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TWO: The West's Most Wanted.

THREE: From One Killer To Another.

FOUR: She's Such A Tyrant!

FIVE: No Tell Motel.

SIX: For A Sinner's Ears Only.

SEVEN: Hit 'Em Up!

EIGHT: Good Damage.

NINE: Kiss Me Gently in the Morning.

TEN: Somethin' Wicked This Way Comes.

ELEVEN: A Helping Hand.

TWELVE: Toxic.

THIRTEEN: Easing the Pain.

FOURTEEN: Sweet Medicine.

FIFTEEN: Starting Fresh.

SIXTEEN: A New Change.

SEVENTEEN: Misdirection.

EIGHTEEN PT I: In The Summer Breeze.

EIGHTEEN PT II: Pour Some Sugar on Me.

NINETEEN: Ain't Too Proud to Beg.

TWENTY: Them Changes.

TWENTY-ONE: Movin' On.

TWENTY-TWO: Untameable.

TWENTY-THREE: The III Most Wanted.

TWENTY-FOUR: Ride It, Sugar.

EPILOGUE.

They are known for their impressive yet terrifying speed when it comes to cocking and shooting their guns. You’ve heard of them killing all kinds of wanted criminals and even other gunslingers in other counties. Everyone knows them…and so do you. 

If a record was playing, the damn thing would be scratching by now with the way the saloon reacts to seeing the gunslingers in the flesh. Whispers begin to rise from the silence, including from Yuki, Mai, and Maki who have wandered over. “Oh, my God,” Mai gasps. “It’s the Gunslingers!” 

“What the hell are they doin’ here?” Maki wonders aloud, peering at them from behind her spectacles. “Are they lookin’ for someone? I thought they’d been arrested!” 

And they were, last year. At some point, the articles of criminals, corporation owners, and high rollers found dead with bullets in them and a note from “G & G” left at the scene stopped when they were arrested after that train heist. And you know it has everything to do with your boss. 

“Who cares?” Yuki dreamily sighs as she stares at the gunslingers with heart eyes. “I get to admire them in person now! Aren’t they delicious?” 

“Keep it in your pants, Yuki,” Choso grumbles, tugging on a lock of the blonde’s hair as she giggles. “They ain’t even all that.” 

“Of course not,” Yuki purrs, making Choso blush. “Not above you, Chosi, but a cowboy hat would do you so well!”

Even you will admit that the “wanted dead or alive” posters don’t do them justice: they are fine as all hell, straight out of a woman’s wet dreams. But they are also outlaws. And you despise outlaws…for personal reasons. 

The duo begins to look around the silent saloon, Gojo’s head slowly turning despite his blindfold. When his head turns toward you, you feel as if the air has been stolen from your very lungs. Despite the fabric covering his eyes, you feel as if he sees you. All of you. 

Gojo nudges Geto with his elbow before waltzing over to the bar, his boots thudding across the hardwood floor. Geto follows, ignoring the whispers and stares in his wake. The piano has begun to pick up again, but it does nothing to ease the tension swimming in the air. Quickly, you turn to face your drink while the girls scatter to work, leaving you to fend for yourself. 

Geto sits on the stool beside you while Gojo takes the one beside him. You feel the air around you become stiff and tense as the outlaws settle into their seats. “So what’s a cowboy gotta do to get a drink round here?” Gojo asks with a smirk. “Can ya help a guy out, miss?” 

He gives Shoko a flirty look, not knowing that this girl is gay as hell. “I could damn sure try,” she replies, barely giving him a smile. “What will you fellas have?” 

“I’ll take a Long Island iced tea,” Gojo says then laughs. “Just kiddin’! A beer, please.” 

Geto takes a moment to examine the shelves of alcohol behind Shoko. He then looks at your pretty drink. “I’ll take what the lady is havin’,” he answers. “Actually, what is that you got there, miss?” 

His dark, enchanting eyes meet yours and you ignore the butterflies they invoke inside of you. “Whiskey smash,” you blandly reply. He hums thoughtfully at the name. “Hm…is it good?” 

You tick your eyes at him briefly, secretly admiring his features. “If you like your whiskey with some sweetness to it, sure.” 

A slow smirk appears on his face. “Oh, I definitely do,” he drawls. “I like sweetness with my everything.” 

You swallow hard, sure you have a cherry pit in your throat. Gojo chuckles from beside his partner, flashing you a white-toothed smile. “Oooh, me too. I’ll third that, ma’am!” Shoko nods and shoots you a look before wandering off to fix the drinks. 

You do your best to keep calm and act normal, sipping your drink and trying to relax. At some point, the silence becomes thicker, prompting one of the gunslingers to speak on it. “Welcomin’ place,” Gojo sniggers. “I feel so at home.” Geto quietly chuckles from between you and Gojo. “Let’s just settle this, Satoru. We won’t be here long.” 

‘Settle what?’ you wonder, but you know that they are here for Kento. Shoko comes back with the frothy, red drinks, lowering them in front of the gunslingers. 

“Thank you kindly,” Gojo chirps before taking a sip. Geto nods his thanks but doesn’t drink his right away. Instead, he goes into his pocket and retrieves a folded piece of paper. He unfolds it and slides it across the bar to Shoko. “I don’t suppose you know who this guy is.” 

You peek down at the paper, finding it to be a “Wanted” poster with your boyfriend and boss looking back at you. Kenzo aka “Valentine” looks much different than when you met him. On the poster, he is clean and shaven, has longer, shaggier hair, and has a distinguished scar on his left eye. 

But of course, this is the gunslinger who robbed people blind and just pulled a train heist and massacre in the town of Cherrywood a year before with his crew, Geto, and Gojo. The man who takes his place now is “Kenzo”, a humble saloon owner who sometimes dabbles in illegal activity to fund his saloon.  

Valentine, a criminal on the lam and your outlaw boyfriend, is known for using his looks, charm, and violence to get what he wants. He is a man who loves money, women, and jewels. As a notorious criminal and outlaw, he has bounced from place to place, county to county, robbing folks and then laying low before starting again. 

He was arrested for robbing the Cherrywood regional train and having his crew massacre all its riders before you met him. Originally, he was given a fifty-year sentence but escaped after serving five weeks just by seducing a prison guard and then knocking him out to steal the cell keys. 

You were hot on his trails when he showed up in Blackwater a year later and met you in a whorehouse that you purposely took a job in since he frequented it. He took one look at you and immediately fell in love with you (and your body), proposing you a job at his saloon. “You could be mine,” he told you. “My girl.” You agreed and the rest is history. 

“I’ve heard of him, yeah,” Shoko replies as she cleans a glass. 

“Is it possible you’ve seen him around?” Geto ponders aloud. “I don’t know if you’re aware, but he escaped Cherrywood a year ago after robbin’ a train and massacrin’ everyone on it. He’s wanted in about nine different counties.” 

Shoko takes another brief look at the poster before someone flags her down from the end of the bar. Saved by the bell. “I can’t say I have seen him, fellas,” she apologetically says. “‘Scuse me.” 

She hurries off, leaving you with the two cowboys. “How ‘bout you, ma’am?” Geto asks, passing the poster to you. “You recognize this face by any chance?” 

You look down, studying Valentine’s face. You have, but first, you need to read these guys. “I’ve seen him in the posters, but not in person. May I ask why you two are here?” 

You keep it casual and curious, making sure you don’t sound too suspicious. “We were paid by a private source to track down Valentine for his crimes,” Geto vaguely explains. 

“And for personal business,” Ghetto adds with a smirk. “You see, we were in, uh…business with Valentine some time ago and never got our cut.” He doesn’t need to go into anymore detail than that. You know exactly what he’s talking about.

“We don’t like bein’ played with,” he says, his voice dipping an octave, sending a chill down your spine. “Or when someone’s money is funny, so we came here to exchange words with him.” 

‘Words or bullet?’ you want to ask, but you instead bite your tongue and sip your drink. 

“We’ve been told he was last seen in this town,” Geto explains. “We figured everyone comes to saloons so why not check here?” He slides the poster away from you, a kind yet flirty smile crossing his beautiful face. “But even if he isn’t, we can still enjoy a drink with a pretty lady.” 

You roll your eyes, having heard that line before. “Does that line work with all the girls?” you scoff. Gojo coughs up his whiskey as he laughs, but Geto doesn’t take it to heart. In fact, he chuckles. “I see not with you,” he replies. 

“I like that,” Gojo states once he’s recovered, his blindfolded eyes set dead on you. “You’ve gotta be the first person who isn’t scared of us or tryin’ to jump in bed with us.”

You passively shrug, twirling your tongue around the rim of the glass. “I’ve been ‘round gunslingers in my time.” 

At this, the duo share a look unbeknownst to you, quite interested in the pretty thing sitting with them at the bar. “Oh, really?” Gojo drawls and you realize your mistake. “Any of these encounters you’d care to share, little lady? I’m quite interested.”

Geto nods, his gaze like molten fire. “I am too.” 

You suddenly feel your mouth grow dry and your cheeks become hot. Your body reacts in a way it never has with any man you’ve been with, not even Eren, your first love!

The way they continue to stare at you, giving you their undivided and unwanted attention, is even worse. What is wrong with you? 

Luckily, your boss comes to the rescue, barreling up to the bar like he wasn’t watching the duo from afar and shaking in his boots. “Oh, gentlemen!” he shouts, giving them both a hard, eager handshake. “Welcome, welcome! Can I offer you two another drink or a dance free of charge?” 

Gojo ignores him like he isn’t even talking, leaving Geto to handle this. “Thanks, but no thanks,” he says, plastering on a kind smile. “We’re here for some information about him.” He passes Kenzo the poster and you watch in real time as the color in your boyfriend’s face drains. 

“Have you seen this guy anywhere?” Geto asks, squinting at him. Gojo peers at him from under his hat, his stare intense even with the blindfold. Kenzo clears his throat and leans in to whisper to Geto. You pretend to ignore them though you secretly strain to hear. “Let’s talk in private,” he whispers. “Even the walls have ears, I’m afraid.” 

Geto nods and nudges Gojo who sighs and downs the rest of his drink. To your shock, Geto puts a hand out to you for a shake. Though hesitantly, you take his hand and feel the room grow hotter than a sauna when he places a gentle kiss on your knuckles.

“It was a pleasure meetin’ you, ma’am,” he softly says. “Hopefully, we’ll cross paths again.” 

His eyes gleam as he tips his hat at you, leaving Gojo to follow Kenzo upstairs. Gojo doesn’t follow right away, instead digging into his pocket for some coins and placing them on the bar in front of you. “For your drink,” he says with a wink. “Have a good night, little miss.” 

Then, just like Geto, he leaves as if he didn’t just steal the air you breathe with it.

You just giggle again, tipping your head back to offer up more of the canvas of your neck. You know you should be taking this more seriously — there's unimaginable darkness hanging over both your heads at every turn. But you just got married, and he's kissing all over you and it tickles just a little and his voice is in your ear and his hands are on your body and he's back.

After nineteen days of hell, he's back.

You let out a happy hum, your eyes fluttering closed as his kisses move down the curve of your neck towards your shoulder. His mouth is warm, his hands are warm, his chest is warm against yours. He's warm, and he's here, and so solid against you that you finally allow yourself to soften against him once more.

"Wasn't today so beautiful?" you breathe as your head drops just a bit further, your back arched like a dancer's into his body. He lets out an appreciative hum, mirroring yours, fingers curling tighter into the white lacy fabric at your hips.

"You kidding?" he says, and his kisses start to slow. His tongue brushes against your pulse just enough to send a shiver through you. "It was perfect. Fucking perfect." His fingers dig a little deeper into your plush hips, forcing your body to curve more sensually against his. "You looked so beautiful. Always do, but fuck, something about you wearing this dress, wearing my ring…" He lets out a playful little growl and starts up another barrage of kisses.

And you just laugh, and you close your eyes, smiling so broadly that your cheeks ache, and you remember what it's like to be loved by him so wholly and completely.

As he makes his way down your neck, his tongue now joining his lips as he licks a line of heat up the curve of your throat towards your ear. A delicious shiver runs up your spine, desire pooling deep in your pelvis as his breath fans across your cheek. He nips at your jaw again, but this time it's not so playful; it's a graze of teeth meant to make your breath hitch.

Which it does.

You can feel his grin — taunting, now, predatory — against your skin as his hands finally start to roam. It starts with him gently circling your hip bones through your dress. Then his hands move up, one following the curve of your spine and the other tracing up your belly and chest. His palm passes purposefully over one of your breasts but doesn't linger, instead moving to cradle the side of your neck.

Then, finally, he raises his lips to yours. And this kiss is ravenous.

It's all tongue and teeth, like he's devouring you, tasting every inch he can reach because for so long he was trapped without even the faintest memory of you. He had to keep his mind clear, after all, so he couldn't think about your taste, about your body beneath his hands, against his chest, under him while he—

He has to pull away to take a ragged breath so he doesn't push you face-first into the mattress, pull your panties aside, and fuck you into oblivion.

Because this is supposed to be the start of forever, and he wants to do it right.

He wanted to do all of it right. He always promised you a grand wedding, with as many guests as you wanted and no holds barred. He wanted to give you everything: the flowers, the wedding gown, the fancy venue, the overpriced food and an open bar and the best photographer he could find to capture the whole thing on camera.

He always promised you everything.

And then he got sealed.

He never doubted he'd get out. Not really. He spent the whole time honing his technique even further, wiped away every memory of you and anything else he'd lost just to stay sane.

Just to survive.

He never doubted he'd get out, but he knew that you were starting to wonder.

He knew it was hard not to. You trusted him, had the utmost faith in him, but as days passed without him, you couldn't help but fear the worst.

How were you supposed to live the rest of your life — a life you'd planned to live alongside him — all alone?

So when he was finally released, he came home to you as quickly as he could. He didn't knock on the front door of your shared home; he teleported straight inside, and when you turned around from making yet another microwave meal, you dropped the shitty pasta that tasted like the plastic it came in onto the kitchen floor with a splatter of red sauce.

Neither of you stopped to take in the wreckage before you threw yourself into his arms, wrapping your limbs tightly around him to keep him from disappearing again.

You planned the wedding in secret. The two of you snuck away in between grueling strategy sessions, and you bought a cheap white cocktail dress with just enough lace to look like a bride, and you made Ijichi take five minutes to get ordained online.

He pronounced the two of you husband and wife, and Satoru kissed you like he still expected forever.

It wasn't the wedding he promised. It wasn't the wedding either of you dreamed of. But you couldn't stop smiling when he kissed you for the first time as your husband.

Then he reserved the most expensive honeymoon suite in town, for one single night. Just enough to celebrate your first night married before he has to leave.

Because both of you know he has to. It's never been a doubt that when a world-ending threat presented itself, Satoru would have to go.

He'd have to face it, and ultimately, he would be alone when he did.

But, at least for now, he's got you here with him.

He lets out a shaky breath as he breaks the kiss and rests his forehead against yours, letting his eyes close as he tries to slow down. He wants to cherish this moment. Wants to be able to hold this memory in his mind when he faces Sukuna — the curse inside the body of the boy he raised — and fight like he isn't terrified to end Megumi's life, too.

He wants to take you with him, even if it's only in the back of his mind and the ring on his finger.

You raise a hand, gentle as always, cradling his cheek in your palm like he's fragile. He lets out a small little huff, because you're the only one who treats him like that, like he's a treasure beyond mortal value.

"You okay?" you whisper, and when he opens his eyes again, he sees you looking up at him with equal amounts of tenderness and concern in your eyes. Your brows pinch together a little in the middle in the way he loves so much, because it means you care about him enough to worry.

At the sight, his lips curl up just a little at the corners, and he turns his head just enough to press a lingering kiss to your palm, so meaningful it makes your heart ache in the sweetest way. But the smile doesn't quite touch his eyes. After all this time, you can tell.

"Yeah," he whispers back, his lips brushing against your palm, and he looks at you with those eyes of cracked quartz, and you can see that flash of vulnerability there before he schools his expression back into that playful joy he always exudes when he's with you. "I'm perfect. Actually…" His fingers start to roam once more, dipping beneath lace as he puts on that familiar wolfish smile and lowers his voice, "I'm really eager to fuck my wife. That okay with you?"

