deaniepie

You turned back, seeing Gojo looking at you, smile sly and gaze slightly dimmed, as if drunk on constantly flowing wine. You heard Zeus bickering with the God of Wine over his attempts to alcoholise everyone, but his voice alone wasn't quite clear either, with golden hair already slightly messy and white robes sliding down muscular shoulders.

"Aren't you just a womaniser?" You hummed, already seeing the glimmering bottom of your cup and Gojo pacing towards you. "Leave my nymphs alone, or I'll be the one listening to their cries about your mischievous promises."

He scoffed, sitting down next to you and clinking your cups together. "I've never promised them anything aside from having fun. None of them ever complained." He settled comfortably, a hand behind your back and a lone finger caressing your bare shoulders slowly, slowly. "Who are you taking home today, hm? You know I'm free if–"

This time, you scoffed. "Forget it," you took a sip, never asking him to keep his hands off you. It was nice. He was nice, but there indeed wasn't much chemistry between you two when it came to sex life. "We're not good lovers. Besides, a little dove whispered to my ear that you've been having an affair with a mortal," You stopped, glancing at him with a smile dancing in the corner of your lips. "A male mortal. Prince of Sparta Geto Suguru, from what I've heard. Such a beauty, isn't he?"

Gojo laughed quietly, his eyes following your cunning smile. "Isn't your birdie quite well-informed, hm?"

He seemed taken aback, almost wanting to hide his secret affair from the prying eyes of the Gods. But he didn't know that nothing could have been hidden from you, and little, white doves flying above the skies of the mortal world, maybe following him here and there if you were bored and amused enough to watch his secret romance with a Spartan prince bloom like a pristine flower.

"What? Getting jealous? I thought God was above it."

He snorted, eyes glued to something, someone, over your shoulder.

A dark figure, sitting quietly among the most powerful Gods, one of the three brothers ruling the three dimensions of this world. The "Unseen One", a grim and ghastly man, as if mute and solemn, always in the dark corners or ones barely flustered by candles' gentle tongues. Everyone knew he was there, but rarely glanced towards him, as if ignorance was the only way to handle one of the three most powerful Gods in all of Greece. The one having power over the domain so dark and eerie, mortals prayed to never meet him directly, as if bathing in Tartarus was more pleasant than standing face to face with him.

Hades.

"You also have an admirer, I see," Gojo murmured, while you looked back.

Your eyes met with panic.

Not yours, his.

He looked absolutely terrified, with a glance so flustered and lost, as if your attention alone was the absurdest and scariest thing he could experience. His stare escaped quickly towards his two younger brothers, before, just for a second, it slipped back to you again – your lips and breasts, wrapped tightly in pinkish robes and soft hair caressing your cheeks, reddened like a wine and flushed in a smile.

You indeed had an admirer. For a long time now.

"The oldest one, but also the most peculiar, don't you think? He looks a bit miserable." Gojo hummed to your ear, sitting so close you could feel his sweet breath on your ear. The man in the corner moved slightly, looking between you and the other God with a little frown and eyes so anxious, a small chuckle escaped your lips. "And so jealous!"

"You know, that you've just insulted one of the strongest Gods, right? Also, he has quite good relations with three sisters." Gojo shrugged his shoulders, as if a vision of his thread of life being cut didn't scare him in the slightest. But you, he, and every other God in this feast knew that if there’s anyone Gods and mortals should be the most polite and thankful to, it should be Hades.

Because what could be better than being on good terms with God of the Underworld himself?

"So that's why you haven't slept with anyone recently?"

You hummed softly but didn't answer.

And it was true that as a Goddess of Love, Beauty and Fertility, quite... a few lovers have stumbled through your sheets. All of them just for one night, with both mortals, heroes and demigods always wanting more, but never having a chance with a Goddess herself.

You also never wanted anything more from either of them. Never needed, but just a few gentle touches and charming words whispered to your ear, maybe a thrust one or two and a spasmic tremble of their body, while you were left quite satisfied but never fully.

Gojo was a fine lover, good even, but he was too, well, overpowering, you would say. Too confident, always in control, such a tease, with nymphs hanging off his shoulders and sheets dirtier than you could imagine. He was a fun person to be around and sleep from time to time if you were extremely bored, but… well. 

He didn't know how to handle you as a Goddess. Worship, like a plain mortal, so pathetically and desperately down on his knees, creaming all over his pants just from your one glance.

But you knew a man who could do it.

Because he was always there, in the night sky and quiet wind, within a soft flickering of the candle and moonlight coming to your chamber through a window. In the seeds of the pomegranates that were left in your temple – your attribute, a symbol of desire and fertility, almost as if he wanted to be noticed, let you know that he’s here and has been for a long time.

Hades, no, Choso, a God of the Underworld, barely showed himself up here in Olympus, almost always down in his realm of death. He wasn’t very social, if it was the correct way to describe his rare appearance during all the Gods' gatherings, be it a feast or holiday celebrations. 

He avoided every meeting as much as he could, but somehow appeared every time he knew you also would be there. And during the feasts, he would sit at the table for the highest and mightiest, but always keep himself in the dark, even if the sun shining upon Olympus couldn’t be any brighter.

You glanced at him once again, noticing little nods he gave Zeus and lips curling in a barely visible, timid smile, before he chuckled. And you could swear that softness of his voice was the reason your throat tightened around the swallowed wine.

You coughed, bringing his attention, a worried gaze, and a hand, almost, slightly reaching out to you, before he hid it once again in the wide sleeve of his dark robes.

“Isn't our beauty already drunk?” Gojo cooed, patting your back. 

Wine spilt all over your robes, leaving a dark stain on your half-bare breasts. Gojo chortled, his hand too touchy and too close to your lower back, while Zeus sighed deeply, almost disappointingly. It was hard to see him not disappointed in Gojo and all the troubles, orgies and affairs he was always getting himself into. 

Gojo was still patting your back before something stopped him. 

Someone. 

Choso stood up at some point and came closer so quietly, you didn’t even notice him leaving the table. Just a hint of greaminess filled the atmosphere, with hushed voices and faint whispers of the demigods and nymphs, glancing upon a looming figure bathed in darkness.

Your coughing stopped, but warm tongues of flames scratching your skin were suddenly dimmed by a tall man with dark hair touching his shoulders and cupping pinkish cheeks softly. Dark eyes, filled with so much concern it made your stomach turn, looked down at you, with surrounding them purplish circles, giving his handsome face even more earrines. Your gaze slipped to his long earrings swinging lightly with every step, one of delicate shell and the other of snake, so opposite to one another but harmonising so beautifully, you couldn’t help but feel a pang in your heart.

But. Wait a second. 

Wasn’t a shell an attribute of–

“Here,” you heard a low voice, and the next second, a black handkerchief was extended towards you. “You can use it to, um, to clean yourself. It’s black, so i-it won’t leave a–“

Oh dear god. 

How pitiful he looked, with eyes running between your face and breasts, cheeks flushed in a cherry, such a contrast with his deadly-pale skin, and long fingers holding on to a handkerchief with a slight tremor.  

You were terrified to even think of the face you did at that moment, but Gojo's elbow brushing yours and his silent cough told you that your eyes may or may not have changed into two small hearts, beating furiously at the sight of the pathetic God standing right in front.

Gojo wanted to take black material himself, but Choso's gaze was so strongly fixated on your trembling figure (not with dreadfulness, but a desire you've never felt before!), he quite literally was afraid to break such a precious moment.

So he coughed again and stuck his elbow even harder, before you finally noticed a fair palm extended to you.

"Oh," you muttered, taking a handkerchief and wiping your dirty clothes immediately. "Thank you so much, my Lord."

He shrugged visibly, nodding his head and looking at your plush breasts, soaked in reddish wine and coated in your pink, almost transparent robes.

And you, as a Goddess of so many beautiful and fertile things, were mostly known for one thing – your sexual appeal. Greeks loved to sculpt your body almost naked, rarely dressed, but even if, always in skimpy robes and translucent garments. Some presented you wrapped in a golden girdle, a myth and a gossip going on around the mortal world, of the belt whose wearer could make anyone fall in love with them.

It was funny at first to even think that the most beautiful Goddess needed a mere accessory to seduce her admirers. But the gossip turned out to be so appealing, you decided to create such a belt and give it to Hera, for... well, seducing the highest and mightiest of all, of course.

But you've never used it yourself, keeping it only for your friends and demigods, maybe sometimes water nymphs, who used your accessories to play with mortals and some heroes. It was fun, safe and without any commitment.

But you?

Choso gulped, a droplet of sweat forming around his temple as his eyes couldn't leave your drenched skin, too bare and too soft under flushed material, to have every other God around see you in such an harmless state.

Maybe he was hallucinating or maybe not, but you stood up, slowly, confidently, with breasts almost falling from your already too skimpy robes. Knowing his eyes followed your body, you glanced at him with such a stunning smile and a hint of foxy craftiness in your glimmering gaze, he almost passed out.

Literally, because his knees gave out, and the long scepter was the only thing that saved him from complete humiliation in front of the whole of Olympus.

"I'll clean it and return, my Lord. Maybe you could give me a hint or two regarding navigating the Underworld, hm?" You said so quietly, he may have been the only person who had heard your honeyed voice.

He could swear it was as sweet as your body, which turned out to be definitely too close to his, spreading a fragrance of fresh roses and an ocean breeze, stuck to your flowing hair and velvety skin.

But how could a Goddess like you even think of going down to his grim and mournful domain, filled with nothing but eeariness and cries of descendent souls, left at his mercy. "No, my G-Goddess, you shouldn't–"

"I insist." Your voice was firm and touch even firmer, almost burning his creamy skin, when your fingers brushed his bicep and gripped it lightly.

Only now you've noticed a delicate, black stripe spread on his nose and rosy cheeks, almost hidden under the muted candle's light, but visible enough the moment you closed the distance, suffocating him with your–ah, too close, too close, too close.

"My Goddess, I'm afraid you're too–"

But how could he push you away when his body betrayed him so clearly? Your hand on his bicep, plump breasts almost grazing his dark robes and flushed cheeks raised to meet his furrowed brows, oh so lost in your sweetness and a soft giggle, which already sounded like the most graceful melody.

Saying he was tall would be an overstatement, but stating he was well–built would be a pure untruth – his muscles trembled under your small hand, but you could feel their sturdiness. You caught how tight the dark robe was around his shoulders and the way it perfectly fit his muscular back and veiny forearms, peeking from wide sleeves.

He clenched snowish fingers on a long scepter, looking anywhere just not at you.

And when you touched your wine-wet breasts with his handkerchief, it was over.

He couldn't handle it anymore, so he did what every other wise and powerful God would do in the presence of a lustful and most beautiful woman walking on this Earth – turned on his heels and ran away.

"I'm sorry, my Goddess, I need to–um, I truly need to g-go–"

And he went indeed.

With such a hurry and a shade of delicious apple you've never seen spread on his face before, the only thing you could do was stand still and stare at his broad back slowly going down from Olympus's peak.

"My, my," you've heard a whistle and a second later, Gojo stood next to you, with a face not much different from yours. Flushed, stupefied, maybe a bit more amused. "He really is a lost cause, hm? Maybe calling him miserable was an overstatement. He's the most pathetic God in this Pantheon."

You inhaled heavily, feeling a warmth coiling in your belly, so familiar but at the same time intense, you've tried to remember the last time it felt as pleasant as now.

Hm, never?

"You're wrong," Gojo glanced at you with a raised eyebrow. And his amusement was even higher when he saw this weird look in your eye. Delight? Lust? No, lo– "He's pathetic for me only."

Days were passing by, filled with responsibilities mostly.

You've spent your time on listetning to worshippers – young girls, future mothers, women praying to bestow them with fertility, couples wishing for productive sexual life – and devoted sunny afternoons to bathing in the warm sun dancing on Olympus.

It was your favourite time of the day, so the moment your feet dipped into the crystal water, a blissful shiver ran through your spine, soothing both mind and body with a delicate touch of the waves. Nymphs surrounded you like ducks, dipping their heads in the pool and chirping among themselves like little birdies.

Your open bathhouse sat at the top of Olympus, built encircled by creamy columns, growing tall as trees, scratching cotton clouds with a serene feeling of quietness.

Small stairs led directly to fresh water, warmed by gentle rays of sunlight and glimmering on the velvety skin of playing nymphs.

Your statue stood right next to the open pool, tall and proud, almost naked too, representing which God this place belonged to.

When your body finally dipped fully, and eyes closed in ease, a faint sight escaped your lips. Sun rubbed your skin as you slumped against the pool’s wall and took a deep breath of the air dripping with an ocean breeze.

One of the nymphs slouched next to your naked body, her eyes looking at you with awe and curiosity, before she asked softly. "My Lady, my Lady, wasn’t Lord Hades quite rude to you last time?"

Another one swam closer, peaking at your body like a gem, something so beautiful and precious, no one deserved to touch— no, maybe even look at it. "That’s right, my Lady, doesn’t Lord Hades lack in manners? He’s never gonna find a wife with such a temper!"

