#guys...

Too much milk. Too much stretch. Too much pulsing heat between your legs.

The baby within you turned lazily, brushing some unknown limb against your insides, and you whimpered.

“’-'Kunaa…,” you moaned, half-conscious. Your fingers were already moving softly, carefully, trying not to betray yourself. You cupped one heavy breast in your palm, the flesh so swollen it ached to the touch, the skin slick with sweat. The pressure helped. Just a little.

Milk welled beneath your thumb. Your nipple throbbed. Another gasp slipped out of you.

“Please…”

His hair was damp with blood. One of his forearms bore fresh claw marks, though his skin had already begun to knit itself closed. His true form was fully present and slightly coiled, muscles shifting under flesh that shimmered like dark stone. His four burning eyes locked onto you.

And that was when he heard you.

Sukuna stood in the arch of the doorway. Massive and silent as usual.... but changed.

He said nothing at first.

Because you were perfect.

Laid bare across his offerings. Swollen belly rising like a dome of life between your thighs. Your fingers still on your breast, pinching for relief, your other hand trailing down, still slick from the milk you hadn’t had time to clean.

And Sukuna’s mouths fell open.

The one on his face parted with god-like reverence, his tongue dragging along one fang like he wanted to taste your breath.

The one on his belly—large, hungry, lined in thick, muscular lips—opened in a slow, groaning sigh. Its tongue unrolled just an inch. Enough to drip.

Tears shined in the corners of your eyes.

You weren’t crying. But you were gorgeously soft, vulnerable, and so fucking divine in that moment that Sukuna couldn’t move.

Not yet.

“Ohhh, wife…” he breathed, voice thick with hunger and something dangerous.

You startled, eyes opening, fingers jerking back from your chest in sudden shame—but it was too late. He’d seen. Every drop. Every gasp.

“Did I say,” he said, stepping forward slowly, “you could touch what’s mine?”

You tried to speak. Failed. He was already above you now, his weight shifting through the space, lowering slowly. A clawed hand wrapped around your wrist, gentle but unyielding, guiding it back to your own breast.

“No,” he whispered, “don’t stop. Let me see it again.”

You flushed, breath catching.

“Don’t hide that from me. Not this. Not when you’re perfect like this.”

He knelt beside you.

And you felt all of him. That shift in pressure, the presence of a god folding his massive body beside yours like a dragon curling around gold. His lower arms slid beneath your thighs, spreading them just enough to expose the heat of you, barely touched, still leaking with need.

His upper hands moved to your chest, palm-mouthed now, and hovered infront of you, tongues flicking.

“Look at them,” he murmured. “They want to help you. Want to taste what you tried to hide.”

You whimpered, breath hitching as his fingers brushed your swollen breast—barely—but it was enough. A sharp pulse of milk released and his eyes snapped open wider.

“So greedy,” he growled, smiling.

The first palm cupped your breast.

The mouth opened against your skin, lips wrapping around the slope like it could kiss the ache away. Its tongue pressed gently into the underside of your nipple, lapping in slow, wet strokes. It didn’t suck—yet. Just tasted gently. And your hips bucked at the sensation.

“You feel that?” Sukuna rasped. “That’s what happens when you keep your suffering from me. My body aches with you. My hands starve with you.”

The second palm found your other breast.

This one didn’t wait. It suckled immediately. Tight suction, so perfectly rhythmic. And it wasn’t just any mouth, of course—it was his mouth. His. Guided by his breath, his will. You could feel the pull down to your womb, your entire body reacting like instinct.

Milk flooded the mouth and it moaned against your skin.

Sukuna growled from all his mouths.

“That’s it. That’s mine. That’s what I fucking made.”

His main mouth kissed your throat, slow and dragging, teeth grazing. The belly-mouth was open now, breathing against your swollen stomach, warm air fogging your skin.

“I should let them drink until you’re dry,” he whispered against your neck. “Let them worship you while I watch. But I’m too fucking jealous for that.”

The mouths at your breasts sucked harder in response, and you cried out writhing, completely overwhelmed. Your belly twitched. Your thighs clenched around nothing.

And still, he wasn’t done.

