Jinn

Since then, you avoid him as much as possible. You eat at different times, use the other staircase, and pretend he doesn’t exist when he walks by in sweatpants and zero shame.

It’s a delicate system. You stay out of each other’s way, and the house stays quiet.

Until tonight.

The others went out—your mom and her husband doing whatever rich people do when they say “business dinner.” The staff had gone home hours ago. House was dead silent, except for the hum of the AC and the faint noise of the TV upstairs.

You were sprawled on the couch, watching some random show, too lazy to go to your room. The glow from the screen flickered over the glass railing, throwing light on the expensive decor you still weren’t used to.

You weren’t thinking about him. You never try to think about him. He just shows up in your head like a song you hate but know every word to.

The guy’s too pretty for his own good. Snowy silk hair, those ridiculous blue eyes, the kind of confidence that makes you want to throw a punch. Still, you’ve caught yourself looking far more times than you’ll admit, but you always end up annoyed after. All that beauty wasted on a prick like him. Some people win the genetic lottery and still manage to act like jerks.

What a fuckin' shame.

The soft glow of the TV blurred at the edges as your eyes grew heavier and heavier. Couch was warm, the blanket softer than it looked, and before you realized, your phone slipped from your hand, screen dimming out. You were out cold.

And down the hall, Gojo’s door creaked open.

He stepped out, jacket slung over one shoulder, keys in hand, probably heading out to do whatever rich, bored boys do on a friday night.

He was halfway down the hallway when he saw you, making him stop dead in his tracks. He hadn’t expected you to be here.

You were sprawled on the leather couch, head tilted back, mouth slightly open. One arm dangled off the edge, fingers brushing the floor. The neck of your tshirt had ridden down, twisted just enough to bare your left breast completely. The nipple was stiff in the AC’s chill, the curve heavy and full against your ribcage.

He’d never seen you like this. Vulnerable and exposed, not the annoying girl he looked down for invading his space. His gaze locked on the swell of flesh, the way it spilled slightly under your arm.

He knew they were big, couldn’t miss it with those tight tops you wore, parading around him—but seeing it like this, offered up for him? His cock throbbed hard against his zipper, a hot, insistent ache. He took a step closer, the carpet muffling his movements.

Such a fuckin’ whore, aren’t you? the audacity of yours to be in his house, spread out on his couch, tits out like a desperate slut, hoping his pretty hands would end up all over you. Isn't that right?

As if he’d ever touch something as lowly as you.

His fngers twitched at his sides. He’d come over meaning to yank that shirt back up, hide the tempting swell of your tit before it drove him insane. But the hand had a mind of its own. It drifted forward instead, palm hovering just above your bare skin, close enough to feel the warmth rising off you.

Your chest rose and fell in soft, steady breaths, that pretty nipple tightening even more under the cool air.

Just gonna cover this bitch up, he told himself.

Bullshit. His little friend down there told another story. It was strained hard against his slacks, thick and throbbing, calling him a liar with every pulse.

His thumb brushed the soft underside first, feather-light and testing. It was warm. So fucking soft it made his mouth water. He swallowed thickly, the other hand gripping the armrest for control. Then he gave in, palming the full heavy weight of your tit, fingers spreading wide to claim it. A gentle squeeze made the soft flesh spill between them as his thumb dragged slow, deliberate circles around that stiff peak, teasing it harder.

A low groan escaped him when you shifted slightly in sleep, arching your back just enough to push your tit deeper into his hand.

He groaned low and pinched the nipple between thumb and forefinger, rolling it. It pebbled tighter, and he felt his own pulse hammering in his throat. He massaged it slowly, feeling the bud stiffen impossibly harder under his fingers.

He wanted to pull back, needed to, but the urge to feel more, taste it, was a fever in his blood. His eyes darted to the hallway, empty and silent. Swallowing hard, he sank to his knees beside the couch, the leather creaking softly under his shifting weight.

Just a taste, he bargained with the throbbing ache in his gut. He leaned in and dragged his tongue in one long, sloppy wet stripe from the soft underside of your tit all the way up to that stiff nipple. A deep, guttural moan tore from his throat at the taste of your warm skin. Then his mouth closed over it, sucking your nipple deep between his lips. Flicking the hard bud fast and filthy with his tongue, sucking hard enough to pull your soft flesh into the wet heat of his mouth. He released it with a wet pop, strings of spit connecting his lips to your swollen bud, only to latch back on even harder, nursing it like he was trying to milk you.

His free hand yanked the neck of your t-shirt down roughly, fully exposing your other breast. Both of your fat tits were out now— soft and glistening with his spit.

The sight punched the air from his lungs. His free hand slid across your stomach as he reached your other breast. Grabbing it softly, fingers spreading wide to cradle the heavy weight, trying not to wake you, trying to pretend this wasn’t happening. He massaged both tits now, kneading them like dough, pulling and squeezing until your nipples were puffy, swollen nubs.

He wanted to stop. Should stop, but his hips ground against the couch edge, cock making a sticky mess in his pants.

He couldn’t fight it anymore. With a rough yank, he ripped his slacks open and shoved them down his thighs, letting his fat cock spring free, drooling sticky strings of pre-cum from the slit like it was already begging to breed something. He wrapped his big hand around the shaft, groaning deep as he squeezed it hard enough to make the veins bulge.

He started pumping it fast, thumb smearing the leaking mess all over the fat head with every brutal upward stroke. At the same time he dove back down, sucking your nipple back into his greedy mouth.

Wet, obscene sounds filled the silent room— the slick of his fist flying over his dick mixed with his hungry breaths. He nursed your tit, hard wet pulls that made the soft flesh bounce in his grip, spit running down the curve of it.

But it still wasn’t enough for the greedy bastard. Mind kept flashing to your untouched cunt, probably leaking under those tiny shorts. Just the thought made his heavy balls draw up tight, forcing another thick pulse of pre to spill over his knuckles. It had his fingers dug into your tit too hard, leaving angry red marks.

He froze, breath catching. "Shit. Did I wake her?"

But you shifted, twisting away and burying your face into the couch cushions. Your back arched so prettily as you pulled from him.

His mouth lost your nipple with a wet pop, and a frustrated growl rumbled deep in his chest. Eyes dragging down the delicious dip of your waist, straight to those shorts that were doing a piss-poor job of hiding what belonged to him.

Round, perky ass— plump, and practically begging to be spread open and used. The fabric stretched taut over each cheeks, outlining their fullness while you lay on your side, a gift he was dying to unwrap.

Fuck... all this time?

There had been an ass like this right under his roof, sitting within arm’s reach every single day, and he’d never bothered to use it? How the hell had he been this goddamn ignorant?

His cock jumped eagerly as he kept stroking. He needed those shorts gone. Needed to see that bare cunt right fucking now.

He leaned in close, fingers hooking into the waistband of your cotton shorts, tugging them down slow, watching the fabric peel off your hips and bunch at your knees, revealing twin globes of perfect flesh.

Shit... this was what he’d been ignoring all this time? the arrogant prick in him wanted to laugh at how blind he’d been. He needed to ruin it. Needed to cover those plump cheeks in thick ropes of his cum until it dripped down your skin.

His thumbs dug deep into the soft flesh, spreading your ass wide open. There she was— a pretty cunt, puffy and shiny with slick and the little hole clenching around nothing.

“Look at that,” he muttered, letting out a low whistle. His index finger slid through your soaked folds, dragging all that warm slick up to your clit before he started rubbing it in rough, slow circles. You whimpered softly, hips shifting and pushing back against his hand like your greedy pussy already knew it was him.

He kept rubbing your pussy with slow strokes, slick coating his fingertip as it slid effortlessly over the mess. He could feel every pulse and throb, your cunt practically sucking at the air. He bit his lip bloody holding back from shoving his dick into that tight hole right fucking now. Wanting to fuck you stupid, to feel the gummy walls choke him, the thought of it nearly buckled his knees. With a groan, he pulled his finger back, thick string of slick connecting to your pussy for a second before snapping.

Without hesitation, he shoved them into his mouth, sucking hard. The taste exploded on his tongue and his eyes rolled back in pure ecstasy.

At that hell of a moment all he wanted was to be balls deep in that fuck hole, slide in and out until it milked him dry. But the clock was ticking. He had somewhere he needs to be. Jaw clenched, he grabbed his aching dick, pumping it roughly in his fist, finally aiming it between your thighs.

The swollen head dragged through your soaked folds, smearing your slick over his throbbing tip. He bit back a moan, teeth grinding as he rubbed himself against your pussy, everything too much.

Heaven wasn’t some distant dream—it was right here, between your thighs, in your leaking cunt. Gojo was already at his fucking limit, cock sliding through your soaked folds once, twice—and the swollen head caught on your clit on the third thrust, rubbing hard against that swollen bud.

That was it.

Three slides of his cock on your folds and it was endgame for the mighty Satoru gojo. He covered his own mouth as his hips jerked forward uncontrollably. Thick, hot ropes of cum exploded from his cock, splattering across your bare cunt in thick, white stripes. It pulsed out of him in violent spurts, painting your glistening flesh with sticky streaks.

Satoru’s sat on his knees, chest heaving, eyes dark and smug, and yeah… he knows exactly what the fuck just happened.

Does he feel even a hint of guilt?

Hell no. Not even a shred. And why would he? The bastard loved every second of it. He even had the audacity to pull back your shorts like he was done using your hole, not even giving a damn what you’d think when you woke up.

That’s the fun part—letting you wake up, piecing it all together, maybe stumbling into him later, cheeks flushed, begging for it and even if you didn't, it doesn't matter cause he takes what he wants anyways.

And let’s be real… how could you even say no to that face? That cocky, impossible, infuriatingly perfect face? You can’t.

Nobody says no to Gojo Satoru. And he knows it.

He squinted at you, smirking as if sizing you up for a fight he already knew he’d win. "You’re the brat, then?" he asked, voice dripping with amusement and something rougher underneath it.

You narrowed your eyes, sitting up straighter. "Excuse me?"

"I said," he drawled, throwing his jacket onto a chair like he couldn’t give a shit about the million-dollar decor, "you’re the little princess I’m supposed to babysit."

You scoffed, tossing your phone down. "I'm nineteen, asshole. Not five."

He just chuckled, deep and lazy, like you amused him way more than you should. "Could’ve fooled me," he said, eyes raking over your shorty shorts and tight tank top without shame. "Walkin' around dressed like that... no fuckin' wonder your old man’s losin' sleep."

Your cheeks heated instantly, but you refused to let him see it. "You're disgusting," you hissed.

Toji grinned wider, teeth sharp. "Mmhmm. And you’re spoiled."

You stood up, walking towards him with that signature strut — the one that made the staff scatter when you were in a mood. He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink.

God, he was infuriating.

"You work for me now, y'know," you said sweetly, batting your lashes. "Which means you listen to me."

He raised a brow, clearly unimpressed. "Nah, Princess. I listen to your daddy's orders. Big difference."

You glared at him. "You're gonna regret underestimating me."

"Already doin' that," he said, ruffling your hair roughly like you were a kid.

You shrieked, smacking his hand away. "Don't touch me, you fucker!"

He just laughed, full-bellied and so goddamn smug, crossing his arms over his massive chest. "You’re gonna be a real fuckin' joy, huh?"

**********

The coming days were hell — for you.

Everywhere you went, Toji was there.

Shopping? He leaned against the dressing room wall, arms crossed, making comments every time you tried on something tight. Café date with friends? He sat at the next table, sipping coffee like a bored dad while your friends whispered about his muscles. Spa day? Cinema night? Fucking brunch? He was there. Always.

And no matter how much you whined, stomped, sweet-talked, or snapped, Toji didn’t budge. He wasn't like the staff who melted at your bratty little tantrums. He enjoyed watching you get all worked up.

"You’re like a damn kitten, y'know that?" Toji said one day as you shoved shopping bags into his arms.

"Better than being a brainless meathead!" you shot back instantly.

He just gave you a slow, dangerous smile. "Brainless, huh? You’re real brave talkin' like that... while hidin' behind Daddy’s money."

You gasped, scandalized. "You— you—!"

"You," he mimicked in a high-pitched whine, teasing you like you were five.

You were seething, cheeks hot with fury. But fuck if your heart wasn’t racing for a different reason.

That night, you lay in bed, tossing and turning, the image of Toji's lazy smirk burned behind your eyelids.

God, you hated him. God, you hated how he made your thighs press together under the sheets. God, you hated that he treated you like some bratty kid who needed to be handled.

Handled. The word made you squirm.

You huffed, burying your face into the pillow. "Fucking asshole."

From the other side of the door, you could hear his heavy boots pacing the hallway — guarding you. Always. Watching. Even when you didn't ask for it. Even when you didn’t know you needed it.

**********

The next morning was no better. You burst into the dining room, still in your silk pajamas, finding him at the table, eating "your" breakfast like he lived here.

"Hey!" you snapped. "That's not for you!"

Toji licked jam off his thumb, lazy and unbothered. "Tell your old man to fire me, Princess. Otherwise? Suck it up."

You stomped your foot. "I hate you."

He smirked. "Yeah? You sure bark real pretty for someone so tough."

You blinked. "What?!"

