FF for BP

“…yes,” you whimper.

“Then fucking arch it.”

You sniffle. “Okay.”

He breaks character and huffs out a laugh as he watches you continue to helplessly stretch and squelch around him, making a creamy mess all along his shaft. He straightens his back, big hands now firmly grabbing your hips as he picks up the pace.

“Yeahh—stay right there,” his chest rumbles as he lets out a low, drawn-out groan. The smack of his hips growing louder, driving himself right into that little spot that won’t stop screaming for his attention.

It has his attention now.

The new angle had you whining into the pillow, absolutely reeling from how good he was at this, despite his complaints. He knows how to be rough. Nearly lifting you off the bed once he starts pulling your hips back, heavy balls smacking against your sensitive clit as he makes you meet each and every rough thrust he delivers.

“F-fuckk!” you choke out, barely able to form a coherent sentence as you start babbling out a bunch of words.

“So fuckin’ spoiled.” He complains, but just barely. “C’mon brat—you’ve been working me like a fuckin’ dog, give it to me already.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” He doesn’t believe you. You sound like you’re in heaven right now. “Mmhh—I love you so much.” His scowl deepens. “So, so much—you’re so fucking big.“

“Tch.” He grabs a handful of your hair, then yanks you back until you’re up against his chest, lips grazing your ear while muttering in it. “I don’t want an apology. What I want is for you to cum on my fuckin’ cock already. Or should I just stop?”

“No, no don’t! Please! I’m trying, I swear,” you begin to plead with the man.

“Try harder.” Then he smiled, because he felt you squeeze around him. “Jesus Christ—you need to me talk you through it too? The chocolates supposed to make you horny, sweetheart. Not useless.”

“It’s not my fault,” you whimper, and squeeze around him again, pulling a condescending huff out of him.

“You poor thing,” he hums. “Probably spent the whole day waiting for me to come home so I could make you feel better, huh?”

His breath tickles your ear and you nearly moan. “Mhm—I thought about it all day.”

“Well aren’t you sweet,” he mutters, tone as condescending as ever. “You got what you wanted, too. I’ve been taking care of you for a while now. How many times have I cum in you now?”

“I… I don’t know—“

“Of course you fuckin’ don’t.” He cuts you off, unamused by your answer. “Want me to do it again? Fill you up, make you feel all nice and warm?”

“Please.”

“Give me what I want then. If these sheets aren’t soaked by the time I’m about to cum again, I’m pulling out and finishing on your face,” he lets go of your hair and begins to laugh. You don’t get much of a chance to react before you feel the pads of his fingers on your clit, pulling a gasp out of you once he starts rubbing little circles on top of already fucking you. “Heh—let’s see if playing with this cute little clit saves you.”

And he knows you don’t deserve it—any of it, honestly. Unfortunately, he can’t help himself, not with the reactions he gets out of you. He married you for many reasons—getting to spend the rest of his life with a squirter was one of them. The moment your breathing grows labored and you sound like you’re gonna start to cry, his lids grow heavy and he starts saying all the things he told himself he wouldn’t say today.

"Yeahhh, that’s it, baby—fuuuuck—takin’ it so good.” He is fucking gone. Voice thick, filled with nothing but lust and awe as he presses against your lower belly. “C’mon, you want it here, right? Yeah, you know what to do—don’t let some fuckin’ asshole finish on your sweet little face.”

Yes. Your husband just degraded himself. And you just egg him on without meaning to. You were already whining about how it was too much, the incoherent “want it inside,” just made it better worse.

“I will, I’ll give you so fuckin’ much if you just give me one—just one. Easy. Shit—I’ll fill you up as much as you want afterwards.” He doesn’t know what he’s saying, but that doesn’t matter when it’s what has you crying and trembling and finally gushing around his cock.“Yeah, that’s it. That’s it, that’s—fuuuuck yeah. Good job, sweetheart—good fuckin’ job. Fuck.”

Funny enough, he came right after you, which was a relief because that meant his job was done and he was finally able to give his dick a fucking break after hours of feeling like he was working for free, when he had already worked a regular eight hour shift prior. The biggest relief of all was seeing you lie limp in bed, after slightly worrying if you ever actually would.

He leans over you with a smug smile, already having forgotten how much you pissed him off earlier as he moved some hair away from your face. Checking to see if you’re actually asleep or not, then feeling a deep sense of peace when seeing that you are. He presses a kiss against your cheekbone, and in the most loving way hopes you stay that way because he cannot do that again. Then finally, he gets up to use the bathroom.

