🧿whimsical.soul4✨

House!Husband Satoru Gojo x Lawyer Wife!Reader

WC: 2,267 CW: Smut, established relationship, house husband, baddie wife, fem reader, kind AU, pregnancy, mirror sex, p in v, fingering, NSFW 18+, dirty talk, fluff with smut, choking, devoted husband, whipped Gojo, smut towards the end!

Sorry for any grammar or spelling errors, I hardly proofread!

Satoru Gojo never imagined himself finding fun in mundane tasks. Just a few years ago, he would've never picked up a mop or broom with delight. The thought of telling his old students that he was now a housewife would be laughable, but he enjoyed it. 

The simplicity of the tasks and the sight of your pleased smile were enough for him. Each morning, he woke up, took care of your laundry, prepared a healthy, balanced lunch for you, and filled your tumbler with hot coffee. He would stand at the door like a puppy waiting to give you a pouty kiss on your cheek and pat your butt on the way out. 

You were what they would call a "Girl boss" you had been freshly out of law school when you met Gojo and had no idea how to balance a steady homelife and being a new lawyer, so your lovely husband took over any hard nesessities that were weighing you down, staring with leaving his job as a Jujutsu Sorcer, hiding undercover for a few years and then slolwy showing his friends his new way of life. 

Of course, his friends had no idea why one of the most powerful sorcerers would leave it all behind, but clearly they didn't have a boss babe wife to please as he did. One thing Satrou knew how to do was please. 

He would often spend hours cleaning your heels until they sparkled or replacing one of your expensive perfumes when it was nearly empty. He'd even prepare gourmet meals while wearing a frilly apron. Though you didn't dare tell him you loved it, he knew secretly that you did. Anything you wanted for your husband, he was always one step ahead. 

He was currently engaged in one of those thoughtful tasks you appreciated: cleaning out your closet and organizing everything for the next morning, when you'd search for the perfect skirt or panties.

Gojo hums softly to himself as he arranges your heels neatly. Dressed in a white apron with deep pockets holding his feather duster and cloths, he carefully wipes down your shelves. 

The front door slams closed, his ears perk up, and he quickly checks his phone at 4:32 PM. You were home very early, and he came out of the closet. He makes his way downstairs. You were bent over, taking off your heels, dressed in a pink pantsuit he had dry-cleaned last week. Your hair and makeup were perfect as usual. You were grumbling, annoyed as you hung up your purse, your big diamond on your finger catching in the light.

"Wife, you're home early!" his voice calls out over your grumbling. You jump, turn around, and place a hand on your chest. "You scared me! You should get a bell." You step further into the house, overwhelmed by the scent of lemons. The vacuum lines mark the carpet, every surface gleams with polish, and in the distance, you hear the laundry running. 

"I don't have dinner prepared yet. I wasn't expecting you till later." You can see the sulk on his face. You chuckle, "Well, sorry for wanting to surprise my husband." You hug him around his neck, which he quickly bends down and places his hands on your waist, his breath in your foral scent, and his shoulders unwind, "It's the best surprise, I missed you." You hum and trail your fingers through his silky white hair, "I'll make us dinner tonight, you also deserve to relax." 

You notice his face scrunch up as he's about to argue, but you quickly hush him, saying, "No, let me do this just once, please, baby?" with a sweet tone and a flirtatious bat of your lashes. Gojo sighs and loosens the apron around his neck, replying, "Fine, you can take over tonight. But I won't like watching you work." You giggle and walk into the kitchen, teasing, "Then you would hate me in the courtroom." 

You swiftly move around the kitchen, gathering the ingredients he prepared for his planned dish. You share a casual conversation, mostly with Gojo rambling and praising you openly. Your husband is like a puppy, craving your affection and unable to believe he's married to someone so wonderful. 

"Can you help me instead of watching?" You look up from browning meat on the stove, and he quickly jumps in to assist, chopping vegetables for the sauce. "This takes me back to when we first started dating," he chuckles. "Cooking late into the night, helping you prepare for internships—we were so young." Gojo reminisces warmly. "Would you still suggest being a stay-at-home husband?" you mumble, glancing at him. 

Having been married for nearly seven years, the sight of such a handsome, dedicated man still makes you want to climb him like a tree. "Of course I would, watching you chase your dreams is enough to make me happy," He says without hesitation, and you smile, kissing his cheek before looking back to your cooking. He would be a great father one day; that thought alone drags you back to why you truly came home early. 

Keeping your pregnancy a secret from Gojo was quite challenging; he seemed to know everything before you even said it, and he cleaned the house thoroughly every day, which made it even harder to hide the truth. You both finish cooking the spaghetti and sit down to enjoy your meal. 

He licks the sauce from his lips. "You did great, baby," he praises, while you take small bites. "Thank you, you did most of the work," Gojo smirks. 

Part of why you were hesitant to tell him about your pregnancy was that you weren't ready for the overprotectiveness. "You aren't eating much," He notes, "I had a big lunch." He eyes you suspiciously, truthfully, you had thrown up most of lunch, and your boss had sent you home.

You take a big bite to satisfy him, and he hums as he finishes his plate. Once he's done, you watch him walk around the kitchen, tidying up the dinner mess. You take a few more bites and softly say, "I'm going to change into comfy clothes." He hums, his back turned to you as he bends over the sink, washing dishes with pink rubber gloves on. You smile to yourself and walk upstairs to change out of your work clothes. 

You enter your bedroom and rummange through your dresser for a pair of sweats and shirt, your clothes neatly folded and easy to find, Gojo took great pride in tending for the house and that showed through the cracks of the foundation, even the outside of the house was well groomed, you hum softly as you change out of your pantsuit and hang it back up for him to get dry cleaned once more, you were about to slide on your sweat-pants when the door opens.

You were standing in front of the mirror, slightly to the side, showing off your profile. Gojo stands in the doorway, his gaze narrowing as he looks at you. He's never been shy about his attraction. He steps inside, closing the door behind him. You hold your pants to your chest, trying to cover your nearly naked form. "You have no shame!" he says. His eyes quickly close the distance as he moves behind you. 

You turn and press your back against his chest, gazing at him in the mirror. His large hand gently rubs the soft curve of your stomach, which was too early to confirm, and honestly, you appeared a bit more bloated than usual. However, Gojo knew your body better than anyone—the gentle curve of your belly, the fullness of your breasts, and your rounder cheeks that he wanted to nibble on.

"You have something to tell me wife?" You blush, and he caresses your stomach. "I'm pregnant." Your voice comes out breathless, worried about his reaction, which he quickly mends when his face breaks into a wide grin.

He immediately attacks your neck with kisses. "This is why you came home early?" He questions, and you nod. His lips travel down to your collarbone, and he nips at the skin and soothes the bite with his tongue. "I'm so happy, can't wait to have a little one just like their mother." You press your ass against his pelvis, his hands grip your waist tighter, guiding the gentle sway of your ass. 

"They could be like you." You meet his gaze through the mirror, and he takes the pants out of your hands; he shakes his head stubbornly. "Nope, I want a little princess." His fingers tease the waistband of your panties. He kisses your head and inhales the scent of your rose shampoo that he's addicted to. 

"You don't get everything you want." He slides his hand into the front of your panties, he cups your wet pussy, middle finger sliding through your soaked folds, "You sure about that? I got a sexy wife, an amazing home, and a baby on the way. A baby that was made with love and care." He nuzzles into your neck, his digit sliding into your cunt slowly, you gasp and spread your legs wider, you can see a wet spot on the front of your panties. 

"Gave you everything I said I would, I told you I'd never fail a promise to my lady," His finger teases you in and out till you're squirming in his hold, "Can't wait to see you round and full with my kid, how fucking sexy." He growls, and you pant, you rock on his finger, begging for another wordlessly, "Good girls use their words." His movements stop, and you glare at him through the mirror.

The sight of you and him in the mirror was erotic and thrilling, his hand down your panties, your chest heaving, nipples poking through your bra, your cheeks flushed, and your eyes glossed over with desire.

 "Please give me more, Toru," You beg. He bends you forward, your hands grip the wall on either side of the mirror, he quickly un-hooks your bra, and your heavy tits fall free with an ache. He removes his hand from your panties and licks his fingers clean. You wiggle your hips, helping him tug down your panties. "I'll give you whatever this needy pussy needs. Tell me." He commands, "Need your cock, so deep and hard. I'm all needy." You sounded pathetic. The sight of your weeping pussy was enough for him to give in to your pleas. 

He unzips his pants and pulls them down along with his sticky boxers, the tip of his cock already an angry red and leaking pre-cum, his cock was thick and ribbed with veins, a pale nude shade that got pinker the more turned on he was, heavy balls that glistened and begging to be sucked, he was always neatly shaved and primmed for your pussy. 

"Do I have to keep begging for your cock?" You cry, he rubs the tip through your wet folds, and he grips a fistful of your hair, tugging your head back, making you arch. He slides his fat cock inside inch by inch, and you freeze. His girth and size were something you could never get used to. "Ah, so big!" You cry, and he bottoms out inside you, "Even tighter than normal," He breaths in your ear, "Please start moving!" He pulls out and slams back inside, and he starts to move at a rapid pace. He mumbles filthy things in your ear. 

"Such a tight cunt, sucking me in." 

"Bet you were thinking of your husband's cock all day, weren't you? Desperate and needy for what you'll always get, you get so worked up over some dick."

He coos, his hand wraps around your neck holding you there, the sound of wet skin slapping fills your room, somehow during you fucking you've been pressed to the mirror, your tits squished against the glass, your pussy juice smearing, "Fucking messy aren't ya? Maybe I won't clean this mirror tomorrow, and you can be reminded of what a whore you were for me," He grunts, and you whine, "Ah, Gojo, so close," His other hand travels and pinches your nipples.

"Can't wait for these to leak, watching you be a mother is going to be beautiful," His hand moves down further. He rubs firm circles on your clit, matching the rutting of his cock, the veins scrape against your squishy walls, you arch, meeting his thrusts, and he groans, his hand around your neck getting tighter, "Fuck I'm gonna cum in your pussy, fill you up how you like." "Fill me up, I want more!" You were delirious on the constant pump of him inside you. You can feel his movements become jerky as he spills inside you, which triggers your own release.

