JJK Men's Reactions To You Starting Your Period During Sex

𝕗𝕦𝕝𝕝 𝕚𝕞𝕞𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕚𝕠𝕟;

summary: bertholdt loved his new little toy -- the highest tech available on the market, a brand new innovative VR set that fully taps into your senses, bringing you into whatever fantasy world you desired. the best part? the cute girl on his friends list that he just couldn't get out of his head.

pairing: bertholdt hoover x f!reader

warnings: smut, online relationship, meeting in person!, virginity loss, unprotected sex, slight praise, fluffiness, friends to lovers, partly takes place in a virtual fantasy setting

notes: heyo!! here's a little piece i loved writing, for the lovely @tadokorochann, who has the best fucking ideas i can't even deal <3 stay lovely, i hope you enjoy!!

Work had never felt so long, Bertholdt thought to himself as he eyed the little clock on his car radio. In just under an hour, he'd be ready to jump into his favorite hobby and spend time with his favorite person. It was the perfect set-up for blowing off steam. The shit day answering calls and dealing with angry customers weighed on his shoulders heavily, but none of that would matter once he was home.

He scarfed down an unimpressive dinner. He showered, even fixed his hair to be presentable despite the fact that nobody would even see it -- perhaps it was a slightly nervous habit, but it didn't matter -- Bertholdt was ready to see you.

Even if it wasn't... you, exactly, it still was, in a way.

A familiar melody chimed in his ear upon donning the headset. Swirls of color lifted to life in front of his eyes, bright and harmonious. Bertholdt relaxed back into his aging gaming chair and let the giddy smile consume his face.

Everyone needs a hobby, right? Something to fill the void. Bertholdt certainly did, when he ordered the newest VR set on the market almost a year ago. The tech was groundbreaking; fully immersive like nothing else before it, and all-encompassing to the senses. It was really something amazing to experience (even if it burned a pretty little hole in his wallet) and quickly became part of his nightly ritual, keeping him up way longer than his body appreciated.

The biggest and most popular game available for such new technology enraptured him immediately: Planes of Eldia, a high-fantasy MMORPG that plopped you right in the middle of a massive world filled to the brim with strange creatures, breathtaking scenery, and, of course, no shortage of players to aid or hinder your journey.

It was his first week of playing when he met you.

Bertholdt wandered himself around the cute, quaint village his avatar lived in, eventually picking up a little fetch-quest from the inn-keeper to go collect some rare mushroom that only grows in a certain cave outside of town. He figured it'd be easy enough. Such missions were standard fare for the fantasy games he was accustomed to.

Lush grass licked at his calves as he walked, cool and dewy against the thin fabric of his low-level gear. He could hear birds chirping in the trees; a river running not far away; the coo and caw of mythical creatures that made these kinds of woods their home. Bertholdt eyed the barely noticeable gap in the tree line up ahead. He was closing in on his destination.

Traversing the forest had been too calm. Palm-sized, scaly beasts bawked and took flight if he drew too near. Fuzzy mouse-like creatures scurried themselves up the trees to avoid his booted feet. Nothing even spared him a glance as he passed by, weaving his way between impossibly tall trees until the thick of it finally broke into a rather bare clearing. The grass was dotted sparsely with tiny pastel flowers. It led like a trail up to a dark, eerie crack skirting along the side of the mountain before him. Bertholdt eyed the scene. He took in a deep breath, savoring the smell of the ocean not far away, reeling at the way the wind brushed at his hair and nipped his cheeks.

He figured it'd be easy enough, but he quickly realized he was out of his element -- quite literally. Right as his fingers brushed along the thin cave mouth, a flurry of tiny, winged creatures burst from the darkness in a powerful stream, knocking his avatar back on his ass. A cacophony of screeches and caws grated harshly through the air as they swarmed, enough to make his teeth ache and grit strangely in his mouth. Laid out, defenseless, Bertholdt slapped his hands over his ears, but it did little to drown out the relentless screaming surrounding him and draining the health bar hovering over his head.

He closed his eyes. Surely he'd wake up in his virtual bed soon, pockets a little lighter after suffering the respawn fee -- but the swirling dark clouds that accompanied the 'dying' mechanic didn't take over his vision as he'd expected.

"Dude, what are you doing?!"

A savior in mismatched armor, a diamond among the rough tree line.

"You don't even have any ranged abilities yet. You gotta pick up a crossbow or something, man, you're fucked against stuff like this!"

The first time he met you, you saved his ass. And you never let him forget about it, either.

It was months ago when he made his first friend in Planes of Eldia, who just so happened to be a sweet, higher-level mage. You didn't mind gifting him gear and weapons, you didn't mind escorting him through quests you'd already completed. Bertholdt felt babied by this objectively better player, utterly dwarfed in skill and abilities, but you never minded.

You were cute -- well, your avatar was cute, he had to remind himself. He felt drawn to you in embarrassing ways. Whenever he'd log on, he'd check to see if you were also online. He'd travel to your avatar's home a few villages away, feeling much like a nervous teenager when he knocked on the door. It was just a game, he had to remind himself.

Just a game.

Eventually, you two played nearly every day together. It became a ritual of sorts: Bertholdt would get off work, put on the headset, and you'd almost always be waiting. The gentle greetings and little laughs were a symphony to his ears. So many nights stretched far too long, sometimes not even getting anything done in the game. Hours of just talking felt like minutes when it meant he could lie in a field of grass next to you.

"You... you have an online girlfriend?" Reiner had smirked at him from across the table one night, amusement dancing behind his golden gaze. Bertholdt blanched, nearly choking over his beer. "No, no! She's just... a friend, on the game, who happens to be a girl," he sputtered and glanced away. The restaurant surrounding them felt too quiet for the friendly conversation to take such an embarrassing turn. Distant forks scraped against plates and patrons chatted to one another, yet Bertholdt felt like he was trapped in a closet with his oldest friend, pressed into an inescapable corner. He picked at a fry on his plate absently.

The blonde arched a brow, clearly inquisitive after that reaction. "Well, you sure spend a lot of time together. I feel like I haven't seen you in ages," he hummed and paused to take a bite of his meal, "I finally pin you down and now I feel like I know everything about this... friend."

The sound of phone chimes suddenly broke into their space -- three dings, back to back -- and Bertholdt stiffened in place. A hole was burning in his pocket and anyone half blind could see it. Reiner blinked at him and the curious way he molded into a rather ghoulish statue under the dim lighting. "...Don't tell me that's her."

"Okay, I won't."

"Bert, buddy," Reiner swiped the back of his hand across his mouth a little unceremoniously, clearly loosening up after his third beer, "listen. You like her, don't you?"

The brunette didn't reply, instead choosing to take an inappropriately massive bite of the burger he'd been neglecting. He started talking earlier and didn't notice the rapid pace that took over him, words simply spilling from his usually timid mouth at breakneck speed, dripping with puppy-like excitement. It was rather unusual, Reiner noticed immediately, but he simply grinned and soaked in the gleefulness radiating from his friend.

Bertholdt looked guilty, but really, he felt torn.

He knew the answer to Reiner's question. Of course he liked this girl, how could he not? The connection was nearly instant and completely automatic. He'd always been a rather shy individual, finding it hard to communicate and find a comfortable space around others. People were intimidating. People were confusing.

But you were kind. You were sweet, you made him laugh, you looked at him like he held no flaws.

Maybe it was naive of him, a man in his twenties falling for someone over the internet like some lost puppy, someone he had never met in person. Naive or not, he knew what Reiner was going to say -- it was written all over his face, that slightly wry smirk slipping into a rather tight line.

"Do you know what she sounds like?" The blonde asked next. Bertholdt nodded and swallowed, not really tasting the food in his awkward reverie.

"We talk every day."

"And she... sounds like a girl?"

Okay, maybe he didn't quite know what Reiner was thinking. He assumed there'd be some light ribbing, not an entire interrogation.

"Yes. God, Reiner, what are you getting at?"

The man across from him held his hands up in a show of defense, dipping his head a tad. "I'm just saying, there are some weirdos out there, man!" he flicked his golden gaze over Bertholdt, calculating his next words carefully. "Do you know what she looks like?"

"Yeah," he replied quickly, but faltered after a moment of thought. "Well... I guess not. I haven't asked for a picture or anything."

Reiner laid his palms flat on the table. A steady look washed over his relaxed face. "Bert," he said sternly. His name never felt heavier coming from Reiner's mouth. The brunette shook his head, heat rising to the tips of his ears.

"W-Who cares what she looks like? She's my friend, we just play games together, nothing else."

Except, there was something else. He'd just rather keel over on his plate before admitting it to the skeptical mass of muscle across from him.

Bertholdt remembered the first time he felt a line had been blurred, past the casual flirting and prolonged eye contact that was so beautifully normal for you two.

Digital stars hung in the sky, twinkling little holes punched behind a swirl of pastel colors, painted like careful brush strokes. That particular corner of the gigantic map was your favorite. The sky was always dark, but the gentle glow from the aurora above served as the perfect night light. Soft blues and greens lit up your cheeks and glistened in your eyes. Bertholdt felt dizzy watching you, felt his breath nearly sucked from his lungs when the realization hit him like a sack of bricks.

It was just a game, sure, but he was smitten. The avatar sitting at his side was just that: a character.

But when you -- your digital form -- laid your head on his shoulder, he could feel the pressure. He could feel the heat radiating from you, feel the butterflies in his belly.

He knew he was in deep.

"Have you ever seen something so pretty where you live?" you asked, tone dreamy and voice soft. Bertholdt shook his head gently without needing much thought.

"It's pretty boring where I'm from, honestly. Not much to do around here," he replied. Briefly, he thought about you, most likely sitting thousands of miles away in some city he's never heard of. He thought about what your daily life might consist of, outside this magical realm you traversed together nightly.

It became easier to be bold in this virtual setting, no matter how real it felt. Bertholdt slowly snaked an arm around your form and let his fingers ghost over your waist, something he'd be petrified to do in person.

"Ugh, me too. I visited Paradis with some friends last year, and it was so fun. Made me super jealous that my town is just so... bland, even if it's not that far away."

Bertholdt looked down at you. "Not far from Paradis?" he asked. A sense of excitement leaked into his words, one he hoped you didn't catch onto.

"Yeah. It's like, a ferry ride away."

No fucking way.

Bertholdt straightened himself. Suddenly, the hilltop you two lazed on felt sky-high, his heart catapulting into a slightly frenzied state. "Do you live around Liberio, maybe?" he asked, a little shake in his voice.

He could tell he caught you off guard with the way you snapped up to look at him. The answer was plain as day, but the satisfaction of hearing you confirm it felt too delicious to pass up. "No fucking way," was all you said, but it was music to his ears, easily stealing the breath from his lungs.

The VR was revolutionary, impeccable and immersive, allowing you to feel everything your character would -- almost everything, anyway. Bertholdt knew his actual heart was threatening to burst in his chest. He knew he was probably sweating in his gaming chair, and he knew Reiner would have a field day with this information if he ever caught wind. What the brunette didn't know, though, was how real it would feel when you planted a kiss on his cheek.

Not just the sensation -- of course he'd feel it, he felt everything that touched him -- but the implications behind it. You were a real person, somewhere not far from him, someone he absolutely adored, and you had kissed him. On purpose, no less.

At least he wasn't crazy like Reiner inadvertently made him out to be. It wasn't all in his head. All the hours spent together, all the late nights, all the texts that made him glow while he was supposed to be working... it wasn't nothing. It wasn't silly, it wasn't weird. It was real. You were real, somewhere, and he needed to settle some things before he went insane from self-doubt.

Despite his outward skepticism, Reiner was a good friend, with good intentions. Bertholdt knew it all came from a place of love, even if it left a sour taste in his mouth sometimes, which is why he even allowed this Scooby-Doo-level scheme to transpire in the first place.

The cafe was quiet, but not empty. A few students dotted the tables, typing away on laptops. A little group of women clad in athletic gear chatted amicably just a few seats away. Bertholdt tried to sip away his nerves, the coffee burning his mouth in his haste. A new text tore his gaze away from the front door he'd been burning a hole in for the past five minutes.

Reiner: You look like you're about to shit yourself

He rolled his olive-colored eyes, shooting a pointed glare at the blonde sitting not-so-casually across the building. Reiner tilted his head with a grin before biting his croissant.

The blonde came as backup, a safety net in case things went horribly wrong with this... date? Would you even call it a date? Maybe it'd be too forward to assume. Sure, he'd held your hand; you've hugged plenty of times; you've kissed his cheek, and he's kissed your forehead. But this was all virtual, Reiner was quick to chirp in.

Truthfully, Bertholdt wasn't sure what to expect as he waited anxiously. What if things were painfully awkward? What if he didn't know what to say, what if he clammed up like he tended to do in social situations, and you thought he was some weirdo from the internet?

What if you didn't even show up?

Reiner: This is taking forever

Bertholdt heaved a sigh, staring at the phone laid on the table. As much as it pained him, he agreed with the sentiment, nerves frayed like a man on death row. What a painful, mortifying mistake this could be. What a--

"Bertholdt?"

He must've missed the door chime, must've missed the little gasp hidden behind the fit of self-depreciation he'd immersed himself in because he certainly missed the girl that walked cautiously up to his table and stood before him. Wide eyes slid up your form to settle on your face -- your strikingly familiar face that he'd actually never seen before, except, he has.

Just... digitally.

You looked exactly like your avatar, which came as a stark surprise. People usually embellish their characters, making them wildly more interesting or attractive to live their best fantasy life -- but you, standing a little ways away with your fingers fiddling at your sleeves -- you were so familiar, it made his chest ache and stomach flip dangerously.

He managed to mumble out your name, disbelief accidentally dripping from the syllables. A jovial smile crept over your cheeks, hidden by the hand you slapped over your mouth rather quickly. "No way, no way," you muttered, voice raised an octave in what he hoped was excitement.

Any sense of confidence he held in your little virtual world completely dashed away, knowing how stunning you actually were in person. He suddenly felt bashful, hot prickles rising under his skin as he stood up.

"Woah, you're really tall," you gawked, staring up at him with a gleam in your eye.

Reiner let his mouth hang in subtle disbelief as he watched the scene play out. He'd suggested the plan in wholesome concern, fully expecting to console his heartbroken friend over a few beers and maybe a little shit-talking session -- never in a million years did he expect a beautiful girl to waltz in, let alone bury her face in Bertholdt's chest as he timidly wrapped his arms around her. The two men made eye contact from across the cafe, sharing the moment of shock.

Reiner was a good friend -- he knew when to make himself sparse.

"Sorry I'm-- I'm really nervous, to be honest," the man before you said breathily, swiping his hands over his jeans. You'd felt how stiff he was during your hug, the energy radiating off of him like a live wire. As incredibly flattering as it was, it also fed your anxiety, making your hands shake just the slightest bit, but you laughed it off, enraptured by the adorable blush dusting his cheeks. "That's okay, I am, too," you replied gently, trying your best to even out your tone.

Bertholdt looked down at his drink. Something clicked, making him jump a little bit. "I'm so sorry, c-can I buy you a coffee?"

Your stomach fluttered, unable to look away from him. "I'd love that, thank you, Bertie," the nickname slipped out so easily, but it nearly threw him on the ground, his face and neck now a deep red.

"It's no problem, anything for you."

You weren't sure what you were expecting from this little plan. To any outsider, it was undeniably risky -- meeting up with some guy from the internet, alone. The fact that he asked you to choose the destination was a good sign in your eyes, though, as if you personally needed more reassurance... despite not knowing him in real life (yet), you knew there couldn't be a malicious bone in Bertholdt's body. The man was honey personified, extremely respectful in all of your interactions thus far, even when the playful banter turned a little less than platonic.

As he sat across from you, a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes, you knew he was a shy thing; the way he would bounce his gaze between you and his drink made you squirm with adoration. Nobody else in that little cafe felt relevant as you talked, minutes slipping away until the sun began to dip behind buildings outside.

How long had you been there? The parking meter certainly needed to be fed, or you got slapped with a ticket already, but you couldn't find it in yourself to care. Your favorite person and the only man on your mind for the past year or so was finally in front of you, laughing at lame little anecdotes and strange stories from your life as if you were the most interesting person in the world. It felt so normal, so natural, it's like you hadn't had the wind knocked out of you just hours before.

"It's getting late," you said suddenly, sighing into the empty space inside your cup. Bertholdt glanced out the window, blinking in surprise. "I guess so," he replied, "I didn't even notice."

You smiled coyly. "I take it you're enjoying yourself?"

"More than I'd like to admit." The brunette ran a hand through his hair, all but forcing you to take note of the prominent veins that ran up his forearm, hiding under the rolled sleeves at his elbows. He'd dressed so nicely, it made you swoon inside. "Well... okay, call me crazy--"

"You're crazy, but so am I, because I already agree with whatever you're going to say," you found yourself leaning across the table, eyeing him with a heated, curious gaze.

Bertholdt chuckled -- a deep, rumbly noise that lit a fire under you. "Don't agree too quickly, you'll get my hopes up. I was just wondering... would it be weird if we, I dunno," he looked away shyly, fiddling with the long-empty cup between you both, "spent some more time together tonight?"

At your grin, he flushed deep again. Oh, how adorable this giant, bashful teddy bear was.

"I-I mean, like, maybe a movie or something? I'm sorry if it's weird. I just... I've had a lot of fun, I really like being around you, and I don't want today to be over."

Reaching over, you laid a hand over his, nothing but syrupy sweetness in your voice, "I'd love that, Bertie."

He really should've cleaned. It's not often he has guests in his apartment, let alone gorgeous women, so the space seemed embarrassingly lackluster as Bertholdt guided you inside and flicked on the lights. "Sorry for the mess," he mumbled sheepishly, running a hand through his hair, and you waved him off immediately, muttering a playful 'shush, you're fine' in reply.

It's not like he could've predicted bringing you back home. Fuck, he wasn't even sure if he'd be meeting you at all -- and now, there you were, curiously gazing at a few framed photos hanging on his entryway wall. You looked utterly adorable, smiling at the image he knew to be his graduation day; he stood side by side with Reiner, red gowns draped over them and wide smiles plastered on their faces. "You look so cute here," you cooed, a sense of adoration dripping from your lips.

Bertholdt chuckled meekly. His stomach was tying knots around itself at a rapid pace. "Thanks. You look cute, too," he replied before he could think it over.

"Oh, do I?"

"Y-Yeah, stunning, actually."

The air felt heavier as you looked at him, your hands drawn together before you, lips pursed in the cutest half pout he'd ever seen.

Bertholdt was never good with women. He could feel himself crack under your gaze, nervous energy surging him further into his apartment in a feeble attempt at diffusing the tension he depicted as discomfort. "S-So, make yourself at home," he cleared his throat and set his keys on the granite countertop separating the kitchen from the living room.

Truthfully, you were on cloud nine. Despite only just meeting him (formally, anyways), your mind wandered to dangerous territory as soon as he sheepishly brought up extending your night. All these emotions that had built up for so long were finally coming to a head, in one way or another, and the need to explore it outweighed your frazzled nerves.

Fuck, it felt good when he complimented you. It felt good when he looked at you; it made you feel whole, complete, admired for everything you were. There was something so different about having that deep emotional connection before any inkling of physical attraction -- but that was most definitely there, too, burning deep in your belly and making your thighs squirm a bit.

His couch had never felt more comfortable than it did with you snuggled on it. It was impeccable, really, how smooth everything seemed to go despite how devastatingly nervous he was inside. Part of him wanted to text Reiner, maybe to gloat just a little bit, to revel in how he finally felt wanted by a beautiful girl that just so happened to lean into his side so casually it was like she was made to be there.

But, no, Bertholdt couldn't tear himself away from the moment, even for all the satisfaction that blabbing to the blonde might bring.

You hummed, utterly content in this mans hold, your core swirling as he rubbed little circles into your arm. His smell was intoxicating, something so clean and masculine and new but it felt so comfortable, so familiar in a strange way. How odd of a feeling, to be enamored with someone for so long and finally be able to feel them under your fingertips, take in their scent, even taste them if you so chose.

The thought brought electricity to life under your skin.

The movie still played idly on the TV, though truthfully, nobody was paying attention. Bertholdt realized this when he chanced a peek down, being met with a heavy gaze through thick lashes. His heart hammered in his ears.

"Hi," he breathed, so easily sucked into the beauty pressed against his side.

"Hi," you mirrored, nearly purring once he squeezed you closer, your head falling naturally against his chest. An experimental hand laid across his abdomen, spurring surprise at how toned he felt under the soft cotton. "This okay?" you cooed gently.

Bertholdt sucked in a sharp breath, feeling himself tense up as your fingers explored the peaks and valleys of his stomach. "Y-Yeah, that's okay," he watched you closely, deathly curious to see exactly what was happening before him.

"Bertie?"

The way you said that little nickname always made him melt. Though you could probably call him anything and he'd be quick to swoon.

"Mhm?"

