zasha

​it feels strange to be back here.

you packed a pile of clothes inside your suitcase. plenty for a few days away from the chaotic atmosphere of your city and right back to where it all began: your birth town. the horrid traffic jam and constant noise— you temporarily left all of that behind for the retreat of your parents’ home.

you crammed everything in a small, pearly white suitcase and straight into the trunk of your car it went— a pair of lacquered pink stilettos and the gorgeous satin dress for the main event, your pajamas, gorgeous clothes and some of them skimpy, for the warm weather and a pair of bikinis. at the bottom, there’s something you weren’t so sure about. lingerie.

it’s all because of leon. you didn’t know if he’d show up, but you assumed he would.

pink pieces of lace sewn delicately around the edge of the balconette bra that meet in the middle, in semblance with a bouquet of white roses: pale sweet satin, brand new, laid neatly in an agent provocateur box, arranged together with the matching panties.

you didn’t text him about it. he didn’t tell you either.

he’d end up looking like a huge asshole and his absence would disappoint your father, especially. you knew he’d show, however. he wouldn’t miss this. he’s not the type to. his reliability is his most predictable asset and that’d be simply out of discussion.

you drove for a few hours in your convertible, a vanilla cream 80’s mercedes benz that you feel in love with at seventeen on a family trip to arizona. you begged your parents for it and they had to comply with their only daughter’s wish to drive around the town in a vintage car.

you tap your nails against the nude steering wheel, vintage— butt sunken in the cushy, cream leather seat, eyes behind a pair of large, cat-eye shades— with your phone on speaker and the highway winds blowing through your hair, dancing and tingling across your bare skin.

“hope i won’t have to talk to all your guests, dad,” you whine.

white slingbacks click against the marble floor when your mother waltzes around the kitchen, with every hurried step she takes. your father talks to the catering staff. his newly found best friend is an old, high quality bottle of bourbon he’s taken from his collection, hidden in his personal study.

it’s a big day, everyone’s stressed.

“c’mon, don’t be like that!”

“anyone i might actually know? at least?”

“well- auntie’s gonna be here. your uncle hasn’t seen you in ages. remember john and georgia? oh well, y’know… their son, pete-”

“your dad’s trying to tell you pete’s single, sweetie pie,” your mother interrupts, “georgia told me he’s been looking to settle down! isn’t that great?”

“how’s that great? mom. dad. please, i don’t need you to be my matchmakers.”

you flick the volume button and turn the music up, plastic fantastic lover. this conversation that won’t lead you nowhere makes you scoff. you take a puff of your cigarette and flick the ash in the car tray with the tip of your fake nail.

“give it a try, sweetie. can’t even remember the last time i saw you with a boyfriend. anyone in the city catching your eye?”

your mother’s insistence feels futile for reasons unbeknownst to anyone you’ve ever known.

except for your father’s best friend.

“honey, i gotta go. drive safely, ‘kay?” your dad walks around the kitchen, “leon’s in the hallway. buddy’s in dire need of some bourbon.”

leon kennedy. your palms sweat with the agony of expectation around the steering wheel— the excitement and simultaneous wave of anxiety of seeing him for the first time in a month. your gaze lingers down to your wrist, the gold bracelet screwed around it, along with a few other bangles.

so, he decided to show up. your press your foot down the pedal and you speed up the highway. you’re not sure if the news make you excited or if you’d rather hide inside your bedroom for the unforeseeable future. at least until leon leaves. on the other hand, he owes it to you.

you sit inside the local bar, sandal heels tapping on the metal foot rest of the bar stool, thighs shut together in your flared jeans. you’re nervous.

leon was just passing by, visiting your city, making sure you’re fine and not feeling too lonely.

his right elbow rest on the bar table. his big, softly defined muscles under his black shirt that looks like it’s going to explode from how ripped he is. he keeps the bottle of beer in his hand, fingers gripped around it, and the index plays around the glued-on label.

his hair, dirt blonde and long falls over his face and it shines under the dim lights. his blue eyes look so warm, soft, despite the natural coldness of his irises. he looks tired. he always does.

if being fine, by definition, of course, implies squirting all over his fingers and getting fucked dirty in the passenger seat of his porsche— sure, you’re just fine and dandy— strong hands around your hips, pulling you closer in a sloppy drunk make-out session, sucking on his tongue. a sort of forgive me from his side. (if the twenty grand cartier bracelet wasn’t enough of an apology for his lack of communication.)

fine, by leon’s definition, would imply making sure you get mind blowing orgasms and that your pussy gets completely filled up to the brim— every inch of of your stretchy walls, with all the length of his thick cock, bent over the counter of your kitchen with his hand pressed flat against your naked back.

your pajama shorts pulled down your thighs, leg climbed up the edge of the wooden counter. right next to your wide open window, under the moonlight, moaning so loud that an entire neighborhood could hear you.

by his definition, you should fine. you think.

then, he puts a plain red bag on the bar, “open it.”

“what’s that?”

he doesn’t vocalize an answer, but raises an eyebrow, waiting for you to look inside the mysterious bag. you shove a hand inside and pull out a red box with engraved golden details and open it.

“oh! wow- cartier?”

a love bracelet.

“can’t do jackshit with my money. don’t care that much either. you deserve it.”

nobody knows. how could they ever find out about this?

“keep it. i mean it, doll. you’re too attached to that car of yours, i get it. you don’t need one. can’t do nothing ‘bout that. can’t get you a new one either. tryin’ to be more creative.”

“i really love my car-“

“yeah. i know. it suits you - gonna let me help you with that?”

“so,” you mumble while he fixes the bracelet around your wrist. he pulls out the golden screwdriver to lock it, “i get dso pays their best agent very well.”

the stark contrast between the bracelet and the bar, which sits around the corner, a street away from your apartment. there’s a few people gathered around the pool table and the some other at the tables in groups to share a couple of drinks.

“you could say that— there you go. how’s it feel?”

“wow! i love it. it’s so… gorgeous. hmm, it’s perfect.”

you throw your arms around leon, around the back of his neck; his warmth engulfs you and breath him in. you pull away, arms still around him and you give him the softest peck on the lips. he pulls you in for another embrace, longer than an usual ‘thank you’ hug and you stay like that for around a minute, before leon breaks the hug and sips out of his beer once.

the air feels crisp with an agonizing desire to hold him longer, but there’s something changing, an awkwardness of some sort. it feels like a farewell gift.

“thanks, leon, really. i- i’m speechless. i-i wish you’d visit more often.”

he shouldn’t.

he keeps you at a considerable distance away from him, yet closer than he ever intended. leon finds himself missing you deeply during his many sleepless nights, sat at the edge of a hotel bed with some whiskey on his tongue and a bottle in his hand.

he buys you gifts each time he visits you— that already happens more often than he wanted to. or even when he’s away from you.

“what’s up with you and this bar, huh?”

“it’s two minutes away from my place.” this place has seen you in your worst possible moments.

“i know, doll. you’re all so beautiful and dressed up to meet me at a cheap bar? have a mediocre cocktail? so i can crack two beers?”

“don’t put this on me, leon. you’re the one who shows up unannounced at one in the morning. every. single. time.”

you feel guilty for admitting this. for criticizing leon, right when he showed up with a cartier love bracelet to surprise you.

but it’s true. he’s a reliable man when he doesn’t get lost in the scarred corners of his mind.

or when he leaves some finished bottles of whiskey or vodka on the floors of his monotonous hotel rooms—some nights he ends up drunk, half asleep, and the feeling of self imposed loneliness creeps up by his window or terrace, where nothing else is laid; fake flowers in dusty vases, if lucky or a bottle of beer, a gun and a dirty piece of cloth he used to clean up his weapons.

his missions only leave him charred. dead. the edges of his soul reach a state of borderline, emotional necrosis, grown insensitive to his own suffering.

he cares, deeply, and he regrets, truly so. but he feels numb. those states exist in contradiction.

nightmares possess him and he secludes. leon’s isolation only turns him caustic to himself and cautious, to an extent that, naturally so, makes him unreachable and cold, despite his caring and altruistic character. he’s truly a good man. of you asked him, he’d deny it. he tries to be good, always, but admitting it— he’d never do it.

he can’t keep you this close. he’d scare you away. and leon’s guilt is hungry for what remains of his consciousness, for you’re his best friend’s daughter and he should know better than to show up with expensive gifts. or expect you to soothe him. he doesn’t know where this is supposed to be going.

the bartender picks up the empty bottle of beer. leon nods and he’s offered a third bottle, “somethin’ for the lady too?”

“no, no- thanks.” you answer, “leon, you need to stop- stop drinking.”

he sets the bottle of budweiser back on the counter, “yes, ma’am”

“i- i know we shouldn’t be seen together. i do. m-my family.. this place sucks. but i don’t know, leon… what’s this? what are we, the bracelet? the shoes? the clothes? it feels like you’re always feelin’ sorry for some weird reason.”

“let me take you on a date.”

he shouldn’t.

“should i expect another 10 grand bracelet?”

“someone’s a spoiled little girl.”

you’re so spoiled and it’s completely his fault. your wardrobe warns to explode from the amount of pretty clothes, bags and shoes he gifted you. you keep everything stuffed in there. get this. get that. in the very beginning, he used to totally suck at this. but with time, he was eager to accustom to your tastes and get you gorgeous pieces of clothing.

he even left you a credit card to use, like some sort of allowance to cover all your monthly expenses and make yourself pretty gifts— so you’d quit the shitty job that you were complaining about and focus on finding your true passion.

you moved away to escape from the influence of your parents and you ran exactly into the arms of the person who is the best friend of your father. but he’s not a snitch. he proved himself many times.

“that’s not exactly my fault.”

he smiles.

“you drank. don’t go- stay with me tonight? it’s friday. we can… watch a movie on my couch.”

“you mean fuck on your couch? ain’t you subtle, sweetheart. i’d rather have you on the counter. or that pink bed of yours.”

“please don’t leave before i wake up.”

“sure, i’ll stay. i’ll even read you a bedtime story- make us some breakfast. pancakes? ain’t you obsessed with them?”

“i do want those pancakes. but… i want you more, leon.”

“i can book us a table for tomorrow, then. deal?”

leon kept his word and he stayed. you woke up to the smell of pancakes. he made you breakfast and you watched him cook, arms wrapped around his torso, pressing your lips against his back.

but something felt strange. like everything was about to come to the inevitable end and this was leon’s apology.

that was a month ago. ever since that night, leon stopped showing up. he came up with excuses and he stopped texting. although, he didn’t take your card away and your expenses were taken care of.