Your nails dig into the wood of the mirror and your cum mixed with his leaks down your thighs as you both take gustfulls of air, Gojo kisses your sweaty forhead, "Your going to be a great mommy," He picks you up and gets you cleaned up before laying you both in bed, he pulls the covered over your naked form and pressed into your side. "I promise to be good to you and our family. Anything you want, you'll get." He says softly, and you hum sleepily, nuzzling into his warmth, "Only want you, Toru."

You knew your husband sacrificed everything for you—something he would never regret. Tending the house, caring for your future kids, and worshipping you were an easy, pleasurable life for Gojo, and he would never allow that to be taken away from him.  

Simon Riley’s never thought that before—until they’re barreling down his driveway, barking up a storm at you. A pretty thing in the neighborhood, pushing a stroller. 

He follows after his stubborn German Shepherds, gruffly ordering them to heel. They won’t hurt you, of course, but you don’t know that. He braces himself for the screams when he rounds the mailbox. A terrified mother and her child, chased by three trained-to-kill dogs and a masked man—

Laughter stops him in his tracks. 

Cap, Kilo, and Mac are planted on their asses, tails wagging, tongues hanging out. Your toddler’s giggling so hard she’s nearly tippin’ out of her seat as she yanks on Mac’s ear, earning a face full of slobber for it. 

And you—you’re bent over, one hand holding Cap’s paw, the other scratching behind Kilo’s ears. 

“Cute pups,” you say. 

Cute...what? 

You look up at him, past his mask and into his eyes. He freezes. But you just smile. 

“You military?” 

He ends up not replying, because the setting sun catches in your eyes and his brain is temporarily short-circuited. You’re not deterred, however, your chin tilting to the gun holstered at his hip. 

“My husband was, too.” Your gaze drops to the paw in your hand. “He did an op down in Coal Ridge last year.”

You don’t have to say anything else. Everyone knows what went down in the ridge.

Ghost tries to find something—anything—to say. Condolences would be a start. But nothing he thinks of is good enough, or sounds right in his head. So he just stands there, looming over you, watching you pet his assassin dogs. 

And then—it hits him in the chest like a bullet. 

You’re all alone in that house at the end of the street with your little girl. 

Something rears its head under his ribs. A protective urge so strong it’s almost staggering.

“Well,” you sigh, straightening and offering him a playful, cute little salute. “Have a good one.” Your eyes flick to the insignia on his sleeve. “Lieutenant.”

As you stroll away into the setting sun, Simon watches you go, and the ‘cute pups’ whine at his feet as you leave.

And suddenly, three guard dogs don't seem like enough after all. 

jack abbot x nurse reader, word count: 2.7k miscommunication, hurt/comfort, tiny bit of angst

It was no strings attached. It was off the books. It was casual.

It started with flirty comments in passing—when the shift got long and the nights grew suffocating it was a relief. Then the one off comments started to become everyday occurrences.

Then came some light touches when nobody was watching. Until finally he just walked up to you and decided enough was enough.

"Dinner at mine next week and before you say no, I already know you have off so you can't use that as an excuse."

You continued to stare down at the computer in front of you before finally caving and looking up at him. "What's in it for me?"

"Dinner," he said with a shrug as he picked up a tablet and headed towards his next case. "Dessert too."

Dessert seemed to be the main attraction and after you had your first meal you kept coming back for seconds. And you knew that it was messy to get involved with a coworker but none of that crossed you mind while he was pining you to his bed. You didn't even think about it as you did a walk of shame back to your place that night. Your actions only processed in your mind as he came up behind you at the nurses station and his hand slide across your lower back.

It was then that you realized that you fucked your superior. And based on the way your stomach tightened every time he even looked your way you knew that there was no going back. Unless going back meant going back to his place because you did that nearly every week.

The rest of the staff wasn't blind to the musing of their widower attending and their work obsessed charge nurse though. They noticed how he'd linger by the nurses station or how he began coming in with two cups of coffee. And they definitely noticed when you started coming to work at the same time.

would you write something with jack abbot x bimbo!reader where she's his mid life crisis and completely obessed with him

Inspired by this post by @thatfanficstuff - i just thought it was so funny and also something id do cause i never remember my lefts from rights

For what feels like the 6th time in just this meal, you slide your foot along Jack's leg. You can feel the fabric bunching up under the platform of the heels he just bought you.

You huff, slumping against the booth.

Frank castle x Fem!Reader

Warnings: mild violence references (Frank being Frank), loud noises/startle response, reader is described as shy/soft, intense protectiveness, emotional softness that might make you feel things.

Masterlist

Frank Castle notices you the way hunters notice movement in the woods.

Not all at once.

Not loudly.

Just… gradually.

At first, it’s small things. Easy things to miss if you aren’t trained to watch.

The way you hesitate before stepping into a room, eyes flicking around like you’re mapping exits.

The way sudden sounds make your shoulders jump—sharp laughter, a door slamming, a car backfiring down the street.

The way you speak like you don’t want to interrupt the air.

You don’t announce yourself. You arrive.

Frank clocks it immediately.

He doesn’t say anything. He rarely does. He just starts adjusting.

Lowering his voice without realizing it.

Moving slower when he’s near you.

Keeping his hands open instead of curled into fists.

You meet through mutuals—people who exist on the edges of Frank’s life, the few he hasn’t cut himself off from entirely. You don’t look like you belong there. Too soft around the edges. Too quiet. Like you wandered into the wrong movie.

Frank watches you from across the room that first night, beer untouched in his hand.

You sit on the arm of a couch, knees tucked in close, fingers laced together in your lap. You listen more than you talk. When you do speak, people lean in without realizing it. Like the room adjusts to you instead.

Someone laughs too loudly beside you and you flinch.

It’s subtle. Barely there.

Frank sees it anyway.

Something in his chest tightens. A familiar feeling—protective, sharp, dangerous. The same instinct that used to flare when he heard his kids cry out. The same one that never really shut off after that.

You catch him looking.

Your eyes widen for half a second before you look away, cheeks warm, like you’ve been caught doing something wrong.

Frank looks away too.

He doesn’t want to scare you.

That’s new.

—

He starts positioning himself near you without meaning to.

If you’re standing, he stands a little closer than necessary.

If you’re sitting, he takes the seat that blocks the most foot traffic.

If someone gets too loud, too close, too careless—Frank shifts. Just enough to be in the way.

You don’t comment on it.

You just… relax.

He notices that too.

Your shoulders drop when he’s near. Your breathing evens out. You lean slightly toward him like gravity does the work for you.

Once, someone bumps into you hard enough to jolt you forward.

Frank’s hand is at your back before you even realize you’re stumbling.

Not gripping.

Not grabbing.

Just there.

Warm. Solid. Steady.

“You good?” he asks, voice low. Careful.

You nod quickly. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

You don’t pull away from his hand.

Neither does he.

—

He starts walking you home.

Not because you ask. You never do.

He just… falls into step beside you one night and doesn’t leave.

The city is loud after dark. Sirens. Shouting. The hum of traffic that never sleeps. You flinch at a motorcycle revving nearby, instinctively moving closer to Frank without thinking.

He notices.

He always notices.

He adjusts his pace to yours. Slower. Measured. He keeps himself on the street side of the sidewalk, body angled just enough to shield you without boxing you in.

When you talk, it’s soft things.

What books you like.

The stray cat you feed behind your building.

The way you hate thunderstorms but love the smell afterward.

Frank listens like it matters.

Because it does.

When you reach your door, you hesitate before going inside. Fingers fidgeting with your keys.

“Thanks for walking me,” you say quietly.

He nods. “Anytime.”

You smile at him.

It’s small. A little shy. Like you’re not sure if you’re allowed to give it away.

Frank stands there long after your door closes.

—

You start spending time together without ever calling it that.

Coffee turns into quiet breakfasts.

Shared silences turn into comfortable ones.

You learn Frank takes his coffee black. He learns you take yours with too much sugar and a splash of cream.

He starts warning you before loud noises. A soft “heads up” before turning on a blender. A gentle touch at your elbow before a door slams shut.

You notice.

One afternoon, you laugh—soft, surprised—and say, “You don’t have to do that.”

Frank shrugs. “I know.”

He does it anyway.

—

The nickname slips out one night by accident.

You’re both sitting on the floor of his apartment, backs against the couch. It’s late. The city outside is quieter than usual, rain tapping gently against the windows.

You’ve curled up close to him, knees tucked in, head resting lightly against his shoulder. He’s tense at first—always is when someone gets this close—but you don’t push. You never do.

Eventually, he relaxes.

You startle when thunder rumbles overhead, body going stiff for half a second before you realize what it is.

Frank’s arm comes around you instinctively.

“Easy,” he murmurs. “It’s okay, Bambi.”

The word hangs in the air.

He freezes.

His arm tightens for a fraction of a second before he pulls back slightly, panic flashing across his face.

“—Sorry,” he says quickly. “Didn’t mean— I shouldn’t have—”

You turn your head to look at him.

He’s braced for rejection. For offense. For you to pull away and remind him of all the ways he doesn’t know how to do this.

Instead, you smile.

It’s soft. Warm. Almost fond.

“My Bambi?” you repeat gently.

Frank swallows.

“Yeah,” he admits quietly. “You don’t have to like it.”

You shift closer.

Rest your head back against his shoulder.

“I do,” you say. “I really do.”

Frank lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

—

After that, everything feels… settled.

He calls you Bambi more often. Softly. Only when it’s just the two of you. Like the name is something fragile too.

You start leaning into his touch openly now. Sitting closer. Letting his hand stay at your back. Threading your fingers through his when the world feels too loud.

Frank doesn’t question it.

He just protects it.

One night, walking home together, a group of men get too close. Too loud. Too interested.

Frank steps forward instantly, body a wall between you and them.