With a tilt of his head, you leveraged yourself to lean up his torso and plant your lips across his own, eyes fluttering shut before you could spy the way his face immediately flamed up. Bertholdt's body lit up in record time, his skin searing and mind reeling -- it took a few seconds before he pulled together and leaned into you, but the action was eager, needy, incredibly charged. The sound of your lips working against each other overpowered the film, but was barely a thought in his mind over the subconscious screaming your intimate affections spurred in him. Embarrassingly enough, with a few swipes of your tongue against his, he could feel his dick growing harder and harder, just inches away from where your hand now played under his shirt. The man groaned softly into your mouth, worming his hand up to brush your hair away in utter adoration.

You pressed your thighs together, the fire between them becoming overwhelming as his hands curiously began to roam over you. He was so gentle, so cautious -- you leaned yourself further into him, shifting your hand down to grasp his thigh, but gasped into his mouth when you accidentally brushed over his bulge.

"S-Sorry," he muttered, eyes squeezed shut, "I'm... you're really pretty, and I just really like you--" it was Bertholdt's turn to gasp when you palmed him through his jeans, pressing down with teasing force.

"Don't be sorry," a catlike grin spread over your plump lips, "I don't mind at all. I really like you too, y'know." You bumped your nose against his in a sweet little nuzzle, completely eating up how his breathing quickened with your gentle rubbing. A few short, involuntary jerks from his hips completely fed your ego, ushering away any nerves that threatened to fray in the heated moment.

"Is it okay if I...?" he pressed his forehead to yours, finally prying his eyes open to watch you, uncertainty laying heavy in his green gaze. A coy giggle spilled out in all your excitement, taking his hand and pressing it against your chest, kneading a little bit for extra measure. Even through the thick fabric of his jeans, you could feel his cock twitch.

A cute hitch caught in his throat when your hand fell away from his, his guide lost. "I... um," he pressed against the soft swell curiously, "h-honestly, I'm not the most experienced."

You pecked his lips, heart swooning when he eagerly pecked back. " 's okay, Bertie, neither am I."

"Really?"

Playfully, you squeezed at his hard length. An unmistakable tingle pooled in your core when he slipped a delectable moan against your kiss-swollen lips.

"Really. But I feel so... comfortable with you. I'm down to try some things out, if you are," your words were honey, and he was soaking up every bit he could, his heart utterly slamming against its poor cage. Bertholdt nodded eagerly, eyes falling shut again with a hard swallow. "Y-Yeah, yeah, I'd like that, a lot," the slight quiver in his voice made you notice the throb between your legs.

Bertholdt was so addicting in every sense. The smell of his sheets gripped you, pulled you in, made you think about how gruff his morning voice would sound or how cute he'd look with sloppy chocolate bedhead. It was almost too perfect, how at ease you felt under his careful touch. The incredibly flustered look splayed over his face once his cock was freed sent you into a horny tizzy -- it was perfect, if a little intimidating: long, flushed at the tip, drooling precum as it hung heavy between his toned thighs.

"I-I've thought about this a lot," he breathed, saddling himself between your bare legs, "it doesn't feel real. You're so gorgeous, so perfect," he shyly traced his thumb up and down your drooling lips, mesmerized by the sheer amount of wetness pooling already. "I'm so fucking glad you're here with me."

Electric jolts shot through you once he found your clit, swollen and needy and begging to be played with. Instinct made your legs squeeze together around him, even if all your lust-riddled brain wanted was to open up as wide as you possibly could for more of his delicate touch. Bertholdt watched in near astonishment as you writhed under his hold, one hand settled gingerly on your thigh and the other rubbing sweet circles against your hot button.

Succulent moans slipped from your lips, giving him the biggest confidence boost in the world. "Keep doing that," you cooed, "feels s'good," eyes fluttering shut, your head nudged back against his pillows in a state of bliss. He listened obediently, swirling your clit, and pressed his silky cockhead against your heat. With all your juices nearly dripping out of you, he barely needed any pressure before he was slipping between your lips, the new sensation sending shivers down his spine. "F-Fuck," he hissed quietly, even more pre dribbling out in his excitement. Needy, nearly throbbing, you wriggled your hips against him.

"More, need more," you whined.

"You want more?" the brunette breathed, rocking against you, dipping just the very tip of his cock inside and pulling out again. "Please," came your desperate reply, "please fuck me, Bertie."

The request alone nearly made him cum. With a groan, Bertholdt urged himself further at a careful pace, faltering a tad but not relenting on your sensitive little clit. Stretching around him, the unique sensation left you a bubbling mess, gripping onto his forearms hard enough to leave little crescent moons along the lightly tanned skin. "A-Am I hurting you?" he gasped, pausing mid-thrust and leaving only half his long cock inside, despite how desperately he wanted to bury himself all at once. He wanted to get lost in you, in your warmth, your wetness, but not at the sake of your comfort. Feverishly, your head thrashed side to side, eyes popping open to catch his hazy gaze. " 's okay, I'm okay, I promise."

"Want you to feel good," his chest, slick with a light sheen of sweat, heaved so deliciously. It looked like he was falling apart at the seams. "Are you ready? C-Can I keep going?"

You bit your lip. Such a sweet fucking man, towering over you in all your indecency, tripping over himself to make sure you were alright. With a little mewl, you raised your hips, sucking in more of his hard dick. "More, more," you begged, "want you t'fill me up..."

It was all he needed, a strained little moan accompanying his push into you. Pelvis to pelvis, Bertholdt couldn't believe the sight in front of him. The woman he'd been hopelessly in love with, splayed out on his sheets, face twisted up in pleasure that he was more than willing to provide. It was real, you were real -- the pressure in his lower belly was absolutely real, coiling aggressively fast as he slid in and out of your wet pussy. The sensation was addicting, he decided, your gooey insides massaging him so perfectly it was hard to stop, and even harder to keep himself contained. "Fuck, you feel so good," he breathed, forcing his eyes shut as he tried to find a rhythm between hip thrusts and messing with your clit. The circles grew sloppy, but he couldn't find it in himself to correct it, every moment drawing him closer and closer to release. "I-I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Bertholdt gasped, his hips stuttering along with his words, " 'm so close," he nearly whined, completely in love with the way your body sucked him in so greedily. Your hands found their way to his chest, lightly scratching down to his abs, tipping closer and closer to your own orgasm with his delicious words and needy moans. " 'm I gonna make you cum, pretty boy?"

The brunette lost the battle, that coil inside him completely snapping under your sticky sweet words -- muttering incoherent praises, Bertholdt hung his head as he came, thrusting deep inside you to bury himself as far as he could. A tiny bit of sense knocked back into him with your wiggling, enough to pick up the pace on your clit while his cock eased in and out of you slowly, riding out the tail end of his orgasm and feeding your own.

Clenching, spasming, your cunt sucked onto him desperately, a silent cry falling out of you and sucking all the air out of your lungs. This was so incredibly different than cumming against your own fingers, hitting so much deeper and scratching an itch you didn't know you had until Bertholdt satisfied it so intensely. "So good, so fucking good," he panted, easing himself out of you once your muscles began to relax.

The glow that settled over you both was intoxicating. His room felt hot, heavy, as if there wasn't enough oxygen for your needy lungs as you tried to recover with shaky legs. He laid beside you, trying to muddle through the wave of emotions crashing against him as he gazed at your breathless form in his bed.

"Thank you," Bertholdt said rather innocently, pressing his nose into your messy hair.

You giggled. "Thank you, what an excellent host you've been."

"My pleasure," he sighed. It felt like he just ran one of Reiner's impossible marathons, leaving his muscles weak and brain foggy.

"Yeah, speaking of... do you mind if I use your shower?" your thighs pressed together, acutely aware of his cum threatening to dribble out of you. A strange sense of pride coupled with slight sheepishness filled his chest when he realized what you meant, agreeing immediately and taking you on a little tour of his apartment, starting with the bathroom.

"So, you do have an online girlfriend."

Reiner was looking rather smug, leaning against his forearms on Bertholdt's counter. He studied the little photobooth strip of you both stuck to the fridge as the brunette rummaged around in it. Bert looked happy, kissing your cheek in one of the squares, beaming in the next.

"Not just online," the taller man mused, "she's coming over later, so don't make a mess."

Almost like a proud parent, Reiner straightened and grinned, playfully dusting off the spot he just occupied. "Alright, alright," he mused, not missing the way Bertholdt smiled so effortlessly as he crossed the kitchen. It was refreshing to see him so happy. "I'll get out of your hair. You have fun on your little date."

Waving him off, Bertholdt grinned into the sink as he washed the vegetables for your dinner that night.

You were real. Not just you as a person, not just your feelings for him -- you two, as the inseparable berserker and mage duo -- your connection was real, infallible, undeniable.

God, he loved that damn VR headset.

drowsy 🪼

— (rafayel)

.

my baby my babyyyy or however it goes

Absinthe

Vampire!Choso x reader

Warnings: nsfw/mdni. shameless smut. mentions of murder/suicide, blood and gore, slight body horror, mild predator/prey dynamic, yandere!choso. monsterfucking, biting, blood play, blood drinking, face sitting/riding, cunnilingus, semi-public sex, somnophilia mention, mildly dubious consent (the reader is into it but they're also slightly terrified, tagging it as this just in case), mild praise kink (choso calls the reader a good girl), fem reader.

Summary: when a series of violent murders plagues your sleepy town, your life is seemingly turned on its head. more and more women are being killed by the day. the possible threat of a serial killer looms over your head. you find yourself seeking comfort in your strange, but beautiful roommate

Word count: 7.6k

jjk masterlist

tagging: @naoyas90dayfiance @jujutsukuna :)

There's something weird about your roommate.

More specifically, his older brother.

When you first found this place, it almost seemed too good to be true. A three bedroom house for rent, within walking distance of your work, with rent going for dirt cheap. The one—and seemingly only—downside was that the top floor of the house was under renovations, and was barren, leaving only one working bathroom downstairs. Which you didn't mind. The owner of the house was an older woman, renting the place out to earn some extra money after the death of her husband.

In a town full of college kids, the offer was too good to pass up. Who knew when an opportunity like that would just fall into your lap again?

Though you and your roommate could cover the rent together, having a third roommate would take some stress off the two of you. Along came Itadori, a freshman at the nearby college. Yuji was a sweet kid. A little odd, but not outstandingly weird. Although ideally you wanted your third roommate to be another woman, he was nice enough, and he could pay rent on time. Yuji was the least strangest person out of everyone who applied, so not long after he was moving in.

And in the first few months, you didn't see much of him. Your work schedules are complete opposites, and he had class during the day. He always says hi to you when you run into him in the hall, and he gladly takes any leftovers you have when you cook. He’s a little dumb, but sweet, and seems to make friends with everyone he meets.

After your other roommate found a job in another city, and had to move out, you were desperate for another one. Between a college student making slightly more than minimum wage, and your job at the morgue, there was little money to spare. Plus, there was an extra room in the house. Soon, finding a new roommate became a priority.

Then along came Choso.

Choso is pleasant enough, albeit stranger than his little brother. You've met him a handful of times. Mostly on late, drunken nights where you're fumbling with the keys to your house. You can't say you know him too well. Your conversations were typically short, and always in passing. Even before he moved in, he was often over, visiting Itadori. The two are close. Yuji vouched for him, your landlord liked him well enough, and soon he was moving in.

Over the past few weeks, not much has changed in your daily routine. Your job consumed most of your time. Choso, however strange, yet oddly charming, became nothing more than background noise. He settled in rather fast. He paid his rent on time, and though he seemed to sleep at the strangest hours of the day, he was respectful, and quiet. A step above some of the previous roommates you've had.

Slowly he fell to the back of your mind.

Then it happened.

A body was found. Out in the woods behind an apartment complex. On the riverbank trail. As it's a fairly busy path, the body was discovered quickly.

The first was deemed an accident. Primarily a suicide, as the woman showed no signs of self defense, but had a boxcutter on her person.

Her body was completely drained of blood.

You've never seen anything like it.

It's an odd way to commit suicide. Women generally overdose as a method. Such a gruesome act is uncommon. As a whole, such a method is hard, as not many people are able to stab themselves in the throat in such a way. When people end up on your table, it's usually from natural causes, and the occasional car accident. Not suicide. That’s not to say it's impossible. But it's rare.

It's a big city. One near a college. People—usually students—go missing. Either of their own free will, or from drunken accidents. Murders happen, sure, but not frequently. And most are often solved within weeks. There's no rivaling gangs, or some sick serial killer on the loose.

Or so people first assumed.

The incisions on their necks are clean. Not clean enough to have been done with a scalpel, but clean. No tears. Right down to their carotid artery. Severing it completely.

Such a cut would kill any normal human in minutes. Seconds, sometimes. Blood loss would kick in and they would fall unconscious. But they show no signs of fighting back. There's no signs of a struggle at each of the crime scenes. The victims either knew their attacker, or were caught completely off guard.

But none of them knew each other. One girl wasn't even from town. There's nothing connecting the victims that keep appearing on your table, except for they are all around your age. Mid twenties. Young, but not too young. Most are freshly out of college, or are in their final years. And they’re all women.

Worst of all, where does all the blood go? Though it's rare for you to see the crime scenes itself, you’ve been shown photos. The blood is gone. If the women were killed there, there would be blood. Everywhere. But there isn't. And if the bodies were moved, there would be bruising, or dirt on the deceased. But again, there isn't. There's no sign of the bodies being moved after their time of death.

For others, this was worrying. For you, this became a typical Tuesday. If it was a murder, it’d be solved soon. But tracking down murderers isn't your job. Dealing with the dead is. Slowly you pushed these thoughts to the back of your mind.

He comes to you in the dead of sleep. Soft. Cold. Silent.

You used to find solace in being alone. You're a solitary person, finding comfort in loneliness, taking much joy in it. Often you'd make jokes that you prefer the dead over the living. But lately, you find yourself turning from your solitude. Wondering what the dark on your walk home brings. What lurks in the shadows that follow you.

His visits are fleeting. So is his touch. But in its wake it brings a cold comfort.

At first they were nightmares. Sleep paralysis. Or so you've explained it as. In the late hours of the night, bleeding into the early hours of the morning, you find yourself frozen in fear. The silhouette that lurks in the corner of your room never speaks, only watching you with cold eyes. Some days he comes to sit on the edge of your bed. You don't truly know if it's a he. But the figure much resembles a man, though you never get to see his face.

You've stopped drinking. Alcohol only makes you feel sick. And the older you get, the longer your hangovers last, and the more your anxiety spikes during them. You don't understand how Yuji can go out partying each night, and come home to get ready for classes the next morning.

The boys continue on with their daily life. Yuji goes to class. Choso goes to work.

You find comfort in being around Choso. Yuji is gone most hours of the day. Hanging out with friends, or going to classes. Choso works nights. Though his schedule seems to change around a lot. You're not quite sure what he does for a living. He sleeps all day, only to be up and ready for work by the time you arrive home in the evenings.

More bodies appear. Two women.

They were discovered the same day, but times of death varied. The one had been dead for over several days when she was found, while the other was still warm. Medical examiner placed her time of death a few hours before she was found, not far from the other body. Neither bodies showed any sign of being moved—or other traumas—after death.

It's slowly sinking in that there may be a serial killer on the loose. One that takes much joy in draining the blood of young women. A silent, cold terror falls over your sleepy town.

The killings were slow at first. The original was discovered weeks before the second two. But the cause of death was too similar in both cases to overlook.

It didn't start to get to you until one of your coworkers wound up on your table. Her pale body drained of blood. She had invited you out for drinks. Which you refused. You had said goodnight to her the previous evening.

And little did you know, you would be the last person to see her alive.

You can't help but wonder what would have happened to you if you agreed. Would that be you? Would you have been the one on your cold metal table? Would your family be called in to identify your pale, bloodless body?

You were quickly ruled out as a suspect. The cameras outside your work caught you heading home at 6:30pm. She was killed somewhere around midnight. Not to mention, the cameras at the train station caught you taking your usual ride home. Out of everyone questioned, all of them said you weren't capable of such a thing.

The rest of the day was a blur of questions. That night you would come home, dragging your feet through the door. Yuji was away at a party. Choso was the only one home, sitting on the couch, idly switching his attention between his phone, and a movie. It was his day off. Even when he's not working, he's practically nocturnal. Though he's rather quiet, and respectful of everyone's sleep schedules, so you can't complain too much.

Maybe he noticed your grim appearance. Up until now, he'd been distant. He was rather timid, and shy. You made polite small talk when you ran into each other before work, but aside from that, your interactions were few. He was a little awkward, but had the same charms as his brother. Talking to him was rather easy.

"How was work?" He asks.

"Okay," you say. Out of respect for the dead, you generally skip the details. "Tiring. But since when is that new?"

You join him on the couch, tossing your keys and purse onto the coffee table. There's a certain slump to your shoulders that he hasn't noticed before. The dark circles under your eyes are only getting bigger. You're practically dragging yourself through the house. You’re not certain you have enough energy to both cook dinner, and shower, so you find yourself wondering which one you need to do the least.

"What's the matter?"

You're silent for a moment. You consider whether or not it's a big enough issue to tell him, or to just drop it.

"I had to process one of my coworkers today." You say. "I don't know what the hell I’m supposed to tell her husband. She invited me to go out to a bar with her last night. I didn't feel up to it, so I cancelled on her,

“And I know it's probably selfish of me to think this, but I could have just as easily been the one on the table today. Ready to be dissected by all my unknowing co-workers. And I'm just relieved it wasn't me,

"I realize that's a shitty thing to say. That doesn't suddenly exclude me from this guy's sick fantasies. The police aren't any closer to finding him than they first were!"

He can hear the anger in your voice. The frustration, and grief. He wants to do something to help, though he’s struck with uncertainty. You need time to grieve. Perhaps being alone is what's best for you right now.

Though you aren't looking at him, you feel his gaze turn to you. His eyes linger on you for a while before he speaks.

“I think you’re smart enough that he won't go after you.” He says.

Somehow you don't believe him.

Because you’re the killer’s type.

"I know this sounds weird," you say, "but can you… hold me? Just for a little bit?"

He nods, and opens his arms, not even taking a moment to consider it, just agreeing. Almost as if he's been waiting for this moment. Instinctively you go into them. He's not very warm, but there's an odd comfort to his presence. He pulls you to sit in his lap, his arms wrapping around your waist. His body rocks yours with each breath he takes.

You could swear there's not a heartbeat in his chest. You chalk it up to the thick hoodie he wears. The fabric of it is rather soft, and you run your fingers across it to help calm yourself.

"You really tired yourself out today, huh?" He asks.

You nod.

It would be easier to stay awake if you weren't so tired, or if his hoodie wasn't so soft, or if he wasn't softly rocking you in his arms.

He's there when you fall asleep. By the time you wake up, the sun has long since set, and he's gone to work. A blanket has been thrown over you, but you're still wearing your work clothes.

As time wears on, you spend more time around Choso. Exhaustion seeps into your very core. No matter how many hours you sleep, you wake up bone tired. He helps you cook, clean, and keep things around the house in order. Though you can very well do them yourself, he insists. And some nights you're too tired to refuse.

Mysterious scratches have begun appearing on your body. You've always moved around a lot in your sleep. At first, you didn't think much of it. But as more kept appearing, and as you grew more tired despite sleeping the same each night, you began to get worried. This prompted you to visit your doctor. It was about time you go in for a yearly checkup anyway.

Your doctor said your iron was low, and gave you a prescription for some vitamins. After taking them, and getting more rest, you began to feel better. Healing was a gradual, slow process, but soon you were cleared to go back to work. Choso still helped around the house. The routine you settled into felt like that of partners, more than of roommates.

And when more bodies would wind up on your table, lifeless against the cold metal slab, you would fall asleep in his arms. Sometimes on the couch. Sometimes you'd crawl into his bed, like a child wanting comfort from their parents after a nightmare. Seeking out his presence for the few hours before he had to leave for work. And most nights he was awake, Opening his arms for you to crawl into. He was always respectful, never making any odd comments, or touching you if you didn't want to be touched. There was a healthy apprehension behind his actions, that of any man thrown into such a position. He was sweet. Always making sure you were eating enough, and getting enough sleep, never wanting to make you uncomfortable.

More often than not, you were in his bed. Even when he was away, it provided a sense of comfort. It always smelled so nice—like him, and his cologne—and was far more comfortable than your own. As fall turned into winter, and the house's heating stopped working, you found yourself seeking him out more. Together the two of you would nap, and bask in the other's warmth.

Or his lack of such.

You hardly remember the night. It was a Friday. Yuji was—to no one's surprise—out partying, and would be gone for most of the weekend. After work you stopped at the farmers market, catching it before it shut down for the night, gathering some ingredients needed to make a soup.

The walk home was uneventful. Normally you'd take the train. But it was nice out, and the sky was clear, albeit cold.

Choso is sitting on the couch when you get home. A movie plays on the tv, though he pays no attention to it. He's only wearing sweatpants. His hair is down loose around his shoulders, and is still damp. He must have just gotten out of the shower. You hope there's still some hot water left.

