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sukunasteeth · 1 month

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Wrestle Me

Tokyo had reached record temperatures that day. The sun was roasting the city, every street was a mirage from the bending light of its shine. The weather recently had been sending everyone either inside or to the nearest water source.

Yuji had gone to the beach with Megumi and Nobara in a futile attempt to escape the heat that had Japan in the sweaty palm of its hand. They had offered you and Sukuna a spot on the railway car there, but you knew that Sukuna was too exhausted from his recent missions to do any sort of going out. Not to mention the draining effect of the heat stacked on top of that. You were in the mood to just enjoy each other's presence.

The two of you were sheltered away in the darkness of his bedroom, lying sprawled out across the floor in front of his small rotating fan. Sukuna and Yuji never turned the A/C on. Since they had moved into their own apartment, the brothers had become rather stingy when it came to the bills. The air didn't start up until the room felt like a sauna, and it turned off much too soon to give relief.

Sweat continued to drip down the both of your spines, but Sukuna didn't seem to mind it. He was enjoying the peace of his day off, dressed against the heat in nothing but his boxer briefs and a tank top. He had his head resting in the cushion of your lap, his eyes were transfixed on an old leather notebook that he had stolen from one of the professors a few days ago. It was in a language you hadn't taken at the academy yet, but Sukuna tells you it was early notes on jujutsu from the old world.

You had been scrolling through your phone, occasionally showing him something you found amusing or anything that reminded you of him. He only gave you a reaction to maybe 10% of the material, but it was fun to see him roll his eyes, or scoff and wave your phone away.

The longer you remained in the same spot,however, the sweatier you felt and the more frustrated with the heat. You tried not to squirm under Sukuna's head, remaining as still as possible as though he were a sleeping animal taking refuge on your lap. Boredom, however, eventually pulls the last straw that has you stirring.

An idea comes to mind.

Sukuna glances up at you, as though he expects you to show him something else on your phone, but instead his attention is caught by the mischievous glint you feel twinkling in your eye.

"Wrestle me." You beam at him.

It was somewhat of a joke.

Compared to your boyfriend, it was clear who would win in a pinning tournament between the two of you.

Sukuna, who enjoys kickboxing in his spare time. Sukuna, who has never missed an opportunity for a fight in the decade that you've known him, who could dead-lift your torso with ease if he so desired.

Sukuna, who has never touched you with anything but heart wrenching gentleness.

His eyes widen at your command, the notebook he had previously found so interesting has been completely forgotten. He seems to catch the drift of your lack of entertainment, and quickly plays along. His surprise melts into an amused little smile.

"Oh yeah? Think you got a chance, kid?" He taunts, placing the book beside him. His attention now fully focused on you.

You snort, you were only a year younger than he was, but he loved to emphasize it when he could. Sukuna mistakes your noise as a scoff and cocks a daring brow at you.

You love when he’s in a playful mood.

"I could take you any day." You tease. Part of you is running for the hills inside, but another part is having fun with the big bad wolf. That was the constant state you were in with him. Sukuna didn't even have to try and he always had your heart racing.

Sukuna makes an impressed noise, "That, I'm well aware of. I don't know about in a fight, though."

You groan at his joke, shaking your head in disappointment, but Sukuna grabs onto your chin before you can get even one turn of your head out.

"Let's find out."

Ten minutes later, you're drenched in twice the amount of sweat as you were before, but Sukuna has barely lost a drop. He's got you twisted like a pretzel beneath him, holding your limbs in just the right way so that you're completely incapacitated in his hands.

Your first mistake was thinking Sukuna knew how to play-fight. The only person he had been remotely close with in your childhood was his twin brother, and the two of them had often "wrestled", but it only ended when one of them had blood dripping out of their noses. You learned early on not to question it. Having two boys as your childhood best friends had you turning your gaze from a lot of things, in fact.

The only thing you questioned now, was how you were going to get out of your current predicament. You were sure Sukuna was having a blast practically hogtying you with his hands, and now he knew how easy it was to get you in this position. It was a double whammy that would surely effect you in the future.

"Did you really think I'd go easy on you?" The weight of his chest presses into your back as he leans over you, sending hot breath over your neck. "How cute."

"Okay, okay! I give!" You whine, trying to wriggle out from beneath him. You had to admit that it was getting slightly painful, but Sukuna was well aware of your pressure points and where to stay away from. You still had one last trick up your sleeve, however.

Satisfied with your surrender, he nips at your ear with his teeth before he slides off of you and relinquishes his effortless grip. Before he can fully turn away, however, you're leaping onto his back like a monkey and tackling him into his mattress. It was a dirty tactic, but you had been wrestling your childhood best friend Yuji since the two of you were in elementary school, so you were no stranger to tricks of the trade. Especially the feign defeat card.

He blinks up at you. It was a difficult task to take Sukuna off guard, but you had accomplished it.

"Sucker." You playfully stick your tongue out at him, blowing a raspberry. Inside your chest, your heart is racing like a hummingbird’s wings. It’s almost like Sukuna knows this, because even though you’re the one on top of him, he’s still looking at you with an amused grin- unaffected by your change of position.

"You have a higher pain tolerance than I thought you did." He notes, tilting his head to the side like he's considering something. "What can we do with that new information, I wonder?"

It was another intimidation tactic. A good one. It had chills running down your spine. But, you weren’t going to let him win so easily this time. Suddenly, you were interested in how far you could push him, as well.

"Come on 'Kuna," You chide, your nose is practically touching his- a rabbit pressing against the snout of a hungry wolf. "Can't take defeat, my love?"

"Oh doll," His voice is a husky drawl, rough hands slide their way from their resting places on your hips to slip under the hem of your shirt and brush the skin of your waist. You try to contain your shiver. "You're playing a very dangerous game."

One last wave of confidence sweeps through you as you lean down, just like he always did, to murmur lowly into his ear. "And you're losing."

That did it.

Sukuna grabs onto your waist so quickly, you barely have time to register it before he loops his leg around your knee and easily flips the two of you back to your original position. You're giggling beneath him as he gathers your face into his hands, pressing calloused fingers into your cheeks. You've gotten under his impenetrable skin. You didn't know it, but you always did.

No matter how strong a man is, he will always lose to the woman he loves.

Sukuna was slowly starting to accept that.

#jjk #sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #fluff #little something something #is it obvious how obsessed I am with the thought of him pinning someone down?#makes my heart go bingabangdingdang #also can we talk about this manga panel #my writing

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redtsundere-writes · 2 months

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Jinx | Sukuna Ryomen

mma fighter!sukuna ryomen x femalecoach!reader

Part 4. Our Fight.

Beginning. ← Previous | Next →

Spynosis: Sukuna is a world champion with anger issues. It's believed by many that he is untrainable. Yeah, you can't train him, but you can dominate him. Contents: Fighting. Sukuna being Sukuna. female reader being dom. Jinx AU (the BL, not the character from lol) Warnings: Cursed words. Sexual harassment. Smut. Physical violence. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. MNDI. +18. Word count: 4692 words. A/N: Hello, peeps! Long time no see. I just bought my first PC, so I can finally write without slamming my old laptop for it to work. This is a long one, so enjoy!

There was something about eating a simple cup of noodles in a hotel room after a tiring day of training. It was somewhat special and comforting, like a mother singing a lullaby before taking a nap. That cozy feeling of surviving another day of training before a big fight. Yuuji settled the kettle and prepared the cup of noodles in the small kitchen area of our hotel room. We bought them in a nearby corner store when we took our break from Sukuna’s training.

We slurped our feelings away and let our bodies melt away with the hot broth. I sighed as my back laid fully in the cuck chair that every hotel room has for some reason. Yuuji ate his noodles like he hadn't eaten in days. Our bodies ache for all the training, but we could finally relax in the small room.

“He is going to fucking kill me one of these days,” I sighed before grabbing a mouthful of noodles.

“Same. I don’t know how I have been able to keep up all these years,” Yuuji said with a weak smile.

“Gojo told me you guys have trained since you were little, how was Sukuna back then?” I asked with curiosity, putting my feet up in the closest furniture piece to get more comfortable.

“He was a menace. He is still a menace,” Yuuji giggled. “Our parents were so tired of his ratty and chaotic behavior that they sent him to a pediatrician. She told our parents that they had to find an activity for him to get his energy out. They tried everything. Mountain biking, climbing, dancing. He ended up liking kickboxing.”

“Damn. I feel bad for your parents.”

I could imagine a small Sukuna trying all of those different activities. Riding a dirt bike and acing every trick he could learn, even if that meant breaking a bone or two in the process. Being one of those kids who wants to try the hardest path on the climbing wall but falls over and over trying to prove himself he can do it. A smile appeared on my face when I pictured him trying ballet in a cute pink tutu. That would be adorable.

“They are really proud of him. Except for that time when he slept with Choso’s fiancé, of course. Dad was really pissed at him, but Mom tried to defend him,” Yuuji remembered as if it was yesterday.

“Your brother is still single?” I asked curious, trying not to be too obvious.

“Yeah. He told me it was hard going back to dating when he has trust issues,” he answered. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason. Just curious,”

“Really? I thought you liked him.” I coughed out the noodles from the shock. Maybe I was too obvious. Yuuji looked at me in shock. “Oh shit, you really like him. I was just joking.” I blushed immediately. I outed myself, just like that.

“I mean… he is kinda cute,” I said as I fake like he wasn’t the big deal.

“Maybe I can set you up on a date with him one of these days. What do you think?” Yuuji asked me.

“If Choso is okay with that, that would be great,” I answered. I really didn’t want to bother him if he was still healing from his brother's betrayal.

