🕷Mari🕸

In front of you stood Yuta, a really close friend and a co-worker of yours with a concerned expression on his face. He was one person who had been actively helping you cope with the loss of your grandma for the past few months.

“It's my first shot though.” You roll your eyes, placing the shot glass on the bar table.

“Well, that's what you said last time too and ended up throwing up all over me.” Yuta pointed out, his tone teasing you.

“Shut up. Don't remind me.” You grunted, turning away from him and hiding your face in embarrassment, he let out a hearty laugh at your behavior, you stared at him for a moment before returning a chuckle.

“But for real, it's true. This is my first shot.” You affirm, giving him a reassuring smile, he nods, deciding to trust you. You both begin to chat for a bit about life. You felt butterflies in your stomach when he shot you a charming smile. You quickly looked away, not wanting him to catch you staring intently.

He always knew how to make you feel better at times like this.

You mentally scold yourself for feeling this way about him, you both had gotten a lot closer in the past few months, closer than you guys ever were. Such a change in situation caused a few shifts in your perspective about him, especially when he was so kind, you soon found yourself crushing on him.

Your conversation comes to an abrupt end when one of your mutual friends grabs Yuta and drags him to the table in the middle, jokingly asking your permission to borrow him for a game, which you all laugh at.

You think about taking a second shot before deciding you've had enough, concluding that one shot was enough after what Yuta told you. You really shouldn't be developing an alcohol problem over grief, so now you're just watching him from across the room, observing how the game is unfolding.

“So, when are you going to ask him out?” A familiar voice echoed in your ears, you turned to face towards that direction, seeing the familiar dark green hair catch your eye. It was Maki.

“Ask who out?” You blinked, trying to process what she was implying.

“Oh don't play dumb, I'm obviously talking about Yuta.” She rolls her eyes, grabbing her own drink as she chugs it down.

“Uh, I don't know. I'm not sure.” You reply quickly, feeling conflicted about your own feelings. You felt your hands turn moist at the sheer nervousness you were feeling from this conversation alone.

“Just do it, I'm pretty sure he also has some sort of feelings for you.” Maki nudges you, nodding her head to the direction he's in. You felt embarrassed, shaking your head.

“Eh, I don't know. It's probably best not to ruin things we have right now.” You shrug it off, Maki doesn't prod you further, and just backs off.

The conversation soon shifted to Maki talking about her life. You were so deeply invested, until you felt someone bump into your shoulder really hard, causing you to fall back at the sheer force, almost like they purposefully pushed you.

You landed on your butt with a hiss, cursing the man, who didn't bother stopping to apologize, Maki quickly came to your aid, lifting you up and checking if you're okay.

“What the fuck is wrong with some people dude.” She muttered under her breath, glaring at the man disappearing off to the exit in a rush. You felt irritated, huffing in anger as you tried to hold back the rage you felt.

But then something on the floor caught your eye. You bent down, picking it up as you stared at the package with a scowl on your face. It was likely dropped by the man in a rush earlier.

“The hell is this?” You mutter underneath your breath, and Maki looks over your shoulder.

“One wish willow? What's that?” You almost scoff, reading the label and warnings, anyone can tell that this is a scam, but you still analyze it.

“Should I return it back to him?” You ask Maki, genuinely considering going after that man to return it. She quickly takes it away from your hand, reading the label.

“Nah, that asshole knocked you over, you don't owe him that courtesy, besides it's probably just some occult bullshit.” She sighs, tossing it back into your hands. “Maybe you could wish for Yuta's love since you can't bring yourself to confess. You'll need all the luck in the world.” Maki suggests, mocking you in a friendly way all while raising an eyebrow.

“Fuck you. I'm not that desperate.” You scrunch your face at your friend's suggestion before chuckling, you slip the thing into your pocket, reminding yourself to throw it away later as you continue to chat away with Maki.

And soon it was time to go, you booked a taxi to your house until Yuta chimed in, grabbing your phone and cancelling the ride. He asked you if he could drive you home, which you reluctantly agreed to, feeling bad for troubling him like that.

“I hope you're taking care of yourself after you know—, it's been a while since we got some alone time like this.” Yuta broke the silence first.

“I am, but I miss her sometimes but honestly, you all make up for it. Especially you.” You reply, exhaling as you relax in the car, letting your body go loose.

“I'm glad.” Yuta replies shortly, hands gripping the steering wheel as he takes a turn, one of it slides down, grabbing a hold of your thigh which makes you jump slightly as if it was unexpected.

He gently caresses your thigh, drawing soothing circles for a bit before he retreats it back, the absence of his hand was much more noticeable than when he was caressing you, you missed the warmth already.

“You know i—” Yuta begins before quickly shutting himself up. He takes a deep breath.

“Mhm?” You hum in question.

“Nothing, I forgot what I wanted to say.” He runs a hand through his hair.

“Thank you for being here, Yuta.” You begin, all of a sudden, as you gaze out of the window, staring at the night sky, feeling really sentimental for some reason. “I really appreciate you.” You turn your head towards him, giving him a smile. Yuta remains quiet for a while, before he nods.

“Of course, I'm always here. We're friends after all.” He replies back, though there was a slight hesitation in his words.

Comfortable silence falls over the two of you, and soon enough, you reach your home. You unlock the car door, opening it and stepping a foot outside before you're yanked inside into the car once again.

You shriek, confused when you see Yuta gripping your wrist tightly.

“What's wrong?” You ask when he loosens his grip, he swallows nervously biting his lip and shaking his head no.

“Sorry, I just wanted you to be here for a little longer. For some reason I feel like something bad is going to happen.” He answers, letting out a deep sigh. “I know it's stupid—”

“It's not. Don't worry, I'll stay here for a bit.” You cut him off, settling down into the car once again, letting the moments pass by in silence.

“What do you think of us?” Yuta asks all of a sudden, making your mind go blank since you did not expect him to be straightforward. You feel your throat closing up as you struggle to answer.

“We're really good friends aren't we?” You let out a nervous chuckle and you swear you see something dark pass by in Yuta's eyes before his expression changes into a smile.

“Right. We're. Friends.” His tone had slightly shifted, leaving a gap between each word when he spoke them. You nodded, wanting to facepalm yourself because what the fuck, why did you miss a great opportunity to profess your love? Gosh you're such a fucking coward.

“Actually I—” You whisper quietly under your breath, trying to get the words out, finally building up your courage.

“Good night.” Yuta cuts you off, most likely because he wasn't able to hear you since he seemed spaced out and occupied with his own thoughts. He shot you a tight lipped smile, the one that didn't reach his eyes.

You blinked, the courage you gathered deflating immediately, you didn't speak up again, and just nodded, shooting him an awkward smile.

You don't waste another second getting out of the car, bending down and sending off Yuta with a good night. You walk back into your house, mentally exhausted from everything. Internally groaning as you open the front door and slamming it shut before you hang your coat, throwing your bag on the couch and plopping face down on it. Letting out a muffled screech at the chance you blew.

Maybe this was for the better.

It's better to move on.

You press your cheek to the seat, staring at the texture of the sofa's fabric, noticing a patchy stitch that was a complete contrast from the rest of the plain design.

It was a spot your grandma stitched up a few months ago before her passing, she didn't want you to waste money on a new sofa. You gently caress the patch, the stitch lines bumping into your fingertips as you trace it.

You wish she was still alive, she probably would be laughing in your face if you had told her what just happened with Yuta.

You let out a bitter chuckle, remembering her playfulness before you take a deep breath, trying to hold back the tears from falling.

You prop yourself up, sitting upright and going to your bathroom to wash this day's exhaustion off. After showering, you grab your dirty clothes and put them in the laundry basket, just when you grab your pants— the triangular shaped box from earlier falls out of it. You pick it up, setting it on the table and not paying it any mind as you put your clothes away.

Now you're on a phone call with Maki, who enthusiastically called you because she looked up information about the one wish willow online, telling you that it's a real deal, you have to break the stick for it to come into reality.

“No way, let me check it myself.” You put her on speaker, quickly going to the search engine to look for it.

“Nah maki, it has mixed reviews, some say it's real, some say it doesn't work. I'm telling you, it's just bullshit.” You argue adamantly, annoyed by this stupid little ordeal.

“Why don't you wish for something then?” She suggests again, and you think for a while.

“I mean, it isn't like anything bad will happen, on one hand, your wish will come true, while then on the other, it just turns out to be a fake.” She adds, which makes you grab the thing off the table and open it.

“Wish for like a billion dollars for something, we'll be rich in no time— oh wait fuck! ugh, fuck off— wait I'll call you right back, my sister made a mess everywhere..” Maki hurriedly hung up before you could get a word in. Though you understood what she meant since you could literally hear her sister throwing up in the background when you both were talking. You set your phone down, now intensely staring at the box before prying it open, a weird melody plays when you open it and take the stick out.

You ponder deeply what you should wish for, because a billion dollars would be too suspicious if this was real, like you could be taxed, and if it did come true— how will you explain it to the authorities? you think hard for a few moments before realising how stupid you look right now, all this effort going into something that has absolutely no chance of coming true. You groan, laying down on your sofa.

You don't put a single thought behind your words, choosing to be really dramatic instead of logical, “I wish Yuta was madly in love with me.” You say out loud before putting pressure onto the willow slowly, though you didn't intend on breaking it.

Yeah no, you weren't that desperate—

BOOM!

The ground ends up rattling, as if an earthquake had hit, making you jump and sit up out of panic before you hear the sound of thunder, it scares the absolute crap out of you. You snap your head to the window at that moment, watching flashes of light reflect off the curtain before you hear a few more roars of thunder follow suit with the noise of rain pouring outside.

You let out an exhale after processing what happened, It was just rain. You shake your head in disbelief before turning your attention back to the willow, mind drifting off again to a wish you wanted to make, a simple one.

Probably something like getting a salary hike at the cafe you were currently working for.

You look down, ready to snap the willow.

But your eyes widen when you realise.

The stick now rested in your hands, broken into two pieces.

You must've snapped it in half out of panic unknowingly.

“Fuck noooo that wasn't what I wanted to wish for.” You whine to yourself, voice grating with annoyance.

You were so fucking careless.

You slowly felt something in your gut churn, a feeling of dread but you decided to ignore it.

Ugh whatever, not like it's real or anything, you're getting way too worked up over it.

You get up off the couch, brushing the weird feeling off you and quickly discard the broken pieces and make your way back to your couch, you text Maki.

‘This shit is not real lmao.’

You put your phone down and turn on the TV, trying to find a good show to watch, you immerse yourself in whatever show that is playing right now for a good few minutes, completely getting into the plot—

Ding Dong!

You hear the door bell ring. You furrow your brows, getting off the couch and walking up to the door, wondering who it could be this late. When you look through the peephole, your eyes widen when you see Yuta standing there.

You quickly open the door, surprised by his sudden presence, he probably should've reached his home by now, what was he doing here? Not to mention, he was completely drenched head to toe and breathing heavily as if he had run a marathon.

Your mind wanders off to the wish from earlier, there is no way right?—

Yuta sneezes, which snaps you out.

“Y-Yuta?! Are you okay?” You quickly ask in a worried tone, pulling him inside, before rushing off to get some towels for him.

“Yeah, I'm fine. My car broke down and it started raining so I rushed here.” He sighed, taking the towel from your hands, his hold lingering for a bit longer than usual. You didn't think much of it.

“I don't have spare clothes for you, so you'll have to make do with this bathrobe.” You hand him the bathrobe, to which he quickly grabs before he grabs the hem of his shirt and takes it off.

You turn around, not wanting to look at him as he undresses.

But why the fuck was he undressing right in front of you in the first place? You felt weirded out, this was something Yuta would've never done.

You furrow your brows, quickly turning around to face him only to find him standing still, staring at you in his bathrobe blankly. He suddenly lunges forward, grabbing you by your arms as he pulls you into a hug.

“I'm so sorry. I'm so scared.” He mutters, dipping his head into the crook of your neck before inhaling your scent.

You freeze when he does that, eyes widening with your hands pushing up against his chest to get him off you.

What fuck is wrong with him?

He notices you trying to push him away and steps back, his eyes widening when he sees you.

“Wait, what the fuck? Are you alright?” He asks genuinely concerned, stepping back, his tone shifted way too eerily for you to not notice as if he snapped out of something, you took a step back, not wanting to be near him.

“Uhm, no. You should probably ride a taxi home, let me book one for you. We can deal with the car later.” You blink, weirded out, before reaching for your phone from the couch. But Yuta grabs a hold of your hand before you can reach for it.

“No, please let me stay, I don't want to be alone right now.” He pleads, staring at you with teary eyes which make you feel bad. He lets go of your hand, before hunching down and burying his face in his hands.

“I've been.. having such a bad day. I don't think I cannot be alone with my thoughts. They're scary.” His voice was cracking, emotion spilling out in between as he drags his hands along his face before slowly clutching his hair as if he was going insane.

“Can I just stay here, for the night? Please.” He drops his hands, stands up straight and looks directly into your eyes, you swallowed the lump in your throat, trying to speak.

But, no words would come out, for some reason you felt intimated by him. So you just nodded. He gave you a smile.

“Thank you.” He muttered before he quickly turned and walked towards your bedroom.

“Wait Yuta— that's not the guest room.” You call out, he stops before slowly turning around.

“I know.” He replies before opening your bedroom door and going inside.

Something was genuinely off about him, and it started to scare you. You plop down back on the sofa as you think through what just happened. Yuta is behaving really oddly. You could tell because you're both close enough for you to realise something is wrong with him.

There was no way the wish willow was real, right? If it was, you just practically doomed Yuta's life.

This isn't what you wanted.

But then again, you can't say for sure because Yuta has never once been vulnerable in front of anyone, not even his close friends, not you, no one. What if this odd behavior is just him finally being vulnerable? Just a side that you've never seen before? He did seem pretty desperate and scared. You felt bad, maybe you should give him time to recover until the next morning.

You turn off the TV playing in the living room and quickly move to the guest room, deciding that you'll be the one sleeping in it since Yuta was sleeping in your room. You locked the door before turning off the lights and crawling into the bed.

The soft mattress welcomes you, followed by the warmth under the blankets putting you in a cozy mood. The clock on the wall ticks with every second, the noise echoing through the silent room. Your sense of hearing is heightened as you take in all the noise, the rain, the clock, the soft thuds of droplets hitting the window all lulled you to sleep.

You slowly drift off to sleep as a few minutes pass by, the exhaustion from the day finally kicking in.

All of a sudden, a violent bang rattled through the door, making you snap your eyes open and sit up.

Your heart starts beating quickly, breathing becoming heavy as the banging gets louder and louder.

“Yes?” You call out loudly, your voice shaky, and then the banging stops, you see the door knob twist and turn erratically while the door frame jangles, yet the door doesn't open since you locked it. The relentless banging starts again after the struggle with the door knob stops, which scares you.

“Yuta?” You call out again, and then it stops again, but this time followed by an eerie silence.

The silence is shortly broken.

“[Name], it's me, please open the door.” You hear his voice on the other side. “Please, please, why did you lock it? Please. I can't be alone, why did you leave me alone?” He speaks, you can hear him sniffling loudly as he sounds like he's on the verge of a breakdown.

“Yuta please stop, you're scaring me.” You reply, breathing heavily.

“Why aren't you in bed with me?” He asks, shaking the door.

“Why the fuck would I be in bed the with you? It's not appropriate.” You are taken aback by his question, you could hear your own shock in your reply.

“Please, I keep having nightmares about something bad happening to you. It's scaring me on top of my own thoughts, just be together with me.” He begs, trying to twist the door knob open again. That's when your mind drifts off to the moment in the car, Yuta behaved in a similar manner when he grabbed you to stay with him in the car for a few more minutes, when he told you that he felt like something bad might happen.

“Yuta, I'll be fine.” You affirm, trying to calm him down, but then you hear him sobbing outside your door.

“Please— don't leave me. Please. Please. Please.” He cries out, which makes you feel like the shittiest person alive, but you still hesitate, quickly letting out a deep sigh, you throw the blanket off you and go to the door before unlocking it.

The moment Yuta hears you unlock it, he wastes no time barging in, it makes you back up out of fear and regret your decision of unlocking the door but then he pulls you into a hug, a tight suffocating hug.

His tears soak through your shirt as he cries on your shoulder, body shaking as he sobs really loudly.

“I'm sorry, I don't know what has gotten into me today.” He sniffles, pulling back from the hug. “In the car— I felt like you might be in danger, so I made you stay for a few more minutes, but it never went away even when I started driving back home.” He explains himself.

“So I rushed here pretty quickly to check on you. Yet the feeling hasn't gone away at all. In fact it keeps getting worse every second. I'm so sorry for being paranoid, but please let me stay with you.” He adds, staring into your eyes, you furrow your brows, something wasn't adding up.

“But you said your car broke down.” You mutter and you felt the room go completely silent, Yuta stopped sobbing abruptly, going completely silent.

“I- uh, yeah, it broke down, it was a sign for me to go to you. I think. But it doesn't matter, please just be with me.” He began to sob again, which burdens you with emotion again. You nod.

“Fine, but I'll sleep on the floor.” You agree with a condition. You grab a few spare pillows from the bed before making your way to your bedroom and laying them on the floor. Yuta follows shortly, settling down on the bed as he watches you lay down on the floor.

“You could just share a bed with me. I don't mind.” He proposed, you shook your head, grabbed the blanket and pulled it over your head.

Yuta didn't bother you after that, so you quickly fell asleep.

The morning arrives quickly, you hear your alarm go off, you reach for it blindly to turn it off, face scrunched up is disturbance, before settling into the soft sheets, changing position as you twist on the soft mattress of your bed.

You snap your eyes open.

Soft?

You wake up immediately, examining your surroundings as you find yourself in the middle of your bed. You check to your side, expecting to see Yuta, but he's nowhere to be found. Though, there is a note on the bedside table.

‘Sorry for the trouble I caused :(, I left early cause I needed to get my car fixed as well. Thank you for letting me stay over. Btw, I moved you to the bed since you look uncomfortable on the floor. Don't worry, I didn't do anything. See you at work!

Love Yuta <3’

You chuckled when you read it, finding it cute at the small symbols he used.

Maybe you were just overthinking after all, he was probably just having a bad day yesterday. You felt stupid for being so paranoid and scared.

Quickly, you get off the bed and begin getting ready for work, grabbing the robe Yuta discarded and throwing it in the laundry to wash later. You hoped his clothes were dry by the time he left, cause it rained all through the night.

You wear your outfit for work, and head out.

When you reach the cafe, you already see Yuta clocked in behind the counter, sorting everything out and making sure the machine is working properly. His eyes immediately lock on to you when you walk in.

“Good morning.” He greets you as usual with a bright smile on his face, which you return before clocking in as well.

The cafe bustles with customers immediately after opening, Yuta handles all customers and orders like he usually does while you and Maki prepare the drinks. You spend your entire day like that, working full time before your shift officially concludes.

You stay behind to close the cafe, helping Maki out while Yuta has already left.

“I don't know if you've noticed, but Yuta has been staring at you all day.” She speaks, finishing up her task and washing her hands. “Like, at first I thought it was normal, but then it was so constant, I was starting to get weirded out.”

“I think he's just been going through something,” You say, blinking at her as you untie your apron. “He came over yesterday night and started acting all weird.”

“Did anything happen?” She asks which makes you shake your head. You quickly fill her in on the details about what happened last night.

“That's crazy.” She lets out an exasperated reaction.

“By the way, is the wish truly not real?” She asks, changing topics since she noticed how uncomfortable you felt recalling last night's events.

“Uh, yeah. It's not real, I did as it said and nothing changed.” You fidget with your fingers.

“What did you wish for?” She tilts her head in a questioning manner.

“A salary hike here.” You don't know why you're lying, but it technically wasn't a lie cause you were going to wish for it, keyword: were, but you broke the willow on a separate wish entirely.

“Yeah no, that's never happening in this life at least.” Maki jokes wrapping an arm around your shoulder as she pulls you close, you chuckle awkwardly, feeling guilty.

You both exit through the backdoor, chatting away about different things when you suddenly spot Yuta, who was leaning against his car as if he was waiting for someone.

Did he leave like an hour ago? Why is he still here?

Maki is probably questioning the same thing.

His face lights up when he spots you, immediately waving at you to come over.

“Let me drop you home today as well.” He spoke while grabbing your hand and pulling you away from Maki.

“Uh no Yuta, I brought my own car—”

“The tire is flat.” He interrupts you and you furrow your brows, going over to your car to examine it.

The tire was indeed flat, but what was the reason? You check it further and spot a bunch of huge knife slashes on various spots.

“Who could've done this?” Maki asks, confused.

“I don't know. It was like that when I was leaving, I just waited until you both were done to drop her off. But I didn't know it would take an hour.” He answers.

“Anyway, let's go. I'll call someone to come repair it. It's getting late.” He grabs you before dragging you away from further examining it, you follow him into his car, too much on your mind right now to just think straight, you wave a quick goodbye to Maki before Yuta drives away.

You couldn't wrap your brain around the fact why he didn't just come in and tell you if he spotted that your tires were flat. You would've repaired it before it got too late. It felt like he deliberately waited to tell you so he could drive you home.

And the slashes? Who the fuck would do such a thing? They looked clumsy, as if they were done in a hurry and in a fit of insanity.

“There's something I always wanted to tell you.” You tense up when Yuta speaks, his eyes were on the road yet he was speaking to you.

“I— I've been hiding it for too long but I like you. No— I love you. I've been too much of a coward to admit it.” He confesses. “Last night, you've seen the worst of me. I always wanted to look cool from your perspective, you know? But ughhh. I don't give a fuck anymore.” He whispered the last part.

You felt your heart flutter at his confession before a heat rose up your cheeks.

“What?” Is all that you could let out.

“I love you.” He repeats, pulling the car over before halting it. He faces you directly, caressing your cheek, his eyes examining your entire face.

“Yuta— are you sure?” You ask, heart beating loudly in your chest. He nods, thumb grazing over your bottom lip, his finger pad was soft to the touch.

“Do you like me?” His eyes flicker to your lips shortly.

You swallow, nodding.

“I do, I like you.” You finally confess your feelings as well. Yuta gives you a soft smile before he leans in.

You slowly close your eyes, and hold your breath.

And then you feel it, his soft lips against yours, pressing lightly as he kisses you, slowly tilting his face to the side before he swipes your bottom lip with his tongue in between, asking for permission to let him in.

When you do, he wastes no time in pushing his tongue in, hand moving your cheek to the back of your head as he presses your face into his, his kiss turns desperate as he breathes heavily before you both pull away.

He pulls you in for another kiss again, before he stops, inches away from your lips, his eyes widen like he snapped out a trance as he observes your face, your eyes still closed, anticipating another kiss from him.

He slowly pushes his lips against yours, this time it feels different, his earlier kiss was full of confidence, yet now it feels like he is hesitant and unsure, but he continues to kiss you awkwardly anyway, you shoot your eyes open, slightly pulling away, wondering what's wrong with him, but then the hand resting on the back of your head pushes you, his kiss now transitions into like how it was earlier.

It was weird, but you push the thought away to the back of your mind.

❀❀❀❀❀❀

A week passes.

You and Yuta now became official, everything was going so well— or you had assumed.

Yuta has been behaving really oddly, getting weirder and weirder as the time passed.

“Yuta, what the fuck is wrong with you?” You question genuinely, spitting out the coffee he made into the sink before pouring it down the drain. He stares at you like he was heartbroken.

“Why the fuck would you cum in my coffee? How long have you been doing that for? That's fucking disgusting!” You freak out, grabbing your head as you realise what he's been doing since the past week.

He hasn't left your side for the past week and it was beginning to get suffocating. At first you let him stay over, thinking nothing of it, but the next day, he brought his clothes over and started living with you.

Everything was fine for like one whole day initially, but then it got worse. Yuta was extremely possessive, from the second day onwards, he monitored every action of yours, where you went, what you ate, who you were with, how long you've been in the bathroom for. It was obsessive.

You'd caught him sniffing your pillow, or your dirty clothes in the laundry, which you were weirded off by, the relationship felt like it was progressively getting weirder and creepier.

This isn't what you thought it would be like to be in a relationship with him.

And today? you found out that he came in your cup of coffee which he makes everyday for you in the morning before work. You only found that out because it tasted so weird today.

He was the one that admitted to it.

Like it was the most casual and normal thing ever.

You felt like crying and throwing up, why would he ever think of doing this?

But when he started crying, you couldn't help but feel bad, falling to his knees as he apologized, promising that he'll never do it again. You felt awkward and had no choice but to forgive him. You pull up to his feet and give him a hug which he returns, holding you tightly in his grip, inhaling your scent.

You thought that would be the end of the weird things.

But you were wrong.

The very next night, Yuta initiated intimacy like he did in the past week, his hands slid around your waist as you both laid in the bed, tugging your shirt upwards, you quickly shoved his hands away and fixed yourself. You weren't comfortable being intimate that early on into the relationship.

“Yuta, no, I don't want to.” You firmly say, rejecting him once again, pissed off that the cute cuddling moment was ruined by his advances, you didn't want to be pressured into doing that so early into the relationship, you wanted to take your own time opening up, you constantly had to keep on denying him for the past week.

You turn your back to him, laying on your side facing away from him.

Yuta blinks, his face going blank, “Sorry.” He quickly replies before turning away from you.

It was a constant cycle, he'd initiate, you'd say no, he'd say sorry, and everything would go back to normal because you'd forgive him, but it was starting to irritate you now, even though you made it clear multiple times.

“It's oka—” Before you could finish your usual sentence, you hear Yuta scream into his pillow really loudly out of anger, the sound was muffled yet still roaring, the grating screech of his scream scared you. You backed away slightly out of fear, the monstrous cry continued for what felt like an eternity before he abruptly stopped and turned to face you.

Silence occupies the room again, the only noise you could hear was your heavy breathing.

What the fuck was that?

He gives you a sweet smile before he pulls you towards him, cuddling into you, acting as if he didn't just let out a blood-curdling scream just seconds ago. You went still, just letting him cozy up against you.

You couldn't sleep well that night.

Is this how Yuta behaves in a relationship? It couldn't be, right? From your time with him, he was an absolute gentleman, a sweetheart who's always helped you out, so why is he suddenly going insane like this?

Did something trigger this?

Yuta left for work early the next day, you didn't have a shift today, so you were grateful that you could spend some time alone away from him.

Through, he left you a present on the couch, a note sticking to it.

‘To make up for last night.’ You thought it would be an apology gift, maybe he finally understood? It was probably something to cheer you up because of the way he behaved last night— is what you had assumed until you opened the box, but you immediately dropped it, letting it fall to the floor.

In the box were your used panties, torn at the base and covered in fresh cum. It was your favourite pair too. Why was he doing this to you?

You tried to take your mind off it, sleeping the entire day, too frustrated to deal with it. You regret getting into a relationship with Yuta. He was getting progressively worse. You decide to address the elephant in the room immediately after he came back home from his work.

You wake up to a phone call, and immediately pick up.

“Hello?” You speak, voice hoarse.

“Yo, [name], I just found out something insane.” You hear maki speak.

“Do you remember the slashes on your tires? I checked the cctv footage and holy fuck. I shared it with you. But Yuta was the one who slashed them.” You sit up immediately the minute you hear that.

You exit the call, opening the message she sent you and watching the video.

In the footage, Yuta loomed over your tire so scarily still before he started stabbing it like a madman, he made multiple punctures before he threw the knife away and went back to his car, standing there eerily, just waiting.

“This is so fucking crazy, I've never seen him act like that before.” You hear Maki's voice as your mind goes blank.

Just then you hear the front door open.

“I'll call you later, okay?” You tell her before hanging up. Yuta calls out your name before he spots you in your bed. He greets you before sitting down next to you and cuddling against you.

The revelation of the tire thing made you wonder, how he changed into such a deranged person overnight, because it wasn't like him to do so, and besides it was not a weekly progression like you had initially thought when he started behaving off, no, he had been deranged from the day.

The day since you made the wish.

“Yuta,” You call his name, he hums in response, looking at you with a sparkle in his eyes.

You pause for a brief moment, too shaken by this revelation.

You needed a break to figure this shit out.

“I think we need some space—”

“NO!” Yuta yells, screaming on the top of his lungs, recoiling away from you. “Why? Why? Why? What did I do? Did I upset you? I'm sorry I'll never do it again. Please don't say that.” He blabbled wildly, grabbing you by your shoulders. You were taken aback by his outburst, seeing him whine and hearing his voice distort as if he was glitching or recalibrating.

“The things you do— they're weird, it's almost like you're trying to scare me away.” You quickly add, getting it out of your system before he begins to make you feel bad.

“Why would I do that?” He asks, furrowing his brows. “I'm literally madly in love with you, why the fuck would I try to scare you away?” He declared and you went quiet.

“What?” You questioned, breathlessly, “Madly in love with me?” The familiar wording brought a sense of dread over you, as it slowly started clicking to you. That he has indeed been like this since the day you made the wish. You recalled all the moments from the past week, when all of a sudden he would snap out of something, questioning you if he had hurt you before behaving like his unusual self. He would sometimes apologize out of turn. And that one time when he was kissing you?— it felt like you were kissing two different people.

You think you broke him, unknowing of the actual truth on why he's snapping into different personas.

You stare at the man in front of you, his familiar face suddenly becoming unfamiliar as he shoots you a shy smile before he nods.

“Yes, I'm madly in love with you.” You could hear the tone drop in his voice as he gazed at you like he's high, drunk on love.

You slowly feel your surroundings blending together.

This was wrong, very wrong.

What have you done?

The wish was real.

His words just confirmed it, especially the specifics of it.

You just fucked him over.

You take a deep breath, trying to first focus on what to do. He reacted violently at the sheer mention of taking space, so you need to thread carefully. You slowly blink, giving him a smile.

“I'm glad.” You reply, trying to play it safe and he immediately hugs you tightly, forgetting the prior argument.

You cuddle him until he slowly drifts off, watching the man in front of you fall asleep as he takes small breaths, he must've been exhausted.

After making sure he's deep in his sleep, you quickly break free from his grasp, tip-toeing into your living room before searching for the box that the willow stick came in. You were glad you didn't throw it away. You grab your phone from the nightstand as well.

You immediately search for something that can be helpful, like a manufacturing address, customer helpline— which the later one you find, you don't waste any time, locking yourself in the bathroom as you call the number.

The phone rings for a couple of seconds before someone picks it up.

“Hello?” The monotonous voice of a guy on the other line breaks through, you take a deep breath.

“Uh hi, is this the one wish willow?” You ask, voice shaking.

“Yes.” The answer was short, followed by a silence, you purse your lips waiting for them to say anything else but they don't.

“So uh— I have something I'd like to request.”

“What is it?” The uninterested voice inquires you, you could hear their heavy breathing which set you off.

“I uh made a wish on accident, it was a crazy one— I snapped the willow on accident over it. And now there's a person suffering because of me, I think, I don't know if it's still real or not.” You mutter, biting your lip nervously.

“Just because it was an accident, doesn't make it any less real. It's real.” You hear the confirmation that makes your gut drop.

“I want to cancel it. Please, he isn't like himself and is acting very weirdly because of me. I want him to be free. He's suffering because of a wish I made by accident.” You ramble on, panic coating your voice.

“I'm afraid it isn't possible, a wish cannot be reversed once it has been made.” The representative replies, which makes you want to break into sobs.

“So he'll be like this forever?” You tighten the grip on your phone.

“Well… yes, as long as you're alive.”

The bathroom stills for a moment.

Your brain processes what he just said.

The implication was as clear as day.

You need to die for him to be free.

Before you could ask any further questions, the bathroom door slams open, the hinges flying off, and the door opening with a brute force that almost made it break in half, Yuta steps in slowly.

You panic and hang up, immediately getting on guard as he walks in.

“Yuta what the fuck?” You question, horrified at what he had done.

He quickly rushes over to you.

“Who were you talking to? Are you cheating on me?” His face contorts into rage, you shake your head really quickly.

“No, no, it was just Maki.” You lie, which makes him tilt his head in disbelief.

“I heard a man’s voice.” He replies before he dips down, grabbing you by your legs before throwing you over his shoulder and taking you out the bathroom.

Yuta takes you over to your bedroom before throwing you on the bed. He pries the phone away from your hand, you quickly press the home button to turn the screen off before he can access it.

“What's the password?” He asks before he turns the phone towards you, luckily you had face recognition off.

You remain quiet not telling him anything.

“So you are cheating on me.” His voice breaks as he drops your phone to the ground and climbs up the bed, grabbing you by your shoulders.

“Why? Why? Why? Why? Am I not enough?” He chants, gripping your shoulders tight, all while you could only stare at him with a scared expression.

He starts to sob.

“I love you so much, yet you do this to me, is that why you don't let me touch you? Because you're fucking some other guy?” Your mouth slightly parts in shock from the baseless accusations he was throwing at you.

Yuta never left you alone for you to have a secret rendezvous of any sorts, you couldn't even hang out with your friends without him joining, so he isn't making any sense throwing around these claims.

It genuinely offended you when he accused you of cheating on him.

“Yuta— listen to me, no I'm not cheating on you. How can you even assume that? You're always around me 24/7! You know damn well I would never cheat on you.” You argue back.

“Then why won't you let me fuck you?”

What?

His voice went flat as he stopped sobbing when he uttered those words, his expression shifting from a sad one to a blank yet serious one, he looked at you with his sunken eyes, something dark clouding in them.

You're appalled by that question. You blink rapidly and let out a huff of confusion.

“Tell me,” He shakes you “Why can't I fuck you? You always reject my advances. Do you hate me? I love you, I want to do everything couples do, but you don't let me.” His lips tremble slightly.

“Because— it has only been a week, it's too early, I wasn't ready.” You tell him truthfully. “We already talked about this.” You remind him.

“Why does time matter? If you truly loved me you would let me do it. I don't want you think I'm just here for your body— I love all of you, but fuck,” He takes a deep breath “I want to merge my soul with yours.” He whispers that last part.