You chuckled first, but the second sentence seemed to pique your curiosity. Your eye opened, glancing at a few nymphs floating peacefully around.

Such silly and adorable creatures they were, quite coquettish if they wanted to, and you understood why Gojo seemed to have a soft spot for them.

"And why would he need a wife?" You murmured, a strange feeling coiling in your belly.

One girl hummed, as if wondering, long hair flowing on the water, golden like wheat.

"My Lady, I’ve heard Lord Zeus talking to him about this. It seems like there’s a woman called Persephone and quite interested in Lord Hades she seems to be."

Your lips immediately fell flat in line.

Persephone? Isn’t she just a small sprat living under her mother's wings? What in the world could she want from Hades himself?

"Zeus said that, hm?" You mumbled, but didn’t listen to the rest of what Nymphs had to say.

Wife. Wife. Wife.

Why the hell he needed a wife?

You juggled this question like a mantra, like a woman obsessed, although there was truly nothing to be obsessed with.

That night was still vivid in your mind when Choso left the feast in a hurry – speechless and with ears burning like fire. The picture of his face was stuck in your memory, so lovely and pathetic, haunting you every night till the first sun rays hit your chamber.

You’ve seemed to lose your mind over him, how touch-starved he seemed to be, wanting, needing your attention desperately.

So why couldn’t you feel him anymore?

You wondered.

Why did any trace of his presence suddenly disappear, slip through the corners of your temples, together with pomegranates and shells scattered around your altars?

Why your chamber seemed to be lighter in the night, and what happened to the ragged, shortened breath you swear could hear during the deepest sleep.

Why has he left you?

Why—

A shriek brought your thoughts back, with a crystal water suddenly flowing in streams over the edge of the swimming pool. Nymphs were running away, as if scared – no, terrified, pointing with their fingers at something behind you.

"M-my Lady, look out! There’s a creature!"

A creature?

You turned head slowly, glancing over your shoulder. And suddenly, shock crossed your face, but only for a moment, before you raised an eyebrow in interest.

"Oh?" A hum escaped your lips, bringing your attention entirely to the so-called creature, being nothing more than a black snake.

For your nymphs' justification, some of them were quite… uneducated, you would say. Maybe a bit stupid, never seeing a world outside Olympus. Although snakes belonged to various Gods living on the Mountain, many usually associated them with the earth.

And the underworld.

"What brought you here, my dear? Are you lost?" You cooed, looking at his long body, slowly moving towards you, with yellowish eyes focused on nothing but your small, white dove, sitting calmly near your dipped body.

The snake was big, truly looking quite monstrous, but the dove didn't seem to mind his presence, as if her curiosity was piqued by the creature. Its black skin glimmered under the scorching sun, pinkish tongue sliding in and out of a closed mouth, checking the surroundings.

Nymphs left the pool, still warning you with faint screams and pleadings to leave it alone.

But how could you leave it alone if it was the first sign the God of the Underworld has sent you since that feast?

How could you ignore his weak and unsatisfying presence, sending your way such a creature instead of himself?

You stretched out your hand, brushing its hard skin. The scales were warm under your touch, but the snake completly ignored you, instead grazing with its big head the snowy feathers of the dove. "Where's your master, hm? Did he send you?"

Your birdie glanced at it, for a second only, before she lowered her head and touched the snake's raven skin with her soft feathers.

And then–

Snap!

Dove cried, one of the white feathers falling from her delicate body. You almost saw a furrow between her small eyes and stare shooting daggers at her bully.

She flew up, sitting on your arm, as you lifted your fingers to gently caress her.

"My poor baby," you whispered, as she cooed softly to your ear. "Isn't he just a mean bully? Quite different from his master, hm?"

Her small head pushed against your fingers, starved for your delicate touch, soothing her snowy feathers with slow brushes.

And when you looked at the snake, with a feather in his mouth, he sent you one last glance, before hiding back in the forest.

It seemed like you needed to fulfil your promise and pay the God of the Underworld a visit.

So a few days later, you finally found the only person who could help you get down to Hades's domain.

"Sorry, what?" Hermes looked at you with a furrow, scanning your body covered in pink, flowy robes, full of beauty and charm, definitely not accustomed to and made for a journey to the underworld. "Are you bored? Why in the world would you like to go down there?"

Your lips pressed in a line, hands clasped on your chest, with gold bracelets hugging your bare arms. It was always weird to hear other Gods – men – question your choices, and aside from Gojo who indeed had this privilege solely because of being your friend, it was always quite irritating to see others not giving you what you asked them for.

And if going to the underworld was that easy, you would do it yourself.

But it wasn't.

In fact, only one God was responsible for taking souls to the gates of hell, and it was he – this charming man, but just a dick to be honest, with wings on his feet and a golden helmet sitting tight on his raven hair.

Toji.

Your once-lover and Gojo's nemesis.

"Lord Hades invited me over," you said, but the only reaction you've got was a soft scoff.

"I doubt it." He murmured, broad back still turned away.

You took a deep breath, placing fingers on your temple. "Okay, what do you want in exchange?"

"Nothing." He stood back to you, focused on repairing something in his winged sandals, ignoring your boiling figure completly.

You really hoped that this pink dress, hugging your hips gently, with skin smelling like rose oil and a golden necklace sitting calmly right on your plump breasts, would convince him to grant you a pass.

You blinked.

"Nothing?" you repeated slowly, not quite believing your ears.

Toji finally turned to face you. The movement was lazy, unhurried, like a lion stretching only because it felt like it. Sunlight caught on the metal of his winged sandals, and the golden helmet resting carelessly on his head tilted as he studied you with dark, amused eyes.

“Did I stutter, doll?”

Your eye twitched.

Men like him were always like this – acting as if they were above bargains, above temptation, above you. As if the Goddess of Love herself standing in front of them asking for help was nothing more than a mild inconvenience.

"I don’t believe you," you said flatly.

He smirked. "Smart."

Crossing his arms over his broad chest, he leaned against the marble pillar behind him, muscles shifting beneath his tunic. Even relaxed, he looked built for war – dangerous in a way that made other gods nervous and foolish mortals worshipful. He was cunning, smart, a God of Travellers and thieves, mostly, somehow having responsibility over guiding poor souls to the underworld.

You had fun back in the days, but he, like any other God, was too overpowering. Too pushy, brutal, with his fast and heavy thrusts, indeed giving you pleasure, but never satisfying some deep need coiling in your belly. He wouldn't drop down to his knees. Worship you like a Goddess, a pathetic man eager to lose his Godly status just to have you exclusively.

"You don’t want gold," you continued, ticking possibilities off in your mind. "You don’t care for favors. You’ve never been one for politics. So what is it, Toji? What do you want?"

For a moment he only watched you, gaze dragging slowly over your face as if he were trying to decide something.

Then he laughed.

Low. Rough. Infuriatingly confident.

"What I want," he said, stepping closer, "is to see something interesting."

Your brows knitted together. "Interesting?"

"Yeah." He shrugged. "You, of all people, marching into the Underworld for the brooding King of the Dead? That’s entertainment money can’t buy."

So that was it.

Curiosity.

Amusement.

Typical Hermes.

"You’re unbelievable," you muttered.

"So I’ve been told." His grin widened. "Alright, doll. I’ll take you."

Relief loosened the knot in your chest, though you hid it well to not give him satisfaction.

"But," he added, holding up a finger, "you follow my lead. No wandering off. No charming the shades. And absolutely no crying if you get scared."

"I don’t get scared," you said coolly.

"We’ll see."

Without another word, he extended a hand to you. Rough, warm, steady.

Hesitating only a second, you placed your fingers in his.

The world shifted.

Air folded in on itself. The brightness of Olympus faded like a curtain being drawn, colors draining away into something colder, heavier. The scent of flowers and honey dissolved into ash and stone.

When your feet touched solid ground again, it wasn’t marble beneath you.

It was black sand.

The sky above was no longer sky at all – just a vast, endless ceiling of shadow. Rivers of dark water cut through the land like veins, and distant wails echoed from places you couldn’t see.

Toji released your hand.

"Welcome to the Underworld," he said casually, as if he’d just shown you a new café instead of the realm of the dead.

You barely heard him.

Because ahead of you, towering higher than any palace of Olympus, stood the gates.

Massive iron doors carved with ancient symbols, wrapped in chains that seemed to breathe, guarded by looming statues with hollow eyes. Beyond them stretched a kingdom of eternal night.

Hades’s domain.

Your heart fluttered in your chest.

"So," Toji drawled beside you, watching your expression with open amusement, "still sure about this?"

You lifted your chin.

"Open the gates."

The underworld turned out to be... quiet.

The shriek of massive gates filled the stifled air, but when you entered through, there was nothing once again.

No, maybe there was.

Soft whispers coming from the long river stretching in front of you, with a small, wooden pier lightened by a single candle. Its flame whizzed in the darkness, inviting you as if offering a bit of warmth.

Black sand sank beneath your sandals, your pink dress grazing the ground as you followed Toji’s broad, confident back toward the pier.

"My company ends here," he stated, walking slowly. "But Charon will take you straight to Hades’s temple."

You frowned slightly, glancing around the boundless land. No sun. No moon. Only endless twilight, air shifting between cold and warmth, sticky and hollow, sending uneasy shivers down your spine.

"He’ll be there. Don’t worry," Toji added, noticing the tension in your shoulders. “You’ll be fine.”

You noticed shades hovering nearby – dim, almost transparent figures gliding aimlessly, faces pale and empty, hands reaching out as though searching for something they had long forgotten. "Who are they?"

"Dead who weren’t buried with coins," Toji replied, casually swatting away one shade that drifted too close to you with cupped, pleading hands. "Charon can’t take them across the Styx without payment."

"And what happens to them?"

Your feet touched the wooden pier. The boat was already waiting – long and narrow, with a single lamp hanging from its curved prow. A small figure sat at the back, cloaked in black, nothing visible but pale, bony hands protruding from wide sleeves, one extended expectantly, the other gripping a worn paddle.

"They wander," Toji said with a shrug, snapping his fingers towards the boatman. "Hey, grandpa, she's a Goddess, no need for payment. Take her right to Hades. She's a guest."

Charon slowly withdrew his outstretched hand and placed it back on the paddle, waiting in silent invitation.

You inhaled slowly, gathering the folds of your dress, and stepped into the boat.

The wood creaked beneath your weight, and the small vessel rocked gently as Charon pushed away from the pier with a single, practiced motion. The candlelight swayed, throwing trembling reflections across the dark water.

Toji remained on the shore, arms crossed.

"Try not to die down there," he called after you with a lazy grin.

"I’m a Goddess," you glanced back, lifting your chin. "I can't die."

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, already turning away. "Tell that Sisyphus."

You wanted to snap back that he, in fact, wasn't a God, but the boat already moved, sliding over the dark waters of the Styx with gentle waves woven by a wooden paddle.

The River Styx stretched endlessly in both directions, black as polished obsidian, its surface smooth and unmoving. No wind touched it. No ripple dared disturb it. The only sound was the slow dip of Charon’s paddle cutting through the water.

Around you, shades hovered in the mist, faint faces pressed together like memories too worn to remember themselves. Some reached toward the boat with hollow eyes, others merely watched, envy etched into their pale, fading forms.

You wrapped your arms around yourself.

For the first time in centuries, you felt small.

“Don’t listen to them,” Toji had warned before you left.

But how could you not?

One shade drifted close to the boat, its hollow eyes meeting yours, and for a heartbeat, you felt a wave of sorrow so deep it nearly stole your breath.

You looked away quickly.

The further you travelled, the heavier the air became, until at last the boat scraped softly against another shore.

And there it was.

The entrance to the Underworld.

You looked over your shoulder at Charon, wishing to hear his voice, but he only stretched his skeletal hand, pointing at something.

You left the boat, feet once again touching soft, black sand.

The closer you got to Hades's temple, the warmer it became, with a gentle wind moving folds of your dress. As Toji said, it wasn't a place for you.

Dark, isolated, gloomy, hugging your shivering body covered in the sweetest, most beautiful shimmering gown worn only on the sunny land of Olympus.

But here? You looked truly like a clown, with gold jewellery looking almost bleak under the darkness looming over your figure.

Another gate appeared in front of you, once again massive in its heaviness, but this time with no chain in sight.

Actually, it looked as if... slightly opened?

Impossible.

You moved closer, step by step, white sandals sinking in sand, black grains moving between your soft fingers. The gate was right there, so close, with a mere few steps and–

Your body froze.

Because there, from the darkness emerged a creature so massive it seemed carved from nightmares themselves.

Enormous, monstrous even, with three heads moving towards you, teeth wet with saliva and eyes burning like coal.

A guard of the underworld, you've heard.

Hades's pet.

But you didn't see any assembly to a pet, rather a monster talked about only in tales, one usually killed bravely by heroes or spreading annihilation over mortals.

Your heart skipped.

"Oh," you breathed. "You must be the Cerberus."

The beast stepped closer, paws heavier than thunder, breath warm and smoky against your skin. Each head watched you with suspicion, nostrils flaring at your unfamiliar scent.

