kash

post nut clarity ❦ "melting into your kiss" trend ❀ ; (suggestive)

֎ ࿐. . . headcanons

satoru as a parent ❀ hickeys (suggestive) clingy mornings ❀ dilf!gojo (suggestive)

— best friend!gojo

homoerotic friendship ❦ "do you like me?" while he’s literally inside you ❦ him jerking off while face-timing you ❦ eating you out on your bday ❦ using a silicone copy of his dick + part two ❦ headcanons ❦ sharing a bed ❦ dacryphilia (suggestive) using his hands as your bra (suggestive) showering together ❦

— nerd!gojo

munch ❦ infodumping ❦

— clan head!gojo

arranged marriage ❀ no pressure! ❦

even now, that contrast endures: he is still satoru gojo—the strongest sorcerer of the modern age, the head of the gojo clan—and yet he is also your husband.

there are small moments. pockets of intimacy.

like the time you confronted him for skipping a meeting he was absolutely required to attend. you cornered him in the corridor, ready to give him an earful. the grown-ass man responded with staggering maturity by pushing aside his blindfold, tugging down his lower eyelid, and sticking out his tongue—informing you he’d rather eat a spoonful of wasabi than sit through a room of old farts (higher ups) lecturing him about "boring stuff." he said it with such earnest conviction it almost sounded reasonable, as if he’d genuinely weighed the options and chosen wasabi as the kinder fate.

you, having spent the entire afternoon fretting over the inevitable fallout, had no patience left. he blinked down at you, catching the (adorable) indignant puff of your cheeks, the flare of your nostrils.

"… ah. you were actually stressed about it."

he produced a small paper bag you hadn’t noticed he'd been hiding behind his back. baby-blue with gold embossing. you recognised the logo instantly: that new pâtisserie in sapporo, the one you'd mentioned offhand once before immediately dismissing it as too far to bother with.

"i, uh," he scratched the back of his neck, suddenly sheepish in a way you didn't know he was capable of, "figured you'd like to try it." inside were the pastries you'd been dying to try—only sold in limited batches each day. and then, just as quickly as the vulnerability surfaced, satoru brightened with familiar shamelessness. "can i have one too?"

"wha-? oh, sure."

you never knew what to do with him in moments like that.

and you can never forget the time he noticed you limping after that interminable banquet. pride made you attempt subtlety, smoothing your hand down your kimono, back ramrod straight, steps measured despite the frayed thong of your zōri digging into the tender skin between your toes.

"you're walking weird," he observed out loud.

"i'm fine."

as always, satoru didn’t waste his time with arguments. ever the man of action, he squatted down right there in the corridor, examining first your sandal, then the long stretch of hallway still ahead. he scratched his chin and made a thoughtful little hmph. you should’ve known then.

before you could protest, he slid one arm behind your back, the other beneath your knees, and swept you off the floor in a bridal carry that countless women would kill to experience.

"satoru gojo—put me down right now!"

"okay!" he chirped, and then promptly let go. you shrieked—only for the fall to halt inches above the floor as he caught you in his arms. "you didn’t think i’d actually let you get hurt, did you?" he chided softly, taking long, steady strides down the hall, oblivious to the stares of passersby.

truthfully? you hadn’t. not even in the deepest recess of your mind had it ever occurred to you he’d let you get hurt.

for some inexplicable reason.

xxx

it’s winter. late december in tokyo.

the elevator dings open, and you step onto the 445th floor of the tokyo skytree. cold air immediately nips at your cheeks, the sting making you hunch your shoulders. you shove your hands deep into the pockets of your white, fuzzy coat, grateful for its warmth. satoru lags a few steps behind, clad in a black trench coat, the soft soles of his balenciaga oxfords muffled against the carpeted floor.

the city stretches endlessly beneath you. red and orange trails of traffic winding between buildings, forming an artificial milky way. your breath fogs the glass, and on a whim you draw a small heart with your finger.

something feels… off. it takes you a few more seconds to realise that the usual hushed murmurs of tourists and muted shuffling of heels on the observation deck are completely absent.

huh. looks like you have the observation deck entirely to yourselves.

you turn toward satoru, ready to remark on it—and freeze. he’s kneeling. your first thought is that he’s dropped something. instinctively, you squat down to help, forehead bumping awkwardly against his.

"hey- what are you looking for?"

satoru flashes you an impish grin. "oh, nothing," he replies airily, tipping a small black box toward you. "we've been married for, what, forever? but i never got to ask you the proper way. and you—my sweet girl—deserve the whole enchilada." your gaze falls briefly to the ring: a fat diamond nestled in black velvet, catching the light from his eyes and refracting it into a thousand tiny stars. "-ignoring the minor technicality that we're already married…" satoru takes a deep breath, as if steeling himself.

"will you marry me?"

best friend!satoru who lets you use his card when you’re sad. doesn’t ask what for, just sends you a selfie of him pouting with a “buy smth pretty so you don’t cry” caption. if you don’t spend at least $300, he gets personally offended.

best friend!satoru who showers with you “to save the environment,” but spends more time helping you exfoliate your back and rinse your conditioner out than actually washing himself. you turn around once and catch him palming himself lazily under the stream. “oh,” he says, blinking. “you can keep singing, don’t mind me.”

best friend!satoru who has zero boundaries when it comes to your body. he adjusts your straps, straightens your necklaces, zips you into dresses from behind with such painstaking care that should not be so casual.

best friend!satoru who hasn’t fucked you, but has definitely slept curled around you like a body pillow on many occasions. who dry humps you during cuddles—not even always consciously. sometimes it’s in the middle of a movie, arms wrapped around you, hips rocking languidly against your ass while you eat popcorn. other times he full-on moans in his sleep.

best friend!satoru who is that annoying best friend who accidentally walks in while you’re changing.

best friend!satoru who kisses your forehead chastely. who holds your hand walking through crowds. who likes to pull you into his chest and rest his chin on the top of your head

best friend!satoru who gets hard watching you cry over your ex. not out of cruelty—he hates seeing you hurt, truly—but you’re sobbing into his chest, voice wobbling through half-formed sentences, and it does something to him. part of him wants to cheer you up with takeout and movies. the other part wants to fuck you so good you forget that asshole’s name entirely.

best friend!satoru who keeps saying “it’s not sexual unless you cum” like that’s a rule in the friend handbook.

so when you’d told satoru you were ready to start dating again, he thought you were bluffing. how could you want to date anyone else when he was right in front of you? when he’s constantly on top of you? when he always finds himself inside of you? you and him are practically dating. you go out and do couple-y things, you just lack the label. 

and that’s because while both of you have been addicted to each other since that night, neither of you are bold enough to admit that you have feelings for each other. feelings beyond carnal desire.

you’d simply come to the conclusion that your best friend wanted nothing more from you than just sex and you wanted more. now lines are beginning to blur and you wanted to move on before things got messier than they already were.

now that you are moving on– now that you’re going on a date with some fucker who probably doesn’t even deserve you– he’s upset. beyond upset, actually. he’s livid. 

that’s why he bent you over your bathroom’s vanity, pushed your dress up and makeup products to the ground and thought to prove himself to you.

now his hand tugs at your hair, essentially forcing you to stare at yourself in the mirror while he reduces you to a mess like he does every time his cock is inside of you. 

“mmh, could he make you feel as good as i do, huh? you think he knows how to make this pretty pussy feel good?” the question comes through gritted teeth and it finally clicks in your dumb little brain. “i don’t fucking think so.”

“are you j-jealous or something?” you’re able to ask, though it’s choked. his reply never comes, but his thrusts get harsher– merciless– and you take it as a wordless admission, crying out your next words, “me ‘n you are jus’ friends, t-toru!”

he tugs at your hair harder and the other hand that resides on your waist squeezes your skin gratingly. “we’re not just friends and you fucking know it.” he replies, voice hushed and raw with emotion. 

you do. you know it. you and satoru are glued at the hip both figuratively and literally. there’s no one on the earth that makes you feel a quarter of what you feel for him. and you also know there isn’t a single man who could fuck you as well as satoru does. that was the bet that started this after all. 

but when you told him you wanted to start dating again, he brushed you off with a “yeah, right,” and it made you believe that there wasn’t a chance with him. you figured that the idea of you and satoru being together was simply a dream that would never happen.

though, you’re not so sure anymore because he’s spewing out possessive words faster than you can comprehend while his cock stirs you up. 

the reality is, you’ve always had satoru in the palm of your hand. he was whipped. wrapped around your finger. he doesn’t want to share you– he never has and he can’t believe you’ve been this oblivious. 

“he’s never gonna make you feel this good,” he confidently states. “no one is ever gonna make you feel this good– you’re made for me.” 

“fuck!” you cry, tightening around his cock at the affirmation. “satoru, please!”

“that’s it, pretty, say my fuckin’ name.” he moans, sloppily thrusting into you as his mind runs away from him. “look at me and tell me how much you like it.”

your eyes nearly cross as they try to find his in the mirror, but when they finally land on those baby blue orbs that you truly adore, you feel yourself grow even hotter. “love it. i love it, toru.”

he smiles triumphantly like he’s won the lottery. he’s sure that this is better, though. you? admitting to the fact that you love the way he fucks you? fucking priceless. 

“yeah? you love my cock?” he asks, cockily, yet he knows the answer. 

you give him a broken sob with a nod, “so much!”

“then why don’t you cum for me, baby. cum all over this cock ‘n show me how much you love it.” he coaxes breathily, continuing to fuck you into oblivion. “it’s yours. i’m fucking yours.”

you can’t stop yourself as soon as you hear his request. the tight coil in the pit of your tummy comes undone as you sob out his name. you trap his twitching cock between his spasming cunt all the while he fucks you through your blinding orgasm. every second feels more euphoric than the last, more tears running down your face at the pleasure. 

satoru isn’t far behind you with the way you grip him so heavenly. he’s quickly pulling out, the hand in your hair coming to wrap around his cock. you whine at the loss of his warmth, but you’re pleasantly surprised when you hear the lewd noise of his hand vigorously pumping himself and the sounds of his pretty groans. 

he lets out a string of curses, hand moving quicker before his body jerks and his ribbons of his cum spurt out. some of it lands on your bare ass, but the majority ends up on your date outfit. he can’t help but smile at the fact that he’s ruined your pretty outfit. one meant for someone who isn’t him. 

“you know what? i think you should cancel your date.” he pants out. “‘n be sure to tell him that you’re taken now.”

he watches the way you nod with a dazed smile and he can’t help but feel proud of himself. you’re finally his and he’s finally yours. 

© all works belong to SLUTURU 2025. do not copy or repost.

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ "who in this room would you be most likely to hook-up with?"

you glance around his bedroom. mostly from confusion, as you're unsure if you heard him right. just like the last time you checked, it's only the two of you in his room — him, sat on his bed, and you, sat on his desk chair.

"satoru. you're the only other person in this room." you blink.

"that doesn't answer the question."

you roll your eyes. although you understand exactly what he is trying to do , you have the desire to play coy for a moment or two. "well, it's a stupid question. a waste of a 'truth'." you huff, crossing your arms over your chest.

"well, you still need to answer." having been friends with you for so long, gojo has grown patience towards your persistent teasing and defiance. "it's the rules of the game."

"fine. you." you state bluntly.

"full sentence."

"ughhh." you toss your head back and groan dramatically, before continuing with furrowed brows, "the person in this i'd be most likely to hook up with is you, satoru."

"i'm flattered." he hummed, relaxing against the wall adjacent to his bed.

"don't be." you frown, turning your head away from him so he doesn't the flustered twitching of your undereye, "it was between you, myself and suguru." you mutter, motioning to the polaroid of gojo and geto that was displayed on the wall. "and just for the record, the only reason i chose you over him is because you are 3D."

"i think that's the sweetest thing you've ever said to me." he swipes an imaginary tear away from his lashline. then, he leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees, staring at you lovingly, "you're the person in this room i'd most likely hook up with too."

you click your tongue, "thanks."

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ "are you wearing underwear?"

you titter at how ludicrous of a question that is, then say, "yeah."

with missing a beat, he replies, "i dare you to prove it."

in an instant, a hot flush rises to your cheeks and your stomach flips at the mere thought of stripping your clothes off in front of your best friend. albeit, he's seen you nude before but those instances were either benign — like when you wanted an objective option on whether your tits were uneven — or totally by mistake — like when he "accidentally" walked in on you in the shower.

despite the embarrassment, you're eventually able to splutter, without making eye-contact, "that's not how this game works. i answered your truth so you can't immediately give me a dare."

"but how do i know it's the truth if you don't prove it?" he says in a soft manner, tilting his head, "because i think you're lying. no girls wear panties to bed."

"i do.." you grumble, crossing your arms over your chest and slumping back against the wall next to your bed. maybe it was crazy to admit but you really were considering flashing your best friend. only because you knew it wouldn't be in a sexual way. nothing between you and gojo is ever sexual or romantic; yeah, sometimes things can get a little intimate, but it's always done in a playful and platonic manner. and this is no different, you reason. plus, your dare to gojo was far worse, so this would be easy in comparison and you don't want him to think of you as a chicken.

"why don't you stand up and i'll check for you?" gojo offers.

you huff, hopping up from the bed and standing in front of him, arms still crossed over your chest. with your eyes narrowed, you look down at him and scoff, "fine." you snatch his phone off the desk where he sat it and grip it firmly in your hand, "but i'm keeping ahold of this until your done."

"okay." he smirks, clicking his tongue and he gets off the chair and onto his knees in front of you. he looks up at you and thankfully he's wearing his blindfold, otherwise the intense eye-contact probably would've made your knees weak. he pinches the fabric at the edge of your shorts and snickers, "and you're actually letting me do this?"

"why not? we've done worse." you sigh, shrugging, looking away from him so he doesn't flustered twitching of your eyebrows. "plus i'm so tired that this has somehow become more laughable than awkward."

"you know that's what i like to hear." he hums, and you let your eyes flutter shut as your body tenses up in response to his nimble fingers tugging your shorts down and exposing your bare skin to the chilly air. "oh, look at that," his sultry tone sending shivers up your shine and causing your eyes to squeeze shut, "no panties. what did i say?"

before you have a chance to answer, not that you intended on saying anything, he answers himself, "girls don't wear underwear to bed." you feel his cold fingertips graze the hood of your pussy, then tracing your slit. since your eyes are tightly closed, you can't see the foolish grin spreading across his face at the hushed whimpers and cute noises you make at his touch. "someone wasn't telling the truth."

his hot breath warms your cunt as he leans in close. he skillfully uses his two thumbs to spreads your lips to allow himself to plant a firm kiss against your clit. he laughs again when you whine from pleasure and press your thighs together. then, he swiftly grabs your shorts and yanks them back up, giving you a slap on the ass before pushing you onto the bed.

your eyes shoot open when you stumble back and land on your soft sheets, gasping on impact. " 'toru!" you cry, adjusting your shorts to ensure their on properly. "what was that for?"

"fun." he shrugs happily, sitting back down on the chair and manspreading his legs. hence you're clearly able to see the buldge against the crotch of his grey sweats, almost like it's intentional. "and what're you staring at?"

you bite your bottom lip, hastily averting your eyes, "nothing."

"no, c'mon, tell me." you can virtually hear the sly smile in his voice, "i dare you to tell me.

"i'm looking at the wall." you spit defensively, cattily gesturing to the blank wall in front of you. technically you were telling the truth, since that was what you were, but only after he pointed out that you were staring at his erection.

"you're a dirty little liar." he says with contempt, though it's barely detectable since he's already trying to stifle a chuckle, "you lied about wearing underwear and you're lying now. when does it end?" he woes, shaking his head.

there's a beat of silence, wherein he stares at you with an amused smile playing on his lips, while you keep your eyes firmly planted on the wall and as far from his dick-print as possible.

"i think i get to give you a dare. since you lied the first time."

"i don't think that's a rule." you turn back to him, furrowing your brows together. although you weren't certain on the official rules of 'truth or dare', your friend did make a fair point — you blatantly lied when asked a 'truth' , so surely in a fair game that would result in a penalty. "but sure, go ahead."

"get on your knees."

you blink, shoulders stiffening as you perk up at the request, "that's it?" you tip your head to side, intently trying to analyse the coy yet cunning smirk playing on his lips. "just on my knees? nothing else?"

"just on your knees. on the floor." he shrugs as through it's nothing, and to you, it is. solely because you don't notice the hostile glint in his eyes as he watches you slowly get up from your spot on the bed, and kneel down on the floor. however, you do it right next to the bed, and before your knees hit the ground, he interupts, "come a bit closer."

when you respond by shooting him a bewildered expression, he hastily defends himself, "why're you acting like i'm some stranger?"

you don't answer that, instead you hop onto your feet and shuffle towards him until you're only a couple inches away from where he is sat. then, you drop down onto your knees in front of him, gazing up at his strong form slouched in the chair. his elbow is propped up on the arm rest, and his legs are still spread, giving you an obscenely clear view of the imprint of his erection on his sweats. and now that you're on your knees in front of him, it's positioned right in front of your face, so you need to keep your eyes firmly trained on his face so you don't give him the satisfaction of staring at his cock.

"so, am i done?" you spit.

"give it a second." holding eye-contact, he sneaks his hand under the waist of his trousers and slips his hardened length out. so casually; without an ounce of shame or even a wince of embarrassment, like revealing his cock to you was completely standard. albeit, you've been best friends for so long you have seen his dick before, but only in the form of subtle glances when changing in the same room, or that time the towel he was wearing around his hips after he came out the shower fell off while he was walking. although, when that happened, you were laughing so hard that your eyes blurred with tears and you hardly even got a good look.

regardless, now it's real and very deliberate. he holds it right in front of your face, daringly angling the tip closer to your face, and somehow there is an almost magnetic pull as you aimlessly drift forward, your lips slowly nearing his thick shaft.

when he notices your hynoptic fixation on his cock, practically salivating over him with the most hungry glint in your eyes, he can't help but chuckle, "you've done your dare. you can get up, if you want." you look at him in a pleading manner, which causes him to clarify, "or you can stay here." he hums, smiling as he cups your cheeks in his hands and swipes a couple of stray hairs away from your face, "you look perfect. right where you belong."

"shut up." you roll your eyes, attempting to turn your head away bashfully, but you're prevented from doing to by his firm grip on your jaw. " n' put your dick away."

gojo scoffs with laughter at the insincere rattle in your voice. since he's confident that you're just lying through your teeth again, he allows himself to tease you a little, "only if you give it a kiss first." he holds your face in place with one hand, while the other manoeuvres his cock closer to you, until his tip is brushing against your soft lips, his pre smudging your skin.

however, his grip on your jaw has relaxed, to the point where you could easily shake him off if you wanted to. yet, you don't. instead, you gaze up at him, maintaining eye-contact while you purse your lips and press a brief kiss against his shaft. he gently pulls his length away once your done, allowing you to lip his precum off your lips, shuddering slightly at the salty flavour.

"it's my turn, isn't it?" you ask in a small voice.

gojo doesn't look at you, focussing on wiping the remaining precum off his dick, presumably so he could comfortably stuff it back into his sweats. "yeah." he murmurs, still partially in a haze as the image of you kissing his tip remains seared into his mind.

"i dare you to fuck me."

his whole body stiffens momentarily, as his face drops into a subtly astonished expression. although that only lasts a second before a pleased grin spreads across his lips. it's took long enough, but it seems his perverted desires have finally rubbed off on you. "you're supposed to ask 'truth or dare' first."

"satoru." you whine.

"but alright." he hums, stroking his thick length in his fist, "come sit on it."

without missing a beat, you instantly spring up from your spot on the floor. about to remove your short yourself, a overeager gojo interupts by leaning forward and tugging them down on your behalf, revealing your bare pussy underneath. despite how he had already established you weren't wearing any panties, the abrupt sight of your naked cunt still knocked the air out of his lungs.

you kneel on the chair, facing him with your legs on either side of his. in one feverish motion, you align your hole with his tip and sink down on his thick length, but there wasn't enough determination in the world that would allow you to bottom out in one try. no, you were stuck with him halfway inside you, as you held onto his shoulders and writhed in agony at the stretch.

" 's too much!" you cried into his neck, arms wrapped around his shoulders and gripping his figure close to yours for even an ounce of comfort. "fuck, 'toru.."

as soon as gojo felt your walls clinging to him like your life depended on it, he knew he would never be able ot get enough of your pussy. he was officially addicted upon the first taste of your sweet hole. even when you're too tight to consume all of him, the part of him that was lucky enough to fit inside you so far was almost vibrating with delight. it's so unfortunate for him, because he was teetering on an orgasm before you've even really began. it's kinda pathetic how much he's been craving you, hence he has to bite down his bottom lip to keep it contained for now.

eventually you were able to reach his base, with help from his increased precum and your slick pussy. his fingers idly toyed with your clit during your whole journey down, while muttering under his breath about getting you wetter, but in reality, it was merely a poor distraction from his shamefully imminent climax.

"taking my cock so well. this pussy was fuckin' made for me." he huffed, big hands planted on your hips to keep you stable as you began to move on his cock, whining feebly as his length squeezed in and out of your spongy walls.

once your whimpered died down a little, he utilised his grip on your waist to bear down and drag you up and down his length. "let me, baby." he cooed. his fat cock stuffed into your poor cunt was so overwhelming, it left your knees weak and useless. hence, you were content to relax in his hold and allow him to control your movements. since that was the only feasible way you'd be able to keep taking his cock , since your legs were far too numb for you to do it yourself.

soon enough, thanks to his unrelenting arm strength, you were bouncing aggressively on his hardened shaft. he'd yank you upwards as though you were weightly then shove you right back down, until your pleading clit slapped against his base and his tip was prodding against your cervix. he was fierce and quick with it too; repeating the movements as fast as his arms would allow him, until your tits were jumping obscenely with each thrust. in fact, he could've gone faster. if it weren't for the intense grip your cunt had on his cock, and the friction it caused.

"aah— nghh, ahh, 'toru!" you squeal, partially due to how forceful he being, and partially due to the hot bliss coursing through your tired body, his cock filling with you with satisfaction each time it stretches out your hole.

you may have thought you were struggling to deal with the pleasure, but that's only because you didn't know what was going on in gojo's head. "can't believe i've never fucked you like this bef— shit." he could hardly make it to the end of his sentence before another surge of heat wracked through him. god, he was so close. but he couldn't let himself cum too soon. you've only been riding him for about two minutes, and the last thing he'd want is for you to think that is how long he typically lasts. or rather, how short he lasts.

because it's untrue. with other girls, he can go for upwards of fifteen minutes before his first ejaculation and then go for hours after the fact. but with you it's different. you've got the tightest hole he's ever had the priveledge of experiencing, and the prettiest pussy that he almost feels guilty for stuffing. oh, and your sweet moans; it's unlike anything he's every heard before — so breathy yet almost melodic. like a pornographic siren song.

and the most obvious reason he was ready to bust so early: it's you. his best friend who he's been lusting after from the moment he hit puberty. and his desire for you only worsened after y'all moved in together for college. but he could never have you because he was always too afraid to ask. which was unlike him — usually he's quite confident and assured when it comes to these things, but with you it's different. it's always been different. he hides his real feelings under playful flirtation (that you assume is platonic, but it never is) because the idea of confessing to you and being faced with rejection makes his stomach churn with fear. genuinely he wants you so bad that if you were to deny him, he might combust. therefore, he finds it easier to just hide his attraction to you behind the facade of pseudo-platonic affection. and deal with his repressed feelings by jerking off to your selfies and instagram profile before bed.

but now, everything is so real. the way your limp body is pressed against his and your tight pussy is squeezing his cock. all it takes is a whiny moan of "toruuu~ mpph, i'm so close." to send him over the edge, as his dick twitches and starts spilling inside you.

he keeps a firm grip on you as he climaxes, and loses control as he wildly jerks you up and down on his lap, forcing you to take his cock at unreal speeds, due to the friciton between your walls and his length being lessened by the hot seed that spurts into you.

"keep going. fuck, take it all. so good f' me." he rambles, eyes rolling back in his head. eventually, after a prolonged period of ecstacy, he comes down from his high and when his vision clears, he sees you staring at him, face inches from his. he offers you a weak smile, and shifts slightly in his seat. since his cock is still buried inside you, his action cause you to mewl slightly.

"that was quick." you tease, trying your best to suppress a smile.

gojo scoffs, averting his eyes yet awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck, "because it's cold in here. i usually go for longer." he says in the most unbothered tone he can muster.

"i don't believe you." you shrug, but just as satoru opens his mouth to defend himself, you interject, "you're going to have to prove it to me sometime."

gojo unfurrows his brows. originally he was frowning when he thought you were going to continue to take the piss out of him, however when he hears your proposition, his lips can't help but pull into a smirk, "needy slut." he hisses, slipping his finger down to rub the pad of his middle finger against your clit, chuckling when you moan and jerk away from his touch, "fine. i'll fuck you tomorrow too, if that's what you want." again, he's such a good actor that he's able to speak as though he's not the one who is desperate to feel your insides again.

"mhm." you nod, choking on your own giggles as satoru continously tries to reach for your clit no matter how you're sat on his lap.

"i'll need buy some condoms first." he muses, largely distracted by the playful little cat-and-mouse game between his hand and your sensitive clit. however, it draws to an abrupt end when you freeze, after he says, "unless you want to take this relationship from friends to co-parents."

Mafia! Prettyboy Gojo can't get your name out of his mind, as you bite your lower lip, focusing on making his drink - 'the first of the new job, you're special' you tease, and Satoru manages to get some of his charm together, chuckling as he leans over the bar. 'I am special, hmm?' you wonder why he wants that many sugary concoctions in one drink, but god it's the best drink, and he has to murmur 'bet you taste even better' earning your blush even under the flashing lights, 'huh?' he just brushes back your hair, smirking before he walks off, bombarding Sukuna with questions about you.

Mafia! Prettyboy Gojo specifically requests you sit with him during the next meeting, as they discuss the Zenin family and the Kamo family, two other big names in the Mob scene, but now he gets to focus on you, as he decorates your collarbone with snowy powder, snorting it off you, while you can't stop a little whimper. No one hears it but him, and it makes him feral, cock throbbing as your hips shift, his eyes notice every movement until they close, and he licks the residue off your throat, hot tongue making your mind go insane with images of just what that long pink tongue can do.

Mafia! Prettyboy Gojo finds these meetings about the business so much more fun now, but instead of looking at any of the strippers, he's only looking at you, at your pretty eyes, plump lips parted as you look at him, and he wonders how pretty you'll look cumming just for him. When they're all leaving the meeting in the VIP room the next time, you can't stop yourself, sitting on his damn thigh, wetness making your panties sticky, and you look at him then. 'Need something, sweets?' he murmurs, smirking like an arrogant little ass, as his hand slips up and down your thigh, and he's been edging you for just too long, so you break - 'touch me, please Mr. Gojo'

Mafia! Prettyboy Gojo dies internally at your request, precum already making his boxers stick as he finds your clit under this slutty skirt you have on, rolling a fingertip over a twitchy clit, and your head falls back, 'mnh, s'good!' you whine, grinding on his thigh, but it's just not enough for Satoru, he turns you so you're straddling him on this red velvet couch, he looks dangerous but somehow sweet, as you clutch his suit jacket, and he sinks two fingers in your cunt, pressing against that spongy spot in your slick walls, making your cunt drool down to his pretty silver rolex, those sleeves of his coated with you as you roll your hips, moaning, back arching - 'shh, sweets, don't want anyone t'hear this slutty cunt, hmm?'

Mafia! Prettyboy Gojo has the most ridiculous, long thick fingers you've ever felt, you're closer and closer as he continues curling them inside your eager hole, your lips just a breath from his as your hands now enwrap in his silky white locks, grinding even more on his hand, as he chuckles softly, his breath ghosting over your lips. 'need me to play with that little clit, too?' you nod weakly - 'sure things, pretty girl, there you go, that's it' you're shattering now, and Satoru is watching, while his thumb presses over your twitchy clit, and you're cumming so hard you feel dizzy, pussy pulsing and dripping down his fingers, trembling thighs on either side of him.