You wanted to push him off, scream that he doesn't actually love you but were forced by your own accident. You wanted to tell him, but you hesitate, wondering if it will escalate the situation.

“And the only thing closest to the feeling is to be buried inside you, our bodies pressed together, I want access to your deepest parts, because I fucking love you.” He adds.

He drops his face, his head resting on your shoulder as his tight grip loosens.

“You don't love me, Yuta.” You declare, deciding to just say it. “You're forced to. I'm sorry.” He raises his head, letting out a breath of disbelief before shaking his head.

“No, I love you, I love you, I love you so so so much [name]. I really do. Why would you say that? That hurts me.” He insisted, grip tightening in a painful vice.

“I know you do. But Yuta doesn't, Yuta would never do this. Yuta doesn't love me.” Tears well up in your eyes as you feel the guilt in your heart swell up, everything finally crashing onto you know. “I'm a fool. I should've noticed. Why did I just go along without questioning it?” You sniff, tears falling down your cheeks, staring at the man in front of you, who had an expression of confusion plastered across his face.

“What are you talking about? I am Yuta, I love you.” He replies and you shake your head, denying him.

“You are not Yuta.” You affirm.

“Yes I am.” He corrects you.

“No you're not.”

“I am.”

“You are not—”

“I TOLD you I am Yuta!” He screams loudly as his hand suddenly grabs you by your throat, squeezing it. He tightened his grip brutally before you could react. You try prying his hand off your throat since he was choking you so hard to the point you began seeing spots in your vision, slowly becoming unable to breathe.

You land small hits on his arm, struggling to break free. “Y-yuta.. stop.” You choke out, gasping for air as he looks at you, his eyes short wide with a darkness in them that mirrored a void as he continues to squeeze your throat further and tug your face close to his, you swore you saw a psychotic glint in his eyes for a brief moment.

But then it shifts, panic flooding his irises.

“Wait, what the fuck? What the fuck?” He repeated in shock, eyes shooting wide as he withdrew his hand immediately as if he snapped out of something, scrambling back in fear and falling off the bed.

You cough up a few breaths, rubbing your chest as you take in the air.

“Did I hurt you? I'm sorry. Are you okay? I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I would never do that. I love you. I really do. I would never hurt you. I just can't get back—” He freaks out, eyeballs shaking as he trembles, rambling off on his own, he's staring at his trembling hands in shock, as if he couldn't believe what he had done— before he blinks, and stops trembling. An eerie calm washes over him again when he lifts his gaze to meet yours. He looks at you for a moment tilting his head sideways.

He climbs back into the bed again. “I love you so much.” He whispers, grabbing your face with his hands gently, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek as you stare at him traumatized.

You were seconds away from breaking down.

Yuta pulls you into a hug, caressing the back of your head, you didn't know he would break this badly, you genuinely wonder if there was no other way to bring him back to normal. You were pretty sure the spell was beginning to cloud his logical judgement as well.

Though it was far from the truth, you began believing in it.

Yuta's voice breaks you away from your thoughts.

“I-I feel like you don't love me as much as I do.” He stutters breathlessly. “Am I just some decision you made on a whim? Did you really want to date me? Do you even love me?”

The question causes your brain to recall the words that the one wish willow representative uttered.

‘Just because it was an accident doesn't make it any less real.’

You pull away from the hug, staring into Yuta's eyes, noticing the pain in them. He was the one suffering the consequences of your actions.

This yuta loves you a lot, he was altered just to love you, madly.

You have a moral obligation to be there for him, whether you want it or not.

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry for saying that you don't love me.” You apologize to him, acknowledging that this Yuta's love is real, and that it definitely hurt him when you uttered the earlier words, he looks at you, expression softening as he caresses your cheeks.

“It's okay.” The corners of his mouth lift up.

He closes the distance between you suddenly, pressing his lips against yours. You were caught off guard by him as you tried to push him away, but he didn't budge, instead his hands snake around you and pull you closer.

He pushes you down on the bed, your back hits the mattress and you're pressed to it by his weight as he gets on top of you. You try to move your head and break away from the kiss, but he refuses to let go and resorts to biting your lip to prevent you from turning your face away.

It hurts so you just let him continue kissing you and hoping he'd be done with just that.

But then you feel his hand tug on your bottoms, making you snap your eyes open.

You grab his wrist trying to prevent him from pulling them down, but he yanks away your hand, breaking free from it and immediately ripping them apart, you whine, trying to wiggle underneath him while he's still kissing you.

You feel the cool hit you down there, as he tears the fabric and throws it to the side, his hand cupping your cunt. You use both your hands to grab him now, yet he still doesn't let go.

He makes some space, plopping onto the side to make it more comfortable and accessible, but you use that to scoot away, only for him to drag you and hold you in place.

He breaks the kiss, “Stop.” He had the audacity to warn you. But before you could say anything, he captures your lips again, preventing you from speaking. He suckles on your bottom lip before licking it and pushing his tongue inside you.

Regardless of his warning, you grip tightly onto his wrist but it isn't enough to stop. You let out an involuntary gasp when you feel his cool finger dip between your pads and into your folds, your grip falters.

Yuta pulls away from the kiss to catch his breath, pressing his forehead against yours as he stares into your eyes. He was panting heavily while looking at you, his fingers slowly rubbing your clit.

“Please, I need this.” He whimpers, his voice shaking like he was recovering from a high. You try to speak but you can only let out a small squeak when you feel his finger prod at your entrance.

He's scooping the wetness that was leaking from down there, bringing it upwards to your clit before rubbing it slowly, he repeated the movements like he was under a spell, coating your folds with your wetness.

“You also need this.” He gently kisses your forehead as if he's trying to hypnotise you, now fully focusing on massaging your bundle of nerves to disrupt your thinking process.

You feel arousal rise in between your legs, you bite your lip, trying to fight the feeling but the stimulation followed by Yuta peppering kisses along your jaw makes your brain melt. You need to push him off, especially when you know he's not in control of his body, what if Yuta doesn't want this? You were about to move away but then you felt Yuta's finger dip downwards, his pauses at your entrance for a second before he slowly pushes his finger in. You let out a sigh at the sensation, his warm digit slipped in and out slowly, stretching you out patiently before he inserted another finger.

Your cunt contracted around his digits as if it's trying to suck him in completely, Yuta's mouth parts open in awe as he stares downwards and feels the way your walls are gripping his fingers. He bites his lip, wondering how tightly you'll cling on to his cock if he was inside you.

He pumps his fingers with precision and technique, fingers pressing to your upper wall, maintaining the pace all while trying to feel the one spot that should elicit a reaction out of you.

All while he's searching for that, he presses his thumb against your clit, applying pressure on it simultaneously. You almost see stars when he does so. You felt yourself burn with desire, mind becoming cloudy as Yuta slowly peeled away the layers of your resistance.

He used his free hand to push up your top, fondling your breasts through the bra before he pulled it down. Your nipples pebbled up naturally when they met the cool air of the night, his soft thumb grazed over them, toying and playing with your nipples as if they were his entertainment.

He tugged on one of your nipples before twisting it gently— causing you to shiver visibly.

Why was his touch so addictive?

You wanted to pull yourself out of it, but you couldn't, not when his fingers were thrusting in and out of you, not when he's toying with your nipples, and especially not when he finally finds your sweet spot, that caused you to let out a choked gasp.

You whined, throwing your head back in pleasure as his fingers repeatedly hit your g-spot. You felt your entire body getting even more hotter than before, hands gripping the sheets below in anticipation.

Yuta observed your reaction with a smirk on his face, loving every second of it as he maintained the steady rhythm, now precisely hitting your sensitive spot with a lot of accuracy.

Your high toppled over unexpectedly due to Yuta's consistent effort, causing your body to convulse as your walls clenched around him, shuddering around his finger while you moaned, arching your back while you almost went blind. You heaved in a heavy breath.

The bliss of your orgasm settled over you, you watched Yuta pull his fingers out before slowly giving them a lick, closing his eyes in pleasure as he tasted your tangy essence, he sucked on his own fingers like his life depended on it.

He lets his fingers go with a wet ‘pop’ before he looks at you.

The cloud of bliss quickly fades when the clarity settles in much harder after your orgasm, the reality of what just happened. You shoot up from the bed, trying to push him away and escape him but he grabs your wrist before you could fully leave and pushes you back down again, pinning you to the bed.

“Where are you escaping to, huh?” He questions, holding you down tightly as you struggle underneath.

“Yuta, We can't do this!” You protest, twisting your wrists to try and escape his grasp.

“Why not? Is having sex with me that disgusting in your perspective?” He grips you tighter.

You don't know how you can ever explain it to him, the outburst from earlier made you fear for your life.

And it's all your fault.

Yuta’s freed your wrists before he's tearing at your bra, trying to get you fully naked in front of him, he grabs it really roughly before yanking it away.

You try to use your legs to kick him off, but Yuta straddles them, using his weight to pin you down and prevent you from escaping him, meanwhile he too undresses. He grabs the hem of his shirt before pulling it over his head as he takes it off himself. Leaving him topless in front of you.

He presses you down with one of his hands while he gets off your legs in order to take his pants off before quickly assuming the same position again.

“Always wanted to embrace you like this.” He whispers before he lays on top of you, pulling you flush against him, he buries his face in your neck while he feels every part of him make contact with you. He sighs into your ear.

“You're so warm.”

You struggle beneath his weight.

He pushes one knee between your legs, using it to force your leg to the side as settles himself down between your legs. You go completely still when you feel his bare crotch rub against yours.

You feel his crotch press up against you, squishing against your cunt while his stiff cock twitches at your lower abdomen, and then he begins to move— pressing and rubbing himself against you, his satisfactory sighs feel warm against your ear while he humps you like an animal.

He reels himself to his knees, sitting back as he holds your legs open, admiring the front view before he lifts off slightly, grabbing the underside of your thigh before pushing your leg towards your chest as he lines himself against your entrance.

There is a humming ache in your thighs at the position, sending prickling tingles throughout your entire leg as it stretches uncomfortably. You feel his tip press against your hole before he leans forward, throwing your legs over his shoulder as he places his hands next to your head.

His cock slowly inches in, pushing into you in a controlled manner, your cunt welcomes him, the orgasm from earlier and wetness aiding him with a struggle-free entry.

You see him visibly shiver as he stares at you from above, biting his lip.

“Awh, fuck baby,” He curses, shutting his eyes close as he bottoms out.

You lay there, just staring at him now, the fight has left your body as you just accepted your fate, struggling was futile and only exhausted you out— besides, Yuta already made up his mind.

He opened his eyes again, the corners of his mouth lifted up slightly as he shot you a gentle smile. He withdrew his hips slowly before he thrust with a harsh force that made you wince.

His lips parted in awe at the sensation as he set the pace, ramming his dick in and out of you. He quickly grabbed a hold of your hands once again, intertwining yours with his as he moaned.

“Been wanting to do this— hah, for a while now.” He speaks, panting as he moves from above. “Do you know how many nights I spent beating my cock to the thought of you?” He grunts, staring at you from above.

“Many, I wanted to make a move but I was too fucking scared, but I'm glad you're mine now. I'm so glad I could finally do this to you.” He pressed a kiss to your cheek.

You furrow your brows in both confusion and pleasure, wondering if it is Yuta's true memories speaking or the deluded ones this version made up.

If it was the actual Yuta you were with right now— you'd be blushing at those words. And that Yuta would never force you to have sex with him and would wait until you were ready to do it. He wouldn't torment you every day by doing creepy things.

But it wasn't him.

The person above you, doing this to you isn't him.

This is why you wanted to avoid it after the phone call, but ultimately failed. Yuta was not the one in control of his own autonomy and by extension, sex with you would also be something he probably wouldn't want at the moment.

“I wanted this so badly, craved it everyday I was with you. I love you so much.” He whispers, casting the air of warm breath.

‘No you don't.’ You wanted to reply.

But then another realisation hit you, that made your gut churn with even more guilt.

The assumption that Yuta did not want this made you realise that he probably doesn't want to force himself on you either. This entire situation is happening because of the wish.

You stare up at Yuta's blissed out expression as you feel him invade your walls, mind spinning when you realise what your actions were making him do to you.

Everything was your fault.

You made him do this to you— even if it was an accident, the consequences were very real.

Your thoughts only spiral further as you continue to stare at him but then they come to an abrupt end when he hits brushes against your sweet spot, it makes you gasp, your body slowly gets hotter and hotter as heat and arousal travels all across it. You shouldn't be feeling this way, especially with the way your emotions are all over the place. But you had no control over any of the reactions.

What made it worse is the fact that your conscious and subconscious are fighting, one accepting it and the other one making you feel guilty.

And the way he's rocking above you, hair all disheveled while he's gasping and letting out soft moans as he's completely losing himself in you made the dilemma worse.

The bed creaks with a rhythm, filling the gap in between Yuta’s moans with a squeak. The headboard slams into the wall, hard thuds echoing in the room.

You were sure it might leave a dent.

You tighten your lips, pressing them into a line to prevent the also lewd noises from escaping you, a form of resistance especially with the way he made you feel.

His tip smooched your cervix with every thrust, and it just dawned on you how big he was.

Yuta narrows his eyes, letting out a disappointed sigh when he catches you holding back your moans, one of his hands comes up to your face, thumb tugging on your chin to free your lips that you pressed together.

And when he does free them, he caresses your lips, pushing a thumb between them, making you open your mouth.

“Let me hear you.” He mutters.

But you only cry, feeling the guilt crashing down on you with immense pressure that suffocated you. The constant voice in the back of your brain telling you that it's your fault, blaming yourself for the wish you made, and the way Yuta was looking at you so lovingly from above was the final straw, especially when you convinced yourself that he didn't want it.

Yuta is taken aback by your cries, but he doesn't stop, but instead only changes his pace into a slower one while hushing you.

“Shh, it's okay. It's too big right? It won't hurt once you get used to me.” He caresses your cheek, believing the cause of your crying to be all because he's too big.

You couldn't respond properly.

“I'll be gentle, okay? See, I've slowed my pace. It won't hurt, baby. I don't want to hurt you.” His gaze softened.

“Just don't deny me okay? It hurts when you do that. I promise it'll get better eventually. I cannot live without you. Please don't tell me you don't want this again.” His voice shakes with emotion, turmoil forming in his eyes at just the thought of you rejecting him. It made you feel like a criminal of some sort.

You had every right to reject him, it's a fundamental right. But the Yuta you wished for doesn't know anything and doesn't care for it cause all he knows is to love you, albeit in his own selfish way. And you can never truly place the blame on one person in this situation, knowing you were just as guilty, if not more guilty than Yuta because you were the cause of this.

Your hand reaches up to him, thumb gently touching his cheek as you trace his cheekbone.

“I'm sorry. It's all my fault.” You apologize.

Yuta looks at you in confusion but leans into your touch.

But he stops.

He stops moving his hips, and the trembling gaze returns again as he stares at you beneath him, taking in the way your hair was splayed all across the pillow and the way tears were streaming down your face as you looked at him with sadness.

He tries to pull out from you in a panic, but your cunt clenches around him at that exact moment that causes him to collapse onto his elbows as he buries his face in your neck.

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.” He chants as he begins to move his hips again, his moans becoming louder than before. “I don't want to do this to you— but I can't pull out— no won't let me pull out.” He croaks.

“Please tell me you want this. Please. I want you too. I want you so bad.” He cries while bucking against you.

You wrap your arounds around his shoulder, embracing him.

Your heart couldn't bear to watch him break like this constantly, overwhelmed by emotions due to your carelessness.

“I want this.” You softly whisper, caressing the back of his head.

You feel him press a soft kiss to your neck.

“I want you to remember, even if I'm like this. I do indeed love you. I want this. I want to fuck you. But I want you to want me too. It might not be me, but I love you.” His shoulders soften as he melts into you.

You pause.

“What? What do you mean it might not be you?” You voiced with concern, which made Yuta pull himself back onto his arms again, looking at you directly. He opens his mouth to speak, but you see his face visibly change. It suddenly became more uncanny.

He doesn't elaborate further and instead leans down and captures your lips in a hungry kiss as if he was mad at something. He moves them with such fervor and hunger that it's hard to keep up. His tongue slips into your mouth easily while his hand roams all over your body, groping your tits really roughly.

His pace changes too, now becoming more rough and faster as you cling onto him, hands placed on his firm shoulders as you try to process what he meant.

But it's difficult to do so when he's rocking you up and down and kissing you really roughly.

“Mhm fuck, I love you.” He rasped against your lips before kissing you again.

You too were letting out noises now, the lewd sounds of skin slapping against one another fills up the room, followed by the way you're both now gasping and moaning, his dick drove you crazy, making you forget any prior thoughts you had.

You felt your lower abdomen tighten as you concentrated on it, the way his cock is hitting every inch inside you, his hands on your tits and his intoxicating kiss and the desire to come undone clouded your judgement.

And then it snapped, the tight knot in your stomach split, sending pleasure signals across your body as the endorphin and serotonin released from your brain, causing you to get lost in the moment as you held Yuta tightly against you.

Yuta grunted at the way he felt your pussy contract around him, he broke the kiss and trailed multiple smooches down your neck as his hips faltered as well, unable to hold himself back anymore.

He almost collapsed on top of you when his orgasm hit him, but he held himself up as he pushed his cock deeper before he went completely still, his hips bucked lightly as his cock released his semen so deep inside you.

It splattered all over inside you and directly against your cervix, drenching it in his spend as he came a lot.

You felt your cunt ache from overstimulation, since you just came back to back.

Yuta slowly pulls out, his cock becoming flaccid all while you feel his cum leak from inside you. He topples over to the side, falling onto the pillow with a satisfied hum as he catches his breath.

“That was amazing.” He says before turning to face you, softly caressing your cheek as his hand travels downwards towards your chest, he passes by it and instead stops at your waist. He wraps his arm around, pulling you closer by it.

He rests his head on your shoulder after giving a kiss to you. Exhaustion overwhelms him and he slowly drifts off.

You, however, are wide awake.

You swallow the lump in your throat as you stare at the ceiling, minutes pass by with thoughts clouding your brain again.

You unwrap his arms from around you, slowly getting up and grabbing clothes from the closet before putting them on, being careful not to make a noise in order to not wake him up.

This is the second time you'd be sneaking out, you hope he doesn't wake up like the last time.

‘As long as you're alive.’

You hear those words again.

You make up your mind, feeling way too guilty after what happened and turn to leave the room.

“[Name].”

You still.

You slowly turn on your feet, facing Yuta, expecting him to be awake and bombard you with questions about where you're going.

But you're taken aback when you see him laying there, still asleep.

Did you mishear him?

“[Name], it's me, Yuta.” Your eyes widened, not knowing if this was just him playing tricks or actually the real Yuta who finally broke through.

You teared up at the realisation that he was probably still in there, just unable to get his body back.

“Yuta? Is it actually you? Yuta? Please, I'm so sorry.” You whisper, voice shaking with emotion.

“Yes, it's me. I don't know what happened to me, I can't get back my control, and I'm putting you through hell.” His voice wavers “I didn't mean to force you into it. I'm sorry.” He apologizes.

“I know, Yuta.” You reply softly. “It's all my fault, I didn't think the wish was real.”

“What do you mean? What wish?” He asks.

You tell him everything that happened, from how you got the one wish willow, to how you accidentally broke it, and how you didn't believe it at first but now fully do, because the situation currently is the proof of it being real.

Yuta went quiet, you panicked, thinking he lost control.

“You didn't know. It's okay.” He answered after a while, you shook your head.

“No, no, it doesn't matter if I didn't know. I should've been more careful. I wished for a cursed thing.”

Yuta goes quiet again after that, he just hummed.

“But I still love you.” He breaks the silence.

“I tried so hard to snap back, I even did it multiple times but I cannot gain full control— maybe if I resist harder, I can break out of it.” He speaks.

“You were able to snap back?” You question, unaware that it was actually happening. But then it made sense, the brief moments where Yuta's expression would be of panic, and how sometimes he behaved way too differently. You thought the split personality was just him being weird due to the wish.

But no, it was the real Yuta snapping in and out.

“Yes, I think I'll gain full control back if i—”

“No you cannot.” You cut him off, swallowing a lump in your throat.

“You're under a spell out by me Yuta, you cannot undo it. Unless…” You trail off, wondering if it's something you should tell him.

“Unless?” His voice asks back.

“You cannot return back as long as I am alive.”

The room goes still, like it was holding its breath at the revelation. Yuta doesn't say anything for a long time, but he could sense something was off.

“Where are you headed off to?” He suddenly questions, too concerned about you than himself.

“I'm going out for a walk.” You lie, quickly turning on your heel and taking steps out of the bedroom.

“No, no, no, [name]. Get back here, no there might be another way. Please don't do that to yourself. Please, please. I cannot lose you. Please.” Yuta pleads, immediately seeing through your lie. He cannot move, because the other version Yuta was still asleep so he can only plead.

You lock the bedroom door, muffling his pleas that made you more guilty before you went inside your bathroom.

You looked at the broken bathroom door for a moment before stepping further inside and searching the cabinets for your grandma's medicine. You grew frustrated each minute, looking at the labels for all the bottles she had, desperately searching for the one you needed.

Then you heard a loud bang against your bedroom door, the door rattling and shaking as you heard Yuta's monstrous screams.

Your hands shook as adrenaline pumped through you, you scanned the shelves quickly before finding what you wanted and grabbing the bottle.

You needed to be quick.

You struggled with opening the cap, wondering why it was tightened so much, and your hands being shaky didn't help in the slightest either.

Just then, the bedroom door breaks open, and at the same time, the bottle pops open. You quickly collect a bunch of them, emptying the bottle into your hand just as Yuta spotted your silhouette in the bathroom and he ran towards you in a frenzy.

You tried to be quicker, to make sure you ingest the pills but Yuta reaches you by then, grabbing your hand before you could put the pills in your mouth and twisting it away from your face cruelly.

You wince in pain, hand reflexively letting go of the pills, they drop to the floor and scatter everywhere. His grip on your wrist was painful, fingers digging into your flesh as he looked at you with what you could describe as sheer disappointment with a touch of insanity.

He tugged you out of the bathroom, dragging you out forcefully as you tried to stay planted, you hissed feeling his nails bite into your skin, tears forming in your eyes at the pain.

He uses force and yanks you to the front before letting you go, you stumble forward and lose your balance, falling to the floor with a thud right in front of him.

He kneels down grabbing you by your face.

“Is being with me that horrible?” He asked. “Tell me, please tell me what I can do to fix it. Just don't resort to this, we'll find another way to fix everything okay?.” He squeezed your face, mushing your cheeks together.

“You cannot leave me like this, not when I finally fucking have you.” He grit his teeth.

“I don't mind being stuck—” He then abruptly stops.

And then,

He yawns all of a sudden, blinking his eyes slowly.

“Baby? What happened? Why are you on the floor?” His pupils became blown out as his eyes widened slowly as if he just woke up, he looked around, assessing the situation and realising you were a complete mess before he quickly picked you up, before taking you back into your bedroom.

What is going on?

“How did we end up on the floor but are you okay? Was I sleep walking?” He asked you, gently placing you down on the bed.

“Yuta?” You question, your mind too confused to understand what was happening, is this the real Yuta currently speaking to you?

“Mhm?” He looked at you, waiting for you to speak.

“Nothing.” You cut the conversation short.

Yuta tucks you into bed, wrapping his arms extremely tightly around you this time, to make sure there is no chance of you leaving. He falls back asleep, as if nothing happened.

As if he couldn't recall anything.

Your eyes close on their own as your body enters a state of tiredness, your fight or flight state calming down but also taking your energy with it. You shut your eyes.

“I don't mind being stuck like this forever if it means I can have you.”

You catch Yuta's voice right before you fall deep into your slumber.

❀❀❀❀❀

You wake up feeling horrible the next day, feeling more tired and exhausted rather than relaxed. Your body felt stiff as you tried to move, muscles aching as they contracted. You stared to the side where Yuta should be, but it was empty, just a dent left behind from where he slept. You quickly get up, recalling everything from last night.

It didn't feel real at all.

The fact that Yuta was still in there?

You needed to break him out and save him.

You get up off your bed, noticing that the broken door of the bedroom had been completely removed, same with the bathroom door.

You sighed, realising you might need to call someone to fix it later.

But for now, your focus is on Yuta.

You take baby steps into the living room, you see Yuta there, sitting on the sofa and watching the TV, he also had two plates on the table in front of it. He spots you and gives you a quick smile.

“Come, I made breakfast.” He urges you, which you awkwardly obey.

You hated this.

The way he pretends everything is normal while you're left with a heavy feeling in your chest.

You sit on the sofa next to him and grab your plate, you scan for weird translucent and sticky stuff before deciding it is safe to eat. Yuta chuckles at your behavior.

“Don't worry, I didn't cum in it. I don't need to anymore.” He blushes, recalling the events of last night. You look away, feeling self conscious for some reason.

You began consuming the said breakfast while trying to watch the show, but you couldn't focus due to Yuta's intense staring in your direction.

You needed to get the original Yuta back, you can't have him suffer like this anymore. You finish your breakfast quickly and get up to put the plates away.

Yuta continues to watch you, not taking his eyes off you as come back from the kitchen and then you go into your bedroom, searching for the phone Yuta discarded. You found it on the floor, you quickly grabbed it, unlocked it, and opened a search engine to try and see where you could get more one wish willows.

You quickly make your way into the living room, Yuta still sitting on the sofa and continuing to stare at you as you approach him.

“Yuta— I'll be going out. I'll be quick okay?” You tell him.

“Let me come with you.” He gets up, stepping forward.

“No. Just stay home okay? Don't go anywhere, or else I'll be really uh— mad.” You cut him off, pushing him back down onto the sofa.

He pouts, eyes glistening with tears as he holds your wrists. “Okay… Please don't be mad at me.” He replies, voice all down and sad. You nod, cupping his face and pressing a kiss to forehead to pass it off as something genuine, so he doesn't go batshit insane like last night.

“I love you, okay? I love you a lot.” You affirm, staring into his eyes, he looks away feeling shy, blood rushing to his cheeks at your affection.

“I love you too.” He murmurs back before looking up at you again, giving you a small smile.

“I'll go now, see ya.” You step back, waving a goodbye to which he returns the gesture.

You quickly step outside, hurrying to your car as you enter the location of the shop the search engine showed you.

The drive there felt like hours even though it was just a few minutes away, your mind was occupied with events of last night and every situation that led to this.

Why did you even say such a thing out loud back then? Especially when you didn't fully know if it would work? You shouldn't have picked the thing the stranger dropped, you should've thrown it away, you shouldn't have gone to the bar that night—

Your mind spirals, scattering everywhere as it comes up with multiple scenarios that could've prevented this, everything seemed like your fault.

You felt a sense of doom when you reached the occult shop, you quickly parked your car and rushed into the shop, going up to the cashier in a panic.

“Uh hey, hi, do you have the one wish willows here? you know? the kind you snap?” You ask in a hurry and he looks confused which makes you panic, thinking they might not have it.

If they don't have it here, you’d have to go to another shop which is an hour drive from where you were, you were scared what Yuta might do if he sees that you're gone for longer than necessary.

“Oh yeah, there's one left. Right over here.” He points to the side, showing the display that had them.

You let out a sigh of relief before grabbing it and paying for it. You quickly open it, a melody breaking through the air, the same one that played on that night, now it seemed more haunting.

“I wish for my previous wish to be undone.” You say out loud before you try to break it.

But it doesn't snap, you use more force, but it still doesn't break.

The cashier looks at you for a moment.

“You can only make one wish.” He says, eyes flickering between the willow and you.

You hand it over to him when you quickly register what he said.

“Can you break it for me? I found myself in such a shitty situation, I think I've ruined a person— just repeat after me please, I need to save him.” You nudge the willow to him, he shakes his head.

“I can't, I already made my wish.” He says regretfully.

Fuck.

You let out an annoyed sigh before you take the willow back and leave the shop in a hurry.

You need to find someone who can undo this wish.

Maki? No, you cannot face her like this.

And then, an idea enters your mind.

You could pay a stranger to do it.

You look around trying to find a stranger who could make the wish for you, before you quickly spot one. You rush up to the lady.

“Hi, excuse me— can you take this and repeat after me and then break it? I'll give you 100 bucks if you do it. Please.” You request, the stranger looks taken aback and distrustful at first but then you mention the money to which her eyes light up, she quickly grabs the stick.

“I don't know what this is, but money is money. You better keep your promise, I hope this isn't some voodoo shit.” She narrows her eyes. “Go ahead, tell me what I'm supposed to repeat.”

Your eyes light up.

“Just say, ‘I wish for [full name]’s wish to be undone and everything to return to normal.’ Okay?” You blink, swallowing a lump in your throat.

She nods, repeating after you and snapping the willow.

You stay there for a few moments, hoping that everything is reversed now, the only way to confirm it is to go home and check.

“Where's the money?” The lady makes you snap out, you nod, quickly sending her 100 bucks digitally. She gives you a satisfied smile before she waves a goodbye.

You get back in your car and drive home, thinking about how you're going to apologize to Yuta for causing all this.

You were so thankful you had the thought of buying another one wish willow and undoing the wish— though you couldn't do it yourself, it still would've undid everything, right?

You reach your house after a few minutes, you lock your car before rushing into your house, only to see Yuta still sitting in the same spot, watching TV. He lights up when he sees you.

“Where did you go?” He asks, tilting his head to the side before he gets up and walks over to you and pulls into a hug.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent.

“I missed you.” He whispers, warm breath cascading down your neck.

You are frozen, mind reeling as you question the situation. You pull away from the hug wondering if anything changed.

“Yuta, how do you feel?” You inquire, doubt clouding your mind.

But he lifts you up all of a sudden, throwing you over his shoulder as he takes you to the bedroom.

“Free.” He replies after he settles you down on the bed.

“I-i finally have control of my body now.” He adds, “What did you do?” He questions, climbing up the bed, you back away slowly.

“Well, it doesn't matter now. Sorry you had to see that side of me. It seemed like my restraints completely broke free because of the wish you made, and I couldn't control them enough to not scare you. But don't worry, I'll be in control now.” Your eyes widen when you see the same psychotic smile etched onto his face.

What?

“Don't worry, everything will be okay now, my love. I'm so thankful you made that wish, like I said before— you didn't have to bring me back, I wouldn't mind staying stuck if it means you won't leave me.” He leans in, pressing his forehead to yours.

“But I understand, the side of me without any restraint can be too much to handle. I'll be careful.” He smooches your eyes. “I don't want to hurt you in the process, you know?”

“Anyway I'm glad, it's finally my turn now.” He whispers before pressing his lips against yours and pushing you into the mattress.

“I can't wait to love you like you deserve. You'll forgive me right? Please? I love you, I promise not to hurt you or put you through emotional turmoil this time.” He mutters staring into your eyes with a lot of love pouring from him, you brain could barely form any thought at his words, at the reveal that everything you experienced was a personality of his without any restraints.

What the actual fuck?

Yuta was madly in love with you since the beginning, your wish— was just a mere catalyst.

-

Surprisingly, Megumi's support didn't end there. The next day your favorite boba order was on your desk in Gojo's class. There was no note along with it, but you didn't need one. Out of the corner of your eye you could see Megumi studying your reaction. You punch the straw through the top and take a sip before turning to him. Mouthing a silent 'thank you' as you fiddled with the straw wrapper. Megumi barely even twitched, just turned his attention back to Gojo teaching at the front of the class.

Later that day he also conveniently had your favorite snack waiting for you in his pocket, handing it to you after you had finished sparing with him. "Is this a sorry for kicking my ass?" you joke with him, slightly out of breathe and dewy with sweat.

"If that makes you happy, then sure," he shrugs, eyes watching as you unwrap the treat and take a bite. "S'good?"

"Delicious," you nod, taking another quick bite. You cover your mouth, acutely aware of him watching you scarf it down. While you had a crush on Yuji from the moment you met him, there was still no denying that Megumi was attractive. Almost intimidatingly so, and watching you eat with such intensity was more than a little nerve-wrecking. Your face felt hot, and not just from the workout you got. "Thanks," you say simply after you swallow your last bite and he nods, holding out his hand. You stare at it questioningly and he flicks his fingers while looking at the wrapper. You hesitantly place it in his palm and his fists close around it, pocketing it before walking away.

His treatment of you stayed the same for weeks to come. He'd always have exactly what you were craving on hand, stealing glances at you in class to make sure you were alright. You were incredibly appreciative, albeit a little confused but perhaps you two were a closer than you originally thought. Which you didn't mind at all, in fact it felt like quite the honor to have Megumi care about you.

You thought his newly found attention, if that was even the right word, reached its absolute max one night when Yuji and Todo began bickering in the group chat, arguing about who knew what girls liked best after Todo's most recent failed date. Turns out, girls aren't really impressed with a guy who brags about his immense knowledge on the Japanese idol Nobuko Takada… who would've thought.

Yuji of course had to rub his own successful relationship in Todo's face, telling him the obvious "don't talk to girls about other girls. i would know, i have one." You didn't even realize you were biting the inside of your cheek until your mouth started to taste like pennies. You scrunch your nose up, about to throw your phone out your dorm window when a new message popped up.

"You both are useless idiots. Stop blowing up the group chat with this stupid shit."

You couldn't fight the laugh that left you as a series of text messages appeared.

"You go a whole month without texting in here and this is what you say when you come back??" You could practically hear Yuji whining as you read his message.

"What do you even know about women? Can't tell me his type but can tell me I'm an idiot"

The messages devolve into empty insults and inside jokes, completely moving on from the original topic and you know Megumi had done that on purpose. Yuji was right, he almost never texted. Let alone two full sentences. You quickly slid over to his chat, sending him a "thank you" which he thumbs up almost immediately.

-

Ok, so you were wrong. His attention for you climaxed when he asked if you wanted to see the new Human Earthworm movie with him. His hand scratched the back of his head waiting for your response while you just about spit up your soda.