The night rolled in Dubai. Little by little, the city was shutting down under the cloak of darkness with a vibrancy that rivaled the stars overhead. The skyline, a jagged silhouette against the ink-black sky, was a testament to human ingenuity and ambition. The air was balmy, the gentle breeze carrying the scent of the sea from the Persian Gulf, mingling with the exotic aromas of spices and perfumes that wafted from the open doorways of the bustling souks.

A ping on my phone woke me up in the middle of the dark room. I grabbed it weakly to check what it was. The white screen flashed my eyes for a second, blinding me. My eyes blinked a couple of times to get used to the light. It was a message from Sukuna who was responsible for waking me up.

Cocky Bastard: Come to my room.

I looked at the time on my phone. 2:31 am. “This bitch…” I thought as I sat on the edge of the bed and slid my slippers in while yawning. I put my hair up in a ponytail and grabbed a hoodie to cover the fact that I was in pajamas. I was getting out of the room when my phone pinged again.

Cocky Bastard: Now.

“It better be important, or I’ll fucking kill you,” I thought as I typed angrily an answer.

You: Omw.

The hotel halls were an embodiment of luxury and tradition, where polished floors and golden lantern lights welcomed me into a clear path to Sukuna’s room at the other end of the hall. Ornate lanterns cast intricate shadows on walls adorned with rich tapestries and art, bridging ancient and modern worlds. The air, perfumed with jasmine and sandalwood, carried the blend of traditional Arabic melodies and contemporary tunes, adding to the ambiance.

A slam on the door woke my body up in a survival instinct. The sound of clicking heels against the marble floors were coming right to me. A beautiful and hot woman in a stunning red dress walked angrily past me while mumbling something to herself in Arabic. She was fuming. I wanted to help her, but I don’t think we spoke the same language.

I got to the room and knocked on his door three times like a secret code. He yelled to get in from the other side, naturally, I followed his order. The elegant living room of the most expensive suite of the hotel welcomed me with open arms. I walked in to see Sukuna drinking some red wine in the hotel’s comfy bathrobe.

“What the hell are you doing up at this time? You should be resting,” I scold him as I get to him. I tried to take the glass of wine out of his hands, but he pulled it away. Instead, he poured another glass for me.

“I’ll get straight to the point. I am a little bit desperate, you see,” Sukuna scoffed as he pushed the glass of wine to me without looking. “I have a luck ritual before every fight, I have to have satisfying sex before the fight to win.”

Oh, that's what it was… Was Sukuna really asking me to fuck with him? I was only his coach. I didn’t know he could see me with those eyes. Maybe he was really that desperate. The red wine was tempting me, I really needed alcohol in my system after hearing that.

“So you want to fuck with me?” I asked bluntly.

“‘Want’ is a strong word. If I wasn’t in this situation, I wouldn��t fuck you. You are not my type at all. I like petite girls I can easily break,” he scoffed. For some reason, that last comment made my blood boil. “It’s just to avoid my jinx. I won’t ask you to do it again.”

I was about to suggest hiring a prostitute, but I remembered we were in a very conservative country. There were very strict laws against prostitution, so looking for one would be an impossible task.

“Fine, I’ll do it,” I said as I grabbed the glass and stirred it to oxygen the maroon liquid.

“That’s all the convincing I need to do?” He asked, a bit surprised.

“At least that way, you won’t fuck another person’s fiancé.” Sukuna laughed, clearly offended.

“Yuuji told you?… That bastard.” He smirked, not believing his little brother would tell on him with his own coach.

“Yuuji told me about your jinx, so I believe you,” I said before gulping down the wine in one shot. “Since this is a one time thing, let’s get this done then.” I said before pushing him by the chest, cornering him back against the counter to kiss him.

Our lips collided into a frenetic dance to show each other who was really in control. We tilt our heads to deepen the kiss and reach for our tongues. He bit my lower lip to pull me closer to his face. His hand reached for my scalp to pull my head closer by my hair. My sneaky fingers snaked around his neck and shoulders to grab the back of his pink hair to make him behave. We were two wild dogs whose owners were pulling on their leashes to control them.

His big hands wrapped my waist to turn the tables. Sukuna pulled me up to make me sit on the cold kitchen counter. I grabbed him by the robe to keep him in place. Kissing Sukuna was like surviving in a thunderstorm. It was fierce and strong, but oddly warm once you get to the coldness. He grabbed me by my ass to pull my pelvis to his crotch. He was too damn good at this for his own good. I could feel my panties getting wet.

“I didn’t know you were such a slut,” he moaned against my lips. I pulled away to slap him across his face. He smirked, surprised by the sudden act of violence.

“I am sorry, did that hurt?” I asked in a fake innocent voice.

“Oh… you’ll fucking regret that,” Sukuna spat as he tossed me over his shoulder and spanked my ass. I squealed and covered it as I could with my hands. “I am sorry, did that hurt?” He imitated me. I scoffed in shame.

Sukuna took me to the sofa and tossed me in it. He quickly removed his bathrobe to expose himself to me. I took a quick scan of him. His fluffy pink hair was a mess with black hair poking underneath. His massive pecs were shaved and ready for tomorrow’s show. He had perfectly toned abs to die for, but what really surprised me was the star of tonight’s show, his massive thick cock. I was long and meaty, perfectly straight. With that cock, he could be a porn star. I couldn’t help but gulp with worried eyes.

“Don’t be scared, it doesn’t bite,” he said while stroking his already hard cock. “Quick. Take off your clothes,” he demanded.

“You are the one with the jinx, not me,” I barked, offended. “If you need to fuck me, show it.” He rolled his eyes and got close to me.

“You are such an annoying brat.”

He unzipped my hoodie, took off my shirt, slid down my shorts and ripped my underwear off me. Sukuna didn’t want to waste any time on a meaningless task. Once my whole body was exposed to him, he manhandled me to make me bend over the couch. He gripped my thighs hard to shove his monstrosity in one back shot. I gasped for air. It was too big. I opened my ass so it could fit better in me.

“Take your hands off there,” he spat as his hands grabbed both of my hands to put them behind my back. “I’ll have to teach you some fucking manners.”

That first thrust almost killed me. It was powerful and desperate. From the very beginning, he wanted to go all fucking in. I moaned every time he shoved his dick in my poor pussy, which wasn’t ready for a massacre. I opened my legs wider to give him better access. The slight pain was fading away with each thrust as my body was getting used to his stiff stick.

“You are going to fucking kill me… ‘kuna…” I moaned in despair as my breasts and ass cheeks bounced in perfect synchrony.

I was used to getting beat, punched and kicked, but this felt completely different. He was beating me to an addictive rhythm I could barely resist. The worst thing about it was that I didn’t want him to stop. His cock was hitting every inch of my intimacy so good that I just needed more. I felt full, but I could eat some dessert.

“Fuck, you are taking me better than that hoe I hired,” he groaned as his hips were hitting my ass in deep strokes.

“So, I wasn’t the first option…” I thought. I was a bit disappointed. I shouldn’t be. Sukuna was horrible enough to not want to fight another woman over him, but my competitive soul wasn’t happy with it. I knew I wasn’t a sexy bombshell, but I was pretty enough to be the first option. Shit, I was really offended.

“Turn around,” Sukuna ordered as he pulled out of me to put me in another position.

When I turned, he freed me from his grip. This was my opportunity. I pushed him to make him sit down on the wood coffee table. He was clearly in shock. If he wanted to avoid his jinx, it would be under my conditions. One of those conditions was making him understand I am the top dog and not a simple bitch he could hire on a Tuesday. I grabbed him by his chin and pulled his face towards me.

“Open wide,” I demanded.

“Why would I do that?” Sukuna argued with a smirk. I pulled his hair hard to make his chin face me.

“I said ‘Open wide’,” I repeated myself, forcing him to open his mouth.

I was starting to get tired of his whining and his bullshit. He needed to learn some fucking manners. If this was the way I had to do it, fine. I’ll do it in my own way. Sukuna tried to close his mouth, but he was going to behave, like it or not. I spit directly on his tongue and closed his jaw.

“That wasn’t that hard, wasn’t it?” I asked him with a smirk. I could see in his eyes that he wanted to be offended by it, but he low-key liked it.

My hands pushed him so he could lay down against the coffee table. He tried to fight me to regain control, but I grabbed him by the wrists and pulled him further back so he could stay still.

“Just fucking relax for once. I’ll do the dirty work from now on,” I whispered against his ear. My tongue flickered around his earlobe, just for the funsies. Sukuna retaliated and tried to fight me over, but when he saw that he was already under my claws, he stopped.

My hips humped against his crotch, and his cock twitched against my pussy in excitement. I slid his dick on me slowly and pushed it deep. He wasn’t just handsome and had a fantastic physique, his dick was perfect as well. It was big and thick, but it wasn’t scandalous enough to be scared of it. He was the perfect man, too bad he had a shitty personality. No one was really perfect.

My hips ride his cock without mercy. It felt like heaven and hell at the same time. His moans and grunts were a clear sign that I was doing a good job. I could feel he wanted to free himself to latch onto my body, but I was in charge tonight. I moved in slow circles, and he jerked his head back in satisfaction. He closed his eyes and his toes curled as I rode him like a real cowgirl. My breasts bounced, following the rhythm of my movements. Wet and squishy sounds with our moans filled the air, creating a perfect symphony of lust.

His dick was pushing and rubbing every part of my insides. It was raw and rough. I was desperately getting myself dumb fuck with the new toy I just borrowed. I never felt more tired and alive at the same time. I haven't felt this way in a pretty long time. I had to make the most of it. The coffee table was creaking with every hard bounce.

“F-Fuck… I am so close,” he moaned under his breath.

“Do you want to cum in me, baby?” I asked him in an innocent tone. He nodded in response. I smirked and made a full stop.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” He yelled at me with a slight blush on his cheeks.