Mafia! Prettyboy Gojo sighs at how pretty you are, slipping those two fingers in your mouth, smirking and murmuring 'suck them clean, be a good girl for me' and you eagerly obey, before he grabs your hair by the nape of your neck, slamming your lips down on his. You both get interrupted by a very amused Sukuna then, who says 'let her get to work Satoru, or you need to get behind the bar and shake your ass' Satoru chuckles as you're blushing furiously, and he helps you adjust your skirt and panties, 'give her the day off tomorrow, I'll pay to cover someone' Sukuna sighs 'whatever' he grumbles, you blink then, looking down at his grinning face 'Satoru I can't afford to take off' he doesn't know the bills you have, the situation you have to take care of with your family, to help them, he sighs then 'I'll pay you four times your shift to just date me'

Mafia! Prettyboy Gojo has never really gone on a date, no he just has girls on his arm, under him on his bed, he certainly didn't have to even try to do something like offer money, but he'd offer anything for a chance at you. You all don't end up going anywhere, though, because once you're in the back of Satoru's limo, and he's doing a line off your inner thigh, he starts licking at it, and before you know it he's dragged your panties off, burying his pretty face right in your pussy. 'ah, Mr. Gojo!' he leans up as he swipes the flat of his tongue from your drooling little hole to your clit, pressing a kiss on it 'Satoru, while you're cummin' all over m'face, hmm baby? taste s'fucking sweet' Satoru dives back in and the sounds of him slurping you up are obscene

Mafia! Prettyboy Gojo licks and sucks your clit, humming on it until you're shattering, cumming so hard you see stars, then you're riding him right in that limo, struggling to take his huge cock, as it stretches your tight little pussy out, veiny and thick and sloppy, he moans into your mouth as your walls tighten around his cock, as he slams up endlessly into your pretty cunt over and over. You're on your knees, sucking his cum off him, off his pretty pink tip, before you're on your knees right in the plush limo seat, and he's hitting it from the back, making you cry out 'Satoru!' which makes him bust again, inside you so deep, pulling out and watching your arousal and his cock drip down so messy, before he scoops his sticky cum and shoves it back inside you.

Mafia! Prettyboy Gojo can't stop thinking of how good it looked, your pussy sucking up the cum so greedy, when he sees you the next day at your work, and it's not long until he's behind the bar, eating your pussy that he cannot get enough of, all while you're trying to work, you're so cute trying to mix a drink when his tongue is on your clit, and you're squeaking at him, 'Satoru, s-stop' but he can't stop. He's got your panties in his pocket, he'll keep them for later, you shouldn't worry about that, but you're trembling with nerves and fear when he runs out to deal with the Zenin bullshit with everyone, worried about things you don't fully know yet.

Mafia! Prettyboy Gojo is dying to get back to you, he doesn't wanna deal with all this shit, he just wants to drink you up more, but here he is, as he deals with some of the bullshit that the Zenins are doing, he can't stand them then, when he has to actually show them just who and what the Gojo family is. When he is covered in blood, him, Suguru, Toji and Sukuna come back to the club, exhausted, when you see him you blink back tears, and he murmurs 'come to my place, clean me up?' He is exhaling and shooting that smirk, but there's so much behind it, you see now. You eagerly obey, realizing you both don't know anything about each other yet, as you're bandaging his pretty face, all cut up, in his pristine bathroom, and you're wondering just what it is that Satoru has gotten into, but for now you both just kiss, his blood tangy against your lips, as his kiss gets hungry, desperate, and he murmurs 'I need you'

Mafia! Prettyboy Gojo He's smearing that blood across your pretty tits as he has you right on his bathroom counter, knowing he'll do anything to protect you, to keep you, from shit you will now get into for being with him, cupping your face as he fucks into you, and your eyes roll back in your skull, covered in Satoru's spit, his blood, now his precum as he's pumping in and out of you, knowing he certainly can't let you go, but he also can't let anyone know you're his weakness.

Your eyes roll back down.

“Mhm.”

"And it was such a good question.”

You turn a page. "Really?”

“Yup.” He’s draped over the corner of your desk now, like gravity has wronged him, whining. “It was such a thoughtful… personal… deeply relevant… extremely genius level getting-to-know-you tier question that—”

You scowl. "—Satoru, enough. Just do your job."

It lands harder than expected. The sigh he lets out is deeply, theatrically offended. And when you glance up again, he’s sprawled over that same corner of your desk you made the mistake of clearing for him on day one because you’d thought, foolishly, that giving him a designated surface might contain him.

It had not.

Nothing about Satoru had ever suggested he could be contained.

Snowy white hair falls against his brow, sleeves rolled to his elbows; looking far too expensive and far too comfortable for someone whose official title is intern. His coffee is sweating beside your open planner — the one with a date next week circled in red: WEDDING, scrawled across the margin in your own handwriting. The condensation trails towards a stack of vendor invoices and—

…

Wait.

Are those the same vendor invoices you asked him to file yesterday?

Fucking great.

“Oh, c’monnn,” he grumbles, blinking at you over the rim of those absurdly expensive sunglasses he insists on wearing indoors. “One question. Just a tiiiiny one. It’s completely harmless. Humor me, yeah?”

You narrow your eyes.

“Satoru, you’ve been trying to ask one question for the last four months.”

“Yeah,” he says. “And you’ve been dodging it for four months. Imagine that.”

Technically… four months and four days. But who’s counting?

With an exhausted groan, your eyes fall shut, pinching the bridge of your nose. Noise drifts in from the hall — the elevator, the printer, a phone trilling somewhere nearby.  But when you look up again, it all seems to fall away.

He’s gone strangely still. The smug grin hasn’t disappeared, but it’s softened at the edges, hooked at one corner with his head tilted slightly. And those eyes…

Oh.

That’s — no. You’ve seen his eyes before. Obviously. Four months of them. But right now, with the morning light doing something cruel and unhelpful behind him, they catch in a way that makes you forget you were mid-thought. The kind of blue that doesn’t ask if you’re looking. It already knows.

Which means of course, you look away first. “Fine.” Your hand drops as you mutter. “One question. But if it’s stupid, I’m sending you back to HR.”

It’s not much of a threat. It’s his last day, after all, and for reasons you still don’t fully understand, Satoru has always seemed oddly immune to consequences — which, frankly, feels statistically improbable given the amount of shit he’s managed to pull in the few months of being here.

“One question?” his grin sharpens. You point your pen at him. “Don’t make me regret this.” Yet his pleased chuckle is already making you. “Awhh… look at you. Finally yielding.” His pen twirls between his fingers, nodding with false solemnity. “Okay. So, here’s the thing… throughout these four months working beside you, I’ve seen a lot—"

“—that’s not a question.” You deadpan.

But ignoring you, he reclines back in the chair, hands clasped behind his head.

“Liiiike… I’ve seen the exact face you make when Mei-Mei emails you,” he smirks. “Even noticed you work through lunch more than you should. And I’ve noticed that little line right here—” he gestures vaguely between his own brows “—every time the budget goes sideways.”

Lips parting, you blink.

…why is he so observant?!

For someone who acts like he doesn’t give a shit, he’s strangely attentive.

You clear your throat, huffing. “Okay… what’s your point?” Your hands straighten a stack of papers that doesn’t need straightening. “Is there a question in here somewhere, or are you just reciting my habits back to me for fun?”

His grin is far too pleased. “Relax. I’m getting there.” And leaning forward, his voice drops, like he’s unraveling a conspiracy. “I just find it interesting how you answer work calls before the second ring. Every damn day. Doesn’t matter who it is.” His head tilts with a smug grin. “But for whatever reason, for the past month, your personal phone’s been ringing off the hook, and you never pick up. Not once.”

Heat creeps up your neck. Not because he’s wrong — but because he’s right. And he said it like it was nothing. Like noticing the pattern of your avoidance was just something that happened to him between stamps.

Oh.

Way too observant.

Shit. He couldn't have settled on what's your favorite color!? Or, what superpower would you have!? No. Of course he had to go for the fucking jugular.

His eyes drop to the planner lying open beneath the invoices. The circled date: WEDDING. And his grin sharpens. “Ohoho… I get it now,” he whistles, leaning back in his chair and kicking one leg over the other. “What’d your fiancé do to screw up this bad? Is the wedding off?”

Your head jerks up. “F-Fiancé?!” And he rolls his eyes with a scoff, still grinning. “Knew it. God, he must be really in the doghouse. Or maybe he’s just clingy as hell to be calling that much.”

You blink.

Okay. Nevermind. He’s wrong. That is not even remotely what’s happening. The most committed relationship you’ve had is the one with your coffee machine. And yet… part of it feels almost cosmically cruel.

Because somehow, this is the second time in a month that someone had looked at the scattered pieces of your life and decided a man must be hiding inside them. Except the first time, you never even got the chance to correct it.

After all… how do you tell your mother she’s wrong?

Last month, you still answered her phone calls.

Not because you expected anything different. But because somewhere between the second ring and the third, there’s this gap — this stupid, paper-thin gap — where you still believe she might ask how you’re doing and actually wait for the answer.

Some habits taste like smoke. Some burn like liquor. But yours, unfortunately, had always looked a lot like hope.

Hope is a terrible habit you’ve never been able to kick.

“Oh—uh, hi mom!”

Your phone was wedged between your ear and shoulder while you stepped out of your car, juggling your purse and what was left of your sanity. You were already behind schedule, and your mother was calling — which meant the day had already made its intentions very clear.

“What’s up?” the door slammed shut with your hip. “I’m actually about to—”

“—Trish sent the venue photos,” she blurted, launching into a conversation like always.

Blinking, you shook the bitterness away. Striding toward the towering glass of Gojo Corporation. “That’s—yeah, that’s great,” you muttered, badge in hand as you pushed through the front doors. “But I’m actually heading into work right now? So—”

“—It’s such a beautiful venue,” she ignored you. “Very traditional, very grand. But you know the Zenin family—they never do anything small.” And as she sighed in awe, you resisted the urge to roll your eyes.

The rational part of your brain told you to let this go to voicemail. But the rational part of your brain has never once won this fight. Because…

Hope is a terrible habit you’ve never been able to kick.

"Mom, I'm sure it's lovely, really… but I'm kind of—um, excuse me…" you pivoted around a man in the bustling lobby with a sigh. “Sorry. I’m literally walking into the building right now? But maybe we can revisit this later and—"

"—have you booked your flight yet?"

Your mouth flattened.

Clearly, your half of this conversation is optional.

“No… not yet,” you mumbled, as patiently as you could manage, jabbing the up button harder than necessary. “It’s been a crazy ass week so I haven’t had a chance to, but—”

“—every week is a crazy week for you.” The huff she let out sounded almost offended by the inconvenience of your life. “Why can’t you just book it now while we’re talking? I mean, it literally takes five minutes.”

A miracle, really, that your blood pressure isn’t a medical emergency.

Every week is a crazy week?

Yeah. No shit.

Two managers resigned last quarter. Another got escorted out by security. And their work didn’t disappear. No. It landed on your desk. Because that’s how it goes. That’s how it’s always gone. Group projects. Internships. End-of-quarter disasters no one else wanted to touch. If something needed fixing, it found its way to you.

You’re the one people relied on.

Just… never the one people chose.

“Mother. I’m at work,” you said, stepping into the elevator as the doors slid open, dropping your voice as you stabbed at floor fifteen. “Look—I’m about to walk into an eight a.m. meeting. But I’ll book it tonight, promise.”

“…eight a.m.?” she repeated slowly, before letting out a small, unbothered laugh. “Oh! Right. It’s eight p.m. here. Silly me. I keep forgetting.”

…

Keep forgetting?

She keeps forgetting that she’s ten thousand miles away? Forgetting that twenty years ago she abandoned you in another country to live abroad in Japan—handing you to your grandparents like a detail she'd get back to later?

How convenient that she forgot that.

The elevator slid shut, and you watched the numbers tick upward. “Um. Yeah…” you managed, trying to keep the hurt out of your voice. “Anyways. I’ll book it tonight. After work. Okay?”

"Okay, okay. Sure. Sounds good. But are you bringing anyone?”

Squeezing the strap of your bag, you swallowed the lump in your throat. This again? The last thing you needed was to walk into your shitty eight a.m. meeting looking emotional.

No thanks.

“I… uh…” you cleared your throat. “I um—actually—haven’t decided yet. But anyways, I gotta go, so—”

“Waitwatiwait. Haven’t decided? Does that mean… you actually found someone?!”

Her voice pitched up so fast it almost startled you, and your mouth dropped so low it could’ve hit floor one.

Shit.

“I-I—I didn’t say—"

“—oh, thank God. This is incredible!!” she squealed. “We’ve been so worried. I mean—Trish is younger than you and she figured it out,” her tongue clicked. “People have been asking questions, you know. Your aunt Sara keeps bringing it up every time I see her and—”

“—Mom, I—"

“—It’s about time,” The laugh she let out was relieved, like a problem in her life had finally begun resolving itself. “You can’t keep putting love on hold forever, because men aren’t going to wait around forever. You’re already twenty-six—not getting any younger, dear.”

Love?!

Who has time for that?

And why the fuck is twenty-six the age a woman expires?!

“What’s his name?” she pressed, practically beaming through the phone. “What does he do? Is he from there, or—oh, is he Japanese? Your father would love that, he always said—”

And she was off.

Spinning an entire man out of thin air. An entire future, really. Building him in real time from a tiny slip up you had because you were too tired and cornered and desperate enough to answer the phone in the first place. And you stood there, letting her. Because interrupting her has never once worked in the history of your life.

“—actually, never mind,” she chirped a moment later, as if she was being considerate now. “You have work. I’ll call tomorrow and you can tell me everything, yes? Okay, bye-bye honey—”

Click!

And just like that, the elevator went quiet. You were left staring at your reflection in the metal doors, phone pressed to your ear, listening to the silence where your mother’s voice had been.

‘We’ve been so worried.’

…

If they were so worried… why had you spent most of your life learning to take care of yourself? And yet, the second there might be a man, suddenly you’re worth getting excited about?

Funny how that works.

Scoffing, you lowered the phone, shoving it into your bag just as the elevator chimed open. Itadori Yuji’s head snapped up behind the reception desk.

“Morning, boss,” he waved, radiating sunshine as you walked towards the conference room. “Kento’s asking if you’re still good for the budget review at eight… or if I should just tell him to panic.”

Your smile softened, burying the sting. “Yes… I’ll be right there.” And as you stepped through the polished glass doors, you played the role you’d always played.

The reliable one. Twenty-six years old, with two master’s degrees, a career at one of the most competitive corporations in the world, and a team of seven that would quietly fall apart without you.

But…

None of that glitters quite like a diamond ring, does it?

“Oi,” Satoru frowns. “You’re makin’ that face again.”

“Huh?”

Blinking out of your spiral, your eyes trace back to the man across from you. His chin is resting in his palm, those impossibly blue eyes fixed on you with a quiet stillness that makes something in your chest trip over itself — like a lock turning in a door you didn’t know was closed.

“Oh.” You clear your throat, forcing the pen back into motion. “…what face?”

“The one you make when something’s wrong,” he says quietly, gaze unmoving. “When you’re upset and trying to act like you’re not.”

For a second — one terrible, unguarded second — you don’t have a single thing to hide behind. It’s just him, looking at you like your well-being is something he’s been keeping track of in a column you didn’t even know existed.

But then the sarcasm kicks in, right on time. "Wow," you say, forcing your hands back to the papers in front of you. "So… now you read faces?"

“Mm... nah. Just yours, sweetheart.”

And that grin — god, that fucking grin — hooks at one corner like he knows exactly what just detonated inside your chest. You don’t acknowledge it. Acknowledging things have consequences, and consequences with this man are not something you can afford.

"…that’s highly inappropriate," you mutter, shoving it down. "Let’s maybe redirect some of that insight toward the invoices, yeah?"

“Sorry, sorry.” He leans back, hands up like he’s the picture of innocence. “Wouldn’t wanna start shit with your dear future husband.” His grin goes sharp as he twirls his sunglasses between two fingers. “Though, wow. Tough look for him. Whatever he did, he clearly fucked up bad.”

Why does he sound… bitter?

No. You must be imagining it. This is Satoru. Satoru, who treats everything like a joke until proven otherwise. Satoru, who doesn’t care enough about anything to sound bitter over a man who may or may not exist.

You scoff. "You’re making some wildly stupid assumptions right now…"

He perks up at that. "Oh?" With his grin hooking higher, almost hopeful. "Wait. So, there’s no fiancé, then?"

Your lips purse.

What does he care? He’s not your mother.

“I wish you’d be this interested in your actual job,” you sigh, arms crossing. “Those invoices have been sitting there all week.”

“Uh-huh.” He tips his head. “And yet somehow, I noticed you still didn’t answer me.”

You frown.

What the fuck are you supposed to say!?

Oh. Um. Actually, Satoru, there is no fiancé. That’s the problem, actually! My mother invented him the other morning and I haven't worked up the nerve to call her back.

Yeah. No. You'd rather die at this desk.

“Maybe because it’s none of your business.”

“But I—”

“Drop it.”

He stares at you for a beat, then he flops back in the chair with a dramatic huff, long legs kicking out in front of him, mouth dragging into a sulky pout.

“Well, damn,” he grumbles, pushing his sunglasses up into his hair, rolling his eyes. “No wonder you’re single if this is how you shut people down…”

The second the words leave his mouth, he blinks. His gaze flicks up to yours like he hears it too late — like he realizes, all at once, how shitty that sounded.And it only feels worse the moment he sees your face.

God.

Of all the places to hit.

“Oho… wow. Okay. This?” you say with a thin, self-deprecating laugh, chair scraping as you shove back from your seat. “Yeah. This is exactly why I shouldn’t have let you ask, Satoru.” You reach for your planner, your purse, anything to do with your hands besides let them shake.

He straightens, watching you scramble. “Whoa. Wait. I—"

“—because you don’t know when to stop!” The words come out louder than you mean, blinking at the sting behind your eyes. “You just keep pushing and pushing and pushing until you get what you want. Well good. I hope you’re happy.”

Before you can turn away, he’s on his feet. “Wait—” And the moment his hand catches yours, you freeze, breath snagging.

His voice is quieter now. His grip is firm yet gentle, and the air between you shifts, while something warm and uneasy twists low in your chest. The kind of feeling that makes you want to lean in and run in the same breath.

Though your eyes stay down. “Satoru… let go.”

“I didn’t…” he starts, then stops, gaze flicking to where his fingers still circle your wrist — before climbing back to your face, slower this time. “I’m… sorry. I just—” His mouth tightens. “I see how hard you work, okay? I see it. And every time that phone rings, you get this look on your face like it’s already ruined your day before you even touch it. And…” His brows pinch. “Fuck. I dunno why, but it pisses me off!”

Your gaze hesitantly drags to his, and the look in his eyes is softer than they have any right to be — all that blue, stripped of its usual sharpness, turned careful. Like he’s stepping toward something breakable and knows it. Like… if he asked once more, something in you might actually give.

“Satoru…” your breath hitches. “I-I—"

“Oh, finally.”

Shoko’s voice trails in, and your head snaps up so fast your neck almost goes with it. She’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, coffee in hand — looking like a woman who arrived exactly on time for something she's been expecting all week.

Her gaze flicks down to where he’s holding you, and the corner of her mouth twitches.

"Sooo… not to interrupt whatever this is," she says, taking a sip, "but Kento's one eye-twitch away from a medical event. He needs you to sign off on the variance line before he starts reconciling his own will and—"

You're already jerking your hand back. "Yup—coming!" And as you step away, heat floods your face, but you don't look back. Not once. Not even when you feel him still standing there, watching you go.

Because looking back would mean acknowledging that something just shifted. And you are not — not — doing that today.

Unlike those invoices, perhaps some things are better left… unfinished.

You’re gone in a blur of heels, nerves, and professional self-preservation, leaving Shoko trailing behind and Satoru staring at the empty doorway like maybe the conversation might wander back through it.

It doesn’t.

And it’s not long before his mouth is pulling into a slow, petulant pout—just before he flops back in the chair with all the elegance of a man personally betrayed by the universe.

Un-fucking-believable.

He’d almost had you! After four months and four days of being stonewalled, redirected, and professionally shut down, you’d finally looked like you might give him something. A crack. A sliver. And then Kento had to ruin it with his stupid reconciliation sheet, his stupid earnest face, and his stupidly impeccable timing.

…

He could fire Kento.

Should he fire Kento?

As tempting as that thought is, Satoru settles for glaring at the empty doorway a second longer before dragging a hand down his face and raking it back through his hair. There’s no point. This performance will end soon. Because by this time tomorrow, he’ll be on a flight back to Tokyo. Where he can resume the slow, agonizing process of preparing to inherit a company he didn't actually give a shit about.

'Grow up, Satoru.'

'Apply yourself, Satoru.'

'You have no idea what it takes to run something like this, Satoru.'

Right. Because apparently, the heir to a multinational corporation needed to learn humility. Alphabetize files. Sit in a cubicle. Fetch coffee like some goddamn spreadsheet slut with a trust fund and nowhere to put it.

Four years of business school, two years shadowing his father; and yet, this is what they had for him?!

He scoffs. And when his gaze drops to the wreckage of your desk, he’s pulling the stack of vendor invoices toward him with a sigh that sounds put-upon even to his own ears. You’ve been nagging him about filing them for the better part of the week and… the least he can do is clear one thing before he goes.

The stamp thuds against the first page. Then the next. Then the next. And with muscle memory taking over, his face goes blank in the way it always does when boredom finally wins. It’s mindless shit. Still, he’s used to it. So naturally, when the phone on your desk buzzes, he doesn’t think twice; snatching it up, tucking it between his ear and shoulder as he reaches for the next invoice.

It’s probably another budget nuisance. Or Mei. Or one of the other thousand little crises that seem magnetically drawn to your extension.

“Yo,” another stamp echoes. “Satoru speaking.”

There’s a sharp inhale. “…who?”

His brow lifts. “Uh… Satoru?” Another thud of ink slams against the paper and he huffs, annoyed. “What do y’need?”

The line goes quiet for a beat too long. Before the woman on the other end finally murmurs, “Satoru…” Sighing in awe. “What a lovely name. Is that Japanese?”

"Uh… yeah?” he snorts, flipping to the next page. “I mean. Last I checked.”

“Mm… I thought so!” She giggles. And her voice pitches like she's just unwrapped a present she didn't know she was getting. “So… Satoru. Why exactly are you the one answering her phone, hm?”

…

Why the hell does this woman sound so invested? And why is she asking questions that should be obvious?

Frowning down at the invoice, he stamps it harder.

“Because it rang?” He says it like it’s obvious. “And uh—sorry, but. Maybe because I’ve been with her for months, so… why the hell wouldn’t I?”

"Months?!” A soft gasp crackles, far too delighted. “You've—you've been with her for months?!"

"Mmm… four months and four days, technically."

He’s been her intern for that long.

That’s the question, right?

"—technically?!" she squeals, like the word personally seduced her. "Ohmygoodness—oh, this is perfect. Four months and four days—that is so specific.”

He blinks. But she doesn’t give him time to process.

“Look at you Mr. Devoted. Keeping track. I was starting to worry she’d never find someone like you. Every time I asked it's like pulling teeth. But I knew there had to be someone. I told her father—I said, there is a man, I can feel it.”

Pausing mid-stamp, the words slowly begin to catch up. Satoru straightens.

"…sorry. Who is thi—"

“—everyone is so excited to meet you at Trish’s wedding. I already reserved your seat and—"

Her voice keeps going… and going… and going. He pulls the phone away slowly as her voice echoes on the receiver, staring down at the phone in hand to see:

📞 Mom

Oh.

Oh, shit.

This is not your work phone. Your work phone is currently sitting at its dock twelve inches to his left. And it dawns on him that he accidentally just spent the last sixty seconds answering your personal phone like an absolute jackass and—

"Uh…” he backpedals. “Wait. I—"

"I told Sara, I said, we have to meet him and—”

"Stop. I-I really think—"

“—Satoru, what are you doing?’

His head snaps up at the sound of your voice, mouth dropping as he sees you standing at the doorway, eyes wide in horror.

Oh, fuck.

“Who is on the other end of that phone,” you hiss.

He winces, pulling the phone from his ear like it’s toxic — and you’re snatching it right out of his hand. He lets you have it without a fight, sinking back into the chair like he’s trying to physically dissociate from the situation he’s just created while you press the phone to your ear.

“And I mean…” she rambles. “I certainly was never one to wait around at twenty-six, believe me. But—"

"Mom."

"Oh! Honey!” She gasps. “Oh, my goodness, hi—I was just having the loveliest chat with—"

"I'm at work. Gotta go."

"—okay! I can't wait to meet Satoru, he—"

Click!

The phone sits in your hand like evidence.

And Satoru — to his credit — has the decency to look like a man standing in the blast radius of his own stupidity. His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. Like he’s rehearsing an apology in a language he hasn’t learned yet.

You stare at him.

He stares at you.

And somewhere ten thousand miles away, your mother is already calling your aunt Sara.

“Sooo… funny story…”

“—what did you do?!”

Satoru flinched, and now, the tears were already rolling down your cheeks — hot, fast, completely unauthorized. Not the kind you could disguise as allergies or blame on the air conditioning. No. The ugly kind.

Great. Fucking great.

You were standing in the middle of your own office, in the building where you work, crying in front of your intern. And Satoru felt the weight of it all at once. In the last four months, he had seen you in every flavor of workplace misery there was. Pissed off, stressed out, one spreadsheet away from actual murder.

But cry?

Never.

And this had his fingerprints all over it.

"Shit," he breathed, panic flashing across his face. "I—fuck. Okay. Please don't—I can fix this. I can—"

"Fix this?" A splintered laugh ripped out of you, and you hated how thin it was. "Fix what, Satoru? You just confirmed a boyfriend to my mother, a boyfriend that doesn't exist—and she is, at this very moment, probably already—"

Another break in your voice cracked, and you squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your hand to your forehead hard like you could hold the tears in by sheer force. But it only made it worse, because now you could feel the wetness on your own face, the heat of it under your palm, and the mortification landed like a second wave.

God. How fucking humiliating.

"Hey, hey—it's okay,” his voice softened. “We'll just… call her back. Right? Tell her it was a misunderstanding. Easy."

“Easy?” you scoffed, the word coming out strangled. “Y-You don’t understand my mother, Satoru,” you managed, voice gone thin as thread. God, you sounded like a child. “If she thinks something is true, then it’s true. That’s it. That’s—there’s no correcting her, there’s no walking it back, she’s already told my aunt Sara by now and Sara’s told Trish and—oh, fuck—”

Another sob tumbled out, and your fingers dug harder into your temple.

God. Stop it.

Stop it stop it stop it.

Think.

Think logically. You're good at this. You solve problems for a living.

But every time you tried to grab onto a thought, it slipped — replaced by the echo of your mother's voice, high and delighted. The happiest she'd sounded talking to you in years. Maybe ever.

…what look will she give you when you show up alone?

"I can’t," you whispered, and the word came out waterlogged. "I-I'm supposed to get on a plane to Japan in a week and—do what? Tell them there's no one? Tell them I'm still—"

Single.

The word sat in your mouth like a stone. You didn’t realize you’d gone silent until the silence itself started ringing — your sniffling, the hum of fluorescent lights, the muffled life of the office continuing beyond the door like yours wasn’t actively coming apart at the seams.

And through all of it, you could feel Satoru looking at you. His stillness; holding you with an expression you'd never seen on him before and couldn't categorize if you tried.

"Um…” he looked down, scratching the back of his neck. “Soooo... the wedding's in Japan?"

You blinked. “What?” And as you wiped your face with the back of your hand, his gazed tentatively flicked back up. “The wedding…” he repeated, voice careful. “It’s in Japan?”

"Yes." Your brow furrowed, not understanding. "Why?"

He didn't answer right away. Just looked down at the floor for a second, jaw shifting, like he was turning something over in his head — something he hadn't fully assembled yet but could already feel the shape of.

"Huh… okay."

Okay what?

You watched his expression change in real time — from guilt to calculation to something else. "Right then!" He said, clapping his hands once, bright and sudden. "No biggie. I'll just go with you."

No biggie?

Your mouth dropped.

That wasn’t even an option, was it?

…is he crazy?

“You’re kidding,” your laugh was awkward and breathless. His eyes rolled with a smug grin. “Sweetheart, c’mon,” and he was gesturing between the two of you like the answer was sitting there in plain sight and you were the only person in the room committed to not seeing it. "Your family thinks you're bringing someone? Cool." A hand pressed to his chest with theatrical solemnity. "I'm someone."

You stared at him. Genuinely stared.

Oh. He wasn’t kidding.

Yup. He’s crazy.

"You are not 'someone,' Satoru. You are my intern."

“Yeah. For like… another six hours?"

He checked his watch with a shrug, and your lips flattened.

"…that is not the point."

“Mm… feels a little like the point."

He smirked, but it faded faster than usual, dimming at the edges as his blue eyes hesitated on yours. Something shifted in his posture; the performance pulling back, like a tide going out. "Um… look…" He pushed off the desk, stepping closer. "It’s really no hassle." He said, hands sliding into his pockets. "I already have a flight scheduled. My family's in Tokyo. And I was going back after this internship anyway, so… this just moves my timeline back a little."

He was shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal. Like he wasn’t agreeing to fly across the world with you and walk straight into the disaster that was your family.

…

His family’s in Japan too?

You barely knew anything about him. He kept his life sealed off with the same practiced deflection you kept yours — jokes in place of answers, charm in place of honesty. You never bothered to ask, because asking meant caring and that was a door you never intended to walk through with anyone.

But…

"Just… let me come with you. I’ll be your boyfriend for the weekend. For the wedding. For… whatever you need,” he said. And this time, when he stepped closer, there was no grin to hide behind. "I can be useful. I caused this. So… let me fix it."

Heat creeped up your neck, and you scoffed, weakly.

"Okay… but you can't fix my mother."

"No…” he murmured, tilting his head. His hand came up and brushed a tear trailing down your cheek with a careful gentleness. “But… I can make sure you don't have to walk in there alone?"

