ă»â„ă»smut mdni god forbid a girl get some early morning cardio... especially when your mans looking a bit too fine to be asleep ;p
you don't mean to.
that's what you tell yourself, anyway.
it's early, the kind of early where the light through the curtains is still grey and soft, and the whole room smells like him, like warmth and sleep and something faintly cologne-sweet. sae is still out, breathing slow and even beside you, one arm thrown above his head, lashes resting dark against his cheeks. he looks almost approachable like this. almost soft.
and then your eyes drop.
his sleep shorts have ridden up just enough. his thighs are right there, and god, they're unfair. lean and athletic, dusted with a faint tan line, the muscle of them visible even relaxed. you know how strong they are. you've seen them on the pitch. you've been between them.
you shift a little. just to get comfortable. that's all.
except comfortable ends up with your thigh slotted over his and your hips doing this slow, half-conscious roll, chasing the friction before your brain has fully agreed to it.
the first press of his thigh between your legs makes you exhale quietly through your nose.
okay.
you can't stop now.
you move again, slow and careful, not wanting to wake him yet, riding the firm muscle of his thigh with the thin fabric of your underwear the only thing between you. the pressure is good. it's really good. you bite your lip and let your hips find a rhythm, small and shallow, hands braced soft against the sheets.
a tiny sound slips out. barely anything. a little breathy exhale.
sae's breathing changes.
you freeze.
"âŠ" nothing. he's still.
you wait three full seconds, then keep going.
the friction builds and your hips roll a little deeper, chasing it, and another sound rises in your throat, this one less controlled, a soft whimper that you try to muffle against your own shoulder. the warmth is pooling low in your stomach and you're wet now, genuinely, the thin cotton of your underwear useless.
"you're actually unbelievable."
you jolt.
sae's voice is low and rough with sleep, not angry, not amused exactly, just deeply, terribly aware. his eyes are open, watching you with that half-lidded look that does nothing good for your composure. he hasn't moved. he's just looking at you, jaw ticking once.
"i was sleeping," he says.
"i know," you say, a little breathless.
"and you're humping my thigh."
"i'm not humpingâ"
he moves his thigh, a slow deliberate press upward, and the sound that comes out of you is mortifying. his expression shifts, something tightening behind his eyes, a muscle in his throat working.
you feel it before you see it. the way his jaw sets. the decision being made.
"mhmm," he says, quiet, almost to himself.
then his hands find your hips and he flips you, pressing you back into the mattress with his thigh slotted firmly between your legs, his body warm and solid over yours. morning-rumpled and unhurried, he looks down at you with those teal eyes slightly dark.
"keep going," he murmurs.
"what?"
"you started something." his thumb traces your hip bone. "finish it."
your face goes hot. "saeâŠ"
"grind on my thigh," he says, perfectly even, like he's telling you to drink water. "go on."
and somehow that's worse than if he'd said it mean. it's the patience in it. the control. sae watching you with those sleep-soft eyes while you roll your hips against him, shameless now because you've been caught and there's no point pretending, and the friction is so much better with him pressed close, with his hands guiding your rhythm, his thigh flexing deliberately under you.
"s'good," you breathe, fingers curling into his shirt.
"yeah?" a low sound in his chest, not quite a groan. barely.
you can feel him getting hard against your hip. feel the way his grip on you tightens just slightly, the rhythm you're keeping pushing against his control in a way he won't admit out loud. his jaw is tight. his breathing has gone careful in a way that means he's working to keep it even.
"sae," you gasp softly, the tension winding up fast.
"i know." his voice has dropped an octave.
and then his hand slides from your hip down between your bodies, his fingers pressing against your underwear right where you're soaked through, and the sound you make is nothing like the careful quiet noises from before. it's loud and genuine and a little broken.
"christ," he mutters under his breath.
he pulls the fabric aside and his fingers find you properly and then you're gone, genuinely gone, grinding and shaking and coming apart with his name falling out of your mouth in pieces while he works you through it with a patience that should be illegal, watching your face like he's cataloguing every second.
you're still shaking when he finally stills his hand.
the room is quiet. grey-lit and warm. outside a bird starts up somewhere distant.
sae doesn't say anything for a long moment. then he presses his lips to your temple, brief and almost careless, his hand resting flat and warm on your stomach.