“Keep walking,” he says, voice calm but deadly.

They do.

You barely see them. Barely register the threat.

All you notice is Frank’s hand finding yours afterward. Solid. Reassuring.

“You okay?” he asks.

You nod. “Yeah. I knew you had me.”

That hits him harder than any punch ever has.

—

Later, inside your apartment, you stand close to him in the quiet. The storm outside has passed. The air smells clean. New.

Frank reaches up slowly—always slowly—and brushes his thumb over your cheek.

You lean into it.

His voice drops, rough and tender all at once.

“I’ll keep you safe,” he murmurs. “Always.”

You believe him.

Because he doesn’t say it like a promise.

⤷ ゛SLEEP DENIED ˎˊ˗

Yuji's nights are constantly being invaded by Sukuna's memories instead of his usual, fun dreams! Although, he is realising some similarities between you and the King of Curse's wife...asides from being the same person, that is.

The silence in your shared chambers was thick.

You were pacing—a very pregnant, very wobbly pacing that was less threatening and more heartwarming than anything else.

And he had the gall to just sit there, purposefully forcing his face into a bored frown as he stared up at you.

"So," You finally said, stopping to glare at him with as much fury as you could muster, "Let me get this right. You—The Disgraced One, The King Of Curses, The Imaginary Demon, The Big Bad Boogeyman—are making a binding vow with Kenjaku. The walking, talking idiot with a fetish for patchwork bodies, and then you expect me to be okay with it?"

Sukuna didn't even look up from examining his nails, "He's a useful idiot."

"Oh, really?" You snapped, placing your hands on your belly, "Well, he's your idiot now, apparently! What next? Are you going to start a book club with a Gojo? Or, now hear me out on this one, maybe take up gardening with one of the Kamos?"

A muscle twitched in Sukuna's jaw at your taunting, "You're being hysterical."

"I'm pregnant with the spawn of the man who is feared by the whole of Jujutsu Society, Ryo! I have earned the right to act hysterical whenever I want!" You gestured wildly, "You're going to leave me– leave us, just to go mess around with the one being in the world who I sometimes suspect is crazier than you!"

He finally looked up at you, all four eyes narrowed, "It's not a matter of choice. The sorcerers coming for me–"

"–are what? They're what exactly? You can face down armies and wipe out entire villages, but a few weak sorcerers have you running for the hills with your tail between your legs?"

"They will target you," He said, his voice low and dangerous, "They would use you to get to me. The both of you."

"So instead of, I don't know, dismembering them like you do to every other guy, you're going to...die? Like a quitter?"

Sukuna finally stood, and even with your current temper, you had to admit that the man had a strangely alluring presence.

"You think I want this?" He growled, "You think I enjoy leaving you alone at your most vulnerable?"

"I think you're just being a coward!" You shouted, poking at his firm chest, "The Great Ryomen Sukuna, reduced to making silly gambles because he's a wittle scwared of a few sorcerers that probably still think the earth is triangular and that sleeping whilst facing north will bring them bad luck!"

"I am just protecting you!" He shouts exasperated.

"'By abandoning us? You think that's some sort of protection? That is such a cop-out!" You stamp your foot on the floor like a frustrated bunny, "This is the sort of spineless nonsense I expect from some young sorcerer, not you!"

"Oh, wow," He laughs weakly, running two hands down his face, "You are pushing your luck, woman."

"Oh? Me? I'm pushing my luck? I'm finally carrying our child and you think it's okay to just tell me you have to leave oh-so quickly for my oh-so weak, nimble, little self's protection?" You ask mockingly, hands waving in the air, "I've earnt the right to push whatever luck I want!"

For a moment, you're convinced he's finally going to lose his temper. But instead, he just sighed. A long, put-upon sound that suggested he was regretting every life choice that had led him to this exact moment. With the sole exception of marrying you, of course.

"Stop it," He muttered, no fight in him, "Just stop it."

"Make me," You sniffled, the anger finally dissolving into the sadness it always was, "You're leaving us despite being strong enough to protect us yourself. I thought...I thought I meant more to you than that."

Sukunas face softened almost immediately.

He closed the distance between you in two strides, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you against his chest. You resisted for about three seconds before melting into him, sobbing into his robes.

"I love you," He murmured against your hair, his voice low and strained, "And I love this child. That is why I merely cannot fathom endangering you like this."

"Then fight," You cried, your voice muffled against his chest, "Nothings ever stopped you before."

He held you tighter, leaning down to rest his face into your hair, "I love you too much to even fathom any of the risks that will come because of it."

Yuji shot upright the second he woke up, hands clutching at his chest as he attempted to even out his breathing. The sheets were tangled around his legs like some sort of polyester octopus and his heart was hammering against his chest like a woodpecker.

He blinked, an image of you grown with your hands protectively cradling your swollen belly flashing behind his eyes.

Gross. So, so, sooooo gross.

Not because of the actual pregnancy or anything! Pregnancy is beautiful and should be celebrated and yada yada yada.

It was gross because it was his baby. That dumb Sukuna. It's so unfair how he of all people got the life Yuji's been imagining since the second he laid his eyes on you!

Awh man, the more he imagines it, the more he realises how the two of you would have the cutest children. Hopefully, they all look just like you so he can have an army of the prettiest people in all of Japan.

Although, he sort of needs to ask you out for that first is the primary issue...and the two of you also have to be like, a good adult age...but he can wait! He's patient enough!

But despite all of that, it wasn't even seeing you all pregnant and glowing that freaked him out the most. It was all Sukuna that was making his stomach churn.

He wasn't the arrogant, bloodthirsty monster he knew in that scene. There was not even a glimpse of that condescending voice constantly circling his head and making fun of him every chance he is given.

It was a tired Sukuna that held his wife like it was the end of the world while murmuring words of love and affirmations with a voice that sounded...at peace. Genuinely zen.

This was the third time this week. Third! Every night this week he's had some random flashes of Sukuna's life playing like a broken movie reel stuck inside his skull. He'd seen glimpses of battle, of disgustingly disturbing feasts, of a time when Japan seemed to be painted in fire, blood, and anguish (though maybe that was just Sukuna's personal version of Japan). But this was different to all of that. This was purely domestic—so intimate that it was actually unsettling given who was donating his probably very few moments of vulnerability.

"The guy's a total softy," Yuji muttered to the empty room, is voice muffled by his own arm, "Are you awake? Because I want you to know that I am now well aware that your whole 'King of Curses' facade is fake and has totally been broken, now. You were practically whimpering in her arms."

There's a few moments of silence before Yuji lets out an audible sigh relief. Thank fuck he wasn't awake to hear that.

Yuji skidded to a halt from where you were sat in the common room, nearly wiping himself out on the freshly waxed floor. He braced his hands on his knees, keeled over and panting like he'd just ran a marathon. Where could he have possibly just ran from?

"Dude," He wheezed, looking up at you with those big eyes that could probably convince a nun to sin, "You will not believe the day I'm gonna have."

You didn't even look up from the manga you were reading, "Did you find a limited edition Human Earthworm figurine and spend some of Gojo's money on it and now you have to hide from him so that Gojo can't tell whine at you for buying another one of those disgusting figures?"

Yuji's face lit up for a second, "Whoa. I wish, that'd be so good! It's even better, well, actually, it's even worse, but I have a mission."

You finally lowered your book, tilting your head as you looked up at him, "You do that everyday? What's so special about this? That's like being excited you're gonna make coffee as a barista."

"This one's different!" He insisted, plopping down onto the sofa beside you with a thud that made the old frame groan in protest, "It's a solo mission with a special grade."

The air in the room suddenly felt a bit thicker as his words echoed around your brain, "They're sending you on a solo mission for a special grade?"

"Mhm!" He leaned in, "This curse is super weird. It's like a perception filter curse or something. It creates this whole area where it can sniff out cursed energy. And since anyone with large amounts, like Gojo, or maybe even you, would set off its alarms from like, miles away, they'd be eaten before they even got close to the barrier."

You were already shaking your head, an unwelcome knot of anxiety tightening in your gut, "So they're sending you alone because you're the most expandable. Got it."

"What? No! Not at all," He looked genuinely horrified by the suggestion, "I'm basically the only one who can do it because of my cursed energy being all jumbled up with Sukuna's. They seem to cancel eachother out or something, so I'm the only one on demand that actually can do the mission."

A short, sharp laugh escaped you, "So? It's a special grade curse, can't they wait for a couple more hours until a high-ranking sorcerer or two are available?"

He deflated a little, his shoulders slumping, "Well...yeah. But I should be fine! I've totally handled worse."

"Why can't an adult just do it?" The question came out clipped and way more emotional than you had wanted it to.

Yuji blinked, his brain clearly buffering, "Er...I dunno. But it's fine! I'm a sorcerer, I'm made for this."

"But why is it always you?" You insist, "Why do they keep sending you into these, these dumb life-or-death situations like you're just disposable?"

"I...dunno?" He managed, looking utterly lost, "It's just how the missions are assigned? Gojo gets the letter and then he grabs whoever he's been told to send?"

You force a smile, waving a hand dismissively, "Wow, okay! No sense of urgency, huh? Just another Thursday for Yuji, strolling into another possible death trap just to exorcise some curses. Gotta catch 'em all, I guess."

Yuji wasnt laughing at your dumb reference, he wasn't even smiling like he usually does when he's with you. He was just staring at you, his usual expression completely swiped by something quiet and unnervingly perceptive. He saw right through your attempt at sarcasm, and all he could focus on was the way your hands were trembling in your lap.

And in that moment, watching you try to hide the fact you're absolutely terrified for him, his dream from the night before came flooding back to him.

In his head, you were two separate entities. Gojo had explained further in-depth how miraculously the higher-ups had managed to recover some of Sukuna's wife's DNA in one of the (apparently) many shrines he had devoted for her.

For whatever reason, Sukuna had around a handful of her (your?) hair in a satchel underneath a intricately detailed painting, surrounded by other 'offerings' such as jewellery and shells. By using that they managed to accidently uncover a child who had both her historically recorded cursed technique, as well as (from the resources available) an exact DNA match. It's weird how that kinda thing works.