“my- i almost forgot! i got you a pretty dress, sweetie,” your mom’s voice buzzes enthusiastically through the speakers, “you’re gonna love it! i left it in your bedroom. i was looking through your old clothes, georgia is organizing a charity event with some of the other wives. mind donating some?”

“sure, mom. tell mrs.kane she can demolish my old wardrobe for what i care.”

the celebration of your parents’ marriage brought with it enough ex-coworkers, friends and roughly half of the town’s population.

i already have a dress. you want to tell her, but after all, it’s her big day.

they invited plenty of guests to fill up the great room, the enormous backyard with trellis that overviews your mother’s splendid white garden and victorian gazebo— her flowers kept as well as always: pink, white blooming roses and peonies, magnolias and gardenias. her most precious achievement.

a few lilies she takes pride in, and you’d always run around the gazebo, trailing your fingers through the few vines of ivy she’d keep neatly around the white columns.

she’d put a hand on your small shoulder; rub her palm against your sweaty temples, manicured nails painted always in a tone of burgundy at the local salon. her soft eyes would stare down still at the pages of her book, “careful, cupcake. you’re gonna trip and fall.”

the rich sweetness of the flowers used to fill up your bedroom in small bouquets on your window-still often, throughout your entire childhood, redolent in their smell.

she’s always been overly preoccupied with these aspects of life. with beauty and stability. with your father gone for months at times, working for the government, always abroad. she’d bury herself in housework or spend her time in the garden with you– keeping the house alive.

your home remains unchanged— at its core, it’s a golden box of memories, your innocence untouched. a reverie, mostly sweet, but so repetitive and mundane it turned you bitter.

summer evenings have grown warmer. today feels completely different from the rest. you feel different. like you completely outgrew your own roots and what only remained is the countless of memories stuck inside the walls of this gigantic house.

the air smells of flowers and nostalgia and you inhale it with your eyes closed; then the sizzling noise of your now retired father’s grill— he can’t miss the chance of a barbecue, not even when your mother hired a catering firm to handle the big event.

a few toddlers and children run around the backyard, people chat and laugh, reminiscing about their youth, of what’s been long gone. the few waiters stand around or walk around with plates of entrees and glasses of champagne.

the sun sets the more time you spend zoning out.

you rest your feet in the morning cut grass, stilettos in your hand, and the summer breeze washes over your body, through the flimsy ruffles of your pink dress. you look concerningly similar to the housewives your mother spends time with and it makes you wonder if she’s trying to lure you back into this town; marrying peter kane too. you’d hate that.

leon is here too.

he’s been staring at you for hours, right through the buzzing crowd of people standing and chatting, as if it’s only the two of you and the outside world doesn’t exist.

he laid eyes on you from the very moment you set foot right through the front yard next to your mother, his glass fresh with ice cubes and your dad’s bourbon.

“jeez, leon. ain’t you gonna retire soon? get married? have a kid? can’t lie- it’s hard to picture you like that. but it’s worth it, don’t you think?”

“maybe. i wouldn’t know. you seem happy.”

he was talking to your now retired father about middle aged men boring nonsense. the house roof needs to be fixed. your mother wants a new car. leon sucks on his teeth, not fully present, thoughtful— a part of him regrets his life decisions.

“still waiting for the day i’ll see you at the altar, buddy. i ain’t losin’ my hope.” your father smiles, hand on leon’s shoulder.

you wonder if you’ll be present at the wedding too. as a guest. you’re not the type to settle down and not the type you’d usually settle down with. especially not as a man that’s nearing fifty years of life. unless you’re living in some major state of psychosis and have various delusions.

you too, perhaps, present some form of delusion. despite the many times you claimed settling down isn’t for you, maybe, for leon you’d accept the destiny of a happily married woman. with him, you’d feel safe, accepted. adored.

you’re a wild flower that simply cannot be enclosed inside a garden like your mother’s.

you’re not your mother who spends her days drinking mimosas with the local committee of housewives and baking three hundred cookies for the school fair.

leon’s handsome in the way he rests his body weight so naturally on the balustrade, elbows on the white wood. he looks slightly laid back, but always alert, on the verge of reaction, with a holster tightened around his leg still. not even on his best friend’s marriage anniversary he cannot give up on that gun.

he’s never too elegant, but always so sexy, better looking than any man you’ve ever seen, for what it’s worth– his eyes, so blue and his dirt blonde hair arranged for the big event. his grey stubble peaks out short. he hasn’t shaved in about a week. it makes him look his age, forty nine. and his wrinkles, the crow’s feet radiate right in the corners of his blue eyes.

you’d think his age should make him less attractive, that with time, beauty fades and there’s nothing left of it. but he looks utterly beautiful.

he thinks of himself as an old man already, but truthfully, his effortless way of being makes him more attractive than any guy you’ve met. his calmness makes you seek him out and grow obsessed with the layer hiding underneath. his pain.

his presence soothes in ways nobody has ever done it before. you seek his warmth in your worst days, tucked in under your blanket, pretending he's with you, sleeping on the empty side of your bed.

you call him and he picks up, even when it’s best to keep his distance away from you, instead of creating a habit out of your insomniac late nights calls. that pretty much sums leon kennedy up. he’s a reliable man. he feels responsible, despite putting himself in a situation that could cost his life.

of course, he’d take the blame if anyone was to find out about this. and of course, this ultimately makes him feel like masochist.

when you started seeing each other, he’d leave while you were asleep. even after fucking you senseless, he'd rather leave you alone and not invade your space— he wouldn’t even fall asleep your bed. not crossing the line. what line, you wonder, for he consciously visits his best friend’s daughter for the sole purpose of fucking.

you wonder, also: could there be other woman in his life? it makes you ask yourself if you’re some stupid silly girl, part of a list of countless women. he doesn’t look like the type, but appearances can sometimes be deceiving.

he’d wait for you to doze off in his big arms, face down his shirtless chest and he’d sneak off. he’d let you play with his soft hair before and he’d rub your back till your eyes felt too heavy to stay opened, right in the warmth of his hug.

he’d make you breakfast too and leave it on the kitchen table, next to a small note, “EAT ME! :)”

leon wears a white button-up stays tucked in neatly inside his dark blue suit pants— the sleeves carelessly pulled up to his elbows. he left the jacket in the kitchen, uncomfortable from wearing it for a few hours. now, he’s zoning out, very pensive.

“i’m happy, leon. fulfilled. i did it all for my family. look at this house? wife’s happy too- oh! you remember her, right? i told ya she moved away. look how she’s changed.”

they both come down the stairs and your eyes meet so suddenly. it feels like an eternity since you’ve last seen each other, a month precisely.

this month, though, you spent all of it dreaming about leon with your hands inside your panties and fingers pressed down your swollen clit and a dildo stuffed inside your needy, slick cunt. it feels pathetic to admit that you shoved it down your throat, pretending it’s leon’s cock. you moaned his name too many times, your lips glossy with drool, face buried in your pillows.

leon takes a sip our of his glass.

“haven’t seen you in a while. look at you," he greets you, "your dad told me you moved away. how’s the city?”

he says, as if he hasn’t made a habit of visiting you.

“haven’t seen you in a bit, leon. you’re so much older than i remember. a little bit more… wrinkled-” you tease him and his brows furrow, “the city’s great. the traffic kills me.”

“it happens when you get old like me, y’know. can’t run away from aging.”

“how old were you again? fifty nine?”

“forty… nine.”

“christ! don’t mind it leon, please. is the city so boring that you gotta pick on your old man’s buddy? why don’t you go talk to pete?”

“who’s pete?” you ask, acting dumb.

“cupcake, what’s up with you? y’know pete. he’s john and georgia’s only son... our neighbors? they live down the street?” you look at him, with the same faux confusion and he explains, “he’s single! go talk to him.”

great.

“i’m joking, dad! relax. why would i? isn’t he the one looking to marry? shouldn’t he pursue me?”

a brief pause settles between the three of you. a smirk forms in the corner of leon’s mouth.

“what do you think, mr. kennedy? should i go talk to him? that’s kinda lame, if you ask me,” you scoff, “men these days.”

that’s my girl.

“well-“

“jeez, no. where’s your mother?” your dad looks suddenly agitated.

“i can’t do this. leon, buddy, please don’t answer that. you should talk 'bout this with your mother!"

your father leaves in a hurry, looking around backyard to bring your mother to you. leon stays and he crosses his veiny arms around his chest and it only makes him look bigger. sexier.

“pete? should i be jealous?” leon asks.

“maybe.”

“do you even know what he looks like?”

“as a matter of fact i do. i blew him twice right before leaving for college. so, fuck you.”

“don’t tell me he went down on you too.”

“oh my god-“ you shush him, “are you jealous, leon?”

“i've no reason to be jealous, sweet girl. if i were him, i’d never leave you alone.”

“you’re being a hypocrite right now. we're not talking about this here!”

“who do you take me as? i know it’s risky. i’m just bein’… curious.”