You're not subtle in the way your gaze lingers on him. He’s attractive, you won't deny that. He hides himself in baggy clothes. It's no surprise to you. You've spent many nights tracing the hard planes of muscle. His arms have always brought you a feeling of security. Many nights you spent with your head leaned against his chest, listening for the beating of his heart.

You set the groceries down, and head to your room to change out of your work clothes. From a pile of clothes abandoned on your chair you pull a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. You've been meaning to fold your laundry, but between work, and everything else going on in life, it's slipped your mind. You make a mental note to do laundry tomorrow morning. Your basket is getting full.

He’s still on the couch when you come out, idly scrolling through his phone. You sit beside him. Though you’re hungry, you’ll wait a bit to start dinner. It won't take long, it's only a matter of thawing some meat, and boiling everything in a pot together. Not particularly complex, though a bit time consuming. With the weather growing colder, it sounded nice.

You join Choso on the couch, practically sprawling out across his lap. His arms find your waist and pull you to sit a little closer to him. You lean into his touch, your arms wrapping around his neck.

"How was work?" He asks.

"A shitshow." You say. "Another girl turned up."

"That's the second one this week?"

"Third." You say. Though you didn't know her personally, she worked in your building. A receptionist. Only a few years younger than you. Out of college for two years. Studied mortuary science. “This keeps happening! They’re never going to find who’s doing it!”

The irritation in your voice is palpable. Choso doesn't like seeing you in distress. One of his hands finds your head, stroking your hair. His nails are getting long, and feel nice against your scalp.

"You'll be alright.” He says. “I won't let anything happen to you.”

He can't promise that unless you never leave his side. Which you just might.

That's when he pulls you into a kiss.

It catches you entirely off guard. His lips are soft, and the smell of his shampoo is so inviting you can feel yourself leaning into him. For a moment you forget to breathe.

He’s the first to pull away. A faint blush dusts his cheeks, the tip of his nose, and his ears. He turns his head away to hide the smile that creeps up on his lips. From this angle, all you can see is the panic that flashes across his eyes.

“I sorry if that was too forward-” apologies are spilling from his mouth in an instant.

“Choso,” you say, “we’ve been sleeping in the same bed. I'm alright with you kissing me.”

He takes that as permission to continue, pulling you back to deepen the kiss. Your hands tangle in his soft hair. His hands find your hips, greedily kneading the soft flesh of your ass. It's hard to deny the heat that pools between your thighs. His touch sends shocks of electricity up your spine. Wherever his fingers touch, warmth blooms across your skin. You're left with an ache in your core, one that can only be fixed by his touch. He doesn't protest as you grind down against his toned thigh.

You don't even know how long he's wanted to do this.

It's only when you're out of breath, and have to come up for air that he speaks.

“Ride my face.” He says.

You stop. And for a moment he worries he's crossed a line.

"I'm too heavy," you say, "I-I'd suffocate you-"

"Please do." He says, swallowing hard. “I’d die a happy man."

The thought of you using him to get off in such a way warms his cold blood. His pupils have shrunk down to pinpricks.

“Just… shove me off if it gets to be too much,” you say, “or pinch me, or something. I don't want you dying on me.”

“Of course.” He says. The monotone edge to his voice is forced. Behind it you can hear excitement bubbling through.

He's quick to help free you of your shorts, letting out a soft hum of amusement as he realizes you have nothing on underneath. You rarely slept with panties on. Or at least you didn't until you started crawling into bed with him. Either out of modesty, or respect for him, you started wearing shorts with every night shirt you wore to bed. He misses when he could get a good look at your sleeping body. But having you in his own bed was far better than watching you sleep from the corner of your room.

Before you can even stop him, he’s leaning back, pulling you to rest over his face. He's a lot stronger than he looks, manhandling you like you weigh nothing. The feeling of your warm thighs around his head is nearly enough to make him moan. He's not shy about how he adores this. How the taste of your cunt is enough to make his cock stand to attention. How the gasps and moans that leave you are like music to his ears. Your body is so warm and full of life against his. He’s savoring everything about you; how you sound, how you smell, how you taste. He’s quick to bring you to orgasm, working you up with his skilled tongue. Maybe it's the stress. Maybe it's because you haven't had sex in a while. You’ve had past partners, but none as attentive as him. Maybe you’re more pent up than you thought.

You ride out your orgasm on his face for all it's worth. Choso practically forces it out of you. He won't let you go until you’re shaking, and whimpering, and crying out his name like a prayer.

He helps guide you to sit in his lap. Exhausted, and thoroughly fucked-out. Your head falls into the crook of his neck, pressing soft kisses to the junction of flesh where his neck and shoulder meet. Idly your fingers trace the muscles in his arms. Those strong arms that have always made you feel so safe and secure.

Your free hand works lower, palming the bulge of his cock through his sweatpants. The sight of it is nearly enough to make you drool. You’re certain he wants it too. He’s painfully hard, leaking precum against his equally toned thighs, letting out the cutest noises as you grind against him.

The kiss he pulls you into is soft. You can taste yourself on his lips. Not that you mind. His hand moves to cup your face, his thumb tracing slow circles across your cheek.

You hardly hear the jingle of keys in the door.

Yuji drunkenly stumbles through the front door. You pull a blanket into your lap to help cover yourself, and hide Choso, who doesn't seem to be bothered by this at all. You should consider yourself lucky the couch is faced away from the door.

"Oh hey roomie!" Yuji says. "Where's Cho?"

You lean to the side, giving Yuji a better look at his brother. He greets him, and leaves, heading for the bathroom, where you soon hear the shower running.

He either does know, and is choosing not to say anything, or is blissfully ignorant. Both of which are equally possible. Yuji may not be the brightest bulb in the box, but credit where credit is due. He's not too stupid.

As much as you’d like to return the favor—or go for another round, as Choso tried to insist—you went straight to bed. Separate this time. You’re not about to fuck your roommate with his brother in the next room over.

Choso managed to keep his promise.

Less bodies began showing up.

It wasn't a gradual thing. They quite literally stopped appearing. There was the one unrelated murder, and a suicide, plus your usual deaths from natural causes, but no more exanguanations.

Slowly things returned to normal. It was like a fog had lifted. Winter dragged on like an endless death march, leaving the trees dead, and the grass brown. The new year rolled around, though you didn't do much to celebrate. Less and less you found yourself looking over your shoulder.

Choso was worried he had made things awkward. To be fair, things were awkward from the start. You began sleeping in your own bed again. Though you weren't necessarily cold towards him, you were more distant than in past weeks. As things at work began to settle down, you went back to your old routine.

Something has to change.

Maybe it started because of the colder weather, or lack of sunlight. You often found yourself exhausted, and sick. You were colder than normal. Not that the cold has been too much of an issue for you in the past, but it was like you couldn't warm up.

Choso—poor, sweet Choso—had a heated blanket that you spent many nights curled up under, on the opposite side of his bed. You sought him out for the little warmth he could provide.

And provide he did. Letting you curl up next to him, bringing you tea and soup when you’d fall sick, eating you out when you’d wake up in the early hours of the morning begging for him, a growing wetness between your thighs. It was odd how he rarely asked you to return the favor, but you did little to protest when he insisted on a second—or even a third—round.

If his younger brother noticed something was up, he never said anything about it. Though, knowing Yuji, he might have just thought the two of you were close friends.

The presence of his younger brother didn't stop him from fucking you across every flat surface in your house. In your own rooms, over the counter in the kitchen, on the couch when you have the place to yourself. Sometimes Yuji was home, sometimes he wasn't. He’d take you on the porch outside if you so pleased. But you don't. And you don't want your neighbors complaining any more than they do. You’re loud enough as it is with several walls separating you. But you make such sweet noises, and Choso wants everyone to hear them.

There are few things he likes seeing more than your pretty body writhing under his.

It was one of the not-so rare days you were calling out sick from work. You were told to rest up, and feel better soon. Which you had all intentions of. Choso had errands to run, and was gone before you even woke up. The other side of the bed was cold by the time you were up and moving.

You go about your day as normal, making tea, and breakfast although it's well past noon. Eggs and bacon sounded good. After breakfast, you settle down on the couch, with a blanket and more tea, intending on marathoning movies. The late morning turns into the early afternoon. Before you know it, the sun is setting.

When the door opens, you expect it to be Yuji, coming home after his classes.

In walks Choso, his arms drenched in blood.

It takes you nearly a minute to process the scene in front of you. During that time, the two of you both stare at each other, waiting for the other to speak.

Did he get hurt? Did someone attack him? Is this serial killer going after men now?!

“Holy shit!” You say. “What the hell happened?! Were you hurt?”

“Oh,” Choso says softly, “you’re home. I thought you’d still be at work.”

Though his tone is monotone, as usual, there's a hint of excitement behind his voice. Barely restrained. Like he's holding back.

“Come here,” you say, and slowly he walks forward, joining you on the couch, “are you going to tell me what happened?”

You give him a once over for any injuries, but find none. Is this blood even his?! The entire time he's silent, watching you through half-lidded eyes. Most of the people you deal with are dead. The living aren't exactly your forte.

“Hey, we need to get you to a doctor.” You say. “I can only do so much here. Why don't you go get changed. I’ll give you a ride to the ER.”

That's when he licks his hand.

“Gross!” You say, grabbing his wrist and wrenching it from his mouth. Is he having some sort of mental break? Do you need to call an ambulance? “Don't do that! Do you know how many diseases you could have just given yourself?!”

You cringe away as he tries to kiss you, planting your hands on his chest and giving him a good shove. Even as you think back to the morning’s—and the previous night’s—events, you find nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing outside of your normal routine has happened.

Aside from you calling out of work sick.

“Why don't we go get you cleaned up,” you say, trying to guide him to the bathroom, “we don't need you getting any blood on the furniture.”

Maybe if you distract him long enough it’ll give you time to call an ambulance. Or the police.

Just what has your poor, sweet Choso gotten himself into?

He doesn't protest as you run a bath, and help him get undressed. He tries to help you undress, but you simply swat his hands away, and tell him to let you take care of him.

If something happened, then his clothes might be evidence, so you make a mental note to not wash them. One of your neighbors must have seen something. A man walking home covered in blood in almost broad daylight wouldn't go unnoticed. Or so you’d assume. Granted, the overcast weather, and the setting sun would leave it pretty dark.

What makes you the most worried is the lack of wounds overall. If he got into a fight, it's more than likely he would have wounds on his hands. Even if he were using a weapon, the force needed to stab, slash, or cut another human being would bruise him. It's a lot harder to stab a person than you’d think. Not to mention you’ve got bones and muscles in the way. Unless you truly knew where to aim—or got really lucky—there would be signs.

The water turns a bright shade of pink as you help scrub him down. He can't help but think of how much better it’d be if you got into the water with him. And how nice your body would look covered in red.

Choso can sense the way your pulse quickens. You're very good at hiding your fear. Though you must be terrified. Years in your line of work has hardened you, and left you calm and collected under pressure.

He hates seeing you in distress. But there's a sweet, intoxicating feeling that accompanies it. He wonders how sweet your blood has gotten, mixed with adrenaline. Fear makes it taste better. He hopes you know that. But yours never needed fear to make it the best he’s ever had. You couldn't imagine how many nights he spent debating whether or not to drain you dry.

To kill you would be a waste. You are truly something special.

In his defense, he never took enough to kill you. Really, he didn't need to drain all those women. He doesn't need to feed that much to survive. It was only a plus that you curled up to him each night, seeking his presence. Oh how he’d kill a hundred men just to suckle at your neck while deep in your cunt.

It'll be even better now that you’re awake.

“Get in the water with me,” he says.

“Once I get all this blood off,” you say, holding his hand up to inspect it, “then I’ll refill the tub and get in. I don't want to get sick.”

But he wants you in now.

You stay true to your word. Once you get the majority of the blood off, you drain the water, and start refilling the tubm watching the last of the pink water swirling down the drain. In the meantime, you get undressed, and settle into the shallow, slowly rising water. You add in some soaps, and bath salts you’ve been saving for a special occasion. Supposedly they help with stress, but you’re more anxious than you’ve ever been.

In his arms you used to find comfort. Now they're little more than something to keep track of in case you have to run.

His grip around your waist tightens, pulling you to sit in his lap. His lips find your neck, littering it with kisses, and softly sucking at the sensitive skin. Your neck smells so nice. He finds a washcloth, and some soap, dragging the rough fabric across your skin, admiring the softness of it. If the context were any different, such an action would be completely innocent.

"Choso?" You can hardly choke out his name. "Did you kill all those people?!"

"Not all of them," he says, "some were accidents. But they were done by my kind, if that's what you’re asking.”

Does Yuji know about this? You doubt it. You’d be hard pressed to find something Yuji does know about. You're mentally steeling yourself, eyes frantically scanning the room for a way out. There's nothing nearby you can use as a weapon, save for a ceramic pot, still holding a houseplant. Maybe a good whack over the head will deter him. But knowing Choso…

“I can get to the door before you.” You say.

“Can you?” He asks. “I think I’m faster.”

There's a sharp, stinging pain and his teeth dig into your neck. Though you’re mostly silent, caught by surprise, a small squeak escapes you. It only hurts for a moment. His grip around your waist tightens. And he's saying something- but your head is too foggy to make out any words.

What the hell was that? Did he just draw blood?

The warm feeling of his tongue against your neck is enough to make you shudder. A shock of pleasure is sent up your spine, one which should most surely be pain. Your body is a little too receptive to this. Maybe it's the warm water, but you could almost swear your body is heating up.

Danger and arousal practically overlap in the human mind. Those neurons are very close, practically crossing over in some cases.

While part of you is frozen in fear, part of you finds this extremely hot.

"Sorry, love. I hope it doesn't hurt too bad," he says, "I can't help myself. Yours is the sweetest."

Nobody else compares to you.

He does let you break free. Though you’re soaking wet, you make it out of the bathroom, and down the hall before he catches you. This time you scream, only for one of his large hands to cover your mouth.

“Don't run,” he says, and before you can protest, he’s swooping you up into his arms bridal style, “I’ll always catch you.”

Your elbow swings out, slamming into his sternum hard. He lets out a soft grunt of surprise, though it hurts you more than it hurts him. He's a lot stronger than you. A shock of pain is sent up your arm. It's like hitting a brick wall. By reflex, he drops you, giving you an opening to dash for the door.

But that's where he’s expecting you to go.

You make a sudden left for his bedroom, where there's a sliding glass door that leads out to the porch. From there, you suppose you’ll yell for help. Maybe one of your neighbors will take pity on you, a poor, naked girl running from her insane lover.

In your moment of hesitation, he’s caught up to you, grabbing you by the shoulder and yanking you back. Your terrified gasp much resembles a moan in nature, as heat pools not only in your face, but between your legs.

You’re enjoying this little game of cat and mouse…

In Choso’s mind it only solidifies his view of you as his own. A pretty little thing to preen, and feed off of. His partner. His mate. Oh how pretty your sleeping form looked, oblivious to the way he fed from you.

You pray for Yuji to come home early. For him to not go out partying for once. But your prayers are ignored.

“Don't get my intentions misconstrued,” Choso says, “I have no plans to kill you.”

You're far more valuable to him alive.

You swallow hard. The heat between your legs only builds in intensity. Your teeth find your bottom lip, digging into it hard. Soon the metallic taste of blood fills your mouth.

The sight of him standing before you, naked, with water still dripping off of him is enough to pool the fire that burns in your belly. His hair is loose around his shoulders, his long, dark locks falling into his face. Albeit terrifying, he is handsome.

The worst part is his eyes.

They aren't the eyes of a monster. Nor do they hold any sort of malice, or anger. He looks at you with such adoration that you want to sob. He looks at you like you’re the sun, the moon, and all the stars. Like you’re the world to him.

In his defense, he does love you. Just in the twisted way that his undead heart will allow. You loved him too. At one point.

“There was only so much I could take without harming you.” He says. “Only feeding from you proved to have detrimental consequences to your health. If I didn't feed from others, you likely would have died.”

Is that why he’s been so nice? Why he’s been cooking for you, and insisting you take your vitamins?

Your head spins. Maybe it's from the hot water. Maybe this is a nightmare, and in a few minutes you’ll wake up.

Your hand falls to your neck, where warm blood trickles down onto your heaving chest. You don't expect it to come away wet with blood. The red sight makes you nauseous.

“Your neck,” he coos, “why don't you let me help with the bleeding.”

“Like hell I will!”

You back up, the back of your knees hitting the edge of the bed. With a gasp, you fall, hitting the mattress. The bed that was once so inviting is now cold, and unforgiving.

You hardly notice as he crawls in beside you, pulling you to rest against his chest. His lips attack your neck, sukling the small wound. The pleased grunts and groans he makes are enough to fuel the fire burning in your stomach. Every cell in your being is crying out for him to touch you, though the rational part of your brain wants you to fight.

His hand trails lower, eventually finding the slick that pools around your entrance, humming in amusement.

“My good girl,” he coos, “so wet for me.”

His words are enough to send a shock of pleasure up your spine. The months you two have spent together have given him enough time to figure out just what makes you tick. His fingers find your clit, working circles around the bundle of nerves, eliciting a small moan from you. You're so soft, so warm and reactive to his touch. When around you, Choso feels truly alive.

His thumb works circles around your clit while he pumps his fingers. His touch leaves your body feeling warm. And though most of your being wants you to run, you can't help but relax into his touch. He’s your Choso, after all. The same man that let you curl up next to him after a nightmare, and would bring you tea and soup when you were sick.

How could someone so doting be such a monster?

It doesn't take him long to settle into a pattern that makes your toes curl, drawing soft moans from you. Tension builds in your stomach like a rubber band being stretched tight. He's making a mess out of you both. And he’d make a mess out of you every day for the rest of your lives if you’d let him.

This is so wrong. Not that you're complaining.

He's a murderer! But complying might be your best chance at getting out of this.

The heat in your stomach is practically unbearable. Your face buries in his covers, unintentionally inhaling his scent. He just smells so nice. More than anything, you want him to fuck you.

Slowly, gently, he guides you to lay on your back, caging your body under his. You clench around the sudden emptiness, wishing for nothing more than his hand to return. His eyes meet yours for only a moment. Though yours are full of fright, his are filled with affection.

He really does love you. Just in his own way. One that humans don't understand. One that borders on the line of obsession.

Choso leaves a path of wet kisses down your stomach, his lips stained red with blood. The wound on your neck has mostly stopped bleeding. The pain has reduced to a dull ache that throbs with each beat of your heart. The small ways your body reacts, your back arching up towards him, your pulse quickening, only solidifies the thought in his mind that you’re his.

His head comes to rest on your stomach. His hair tickles the sensitive skin of your lower belly, and thighs. You nod, giving him silent permission to continue.

You gasp at the feeling of his cool tongue against your clit, lavishing it with affections. Your cunt is almost as sweet as your blood. And he makes sure you know that, moaning nearly as loud as you at the taste. His arms hook around your legs, pulling you closer to him. Choso is a lot stronger than he looks. You get the impression that—if he so pleased—could keep you there forever.

And he just might, working you closer to orgasm, letting you creep up on that edge but never falling down the other side. Not until you’re crying out his name, and begging to cum. He's making such a mess. Out of you, and himself, and the sheets. If Choso could purr, he would be.

“Please, Cho,” you whine, “I wanna cum!”

This only draws a dark laugh from him. He pulls away, his chin covered in saliva, and your own slick.

“Not yet, love.” He says. “It’ll feel so much better when you finally cum on my cock.”

He wastes no time in lining himself up, giving his already hardened cock a few pumps before pressing into you. There's no stinging as he pushes in. There hardly ever is. Choso isn't a selfish lover in the slightest. He knows his size is intimidating. He always makes sure you’re prepped enough to take him.

Choso doesn't bother using a condom. There's no need, now that you’re his. Oh how he’s been waiting for the day to see your fucked-out form leaking his cum. You truly are his now.

It's oddly intimate, the way he litters your neck with kisses as he ruts into you. His lips leave your skin feeling warm. He tries to pace himself, really, but the warm, velvety feeling of your cunt is too much. You feel too good, he can't hold himself back. Though he hasn't felt human in a long time, you truly make him feel like one.

His hands plant on the back of your knees, shoving them up towards your chest. There's a pleasant stretch in your hips as he guides you into a mating press. The sound of skin slapping on skin fills the room. Your moans are hardly drowned out by his words of praise, calling you a good girl, telling you how well you take him, how much he loves you.

And you really are starting to believe it.

“Cho- I'm gonna-”

“Do it then,” he says, “cum for me.”

When you finally cum, you cum hard. Your orgasm rolls over you like a wave, pulling you under, and spitting you back out wrong. Your body twitches, overcome with pleasure, riding out your orgasm on his cock. Exhaustion slowly sets in, leaving your limbs heavy, and your eyes struggling to stay open.