It is confusing, though. They only wanted you in case Sukuna ever finally reanimated and you would be viable for calming him. And Gojo explained how all the higher-ups did was offer your parents some money and a few threats and they caved. What sort of parent just does that? And why do you have no questions about it? We're you too young to even remember your parents? He needs to do some more scavenging on that.

Another thing he's confused about is why you can't know anything about it. He gets that there may be a chance of you suddenly regaining a bunch of memories and stuff, but Gojo said you weren't even from the same family tree as her. It's just pure coincidence, so surely there would be no chance of uncovering any sort of memories. He hates hates hates lying to one of his best friends, especially about something like that.

But, y'know, it's quite confusing so he just tries to push it to the back of his mind.

He's also confused why you were put under Gojo's care of all people and what kind of excuse you got told for having no childhood memories–

Again, he tries to leave it alone. So confusing.

"Hey," Yuji muttered, voice softer now as he shifted closer so you were shoulder to shoulder, one hand on your thigh, "I'll be alright. I'm not going to let anything happen, I promise."

He gave your thigh a little squeeze, his eyes fixed on yours with a certain intensity you hadn't received from him before, "I'll come back."

You huff, resting your head on his shoulder, "You better."

The ground was cold and damp as you sprawled out artfully admist the wreckage of some forgotten skirmish, one leg bent at an angle as the other was stretched out. Your hand was pressed firmly to your side, right over the oh-so life-ending wound that was, in reality, just some pig's blood Uraume had retrieved earlier.

Your breaths were coming in these pathetic, hitching little sobs. And then, like an answer to your (entirely fabricated) prayers, you finally heard it—the crunch of boots on gravel. The measured, confident steps of someone who knew that they were strong.

A shadow fell over you, and you risked a peak through your tear-clogged lashes. He was tall, his dark robes immaculately clean despite the surrounding filth, and his sharp face seemed to soften as he caught sight of you.

"You're injured," He stated, his voice smooth, "Let me help you."

You let out a truly amazing pained moan, letting your head lul to the side, "Please," You rasped, channeling every dramatic damsel you remember from different theatre performances, "The man– it was like he had some sort of abilities. He didn't even touch me and yet– ow."

He crouched down, and you could feel the faint, sterile warmth of his Reversed Cursed Technique beginning to emanate from his hands, "You're not a Sorcerer? What are you doing here?" He asked, his tone a little softer, "Oh, ignore me. That must make no sense to you. I am nothing else but...a magician, you could say. The good kind who helps people."

As his glowing fingers descended upon your faux wound, you felt a giddy, triumphant surge bubble up in your chest.

"Oh, may Okuninushi bless you. What a kind soul," You sighed. Even though his healing wasn't, well, healing, it still always feels nice to have Reverse Cursed Technique surged through your body. It's like a massage of sorts.

The sorcerer's brain seemed to short-circuit as he recognised the complete lack of wound underneath all of the blood. His healing technique immediately flickered and died as he stumbled back an inch.

"What is–"

He didn't get to finish his sentence before a sickening schlik sound, like a knife through warm butter, was followed by a series of wet, heavy thuds.

The sorcerer's body, which had been wholly intact just a second ago, was now a collection of neatly separated rectangles falling to the mud around you like some grotesque, abstract art piece. Some of the blood sprayed from his body and decorated your face with warm, festive freckles.

You sat up, completely unbothered, and daintly wiped a droplet of blood from your cheek with your thumb, "Ta-da!" You chirped as you spun towards a nearby tree.

Sukuna suddenly jumped down, striding over to you with a wide grin—most probably on both lips—and instead of going to the meat, he grabbed you by the front of your kimono, hauling you to your feet and crashing his lips against yours.

"You," He gasped as you parted, "Are a beautiful little minx."

You preened under the praise, leaning up against his chest, "I told you the damsel-in-distress bit would work to lower the guard of the high and mighty types. They just can't resist a chance to play the hero."

Sukuna chuckled as he turned his gaze to the neatly butchered remains, "You did very well, my conniving little lady. Very well."

He scooped up a particularly prime-looking cut of the sorcerer's bicep and held it out to you like a child offering his crush a flower, "Do you want the first bite?"

You'd somehow managed to drag Yuji away from his usual (forced) routine of nearly dying, training, and then nearly dying again, and had also managed to convince Yaga to give everyone the Saturday off from training to do whatever you wanted—to which you and Yuji chose to explore an area of Tokyo neither of you had ever been to before.

"I still can't believe they sent you alone against that special grade," You continued to grumble, dodging a woman with approximately fifty shopping bags, "It's like the higher-ups have a death wish for you or something. Do they just draw straws to see who gets to choose your next near-death situation?"

Yuji just shrugged all casual-like with his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he attempted to appear nonchalant, "Worked out fine though, didn't it? I'm still here in one piece," He shot you that stupidly adorable grin, "Plus, I got to see you worry about me."

You rolled your eyes, "Don't you go getting cocky. I was genuinely terrified."

As you continued walking through the labyrinth of shops and cafes, Yuji's brain was focused on something else entirely.

He'd finally thought he'd escaped the dream cycle when Thursday night was completely normal. There was absolutely zero Sukuna-related tomfoolery. Not one cameo as he dreamed about pink fluffy unicorns (or something like that, he can't really remember what his dream was that night).

But then last night—bam. Back in Sukuna's memories again, front row seats to the graphic horror show that was his life.

The way you had managed to fool that guy with a whole damsel-in-distress act for Sukuna to finish up the job, though? He's not gonna lie...it was kind of cool. As much as he hates to admit it given what happened to that guy.

At least this version of you isn't crazy.

Like right now, you were just doing a little happy dance about finding a donut stand with your favourite flavour.

Yeah, you were totally sane. You're literally the last person he expects to go crazy. He bets that if anyone from your school were to go psycho, Fushiguro would be the first to go coo-coo.

You suddenly stopped in front of a small museum, finally catching his attention, "Ooh, lets go in! I saw a video about this place, its got artifacts from each period of Japan."

As you approached, the blondie at the entrance, who looked totally bored, held up a hand, "Sorry, we've closed early today. Private event and all that jazz."

Your face fell so dramatically it made Yuji want to cry, "But its only two. That sign says you shut at five."

"Rules are rules," The guard sighed with a shrug, "Don't wanna get fired."

You stepped closer to the guard, your face extra pouty and teary as you looked up at him, "I get it and all...but its my nan's birthday today, and a few years ago she had to sell her mother's necklace to this museum to pay for surgery since it's an expensive family heirloom that goes waaaaaaay back. It would mean the world to all of my family if I could get one last photo of it all dazzled up. She's...not doing well, y'know? This might be her last birthday and I'd love to do this for her."

The guard's stern expression softened immediately, his own eyes swelling with tears as you told your tragic story, "Well...I suppose going in for ten minutes wouldn't hurt no one. If anyone asks who let you slip through, tell them the guards name tag said Sasuke, okay?"

As you flashed him a grateful smile that could have melted Antartica and tugged Yuji inside, he couldn't help but realise that maybe you were more similar to the other you than he thought.

Should he be impressed? A bit freaked out? Since when we're you so good at tricking people like that? Is it a genetic thing or what?

"That story was like, fake, right?" Yuji whispered as you wandered through exhibits.

You laughed, not an ounce of guilt on your face, "As far as I'm aware. But sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do—like in Descendants. I just reaaallly wanted to come in here."

Yuji shook his head despite smiling like an idiot, "I'm sure you could convince Gojo to give up his sweets in a second. Which you totally should do, by the way."

"Ooh," You nodded in agreement as you examined an ancient sword display from different eras throughout Japan.

But Yuji couldn't focus. He found his thoughts spiralling again as the two of you continued to walk around the mainly empty building.

He can't really remember much of his parents asides from a few things here and there. His mum was beautiful, he knew that much. And his grandpa always told him he was almost a perfect mix between his parents. Although his hair was primarily pink, his roots were somehow always black (how that works he has no idea). Plus he's got the perfect ratio of both of their features as far as he can tell from that one photo he has of the two of them on their wedding day—his mother's eyes, his father's nose and a mix of their lips.

But that isn't why hes so focused on what his parents look like right now. It's because Sukuna looks suspiciously identical to his dad. Like, almost uncanny. If you slapped some glasses on him and trimmed his hair, he's just a buff and deformed version of his dad. Although half of his face is a bit hidden by...whatever it is on his face, he can still tell by the semi-normal part.

"Hello?" You waved a hand in front of his face as you finally managed to pull him from his thoughts, "What's up? You've been quiet for five whole minutes. That's probably a new record for you."

"Just thinking," He shrugged, attempting to sound casual, "About...stuff."

"Wow, deep thoughts for a Saturday afternoon," You teased, poking him in the side, "Wanna share with the class?"

Yuji hesitated, his brain doing backflips as he thought about how to explain the dreams in a safe, non-exposing way without sounding like he'd completely lost it and potentially spilling the secrets about you...to you. Such a weird mentality he's been forced to adapt.

"Just wondering about the past since we're here, y'know? How things were back then."

Smooth. Indescribably smooth.

You seemed to accept this explanation, turning back to a new display he hadn't even realised the two of you had walked over to with renewed interest.

"It is cool to think people used all of this stuff before eventually losing it. Like, some little girl was probably using this comb in her home—and maybe her home is even where our coffee shop is."

Yuji nodded, but his mind, yet again, was miles away. If only you knew, he thought as he watched you admire the ancient artifacts.

"You wanna get ice cream after this?" You asked, suddenly turning to him with that bright smile that made him forget his own name sometimes, "Gojo's treat."

Yuji grinned, the dreams momentarily switched to ones of ice cream and cones, "You better not judge me if I pick anything too weird for your tastes."

"Deal," You agreed, linking your arm through his, "But if you get dubai chocolate ice cream, we're officially breaking up."

"We're not even together!" He laughed.