"next time," he says quietly, mouth still close to your ear, "wake me up."
a pause.
"properly."
you can feel his heartbeat against your side, faster than he'd ever admit. the sheets are a wreck. your thighs are still trembling. and sae settles back against the pillow with his arm around your waist like he didn't just completely unravel you before seven in the morning, already closing his eyes again.
like he's going back to sleep.
like you're supposed to just lie here, wet and wrecked and wanting more, in the ruin of what started as a quiet little moment that you absolutely, definitely did not mean to start.
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usually, before bed, sukuna slides his hand down your panties, placing his large hand over your mound and keeping it there. why? whenever you build up the courage to ask, he simply just shoots you a sharp glance, saying "itâs warm. stop asking questions, woman."
imagine his surprise when he mindlessly slides his hand down, only to feel you were completely bald down there this time.
youâve never seen sukuna so genuinely confused. his usually bored, irritated expression had faded, eyebrows raised in curiosity.
"brat, where is it."
you look over at him, shrugging. "whereâs what?"
he feels around a little more, double checking, nope â not a single hair. âdonât play dumb with me, woman. the hair. where is it."
you were just as confused as he was. did he really love your bush that much?
âi shaved it?âŠ" you respond, watching a slight frown form on his face, similar to a grumpy cat â honestly, anyone else would look at him and assume his entire family had been killed or something.
in your defense, you just felt like changing it up, assuming he wouldnât care much at all. if you knew itâd affect him this much, you wouldnât have plucked even a singular hair away.
"why the hell would you do that," he growls, his initial confusion quickly turning into irritation. âput it back, i donât find this amusing."
you canât help but let out a soft giggle, feeling sukuna pull his hand out from beneath your panties, two arms crossing in silent annoyance like a kid whoâd just had their candy stolen.
"kunaâ, itâll grow back⊠i didnât realise you liked it so much," you smile, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. his expression remains the same, though he doesnât push you away, silently accepting your affection.
"donât let this happen again," he demands.
"awwh! you miss it," you tease, poking his chest playfully. he catches your wrist in his hand, grip demanding, yet not firm enough to hurt.
ă»â„ă»nsfw mdni your dear friend sae gets you soaked 24/7. if only he knew the impact he had on you... he might even help out
the issue started three weeks ago. maybe four. you'd stopped counting because counting meant admitting it was a problem and you were not ready to do that.
it started small. sae walking through the front door of his flat after training, hair damp and loose around his jaw, jersey stuck to every line of his chest and you'd looked up from where you were sitting cross-legged on his sofa and felt something short-circuit behind your sternum. heat. low and immediate. the kind that embarrassed you.
you'd excused yourself to the bathroom and splashed cold water on your face for four minutes.
it happened again two weeks later. he'd been sitting across from you at the kitchen island, eating silently, teal eyes dragging over something on his phone and the light caught the line of his jaw and you'd pressed your thighs together under the counter and convinced yourself it meant nothing.
the third time, you'd just left.
grabbed your jacket mid-sentence, said something about an appointment you'd definitely forgotten to mention and practically bolted. sae had watched you go with that flat, unreadable expression he wore for everything. like nothing surprised him. like you were mildly irritating at best.
you'd gone home and taken care of it yourself, which helped for about two days.
so now you were doing the only rational thing available to you: avoiding him completely.
texts went unanswered for half a day at a time. when he called, you picked up but kept the conversations short, clipped, full of excuses. you're busy. you're tired. you've got to go. he didn't push. that was the thing about sae, he never pushed and somehow that made it worse.
three days of successful avoidance. then four.
you told yourself it was fine.
then he showed up at your door on a thursday evening with no warning, which was very on-brand for him, wearing a plain grey shirt and grey sweats with his hair pulled half-back. you opened the door and immediately felt your stomach drop straight through the floor.
"you've been weird," he said. not a question.
"i've been busy."
"no you haven't." he tilted his head slightly, teal eyes moving over your face with that quiet, surgical focus he usually reserved for reading a pitch. it was extremely unfair. "let me in."