"I thought you hated those movies," you choke out, barely recovering.

"Yeah well, I know Yuji and you were planning on seeing it together…" he says like the obvious conclusion would be that he would now take you.

"T-thank you," you swallow harshly, all too aware of his dark eyes watching your every movement. "You don't have to do that though," you start.

"Well I want to," he says and his eyes go wide, like he said something he shouldn't have and he clears his throat. "We don't have to."

"I mean.. if you're offering," your eyes are glued to the speck of dirt on your shoe as he nods. He confirms a time that works for you and then walks away, black hair disappearing back to where Yuji and Panda were chatting. You felt frozen in time, listening to the hum of the vending machine beside you as you watch him join them, confused yet excited nonetheless.

- Unfortunately, the time you both agreed on no longer worked as Megumi was sent on a solo mission the next day. Before he left he stopped by your dorm room, uniform neat and hair messy in its usual contained way. He towered above you without even trying, swallowing thickly as he promised that he'd watch the movie with you when he came back. You promised you'd wait for him in return. He let out a shaky sigh before saying goodbye, turning to leave for an undetermined amount of time. The days that passed were slow and uneventful without Megumi. You hadn't realized just how vital he was in preventing a total breakdown. But, being stuck with no one but Yuji and Nobara to entertain you left you stuck in your old ways; yearning for Yuji while knowing he liked someone else. Only now they were together and you had to sit and listen to Yuji sharing every detail of his relationship — even some of the more intimate ones.

"I can't believe I went this long without knowing what head feels like," Yuji shared while the three of you were on a snack run. Your eyes just about popped out of their sockets and Nobara howled with laughter.

"Good for you," she said, patting his shoulder, "but never say that shit around me again." You nodded in agreeance, trying to fight the urge to rip your skin off while Yuji looked into the distance, clearly reminiscing. Nobara grimaced, flicking his forehead to bring him back to earth.

Thankfully that was as bad as it got, but you still had to quite the time fighting off that image in your head later that night. It started off with you picturing yourself between his thighs, Yuji looking down at you with his big brown eyes, anxiously awaiting your mouth on his package. You could practically feel your mouth watering at the thought of him heavy on your tongue, your hand instinctively traveling beneath your pajamas as you continued to picture it. He'd be so gentle, helping you slide down his pants, and then his boxers, his long length springing out and dangling dangerously in front of you. You'd follow the thick vein you imagined he had on the underside of him, trailing your tongue up his shaft to his tip. He'd grab your hair, but not roughly. Never roughly. "Keep going," he'd sigh, eyes droopy now as you begun to swallow his tip. He'd tighten his grip just slightly, pleading with you. Letting you know just how good of a job you were doing. In your bed, your fingers find your clit, rubbing slow, tight circles while you imagine taking all of him in your mouth. He'd probably groan, rough and deep like he does when he gets injured and your entrance clenches around nothing. Your mouth feels dry as you drag your fingers in between your folds, losing yourself to your imagination. Wetness trickles out of you, coating your digits as you get more into it. Would he eventually fuck your throat if you teased him enough? Imaging Yuji taking you fast and rough always did it for you. Your fingers sped up, panting as the Yuji in your head told you that you take his cock beautifully. You're close. Ridiculously close as his dick twitches in your throat. "Fuck, I'm cumming, Ozawa," he says and you freeze. Realization hits you like a truck and you rip your hand from your pants. You run your other hand through your hair, cursing yourself. Even in your fantasies Yuji wants Ozawa.

You're so fucked.

-

When Megumi finally comes back you can't help but run to catch up to him, pulling him into a tight hug. He stumbles back at first, arms down at his side as he processes what is happening. He slowly embraces you back, awkwardly patting your back. The courtyard feels hotter than usual, muggy and eerily quiet while the two of you stand there. It doesn't take long for you to realize your mistake, pulling back awkwardly. "It's good to see you Megumi," you awkwardly choke out. You turn around to head back inside, only to see Yuji and Nobara looking at you like you just grew three heads. You clear your throat, clenching your fists and keeping your head down as you walk past them — unsure how you're going to explain your reaction to Nobara.

After you all share an awkward dinner together, you head back to your room with Nobara hot on your heels. You try and fail to close the door on her — both of her hands coming up to brace against it.

"What the hell was that?" she asks, not bothering to keep her voice down.

"What was what?" you decide to play dumb.

"You and Megumi," she crosses her arms, eyes squinting at you accusingly.

"I don't know… I just… missed him," you say, your inflection going up at the end so it sounds more like a question than an answer.

"Right…." she responds accusingly. "You… missed him." You nod, burying yourself deeper into the hole you dug yourself. "Is there something you're not telling me?" she accuses.

You cock your head, waiting for her to finish her thought.

"Do you like Megumi?" Your mouth gapes open and you pause for a moment, unsure what to say.

"Of course. He's a good friend," you try bullshitting but Nobara is too quick.

"You know that's not what I meant, dumbass." She frowns at you, clearly annoyed with your lame responses. You shrug, sitting down on your bed to play with one of the loose strings on your blankets.

She stares down at you, clearly unimpressed. "You've been acting so weird. You and Megumi." You don't bother to respond because you both know she's right. Instead you sink back further into your bed, hoping to melt through it. "Whatever," she huffs out, turning to leave and slamming your door. You pull your pillow from behind your head and bury your face in it. You feel terrible for keeping things from her but if you told her what was really going on, you knew she'd feel bad about the whole Yuji situation. Megumi pitying you was embarrassing enough. You didn't need Nobara in the mix. Knowing her, she'd probably break them up herself. You groan, throwing your pillow across the room. Slipping your tennis shoes on, you grab your headphones and decide to go for a much needed walk.

-

You both had kept your promise about the movie. Unfortunately, Human Earthworm was no longer in theaters by the time Megumi came back. Instead, you settled on watching a random movie in his dorm. When you first stepped inside it, you were taken aback at how clean everything was. Aside from a jacket on his desk chair and a few notes you presumed he took in Gojo's class the place was spotless. It also smelled immaculate — crisp sea breeze and sandalwood — did Megumi have a candle hiding in one of his drawers?

You took a seat on his bed as he typed away on his laptop, searching for a movie you'd both enjoy. He somehow managed to make gray sweatpants and a black t shirt look put together and you couldn't help but pick at your pajama pants you've had for years, silently cursing yourself for choosing to wear that pair in front of him. Wait, why did you even care?

"I'm assuming you want to watch a horror movie?" You nodded, sliding closer to him to see what movies he was looking at. Megumi stiffens briefly, hand freezing over the track pad before snapping out of it. He scrolled down Netflix until you saw a movie that looked interesting.

"That one," you pointed and he clicked on it without a second thought. You both tried your best to get comfortable on his twin size bed, but it was quite the effort to avoid touching each other. Eventually you settled in, shoulders just grazing the other's as the movie played. It was a pretty awkward hour and a half between the two of you. Every time you would shift Megumi would tense up, before releasing a shaky breath. He didn't even flinch at jump scares and from his face alone you couldn't tell if he was enjoying it.

"We don't have to watch this…" you started and he shook his head, looking over at you. The only light in his room came from the laptop, the movie creating shadows that danced across his face.

"This is fine." Choosing to drop it, you turn back to the movie, chewing on your lip absentmindedly. As the movie neared its end, Megumi recieved a text. The ding goes off, causing you to jump. He doesn't so much as move, choosing to ignore it until two more dings come through. He opens his phone and you scooch ever so slightly closer to read what's on his screen.

"What's up with you two?"

"Since when did you get so close?"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Three messages from Yuji light up the room and Megumi fumbles to turn his phone off, clearly embarrassed Yuji is asking about you. You let out a chuckle, remembering how Nobara has been absolutely grilling you. Megumi turns to you. It's hard to see in the dark but you can tell he's flustered.

"I'm glad to see you've been dealing with that too," you tell him.

"What do you mean?" He looks down at you, his long lashes fluttering.

"Nobara is a menace," you tell him and when he doesn't respond you elaborate further. "She's been asking about that…" you pause, suddenly feeling hot.

"About?" his deep voice makes you shiver. By this point, the movie has been completely forgotten.

"The hug," you say, swallowing thickly. "Sorry," you shake your head, looking away. Surprisingly, his hand comes up to cup your chin, turning your face to look at him.

"Why do you always look away from me?" he asks, eyes dropping down to look at your mouth before meeting your eyes again.

You're absolutely stun locked, your brain short circuiting at the proximity. You don't think you've ever been this close to Megumi before. His eyes were mesmerizing, dark blue like the ocean at night and you almost hiccuped at the thought. This is the type of school girl shit you usually reserved for Yuji. You lick your lips at the realization, desperate to wet your dry mouth. Megumi follows the movement with his eyes and swallows roughly, like he's having the same problem as you. Before either of you can do anything further a thunderous knock shakes his door.

"Megs!" Yuji shouts and you jump. You both separate quickly when the door knob turns. "You gotta see this video dude," he says, opening the door to see you both looking guilty on his bed. The credits of the movie plays quietly as Yuji stares at you two in silent shock. "Oh sorry…" he starts, beginning to turn back around.

"I was just l-leaving," you tell him, slipping past Yuji and nearly tripping over your own feet to get back to your room.

-

Getting over Yuji felt like a piece of cake compared to what you were dealing with now. Yuji of course told Nobara about the situation he caught you and Megumi in and both of their imaginations had run wild. First it was he caught you two kissing. Then it escalated to getting caught with his hands in your pants. You always had a feeling Yuji was a pervert, and that was something you secretly enjoyed about him. But now, it was too much. Nobara had clung onto the piece of gossip like it was gospel. Jumping at the opportunity to tell the girl's only group chat that Yuji caught Megumi and you — of all people — going to second base. You could only imagine what Yuji was saying in the guy's group chat. You wanted to cry. No, you wanted to throw up. But most of all you wished it was at least true. You were an adult and the sexiest thing you'd done was have intense eye contact with a guy who didn't like you. Life surely had its way of humbling you.

Megumi started to treat you like you were the plague, which landed you in Gojo's office. Begging — no pleading to get sent on a mission. "Out of the country would be preferred," you beg him, about to get on your hands and knees to do it properly.

"Well I can't promise out of the country," he starts.

"Anything will do. Anything," you heave. He fights the smirk creeping on his face as he taps on his desk.

"I was just about to send Megumi to Okinawa…" he muses and you sigh in relief.

"That would be perfect," you tell him and he shoots you a grin.

"Perfect. I'll update the hotel reservation to include two beds." You pause for a second, confused as to what he meant.

"Two beds?" you ask, dumbfounded as your teacher stands up. You crane your neck to look up at him, following him out of the classroom now.

"Well for you and Megumi of course," he says like it was obvious. You stumble as you try to keep up with him, putting in all your effort to get ahead of him.

"No no no… I meant alone," you emphasize the alone part, your throat restricting at the fact you just included yourself in Megumi's mission when that's the last thing he'd want.

"No offense, I can't send you alone," he says simply. Offense was taken, but you continue following him regardless. "Plus, this will be a great learning experience for you. I think this is just what you need," he tells you, fluffing up your hair before disappearing down the hall.

-

"I thought I was going alone," Megumi choked out, standing beside you in Gojo's office.

"Change of plans, 'Gumi," Gojo put simply, chewing on the end of his pen. You squirmed beside him, wishing the ground would swallow you whole as Megumi went through the 5 stages of grief. Gojo watched the two of you in pure amusement, clearly privy to at least some of the rumors. If it wasn't for his infinity you swore you would reach across his desk and choke him out.

Megumi refused to look at you, finally coming to terms with the new mission update. "Ok," he finally accepted. "When are we leaving?"

"Same time. Tomorrow morning. Any other questions?"

Megumi shook his head and Gojo turned to you, awaiting your response.

"No sir," you barely got out.

"Perfect! Safe travels," he sing-songs, dismissing you with a simple wave of his hand.

You both quickly move to leave, bumping into one another in the process.

"You go first," Megumi says gruffly. You nod, opening the door to his office and turning right. You hear Megumi leave shortly after, choosing to turn left down the hallway instead.

- The mission was turning out to be miserable. Not because the curses were particularly difficult or the weather was bad. Quite the opposite, in fact. The sun was shining and the ocean breeze did its job at keeping you cool. It was also obvious that Megumi would have had no problem doing this mission alone, and the guilt ate you up inside. Not only were you basically dead weight, the nights you spent sleeping on the hotel room floor definitely begun to take its toll halfway through.

Of course the hotel had never gotten the updated room request, and the two of you had walked right into a one bedroom suite. Megumi wasted no time arguing with the front desk on the hotel phone and you sat awkwardly on the desk chair waiting for an update. After a couple of minutes Megumi ended the call by slamming the phone down. His hand shot up to run through his hair, clearly stressed. You did your best to ignore how his shirt lifted up in the process, exposing the defined abs he usually hid and instead started to set up a place for yourself on the floor.

"What the hell are you doing?" He asked, watching you drag the comforter off the bed.

"Making my bed," you put simply.

He said your name like it vexxed him, "Don't be stupid, you're taking the bed."

"No I'm not," you put simply, walking up to where he sat on the bed to grab a pillow. He grabbed your wrist, forcing you to stop. "Megumi, I wasn't even supposed to be here. I'm taking the fucking floor," you said like it was final. He sighed, closing his eyes, taking a deep breath and leaning his head back. Clearly not in the mood to argue with you.

"Ok. Fine."

"Thank you," you grunted, finishing your makeshift bed.

-

It was three nights in and a near death experience from your lack of sleep that had Megumi damn near wrestling you into bed. You were no match for his strength especially due to your recent injuries from a curse that almost blew you up if not for Megumi saving you at the very last minute, but you fought him off regardless.

"Megumi get off," you hissed, trying to peel his arms off of your middle as he bear hugged you from behind.

"Lay down then," he grunted, fighting against your wriggling body. You put up quite the fight. Kicking and punching at him, trying anything to get out of his grasp and back to your shitty bed on the floor. If you weren't running on 4 collective hours of sleep you would have died from the close contact between the two of you. He pressed you against his hard abdomen, snaking his long legs around yours to keep you from kicking back at him. "Why are you acting like this?" He asked, his breath hot on your ear. Really, you could ask him the same question. Why the hell was he wasting his time wrestling you to bed?

"Cause this is all my fault," you whined, still trying to free yourself even though you knew it was futile. You could feel him trying to catch his breath now that he finally locked down all your limbs. His chest rising and falling steadily against your back. While he seemed weak you tried to free an arm from his grasp again, awkwardly trying to move it up and around. His own hand slipped, and he desperately reached out to grab it, trying to get you back under control. What neither of you expected was for him to grab your boob in the process. You both stilled, realizing what he did. He didn't waste another second though, reaching for your wrist and locking you back down. You let out a pathetic whine. "Megumi, get off!"

"Go to sleep," he huffed out, tightening his legs around you.

"Why do you even care?" You finally went limp in his arms, deciding to give up.

"Because you almost died, dumbass. You need sleep." He put it so simply you had to laugh, your sleep deprived brain still having difficulties processing just how serious the situation could have been if not for Megumi. It was infuriating, honestly. He was a natural born sorcerer. Skilled and steady and most importantly always expecting the unexpected. It was so frustrating. So so so frustrating. Your chest begins to heave and Megumi tightens around you again, as if he's expecting you to put up another fight. "What do you need to hear?" Megumi begins to plead.

"What the hell does that mean?" you rear up to start another argument.

"Do you need to hear that you scared the shit out of me today? That I could have swore I didn't save you in time. Is that it?" your brain was putty at this point and you blink once. Twice. Three times. You wriggle and Megumi graciously gives you room, allowing you to face him. You try to focus your eyes on his face, the plush feeling of the bed distracting you as your lids kept closing against your will. "Go to sleep," he all but whispered, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear.

-

You woke up to something tickling the back of your head and you instinctively reach around to smack it.

"Ow!" You heard, your eyes struggling to adjust to the dark as you grew more and more coherent. A warm hand on your stomach was the second thing you processed, before everything came crashing down to you.

"Megumi?" you ask and he pulls his arm back, as if he too just realized it was snaked around your waist.

You both sat up, staring at each other. The two of you still in your jujutsu uniforms. As your eyes adjusted to the darkness you could make out his face better, and you almost let out a whimper. His hair was down in his eyes, his cheeks rosy and skin coated in a light sheen of sweat. He looked like sex incarnate and you hated yourself. What happened before you fell asleep hits you like a bus and you realized you two were all but frolicking in bed together. Fully clothed but your mind didn't care. You were totally inexperienced with the opposite sex. Breathing in the same room with them felt like an intimate act at this point. What you and Megumi did was like your version of third base. He was breathing heavily too, staring at you with the same intensity you aimed at him but neither of you made a move. The room felt humid, your clothes felt restricting, and the pooling slick between your legs only heightened how sticky everything felt.

"Oh my god you touched my boob," you spill, unable to keep the memory to yourself as it came hurdling through your mind. Megumi turns white as a ghost at your words.

"I didn't mean to," he groans, dragging his hands through his hair.

"But you did!" you insist and he collapses against the pillow behind him. You sit up further, keeping your attention on him, secretly hoping that if you piss him off enough he'll kick you out of bed. Praying that it would finally relieve you of all the dirty thoughts running through your mind.

"I'm sorry," it comes out quick and it's probably your imagination but he doesn't look apologetic.

"You are?" you ask, a little too quickly.

"What are you getting at?"

"Would you do it again?" That's it. You've officially short circuited Megumi. His mouth drops open, tired eyes now wide open. His eyebrows damn near touching his hairline. You boldly grab his hand and to your surprise he doesn't fight you. Instead he lets you slowly guide it to your chest, eyelashes fluttering as soon as his palm touches your plush breast. You swallow, watching his face intently as you guide his fingers into squeezing it. He lets out a soft groan, taking over and massaging your chest at his own pace. Your nipples harden almost immediately and he doesn't think twice before giving it a little pinch. You moan lightly and he does it again, desperate to hear you make that sound again. Megumi plays with your chest for a while, like he's just happy you allowed him to touch you there. Both hands encapsulating your breast over your shirt. "Take if off," you tell him and he nods, eagerly unbuttoning it. Once it's off he stares at your bra, like he's too scared to ask but you reach around and unclasp it before he even has to. Your breasts hit the cool air and Megumi's tongue immediately reaches out. Licking and suckling on your chest as your head falls back. You're properly wet with his spit and you'd think any other guy would get bored of playing with your tits by now but Megumi is enjoying finding new ways to tease you. Licking and nipping all over as his fingers twiddle with your nipples. "Megumi," you begin, "I need more."

"Anything," he pulls back, like he's ready to give you whatever you ask for.

"I-I don't know what I want," you swallow and Megumi could have died right there. You were perfect for him. Untouched and yet so needy. He pauses for a moment before cupping your cheek and kissing you softly, just like he wanted to do in his bedroom all those nights ago. He leaves soft little pecks, buttering you up as his thumb trails down your throat. You hiccup and he kisses you deeper, his warm lips encompassing yours. He claims you with his mouth, growing desperate as you begin to grind against nothing. He continues to kiss you, his hands working to shimmy your skirt and underwear down your legs. You're left bare in front of him, while he's still fully clothed. You move to pull his shirt off and he helps you, peeling it off of him and throwing it somewhere off the bed. He sits up, guiding you to lay back as he leans over you. He goes back to kissing you, slow and torturous and you're about to say something but then his fingers find your folds and you moan into his mouth. He's meticulous, rubbing slow, sensual circles on your clit. Your hips lift off the bed, unable to hide how needy you were for him. His fingers begin to pick up speed as you whine into his mouth and the room echoes with the sound of his fingers on your wet pussy. You want to hide from embarrassment, appalled at how wet you are but Megumi groans like it's the hottest thing he's heard in his life. You feel the string in your stomach tensing and tightening and you know you're getting close to coming undone. "Meg, Meg," you whine, letting him know that you were close. He slows down, determined to make this last as his fingers find your entrance. He watches you intensely, one finger slowly plunging into you. You think this is the best thing you've ever felt, eyes rolling blissfully back, in awe at how far his finger can go compared to yours. He slowly pulls it out, sitting back to watch the slick that now coats his knuckle.

"Fuck," he breathes out. "You're so wet," he observes, sliding his finger back in just to slowly puuuuuulll it back out. "How far do you want to go?" he asks you, breathing heavily, like he's scared of scaring you.

"All the way," you tell him, savoring the finger that keeps dragging against your walls.

"What about Yuji," he says, watching you intensely.

"What about him? Megumi, you're knuckle deep in my pussy right now," you huff and his shoulders relax, like a heavy weight was just lifted off them. He buries his finger even deeper in you, knocking at your g-spot and you think you see stars. "R-Right there," you plead, toes curling as his other hand comes up to rub your clit. "I won't last like this," you warn him, unable to fight a heady moan from leaving your lips. After a few more torturous seconds he pulls his finger out, plopping it into his mouth and sucking on it before undoing his pants.

You did not expect the monster he pulls out. Impossibly long length slapping against his toned stomach and your mouth dries. As if he senses your hesitancy, he offers to go back to what he was doing. You shake your head, begging him to keep going.

He settles between your thighs, stroking his dick slowly, gathering some of your juices to slather on his length. "Tell me if it's too much, okay?" he whispers and you nod, bracing for his cock. He lines it up against your entrance, tip pushing past the initial ring of resistance. You feel full just from this, sucking in a deep breath as he slowly inches his way further and further into you. It's not until he's nestled deep inside of you that you let out the breath you've been holding. Megumi squeezes your hips, like the process was difficult for him too. "Am I good to move?" he asks and you shake your head, needing to adjust to him inside of you. He obeys, staying perfectly still despite everything inside of him screaming to feel the drag of your walls. You clench around him and he bows forward, collecting himself as you keep squeezing and releasing him. "Stop doing that," he begs, trying his best to behave.

"I can't help it," you whimper, your walls twitching every so often, adjusting to the feeling of being so full. "You can move now," you tell him and he lets out a shaky breath. He moves slowly, pulling all the way out before sliding back in. He does this for a while, teasing the both of you with a painfully slow pace until you get impatient. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you pull him back into you roughly, causing you both to moan at the roughness. Megumi learns quickly, picking up speed until he's pounding into you, causing your chest to jiggle with each snap of his hips.

He grabs your legs, pulling them up and together, slipping in and out of you with fervor. The room is heavy with your breaths and you didn't think it could get any hotter until Megumi starts dirty talking. Your eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets from his rough voice.

"Thank fuck Yuji fumbled you," he says, not breaking his rhythm. "He'd have no idea what to do with this pussy anyways." He watches as his dick goes in and out of you, collecting more juices with each heady drag. "D'you wish he was fucking you right now?" he asks, snapping into you meanly at the mere thought.

"N-No," you shake your head. Honestly, Yuji was the last thing on your mind but if that meant you got to have hot, jealous sex with Megumi you'd gladly do or say whatever it took to see this side of him.

"Promise?"

"I promise," you cry as his fingers come down to reach your clit, rubbing mean circles to bring you closer to your finish.

"Say this pussy s'mine" he spit, dick twitching as he grew dangerously close to finishing himself.

"It's yours, Megumi," you moan, the string inside you seconds away from snapping.

"Fuck!" he cursed out, the both of you coming undone at the same time. He pulled out, finishing on your stomach as writhed and squirmed, riding out your high.

a/n: hi lol. been a while. expect more of these two :3

uraume thought about the question before shaking their head, “i know about cursed techniques and energy, but i’m not really sure about the details. also, my parents were ordinary.”

uraume doesn’t understand why they’re being asked this. this strange, yet, powerful man that found them in the woods, not even a week earlier, is practically speaking tongues.

sukuna nods once before explaining, “i ask this because you have cursed energy. it’s not a lot by any means, but it’s obviously there.”

whatever that means.

“will i be able to be powerful like you? powerful enough to at least be able to protect the lady of the shrine?”

sukuna is quiet for a moment before bursting in laughter, “if you manifest a cursed technique, i’ll make you powerful enough to protect me.”

uraume didn’t know it at the time, but the man was just teasing them. he would never allow himself to put uraume in danger, not for his or his wife’s sake.

they want to smile at the memory, but it’s painful. the amount of cursed energy being used all at once is painful. especially because they’ve never done this before.

they’ve only been at the shrine for a couple of months now, surely a mistake like this will cause anger from you and sukuna. then you won’t want them anymore.

the thought is way more painful than their cursed technique.

sukuna feels it. a powerful force of cursed energy compacted into a room. sukuna removes himself from the bed, causing you to wake up.

“sukuna? where are you going? it’s still so early.”

sukuna’s heart melts at the thought of you missing his presence.

“you’re supposed to keep me warm, it’s so cold.”

or using him is fine too. but he has noticed it was slightly cooler than usual.

“come with me wife, uraume might require help.” help wasn’t the most accurate word, comfort would’ve slotted in better. but he’ll be damned if he shows any weakness towards the child.

any sleepiness you had, was completely gone. you go towards sukuna’s side, “let’s go.”

the sight you see is one for the books.

uraume is curled up on the floor, ice coating the floors. the room is essentially frozen. there are holes in the walls with large ice spikes.

uraume is on the floor shivering, but the cold wasn’t bothering them, it was fear and sadness. they didn’t want to be kicked out or killed, they wanted to stay with you and sukuna, for the rest of your lives.

you have shown uraume so much kindness in the last couple of months, and the fact that it could be taken away so quickly scares them.

and don’t even get them started on disappointing sukuna. sukuna was the one who found them and decided to keep them. upsetting sukuna was the last thing they wanted.

you walk up to uraume, lifting them in your arms to hold them, “what’s all this uraume? were you hiding a cursed technique from us?”

sukuna says nothing, but he watches the two of you intently.

uraume, who’s too downcast to tell you’re teasing them, wraps their arms around you, crying, “i’m so sorry! i didn’t lie to you, i swear! it was an accident, i didn’t know i could do this!”

their cries cause your heart to ache. before you could say anything, sukuna comes up from behind uraume, slapping their back as ‘gently’ he could.

“what comes after this is hell. i’m going to train you day in and day out so that you’re strong enough to protect yourself.”

uraume lifts their head from your shoulder, rubbing their eyes, “what happened to being strong enough to protect you?”

“you don’t ever have to protect that big oaf. if he ever needs protection, just know he’s fallen off.” uraume watches as you roll your eyes.

“fallen off!? why exactly would i ever fall off? i’m always going to be at my prime and to even doubt that is insulting.”

pinching uraume’s cheeks, “i don’t know sukuna… you are getting kind of old. maybe you do need someone to protect you.”

sukuna’s eyes widened in disbelief, “you’re older than me!”

squinting your eyes at him in disgust, you lift both yourself and uraume up in a standing position.

“me and uraume will not take this disrespect. have fun sleeping in the guest chambers.”

as you and uraume walk off sukuna can hear you complain, “the nerve of him to bring up my age. i should have him killed huh?”

uraume nods in agreement swiftly, “i can’t believe him. maybe we should run away.”

“good idea.”

“don’t even think about it.”

you turn around, looking at him, “mind your business! and don’t yell at us again.”

turning back around to take uraume to your bed chambers, sukuna rolls his eyes.

“and don’t roll your eyes again.”

how did you know?

request three!

uraume is walking around the shrine, when they hear someone take a deep sigh.

“i wish we could attend the floral festival. apparently, it’s supposed to be the most colorful it’s ever been!”

“you know he would never allow it. maybe we could see the festival from here! the shrine is pretty high up.”

a flower festival?

you were busy working on organizing kimonos when uraume entered your room.

“mother. i have a request.”

you smile upon hearing the voice, “for the last time uraume, yes you can lie in my bed. speaking of, have you been sleeping well? your eyes look a little darker.” you frown at the realization.

uraume reaches their eyes with one of their hands, before shaking their head. “it’s not that. i heard some maids talking about a flower festival in the village. i was wondering if we could go.”

you hum in thought, “a flower festival huh?” you go closer to uraume, patting their head, “i suppose we could go. should we invite sukuna?”

uraume wanted to say no so that they could just spend some alone time with their mother. but the fear of some crazy villager attacking you for being the king of curses wife creeps in.

“yes. he would be a good meat shield.”

they had only meant to say yes, but their inner thought seemed to come to light.

“absolutely not. i shall not participate in something as silly as a flower festival.” sukuna explains to you and uraume.

looking at uraume, you can e see that they have a pout on their face, “that’s probably a good idea,” you start, “just me and young uraume. that’s enough to protect us from the crazy villagers.”

sukuna furrows good eyebrows, “what crazy villagers?”

you put on a faux shocked face, “being married to the king of curses who takes a sacrifice from the village once a month, puts a target on me surely no?”

“i’ve actually always wanted to attend a flower festival, good thinking uraume.”

suddenly, the pout on their face is gone, replaced with a smile.

sukuna was bored out of his mind. what’s a guy like him supposed to find fun in a festival dedicated to flowers? sure it was pretty, and yeah he did like seeing his wife and child uraume happy, but he was soooo bored.

he watches as you and uraume walk around with your arms interlaced. uraume has some sort of dessert, they keep insisting you take a bite.

he groans before he sees a stall. the prizes are small handcrafted stuffed animals. he’s not the only one who spots it, because uraume taps your shoulder before pointing at the stall.

“look there mother.” they point at three stuffed animals in particular.

there was a pink tiger , a polar bear with red spots, and there was a cat with fur similar to your hair color.

uraume wanted, no, needed them.

they look behind to see sukuna already looking at them. sukuna who seemed to catch the hint, shook his head, “no way.”

“oh i get it. don’t worry about it uraume. he won’t do it because he knows it’s too difficult. besides, imagine the villagers taking about the big bad king of curses couldn’t do it.”

sukuna couldn’t believe this. did you seriously think that?

he sighs, “i’ll do it.”

uraume beams (?) before nodding, walking over to sukuna. as they walk to the booth, you see uraume go from beside sukuna, to behind him. you watch as they grab a hold of sukuna’s kimono.

the villager who was running the booth was practically shaking with fear.

she said nothing, but shakily handing sukuna three balls. they weren’t heavy, but they didn’t need to be if sukuna was the one throwing them.

he threw a single ball towards the glass. not only did the glass break, but so did the back of the booth.

“sukuna! look at the mess.”

he grunts in response, pulling uraume out from behind him, “pick.”

uraume didn’t need to look through the options before picking the three he had his eyes on.

the woman swiftly grabs them, giving them to uraume, “good choice young one.” her voice trembles.

you on the other hand, grab a couple large coins. you find a couple gold before giving them to the woman.

she shakes her head in protest, “i shouldn’t.”

“if you don’t, my husband will eat you.”

the woman looks at sukuna who’s grinning widely, showing all his teeth.

she rushes to grab the coins before bowing, “thank you, thank you.”

you pat her head before walking off.

that was a mistake, because now uraume holds all their plushes in one hand, grabbing your other.

“don’t touch her, she could be diseased.”

“uraume! she’s right there!”

“no, no. they have a point.”

later that night, uraume lays between you and sukuna.

“i don’t understand why the brat has to sleep in here. no one told them to eat every single dessert they could find.”

uraume’s on their back, all three plushes in their arms.

“the chef here for the humans makes bland dessert. i couldn’t help myself, my apologies.”

you bring uraume closer, but not before giving sukuna’s forehead a slap.

“don’t mind him. he’s the biggest eater i know. it’s all he does. don’t you remember the qualifications for keeping you?”

they nod, “making tasty humans.”

“exactly my point. he’s lucky i don’t kick him out. he’s hogging all of the bed.”

sukuna pouts, “this is not fair.”

request four!

uraume was being framed. by their father no less.

“sukuna, you can’t honestly expect me to believe that my sweet uraume would give you this idea.”

sukuna rolls his eyes, “you should’ve seen the kid. they offered and all i did was humbly accept.”

let’s go back a couple hours.

it was the first on july. the sun was beaming down, the heat sticking to people.

the heat didn’t matter to sukuna, not when he was going to get his favorite dinner.

last month, he tried savoring the human for two days. his storage area was too hot, and it caused the meat to go bad.

he took uraume to the village with him. he felt that uraume picks the best villagers. this time, he has a plan on making sure uraume doesn’t say anything to you.

“uraume.”

they look towards sukuna, “yes?”

“i saw we put that cursed technique of yours to use. i need a cold area to store my dinner.”

that was easy enough.

but over the next couple of days, when sukuna would bring the meat to the kitchen for uraume, it seemed to be never ending.

there was always more meat for sukuna to eat the next day and uraume was getting suspicious.

they would hate to find out their father is going against their mothers wishes. uraume was going to get to the bottom of it no matter what.

the next time sukuna announced he was going out, uraume decided that they would follow him. at the same time, completely forgetting sukuna could sense their cursed energy.

not that sukuna really cared. he felt uraume following them into the village. he also knew that uraume was definitely going to say something about it. so why not take them down with him?

sukuna readies a villager to kill, waiting for uraume to take the bait. they do, coming out from behind a tree.

“father. i knew you were up to something. mother with be very displeased with you.”

sukuna shook his head, “no uraume, she will be displeased with us.”

uraume furrowed their eyebrows, not getting to question the man before sukuna slaughtered the person in the messiest way. they were both covered in blood.

uraume pouts at the realization, turning around to walk back to the shrine. sukuna just laughs at them, “wait for me! your mother will be delighted to see us bond!”

uraume walks away even quicker.

that doesn’t bother sukuna, because he’s now right by the young child holding the dead body.

“you’re despicable father.”

he grins, “music to my ears.”

now we’re back to the beginning, sukuna blaming uraume, explaining, “it was their idea to keep the meat frozen. they pittied me for having my food spoil.”

“sukuna, you can’t honestly expect me to believe that my sweet uraume would give you this idea.”

sukuna can’t believe this, “you should’ve seen the kid. they offered and all i did was humbly accept.”

squinting your eyes, “you never do anything humbly. and you,” you look towards uraume, “you should have gone to me when you found this beast being suspicious.”

they nod, “yes mother.”

while sukuna whines in the back, “beast!? wife you wound me!”

