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“Sukuna, quit dragging it out,” you mumble into the sheets, your voice coming out hoarse, annoyed, but the tips of your ears are burning so badly he could probably see it even in the half-dark.

Your knees are shaking from how long he’s been silent.

Sukuna doesn’t answer.

You twitch your hips from impatience and embarrassment all at once, and the movement makes your pussy open up even more, and he lets out a short, amused breath, laughter low in his chest.

“Baby, quit whining,” he finally says. Low, lazy, with that mocking edge that always makes the tips of your fingers go numb.

“I’m not whining,” you snap, even though you know damn well that’s a lie.

“You aaaare,” he drawls, mocking your tone. “Ask you to shut up for one second and you’re already bitching. ‘Hurry up,’ ‘just put it in already,’ ‘I want it.’ Tsk. And then when it’s actually time to take it...”

“Shut up!” you whine before he can start complaining about how you always struggle with his size.

You’re always like this.

You always get impatient first.

Then he gives you exactly what you asked for, and suddenly you’re whining like it’s his fault.

Sukuna laughs immediately. Low, rough, and your lower stomach clenches.

“I wasn’t done,” he continues calmly. “By the way, did I mention you’ve got a fucking insane ass?”

Usually, praise is enough to make you behave, but not today.

“I can still change my mind,” you mutter.

“Change your mind,” he repeats, his voice coated in so much poisonous sugar it makes your teeth ache. “Really? Go ahead. Lemme see.”

You try to push yourself up onto your elbows, but you barely get a few centimeters off the bed before his palm lands heavy between your shoulder blades and shoves you right back down, too hard to be gentle, but Sukuna knows you’ll fall into the mattress.

“Where d’you think you’re going?” he doesn’t ask, he states. Short, sharp. Your face presses into the sheets and you let out a muffled little “oh,” and he’s already leaning over you, his shadow swallowing you whole. “I told you to stay down.”

Sukuna doesn’t press hard, not yet. He’s just pinning you in place, and you hear his breathing closer now, feel the scent of his neck when he leans down near your temple.

“Stay still,” he whispers, his lips almost brushing your ear, and electricity shoots down your spine. “And stop squirming.”

“Sukuna!” you exhale, irritated, but your voice shakes.

He smirks, straightens up, and you hear him lick his lips. Then his hand settles over your ass, broad and possessive, fingers digging into the soft flesh, spreading you open, and you feel cool air brush over your cunt.

Sukuna parts your folds with his thumb, and you whimper because of how open you are, how indecent, how filthy you must look right now.

“Pretty,” he drawls, and your head spins. “Love it when you look like this...”

“Leave me alone,” you whine, twitching your hips, but he slaps you back down against the bed again, this time with his hand on your lower back, hard enough to keep you still.

With his other hand, he drags one finger slowly, from your clit, already swollen and slick, all the way down through your pussy to your entrance, gathering your wetness, and you jolt, clench up, let out a short, thin little sob.

Then he moves his finger higher again, but you jerk your hips immediately, instinctively, because it’s too much. Sukuna lets out a low laugh right away and shrugs like, fine, guess not today.

“Stop moving,” he orders calmly, pressing you harder into the mattress with his other hand until you can’t move at all. “I said stay down.”

“It tickles,” you whine into the pillow.

“It’s supposed to feel good,” he shoots back, and runs his finger over your pussy again, lazy little circles while you whimper and bury your face deeper into the sheets, drool slipping from your lips.

Sukuna stills and pulls his hand away, and you exhale in relief and disappointment all at once. You hear him spit into his palm, that filthy wet sound making everything inside you twist, and then his cock, hot and smooth, presses against your ass. He drags it through your slit, from your clit all the way down, slicking himself up, nudging at your entrance, but not pushing in.

Once. Twice. Three times.

“Ready?” he asks. Not even cruel about it, not really. Just a little.

“Yes,” you breathe out. “Yes, already, c’mon, faster...”

“Tch... Always this fucking needy when it’s me.” He clicks his tongue and lines himself up. You feel the head of his cock press right against your entrance, pushing, spreading you just a little, just a few millimeters, just enough to make sure you feel it.

You moan.

Long and pitiful, because it’s always like this.

“There you go, whining again, baby,” he murmurs, and for once, there’s something almost gentle in his voice. “Take it, good girl. I’m going slow.”

And then Sukuna pushes deeper.

You yelp at the sudden, sharp stretch when he forces your entrance open. Your hands clutch at the sheets so hard your nails leave marks, and Sukuna goes still, already halfway inside, and you can hear him breathing heavily above you, controlled, restrained.

“Fuck,” he exhales, and it sounds almost reverent. “Still so fucking tight. Pathetic.”

You make some broken, incoherent sound, trying to adjust, trying to relax, but your body only clamps down harder around him because panic, tiny and animal, is screaming too much.

“Always act surprised,” he mutters, hand tightening on your back, “like you don’t do this every fucking time.”

Sukuna’s huge body looms over you, and of course that only makes you squirm more.

“Relax your ass,” he orders, and presses hard on your lower back, pinning you to the bed so you can’t arch, can’t run, can’t escape. “And baby, breathe, fuck, deeper.”

You take a breath, deep and shaky, and on the exhale he pushes more of himself inside, slow and steady, stretching you wider around every inch.

You hear his breath catch above you the deeper his cock goes, like even he feels the way your body fights him before finally giving in.

Then one smooth, relentless thrust, and he drives in nearly to the base, forcing a sharp, burning stretch that makes your whole body tense.

“Ohhh—” it tears out of you, long and loud, and you bite the sheet so you don’t scream.

“Good girl,” Sukuna whispers. “Took almost all of it. Almost, hear me?”

Sukuna goes still like that again, giving you time to adjust, and you can feel his cock pulsing inside you. Then he starts moving again.

Slowly. He pulls out halfway, and you suck in a short, desperate breath, and then he drives back in with one sharp thrust, and you cry out because Sukuna hits that exact spot that makes your vision blur.

“Right there,” he hums, satisfied.

The next thrust lands harder, and the sharp slap of skin on skin cracks through the room, louder now, meaner, like he’s already losing patience with how much you’re squirming.

Sukuna slams into you again, and you scream into the pillow, biting down on it while he just laughs, rough and pleased. His hips smack against your ass with a wet, obscene sound.

“Easy, easy, mouthy little thing,” he purrs, even though he likes it when you’re loud, and you know it.

“Fuck you...” you try to snap back, but he pushes in deeper, and the words break apart into moans.

Sukuna speeds up.

“Cry about it,” he shoots back immediately, slamming into you again. “You begged for it.”

The mattress starts shifting under each thrust, creaking softly beneath you every time he drives you back into it.

His palm is still pressing down on your lower back, keeping you from lifting up...

His other hand clamps down on your hip, thumb digging little crescents into your skin every time he snaps forward.

You’re trapped between him and the bed, helpless, spread open, soaked in sweat and him.

You can feel your slick running down the insides of your thighs, the sheet under you going damp, the way his balls slap against your clit with every thrust.

A full-body tremor crashes over you when Sukuna buries himself all the way to the hilt.

“Fuuuck... you’re making a mess,” he groans through his nose, sounding downright delighted. “Your cunt’s making the prettiest sounds.”

Sukuna stills for a second, pulls out almost all the way, and in the silence of the room there’s that wet, obscene sucking sound when he thrusts back in.

You feel the wet drag of it, every inch of him sliding out slow and slick, enough to make your whole body tense before he drives back in.

You let out a choked moan.

“You hear that?” he repeats, driving into you again, and again, and again, every thrust punctuated by that filthy, wet slap.

“Shut... ah-ah... shut up,” you sob.

“Or what?”

Sukuna suddenly leans all the way down over your back, hovering over your ear, and his voice goes quiet, smooth, almost tender, and goosebumps race over your whole body.

“Gonna punish me? Tell me you’re not coming back? You will. You always do. Because nobody fucks you like I do. Nobody knows how deep you can take me.”

Sukuna lets out a rough hum while you try to protest, then straightens up and suddenly thrusts all the way in, fully, to the base, so deep you feel his pelvis press against your ass, the head of his cock nudging your cervix, and you cry out, high and thin, tears springing to your eyes from the strain, from how good it is.

“There,” Sukuna growls. “Took all of it. What were you whining for? You could do it. Knew you could take it,” he adds, almost smug, like he’d never doubted you for a second.

He stays buried inside you like that, breathing hard, and you can feel your cunt pulsing around him, your stomach muscles tightening and releasing, and you’re right there, so close one more movement would do it.

“What, you want it?” he whispers, his lips brushing your temple. His voice is calm, even, like he’s not buried balls-deep in your pussy. “Wanna come? Say it. C’mon, I’m listening.”

You can’t talk. Your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth, and all you can do is shake your head, sniffling, trying to move your hips on your own, but he immediately presses you down again, chest to your back, hips flush to your ass, and you’re flattened under him all over again.

“There you go,” he murmurs, voice dropping lower. “That’s my girl.”

It’s heavy, almost impossible to breathe.

Sukuna wraps a hand around your throat, feeling how wildly your heart is pounding.

“Yes,” you gasp. “Yes, please, yes.”

“Oh, really?” His lips stretch into a wide, mocking grin.

“Sukuna...”

“How pathetic,” he drawls, and you can hear the predator’s smile in his voice. “Lying under me, dripping, shaking, and you can’t even say two words. Drooling again too, huh? Yeah...”

He laughs under his breath.

“That mouth on you... all that attitude, and look where it gets you.”

You want to hit him. Or bite him. Or scream something insulting at him. Instead, you just press your face harder into the sheets, and a choked, humiliated moan tears out of your throat.

He laughs and takes his hand off your neck.

“Wait!” you gasp, panicked, when he shifts his hips back.

“That’s it,” Sukuna says, and slams back into you so hard the shock shoots from your spine all the way to your fingertips.

You squeal, clawing at the sheets, trying to push back against him, meet him halfway, but he keeps you pinned to the bed, not letting you move, and all you can do is take it, take it, take it until the whole world collapses into one single point and you come, crying out, body seizing, clenching around him so hard he groans through his teeth.

And three thrusts later, Sukuna finally stills, coming deep inside you, hot and hard, with a growl that vibrates straight through your spine.

You stay like that. You’re breathing hard, face buried in the sheet, wet with tears and spit. He’s breathing hard too, collapsed over you with all his weight, his cock still inside you, slowly softening, and you can feel the warmth spreading low in your belly.

He doesn’t pull out. Just stays there, keeping you full while it starts to leak around him, warm and humiliating between your thighs.

Sukuna drags a hand along the line of your thigh, slow, soothing, almost gentle. Then he leans down and presses a lazy kiss to the nape of your neck, so casual it almost feels mean after everything else.

“Good girl,” he whispers against the back of your head.

You mumble something incoherent, and he chuckles, pleased, giving one lazy, reflexive roll of his hips that pulls another gasp from you and makes you instinctively try to wriggle out from under him.

“Quit it,” he murmurs, tightening his arm around you when you squirm. “You’re not going anywhere.”

He gives a low, satisfied hum against the back of your neck.

“Next time I’m tying you up,” he adds, like it’s nothing. “So you don’t squirm at all.”

You close your eyes and think that... he’s probably not joking.

And, honestly, you think you like that.

Do not repost, copy, plagiarize, translate, or feed my work into AI in any form!) Divider credit: @dollywons

Sukuna looks like he’s just been forced into an enemy lair packed with traps.

You bite back a smile.

“Welcome! Looking for anything special?” an overly cheerful sales associate immediately swoops in on the two of you.

“Thanks, we’re just looking for now,” you answer for both of you, already feeling Sukuna turning into a statue behind your back.

He, a broad-shouldered man towering a good two heads above you, the kind of man who makes some people’s knees buckle just from one glance, is now very noticeably hunching his shoulders, trying to make himself look smaller.

Sukuna ducks his head further into his shoulders when you tug him along into the maze of racks. His eyes dart around too fast, too nervously, like he’s terrified someone might catch him looking at a red lace set.

When you let go of his hand to step over to a display of pieces that caught your eye the moment you walked in, he visibly glitches. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him stare at his suddenly empty hand for a couple of seconds before sharply shoving it into the pocket of his jeans. Then the other one into the other pocket.

His shoulders rise even higher, and now Sukuna is just standing in the middle of the aisle, dark and brooding as a storm cloud, looking for all the world like a giant abandoned dog whose owner tied him up outside a supermarket.

“Look how cute this one is,” you mumble under your breath, running your fingers over soft pale blue satin. “Or this one, with the little beads...”

You slip a sky-blue bra off the hanger, delicate lace trimming the edges, and hold it up against yourself as you turn to face him.

“Well?”

Sukuna shifts that heavy gaze to you, looks at the little thing in your hands, then at you, and one corner of his mouth twitches ever so slightly. Mild confusion mixed with skepticism.

He doesn’t say a word, but you understand perfectly.

He doesn’t like it.

Without a word, Sukuna takes you by the shoulder and gently but insistently turns you around, nudging you onward toward the next rows.

“Too cute?” you mutter.

Sukuna gives you a flat look that answers everything.

“Okay, got it,” you snort, hanging the blue bra back up.

You keep moving along the racks, stopping every now and then to show him one thing, then another.

He watches a fuchsia lace set with complete indifference, while a black one with little metal rings earns the slightest flick of his brow. But when you reach the section with the most scandalous lingerie, the kind made of thin strips of fabric and strings, Sukuna stops on his own.

You pick up something that vaguely resembles a bra, two tiny triangles of sheer mesh connected by a delicate chain, and hold it against yourself.

“What about this?”

Sukuna says nothing.

He just stares at the contraption, and a look crosses his face that you’ve never seen before. His lips twist faintly, his brows drawing together. He looks from the “set” to you, then back to it again, and you can practically see the question spinning in his head about whether this is actually clothing.

“Why the hell?” is the only thing that leaves his lips.

You snort with laughter, hang the “spiderweb” back up, and drag him onward.

Eventually, you gather up a decent stack of more or less normal sets, at least by your standards, and disappear into the fitting room.

“You stay here,” you toss over your shoulder as you slip behind the heavy curtain.

A second later, you hear a muffled sound full of dark irritation and resignation:

“Tch.”

The fitting goes on as expected.

You turn in front of the mirror, checking how one set fits, then another. And when you get to the last one, black, with thin straps, you realize you got the size wrong.

The panties from the set fit perfectly, but the bra is too small.

“Sukuna!” you call, poking your head out from behind the heavy curtain, and there he is.

He’s standing with one shoulder against the wall, staring absentmindedly at his nails. The second he hears your voice, he jerks and looks at you like you’ve just saved him from dying of boredom.

The relief on his face is almost insulting.

“I grabbed the wrong size...”

You hold out the black bra to him. Sukuna takes it like it’s not a piece of women’s clothing, but a live grenade with the pin already pulled. He turns and heads straight back into the store before you even finish explaining.

He doesn’t need instructions.

He’s a grown man.

He can figure it out.

Sukuna reaches the right rack.

Stops.

Looks at the hangers where the exact same model is hanging. Looks at the tiny tags with numbers and letters. Looks at the hangers again. There’s a flicker of confusion in his eyes that he tries to crush under pure stubbornness.

Sukuna stands there for too long.

One minute. Two...

His brows knit together into a deep crease between them. He flips through the hangers, but mindlessly, just to keep his hands occupied. And that’s exactly when the sales associate catches up to him.

“Can I help you?”

Sukuna freezes. Slowly, he turns his head toward her, trying to hide the faint panic under a mask of arrogance.

“What size are you looking for?” the sales associate presses.

Sukuna says nothing.

His jaw clenches so hard the muscles in it jump.

He looks at the tag in his hand again, then at the girl, then somewhere off to the side, like he’s searching for an escape route. And then he does something so insane that if you’d seen it, your jaw would’ve hit the floor and you would’ve smacked him.

Slowly, like it physically pains him, Sukuna raises both hands in front of him. His palms, big and broad with long fingers, curl slightly like he’s holding something... like he’s trying to show her the size of your breasts.

“Like... about this size,” he says, voice low but steady.

Absurd.

The sales associate lets out a confused:

“Huh?”

Her eyes dart from his hands to his face and back again.

“You... um... maybe you should ask the girl who came in with you?”

A heavy silence settles in the air.

Sukuna drills her with a look, but inside, you know for a fact, he has already cursed the day he agreed to come here with you.

Without saying another word, he sharply turns, snatches the first bra he sees off a hanger, completely different model, by the way, and marches back with determined steps, nearly taking out a mannequin on the way.

Sukuna yanks the curtain aside and, without looking at you, shoves a black lace bra into your hands.

“Here.”

You look at him. Then at the tag. Then back at him.

Sukuna stands there staring hard at the floor, waiting.

“Honey,” you start as gently as possible. “That’s still not my size. And it’s a different model.”

His shoulders visibly drop.

He exhales in a way that sounds almost doomed, enough that you nearly feel bad for him.

“What exactly am I looking for?” he grits out through his teeth without meeting your eyes. “Tell me. I’ll remember.”

You clearly and slowly spell it out: model, color, size. He listens, and you can see his lips moving, silently repeating it to himself.

Then he nods and leaves.

A couple of minutes later, Sukuna comes back with a victorious but still slightly shell-shocked look and hands you the correct one.

“This?” There’s tension in his voice.

“This,” you smile. “Thank you.”

His gaze drops, just for a second, to where the black straps cut across your skin.

Sukuna looks away, his gaze skimming over the floor and off to the side before he mutters:

“Need help?” he asks, and it sounds almost innocent, if you didn’t know him better. “C’mere. I’ll do it,” he grumbles, and without waiting for permission, decisively parts the curtain and wedges himself into the cramped fitting room with you.

Sukuna, being Sukuna, a man who’s seen you naked, touched you, fucked you hundreds of times, of course can’t just walk away. His pride took a hit during this little trip, and now he needs to feel like he’s back on familiar territory.

The tiny fitting room gets hot instantly.

His body fills up the whole space, looming over you. In the mirror across from you, you can see his unreadable face, but his eyes...

His eyes say more than enough.

“Tighten the straps for me, please,” you ask. “A little tighter.”

Sukuna swallows, and you watch his Adam’s apple bob.

He steps closer.

His fingers settle on your waist, thumbs brushing your skin in slow, absent strokes before they drift higher, toward the clasps. He fumbles with the hooks, and the feel of his breath brushing the back of your neck sends goosebumps racing down your spine.

When the straps are finally tightened, he doesn’t take his hands away. If anything, his palms settle against your hips, his fingers curling just a little, stroking the skin where the edge of your panties meets your body.

The touch isn’t possessive. Not rough.

If anything, it’s almost careful.

Like he’s forgotten where he is for a second.

Almost… mesmerized.

“All done?”

“All done,” his voice comes out low, roughened.

You can feel his chest pressing against your back.

“Sukuna,” you breathe, already feeling heat flood your cheeks. “Out.”

You lightly jab him in the chest with your elbow. Sukuna braces himself, clearly not wanting to leave, but then he huffs something under his breath and finally slips back out behind the curtain, leaving behind nothing but a faint dizziness.

You exhale, trying to calm your racing heart.

A minute passes. Then two.

You’re already assuming he’s just standing outside waiting when suddenly the curtain jerks again. His head pokes back inside. On his face is a strange mix of pride, faint embarrassment, and some almost boyish hope.

In his hands is something that makes you stumble over your own irritation.

It’s a set in a deep wine-dark shade of silk, trimmed with the finest lace. The panties are barely more than a few interwoven strands of lace, the bra isn’t much better, and on top of that there are a couple of straps meant to wrap around your waist and thighs.

It’s an upgraded version of that set he’d stared at so skeptically in the beginning.

“This one,” he says with a nod.

Sukuna doesn’t ask what you think.

He just holds the set out to you, but you can still see the silent question in his eyes.

Well? Did I do good? Do you like it?

He picked this out himself. For you.

You have to bite the inside of your cheek not to smile.

Something warm and dangerously soft twists in your chest.

“It’s beautiful,” you say sincerely, and his face softens just a little.

Ten minutes later, the two of you are standing at the register.

The price the cashier rings up makes you internally flinch, but Sukuna doesn’t even look at the display. He silently hands over his card, radiating calm like none of this concerns him in the slightest.

He pays, takes the bag, and then reaches for your hand. This time, his grip is steady again, possessive, as he leads you toward the exit. Outside, the evening air cools the heat in your flushed face.

“I thought you liked tearing my lingerie apart,” you tease as the two of you head for the car. “You always do.”

Sukuna stops, glances down at you for a second, squinting.

“Not this time,” he says, voice low and smooth. He leans down to your ear, and his hot breath burns against your skin. “This time, I’m just gonna peel it off you nice and slow. Just like you always ask.”

Sukuna straightens like he didn’t just ruin your ability to think, smug as ever, then tugs you toward the car while your cheeks still burn...

Until you and Sukuna are finally alone.

You tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear and let your gaze linger on your reflection.

You smile.

Behind you, Sukuna steps in from the other room, and his face, as always, wears that familiar look of quiet, deep annoyance.

Sullen.

Brooding.

Like the mere fact this evening exists is already pissing him off.

You just roll your eyes with a smile.

He’s wearing a new suit. The jacket fits his broad shoulders perfectly, but Sukuna very clearly hates the damn thing.

He jerks one shoulder, trying to loosen the tight fabric, then, with obvious irritation, unbuttons the top button of his shirt.

Finally, he exhales sharply through his teeth.

“How do I look?” you ask, glancing at him over your shoulder.

There’s laughter dancing in your voice, because seeing him this stiff, this weirdly polished in a perfectly tailored suit, is almost funny.

You take a small step back, closer to him, without taking your eyes off the reflection in the mirror.

Sukuna immediately lifts a brow and looks up at you.

You see the way his scowl softens almost right away.

He steps closer.

The heat of his body behind you makes you straighten your shoulders without meaning to.

Even in your heels, he still towers over you. In the mirror, there are two silhouettes now.

His gaze drags slowly over your reflection, unhurried.