You can't help it; you let out a breathy little laugh, eyes sparkling up at him as you allow him to skirt the question. You let him pull you into his chest once more, and he's looking down at you like he wants to eat you up and lick the plate clean, and you feel equal parts prey and beloved under his heated gaze. "You can't be a little more romantic?" you tease, though you don't really mean the complaint. You love when he tells you exactly what he wants to do with (to) you; it makes anticipation clench low in your belly as his voice coaxes you towards inevitable pleasure.

But he, as always, takes your tease in stride, his smile broadening into a grin as he leans down and murmurs, "You want me to say I'll make love to you? That I'll take my time, unwrap you like a gift? That I'll kiss every part of you just to profess my undying love?" His fingers toy with the edge of lace lining your skirt as he leans in just enough for his lips to brush your ear again, his voice lowering even further until it reaches an intimate purr, "But, baby…" His touch dips just slightly below the lace trim, his hands hot on your skin, "didn't I already do that at the altar?"

This time, you're not laughing. This time, at his touch, your breath hitches softly in the back of your throat. The heat of his hands seems to seep all the way through you to your very bones until it pools low in your belly.

And Satoru's six eyes follow the trail of fire, his grin never faltering.

Then he lifts those dangerous, taunting, loving eyes to meet yours, and both of you are already leaning towards each other, your lips parting before they even meet his.

When they do, it's like the raging inferno inside you finally erupts.

This kiss doesn't start slowly, romantically, sensually. It starts like he's trying to crawl inside you and taste every inch, like he wants to break you open like ripe fruit and devour your sweet flesh. His tongue swipes at your lower lip, and his hand is already coming up to squeeze your jaw and open you up for the taking. The kiss is sloppy, spit collecting at the corners of your lips, but he drinks it down like ambrosia, like he's desperate for it.

As the taste of you fills his mouth, he lets out a raged groan — equal parts relief for what he's been given and frenzy for what he still needs. His hand moves from your jaw to the back of your head, long fingers tangling in your hair as he tilts your head further. He's insatiable, now that he's had a taste of his newly wedded wife, his other hand gripping your thigh and sliding up, up, up under your skirt towards your ass, pushing up the lacy hem of your dress.

Then, before he can reach the curve of your backside, his fingers bump against something frilly and elastic, and he lets out a low, pained groan when he realizes it's a garter.

"Fuck, baby," he pants — almost whimpers — against your lips, his fingers toying with the scalloped edges. "I thought you said this shit was — what did you call it? — trad wife propaganda to make a spectacle out of your virginity?"

You pull back just enough to smile up at him, your teeth lightly grazing his lower lip as you do. He chases you momentarily, dilated pupils trained on your swollen, spit-glossed lips. You whisper, quiet and intimate, "Well, I'm not a virgin, and there's no one here to watch. Do you like it?"

Teasingly, so he doesn't lose the upper hand, he pulls the garter an inch and lets the elastic band snap! back into place against your outer thigh. You jump a little at the slight sting, a soft gasp escaping from between your lips. "I love it. Now, let me do this right." And before you can protest, or even ask what he means, he's finally backing you up against the edge of the bed and laying you down across the sheets and rose petals.

He takes a moment to look down at you, his bright eyes — lidded, now, with lust — trailing over every perfect inch of you. They trace your facial features, your pretty eyes and tempting lips, even the angle of your chin that leads lower. They trace the elegant slope of your neck, the curve of your collarbones into your shoulders, then back to your sternum where his view is obscured by your sweetheart neckline.

He grunts at the sight, the sound playful but needy at the edges. His large, warm palms glide up your plush thighs, pushing underneath your skirt.

And then his lips follow the path his eyes took, kissing his way down your face, your neck, your chest. Then he moves lower, settling his broad shoulders between your thighs, and ducks his head under your skirt, too.

His breath ghosts over your inner thighs, and your back arches just a little off the bed, expecting him to kiss his way up towards your cunt. But instead he kisses his way towards the top curve of your thigh, pausing when he reaches the frilly white garter.

He parts his lips and takes the lace between his teeth, and he slowly, teasingly, reverently tugs the elastic band down your thigh. As he does, his warm breath causes goosebumps to rise along your skin, and his lips brush your thigh as he drags the garter towards your knee.

Your pussy clenches at the languid, intimate sensations.

You can't see his expression beneath your skirt; he's fully obscured, hidden beneath the lace. But you can feel every movement he makes like electricity crackling over your skin, and your breathing starts to hitch at his light touches. You feel his rumbling hum against the sensitive skin of your thigh, and when the elastic finally crests your knee, he drags the garter off in one final, fluid movement. He finally emerges from beneath your skirt, his hair rumpled and his eyes heated as he meets your eyes once more.

The sight of that lace between his teeth makes the flame in your belly burst into an uncontrollable burn.

He turns his head and drops the garter to the bed beside you, and then he's moving back up your body, his hands still roaming your thighs beneath your dress, hiking the white fabric up around your hips. Both of you are breathing heavier, now, sharing heated air between your lips before he finally kisses you again, his mouth insistent on yours. His hands reach the curve of your ass and start kneading the plump flesh there, his fingers digging in as he pulls your hips forward to rock against his.

The delicious friction of his bulge nudging your thinly covered clit makes your head fall back against the pillows. You feel sparks of pleasure all the way to your fingertips every time your hips roll against each other. His eyes watch your reaction, taking it in and filing it away like he does with everything about you. He starts a slow but firm rhythm, the coarse fabric of his slacks dragging against the sheer fabric of your panties.

When your lashes start to flutter, pleasure burning through your core, he raises one hand to thread his fingers through your hair and keep you in place. "Eyes on me, baby," he pants against your lips, forcing you to watch him while he teases you.

You let out a soft, desperate whine, your brows creasing in a supplicant expression. You want him, need him, have waited to have him like this and now it feels like you're racing against the clock and you have to feel him, your husband, inside you before he leaves—

But he doesn't rush. He just grinds against you, soft grunts and little pants escaping. And all the while, your gazes are locked, intertwined so intimately it feels like you really are one soul now.

Bound forever, in love, in life, in death.

His hips start to stutter at the peak of each thrust, now, and you can feel his cock throbbing, twitching against your own swollen clit. A low, breathless groan rumbles through his chest. "Fuck," he whispers, his voice shaking slightly with the effort of holding himself back. "I g-gotta feel you, or I'm gonna—" He swallows thickly, his fingers tightening at your hips. "I'm gonna fucking cum before we get started."

You giggle quietly, your hands sinking into his thick hair. He shivers at the touch, his hips jerking against yours again. "I wouldn't mind seeing that," you tease, leaning in to nuzzle his nose affectionately with yours.

He lets out another playful growl, leaning in and pressing more messy, noisy kisses to your cheek and jaw, making you giggle harder again. "Next time," he promises, pulling away with an obnoxious mwahhh just to move his hands from your hips to the zipper between your shoulder blades.

His hand is warm against your spine as he drags the zipper down, opening up your last-minute wedding dress like you are, indeed, a perfectly wrapped gift.

Then he helps shimmy the dress down your body, and you lift your hips so he can remove it fully and drop it off the end of the bed.

His breath catches at the sight of your sheer white lingerie, and his hands pause at your hips like he can't believe you're so radiant beneath him.

"God," he huffs softly, shaking his head in disbelief as he traces his eyes over every inch of you. Your tits are cupped perfectly in unlined lace, and the white teddy follows the natural curves of your body, a thin lace gusset barely hiding what lies beneath. "My wife is so fucking beautiful." His voice shakes again, but this time it's with the overwhelming emotion flowing through him, affection and awe and astonishment that you're his for the rest of his life, and for every moment after.

Your eyes soften, and one hand trails down from his hair to gently stroke his cheek. "I love you," you whisper, for the millionth time, knowing it will never be enough.

He lets out a heavy breath and leans back in to kiss you, catching your lips with ragged desperation. His palm grazes up your tummy towards your breasts, cupping one and giving a gentle, lingering squeeze before moving to the other.

"I love you, too," he rasps against your mouth, sounding winded, like the sheer amount of love in his body has knocked the breath out of him. "So, so much."

And then he slowly, gently removes your lingerie, leaving you — finally — fully bare beneath him.

He's still fully dressed, even as he lowers himself between your thighs, pushing your knees apart so his shoulders can fit. His eyes finally lock on your dripping, puffy cunt, and he lets his breath brush against your slick folds for one long moment, then two. Your hips rise in anguish, a soft whine bubbling up as you wordlessly beg him to taste you…

He relents, and drags his tongue against your heated core, letting out a deep groan as his eyes roll back at your taste. He licks from your dripping, clenching entrance to your throbbing clit, and you let out a soft sigh of relief as he finally touches you. Your cunt quivers under the stimulation, and your thighs twitch on either side of his head as pleasure sparks deep inside your gut.

And then, all at once, he's no longer teasing. No longer holding back. He spreads your folds with his thumbs and starts to feast, like he's been starving for you all day. He sucks on your clit, shooting another arc of tingling pleasure through you. Your pussy squeezes desperately around nothing, and it's so much so suddenly that you cry out, your hips jolting against his mouth.

His eyes sparkle with satisfaction as he raises them to meet yours, and one hand comes up to hold your hip firmly against the mattress.

He suckles on your clit in deep, rhythmic pulls, his tongue rubbing insistently against it for dual stimulation. You feel your clit throb harder, your cunt clench tighter, and you let out a weak plea, "Oh, god…!"

He never once pulls away, not even to smirk up at you and teasingly ask, "Already, baby?" He knows you need this, need him to draw this pleasure out of you like poison out of a wound, and he knows just how to eat you out to make you lose your mind. You chase the pleasure he so willingly and eagerly gives, feebly rolling your hips against his tongue. The motion grinds your clit so perfectly that you can't help but cry out another symphony of needy whimpers and drawn out moans.

Even after all these years, your climax comes crashing down on you embarrassingly quick. Your head hits the pillows, and you're practically singing for him while he plays you like his favorite instrument. Your walls clamp down hard, your thighs going rigid as you finally tumble over the edge of the peak of tear-jerking pleasure. The moans that fall from your lips are loud and uninhibited, and you can feel the pride radiating off of him as he helps you ride out your orgasm, his tongue never stopping its quick, determined movements against your clit.

But when your hips finally fall still against the mattress and your chest rises and falls with blissed out gasps, he doesn't pull away. He keeps his eyes on your face, his hands on your hips, and his mouth on your clit.

Your eyes roll back, your fingers curl desperately into the sheets for something to hold onto, and your back arches into a brutal curve. Another loud moan rips its way out of you, so intense you're sure the neighbors are already calling the front desk to make a noise complaint. The pleasure that had no chance to recede now continues to build, heat flaring through you so brightly that it's nearly blinding, your vision flashing white. But Satoru doesn't ease up; he just continues sucking on your clit, keeping that same steady, mind-melting rhythm.

Your first orgasm doesn't even have time to end before you're cumming again on his tongue. And still he doesn't stop, too caught up in the sights and sounds of your pleasure to pull away. You try to roll out from under him, the motions thoughtless and instinctual as the sensations crest, almost too intense now. But his fingers dig into your hips more firmly, keeping you locked beneath him as he watches your expression crumple, your moans turning into thoughtless cries as you finally release the sheets, only to grip his hair tightly, sobbing out his name. You're not even sure if you're trying to push him away or pull him closer.

"F-fuck," you hiccup, your back rising off the bed once more as your voice pitches higher and higher, "I-I'm gonna—"

He hums against your clit, never slowing or interrupting his rhythm as he nods, just a little. Encouraging you, telling you it's okay, more than okay, exactly what he wants from you.

With his permission, you shatter.

The tension that has been building in your pelvis and abdomen and thighs, the tightness in your muscles that felt so good it was almost painful, finally gives way to shuddering waves of intensity. Your brain is mush; you're not even sure this is pleasure anymore. It feels more like desolation, destruction, the tearing apart of your mind and piecing it together in the way he conducts it.

As you cum once more, your sobbing moans filling the suite with broken, melodic tones, you feel that tension melt in the inferno of your ecstasy, and that burning heat erupts between your legs, soaking Satoru's chin and lips and parts of his cheeks.

You can't see him through your dark, hazy vision, or past the single tear that sears its way down your temple towards your hairline, but he's looking up at you like you just offered him nectar of the gods.

When the waves finally settle, and your body sags against the bed, Satoru finally lets go with a lewd pop. He doesn't pull away, though, instead slowly and gently licking you clean, his eyes still on your face the whole time.

Your mind is so foggy, pulverized to dust after the back-to-back orgasms, that you don't even really process that he's still touching you. Your body is almost numb in the wake of your pleasure, tingling up your limbs all the way to the tips of your fingers and toes. Your chest heaves with each burdened gasp, your eyes half-open but unseeing as you let the aftershocks slowly bleed out of you. It takes you a couple minutes to get your breathing under control, and even once it starts to slow, you still can't lift your head from the pillows. Finally, once he's mostly cleaned you up — there's little he can do about the damp spot in the sheets below you — he lifts his head and grins up at you, pressing a gentle, affectionate kiss to your trembling thigh.

"Good, baby?" he asks softly, pulling away just enough to wipe his mouth with the sleeve of his dress shirt. You just watch him, still panting softly, but a small, hazy smile tugs at the corners of your lips.

He smiles back and presses one last kiss to your thigh before trailing his kisses upwards once more. They're slower, now, more intimate. He pauses momentarily with every press of his lips, letting you feel the heat of his mouth and the adoration behind each kiss. As he works his way up your body, his body finally presses against yours again, his hard, aching dick pressing between your puffy lower lips. His hips settle between yours, and he groans as your heat seeps right through his slacks.

You whimper and move your hands to his sides, tugging impatiently on the crisp fabric of his dress shirt. "Why are you still dressed?" you complain, pouting when he pulls back to look at your face.

He lets out a breathless laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he leans in to whisper teasingly in your ear, "Impatient, are we?"

Before you can answer, or whine again, he leans back, kneeling tall between your legs, and starts unbuttoning his shirt. You watch as he does, watch his long slender fingers work over the buttons, watch the way the tendons in his hands flex and contract, watch the way shadows shift over the veins there, making his hands look capable and strong. You watch as the buttons come undone, watch his hands move lower with every inch of his thin undershirt he reveals.

He reaches the last button, tugging the fabric away from his broad shoulders. Then he grabs the undershirt at the back of the collar, pulling it over his head in a seductive move that makes your pussy throb every time you see him do it.

He tosses the undershirt aside, and when he looks back at you, you're still staring.

His grin turns lopsided and cocky as he watches you take him in. "Like what you see?" he taunts playfully, reaching for his belt now.

You sit up slightly, pressing your bare chest against his. His breath catches at the sudden contact, but he doesn't push you back down; he lets you raise your hands to his ribs, lets you trace every ridge of his muscular sides and chest.

You slowly dip your fingers along the line between his abs, watching them jump beneath your touch. "Let me," you whisper, running a delicate nail down his coarse happy trail all the way to the waistband of his pants.

As your hands close in around the buckle of his belt, you hear him swallow harshly. One of his strong, capable hands reaches back to thread through your hair once more, just for something to hold onto as you unbuckle his belt and slowly slide the premium leather through the loops, the fabric hissing softly.

You pop open the button and metal closure of his pants, too, and quietly drag down the zipper. But instead of pulling them down, you let the fabric hang open, his obscene bulge only thinly obscured by his tight black boxers. You sit for a moment, letting him stew, just like he had when he was undressing you. Then you lean forward those few final inches and start pressing kisses — equally slow and sensual — against his chest and belly. Your tongue drags, hot and slow, up his sternum, and he shudders against your mouth, his head falling back with a soft groan. His fingers tighten in the hair at the back of your head, pressing your mouth more firmly against his skin.

He worshiped you; now you want to return the favor.

His skin on your lips and tongue is warm and smooth, and he tastes like soap and a hint of sweat. His pale skin is so easy to mark that you can't help but bite down on his shoulders, his neck, his pecs. You suck loving little bruises everywhere you can reach, and as one hand curls through his hair, right above his undercut, to hold his head aside while you kiss and bite and lick his throat, the other runs slowly over his chest and abs, back down to where he's hard and leaking beneath his underwear.

He lets out another groan, this one turning into a needy whine at the end. His cock throbs against your palm, and when your touch ventures lower so you can teasingly cup and squeeze his balls through the fabric, he grabs your hand to stop you.

His voice is strained when he says, "I wasn't kidding before; I'm gonna cum in my fucking pants if you keep touching me like that."