You straightened your shoulders.

"I am Aphrodite," you said softly, holding out a hand. "Goddess of Love and Beauty. I mean no harm."

For a tense moment, nothing happened.

But then, one of the massive heads tilted. In curiosity, playfulness, maybe, with this glint in his eye, you knew animals had every time they saw you.

Another gave a curious sniff, as if your rosy oil scratched his nostrils in pleasure.

The third promptly leaned forward, and before you could fully process it, a rough, warm tongue dragged across your cheek.

"Oh–!" You gasped, stumbling back in surprise.

The second head followed, then the third, each nuzzling you with embarrassing enthusiasm. The fear melted instantly, replaced by startled laughter.

The great hound wagged its monstrous tail, the ground trembling with each happy thump.

"Well, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. You're just like your Master." Faint giggle bubbled in your throat, fingers scratching one of the enormous heads under its chin, the other one behind its ear, while the third licked your skin once again, leaving you with another gasp and its saliva dripping down your robe.

"Such good puppies, aren't you? Can you take me to your Master? We have stuff to discuss."

Cerberus escorted you the rest of the way, walking proudly at your side as if you were already expected.

And beyond the heavy gate and rocky path, rising higher than any structure you had ever seen, stood the temple of Hades. Stone steps rose upward toward a structure carved into the cliffs themselves – dark marble pillars wrapped in shadow, torches burning with pale fire.

Cold.

Majestic.

Eternal.

Your breath caught in your throat.

"So this is where he lives," you whispered, feeling Cerberus' nose pushing you towards the temple. "Yes, yes, thank you, my dear. Such a good dog you are. The best, maybe."

You gave him one last scratch before going towards Hades's domain.

Did he expect you? You thought.

Will he be surprised?

Did Toji tell him you're here?

But if he did, wouldn't the God of the Underworld wait for you already?

And as you stepped closer to the looming entrance, licked by the cold fire of the hanging lanterns, something in your gut told you that he, in fact, didn't know that you were here.

And when you entered, looking around the cold stones, your heart suddenly skipped a beat.

You expected the inside to be quite cold, sheathed in gloom, a feeling of sadness, weird eariness that would send a chill through your bones. No one actually knew what Hades lived like. No one ever cared. And it seemed like he didn't care too – about making an appearance, trying to change the way people see him, particularly about other Gods.

But, oh, how wrong you were.

Because on the tall walls and high ceilings, an altar quietly put in the middle and columns wrapped in paintings – was you.

You, bathing in a pool, painted with a steady hand on one of the walls.

Your body wrapped around the column, one of the flowy dresses slipped on it casually, hair fluttering in the wind, and a smile spread on plump lips.

The sculpture of your body, naked, but covered with a transparent robe, presenting only a part of your full breasts and hips, ending just in the middle of thick thighs, standing just in the middle of the entrance. It looked dampened, with the robe sticking to your skin, barely covering perked nipples and fat gathering around your hips.

Your gaze moved to the altar.

Shells scattered around its flat surface, together with roses, apples, seeds of pomegranate, a white feather, a piece of your– wait a minute-

"M-my Goddess?"

A low voice brought your thoughts back.

Choso suddenly emerged from one of the chambers, his tall figure covered in black robes and face – oh, his face – twisted in emotion closest to pure agony. He looked at you with furrowed brows, biting lower lip and deciding whether he should come to you or, maybe, once again, run away.

"My Goddess, what are you doing here?" He asked, staying in place.

You glanced last time at the piece of clothing lying on the altar and grinned. It was weird to see it here, from all places, but something coiling in your lower belly told you that perhaps it was the only reasonable place to see your undergarments stolen a while ago.

"I promised to give it back," a black handkerchief appeared in your hand, clean and fresh, smelling exactly like your favourite body oil. "Last time you ran away so quickly, my Lord, we didn't have a chance to properly talk."

His throat moved and eyes followed you nervously as you slowly walked towards him.

You didn't fit here, he thought, to this disgusting place.

Because he had seen beauty before.

Choso was old as bone and shadow, older than kingdoms, older than grief. He had watched empires crumble into dust and souls pass through his gates like autumn leaves. Nothing startled him anymore. Nothing truly moved him.

But then, oh, then he saw you.

Aphrodite.

A name whispered among Gods and mortals, and yet no story, no hymn, no jealous prayer had ever done you justice.

He watched you approach with a steady pace, swaying hips, and long robes dragged behind your feet. His mouth was dry, heart beating too fast, pale skin sweating with dread, nervousness, terror. Because every time he saw you, smelled your skin damped in the sweetness of flowery oils, heard a laugh always caused by Gojo or another God he absolutely despised – his body was in flames.

Your gown flowed like liquid dawn – soft folds of pink and gold clinging to a body sculpted by the heavens themselves. Each step you took was unhurried, graceful, unaware of the havoc it caused in his heart.

Your hair caught the dim torchlight and turned it into silk. Skin held a glow that did not belong to this realm, smooth and untouched, as if the moment he would sink his teeth into the curve of your ass, pure ambrosia would drip down his chin.

And your face–

Gods had waged wars over less.

There was something unbearably gentle in your expression, something kind, a beauty truly worthy of the Goddess of Love. And the smirk on your lips, a cunning smile, words slipping so casually, constantly with a drop of lewdness as if you knew the effect you had on him.

Choso knew it was over for him.

He had always wondered, distantly, what it would feel like to have your hand in his. To feel that warmth against his eternally cold skin. To have you say his name the way only lovers did, low and familiar, as if he was something precious instead of something feared by Gods and mortals.

His fist clenched, when you walked closer – body mere centimetres from his, breast almost touching his burning skin, and he prayed, truly prayed, for your gaze not to go down any further, because he couldn't stand your lustrous eyes on his cock leaking through black robes.

"My Lord, won't you invite me to a cup of wine, at least?" You asked carefully, quietly, noticing his dark eyes running around your face. His hand trembled, and throat cleared when he showed you a way inside the temple.

To his inner chambers, you guessed.

You walked past him, fingers slightly brushing the bulging part of his robes, and he, well, he almost fell down to his knees in an utterly embarrassing and completly failed position he found himself at.

The inside of the temple was cosier than you thought it would be, with the next room filled with warmth and red carpets, candles fighting the darkness with their reddish tongues. There was a long table too and a balcony, with a view of – oh.

"That is Tartatus, my Goddess," Choso said, when he saw your shocked gaze looking down at the deep abyss filled with faint moans and shrieks, as if souls were cooked alive there, tortured in the most terrifying ways. A dungeon for the most wicked ones, true monsters and creatures that should never see daylight. "I don't use it unless I have to. Some of them deserve to be there."

A hint of nervousness still lingered in his voice when he stood behind you. Heat radiated from his body as he stood close enough to cage you with his muscular forearms. How lovely it would be!

You moved your head away from the painful screams, turning your body back towards him.

Gentle eyes looked at you from under the purplish circles, black stripes moving together with his knitted eyebrows and tightened lips.

"Aren't you lonely here? It doesn't seem like the happiest place in the world," you asked with actual curiosity, but he frowned even harder, as if thinking about the proper answer.

Some servant in the back put two glasses of wine on the table and melted away in the darkness of the temple.

"I never had a choice," Choso finally whispered, inviting you with a gesture back to the room. He moved away a chair and let you sit first, before taking a seat right next to you. "That's how I was raised and born. That's the only place I know."

You watched him carefully as he spoke.

There was something painfully honest in his voice, something raw and unpolished, as if no one had ever truly asked him such a simple question before.

You lifted a glass to your lips, taking a sip of red wine, melting sweetly on your tongue.

“So no visitors?” you asked lightly. “No celebrations? No festivals in your honour? Is there truly no one who worships the God of the Underworld? There must be some benefits to it.”

He huffed softly at that, something almost like embarrassment flickering across his face.

“The dead do not celebrate,” he replied. “And the living fear me too much to bother.”

“Yet you welcomed me,” you pointed out.

At that, his fingers tightened slightly around his own glass. Face slightly flushed, red like a cherry, with its juice going through his cheeks up to hair-covered ears.

"B-but you're not like them," he mumbled so quietly, you needed to use all of your might to hear those words.

Not like them.

Your head tilted, letting a small smile play at the corner of your mouth.

“And how am I different, my Lord?" you asked, voice gentle and confident, nevertheless pinning him down to his seat in nervousness. "Oh, and the paintings at the entrance? Truly wonderful! I've never thought I'll have devotees among the Gods."

For a moment, he didn’t answer.

Dark eyes traced your face again, as if committing every detail to memory. The plumpness of your lips. The shine of your skin. The soft rise and fall of your chest with each breath. This rosy dress, too tight and too transparent, allowing him to see the curve of your breast and the pinkish aureola of your soft nipples.

He gulped.

"I-if you're bothered by them–"

"I'm not. I love them, truly," Choso shifted in his place, when you slightly loosened on your chair, legs spread a bit wider than they were, fiery gaze stuck at him. "But the altar, dear Lord. How did you even get such stuff? The feather, I believe, is a treasure captured by one of your small servants, although he indeed was a bit brutal with my birdie," His face was burning, air almost knocked out from lungs in embarrassment and desire he felt under your heavy gaze, with his eyes focused on your parted thighs, hugged by a robe, opened for him as if in invitation. "Though the undergarment? Aren't you–" But before you could finish, he dropped down to his knees, head heavy on your thighs, muscular arms wrapped around your legs as you felt something hard and leaking under your foot. "Just a pervert?"

"M-my Goddes, I'm so s-sorry," he murmured, looking at you from below, with dark eyes filled with pathetic pleading, beefy arms tightening their embrace around your legs as he rubbed his cheek against your warm thigh. "I am, I am a pervert, I-I am nothing more than a pervert, j-just please let me–"

Your hand gently caressed his cheek as he nuzzled into it with a heavy breath.

Dear God, he was truly perfect, with those trembling lips and eyes gazing at you so lovingly, so desperately, something warm coiled in your belly.

His hands touched your ankles, slowly, slowly, going up, catching the hem of your dress, rolling it up to your knees, while he still looked at you with begging eyes.

"Let you do what?" you hummed, foot pushing against his throbbing dick with gentleness, "What are you willing to do to have me, my Lord?"

His fingers clenched on your skin before pulling the dress up to the middle of your slick thighs with one swift motion. "Whatever you want, my Goddess. Just ask me, p-please just ask me. I'll give you sun and moon if you'll ask me to."

He put your legs on his shoulders, hands roaming on your bare skin, feeling the heat radiating from your core, bare but not quite visible for his hungry, despairing eye.

Your head tilted, fingers combing his hair. "Anything? Would you die for me, my Lord?"

"Yes."

No hesitation.

"Would you degrade yourself as a God, my Lord?"

"Yes."

You raised an eyebrow.

"Would you kill your brothers, my Lord?"

You knew this one was completly inappropriate, something others could kill you for, but–

"Yes."

And you didn't have time to react, before Choso spread your thighs even wider and took a looong lick of your creamy pussy. Your breath hitched, he moaned, a grumble going straight to your pulsing core, fingers squeezing his hair stronger.

"My Lord!"

But he was completly lost, with his mouth drenched in your leaking pussy, tasting, as he anticipated, like the purest form of ambrosia, the plum wine going sweetly down his throat until he moaned, no, cried right into your spread folds.

You involuntarily bucked your hips towards his open lips as he sucked on your clit.

"S-so good, my Goddess, s-so mmm–"

But the hard chair was brushing your velvety skin, and a quiet groan escaped your throat when he folded you even harder.

"My Lord, please let's move to–"

You didn't have to say it twice, before he slumped you over his shoulder, like a sack of grain, with bare ass and leaking cunt, kept in place by his beefy arm.

"Call me Choso, my Goddess," he mumbled, not able to keep his lips from your skin, kissing, biting, licking the bare curve of your ass, fingers slightly parting your pussylips as he drenched them in your juices.

And although you couldn't see him, a moment later, you heard him licking something, moaning so loudly you felt another wave of warmth flowing in your belly.

Your back hit a soft surface, and soon you found yourself spread on a bed. Lightless sky peeked through the windows, faint flames kissing Choso's fully dressed body, panting heavily as he looked down at your glistening folds. A second later, his black robe landed on the floor, with absolutely nothing on his tall body aside from heavy mountains of muscles, with muscular thighs dropping down to plush carpet and toned arms again parting your legs.

"M-my Goddess, can I?" He glanced at you pleadingly, looking like a child ready to cry if his mama won't give him his favourite sweet.

You bit lower lip, eyes sparkling with excitement at seeing him in such a hopeless state.

"Only if you'll eat me out like a good boy, Cho. Can you do it?"

Oh! And if it didn't fire him up, with a frown on his handsome face, nodding quickly, obediently, truly like a small puppy. Just maybe ten times bigger and much heavier than you, with enough strength to pin you down against his bed and fuck you senseless like an animal.