“i gotta go, leon. i don’t wanna talk about this here. it was good… seeing you.”

so, you didn’t pawn the bracelet he gave you, leon notices when you turn around angry and frustrated, fists clenched and nails digging into your palm and it hurts. you could almost bleed.

he thought you’d do it to get revenge on him for disappearing. leon doesn’t fully believe his own thoughts, you wouldn’t to that. you value even the smallest gifts you receive.

you hold a glass of white wine close to your chest and with the your other hand, you subtly tug down the ends of your pink halter dress— which, despite being perfectly adequate for the anniversary of your parents’ marriage, it feel shorter the more leon’s eyes undress your body naked.

he’s not that subtle about it. at least to you. he looks away every now and then— a hand is the pocket of his trousers and a polite smile on his lips. he zones out while three city council members enthusiastically gather around to share some ideas with him, for some reason he can’t seem to fully grasp.

his presence alone makes you freeze after what happened between you earlier.

alcohol flows rapidly through leon’s bloodstream and there’s so much restrained hunger in the way he looks at you. you could melt alone from that and your legs feel weaker and weaker.

the many voices dissipate and time slows down. you can hear your own heartbeat, thudding hard and fast inside your chest. the local governor exchanges words with a neighbor on your left and on the right, two old highschool friends babble nostalgic nonsense, which they try to include you in. old memories. something about your gym classes.

you keep a bright smile plastered all over your face. laugh comes out fake, too high pitched, but they wouldn’t recognize your lack of interest or that you fake it, because, last time you talked them was at the local store two years ago.

your conversation lasted around five minutes and the awkwardness of it made you realize how alienated you've become from this town and its community.

you don't have any friends left. you pushed them all away when you left for college three years ago.

except for aileen kane, pete’s younger sister– the twenty year old girl, who doesn't seem to be here for a very obvious reason– she feels the same alienation, but much differently.

she came out as a lesbian right before you left the town and it a caused a gigantic scandal within the community.

everybody knows everybody here. people talk. they gossip and hate. they also love, but they love their sense of belonging to their happy and safe community. loneliness isn’t healthy for the soul.

they love their own idea of normality just as much. unfortunately for her, aileen is still stuck in this town of religious upper middle class and rich people.

you mother was happy to invite her, as the kanes, especially georgia, hold a special place inside her heart. herself too, seems to be obsessed with belonging somewhere and it looks like she’s already found her place in the local group of rich housewives who thrive on mimosas. it feels utterly robotic and mundane.

people come to you every now and then. after all, you’re the daughter of the happily married couple who invited nearly a hundred people over. it was all your mother’s idea. oh, how you’ve grown! is all that you can hear every five minutes.

your feet hurt from wearing the stilettos and the dress feels uncomfortably tight on your body, around your boobs and hips, where leon’s eyes keep roaming insatiably. you’d take it off for him in a millisecond.

you bring the glass of wine close to your lips and you take a huge sip, drowning your throat in the slight sweetness and numbing taste of alcohol. it feels nauseating, because you’re still somewhere between sobriety and complete drunkenness.

another sip follows, and the stem of the glass rests between your fingers, wine almost finished. you could sneak another couple, instead of looking like an alcoholic in front of the entire town and embarrassing your parents.

leon isn’t a big scary monster, but the opposite, despite his muscular build and job or reputation as a one of government’s best agents. he can be soft and calm. but he’s hard to read at times, especially when he becomes aloof and his sarcasm turns bitter.

you’ve done this entirely sober before.

he’s cooed the sweetest words right in your ear back in your city. he showed up with a bouquet of pink roses in his hand and gifts. so many gifts.

fuck me, you take it so well.

leon has the habit of calling you sweet girl. undoubtedly, every single time, you feel like melting under the caution of his guilty touch.

you’re convinced everybody found out. every single person in and outside this gigantic house is aware that you’ve been fucking leon scott kennedy, your father’s best friend.

this is all staged and by the end of the night, your dirty little secret will be revealed and cameramen will come through the back and front doors— your parents will look at you and feel sorry for you and your mother, with pitiful tears in her eyes will wrap her arms around you, thinking you’re some sort of victim.

wouldn’t it be better if you moved back here? and poof, just like that, she’d lure you back into this shit hole of a pretentious town. she’d make you marry peter kane. you can see yourself having your very own garden— deadly nightshades and black dahlias.

and leon— oh, leon. you’d hate if anything happened to him, just as much as you hate being away from him.

leon raises and eyebrow even from the other side of the great room, you can still recognize that look. he looks at you as if he wants you to stop, which,once again, is a bit hypocritical of him, given his history with alcohol and habitual drinking issues.

you chug the rest of the wine so inelegantly. you defy him. he rolls his eyes.

nobody knows.

nobody knows.

you repeat it in your head like a mantra.

nobody knows. except for you and leon.

it’s your dirty little secret.

and the secrecy of your relationship (or whatever this could be) makes you feel so dirty. like a slut. but it makes you feel special too. the burning sensation aches up to your tummy and your needy cunt feels wet just from staring into leon’s eyes. it reminds you of the many night you spent together with him on top of you, kissing your ankles sweetly, balls deep inside you.

you can’t do this anymore. you’ve spent the entire afternoon and evening trying to avoid your own feelings.

the constant tension between you and the look in his eyes leave you confused. you haven’t seen him in a month and that’s a long time. you don’t see any other men. you can’t. you’d feel guilty. he doesn’t deserve that.

you shove your hand inside your small clutch bag, searching for your phone. you quickly find his contact saved under noel. how silly. you empty your glass down your throat; adrenaline and alcohol pump through your body and your fingers get all shaky against the screen when you text him.

YOU: meet me upstairs? please?

YOU: second floor, take right, down the hallway. i’ll be waiting for you!!

YOU: name’s on the door btw.

leon’s phone vibrates in the pocket of his pants, preoccupied by the same discussion with the two council members, “mr. kennedy. you’ve seen the whole world. illuminate us. how can we make this town better?”

“i- well, i’m not really sure. it’s not exactly my field of expertise-“

his phone vibrates again and this time, leon pulls it out the pocket of his pants, “excuse me. might be somethin’ important.

YOU: pls come !!!

YOU: preferably on my face (;

YOU: i miss ur cock ):

his blue eyes widen and when he scans for where he last saw you, right in the opposite corner of the room, but you’re already gone.

you made your way to the second floor, up the white stairs, sliding through all the guests and making yourself invisiblez

“i have to go. please excuse me.”

you lay on your back on the patchwork cover of your bed and your eyes scan the insides of your old bedroom. it all looks the same. it seems that your mother took care of it. she kept everything in place and clean. there’s fresh peonies by the tall windows with white frames, hiding behind the drawn, mauve pink curtains.

right through the space between them permeates the light and down on the window seat, where an old pink blanket stays perfectly folded. the faded voices of the guests fill up the dead silence. you sight in relief the moment you take off your stilettos and throw them on the worn carpet.

leon.

leon.

leon.

he looked so sexy in his white shirt. each time the muscles of his big forearms flexed and veins pulsed with his rough, long fingers, you’d feel a lump in your throat and your breath would slow down.

you’d wrap your tongue around his long fingers— just the way you always do. big eyes and pretty lashes overdone with black mascara that stare right into his, as you let him fuck your throat. he’d have a bulging hard boner under his pants and you’d undo his zipper and suck on his thick cock till he’d cum white and sticky all over your pretty face.

what a pity he seems to have been losing interest in you.

or could it be that he feels too guilty for fucking his best friend’s daughter?

that sounds more like leon. he has this habit of feeling so terrible and guilty.

you pull up your dress and the brand new satin lingerie you’ve been keeping in your suitcase wraps around you perfectly. you keep your legs spread and you slip your manicured fingers down your clit, pressing the tips down to tease yourself.

the door creaks open a big figure casts a shadow all over your body. you know it’s leon. nobody else you know walks this way. so heavy, cautious steps against the wooden floor. the way you know him, he might’ve eavesdropped before even touching the silver door knob, so you let a little moan slip through your lips, just for his perverted mind.

“oh! you came. finally.”

leon shuts the door behind him and he wastes no time, closing the distance between you. he leans down on the bed and the weight makes the frame creak. he traps you under him and your bodies are almost glued to each other. his knee is locked between your thighs to keep them spread out, apart from each other and if almost touches your clothed heat. and so you move until you can rub against it.

leon caresses your burning cheek and so much heat radiates from him. he looks like he’s starving.

“someone could’ve open the door and see you, sweet girl.” he scolds you.

“but they didn’t, right? did i make you jealous, leon?” you pull him in a kiss and he leans into you. he puts almost his entire body weight on you, but he’s still gentle, despite the animalistic way his lips devour yours. you both taste the alcohol on each other.

you feel intoxicated by his presence and your body is on fire from all the wine you chugged earlier.

“huh?” he pulls away from your kiss.

“pete?”

“pete? as in peter kane? peter kane the son of the kanes who live just down the street?” you roll your eyes, “no. fuck if i care ‘bout that guy or what happened between you two.”

“they’re kinda making me marry him. soon i’ll be off the market, who knows? maybe you’re speaking to future mrs. kane.” you tease him, seeking a reaction. a confirmation that he cares about you.

both of you know that’s never going to happen.

not in a million years.

“yeah? and here i was thinkin’ you’d sneak out and run away in that car of yours. pretend it never happened.”

“would you rescue me like a knight in shining armor?” you rest fingers around the back of his neck and you pull him closer for another kiss, sucking on his tongue “i missed you, leon— mmm, hold on. let me… lock the door.”

leon moves to the side and you move right past him, tip toeing to the door for some reason, in complete silence. you make sure it’s closed and turn the key inside to double lock it and the silver door knob a few times. perfect.

you turn around and leon stands right behind you. he undid two three buttons of his shirt and you can see his strong chest under.

he presses you against the door, muscular, rough arms forming a cage around you and he continues to assure you:

“don’t be silly, sweetheart,” he gives you a gentle peck on the lips, “they’d never force you to marry him. your dad thinks you’re lonely. all by yourself in that city. they’re worried.”

“oh, poor, lonely me! but- would you rescue me, though? hmm? hypothetically speaking?”

he smiles, “probably, yeah. as long as you’re happy.”

fuck him. leon can’t believe he said that; he’s completely swooned by a girl half his age. the person who was supposedly off-limits. he truly is the embodiment of masochism.

he feels pulled in magnetically. there’s times when he gives in and he resists you. and times like these, where all he dreams about is burying his mouth down your wet pussy and drown himself inside your sweetness fully, like some crazed addict. addictions can’t be good.

it’s concerning how much leon cares about your happiness. about your well-being. he’s always so self sacrificial about everything. fuck his endless generosity.

“i’d be much, muuch happier if you’d stop resisting me.”

you pull up the ruffles of your housewife looking dress and sink your teeth down your soft lower lip, and you beg, “fuck me, please.”

“are you sure ‘bout this, sweet girl?”

“i’ve never been more sure about anything in my whole life— ahh, leon!” his lips move down your neck, right where your skin feels the most sensitive. his tongue climbs up your jaw and he sinks his teeth softly against your bare skin. it makes you squirm and dig your nails into the wooden door.

“your dad’s gonna fuckin’ kill me, angel. he’ll blow my head off with that goddamn huntin’ rifle i gave him once.”

you pull him in for another kiss— messy and lonely. it’s so disgustingly sloppy. you don’t want to impress him or be the best, you can’t even think about that. all you want is to devour him. you press your body against his, boobs pressed against his chest and arms thrown around his neck. your hands wander around his blushing face, and you mess his blonde, greying hair up.

“don’t care if he’s gonna kill me?” he breaks the kiss, concerned, joking.

“mmm- leon… shh!” you press your index finger against his lips, “he won’t kill you. because- ah!” he finds a way to slip a hand under your skirt. he slides two fingers against your clothed clit, feeling the slickness. you’re dripping wet and he’s barely even kissed you.