From the hem where the fabric brushes the floor, up your legs, over your waist, to your neck.

And when his eyes meet yours in the mirror, the corner of his mouth twitches.

Not quite a smile.

Something almost boyish.

Almost pleased.

Possessive.

Without a word, he places his heavy hands on your waist. His fingers spread wide, nearly wrapping all the way around you, and you let out a quiet laugh, leaning back until your shoulder blades press against his chest.

“Turn around,” he murmurs.

His voice is low, lazy, like every word has to be dragged out of him by force.

Obediently, you turn to face him, your palms pressing to his chest. Now you’re standing face to face, and you have to tilt your head back just to meet his eyes.

He looks down at you.

Carefully.

Intently.

Hungrily.

You glance at the mirror again, because you like the way the two of you look together. You adjust your hair, barely looking at him, too caught up in the picture of it.

In the mirror, all you can see is your profile and the slight dip of his head.

Only a second later, you realize his heavy stare has dropped lower than your chin. To where the fabric of your dress has formed the first dangerous fold over your chest.

“Sukuna?” you call, questioning.

He moves faster than you can fully register.

One hand is still on your waist, holding you in place, while the other lifts to your neck. His fingers catch the edge of the loose neckline and tug the fabric slightly aside.

He tips his head and looks.

Just enough to get a good look at the soft curve of your breasts, now nearly spilling free.

He doesn’t even blink.

No shame.

No hesitation.

Not a single flicker of doubt.

Worst of all, he’s still wearing that same grave expression, like staring straight down your dress is the most normal thing in the world.

“Sukuna!” Your voice jumps higher than you meant it to, breaking into an offended half-gasp.

You immediately press your elbows tighter to your sides, trying to hold the fabric in place.

Flustered, you can’t think of anything better than blurting his name again, almost like a scolding.

He doesn’t move his hand away.

Doesn’t change his posture.

Leaning over you slightly, head tipped down, he only slowly lifts his gaze from your chest to your eyes.

His face is completely unreadable.

Like absolutely nothing happened.

“What?” he asks, maddeningly calm. “I’m just looking.”

“Are you out of your mind?!”

You smack his hand.

He hisses softly, more from surprise than pain, and pulls his hand back, rubbing the reddened spot. One brow arches higher, and his lips twist into an annoyed smirk.

“Violent woman,” he mutters, almost like a growl. “Can’t even look anymore?”

“Not like that!”

“Why not?” He takes a step closer. “Won’t even let me look at what’s already mine?”

“By what right, exactly?” you breathe out, scandalized.

But inside, everything is already trembling traitorously.

Your pulse is hammering high in your throat.

Sukuna doesn’t answer.

He just slowly licks his lower lip and takes another step forward.

You step back automatically.

Then again.

Until your ass bumps against the dresser.

Nowhere left to go.

“We’re gonna be late,” you whisper, because for some reason your voice refuses to come out any louder. “They’re waiting for us...”

“Let them wait.”

Sukuna leans down to your ear, and the heat of his breath burns against your earlobe.

“I’m finishing what I started first.”

His hand settles on your waist again, but this time it’s different.

There’s nothing innocent in it now.

His other hand rises to your chin. Rough fingers grip your face, forcing you to look up, straight into his dark, heavy eyes.

“Pretty dress,” he says quietly, and there’s that strange, dangerous tenderness in his voice, the kind that always makes your knees weak. “But I don’t want anyone else seeing you in it.”

His gaze drops lower.

“Though I like you better without it.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer.

He just kisses you.

Rough.

Possessive.

Without warning.

You get tangled in the fabric and stumble, but Sukuna catches you immediately, not letting you fall. His hands are everywhere at once. Your back. Your waist. Lower. Too sure, too greedy, and a quiet moan slips right into his mouth.

He only pulls back for a second.

“We’re staying right here.”

His fingers slide over the fabric, gathering the hem in his hand, slowly lifting it higher and higher. Cool air brushes your thighs, and a shiver runs through your body instantly.

“Sukuna...” you breathe out, all trace of reproach gone now.

“Mm?” he hums, smug and far too pleased with himself.

He’s enjoying this far too much.

He can feel how wet you are even through the thin lace of your panties, and it only seems to amuse him more. His fingers speed up, rubbing harder, more insistently, like he wants to hear you come apart for him.

Then he turns you toward the dresser, one hand firm at the back of your neck as he bends you forward until your palms catch against the cool wood.

Your dress is shoved up to your waist, leaving you completely exposed. Behind you, his belt gives a sharp metallic clink.

Sukuna’s breathing is heavy and hot, and the fabric of his pants drags over your bare legs when he presses in close from behind, crowding you so completely there’s nowhere to go.

“Don’t move,” he murmurs, low and absolute, and the next second the head of his cock presses right against your pussy.

He moves lazily, taking his time. Each step measured, heavy with quiet intent.

He closes the distance without hurry.

And then his hands land on your hips.

His bandaged fingers settle just below your hip bones before dragging higher.

His groin presses against you from behind for just a second too long.

Sukuna leans down, nearly burying his face in your neck, his breath, warm and faintly metallic, brushing your skin and making the fine hairs at your nape stand on end.

“So touching, baby,” he murmurs, voice low and rough, making your shoulders tense before you can stop it.

His lips almost graze the bare curve of your shoulder.

You flinch so hard your teeth click.

Instinct beats thought. Your elbows slam back, your hands shove his arms away.

Sukuna lets you push him off, only to step right back in, a quiet chuckle slipping past his teeth.

“Hands off,” you hiss without even looking at him.

Your eyes stay glued to Satoru, who just forced his opponent into a tight defense.

Sukuna bares his teeth, rubbing the spot where your elbow hit him. The ache pulses pleasantly under his skin.

It only excites him more.

He steps up beside you, looming on your left, and you grimace, already knowing he’s wearing that insufferable grin.

“Worried about your boyfriend?” Sukuna’s voice drips mockery.

He’s not even looking at the ring. Just you. The way your lashes tremble. The way you bite your lip.

You don’t quite get why he decided Gojo is your boyfriend — except that it gives him something to hate.

“None of your business,” you snap, not sparing him a glance.

Sukuna doesn’t move, but the air between you heats. His jaw tightens hard enough for the muscle to jump.

The fact that you didn’t deny it leaves his jaw tight.

That smug bastard.

He steps closer. His chest almost brushes your shoulder now. He leans toward your ear, and this time you don’t pull away.

Something shifts inside the cage.

“Gojo’s defense is clean.” Sukuna whispers against your ear.

“I know,” you mutter, distracted.

He leans even closer, practically resting his chin on your shoulder, hunching slightly because of his height. Big. Taking up all your space.

“But your buddy gets distracted,” Sukuna continues. “Too confident. Too proud. Which means…”

You turn sharply toward him, nearly colliding foreheads.

“What the hell are you telling me this for?” you hiss, staring into his narrowed, dangerous eyes.

Sukuna smirks wider.

“Looks like we’re fighting on Saturday,” he says calmly.

The words don’t land right away.

Your fingers tighten on the cage.

Satoru and Sukuna. Same cage.

“So what?” you scoff, the words coming out with a sharp smirk, though the confidence you had a minute ago is gone.

Sukuna frowns, clicking his tongue in irritation.

He bumps his forehead against yours — not hard, but heavy enough to make you tilt your head back — then pulls away just enough to see your face properly.

“You could help your buddy,” he says flatly. “I don’t want to cripple him.”

He bares his teeth in a faint, dangerous grin, and a chill runs down your spine.

You snort, rolling your eyes.

Help Satoru? He could take anyone apart. Unless…

You’ve seen Sukuna in the ring.

You know how he fights.

Dirty. Brutal. Bloody.

Breaking through strikes with everything he’s got.

“Satoru will definitely beat you,” you say with a smirk, though he catches the softness behind it. “He’ll smear you across the cage.”

Something in Sukuna snaps. You see it in the way his pupils widen, the twitch of his jaw, the way he bares his teeth — exposing his fangs.

He steps in suddenly, bumping you back from the cage with his chest, forcing you to take a couple of steps to keep from falling.

He follows immediately, irritation sharpening his expression.

“Let’s make a deal,” he says sharply, cutting through your thoughts.

“What?” you frown, confused, trying to put some space between you again — but Sukuna closes it just as fast.

He licks his lips slowly, thoughtfully.

Stepping in close, he leans forward, looming over you in a way that makes you feel far too fragile next to him.

His chin comes to hover just above your shoulder as his whisper brushes your ear, his gaze fixed somewhere ahead, past you.

“Make a bet with me,” he murmurs, tilting his head slightly to catch your anxious expression from the corner of his eye. “If Gojo wins, I’ll grant you one wish.”

You inhale sharply as his heavy exhale burns across your neck. Sukuna does it on purpose. He stills for a moment, watching your reaction, holding himself back from pressing even closer.

You let out a bitter huff, trying to sound brave.

“And if you win?” your voice comes out slightly strained, edged with unease.

“When,” Sukuna corrects roughly. “When I win, you grant me one wish.”

You scoff, trying to step away, but he catches your wrists. His fingers close around them, the roughness of the hand wraps scraping against your skin. He yanks you back, pulling you into him until your shoulder bumps against his bare chest.

“That’s not fair,” you hiss, bracing your free hands against him, your fingers stinging from the heat of his skin. “I don’t want anything from you.”

“All the more interesting,” he whispers against your neck, the chuckle that follows making you flinch in his grip.

Your heart pounds somewhere in your throat.

“And what would your wish be?” you ask, already knowing the answer won’t be good.

Sukuna pauses. You feel his lips almost brush the shell of your ear, his breath heavy against your neck, a low hum vibrating through his chest and into your back.

“You’ll let me fuck you.”

You jerk your head aside, staring into his narrowed eyes in shock.

“That will never happen,” you mutter, still stunned, trying to shake off the strange tremor his stare leaves behind.

Sukuna lifts the corner of his mouth, tilting his head playfully.

“I’ll fuck you however I want,” he growls through barely parted teeth. “As much as I want. And wherever I want.”

You press your fingers into his chest, angry at the way your hands tremble.

You try to push him away — useless.

“Like hell that’s happening,” you hiss, glaring at him. “Satoru will win.”

Sukuna grins, triumphant.

“So you agree to the deal.”

You freeze, not even realizing how he cornered you — and then the anger hits.

“Fuck. Fine.” you snap through clenched teeth. “But when I tell you to change fight gyms and teams, you’ll do it.” You bare your teeth in return. “High stakes, asshole.”

Sukuna smirks in satisfaction, and for some reason you start to feel uneasy — maybe you’ve been a little too bold, because his smile is far too confident in his victory, full of anticipation… and hunger.

Like he already knows he’s won.

Like he already knows what he’ll do to you.

Fuck… what did you just agree to?

You frown, then step back sharply, circling around him to return to the cage…

Satoru has just finished the fight — with a win, of course — and is climbing out. But as you take a step, a heavy hand lands on your elbow, turning you halfway back.

Your back presses into Sukuna’s chest.

You don’t see his face — only feel the heat of him and his whisper at your temple.

“Let’s see if you even remember your boyfriend’s name after I’ve fucked that tight little pussy of yours...”

Your eyes fly wide open. With a low, confused sound, you stumble forward and quickly move away from the cage.

Satoru is already by the water table, flushed and heated from the fight. The moment you reach him, his arm wraps around your waist, pulling you against his damp torso. He says something, flashing that blinding smile, but you don’t hear a word.

You turn your head, glancing back over your shoulder to where Sukuna still stands.

His arms are crossed now, massive biceps shifting beneath tattooed skin. His face is blank.

Just that dark look.

And when he notices you staring, he slowly drags his tongue along the corner of his mouth.

If Satoru loses… you’re completely fucked.

Do not repost, copy, plagiarize, translate, or feed my work into AI in any form!)

Sukuna is an MMA fighter here, not a boxer — that was a mistake in the description 😭

You were looking for Toji Fushiguro, the irresponsible dumbass you somehow ended up stuck with in the same study group. And apparently, that was the exact day everything started going to hell.

You were ready to tear someone’s head off, but you had no choice: you had to catch up to that deadbeat and shove the notes into his hands, because without his part of the work, none of you were passing the assignment.

You texted Toji on Instagram... silence. Again, silence. Imagining how many girls were blowing up his DMs every day, and how he probably scrolled past them without even reading, you snapped...

You had to pry the fraternity address out of mutual acquaintances, feeling like the world’s biggest idiot the whole time...

And now you’re here. Standing in front of the old frat house, gripping the strap of your bag so hard your knuckles ache. The printouts inside crinkle under the pressure. You texted him. Nothing. You called him. Declined.

The only thing left was showing up in person. And you only do it because you’re desperate. Because failing this project means failing the whole damn semester...

The front door of the frat house turns out to be unlocked.

You wander the halls way too long, and eventually decide to go upstairs, following the sound of dull thuds and aggressive shouting coming from behind a half-open door.

Your heart is pounding somewhere in your throat, your palms are slick with sweat, but there’s no backing out now.

In a small room with a pool table, a TV, and a sagging couch, you find exactly one person...

Fucking Ryomen Sukuna.

Your heart drops straight into your shoes.

You recognize him instantly: the tattoos crawling over his arms, the predator-like set of his shoulders, the dangerous ease in the way he’s sprawled across the couch like it’s his personal throne, legs spread wide, taking up way more space than basic decency allows.

He’s got a beer bottle in one hand (it’s one in the afternoon, for fuck’s sake!), an open bag of stale chips on the table. His eyes, heavy and sharp, are glued to the TV, where two guys in a cage are methodically beating the shit out of each other. MMA.

You were looking for Toji, and you found him instead.

Your first instinct is to turn around and run before you get yourself into real trouble. But the thought of your professor making your life a living hell if you don’t turn in the work outweighs even your fear of the local psychopath.

You step into the room, trying to move as quietly as possible.

“Hey,” you call, but your voice gets swallowed immediately by the commentator’s screaming.

Sukuna doesn’t even twitch.

Silence.

Just bones cracking from the TV and the fighters’ heavy breathing. A new round starts, and you’re already about to say fuck it and bolt, when Sukuna suddenly jerks upright on the couch, snapping straight like a wire. The commentator’s voice rises, the crowd roars, the fight gets intense. You instinctively take a step forward, staring at the screen, trying to figure out what the hell is happening. The tension in the air turns almost physical. And in that moment, his fighter loses.

“FUCKING USELESS!”

The sound that comes out of him is pure rage, so violent your stomach drops and everything inside you goes cold. The half-empty beer can slices through the air and slams into the wall right above the TV, leaving a wet stain and exploding into splashes. You flinch hard, shoulders hunched, curling in on yourself.

If Sukuna reacts like that to a simple loss, what’s he gonna do when he actually notices you?

Sukuna leans back and exhales like a pissed-off beast catching its breath. Like it wasn’t the fighters in the cage, but him. A few seconds of silence before the next round. And you try again, hoping maybe now he’ll be more cooperative.

“Hey? I need Toji,” you force out, trying not to let your voice shake.

Sukuna finally turns his head. Slow. His gaze locks onto you. Heavy, sharp, indifferent. It drags over your body, and something like disappointment flickers across his mouth.

Like you, small and trembling and pathetic, aren’t even worth the effort of showing up for. The contempt twists your face automatically, and for a second fear is replaced by irritation.

“Where’s Toji?” you hiss, trying not to show how badly your knees are shaking.

Sukuna doesn’t even look at you as he reaches for a fresh can of beer, cracks it open with one hand, takes a long greedy sip, and only then casually throws over his shoulder:

“How the fuck should I know.” His voice is low, rough, and something unpleasant flickers in your gut. “Probably fucking some bitch upstairs. You can wait till he gets off.”

He drags his tongue over his teeth like he’s mocking you, snorts, and turns back to the TV, cutting you off with his broad back like you don’t exist.

You flinch, heat rushing into your face.

“But I…” you mumble.

“Wait here if you want,” his lazy smirk turns sharp, sour, full of superiority. “He can be quick, but… doubt it.”

Something inside you boils. Disgust at Toji, at this place, at this cocky bastard drinking beer in the middle of the damn day. Who the hell drinks at one p.m.?! You take a few determined steps forward and stand right in front of the TV, arms spread, blocking his view.

“I need to find Toji! We’re in the same group! If I fail this class because of your idiot friend…” your voice rings with desperation.

Sukuna just stares for a second like he can’t believe you’re real, then his face twists with irritation.

“Move the fuck…” he barks, trying to look past you. On the screen the commentator is practically screaming, the fight is in full swing. “MOVE, I said!”

You stubbornly stay where you are, terrified the next beer can will be thrown at your head. Fear freezes your spine, but your stubbornness is stronger.

“If I don’t get a good grade…”

You don’t even get to finish.

Sukuna, not even fully standing, lunges forward. Time slows down. You see the muscles flex in his tattooed biceps, see his pupils widen, but not because of you, because of the fight behind your back. And instead of doing anything even remotely normal, Sukuna’s hands shoot out and clamp onto you right below the waist. Broad palms, rough grip, fingers digging straight into your ass through the denim like he doesn’t give a single fuck.

And then he yanks.

His grip is iron, no room for arguing. You’re already about to scream, when he yanks you toward him so hard you lose your balance and go flying with a squeal, crashing down on top of Sukuna as you both fall back onto the couch.

You land ass-up right on his lap, your legs kicking up into the air like an idiot.

“Let go, asshole! Are you fucking insane?!” you thrash, trying to get up, but his hand clamps down on your thigh, pinning you in place.

Sukuna doesn’t even look at you. All his attention is on the TV, where the final exchange is happening, and you can’t help wondering if he bet the whole frat house on this fight or something.

What the hell is wrong with him?!

“Shut up, woman,” Sukuna spits, low and vibrating, and his palm comes down on your ass with a loud, heavy smack. You let out a sound that’s half squeak, half sob. A jolt shoots through your body, settling into a pulse low in your stomach.

You freeze, stunned, unable to move.

What the actual fuck...

Sukuna doesn’t even take his hand away. Instead, like it’s nothing, he starts kneading your ass absently, mindlessly. The fight continues on screen, and his fingers dig hard into one thigh, then the other, gripping the denim, squeezing, working you over like you’re not a person but some expensive stress ball, something to keep his hands busy while his brain is locked on the match.

Sukuna takes a greedy sip of beer, then another, lounging back like he owns the world, while you sit there biting your lip, eyes wide. Your lower stomach tightens into a knot from humiliation and a strange, unfamiliar heat you’ve never felt before...

What the fuck is wrong with you?

The noise drags Toji out of the next room. Half-naked, wrinkled pants, sleepy pissed-off face. He stops behind the couch, staring into the room with a dull gaze.

“What the fuck, Sukuna?!” he drawls, yawning. “What bitch did you hit that she’s screaming like that?!”

His eyes drop to your legs sticking up in the air, and Toji’s eyebrows shoot up. He notices the beer splattered on the wall and grimaces.

“Jesus fucking Christ... They banned you from watching TV after last time,” he mutters, scratching his neck.

“Fuck off,” Sukuna snarls without even turning around.

“Gojo’s gonna kill you for the third TV this month,” Toji grimaces.

“Let him suck my dick,” Sukuna clicks his tongue, and you tense even harder, feeling his fingers dig into your ass.

The adrenaline from the fight on TV fades a little, and Sukuna just uses you to burn off whatever’s left, squeezing and kneading your thighs.

You lift your brows in outrage, plant your palms on the couch armrest and try to push yourself up, but drop back down again, earning a low amused chuckle from Sukuna. Your pulse is pounding in your ears as you mumble something and try to wriggle out of his grip again.

Toji walks around the couch and finally sees both of you. Your flushed face, your bitten lip, and Sukuna’s blank expression, his hand casually smacking your ass like it’s normal.

“Huh?” Toji’s face stretches into the dumbest look of shock. He points at you. “What the hell are you doing here?”

At least he seems to remember you’re in the same group.

You jerk again, trying to stand, but Sukuna, without even looking, smacks your ass again, this time lighter, almost calming, but still very real. Just to remind you who’s in charge.

Go to hell…

“Sit still. The fight isn’t over,” Sukuna mutters irritably, then leans right over you, his broad chest nearly pressing into your back, grabs your bag off the floor, and with one lazy swing of his arm throws it at Toji.

Toji barely catches it before it smacks him in the face.

“What the fuck?!” Toji snaps.

“Why the hell do girls bring you notes to the frat house?” Sukuna keeps staring at the TV, his fingers returning to you.

Toji rolls his eyes, and the two of them start acting like you’re not even there. Unbelievable. Your group partner gives your bag a dismissive look, unzips it, and sticks his hand inside like he’s digging through trash.

You snap, forgetting what position you’re currently stuck in:

“Hey! Don’t you dare dig through my shit!” you shriek, jerking again.

Sukuna sighs and squeezes your thigh hard enough it’ll bruise, forcing you to freeze.

“Shut the fuck up,” he barks at you, then at Toji: “You hear what she said? Get your filthy hands out, dumbass.”

He chuckles heavily beneath you, spreading his legs a little wider so you almost sag, grabbing his thigh for balance.

“These?” Toji raises an eyebrow.

You nod frantically. He’s about to say something else, but the fight on TV reaches its peak. Sukuna growls, “Get the fuck out of here!” and hurls his beer can at Toji with force. Toji throws up his arms and one knee, ducking. And Sukuna, in a burst of rage, smacks your ass with both hands, hard as hell.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!” you scream again, squirming on his lap. “I’m reporting you to the dean, you psycho! Let me go!”

Toji stares at the two of you for a few seconds with a stunned face, then starts laughing low and filthy. He tosses your bag back onto the floor.

“Thanks, baby!” he yells through laughter, wiping beer off his chest. “For protecting frat property from this fucking lunatic!”

He ignores your yelling and your attempts to get help…

Later you find out Sukuna got banned from watching any matches in the common rooms. Because his temper always leaves ruins behind. A loss means bottles, chairs, fists, shattered TVs. A win means violent, destructive joy that wipes everything out in its path.

He doesn’t care what he hits, he just needs to let it out.