A lower hand slid towards the soaked space between your thighs, his fingers reaching and parting your slick folds like peeling back petals. The mouth in that palm kissed your inner thigh, then higher. A little tongue flicked, savoring the wet already gathered.

“You’re dripping,” he murmured. “Again. Do you even know you’re doing it anymore?”

You shook your head. Your breath came in sobs. You were held down by mouths alone—your body fed upon, worshipped, drained, fucking adored. The pressure in your breasts finally began to ease, but only to be replaced by the maddening swell of arousal.

Sukuna smiled.

“Let me help you, wife,” he murmured. “Let me relieve what I gave you.”

You were outright panting now. Milk coating your breasts. Thighs shaking. Lips parted in some soundless plea as his mouths suckled and tasted and claimed.

His palm-mouths continued their careful worship—one still feeding at your breast, the other licking away the milk it missed, trailing down to kiss the sensitive underside. His fingers never stopped exploring, re-mapping the places you trembled the hardest, groaned the loudest, leaked the most.

And all the while… the belly-mouth had waited.

Patient. Breathing. Wanting.

Its thick, fleshy lips pulsed now, spreading just slightly wider with each of your heartbeats. A long, warm tongue slithered out—strong and broad, different than his other ones. This one was dense. And intimate. The kind of tongue that was made to hold weight.

Sukuna looked down at you, face unreadable, all four eyes focused as he hovered over your middle.

“He's been patient,” he said softly. “That mouth never takes without permission.”

A pause. One enormous hand rested on the swell of your stomach, palm flat, thumb brushing over the mark his child had made beneath your skin.

“But you’re leaking. And it’s hungry.”

The belly-mouth groaned.

It was a low, ancient sound. A rumble. Gratitude, maybe.

Then he moved around you.

Sukuna adjusted you like you weighed nothing. He placed one arm beneath your back, lifting your hips slightly. The other cradled your belly. He curled around you fully—protective, slow—until that great mouth pressed flat against your bump, lips parted just wide enough to take the curve of it in.

And then—

The tongue licked.

A slow, wet stroke from navel to ribcage.

Fuuucking worshipful.

You cried out.

It was perfect. So much surface at once, so warm, so wet.

Your belly responded with a ripple. A faint movement beneath your skin. A limb shifting. Something inside acknowledging the mouth now pressed to the outer shell of its world.

The belly-mouth groaned again, even louder. Starving now.

And then it opened wider.

It didn’t try to devour. Didn’t unhinge like some beast.

It simply enveloped you further. Pressed itself fully to the swell of your stomach, tongue stroking with long, slow laps, lips sliding over skin in wet circles, drinking the sweat and milk and lingering remnants of where you’d touched yourself.

“Yes,” Sukuna growled above you, voice full of hunger and pride. “Feed on her. Worship what she carries.”

Your hands reached for anything—his face, his wrist, the fur under your back—but you were already unraveling.

The sensation was overwhelming.

Suckling on your belly. Heat between your legs. His other mouths still grazing your breasts, flicking over sore, milk-slick nipples in lazy little circles. Your body wasn’t yours anymore.

It was his altar.

His meal.

His shrine.

And this. This was his worship.

“You feel that, wife?” he whispered. “That’s my second mouth loving what I made in you. That’s what you get for carrying my legacy.”

The belly-mouth moaned louder, tongue swirling over your belly button, then lazily fucking into it, lips kissing every stretched vein and glowing mark. Your womb tightened, your cunt clenched on nothing, and a wave of pressure rolled through your spine.

“Perfect girl,” he murmured. “You take everything I give, don’t you?”

You whimpered softly.

Every part of you was trembling now, one leg thrown over his thigh for leverage, but you had none. Your focus was centered on the massive cock throbbing between your cheeks, leaking against your skin.

“They’ve had their turn,” he murmured, glancing down at the mouths on his palms and belly, each of them content, feeding or suckling or panting in joy. “Now I take what’s mine.”

He pulled your hips back just a little, adjusting your angle, his belly still pressed to yours, the mouth there murmuring low whispers into your womb like lullabies for the child inside.

And then—

He lined up.

His cock, thick and hot, slid through the slick mess his palm-mouth left behind, grinding between your folds, soaking in your heat.