“both of you, go bathe. the living quarters are starting to reek of blood.”

they both walk off, side by side.

uraume elbows sukuna in his side. sukuna, not taking this lightly, ‘gently’ pushes uraume.

they go flying into a wall.

“i saw that sukuna. have fun sleeping alone tonight.”

“they started it!”

request two!

after sukuna dealt with yuzuki, they were down a shrine maiden. sukuna decided that uraume can do the hornors and find a new one. it was for a couple reasons.

firstly, if uraume found one that they liked, there won’t be another issue with a shrine maiden disrespecting them. secondly, he didn’t want to do that himself. thirdly, he assumed uraume had a good sense of character.

but clearly not since they followed sukuna from the woods, but that’s neither here nor there.

so uraume set off towards the village, looking for a shrine maiden. one that can clean and have basic respect for those above her. and they found one. one by the name on mizuki. they hoped that the ‘zuki’ curse wouldn’t come back and bite them.

it had been a month since mizuki arrived. she seemed fine. she followed orders easy, didn’t fight back, and most importantly, she didn’t hit uraume! that was a win in their book.

“i don’t understand. what does he see in her?”

uraume was excited, they absolutely loved gossip! the shrine maidens knew a lot when it came to outside of the shrine.

“i mean, i think they’re cute. i’ve been here a while, and they seem to really be in love.”

what? was there a love drama going on here in the shrine?! uraume listens in closely.

“uht uh. lord sukuna deserves someone who will submit to him. she’s constantly hitting him and insulting him. if i were in her position, i’d obey him properly.”

uraume was shaking in anger, quite literally seething. fist were clenched and their heart was racing. their whole body felt hot in anger.

they know they should tell sukuna what they just heard, they promised they would.

uraume walks off, conjuring up a plan.

they had it, the most genius idea. they would use their father with help of getting rid of the wretched woman.

“father. do you remember when you got rid of the shrine maiden for putting her hands on me?”

sukuna squinted his eyes in suspicion, “yes. that was nothing.”

“maybe to you, but i never properly thanked you.”

he waved them off, “if i didn’t, your mother would’ve of.”

uraume was sick of being patient, “i’ll cut to the chase.” they left the room, before coming back with a dead body. sukuna recognized her, uraume had just hired her.

her body was frozen. she had frostbite on her fingers, knees, toes and ears. you couldn’t tell by looking at her, but her organs were frozen as well.

sukuna raises his eyebrows, “what’s this young uraume? you decided not to allow her to disrespect you this time.”

they nodded, “something like that. i need you to eat her before mother finds out. i will prepare her well.”

“and why should i do that? so you don’t get in trouble? will all the tattling you do, you don’t think i should repay the favor?”

uraume looked at the woman before furrowing their eyebrows. their cursed energy also spiked, “this thing decided to disrespect mother. saying you deserved someone who would submit and obey you.”

sukuna was pissed, not just at the woman, but at uraume as well. “and why didn’t you allow me to torture her? i didn’t raise you to be so selfish.”

uraume rolled their eyes, “well now you can eat her.”

he grunted, “what a brat. prepare her for dinner. it’s been a while since i was allowed to eat a human.”

“that was your own fault.”

“out.”

that night, sukuna had eaten the shrine maiden, and you hadn’t ever known. all that you knew is after that day, sukuna and little uraume got closer, how cute!

extra:

“mizuki, could i talk to you.” it had been three days for uraume to come with their plan.

mizuki, none the wiser, agreed, “sure! do you need any help?”

uraume give them a fake smile, “something like that.”

mizuki had waved goodbye to the other girls. uraume had to put a front on in case you questioned the other girls.

leading her down to the basement, mizuki starts to sweat, “ah hah, are we allowed down here? or do i need to clean something? i hope you know i’m not good with blood.”

it’s clear she’s trying to joke and make light of the situation.

“you won’t have to worry about blood. but i do have a question.”

she perks her head up, “what’s the question?”

uraume slowly turns to the woman, the room starts to chill.

“did you think you could talk ill of my mother and live to tell the tale?”

request one!

satoru gojo wouldn’t have ever expected for someone to eat sukuna’s fingers. and he especially didn’t expect them to live.

but here he is, sitting with yuji itadori, explaining who sukuna ryomen is.

“wait a minute, the guy has twenty fingers? and two faces!! how does that work?”

gojo smiles at the curiosity of the boy, “if you think that’s crazy, wait until you find out he had a wife and kid.”

yuji’s eyes widened, and his jaw dropped, “a wife and kid! no way!”

“yes way brat. I wasn't as unappealing as you might think.”

gojo laughed, “the man of the hour. maybe physically you weren’t gross, but how you got a wife with that sour personality is beyond me.”

“my wife was quite fond of my personality.”

gojo doesn’t really believe that.

“what about your kid? is that real too?”

sukuna gives a nasty grin, “as real as can be. they were a pain in my ass. too bad my wife loved them, i would’ve eaten them first chance i got.”

yuji shivers at the thought, “you don’t really mean that do you? yuck!”

yuji furrows his brows, “wait, so where are they? they must’ve already passed.”

gojo says nothing, thinking of what to say, “nah. they were both sealed along with sukuna. i couldn’t tell you where either of them are though.”

sukuna hums, in acknowledgment “when i get my body back, i’m going to find my wife and child, then, the world will burn.”

gojo laughs right in his yuji’s face, “good luck burning anything down while i’m around.”

shibuya is on fire. the whole city is in flames, if people didn’t die from the explosions happening, the fire will. sukuna decides to walk around in the chaos around him. it feels good.

“father.”

sukuna freezes, he was so caught up in the feeling of destruction, he didn’t notice his child.

not that they particularly look like a kid anymore, they look older. sukuna doesn’t remember them being that big.

“uraume. is that you?” sukuna knows it’s them, the shock is still there.

they nod slowly, walking up to him. they stand in front of him, not moving.

sukuna grabs them, pulling them into him. uraume hugs him back.

“it’s been a while, father.”

sukuna doesn’t say it, but he can hear the tremble in their voice.

“so it has.”

he pulls back from them, “do you know where your mother is?”

uraume tilts their head, “i kept her.”

they pull out a small cat plush, “i didn’t want to risk unsealing her in this era alone. the risk of her being hurt and confused doesn’t bring me any joy.”

he nods, “let’s unseal her. i’ll explain everything and keep her safe.”

they look for the cleanest spot on the ground, before gently placing the cat down.

sukuna preforms the ritual of unsealment.

uraume sees their mothers soul leave the plush, manifesting into a solid body.

uraume grabs the spare clothing they’ve been keeping. sukuna and uraume dress you, while your body finishes forming your consciousness.

“i can’t wait for mother to wake up.” they whisper, “i haven’t been up long, but i’ve been wanting to hear her voice.”

uraume holds you and your hand, keeping track of your pulse.

sukuna stands, watching as uraume holds you. he’d do anything to go back. to have uraume in the middle of your bed, while you threaten to kick him out.

gojo can’t believe this. he almost gets sealed for this?!

“hello! i hope sukuna hasn’t caused to much trouble for you.”

he burnt shibuya down!!! you knew this!

uraume stands at your side, holding the back of your shirt, “it would be wise to accept my mothers words.”

??

“wait a minute. you were working with kenjaku, you’re over here because?”

uraume tilted their head in confusion, “because my parents are over here. why else?”

gojo was going to pull his hair out.

sukuna, who was now back inside yuji complained, “why are you asking stupid questions? and stop staring at my wife six eyes.”

he was staring at you?! how embarrassing!

yuji pipes up, “i actually think your family is cute, you all seem to fit well together!”

gojo was going to go crazy, why in the world was yuji fawning over this??

“aww! thank you, you’re so cute!”

before yuji could slip out a thank you, he gets a chilling feeling, uraume is staring at him.

not just staring, it’s hard core glaring, “you shouldn’t speak to this incel mother.”

incel?????????????

“i’m not quite sure what that means, but i hope you get better.”

not only were his feelings hurt, but he could hear sukuna laughing at him in his head!

“it’s alright yuji, the higher ups will order me to exercise them. once that happens, we’ll be freee from the abuse.

“they shall stay alive until yuji itadori’s execution. using them as leverage shall keep that king of curses from causing to much havoc.”

no way.

“but what about their kid?! they have cursed energy, and a technique! what if they harm someone?!”

“they clearly care for the mother. just threaten her.”

that night, satoru gojo cried himself to sleep.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

You grew up in the nicest suburbs of Boston, got whatever it was you wanted, traveled on first-class flights before you were old enough to spell, had a father who treated you like gold in human form.

But, that last one? Yeah, that was the problem.

Being adored feels a lot like being controlled when you’re the only daughter of a man the entire country worships. Because in hindsight, you were. Not purposely, of course. You were daddy’s little princess from day one, which meant he needed to protect you at all costs.

From the moment you entered your elite preppy high school at age fourteen, that was when his watchful eye sharpened into one that never stopped watching. As a hall of fame athlete, a New England Patriots legend, he’s seen too much of this world to know that he needs to keep his precious girl safe from it all.

And when he retired? It got so much worse. He was always there. Which basically meant you couldn’t do anything without him knowing or without his permission.

Your best friend, Blair, who lived two houses down, lived the life you wished you could. Another rich, preppy privileged girl, yes, but one with parents who didn’t give a single fuck what she did. And she’s been partying since, well…forever.

She lost her virginity in the bathroom of a Red Sox game, threw a rager so big when her parents left for Saint Barts she got suspended for two weeks, snuck out of the house so often she practically wore a path through your backyard.

She begged you to join her. To come out and have fun, be a normal teenager, but you never could. Sometimes you wondered if your father even realized he’d built a cage around you—a gilded, loving, suffocating one. And you were tired of not being able to live life to the fullest.

Which is why when the time finally came to decide on college, you knew you had to choose the furthest plausible option. You also knew that wherever you went, would have to be with Blair.

So the two of you sat down and planned it. She listed all sorts of schools, Miami, Alabama, Ohio State, Wisconsin, all known for their party scene, but they weren’t far enough in your eyes.

Then, the idea hit you. California. All the way across the country, nice ass weather with no brutal winters, huge nightlife. It ticks every single box.

“How about USC?” You suggested.

Blair’s eyes widened like she’d won the lottery, “That’s it! That’s the fucking school. We’re applying—today.”

You indeed did apply that same day, keeping all of it, every whispered dream of palm trees and frat parties, a secret from your father. He didn’t need to find out that you were plotting your escape. Only if you got accepted, would you tell him.

After applying, came the long, excruciating wait. Every notification made your heart jump, every morning felt loaded with possibility and impending doom, but then on a random Tuesday afternoon after school, Blair got an email. You were sprawled across her bed when her phone dinged and when she checked it she froze, slowly looking at you, “No fucking way.”

Your heart stopped, “What?”

She glanced back at her screen as if it might disappear, “Bitch…I got in!”

You barely had time to process it before she launched herself at you, both of you collapsing onto the bed in a fit of hysterical laughter, “Check yours,” She demanded, already grabbing your laptop.

Your hands shook as you logged into the portal and when the screen flashed in red and gold, Congratulations! We are pleased to offer you admission to the University of Southern California…

Your vision blurred, you were going to finally leave Boston and remove the shackles. Blair grabbed your shoulder, “You’re free, babe.”

The word hit differently—free. But not yet, because you still had to tell him.

You waited until dinner, when the house was calm and your father set down his fork and asked warmly, “How was your day, princess?”

You pushed the printed copy of your acceptance letter across the table, watching as he unfolded it slowly. His sharp eyes scanned the words once, twice, then a third time, as if they might rearrange themselves into something less horrifying.

“…Southern California?” He said at last, voice tight, “That’s three thousand miles away.”

“I know.”

“And…you want to go there?”

“I do. Really bad.”

There was a heartbeat, a breath, a visible internal meltdown occurring within him, until he asked, “Is Blair going?”

“Yes. She got in too.”

He exhaled through his nose like that single fact alone saved his life, though it probably shouldn’t have. She’s the last person on Earth he should want going with you, but thankfully, he’s blissfully unaware of who she really is, “Well. I guess that’s different.”

Your mother kicked him under the table, “Just say you’re proud of her, honey.”

He looked at you again, long, conflicted, and terrified, yet still soft, “I am proud of you,” He murmured, “You know that. I just…you’re my little girl. And California is far.”

“I’ll be okay.”

He didn’t believe that, not at all, but he nodded anyway, “Then I guess…USC it is.”

Just like that, you were free. You could almost taste it. And now, months later, you’re here—Move-in day.

The California sun hits hotter and brighter, like even the light feels less restrained than anything you ever knew in Boston. Your father sits restlessly in the rented SUV that’s packed full with your belongings, your mother is in the passenger seat, Blair is following behind with her mom.

It should’ve been a sweet, sentimental moment. College send-offs usually are, but this one wasn’t. Because in order to get to your dorms, you had to pass Greek Row, and your father sees everything he fears most.

A group of shirtless guys on a lawn, covered in sweat playing die on an old, warped table. Two frat brothers throwing a football back and forth across the street like they own it, a cluster of girls in micro shorts walking toward one of the houses, someone’s shotgunning a beer while blasting John Summit so loud it shakes the sidewalk. Your father’s hands tighten on the steering wheel so hard the leather creaks.

“Oh,” Your mother murmurs gently, “Look at that…school spirit.”

He does not share the same sentiment. He stares, shell-shocked, shoulders squared like he’s preparing for war. One of the frat boys looks straight at the car, lifts his chin at you through the window, and smirks. Your dad nearly swerves into the closest telephone pole, “Oh hell no,” He curses under his breath, “Absolutely not. Over my dead body—”

“Dad,” You warn softly, cheeks burning.

He tears his eyes away from the horror, but keeps muttering, “This is a bad idea. This is a terrible idea. They let freshmen live near this? They let you live near this? Those boys are—They’re—”

“College students?” Your mom offers.

“Degenerates.”

You hide your smile behind your hand. Because the truth is, everything he saw that scared him? Is everything you wanted.

The noise, the craziness, the alcohol, the energy, the…boys. A world you were never allowed to touch is now directly outside your window.

Your father grips the wheel harder like he’s debating whether or not to spin the car around and drive your happy ass back to Boston himself, but he doesn’t. He continues onward; straight to the dorms, your new life, and the one thing he could never fully control—your freedom.

But freedom, apparently, also comes with an audience. The moment your father pulls into the freshmen unloading zone, heads turn. A few students stop mid-conversation, some whisper, some don’t even bother whispering. Phones lift in that sneaky, sideways way people use when they swear you won’t notice.

“Is that—?”

“That’s him, right? That’s him?”

“Dude, her dad is literally the goat.”

“Wait, does that mean she’s—?”

You feel the heat crawl up your neck, but your father doesn’t react. He’s practiced at this, years of fan interactions, interviews, cameras shoved in his face at even the most inconvenient moments. Nothing really shakes him—well, except the frat boys. Those do.

He steps out of the car and grabs your suitcase with one hand, posture straightening like he’s going on National TV. A couple of guys across the quad nudge each other when they recognize him, jaws dropping as if a God descended onto USC’s campus.

“Sir!” One of them calls out, already pulling out his phone, “Big fan! Like…huge fan!”

“Thank you,” Your father says with a polite nod, slipping seamlessly into his media smile and then, because the universe enjoys humor at your expense, another voice bursts from a group near the dorm steps.

“Holy shit, that’s his daughter?”

You want to sink into the pavement, but your mom slips her arm through yours, “Don’t mind them, sweetheart. They’re just excited.”

Blair, climbing out of her mom’s BMW behind you, practically cackles, “Oh my God,” She whispers gleefully, “You’re famous already. Do you understand the power you’re about to wield?”

You glare at her, but she’s too busy vibrating with excitement. Meanwhile, your father spots the second wave of frat brothers who’ve stopped tossing a football to stare openly at the scene unfolding, and stiffens.

His tone drops into one that is low and protective, “Stay away from boys who look like that.”

“I will,” Oh, you most certainly won’t.

Once you’re all inside the dorm lobby, even more chaos ensues.

Athletes, business majors, engineering kids with lanyards all mingling, moving, dragging various pieces of furniture; and then there’s the group of girls next to the elevators, eyes flicking between you and your father with thinly-veiled recognition.

One whispers, not nearly quiet enough, “You think Gojo’s seen her yet?”

The other girl beside her giggles, “Please. Someone’s probably already told him.”

You freeze, Blair’s head snaps toward you like a bloodhound catching a scent, “No way! You’re being talked about by him?”

“Who is him?”

Blair lowers her voice, “Okay, so—remember how I stalked USC on TikTok for, like, two months straight?”

“…Yeah?”

“Well,” She says, pushing her Prada sunglasses up her nose, “There’s this international student from Japan, Satoru Gojo. Apparently the frat guy on campus. Junior, filthy rich, shameless, hot as fuck, total slut, owns a white Porsche, finance bro who probably fails all his classses, and ends up on every ‘hottest men at USC’ list.”

You stare at her, “And you know all of that from TikTok?”

“Yep,” She says proudly, “I do my research.”

You open your mouth, then close it, “Okay, but what does any of that have to do with—”

Blair gestures vaguely at your face, “Sexy freshman girl with famous NFL seven time Super Bowl Champion quarterback dad? You’re deadass his exact type of…project.”

You almost choke, “Project?”

She nods sympathetically, “Project as in…he’d want to be the guy to ruin you for every other man on campus.”

Your father hears the word ruin and nearly breaks his own neck whipping around. Blair immediately straightens, innocent smile plastered onto her face.

“Don’t worry,” She says softly out of the corner of her mouth, “You probably won’t even meet him,” Then quieter, when she knows your father isn’t eavesdropping, adds, “You’re totally going to meet him.”

Your dorm room on the fourth floor is already propped open when you reach it. Small, bright with two twin beds and bare walls. It’s nothing like the Boston mansion you grew up in, yet somehow it’s more exciting than any bedroom you’ve ever had.

Blair lets out a delighted gasp, “We live here? Oh my God, we actually live here!”

She races inside to claim her side of the room, throwing herself onto the bed next to the window. Your father stands in the doorway, scanning like he’s doing a threat assessment, “It’s…smaller than I expected.”

“It’s a dorm, honey,” Your mother reminds him.

He hums, but does not relax in the slightest. And just like that, the four of you are unpacking boxes, hanging clothes, folding towels, arranging the mini-fridge that your father inspects with the seriousness of a homicide detective. He tests the door three times, plugs it into a power strip, unplugs it, inspects the outlet, then plugs it back in.

“Dad,” You sigh, “It’s a fridge, not a life-support machine.”

“You say that now,” He warns and you just chuckle.

It’s chaos, but the warm kind. The kind you’ll remember and cherish forever, yet also feels like the end of something and the beginning of quite literally everything else. At one point, Blair steps behind you to hang a string of fairy lights and whispers, “Okay, but seriously—imagine Gojo in this room.”

You elbow her so hard she drops a clip, your father spins around, “What was that?”

“Nothing!” You and Blair answer in unison.

Your mother laughs softly. Your father absolutely does not.

Eventually, after your bedding is on, your father stands there at the foot of your bed with his hands on his hips. A silence settles, one that says that this is real, this is happening, and this is goodbye. For now.

He checks his watch, again. He’s been doing it all morning. He has a flight to Oregon to catch—the new job he picked up right after you announced you were moving across the country. He needed the distraction, otherwise he’d be stuck in Boston all day, thinking about what you’re doing out here…and what you probably shouldn’t be doing.

He’s a commentator for College GameDay. Covering the biggest football games of the year, traveling to each host school every week, however, he should’ve left ten minutes ago. But he just can’t.

“Princess,” He says quietly, “You sure you want this?”

You nod, heart pounding with the thrill of independence, but your face softens into the kind of innocent expression that always makes him melt, and you’ve absolutely learned how to weaponize it.

“I do,” You say softly, then perfectly timed and aimed, you hit him with the, “But…do you really have to leave so soon?”

His entire chest caves in, “Oh, sweeheart…” His voice thickens immediately, “I don’t want to. I wish I could stay with you the whole day.”

Inside, you’re buzzing, thinking, please leave already. Oh my God, leave and let me live.

But outside? You look up at him with big, sad, puppy dog eyes, “I’ll miss you.”

He pulls you into a crushing hug, “I’ll miss you more,” He murmurs, “So much more. I hate the timing of this stupid College GameDay thing—I should be here helping you settle in, not rushing to the airport.”

You cling just enough to sell it, but not make him change his mind and stay, “It’s okay, daddy,” You say, ultra sweet, “You have to work.”

He sniffles, “I’ll FaceTime you from Oregon,” He promises, “Every night.”

You nod against his chest, all gentle affection while your internal monologue screams, yes, yes, yes. Commentate on football and go.

Your mom steps in next, hugging you warmly, “Call whenever you need anything. And maybe…don’t tell your father everything you’re doing.”

Your father shoots her a look of the utmost betrayal, she ignores it. Blair hugs them both dramatically, “You guys are like my second parents. I’ll miss you too.”

Then he steps away, still unwilling, still staring at you like you’re five years old heading into kindergarten instead of nearly nineteen. He wipes his palms on his jeans and breathes out shakily, “Okay. Okay, I can do this. You’ll be fine. You’ll be safe. Blair, keep her away from—”

“Boys?” She fills in the blank.

“Exactly.”

You almost laugh as he heads for the door, pauses, and looks back one last time, “You sure you’ll be okay without me?”

You nod sweetly, oh so, so sweetly, “I’ll manage.”

Resigned, he gives you one last look and disappears down the hallway with your mother. The moment they’re gone, Blair turns to you, deadpan, “Oh, you are one evil bitch.”

But you’re not pretending anymore. A slow, wicked grin spreads across your face, one you’ve been holding back for years, “Blair,” You breathe, “I am finally free.”

And somewhere down Greek Row, in a house with bass shaking the floorboards, a brother with white hair and blazing blue eyes checks his phone, seeing the group chat’s new messages.

sig chi or die

ryan: yo gojo you see the qb’s daughter?

ryan: she just moved in and she’s BADDDD

And he smiles, one full malicious intent. He hasn’t seen you yet, but he already plans to.

Blair gives you exactly ten seconds of peace after your parents leave before she turns to you, eyes manic with purpose, “Alright. Put on something slutty. We’re celebrating.”

“We literally just unpacked.”

“Exactly!” She says, already digging through her suitcase, “Sigma Chi is open for business and so are we.”

You laugh, half nerves, half adrenaline as she tosses the tiniest black skirt you’ve ever seen your way and a cropped baby tee. You catch it, then go still, because across the chest in red rhinestones it says, Let Them Eat Cunt.

“Blair.”

She beams like it’s the funniest joke on Earth, “I got it custom-made. For today. For your whore arc!”

“My dad would literally die if he saw this.”

“I know,” She says proudly, “Now put it on.”

You hesitate for only one second, then slide both the shirt and skirt on. The moment you do, Blair makes a strangled noise, “Oh my God, bitch. The guys are going to lose their fucking minds.”

You look at yourself in the mirror; skirt so short it could be considered a napkin, rhinestoned filth across your boobs, lips perfectly glossed and instead of nerves, a spark catches in your bloodstream. This is what you’ve been waiting for.

“Yes,” You murmur, adjusting the hem, “They will.”

Blair freezes, “Oh? Oh?”

“Blair,” You say, meeting her eyes in the mirror, “I didn’t move across the country to behave.”

She shrieks into her palms, “You are out for blood tonight.”

“Dick, actually,” You correct calmly, “I’m out for dick.”

Her soul leaves her body, “Oh my God—yes! Say it again!”

“I want to get drunk,” You explain, “I want a hot guy. And I want to erase the last eighteen years of being babysat.”

Blair is feigning tears, “This is everything I’ve ever prayed for. I feel like a mother watching her child blossom into a slutty flower.”

“Let’s bloom, then,” You grab your phone, keys, and head for the door without a semblance of doubt.

Blair scrambles after you, “Wait, slow down—!”

“I have places to be,” You coo, already striding down the hallway.

“We haven’t even pregamed!”

“Sig Chi has alcohol,” She laughs manically at that and follows you outside into the California heat.

The walk over is brutally short, every step feels like peeling off another layer of innocence, the music from Greek Row growing louder, deeper, and dirtier. Blair bumps your shoulder, grinning slyly, “You know…he’s probably there. This is his frat.”

You already know who she’s referring to…Gojo. Again with this guy?

You roll your eyes fondly, “Blair, you haven’t even seen him.”

“Oh, but on TikTok I have,” She says, “And trust me—foreign rich boys? They’re always the ones who fuck like they’ve got something to prove.”

That piques your interest. Maybe, just maybe you’d have to find that one out for yourself.

You round the corner and Sig Chi rises ahead of you. Three stories in all its glory, music blaring, people spilling across the lawn, lights pulsing behind the windows.

Blair squeezes your hand, wicked grin glued to her face, “Okay. Deep breath, babe. Act natural.”

“I am natural.”

“Not with you wearing that shirt.”

You scoff as you step inside and the frat swallows you whole. It’s loud and cramped, bodies swaying under LED lights, the smell of beer and flavored vape clouds hanging in the air. A table of jungle juice sits in the corner, multiple couples are making out aggressively against walls, and then, you see him.

You don’t even realize it’s him at first, you just register—absurdly tall, insanely built, ocean eyes, broad shoulders, cut-off muscle tee showing biceps carved by God himself, LA Dodgers snapback backwards on his white hair, laughing lazily with two girls hanging off him like decorations.

So, this is the infamous Satoru Gojo. No wonder why he runs USC. He’s hot as fuck and knows it. He’s leaning against the kitchen island like it’s his throne, until one of the brothers near him nudges his shoulder, “Yo, QB’s daughter just walked in.”

Gojo doesn’t react immediately, he never does. Instead, he finishes whatever joke he was saying, grinning, dimples deep, girls giggling into his ribs.

Then, slowly, he looks up. The moment his eyes find you? Everything stops. The flirting, the talking, the lazy smile—gone.

His mouth parts just a little, eyes raking down your body, the skirt, your legs, and then eventually stopping right on your shirt. For a split second, he genuinely looks stunned, but then?

Oh, he smirks. A slow, sinful curl of his lips like all of his dreams have finally come true.

Blair whispers behind you, “Holy shit, Gojo’s staring.”

You don’t answer, because he isn’t just staring. He’s studying, recognizing, and realizing. He knows who you are, everyone does. You’re the football dynasty princess, Boston royalty, a girl whose father could call the dean of USC directly and have a frat shut down in ten minutes flat.

And yet, here you are. In that shirt, in his house, looking like trouble he suddenly, desperately wants.

A girl he wants to ruin before anyone else has the chance to.

He straightens up from the counter and sheds the girls clinging to him without a second glance. They look confused and annoyed, but he doesn’t give a shit. He was never one to care about girls’ feelings anyway.

His eyes stay locked on you. Blair inhales sharply, “Oh my God—he clocked you. He fully clocked you, bitch.”

You swallow as he continues to stare, smirk, and look at your shirt like he wants to frame it above his bed. Then, he murmurs something to the guys beside him, still not breaking eye contact, and you feel it—the shift, the moment the king of Sig Chi decides he’s going to make you his next conquest.

Blair elbows you, “I swear to God if you don’t at least talk to him—”

“Blair—”

“No, shut the fuck up. I’m your wingwoman. I’m morally obligated to get you laid.”

You exhale, pulse electric, heat flickering under your skin as Gojo starts to move. Not toward you yet, but closer. Circling, watching, like a wolf that noticed the rabbit wasn’t scared of him.

You catch his eyes again, sharp blue under the brim of his backwards hat, and this time, he tilts his head. Acknowledgment, interest, amusement, and mouths something. Blair grips your arm, “What did he say?”

You gulp because you know exactly what he said. Two simple words, as clear as day, “Nice shirt.”

Her grip on your arm grows so taut your circulation stops, “Okay, holy shit. We need to get drinks right now or I’m going to pass out.”

You let her drag you toward the jungle juice table, but you feel his eyes following you. Every step you take, every sway of your skirt, his gaze is glued to it like he’s trying to memorize your movements.

Blair shoves a cup into your hand and whispers, “He’s coming over. I repeat, he is coming over!”

“Don’t look,” You whisper back.

“I’m not,” She lies, staring directly at him.

You take a sip of the juice; sweet, disgusting, perfect, and then, Gojo appears. He leans one shoulder against the wall beside the drinks table, arms crossing slowly, biceps flexing under his cut-off tee, snapback still backwards, silver-white hair falling into his eyes. He’s taller up close, annoyingly so, towering even with the casual slouch.

He looks at your face first, then your shirt again, and smirks, “Bold choice,” He drawls, voice low and painfully self-assured, “You always introduce yourself with your chest, or is tonight special?”

Blair chokes on her drink, you swallow, “It’s a shirt, not a dissertation.”

He grins, cocky and fucking lethal, “Could’ve fooled me,” He murmurs, eyes dipping to your bare stomach, your hips, your legs, “That thing’s doing a lot of talking.”

Your heart flips, but you refuse to fold so soon, “Then stop staring at it.”

He laughs, quiet, dangerously pleased, and drags his eyes upward until they lock directly with yours, “Oh, princess,” He says softly, like he already knows the nickname from his mouth will ruin you, “I’m not staring at the shirt.”

Your breath hitches as Gojo’s tongue slides across the inside of his cheek before he tilts his head, diverting conversation, “You’re new.”

“Freshman.”

“No shit,” His smile widens, “I meant new as in…no one here’s touched you yet.”

Blair coughs so violently she has to turn away, your cheeks heat, “Why would you assume that?”

He shrugs, bending slightly to dip his cup in the jungle juice bowl, filling it lazily, eyes never leaving you, “Because I’ve never seen guys on my lawn look so fucking scared.”

“Scared?”

His smirk grows, possessive and knowing, “They were staring at you like you’re a grenade with the pin half-pulled. Pretty skirt, filthy shirt, famous daddy?” He takes a slow sip of his drink, “Yeah. They’re terrified.”

You open your mouth, but he steps closer, close enough that you can smell his cologne—clean, expensive, a bit woodsy. His voice drops to something only you can hear, “But I’m not.”

Your pulse stutters and he notices, of course he does. He’s got girls’ body language down to a fucking tee. He leans in, lips grazing the shell of your ear, “You walk into my house wearing that,” He whispers, “And you really think I’m letting anyone else talk to you first?”

Your soul leaves your body. He pulls back just a bit, eyes locking onto yours again, darkened now and unblinking; his smirk softens as he nods to the crowd, “Guys are already looking,” He says, almost dismissive, “Thinking about walking over.”

He lifts your chin with one knuckle, light as a tease, heavy as a claim, “But they’re not going to.”

Your lips part, “Why not?”

Gojo smiles, wicked, "Because you’re talking to me.”

Something hot shivers down your spine. Blair, silently screams in triumph. Gojo watches your reaction like he wants to eat it almost as much as he wants to eat you.

Then he lowers his voice even further, “And if any other guy touches you tonight?” He taps the rim of his cup against your, a subtle clink, “They’re dead.”

Your heart slams against your ribs, he smirks again, “You don’t even get what that shirt’s doing to people,” He says, leaning back just slightly to give you a moment to breathe, but not space to escape, “But it’s okay. I’ll show you.”

Your mouth goes dry. He straightens up, flicks his eyes over your legs one more time, and adds softly, “Stay where I can see you.”

Then he walks off, not far, but far enough to make you watch and to tell every brother and guy in the house that you’re his.

Not yet. Not fully. But don’t even fucking try.

Blair is still gripping your arm like a talon when Gojo strolls off, leaving you breathless, dazed, and partially frenzied.

“Holy shit,” Blair hisses, “Okay. Okay. We need more alc immediately. You need to ride the confidence wave.”

“I’m…pretty sure confidence isn’t my problem right now.”

“No,” She agrees, dragging you toward the bar counter, “Your problem is wanting to climb that man like a tree, but that’s what vodka is for. Loosen up, be the slut you were born to be.”

You snort so hard you almost trip. The kitchen island is cluttered with liquor bottles, chasers, cups, and three guys already pouring shots.

Blair slaps her palms on the counter, announcing way too proudly, “This is my best friend! She is having her slut awakening tonight, if you care!”

“Blair—!”

They shout like they’ve just been told USC won the national championship. One of them, a blond with aviators on indoors, grins at you, “You taking shots or you just gonna stand there and look hot?”

Blair gasps, offended on your behalf. You roll your eyes and reach for the Tito’s bottle. Blond aviators whistles, “Oh, she’s going straight for the hard stuff.”

Blair squeals, “Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea.”

You raise the bottle, “Wait—” Blair warns.

Too late, you’re already taking a deep, burning, reckless swig. The kitchen collectively screams and you cough once, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, “Fuck.”

Blair smacks the counter, beaming, “Yes! That’s my best friend!”

Someone shoves a red cup into your hand, another chanting, “Chug! Chug! Chug!”

So you do, because why the hell not? This moment has been eighteen years in the making and the drink is warm, disgusting, and makes your head pleasantly light.

Blair hops onto the counter, already dancing, “I am so proud of you!”

Guys around you start cheering harder, forming a half-circle as if you’re performing, and you laugh—dizzy and loud.

For the first time in your life, you’re not a quarterback’s daughter with curfews and rules and expectations. You’re just a girl in a filthy shirt getting worshipped by a kitchen full of frat brothers.

One leans in, too close, grinning, “So, uh—you rushing? Because we were thinking—”

Another cuts him off, slinging an arm around his shoulders, “—thinking we should make you Sig Chi’s sweetheart.”

Blair snaps her gaze to you, giggles erupting, “Oh my God, (Y/N), they’re already trying to crown you.”

The first guy leans closer, bold with liquid courage, “You’d run this place.”

“Yeah?” You tease, voice looser than normal, “What would I get out of it?”

He smirks, “Priority at every party. Your own room. Free booze. And—”

Before you can even smile, a low voice cuts through the kitchen like a knife, “Who the fuck told you idiots you could talk to her?”