Before you can respond, before you can say that you weren't kidding when you said you'd love to see that for yourself, he gives your shoulder a gentle, guiding push back towards the mattress.

When you're comfortably nestled back against the pillows once more, your eyes never leaving his flushed face, he reaches down and hurries to pull down his pants and boxers in one frantic movement. Once he chucks the fabric off the end of the bed towards the opposite corner of the suite, he's on top of you again, leaning down to kiss you, his lips clumsy against yours.

You moan into his mouth as his tongue messily swipes against yours; you love when he gets like this, losing that omnipresent control he has over his entire body in favor of letting you see and hear and feel him at his rawest moments. His hand trembles and fumbles as he takes his cock in hand and nudges the tip against your sensitive cunt, the tip bumping your clit just enough to make your hips jolt again.

Then the thick head slowly sinks inside you, stretching you open in the most devastating and loving way.

He lets out another breathy whimper, his fingers curling into the pillowcase beside your head. You can see the tension in his shoulders, the willpower it takes to go slow and not ravage you in this bed. He lets out a shaky breath against your neck and pushes in another inch, his motion smooth and slow, even as his hand tightens into a fist to try and control himself.

The fullness inside you is almost immediately overwhelming. He stretches you out so perfectly, fills you to the brim and then a little further, reaching places you've only ever fantasized about before him. The slide is easy, with how wet you are, but he still takes it slow, making you wait to feel him fully inside.

You drag your palms up his muscular back, feeling every swell and ridge as you pull him tighter against your chest until you can feel his heartbeat against yours. You lift your lips to his ear and whisper, "Let me have it… I wanna feel you."

He shudders at your words, his hips jerking as he tries to maintain his slow, tender pace. "I'll f-fucking lose it," he breathes back, his voice ragged, body trembling under your hands. "I can't—"

"Then don't," you say, your voice still hushed in his ear. "I'm yours, however you want me."

His breath stills, and so do the movements of his hips. He's still shaking above you, and his hand clenches even tighter in the pillowcase; you can feel every hard muscle against your body tighten up. You pull away slightly, brows creasing in concern, your lips parting to ask him if he's okay—

Before you can, those strong hands go from gentle and adoring to ruthless and unyielding. He grabs the backs of your thighs and pushes them roughly towards your chest, punching a squeal from between your lips. His gaze is intense, now, trained on your dripping cunt instead of your face, and he watches his length drive inside you mercilessly. His lips part, and those beautiful eyes roll back into his head, and he moans like he's the one getting fucked this deep, this roughly, this all-consumingly.

You, the willing and eager subject of his desperation, can only arch beneath him and let out a wordless cry that rings out loudly in the hotel room.

"My beautiful wife," he whispers, his adoring words soothing the ache that his pistoning hips cause. He hikes one of your legs up further, throwing it over his shoulder to free his hand, just so he can reach up and cradle your cheek, his thumb hooking under your chin so he has a hold on your jaw to tilt your face towards his. You lean into his touch, whimpering as he bullies deeper, holding you so tenderly while he snaps his hips into yours. "Such a p-perfect fucking pussy… so tight and w-warm…" He groans again, leaning in to catch your lips in a bruising kiss before he pulls away just enough to pant into your mouth, "F-fuck, I'm cumming—"

And you, to encourage him, to draw it out, to send him over the edge, let your walls clench tightly around him, your own moans tumbling out as his rhythm falters. He lets out a low groan that pitches into a whine, his movements becoming uncoordinated but no less intense as he chases his peak. His body shudders beneath your hands, between your legs, and then his muscles all tighten and he drops his head to your shoulder, chanting breathless praises as he cums deep inside you, your leg still hitched over his shoulder to keep you open.

"So good," he whispers brokenly against your neck, "so good for me."

You feel every twitch of his cock inside you, every hot pulse of cum painting your walls, and it makes your pussy quiver, knowing that he's filling you up as your husband this time.

You can tell the thought is driving him crazy, too. He's still trembling as his orgasm bleeds out of him, leaving him heavy on top of you, and your hands are soft and soothing on his back. You feel him relax against your body, and you let your eyes close, enjoying the moment, the intimacy, the peace.

Then you feel his chest expand with a deep inhale, and he pulls away from the crook of your neck. Your eyes flutter open, and you expect him to be looking at you in that soft, loving way that usually indicates the night is slowly ending and you'll soon be drifting off, wrapped in his arms.

Instead, you open your eyes to find Satoru's on yours, intense and glowing with a faint, feral light.

A thrill runs up your spine, and you can feel the slight buzz of his cursed energy flaring against your skin. You part your lips to ask what he's doing, to tease if he's finally going to show off what he can do when he's riled up, but then you feel his softening cock twitch once inside you.

Then your eyes widen when you feel him getting hard inside you again.

"Satoru!" you whisper, and his fingers dig into your plush hips, like he's holding onto whatever control he has left. "Are you—?"

He doesn't let you continue. He just grabs your other leg, now, and props it on his shoulder, spreading you open as wide as he can. His chest is still heaving up and down after his orgasm, but his RCT brings his body right back onto the field for another round. He leans back slightly so he can watch his cock slide in and out of your cunt, his glossy lips parted as a thick ring of white forms around the base.

"Fuck, look at that," he chokes out, his hands moving back to your thighs to push them flat against your chest, holding you in half while your feet dangle helplessly over his shoulders. "So fucking pretty. Look so good all full of me. Gonna f-fill you up so much."

You whine at the change in position; every thrust now drives his cock right against your g-spot, and that familiar pressure builds more intense in your pelvis. He leans over you once more, his lips right above yours, panting as he fucks down into you. "Come on, baby," he says, his expression half wild with need. "Tell me you want it. Tell me to fill you up till it's dripping out of you."

He's fucking the air right out of your lungs, and your eyes are dazed and mind hazy as you stare desperately into his eyes, but you manage to breathlessly stammer out, "Y-yes, I w-want it."

He pins your legs further against your chest, smushing your tits under your thighs as he drives in faster, harder. Pleasure sparks down to your toes, and you feel like you're gonna burst again, but he keeps going, going, going, forcing you through it. "How bad, hm baby? How bad do you want it?"

You sob out a moan, thighs shaking between your chest and his. "S-so bad, Satoru. W-want to be f-full of you. Want you to—" —hic— "—breed me."

At the word, at the sheer meaning behind it, his whole body locks up, and even his breathing stops for a moment before he lets out a low, shuddering groan and starts up again with new fervor. "You better mean that," he growls, "because now I'm not resting until it takes."

You nod desperately, eyes rolling back and lips falling open in a silent cry as he abuses that spot inside you that sends you reeling. Sparks flash behind your eyes, and he doesn't let up, even as that pressure in your belly explodes once more into another climactic gush. He doesn't even take a moment to pause; he just fucks you through it, the wet, obscene sounds of skin slapping filling the suite.

When he cums again, he drags his hips against yours in a slow, ragged grind. And this time, he doesn't slow down before his RCT crackles across his shoulders and his dick hardens once more inside you.

He doesn't stop, or even pause, until he's so sensitive it hurts.

Sweat drips down his temples, and every breath is ragged against your neck. His muscular body trembles with the effort to stay on top of you, to fill you just one more time, to make sure it takes because, in the end, he's not sure you'll have much else to remember him by if this all goes sideways.

And fuck, does he hope it doesn't go sideways.

He wants, desires so deeply it carves a hollow in his chest, to have this life with you. This is just the beginning of your story as husband and wife, and he wants all the rest of the plot, too. Maybe he's selfish, but he thinks he deserves to be after all this time.

He tries to convince his body to keep moving. To just gather his strength, like he has so many times before, and fuck his wife like you deserve.

But his arms shake violently as he props himself up over you, and his breath is heavy and ragged, and for a few moments, he can't decide between keeping up the fight and finally letting himself rest.

Your gentle hands — shaking, too, but still cradling him like the center of your universe — convince him of the latter.

He practically collapses on top of you, his worn and exhausted muscles trembling against your soft body. His breath is hot and labored as he presses his face into your neck, and he doesn't even have the energy to pull out yet.

You don't complain; you never do. You just hold him, your own body relaxing beneath his as you both revel in the afterglow.

Time passes in a fugue, the edges of both your consciousnesses hazy, like evening light through the blinds. Eventually he finally lifts himself back up, pressing a tired, loving kiss to your lips before slowly pulling out. Semen floods out of you onto the sheets below, and his movements are tender as he wipes you clean with a warm, soft washcloth.

When he comes back to bed, a towel now beneath your hips so you don't have to lie in the cold, damp spot of the evidence of your mutual release, he gingerly pulls you into his side, one arm wrapped around your shoulders as you rest your head over his heart.

You're both quiet for a while. His fingers, exhausted but somehow restless, trace faint shapes over your belly, like he's imagining what he may have given you there. His eyes are closed, those long frosty lashes resting against the tops of his cheekbones, and you watch your husband for a long, quiet moment.

Eventually, when you can no longer help it, you speak. Your voice shakes a little as you whisper, breaking the silence, "Satoru?"

He hums, his arm tightening around your shoulders. His eyes don't open. "What is it, baby?" he mumbles, sounding half asleep and drunk in the aftermath.

Faintly, like you don't want to admit it, "I'm scared."

His hand pauses its motions on your tummy. But after a short moment, he just lets out a soft, casual chuckle and starts rubbing again. "Don't be scared," he says, his voice quiet and confident. He doesn't even open his eyes. "I'm the strongest."

But you can feel the tension beneath his words, and you know he's scared, too.

You rest your head back on his chest, letting the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lull you towards sleep. And you don't know what's coming tomorrow, or the day after that, but at least for now, you're in the arms of your lover, your new husband, on a honeymoon you wish would last just a little bit longer.

Although he truly didn't need to, for other ninjas were simply at his snap.

But Kakashi Hatake, although an old man – although he hated how you used his maturity to remind him that some things needed to be taken care of with utmost responsibility – enjoyed anything but fulfilling his Hokage's duties.

And so the reports piled up, while he slipped out of his office early in the morning, only to return late at night, after the crickets had chirped their last melody.

This night was no different, as he suddenly rolled into his office, half-undressed in his daily ninja armour, wearing nothing but a tight, sleeveless shirt, its long collar covering his lips.

He didn't simply walk, but rather stumbled – with deep breaths escaping his tightened throat and hands shivering, as if a sickness had struck his mind.

"Kakashi?" Your head tilted as you still stood by the window.

A gentle wind swirled your hair, carrying the sweet scent of your skin towards his burning face. His eyes, one crimson, kissed, the other obsidian, looked up with an almost miserable frown, before a groan slipped past his lips.

It seemed he wasn't happy to see you in his office at such an hour, but what could you do? Being the Hokage's assistant felt almost as if you were the village's chief yourself!

Only a moment had passed before your eyes slipped lower. Towards his legs, thighs, with one of them leaking barely visible, vermilion liquid. A metallic smell of his blood was suddenly more palpable than ever, and so a low gasp fell from your lips.

You quickly drew closer, catching his massive body before it could hit the floor with a weak groan.

"Kakashi, what the hell happened?"

But it seemed that your touch burned more than the wound itself, as he gently pushed you away with a, "P-please, don't come any closer."

Droplets of sweat beaded on his forehead, dripping leisurely as he hung his head. Arms barely holding on, trembling as he walked towards a soft chair in the corner of his office and sat with a low groan.

Or rather a moan, as your eyes involuntarily fell towards his bulging trousers, noticing a painfully hard swell.

"Kakashi, what happened?" You pose, putting a hand on your hip. "Where have you been?"

He grabbed the armrest and leaned back, letting the black collar finally expose his panting, fallen lips.

"Nothing, d-don't worry," he murmured, yet his voice was low and honey-dripping, as if on the verge of losing his mind. "Please, go back home."

But you didn't move. Didn't even breathe, watching the massive man writhing in the cushioned armchair, sweat rolling down his temple, eyes lidded by the fire bubbling in his loins.

Nothing.

He was a man who always kept the problems to himself.

Not solely the problems, but desires too. Erotica-kind-of-guy, who read some filthy romances during his office hours yet kept blushing whenever you swirled a lock of hair around your finger.

Built from muscle upon muscle, with a handsome jaw and sharp eyes, a nasty, salacious scar slashing across his crimson one.

Always an utmost kind gentleman, who somehow kept himself away from women. Everyone thought so because Hokage had never been seen with a female ninja, nor even with a simple villager. He hid behind the office walls instead or went on lone missions.

Yet you knew Kakashi Hatake wasn't the apathetic, almost impotent man some people took him for. Because you felt his deep eyes following your figure as you came and went from his office. Staying a bit longer on your naked thighs whenever you wore a skirt, and on the way, throwing knives hugged them tightly, until the muscles bulged under the leather straps.

You knew he liked the sweet scent of your perfumes, deep and almost nauseating in their warmth, yet always wrapping around him like the petals' gentlest kisses. He followed the movement of your soft lips, eyes mingling beneath the sunlight spilling into his office, hair always looking so soft and shiny, like the satin scarf he wished to wrap around his neck.

And so after working with you for a while, Kakashi decided that the safest option to not get himself embarrassed with the way his cock always leaked whenever you entered his office in the morning – would be to quickly disappear. To go out in the morning and slip back late at night, while Hokage's office was left with nothing but the faint traces of your sweetness.

He thought he was clever, sly. That you didn't know how mellow you made him feel.

That's why he thought that you would simply nod and leave him be. With cock painfully straining his briefs and mind slowly slipping into pleasurable dizziness.

Instead, to his utter dissatisfaction, you observed him carefully, squinting, your gaze moving between his shallow wound and the flushed, blooming face that dripped with arousal.

"What did they spike you with?" You sighed, crossing arms over your chest. "Hm? What is it? A poison?"

His head shook, a few wisps of snowy hair sticking to his wet forehead. Almond-shaped eyes, much more lidded than usual, as his gaze wandered over your body.

Skirt hugging your hips sweetly and a tight sleeveless shirt, quite similar to his, clinging like a second skin. He didn't need much to imagine you were already naked. With body-hugging clothes in dresses so tight, he could clearly see every deeper rise of your soft belly.

You came closer, slowly, snapping in front of his eyes. "Hello? I can't help you if you won't tell me what's going on."

Your smell was painfully pleasant, so he quickly, with a single move, pulled the collar back over his nose.

"Please j-just go, I–mhmm," another groan escaped his throat as you came even closer.

This time, you stood right between his spread thighs as he tried every way possible to apply a bit of pressure around his hips. You leaned closer, putting your arms on the chair's handles and lowering yourself to meet his eye level.

"What happened? Tell me, because there's no way I'm leaving our Hokage in such a state."

Such miserable, innocent, pure, giving you every chance to push his sweet buttons and tease his wrecked mind.

Kakashi furrowed as the warmth radiating from your body slowly slipped beneath his tight collar. His throat bobbed as his finger slowly pulled the material down, allowing a quiet "Aphrodisiac" to fill the serene office.

With a few candles still dimly flickering on his desk, and the moon's shy kisses bathing your blooming face in a virgin glow.

Something wicked danced behind your eyes. A mischievousness of sorts, as you hummed and slowly, leisurely, sank to your knees.

"What are you doing?" Kakashi gasped, following the lovely pout that twisted your lips. "Wait–" His fingers tried to grab your hands as they slipped towards his hips, yet you gently smacked them.

"What do you mean? I'm only helping our dear Hokage, of course," your devilish voice mingled with the faint melody of the crickets. "As I do believe, our Hokage is wise enough to know how to get rid of…" With a single move, you pulled his trousers down to the middle of his beefy thighs. "This problem. Right?"

The moment his briefs slipped off his hips, the fat, leaking head smacked into your cheek with a wet smudge. Pearly droplets spattered his abdomen, and only then did you notice that–

"Did you just cum?"

His throat bobbed and brows furrowed as a sudden wave of arousal smooched your spine.

"T-twice."

You giggled, biting down on lower lip. Fingers clenched on his meaty thighs, digging into the milky skin. "Why?"

Your warm breath hit his cock, veins bulging and curling around the fat shaft. You leaned closer, plush lips kissing its softly and spilling another needy groan from his lips.

"Tell me," you demanded, spreading his thighs wider. "Why did you cum twice, Kakashi?"

A moany fuck hit your warm cheeks when you licked off the pearly cum still dripping from his swollen head.

"You know why." His long fingers gripped the armrests, head falling back to reveal pale neck. "Baby, fuck, c-can you suck on it?"