He’s not far behind, his thrusts growing unsteadier. His words of praise turn into babble, incoherent sentence fragments, mostly which consist of “I love you”s. He gives no warning when he’s about to cum, instead, making sure that you take every last drop of it. The cold feeling of his cum makes you shudder. It's not outright unpleasant, though it feels strange. He doesn't bother pulling out, only settling down beside you on the bed, softening cock still inside you. His arms wrap around you, pulling you flush to his chest.

Just what kind of mess have you gotten yourself into?

Part of you wishes for your roommate to stumble through the front door. Part of you is content in your lover's arms. Has anything really changed about your Choso? Would Yuji even help? He’s his brother after all.

Your limbs feel heavy, though your head feels light. Weightless. It's not a normal feeling. It's like you're drunk, but you haven't touched a drop of alcohol. His lips find your neck, lapping at the steady stream of blood from the reopened wound.

You’re completely helpless as you fall into the cold grasp of sleep.

CAUGHT ON FILM #2! — JJK MEN

SYNOPSIS...more nsfw twt links of the jjk men

INFO...jjk men x fem!bodied reader, women in the videos may be white skinned and light skinned but these videos are only to show how’d they fuck you, choking, cow girl, doggy, missionary, rough sex, oral (m & f receiving), spit, handjobs, fingering, overstim, bondage, praise, degradation, squirting, creampie, breeding, anal, sex toys

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

TOJI

pounding your pussy in the backseat of the car

choking you and spitting in your mouth while he fucks you from behind

teasing your pussy with the tip of his cock

making you squirt all over his dick while he cums in your pussy

he loves seeing your mascara run down your face

toji doesn’t like when you use condoms, you feel too good

GOJO

gojo watching in the mirror as you bounce on his cock

pulling your panties to the side and eating your pussy

using his fleshlight on him

you look so cute in your nightgown he just had to fuck you in it

he loves the way your ass bounces back on him

gojo getting needy and thrusting up into your hand

NANAMI

fucking you before the two of you go out on your date

pushing you up against the shower door and fucking you after a long day

cockwarming him in public but can’t help getting needy and moving your hips against his

eating your pussy until you cum and make a mess

choking you and making you rub yourself through your panties while he praises and reassures you

fingering you till you squirm

GETO

jerking him off while he fingers you

waking you up in the middle of the night cause he’s so needy

licking you through your panties

the two of you get a little distracted while watching a movie

geto thought it would be fun to try anal

sloppy head is the best head

SUKUNA

treating you like a whore while fucking your face

using your pussy for his own pleasure

using your tits to jerk himself off

fucking you rough against the couch after a bad day

breeding your cute little hole

he loves using toys on both of your holes until you’re shaking

HIGURUMA

grinding your ass against his hard cock, teasing him

guiding you up and down his cock

deciding to tie you up and fuck you from behind

holding you close to him while he whispers the nasty things he wants to do as he licks and sucks at your sensitive spots

playing with your pussy for his own enjoyment

spanking you for being a brat

CHOSO

rubbing your clothed pussy over his dick before he gets too needy and fucks you

he can’t help eating your pussy even after you’ve cum already

sitting on his face while he’s distracted on his phone

making out naked and getting touchy

breeding your pussy on your cute picnic date

making him cum through his underwear

tag list (comment to be added):

@kodzukein @inayasahin @mxchi-mxxn @vlsquuu @love-4-keum @thirtykiwis @viisgrave @bellefaerie @manifestis @oliviaissocool1 @prettyfacedream @bsi25 @zayn-210 @charbunxxi @nahoye @mistyheart @supernatrualqueen @lem-hhn @mimibesticon @fateisnotafactor @iwanttoberich420 @angelofthorr @honestlywtfisgoingon @araities @vampzity @spicynoodles23 @pinkbunnysblog @nn-hh192 @chrishak @keiva1000 @darkstarlight82 @brownbtch @70cosmo07 @sadmonke @notfancyrebelpaper @aydene

cuddling with choso after sex? :(

tags. choso x female reader. fluff, suggestive. not beta read. reader gets called ‘baby, pretty’ \\ wc. round 400.

“fuck. . .” choso curses under his breath. his chest is heaving, his body sweaty and aching. his weary eyes instantly find yours—even when exhausted, that man knows you’re the number one priority.

he catches the way your legs are still spasming. the aftershocks of your climaxes have yet to wear off. choso reaches out to gently cup your face in his hands, “hey, baby.”

you can barely make out his worried expression due to your watery vision. you’re trying to focus on getting your breathing under control, though that seems to be quite the challenge.

“deep breaths,” choso reminds you tenderly. his voice is a bit shaky, as are the warm hands holding your cheeks. his thumb brushes over the skin—gentle caresses that keep you sane.

you nod in confirmation and follow choso’s instructions. he smiles warmly at the adorable sight of you trying to copy him, “hah, you’re so pretty like this.”

his eyes widen for a moment after he blurted out that last comment. he can’t believe he let himself get distracted by your beauty when all you need in that moment is some comfort and proper aftercare.

“ahem, sorry,” choso mumbles embarrassedly. he clears his throat and shakes his head lightly, trying to snap out of it, “d- deep breaths, yeah? in. . . and out.”

you try to focus on doing as told, but seeing your lover’s red cheeks and flustered expression makes you giggle. choso huffs and pouts—he knows just why you’re laughing.

there’s no hiding it when he’s with you. you bring these expressions of love and joy out of him. ones that he cannot keep out of sight.

“come here,” choso chuckles lowly and pulls you up onto his chest so you could rest there. he squeezes you to his muscular body, making you groan softly.

you accept your fate almost instantly and relax. you close your eyes and listen to choso’s heartbeat; it’s going fast. super fast.

that pace is normal for him whenever you’re around.

“you okay?” you decide to tease your flustered lover. you tilt your head back and kiss his jawline slowly and softly. you place your hand right on his chest before cocking your head to the left with a grin, “your heartbeat is going wild, y’know.”

choso’s grip around your waist tightens. he knows you’re playing with him, though he doesn’t mind it. you look adorable when you try to fluster him (and you succeed each time).

he shrugs with a light hearted laugh, his eyes softening. choso pinches your sides lightly to make you squirm as revenge, “can’t blame my body for reacting like that when i’m with the prettiest girl in the world.”

choso’s witty comment gains him a smack to the chest. which he - again - does not mind at all. in fact—he enjoys messing with you whenever he’s feeling playful. your reactions are what he does it all for.

Rotten Right to the Core

Caleb x MC

Author's Note: No thoughts, only Caleb's toxic ass behavior. This was shorter than I planned but sometimes the words lead you and not the other way around. Hope y'all still enjoy 😘 Word Count: ~1500 | Read on AO3 Summary: Caleb wants to feel you without any barriers. 🔞Content Warnings: Dead Dove, afab!MC, she/her MC, taboo (pseudo-cest), PIV, rough sex, edging, biting, protected sex until it’s not, dubcon (sexual coercion), possessive Caleb, spanking, Girlboss/Gaslight/Breeding Kink, hair pulling, putting it back in

Incoherent words fall from your mouth, muffled by the scratchy material of your grandmother’s couch while Caleb ruts into you from behind. Ever the one to take advantage of your time home alone together, your brother had you pinned to the cushion the moment you got home from a full day of classes at the Hunter’s Academy. You barely had time to for your bag to drop to the floor before his tongue was down your throat and he had you folded in half over the armrest. He’s been different since leaving for the Skyhaven base to train as a pilot. Caleb has always been the overprotective, obsessive type but now that you were no longer living under the same roof it was like he was trying to tattoo himself inside you whenever he was granted leave to visit home.

“This is just the welcome home I needed,” he groans.

His fingertips dig into the flesh of your hips, pulling you back on his length with obscene wet slaps echoing off of the walls. Your body was already sore from the way he tossed you around like a rag doll, placing you in various positions and seeming unable to get enough. Heavy, firm balls slap against your puffy abused clit, teasing at an orgasm he had denied you over and over again until you felt on the verge of madness.

“Caleb, please!” you whine, voice pitched high and eyes full of tears.

A deep chuckle vibrates against your back as he pins you further with his chest.

It was borderline cruel the way he made you beg for release. You never understood why he insisted on drawing it out and tormenting the both of you, especially considering that more times than not you were on a time crunch to finish before Gran could catch the two of you. It was like he wanted to get caught, always pushing the limit further and further, seeing how close you could get to the sun without incinerating.

“You know just what I like to hear.” His warm breath is like silk against your eardrum. “I want something else from you, though.”

You don’t hesitate to answer, unable to bear the thought of waiting any longer.

“Anything.”

Caleb’s hand grips your jaw, pulling your gaze back to meet his until your neck aches from the strain. Danger flashes in his amethyst eyes.

“You have no sense of self-preservation, dear sister. You don’t even know what you’re asking for. But it’s too late to take it back.”

He bites your ear painfully as he continues to pump into you, teeth clamping hard while his tongue flicks at jewelry in your lobe. You cry out in a heady combination of pain and please, tightening around his erection.

“Shit, you feel so good,” he moans your name. His heavy cock falls out, leaving you dripping and clenching around nothing as a pitiful plea escapes your lips. “Stop being a whiny brat. You’ll get what you want. Take the condom off.”

That snaps you out of your tormented, blissed out haze, shocking you to your core.

“What do you mean, take it off—”

As you push up on one arm to turn around and face him, you collapse onto your chest once more as Caleb pushes you down and pins your arm behind your back. His hand encircles yours in deceptive softness as he guides your fingers to the tip of his hard cock to pinch the latex.

“What I mean… is take it off, pip,” he repeats.

“B-but we don’t… not without…” you grapple for understanding as responsibility pushes through your lust-filled brain.

“Yeah, well I wanna feel you. All of you. Without anything between us.”

You hesitate, knowing it would be an incredibly irresponsible thing to do. You just got into the academy and were top of your class. Before long you would be assigned to a squad at the Association, something you’ve dreamed of doing since you saw Hunters fighting off Wanderers on the broadcast as a little girl.

Caleb must sense your hesitation. Soft lips press to your cheek, a trail of soothing kisses pecking lovingly against the skin. The hand not currently wrapped around your own dips between your thighs as he starts to swirl your swollen clit. Still sensitive from the constant edging, your mind swims as your forehead falls to the cushion to stop the room from spinning. His touch is light, gentle even as your brother’s calming voice soothes you like a balm.

“I know this is new for us and you’re nervous, but it hurts that you don’t trust me to take care of you.”

“It’s not—”

“You have the implant—”

“How do you know tha—” you ask, but he cuts you off again.

“And I’ll pull out. I promise.” A soft sigh falls from his lips as he starts to pump against your hand that was still gripping him. “Just need to feel you.”

You never knew how to tell him no when he gets like this, all soft and sweet even if it never lasted.

“I-I—you promise?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“…okay,” you give in, body going pliant in his hold.

Pinching the latex, you start to tug. Caleb pulls back to give you space to work the condom down his length with a snap!

“There’s my sweet girl,” he praises.

Releasing your arm, he grabs himself to swipe the sticky bare head through your soaked folds with a hiss. Up and down over and over again as it keeps bumping your clit in a maddening tease. Just when you think he’s never going to put you out of your misery, he slides in with a single deep, hard thrust that takes the air from your lungs.

“Caleb!” you cry out just as he lets out a loud quivering groan.

Hand pressing against his abdomen you attempt to make him ease up. But just like before when you tried to stop him, he traps your arm against your lower back while his long cock bruises your cervix. His hips regain the brutal pace it had before the condom came off, the skin-to-skin contact making his glide through your walls much easier. Despite your pleas for him to slow down, you gush around the intrusion.

“I know you like it soft and sweet, pip-squeak, but you also like when I just take what’s mine. Don’t you?”

His hand cracks across your ass, leaving behind a sting that has you grinding your teeth. Head shaking in denial, Caleb lands another smack across the sensitive flesh followed by another and another.

“Don’t lie to me. I can feel your cunt squeezing the life out of me every time I do.”

“No—”

Crack!

“Want to try that again?”

“Caleb!”

Crack!

“Just tell me the truth and I’ll let you come.”

Like a carrot dangling in front of a horse, you give, desperate for the release. Your muffled response gets lost in the cushion. Fingers thread through the base of your neck, pulling at your roots until your face is unobstructed.

“Say it again,” he demands, panting harshly into your ear.

He was just about as far gone as you at this point.

“I like it,” you mewl, not having the strength to deny it any longer.

Your body was starting to grow heavy and you didn’t have much left to give.

“Like what? Use your big girl words.”

You loved hated when he did this. He was a total sadist sometimes. Face heating to an unbearable degree, you rush out a response.

“I like it when you take what’s yours.”

“You love it when I take what’s mine,” he corrects.

“I love it when you take what’s yours,” you repeat between high pitched moans.

You would give him anything he wanted right now if he would just give you what you needed. Your dignity was long gone, that ship having sailed years ago when it came to him.

“Now tell me you want my cum.”

“Caleb,” you hyperventilate, on the verge of tears again at his constant teasing.

“Shhh, it’s okay sweet girl. Almost there, I promise. Tell me what you want.”

“I want your cum.”

“Whose cum?”

“My brother’s…” you murmur, knowing exactly what the pervert wants to hear.

Caleb always did want what he wasn’t supposed to have, you above all.

“Yeah? You want your big brother’s cum? Well, who am I to deny a pretty girl her request.”

Fingers pinch your clit, the mere touch enough at this point to make you go blind with pleasure. Your abdomen tightens and your ears ring almost painfully as you’re overcome with your release. You barely even notice when Caleb pulls out with a growl and wetness coats both holes between your legs. The moment seems to go on forever until he finally releases you, allowing you to collapse face-first into the couch with your heart pounding against your ribcage.

Grabbing his still stiff cock, Caleb swipes it through the mess he made of your ass and pussy, gathering the sticky release together on the tip.

So out of it, you don’t even realize what he’s doing until it’s too late.

Caleb slides back into your abused, tender hole with slow intentional deep strokes.

“Caleb!” you scold, so depleted of energy that your protest comes out as a pathetic mumble.

“I kept my promise, babygirl. I pulled out. Do you think Gran would be mad if we made her a grandma again?”

“You’re a jerk,” your swat lands against his naked hip with a smack as he laughs at your expense.

𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞

bertholdt x fem!reader

modern au, college au, established relationship, slight music nerd bertholdt, bertholdt is above 6’4, reiner ships you and bert so hard (´◡`)

wc - 4.0k

warnings - kissing, overthinking, insecurities abt relationship, kinda bad 😭

a/n - wrote this on a whim when i was on my work break so it’s not the best 🙁 unedited and kinda messy

bertholdt loves it when it's just you two.

having his head cuddled between your plush thighs as you play with his brunette shag you hoped he never cut - watching the princess diaries in a comfortable silence you two shared so often that came with a growing mutual understanding of your budding relationship. he kisses the side of your plush thigh once in awhile when you run your hands over the side of his head in that way you always do when youre positioned like this on nights like these - when reiner is gone slaving away at practice right before the big game and it's just you two showering each other with affection.

that's until reiner comes back to his shared apartment with his best friend of over 5 years.

"reiner!" bertholdt slightly yelled like it was bloody murder. bertholdt quickly stood up, getting his abnormally big head (and big body) away from your thighs trying to act like nothing was happening - which was exactly happening. bertholdt accidentally pulled you off the couch as he frantically got up, a thud coming under you and a sympathetic look coming from bertholdt. sure - bertholdt loves showering you with his affection, but he'll never actually parade it in front of others, including the person who has seen him naked several times.

"what are you doing here?" he stupidly asked like him and reiner haven’t been living together for a whole year now.

"oh you know - coming back to my lovely home after a long day at practice.” reiner explains as he drops his gym bag and take off his sneakers, not acknowledging his best friends awkwardness to make him and you feel better.

it’s been a routine for the past couple of months. he’ll come home, see you and bertholdt cuddling, lost in your own world, and bertholdt being abruptly deported from his own little world with you whenever reiner appears into the living room.

reiner finds it slightly entertaining, not just how embarrassed bertholdt gets but the way bertholdt can easily be this close to you; you’ve created your own world with each other, speaking a language only you and bertholdt can understand. sure bertholdt’s awkward tendencies get in the way of him showing his love for you but reiner can see the way you love each other when he sees you two giggle at the plural form of ball.

and when you scold him for eating peanuts ever since he found out he was allergic to them because during your guys first date, they brought out a bowl of peanuts as an appetizer and apparently peanuts aren’t supposed to hurt your mouth like that (yet he still eats them).

and when he makes CDs for you filled with the static noise he calls music reiner and annie can’t stand yet you somehow like it.

and when you made reiner secretly steal all his pants one by one so you could tailor them to fit into his long legs.

and when bertholdt loves you to the point where he creates and you love him to the point where you can invent.

and when bertholdt gets too lost in his head, and reiner or annie never know what to do, but somehow you’re the only who could find him, and when bertholdt makes sure you don’t ever get lost, ever.

and when reiner comes home, after a long day at football practice, and he catches a quick glimpse into your shared world with bertholdt, speaking your own language, and he sees how he becomes you and you become him in the way you two hold each other. reiner likes this bertholdt, don’t get him wrong, he also likes awkward bertholdt a lot as well but he knows bertholdt is a lot more than an awkward sweaty lanky mess. he’s just happy that bertholdt has someone to be himself around - even his awkward self. and reiner would totally try pushing bertholdt to be more comfortable with holding you in front of others but right now, he smells like wet grass and total ass and he can’t feel his legs; trying to push bertholdt out of his box will have to wait.

apart, scratch that, a good chunk of you finds it insulting. like him being your boy and you being his girl is hell on earth. you know bertholdt loves you. of course he does! you’re his own prayer. but sometimes - he gets up a little too fast whenever reiner comes home, and it makes you do the unthinkable; overthink.

which is exactly what you’re doing right now as bertholdt helps you up the floor and you could feel his once dry palm, which he used to play with the side of your thighs as you played with his hair, now moist do to his nervousness. you sighed under your breath and grabbed your jacket and bag from the front door.

“alright, gonna take this as my sign to leave.” you said avoiding eye contact with bertholdt and reiner while zipping up your jacket.

bertholdt knows you’re annoyed. and he knows you’ll tell him that it’s fine.

“good luck tomorrow reiner!” you yelled as you were making your way out the door.

“wait!” bertholdt ran after you, swiftly putting on his house slippers, “let me walk you out!” bertholdt grabbed the top of the door frame preventing it from slamming, ducked his tall body under the door frame, and gently closed the door making sure he wouldn’t bother reiner.

you waited for him as he jogged a short distance to catch up to you.

“hey,” he greeted you like you weren’t hanging out the whole day.

you know you should say hi back, you always do, but you know what he always does? he always pushes you away when reiner comes home. and it’s not his fault for being so shy, but still, can’t a girl hold her boyfriend in peace?

“are you mad?” bertholdt asked with the worried look on his face he always seemed to have.

“no.” you briskly told him, keeping your eyes forward.

bertholdt sighs as he pushes the button for the elevator to go down. your arms are crossed as you wait for one of the elevators to be available. usually you and bertholdt would talk about everything and nothing - why he hates his philosophy professor, king krule possibly coming to paradis, if you should get those jeans from jaded london, giving him a fake palm reading just to touch his hands, looking at the view from the window in the elevator room and people-watching into the apartment complex across the street - but right now, it’s silent, and not the comfortable kind you two always have but the “please don’t be mad” kind.

“are you sure you’re not mad?” he asks, a little exasperated watching you walk into the elevator while you try to avoid eye contact. he walks in after you, distracted from how worried he is about you, the tall oaf ends up hitting his head on the sill of the elevator.

“Ow!” he rubs his forehead with his pointer finger and his thumb trying to numb the pain. he ducks down to the mirror of the elevator to check for any bleeding and catches you trying not to laugh your ass off at your oaf of a boyfriend. you have the prettiest smile, he swears. he tries to suppress his own smile as he hears you fail and you erupt into snorts and giggles.

“do I have to hurt myself in order for you to acknowledge me?” he jokingly asks.

“yes.” you respond as you still have a grin on your face from your fit of laughter not too long ago. bertholdt presses the button to go down to the garage, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek to reassure you about whatever you’re upset about.

bertholdt walks you to your car, still a little cautious around you.

“what’s on your mind? i know something’s wrong.” bertholdt steps in front of you, preventing you from going any further to your car. bertholdt isn’t letting you go to sleep tonight feeling like this.

“it’s nothing really.” and it really is nothing, to you at least but not to bertholdt.

“it’s something.” bertholdt quickly retorts gently bringing his hand to yours.

you’re a little emotional, you’ve always been.

“can you just hold me? there’s no one around.” you reassure him. bertholdt’s heart stings at your act of reassuring him. bertholdt looks around for a moment and hugs your body to his in the empty parking garage, feeling your specific type of inviting warmth to his chest and having the smell of your vanilla coconut leave in conditioner scent hug his nose. he’s leaning against your car as you lean into him.

“are you mad because i pull away from you whenever reiner comes home?” he gently asks as he gave you a kiss on your head.

“im not mad, just..”

bertholdt gives you all the time to continue.