"saeâ"
"let me in."
you stepped back. because of course you did.
he came in and stood in the centre of your living room and looked at you and you looked anywhere but directly at him, which was its own problem because every angle of him was the problem.
"what's going on with you."
"nothing."
"you left my flat mid-conversation two weeks ago."
"i told you, i hadâ"
"you didn't have anything." flat. certain. "you're lying."
the silence stretched. you crossed your arms over your chest, a stupid defensive reflex and his eyes dropped to the motion and came back up. you wanted to sink into the floor and disappear forever.
"i'm fine. i just needed some space."
"from me."
"from⊠my situation?"
something shifted in his expression. not much. sae's face never gave him away completely. but his chin dipped slightly, eyes narrowing and you watched him file that sentence away and take it apart.
"what situation."
oh, you hated him.
"nothing. drop it."
he didn't drop it. he stepped closer. not crowding you, just⊠closer, one deliberate move that cut the distance in half and you felt your breath do something pathetic and uncoordinated.
"tell me."
"sae, i swear to godâ"
"tell me."
and the way he said it the second time, quiet and low and with that absolute certainty that you would, something in your chest caved in.
"you'reâŠ" you pressed your lips together. hated the words before they were even out. "you're really difficult to be around sometimes. okay? you're⊠it's distracting. you're distracting. and i needed to not be distracted."
the silence after that was horrible.
then sae said, very quietly, "distracting."
"don't."
"how."
"sae."
"how am i distracting you."
your face was burning. he was looking at you with something that wasn't quite amusement but was adjacent to it, the faintest softening at the corners of that cold, pretty mouth and that was exactly the problem. that was the whole problem. you were staring at his mouth right now and your thighs were pressing together without your permission and you absolutely could not say any of this out loud.
except your face said it for you.
he went very still. then he stepped closer again. close enough that you had to tilt your chin up to hold his gaze, close enough that you could smell him, that specific warmth of clean skin and something underneath it that you'd catalogued against your will over the past month.
"you've been avoiding me," he said slowly, "because you're attracted to me."
"i hate you."
"that's not a no."
his hand came up and your heart lurched sideways, but he only tucked a piece of your hair back from your face. slow. deliberate. his fingers barely grazed your cheek and you felt it everywhere.
"you could've just said something," he said.
"sure. extremely easy thing to just say."
"it is."
"for you maybe. some of us have normal human feelings and get embarrassed."
something flickered through his expression. not quite a smile. but close. his hand stayed near your jaw, thumb just barely resting at the corner of your cheek.
"i've been waiting," he said, "for a while."
the bottom dropped out of your stomach. "you've beenâ"
"waiting." his thumb dragged slowly, just once, across your cheekbone. "for you to stop being so lukewarm about it."
you laughed before you could stop it, a short startled thing. "you're such an arse."
"yeah." he tilted your chin up. "come here."
he kissed like he did everything else. precise. purposeful. like he'd already decided exactly what he wanted and was taking it without apology. no fumbling, no hesitation, just his hand cupped around your jaw and his mouth on yours and the immediate, bone-deep relief of something you'd been tensed against for weeks finally letting go.
you grabbed his shirt.
he made a low sound against your mouth and walked you backward until the backs of your knees hit the sofa, then guided you down onto it, settling between your thighs with a composed ease that made you want to scream. he was still so collected. still him. meanwhile your hands were shaking slightly where they gripped his shoulders.
"saeâ"
"i know." he pulled back just enough to look at you, teal eyes dragging down the length of you with that same quiet precision. whatever he saw made him dip back in, mouth at your jaw, your throat, your collarbone.
you pulled at his shirt. he helped you get it off.
and then you stopped thinking coherently for a while.
his hands were methodical and devastating, peeling your clothes off with a patience that was its own kind of cruelty, touching every inch of skin he uncovered like he was filing it away. you were already embarrassingly wet by the time he got your underwear off. he noticed and he didn't comment, just pressed two fingers against you and watched your face react.
"how long," he said.
"saeâ"
"how long have you been like this." not asking, really. just taking inventory.