The peace is only lasts four steps until it’s completely shattered again when he hears your weak voice.

“Are you ready to go again?”

If she tries to run from Smoke dick:

Smoke wouldn’t let her get more than an inch. The moment he feels her hips shift or her body try to re oil from the sheer size and thickness of his dick his reaction would be instantaneous and physical. He wouldn’t shout or ask why, he would simply react.

He’d reach out with those large, calloused hands and seize her hips in a vice grip. He would haul her back against him with a brutal, singular motion, pinning her firmly against the mattress or the wall. He’d lean in close, his chest hard against her back because we know this man love to bend you over. Then he would speak in a low gravelly rumble against her ear or her neck.

“Where you think you goin’?”

He would use his weight to anchor her, ensuring she feels every inch of that dick pressing into her. He’d slowly drive that thick dick back in her. Smoke doesn’t do “gentle” when he feels her slipping away or trying to run. He takes control. There is no exit until he’s finished.

He’s keeping that stroke, he wants you crying on the dick.

When she presses her palm against his stomach or chest to push back:

It’s a signal, her saying “daddy, it’s too much.” Or “I can’t take it.” When he’s stretching her past her limit.

Smoke don’t react with hesitation he only gets triggered by her body fighting the girth and length of him. It makes his deepest, most possessive instincts come to life. Smoke ain’t a man of many words, and he isn’t one for gentle reassurance. To him, her resistance isn’t a request to stop it’s a sign that he successfully claimed every single inch of her.

Smoke will lean his full, heavy weight forward, pin her deeper into the mattress or the wall with either his hands on the backs of her thighs/knees. He may even bear hug her while he in it. He catches her wrists in one of his large hands with a steel grip and pin her arm above her head or firmly against his own chest.

Smoke would say little to no words. He’ll grunt, growl, breath heavy through his nose. He’ll look down at her his expression hard and neutral (😩😩😩) though the intensity in his gaze is scorching! He wants her to see that he knows exactly what she’s feeling.

“You mine…take it.”

He would hold her there, frozen and stretched, letting her feel the thickness of him pulsing deep inside her. Then with a slow, brutal efficiency, he would begin to drive back into her, he’d use his hips to grind his dick directly against her most sensitive spots, forcing her body to accommodate his size. Every thrust is a heavy, thudding impact that reminds her exactly who owns her. He won’t stop until her nails start to claw at his shoulders, his chest, his abs.

If she tries to run or pull away from his dick:

Stack wouldn’t react like Smoke. Instead, he’d treat it as a challenge, a playful game of cat and mouse. The moment he feels her recoil from his big dick he wouldn’t just grab her he’d tease her about it.

He might let her slide back just an inch, only to catch her by the waist with a low, melodic chuckle. He’d pull her back toward him with a sliding, sensual friction that makes her skin tingle. He’d lean in, his lips brushing against her ear, his voice a smooth, honeyed tone that vibrates through her entire body.

“Now, where you goin’, sugar? We just gettin’ to the best part,” he’d whisper.

Stack uses his charisma to coax her back, kissing her deeply, his tongue dancing with hers to distract her from the intimidation of his size. But once he had her settled, the “pretty gangster” disappears and the predator emerges. He’d grip her thighs, hoisting them higher over his shoulders to open her up completely. He would slide back in her with a slow, agonizing pace, watching her face with a smug, knowing grin. He wants her to feel the stretch to feel the way his dick sits perfectly against her spot.

When she presses her palm against Stack’s stomach, that frantic, trembling push that tells him it’s too much:

That his girth is stretching her to a breaking point. Stack don’t react like Smoke. Instead, he’d react with that chuckle and that smirk. To Stack, her resistance isn’t a signal to stop it’s a compliment. It’s the ultimate validation of his masculinity. He treats her struggle like a game he’s won.

Stack doesn’t pin her down with force he uses his charisma to dismantle her panic. He leans back just a fraction to look in her eyes. He’s got that predatory grin with deep dimples popping as he watches her expression of overwhelming desire. He’ll let her hand stay there for a moment, feeling the heat of her hand against his flexed muscles before slowly wrapping his fingers around her wrist and kissing the inside of it with his eyes still locked. Then he makes his voice sound all smooth and sexy.