“he won’t find out! please— i need you s’much! i can’t stop thinking about you. where have you been?”

you keep your fingers tangled in his hair and your right leg rests on his thighs, sturdy hand keeping if in place.

“forgive me, princess. been busy as hell.”

“busy enough to keep me waiting for so long?”

another kiss.

“can’t live without me for more than a couple of weeks? that right?”

“can you?”

“i missed you a lot.”

he pauses briefly.

“keep sending me those pretty pics while i’m gone. makes me miss you even more.”

he’s jerked off to them multiple times. dirty old man leon kennedy— he drives around the country and he finds himself pulling his porsche to the side, in the middle of nowhere, to fist the length cock and jerk off to your photos. he daydreams, thinking it's you taking all of his girth down you pretty little throat. you’ve altered something inside his brain to the point he's turned into a true pervert.

your dirty nudes reflect in the blues of his eyes while he keeps his phone in his hand— hard, pinchable nipples and the softest boobs, covered in bubbly foam and droplets of hot water from the shower.

he’s such a dirty pervert.

only for you.

“what do you like the most about them, leon?”

“your smile.”

“really?”

“yeah. you don’t do it often. i like seein’ you happy.”

he loves to know you're well too. you send him photos of yourself throughout the day and the gentlest smile forms on his handsome face. you made a habit out of sending him selfies— doing your makeup, walking down the street with an ice cream in your hand and five shopping bags hanging on your arm.

your safety and the fact that you're living such a sweet life makes him relax. he wishes you'd have more friends. he’s aware that despite making so many acquaintances in your new city, nothing feels real. the dinners feel boring. coffee dates are bland. it's all a pure facade.

leon catches your face and he squishes your mouth until your pout and his thumb presses down your wet lower lip.

“been missin’ those pretty lips too.”

“i-i’m so wet right now.”

he kisses you again and this time, he sucks lazily on your tongue. you moan softly against his mouth when he bites your lip too. you feel his grey stubble stinging your skin, but it's so erotic, you have to abstain from moaning louder. imagine if anyone in this would hear you. his fingers wander up your waist and up to your breasts.

“take it off, sweet girl.”

you listen. he unzips the back of the dress for you and you take it off, throwing it on the carpet.

his big hand wanders and brushes hungrily up your inner thigh. it makes your skin tingle with so much illicit pleasure. how much you’ve missed feeling like this.

you feel high with him.

he takes the lace of your panties between his fingers for a few seconds— then, while his mouth is busy kissing you, he pulls them down your legs and they hang around your ankles.

“is that right? let’s see what’s goin’ on down here, sweet girl.”

you bite down on your lower lip. your cheeks are hot from the alcohol flowing freely through your bloodstream and the room has almost turned into a sauna. you keep your hands around his shoulders while leon finds your boobs, covered by the gorgeous satin bra, and he pulls one out to suck on your sweet nipple. he grunts and he takes the other one between his teeth, tenderly, not to hurt you— just because he has an urge, an impulse to devour you whole. he wants you so much.

“you prepared too, huh? you’re so fuckin’ gorgeous in this.”

he gets down on his knee and he adjusts the sleeves of his shirt. his eyes never leave yours. he slides his fingers up and down your folds to feel the wetness oozing out of your slick, warm entrance.

“been waiting all wet for me this whole evening? took your damn time, i see.”

“y-you can’t blame me. it wasn’t easy. thought you’d never come.”

he can tell from the way you act that you're nervous and tipsy.

“stop shavin’ so much. leave a heart for me down there like you used to." he jokes, “it was cute. don’t sha- shh!”

footsteps make the wooden floor creak and the knock on your door vibrates down your spine.

“everything ‘kay, sweetie? you in there? heard your door closin’ from down the hallway.”

sloppy job.

georgia kane herself. naturally a brunette, her grey roots stick out of her head and a similarly toned, simple dress adorns her short body. she’s standing on the other side of the locked bedroom door, knuckle still pressed against the polished wood.

“ah! mrs. kane? no- no, i’m fine! just- i’m overwhelmed that’s all- just… so many people.”

“have you seen your dad? your mom can’t find him anywhere and she begged me to go searching.”

“d-dad? last time i saw him he was talking to mr. johnson. y’know, something about holding their liquor. maybe they’re in his office?”

you cover your mouth instinctively when you feel that you’re about to gasp— you roll your eyes in pleasure when leon pushes a finger inside your pussy, just slightly, allowinf your entrance to stretch.

“he said he was looking for leon. and now? poof. gone.”

fuck.

“handsome guy, leon, by the way. haven’t seen him in a hot minute. him and your daddy used to be together all the time. now he’s always gone. hmm…” she thinks, “don’t tell johnny i said that!”

if only mrs.kane knew that leon kennedy was stuffing his face between your thighs right now.

“c’mon, darlin’, be honest. he’s handsome, isn’t he? must be something wrong with him the way i’ve never seen him with a woman. ya think he’s single?”

“i- i guess? i-i never thought about him t-that way” you stutter.

“and i believe you! if you see dad, tell your momma, m’kay? and if you see leon, you better tell me, hah. don’t tell johnny!” she laughs.

“by the way, sweetie, pete’s been wantin’ to settle down for a while. mind if i set you two up on a cute little date? one of the wives opened a fancy place down on aster street.”

“i-i- i’ll think about it. thanks for the offer, mrs. kane.”

“get down there when you feel like it, m’kay? i brought some homemade cake. keeping it for the after party.” her laugh fades away down the hallway when she leaves.

“you think there’s somethin’ wrong with me, huh?” leon whispers.

“everything’s so wrong with you! are you seeing other women?” you look upset when you say it and leon hates himself for making you think that.

it’s true; you’re not dating. but he spends a fortune on you, despite his tendency to seclude when he feels like shit, you’re the only woman he could think ever think of. every night and day you possess his mind and soul.

“hmm, no. i'm too busy with this pussy to see other women, to be honest. you’re spendin’ all my money too.”

a stupid smile stays plastered all over your face.

“relax, sweet girl. let me take care of you.”

he grips down your thigh again and he rests your leg on his sturdy shoulder, spreading you just enough to have a full view of your pretty pussy. his eyes glow like a predator’s that has finally found his delicious prey and he licks his lip.

“fuck me, you really are so sweet. i missed your jealous pussy.” he sinks his face fully down your wetness, drowning himself into you, just like he wanted to. a gasp escapes shyly past your lips and you cover your mouth again, holding in your slutty moans.

his cock bulges hard and big under his pants. it twitches and his veins pulse just from eating your pussy out.

his tongue moves naturally, up and down your folds and he stuffs it inside your needy pussy— this is for himself. he’s missed your taste like the addicted man you’ve made out of him.

“are you seeing other women?’” he imitates your voice.

he drags his tongue up, spoiling your puffy clit with slutry, slow circles and meticulous licks. he’s got you figured from inside out— a lot of attention to your little clit to make you roll your eyes and sink you nails in his skin or grab onto his blonde hair. he couldn’t care less if leave him bloody or with a few scratch marks.

“l-leon! i’m being serious!” you moan.

then, a finger stuffed inside your strechy walls, coated in your honey juices (that he’ll immediately lick off). he moves in gently, knuckle deep, pressing the tip of his finger on your sweet spot, while his tongue spoils your clit rotten.

you love it when he buries a second finger, so deep and rough, faster.

“i know, sweet girl. feels good?” he stares right into your hazy eyes and back to your cunt and at his own fingers stuffed deeper around your g spot.

and the third one makes you crave his cock, from the way he finger fucks you so hard that you’re not longer fully present. you’re high. you reached a feeling of elation that’s impossible to describe— your mouth wide open, drool slick on your lips, moaning yes. yes. yes. with your eyes rolling. you’re so close.

he fucks you harder, ramming his fingers inside your gummy walls, right while his lips suck on your clit and tongue draws lazy and very drunk circles to make you orgasm. he fucks you even rougher, faster this time, stimulating your spot and stretching you out. you feel so good with him inside you. you ride his face messily, sliding your cunt up and down his face to make yourself come.

you wanna feel like this forever.

you finally orgasm and you knees almost fail you, but leon is right there to hold you. you coat his fingers in squirt and honeyed liquid, and it splashes all over his face. he’s smiling like an idiot and he licks it all.

“i don’t need anyone else. i-i think i might be in love with you.”

he must be insanely drunk.

you can’t answer that. you’re too breathless. you feel dizzy.

he kisses your knees and you’ve never seen his eyes shine so anxiously and vulnerably. you’ve never seen a man— a man twice your age, confess that he might actually be in love with you.

another kiss on your knee, “i’m fucked, right?”

he is drunk.

“mmm. i’m so fucked. this past month- i wanted to come see you. be with you. got shitfaced one night. all i could see was your pretty face.”

he sucks in your inner thighs, taking your soft skin between his lips and the tip of his tongue savors on the juices leaking down your thighs, “you waitin’ for me late at night. i hate makin’ you wait. it makes you all sad. you think i won’t show up for some reason.”

he leave kisses on your inner thighs and he rests his chin on your leg momentarily.

“but i can’t do this to you, sweet girl,” leon sighs, as if he feels defeated, “i’d be a monster. can’t let you go through this.”

the room still smells of flowers and the light shines through the curtains. the sky turned pink and orange and the clouds set over the purple shades.

“i know you won’t marry pete. it’s ain’t like you. you’re not the small town type. you… you won’t settle down.”

it feels like he’s waiting for a confirmation and trying to convince himself that i won’t happen.

“what if i am the small town type?”

“i know what you want me to say. no.”

“but you said you’d do it as long as i’m happy!”

“rescue you? settling down in a town with an old man- apologies- an alcoholic who does the government’s dirty work? sounds more like some evil scheme than a rescue mission.”

“we can make it work! leon, i- i’m in love with you too!”

“stop.” he seems to grow angrier. not with you, but with himself.

“you’re young. you don’t wanna settle down. you have so much ahead of you. you think you want this but- but you like the attention and the gifts i give you. you ain’t in love with me.”

“don’t you wanna see me every time you come home? i’d make a good housewife. not perfect, but i’d try for you. and i’d wait for you. days. weeks. months. i’d wait— and i’d wait and wait again… for you.”

he does.

but you don’t.

“you’d hate that, my sweet doll. you’re not seein’ this through. you moved away for a reason,” he pauses, still down on his knees, “you’d feel like a princess trapped in a tower and i’d be the bastard dragon. i’m not your knight in shining armor.”