A demon must have taken over his mind. A wicked spirit of some sort, as Kakashi, in his mature, gentlemanly age, would never, ever say such filth to his young assistant.

Not that young, too, yet almost ten years youthful, with the loveliest cheeks already smiling foxily and a wet tongue licking his trembling shaft from balls up to the feverish head. The spit mixing with the last droplets of semen, trickling down his cock like a crystal thread.

"No, I don't think so," you chuckled, nuzzling your lips against his head without taking it into your warm mouth. "Tell me why. Did my sole presence turn our Hokage on that much?"

He nodded without giving it much thought, although it was the truth. Your presence did, in fact, make him pathetically cum right into his slacks.

"Mmm," a sweet hum bounced off his cock, as you placed in its top a gentle kiss. Before taking a deep, nasty sniff, and letting his mind spin into madness. "Did your younger assistant turn you on that much?"

"Stop," he groaned, feeling the last threads of his patience slowly tearing. "J-just, fuck, let's pretend it's a one-time t-thing."

You knew it was a lie.

And he also knew – from the moment you slipped him past your lips, and he immediately cummed right onto your tongue. The sole warmth of your mouth and those wicked, foxy eyes looking up at him with a squint were enough to send another ripping pleasure down his spine.

Big hands instantly falling onto your head, forearms bulging from restraint he desperately tried to cling to, yet still pushing you down his cock. Till the full, fat length slipped into your mouth, pulsing head hitting the back of your throat.

A crying choke tried to escape your throat, but instead your fingers dug into his beefy thighs, leaving nasty, crimson scratches.

He didn't give you a second to get used to his full length, instead moving your head up and down his cock. With swollen lips and tears dancing in the corners of your eyes, you gagged on his musty, delicious fatness while he fucked your throat without a drop of usual gentleness.

Legs spreading wider, crimson eyes mingling in pleasure at your full cheeks and trembling hands, as you took him fully without a fight. Instead, clenching your own thighs and rubbing them together, just to feel your drenched panties brush the swollen clit.

"Such a good fucking throat," Kakashi muttered, another wave of pleasure bubbling in his loins. "I swear, fuck, I swear it's only a one-off. Only once, baby. For all those days you've been teasing me like a little slut."

You wished to laugh, to chuckle, to tease him back. Yet your eyes rolled back, and heavy breaths escaped through your nose as he dragged his length relentlessly through your throat. You felt its mass on your tongue – each vein pulsing beneath your breath, the sizzling head smooching the back of your throat.

His thumbs brushed away tears dripping down your cheeks. "Shh, baby, don't cry. You're doing such a good job, f-fuck–"

He groaned as your pace quickened. A bit sloppier, with the filthy squelching and your gagging filling the quiet space of his office. Candles cast a gentle glow on your teary cheeks; the moon kissed his milky hair, sticking to sweating forehead.

He was ready to cum any second, spill his semen right onto your throat and watch your cheeks burst from it in a lovely pout.

But instead, you suddenly pulled away.

"Wha-" He didn't finish, when you pressed lips to his, in a messy, vile kiss.

First load of his cum still sweetly coating your tongue, as you pushed to his mouth. Letting a few creamy droplets layer his palate as he moaned right into your grinning lips.

"How could you cum in my throat, dear Hokage? You chuckled, lifting your soaked panties to the side, and giving him a clear view of your juices dripping down his swollen cock. "Such a waste of resources, don't you think?"

Kakashi could only nod – madly, unconsciously, savouring the warmth radiating from your wet pussy.

"Why won't you fill my womb instead?" Another wicked giggle, smooched his blooming cheeks, as you pressed your entrance to his leaking head. Hands on his muscular arms, to let yourself slowly, painfully lower onto his fat cock. "Allow me to give you an heir. Spill into your assistant's fertile womb and make me a mommy."

Kakashi felt unbearable, a pinching desire smouldering across every part of his body. In his eyes, your figure, hanging over his massive, trembling body, seemed like a tempting demon of sorts. A succubus, and if he squinted enough, with the aphrodisiac still filling his body with a lustful mist, a shadow dancing behind your head looked almost like two lovely horns.

His head slipped inside, the rest of the cock following in, sending a wave of maddening pleasure over his spine. Strong hands gripped your hips, trying to lift you up a little, as if his mind still tried to resonate with the urge to nuzzle himself deep within your warmth.

"Baby, f-fuck, we can't–"

Usually, you wouldn't have a chance against his brutal strength, yet this time you easily pushed through his grip. Lowering yourself with a sweet moan, head falling back.

"Mhmm, Kakashi, you fill me so good," you sighed, feeling his fat cock tremble deep within the clutches of your cunt. "I can't believe you didn't fuck me sooner."

He couldn't listen to you. He couldn't stand the way your pussy clenched around his spilling cock, sugary scent wrapped around his mind, sweetening the salty cum that still coated his tongue.

He filled you so well, with a slightly curved head brushing your sweet spot just right, as you started rolling your hips up and down.

With hands gripping his arms and face leaning towards his fallen mouth, to lick a little beauty spot right beneath his lower lip. Kiss it wetly, to draw another deep groan past his throat.

"Don't fight it, Kakashi," you pledged, biting down on his lower lip. "Just let me take care of you," your hands grabbed his, sliding them up and down your velvety skin.

Your pussy sent a few pulses down his shaft as you clenched on him with a muffled moan. Lips connecting with his again, wetly, messily, pressing your chest to his.

He finally gave in.

Strong arms curling around your waist, pulling you closer to his heated body. Hips bucking up to meet every mean roll of your hips, the tip of his cock finally hitting your womb in dripping squelching.

Your juices dripping down his slacks, eyes rolling back as he pounded you at a merciless pace. Almost painful whenever his cock slid through the tight walls of your pussy, tearing another moan from your throat.

His crimson eye followed the lustful expressions pouting on your face, each more maddening than the last, forcing a scowl between his milky eyebrows.

"K-Kakashi–mmmm–you're filling me so good," you snapped, wrapping your hands around his neck. Your hips bounced with a nasty squelch, as the pleasure already bubbled in your lower belly.

"Maybe I should get hurt more often," he groaned, one arm slipping down between your bodies, to roll your clit through the flimsy material of your panties. "If that's how–ngh–you're planning to treat me."

His rough fingers pressed the swollen button, feeling the foul juices drip from the soaked fabric.

You nodded, letting a sweet moan hit his rosy cheeks. "Y-yeah, ahhh, I'll let you fill my pussy every single day."

It felt impossible to fight the desire that bubbled in Hokage's loins for all those months. So Kakashi could do nothing but press his hips to yours, until his balls smooched the swell of your ass and head nuzzled against the puffy womb.

With the last shudder and your moan splashing past your lips – he came. Flooded your pussy with sticky stripes of burning cum, cramming it right inside your weeping womb. His whimpers mixed with your cries, as he pulled you closer and connected your lips in a last kiss. Full of passion, desire, lined with months looking over your shoulders with the burning need to fuck out all the craving that bubbled within you for this whole time.

Your heavy pantings filled the warm office.

"So–" But you didn't finish when he suddenly stood up.

With you pussy still clenching around his hard, aphrodisiac-spiked cock and cum dripping down the wooden floors.

All the documents piling up on his desk fell to the floor in a crying mess, and a gasp caught in your throat when he laid you down on its big surface.

"I spent all day–" He shushed you with a kiss, licking your lips and brushing warm cheek with his thumb.

"Sorry, baby. Let me use your pretty pussy for a bit longer, hm?" He muttered, pressing your thighs against your chest. "Just a bit, fuck, let me breed you again, yeah? It's your Hokage's order."

And how could you call yourself a good assistant if you didn't fulfil it with utmost pleasure!

©liahcharms all rights reserved. Do not copy, plagiarise, feed AI, translate or modify my works.

Wanted to clean the palate and remembered that jjk is actually not the only fandom I can write for lmao

The car was rolling slowly along the forest road, all your friends arguing about something that was still understandable to your still-dizzy mind.

A low "Auch" slipped past your lips when Shoko accidentally hit your ribs with an elbow.

"Sorry," she sighed, bending double to check whether the thing they were all looking for was under the seat. "It's not here either."

Suguru, in the driver's seat, sighed and slammed his fist against the wheel. "Satoru, you're such an fucking idiot."

Cursing in the passenger seat, Satoru checked his bag again and again before opening the glove box. Long fingers searched through the condoms and stacks of cigarettes, still not finding the thing everyone was frantically looking for.

"I swear, I left it here," Satoru groaned, pointing at the box.

"What's going on?" You murmured, peeking at Shoko, pinching the bridge of her nose.

She sighed. "Satoru lost the map."

Your eyes widened and lips fell open as you shot a deathly look towards your friend. "What?! Satoru, please tell me you're joking!"

He looked over his shoulder. Milky hair brushed his forehead, and ocean eyes were already squinted in irritation. "I told all of you that giving me a map is not a good idea!"

Utahime, sitting next to Shoko, snorted, and Choso, with Yuki occupying the third row of the van, joined her with mumbled groans.

"Are you five? How could you lose the map?" Utahime groaned, pressing palms to her eyes. "Oh my god, so what now?"

You felt a shiver drip down your spine as the sizzling sun, which had burned your skin just moments before, slipped into a slumber and suddenly disappeared. Instead, a fog rose. It curled and wrapped around Suguru's old van, which was meant to take you straight to the campsite. The rest of the group should already be there, but you still had about two hours of driving.

"Look, the road can't be that fucking complicated," Yuki said, pulling herself up and resting her arms on your headrest. "Let's just drive straight until we find another petrol station. I'm sure they'll have some maps."

Suguru bit the inside of his cheek, cursing under his breath. "We're lost. I know it because that's the third time I've passed this car park."

Everyone leaned towards the right side of the car, following the small spot. The low, stony wall separated it from the slippery cliff overlooking a dense forest. A small body of water, a lake of some sort, peeked through the bending trees, yet the fog was too dense to see it clearly.

He stopped the van at the parking lot, no other soul around.

You wiped your eyes and yawned, opening the van's heavy door.

The air felt cold and crisp, sending shivers down your spine and pinching naked arms with little needles. You took the hoodie from your suitcase, pulling the soft, pinkish material over your top-clothed body. You stepped into the muddy pool in the white trainers, and a groany sigh slipped past your lips as you walked towards the stony wall.

Shoko joined you, a thin cigarette already lit between her fingers, before taking the first draw.

"I did not prepare clothes for such nasty weather," Utahime joined you, curling herself into Shoko's side. "Fuck, where the hell are we? It's been only an hour since we entered the forest. I was literally melting on that station."

Satoru and Suguru were still snapping at each other inside the car, while Choso and Yuki settled on the hood. With an old map from five years ago that was found in the trunk, they started scribbling a new one. They fought like an old couple, with Choso trying to draw neat lines and Yuki pointing her finger at the roads which were no longer used.

You chuckled, turning back to admire the heavy, misty view unfolding before your eyes. A gentle wind carried whispers, and an earthy smell tickled your nostrils. Your foot kicked the little pebble as it rolled and rolled, till it finally fell through the crack in an old stony wall. Trees whistled, a few branches creaking under the gentle mass of the rising fog.

"Are you okay?" Shoko's low voice suddenly brought you back.

Your head turned, a weak smile tugging on your lips. "Yeah, just a bad dream."

Grey smoke curled around her sweet face, brushed with long chestnut hair, slumber eyes trying to decode the restlessness beaming from your gaze.

"You were talking through your sleep."

Another pebble fell down the cliff as you kicked them one by one. Hands deep in the warm sweatpants, you thanked the god for wearing them instead of the shorts.

"Really? Sorry, sometimes it happens."

Shoko hummed, her voice laced with a hint of disbelief. Sometimes.

"You were repeating someone's name."

You bit the plush inside of your cheek, still looking down at your muddy shoes. A visible feeling of curiosity beamed off her eyes, while lips curled around the head of the cigarette. Another cloud of smoke mixed with the fog before she shyly, almost awkwardly, brushed a loose strand of her hair behind her ear.

You could already sense her next questions. After all, you've been friends for the past four years, and she'd never heard the name you sometimes repeated in your sleep.

Years of sharing the rented apartment, years of hearing your wailings and cries, always leading to one word only.

"So," she started, helping you kick the pebbles through the crack in the wall. "Do you want to share who's To–"

"Hey everyone!" Choso suddenly called, immediately getting your attention.

Shoko's lips fell into an awkward line before she turned with a muttered curse. In the depth of your mind, you thanked Choso for the timing and whispered, "Sorry, let's talk later," to your dear friend.

"What is it?" Suguru asked, slamming his van's door.

Everyone walked closer to Choso and Yuki, crouching over the old map.

"Here," Choso's finger landed on a crossed mark. "That's where we currently are. And here is the road we should take," he traced the thin line, at some point going outside the forest.

"Great, then let's go," Satoru clasped, turning back towards the passenger's seat.

"Wait," Choso muttered with furrowed brows. "The problem is, this forest road was cut off years ago. We shouldn't even be here. In fact, after leaving the gas station, we were supposed to go here," his finger pointed at the road that went around the dense forest, far away from the coastline stretching behind your hunched backs.

A low fuck slipped past Suguru's lips as he gave a bitter laugh. Satoru took a step back, both hands high in the air – either ready to fight the wrath bubbling beneath Suguru's chest or trying to justify himself for the tenth time.

"I didn't tell you to go through the forest."

Suguru shot him a glare as he bit the soft inside of his cheek. The gentle wind brushed his dishevelled hair, and lavender eyes squinted at his friend.

"I know. I just naturally thought we were supposed to go this way," he squatted with a sigh, head hanging low between his slumped shoulders. "Should we go back to the station?"

"Actually…" Utahime's pitched voice slashed through the foggy air as she pointed her finger at something down the stony wall. "I see a silhouette of the church. Maybe there's a city we can check. I guess they will know the way out of the forest."

Choso's forehead wrinkled as he looked at the map more closely. Finger tracing the point you were supposed to be at, before a faint oh fell from his lips.

"You're right. There is some town here," his hazelnut eyes squinted, a few locks of long hair brushed the pale cheek. "But I can't read the name. There's a coffee stain."

He glanced up at Yuki's cherry cheeks.

"Sorry," she giggled. "I may or may not have spilt a few droplets on it this morning."

She kissed his cheek with a sweet pout before hugging the hoodie closer around her arms. The weather wasn't strictly cold, yet an unpleasant chill bit at everyone's skin, and a nippy fog gently hugged the shivering bodies.

There was something utterly grim yet beautiful about it. The way it floated with an unbothered air, as if gliding over the serene lake and the humming trees long before the dimmed light kissed the chilly earth. It rose high, hugging your ankles, calves, and thighs, as if slowly smooching your skin with frozen kisses.

It moved with you and changed with you, each step dissipating the weak puffs of hazy gloominess before it wrapped itself around you again.

You hid hands in the pockets before covering head with a hood.

"Should we go then?" Shoko sighed, squinting to see the pointed, crossed roof of the church. "Maybe they also have a new map."

A set of old wooden stairs led down towards the little town settled deep in the forest. You had no other option, so, with a heavy sigh, Suguru took a few things from the trunk.

"Here," he said, giving you, Choso, and Utahime a flashlight. "Try not to twist your ankle on this mud."

That said, he slowly walked down the stairs.

A drenched, narrow forest path led deeper into the woods. Trees bent and creaked wickedly over your bodies, humming the melody of long-forgotten memories. Each step rose a wet squelch into the air, as all of you walked in silence, following Suguru carefully.

He bickered with Satoru like an old couple, murmurs and hisses being the only sounds that mixed with the scrape of the old branches.

And as you walked, with each step wetter than the last and the narrow path nearing closer to the old church, something in your chest panged.

Head felt dizzy, almost heavy, as if the trees you passed, the leaves sticking to your shoes, the earthy smell and the old, stony church were a part of some distant memory. The one you tried to forget for a long, long time, as if your mind had simply erased it.

A name of some sort was at the tip of your tongue.

And the deeper you walked, the closer it was slipping towards your lips.

The silence stretched as you left the dense forest and walked next to the first glimmers of the town. Abandoned ranches, a windmill, a cemetery, a church that stood tall and spooky, towering over the gravelly road.

"Why is the fog getting denser?" Utahime shivered, trying to disperse it with her hand. "What is this place?"