Gojo stands in the doorway, cup in hand, expression blank and walks in with the crowd parting for him like the Red Sea, “You boys drunk or just dumb as fuck?”

“Gojo, we were—”

“Don’t speak,” He snaps, stepping closer, “You think you can ‘crown’ girls now? Offer them rooms? Priority access?" He laughs once, “You can’t even organize a mixer without me holding your hands.”

One brother stiffens, “Gojo, come on—”

Gojo turns his head slowly, “You interrupting me?” The guy goes pale, Gojo’s voice drops, “As active brothers you’re supposed to know the rules,” He nods over toward you, “And rule number one—you don’t approach girls I’m watching.”

A ripple flows through the kitchen, “G-Gojo—”

“Probation,” He replies simply, “All three of you,” Their faces drop, “No parties. No tailgates. No socials. You’re on cleanup duty for two weeks with the Pledges.”

The room detonates with whispers, “And if you ever look at her again? I’ll pull your letters myself,” They stare at him horrified, “Now, get the fuck out of my kitchen.”

The brothers scatter like roaches and Gojo turns to you, “Having fun?” He asks, voice warm again, teasing the way only danger could.

“M-Maybe.”

He steps closer; his knee brushes your thigh, the scent of his cologne wraps around your spine, and the buzz of the vodka evaporates from how stupid hot this is, “I thought I told you to stay where I could see you.”

Your heart jumps, heat rushing straight into your stomach, “I didn’t go anywhere.”

His eyes flick down your body, slow and deliberate, “Oh, you went everywhere,” He says, “Guys over here. Guys over there. Taking shots on my counter like you’re trying to get a reaction.”

Blair is wheezing into her cup somewhere behind you. You lift your chin, “What—did it bother you?”

His jaw ticks, just once, but you feel it like a pulse under your skin. He steps closer, body angling into yours, hand coming down beside your hip on the counter. He’s caging you in without even touching.

“It bothered me,” He says quietly, “How much fun you were having without me,” Your stomach churns, his voice drops further, “Didn’t like seeing other guys look at you like that.”

“You told them off,” You remind him.

“I shouldn’t have had to.”

Your mouth opens, he watches you react—your pulse, your breathing, and soaks it up like it feeds him, “You’re drunk,” He says, eyes glinting, “But you’re not stupid.”

“Meaning…?”

He leans in, lips brushing your jaw, “Meaning you know exactly what you’re doing.”

Your thighs press together on instinct and he catches it, something daring flickers across his expression; hunger, annoyance, restraint, then he nods toward the staircase, “Come with me.”

“Where?”

He smirks in the way he always does before hooking up with girls, “Upstairs.”

Your breath falters, “Why?”

He takes your wrist gently, shockingly gentle for someone with such big hands, and pulls you away from the counter. His thumb slides across your pulse point, “You want me to say it?”

You shouldn’t. You really, really shouldn’t. But you nod.

His eyes drag down to your shirt again, bold letters across your chest, daring the world. He lifts his gaze back to yours, “Because, princess…” He murmurs, voice an unholy whisper, “…I wanna do what your shirt says.”

Your knees nearly give and Gojo’s hand tightens on your wrist, “Come upstairs,” He says again, firmer this time, “Before I do something stupid right here.”

You don’t think or even breathe, you just let him lead you through the kitchen, past the music, up the stairs; his hand warm and unyielding around yours, every step feeling like the point of no return, and everyone watches.

Because the king of Sig Chi just bagged the coveted QB’s daughter.

Gojo hears all their whispered words, but they don’t affect him. He just smirks over his shoulder, hand still wrapped around your wrist, doing what he’s done almost a hundred times before, and keeps walking.

Up the stairs, down the hall, past guys who stop talking just to watch you go. You can feel the attention, the shock, the rumors already spreading like wildfire and the second the door to his room shuts, he’s on you.

His mouth crashes onto yours before your back even hits the door, one hand sliding into your hair, the other gripping your waist and dragging you closer until there’s no space between you. Your hands fist in the hem of his shirt; he groans into your mouth, the sound dark, low, sinful.

And then Gojo doesn’t walk you to the bed, no. He throws you onto it. One push to your hips and you fall back onto his mattress, bouncing once; he stands at the edge for a second, just looking at you, chest rising, jaw tight, like he’s trying not to pounce too fast.

Then he laughs under his breath. A quiet, disbelieving sound. He’s had all types of girls on this bed—sorority girls, party girls, girls who begged for his attention, but none of them ever looked like this.

His shirt rides up as he pulls his hat off to run a hand through his hair, eyes raking over every inch of you. The skirt pushed high, the lewd baby tee, your glossy lips parted from panting.

You’re not like the others…you’re worse. You’re a good girl, not his usual type, not ran through; temptation he was never supposed to touch, the quarterback’s daughter with the perfect reputation, and the perfect face, and the perfect body he’s dying to destroy.

His laughter fades, replaced by something darker and hungrier as he steps closer, eyes dragging over you like he’s choosing which part of you to ruin first.

“Yeah,” He murmurs, tone dropping, “I knew you’d look good on my bed.”

Then his hands, big and unforgiving, close around your thighs. He drags you down the mattress in one smooth, brutal pull, your skirt sliding up high on your hips, your breath punching out of your lungs.

Your ass hits the edge of the bed, legs falling open for him on instinct. Gojo inhales sharply like the sight of you hurts him, “Fuck,” He breathes, half a laugh, half a groan, “You’re gonna kill me.”

He doesn’t climb onto the bed, doesn’t join you, he just stands there, looming, tall and broad, with his thumbs pressed into the soft inner curve of your thighs; pushing them wider until the stretch borders on obscene.

You can feel your pulse now, between your legs, desperate and unable to ignore. He looks down at you like he’s about to pray to whatever god put you in front of him or ruin you for sport. You can’t distinguish the two.

His fingers hook into the sides of your panties, “Lift.”

You obey in an instant; he slides them down your legs slowly, savoring the reveal, until they hit the floor with a soft thud.

The second he sees you, bare and already wet for him, his jaw flexes, “Jesus Christ,” He mutters, running a hand through white strands to control himself, “You’re soaked.”

Heat floods your face at the sight, at the words, and he smirks because he can tell, “Shy now?” He teases, “You wore that shirt and came to my frat but this—” His thumb barely grazes the inside of your thigh, nearly touching where you want him, “—this is what makes you flush?”

You try to speak, but he doesn’t let you. Instead, he bends deliberately slow, bringing his mouth closer until his breath hits your skin. Your thighs tense, it only makes him grip them harder, “Relax,” He coos, eyes lifting to yours from between your legs, “I’m gonna take care of you.”

You don’t get a chance to register anything, he leans in and licks one long, slow stripe up your pussy—so slow you swear he’s doing it just to see how flustered you’ll get from the first touch alone.

Your head falls back against the sheets and he laughs, a soft, smug sound that vibrates right into your core, “Taste so good,” He mutters, already going back in for more, “Knew you would.”

And then he loses himself. His hands slide under your thighs, lifting your hips off the edge of the bed, dragging you closer until your knees are hooked over his shoulders and his mouth is pressed fully against your sopping cunt.

He eats you like a man starved, deprived, one that’s been waiting for this ever so patiently, and one whose life mission is to ruin you for every man who could ever come after him. His tongue flicks and circles and presses, “Satoru—”

He groans, the sound reverberating so deep your body shudders, “Say it again,” He says between licks, “Fuck, say my name again.”

You do, over and over, because you simply can’t not.

He tightens his grip on you, holding you still as he sucks your clit with a filthy reverence, and your back arches so hard your vision spots. Your legs try to close on instinct, but he doesn’t allow it. Gojo pushes your thighs wider with his shoulders, pinning you open without even trying.

“Yeah…” He murmurs into your skin, breath so hot it makes you twitch, “Keep ‘em open for me.”

He dips his head again, sucking your clit into his mouth with a force that knocks a cry out of you and you try to wiggle away from the intensity, but he stops you.

He growls, a low warning, fingertips digging into your thighs, “Oh no, you’re not running from this,” His voice drops, rough, entertained, and mean, “Daddy’s princess doesn’t get to run.”

Your body jolts like he slapped you and he feels it; pausing for a second, his lips still brush your folds as he lifts those piercing blues to watch your reaction. A smirk cuts across his face.

“Oh my fucking God,” He breathes, “You liked that shit.”

You try to lie, “I—no.”

But you did like it. Some depraved, twisted part of you liked it.

He laughs, delighted, “Yeah? You denying it?” He gives your cunt another slow lick, “Cause your pretty pussy’s kinda telling me everything I need to know.”

Your face burns with shame, unable to stop the shrill sound that falls out of you. He groans, guttural and hungry, “Holy shit—daddy’s good little girl getting off on being talked to like a slut?”

He moves closer to whisper directly on your skin, your lashes flutter from the warmth, “Guess daddy’s girl isn’t so good anymore.”

You can’t stop yourself from reacting to that, your hands yank his hair hard and he moans straight into your cunt at the pull, “Ohh fuck yeah,” He hisses, “Give me that again, princess.”

You tug him once more, pushing him deeper into your core; your voice comes out small and shaky, “Don’t…wanna be good…” Gojo tenses, your next words fracture on a whisper that will haunt him forever, “…just wanna be good for you.”

That line sends him into a frenzy, his mouth crashes back onto you sloppily—tongue working like he wants to drag that confession out of you again, sucking your clit with a messy, perfect pressure that shatters your thoughts.

He holds you open as he devours you; there’s no rhythm to it at all, just a man fully out of his fucking mind.

“Satoru—Toru—” Your voice cracks as your orgasm slams through you with a force you didn’t think possible.

And he groans like your pleasure pleases him, licking you through the entire climax, refusing to let go of you until you collapse onto the mattress, trembling.

When you do, he pulls back slowly; face glazed, breathing erratic, eyes wild, “Fuck,” He whispers, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “Need to be inside you.”

He doesn’t waste a minute, lifting you by the hips again both effortlessly and possessively, he drags you up the bed until your head hits his pillows.

“Goddamn, look at you,” He sneers, hovering, “Already fucked dumb and I haven’t even put my cock in you yet.”

You whimper helplessly as he’s already lining himself up; thick, flushed, heavy in his fist, and pushes in, sinking inch by inch into a pussy so tight his eyes flutter shut.

“Ahh—fuck, princess,” His voice wavers, “You’re gripping me—fucking gripping my shit already—”

He tries to breathe properly, but fails miserably, “God, you’re so fuckin’ tight. Feels insane.”

He pulls out, pushes back in deeper this time, and your cry is instant. It’s music to his ears, “Yeah…that’s it. Take it. All of it.”

His pace builds, slow at first, then faster, angling to hit the spot that makes your nails drag down his back. When you clamp around him, his breath stutters, “Oh my God—don’t do that shit,” His hips jerk without his permission, “Fuck, I’m trying to pull out—I’m trying.”

But he’s not. He’s lying.

You feel it in the way he grips your thighs harder, his hips snapping deeper, the shudder that runs down his spine like he’s fighting himself.

“Toru—”

He cuts you off with a broken groan, “I’m trying to pull out, I swear. But your pussy—shit, won’t let me.”

Your walls clench around him again and he grunts, forehead pressing to your cheek, “Princess—stop squeezing, fuck.”

He tries to pull back this time. He really does, but he can’t. You’re too warm, too tight, and way too fucking wet from how good he ate you out.

“Oh—no, no, no,” He chokes out, “Fuck—I can’t, I can’t.”

His thrusts turn frantic and the filth spills right out of him, “Shit, I-I’m gonna cum—inside,” His hips slam into yours, desperate, “Can’t pull out. Fuck, I can’t—pussy won’t let me.”

Your nails claw into him now, so hard it’s certain to leave marks, and that’s what ends him, “Fuck,” He drags the word out, burying himself all the way to the hilt, and cums right inside you.

Spilling into you in long, uncontrollable pulses, hot and thick. He groans into your neck, “God—fuck, fuck, princess—cummin’ in you—so deep, shit.”

Each spurt drags another sound out of him, almost pained with a hint of reverence; his hips keep spasming and he stuffs himself deeper, like he can’t help it.

When you finally finish milking him dry, he lifts his head, looks down between your bodies, and sees it.

Where he’s still inside you, how full you are, a ring of white already gathering around the base of his cock and something shifts in him, “…Holy fuck.”

You blink, dazed, “What?”

He doesn’t hear you at all, eyes glued to the sight of you stretched around him, dick nestled in you like it belongs there. His tone drops into something low and stunned, “I—I really came in you.”

You nod weakly, out of breath, “Mhm.”

He swallows hard, but doesn’t pull out. Instead, he presses in even deeper, like he needs to feel it one more time. You gasp and he throws his head back, “Oh my God…” He mutters, almost to himself, “…it’s so warm.”

He runs his hand down your stomach, stopping right above where he’s still buried. Then he pushes gently, just enough to feel his load shift deeper, and you whimper.

“Shit…” His voice is nothing but pure, filthy awe, “I’ve never…fuck, I’ve never done that before. I don’t even fuck raw.”

You expect panic, but what hits him is the opposite. A wave of feral, possessive pleasure that lights up every neuron in his brain. He exhales shakily, eyes flicking up to yours with an emotion that looks close to worship.

“Princess…” He’s smiling, a crooked one, “That felt fucking incredible.”

Your stomach flips, because he’s right. It really fucking did.

He lifts your thigh higher on his hip like he wants to see everything and have this visual burned into his mind forever, “Fuck…” He whispers, chest rising faster, “You took all of it.”

His fingers gently spread you open around him, his cum spills out just a little, and he moans, “Ohh, fuck—look at that…” A soft laugh falls from his lips. You’ve never seen a man look so corrupted by his own desire.

But then, reality slaps him across the face, “Oh shit. Shit, shit, wait—no, no, no—” He drags a trembling hand through his mussed hair, expression fracturing between pleasure and dread, “—I cannot believe I just fucking did that.”

“Satoru—”

He cuts you off, still staring at the wetness leaking around him, “I mean…That was fuckin’ crazy—like way too good. Scary good. I get it now.”

Your pulse trips, “But also—” He finally pulls out and when more of his cum spills onto the sheets he moans again, “Fuck, okay—we need to go. Now. Like now-now.”

You raise a brow, “You’re freaking out?”

His eyes snap up to you, “Do I look like I’m freaking out?” He gestures at your pussy, “I just creampied the girl whose dad could literally shut down our chapter. Of fucking course I’m freaking out.”

But then he pauses, glancing down at you, your thighs, the mess between them, and something hot flickers back onto his face, “Not gonna lie though…it looked really fucking good.”

Heat floods your cheeks and he smirks, clapping his hands once decisively, “Okay. Get up. We need a Plan B before I start thinking with my dick again.”

You’re still trembling, the last of his load spilling out onto the sheets, and he stares at it—at you, for a second too long, chest rising like he’s physically restraining himself from going back inside.

But then he steps away, fast, a black hoodie already in his grip when he barks out, “Up. Now.”

You’re in a haze, legs barely working, but his urgency snaps you out of it. You sit up, shaking, pulling your skirt and panties back into place.

Gojo’s already dressed, hoodie thrown over his head, white tendrils sticking out, jaw clenched so hard you can see the muscle twitch, “Satoru…”

His sharp eyes cut to you, wide from leftover adrenaline, “Not now,” He says quietly, “We can’t talk right now.”

Because he’ll lose it and he’s hardening again, even with his cum leaking out of you, “Let’s go.”

You barely get your shoes on before he’s grabbing your hand and leading you out the room, down the stairs, and through the pulsing music, ignoring every brother who tries to high-five him and every girl who wants to touch him.

He’s too wound up and aware of the possibility sitting warm between your legs.

Outside, the cool west coast air hits, but it does nothing to help him. His grip stays taut on your hand, guiding you quickly down the sidewalk, away from Sig Chi and anyone who might see him like this.

He doesn’t speak to you, not once, but you can hear his uneven breathing and every few steps he mumbles something nearly inaudible.

“Fucking dumbass…”

“Should’ve pulled…”

“Evil ass pussy…”

However, thank God for college towns and their love for twenty-four hour pharmacies; a CVS sign glows bright up ahead and Gojo moves quicker, beelining it with you in tow.

Once inside, he pauses at the automatic doors, lifting his hood higher to shield his face, then walks straight to the family planning aisle. He doesn’t hesitate, there’s no need to browse or think, he just grabs the Plan B box so fast the air moves with it and heads for self-checkout.

No cashiers, no chance for eye contact, no witnesses. He’d rather be shot dead than caught lacking like this. If anyone found out that Satoru Gojo had a weak ass pull-out game, he’d lose all sense of power on campus.

He scans the box with tottering hands, grabs a bottle of water from the mini cooler next to the register, pays in cash, and throws the receipt away as soon as it prints. Only then, does he finally look at you, “Come on.”

The two of you make it maybe ten steps outside before he’s gnawing the Plan B box open with his teeth. He places the tiny pill in your hand and shoves the water at you, “Take it.”

He watches every centimeter of movement; the pill hitting your tongue, the rim of the bottle on your lips, and the bob of your throat when it’s all swallowed.

When it’s done, his shoulders fall, showing you how fucking scared he actually was, “Okay…” He murmurs, nodding, “Okay. Crisis averted.”

But then you shift your weight and his gaze drops to your legs, the memory of how you squeezed around him hits, “…Fuck.”

“What?”

His voice is quieter now, “You look way too good right now for someone I almost got pregnant.”

You laugh softly, but he doesn’t. There’s not even a flicker of amusement behind those bright eyes. He steps closer though, hand lifting to your face, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth, “Come here.”

Gojo tilts your chin up, scanning all of your features with that same predatory focus he had right before he got on his knees for you. Then, he speaks like he’s laying down scripture. A speech he’s given to hundreds of girls before, you’re sure.

“Alright, princess. We need to set some ground rules.”

“Rules?”

His thumb grazes your lip, “Number one,” He says, tone steady, “This is just sex. Nothing more.”

You gulp as he continues, “Number two. I will never be your boyfriend.”

That one stings for reasons unknown. You nod anyway, “Number three. You don’t ask who I’m seeing.”

So he still plans on seeing other girls. Okay.

“Number four…” He steps closer, so close you think he might kiss you, “…when I want you, I get you.”

The way he says it makes your stomach flip violently, “And number five,” He adds, “You don’t let any other guy touch you like I did tonight.”

He can fuck other girls, but you can’t fuck other guys? The fuck?

“Why not?”

His eyes burn into yours, “Because you told me you wanted to be good for me…and I’m holding you to it.”

Then just like that, he steps back, shoving his hands into his pockets, hood still up, fully composed frat boy again, “Got it? Okay, cool,” He rushes, “I’ll text you.”

“That’s it?”

“Yup,” He pops the p, starts walking backward, eyes dragging over your entire body one last time, “Night, princess.”

And turns away, leaving you standing under the glow of the CVS sign like some whore he used, legs shaking, heart pounding, and the worst part about it all? You still want him and still want more.

Freedom like this is too much fun.

But you tell yourself you won’t text him back. This was a one-time thing, you needed to get it out of your system as a repressed daddy’s girl. That you’re not the type who gets addicted to a frat boy she met at a party, no matter how hot he looks or how good he fucks.

Yeah…that lie lasts about less than twenty-four hours. Because the next night, at 12:47 A.M., your phone buzzes.

satoru: open your dorm window

You blink at the message, confused, until headlights sweep across the courtyard, bright, white-blue, and unmistakable—his Porsche.

Blair is already asleep beside you, your heart’s sprinting. You slide the window open to peek out and there he is, leaned against the hood, hoodie up, hands in his pockets, looking at your window like he knew you’d listen.

He lifts his chin, “Come down.”

He doesn’t say please or explain further and you go, of course you go.

The next time you see him, it’s in your dorm room. And it starts with kissing—always kissing.

He’s got you pinned against the inside of your locked door, hands under your ass, lifting you like you weigh nothing, grinding you against the thick outline in his sweats with a low, starved sound in his throat.

“Missed this,” He mutters, lips on your neck, “Missed you.”

You don’t have time to decipher the meaning before your phone rings. Your dad’s contact photo lights up the screen.

You freeze, but Gojo doesn’t. He looks at it, then at you, and smirks evilly, “Answer it.”

“Toru—” But he’s already dropping to his knees.

Your phone quivers in your hand as you swipe to accept the call, “Hi, princess,” Your dad’s voice comes through, “How was your first few nights in the dorms?”

Gojo pushes your skirt up, your pulse skyrockets as you force a steady tone, “G-Good. Umm. Really good.”

He drags your panties down with agonizing slowness, eyes locked onto yours the entire time, enjoying every ounce of panic flickering across your sweet face.

“That’s good to hear,” Your father continues, “You settling in okay? Eating enough? Staying safe?”

Gojo’s mouth touches you and you nearly drop the phone. His tongue slides through your folds, deliberate and slow, savoring you like he’s got all the time in the world.

You bite your lip so hard you taste blood, “Mhm,” You manage, “I’m—Dad, I’m—I’m very safe.”

Gojo laughs softly against your pussy, “Good girl,” he murmurs, too quietly for anyone but you to hear and sucks your clit into your mouth.

Your voice breaks into the speaker, “What was that?” Your dad asks suddenly.

“N-Nothing!” You choke out, breathless, “Just—Just moving…something.”

Gojo looks up at you, eyes blazing, pupils dilated, and pride dripping from his smirk as he ruins your composure with the lightest touch of his tongue. You end up cumming so hard you have to mute yourself.

When you hang up, Gojo wipes his mouth with his thumb and stands, kissing you deeply, giving you a taste. Then he whispers on your lips, “Next time you say you’re safe…you’re gonna tell him that I’m the one keeping you that way.”

You don’t know whether that’s true or the biggest lie you’ve ever heard.

And the next time after that happens three nights later. You’re wearing tiny shorts and a tank top when he texts.

satoru: out front

satoru: now

You slide into the passenger seat of his 911 and the smell of him, clean and sharp, wraps around you immediately.

He doesn’t even say hi. His hand is in your hair before you finish closing the door; he’s pulling you over the console, kissing you with the same urgency as the first night.

Then he leans back in his driver’s seat, spreads his legs, and nods down at his lap, “Need your mouth,” He breathes, strained like he hasn’t gotten off in months instead of last night with some other girl, “Now, princess.”

And you give him it, because you’re somehow already gone for him and want to see what you can do. He grips your hair while you throat him deeper and deeper, until he’s cursing under his breath in Japanese and dragging a shaky hand over his mouth.

God, you fucking love it when he does that.

“Fuck—baby, baby, wait—” He pulls you off his throbbing cock, kisses you hard, and pushes your panties to the side, “Get on top.”

You straddle him and he drags you onto his dick in one long, devastating push. The car rocks as his hands grab everywhere—your hips, ass, waist, guiding you, using you, groaning into your neck.

“Mmm, that’s it—ride me,” He whispers, “Show me how bad you want it.”

You ride him until the windows fog and the V6 engine ticks with residual heat. He cums on your stomach with his face buried into your chest; a low, wrecked moan muffled against your skin.

That same weekend, there’s a night where he pulls you into a dark hallway at Sig Chi during a party. He pushes you against the wall without warning and slides into you from behind, hand clamped over your mouth.

The bass of house music is pounding, the hallway is thankfully empty, your skirt is bunched around your waist, and he fucks you slow and deep—like he’s trying to memorize the exact way your cunt clenches around him.

“You’re so fuckin’ addictive,” He breathes into your ear, “Gonna end up wearing you out every night.”

You don’t doubt it.

A week later, you’re in your communal dorm bathroom when you see it—blood. Thank the fucking Lord. The Plan B had worked.

You text him two words.

period came

Four minutes later he responds.

satoru: i’m here

You barely have time to lie down before he’s on top of you, mouth everywhere, voice rough with relief, “Good girl…” He murmurs against your stomach, “Fucking good girl.”

Then he pushes two fingers into you and you arch your back, whining. He smiles into your neck like it’s the best thing he’s heard, “Celebration sex,” He decides, “C’mere.”

Period? He does not care whatsoever. He fucks you like you’re his reward, and you let him.

But one morning, you catch him staring. Not at your tits or ass or mouth—at you and your face, something beneath your skin he’s trying and failing to deny.

He looks away fast, jaw tight, hoodie pulled up like he’s hiding from a fact inside himself and you pretend not to see it.

Because you know if you acknowledge it and name the thing growing between you, what you and him have will stop being fun and become dangerous.

Though the truth lingers in the air the next time he texts you at 1:03 A.M.

satoru: want you

And your fingers answer before your brain does.

come get me

He comes quickly.

Ten minutes after your text, his Porsche glides to a stop outside your dorm like it was summoned, and sends a text.

satoru: here

You’re already moving. As soon as you open the door, he grabs your jaw and kisses you before you can even sit down, pulling you into his lap like he’s starved. It’s harsher tonight.

“Always taste so fuckin’ good,” He mutters against your mouth, “Just for me, right?”

You don’t answer because you know he doesn’t need you to, it’s obvious. However, the next time he’s throwing you onto his bed, when you land on the sheets—something shifts.

There’s a scent in the air. Faint and sweet, a floral perfume you don’t wear. You don’t do floral, only gourmand fragrances. It hits you before you even spot the evidence.

There’s a hair tie on the nightstand that’s not yours, tube of lip gloss half-tucked under his pillow like it was hidden there in a hurry, a sweatshirt on the floor that definitely isn’t his.

And the worst part? He doesn’t even notice you noticing, because he’s too busy touching you.

His hands are already on your thighs, spreading them, his mouth dragging down your neck, voice thick with desire that doesn’t sound recycled or casual, “You been thinking about me all day?” He murmurs, “Thinking about how good I fuck you?”

You force yourself to swallow it down. The perfume, the hair tie, the gloss, the clothing, the ache blooming beneath your ribs.

But because you don’t answer, he grabs your jaw gently, making your eyes look into his, “Don’t get quiet on me now,” He smirks, “You’re not allowed.”

He kisses you again, filthily, and the sadness knots inside you in a way you refuse to acknowledge. Not now, not when he’s touching you and you want him this badly.

So you pretend.

You let him wreck you again, let him fuck you into the mattress with the haste of a man who can’t get enough. Although something tiny fractures within you when he flips you onto your stomach and you see the lip gloss again.

You shut your eyes, a yelp breaking from you as you try to imagine that it was never there.

Then four days later, you’re the one who texts first. You hate yourself for it, but you can’t help it.

you busy?

Delivered with no response.

Ten minutes pass, then twenty, then an hour.

You throw your phone aside, furious for caring in the first place. You knew what you were getting into from the moment you let a guy like Satoru Gojo fuck you.

Blair, who’s sitting in her bed beside you, glances at your expression and raises a brow, “Him again?”

You lie, “No.”

Two more hours pass and nothing. Your stomach twists with something awful and sharp because you know exactly what he’s doing. More so, who, he’s doing.

At 1:36 A.M., your phone lights up.

satoru: nah

satoru: come thru

You look at the texts, pissed off by his lack of consideration, but even more pissed by your lack of control. Because you go to him like he says.

You hear the music from the street when you arrive at Sig Chi. The house is loud and buzzing, full of energy he clearly enjoyed without you present.

He meets you at his bedroom door and the second you see him, all the oxygen leaves your lungs.

His hair is tousled under his blue snapback; his shirt is twisted, collar stretched like it was yanked. There’s a pink flush across his face, his lips look too red, like he’s been kissing for hours.

His breathing is slightly off as if his heart rate still hasn’t calmed down yet, but the room? Oh that’s the killer blow.

The sheets are tangled and half on the floor, there’s mascara smudged on his pillows, and God the trashcan ruins you. You can see multiple golden foils from where you are—condom wrappers.

And Gojo just stands there, letting you take it all in like he doesn’t even care. He watches you, blue eyes cool, leaning against the doorframe like you’re the one who kept him waiting, “You coming in?”

Your throat burns. Say no. Say no. Say fucking no.

But you step inside and the door clicks shut behind you, sealing you with the smell of a perfume that isn’t yours.

“Come here,” Gojo says.

And because you’re weak and something about him has rewired your brain, you walk closer instead of slapping him.

He hooks a finger under your chin, tilts your face up, and kisses you like he wasn’t just inside another girl before this. It’s greedy and possessive in a way he has no right to be; you let him take and take, until something within you snaps.

You push him back a step, breathing labored, “Satoru.”

He lifts a brow, already annoyed at being interrupted, “What?”

“I want…” Fuck, you hate yourself for how small it sounds, “…I want to be the only one.”

There’s dead silence in the room, but then—then he has the fucking audacity to laugh, “Oh, princess,” He coos, amusement curving his mouth as he pulls your waist against his, “That’s not how this works.”

Your stomach is in knots, the smirk is still there, “You can’t be the only one,” He says unapologetically, “But—”

His hand slides down your ass, gripping hard enough to make you gasp, “You can be my number one.”

Number one. Like you’re just barely good enough to earn the top spot on a team’s roster.

“…Your number one,” You echo.

“Yeah,” His lips brush your throat, “The one I fuck the most. The one I come back to. The one I call when I actually want it.”

You feel sick, “And what about me? Do I get anyone?”

He pulls back to look at you with eyes as sharp as knives, “No.”

The word lands like a slap, “No?”

“No,” He confirms, “You don’t let any other guy touch you. That was the deal.”

“That wasn’t a deal,” You seethe, “That was something you said after you—after you almost got me pregnant.”

He shrugs, “So? Still stands.”

Heat floods your entire face—anger, humiliation, desire, all tangled, “You’re allowed to fuck other girls,” You vocalize, “But I’m not allowed to—”

He cuts you off with a kiss so deep you forget how to breathe and when he breaks it, his voice is dangerously soft, “I don’t share.”

You swallow, pissed at yourself for the way your body always reacts to him, “And what if I don’t want to be your number one?”

Gojo smiles, “Then you wouldn’t be in my room right now.”

Your pulse trips because he’s right and you hate it. You shove him weakly, but he catches your wrists, pinning them above your head as he walks you backward toward the bed, “Don’t start pretending you don’t want this. Not after the way you moan for me.”

“Satoru—”

“You asked for the only one treatment?” He asks against your mouth, “Fine. I’ll fuck you like you’re the only girl in the world.”

He pushes you onto the mattress, “And then…I’ll remind you that you’re not.”

His tone is cruel, you’ve never heard him sound like this, and despite that fact, your body still betrays you. He drags your shorts down, mouth already on your inner thigh, kissing higher and higher, biting hard enough to leave a mark.

“Satoru—stop,” You whisper, but you don’t mean it and he knows you don’t.

His tongue licks up your folds and your back arches like you’ve been shocked. The reaction makes him laugh, “See? This pussy knows who it belongs to.”

You want to hit him, kiss him, run, and stay all at once. Your voice is barely a sound when you say, “I hate you.”

The words make him grin, “No, you don’t.”

He flips you onto your stomach before you can respond, pulling your hips up, positioning himself behind you—no condom, like always, “I’m your number one, too,” He murmurs, tip prodding your entrance, “You just don’t want to admit it.”

“Satoru—” He pushes into you in one long, ruthless stroke.

Your gasp shatters in the quiet room, “Fuck,” He groans, hands gripping your hips so tight you think they’ll bruise, “Every time—every time, you’re tighter.”

Then he fucks you like he’s proving a point, “Say it again,” He growls, “Say you want to be the only one.”

“I—I want—” You choke out, tears blurring your vision, “I want to be the only one—please—”

He moans, he actually fucking moans at that, as if your pain gives him pleasure, like he’s some sick sadist.

“Oh, princess,” He says, kissing your shoulder, “You break so pretty.”

And then he leans down just enough to whisper the nail in your coffin, “But you never will be.”

You cum around him anyway. Because you foolishly still want him, and maybe you’re some sick masochist too.

And when he finishes, pulling out of you with a quiet hiss, you think maybe he’ll soften—maybe he’ll say something real. But all he does is toss you a towel to clean yourself and grab his hat to shove it back on his head, muttering, “Close the door behind you.”

And like the dumbest bitch alive, you do.

You walk home at 3:12 A.M. with aching thighs and your heart bloodied. When you slip into your dorm, Blair is still awake with her laptop open. She looks up once, clocking everything in a single glance, “You good?”

“I’m fine,” You lie, kicking your shoes off.

She just stares and you stare back, knowing that she doesn’t believe you in the slightest, but doesn’t press.

You shower and scrub your body as if it can erase Gojo from your skin but you still feel him everywhere. Then you crawl into bed, praying you wake up a new person, but of course. You don’t.

The next morning, right as you wake, you open Instagram on autopilot, and Blair, sitting cross-legged in her bed eating dry cereal from the box looks over at you as your face goes blank.

Because on your feed is his story.

@.gojosatoru

Posted 32 minutes ago.

He’s at In-N-Out, with a blonde girl in his passenger seat, and her hand on his thigh. No caption.

Blair freezes mid-chew, “…Is that—?”

“Uh-huh.”

She leans closer, “Oh, fuck no.”

Your fingers go numb as you remember last night. He told you you were his number one, held you down, and fucked you like you belonged to him.

Now he’s posting publicly with other bitches? So as number one you can get the sex but you’re not worthy of anything else? Sure.

Blair sets her cereal aside, “Babe…are you okay?”

You fucking hate that she has to ask that. You swallow hard, “Yeah. Totally.”

She scoots closer, voice lower, “(Y/N)…he’s an asshole.”

You know, you’ve always known. But last night, in his bed, with his hands on you and his cock so deep—you forgot.

Blair studies you, then says gently, “You’re not this girl.”

Something inside you snaps back into place.

She’s right. You’re not. You’re not the girl who gets hidden, you’re not the girl he gets to fuck at 2 A.M. and replace by breakfast, and you sure as hell are not someone’s afterthought.

You inhale slowly, exhale sharply, and stand. Blair blinks, “What are you doing?”

You look her dead in the eye, “Remembering who the fuck I am.”

“And who is that?”

You don’t answer her with words. Instead, you walk over to your dresser and pull out the skimpiest bikini you own. Blair lets out a low whistle, “Damn. You’re gonna make someone crash their car.”