“why do you hate yourself so much, leon?”

no answer. you get on your knees and they brush against the beige carpet. you cup his burning cheek gently and he kisses your wrist, right where the love bracelet is.

“i’ll hurt you.”

he would, inevitably. he’s already done it and mostly likely, it’ll happen over and over again until you’ll come to your senses and realize you have no future together.

“i don’t wanna trap you.”

“i’m a big girl. we all hurt each other without meaning to. i- i can handle it.”

we’re all meant to exist with flaw programmed within us.

“yeah? can you? ‘been gone for a month and you’re all sad and whiny. tryin’ to make me jealous, ‘future mrs. kane.’ my ass.”

“trap me. take me. i’ll get over it. let’s get a big house together!” you sink on your knees, “ i’ll be good for you. be selfish for once, leon. if you want me- take me. just do it.”

he’s already being selfish by putting you through this whole ordeal, not stopping this earlier— he can’t deal with that.

“you’ll get bored in a few months.”

“you don’t know me, leon! i want this! with you.”

“fuck, sweetheart, stop lyin’. i know you. for you- i could change. but… but i don’t know how long that’d take. can’t afford to have you waitin’ for me to be a better man.”

it’s easy to figure out a person who ran away from her town. you don’t want to end up like your mother or the other housewives in this town. and with him, you would. there’s two options. you’d either settle down and wait for him to return from his missions— if he returns.

or you’d be on the run for the rest of you life, with a husband who deals with bioterrorism for a living.

and realistically, your dad would shoot leon off the face of the earth if he was ever to find out he even dared to touch you.

“i don’t want you to change!” you put your palms around his face, “i wanna see you happy too, y’know?”

you want to fix him. deep down, you think he’d put away the bottle of whiskey for you.

you want him to fix you— what if he’s been the only cure to your madness until now? what if, deep down, your destiny was to follow into your mother’s footsteps.

you sound insane.

leon wakes up and his strong arms wrap around your waist to pick you up off the floor. he carries you to the bed and with one hand, he moves the patchwork cover aside to tuck you in. he looks around and he grabs an old t-shirt from your suitcase. you lift your arms up instinctively and he dresses you up like you’re a helpless little girl.

he sits on one knee on the floor, right next to you.

“it was never gonna happen. this. us… the bracelet i gave you that night was my parting gift. or so i was hopin’. i wanted to you to figure out that… i’m in love with you.”

he kisses your hand, breathing your sweet perfume one more time, “but even if i’m so in love with you, i can’t put you through this. i’m sorry, sweet girl.”

“do i have no saying in this? i-i don’t want this to end.” you feel a tear pricking down the corner of your eye, “at least— at least come see me?”

“we’ll see each other again if we happen to visit this place at the same time.”

you’re sobbing now. you cry and the tears sting and make your vision blurry. mascara drips down your flushed cheeks and you smudge it even more when you try to wipe your tears with the back of your hand.

“please, be a good girl and go take a long bath. eat somethin’ for me?” he wipes your tears too and you hold onto his wrist, kissing it a few times. it’s so warm and real. it could’ve stayed with you forever. his warmth and manly perfume.

“i-i… i will, yeah.”

“i’d kill myself for hurtin’ you before your dad gets to that rifle. now, if you’ll excuse me. i gotta find your dad. he was lookin’ for me.”

“are you gonna drink again?”

no answer.

“i hate you! why did you come here? oh- let me guess… you’re drunk, right? is that your excuse? that you’re drunk, again? fuck you. leave me alone! leave- just leave, leon. i don’t wanna see you.”

“you’d hate me more if i’d keep feeding into your little fantasy.”

and so, he abandons you and the night settles down inside your childhood bedroom. you don’t bother turning on the bedside lamp— you sit in the dark, not truly capable of processing your emotions. it feels like you’ve been doing this for hours, but it’s been barely half an hour.

you stare at the bracelet one more and the tears keep rolling down your face.

a parting gift. a love bracelet.

because leon kennedy is madly in love with you.

leon was aware you’d never forgive him the moment he abandoned you inside that bedroom.

it’s for the best.

for you.

to be continued in PART II ── THE LUCKY ONES. MASTERLIST.

── ivy’s (very long) note : after SUCH a long time, it’s finally out ! <3 i really wasn’t expecting to end up with (around!!) 10k words ;o part two is already un progress and i PROMISE the sexual tension between the reader and leon will be crazy. this part has nothing compared to what i’m preparing. the reader is going to be a massive pain is the ass and brat for leon. again, i SWEAR it’s gonna be insane and sexual. I'll also explain their first time together.

my wish is to always make everyone feel as included as possible, so i avoid describing my readers outside their personalities and aesthetics. but i do like to mess around and give my readers unique traits and aesthetics. i had so much fun with this one <3 obviously, my readers are always inspired by myself and my own tastes !

i wanna share this fic’s pinterest board here, which i’ll also add to the masterlist when i post it. — SAY YOU WANT ME TOO. and also, credits to melscanvas_ on twt for the original screencap i used for my banner ! !

now, please let me know. would you like me to write a separate fic for the bar date? i can write so much about it, but that part alone can have up to 4k words, i think?

as always, interactions, especially reblogs are always super duper appreciated <3 thank you for reading, angels ! to join the taglist, please only leave a comment on this post. you can also comment on the masterlist post that i’ll link once it’s posted <3 love ya, mwuah!

You barely heard the warning growl. He turned his head abruptly, teeth snapping together in an attempt to bite as you jerked away, barking out a startled laugh. 

“Aw, that was cute.” And as though the bite wouldn’t have torn flesh, wouldn’t have scarred your face for life, you smiled down at his scowling face like it was a pretty thing. 

“I am not your pet,” Sukuna snarled, and he sounded angry, something akin to a wounded animal. You hummed non-committedly, continuing to push until you were snugly seated inside him. “Fuck—the n-next time you call me that, I will bite something more than your face.”

“How tempting.” Despite his threats, his legs were trembling with effort to hold himself up, and he pressed his throat into the cup of your hand, willingly submitting to your touch. You squeezed lightly, just enough to press into his windpipe, and watched as all four of his eyes rolled to the back of his head. 

It was funny, really, how he was using violence to disguise what a whore he really was. You counted to five before you let go. 

Apparently, you stopped too early for his liking. He was panting, his glare wet with tears, biting down a moan with bared teeth as the fat tip of your cock caught on his rim before easing in again. You were moving at a lumbering pace, deep and hard inside him but too fucking slow and rubbing at all the wrong places. 

He was growing frustrated by the second, and he finally barked, “Get on with it or I’ll kill you! Do you want to fuck me or not?” 

“I am fucking you, Sukuna.” 

“Not like this! Fuck—fuck you!” he half-hissed, half-whined, nails digging into the soft mattress. ‘More’ and ‘faster’ were on the tip of his tongue, but he took pride in his title of the King of Curses, and naturally his ego kept his mouth sealed shut. “Do really think I will hesitate to kill you just because I let you inside me? Are you that much of a fool?”

“Nah,” you replied nonchalantly, rolling your hips inside him to jolt out a startled moan. “You can kill me, but I don’t feel like catering to you today.” 

His words exploded into a string of expletives as he slammed his hips against you, shuddering as it only dug deeper, missing his sweet spot by far. 

Sukuna wanted to scream. 

Hand sliding up from his throat to firmly seize his jaw, you turned his face to meet you. “D’you need a reminder, sweetheart?” Your fingers dug into his cheek, taking extra precaution in making sure he wouldn't suddenly rear up and bite you. 

You needn’t have worried, though. He was way too desperate to care about the pet name or comprehend your question at that point, and he bucked his hips impatiently against yours, letting out a displeased growl. “What? J-just fucking fuck me already, brat.” 

You ignored him, continuing to move into him at a languid pace. “If I just give you the reward every time you ask, you’ll turn spoiled. How about you show me that you’ve earned it first, mm?” 

“What,” he lets out a shudder, breath bordering on a sob because why couldn’t you just give him what he wanted? He was so good for you, all patient despite his arousal, waiting for you to take him like you had promised, and yet you were being so mean and unfair to him. “What do you fucking want from me? You are just—fuuuckk, you are just human—so fucking weak, comparable to an insect! What makes you think you have the right to demand that of me? I am your king.”

He wanted to rip that smirk right off your face, punch your pretty face in. Dine in your blood. You didn’t deserve him. 

“I don’t have any right, I know,” you agreed, “but you aren’t entitled to everything, either.”

“Your ways of insinuation are pathetic—”

It hit him then, like a thunderbolt splitting the earth apart, and he gave a violent shudder.

The past twenty minutes had not been for nothing. You weren’t just toying around with him. You wanted him to see him crumble from his want for you. You wanted to hear him beg for it.

“No,” he gasped, shaking his head wildly. “No, fuck you. I am not going to beg.” 

You felt a sadistic smile creep onto your face. Seeing him deviating from his usual cocky self, now a babbling, incoherent mess, gave you a strange sort of pleasure. “I didn’t ask you to beg, though, did I? But now that you mention it…” 

You wanted to break him. 

Not that he wasn’t breaking already.

Sukuna was trembling with the effort of not giving in, sharp teeth digging into his bottom lip so hard it tore through skin. Blood trickled down one side of his chin, and you wanted to lick it up. 

“I am your king,” he repeated, a tremor in his voice betraying his want. “You offer to me. I do not beg.”

“Well, king, you’re holding up all the fun,” you taunted, voice sickly sweet. “Don’t you wanna be a good boy for me?” 

He shook his head again, this time with less force. Tears were welling up in his eyes again, and he didn’t even bother to blink them away, too occupied otherwise. They dotted on his lashes, threatening to spill. Where were his promises of ‘biting something more than your face’? What a little liar. 

“I’ll make you feel so good you’ll be feeling it for days,” you purred into his ear, “in exchange for one word. That’s all I’m asking for. You can do that, can’t you, sweetheart?” 

You watched in triumph as his eyebrows furrowed, as though carefully contemplating his answer. It was far too generous of an offer—he would be a fool to refuse. You made sure he knew that. Just one more little push, and he would topple over the edge and become putty in your hands. One more push. 

Kissing your way down his spine to plaster yourself to his back, you reached a hand down his abdomen with your free hand, pressing into it where your cock rested within him. It was too much, and you knew it. You were heavy and thick inside him, filling up every inch of his tummy, and he hadn’t stopped clenching around your girth since the first time you pushed it in. Then you moved your hand, feeling him up until you found the thing you were looking for. 

