Snail

Some eager groupie from the last concert lay tangled between their dark cotton sheets, their body already cooling as Suguru drank from their wrist. Eyes left open wide. Fear, maybe. People often didn't believe you could die again in Hell. The murderer faced a consequence, sure, but the dead faced an even worse one for being foolish enough to die twice.

Suguru had always been more flirtatious with his prey in the beginning, the type to play with his food before letting his teeth and hunger decide how the night would end. Violet eyes glittered beneath the neon lights pouring from the high-rise windows as he dragged pale pink lips across the heat of tonight's meal. Leaving a trail of soft nips from their neck down to their chest, wet open-mouthed kisses before stopping on their collar, thin red droplets would pool against their skin when he got a little too frisky, all while Satoru got his fill.

The need for desire would never truly be sated. Ever the curse of being a succubus. No amount of adoration from fans, or the eager hands reaching for just a taste of such a beloved idol, would ever fill the hollow ache you left behind. He supposed after all these years he could forgive you for granting them a death sentence back in the land of the living.

All pets eat their owners when starving.

Still, he enjoyed that emptiness. It allowed him to become crueler, all in the hopes that when you finally returned, he could be loving again. It let him drag out harsher thrusts with pitiful creatures who were willing to pretend his touch actually meant he cared about them. Satoru could only drown out their sounds and imagine your own instead, blue eyes half-lidded in a daydream as he dropped his face into the creature's shoulder and bottomed out once more, followed by a pitchy whine; the feeling of Suguru joining in sent him a little off the edge. Feeling his lover's cock through the cunt of the groupie... well, it was enough to remember old times.

However, there was a rat in their bed. A toy for Suguru to drain once Satoru's heat had been satisfied.

Suguru would have never forced his cock into your ass dry like that. Wouldn't have ignored your cry of pain and swiftly pushed past the tight resistance while you begged for mercy as he kept pace with Satoru's thrusts.

He would have been patient with you. Loving, even. He would have teased you for hours, prepped you over his lap with care and the use of Satoru's saliva as lube, kissed every sound from your lips until you forgot to hate him properly. But this was not you. This was not someone Suguru loved. And for anyone else, cruelty was the only love he had to offer.

By the time Satoru panted your name against unfamiliar lips, each of his measured thrusts had grown sloppier by the second. He was close, and so was this groupie with a mind far too gone to care that Satoru had called them by a different name; it's not like he exactly remembered theirs either.

Suguru finally lifted his head, pulling his leaky cock free with a soft pop while Satoru remained buried inside them. The dark-haired one leaned across their shoulder, violet eyes meeting ocean-blue ones, both softening into affection, matching the faint pout lingering on Satoru's lips before Suguru delighted him in a kiss - lazy and far too intimate.Saliva stretched between their mouths when they parted. Only breaking when Suguru decided to feast - ripping the poor creature's throat out.

Satoru was used to that by now. Only pulling out with a groan and reaching for the towel to wipe the juices off his cock. A cheerful little creature announced that another hundred years or so was added to their already lengthy sentence.

Not that it mattered. With what they made, another hundred years was little more than a fee.

Reincarnation wasn't cheap, but then, neither was justice in Hell. That was the funny thing. The monsters flourished. Everyone else paid for it.

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Unfortunately, you happened to be one of those people.

Specifically, one of those people currently trying to scrub dried slushie syrup off the rotting laminate counter while pretending not to reflect on your actions with your landlord.

You needed money. Sukuna had already docked your pay, and there was the issue of Sukuna not letting you get another side gig. The clause was written in your contract, and he kept insisting that extra money would get to your head.

It had been a couple of days, and you had ignored Mr. Nanami in passing this morning, your throat still aching from last time and not exactly eager for a second round with your already wounded pride. Who knows, he might get eager for more if you let him, and you aren't willing to gamble on that just yet. The orc only offered you a small bow of his head before brushing past with a crumbled list of errands in the same green hand that pushed your head down the length of his cock. The flashbacks came swiftly and rather unwillingly. Your eyes caught onto the lotto ticket in his hand before you both went about your day. He seemed eager to cash one in.

You'd watched plenty of the damned souls shuffle up in the weary hours for those cursed scratchers - mostly the freshly dead ones who were sent here for a long, long time. Curiosity finally got the better of you, so you asked your boss what the payoff was. A jackpot? A wish? Something worse?