Putting it on, tightening the strings so it sits just right, you look at your reflection in the mirror.

The girl staring back at you isn’t the one crying over a frat boy. She’s someone else entirely; someone Satoru Gojo should have never underestimated.

You grab your phone, open your camera, and take the mirror selfie. Blair leans over your shoulder, “Caption?”

“Don’t need one,” You say with a smile, all you do is post the location of where you’ll be—Santa Monica Beach.

Oh, but you do decide to throw in a blue heart emoji, just to twist the knife. Then you hit post.

The likes come in immediately and your DMs explode. Blair’s jaw literally drops, “Oh my God, babe—TKE is already swiping up. Like, three different guys, holy shit.”

Yeah, that’s right. This is who you are.

Blair laughs with pure joy, “And guess who else viewed it?”

You don’t even ask, already knowing. Because a second later, your phone buzzes excessively.

@.gojosatoru: wtf is this pic

@.gojosatoru: delete ts

@.gojosatoru: answer your fucking phone

@.gojosatoru: (y/n)

Blair snorts, “Oh, he is so pressed.”

You slide your phone into your tote bag choosing to ignore it. He can scream into the void for all you care.

“Coming?” You ask Blair casually.

She grins, grabbing her sunglasses and keys, “Fuck, yeah I am. I ain’t missing this shit.”

You sling your towel over your shoulder and for the first time since you came to USC, you feel like yourself again, “Let’s go.”

“Where?”

You smile, “To remind him why he should’ve never posted that blonde bitch in the first place.”

You and Blair barely make it into the hallway before your phone vibrates again, but it’s not Gojo this time. It’s the TKE boys again.

tyler: u heading to santa monica?

zach: come slide we’re pregaming in the lot

kyle: we got room in the jeep if you need a ride

Blair leans over your shoulder, “Oh, we’re definitely taking the ride.”

You shouldn’t, but then you think of Gojo and how you’re done letting him dictate your life as if he’s the only one with power.

So you type back.

still at the lot?

The response is instant.

zach: still here. u look insane btw

kyle: pls come im begging

Blair cackles, “They’re literally foaming at the mouth, Jesus.”

You head downstairs and step outside into the morning California sun, the second the TKE boys see you, the whole group goes silent.

“Damn,” Tyler says, walking forward with a grin way too confident for someone who failed Econ twice, “You look…wow.”

You lift your sunglasses with one finger, giving him a lazy once-over, “Thanks. You driving?”

“Yeah,” Zach blurts before Tyler can speak, “You two riding over with us?”

You exchange a glance with Blair, “Sure.”

The boys practically beam; Tyler opens the passenger door for you and Blair slides into the middle seat, Zach sits beside her trying to play it cool.

The TKE boys are laughing, hyping each other up as music blasts through the speakers, and they glance at you like they can’t believe you’re actually coming with them.

You feel Blair tap your shoulder from behind, “You good?”

“Never better.”

But your phone keeps vibrating in your bag and you know exactly who it is.

satoru (16 missed calls)

satoru (24 messages)

You peep the last three.

satoru: where tf are you

satoru: stop ignoring me omg

satoru: seriously pick up

Blair sees the name and giggles, “He’s unraveling.”

Tyler leans over the center console, spotting the contact too, “Oh shit—Gojo’s blowing you up?”

“Yeah. Doesn’t matter.”

Zach scoffs, “Isn’t he like…obsessed with you?”

You smile sweetly, “Nah. He’s not.”

They seemed pleased with that answer and in less than twenty minutes, the Jeep rolls into the Santa Monica lot. Warm wind tangles through your hair as the ocean comes into view.

Everyone hops out quick, grabbing something to bring, but you? You step out slowly, letting the sun hit your bare shoulders and letting the boys stare unabashedly because they can’t help themselves. And God, does it feel good.

You eventually spread your towel on the sand, lay back, and get right to tanning. Everything is warm and golden, the boys crack open beers, Blair sets up the speaker playing Bad Bunny on full volume.

Tyler hands you a High Noon and you take a sip, laughing at something stupid Kyle says. And for one moment, you feel free again. But your goddamn phone won’t stop buzzing in your bag.

Blair nudges you, “You gonna check that?”

“Nope.”

She grins, “Good.”

“(Y/N)!” Tyler calls, tossing a football, “You play?”

You catch it one-handed despite being off guard, “Do you forget who my dad is?”

They laugh and so do you, but your phone still keeps popping off like a warning for what’s about to come next. Because not even ten minutes later, you hear it.

That sound, the unmistakable growl of a high-performance engine being pushed too hard. A Porsche 911 tears into the parking lot—his Porsche. Your heart plummets as Blair whispers, “No fucking way.”

The boys turn, heads all over swivel, and then he appears. Satoru Gojo steps out of the Porsche like he didn’t run five red lights on the drive here. His white tee is wrinkled to shit, blue shorts slung low on his hips, sunglasses pushed into his mussed white strands, jaw clenched so hard you see the muscle jump.

In his hand is his phone, the one he used to blow up yours, and he doesn’t walk over to you, no, he stalks. Across the sand, straight toward you with a purposeful, terrifying calm, the kind that makes groups of guys instinctively step back.

But you’re not scared in the slightest. You lift your sunglasses and meet his eyes; cold blue, laser-focused. He stops in front of your towel, shadow sprawled over your body, chest heaving like he’s on the verge of losing it.

“(Y/N),” He hardly ever uses your name, “Get up.”

You make him wait three whole seconds before you do; you stand, unbothered, brushing sand off your thighs, refusing to break eye contact. He takes a step closer, nostrils flaring, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Pretty sure I’m sitting on a beach.”

The TKE boys shift behind you, Gojo’s eyes flick to them—Tyler holding a drink, Kyle shirtless and smiling, Zach close enough that his knee had brushed yours.

He laughs once, “With these loser cucks?”

Kyle bristles instantly, “Bro—watch your fucking mouth.”

But Gojo doesn’t spare him a glance, he keeps his eyes on you, “Deadass?” He murmurs, “This the shit you’re on now?”

You shrug, “Looks that way.”

“You ignored sixteen calls. Sixteen.”

“Yeah,” You reply, lifting your drink again, “Cause I didn’t wanna answer.”

Kyle folds his arms, “Yo, she’s busy. Maybe back up.”

Gojo turns his head just enough to look at him, “I wasn’t fucking talking to you,” Then his eyes snap back to yours, “So you’re really out here with TKE?”

“Why not?” You ask.

He scoffs, sucking his teeth, “They know that you were on my dick last night?”

Your cheeks grow hot with rage, but he wants that reaction, so you decide to give him nothing, “Thanks for the reminder. I almost forgot.”

“You forgot?” He repeats, voice tight, “After the way you were screaming my name?”

Kyle steps forward, fists clenching, “Alright, back the fuck off—”

You lift a hand, stopping him without looking away from Gojo, “No. Let him talk.”

“You’re really gonna stand here and pretend last night didn’t happen?”

“You mean the part where you said I’ll never be the only one?” You ask, titling your head, “Or the part where you posted the blonde on your story less than twelve hours later?”

His jaw ticks, “That’s what this is about?” He snaps, “A fucking story?”

“No. It’s about you thinking I’m stupid.”

“You’re jealous.”

You genuinely laugh, “No, Satoru. You’re delusional.”

His hands twitch at his sides, like he’s debating grabbing you or strangling someone. He glances at the boys again and something cold creeps into his countenance, “Answer me something.”

You raise a brow as he gestures at the guys behind you, “You fucking one of them now?”

Tyler coughs, Kyle looks away, Zach smirks like he hopes so, “Why? You care?”

Gojo steps closer, the warmth of his chest brushing the top of yours, “That’s cute. Acting like I don't."

“Go home, Satoru.”

“No.”

“It wasn’t a question.”

His gaze drags over your bikini again, “Get in the car.”

It’s sad—that some part of you almost gives in like always. Because you know that if you left now, the argument would end. It’d end with him giving you the craziest dick of your life and you back at square one; you refuse to do that again.

So, you stand taller, “No.”

A muscle in his cheek pops, “…No?”

“You heard me.”

And because Gojo can’t win with logic and can’t bear the thought of being denied for once in his life, he reaches for cruelty, “Fine…You’re cut.”

Cut. From his roster. But your voice is steady when you say, “Good.”

“Good?”

“Yeah,” You say, “Good. You did me a favor.”

Gojo’s expression flattens, “Cool. I’ll replace you in an hour.”

You take one step forward and smile, “I’ll replace you in fifteen minutes. Won’t be hard.”

The collective gasp from the boys is audible. Gojo doesn't even blink, but the vein in his neck jumps and for the first time since you’ve known him, he looks hurt. Real hurt.

He steps back, then once more, “Enjoy your day,” Adding coldly, “Princess.”

He turns and walks away, sand kicking up beneath his feet, and you don’t look after him. Not even when the Porsche engine snarls and he peels out of the lot so fast seagulls scatter.

Blair exhales, “Holy shit…I’m glad I came.”

Tyler whistles low, “Yo…you’re gonna break that dude.”

“Good,” You say, laying back down on your towel, “It’s his turn.”

But the beach doesn’t go back to normal after that. You tan, you swim once, you drink enough to feel warm, the boys continue to orbit you like planets caught in your gravitational pull, yet it's not the same.

Blair leans in at one point, whispering, “You know you don’t have to actually hook up with any of them, right?”

Right. That was the whole reason why you did this in the first place. To get revenge.

You hum, “I know.”

Though when the sun begins to set, casting amber over the waves, Kyle asks if you want to come back to the TKE house and you hear yourself say, “Sure.”

Not because you’re dying to fuck him, but because of everything Satoru Gojo did. The house is louder and dirtier than Sig Chi—bass rattles the wall, bodies are everywhere. Kyle leads you upstairs, respectful, a little nervous, but beyond eager.

Your stomach twists with anticipation, you’re finally getting your lick back. Kyle closes the bedroom door behind you, “Want a drink?”

“No.”

You step closer and his breath catches, “You sure?”

“Positive.”

He leans in and kisses you…It’s fine, you guess. Soft, warm, nothing like the way Gojo does. You’re unsure if that’s a good or bad thing. Kyle’s hands are on your waist and his mouth moves down your neck. He’s sweet, careful, and you should like this more—you don’t.

But you need it. You need something to hold onto that isn’t him. Kyle whispers, “You’re so fucking pretty,” And you let him guide you toward the bed.

Your phone buzzes in your bag, you ignore it. Then it buzzes again, long and insistent. Kyle notices, “You can get that if you want—”

“No,” You breathe, “Keep going.”

He nods and kisses you again, and you try, God you try to lose yourself in it. But the second his hand slips under your top, your phone lights up in the dark room. Bright enough in your bag that you both see it.

satoru: answer

satoru: stop playing

satoru: (y/n)

You go still, Kyle pulls back, “Hey…you okay?”

“Yeah,” You lie, “Just—just keep going.”

He leans in, but your eyes stay fixed on the glowing screen. Another message comes through and it’s not angry this time. It’s worse.

satoru: please

Your breath stutters as Kyle kisses your shoulder, your phone vibrates again.

satoru: princess please

Your entire body locks, because this isn’t how he talks. This isn’t a man who begs and it definitely doesn’t sound like one who moved on in an hour. Kyle’s hands slide down your waist, his lips brush your collarbone, and then you reazlie—you can’t do this.

You sit up abruptly, “Wait.”

Kyle freezes, “Oh. Uh, did I do something wrong?”

“No,” You say quickly, “No, you’re great. I just—I can’t.”

He bows his head, disappointed, “It’s cool. Really.”

You grab your phone and open the messages, staring at the last one until your chest aches.

satoru: please just pick up

Blair texts you at the same time.

blair: WHAT DID YOU DO? HE LOOKS LIKE HE’S HAVING A BREAKDOWN

You inhale sharply as the truth slams through you. You’re not over him, not even remotely. Your fingers tremble as you text Blair back.

where is he

blair: SIG CHI bro he showed up like a psycho

blair: he asked EVERYONE if they’ve seen you

Your pulse spikes so hard it hurts. Kyle is still on the end of the bed, giving you space and pretending he doesn’t see your face falling apart, “You sure you’re okay?”

You nod even though you aren’t, and stand too quickly, grabbing your bag, “I—I have to go.”

“Because of him?”

“…Yeah.”

He nods slowly, expecting it, like every guy on campus knows that whatever the hell is happening between you and Satoru Gojo is bigger than anything they could touch, “Douchebag doesn’t even deserve you.”

Yeah, he’s probably right about that but you bolt out of the room anyway, run down the stairs, and through the crowd spilling beer everywhere. Someone calls your name, but you don’t care. Your phone is in your hand, Gojo’s name filling the screen over and over like he’s clawing to get to you.

Pushing out into the street, cool evening air slams into your chest and you call him without thinking. It rings only once, “(Y/N).”

“Satoru—”

“You’re at TKE?” He blurts out. There’s noise behind him—music, voices, and footsteps as if he’s pacing through Sig Chi.

“Yes…”

“Did you go back with Kyle?” Your mouth opens, but you’re unable to speak, so he does it for you, “You did.”

“Satoru—”

“Just tell me,” He cuts you off, voice shaking with fury he’s trying to swallow, “Did he touch you?”

Your pulse slams against your ribs, Gojo keeps going, “He kissed you, right? You let him? You went into his room? You let him fucking—” He stops suddenly, breath hitching like finishing the rest of his sentence would choke him.

“Nothing happened.”

“…You’re lying.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, frustrated tears burning, “I left, Satoru. I left him. I’m literally calling you—”

“Why the fuck were you even there?”

“Because of you!”

A voice in the background of Gojo’s line says, “Bro, chill—” And you hear him snarl, “Shut the fuck up,” Followed by a door slamming so loudly you flinch. Now he’s alone and the truth crawls out of him, “I thought you were gone…I thought you actually went and—and fucked him.”

“I didn’t.”

“You almost did.”

Almost…and you would’ve too if he hadn’t kept texting, “You don’t understand,” He says hoarsely, “I’ve been looking for you for hours. I tore through the whole fucking house. I asked everyone. I—”

“Satoru…”

“Where are you now?”

“Heading toward Sig Chi.”

You hear movement and the sound of his breath catching, his shoes hitting the floor, something crashing behind him as he pushes through the thumping house.

“Stay on the phone,” He orders, “You’re not walking alone.”

“I’m fine.”

“Stay on the fucking phone.”

You listen then. Breath syncing with his footsteps as he barrels through the hallway and out the back door, onto the street. He’s running now, you can tell, “Satoru—slow down—”

“No,” He pants, keys jangling, car door slamming, Porsche engine purring to life, “You think I’m letting you walk alone after someone else had their hands on you?”

Your grip tightens on the phone, “So what? You’re coming to get me?”

“I’m already halfway there,” He breathes, rounding a corner so sharp the tires skid, “Don’t hang up.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

A long exhale leaves him, desperation blended with rage, “Tell me again. Tell me nothing happened.”

“…Nothing happened.”

He lets out a broken laugh of disbelief, “Good…Because I’m two minutes away, and if he had fucked you—”

You feel it in your bones, the relief so violent it comes out as anger, “Satoru,” You whisper softly, “Just…get here.”

“I’m coming, princess,” And then he hangs up.

The Porsche’s roar echoes down the street long before his headlights appear and once they do, he swings by the curb so fast you stumble back a step. He rolls the window down only to say, “Get in the car.”

You open the door, slide into the passenger seat and the second you’re in, he peels off so hard your shoulder hits the door, “Fuck—relax.”

“Can’t,” His knuckles are white on the wheel, every muscle in his forearm flexes with barely contained aggravation, and he doesn’t look at you once during the drive. He whips into the Sig Chi driveway, parks crooked as shit, and kills the engine.

Finally, he turns his head, eyes blazing, “Inside.”

You don’t argue; you follow him through the front door with your pulse in your throat, up the creaking stairs, through the hall, until he shoves his bedroom door open and pulls you inside, slamming it with so much force the walls shake.

“What the fuck was all of that?”

“Oh, don’t do that,” Your tone is full of bitterness, “Don’t think I forgot about the blonde you posted today. Don’t act like you didn’t show me exactly where I stand.”

“That was different.”

“Was it?” You step closer, chest heaving, “Was it different when I walked into your room last night and saw a trashcan full of condoms? When your sheets were a fucking mess? When your lips were swollen and you looked like you’d just—” You don’t finish that thought. He flinches at your words, but you don’t stop there, “When you fucked me and laughed in my face, telling me I’d never be the only one?”

His throat works, “Say something,” You snap, “Go on. Justify it. Tell me I’m crazy.”

“I didn’t fuck her,” He runs a trembling hand through his hair, “I didn’t fuck anyone,” He says louder, “Not the blonde. Not last night. Not today. Nobody.”

You stare at him, “Satoru. Your room—your trash.”

“I couldn’t even get it up…happy?” He spits out the truth like it hurts, “I kept—” He gestures violently, “—trying. With someone else. But it didn’t matter. My dick wouldn’t stay fucking hard.”

Your mouth falls agape, he keeps going, voice cracking down the middle, “I kept putting the condom on and I’d go soft. Again and again and again,” He laughs once, “That’s why there were wrappers. Not because I fucked anyone, but ‘cause I literally couldn’t.”

He steps closer, “You wanna know why?” You don’t say anything, but he gives you the answer anyway, “You.”

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” He says, voice dropping dangerously soft, “Can’t stop seeing your face, can’t stop remembering how you sound when you cum, can’t stop thinking about how it feels to be inside you.”

Your thighs press together involuntarily, “And do you know how fucking pathetic that makes me feel?” His voice breaks again, “That I can’t fuck anyone else because the only pussy I get hard for is yours?”

Now you’re trembling, “But sure, go ahead. Tell me again you were just being petty. Tell me again that you thought going home with that TKE fuck was gonna hurt me.”

“I didn’t—”

“Yes, you did,” He rasps, “You wanted to make me jealous,” He takes a step closer, “You wanted me to come find you,” Then another, “You wanted me to lose my fucking mind over you.”

Your back hits the wall, he cages you in with his arms, “And congratulations…It fucking worked.”

“Satoru…”

His forehead presses to yours, breaths mingling, anger turning molten, “You’re not replacing me, and I’m sure as hell not letting anyone else touch you…because you’re mine.”

Something hot flickers in your chest, “And you’re mine.”

He freezes, blue eyes turning a shade darker, “Say that again.”

You lift your chin, “You’re mine.”

As soon as the words leave your tongue he surges forward, mouth crashing onto yours with a force that feels like the room exploded. His hands are already on your hips, lifting you, dragging you toward the bed.

Your back hits the mattress, bouncing once before he’s on you, over you, everywhere; kissing you. His teeth catch your bottom lip, his tongue forcing its way in, and his fingers tear your shorts down so fast the friction burns.

“Spread,” He growls against your mouth. Without hesitation, you spread your legs wide open. He drags you down the bed by your thighs like you’re something he gets to rearrange however he wants, and when he drops to his knees—it’s over.

His mouth is on your cunt instantly, tongue flattening against your clit, sucking and licking. You arch intensely, a choked cry crooning from your throat, “Fuck—Satoru,” Your thighs clamp around his head, but he forces them wider. You try to lift your hips and he pins them down.

“Stay still,” He mutters, “Or I’ll take my time,” It’s a threat, a wonderful filthy one. He eats you until your vision blurs and you’re pulling at his white tendrils; when you cum, you break with your head thrown back, mouth fully open, moaning his name in a way that would destroy him if he weren’t already in shambles.

“You’re so fucking perfect like this,” He pants, climbing over you, dragging his mouth up your stomach, ribs, throat, “Ruined and wet and waiting for me—fuck.”

He lines his cock up without looking, he doesn’t have to at this point. He knows your body by heart, and when he pushes in it’s one languid stroke that make your nails claw into his back and his breath punch out of him, “Shit—baby, so tight—”

He locks one hand behind your knee, shoving it higher, deeper, opening you more than you’ve ever been before, “You feel that?” He grits, hips snapping hard enough the headboard slams the wall, “Feel how easy this pussy takes me after I eat you out?”

The moan that escapes you sounds like a sob, “Feel how deep I am?” He thrusts again, brutal and perfect, “Feel me right fucking there?” One of his big hands presses right on your lower belly, a helpless whimper falls from your lips; his eyes go dark, “That’s where I wanna cum.”

Your stomach drops, “Satoru—”

“I want it so bad I can’t fucking think,” Each thrust is more forceful, sloppier, desperate, “You have no idea,” He pants, “No fucking idea what it did to me the first time—seeing my cum dripping out of you. Fuck, I been thinking about it every night since.”

Your cunt clenches around him, his eyes roll back, “Yeah…” He groans, “You liked that, didn’t you?”

His hand slides to your jaw, holding your face still so you can’t look away, “You want me to fill you again? Want me to make you mine for real?”

God, you shouldn’t want it. Not one bit.

Not with him and not when the risks outweigh the rewards. But at the same time, you fucking do.

Your brain fogs, melts, almost liquifies, “I want—” You gasp, nails sinking into his back, “I want you to fill me—”

He growls, “Fuck, princess—don’t say it unless you mean it—”

You’re too far gone to stop yourself, “Make me yours,” You whisper, trembling, “I want all of it, please.”

Hearing you beg for a load would make even the strongest man fold, and for a guy like Gojo, it takes very little to get him to. He snaps, thrusts turn punishing, ragged, the rhythm of a person who has lost every ounce of sanity, “You don’t—understand what you’re asking for.”

You cling to him, eyes half-lidded, “Satoru—don’t pull out.”

He shudders, grip on you tightening painfully, “Baby—fuck. You’re gonna make me—shit, you’re gonna make me cum—”

You wrap your legs around him and pin him in place, he fails to hide the moan that leaves him, “Oh my God,” He grunts, “You want it—you actually want it.”

He convulses then, slamming into you one last time, shoving himself all the way until his tip kisses your cervix, and cums inside you with a sound that is pure, ruined surrender.

His cock is throbbing, pulse after pulse, pumping you full of hot, thick white ribbons. He stays there, trembling through it, shaking, and when he finally pulls out, he looks down.

The sight that greets him is his favorite in the world. His cum leaking out of your pussy in warm, heavy streams, “Fuck…That’s perfect.”

He drags two fingers through the load, smearing it, then pushing it back in you with the darkest smirk on his face, “I could get addicted to this,” He murmurs, before adding, “Maybe I already am.”

Your chest is heaving, the room spinning around you. He’s still hovering over your hips, transfixed on the mess he made like he can’t look away, “Should make you keep it.”

Your entire body tenses because he doesn't look at your face when he says it—he’s still staring at your legs, like the sight has rewired something fundamental in him.

He pushes his fingers deeper, you whine, “But I can’t,” He mutters more to himself than you, “I shouldn’t.”

He pulls his fingers out and wipes them on your thigh, eyes hooded and dark with something you’ve never seen in him before. Gojo sits back on his heels, rakes a hand through his hair, when it finally hits him—reality.

He actually did it. He came inside you. On purpose this time. His eyes flick up to yours, unsure, “…We need to get you a Plan B.”

You knew that was coming, but the tone is different. He sounds shaken, disappointed even, “Okay.”

But he doesn’t move. He just keeps staring at you—the bite marks blooming on your throat, the mess between your thighs he put there, and something in him cracks all over again, “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever done in my life.”

Your pulse stutters as he exhales hard, standing. The room tilts as he grabs his USC hoodie off the floor, tugging it over his head with shaky hands. He hesitates a second too long before speaking, “I-I didn’t mean to…do it like that.”

“Do what?”

His eyes flick away shamefully, “Nut in you like I was trying to get you pregnant,” He mutters, rubbing the back of his neck, “Because that’s what it felt like,” Your heart skips, he glances back at you, almost pained, “But that’s not—we’re not doing that.”

Silence stretches, then he shakes his head as if snapping himself out of whatever daze he’s in, “Get dressed. Please.”

You pull your shorts back on and he hands you one of his shirts without looking directly at you—like one wrong glance, one more glimpse of you fucked-out and dripping, and he’ll pin you back on the bed to do it again.

When you’re covered enough to leave, he grabs his keys; his hand finds yours, he squeezes without thinking and doesn’t let go. He leads you out of Sig Chi through a side door because he doesn’t want anyone seeing you like this. 

He walks too quick, not talking, not until you reach the quiet part of the sidewalk does he finally say something, “Don’t ever let me lose you like that again.”

You look up and he’s staring straight ahead, but his grip tightens, exposing more than he means to, “Come on,” He murmurs, unlocking the Porsche, “We’ll get the Plan B.”

But even as he says it, even as he feigns rationale, his hand won’t stop squeezing yours. The Porsche unlocks with a chirp, he opens your door for you and then slams his own harder than necessary. He starts driving, fast, silent, and focused but not on the road. 

Every streetlight flickers across his face, shadowing and revealing the truth in flashes. Good. She’ll take the pill. This was just heat, adrenaline, possession. 

But beneath that, something far darker hums through him. Still…fuck. I could give her what no one else can. I want that.

He swallows hard, grips the wheel tighter, drives even faster. The CVS is almost empty, thank God. He shoves his hands into his hoodie pockets because he doesn’t trust them not to shake, walking over straight to the aisle he was in mere weeks ago.

Gojo remembers the last time he bought it, but the last time he never wished, that for one stupid second, that if biology had given him a loophole, that maybe—maybe you’d keep a piece of him.

He grabs the box with stiff fingers and at the register, the cashier doesn’t make eye contact; something ugly and possessive in Gojo likes that. Likes that no one here knows what he just did or what he put in you and how deep you let him.

He pays the fifty dollars again, shoves the box into his pockets, and hands it to you the second he makes it back to the car as if he may take it back if he doesn’t. 

You take the pill out, open a water bottle, tip your chin back, and he watches. His jaw moves once, like he’s grinding the idea to dust. Good. She’s safe. She won’t be pregnant. This isn’t happening. 

Then, right behind it, a quieter, eviller truth. Would’ve been kinda nice if it was. 

And the thought doesn’t fade, it festers. Even after you swallow the pill and he drives away with his hands white-knuckled on the wheel, even after he drops you off at your dorm and tells you to text him when you’re inside. 

No, it fucking lingers. A wrong desire he keeps trying to destroy, a feeling he can’t outrun. Something vital within him shifted when he finished in you that second time, and it bleeds into everything that happens next.

The next morning, you’re brushing your teeth when your phone buzzes.

satoru: you got class at 10 right?

Before you can answer, another text comes.

satoru: be outside in 5

He picks you up with a coffee in the cupholder, the exact way you like it, and a muffin he claims he “accidentally bought two of”. You don’t call him out on the lie. 

Gojo doesn’t drop you off at the curb, either. He walks you all the way to the building and when you turn to go inside, he hesitates, “Text me when you’re done.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I know,” He cuts you off quietly, “But just do it,” And he walks away before you can fight him on it.

The night after, he shows up again in the same hoodie with the same look in his blue eyes, and that same damn inability to stay away.

He kisses you before the door fully closes behind you—soft at first, almost tentative, like he’s afraid of wanting you too much. Then he remembers your voice calling him yours, your legs wrapped around him, your cunt squeezing around his dick while he came inside you, and suddenly? He’s not soft anymore. 

He lifts you, carries you to your bed, lies you down like you’re fragile, but unravels you like he’s ravenous. He fucks you slow and deep, way too deep; breathing into your neck, voice shredded, hands quivering on your thighs.

At one point, he stops entirely. Stops moving, buried all the way inside you, hips pressed flush, eyes squeezed shut like he’s in physical pain, “Princess…” His forehead presses to your jaw, “If I move, I’m gonna cum in you again.”

You shiver and he doesn’t pull out, not yet, only when he finally forces himself; finishing on your stomach, staring at your body the way a sinner stares at temptation—ruined, in awe, and absolutely starved for more. 

In the days after, he starts acting like your boyfriend. Though neither of you ever say the word, and acting like your boyfriend also apparently includes spoiling you rotten, but he’d never admit that’s what he’s doing.

It starts with him handing you his card one afternoon, “Here. Go get your nails done. Want your hands lookin’ nice around my cock.”

You choke on air, but he won’t meet your eyes, pretending it’s not the sweetest, filthiest thing anyone's ever said to you. Next thing you know, he’s paying for all kinds of appointments. He sends you money for your facial along with a text claiming, “i could give you a better one but idt you’d like it as much”.

Then he’s bringing you on routine mall runs. He takes you straight to Sephora, Aritzia, Zara—anywhere you so look at or mention and buys everything you touch. You tell him he’s insane, but he just shrugs, “It’s not a big deal. Gotta keep you pretty for me.”

You don’t buy the reason for a second.

Then comes the dates. Real ones at fancy places. The first time you’re confused when he tells you to “dress nice”. The second time, you’ve learned that “dress nice” means he’s dropping a stupid amount of money at a restaurant where the menus don’t have prices.

From sushi restaurants in Beverly Hills to Italian spots in West Hollywood, the dinner always goes the same way. With him watching you the entire time like the sight of you sitting across from him looking so beautiful is doing things to his soul and paying the bill without giving you any time to even pretend to pick it up.

“Don’t insult my manhood, princess,” He jokes, already placing his card down, “I’d rather die than let you pay a dime.”

But the worst parts aren’t the dates or the ridiculous instances of spoiling you. It’s what happens after.

One night, you’re sitting in his bed when he removes his silver chain he never takes off, the one you’ve seen in every photo and TikTok. He’s hooking it around your throat while you protest, “Toru—”

“Shh,” He hushes, “Just try it.”

It settles against your collarbone, cool and heavy with a distinct weight to it. His eyes drag over your neck, slow and hungry, like the sight of something that’s his on you does something violent to him, “Mm,” He hums, thumb grazing the metal, “Looks real good on you.”

Your pulse stutters and he kisses you before either of you can process what it means.

And then there’s the night where you’re laying on his chest, tangled in the sheets after he fucked you senseless, when you ask, “What’s Japan like?”

His voice softens in a way you feel in your ribs, “Depends where you go. Tokyo’s crazy. Kyoto’s pretty. Snow up north is perfect.”

You smile into his skin, “Sounds amazing.”

“Yeah,” He replies, adding way too casually, “I’ll have to show you one day.”

You’re quiet for a second before saying, “Teach me something.”

His eyes are warm, melting, “Okay…Say this—suki.”

“Suki,” You whisper; he exhales slowly, almost shakily, “What does it mean?”

He hesitates, choosing to lie gently, “It means…I like this.”

You believe him, but the truth is written all over his face. He doesn’t mean he likes the moment, he means you. Then he looks at you with his chain glinting on your neck, wondering when wanting you turned into needing you—and he’s terrified he can’t stop.

And the need for you only grows.

He picks you up every day from class, keeps snacks in his car that he only buys when you’re around, gives you his favorite sweatshirt when he notices your cold, opens your door every time. On his wrist sits your hair tie, although he says it’s for you, part of you thinks he wears it just because it’s yours.

When you’re walking together, he switches sides so he’s closest to the street. When guys stare, he sees it before you do. One afternoon on the quad, a guy from your lab waves too eagerly at you. Gojo’s voice is flat, “Who the fuck is that?”

You elbow him, “He’s just in my class.”

Gojo scoffs, “Yeah. Don’t like how he looks at you.”

You try not to smile, yet you do.

His frat brothers also start to tease him, “Gojo doesn’t even talk to other bitches anymore.”

“Bro’s whipped.”

“He’s in love with the QB’s daughter.”

He throws a pong ball at their heads, but doesn’t bother denying any of it.

Then, the sex between you? It starts to evolve into something precarious. He no longer fucks you like some sleezy, fuckboy frat bro chasing a climax. The tempo is slower, sensual, intimate in a way that makes your blood curdle.

There’s a night in his room with the lights low and music soft, where you’re riding him, moving slow, his hands gripping your hips like you’re sacred.

His head falls back against the pillow, he’s too sensitive, too close, “Baby…” His voice breaks, “Don’t…don’t do that unless you want—”

But you roll your hips anyway and he loses it. His fingertips dig into your thighs, eyes rolling back, breath catching in a strangled gasp, “Fuck, princess—stop, stop—if I cum like this it’s going inside you.”

And the terrifying part is that he doesn’t sound scared of that. He sounds desperate for it.

He pulls out at the very last heartbeat, just barely. His cum splashes across your chest in hot, heavy ropes and he stares at you like he’s memorizing it. He touches it, swipes some with this thumb, smearing it over your skin. He whispers, almost reverently, “God…would’ve looked better in you.”

Then his gaze glosses over his chain around your neck, and he wonders what it would be like to give you something more permanent.

Next weekend, there’s a tailgate at Sig Chi for the USC football game. It’s loud and crowded, red solo cups litter the backyard and Don Toliver is blasting from a blown out speaker Gojo keeps threatening to throw over the fence.

You’re sitting in his lap in a tiny red skirt you probably should’ve reconsidered, but he hasn’t stopped touching you since you showed up. His hand rests on your thigh at first until it slithers its way to the curve just beneath your ass; thumb rubbing slow circles like he’s publicly claiming territory.

Every time you shift, you feel how hard he is under you. He’s shameless in how he pretends not to care, but his brothers definitely notice. One of the Pledges walks by and does a double take, though Gojo doesn’t look up. He just tightens his grip on your waist and says, completely casual, “Yo, Pledge. Flick me up with my girl.”

My girl. The words strike your bones, “Your—your what?”

Gojo finally lifts his eyes, jaw set like it’s the most obvious thing in the world and that he hates the entire Pledge class, “My girl,” He repeats, patting your thigh once, “C’mon, hurry the fuck up, idiot.”

The Pledge blinks and scrambles to grab his phone, you try to move off Gojo’s lap, flustered, but his arm locks around your waist, “Sit still,” He murmurs into your neck, “Wanna see how pretty you look sittin’ on me.”

Your pulse skitters and he doesn’t even look at the camera—he looks at you, hungrily, lazily possessive, like he already knows he’s gonna post this shit.