You heard his breath hitch. 

Beneath your fingers was an obscene swelling high up in his abdomen, protruding from the hard lines of his stomach. A bulge that made for clear evidence that his insides were carving out a space for you. You should have known there was no way it would fit so innately. No matter how disagreeable his personality was, his body was so good for you, as always. 

You gave the bulge a little squeeze, and Sukuna let out a choked whine, mouth gaping as though trying to form words. 

You pressed yourself to his back, kissing his shoulder. “What is it?” 

He shook his head, continuing to whine softly, no longer as petulant as he was desperate. You were almost afraid you had broken him. 

You decided to take one more step. Flattening your palm on the bulge, you carefully pressed it back into his stomach. “What do you want, Sukuna?” you whispered. “I’ll give you everything you want.”

He tipped his head back to glare at you with the corner of his eye, tears rolling down his cheeks. “Give me more,” he gritted out, helpless. “Please.” 

Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?

Without warning, you pulled back and rammed yourself into him in one go, angling your hips to pound right into his sweet spot, making him cry out in surprise. “W-wait, wait, ahh!” he screamed, the hand on his neck forcing him to stay in place. “Slow down, ‘s too much—” 

You continued to slam your hips against him, hitting his prostate with every sharp thrust, drinking in his whines and complaints and ignoring all of them. “You’re so good, so fuckin’ good, Sukuna.” 

He whined loudly in response, hands grasping for purchase on the sheets as you railed him into oblivion. “Not good, no,” he sobbed, shaking his head, his protests falling on deaf ears. “Bastard, slow down…”

You let go of his throat to grab the back of his neck, shoving his face roughly into the mattress as he cried out. “Fuck, how do you feel so good?” you muttered mindlessly, taking more rapture in looking at his pleasure-addled expression (eyes squeezed shut, drooling onto the bed, moaning loud and clearly in ecstasy) than the fact that you were inside him. “I could do this all day long, y’know?” 

The tip of his erection grazed against the sheets with every thrust, and he wanted nothing more than to grab it and jerk off to your pace, but you kept his hands so busy, either trying to knock off his balance or brutally pound his entire body into the bed. 

“Ah, ah, sh-shut up! Keep talking and—I’ll twist your head off!” he threatened with a whine, desperate, but you continued to talk, embarrassing him further. 

“Look at you,” you cooed, “you were making a fuss earlier, and look at you now, taking me so well. Fuck. You look like you’re made for this, Sukuna. Made for taking my cock.” 

He seized up at that, hole clenching around your girth obscenely, making your pace stutter. 

“What was that?” you laughed. “Was that a turn on? You’re too cute, really.” 

Sukuna tried to morph his face into a look of disgust, but all he succeeded in doing was have his eyebrows pinched up in a look that resembled pure bliss more than anything. At some point he gave up struggling, arms going slack as he allowed you to pull him back against your cock by the hips, fucking him onto your lap as lewd ‘ah, ah, ah’s escaped his lips. 

You were pounding into him like an animal, treating him like one, and yet your pathetic, ingratiating words never failed to make his heart cramp up with a strange sensation, heat spreading from his face to the tips of his ears and down his chest, painting him a pretty red. 

You were just another lowly human, he reminded himself, someone to fuck and forget, but at the moment Sukuna found himself wishing to get lost in the stars that erupted around the edges of his vision every time you hit his prostate, found himself wanting a second time, even if the first hadn’t ended yet. You drove him insane, and he loathed how good it made him feel. 

“Brat,” he heard his own voice, wrecked by how much noise he had been making, and you leaned forward to kiss his spine, letting him know you heard him. 

“What?” you murmured as he didn’t continue, slowing down your thrusts. “D’you need something? Does it hurt?” He bristled at how tender your words were, how you acted like you cared about a bloodthirsty curse like him. 

“Did I give you permission to stop?” He pushed his hips back against you with a growl, forcing you to pick up your pace. “Just wanta let you know—after this. You’ve got—hnngh, ahh, fuuuck! Nowhere to run. So don’t even think about i-it.” 

You blinked, equal parts amused and perplexed by his sudden threat. You dared not stop, though, even as he started to pant and whine heavily into the mattress, body shuddering with the gradual approach of an orgasm. “I’m not going to run from you, Sukuna. Wouldn’t dream of it.” 

Why would you run, when he was right under you, pliant and wanting for you to satisfy him? Did he not understand how much you’ve yearned for this? 

“Good choice,” he moaned, “don’t you dare fucking stop until you make me cum.”

You sped up your thrusts, snaking a hand back onto his neck and up to fist into his hair, wrenching his head up to smother him with a filthy kiss. It was rough, and more teeth than tongue, and at some point you could taste the sharp tang of blood from the cut in his lip earlier. You lapped it up along with the saliva that trickled down his chin, hearing him let out a needy whine. 

“So close, ah—so damn close, please, please, fucking please—” he begged shamelessly between loud moans, stripping himself naked of all dignity as he spent the last of his energy to bend his back into a vile arch, pressing his ass against your crotch as you slammed yourself into his swollen sweet spot in one powerful thrust. 

A scream ripped from his throat and he came untouched, staining the bed with white, at the same time clamping down on you so hard you jerked to a sudden stop. You collapsed onto his back, panting loudly as you tried to catch your breath. 

“Fuck,” you groaned. “You okay?” 

He refused to respond, keeping his face buried in the mattress. You took the opportunity to pull out, hearing him let out a soft whine, cold and aching and suddenly empty. 

“Fuck you,” you heard him mutter. 

That was good. He was still alive. 

You slumped down onto the bed next to him, kissing his shoulder to try and get him to turn, and he raised a shaky hand to flip you off, mumbling something you assumed was a profanity. 

Biting down a grin at how utterly adorable he was being, you found yourself overwhelmed by a sudden rush of affection. 

“What, are you shy?” you teased. “Don’t be.” 

He scoffed, the tips of his ears reddening. “Brat, I am not shy.”

He didn’t have any reason to be shy. Not to you. After all, you had long mapped out every inch of his body, from his prominent features to his most vulnerable. Made him want to bare his throat for you to make him feel good.

But nothing could have prepared you for the way Sukuna slowly flipped himself onto his back, levelling you with a sleepy, half-lidded gaze instead of his usual hard glare, muttering something under his breath. He watched you quietly, placing his hand next to yours on the bed, the position far too intimate for your comfort.

“Hey,” you blurted out, feeling your heart skip a beat. You knew you were risking everything, and that he could kill you in the blink of an eye, but you couldn’t stop the next words from coming out. “You were really good today.” 

Good.

Sukuna had been called many things in his life before, but ‘good’ was not one of them. Good men did not dirty their hands with the blood of the innocent for fun. Good men did not sit on a mountain of bones and call themselves a king. Good men did not grow six arms and four eyes and look like monsters, and Sukuna was a monster himself.

There was a long, awkward pause, and his eyes were wide with a look you couldn’t decipher—one of disgust or mockery, maybe, and you were already regretting it. But to your utmost surprise, it started with a light blush dusted high on his cheekbones, before it bloomed into a dark red that spread across his face. The corners of his lips twitched, and then lifted, ever so slightly. He immediately fought to replace it with a scowl, but you had already seen it. 

He had smiled. Sukuna had smiled at you. A genuine, almost soft smile, as though he cherished the way you told him he was good, had longed to hear it for centuries of living.

“Quit smiling, brat,” he huffed, but his voice lacked any real venom, more exhausted and content than anything, and made no refusal when you leaned in to kiss him.

“‘m talking ‘bout a baby, satoru, not some toy…” you huffed disapprovingly, pressing a gentle kiss to the sensitive underside of his jaw, to which he let out a shrilly gasp at. “a baby right here.” you gave his tummy a little prod, and he whimpered, his walls pulsating around you at the mere thought of you planting a seed right there… a dirty little secret buried deep inside him, where no one would know but the two of you. “that’s what i want. do you understand me, ‘toru?” 

“i knoow what you’re talkin’ about,” satoru slurred sousedly, pupils dilated as proof of his intense arousal. he palmed his pudgy tummy with one hand, mimicking your earlier actions, before glaring up at you. “‘m not stupid, i’m the best. ‘said i want a baby, so gimme one, ‘kay? your baby.” 

“i heard it takes a lot of hard work to make one, though,” you carefully repeated his own words, a sly grin slowly etching itself onto your face. he mumbled something under his breath that sounded awfully like ‘meanie’ before it sharpened into a whine as you pressed harder into the curved cusp of his hips, the fullness making it almost hard to breathe. “hours and hours of labour and hard work non-stop, in fact.” you huffed out a soft laugh, “well, it’s me doing the hard work anyway, but you won’t get to rest at all. you sure you can handle that, baby? might as well keep you on my cock all night long if you’re up for it…” 

he nodded enthusiastically, treating this like a challenge as he always would. satoru was the best. the best omega in all of the clans: tight sopping hole, negligible gag reflex, and a fertile womb that was always, always ready for breeding. and if you wanted a child, he was going to be the best child-bearer in the world. 

“put a baby in me,” he told you, firmly. “and don’t you dare stop until you do.” 

and that was all you needed to snap. 

like a man possessed, you snarled a quick curse into his neck, nipping at the mating bite you had embedded there on the side with stark affection before getting to work. two sweaty palms found their way onto the thick of his hips, gripping and squeezing, roughly yanking him back to meet every violent nudge of your bulbous cockhead against his prostate gland, now throbbing sweetly and starting to swell. 

satoru sobbed out your name loudly in querulous, broken syllables, thrashing wildly under your grip, but you didn’t let go—never would, only held on as your omega clutched on to your shoulders equally as tight. you would fulfil your promise, make him yours in every sense of the word. you would impregnate him. 

“gonna make you a mommy,” you heaved out, pressing down onto his softened tummy. you wanted to make him feel you inside, thick and hefty and pulsing with life, and he wailed out, the pressure on his slightly distended stomach increasing tenfold with one single push of your hot palm. “gonna make you full and round n’ swollen with me. is that what you want, ‘toru? to get knocked up like a good cumslut?” 

“yes,” satoru snivelled, tears dotting on his lashes as he whined pitifully at you. “a-alpha. ‘m your good cumslut omega. please...” he didn’t know what he was pleading for, he didn’t care, as long as at the end of the day, he would be stuffed to the brim with cum and seed with your knot plugging him up, a baby slowly starting to grow inside his womb as he dozes off to sweet, sweet dreams. 