“Now, baby…you know you want every single inch of this. Don’t lie to me. I can feel how tight you grippin’ me. You just a little overwhelmed by how big I am, ain’t you?”

Then he’ll guidance her hand down from his stomach, sliding her palm over the hard ridge of his hip and then directly into the base of his dick, forcing her to feel the thick, pulsing vein and the heavy weight of him as he remains buried deep inside her. He wants her to acknowledge the size of him, to feel the way his dick sits deep.

Then he moves, driving that dick at a slow pace. He pulls back until he’s almost out to tease her with the sensation of emptiness then he’s sliding back in with a steady pressure that makes her toes curl. All while watching her face and savoring every reaction.

“Just breath for me…open up for daddy. Take it all. I’m gon’ fill you up so full.”

he’s blushing, again. he always seems to do that around you. soft, kiss swollen pink bottom lip caught like prey between his incisors, nails digging into his jeans. jeans that don’t do much to hide his steadily growing erection.

the sight sends a rush of heat down south, own imagination fueling your arousal and drawing a giddy giggle out of you. you lean back on your palms, huffing out a soft sigh. “you know I don’t bite. no need to be shy.” you watch a full body shudder wrack through him, hand shoving his glasses up into his hair before both stray to his belt. “i’m not shy.”

your nails graze over the leather belt, fingertips pressing into the cool buckle. “oh yeah?”

you’re hooked, eyes following the way he undoes it himself with his shaky fingers, tugging and pulling, tossing the belt aside. undoing the button and his zip, not even taking his pants off fully before he’s hooking a finger on his briefs. “yeah. but like…y-you’re sure? you want to see it?”

“it?” your head tilts as though confused. “you mean your cock?” you shift to sit higher on your heels, peering down at the newly exposed skin. the coarse trail of white from his navel that disappears into the tight band of his briefs. the taut lines of his lower abdomen. “yeah, satoru. I wanna see ‘it’.” and touch it, and hold it.. “if you still want to, you know..let me see it. obviously.”

his eyes bore into yours for a few seconds, something nervous there as the tips of his ears glow with how red they are. your lips part to reassure him—you’d been fine with just kissing the other times, this time wouldn’t be any different. but he’s tugging his briefs low and your thoughts instantly empty. it’s almost funny how the sight robs your lungs of the air it so desperately needs, gaze fixed on what he’s just unveiled for you. slapping against his tee as its freed from its confinement, bobbing slightly with its weight.

satoru’s hard as diamond, thick and flushed. cock a pretty, ruddy shade of pink. pearlescent droplets bead near the head and you instantly feel saliva pooling warm under your tongue. you take in everything—from where the trail leads to an equally neat patch leading down to his base, the way he's half hard and steadily getting harder just from you looking—

“what the hell?”

he feels like he’s gonna die. first time you’ve ever seen his cock and you exclaim ‘what the hell?’ — what exactly is he supposed to take that as?

“oh my god, you hate it.” his hands fly down to hide it uselessly, tremor in his fingers not missed. “is it ugly? you think it’s ugly.”

his face is scarlet, lightly painted over pale skin. just when you think you can’t like him any more than you already do, he just fuels your affection towards him. “no! no, I don’t hate it.” you’re quick to make the words said in awe clearer, scooting closer to him on your knees, “ugly? never.” your hands reach up to slide his glasses back down so they’re perched on his nose again and not in his hair, lightly thumbing at the apples of his cheeks. “I really like it, trust me.”

you let your gaze drop back down. deliberatecan, slow, dragging over every inch of him before finding his face again with the most innocent expression you can manage.

"why are you hiding?" the playful pout comes easy, head tilting. your hands lower to smooth up his jean covered thighs, gently squeezing, fingers grazing bare skin when you get to his upper thighs. his eyes follow your path, fixed on your fingers now hovering over his shielding his length, “can I touch you?”

his nod comes fast, and your hands move once you have the okay. prying his away, getting your fill again just from looking at it.

with his hands gone you can get a proper look - thick with a flushed, glistening tip, another bead spilling free from your attention alone. the vein and the side taunts you, gusset of your panties growing uncomfortably slick and plastering itself to your folds. you press your thighs together instinctively—you’re not sure what you’d expected but you do know that this far surpasses it. sitting on his lap had clearly been an inaccurate way to gauge his size because…how would you even begin to take him if you guys got that far? “…god.”