Your breath hitched, and when your eyes finally lifted, the morning light was being cruel again — catching in that impossible blue and turning it soft. Like stained glass dipped in sunlight. Like something holy made dangerous by the simple fact that it was looking straight at you.

“Mhn. So, do I get the job, boss lady? Because that look you’re giving me…” a slow smirk curls up the corner of his mouth. “Very encouraging for my boyfriend résumé, by the way. Might get addicted to it and wanna make it a full-time gig.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, looking away too fast to be convincing.“That was not a look. I was just—” You grimace. “…never mind.”

He’s chuckling as you brush past him. And his words are what scared you the most. Which was bad. Very, very bad. Because your mother was one problem. Japan was another. But Satoru looking at you like that?

Shit…

That felt like the kind of complication that didn’t stay neatly contained. And you knew better than anyone. Nothing about Satoru had ever suggested he could be contained.

a/n: hehe. this has been fun to work on! i am excited to share the next part. clearly i love these fake dating/fake marriage tropes aha 🙂‍↕️ bc this is like... what—my third time doing it? soooo i tried to change things up and make it feel less standard/generic :) but anyways, like i said pt 2 will be out in a week, pls lmk if you wanna be tagged 💖

“shit, ‘t makes me wanna put a ring on it,” satoru hisses, one of his hands pressing down on your lower tummy.

you gasp and clutch at his broad back, nails digging into his flesh quite painfully.

“i think i’d engrave my initials on the inside of the ring too, what do ya think?”

each word is punctuated with a thrust. his hips are non-stop ramming into yours, claiming even the deepest spots of your body beneath him. he leans down to trail kisses down your sensitive neck, eliciting a couple whines from your lips.

“d’y wanna get married, sweetheart?”

the sudden proposal takes you off guard. you can’t believe satoru would ask such a thing while being balls deep inside you. you’re blabbering nonsense, your voice muffled due to the saliva building up in your mouth.

“m— married? babe, are you ser-” your question is left unanswered as your boyfriend kisses your plump lips.

satoru switches to a slow and gentle pace, grinding into your needy cunt until it leaves you shaking. his fingers play with the golden jewelry around your neck.

a necklace will do. as long as you’ll wear that accessory from this day forward, he’ll be satisfied. the urge to make you his forever partner could be satiated. for now, that is.

he knows you still have a bright future ahead of you, like getting your degree and first ever proper job.

“let’s have you finish university first, yeah?” satoru smiles down at you after detaching his lips from yours.

he watches the string of saliva hang between your mouths, giving a short hum once it snaps. his big hand slithers down to cup your breast and knead it, kissing your nipple whilst holding eye contact, “i can wait for you.”

satoru sighs as he rolls his tongue around your hardened nipple. he’s drooling over your breasts, a drunken glint in his eyes. he’s so obsessed with you to the point that he’d marry you right now if he could. that proposal wasn’t really a joke—but he figured that it also wasn’t the smartest.

he’ll give you a proper and serious proposal one day. though, now you know for sure that he’s gotten into this relationship with the thought of actually marrying you.

“but i also—fuck—can’t wait,” satoru whines, feeling your walls clamp down on his thick cock.

his dick is pulsing with need, exploring your squishy insides while his balls prepare to release all semen stored right into your fertile womb. even if you may take a pill to get rid of any unwanted consequences, the thought of seeing your tummy swell with his child is making the older man go insane.

satoru buries his face between your breasts and breathes heavily against your sweaty skin. his hips move with renewed vigour, his energy never depleting when it comes to pleasuring you, “wanna make you my wife ‘n breed this pretty pussy.”

you moan repeatedly, unable to stop yourself. especially after satoru frantically spews such lewd words. he’s getting lost in your cunt and the way it’s swallowing him in—into your pretty pussy that he owns. his pussy.

“wanna be your wife so bad, ‘toru,” you hiccup, nearly crying from the intense pleasure.

you’d love to be satoru’s wife. he already treats you so well while you’re his girlfriend, you can’t imagine how much better it’s going to get once you’re officially his. your stomach fills with butterflies at the thought of being able to call him your husband.

the white-haired man chuckles. his blue eyes stare down at you with nothing but love, “yeah? mh, i’ll treat you so well every single day. g’nna come home to you ‘nd give you some proper loving.”

satoru can already imagine it. coming home to you after a long day of work, needing a quick release. seeing you greet him at the door will send him into a frenzy. especially if you’re wearing an apron—he’s a sucker for domestic stuff.

you, his wife, taking care of him after a rough day at work. . . it’s a dream come true. he’ll spoil you with materialistic gifts and his unending love so you’ll live a happy life.

and don’t get him started on kids.

satoru ruts into you like his life depends on it, the hypnotising rhythm of your boobs jiggling in circles is making him drool. having a little family with you is his end goal. you’ll be such a good mother and he’ll be such an amazing dad; a perfect combination.

satoru can already picture the amount of times he’ll dump his cum inside of you, without any restrictions. without you taking a pill or him wrapping a condom around his dick. his libido is going to be at an all time high when the time comes.

even if he ages a bit, he’s sure that he’s going to be able to have sex with you non stop. you get him hard without fail every single time. you’re his everything—the apple of his eyes.

satoru nearly chokes on his own saliva. he pushes his cock in to the base, burying it as deep as possible. your fingers curl around the pillow you’re holding for support, your eyes rolling back. his pink tip hit the right spot. that sweet spot that makes you cum without fail.

satoru bites his bottom lip. the way he’s looking at you, with a possessive kind of love and lust, is simply too much. his oceanic eyes are glimmering with need. erotic images flash through his mind of him impregnating you, “going to put a baby into you as soon as you’re ready.”

your tummy fills with butterflies. the way he’s talking to you like you’re already a married couple is making your pussy even wetter than it already is. it’s like it’s begging satoru to give it to you already—to make it store all his cum.

his eyes roll back as he leans his forehead against your shoulder. he has to hold himself back from cumming too soon. he wants to cherish every second spent inside of your warm body.

satoru attaches his lips to your breasts again, “mhhh, y’re gonna look so beautiful pregnant, mama. those tits of yours. . .”

his voice is barely audible because he’s busy sucking on your nipples. your boyfriend is imagining the pair growing with each semester, filling out perfectly to store milk for the baby.

satoru cannot wait to be the reason why your body will change so much. you’ll be even prettier than you already are, that he can tell already. he’s going to give you gifts every day, to thank you for carrying his child. he’s going to spoil you rotten because you deserve it and so much more.

he can’t wait for the married life with you. many men dread that life, but that’s not the case with satoru. every day of his married life will be spent with his wife—you—and the honeymoon phase will never end. ever.

satoru’s cock is twitching and begging for the much needed release. he pounds you into the couch until you’re screaming in pleasure, feeling him so deep inside you. he’s so big, he’s stretching you out so well to the point of no return.

the older man grins at the sight of your already fucked out face, “y’r cunt is gonna be so swollen because of how much i’ll pleasure her—paint her all white with my cum.”

satoru’s nasty words are causing unspeakable things to your body. you’re on the brink of reaching that euphoric state. the dirty talk is too much to handle at this point. your limbs are tingling and your cunt is aching to be stuffed full of his hot semen.

“s-satoru, don’t say such stuff,” you comment in a shaky breath.

your head is spinning and your hands desperately reach out to hold onto his shoulders, squeezing the skin. your hips are bucking up lightly, your clit bumping against satoru’s pelvic area with each thrust, “i’m gonna cum if you keep saying that.”

your lover’s grin widens even more. he knows you enjoy it when he whispers such dirty stuff in your ear. that’s mainly the reason why he does it. he’s talked you through multiple orgasms before—it’s quite easy to do so with his husky voice and manly touch.

“that’s fine, baby,” satoru coos and leaves one last, sloppy kiss on your nipple before leaning in to attach his lips to yours. his tongue swirls around yours as you share your spit, the mixture trickling down your chins.

his hips don’t stop. he positions his lower body in an angle that gets you screaming for mercy, which he won’t do. he craves to ruin you on his cock, to see you melt with pleasure underneath him.

“make a mess on my dick while i make a mess inside of you,” satoru encourages you which seals the deal.

your body shakes as you feel the waves of pleasure run through your system. you can feel hot ropes of cum nestle deep inside of your cunt. your boyfriend shudders at the sensation and helps you ride your climax out.

he pushes in and back out a few times, lazily, his finger finding your clit to rub until you’ve calmed down. “good girl. y’ took all of it, hm? lovely,” satoru nearly collapses on top of you after the energy leaves his body, careful not to crush you underneath his weight.

he doesn’t bother to pull out. he keeps his cum plugged into you—relishing the moment of ecstasy. even if he can’t fully breed you now, he’ll wait until the day he can.

“i love you, wifey,” satoru kisses your temple, tiredly giggling at the nickname he gave you. in his mind, you are already his one and only woman.

his wife and partner for life.

It only took one search to unravel the rest.

When he mentioned he mostly traveled for work? F1 Racing on weekends in championship cups. Which you guessed was what he meant when he said he liked cars. But what man didn't?

Why the fuck would you assume some guy you met at the beach would be the current first driver's seat for fucking Ferrari?

You didn't know shit about the sport. Or well, any sport.

Strangely enough, you still felt almost betrayed, something stinging at the fact he hadn't bothered to bring it up. You didn't think you were special, or that this was serious. But you didn't like feeling stupid either.

"You're glaring," He commented, stuffing his face full of some high protein meal meant to keep his physique up, a black compression shirt clinging to his chest like he'd come from the gym.

"Okay," You shrugged, picking at your own food.

He picked a place with hardly any people today. No one to catch him with a nobody.

"Are you gonna be a brat all night?" He sighed, dropping his fork and scowling back at you.

"Maybe," You shrugged again, glancing away from him to stare at the cash register. Your wallet was in your purse, the temptation to get up to pay for your half and go getting stronger by the second.

"Fine," He grunted, taking one last big bite before tossing too much cash on the table. You guessed he could do that with how much he was getting paid to drive dangerously and toe the line with death. "Want me to fuck that attitude out of you?"

For all his skills, he still hadn't managed to do that two rounds later.

Both of you panting and sweaty, one palm pressing down on the slight bulge of your stomach where his cock was currently thrusting and the other pressing your thighs up higher, folded into a mean full nelson.

"Fuck, you feel me there?" He groaned, biting yet another bruising hickey into your neck while you nodded weakly.

Your limbs ached, feeling more like accessories than body parts by now, a doll for him to fuck, a way to blow off steam before you both returned to your real lives. His cock stretched you out with each searing pump, splitting you open so his kisses and rough reassurances could stitch you back together.

He stalled inside you with his tip smashed against that spongy spot in the back, holding it there just to make you squirm in his arms. His nose grazed against your ear, his breath warm on your skin before he murmured softly, "Stop holding out on me."

"Oh, a-am I annoying you?" You breathlessly teased, and his little huff sent a shudder through you when he tried to push himself in deeper, that extra inch or two leaving your hips struggling to break free and jolt from him, already filled to the brim and about to spill over.

"You keep runnin' from me," He grunted, and in two blinks, he was switching positions, rolling you over on your stomach and pushing your back into a pretty arch before climbing back over you to prone bone.

Shoving his cock in and pinning you to the mattress with his weight, one of his big hands pressing down on the nape of your neck while he bottomed back out inside you.

"S-Sukuna," You gasped, but then he was leaning down and his mouth was on yours, claiming you with a bruising kiss.

"Again," He practically growled against your lips, his canines nipping at them.

"What?" You blinked, the desire still coiling in your stomach and the cum leaking down your legs and even just the scent of his cologne sticking to the sheets starting to melt the confusion from your mind on how you felt about him..

"Say my name again," Sukuna demanded, barely disguising his own moan when he slammed into you. All your muscles were tense, everything oversensitive already, flying so high you were pretty sure you'd crash any moment.

"Ego maniac," You muttered instead, and he readjusted to deliver a harsh spank across your ass, the pain quickly converting to pleasure when you gasped and squeezed around him.

But then he refused to move, buried to the hilt and not budging.

Sukuna didn't say anything. He didn't have to. He was waiting on you.

You were just as stubborn as he was though, biting your lip and hiding your face in the pillow to try to wait him out, counting on him being impatient or getting pissed off. His cock was throbbing inside you, begging to move, your clit aching for relief of it's own.

But you were both two idiots who couldn't admit what you wanted. Even if it was each other.

"I can stay like this all night, sweetheart," He murmured in your ear, dark and dangerous and delicious.

"Me too," You mocked back, adding a fake yawn and cradling your head over your forearms like you might fall asleep in this position.

He bent first. Or maybe he'd convinced himself he could make you break.

And yeah, amidst the blur of blunt thrusts and love bites, you did end up crying his name more than once when he lifted your hips enough to slip one hand under to play with your clit while he used the angle to practically abuse your poor g-spot, slamming into it every time with damn near surgical precision. Chuckling at the way you whined and shuddered, clenching desperately around his huge cock until he was abruptly pulling out and cumming on your back in thick spurts.

You showered together in silence.

Him passing you the soap and you washing his hair, his arms wrapped around your waist for extra warmth. He draped the towel around you afterwards, and you used an extra one to dry off his hair. Falling asleep in bed tracing the tattoos on his face.

In the morning?

You woke up before him, creeping out of bed to get dressed as quietly as possible.

He still hasn't told you about his career. Or anything really about himself outside the barest of basics. You resigned yourself to keeping the biography you'd read through about him the day before to yourself. What was the point of telling him you knew who he was when you wouldn't see him again?

Your vacation was over. Not wasted, but you were leaving more wistful than when you arrived, a deep and uncomfortable knot tangled in your stomach staring at the handsome man sleeping on the bed and the wrinkled sheets and blanket next to him where you should be.

You would go home. Go back to work and sleeping in your own bed and cooking your own meals until maybe you found some nice, normal guy to settle down with.

He'd go back to bigger and better things. Fucking models instead of a random girl he just happened to meet on his break. Too busy to be with someone like you anyway.

"Where are you going?" Sukuna grunted, scowling as he sat up in bed, running his fingers through his soft hair.

"I've got a flight to catch," You murmured, fixing the strap of your dress and hurrying to collect the last of your things you'd left here over the past two weeks of fucking.

"Oh."

You didn't say anything else, shoving an extra pair of panties from under his bed inside your purse, but it meant getting close enough that he reached out to touch you, fingers ghosting over your hip.

"If I paid, would you stay another day?" He asked, and you really had no clue what the fuck to make of that. His dark eyes had softened, shades of purple ringed underneath them, but they weren't harsh, didn't threaten to cut you down.

It didn't feel like the type of casual sex where you couldn't talk about your personal lives when he stared at you like that.

"I have to go back to work," You mumbled, wishing you didn't just as much as you wished you wouldn't miss him.

"I'll call you."

You didn't believe him.

But three days later, when you were curled up in bed and hating how empty it was, how cold it felt, your phone rang.

"Hi," You breathed, answering on the fourth ring after getting over your surprise.

"Hey," Sukuna grunted.

The phone calls became a common thing. Some weeks every day, others where you barely heard from him at all. But he tried though, even if it was just for a few minutes at a weird time. You answered even if it was at one in the morning or afternoon, forcing yourself to stay awake or sneaking out to the bathroom at work to hear his voice.

He begrudgingly admitted what his job actually was after a couple weeks, downplaying it to just racing. If it wasn't for the odd hours and the short calls, you had a feeling he would've tried to skip over the subject entirely. You tried to accept it. Asked if he'd be weirded out if you looked him up or watched his races. Sukuna's whatever wasn't exactly reassuring.

But it was pretty easy to piece together that he lived and breathed racing.

He'd been born into it. Karted as a kid and grown up behind the wheel.

You guessed you were the only thing in his life that was just for himself, outside of all of that.

"You sound stressed," You commented, cuddling a pillow to your chest and suppressing a yawn. There wasn't a real routine to this, but after a few months, you'd gotten comfortable with his calls instead of spending all day nervous and stressed over them.

"Gojo's trying to take my seat," Sukuna scoffed. He rarely talked about this sort of stuff with you, barely brought it up, so you knew it was bothering him much more than he let on. He never opened up, not the way most people did, just dropping occasional bits of information that you had to stitch together with what was publicly available.

Unsupportive family, a more rough upbringing than the rest of his competitors, rivalries that'd started long before he ever qualified for F1. Despite everything, he'd still won the world championship four times in six years, the past two consecutive wins.

"I mean, can he do that?" You asked, unsure how exactly those sort of decisions were made. You knew Gojo was still a couple years younger than Sukuna, but probably his biggest competitor. Rumors had started to swirl about the white-haired pretty boy moving to a different team next year after his contract was up.

"Over my dead fuckin' body.'

A lump too large for you to choke down bubbled up in your throat, a newfound fear you'd recently discovered after looking up clips of him racing in your free time. The idea of his crashing or doing something reckless and getting himself killed had implanted itself in your head no matter how many times you tried to shake it out.

"You still there?" He grunted.

"Yeah, I am," You swallowed hard, doing your best to force those thoughts down too.

"What are you doing?" Sukuna asking sounded more like demanding, but his voice had taken on a different quality now. Darker, more hoarse. In desperate need of relaxing.

"I'm in bed," You admitted, rolling flat on your back in anticipation.

"And?"

"I'm wearing your favorite pair of panties," You murmured, face flushing already.

"And you weren't going to send me a picture?' He tch-ed.

"One second," You muttered, readjusting to open your camera and try to pose, despite how unnatural it felt. You snapped a few photos, then flipped the camera around, pulling up your loose t-shirt to take a couple more pictures of your tits, careful to make sure your face wasn't in frame.

They were immediately marked as seen once they were delivered.

"Fuck," He murmured, and you could hear the sharp inhale he sucked in.

"Do I get one too?" You giggled, heat already starting to pool between your thighs at the idea of him touching himself to you.

He hung up, a request to video chat almost immediately popping up instead. You nervously accepted, fixing your hair and chewing on the inside of your cheek before flipping the camera down to where your panties were clinging to your skin, slipping a hand down between your thighs teasingly.

"Sukuna?" You said, the picture on the other side grainy as it connected before you got the view of him stroking his pretty cock, his huge hand furiously pumping up-and-down over the thick veins, his tip almost as pink as his hair.

"It should be you here," He grumbled, his voice cutting out for a second afterwards.

"Yeah? You just miss fucking me?" You softly laughed, your heart straining in your chest at the rough timber of his voice.

"Wanna see your face," He gritted his teeth, like it was something difficult to confess.

You didn't want him to see you blush, but he was hard to say no to, harder to convince yourself you wanted whatever scraps of him he offered to you.

Hesitantly, you flipped the camera around to your face, and he let out a hoarse moan, his hand working faster, sloppy strokes that didn't match his usually calculated precision.

"Touch yourself for me," He muttered, all gravelly.

"You're gonna talk me through it?" You teased, and the sound he made was half a scoff and half a chuckle.

"Whatever my brat wants."

It was embarrassing how much you wanted to just be his.

You slowly pressed two fingers over your clit through the lace of your panties, making slow circles over the fabric just for extra friction.

"Should I flip the c-camera?" You asked, your breath hitching as you increased the pressure, thighs tense as you watched him jerk off, not sure if it was pre-cum or lube making his hands so slick.

"No," He huffed. "Need to see your face when you cum."

A flash of heat washed over you, your inhales starting to get shaky, your fingers twitching as you began trembling with each harsh circle you traced.

You scrunched your eyes shut, reclining your head back against your pillow and struggling to focus.

"Eyes on me, pretty," He chuckled, and you whined, pouting at him when you peeked them back open, barely able to hold yourself together staring at his cock on screen as you picked up the pace. Wishing it was your hand instead of his and his instead of yours, wishing for him to just be here instead of countries away, for him to fuck you the way he had months ago.

"Are you gonna cum for me, baby?" You murmured, his hand twitching and stalling for a second while he made some hissing sound, like he barely stopped himself from finishing them and there.

"Jus' waiting for you first," He growled, and you could practically hear his clenched jaw. Watching the veins of his cock pulse, the way it twitched at every little flicker of your expression, imagining how it'd feel in your mouth or buried deep in your cunt. You gasped a little, the pressure building and teetering on the verge of snapping, your hips arching up to chase the high. "Close, princess?"

His voice shoved you over.

Headfirst and falling hard as you unravelled in front of him, your common sense snapping with it when you moaned his name, murmuring something about how much you liked him and hoping he didn't hear it. He was cumming too, coating his strong, sturdy fingers white.

You were both breathless, coming back down in the same comfortable quiet you shared in person.

"You make a cute face when you cum," He eventually said, and you couldn't decide if it was a compliment or just him mocking you in some casually cruel way.

Sukuna was a hard man to understand. But you guessed that was by design. He didn't want anyone to know him.

"Do I?" You dryly asked, yawning out loud this time.

"Would I say it if you didn't?" He grunted.

"You just like to tease me," You complained halfheartedly, curling back up on your side.

"So?"

You shrugged, too tired to offer a better response tonight.

"I'll get you plane tickets. There's a race I want you to come to next month," He grunted, confident that you wouldn't say no.

"Seriously?" You hesitated, hoping it wasn't written on your face.

"Yeah," He insisted, like he was exasperated he had to reiterate it.

There was another race next weekend, but you wondered if maybe he'd just be too busy for you then. Or what other reason he had to wait for the one next month.

"Okay, sure, I guess. Um, I'll request off from work," You mumbled, a faint fluttering starting to stir in your stomach at the realization you might be seeing him again soon.

"Good."

Somewhere along the way, all the lines between friend and girlfriend had gotten blurred.

In your head, the dim hope that maybe he offered to fly you out was to make whatever this was official.

But when you tuned into watching his press conference the next Thursday for his upcoming race?

You hadn't realized how clearly he'd draw the boundaries back. It was stupid. Him scowling as some reporter baited and asked him a question about if there was a special someone supporting him or cheering for him before he rolled his eyes and said he wasn't in a relationship so they should stop asking.

Ouch.

You didn't watch any of the races. Ignored his two-sentence text where he didn't even apologize for being too busy to talk. Didn't answer his call two nights later.

He sent a bunch of questions marks in response.

Which might've made you laugh if you weren't already crying for getting too attached when you knew better.

The next day you'd send a congratulations message for him winning or placing or whatever the fuck he'd done, giving some excuse for being too busy with your own work to chat.

You went a week without calling. Barely replying to his texts hours afterwards, trying to untangle him from your heart.

Gojo, the guy in the second Ferrari seat, posted photos of them together though, ones that got plastered on a bunch of stupid sports news sites you'd forgotten to turn off notifications for, ones where they were at some club you'd never be able to get into, pretty girls next to them, diehard fans, apparently.

So when one of your coworkers asked you on a date?

You said yes.

Got dressed up, put on your makeup and plastered a bandaid over your heart. He picked you up with flowers in hand, waiting outside while you hurried to put them in a vase before walking back out with a shy smile.

"You look gorgeous," Geto hummed, a warm hand pressed against your back as he lead you to the car.

"Thank you," You blushed, but you couldn't tell if the butterflies in your stomach were fluttering or being stabbed.

Geto was a smooth-talker, all soft-spoken words that soothed your blistered disposition and dreamy eyes it'd be easy to lose yourself in. So why couldn't you?

The date was picture perfect. Not a detail out of place.

But when he dropped you back off, you couldn't bring yourself to invite him inside. You let him kiss you, his lips soft and tasting like wine as he caressed your cheek.

"I'd like to take you out again sometime," He murmured, apparently not put off by your reluctance. "I had fun tonight."

"Yeah?" You asked, wondering if maybe you needed more time to move past the man still lingering on your mind.

"Yeah."

You watched through a window as he drove away.

Changing into pajamas before digging your phone out of your purse, planning on scrolling through videos before you saw two missed calls and six missed texts.

You'd only read through a few of Sukuna demanding to know why you weren't talking to him before he was calling again.

Your thumb hovered over the button before you begrudgingly answered him. "Hello?"

"God, do you know how long I've been trying to call you?" He gritted his teeth, clearly annoyed already.

"Sorry," You shrugged. "I was on a date."

"A date?" Sukina was about to blow a fuse. That one vein that sometimes throbbed on his forehead was probably about to explode.

"Yeah?" You hummed, unbothered.

"That's not funny," He scoffed.

"Good thing I'm not joking," You sighed, walking around to fiddle with the flowers now sitting pretty in your vase, fingers grazing over the individual petals.

"What the fuck?" He huffed.

"Is there a problem with that?" You asked, walking the line between being an asshole and being apathetic. "I mean, didn't you just say you weren't in a relationship?"

"Shit, you saw that? I'm sorry, it's not like that, just look-"

Yeah, shit.

"It's fine, I get it, you play by a different set of rules than the rest of us, right? My fault for thinking I meant more." You accepted the blame because there was nothing else you could do with it.

Everything else hurt.

"It does mean more," His voice was low, like it took all his pride to admit it.

"Uh-huh," You dismissively nodded, tucking your phone between your ear and your shoulder.

"Did that prick even treat you right?" He grumbled, having an easier time hating someone else than focusing on his issues.

"He brought me flowers. Paid for my dinner. I had fun," You offered the smallest details, just enough to irritate him. To rub salt in his wound too.

"Are you going to see him again?" He asked, acidic and harsh.

"Maybe."

The silence was heavy this time, thick with tension and crackling with some charge you could feel even when he was in a different country.

"Don't."

"Why?" You genuinely asked this time.

"Give me a chance," He grumbled, before reluctantly murmuring, "Please."

"I'll think about it," You hummed noncommittally.

"Just, get on the plane, okay? I'll take care of everything else." Sukuna was probably scowling even when he was begging you.

The next night there was a ridiculously large bouquet of flowers delivered to your door along with your favorite food, and you didn't need to read the card attached to the flowers to know it was all from him. But you read it anyway.

I'm not letting you go. Sukuna.

You hadn't quite believed it until he'd actually managed to pick you up from the airport a couple weeks later, surely missing some kind of practice or press event, a sign made with your name on it. You almost didn't recognize him when he had on a hoodie and dark shades, probably trying to go unnoticed.

But the second he saw you, he was walking fast over to you, pulling you into him with a crushing hug, like he needed to know you were real.

That you hadn't given up on him yet.

He kissed you the second you got into the passenger seat of his car, his hands in your hair and his mouth on yours, trying to memorize your taste again after so long.

"I was an asshole," He admitted.

"Yeah," You scoffed.

"Sorry," He gruffly apologized. "I thought you knew."

"Knew what? That you're a dick? Or that you don't want people to know about us?" You sarcastically murmured between kisses, and he was hurrying to pull you onto his lap, his hands on your ass and his mouth trailing down your throat.

"That I'm an idiot in love with you," He grunted, and you froze, completely stiff as his sturdy thighs tensed underneath you.

"Don't be stupid," You huffed, refusing to believe him.

"Too late," He chuckled, his teeth sinking in to leave a light love bite above your collarbone. "Gonna show you off all weekend long."

And Sukuna rarely said anything he didn't mean.

His hands refusing to leave your waist when he showed you around the paddock, introducing you as his girlfriend and grumbling when he got dragged into media events.

"So you're actually real, huh?" A cheeky voice teased, aligning an arm around your shoulder while you sipped on an overpriced drink Sukuna had insisted on getting you.

You shoved Gojo off, recognizing him from voice alone.

"I'm Satoru Gojo," He grinned, sticking his hand for you to shake.

You didn't get to shake it before Sukuna returned from talking to their team principal, your boyfriend swatting his hand away from you.

"No touching my girl," He grunted.

"Are you his girl?" Gojo pouted, pushing out a plush, pink bottom lip. "Come on, you could do better, this guy's such a buzzkill."

You thought Sukuna was going to punch him.

"Are you trying to say you're better?"

"Don't fuckin' answer that," Sukuna scowled at him, pulling you back and leading you somewhere else, maybe to show you his real car up close like he'd promised on the way over.

It was prettier in person, a dark shade of red and sleek design. He ran his hands over it, pride glinting in his eyes.

And it kinda terrified you still, to picture him inside that death trap, but you liked watching him in his element, the way it seemed to be a second skin to him.

"Eyes on me out there," He murmured.

You don't think your eyes left him once the rest of the weekend.

In the haze of heated touches or when he was on the circuit, watching on the screen and unable to rip your attention away. He drove with the same control that he lived with - like he couldn't die.

No one was surprised when he took the top spot this time.

What did was him going to you first after he won. Kissing you in front of the crowd and picking you up in a tight hug.

Instead of an after-party, he dragged you back to his hotel room, pulling you back on top of his lap, already tugging your dress up and shoving your panties aside to push himself in after fingerfucking you stupid on the ride over. Your head was a little dizzy from the champagne he popped, your giggle turning into a gasp as his thick tip grinded up into you.

"Easy," You laughed, his fingers squeezing your sides as he guided you up-and-down slowly, savoring each second of being inside you.

"Can't I get my trophy?" He complained with a huff, brows furrowed together as he dragged you back down on his dick, distracting you from the stretch with a long kiss.

"I'm your trophy?" You giggled again, tilting your head back for him to decorate your throat with more hickies.