Solely shadows and silhouettes appeared on the horizon, with a few more old ranches passing by as you walked deeper. There was no way to tell where you were or which way you were going – the land was cold and wrapped in fog, leaving no option but to immerse yourself blindly.

Something sinister hung in the air. Something that made your chest tighten and tongue fill the inside of the cheek, as if those two words you tried to remember were already tickling its tip.

"Is that a fucking cemetery?" Satoru muttered before he tripped over the small grave. "Fuck, sorry."

Suguru lit the way with the flashlight, casting a few flickers towards the old, long-forgotten tombs.

You've read them, one by one, each letter feeling almost familiar. As if some of them were already deeply carved into your mind, yet closed by a mysterious spell of some sort.

S… the name surely had an s…

"Choso, are you sure we're going the right way?" Satoru asked, instantly pulling a snort from Suguru's throat.

"That's rich coming from you," he muttered, ignoring his friend's deadly glare.

Choso lit the map, hazelnut eyes squinting as if trying to check your position. But as it was rather clear – he couldn't. For the town was simply too small and too unknown for the map to show its narrow, old roads exactly.

"We're on a good path. I guess."

"It's not like we have any other option," Yuki muttered, a grim tugging on her lips as she traced all the neglected stones. "But looking at this place, I'm not sure whether there's any civilisation."

And there was also an H… yes… S and H…

"A ghost town?" Shoko wondered out loud, lighting another cigarette. "That sounds fun."

Utahime, wrapped around her arm, trembling and shivering either from the cold or from fear, furrowed her brow. "Don't say that! This place is terrifying. I would much rather go back to the gas station."

S… hmm… S-s-s-s…

A light pinch to your arm brought you back from your thoughts, and you quickly looked at Shoko. She pushed Utahime towards Yuki, then slowed her pace and led you to the back.

"Are you okay? You're doing this again," she said, hooking her arm under yours.

Grey smoke mixed with the fog, its density only worsening. You didn't even notice she was observing your crazy, private murmurs to yourself all this time, and so a warmth kissed your neck.

"Just tired," you lied, sending her a weak smile. "It's just that…" I feel like I know this place. "I didn't get much sleep. I'm fine."

She pouted, taking another long drag. Her cheeks flushed sweetly beneath the chilly pinching, arms brushed yours. Lying to her felt horrible, nipping little needled into your aching chest.

Yet explaining the sudden fog that filled your mind seemed too difficult. First of all, it was something you wished to unravel yourself – this eerie sensation that tried to guide you towards a memory that warmed your heart with a pleasant flame.

Similar to the one you felt during the dream – hot and tender, with the name of the man who traced the loving kisses down your weeping spine.

The man who felt so familiar yet distant, plaguing your dreams for the past year. His face was never there, as if your mind had simply erased it.

"If you say so," Shoko sighed. "Oh, everyone. There's some board over there!"

All three lighters turned to a washed-green metal sign and… and your heart stopped.

"Silent Hill," Suguru read.

The air felt as if it had suddenly slipped into something heavier, colder, sending a wave of shivers through everyone's spines.

"Silent indeed," Satoru tried to relax the atmosphere, yet his pale cheeks turned cherry-red.

Silent Hill.

A soft, almost inaudible oh fell past your lips, yet everyone turned their heads to peek at your frozen, plagued-by-dread face.

With eyes bulging and lower lip trembling, you shifted your gaze from the old sign and looked farther towards the road. The fogged houses, abandoned and wrecked, looked so familiar. The mill, the church, the weeping willow hanging somewhere on the horizon. Long, slender branches weeping silently as the fog brushed them gently.

Something in your mind unlocked.

A memory of something, someone. And with it, the various sensations washed over you one by one. Dread of a sort, yet mixed with the passion that swelled your heart with the maddening, almost threatening temptation.

"What is it?" Shoko asked, squeezing your arm. "Do you know this place?"

A minute had passed before your short nod made everyone take a deep, whistling breath.

"It's my home," you mumbled, taking a step closer.

You walked slowly along the concrete road, with nothing but fog guiding you farther into the familiar, earthy smell swirling in the chilly air.

"Your home–"

Yuki started, but you quickly interrupted. "I was born here. I left this place five years ago, just before going for graduate school."

"Why?" Utahime tilted her head as everyone passed the old sign and followed you deep into the town.

You shrugged, passing the old university, now looking more deserted than ever. The old, creamy building was coated in dark smoke, as if someone had attempted to burn it.

Some memories, old and eerie, flashed through your mind, but you simply couldn't piece them together into a coherent picture. As if whatever happened here, in the town where you spent over twenty years of your life, was too scarring for your mind to remember.

As if the horrors you went through simply vanished from your memory, as if blotted out by the thick, unremovable marker.

You bit the inside of your cheek, feeling the unpleasant sensation squeezing your heart.

"I don't know," you answered honestly. "My parents told me I had an accident just after finishing my bachelor's degree. I only remember my life after moving cities. Whatever happened here…" you sighed, seeing that the hospital, built of deep red brick, was also half-burnt. "I don't know. They never talked about it."

Suguru and Satoru looked into some old cars standing freely by the road, as if looking for any sign of life.

But it seemed that the city had been abandoned for a long, long time, leaving nothing but the mist and tattered buildings.

"I don't think we'll find anything useful here," Choso sighed, opening another car's door. "I just don't understand why everyone suddenly left. Some of those cars probably still work." He slipped inside and grabbed something. "You see? Someone's purse, with the ID and everything. Why would you leave it behind?"

It was quite clear that none of you wished to be here anymore. That the goosebumps rose on your skins and foggy breaths escaped with a shudder.

The air was slipping into something eerie, wicked – not quite cold, but tingling your spines with the sense that lingering here any longer would do you no good.

"We should go back…" Utahime whispered, cuddling into Shoko's arm. "I don't feel good here."

"Well, why won't we at least visit your old home? Maybe you'll find something to bring back your memories."

"And we also need a few more batteries," Suguru murmured, shaking his slowly fading flashlight. "Let's look around, okay? But please don't walk alone anywhere."

You didn't remember exactly where you lived. But it seemed that your feet did, as after a few minutes you all found yourselves standing beneath the crimson-brick gate of an old apartment complex. No more than five floors, with the weeping windows and wet ivy curling around the empty frames.

Another tingling ran down your spine, as if to let you know it was here. That was the place you called home five years ago. Before you woke up in another city, with hazy memories of a life so strange, your mind simply decided to leave it alone.

A small garden curled around the building. The withered trees hung over the grimy windows; ivy covered the full length of the black metal gate. You pushed it gently, sending a high-pitched creak through the air.

Leaves swirled in the thick mist, falling gently onto the grey earth as you took the first steps inside.

"I don't remember on which floor my apartment was," you murmured, opening the old, crimson door.

Leading you all right into the long building. The fog slipped around you, marking the old, dusty rugs covering the creaking wooden planks. The air inside smelled musty and damp, yet much warmer than the chill spiralling outside. As if the heating was still active, with warmth running through the pipes connecting the abandoned apartments.

Two pairs of stairs led towards different parts of the building, and so you all looked at each other with the what now painting your tensed faces.

"Okay, me, Satoru, Yuki and Choso will go and look for some batter," Suguru said. "You, Shoko and Utahime will try to find your apartment."

"That's not fair. Why is no man coming with us?" Utahime snorted, wrapping her jumper more tightly around her goosebumped shoulders.

Satoru chuckled and slipped, "Because you have Shoko," before a low ouch followed after the brunette hit the back of his head.

"Anyways," Suguru sighed, pulling Satoru to his side. Like a naughty child who always needed a trusted adult around. "Let's meet here in thirty minutes. And please, don't leave this building no matter what. If you get lost in this fog, then it's over."

With brief nods, all of you went your way. You, Shoko and Utahime, climbed the left side, as something deep in your gut, a sense of sorts, led you towards it.

And the truth was that – you didn't know what to expect.

Your memories were slowly returning. Of Brookhaven Hospital, of Rosewater Park just passed, of Heaven's Night Club, which seemed to whisper tricksters' hints, as if wishing you to remember all the evenings you spent there. Drunk and giggly, always hanging on someone's shoulder, never on the one who haunted your dreams.

And the man, whoever he was, seemed to be a piece of the larger puzzle.

His low voice still swirling at the back of your mind. Heavy body pressing against yours, as you lay in the small, cosy room. With the sun or rain or fog slipping through the cracked window, as the seasons outside changed through all within one dream.

Sometimes, he kissed you during winter.

Another time, fucked amid the dark, rainy autumn.

When the feverish heat coated your bodies with the sheen of sweat, he promised his life to you over the deep, summer night. With the grasshoppers peeking through the thin blinds, and your mind registering nothing but the pleasure he bestowed upon your slumbered body.

And the farther you walked into the building, the more you seemed to recognise.

Because the room from your dreams must've been here.

You walked up the second floor, taking careful, quiet steps and checking every apartment with a flashlight, each and every corner.

Sometimes, a mouse crossed your path. A cockroach warmed itself next to the heating radiator, while the yellow lights flickered over the long corridors. There were at least ten apartments per floor – each one you quickly checked, holding your breath as you walked in first.

Because after a while, being here felt almost natural. As if your body consciously remembered your way around. Fingers brushing the familiar handrails, flicking the creamy light buttons, walking the old, wooden stairs that creaked under your feet.

"It looks more like a hotel," Utahime murmured, checking herself in the hallway's dirty mirror.

"Because it was," you confirmed, walking up to the second floor. "But it was too expensive, and developers changed it into an apartment complex."

Shoko hummed, opening the first door of the second floor with a gentle push. "That would explain why it's so easy to get lost in here. And also, why some flats are so tiny."

You checked the second floor, then the third, and only when you went onto the fourth did your breath hitch.

Because at the very end of the corridor, a door was ajar.

With the warm, steady light spilling from the small crack.

The three of you looked at each other, each more scared than the other.

"Don't tell me…" Utahime started, her voice trembling as if she had walked a mile in the snowstorm.

You nodded, biting the inside of your cheek. "I think that's my apartment."

So you walked closer and closer and closer, each step careful and soft, as if you were afraid of awakening whatever resided inside the still-warmed flat.

And when you pushed the wooden door, nothing but a normal, cosy apartment spread before your eyes.

Opening right into the living room, with the sofa still intact and the crimson rugs hugging the clean floor. The kitchen, whose shelves seemed fine and almost full, with a soft buzz from the fridge filling the small space.

The little, round table stood in the middle, with a withered rose hanging low over the burnt candle.

You stepped inside, your eyes sweeping the place as if looking for the hint of life you had left there.

As if trying to see your past self spread on the green sofa. Or looking out at the garden from the balcony, with a cup of tea in your hand.

Maybe dreaming on the soft bed, filling the tiny bedroom fully. Till nothing but a single bedside table slipped neatly between the frame and the wall.

Your fingers brushed the slightly dusty dresser, and you noticed a few dusty pictures.

All of them showing you.

And a–

"Oh, was that your boyfriend?" Utahime gasped, grabbing one of them. "Oh gosh, so handsome!"

And handsome he was.

Much taller than you, with muscles bulging beneath the leather jacket and white T-shirt showing through his broad chest.

Short, raven hair brushed his forehead gently, ending just above the bottle-green eyes. Deep and lowered, looking right at your smiley figure, cuddled to his side.

A smirk tugged at his lips, and only then did you spot a nasty scar running across them.

He was… someone.

Someone dear, someone close, yet someone you should stay away from. The sheer sight of him made your heart swell with both inexplicable fondness and fear.

"I don't know," you muttered, brushing his face with your thumb.

Shoko was going through the search on her own, and when her frightened, trembling voice filled the silent apartment, both you and Utahime quickly made your way to her.

She sat at the kitchen table, with a few old newspapers lying on the wooden surface and her trembling fingers turning through them one by one.

A gentle, yellow light hung over her head, casting a soft glow on her bulging, chestnut eyes and fallen lips.

"I don't know who you were just talking about," she took a deep breath before turning one of the newspapers your way. "But if that's him, then your parents had a good reason to leave this town."

Your eyes traced a row of neatly printed letters. Turning into words of some sort, but the longer you read them, the less sense they made. They puzzled over a piece of something peculiar, almost eerie, that gave you a painful, pulsing headache.

Utahime gasped, covering her mouth with a hand.

Shoko sat frozen, following the changing expressions on your face, as you dropped onto another chair.

She said your name. Whispered, while Utahime placed a hand on your shoulder.

You didn't understand why.

Because the words on the paper, linking into a Five male students and one female bartender killed out of jealousy! still sounded incoherent.

And when your eyes moved onto another newspaper, the world started to swirl.

The jealous boyfriend strikes again – another three lives to mourn.

Kidnapping of the female student – the girl found after a week!

And when your eyes dropped onto the newspaper from five years ago, just a few weeks after you left – your breath hitched.

Murderer on the loose! The man who took the lives of eight male students and kidnapped his girlfriend escapes from jail.

And in each one of the articles, there was the same face.

The one who looked at you with unconditional love, as you nuzzled your cheek into his leather jacket and let the heavy arm wrap around your shoulder.

"Toji Fushiguro," Utahime read before giving you a quick look. "And the girl who was kidnapped…"

You nodded, still staring blankly at the piece of paper. "Yeah. That was me."

And yet you had no memories of the supposed days spent under lock and key.

No, but rather of something warm and fuzzy tickling your skin. Of the warm kisses peppering your neck, thighs, and breasts, as the same man hung over you, wrapping you in a protective embrace.

You couldn't tell, however, whether those were memories of sorts, or rather yet another dream that haunted your mind every single night.

A dream of you loving someone, and him loving you – in an utterly twisted, possessive yet true manner.

"Toji Fushiguro," the name spilt sweetly on your tongue, like a honeyed glaze that stuck to the inside of your cheeks.

Sounding familiar and almost lovable, ripping another large, foggy flake from your memory. And as it fell somewhere into the depths of your mind, the man's face, always hiding behind your arched back, suddenly became clear. The name you whispered in your dreams over and over again, stuck heavy to your throat.

Toji Fushiguro.

A man, a lover, a nightmare.

You bit the inside of your cheek, brushing with a thumb his printed face. Handsome, yet scarred with an intimidating look. Completely different from the voice that guided you sweetly in your dreams.

Before you could open your mouth, a loud, weeping scream filled the whole building, as if it were coming from the deepest, ripest parts of someone's lungs, sending a surge of shivers down your spine.

Shoko immediately stood up and walked towards the ajar door. She peeked through the little crack, as if waiting for another scream to bounce off the dark hallway's walls.

And when it came with the same intensity, you and Utahime joined her.

"It sounded like Yuki," Shoko whispered, lighting the old carpet with a trembling flashlight.

A shuddered breath escaped her throat as she tried to keep the hand steady. But it seemed impossible, with the metallic stench slowly rising above the floors and floating right your way.

"Should we check it?" Utahime asked, trying to hide herself behind the doorframe. "Let's find the rest and just get the hell out of this place. I'm going to start crying any second now.

And she was right, as her lip trembled in fear and fingers clenched Shoko's arm in a deadly grip.

You curled your hands into a fist and took a flashlight from Shoko's hands. "Follow me. There's a hallway linking both sides, we can join them through it."

In a slow, single file, you slipped out of the room, with Shoko gripping your arm and Utahime's muffled cries filling the silent corridor. Each of your steps left a creak as the carpet-clad floors wept under your trembling bodies.

The hallway felt never-ending, leading you through the darkness and ajar rooms – always empty and cold, very different from your still cosy apartment.

Something moved at the end of the corridor. Another weep pinched your spines, and this time, it wasn't Utahime.

All three of you froze in place when a few muffled voices came from a place nearby. Unpleasant whispers, dull sobs, sounding slightly familiar.

"Yuki?" You whispered, waiting a few seconds before calling, "Suguru?"

You took another step, although your two trembling friends made it almost impossible. Utahime didn't try to hide her tears anymore, weeping right into Shoko's hoodie. She, on the other hand, bit her lower lip hard, till a few droplets of crimson blood bubbled on her dry skin.

"Choso?" You whispered again, awaiting any sign that the voices you've just heard were not, in fact, your imagination.

Or something worse – unknown, eerie, befitting the mystery that hugged this town with the innocent, soft fog.

You took a few steps before something grabbed your arm and pulled all three of you into one of the rooms.

"What the–"

But before you could finish, someone's trembling hand covered your lips.