your fingers wrap around him and he shivers, a shaky moan punching out of him as his head pitches forward. he’s warm and thick in your grip, heavier than you expected, thumb immediately finding the precum welling near his tip. you smear and spread it, hand slowly stroking downward once, cock steadily becoming slick the more you play with him. “so pretty, satoru..”

you’ve barely done anything and he feels like he’s close to embarrassing himself. you’re just so pretty and nice to him and he’s been thinking about doing something like this for ages…he doesn’t exactly have it easy right now. “satoru, are..” your voice sounds distant, his mind somewhere far away. all his brain power is focused on the point of contact between you and him, cock throbbing in your grip. heat pools low in his gut, sharp and insistent - the kind that makes his brows furrow, jaw slackening around shaky moan. his hands grip at the sheet on either side of him, bunched in his hold like it’ll help him maintain any semblance of his sanity.

“..’toru? are you listening?”

a squeeze to his base does a quick job of bringing him back, gasp warming you to the core as his hips buck upward. his hazy, half lidded gaze fixes on you again, giving you a quick nod. "i’m—yeah. sorry, i’m listening.”

you smile at the brief distraction, hand finding a gentle rhythm. up down in firm, even strokes that spread every glossy bead gathering at his tip down his rigid shaft. you pick up on the change of his breathing, the rising pitch of his moans, curses muttered under his breath.

you’re closer before he can process it, thigh on either side of one of his with your hand never slowing, nosing at the side of his jaw. “wanna kiss some more..?” his head turns and his lips meet yours before the question can even land, desperate and entirely too eager to continue where you’d left off. his hands finally leave the sheets to slide into your hair, angling your head, pulling you closer. your mouths move together, something wet and urgent - lips smacking, tongues mutually probing at each other’s lips for access. one slide of his over yours and you’re moaning in sheer glee, getting closer because even this isn’t close enough. lowering your hips so your clothed cunt is flush to his hard thigh under you, hips rolling absently for any sort of stimulation. you’re sharing breaths more than you’re breaking free for fresh air, and neither of you seem to find issue with the arrangement.

“mm, ‘toru..’ a giggle warms his lips. you’re dizzy from the oxygen you’d deprived yourself of, kissing wetly across his cheeks, down his jaw, “god, I love kissing you.” you honestly think you could sit for hours doing just that and you’d die happy.

“I—o-oh god—me too. I love kissing you.” his head tilts, almost instinct at this point to bare his neck to your attention. your mouth finds its target instantly, instantly latching onto soft skin. you suck at the flesh slowly, feeling marks bloom hot under your lips, fist keeping rhythm along his length.

“aw, do you?”

the words leave you, muffled against his neck, but he picks up on the teasing tone despite that fact. you’d think you’re the one being touched with how turned on you are, teeth finding a new spot to bite into, moaning at the pressure of his thigh against your clit. “do you like cumming for me too? hm, satoru?”

the teasing hadn’t done him any favours in the first place but asking him a question like that all casually, calling his name that way…

“I…wait,” he feels that heat that's been settled low for the length of your teasing suddenly flaring hot, balls twitching. pulling tight.

“nng—haah. w-wait, please—” satoru’s hips jerk before he can even warm you properly.. the warmth hits your fist first, before you’re even registering anything. it seems continuous, pooling in your grip. spilling down your knuckles and his length in thick pulses.

“oh?”

by the time your brain catches up and you’re pulling out his neck to look, a strangled noise claws its way out of him, hand pulling you back in to kiss you harder. a shaky moan breaks against your lips, hips helpessly rolling up into your grip in the face of his orgasm. “‘m..shit, s-so sorry—c-cumming—” you put up 0 fight, swallowing every sound, working him higher and higher with firm strokes as he empties into your grip, shaking under you.

“that’s it, pretty boy…keep cumming.” you breathe the words into his mouth, high on his moans, his hand grabbing at your wrist that continues to twist. your stroking slows to a stop after a little, glistening strand stretching thin between your lips when you break from your kiss.

satoru’s chest is heaving, eyes squeezed shut behind the glasses as the embarrassment hits and settles post his mindbending orgasm. “..oh my god.” he wishes a sinkhole would just open up under him and pull him under.