He winked at you and stood, stretching his thick arms overhead, muscles rippling under his black t-shirt. "Keep barkin', baby," he said, walking past you, ruffling your hair again just to piss you off. "One day you’re gonna find out what happens to mouthy little brats who poke the bear."

Your heart stopped. He said it so low. So dark. So full of promise. You hated how it made your stomach flip. You hated how you wanted to find out exactly what he meant.

You were so over it.

So over Toji's shadow dogging your every damn step like you were some helpless little princess in a tower. Because today was supposed to be a chill day — brunch with your friends, a little shopping, maybe a mani-pedi if you felt like it. Not a "let's bring the grumpy, musclehead bodyguard to ruin the mood" kind of day.

You peeked out from your bathroom, watching Toji lean against the front doorway, thumbing lazily through his phone. He didn't even need to look at you to know you were up to something.

"'Bout time you stopped starin'," he muttered without lifting his gaze.

You rolled your eyes so hard they hurt. "You're so full of yourself."

"You’re so fuckin' obvious," he countered, finally glancing up at you, and goddamn, the way his dark green eyes raked over your outfit was criminal. Tight jeans, little cropped top, platform shoes — you looked like trouble, and you knew it.

"Where you think you’re goin' dressed like that, Princess?" he asked, pocketing his phone.

"Out." You tossed your hair dramatically. "You don't need to know where."

"Funny," he said, pushing off the wall, towering over you effortlessly. "Pretty sure that's exactly my fuckin' job."

You jutted your chin out, standing your ground even though your heart raced stupidly. "I’m an adult. I don’t need permission," you sniffed, swiping your bag off the table.

Toji snorted. "Yeah? Tell that to your daddy when he finds out you got yourself snatched up ‘cause you’re too dumb to think straight."

You gasped, genuinely offended. "I am not dumb!"

He leaned down real close, smirking when you instinctively backed into the wall. His voice dropped, rough and low. "Then don’t act like it, sweetheart."

Your skin prickled under his gaze. God, you hated him. God, you hated how he made you feel small without even touching you. God, you hated how you kinda... liked it.

You pushed past him with a huff, heart hammering.

Of course, Toji tailed you and your friends like a looming, silent demon the entire afternoon. You tried ignoring him, giggling with your girlfriends, posing for selfies, pretending you weren’t hyper-aware of his heavy stare every second. But the itch under your skin only grew.

So, when your bestie whispered about a new underground bar nearby, very much not somewhere a "good girl" should go, an idea sparked.

You could ditch him. Just for a little while. He couldn't control you forever. Right?

"Bathroom break," you chirped, slinking off from the crowded café.

Toji didn’t even glance up from his black coffee.

"Boys' bathroom's that way, brat."

"Har-har," you mocked under your breath, flipping him off as you walked towards the back hall. Except you didn’t head for the bathrooms. You slipped out the side door, heart pounding, texting your friends to meet you at the bar.

Freedom tasted so sweet.

Or at least, it did for about twenty minutes. You barely had time to order a drink when a heavy hand clamped around your arm, dragging you off your barstool. You yelped, whipping around, only to crash right into Toji's chest. His jaw was clenched so tight you thought it might snap.

"What the fuck do you think you're doin', Princess?" he growled low enough only you could hear.

You squirmed, trying to shake him off. "Let go! I’m not a fuckin kid!"

He dragged you out of the bar effortlessly, like you weighed nothing. You kicked at his shins, punched his arm, huffed and cussed, but he didn’t even flinch. When he finally stopped, slamming you gently but firmly against a shadowed alley wall, you were panting with fury.

"You coulda gotten hurt, y'know that?" he hissed, towering over you, fists clenched.

"Ugh, why do you even care?!" you snapped. "You don't own me!"

He leaned down until your noses nearly brushed, his voice a dangerous rumble. "No. But your old man paid me a shitload to keep you breathin'. And brat, if you keep pullin' stunts like this..." His eyes darkened. "One day I might not fuckin' save you."

You froze. Your chest heaved with emotion, rage, humiliation, something hotter under the surface you didn’t dare name. He stared down at you, breathing hard, muscles tensed like he was barely restraining himself.

You lifted your chin, defiant even with your heart hammering in your throat. "Maybe I don't want to be saved," you whispered.

The look he gave you?

Like a wolf staring down a very stupid little rabbit. A muscle ticked in his jaw. His hand twitched at his side, like he was debating grabbing you again. But instead, Toji backed off slowly, running a hand through his messy dark hair.

"You're a fuckin' menace," he muttered.

You smirked. "Takes one to know one."

He huffed a short, humorless laugh. "Keep runnin' that mouth, Princess. Sooner or later you’re gonna find yourself bent over my knee," he said darkly, voice rough with warning.

You bit your lip, and this time you weren’t sure if it was to hide a smirk or a shiver. Challenge danced in your eyes.

"Promises, promises," you sang, flouncing past him.

You felt his stare burning holes in the back of your head as you sauntered back to the car. And you couldn’t help but grin to yourself. You were so gonna get under his skin.

**********

The next few days became a game. A stupid, dangerous game, but it was too much fun watching Toji's patience chip away, little by little.

It started small. Shorter skirts. Lower tops. Clingier dresses. You'd "accidentally" drop things in front of him, bending way too slow to pick them up. You'd lean over during car rides, pretending to search for something, knowing full well he got a faceful of your cleavage.

Every single time, Toji grumbled under his breath, muttering things like "Little fuckin' tease," or "You're gonna be the death of me, brat," but he never cracked.

He was always professional. Always holding the line....Until you pushed a little harder.

It happened at the mall.

You dragged him into a boutique under the guise of shopping for a "family dinner outfit." Toji slouched outside the fitting room, arms crossed, grumbling while you pranced around inside, trying on every inappropriate thing you could find.

"How's this one?" you asked sweetly, pulling the curtain back.

Toji glanced up, then froze. The dress was... barely a dress. It clung to every curve indecently, the neckline plunging low enough you might as well have been naked.

You twirled innocently. "Too much?"

Toji's jaw flexed. Hard. "Get your ass back in there," he growled.

You blinked, feigning hurt. "But I thought you were supposed to be protecting me, Toji," you pouted. "Shouldn’t you wanna keep me close like this?"

He leveled you with a stare so dark it made your thighs clench. "I ain't protectin' you from the world, brat," he said roughly. "I'm protectin' the world from you."

Your cheeks burned deliciously. God, he made you ache. Still, you weren't done. You stepped closer, the silky hem of your dress riding high.

"You’re no fun," you said, brushing past him to grab another hanger.

His fingers shot out, grabbing your wrist. Your breath hitched. He yanked you closer with no effort at all, his body radiating heat.

"You keep playin'," he muttered low, eyes flickering over your face, your lips, your heaving chest, "one day you ain't gonna like how I end it, sweetheart."

A shiver skated down your spine. For a long, heated moment, neither of you moved. Then Toji let you go with a grunt, stepping back like you burned him.

"Five minutes. Then we’re outta here."

You smirked. Challenge accepted.

Later that night, you pushed even further.

You sat curled up on the couch in the mansion’s sprawling living room, pretending to scroll your phone. Toji leaned against the opposite wall, arms crossed, watching you like he always did — impassive, silent. You looked up at him slowly, biting your lip.

"You’re so boring," you sighed dramatically. "Always standing there. Always frowning."

He raised a brow lazily. "You tryin' to hurt my feelings, brat?"

You shrugged. "Just saying. If you're gonna stalk me 24/7, you could at least be entertaining about it."

"You want entertainment?" he drawled, straightening off the wall.

Your heart skipped. He stalked toward you, slow and deliberate, every inch of him screaming danger. You tried to play it cool — tossing your phone aside and crossing your legs neatly. But when he loomed over you, you tilted your head up, your cocky mask slipping just a little.

"Got a lotta nerve talkin' shit to the guy who's keepin' you alive, Princess," he murmured, voice dripping with mockery.

You fluttered your lashes innocently. "Oh, I’m sorry. Am I being mean to my big strong bodyguard?"

He snorted.

"One day you're gonna wish you’d kept that mouth shut."

You beamed. "Not today."

Without warning, Toji dropped down onto the couch beside you, his thigh bumping yours, and you froze. The heat pouring off him was unbearable. His scent — sweat, soap, leather — wrapped around you like a noose. Your stomach twisted deliciously.

"Scared, brat?" he teased, voice a low rumble.

You forced yourself to scoff. "As if."

But when he smirked, like he could smell your arousal your cheeks burned hotter. "Could'a fooled me," he murmured, leaning back, arms spread lazily across the couch behind you.

Your heart pounded. You knew you should stop. You knew this was playing with fire. But you couldn’t help it. Slowly, teasingly, you shifted closer, letting your thigh brush his, pretending it was "accidental." You didn’t miss the way his jaw clenched.

Good. You wanted to break him. You wanted to see what would happen when Toji finally stopped holding back. And judging by the dark look in his eyes?

You were getting closer.

**********

The afternoon was dragging lazily.

You lounged on the couch in the living room, one leg draped over the armrest, flipping through your phone, bored out of your mind. Your earbuds were in, but no music played, you were too lazy to press play again. Mostly, you were stewing in your own annoyance.

Toji sat nearby, polishing a knife like the walking danger sign he was. His muscle shirt clung to his broad chest, veins visible as he slid the blade across the cloth in slow, measured movements. He glanced up every so often, like he was checking to make sure you hadn’t started setting the house on fire out of boredom. Typical.

The house was too quiet, the kind of quiet that made you feel like a guest instead of someone who lived here. The maids moved like ghosts, the guards outside paced like machines, and every tick of the antique clock on the wall grated on your nerves.

“This place is a goddamn prison,” you muttered, not expecting a response.

“Could be worse,” Toji said lazily without looking up. “Could be a real prison.”

You scoffed, shooting him a glare. “Wow. Inspirational. Thanks.”

He smirked slightly but didn’t respond. That was also typical. Tease you just enough to get under your skin, then retreat like it didn’t matter. You went back to scrolling your phone, about to text your friend about sneaking out later, when the front doors slammed open.

The heavy thud of expensive shoes echoed down the marble floors like thunder. You sat upright, startled, frown deepening as your father stormed in, his assistant trailing behind, already looking stressed.

He looked furious. Sharp. All business. A storm in an expensive suit.

“The hell?” you whispered.

Your dad never came home during the day. Not unless something was wrong. And definitely not looking like that, tired, tense, irritated in that cold, dangerous way that usually made grown men flinch.

He didn’t even glance at you. Just marched to the armchair opposite you and dropped into it like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. His assistant shut the doors behind him quietly

"Everyone out," your father barked.

The staff scrambled. Only four of you remained. You. Your dad. His assistant. And Toji, who looked completely unfazed, still spinning his knife like he was in the middle of a Sunday hobby. Your father looked at Toji first.

“There’s been movement,” he said grimly. “They’re getting bolder. We had a firefight two nights ago. The docks. They got close.”

Toji nodded once, all business. “Casualties?”

“Two on our side. Five on theirs. But they got a message through.”

You watched the exchange with a mix of confusion and disinterest. “Message? What, like handwritten or one of those dramatic riddles?”

Both men ignored you.

“Intel says they’re probing weak spots. If they can’t get me …” His eyes cut to you like a blade.

You blinked. “Wait—what?”

“That’s why,” your dad said, “from now on, no more going out at night. Even with Toji.”

You sat up. “Excuse me?!”

“No parties. No late dinners. No stupid midnight drives.”

“Stupid?!” you exploded, launching off the couch. “So now I’m just a stupid little kid who can’t leave the house without permission?”

“Don’t twist my words—”

“Oh, sorry, Dad, I must’ve misheard between all the dictatorship!”

Toji made a low sound like a chuckle, earning a death glare from your father.

“You’ll stay in,” he repeated. “No discussion.”

“No discussion?!” you yelled, fists clenched. “You’re not even here half the time, and now you suddenly care? Just ‘cause you got problems at work doesn’t mean I have to suffer!”

Your dad’s jaw clenched. “This isn’t suffering—”

“Yes, it is! I’ve done nothing! I’ve been good! I stayed out of your business, kept to myself, didn’t even sneak anyone in—”

“Jesus,” Toji muttered, rubbing a hand down his face. “You’re making it worse.”

You whipped your head toward him. “You shut up! You’re supposed to be on my side! You're the damn bodyguard!”

He raised his brows. “Bodyguard, yeah. Babysitter? No.”

You glared at him. “I am not a baby!”

“No, you're an ungrateful brat,” your father snapped. That did it. Your breath caught in your throat.

“I hate you,” you whispered.

Silence fell like a thunderclap. Your dad’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes. He leaned forward, voice low but razor sharp.

“Do you think I enjoy this?” he hissed. “You think I want to lock you up like some goddamn bird in a cage?”

You opened your mouth to reply, but he cut you off.

“I’m not doing this to hurt you. I’m doing it because you’re my daughter, and people would kill to get to me through you. They’ll drag you away in the dark and send me your fingers.”

You flinched.

“I’ve spent my life building walls so nothing touches you. I hired Toji because he’s the only man I trust with your life. And you think this is me being cruel?” His voice cracked, just slightly.

You stared, throat dry, anger faltering as guilt bubbled up. But your pride was louder. “Still doesn’t mean you get to control every second of my life,” you whispered stubbornly.

That’s when the slap of his palm hitting the table made you jump. “Enough!”

You flinched again, arms curling around yourself.