You’d heard before that he was a short-tempered psycho who snapped all the time… but this bad?!

That evening you somehow manage to fight your way out of his grip and, still shaken, run back to your dorm to your friends. They take your frantic story as a joke and bullshit at first, don’t believe you. And only when you, burning with shame, show them the bluish marks on your ass, do they start laughing at you out loud…

That’s probably when you finally realize: everyone you meet in your life is a complete fucking idiot.

The second time you run into Sukuna is at a frat party in a stuffy, smoke-filled basement. You’re standing with your friends, sipping cheap beer, when suddenly someone’s heavy hand lands on your shoulder, snatching the red plastic cup right out of your fingers.

It’s Toji.

Drunk, grinning like a damn maniac, all teeth, the scar cutting across his lip twitching as he laughs. Next to him are Satoru and Suguru. Something in your stomach twists at the sight of them: tall, broad-shouldered, the kind of guys who radiate confidence and pressure just by existing.

“And here she is!” Toji laughs loudly, drawing attention. “Told you about Sukuna and his little his little stress-relief toy, didn’t I?”

Your stomach drops.

Satoru raises an eyebrow skeptically. Suguru just watches in silence, but there’s curiosity flickering in his eyes. You flush all the way up to your ears and try to slip away, but Toji grabs your wrist in a death grip and starts dragging you somewhere.

Your head is buzzing from the alcohol, the music is pounding in your ears, and you don’t even resist when he literally shoves you forward into the crowd. And suddenly you’re sitting on a couch, pressed against Sukuna’s massive, solid side, and he’s sprawled out like always, legs spread so wide there’s barely space for anyone else. Your bare thigh scrapes against his jeans, presses into his leg, and you can feel the heat coming off him even through the fabric.

“Look who I brought you!” Toji yells right into Sukuna’s ear.

A football game is playing on the huge TV in the corner. Someone’s sprinting for the end zone… You feel Sukuna’s body tense beneath you, the way his muscles tighten. He grabs your thigh with the closest hand, and you’re pretty sure you’re going to bruise.

You look up in panic and see Satoru’s face go blank, his mouth opening before he covers it with his hand in shock, Toji laughing his ass off, and Suguru raising his brows nearly into his hairline.

Sukuna shifts, settling in more comfortably, and his grip only tightens. He pulls you closer. You try to get up and get the hell out of there…

And then his team gets scored on.

The next thing you feel is a wild, burning pain on your thigh. Sukuna, without even looking, smacks you hard enough to make your vision flash. A squeal rips out of you before you can stop it. And the next second, before your brain can even process what’s happening, you move on pure instinct, pure self-defense and rage, and slap him so hard his head jerks to the side and a red mark blooms on his cheek.

Dead silence falls.

Even the TV sounds seem to cut out…

Satoru and Suguru step forward, their faces tightening. They look like they’re about to drag you away before Sukuna kills you. Your whole body shrinks.

You’re so fucking dead.

Sukuna turns his head toward you. Slowly. Painfully slowly. His jaw clenches, his cheek muscles twitching, his stare going heavy, cloudy. He furrows his brows, curls his lip like he’s tasting something new, unfamiliar… and then, offended, almost childishly, he says:

“Ow…”

You inhale sharply, ragged, not believing your ears.

“H-hey. You can’t just hit me!” you blurt out, stammering like an idiot, trying to justify yourself.

Sukuna clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes like you’re the most irritating little problem in his life. Then he leans back against the couch and, slides an arm under your knees and flips your legs over his lap in one smooth motion…

His palm immediately lands on the exact spot where he hit you and starts rubbing it, stroking, pinching lightly, massaging. A red handprint is already forming on your skin. You feel his fingers trace the shape of his own palm, then slide lower, toward your inner thigh, sending goosebumps racing across your body.

You press your lips together, stunned, while he’s already glued to the TV again like nothing happened.

You turn to the trio behind you, desperate for some kind of support, but they’re covering their mouths with their hands, failing miserably to hold back their laughter. Looks like Toji warned them. Sukuna throws shit and breaks things when someone tries to take away “his toy”… but as long as the toy stays right where it belongs, he’s manageable.

What the actual fuck?!

The next hour passes like a blur.

You don’t even notice how you start watching the screen too, quietly asking Sukuna what’s happening, who that player is, and why everyone’s screaming. To the first question he just twitches the corner of his mouth, like: don’t bother me, watch for yourself. But half an hour later you two shock everyone in the room, making Sukuna’s friends howl with laughter, because Sukuna is actually explaining football to a girl.

Fucking stereotypes…

Sukuna, leaning against your shoulder, smelling like sweat and cologne, tobacco and something sharp and male that makes your knees go weak, keeps kneading your thigh with one hand, nearly pushing your skirt all the way up now, while with the other he points at the screen and explains the team’s tactics in a low voice, slipping into irritated muttering every time his “idiots” mess up.

You feel his breath brush against your neck, and you tense, praying Sukuna can’t feel your pussy throbbing against the thin fabric.

And the next morning, your phone explodes with notifications.

“Coming to the party tomorrow?”

You stare at the screen. It’s Ryomen Sukuna. How the hell did he even find your account?!

“How did you find me?!”

He sends an eye-roll emoji, and you just stare at it, genuinely wondering if you’re still asleep.

“Found you in Toji’s phone. You texted him. That’s how. You coming or not?”

You frown, rub your eyes, type: Why?”

“There’s gonna be a hockey game.”

You snort.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?! How are you obsessed with literally everything?... I’m studying for a test. No.”

“I’m coming to you.”

“What?! Leave me the hell alone!”

How he finds your dorm, how he figures out your room number, remains a mystery. But that same evening, there’s a heavy, demanding, cocky knock on your door.

When you open it, Sukuna is standing there with a laptop tucked under his arm, a plastic bag clinking with bottles, and a bag of chips. He’s wearing a black T-shirt stretched tight over his broad shoulders and chest, and jeans sitting low on his hips.

His stare is heavy. Unquestioning. Like “no” isn’t an option.

“Move,” he demands. And you, feeling your heart drop straight into your stomach from the sheer audacity and your own weakness, let him in.

Sukuna flops onto your bed without asking, tossing your freshly washed laundry aside, the stuff you didn’t have time to shove into the closet. Your bra seems to catch his interest though, because before throwing it onto the pile next to the bed, he spins it around his finger by the strap.

You mumble something about how he dares, but Sukuna ignores you as he boots up the laptop and sets it on the nightstand. Then he puts his headphones on and sinks into the stream, knocking a pillow into place beside him, clearly meant for you.

But you stubbornly refuse, reminding him you’re studying for a test.

The room fills with his presence. His smell. His quiet, irritated muttering… You sit at your desk, pretending to study, but his closeness completely throws you off. You can’t focus.

And half an hour later, Sukuna’s hand finds your thigh on its own. You don’t even notice when he shifts and sits on the edge of the bed right next to your chair. His warm, heavy palm lands on your leg, fingers squeezing, crumpling the fabric of your thin sleep shorts.

Then, when you get up to pour yourself water and sit back down on the bed, his hand is immediately on your ass. He squeezes, kneads, strokes, without taking his eyes off the game, like it’s just part of watching sports.

It almost starts to feel normal. Almost.

It calms him down, but it gets you worked up… but it obviously doesn’t mean anything.

Even though you can feel heat pooling between your thighs just from his mechanical, possessive touches.

After watching hockey with him for a while, you end up falling asleep, exhausted by this weird-ass day, stretched out in an uncomfortable position on the bed.

You drift off under the sound of hockey commentary, his grumbling, and the rhythmic squeezes of your ass and waist, praying you won’t end up dreaming anything indecent because of it.

And you wake up to a strange feeling.

A wet, pulsing heaviness low in your stomach, mixed with something hot and ticklish. When you open your eyes, you go still.

Somehow you both shifted during the night.

Sukuna apparently passed out right on your bed, his head dropped so his face is in an impossible, dangerous closeness to your pussy. You’re lying on your stomach, legs spread, and his head is resting just below your ass.

The thin fabric of your pajama shorts is the only thing between you.

And you can feel his hot, sleepy, steady breathing.

For fuck’s sake…

Everything in your lower stomach is throbbing, and your head starts buzzing so hard you feel like you might actually get sick.

Your heart skips a beat, then starts pounding like crazy. You feel the fabric of your shorts dampen, feel how traitorously badly you want him to… wake up… or not?

For it to never end.

For him to move closer, harder, touch you…

“Sukuna,” you finally hiss, shifting and nudging his shoulder with your knee to wake him up as you try to roll over. “Sukuna, get up.”

He hums, irritated, moving, and for one awful second his face presses even harder into you, making you swallow a moan. But he lifts his head.

His gaze is blurry with sleep, unfocused, but when he sees your terrified, flushed face and feels the heat rolling off you, he just lets out a rough, sleepy little chuckle, licking his dry lips.

Something dark flickers in Sukuna’s eyes, something knowing, but he doesn’t say anything…

You part your lips in stunned disbelief, kick him in the shoulder with your heel, and practically fall off the bed, remembering you’re late for class.

And before you can leave, he catches you at the door. Blocks the exit with his wide torso, looming over you.

“Let me touch you before I go,” he says, almost whining.

And it sounds so casual. So normal. Almost innocent.

But you can see it in his eyes. He’s disgusting. A filthy fucking pervert.

Do you like it?

“Don’t you dare!” you can’t believe what you’re hearing, your cheeks burning.

Sukuna ignores your outrage.

He wraps one arm around your waist, pulling you in, and the other hand lands right on your ass. His fingers squeeze instantly, bunching up the thin fabric of your pajama shorts, digging into you with the same possessive confidence he had when he slept with his face practically in your pussy like you were his personal pillow.

You freeze, feeling his palm knead, squeeze, work you over. One cheek, then the other. He presses his nose into your hair, inhales loudly, and his breath tickles your temple.

And then something hard grinds against your stomach.

Thick. Heavy. Unmistakable.

His cock, pressing into you through his jeans.

Sukuna’s turned on, and when he catches you staring, he smirks like he just won. Then he smacks your ass like you did a good job.

It lasts less than a minute, but your head spins and you grab his arm just to keep yourself from falling. Sukuna immediately pulls back, kisses the top of your head, and after throwing one long, aching look at your ass in those thin pajama shorts, he exhales:

“Baby… I’m gonna miss you.”

You stand there, red-faced, blinking. Did he say that to your ass or to you?

“Baby”?

Since when is your ass “his baby”?!

Sukuna leaves without looking back… and you swear you really, truly hate him.

You don’t know how to explain it. But now, in every lecture, Sukuna always sits next to you, shoving people out of the way, and his hand immediately lands on your thigh, stroking, squeezing. You study with him at his frat house, help him with homework, while he keeps his hands on you whenever you allow it.

You don’t know where the line is. And when you’re lying in your room at night, he’s scrolling on his phone, lazily twirling strands of your hair between his fingers, and then, accidentally, without looking, his palm drops onto your chest, just because he needs somewhere to rest his hand.

You let out a sound that’s half squeak, half whimper, and it comes out frighteningly close to a moan. Your nipples harden instantly, reacting to the heat of his hand. Sukuna freezes.

Slowly, very slowly, he turns his head.

In his eyes there’s shock mixed with hungry interest, and something inside you drops straight through the floor. Like he’s been waiting for this for a long, long time. You can feel it through the thigh you have draped over his legs, the way his cock twitches.

And a second later, Sukuna’s already flinging his phone aside and hovering over you, bending down, hands planted on either side of your head, breathing heavy.

You turn your face away, flushed and embarrassed, and he, like he can’t believe you’re actually letting him do this, slides both hands under your shirt. His fingers grope your breasts greedily, almost reverently, squeezing your nipples and rolling them between his fingers until you arch into him without even meaning to.

He mutters something like he’s in a trance, like he’s never seen tits in his life.Like he’s touching them for the first time.And he praises you, worships you, like you’re his newest, his best little stress-relief toy.

“Your tits… They’re perfect,” before he leans down and takes your nipple into his mouth, sucking, biting gently, while you clutch his peach-colored hair, trying not to make a sound.

His erection presses into your core, into the bend of your legs wrapped around his hips, heavy and hot. You can feel his cock pulsing even through layers of clothes. Everything in your lower stomach aches, squeezing all thoughts right out of your head.

You want him.

You want Sukuna to do it to you.

No wonder soon no one walks into the TV room at the frat house without knocking. And if someone does, they immediately leave, cheeks burning, eyes averted. Because the sight is embarrassing even for touch-starved pervert Gojo himself.

Sukuna is sprawled out on the couch, drinking beer, watching the fight, while his massive hand is buried under your shirt, squeezing and stroking your bare breast.

You’re not fucking. No.

But the way you sit on his lap, letting him watch the match, drink beer, and slide his hand under your shirt, squeezing and kneading your tits, tugging your nipple… it looks so intimate, so obscene.

Does it embarrass you? Probably not.

You’re best friends.

Definitely not a couple.

You’re not fucking, right?

It’s just… friendly touching.

Sex without penetration doesn’t count, does it?

Even when after his favorite team loses, Sukuna, furious and shaking with adrenaline, pins you in the corner of that same room and shoves his fingers into your panties. His eyes go wide, pupils swallowing almost his entire iris, and he’s not looking at you, he’s looking through you, locked on the feeling, onto the way his fingers slide into you, into your wet, hot, pulsing pussy.

“Shh,” he hisses, clamping his palm over your mouth while you press your forehead into the curve of his broad shoulder, nails scratching at his forearm.

His fingers fuck you rough and rhythmic, his thumb grinding your clit until you whine into his hand. You feel his cock pressed against your stomach through his jeans, hard, impatient. And even when you come, trembling around his fingers, feeling something hot spill down your thighs, he calls you his little stress-relief toy.

And you like it.

Fuck, you like it so much.

Is it normal that you jerk each other off like this?

It doesn’t count as sex, does it?

You’re still best friends. Even when in your room he sits on your bed with his back against the wall and works his cock between your tits. You watch, embarrassed, as he throws his head back, his throat working, the way he moans without holding back.

And you like it.

“Come on, squeeze them tighter,” his voice goes rough, wrecked.

Sukuna sits with his legs spread wide, his cock straining against his pants. You’re on your knees between his thighs, pulling his jeans down, and his cock slips free. Long, thick, the flushed tip shining with precum.

You wrap him in your tits, squeeze them together with your hands, making a tight imitation of a pussy. A desperate substitute. Sukuna exhales hard, tipping his head back, his hands tightening around the controller, breath going uneven.

And you fucking like it.

Even when he gets distracted by the game and you have to keep his cock trapped between your breasts yourself, squeezing them together while he presses buttons without looking, and then, dropping the controller, he lunges at you again, continuing what he started.

“Yeah… like that…” he breathes, opening his eyes, looking down at you. His stare turns obsessive, pupils blown wide, turning his eyes black and bottomless. He watches the way your tits wrap his cock, the way the head appears between them with every thrust, and licks his dry lips.

“God, I fucking love your tits…”

He starts moving his hips, fucking your chest, setting the rhythm. You feel his cock swell with blood, feel precum drip onto your stomach. Sukuna sinks completely into the sight, into the sensation, forgetting the entire world while the match plays on the TV beside you.

And then he comes with a rough, broken groan, hot sticky spurts splattering your chest, your neck, your chin. He breathes hard, staring at you, at the way you turn your face away, flushed and humiliated, and then he reaches out and smears his cum over your nipples with his fingers.

There’s satisfaction in his eyes, mixed with hunger that looks like it’ll never go away.

And after, when he asks you to squeeze your tits around his cock again so he can do it all over, you realize: this is your normal now.

This happens constantly.

It’s normal that he takes you to live matches instead of his friends, because with you it’s “convenient” and the adrenaline gets out “without casualties.” It’s normal that after his team wins, he traps you in the back seat of his car and fucks your thighs, pinning his cock between them.

You’re under him, squeezing your thighs as hard as you can, and Sukuna is above you, gripping your ass, setting the pace. His wide eyes don’t leave the spot where his slick, aching cock rubs against your pussy, almost slipping inside, but still staying outside, teasing and driving both of you insane.

“Fuck…” he exhales, speeding up, hips jerking, the car rocking on its suspension. “Just a little more, baby, squeeze tighter…”

And you squeeze, feeling his cock twitch, and hot cum floods your thighs, dripping down the insides of your legs.

And still, you’re not sure you can call each other best friends after one of the MMA fights, when the guy you were both rooting for gets knocked out cold. You sit in Sukuna’s car on the way back to the frat house, both of you tense, silent, sulking, adrenaline boiling in your veins with nowhere to go. In his room you just want to lie down and wait out the storm. But Sukuna walks in behind you and clicks the lock shut.

“Get the fuck over here, baby,” his voice comes out low, rough, absolute.

He scoops you up under your ass, and you automatically wrap your legs around his waist. He carries you to the bed, looms over you with all his weight, and you sink into the mattress. His kisses are greedy, biting, his hands everywhere. Tearing clothes off, kneading your tits, your ass, spreading your legs. He unbuttons his jeans, and you feel his cock, hot and hard, right at your entrance.

And then it happens. The thing you both avoided for so long, calling it “not real sex.”

He pushes into you in one thrust. Deep. All the way. To the hilt.

You cry out, nails digging into his back, feeling your walls clamp around him, taking him, adjusting. He stills for a second, staring into your eyes. Hungry.

And then Sukuna starts moving. Thrusting.

Violent. Obsessive. Possessed.

He worships every inch of you, squeezing, kneading, biting, leaving bruises on your neck, your chest, your stomach, your thighs. He sucks your nipples while his cock slams into you again and again, drowning out your moans with his ragged, growling breaths.

You feel his scent, his weight, his heat, the pulse of him inside you.

You sink into it, losing track of time, losing your mind with every thrust, with the way he fills you completely, hitting every sensitive spot, over and over.

“Mine…” he whines into your ear, speeding up. “Mine, my favorite fucking little stress-relief toy…”

And when he comes inside you, shaking, groaning your name, you go with him, breaking apart on the waves of your own orgasm, feeling his hot cum pours into you, filling you from the inside out.

You lie there, wrecked, in his arms, his fingers lazily kneading your tits, and you realize one simple thing...

You still don’t know when exactly you stopped being just friends. Because you never were. From the very first second his palm squeezed your ass and the beer can flew into the wall, it was already decided.

Sukuna just found his perfect little stress-relief toy.

And you found the one whose touch makes your world spin faster, the one whose hands make your knees go weak, the one whose stare makes you wet before he even lays a finger on you.

And now, when tomorrow you’ll have to “warm up” his cock all day while he plays video games, because after tonight Sukuna clearly won’t last a minute without you, you catch yourself wondering: do you even want to change anything?

Call it something else? No.

Probably not.

Because even in this insanity, in his greedy hands and heavy stare, in the way his cock pulses inside you and his cum drips down your thighs, you feel that strange, warm, unmistakable… affection.

Love. For the way he is with you.

And even if your friends call him an asshole, and his friends tease him, for the two of you it’s simple...

“Best friends.”

You became impossible to catch, like a ghost. You avoided him, stopped showing up at the fraternity house, and, worst of all, started letting other guys close the distance he'd spent so long making sure nobody crossed.

That was the part that made him sick.

You no longer let him act like he still had any claim over you.

Back then, his hand would naturally settle against the small of your back whenever you pushed through a crowd together. He'd steal your backpack before you could complain, pull you in by the waist, kiss you without a second thought right in front of everyone.

Nobody questioned it.

They all knew you were his.

Sukuna had never tried to hide how territorial he was.

He liked people understanding that before they got too close.

Now all he could do was watch.

From a distance.

Every time one of your friends rested a hand on your shoulder or casually wrapped an arm around your waist, he could feel his blood begin to boil. His fists clenched until his knuckles turned white as he stared holes into your back with such a heavy gaze it felt like you should've been able to feel it.

By the seventh day, he was convinced he was going to fucking snap.

When he finally worked up the nerve to confront you on campus and demand an explanation, you answered him with nothing more than a bitter, dismissive smile before turning away without so much as slowing your pace.

That was the last straw.

The fraternity party Toji had dragged him to, insisting a few bottles of liquor would help him cool off, ended up becoming the place where whatever self-control he had left finally gave out.

He never expected to see you there.

The music was already blasting from halfway down the street, heavy bass vibrating through his chest long before he stepped inside the house. Light spilled from the open windows. People crowded the front porch with red plastic cups in hand, laughing loudly enough to drown out the speakers.

You always used to come here with him.

And almost every single time, you'd say the same thing.

That frat parties wore you out.

That they were too loud, too crowded, and you barely knew half the people there.

But somehow, none of it seemed to matter when you were with him. You'd admitted yourself that he was the only reason you actually felt comfortable coming here, because as long as Sukuna was around, nobody would dare cross a line.

Which was exactly why the first thing he saw after stepping into the living room made him stop dead in his tracks.

You were standing almost in the middle of the room.

A red Solo cup rested comfortably in your hand, a faint blush dusted your cheeks, and there it was...

A smile.

One he hadn't seen in an entire week.

You threw your head back laughing while one of your friends told some stupid story.

And you looked...

Happy.

Terrifyingly free of him.

Like nothing had happened over the last seven days.

Like he simply didn't exist anymore.

He couldn't look away.

Didn't even try.

He just stood there, staring.

Staring.

Long enough for Toji to follow his line of sight before letting out a quiet, knowing chuckle.

"Quit burning holes through her with your eyes," he muttered, holding out a bottle. "Or just get shitfaced already. At this rate you're gonna kill somebody."

Sukuna silently snatched the bottle out of his hand.

He took several long swallows.

The liquor burned all the way down, but it did nothing to loosen the tight knot twisting in his chest.

His eyes found you again.

Right then, some guy wandered over to you. You said something that made him grin, and a second later he casually threw an arm around your shoulders in greeting.

Sukuna's grip tightened around the bottle.

"I'm serious," Toji said under his breath. "Don't look."

Sukuna didn't answer.

A few minutes later there was another bottle in his hand.

Then another.