"My favorite one," He taunted, holding your hips in place and groaning at the way you squeezed around him.

He wasn't used to taking anything slow, but he was trying for you.

"What'd you think?" Sukuna asked as you tangled your fingers through his hair.

"Of what?" You hummed, relaxing into his touch.

"Everything. Did you like it?" He cocked his head to the side, leaning back against the bed's headboard and pulling you closer. The VIP lanyard still dangling around your neck bounced with the force, but you laughed. You were still nervous, still anxious and unsure of how it'd be to adjust to long-distance and what life with him meant. But the past few days had been a high you didn't want to give up.

Sukuna was someone you didn't want to give up.

His hands settled on your waist instead, enjoying being ridden for once instead of in the driver's seat.

"I like you."

He’ll soften his gaze, speak with words coated in a thick layer of honey, flash that million dollar smile of his— every demand that came from him sounded so sweet, it was sickening. 

He let out a pleased hum. “I knew you would.” 

“It’s just– I don’t,” you cut yourself off with a nervous laugh, the sense of warmth you originally felt quickly morphed into embarrassment, “I don’t have anything else to wear.” 

“No?” 

For a split second, his voice drops. Even if it’s just for a moment, it doesn't fail to leave you a bit unsettled given his history of losing his mind whenever things didn’t go his way. 

“N-no, Sir,” you shrink in your seat, “I’ll have to wait until my next payday to go shopping.”

“I see.” His lips curl back into a smile after realizing he’s going to scare you off, as that wasn’t his intention here. He looks at the door real quick, then back at you. “How about this, then— you remember that department store I had you pick up a suit from once, Damian’s?”

Your eyes widen once you realize where he’s going with this. “Oh! I don’t think that’s n—”

He plants his elbows on top of the desk, leaning forward and cutting you off with the simple, yet powerful act of clearing his throat. 

“Why don’t you give them a visit this weekend, yeah?” He pauses for a moment, as if he were daring you to interrupt him again. You don’t. He laughs. “Yeah— why don’t you give them a visit. I’ll reach out before the day ends so they know to expect you. Better yet, I’ll tell them exactly what I’m looking for and have them pull whatever pieces fit the idea I have in mind, that way you won’t have to think too much into it.” 

“But Mr. Gojo, I can’t afford that,” your voice nearly breaks telling him that. 

Satoru doesn’t even know why you bothered telling him— he already knows. If you haven’t already forgotten, he’s the one that pays you. How hard is it to get you to stop dressing like a fucking nun? He’s had it with the god damn turtlenecks.

He lets out a sigh, fighting to keep his cool demeanor despite his dwindling patience. “Which is why I’m sending you to Damian’s, they have my card ready to go on file.” 

The wheels in your head continue to turn, wondering why he’d even offer you this much. Wondering if this is even appropriate. It’s been over three months since you started working for him and not once have you heard of an allowance meant for office attire. Now he’s sending you to some high-end department store to pick out new clothes, on his dime, since your clothes don’t ‘fit your stature’. Whatever the hell that means.

“I don’t think I can accept this…” you look down at your feet and murmur, and Satoru nearly rolls his eyes. 

You can and you will. 

Satoru watches you freeze and realizes he just said that outloud, making him let out a laugh in an attempt to make himself sound less crazy. 

“Ahem— sorry, what I meant was…” he stalls, leg lightly bouncing as he thinks of what to say, then decides to make this a company thing, rather than a him thing, “if the company’s requiring it, then the company should pay for it, right?”

His words disarm you enough to nod. “...Right.” 

“Perfect,” he chirps out. “That’ll be your assignment for the weekend then.” He leans back in his seat, looking quite pleased with himself. Looking at the clock, he notices it’s a quarter to five, and takes the opportunity to kick you out of his office before the air between you grows awkward again. “Well, now that it’s settled, why don’t you wrap up for the day?” 

You glance at the clock. “Uhhh… yeah, sure! Was there anything else you needed before I clock out?” 

There was a lot that Satoru needed, like for you to stop sounding so eager when asking if he needed anything else from you. You have no idea how painfully hard that makes him. 

“No, thanks,” he responds in a strained tone. “Enjoy your weekend.”

“Thanks! You as well, Mr. Gojo.”

You give him one last smile as you rise from your seat and begin to walk back to your desk that’s just outside his office. It’s not until your hands on the doorknob, ready to turn it, when he stops you one last time. 

You brace yourself the moment you meet an unfamiliar pair of eyes, just glimmering with amusement. Satoru then proceeds to throw you off in a way that almost feels ceremonious with how he never quite gave you the chance to get back up. 

“I know it’s just a little favor, but you know how people can be sometimes. So for both of our sakes, let’s just keep this between us to avoid any confusion, yeah? It can be our little secret.”

Something in that low, velvety voice of his told you it was just the beginning of many secrets you’d be sharing, but it still managed to lure you in.

And so, you said yes— marking the very beginning of something that was just as confusing as it was thrilling. 

. . . . . . 

Being a man of his stature, Satoru has to really watch himself in public— watch what he says, who he says it to, what he does, and where he does it. Which is why he frequents places the public didn’t have knowledge of, let alone have access too. Places that allowed him to let loose. 

Though, in your honest opinion, just because someone can let loose, doesn’t mean they should. Especially someone like Satoru, who does a shit ton of coke and treats it like a fucking free for all. 

His idea of a good time is often a violent one. You wish you were kidding, there’s nothing that gets him going more than being in the middle of an all out brawl— just grinning from ear to ear while drinks and punches get thrown in every which direction as music continues to blast in the background. 

The first to call you is his driver Ijichi, who’s aware that your job consists of tasks that went way beyond the professional scope.

The next is the county jail, because you are Satoru’s emergency contact. 

An hour later, you’re patching your boss up in the middle of his penthouse at 3:00 A.M, when you should be asleep like most people are on this side of the world. 

“Sorry you got ripped out of your sleep for this,” he boyishly mutters as you dab the corner of his mouth with antiseptic. Lucky for him, the cut’s small, and should be gone by Monday morning. It’s his knuckles that are all scraped up. But then again, he doesn’t interact with many people at the office to begin with, and the ones that do get paid enough not to ask. 

“Are you actually sorry, or are you just saying that?” you murmur back. 

“Let’s just say I’m grateful that it's you that’s cleaning me up right now.”

“As opposed to who?”

“I dunno,” he chuckles, looking at you through heavy lidded eyes that you refuse to meet. “Don’t even wanna think about anybody else’s fingers on me.”

“How sweet,” you boredly say, dabbing a bit of ointment on the small cut. “Maybe you can extend that kindness to everyone else for the rest of this weekend? So I don’t have to, you know— pick you up from jail… again.”

“What if I only like being sweet to you?” he murmurs.

He doesn’t make you feel special anymore. 

For how close of a proximity you have to the man’s personal life, you already are special, and it’s something he constantly reminds you of, even during times it’s not necessary. In the midst of all the confusion it leaves you with, you’re reminded of a line that’s been completely blurred, and you’re not quite sure who’s at fault here. 

Satoru may be pervasive by nature, but you’re still here. Somehow there’s still a part of you that wants to please him despite all your irritation. 

“Well then everyone’s out of luck and I’m out of sleep.” You sigh as you close the first-aid kit.

He watches as you get up from the couch to put it back in the cabinet, eyes tracing over your body throughout the entirety of it. You may not be in the tight skirts and high heels he has you in during the day, but he found himself enjoying off-duty sweats and slippers just as much. Shamelessly, he doesn’t take his eyes off you when you start walking back towards him, but you’re used to it at this point. 

“Y’know you can spend the night here if you’re so tired, right?” he teasingly asks, but you know there’s a part of him that’s more than serious about it. 

“No thank you.” You throw your purse over your shoulder, typing away at your phone as you try to book an uber. “I’m sure your silk sheets are great, but they’re no match for mine.”

To no one's surprise, you got out of his penthouse fast. You’ve gotten pretty good at dodging him in situations that could easily end with you on your back, splayed out right underneath him. 

Believe it or not, he actually respects that— the self control and all. Especially with the way you’ve almost given in to him a couple times. It didn’t need to be said for him to know. He’s seen the needy, defeated look in your eyes during the times he’s gotten too close. It’s a look that screams ‘get away from me before I do something stupid, please’. A sweet girl you are, really. 

But what would happen if he kept going and finally closed that distance?

Sometimes, he thinks he’d be nice to you. Be all soft, put you on his lap, whisper sweet things in your ear while his hand slowly slid down your stomach. You’d begin to hold your breath the moment he went past your waist and it’d finally catch once his fingers found themselves in between your thighs, slipping right in between your folds. 

He’d kiss on your neck, pull moans from you as he drew little circles over your clit, making your legs tremble once he finally slipped inside and started curling in. 

Then there’s times he thinks he’d be rough with you. Make you start crying from how fast and hard he made you cum from just his fingers alone. Bend you over the nearest surface and tease you with the thick head of his cock, rubbing it over your slick folds until you beg him to put it in. 

He’d pull your hair back, make you look him in the eyes while he fucked you senseless, pump you full of so much cum that it’d continued to leak out of your poor pussy the very next day. 

Bonus points if you two had to work together that day. 

But for now, a man could only dream, or rather imagine, as he starts to fist his cock to the thought of you for who knows how many times now.

. . . . . .

There’s something mildly embarrassing about going to Damian’s with Satoru after being sent here all those months back to pick out new work clothes. Only because he specifically told the stylist to only pull items that were tight fitting and showed a decent amount of cleavage. 

You’re sure if that asshole hadn't done that, you would’ve walked into the department store without a second thought. As if it couldn't have gotten any worse, that same stylist is here, and she’s looking at you with the same amount of concern you’d give to someone who’s being put through the ringer from extreme work conditions. 

You technically are, given all the extra shit he has you do, like picking him up from jail at 2:00 A.M. You’re not exactly planning on leaving anytime soon, though. Don’t ask why. You’re not so sure of it yourself, either. 

Satoru was here to try on a few different suits that just came in. And you’re here because unless you’re working on anything that’s considered incredibly important, you go wherever he goes. 

Just as he was able to go off to the fitting room, the poor stylist asked a question she really shouldn’t have asked. She had good intentions when asking if you wanted to see some of the new pieces they had for Spring, and then Satoru made some comment about grabbing whatever you wanted and putting it on his card. 

And then this poor girl looks at him with all the confidence in the world and asks, “If you’d like, I can pull a few different pieces from the racks like last time— tight fitting, low cuts, and neutrals, right?” 

You didn’t have much of a reaction upon hearing that, it was already clear he had requested those things the last time you came here. 

Satoru, however, just stood there and stared at this girl as if she had just ruined his fucking life. 

It is not often he's left so appalled that it’s rendered him speechless, but there he was just staring at her with nothing but anger and betrayal in his eyes. She looked like she wanted to cry, and rightfully so. You were honestly scared for her. 

“I think that’d be great,” you cut in, trying to break the tension, only to feel Satoru’s nasty glare get directed towards you instead once he realized you were trying to save her. “We’re here for less than an hour, though, so maybe just pull some skirts since the weather's starting to warm up.” 

“Y-yeah! Of course.” 

You watched as she quickly scurried away, then turned to find your boss just now deciding to follow the tailor, still looking absolutely fucking pissed that she just outed him like that. 

Maybe you should tell her to hide once she comes back with those skirts. 

. . .

Satoru might not be one to talk right now given how his goal a few months back was to get you to start dressing just a tad bit sluttier while still looking appropriate enough for work, but he didn’t give a shit. That woman had no tact whatsoever.

Who says something like that? You’re clearly his fucking assistant, there was no need to out his preferences like that.

It fucked up his entire mood for the hour… not that it stopped him from going ahead and having all the suits he tried on sent to his house. But just as he was getting ready to let it go, he saw something else that managed to make him do a double take. 

It’s exactly what you think it is. Which is why he’s walking straight towards you and whoever the hell you’re talking to. 

You didn’t know Rei existed up until two minutes ago, and tried to do him the favor of wrapping up the small conversation he tried sparking up with you once you caught a glimpse of a certain someone walking your way. 

It didn’t work and now Satoru’s standing in front of you two, making you brace yourself for whatever sequence of words is going to come out of his mouth since he’s already in a shitty mood from the stylist snitching on him for being a pervert.

“You can leave now. Bye,” he simply says to the man, nodding towards the exit. 

There’s a moment of silence. His reaction wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be, but it still adds weight to the air around you. Rei was understandably left scrambling, not that Satoru noticed, he was too busy looking at you like he was tired of you disappointing him. 

And your eyes widened, as if you were asking him, what the fuck did I do?

“Excuse me?” Rei finally managed to ask. 

The displeased look on Satoru’s face stays as he briefly turns his attention to Rei. “You’re excused. Goodbye,” he says, casually dismissing him again.

“I’m sorry,” the man laughs from pure disbelief, “are you her boyfriend or something? Because you could’ve just said—” 

“I’m not,” Satoru cuts him off with a tone that’s still surprisingly calm. 

He wouldn’t say he’s calm— disassociated is more like it. All the words Rei throws at him just swarm around his head like a bunch of little gnats, and he steadily loses his patience since he’s already told the guy to fucking leave. Eventually, he closes his eyes and lets out a long, deep sigh. 

“You know what?” Satoru suddenly cuts him off and proceeds to make him an offer— one that makes your jaw drop. “If you want her number so fuckin’ bad, then fine. You can fight me for it.”

“Satoru?!” you immediately scold the man. 

“What the hell is your problem, man?!” Rei says at the same time as you. 

“Oh, wow.” Satoru looks at you, then points a finger at Rei. “He doesn’t even want to fight for you.” 

At that point, the man storms off, muttering some stuff under his breath about people and wondering what the fuck was wrong with them, leaving you to deal with whatever sudden mood swing your boss was having today. 

It didn’t just start within the last hour. This has been going on all day and started when he almost snapped at one of the interns for running into him this morning when turning a corner too fast. You don’t have much patience for him, though.

“Ijichi’s already waiting outside for us,” you casually inform him and turn your heel, taking a step forward to walk away.

“That’s it?” The lack of acknowledgment makes Satoru snap. “That’s all you have to say?” 

You stop and turn again, taking a good look at Satoru as you try to come up with more to say, which is hard given how you just watched him agree to let someone have your number if they fought him. 

Yet all that comes to mind are the lines that you’ve blurred with the man.

“Do you want me to walk on eggshells around you, too, just like everybody else has today?”

“...No.” It’s not much of an answer with the way he mumbled it, but at least you were able to reroute the guy. 

You softly sigh. “Alright, then… let’s go.” 

. . . . . 

The air’s been stale between you since that day. 

You have no idea what’s gotten into him, neither do you want to ask. And it’s not that you don’t care— of course you do. It should've already been made clear by now that you care about Satoru more than you should.

At first, you wonder if it’s some sort of rough patch. Then you realize that isn't normal in professional relationships, leaving you with more questions than answers because nothing about your relationship is professional. 

You run around all over the place for him, picking up his suits and sometimes even him at 3:00 A.M when he’s too drunk or high to drive home. As if that didn’t cross the line enough, he treats you like his friend. A really jealous friend, at that. He’ll do things like cockblock you if a man tries to talk to you when he’s around, sometimes even threatening to fight them. 

It’s been three weeks of silence. 

He didn’t even bother saying goodbye to you when you clocked out for the weekend yesterday. It wouldn’t have been a bad thing at all with your last boss, but something about getting just a simple hum from Satoru left you feeling stupid. 

So what did change with him? It might be better if he listed all the things that didn’t. 

He still jacked off with you in mind— that probably won’t ever change, at least not for a while. He still keeps an eye on you. 

It sounds bad, but it’s really not. 

He just has surveillance over your apartment building, not your actual apartment. He also has the security team keep an eye out whenever you walk to and from your car, before and after work. Just basic safety stuff. He might have a tracker on your car, but never looks at it. 

Unless he’s drunk, but that doesn’t count in his head.

So then what changed? 

Probably the new sense of shame that only seems to unveil itself when you’re around. He’d rather you not have a front row seat when it comes to all of his less… desirable qualities anymore. He is far from perfect— very fucking far from it. 

Was it too late for that? 

Probably. 

It still made him feel just a little bit better about himself, even though he’s been rotting away on the inside from keeping his distance.

. . . . . . 

Staying late at the office is a rare but unavoidable occurrence. 

It happens. Some work gets prioritized over others, leaving small tasks to multiply and pile up. Today is one of those days Satoru is forced to push a main project aside and tackle all the little ones. 

He considered taking on all of it by himself, but was reminded why he avoided the work in the first place just an hour into his day. It was all so boring and tedious. It would’ve driven him up the wall had he not handed off a portion of it to you. 

But even then, there were a couple moments he spent wallowing in self-pity, looking out the window with thoughts of throwing himself off the top floor of the high rise. He fucking hates this and hates how he has no one but himself to blame for all the procrastination he’s done. 

The office feels like a different world once everyone’s gone. It may feel comfortable for your boss since he has his own office, but your desk right outside of it gives you a front row seat to a corporate wasteland. Muffled chatter gets replaced with the sounds of the fluorescent lights buzzing above you. Air vents thrumming as they recirculate the cold, stale air. 

The clock says 8:48 p.m once you finally finish your last task of the day. As happy as you are to finally leave this place, you grow nervous at the thought of entering your boss’s office to let him know you’re finished and heading home. Whatever camaraderie you had with him is non-existent at this point. Everything with him just feels awkward now and you’d be lying to yourself if you said you haven’t already started looking for new positions. 

You lightly knock on the door leading to his office and don’t enter until you hear a tired hum on the other side of it. 

Aside from the lamps next to his desk and next to the sofa you see when you first walk in, every other light is off, allowing the moonlight to peek through the dim space. It’s actually quite peaceful with his view of the city’s lit up skyline. 

Satoru's eyes must hurt. He has his reading glasses on, framing the tired lines and dark circles under them. 

“I’m all done for the day,” you say, carrying a stack of papers as you walk up to him and setting them down on the oak wood desk he’s half leaning on. 

He doesn’t look at you. 

“Thanks,” he murmurs, sounding just as drained as he looks. 

You stand there, waiting for him to say anything else before coming to the conclusion that maybe it was time to move on to a new company, because you are too far gone. 

Stupid.

The long day you two have had wasn’t a reason to think he’d give you more than he has lately, let alone something to get your hopes up over.

Just standing in front of him makes you feel pathetic— you shouldn’t feel like that.

You open your mouth to say goodbye for the night, since he won’t, but instead say something entirely different that leaves even you shocked. 

“I’m putting in my two weeks.” 

You haven’t even sent out any applications.

Satoru’s eyes darted up at you while staying in place. “What?” 

Despite not having the right, he did not fucking like that. The cold tone of his voice made you want to cower down and take your words back, but there was no turning back. 

You push through the nerves as you repeat yourself in a professional manner. “After some consideration, I’ve decided I want to take my career in a different direction and that would require me to step down from my position.” 

The overly corporate tone does nothing but put a glare on Satoru’s face, one that deepens as you continue to spew, what he considers, a bunch of bullshit from your mouth.

“I’d like to thank you for the opportunities the company has given me, of course. I’d be more than happy to train my replacement.”

“You’re not training anybody,” he scoffs, standing from his seat as he starts to go through literally every stage of grief. “What the fuck? No? No. You’re not fucking leaving— absolutely not. Fuck that.”

Your eyes widen in disbelief over how entitled he is. He’s been treating you like a second class citizen for weeks and now he’s not letting you leave? “That’s not your choice to make.”

“I don’t care,” he says delusionally. “You’re not fucking leaving.” 

“Yes I am.” You raise your tone. “You can’t just fucking keep me here—“

“Where are you going then, huh? Since you seem to have found a place so much better,” his immaturity inevitably shines through as he cuts you off.

“That’s none of your business!” 

“It’s not, but you owe me that much,” he begins to argue. 

Your face twists in disgust. “I don’t owe you anything. I— how can someone be this selfish?! You’ve been giving me the cold-shoulder for weeks—“

He cuts you off again. “So that’s what this is about?!”

For someone that’s been ignoring you for weeks, he’s very expressive, especially when he argues. His pupils will be blown out, he’ll look at you in disgust, talk with his hands, pace around the room, then get in your face. This time is no different. 

“You’re leaving ‘cause I won’t give you attention? I thought you didn’t fucking want that!” He throws his arms out, voice resounding through the room. 

You pause, mouthing a ‘what?’ to yourself in complete disbelief. Leaving someone angry and confused is one impressive skill— Satoru has clearly mastered it. 

“When have I ever said that?!”

“It was written all over your face!” He shouts back, almost as if it was something that hurt him. “I figured you were getting tired of me so I backed off!” 

“Seriously? That’s your definition of backing off?” You have to stop yourself from laughing at how ridiculous it sounds. “Backing off is stopping the 1:00 am calls on the weekend— not completely disregarding me.”

“I went back to being your boss—“

“Yeah, a really shitty one.”

“I was always a shitty one.” He barks out a laugh. “The only reason why you’re mad now is because you’re not getting anything out of it anymore.”

Satoru doesn’t mean that. 

Not that you’d know. 

He tends to reject anything that brings him even just the slightest bit of discomfort, all while hating rejection himself. Watching you try to quit has made it one hell of a combo for him.

If he was just someone you simply had to tolerate, then whatever you gained from it was not worth your time. But he spoke with enough conviction to render whatever response you had useless.

“How the hell do you expect me to stay after saying that?” you genuinely ask. “I’m tired of not being treated like real person and now you’re being a fucking asshole.”

“Fuck. I’m sorry. I—“

“No. Save it,” you say in defeat as you start to walk away.

“Where are you going?” he asks, still having the audacity to sound irritated.

“Leaving— have fun finding a new replacement. I’m not staying for another two weeks.” 

He lets out a bitter laugh. “Well if you’re not coming back would you at least finally admit you felt something between us?” 

You stop and let out a sigh. “What are you talking about?” 

“You know what I’m talking about,” he says, taking a couple steps towards you. 

“No, there wasn’t.” 

“Alright,” he huffs out a laugh. “I get that you’re mad at me and everything, but there’s no point lying about now.” 

“I’m not lying about anything.” 

“I don’t believe you,” he blandly says. “You wouldn’t have stayed as long as you did if there was never anything there. Be honest with yourself for once.” 

Just as you’re about to deny it for the third time, you hesitate. “Just forget it already.”

The sight of you walking away for the second time feels entirely different from the first time for Satoru. No more confusion or panic, all that’s left is certainty. Perhaps a little amusement, as well. “No. I don’t think I will, actually.”

It happens fast. 

You hardly process being spun back around, then you’re stunned again by a pair of lips crashing into yours. It’s messy from the start and he’s breathlessly apologizing against you with each rough kiss. 

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. You know I didn’t mean that. Please. 

And you forgive him, because there’s really no point in lying anymore. Not when you’re kissing him back. Desperately, at that— filled with just as much need. His hands start to roam, clothes start to scatter, leaving a trail that leads in the direction he took you in. 

He always thought he’d put you on the desk. 

The couch shifts erratically, moans pour into the room with each thrust. Satoru’s pressing down on your back and deepening the arch he put you in, bottoming out over and over again.

“Good job, baby,” he drones, mesmerized at the sight of you helplessly stretched around his thick cock, covering it in a thick coat of your slick. 

It took some working up to. The moment he sat you down on the couch, he buried his head in between your thighs and tongued your clit— dragging it over that sensitive little bundle of nerves until you couldn’t see straight. Then it was his fingers. Working not one, but two of his long digits into your cunt, curling them into a little spot that had you gushing all over him. 

Now he’s fucking that same little spot to no mercy, making your toes curl as the thick head of his cock catches it. “Oh my g-god— Satoru– fuuck!”

“Mmm I know,” he grabs your hair and pulls you back up against his chest, not letting up as he gets right in your ear. “Say my name again.”

His balls slap against your clit with each thrust, leaving you a gasping mess. “S-Satoru.”

“Again.”

“Satoru!” you cry out. 

“Sounds so fuckin’ pretty coming from you,” he hums, licking a stripe up your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. “You like getting ruined on the couch like this?”

Shamelessly, you nod. “Mhm.”

“Yeah? You’ve thought about this before, haven’t you?” 

“I have,” you admit. “A lot.”

“So honest tonight,” he grins, “so have I— thought about kissing you, fucking you, putting a baby in you.” A hand snakes down your belly until his fingers reach your clit, drawing little circles. “You really wouldn’t be able to get away from me then, huh?” 

“That’s fucking insane,” your attempt to complain dies out into another pathetic moan. 

“I fucking know,” he laughs, pulling your hair back even more so you can look him right in the eye while he fucks himself even deeper into you. “I think you might like that though since you’re squeezing around me like crazy.” 

And you have no idea how to respond to that, you’re so fucking close. It’s taking everything in you to hold yourself together while he just tears you apart with each snap of his hips, rubbing fast circles over your clit.

“How bad do you wanna cum again?”

It’s been three times already, each time harder than the last. Your own body betrays yourself when you answer his question. “So bad.”

He hums sympathetically, though the look in his eyes seems to be the complete opposite of that. He keeps the same dizzying pace, pushing you further and further to edge until you’re finally gushing around him, again. He watches as tears of pure pleasure start rolling down your cheeks, trembling and letting out choked moans as he continues fucking you into overstimulation. 

“I know, baby, I know,” he coos, letting go of your hair and wrapping his arms around your waist, keeping your back flush against his chest while he starts chasing against his own release. “M’so fuckin’ close. You’re gonna take it all, right?” 

“Yeah,” you weakly nod, nails digging into his forearms, steadying yourself as best as you can. 

“Shit— good girl,” he exhales, snapping his hips against your ass even harder, thrusts growing sloppier. “Here we go.”

The groans that spill out of Satoru are just downright sinful. There’s nothing but desperation in his tone as he holds on tight and starts pumping you full of his cum, shuddering as you milk his cock for all that he has. 

You’re spent by the time you come back to your senses, with his arms being the only thing keeping you up. And yet, as you lay limp in his hold, he says something that, at the time, sounded like a threat with how entranced he seemed.

“Don’t think I’m done with you yet, princess.” 

—

It’d been months since the night he finally broke his silence with you. 

No, you don’t work for him anymore. You quickly found a new job just three weeks later. One with better pay and normal hours. Easier, too.

Looking back, he truly was a shitty boss. A conniving one that always took up your time. You guess you just never saw it because a part of you always liked it— better yet, liked him. 

Good thing he’s a better boyfriend than he is a boss. 

You were reluctant to start a relationship with him at first, the thought of him taking up even more space into your life lingering in the back of your mind and threatening whatever little peace you had left. But surprisingly, he went from being a conspiring little bastard to…

“I just have one request tonight.” 

You’re in the middle of doing your makeup when his sudden presence pulls your attention away from it. You look at a slightly reluctant Satoru through the vanity mirror, raising a brow and waiting to hear what exactly that request is for tonight. 

“Can you wear something that shows your tits more?” Immediately you scoff, and he’s quick to defend himself. “What?! It’s our anniversary!”

You’ve been with him for an entire year now, and he just seems to grow more and more pathetic as the time passes. He’s in nothing but boxers, begging you to show off some cleavage, for fucks sake.

“You see my tits every night,” you scold him. 

“And I want to see them some more tonight, too.”

You scoff. “Sato—“

“Please,” he cuts you off with a beg. There’s a bit of a stare off shortly after, with him looking at you like some lost puppy and you inevitably give in, like you always do. He’s hard to say no to when he gets like this.

“Fine.” 

He smiles and walks up to you, leaning down to give you a quick kiss, careful not to mess with your lip liner. “Love you.”

“I love you, too,” you softly say, before barely scolding him again. “Now go put your suit on, you’re the one that said the driver was gonna be here soon.” 

“Yeah, whatever— he can wait,” he waves a hand, lazily walking up to the sea of suits he has in your shared closet. 

“Hey, Satoru?” 

“Hm?”

“If we’re even one minute late, I’m putting on a fucking turtleneck.” “…Fine.”

each invitation was fit with a conway reservation for the weekend, and upon satoru’s arrival the lobby had been infested with near-royalty, in wealth and cursed power. there were as many non-sorcerers, he found, as there were jujutsu users, but the whole lot made up the global upper echelon.

nobody seemed all that preoccupied with the implication on the invitation: that the party thrower is elated by the death of anwir conway. satoru supposes now, lying in wait hours before the party, that he has paid it little mind, too. but his host hadn’t signed their name, either. who would so brazenly advertise their disdain for the new york city’s king of elite?

a part of him is almost amused by the unadulterated joy unfurling in the hallways; even beyond the tangible glitter of crystal chandeliers and precious gemmed decor, there was a potent air of delight, the scent of it curling a talon from under his closed door. 

there is so much cursed energy in this hotel that satoru can hardly discern a thing. only that, if he can admit it, he is excited for tonight. the intrigue and the wealth and the subversion of the invitation all inspire a thrill within him. whoever he would encounter this evening, it would be someone worth meeting. a terrible villain, he is certain, but no doubt someone fun.

he stands at the threshold of the room’s closet now, glancing over his various suits and smoker jackets, some a sleek black and detailed with silk, others attached with white or ivory bowties and scarves. is this…a funeral? a party? both, maybe. gojo pads to the phone by the bed and twists the rotary to call the front desk. a man answers, voice rough with use but unendingly polite.