Awh man, you're not even together. Hopefully that'll change soon once he gains the balls and finally asks you out. Preferably before the next special grade curse attempts to eat him. So the more he thinks about it, he realises he doesn't actually have as much time as he'd like to to prepare.

@zlinguss (ik it was forever ago but u asked to me tagged if i wrote more, soz if you didn't want to be)

A/N: it's finally here oh rejoice i am free flies away

Criminal!Sukuna who’s scary as fuck. He’s so jacked it borders on obscene – muscles stacked on muscles and veins crawling beneath tattooed skin, shoulders stretching at the seams of his uniform. He’s got this sorta unperturbed vibe. Real musky and muscular, stalking around like he’ll beat up the first guy that looks at him wrong.

Criminal!Sukuna who got locked up for some undisclosed highly illegal bullshit nobody ever gets a straight answer about. Speculations are thrown around the prison yard – drug dealing. Drug trafficking. Body-part-trafficking. Cannibalism (yay!).

He doesn’t bother to correct anything. Just sits in the corner with an arm slung over one knee, brooding, grumbling “King of Curses, they used to call me..” beneath his breath. The nutjob.

Criminal!Sukuna who has the whole wing convinced there’s no way in hell he’s got a girl on the outside. Surely not. He’s so immature and ill-natured – even more so than his cellmate, Gojo. Which is saying something.

To the little lady who might end up having to deal with this brutish man, well.. Gojo extends his sincerest condolences. He’s fairly certain any sane person would run for the hills.

You are not sane. He supposes this is why you and Sukuna get along.

The girl had heard many stories about her friend’s parents.

“You don’t understand,” she had said more than a million times, “my parents are, like, disgustingly in love. It’s embarrassing.”

She had expected something cringey. Kisses in the kitchen. Maybe matching mugs. Some middle-aged couple nonsense. Something wholesome, like in one of those old movies.

She hadn’t expected… this.

She stood awkwardly near the front door, her hands gripping the straps of her backpack. She felt slightly suffocated, as if the walls had eyes and all of them were staring at her.

A deep voice echoed through the house and she swallowed hard, glancing toward the kitchen, where her friend was calmly chewing her toast as if it were just another normal day.

“Are you blind?” Ryomen cleared his throat, one hand on his hip and the other lifting a small yogurt bottle to his mouth, his eyes fixed on his wife. “That’s not how you cut them.”

PT. 1 https://www.tumblr.com/whimsisoul4/810942176175554560/hollow-nights-haunted-days

Maekar Targaryen x Arranged Wife

WC: 2.1k

CW: Arranged marriage, but they've worked through it and are renewing their vows. Maekar is a yearner, fem reader, fluff, and smut at the end. It's a bit nauseating how much they love each other (oops). Swearing, NSFW, oral (reader receiving duh) p in v, blindfolds, binding, dirty talk, mentioned Pregnancy, maybe a breeding kink if you squint? I'm sorry if I missed any! 

A/N: This takes place 6 months after the first part!

Your hands weren't as steady as you once remembered, trembling slightly with each twist of your palm on the bouquet of forget-me-nots you held. The embroidered white dress sways around your ankles, caught by the passing breeze. You glance at the small gathering assembled to witness your renewal of vows, reaffirming the promises Maekar swore to uphold.

 Speaking of your husband, he appeared stunning beside the modest Septon; his beard was shorter than last month, after you complained about it resembling a brute's. His bright eyes trace your curves, and he exhales deeply. You grin, feeling giddy at the sight of his formal attire, and it sends a warmth through you at how seriously he took this. 

A caress of forgiveness and worship seemed to wrap around your marriage and squeeze. You smile gently and step in front of him; his hand naturally cups your flushed cheek as he kisses the tip of your nose. "You look ethereal, my wife," he murmurs, and a hush falls over your small gathering of people; they have never heard Maekar be so kind. "As do you. I love this shade on you." Your fingers trace along the midnight-blue fabric of the cloak, rubbing it between your thumb and pointer. 

The Septon cleared his throat, "Shall we start?" Maekar glares but nods anyway, "Aye, let us begin." The septon ties a silk ribbon around your wrists, binding Maekar to you. You feel a rush of excitement; your wedding was not an easy journey, and the sight of your wrists bound together serves as a reminder that, despite everything, love is possible.

"Today, we gather to celebrate the marriage between the Prince and his lady. Would you like to share a few words?" 

Maekar gently took your hands, "My dear, I know the past years have been difficult on our bond, as my foolishness nearly caused you to drift away into the unknown. Over the last six months, I have tried my best to make amends for the heartbreak I caused. If only I hadn't wasted my time brooding, I would've realized the gift in front of me.

I look forward to many loving nights and warm days in your light, basking in what only you can give." 

He then pressed a gentle kiss to your knuckles. "You have proven yourself, my love. Please don't be so hard on yourself anymore." You asked him to stop, and he nodded, but deep down, you know he will always regret his past mistakes. "And, My lady, would you like to say anything?" You nod and clear your throat.

 "Maekar, I'm starting to see that the world isn't simply black and white; love is never straightforward—it's intense and consuming. As a girl, I never imagined ending up in the arms of the man of my dreams, for the idea of marriage made me revolt. You haunt my story and rewrite our history; there isn't a version where I am not with you. I hope that when we are no longer on this earth, we remain bound not only by love but also by our intertwined souls. I do not hold a grudge for what was out of my control; let our communion have a new comfort." 

Your words made Maekar melt; he pressed his forehead to yours and kissed your cheeks in quick pecks, saying, "You vex me, my wife, making me emotional in front of my brother." You giggle and glance at Baelor, who appears misty-eyed as well. The Septon claps his hands together. 

"Shall we say the final vow?" You and Maekar draw impossibly closer. "I am hers, and she is mine," your husband softly affirms. You respond with pride, "I am his, and he is mine." "In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity," declares the Septon with finality, prompting your lungs to expand with a quick breath. 

Maekar then captures your parted lips in a demanding kiss; you gasp against his mouth, which only urges him further. His orbit is something you always seem to drift toward. Even if you had once roamed the grounds like a ghost, you knew it would always lead you back there. 

"With this kiss I pledge my love," "Let perhaps you should prove it better," You tease, and he smirks, "Later, my wife, I shall show you everything you desire."

. ⁺ ✦ *

Maekar stands at the end of the bed, watching the firelight dance over your form as you lie sprawled on the furs, waiting for his next movement. Your wrists are bound to the headboard with the same silk ribbon that earlier tied your vows, and your sheer nightgown reveals your skin, inviting exploration and promising a long night of fucking.

 Maekar loved you, that much was honest, but he wanted to fuck you like he didn't. 

Your eyes are covered with a silk scarf, blocking out all sight. You squirm, and he chuckles softly, the sound vibrating to your core. "You seem anxious, my love," he says. Your chest rises and falls as he watches keenly while slowly removing his clothes. You hear his cloak hit the floor with a whoosh. You've been needy all night, waiting for what would happen the moment you were alone.

You enjoyed the festivities of the celebration and danced your heart out, but you clung to him with every conversation, sat on his lap during the meal, grinding gently against his cock in teasing sways of your hips. He undoes his breeches next, "Please talk, I am nearly dying with anticipation, my love!" You plead, and he hums. You tug on the restraints, and he clucks his tongue.  

"Be a good wife, rewards come with patience, something you never quite have." His voice calms you, the softness of the furs tickles your thighs, and you feel your nipples pebble against the roughness of your night gown. It's embarrassing how easily he turns you on. You ached for his thick cock to drive inside you and give you that numbing pleasure only he could wield.

Although Maekar was a giver, he would inflict pleasure until he appeared to reach his limits; his calloused hand travels up your thigh, and you sigh softly, letting your legs fall open, wiggling closer, hoping to feel the brush of his fingertips against your wet core. "You looked good enough to eat in your white gown earlier, and your scent was just as tempting. You smelled like a freshly baked creampuff." You can't help but laugh at his silliness. He slots himself between your thighs and slides your dress up your hips till you're bare for him. 

"Maekar, you comparing me to baked goods isn't a compliment most wives would want." His warm breath fans across your folds, and he scoffs, and you whimper as his thumbs spread you open. "Look at my poor pussy, so wet and needy for me, perhaps your husband should take a bite, so pink like a strawberry, I wonder if she tastes just as sweet." You wish you could see him between your thighs, feasting on your cunt with that delirious expression he wore anytime he licked you.

His tongue flattens along your damp folds, and he licks a long stripe up to your pulsing clit, which he wraps his plump lips around and gives a long suckle. You moan loudly, and he hums in appreciation. The vibration against your pussy makes your thighs tremble. You tug at the binds, and he nips at your inner thigh. "Tell me how you want me to eat my dessert with words only, my wife," Maekar demands, and you can feel your cheeks flush with embarrassment; gone is your sweet husband, and now a man fueled by lust takes over. 

"I-I want you to slide your tongue into my cunt," you stammer, you knew he wouldn't like beating around the bush, "As you wish," He grabs your hips and tips your pelvis up so your cunt was directly in line to his sinful mouth, he drives his tongue into your hole slurping and flicking, "Please my love!" You whimper, not knowing what you're begging for, "What else do you need?" He says between thrusts of his tongue, "M-My clit needs you." His thumbs circle the tight bud with firm strokes, your thighs tremble, and you grind your hips against his mouth.

"It's too much!" You blubber, he presses harder against your clit and drives his tongue deeper between your folds, "Let me taste your release, you wouldn't wish to deny me my sweets, would you?" You shake your head frantically, the building of your release tingles at the base of your spine and travels up to your throbbing cunt, and the sensations of being bound and blinded are enough to send you over. You open your mouth, and a silent scream comes out. 

Your hips tremble with movement, while the friction of the binds on your wrists causes a faint burning, and your thighs ache. Your pelvis gently settles back onto the bed as Maekar kisses your pussy with delicacy, murmuring soft praises, "Such a pretty girl, giving me just what I needed." His lips move upward, with his tongue flicking out to circle your belly button as his lips glide over your skin in whispers of love.