“just..are you embarrassed of being in a relationship with me or something?” you look up at him, slightly teary eyed, hoping he wouldn’t notice. but he does; because he wants to make sure you’ll never get lost.

“no! of course im not!” he furrows his eyebrows at you. you stare up at him looking if he’s telling the truth. and you know he is but overthinking gets the best of you sometimes. “you should be the one embarrassed to be in a relationship with me!” bertholdt jokes to make you feel better.

you smile as you hug him tighter, “never.”

“it’s just sometimes i feel like you are embarrassed of me.” you push the side of your face into his chest, avoiding eye contact once again.

“I’m not.” and he isn’t. bertholdt looks down at you with sympathy in his eyes, rubbing and kneading your back. he knows you deserve someone who can hold you whenever they please.

“you know how shy I get.” bertholdt reassures you that it’s his problem, not yours.

“i know.” you tell him. “i don’t want you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. I just want you to hold me, just right now.”

“trust me, holding you doesn’t make me uncomfortable.”

bertholdt holds you in his strong arms like you’re a dove. every touch from him is carefully placed. you pout your lips signaling for a small kiss. as soon as he reaches down to give you a quick kiss, the tip of his ears red from his meekness, here comes porco galliard and his loud ass car beeping twice at you two. your eyes crinkle at his cars bright ass headlights and bertholdt lets you go from his grasp, not wanting porco to see the monstrous act of holding his girlfriend.

“give this to reiner for me!” the boy named after a pig yelled through his rolled down passenger window and threw out reiner’s jockstrap, bertholdt catching it as he let out a sigh of dissent. porco irresponsibly and annoyingingly, may I add, sped out of the garage, bertholdt yelling at him to slow down.

your eyebrows furrowed in distress when your giant of a boyfriend let you go. you watch as he slightly jogs after the speeding car and yells at the pig man driving it to slow down. bertholdt walks towards you, the dissatisfied look in your eyes wishing he kissed you a few moments earlier. bertholdt gives you a sympathetic smile as he held reiner’s jockstrap in between his fingers.

“bye,” you curtly smile back and tried as fast as you could to get into your car as you ignored your boyfriends goodbyes.

bertholdt watched your car drive out of the parking garage, a disappointed groan coming from his body.

the olive skinned boy closes his apartment door with a sigh. it pains him to know that there’s apart of you, that may grow into a chunk, that thinks he’s ashamed of you. and you know he isn’t, but he knows how you overthink. hell, he can’t blame you. if he was in your position, he would think the same thing too.

but bertholdt is shy - painfully shy, almost like he’s cursed to be this way forever, and it’s not like he doesn’t want to hold you the way he does behind closed doors in front of others. if bertholdt could, he’d have you attached to the hip.

bertholdt is just…how you say - modest.

one touch, and he knows he’s gone.

it took him at least three months into the relationship for him to even comfortably hold you, and took him another three for it to become a regular thing. every touch from your fingertips is a modified blow, and bertholdt is made of glass. the first time you molded your hands to the side of his face, he swore he shattered into a thousand pieces. and you put him back all together. you touch him like a prayer, a prayer only you two understand. the first time you touched bertholdt, when you held his face, or when he laid his head in between your thighs, or when his senses are overloaded with you - bertholdt feels his heart take root in his body, discovering something he doesn’t even have a name for.

so it’s not that bertholdt is embarrassed, he just craves even the slightest brush of your fingertips against his skin too much.

“You forgot your jockstrap.” bertholdt throws it to a now freshly showered reiner, who is currently eating his second bowl of lucky charms right now.

“thanks.” states a tired reiner.

reiner put his now empty bowl in the sink while bertholdt got ready for bed.

“goodnight bertholdt.” reiner slaps bertholdt’s flat ass.

“goodnight reiner.” bertholdt does the same to reiner.

reiner yawns and before closing his bedroom door, he peeks his head out, and with tired eyes and a tired voice, he tells his best friend since middle school,

“if you could slap my ass every night, you can hold your girl without being a scaredy cat about it by the way.”

bertholdt looks back at him with a surprised look on his face.

“you should hold her more.” reiner states before he kicks his bedroom close and going to sleep for his game tomorrow.

and bertholdt agrees.

these intrusive thoughts aren’t letting you sleep. the many times bertholdt has pushed your affection away in front of others is making you cringe and the little voice inside your head is not letting you forget them. there’s a devil and angel on your shoulders arguing whether he really loves you or not. you’re being dramatic, no you’re not, yes you are. all you really want is your boyfriend to hold you. is that too much to ask? you wanna cry but you don’t let yourself, bertholdt would let you. you let out a frustrated sigh and grab your phone from your nightstand. a second ago it was only 12 but now it’s almost 3 o clock in the morning. to hell with these intrusive thoughts.

bertholdt <3: Just wanna say goodnight and I can’t wait to see you tomorrow. I hope you feel better in the morning, I love you.

sent at 12:25

you roll your eyes at the text message sent by your boyfriend but can’t help but feel a teensy bit better, but not enough to fall asleep. a glass of warm milk and those melatonin chocolates bertholdt bought for you will do. you find your roommate pieck awake at almost 3 in the morning making herself a cup of tea in her jaw titan mug.

“he did it again.” you tell her as you get out the carton of milk and pour it into a glass.

“again!?” pieck suddenly drops her spoon into her cup of tea.

“shhhhh!” annie is in her room doing the right thing you’re supposed to do at 3 in the morning, sleep. annie is also possibly the lightest sleeper you’ve ever come across and even pieck’s soft voice can wake her up.

“did you tell him how you feel?” pieck asked more quietly this time as she blew at her hot tea.

“yeah.” you sighed, waiting for the microwave to be done warming up your glass of milk.

“and?”

“and…he told me that he wasn’t embarrassed of me and he was just shy.” you take your too hot glass of milk out of the microwave and ended up yelling, possibly waking up annie and praying you didn’t.

“shhhh!” pieck pulls her finger to her lips.

you and pieck stay quiet to listen out for annie’s footsteps, and luckily for you two, you heard none.

“well that’s good right? he’s not embarrassed of you!” pieck says, a little more quiet this time, just in case.

“yeah but, your pig of a boyfriend, who’s headlights are way too bright, came to drop off…something reiner forgot and he let go of me like i was burning hot.” you drink all your milk in one go and let the chocolate dissolve in your mouth.

“but you are burning hot.”

“pieck,” you smile at her playful flirting while staying stern to let her know now is not the time to flirt

“why the hell are both of you still awake?” annie opens the door to her room glaring at both of her roommates.

“what the fuck annie!?” you yelped in your normal voice not having to whisper anymore.

annie makes her way to the fridge and grabs a water bottle, gulping it down like she’s been stranded in the Sahara desert for eternity.

“you two suck at whispering.” annie states throwing away the now empty water bottle.

“what could you two be talking about this fine night?” annie sarcastically asks.

“your bestie is a scaredy-cat and can’t hold his girlfriend in front of others.” pieck jokes.

“pieck!”

“bertholdt?”

“who else?” you confirm

“you can’t make him do anything that makes him uncomfortable, bertholdt’s always been like that.” annie defends her best friend as if you were talking bad about him in the first place.

“im not.”

“well it sounds like you are.” annie’s a good friend, you note.

“i never took a dig at bertholdt as a person, you know how I feel about him annie, i just…feel like he’s embarrassed of me.” you look away from her, a little embarrassed yourself.

annie scoffs, sitting down at the kitchen table “he is not embarrassed of you stupid.”

you look at annie a bit relieved.

“he’s just meek, okay? trust me, it gets to me sometimes too. bertholdt always seemed like he would be meek forever..”

“that’s not a bad thing.” you retort

“can you let me finish first?” annie continues “but, and I know you know this, he’s destined to be more than that.”

“he is already more than that.”

“i already know that.” annie says

there’s a bit of an awkward silence and pieck has awkwardly been stirring her tea the whole time.

annie sighs, “he seems to be a lot more confident ever since you’ve been with him and….” annie hates that she’s admitting this, god she prays you and pieck learn to whisper so she won’t ever have to say something like this again to anyone.

“I like that he’s happy with you.”

your eyes brighten up with joy.

“really?” you smile brightly.

“yes really.” annie sighs once again.

“thanks annie.” you give her a hug and she awkwardly pats your back. you make your way back to your bedroom, with a lingering smile on your face. you text bertholdt goodnight and you know he’s gonna worry over the time you sent your text (3:15 in the morning) but at least now your intrusive thoughts have stopped.

annie doesn’t see you as a friend like pieck or the rest of her friends do. you’re just her roommate. but ever since bertholdt has been dating you for the past 9 months, he does things like hum while doing basic tasks, developed an actual sense of fashion, listens to actual good music and her favorite? tells her and reiner that he loves them every night in their groupchat.

“annie?” pieck says quietly, her tea gone cold.

“yes pieck?” annie sighs, once again.

“do you like bertholdt, in the way Y/N likes bertholdt?” pieck is also a good friend.

annie turns to pieck a bit dumbfounded “pieck, I am literally a lesbian, god.”

“oh thank god.” pieck lets out a breath of relief.

annie goes back into her room, her head now hurting.

you have no idea how football works.

you chant offense when it’s defense, defense when it’s offense, don’t even know what it means to be flagged. yet here you are, giving all your undivided attention to the very homoerotic game that is football, trying to ignore your intrusive thoughts about your boyfriend. all you really know is reiner’s jersey number.

the score is currently 14 - 7, halftime is in three minutes, and under these late night stars, the crowd is starting to get rowdy. eren jaeger is sat three seats beside you yelling at jean kierstein about how much of a pussy the opposing team is. jean kierstein’s face is tomato red as he tries his hardest not to punch eren in the face. armin is right in the middle of it wishing he never came. mikasa knows that these losers wouldn’t even survive in a football game but she can. your roommate pieck just wants to support her boyfriend, and bertholdt and your other roommate annie are just supporting their best friend.

you don’t understand the hype for college football games. the aftermath was always so depressing. men fighting over two groups of other men cuddling each other, underage college students getting alcohol poisoning, people you’ve seen post environmental activism infographics on their instagram stories littering like it’s nothing.

you’ve seen the worst minds of your generation at a college football game.

bertholdt knows you have no idea what’s going on. he’s talking to annie about the game, while also trying to subtly explain to you how it works and annie has no idea why bertholdt is explaining the game to her. If bertholdt keeps this up, annie will probably have to beat his ass.

“the titans just got flagged? wow I wonder what they got penalized for.”

“yeah our defense, who stop the other team from scoring, have been doing really well this season!”

“our offense, who have the ball currently, have been kinda sloppy this quarter, don’t you think?”

Bertholdt is lucky halftime is about to start.

“I’m gonna go get something to eat.” annie states, annoyed by bertholdt.

“get me a korean corn dog please!” you yell after her. she flips you off as she walks away, which means yes, you will get your korean corn dog.

that silence between you and bertholdt appears from last night again, the “please don’t be mad” kind, and you don’t like it. you can feel bertholdt’s doe eyes on you and you know he’s worried about you. he let you go home feeling like an embarrassment to him and he has so much to make up for.

you two don’t really get into the typical fights, sure some misunderstandings, but nothing like this before. you’re overreacting, you know you are. but you can’t help but feel so insecure.

“you should stop explaining how football works to Annie before she beats you up.” you tell your oaf of a boyfriend in a way to let him know him that you don’t want it to be like this any longer.

“if she beat me up, would it make you happy?” bertholdt jokingly asked, a little relieved.

“very.” you gave bertholdt a toothy grin. you give him the most brisk kiss on the cheek, you don’t even think your lips touched him.

“thank you.” you tell him because you know the only reason why he even is explaining football to annie, who probably understands it way more than you and bertholdt, is because he thinks you need space from the passive aggressive predicament you got into last night. (which is far from what you need)

you’re eyes are guided back to the big jumbotron in the center of the field, watching the two dogs who represent the two teams race against each other. bertholdt keeps his eyes on you and observes the way your face lights up when you see the brown labrador dressed as an armored titan race against a black great dane dressed as the colossal.

“bertholdt that black dog resembles you so much!” you tell him in the nicest way possible as you point at the screen. ymir bursts into the most disrespectful laughter possible, her and her girlfriend historia sitting above you and bertholdt.

“ymir stop being mean!” historia scolds.

bertholdt doesn’t care though, he does look like a dog to a certain extent, and he doesn’t care - as long as he can see you smile. he disregards ymir’s snorts, he ignores eren and jean’s arguing, he hasn’t noticed that annie’s been gone for longer than usual, he forgets what breed the dogs were and which one won, the cheering in the stadium has suddenly stopped - all he knows at this moment is you. here you are, his girl, the biggest smile on your face accentuating your cheekbones with your eyes crinkling in the corner. he swears you have the prettiest smile. it makes his brain go fuzzy, makes him forget everything around him -

your intrusive thoughts have gotten the very best of you, all of last night and up to today. there’s that voice in your head who keeps on telling you that you’re not worthy of being shown off, that being with someone like you is an embarrassment - how dare anyone love you? but right now - bertholdt feels so honored in this current moment sitting this close to you and having the privilege to see you smile. he looks like an idiot probably as he admires you from his seat that his tall body can barely fit in. but he doesn’t care - all his inhibitions have left and you’ve replaced them.

reiner can’t wait until this game is over with. he’s sat on the metal moist bench with his helmet off squeezing his water bottle into his mouth as his bandages are being renewed below him by the teams nurse. the black game paint he painted across his face has became grey and smudged and his hair is soaked from how much he’s been sweating. there’s about three minutes of halftime left and he’s spending those three minutes watching the Jumbotron across him.

“pucker your lips and get ready for the kiss cam titans!” came a booming voice from the intercom.

the first couple weren’t even a couple and the girl ended up moving away when the guy motioned a kiss towards her.

the second couple gave each other a meek kiss and the crowd boo’d at their lousy excuse of a kiss.

the third couple was a girl in the middle of eating a korean corn dog and the giraffe of a man totally entranced by her cheese pull.

reiner’s eyes widen as he sets his eye on the dork of a couple who were cuddling on his couch last night.

bertholdt is looking at you like you’re the only person in this whole stupidly funded football stadium. you have a bit of mustard on the corner of your lips and your inhaling the cool night air to cool down the burning piece of fried cheese in your mouth. you look to bertholdt and stick your tongue out and point at it with sad eyes.

“I burnt my tongue,” you said with your tongue still sticking out.

“you’re on kiss cam you idiots!” ymir smiled at the both of you and playfully pushed bertholdt’s towards you.

bertholdt doesn’t even know he’s on kiss cam. he barely felt ymir push him over to you. he sees you look over to the jumbotron and grow embarrassed as you use your hand to cover your face. out of nowhere, you’re hit with the massive weight that is the whole crowd’s judgement. somehow, you’re the one filled with inhibitions and bertholdt isn’t.

“bertholdt…” you whisper to him, “we’re on kiss cam!” you say this like it’s the worse thing in the world.

all bertholdt hears is kiss and that’s what he does - in front of thousands of people, all of paradis’ college towns watching on their TVs, in front of eren jaeger and jean kierschstein who’ve stopped arguing due to how surprised they are, in front of armin arlert who’s just glad they’ve stopped arguing, in front of mikasa ackerman who has never felt so much second hand embarrassment in her life just from you eating your corn dog, in front of pieck finger who’s smiling so big because you were just telling her last night how you felt bertholdt was embarrassed of you, in front of annie leonhardt who can’t help but roll her eyes at you two, in front of ymir who’s cheering bertholdt on, and in front of reiner braun, who’s annoying the nurse who’s bandaging his calves from his constant movement as he stands up and cheers for his best friend since middle school.

bertholdt is carefully cradling your face in both of his hands, like you’re his own personal prayer, his own personal heaven, his own angel; they’re large and warm up your cool face and his fingers reach to your scalp. you didn’t expect this from him, you even thought he would just walk away pretending to not even know who you are (and if he did that, you would give him something to be embarrassed about). but here he is, his lips on your lips, kissing you like this is what mouths are for. finding warmth in his mouth, you relax into his lips and hold his hands closer to your face.

neither you or bertholdt can hear the crowd cheering you guys on as bertholdt’s lips put you into some sort of trance just like how your smile induced his. it is every kiss bertholdt owes you every time he pulled away in front of others. it is the song baby by donnie and joe emerson that is the first track on the CD bertholdt gifted you when he asked you to be his girlfriend. it is the last track - ‘baby’ by ariel pink. it is bertholdt’s hands cradling your face up to reach his lips and your hands on his, your mouth becoming his mouth, it is you who breaks into shards and it will be him who will put you back together.

once you both pull away due to the ear-paining air horn signifying that halftime is over, the kiss cam screening had already been over with. bertholdt’s olive skin heats up, his lips covered in your gloss and your lips a bit swollen.

you look up at to him with bright but bashful eyes, and you smile.

and he swears you have the prettiest smile.

JJK Men | Reactions to you saying “I love you” during sex

❧ Choso, Toji, & True Form Sukuna

❧ Warnings: fem bodied reader, rough sex, size difference, slight/hinted angst, dacryphilia

“I love you.”

Choso’s eyes are wide as he looks down at you, cock throbbing inside of you even as your words have left him frozen to the point that you’re not quite sure he’s breathing.

“Ch-Choso?”

The noise he makes is somewhere between a sob and a moan as his eyes get misty, and you brush a little of his hair behind his ears - both to see his face better and to stop it from tickling you as it hangs down. You tighten your thighs around him, hoping to get a more solid response from him, and when that doesn’t jolt him from whatever path his mind was taking him down, you clench his cock gently.

His arms give, as he lets his full body weight fall on top of you, suddenly giving you frenzied sloppy thrusts. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, moaning and panting until he can finally form his thoughts into words, even if they’re hot and slightly muffled against your skin.

“I’m that special? That you love me?”

You run your fingers through his hair, trying to stay coherent even as his thrusts get harder and harder, thick head of his cock outright battering your sweet spot as his emotion moves him to be much rougher than he usually was.

“Y-yes, Choso. I love y-“

“I love yoooou.” He can’t help interrupting, face still buried and arms pinned helplessly beneath you like all the strength left in him was only able to go straight to his hips in pursuit of rushing you into joining the orgasm that was now fast approaching him. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Toji is tricky. Soft when you need it, rough when you need that too, even if you don’t realise it. But then he’s not there when you need him, not all the way. Between the coy smiles and teasing words, plucking the very things you want to hear straight from your mind to present to you in a way that makes you second guess the nature of things between you two, he still has a gauzy slip of distance between you two. You know there are things about him you don’t understand, and you think he’ll never give you the opportunity to.

Still, when he’s fucking you like this it doesn’t just feel like fucking, it feels like more. With his hand on top of your head to keep you held firm beneath him as he rolls his hips into you in that way that has tears forming at the corners of your eyes. With his scarred lips kissing away the dew as it slips past your fluttering lashes and down your face. With his words low and sweet and filled with assurances that you were made for this, made for him.

He’s holding you so close and so tight, like you might just fly away if he didn’t, like you mightn’t let him take care of you like you needed if he doesn’t keep you wrapped up in him. It’s not all that different from how you treat him in a way: slow approach, soft words, but you haven’t quite gotten to the part where you pounce. Where you grasp him as tightly as he has you, wings flattened to writhing sides, because you don’t think you’re strong enough to hold him like that.

So you keep with the soft approach, slow and steady, this time adding sweet words as you let a breathy cry slip past your lips - half hoping he might not hear it.

He does, both hands holding your face now, brushing your hair back, beckoning you to open your eyes even as his hips keep moving you deeper into delirium. “Hm?”

You look at him, hoping he can see how much you meant it in your eyes, hoping to see the same in his, but he’s as unreadable as ever.

“C’mon, say it again.”

You don’t know if you can, but he pushes you the way he always does, like only he truly knows your limits.

“I wanna hear it again, sweetheart.”

“I love you.”

All sense slips away when Sukuna is pounding you like this, hips snapping viciously, cock finding depths you did not know were there each time he presses forward. You’ll say anything, do anything, while he fucks you until all you have are your basest instincts. He just always manages to turn you into something you don’t even recognize and loves every second of it.

He’s grinning, chuckling and panting all in one as he watches you - hips held in the air by his lower arms, shoulders sliding against the hard wood, feet planted on the floor beneath you like they were truly aiding in the balance you were long past having. His upper arms move between groping roughly at your breasts, or making sure you watch him as you drool and whine and beg for more even as your eyes are rolling and your body is on the verge of collapse.

He tells you this is the real you - pushed to the brink, hair matted, sweat clinging to your body until you’re unsure how he can keep such a firm grasp on your slippery skin. You make noises you didn’t know possible, noises that would embarrass you if you didn’t have that pride lodged in your chest at knowing Sukuna sounded just as feral when he fucks you.

The thoughts that come to you in moments like these, when you can form any thoughts at all, are so muddied that you can’t tell if they’ve truly come from you or if they’ve been picked up from the string of filthSukuna chants from all mouths.

“This is how it’s meant to be.”

“This is what I’m good for.”