Someone kept refilling his cup with whiskey. Someone slapped him on the shoulder. Someone tried dragging him into conversations.

The conversations around him blurred into meaningless noise.

Like it was happening to somebody else.

But he kept seeing you.

Talking with your friends.

Laughing.

Dancing with everyone else—not particularly well, but with the kind of genuine happiness you couldn't fake.

Brushing your hair back over your shoulder every now and then.

And every single time...

There was always someone beside you.

A guy leaning in a little too close.

Another brushing against your arm.

Someone else laughing at whatever you'd just said.

It honestly felt like every other guy in the damn house had suddenly decided today was the perfect day to notice you.

He knew it was bullshit.

He knew everything probably looked exactly the same a week ago.

Only one thing had changed.

Back then...

You'd been standing beside him.

Now you weren't.

And somehow, that alone was enough for jealousy to slowly rot into something far uglier.

The alcohol wasn't helping.

If anything...

It was making it worse.

It stripped away every last bit of restraint he had left.

By three in the morning, the room had started swimming in front of his eyes. The music had blurred into one endless wall of noise, faces melted together, and the floor beneath him felt just unstable enough to make him sway.

But no matter how drunk he got...

He always found you.

Immediately.

Every time.

You were standing near the kitchen with a few friends, laughing at something some tall guy in a hoodie was saying while another leaned lazily against the wall beside you.

Sukuna let out a slow, heavy breath.

He set his nearly empty cup down on the nearest table.

Then, already drunk off his ass...

He started walking toward you.

Alcohol fed every possessive instinct he had, turning his jealousy into something reckless, volatile, and completely out of control.

In Sukuna's mind, you still belonged to him.

People moved out of his way almost instinctively.

He bumped into some with his shoulder.

Others he shoved aside without a second thought.

A few shot him irritated looks over their shoulders, but one glance from him was enough to make every single one of them think better of saying anything.

You noticed him too late.

He was already standing right in front of you.

Tall.

Drunk.

Dangerously quiet.

One of your friends opened his mouth, ready to say something, but Sukuna simply stepped forward, forcing him to back off.

Now there was nobody left between the two of you.

You instinctively tensed.

He reeked of alcohol and that familiar scent that used to make you feel safe, but now only made your stomach twist with anxious anticipation. Towering over you, he leaned down until his lips were close to your ear.

"Let's talk."

You studied him for a long moment before slowly shaking your head.

"No."

It came out barely above a whisper.

But he heard it.

That single word pulled the trigger.

Sukuna closed his eyes for only a second.

He let out a sharp breath.

His shoulders sagged.

Then, without looking away from you for even a moment, he unexpectedly took a step back.

His eyes were bloodshot, glazed over with alcohol, but beneath it was something desperate.

Something terrified.

Right there, in front of a room full of stunned people, he slowly lowered himself onto one knee.

Then the other.

Ending up at your feet.

For one strange moment, it felt as though the entire party had fallen silent.

The music was still playing.

People were still moving.

But all of it faded into the background until it felt like the two of you were standing inside a vacuum.

You stared down at him, your heart turning painfully inside your chest.

Sukuna.

Proud.

Stubborn.

The kind of man who would rather throw a punch than admit he was wrong.

The kind of man who had never apologized to anyone in his life, let alone gotten down on his knees—especially not in front of his "ex-girlfriend."

And yet here he was.

Looking up at you with an expression so painfully full of regret that it barely seemed real.

"Just... talk to me."

His voice was still low.

His voice stayed low.

Rough.

Stubborn as ever.

You only narrowed your eyes.

His gaze flickered downward for a split second, almost panicked, as though he genuinely thought you were about to walk away.

Before you could even move, his large, warm hands settled firmly around your thighs, gripping the fabric of your skirt tightly, afraid you'd disappear if he let go.

For one ridiculous second, you were convinced he was about to accidentally pull your skirt down.

Instead, he simply leaned forward.

Resting his cheek against your stomach.

Searching for comfort in the warmth of your body.

"Please..."

His voice cracked beneath the alcohol.

"Just... talk to me."

He swallowed hard.

"I'll do anything."

Your chest tightened painfully.

A week ago...

You'd been certain you never wanted to see him again.

And now...

The proudest man you'd ever known was kneeling in the middle of a packed fraternity house, swallowing every ounce of his pride while dozens of people watched in stunned silence.

The same guy everyone swore was physically incapable of apologizing—the asshole everyone wrote off as an arrogant bastard—was begging you for one more chance.

Your heart faltered.

You weren't sure you had the strength to push him away again.

You knew forgiving him wouldn't be easy.

You knew he wasn't going to change overnight.

He'd still get jealous.

Still try to make the rules.

Still be impossible to deal with.

But looking down at him now—at his broad frame trembling ever so slightly because he was genuinely afraid you'd leave—you realized something.

You couldn't tell him no.

You reached up and gently rested your hand on top of his head, your fingers slipping through his coarse pink hair.

Sukuna froze.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, he lifted his head to look at you.

For the first time since you'd met him, he looked nothing like the stubborn asshole everyone knew.

He looked like a cornered dog waiting to find out whether it was about to be kicked away or shown mercy.

There was so much hope in his eyes that it stole the air from your lungs.

Just one chance to say everything he hadn't managed to say that day.

Unable to fight that look any longer—or the warmth of his hands that still refused to let go of your thighs—you finally gave a small, reluctant nod.

"...Okay."

It was enough.

Relief washed over his face so quickly your chest tightened.

Sukuna let out a shaky breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

Then, carefully, he pushed himself back to his feet.

The moment he stood, he swayed hard enough that you instinctively reached out to steady him.

Your hand caught his forearm before he could lose his balance.

He looked down at your fingers wrapped around him.

And smiled.

It was the stupidest, most lopsided smile you'd ever seen.

The same one that had always managed to drive you completely insane. There was the faintest hint of triumph in his smile. Before you could second-guess yourself, his hand closed tightly around yours.

"Come on."

His voice was still hoarse from the whiskey.

"I'll explain everything."

Without giving you the chance to change your mind, he laced his fingers through yours and gently—but firmly—guided you away from the crowd, already dragging you toward somewhere quieter where he fully intended to explain exactly why you should forgive him.

You were terrified, shaking to your core, while he was already a grown man, the strongest sorcerer alive, a teacher at Tokyo Jujutsu High. You remember being led to the estate garden that same day for a formal introduction.

You walked along the stone path, gripping the hem of your kimono, feeling small and utterly insignificant. He stood beside the koi pond, tall, white-haired, his eyes hidden behind that signature blindfold. He still wore it back then. That same sharp, mocking smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

You'd flinched at his presence because you’d overheard him talking to an Elder just before you stepped out. You weren’t supposed to hear, but the wind carried his voice—irritated, almost cruel:

"She’s just a kid," his tone was dripping with disdain. "A stupid, naive girl. I don't need a wife, especially not someone like her. This whole thing is pointless."

You didn’t hear the rest.

You ran, huddled in a corner, and sat there for a long time, knees pulled to your chest, trying to hold back the tears. You didn't want to be a burden. You didn't want to be someone who repulsed him. But when your father ordered you to the garden, you obeyed, as you always did.

You remember approaching him timidly, barely making a sound. He turned to you, tilting his head slightly. There was no warmth in the way he looked at you. Just curiosity. And something else. Something you couldn't quite name.

After that, you saw him at gatherings a few times, always distant, with that perpetual half-smile that you felt was meant only to bait the Elders.

He was beautiful. He was powerful. He was... kind to you.

At least, he never looked at you the way the others did—like you were an object, a convenient business transaction, an incubator for the next generation of the Gojo clan.

But that was before.

The creak of the door pulls you from your memories. Your entire body jolts, and you feel your heart skip a beat. You stare at the floor, at your pale knuckles white from gripping the fabric, and a cold shiver runs down your spine.

Gojo stands in the doorway for a few moments. You can’t see his face, but his gaze is heavy enough to make your skin prickle. Then he walks past you. You hear the rustle of fabric, a light thud—he’s discarding his outer kimono, hanging it on the stand.

The room is deathly quiet, broken only by your ragged breathing and his measured, steady exhales.

You lift your eyes.

He’s facing away from you, and you can see his broad shoulders, his back mapped with scars. A quiet, startled gasp slips past your lips when you notice them—long, jagged, pink and white lines crisscrossing his back like a map of the battles he’s won.

They look even more gruesome against his pale, perfect skin, which used to be flawless. And now…

Satoru freezes. Just for a heartbeat.

Then, slowly, almost reluctantly, he turns his head, eyes cutting toward you. He doesn’t look directly at you, just listens. The silence stretches, tight and suffocating, and you realize he heard your gasp. You bite your lip as heat floods your face.

He finishes shedding his clothes, left in his loose trousers, barefoot. He hesitates, then turns to face you. You see his face now. His eyes, usually hidden by the blindfold, are exposed, but there’s no trace of that caustic smirk you remembered.

Just cold, exhaustion, and a strange, almost painful detachment. His gaze settles on you—on your hunched silhouette, your trembling fingers—and there isn't a flicker of warmth in his eyes.

Satoru takes a step toward you. Then another.

He stops right at the edge of the bed, towering over you. You feel small and insignificant, like a mouse before a snow leopard. You look up, and he’s so tall you have to tilt your head back. His face is impassive, his lips pulled into a thin, flat line.

"We have to do this," he says abruptly.

His voice is flat, almost mechanical, devoid of emotion. "Take off your clothes."

A sob rises in your throat, but you swallow it down, biting your lip until it tastes like copper.

He is the strongest. And you are his wife, and you have to play the part.

You no longer recognized the man standing before you.

You don’t know this stranger looking at you like you’re just empty space. But for some reason, looking at his scars, at his tired eyes, something inside you aches for the Satoru Gojo who used to smile at you.

You pull yourself up on shaky legs.

Satoru immediately takes a step back, as if afraid you might touch him. Your stomach twists with hurt and resentment, but you keep the tears at bay. You start undressing, fumbling with the silk ties and knots.

You remember your mother telling you that a husband should undress his wife on their wedding night, that it’s a symbol of his power and her submission. But Satoru doesn't touch you. He just stands to the side, watching your clumsy efforts, and there isn't a shred of desire in his eyes.

You freeze for a moment, recalling your first meeting, when your father forced you into the garden so Gojo could "inspect" you. He had caught you by the elbow to keep you from falling into the pond. Back then, his fingers touched your skin, and you felt warmth.

Now, he stands three steps away, and there is an infinity between you.

You’re down to your shift, standing before him nearly naked, head bowed, fingers clawing at the hem of your gown. You want, God, you ache for him to want you. Just a little bit. Even a spark of desire.

He’s beautiful—even the scars don't ruin him; they just make him look more rugged, more weathered, more… more human, more different.

But you don’t dare look at him, feeling small and undeserving.

You reach out, almost on instinct, wanting to touch his arm—just the brush of a fingertip. But your fingertips meet an invisible wall. His Infinity. Even now, in this moment, he keeps his barrier up, never letting you get close.

A stray tear slips down your cheek, and you quickly wipe it away.

Satoru looks down at you, then says, grimly: "Lie down."

You nod obediently and scramble onto the bed.

You don’t know how to lie, so you just freeze on your back. Your knees and fingers are shaking. You stare at the ceiling, not daring to look at him, listening to the rustle of clothes as he sheds the rest.

The mattress dips under his weight as he climbs up, kneeling between your legs. You instinctively bend your knees, feeling his proximity, your shift riding up your thighs, exposing your skin.

"I’m sorry," he exhales quietly.

Your breath catches.

His palm touches your knee, gripping it. You flinch at the contact. He spreads your legs, wider, and you lie exposed and painfully vulnerable.

You want to cry, to scream, to run, but you hold it in, fingers white-knuckling the sheets. Gojo hesitates, positioning himself between your thighs. He pushes your shift higher, almost to your waist, trying hard not to graze you. You see from the corner of your eye how his gaze is locked on your hips, and a burning shame makes you turn your head to the wall.

The blunt tip presses against your entrance.

You’re nearly dry, and everything inside you is clenching in fear and pain. You know there’s supposed to be foreplay to make this easier, but you also know he isn't ready to touch anyone more than absolutely necessary.

The fight with the King of Curses didn't just break his body.

When he pushes inside you, you cry out in pain and shock, digging your fingernails into the sheets. Satoru freezes, looks up at you, meets your pale face and averted eyes, and rasps through gritted teeth:

"Just bear with it. It’ll get better soon. It’s only painful the first time."

He pushes deeper, you cry out louder, he stretches you, filling you completely. Tears prick at your eyes, but you hold them back, biting your lip. Pain radiates through your lower belly; you clench around him, trying to adapt to his size, to his presence inside you.

Satoru slows down, changing positions, hovering over you.

He braces one hand beside your head. The other supports his weight as he moves slowly, methodically, until he's buried deep inside you. His face is distorted with tension, sweat beading on his forehead.

He stares at your squeezed-shut eyes, at the way you avoid his gaze, and he grinds his teeth. His hand grips your thigh—it hurts—and he thrusts one last time, all the way in.

You both freeze.

Only heavy, ragged breathing breaks the silence.

A minute passes. Two.

Satoru pulls his hand from your thigh and slowly begins to move. It still hurts inside, it burns, and you bite your lip until it bleeds, trying not to sob. He moves slowly, almost carefully, but every thrust sends a sharp, pulsing ache through your body.

Your nails dig into your palms.

Beads of sweat roll down your forehead. Satoru gets on his elbows, hovering over you. You jerk under his heavy thrusts, but unconsciously, you reach out to him, wanting to touch his shoulder to make it feel less harsh, but Satoru immediately catches your wrists and pins them to the bed above your head.

Your eyes lock.

You look terrified, confused; he looks irritated, almost frantic at your attempt to touch him.

"Don't touch me," he snaps. He knits his brows together, then adds, softer: "I know. This isn't what you expected."

You swallow, remaining silent.

Your gaze drifts away, and you hear him make a bitter clicking sound. His shoulders shake with a hollow laugh. You look back at him, but he’s already looking somewhere else, anywhere but at you.

"If it helps, you don't have to look," he mutters. "Or just close your eyes. If I disgust you."

It takes you a second to realize he’s talking about himself. His scars. His appearance. A painful ache settles in your chest once more. Satoru begins to move again, but this time his thrusts are sharper, almost angry.

The anger isn't aimed at you—you can feel that—but you still tremble beneath him. His massive body looms over you, pinning your wrists, and you flinch at every strike.

You whisper before you can stop yourself:

"That’s not true..."

Satoru slows down, eyes snapping back to yours, his shoulders tensing. You look him dead in the eyes and repeat it, quiet but firm:

"You don't disgust me."

He frowns, not believing it, so you dare—you wrap your knees around his hips and pull him closer, forcing him to sink into you completely, letting out a sharp breath of your own. Now, almost defiantly, holding his gaze:

"You don't disgust me."

You let go of his hips and hesitantly reach for him again. "I… can I?"

Satoru stares at your palm for a second, then at your face. A flicker of something warm and raw crosses his features; he gives a faint nod and releases your wrists. You place your palms on his chest, feeling his fever-hot skin and the rough, raised lines of his scars under your fingertips.

You stroke him, tracing the uneven lines, his shoulders, his neck. Satoru squeezes his eyes shut, leaning into you, pressing his forehead against your shoulder. He presses his entire body against yours, light as a feather.

He’s trembling.

No one has touched him in a long time. Especially not like this—gently, with tenderness.

"These scars don't make you ugly," you whisper into his ear.

"You… you’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen."

Satoru catches your hand, pressing kisses to your fingers, then your wrist. You let out a small, quiet laugh, and he feels you tighten around him, thrusting into you unconsciously.

"You saved us," you continue, tangling your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck.

Satoru goes perfectly still.

"If it weren't for you, we would’ve all perished. No one else could have beaten him. You are the strongest. Your scars… they’re proof of your strength and your courage. You were ready to give everything to protect this world."

Your words only spur him on.

A wave of heat washes over you. Satoru lifts his head, looking at you with a strange, hungry intensity. His hands slide under your shift, finding your breasts.

He nuzzles into you, rubbing his face against your chest, covering it in kisses.

His first kiss hits your neck, and you moan, throwing your head back. He whimpers in response, setting a new pace—faster, desperate. He touches you everywhere, and you do the same, your fingers roaming his shoulders, his shoulder blades, his stomach, his face.

He groans when you kiss his scars, he whines when you tighten around him, and he begins to fuck you deeper, faster, more desperately.

He doesn't trust you. He can't.

There’s too much pain, too much betrayal, too much loneliness.

When your arms slide around his back to pull him closer, he flinches and freezes for a split second.

He’s not used to being held. He’s not used to tenderness. But he craves it so, so desperately.

Satoru presses into you, burying his nose in your hair. He finishes inside you with a low, plaintive groan, collapsing his full weight onto you, lying still, feeling your heat, your arms holding him tight.

You lie still, feeling the weight of him. After a few seconds, he shifts, looking worried that he might be crushing you. But you look fulfilled, content, a small, soft smile playing on your lips.

When you finally look up, you find him watching you in the dim light. He reaches out, tentatively, and pulls you against him. His embrace is shy, trembling, like he doesn't quite know how to do this.

Like he’s forgotten what it’s like to be close.

"Do you remember that the Elders are going to demand an heir?" you ask softly, staring up at the ceiling.

Satoru clicks his tongue, pulling you tighter, looping an arm around your waist and starting to slowly peel your shift away, unable to get enough of the sight of your body.

"They can't say anything to me," he mumbles into your hair. "They’ll have to wait, since you aren't ready yet."

You look up at his face in surprise; he brushes his lips against yours. You taste him, running your tongue over the faint scar on his upper lip. Satoru gives you a boyish grin, that same sharp, devilish smirk you’ve come to love.

"Who said I wasn't ready?"

You weren't, really—but it seems like you wanted to be.

Satoru searches your face for a long moment, as though waiting for the hesitation, the fear, the uncertainty. None of it comes. Only then does the corner of his mouth lift into that familiar, crooked grin you'd almost forgotten.

"Well, if they want Gojo heirs that badly," he begins, his voice dropping to a low, husky register, "we’re going to have to try really, really hard."

"Yeah?"

"We definitely need to get in a few more attempts," Satoru purrs into your ear.

He grabs your thigh under the knee, jerking it toward your chest with one swift move, and settles between your legs, opening you up completely. You gasp, and he kisses you again—deep, greedy—and you can feel that he’s already hard and ready again.

"Don't worry," he whispers against your skin, thrusting into you slowly, "I know what I'm doing. We’ll get it right."

You let out an excited whimper at the deep thrust.

"I am the strongest, after all," Satoru winks at you.

You wrap your arms around his neck, his hands sliding down your back, pressing you into him.

You aren't scared anymore.

Not beside him.

The night is going to be a long one.

Beside him—beside your husband—you aren't scared at all.

His other hand drifts to your lower back, his fingers tracing the curve of your hip bone before sliding lower, settling on your ass, bunching up the fabric of your loose shorts. They fit you a bit baggy—you like to be comfortable when you’re stretching—but now the fabric shifts easily under his touch as he yanks you back against him, deepening the position.

The stretch deepens, the burn sharpening into something almost painful, and a shaky breath slips past your lips.

Sukuna freezes for a split second, and you feel his hands tremble slightly, his breathing growing heavier. He chuckles, his grip on your ankle tightening as he lifts your leg that much further.

His thumb strokes the inside of your thigh, sliding lower until it catches on the hem of your shorts, where the fabric is already damp and clinging to your pussy.

You flinch when his finger touches you through the fabric, your voice cracking into a startled squeak.

"Sukuna!"

He smirks, not pulling away. He presses his thumb more firmly against you through the fabric, feeling the material soaking wet beneath his touch.

"Just look at you," he growls, and your entire core clenches.

Sukuna presses himself flush against you, stepping between your legs, his cock hard and hot against you through his pants. You let out a shuddering breath as he gives his hips a sharp thrust forward, grinding against you.

"So fucking wet," he says, his voice dropping into a rough, raspy growl. "You like that, don’t you? You like it when I make you ache?"

You want to argue—you want to say it’s just a physical reaction to the stretch, to the pain, to the way your muscles are burning—but a slow ache twists deep inside you that you can’t control.

Your pussy pulses with every word he says.

"I could fuck you right here," he smirks, leaning down to your ear, his breath scorching your skin. "In this position. You’d like that, wouldn't you?"

You duck your head, hiding your face in the crook of your elbow because you don’t want him to see how badly you’re blushing.

"Then what’s stopping you?" you squeak out.

Sukuna licks his lips in satisfaction, and your knees nearly buckle. He pulls back just long enough for you to hear the rustle of fabric as he shoves his pants down to mid-thigh.

His cock springs free, and he presses back into you, trailing the head along the damp fabric of your shorts before diving underneath the hem.

"I’ll make sure you’re stretched out properly, brat."

Sukuna pushes the fabric of your shorts aside, the head of his cock sliding against your wet slit, parting your folds before he thrusts inside and jerks your leg even higher.

You became impossible to catch, like a ghost. You avoided him, stopped showing up at the fraternity house, and, worst of all, started letting other guys close the distance he'd spent so long making sure nobody crossed.

That was the part that made him sick.

You no longer let him act like he still had any claim over you.

Back then, his hand would naturally settle against the small of your back whenever you pushed through a crowd together. He'd steal your backpack before you could complain, pull you in by the waist, kiss you without a second thought right in front of everyone.

Nobody questioned it.

They all knew you were his.

Sukuna had never tried to hide how territorial he was.

He liked people understanding that before they got too close.

Now all he could do was watch.

From a distance.

Every time one of your friends rested a hand on your shoulder or casually wrapped an arm around your waist, he could feel his blood begin to boil. His fists clenched until his knuckles turned white as he stared holes into your back with such a heavy gaze it felt like you should've been able to feel it.

By the seventh day, he was convinced he was going to fucking snap.

When he finally worked up the nerve to confront you on campus and demand an explanation, you answered him with nothing more than a bitter, dismissive smile before turning away without so much as slowing your pace.

That was the last straw.