His hands slide the blind fold off your eyes. You squit ajusting to the light of the candals and fire, his mouth still wet with your arousual, you kiss him slolwy savoring the taste of yourself on his tongue, he groans and undoes the silk around your wrists pulling away to kiss the fragile skin, "You are everything I ever dreamt about," He says softly, "Show me as you promised," You pull him betwwen you legs and his hard cock rubs against your still sensetive pussy. 

He kisses your neck and slides your night gown off, your breasts press to his chest, and he brings his mouth to the taut nipple, suckling softly. You whine and throw a leg over his waist, the leaking tip of his cock sliding into your entrance. You guide his shaft, sinking your hips, and he moans around your nipple. 

"Fuck your wife, Maekar." You wrap your arms around his neck, and his hips snap forward. You gasp at the sheer size of him, thick and hard, lined with pulsing veins that rock against your soft insides. You could almost feel him in your stomach, "Taking my cock so well, you were made for it, were you, my dear?" You nod and arch, trying to get him as deep as you can. 

You look down to were you bodies were joined, your nipples scraping aginst his chest with each thrust, the softness of his chest hair tickling your overstimulated heated skin, "I love you," You say between pants and he drivers deeper, his hand coming down to rub you clit in slow movements, "As I do you, you wicked women," He hisses, you could tell he was close having already been near release from eating your cunt. 

You cup his face, his dark eyes leering into yours, they seemed to sparkle with desire and love, "I-I'm going to cum!" Your lips part, and he takes advantage,d sliding his tongue into your warmth, his cock hits that spot inside you that made you tremble and twitch.

"Yes! Oh, please, Maekar, give me more," He quickly complies, and his fingers rub faster on your clit. You gasp, and your eyes roll back, his balls draw up tight as he feels you clamp on his cock, your release dripping down and soaking the bed, he moans and grips the headboard carefully not to fall onto you as he spills inside your womb. 

He kisses you gently and slowly pulls away. You look down and notice his seed dripping, then chuckle softly and sleepily. Your body is sweaty and satisfied after multiple orgasms. "Let me clean you, and then we can rest," He goes to get off the bed, and you tut, pulling him on top of you, his weight crushing you, "Leave it, perhaps in due time we will have a babe who looks like you." Maekar caresses your sweaty forehead, "I only wish for a daughter who resembles you, in not only looks but heart." 

Nine months later, you gave birth to your daughter, Vaella, who resembled a Targaryen with the white hair spun of silk and piercing indigo eyes. The babe shared her father's gentle way of loving. Although Maekar insists the next child will look like you, secretly, you pray to the Seven that they all resemble him, for that is where your love truly manifests. 

. ⁺ ✦ *

A/N: okay soooo i’m realizing Maekar is my favorite 😭 i also hope the link thing works bc i legit have no idea what im doing, i hope you like this smutty part two. lowkey feel like i could write a lot more with this but i want to write a Valarr fan fic next lmk if ur into that 😝.

PT. 2 https://www.tumblr.com/whimsisoul4/810993547347148800/loving-nights-warm-days-pt-2

Maekar Targaryen x Arranged wife

WC: 2.3k

CW: Arranged Marriage, angst, swearing, Maekar "My wife" Targaryen, Maekar is a piece of shit in the beginning, nudity, kissing, redemption, age gap, fem reader, no true descriptions of appearance or where the reader is from, hinted sexual desire, yearning, fluff with a HEA, Aerion is a TW.

Marrying for alliance had been expected of you since girlhood. There was no point in whining about a fate beyond your control, as only the gods could oppose it in disgust. The gods were neither kind nor eager to fulfill your childish dreams of a life free from the burdens of a husband. 

What you didn't pray for was the disdain of a man who did not want you. The ghosts lingering in the halls were like a smoky blemish impossible to remove; their presence burned into the hearth that once provided warm nights. 

You were an intruder on these memories, tempting the very past Maekar swore never to revisit, the one that belonged only to his late wife. The comfort threatened to tantalize what he had once lost. In these moments, his habits manifested as sharp words and careless avoidance. To him, you were a means to an end, an allicane with a fellow house, you were a wife in name only, but not in any way that mattered. 

You would never carry his babe, nor feel the harsh touch of his twisted love, which seemed almost grotesque on parchment, the forgotten diary entries you were shamed by, for his longings seemed to end when you were involved. You tried to be a good wife, a good woman to him, yet nothing you did was satisfying to him; it went ignored and tarnished, just as your reputation did. 

Whispered doubts spread rapidly in the early days of your marriage. Having a wife many years younger was not something to boast about. While you were well-bred and your modest education had made you quick-witted and clever, the irritation never went away for Maekar, somedays you had wished for an argument to hear him speak to you. 

Those days gradually passed, and you cared less about what your husband thought, realizing that the freedom you longed for was within reach. You only had to play your pieces in the right placements on the chessboard. It started slowly, the grapple on your impending adventure. 

You had snuck out many times without remedy; the guards rarely seemed to remember Maekar had a wife at all. Your maids didn't check in on you because you insisted on doing your own routines. Your husband didn't trust you with any family duties, so you were slowly whisked away. 

You wandered for hours to the place where the fairies concealed themselves in the deepest valleys of the forest, basking in the forgetfulness you possessed. Finding comfort in silence was effortless, as it was easier to control while you let go of lingering expectations that once felt like chains around your throat.

In these mossy, damp, and lush creature-filled woods, you were not a Targaryen by name, and you held that in low regard when it did not matter. Here, you could find peace. Had it always been so easy? Some days, you wished to roam until the exit on the horizon seemed like a distant, fickle memory; you sighed softly and sank back into the leaves, taking lungfuls of the air.

The bugs flutter among the conversations, the birds chirp melodiously, and even the deer, which seemed skittish weeks ago, are now accustomed to your presence. "Perhaps I am where I belong, not in a stuffy castle." 

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ *

Maekar was in a foul mood, obvious from the storm cloud hanging over his head. He sat at the table shoveling in his dinner with little conversation.

His brother sat across from him with a crease between his dark eyebrows. Everything about Baelor seemed to embody lightness, something Maekar easily envied. 

They had both experienced loss, joy, and once love, but Maekar was the only one who seemed affected, which threw him off his usual composure.

Baelor would make a kind king; that was something Maekar was sure of. Aerion sits to his left, grumbling about a known knight and dishonor to the dragons. Maekar takes a deep sigh and holds his palm out. 

"Wife, pass me the wine," he said, his hand lingering in the air. His wife, reminding him of a small, innocent mouse, which often made him feel cocktail of wanting to protect her and, unexpectedly, to squash her. "Wife. Wine," he repeated without raising his gaze. 

Baelor clears his throat, catching his brother's attention. His face reflects keen curiosity at Maekar's boldness. "Maekar, your wife isn't here tonight," Baelor says calmly. Maekar glances down the table, where Aerion, Valarr, Baelor, and Aegon are seated enjoying dinner. The usually well-set seat for his wife appears empty and almost dusty. 

"Well, where is the girl then?" His bad mood worsening, Baelor frowns, his mismatched eyes sharpening with disappointment, "She hasn't joined us for meals in nearly a moon; she has been requesting meals in her chambers." Nearly a full moon cycle has passed, and his mouse of a wife had not joined them, not joined him? 

He leans back and slowly lowers his hand. Aerion snickers quietly beside him. "You haven't heard Father?" Maekar's eyes narrowly turn to his son’s arrogant tone, Aerion’s lips form a cunning smirk. "They say dear Mother has been seen wandering the forest; rumors claim she is a witch lurking in men to feast on." His foolish son chuckles and pops a grape into his mouth. Maekar sneers. "Keep those nasty rumors out of the dining room, you little brat." 

Maekar rises and adjusts his cloak, but the clasp around his neck loosens, causing him to curse softly. His wife had been sneaking around in the woods doing who knows what, unnoticed by everyone. 

When was the last time he had even seen the girl? Or shared a conversation that didn't start with a frown and end with a grunt? Maekar glances toward the window and notices how the sun has set to rest, while the stars have risen to lead the way. 

"Please finish supper without me," Maekar quickly rushes out of the dining hall. Baelor lets out a pleased hum; Maekar's velvet cloak slams in the door, the fabric catching on the splintered wood and falling off his broad shoulders, leaving a lingering breeze of finality.

Baelor sips his wine, contemplating whether to sympathize with his younger brother or feel irritable at his recent choices regarding treatment to his young wife.

A second chance at love is rarely granted by the gods, and so far, it has been taken for granted. The choice of forgiveness doesn’t come easy in the grace or marriage, and Baelor learned that the hard way.

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ *

Maekar rushes into the forest clearing, where owls hoot at his arrival, and the damp night air touches his heated cheeks. "Wife!" he calls out urgently and anxiously. "Where are you, girl?" he asks the shadows.

On the day of the wedding, Maekar felt as if the gods had cursed him. He believed he didn't deserve to find someone again, to mate and breed with love seemed unlikely given his bloodline. Yet, he had once experienced it, and he thought that should have been enough for him. Maekar was selfish, and once again, his selfishness had spoiled the chance for a new beginning. 

You were not just a mouse; you were the fiery passion burning deep within him, the flame that lit the torch and opened all the paths that seemed blocked and forgotten in the wreckage. You were the fervor lost amid years of fury and heartbreak. Maekar knew he didn't deserve you, but he yearned to embrace your salvation. 

Maekar rushes through the trees, ducking as a branch blocks his path. He shouts your name into the echoes, worried for your safety, saying, "Please come home!" Just as his heart feels like breaking, he pushes aside a fallen branch and spots you in the middle of the lake. Your body is illuminated by the moonlight, with your wet, flowing hair swirling around you. 

The same curves he punished himself with are now completely on display. You looked like a goddess of fertility. You turn, and he bites the inside of his cheek hard. Your breasts, supple and tipped with hard jewels, he knew tasted like the sweetest dish. 