“I don’t want to hear another word,” he snapped. “You’re staying in. Toji’s in charge. You argue again, I’ll remove your damn phone and laptop.”

You stared, stunned, eyes burning. He’d never yelled like that. Never threatened consequences. You didn’t know how to react.

He sighed, rubbing his temples. “There’s gifts upstairs. Go look.” Then, he turned to Toji. “Keep her in line.”

Toji nodded silently. And just like that, your father walked out, leaving behind silence and a bitter taste in your mouth.

You didn’t speak. You sat there, arms limp, staring at the space he’d occupied. Toji didn’t say anything at first either. Just leaned back, stretching like a cat, knife finally gone from his hands.

“Damn,” he muttered. “Didn’t know the old man had that in him.”

You said nothing.

“Hey,” he added after a beat. “You okay?”

You didn’t answer.

“...Brat?”

Still silent.

His smirk slowly faded as he studied your expression. You weren’t fuming or scheming like usual. You looked… wounded.

“Shit,” he muttered. “He really hit a nerve, huh?”

You swallowed hard, blinking rapidly, still not looking at him. He stood up slowly. “Alright. Gonna give you space, princess.” And then he left.

The weight of the house settled around you, silent and cold. You swallowed thickly, blinking fast to stop the burn in your eyes. Without much thought, you dragged yourself upstairs to your room.

The moment you pushed open the door, you froze. Piles of gifts boxes were stacked everywhere, luxury brands, glittering jewelry boxes, clothes and designer bags. All gifts from your father. Guilt twisted deep in your gut.

He wasn't trying to hurt you. He was trying to keep you safe. You bit your lip hard, sinking onto the edge of your bed, surrounded by the ridiculous, expensive proof of how much he loved you.

Still... It didn't stop the ache in your chest.

**********

It was dark by the time you stirred. You hadn’t moved from the bed, cheek mashed into a silk pillow, limbs limp. You didn’t cry. Not really. But your throat felt raw like you wanted to. Then the door creaked.

And in came Toji, holding a tray of your favorite food. He walked in like it was no big deal, but his eyes flicked over your form like he was checking for cracks.

"...Eat, brat."

You blinked up at him, stunned. “You brought me food?”

He grunted. “Chef wouldn’t shut up, so I kicked him out and made this.”

You stared at the grilled cheese, the fries, the soda. Your favorite comfort food. You sat up slowly.

“You didn't have to,” you murmured.

Toji sat on the edge of your bed with a grunt. “Didn’t wanna hear you sobbing through the walls.”

You snorted despite yourself.

“There she is,” he muttered, smirking faintly.

You picked at a fry. “Thanks.”

He leaned back, arms stretched behind him. “You know he didn’t mean to hurt you, right?”

You shrugged.

“He’s scared,” Toji added. “Doesn’t know how to say it. So he yells. Gives orders. Buys shit.”

Your chest ached. “I just hate feeling... trapped.”

“Yeah,” Toji said quietly. “But being trapped and being protected ain't the same thing. Sometimes they just... look similar.”

You were quiet for a long moment. Then: “You’re good at this.”

Toji looked at you.

You clarified, “The talking thing. I thought you’d be worse.”

He chuckled. “Don’t get used to it.”

You smiled faintly. “You’re still an asshole.”

He grinned. “And you’re still a brat.”

You leaned your head against his shoulder. He didn’t pull away. Just sat there beside you, solid and warm, quiet in the way that said he wasn’t going anywhere.

“…Wanna watch something dumb later?” you asked.

He tilted his head. “What kind of dumb?”

“Reality TV dumb.”

Toji groaned. “God. Fine. But I’m picking the snacks.”

You smiled into his arm. For now, the ache in your chest faded just a little. For a moment, you didn’t feel trapped.

You just felt... warm. Safe. Wanted.

Toji stood up then, ruffling your hair roughly like you were some scrappy little kid.

"Get some sleep, brat," he muttered. Then he paused at the door, glancing back over his shoulder. "‘Cause tomorrow," he said with a wicked glint in his eye, "I’m dragging your spoiled ass to training."

You groaned dramatically. "Nooo— Tojiiiiii—!"

"Sorry, daddy's orders." He just laughed, a deep, rich sound, and disappeared down the hall, leaving you grinning like an idiot into your pillow.

Maybe being stuck here... Maybe being stuck with him... Wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

to be continued in the next chapter

Your dad perked up, grinning like a kid. “That’s him!”

You stayed where you were, half-watching some rerun on TV, half-daydreaming, listening to the door swing open.

“Toji, you bastard!” your dad’s voice boomed with laughter. “You made it through the rain.”

And then he walked in.

You glanced up casually and froze for a moment. He wasn’t how you remembered at all. The man in the doorway looked like he belonged on a billboard for a gym or something. His black shirt clung to him like a second skin, rain still dripping off his hair. Grey sweats hung low on his hips. His smile was lazy, but not arrogant. He had a calmness to him—solid, grounded. You didn’t stare long. Just a blink, maybe two. Then you looked away, back at the TV, pretending you didn’t notice anything weird. You didn’t know why your throat felt tight.

“This is her?” he asked your dad. His voice hadn’t changed. Deep. Low. Rough around the edges.

“Yep. She was only around ten the last time you saw her.”

“Damn. She’s all grown up now.” His tone was casual. Not weird. Just… surprised.

You smiled awkwardly when he said hi, gave a little wave. You didn’t know what to say. He seemed nice. Polite. Probably just being friendly. Maybe he was staring a little, but maybe not. You were probably imagining it.

Later, at dinner, he sat across from you at the table. Not next to you, not too close. Just across. Your dad was doing most of the talking anyway, filling the room with stories and laughter.

Toji listened. Quiet. Smiling sometimes. He only asked you a few questions—how was college, what did you like to study. You answered, soft and brief, eyes mostly on your plate.

You didn’t notice the way his eyes drifted to the curve of your throat when you swallowed. You didn’t catch the way his fingers lingered near yours when he passed the salt. You didn’t hear how his voice dipped just a little lower when he spoke to you, quieter than how he spoke to your dad.

Because in your mind, he was just… Toji. Your dad’s friend. A nice man who used to bring you candy. Maybe a little intense, but he hadn’t said anything weird. So you didn’t think much of it when he said, “You’re really sweet, you know that?”

You just blinked and smiled, bashfully. “Um… thanks?”

Your dad was already halfway through his third beer, slurring slightly. Toji glanced at him once, then back at you, and just smiled again. You thought it was just a nice night. You had no idea.

**********

It was one of those slow Saturdays. The kind that feels stuck in syrup—cloudy skies, lazy breeze coming in through half-open windows, and your dad snoring on the recliner like he was being paid for it. Toji had been around since afternoon, lounging around the house like he belonged there, like he'd never left in the first place.

Your dad had pulled out his usual stash—whiskey he “only drinks with close ones,” which you knew just meant anyone willing to stay and listen to him ramble. Toji played along like always—quiet, attentive, letting your dad do most of the talking, just adding in a word or two when he had to. The two of them had been laughing and pouring drinks for hours.

Now your dad was passed out on the couch, one arm hanging off the side, the glass still half full on the coffee table. You stood in the kitchen, rinsing out your own cup, keeping your head low. You weren’t really in the mood to talk.

But Toji didn’t leave. He sat at the dining table, one elbow resting lazily against it, nursing his drink. You felt him watching you—again. Not intensely. Not weird. Just... steady.

“You alright?” he asked, voice low. You didn’t answer right away. The faucet ran too loud. You turned it off slowly, drying your hands on a towel, then leaned your hip against the counter.

“Yeah. Just… tired.”

He hummed, like he didn’t believe it but wasn’t going to push too hard. The kind of sound people make when they’ve been around enough messes to recognize one when they see it.

“You don’t talk much,” he said after a pause, lifting the glass to his lips. “You used to talk a lot when you were little.”

You looked at him then. He wasn’t teasing. Just observing. Like he actually remembered.

“I guess I had more to say back then,” you murmured.

Toji raised an eyebrow, just slightly. “Or more people who listened.”

That one hit a little too close, and for some reason, it loosened something in your chest. You sighed, walking over slowly and pulling out the chair opposite him. You didn’t sit like you normally would—not with that bounce or energy. You just lowered yourself quietly, fingers curled in your lap, shoulders drawn a little tight. He poured you a drink without asking. Just a little bit. Just enough to warm your throat. You didn’t normally drink, but tonight your chest felt too full. You accepted it wordlessly.

“You look like you’ve been crying,” he said after a few minutes. You didn’t look at him. You just nodded, swallowing down the sting behind your eyes again.

“Boy trouble?” he asked.

You huffed a laugh, short and bitter. “That obvious?”

“To someone who’s been through enough of it, yeah.”

There was no pressure in his voice. No smugness. No curiosity for the drama. Just… space. A gentle offer to unload if you needed it. And you did.

So you talked. Not all at once. Not dramatic. Just the bare bones of it—how he’d cheated. How you found out. How he didn’t even bother denying it, like he’d been waiting to be caught. How it made you feel stupid. Replaceable. Like something that could be tossed and picked back up if he ever got bored.

Toji didn’t interrupt. He just listened, his eyes on you, his drink untouched. That stillness in him made you feel safe somehow. Like he wasn't there to fix anything—just to witness it.

“That’s messed up,” he said quietly when you stopped talking.

“Yeah.”

“You didn’t deserve that.”

You looked up at him then. He wasn’t looking away. He was serious. And warm. And weirdly kind, in that quiet, heavy way men like him sometimes are when they aren’t performing for anyone. His voice was lower now, softer, like he didn’t want to scare you off.

“You’re too soft for people like that,” he added, eyes dragging across your face slowly. “Too trusting.”

You looked down at your glass, cheeks heating for no reason you could name. “Maybe I’m just dumb.”

“No,” he said, not even hesitating. “You’re just young. You’ll figure it out.”

The words shouldn’t have hit as hard as they did, but they did. You swallowed around the lump in your throat.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you whispered. “I just… keep thinking if I was prettier, or better, or—”

“Don’t do that,” he cut in, voice low and firm. “It’s not you. It’s him.”

You looked at him again. His expression hadn’t changed. But there was something different in his eyes now. Something deeper. Something you didn’t understand.

“You’re more than enough,” he said. “More than you even realize.”

Silence sat thick between you for a moment. Not awkward. Just... charged. You didn’t know why your chest felt like it was tightening. Why his words made your throat close up. Maybe it was the way he said it—like he wasn’t just talking about your ex. Like he was seeing something in you that you hadn’t even noticed yourself.

You blinked hard, looking away. “Thanks.”

He stood slowly, pushing his chair back with a low scrape. You thought he might walk away. But instead, he moved to the kitchen and grabbed a glass of water, then walked over to you and gently set it in front of you.

“Drink this,” he said, voice back to that calm, grounding tone. “And go get some rest.”

You nodded, fingers curling around the cool glass.

As he turned to walk out of the room, he paused for a beat, his back half-turned.

“You ever need to talk again,” he said, not looking at you, “don’t wait for your dad to invite me over.”

And then he left. Quiet as rain.

**********

Few days later.

Your dad had called earlier that day, voice crackling through bad reception. Some last-minute crisis at work meant he had to stay overnight on-site. He sounded more annoyed about the inconvenience than worried about leaving you alone.

“I asked Toji to swing by. Just in case,” he said. “He’ll stay the night. Don’t give him trouble.”

You blinked. “He’s staying?”

“Yeah. He said it’s no problem. I owe him anyway.”

You wanted to ask why it had to be him, but the call cut before you could say much more.

Evening rolled in like a quiet tide. The house felt strangely still, like it knew something was different. You weren’t nervous—just... hyper-aware. You’d been feeling that a lot lately. Ever since that night you talked to Toji in the kitchen. Something had shifted. You didn’t know what exactly, only that you caught yourself thinking about that conversation more than you meant to.

About the way his voice dipped. The way he looked at you like he was figuring something out. The way he said, 'You’re more than enough.'

You hadn’t seen him since then. But you felt it in your chest the moment the doorbell rang. You opened it to find him there, holding a duffel bag in one hand, a grocery bag in the other.

“Your dad told me you probably hadn’t eaten,” he said, stepping inside like it was his house too. You moved out of his way, unsure how to respond. He looked like he always did—black fitted tee, low-hanging joggers, that clean, strong scent that always clung to his skin. But there was something else now. A kind of weight in the air you couldn’t name.

You followed him into the kitchen, where he unpacked the bag—rice, some pre-cooked chicken, a bottle of cola.

“I don’t cook fancy,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “But I figured hot food’s better than junk.”

You nodded and murmured a soft “Thanks,” watching his shoulders move under that shirt as he turned back to the stove. You stood nearby, fidgeting with the hem of your hoodie, uncertain what to do with yourself. It wasn’t uncomfortable. Just… thick. Like the quiet between you had its own heartbeat.

“You always get this quiet when you're alone with someone?” he asked, teasing just enough to make you blush.

You looked up, startled. “No— I mean, I don’t know. I just don’t know what to say.”

“Then don’t say anything,” he said, stirring the pan. “Just sit. You don’t have to talk.”

You did as he said, sliding into a chair. You watched him cook. It shouldn’t have felt intimate—but it did. He didn’t say much more. Just made sure your plate was full. Made sure you ate. Made sure you drank enough water. Like he wasn’t just here to keep you company—he was here for you.