“You need to ask for it nicely,” I asked. Sukuna frowned. “Say ‘Please, mommy. I want to cum.’” I got close to his face as if I was about to kiss him. “Just once, and I’ll let you cum all over this warm and slutty pussy,” I offered. Sukuna looked away. He was actually thinking of it. It was either saying the magic phrase or jinxing his own fight. I only saw an easy answer.

“Please, mommy… I want to cum…” He whispered while blushing intensely.

“I can’t hear you,” I said with a mischievous smile. Sukuna scoffed and bit his lower lip. He didn’t want to repeat himself.

“Please, mommy. I want to cum so bad,” he repeated, avoiding eye contact.

“Good boy,” I said before releasing his wrists. “Go crazy.”

He clasped his hands on my ass and made me ride him like I was just doing previously. He shook my hips up and down to ride him in a wilder rhythm, trying to compensate for the time we lost. The wood table was creaking and squeaking in pain. It didn’t take long for it to collapse, but that didn’t stop Sukuna. His hands continue bouncing my ass to his cock as he thrust against me.

“Just like that ‘Kuna…” I begged as I arched my back towards him. My nipples were rubbing against his pecs with each rough move. My legs were barely resisting. My eyes were tearing up from the power his cock held over me. He spanked me a couple of times as a celebration that he gained control over me. He pulled my hair to the side as he grunted to the rhythm of his hips.

“Sukuna!” I moaned as I drooled over his shoulder. The pressure and stiffness left so good inside of me. My tight pussy hugged his big cock every time he pushed it in. After a couple of wet strokes in, I felt it inside. His thick and warm milk inside of me. It was what I needed to reach the climax. His cum felt like that cup of noodles after training.

“Shit…” we both moaned as we relaxed our bodies.

I pulled slowly out of me and laid next to Sukuna on the broken coffee table. Our breathing and gasps filled the silence that always came with every climax. I came back to my senses after what happened. “I just fucked my trainee,” I thought as I closed my eyes, embarrassed. What have I done? I needed to go now. No one could find out.

“Where’s the bathroom?” I asked in a shy tone as I picked my clothes up from the floor. Sukuna pointed in the direction as he kept lying down on the table.

I ran to the bathroom and washed my face to fully wake up. I looked straight at my face in the mirror. The face of a slut. I gripped the zinc and sighed out loud. It was already done. I fucked him. It was a one time only thing. There was nothing I could do now.

“Just live with it,” I said before putting my clothes back on.

I exited the bathroom and looked for Sukuna to wish him a goodnight. I found him sleeping on the couch in just his bathrobe. “This dumbass will catch a cold,” I thought as I looked for something to cover him up.

I went to the fancy master bedroom to just grab a decorative blanket. I was just going to grab the blanket and go off, but something caught my eye. There was a Polaroid photo on top of his night stand. It was a cute picture of a little trio. Sukuna, Choso and Yuuji as kids at what appears to be a kickboxing tournament. They were wearing their cute sporty outfits and smiling as they showed their participation medals with pride. I knew he looked adorable.

Taking important photos everywhere is a habit only sensitive people have, like artists or musicians. I didn’t think Sukuna was the type of guy who kept memories like that.

Why did Sukuna carry something like this? I thought he hated his brothers. What made him act so cold towards them? I didn’t know, and I couldn't get answers. I didn’t care about the old Sukuna, I just needed the present Sukuna to behave. I placed back the picture where I found it and went back to the living room.

I placed the blanket on top of his massive body and moved around the cushions to make sure he would sleep well. His eyes shut, his chest going up and down from breathing and his fluffy messy hair was a delight to see. It was the first time I have seen him so relaxed. I wish I could see him more like this so he didn’t have to overwork himself.

“Why do you have to be an ass to everyone who cares about you?” I thought out loud.

The next day, under a starlit sky, the UFC Championship Night unfolded with electrifying intensity. The arena, alive with the roars of fans from across the globe who were watching live, set the stage for a night of unmatched athleticism and spirit. Fighters, embodying determination and skill, clashed in the octagon, their every move watched by an enraptured audience.

Between bouts, the energy never waned, as performances dazzled and discussions flourished among the diverse crowd. The main event, a pinnacle of strategy and strength, held spectators in a spell, culminating in a moment of pure triumph and emotion. As the night waned, the echoes of the event lingered, leaving behind memories of a spectacular evening where sport and spectacle had intertwined beautifully in Dubai.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the event that everyone was waiting for! Give it up for Sukuna “The King of the Ring” Ryomen!” The host welcomed him and his team to the big stage.

The Search by NF started playing as his anthem. His fans went crazy as he made his great appearance. He flexed his boxing skills with a couple of ghost jabs to warm up to the adrenaline rush of what being on the octagon meant. He looked focused and ready. I knew he was ready. I was confident he could beat Toji.

After last night, he ignored me the whole day. In the morning run, he avoided me. In the warm-up session, he didn’t even look at me. I didn’t know what I did wrong to deserve his cold treatment, but he followed the schedule I made, so I didn’t have any grounds to be mad at him. My legs could be weak, but my pride was strong.

After the medical and cheating check up by the referee, he got up on stage. Gojo, Nanami, Yuuji and I put ourselves by his designated corner, ready with our supplies for each round.

Toji and his staff made their own great entrance, and he got up to the octagon as well. The referee made them get close to recite the rules so they could bump gloves. After that, the real show was about to start.

“This is a no-blinking fight, everyone!” The commentator announced, and the public went crazy as the two strong fighters were about to clash. My palms started to get sweaty, and my eyes were focused only on him.

“Fight!” The referee announced, and they threw themselves at each other.

Punches, jabs and strikes cut the air in the tight space. Toji was the one who was building up his way to Sukuna’s space. He was conquering the fight little by little. Toji knew how strong Sukuna could be, he needed to take his time before he could kill him. After some minutes of teasing and a minute left on the timer, he went full beast mode on him. Sukuna wasn’t doing any offensive, he was just surviving being in the same cage as him. Gojo and Yuuji kept screaming incoherent instructions to him, but the public was so loud that Sukuna probably couldn’t hear him. Ten seconds on the clock and Toji connected a perfect jab to his ribs, taking air out of him.

The bell rang, and the referee separated them. Gojo, Yuuji and I quickly got inside the octagon to assist Sukuna for his next round.

“I thought you were in the winner’s team,” Toji yelled at me. I ignored him to get to Sukuna.

“You see what you have done? Are you trying to embarrass me?!” I yelled at Sukuna while Yuuji was showering him with water and put an ice pack on his ribs. My fighter looked at me with a frown. At least he wasn’t ignoring me now. “Now you are listening. You have to get closer. He has longer arms than you, he will rail you in boxing. Go for his legs, man!” I ordered, and he nodded, knowing I was right. “Make me proud, Sukuna.”

The next round started and Toji noticed the change in Sukuna’s attitude. He was wilder and straightforward than before, so he acted accordingly. They had three other rounds, but this was looking like the last one. Toji tried to connect a kick to Sukuna’s ribs, but his opponent took that opportunity to drop him to the ground. The audience stood up to get a better look at what was going on.

“Get it, Sukuna! Just like we practice!” I yelled at him with the highest pitch I could, so my voice would stand out.

Sukuna crawled and fought to get to Toji’s neck. “Is he going to do it?” I was shocked. He quickly got onto him to lock his opponent down against the mat with his legs around his neck and torso. Toji tried getting up, just like with Geto in his fight against Sukuna, but he wasn’t going to let him go so easily. Toji growled under his breath. He punched his sides, but Sukuna couldn’t give up. He latched his left leg on his right arm, causing Toji to turn around slowly.

“Oh my god…” I mumbled without losing eye contact with his physique.

“Is he…?” Gojo thought the same.

Sukuna made Toji turn on his belly. The black haired reached for his pink head, so he could only choke hold him in between his biceps. The euphoric screams from the audience kept getting louder as the fight got closer to the end. I saw Toji start to breathe with difficulty while his hands tried to loosen up Sukuna’s powerful grasp. He wasn’t going to let what happened in Las Vegas happen again.

After seconds of contemplating his options to win this, Toji noticed he had zero. It was over. He got him, so he tapped his arms three times to release him himself in defeat. The referee allowed it and Sukuna loosened up. The buzzer went off to indicate the fight was over, and the audience went wild.

“Did you see that?! I taught him how to do that!” I screamed in excitement to Yuuji who was as excited as I was to see his brother keeping his title.

Sukuna jumped over the fence to better hear the excitement of the public. The whole staff, the cameramen, and round girls entered the octagon to celebrate. The fighters got to the middle and the host announced Sukuna as the clear winner by technical knockout. Sukuna shook hands with Nanami, Gojo and Nanami in celebration.

“I knew you could do it,” I said, bear hugging him to piss him off.

To my surprise, he hugged me back. He was sweaty and clammy. His heart was rushing from adrenaline. His arms were trembling from exhaustion. I patted his back to show him my support. A smile appeared on my face when I realized that, for the first time, he was being sweet.

Masterlist.

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dukes-cassettetape · 2 years

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UFC 276 - "The Last Stylebender" Israel Adesanya 🇳🇬

Record: 23-1-0

HEIGHT: 6'4"

WEIGHT: 183.5 lbs.

STANCE: Switch

STYLE: Muay Thai, Kickboxing, Taekwondo, Brazilian Jiu Jitsu

#israel adesanya #the last stylebender #stylebender #mma #mixed martial arts #kickboxing #muay thai #taekwondo #brazilian jiu jitsu #city kickboxing #sports #martial arts #black superheroes #manga #anime #nigeria #omo naija #ufc276 #ufc 276

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gimmethatagustd · 3 months

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venor (1) | kth + jjk

The barista at the university's café keeps telling Jungkook not to come back, but Jungkook is too busy daydreaming about kissing the beauty marks on his face to be paying attention to his warnings.