"weeks," you admitted, hips rolling without permission into his hand. "god, weeks."
he pressed his fingers in slowly, crooking them and your back arched off the sofa. "weeks," he repeated, like the word meant something. he worked you open with those two fingers, unhurried, watching every shift in your expression with that focused, unblinking attention he gave to things he actually cared about. the wet sound of it obscene in the quiet of the room. your thighs kept trying to close around his wrist and he kept you spread open with the flat of his forearm, not even looking down, just watching your face come undone.
"please," you managed. "sae, please, justâ"
"just what."
"you know what."
he absolutely knew.
he pushed in slow and measured. you felt every inch of it, the thick stretch of him pressing you open, your fingers dug into his back and your breath came out broken and ragged. he stilled for a moment, buried to the hilt, watching you.
"okay?"
one word. quiet. that was the warmth he kept mostly buried, surfacing just briefly.
"yeah," you breathed. "yeah, move, pleaseâ"
who was he to deny such a simple request?
not gentle. not rough either, just relentless, that same focused precision, every stroke deep and deliberate like he was trying to make a point. you cried out and he swallowed the sound, mouth at yours, hips rolling into you again and again at a pace that built and built and never gave you anything to brace against. the slap of skin. the creak of the sofa beneath you. the low, controlled sound he made in the back of his throat when you clenched around him.
"s'been killing me," you gasped, "looking at you, every time iâ"
"i know." he pulled back and drove forward and you choked on air. "i know."
he got a hand between you, thumb finding your clit and that was it. that was the end of coherent thought entirely. you said his name three times in a row like it was the only word left in you and came apart around him, thighs shaking on either side of his hips and he worked you through it without slowing, dragging it out until you were whimpering and overstimulated and clinging to his shoulders with your nails leaving little crescents in his skin. he followed not long after, pressing deep and going still with a quiet, ragged exhale into your hair.
catching your breath, you sink into the sofa next to the man who just unravelled you completely. you lay with your head against his chest and listened to his heartbeat slow. the living room was dim, your clothes somewhere on the floor, the sofa cushion half hanging off the edge. a mess. very unlike him.
his hand was moving through your hair. slow, absent. like he didn't realise he was doing it.
"you could've just told me," he said eventually. still calm. a little insufferable.
"you could've said something first," you pointed out.
a pause. "fair."
you tilted your head up to look at him. his teal eyes met yours, and that expression was there again, the one that wasn't quite a smile. the one that was maybe better than a smile, because it was real and it was rare and it was pointed entirely at you.
"for the record," he said quietly, "the avoidance was annoying."
"for the record," you said, "so are you."
an: in all honesty this came from a request about baby fever but idk writing about the thought of wanting to squeeze a child out of my vagina isn't really something i can say i enjoy. i tried switching it up a bit but idk. either way more sae smut YIPPIE
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when you were five, you stole rinâs soccer ball.
you had no malicious intention, really. but rin didnât realize that and ended up saying some nasty things (âyouâre a stupid and annoying poo-head!â) to you, which ended up had you sobbing while you explained that you were really just cleaning the ball because of the grime and dirt on it. rin ended up feeling bad and buying you an ice cream.
when you were eight, you stole rinâs glances.
he was always looking at you, and even when he was supposed to look somewhere else, his eyes stayed on you. like a moth drawn to a flame, he followed you around. he hid when he got shy, blushed when he got caught, and smiled when you talked to him. the reason for it was simple: he realized that you were pretty and nice, and so he liked you.
when you were eleven, you stole rinâs breath.
when he looked at you, his heart would quicken, he would go red, and he almost stopped breathing every time. he always found his heart skipping a beat and his breath quickening to the point where they were non-existent whenever you smiled. he didnât understand it, it was weird. he wanted to ask sae about it, but he had already left for spain, so rin just assumed he was sick.
when you were fourteen, you stole rinâs first kiss.
it was just experimental; you had seen so many other classmates have their first kiss, and you had to admit that you felt a bit jealous. you wanted to have your first kiss too, but you wanted to save it for someone special. rin, not wanting to see you upset, awkwardly muttered that he was fine with kissing you. he didnât know how to word it correctly, but it ended up okay in the end. you were both inexperienced and didnât know how to kiss properly, but it was only a short and soft kiss after all.