“good evening, conway international front desk. how may i help you?”

satoru grins with the stiff script of it all. “good evening, sir. i’m a guest of…well…i suppose i don’t know. i’m a guest this evening and i was wondering what the attire is for the party?”

there is shuffling on the other end, a hasty “just one moment, sir,” whispered across the line. there are at least three people speaking as his telephone friend holds the phone to what must be his chest. two men and a woman, he thinks. very little can be made out beyond one sentence, wry and full of humor, a feminine voice: let me speak to him.

satoru is transferred hands and then a delicate breathing comes through the receiver. the woman says nothing. is she…waiting for him?

“um…hello?”

“hello, sir,” you says. satoru can hear the smile in your tone, almost like you’re amused to be in this position. it’s clear enough that you don’t typically handle the phones.

“yes, ma’am, i was wondering whether you knew the attire code for tonight’s party?”

your laugh is light, almost teasing. “it’s nearly a quarter past 6, mr. gojo. aren’t you a little late?”

“am i?” he teases back.

you snicker again, and it’s a terribly attractive sound. “you know, i’ve been preparing for weeks. can’t you spare a full hour of your precious time to compose yourself?”

“you’ve spent weeks selecting an outfit?” 

“among other things,” you say, voice trailing off at the end. your cadence is provocative. not quite sexual, more biting. satoru finds himself smiling broader the longer you speak with him. who is this woman? 

“well would you be so kind as to offer me guidance?”

you hum quietly, pretending to consider it. “i suppose i might, if you asked me kindly.”

gojo laughs again, again. “right. oh powerful woman on the phone, might you please indicate a color in which i should dress this fine evening?”

“yes!” you cackle. “that’s exactly the sort of ego-stroking i’m in search of. well done, mr. gojo.” satoru, despite himself, beams, though you cannot see it. “tonight, more than anything, is a celebration. wear something you’d be horrified to see at a funeral. i don’t mind the colors, more the spirit of it.”

“i will work tirelessly to please you,” he returns.

you hum again, pleased. “i hope so. enjoy your night,” you say.

and satoru almost lets you hang up the phone before startling to awareness. “wait—wait,” he waits to hear you settle the receiver on your face again before continuing, “how do you know my name?”

you pause a moment before responding. “it is the job of the front desk to know our guests by name.”

“but you don’t work at the front desk, do you?” satoru probes.

something sweet and self satisfied pushes out of your nose and he hears it crackle on the line. you let the silence stretch one moment too long, he suspects just to make him wait. “because i invited you.”

the sound clicks, and you are gone. gojo lowers the phone slowly, wondering what sort of ravenous thing it was he just spoke to. 

the city lights twinkle through his window as the sky darkens, and in the flickering gleam satoru selects a pressed tuxedo, which on its own would be altogether normal, but attaches about his waist a shiny, light blue cumberbund. the reference to his own eyes is so overt that he snorts as he asses himself in the mirror. would this satisfy you? he looks, he thinks, like the worst, most vain young man in the world. perfect.

descending down to the ballroom, gojo still thinks of you. the lilt of your voice, almost reticent, but not at all sheepish. would he know you by sight alone? this is—you made sure he knew—your party. who are you to awrin conway? satoru supposes you must be his daughter, in which case your more than manifested glee at his death is rendered even more fascinating. are you to inherit the empire of your father? do you relish this bequeathment of power, or do you resent the responsibility? how close would you let satoru get to your lips?

that last musing would concern him, but just then the elevator bell sings as the operator pries open the door, and he steps slowly into what would be better described as an auditorium. a dance floor beams the diamond starlight, enormous and full of people already, and along the waist of the high ceilings rounds a second floor, trimmed with silver railings, over which glamorous people of all ages drink champagne and watch the dancers below. a live band bellows from the front stage, alto saxophones and violas and the deep voice of the vocalist, sorcerers and non-sorcerer's alike making fools of themselves, dripping in all manner of fine fabric. it looks like all the most exquisite curtains in the world have gathered to dance here, twirling and draping themselves around the expanse of the room. 

contrary to his norm, nobody seems particularly interested in satoru, white-haired and beautiful and teeming with cursed energy. in this room he fits in quite nicely, and the throng hums, full, but makes room for his entrance. 

and despite it all, against his better judgment and against this howling opulence which demands his attention, satoru finds himself searching for you. he hardly has a plan in the case that he even finds you, but nonetheless his eyes flit and scrutinize the crowd for a face he’s never seen.

across the way there is a woman engaged in fierce dancing with two other men, twirled between their arms and agonizing the both of them, entirely pleased with the way they each reach for her when she turns towards the other. but her dress is black and simple; gojo imagines this woman did not realize your insurgent intentions until her arrival. not you.

another young lady crosses the dance floor, cutting into his line of vision. she has had multiple glasses of champagne already, clear in her gait, and she still grips two of the offending flutes. her friend guides her towards a table to deposit her, and they cackle at her inability to place her feet properly. not you.

satoru lifts his gaze again to the surrounding platform making up the second floor. 

there you are.

he has no reason to know it so certainly, but you lean there, forearms crossed over one another on the railing as you assess your invitees below you. if your hands weren’t so relaxed, dangling like white flowers held by their stems, he might wonder whether you were controlling the entire crowd. you simply have that air about you, that free and open confidence, and it makes satoru want to be your puppet, too. 

your dress is a deep blue velvet, homage to the night, draped just barely over your shoulders and down your back. satoru climbs the stairs towards you, eyes locked on the incline of your back, watching you even through the pillars as he passes them. nobody even seems aware of you there, aware that it’s you who has invited them, you who, satoru can only assume, owns everything around them now. 

does he offer his condolences? no, that much has been made obvious. he wonders whether he should congratulate you. you choose not to turn to him as he leans against the railing, too, mimicking you. you wait, again, for him to speak first, for him to give.

“you didn’t give me enough time on the phone to thank you for the invitation.”

you turn now and smile in greeting, so dazzling, so familiar, but still you give nothing away. “i hoped you would come thank me in person.”

satoru bows his head a little in a show of gratitude that makes you giggle. “miss conway, i thank you kindly for your invitation this evening.”

your chin tips in response, “i’m simply delighted to have you.”

he resettles on the railing and gojo watches your face turn again. your eyes are wide open, so bright as they bite at the scene below and around you. “you look like you’ve never thrown a party before.” this is not entirely true, you stand far too self-assured for him to really mean it. but there’s a newness, too, in the way you glance about.

“i haven’t,” you admit, easily, like it’s cost you nothing.

“i’ll admit i’m surprised.”

“everyone is. but until now it was my father who liked to host,” you say. and your voice is casual, the way it has been thus far, but something wriggles awake beneath it. satoru pretends not to notice.

“so you were his daughter, then.”

you nod. “the one and only.”

he gestures to vivacity abound. “and is this how you mourn?”

you straighten to standing and tilt your head back a bit as you laugh, humorless but cut short. “i don’t suppose i’ll mourn at all.” you make a conspiratorial face. “come drink with me.”

satoru, with an absurd flair of showmanship that makes you laugh, takes your hand to guide you back down the stairs.

there are only brief and fleeting passes of recognition in people’s faces as you pass them on the ground floor. they are all uncertain, it seems, if you’re really his daughter, if you’re really their host. the few that are brave enough to approach you introduce themselves, every one of them. the question tugs at satoru’s sleeve: do you know any of the people here? though his wonderings don’t seem to matter much as he walks beside you. you shine like you’ve swallowed a comet, entirely awake and alive. there are moments when, at the right angle, satoru thinks he can see you have cursed energy, but it’s almost impossible to tell in this room.

the bar comes into view and he collects a flute of champagne for each of you. the chime of your glasses makes you disproportionately giddy and you take a long pull. 

“so ask me what you’d like to ask me,” you say suddenly. satoru blinks.

“what is it i’d like to ask you?”

you drink again, lick your lips, and he tracks the pink of your tongue. you notice. “well,” you walk around the dance floor and he follows in step, “there are a few things i’d imagine most people here are wondering, and still none of them have chosen to talk to me.” you glance up at him, eyes narrowed. “so you must have something you really want to know.”

he wonders if you’re right. he thinks he can’t admit that what he wants to know most of all is what you’d taste like under your dress. “i’d like to know why you’re celebrating your fathers death so voraciously.”

you falter but only a moment, a minute second. “anything but that.”

gojo does his best to recover as quickly as you. “have you inherited everything?” he goads.

“what a gauche question!” you admonish, but you’re dripping with sarcasm. “yes, every last dollar is mine.”

“what are you going to do with it?”

you tap your pointer finger to your chin. “it’s more than i could ever make a meaningful dent in. i’d like to keep the hotels, i think. i think being a hotel owner is sort of chic,” you start.

“very chic,” satoru agrees, smiling like an idiot.

“but beyond that i’d like to travel, i suppose. go somewhere. go everywhere, even.” you pause again to watch the dancers; they’re even drunker now, even more pleased.

“where will you start?”

still enraptured by your guests, you say without thinking, “new york city.” and though he doesn’t have the tools to decipher it, gojo suspects it’s your most intimate confession of the evening.

satoru deposits your empty flutes on a table nearby. “come dance with me, new york city,” he says softly, lips tilted into your ear. you shudder and beam, taking his hand to the dance floor.

the pair of you work seamlessly into the body of the crowd, it breathes you in, and satoru takes your waist in his large hand. you squeeze his fingers between yours in the other, waltzing as you orbit each other. with each twist and spin your neck cranes a little further, your joy stretching out further as the melody of your laugh wraps around gojo’s skin. the music swells.

it’s here, too, tethered to you, that he knows for sure; you have cursed energy, something viscous and awake, something with a heartbeat. and it’s impossible not to feel close to you now in a spiritual sort of way, with his hands over your dress and yours smoothed over the lapel of his jacket. 

“can i ask you another question?”

you tip your gaze back to his and nod, smile still spread delicately across your face. 

“what is your cursed technique?”

for a moment your eyes widen, but like every passing vulnerability it is fleeting. and something else emerges too, a realization maybe, or the settling of something long kicked up. 

and then—it happens so fast gojo has half a mind to shove you off of him, it’s startling and striking, and beautiful, too—you’re cackling. 

a full and vibrant resonance beating from your throat, he can almost track it as it’s born in your stomach and claws out from between your lips. your dancing suffers as you shake with it, but the sudden and nearly disturbing sound of it pulls gojo under. he can only hardly keep himself from howling, too.

you keel over, still gripping his hand, and then right yourself with a shock of breath in. “come with me,” you tell him, breathless. all he can do is nod.

you buzz with adrenaline and champagne and something else, something bigger, as you pull him towards the elevator and the lift tugs you both up, up, up. the rising seems to further surge your frenetic excitement. satoru leans himself against wall.

“where are you taking me?” he tries to sound teasing at the provocation in his voice but really he would like if you did something untoward to him this evening. he wants to break rules with you, wants to see how an heiress sounds with her face in his pillow.

you shrug with a grin. “through my personal suite.”

he preens, it’s exactly what he had wanted to hear. “oh, sweetheart, aren’t you being presumptuous?” he teases. somewhere in his periphery he feels badly for the elevator operator, who stands solem in the corner, pretending not to listen, but mostly gojo is hot with your sunlight, basking.

you roll your eyes. “through my personal suite, mr. gojo. you’ll remain a virginal saint in the morning,” you promise as the elevator doors are opened and you step out.

you have no interest in showing him around, though satoru pays little mind to that. you trudge straight through the living room, the kitchen, all of it enormous and lavish, and along the way he collects the little things strewn about your floor. you keep a clean living space, and it’s altogether impersonal, but there are whispers of your living here dotted about and he all but lunges for them. a newspaper, smudged at the edges with your fingerprints: two different-colored socks, thrown together like you’d worn them both: a lacy bralette, clasps tight, like you’ve never undone it in a rush. you’re about to swing open the doors of your closet when you turn back to him, words in your mouth that you swallow again.

“put that down!” you screech, scandalized and still laughing, you’re always laughing. he knows what of his menagerie you want back, and he holds the garment above his head. you jump for it, bracing your hands on his shoulders as you propel yourself up and make to grab at it, but satoru continues to twist out of your hold, maniacal and giggling.

“you’ve inherited an empire! can’t you spare me one gift of good fortune?”

you pant a little from your attempts at retrieving it, your skin beginning to flush and satoru’s body practically pulls itself towards you. your chest heaves and he’s right there, sternum brushing yours with each breath in. you seem unbothered by the proximity, though he knows better. you each grin at the other, both pink and so uncomplicatedly drawn together. “my gift is forthcoming, mr. gojo.”

“call me satoru.”

“satoru,” you purr. god he wants to hear that again. he wants to hear that in the dead of night while the rest of the city sleeps, wants to hear it in his ear and against his chest, you are so captivating. he drops your bra, sufficiently tamed.

“yes?”

you have won, and it shows on your face. “follow me.”

the doors of what he was sure was a closet fly open with your greedy hands, and gojo finds himself at the base of a ladder. you start up it immediately, dignified even scrambling up the rungs in your evening dress.

“sweetheart, i really must know, where are you taking me?”

“to new york city!” you call down as he begins to climb.

“that cannot be your answer to everything!”

“yes it can!”

vaguely he hears a hatch open above him, feels the blanket of the night sky unspool down the ladder as he makes his way up. when at last his shoes meet steady ground, satoru has all the remaining air knocked from his lungs in a great, ceremonious push.

you’ve taken him to the roof of the hotel, a slab of concrete among the stars, and all around you the city shimmers. it is a strange and profound feeling, satoru thinks, to watch over a thing so tall. the park hides behind the shadow of the skyline but still boasts a deep emerald green, the larger streets twitch with the movement of people, hardly discernible from up so high, the streetlights glimmer faintly from hundreds of floors away. they look like stars, too; he is surrounded by stars, below and above him, and a sun ahead of him.

you run towards the wall circumscribed about the platform like those few feet closer to the sight and sounds of the city will make a difference in how it appears to you. he hears you breathe in, deep. 

“isn’t it amazing?” you ask him.

he approaches the wall with you. “it is—and it pains me to admit this—truly stunning.”

this makes you delighted. “i know,” you agree, halfway to a reverie satoru can only hope he’s a part of. you look up suddenly, remembering something. “it’s cloudy enough.”

gojo furrows his brows a little. “enough?”

“you wanted to see my technique.”

“i asked you what it was, miss conway, not to see it,” he laughs fondly.

you whisper a name, yours, and satoru nods, says it again. and then he says nothing, hoping you’ll speak to him more.

“yes, well, i want to show you,” you confess, smile smaller, realer, he could reach out and touch it.

gojo raises his hands and takes a step back: well, show me then. you give him a brief and almost secretive smile before tilting your head back again, eyes fluttering shut and opening your palms. your energy licks at your wrists and flares, hungry, big-bellied.

for the first few moments, nothing happens. and then, a bellowing crack of thunder, the clap spread through the clouds. 

the rain comes down so torrentially, so immediately, so everywhere, that gojo fears the sky has opened before you can show him your technique. but when he glances your way, you are smiling so wide it must hurt your cheeks. you extend your arms out, scream and whoop, as the rain trails down your body and traces your shape.

satoru assesses his surroundings again. the entirety of the city, all some odd 500 square miles of skyscraper and horde, is pelted by the sudden and open-armed rain. the light and the buildings drink it in, too, even shinier when wet and seeming as jubilant to feel it as you are. his mouth drops open.

“are you…are you doing this?”

you turn to him, soaking wet. “yes!” looking at him a moment you add: “you aren’t wet.” you look almost hurt.

yes, satoru thinks looking down at his own arms, his infinity is on. he turns it off immediately. this suit will be irrecoverable, but then you beam again at the way his hair plasters to his head, vaguely gray with the sheer amount of water in it, and he doesn’t mind at all.

“this is wonderful,” he says earnestly, raising his voice slightly so you can hear him against the pounding. 

you take his hands and pull him towards the center of the platform, place his hands at your waist again and revive your dance from earlier. there is no music beyond the beating of your rain, and the cold threatens to set in, but you spin satoru in your hands and he spins you in return, and it feels too much like an incandescently perfect moment to want for anything. the water splashes under your shoes as you prance about together.

“are you enjoying your party, miss conway?” he asks, face much closer to yours than it was a moment before. gojo hopes you’re blushing, he thinks you may be, but in the dark it’s harder to tell. still, you are a scorching heat between his palms.

“very much so,” you say.

he dips you once, then brings you close again. your steps slow, each of you loosening further, more ready to admit you only dance to hold each other. 

“i have another question now.”

“i’m terrified,” you joke.

“why would you invite all these people you don’t know?”

you look unbothered as you sigh. “who else should i have invited?”

“friends, family,” you twirl between his arms, “lovers, maybe.”

you laugh, almost into his mouth you are so close. “i have none of those things.” but there’s no sadness in it, no regret, all freedom. “but i wanted to spend tonight with people who could dwarf this inheritance, who could do things like i can,” you explain. and then, with a wry grin, “so i wrote to the wealthiest, most powerful people i could find.”

gojo nods once, twice, mulling it over. you’re almost unmoving now, but his palm still skates slowly across your back, tugging as much as he is capable without insulting you. he takes the hand held out at your sides and places it over his shoulder, and you clasp your fingers behind his neck. with his other large palm he slides down your wet dress, reverent, impossibly slow. 

“and which would you like to be, satoru?” you ask, so sincere it cuts him.

“i’ll be whoever you’d like me to be,” he breathes. your noses bump and it sends a thrill down his spine. he’s already hard and he can’t tell if he hopes you can feel it. you take another deep breath, trying to steady yourself.

“i’ll have to think on it,” you whisper.

and satoru cannot wait another moment, he clips the centimeter of space to kiss you. your lips are so warm against his despite the cold of the night as it sticks to the rain. he kisses you slowly, there is no ask in it at first, and brings one hand up to cradle the back of your head. but then you whimper into his mouth a little and he all but consumes you there on the roof of what is now your hotel.

you are both hungry, pushing into each other and making demands with your hands. you tug the hair at the nape of his neck, the lapel of his jacket, smooth your fingers behind it to get closer to his skin. and he is no better, running his hands down your arms, gripping your ass as he pulls you towards his cock as it jumps for you. you moan again, wild, and he groans at the sound, at your soft feeling rutting against him each time he pulls. 

with your lips parted satoru slips his tongue along yours to lick at you from the inside. you let him explore, feel behind your teeth, squirming at the feeling and canting your hips slightly into his. with each wet smack of your lips he is increasingly hot, increasingly hard, and you seem no better.

you pull away for a quick breath and satoru whispers a small fuck as you leave him.

you both still, though, eyes open for the first time since he began touching you. 

it’s unlike anything he has ever seen. 

the drops of rain hang, completely still in the air, little diamonds on strings. you turn your head looking just as stunned as he is. gojo brings his lips to your ear. 

“am i that fantastic a kisser?”

you turn to him, take in his little grin, sheepish and still hungry and hair mussed. you bark another one of your laughs out, dizzy with the pleasure of satoru, of your constellation of water droplets as they hang suspended. and then, all at once, they fall with a blowing splash to the ground. you make no more as you look his way again. 

“we should dry off,” you say, breathless. gojo nods and helps you down the ladder again. the silence between you now has no discomfort in it, only the residual, searing print of your hands on his body, your lips on his. you stand on your tiptoes to wrap a fluffy towel around his head, looking dazed in an elated sort of way. “we should get some sleep.”

“many things we should do, it seems,” satoru says.

your laugh is breathy, your eyes wide. “will you come see me tomorrow?” you ask. satoru opens his mouth to respond but before he can, you add, “i don’t need you to be any more than a friend.”

the towel hangs down his shoulder as he tilts his head. “i think i may need to be more than your friend.”

you let out a puff of air, relieved and insatiable again all at once, but you try to blow the heat from your body. “so come see me tomorrow.”

“yes, miss conway,” gojo whispers, closing in on you again. this time he kisses you only a moment, as softly as he can manage, just to see you make that wild face again. 

there are no more words from each of you then, just his contented, silent leaving, and your beaming smile as you close the door.

gojo looks sufficiently undone as he tows himself back to his room. much like your living space he is frayed at the edges with relics of you, your grip in his hair, your lipstick on his chin. his cock is aching in his trousers still, jumping and desperate, and he wonders if the elevator operator can tell from the shifting gleam of the shiny fabric as he twitches underneath. if he’s honest with himself, he doesn’t much mind either way.

as soon as the heavy door clicks behind him he sheds himself of everything, of his fine fabrics and bowtie and dignity, and they pool in the entryway as his head tips back against the door. he grips his shaft and tugs it once, twice, crazed beyond deliverance.

“fuckfuckfuck,” he mutters, a groan ripping from his throat as he strokes himself in earnest. he thinks of the bunching of your dress between his fingers, the give of your ass as he practically rut into you, god it was a shameful display, he thinks, and it only makes him harder.

precum pearls at his tip and he pulps himself further, the vague pain a baptism for the rest, imagines the lick of his own wetness is your tongue down the underside, along his veins. he wants to fuck you up against this door, cup your chin in his palm as he takes you from behind here, wants to hold you against a wall and grind his pelvic bone along your clit to feel you squeeze. he’s so close so quickly and it would bother him, normally, but not now, not with the myth of your body purring, an apparition, behind his closed eyelids, and the scent of your perfume still clinging to his neck. 

his bedside lamps flickers in protest as he moans again, his own cursed energy spreading its legs as he fucks his palm faster, and then with a whine of your name his hips stutter and he’s gone. he cums more than he ever has alone, hot and damning and everywhere, dripping over his hand and navel. he says again, more conclusively this time, “fuck.”

satoru cleans himself before climbing into bed, bunching the duvet in the cradle of his limbs to shackle himself to sleep. he wants you now, too, wants to hold your spine to his chest without taking a thing. satoru has always been an urgently insatiable thing, has put the world on his tongue like a pill, but he is a moment from utter consumption by this wanting. he steps into the mouth of it as he closes his eyes.

the morning light filters through his windows tentatively from behind the filter of clouds. gojo blinks awake, bleary and nearly hungover with last night’s lechery, but with no small amount of effort begins dragging each long limb off the bed to get dressed.

come see me tomorrow, you had told him. oh, he’s hard just thinking of you again, something animal in his belly clawing its way out. with the glow of daybreak, too, another realization dawns upon him; satoru will not be satisfied with just fucking you, either. 

this should alarm him. you are incalculable, potent with power, terrible and charismatic and ephemerally sad. there is something almost unseeable about you, something visible only when you spin and catch in the light. and even with your newfound familiarity with him, even after nearly allowing him to fuck you like an animal on your roof, you would not divulge gojo’s first question. what reason could you have to rejoice so resolutely in the death of your father? 

you had told him last night that you have no one now. or, satoru things, no one besides him, though as soon as he allows that thought he knows urgently that he should teleport home. but then he considers the pucker of your body splayed lazily in bed, your skin dappled by the sunrise, and finishes buttoning his shirt.

when he opens his door, there is a man waiting for him, dressed in a three-piece suit and ticking faintly with a pocket watch dangling from a chain. he might look jolly if he had a more pleasant look on his face, a round man with ruddy cheeks, but he assesses gojo almost aggressively, takes stock of his posture and the slope of his nose.

“can i…help you?” gojo asks, hip leaning on the threshold.

“good day, sir,” the man seems to have swallowed whatever disaffection threatened from behind his teeth. “i have been instructed to escort you to miss conway’s suite.”

satoru’s face spreads slowly into a smirk. “i spoke with you on the phone yesterday, didn’t i?”

“yes, sir, we spoke for a moment.” 

“before miss conway usurped the phone from you,” he lilts, tilting his head slightly.

“yes, sir.”

gojo exits the room fully but makes no move to follow this man anywhere else. “and now she has sent for me?” a rhetorical question, he is endlessly pleased. the man just barely restrains himself from sighing before turning sharply on one foot and setting off towards the elevator. and for all his deriding, satoru follows straight after him.

the elevator protests slightly under the mass of his companion and it endears gojo to him immediately. “and what should i call you?” he asks.

“ramon, sir.”

satoru nods. “well, ramon, you can call me satoru.”

ramon keeps his sharp gaze trained on the elevator doors like he knows precisely the moment they’ll be opened. “no, mr. gojo.” the operator hides his snicker in a cough and satoru pouts, hoping ramon will turn around and see it, but just then the silver doors and heaved up and they both pad out.

the sound of you approaches him slowly, tentatively, and then completely, a wild beast made docile with familiarity. a record crackles somewhere a few rooms away, more jazz—you must like it—and you hum along with the swing of the melody. the song of your morning washes over him and he nearly parts his lips to drink it.

you’ve laid yourself across your living room couch, back to him and ramon, hair tumbling down one armrest. a new newspaper has found its way between your fingers, ready to be smudged. it crinkles a little as you focus and ramon clears his throat.

“my dear, i have brought him,” he says. it is infinitely more kind than any order leveled at satoru in the past few moments, so much so that he might even think ramon was your father if he didn’t know better. you twist up and face them, all beaming smile and still in your nightgown.

“oh, po, thank you!” you say. it is satoru’s turn to snicker now.

“po?” he asks, mostly to ramon, mostly to needle him.

“my last name is poyard, sir,” he explains, losing again that affectionate look reserved for you.

“when i was a kid,” you interject, “my father insisted i call him mr. poyard, but i couldn’t really make out the yuh sound. so i called him mr. po.” 

ramon says to you, in a voice softer than satoru would have thought possible, “mr. po is leaving now, my dear.”

you nod, waving him out. your nightgown is a barely pink silk, provocative as it pleats over your shoulders but you make no attempt to exaggerate the arc of your body, the swell of your tits. you have no need for such parading, you surely must know: satoru’s eyes catch on the shadow in your collarbone, the most mundane of you.

“good morning, miss conway,” he begins.

your legs rock slightly as they hang off your sofa, in no rush to meet him, slack with sleep. “good morning, satoru.”

“you asked me to come see you.”

“and you have! i am very pleased.”

“no,” satoru starts goodnaturedly, taking one step towards you, “you sent someone for me.”

“i didn’t care to leave it to chance.”

another step towards you. your only indication that you care at all to see him is the way your head slowly tips to keep your eyes locked on his. “you’ve divested me of my power. what of the few minutes you would spend wondering if i’d show? i so looked forward to that.”

“well by all means, if you have little interest in accompanying me today you may spare me the hesitation,” you stand to stroll towards your closet, sweeping right up to the heat of him before you say: “feel free to leave.”

you leave your closet door ajar as you begin changing. the rustle of your clothes makes his cock stir, but he leans himself on the wall nearby and says instead, “what exactly would i miss if i abandoned you now?”

you hum through the muted swishing of fabric. “i’m beginning my new york travels today.”

gojo considers this, considers again your face last night as you promised—yes, it sounded very much like a vow—to visit new york first. “sweetheart, i could take you anywhere right this moment: india, france, the spanish alps. and you would choose to travel a city you’ve lived in since birth?”

to this you have nothing to say, punctuating your silence only with the faint clink of a buckle before you step out before him. you are a completely radiant display, white dress pendulous down your body, cinched in with a belt at the waist.

“how is it?” you ask, shifting your weight from side to side. and you really mean it, this question, and the sincerity punches at satoru’s lungs.

“stunning, miss conway,” he murmurs. your cheeks are pink like your nightgown was, and as it licks down your neck he thinks for a moment about how captured he is by everything you do. he doesn’t linger on it, though, because with a delighted cackle you’re grabbing his hand and pulling him out.

new york through your eyes is revolutionarily different. the people on the street part for you, the puddles of dirt and smog reflect you from new angles, the smell of metropolis is dulled by your scent, sweet and ambery and almost natural; all of it looks romantic in your shadow as you drag him about the city. he knows it isn’t wise to be so willing to recontextualize for you, to so quickly reevaluate, but god help him he cannot help himself. 

you point at street signs and tap against window displays like you’re seeing it all with new eyes, like you’ve never experienced anything so wonderful in your life, and somewhere in the back of his mind satoru suspects that dark and frightened thing you seem to harbor has something to do with it, but then you beam at him again and he forgets it.

you stop together at no less than three cafes and order nearly the entire glass case of pastries at each of them. with sugar still on your lips—satoru wants to kiss them—you stroll through central park, letting satoru dare to lay a hand on the small of your back. he tells you about his life in tokyo, about the school and suguru and his students, and you respond eagerly with questions about teaching jujutsu. you poke at his infinity with an amazed curiosity—though he’d prefer to keep it down with you—and giggle when he runs a tiny ball of blue energy up your arm.

the afternoon sun peaks above you and you find yourselves at some rooftop bar, cooling off with mint juleps you lap at; satoru wants to kiss you again and taste the bourbon. he takes his turn to ask you things, then, but even a little tipsy there are holes you skirt around. you refuse to tell him much about your father and why you are so overjoyed that he’s dead, you divulge nothing of your childhood, though you are so elegant at avoiding answering that satoru thinks he wouldn’t have noticed if he was any less desperate to know.

you run a finger along the rim of your glass as you tell him about now, though. the person you’ve become, your plans for the future: these things you give easily and satoru is all but desperate to reel them in.