“shit,” you growled, stiff grip pressing bruises onto flawless skin while you plowed into his soppy cave, making him keen at the rough treatment. all of this was making you dizzy with desire. you couldn’t wait to see his pretty tummy grow round with the baby you put in him. “wanna knock you up so bad, baby,” you whined into his ear, “you have no idea. gonna make you mine, ruin you for anyone else…” 

satoru sobbed out a moan, the sheer intensity of your words making his hole drool with want and anticipation, gummy walls squeezing around you with an obscene squelch. all he could feel was himself getting wetter and wetter, wetter and wetter… drenching the mattress with how much slick he was producing, the viscous substance practically pouring out of his birthing cavern like a waterslide. 

he had never been so fucking aroused in his life. the idea of his body slowly growing plump and heavy with your child, all fat and waddling around in his pregnancy, hands poised underneath his huge stomach to support it… 

you probably wouldn’t let him walk around much after pumping a baby into him, would you? you would probably strap him to the bed, keeping him pregnant and barefoot on your cock for the rest of the days to come. the strongest sorcerer in the world, reduced to nothing but a cumdump and a child-bearer. 

fuck, he was going to cum so hard. 

“gonna cum soon, baby,” you panted. “gonna cum in your pretty womb and you’ll take it, ‘kay?” 

satoru shuddered, crying out as he felt you grow bigger, your knot thickening at the base, making his rim stretch impossibly wider. “p-please. want it inside,” he weeped, desperate tears dribbling down his rosy cheeks in salty globs, to which you lapped up eagerly. “want your baby so much…” 

you gripped onto his hips harder, pressing them securely into the cushiony mattress while you pounded into the cramped space in his sloppy hole, making him yell out a filthy scream of your name, jackknifing off the bed and cumming all over his filled tummy in several, messy spurts. 

“yeah. and ‘m gonna do exactly that, princess,” you panted, sloppily kissing his neck while continuing to plow at his taut, tumid hole, still greedily fluttering around you despite the mind-blowing orgasm, wanting to be bred. “gonna put a baby- in you. get this tummy nice n’ round for -me, yeah?” 

“please,” satoru sobbed brokenly. he swore he couldn’t take it anymore if you didn’t cum inside him in the next minute. he was going to lose his fucking mind. “get me pregnant already!” 

at his warbled consent, you couldn’t hold back a primal snarl of ‘omega’ into his ear before sending a harsh, well-aimed thrust against his tumefied sweet spot, the beefy tip crushing itself against the throbbing, overstimulated gland, causing a loud wail to ring from your pretty mate. with a loud, guttural grunt, you forced your knot deeper inside his puffy rim, seizing and trembling before filling him up with thick ropes of warm cum. 

satoru gawped at you with watery eyes, keening and trembling with exhaustion as your knot settled deep and safely into his womb, stuffing him full of baby batter. you really had went and knocked him up now… and from the way you kept on crooning, greedy hands kneading his now swollen stomach with a terrible insistence, you definitely weren’t planning on stopping after one. 

FUSHIGURO TOJI

“you wanna what,” toji snarled, breath coming out in soft, frisky puffs as you carefully folded the omega in his favourite position—the full nelson. “‘m not in the mood for your ngh, fuckin’ jokes.” 

“i’m not playing with you,” you grit out, panting harshly into the valley of his neck and shoulder, licking a hot stripe from his dewy scent gland to the sensitive back of his ear, earning you a shiver. you mustered a low grunt as your cock slotted into his tight hole with a sloppy shlick, his walls instinctively closing in on you, keeping you safely tucked inside. “i want another baby, toji. wanna, heh, get you pregnant.” 

“y’er actually serious.” toji gave a nonchalant wriggle, getting you to loosen your grip on him, before sharply rolling his hips down to fully settle onto your lap—the sticky back of his rear now flattened against your straining quads, groaning as your thick cock slid in deeper into his soaked cavern. “fuuck. that’s more like it. fuck the stomach—think i can feel your dumb cock all the way in my throat.” 

the both of you panted wordlessly as you let his puffy rim get used to the heavy stretch, pleasured hums slipping from him as you smothered his neck and shoulders with red and purple love bites, tenderly licking over the teethmarks you had put on the side of his neck the first time you had consummated. 

“y’said you want another baby? get me pregnant? that it, stupid alpha?” toji muttered, giving you an impassive side-glance, but you knew he was excited from the idea with how much slick was leaking, no, pouring out from around your shaft, drenching your cock with his arousal. “bet you just like, ah- the thought of seein’ me all round and useless. bein’ an absolute slut for your,” he bit back a whine as you thrusted up into his sopping hole, “c-cock. ah, your big, fuckin’ cock… good for nothin’ but gettin’ me pregnant. hah.” 

a lewd ‘pap’ sounded as you bottomed out again, the convex tip weeping in unison with his fluttering walls, prodding him in places that sent stars swarming in his eyes. he could feel himself clench with every movement, his stretched hole growing wet and sticky at each drag of your thick girth, hot and throbbing inside him. it didn’t help that you were groaning and grunting in his ear, hips trembling every time you bucked up into his swollen, dripping hole, feverish body bounding his in such a taut, intimate position that allowed minimal movement on his half—that had his inner omega keening. 

“he does more than that,” you muttered, rolling your hips up so you could rub your shaft directly against his sore stomach walls, “and you know it.” toji gave a dry sob, clinging on to his own thighs as the round bulge of your cock appeared on his abdomen, deep and sinfully thick. almost resembling a baby bump. you couldn’t help but croon at his reaction to your little trick, starting to thrust into his wet cave again. “h-he’s- definitely very good at getting you pregnant, though, heh…” 

toji could feel his instincts acting up again at the way you were talking to him—making him want to fold his arms, press his chest into the mattress with his back arched like a good omega and raise his ass to the skies just so you could plunder him and put a baby inside his needy womb. fuck. he needed to get pregnant. he needed your seed inside him, filling him up to the brim of leaking, your bulbous knot securing the entrance of his slutty little hole, preventing anything from dripping out… and making sure he’d conceive. 

“fuck me,” he growled, “as many times as it’ll take. fuck a baby into me. a-another one. i want a fucking litter, you hear me?” 

“so demanding,” you panted, despite feeling yourself grow dizzy at his obscene words. “i’ll give you as many as you can take—don’t wanna tire you out, baby. y’remember last time when you had the, ah- twins? doubt we can fit more than- hn, three, though, in that little hole of yours.” 

“it’s not little if even your stupidly big cock can fit inside,” he scoffed. “i said i want a litter. now shut up and fuck me ‘till you give me one.” 

biting back instinctual dislike of this being not the traditional mounting position to mate and breed—it was your omega’s favourite after all, so it’d do—you continued to plow at his soppy hole, each filthy push and pull with the only intent of fulfilling your role as his sire. pumping a baby, a pup, into his sweet womb, making his tummy grow big and round with the product of your hard work. it was amazing, really, how all of this could occur from one spurt of hot cum deep into your beautiful mate. 

you could feel toji’s body shuddering with pleasure, sharp claws sinking into your forearms and whichever part of you he could physically reach, small mewls punched out of him with every thrust. but that wouldn’t do. not while you were making love to him. you wanted to make him cry. make him scream, preferably, eyes crossing and back arching as he sobbed out his pleasure to the world. 

adjusting the angle of your hips, you tightened your grappling hold on him before grinding up, a smirk cutting across your face as you heard him choke on a moan, legs quivering where they hung on the crook of your elbows, evidently overstimulated. he wasn’t going anywhere, now. not until you bred him properly like he had asked. this was your duty as mate. 

“too much,” he gasped, “too fuckin’ much, slow down—” 

“keep up, baby. you asked for this,” you hummed, nipping at his shoulder as he squirmed on your cock, rim flittering tirelessly around the bulk of your cock. “just let me do my job, yeah?” 

“fuck—you.” 

“in case you didn’t notice, i’m currently trying very hard.” 

toji whimpered helplessly, tight walls squeezing the life out of your cock, as though he were trying to milk every last bit out of you. you could feel yourself dripping inside him with every heavy slosh—every push and pull of your shaft against his cramped hole, pre-cum mingling with his slick, creating one big, wet mess inside him that would soon grow into a tiny bundle of joy. 

“gonna look sooo fucking pretty with my baby in you, toji,” you cooed into his ear, rewarding you with a feeble shiver and an answering whine. you bucked your hips, pushing deeper and deeper before allowing your knot to slowly take form, stretching him across the entrance with the heavy, swollen end of it. “like always. or maybe it’s gonna be twins this time. triplets. fuck, baby. you’re gonna look so beautiful.” 

he sobbed out as thick, warm cum began to flood him, making him clamp around you intuitively to keep everything inside—the unexpected pleasure buzzing through you sharply and making you grunt and jerk, another hot spurt of cum into his pretty womb. 

“if we don’t get triplets, we’re trying again,” toji mumbled, gaze hazy, almost cumdrunk, stomach flexing in anticipation as you poured the last of your seed into him with a soft sigh of agreement. 

RYŌMEN SUKUNA

“put your fuckin’ spawn in me?” the curse scoffed, craning his neck to glare at you with his bottom left eye. “‘s about damn time you asked.” 

you had him on all fours (sixes), back arched and hips raised like a proper omega presenting in heat, panting and shivering as you bent over his body with your lumbering own. you could feel the drool building up in your mouth from the mere anticipation of impregnating your mate, filling him to the brim with your eggs and cum, breeding little beasts into his eager, fertile womb. 

you leaned down to nuzzle his neck in affirmation, clumsily canting your hips backwards before pushing them until they rested flush against his plush ass, choking a needy whine out of him. his walls squeezed around you in retaliation, still needing to adjust to the all-too-big intrusion despite having done this hundreds of times, the heaviness of your cock resting against inside him almost a familiar comfort. 

“this better- not be just your rut talking,” sukuna muttered, a low growl reverbrating at the back of his throat, quietening after you let out a soothing croon of your own, tenderly licking over his mating bite. “i’ll f-fucking flay you alive if it is.” 