You whined, pressing back, trying to push him in.

“Easy,” he rasped. “I’ll split you if I go too fast.”

But your pussy was ready. Greedy. Open and twitching and overwhelmingly soaked. And when he pressed in, juuust the head, it sank in with a low, squelch.

You both gasped.

“Fuck,” Sukuna groaned. “Still tight. Still trying to keep me out.”

You feel him twitching, heavy, hot, barely restrained. Every instinct in his cursed body wants to drive into you. Bury himself to the hilt and take. But his hands are trembling from the effort not to.

Because you’ve gone soft in his arms.

Because your thighs are already spasming.

Because you whispered his name like a prayer, and he’s not going to desecrate his shrine before the first candle’s even lit.

He curls his body around yours tighter, cradling your belly in one hand, pulling your leg higher with the other. You’re nearly folded into him, his size engulfing yours like armor, like scaffolding, like safety. The belly-mouth is still latched to the swell of your stomach, humming softly as it laps slow patterns over the taut skin, almost purring in rhythm with your heartbeat.

“Shhh,” Sukuna breathes against your neck, voice low and steady. “I’ve got you. I won’t hurt you.”

One of his upper hands slides down between your legs. Just for your clit. Two fingers, the tips rough and callused, begin to rub you in slow, deliberate circles.

“You’re too tight,” he mutters, almost to himself. “Still soft from the milk. Still wet from my mouths. But inside…”

He presses in another inch—just a little more. Your breath stutters.

“Still scared,” he breathes. “Still not sure.”

But then he presses a kiss to your temple. Just his lips. Nothing more.

“It’s alright,” he whispers. “You don’t have to take all of me at once. Let me give it to you slow. Let me work you open.”

He begins to move, rocking his hips in shallow rolls, dragging the head of his cock in and out of your entrance. Each motion stretches you a little more, opens you just a bit deeper, your body yielding to the weight of him the way it did the first time.

His fingers at your clit work the perfect rhythm. Never too fast and never, ever stopping. His touch is relentless and exact. Calculated to keep your body soft and wet and begging.

The belly-mouth groans louder now, the tongue stroking in wider, slower circles across your belly, matching the rhythm of your breath, your pulse, the rise and fall of your moans.

And when you finally push back—your hips lifting slightly, your body accepting more of him—he rewards you.

“That’s it,” he growls, voice thick with restraint. “Let me in. Let your cunt take what it was made for.”

He pushes in deeper.

Halfway now.

You sob, gripping at his thick arm, your belly taut and trembling between you. Your walls grip him, fluttering in protest and pleasure, and Sukuna moans, biting down on his own forearm to keep from coming too soon.

“You make me fucking stupid,” he snarls. “So tight around me I can’t even think.”

But he doesn’t lose control.

Not yet.

He moves again—grinding back into the overworked meat. Rocking in slow circles, hips rolling as his cock pushes deeper, dragging along your walls like it’s memorizing them. His fingers never leave your clit, and your orgasm crests.

Warm. Swelling. Deep.

“Cum for me first,” he whispers. “Before I give you the rest. Before I fuck you full again.”

You do.

Right when he asks.

You cum with a trembling sob, your body softening around him completely. Welcoming. Inviting, really. The tension you’d been holding onto in your belly, your thighs, your breath? Completely gone.

And only then—only then—does Sukuna let go.

“Good girl,” he groans, his voice turning rough, possessive. “Now take the rest of me. Take every inch.”

He thrusts.

All the way in.

All the way.

And he stays there.

For a moment. Just breathing.

The belly-mouth was wide open now, its thick lips spread across the underside of your bump, tongue flattened, making deep, rumbling sounds.

Purring.

The impossible, guttural sound vibrated through your womb, through your belly, to your clit, through his cock. You gasped as the pressure shifted, your thighs twitching with overwhelmed pleasure as the two sensations—cock inside, mouth outside—locked into perfect rhythm.

“Feel that?” Sukuna whispered, bowed over you, lips against your neck. “It knows I’m in. It feels me in you.”

His hands curled around you tighter. One still braced under your thigh, holding you open wide. The other on your chest, cupping your breast and squeezing the swollen weight just enough to send a pulse of milk beading at the nipple.