You would recognise that light hair everywhere. With chestnut eyes dancing madly and milky skin dirtied with some sticky liquid.

"S-shh-hh," Yuki whispered, pressing a crimson finger to her lips. "Don't s-say anything, f-fuck…" She quickly looked out the room before closing the door.

Someone gasped, and only then did you notice Choso sitting right next to her. Curled against the wall, with his head between his shoulders and muffled, low cries slipping past his trembling lips.

"Choso…" Shoko inhaled with a hiss before her trembling hand touched his shoulder. "Choso are you okay?"

When he looked up, all three of you froze.

With mouth agape and eyes wide as porcelain plates, he traced the crimson stench trickling down his cut eyebrow. His white shirt turned vermilion, and his lip trembled as he looked at your untouched state.

"So you didn't meet him, huh?" He whispered, grabbing Shoko's wrist. "The m-monster, you didn't see h-him?"

Utahime was already on the verge of tears, so she curled up in the room's dusty corner, her thighs drawn to her chest. Shoko ripped a piece of her T-shirt and pressed it to Choso's bleeding forehead.

"What monster? Where's Satoru and Suguru?" Shoko asked, trying to keep a cool, steady tone.

But you could see the sweat trickling down her creamy neck. Eyes darted between Yuki and Choso, one looking worse than the other.

A loud sob slipped past Yuki's lips before she quickly muffled it with her hand. Choso groaned, banging his head against the wall, trying to hold back the tears that were scratching his eyelids.

"They're gone," he said so quietly, you needed to take a second look at his face.

Shoko placed hands on his cheeks, keeping his head steady. "What do you mean gone?"

He didn't need to say anything, for the deep, miserable sigh that escaped his throat and Yuki's storming sobs were enough.

"They were in another room, looking for those f-fucking batteries, a-and…" Another muffled cry filled the chilly room.

"He got them," Choso finished.

"He?" You asked, curling fingers on your hoodie. "Who's he?"

"I don't know. He's massive, like a fucking monster. Wears a helmet of sorts, but it looks triangular. And carries this, I don't know, long, heavy knife," Choso buried hands in his hair, tugging on them with a painful breath. "He cut them as if they were a fucking slice of meat. Fuck, we barely managed to run away, but he's still somewhere here."

And before you could ask anything else, a loud bang sliced through the long corridor. Something heavy hit the old pipes, and the dull clatter rose into the stale air. Hit after hit, growing steadily closer, as whatever was causing it turned your way.

Yuki and Choso looked at each other with bulging eyes before flying towards the door. Through the small crack, they peeked their heads out for a second before closing it with a thud.

"Everyone hide," Choso ordered, frantically scanning the small room. "His sight isn't the best, but he has a real-fucking-good sense of smell. Hide somewhere here."

Shoko pulled the trembling Utahime from the corner, then moved them both behind the long, dirty curtains.

The deep night had fallen over the abandoned town, bathing the tiny room in darkness as deep as the midnight sky. The fog rose in thick layers, slipping through the cracks in the window sills. The rain lay a thin layer over the tall windows, painting them with cries and weepings, as if wishing to muffle your heavy breaths filling the lonely apartment.

The noise was growing louder as all of you hid in the darkest corners of the room – behind the curtains, deep inside the closet, and under the lone, thin bed.

Yuki and Choso curled together beneath it, while you breathed in the old, musty air of the dresses waiting patiently in the closet. Sweat trickled down your neck, lungs squeezed, head pulsed.

Not in pain, but rather a strange feeling that pinched your heart in such an unsettling manner.

Heavy footsteps echoed through the corridor as someone began kicking in the doors to the apartments one by one. Looking inside for a few minutes before moving to the next, and next, with the dull, metallic noise cutting the vermilion carpet.

A low groan accompanied each step, as if the monster mumbled something under his nose.

A word… a name.

Sounding familiar yet so strange, only when he stood under your door did you recognise that it was indeed a name of yours.

A faint oh god, fell past Utahime's lips before Shoko quickly pressed her hand to shut her up.

Because the moment your room opened – everyone held their breath.

You peered through the little crack in the closet and pressed a hand to your lips. A shaky, teary gasp filled your tiny space as you saw a monster walking inside the room.

At least two metres tall, with shoulders barely fitting through the door frame and a single dirty cloth wrapped around his hips. A large, triangular helmet covered his panting face, while a vein-bulging hand dragged a long knife. Heavy, covered in vermilion liquid dripping onto the floor.

The stench of blood swirled in the air, mingling with a heavy, musky fragrance that tickled your nose. His footsteps shook the floor; beefy arms squeezed through the entrance as he stood in the middle of the room, looking around it at a slow, unhurried pace.

Your name once again fell off his lips, followed by a muffled baby baby baby, stuck in his mind like a mantra. A low, groany voice deepened the density of the aura he spread around himself.

And then… the massive, crimson helmet turned your way.

He took a deep breath, as if following the smell that slipped past the closet's cracked door.

He has some real-fucking-good sense of smell, you remembered Choso's words and gasped.

His steps were slow, rather crooked, as the long blade bent his back in an utterly strange way. The muscular, wide chest was covered in a thin layer of sweat, yet the fragrance smelled rather pleasant.

Familiar.

"Baby," his muffled groan slipped from beneath the helmet.

You knew this voice – low, raspy, lined with the tenderness that contradicted the pulsing dreadfulness it drew beneath your chest.

The same softness that haunted your dreams.

Your hand pressed against the door, eyes following his body as it came closer. And closer, and closer, until the musky smell hit your nostrils much harder as he grabbed the old closet door.

He didn't just open them, but tore them from the hinges with a single pull. Till nothing but a few pieces of wood hung loosely, exposing your small figure curled between the flowery dresses.

"T-To–"

But before you could finish, his fingers curled around your neck.

Pulling you closer, until you needed to stand on your toes to match his eye level. Although it was difficult to tell where his eyes were, as he hauled you right in front of his triangular helmet.

You've never felt such strength. Deathly, monstrous, overpowering you in every sense, with fat fingers gripping your throat.

"T-Toji…" you coughed again, dragging your nails over his beefy forearm. "Toji i-it's me."

His head tilted, as if trying to register your words.

You wriggled beneath his grip, twisted and squirmed, feeling pulsing blood slowly hitting your head.

A moment passed before he set you free, letting you fall back into the closet. But not for long, as a second later his arms curled around your waist and the world suddenly turned upside down.

You were hanging off his shoulder, with head dangling high in the air till you could see nothing but his blade dragged dully across the carpet.

You've noticed Shoko's bulging eyes mingling beneath the crisp moonlight. Yuki's arm trying to wriggle itself free from beneath the bed, until Choso quickly pulled her back in.

Everyone heard the monster whisper your name.

So everyone was ready to leave you be and save their own life.

And for that matter, you didn't mind it. As the long-gone feelings that had stayed locked deep within the confines of your heart suddenly spilt through the tiny cracks.

Your body hung swaying as the monster walked along the corridor. Towards the only apartment that was still brimming with life, as if cared for and tended to for years, waiting for your comeback.

When he passed the entrance and closed the door with a thud, you waited for your feet to touch the floor.

But instead, he dragged you to the bedroom, throwing you onto the soft bed. Your back bounced off the mattress as you tried to squirm into the farthest corner of the room.

He didn't let you go, grabbing your ankle and pulling you back in. Until you gasped, feeling his massive hands hook under your thighs, only to fold you in half.

"Take it off," he mumbled, dragging the end of his metal helmet along your trembling chin. "Take it off, baby."

You bit the inside of your cheek, grabbing the heavy, triangular helmet with both hands. The bloody stench dropped down the floor together with a loud clacker, filling the rain-peppered bedroom.

A soft gasp escaped your lips as the fog covering the face that appeared in your dreams every single night finally melted away your sealed memories.

The face of the only man you have ever loved loomed over your head.

With emerald eyes tracing the softness of your skin, gleaming in the chilly moonlight filtering through the blinds.

You trembled when he lifted his fingers to brush your cheek.

"My baby," he whispered, a low groan hitting you with a blooming warmth. His massive body fully blocked the only moonlight spilling in, bathing you in heat radiating from his chest. "It's been so long since I've lost you."

You didn't know what to do with your hands, but as he nuzzled his face against your breasts, you wrapped them around his neck. Tugging gently at raven hair, damp against his skin.

"Tell me you missed me," his fingers dug deeper into your thighs, as he pressed them against your chest. "Baby, tell me you thought of me this whole time."

But answering him was much more difficult than you expected, with fear and dizziness knotting deep in your neck. Only a soft pant slipped past your lips as he kissed your neck gently, licking the sweaty skin with a groan.

"W-why did you kill them?" you finally asked. "My friends…"

He knew who you were talking about, and chuckled, pulling away slightly, just to get a better view of your lovely face, with softly pouted lips and big eyes, looking up at his massive frame in panic.

"Because they wanted to take you away from me," He grinned. "Why the sad face, baby? Were they someone special for you?"

You bit lower lip, but he quickly pulled it down from between your teeth. "Answer me, baby. Were they someone special?"

"Y-ye–"

But Toji tilted his head, quickly cutting you off. "I would think twice before answering, baby."

You felt his fingers playing with the hem of your trousers. Fat digits, slowly, slowly slipping them off your hips. He used one hand to straighten your knees and roll the tracksuit swiftly, while keeping the other on your belly. Heavy and strong, pressing you into the mattress with a force you had no chance against.

The fear froze you in place as his fingers slipped beneath the hoodie.

"You don't want to make me angry, baby. Remember, some of your friends are still here," he muttered, warm breath tickling your earlobe. "Were the men I killed anyone special to you?"

"N-no," you sighed when one of his fat fingers brushed the hem of your bra. "No t-they weren't."

You wriggled beneath his massive body as he folded it in half again. He lifted your hips off the mattress and pressed himself against you with his full, crushing weight. A soft moan slipped past your lips as he tore your bra with a single pull.

Toji hummed, pressing a soft kiss to your chin. "You should be happy I didn't kill your parents, baby," Teeth bit the soft spot just beneath it, forcing you to tilt your head back. "That I was still in jail when they took my girl away from me."

Fear, panic and anxiety mixed with the waves of pleasure he sent through your body. With fingers pinching the perked, naked nipples, and teeth grazing the soft skin of your neck.

You voluntarily lifted your hands, allowing him to pull off your hoodie in one swift motion. Leaving you bare and sweating – splayed beneath his massive body, with nothing but a bloodstained leather tunic wrapped around his hips.

The panic echoed through your mind, but the body acted as if it longed for the touch that used to make your head spin from pleasure. Willingly working with his fingers, melting softly beneath the tender touch and kisses, his soft lips peppered you with.

"Those men…" You mumbled, recalling his face plastered to all the major news from five years ago. "The kidnapping. I don't remember anything."

Toji pulled away, his squinted eyes observing your face closely. As if looking for any signs of deceitfulness.

"What do you mean?"

You bit the inside of your cheek, when he leaned over your chest, wrapping lips around one of the perked nipples. Sucking it gently, with a tongue swirling the sensitive bud and giving it a soft bite.

"M-my memory, mhm," your eyes fluttered, feeling his hips press against your soaked panties. "T-tell me, what happened here?"

The stench of vermilion blood still covered his skin, painting it in dripping red strokes. The blood of your dearest friends, most surely.

He ripped your drenched panties off, using the flimsy material to wipe himself clean. Letting your lingerie soak the remains of the people you spent your past few years with.

You didn't dare to move. Didn't dare to fight.

Just allowed yourself to melt under his fingers slipping down your belly, towards the clenching, fluttering cunt that drenched your inner thighs with the nasty, sticky juices.

It felt utterly inappropriate. To feel the lustful flame biting your flesh while spreading yourself beneath the man who had killed your friends just a few minutes earlier.

The roll of your hips in desperate waves, tugging harshly at his raven hair sticking to his neck.

But he was the man you, supposedly, loved dearly those years ago, and it was no surprise that your body, heart, and soul pulled you towards him in weeping despair.

"That female bartender," you gasped, as his finger brushed your trembling clit. "T-toji, wait, please tell me–"

"Shhh," he licked the long stripe between your breasts, across your chest, up your neck, until his lips met yours in a messy, metallic kiss. "My pretty girl. You truly don't remember, hm?"

Your head shook, and lungs desperately gasped for air, as he put his massive weight on your body. Till the mattress dipped beneath your back and a few bedsprings pinched your spine.

"You killed her," he whispered, tugging slightly to keep an eye on the surprise twisting your face. "That's right, baby. You killed her because she flirted with me in the club's bathroom. And I only took the blame for you. After all, I never denied killing those eight fuckers, and another victim didn't make much difference."

Another big slab of memory slipped back into your mind.

From years ago, with a girl, tracing kisses up Toji's neck, as he tried to push her away. Her fingers on his bulging jeans, hand wrapping around the biceps.

You, waiting for her at the club's back door, till she walked out alone and had the misfortune of meeting you.

Her head smashed with a heavy stone, as you huffed and puffed over her body, a rage still bubbling in your veins.

And then Toji appeared – always lurking somewhere around, never out of your sight – hugging you from behind. "She made my baby angry, hm?"

You pouted, turning in his embrace. Eyes looking up to meet his, drenched fingers brushing his cheeks. "I didn't like the way she touched you."

He giggled, nuzzling into your soft palm. He kissed it tenderly, allowing a stench of blood to coat his gentle lips. "That's okay, baby. No one can ever take you away from me. I'm forever yours."

The memory slipped into your mind suddenly, almost like an intrusion, sparking a surge of panic and anxiety that filled your heart with a painful throb.

You killed someone.

You killed a woman, only because of your foolish jealousy.

And the man hanging over you took the blame because there was nothing, ever, he wouldn't do for his precious girl.

"I missed you so fucking much," he connected your maws again, pulling your lower lip with a soft groan. His finger scooped the honeyed juice sticking to your clenching folds, as another filthy moan hit your cheeks. "I bet you taste delicious, hm?"

A shuddering cry fell past your lips, as you felt his fat finger trying to squeeze itself through your tight, wet hole. Sticky juices coated his skin like a spiderweb, yet your clenching muscles were too shut to let his finger in.

"Baby, you need to relax," he chuckled, peppering kisses down your chin.

Through neck, breasts, staying a bit longer to suck on your perked nipples, before biting a small roll of your belly and finally kneeling in front of your spread legs.

"I won't be able to fuck you if you won't open up," emerald eyes followed your tightly shut cunt, before moving up to glance at the warmth hitting your embarrassed cheeks. "It's been so long, hm?" his warm breath smooched your trembling clit. "No one has touched you for the past five years, right, baby?"

Your head nodded in panic as a sly smile tugged at Toji's lips. "N-no one, I-I thought I was a virgin…"

And because the past few years of your life had been nothing but a misty memory, you frankly thought of yourself as fully inexperienced in sexual pleasures. With only lustful dreams plaguing your nights, of a man who currently looked up at you from between your spread legs.

"Truly, baby?" he sniffed your leaking cunt, shifting the air with a loud groan. "Because when I kidnapped you, we did nothing but fucked for a whole week," his fat finger once again tried to push through your walls, only to send a crying moan from your throat. "I filled you with so much cum, we were sure you would walk out pregnant," scarred lips finally pressed to your clit, swirling the trembling button with a drenched tongue. "My sweet baby, you were always crying so prettily on my cock. Come on, open yourself for me."

He sucked, licked, and kissed your puffy clit, with soaked fingers slowly stretching your sealed walls. The muscles wrapped around his digit in an almost painful manner, and he hissed, feeling how tight you truly were.

Your back arched from a pleasure washing over your spine, as he swirled his tongue all over your weeping cunt. Sucking gently on a clit, biting the swollen lips, drinking the spilling juices like a madman, till the sweetness of your pussy marked his whole face. Cheeks and chin, both smeared in the sticky cum, as emerald eyes rolled back at the creaminess spilling over his taste buds.

"I missed you so much, my love, my baby," Toji moaned, pulling you closer to his face. One meaty palm fell over your belly, while two fingers of another tried to slip inside your clenching pussy. "You have no fucking idea how angry I was when they took you. Fuck," another groan of his pinched your spine with a trembling pleasure, as your back arched. "I killed them all."

You glanced down at his wet forehead, brushing away a few strands of hair sticking to creamy skin. "Who?"

He groaned when you tugged on his hair. "Everyone. I killed everyone for taking you away from me. For locking me up and letting your parents take you, God knows where."