You've kept your weight on your elbows, seeing Choso going down once again, giving you a looong drag of his tongue against your glistering folds, as he parted them with his two fingers. His hot breath on your clit, as he sucked on it gently, needily, moaning and crying every time a fresh batch of creamy cum went down his throat. When your walls clenched around his tongue, rummaging inside you, and a sharp breath escaped your throat.

His hands roamed around your ass, hips, pulling you even closer, before going up up up to your breasts. Oh, Goddess of Love and Fertility, you truly were, because the thought of milk dripping from your pinkish nipples, of him sucking your tits and pushing his cock deep down your cunt at the same time made him almost cum on the spot.

He thought about whether you would allow him to cum inside.

Whether you would want his babies, to walk heavily pregnant and let him worship you day and night, by keeping your pussy always warm and pleased.

Would you–

"Yes yes yes, to all of them," you moaned with head lulled back and eyes crossed, as Choso, accidentally or not, murmured all his wishes riiiiight into your pussy, squeezing around his two fingers. "You better keep your promise and fuck me pregnant then."

He licked your pussy unhingeldy, like a starved dog, with a frown between his brows and black stripes moving every time the tip of his tongue dragged down your puffy clit, slick folds, not allowing even a single drop of your honey slick dto rip down the sheets.

His face was so beautiful and truly Godly, with pale skin drenched with your juices and contrasting red lips wrapped around your sweet bud. You looked down on him, mouth parted and breath heavy, as he pressed you closer to his open lips and stuck out tongue. "M-my Goddess, I-I promise–ngh–your pussy tastes so delicious, I can't stop ahhh–p-please tell me it feels good."

A giggle escaped your throat, but was soon strangled by a moan, when his fingers curled riiiight into that spongy spot, sending shivers down till your cervix, making your belly clench and head throw back. And seeing your reaction, he curled them again and again again again, pairing it with his tongue licking your soaked pussy and lips sucking on sweet bud, pushing his face even deeper into your folds, almost wishing to get inhaled by them.

"Mhmmm so good Cho, you're eating me s-so fucking good ahhh–"

But gone he was, eyes closed in pleasure, lips puffy, and head nodding faintly when you moved your hips and rubbed them against his tongue.

"S-so good, mhmm feels so good, this pussy," he mumbled, not quite sure whether to you or your cunt, gasping and wailing with a mouth full of your sweet juice. "Feels so mhm so good, m-my Goddess, my baby mhm, so pretty pretty–"

A pressure coiled in your belly – feeling, that with another thrust of his fingers and looong stripe of his tongue against your cunt, you will completly, pathetically break under his muscular arms pinning you down to bed.

"Choso, I'm gonna–" You gasped, fingers clasping his hair, to take him away from your pussy just for a second. "I wanna cum on your cock."

He looked up. Gaze lost, hair messy, chin drenched, a pearl of sweat running down his pale temple.

"Don't underestimate me. I'll make you cum on both my tongue and cock," His fingers stretched every corner of your cunt, thrusting against the tight muscles, drawing even more of your sweet juices from your tight hole as you moaned at the pressure building in your stomach. "What, my Goddess, your lovers never made you cum twice?"

You shook your head, gaze blurred by the heavy feeling in your belly. Choso smiled, curling his fingers against your sweet spot brutally, sucking on your clit with the lovliest cries, looking sooo satisfied and confident, with this precious knowledge of having the honour to make his Goddess go stupid on both his face and his dick.

"Even Gojo?" He continued, looking completly drunk on your slick juices, nevertheless still making sure that he indeed would be your best, the first, the only lover that will ever make you cum countless times, till your clit is sore and womb plump from his seed.

"I never had a good lover," you mewled, feeling him groan against your cunt.

"Mhmm, m-my Goddess allow me to–"

And you indeed allowed him, because not a second later, your back rose in an arch, fingers curled and thighs clenched on his head, cutting off his air supply for a few seconds, with your body trembling under his toned arms, keeping you pinned to bed.

You weren't quite sure who had an orgasm, because while a heavy whine ripped from your throat, and a shock waved through your body, Choso seemed to go through his own pleasure, crying, whining, moaning, muttering under his nose, hiccuping on your gushing slick – completly, utterly lost in the taste of your pussy.

Pretty pretty pretty pussy.

Seconds later, your positions changed, with you straddling his hips and his back slumped against soft pillows. Two hands landed on your ass, pushing it against his throbbing cock, sticking so obediently to his lower abs, with precum dripping down his shaft and smeared all over his happy trail. With hips on top, your folds hugged in wetly, last traces of creamy cum gushing over his aching shaft, with head so reddish you thought no one ever needed you that desperately.

"My Goddess, r-ride me, please?" And for a God of Underworld himself, one of the most powerful creatures in the whole Pantheon, Choso truly couldn’t stand giving you orders.

It was always please and would you, and I’m sorry, with this absurdly massive body and his eyes filled with so much gentleness, you instantly felt your cunt twitch once again.

"Oh, where did you see that position, Cho?" A smile danced in the corners of your eyes, and your hips moved slightly with your warm folds sliding up and down his cock.

It’s veiny shaft, looking so deliciously wet, fat around your pussylips and so so so pretty, you moaned faintly and put palms on Choso’s chest.

This question seemed to strike him dumb, because you saw the answer bubbling somewhere in his throat, too extreme to see the dawn.

"Tell me, baby, where have you seen it? Aren’t you a virgin, after all?" Your syrupy voice and wet pussy, fluttering hole slightly catching on the head of his cock made him whine and shudder under your weight.

He nodded, clenching his palms on your hips. "I-I am, I s-stayed for you."

For you.

And with these words, you slid his cock inside you a bit, truly barely, with the feverish tip hugged warmly by your pinkish walls. But you didn’t go further, waiting for his filthy confession.

"Such a good boy you are, right? I’ve never met better," you leaned over, lips mere millimetres from his, caressing them gently in a soft kiss. Your tongue slipped and licked his lower lip, trembling with mere inches of his cock sank inside you. "So tell me now, where did you see it?"

There was something pervy within him. Great Lord Hades, fearsome Choso, a dreadful figure living in darkness, always there but never caught by anyone. Everyone thought of him as a ghost, a demon almost, so powerful in his might yet somehow always unreachable.

But you knew.

You saw it, felt it, his presence, your disappearing panties, the rosy smell on his neck, this look when his eyes traced your body, smooth skin, a giggle escaping your lips, and single glances shot towards him, enough to give him false hope and obsess over you within the dark chambers of his temple.

A drop of sweat rolled down his forehead; his voice clearly dipped in utter embarrassment and yearning. "I-I saw you with Gojo."

You raised a brow, lips curved in an o, when you tried to remember the last time you and Gojo had sex.

Dear God, wasn't it like–

"Two years ago, you mean?"

He nodded his head, biting lower lip. Cock still only catching on your entrance, and as much as he wished to sink deep into your soaking cunt, with insanity hanging by a thread, he squeezed fingers on your hips and took a deep breath.

"Y-you rode him them, I-I saw it–"

"What do you mean, saw it?"

Oh, you loved it.

Loved loved loved it.

This blush spreading over his cheeks, a pathetic gaze he bestowed you, paired together with soft whimpers every time you squeezed slightly around his aching head, precum drenching your walls in salty droplets.

"I watched you f-from the c-corner of your chamber," admitting his perversity was a true nightmare, but you couldn't stop this pleasure coiling in your belly.

"You watched me, baby?" You sank lower, just a bit, giving him a prize for being such a good and obedient boy. "Did you touch yourself too? Hm? My cunt riding Gojo's cock excited you that much?"

His head nodded again, fast, a whimper escaping his throat when his huge cock went deeper inside your fluttering walls. The stretch was delicious, absolutely devastating, with a soft moan escaping your lips right into his parted lips.

"M-my Goddess, p-please can you move? Just a b-bit, please, please," He gasped, restraining the urge to buck his hips and push his cock into your drenched pussy till his pumping head will hit your cervix.

"How many times have you watched me?" Your questions were coming one by one, next more difficult than the other, giving Choso almost a cardiac arrest, with his heart beating so fast and his eyes almost glossy, he could not stand another embarrassing answer.

"E-every time, my Goddess, please–"

"Every time?" The last time you satisfied yourself was just after the feast. Did it mean that...?

Tears prickled in the corners of his eyes, lips wobbly when you finally, finally, sat on him with your full weight, heavy cock deep inside your cunt. You deflected, back arched, hands resting on his thighs, legs parted, allowing him to watch a creamy ring forming at the base of his cock.

"S-so good, dear Goddess, oh it feels so fucking good, y-your pussy–" He cried, whimpered, hips finally bucking up to meet yours, cock thrusting deep inside you, squeezed, kissed by your muscles and cervix, sucked every time he tried to pull out.

His eyes met yours – cunning, glistering, with this lovable hint of gentleness and desire he never ever saw with your previous lovers. And he observed you every time another God fucked your tight cunt.

Every time with your panties around his leaking cock, every time noticing what brought you the most pleasure.

So that's how he knew that if he put his hand on your lower belly, bulging with his fat cock, and pushed it slightly, your pussy would clutch him ever harder.

He knew that if his thumb would circle your sweet clit, a sharp whine would bubble in your throat, and your eyes would cross in pleasure.

So he watched your face twist in delight, hips riding him even faster, stronger, wilder, with tits moving together with your sharp back-and-forth moves. He sat up and leaned over to suck your perked nipple, cupping another one with his big palm.

Oh, how he wanted to taste the sweetness of your milk, feeling the heaviness of your breast sitting tightly in his palm, so soft and squishy, he whimpered heavily with his cock sinking in even more. "M-my Goddness, you're squeezing me so hard, feels so good mhmmm. D-do you feel g-good?"

You nodded your head, sweat dripping down your temple, but not for long, because Chose leaned and licked it from your honeyed skin.

Oh, how fucking delicious you were.

"Let me take over? I-I promise I'll be good," His hands on your hips helped you move, fucking himself back into you harder with every thrust, but it was clear that you were getting tired. "I'll be good, good, so so so good for you my Goddess–"

Although he absolutely loved this view, needing to have it in front of his eyes every morning – your full hips bouncing obscenely on his fat cock, belly bulging with his shaft, reddened lips parted and brows furrowed, with sweat dripping between your heavy tits, fitting his palm just perfectly. He would truly be ready to give over his Godly title to see it every fucking day.

"Mhmm yeah please baby, gonna fuck me with your cock?" Your lost gaze met his, even more miserable. "Mmm Cho baby, you're the best, the best fucking lov–"

You didn't manage to finish your sentence before he changed your position fast. You knew he was strong, with muscular arms and great posture, back filling his black robes and heavy, massive cock sealing your thigh cunt juust in the right way.

But you truly underestimated the power he possessed. And maybe you realised it the moment his hands appeared under your thighs, puuushing them far until your knees were almost around your head, with ass lifted in the air and breath knocked out of your chest.

And he?

He was massive. Obsessed. Lost. Bubbling under his nose, with eyes glued to your open pussy. About how delicious you were, how pretty your cunt was, how he'll breed it until it flows with his cum. He parted your lips with two fingers, whimpering at the sight of you, oh so lonely and needy hole, with saps dripping down the sheets.

Choso needed one thrust only – short, absolutely brutal, stretching a still tight ring of your muscles, absolutely devouring every panted cry that escaped your lips with his wet kisses, mouth covering yours fully, and tongue sinking down your throat.

"Mmm Cho, just like that, yes yes yes." He was swallowing your every moan like a madman, thrusting his cock deep aaall the way down to your cervix, head catching on your spongy spot and hammering it with every push.

"You make me, fuck, m-my Goddess, you turn me into fucking animal," He whimpered right into your mouth, fat tears prickling in the corners of his eyes, dangerously close to sliding down his flushed cheeks every time your cunt clamped down on his drenched cock. "I-I dreamed about this for s-so long."

And you started to feel it – this warmth in your belly, your hitched breath, head spinning, and back slightly arching with Choso's brutal thrust, obscene moans filling his chamber and nothing but squelch squelch squelch of your absolutely soaked folds drenching his fat cock.

"C-cho I'm close, I'm so so so close mhmm p-please!"

Nothing could prepare him for your sweet cumming – cunt clenching hard, creamy rings stuck to his shaft and slick gushing down your thighs. You cried, shuddered, rolled your hips against his, squeezed on his cock so hard, you felt every vein of his throbbing shaft. And he continued to pound you madly, brutally, cock sinking balls deep into your hole, a whimper escaping his throat when he drove his mass on your body even harder.

Folding you in half, preparing for a proper breeding, the thought of fucking the most fertile Goddess made him go insane.

Oh god, oh dear fucking god, how many children could you give him?

How delicious your milk would be when he would fuck your pretty pussy while drinking it riiight from your plump tits?

"M-my Goddess, can I p-please cum–"

"You better not spill any drop." Your voice was raspy but still possessed this domination that made him cream his pants on the spot.

So with another thrust, he completly crushed, body shuddering, thrusts not stopping until his tip pressed fully against your womb, filling you with loads and loads, oh god he really was a perv and a virgin, of cum, until it stuck gluey to your walls.