He only grunted and slapped aside the glossy nymph-centerfold he'd been ogling. And briefly jacking off to, which you had done your absolute best to ignore while restocking cigarettes three feet away. After a few more prods, his ember-red eyes - minus the pair still glued to a page of a river nymph's shimmering cunt - slid toward you.

"Does all kinds of crap," he rasped, voice gravelly with boredom, and one of his four hands waved around like the prize was obvious and you were just stupid, "Grants wishes. Lets you stake a chance that some idiot on top makes a wrong choice."

A single obsidian claw drifted upward, glinting beneath the lights.

"Maybe some idiot cheats on his wife. Maybe they get bold and rob a bank. Or even better, they decide that the exit door is far more inviting than the land of the living. If they crash-land here" - he shrugged - "you cash in."

He bared a cocky smile, a fang flashing beneath the yellowing light before muttering, "There's cash too, but that's for crybabies like you."

You nearly wondered if someone had wagered on your own little academic misdemeanor, but the crybaby comment got to you before the thought had time to process.

You threw the cleaning rag at him.

Then immediately trembled at the sound of his roaring laughter, loud enough to wake the dead.

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On your merciful ten-minute break - earned after haggling with orcs, chasing sticky-fingered goblins, and wiping down returned magazines that a succubus had a little too much fun with in the bathroom - Sukuna grudgingly took the register so you could get a moment to breathe and finally wash your hands after touching liquids that seemed a little too biological for your own liking. He flicked a pair of crimson eyes up at you long enough as you took off that stupid vest to growl out, "Ten minutes, got it?" As if you had any desire to piss off a creature like him. Everyone in Hell carried private horrors; Sukuna felt like his own horror. One you weren't willing to investigate like Scooby Doo.

Your bargain-bin phone chirped in your pocket as you sat down in the dark alley beside the shop, finding comfort upon an old wooden crate and a floor that was littered with cigarette butts. Pulling the poor excuse of a device from your pocket, the cracked screen glowed, flaring itself to life. The handset itself had been a "kindness" from Sukuna, if kindness meant flinging it towards you and docking the price - plus interest - from a wage already whittled down to one penny an hour.

Unknown: Hey, this is Geto :) You working? Gojo says hi. Any customers? We're down the street.

Right.

The vampire incident. All you remembered were Suguru's cool fingers brushing yours as he passed you a pack of condoms to scan, the weight of his violet eyes that made your own mind fuzzy. And at the end of it all, Satoru's rather cheerful wink over his shoulder, like more happened than you remembered. You must have handed over your number while fretting about bigger issues.

Hello… Mr. Geto. No customers. I am working. You texted back - fussing with the punctuation and whether you should be formal with an idol or not.

You weren't willing to bet on whether Sukuna would actually eat you for losing a customer. You also weren't sure why a pair of rather famous idols would willingly waltz themselves into a dive like this? They could go between districts, have things ordered to their fancy penthouses, even pay for their reincarnation twice over. Why keep drifting back to a moldy store like this one?

Rain drizzled with a whisper in the alley, turning neon into watercolor. Sukuna shouted that he was off. You took a sharp inhale of the damp air before you shrugged into your Quickie Mart ;) vest, and slid behind the counter just as the warped bell above the door jangled.

They glided in like regulars. Satoru peeled off a black mask, even prettier than you remembered, and sang, "Mr. Geto and I have arrived," clearly savoring your stiff text. His hood fell, snowy hair tumbled free, fangs flashed with his whip of a tail thrashing behind him. He veered toward the candy aisle, pale ears pink - perhaps from the drizzle. Succubi tended to run on appetite, not temperature, and surely a stranger wouldn't be flushed for you.

Suguru followed at a cat-like prowl. No mask. Maybe he liked the attention, or maybe fans kept their distance from a mouth with sharp canines. He leaned against the counter, midnight hair spilling from a loose top-knot, voice velvet-soft. "You're actually alone here for once. Can you tell me where the good stuff is?"

You fixed your gaze on the day-glow promo flyer, unwilling to meet those eyes again - those violet pools could easily turn your thoughts to syrup. "The good blood bags," Satoru called from between shelves, “not that animal-processed shit.”