○ Pairing: Tiger!Taehyung x Bunny!Jungkook

○ Rating: Explicit/18+

○ Genre: Hybrids, predator/prey, college au, strangers to lovers, slow burn, fluff, light angst, eventual smut

○ Word Count: 2,557

○ Warnings: None

○ Notes: This is my first hybrid fic, so I hope you enjoy it! It was written for the Taekook Hybrid Fest Season 2 on AO3.

○ Post Date: February 5, 2024

○ Masterlist | AO3 Cross-Post

○ What was Jai listening to? The series playlist

Sweat rolls down the side of Jungkook’s neck, soaking into the collar of his white cotton t-shirt. He tried to beat the heat by wearing light colors and thin five-inch inseam athletic shorts, but the weather seems out to get him regardless. The conditions aren’t ideal for moving into his new dormitory, but Jungkook is too excited to let a little sweat ruin the day. Even the heavy box straining his muscles as he carries it up two flights of stairs to his room can’t dampen the pep in his step.

Stepping into the air-conditioned building feels good. The main hallway is stuffy and smells oddly like stale beer and burnt popcorn, but Jungkook’s dorm room smells clean and citrusy. Yoongi’s scent was the first thing Jungkook noticed about him. Scents are important to Jungkook, who has always been sensitive to smells.

“Shit, Jungkook, you’re a lot stronger than you look,” Yoongi remarks with his eyes zeroed in on Jungkook’s biceps. It takes him a moment to get out of the way, sidestepping so Jungkook can squeeze through the front door of their dorm room.

“There was this gym–” Jungkook grunts as he sets the box on top of a small stack of other cardboard boxes, “–that I used to train at back at my old college, doing kickboxing!”

Yoongi shuffles around to stand on the opposite side of the boxes with his hands on his hips. Wearing an oversized black t-shirt and loose black basketball shorts, he looks adorably small. Although they’re both prey hybrids, there is something incredibly gentle about Jungkook’s new roommate. He’s got older brother vibes. They’ve only known each other for a few hours, but Jungkook already trusts Yoongi with his life.

“They let prey hybrids kickbox with predators?” Yoongi’s feline eyes follow Jungkook’s movements as he starts unpacking. His long, orange tail swishes behind him with curiosity, and his cat ears occasionally flick.

“No,” Jungkook twists around to scrunch his nose at Yoongi. What a silly question. “There weren’t any predators at our university. They weren’t allowed.”

“Shit, I keep forgetting you said your old school was prey-only.” Yoongi whistles and shakes his shaggy black hair. “I can’t even imagine what that was like.”

“Growing up, all the schools I went to were prey-only. My neighborhood was only for prey hybrids, too. I guess I never thought about it much…”

Jungkook wants to tell Yoongi that being in such homogeneous spaces is boring, but he keeps the comment to himself as he works on unpacking. It would be weird to talk about it. He has already received slight comments from other students during new prey student orientation, most of them calling him privileged and sheltered for never having interacted with predators before. It’s a bit disheartening because Jungkook has been so excited to move to a new city and transfer to a new college. For months, he’s seen this as an opportunity to figure out himself – to live independently, away from his overly-protective parents, and have a real college experience. Independence is important to Jungkook, especially now that he’s attending a college of his choosing rather than staying at the one his parents picked for him – the safer one.

With a drive to prove his parents wrong, Jungkook is determined to take care of himself. He’s twenty-one years old. It’s about time he got some freedom.

Besides, what does it matter that Jungkook has supposedly been sheltered from the world? Everyone knows there’s a social hierarchy, and hybrids like Jungkook certainly aren’t at the top. He can’t honestly blame his parents for wanting to protect him from an unequal society for as long as they could. Rabbits aren’t known for being well-respected, even amongst other prey hybrids.

Luckily, Yoongi seems kind and accepting, even for a tabby cat hybrid. So Jungkook steers the conversation toward a more comfortable topic while he sets up his half of the bedroom. Their dorm is an upperclassman dorm with a small living room, kitchen, and private bathroom for the two of them to share. They also have to share a bedroom, but Jungkook doesn’t mind.

Yoongi’s half of the room is tidy. His slate grey comforter is oversized and fluffy, neatly tucked in at the sides of the bed. His laptop sits open on his desk, quietly playing a lo-fi playlist in the background. If the minimalism of Yoongi’s half of the room is indicative of the kind of roommate he’ll be, Jungkook doesn’t have any concerns about living with Yoongi.

“Do you need any help?” Yoongi hovers at Jungkook’s side. “I feel bad; I didn’t even do anything.”

“No, no, it’s okay! It really wasn’t much.”

Jungkook is nearly finished organizing his laundry in his closet, sorting the clothing first by season and then by color. He waves off Yoongi’s concern, suddenly feeling shy.

“Are you sure?”

Jungkook nods hard enough that his fuzzy black bunny ears sway with his hair. “I’ve got some decorations I want to put up, but that might be a whole process, so I’ll deal with it later.” Turning around, he gives Yoongi a shy smile and brushes his sweaty bangs off his forehead. “But, maybe after I take a shower, you could show me around? I never got a chance to tour campus.”

Yoongi makes a strange sound, something in between a hiss and a scoff. “They didn’t show you around campus during new student orientation? Ridiculous. The predators get a whole fucking ceremony, and what do we get?”

“A free water bottle,” Jungkook pipes in, shaking the cheap plastic bottle at Yoongi.

“Ridiculous!” Yoongi eyes the water bottle as if it has personally offended him. “Go get ready. I’ll show you everything you need to know.”

Still grumbling, Yoongi meanders into the living room. Jungkook watches him plop onto the couch with a scowl and tries to hold in his giggles. Despite a somewhat shakey start to the day, Jungkook feels good about his transfer decision. He ended up with an awesome roommate in a decent dorm. He already logged into his online student portal to view his class schedule and got all the classes he wanted as a junior computer science major. What more could a guy want?

Jungkook's stomach rumbles as he grabs clean clothes that are a replica of what he's already wearing and realizes the thing that would make this day better is probably ramen or fried chicken. Or both. Definitely both. He's pretty confident that Yoongi will know somewhere good to eat on campus or in the surrounding neighborhood.

Hunger makes Jungkook fly through showering. Rubbing his head with a towel to quickly sop up his wet hair and ears, Jungkook slams his elbow into the wall. The yelp torn from his chest is rather unbecoming, and the clatter of his toiletries bag exploding onto the floor doesn't help.

"Are you okay, Jungkook-ah?" Yoongi calls from the living room, further embarrassing Jungkook without meaning to.

"Yeah, hyung! I'm okay!"

Jungkook must also mention how cutely the two men engage with each other, with Yoongi speaking to him in diminutives and letting Jungkook call him hyung already. What was Jungkook's parents' fuss about attending a large university? So far, Jungkook is loving it.

In his excitement, Jungkook doesn't bother organizing his toiletries and hopes Yoongi is okay with the temporary mess, making a mental note to work on the bathroom next when he gets home. For now, a tour and food are his top priorities. Socializing and moving all day can make a person ravenous.

"Okay, I'm done. Can we eat?"

"Shit, kid, yeah, we can eat," Yoongi grunts after being jostled around when Jungkook practically launches himself onto the couch. "What kind of food do you like? Salad?"

"That is not funny." Jungkook's pout earns him a hearty chuckle deep inside Yoongi's chest. "I like meat."

Yoongi snorts. "Good to know, kid. Let's get outta here."

The university campus is relatively large, but Jungkook quickly discovers that half of it is off-limits to him, much to his surprise. He'd been under the assumption that, as a university that serves all hybrids, the entire campus would be open to everyone. The thing is, Jungkook still has to learn about inhabiting a world with predator hybrids - and Yoongi is determined to teach him.

"So, the east half of campus is the predator side. All their dorms are over there, along with their gym and dining hall," Yoongi gestures down the sidewalk where the path goes through an archway between the stone walls that border the east side of campus. "Super gothic architecture and shit. It's because they're pretentious. Our side of campus is more modern because we're ahead of the times."

Yoongi continues rambling about the differences between the two halves of campus and how the library is the only genuinely coed space as he travels down the sidewalk in the opposite direction. Still, Jungkook finds himself staring past the stone archway.

A group of predator hybrids crosses through the archway, their voices echoing against the stone walls as they pass. They're boisterous and animated as they talk, occasionally all bursting into laughter when one of them says something. Jungkook has good hearing but is too caught up in watching the group to pay attention to what they're saying.

"Jungkook-ah, come on. Aren't you hungry?" Yoongi gripes, suddenly at Jungkook's side again. "Close your mouth, aish. You act like you've never seen a predator hybrid before."

"I haven't..."

"What?" Yoongi looks at him incredulously.

"I've never seen a predator before. Well, not in real life."

The group heads down the same sidewalk Jungkook and Yoongi stand on, slowly approaching the pair. Jungkook can't take his eyes off of them. There are four of them of various species, but one in particular steals Jungkook's attention. He's taller than the other three, with broad shoulders and long legs. Despite the chiseled look of his high cheekbones and sharp jawline, there's something boyish about how he laughs with a box-shaped mouth and how the breeze ruffles the unruly mess of coppery curls resting atop his head.

Always attentive to scents, Jungkook takes a deep breath of petrichor as the breeze carries the hybrid's scent to him - the deep, earthy smell of fresh rain falling on parched soil. There's something strangely nostalgic about the scent. It envelopes Jungkook, wrapping him in a comforting blanket that feels like childhood memories of playing in the creek that runs along the edge of the forest behind his neighborhood.

Jungkook opens his eyes, not having realized he'd ever closed them. When he does, he finds a pair of sharp, feline eyes staring back at him. They're critical, deftly slicing into every inch of Jungkook's soul because he can't look away.

"Hello," the hybrid greets with a deceivingly soft voice.