“part of me wants to travel forever, to never stay in one place long enough to be remembered there,” you admit, head tilted, “but another part of me wants to dig my heels in somewhere. to know everyone.”

satoru clinks his glass against yours lightly. “you’ll be remembered no matter where you go.”

your face scrunches and you shake your head, but the corners of your lips pull up and satoru feels his chest sing. “you’re very suave, mr. gojo, i’ll give you that.”

he has grown to like that, too; you call him mr. gojo when you have something to admonish, which is almost always. his first name, satoru in that breathy lilt of yours, is reserved for when you’re pleased with him. pulling it from you is a victory he has grown drunk on; there is great triumph in seeing your mouth form the vowels, thinking to himself all the while: 

he wants to kiss you, he wants to kiss you. 

how many times has he thought that today? he wants it like he hasn’t had it yet, needing you with the same sort of appetite you seem to have for this city. still, he can’t help but feel it isn’t time yet somehow. the fact of your joy to explore a place you’ve spent more than twenty years living in rubs satoru raw somewhere in his lungs, he wants to let you have this day for yourself before he swallows you down again.

dusk cloaks the city and hues the sidewalks blue above the growing shadows of the skyscrapers. lights beam from apartment windows and office buildings in the throes of overtime, and you lace your fingers through his as you explore further. surely your feet ache and your waist is sore from twisting about in that sleek belt all afternoon, but if you feel any of it you show nothing on your face. 

partially sated by a day of exploration, you stroll together much slower than earlier, looping your way back to the hotel. with each passing block satoru feels you softening in his hands, sticky and sweet like a peach. your sense of satisfaction rubs off on him, too, he thinks, the pair of you heavy with the sights of the day. 

satoru hasn’t walked this much in years; he has never found much use for the sort of meandering you did today, not until it was you linking your arm in his and blushing lightly under his stare. he feels sort of like a teenager, like he’s never met another woman in his life, sensitive to the feeling of your fingertips along his forearm, to your breath on his neck. 

the hotel’s silhouette approaches slowly as you walk in step together.

“satoru,” you breathe.

satoru hums in response and squeezes your waist a little, not trusting his sense of propriety when you murmur his name like that.

“thank you for today,” you offer quietly. you almost sound…sheepish, if he could even call it that. it is entirely unfamiliar on your face, your soft smile and eyes tracking the planes of the sidewalk.

“it was my pleasure.” he means it. a bellman opens the door for you and the cinnamon perfume of the hotel lobby wafts about you both. you do not let go of him as you walk to the elevator, lean your weight into his side as you settle behind the operator. 

satoru is slightly alarmed to find he is nervous. he’s spent the last day and a half wanting you, needing you, kissing you on your rooftop and fucking his fist to the thought of you, but now, with the bump of your spine under his wandering fingertips he feels as inconfident as he’s ever felt. he leans down to your ear.

“are you taking me to your personal suite again, miss conway?” he whispers. your breath catches but you grin all the same.

“would you like me to, satoru?”

he doesn’t miss a moment: “yes,” and it comes out breathy and desperate but it only seems to fray your nerves further. he runs his thumb just above the curve of your ass, relishing in the way your lashes flutter shut.

eyes still closed, you say to the operator, “just take me to mine, please, james.”

the operator doesn’t turn back, only nodding politely and bringing you up. satoru wants to capture the thrill of the rise as you scale floors upon floors, in the heat of it brushes your hair from your back to place one, slow kiss on your neck.

for the purposes of your company you make no noise but gojo hardly needs it: the taste of your skin—he has missed it since last night—enough to leave him twitchy and half hard. the doors open and you both stumble out. there’s something endearing, he thinks, about the way you cling to your propriety even now, mistress to half of new york city and a dozen luxury hotels across the globe.

but as soon as he hears the creak of the doors closing again satoru is on you, big hands threaded through your hair and groaning into your lips. fucking finally.

you fare no better, fingers gripping tight on the collar of his shirt as you practically mewl into his mouth. he groans in return, even more candid tonight about how terribly he wants you. you seem to remember the cadence of him because you part your lips quickly to let his tongue in now, he wants to bite down around the way you moan when he nibbles on your lip, kneads your tit in his right hand.

“fuck sweetheart i’ve needed you all day,” he whispers.

“yeah?”

he tears his lips from yours to kiss down your jaw and neck, leaving marks hot and wet along your skin, looking for places along your jugular that make your thighs squeeze. your fingers card through his hair and tug at the roots, and he sinks his teeth in right under your ear; you wilt, a sweet whimpering thing in his hands.

god, his hands. he moves them everywhere, they are ferocious and have an endless appetite for the plush of your body. with one hand he runs his fingers soft and teasing along your pert nipple over your thin dress, circling and then dancing along the tight bud, while the other pulls you close by your waist, the dough of your ass, the meat of your thigh as he hikes it around his waist. he walks you carefully into a wall so he can grind his aching cock against your pussy properly and you keen for him.

“satoru,” you plead, holding your leg to his waist on your own now as you rut your hips in response. 

“oh, sweet thing, i have more questions for you,” he breathes into your neck, weak with the friction of your lace panties against the front of his slacks. you whine and he smiles on your skin so you can feel it.

with his left hand he grips to your hair and tugs your head back, straightening fully to watch you as you strain in his hold. you look so fucking pretty like this, so candidly needing him in that way that flushes your cheeks. practically into your mouth he asks you: “did you touch yourself last night?”

you squeeze your eyes shut and grind on him again, your wetness seeping through now and he can feel it but still he doesn’t let you off, not even when you whisper a desperate satoru from somewhere in the back of your throat.

“answer me.”

you nod, not quite ashamed, more disappointed to give it up so easily. but when you open your eyes surely you see how crazed satoru has become, feral and inhuman as he appraises you, his heiress humping the tent in his pants. “show me,” he insists, no small amount of anguish in it. 

you slowly disengage one hand from his hair and move it between your bodies, drag it slowly down your dress and then under the hem as it hikes against your thighs. satoru watches it all with rapt attention, breathing loud and chest heaving but still he hardly blinks. you hesitate as your fingers trace along the waistband of your white panties, exposed to him with your dress bunched further up, so he encourages you, “that’s it, baby, just like that.”

your head tips back and makes a soft thunk against the wall, relinquishing yourself fully to him. your fingers, deft and familiar with yourself, slip slowly under the lace, chest arrested in place when you make contact with your swollen clit.

“god, baby, i can hear you, you’re so fucking wet,” he pants. you only nod wordlessly as you rub tight circles over your little button, thighs clenching around his waist. the squelch and slip is filthy and it takes just about every ounce of strength he has not to simply pull the fabric to the side and fuck you like this alongside your fingers. 

“satoru,” you plead again, and he rolls his hips against you again in reward.

“that’s it—shit—i can feel you fucking twitching through my pants.”

your whines come easy and grow hoarse as you rub yourself faster, shoes falling off as your toes curl inside them, begging him again please, please, and gojo doesn’t know what for but it is almost impossible not to give it to you. it seems almost like you don’t even notice as you bring your two fingers lower and enter yourself slowly, he can see it all draped in the tight fabric of your panties, and simply to keep from setting the entire hotel ablaze satoru uses one hand to jerk his cock from over his slacks.

“fuck—did you think about me? did you touch your pretty pussy last night thinking about your satoru?”

“y–yes, fuck, yes,” you cry, and he bucks his hips so hard your standing leg jumps slightly from the floor. 

“i—fuck—i had to fuck my fist the second i left you,” his forehead bumps the wall next to your head, “i—shit—i couldn’t stop thinking of fucking this sweet cunt,” he whines.

he can tell from the twitches of your eyebrows, from the canting of your hips, that you’re bringing yourself closer and closer to the edge and satoru is about on the brink of insanity, so he untangles from you to rid himself of his clothing.

you collect your dress in one beautiful mess of white fabric before ruching it up and over your head, left only in those white panties. you look fucking edible there against the wall, a vision and almost too unreal to touch, satoru almost cums just seeing it, but instead he’s back on you, entirely naked and bare cock jumping in the cold air as he hooks two fingers under your last garment to drag it down your legs.

with one palm under each thigh he grunts into your cheek, “jump for me.” you hop into his grip and he holds you stable against the wall, your entrance dripping and hot right above him. precum beads at his tip, his cock is practically crimson and so angry looking, but the feeling of your nails digging into his shoulders keeps him grounded.

he teases his wet tip along your slit to gather your slick there, groaning, “i swear to god, baby, next time i’ll use my mouth, i’ll open you properly, i swear it, but f–fuck i need you now.”

you nod quickly, watching, mesmerized, by the weight of his cock as he teases your hole before finally, finally, pushing the tip in.

“fuck, oh fuck,” gojo grunts. your pussy clamps like a vice around him as he fucks into you slowly, sinking into your wet heat, he hopes he drowns. 

“sweetheart, don’t squeeze me like that,” he pleads.

you laugh breathlessly. “i can’t help it.” somehow that makes him harder and he slips another wet inch in. “fuck, fuck, oh fuck satoru that’s so good.”

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

gojo cannot help himself, grinning stupid and feral as he ruts down to the hilt. you all but scream out, neck extended, but neither of you seem to care. even unmoving satoru can hear the soft sound of your slick around his aching cock. he kisses you again, slowly, giving you a moment to become accustomed to him. after only a moment, though, you’re grinding your clit into him and begging something like please move, and who is he to deny you?

your bodies are so close as he fucks you, there is hardly an inch of either of you that isn’t pressed up against the other. your tits squish against his chest as he presses open-mouthed kisses to your lips, your jaw, the line down your neck where he can taste your heartbeat. his thrusts are deep and calculated, not so fast as to bump you painfully against the wall but hard enough that you can feel him hit that spongy spot in the back that makes you squeal.

“that’s it baby, fuck, fucking take it,” he heaves. the wet crack of his skin on yours echoes softly through the room, your cries humming alongside them, a symphony of your pleasure and his and god he wishes someone were recording this.

“harder, satoru,” you whisper, your hole fluttering around his veins, and he snickers something disbelieving.

“so fucking greedy, huh?” and he punctuates it with a sharp snap of his hips. with one hand he fits his palm behind your head on the wall before starting to pound into you in earnest, his hip bones clapping against the backs and insides of your thighs, surely red and raw with his effort but you arch back with the feeling, moaning out like you hope the entire hotel hears, and the tight grip of your pussy is so good he can’t think straight.

with each rut you roll your hips up to his in time, arms and legs wrapped around him tight to leverage your weight as your rub yourself on the neatly trimmed white hair at his base. your slick is dripping everywhere, down your legs and his, but with each stuttering grind your hole thumps and squeezes, and satoru fucking loves the smell of your want for him as it paints his lower body.

in between the harsh smack of his thrusts he whispers praise into your skin.

 “so pretty for me.”

“this pussy is fucking perfect.”

“fuck, sweetheart, squeeze me like that again.”

you bite down on the lean muscle of his shoulder and gojo’s hips stammer with the jolt of pain. 

“close?” you nod, tongue peeking out as you bounce between him and the wall. “fuck i wanna feel you cum around me, baby, fucking cum for me,” he begs.

your ankles lock up behind him as you seize, your heartbeat loud and pounding everywhere, down your neck and in your pussy and through your veins. you gush down his cock and satoru moans wildly.

“fuckfuckfuck i’m g’na cum,” he warns, thrusts more erratic as he chases it and fucks you through your high.

“inside me,” you whisper, hardly any voice left, apparently hoping to kill him stone dead.

just the breath of your pleading makes him lose it, thrusting hard once more, twice more, before ropes of hot release come pouring out and he growls out something unintelligible. you whine one more time, high-pitched and needy, and it pulls further wisps of his seed.

still plugged with his cock but boneless, now, satoru holds you steady in his arms and slowly, slowly, brings you to your bed. only once he’s sitting on the edge of it does he pull you off of him, the both of you groaning in sensitivity, and splays you gently onto your pillow.

sitting up like this satoru can see all of you in your sticky glory. your skin shines a little with your sweat and his, fuck his cum drips out of you leisurely and it makes something possessive and animal rumble and howl in his chest.

with the backs of his fingers he runs his knuckles up your calf and back down again, and he watches the goosebumps rise and fall behind them. seeing that you’re settled comfortably he follows after you, one arm thrown over your waist and chest presses up against your forehead.

he tilts your head up and you look at him with a small smirk, eyes bleary. “good?” he asks.

you smile bigger, toothy. “great.”

satoru beams back and lets you rest again on his damp skin, petting your hair delicately. 

“ask me again,” you say suddenly, quietly, like it’s imperative he take this opportunity as you present it to him.

“ask you what?”

“the question i won’t answer.”

his hand stops moving. “you don’t have to answer me.”

“i know,” you assure him. and there’s no trepidation in your voice, no darkness, just the sweet gravel of the way you had screamed for him and the lingering sense that you want to tell him the truth.

satoru repeats his question. “why are you celebrating your father’s death?”

you trace a nail in little shapes over his chest. “because i hated him,” you supply.

“why did you hate him?”

you breathe deeply, only once, and satoru worries your candor has been siphoned from you again, but you only tilt your head enough to look at him with one eye. you explain sleepily, “when my technique manifested i was six. nobody else in my family had ever had one before.”

gojo nods. “it’s much less common in the west.”

“my dad wasn’t willing to send me abroad to learn how to use it. my mom had died in childbirth with me and there wasn’t anyone to dispute that call. and i was upset with him, i mean, god, i hated him. i wanted to learn.”

satoru resumes the soft movement of his fingers in your hair: go on, he wants to say, but he lets you speak without interrupting.

“i only wanted to throw water at him or something. i didn’t know what i was even doing. and then…it—it was like a blade.” you run your pinky finger slowly across the side of your neck. “i cut him right here.”

satoru tries his best to show you on his face that he cannot judge you, that he wouldn’t, that you didn’t know any better.

“i knew even then that he would never forgive me. when he recovered he banned me from leaving the hotel, for all intents and purposes. he hired po to watch over me and i’ve been here ever since. it’s sort of felt like i’ve been stuck in time.”

there is something tragic and fascinating in the way you explain it, like the rage is too old to stay, but regardless it leadens something cold in satoru’s stomach. 

“he said i was dangerous. that i’d hurt people.” that part seems to hurt you, still. the insinuation that you have evil in you somehow the only piece of memory still strong enough to bite at you, and it makes his heart twist. his fury flares briefly, simmering under his skin, but then you hook your leg over his and he is docile.

satoru has a terrible, soft, awful, love-sick idea to suggest to you, this enigmatic woman he met a day ago.

“why don’t you come back to tokyo with me?”

you lift your head fully, eyes wide and owlish like always. “what?”

his heart hammers but he does not cower. “why don’t you come back with me? i could…” his voice is smaller than he’s ever heard it, “train you, if you wanted.” and then, to soften his sincerity, he adds with a smirk, “it is what i do for a living.”

your mouth opens and closes again, some serpent in your throat you can’t seem to swallow. “i don’t know what to say,” you admit. and then, a confession of your own: “i want to learn,” you whisper.

satoru smiles at you, mild and unexpectant. “if you hate it i can take you right back here.”

you laugh through your nose and bury your face in his chest again. when you think it is loud, almost, a fitting of cogs satoru thinks he can hear as clearly as the clanging of pots and pans a few rooms away. and he spends a long moment like that, holding you in the near-silence, scored by the metal chime of your deliberation. and then, into his ribs you say, “okay,”

he perches his chin on your head, thankful for the way you push your nose to his sternum so you cannot see the triumphant grin on his face, surely entirely idiotic but beaming nonetheless.

he would never hear the end of this—of collecting a beautiful young woman from his weekend away—from suguru, but oh satoru feels the warm puff of your breath as it evens in your sleepiness and he knows he could not have left you here without some enormous show of self restraint.

it had to be you, he thinks. it had to be you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“my lady-in-waiting, my lord,” you say quietly. you cannot see it, yet can easily feel it; the jealous glares from the four women. they’re dressed in the exact same color red, yet their lord hasn’t paid them any mind. not even a glance.

sukuna just hums in response and makes a mental note of your answer. at least his human servants are good for something. he continues to shamelessly check you out.

“lord sukuna,” uraume interrupts carefully. they bow their head once the king of curses looks their way with a stoic expression, “we’ll have to leave now if we wish to make it there at dawn.”

it’s a gentle reminder, but there’s some urgency in their voice. sukuna rolls his eyes—he may have some official business, but he’s not attending that. not before taking care of other more important stuff first. “silence,” he comments to uraume, heavy steps heading your way afterwards.

your eyes meet his. you blink in confusion, eyelashes fluttering. the sight makes sukuna’s hands twitch at his sides. the way you stare up at him with such naïveté is making him want to destroy it.

you’re unsure what sukuna wants from you. as he orders, everyone stays quiet. you watch as his big hands wrap around your body—your waist engulfed by his warm palms. your eyes widen, but before you can question his actions, your lips are sealed by his.

it’s rare that he does this. kissing sukuna is a privilege. one that no one has ever gotten the honour of having, except for you.

you’ve tasted him. you’ve felt his tongue slither against yours. you’ve had his saliva mix with yours. you’ve had him grunting in your mouth.

you’ve had it all.

no one says a thing. even as your feet are lifted from the ground by the sheer strength of sukuna’s grip on your small body. to reach his lips properly, he has to pick you up and hold you against his chest. it’s his favorite thing to do.

“pretty thing,” sukuna coos with a grin. you can feel his lips curling up menacingly against your mouth. it makes you whine. you instantly shut up once you realise that you’re still outside and surrounded by others—who are basically waiting on you two to be done.

you’re embarrassed to the point that you want nothing more than to hide your face against sukuna’s chest. but he will not let you until he’s had his fill. your tongues swirl around each other passionately, followed by him sucking on your bottom lip and biting it with his sharp fangs.

“my lord,” you whine quietly. you know this’ll end up like that one time in the garden. where he shamelessly took you in front of his servants. you’re unsure if it’s a smart thing to do right now. sukuna has an appointment to go to after all.

his mouth doesn’t stop interlocking with yours. his thick fingers tug at the hairs on the back of your neck, causing you to part your lips in surprise. the king of curses takes his chance and explores your warm little mouth. the one that he’s claimed as his the moment you became his concubine.

you tug at his sleeve as a reminder. sukuna grumbles in annoyance, but he knows you’re right; he should let go. his bottom set of eyes dart over to uraume for a second and upon seeing their expressionless yet determined face, he sighs.

all that official business can suck his dick.

sukuna finally detaches his lips from your now wet and swollen ones. you’re breathing hard, trying to catch your breath. you’re flustered to the point you actually bury your face into sukuna’s chiseled chest. you’re sure this’ll be the only talk around the estate for the upcoming week. you’ll become the victim of some more. . . bullying.

the king of curses notices that you don’t let go of him at all. he grins at the sight of you so desperately clinging onto him. he tries to undo the little mess he made of your once neat hair in the meantime.

“what? want me to carry you all the way there, doll?” sukuna raises an eyebrow, teasing you as per usual. you don’t let go of him since you’re still cooling off. you’ve never really kissed outside of the bedroom. it always happens behind closed doors, so this one time took you by surprise.

you shake your head and plop down on your feet again. “no, my apologies, my lord,” you straighten the material of your kimono and don’t even dare to look at the others. uraume would understand, since they’re used to their lord’s antics, but the concubines will cause big trouble once you’re back home.

sukuna nods in acknowledgment. he still got that evil smirk on his face. his thumb brushes the smudged lipstick from the corner of your mouth, cleaning up his mess once again. he’s nice enough to do so today.

“heh.” sukuna lets out an amused chuckle before walking away and ahead of you—the others silently following, as do you. you’re right behind him, on his right side, as he turns his head to yours, “just so y’know, i’m not done with you.”

you know sukuna isn’t. you can easily tell by the way that he didn’t even bother to wipe the lipstick from his own lips. he’s wearing that stain like it’s a medal of sorts. evidence that you’re the only one he’s ever going to show such affection to.

either way; you’re in for one hell of a ride once you’re back from your little business trip.

It happened on a sunny day, when, usually hidden in the depths of hell, the Lord of the Underworld decided to take a stroll. Around the spring meadows, with the air carrying the flowery scent of blooming nature. So strange and bizarre, never floating around the endless plains of his domain. 

He didn't show his face often up there, as God of the Dead was much, much busier than one could think! Humans were weak, reckless, dying like flies and flooding the Underworld with their restless souls. 

Heron crossed the Styx like a madman, and Cerberus couldn't close his eyes even for a second, as the hell was a mad and troubled place.

But then, that one day when the sunlight finally blessed his crimson eyes, Hades, or Sukuna as he much rather preferred, could finally pleasure himself in breathing the air not stained by a musty smell of death.

Each of his steps left the lush grass withered, and the air bent under the heaviness of his aura. Birds would fall silent whenever the God of the Dead passed through the trees they sat in, as if in fear of being taken by the Grim Reaper too soon. Fruits hanging off the branches would suddenly fall rotten, not allowing God to taste the sweetness of their pristine juices. 

As there was no sweetness or warmth in Sukuna's life and it had been a long time since he learned how to live with it. For why would anyone care about the wellness of the Lord of the Underworld himself?

And so the world withered and shattered around him, but God truly didn't mind. 

Until he saw you, the Goddess of Spring.

Beautiful, alive, with sun smooching your laughing cheeks and eyes curving under the golden rays. Little flowers were tucked in your hair sweetly, and single strands framed your face heartily. Sukuna enjoyed looking at blooming plants, although they quickly withered under his bloody gaze. 

But not you.

You quickly became his most dearest petal, with loose, light robes always in a riot of pastel hues and lovely laughter carried by spring winds through the vast meadows. Bare feet ran through the fields of flowers without any worries, and eyes always glanced somewhere over the horizon. Somewhere, towards the seas and trees and frolic nymphs playing near the rivers. Fingers weaved wreaths one by one, and a cooing voice helped the flowers grow and blossom beautifully. 

Your robes were always slightly dirty from the earth, warm cheeks marked by pollen, eyes bustling with warmth and kindness, that touched every plant, every animal that cuddled into your open arms.

He usually lurked among the trees. Tall, broody, with a massive body covered by dark robes and a grim aura clinging to his skin. Four arms crossed on a wide chest and two pairs of eyes fixated on a young Goddess frolicking with her friends.

Soon, he started coming more often. 

The usual workaholic, a gloomy God who liked nothing and no one, a brute, as some liked to call him, suddenly found something that started haunting his mind. His dreams and nightmares, as even there, you always seemed to smooch his cheeks like a soft petal.

There, you always seemed to be his.

 His lovely, dear wife. A Queen of the Underworld.

For all those days he watched you carefully, you've never noticed him.

Not even once, as if completely blinded to everything else outside the walls of your little world.

Until one day, you were left alone.

No friends chirping to your ear, no animals warming your legs – just you.

And, well, him. 

He didn't know when and how, but a warming tiredness fell on his eyes, and oh-so-mighty God of the Death slipped into a light slumber. With withered grass lulling his heavy body and birds ogling him from the thick branches. Wind whirred quietly, brushing his pink hair, slipping between the strands and massaging tired temples.

He could almost swear that he fell asleep on the grass. Hard ground moulding under his even harder body and green tuft giggling his cheeks. And yet, after turning and squirming like a restless child, he felt something softer under his head. 

Something plush, squishy, beaming with the sweetest, flowery fragrance he's ever smelled. The wind's murmur turned into a lovely hum. A melody that coiled his senses and flooded down his spine, filling his body like the sweetest wine.

He didn't dare to open his eyes. 

As he knew, the sight of the lovely Goddess brushing gently through his hair would lead to his death. For Sukuna was rather sure that the only thing in this world that could truly stop his heart was the graceful look of your eyes fixed on him.

Not on flowers, not nymphs, nor animals.

Him.

And thus he lay quietly, with your thighs dipping under his head and soft fingers playing with his hair. 

"The Lord of the Underworld in my spring domain," you hummed, swirling a pink strand around your finger. "What a bizarre sight, I must admit."

A chuckle slipped from between your lips when his brows furrowed. Slightly yet rather openly stating that the God of the Dead, with his colossal body bending your earth, has not, in fact, been sleeping. 

But there was no need to out his silly manner, and your fingers continued soft curls around his temples. As everyone, no matter their origin, was most welcome in your domain.

Something changed around him. The air, the melody, the structure of grass.

Your presence brought life back to the withered plants and silenced animals that feared him. The birds sitting high on the branches slowly flew down, huddling shyly on his chest. Decayed grass turned lush once again, smooching his skin with its plushness.

"There's no need for fear," you whispered warmly, seeing how wary the animals were of his presence. "He is a good creature too."

Forest animals started to come closer, and closer, and closer, with deer sniffing his body and frogs clumping on his shoulders. Their little, sticky toes left traces of gluey slime, but he didn't mind.

Because God of the Dead rarely felt a life embrace his body.

And thus he decided to cherish it and pray that this single, intimate moment would last forever. With your thighs beaming warmth under his head and animals cuddling to his limbs. Surrounding him in a tight circle with furs and feathers tickling his skin. 

He couldn't open his eyes, to not destroy the moment, although, heavens, he truly wished!

To see your hearty face up close. To brush the lower lip coloured with fresh berries and tuck a single strand of hair behind your ear. To see the way pastel robes clung to your skin like a mist, and eyes peeked down at him. But instead, he could only lie quietly and listen to the melody slipping past your lips, curling around his mind like a viper.

A moment has passed, and the deep slumber began to coo his senses. He tried to fight it, longing to stay in your embrace a little longer. To remember the melody of your voice and the pattern of fingertips massaging his temples. The flowery, honeyed fragrance clinging to your skin and filling every corner of his body, taking away his privilege to smell anything else for the next few days.

Before the darkness blanketed his mind and breath became shallower, he could hear the last whispers of your voice:

"Go to sleep, my God. Allow me to accompany you for a while."

When he woke up, you were no longer there. Just a withered grass bending under his body and the warmth of the setting sun bathing his hair in red hues. 

No sign of you or animals, and the God, once again, felt devastated. As if deprived of something he should hold onto with all his strength. He was a divine being, after all, and yet your misty figure slipped between his fingers like flowing water. 

But his mind recalled those few words. Allow me to accompany you.

And thus, Sukuna decided to take this wish too faithfully.

⛥ ⛥ ⛥

"Stop going out there alone," your mother has sighed, looking at your figure swirling around the wooden hut. "It's dangerous, the Gods are unpredictable–"

Your head shook, lifting the little willow-wined basket used for gathering flowers. "I am a Goddess, mother," you chirped in with a giggle, before glancing at the woman's creased forehead. "And you are too. There's simply no need to fear anything. Besides, we're safe in the spring domain."

Liar.

You didn't tell her about the God of Death crossing the border between the Underworld and mortals much more often than he should. Than he used to. With his gloomy aura beaming off the woods, although he thought that you didn't notice it. Crimson eyes followed you every single day for the past few weeks, and whenever he appeared, one side of your domain suddenly went quiet. Withered, under his death-bringing feet and the silent atmosphere he spread around himself.

And as a Goddess of Spring, you knew of everything happening on your land. 

At the beginning, you thought it was rather funny. To see the animals and flowers frightened by his sole presence. You didn't give it much thought, as various Gods had strolled through the plains of your earth and chit-chatted whenever they spotted your figure hunched over the flowers.

But Lord of the Underworld wasn't the talkative type, nor did he engage in any closer relations. In fact, you didn't know much about him aside from what you'd managed to notice over the past weeks.

And you've noticed a lot. His body was built like a mountain, with a heaviness that couldn't be put into words. Two pairs of crimson eyes, lidded like sweet almonds and framed by rather long lashes. Pinkish hair reminding you of blushed peonies, and you wondered whether it would feel equally soft under your touch. Four muscular arms carried the little birdies up their trees when he thought you didn't see, and black stripes curled around his body – like deathly mist, tattooed all over his chest, back, and cheeks, as the God of the Dead didn't mind relaxing his beastly, naked body in the nearby rivers.

The water spilt over the grassy edge, and four arms rested on drenched earth. Crystal water looped his body shyly, smooching the sun-kissed skin with cold kisses. He couldn't see your hazy figure lurking in the bushes.

Your eyes glimmering like two fresh peaches and lips curling in a sly smile, upon seeing muscles upon muscles bending on the God's back. Slick and bulging, stripped of the heavy, dark robes he usually wore and enjoying the kisses of the Mediterranean sun.

Sometimes a nymph would notice him bathing at the river and coo shyly at the handsome but rather intimidating God. You've always observed those interactions from the tree, lurking curiously, with birds perched on your shoulders. All the encounters always ended in a rather pathetic failure, with the Lord of the Underworld ignoring the sweet chirps of little nymphs and their promises to warm his cold body. 

All of them flew quickly upon seeing a grave grimace twisting the God's face, and all four palms curling into fists. 