“—toru..satoru?”

his eyes open and his eyes are instantly on yours—pupils blown but your gaze is soft, still smiling. “don’t get in your head about it. that was really hot, I promise.”

he trusts you, he really does. but finding…whatever that was hot? you can see the skepticism on his face and it only makes your heart swell, unoccupied hand reaching for his. your fingers wrap around his wrist, and he watches dumbfounded as you guide his hand right under your skirt. his fingers find the arousal damp fabric of your underwear and his jaw slackens, the skeptical look replaced by something that makes your stomach flip. “oh.”

“yeah, oh.” the smile on your lips wobbles as his fingers trace the shape of your cunt over the fabric, next words breathless as they leave you, “don’t feel bad. we’re—mm, ‘t-toru—basically in the same boat. see?”

“yeah...same boat..” barely out of his first orgasm, his arousal returns with a vengeance.

his fingers find the swell of your clit through your panties, pressing down just to see your expression falter just a little. and falter it does, your whine warming his cheeks, flutter of your eyes mirroring his own. “nng, satoru..”

the next 5 seconds feel like somewhat of a blur—one second you’re on your knees, sat on his thigh close to him. but the next? you’re on your back. sheets soft as silk under your molten skin, skirt flipped up just enough that he can see underneath it. his cock is still warm and heavy in your hand, growing thicker with his renewed arousal. satoru's fingers worm their way past the gusset of your underwear to circle your bare clit with enough pressure that your hips tilt upward, a rush of arousal pooling wetly against his fingertips as he moves down to your entrance. then back up to your clit just to spread your mess. moving like he already has his mind set on something, like he wants the same thing that you do.

"...i'll last longer this time, i promise."

author's note :: 𑣲⋆ I offer inexperienced gojo today 🧎🏽‍♀️added a teeny bit more than originally planned but I like how it turned out

"oh fuck…just like that.”

you halt mid step, frozen—card in your hold, heart clawing its way right up into your throat.

the sight is much more than you’d expected. he’s a much prettier sight than your imagination could've ever conjured up.

sweats pushed low and bunched on his thighs, muscled chest bare. his lashes rest against the flush dusting his cheeks, snowy strands mussed with a few damp ones sticking to his forehead. your eyes drop lower, you can't help it. to his happy trail, neatly groomed hairs that do match the drapes leading all the way down to his cock. it's shameful how fast blood rushes to your face. it's a pretty, flushed pink, a bead of precum welling at the tip as he strokes up and down, grip twisting near—

maybe…maybe you’d just wait till he finished. silently slip back into your room like you'd seen nothing at all, keeping the card till he finished. he wouldn’t mind. you shouldn’t be here, you shouldn’t even be looking.

he’s jerking off and you’re just stood there like a peeping tom. gosh, you feel like a bigger pervert than he is. getting off to the sound of him is bad enough, now this?

“are you just gonna stand there?” the words come out of no where, startling you. it’s lazy sounding, a syrupy drawl tinged with amusement. like this is a normal, everyday conversation that you two have. the card slackens in your hold and your breathing ceases momentarily, mouth parting to get an excuse out, a ramble of apologies perhaps.

“you’re—oh fuck,” and he doesn’t even stop, eyes closed, head tipped to the ceiling now. his lips part around a moan, squeezing at the base of his cock on his downstroke to ebb his pleasure. pearly cream smears near the pretty bulb with he strokes upward again, thumb brushing over a vein at the side. “—fine. you’re fine! come in, I was just thinking about you.”

you do, you’re not sure why you do. maybe it’s your body working faster than your mind is, one saying yes, other saying no type thing. clear betrayal of every sensible instinct you have. your limbs are moving before the words can even settle. he grins like he knew you’d do just that, shifting floorboards giving you away.

you try not to look, you really do but it’s right there. hefty cock held in a light grip, flushed head all soft and rosy. veins pulsing proudly under flushed, shiny flesh. a cock you’ve tried (you really have) to not imagine too often. glistening with what looks like either pre or saliva (maybe both). it's stiff and heavy looking in his hand—the kind of pretty that causes a near physical ache in your chest and somewhere lower, dampness between your thighs soaking through your panties.

“you’re gonna cum to it anyway,” he murmurs, “might as well get you in here to let you see the real thing, right?” your eyes follow another pearlescent dribble from his head, eyes growing glossy. you will the dampness pooling between your thighs away, trying to focus on anything but him while actively ogling at his cock. you’re stood there like a deer in headlights, his words registering late. when they finally do, you’re all hot in the face as you glance up at his face, stumbling over words about only being here to give him his card. “huh? I don’t even…satoru, I promise you it’s not like that at all.”