“I need it.”

“I love it.”

“I love you.”

For once, you try to keep clear headed on the tip of his cock, trying to find the source of such an admission. Your eyes try to focus, only to be met with the same wicked gaze you’ve been performing under all along. So you repeat it, hoping to parse if it had been your voice in the first place, if it felt as jarring and fulfilling as it had before.

“I love you.”

He bends down, massive form covering you, obscuring everything but him as he bites down onto your shoulder, drawing weak cries from you as you clamp down harder on his cock - yet another orgasm approaching at his behest.

“I love you.”

Call me 'Kyojuro': Female Reader X Kyojuro Rengoku Smut

Author note:  I didn’t expect my first story to be so tame!  I wanted to make something dirty featuring my anime husband, but I think because this is my first, I held back. Raunchy, steamy, inappropriate shit will definitely be written in the future!

Content warning: smut, oral performed on female character, touching of breasts, mentions of bodily fluids (nothing extreme), you also are very forward in your relationship with Rengoku. I don’t really align with self-inserts that make you shy or soft-spoken (depends on the character)…it’s just not my thing!

Word count: 3.2k

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Rengoku was by no means a prude, but his Hashira lifestyle—which consisted of demon-slaying and training on constant repeat—left little time for relationships.

But it was no surprise that he quickly became infatuated with you when you were introduced as the newest Hashira. Yes, you were cute, no, you were beautiful, but that wasn’t the only characteristic that drew him in. It was also the way you were so committed to improving your skills. You were clearly ambitious – working tirelessly day and night to be a better you than the version you were yesterday. 

Rengoku recalled waking up early not long after you began your Hashira tenure, excited to start his usual training regime before the morning sun rose above the mountains and before the other Hashira started to stir. But when he approached the training grounds, he saw you practicing your movements with a sword in hand. 

You were mouthing commands to yourself, “breathe, follow through, expect a parry.” 

Rengoku watched you, quickly forgetting that he had his own training to begin. He was too engrossed by your commitment and passion to interrupt.

“I’m not one for an audience, ya know,” you shoot him a half-smile. You had noticed his presence but allowed the Flame Hashira to study you. As the newest Hashira, you hadn’t spoken up much. You simply observed during Hashira meetings, but you always found yourself interested in whatever Rengoku added to the conversation. Whenever he spoke up, his voice boomed over the others—and they listened. His points always centered on justice and protecting those who couldn’t defend themselves.

You were smitten on day one.

Rengoku’s body stiffened by your call out. He didn’t want you to feel like he was studying you, even if that was exactly what he was doing.

“Sorry! I was simply admiring your technique. And I must admit, I was surprised to find someone out here so early.”

You tilted your head to the side, the sweat that collected on your forehead from the exertion making its way down your cheek. “But you’re out here?”

Rengoku smiled softly as he acknowledged your quick rebuttal.

“Well, there’s more than enough space for us to both get our training in. Care to join me? I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t interested in seeing what the Flame Hashira is capable of.” You palm the hilt of your blade nervously, hoping he would accept your offer not only because you were putting yourself out there but also because you wanted him to say yes.

Rengoku shoots you with a dazzling smile that makes your heart stutter.

“Let us get started then.”

In a matter of minutes, you and Kyojuro stared at each other from a respectful distance away, waiting for the other to make the first move—not wanting to be caught off guard, you strike first.

The Flame Hashira dodges you easily, but he doesn’t parry or clip you with his blunted weapon. In fact, many of his movements are a response to your attacks with no attempt at fighting back. You quickly grow frustrated. You had earned your place in the Hashira ranks. You slayed just as many demons as him and had plenty of the scars and trauma to prove it.

More of the same continues, with you stringing together elaborate attacks and him dodging.

You feel the vein in your temple begin to switch, your anger reaching a boiling point. “Demons go out of their way to target women, and you dare hold back against me?!” Your body goes slack as you turn your back towards him, sending a physical sign that you were concluding the training session.

Kyojuro flinches at your sudden emotional outburst, and because he hadn’t realized he was on the defensive with you—he certainly never held back with Shinobu or Mitsuri. For some reason, a reason deeper than he could comprehend at that moment, he didn’t want to hurt you.

“Wait!” Kyojuro takes a step towards you. “You are right to be upset with me, but I assure you that I mean no disrespect.”

You barely turn your head to look over your shoulder, “then fight me, Rengoku! Give me the chance to kick your ass, and if you pull that shit again, I’ll never speak to you again.”

Kyojuro contemplates your words and gives a curt nod. He gets into a battle pose and shoots a dazzling smile at you, “Very well! But please, call me Kyojuro.”

Your heart skips a beat. The sun still hasn’t begun to rise but his smile provides you all the light and warmth you could ever need. 

“S-sure thing, Kyojuro.”

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

It didn’t take long until you and Kyojuro had a consistent training ritual together. With the Flam Hashira’s approval of your presence and his bragging about your abilities, the other Hashira began to accept you, too. Your nights, previously spent in your room in alone, were now occupied around a large dinner table where you all shared your meals.

“So, I’m just going to come out and say it as it wouldn’t be very flashy of me to keep my mouth shut,” Uzui begins as he sets his cup down.

Your eyes narrow at him as he turns his hulking body to face you. You like Uzui, but everyone at the dinner table quiets and stares at you—you don’t appreciate the extra attention.

“You and Rengoku are a thing, right?” You shoot him a horrified look as he brings his two pointer fingers together and touches them tip-to-tip.

Sanemi chortles at the ridiculous gesture.

You look at Rengoku, hoping that he’ll interject, but he’s quiet, observing you as a shade of pink quickly rises from his neck to his cheeks. 

Sensing the awkwardness between you and Kyojuro, Shinobu interjects—to your relief.

“Leave them be. Mitsuri, tell us more about that salmon dish you spoke about earlier.”

With that, Mitsuri launches into an animated story about the new restaurant she had discovered. The other Hashira quickly lose interest in you and divert their attention to the Love Hashira. You look up at Kyojuro, fully prepared to see him also engrossed in Mitsuri’s story. Instead, he’s looking down at his half-eaten meal with a pensive look on his face.

Your heart aches as you watch him eventually rise, excuse himself from the table, and exit the dining room. 

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you follow. And before you know it, you’re pushing his bedroom door open and closing it quietly behind you.

Kyojuro’s bright eyes look at you in surprise. “Oh, did I leave something at the table?”

You chew your bottom lip in frustration, your heart pounds in your ears, and anxiety begins to make your fingers twitch. You were uncharacteristically nervous being in front of him in his room. But you couldn’t help it because, in a matter of months, your feelings for Kyojuro had blossomed into intense feelings of wanting more from your friendship.

Kyojuro, sensing your inability to speak, rises slowly and approaches you. He takes your hands into his and stares into your own bright eyes. 

“Please….say something. I know you were uncomfortable at dinner when Tengen spoke about our…friendship.” He paused slightly over the word friendship, letting it hang between you both as if it were heavy and wrong.

Fuck it

In a moment of bravery, you tilt your head up and press your lips against Kyojuro’s. You feel his muscles tense slightly at your unexpected advancement, but he doesn’t push you away, and for that, you are beyond thankful.

It isn’t long before he moves his hands up to cup your face, his lips, initially unmoving, now pressing firmly against your own. His longing for you is conveyed as his soft lips dance slowly with yours, his fingers gently stroking the soft skin of your cheek in small circles.

A moan escapes your lips. He’s such a fucking gentleman, you think to yourself. 

When his lips part, you take the opportunity to slide your tongue in his mouth. Your eagerness makes Kyojuro’s head swirl, and his pants tighten in the crotch area. The room fills with the lewd sounds of your wet tongues mingling together as both of your arousal grows. There’s no space between your bodies as you press against one another, his solid chest pressing against your soft breasts and crotches grinding into one another, desperately trying to feel the friction despite the clothes you’re wearing.

You eventually break away from the kiss, both of your lidded eyes staring hungrily at each other and chests heaving rapidly.

Kyojuro speaks first, “Wow. Have you always felt this way about me?” 

You roll your eyes in amusement at the innocent inflection in his tone. Your hands roam over his chest, “what do you think?”

Kyojuro beams at you, “then it is official—we are a couple!”

And true to his word, Kyojuro began to court you. You assumed little would change, and in a way, you were right. You and Kyojuro still trained with each other and accompanied each other on missions, but there were other instances where your relationship was different. If Rengoku went on a mission without you, he’d bring something back that caught his eye and reminded him of you. Soon, you had to purchase a small jewelry box to hold all the beautiful adornments he had gifted you. When it was time for meals—Kyojuro would offer you his lunch and swoon when you ate from his utensils.

“Eat up, my love! We must maintain the fire in your soul; the best way to do that is with a quality meal!”

You appreciated the sentiment—even if your meals were far more flavorful than his. Your heart warmed at how much and how deeply he cared for you.

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

During a rare training break, Kyojuro perched under a large tree and watched you spar with Sanemi. He felt uneasy as Sanemi fought you aggressively and without holding himself back. You had requested him to give his all as you did with every Hashira, but it still made Kyojuro nervous about the possibility of you getting hurt.

“When were you planning on thanking me?”

Kyojuro looked up to find his colleague Tengen gloating—an arrogant smirk gracing his features. Kyojuro gave him a quizzical look, unsure how to respond to a question he didn’t quite understand.

Tengen let an exasperated—and characteristically dramatic—sigh escape his lips. He crouched and rested a hand on Kyojuro’s shoulder, “Tell me, my fiery friend. Have you both consummated the relationship?”

Kyojuro’s body stiffened at the question. He felt it to be intrusive—even by Tengen’s standards.

Sensing his friend's tight-lipped demeanor and tense body language, Tengen lowered his voice. 

"Fair. I never took you as one to kiss and tell. But let me leave you with sage advice as someone with his fair share of experience with women.”

Kyojuro looked at his friend expectantly. He wanted to seem uninterested, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t curious. You both had shared many nights cuddling and kissing had become increasingly more intense. It was becoming more challenging for Kyojuro to control himself as his hands explored your clothed body, his cock growing—almost painfully—in his pants. Some nights when you were away from each other, he’d imagine himself gingerly taking your clothes off, drinking in your body and curves like a man desperate for a taste. He’d imagine settling himself between your plush thighs and pushing his throbbing cock into your warm and welcoming mess of a cunt. On those lonely nights, Kyojuro would touch himself to the thought of you, his large hand sliding into his pants and stroking himself. His eyes would roll back as he tugged at himself with pitiful desperation at the idea of having you.

But while Kyojuro was satisfied with making love with you in the way that he knew how, he wasn’t sure if you’d be fully satisfied. So he looked at his friend, ready to accept his perverse advice.

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

Your muscles ached as you dragged yourself to Kyojuro’s room. You had almost fallen asleep during your bath—Sanemi’s training session with you was intense, and you had quite a bit of bruises to show for it. You were looking forward to attaching your body to Kyo’s and drifting off, but you soon forgot about any semblance of sleep as you entered the room.

Kyojuro was sifting his hands through his barely dry hair as he had also recently returned from his bath. His bare, muscular chest still had a few droplets of water that would more than likely evaporate soon. A towel loosely hung around his waist, and a noticeable bulge strained against the white fabric in a way that made you blush. Kyojuro looked over his shoulder at you and beamed. “My love, you are right on time. There is something I wanted to speak to you about!”

Your eyes stay glued to the bulge now pointing, no, beckoning aggressively at you. Please let there be a sudden gust—give me a peak.

Kyojuro continues, “I want you to be satisfied with me, so I received advice today on how to—.” You interrupt Kyojuro with a sharp glance, your own intense eyes meeting his. 

“Kyo, no offense, but we haven't even done anything yet. You don’t really need to worry about that right now, and honestly, I’m a bit scared to ask who you received advice from.”

Kyojuro approaches you, his previously tense shoulders now relaxed at the sound of your shorthand version of his name. He cups your cheeks and looks at you with soft eyes, “You’re right. I was getting ahead of myself.”

You smile sweetly up at him; one of your fingers finds the hem of his towel and pulls. Kyojuro gasps as he’s now fully unclothed in front of you. His cock bobs up and down at the lack of fabric holding it back. You purr and grasp him in your palm, feeling the taut muscle throb excitedly.

Kyojuro licks his lips as his half-lidded eyes look down at you—his breath noticeably harsher and quicker as you stroke him. “You sure?”

You snort—not very ladylike—but a response to an obvious question nonetheless. 

Kyojuro peels your clothes off your freshly cleaned body. He groans as his eyes take in all of your curves—they’re somehow even better than what he imagined. He raises a hand to palm your breast in his hand, his fingers gently pinching and tugging at your hardening nipple. Your mouths find each other again, with an intense hunger, each of your tongues battling for dominance.

Kyojuro pulls away, “I must taste you.”

You give him a quick nod, wondering what he means as you both were doing just that, weren’t you? But you quickly understand what he meant when he picks you up, his strong arms lifting you on his shoulders.

You let out a slight squeal as you feel the floor beneath your feet disappear, and your thighs become Kyo’s new earmuffs. He takes a long sniff of your cunt, breathing in your distinct smell, his mouth watering with excitement. He licks your sensitive folds, a shiver shooting up and down your spine, as the Flame Hashira suckles at your southern lips. 

“Mmm, she’s so pretty.” Slurp  “so wet” Slurp “so tasty.” Slurp

Soon, the room fills with the sounds of his suckling and your gasps. You want to roll your hips against his mouth desperately, but the position he has you in has you pressed against the wall, and any attempt to buck your hips may result in your ass hitting the floor.

Kyojuro slides his tongue past your folds, his mouth now making out with your clit. Your juices and Kyojuro’s saliva drip down his chin. He moans into your pussy, the taste of you making him stroke his pulsing cock with one hand. Your thighs begin to squeeze around his head as you feel warmth spread in your lower stomach. “Baby, I’m going to cum,” your eyes roll back as you release your sweetness down his throat. Kyojuro shudders at how good you taste and how good he makes you feel. 

“Put me down,” you order as you briefly regain your senses. Kyojuro obliges, eyeing you hungrily, his hand still stroking himself with his precum, lubricating the now sensitive skin.

“I want you to ruin me,” you say as you stumble to the middle of the room where the bed is. As you turn to face him, Kyojuro is already on you; he eagerly pushes you down and spreads your thighs. He grunts at the sign of your messy and hungry pussy, the sign of his worshipping tongue still evident on your moist folds. 

You gasp as he’s pushing the fat head of his cock inside of you. 

“Mmmm, she’s so hungry and eager, love.” Kyojuro pushes his full girth inside of you, letting out a groan and collapsing on top of you.

You moan and wrap your legs around his toned waist as he rolls his hips slowly into you. Kyojuro is sensual and careful with his movements despite you being able to tell that it’s taking quite a bit of self-control for him not to pound you mercilessly. As he dives into you, your senses are suddenly overwhelmed with the sound of your pussy squelching as his cock fills you up, the smell of your sex, and the sight of Kyojuro’s pleasure-filled expression gracing his features. He leans down and takes your nipple into his mouth, biting gently at your sensitive skin. It stings in a way that makes your pussy clench around his cock.

Kyojuro groans, “Please forgive me. You feel too good.”

You drag your hands through his hair as you buck your hips against his, trying to match his movements. You want every inch of him to touch every inch of you.

“Don’t be gentle, Kyo. I can handle it.”

Kyojuro shudders at your invitation to ruin you. His pace quickens, now hard, and loud slapping sounds fill every corner of the room, his heavy and full balls smacking against your ass. You desperately want to open up and close yourself all at once—everything you’re feeling intense and overstimulating. 

Kyojuro is being vocal with his approval of you and how you’re taking him in, “O-oh my god, you’re pussy feels like it was m-made for me…!” He grips your thighs with his strong hands, the tips of his fingers turning white as he digs his nails into your flesh. In a quick movement, he pushes your legs further back until he’s squatting on top of you, your thighs pressed against his as he pounds his cock into your needy cunt.

You—no longer caring about how loud you are—let out deep guttural moans. You desperately reach for something to grab, and your hands find Kyojuro’s hair. You grip his thick mane at his scalp and pull. You’re not sure if the position is impeding your breathing or if it’s your moans not allowing you time to suck in adequate air; regardless, you feel as though you might pass out. 

“You take my dick so well,” Kyojuro compliments as his hand finds your clit and rubs it in circular motions with his thumb.

Drool drips out of the corners of your mouth as Kyojuro’s thrusts only get harder and more animalistic.

Kyojuro grunts, feeling himself getting close as the intense fire in his abdomen burns more and more, “stick out your tongue, my flame!”

Your tongue lolls out your mouth for him, and your eyes roll back as he sucks your tongue into his mouth; you moan in adoration as he sucks and bites on your tongue, wanting to taste every bit of you. 

Your pussy clenches and grasps at his cock as you release against him. The death grip of your cunt begging, pleading, and welcoming every drop of inevitable seed that he can give you.

Kyojuro groans loudly as he erupts, shooting hot seed inside of you, “A-ah, here it comes, ohhhhh.”

Kyojuro rests his forehead against your shoulder, the intense wave of your and his pleasure rolling through you both. You plant a kiss against his lips.

“Was that…good?” He mumbles against you.

“So good,” you whisper as you grip him tightly. You can feel his heart beating quickly against your chest. As his love oozes out of you and onto your sheets, you both drift off, gripping one another.

♡₊˚🥀₊✧ 𝘀𝘂𝗸𝘂𝗻𝗮 𝗶𝘀 𝗼𝗯𝘀𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗲𝗱 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝗰𝘂𝗯𝗶𝗻𝗲 ♡₊˚🥀₊✧

: ̗̀➛ tropes: fem! reader 𖥔 minors do not interact 𖥔 king x concubine 𖥔 lots of plot with porn 𖥔 mentions of abuse 𖥔 mentions of sexual assault 𖥔 normal form sukuna (sorry yall but next time ill do his big boy one) 𖥔 he only has eyes for you 𖥔 you're his darling 𖥔 he would kill for you 𖥔 breeding (!!!!) 𖥔 alternate universe 𖥔 nsfw 𖥔 smut

: ̗̀➛ words: 8.8k

: ̗̀➛ notes: this took a whole WEEK to edit. im so obsessed with this story. it's my favourite thing ive written because i love period movies and dramas and really got to challenge my writing skills to give it more a fantasy-esque element. if you have any requests, don’t hesitate to send them. pls follow, reblog, like, comment—whatever you want! okay love you and enjoy.

The diligent hands of Lord Sukuna Ryomen’s palace attendants scrubbed away the grime that clung to every inch of your weary form. There were no traces of tears in your eyes, despite the discomfort of the cleansing process.

Perhaps it was the residue of gratitude for an escape from a foster family who saw fit to barter you away for a pittance to fuel their vices.

The water surrounding you had transformed into a murky haze, carrying away the evidence of your former life's hardships.

Yet, amidst this cleansing ritual, you couldn’t shake the puzzling thought of why the guards had singled you out from the other young women within the household. Uraume, the overseer of palace affairs, had arrived alongside them, their presence looming over the proceedings with an air of mystery.

That morning, you were subjected to abuse in front of everyone at the central market, longing for someone to stand up for you. And someone did. They offered you an escape from that hellhole and into a world of luxury.

You weren’t going to complain now that you had accepted this new fate of yours.

“Ya’ got too many scars, girl,” remarked one of the elderly attendants, gently assisting you out of the steaming bath, her hands wrapping a towel around your shivering form. “Our powders will struggle to conceal ’em all. How did ya’ come by such marks?”

“From my foster family,” you murmured, gaze fixed upon your toes as if they held the weight of your past. The plush carpet beneath your feet offered a small comfort, a luxury unfamiliar to your upbringing.

Memories of their harsh discipline flooded back—the blistering gravel underfoot as punishment for daring to voice dissent. It was a brutal introduction to a world where obedience was paramount.

“A wretched lot,” the attendant muttered sympathetically.

Enveloped in a silk robe, she led you into a chamber shared by a cohort of women, a realm far removed from the confines of your previous abode. Here, space was ample—the expanse excessive, with beds lining the walls and a high ceiling adorned with a single chandelier.

As you entered, a symphony of pretty faces and inquisitive gazes greeted you. Women of all colours and shapes reclined luxuriously in plain robes, their hair intricately braided or cascading freely down their backs. Conversations paused, curiosity piqued by your arrival, as all eyes turned to welcome you into their midst.

Beneath the weight of their scrutinising stares, you found yourself shrinking. These women, draped in silk and adorned with jewels, were the king's favoured concubines, a fact repeatedly emphasised during your journey to the palace and even in the fragrant confines of the bathhouse.

Every instinct urged you to rebel, to refuse to be just another ornament in the king’s harem, but you understood the value placed on purity by the monarch.

Unfortunately, your innocence had been cruelly stolen from you by your foster father, leaving you tarnished in body and spirit. Lord Sukuna would have no use for a damaged flower in his garden of perfection.

In truth, you couldn’t even imagine an image of his face in your mind. His Lordship remained a mystery to those beyond the palace walls.