"Due to humane-harvest regulations," you recited from the crumpled memo taped beside the register, "most live farms have closed. We currently only carry synthetic, animal-processed, and shelf-stable blood products." The words tasted stale in your mouth. You'd said them enough times by now to feel like part of the store itself.

"How tragic," Suguru mused. When you risked a glance up, violet eyes snagged yours across the counter, half amusement, half hunger. He looked amused by the whole thing, really. The memo. The store. The fact that anyone had decided shelf-stable blood could be considered an actual meal and not prison food.

"Tragic for the animals?" you asked.

"For me," Satoru cut in before Suguru could answer.

He dumped his armload onto the counter with a bright, careless clatter - ramen bricks, cola, sour gummies, novelty blood-flavored lollipops, and whatever else he could find.

"He's unbearable when he's peckish," Satoru added, leaning his hip against the counter, his blue eyes looking down at his pile and then at you with a cheerful smile as if to say get scanning.

Suguru's smile thinned. "Satoru."

"What? You are."

You forced yourself to start scanning, not wanting to get involved in petty arguments between friends? Lovers? You aren't sure, and you're not exactly paid enough to care either.

"Packaged blood never agrees with me," Suguru said.

He tapped one cool, ringed finger against the scan plate, not touching you, though close enough that you became annoyingly aware of your movements that stiffened.

"Reliable donors are rare down here," he continued. "Living ones, especially."

Outside, thunder rolled over the roof. Inside, the leak found a new rhythm, each drop ticking into the bucket like a ticking clock.

"Can't you just pay donors?" you asked. "I'm sure your fans would volunteer."

You said it mostly because it seemed obvious. Two famous idols, one vampire, one succubus, and an entire city of people willing to embarrass themselves for a chance with one of them. Surely finding someone willing to offer a little blood couldn't be that hard.

Suguru's eyes did not move from you.

"They would," he said. "For the wrong reasons."

You weren't sure what to do with that.

Maybe you should have been more concerned. Maybe that was the correct response when a vampire started talking about living donors while standing close enough for you to see the shine of his fangs. But concern had gotten a little difficult to maintain in Hell. Everything here wanted something. At least Suguru seemed polite about his needs.

Satoru invaded your space even more than before, blue eyes bright despite the harsh lighting.

"Maybe you could be one."

Your hand paused over the scanner, catching his eyes with your own for a brief moment before grabbing another bag.

"A what?" you asked, though you had a feeling you already knew.

"A donor," Satoru said with a shrug, as if it were obvious, though you both knew you weren't going to admit that.

Suguru glanced at him, faintly disapproving. "You make it sound so crude."

Satoru's mouth curved playfully, keeping his manic eyes on you. "It is crude."

"It's practical."

"For you, maybe."

"Satoru."

The name came soft, but it landed neatly enough that Satoru only smiled wider. Almost like a puppy being acknowledged for doing something wrong, but wasn't exactly punished either.

His tail slid across the counter with serpentine grace. The dark, spiked tip of the heart brushed the side of your hand before curling loosely around your wrist. Not tight, but you were sure he could yank you toward them if he wanted, in a blink of an eye.

"You're still human, right?" Satoru asked, his voice dipping into a more taunting manner. "Warm blood, little pulse, a short sentence. What terrible thing could have sent you here, puppy?"

The nickname caught.

Worse, it warmed your face.

You hated that part most of all, the tiny, traitorous spark in your chest that happened whenever they came around. Echoes of last time floated up through the fuzz of your memory: Satoru's off-hand confession that you reminded them of a pet they once had.

You should have corrected him.

Instead, you looked down at his tail around your wrist and tried not to think too hard about how casual it felt. Familiar, almost, in a way that made no sense at all.

"Satoru," Suguru chided again.

This time, Satoru sighed and loosened his tail, though the tip lingered near your fingertips.

Suguru faced you fully, his voice slipping into something almost business-like, though a brief flash of annoyance cut through before smoothing away again. "We - no - I'll pay properly. Consistently. Nothing without consent. A small draw at a time."

The scanner beeped when your thumb brushed the trigger, pausing for a second before you forced yourself to keep ringing up their items.

"A small draw," you repeated.