The abandoned hospital, burnt university, destroyed ranches – he killed them all.

And as much as you wished to feel some sympathy, all the lost memories were slowly flooding your mind.

The days spent in Toji's pleasure, with his maniacal, possessive love, were flooding your mind again. His jealousy and territorial control led to so many unnecessary deaths.

Some of them caused by your hands.

"Good," you suddenly whispered, feeling an overwhelming, blinding pleasure bubbling in your loins. "Mhm, Toji–ah–that's o-okay."

His fat fingers barely slipped inside your cunt, lips worked on your swollen clit with a groan sending tremblings through your sensitive bud. He kissed and licked and sucked your pussy with an almost devoted passion, massive hand pressing your lower belly to the mattress.

You spread your legs farther, allowing his wide shoulders to paint red the insides of your thighs.

"Yeah?" he muttered, slowly looking up. "Are you happy, baby? I punished them all. Just for you."

When his fingers slipped deeper, your head fell back, and a bubbly moan escaped your tightened throat. "F-fuck, am so happy–ahhh."

Your hips rolled against his plastered tongue, chasing the pleasure slowly splashing in your lower belly.

But you didn't want to cum like that. Not on his tongue, when you've already noticed the meaty cock stretching his leather tunic.

And so you placed a foot on his forehead, pushing his starving mouth away. Your sticky juices dripped from his chin, hearts dancing in the emerald eyes, plagued only by the longing and desperation to eat his pretty girl alive.

"Don't test me, baby," he muttered, kissing the sole of your foot. "I've been waiting for you five years. Do you know what it does to a man?"

But you could only smile – slyly, cheekily, as if the girl from five years ago were slowly slipping back into your body – and roll onto your belly. Just to lift your hips and spread your cheeks with one hand.

The droplets of cum oozed from your tight cunt, landing softly on the drenched mattress. The sudden surge of boldness smooched your neck with warm kisses, leaving you bare and trembling right in front of your lover's eyes.

"I don't wish to test you," you muttered, still a bit shyly, avoiding his heavy gaze. "Just please, fuck me already. I want to cum on your cock."

He hummed and stood up. His head almost brushed the ceiling, and his massive body cast a large shadow over your trembling figure. He ripped the leather tunic off his hips with one pull, leaving you completely breathless.

The sudden confidence… suddenly disappeared.

And instead, panic rose in your chest as you saw the hanging monstrosity he had been hiding all this time.

Too heavy to stick to his abdomen, yet stony hard and oozing with musty precum. The bluish veins curled around his fat, pulsing shaft, and the reddened head was ready to burst any second.

Before you could change a position, suddenly feeling that this one felt too intimidating and deep, his hands grabbed your hips and pressed them to his hanging length.

"What happened, baby? You were so confident just a mere seconds ago," Toji chuckled, feeling the heat of your cunt against his cock. "I wanted to stretch you a bit longer, but if you're sure that it's not needed…"

He grabbed pulsing head, drenching it in your juices. It already felt heavy, monstrous, as he smooched your tight entrance with the biting heat that spread all over your swollen pussy.

"N-no, wait–" you tried to push him away, but he quickly pressed you to the mattress with one hand.

A massive palm landed on your back, locking you in one position – with hips high up and nipples brushing the bedding. You begged and wriggled, feeling his massive body tremble with laughter.

"Shhh," he bent over, kissing your spine. "Take a deep breath, baby. You brought it upon yourself."

His massive cock poked on your entrance. Pulsing head squeezing through the tight rim of your muscles, getting itself drenched in your honeyed juices. Your walls squeezed his shaft with a painful pleasure, letting a low groan slip past his lips.

"Toji, you're too big–mmm," a muffled cry hit the pillow, as his hand still kept you pressed to the mattress. "I can't–"

"No, baby," he chuckled, yet a few droplets of sweat bubbled on his forehead. "You can. And you will. I haven't cummed in five fucking years. Do you know how much I've been holding up for you, hm? I hope you came hungry, because today I'll be stuffing you full."

The grip of your cunt was simply maddening, almost tormenting, and if he didn't bite down his lower lips, he would already tear your sweet cunt with a lone thrust. But instead, he slowly pushed in, taking a deep breath as his head fully slipped in.

Thick shaft swabbing your insides, his hand sliding down to feel himself through your belly. Palm pressing the shivering muscles, as he pushed, and pushed, forcing inch by inch into your weeping cunt.

Completely deaf to your sobbing when you tried to pull yourself off his massive cock.

"Toji, please, fuck, that's–ahhh," you attempted to turn your head back, but his hand between your shoulder blades was keeping you in place.

"Just a minute, baby," he hummed, feeling his cock, slide through the tightness of your cunt. Your belly bulged with his thickness, sending another ruffling chuckle through his chest, and a crying moan out of your lips. "I'm almost here. Arch yourself a bit more, hm? Let me hit that sweet spot of yours."

You did as he ordered, hugging the pillow he pressed your face to.

"That's right, my good girl." His fingers opened your pussylips to see the nasty mess coating his length. "Don't tell me you hate it, baby. Your pussy is sucking me in. And I know that if I do this," he suddenly, without a warning, pushed his full length in, drawing a weeping scream from your throat. "You will immediately cum."

And he was right, because the moment his fat, bursting head hit your womb, and fingers pinched your clit – you cummed all over the mattress. Drenching it in crystalline juices, as a wave of pleasure washed over your quivering spine.

He didn't stop. Didn't wait for you to calm down after the first orgasm.

Instead, his thrusts became brutal, almost inhumane, as he pounced on you like a savage monster. With one hand still rolling your clit, he leaned over to lick a filthy strip of your sweat-coated skin. Teeth biting deep into your shoulder, as you cried pitifully, feeling his cock rearrange your insides.

"What's wrong, baby?" He chuckled, noticing a warmth creeping up your neck. "You still want me to pull out?"

Your head shook, teary eyes glancing back at his handsome face. "You're so mean."

Yet your hips started to willingly hit against his, chasing the hefty smooches of his leaking head that swelled your womb. The fat shaft filled you with maddening fullness, hitting all sensitive bumps inside your pussy. Soft walls clamped down on his cock, as if desperately trying to keep it in place.

But Toji's hips were stronger, faster, as he pulled his cock out, till nothing but his tip was still getting sucked by your sweet cunt, only to slam it back and force a moany cry out of your lips.

"Yeah baby, I'm so fucking mean," the sweat glazed his forehead, a few droplets trickling down his massive back. "And I'll be so mean while stuffing your poor belly full. You're not leaving this room until I get you fucking, pregnant."

You moaned, rolling your hips to feel more of his monstrosity brush against your sweet spot. Eyes rolled back and mouth agape, a thread of crystal spit trickling down your chin.

Toji laughed, seeing your fucked-out face drooling into the pillow. "And you're going to thank me for it, right, baby?"

He grabbed a fistful of your hair and gently nodded your head. "Yeah, my sweet girl. You're not leaving my side ever again."

His hips hit you faster, more brutally, making your back twist into a painful arch and your feet curl, as another wave of pleasure already pinched your lower belly.

"Try to run away, and I'll promise you'll never see the sunlight again."

His cock pounded you madly, and you could swear that it somehow, suddenly, swelled. Becoming even thicker, fatter, till your poor womb cried from the brutal madness of his leaking head and fluttering walls tried to stretch under its sudden growth.

"Tell me how much you love me," he ordered, biting gently on your earlobe. "Come on, baby, tell me how much you missed me."

His massive body pressed you into the mattress; air barely slipped past your compressed lungs, yet a muffled, "I love you–ahhh–T-toji I love you s-so much," still forced its way out of your lips.

"I-m going to, mmm, Toji fuck–"

He chuckled, rolling your clit between his fingers. Cock ravishing your pussy brutally, another wave of cum already splashing in your lower belly, as he put all his massive weight onto your poor, trembling body.

The fat shaft sat heavily inside the sweet warmth of your cunt, nuzzling itself deep against the swollen womb.

And within another second – he finally came.

Or likely burst, painting your insides white, with thick, hefty spurts of sticky seed, filling the little belly pouch. Stuffing your womb full, just as he promised, till the cum started leaking past the veiny shaft swallowed fully by your weeping pussy.

Trembles after trembles flooded your spine, as he whispered sweet little nothing to your crying cheeks. Kissing away the salty droplets, before he rolled you over and folded you in half.

"Toji, it hurts," you mumbled, yet still softening from pleasure under his touch.

He didn't need another minute, not even a second, as his cock hardened a moment after seeing your puffy, lovely face.

"What hurts, baby?" He cooed, licking your soft cheeks. "Tell me, what's the matter?"

You pressed your hand to your lower belly, feeling the waves of his cum splashing inside your pulsing womb. "It's too much. Mhmmm, Toji, I can't do it again."

But he simply didn't give you any mind. Knowing how much pleasure you always took from being manhandled like a rag doll. Getting stuffed full, till the nausea hit your throat from the taste of his cum and cunt leaked for whole weeks.

And if you haven't remembered it yet, he simply needs to remind you.

So he did – over and over again. Until you truly became nothing but a doll, liquefying in his beefy arms and weeping sweetly as you rode his massive, gut-turning cock. And although your face was swollen from constant sobbing, your heart swelled with maddening, almost terrifying adoration.

Or a torment, maybe, towards a man whom you should rather hate than care for.

A monster, a nightmare, a beast.

Your most dearest lover.

©liahcharms all rights reserved. Do not copy, plagiarise, feed AI, translate or modify my works.

Well, I hope you enjoyed it...

I'm sorry, I cannot find the artist of Toji's fanart! :( dividers by @pixopix and @diviniyae

[ { DISCLAIMER } ] ➤ Please do not come to me with comparisons of this story to any other out there. I usually don’t mind but there are specific books out there that this tale has been oddly compared to in the past &, it’s caused complications & unnecessary drama (plus more). As such, enjoy tfl for what it is, pls & ty.

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Extras.

In case you’re confused, here’s a breakdown of this fic.

Hope you enjoy!

|| @kamiflix || ff status; complete ||

You've been in Bali for four days. You came here to stop thinking about depositions and the buzzing of your phone and the version of yourself that answers emails at midnight from a bathtub because it's the only place in the apartment that feels quiet. You came here to remember what your own thoughts sound like without a client's voice layered over them. You did not come here for a mystery.

You step over the flowers and go find coffee anyway.

The café is four minutes down the road, tucked between a surf shop and a shrine wrapped in checkered cloth, easy to miss if you weren't looking for it, which you weren't, the first time — you'd just followed the smell of something dark-roasted and slightly burnt in a way that felt more honest than the resort's pristine espresso machine. It's small. Six tables, most of them empty most of the day, a chalkboard menu that changes depending on what looks good that morning. The man who runs it has a low ponytail and forearms that look like they've done actual work, and he has never once rushed you, even when you've sat at his corner table for three hours straight, laptop closed, just sitting.

"Same as yesterday?" he asks, when you come in. His name, you learned on day two, is Suguru.

"Same as yesterday," you confirm, and take your usual seat.

He brings the coffee over himself, which you've noticed he doesn't do for everyone. Sets it down without ceremony. "You look like you slept."

"I did, actually."

"Miracle," he says, and there's something at the corner of his mouth that isn't quite a smile but wants to be one. "What'll it take to keep that up?"

"A returned deposit on my last two years, probably."

"I don't have that on the menu today. Coffee's the best I can do."

"It's a start."

He goes back behind the counter, and you watch him for a second longer than you mean to — the unhurried way he moves, like nothing here is worth rushing, like time in this town runs on a different current than the one you left behind. You think, not for the first time, that you could stand to learn something from a man who owns a café and seems to have made peace with slowness as a way of life.

You don't think about the flowers again until the next morning, when there's another cluster waiting outside your door.

By day six, it's become a small ritual you don't examine too closely. Wake up, find the flowers, leave them where they are because moving them feels like it might break whatever spell put them there, walk to the café, drink coffee across from a man whose voice has become the steadiest sound in your day. You've stopped checking your phone at breakfast. You've stopped mentally drafting emails while you eat. You've started, instead, noticing things — the particular blue the sky turns right before a storm rolls in off the water, the sound of a gecko clicking somewhere in the café's rafters, the way Suguru's hands look when he's grinding beans, sure and unbothered.

You tell him about the flowers on day six, mostly because you've run out of anything else to say and the silence between you has stopped needing to be filled with small talk.

"Every morning," you say, stirring sugar into coffee you don't actually need sugar in. "Right outside my door. No note, no nothing. It's very committed, whoever's doing it."

Something flickers across his face — there and gone, fast enough that you almost miss it. "Committed how?"

"Like, every single morning. Rain or shine. I checked yesterday during that storm and they were still there, a little waterlogged but present."

"Maybe you have a very devoted admirer."

"Maybe I have a very persistent cat that's confused about what to bring me."

He laughs — an actual laugh, low and surprised out of him, like you caught him off guard. "A cat that arranges petals in a spiral. Sure."

You go still. "I never said spiral."

The pause that follows is exactly one second too long.

"Lucky guess," he says, and turns to grind more beans, and you sit there with your coffee going lukewarm in your hands, doing quiet, lawyerly math on the shape of his shoulders and the exact timing of his silences.

You don't confront him. Not yet. Instead you set an alarm for four-thirty the next morning, which feels absurd — you are a grown woman who bills by the hour, sneaking around a rented villa to catch someone in the act of leaving her flowers, as though this were a stakeout and not the most romantic thing that's happened to you in longer than you'd like to admit.

At four-fifty, you hear footsteps on the gravel path outside.

You crack the door an inch. And there he is — Suguru, in the grey pre-dawn light, crouched by your doorstep with a small paper-wrapped bundle of frangipani, arranging them with more care than the task probably requires. He's not dressed for the café yet, still in a plain shirt with his hair loose around his shoulders, and something about seeing him like this, unguarded and quiet and clearly not expecting an audience, knocks something loose in your chest.

"You walk four minutes out of your way every morning," you say, "to leave flowers on a stranger's doorstep."

He doesn't jump, which annoys you a little — of course he doesn't, nothing seems to rattle this man — but he does go very still, and when he looks up at you there's something almost sheepish in it, which you didn't think his face was capable of.

"You're not a stranger," he says. "You've had the same table for a week and a half."

"That's not really an answer."

"No," he agrees. He stands, brushing dirt from his knees, unhurried even now, caught red-handed at five in the morning. "It's not."

You wait. You're good at waiting — it's half your job, letting silence do the work a question can't.

"You looked tired the first morning you came in," he says finally. "Not vacation-tired. Tired like you'd been carrying something a long time and didn't know how to put it down. I thought — " he stops, seems to reconsider, decides to say it plainly instead. "I thought you deserved to open your door to something nice before you had to think about anything else. That's all it was, at first."

"At first."

"At first," he repeats, and doesn't elaborate further, but he's looking at you in a way that makes the rest of the sentence unnecessary.

You should probably say something devastatingly clever here. Instead what comes out is: "You could've just told me it was you."

"Would you have let me keep doing it, if I had?"

You think about that honestly, standing barefoot on gravel with the sky just starting to go pink at the edges. "I don't know. Probably not. I'd have felt like I owed you something."

"You don't owe me anything for flowers picked from a tree in my own backyard." A pause. "Though I wouldn't say no to company. If you're awake anyway."

There's a plumeria tree, you learn, on a strip of land behind his family's house a short walk from here — that's where the flowers come from, cut fresh each morning before the heat can wilt them, chosen for no reason you can discern except that he apparently likes the ones with the reddest centers, thinks they suit you, though he won't say why when you ask. You end up sitting with him on the low stone wall at the edge of the property as the sky changes color, not saying much, which feels like it should be awkward and isn't. There's a kind of quiet that only works between two people who've already spent a week and a half doing nothing but existing near each other, and this is that kind.

"I have four days left," you say eventually, because someone has to say it, and it might as well be you.

"I know."

"That's not very much time."

"No," he agrees again, infuriatingly calm about it, "it isn't." He looks over at you, and there's something steady underneath the calm, something that looks like a decision already made. "Doesn't mean I'm going to stop bringing flowers."

"Even after I'm gone?"

"Especially then." He says it simply, like it costs him nothing to admit, though you suspect it costs him more than he's letting on. "Some habits are worth keeping even without an audience."