His mouth watered at the sight, and his gaze moved down to the gentle flesh of your belly, the flare of your hips that he longed to sink his fingertips into, the soft patch of hair on your cunt, which was neatly trimmed but just enough to remind him of how womanly you were, and your own fingers graze the tops of your thighs. He trips, and your eyes snap to his frantic movement. 

"Your grace?" You look at his disheveled state and frown, quickly covering your breasts and pussy, Maekar appears to regain his composure, clears his throat, and you realize you've never seen your husband so pitiful. "You haven't joined dinner for nearly a full cycle, and now I find you bathing in the frigid lake." His tone is sharp. "I didn't think it would be so worrisome." You quickly respond.

He can't help but scoff. No wonder there were rumors of your being a blasted witch. No sane woman would lose herself in the forest and camp out in a cold lake. 

Even if you were a witch, you seemed to have Maekar under a spell, and he wasn't sure if he wanted a remedy. 

"Get your clothes, we are going back to the castle," his demand was clear, yet you did not move. His lip curls, and you sigh. His need for power was exhausting, and frankly, you did not look forward to the lecture that was coming.

"Now! You may think you are the only one in trouble, but everyone will be greatly punished! You move out of the water in slow steps, careful not to trip on sharp rocks, and grab your dress. You quickly pull it back on, covering your nude.

"What do you mean by ' punished? No one has done any harm," You mutter, as Maekar steps forward. He grabs your chin, drawing your attention back to him. It was a constant when he was near, drifting into the orbit where he thrived. "Any harm? You've been sneaking around for heaven knows how long. The guards aren't watching my wife properly, and your maids are doing absolutely nothing to keep you satisfied!" 

"Maekar, they know I am not a top priority." You reach for your shawl, pulling away from his touch. His jaw clenches, and you see the changing emotions on his face: guilt, anger, and sadness wrapped in the creases of his skin. 

"You are my wife, you should always be a priority to them, you are their lady!" "And for you? Am I a priority? Or am I just another ghost who haunts your?" "You are everything I burn for." His words come out airy and light, as if they don't nearly knock you over. 

"Do not say things in guilt, Maekar; it is shameful to deliver such lies with beauty." A low breeze filters through the forest, and you fight a shiver. Maekar takes a breath with the wind fleeting and forgetting, "I have been lying to myself for nearly our whole marriage, my wife. I had not realized it had nearly whisked you away."

Your eyebrows furrow, his hand tangled into your damp hair, and he slides his fingers through the silky locks, "I am a foolish, undeserving man. The thought of you finding comfort in these lonely woods, then in the heart of our home, makes me sick with torment and disgust." 

"I wanted comfort in you, Maekar. I wanted my life with you to go against all the things I had been told as a little girl," He steps closer and brings the lock of hair up to his nose, inhaling softly with a reverent hum, "I told myself to stay away, that I did not need a second chance at love. Still, you are more than what I could've bargained for. If you would let me, I would not take the chance at redemption lightly." 

You can't help but hesitate at the idea, wondering, "Do you really mean what you say? This seems like more conversation than we've had in years." He nods slowly, dryly sliding his hand to cup your neck. Then, he gradually drops to his knees and presses his face against your stomach, gripping your hips tightly. Your eyes widen in surprise. "Maekar," you stammer, but he presses closer, holding you with desperation. 

"Let me repair what I have damaged, heal your heartbreak with caressing words, and show with my actions how serious I am when my voice falls short. No wife of mine should ever feel less than a queen, and I refuse to spend our marriage in sorrow or regret for my cowardice. You deserve more, my wife." You sniffle at his honesty.

"Allow me to show you the man I can become, for your touch I have hungered for, the soft spoken conversations I have yet to be graced with. I wish to know your interests, what makes you smile, and what songs make you dance. I will learn all of that."

 He tilts his head to look up at you, and you cup his cheek; the rough scruff of his beard makes your fingertips tingle. 

Your eyes water with joy, and you chuckle softly as you pull him closer, pressing your lips to his. His mouth quickly molds to yours, eager to savor your taste.

You whimper as he presses your body flush against his, whispering, "I shall do everything for you; you will never doubt my love again." You kiss him again to silence his rambling, saying, "Maekar, do not forget the kindness I am giving you." "Never, my wife." 

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ *

A/N: i feel like a writing bug bit me lol, if only i had the motivation to write an original story that isn’t fanfic 😭. sorry is this is all over the place i didn’t proof read and i was too excited thinking about daddy Maekar, i think im gonna write a pt2 with more yearning of them renewing vows and smut 😝😝😝. 

Maekar Targaryen x Arranged wife

WC: 2.3k

CW: Arranged Marriage, angst, swearing, Maekar "My wife" Targaryen, Maekar is a piece of shit in the beginning, nudity, kissing, redemption, age gap, fem reader, no true descriptions of appearance or where the reader is from, hinted sexual desire, yearning, fluff with a HEA, Aerion is a TW.

Marrying for alliance had been expected of you since girlhood. There was no point in whining about a fate beyond your control, as only the gods could oppose it in disgust. The gods were neither kind nor eager to fulfill your childish dreams of a life free from the burdens of a husband. 

What you didn't pray for was the disdain of a man who did not want you. The ghosts lingering in the halls were like a smoky blemish impossible to remove; their presence burned into the hearth that once provided warm nights. 

You were an intruder on these memories, tempting the very past Maekar swore never to revisit, the one that belonged only to his late wife. The comfort threatened to tantalize what he had once lost. In these moments, his habits manifested as sharp words and careless avoidance. To him, you were a means to an end, an allicane with a fellow house, you were a wife in name only, but not in any way that mattered. 

You would never carry his babe, nor feel the harsh touch of his twisted love, which seemed almost grotesque on parchment, the forgotten diary entries you were shamed by, for his longings seemed to end when you were involved. You tried to be a good wife, a good woman to him, yet nothing you did was satisfying to him; it went ignored and tarnished, just as your reputation did. 

Whispered doubts spread rapidly in the early days of your marriage. Having a wife many years younger was not something to boast about. While you were well-bred and your modest education had made you quick-witted and clever, the irritation never went away for Maekar, somedays you had wished for an argument to hear him speak to you. 

Those days gradually passed, and you cared less about what your husband thought, realizing that the freedom you longed for was within reach. You only had to play your pieces in the right placements on the chessboard. It started slowly, the grapple on your impending adventure. 

You had snuck out many times without remedy; the guards rarely seemed to remember Maekar had a wife at all. Your maids didn't check in on you because you insisted on doing your own routines. Your husband didn't trust you with any family duties, so you were slowly whisked away. 

You wandered for hours to the place where the fairies concealed themselves in the deepest valleys of the forest, basking in the forgetfulness you possessed. Finding comfort in silence was effortless, as it was easier to control while you let go of lingering expectations that once felt like chains around your throat.

In these mossy, damp, and lush creature-filled woods, you were not a Targaryen by name, and you held that in low regard when it did not matter. Here, you could find peace. Had it always been so easy? Some days, you wished to roam until the exit on the horizon seemed like a distant, fickle memory; you sighed softly and sank back into the leaves, taking lungfuls of the air.

The bugs flutter among the conversations, the birds chirp melodiously, and even the deer, which seemed skittish weeks ago, are now accustomed to your presence. "Perhaps I am where I belong, not in a stuffy castle." 

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ *

Maekar was in a foul mood, obvious from the storm cloud hanging over his head. He sat at the table shoveling in his dinner with little conversation.

His brother sat across from him with a crease between his dark eyebrows. Everything about Baelor seemed to embody lightness, something Maekar easily envied. 

They had both experienced loss, joy, and once love, but Maekar was the only one who seemed affected, which threw him off his usual composure.

Baelor would make a kind king; that was something Maekar was sure of. Aerion sits to his left, grumbling about a known knight and dishonor to the dragons. Maekar takes a deep sigh and holds his palm out. 

"Wife, pass me the wine," he said, his hand lingering in the air. His wife, reminding him of a small, innocent mouse, which often made him feel cocktail of wanting to protect her and, unexpectedly, to squash her. "Wife. Wine," he repeated without raising his gaze. 

Baelor clears his throat, catching his brother's attention. His face reflects keen curiosity at Maekar's boldness. "Maekar, your wife isn't here tonight," Baelor says calmly. Maekar glances down the table, where Aerion, Valarr, Baelor, and Aegon are seated enjoying dinner. The usually well-set seat for his wife appears empty and almost dusty. 

"Well, where is the girl then?" His bad mood worsening, Baelor frowns, his mismatched eyes sharpening with disappointment, "She hasn't joined us for meals in nearly a moon; she has been requesting meals in her chambers." Nearly a full moon cycle has passed, and his mouse of a wife had not joined them, not joined him? 

He leans back and slowly lowers his hand. Aerion snickers quietly beside him. "You haven't heard Father?" Maekar's eyes narrowly turn to his son’s arrogant tone, Aerion’s lips form a cunning smirk. "They say dear Mother has been seen wandering the forest; rumors claim she is a witch lurking in men to feast on." His foolish son chuckles and pops a grape into his mouth. Maekar sneers. "Keep those nasty rumors out of the dining room, you little brat." 

Maekar rises and adjusts his cloak, but the clasp around his neck loosens, causing him to curse softly. His wife had been sneaking around in the woods doing who knows what, unnoticed by everyone. 

When was the last time he had even seen the girl? Or shared a conversation that didn't start with a frown and end with a grunt? Maekar glances toward the window and notices how the sun has set to rest, while the stars have risen to lead the way. 

"Please finish supper without me," Maekar quickly rushes out of the dining hall. Baelor lets out a pleased hum; Maekar's velvet cloak slams in the door, the fabric catching on the splintered wood and falling off his broad shoulders, leaving a lingering breeze of finality.

Baelor sips his wine, contemplating whether to sympathize with his younger brother or feel irritable at his recent choices regarding treatment to his young wife.

A second chance at love is rarely granted by the gods, and so far, it has been taken for granted. The choice of forgiveness doesn’t come easy in the grace or marriage, and Baelor learned that the hard way.