After dinner, you ended up on the couch, scrolling absently through your phone. Toji sat nearby with a beer, flipping through TV channels without settling on anything. You weren’t really watching. Neither was he. The space between you felt warmer now. Still quiet. But not stiff.

“You good?” he asked again, just like the other night. You nodded. But your face gave you away.

“Still thinking about him?”

You hesitated. “Not really. I think I’m just... thinking.”

He leaned back, arm stretched across the top of the couch, eyes on the ceiling. “Thinking’s good. But sometimes it just makes you tired.”

You nodded again, pulling your knees up to your chest, the oversized hoodie swallowing your frame.

“C’mere,” he said, motioning gently with a flick of his fingers.

You blinked, confused. “What?”

“You look cold. C’mere.”

You hesitated—because something fluttered deep in your chest. Not fear. Just nerves. Confusion. But you obeyed without thinking too hard. You always did with him. You slid closer, slowly. And when your shoulder brushed his chest, he eased an arm around you, careful, unhurried, like he was taming something fragile.

“There,” he murmured, the heat of him soaking into your skin. “That better?”

You nodded, cheek brushing the fabric stretched over his chest. His heartbeat was steady. Slow. Yours was not. You didn’t speak. You didn’t have to. The quiet stretched long, the weight of him warm around you. Gentle. Protective. His thumb moved once, barely grazing your shoulder, the touch so light it could’ve been imagined.

You didn’t notice the way his eyes lingered. How they traced the slope of your jaw, the way your lashes fluttered when you breathed out. You didn’t catch the way his hand flexed once, slow and restrained, before settling again. You just sat there, soft and warm in his hold, thinking maybe—just maybe—this was what safety felt like.

**********

The night deepened.

The kind of quiet that settled between you and Toji wasn’t empty—it was thick, like velvet. Soft but heavy. You could hear the hum of the fridge, the patter of soft rain against the window, and his slow, calm breaths beside you. He hadn’t moved in a while. His arm still lay around your shoulder, heavy but comforting. His fingers occasionally drummed gently against your upper arm—small, thoughtless movements. At least, that’s what you thought.

You were curled into him more than before, drawn to the warmth without realizing how much. Your knees tucked under you, your side pressed against his, your cheek resting lightly against his chest. The TV played some late-night crime show no one was watching.

You were still thinking about your ex. Still chewing on old wounds.

“You shouldn’t let someone like him get in your head,” Toji said, his voice low, almost like he was talking to himself. “He didn’t know what he had.”

You made a small sound, not sure how to answer. “He said I was too much. Too clingy. Too emotional.”

“That’s not a flaw,” he murmured. “You feel things deeply. That’s rare.”

His hand moved then—not down, not anything obvious. Just from your shoulder to your upper back, slow and firm, almost like a massage. Still something you could pass off as harmless.

“You care too much about what boys your age think,” he continued. “They don’t know what to do with a woman like you.”

Your lips parted slightly at his words. Woman. You didn’t know why that word sounded different coming from him. You felt it somewhere low in your stomach. But you didn’t speak. You didn’t even move. His hand had reached the middle of your back now, resting there with quiet weight.

“Guys like that… they don’t deserve softness,” he said. “They waste it.”

There was a beat of silence. You still didn’t move. And then he said it, barely a whisper: “I wouldn’t have.”

Your breath caught. You didn’t even fully understand what he meant, but it sounded... important. Different. His voice was lower now, closer to your ear. You didn’t realize he’d leaned in.

“Toji—” you said softly, your heart starting to thump. He hummed like he didn’t hear it—or maybe like he was giving you space to stop him if you wanted. Then his fingers moved again. A little lower this time. Slow enough to make you second guess if it really went as far as you thought. Just the small of your back. Still not wrong. Still not inappropriate. But just barely. You felt warm. Too warm. Your cheeks flushed. Your chest tight.

“I’m gonna tell you something,” he said, eyes still watching the flickering TV screen. “And you don’t need to say anything back.”

You nodded, eyes wide. Confused. Curious.

“I noticed,” he said. “The way you look when you’re thinking too hard. When you chew your lip and stare off into nowhere. The way your voice gets small when you talk about someone hurting you.”

You swallowed, heart hammering.

“I noticed how soft you are,” he added, voice even lower now. “And how easy it would be to ruin that.”

Your breath hitched. He leaned closer, nose brushing the top of your head. Not a kiss. But too close. Too much. And still somehow not enough.

“But I won’t,” he said, as if reading your silence. “Not unless you ask me to.”

And then—he pulled away. Just enough. His arm still around you. But no more words. No more boldness.

He left you there, heart pounding, brain reeling, breath shallow, wondering what the hell just happened.

You didn’t say anything. Not because you didn’t want to—because you didn’t know what to say. The moment sat heavy in your chest, thick and trembling. It hadn’t felt like danger. Not really. But it also hadn’t felt like safety anymore.

It felt like something entirely new. Something you didn’t have words for.

Toji didn’t move. His arm stayed where it was—loose, relaxed like he hadn’t just whispered things no man had ever said to you before. Like he hadn’t just told you, in a voice deeper than sin, that he’d noticed you. That he’d thought about you in ways that no one ever had. Certainly not someone like him.

You shifted slightly, instinctively—just enough that your thigh pressed a little closer to his. Not a bold move. Not intentional. Just... your body needing something, and your brain too slow to understand what.

He didn’t speak. But you felt his head tilt slightly. Like he’d felt it. Like he noticed that, too.

You fumbled for words. “I—I don’t know what you mean,” you said, voice barely more than a whisper. “About... ruining.”

His fingers twitched against your lower back. Not moving lower. Not pulling you closer. Just a small pulse of tension—controlled, held back. He leaned in again, slower this time. You felt his breath against your temple.

“You don’t have to know,” he said. “That’s the thing about being soft, baby. You don’t need to understand everything. You just feel it.”

That made your stomach twist. Not in fear. In something darker. Deeper. Something that made your knees pull tighter under you and your arms wrap around yourself, like they could contain it.

“I didn’t mean—” you started.

But he cut you off. Not unkindly. Just gently.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” His hand pressed just slightly—just enough for you to feel his warmth right through the shirt. “You never do.”

You turned your head toward him before you could stop yourself, your eyes wide and searching. And you caught him looking at you with that same intensity. Not smiling. Just... watching. Like you were something he didn’t want to break, but couldn’t stop reaching for.

“I…” You swallowed. “I don’t know what to do.”

His expression softened. “That’s alright. You don’t need to do anything.”

He moved then—slowly, deliberately—lifting one hand to your face, the back of his fingers brushing the line of your jaw.

“Just let me look at you.”

The words punched all the air out of your lungs. No one had ever said it like that. Like they meant it. Like you were art. Like you were made to be looked at. To be studied. To be touched like glass. Your eyes flicked down, suddenly self-conscious. But his hand tilted your chin back up.

“Don’t hide,” he said, voice rougher now. “Not from me.”

And then he did something that made your heart trip. He leaned in and pressed a kiss—not to your lips. But just beside them. Your cheek. Close enough to make your skin light on fire. Just enough to test the waters. Just enough to mark the line.

It wasn’t a friendly kiss. It wasn’t innocent. But it wasn’t demanding, either. It was a promise. And a warning.

He pulled back, finally, standing from the couch in one smooth motion, like the weight of it all didn’t sit on his shoulders. Like he hadn’t just lit a fire under your skin.

“I’ll take the guest room,” he said simply, like nothing happened at all.

You just sat there, stunned, trembling a little, heart racing against your ribs like a warning bell. And you stayed like that for a long time—your skin still buzzing where his mouth had touched, your mind too soft to hold onto anything except the sound of his voice, still echoing.

"You never do anything wrong."

to be continued in the next chapter

Toji Fushiguro

“…Huh?” He deadpans. “The couch? For what?”

You mention him being late, and he scoffs. “Tch. That’s what you’re mad about?”

When you say it again, firmer this time, he runs a hand through his hair and stalks toward you. “You wanna punish me, that it? Make me sleep alone after a long fuckin’ day?”

You cross your arms. He grabs your waist, yanks you close. “Nah. Not happening, doll.”

He leans down, voice rough. “I’ll fuck the attitude outta you, then you’ll beg me to stay. That sound better?”

You shove at his chest but he just chuckles. “I’ll be better. Sorry, ma. But I’m sleepin’ right here—with my hand between your thighs, like always.”

Kento Nanami

“…Did I do something wrong?” His brow furrows immediately. “If I hurt you, even unintentionally, I’d like to understand it so I can make it right.”

He stands still, serious and calm, hands tucked in his pockets. “If it would help you feel better, I’ll take the couch. But I’d prefer to sleep next to you. I like holding you. It helps me rest.”

You feel bad now, obviously. He sees it in your face and adds softly, “But I understand if you need space.”

You melt. “I was just messing with you, Kento. You can sleep in the bed. I love you.”

He kisses your forehead like he knew it all along. “I love you too. Now come here.”

Suguru Geto

He raises an eyebrow, lounging in the doorway with a lazy smirk. “You sure about that, princess?”

You cross your arms. “Yup. Couch.”

He tsks, steps forward, brushes your hair back with annoyingly gentle fingers. “That’s cruel. You really want me tossing and turning all night without my pretty girl in my arms?”

You try to keep a straight face. He leans in closer, lips brushing your ear. “Besides… you talk in your sleep, y’know? Say the filthiest things. Who’ll keep you warm if I’m not there to help?”

You stammer. He laughs softly, wraps an arm around your waist. “Thought so. Now be good and scoot over.”

Ryomen Sukuna

Scoffs. “The fuck do you mean, sleep on the couch?”

You tell him you’re mad. He leans against the wall, arms crossed, jaw tight. “You get mad at stupid shit. Tch.”

You glare at him. He glares back harder. “I’m not sleeping on any goddamn couch. If you’ve got a problem, woman, say it to my face.”

But then—he’s in front of you. “You want space? Fine. But don’t come crawling back at 2 a.m. whining that you can’t sleep without me.”

Starts walking away… then turns, smug as hell. “Bet your pussy misses me more than you'd admit.”

You gasp. He grins. “Thought so.”

Sleeps in bed anyway. Doesn’t ask again.

Choso kamo

“…Sleep on the couch?” he repeats, frowning slightly.

You nod, unimpressed. He goes still for a second, clearly hurt.

“I didn’t realize I upset you,” he says quietly. A pause. “…I’ll fix it.”

You point toward the couch again. Choso steps closer instead, gently taking your hand.

“I can’t rest if you’re angry with me,” he murmurs. “Let me stay. I’ll hold you… until you forgive me.”

His grip tightens just a little. “…Please don’t send me away.”

You last exactly three seconds before letting him climb back into bed.

You groaned softly. “satoru, what now...”

He pouted dramatically and pulled you into his chest anyway, arms winding tight around your frame. "It’s been a few days, bunny. you’re always sleeping now. just lemme cuddle you, come on, it’ll make you feel better. you know it will.”

His lips ghosted over your temple, then your jaw, then your neck, his body all heat and scent and need pressed against yours.

"Satoru, seriously—" you tried pushing him off gently, not wanting to snap, but he just grinned like it was foreplay. like your resistance made it more fun.

"quit hogging her, satoru," Geto called from the kitchen, voice smooth and slow like he wasn’t making it worse. "she probably had a long day. let her rest."

"shut up, suguru," Gojo shot back, nipping your earlobe and sliding a hand down your hoodie, fingers creeping up with no shame. “she loves me. she needs me.”

You gasped when his fingers started brushing over your belly creeping up to your chest. your hips twitched, a soft moan slipping out, because you were too damn tired to fight it. everything felt too much. too close. too fast. you weren’t even sure why you were reacting like this. It just made you want to cry.

“Satoruuu,” you whispered, voice wavering now. “come on, now....” he paused only for a second, just to nuzzle into your neck, like he could persuade your body to change its mind.

“don’t ignore me, bunny,” he murmured, voice syrup-sweet and so fucking needy. “I miss being like this with you. please, please, please, just a few minutes, baby—please? you always love it…”

You stayed silent, heart heavy in your chest, fists clenched in the sleeves of your hoodie. you didn’t argue. didn’t explain. you didn’t trust yourself to speak, not when you might say something you don’t mean and end up hurting him. but he took your silence as permission. his hands got bolder, his touches more sure, lips trailing along your jaw, kissing you soft, too soft, like he always did… like he knew exactly how to melt you. except now it felt wrong. foreign.

The same touch you used to crave, the one you’d ache for every time, suddenly felt... so wrong. you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to just get through it. maybe if you stayed quiet, he’d finish whatever he needed to and leave you alone. but the second he sucked hard at your pulse, a hickey blooming under his mouth, you snapped.

“Satoru, that's enough,” you gasped, grabbing his wrist with both hands and finally yanking it away from you, “stop.”

He blinked at you, hand still half-raised, like he didn’t understand. “bunny, I—”

You jerked back, staring straight at him with dead eyes. “can you just leave me alone for once?”

The room fell silent. so silent it made your ears ring. Gojo’s face froze, his cocky smirk gone, his eyes wide and glassy like you’d just slapped him. “wh—what… what did you say, bunny?”