when you were seventeen, you stole rinâs heart.
at this point, with the (unwanted) advice from stupid isagi and bachira, rin finally realized that he fell deep down the rabbit hole of being in love. his heart felt like exploding when you touched him, even if it was something as ridiculous as your fingers brushing accidentally. whenever he sees you, in all your ethereal glory, cheering for him in a game, he feels like he can score 50 more goals. the media had never seen the cold and calculating itoshi rin act like this, although the paparazzi and journalists enjoy every moment of his soft look whenever his eyes land on you.
when you were twenty, you stole rinâs virginity.
self explanatory, although rin was surprised he ever got it taken in the first place. it was an awkward first time for the both of you, and although you both had little to no idea of how the hell you do it, you both pulled through. after the session, rin only seemed to fall for you even more. even after he turned into this cold and rude soccer obsessed person, you never left him, and now youâre here, in front of him, sleeping softly in his arms after doing the most intimate things two humans can do with each other.
when you were twenty-three, you stole rinâs last name.
it was a day of tears, love, and eternality. rinâs eyes gleamed with tears when he saw you in that snow white dress, looking like the most beautiful woman that he had ever seen and ever will see. hearing someone call you by his last name, seeing you laugh and talk with his mother, seeing you holding a pastel bouquet of flowers while walking to him, they were all rinâs dream aside from winning the world cup. the shared kiss had much more experience and passion than the one from nine years ago, and you almost cried knowing just that.
finally, when you were twenty-six, you stole rinâs genetics.
okay, maybe you didnât. he sort of gave it to you in a wayâŠbut your kids sure stole his genetics. bright teal eyes, exceptionally long underlashes, and an undeniable passion for soccer. even at 3 months old, your daughter canât sleep without holding a soccer ball. rin has never been happier, his soccer career at itâs peak, being with his beautiful wife and daughter, and not heaving to worry about you stealing everything else, because you had already stolen everything from him.
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ËâĄË àŁȘ pairings: isagi yoichi, reo mikage, nagi seishiro, itoshi rin, itoshi sae.
ËâĄË àŁȘ synopsis: you unintentionally flirt with them
ËâĄË àŁȘ warnings: not established relationships, i tried my best to make it in character, suggestiveness, death threats (kinda?)
ËâĄË àŁȘ authors note: read part one here! the rest of the characters are in the next part! btw reading part one isn't a must
rin was vibrating beside you on the couch, eyes flitting to you every now and then from his phone where he had been on the same app for the past half hour.
you had noticed him of course, how couldnât you when he was literally staring at you with those big teal eyes like he was going to ask you if you had any games on your phone?
by the second hour, rin was batting his unfairly long lashes at you, almost pouting. you finally put your book down to look at him but he immediately looked away, pretending to focus on his phone.
âwhat is it?â you spoke up, ânothing.â he replied almost immediately. gosh, your nonchalant boyfriend. âyouâve been staring at me for the past hour, rin. âfess up.â
his lower lip twitched but he still didnât look at you. you internally sighed, âwanna make out?â you cocked your head to the side.
rinâs eyes widened momentarily before he began nodding slowly. a thick blush crept up his neck, spread through his cheeks and travelled all the way up to the tips of his ears.
you shook your head with a smile and grabbed onto the back of his neck, pulling him in for a kiss.
your boyfriend is so easy!
a/n: yess dumbass nonchalant rin
2025-2026 â @gravelocked â donât copy/modify/translate/repost to other sites. also donât feed my work to ai.
you feel the curve of your ass collide with giyuuâs pelvis, the sound of clap! clap! clap! filling the walls of his bedroom as you bounce up and down on his cock, your hands placed firmly on his shoulders as he whimpers out in pleasure and his brows furrow while looking up at you with those deep blue eyes of his, consumed with lust despite his inexperience.
heâs never done this before, his hands shaky while kneading on the plush of your hips, his own stuttering in an attempt to meet with your pace. he wants to be the one to fuck you, to be the man and take charge. but he couldnât, not when your velvet walls were sucking him in with so much need, fluttering against his shaft as his tip kisses your cervix every time you sink down with his cock.
he chokes out a moan as he watches the way your tits bounce and the way your face scrunches in pleasure when your head throws back, wondering just how he managed to get such a pretty girl to take his virginity, wondering how lucky heâd gotten. you mewl out as you feel giyuuâs hand reach for the bottom of your waist, guiding you up and down on his cock as he feels himself grow desperate for his own release, his cock pulsating against your walls.