You whined.

“You’re full everywhere,” he growled. “Your tits, your womb, your fucking pussy. All mine.”

Then he began to move his full weight in you.

Slow strokes at first, only pulling back halfway, then sliding back in, thick and wet and stretching you all over again. And again. His belly-mouth groaned louder every time his cock rubbed just beneath it. It didn’t stop purring.

It sounded possessive.

Insatiable.

Your belly shifted with each thrust—small tremors rippling across the taut skin, and that mouth licked every inch it could reach, as though it were trying to calm the child inside while Sukuna made you take every fucking inch of him.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured.

You nodded helplessly. One hand behind you, gripping his arm. The other cupping your belly, fingers brushing against the warm, worshipping lips of that other mouth.

“You want more?” he said. “You want me to fuck you while my mouth sings to the baby you gave me?”

The belly-mouth growled, in agreement, it seemed.

He thrust deeper now. Harder. The wet sound of your cunt clenching around him filled the chamber. Milk smeared down your chest. His breath was rough in your ear, his teeth gritting from the restraint it took not to cum too fast.

“You’re going to make me lose my fucking mind,” he snarled. “You feel what you’re doing to me, wife? What your cunt does around me now that I’ve stuffed it full once?”

You couldn’t answer. Just moaned. Let him fuck you deeper. Let the belly-mouth purr louder, like it was singing some ancient blessing as your pussy squeezed down, ravenous.

“Good,” he growled. “Let it sing. Let it feel what I made. You’re not just my shrine, you’re my fucking altar. And I’m going to fuck you like I’m praying with every thrust.”

The belly-mouth groaned again—baser now, like it was swallowing every pulse, every little kick from the child inside your womb as his cock knocked rhythmically beneath it.

“They feel it too,” he murmured. “The baby. My mouth. All of me. They feel us together.”

You moaned, dazed and teary, your belly cradled in his hands while his cock fucked you slow, wet, deep. Every thrust pushed you forward, made your breasts sway, your body ripple from the pressure.

The belly-mouth opened wide now.

It began to feed.

Not just licking. Not just worshipping. But pulling. It's mouth sealed fully over your womb, tongue pressing firm, lips sucking gentle, steady pulses in time with the rhythm of your body.

Like it was drinking the aftershocks of your orgasm.

Like it was trying to taste the moment he came inside you again.

And Sukuna—

He felt it.

His body shuddered. His hips jerked. His breath caught.

“I’m close,” he growled. “Fuck. I’m going to cum inside you princess. Deep. So fucking deep you’ll feel it in your spine.”

You sobbed out a moan, incoherent, needy, every part of you full, and still somehow aching for more.

His cock twitched. His hands tightened.

The belly-mouth growled. Its tongue flattened, mouth pulsing, lips dragging lower, lower, lower until it was kissing the top of his cock from the outside, feeling it throb inside you.

And then—

“Take it—take all of it—”

He came.

Violently.

With a feral snarl, Sukuna buried himself to the hilt and spilled inside you pulse after pulse of thick, hot seed, filling your stretched cunt until you felt it press up inside claiming every last inch.

The belly-mouth drank the moment, tongue moving like it was tasting the orgasm as it happened from within and without.

You came again with a soft moan barely escaping your lips as your cunt clenched down on him, milking the last spurts of his release.

He shook infront you.

All four arms holding you like a treasure, like a cradle, like a shrine statue come alive.

He didn’t pull out.

He couldn’t.

His cock still throbbed inside you.

The belly-mouth finally slowed, lips softening, tongue giving gentle, warm licks to your belly like it was soothing a child after a tantrum.

“That’s it,” Sukuna whispered, mouth against your neck, voice raw, spent. “My shrine. My wife. Full again.”

His hand moved down your belly.

The palm-mouth pressed a last kiss to your lower abdomen.

Then everything went still.

Just the heat between your thighs, his cock still nestled deep.

Just the slow licking of his belly-mouth.

Just his breathing in your hair.

And the purring.

The steady, low, sacred purr of a beast who had fed well.

----------------

*cut to him taking you to the bath*

*taking to the child in your belly*

*kissing your womb*

*whisper what he’s going to do to you when you’re healed*