You didn't bother to reply. he sat there, stunned, lips parted, and for the first time since you met him… he looked like he didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t even what you meant to say, it just blurted out, sharp and ugly and louder than you ever intended. your chest burned with guilt, frustration, regret, everything.

“just—just give me a second alone for god’s sake, satoruuu,” you said shakily, voice cracking as you buried your face in your palms.

Gojo leaned in anyway not knowing what to do, anxiety crept in fast, thoughts spiraling through every possibility of what he might’ve done, if he’d upset you, hurt you. his eyes flicked around, pupils restless, moving so quickly it made his head start to ache. he touched your face gently, his thumb brushing your cheek like he could fix it all with one soft stroke.

“did... did I hurt you, bunny?” his voice was cracked sugar, soft, hurt and confused, all at once. “I just wanted be close…”

Your body flinched again as you pushed yourself up from the couch, backing away from him like he burned you. “I said don’t touch me! what's wrong with you!??”

Your voice was sharp now, ragged at the edges with too many things unsaid. you grabbed the closest object to you, the remote and threw it blindly, not even caring where it hit.

Right then, the door to Toji’s room creaked open. he stepped into the living room, his gaze locked instantly on the remote skidding across the floor, then at your trembling form.

“the fuck is wrong with you, y/n?” his voice was rough, low, and scolding like a slap. and that did it.

Your vision blurred. throat tightened. tears started without warning, silent and violent, slipping down your cheeks as your face crumpled. you didn’t say a word. you just turned on your heel and ran to your room, slamming the door behind you.

“the fuck is wrong with you, Toji?!” Gojo’s voice snapped behind you, not teasing, not playful, angry and raw. unrecognizable. “why the hell would you make her cry like that!?”

Toji looked stunned. caught mid-step like someone had thrown ice water in his face. “wh—what? I didn’t even do anything! I just asked what’s wrong!”

“that’s enough,” Gojo growled, jaw clenched, rage bubbling under his skin like magma. “you made bunny cry, bastard.”

Toji’s brow twitched. “yo, watch what you say.”

Gojo stepped forward, chest out, eyes gleaming. “or what?”

“guys.” Geto’s voice cut through the tension like a wire snap, sharp and commanding as he entered from the kitchen. “easy.”

The sound of the sliding balcony door came next. Nanami stepped into the living room, one hand in his pocket, the other holding his phone as he glanced at the mess. “what’s the fuss about?” he asked flatly, eyes narrowing as they landed on them.

Gojo was still fuming, pacing like he didn’t know what to do with his hands. “Toji made bunny cry.” he immediately started pointing fingers.

Nanami’s expression didn’t change, but his gaze flicked to Toji. “seriously, Toji?”

Toji looked like someone had falsely accused him of murder. "I didn’t do shit,” he snapped. “she just… I asked what was wrong and she took off. swear, that’s it.”

Nanami sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose like he could already feel the migraine coming. then he turned to Gojo. “what happened?”

Gojo swallowed. “I was just—uhm— kissing her and she suddenly went all—…”

Nanami’s voice was flat. “went what?”

Gojo blinked. “lemme finish, man… damn…” he paused, dragging in a breath before continuing. “I just went in for cuddles, and… she didn’t really seem into it.”

Nanami’s gaze sharpened. “and?”

Gojo hesitated. “then she just, got mad and—”

“so,” nanami cut in, tone sharp, “you're the one who made her cry?”

Gojo’s jaw tightened, fingers twitching at his sides. “whatttt??? nooooo—Toji’s the one who shouted at her!”

Nanami gave him a dead-eyed stare. “just stay here. both of you.” he turned to Geto, who was now leaning at the counter, quiet but listening.

“make something for her,” Nanami said.

“on it,” Geto replied instantly, already reaching for a pot.

Then Nanami walked to your room. he knocked once. “y/n?”

“no,” you said through sniffling, voice small and hoarse. “I don’t wanna see anyone.”

There was a pause. “please,” he said quietly, voice warm and sincere in a way only he could manage. “let me see you. It's just me.”

You hesitated. something about the way he said it, made you obey without thinking. "It's open...."

Nanami stepped inside your room quietly, closing the door behind him. he sat on the edge of your bed, hands on his knees, watching you through those calm, thoughtful eyes.

“what’s wrong?” he asked softly.

You curled into your blanket, hiding from him. “nothing.”

He waited a few seconds. “then why did you get mad at gojo?” he pressed gently. “you never do that.”

You didn’t answer right away, just stared at your pillow like it held the solution to everything. Nanami leaned forward, voice even softer now. “talk to me. If something’s wrong… I want to know.”

“I’m fine,” you mumbled. “really.”

“you’re not,” he replied calmly. “and that’s okay.”

Something about the way he said it cracked you open just enough. your bottom lip quivered, and then the words spilled. “I just— I don’t know. I feel so... off. don’t wanna do anything. my head hurts, tummy hurts, everything hurts. everyone’s so loud and annoying and I just wanna disappear.”

Your voice broke near the end, tears pricking your eyes again from the sheer exhaustion. your fists tightened in your blanket.

Nanami let out the softest chuckle, just enough to make you glance at him. he leaned forward, kissed your cheek. “Is your period coming?” he asked with a gentle smile.

You blinked and then nodded sheepishly. “yeah… that’s probably why.”

He brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. “want something, sweetheart? anything to eat?”

You shook your head. he nodded in return, brushing his hand briefly down your arm. “alright then. rest up. try to sleep. let me know if you need anything, okay?”

You nodded again, lip still wobbling. he stood up to leave, but right before that, you reached out, fingers gently tugging the hem of his shirt.

“uhmm… nanami?” he turned, eyes soft and warm. “can you… can you ask satoru to come here?”

His brows lifted slightly, like he hadn’t expected that. then he gave a quiet nod. “yeah. I’ll tell him.”

Gojo burst in like lightning the second Nanami told him, his hair a mess, wide-eyed and desperate.

“bunny,” he gasped, breath catching like he’d sprinted through the hallway, “still mad at me?”

You shook your head softly from under the blankets, already sniffling again… then slowly, you opened your arms for him. he didn’t even hesitate. one second he was there, the next he was on the bed, practically scrambling toward you, arms wrapping around you tight—like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

“m' sorry, toruu,” you whispered, your voice already thick as tears filled your eyes again. “… don’t know what happened, didn’t mean to shout at you, I just…”

“bunny, please— no, no, don’t cry—” Gojo cupped your face with both hands, pulling you into his chest, his voice trembling as he kissed your hair over and over, “it's okay, I promise.”

“Toruuu,” you sobbed, pressing kiss after kiss to his cheeks, his forehead, his jaw, everywhere you could reach between your sniffles. “I love you, I’m sorry, so sorry…”

“I’m sorry too, bunny,” he murmured, brushing your hair back, eyes glossy now. “always annoying you, being loud and shit but…” he paused, swallowing hard, “don’t be mad at me, okay? It hurts.… so much…”

“I won't,” you whispered, nodding, “never again.”

Gojo pressed a soft kiss to your lips. his voice dropped to a near-whisper. “It’s okay, bunny. Nanami told me what’s going on. just sleep now, alright? when you wake up, I’ll get you ice cream.”

Your eyes welled up again instantly. “really?”

Gojo blinked in panic. “bunnyyy—why are you crying again?! what did I do now?”

You shook your head, curling into his warm chest. “n-no… just… nothing.”

He exhaled, smiling like his heart was melting all over again. “love you, bunny,” he whispered, kissing the top of your head. “so, so much.”

After a few more kisses and cuddles, Gojo finally peeled himself off you reluctantly, mumbling something about going to that shop you loved.

“don’t move, bunny,” he called over his shoulder as he left the room. “not even a toe—I’ll be back with bribes!”

You smiled faintly, your body already sinking back into the sheets, warm from the affection and exhaustion. It didn’t take long before sleep swallowed you whole. when you woke again, the room was dim, soft dusk light spilling through your curtains and something heavy was pressing against your calves. you stirred in bed. a low grunt came from the foot of the bed.

“To–Toji?” you mumbled, voice hoarse.

“yeah, sleeping beauty finally awake,” he muttered, his calloused hands working slow, rough circles into your legs, fingers digging just enough to soothe. “quit squirming.”

“what are you doing here?” you asked, sitting up slightly.

“tch. sorry or whatever for earlier,” he muttered, not looking at you. “got no idea what I did. just asked what’s wrong and suddenly I’m the villain of the fuckin’ house.”

You chuckled softly despite yourself.

“yeah. laugh it up.” he rolled his eyes but didn’t stop his hands. “anyway. sorry for that. didn't mean to upset you.”

You mumbled a quiet “mmhm,” the tension in your legs starting to melt a little under his touch. then he leaned forward a bit, voice dropping to a low murmur near your knees. “so girls be actin’ like this every month, huh?” he muttered. “such a drag.”

You narrowed your eyes. he smirked. “y’know what? I can help with that.”

You blinked, one brow lifting as you braced yourself for whatever bullshit he was about to come out with. “help how?”

He grinned, cocky and crass. “just let me knock you up. nine months of peace, doll.”

You groaned rolling your eyes so hard your head tipped back into the pillow. “yeah, right.”

That was when the door swung open.

“bunnyyyyyy!” Gojo sang dramatically, arms full of stuff like he’d just made the grandest entrance of the day. he beamed as he entered, setting it proudly on your nightstand. “I bring sweet offerings for my sweetest girl.”

Behind him, Geto walked in with a tray, your dinner, still warm, neatly plated with a steaming mug of herbal tea on the side. “you better eat,” he said, brushing your hair back with a tenderness that had your throat tightening instantly. “you need it.”

And that’s when your eyes welled up all over again.

“awww, baby—” Gojo gasped, crawling up beside you in an instant. “why’re you crying again? don't like the flavour?”

You shook your head, a watery laugh escaping as you sniffled. “… nothing.”

Gojo pulled you into his chest without hesitation. “love you, bunny.”

Toji snorted. “such a crybaby.”

Geto chuckled, placing the tray on your lap with quiet precision. “eat first. cry later.”

And somewhere in the warmth of them… you felt yourself settle, like you could finally breathe again.

His smile twitches, just slightly. “Kid. How many times have I told you not to call me that?”

You shrug, leaning against the doorframe. “Then what should I call you, hmm?”

He looks at you, steady, with that calm weight that makes you squirm. “…Just call me Uncle.”

Yeah, right. Uncle? Like hell you’re calling this man uncle when he’s standing there looking like that. Too young, too put-together, too… much. You bite down on the thought before it shows on your face.

Your mom hurries over, lighting up. “Oh, Kento, that’s a surprise!”

Nanami gives a polite bow of his head. “I was passing through. Thought I’d stop by… and I wanted to see him, too.”

“Oh, he should be home soon.” She’s already slipping her shoes on, purse in hand. Then she pauses. “You know what? Wait here, he’ll be here any minute. Y/n, get him something to drink.”

Nanami shakes his head, raising a palm. “That’s alright. Let the kid study.” His eyes flick toward the table piled with your open books, notes scattered everywhere.

Your mom laughs, relieved. “Okay then. I’ll be back in a bit. And Y/n—” she narrows her eyes at you— “don’t mouth off to Nanami.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you mutter.

And then she’s gone.

The house is too quiet now, except for the faint squeak of leather as Nanami lowers himself onto the couch. He sets his jacket neatly on the armrest, the picture of composure.

“So,” his voice breaks the silence, steady and deep, “how are your classes?”

You twirl your pen, pretending you don’t care, though his gaze presses heavy on you. “Fine, I guess.”

“Just fine?”

You shrug again. “Yeah.”

He hums, low, like he doesn’t believe you but won’t push. Instead, he reaches for a book from the shelf, flipping it open like he’s content to wait.

The minutes stretch out. You’re bent over your notes again, scowling at the page. The numbers blur, the words don’t click. You chew on your lip, tap the pen, sigh loud enough to give yourself away.

Nanami’s voice cuts in without looking up from his book. “What is it?”

You freeze. “What?”

His eyes finally lift, pinning you in place. “You’re stuck on something. What is it?”

The question is calm. But there’s weight behind it, like he already knows you’ve been floundering, and he’s not going to let you bullshit your way out.

You glare down at the page, numbers and symbols blurring into nonsense. Your pen taps uselessly against the margin. “I don’t get this equation,” you mutter under your breath.

Nanami doesn’t even look up from his book. “Which one?”

“Doesn’t matter.” You wave it off quickly. “I’ll figure it out later.”

His book snaps closed with a quiet thud. His voice cuts sharp, no room for argument. “Kid, I have a master’s in this subject. Give me the page.”

You freeze, biting your lip. “…Really?”

His gaze hardens. “Do you think I’m lying?”

“…No,” you mumble.

“Then sit here.” He pats the space beside him on the couch. Calm. Expectant.

Your stomach flips. Still, you stand, legs heavy as you shuffle over and sink down beside him. He’s too close. Warm, solid, smelling faintly of cologne and something darker, something that clings to him like heat. The scent is dizzying.

“Show me your doubt.”

You slide the notebook toward him, pointing with the pen. “This one.”

He leans in, voice low, steady as he starts to explain. And you should be focusing, you really should, but all you can think about is how close his lips are, the way they shape every word, the way his breath ghosts across your cheek when he exhales. Your eyes drop, shameless, tracing the line of his throat, the flex of his jaw.