The fraternity party Toji had dragged him to, insisting a few bottles of liquor would help him cool off, ended up becoming the place where whatever self-control he had left finally gave out.

He never expected to see you there.

The music was already blasting from halfway down the street, heavy bass vibrating through his chest long before he stepped inside the house. Light spilled from the open windows. People crowded the front porch with red plastic cups in hand, laughing loudly enough to drown out the speakers.

You always used to come here with him.

And almost every single time, you'd say the same thing.

That frat parties wore you out.

That they were too loud, too crowded, and you barely knew half the people there.

But somehow, none of it seemed to matter when you were with him. You'd admitted yourself that he was the only reason you actually felt comfortable coming here, because as long as Sukuna was around, nobody would dare cross a line.

Which was exactly why the first thing he saw after stepping into the living room made him stop dead in his tracks.

You were standing almost in the middle of the room.

A red Solo cup rested comfortably in your hand, a faint blush dusted your cheeks, and there it was...

A smile.

One he hadn't seen in an entire week.

You threw your head back laughing while one of your friends told some stupid story.

And you looked...

Happy.

Terrifyingly free of him.

Like nothing had happened over the last seven days.

Like he simply didn't exist anymore.

He couldn't look away.

Didn't even try.

He just stood there, staring.

Staring.

Long enough for Toji to follow his line of sight before letting out a quiet, knowing chuckle.

"Quit burning holes through her with your eyes," he muttered, holding out a bottle. "Or just get shitfaced already. At this rate you're gonna kill somebody."

Sukuna silently snatched the bottle out of his hand.

He took several long swallows.

The liquor burned all the way down, but it did nothing to loosen the tight knot twisting in his chest.

His eyes found you again.

Right then, some guy wandered over to you. You said something that made him grin, and a second later he casually threw an arm around your shoulders in greeting.

Sukuna's grip tightened around the bottle.

"I'm serious," Toji said under his breath. "Don't look."

Sukuna didn't answer.

A few minutes later there was another bottle in his hand.

Then another.

Someone kept refilling his cup with whiskey. Someone slapped him on the shoulder. Someone tried dragging him into conversations.

The conversations around him blurred into meaningless noise.

Like it was happening to somebody else.

But he kept seeing you.

Talking with your friends.

Laughing.

Dancing with everyone else—not particularly well, but with the kind of genuine happiness you couldn't fake.

Brushing your hair back over your shoulder every now and then.

And every single time...

There was always someone beside you.

A guy leaning in a little too close.

Another brushing against your arm.

Someone else laughing at whatever you'd just said.

It honestly felt like every other guy in the damn house had suddenly decided today was the perfect day to notice you.

He knew it was bullshit.

He knew everything probably looked exactly the same a week ago.

Only one thing had changed.

Back then...

You'd been standing beside him.

Now you weren't.

And somehow, that alone was enough for jealousy to slowly rot into something far uglier.

The alcohol wasn't helping.

If anything...

It was making it worse.

It stripped away every last bit of restraint he had left.

By three in the morning, the room had started swimming in front of his eyes. The music had blurred into one endless wall of noise, faces melted together, and the floor beneath him felt just unstable enough to make him sway.

But no matter how drunk he got...

He always found you.

Immediately.

Every time.

You were standing near the kitchen with a few friends, laughing at something some tall guy in a hoodie was saying while another leaned lazily against the wall beside you.

Sukuna let out a slow, heavy breath.

He set his nearly empty cup down on the nearest table.

Then, already drunk off his ass...

He started walking toward you.

Alcohol fed every possessive instinct he had, turning his jealousy into something reckless, volatile, and completely out of control.

In Sukuna's mind, you still belonged to him.

People moved out of his way almost instinctively.

He bumped into some with his shoulder.

Others he shoved aside without a second thought.

A few shot him irritated looks over their shoulders, but one glance from him was enough to make every single one of them think better of saying anything.

You noticed him too late.

He was already standing right in front of you.

Tall.

Drunk.

Dangerously quiet.

One of your friends opened his mouth, ready to say something, but Sukuna simply stepped forward, forcing him to back off.

Now there was nobody left between the two of you.

You instinctively tensed.

He reeked of alcohol and that familiar scent that used to make you feel safe, but now only made your stomach twist with anxious anticipation. Towering over you, he leaned down until his lips were close to your ear.

"Let's talk."

You studied him for a long moment before slowly shaking your head.

"No."

It came out barely above a whisper.

But he heard it.

That single word pulled the trigger.

Sukuna closed his eyes for only a second.

He let out a sharp breath.

His shoulders sagged.

Then, without looking away from you for even a moment, he unexpectedly took a step back.

His eyes were bloodshot, glazed over with alcohol, but beneath it was something desperate.

Something terrified.

Right there, in front of a room full of stunned people, he slowly lowered himself onto one knee.

Then the other.

Ending up at your feet.

For one strange moment, it felt as though the entire party had fallen silent.

The music was still playing.

People were still moving.

But all of it faded into the background until it felt like the two of you were standing inside a vacuum.

You stared down at him, your heart turning painfully inside your chest.

Sukuna.

Proud.

Stubborn.

The kind of man who would rather throw a punch than admit he was wrong.

The kind of man who had never apologized to anyone in his life, let alone gotten down on his knees—especially not in front of his "ex-girlfriend."

And yet here he was.

Looking up at you with an expression so painfully full of regret that it barely seemed real.

"Just... talk to me."

His voice was still low.

His voice stayed low.

Rough.

Stubborn as ever.

You only narrowed your eyes.

His gaze flickered downward for a split second, almost panicked, as though he genuinely thought you were about to walk away.

Before you could even move, his large, warm hands settled firmly around your thighs, gripping the fabric of your skirt tightly, afraid you'd disappear if he let go.

For one ridiculous second, you were convinced he was about to accidentally pull your skirt down.

Instead, he simply leaned forward.

Resting his cheek against your stomach.

Searching for comfort in the warmth of your body.

"Please..."

His voice cracked beneath the alcohol.

"Just... talk to me."

He swallowed hard.

"I'll do anything."

Your chest tightened painfully.

A week ago...

You'd been certain you never wanted to see him again.

And now...

The proudest man you'd ever known was kneeling in the middle of a packed fraternity house, swallowing every ounce of his pride while dozens of people watched in stunned silence.

The same guy everyone swore was physically incapable of apologizing—the asshole everyone wrote off as an arrogant bastard—was begging you for one more chance.

Your heart faltered.

You weren't sure you had the strength to push him away again.

You knew forgiving him wouldn't be easy.

You knew he wasn't going to change overnight.

He'd still get jealous.

Still try to make the rules.

Still be impossible to deal with.

But looking down at him now—at his broad frame trembling ever so slightly because he was genuinely afraid you'd leave—you realized something.

You couldn't tell him no.

You reached up and gently rested your hand on top of his head, your fingers slipping through his coarse pink hair.

Sukuna froze.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, he lifted his head to look at you.

For the first time since you'd met him, he looked nothing like the stubborn asshole everyone knew.

He looked like a cornered dog waiting to find out whether it was about to be kicked away or shown mercy.

There was so much hope in his eyes that it stole the air from your lungs.

Just one chance to say everything he hadn't managed to say that day.

Unable to fight that look any longer—or the warmth of his hands that still refused to let go of your thighs—you finally gave a small, reluctant nod.

"...Okay."

It was enough.

Relief washed over his face so quickly your chest tightened.

Sukuna let out a shaky breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

Then, carefully, he pushed himself back to his feet.

The moment he stood, he swayed hard enough that you instinctively reached out to steady him.

Your hand caught his forearm before he could lose his balance.

He looked down at your fingers wrapped around him.

And smiled.

It was the stupidest, most lopsided smile you'd ever seen.

The same one that had always managed to drive you completely insane. There was the faintest hint of triumph in his smile. Before you could second-guess yourself, his hand closed tightly around yours.

"Come on."

His voice was still hoarse from the whiskey.

"I'll explain everything."

Without giving you the chance to change your mind, he laced his fingers through yours and gently—but firmly—guided you away from the crowd, already dragging you toward somewhere quieter where he fully intended to explain exactly why you should forgive him.

Whenever everyone gathers outside in the evenings, you deliberately sit beside other guys—the neighbor's son, an old friend from school, anyone. You laugh at their stupid jokes, all while stealing glances at Ryomen from the corner of your eye.

His expression never changes.

Cold. Blank. He nurses a beer or lights another cigarette, looking almost bored, but his eyes never leave you.

They find you through the crowd, studying every movement you make. Every laugh. Every smile. Every accidental brush of someone else's hand against your shoulder, as though committing it all to memory.

The longer this twisted game drags on, the more terrified you become.

You can feel the tension winding tighter beneath your skin.

And when it finally snaps...

You know you're going to be the one left in pieces.

You forgot one thing.

Sukuna doesn't tolerate outsiders.

A steady hum of voices drifts in through the back door, mixed with laughter and the shrill screams of children. Half the neighborhood seems to have shown up.

Someone brought meat for the barbecue, someone else showed up with salads, and others dragged folding chairs beneath the old oak just to claim a patch of shade.

You step onto the porch, and the scorching air crashes into you like a wave from an open oven. The midday sun hangs directly overhead, bleaching the grass into a dull yellow. Heat shimmers above the asphalt.

"Hey! Over here!"

Yuji stands waist-deep in the pool, dark wet hair plastered to his forehead, his usual bright grin stretching across his face. He waves both arms to get your attention.

You make your way down the stone path, the sun-heated gravel biting into your bare feet. The moment you reach the edge of the pool, Yuji flashes a mischievous smile and splashes you.

Cold water smacks against your stomach.

You gasp, flinch back, then laugh as you curse at him.

"Come on! Get in!" he calls, sunlight glistening across his shoulders. "The water's perfect!"

You peel off your shorts, letting them fall into the grass before climbing onto the metal ladder. The steps burn your feet, but the second the water reaches your waist, the oppressive heat melts away.

The water smells of sharp, clean chlorine and the sun-heated plastic of the pool edge. You dive beneath the surface, letting the cool water wash away the sweat. You surface, gasping, only for Yuji to splash you again, and suddenly you are wrestling like kids, the water spraying everywhere, a brief, fleeting escape from the dread.

Yuji lunges for your waist, but you twist away, slipping toward the deep end before resurfacing behind him.

"That's cheating!" he laughs, spinning around.

"Oh, quit whining."

He catches you the next time, wrapping both arms around your waist and lifting you effortlessly off the pool floor.

You squeal, grabbing at his sides.

His body isn't the same as it used to be.

His hands are rough now, strong, all lean muscle beneath warm skin.

With a laugh, he tosses you into the water.

For one blissful second, everything goes silent. Only bubbles drift past your face.

You surface, coughing and laughing at the same time, then shove him in the chest with all your strength.

He barely moves.

Just stands there, entirely too pleased with himself.

"You're such an asshole," you mutter between breaths.

Water trickles down your collarbones, collecting at the ties of your swimsuit.

Yuji laughs, but the smile fades almost immediately.

"Uh... I've gotta get back to the grill." He rubs the back of his neck. "If Sukuna catches me slacking off..."

Your smile disappears.

"He's... coming?"

Your voice comes out quieter than you intended.

"Yeah." Yuji nods. "He and Toji went to grab more beer."

He notices the look on your face and lowers his voice.

"Sorry. I know you two don't exactly get along. But... maybe things have changed over the past year?" He shrugs. "Honestly, he barely ever talks about you."

You force yourself to nod.

If only Yuji knew.

If only this kind, oblivious boy had even the slightest idea what had happened two nights ago in the backseat of his brother's Mustang.

The way Sukuna had wrapped your hair around his fist.

The way he'd forced your face down between his knees.

The way you'd stared into those wild crimson eyes while he ruined your throat.

Your fingers drift unconsciously to your neck. It still feels as though his grip has never really left your skin.

"I should head inside," you mumble, already climbing out of the pool. "I need to dry off."

"What? We literally just got in!" Yuji calls after you.

But you're already walking away, not listening anymore.

You’re basically sprinting. The wet fabric clings to your body, highlighting every curve. The concrete is slick; you almost slip.

You frantically scan the tables for his silhouette, praying to slip by unnoticed.

You’re one foot onto the porch steps when a heavy palm slams onto your shoulder. Fingers dig into the muscle, jerking you backward.

You gasp, and your back slams into a rough wooden pillar.

The wood is scorching hot beneath the relentless sun, searing against your shoulder blades almost as fiercely as his grip.

He looms over you, a mountain of heat and shadow that swallows the light, cutting you off from the rest of the world.

Heat pours off him. He smells like sweat, sharp cologne, and bitter cigarette smoke.

The white t-shirt clinging to his chest is damp at the collar. A crumpled pack of cigarettes juts from his chest pocket. The tattoos on his face look like ink-stained scars, and his eyes hold nothing but cruel amusement.

"Where are you running off to, brat?" His voice is a gravelly, guttural growl. "Saw me and decided to bolt?"

"Let go, Sukuna," you hiss, pressing your palms to his chest. Under your fingers, his muscles are hard and boiling hot. "Let go, someone’s gonna come out!"

"And what are they gonna do?"

He leans in, pinning you against the pillar with his weight. Your wet swimsuit leaves a darkening, spreading blotch on his shirt. He drops his gaze to your chest, slowly licking his parched lips.

"Those tits look insane. Wear that on purpose? Knew I was coming, didn't you, little bitch?"

"Fuck off," you exhale.

He thrusts a hip, forcing your head to smack against the wood again. His calloused hand, smelling of engine oil, unceremoniously rests on your waist, his fingers digging in.

"Decided to get a piece of the brat while you're at it?" he whispers right into your lips. "I saw you fawning over him in the pool. Have fun?"

"We were just playing! Yuji is my friend, you hear me? He's normal, unlike you!"

"Friend," Sukuna spits out venomously. "That pup follows you around like a lost dog. And you love it, don't you?"

His hand slides lower, roughly grazing your thigh, his fingers shoving under the wet fabric of your bikini bottoms. Without a shred of foreplay, he shoves a finger inside.

You freeze, breath hitched.

"Sukuna... don't... please..."

"I don't give a damn," he smirks.

His finger moves deeper, working you.

"My dad... my dad's gonna come out and see!" you’re almost begging.

Not now.

Please, not here.

"And what’s your old man gonna do?" Sukuna sneers. "Beat me up? Brat, your daddy worships me."

His thumb grinds down hard on your most sensitive spot. A suffocating, sticky heat floods your lower belly. You hate yourself for how fast your body starts pulsing under his touch.

"I can hear you breathing," Ryomen whispers, biting your earlobe until it draws blood. "You want me to tear this piece of trash off right here and fuck you? Say 'no,' and I'll pull my hand out. Well? Say it."

You open your mouth, trying to choke out that damn "no," but instead, a dirty, drawn-out moan escapes your lips.

"Slut," Sukuna growls.

He jerks his hand away, grabbing your wrist and dragging you toward the kitchen door.

"Get inside. Now." He gives your wrist another rough tug. "Running away, huh?"

You knew he was crazy. A hot-headed, dangerous beast. Once you’re in the dim hallway, he turns, his face inches from yours. His eyes burn with something wild, something deeply wrong.

You never should have gotten close to Sukuna.

You never should have made that deal.

"You get what’s gonna happen if your saint of a father finds out how his little girl sucks dick in parking lots?" he spits.

"It... it wasn't like that..." you sob, tears blinding you.

"Oh yeah? Then what was it? You just naturally learned how to swallow my cock to the hilt? Just swallowed my cum while you were dripping like a bitch?"

You cover your face, choking on a sob. Sukuna waits. Then his grip on your wrist lightens. He lets out a heavy, dirty sigh.

"Go upstairs." His voice is quieter now, but there's still steel beneath it.

He gives you a slight shove toward the stairs.

Your heart pounds in your temples. Your mouth has gone dry. You want to scream, call for Yuji, run back to the people outside—but your feet move anyway.

You run. Faster than if he were dragging you himself. Because the fear and panic inside you are tangled so tightly with the forbidden arousal pulling you under that you can no longer tell where one ends and the other begins.

You’d be lying if you said you didn't want this.

You'd be lying if you said the adrenaline wasn't pulling you toward him.

You rush into your room.

Run.

Move.

Why aren't you moving?

Sukuna follows close behind.

The lock clicks with a dry, terrifying snap.

You stand in the center of the room, gasping.

The window is left slightly ajar, and the boisterous, drunken laughter of your father echoes up from the backyard, mocking your silence. The sunset floods the room in a sickly, golden light.

Sukuna leans his back against the door.

Anyone outside who looks up will see you through the glass. The sheer, reckless audacity of it makes your mind reel with vertigo.

Sukuna takes a step. Then another. He is huge, a dangerous predator filling the space of your clean, quiet bedroom. You back away until your knees hit the mattress.

"Sit," he orders.

You don't move.

Ryomen is enormous, filthy, smelling of the summer heat, beer, and the street. He fills every inch of your quiet bedroom.

"I said, sit."

You drop to the edge, your wet swimsuit leaving a dark, damp stain on the pristine white sheet. He steps in, forcing your knees apart with his legs until you are completely trapped between them.

"So nervous…" A slow grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. "You have no idea how much that turns me on."

Sukuna looms over you, his shadow swallowing you whole. He doesn't hesitate; he reaches out, slapping your cheek with a casual, stinging disregard before grabbing your chin, forcing your face up to meet his dark, predatory stare.

"Don't be scared, little one," he rasps, his eyes glinting with a savage hunger. "I don't bite. Unless you start begging for it."

His hand moves to the nape of your neck, fingers twisting into your damp hair and pulling hard, forcing your cheek against the denim of his crotch. You can feel the heavy, pulsing heat of him—huge and rigid—pressing against your face through the thick fabric.

"I missed you," he whispers, his breath hot against your ear.

"Sukuna... my dad... he'll come up..." you whimper, your voice breaking.

"Fuck," he growls, his patience fraying. "Quit whining."

His free hand dives under the hem of your top, and with one sharp, violent motion, he yanks the fabric up. Your nipples harden instantly in the cold air.

You instinctively try to cover yourself, but he catches your wrists and pins them firmly to your sides.

He grabs your wrists, pinning them wide, and his fingers squeeze your breast with such punishing intensity that a sharp cry escapes your lips.

He only smirks, reaching behind your neck to jerk the ties of your bikini top free. It falls away, leaving you completely bare before him.

"Come on, brat," he breathes, his eyes darkening to black. "Jerk me off with your tits. Show me you remember how."

His hand tangles into your hair, yanking your head back so you have to look him in the eyes.

"You understand me? Or do I need to knock it into your head?"

Your shaking fingers grab his belt. You hook your fingers into the waistband of his underwear and pull it down. His cock falls out heavy, the wet tip glistening in the sunset.

"Don't be shy," he sneers. "Remember how you used to lick it. How deep you’d take it."

You swallow, licking your parched lips. Sukuna snorts mockingly.

"Just do it, I'm tired of waiting."

You cup your breasts in your hands, pressing his shaft firmly between them. The skin is slippery from sweat and leftover pool water; the cock moves easily, with a wet, sliding sound. You speed up the pace, squeezing your palms tighter. Under your hands, he becomes even more tense and aroused.

"Yeah... that’s it, slut... Squeeze harder."

He starts moving his hips to meet you, practically fucking your chest with short, sharp, mechanical thrusts. The belt buckle clinks against the button with every movement, and he pushes deeper, faster.

Downstairs, Yuji’s laughter rings out, oblivious, while inside you, everything is melting into a puddle of shame and hunger. You part your lips, sucking the head on every forward thrust.

"Damn... fuck..." Sukuna rasps. "Yeah, like that... More... I’m gonna..."

He cums just as you take the head into your mouth again. Hot, thick spurts splash across your chest, your neck, coating your chin. He stays there for a long time, his whole body shuddering with every release.

Sukuna finally steps back, breathing heavily. He zips up and looks down at you—disheveled, covered in his essence, and trembling.

"Good job," he huffs, a look of satiated, animal triumph in his eyes. "Obedient little slut."

A large drop of his seed falls onto your navel. Your hand, acting on its own, drops down, your fingers pressing through the soaked fabric of your panties. You are aching with a hunger that doesn't end. He sees it, and his smirk widens.

"What, did you like it when I was rough?"

"No, I...—"

"What 'please'?" He leans in, grabbing your hair, forcing you to look him in the eyes. "Say it. Out loud."

"I want you to fuck me!"

"I thought so."

He throws you onto your back. The mattress squeaks piteously as he bears down on you, pinning you to the bed with his massive body.

"Lie still and don't you dare twitch."

He takes your hands, puts them over your head, and pins them to the pillow with one of his massive palms, stripping you of the slightest chance to defend yourself. You’re completely open and left to his mercy. He tears your panties aside.

His fingers jam inside, relentless, hitting you at full reach. The sound—the wet, rhythmic squelching as you move on your own, grinding against his hand—is enough to snap whatever thin leash he had on his restraint.

"Slut... what a fucking slut you are," he growls through his teeth. He grinds his crotch against your side, his hard, throbbing length pressing through the denim, punishing your bare, wet skin.

"Look at me, fuck," he orders, his free hand clamping around your throat. "Open your eyes, slut, and see who’s fucking you."

He dips his head, his teeth sinking into your skin right over your pulse—a sharp, sudden bite that makes you gasp. He instantly licks the sting with his scorching tongue, sending a violent shiver down your spine.

"Feel how much I want you?" he rasps into your ear. "I want to bury myself in you. But first, you’re gonna come from my fingers. You’re gonna come for me, hear me?"

His movements turn frantic. His thumb hammers against your clitoris with no mercy. You arch into him, your fingers tearing at his shirt. Everything inside you pulls tight, like a wire strung to the breaking point. The tension becomes unbearable, and you explode. A loud scream is drowned in his shoulder, your body goes into convulsions, your inner muscles squeezing his fingers in a death grip.

Sukuna doesn't stop, continuing to move his fingers, wringing the last of the orgasm out of you until you go completely limp, turning into a ragdoll.