Suguru nodded. "Enough to help me. Not enough to harm you."

That sounded reasonable.

A little strange, maybe, but a lot of things in Hell were strange. Last week, a ghoul had tried to pay for cigarettes with a jar of molars and three expired coupons. A blood donation contract with two rich idols was not the most horrifying offer you'd received recently. Actually, compared to your landlord, it was almost civilized.

"Interesting," you managed.

Rain tapped harder against the windows. The ceiling dripped. And all that remained was awkward silence before Satoru coughed.

"And we tip," Satoru added, lashes half-lowered over ocean blue, "very well."

You forced your eyes away from Suguru's face only to land on Satoru's. He looked pleased with the exchange, mouth curved around a soft bite of his lower lip, as if he already knew the money had caught your attention.

Which was annoying.

Because it had.

"Is a contract involved?" you asked. "Sukuna said I could only have one job at a time, and I’d rather not get eaten alive because I missed some fine print."

Satoru waved one hand as if brushing dust from a windowsill. "Sukuna won't do anything as long as we pay him."

Your stomach sank a little.

Not from fear, exactly. More from the miserable realization that, of course, that was how things worked. Hell had rules, but money made those rules.

Satoru leaned closer, smile brightening. "Why? You considering it?"

His tail gave the smallest pleased patter against the counter. Like a cat's tail wanting to show it's ready to pounce.

Suguru moved in before you could answer, his annoyance at Satoru flashing quick and sharp before his expression settled back into something gentler. "We can pay you out of your current position. Whatever you owe Sukuna, we'll cover. Whatever other debts you have, we can fold them into the contract."

Nanami's name came to mind before you could stop it.

Your throat ached.

You looked down at the scanner, pretending to check the total.

"That would be… a lot," you said.

"We can manage a lot," Suguru said with a gentle smile as he knocked on the table a lot before shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Especially for a puppy," Satoru hummed. "Think about it. You have our number."

Satoru paid in crisp bills that looked too fresh for this store. Suguru added a tip large enough to make your breath catch, then smiled as if he had done something perfectly ordinary.

By the time the bell above the door jangled behind them, the rain had blurred their figures into watercolor through the glass. Satoru glanced back once, lifting his fingers in a cheerful little wave. Suguru did not wave. He only looked at you through the rain-streaked window with the same calm patience he had carried the entire time.

You stood there until the register screen went dark.

Then you looked down at the tip.

It wasn't enough to fix everything. Not even close.

But it was enough to make the offer feel real.

Rent was coming up. You were still short on cash even after Sukuna’s miserable wages. Between owing Sukuna and Nanami. It wasn't exactly the worst option. People donate plasma all the time.

And it wasn't like they'd eat you alive.

Would they?

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Suguru hadn't expected to send a deal your way so soon.

He had always been better with patience.

Satoru, however, burned through his the same way a match devoured its own head, bright and careless of what came after. Suguru had learned to be slower. To savor the architecture of a downfall. To set each stone carefully, then watch you mistake the path for your own idea until the only road left led straight into his waiting arms.

The lotto ticket he and Satoru had purchased had been the first stone - planting the little idea in your mind to cheat on an exam. A deal with old man Sukuna to give them a lucky one if he got a piece of the cut.

A fair trade, though Suguru had been unwilling to agree at first. Need had a way of outgrowing logic. It would only be one time, he told himself. Surely, you would forgive him.

The next stone was Nanami.

It wasn't difficult to guess that you would end up in the cheapest apartments in town. It was even easier to send that grief-ridden orc a deal. Suguru could have forced him, bought out the complex, posed as your landlord, but force was messy. Grief can be coaxed, especially if you play nice enough.

A conversation between heartbroken souls. A sympathetic tilt of the head. His voice was kind as he spoke of old lovers and second chances, of souls misplaced by death and doors that could still be opened for the right price. He had watched Nanami's jaw tighten in thought. Witnessed that careful, moral man consider such a sinister offer.

All Nanami had to do was play along.

Push you where you needed to go.

Let his loneliness rot into something useful.

Suguru exhaled softly through his nose, the sound almost a laugh, almost a sigh. Beneath him, Satoru had shifted to nuzzle Suguru's crotch.