“Mmmmm… Uncle, I still don’t get it,” you whisper, your voice smaller than you mean it to be.

He doesn’t miss the title, his eyes flick to yours, sharp. But all he says is, “Sit closer. I’ll explain it one more time.”

Your pulse jumps. Still, you obey, shifting nearer until your thigh brushes his. He doesn’t move away. Instead, his hand comes to rest against your back, warm and broad. It settles just below your waist on the curve of your ass, heavy enough to make your breath hitch.

He keeps talking, his voice low and calm, like nothing about this is unusual. Like his hand isn’t burning through the fabric.

By the time he finishes, you’re not sure you even heard half of what he said.

“Alright,” he murmurs, pulling his hand back at last. “Test time. Just the things I explained, nothing more.”

“Eh? Right now?”

“Yes. Right now.” His tone leaves no room to argue.

You sigh, rolling your eyes. “Mmm… I guess so.”

He slides the notebook in front of you, asking the first question, then another, watching closely as you scribble down your answers. Some come easy, others you’re lost in but halfway through, you start doing it on purpose. Putting wrong answers down just to see that calm expression slip. Just to spite him, just to poke at the one man who never raises his voice but somehow still terrifies you.

When you finally hand the notebook over, you can’t help the tiny smirk tugging at your lips.

Nanami studies the page. His brow twitches once. His lips flatten, the faint curve of his smile disappearing, wiped clean as his eyes narrow.

Shit.

Because Kento Nanami might be the most polite, soft-spoken gentleman who’s ever walked this earth but — A strict teacher is scarier than any brute. And right now, sitting so close you can feel the heat off him, you know exactly how much trouble you’ve just asked for.

Nanami sets your notebook down with deliberate calm, but the tick in his jaw betrays him. His voice is low, even, but sharp enough to make your spine stiffen.

“You think this is funny?”

Your lips part, throat dry. “I… what?”

“Don’t play dumb.” He sets the pen down with deliberate care, but you can see the tightness in his jaw, the disappointment flickering behind his calm expression.

“You haven’t been listening at all, have you?” His voice is quiet, but it cuts straight through you.

You stiffen in your seat, fingers gripping the edge of your notebook. “I did! I just… forgot some of it.”

“Forgot?” His brow lifts. “When your exam is tomorrow?”

Your mouth opens, then closes. You’ve got nothing.

Nanami exhales, the sound heavy, controlled. “Stand up.”

You blink at him, confused. “What?”

“Up.” He doesn’t raise his voice, but the authority in his tone leaves no space for argument. You push yourself to your feet hesitantly, heart pounding.

Then, in one fluid motion, he takes your wrist, sits back on the couch, and pulls you across his lap.

“W-wait, what are you doing—”

“Discipline,” he says simply, adjusting you until your stomach is flat against his thighs, your ass raised, skirt riding up dangerously high. “You don't wanna study? You’ll learn to.”

Blood rushes to your face, humiliation crashing over you in waves. “You’re crazy—!”

“Quiet.” His palm settles heavy on the curve of your hip. “We’ll start with a question.”

You freeze, every nerve lit up.

Nanami flips open the book with one hand, steady and methodical. His voice is calm, like he’s in a classroom. “Sum of first n natural numbers?”

Your throat locks. You recognize the question, but your brain blanks. “Uh… S plus—”

The crack of his palm against your ass steals the rest of your answer. Your body jerks, heat flooding your face.

“Wrong,” he says flatly. “It's S=n*(n+1)/2.” His hand lingers on your ass, heavy, unforgiving. “Next.”

He flips another page, voice even, relentless. “What's the quadratic formula?”

You stammer, panicked. “Um. . . b minus—”

Another sharp slap lands, harder this time. You gasp, writhing against his lap, shame and something darker twisting in your gut.

“No. Wrong. Focus.” His voice is deep, reprimanding, every word vibrating against your skin.

He doesn’t give you time to catch your breath before the next one. “Derive e^x.”

“I—I don’t know!” Your voice cracks, half a whine.

The smack that follows makes your eyes sting.

“You should know.” His hand smooths over your skin almost absently, like testing how much heat he’s left there. “Basics, and you’re blanking.”

You shiver, trembling under his control, the line between punishment and something filthier blurring fast.

You can feel it the moment it happens, his cock swelling against your stomach, hard and heavy, pressing through his slacks every time you shift in his lap. So much for the perfect, composed uncle. The realization makes your stomach flip, makes your thighs tremble against him.

Each slap lands sharper, and each time his palm stays, spreading over your ass, kneading, squeezing like he can’t help himself. His composure is cracking right under you.

“Fuck…” he mutters under his breath, low and guttural, when your skirt rides up just enough for him to catch a glimpse of the soaked patch clinging to your panties. His hand tightens on your hip. “You little brat…”

Before you can breathe, he flips the skirt up completely, baring you to him. His jaw ticks when he sees the wet fabric stuck to your folds.

“Spread.” His tone leaves no room for argument.

Your pulse skyrockets. You bite down on your lip, embarrassed, but your legs part anyway, shameless, needy. The fabric stretches over your pussy, sticky and damp, practically inviting his hand.

His fingers slip under the band and cup you bare. The heat of his palm makes you gasp. He strokes slow at first, just dragging his rough fingertip over your slit, smearing the mess around like he’s testing how wet you really are.

“...fuck,” he breathes, and you whimper.

Neither of you speak for a moment, just the sound of your ragged breaths and the slick noise of him rubbing lazy circles right over your clit. You can’t stop the soft moans slipping from your throat, can’t stop rocking your hips into his hand.

Then he stills, cruelly pulling his fingers back.

“I’ll ask one more,” he says, voice deceptively calm. “Answer me correctly.”

You nod frantically, your body begging for more.

“What’s the square of 13?”

You know this one. Clear as day. But your lips twist, heat making you reckless. “Mm… 90?”

The sting hits different this time, his hand slapping straight down on your soaked pussy. The wet slap echoes obscenely, loud enough to make your stomach twist. You cry out, arching, humiliated and aching all at once.

Nanami lets out a humorless laugh, his fingers dragging back over your throbbing folds, teasing. “I’m starting to think this isn’t a punishment anymore.”

Your voice is shaky, needy. “Why's that, uncle…?”

“Because you’re fucking liking it too much.” His breath brushes your ear as his fingers rub cruelly slow circles against your clit.

You bite your lip hard, whining, “C-can’t help it… when you p-play with where it feels good…”

His mouth curls into a smirk you can feel even without looking at him. Then his palm comes down again, wet and filthy against your pussy, the squelch so loud it makes your toes curl.

He shakes his head, almost amused. “Brat.” Another slap, right over your clit, sharper this time. “Keep it up, and I’ll stop using my hand altogether.”

Your body seizes at the threat. You turn your face into the couch cushion, moaning, your voice muffled. “Other ways of punishment…?”

Nanami chuckles darkly, slipping one thick finger just past your entrance, teasing without giving you what you want. “Oh, I’ve got plenty. And none of them involve you feeling good.”

You'd have loved to find out but the sharp screech of tires outside makes both your heads snap toward the window. Your chest lurches.

“Shit—dad,” you gasp, scrambling upright. Your legs feel weak, skirt bunched around your hips as you clumsily tug it back down. Your thighs are sticky, trembling, and your face is on fire.

Nanami doesn’t rush. He just leans back against the couch, smoothing his shirt cuffs with maddening calm. That fucking smirk plays at his mouth, the one that makes you want to crawl back into his lap no matter how wrong it is.

You shoot him a glare, breathless. “Stop smiling like that…”

“I’m not smiling,” he says, though his lips twitch as he watches you fuss with your clothes. His gaze lingers far too long on your thighs, and you know he saw everything.

You grab your books in a panic, trying to look put together before your dad walks in, but then Nanami’s voice drops low, smooth, cutting through the chaos.

“You’ve got my number, don’t you?”

You freeze, clutching your notes to your chest. “…Yeah.”

His smirk sharpens. “Call me when you’re in need.”

Your breath hitches. Your throat feels dry. “W-what kind of needs, uncle?”

He tilts his head, eyes glinting, deliberately slow as he stands and towers over you. He leans just close enough for his cologne and the heat of his body to overwhelm you again.

“That…” his lips ghost the shell of your ear, voice dropping into something sinful,

“I’ll let you choose.”

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“I know,” you say, edging toward him. “But things ran late, and we lost track of time, and—”

“And I gave you a choice,” he cuts in. “You didn’t want me tagging along if it ran late, so I gave you a curfew. You agreed.”

You try the smile.

The I'm-your-cute-wife-don’t-be-mad smile. “I know, but... I missed you. I’m here now?”

Nanami stares down at you. His jaw ticks. “You could’ve called. Texted. I was about to start calling hospitals.”

Okay, maybe you pushed it a little far. “I’m sorry,” you say, moving closer, placing your palm on his chest. “Really, I am.”

Nanami doesn’t flinch. “You think it’s fun making me worry about you? Walking around this city at night alone, heels in your hand like a lost kitten?”

Your lip twitches—not from guilt, but because god, he’s hot when he’s mad.

“I’ll make it up to you,” you murmur, pressing up on your toes to kiss his jaw.

He sighs, but doesn’t stop you when your hands slide down his chest, your fingers working at the buttons of his shirt.

“Not gonna work this time,” he warns, but his voice is already huskier, already betraying him.

You grin. “You sure about that?”

Your knees hit the floor in front of him before he can answer.

**********

Nanami’s hand immediately tangles in your hair when your lips wrap around him. The weight of his cock on your tongue is heavy, warm, already twitching with need despite the way he’s trying to keep his composure.

“You’re unbelievable,” he mutters, voice low, almost breathless. “Think you can misbehave and get away with it just because you know how to suck cock.”

You moan around him, deliberately, eyes fluttering up to meet his. Your mascara’s a little smudged, lips stretched wide, spit already coating your chin. It’s obscene—the way your cheeks hollow, the wet sounds you make, how your head bobs like you’re desperate to be good for him.

Nanami groans. His hand tightens in your hair, hips giving a slow, involuntary thrust. “Fuck… that mouth. You know exactly what you’re doing.”

You hum a yes around him, your hands sliding up his thighs, digging in possessively. You pull back slowly, his tip glistening with spit, and whisper, “You’re too stressed. Lemme fix it.”

“I am stressed,” he growls, voice low and rough, “because my bratty little wife doesn’t listen.”

But he doesn’t stop you. Can’t stop you. His head tips back as you sink down again, mouth fucking him deep and slow, throat stretching around him. His abs flex as you swallow, lips sealing tight, tongue dragging just right—he’s close, he’s so fucking close—

His release hits hard, sudden, thick heat flooding your mouth in hot spurts. You take every drop like a good girl, still kneeling, still blinking up at him with that smug, ruined smile.

Nanami exhales like he’s been holding it in all night. Then, voice low and deadly: “You’re lucky your mouth’s good.”

You beam, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, thinking you won. He’s already zipping up, tugging you to your feet.

And then he says it. Flatly. Calmly. Unshaken.

“You’re grounded for the week.”

Your smile drops. “What?!”

“Starting now. No phone after 9 p.m., no going out, no sleepovers, and I’m picking you up from work.”

“But that’s not—Kento, that’s not fair!”

“You can throw a tantrum if you want.” He’s already lifting you off the floor like it’s nothing, carrying you toward the bedroom. “Won’t change a thing.”

You’re squirming in his arms. “You can’t just—! You literally came in my mouth and now you’re grounding me?!”

He raises a brow. “Should’ve thought of that before sneaking in like a little criminal. What else am I supposed to do? Reward you?”

He kicks the bedroom door shut.

Your pout deepens. “You’re so mean.”

He tosses you on the bed, crawls on top of you with a dark look in his eyes. “Mean, huh?” His hand slides up your skirt, fingers pressing between your legs. “You’ve been soaked since I started scolding you.”

You gasp. “Shut up—”

“Shameless,” he mutters, sliding your panties aside. “You like being punished. That’s the problem.”

Your thighs twitch as his fingers dip in, slick and messy. “Ngh—Kento…”

“Bet you’ve been thinking about this all night. Bet you kept looking at the time, thinking, ‘If I go home late, he’s gonna fuck me stupid."

“Nooo,” you lie terribly, hips rocking into his hand.

“You’re such a bad liar.” He’s already working you open, two fingers curling perfectly, thumb circling your clit slow and cruel. “And you’re definitely not getting off until I say.”

You whine. “But—!”

His lips crash into yours. The kiss is filthy, possessive, all tongue and teeth and groaned curses as he spreads you wider. The fingers in your cunt are relentless, soaking loud between your thighs as he mutters how irresponsible you are, how this is the only language you seem to understand.

By the time he’s fucking you into the mattress, you’re boneless—crying into the sheets, legs shaking, tears mixing with drool on the pillow.

And still he doesn’t let up.

“You made me wait up,” he says, hips snapping into you deep and fast. “Now you wait. Not a single fucking orgasm until I say.”

You’re begging. He loves it. You try to be good. You hold it. You really do. But then he reaches under you, fingers on your clit again, that angle that makes your whole body seize—

“I’m gonna—! Kento, please—!”

“Go ahead,” he growls. “You’re already grounded. Might as well make it worth it.”