And with a heavy breath, he finally plopped down, embracing you with both arms and placing a cheek on your breast.

The silence filled his chamber, with sky still showing no traces of sun, only the nighttime quietness and, oh, were those crickets singing outside his temple?

"They're also dying, you know?" He whispered, as if reading your mind.

A laugh escaped your throat as you combed your fingers through his hair. "So you decided to put them in your garden?"

He chuckled too, dark eyes closed as if preparing for deep slumber. "I hoped you'd like it. To have something... alive, more familiar here."

Your heart squeezed faintly at the thought of God of the Dead himself wanting to make you comfortable in his always gloomy, always eerie domain.

And maybe you didn't much enjoy the shrieks coming from Tartarus and all the lost souls wandering around his territory, you truly thought that with more aliveness here, you could make it work.

That's why no God or nymph could ever imagine, that during the next feast, Hades himself, a God feared by them all, will sit obediently, flushed on red wine, with a such a beauty on his lap – Aphrodite herself, chippering something sweetly to his ear and may or may not moving her hips in circles on his, oh sooo tight robe!

Going back to Egypt, Seth! Sukuna next <3

bf!toji becomes totally obsessed with this—knowing he can make you lose control just by touching you makes his ego go through the roof. the sweet boyfriend who hates to see you cry in public completely disappears behind closed doors. in bed, your tears mean he's doing a good job.

bf!toji gets really smug and loves to tease you about it. he’ll purposely slow down, touching the exact spot that makes you crazy, watching your eyes fill with tears while he smirks.

"look at you," he’ll whisper, wiping a tear away with his thumb. "crying already? you're so sweet for me. keep going, let me see how good it feels."

bf!toji loves to push you over the edge by building the friction until you can't take it. he’ll pin your wrists above your head, spreading your legs wide so he can look right at you while he slides all the way inside. every time he thrusts deep and hits your sweet spot, a fresh wave of tears leaks from your eyes, and he just stares down at you with a dark, heavy grin, loving how loud you gasp and sob under him.

bf!toji who will change positions just to make you cry harder. he'll flip you onto your stomach, pulling your hips up high so he can slide in from behind. the angle is deep and intense, and as he grips your waist hard enough to leave marks, you're burying your face in the pillows to muffle your crying. he'll lean down, his chest pressing against your back, and talk right into your ear.

"baby, let me hear it—turn your head and look at me—god, look at how wet your face is just because i'm stretching you out like this."

bf!toji decides that if you aren't crying by the end of the night, he didn't try hard enough. it becomes a game to him. he will deliberately push you over the edge, using his dick and his dirty mouth to keep you completely overwhelmed until you're shaking and crying in his arms.

You're staring at nothing again. The hum of the building settles into your bones, a low vibration you can't shake since you got back. 

Your eyes feel heavy, and every few minutes you realize you've been standing still, holding the same posture, not really seeing anything.

A voice cuts through. "Hey. You okay?"

You blink, turn. A coworker is looking at you with that mix of curiosity and mild concern. 

"You've been spacing out all day.”

"I've been calling you for like... a whole minute.”

You gave an awkward laugh, rubbing the back of your neck.

"Sorry. Just didn't get much sleep.”

"You seriously need some rest.”

"Yeah," you murmur with a small shrug. "Guess so..."

“Mmh.” They smile, just a casual curve of their lips. "So…”

“How was your trip to Japan?"

“....”

You stare at them for a moment.

Your thoughts drift somewhere else before you quickly pull yourself back, forcing a tight smile onto your face.

"Yeah... it was…”

“Great.”

—

"I'm not really... looking for marriage yet."

The man in front of you watches you for a long moment. His expression barely changes. When he finally answers, his voice remains as calm as ever. 

"Oh..."

A brief pause. 

"I'm not asking you to marry me. Right now."

The words leave you blinking in surprise. Before you can respond, he continues in the same measured tone.

"But at least we need to do something to show that you're committed..." His gaze remains steady.

"...to me.”

The words hang in the air, refusing to settle into your chest.

"...But isn't this... too quick?" Your voice comes out thinner than you intended.

He doesn't answer right away. His gaze drops for a heartbeat—a measured breath escaping him in a quiet exhale. 

There's no frustration in the lines of his face. If anything, he looks like a man trying to piece together a puzzle you didn't know you were building.

When his eyes lift to meet yours again, his voice is steady. Unshaken.

"I don't think it is."

He pauses, letting the weight of his certainty settle between you.

"You've become comfortable around me." His gaze holds yours, unblinking. "Isn't that why you're here?"

Only then do you force yourself to truly see the room.

The living room stretches around you, immaculate, every surface gleaming under the soft amber light spilling through the tall windows. 

Polished hardwood floors reflect the glow, warm and inviting. The navy-blue furnishings are arranged with a precision that speaks of deliberate care—nothing out of place, nothing accidental. 

You hadn't even noticed how naturally you'd stepped inside, how your feet had carried you past the threshold without hesitation.

Your lips part, searching for something to say. "Nanami—…”

"I don't understand.”

“My love..." He continues before you can finish, his voice gentle but unyielding, not interrupting so much as guiding.

Another pause.

"We've enjoyed each other's company for nearly a month." His head tilts, just slightly, a gesture of genuine curiosity.

"We've shared meals."

"We've spent evenings together."

"You've trusted me enough to let me walk you home." His expression doesn't shift. His composure remains intact.

"So help me understand."

The question drops into the space between you like a stone into still water.

"What changed?"

The silence that follows is thick enough to swallow sound. You lower your gaze, your throat tightening.

"...Nothing changed." The words are barely a whisper, fragile as glass.

"It just..." 

"...caught me off guard."

Something flickers across his face—a flicker of understanding, soft and fleeting.

"Hm."

He nods, a small, slow movement. "I can understand that."

The tension in your shoulders eases for a fraction of a second. Then his right hand moves behind him.

When it returns, a small velvet box rests in his palm. Dark blue. The color of midnight.

He looks at it briefly, as though weighing the decision one last time, before holding it out between you.

"I even bought the rings." His voice is quieter now, almost apologetic.

"For us."

Silence…

Your eyes lock onto the box. Your mind refuses to catch up. The velvet looks soft, but the edges of the box are sharp against his palm. 

Nanami watches you with that quiet attentiveness that has always been his hallmark. The kind of attention that makes you feel seen down to your marrow.

He notices your silence.

Without a word, he slowly lowers his hand and closes the box with a soft, decisive click. The sound cuts through the room like a quiet verdict.

"I'm not forcing you."

His tone remains gentle, but there's something underneath it—a thread of resignation, carefully controlled.

"I wouldn't." A faint smile touches his lips, but it doesn't reach his eyes. The corners of his mouth lift, but the warmth doesn't follow.

"I suppose..."

He exhales quietly, and you feel the air shift. "I misunderstood."

He turns the small box over once in his hand, his thumb tracing the edge of the velvet, before slipping it back into his pocket. 

"I believed we were arriving at the same destination."

His gaze drifts to the floor for a moment, and you see the faintest shadow of disappointment cross his features before he masters it.

"Perhaps I was walking a little further ahead than you realized." 

He looks back up, and his composure is intact again, seamless as a mask. "That's my mistake."

The words are calm. Reasonable. Almost too kind. And yet they settle in your chest like a stone, so heavy and cold.

"I don't want you agreeing to something because you feel obligated."

He holds your gaze, steady and unwavering. "If your feelings aren't where mine are..."

A faint nod, almost to himself.

"Then I'll simply have to accept that I was mistaken."

He stands there, composed as ever, the perfect picture of graceful acceptance. 

But the quiet disappointment he carries so effortlessly leaves you feeling as though you've reached into his chest and pulled the warmth out yourself.

You watch him, the way his shoulders relax just a fraction, the faint crease between his brows that smooths as he steadies his breath. 

A thought flickers, unbidden.

It's not marriage yet… So why not?

"...Wait.”

“Are you sure, love?” he asks, his voice, usually so measured, cracks just enough to reveal the vulnerability he keeps hidden.

 “You want to be with me?”

You nod, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth, and let out a soft laugh that sounds more like a sigh of relief. “Yes,” you say, the word simple but weighted. “You just shocked me, okay?”

"I see." A faint smile touches his lips. "My apologies."

"I wasn't trying to startle you.”

He exhales slowly, the breath escaping as if he'd been holding it for far too long. 

“Wait here, on the sofa,” he says, his voice low and steady, the faintest hint of a smile playing at his lips. “I'll be right back.”

You settle back into the cushions, the fabric cool against your skin, and glance at the wall clock. Five minutes tick by, each second stretching just enough to make you wonder if he’s changed his mind. 

Then, from behind you, a voice—soft, familiar, yet startlingly close—calls your name.

You turn, and there he stands, arms laden with a bouquet of your favorite flowers, their petals a riot of color that seems to catch the light and hold it. 

Beside them sits a massive teddy bear, its fur plush and inviting, and a box of chocolates tied with a satin ribbon. 

He stands there with the bouquet lifted just enough to hide part of his face, a shy gesture that feels utterly out of character for the composed man you know, and yet it makes your heart flutter all the more.

You rise from the sofa, still staring at him in quiet disbelief before carefully taking the bouquet from his hands. Holding it against your chest, you let out a small laugh.

"It's... quite big.”

You gently place the bouquet on the side table before taking the oversized teddy from him, your fingers brushing over its impossibly soft fur. You can't help but smile at the absurdity of its size as you set it carefully beside the bouquet.

He watches you, his eyes warm, and lets out a soft sigh that seems to carry both relief and something akin to awe. 

Slowly, he reaches for one of your hands, his fingers brushing yours with a reverence that feels almost ceremonial. 

From his pocket he produces the same small velvet box, opening it to reveal a ring that catches the light with a quiet brilliance.

“This… is for you,” he says, his voice dropping to a whisper that feels like a secret shared between just the two of you. 

He lifts your hand, turning it over so that the back of your palm faces him, and presses a tender kiss to the skin there. 

You look up at him, seeing the faint flush on his cheeks, the way his usual composure has softened into something tender and earnest.

“I… I wasn’t expecting this,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

He smiles, a genuine, unguarded smile that reaches his eyes. “Neither was I,” he replies, his tone carrying a quiet certainty.

"But I wanted you to know..." He slides the ring gently onto your finger. It fits perfectly.

"...that I chose you with every intention of staying." His thumb brushes lightly over your knuckles.

"I hope... you'll allow me to remain by your side.”

—

It had all started with a chance encounter outside Shinjuku Station.

You'd been standing near the East Exit, trying to decide where to go next, when a quiet voice had caught your attention.

"Your first time in Tokyo?"

A stranger in a well-tailored suit had patiently explained the quickest way to Shibuya, pointing you toward the JR Yamanote Line and even telling you which exit would make exploring easier. 

Before you could thank him more than once, he'd simply wished you an enjoyable trip and disappeared back into the evening crowd.

You hadn't expected to see him again.

Yet three days later, amidst the chaos of Shibuya Crossing, your paths crossed once more.

This time, the conversation lasted longer.

You noticed the white bandages wrapped neatly around his left hand—a detail you'd somehow missed during your first encounter. 

Concerned, you'd asked if the injury was serious.

He'd looked down at it for a quiet moment, letting out a soft sigh followed by the faintest chuckle before answering,

"Yeah..."

A small pause.

"It is."

That was also the day the two of you finally exchanged names.

After that, the meetings simply... continued.

At first they felt like coincidences, then familiar routines. You'd cross paths in different districts, different cafés, different stations. 

Sometimes he'd stop to recommend a restaurant, insisting the food was worth trying. Other times he'd quietly hand you a drink before you had the chance to buy one yourself.

Whenever the clock edged toward six in the evening, he'd walk with you for a while before politely excusing himself, never quite accompanying you all the way home.

The conversations remained effortless. Food, work, the city, places worth visiting—nothing personal enough to make you uncomfortable, yet somehow enough to make his company become familiar.

Weeks slipped by without either of you noticing.

Eventually, other people began noticing instead.

Cashiers, shopkeepers, waiters—strangers smiled at the two of you with the easy assumption that you were together. You always laughed it off. Nanami never corrected them.

When you finally asked why, he'd simply stirred his tea before replying, almost absentmindedly,

“I could have.”

A small pause.

“It didn't seem necessary."”

"People seem to mistake us for a couple rather often."

You'd laughed awkwardly. "Yeah... They do."

"Does it bother you?"

You'd thought about it before shaking your head. "Not really."

He'd acknowledged the answer with a single nod.

“I see."

Looking back now, perhaps that had been the moment everything quietly began changing—though you hadn't realized it then.

—

The next morning, you wake to the warmth of sunlight spilling across the bed, blinking slowly as the unfamiliar ceiling comes into focus. 

It takes a second before the memories of yesterday settle back into place, and almost immediately, your eyes wander toward the armchair by the window.

"...Huh?" 

You sit up properly, pushing the blanket from your legs. The chair is empty. You could've sworn you'd left the oversized teddy there before climbing into bed. 

It had been impossible to miss—nearly half your height, ridiculous enough to make you laugh every time you looked at it.