âyou feel so good, giyuu.â, you whine, feeling your burning pleasure build up in your stomach as his tip abuses your sweet spot along with the friction of your clit rubbing against his pelvis as you sink down completely on his cock.
he feels his cheeks heat up at your praise, choking out a whimper as he looks up at you, bouncing on his cock with your face contouring in pleasure while you bite the bottom of your lip, ât-think mâ gonnaâŠâ, giyuu trails with wide eyes and a bobble of his adamâs apple.
âyeah? câmon, cum with me. please.â, you plea with a high pitched moan, wrapping your arms around giyuuâs neck to pull him in closer as you continue fucking yourself dumb on his cock, your pleasure on the edge of tipping over with your fluttering walls sucking giyuu deep inside you.
and with a few more thrusts of his cock and a brush to your clit, you soon feel your gummy walls clench around giyuuâs shaft over and over with a huge shot of pleasure hitting you at once, a gasp coming from his lips at the sensation and causing him to unexpectedly shoot his seed inside you as he struggles to contain his pleasure.
whining at the warmth growing in your core, giyuu lets out a breath, his chest heavy as he can only mutter an apology with shaky hands, watching the way his cum drips down your thighs and feeling his cock twitch at the sight.
choso is a firm believer that pretty girls like you shouldnât have to do anything.
itâs not something heâs ever said out loud, not in those exact words, but you see it in the way he kneels at your feet when your evening slippers are pinching, in the way his hands steady your ankles as he slides them off.Â
you see it in the careful, reverent way he unties the laces of your dress at night, his knuckles brushing your spine, his breath warm against the nape of your neck.
"cho, i can do that myself," you protest for the hundredth time, reaching for the hairbrush on your vanity. youâve just returned from a work dinner, your face aching from smiling, your scalp tender from the weight of your responsibilities.
"don't be like that," he says softly, taking the brush from your hand. heâs already behind you, his reflection meeting yours in the mirror. heâs wearing a simple black sweater now, his pigtails undone, but he still looks at you like youâre the only thing in the room worth seeing. "let me help you."
"youâre going to spoil me rotten," you murmur, but youâre already sinking back against him, your eyes drifting shut as he starts working the brush through your hair in slow, even strokes. the bristles scrape gently against your scalp and you make a small, involuntary sound of pleasure.
"thatâs the point," he says, his voice low. he sets the brush down and reaches for the cloth and cleansing oil. "you're too beautiful to even lift a finger, baby."
heâs wiping the rouge from your cheeks now, the kohl from your eyes. his touch is so gentle, so methodical, like heâs polishing something precious. you let him tilt your chin up, let him clean away the dayâs mask. when heâs done, he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.
"cmon, bed." he commands. not harshlyânever harshlyâbut with the quiet authority of a man who knows exactly what you need.
you stand, your hand in his, and let him lead you to the mattress. he undresses you slowly, layer by layer, the silk pooling at your feet. when youâre down to your thin shift, he pulls back the covers and tucks you in like youâre something fragile.
"sleep," he whispers.
but you catch his wrist. youâre not sleepy. not anymore. the tiredness has shifted into something else, something warm and heavy low in your belly.
"stay," you plead.
he hesitates. "youâre tired."
"i want you," you clarify, your thumb stroking the inside of his wrist. "but iâm... iâm exhausted. butâ but i want youâ but i don't want to do anythingâ"
something dark flickers in his eyes. understanding. hunger. devotion.
"then donât," he says. he climbs onto the bed, fully clothed, and crawls up your body until heâs hovering over you. "donât do anything. donât even think. just let me make you feel good."