You come with a scream, walls pulsing around him as he spills deep inside you seconds later, fucking his cum back in with lazy, possessive thrusts.

You’re completely wrecked, clinging to him as he kisses your temple and strokes your hair.

“Still grounded,” he says against your skin.

“Ughhh,” you groan. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet,” he murmurs, lifting you in his arms, bridal style, “you’re already soaking again.”

“Shut up.”

He lays you in bed, kisses your neck, palms your ass like you’re his favorite toy. You shiver.

“Kento…”

“One more,” he whispers. “Since you’re already in trouble.”

You giggle, breathless. “Fine. But only if I can be more late next time.”

He bites your shoulder in retaliation.

You’re so getting grounded for two weeks next time.

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You stared at him flatly. “So what, you gonna celebrate celibacy while your wife’s glowing and gagging for it? That the plan?”

Nanami gave you that pained little smile. "As much as it pains me, your comfort and safety come first before my needs."

“Oh, that’s rich,” you muttered. “So you’re just gonna… let me rot here? All fat, hormonal, and dick-starved?”

He inhaled through his nose. A deep, slow breath. The kind that meant he was pretending to be calm. "I'll satisfy you, whenever you want," he offered.

“Yeah, you mean with that fancy tongue of yours. No offense, Mr. Husband, but I need dick.”

He paused. You watched the slow twitch in his brow like a hunter clocking his prey. “…Honey, stop saying it so casually.”

“What?” you blinked, deadpan. “I’m pregnant, not a nun. You're the reason I’m like this in the first place, don’t give me that gentle act now.”

Nanami looked like he was fighting for his life. You could see it in the slight tension of his jaw, the way his thumbs stilled on your calves. "Yeah. I know, I'm sorry couldn't help it."

You pressed harder. “Oh?” you teased, eyes gleaming. “Was my cunt just too tight that you had to bust one out of love in me?”

His eyes snapped to yours. Sharp. Dangerous. "You and your nasty mouth," he muttered.

But he didn’t sound angry. Not really. If anything, he looked seconds away from doing something that would absolutely contradict his moral code. Instead, he reached for you, leaned down, and pressed a kiss to your belly. Soft. Reverent.

“I mean it,” he said gently. “You're gonna sleep like an obedient little thing, alright? No cock. Just rest.”

You opened your mouth. He cut you off. “No buts. Shhh.”

Another kiss, this time to your temple. “Sleep.”

And then, just like that, he tucked you under the covers, brushed a hand down your side, and slid back into his half of the bed like a man unbothered by the raging fire he’d just ignored. You lay there, staring at the ceiling. Your thighs pressed together. Your belly warm from his kisses. Yeah. You were in real trouble.

*****

Days passed. Weeks passed.

And your majestic fucking husband? Still hadn’t budged. You tried everything, hints, whining, hand on his thigh during dinner, grinding on him under the sheets while pretending to be asleep. Nothing.

Not even a crack in that gentleman resolve of his. Just another soft sigh, another soothing “Shh, let me take care of you, sweetheart,” and then his mouth was on your cunt again like he hadn’t already done it twice that day.

Because Nanami was nothing if not a man of his word. A fucking menace with a golden heart and a god-tier tongue, kneeling like some devoted disciple between your thighs every goddamn chance he got. You couldn’t sit on the couch without him sliding down to rest your feet on his lap, rubbing your calves before pushing those legs apart like he was on a fucking mission. Like his sole purpose in life was to make you cum and tuck you in.

Not fuck you. No, never that.

He worked your cunt like it was sacred, slow fingers stretching you, tongue circling your clit until you came with a cry, body arching, soaked, twitching, needy.

And what did he do?

Wiped your thighs with warm cloths, kissed your forehead, then tucked you under his chin to sleep while he laid there, hard and aching, cock visibly straining and leaking against his pants.

Every. Single. Time.

No stroking himself after. No giving in. No desperate late-night slips where he fucked you half-asleep like you fantasized about. Just that smug, soft smile and another fucking “I love you.”

You couldn’t even be mad. Because it was Nanami. And of course he meant it. Of course he wanted you, his eyes always lingered, his hands always trembled just a little when he spread you open, his cock never stayed soft. Not once. He wanted you bad. But the man was stubborn. Noble. A walking act of service. And you were a horny, irritated, knocked-up mess who hadn’t felt your husband’s cock in weeks.

And enough was fucking enough.

You lay in bed one evening, legs still sticky from the third orgasm Nanami had given you after work, his cum drunk wife left twitching in bed while he loosened his tie and pressed a kiss to your forehead like he hadn’t just licked you into a sobbing mess. Your eyes followed him as he moved around the bedroom, cock still hard in his slacks, the fabric stained at the tip from how fucking turned on he always was around you.

And he had the audacity to just live like that?

Hard. Edging himself all day. Not even letting you fix it for him? No. Fuck that.

If he wasn’t giving you cock, you were taking it. It was yours anyway. And you were a little horny bitch with zero patience left. You sat up, wiping the back of your hand over your mouth, staring at your husband’s stupidly hot back as he unbuttoned his cufflinks in the mirror.

“Hey, Ken.”

He glanced at you through the mirror, eyes warm, smile easy. “Yes, love?”

You tilted your head, eyeing the tent in his pants. "Don’t you think you’ve been cruel enough?"

Nanami chuckled softly. “You came three times, sweetheart. I think I’ve been generous.”

You scoffed, throwing the covers off your legs. “Not that. You’ve been edging both of us for weeks like a sadistic monk. And I’m done.”

He turned then, brows raised. “Honey…”

“I’m not asking anymore,” you said bluntly. “If my husband’s not giving me his cock, I’m taking it.”

Nanami blinked. He looked stunned. Then helpless.

Then, like a man about to beg for mercy. “Love, no…”

His voice faltered the moment your fingers gripped his tie and tugged. You didn’t give him a chance to finish whatever righteous nonsense he was about to spill as you dragged him down onto the bed with a little grunt, forcing him to sit back as you settled between his legs. You pressed your face into his crotch, groaning into the heat of it, the scent of him thick and heavy after a long day, soap and sweat and that underlying musk that always made your mouth water. Nanami gasped, his thighs tensing.

“Y/n… that’s—ah, sweetheart, don’t—”

You exhaled hard against the bulge in his pants, nuzzling it like a starved thing, letting your nose trace the length of his cock through the fabric. God, he was so fucking hard, your poor, noble husband with his cock twitching and leaking in his slacks, pretending he wasn’t one nudge away from absolutely breaking. You grinned, dragging your lips over the outline of him, slow and filthy.

“This yours?” you asked sweetly, mouthing at the head through the cotton.

He cursed under his breath. “You know it is.”

You popped the button of his pants open with a practiced flick, unzipping as his hips shifted helplessly beneath you.

“Wait,” he breathed. “You just—shouldn’t get uncomfortable like this, not in your condition—”

You didn’t even reply. You just stuck your tongue out and licked a slow, thick stripe up the front of his cock through his boxers.

Nanami’s entire body jolted. “F-Fuck—”

Your eyes rolled back at the taste, even through the fabric. The spot was already damp. You pressed your nose to the patch, breathing him in, mouthing at it until he hissed and grabbed the edge of the bed with his hands.

“I said—fuck, baby, just let me make you feel good. I can take care of myself—”

You pulled his boxers down slowly, letting his cock spring out with a heavy slap against his stomach. It was flushed dark, twitching violently, a thick bead of precum already glistening at the tip. His balls were tight, drawn close, his whole cock pulsing with tension.

“Take care of yourself?” you mocked softly. “This doesn’t look like a man who’s taking care of anything.”

Nanami groaned, throwing his head back with a hand over his face. “I haven’t—fuck—I haven’t even jerked off since we decided not to have sex.”

You grinned like a menace. “No shit. I can smell how full your balls are.”

He looked down at you with a dazed, helpless expression, cock twitching again as you wrapped your hand around the base.

“You don’t have to—” he started.

You cut him off by licking a slow, wet stripe up the underside. Base to tip. Pressing your tongue flat, dragging it up the thick vein until you reached the head and then you sucked the very tip into your mouth with a filthy pop. Nanami choked on a moan, hips jerking slightly off the bed.

“I don’t wanna make you uncomf—shit,” he groaned when you swirled your tongue around the head.

You pulled off for a second, cock glistening, spit already clinging to your lips. “Then kindly shut up and let me suck your cock, my beloved husband.”

His jaw clenched. You could tell he was fighting every cell in his body to keep his composure. You stroked him slowly, hand twisting at the base as your mouth descended again, this time taking more, inch by inch, your tongue dragging along the underside, teasing the slit before you swallowed him down again. You bobbed your head with slow rhythm, easing him deeper on each pass until your throat fluttered around the head, your nose buried in the soft thatch of his trimmed hair.

“Oh my—sweetheart—fuck,” Nanami’s voice cracked as he reached out to brush your hair back, trembling fingers threading through your scalp. “Your mouth, it’s—shit—too good—”

You pulled back, licking along the shaft as you pumped it with both hands, the head swollen, angry red, leaking freely now. You teased him by licking his slit and collecting the precum on your tongue.

His eyes squeezed shut. “I-I can’t hold it, I’m sorry—”

You didn’t give him time to apologize. You wrapped your lips around him again and started sucking hard, messy, wet, greedy. You let spit drip down your chin, let the sound of your mouth on him fill the room, obscene and loud and filthy. Your hands pumped what your mouth couldn’t take, your jaw working, cheeks hollowing, moaning like he was feeding you ambrosia.

And Nanami was losing it.

His thighs trembled. His hips bucked without control. His fingers clenched in your hair, helpless. “Honey—I’m—fuck, I’m gonna—are you sure—”

You moaned around him in answer. That was all it took. He came with a guttural groan, hips jerking as he spilled down your throat, hot, thick spurts, so much of it, weeks of denial flooding your mouth. You swallowed greedily, lips sealed around the head, milking him until he shuddered and gasped above you, body twitching through the aftershocks.

You stayed there, gently sucking, tongue massaging him through the overstimulation until he finally slumped back, one hand falling from your hair to clutch at his chest like he was physically overwhelmed. You pulled off with a lewd pop, letting the last bit of cum drip from your lips as you wiped your chin with the back of your hand.

Nanami looked like he’d seen god. Chest heaving. Face flushed. Eyes glazed.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “Don’t you fucking test me like that again.”

You were panting, spit-slicked and flushed, the taste of his cum clinging to your tongue like sin, when the heat between your legs finally snapped your last thread of patience. Your thighs pressed together on instinct, trying to soothe the ache, but it only made it worse. You whimpered softly and slid back onto the bed, legs wobbling, and laid yourself out with a shaky exhale. You stared up at your husband, his chest still rising hard, his cock softening against his thigh, flushed and shiny from your mouth.

God, even like this, even spent and breathless, he looked like the perfect man. But you weren’t done. Not even close.

Your fingers hooked into your panties and dragged them down slowly, deliberately, making sure he saw every second. You spread your legs open wide, shameless, your soaked folds glistening in the low light of the bedroom.

"Nanami..." your voice came out soft and whiny, barely holding together. "Please... I can't anymore..."

Your fingers dipped between your thighs, spreading yourself open as you looked up at him with tear-bright eyes. You rubbed yourself, slow and filthy, letting your slick coat your fingertips.

"... it's been weeks," you whispered, rubbing small circles around your clit. “I need it....”

Nanami was sitting there frozen, watching, his breath caught somewhere between restraint and ruin. His eyes dropped to your cunt, then flicked up to your face, then back again. He licked his lips once, slowly. Swallowed. You noticed it instantly, his cock, twitching. Swelling back to life.

“Oh, fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “How am I supposed to stay true to my word when my wife’s a nasty girl who can’t live without my cock?”

You flushed immediately, your thighs twitching from the heat that shot up your spine.He chuckled darkly, leaning forward, his cock rising inch by inch as he looked you over like a man starved.

“Speechless now?” he murmured. “Where’d all that bratty talk go, sweetheart?”

You didn’t answer, couldn’t. Not when your mouth had dropped open and your breath caught in your throat.

“Of course,” he sighed, eyes never leaving your soaked cunt. “That mouth of yours always shuts the fuck up when I start talking dirty. But the other one?”

His gaze darkened. “That one opens up.”

He settled between your legs, dragging his thick cock through your slick folds, slow, teasing strokes that made you gasp and writhe. He rubbed the head against your clit, watching the way you bucked.

“Fuckin' soaked,” he growled. “This pussy’s so needy it’s crying.”

“Nanami,” you whined, high-pitched and desperate. “Please, stop teasing—put it in—”

“Oh?” he murmured. “This greedy cunt wants to suck me in, doesn’t she?”

“Yes—yes, please, please—”

He grunted as he aligned the head to your entrance, pushing forward just an inch, just enough to stretch you around the tip.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “Still so fucking tight. How are you this tight even after all that mess we’ve made?”

You sobbed with a desperate moan, nails digging into the sheets. “Don’t tease—please, I can’t—Nanami, please!”

And then he gave it to you. He sank in slow, inch by inch, groaning through clenched teeth as your walls hugged every ridge of him. He paused halfway, hips trembling.

“Fucking—tight,” he grit out. “You’re squeezing the hell out of me, love. Shit.”