Frowning, you climb to your feet and glance around the room. The bouquet still sits exactly where you'd placed it. The chocolates remain untouched on the dresser.

But the teddy...

It's gone.

You crouch beside the bed first, peering underneath as though something that large could somehow fit there. Nothing.

The wardrobe is next. Then behind the bedroom door. Even the bathroom.

"...That's weird."

Straightening, you scratch absentmindedly at your temple.

Did you move it?

You don't remember doing that.

After another quick look around the room, you give up with a quiet sigh. Maybe you'd left it downstairs last night and simply forgot.

The thought is enough to satisfy you—for now.

By the time you make your way downstairs, the apartment is already filled with the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

Nanami is sitting at the dining table, glasses resting low on his nose as he quietly flips through the morning newspaper. A porcelain cup sits beside him, steam still curling lazily into the air.

He notices you almost immediately.

Without saying a word, he folds the newspaper neatly and sets it aside before gesturing toward the empty chair across from him.

"Good morning."

You return the smile, slipping into the seat opposite him. "Morning."

His eyes linger on your face for a moment. "You slept well?"

"I think so."

"I'm glad."

He reaches for his coffee, taking an unhurried sip before setting the cup back onto its saucer. "What would you like for breakfast?"

"I've already prepared everything, but if there's something you'd rather have, I don't mind making it."

You tell him what you're in the mood for.

He nods once. For a moment, silence settles comfortably between you. Then the thought from upstairs returns.

"...Oh."

You glance up. "The teddy you gave me yesterday..."

His fingers pause around the handle of his cup. "Yes?"

"I can't find it."

A small crease forms between his brows. "...The teddy?"

"The really big one!"

He looks at you for a long second. Then, with complete sincerity—

"...Sweetheart." His voice is as gentle as ever. "There wasn't a teddy."

You blink. "What?"

"I bought you flowers." He says it simply, almost apologetically. 

"I'm afraid there wasn't.”

"Huh...?" You let out a small, confused laugh. 

"No... there was." You gesture with your hands, trying to show the size. 

"It was huge!"

His expression doesn't change. "If there had been one," he says softly, "I think I would've remembered carrying something that large."

That…

...actually makes your confidence falter.

"...Maybe..." You rub the back of your neck. 

"Maybe I left it somewhere else.”

“Hm.” He doesn't linger on the subject. Instead, he reaches for his coffee again before asking, almost casually—

"Would you like to spend today together as well?"

You hesitate. "I don't want to keep taking up your time."

He sets the cup down with a quiet click. "I wouldn't have asked if I minded."

The corner of your mouth lifts. "...Okay."

A smile—small but unmistakably genuine—appears on his face.

"Good."

He rises from his chair, stopping beside you just long enough to gently pat the top of your head with his other hand, the one still wrapped in bandages.

"I'll bring your breakfast." His hand slips away as naturally as it arrived. 

"Freshen up."

"We'll leave once you're ready."

You nod, while he disappears into the kitchen. Left alone, your gaze drifts back toward the staircase.

Your brows slowly knit together again.

...There was definitely a teddy.

—

The smell of freshly brewed coffee fills the apartment as Nanami sets a steaming plate in front of you. The eggs are cooked just right, sprinkled with chopped chives that catch the morning light spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows. 

He moves calmly, without wasting a single motion—and when he looks at you, his gaze lingers just a little longer than usual.

“Here,” he says, his voice low. " hope it suits your taste.”

“Thanks.” You smile, grateful for the ordinary comfort of the gesture, and lift your fork. 

He watches you eat, his elbows resting on the table, his hands folded loosely. There’s a softness in his eyes, the kind that makes you feel both seen and strangely exposed. 

A faint tapping against the glass draws your attention. You glance toward the windows just as rain begins to fall, droplets gathering before sliding down the panes and blurring the city beyond. 

Nanami follows your gaze, his brow furrowing just slightly. He lets out a breath that sounds part sigh, part resignation.

"I had hoped we could go out today. There's a market nearby I thought you might enjoy. Unfortunately..." 

He glances toward the rain. "...it seems we'll have to postpone that.”

You hum, the sound low and throaty, and let your eyes drop to the plate. The fork hovers over a piece of toast, your appetite suddenly muted by the weight of the words hanging in the air. 

“Could you… drop me off at the hotel?” you say, the question slipping out before you can fully shape it. “I need to pack my things. It’s… almost the end.”

He sets his fork down with a quiet clink, the metal catching the light.  "Of course." A small nod. 

"I'll have your belongings brought here. You don't need to concern yourself with them.”

“But…”

“...Where are you going?” he asks, his voice gentle but probing, as if he’s trying to read the map of your thoughts from the curve of your jaw.

You swallow, the words catching in your throat. “I need to go back,” you say, the phrase feeling both familiar and foreign. “It’s the end of the trip.”

He leans back in his chair, the movement deliberate, his broad shoulders settling against the backrest. 

"I see." He folds his arms, considering your words for a quiet moment. "That would make settling there rather difficult for me." His eyes meet yours.

 "...Do you truly have to go back?”

The question hangs between you, heavy and unexpected. You feel a flash of surprise—had he been imagining a future where his life intertwined with yours in your hometown? The thought is both flattering and terrifying.

“You don’t have to,” you reply quickly, the words tumbling out in an attempt to ease the tension you sense building. 

“We can keep it this way. No need to… change anything.”

He studies you for a long moment, the silence stretching like a taut string. Then, his voice low and earnest, he asks again, "...Would you rather we live apart?”

Your heart thuds against your ribs. You want to answer, to give him the clarity he’s seeking, but the words feel like they might shatter something fragile. 

You look down at your plate, the fork now idle in your hand, and toy with the tines, the metal cool against your fingertips. 

“I… don’t know,” you admit, the honesty raw and unfiltered. “I’m not trying to push you away. I just need to sort things out.”

“….” 

He exhales, a sound that carries both frustration and a hint of something softer—perhaps disappointment, perhaps understanding. 

He rises from his chair with a fluid motion that belies the tension in his shoulders, and moves toward you. 

He places a hand lightly on the back of your chair, his fingers brushing the fabric, his palm resting just above your shoulder. His voice drops, intimate and a little wounded.

"You accepted yesterday." His voice remains calm, though quieter now. "Yet today..." 

A slight furrow appears between his brows. 

"...you're speaking as though nothing has changed." His gaze searches yours. 

"Help me understand, love.”

Your gaze flicks up to his face, searching for the familiar calm that usually anchors him. You see the faint crease between his brows, the way his lips press together as he tries to make sense of the shift. 

Your eyes drift back to the plate, to the fork you’re still twisting between your fingers, “Nanami, it's just—”

Before you can formulate a reply, his hand tightens—not painfully, but with a firm, unmistakable grip—around your throat. 

The pressure is enough to make you turn your head, to force your eyes to meet his. 

"Eyes. On. Me, [Name].”

His fingers remain around your throat for another heartbeat.

Not tight enough to hurt. Just firm enough that every instinct pulling your attention elsewhere quietly dies beneath the weight of his touch.

"You aren't going back." His voice remains even, almost gentle, the words carrying the same calm certainty. 

There isn't a trace of anger in them, nor hesitation. He simply looks at you, those hazel eyes unwavering. 

"...You aren't going anywhere."

For a second you only stare at him, convinced you've misunderstood.

"...What?"

The word escapes you in a breathless laugh, your body reacting before your mind can catch up. 

You push his hands away and begin to stand, instinct telling you to put some distance between the two of you.

The movement barely lasts a second.

His hand slides from the back of your chair onto your shoulder, guiding you back into your seat with quiet, unwavering firmness. 

"Shh."

The single syllable is spoken almost tenderly. 

"We'll talk about this." His thumb brushes once against your shoulder before his hand falls away entirely.

"...But not now."

Then, to your complete disbelief, he reaches toward your plate instead. He straightens the fork you'd abandoned, nudging it a little closer as though nothing out of the ordinary has happened, as though he hasn't just calmly informed you that leaving isn't an option.

"You should eat before it gets cold."

You simply stare at him.

"...No." Your voice comes out quieter than intended.

"Nanami, listen to me…"

“.....”

His attention remains entirely on you, patient as ever, waiting for you to continue.

"Staying here isn't an option." You let out a small, awkward laugh. "I've got a life out there, and..." 

You rub the back of your neck, trying to make him understand without making this bigger than it already feels. 

"...and living here would definitely need citizenship, and I don't have that, or—"

"I'll get you one."

He interrupts so naturally that, for a moment, you forget what you were saying. 

“.....” Your mouth opens but nothing comes out.

Nanami watches you with quiet patience. "It isn't something you need to worry about," he continues in that same composed voice. 

"I'll arrange it."

Silence…

The rain drums steadily against the glass, filling the apartment with a sound that suddenly feels unbearably loud.

You slowly rise to your feet again, this time without looking away from him.

"...Nanami."

He lifts his eyes to meet yours immediately.

"I think..." You search his face, hoping for even the faintest indication that this is some sort of misunderstanding. "...I think you didn't listen to me fully."

A quiet pause.

"I cannot stay here."

Something immediately shifts across his expression.

His brows draw together ever so slightly, as though the sentence you've just spoken simply refuses to fit with everything the two of you discussed yesterday. 

He studies your face for several long seconds, searching it with the same careful attention he always gives you.

When he finally speaks again, his voice is softer than before.

"I'm willing to do anything for you." 

"I mean that." His gaze never leaves yours. "Literally everything."

A faint breath escapes him before he continues. "But..." 

He tilts his head ever so slightly, genuine bewilderment settling behind his eyes. "...you can't do this one thing for me?"

The question isn't accusatory. If anything, it sounds wounded.

"If I could, I would've moved in with you instead." His expression remains calm despite the quiet disappointment creeping into it. "I truly would have."

His eyes soften.

"But that isn't possible, love." He lets the words settle before asking, with quiet, heartbreaking sincerity.

"Can you not understand that?”

“....”

"This isn't how relationships work." The words leave your mouth before you can stop them. 

Therefore, he remains silent for a moment. He studies you with quiet concentration.

"...How do they work, then?"

You stare at him.

"What?"

"You said this isn't how relationships work." His voice is as calm as it has always been.

"Then tell me." He takes a small step toward you, his gaze never leaving yours.

"What am I doing incorrectly?"

The question catches you completely off guard.

You open your mouth, only to close it again. This wasn't what you'd expected. You'd expected him to argue. To become frustrated. To tell you that you were overreacting.

Instead...

He sounds genuinely confused.

"You..." You struggle to gather your thoughts, shaking your head slightly. "You can't just expect someone to leave everything behind."

He nods once, thoughtfully, as though carefully considering every word you've said. “I see.”

"And, my job," you continue quickly, relief flickering through you at finally finding something concrete. "I have a job back home.”

"You'll find another."

The answer comes so naturally that you almost miss it.

Your lips part.

"My apartment..."

"We'll arrange it."

You blink.

"My money..."

"I'll take care of it."

Every concern you raise is met with an answer before you've even finished speaking, each one delivered with the same composed certainty he uses when recommending something.

"My family..." Your voice grows noticeably quieter. "They're back home."

"You'll still be able to speak with them." He says it gently, almost reassuringly.

"I would never ask you to lose the people you care about."

You simply stare at him for several long seconds, you can't find a single word. Because he isn't arguing with you. He isn't dismissing your concerns. He's just solving them.

"...No."

You shake your head, taking an unconscious step backward. "No... that's not what I mean."

None of this is making sense.

Why is he acting this way?

"...How long are we going to keep doing this?" 

His voice isn't raised. If anything, it's calmer than before. "I don't believe we're making any progress."

A brief pause follows.

"I suppose it would be better if we left the conversation here."

Before you can respond, his attention shifts past you. Toward the front door. Your eyes follow his almost instinctively. Then you freeze.

Your suitcase. The smaller overnight bag you'd left at the hotel. The shopping bags you'd accumulated throughout your trip.

Even your carry-on.

Every single one of them is neatly arranged beside the entrance, lined up with almost unsettling precision.

Your brows draw together. "...What?" You stare at them, your thoughts grinding to a halt.

When...

When had those gotten here?

You don't remember hearing the doorbell. You don't remember anyone knocking. More importantly—

Who had brought them?

You slowly turn back toward Nanami, confusion written plainly across your face.

He doesn't appear surprised by your reaction. "I'll have them taken upstairs."

"Your room is already prepared."

He offers you a small, reassuring smile. "So..."

His eyes meet yours.

"Let's forget about this rather silly conversation." Then, without waiting for your answer, he turns toward the luggage.

"...Nanami."

He doesn't stop.

"Nanami!" This time your voice comes out louder, enough to make him pause.

His hand stills against the handle of your suitcase, though he doesn't immediately turn around.

"You can't just decide something like this!"

"You're not even listening to me!"

“.....”

"...Go to your room." He says without looking back.

Your eyes widen. "What?"

"I said..." His voice remains calm. "Go to your room."

You don't move. Every instinct in your body refuses.