“it’s not?” and then he laughs, all deep and rich, not at all helping with your situation currently.

“you just happen to play with yourself exactly when i’m getting myself off? the walls are thin, pretty. I don’t think the pillows muffle those vibrations too well.” you wonder if there’s a quick way to dig a hole to just jump into. maybe if you fake a fainting spell, he’d be nice enough to drop it so you could escape? shitty fucking amazon vibrator – the reviews were all lies.

a low, strangled noise leaves you - half startled, half mortified. trying to get a rebuttal out but your lips won’t cooperate.

satoru’s eyes open slowly, lids heavy like he’s already drunk on the pleasure. fuck, he loves this. loves the look on your face – lips parted, all stunned, no words to say to explain yourself. “haah—you’re not coming?” and god, he says it so breathily, you can’t help the instinctual clench of your thighs, nor the bob of your throat with how harsh you swallow.

“a little watching got you all needy?” he notices. of course he does. “why don’t we help each other out, hm? take your panties off. let me see how wet you got for me.”

that gives you a pause, panties in question uncomfortably damp. hot in the face with..embarrassment? arousal? most definitely arousal. maybe that more than the former. your hands are shaky as they graze the soft edges of your shorts, hooking under the elastic band of your panties.

you don’t know why you’re just listening to him. blindly following his instructions like it's law. "I...I really came to give you back the card." walking out of here and pretending this didn’t happen would be just as easy as walking in had been. but you don’t – you’ve been wanting to at least touch him for ages, depriving yourself right now wouldn’t do either of you any favors. "I was about to leave."

the plain pale gray, now turned smoky at the center falls, string of arousal connecting the fabric and your core briefly before snapping. it hits the floor in a heap with your shorts, and you press his card onto the closest surface to free both hands up.

"mm, i'm sure you were." his gaze drops and he groans at the clear glistening between your thighs, thumb swiping over his tip, hips twitching slightly as he slows his strokes.

“perfect. now c’mere, pretty.” he says again, softer this time. voice something warm and inviting.

you take a step, then a few more till you’re at the edge of the bed. his legs spread a little wider, chin angling down in a simple gesture. his strokes somehow get slower, lazier. teasing now, dragging out every wet sound, every twist of his wrist that has dribbles of his pre spilling over his knuckles. you sink down to your knees so you’re settled between his thighs, fingertips biting into the hardwood. the ache between your thighs that you'd been managing well enough makes itself known with a harsh throb, looking up at him through your lashes.

“there you are.” he croons, bringing his free hand back from gripping the sheets to brush stray hairs out your face, tipping your chin up. the pad of his thumb traces your bottom lip, slow, pressing in just slightly at the center.

“say ahh, roomie.”

you hit the floor with a sharp cry, pain lancing through your side and wrist. the scroll clatters beside you. for a moment you lie there, breathlessly. your hand instinctively cradles your belly. the baby moves again. it’s still strong and alive.

relief floods you, but it’s followed quickly by fear.

because your hear them. those heavy footsteps echo down the corridor. too fast and way too purposeful.

the sliding doors slam open with enough force to rattle the entirre frame. sukuna stands there, all four beefy arms tense, crimson eyes blazing with immediate and lethal irritation. the mouth on his abdomen twists into a snarl before the one on his face even opens.

he takes one look at you on the floor, at the displaced cabinet, the way you clutch your wrist and the temperature in the room seems to drop.

“what,” he growls, “is the meaning of this, woman?”

you try to push yourself up. trying to make yourself seem presentable, “it’s nothing, my lord. i only—“

“do not.”

two of his arms move before you can finish. one massive hand catches your shoulder while the other slides beneath your knees. he lifts you as if you weigh nothing before carrying you to the thick futon piled with silks. the third hand hovers over your belly, not quite touching, while the fourth grips your injured wrist with surprising gentleness. though his expression promises murder.

you wince as he probes the swelling. a bruise is seemingly already blooming.

sukuna’s eyes narrow at the bruise on your wrist. something inside him twists, “you fell.”