The succubus knelt between his lover's legs. White hair spilled through Suguru's fingers in soft, disordered strands, damp at the roots from rain and all that restless hunger Satoru carried beneath his skin. His horns, pale and smooth, caught the low amber light when he moved. His tail lashed once against the rug before curling around Suguru's ankle, impatient as his hands freed Suguru's cock.

Suguru threaded his fingers deeper into that snowy mess and guided his head down, pushing his glossy pink lips past the angry tip and all the way down to the dark hair at the base. The tail tightened around his ankle as Satoru gagged and choked before coming up for air with a blissed smile on his lips.

Satoru, at least, had never pretended to be patient.

He came home from your little store with his pupils blown wide, blue eyes too bright, mouth still curled around that awful little smile he wore whenever he had the chance to be near you. Suguru had seen it immediately. The flush along the tips of his pointed ears. The way his wings had flexed beneath his jacket, eager and cramped, as if he had needed to unfold himself around you and had only barely remembered not to.

Poor Satoru.

Always hunger first. Restraint second.

He had barely lasted long enough to get through the door before collapsing to the rug, long limbs eager to crawl to Suguru's feet, pressing his face against Suguru's thigh while whining about how cute you are when you're miserable.

Suguru had told him to be quiet.

Satoru didn't even consider listening, far more interested in moaning around his lover's cock.

Suguru tilted his head back, keeping a firm hand in Satoru's hair in case he decided to nip more than usual, picturing how the old you used to do the same.

But the new you was different and was handed a much more unfortunate set of cards.

You beneath the lights of that miserable store. That ugly vest hanging from your shoulders. The tired shine in your eyes as you pretended money didn't matter, and the shame of being the first to arrive in hell despite all your reincarnations.

He should have enjoyed it more.

He should've let you struggle a little longer, watched you claw through another week under Sukuna's thumb and endure Nanami with his grief-stricken appetite. That had been the plan, hadn't it? Hope, then pressure. Mercy, then need. A door opened only after every other exit had vanished.

Suguru knew better than to rush a cage.

A cage built too quickly looked like a cage.

And yet, when you had stood there looking at them as if they were an inconvenience instead of destiny, a new emotion pulled at his heart.

Not guilt.

Possession, perhaps.

Recognition.

The old ache of seeing your soul wearing a new life and knowing it still belonged to him. Your eyes held different memories. Your mouth formed different defenses. But the soul beneath it all still flinched all the same.

Still stubborn. Breakable. Trying so hard not to need anyone.

Suguru's fingers tightened in Satoru's hair.

Satoru made a muffled, pleased sound. Tongue sliding against the length, slurping around the tip before his tail began to slide up Suguru's thigh.

Sure, it felt good, but so did thinking of you.

So close and yet you were still staring at them as if they were strangers. As if they had not waited through death after death for you. As if Satoru had not ruined countless bodies trying to forget the sound of your voice. And that Suguru hadn't bargained and learned the shape of every dirty little rule Hell had to offer just to drag you back within reach.

You truly were a perfect reincarnation.

Suguru reached for his phone.

The screen lit beneath his thumb. Three tickets to the overworld waited in his cart, each one obscenely expensive and worth less than the look that would cross your face when you finally understood.

He purchased them without hesitation.

Their sentence would have to be made up eventually.

So would yours.

But what was time to creatures like them? What was punishment when money could ease the edges for a while? Creating a chain long enough to make sure each of you reincarnates together every single time.

Forever, if Hell allowed it.

And if Hell didn't, Suguru would simply find the rule that could be bought.

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You must have been incredibly stupid.

At least, you were more than sure that was what Sukuna would have said if he could see you now, currently tangled with not one, but two of his customers on the couch in his office.

The office he had sworn was off-limits to you.

It wasn't even the nice leather couch.

It was the questionable couch across from it, with the sunken cushion, a few questionable stains that smelled a little too off to be considered food or even sex, and a spring poking into your knee like it, too, was punishing you for your questionable decisions.

Satoru only laughed softly beneath you, ever the flirt with little to no shame. You straddled his waist while the warmth of his slender hands traveled over the span of your body, peeling clothes from your skin and tossing them onto the floor with ease. With each lost garment, he guided you deeper into another kiss, each press sweeter than the last and even cheekier with the occasional nip.