Jungkook has heard horror stories about predator hybrids all his life, and today, he thinks he finally understands. The hybrid is mere inches from Jungkook, close enough that he could easily snatch him up. How had he gotten so close? Jungkook feels as though he blinked, and suddenly, the other hybrid was there, having quietly crept up on him. It's Jungkook's overactive imagination, considering he quite literally watched the group approach him, but he's still intrigued.

The hybrid stands with an air of nonchalance, but Jungkook isn't stupid. He may not have any experience with predators, but he can sense the power in this one, even if his outward demeanor is relaxed. Jungkook's instincts are speaking to him.

This hybrid is dangerous.

When the breeze ruffles his hair again, Jungkook notices the pair of striped ears poking out from between his curls. If he'd been paying attention earlier, he would have noticed the striped tail, too, but he is too busy admiring the tiger's asymmetrical eyes and the little beauty mark artfully placed along his waterline.

"H-h-hi-"

"Sorry, he's new here," Yoongi interrupts and grabs Jungkook's wrist, pulling him to one side of the walkway to allow the group to walk past them.

"Oh really? I could show him around," one of the other predators says with a snicker. He licks his lips as he looks over Jungkook's body, but Jungkook misses it because he's still locking eyes with the tiger hybrid.

"Yeah, show him around a knot," another says with a snort and reaches up to high-five the fourth predator, who throws his head back and starts howling. Or maybe laughing - Jungkook isn't sure. Whatever the sound, it stops abruptly when the tiger hybrid raises his hand.

"Shut up," he says, glaring at the other three sharply. "You're acting like animals."

The tiger's gaze slides back to Jungkook. He knows his usual floral scent is spiking with anxiety, but it isn't because he's afraid of the men in front of him. If anything, he's exceptionally curious and afraid of looking like an idiot by doing the wrong thing. Not that he's doing anything aside from standing with an awed look on his face.

"Jungkook," Yoongi hisses and yanks on his wrist harder than the first time. "Ramen. Fried chicken. Let's go."

Reluctantly, Jungkook lets Yoongi drag him away from the group of predators who have now started up again with their obnoxious laughter, though this time Jungkook is sure that he's the butt of whatever jokes they're telling. It makes his face feel hot, but he mostly can't stop thinking about how pretty that tiger hybrid was. From what Jungkook was taught as a child, predator hybrids are big and scary - which is undoubtedly true of the predator hybrids he just met. But the tiger hybrid had a certain aura to him that Jungkook can't quite name.

"You're ridiculous," Yoongi grumbles his favorite word. "Stuttering and ogling like that. They're gonna eat you alive and pick at your bones if you're not careful."

Once they're a decent distance from the group of predators, Yoongi slows down his speedwalking to a casual saunter toward the prey dining hall. Maybe Jungkook should be a little bit more concerned about what Yoongi means, but instead he asks,

"What's a knot?"

Yoongi nearly chokes on his next inhale.

"I'm not gonna be the one to tell you that," Yoongi sputters, "You can fucking look it up. Wait! Just not right now! Oh god."

With a furrowed brow, Jungkook slides his phone back into his pocket. All he wanted to do was understand the joke. He supposes he'll just have to look it up later like Yoongi said.

"Do you know him?" Jungkook finally asks.

"Who?" Yoongi gives Jungkook a suspicious look, but Jungkook's head is floating in the handful of clouds barely working to give them much needed reprieve from the sun.

"The pretty one," he sighs, "The tiger hybrid."

Rolling his eyes, Yoongi opens the door to the dining hall. It's fairly crowded since they're nearing the lunch hour. Jungkook sticks close to Yoongi's side to avoid getting lost or doing something incorrectly.

"Don't even go there, kid," Yoongi says with a shake of his head. "There's a reason we're on this side of campus, and they're on the other."

Jungkook looks around at the other prey hybrids in their dining hall and doesn't find anyone as interesting as the tall boy with coppery curls and dangerous eyes.

Series Masterlist

Disclaimer: All my writing is fictional and for entertainment purposes only. None of these characters are meant to actually represent the real people mentioned in the stories.

All rights reserved © @gimmethatagustd - Do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my writing. Do not use my writing for any AI purposes whatsoever. Do not use my fics for anything aside from reading and commenting on them. My fics will only be posted on this Tumblr and on AO3 (gimmethatagustd & daddytaehyungie). Request an AO3 account here.

#taekook #taehyung x jungkook #bts fanfic #taehyung fanfic #jungkook fanfic #bts smut #bts fluff #bts angst #taehyung smut #taehyung fluff #taehyung angst #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #gimmethatagustd #jai writes #venor

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staydandy · 2 months

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Desire Catcher (2023) - 无眠之境 - Whump List

List by StayDandy Synopsis : In the world of hypnotism, Lu Feng Ping is known for being one of the country's best hypnotists. Naturally, when the city is rocked by a string of crimes that all seem to be conducted under the influence of hypnotism, it is Feng Ping the police turn to for help. As the officer assigned to the case, Luo Fei has no choice but to consult with Feng Ping. A criminal detective plagued by his own inner demons, Luo Fei is highly suspicious of Feng Ping and his work. Putting their mutual suspicions aside, Feng Ping and Luo Fei take on the case with equal fervor. Working together, the two come to find that something other than their work connects them: a decade-old case that, to this day, has gone unsolved. (MDL)

Whumpee : Lu Feng Ping played by Zheng Ye Cheng (left) • Luo Fei played by Xin Yun Lai (right)

Country : 🇨🇳 China Genres : Thriller, Mystery, Psychological, Crime, Bromance

Notes : This is a Full Whump List • Adapted from the novel "Xie E Cui Mian Shi" (邪恶催眠师) by Zhou Hao Hui (周浩晖) • Right in the first few episode, from the first scene, this show starts with a SA attack of a minor, then continues with cannibalism, and a dead animal .. soooo, yeah, let that set the pace & be cautious going forward • TW : SA, Suicide, Animal Cruelty

Episodes on List : 14 Total Episodes : 24

*Spoilers below*

01 : TW : SA

02 : Luo Fei has a PTSD trauma nightmare

03 : (near end) Lu Feng Ping is thrown to the floor & put in an arm lock

06 : Luo Fei & Feng Ping have a kickboxing match, each getting their share of beatings (song : Two Heroes, by Zheng Yecheng, Xin Yunlai, and Dasang Gyatso)

07 : Luo Fei is drunk asleep, carried

08 : (near end) Feng Ping pushes Luo Fei out of the way of a car, injures his ankle

09 : … continued from previous ep. ... Feng Ping is limping … hospitalized … almost falls off a building saving someone, held by his injured leg.. using his pain to get attention 😆, carried

10 : Luo Fei is in a fight

14 : (at end) Feng Ping detained

15 : [flashback] Fight … [present] Detained, handcuffed, interrogated

16 : Arrested again, handcuffed, interrogated … locks himself in a room, fills it with gas & causes an explosion, Luo Fei knocked to the ground from the explosion

18 : TW : SA

19 : Feng Ping detained again, handcuffed, interrogated … [flashback] fight … thrown to the ground, arm wrenched (comedic) … TW : suicide

21 : Luo Fei attacked by a group with knives, fight, Feng Ping blurry vision, ear ringing, hypnotised into almost stabbing himself, passes out … wakes in hospital

23 : Luo Fei fights a large group … Luo Fei & Feng Ping fight against a large group; Feng Ping beaten with bats

24 : (near end) Imprisoned

#whump #whump list #full whump list #Asian whump #China #Desire Catcher #无眠之境 #Lu Feng Ping #Luo Fei #Zheng Ye Cheng #Xin Yun Lai

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sarahowritesostucky · 4 months

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📖"First Taste"

Rated: Explicit

Pairing: Steve Kemp x reader

Tags: doctor/patient, medical kink, body image issues, oral sex (f!rec), fingering, dub-con, pussy worship, (inference of background cannibalism (b/c it's Fresh), but nothing to do with the plot or reader)

Summary: Steve Kemp sees a new patient for a consult about a rather ... intimate procedure.

Steve gets into the office at his usual time, coffee cup in hand as he catches the elevator. He sees Cassie jogging in from across the lobby in her colorful scrubs and holds the door for her. They greet one another amicably and ask how each other’s weekend was. She tells him about her new kickboxing class, he tells her about the pâté he made on Saturday.

“Liver?” She says dubiously as the two of them enter the office. She’s wrinkling her nose and laughing at him. “You’re some kind of Chef, Kemp.”

“I prefer the term gourmand. By the way is that Barbie on your—”

“Yep.” She goes behind the nurse’s station and hands him a clipboard. “Your morning appointments. Dr. Hickory went into early labor at like four am, so you’ve got some of hers.”

Steve’s eyebrows raise as he takes the clipboard and gives it a look. “What is she, thirty-eight weeks?”

“Thirty-seven.”

“Should be fine,” he mumbles. He frowns at one of the patient slots on his clipboard. “I see I have an FGM consult at eleven,” he says, eyes flicking peevishly back up to Cassie.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” she says, checking on her computer. “Yeah, Ms. Moreau. Be nice, she’s new.”

Steve narrows his eyes at the info. “You know I’ve tried to get away from doing those anymore,” he says, giving Cassie a look. Everybody in the office knows how he has a problem with the fact that Hickory’s turned their office into such a chop shop. Steve would’ve thought a woman would know better. Female solidarity, progressiveness, autonomy, kumbaya, whatever.

Cassie rolls her eyes at him. “Yeah yeah. Dr. Brendan the activist.”

“Hey, I told you, it’s—”

“‘Pathologizing the pussy’,” she recites with finger quotes. “We know.”

“Mm,” Steve grunts, assumes the ‘we’ is in reference to all the nurses at the practice. Those girls share a level of groupthink that is frankly eerie.