“Here ya’ are.” The attendant guided you to your bed. “That vanity there’s yours to use.” She gestured toward the communal area by the window, where two other young women were preparing themselves. “Once your hair dries, one of my girls will assist ya’ in preparin’ for your audience with His Lordship.” Her touch was gentle as she caressed your cheek. “Rest assured, dear, ya’ safe now.”

You attempted a smile, though the effort seemed Herculean amidst your weariness.

As the attendant departed, her scolding to the rowdy girls fading into the background, you nestled into the comforting embrace of your soft bedding, ignoring the hushed criticisms trailing in your wake.

She’s feeble.

Her hair lacks refinement.

The king would never entertain a lowly pauper.

She’ll be gone by tomorrow.

Their words, like venomous serpents, slithered through the air.

Amidst their degradation, you succumbed to exhaustion.

But your slumber was interrupted by the bustling commotion of handmaidens assembling around you.

Disoriented and scarcely given a moment to collect your thoughts, you found yourself swiftly escorted to the vanity, where the clamour of girls jostling for space filled the air.

They manipulated your locks, weaving intricate patterns into your hair, fashioning a crown braid atop your head while allowing the remaining tresses to cascade freely down your back.

Meanwhile, other attendants removed your robe, their hands moving with practised efficiency as they anointed your skin with fragrant oils, infusing it with the delicate essence of lavender.

Between the flurry of activity, the whispers of your fellow concubines hung in the air like a veil of awe and trepidation. Their eyes were drawn to the scars marring your skin, as they speculated about how the king would perceive your imperfections as repulsive.

Good.

You craved precisely that outcome.

If the king recoiled at your sight, it meant he wouldn’t desire you to bear his heir. If the tales circulating in the town about his monstrous nature held any truth, then he’d likely offer you death as a reprieve—and you’d welcome it with open arms.

Before facing the king, you stole a glance at your reflection, the final moments of solitude before your fate was decided. The powder concealed the imperfections of your skin, rendering it smooth and flawless. Your cheeks and lips bore a muted hue reminiscent of crushed cherries. Delicate white blossoms adorned your hair, woven into your braids by nimble fingers.

As you stood, the other women adorned you in a robe of silky fabric, its floral pattern draping over your form, cinched at the waist to accentuate your curves. Barefoot, you followed them out, the chill of the floor beneath your feet a stark contrast to the warmth of anticipation and trepidation swirling within you.

“Good luck, pauper,” taunted one of the concubines, her voice dripping with disdain, echoed by a cacophony of mocking laughter.

Palms clammy with nerves, you shifted your gaze to the opulence of the palace corridors. Adorned with countless chandeliers and swathes of velvet drapery, they offered a stark contrast to the blooming back garden. Memories of tending to the earth and nurturing life back at your foster family’s home flooded your mind.

“Quickly now,” one of the maids urged, her voice tinged with urgency. “His Lordship detests tardiness.”

“I apologise.” You hastened your steps to keep pace with the group of attendants.

She halted before a grand set of double doors, guarded by imposing sentinels clad in formidable armour. With a flick of her wrist, the guards swung the doors open. She gently nudged you forward, and only as you crossed the threshold did the doors seal shut behind you.

You blinked, adjusting to the dimness within, scanning the chamber until your gaze alighted upon a pair of crimson glimmers opposite you. “My Lord?” You inclined your head and took hesitant steps toward the source of those fiery eyes.

“Come closer,” his command echoed through the chamber, sending a shiver down your spine. The low resonance of His Highness Sukuna Ryomen’s voice was unexpectedly rich and velvety. You had envisioned a voice tinged with age, but instead, it possessed a rough texture that awoken something within you.

With hesitant steps, you approached until you stood at the edge of his bed, your fingertips grazing the diaphanous curtains that enveloped him in a cocoon of privacy.

“Closer,” he urged, coaxing you to unveil the enigma lying beyond the veil.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you obeyed, parting the curtains and gracefully crawled onto the mattress. The silkiness of the sheets were a blatant contrast to the roughness of your foster house’s. A pang of guilt tugged at your conscience as you realized the irony of finding solace in this luxurious confinement of being his concubine.

“Enough.” His abrupt order halted your thoughts, drawing your attention back to the present moment.

As commanded, you obediently settled into your posture, folding your legs beneath you in the dimness. Within his shadowed realm, only the luminous crimson irises pierced through the gloom, studying you with an intensity that made your belly churn. Despite the curiosity burning within you, you restrained the impulse to voice your questions. Instead, you settled in the tranquillity that crowded the space between you.

“What is your name?” His inquiry cut through the hushed air.

“Y/N, my Lord.”

As your name slipped from your lips, he captured it delicately, repeating it like a sacred prayer. Each syllable danced on his tongue, imprinting itself upon the very essence of his being. In that moment, you observed a subtle shift—the shadows that had cloaked the chamber seemed to dissipate.

A soft, golden luminescence filtered through the parted curtains, cascading across half of Sukuna’s face.

You blinked in astonishment.

He appeared . . . young?

The age difference between you and him was not a chasm of decades, but rather a modest gap of no less than five years.

Physically, at least.

His appearance was striking, with locks of hair dyed a subdued pink hue, contrasting with a streak of darker shade beneath. His hair was styled into rugged spikes, lending an air of defiance. Intricate black markings adorned his features, tracing a path from his cheekbones down to his chin, while similar patterns wove across his strong shoulder, cascading over his defined pectoral muscles and sculpted abdomen.

As your eyes fell upon him, your heart quickened its pace, each beat a vicious drumming against your ribs. Gone was the expectation of a lord showing the signs of wisdom, with wrinkles upon his brow and a body marked by the passage of time. Instead, before you stood a vision of breathtaking beauty, defying your preconceived notions and leaving you breathless in awe.

With a graceful gesture, he swept aside the curtains, allowing them to unveil his entirety.

The same markings mirrored the other side of his face and cascaded down the length of his body, a mesmerising display of symmetry. Dark bands encircled his wrists, and his nails bore the same deep hue.

Poised against the headboard, he reclined with an air of effortless elegance, one knee raised as his elbow found a comfortable perch, while the other leg extended out. Though he was unclothed, a veil of silk sheets cloaked the lower half of his form.

“Remarkable,” you unknowingly whispered. Your hand clapped over your mouth. “I apologise, my Lord.”

Sukuna’s lips curved into a sinister grin, his flawless teeth gleaming in the golden light. While many would flee at the sight, you remained rooted in place, unable to tear your gaze away. A delicate flush spread across your cheeks, betraying the undeniable attraction simmering between your legs. He was absolutely divine, and the path of being his concubine suddenly didn’t seem so terrible.

Yet, the reality of sharing Sukuna with ten other women loomed over your thoughts like a shadow. The thought of him spreading his affections among so many others kindled a small flame of jealousy within you, mingled with confusion. Why hadn’t he impregnated at least one of them with the promise of an heir?

“Have you not been schooled in the art of lowering your gaze in the presence of nobility, Y/N?”

Your lashes fluttered as you registered your lapse in decorum, hastily averting your gaze. “Forgive me, my Lord, if my oversight has caused offence.” Surely, he wouldn’t punish you for a momentary lapse of admiration.

Would he?

A gentle touch beneath your chin guided your face upward. His fingers spread across your cheek, the warmth nearly forcing you to curve into his touch. Despite the temptation, your eyes remained obediently downward.

“Look at me.”

Your gaze lingered on him, tracing the delicate patterns etched over his cheek, the fiery hue of his irises, the elegant contour of his nose, and the soft curvature of his lips. Never before had you felt such a rousing desire towards any man. Yet fate had chosen to ensnare your heart with the one most forbidden to you.

“You bear a sadness that weighs heavily in your eyes,” he noted softly, his hand descending to the curve of your neck, his thumb caressing the frantic rhythm of your pulse. A low, melodic sound produced from his throat. “Tell me, my love, does the face before you stir fear within your heart?”

“It does not, my Lord. The fear of your appearance holds no dominion over me,” you declared with quiet resolve. “You’re quite . . . beautiful.”

Sukuna’s gaze sparked with a mixture of surprise and intrigue at your response.

Suppressing a nervous gulp, you silently reprimanded yourself for speaking so boldly to one of noble rank. Back in the confines of your former life, such defiance would have earned you swift punishment, yet here, in the presence of royalty, it could lead to your demise.

As you prepared to avert your gaze, ready to accept whatever consequences may come, Sukuna’s voice cut through the tense air before you could retreat.

“Don’t.”

In that moment, you found yourself questioning your instincts.

Why did you not cower in fear? Why did your body not tremble in the presence of a man who had slaughtered the lives of his enemies without hesitation? And most perplexing of all, how could you maintain unwavering eye contact with a figure of such formidable power?

“Remove your robe.” His grip remained firm around your throat, his thumb delicately tracing your pulse. “And do not stray your gaze elsewhere.”

“Yes, my Lord.” Your fingers loosened the fabric’s bindings, allowing it to cascade down your frame. The robe slipped from your shoulders, revealing the soft curvature of your form beneath. As it pooled around your lap, your breasts stood exposed to his scrutiny.

A shiver danced across your skin as his eyes traced the contours of your body, a faint smirk teasing his lips.

He brushed back strands of your hair, his touch trailing down your vertebrate. His eyes narrowed into thin slits, brows knitted together in contemplation, fingers repeatedly tracing the ridges of your scars.

“Turn around.”

The dreaded discovery that sent ripples of revulsion through the concubines had finally come to pass. Your scars lay exposed before the gaze of a powerful lord. Not only would he slit your throat, but also those of the maids who had tended to your needs, and perhaps even Uruame, who had brokered your purchase from the bastards responsible for your imperfections.

“Never before have I been compelled to repeat myself for a concubine.” His voice carried a lethal edge as he increased his grip around your throat. “Turn the fuck around.”

Your compliance came in slow, measured movements as you turned away, presenting your back to him in a gesture of submission. His hands gathered the strands of your hair, lifting them aside to reveal the raw truth etched into your skin. His fingers traced the jagged remnants of whip lashes, the seared imprints of cigars, and the cruel reminders of knife wounds inflicted by a foster father turned tormentor.

Silent tears traced a path down your cheeks, as you sat in a state of numbness, your gaze fixed upon the closed door of Sukuna’s chamber.

A tender sensation, soft and moist, grazed your back, prompting a reflexive twitch in your left shoulder.

Turning slightly, you beheld Sukuna pressing his lips against the scar that marred your shoulder blades.

“My Lord—”

“I did not ask you to speak,” he murmured over your skin, sending a tremor through your frame. “Rise onto your knees.”

Obeying his command, you ascended onto your knees, feeling the weight of his hands settle upon your waist. His lips trailed a path of reverence, bestowing kisses upon each mark that scarred your skin, from your marrow to your nape.

Your breath caught in a delicate dance of exhales, a whispered symphony escaping your parted lips. The wet caress of his tongue sent ripples of sensation coursing through your being.

His arm circled your waist, drawing you into the sanctuary of his embrace. A fleeting kiss graced the nape of your neck, followed by the suction of his lips upon the tender side of your neck. His soft hands possessively held the curve of your breasts, cradling their weight.

Your head reclined against his strong shoulder.

With his gaze fixed upon you, his lips glistened with a hint of moisture, while his crimson eyes locked onto your own human-like ones. You dared not divert your gaze as he previously ordered. His fingers pinched and pulled at your nipples, sending lightning strikes through your frame.

Unlike the non-consensual encounter of the past, there was no hint of agony; only a tantalising blend of pleasure that left you breathless, without a protest or helpless whimper. Instead, a sigh of pure rapture escaped your lips, encompassing your body in an embrace.

Sukuna’s gaze narrowed, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as if he had stumbled upon a long-sought treasure.

His fingertips skated down your torso, gliding toward your centre. You captured your bottom lip between your teeth. Holding his gaze became a daunting challenge as he skillfully teased your sensitive nub, causing your breath to quicken and your chest to rise and fall with each exhilarating sensation.

Sukuna slid his middle finger into you. “You’re incredibly tight, Sad Eyes,” he murmured, the endearment he had bestowed upon you almost provoking a smile. His lips grazed your ear as he continued. “Perhaps I should stretch you out”—he pushed in his ring finger, forcing a sharp gasp to tear from your throat and an involuntary arch of your body against his chest—“so that your cunt is able to welcome my cock.”

You stifled the knot rising in your throat as Sukuna plunged his fingers into you. Such profound bliss seemed inconceivable with mere digits alone.

“My Lord.” Your breath caught as he increased his tempo. “My—” Each thrust intensified the knot in your stomach, threatening to unravel you entirely. You teetered on the brink, dangerously close to staining his fingers with your release. A sharp gasp choked out of you as he struck a wondrous chord deep within. “Please, my Lord. I beg of you—I will soil your hand if you persist—” But your plea dissolved into a cry of ecstasy before you could utter another word.

Sukuna’s laughter danced teasingly in the hollow of your ear, leaving you utterly spellbound.

You were overheated, overstimulated, overridden by the explosive undoing of his fingers. Breathless and consumed by lust, your world spun as he seized your jaw and crushed his lips to yours.

In that electrifying moment, his tongue invaded your mouth, initially startling you, yet you surrendered to the rhythm.

Sukuna leaned back slightly after planting a tender peck on your lips. Exhaling softly, he threaded his fingers through your hair, his touch sending shivers down your spine. As his lips met yours once more, gentler this time, your hand ventured to trace the contours of his adorned chest.

“You are quite the vixen.” A playful glint danced in his eyes. “How valiant of you to seduce a lord into bestowing kisses upon his concubine.” A broad smile graced his lips, leaving you uncertain whether his words were playful jest or genuine admiration.

“Do you not bestow your kisses upon all your concubines, my Lord?”

“I do not pleasure their cunts, either.”

His speech carried the brashness of a tempest, a departure from the expected decorum one associated with royalty. Sukuna Ryomen defied conventions. It was a trait uncommon among lords, yet one that intrigued you deeply. His demeanour, both in battle and in the intimate confines of the bedchamber, lacked the softening. But you found yourself drawn to his unfiltered honesty, appreciating the absence of cryptic speech.

As you sat before him, considering your next words carefully, a surge of courage emboldened you to reveal your truth.

“My Lord,” you began, your voice quivering with uncertainty, “I . . . I am not pure.”

“Given the sounds you were drawing out,” he quipped with a chuckle, “I wouldn’t have surmised otherwise.” He assisted you in rising from where you rested against his chest, positioning you before him. Observing your solemn expression, he arched an eyebrow in curiosity. “Was your satisfaction not fulfilled?”

“Indeed, my Lord, it surpassed any expectation,” you confessed, worrying your lip as he sighed impatiently. “But I must disclose . . . I am not chaste.”

Sukuna’s response was subdued, save for the faint twitch in his jaw. He averted his gaze from yours momentarily, reaching for the decanter on his bedside table and pouring himself a measure of spirits.

“Speak,” he instructed, his tone clipped.

“It occurred before I reached maturity,” you murmured softly, your arms wrapped protectively around yourself. “My foster father—” Your words faltered as Sukuna raised a hand, a silent acknowledgment of his comprehension of your unspoken anguish.

“I need not hear more.” He swiftly consumed the crimson liquid in a single gulp. “You are dismissed for the night.”

“But my Lord’s desires remain unmet—”

“Leave,” he commanded, his tone final and unwavering.

With a gulp, you hastily gathered your robe around your form, delicately extricating yourself from his expansive bed.

Just as you thought to retreat, a firm hand seized your wrist, drawing you back into Sukuna’s embrace. His lips melded with yours in an intoxicating kiss, causing both your gazes to flutter open when he pulled away. A faint smirk played upon his lips as he adjusted the robe over your shoulder.

“Next time,” he murmured, plucking a flower from the adornments in your hair and placing it upon his bedside, “you shall grace my chambers without such distracting embellishments upon yourself.”

“As you wish, my Lord,” you replied with a respectful bow of your head, awaiting his dismissal until he gestured for you to depart with a casual wave of his hand.

In the shared chambers, your fellow concubines swirled around your bed, eager to hear of your inaugural encounter with Lord Sukuna.

Each girl shared their own vivid tales, painting scenes of ecstasy under the cloak of darkness, where the king’s touch invoked sensations akin to celestial bodies colliding, or where unfamiliar pleasures erased the boundaries of their throat—whatever that latter entailed.

Though a twinge of jealousy flickered within you, it was swiftly overshadowed by a swell of pride. The concubines pleasured Sukuna in darkness, the same darkness you had willingly entered, before his touch had set ablaze a world of gold for you.

They were merely beautiful means of physical gratification for their lord, devoid of the intimacy you shared—his fingers delving deep into your core. And never had any of them spoken of kisses exchanged. Sukuna had spoken true when you questioned if others received similar treatment.

But why you?

Why, after a mere span of ten hours within the palace walls, did you find yourself, dare you entertain the notion, as his favoured? What magic did you possess that drew him to you, and how had you managed to seduce his lips, his fingers, to meet yours in such an intimate embrace?

“Did he spend himself inside you?” one of the girls whispered, prodding your knee to rouse you from your silence.

“No.”

“Aye, he never does,” remarked a golden-haired girl with a resigned sigh. “He sees to it that we consume some berries afterward, claiming they prevent conception. Strange, isn’t it? Especially if he’s so eager for an heir.”

Another girl hushed her, leaning in with a conspiratorial tone. “Did he take you from behind? That’s his favoured position, you know. He’s had us all that way.”

You stumbled over your words, unsure how to respond.

“And did you savour his taste?” came the next question. “It’s quite rich in sodium—”

“Girls!” A booming voice echoed from the doorway of the bedroom, startling you and the other concubines into immediate attention. You caught sight of the elderly attendant who oversaw your care, hands planted firmly on her hips as she observed the chaotic scene before her.

With a disapproving huff, she pivoted sharply on her heel and departed, leaving a lingering sense of reprimand in her wake.

As the frenzied chatter about Sukuna’s body attributes gradually dissolved into the quietude of sleep, morning arrived with its routine of communal showerings.

Throughout the shared bath, you silently scrubbed away the remnants of the night, indulging your fellow concubines about your previous life in town.

Upon drying off and exiting the bathing chamber, you were met with an unexpected sight: a gathering of the girls clustered around your bed.

Navigating through the throng, you reached your space to discover a resplendent scarlet silk robe embroidered with intricate black floral patterns.

Gingerly lifting the note placed atop the fabric, you read Sukuna’s precise handwriting. Curious glances from the other concubines peered over your shoulders in anticipation.

No distracting embellishments, Sad Eyes.

“What does that mean?” a curious whisper floated through the air, followed by murmurs of intrigue from the other girls. “Why does he call you ‘sad eyes’?”

You clutched the letter to your chest, suppressing a grin as you ignored the questions, the mockery, and the jostling of bodies around you. Your attention was fixated on the magnificent robe gifted to you by His Lordship.

For the remainder of the evening, you slept without any interruptions, seeking to compensate for the countless nights spent battling insomnia within the confines of your foster home.

You observed with a keen eye that none of the other girls were ushered to Sukuna’s chambers; their time seemed to veer toward strolls in the back garden or spent in the dormitory, indulging in wine-fueled scandals about the palace staff, as was their custom.

As the clock struck eight in the evening, a troupe of maids entered the chamber bearing dinner trays. A wave of anticipation swept through the room as the other girls eagerly accepted their meals and accompanying pitchers of water. Your own stomach rumbled in hunger, awaiting your own turn.

But that moment never arrived.

Instead, the maid bypassed your bed entirely, moving on to the next. A surge of apprehension rippled through you as a handmaiden approached, guiding you away from the mattress and toward the vanity.

“What about my dinner?” you asked as the attendants groomed your hair.

“His Lordship has extended an invitation for you to dine with him tonight,” came the reply.

The room fell into a sudden hush.

Dine with him?

The notion sent a flurry of thoughts racing through your mind.

Before you could process further, you found yourself pulled upright, your garments removed to be replaced by the scarlet robe.

Envy flickered in the eyes of the other concubines as they observed, their resentment palpable as they stabbed at their food with exaggerated aggression. It wasn’t your doing that Sukuna had taken an unexpected interest in you.

With no adornments save for a dab of crushed cherry paste upon your lips, you were escorted to Sukuna’s chambers.

Once more, the imposing doors swung open, and you found yourself gently ushered into the chamber. As they sealed shut behind you, the room was flooded with light. Sukuna’s figure stared out at the moonlit gardens outside, clad in a billowing white silk robe.

“My Lord,” you greeted respectfully, inclining your head in deference.

“Draw near.”

Complying with his directive, you approached and stood at his side. His presence loomed over you, his stature commanding and formidable, capable of engulfing you entirely with a single embrace. Not that such thoughts dared to linger in your mind.

“Why is your face flushed?” he asked, his gaze penetrating.

You blinked, attempting to dismiss the telltale warmth creeping up your cheeks. “It’s nothing, my Lo—”

Before you could finish, Sukuna turned your chin towards him, his palm coming to rest against your forehead. A nervous swallow traced its way down your throat at his touch, his eyes trailing down your form, a knowing smirk tugging at the corners of his lips as they settled upon you in your robe.