"chosoâ" you start, already feeling guilty, already reaching for the hem of his sweater.
he catches your hands and pins them gently above your head. his fingers twine with yours, pressing your palms into the pillow.
"no, sweetheart." he says, his mouth brushing your ear. his voice drops, rough and reverent. "you donât do the work. you never do the work. you just lay there, princess, and let me take care of you. let me please you. let meâ" he grinds his hips down, and you feel how hard he is, straining against the fabric of his trousers, and you gasp. "âlet me do everything."
he releases your hands only to finally pull his sweater over his head. you watch the muscles of his back shift in the warm light of your tablelamp, the old scars, the lean strength. when he turns back to you, heâs already unlacing his trousers, pushing them down, kicking them off.
he kneels between your thighs, his dark eyes raking over you. "open up," he murmurs, his hands sliding up your legs, pushing your shift higher. "be good for me, okay?"
you spread your legs, trembling. heâs already so hard, the pink tip flushed and wet, and he wraps his hand around himself, stroking once, twice, his eyes never leaving your face.
"you donât even have to move," he says, leaning down, caging you in his warmth. "iâll do all the work. iâll get you ready. iâll make you feel so good. all you have to do is look at me. can you do that for me, princess? can you let me love you?"
"yes," you breathe, your voice cracking. "yes, choso, pleaseâ"
he kisses you then, deep and filthy, his tongue sliding against yours in a rhythm that makes your toes curl. his hand slips between your legs, his fingers finding you already wet, already aching. he doesnât make you ask, nor does he make you work for it. he just pushes two fingers inside you, curling them, stretching you open while his thumb circles your clit.
"thatâs it," he praises against your lips, feeling you clench around him. "that's my girl. just lay there and take it. let me get you ready for my cock."
you moan, your head falling back against the pillow. heâs relentless, his fingers pumping in and out, hitting that spot inside you that makes your vision blur. you try to rock your hips, try to chase the sensation, but he stills you with his free hand on your hip.
"no, angel." he says, his voice firm. "donât move. let me. i want to feel you squeezing my fingers while you just lay there and let me fuck you open."
you whimper, your hands gripping the sheets because he wonât let you touch him. heâs leaning over you, watching your face, watching the pleasure overwhelm you, and his expression is something almost feral. like thisâserving you, controlling your pleasure, doing all the laborâis exactly where he wants to be.
"look at you," he breathes, his fingers moving faster, harder. "so pretty. so perfect. you're doing so well, baby. letting me make you cum. can you do that for me? can you cum on my fingers like a good girl?"
"choso!" you sob, the pressure building, your body tensing.
"there she is," he croons, his thumb pressing down. "cum for me, make a mess of the sheets."
you break, your orgasm crashing over you, your walls clamping down on his fingers as you cry out. he rides you through it, his hand moving slower now, drawing out every wave until youâre shaking, boneless, your hair fanned out across the pillow.
before you can catch your breath, heâs moving. he hooks his arms under your knees, spreading you wide, his hands sliding up to grip your hips. he positions himself at your entrance, the head of his cock pressing against your still-pulsing heat.
"now," he says, his voice rough with restraint. "iâm going to fuck you, and iâm going to make you cum again. and again. until you canât think. until you canât even remember your name."
"please," you gasp, your hands reaching for him again, wanting to touch, to hold.
he catches your wrists and presses them back into the mattress. "no," he says, his eyes dark. "be good, or i'll stop. understand?"
you nod, dizzy, your body still throbbing.
he pushes in with one long, smooth thrust, filling you completely. the stretch burns so perfectly you cry out, your back arching off the bed, but he holds you down, his grip tight on your hips.
"fuck," he groans, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. "so warm. so tight. and youâre justâ letting me use youâ shitâ"
he starts to move, a slow, deep rhythm that has you seeing stars. heâs doing all the workâhis hips rolling, his cock dragging against your sensitive walls, his hands holding you exactly where he wants you. you try to move, try to meet his thrusts, but he growls and pins you harder.