Steve works in plastics. He’s a vain man himself, so he knows he shouldn’t have gotten involved in a career field like this if he wasn’t prepared to be surrounded by other people’s body insecurities 24/7. It’s just… not how he pictured it.

Good thing he’s got this new side business venture going. He’s hopeful about it. Just last month he’d been able to send in the final payment for his student loans. Pretty soon he’ll have enough to get a house. He's entertaining the idea of a custom build, still scouting properties south of Portland. “I’ll see you later,” he tells Cassie. “Send my nine o’clock to exam three when they get here.”

“You got it.”

You arrive early for your appointment, plunking yourself down in the waiting room chair after the long walk from the train. You feel unpleasantly sticky underneath the cotton of your sundress. The office is cool, but it’d been hot outside. The near-boiling summer temperatures made you work up a sweat as you made your way across the city for this appointment.

Now, sitting in the chair, you can feel the sweat that’s formed on your body. It’s at your hairline, between your breasts and at the creases of your inner thighs. You worry about it, because soon you’ll be baring yourself to the doctor and you had specifically showered right before leaving for your apartment, used a pH balanced feminine hygiene product, just in case you were somehow scent blind to your own body. You didn’t want to be sweaty and gross when Dr. Hickory was going to be looking down there.

“Miss?” The receptionist smiles at you, holding out a clipboard from over the desk. “You need to fill this out, please.”

You stand, hurrying to go get it and the pen that she offers you as well. “Sorry,” you murmur. They’d told you that you would need to be there fifteen minutes early for paperwork. You return to your chair, feeling like such a hot sweaty mess, whereas the receptionist lady is so pretty and poised. You tuck some of your blonde hair back behind your ears and cross your ankles in an attempt to be even a fraction as put together as she is, you powder blue espadrilles knocking together as you prop the clipboard on your lap.

The office’s air conditioning is making the perspiration cool to your skin now, clammy and unpleasant. You read over the intake forms and fill them out. The second page has a line drawing of a naked woman’s body, front and back. It asks you to circle the areas you’re there to address. You bite your lip and circle the drawing’s pelvis. The anxiety you tend to get creeps back up on you, but you take a deep breath and let it out. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Dr. Hickory does this all the time. It’s her speciality. She will have seen it all, and you’ll be nothing new to her.

The door to the waiting room opens and a younger woman in hot pink scrubs peeks her head through. “Ms. Moreau?” she says brightly. She has café au lait skin, wild curly hair, and a genuine smile that helps put you at ease.

“That’s me.” You stand up, the only person in the waiting room. “Obviously,” you chuckle, grabbing your purse and following after her.

“I’m Cassie,” she introduces herself. “Hop on up here and let’s get your weight.” You step on the scale backwards and open your mouth to tell her that you don’t need to know the number, but Cassie cuts you off with a wry look. “Don’t worry,” she says, thumbing at her own chest. “I know how it is, girl.”

You flush and nod, glad that you don’t have to veer into that explanation. She records your weight on her clipboard and tells you to follow her to an exam room. Inside, she hands you a painfully thin paper gown and tells you that you can change. You fidget uncomfortably. “Um, actually I wore a dress so that she could just…” you make a gesture, “ah, dive right in. Is it alright if I just stay like this?”

Cassie nods and doesn’t try to foist the paper gown on you any further. “Have a seat,” she tells you. “The doctor is just finishing up with another patient.”

“Okay,” you whisper, getting up onto the exam table. After Cassie leaves, you look around the room, taking everything in. You’ve never been in a plastic surgeon’s office before. Everything looks just like any other doctor’s office would, except that instead of posters talking about BMI and heart disease, there are advertisements for laser therapies and Botox.

You spot a tray of breast implants over on a counter and can’t stop yourself from going over to look. You pick one up and poke at it, feeling it wobble in your hand. You giggle a little, before bringing it up to hold in front of your chest. Your own breasts haven’t ever bothered you much. They’re small-ish but have a good shape. One of your exes had complimented them excessively (though other parts had received thinly-veiled criticism). You pick up another of the implants, this one bigger and more viscous, and hold the two shapes up to each of your breasts, trying to imagine what it would look like…

“I wouldn’t recommend either of those for you,” a male voice cuts in, and you nearly jump out of your skin.

You spin around. You’re still holding the implants near your chest, startled as you blink at the man who’s entered the room. He’s wearing a doctor’s coat over scrubs, and his nametag says Brendan Kemp, MD. The bigger of the two implants rolls out of your lax hand, landing with a comical ‘plop’ right by your shoe. “Oh jeez. I’m sorry!” you say in a hurry, feeling like a child who’s gotten caught doing something bad. You rush to bend down and collect the implant from the floor. “Sorry I was just—”

The man steps closer with a smirk on his lips and gleaming eyes. He seems amused at you. “Everybody wants to grab the boobies,” he says, gently taking the implants out of your hands and setting them back onto the tray on the counter. “You’re fine, Ms. Moreau.”

You blink at him, stuck in place. He knows your name. “Oh,” you say, voice hushed, still embarrassed. This doctor is very good looking. He has a commanding presence, too. Something about his eyes draws you in, makes you want to be the object of his attention. He smiles warmly at you, perfect teeth flashing for a second, and you huff at yourself and try to laugh off your foolishness. “Yeah,” you mutter, rolling your eyes. “Guess I was just curious.”

“Hey, at least you weren’t juggling them. I walked in on that, once.” He winks. “What’s your accent? French Canadian?”

“Ah, y-yeah. I’m from—” You watch as he barely listens to your answer, his eyes sliding down to the level of your chest and staying there, assessing. You flush under the scrutiny. But you don’t feel like you can move away without being rudely dismissive. You squirm, uncomfortable. “Um, I’m not—”

“I’m Dr. Kemp,” he murmurs offhandedly, still staring at your chest. You see his hands twitch, as if he’s thinking of touching, but stopping himself. “A woman with your frame wouldn’t look right with ones that big,” he says, meaning the implants you’d just been holding.

You feel the need to defend your own taste. “Oh I know that. I wasn’t—”

“These,” he says softly, taking one of the more modestly sized implants from the tray and holding it up in front of you to see. You’re caught looking more at the sight of his strong, elegant fingers than you are the implant. “These would suit you better. Though I honestly wouldn’t recommend augmentation for you.” His eyes finally return to your face. “Your breasts are lovely.”

You feel your lips part in shock. “Um…” you feel an odd combination of flattery and confusion. Is it normal for a doctor to talk to a patient like this? Maybe it’s different with plastic surgeons, you think. They are paid to focus on their patients’ looks, after all. Comments on what is and isn’t aesthetically pleasing must be par for the course, here. “Thank you?”

But then there’s his gaze, the way he stares at you. It feels like he’s not just looking at your body for his job, but also looking for himself, as well. There’s too much interest there to be purely professional. Your breath catches when you feel your nipples starting to tighten beneath your dress, and sure enough, when you glance down they’re very visible through the fabric. Shit. You see Kemp’s eyes look back down.

“Sorry,” you say in a rush, turning away from his assessing gaze. You should’ve worn a bra, you chide yourself. You try to take a deep, stabilizing breath while you have your back to him. “I’m here for… for something else.” You look down at your pebbled nipples, which aren’t softening as much as you’d like, and you sigh in defeat. No doubt Dr. Kemp has seen plenty of nipples in his day. You need to just get over it. You turn around and climb back up to sit on the exam table, the paper crinkling under your butt as you settle. “I’m just waiting for Doctor Hickory,” you explain. “For a consult. They said she’s with another patient.”

Dr. Kemp sighs and holds up his clipboard. “Actually, that’s why I’m here. I’ll be seeing you today.”

“What?” You sit up straighter, alarmed. “But…” You’d specifically sought out a woman doctor for this. The idea of a man looking critically at you, there, is mortifying. “But, but Dr. Hickory—”

“Is having a baby,” Kemp says. “She went into preterm labor this morning. But we hear everything’s going well.” He smiles at you, as if this is good news. “She’ll be out on maternity leave for at least six months.”

“...Six months,” you repeat weakly. You hadn’t even known she was pregnant. They hadn’t said a thing to you when you made the appointment. You’d been counting on her being your doctor. And now this guy, this Dr. Kemp, was stepping in? You swallow nervously, uncomfortable with a man (let alone a very, very handsome man) being your doctor. Not for this. “Um, well I…”

Dr. Kemp is already looking over your chart on his clipboard. He’s going to see what you circled, you realize, mortified. You watch helplessly as he reads all of your private details. “Dr. Kemp…” you say meekly,

“You're here for a consult for…” he reads, eyes scanning further down the page. “Oh. You’re the Labiaplasty.”

You flush bright red at the word coming from his perfect mouth. You squirm uncomfortably. “Um, well… yes.”

“Don’t worry,” he tells you, placing a hand on your knee as if in comfort. He pulls it away before you can process it. “I’m more than familiar with the procedure. I trained down in L.A.” He says this like it’s supposed to explain something, and he winks at you again. It’s… upsetting.

You swallow thickly. “The thing is, I’d been hoping for a female doctor.”

Kemp’s eyes fly to your face as he realizes how uncomfortable you are. “Oh, Honey. I see.” You blush and he gives you a tender look. “You’re shy? That’s understandable.”

“Thank you, I—”

“But I’m sorry to tell you, Sweetheart, there aren’t any other women doctors in our practice.”

“Oh.” Your heart sinks. Getting this consult appointment had taken months, and you’d wanted to go to a place where you knew they were very good, very experienced. This place had been recommended as the best. “I see.”

Dr. Kemp looks pityingly at you. “Did you want to reschedule your appointment?” he asks gently. “Dr. Hickory won’t be taking new patients until after her leave, but I can have the receptionist take a look at next year’s calendar.”

You look at him with wide eyes, disappointed. “Next… next year?”

He makes an apologetic face. “Yeah, sorry.”