"Always so, so angry," you murmured to the red bird sitting on your finger, as it nodded its little head. 

And so you didn't tell your mother about these few encounters, for there was no need to worry her. She kept you away from the Olympian Gods as long as she could, yet couldn't stop you from becoming a Goddess too. Truly unfortunate, if she had to admit it, as she had tried for a whole life to keep you well hidden in the far, far corner of Mount Olympus, in your own little spring domain.

"Just be careful," your mother whispered, pushing back a few loose strands of your hair. A small basket hung on your back, and robes clung to your skin. "You know how Gods can be…"

You knew. For you heard of Apollo and Daphne. Of Medusa and a curse sent upon her for being a maiden far too beautiful. About Zeus and Callisto, and more, more Goddesses, who suffered a terrible fate from the hands of Gods themselves.

You understood your mother's worry. Why she tried to tie you up to this little hut hidden in the woods of Olympus. Why she was the Goddess of Agriculture and tried so, so hard to keep her dear spring flower hidden from the prying eyes.

And yet, the serpent flow of destiny was truly twisted and unpredictable. Bending under the Moirai's deathly whispers, with a thin thread slipping between their bony fingers like a river of silk. 

As many Goddesses before you, you too were soon to learn that playing with Gods – particularly those who seemed to take a special fondness for you – was a treacherous path. That approaching them cheekily, taking pleasure in keeping them in your arms and cooing like a wounded animal, was simply foolish. Mad, in every deep sense of the word, as out of the many Gods in this world, you particularly should not play like a fox with the Lord of the Underworld himself. 

So, on the same day, as golden rays dribbled down your figure hunched over flowers, hands picking the season's most beautiful blooms, the earth suddenly burst open. With a raw, brutal rumble, unleashing chaos across the peaceful meadow. Birds rose from the lush branches, and all the forest animals that were cuddling near your body ran off.   

The heavy dust had covered your eyes, smooching flimsy dress and delicate petals that bent under the heavy, little droplets of curled earth. 

The obsidian chariot harnessed with three black horses appeared right in front of your eyes. Tall and eerie, still carrying the coldness of the Underworld and a man whose crimson eyes stared down at your figure.

No words could slip past your lips as one muscular arm lifted you up and easily flipped you over the shoulder. Locking you in place with the sheer strength of one hand, until your head hung down the man's back.

"Wait!" Rolled in a scream as the world in front of your eyes started to spin. 

A voice you hadn't heard yet punched you like a bucket of cold water. "Don't be afraid, my Goddess," Sukuna said, before whistling to his horses. "You'll soon be able to run through the meadows of the Underworld."

It tasted raw, heavy, so, so low, licking your ears with flamed tongues. A voice truly worthy of the God of the Dead himself.

Before you knew it, the earth had swallowed the chariot once again. The rumbling tore through your spring domain, causing vast fields of flowers to vanish as if slowly devoured by the sky. The horses sped downward, pulling the chariot deeper into the earth, until only a faint glimpse of the familiar sun remained – a warmth you wouldn't see again for the next few months.

The darkness engulfed you, wrapping your skin with icy, deadly touches. It felt as though the three sisters had already severed your thread of fate, sending you to the Underworld sooner than anticipated and plunging you into the claws of the beast you inadvertently unleashed. 

"My God," you mumbled, trying to wriggle under his heavy arm. "Where are you taking me?"

Sukuna chuckled lowly, his whole body trembling with a laugh that made your spine tingle. "To home, my dearest Queen."

Deathly whispers curled around your body with curiosity, as if the air in the Underworld had tasted such a sweet life for the first time. Dark clouds filled the sky, and the chariot plunged even lower. Soon, a vast, grimy land spread beneath you, with a thick river curling around the dark soil.

You have never seen the Underworld and have never shown any interest in it. Yet, from that point, with the obsidian chariot soaring high in the sky, it looked mesmerising. Almost magical, with deep, dark forests and withered meadows stretching across the land, lit only by the pale blue light of the moon and little gleaming shadows wandering aimlessly across the plains.

It wasn't difficult to spot Hades's temple. Or maybe you should say a castle.

Sitting quietly on the cliff, with Styx's calm waters flowing beneath its heavy walls. It towered over the whole domain, glimmering in blue light under the moonlight's kisses, and something in your breath has hitched upon seeing an enormous garden filled with withered trees looming over the dead flowers. 

The air was biting cold, and yet the closer you were to the temple, the warmer it seemed to smooch your skin. It didn't carry the familiar flowery fragrance, but rather a heavy, woody scent, as if something alive still lingered in the bleak land filled with agony and doom. 

When the chariot came to a halt on the dark grass, Sukuna set you down gently. With one strong arm still stalling on your back, as if afraid the moment your feet touched the earth, you would try to escape. 

But there was no chance for it, as the Underworld was a trickery and a dangerous place.

"From now on, this is your home. My Queen," his crimson eyes never left your face, even when the hand showed towards the temple looming deathly.

You moved a step away, trying to slip from between the heavy fingers brushing your waist. "It is not my home, and I will not be your Queen. Now take me back to my domain."

Looking up was a mistake, for the gravity of his gaze almost pulled you down to earth. Four eyes stared down at your fuming face before one hand lifted and fingers traced the softness of your warm cheeks. "I cannot do it, my Goddess. That's what I decided, and that's what the Gods accepted."

"The Gods?"

His big thumb brushed your lower lip, and you smacked his hand away. A low chuckle slipped through before he pushed you towards the temple. "Zeus agreed, and that's all that matters. Neither you nor even your mother has any say in it."

You tried to move away again, but his strong arm only pulled you closer to his massive body. Twice your height, with four arms ready to manhandle you like a beast – you knew standing up to him would be foolish. And yet, you tried.

But he didn't mind, as you weighed less than a feather and lifting you was not a sweat for a God of his calibre. Your body once again rolled like a sack over his shoulder, but this time you tried to fight. With nails dragging down his back and teeth digging into the muscles bulging under his robes.

For you, it was a matter of life and death. 

For him? A flimsy, sweet teasing from his dearest Goddess, who was yet to accept her fate. 

Oh, his heart swelled with the purest joy at the sight of your misty figure wrapped in his arms after weeks of yearning. It didn't matter whether you wanted to stay here or not – Sukuna aimed to use every possible means to soothe your mind and pamper you like his precious wife.

"You ignorant brute, a beast, freak!" Rolled furiously, as you once again left the bloody, tooth marks on his back. "You cannot do it!"

Another throaty chuckle escaped from his side, with his arm cuddling around your waist with fondness. "I can, my Goddess. That's how love works."

"And what can you possibly know about love, my God?"

Sukuna didn't know much, but his greedy desire to always keep you in his sight and worship you as if you were the only Goddess in the pantheon must have been close to what love felt like. To get drunk on your laugh and the plush skin of your body every single evening, as if his whole world twisted around nothing but you. To hear your chipper run with stale wind through his decaying land and once again feel your fingers brush through his hair. 

The God of the Dead, the elder of the mightiest brothers, harbinger of death, wished for nothing but to taste the nectar of your love. 

But with a frown you looked at him, your teeth digging deeper into his skin – for now, it seemed rather fruitless.

He entered the temple and moved towards the massive stairway curling to the heavens themselves. Your furious shouts could be heard throughout the whole land, but it seemed that neither he nor the servant who suddenly appeared seemed to mind.

"Uraume, prepare a bath for the Queen," Sukuna said, glimpsing quickly towards the woman. Her white, short hair curled around her slim face, and deep eyes blinked in amusement at your sorry state.

"My Lord, I don't think the Queen likes this position," she muttered, sending you a pleading look.

Sukuna scoffed, correcting your body on his shoulder. "The Queen acts like a brat, so she will be treated like one"

Uraume nodded before going down the stairs and disappearing somewhere in the deep chambers of the temple.

Thus, it was the two of you again, and Sukuna moved slowly through the dark corridors, with blue flames licking your writhing body. He didn't mind the shouts, the nails scarring his back through the dusky robes till crimson droplets formed under the material and bites that your teeth have left on his shoulders.

In fact, the God of the Dead took a bizarre pleasure in feeling your flaming touch on his skin. Something in his chest swelled whenever your lips travelled to his neck, and it didn't really matter that they left the bloody bites and not the nectar kisses he yearned for.

At some point, you've finally entered the big chamber. The weird warmness crept through the tall windows, bending in heavy, marble arches. Vast plains of the Underworld rolled like waves on the horizon, and you stopped scratching Sukuna's back when the full land came in view.

Beautiful, endless, mesmerising, so different from what you grew up with. With only a pale, blue moon constantly shining upon the lost souls and deep, agonising cries coming from the Tartarus.

Sukuna finally put you down. "That's our chamber," rolled almost proudly, and you looked around the bedroom.

Dark, draped in misty veils, with a huge bed covered with crimson sheets and a baldachin moving together with gentle swooshes of wind. Warm flames have lit the place, with torches and long waxed candles glimmering shyly around the whole chamber.

Just behind the crimson curtain, you've heard the dripping of water and Uraume's hushed voice. So that must've been the bath.

"I will not be sleeping with you in one bed, my God," you barked, but Sukuna seemed not to care at all.

He pushed you towards the balcony, with a heavy hand placed on your lower back. "That's the garden. I made it for you," your chest squeezed. For you. "You can do anything you want with it, of course."

"It's impossible to grow life within your domain," slipped harshly, before your eyes looked up. Crimson moons stared down at you. All the time. "So you kidnapped me to grow you a garden?"

His sharp jaw tightened. "I did it for your own good," he muttered, hand lifting to brush away your hair. "For our good. I want you to be the Queen of the Underworld. My wife," fat thumb kissed you fuming cheek. "My Goddess."

And as much as you wished to stay angry, it felt impossible to hide the special fondness rising in your chest. A mix of hate and curiosity, as it was difficult to imagine why the Lord of the Underworld himself was such a desperate beast to lock you in his clutches.

Your eyes went back to the garden, taking in the withered earth and flowers bending in death.

But then you've noticed something – a tree. Dark, yet looking rather alive, blooming with red, round fruits that looked as if ready to burst.

Pomegranate.

And you, as the Goddess of Spring, knew why it seemed to be the only fruit growing deep within this deathly domain.

Sukuna followed your lidded eyes before a low hum filled the air. "You'll eat it at some point," seeing a sudden shock bathing your face and a slow shake of your head, he added. "Even if I have to force you."

Soon, you would discover that there were many, many other things the God of Death would force upon you, just to keep you within his touch.

And as surprising as it seemed, eating the pomegranate seeds to bind you eternally to the Underworld would be the last.

You didn't say anything, looking at the pomegranate tree with a grim expression ripping your lips. A Spring Goddess you were, and yet the single look of this rich fruit made you want to burn it right here and there.

"My Lord, my Queen, the bath was prepared," Uraume slipped in politely, before once again disappearing into the darkness.

Sukuna came inside, and you followed, passing under his heavy arm as he lifted the curtains between the chamber and bath.

Multiple candles licked dark walls, and the steam curled in the air. The big, marble pool filled with hot water called your name like a madman, and you were ready to tear your dress in half just to dip inside. The air in the Underworld was much, much colder than up in your domain, and after the eventful day, you truly wished for nothing but a simple bath.

And yet, even this was to be wrecked by Sukuna's four hands slipping the misty robes of your shoulders. Your trembling finger caught the dress in front of your chest before it could fall.

"My God, may I know what you are doing?" There was no trace of madness in your tone, only simple weariness and irritation.

His lips curled in a smirk, and if not for both hands gripping your dress, you would surely smack his cheek. You would try at least, as bending your head back to meet his gaze was already difficult enough.

His dark robes hit the floor before you've noticed it, exposing you to the view that – rather unfortunately – made your thighs clench. Massive thighs bulged under muscles, and it seemed clear that he could snap your neck with a single clamp.

But it wasn't the thighs that hit your cheeks with a maddened fever. No, rather two, fat cocks, with shafts so heavy they barely stood straight. Droplets of sticky pearls curled around two pulsing heads, sticking like a net to his pubes. The smooth, reddened skin glimmered under the dimmed flames, and your breath hitched while taking in the inhumane size.

And then your eyes followed up to his belly, mouth grinning mischievously, torso wide as mountains and four arms, just waiting to grab your flimsy body.

Sukuna was… terrifying. Alluring, feral, obscene, but oh so beautiful. With a body worthy of a God and an almost tyrannical aura that clung to him like a second skin. The mortals have feared him, Gods always tried to keep the relations as polite as possible, and yet you somehow found a wisp of fondness coiling in his gaze.

"I'm planning to bathe with my Queen, of course," Sukuna murmured, tilting his head with a cheeky grin. Four crimson eyes burned your skin, and you've never, ever felt as small and helpless as now. "Let me help you with it." Fingers tugged on your dress, trying to slip it down.

You took a step back, gripping the robe even tighter. "My God, I'm fine. But please enlighten me why we should take a bath together?"

He, however, was relentless, and it took a single, harsher tug to let your robes fall down the marble floor. A gasp slipped past your lips as you tried to cover yourself with pathetic moves.

Sukuna lifted your body with a single arm, and soon both of you sat on the little bench carved in a pool.

He took a deep, deep sigh, leaning against the edge. Two muscular arms kept you in place, with your back plastered to his chest and ass brushing against the massive cocks, while the other two started to soap you up.

A shiver ran down your spine, feeling big, yet soft hands smooching your skin in gentle circles. Slowly, tenderly, massaging your shoulders and back, going down, and down, to the swell of your wet breasts.

A quiet, shy moan escaped your feverish cheeks when his thumbs brushed the perked nipples. You wriggled under his touch, as if fighting against itself to give into the warmness beaming from his body and heavy fingers washing your tired skin.

Your hips jerked again when he pinched your nipples, sending a sudden, electrifying wave down your spine.

"My Queen, try to keep yourself in place," he said with a low voice, and only then did you notice that your ass had been bumping against his cocks for this whole time.

You didn't look back, as if in fear that even a single glance could pique Sukuna's curiosity and test the dangerous waters of your patience. "Is it necessary, my God? I can wash myself."

Two hands gripped your hips, quickly turning you towards him.

Your hands rested on his shoulders as he sat you right on his muscular thighs. The water spilt over the pool's marble edge, and crimson eyes stayed fixed on your face. On your slightly parted lips and hair sticking to your cheeks.

His upper arms slipped up to your waist, while the lower ones started to massage your thighs. In slow, gentle circles, dangerously close to the naked pussy that bounced against the fatness of his shafts.

He played a dangerous, oh so dangerous game, but took a maddened satisfaction in observing the changing looks on your face. Anger mixed with delight, as if you wanted to hit him and nuzzle into his touch at the same time.

"What's wrong, my Queen?" he muttered, soaping up your waist. "Why would you wash yourself alone if your husband is here?"

At this point, both of you knew that the bath was a mere, foolish excuse for the Lord of the Underworld to finally enjoy the sight of your naked body. To take a pleasure in feeling your naked skin against his and test his own patience, feeling the warmth of your cunt brushing against his cocks.

His moves were deprived of any sexual manner, and yet your insides burned with the most wicked flame. Your drenched fold were bumping against his cocks, yes, and the fat shaft brushed against your clit, maybe, but even then, he didn't try to push you.

To force himself on you, as if waiting for your consent.

As if he wished you craved him as much as he did you.

But even then, every few seconds, he would move closer. His fingers would brush your trembling nipples, hips move beneath yours, and he would always take in your muffled moans with a sly smile.

"You're not m-my husband," rolled embarrassingly weak, and Sukuna hummed, brushing your lower lip with his thumb.

"Not yet. I'll give you time to make yourself at home," thick digit slipped inside your mouth, and you quickly bite it. Hard, feeling his bones crack under your teeth, although he only smiled. Like a man possessed. "As I was saying, I'll give you a month–"

"And what then?" you mumbled, with lips still curled around his thumb. "What if you won't tame me after a month?"

Pink strands of hair stuck to his wet forehead, and you needed to dig your nails into his chest, not to lift the fingers and brush them away. Four crimson eyes – two big, lidded in slyness and two smaller, curved like a moon – drank in the sight of a sweet little Goddess squirming on his massive body.

"Then I'll force you to love me," spilled calmly, without hesitation. And maddening yearning in his eyes told you that he was ready to do it. That his understanding of love was far from the sweetness and kindness you've known of.

His fingers travelled up, through the breasts, collarbones, and neck, till the second hand joined your face. He cupped your cheeks gently yet lined with restrained violence.

Possessiveness, madness, that filled his flamed eyes.

"Don't test my patience, my Goddess," he murmured softly, pulling your face closer. His lips nearly brushed against yours, and a wave of warmth washed over your body. "Let me love you in my own way, and I promise to make you happy. Within my domain, you can be as free as you desire."

It was difficult not to have your heart flutter upon hearing those words.

He knew how crazy your mother was about you. That you spent most of your life chained to her leg, never leaving the spring domain, never feeling the winds of freedom.

That's why his promise sounded so exhilarating. Wild, absolutely insane, and yet letting you let out a deep sigh. Because finally, after so many years, you were alone.

Without your mother, without the prying eyes of Gods, without the same meadows caging around you like a prison.

Only with a much, much bigger, heavier, and mind-spilling problem, of a God of the Dead who seemed to take a special, wicked interest in you.

Your hands, still trembling on his chest, pushed yourself away. Hips slipped from his cocks, but not before giving two, feverish heads one last brush. As if you wanted to push him over the edge.

He groaned and squinted his eyes. "Where are you going, my Goddess? We're not done yet."

Four hands shoot towards you, fingers trying to catch your slippery body. It curled at the end of his fingertips, teasing him mischievously with full breasts dripping with crystal droplets and soft skin glimmering under the gentle flame of candles.

His cocks moved, eyes tried to take the wholeness of your divine beauty, and yet, after weeks of watching you every single day, he still couldn't believe that a woman of your sort truly walked this earth.

"I am done with you…" your eyes curved cheekily as you slowly moved back. "My God. I agree to a monthly trial–"

"It's not a trial, you'll be staying here forever."

Your back hit the pool's edge, but Sukuna didn't move. Instead, he observed you. Like a predator, preparing for a deadly attack.

"As I said, I do agree. But if you won't manage to persuade me to stay," slipped in a whisper, and you smiled even wider, seeing a furrow creasing his forehead. "I will simply kill myself. Just like Daphne did."

His heart nearly stopped, crimson eyes bloodshot. Before you could escape the pool, two arms yanked you back, pressing your chest against his. He lifted you, wrapping your legs around his waist. Finger gently squeezed your face with a slight pinch, until salty fog blurred your sight.

"My God–" you barely muffled.

"Don't ever," he growled, gripping your cheeks harsher. "Ever say that in front of me again. I will break your legs if I have to. I will tie you up to bed if you force me to," something warm spilt from his belly, and just then, you remembered about his mouth. Heavy tongue took a long, fat drag of your wet cunt, and you cried within his brutal embrace. "You are mine. Every dream of yours, every part of your body, every single laugh, all of it belongs to me."

His grip on your cheeks was too strong to let you shake your head, but light enough to allow another moan to spill from your throat. In sweetness and pain, feeling the teeth of his belly mouth pinch your clit.

"My God–"

"Do you understand me?"

"I-I–ahh," a cry filled the foggy bath, feeling his tongue slurp on your wetness. It felt heavy, girthy, tasting you with a maddened pleasure as if feasting on the honeyed juices dripping down the water.

"Do you understand?" he gritted through his teeth, loosening up his grip on your cheeks. "I don't like to repeat myself."

With another sweet mewl, your head lulled to one side in a nod, and he finally released you from his clutches. You stood right in front of him – wet, trembling, with slippery thighs and cunt already missing the swirling of his tongue on your clit.

His thumb followed down to his belly, gathering traces of your cum. A second later, thick digit found its way to your lips, pushing the stickiness right onto your tongue.

It tasted sweet, almost milky-like, clinging to the muscle like a spider's web while his thumb smeared it all over your insides.

"Tastes delicious, hm? That's what you're keeping away from me," Sukuna groaned, drinking in the sight of your teary face. "I am not a patient man, my Goddess, but my heart belongs to you, and I wish to treat you the best I can," he lifted up your face, creaming your cheeks with the rest of the cum. "But I do warn you, dearest. When the month passes, I won't be holding myself anymore. So you'd better accept this fate and just let me love you."

You didn't nod, didn't even blink. Just observed his devilishly handsome face with teary, wrecked eyes beaming with fury.

You tried to snap back, but his thumb pushed harder on your tongue. "Uraume," he called, looking somewhere over your shoulder. "Take the Queen back to our chamber. I think she's a bit tired."

Light, white robes curled around your shoulder, before Uraume gently pulled you away from Sukuna's clutches. "My Queen, allow me to–"

You shook off her hand, wiping the rest of your cum from your cheek. "Thank you, I know how to tuck myself to sleep."

And so you left your future husband alone, with rage and ecstasy still mixing beneath your chest.

⛥ ⛥ ⛥

The next few weeks passed with silence and tension binding the Goddess of Spring and the God of the Dead like a thin thread of fate. Only the three sisters were able to cut it swiftly and release you from the torment, and yet no one ever came to save the poor petal.

The first few days you spent mostly in the garden, lying under the pomegranate tree and observing the darkness blanketing the sky. The withered plains of the Underworld have never been touched by sunlight, and the lack of it started to bother you too.

There was no way to tell day from night, as the air was always slightly cold and the sky never turned any colour other than dark blue. Sometimes a sudden fog has risen over the horizon, curling above the parched trees.

The agonising screams from Tartarus could be heard over from your balcony, although after complaining to Sukuna about your lack of sleep, they somehow quieted down. You didn't pry into his methods, nor did you need to exactly know how he accomplished it.

It was difficult to grow anything in the garden, and after days of trying, you finally gave up. Well, not entirely, for you spent more and more days trying to think of a plant that would not need sun nor much water to bloom and if Sukuna could let you out even for a few days, surely you could find something.

He, however, was fully relentless at your begging as there was nothing binding you to the Underworld. Yet.

Fresh pomegranates whispered sweet sins to your ears as you looked at the round fruits bursting with crimson seeds. You wondered what they tasted like. How pristine their juices were.

Sometimes your finger would trace their hard skin with delicacy and quickly pull away, feeling Sukuna's heavy gaze drilling the hole in the back of your skull.

He seemed to always have you in his sight. It didn't really matter whether you strolled around the garden or went deeper into his domain – he was always there. Somewhere, lurking at your misty figure, the only colourful thing in his vast world, even if you didn't see him.

For the first few days, you didn't talk at all. And he was oh so angry with your nasty mood swings, even though it seemed he truly tried to be on his best behaviour.

For a while, you even refused to sleep in the same bed. He would wake up in the middle of the night only to find you cuddled into Cerberus's massive, soft body, snoring like a little baby and nuzzled under his heavy neck.

The beastly dog quickly became your favourite creature in the whole domain, and Sukuna couldn't count the times when you strolled with it through the dark plains and meadows, giggling sweetly whenever it rolled in withered grass.

It seemed the beast was particularly fond of and protective of you, so that even the God of Death himself could not approach you without the beast's shiny, sharp teeth growling his way. Crimson eyes observed him carefully, as if ready to rip his heart out if his lone finger brushed your silky skin.

And whenever Sukuna reminded you that Cerberus also had his role in the Underworld, the loveliest pout would twist your lips, and a dog's low growl would slash through the air.

And because Sukuna was softhearted only for you, he didn't have another choice but to allow you to adopt Cerberus as your own, exclusive pet.

But he absolutely couldn't stand waking up to the coldness wrapping around his body, and thus, for the first few days, in the middle of the night, he would travel all the way to Cerberus's cave only to take his Goddess back.

"Where is she?" the God would growl, with all four arms folded on his chest and eyes lidded with sleep. "Give her back, she'll come back to you in the morning anyway."

And the dog would usually ignore him, with three massive heads pretending to be plagued by a heavy slumber. Sukuna would sigh and slip a soft plea, trying to resonate with a beast he raised himself.

Three pairs of bloodshot eyes would glare at him deathly, but after a few quite embarrassing and yet desperate pleadings, the dog would lift his head up, only to reveal your peacefully slipping body. Curled against his fluffy neck, with fingers gripping the soft fur and shallow, peaceful breaths coming from your parted drooling lips.

Sukuna would lift you up with utmost care and bring you back to your chamber, wrapping himself around your body with all six limbs.

When the "morning" came, he was always the first one to slip from the bed. But not before getting himself untangled from your body. Lying serenely on his broad chest, with a drool pooling right above his heart and soft strands of your hair tickling his chin.

It was his most favourite sight during that month, and the only chance to see your face without a pout or crease forming on your lovely forehead. No matter how hard he tried, he still couldn't get close to you as much as he wished to.

But at least, after the few weeks of constantly going back and forth between your chamber and Cerberus's cave, you finally stopped escaping from his clutches and slept in his embrace for a whole night.

Moreover, during those weeks spent in each other's presence, you seemed to enjoy nothing more than pissing the God of the Dead off.

During one eventful night that both he and Uraume would recall in the future with a painful headache, you sat quietly at the long table. The wooden furniture bent under the heavy supper, with meats, fruits and vegetables prepared in feast portions.

Sukuna loved to see your cheeks stuffed full, and sometimes you would even joke that he tried to fatten you up only to eat you for dessert. He chuckled lowly, every time answering that if only you spread those thighs nicely, my Goddess, I would gladly eat you for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

An embarrassed, nasty slip from your lips, as you tried to ignore the warmth blooming in your lower belly.

One evening, however, Uraume interrupted your supper with a heavy panting and trembling gaze.

"My Lord, my Queen," she said, taking a few deep breaths. "Forgive me for the intrusion, but something deeply concerning has occurred."

"What is it?" Sukuna mumbled, not even looking her way. Instead, he poured you another cup of wine, while you tried to hide your flushed cheeks behind a curtain of hair.

Oh, you were so, so fucked.

"All the souls lingering on the river's banks have entered the Underworld."

Sukuna suddenly stopped and put the jug of wine back on the table with a loud thud. "What?!"

Both you and Uraume shrugged.

"Charon took them all," she said, glimpsing your way.

You, however, looked down at your plate, as if trying to completely erase yourself from this conversation.

"All of them were buried with a coin? How is it possible?" Sukuna growled.

Uraume took a deep sigh, with deep, sorry eyes still lingering on your hunched figure. "He said that…" She hesitated, biting down on her lower lip. "The Queen ordered to let them in."

Fuck.

The air suddenly stilled, and a moment passed before Sukuna's crimson, angry eyes looked your way. But it's not like you could see the rage blazing in his gaze, as you still carefully observed the fresh fig lying on your plate.

The fact that he somehow got delivered all your favourite, fresh fruits down to the Underworld was truly–

"Do you want to tell me something, my Queen?" he asked with utmost politeness, although you sensed the displeasure bubbling in his throat.

"No, not really," you murmured, playing with a juicy fruit.

He took a deep sigh, curling all four of his hands into fists. A soft vein popped on his forehead as he truly, really tried to keep himself calm.

"I will ask you again," slipped softly, before his two hands pulled your chair closer to him. Your thighs brushed against each other, and his fingers lifted your chin up. Till you were forced to meet his heavy, bloody gaze. "Is there anything you wish to tell me?

Oh, lying to him like that was much, much harder.

"Listen," you started, and he already sighed. "I don't see any problem with it. Why would you keep them there if Charon can just take them all to the Underworld? Isn't that the whole point of your domain?"

His fingers tightened on your chin because, dear-fucking-heavens, he really struggled to hold it together. Four bloodshot eyes looked down at your pouty lips and doe eyes, as if your pure loveliness could melt his anger.

Well, it usually could.

"They cannot enter Hades if they do not get buried with a coin. That's the rule all of them must obey," rolled harshly, and your pout became even sweeter. Fuck. "How did you even force Charon to do it? This old man is stubborn as hell."

You nestled into his palm, attempting to ease his heart with a gentle, pleading look. "It turns out most of the creatures here are quite afraid of Cerberus," you giggled, even though Sukuna was clearly unhappy. "Um, and they’re also afraid of you. The threat of reporting to the Lord of the Underworld himself tends to work quite effectively."

Sukuna pulled away with a heavy groan and started massaging his temples. One side of him was rather happy that, after weeks of fighting, you decided to use both your title and him to get what you wanted. But the other wanted to curl his fingers around your neck and snap it clean, for the mess you have caused with your need to piss him off.

He closed his eyes, taking a few deep breaths. "Why did you do it?"

"They looked sad."

His crimson gaze once again snapped to your face. "Sad? The souls?"

You nodded. "Well, all of them wanted to enter Hades so–"

"My Goddess, you can't do such a thing!" Uraume cried, looking out the tall window as if all those souls were travelling up Hades' temple.

"Why? I thought I was the Queen of the Underworld." A cheeky smile curved your lips, and Sukuna almost lost it. "I can do whatever I want. Your own words, my God."

Well, he did tell you that from now on, this domain was under both his and your control, but his mind ran far too short to predict that you, in fact, wouldn't know the most basic rules of this land.

And thus, he could only swallow his rage and look back at Uraume. "Catch them all and bring them back to the shore. Also, tell Charon that from now on he's forbidden from listening to the Queen's orders."