When the Pledge sends over the photo, he’s immediately plugging it into his feed on Instagram, which is something he never does. His feed is reserved for himself, thirst traps, aesthetics. So when he posts you with a caption, “me and mine”, all of USC sees it and implodes.

He brushes a kiss onto your jaw, “Let them talk.”

And that same night, you barely make it inside his room before he has you against the wall, kissing you like he’s been deprived of it. Your skirt is on the floor already, your top has been shedded. He lifts you, legs locking around his waist, and thrusts into you so deep your vision spots.

His entire body is shaking, “Princess—fuck, slow, slow, if you keep—”

But you’re too cockdrunk to stop. He grips your ass, burying himself inside you to the hilt, moaning into your shoulder like he’s rupturing, “I’m not gonna…baby—I can’t, if you don’t let go.”

You tighten your legs around him and he falls apart. For one horrifying, heart-stopping second, he doesn’t pull out. He stays in your pussy, groaning into your neck, the two of you trembling against each other.

Gojo only yanks himself out at the very last fraction of a second, finishing in thick, desperate ropes on your inner thighs; he stares at the mess like it’s his masterpiece, but also like he wants it somewhere else.

He strokes your thigh with the back of his fingers, voice impossibly soft, “I can’t keep doing this. I’m trying. I swear I’m trying. But every time—every fucking time, I almost stay inside you.”

Your heart skips a beat, “And the worst part?” He looks at you, eyes blazing, “I don’t even know if I’d stop myself next time…”

And it happens two nights later, when things between you have settled into this terrifying, intoxicating rhythm. You’re already falling asleep in his bed, cheek pressed to his shoulder, his arm wrapped around your lower back like he’s locking in you place.

He whispers, “Come here,” Pulling you into his chest so your thigh slots between his and you feel him instantly—he’s hard, achingly so.

You look up at him through sleep-heavy eyes and he caves. He rolls you onto your back, slow, like he’s been waiting for an excuse to fuck you.

His mouth finds yours, hungry and unhurried; your breathing is barely steady when he finally pushes his cock into you and it’s different. All of it is. Far too deliberate, delicate, deep.

He groans into your neck, voice already wrecked, “Fuck…I’m obsessed with you.”

He’s still sliding himself in when you clutch his biceps, arching up into him with his breath catching in his chest, when he loses the last piece of control he had. His hips snap forward sharply, burying his cock fully inside, and curses low like the feeling of being right where he is now knocks the sense out of him.

He does try to pull out once, you feel it, the hesitation in his hips. But for reasons unknown, you wrap your legs around his waist on pure instinct rather than purpose, and he can’t stop what happens next.

Gojo collapses into you with a broken sound, forehead to yours, thrusts morphing sloppy and desperate, “Baby—fuck, don’t—” His voice cracks, “I can’t—if you do that—”

But you’re already tugging him closer, nails digging into his back, those pretty little cries spilling from your lips send him straight past rational thought.

His hands clamp around your hips, dragging you flush against him, “Oh…God—” He chokes and thinks maybe for a second, he’ll try to pull himself back, but the moment he feels you tighten around him, he breaks with a sound he’s never made before.

A desperate, helpless moan punched out him as he bucks his hips and stays there—buried, locked to you like he couldn’t move even if he tried.

“Fuck, I’m cumming—inside…shit,” And you feel it, hot spurts filling you so completely full that it steals your breath. He can’t even stop, his entire body spasms against yours, quaking through the release, his forehead lodged into your throat as if he’s holding onto you while he falls apart.

It’s a lot. More than the last time. More than either of you expected. So much, it’s leaking around him even while he’s still stuffed deep, twitching through the last waves. He doesn’t move, he just stays there, even when he pulls his face up to look at you with blue eyes blown, “…Fuck. I didn’t pull out.”

Your heart sits high in your chest, he watches your expression like it’s life or death, “Honestly…I didn’t even try.”

But that’s when it hits him. He should tell you to go on birth control. He knows it. That it’s the responsible, sensible, smart thing to do; the normal thing guys in college say when they don’t want their lives derailed.

Though, truth is? He doesn’t want normal, not with you. Because birth control kills the possibility, the danger, the fucked up little thrill that coils low in his stomach every time he pushes in deep and realizes that he could claim you in the one way no other guy has.

If you were on the pill, there would be no risk. No moment where he hovers on the edge, shaking, wondering if he should pull out or just stay, and he lives for that moment. That heartbeat of insanity right before he cums, where he thinks, if I don’t pull out, she’s mine for real.

So that’s why he never says the words, “You should get on birth control.”

And as deranged as it is, he doesn’t want to eliminate the one thing that makes fucking you feel holy, catastrophic, and fate-altering.

But…little does Satoru Gojo know that you’re already on it. You got on it right after that second time he finished in you.

Because that night scared you—you couldn’t trust him anymore, you couldn’t trust yourself either, and the recklessness was going to ruin you both.

You weren’t an idiot. Despite being a sheltered good girl your whole life and being inexperienced with sex, you know the consequences. And after watching his hesitation to pull out disappear night after night and feeling him stay inside you longer each time you fucked, you knew you made the right call.

However, you kept it a secret. You figured it was what was best for the both of you. You were protecting yourself all while letting him play out his little fantasy or whatever sick game he gets off on, letting him think every time might be the time he gets you pregnant.

It was smart, it was calculated, it was you being safe. Or…So you thought. Because of course, life had other plans, cruel and ironic ones. The kind of plans that are in motion before you even realize anything is wrong.

The Plan B you took after that second time he finished in you? Yeah. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work when you’re ovulating. And that night was exactly when you were.

The symptoms creep up on you so sneakily that you don’t even notice them. At first, it’s just fatigue. A bone-deep heaviness that sinks into your limbs on a random Monday morning, although you chalk it up to Gojo keeping you up until 3 A.M. again—him pinning your wrists above your head and whispering “one more round, princess”.

But then the smell of breakfast the next day makes you nauseaous, an odd twist within your gut when you catch a whiff of Blair’s bacon egg and cheese sandwich, “Girl, you good?”

“Fine,” You lie, "Probably just dehydrated,” Though you’ve been drinking water all day and still feel wrong.

Then your boobs hurt, really hurt. Tender in a way you’ve never felt before and Blair notices when you flinch throwing your tote bag over your shoulder, “That bad?”

“I think I’m getting sick.”

You’re not getting sick. You know what your body feels like when something is off and this feels different. The next morning you’re brushing your teeth when Blair says casually from the sink beside you, “When did you last get your period?”

“Last month,” But then your hand stops in mid-air.

Last month. You haven’t gotten it this month yet and it should’ve come by now. Your blood runs cold, “Wait…what day is it?”

Blair checks her phone, “October 27th.”

No. No, no, no. Your toothbrush slips from your fingers and clatters into the sink as realization cleaves through your ribs. It’s been three weeks since that night. Three weeks since the Plan B. Absolutely enough time to pass to start experiencing...pregnancy symptoms. And you already know it has a reputation for not always being effective.

“(Y/N)…?” Blair frowns, “What’s wrong?”

You lift your trembling eyes to hers, “Fuck class, we’re skipping. I need to go to CVS.”

She nods at that and the two of you urgently walk together to the CVS of doom and despair. Except this time, there’s no adrenaline buzzing within your veins, only fear.

You’re in the family planning aisle once again, but not to grab a Plan B, instead it’s a box of three pregnancy tests that feel far too heavy in your shaky hands. Blair hovers behind you, pale, “You really think—?”

“I don’t know,” You whisper, voice breaking, “I don’t know.”

But you do. You do know. You just can’t bring yourself to admit it. Your hands continue to tremble as you pay and walk back to the dorms and shut the bathroom door. Blair waits outside for you, “(Y/N)…I’m right here, okay?”

You nod, barely breathing, your reflection in the mirror looks like a stranger—pretty, terrified, wearing his silver chain around your throat like a brand or prophecy to something more.

You open one of the tests, take it, and set it on the counter. You wait two minutes, only two, and grip the sink and pray. For what, you’re not sure. That it’s negative? Or that it’s positive so you don’t have to keep pretending you aren’t already half in love with Satoru Gojo?

Negative. Yeah, definitely negative. You’re only eighteen, in your first semester of college. You moved across the country for this experience. Your dad would literally murder you for fucking it up.

You squeeze your eyes shut, then you look, and everything inside you falls, collapses, and rearranges.

Two pink lines. Bold and immediate. You’re fucking pregnant. That can’t be. You rip open another test and force yourself to pee again. False positives happen all the time, right? Right?

You wait another two minutes, only for the result to be the exact same…pregnant. Yeah, there’s no denying both. But fuck it, might as well take the third.

Another test, another positive. Three positive fucking tests, “Oh my God,” You whisper, “Oh my God…oh my fucking God—”

Blair knocks lightly, “(Y/N)? You okay? What’s happening?”

“He…” Your voice cracks, “He got me…pregnant.”

The word tastes unreal in your mouth, “But didn’t you take a Plan B? Aren’t you on birth control—?”

“I must’ve been ovulating or something,” You hiccup, tears brimming, “I-I did everything right.”

“Baby…open the door.”

You open it, numb, and Blair pulls you into a crushing hug as the three tests shake in your hand, “Oh, sweet girl…” She coos, “What are you gonna do?”

You shake your head, tears hitting her shoulder, “I—I have to tell him.”

As soon as you make it back to your dorm room you text him.

toru come over

now

please

He replies instantly.

satoru: omw what’s wrong

satoru: princess ??

You don’t answer, but minutes later you can hear the rumble of his Porsche pull into the dorms’ parking lot and not even seconds pass before his frantic knocking rattles your door. When you open it, he stops breathing. Your eyes are bloodshot red, your entire body is quaking, and his chain, of course it’s still on your neck.

“(Y/N),” He exhales, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him with trembling fingers, “What the fuck’s going on? Did someone—did a guy—? If someone touched you I swear I’ll—”

“It’s not that,” You whisper and hold out the three tests.

Gojo goes utterly still. He looks at the tests, then at you, then at the tests again. His throat bobs, “…What are those?”

“You fucking know what they are.”

“They’re…positive?”

You nod once, he inhales sharply like someone punched him, “Fuck,” He says it again, quieter, “Fuck.”

You watch his whole demeanor short circuit. At first it’s shock, but then something within him settles, something darker, something like acceptance wrapped in possession. He’s already thinking, you’re pregnant. With my baby. Mine.

His throat works once, hard. His mouth twitches, barely but unmistakably, because he tried to smother whatever expression is trying to surface.

“C’mere,” He murmurs, pulling you into him like he can fold the entire world away. You break immediately, tears spill hot and fast, your hands clawing into his hoodie as you shake uncontrollably.

And Gojo holds you, arms wrapped around your waist, palm pressing the back of your head gently into his chest, and behind your hair, unseen, his lips curl with a quiet, corrupt satisfaction he can’t suppress.

He does feel bad that you’re crying. He really does, but he also doesn’t care in the way he probably should. Because at the end of the day, you’re carrying his baby, and no one else will ever be able to say that.

He keeps rubbing circles into your spine, shushing you softly. His voice is warm, soothing, everything he thinks he’s supposed to sound like in this moment, “It’s okay, princess…breathe. I’m here.”

But really, ever since you said the words, he’s been reminiscing. Which time was it? After the third time he came in you, he’s stayed in you more often than not. He’s lost count of the nights he finished deep inside, hand fisted in the sheets, moaning your name.

Was it the night on his couch? The night he fucked you in the bathroom of his frat formal because he couldn’t stand the way his brothers were looking at you? Was it when he pulled you onto his lap and didn’t even pretend to pull out? Or—

You sob, “I don’t—I don’t know how it happened—I thought—”

He pulls back slightly, thumb brushing your cheek, “Well, we stopped buying Plan Bs. So we weren’t exactly being…safe.”

Your chest tightens, oh, right. He has no idea that you’ve been on the pill, “Satoru…I need to be honest with you.”

His thumb stills against your cheek, petrified for whatever you’re about to say, “…Okay,” He says slowly, carefully, “Tell me.”

Your bottom lip trembles, “I…I’ve been on birth control.”

Everything in him freezes, “…What?”

“I started it…after that second time, the night we fought,” You whisper, tears slipping fast down your cheeks, “I couldn’t trust us anymore. I knew we were being stupid and I just…needed to do something. But I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want things to change.”

Gojo stares at you like the entire universe just rearranged itself behind your eyes. Birth control. You were on birth control and still wound up pregnant. It wasn’t the nights after. It wasn’t the couch or the bathroom, it wasn’t the time he came in you so deep he saw stars behind his eyelids.

No, it was that night. The one where he called you his and you called him yours, the one where he finished inside you on purpose and you wanted it. The night you took the Plan B after he watched his cum drip out of you like it was the eighth Wonder of the World. Of course it was that night; a night that ended up being prophecy.

Gojo isn’t even upset with you for not telling him about the whole birth control thing, either. Matter of fact? Some twisted, fucked up, and deranged part of him feels satisfied. Because you really tried, you tried so hard not to get pregnant.

But fate already made its decision long before either of you pretended you had control and the idea of that makes something warm and primal settle in his chest, “Oh my God…it was that night.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, fresh tears dribbling down your cheeks, “Satoru, I—I don’t know what to do. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I took the pill, I was on birth control, we—we should’ve been fine—”

He shakes his head immediately, firmly cupping the back of your skull. What he wants to say is that this was always supposed to happen, but instead he opts for, “Hey. Stop. No. This isn’t on you.”

Because it isn’t. If anything, the blame sits squarely on him—he’s the one who kept cumming in you like he was trying to write your future with his body alone. You were the one taking precautions and trying to keep things under control. He was the one who didn’t stop.

So, of course you got pregnant. He practically begged the universe for it with the way he fucked you, “I should’ve been pulling out,” He murmurs, thumb brushing away the tears, “But I didn’t. That’s on me.”

Your breath breaks, “How come you don’t you look upset?”

Gojo stiffens at the accusation. He doesn’t look devastated or destroyed and he definitely doesn’t look like a twenty year old frat boy whose life got flipped upside down.

He looks…eerily calm, “I don’t know what I’m feeling yet,” He lies; he knows exactly what he’s feeling and it’s not something he can say out loud without disrupting whatever fragile world you’re clinging to.

You turn away, pressing your hands to your face, shoulders jerking, “My whole life is screwed, Satoru. My dad—my classes—everything. I don’t even know how to breathe right now.”

His stomach twists, he hates that his lack of fear and panic makes him feel like a monster. He steps closer until his chest brushes your back and wraps his arms around you from behind, tugging you into him.

“Princess,” He murmurs against your shoulder, “I know you’re terrified. I get it. You have every right to be. But I need you to hear me,” You don’t look at him, but he tilts his head, voice dropping into something achingly soft, “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Your lips quiver, “Then why does it feel like everything is falling apart?”

He exhales slowly, forehead dropping to the curve of your neck. Everything is falling apart for you, but for him? It feels like everything is falling into place.

The girl who arrived to USC that every guy wanted, the girl who has always been good until she met Satoru Gojo, had been claimed by him. He closes his eyes, swallowing down the feral pulse in his chest, “It feels like it’s falling apart because you’re shocked. It’s big and sudden. Anyone would feel what you’re feeling.”

You shudder and he tightens his hold, protective in a way that feels instinctual, “But you’re not alone in this. Not for one second.”

You sniff harshly, “You’re taking this way too well.”

He almost laughs at how easily you see through him, “I’m taking it the only way I know how.”

Quietly, privately, his mind says a different thing, because some part of me knew this was coming the second I didn’t pull out. He presses a soft kiss to your temple before you can see the flicker in his expression.

“Talk to me,” You whisper, voice rasped, “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

He hesitates, because the real answer is, you’re pregnant because of me. Because you told me to make you mine and I did. What he says to you is gentler, “I’m thinking that we’ll figure it out and that you’re safe with me.”

But beneath it, humming like electricity in his bloodstream, I don’t regret it. Not even a little. It was always gonna be us. You were meant to be mine.

You don’t even get a chance to respond to what Gojo has said when the universe decides to fuck you over for a second time. Your phone vibrates in the pocket of the hoodie you’re wearing—his hoodie. A single buzz, then another. You still instantly, Gojo’s hands pause on your waist, “Who is it?”

You pull back just enough to fish your phone out, wiping at your cheeks with the back of your hand. Your vision blurs as you blink at the notification. And when you see the name on the lock screen, you freeze entirely.

Gojo’s brows knit, “Baby?”

“…It’s my dad,” You swipe his message open with tottering fingers and the text hits you like a brick to the sternum.

dad: Hey sweetheart! Good news! College gameday is in USC this weekend so I’ll be seeing you in a few days.

dad: I can’t wait to see you, princess. Love you.

Your throat swells, he leans in slightly to read the message himself because you can’t find your own voice, and for the first time tonight, Satoru Gojo breaks, “…Oh fuck.”

Your dad is coming in three days.

A servant, dignified and aloof, came. They, with their white hair stained with crimson, took one look at you before making a silent decision. 

Carried by goblin-looking creatures inside the mountain, which parted as though unhinging its jaw, you could do nothing but accept that you were going to be eaten up by the very monsters that children were warned about.

Navigating the carved out hallways of the mountain, they threw you in the throne room. Jagged stone walls surrounded you. Glowing red rocks were embedded in the rocks and lit torches illuminated the grand space. You were laying on the rolled out red carpet, staring up at a giant of a being. 

There he was.

Sukuna Ryomen.

He was resting his head on one of his four arms, legs crossed, with all four eyes gazing down at you. He looked bored. 

“What is this?” he drawled.

The same servant you first met stepped up, head bowed humbly. They said, “Entertainment, my Lord.”

“Entertainment?” the king repeated, tasting the word. “Not a snack? Interesting. How, pray tell, will this woman entertain me, if not with the taste of her flesh, Uraume?”

It was an absurd situation — they were discussing you as if you weren’t there, as if you didn’t have ears, as if you were a pet the servant had picked up as a gift. Although, it was at least a small blessing that you hadn’t been killed on the spot, you supposed. The thought, however, didn’t permit much relief when unimaginable torture could have awaited you.

‘Uraume’ answered, “The humans intended for her to be your wife, my Lord. Perhaps you could humour them with brief belief that they have been spared from their inevitable fate.”

At that, Sukuna hummed.

His eyes met your own then. They inspected you through your very soul. You felt their branding touch rifling through your essence. Something passed in them, something to which you could not put words. 

Finally, he waved a lazy hand, and said, “Very well.”

The servants rushed to take you away, afraid to waste a single second. 

You’ve been living in a room somewhere in the heart of the mountain since. 

It’s been about a week. 

Meals on a tray are served to you three times a day. Porridge, fruits, bread, the sorts. You do your best not to eat much; they might have poisoned it. 

Every day, every hour, is spent anticipating the wooden doors being kicked down, waiting for the Curse King to forgo delaying your fate and slicing your head off your shoulders with one, clean cut. So far, nothing yet. 

In fact, you have not seen another soul since. 

The first night, you couldn’t sleep, afraid that he would take the villagers up on the offer to make you his real bride, by plunging his cock into you and stealing your maidenhead. It didn’t, and hasn’t, happened. But ‘yet’ looms over you perpetually. 

Your one consolation is that sleep comes to you easily now.

It’s all you can do — the room is barren of books, of people, of art. Only a bed, a table, and a chamber pot with a bucket of water decorate it. There are no windows with which you can view the outside world, can tell what time of day it is, can escape through, or jump off. Only your body’s natural instincts inform you when morning and time to slumber has arrived. 

Though…

With the days blurring, and perpetual and dim light of the glowing rocks remaining unchanged, it’s beginning to grow more and more difficult to tell left from right. 

The doors are unlocked. 

That was the first thing you tested when you were placed here. 

Of course you’ve considered walking out of the room, if only to have a change of scenery. You’ve also considered escaping. But your thoughts would always end up at ‘escaping to where?’

You’ve been abandoned by your village, by your family. They would not accept you. They would see your return as a sign that the Curse King had rejected their sacrifice and would be coming to collect the debt. In other words, you’d be seen as a bad omen. 

It was your destiny to die, whether by the hands of your family or by the hands of the beast they were afraid of.

So if death is a certainty, why would you fear it?

That’s the final thought that pushes you out of bed and to the door. Your hand hesitated for a second. Then it was sure. You opened it, body tense. 

No one’s outside. No guard, no goblins, no king.

You pad out, feet bare and wearing only a nightgown. How deep inside the mountain are you, you wonder. There’s a draught blowing past, but no sound of the forest to fill the space. No voices. No footsteps. No life.

“Where is everyone?” you mutter, padding forward.

Who can say how long you wander through the tunnels? 

It feels like it’s been hours, though with the way time seems to pass differently, it could also have only been mere minutes. 

Eventually, you spot light coming from a hollow in the walls. Carefully and with bated breath, you peer inside.

Steam wafts over your face.

It’s warm — startlingly so against the chill that seems to cling to every corridor of the mountain. You hesitate again, also only a moment before stepping inside. 

The ceiling arches high above, rough stone glistening with condensation, droplets forming and falling in slow, steady rhythms that echo softly in the space. The air is thick, humid, curling around your skin. It tickles.

At the centre of the chamber lies a pool.

It’s set into a wide, uneven basin in the ground. The water glows faintly from beneath, lit by the same red-veined stones embedded along the walls, but here their light is softened, diffused through the steam until it casts everything in a hazy, molten glow.

The surface of the water ripples lazily, disturbed by unseen currents, by the quiet bubbling from somewhere deep below. Heat rises from it in waves, beckoning, almost inviting.

Who knew something like this existed inside a mountain?

Carefully, you approach the edge of the pool, crouching slightly as you extend a hand. Your fingers hover for a second before dipping into the water.

Hot.

But not scalding.

“A bath,” you mumble, smiling.

Here, of all places.

The servants had given you a bed to sleep on, a table to eat at, and a pot to do your business in that seemed to be cleaned out magically without you ever seeing anyone. What they hadn’t granted, however, is the luxury of a bath. Only a bucket to and a rag to clean yourself with. 

You glance back toward the tunnel, as if half-expecting someone, something, to be watching. But there’s nothing and no one. Only the distant drip of water and the low hum of the mountain breathing around you.

Your reflection stares back at you from the shifting surface, blurred by steam and movement. The quiet stretches.

If you’ll be killed for stepping outside your room, at least you’ll die clean and fresh. 

Shrugging off your nightgown, you dip your toe in the water, then your leg and the other, and soon you’re fully emerged. 

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” you moan, letting the water soothe the aches in your bones. You sink deeper. The heat swallows you whole, up to your shoulders, then your chin. Your eyes flutter shut as you tilt your head back, strands of your hair clinging damply to your skin.

For a moment, just a moment, you forget. Forget the mountain, the monsters, the fate waiting patiently for you somewhere in its depths. The tension bleeds out of your limbs, your breathing slowing, evening out as the warmth seeps into you.

You drift, arms floating lazily at your sides.

A soft sigh escapes you. This is just like swimming in the lake near the village, except it’s warm and lovely and soothing. 

It’s…peaceful.

Too peaceful.

Your eyes open.

Something feels…off suddenly. The water, once gently lapping, stills in a way that isn’t natural. The faint bubbling from below seems to deepen, shift. Like something moving far beneath the surface.

Your body goes rigid.

Slowly, you glance down. The water is dark there. Deeper than it should be. The glow from the stones doesn’t quite reach the bottom — it falls away into shadow, into something that looks less like a pool and more like a pit.

A pit that could swallow you whole.

Your breath catches. 

“…Hello?” you call softly, though you don’t know why.

The surface trembles.

Something moves.

Your heart lurches into your throat. Instinct kicks in before thought does. You turn sharply, water sloshing as you begin to move, arms cutting through the surface, making for the edge.

Too slow.

Something clasps your ankle.

A gasp tears right through you, kicking hard, panic surging white-hot through your veins. “No!”

It coils.

Grabs.

Your leg is yanked downward with terrifying force.

The world flips. Water crashes over your head as you’re dragged under, your scream swallowed instantly. You thrash, clawing at nothing, lungs burning whilst bubbles tear from your mouth. Your hands grasp blindly, trying to find purchase, to find anything.

A shape.

A body.

You strike it. Push against it. Kick, struggle, fight with everything in you, nails scraping against something solid, unyielding. 

Then it lets go.

You don’t wait.

You surge upward, breaking through the surface with a ragged gasp, coughing, choking on water as you scramble for the edge. Your hands slap against the stone, slipping once before catching, dragging yourself up just enough to cling to it. Your whole body trembles violently.

Air. You need air. 

You suck it in greedily, chest heaving, water dripping from your lashes as your eyes dart wildly across the pool. “W-what…” you choke out, voice shaking. 

A sound answers you. A low, amused exhale.

Your blood runs cold. Slowly, hesitantly, you turn your head.

He’s here.

The King of Curses.

Sukuna lounges against the inner ledge of the pool as though he’s always been there. One arm is slung lazily over the stone behind him, another resting loosely at his side, droplets sliding down the planes of his skin. And the remaining two are folded under the water.

He’s watching you. 

No, observing you. 

That smirk curls at his lips, sharp and satisfied, eyes glinting with something dark and entertained. “Well,” he drawls, voice echoing low against the stone walls, “your floundering was amusing.”

“W-why,” you begin, gulping air and frantically shoving the wet hair clinging away from your face, “why did you do that?”

A hum floats through the air, carried by the steam. It sweeps your skin. Sukuna says, “Because I could.” Then he barks a laugh. “When I came here to wash the stink of my latest massacre, I did not expect to find a human bathing in my onsen. How brazen of you.”

When he snaps his fingers together, you flinch. 

Uraume appears. 

Their head is downcast. They don’t look at your body, which you suddenly remember is bare and visible through the clear water. You throw your arms over your private parts. 

“Who is this woman and why have you not killed her upon her first step of trespass?” he asks his servant. Sukuna doesn’t sound mad. Only curious. 

“Because she is your bride, my Lord.”

You flinch at the term. 

Sukuna barks a laugh again. “My bride? My bride! How comical that I would forget I have one.” He turns to you, eyes narrowing in with interest. “Why have you only now appeared before me?”

Gulping, you tentatively answer, “I did not think you would want to see me. And I’m sorry I intruded—”

“Wise,” he says, one of his massive arms running through his wet hair. “I am not usually fond of seeing humans; you are all so hideous and constantly quivering in my presence.”

There’s no possible way to reply to that, not without getting your blood spilled for insolence. 

He stands upon the ledge and exits the pool. 

He’s completely naked, as you are. His broad back, the impressive muscles that make it up, the perfectly symmetrical tattoos. He turns. His cocks swings with the movement. You quickly avert your eyes, cheeks warm. 

If Sukuna notices that you noticed, he doesn’t say. Only, “Try not to drown — my pet swims beneath but he has already had his fill. Do not fatten him with your flesh.”

When you hurriedly climb out, squealing, his laughter echoes, filling the space even once his body, and his servant’s, have left. 

You kneel on the smooth ground, panting, soaked and dripping, and thinking one thing:

The Curse King has a sense of humour.

And two giant cocks.

.

.

.

The next day, you find yourself back at the pool. 

You tell yourself it’s simply because you want to bathe, but perhaps if you were more honest with yourself, you’d accept that maybe you were curious to see if he’d be there. 

And he is.

Sukuna leans against the very same ledge he had been yesterday. He watches your every move, from when you first step in, to when you shyly shrug off your nightgown, and when you submerge yourself in the warm water.

Something has brought you here. 

A pull you could not deny.

Thinking too much about it gives you a headache, so you let your body move on its own, unhindered by logic, by your mind’s concerns. You want to bathe, to be clean. He hadn’t killed you yesterday, and that counts for something. 

Of course, you know the smart thing to do would be to not push it, to understand that two run-ins with him that didn’t lead to immediate death doesn’t mean a third would end the same, to count your blessings. 

But…

Bath.

He says nothing, only runs a finger across the seam of his lips as his eyes drink up every shift of your body.

Boldly, albeit shakily, you ask, “Why haven’t you killed me yet?”

Sukuna’s eyes glint. 

“I wonder the same thing myself.”

That’s not an answer, you note. But you don’t poke, scared if you do, if you push your limits more than you already have, he’ll snap your head as easily as he had snapped his fingers. 

The way his eyes pin you down on the ledge opposite him has you squirming in your seat. It’s too intense. Too strong. Too dizzying. So you try to pretend it’s not cascading down the skin visible to him; you push forward, wading in the water. You stare at the ceiling, at the distance, at the darkness of the depths, at anything but him. 

“My village offered me as sacrifice,” you remind him. “Will you spare them?”

Somewhere, he lazily replies, “I have yet to decide.”

Humming, as though you thought as much, you wonder aloud, “What will you do with me? I cannot imagine that the King of Curses would find much use in a human wife.”

“No, neither can I,” Sukuna drawls.

On and on, you swim. Arms cut through the water in slow, steady strokes, legs kicking behind you in a rhythm that’s begun to feel automatic. There’s no sense of direction, no shore to aim for, just the endless stretch of water surrounding you, thick and quiet, swallowing any sound you might make. Time slips, dissolves, until all that remains is movement for the sake of movement.

Then, as you turn, your hand meets something solid. 

The impact is soft but jarring, your palm flattening instinctively against it. A wall. Smooth, unmoving, impossibly present where there had only ever been open water.

You gasp. 

Sukuna stands behind you. 

The bottom of the pool had risen. You still cannot reach it, but you’re aware that if you tried to, the water’s surface would be just above your head. The pool is under his command, bending to his will. How incredible.

Bare, wet skin meets bare, wet skin. 

The heat of his body is hotter than that of the water. 

He doesn’t step away despite how the water seems to be pushing you to him. 

How did he get to you so fast? Last you saw, he was still sitting on the ledge. No, perhaps the better question is, why had he moved closer to you at all?

Hands grab your ribs. You gasp. They’re firm, callused. Burning.

“Wife?” he repeats, wide smirk revealing rows of flesh-tearing teeth. “You are not my wife. You are my bride. I am sure even a puny, little thing like you understand that there is a process to be followed, yes?”

A nail flicks your nipple under the water. 

You let out a shuddery breath. 

The other two hands grip the back of your thighs, lifting them till they’re wrapping around his hips. The top half of your body has emerged from the water, water dripping down. You throw your arms around his neck, a reflex to grab onto something before you fall. 

Breasts presses to his chest. He must feel how hard your nipples are. You’re flushed with embarrassment, and an acute awareness of how much bigger his own body is to yours — if he wanted to, he could crush you with his bare hands.

Sukuna’s sharp fangs glint at the very peaks as he runs his tongue over them. “For you to be my wife, we would have to observe tradition. Do you understand what I refer to, little human?”

Breathless, you answer with your own question: “Do you refer to the wedding night, my Lord?”

One of his cocks pokes your entrance. You tense up. 

You’ve seen their size; they are inhumanly big. They could not fit inside you, not without the preparation that the women in your village had giggled about, perhaps not even with.

But he doesn’t shove it inside you all in one go. 

He doesn’t shove it inside at all.

The king merely slides you down his body, just a little, until that cock is sandwiched between your bodies. 

It bumps a good spot on your cunt. You gasp.

“I do,” Sukuna says, huffing in amusement at your reaction. “I admit I have not been married before myself, but it is one aspect I am curious about.”

His strong hands are moving you up and down, testing every little sound that leaves your lips. And you’re letting him.

Is there something in the water? Some elixir that’s making you susceptible to his whims? An aphrodisiac stimulating wetness out of your pussy?

He must feel it, must feel how it drips down his length. Just like how you can feel the prominent veins of a cock that’s grown fully erect without you noticing. How long has he been like this? Since you walked in? Before?

Your nipples are scraping his chest. The sensation has you arching closer to him, grip around his body tightening. “M-my Lord!”

Sukuna tuts, moving you up and down like you’re a mere toy for his pleasure. He scolds, “That is not my name.”

“Sukuna?” you experimentally mutter the words. His cock throbs. You both groan. “S-something’s happening.”

Hips moving on their own, you feel as though you’ve been possessed. Your body is no longer your own — some invisible thing is urging you to grind down on his cock, on that burning heat between you, rubbing your clit on his flushed cockhead, on the veins that run up and down his length.

Humming, he says, quite distracted, “Yes. Something is. Allow it to happen. Do not fight it.”

This is pleasure you’ve never felt before. Pleasure you didn’t know truly existed. The women in your village always spoke of sexual pleasure as something only for men, joy a girl would be lucky to experience even once, if their partner was generous and not selfish, which was apparently rare. 

Yet, here is, grinding your clit on the veins of his cock.

He licks his lips. “Go on, little human. Give it to me.”

With a loud moan, you throw your head back. Spasms wrack your body. A heady explosion warms your belly. Spurts of something even warmer paint your chest and stomach. 

Sukuna grunts, fingers digging into the plush of your ass. 

“Fuck.”

Your head falls back on his chest, slumping with sudden languishness. You pant. His chest rises with his own heavier breaths. 

Coming back into your own senses, you tense. Then push away. He lets you. 

“I’m so sorry,” you say, in near tears from shame. “Please forgive me, my Lord.”

You wade back, further and further away from him. Blood has pooled in your cheeks. What have you done? If he wasn’t going to kill you before, he certainly will now that you’ve defiled his body.

He pays you no mind. The water around his still body ripples. Sukuna grunts. Sucks in a harsh breath. Water laps at his contracting abdomen. Furious. Violent. You cannot tear your eyes away from the sight. 

Oh god…he’s tugging furiously at his other cock whilst the other floats. His own spend is drying on his chest. 

Mouth watering, you almost step forward to offer a hand.

But you don’t.

Instead, you turn around and make a run back to your room.

.

.

.

You haven’t returned to the pool. Not once in the week that passed.

He might not have killed you but one thing’s certain: you do not want to run into him again. 

Especially now that you’ve caught his attention. Reminded him of your existence. Which is as one would expect: worse than being forgotten. So, so, so much worse. 

For, every day since the meeting at the pool, he’s taken to dropping off severed limbs at your door. Still warm. Still bleeding. Often twitching. First it was a big toe. Then a whole foot. A finger. A hand. An arm. 