Sighing, you try to put on a brave face. You’re an adult, you tell yourself. Buck the fuck up. You’ve put up with male gynos before, after all. None of them ever looked like Dr. Kemp, but you shouldn’t hold the man’s good looks against him. He’s just here to do his job, to help you. “It’s okay,” you say, trying to approximate a friendly smile. “It’s fine. You can… you can be my doctor.”

Dr. Kemp’s eyes flash in satisfaction, but there’s something about it that’s more than just professional. “Good girl,” he says, and he says it all chipper and like it’s a normal thing to say to a patient, like it isn’t supposed to make your panties feel a little bit damp (and honestly, the sweetheart’s and the honey’s and the your breasts are lovely’s has probably contributed to the situation in your panties, too). “So,” Kemp says, sitting down onto the physician’s stool and rolling over. “Why don’t you tell me what makes you want this procedure.”

He’s giving you his full attention. He’s not even holding the clipboard anymore, and you find that it’s nearly impossible to meet his gaze for long. You look down at your lap instead, at your clasped hands against the white fabric of your sundress as you tell him, “Um, well I guess I just don’t, ah, don’t really like how I look… down there.” You nearly whisper the last words, ashamed.

“What don’t you like about it?” he asks softly.

“It just doesn’t look right,” you say, echoing the things your boyfriend had told you, things that you couldn’t help but to come to see as true. “It’s too much. Too big. It looks like…” you can’t even bring yourself to say the words that he’d used. “It’s just not pretty,” you whisper, cheeks burning in shame. “I want it to be prettier. Like other girls.”

“Other girls,” he repeats. “What other girls are we talking about?”

You scoff quietly and frown at your lap. “Like… you know. Like what you see in, in—”

“Porn?” Kemp says, voice tight. When you look up you’re struck by his darkening expression. He looks pissed off. “Let me guess,” he says, jaw working. “Boyfriend?”

You gape at him. “Ahm… no. Ex-boyfriend,” you murmur. Dr. Kemp looks very displeased, and you shrink back into yourself. “Is it… isn’t this like, a common procedure?” you ask meekly, wary of the man’s expression. “I looked at the website. There were lots of before and after pictures.” When you don’t get a response, you prod, “Doctor?”

“Steve,” he says, his expression lightening up somewhat. “You can call me Steve.”

You glance at his name tag that says Brendan Kemp, MD. “But—”

He scoots forward and puts his hands on your knees, rubbing over them. It pushes the hem of your dress up by the barest degree, but you ignore it. He’s looking you closely in the eyes. He looks sweet, and kind. And because of how handsome he is, how sure of himself too, it’s intimidating as hell. “Why don’t I have a look first, hm?” he says. “Give you my professional opinion, before you go deciding what needs fixing.”

You gulp and manage a tiny nod. “O-okay.” This is the part you’ve dreaded. Dr. Kemp (Steve, he’d told you to call him, but that just makes this whole experience feel more uncomfortable, more personal) scrutinizing your most private place.

He pulls out the stirrups from the end of the table and instructs you to put your legs up. “Take your shoes and underwear off and get comfy,” he says, smiling nicely at you as he says it, as if “comfy” is something you could possibly be while doing this.

He scoots away on his rolling stool to go over to the room’s counter and don latex gloves, giving you an illusion of privacy as you untie the laces of your shoes and slip them off your feet. They land on the floor with a muted ‘clunk’, and you slide your panties down your legs and tuck them under your lower back. They have a little wet spot on them that you don’t want Dr. Kemp to see. You slide down the table and put your feet into the stirrups, getting into the familiar, yet never-not-humiliating, position. You feel impossibly exposed, the cool air hitting between your legs and making you want to close them. As a useless, last-ditch effort, you straighten out the fabric of your dress so that it covers you to your knees, serving as a sort of barrier between you and him. “...Ready,” you say quietly, when it seems that he’s not going to return without your say-so.

He sits on the stool and rolls up close between your legs. You start trembling a little and you shut your eyes to try and calm down. “...Hey,” Kemp says, getting your attention. When you open your eyes again you see him standing over you, looking at your face instead of between your legs. “Honey,” he says gently. “You seem really nervous.”

You wince. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He looks kindly at you. “I just wanted to double check. You didn’t indicate any history of sexual assault on your intake form.”

You blanch. “Oh! N-no I— nothing like that.”

“Okay,” he says gently, patting your knee again. “Just wanted to make sure.”

You’re struck by how sweet that is of him, and you try to relax to show him you’re grateful for his care. “It’s okay, it’s fine,” you tell him as he sits back down on the stool. “This just… sucks, you know?”

“Mm.” You gasp as his gloved hands appear on your ankles and give an indicative tug. “Scoot down closer to the end of the table, Sweetheart.”

Heat floods you as you do as you’re told, putting your ass right to the edge of the table like he wants. It’s so humiliating. You want to cover your face with your hands, only refraining by gripping the edges of the padded table instead.

“Shh. Good girl,” he praises you, and you feel your belly clench at the words. Below you, he chuckles and self consciousness floods you as you think of what he must be seeing. You’re suddenly, horribly curious if you’re at all wet. Good God, you hope not. But your panties had been damp, that one little wet spot on the crotch… You tense again as Kemp’s hands appear on the inside edges of your knees, pushing them apart. “Open up for me now.”

You realize you’d been closing your legs together somewhat. “S-sorry,” you whisper.

He rubs your inner thigh—close to the knee but still shocking. “It’s okay. I know this is hard. I can tell you’re a woman who doesn’t spread her legs for many men.”

Your lips part as your mind reels, offended and horrified that he’d say that. Nevermind that it’s true, or that it sounds like he’s praising you, like he’s just calling you a ‘good girl’ in a different way. You seal your lips shut to keep yourself from scolding him.

The next thing you feel is him leaning closer. You swear you can feel his breath down there, but surely he wouldn’t be getting so close. You grit your teeth and try not to let your mind run away with itself. “So,” you say to try and make conversation, to try and prove to him and yourself that you’re a mature woman who can handle this. “So y-you can see. See what I mean.”

“Mm, still looking,” he says thoughtfully. You inhale sharply when he touches you, but you quickly slam your eyes shut and try to take calming breaths. You knew going into this that you’d need to be examined. He drags his fingers over your mons and down the puffy outer lips of your pussy. It’s extra sensitive to you because you’d shaved yourself completely bare before this appointment. Silly, maybe, but you’ve always thought that hair down there was unsightly, gross, and you didn’t want Dr. Hickory to have to deal with it.

Not that she’s dealing with you at all, now.

You bite your lip as you feel him exploring you slowly, with the barest of touches. He’s touching you in a way that feels more like a lover than a doctor. His thumbs gently dip into the crease of your outer lips and pull them apart, baring everything between. “Look at that,” he whispers, and you nearly cry out in mortification. You must whimper or something, because Dr. Kemp pauses and checks, “Still okay?”

You nod, eyes squeezed shut tightly. “Fine,” you say breathily. Deep breaths. He does this all the time. It’s no big deal to him. Just take deep— “Oh!”

He’s stroking the hood of your clit with the pad of a finger, just the barest, gliding touch. It’s slippery with something, and you feel halfway sick as you have to wonder if it’s a medical lubricant he’s somehow fetched, or your own arousal that he’s gathered up and is using to explore you. No, you think, it couldn’t be. He wouldn’t…

“You have a gorgeous pussy,” he breathes from between your legs.

“I… ex-excuse me?” you stutter. This time you can feel it when you clench and slick comes out of you. Dr. Kemp groans as if he’s seen it happen, and you feel your face flame. “I’m sorry,” you apologize, humiliated that you’re getting wet from this. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Shh sh sh,” he hushes you, one of his gloved hands smoothing over your inner thigh, this time much further up. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Your body’s just reacting naturally to being stimulated.” His gentle explanation does absolutely nothing to help with your situation, and you feel your belly tighten again in arousal. You whimper helplessly, somehow wanting him to comfort you. And he does. “Honey,” he breathes, going back to tracing the hood of your clit. His fingers move down, following the line of your inner lips, spreading them out and gliding over the thickest parts of them. Shame curls in your gut as you remember the words you ex had used:

“Fucking luscious,”

You blink at the ceiling tiles, shocked. Those had most certainly not been the words he’d used. “Um,” you start to say, but he interrupts you in a firm tone,

“Baby, listen to me, okay?” You’re frozen, unable to respond so he takes your silence for compliance. Between your legs, his fingers trace up and down the wet folds of your cunt. There’s no interpreting it any other way now—he’s caressing you. “This?” he says, whispering the words what feels like only inches from your skin. “This is your labia minora.”

You exhale shakily. “I—I know that.”

“Mm.” He keeps tracing them, keeps gliding around in the wetness that’s now becoming obscene. “It’s natural for you to look like this.”

“I just…” you stammer, still trying to bring this examination back into the realm of productive. “I th-think they’re too big. There’s too much…” you tense up at another wet stroke over your clit. “Too much...meat,” you grit out.

Between your legs, Steve makes a displeased sound. “That’s what the ex told you, huh?” He doesn't wait for you to answer, one of his thumbs sliding down, down, until it starts rubbing down at your taint, pushing right up against the edge of your pussy. You gasp and he shushes you. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong, here,” he murmurs, his breath a hot whoosh against you.

You whimper at the realization of how close he is to you now. “Please,” you whisper, “Dr. Kemp—”

“Steve,” he corrects gently, still thumbing circles of pressure into the thin skin at the edge of your hole, almost teasing, almost threatening with how close it is and how with only a little bit more pressure, a different angle, he could slide it right in. “I told you to call me Steve.” His other hand splays out over your mons, the thumb dipping down to swipe up and down over the hood of your clit. It’s a slick, gliding, barely-there touch. He’s hardly applying any pressure but that’s how you like it. You’re so sensitive there, and you can’t hold in the pitiful little moan that leaves your lips. Steve hums in approval. “Yeah,” he says, voice low and quiet. “You’ve got a prominent clitoral hood.”

