat. A pain, and Sukuna somehow needs you around, so when he looks the brunette woman dead in the eye, he knows he has to kill her.
Sukuna leaves the concubines traumatized when he treks out to look for you on his own, scorching earth, terrorizing villagers, destroying home after home in search for you and somehow you still are not within his grasp.
Citizens retreat scramble about and retreat to safety, trembling in fear as your name rings out through the air like a battle cry, flame flittering into the call as though hell itself is beckoning you. There is no building that Sukuna does not plan to visit, no alleyway unsearched, no creak unexplored, and just when the demon feels he is prepared to slaughter a nation, you hear a distant cry of your name from afar.
A shiver licks its way down your spine and you jump, whipping your head around.
"(Y/n)?" a gentle, present woman's voice calls from behind you. "That is your name, isn't it?"
Your brows draw together and a pit develops in your stomach, eyes to the door of the orphanage you took shelter in miles away from Sukuna's estate. "...Yes," you say slowly, mind distracted.
"Strange. I think I just heard someone calling you from somewhere."
-
You don't know why you follow the voice.
You left for a reason. You'd been gone since the middle of the night, and you had promised not to return, but you follow his voice anyway as though it beckons you. You always knew better than to ignore the King of Curse's when he calls you, and you can't say that you have prepared to outgrow the habit. Not within the mere hours you have been absent.
The real reason you go back, you want to tell yourself, is to prevent Sukuna from disturbing the peace of the shelter you sought in confidence. You know that if you heard him from where you were staying, he would have continued to make his way further and further down until he found you, and you were not fond of the idea of him tormenting innocent women and children for your sake.
And while you expected to be greeted by an irritated Sukuna, you did not expect the scene that greets you when you round a street corner blocks down during your walk.
You halt in your tracks, heat greeting your skin. Your eyes go wide, your face falls, and before you lay a street aglow with the aftermath of what looks like the tosses of flame and fire. Ash flitters into the sky, windows of businesses are broken, and the entirety of the brick street is empty save for debris and dying flames. It looks as though some kind of bomb or explosion went off and those within the vicinity either fled or got caught in the attack.
Your hands go to your mouth as you study the scene in shock, your skin going cold despite the heat.
You are too entrapped with your shock to notice the shadow that envelopes you from behind when it first arrives. Its eerily quiet, save for the crackle of lingering fire ahead, and you go to take a step back in fear when you hit something hard.
You tense completely, pupils shrinking and gaze unfocusing. You recognize the feeling, the smell, the heat. You recognize the sheer unfathomable mass towering over you without having to turn around, the raw surge of evil that potrudes and surrounds you, caging you in normally so enticingly, but this time so terrifyingly.
You swipe your tongue over your lip anxiously, your heartbeat rapidly hammering into your chest. You shouldn't turn around. You shouldn't look up. You know what will happen, but you can't help yourself. You can not fight the urge as you slowly twist your head around and tilt your chin upward to meet the glowing pairs of red eyes that you'd grown to adore searing down at you from so far above.
You breathe heavily, caught in the lock of Sukuna's wild glare. He appears almost feral with anger to you, some sort of sick enraged smirk twisting onto his face that is anything but kind. You don't say a word as the street burns behind you and your hands stick stiffly to your sides.
"Care to explain what the hell you are doing?"
You know that tone of voice so well by now. It is monotone and low, almost inaudible with its bass yet it carries so crisply. It comes of as calm, but the underlying emotion is anything but. He is pissed, if that is not clear enough from his face and stature, and if you were anyone else you think you'd be dead, but Sukuna's values his possessions and his means of true pleasure far too much. He would do something much worse to you than death. He would be sure of it.
"Mm? Can't talk?" he frowns when you don't answer. You flinch when a hand comes to clasp over your cheeks and squish, sharp nails prodding into your skin as Sukuna guides your body to face him completely. Instinctively, you grab his marked wrist out of surprise. His second pair of eyes look down at the motion, the first still blazing on you. "You think you can touch me without permission after what you've done?"
"Sukuna," you whisper, staring straight into his eyes as your hand slips away. The lord always enjoyed that about you, how you stared directly into him instead of avoiding. Even now, your eyes are mesmorizing pools of uncertainty and alarm as you look at him. "What did you do?"
"Don't ask me that foolishness," he sneers. "You left behind my back, and you have lost the privilege of addressing me as anything but my proper title."
You falter slightly. "I... I could not stay."
"You do not have the power to make that decision."
"It's my decision to make. It's my life."
"You serve me. My life," Sukuna states firmly and you grimace, brows angling in discomfort as he reminds you of your place, of why you left. "I have clearly given you too much freedom if you believe this nonsense."
You feel your heart jolt with sadness, your face hardening as he holds you still. You should know your place by now, truly, but you don't appreciate how you are still treated as though you are an object of possession when your life has been turned to hell by those who are jealous of your favoritism. It's unfair, to love without the benefits, to be placed on a pedestal with no regard for the ramifications nor how it may feel for your privileges to be bestowed upon you without any promise of anything more.