He finally pulls his hand out with a wet, heavy sound.

He brings his stained fingers to his lips, watching you with those dark, predatory eyes, and slowly licks them clean.

Sukuna stands up. As his weight leaves the mattress, the room suddenly feels empty. He fastens his belt, the sharp click of the buckle sounding like a death sentence.

"So, how are we supposed to go back downstairs after that?" He sounds lazy, but his eyes burn with triumph. "You smell like me and sex from a mile away, brat."

"Why are you doing this, Sukuna?" Your voice trembles. "Was that night not enough for you?"

He pauses, leaning in so close that the smoke from his cigarette burns your eyes.

"Enough? Brat, it'll never be enough. You brought this on yourself. Remember this: stay the hell away from my brother. You so much as look at him again, and I'll fuck you on his own bed. I don't give a damn who's outside the door."

He strolls to the dresser, lights another cigarette, and exhales a stream of smoke. "What? Not even a 'thank you'?"

You give the smallest nod, a tear slipping down your cheek. "I understand."

"Good girl."

He turns toward the door. It clicks shut behind him, and his footsteps fade. You are left alone, and your gaze drifts to the nightstand. Two crumpled twenty-dollar bills lie there.

Payment. That's all it is.

Nausea crawls up your throat, but the worst part—the part that makes you want to tear yourself apart—is the faint, pulse-like satisfaction still buried deep inside you. Your body has betrayed you.

You grab a wet wipe and, frantically, until your skin is raw and purple, you wipe the semen from your chest and neck, desperately trying to wash away the smell of his tobacco and skin. With trembling fingers, you somehow pull on your wet swimsuit and head down to the backyard.

Suddenly, right by your ear, making your whole body flinch, his low, mocking voice rings out:

"Sweetheart, you forgot to wipe the traces off your chin."

You spin around abruptly. Sukuna is standing a step away from you, demons dancing in his eyes, and on his lips—that same crooked, triumphant smirk. Toji is standing behind him, lazily sipping beer and giving you a sharp, sly once-over from head to toe. He’s clearly in on your "secret."

You jerk your hand up in fear, frantically scrubbing your chin... but your fingers are dry.

There’s nothing there.

He lied.

Just to mock you.

To show that you are completely in his power.

Your face flushes a deep, burning crimson. Sukuna lets out a ringing, mocking laugh. He turns and heads toward the table, his broad back flickering among the guests like a predator returning to his pack.

You watch him walk away, feeling a slow-acting poison spreading through your veins. You feel used, trampled, and dirty. But as you watch him effortlessly take charge, a horrifying thought creeps into your mind: the sun will set, the guests will leave, and somewhere in the parking lot beside the Mustang, a lighter will click again.

And you'll find your way back to him. Because the poison beneath your skin craves only him—and you don't want it to stop.

Pathetic frat-boy!Sukuna grilling everyone on campus—from RAs to terrified freshmen—until he finds out your major and what classes you like, typing every detail into the Notes app like a total stalker.

Pathetic frat-boy!Sukuna digging up your socials in one night, scouring your TikTok likes to see what kind of guys you’re into. When he finds a video of some guy who is his total opposite, he lets out a pathetic, guttural groan and buries his face in his pillow.

Pathetic frat-boy!Sukuna liking every single one of your posts, praying you’ll notice his pathetic efforts and follow him back. When you don't, he just ends up getting blackout drunk with Toji again.

Pathetic frat-boy!Sukuna trying a new approach by kissing up to your friends to get any scrap of info on you. He grumbles under his breath—mentally sulking like a kicked puppy—when you spot his desperate attempts and shoo him away. He drops his head and slinks off, feeling like a beaten dog.

Pathetic frat-boy!Sukuna refusing to give up, finally changing his entire class schedule just so he can sit next to you. Now, he gets to stare at you every single day.

Pathetic frat-boy!Sukuna haunting you twelve hours a day. He’s in the library, the dining hall, outside your dorm. He notices your eye twitching, the way you keep looking over your shoulder, growing more and more paranoid. But he can’t stop. He’s fucking obsessed.

Pathetic frat-boy!Sukuna sitting in his room at night, jerking off to your photos. His hand tightens around his cock to the rhythm of his ragged breathing, his lips silently forming your name, terrified to actually say it out loud.

Pathetic frat-boy!Sukuna overhauling his wardrobe to match the aesthetic of the guys you post on TikTok, desperate for a shred of your attention.

Pathetic frat-boy!Sukuna refusing to quit. At the next party, he approaches you again, fully expecting to get shut down. He cracks a stupid, nervous joke, and then—you smile. His heart skips a beat, and he breaks into an idiotic, lovesick grin.

Pathetic frat-boy!Sukuna feeling his jeans grow painfully tight when you casually take a drag of his cigarette, your lips brushing against his fingers.

Pathetic frat-boy!Sukuna blushing to the tips of his ears when you’re wasted and press into him for warmth by the bonfire. He’s too scared to even put an arm around you, so he just stands there, stiff as a board, inhaling the scent of your hair and praying this moment lasts forever.

Pathetic frat-boy!Sukuna trying to play the gentleman while walking you to your dorm. He keeps his hand on your waist, but his fingers are burning with the urge to slip lower, to the panties he’s dying to pull off. He holds back because you’re drunk, and he wants you to remember him as something more than just another horny prick.

Pathetic frat-boy!Sukuna falling asleep with a massive, dopey smile on his face after seeing that you finally followed him back on everything.

Pathetic frat-boy!Sukuna getting off to your simple text, "You were sweet," his cock throbbing in his hand as he texts back, "Did you like it?" When you send a drunk voice note whining about how much you love it when he acts like a pathetic simp for you, he cums so hard his body jerks off the bed.

Pathetic frat-boy!Sukuna stalking you across campus the next day. When you finally reach out and touch his shoulder, he craves nothing more than for you to never let go.

Pathetic frat-boy!Sukuna becoming your personal pack mule, carrying your books, waiting outside every single one of your classes to walk you home. You smile at him, and his entire world starts and ends with you.

Pathetic frat-boy!Sukuna barely holding it together when you send him spicy photos. His hand goes straight to his pants, but he forces himself to reply with something witty, even though his skin is crawling with the need to rip your clothes off and pin you to the wall.

Pathetic frat-boy!Sukuna sending you a video of him jerking off and whining for you when you ask for proof. When you reply with a photo of your dripping pussy, he drowns his phone screen in his own cum.

Pathetic frat-boy!Sukuna refusing to leave your side at the next frat party. His eyes are practically begging you to stay when you mention wanting to talk to your friends. (His bros roast him for it. He couldn't care less.)

Pathetic frat-boy!Sukuna feeling his heart soar when you lean into his ear and whisper that you want to fuck. His breath hitches and his hands shake with pure anticipation as he drags you to his room, already picturing you beneath him.

Pathetic frat-boy!Sukuna waiting for your permission, hovering over you, tugging at the hem of your shirt. He’s breathing hard, inhaling your scent, terrified of messing up. The second you nod, he’s tearing your clothes off.

Pathetic frat-boy!Sukuna worshipping your pussy, licking you with pure, feral reverence. His cock is so hard he’s ready to blow his load just from the sound of your first moan.

Pathetic frat-boy!Sukuna damn near coming the second he slides inside you. His eyes roll back, his hips moving on instinct. He hears your scream, and it drives him faster, deeper, his nails digging into your back.

Pathetic frat-boy!Sukuna begging you to let him go faster, his voice cracking as you scratch his back in time with his rough thrusts. He’s pounding into you so hard the bed frame is practically screaming against the wall.

Pathetic frat-boy!Sukuna bending you over, lips pressed against your ear as he whines about how long he’s wanted you, how he’s obsessed over you every single night. His voice trembles as he asks if he’s doing it right, if you like the way he’s fucking you, scared to death that you’ll tell him to stop.

Pathetic frat-boy!Sukuna letting out a quiet, wrecked moan when you squeeze his cock too tight, his hips bucking into your hands, desperate for release.

Pathetic frat-boy!Sukuna finishing with a loud, guttural groan, spilling himself deep inside you. He watches you, broken and satisfied, before collapsing on top of you, gasping for air.

Pathetic frat-boy!Sukuna holding you tight afterward, arms wrapped around you so you can’t leave. He pretends to be asleep, terrified that if he opens his eyes, you’ll have disappeared.

Pathetic frat-boy!Sukuna grinning like the biggest simp on earth when you kiss him in the morning, leaving your panties on his pillow with a promise that you’ll do it again. He grabs your hips, begging you not to go, his eyes shining with pure, unadulterated hope.

Pathetic frat-boy!Sukuna, who is obviously going to ask you on a date tomorrow and spend the entire time begging you to let him bury his face back between your thighs and lick your dripping pussy until you’re coming all over his face.

When it comes to you and Wonwoo you both have some similarities, but are also quite different. You both have jobs online. Wonwoo is a successful streamer, and you're known for your spicy paid subscription website. You've been on online fans, and working as a cam girl for a few years now. You've managed to absolutely make bank, and have built quite the online following even away from your site.

You and Wonwoo have quite a few mutual friends. It turns out he's had a crush on you for a while. Once Seungcheol found out, he decided to introduce you two.

The first time you crossed patches was at Seungcheol's birthday party. You're not dumb, you're well aware of who Wonwoo is. There is something about a cute nerdy gamer with glasses, who clearly has the body of a Greek god, that does something to you.

You’ve found yourself being a silent viewer in a few of his streams.

At Seungcheol’s party, you learned Wonwoo was interested in you, but you aren't in a place with your career where you could try and navigate having a boyfriend.

The entire night Wonwoo flirted and eventually you exchanged numbers. You let him know then that you weren't looking for any type of connection with anyone.

It's been six months since you met, and it turns out you couldn't push Wonwoo away. He’s turned into someone you texted often, and even flirt with all the time.

It turns out when you only have sex with yourself and toys, you start to get pent up.

THE GIRL ON THE SCREEN

Wonwoo is hosting a game night at his, and his best friend Mingyu’s apartment. You picked out your outfit with the intention of possibly trying to get laid. You've been debating on crossing the line with Wonwoo for a while. Tonight finally feels like the night.

The boys live in a pretty big three bedroom apartment. It seems their entire friend group plus some of the boys significant others are here.

The first person you see is Seungcheol. He leads you into the kitchen where Wonwoo is talking to Seokmin. The moment Wonwoo's eyes lock on yours you have his full, undivided attention.

What was supposed to be a game night quickly turns into a night of drinking games. The more you drink the drunker you get. The more alcohol that floats through your veins, the more you flirt with Wonwoo.

The whole time he's talking to you, your eyes just focus on his pretty lips, and how he's nervously pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. You want Wonwoo so bad, you could scream.

-

The light peaking through the curtain slowly wakes you up. Your eyes flutter open and you're hit with the realization you're not in your room. Lifting the covers you see that you're fully naked.

The clicking sounds of the keyboard catch your attention. Looking over into the corner, you see Wonwoo on his computer. The scrambled memories of last night start flooding back to you.

Wonwoo turns in his chair removing his headphones. He tilts his head looking at you. "Good morning, sunshine."

Slowly you sit up in his bed, holding the covers up. "Did we have sex?"

"No, you were drunk and I refused to even kiss you while you were intoxicated." He says firmly.

"Why am I naked?" He turns his chair around so he's fully facing you.

"Because after you tried to kiss me, you thought if you got fully naked, I would fuck you."

The memories of what happened between you are sparse, but you remember some of it. Awkwardly, you look around the room. Wonwoo's room looks exactly how you thought it would. Seungcheol always jokes and calls him a neat freak, and it looks like nothing is out of place in his room. It even looks like he's folded your clothes and placed them on his dresser.

You look at the other side of where Wonwoo's phone is sitting on the nightstand. "I slept in the living room on the couch."

"Oh." Turns out Wonwoo is a gentleman and respectful.

"I came in here so we could talk once you’d woke up."

Holding the blanket close to your chest, you get a little more comfortable. You know there is no way you can get out of talking after you clearly threw yourself at him last night.

"What did you want to talk about?" You try to play innocent.

He rolls his eyes. "I don't know, maybe the fact you threw yourself at me last night."

"I thought you liked me?" Wonwoo's made it very clear in the past he's interested in you.

He pushes himself up from the chair. Without thinking your eyes travel up and down his body. He's dressed in a pair of God forsaken grey sweatpants and a tight tank top that shows off his glorious shoulders.

"See, here's the thing—I like you, a lot actually." He pauses, stopping at the foot of the bed. You know there is a but coming. There is no way he'll leave it just at that. "But I only mess around with girls who behave."

Your brows knit together, processing his change in tone. You've never heard him sound so stern. "Am I not a good girl?"

"No."

"I literally put myself on a silver platter for you."

He cocks his head to the side. "A good girl wouldn't have pouted and called me a virgin, because I wouldn't fuck her while she was drunk." You most definitely don't remember saying that to him. A hot wave of blush crawls up your neck.

"I'm sorry."

"I thought you were a good girl until last night." He reaches out, grabbing your chin. "I know that you play with yourself online before I met you, I'd seen some of your videos. None of your them ever made me think that you would be a brat." His words are firm. Your eyes go wide, taking in each and every word he says.

"I didn't think you were some hard dom." You retort.

He narrows his eyes, as a smirk tugs at his lips. "I'm not normally a hard dom. I like control in the bedroom, but if you behave I won't have to be hard on you."

He turns on his heels walking to his dresser. You watch carefully as he pulls out a box. He grabs what looks to be a vibrator wand, handcuffs and a bottle of lube.

"Are you going to fuck me?" You let the blanket fall, leaving your chest fully exposed.

He glances over his shoulder. "Do you still want me to fuck you?"

"Please." If Wonwoo only fucks girls he considers to be "good girls" you must be on your best behavior for him.

"Say it." He turns around, holding the handcuffs.

"Say what?"

"Ask me, tell me you want this." He raises his brows.

Without saying anything you push the covers off, leaving your naked body fully on display. "Wonwoo, I want you to fuck me. I'll be so good for you. Just please fuck me." You've never been one to beg, but right now, you'll do anything he asks of you.

He moves toward the bed without saying another word. "We'll use the traffic light system. At any point if something is too much, you need to tell me. I'm not sure what you're used to, but I'm in control."

Silently you nod.

"Use your words."

"I understand, sir." His eyes light up at the use of sir.

"You're a quick learner, princess. I need to know, what are your boundaries."

"I like choking, but don't be super rough with it. You can slap my ass, but not my face." You pause, suddenly feeling embarrassment crawl up your throat.

"Keep going."

"You can be rougher with how you fuck me. No gross stuff please. Oh and don't call me mean names. Like I don't want be fully degraded."

"Are you okay with princess, good girl, and brat?"

"Yeah, those are fine."

"Can I put you in handcuffs and edge you?"

"Yeah."

Holding the handcuffs out towards you, he nods his head. "Give me your hands." He clicks the cold metal against your skin. They're tight, but not tight enough to hurt. "If they hurt just tell me. Communication is key here."

"Yes, sir."

He goes to take off his glasses. "Please leave them on." You can't escape the thought of him wearing his glasses whilst doing the dirtiest things to you.

"Okay. Lay down, and do not touch me."

Quickly you obey him. Laying on the bed you spread your legs, giving him full access to your needy core. He walks over to the dresser, picking up the vibrator and the bottle of lube before returning and sitting them on the bed next to you.

Your eyes stay focused on him as he pulls off his tank top. Taking his time, he neatly folds it and sets it on top of the dresser, next to your clothes.

Placing his knee on the bed, he crawls towards you slowly. He stops once he's sitting on his knees between your spread legs. His large hand rests on your thigh, rubbing soothing circles into your skin, helping to relax you. You aren't sure why you're so nervous. Maybe it’s because this is the first time you're ever letting a man fully take control.

Picking up the vibrator, he clicks it on. "Color?"

"Green."

He presses the vibrator directly against your clit, earning a moan instantly. He doesn't give you a moment to breathe before he clicks up the speed. Your body tenses immediately.

Your lips part, sinful moans and whimpers filling the room. He unexpectedly drags two fingers through your folds. Closing your eyes, you tilt your head back.

Without thinking your push your hips up towards the vibrator.

"Don't." His words catch you off guard. Your eyes snap open and you see him glaring at you. "Don't try and get yourself off. You'll take what I give you."

"Yes, sir."

Two fingers are suddenly pushed into you, earning a wanton moan. He clicks the vibration speed up another level, as he drags his fingers in a come hither motion, touching that spot inside you that has you seeing stars.

"Let me know when you're close."

"Okay." You whine.

The feeling of his fingers and the vibration is too much, your orgasm is speeding towards you at one hundred miles per hour.

"I'm gonna cum." You cry.

The precipice of your orgasm is rapidly approaching, suddenly everything stops. He rips the vibrator and, fingers away from your needy core. Your orgasm is right there, and he stopped everything.

Your eyes fly open, and you look at him confused. You know he said he would edge you, but you thought he would change his mind.

"Wonwoo—" you cry.

"You're such a good girl, you didn't cum without my permission." He taunts you. Your eyes are wide, you try your hardest to process the situation. "Can you do that again?" You aren't sure if you can, but you'll try anything for him.

He puts the vibrator against your needy clit again. He goes back to his same task of pumping his fingers in and out of you, except this time he's added another finger— this orgasm barreling towards you quicker then the last.

Before you can even tell him you're close he stops everything. Every nerve in your body feels like a live wire. Tears brim your eyes. Another orgasm being ripped away from you is devastating.

“Fuck—“ you cry.

“Such a filthy mouth.” He says teasing you.

He pushes the vibrator back onto your clit. He has the speed all the way up. This orgasm is going to hit you like a freight train. He pumps three fingers in and out of you at a rapid pace.

All the muscles in your body are tense. It’s taking everything in you, to not lift your hips, attempting to chase your release.

"Wonwoo, please let me cum. I'll be so fucking good for you if you let me cum." Tears spring from your eyes. You pull your hands up towards you. If you keep your hands anywhere near him, you know you'll try to grab him.

He rips the vibrator away from your clit and tosses it on the bed. This time he doesn't remove his fingers. He keeps pumping them.

"You can cum princess." He dives in face first into your core. His lips lock around your clit. He's practically making out with your pussy, whilst he pushes you over the edge.

The white hot wave of your orgasm is excruciating. Your walls pulse around his as your head is thrown back moaning his name. He doesn't let up on your clit. He keeps sucking until it’s overstimulated and sore.

"Wonwoo." You cry, squirming underneath him.

He pulls back, sitting back on his knees. Sliding his fingers into his mouth, he licks them clean of your release.

"Pretty baby, can barely handle being edged." He teases.

No words form, silently you blink at him, processing everything that's happening. He turns around stripping away the rest of his clothes.

When he turns around you're greeted to the sight of his massive cock. This is by far the biggest cock you've ever seen with your own eyes.

"Should I grab a condom?"

"I'm clean. I haven't slept with a man in over a year." It's probably dumb to fuck without a condom the first time, but all the logical thoughts left your brain long ago.

"You sure?" He raises his brow.

"Yes, I want you to cum inside me."

He barks out a laugh. Walking closer to the bed, he reaches out and grabs the chain that holds the hand cuffs together. "I'm going to lock your hands above your head. If it's too much, you have to tell me."

"Yes, sir."

He hoist your hands above your head. He hooks the chains into a hook you didn't even realize was built into the headboard.

"You've done this before?" You ask.

"Many times." He smiles.

"Wonwoo?"

"Yes, princess?" He's standing over you.

"You haven't even kissed me." There is something quite humorous about the fact that he's already made you cum and you haven't even kissed.

"Do you want me to kiss you?"

"Please."

Without another word he leans in, pressing his lips to yours for a searing kiss. His hands holds your face as your lips dance together. He kisses you like you’re air in his oxygen-deprived lungs. Pulling back, his teeth tug on your bottom lip.

"Happy?"

"Yes."

He picks up the bottle of lube, clicking it open he coats his entire length. You're going to need all the help you can get, taking someone his size.

He pours some of the cold lube on your core, earning a gasp from you. "Oh—"

"I'm big, so this might hurt."

"I can take you." Even if it hurts you don't care. You'll make him fit.

"Such an eager girl.” He tosses the lube on the bed next to you. "Keep your legs spread wide."

He pushes in slowly, giving you time to adjust. He goes in inch by inch. The moment you're filled to the brim, it feels like he's splitting you open.

Out of instinct, your hands tug against the handcuffs. "Are you okay?" His voice is soft and gentle.

"Yeah. Just—" your brain is having a hard forming words. He's managed to leave you cock drunk. "You're so big."

A smile tugs at his lips. "Am I too big for you?" He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"No—" you cry.

"Color."

"Green, green." You stutter out. If he stops now, you'll break down crying.

"Did you want me to move, or do you still need time to adjust?" His hand that rests on your thighstarts rubbing soothing circles again.

"Please move, I'll be so good for you if you move." You can't help but beg.

He gives you a smile before he pulls his hips back and slams back into you roughly, knocking you back. He keeps a quick and brutal pace. With each thrust your breasts bounce.

Grabbing your leg, he hooks it over his arms. He keeps snapping his hips into you, over and over.

There is a weird contrast as he leans down kissing the top of your knee gently.

He's so big, he's touching parts inside of you that you didn't know could be reached. Your hands tighten into a fist as you try not to cum too early.

Out of nowhere he drops your leg. Your eyes fly open, looking at him confused.

"Color?"

"Green."

He stops moving for a moment. He's still sitting on his knee, snug inside you, but he moves so he's hovering over you. He snaps his hips back into you.

"Fuck—" you can't help but moan.

He takes your breast in his large hand. He gropes the flesh, earning wanton moans from you. This is the best sex you've ever had in your life.

"Wonwoo—" you cry.

"Does Princess want to cum?" He taunts you.

"Please, I'm so close."

"You can cum." He snaps his hips harder.

The cry that leaves your lips is loud. You're hit with the realization that Mingyu might be home. You pray that he left long before you and Wonwoo started fucking.

This orgasm hits harder then anything you've ever experienced before. You see spots as your walls flutter against his cock like a heartbeat.