"No…”

A quiet breath leaves him almost immediately.

His shoulders rise almost imperceptibly before falling again.

Only then does he slowly turn back to face you.

There is something unmistakably stern in his expression. His mouth set into a thin, disapproving line.

He looks at you for several long seconds before speaking.

"...Aren't you being a brat?"

The word hangs between you, leaving you utterly speechless.

He holds your gaze for another moment before calmly pulling out his chair and sitting down once more, his movements as unhurried as ever.

You're still standing there, rooted to the spot, trying to process what just happened, when he moves.

It's faster than you expect from a man who's always so deliberate.

His hand closes around your wrist, and before you can react, you're being pulled forward. A surprised gasp escapes your lips as you tumble off balance, your body twisting mid-fall. 

You land across his lap, stomach pressed against his thighs, your skirt riding up as your legs dangle off the side of the chair.

"What are you—!?"

The words die in your throat.

His bandaged hand comes down hard against your ass.

The SMACK echoes through the room, sharp and precise, and you feel the flesh jiggle beneath the impact. A startled yelp tears from your lips as heat blooms across your skin.

You twist, trying to push yourself up, but his other hand presses firmly against your lower back, pinning you in place.

"Let me go!" You squirm, legs kicking out uselessly. "Nanami—"

Another SMACK. Harder.

You cry out, your fingers gripping the fabric of his trousers as you try to thrash free. But he's stronger than he looks, and each movement only seems to anchor you more firmly against his lap.

"It hurts!—" The words tumble out, breathless and strained. "Please—"

He doesn't answer.

His hand falls again. And again. Each strike precise, measured, landing in rhythmic succession across your buttcheeks. 

The heat builds. Spreads. Your struggles grow weaker, your body trembling with each impact. Your breathing comes in ragged gasps now.

By the time he stops, you can barely move.

You lie there, limp across his lap, your body quivering. Your ass throbs, hot and tender, and you can feel the dampness pooling between your thighs—a shameful, undeniable wetness that's soaked through your panties.

The silence stretches.

Then you feel it.

His bandaged fingers slide beneath the hem of your skirt, brushing against the heated skin of your inner thigh. 

“...Don't!” You inhale sharply, your whole body tensing as his touch trails upward.

He finds the damp spot immediately.

One finger presses against the soaked fabric of your panties, the rough texture of the bandage grazing your most sensitive flesh. You bite your lip, a shaky breath escaping through your nose.

He presses harder, searching, until he finds it—your clit, swollen and aching beneath the wet cotton. His finger circles, the pressure just enough to make you gasp, before he twists, grinding the fabric against you.

His voice drops, low and rough against your ear.

"What are you?"

You shudder, unable to form words.

His finger presses deeper, rolling in slow, torturous circles.

"A masochist bitch?”

“—!?”

Your fingers are curled into the fabric of his trousers, your forehead pressed against his thigh, and you can't form a single word.

He waits.

The silence stretches, broken only by your uneven breathing.

Then his thumb shifts.

It moves, sliding down from your clit, tracing the soaked line of your panties until it finds the dip—a hungry, aching hole begging to be filled.

The cotton presses inward, squeezing your cunt lips together, making the wetness seep through the thin material and stain the fabric with your need. 

Then, with a slow, deliberate pressure, his bandaged thumb nudges against the very entrance, just barely breaching the tight, trembling ring of your fuckhole.

The rough texture of the bandage grazes your sensitive flesh, and you jolt violently, a sharp gasp escaping your lips. 

“mmgh…” Your hips buck instinctively, but his hand on your lower back holds you steady.

For a single, agonizing second, the tip of his thumb is inside you.

Then it's gone.

He pulls back completely, withdrawing his hand from beneath your skirt, and in one fluid motion, he stands.

His arms hook under your knees and around your back, cradling you against his chest.

Your body is still trembling, your ass still throbbing, your core still aching and wet, and you can only stare up at his jaw as he carries you upstairs.

He pushes the bedroom door open with his shoulder, steps inside, and lowers you gently onto the bed. Your body sinks into the mattress, your skirt still bunched up, your panties still damp and clinging to you.

He straightens and turns without a word. Walking out without even looking at you.

The door clicks shut behind him.

A moment later, you hear the unmistakable sound of a lock turning from the outside.

You're alone.

Most importantly... he didn't do anything more.

—

Next day—

The room is still half-dark, painted in shades of gray and blue, and for a long moment you simply lie there, staring at the ceiling.

The memory comes in fragments. The pressure of his fingers around your throat. The way his eyes changed—how they went from warm to something else entirely, something ancient and hungry and utterly without mercy. 

You spent the whole night thinking. 

The apartment was secure in ways you couldn't even begin to understand. And even if you could get out, where would you go? You barely know the streets.

So the only option left was to make him believe.

Make him believe you understood. That you accepted. That you were beginning to see things his way. 

When you find the lock open, you step out of the bedroom, the apartment is quiet. The living room is bathed in pale morning light, and you find him standing by the large window, looking out at the city. 

He's wearing a simple white shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and he holds a cup of coffee in one hand. 

He doesn't turn when you enter, but you can see the slight tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers tighten almost imperceptibly around the cup.

You stop a few feet behind him. 

"Nanami."

He doesn't turn immediately. There's a long pause, a beat of silence that stretches just long enough to make your stomach clench. Then he sets his coffee down on the windowsill and slowly turns to face you.

His eyes are careful. They sweep over your face, taking in every detail, and you can see the question in them—What are you thinking? Are you thinking of arguing again?

“.....”

"I've thought about this the whole night," you say, and your voice comes out softer than you expected. "Everything that happened. Everything you said."

You take a step closer. Not too close—but close enough to show that you're not afraid.

"I'm sorry," you say. "For how I reacted. I know you weren't trying to hurt me. I know that now."

He blinks. 

You take a breath. You let your shoulders drop, let your posture soften, let yourself look vulnerable.

"I just needed time," you continue. "It was all happening too quickly, you know?”

“I didn't know how to process everything. I panicked."

You pause. Letting the silence settle between you.

"I said things I didn't mean," you add quietly. "I was scared. But I've had time to think now. To really think."

You look down at your hands, then back up at him. You try to make your eyes look sincere. You try to let him see the truth—or at least, the truth you want him to see.

"I've been thinking about what you said," you say. "About how you need me to understand. About how this is the only way things can work. And I think... I think I understand now."

His expression shifts. Just slightly. The hardness in his eyes softens by a fraction, and you see something flicker there—hope, maybe.

“....”

You take another step closer. Now you're close enough to touch him, but you don't. You let your hands hang at your sides.

"I'm sorry I fought you," you whisper. "I'm sorry I made it harder than it needed to be."

He stares at you for a long, long moment. Searching your face, your eyes, your body language, trying to find the lie, trying to see if you're manipulating him.

And then, slowly, his shoulders relax.

He takes a step toward you, closing the distance between you.

"I understand, love," he says, and his voice is soft, gentle, the voice of the man you'd first met. 

"This is what I was saying yesterday. I knew you'd come around. I knew you just needed time."

He reaches out and cups your face in his hand, his palm warm against your cheek. His thumb strokes your skin, slow and tender.

"I'm so glad you finally understand," he says, and his voice is thick with something that might be emotion. "I was so worried. I thought I'd lost you. I thought I'd pushed too hard."

You shake your head slightly, careful not to break his hold.

"You didn't lose me," you say. "I'm still here. I'm not going anywhere."

He lets out a breath, a long, shuddering exhale that seems to carry the weight of everything he'd been holding in. 

He pulls you into his arms, wrapping you in a tight embrace, and you feel his face press into your hair.

"Thank you," he whispers against your scalp. 

"Thank you for trying."

—

The rest of the morning passes in a strange, fragile peace. He doesn't lock you up anymore. He doesn't even suggest that you stay in the apartment. Instead, he asks you, with genuine warmth in his voice, if you'd like to go out today.

"Let's visit some places," he says, his hand resting lightly on your lower back. "I want to show you more of Tokyo. The parts you haven't seen yet."

You agree. You smile. You let him guide you out the door and into the soft morning light.

He takes you to a quiet neighborhood in Yanaka, where old wooden houses line narrow streets and cats doze in sunlit doorways. 

He buys you a warm taiyaki from a street vendor—red bean paste, your favorite—and watches you eat it with a soft, fond smile.

He holds your hand as you walk. His thumb traces lazy circles on your skin, and every now and then he stops to point out something interesting—a hidden shrine, a small garden, a shop that sells handmade paper.

By midday, he takes you to a rooftop café in Shibuya, where you can see the scramble crossing below, crowds of people moving like a single organism. 

He orders for you both—a cold brew for himself, a matcha latte for you—and you sit together in comfortable silence, watching the city pulse beneath you.

"Are you tired?" he asks, his eyes on your face.

"A little," you admit.

"Then we'll take it slow. There's no rush."

He reaches across the table and takes your hand, lacing his fingers through yours. His touch is warm, steady, and you let yourself relax into it. 

You let yourself pretend that this is real. That this is a normal date between two people who love each other.

—

By the time the sun begins to set, the two of you find yourselves walking along a quiet street overlooking the river. 

The city glows in warm shades of orange, its lights slowly flickering to life as evening settles in.

Nanami comes to a stop beside the railing and looks at you.

"Thank you for today," he says. "For giving me a chance. For trying to understand."

You look back at him. In the fading light, he looks like himself again. Calm. Gentle. 

"...You're welcome."

The words leave your mouth before you can think too hard about them.

He steps closer, lifting a hand to your cheek. His thumb brushes your skin once, giving you enough time to pull away if you wanted to.You don't.

He leans in, and his lips meet yours.

The kiss is slow and gentle, nothing like the desperation of the night before. His hand stays lightly against your cheek while you kiss him back, the warmth of the setting sun lingering on your skin.

When he finally pulls away, a small smile settles on his face.

"Dinner?" he asks quietly.

You nod, and he offers you his hand before the two of you continue walking together.

—

The restaurant is hidden in a narrow alley in Ginza, its entrance marked by a simple wooden sign with Japanese characters you can't read. 

You glance at it as you pass, catching a glimpse of black ink on pale wood, but the meaning escapes you.

Nanami holds the door open for you, and you step inside.

The interior is breathtaking. Dark wood, soft lighting, a single long counter made of polished hinoki cypress. 

The air smells of soy and sake and something else—something rich and savory. A chef stands behind the counter, bowing as you enter.

But the room is empty.

There are no other customers. Not a single table is occupied. The only sound is the soft hum of the ventilation and the distant clink of a knife from the kitchen.

You look around, confused. "Is it... always this quiet?"

Nanami smiles, guiding you to a seat at the counter. "I reserved the entire place. I wanted us to have privacy."

You blink. Of course he did. Of course.

You sit down, and he takes the seat beside you. 

But you can't stop thinking about the sign. 

Something about the empty restaurant, the exclusive atmosphere, the way everyone seems to know exactly who Nanami is—it makes you wonder.

You push the thought away. You take a bite of the sushi, and it melts on your tongue, and you let yourself enjoy it.

—

Dinner passes easily between the two of you.

The conversation drifts from one topic to another until, somewhere between courses, Nanami looks at you with a small smile.

"Do you know the first time I saw you?"

"You were walking down the street," he says. "Looking completely lost."

A quiet laugh escapes you.

"I remember thinking..." His eyes drift over your clothes before settling back on your face. "...I mistook you for one of us.”

“...What do you mean?”

“Nothing serious.”

You aren't sure how to respond, so you simply smile and ask him another question. He answers without hesitation, and you listen, nodding along, letting him feel heard as the evening slips by.

—

Dinner comes to an end sooner than you expected. As the last dishes are cleared away, you and Nanami step out of the private dining room together.

You tighten your grip on your purse. It has been resting against your shoulder the entire evening, its familiar weight grounding you. 

Your passport. Your flight ticket. Every important document. You'd slipped them inside before leaving the apartment that morning, telling yourself it was only a precaution. 

If an opportunity ever presented itself, you'd have minutes—nothing more.

You glance down the hallway before looking back at him.

"Um... where's the restroom?”

Nanami follows your gaze. "Just down the hall." He gestures toward the corridor.

"I got a little turned around," you admit with an awkward laugh.

His expression softens. "Take your time. I'll wait here."

You smile. "Thanks."

As you start down the corridor, one of the restaurant staff quietly approaches Nanami and begins speaking to him in Japanese. 

He turns his attention to the conversation without another glance your way.

Only then do you keep going.

You pass the restroom without slowing, your heartbeat beginning to pound harder with every step. Another corner. A narrow hallway leading toward the entrance. The heavy wooden doors come into view.

Don't look back.

You push through them and the cool evening air rushes over your face.

Then you run.

You don't stop until you're at the curb, frantically waving down the first taxi you see. The driver barely has time to unlock the doors before you climb into the back seat.

"The airport, please."

The taxi pulls away from the restaurant, merging into the evening traffic. Only then do you dare glance through the rear window.

Nothing.

No one is chasing after you.

Your lungs finally release the breath you'd been holding as the city slips past outside the glass.