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ *

Maekar rushes into the forest clearing, where owls hoot at his arrival, and the damp night air touches his heated cheeks. "Wife!" he calls out urgently and anxiously. "Where are you, girl?" he asks the shadows.

On the day of the wedding, Maekar felt as if the gods had cursed him. He believed he didn't deserve to find someone again, to mate and breed with love seemed unlikely given his bloodline. Yet, he had once experienced it, and he thought that should have been enough for him. Maekar was selfish, and once again, his selfishness had spoiled the chance for a new beginning. 

You were not just a mouse; you were the fiery passion burning deep within him, the flame that lit the torch and opened all the paths that seemed blocked and forgotten in the wreckage. You were the fervor lost amid years of fury and heartbreak. Maekar knew he didn't deserve you, but he yearned to embrace your salvation. 

Maekar rushes through the trees, ducking as a branch blocks his path. He shouts your name into the echoes, worried for your safety, saying, "Please come home!" Just as his heart feels like breaking, he pushes aside a fallen branch and spots you in the middle of the lake. Your body is illuminated by the moonlight, with your wet, flowing hair swirling around you. 

The same curves he punished himself with are now completely on display. You looked like a goddess of fertility. You turn, and he bites the inside of his cheek hard. Your breasts, supple and tipped with hard jewels, he knew tasted like the sweetest dish. 

His mouth watered at the sight, and his gaze moved down to the gentle flesh of your belly, the flare of your hips that he longed to sink his fingertips into, the soft patch of hair on your cunt, which was neatly trimmed but just enough to remind him of how womanly you were, and your own fingers graze the tops of your thighs. He trips, and your eyes snap to his frantic movement. 

"Your grace?" You look at his disheveled state and frown, quickly covering your breasts and pussy, Maekar appears to regain his composure, clears his throat, and you realize you've never seen your husband so pitiful. "You haven't joined dinner for nearly a full cycle, and now I find you bathing in the frigid lake." His tone is sharp. "I didn't think it would be so worrisome." You quickly respond.

He can't help but scoff. No wonder there were rumors of your being a blasted witch. No sane woman would lose herself in the forest and camp out in a cold lake. 

Even if you were a witch, you seemed to have Maekar under a spell, and he wasn't sure if he wanted a remedy. 

"Get your clothes, we are going back to the castle," his demand was clear, yet you did not move. His lip curls, and you sigh. His need for power was exhausting, and frankly, you did not look forward to the lecture that was coming.

"Now! You may think you are the only one in trouble, but everyone will be greatly punished! You move out of the water in slow steps, careful not to trip on sharp rocks, and grab your dress. You quickly pull it back on, covering your nude.

"What do you mean by ' punished? No one has done any harm," You mutter, as Maekar steps forward. He grabs your chin, drawing your attention back to him. It was a constant when he was near, drifting into the orbit where he thrived. "Any harm? You've been sneaking around for heaven knows how long. The guards aren't watching my wife properly, and your maids are doing absolutely nothing to keep you satisfied!" 

"Maekar, they know I am not a top priority." You reach for your shawl, pulling away from his touch. His jaw clenches, and you see the changing emotions on his face: guilt, anger, and sadness wrapped in the creases of his skin. 

"You are my wife, you should always be a priority to them, you are their lady!" "And for you? Am I a priority? Or am I just another ghost who haunts your?" "You are everything I burn for." His words come out airy and light, as if they don't nearly knock you over. 

"Do not say things in guilt, Maekar; it is shameful to deliver such lies with beauty." A low breeze filters through the forest, and you fight a shiver. Maekar takes a breath with the wind fleeting and forgetting, "I have been lying to myself for nearly our whole marriage, my wife. I had not realized it had nearly whisked you away."

Your eyebrows furrow, his hand tangled into your damp hair, and he slides his fingers through the silky locks, "I am a foolish, undeserving man. The thought of you finding comfort in these lonely woods, then in the heart of our home, makes me sick with torment and disgust." 

"I wanted comfort in you, Maekar. I wanted my life with you to go against all the things I had been told as a little girl," He steps closer and brings the lock of hair up to his nose, inhaling softly with a reverent hum, "I told myself to stay away, that I did not need a second chance at love. Still, you are more than what I could've bargained for. If you would let me, I would not take the chance at redemption lightly." 

You can't help but hesitate at the idea, wondering, "Do you really mean what you say? This seems like more conversation than we've had in years." He nods slowly, dryly sliding his hand to cup your neck. Then, he gradually drops to his knees and presses his face against your stomach, gripping your hips tightly. Your eyes widen in surprise. "Maekar," you stammer, but he presses closer, holding you with desperation. 

"Let me repair what I have damaged, heal your heartbreak with caressing words, and show with my actions how serious I am when my voice falls short. No wife of mine should ever feel less than a queen, and I refuse to spend our marriage in sorrow or regret for my cowardice. You deserve more, my wife." You sniffle at his honesty.

"Allow me to show you the man I can become, for your touch I have hungered for, the soft spoken conversations I have yet to be graced with. I wish to know your interests, what makes you smile, and what songs make you dance. I will learn all of that."

 He tilts his head to look up at you, and you cup his cheek; the rough scruff of his beard makes your fingertips tingle. 

Your eyes water with joy, and you chuckle softly as you pull him closer, pressing your lips to his. His mouth quickly molds to yours, eager to savor your taste.

You whimper as he presses your body flush against his, whispering, "I shall do everything for you; you will never doubt my love again." You kiss him again to silence his rambling, saying, "Maekar, do not forget the kindness I am giving you." "Never, my wife." 

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ *

you're perched on the edge of the bed, legs tucked under you. tense.

you don't know why you agreed to this in the first place, you knew you weren't prepared— and you knew what sukuna wanted when he told you to 'just come over.' but he'd meant right after class. tugging you by the hand, he had you stumbling behind him as he hauled you across campus, far from the safety of your lab, and straight to the unknown territory that was his frat house.

"why do you look like that?" sukuna's voice fills the room, snapping you out of your thoughts. he's standing right in front of you. you're not even sure when he'd gotten so close, drowning in your spiraling thoughts— and he's got a look on his face like he's trying to study you, but it's making his head hurt.

"like what?" you mumble out. his question, the way he'd phrased it, the constant air of indifference in his tone— it all did nothing to quell your rising insecurity.

"like you're about to shit your pants or something."

you sit up straighter, ears perking up and eyes widening. "there's a way to tell if that's going to happen?" you rush out, suddenly anxious for another reason. you'd never heard about that before.

"the fuck? no," he exhales, a hand pinching the bridge of his nose, "like you look like you don't want to be here."

"o-oh." you're thrown back in thought. mulling over his words and trying to figure out what to say— should you just tell him? would he be mad at you though? you worry your bottom lip between your teeth.

there's a pressure on your knees. sukuna's form leaning over you now, he once again tears you away from your ceaseless mind. his hands slide down your calves, unfurling them from their criss-crossed position, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. he stretches your legs by your ankles before smoothing back up, heavy hands parting your thighs along the way.

you can feel your heart-rate accelerating, a mix of desire and apprehension having you just that much more conflicted. he's the only guy you've hooked up with at this point, and you don't even know him that well, so you rely on your research to guide you through your little… experiments. but this time your studies were disheartening.

sukuna sinks to his knees as he tugs your hips to the edge of the bed, your knees now resting on his shoulders. would he be grossed out?

his fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts. oh god, what if it smells? some people had reported that in their experiences.

fingers dancing along your skin he moves to pull them down—

"w-wait!" you squeak, pedaling back away from him.

he sighs, exasperated. "what's goin' on?"

you're wringing your hands, fidgeting in a way that's making his eye twitch with each distracting movement. "it's just that… well, you see— after our last, uhm, experiment, i was thinking, y'know?" he hums, expression conveying that he knows, of course, you were thinking. "right, so when we'd talked about this, well, when i said that i want—"

"spit it out," he grunts, arms crossing in front of him, a brow raising impatiently.

"i read that guys don't like when girls have hair."

sukuna's head cocks to the side, lip curling and brows furrowing— he's not sure where the hell you might've heard something like that. and then his eyes narrow, red irises flicking across your face as his lips purse, because for once he's the one lost in thought.

"hmm," he hums again, scratching his chin, "i feel like most of my bros hook up with girls that have hair—" the knot in your chest loosens slightly after hearing that, body angling towards him a little more now, "—but i've also seen 'em bed bald girls."

it's your turn to look at him confused. "huh?"

he rolls his eyes, "like i don't think guys care if a girl shaves her head or not."

your hands fly up to your face, head hanging as you let out a loud groan. he can't be serious right now. "that's not what i meant," you mutter, voice muffled by your palms. "i meant i haven't shaved my vagina."

there's a beat of silence. then large fingers curl around yours, prying them away from your heated face as sukuna makes you look at him again. when your eyes cut up to his, he's not amused. "you think i give a fuck about that?"

"i don't know," you sigh, "i just did some research and a lot of men were explaining that they preferred when their dates had shaved."

sukuna rolls his eyes again, thumbs stroking the backs of your hands which are still in his. "well, lots of guys are idiots, you can't rely on 'em for your research," he starts, lips quirking up at the way your legs twitch, parting ever so slightly so he can fit better between them.

this time when the pads of his fingers dip beneath your waistband again, you let them. instead of scrambling away, you lift your hips for him, let him slide the fabric down your legs for you. and next your panties, already damp from the short moment between your conversation and his undressing you.

his gaze is hungry, tongue darting out to lick his lips when he finally sees your cunt again— sitting pretty on display for him— uncut and natural, still glistening, still waiting for him to ruin it.

a guttural groan rumbles in sukuna's chest as he pushes your knees back onto his shoulders, leaning in to lick a long stripe up your slit. you shiver, hands threading through his hair as the softest moan falls from your lips.

he grins, small and stupid against your pussy. "good thing you've got a smart guy like me."

do i even need to say who gave me the idea for this (it was pip everyone say thanks rn)

🏷️’s: @j3llyc4kes @whimsic @heaveninruins @cupidstrace @coralbae @crude-saint @myselkie @orgasmbunny