Tilting your head back, you leave the delicate skin of your neck fully exposed. Without saying a word, his large hand wraps around your throat. He applies just enough pressure to send you futher over the edge.

"Fuck— fuck." You cry out.

He doesn't stop moving. He keeps thrusting into you, over and over as you ride out your high.

"Where do you want me to cum?" He ask, leaning in even closer to you.

"Inside." You cry.

He releases your neck and drops down to his elbows, so he is plastered against you. He slows down a little, rolling his hips into you as he chases his release.

His lips crash into yours for another heated kiss. Your tongues slide together, muffling your moans.

His thrusts get more sloppy as he gets closer to finding his release. "I'm going to fill you up." He moans against your lips.

True to his word, he fills you like you've never been filled before. He keeps thrusting into you as he paints your walls with his milky release. He came so much, it's starting to leak out around his cock.

It takes a few moments for him to slowly stop moving. He pulls away from you and reaches up for your hands. He releases the chain from the hook and slowly brings your hands towards him. He unlocks the handcuffs and gently rubs your wrist, focusing on the spot where the metal started to bite your skin. He places gentle kisses on both wrists. This is the complete opposite of the man who just fucked you until you cried.

"How are you feeling?" He's still inside you, he hasn't tried to move.

"Like my legs probably don't work." You let out a little laugh. “Please tell me Mingyu isn’t home.”

“He left hours ago.”

He leans in and presses his lips to yours for another kiss. "You're way nicer now." You say with your lips against his.

"It's because you were a good girl."

"I'll always be your good girl, if you'll fuck me like that." Reaching up, you tangle your fingers in his fluffy hair. It feels nice to actually touch him.

"So was this a one time thing?" He asks as he pulls back from you.

"No."

Slowly he pulls out of you. He sits back on his knees, watching as his release starts slowly sliding out of you. He takes two fingers and scoops it up, pushing it back inside.

"Don't waste it." He says, giving you a wicked smile.

"I need a shower." You sigh.

"Let's shower together, and then I'll take you out for breakfast."He holds his hand out towards you.

"Like a date?" You push yourself up, immediately realizing how sore you are.

"Yeah, if you want me to fuck you again we have to go a date."

You can't help but smile. For someone who just dom’ed the hell out of you, he's acting pretty cute right now.

"I would like to go out with you."

Things are definitely going to change after this, but you're okay with that. Clearly what you and Wonwoo have is special.

And so this friendly back and forth continued for a few weeks, until you found yourself settled into a steady rhythm. Everyday you’d lift a greeting hand when you’d pull into the driveway in the afternoon following school pickup and a quick trip to the supermarket. He’d wander over to the fence line and offer to bring the grocery bags inside for you with some playful quip about how ‘pretty ladies shouldn’t need to do any heavy lifting’ that always earned a giggle from the girls.

You’d counter with an offer of tea and freshly baked cookies, to which he’d dutifully decline, very much as expected. It was all very civil, ordinary, comfortable in its normalcy, with just the tiniest hint of flirtation simmering beneath the surface. You noticed it in the small things - the way his eyes followed you when you rolled the bins out into the street in the early morning. Makeup free, clothed only in your pajamas, still blinking sleep away with your hair pinned up in a wad of crazed rollers. Or the way you’d pause for a few extra seconds to admire the sight of his back muscles straining beneath a sweat soaked t-shirt as he tugged rogue weeds loose from the dirt in his front garden.

He must have had a sixth sense, because every time you let your eyes wander for even a second, in the next blink he’d have turned his head to meet your gaze with a knowing smirk dancing on his scarred lips, right before he’d eye your own yard and offer to clear out your weeds too.

That was until one particular Friday afternoon when you didn’t smile at him. You didn’t wave, or even bother to spare a glance in the direction of his house when you slipped out from behind the wheel and stomped your way around to the backseat to unbuckle the girls.

The sharp click of his tongue caught your attention as you not so graciously slammed the car door closed, and through the intensity of your focus you felt your face flush hot at the sound. With the girls unclasped and happily skipping to the front door chattering between themselves, you finally turned around and lifted an apologetic hand.

“Afternoon!” You chirped, though even to your own ears the tone sounded forced, strained. “I’m sorry - I didn’t mean to ignore you - busy day.”

You found that instead of being perched on his porch rocking lazily in a wicker chair or working away in his garage as he was most afternoons, he was instead stood just past the footpath a little closer to your yard, hands gloved and dirt caking his boots up to his knees. He lifted his head and wiped his hands over his jean clad thighs. You swallowed, watched a few dry dirt clumps flutter to the grass below.

“Doing some more gardening?” You smiled, softened a little with the familiarity, the ease of conversation with no expectation behind it. “It’s the perfect weather for it.”

For the weight of your own gloomy mood, the rest of the world seemed chipper as ever. The sun was warm, dappling your front yard with little petals of light between the tree leaves, and the wind was refreshingly crisp when it caught in your hair, swirling it skyward before you raised a hand to tuck the stray stands behind your ear. Toji was obviously feeling the heat of the afternoon - with the way his inky hair was sticking slick to his forehead in places, and you could see a bead of sweat dipping beneath the collar of his loosely buttoned shirt, crawling over the curve of a plump pec.

“Hm.” He hummed in reply, interrupting your train of thought as you followed the path the droplet was forging beneath the thin fabric with your eyes, “so what’s botherin’ you then?”

At his voice your eyes shot back up to meet his, and you offered a sheepish sort of smile in reply.

“I’m that obvious huh?”

He shrugged a little, breaking your eye contact - head lowered as he began to tug the muddied gloves from his hands, thick fingers flexing when they hit the comparatively cool air.

“You’re no award winning actress, that’s for sure.”

“Just been one of those days.” You sighed, feeling more and more exhausted with each word, as if each syllable were a brick tied to your ankles, weighing you down. “The girls are staying at their dads this weekend, and I’ve been so busy that I completely forgot to prepare their changes of clothes, and of course the washing machine stopped working last night and I…”

You trailed off, foregoing the hundreds of other minute irritations in favor of sucking your lower lip between your teeth. Blinking frantically, you instead looked sharply at the ground, hot tears of frustration beginning to well at your lash line. Brows knitted, you studied the grass peeking between the strips of concrete beneath your sandals intently, until you were absolutely sure you weren’t actually going to start crying.

“Well that’s easy then,” came Toji’s smooth reply after a few long moments. You were suddenly grateful for his tact, allowing you a few quiet minutes to compose yourself before expecting an answer.

“Easy?” You mouthed, a little wide-eyed as you gazed over at him quizzically, “what do you mean?”

“I’ll come fix the washing machine,” he said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Uh, are you sure?” You questioned, a little uncertain, “it looked really broken, like ‘water soaking the whole laundry room floor’ broken.”

He looked entirely unperturbed when he finally got both hands free, and he cleared his throat as he tossed the mud clad gloves to the ground beside a collection of similarly dirtied tools.

“Door gasket, I’d bet money on it,” he replied smoothly, with a sort of calm confidence that had your shoulders relaxing an inch already, “I’ve got a spare in my shed. I’ll have it swapped in a flash, ten minutes tops.”

You said nothing for a few moments, pondering his offer. You considered another night spent fiddling with the door hinge. Flipping through the owners manual like it held the secrets to the universe, only to have your efforts result in a few firm kicks to the metal contraption and another day wearing old bikini bottoms as underwear. You pictured yourself sweating over the basin, handwashing the girls school clothes in a flurry of detergent and steam. You tired a little more at the mere thought.

“Alright then,” you finally nodded, beaming up at him with a relieved sigh, “thankyou very much, Fushiguro.”

“See? Easy,” he smiled in reply, “and for the last time, call me Toji, yeah?”

You couldn’t help but feel a shift in the energy when he finally stepped over the threshold and into your home, looking starkly out of place in the mellow sanctity of your front hallway. Harsh lines and dark contours in a sea of softness. Muted tones and family photos, kids finger paintings tacked to the fridge and little craft projects littering any flat surface.

“I’m sorry I don’t think I have any slippers in your size…” You murmured as you leaned down to unclasp the shiny little buckles of your sandals, toeing them off at the door in favor of a pair of plain house-slippers.

He nodded without reply and cleared his throat, head held high and eyes averted when you finally straightened back up. He wiggled his toes where they were pressed bare against the wood slats.

“It’s no problem.”

You bit your cheek against the urge to smile, and instead dipped your head and turned to begin walking down the hallway.

“It’s this way,” you called over your shoulder, hooking a finger in the air, “please follow me.”

If you’d felt unsure about having your neighbor in your entrance way, the feeling was tenfold with the sight of him craning his head as he stepped into the laundry room. As he straightened up, you watched his eyes catalog the space ever so subtly. It felt oddly intimate, and you felt a warmth begin to creep up your throat.

You toyed with the collar of your dress as he set the toolbox down, eyes lowered as he unclasped the closure and began emptying it of the needed equipment. You watched the motion of his hands pause for a fraction of a section, head tilted as he subtly eyed the basket of clothes tucked on the bench beside him. You followed his line of sight, and to your utter horror found a slip of black lace sitting blatantly at the top of the mountainous pile.

With embarrassment licking hotly up your nape, you stepped forward and quickly snatched the basket, tucking it to your hip with a quiet cough.

“My apologies,” you squeaked, angling your body to shield any more of your potential delicates from view, “Let me get that out of your way.”

“Sure,” came his smooth reply, seeming entirely unperturbed despite your sudden closeness. So much so that you wondered if you were overreacting, and he hadn’t noticed anything at all.

Still, you discarded the basket to an unused corner of the room out of sight nonetheless, and then began mindlessly tidying while Toji busied himself unscrewing the washing machine door.

As promised, no more than ten minutes later he was lifting himself to his feet with a low groan, nodding as he tucked a wrench back into the toolbox.

“What did I say?” He mused a little proudly, dusting his hands, “fixed in a flash.”

You turned your head away from where you had been color coding detergent boxes to gaze at the laundry machine, lips parted a little in awe.

“Wow, that was fast!” You chirped as your eyes wandered away from the shiny new hinge, trying to ignore the way the veins in his forearms popped from exertion, trailing in looping rivers down to his scarred knuckles. “Still, it must have been hard work. Why don’t you stay for a cup of tea?”

His lips parted instantly, and you raised a hand before he could utter a word in reply.

“And don’t decline like you usually do,” you teased, raising a lone brow at him, lips spread into a smile, “please, it’s the least I can do.”

He hesitated, looking as torn and mildly uncomfortable as you’d ever seen him. But when his eyes met your serious gaze he sighed and nodded in resolute defeat.

“Alright. I’ll only stay a minute.”

Not fifteen minutes later you were lowering a delicate tea set onto the coffee table in the center of your living room.

Two teacups and matching saucers printed in a blushed pink floral pattern clinked lightly as you shuffled utensils, slotting a sugar bowl and a milk jug in a delicate matching pattern onto the tabletop alongside a plate of cookies and delicately sliced lemons.

Satisfied with the spread, you straightened up. Both hands folded neatly over your front as you turned to fix the man who stood like a statue at the mouth of the room with a heartfelt smile.

“Please have a seat,” you invited with a gentle wave of your hand, motioning to the empty lounge while you took a few steps back toward the kitchen, “You don’t mind if I get some prep for the kids done while we drink?”

“Sure, It’s your house doll,” Toji nodded as he moved, easing himself onto the far end of the couch looking mildly uncomfortable, though he tried to hide it, “go right ahead.”

Turning your back, you tugged open the fridge and plucked a bag free from the lower drawer, sniffing at the earthy scent of the fresh vegetables tucked within. You busied yourself preparing them - scrubbing the dirt loose in the sink before you plucked a knife from the block and set the bundle atop a clean cutting board.

“I hope the tea is to your liking, Fushiguro-san.”

You spoke over the island as you worked, benefits of an open plan house meant you could chat while your guests relaxed, not that you entertained much these days.

When you peered over you found him gazing suspiciously at the contents of the cup before he took a slow sip, breath curling in steaming tendrils as he exhaled. You watched the shape of his shoulder slump a little with the breath, and he gazed at the teacup with a newfound appreciation as he lowered it back down to the saucer.

“It’s great,” he replied.

You smiled. “Excellent.”

You found yourself humming a little as you worked - dutifully slicing the vegetables into a range of shapes. Carrots became rows of soldiers, cucumbers sweet little hearts.

“So tell me Fushiguro-san,” you continued after a few minutes filled only by the sound of your steady chopping and his slow sips of tea, “how did you come to be so good with your hands?”

“I’ve taken a lot of odd jobs in my time,” came his voice from the lounge, “picked up a little something from all of ‘em.”

You made an appreciative sound, plucking another carrot free from the bag.

“Should teach me sometime,” you mused as you began to dice again, mind filling with pictures of your neighbor at work, that muscled form sweat soaked and strained, all filtered in a soft dreamy light, “I’m sure there’s a lot to lear- ouch!” 

You cut the sentence off with a hiss, blade clattering to the countertop. Your hands screwed tightly together at the sudden burst of stinging pain, severing the flow of blood to the finger you’d just sliced through.

Before you could blink Toji had shot to his feet, teacup abandoned to its little saucer, and by your next shuddered breath he was close, closer than you think you’d ever been to him. Big hands dwarfed your trembling ones, and he eased your finger out from when you were cradling it, eyes narrowed in assessment.

You watched his face, the twitch of his dark brows, and realized peering up at him then that you’d never noticed how green his eyes were, like little chips of jade as he peered down at your wound in scrutiny.

“Just a surface wound,” he diagnosed, voice light with relief and a touch of humor, “I think you’ll live.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, finding it difficult to conjure your voice with the way your pulse was racing, “I must have gotten distracted.”

“Stop apologizing so much,” he rumbled, eyes still down turned in scrutiny.

His hand slid, thumb teasing along your palm until his fingers closed around your wrist. You watched, a little dumbly, your lips pursed into a soft little ‘o’, as he lifted your bloody finger to his mouth.

You made an undignified sound high in your throat when the pad of your finger hit his tongue, doubly so for the tender sting of your cut against the wet heat of his mouth. You realized with a jolt of warmth that he was watching you, lips curled into a sly smile around the intrusion of your finger.

As quickly as it had occurred, he had slipped your finger from his mouth, instead thumbing at your palm like he were reading the lines etched there.

“No need to waste a plaster,” he murmured, eyes not leaving yours, “Y’know saliva has mild healing properties?”

You shook your head dumbly, still a little awestruck.

“No, I didn’t know that,” you breathed.

“You were right then, lots to learn, huh?” He smiled, an easy toothy smile that had the beginnings of butterflies thumping in your stomach. Your eyes flitted down to watch his lips part, ears pricked to hear his reply only for his mouth to settle into a smooth line. You blinked, and his expression had hardened, eyes turned back to stone, sharp and smooth as he peered over your head at something beyond your vision.

You craned your head to see why had him so prickled, and found a familiar face gazing back at you from the entryway.

Swallowing thickly, you took a few soft steps backward and tugged your arm free in favor of hugging yourself, mouth settled into a smooth line as you addressed your ex-husband.

“Geto,” You greeted. The lone word left you a little breathlessly, tone thick with familiarity, and yet still a little wrong - like a harp with a single string out of tune. You straightened, spine tugged up straight as an arrow, hands busied brushing nonexistent lint from your apron. “I’m sorry, I must have lost track of the time.”

You could feel Toji’s gaze burning a hole in the back of your skull, hotter still when he heard the sound of an apology begin to form on your tongue, a sound that was beginning to become familiar.

You were really standing here in your own home apologizing to this deadbeat?

“I’ll just get the girls,” You cleared your throat and took a few steps toward the kitchen window, chin lifted to call out through the screen. “Mimiko, Nanako - it’s time to go. Go and get your bags please!”

Left momentarily alone, Toji was the first to break the silence.

“Didn’t hear you knock,” he said smoothly, gazing down his nose at the man across the room. He looked relatively casual, unbothered. Though if you’d been close enough you could have caught the way the muscle in his thick jaw twinged beneath the press of his teeth.

Your ex-husband flashed a polite yet flat smile, hand lifted to flash a set of glittering keys, which he jangled lightly for effect.

“Let myself in.” He replied, eyes roaming in mild interest, the way you might peer down at a particularly interesting looking bug, “I don’t think I know you.”

“I’m the neighbor,” Toji answered, “just came over to help with some repairs.”

Geto’s eyes narrowed as they roamed the scene, though his tight smile didn’t fade, not even when his gaze settling on the tea set laid over the table.

“Repairs, huh…”

The air was thick when you turned back around. It was like the setup to some awful joke. You, your control freak ex husband, and your blisteringly hot neighbor walk into your living room…

You could feel a headache brewing, sharp and pounding, poking like an ice pick in the cavernous space behind your eyes. You’d wanted nothing more than to kiss your kids goodbye then trudge yourself to bed to sleep the weekend away, and maybe put on a fresh load of laundry. Now instead you found yourself stood in the middle of some sort of silent standoff between two emotionally constipated men.

Thankfully just as the start of some polite small talk was beginning to form on your tongue, the door to the back yard slid open and your two daughters burst through. They moved like a whirlwind through the doorway, tugging the screen closed behind them. Each had a backpack strung over either shoulder, their movement accented with the melodic jingle of little plastic key chains. You could hear them bickering, quiet biting comments that were becoming more and more sharp, quickly brewing into an argument.

With a sharp lungful of air exhaled swiftly through your nose, you forced a tight smile and strutted past the two men into the hall, easing into a squat so you were eye level with the twins.

“What’s the matter?” you asked, both hands raised to pet at either girls head, thumb smoothing down hairs messed from running around the yard, “aren’t you both excited to spend some time with daddy?”

Both girls nodded furiously, though their lips were warped into matching award-winning pouts.

“Yeah,” Nanako was the first to speak, “but you said I could hold bumblebee in the car.” She whined, pointing accusingly at the transformer clutched in Mimiko’s hands. It was hard to keep your composure, with the way her little bottom lip was beginning to tremble.

“Mimiko,” you began, voice soft as you addressed the other girl, “we did talk about this, you remember? Why don’t you take your new doll instead?”

With a few more words that began to edge on stern by the end, and just a little more whining, both girls were soon skipping out of the front door toward your ex husbands car - a sleek black coupe he certainly hadn’t owned during your seven years of marriage - each with a toy clutched proudly in their little hands.

You lingered by the doorway like an unfulfilled spirit, lips still tingling from where you’d pressed them to either girls foreheads in farewell. You traced your mouth, feeling the skin there soft like a petal against your fingertips. You always found it hard to say goodbye, even for such a small span of time as a single weekend.

Geto paused beside you in the doorway for a moment, watching the two girls climb into the backseat, before he turned around to face you once again.

Toji watched the scene play out from the living room. He watched your ex-husband’s eyes rake greedily over your body, at your arms wrapped around your stomach, curled in on itself. He watched the way the man’s lips spread into that same serpentine smile he’d worn when he first entered your home, the way he took a few purposeful steps toward you - crowding your space before he leaned down to murmur something low in your ear. 

Toji couldn’t see your expression, but he did catch the way the curve of your shoulders tightened all the same, stance rigid even when Geto finally stepped back over the threshold and you swung the door closed with a somewhat desperate ‘click!’.

With the two of you alone, once again that heavy permeating silence settled over the space. So thick that you felt it in your throat when you swallowed, dry and sharp like you’d gone days without water. Again, Toji was the first to break it.

“He’s got a key?” He questioned, a little unexpectedly, “You don’t think that’s a little unsafe?”

You rubbed a hand across your brows, paused where you were still poised by the front door with your arms wrapped like a blanket around yourself and your eyes screwed tightly shut. 

“I don’t think I need advice from a stranger, but thankyou,” you bit, maybe a little harsher than necessary, “Next time I want critique, I’ll ask.”

A beat of silence passed, heavy in the air between you before Toji whistled lowly.

You sighed, feeling your energy leak out along with the exhalation. Toji watched you move then, tired steps across the room until you slipped back behind the countertop, eyes lowered and hands busily shifting the dirtied utensils to the sink.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that,” you murmured after another few beats of contemplative silence, looping lashings of dish soap over the dishes, over the knife still smeared with your blood. “It’s the stress talking. Please forgive me.”

Toji followed you into the kitchen. A few lazy strides and he was leaning back into the opposite counter, expression hidden behind your back.

“‘S’alright,” he mused, voice a little softer now, “just saying - if anything happens, you come straight to me, okay?”

Your chest felt tight, throat burning with a rising wave of emotion. You were grateful that you had your back to him, the angle shielding the way your eyes were starting to water.

“Thankyou,” you replied, pleased when your voice came out steady despite the slight wobbling of your lower lip.

Toji considered you for a moment in silence, thick forearms crossed casually over his chest.

“Gotta say though, you do look a little tense.”

That earned him a chuckle.

“Y’think?” You replied, half laughing, half exasperated.

“Yeah,“ he agreed, and you could hear the smile teasing at the edge of his voice, “must be hard, taking care of them on your own like this. You ever get any time for yourself?”

You snorted, unable to quite stop yourself from smiling along with him, though you kept your gaze fixed firmly on the dishes, on the way heaping clusters of soft bubbles were beginning to form beneath the spray.

“Hah, now that’s funny,” You replied, lashes fluttering as the steam filtered upward, sweet with the lightly citrusy scent of the dish soap.

“No?” He pushed, “you don’t do anything at all to relieve all that stress?”

With the nearness of his words you realized suddenly just how close he was, evidently having taken a few steps toward you while you were occupied with the white noise of the tap drumming against the sink.

Just as you had worked up the courage to turn back around, you felt it - the slow press of his hands as they came to rest gently over either of your shoulders. You froze mid turn of the tap, fingers wrapped tightly around the spigot, unable to quite stop the way your breath caught in your throat.

“You know I’m good with my hands,” he assured, voice a low rumble just as soothing and warm as his touch, “no pressure, you say the word and I’m gone.”

“You’ve already done so much, and I-“

“Shhh,” he hushed, and you could hear every syllable of his next sentence closely now with the water stilled, “allow yourself something nice, just this once.”