Please...

Please let this work.

By the time the taxi reaches the airport, your hands are trembling so badly you nearly fumble your wallet. You pay the driver, clutch your purse tightly against your side, and hurry inside.

The terminal is crowded. Travelers weave past one another with rolling suitcases, families gather around departure boards, and announcements echo overhead.

Then you notice him.

A man in a dark suit standing near one of the entrances.

You barely think anything of it until you notice another leaning against a pillar farther ahead, an earpiece tucked discreetly beneath his hair.

You turn toward another check-in counter.

One of them moves too.

Your stomach knots.

You keep walking, pretending not to notice, but another suited man comes into view near the security line. None of them approach you. None of them say a word. 

Every now and then one tilts his head slightly, his lips moving as though speaking quietly into his earpiece.

Why are they following me?

The question loops through your head as you force yourself toward security.

Don't panic.

Just keep walking.

The officer takes your passport and boarding pass before glancing past your shoulder.

"Where's your luggage?"

Your heart lurches, but you manage a small smile.

"It's... an emergency. I'm flying home alone. My family's staying here for a little while longer, so the luggage is with them."

He studies your face for a brief moment before giving a small nod.

"I understand."

He stamps your documents, hands them back, and smiles politely. "Have a safe flight."

"Thank you."

You murmur the words before continuing through security. Only after you've crossed to the other side do you finally look back.

The men haven't followed you.

They're still standing exactly where they were, watching from beyond the checkpoint.

Relief washes over you so suddenly your knees nearly give out.

By the time your boarding group is called, your breathing has finally settled. You join the line with the other passengers, your passport already in hand.

Just as you're about to step onto the jet bridge, a familiar voice speaks behind you.

"Miss [Name]."

Your entire body goes rigid.

You turn slowly.

One of the suited men stands several feet away. He doesn't come any closer. Instead, he gives a polite bow before setting down your carry-on that you'd left behind.

"I believe these belong to you."

You stare at him, unable to speak.

"...How?"

The man simply reaches into his jacket and produces a slim envelope.

Inside are the remaining documents you'd thought were gone.

He closes it again and offers another respectful bow.

"Mr. Nanami wishes for you to have a safe flight."

Before you can ask another question, he turns and walks away without another word, disappearing into the crowd as calmly as if nothing unusual had happened.

You remain frozen where you stand, staring after him.

A flight attendant gently smiles.

"Ma'am?"

You blink, forcing your legs to move. 

When you finally land, exhaustion settles deep into your bones. Carrying your purse and your carry-on, you pass the baggage carousel without a second thought—until something familiar catches your eye.

Your suitcase slowly rolls into view, a fresh baggage tag fastened neatly around the handle. You stop in your tracks. You never checked it in. You never even touched it after leaving. 

Yet somehow... it had made the journey home with you.

—

Two months.

Two whole months had passed since you'd stepped off that plane, and yet Japan still found its way back into your thoughts when you least expected it.

You let out a quiet sigh, leaning back against the couch as your phone rested loosely in your hand.

You'd tried to move on.

You'd thrown yourself back into work, answered every worried question from your family with carefully edited half-truths, and convinced yourself that leaving had been the right decision.

It was the right decision.

...Wasn't it?

Sometimes, usually late at night when the house had gone quiet, you couldn't help wondering what would have happened if you'd stayed. If you hadn't run from that restaurant. If you'd gone back to the apartment with him instead…

The thought never lasted long.

Because no matter how gentle he'd been the next morning, no matter how normal that day had felt, there had been something deeply wrong about him.

Something you still couldn't put into words.

You rubbed your temples with a frustrated groan. "Ugh..."

Enough.

There was no point thinking about him anymore.

Unlocking your phone again, you opened the delivery app instead. Your new pair of shoes was supposed to arrive today.

Out for delivery.

A small smile tugged at your lips.

Right on cue, the doorbell rang.

"Perfect timing."

You set your phone aside and walked toward the front door without a second thought. The delivery drivers usually left as soon as the package was handed over anyway.

You unlocked the door, pulled it open and the smile disappeared.

"...”

A tailored black suit.

Blond hair.

Tired eyes behind familiar glasses.

The same calm expression that had haunted your dreams for the past two months.

Nanami.

Your eyes widened.

Before your mind could catch up, your body reacted. You shoved the door with both hands, trying to slam it shut.

It didn't move.

A bandaged hand had already wedged itself against the edge. The muscles in his forearm tightened as he pushed forward with terrifying ease.

"No—"

You threw your weight against the door, both hands straining, your shoulder pressing into the wood with everything you had.

It didn't matter.

The door inched open anyway. Another inch. Then another. Your strength meant nothing against his.

The gap widened just enough for him to step forward.

And once he was inside—

Nanami’s bandaged hand clamped down on your scalp, fingers twisting deep into the roots until the burn spread across your head like fire. 

He yanked you backward without a word, dragging your stumbling body across the floor as your screams tore through the room. The door slammed shut behind him with a final click.

He hauled you straight into the bathroom. The tub was already full. Before you could twist away, he shoved your face under the surface. Cold water rushed up your nose and into your mouth. 

Your lungs seized. You thrashed, hands slapping the porcelain, legs kicking uselessly. He held you there, unmoving, until your chest started to convulse from lack of air.

He pulled you up. You gasped once—then he forced you back down again. Water flooded your throat. Your ears filled. Your eyes stung red and raw. Up. Down. Again. 

Each time longer. Each time your panic spiked harder. You choked, coughed, sobbed between every brutal dunk. Snot and tears mixed with the bathwater running down your chin.

After the fourth time he twisted your hair sharply, forcing your face upward to meet his. His tired eyes stared down through the glasses, calm as ever.

"Do you know how much trouble I’ve faced to get here?"

You couldn’t answer. 

“Uhck…!” You could only wheeze, lungs burning, water still dripping from your lips. And, he shoved you under again without waiting.

Your hands clawed at the air. Your body bucked and twisted in his grip. He kept you pinned until your vision spotted, then yanked you out once more. 

The moment he released your hair you collapsed forward, sucking in ragged breaths, chest heaving.

Nanami stepped back. You heard the shower handle turn. A hard spray of cold water hit your back, then your shoulders, soaking straight through your clothes. 

He moved the stream methodically—over your spine, down your legs—until every inch of you was drenched and shivering. Only when you were completely soaked did he grab you again.

His left hand slammed you against the tiled wall, pinning you there with effortless strength. The shower head came up, blasting your face first, then lower. 

Water hammered across your breasts, your stomach, then straight between your thighs. You tried to turn your head away. He brought the spray back to your face.

"Hold still."

He yanked your soaked pants down in one rough motion. The shower head pressed directly against your exposed pussy, the stream forcing its way between your folds. 

His fingers followed—two of them slapping your clit sharply, then spreading your lips wider so the water could hit deeper. 

Nanami’s fingers shoved straight into your soaked pussy, two at once, curling deep without warning. He pumped them hard and fast, the wet sounds filling the bathroom as he worked you open. 

Every few thrusts he pulled his hand back just to slap your cheek—sharp, stinging little hits that snapped your head to the side and kept your eyes from rolling back.

Your body jerked when the orgasm crashed through you. Your thighs shook, pussy clenching around his fingers, a broken moan tearing from your throat. 

He didn’t let you ride it. The second your knees buckled he yanked you by the arm, dragging you out of the bathroom and across the room. 

You hit the bed face-down, the mattress bouncing under your weight.

“Women like you don’t deserve a gentleman,” he said, voice low and flat. The metallic clink of his belt buckle echoed behind you. 

One hand stroked your ass once, almost gentle, before the first sharp smack landed. Then another. He yanked your pants the rest of the way down and off.

He peeled off his own soaked suit jacket next, then tugged his shirt over his head, tossing both aside.

With your face pinned down, you could only glimpse part of it.

Ink spread across his left shoulder in bold blacks and muted reds. A dragon wound through dark waves and cherry blossoms, stretching across his chest and down his arm.

It was the kind of full-body piece you'd only ever heard whispered about.

Then the belt came next. The first strike cracked across your both asscheeks, heat blooming instantly. 

“AHH..!!!”

Each hit made you cry out, hips twisting, but he held you down with one hand on your lower back.

“I’ve held back myself for this? I did all those things… tried to hide… tried to change for you… just for you to run away!?”

The belt landed again, harder.

“If only I could’ve stopped you at the airport…”

“But that would’ve gotten me in trouble. You knew that, right? That’s why you lied. You never took me for granted.”

Another lash. Your cries grew louder, skin already bruising.

“As if I meant nothing to you. You only used me like a whore. Do you think I’d let it slide!?”

He dropped the belt. You felt the thick, hot length of his cock rub slowly over your burning ass, letting you feel every inch of his hardness against the welts. 

He slapped it against your cheeks a few times, the wet sound mixing with your ragged breathing, then lined up and shoved inside in one brutal THRUST.

He fucked you hard from behind—deep, punishing strokes that rocked the bed. 

He had already taken you once, twice, four times, thirteen times—each thrust a brutal claim that left your insides raw and overflowing. 

His cum leaked from your stretched pussy in thick, messy trails, yet his cock stayed rock-hard, veins pulsing as he fought the urge to unload again.

The restraint showed in every flex of his muscles, every sharp breath he held back while his hips snapped forward with punishing force.

Your breasts twisted under his grip, fingers digging deep into the soft flesh, pinching and rolling your nipples until they throbbed. 

You lolled your head, mouth open in a constant stream of broken moans, cumming nonstop around his driving shaft. 

Each slam pushed you over the edge again, your walls clenching and fluttering as fresh waves of slick and his seed gushed out.

“N-Namami—S… stop—”

But, he kissed you hard, tongue forcing deep while his free hand cracked across your cheek in a stinging slap. 

The impact jolted through you, mixing pain with another helpless orgasm that made your thighs shake. 

You were beyond sense, vision swimming, ears filling with a long, piercing beep that drowned out everything else.

His hips stuttered to a stop mid-thrust, cock buried to the hilt. Your eyes turned hazy, head pounding so fiercely you could barely turn toward his gaze. 

Slowly he withdrew, the thick length dragging along your sensitive walls until it slipped free with a wet sound, leaving you empty, aching, and dripping.

Through blurry sight you watched him peel the bandage from his left hand—the one he always kept covered. 

The cloth fell across your stomach as he revealed the missing pinky, the stump raw and healed over. 

Then the bedroom door swung open, silent on its hinges. A man in a black suit stepped in, his face impassive, carrying something massive in his arms. 

It took you a second to register the shape—a giant teddy bear, cream-colored fur matted in places, a faded red bow tied crookedly around its neck. 

The exact same teddy you’d lost in Japan months ago. The one you’d mentioned in passing, the one Nanami had looked at with empty eyes and said, There’s none.

But here it was.

The suited man crossed the room without a word. He halted beside the bed, held the teddy out toward Nanami. 

Nanami took it without looking, his gaze fixed on you the whole time, that raw stump now resting on his thigh. 

He cradled the bear against his chest for a moment, stroking its matted fur with his four-fingered hand, then leaned over and placed it gently beside your head on the pillow.

“.....?” Your pulse hammered. You couldn't speak.

Without ceremony, Nanami hooked his arms under yours and repositioned you flat on the bed, your back sinking into the mattress, your head lolling to the side where the teddy’s button eyes stared back at you. 

He didn't ask. He just put you there, like arranging a doll he’d been waiting to pose. Then he climbed onto the bed again, knees bracketing your hips, his weight settling over you.

His cock was still hard, he wrapped his hand around it—the missing pinky making his grip look asymmetrical, incomplete, yet practiced. 

He pumped slowly at first, watching your face, the teddy, your face again. A bead of precum glistened at the tip.

He sped up, breath hitching, muscles in his stomach tensing. You could only lie there, the giant teddy’s fur brushing your cheek, as Nanami’s strokes grew frantic. His jaw tightened, a low grunt escaping his throat. 

Then his cock jerked, and thick ropes of cum splashed across your face—warm, sticky, landing on your lips, your eyelids, trailing down your cheek. 

He shifted his aim and painted the teddy’s snout as well, white streaks mingling with the bear’s cream fur.

A long, shuddering exhale. He stayed there, hovering, admiring his work. A satisfied smile crept across his face, slow and deliberate, as he studied the details—the way the cum clung to your lashes.

「その姿は、少し可愛すぎますね。」

He traced a fingertip through the mess on your cheek, smearing it, then brought that finger to his own mouth and licked.

He simply pulled back, off the bed, trousers still undone. He turned to the man in the black suit—who had remained motionless, witness to everything—and spoke. 

The words came in quiet Japanese, too fast for you to follow.

The ringing in your ears grew louder, your headache splitting so fiercely you could barely keep your eyes open, barely even register what was happening around you anymore.

But somewhere in the back of your mind...

It all made sense.

These men always around. Even at the airport. The effortless way your luggage had found its way onto the same flight. 

His promises spoken with absolute certainty.

The private restaurants. The empty streets. The places where no one would interrupt. No one would question.

It had never been confidence.

It had been power all along.