"stay still," he orders, his voice strained. "let me do this for you. you had a hard day. you smiled at people who didn't deserve it. now you just get to lay here and take my cock. thatâs all. thatâs your only job."
"ch-choso!" you sob, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes. itâs too much, the pleasure, the devotion, the way heâs using his body to serve you. "i love youâ hic!â i love you so muchâ"
"i know," he breathes, his thrusts speeding up, becoming harder, more desperate. his skin slaps against yours, the bed creaking, but he never lets you move. he holds you open, holds you down, fucks into you with a single-minded focus thatâs entirely about your pleasure. "and i love you more. god, i love you so much more."
his hand slides between you again, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight, fast circles. youâre so sensitive from your first orgasm, every touch is electric, overwhelming. you canât move, canât do anything but lay there and take it, exactly like he wants, and the helplessness of it, the sheer luxury of being cared for so completely, sends you over the edge again.
you cum with a scream, your walls clamping down on him so hard he chokes, his rhythm faltering.
"thatâs it," he gasps, fucking you through it, chasing his own release now. "atta girl. justâ shitâ i-im gonnaâ"
he thrusts deep one last time and stills, his cock pulsing inside you as he comes with a broken groan against your neck. you feel the heat of it, the way he spills into you, marking you, claiming you, all while you lay there trembling, his hands still gripping your hips, his weight pressing you into the mattress.
for a long moment, neither of you moves. heâs breathing hard, his chest heaving, sweat slicking his skin. slowly, carefully, he pulls out and collapses beside you, immediately pulling you into his arms. heâs still panting, his heart hammering against your ear.
"okay?" he whispers, his hand stroking your hair again, back to the gentle, domestic touches.
you nod, boneless, drifting. "more than okay," you murmur. "felt so good."
"thatâs the point," he reminds you, pressing a kiss to your temple. "pretty girls like you shouldnât have to do anything."
you smile against his chest, your eyes already closing. "then i guess iâm just going to have to let you do it again tomorrow."
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sigh, i know this can be seen as toxic sometimes, but...
sukuna always fixing your clothes when you're out.
pulling your top up with a big unapologetic hand when it dips too low, giving a generous view of your breasts.
pulling your skirt down and coming to stand behind you when you bend over carelessly, almost flashing everyone around you.
you can certainly wear whatever you want, he doesn't control you, but there are limits.
"you tryna give everyone a free show or something?"
you smile up at him, carefree, tilting your head all cute. "you'd never let that happen, baby."
"tch." he rolls his eyes playfully, trying to hide his smirk as he slides his arm around your waist, pride filling his chest as he scans the room, sure to scare anyone off that looks at you for too long.
sukuna doesn't like his pregnant wife doing anything that requires even just a tiny bit of effort.
"sukuna," you say, calling him to the delicate atmosphere of the dinner table. the table is packed with a delicacy â a warm pot of braised chicken with a side of buttered noodles. "c'mere already!"
sukuna stood up from his chair, his footsteps following the scent of the delicious meal... which was absolutely and definetly forbodden! his wife, doing such a thing that could potentially drain her!? absolutely not.
"did you just.." he paused, taking a big and long stare at the meal you just prepared. " do that all by yourself?"
"yes, why?" you asked, tilting your head.
"dumb woman. you're pregnant." he lectured, nudging your cheek with a slight poke.
" ..did you just call me dumb for being pregnant?" you pouted, grabbing his finger as you try to fight the urges to bite it shamelessly. "hey, if you just don't wanna eat my totally delicious cooking, then tell me!"
he scoffed, his lips turning into a playful grin as he chubs your cheeks completely out off his cuteness agression. "no, no. you're the one carrying my baby. if you wanna eat something, i'll do it," he says as he cups your reddening face with his gigantic hands.
".. you suck." you sulk, eyes full of embarrasment and determination.
he laughs as he lets your head droop low onto the crook of his necm, his arms caught in your embrace. "still, the foods going to turn cold. just saying, leave it to me next time, preggie," he teases, lifting you off his shoulder to implant a short but sweet kiss on your temple.
"preggie!? what kind of nickname is that!?" your hands find way to pinch his nose, leaving the two of you to a full night of giggles and playful lectures.