Your back arched. “Deeper, please, please, all of it—”

He pushed in the rest of the way with one hard thrust, burying himself to the hilt with a low groan that vibrated through your bones. You cried out, thighs locking around his waist. He was so deep, so thick, stretching you out better than anything ever had. It was so much after weeks of nothing, it made you dizzy. Nanami kissed your temple, then your jaw, his cock twitching deep inside you.

“There we go,” he whispered. “There’s my good girl. My good little wife. Needing my cock so bad she had to beg for it.”

He pulled back slowly, dragging every inch out before slamming it back in with a wet smack. You gasped—then moaned, loud and broken.

“F-fuck—Nanami—”

He grunted, setting a slow, brutal rhythm, deep, punishing strokes that hit all the way up into your gut, each one knocking the breath out of you.

“You’re gripping me so tight,” he murmured, voice wrecked. “You missed my cock that much?”

“Yes—yes—”

He leaned down and bit your neck, hard enough to make you cry out. You whimpered, holding onto his shoulders like your life depended on it. Your mind was blank, nothing but the stretch, the heat, the slow, filthy sound of his cock splitting you open. He rutted deeper, hips slamming into yours with a heavy slap each time.

“This pussy was made for me. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes—yours—yours, always—”

“Fucking right it is,” he growled, pace quickening. “If my pretty little wife needs cock, then she’s gonna get cock.”

He shifted his angle, grinding into that perfect spot that made your toes curl, and you wailed. You sobbed beneath him, eyes rolling, your cunt spasming around his cock as he drilled you deep and steady. Because goddamn, Nanami Kento could talk. And fuck. And once he started, there was no stopping him.

The sound of skin against skin filled the room, wet, rhythmic, obscene. Nanami’s cock slid deep, slow and sure, stretching you around every thick inch, his hands gripping your hips like he couldn’t get enough of you. He’d started gentle, steady, but now he was thrusting harder, drunk off the way your body gripped him, the needy way you moaned with every movement.

“Shit,” he grunted, voice low and wrecked. “Honey… it’s been a while. I can’t… I can’t last much longer like this.”

You could only whimper in response, eyes glazed, mouth parted as you dug your nails into his arms. “Please,” you whispered. “Please—inside…”

That pulled a ragged moan from his throat. “Want that?” he growled, losing rhythm just for a second. “Want me to knock you up again?”

“Please, please— need it,” you sobbed, legs wrapped around him, heels pressing into his back.

And with a low, guttural sound, his body tensed. He buried himself deep and came with a broken gasp, cock throbbing inside you as he filled you up with long, hot spurts. You cried out underneath him, the feel of it, the weight, the warmth, all of it pushing you over the edge again as you clenched around him, your body shaking with aftershocks. He stayed there for a moment, buried deep, both of you panting, sweating, bodies tangled.

It was heaven. Messy, overwhelming, perfect heaven. But then… he blinked slowly. Post-nut-clarity or whatever they calls it.

“Shit—love,” he murmured, brushing your hair from your face, voice full of worry. “Are you hurt? Did I hurt you?”

You shook your head instantly, still breathless. “No… no, I loved it. I’m okay, promise.”

He stared at you, relieved, but still concerned. “You really won’t let me be a good husband, will you?” he muttered, half-laughing. “Always gotta hop on my cock and make me do these nasty things…”

You giggled softly, cupping his jaw, still flushed and messy beneath him. “It’s your fault for being this perfect.”

He raised a brow, still hovering over you. “Yeah? I’m perfect, huh?”

You hummed, kissing the tip of his nose. “Perfect husband I could ever ask for.”

He smiled slow, soft, that rare smile he only gave you when the whole world faded around him. “Oh? Is that so?” he asked, voice teasing now. “What makes me so perfect then?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but he narrowed his eyes and beat you to it. “Don’t say it’s my cock again.”

You pouted. “I was gonna say it’s your heart, actually. But yeah. That too.”

He snorted, actually snorted and laughed quietly, chest shaking. “Dirty little thing,” he muttered, leaning in to kiss your shoulder. “God, what do I do with you?”

You smirked. “Hmm… for starters? You can go one more round.”

He groaned like a man being tortured. “No. No more cock today. Everything else tomorrow.”

You gasped, mock offended. “What? You stopped being the celibate—don’t think I didn’t notice that, Mr. Gentleman.”

“Yeah, honey,” he murmured, kissing your cheek. “Didn’t think fucking my pregnant wifey would feel like fucking heaven.”

“Ahh, now we’re talking,” you grinned, smug and satisfied. “Mr. Perfect himself.”

He laughed again, exhausted but glowing, his golden hair damp, his skin warm, your bodies still pressed together. He shaked his head fondly as he pulled the blanket over both of you. He kissed your temple gently, resting his forehead against yours.

And for a moment, he just looked at you, messy, flushed, beautiful, glowing. Because for god’s sake… Nanami Kento didn’t know what the hell he’d do without you. His pretty little wife. The one who always made him want to go back on his own damn words. Every single time.

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Your sloppy wet tongue slurps and sucks desperately along one cock while rubbing the other in a rough circular motion in your grip at a frantic pace. Every movement was taut with want and need. Your hips and hands working over time as you whimpered drunk on cock.

“You’re so fucking desperate…”

Sukuna began through teethy groans.

“But I know now you're the only one of my concubines who can ngh-, handle both…fuck—!”

He grits out landing a rough smack to your moving and rolling ass on his stomach.

Your mouth whines just as your could manage to fit just the fat cockhead of him in your drooling mouth. Almost instantly sloshing away at the needy thing throbbing between your lips. Your lips spread at his girth till your lips feel tight. You rest there, just slurping and sucking away at the the tip of his bulbous cockhead waiting to adjust before you finally move your lips down, down, down until your choking.

“Come on y/n, I know my favorite concubine can do better than that right?”

And you coo with a whimper filled with desperate need to take him only egging you on with that taunt. Sukuna is grinning at the sight of you struggling to take on just the one of his cocks. And just as you were working your lips around his veiny demon cock, the feeling of rough fleshy buds tease and rub along your pulsing pussy that's been rolling over the mouth on his stomach. And oh the mule that tears from your throat that makes your lips pop off of the anaconda cock you tried so hard to suck raw. His large stomach tongue hums with satisfaction as it runs it rough buds up and down, up and down in a steady slobbery wet motion.

You arch your wet mouth smothered in drool in the messiest of ways from sucking tei cocks before shouting and whining pathetically. Sukuna watched you with barely another sound. Watching you come apart was his favorite hobby. He knows you'd smack him for making it so difficult to make it through this one particular summoning. He'd summon you once a week but oh this time? Sukuna had almost milked you dry. You're not sure why he decided that this week he needed you almost everyday going on 4 days today that he will most likely leave you ruined just again.

Your hands roll, yank and pull at the throbbing and pulsing cocks in the tight grip of your palms as you bounced, and bounced now on sukuna stomach tongue that was now pushing it's fat tongue in and out of your tight little insatiable whole.

“Yes!yes! Yes!”

Your chanting only groomed the ego of the most feared curse in the word.

“Keep going”

He egged you on.

“You’ve been such a filthy good girl”

You'd respond with how aroused it made you, but you were too busy waiting on the building of pressure between your hips and the steady slapping of skin on sukunas stomach. Your thighs trembled, your eyes rolled back. Shuddering, shaking and oh you knew you were surely on your way to having a pure out of body experience but you weren't sure when it would hit like a Russian roulette.

But just then sukuna stomack had stopped it's naughty ways for only just a moment before the sound of his voices echoes though his room.

“Both. At the same time.”

He demands. You pant catching your breath, your body still shuddering hard from the closeness of that orgasm. Your pussy tingled with the desperate need to finish and sukuna grinned knowing exactly what he had done.

“The human body is weak. Pathetic. I expected no less even from my favorite little slut. But you'll still do as I say. Go on an just push yourself a little harder you can do it”

He teases and taunts from underneath you. Your hands trembled on his cocks, you were already a little dizzy and drooling from your mouth but you nod with a sharpness of determination and stuff your lips with one of sukuna’s needy cocks slick now between your lips before you were pushing, pushing, and pushinggggggg, the second in to squeeze between your lips. Thankfully sukuna wasn't shy away from teeth, ultimately enjoying the slight nipping pain. (he had was a bit sadistic, or a lot abit sadistic)

Your mouth gurgled full of him as he scoffs and a rough large hand threads through the hair in the back of your head. You hum believing that he would be gentle, that he'd nurture his favorite concubine. But no, his had pushed your head down further on his dual cocks and made you whimper even more pathetically than usual.

“I enjoy watching you squirm, pathetic and absolutely useless. Unless it was for this then. I guess you do have some good use.”

You muffled something aloud before sukuna had already lost his patience and his enjoyment in watching you suffer while trying to handle the fullness of him. The massive demon tattooed man had officially sat up. And you knew he meant business, his cocks easily slipped from you wet lips still harder than steel as he picked you up by your shoulders and turned you to straddle and face him directly. And oh how you loved. Loved. Loved the king of curses. He watched you with hazy eyes, clearly more affected than he'd let on. But without further words he’d lifted you again and hovered you. Teasing your entrance with both cocks at once, your orifice immediately wanting to claim and suction while beginning to stretched to fit the one. Your slick already dripping down his erect flesh. Sukuna's hands hold you so tight and steady above him that his biceps twitch with restraint. And your arms hurt.

He watches with an intensity that boarded on obsession as he groaned loudly in his throat. He let you adjust before pushing in just a little bit. And then the other, neglected pulsing cock was oh so jealous of the other before sukuna was helping guide the other right toward your already filled whole.

“You can take it right?”

You nod eagerly

“Oh yes sukuna! I'll take whatever you give me!”

He hums low in his throat satisfied at you groveling. Just the way he loved it. Perfect. Pitiful, and weak. His second cockhead pushes along the other smearing along the slick coated in the other to finally gain entrance to your hidden opening. He pushes, and pushes, teasing along your pussy lips until he's finally parting his way through to squeeze into you tight gripping canal, spreading as best it will go. Pushing, pushing, pushing until finally POP! Both cocks were spreading you completely thin, thank god you were wet enough to fill a pool. Your elasticity around sukuna’s needy cocks has him groaning. Now he could FINALLY have you. Nice and snug in your wet heat. He lets you adjust ignoring your pleads, and whimpers for him to let you sink down onto them both.

“Fucking needy huh? Think you're gonna just take’m both just like that in your slutty little whole? Don't be stupid.”

You whimper weakily. He had no idea the nerves alite in your body. Your sensitive nerves were on fire actually with arousal and the instinct to move. Sukuna was so so mean, but compared to the others? He was still the nicest to you. He keeps you hovered over his cocks that had only fit the tips in for now. his strong bulky grip watching you adjust on the cocks that throb aggressively inside of you in the tight snug as they shared your one little while. Sukuna was actually pretty sure you wouldn't get this far. Yes he was panting and groaning in restraint but he didn't want to rip you apart. Because then who would handle him the way you did?

“Relax. Stop whining and squirming. You're too tense. Wanna die taking my dicks?”

You wanna answer. You almost do. You wanna grovel and tell him yes over and over again and chant it like a ritualistic mantra to to summon him but you keep silent. You know it would piss him off. He cares about you. So you instead silent shake your head no.

“Thought so”

He says before finally, moving you when you relaxed. Shoulders dropping. Body loosening with tension.

“There you go….good fucking girl…”

He grits out through his teeth his tone thick and dark with arousal. And then when your walls unclench? He thrusts his cock slow, in and out. Pumping them and stretching you with each spreading thrust.

“Your taking them so well…good job..”

You wish you could savor sukuna’s praising but your head was too busy being thrown back to let out soft moans from the back of your throat. Eyes rolled back, you were gone, so gone. Lost in the pleasure, you'd felt good before, even with him you'd felt a high. But not a high like this.

Sukuna grins at your untethered state. He thrusts harder now, seeing as you can take him thrusting at all now. One at time, and little by little he picks up the pace, sloshing your water fountain slick all over him as he pumps his cocks deep in your womb. A big stretch spreading your inner womb over. And over, and over again, you'd never felt such a stretch, such girth and even then? They were increasingly pushing deeper, and deeper, now beginning to pound away at your cervix. Not your g-spot. No no, you were past that point. In fact you past any point at all, your eyes were dazed wildly with pleasure.

But your cute little cervix before? Will look nothing like that when sukuna is done spreading you to fill capacity. His hips buck up repeatedly, moving quicker, squeezing those cocks right into your spread out whole. Tenderizing you, pump by pump you cervix grew more and more sensitive at just the combination of the sheer force and spread between your walls. You let out a choked loud whimper, just as meek as sukuna would typically expect bug he was too busy pile driving his cocks into you with an intensity that would shock most. He groaned, grunted, huffed and panted under his breath, his hands with that steady firm grip on your arms had flown to your waist gripping so hard he'd leave bruises.

Pumping and pumping his fault cocks into your slipping slick canal until you where completely and utterly broken. A loud choked cry tire from you, your body shuddered and seized violently before you squeezed and leaked your special cream all over his cockheads.

Sukuna grinned devilishy as you plummeted onto his sweaty chest. Your hands curl up meekly into the hard plane of his chest. You panted and the world around you darkened. Almost fainting until you could hear sukuna chuckling.

“Fainting already? Think you might have another 6 rounds in you at least….?”