Not hard enough to draw blood.

That would certainly send Suguru into a frenzy.

Yet the sharp nips should have hurt, given his fangs. Instead, they sent heat low into your belly and dissolved every sensible thought in your pretty little head until they started packing their bags and leaving without a forwarding address.

You had read about succubi before. Hell, there were warning pamphlets attached to every box of condoms.

About how easy it was for them to make the mind go fuzzy. How one kiss could make someone more addicted to sex than any other drug imaginable. How desire could push every warning away and leave only the thought that this was, somehow, an incredible idea.

The pamphlets had undersold the experience entirely.

One kiss had been enough to make the pen slip from your fingers after signing. It made the contract seem small, just another set of terms and conditions you would've clicked through when registering for a new login. Temporary. Necessary. Probably fine, especially when every red flag that popped up in your mind slowly turned itself green.

Who cared if they were paying for your body?

Who cared about the little nicknames he kept calling you, like puppy, lover, or the way he kept murmuring about how much he missed this when you had never met him before? Let him picture whoever he wanted as long as you got your fill, right?

Satoru's lips moved with yours, guiding your hips against his. The growing hardness beneath you made your stomach twist with want, desperate to be filled. He could tell. You knew it by the little smirk he wore between kisses, and the soft, pleased hum under his breath that made the office feel far too cramped and hot.

Every kiss pulled another thought loose until all that remained was warmth, want, and the awareness that you were probably going to regret this later.

You heard a buckle unfasten and hoped it was Satoru, though your stomach churned at the feeling of someone behind you. A cold hand groped your breast while the other rested at your throat, pulling you away from Satoru's kiss only to guide your love-bitten lips to the owner of the cold hands. Suguru's tongue swept away any blood left from the small nips his lover had caused, all while Satoru shrugged his pants down from beneath you.

Maybe you got lost in Suguru kissing you senseless. Maybe it was the feeling of Satoru's thumb pushing your panties aside so he could touch you. Or maybe it was Suguru only breaking away to kiss your neck, soft enough to make you forget what his mouth was made for.

"Relax," Suguru whispered as you dropped yourself onto Satoru, who sang out one of the prettiest noises you had ever heard.

Manic blue eyes met yours as you slowly moved up and down, his hands helping guide you.

"All will be well."

You felt more of Satoru than you did the bite on your neck, more of his warmth than the dizzying pull of losing blood. Satoru thrust upward helplessly, with no real rhythm, only the need to push himself deeper, to keep you there, to fill the office with pitiful cries about how much he loved you and how he could not wait to spend eternity with you.

Suguru's hand stayed between your thighs, toying with your clit, until you cried out, drinking from you until he was full.

You only felt warmth after that.

The feeling of falling, then being held, then being wanted again before dozing off against Satoru's body while he continued his desperate rut and Suguru joined alongside him. No pain from being stretched full. Only the dizzy feeling that everything was going to be okay. Your blood scented the air, thick and sweet, but your mind couldn't care less.

It all felt too good.

Satoru's tail curled around your thigh with a pleased little flick.

"See?" he said, blue eyes hazed and half-lidded. "Told you we'd take care of you, puppy."

The nickname should have made you pull away.

It didn't.

Everyone was evil in Hell.

You knew that by now.

But with Satoru warm beneath you and Suguru cool against your back, with the rain tapping against the office window and the locked door keeping the rest of Hell outside, you let yourself believe, just for a moment, that maybe this version of hell would not feel so particularly awful.

Which, in hindsight, was probably how Hell got most people.

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You awoke to the long scrape of a rough tongue against your bare cunt and ass. Too big to be either Satoru's or even Suguru's tongue. You tried to move, but a large, firm hand was holding you in a rather embarrassing doggy-style position that left your more intimate regions exposed, with your cheek pressed against the coarse fibers of the couch. The softness of Satoru's chest was no longer there.

The spring still dug into your knee, far more aching now than before. Instead of heat swelling within your belly, it was just cold, hard fear.

"Satoru?" You croaked. A whimper had threatened to escape. Trying to remember what happened. When they left. Was this all just a cruel prank?

All you were greeted with was a far too familiar chuckle that sent your heart straight to your ass.

"Such a dumb dog," Sukuna cooed.