You toss your head on the table, a whine building in your throat at his bold, clinical language. It doesn’t match his tone of voice or the way he’s touching you. This is so wrong. But you can’t stop it. You like it. He intimidates you horribly, and you like that, too.

He’s still stroking you there as he says, “What was that word you used, hm? ‘Meat’?”

You cringe.

“Well it is,” Steve says lowly. “Very meaty.” He traces your folds again, this time holding your labia delicately between his fingertips and rubbing the sensitive flesh. You just about die.

“St-steve, please,”

“And these lips,” he says, ignoring your pleas. “These gorgeous …juicy fucking folds.” he says, nearly growling the words. “Makes a man wanna lick, and suck…”

You go rigid at the first touch of his tongue. “Ohmygod,” you whisper, hips jolting up against his mouth without your permission. You’re about to apologize, but before you can, Dr. Kemp is loosing the filthiest, most appreciative groan, the tail end of the sound becoming muffled as he mashes his whole mouth against your pussy. “Holy—” Shit, you finish in your mind, unable to force words past your throat anymore. Steve mouths at you like he can’t wait, like he’s desperate, and you feel it as his tongue swipes broadly over your entire cunt. Your fingers spasm, digging painfully into the edges of the exam table as your whole body tenses up. “Oh, god,” you moan, hips jerking against his mouth.

He makes a muffled sound of pleasure and sucks everything he can into his mouth; your clit, your lips. He sucks, hard and sloppy, releasing it all with a loud, wet sound. “Fuck, honey,” he pants. “Never wanted to suck on a pussy so bad.” His hand returns to your mound, his thumb taking up the same swiping motion over your clit, only now you’re drenched and swollen, throbbing with sensitivity.

“Shit,” you whine, pressing up against his hand without realizing it at first.

He holds you down easily and flicks his thumb a little rougher, a little faster. “Yeah? He breathes, kissing at the edge of your sex, near your thigh in a move that is surprisingly sweet. “That feel good for you, Sweetheart?” You make an unplanned noise of assent, and he hums darkly. He’s pleased. “Good girl,” he says again, and flicks his thumb. “Such a big fat clit, and these pretty pink lips. Mmhm, so fucking plump. I could play with it all day, looove it.”

You toss your head, unable to take the words he’s saying. And he’s growling it all at you like it’s a good thing, like your pussy’s the best thing he’s ever seen. You can’t doubt for a second that he means it, but you’re just so overwhelmed by what he’s saying…

You make an embarrassingly high pitched sound when he presses a finger into you. “Oh!”

“Shsh,” he warns you, smoothing his other hand up the apex of your thigh, up under the fabric of your dress, over your belly. “Shh, honey. Don’t want the nurse to walk in, do you?”

You gasp, suddenly afraid of that possibility. He feels you get still and silent and soothes you with a heavy lick over your lips, the finger that’s inside of you curling. “You’re okay,” he promises, kissing your clit, sucking it and letting it pop from his mouth. You sob. “Shh. You’re okay.” He moves his finger shallowly, stroking you from the inside. It feels nice, and you exhale shakily, trying to calm yourself down.

“Steve,” you breathe. “You shouldn’t. We… I shouldn’t….”

All of a sudden he rises from the stool, standing to his full height and moving to the side of the table as he keeps his hand on you, in you. He stares down at you, his expression rapt but tender. It’s so much worse with him looking at you like this. It’s almost harder than when he had his face mashed against you and half your sex inside his mouth. It’s even more serious like this, you think as you blink up at him with parted lips. It’s more personal. He looks you right in the eyes, unfaltering, as he slips in another finger. You keen, and your hips press up into it, seeking. His lips curl, pleased. He moves his hand in such a firm, practiced way. He’s not pulling out very much at all. Not thrusting so much as he is rocking, grinding.

Inside, something starts to feel tight and desperate. You watch him watching you, watching it happen. He’s smiling, smug, he knows what he’s making you feel. “You’re soaking my hand, honey,” he murmurs, and you feel your cheeks flood hot with shame. “Uh uh,” he corrects you, stern. “No, it’s beautiful.”

He changes it, starts rocking deeper, curling against your walls and jabbing harder at that spot. It’s not an orgasm you feel so much as an urgency, and you squeak as the pressure builds. “S-something,” you try to say, try to tell him that something’s going to happen. But his eyes gleam in pleasure, like he already knows. Above your clit, the thumb of his hand starts rubbing in downward strokes: down down down. Holy fuck does it feel good. Your eyes slam shut as you feel it building, building and tightening. Oh—

“I want you to promise me,” Kemp says, and you’re shocked at how close his voice is. You open your eyes. He’s bent over, his face mere inches from yours as his hand keeps working. “Before I make you cum, I want you to promise me,” he growls. “Promise me that you’ll never let anybody cut on this fucking perfect pussy.”

You gasp, his words jabbing at the core of you almost as much as his fingers inside do, “Ahh-oh!”

“Promise me, Angel,” he says, rocking his hand harder, faster, harder. “Promise me now.”

“I… I…ha-oh! I pra–hom–mi–ssss!” Your eyes slam shut and your hips jerk against him as it happens. You cum, you cum hard. You hear him curse and know that he’s moving back down between your legs to look at your clenching cunt. He never stops jerking his hand into you, drawing the pleasure out. You’re loud. You squeal and shriek and jerk wildly through the whole thing, unable to control your body. It’s never felt this; this urgent, this out of control. You buck against his hand, feeling the wetness soaking everything beneath you, until finally it comes to an end.

He pulls out of you and uses both hands to spread your lips apart, staring. You whine and squirm, and then you really feel the extent of the wetness down there, and you blanch. “I—Oh no.” You try to sit up, try to pull away from him and get his hands off you, panicking. “I… I peed.” You struggle, mortified, pulling your feet from the stirrups and swinging them to the side of the table, trying to close yourself to him, trying to get off the table and—

“Heyheyhey, no. Hang on baby, calm down.” Steve stops you, his hands at your waist, keeping you seated on the table. He crowds you, holding you in place. “You didn’t honey, you didn’t. You’re okay.” He laughs. He’s laughing. You can’t believe it as you watch him. You begin to scowl, ready to be hurt and mad, but he hushes you with a kiss to your mouth.

You gasp and go silent, somehow more taken aback by this than anything he’s done yet. His mouth is so sure and confident over yours, his lips pillow soft but commanding. He pulls back from the kiss and looks at you. “You squirted, honey,” he explains, amusement still clear in his eyes, only now you’re calm enough that you can see the affection there, too. The satisfaction, the desire. He’s not making fun of you.

“What?” You look down to the end of the table, where you’d been splayed open for him. The paper covering and the vinyl padding of the table are soaked with a clear liquid. You look down to your lap, which is barely covered by the material of your bunched up sundress now. Between your thighs, it feels wet too. “I… I did?” you nearly whisper, astounded.

He laughs affectionately and leans in to kiss your forehead. “Yeah, Angel, you did. It was amazing.”

You flush and tuck your head down, feeling tingly from his obvious approval. The things he’d said about your body… “You really meant it?” you ask. “All the—”

“Yes,” he says firmly. He tips your chin up, forcing you to look at him. “Hey,” he says gently. “Remember what you promised me.”

You squirm uncomfortably. Maybe he finds you attractive, but you can’t help but to worry about other guys, about the future partners you’ll have. Steve might like it, but he’s just one man. The fact remains that down between your legs, you still look like most of the before halves of the before and after pictures. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, apologetic to dismiss his opinion of you. “But I just… I want my next boyfriend to think I’m pretty, there,” you say reluctantly, glancing up at him.

He has a fierce gleam in his eyes as he boldly tells you, “He already does,” and then surges down to kiss you again.

It’s been a long day. With both his own patients and a bunch of Hickory’s to see to as well, Steve is pretty tired by the time 5:00 rolls around and the office staff is closing up. He changes out of his scrubs and lab coat, back into his gym shorts and sneakers that he’ll jog home in. That’s how Cassie finds him. “Brendan, check it out!” She holds up her phone for him to see the picture of a wet, vaguely purple-colored newborn. “Boy,” she tells him. “Five pounds, whatever ounces. Small but healthy. She says they’re naming him Grady Harrison.”

Steve grins. “Awww.” What a horrible name.

Cassie puts her phone away and tilts her head at him. “A bunch of us are going for drinks. You want to come?”

Steve shakes his head. “I’m beat. Gonna head home soon.”

“Mm. You know your nickname is Boring Brendan,” she teases, grabbing up her purse and heading for the exit.

“It is not,” he laughs, waving her out the door. “I’m just gonna finish up with a few notes. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She waves goodbye and the office door falls shut, locking behind her because he’s the last one there and the office manager already left. Steve walks behind the partition of the nurse’s station and sits down, booting up one of the computers. He clicks the mouse over a few folders, typing in his password when it prompts him for entry into the patient data files. There’s one in particular whom he wants to learn everything he can about.

He finds the folder marked with her name:

Moreau, Ann J.

The corner of his mouth ticks up and he clicks to open the file. “Ann,” he murmurs the name, remembering the taste of her cunt against his tongue, filling his mouth, his senses. Mmm. She’d been delicious, exquisite. Not taking his eyes away from the computer screen, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the tiny scrap of lace she'd left behind in her hurry to escape him. He holds the panties under his nose, inhaling. Fuck, he thinks, remembering her delicate body in that delicate cotton dress, how she'd cried out and creamed herself for him. So sweet.

He wants to learn more about her, fully plans on tracking her down and taking her on a date. On many dates, if he can.

Because he’s never been the type to be satisfied by just one taste.

Masterlist