“Thank you for your gracious gift,” you murmured, feeling the warmth rise to your cheeks.

His fingers trailed through your hair, a mischievous glimmer dancing in his eyes. “I anticipate nothing less than thoroughly enjoying the privilege of removing it off of you.”

You blushed deeper at his statement.

“Come now. I’ve brought a surprise for you.” He took your hand in his with a tug, guiding you towards a doorway. With a simple flick of his hand, the door parted, revealing a dimly lit hallway beyond.

Your gaze widened in astonishment. “How did you do that, my Lord?”

“Do what?”

“You opened the door without laying a hand on it.”

Sukuna’s striking blood-coloured eyes cut to you. “There is much about me that will be unveiled in due course, my love. What you perceive is but a guise for my true nature.” His smile, oddly childlike, sent a chill down your spine.

Was he some sort of sorcerer? You’d only heard whispers of human anomalies lurking beneath the earth’s surface or sealed within vessels, but historical accounts weren't exactly your cup of tea.

“I ventured into town today,” he said.

“Oh.” You swallowed hard, recovering from his previous statement. “I hope it was a fruitful trip.”

“Indeed, quite fruitful.”

In the soft glow of the distant hallway, Sukuna’s face came into view, casting a spell of trepidation upon your heart. His features were drawn into a mask of stoicism, his eyes devoid of warmth, and his lips pressed into a firm line, jaw rigid with tension.

Parting the curtains, Sukuna drew you near, his arm sweeping out to reveal a horrifying sight: your foster father, bound to a chair with chains, bearing the cruel marks of torture.

His face marred by countless wounds, an eye cruelly absent, his mouth devoid of teeth, scattered at his feet. His dignity stripped away, his vulnerability laid bare in his nakedness, and his manhood amputated.

The sickening lurch in your stomach threatened to betray your composure. “F-Forgive my intrusion, my Lord, but is he . . . is he dead?”

Sukuna’s response was a gilded dagger from within his robe, its handle decorated with a jewel reminiscent of your own captivating eyes. Nestled within the hilt was the very flower he had plucked from your hair, a twisted token of affection. Upon the blade, your name was inscribed.

“Do as you wish, my beloved,” he whispered, his voice stained with dark fascination, offering you the instrument of your foster father’s fate with a chilling sense of detachment.

You couldn’t possibly bring yourself to commit such a heinous act.

Despite the unspeakable cruelties inflicted upon you by the bastard, the idea of taking another’s life filled you with a trembling dread.

Yet, the itch to end the torment, to rid the world of such a vile presence, simmered just beneath the surface as you stood before him, his life slipping away.

A hand trailed down the back of your head, guiding your trembling fingers to grasp the dagger tightly.

Looking up, you met Sukuna’s gaze, his expression hollow, his features obscured by shadows. This was the face of the Devil that cursed his enemies on their knees and had them willingly submit to death.

With a push from behind, you stumbled forward, drawing closer to your step-father’s prone form.

Glancing back at Sukuna, you were met with an incongruously bright smile. Quite a twisted paradox, His Lordship.

Your step-father sat unconscious, the stench of his bodily fluids assaulting your senses. His wounds oozed with a sickening mixture of blood and pus, his laboured breaths the only indication of life remaining within him. The scene was painfully familiar, a mirror image of the torment you had endured countless times before.

But now, someone had intervened, offering you a chance at liberation, a chance to end the cycle of abuse once and for all.

You glanced back again.

Until Sukuna.

Your gaze reluctantly returned to the true embodiment of cruelty before you. With a steady hand, you raised your arm, wielding the dagger with purpose.

It found its mark in your foster-father’s chest, a chilling silence punctuated only by the sound of steel meeting flesh. Ignoring the strangled cry that erupted from him, you withdrew the blade, then drove it back into his heart.

Out.

In.

Out.

In.

His lifeblood painted your face and stained your pristine garments, mingling with the fabric in a macabre dance of crimson. To the untrained eye, it could easily be mistaken for a mere splash of vibrant colour upon your robe.

No one would dare suspect the truth.

No one would dare come near if they knew of your sin.

No one, except Sukuna.

Once the monster over your bed was consigned to the depths of hell, his guts spilling onto the floor around your bare feet, you allowed yourself a moment of grim satisfaction.

With a contemptuous snarl, you spat upon him, a visceral response to the years of degradation he had inflicted upon you for every misstep.

A comforting warmth touched your back.

Startled by the sudden contact, you tensed before easing at the sight of Sukuna’s faint smile.

As he reached to caress your cheek, you instinctively recoiled, lowering your gaze in deference.

“Forgive me, my Lord,” you murmured, “but I cannot permit you to spoil your hands with the blood of this man.”

Sukuna’s shoes entered your line of sight as he tilted your chin upward, his moon-white sleeve wiping away the traces of blood from your mouth and its vicinity. “You appear rather exquisite painted in blood, Sad Eyes. Perhaps I ought to designate you as my prized assassin instead of a mere concubine.”

“I beg your pardon, my Lord, but I cannot partake in killing . . . again.”

“You need not worry,” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear as he drew near. “I will defend you from any who dare cast their gaze upon you, let alone lay a hand upon your delicate form. Those who dare cross that line will face my wrath, their very existence extinguished before your eyes. Not a single tear shall stain your cheeks." His lips brushed against yours. "From this moment forward, fear shall not reside within you. By my side, you shall command fear itself, my love."

That night, Sukuna bathed you in the sanctuary of his chambers, washing away the traces of blood from your skin as you gazed at him with a sense of wonder. It wasn’t the superficial admiration the other concubines whispered about—it was a profound affection blossoming within you, nurtured by power and protection.

He draped you in the luxurious folds of one of his silk robes, summoning servants to prepare dinner. Seated upon his lap, he fed you spoonfuls of rich and chicken, even as your stomach protested its fullness. Soft kisses peppered your neck like a sweet dessert, culminating in one upon your lips before he reluctantly released you to retire to your dormitory.

In the ensuing weeks, Sukuna would consistently send a crafted robe ahead of each meeting—in the serene seclusion of his chambers, where the flickering candlelight cast shadows upon the walls as you dined together.

Over the course of these intimate dinners, he eagerly absorbed your musings, whether they revolved around the narratives of books discovered within the palace library or your adeptness with herbs and plants, nurtured by your profound knowledge.

On occasion, as the first light of dawn painted the sky with hues of pink and gold, Sukuna would summon you for a stroll in the haven of the back garden. Woven between the fragrant blooms, you’d dance about with childlike enthusiasm, identifying various flowers and tracing their lineage.

Ever the attentive listener, Sukuna trailed behind you, his gaze fixed upon your animated figure. He would only speak when you fell silent, demanding you to continue sharing the familial ties between apples, plums, and the roses they stemmed from.

Within the crevice of your soul, the once withered garden of affection had flourished into a lush wilderness, blossoming with untamed wildflowers and clouds that spelled out his name.

Sukuna inhabited your every waking thought, his intoxicating mouth that worshipped your body left you giggling in delight behind your hands.

Yet, each encounter with a fellow concubine, flushed and eager with tales of their rendezvous with him, felt like thorns piercing your tender heart. Jealousy, like ivy creeping upon stone, entwined itself around your every plagued thought. Your gaze often strayed to the bedside drawer where the dagger lay dormant. The mere mention of his physique by the other women tormented your soul relentlessly.

Why hadn’t Sukuna taken you as he had with every other concubine? You had grown accustomed to his presence, even eager to reciprocate the pleasure he gifted you every evening. You had offered yourself willingly, aching for the intimacy that would bind you even closer to him. But he had not claimed you in the same manner, not entered you fully, not seeded his legacy within you.

Did he question your worthiness? Did he see you merely as a transient pleasure? Were you destined to remain just a concubine, forever denied the honour of carrying his child?

“Why do you remain silent?” Sukuna asked, turning the pages of the book you had suggested to him; he was already half-way through.

You were seated snugly between his legs upon the bed, your back rested against his chest, fingers idly toying with the strands of your hair. “I find myself devoid of words this evening.”

“Hmm.” Sukuna took a leisurely sip of his drink before placing it aside. “Surely you can conjure something. You know well enough that I cannot endure your silence.”

With an exasperated sigh, you rolled your eyes. “Well, I apologise for failing to provide you with amusement, my Lord.”

Sukuna snapped the book shut.

You instinctively pressed your lips together, silently chiding yourself for the unintended sharpness in your voice.

With a heavy sigh, you resigned yourself to maintaining your composure, forcing yourself to take slow, steady breaths. Deep down, you believed that he wouldn’t inflict harm upon you or cast you out of his chambers. But the nagging thought chewed at you.

This was Sukuna Ryomen, and you . . . well, you were merely a shadow in comparison.

“If you crave my touch,” he breathed softly into your ear, “all you need to do is utter the request.”

With a determined resolve, you turned to face him, settling yourself upon his lap. Sukuna regarded you with a quirked eyebrow, a quiet acknowledgment of your unconventional audacity.

“I do crave your touch, my Lord,” you confessed, your voice a hushed plea, “but not only with your hands or lips. I long to feel you in a different manner.” Your gaze drifted down to his pelvis, the unspoken appetite evident in your eyes. “I crave that.”

Sukuna exhaled heavily, his gaze piercing as he addressed you. “So, you’ve been withholding your words simply because I haven’t fed you my cock?"

Heat rose to your cheeks at his blunt proclamation, though you had grown accustomed to his coarse mannerisms over time.

“Yes, my . . . Lord.” Your voice carried a mixture of embarrassment. “I’ve endured three long months of anticipation, patiently waiting to share in the pleasures enjoyed by your other consorts. Yet, with the arrival of autumn, I find myself still untouched by the experiences they so openly boast about.”

His lips curled into a smirk. “Are you asking me to bed you merely for the purpose of becoming a notch in your bragging rights?”

“Never, my Lord!” you protested vehemently, a hint of hurt flickering in your eyes. “I would never demean you with such vulgar talk in public. I’ve spun tales to the others, concealing the truth of our encounters. They remain oblivious to the pleasures you’ve granted me.” Your fingers traced the intricate markings on his chiselled abdominal muscles. “If my spoiled state displeases you, if I am deemed unworthy of your touch, pray, inform me now. Regardless, my sole wish is to fulfil His Lordship’s needs.”

Sukuna disentangled your hands from his chest, a gesture that caused a fissure to form within your heart, forcing your body to instinctively withdraw from his touch.

Just as you began to pull away, he swiftly encircled his arm around your waist, tugging you back onto his lap with a firm grip. Before you could utter a single word, his lips descended upon yours, silencing any protest with a passionate kiss.

With a purposeful touch, he skillfully divested you of your robe, revealing the curves of your form beneath. His hands, warm and adept, began to massage your supple breasts, kindling soft gasps from your lips. His own trailed a wet path downward, leaving a bridge of feverish kisses along the expanse of your throat, lingering over the rapid pulse beneath your skin.

As his lips found purchase on the tender flesh of your neck, his actions became more urgent, his touch more demanding. A pinch at your pebbled nipples sent a shiver of sensation coursing through you, followed by the heat of an open-mouthed kiss.

Your gaze drifted downwards, enchanted by the sight of his tongue encircling the sensitive spots, suckling on the swollen buds like a babe. Already, heat was building within the depths of your being, igniting a flame that spread between your legs.

Sukuna laid you back, relishing the delicate flavour of your lips as his fingers skillfully sought out your throbbing clit, stimulating it with unhurried circles.

With practised ease, he slipped two fingers inside you, quickening his rhythm without preamble. Your hand instinctively traced down to his chest, undoing the fastenings of his robe.

“Take it,” he whispered against your mouth, his breath mingling with yours. “Satisfy your lord, my love.”

Your fingers curled around his pulsating cock, the very object of desire that the other girls had passionately recounted. The knowledge of their previous intimacies with him only stoked the flames of envy within you, spurring you to intensify your ministrations.

With a surge of determination, you quickened the pace of your caresses, applying pressure with your thumb upon his sensitive tip while fondling his sacs.

Sukuna’s grin widened against your lips as he reciprocated with equal zeal, slipping a third finger into your slick heat until he was fully engulfed by your swollen core.

Together, you sailed upon the waves of carnal desire, locked in a lecherous race to reach your climax, each vying to be the first to cross the finish line—

Sukuna’s low, guttural moans resonated throughout the chamber.

You had achieved victory.

His essence spilled forth into your waiting hands, his cock convulsing with the intensity of his release. Moments later, you succumbed to your own climax, a soft cry escaping your lips.

With care, Sukuna withdrew his hand from your centre, and you instinctively examined your palm, noting the striking resemblance of his essence to your own.

You tentatively brought your fingers to your lips, savouring the taste of him.

“I did not instruct you to do that,” he growled, his gaze blazing as you tasted him. “But I suppose I’ll permit it.”

“It is salty,” you murmured, almost absentmindedly.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, are you women incapable of discussing anything besides my cock?” he exclaimed, frustration evident in his tone.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the tension dissipating as he cleaned his fingers with his tongue before tenderly cradling the back of your head, drawing you to sit upon his lap. Your laughter softened into chuckles, a smile playing upon your lips.

“Did I please you, my Lo—”

“Ryomen,” he interrupted firmly. “Only you may address me by my given name.”

“My L—”

“I command it.” His tone left no room for argument.

You affirmed your agreement with a nod, the name Ryomen echoing through your mind. Sukuna had been your private moniker for him, but now, in this intimate exchange, he was Ryomen. Your Ryomen. Maybe one day, you would shorten it to Ryo.

“Very well, Ryomen.” You felt a subtle shift in the air between you. His chuckle rumbled softly. “Shall I turn around for you?”

“And why do you deem such an unnecessary act necessary?”

“Because—” You suppressed the urge to divulge the whispers of the other concubines regarding his favoured position. “Never mind. How would you prefer me to present myself to you?”

“As you are,” Ryomen answered, his grip tightening around himself. “How you managed to have me spend by your hand in under five minutes is a marvel beyond my comprehension.”

Internally, you gave yourself a congratulatory pat on the back.

“Now, my love,” he said, inclining his chin towards his erection, “will you do my cock the honour of sitting on it?”

Licking the grin of your lips, you nodded, rising to your knees. With nimble fingers, you positioned his hardened length at your entrance, gradually lowering yourself onto him.

A sharp intake of breath escaped Sukuna’s lips, his hands instinctively grasping your hips. You bit down on the inside of your cheek, enduring the initial sting of penetration. Perhaps every touch of his fingers had been a meticulous groundwork for this pinnacle moment.

As you settled into your seat upon him, you granted yourself a minute to acclimate to the sheer magnitude of him stretching and filling your tight, supple walls.

Sukuna tilted his head back, impatience evident in his eyes. “Will you begin moving at a pace befitting this century, Sad Eyes?”

“Just a moment,” you retorted, your tone tinged with defiance.

“Unfortunately, the sight of your leaking cunt is testing my patience,” he remarked, his gaze lingering provocatively on your flushed form.

Collecting yourself, you affirmed your resolve with a nod before subtly adjusting your position, and swaying your hips forward. His strong hands guided you, aiding your movements as you sought a rhythm. “Gods, you’re—you’re quite large. It’s rather discomforting.”

“Ah, where has the enthusiasm to please your lord vanished, my love?” His laughter echoes through the chamber as he leaned back, amused by your scowl. “I must confess, your defiance is perhaps your most alluring trait. It has crossed my mind more than once during moments of handling myself in the bath.”

Your brow furrowed in dismay.

It was evident that the other concubines possessed far greater expertise in pleasuring him than you ever could. All you could manage was to feign enthusiasm, your movements faltering and disjointed, as you struggled to produce even a fraction of the satisfaction they effortlessly blessed him with. His laughter, which wasn’t helping your cause, bore an uncanny resemblance to the mocking tones of the girls who had taunted you in the past.

You no longer wished to endure this charade.

You halted in your tracks, unable to muster the courage to meet his gaze, your eyes fixated instead on his throat. “It appears . . . that I may not be adequately versed in fulfilling your needs. I shall endeavour to educate myself further before making another attempt. For now, I request permission to retire for the evening, my Lord.”

Sukuna’s grip tightened as he seized your jaw, compelling you to meet his gaze. “You dare to defy my command to address me by my given name?” His smile remained wicked as he drew your face closer to his own. “Remember, my love, there is a boundary to which I tolerate your rebellion. Do not allow my affections to cloud your judgement. I remain your Lord, above all else. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” you managed to gasp out.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, Ryomen,” you replied, your voice trembling with uncertainty.

With a swift motion, he released your sore jaw, and before you could even consider easing the ache, his lips crashed against yours.

In that moment, control slipped from your grasp entirely. His hands gripped the flesh of your buttocks possessively, guiding your movements as he claimed you with a primal savageness that left you shaking in his embrace.

“Does it pain you, my beloved?” Sukuna growled, his fingers curling around your nape possessively. “Do you feel the strain of my cock as I breach your tender walls?”

You whimpered softly, your head nodding against the curve of his neck.

“Fear not, my darling. I will diligently train this cunt of yours to accommodate every inch of me, dusk, dawn, and twilight. Your throat, too, shall be honed to fulfil my every whim, wherever and whenever I demand.” With a swift motion, he tugged your hair, forcing you to meet his glare. “And should you dare to entertain thoughts of defiance with any other man beyond the confines of my chamber, rest assured, there will be consequences.”

“Ryomen,” was all you gasped, eyes rolling back as his tip probed the depths of your womb. His tongue traced the delicate curve of your throat before shoving into your mouth, drawing out your own to suckle on. In the heat of the moment, your hands roamed aimlessly, torn between grasping at his waist, clutching his shoulders, or caressing his cheeks.

“Oh, how I love the sight of your breasts greeting me in my face.” Sukuna tightened his hold on each of them with a deadly grasp, savouring the melodious cry that escaped your lips. He lowered his head and teethed each nipple, drawing it out and relishing in the masochism of your sharp nails clawing down his back. “Deeper, my darling. You alone hold the privilege of marking my flesh. Let my scars mirror yours.”

With caution, you shifted your hands to rest upon his firm pectoral muscles before you could accidentally claw out his spinal cord.

Sukuna’s touch drifted from your bruised breasts to cradle your face, guiding your gaze to meet his crimson one.

Encouraged by his comforting presence, you arched your hips forward with newfound confidence. His fingers swept through your hair, pushing it away as he offered reassuring nods.

Now, the reins rested firmly within your grasp.

“Fuck . . .” Leaning back against the headboard, he released soft sighs. Warm breaths escaped his parted lips as you continued increasing your ministrations. Your gaze momentarily flickered to your favourite book resting on his bedside table before returning to his face.

Suddenly seized by an impulse, you leaned forward to plant a tender kiss upon his lips, trailing upward to gently brush against his cheekbones, tracing the intricate markings lining his skin.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Someone must play the role of the tender one between us, Ryomen,” you answered, mirroring the attention he had given your scars during your initial encounter. With each kiss, you felt his eyes tracing your movements, following the path of your lips as they journeyed across his face, landing upon his nose or the pulse of his neck.

“My beloved,” Sukuna’s voice caressed your ears, drawing your focus entirely to him, “listen closely to my words.”

You halted your movements, a curious expression dancing in your eyes. “What troubles you?”

With a deliberate motion, he guided your hips forward, his gaze unwavering. “Throughout the night, I will fill your womb ceaselessly, and in mere weeks, you shall carry my legacy within you.” Your heart leaped into your throat, fluttering with an overwhelming rush of emotion. “Peril will shadow your every step. Those who oppose us will stop at nothing to eliminate your life and the life of our child. Do you comprehend the gravity of our situation?”

You blinked back the tears, resigning yourself to the inevitable.

“But I vow upon my honour, such an atrocity shall never come to pass. I will sever entire bloodlines if even a single strand of your precious hair were harmed.” His movements quickened as he thrusted into you.

Your grip tightened on his shoulders again, gasping for breath between erratic pants.

“At dawn’s light, all concubines shall be reassigned to palace duties. You need only point out those who have dared to trouble you, though their transgressions are already known to me.” His motions became more intense as he pressed you onto your back, pinning your arms above your head. “And when the sun graces the horizon, you, my beloved, shall be proclaimed as my queen.”

Your voice wailed through the chamber as you cried out his name, drowning in the waves of scorching pleasure never before experienced.

Instead of seeing celestial bodies colliding, your gaze met the deep crimson of his irises, those same eyes that had captivated you on that very first night.

“Ryomen . . . ”

With a smile mirroring his own, you tilted your head upward, silently beckoning him to seal the moment with a kiss. As he obliged, his cock pulsed within you, filling you with his warmth until every fibre of your being was tethered with his.

But he didn’t withdraw. Just as he had promised, he intended to keep you close throughout the night, to claim you as his own.

And in that moment, as you laid with him, you welcomed the dawn of a new chapter standing beside him, prepared to reign as Sukuna Ryomen’s queen.