Each big palm felt warm as hot stones as they moved, beginning to draw slow circles into the tense points of your shoulders. His thumbs rolled simultaneously, firm circles converging at the notches of your spine. Your head dipped forward, and it took every inch of your withering self restraint not to let free the breathy moan already forming on your tongue.

“Is this pressure alright?” Came his voice from behind you, dropped low enough that you strained a little to hear it properly. 

Not trusting your own voice, you simply nodded your head in reply.

“Good.”

He continued thumbing at the tender knots in your back, hands big and warm and just calloused enough to feel rough whenever his fingers dipped innocently beneath the neckline of your blouse.

With his sudden closeness you could catch the scent of him, a subtle tinge of fresh sweat, though not unpleasant. Just a little earthy where he’d been digging up garden beds. You leaned into it, catching the remnants of something cool and masculine lingering beneath. It was oddly comforting, the sort of profile you hadn’t smelt in a long time.

”This is… this is nice… thankyou Fushiguro,” you managed, grateful that your voice remained relatively steady despite how clearly breathless you were.

”Just being a good neighbor, doll,” he replied smoothly.

You all but melted into the touch, fingers gripping the benchtop for dear life as you tried to maintain composure while receiving what was likely the most contact you’d experienced in months, maybe even years at this point. Certainly nobody had taken their time with you like this since your divorce, well before then if you considered the countless nights your marital bed lay figuratively and literally cold. 

Before you could take a nosedive into that looming rabbit hole of memory, a roaming thumb dug into a particularly tight knot and you gasped aloud. Mortified, you slapped a hand over your mouth.

“Sorry,“ you swallowed hard, lips brushing against your clasped fingers, “that spots a bit tight.”

He hummed lightly somewhere behind you.

“Yeah, you do feel a little tight, doll,” he chuckled, “don’t worry though, don’t gotta be quiet with me.”

His hands resumed their slow massage, and you squeezed your eyes closed against the sudden dizzying wave of desire rolling over you. It coiled like a writhing serpent, heated and sticky in your belly.

“Poor thing, you really don’t get any relief do you?” Toji continued, hands still rubbing dutifully over your swiftly softening shoulders. “So what’s your vice, huh sweetheart? There’s gotta be something. You drink? Smoke? Nah, don’t seem like the type.” 

Your fingers curled and flexed over the bench top, beginning to heat, clammy beneath the press of your fingers. Here he was helping you out of the goodness of his heart, and you and your filthy sex-denied mind could do nothing but dream about what those rough hands would feel like dipping just a little lower, how that graveled voice might sound hitched with pleasure. 

Toji hummed, a rogue finger slipping beneath the delicate strap biting into the skin of your shoulder.

“Maybe you just get off, is that it? Maybe I’m not the only man you invite over under the guise of innocent household repairs and tea, hm?”

You let out a sharp, shocked sound, and lifted your head with the intention to spin around and face the man accusing you of such debauchery, only to find yourself utterly frozen beneath the press of his palms.

“C’mon, don’t act so coy,” he cooed, the firmness of his hold keeping you facing forward, “I saw those panties. Those aren’t sweet little stay at home mom panties. Those are ‘bend me over the kitchen counter and spank me ‘till I cry’ panties.”

“Don’t be crude, there are no other men,” You stuttered in return, unable to quite hide the way your voice trembled, “I bought those for myself.”

“So you just take care of yourself then, huh? All on your own?” He hummed, the fingers of one hand teasing up to clasp over your nape. “You slide into bed after everyone’s asleep and tug open that beside drawer of yours, don’tcha?”

You could do nothing but shiver beneath his touch, beneath his words, curling hot and salacious over the shell of your ear. He took your shuddered breath as confirmation, and his grin only stretched wider at the revelation.

“Lemme guess - a little vibrator. Something small and quiet, discrete like.”

You couldn’t help the little whine that slipped free, the purr of his voice in your ear and the way his thumbs were still drawing circles into your tender muscle was enough to knock your knees.

“Yeah, it’s probably real cute. Just like you, huh?”

You felt the weight of him shift behind you, a thick wall of heat pressed suddenly to your back. He walked you a few steps forward until your belly hit the island bench. The cool marble cutting into your hips in stark contrast to the warmth of his hands as they slid downward and began to tease at the soft curve of your waist, toying with the apron knot tied there.

“Or maybe it’s the washing machine. Is that why you were so keen for me to fix it? Do you put a load on deep clean, hike that skirt up and press your cute little clit against the corner? Grind on it like some needy bitch in heat until you cum your brains out?”

“That’s obscene,” you gasped, face blazing.

“Obscene, huh?” He echoed, so quietly you strained to hear it, too consumed by the feeling of his lips brushing your neck, the delicate scratch of stubble there. “I’m starting to think you like ‘obscene’, doll.”

You felt his lips part then, breath warm and sticky against your skin before he pressed a slow open mouthed kiss just below your earlobe.

“Oh…” you sighed, the sound highpitched and a little breathless. “Hah-… Fushiguro…”

Before you could quite fathom, kisses had turned to gentle suckling, his tongue laving hotly over your delicate skin until you were sure there was a spattering of dark slippery marks there.

“Didn’t I tell you to call me Toji?” He murmured into your skin between kisses, teeth grazing the spot he’d been suckling, sharp and dangerous against your throat.

“-ah… Toji…” you moaned.

He all but purred in response, a satisfied rumble that you felt against your back.

“Yeah, that’s it. Keep sayin’ my name, just like that.”

His hands roamed freely now, slipping from your waist to tug at the string knotted at your tailbone, working his fingers between the loops until it slipped free and sent your apron cascading down your shoulders, pooling between your slippers.

“Look at you, playing sweet little housewife,” he murmured into your hair, the delicate sensation sending a flurry of goosebumps prickling down your neck. “But your nobody’s wife anymore, are you doll?”

You couldn’t help the honest to god whimper that left you at his words, the icy cut of truth. Tenfold when you felt his hands slide up your belly and come to rest over either breast, where he began to massage the tender flesh in greedy heaping fistfuls.

“How long’s it been since someone touched you like this?” He murmured, running a fingernail over and then pinching gently at either sensitive nipple through the fabric, just to feel the way you jerked against him.

“T-too long.” You managed between a sucking gasp, hands gripping the edge of the counter so tight that your knuckles ached with the effort.

His hands slipped lower, groping shamelessly at your ass, your thighs - at the slip of plump fat peeking out below your modest skirt.

“C’mon, spread ‘em for me.” He prompted, toeing at the inside of your bare ankle.

On wobbling legs you shimmied your feet apart, and simultaneously a big hand came to rest on your lower back, rubbing soothingly up the line of your spine before he pressed down at the crux.

“Arch it now, c‘mon, you still remember how don’tcha doll?”

Swallowing hard, you leaned forward, following the pressure of his palm until your chest hit the countertop and your hips lifted into a sinful arch. The sensation was palpable - the marble smooth and cool against your skin through your blouse, tickling where his fingers had pinched your nipples to sensitive little peaks.

With a pleased sound, his hand shifted, slipping down to instead tug at the hemline of your skirt, hiked a little higher now thanks to your vulnerable position. He slid the fabric up slowly, revealing more and more of your silky skin, the air pebbling it to goosebumps before finally he hit the curve of your ass, and he paused.

“Well well, what do we have here?”

A snort sounded from behind you, and you buried your head in the crook of your arms with the realisation of what he was surely seeing.

“Oh my god,” you whined frantically, shaking your head, face beginning to heat, “just hurry up and take them off!”

Instead of doing as you asked, he looped a thick finger beneath the tie of your cheetah print bikini bottoms, and tugged back far enough that when he released it the elastic snapped against the skin of your hip. You jerked forward at the nip of pain, frowning backward at him from over the curve of your shoulder.

“Nah, need a good look at these first,” he chuckled, flourishing the taunt with a low whistle that had your blood pumping ever hotter. “Scandalous, sweetheart. You wear these to the local pool?”

“Of course not!” You exclaimed furiously, stuttering a little as he began to grope greedy handfuls of your bare ass, “can you-hn!- imagine what the other moms would say?”

“Mhmmm, oh yeah,” he purred, admiring the way the patterned material bunched beneath his grasp, “can just hear the jealous hags now.”

He ran a thumb ever so softly down the centre of your cheeks, tracing where the fabric dipped into what had become a rather cheeky g-string. The bikini had fit modesty at some point in your life, though those years were long behind you now - body filled out and softened now with the passage of time and the demands of motherhood.

“Y’know they talk big, talk mean, because deep down they’re jealous.”

“Jealous?” You mouthed, peeking over your shoulder with lifted brows.

He tugged one looped tie of the waistband free, drinking in the sight of your newly bare skin as the fabric slid down with half-lidded and hungry eyes.

“Mhm, ‘cause you’re the hottest woman in the whole damn town,” he hummed, “and whaddya think they’re gonna say when they find out what we’re doing right now, huh?”

He finally worked the last knot of the bikini bottoms loose, letting the sinful cheetah print slide down your thighs and land in a crumpled heap at your feet beside your apron. You buried your face into the countertop, breaths coming heavy now with the cool air kissing your now utterly bare lower half.

“The perfect little devoted mother letting a man like me bend her over her kitchen counter…”

His fingers replaced the delicate brush of his thumb and slipped down between your spread legs, teasing over your bare slit. You choked out an incoherent plea, for what exactly you weren’t sure, though any thought slipped away entirely when his fingertips found your clit and you all but collapsed into the bench at the contact, soft belly and forehead pressed hard against the marble. 

“Oh, Toji…” you groaned into the countertop, lips grazing the cool surface, humid now with your panting breath. 

You were suddenly thankful that he hadn’t turned you over, hadn’t guided you into the bedroom with peppered kisses and plush sheets. You didn’t need gentle right now. Didn’t need soft sweet missionary while holding hands - you needed the bite of teeth and the graze of nails, calloused hands gripping tight until you bruised. You needed hard and rough and wrong, and thankfully Toji Fushiguro was all of those things. 

“That stupid bastard doesn’t know what he’s missin’…” Toji growled, fingers beginning to rub tight little circles into you, “leaving you all alone ‘n empty like this, its just not right.”

You couldn’t answer, mind utterly empty aside from the feeling of his rough fingers grazing over your long neglected clit, the way you could feel yourself flutter when he dipped inside just an inch to slick his fingers with you before he was smearing it back over your twitching nub.

“‘S’okay, I’m here now, isn’t that right sweetheart?”

With his spare hand he tugged one of your legs up until you got the hint and lowered your knee to the countertop. His thumb hooked beneath your leg, pressing down to spread you ever wider.

He whistled, gazing greedily down at the sight of you spread so easily below him. Eyes drinking in the stretch marks striping over your waist, scars silvery in the cool light, the spattering of little dimples worn into the fat of your thighs and your ass. His other hand continued to work dutifully between your thighs, each rub beginning to sound sticky with the effort.

“Look at you, look so perfect like this,” He lifted a thumb, pressing the digit to your puckered rim.

You moaned something unintelligible, rocking back onto his hand, forcing his fingers to slip up through your folds - now painted in the sticky mess of your arousal. He chuckled behind you, watching the way you were all but grinding yourself on his fingers.

With a suddenness that made you whine he tugged his hand free, and the delicious pleasure of his touch was gone along with the simmering heat creeping to a boil in your belly.

“Don’t have any condoms, sweetheart,” he murmured regretfully like he had any intention at all to stop. 

“Doesn’t matter, promise I’m clean,” you pleaded, wiggling your hips like you could glean just a lick of friction from the motion, though the only thing it earned you was the mild slide of the countertop beneath, “please Toji, need to feel you, all of you.”

Toji groaned behind you, and a hand came to rest over your ass, pinching lightly before he applied a light slap just to watch the motion ripple over your plump skin.

“Fuck, doll,” he breathed, “you’re making it real hard for me t’ make good choices right now,”

Then came the metallic hum of a zipper being tugged slowly downward. If nothing else the sound was a trigger, stoking the pulsing throb between your thighs, so incessant now that it was beginning to ache.

Before you could offer any further words of encouragement, you felt it - a thick heat pressed against your rear. Toji, slotting his hips against yours. With a thrilled little zip of adrenaline you realized he wasn’t going to bother with working you open slowly, he wasn’t going to sweetly and tenderly stretch you with each of his fingers like a real lover might. What you felt now slipping through your slick folds was him, all of him - plain and simple and raw.

“Take a deep breath, sweetheart,” he murmured, breath hot against your skin.

You could barely hear the words for the sound of your own pulse hammering in your ears. Acquiescing, you parted your lips and sucked in a long lungful of air.

Toji waited until he heard your breath begin to fray at the edges - air drawn into the very corners of your lungs - before he nudged forward and knocked it clean out of you.

You choked on the next breath, struck by a searing sting as he pushed inside. Inch after inch after thick inch stretched you wider than you’d been in years. It was stunning, the culmination of sensation - the solid press of his broad form against your back, the weight of him sinking inside. Hot and tight and utterly consuming, a cocktail of feelings you’d long since forgotten.

“Oh god, Toji…” you whined, the sound pitched high and breathy, squirming against the marble, though his presence left very little space to move.

“Sh, that’s it, just a little more,” he shushed, though there was nothing soothing about the harsh press of his hips, “Shhh… nearly there, just let me…”

And with a final firm nudge, you were full.

“There you go, mmm-… that’s it sweetheart, good girl.”

To his credit, he allowed you a few moments grace just to acclimatize. You could feel him, every inch. Every pulsing vein decorating that thick shaft, every indulgent curve, the sticky head kissing so deep that a delicious little ache was beginning to bloom alongside the desirous pit of heat in your gut. 

“There you go,” he soothed, “just relax.”

You barely had the wherewithal to comprehend the cocktail of sensations before he was moving, rocking his hips in tight shallow little thrusts against your rear, kept nice and deep.

“Hm! Mhm! Hah.. ah!…” the sounds slipped free without thought, without care, knocked loose by each new buck of his hips.

“Fuck sweetheart, can see why you got so many kids,” Toji grunted, hand clenched into a fist over your skirt, scrunched into a bundle at your waist, “I’d never wanna pull outta this perfect fuckin’ pussy either.”

Your brain might have forgotten what it felt like to be fucked properly, but your body certainly hadn’t. Despite the lack of prep, despite the years you’d been left empty and neglected - your slick walls still sucked him in easily, pussy stretched and clenching desperately around his length like it was made just to take him.

“Oh god… there Toji, -hah-… hn… right there!” You cried, jostling limply back and forth with the force it.

Your bare toes curled where they were splayed limply to the side, slipper long since knocked free, abandoned along some stretch of tile. The other was beginning to come loose, slipping from your dangling foot with each thrust as you found yourself pushed further and further along the countertop.

“Right here?” He teased, hips angled until he hit a spot so tender that your eyes rolled into your skull and your lashes fluttered, “Yeah, feels good, huh mommy?”

You whined with a limp nod, slack jawed. The skin of your cheek slid over the smooth countertop, jammed forward with each firm thrust, the marble slick and wet with your pooling spit.

“Oh, you like that do ya'?”

His steady movements slowed to a torturous roll. Long aching thrusts pulled out until just the tip remained, before he slid back inside so deep that your legs were sent into a pleasured wobble.

“Wanna be a mommy again, ‘s that it? C’mon then mommy, show me just how bad you want it.”

You barely had the wherewithal to answer, certainly not enough to shatter the illusion by telling him your tubes were tied. So instead you simply ignored the trembling of your legs and pushed backward, hips rolling to meet each of his firm thrusts.

For maybe the first time since you'd met the man, you watched Toji stutter. For a few long moments he did nothing but watch you fuck yourself open on him through low-lidded eyes, using him shamelessly as he stood slack jawed, utterly lost in the rhythmic vision of himself disappearing inside only to slip back out glossy and coated with you.

It was only when you whined that he was tugged back to reality, his hand coming to grope at the fat of your ass, slamming you back down on his cock, again and again until you squealed.

“Shit, that’s it… knew you had it in you..." He was panting now, words beginning to slur a little at the edges as he lost himself in your silky heat.

You nodded your head mindlessly, squeaking out a sharp noise of surprise when his palm came down to slap the swell of your ass, hard. The sizzle of pain dipped lower instantly, dribbling into the pool of heat bubbling in your lower stomach.

You felt yourself clench with the residual sting of his handprint, and he groaned - leaning forward to drape his toned abdomen over the curve of your spine. You felt him nose at your nape, nipping lightly before his lips pressed flat and he began to suck a bruise into the fevered skin there. You writhed, smacking limply at the countertop either side of your head, fingers curled and nails scratching mindlessly into the glossy marble. 

“That sweet little housewife act, what a joke,” he huffed against your ear, “just about beggin’ me to bend you over, fuck you raw.”

He spoke the words into your skin like a promise, and you could feel his nose nudging at your nape, at the little hair curling there wet with sweat. His thrusts had softened somewhat, turned wide and sloppy at the edges as he instead ground himself into you. You simply squirmed against the weight of him, clenching and twitching helplessly around his cock.

“Ah- ah! Hah! ha- ah!” You panted, sweet little sizzles of pleasure zipping down your spine each time he rocked your forward and the motion forced your clit against the counter, rubbing in a slick glide over the marble, sticky where your collective arousal was beginning to pool. 

“Gonna give it t’ me aren’t you?” He pleaded, clearly just as gone as you were, “gonna let me cum inside, huh mommy? Gonna gimme another baby?”

Another? You didn’t have time to question him, didn’t have time to  think about anything at all, not with the way your belly was burning - a hot sizzling ache set to spill over with just one more thrust, just one more…

“Shit!” He cursed, and your own eyes rolled skyward.

With a final particularly vicious buck your vision went white as a snowbank, and suddenly you were cumming, hard. Harder than you think you’d cum in years. Shit, maybe decades.

You felt his forehead hit the space between your shoulder blades as he collapsed, muttered out a string of curses and low groans as he rutted himself into you, hips stuttering in a wild hump. You could feel him pulsing deep inside, throbbing in hard little kicks against your clenching walls as he filled you.

Your head was fuzzy with the heat of it, and your ears rung with the hot rush of your own pulse. The kitchen was silent aside from your collective panting, and your own breathy moans as you rode out the residual sparks of pleasure, twitching mindlessly around where he was still buried deep inside. 

He laid over you like a concrete slab for a few moments, body firm and hot, chest sticking to your back. Even through the fabric you could feel the heat of him, the delicate tap of his pulse against your shoulder blades.

With an almost pained grunt he lifted himself up and slipped from you, though his hands remained braced around your hips, a steady presence as you eased yourself back to your feet.

The cool tile kissed your bare soles for only a few seconds before you were lifting a hip to the counter and sliding atop it, grimacing only a little at the slick squelch of your collective spend soiling the marble.

You took a moment to indulge in the sight of him, and he gazed back at you with half-lidded eyes, looking messed and a little drunk in the afterglow. His hair hung in inky strands over his eyes, cheek bones flushed and tanned skin warmed to a rosy pink. Just the same as when he’d greet you after a long afternoon spent pulling weeds and planting fresh sprouts in his garden, all sun-kissed and sweat dappled, gorgeous.

“Could you pass me my purse, please?” You asked, nodding your head to the bag tucked on the counter behind him.

He lifted a brow at you but offered no words of argument, hand lowered to tuck himself back into his jeans and tug the zipper up as he turned to retrieve the bag. You drank in the sight greedily, the sinful curve of his muscled back, waist turned to nothing but a narrow slip with the severe angle. You managed to tear your eyes free just as he spun around to face you again, taking a few steps forward to slip the bag into your outstretched hands.

“Thankyou,” you praised as you tugged the clasp open, rummaging through the purse for a few moments before you pulled out a well-worn pack of cigarettes.

Plucking one loose, you slotted it between your plump bitten lips and abandoned the pack to the counter. When you lifted your head you found that Toji was grinning.

Tilting your head, you lifted an eyebrow, wiggling the stick between your lips expectantly. Toji chuckled, hand already stuffed into his back pocket to fish a lighter free. He shook his head, still smiling, and stepped forward. One hand clasped around the old Zippo, and the other cupped around your mouth in a motion that felt practised. With a metallic flicker your face was illuminated with a warm glow. His fingertips grazed your cheek, and you sucked in a slow mouthful, watching from beneath your lashes at the cherry sizzling to life.

Toji stepped backward and flicked the lighter closed, watching you lift a hand, delicate fingers closed around the stick. You pulled the cigarette free and exhaled, and with the swirl of smoke between your teeth came a low satisfied sound. Toji watched the tendrils of smoke cloud your face, then flitter skyward.

“Full of surprises, aren’t you doll?” He mused, jade eyes glinting as he stepped in close, one palm planted either side of you, caging you against the counter.

As he moved his finger hooked over the lip of one of your delicate teacups, which he tugged along until it came to rest beside your relaxed thigh. 

Your lips lifted to a smile, and you turned, twisting a little to tap the singed end of the cigarette into the cup, watching it dissolve into the remnants of tea still swirling at the bottom.

With your movement came a sticky squelch, and both of your eyes dropped instantly to the source of the sound. You spread your legs slightly, spare hand lowered to lift the hem of your skirt. Toji barely managed to swallow the sharp sound that threatened to escape him at the reveal of your bare cunt. Your swollen folds, the spatter of coiling hair smeared with your shared arousal, the sight of his spend beginning to leak out of you in hot milky dribbles.

You sighed, lower lip pushed into a pout as you watched the mess that was forming on the countertop between your legs. “I’m going to have to clean again.”

Without word Toji lowered himself to his knees, hands abandoning the counter to instead wrap around either of your thighs and tug you to the edge.

You took another drag and peered down at him through the curling tendrils of smoke. The sight of him kneeling beneath you - thick thighs lightly spread, eyes peering up at you from beneath dark lashes - was enough to send a fresh jolt of desire through your aching body.

You bit your lip, feeling your pussy twitch with interest, and from the look of his quickly tightening jeans you imagined that he wasn’t very far behind you.