“well, i reached for a scroll,” you admit quietly as you hold your head down in shame, “didn’t think—“

“yeah. you obviously didn’t think,” his voice is deceptively calm now. the kind of calm that precedes slaughter.

he sets your wrist down and rises to his full imposing height. the black tattoos shift across his skin as his muscles flex, “tsk. y’re crawling about like some reckless servant chasing trinkets, and look where that got ya.”

the air grows thick with that ominous cursed energy you’ve grown used to. outside in the gardens, you hear a distant scream. you swallow thickly. that was an unfortunate soul who was probably been lingering too close at the wrong moment.

sukuna doesn’t even glance toward the sound. his focus remains locked on you.

he kneels again, red eyes boring into yours. one hand cups your chin to tilt your face up, “do you have any idea what i would do to this entire fuckin’ country if you lost that child?”

your heart stutters.

you know he isn’t exaggerating. sukuna’s affection is a double edged blade. it’s obsessive, violent and all-consuming. you have seen villages erased for lesser offenses than inconveniencing his property.

“y-yes, but i’m alright,” you whisper, “the baby kicked just now. it’s still strong and kicking."

as if to prove it, another solid thump presses against your belly. sukuna’s big hand moves immediately, his warm palm spreading over the curve.

for a long moment there’s silence. then he exhales through his nose, a sound closer to a growl.

“you will not leave this chamber without my presence until the birth.” it isn’t a suggestion. “servants will bring you everything. if you desire a scroll, they will fetch it. if you desire the moon itself, they will bleed trying.”

you reach up with your good hand to brush fingers along one of his wrists. you tilt your head as you look up at him, “you’re angry.”

“furious.”

the word drips with venom. yet he lowers himself beside you on the futon, two arms pulling you carefully against his chest while the other two adjust pillows behind your back. the contrast is dizzying. his body radiates power and heat, capable of tearing mountains, but he handles you like a fragile thing.

“i should chain you to this bed,” sukuna mutters, lips brushing your temple, “perhaps then you’d stop testin’ me.”

a small smile tugs at your lips despite the dull ache in your wrist. “you’d miss my stubbornness too much,” you chuckle softly.

the king of curses huffs. the mouth on his stomach licks its lips, tasting the air—probably the lingering trace of your blood from a scraped elbow.

you lean into him and lett the solid bulk of his true form surround you. four arms are useful for this, at least. one idly strokes your hair, another rests over your belly, the third keeps your injured wrist elevated and the fourth simply holds you close.

minutes pass in comfortable silence. his cursed energy fluctuates wildly. you can feel the rage still simmering, but it’s more contained. you can feel it coiling around the room like invisible smoke, ready to lash out at the first person who enters.

a hesitant knock sounds at the door.

“enter,” sukuna barks.

a trembling servant girl slides the door open, carrying a tray of bandages and herbal salve. her eyes widen at the sight of sukuna holding you so intimately. she nearly drops everything.

“give it here,” he snaps while extending one arm without releasing you. the girl approaches on her knees, head bowed low, and places the tray within reach before scrambling back.

sukuna tends to your wrist himself.

his touch is precise, almost clinical, wrapping the linen with surprising care. every so often his gaze flicks to your face to check for discomfort. the fury hasn’t left his eyes, but it has shifted. it’s now directed outward. toward the world that has dared let you fall.

when he finishes, sukuna pulls you closer again. “if this swells worse by morning, i’ll flay the physician who attends you. slowly.”

you chuckle softly as exhaustion creeps in. too much happened in a small amount of time for your heavily pregnant self, “‘kay, noted.”

he stays like that long after your breathing evens out. sukuna rarely sleeps much, but tonight he remains vigilant and his hand never leaves your belly.

. . .

by the next morning, word has spread through the estate like wildfire. no one is to allow you out of the inner chambers without the king of curses’ permission.

extra guards patrol the halls. when a maid brings breakfast, she keeps her eyes on the floor and moves with exaggerated slowness, terrified of triggering his wrath.

you watch sukuna from the futon as he paces, big arms crossed in various combinations. he has already executed one overzealous attendant who suggested you might have ‘overexerted’ yourself earlier in the week. the body has been removed before you woke.

“ryo.. come here,” you call softly, trying carefully to calm that rage by using that nickname you made up for him. instead of the usual politeness.

sukuna pauses. then, with a reluctant grunt, he returns to your side. you take one of his large hands and place it back on your belly.

"feel it. he’s fine. we’re fine.”

sukuna’s expression remains stormy, but the tension in his shoulders eases fractionally, “if anythin’ changes...”

“‘you’ll destroy the world’. . . i know.”

a rare, sharp-toothed smirk tugs at his lips, “good. you’re learning.”