You felt a hot breath on your cunt before the rough muscle circled your tight rim with just the tip. Paired with a cold piercing that threatened to push past your hungry muscle. A hiccup escaped you before you tried to move. Only to remain where you were. One of his hands, maybe two? Sent a painful slap to your ass that had you yelping like the animal he claimed you to be.

"Mr. Sukuna." You tried not to whimper. You really did, but it was more of a sob that escaped you as his tongue spilled from his stomach, leaving his regular mouth free to speak. "I didn't mean to break - "

Another spank, much harsher than the last, paired with a playful whistle.

"Crybabies aren't really my type, but those two for your contract said I could get a little action. Y'know for breaking our agreement and all."

The tongue plunged through without care - the aphrodisiacs from Satoru must still be in effect. Despite the tearing feeling of being stretched to accommodate such girth and length, you felt like you were going into heat.

"I usually prefer cunt, but I don't exactly want to lick another man's cum, much less two - hope you don't mind me taking my payment"

You tried to form a sentence - most of the noises that escaped were more animal than anything else, " They didn't say - " the muscle continued to swirl eagerly inside you, "It's not in the contract."

Sukuna laughed loud enough that you could feel the vibrations from his tongue rattle your insides.

"Course it ain't. You think a couple of bastards like them are going to warn you before the dog bites?"

You twisted enough to look back at him, vision blurry, heart hammering somewhere high in your throat. He was smiling down at you with all four eyes bright beneath the singular office light, your folded contract pinched between two claws.

A bright red stamp: SOUL TIE ACCEPTED.

The muscle stopped its cruel movements, only for a second, as if Sukuna just wanted to see the look on your face when you realized how royally you had screwed up.

"What does that mean?"

Sukuna's grin widened.

"It means you really are a dumb dog, aren't you?"

You could only stare at him, mostly in mute horror.

He flicked the contract once, the paper snapping loud beneath the muffled hum of the convenience store outside.

"They didn't need a donor," he said. “Not with their money. Especially with all their willing fans. Hell, half the district would open a vein for those bastards - why would they need you?”

Your mouth parted, but nothing came out.

"They played you for their own reasons," Sukuna continued. “And you gave 'em an easy win."

The room started to spin, or maybe you were just about to throw up.

Satoru's easy affection. Suguru's gentleness. The contract. The money. The debt. Nanami's name curling like rot in your throat. Every choice you had made suddenly lined up in a neat little row, less like choices and more like stones placed exactly where your feet would fall.

Sukuna watched the realization crawl over your face.

There was no pity in him.

Only satisfaction.

"Enjoy the kennel, puppy," he said, tossing the contract onto the couch beside your face, right before continuing like your horror only added to the payment. "You'll probably be stuck with those bastards forever. Might as well help break you in, huh?"

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Suguru was supposed to stop by tonight. However, he had to take care of his "nuisance," as he called his wife. A rather bitter claim, considering the way he'd held you against his chest earlier, his arms wound around you, gentle yet trapping all the same. Keeping you there as Satoru sat beneath your exposed slit. Panties had become a clothing option removed around year three or four, and he tentatively lapped at your juices while Suguru's fingers brushed through your hair. You could still hear his voice, soft and warm despite the cruelty hidden beneath. A thick finger had tilted your chin upward until your weary, blissed-out gaze met his half-lidded violet one.

"If I could stay here with you all day, I would, but duty calls, my dove."

You only wished you were the bird he claimed you to be. At least then you would have wings. The horizon would belong to you instead of them. A treat to imagine sometimes, usually on nights when sleep refused to come despite the drugs in your system fighting for your body to rest. Endless skies painted in baby blues and golden rays. Freedom so vast it hollowed your chest with longing. Anything would be better than a cage, even an endless sleep.

You supposed it was a mercy that Suguru wasn't here tonight. No risk of being dragged from your crate and into their bed in the dead hours of the morning. No Satoru burying his face against your throat, his voice dissolving into desperate little whimpers as he begged you not to leave him with his cock nestled deep inside you. Sometimes you wondered if he was searching for the woman he had once loved. Not you. Not the person you'd become after your wedding night, after discovering what kind of monster you had married.

You should have run. Should have thrown yourself from the hotel balcony and trusted the pavement more than the man waiting at the end of the aisle. Instead, you stayed. Or perhaps you were simply too pathetic to leap.