“no,” you denied, but you think you’d let him do it anyway. you’d do anything for him. kill, slaughter, guard him with your life. you were his, heart, body and soul, and you’d slit your own throat if you left him wanting anything for a split second. 

still struggling to find a rhythm with how much he was writhing and snarling underneath you, his mind unused to such open submission, with him freely exposing his back and neck to you, your claws being able to reach his stomach within a blink of an eye; and yet his body was practically vibrating with how much it yearned for the pleasure that came with yielding to you, having your big, clawed hands branding his body, the weight of your touch anchoring him to the present. 

fuck. children, sukuna thought, a sob dragged out of his lips, wrecked, as the head of your cock rammed against his throbbing sweet spot. little yous, cute and fanged and savage, with your bruising grip on his hips and the feral snarl of his name into the sweaty scent gland of his neck, swollen cock working in and out of him with utmost devotion at one single directive that he had given you only moments ago—to get him pregnant. 

what would they be like? would they inherit your gentleness? or the side of your angry beast? he wanted them all. wanted all that you could give him. wanted you to fill him up, make his tummy grow and grow, stuffed with your spawn and seed until he was positive he couldn’t take any more. to the edge of spilling, breaking, bursting. 

sukuna let out a throaty groan at that, head thrown back as he gave a full-body shudder, his first orgasm burning through him as his cocks spurted onto the nest in enthusiasm. “fuck,” he panted, slumping down in exhaustion, a protesting whine tumbling out as you continued to move in and out of him despite the sensitive fluttering of his hole. “a-asshole, can’t you see—hnngh.” 

you palmed at the fat of his ass, crooning as you heard your mate whimper, head ducked down to hide in the nest, almost shy. “it is okay,” you rumbled, forked tongue laving over his scent gland in comfort, the fragrant, oily tang of his scent making you muster out a low keen. he was so sweet, so perfect, as always. he deserved everything and more. “i will… take care of you.” 

and you meant every word of it. until he was bathed in the making of your children, your spawn, you wouldn’t stop. 

“sukuna,” you growled, rocking down into his waiting hole with meaning, wanting him to feel every girthy inch of you, the drag, the glide. “sukuna. sukuna.” 

“yes, i fucking get it,” he bit back a snarl, turning his head to let you catch a glimpse of his teary eyes. “don’t stop. fuck. it feels so good. you feel so fucking good.” 

he whined louder as you picked up your pace, nails ripping up the nest into near shreds, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care with the noises he was making, making the heat inside you grow ever hotter, making your hips move of their own accord, bucking into the warm, cosy chamber of his womb of their own accord. 

you could hear with every gurgle inside his tummy, his slick intermixing with all the precome that was squirting out of your cock in frenzied arousal, making a comfy nest for your length to settle into for mere moments before sliding out again. soon, it would become home for your eggs, a soft cushion for them to rest upon until it was ready for them to hatch. all of them, inside him. you would have no one else bear them. 

“sukuna,” you repeated, one clawed hand going around his torso to palm at his stomach, not quite full yet, but nonetheless bulging with your girthiness. “here, sukuna. please, please.” you pushed and kneaded at the swell of his tummy, strugging to tuck your claws away in the dizziness of heat and want clouding your instincts, but keeping them a safe distance from him and the seedbed of your spawn. “want to put them in here. make you full of me. want it so much.” 

“yeah,” sukuna choked out, tears sliding down his cheeks from all four of his eyes, chest heaving with breath as you took and took from him, the curb of his hole puffy from all the stretching. he could feel you growing, still, your knot starting heavy and thick from the base, and he held back a keen of his own, wanting nothing but for you to plug him up and make him your personal breeding grounds. just you, him, and whatever you would give him tonight and in the coming weeks of your rut, whether it be a nestful of eggs, or stomachfuls of your cum. 

he would take it all, like a good omega. he would do it for you. only for you. 

“breed me,” sukuna whimpered, two hands reaching back to clutch at your shoulders, your neck—any part of you that he could reach. “t-tired of seein’ an empty nest. want eggs. was waitin’ for you to fucking ask. wanted them for ages. fuck them into me.” you could feel his thighs trembling with the strain of holding his hips up for you, strength long gone, and he would have collapsed if it weren’t for you dutifully grasping them, making sure they were pressed flush against yours. 

you hissed out, low, soothing croons spilling out one after one as you heard the first pained cry coming from your mate, the sweet shape of his womb distending to make space for the first egg. “it is okay,” you whispered again and again throughout, lapping messily at his neck and cheek, a primal resemblance of a kiss. “you are okay.” 

sukuna allowed two of his eyes to flutter shut (the other two on alert, now that he had something to protect), two hands joining yours, resting against his now bloated stomach. relishing in the vibrations of your purrs and trills, and responding with some of his own. he could feel the shape of the egg inside him, scaled and ovoid and perfect. 

if this was the aftermath of pregnancy, if this was the outcome of hours and hours of lovemaking and feral snarls of pleasure into the crook of his neck, then sukuna would sacrifice anything, anything to feel this way again. this love, this tenderness, shaped by two hands cradling his soon-to-be newborn, the heartbeat of another pressed against his throbbing own. 

GETO SUGURU

suguru couldn’t believe it. you were breeding him in the fucking kitchen, of all places. 

“too much,” suguru sobbed, hot tears clinging to his lashes as he glanced back at you, bent over the kitchen counter. he could hear every slosh and squelch inside his sore cunt, as though your cock were trying to whip all the baby batter stuffed inside him into shape. “puh-please. i can’t, daddy. ‘s too much.” 

“nuh-uh, suguru. you can take it,” you gently reprimanded, one hand settling on his ass, squeezing the flesh lightly, making him jostle and whine. “you said you wanted a baby, right? daddy’s gonna give you a baby. now, we don’t tolerate going back on our word, do we, sweetheart?” 

“no,” the omega keened, hips trembling lightly as you impaled him again and again, thick girth making his folds part and lips stretch just to accommodate you. you could feel him shivering against you, evidently overstimulated, but you couldn’t bring yourself to stop, with the piece of heaven that you were currently inside. tight, warm and extremely wet, a perfect, snug fit for your cock. you couldn’t wait to spill inside hm again, another load of cum inside his soaked womb, another chance of him getting pregnant. “but it’s too good, daddy, please…” 

“do you wanna stop, suguru? does it hurt?” you paused, eyebrows fixing together in concern. a whine of protest tore from his throat almost immediately, hips squirming as he tried to fuck himself back onto your cock. he shook his head rapidly, mouthing ‘please, no’ while blinking up at you tearily. “okay, okay…” 

he let out a sob of relief as you started moving again, despite how he could feel his toes clenching and hips shuddering with every overstimulating thrust, his core aching and swollen. he was practically relying on your firm grasp on his waist and the leverage he had on the counter to stay standing, the strength having long left his legs. but suguru had to endure. it was for the baby, of course. it would all be worth it in the end. 

“good boy, suguru. just one more, and then we’ll take a break, okay?” you murmured soothingly, your hot palm a comfort on the small of his back, steadying him and making sure he won’t fall, grounding him to the present of your lovemaking. “daddy’s gonna take good care of you, just like always.” you rolled your hips in slow circles, making sure not to go too fast, watching his slick cling onto your girth in a wet, shiny sheen of sticky cream. you groaned your pleasure as you bottomed out, feeling him clench around you in rapid flutters, small whines slipping out from your lover in tumbles. 

“okay,” he mumbled. “put a baby in me, daddy.” 

that sent a pleasure-addled shiver down your spine and right down your cock, pre squirting out from the head, making him croon happily as more of your warmth settled inside his womb. “little brat,” you scolded, a playful lilt to your tone, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck, to which he shivered at. you couldn’t wait to get your hands on his swollen tummy once you were done with him. it was going to be round and full and perfect, pulsing with the perfect concoction of you and him. 

“faster,” suguru whined, “harder. want it s-so much, daddy. give me a baby.” 

you grunted in response, grip sliding onto his hips as you tugged him back onto your cock, the wet ‘pap’ of skin against skin ringing in the air, driving your length deeper into his welcoming hole with more force than before. he cried out as you sunk further into his sloppy pussy with another stroke of your shaft against his twitching, oversensitive walls, pulsating around you in rhythm. 

suguru’s fingers clawed down the marble, soft whines and uneven breaths punched out of swollen lips as he struggled to hold himself up with your harsh, increasing thrusts, refusing to slump downright onto the table even as you pounded into him like you were pestle, and he was mortar. 

“always biting off more than you can chew,” you huffed, palms smoothing over the thick of his hips and down to his round, plush ass, before giving it a little slap for good measure—and he whined out sharply, shuddering with arousal from the streak of pain. “you never learn, do you, baby?” 

“‘s a lot,” suguru bit down on his lip, holding in the sob building at the back of his throat. the pleasure was simply too good, every strike of your bulbous head against his throbbing sweet spot setting his nerve ends on fire and flames, lust clouding his vision with how your hands were branding him as your own—your hips never once pausing in their mission to impregnate him even as he whined and sobbed and begged. 

“but it’s okay. y’can do a-anything you want to me,” he mumbled, pausing to rub at his glossy eyes before peering at you from over his shoulder. “‘s long as you make me pregnant, ‘kay?” 

it was at that moment that you realised, suguru with baby fever was a very dangerous thing. with a low, almost primal snarl into the bruised skin of his neck, you pulled out swiftly and flipped your omega around, sitting him on the counter just as he glanced down at you with wide, stunned eyes, a petulant whine on the edge of being uttered before you silenced him with a kiss. 

“daddy,” suguru whined against your lips, clumsily grabbing at your shoulders, even as you mouthed messily at him, the kiss more tongue and spit than anything, feral and a little violent with his claws now gaining purchase in raking down your back. “‘nough kissing. put it back in. want your cock in me.”  

lips parting with a wet smack, you guided your cock to rut against his sopping folds, making sure he could feel it, all of it—the hot, filthy drag of your girth against his needy cunt, stroking and teasing but never entering. he gawked up at you in betrayal, whining needily and nudging his hips forward, trying to entice you to fuck him, a frown pulling at the corners of his lips when it didn’t work. 

it hit him, then, just what you were waiting for. 

“‘m sorry, i forgot—” he rushed over his words, arms slung onto your shoulders in a half-cage, leaning forward to kiss your cheek sweetly. “please, daddy.” 

“good,” you hummed. maybe you spoiled him a little too much, but now he sat, shivering and obedient, your cock spearing his cunt in one strong thrust. in this new position you were able to reach way deeper, the tapered tip delicately kissing the opening of his cervix, making your mate sob and croon with the fullness of it all. 

“now hold on tight for me, okay?” you whispered into the sweaty curve of his neck, to which he nodded pliantly to with a pout, “‘cause daddy’s not gonna stop until he puts a baby in your tummy.”