It pains you to be in this position so hopelessly, and you wished to flee it but Sukuna of course refuses to allow such a thing to happen.
"What if I don't want to be your concubine anymore?" you say in a hushed voice. Sukuna's eyes flicker with subtle surprise, and for a moment you think you have caught him off guard.
"You are dramatic," he elects to say. "You are not telling me something, and you choose to take it out on me."
"If I'm just a concubine, then there's no need for me to tell you everything I think, is there?" you ask bitterly.
Sukuna's brows tilt downward slightly, and slowly he releases his grip of your face. You inhale sharply when he does, stumbling slightly and blinking harshly. "Is that what this is truly about?"
You clench your jaw. "What?"
"Wishing to be more than a concubine instead of not being one at all?" he proposes, and you feel yourself freeze. "And here I was made to believe it was solely because of the others."
"...W-What do you mean?"
"You never said anything about how the other women treated you."
You stare at him blankly as you let his comment sit for a moment, a far off look catching your eye. "There was nothing to tell."
"That is not true."
"There was nothing to tell you- you don't care about what happens with the concubines."
"You are not just another concubine."
You furrow your brows and part your lips. "I don't understand you. You want my forced subservience to you and you continue to entertain the others, but you don't think I'm like the rest of them?"
"If you believe that the way I treat you is how I treat the others, then you are much stupider than I previously believed."
"And if you cared to think of me as more than them, you would have noticed how the special treatment does more harm to me than good!"
"You can not complain because you chose to suffer in silence. All you had to do was tell me, and you still will not explain what has happened."
"Because I don't want to! I don't want to talk about it! It's humiliating, and I-" you suck in a breath of air. "I can't keep reliving being tortured for your carelessness-"
"I disposed of them."
You pause. "You- what? Disposed of what?"
"Of the women who harmed you. I assume that is what has been happening. They were jealous of you and pushed you out and treated you poorly."
You gape at him, utterly stunned. "You- you don't even know who-"
"Others confessed."
"...And you killed them?"
"They drove you away. It was a fit punishment."
You can no longer find the words, for you had not expected Sukuna to do such a thing for you. You believed his behavior around you to be temporary engagement, a fling. You believed that he would hardly care if you truly lived or died as long as you pleased him, and you certainly did not believe that he would go such lengths for your sake.
You are rattled by the mentions of their deaths, yes, but more so shocked by what Sukuna's disposal of them means for you... that he must truly value you above the others.
Sukuna raises a brow. "Are you truly surprised?"
"...Sukuna, all I've been to you is..." you trail off slowly as his gaze hypnotizes you, and you stutter over an exhale. "What am I doing with you? What am I to you? You have concubines still, and I'm not- I'm just-"
"You think too much." The salmon haired demon wraps a hand around your wrist while another finds your waist to tug you along with him. You trip into motion as you trail beside his heavy strides, watching him baffled.
"Wait, my lord, wait-" you urge, and he shockingly does. He eyes you out of the corners of his eyes and slows to a stop. "I truly don't understand. Why would you do that for me? What do you want me to be?"
Sukuna looks down at you wordlessly, taking in every crease of your face. He had been so angry, and now that he has found you, now that he sees you, now that he has you, his mind is at ease. He knows what humans label this feeling, and he is well assured that he is far beyond the useless ideal, but irritatingly he feels it there when he looks at you. He felt it at the thought of anyone treating you poorly, and he felt it the moment he lay eyes on you.
And you look terribly confused standing with his arm wrapped around you and your glossed lips pressed into a soft frown. The fire still burns behind you from a distance, and there is still something unsaid that Sukuna can tell you are hiding, but perhaps he does not want to know. Perhaps he needs to keep that barrier.
Even so, he wants you to remain his. You belong to him, with him as more. He doesn't know as what yet, but just knows that you are more, and that you should never dare to pull a stunt like the one you just did.
You jerk your head back gently when Sukuna turns into you and ducks down, meeting you as eye to eye as he possibly can from his height. His face hovers over yours and you watch him with a twisted, tormented, longing gaze, and you are so pathetic he craves it.
He presses into you without purpose, catching your lips in his and you jump against him, for he has only ever kissed you in intimate spaces and the feeling in such a setting is so foreign but your skin is tingling and your heart is thumping. Sukuna pushes in hard, keeping a set of lidded eyes open as yours slide closed and you allow him to take you within his harsh, swift kiss.
He pulls away fast, a soft smack of parting lips, and hovers over you afterward so closely. You can feel your face burning as your lashes flutter open and you look back up at him with shiny eyes. Sukuna catches the gaze. He catches what it means, and he sighs.
"We are returning now," he orders gruffly, standing up straight. "We will further discuss your arrangements at the estate, but as of today, you are no longer a concubine."
Your mind is still fuzzy from the kiss, therefore you do not completely comprehend his declaration. "I'm... not?"
"You will be under my direct surveillance at all times. Try to sneak away again, and I will be sure you are unable to walk for weeks. And do not think this will go unpunished."
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