You don't have a clever response to that either. You just sit with it, watching the light change, aware in a way you haven't let yourself be aware of anything in over a year that some part of you is already dreading the flight home — not because you don't want to go back to your life, but because you're starting to understand that whatever this is, whatever's been growing quietly on your doorstep every morning in the shape of white petals, doesn't come with an easy ending. It's not the kind of thing you can bill hours to figure out. It's not the kind of thing you can solve at all.

"Four days," you say again, softer this time, less like an obstacle and more like a countdown you intend to actually use.

Suguru's hand finds yours on the stone wall between you, not asking permission, just there, warm and certain. "Then we'd better not waste them."

"Sneak away where?" You asked, a hint of sarcasm slipping out of your sleepy voice.

Before he could answer, Suguru's hand settled firmly on your hips, and you glanced back to see him sitting up after you, the bed creaking as he readjusted, his fingers clearly itching to claim you as his tired stare shifted between you and his best friend.

"I was about to make her breakfast," Suguru announced, annoyance hanging in the air as Satoru scoffed.

"I already made french toast," Satoru protested.

"Is it edible?" The man in bed with you retorted, arching up a dark eyebrow as the one in front of you abruptly clamped his pretty mouth shut, like he didn't want to answer.

You kinda liked watching them bicker back-and-forth, amusement overwriting the anxiety in your stomach as they exchanged petty scowls and remarks.

"I mean, yeah," Satoru half-scoffed after a few awkward seconds of silence, but it wasn't that convincing.

"What do you want to eat?" Suguru softly asked you, brushing your hair back off your shoulder to pull your attention back to him with ease that surprised.

"Would you hate me if I wanted some waffles?" You said, not totally sure if you were asking Satoru or replying to Suguru.

"Of course not-"

"I'll get them started."

They both spoke up at the same time, and you had to suck in your bottom lip to not giggle a little as they ended up just throwing each other irritated glances.

They could sort it out between each other.

As long as they didn't end up strangling each other in front of the cameras, you didn't really see the harm in entertaining both of them.

It at least kept them occupied while you got ready for the day, switching into a bikini and putting on sunglasses so you didn't have to do your makeup before you walked back out to where they were making food.

But when you slid into a stool, they were both sliding plates of food in front of you, Suguru's neatly plated like he was the chef at some restaurant while Satoru had cut up fruit to make a smiley face on top of a half-burnt waffle.

"Mine's cuter," he muttered under his breath.

"You burned it," Suguru reminded him.

"I'll try both," you shut them up, rolling your eyes as you started with Suguru's, pouring some syrup on the side before cutting it up.

"Can I feed you mine?" Satoru eagerly asked, already spinning the plate around to start cutting it for you, mirroring the size you sliced yours into.

"Am I going to be able to stop you?" You tilted your head to the side, already knowing the answer.

But Suguru didn't want to let that slide either, reaching over to wipe the corner of your lips when some syrup got on it, sucking his thumb clean afterwards like he had with the salt on your fingers before.

A battle of who could find the most excuses to touch you beginning as Satoru slid into the seat next to you, his fork stabbing a square of his own waffle before he was telling you to say ah and reaching up with his free hand to guide your jaw open. Your chin pinched between his nimble fingers as you contemplated what Sukuna would do if he caught you like this.

Sandwiched between two ridiculously hot men, pampered and treated sorta like a spoiled pet, handfed and held with open adoration.

But it wasn't him that walked in on it.

"Am I interrupting?" You twisted around to see Yuki lazily strolling over, her head casually cocked to the side as the guy she was coupled with tried to feed you breakfast.

You instantly felt like shit.

Something uncomfortable shifting in your stomach as you plucked a piece of strawberry off your plate and held it out, forcing a bright smile at her. "You hungry?"

"A little," she yawned, walking over and leaning down to just eat it off your palm, her soft lips skimming over your skin before she swallowed it. "Thanks."

Her warm brown eyes slowly tracing the shape of you before she looked over at Satoru, assessing the way he was leaning towards you, her manicured brows knitting together before she relaxed with an exhale.

"How did you sleep last night?" You asked, unsure what to do with the slimy feeling still sticking to you as her lean body rested against you on the stool.

"Someone kept stealing the blankets," she hummed, teasingly looking back at Satoru as he sheepishly shrugged his shoulders. And then she was turning back to you, a knowing glint in her stare as she nodded towards Suguru. "You two looked pretty cozy though."

"I was tired," you excused.

So exhausted that you simply couldn't stay awake the second Suguru decided to be your personal comforter.

Yuki giggled, like she saw something you didn't.

And you couldn't help but think why hadn't one of them just decided to go for her instead. She was gorgeous. The kind of easy, effortless beauty you usually saw in magazines. Long limbs and long blond hair, her tits sitting pretty fucking perfectly in every outfit she wore, laughing and smiling and funny and a billion other things that would pretty much make her anyone's dream girl.

God, if you were a guy, she would be your first pick.

Shit, if Satoru spent a few hours with her, he would surely realize that too, wouldn't he? Figure it out for himself that she would make everything so much fucking simpler than you would?

You were damaged.

Broken and jagged and bent in so many places that you were never going to make being someone's other half easy. All you'd do was break his heart, no matter how many times he tried to hand it to you.

Yuki had told you before that she was here for a fun time. That she wouldn't mind meeting someone she really connected with, but she wasn't expecting to find her soulmate or anything.

And some piece of you felt like you were still fucking it up for her. She was coupled up with a great guy, and she couldn't even enjoy it with you in the way. And the one she was interested in had chosen you too.

Shit.

Maybe you hadn't really known her long enough to consider her a real friend, but she was still your favorite person in the villa.

What were you supposed to do? Step back from Satoru to give them a chance to build a connection? Even if the thought of that made you feel sorta ill?

You didn't know.

Couldn't decide.

Just sitting there awkwardly as the conversation began to fizzle out, only for someone to shout from across the pool that they'd gotten a text.

You hadn't even realized the rest of the islanders were up, your head snapping around to scan and spot everyone's still tired figures making their way over to where Manami was calling out, waving a phone production must've given her.

She already had her makeup on, wearing a tight two-piece as Naoya's hand possessively gripped onto her waist like he was convinced someone else might take her from him.

Everyone else made their way to the crescent-shaped couch, begrudgingly joining them, Utahime half-sitting on Shoko's lap, her legs thrown over her friend's, not even bothering to look to where Nanami was lounging to her left, his head reclining back as he soaked up the sun. Golden blond hair sparkling as he exhaled, his defined jaw clenched as if he was trying to remind himself that he was supposed to be relaxing.

Your group of four joined them, still paired up as you tried to sink back into the cushions, thankful that Yuki kept you from being stuck between Suguru and Satoru again when Sukuna finally decided to show up, his muscles literally glistening with tanning lotion rubbed into them as he yawned and stretched, the tattoo of your name on full display before he took a seat right next to your current partner.

"Well?" He grunted, glaring at Manami.

You wondered if they had shown him your fight with her before he came on the show. Although, if you had to judge by the loathing lingering in the hard lines of his face right now, you would take a wild guess that they had.

Manami's nose wrinkled up, sharing his disgust before she cleared her throat and begin to speak, "Today, we're sending two islanders out on a date."

You knew it.

Discontent settled in your stomach, your eyes already shifting over to Yuki and Satoru, sure that you'd have to spend the entire day in the villa waiting for them to return and him to realize that she fit him in a way you never would.

"Who?" Utahime cut in, and you couldn't tell if she was excited because she thought it was her, or because she was convinced it wouldn't be.

Either way, you were so focused on Satoru's side profile that you weren't even paying attention until she said your name.

Immediately snapping out of it as you blinked back surprise, looking over to Suguru to see if he heard the same thing, his mouth curling up in a smug smirk as he slid his arm around your shoulder. Ignoring the way your ex-boyfriend was literally three inches away from him looking like he was planning on smothering him with a pillow in his sleep.

"Does it say where?" Suguru calmly asked, your mouth going dry as it hit you that the opposite was about to happen.

"Nope," Manami muttered, putting the phone back up as you stupidly looked back to see Satoru's reaction at being separated from you once again.

His stare hurt.

The sharpness in that brilliant shade of blue, blinking too fast, too hard as he held onto your face. His broad chest unsteadily rising and falling like he was having a hard time breathing, the lump in his throat bobbing before you forced yourself to look away.

"Have fun," Shoko wryly said, and you were numbly nodded, not sure what else you could do when they probably had five different cameras capturing your reaction from all different angles.

"I guess we should go get ready," you cleared your throat, making yourself turn to Suguru as he leaned down to press a simple peck to your forehead.

It seemed to be so simple for him. Knowing what face to wear. What to do. How to be perceived.

Yuki was standing up behind you, her fingers interlacing with yours as she started to tug you back towards the villa.

"I'll help," she chirped, offering assistance you accepted with another bob of your head.

She did your makeup for you, her tongue peeking out from between her pink lips as she focused on getting every detail just right. Pulling out a bunch of dresses from her suitcase and yours, holding them each up against you and clicking her tongue until she landed on a soft, summery sundress.

“I’d go on a date with you,” Yuki winked when she was finally finished, her hand skimming over your breast before she fixed where one of the straps got twisted. "He's not gonna be able to keep his hands off you."

"I guess it'll be good to get to know him more," you murmured, staring at your own reflection and leaning closer before applying a little more lip gloss.

"You should just have fun."

Fun.

You didn't know why the fuck you had to keep reminding yourself of that.

But you were nervously bouncing your leg and biting the inside of your cheek by the time someone from production ushered you out into a car together, being shushed not to speak during the drive as you glanced out the tinted windows to watch the palm trees pass by.

You thought you'd be like, skinny dipping or on another cheap picnic so production didn't have to pay for shit.

But to your surprise, they took you to some tiny amusement park by the ocean, the kind of place with rickety coasters and funnel cakes and those cutouts you stuck your faces in to snap cheesy photos. It wasn't busy either, fairly slow as you were instructed to just walk around and have a good time.

On the bright side, you weren't forced to make a ton of fake conversations just so they could get enough clips. They hadn't shut down the park, but they had pulled some strings to get you through to the front of most lines and having a few areas marked off so they could shoot the one-on-one stuff in peace.

And as weird as it was, you sorta got used to being followed around and filmed.

You suspected that there was some ulterior motive production had for sending the two of you away - most likely stirring something atrocious up for you to both return to in the villa.

What would it be?

Giving Yuki and Satoru some time to get more acquainted too? Sending in a sparkling new bombshell to catch his eye? Maybe riling up Sukuna so he'd fly off the handle once you stepped back through the door?

As much as you wanted to sit around and spiral, all your wondering wouldn't get you anymore.

And it was sorta nice to be away from the pressure cooker of emotions and past trauma the villa had turned into for you.

Suguru let you lead the way, choosing what to ride and making suggestions as you actually got the chance to talk about normal things. Bringing up his job again, murmuring about how much he enjoyed teaching, softly speaking about what his life was like back home before this.

Suguru actually only lived a city away, teaching at a college a few of your friends had actually gone to. He told you about his twin nieces he adored and how they'd probably watch this one day when they were old enough just to mock him mercilessly for it. His students too, probably.

"Don't you think there's something a little unethical about you being on here when you're supposed to be shaping impressionable young minds?" You teased him, only to be reminded how much you liked his chuckle and the way his dark eyes glittered in the sunlight.

And somewhere along the way, you started to let go of some of your apprehensions. Letting yourself enjoy the roller coasters, laughing when you had to run your fingers through his hair to help detangle it afterwards. Watching him try to win you stuffed animals from rigged game booths, unable to hide your excitement when he finally won you a small stuffed bear, clutching it to your chest as you studied its pink tufts of fur and slightly crooked beaded eyes as you thanked him.

Suguru was comfortable to be around.

Something about him you couldn't quite put your finger on disarming you in private, pulling you in and keeping you glued to his side as he got you funnel cake and then held your hair back when one of the rides had you puking it back up and praying they wouldn't air that part.

Getting to know him was a little terrifying.

Sex was one thing. Kissing, touching, sleeping together, all of that was physical. But opening up the door to something emotional carried unavoidable danger.

Because the more you knew, the more you it hit you how much there was to like, and the more you liked him, the more likely you were to lose him.

He slipped his arm around you at every chance and held the doors open for you and looked at you like every single stupid thing you had to say was interesting and fuck-

No.

You swallowed hard, stopping yourself mid-spiral as the setting sun cast golden shadows across his pretty side profile as you realized that you hadn't even realized the afternoon was up until it was over.

Suguru really was beautiful.

It wasn't the same as Satoru. No, not quite so bright, or nearly as intense. His beauty struck you slower, like the longer you stared at him, the more details you discovered. The faint frown lines by his mouth, the jagged edge of his sharp jaw, the bone structure beneath his annoyingly clear complexion that looked like it had been carved by some adoring god.

His eyes crinkled when he laughed. Little wrinkles you wanted to trace with your fingertips. His bangs fell down and framed his face like the universe wanted to remind you how fine he was, his fingers digging into your palm a little tighter, pulling you away from the rides and the games.

Some piece of you wondered what your life would have been like if you met a guy like him instead of Sukuna.

Would he have brought out the best in you instead of the worst?

You ended up on a private bench, polishing off cotton candy and talking about his philosophy degree as you glanced around the relatively empty corner of the park. The sun was beating down on both of you, but he didn't seem to mind, one arm slung behind your shoulder and his linen shirt hanging loose on his solid frame while you stared at his relaxed form. A tiny pink tuft of the sugar floss sticking to the corner of his mouth that you reached up and picked off.

"Thanks," he tenderly spoke, like he was actually grateful for it. Sukuna probably would've grumbled or grunted about it, maybe said he didn't need your help. Satoru might've pretended you had some stuck too so he could lick it off.

"Mhm," you hummed back.

"Satoru likes you a lot," he muttered, like he wasn't sitting there brushing your hair from your face for the excuse to touch you too, his thumb slowly drifting over your cheekbone as you tried to slow the butterflies in your stomach from fluttering. "But I like you too."

You opened your mouth to protest, but his mouth preemptively reacted before you could speak, twitching up in amusement like he couldn't control it.

"You really have a hard time accepting that, huh?" Suguru added, and you let out a defensive huff that didn't exactly help your case.

"I am not exactly lucky with love," you murmured, narrowing your eyes at him just for one of his hands to slip over your thigh, fingertips sliding over down to the hem of your sundress with affection that felt deliberate.

Everything he did was pointed. Precise. Nothing lacked a meaning, even if it wasn't immediately obvious.

He thought before he acted. You couldn't really say the same.

"Luck can change."

"Mine never does," you bluntly stated, like you were daring it to defy you.

You were tired of trying.

Of struggling and suffering hoping for something to break and begging the universe to not let it be you.

"I think you both only like me because I'm a challenge," you added, staring at the last blue bits of cotton candy spun on the paper cone. "I'm just waiting for you to get bored."

"You’re gonna be waiting a while, pretty girl," Suguru warned, his mouth curling up as you rolled your eyes.

As much as you told yourself you didn’t want anything serious, that you never needed love to start with, being around someone like him made you want it anyway.

Curiosity craving a taste of what it would be like to be loved by someone steady.

"Can I try again?" He asked, and you squinted suspiciously back at him.

"Try what again?" You arched a brow, but he just leaned into you, your pulse picking up as you tried to ignore how nice his cologne smelled. How normal it felt to be this close to him.

"Kissing you," Suguru softly spoke, his dark gaze glancing down to the shape of your lips like he somehow missed them.

"One," you allotted, holding your breath as he leaned down and let his nose brush ever so tenderly against the tip of yours.

When his mouth moved to meet yours though, you almost immediately knew you were going to make this last as long as possible. Captured by the heat in his lips, the way he greedily sucked you in, soft and slow and sensual all at the same time, as if he knew he might not get the chance to do this again, but Suguru still refused to rush it.

So what if one kiss turned into, like, ten?

Before long, you were on his lap, your fingers fully tangled into his silky hair and his tongue halfway down your throat as his palm slowly slid down your spine. Fingers splayed possessively at the small of your back before he pulled you in all the way, your thighs straddling his as you were struck by the abrupt thought you fit rather nicely into him.

And when he pulled back to suck in a breath, his dark eyes darting between yours and your lips like he needed more, you were almost leaning forward to keep it going.

"Would you want to spend the night in the hideaway with me tonight?"

REMINDER THAT ON THE POLLS WHOEVER WIN WILL NOT BE IN THE NEXT POLL !!