You scoffed, crossing arms on your chest. "I'm just going to set Cerberus on him."

"Right," Sukuna growled, sending you a short, angry look. "And also chain the dog to his cave. This beast has forgotten who his real master is."

You could forgive him mistreating the poor souls and Charon, but a line had to be drawn regarding your beloved dog.

Your fingers grabbed his forearm, eyes bulging in worry. "Wait! Leave Cerberus out of this," Sukuna looked at your nails digging into his skin and a jittery gaze. "I'm sorry, okay? Just…" There was a thread linking you both – dangerously thin, leading to an emotion your relationship hasn't yet discovered. Forgiveness. "Please don't hurt him. It's my fault. Cerberus listens to everything I say, he's just a silly dog. So let him be. If there's someone who should be punished, it's me."

Sukuna didn't say anything for a while, staring at your pleading eyes with a furrowed brow. A storm of feelings coiled in his head, and you noticed his gaze soften slightly. He often acted like a brute, of course, but you believed that somewhere, deep, deep beneath his chest, there was still a man who placed the little birds that had fallen from the trees back in their nests.

"Fine," he finally muttered and oh, how shocked he was when you chuckled and wrapped yourself around his neck. For a moment, he sat frozen in place, but soon all four arms curled around you, as he inhaled the sweetness coating your skin.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Uraume looked away to hide a little smile tugging on her lips, as it was a long, long time since she had seen the God of the Dead blushing like a virgin nymph.

Sukuna coughed, sending her a deadly gaze. "But I still believe that you and Cerberus could use some time away from each other. I'm tired of raising two brats at the same time," he mumbled, and you giggled into his neck.

"Well, my God, try to suggest it to him, and we'll see what happens," you pulled away, with hands still wrapped around his neck. "I'm afraid your beast found himself a new owner."

And so, since that evening, a little, hopeful grain started to bloom in Sukuna's heart.

As it seemed that his lovely Goddess had finally begun to warm to him. During the evening baths, you chirped into his ear like a fair birdie, sometimes even washing his muscular back and massaging his always-creased forehead.

At night, your body instinctively nuzzled into his. Legs wrapped around him tightly, hands curled around his arms, and a slightly wet cheek left a small puddle of saliva on his chest. He always beamed with warmth, and you, like a cat, used his body as a heater.

During the shared breakfast, you kept talking while he fed you the sweetest, juiciest fruits. What's more, your roles would shift, with your fingers occasionally placing a piece of orange onto his lips – sometimes upper, sometimes lower.

Whenever you stole a few apples for Cerberus, as he's tired of eating raw meat, he would only scoff and wave his hand. The beast has been living on meat and water for thousands of years, and yet, a few weeks after your appearance, he suddenly developed a lavish taste for fruits picked only by you.

On some afternoons, when Sukuna would nap under the pomegranate tree, you would creep to his side. Carefully place his head on your thighs and hum a lovely melody, just like you did back then in a forest. He would always try to stay as still as possible, just to prolong those precious moments – your fingers brushing through his hair and flowery fragrance coating his skin.

One special afternoon, your hum was interrupted by something else.

Something… alive.

The high trilling of crickets, soft chirping of birds and muffled croaks of the frogs, coming from the little pond Sukuna has built up for you.

Your fingers suddenly stopped in their tracks, and the God coughed quietly, wriggling under your touch. Like a dog, begging for more pats.

"How is it possible?" you asked, looking down at his "sleeping" face.

There was a minute of silence before he slowly, carefully opened his eyes and sighed heavily, meeting your solemn gaze. "The animals also need to enter Hades. Just on different rules," His eyes fell on something crawling up your hand. "Look there."

And to your surprise, you've noticed a grasshopper sitting serenely on your skin. It wasn't as lush and green as you remembered it to be, but misty, almost like a cloud, with only his foggy soul still crawling up your arm.

And then you've noticed birds sitting high up on the pomegranate tree, with their little wings looking like a shadow.

Something heavy formed in your throat and heart stirred with affection. "You brought them for me?"

Sukuna hummed, closing his eyes and gently placing your hand back on his head. "You can say that. Most of them were already here. I simply ordered to be bring them to our garden."

Your fingers started working through his hair again – scratching and massaging his head, till the beastly God stretched on your thighs like a cat and nuzzled into the softness of your belly.

You didn't push him away but rather giggled and whispered a sweet thank you. A little smile tugged on Sukuna's lips, and he purred softly my pleasure, Goddess.

And thus, for the first time in your life, you have felt free.

With Underworld's woeful air smooching your cheeks and shadowy animals following you around the withered plains.

You have never felt more alive than in the realm of the dead.

That's why when Sukuna called you into the main hall one day, your heart froze. With dread and fear, upon seeing your furious mother standing right next to him by the altar.

The altar, decorated with your small marble figures and fresh flowers, he ordered to be changed daily since no plant in the Underworld could survive longer than a day.

Your fingers curled in fists, lips fell in line, and somehow, even though you loved her dearly, you simply couldn't take a step closer.

Sukuna stood still, with four arms crossed on his chest and eyes looking carefully at your trembling body. As if he could read all the thoughts coiling beneath your furrowed brows.

"My darling, oh Gods," she sighed, crossing the distance between you two in a few steps. Before you knew it, she pulled you into a hug, although your arms hung loosely by your sides. "I thought I'd lost you forever. Can you believe that I needed to threaten Zeus himself to finally find you?"

She pulled away and grabbed your cheeks, only to meticulously ogle your face. "Oh my, you're so pale! This place did you no good, but at least you're fine. This brute…" she looked over her shoulder, glancing at Sukuna's stony face. "My heart almost stopped upon hearing that he was the one who kidnapped you. Did he touch you? Are you okay? Did he, you know, force you to–"

"Mom," you quickly interrupted her and wriggled yourself out of her embrace. "Why are you here?"

She looked dumbfounded – with warm eyes bulging in shock and lips slightly falling open. When you stepped back, her forehead creased.

"I came to take you back, of course."

A gentle sigh echoed through the vast temple hall as you glanced over her shoulder. Somewhere nearby, a man was attentively listening to you, with a heart pounding loudly in his throat. Filled with fear, anticipation, hope.

Sukuna rarely looked at you with that gaze – filled with love and dread, as if he understood that neither anyone else nor he himself was truly worthy of your heart. He scarcely ever seemed so weak and afraid, as if his mind, soul, heart were fully, completely wrapped around your finger.

And thus now, after so many of his threats, you could make a choice.

To stay here, with him, or go back to your mother.

"Let's go, darling, I'm getting nauseous just from being here," she tried to grab your hand, but, once again, you stepped away.

"I'm not going back," slipped in a whisper. "I can't go back."

She looked shocked, and her lips curved in a nervous smile. "What do you mean, you can't?"

"I'm bound to the Underworld."

Lie.

But oh, how good it felt in your heart, lifting the weight of all the mixed emotions you've buried over the past few days.

"Bound? What do you–" she started, and then, as if suddenly enlightened, gasped. A sharp cry escaped her throat, and her eyes looked back at Sukuna with a frightened, intense gaze. "You! You forced her to eat the seeds!"

Before she could step closer and smack his cheek with an open palm, you grabbed her. "No, mom. I did it myself."

She stopped, turning back your way. With disappointment filling her eyes and trembling lips. "You did what?"

"I love him."

And that, well, that was a confession no one expected. Not you, mother, and particularly not Sukuna. His breath hitched, eyes bulged, and he almost, almost took a step closer.

As his heart, mind, and soul were consumed by a desire to hold you and caress you yearningly until your lips swell from the sweetness of the kiss.

Your mother quickly interrupted, holding your cheeks. "You don't. Don't say it. You don't love him. He's a beast who manipulated your mind, love has no place here. Don't act foolishly, that's not how I raised you."

Your heart shuddered in wretchedness upon her words. As you knew how much she hated all the Gods. How hard she tried to keep this sweet, yet so foreign feeling away from you, as if the little seed growing in your heart was something shameful.

Crystal droplets trickled down your cheeks, wetting her pads. "But I do, mother. And I will stay here, with him. That's my home now."

There was no need to listen to her further. Sliding her trembling hands from your cheeks, you turned and quickly disappeared into the comforting darkness of a temple you used to hate that much.

Her low pleadings filled the main hall, but you could only ignore them. Seeing her again, after a whole month, brought dreadful memories of years spent in her golden cage.

You entered the chamber and sat down on a plush bed. Your hands still slightly wet from nervousness, eyes taking in the cosiness and warmth of the bedroom you shared with… him. Candles licked your skin sweetly, and moon lurked through misty curtains.

Even the usual shrieks coming from Tartarus were mild that evening, allowing you to enjoy the little crickets slipping from the garden.

Cerberus barked somewhere deep within your domain, and a smile tugged at the corners of your lips. You were on your way to give him his daily dose of apples when your mother suddenly appeared.

You sat on a bed, hunched and frozen, not noticing a massive shadow that swooshed closer. Dark robes appeared in front of your feet, and soon a heavy, musky fragrance followed.

"My Queen," Sukuna started, not quite sure what to say. A silence has fallen – pleasant, warm, homey. He sighed and crouched to meet your gaze. "Are you okay?"

Only then did he notice crystal droplets still dripping down your cheeks. "My Goddess, why are you crying?"

"Don't allow her to take me," slipped in a crying whisper, before a muffled choke followed. His big hands gripped yours, trying to stop the trembling. "Please, let me stay here."

His fingers lifted to gently cup your face. "What are you talking about? Of course, I won't let you go," crimson eyes softened as a large thumb brushed your lower lip. "Have you forgotten my words? You're never leaving my side."

"Never?"

He shook his head. "Never. I will stand against all of Olympus if that's the price of loving you."

Another sharp cry rolled from your lips as you nuzzled into his hand.

He changed your positions, sitting on the bed and letting you climb onto his thighs, only to push your crying face into his neck. Four hands embraced you before he began to cradle you like a baby.

With soft whispers and kisses placed on your forehead.

When the first shock rolled away and the tears finally stopped, you pulled back. With swollen lips and puffy cheeks, that made Sukuna's heart swell with fondness.

His tongue lapped up the last salty droplets before big palms cupped your hips. "You'll stay here, with me," plush lips peppered your cheeks, nose, and the slightly trembling chin. "And you'll let me love and worship you as you deserve," his hands rolled your hips against his, drawing a moan from your throat. "No one will take you away from me. Not now, not ever."

Your arms wrapped around his neck, back bent in a delicate arch. You looked at him with a plea, taking in the divine beauty of his beastly face. "What if Zeus himself comes for me?"

His lips were barely brushing against yours, and a woody, heavy smell of his body tickled your heart. "I'll kill him. My Goddess, you truly underestimate me. I will move heaven and earth to keep you by my side."

And then, with a last longing gaze connecting your starving souls, your lips have finally crashed.

In a slow, gentle, yet raw kiss, with his teeth biting down on your lower lip and throat swallowing all your sugary moans.

All four hands quickly found their way around your body – caressing, holding, gripping the swell of your ass and moving your hips in harsher rolls.

Misty robe hanging on your shoulders slipped down with a gentle tug, and soon his two upper hands lifted to cup your breasts.

The softness of your skin made Sukuna's mind spin, and a craving to sink himself into your warm cunt felt almost maddening. His cocks, still clothed by a dark tunic, brushed against your folds and the sweetest, purest moan rolled right into his lips.

"Feed me, my God," you murmured, pulling away slightly. "Feed me the pomegranate seeds and tie me to the Underworld. To you."

Of course, you lied to your mother.

And Sukuna knew it too. He observed you for a whole day and night, never leaving your giggles out of his sight, and thus he was aware of your little, desperate lie.

What he hoped for, however, was that your confession was sincere.

Tasting the sweetness of your lips, he realised how truly doomed he was – completely entangled with the scent of your skin and the beauty of your eyes. His heart skipped a beat when your fingers pulled his pink hair, causing his hips to buck instinctively, seeking the intense pleasure.

You pushed his chest, forcing his massive body to lie down on the mattress. "Feed me, and I shall let you have a taste too."

Your lips met his cheeks, jaw, and dropped down through the bulging throat and collarbones, while fingers slipped from the dark robes. He wore nothing beneath the long tunic, and soon your lips curled around his nipple, biting it softly with a hum.

Two upper arms swiftly pulled you up to his face, while the lower ones still held your bare hips. "What will you let me taste, my Goddess?"

A cheeky smirk tugged on your lips as you placed your leaking cunt right over his open belly mouth. "Your favourite fruit, my God."

With a loud moan, you lowered down onto its tongue, feeling the heavy muscles giving you a long, nasty lick. A shudder washed over your spine, and Sukuna drank the next cry that escaped your throat.

"You taste even better than I remembered, my Goddess," he groaned, feeling the saccharine droplets coat his lower tongue. Sticking to his teeth and inner cheeks like the sweetest honey. "But I have a much better idea."

And with that, you quickly found yourself facing his massive cocks and hovering over his face. Your puffy, drenched folds hang right above his lips, and he looked at your dripping cunt with a low groan.

"Fuck, my Goddess," two fingers parted your folds, only for a small, sticky droplet to drip down his chin. "You smell so fucking good, lower yourself a bit."

He didn't wait for your answer as two big hands pulled your hips down with a single, strong move. A groan slipped past his lips and went straight to your cunt, sending a wave of trembling pleasure straight to your clit.

"That's right, my sweet fucking Goddess," he mumbled, lips curving under the weight of your hips. "Don't be shy, get yourself comfortable."

"I-I'm not shy," and if not for a heat that slapped your cheeks, he maybe would believe you.

But your body was too honest, too inexperienced to hide the way your hips rolled against his tongue. Another pitched moan filled the foggy air when his tongue slipped inside your tight cunt.

His lower hands landed on your back and slowly, slowly bent you down. Till your wet lips met with two, pulsing heads and breasts hang right over the belly mouth.

Oh, he was right, this position was absolutely killing… both of you.

Because the moment big, beastly lips curled around your nipple, your hips buckled, and a sweet moan tickled both leaking heads.

"Nghhh," bounced sweetly off his veiny shafts. "That's–mhmm, my God, feels so good."

Sukuna chuckled, slurping on your swollen clit and pushing another cry from your chest. "Give them a little lick, my Queen. They've been waiting for you whole fucking month."

With a hazy gaze, you glanced at two fat cocks smooching your cheeks. Wet and massive, with droplets of musky precum oozing down the pulsing skin and a strong fragrance making you even wetter. He smelled so heavy, manly, and the moment you gave the first cock a kitty lick, Sukuna groaned straight into your clit.

Your hand grabbed the other one and started pumping it in slow, gentle moves, with your thumb brushing the reddened head. Belly mouth sucked on your breasts as if waiting for something more creamy to release itself onto his ravaging tongue, and you cried even louder whenever the wet tongue travelled between both of your nipples.

"How is it possible, fuck," Sukuna groaned, scooping a hefty gush of your cum and drinking it straight from your fluttering hole. "That you're so sweet everywhere. My beautiful, divine Goddess. Come on, try to suffocate me with your cunt. Put your whole weight into it."

With your cheek stuffed full of his cock, you pulled away with a nasty pop and looked over your shoulder. "My God, please take a deep breath," you reminded, because Sukuna seemed to be absolutely lost between your drenched thighs.

With a single finger thrusting into your tight hole and an open mouth catching all the dripping sap. His teeth grazed your clit, before a warm tongue kissed the pain away. He slurped like a madman, whispering little obscenities straight into your pussy and kissing her with nasty squelches. Gluey cum stuck to his nose, lips and chin, connecting him with your parted folds.

"I can't, I don't have to, she needs me," he groaned, giving you another heavy lick. With tongue covering the entirety of your cunt and finger pushing through your pulsing walls. "So sweet, my Goddess, you're so fucking delicious."

Oh, there was truly no remedy for him!

And thus you went back to his pulsing, almost bursting shafts. Your puffy lips kissed two heads before sucking on one gently. Fingers squeezed his constricting balls, juggling them softly and giving them a shy lick.

Sukuna trembled under your body, so you did it again, and again, and again, kissing, licking and sucking on his balls, while rolling your hips against his tongue.

"My God, are you okay?" you slipped shyly, although a cheekiness shimmered in your haze.

Sukuna pulled away from your cunt, and took a deep breath. "Don't ask me stupid questions, my Goddess. My patience is already hanging by a thread, so unless you want me to fold in half and fuck that cunt raw, you better shut that pretty mouth of yours."

You giggled, biting gently down on his balls. "I'll take that as a ye–ah!" you moaned, when the second finger slipped into your tight cunt. "My G-God, that's too–"

Too much wanted to roll, but Sukuna soon added the third . "You're so tight, my Goddess. I'm afraid both of them won't fit in," he slurped, feeling the desperate squeezes of your walls and juices trickling down his fingers.

Both?

An unsettling, truly frightening thought has crossed your mind. He could tear you apart with one, and using two seemed to be a completely foolish idea!

When his pads pushed something, slightly swollen and plush, your whole body shuddered. Pleasure washed over your spine, dripping down to curled feet, and a sugary moan wrapped around his leaking cock.

"There it is," Sukuna growled, looking at your raw, soaked pussy trying to mould itself around his fingers. "My Queen, you're doing so well. Squeezing my fingers so tight, I can't wait to feel you wrapped around my cocks."

The weird warmth has been coiling in your belly since his lips landed on your clit. But now, with fingers pushing your walls and pads brushing against the plump spot, something warmer, wetter started to plash inside your pouch. Something dangerously pleasurable and ready to burst beneath Sukuna's tongue and his big, stomach mouth sucking sweetly on your tits.

"My G-God, I–" you moaned, when all of his three fingers bent against the sweet spot and lips slurped on your clit. "I'm going to, mhmm, allow me to cum on your cocks, p-please."

And a single teary look over your shoulder, with hair sticking to your wet cheeks and lips fallen open, was enough to make him lose his mind.

"Whatever you wish, my Queen," he said, quickly pulling you away from his mouth.

Your body turned again, and this time you found yourself back on top, with two massive cocks squirming beneath your drooling folds and his lower hands gripping your thighs.

"You want me to…?"

He nodded, gently pulling your hips up, to help his leaking heads kiss your fluttering hole. "Ride me, my Queen. I want to watch you take it up…" his fingers traced the softness of your belly, before pushing on a spot somewhere just beneath your button. "here. Both of them."

Your pussy was ready to burst any second, and you could already feel something else, other than your normal wetness, drip down his cocks. The fog in your mind grew thicker, sweat coolly lined your neck, as you pressed both hands against his chest and leaned on trembling, feeble arms.

Rough thumb from the upper arm slipped between your folds, rolling gently the puffy clit. "Slowly, my Queen, take a deep breath." You did just that, with eyes looking straight into his. Both heads started forcing their way through your tight walls, gathering the slippery juices on the way. "That's it, that's my good girl, deep breaths."

He talked you through it, with thumb rubbing the sweet button and lower hands slowly, slowly, pulling you down his shafts.

A sharp cry rolled past your lips when both heads slipped inside. Pushing into your contracting walls and ripping you open, till the metallic taste of blood pooled somewhere at the back of your throat.

The water plopping inside your belly was filling you full, together with Sukuna's cocks constantly trying to thrust inside. You could feel every vein, every detailed curve of his shafts lick your gummy insides, as he pushed, and pushed, and took in the maddening beauty of your face, utterly lost in pleasure.

Your pussy squelched around his monstrous cocks. Cried sweetly, with a clit slowly getting much harsher rubs, till the swollen button started to tremble.

"My God, w-wait, something's wrong," you cried, trying to pull yourself off.

But Sukuna's lower hands kept you in place, and his hips bucked up, trying to meet yours. "Everything's good, my Queen. Deep breaths, you're doing so well."

"No, you don't get it, I–"

The heat hit your cheeks, walls clamped down half-thrust, and the alarmingly plopping water, finally, finally, spilt.

You came.

Or maybe, gushed.

With his cocks barely inside, a hefty wave rolled through your spine, spraying Sukuna's hands, belly, and chest with your cum. Your body trembled in pleasure, and he used this short moment of distraction to thrust his cocks fully, till your hips finally met his.

It was brutal, mean, absolutely filthy, with his lower mouth drinking your squirt and crimson eyes glimmering with maddening yearning.

Something in his mind snapped when he noticed a big bulge right under your belly button, and within a second, your position changed once again.

And this time, you knew that it was over.

He folded you in half, till your ass peeled off the drenched bed, and pussy glistened under his fiery gaze. All four arms kept you tightly in place, with lower limbs spreading your soaked thighs and upper ones taking something from the bedside table.

Only then have you noticed a crimson, bursting pomegranate, licked by the candle's warm tongues and dripping down Sukuna's forearm. He ripped it in half with a single, gentle move, before drinking the seeds with eyes never leaving yours.

"Deep breath, my Goddess," he said again, before both of his cocks rammed into your needy, stretched hole and lips crushed against yours. "Swallow it," he muttered into your reddened teeth, pushing all the pomegranate seeds straight into your mouth. "My little slutty Queen. Coming on my cocks when I barely thrusted in."

The fruit tasted sweeter than honey itself and mixed with Sukuna's sweet spin. His tongue trailed against yours, before lips moved towards your cheeks, chin, jaw, leaving all over your face a sweet, bloody trace of the fruit.

The power that tied your body, heart and soul to the God who wished for nothing but to love you like a madman and worship every piece of your skin.

His thrusts became more erratic, brutal, with squelches filling the wet, foggy air and his heavy, massive body leaning on your folded legs. His hips met yours with each roll, and whenever he pulled away, a long, sticky strand stretched between his soaked shafts and your sensitive cunt.

"Open up, my Queen," he growled, digging his fingers into your jaw. "Show me how well you swallowed it all."

Your lips fell open, and a string of drool trickled down his fingers. Big thumb pushed on your reddened tongue, and you sucked it sweetly, with eyes crossing in pleasure.

The long, fat tongue of his lower mouth slid out and gave your clit a long, filthy lick, before its lips sucked on it raw. Irritating the sensitive button and slurping on the last droplets of your squirt. Sukuna groaned, feeling your walls clamping around his cocks and pushed harsher, as if trying to fight the merciless squeeze.

"Fuck, my Goddess, let me–ahh–let get to your womb," he groaned, giving you a single, brutal thrust. You cried around his thumb, but he simply shushed you sweetly. "Don't cry, it's alright. Ngh, squeezing me so fucking hard," he leaned over, licking off the salty droplets.

His hips moved with unbelievably violent motion, rocking your bed against the wall and drawing a loud cry from your throat. Two pulsing heads kissed your womb with squelches till it swelled like a juicy peach and bent under his heartless thrusts.

A familiar warmth once again started to pool in your belly. Your arms curled behind Sukuna's neck, pulling him into another, filthy kiss. "My God, I'm g-gonna… soon… mhmm so good, s-so–ahh!"

He chuckled against your lips, but couldn't ignore the lovely tenderness filling your teary eyes. His heart jumped, and lower hands folded you into an even meaner mating press. Till you could barely breathe under his massive body, squeezing you down.

"Say it," he whispered, letting his cocks rip you raw. "Say it again."

Two fat shafts slipped in and out, smooching every little corner of your tired, swollen cunt. The pleasure filled you from head to toe, overflowing your body in electrifying strokes.

You knew what he wanted to hear. But his thrusts made a mushy mess out of your mind and eyes rolled back each time his hand pushed the bulge forming under your belly. Not even pregnancy could get you that bloated.

When your head lulled to the side, his fingers dug into your cheeks again, forcing you to look into his eyes. "Say it, my Goddess," he said, licking the last red traces of pomegranate juice from the corner of your lips. "I beg you."

"I love you," slipped like a dream. "I–I, mhmm, I love you. My God, I–"

His lips joined yours in a yearning, maddened kiss. "Fuck, my sweet Goddess. I love you so much, so fucking–fuck."

The warmth in your belly spilt again, and watery cum flooded his abdomen. The belly mouth sucked itself onto your clit, drinking each and every bead of your sweet nectar.

A second later, his hips finally stilled. Pulsing heads nuzzled into your womb, filling it with heavy, gluey cum. He pumped you full, with maddened pleasure creasing his forehead and knees digging into the mattress. Everything, just to get as close to you as possible.

His hefty cum filled your belly before bursting outside and buttering your folds.

"My God, at this point, mhmm, you'll knock me up," a sweet, tired giggle slipped past your lips, feeling his seed overflowing your poor womb. "Although I truly wouldn't mind."

He sighed, nuzzling warmly into the crook of your neck. The plushiness of your skin still made his mind spin, and the flowery fragrance haunted him like a spirit. "My Goddess, don't play with fire."

Your fingers brushed through his hair, pulling a low hum from his massive chest. "I'm not afraid to get burned," you said with full seriousness.

But God didn't answer. Just cuddled closer to your body – plush breasts, soft neck, and hair tickling his nose. He reminded you of Cerberus whenever the beast tried to cuddle into your side.

And with the same love and fondness, you kissed his temple, whispering simple yet oh so important, I'm yours, forever.

Forever it truly was for you, as no other couple on Olympus would ever conquer the utter devotion and love of the Goddess of Spring and the Lord of the Underworld.

Such contrary characters and yet relishing themselves in the most maddening obsession the Olympus has ever seen.

©liahcharms all rights reserved. Do not copy, plagiarise, feed AI, translate or modify my works.

Oh god, I'm tired but so, so happy. I think it's pretty good, but please let me know your thoughts in the comments <3 Pray forgive me for any mistakes, the wizard was proofreading it at 11 p.m.

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ex! mechanic toji could feel your eyes burning onto his back. it wasn’t helping the situation he had going downstairs. the only relief he could get was pressing the bulge against your car, rubbing it in a way that wasn’t visible.

you patiently sat in the chair near his table that had all his tools. memories came rushing back of when you’d help out at times. by now, you had forgotten what the names of each tool was, but there was a time when you did.

the memory was bittersweet.

ex! mechanic toji had been yearning for you since the day you left. he understood where you were coming from. you had school to focus on, and he was busy with work. but it was hard to move on when the right side of his bed was left cold, the extra toothbrush and pads in his bathroom were gone, and his lips were clear of any lipstick stains.

“so, how’s school?” toji suddenly asked. the question surprised you, not expecting him to want to talk about the reasoning of your breakup. “um, it’s fine.“ he responded with a hum. “hey baby?” he called out, still not letting go of the habit of using pet names on you. “mind getting me an oil filter cup?” he pushed his hair back, lifting his body from under the hood of the car.

your brain didn’t process the nickname, instead trying to find the tool he had asked for. “uhhhh..” you bit your lip, trying to recall what it looked like.

ex! mechanic toji looked over to you, seeing that you were struggling. with a sigh, he went inside, grabbing it himself. “it’s this one.” you felt his warm body press against yours, making a gasp draw out of you. he raised his brow, clearly hearing the soft noise. with a sinister smirk, he pushed harder until you were fully pressed onto the desk. “ya don’t remember what i taught you?” he carefully dragged the wrench over your jawline.

he hadn’t missed the way your thighs clenched. “bet that if i move those pretty panties of yours to the side, you’ll be dripping for me.”

well, he wasn’t wrong.

ex! mechanic toji who is balls deep into you. your hole had forgotten his size, having to relearn how to adjust to the thick girth of the nine inch dick he had packing. “toji!” you moaned out.

“yeah that’s it, fucking say my name like that again. missed it.” each punishing thrust left you trembling. your skirt had long joined his work pants on the floor beneath you, collecting your spilled juices. “forgot how stupid you get when you’re on my cock.”

ex! mechanic toji’s hand carefully grabbed your hair in a ponytail, pulling it back to roughly kiss you. “open.” he demanded, spitting right onto your tongue. he let out a groan after seeing that you happily swallowed his saliva, delivering a gentle squeeze at your clit.

“fuck!” you gasped, legs starting to feel like jelly. “missed you sooo much..” toji murmured, leaving small hickeys on the crook of your neck. the squelching of your cunt echoed throughout the place. you thanked every god out there that his shop was secluded in a tiny area.

“think you can let me cum in ya?”

“please!” you begged, trying to hold on until he finished first. it’d be embarrassing if you came just a few minutes in. but in your defense it’s been a long while since you’ve gotten fucked.

his hand that was on your hair moved down to raise your shirt, exposing your breasts. his fingers quickly found your nipple, twisting and playing with it until your back arched.

ex! mechanic toji had a mirror placed on the desk, making it possible for him to watch the was his cock entered you from the front. “you gonna be able to take it all?”

“yes! yes i can!” your hands held onto his meaty thighs, leaving behind crescent like shapes from your nails. your cunt spasmed when warmth filled you up. “don’t waste a drop.” he whispered, holding you closer. toji felt his balls clench before fully relaxing, dick already softening when he pulled out. “good job, doll.”

you felt lightheaded, legs still shaky.

ex! mechanic toji who’s so close to getting on his knees, begging you to come back to him, and to let him eat you out as well.

“let’s try again.. please?” his black bangs were sticking to his forehead, heavy arms wrapped around your torso. “take me back, and i’ll let you cum.”