The beeping continued as your thoughts drifted through a haze of exhaustion. When you stirred again, your mouth felt stuffed with cotton. Satoru must have put too much in your kibble last night. Yet something felt off. After seven years of hell, one learned to recognize the smallest inconsistencies. You couldn't taste the lingering graininess. Nor the taste of the chalky bitterness of crushed multivitamins. All you could hear was that soft, rhythmic beep from a machine nearby.

For a moment, you wondered if you'd finally gone mad. Perhaps this was what happened when a bird spent too long in a cage.

Then other sounds emerged from the fog.

Voices. Footsteps. The distant murmur of nurses drifting through a hallway.

Your eyes fluttered open.

Fluorescent lights glared overhead, nothing like the perpetual twilight of the basement you'd come to know so intimately. Beneath you was not the cold metal flooring of the crate but the soft embrace of a mattress, swallowing you in warmth, like Suguru's waiting arms. The air smelled sterile and clean, yet beneath the antiseptic lingered the overwhelming fragrance of flowers. Bouquets crowded every available surface, vibrant bursts of life pressed into a room that felt strangely unreal.

A hospital.

Before you could fully process the realization, another sound reached you. Familiar footsteps.

"Visiting hours are over, Satoru!" a nurse called after him, irritation dripping off the tongue. You wished you could tell her not to waste the effort.

You could practically picture the careless shrug he'd offer in response. The charming smile. The complete disregard for rules that were never meant for men like him. Because knowing Satoru, he probably brushed right past her without a second glance. And knowing Satoru, he probably believed he owned the place.

Perhaps he did.

The Gojo family owned enough of the city to make the distinction meaningless. And Satoru Gojo sat comfortably at the center of it all.

You squeezed your eyes shut, counting sheep in an attempt to calm your racing heart. One. Two. Three. Anything to avoid confronting whatever strange dream this was. A hospital? Had you done something in your sleep?

The click of the door interrupted your counting. You stumbled somewhere between sheep twenty-three and twenty-seven. You'd have to start over. Ever the nuisance, Satoru somehow managed to invade even your sheep counting.

"Hey, baby."

Your ears perked at the softness in his voice. You'd grown so accustomed to his exaggerated baby-talk over the years that normal speech sounded almost foreign coming from him.

"I brought you more flowers. I don't want you to miss a year of us together. Happy year three."

You heard the quiet clack of a vase settling onto what little space remained. A moment later, the mattress dipped beside you. A careful gesture, as if the bed might break from his presence. Or you might too. An arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you close, mindful of IV lines and wires. You felt him shake. Once. Twice. Almost in time with your counting of sheep. Maybe he knew you were awake. Maybe he thought enough comfort might coax you back to him. A moment later, something warm dampened your hairline.

Tears.

You refused to process them. Satoru had cried before. Thrown tantrums. Pouted. Begged. Sulked when you forced yourself behind the couch, and he could no longer reach you, forcing him to call for Suguru to deal a punishment. This type of tear was different, far more raw than the version you've seen. As if you'd taken a beak to his ribs and pecked straight through his heart, splitting it open just for you.

"Suguru says it's time to move on. Says you and I were only arranged, that I shouldn't have gotten so attached."

Silence settled between you, and despite everything, your chest loosened.

You hated that it did.

Hated that hearing his voice still felt like coming home. How your body relaxed into him. As if some part of you recognized him as safety.

When he was the reason you needed saving.

You tried to remember the bites, the bruises, the cage, the crate, the years. You tried to remember every violation against your human rights disguised as affection, everything that should have filled you with disgust. Yet all you could feel was the way he clung to you now. Broken. Loving.

His face nuzzled against your temple. Wet kisses pressed against your skin, not heated and open-mouthed like usual, but damp from the tears spilling freely down his cheeks. You could almost picture those impossibly blue eyes glistening.

Maybe it had all been a nightmare.

A horrible, twisted nightmare.

"Suguru says we'll get rid of the crate," he whispered, his voice cracking as his lanky body trembled beside you. "If you come home with us."

The words shattered the fragile hope forming inside your chest.

If it had all been a nightmare, then why did he know about the crate?

And why would you trust a man like him?