And today, a head.

A scream shook the walls once your eyes landed on the thing.

Your scream.

Perhaps it’s adrenaline that urges every stomp your feet make. Perhaps anger or indignation. Whatever it is, it has you near-running through the halls, searching in every hollow for him. 

An almost full circle has been carved at the very end of one tunnel you stumble down. Vines creep out of it. You step inside, heaving, and with fists balled at your side. 

A garden.

It stretches farther than your eyes can follow, lush and sprawling, like the earth itself had been coaxed open and persuaded to bloom in defiance of everything you thought you knew about this place. The ceiling arches high above, fractured in places where thin shafts of pale light filter through, catching on drifting pollen and casting the entire space in a soft, dreamlike haze.

The air is warm here. Heavy with scent.

Sweet. Overripe. Almost intoxicating.

It’s not a human garden, you can tell immediately; the grass is black, as is the soil, and the roots which emerge from the ground are red. Things that couldn’t exist in the same place do, cohabiting quite well. 

Flowers you’ve never seen before crowd the ground in wild abundance — petals like silk and flame, some translucent, others so dark they seem to drink in the light. Vines coil and twist up natural pillars of stone, heavy with blossoms. Leaves skim against your legs as you step forward, wide and waxy, or delicate as lace, each one foreign.

“How…?” you whisper, though there is no answer. It shouldn’t have been possible to have a whole forest inside a mountain. But then again, a great many things shouldn’t have been possible, yet they are.

The path, if it can even be called that, winds forward through the growth, barely visible beneath the encroaching green. It feels endless. Like you could spend your entire life sprinting down the path and never make it to the end.

There, some distance ahead, partially obscured by the curtain of hanging vines, a figure moves.

You freeze.

Bare feet press against the dark soil, soundless. A loose robe hangs from his shoulders, open just enough to reveal the breadth of his chest and the markings etched into his skin stark against the softness of the garden around him. One hand drags idly along the leaves as he walks.

“Hello, little bride.”

It still surprises you that he can utter the word so casually. You don’t flinch this time however. You only glower and maintain the distance. “Why have you been giving me body parts?” you interrogate, grateful that your voice is as firm as when you had rehearsed.

Sukuna lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “Why have you not stepped foot outside your room since?”

He resumes walking.

Toward you.

Each step is unhurried, deliberate, crushing petals beneath his feet without a second thought. The garden seems to part for him, bending subtly to his presence, vines shifting, leaves snaking aside in quiet submission.

You don’t move.

You tell yourself you won’t.

Your pulse stutters anyway.

“You fear me,” Sukuna observes, like he’s stating something obvious. His eyes drag over you, taking in every inch, every subtle shift in your breathing, the way your fingers curl tighter at your sides. “And yet you came looking.”

“Because I want to know why you’ve been giving me body parts,” you snap.

“Mm.”

He’s closer now.

Close enough that you can feel the heat of him, even in the thick, perfumed air of the garden. Close enough that you can see the faint sheen of moisture still clinging to his skin, the slow rise and fall of his chest beneath the loose fall of his robe.

Another step.

Instinct finally kicks in; you shift back, just one pace.

The corner of his mouth lifts. “I was curious.”

Your brows knit. “About what?”

“How long it would take,” he says lightly, “for you to stop hiding.” A finger traces the curve of your cheek. You hold your breath, staring up at him, waiting for his next move. Sukuna mutters, “How odd that your scent would be so much sweeter than the flowers that grow here. It makes me wonder.”

Why is heat travelling down your body? Why aren’t you running away, revolted by his touch or the gravel in his voice? Were you still thinking about the feel of his body against yours, both naked, in the pool? Of the cocks whose soft lengths had been engrained in your mind?

His nostrils flare. 

A flash in his eyes.

“There it is,” he rasps. “A scent I could not escape, so much more potent now.”

In a blink of an eye, you’re flipped over, dangling in the air. He has you by the ankle, lifted high up. 

You grab onto his robe, which has parted. Right in front of you is his cock. Both of them. Neither soft now. Definitely not soft. One smacks you right against the face. It leaves a wet mark. 

The musk of a refined monster hits you. It’s…it’s addictive. Your mouth waters again, stronger this time than the time at the pool now that they’re so much closer to you. Irresistible. 

Sukuna presses a nose to the apex of your thighs. Skin on skin. You jolt.

Your dress had fallen down your body, ballooning around your face. You hold the material away — he can see everything. That fact has you aware that you can see him too. The thickness of his cocks, the lengths rivalling your forearm, the weight of the balls beneath. Everything about him is massive. Intended to subjugate. Designed to dominate. 

“You are already wet. Soaked,” he muses, thoroughly humoured. He rubs his nose on your clit, nuzzling the little bud. You dig your nails into his thighs. “Filthy, little human.”

That’s all he says before he licks a stripe through your slit.

“Sukuna!”

“Mm. Dessert. Just in time.”

The beast licks and laps and sucks. It isn’t anything like the women at the village described — men are supposed to be reluctant, they’re supposed to be frightened. Sukuna isn’t. He’s consuming your juices as though starved, needing nourishment. 

In front of you, something emerges from his skin.

A wolfish grin.

There’s a mouth on his stomach, lips curled up and teeth gleaming. You scream, fighting to get out of his tight hold.

SMACK!

Sukuna slapped your ass. A dull heat blossoms on the flesh. He commands, “Stay still. I cannot dine when you worm like so.”

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

Cruelly, he lays short slaps right on your clit, sending juices splashing onto your skin. The way his palm sticks, the sloppy noises, it's all so degrading. He’s doing it on purpose. He’s revelling in your clear desire for him.

You’re almost too distracted by the sight of a second, bigger mouth. Almost. But nothing can truly, wholly tear your attention away from the sucking of your clit and the way a fire is being lit in your very core. Soon, a thick tongue finds your entrance and buries itself inside. Your eyes roll back.

A hot, wet thing slides up the valley of your breasts. Slithering. Testing. Tasting.

The mouth, you realise. It’s sticking its fat tongue out, licking your breasts the way Sukuna’s face mouth is licking the inside of your cunt, stretching your walls, teasing the pleats there. 

“Delicious,” one of them says. You can’t tell which. So much is happening at once. Too many to process. 

At your lips, one of his cockheads smears its seed. You lick your lips. It’s salty. Eyes fixed on the frighteningly red thing, you open your mouth to suckle at it. That familiar possession has returned. You’re being controlled by an invisible force — your jaw has to widen to take the bulbous head. Your tongue runs over the tip, where there’s a slit. 

Sukuna groans, pleased. Then he growls, “Do not neglect the other.”

Slightly afraid, you do as he says. The other cock is just as hard, just as big and long as the one you’re sucking on. It throbs approvingly when you tug on it. 

“Good,” he groans out. “Very good, little bride.”

Obscene squelches are coming from above. It’s a reminder of how wet you are for him. Of how delirious the pleasure is. Of how you aren’t disgusted by the magical tongue flicking your tits, playing with the mounds, running the tip of it over your nipples. You’re not disgusted by the salty taste of him, of how he seems to be constantly leaking.

He’s lapping up at your pussy so furiously that he makes frustrated, wrathful sounds; he’s mad that you’re not producing enough wetness to match the pace in which he’s drinking it up.

“More,” he commands. “Give me more. Now.”

Sukuna pushes his face closer, uncaring of the fact that you’re making a mess all over his cheeks. He only has one thing on his mind. 

“I’m gonna cum,” you warn him, mouth full and words garbled. The unfamiliar word leaves your lips so naturally you think you’d been warning him all your life of your impending orgasm.

Unfortunately, the warning is wasted. You don’t think he even hears the words with your thighs muffling his ears.

“Sukuna!”

The very same feeling, the same sensations, as the time in the pool rushes through you. Bolts of lightning thrum beneath the surface of your skin. You shudder, moaning lewdly. 

He doesn’t stop. If anything, he’s only emboldened by the juices overflowing out of you. Slurrrrrping! so animatedly. So viciously. So animalistically. 

A feral beast sucking your sensitive clit into another orgasm only minutes later. 

It’s too much. It almost hurts. You slap at his meaty thigh. That seems to snap him out of his mania.

In a flash, you’re flipped back upright. Blood descends down your body. Lightheaded, your knees weaken. He catches you, lifting you up in his arms all while he’s collecting as much of your juices off his skin he can reach with his tongue.

Thud…thud…thud…

Sukuna strolls through the garden and back out into the rocky halls, robe discarded. Your dress is soaked with a mix of your juices, sweat, and his saliva. You’re filthy. He doesn’t complain.

Thankfully, there’s no one in the hallways to witness the remnants, of the proof, of your mutual debauchery.

“I have never considered myself as having a sweet tooth,” Sukuna begins, musing to himself, “but now I believe I would very much like to have dessert after every meal. What do you say, little human?”

“Hmm,” you sleepily hum.

“Then we are in agreement,” Sukuna concludes, pleased.

Your eyes flutter shut, too tired to keep them open. Before you fall into slumber, you feel a bed much softer than you remember cushion your body. 

A hardness flanks you.

You dream of many hands brushing your hair, patting your hip, rubbing your belly, and tracing your cheek.

.

.

.

Since you’ve come to accept your odd relationship with the King of Curses, you’ve been spending an awful amount of time with him lately. 

It started off with him keeping you in his room. 

It’s a much nicer room than yours. Infinitely so. Almost triple the size and more lavishly decorated — a huge bed with silk sheets and a canopy with deep velvet curtains, a plush rug, dark red orchids in intricate and complex positions upon a table, paintings of different moments in time of human suffering that concerningly do not bother you.

You always find yourself back in here. 

Whenever you wander through the halls, the walls seem to shift. They lead you back to his room. At first you were hesitant to enter, and you’d try to go a different way, but the caves insisted.

He isn’t here ever. 

So you’ve started to think of it as your own. 

During meal times, that’s when you’d see Sukuna. 

Uraume would often escort you out of the room and into the dining hall. Another enormous space. You’d dine with him, and only him. There’d be curses posted inside, but they always step out, to give you privacy you assume. Naturally, these mealtimes were awkward for you in the beginning. 

Sukuna didn’t speak. Not at first. He would just watch you eat, which only made you feel more awkward. 

You were the one who broke the silence. “Are you… are you not going to eat, my Lord?” you asked tentatively.

A devious grin came upon his face. Happy he won a competition you didn’t know you signed up for. He replied, “I will. I am simply fattening up my pig before I devour her.”

Heat flushed through you. Cutlery clinking against the fine china, you gulped. There was a dangerous awareness of the darkness of his eyes feasting upon your flesh — you felt its weight sliding down the plumpness of your cheeks, the length of your neck, your collarbones, and your breasts which threatened to spill out from the confines of your dress. 

Perhaps fear should have overtaken you at that moment.

Only relief and desire did. 

What set you on edge most was not knowing what he wanted from you, why he had Uraume collect you, why he was wasting his time here when he could be doing kingly duties. 

Now that he had made clear what he was seeking, you could allow yourself to rest easy and actually taste the food you were shovelling into your mouth. 

“I am the pig in question?” 

“Yes,” he replied immediately. A hand shoved a plate of pancakes towards you, encouraging. “You certainly squeal like one.”

Frowning, and pushing the plate away because you have too much to eat already, you argued, “I do not.”

“Do too,” he said, pushing the plate back towards you.

“Do not!”

An arm wrapped around your waist faster than you could see. Another swiped the food off the table. Everything fell with cacophonous clangs and bangs and splats! 

Sukuna placed you on the table, which was now bereft of food. Your back met the hard wood. Your legs were thrown over his shoulders. Dress hiked up your waist. You were bared to him. Two of his callused hands yanked you closer to his face. Those four eyes, all scarlet and glinting up at you, didn’t look away. 

He wanted you to watch him take a long whiff of your cunt.

His grip tightened on you once your scent hit him with full force. His eyes rolled back. Sukuna snarled, “Let’s see which of us is right.”

There were no soft kisses upon your sensitive skin, no caresses. Only unrestrained feasting. He immediately latched onto your clit, sucking on the thing with a fury. You cried out. 

The king was frightening in his aggression. 

He was gulping down every drop your pussy produced to please him, and it wasn’t nearly enough. Terrifying growls shook the table. 

Sukuna seemed addicted to making your cunt let out vulgar squelchessss!

They came in quick succession. One after the other. Loud and clear. Displaying how well he was playing with your clit. 

“Look at how your cunt flutters, searching for my cocks,” he mused, thumbing the entrance but not pushing in. “And look how your petals have grown swollen with blood. Oh, I bet your blood tastes as good as your pussy. We’ll test that too, another day.”

Stammering, you pleaded, “Don’t look!” 

He stared too intently. Saw too much. It was more intimate than being tasted. 

“Nonsense,” Sukuna said, waving you off. “I will look as I please, and I very much do.”

In response to his renewed lapping of your juices, you could only writhe and run your nails down the wood for anything to ground you.

“Do not waste your claws on the table,” he spat, spare hands snatching your ups and offering his wrists for you to dig into. You hesitated, chest heaving and vision swimming. Then he asked, “You do not find my flesh good enough to mark? You wish to offend your groom when he is at the altar of your legs?”

You didn’t want to know what he was like when he was offended so you clung to his thick wrists. You made a mental note not to actually scratch him — that seemed a more criminal act than offending him – but the pleasure born from his ravishing of your pussy bordered on pain and you could not help yourself.

The very moment your nails caught on his skin and broke through, one of the hands that was keeping your shaking legs apart darted out. It landed on your chest. With brutish finesse, it ripped your bodice. Cool air grazed over your breasts. That hand latched onto a tit. 

“W-what– Oh God!” you screamed. 

Something…

Something on his palm was suckling your nipple, like a babe. 

Sukuna’s amused huff vibrated through your pussy, sending shivers up your spine. “No, not God, little bride. It is me. My mouth is making you feel good. But,” he adds after a little thought, “I do not mind being worshipped as a deity, heh.”

How could he be so nonchalant when two sets of mouths were eating you up, when your eyes were at risk of being permanently lodged at the back of your head? How could he make conversation so easily when his tongue, which felt so impossibly long, was wriggling through your walls and teasing the entrance to your womb? When the mouth at his palm was suctioning your nipple into that impossible space?

“Delicious,” he snarled, positively starved of your taste. “So fucking sweet. How can a human be so…so…divine? It defies nature.”

He wasn’t talking to you anymore. He was manically muttering to himself, reasoning with his own understanding of the balance of life. It baffled him. Bewildered him. Excited him. Sukuna could not get enough of you.

Whining, you called out his name, “S-Sukuna! It’s too -hngh!- much. I can’t.”

“Cum,” he said. 

Your head shook, thrashed. “No, I -hah- can’t!”

“Cum,” he repeated. No, commanded. Ordered. Demanded. 

And you could not deny a king. 

You fell apart on the dining table with a scream. Wetness rushed out of you as though a dam had broken. He drank it all up. Slurrrrrpeddd! every single drop until you were writhing again. And when he growled, “More,” and, “Again,” you could not deny him then either.

It might have been hours later before he decided he’d had his fill.

Aside from meal times, you don’t see him during the day. He’s always gone. No one will tell you why, and you don’t feel brave enough to ask. You merely assume he’s doing kingly duties — keeping the curses of the Underworld and of the forests in line, maintaining balance between humans and monsters, and protecting his people. 

In the meantime, you read in his room, which is now your room. There are plenty of books here. More than you could ever read in a lifetime, and certainly more than there ever were in your village. It’s hard to imagine he read any of the books in the collection but there are signs of use: folded pages, cracked spines, yellowing. 

He read each one you had opened. 

Poems. 

Novellas. 

Journals of travels beyond. 

You don’t mind the hours spent on your own; the goblins walking along still scare you so you avoid running into them. Of course, there’s always the option to ask during your mealtimes, in between him eating you out and actually consuming food, if you could visit the village (for you know returning was too much). Not that you especially wanted to go home. 

The villagers had sold you. 

Abandoned you.

They would not welcome you home. 

So you must consider the heart of the mountain your new home.

It’s simply about asking, about knowing the answer, about having the option.

But each time you considered bringing up your village to him, you backed out at the last second. He was not your husband. Not really. Not yet. He’s not even really your groom. That just seems like an excuse to do the salacious things you’ve been doing. At most, he’s your friend, and you cannot burden your friend more than you already have. 

Truthfully, it hardly matters what exactly he is to you. He’s nice. Attentive. Generous. He hasn’t killed you, he hasn’t hurt you, hasn’t massacred your village and your family, and hasn’t thrown back in your face any of those facts. 

That’s why every morning, when you know Uraume will escort you, you make sure never to be late.

You obediently, possibly excitedly, wait in front of the door for the knock. 

You slide a hand down your new dress; it appeared in the closet, and is your size. It certainly isn’t Sukuna’s. Red lace, soft silk, dainty bows, easy to move in and breathe — it’s a beautiful dress. Far more expensive and luxurious than anything you’d ever owned. The chest area’s a little tight; it pushes your breasts up more than you’re used to, and somehow you’re sure that was on purpose. 

When the door opens, Uraume’s patient self leads you out. They’re quiet. Respectful. They have been since the very first night. 

“Thank you.”

Cold eyes flit to you. “What ever for, my lady?”

“For saving me,” you say, fiddling with the lace on your dress. “If you hadn’t suggested that he humour me, Sukuna would have—”

“The king,” Uraume cuts in, spine straight and gaze fixed ahead now, “does only as he pleases. It is his right. He grows bored of his new toys very quickly, and it is my duty to keep him entertained. I saw an opportunity to fulfil my responsibility. That is all.”

You have no response to that. You only blink, surprised and berating yourself for being so. Sukuna may be your friend, in your eyes at least, but Uraume is not. Sukuna may not mind the fact that you are human, but others may not share the same sentiment. Maybe Uraume thinks you are a plague. A rat. That’s often the story humans spread about curses and their philosophies.

Soon, you reach the double doors leading to the garden. Before the doors are opened, they add, “It is also my duty to throw old toys away.”

When you turn to look at them, they’re already gone.

“Finally,” Sukuna says, exasperated. “I resent being kept waiting. Walk here with haste, little bride.”

Uraume’s words linger in your mind; Sukuna’s sharp rows of teeth flash washes them away. 

He’s in his loose robes, bottom set of arms tucked into the wide sleeves. A hand beckons you over, and the moment you are within reach, he snatches you up. You’re carried up in his arms, high enough to come face to face with him and see all four of his eyes watching you. 

Sukuna nuzzles the crook of your neck. He starts walking down the path. Branches tickle the top of your head. “Did you sleep well?” he wonders. His voice vibrates against your skin. It tickles.

Gripping his hair for purchase, you murmur, “Yes.” Then, shuddering once his lips explores the length of your neck, you ask, “Did you?”

“I do not sleep,” he casually replies. 

Within minutes, he’s managed to walk so deep into the garden that the surroundings have changed from exotic flowers full of vibrant colours and shapes to a forest of cherry blossoms. Petals whirl around you, swirling with the gentle wind. 

Above you, the cave walls have shifted into the blue and vast open sky. 

You gasp. “Are we…are we outside?”

The brightness almost sting your eyes; you have to narrow them with a wince to avoid being blinded. The smell of fresh air too nearly burns your nostrils. The chatter of live animals and insects are near deafening at first. Everything’s so different, so new, yet so familiar, so ordinary that it becomes magical to your senses. 

He parts from your neck to eye your reaction. The smile on your face makes his grip on you tighten. Sukuna says, “Yes. Your complexion looked rather dull without sunlight, and my bride must be at her very best at all times. So here we are.”

That doesn’t sound quite true upon his lips but you don’t question him on it. 

Instead, you beam at him and gush, “Thank you! Oh, it’s wonderful out.”

It’s easy to forget what the world above is like when you’ve spent countless nights under the mountain with rocks for company. 

Sukuna sets you down. You waste no time running around, laughing at the green grass that tickles your bare feet. 

The grass inside the mountain’s garden is black, with roots being red, for reasons you could not fathom. It’s coarser too. The softness of this green, human grass, in comparison, sets your heart racing.

There’s no wind inside the mountain, only a draught. This calm air is fresher, warmer, soothing on the body and doesn’t settle. 

And the warmth of the sun…

Beams of distant fire soaks into your skin. You sigh, a small smile on your lips. 

When you turn back, he’s sitting under a tree, all arms crossed and watching you. Always watching. Always aware of your every move, every position, every shift. 

Somewhat shy with the realisation that he’d seen the entire display, you stroll back to his side. 

“It is a lovely day out, yes?” he says. 

You nod, grinning. “It’s perfect. Just perfect.”

About to sit beside him, you let out a squeal when he snatches you up again and sits you down on his lap. All of his arms cage you. Sukuna rests his chin on the top of your head. 

“Now it is,” he mumbles, chest rumbling against your back. 

You smile again, more coy this time, and grateful he can’t see it.

The grass is untouched. No footprints mar it. No broken twigs, no distant rustling of hidden creatures. It is a forest, yes, but stripped of all the unease that forests usually carry.

It is only you and him. 

Your fingers curl into the fabric of his sleeve as another petal lands on your lap. You pick it up, studying it like it might vanish if you blink too long. Glancing back at him, you tilt your head slightly. “Did you…make this place like this?”

His chin presses a little more firmly into your hair, a quiet, possessive weight. “It exists on its own,” he says. “I allow it to remain.”

Another petal skims your lips. Without thinking, you laugh — light, bright, unguarded — as you try to catch it, only for it to slip away again, carried by a breeze that barely stirs the trees.

“You’re noisy,” he mutters.

Yet he does not tell you to stop.

You lean back into him instead, comfortable now, warm from the sun and from him both. One of his hands idly flicks a petal from your shoulder, the motion almost absent-minded, as though he doesn’t realise he’s doing it. Or perhaps he does. And simply doesn’t care.

Your gaze drifts across the clearing again, softer this time. Slower. Relaxed, you ask, “You said you don’t sleep. What do you do at night?”

Sukuna hums, fingers drumming on your stomach. “I take care of my business.”

That’s vague, you think, but you don’t push. Instead, you ask another question: “Why do you not return to the chambers?”

He chuckles, teasing. “How forward of you, little bride. We have not yet been wed and you’re already asking to share the marital bed. Is this how you humans do it in this day and age?”

Heat flushes your cheeks. You smack one of his wandering hands, which has crept up to cradle a breast, and huff, “No, that’s not what I’m saying. I just mean, everyone needs sleep. Surely even you, the King of Curses. I wonder how you rest is all.”

A moment of contemplation passes.

Did you say something wrong? Did you go too far?

Did he hate that you smacked him? 

“You are right,” he eventually says, head coming down to nudge you. His lips gently touches your cheek. “I do need rest. So allow me.”

His strong hands easily lift you off his lap, placing you down on the grass. Sukuna unfolds his large body and comes to lie perpendicular to you. His head weighs your thighs down. 

With a wave of his hand, a book appears in your left hand at the same time he takes your right and cradles it to his chest. “Read,” he instructs. “Read to me. And after my nap, I will eat your little cunt and slap your clit thrice to punish you for smacking my hand even just once.”

A flutter at your core has his eyes peering up at you, glinting. He must have sensed it. Somehow. Whether by feeling or by smell. How mortifying. 

“Or,” he starts, “I can eat you out now. I am fine with whatever order you prefer.”

“No, I’ll read,” you hurriedly say. You flick to the first page, reading the words out loud and only sighing in relief when his eyes flutter shut at the sound of your voice. 

Sukuna’s lips curl up in the corner.

And so a new tradition is born.

.

.

.

“My Lord,” Uraume repeats outside the door, “they wait for you.”

Sukuna growls out, “Let them. I am preoccupied.”

You’re pressed to the door, the cold wood warming up to the flush of your cheek. Bottom lip bitten in a desperate attempt to keep quiet, you can do nothing else but let him rut his scalding length between your thighs. 

This evening, he’d woken you up with his tongue buried inside your cunt. It seems after another whole day out in the garden, reading and strolling with him and tasting each other beneath trees before or after his naps, you fell asleep and were carried back into your chambers. 

Has it been days or weeks since you’ve built up this routine of spending the days together and spending evenings apart?

Time seems to pass so quickly and yet so slowly. It’s begun to lose all meaning to you. It’s not a fact you lament.

You jolted with a shriek at the hulking figure under your covers. “About time,” he said, throwing the heavy thing off and baring how his skin glistened with your spend to you. “I thought I might have to fuck you with both my cocks at once to wake you.”

He was joking, you were sure. Or hoped…

“Wake me?” you repeated, back arching. “W-why?”

Sukuna replied, a fang rubbing your clit and being especially careful not to cut you, “Because I must leave again, but I did not want to without hearing my name upon your lips.”

A whine tore through you. “Why couldn’t you just wake me up the normal way?”

Red eyes flashed mischievously from below. He licked a strike up your inner thigh all while not breaking eye contact. “Because normal does not taste as good.”

Uraume’s voice called out soon after, reminding him of the evening meeting. You stiffened. Could they hear you? Do they know what he was doing with you on the bed? 

Feeling embarrassed, you kicked Sukuna off and tried to push him to the door. You hissed, “You need to go. They need you.”

A hand slid inside your dress and groped your breast, cursed mouth appearing to nurse on your nipple. Another lifted your skirt up so that a third can coat its fingers in your cunt’s essence with the intention of easing the entry inside. 

“So does your cunt,” he said. “And I know which I would rather attend to first.”

Oh, he was filthy. So, so filthy.

And so persuasive. 

With you continuing, and struggling, to shake him off — legs quivering from the number his mouths had done to you today — you eventually made it to the door and was about to open it when something hot and heavy rested upon the curve of your ass and a second parted your puffy pussy lips. 

It was almost like he planned this. 

“Do not make a noise,” Sukuna rakishly rasped to your ear. Two rough hands gripped your bare hips, dressed hiked up over your ass. “Lest you’d like for Uraume to know what we’re doing.”

You definitely did not — they don’t like you very much. This wouldn’t help your case. 

But…

His cocks are rubbing you up and down and back and forth. His fat cockhead keeps catching on your pulsing clit, bumping the thing over and over again until your cunt’s drooling on his veiny length. 

“Press your thighs together. Tighter,” he commands, and groaning once you do. “Every part of you feels so good. It’s maddening.”

The pleasure building up in your core from a few thrusts is maddening. Truly. Irrevocably. You can’t tell him that, however. You can’t speak; if you do, a loud moan might slip out. 

Sukuna’s grunting in your ear. The sounds are driving you wild. As is the fact that your tits are out and are being squeezed relentlessly by two hands. Mouths take over his palms. They don’t hesitate to latch onto your nipples. You gasp, head thrown back into his chest. “Sukuna!”

“Mm, I know,” he huskily says. “Me too. Be good, pretty human. Just allow me to use your thighs for now.”

He’s so tall your hips have to be lifted up to reach his cocks. Your toes dangle over the ground. You hang precariously but you never worry for a second that he might drop you. 

Shlick! Shlickkk! 

The sounds are obscene and they’re all you can hear. Uraume must hear them too. Yet, they’re still out there, saying, “My Lord, please. The council grows restless.”

Sukuna’s livid growl shakes the door. “They. Will. Wait. Do not interrupt me again.”

His rutting speeds up. The sucking of his cursed mouths intensifies. The tip of the cock behind you is smearing pre-cum on your back, and the sensation has you clenching around nothing. 

“I’m cumming,” you whisper, eyes shut tight. “Nghhh!”

“Good,” he breathes out. “Good girl.”

You bring a hand down to your cunt, cupping the cockhead appearing and disappearing with every shallow thrust through your lips. It nudges your palm, squelching! and leaving wet sploodges of his cum and yours. Sukuna snarls.

And just like that, he cums too. His hot cum explodes into your hand, spilling through the cracks of your fingers and splatting onto the floor. More cum bursts on your back, dirtying your dress.

It’s so hot. Scalding. 

He keeps ploughing between your soft thighs, wringing out every last drop until he shudders with a growl and you slump completely in his grasp. 

When he pivots you around to check on you, specifically the cheek that had been pressed up against the door, you see his loose robe had fallen open. Some of his cum has ended up dripping down his skin. He’s tattooed and chiselled and hard everywhere. A true killing machine. You run your fingers down his chest, smearing his cum around, all the way to his stomach where a massive mouth manifests in time to clamp onto your wrist with a grin. 

His teeth don’t break skin. They don’t even hurt. They merely keep your hand inside, huge tongue slithering to lick every finger and every inch. Curiously, you grip the appendage. It really does feel like a real tongue. You stroke it.

Sukuna grips the back of your neck. He glares down at you. “You are trying to bring me to my knees, aren’t you?”

You blink. “No! Forgive me.” You try to pull your hand out on your own but his sudden grasp on your wrist stops you. 

“I did not say I did not like it.” He steps closer, licking his lips. 

“My Lord…” Uraume grits out through the door. 

Sukuna groans. “Yes! Alright!”

The door opens with a wave of his hand. 

“I should massacre the whole council, then I will have all the time in the world to bury my tongue inside your cunt. One day…” he mutters under his breath, seemingly actually considering the idea. You swat his back, cheeks flushed from embarrassment. 

Your dress falls back into place just in time for you to shield yourself from anyone else’s eyes but Sukuna’s. Not that it’s enough. 

Uraume’s chilling eyes see all — the sweat on your skin, the mess of your hair, the quivering of your legs, and the droplets of cum on the floor. They do not look disgusted by it. They look disgusted by you. 

“Be good for me, little bride,” Sukuna says, already stomping away. “I will look for you as soon as I am done with these fools.”

You take a step forward to Uraume, an apology on your tongue. 

They step back, straightening up. “These meetings are important,” they begin. “They ensure the other lords feel seen and heard. It maintains peace in our domain, and in yours. You mustn’t keep him from doing his duties. Not only is it impolite, it is also dangerous.”

“I’m sorr—”

“Do not apologise to me. Apologise to the king for wounding him,” they snap. You frown, confused. “The marks you left on his wrists that he refuses to heal himself? He leaves them open and bleeding. He openly plays with the cuts in front of the council, in front of his audience, smiling. Whispers are making echoes of a weakness in our king. If you do not care about your safety, then you must care about his.”

Thoroughly scolded, you stay rooted in place, watching Uraume follow after Sukuna. 

.

.

.

You take a walk through the garden this evening to clear your head. 

What Uraume said forced you to contemplate your relationship with the king. With Sukuna. They reminded you why you were spared in the first place — you’re a toy. A thing for entertainment. 

He is entertained by you now, by the pleasures your body provides. That, however, is not something unique to you; any woman can spread their legs, which is a crass thing to say, you know. But it’s true. To save their village, their people, to earn another day of life, or to even have the honour of serving a king, many women would offer their body up. 

And you are no special woman. You are quite average, all things considered. Never the most beautiful woman in the room, the most intelligent, or most pure of heart. 

The fact of the matter is, Sukuna will soon grow bored of you. 

What is left to be considered now is, will he spare you once he finds a new toy or will you be ‘gotten rid’ of by Uraume?

Will you be sad? 

The pang in your chest at the thought seems to suggest so.

Without realising it, you end up back in the cherry blossom grove. 

It looks different at night. Just as beautiful as during the day, of course, but different. Fireflies light up the air, mingling with the stars above you. If not for them, you wouldn’t know where you are, wouldn’t know that the tree whose bark you’re grazing with your fingertips now is the very same tree you sit under with Sukuna.

You were always under the impression that being a king meant you could do whatever you wanted. Uraume’s warning proved otherwise — Sukuna had people to please. And you’re who pleases him. 

For how long will you be enough?

With a sigh, you wonder if Sukuna really will come to find you after his meeting. He’s always busy in the evenings, and though you spent the hours of the night sleeping anyway, it’d still be nice to talk to him. His thoughts on books you’ve read are quite funny. 

He hates silly heroines who make bad decisions and always fall for the gloomy, morally grey men, yet hates the morally grey men more for their cheesy lines. “‘I control shadows and I have wings,’” he’d mimic, lowering his voice to a deeper rumble than his own. Then he’d say in his own voice, “Yes, so do about a thousand other fictional men. You are not special.”

Sukuna’s brows would furrow and he’d scoff whenever you’d get flustered by the erotic passages you’d be forced to read aloud to him as you sit in his lap, but he never suggests changing books. You theorise he really just likes complaining. 

“Pretty girl?”

You jolt. 

That voice…

“Suguru?”

Behind a tree, a silhouette hobbles over to you. “You’re alive! Oh, thank the heavens!”

The man falls into your arms. He’s really here. Your bestest friend. But he isn’t how you remember him — long raven hair have turned matted and dull, clothes torn and dirtied, and skin scratched up. You can hardly recognise him.

He grips your face, dirt rubbing into your skin. Scanning for any harm that might have befallen you, he smiles with relief upon seeing you’re perfectly well. “I’ve spent so many weeks wondering what had happened to you. I’m so sorry. God, I’m so sorry.”

His words are going in one ear and out the other; you can only question, with terror and trepidation, why his hands tremble, why he’s jumping at every little sound, and pulling you away inch by inch. 

“What happened?” 

Suguru’s eyes harden. His grip falls on your shoulder. Tight. Insistent. You wince. He says, “Listen to me carefully. We need to leave. We need to leave now. We’re too deep in the Curse King’s territory. There are beasts about. We must run now. Come!”

Bewildered, you’re yanked forward, stumbling over your feet. 

“Wait, no, I have to stay!” 

He’s not listening. 

Deeper into the forest, you’re pulled. The cherry blossoms morph into scraggly trees, leafless and with jagged branches like teeth reaching for you. The fireflies are gone now. You have to force your eyes to adjust as you trip over rocks and logs, and as your bare feet are caked in mud and moss. 

Looking back towards the light, you start to heave. “Sukuna…Sukuna’ll be mad. I have to go back.” You try to tear his hand off your wrist, digging your nails, but he can hardly feel it. “Suguru!” you yell, in near tears.

The man whirls on you, eyes wide and red. The bags under his eyes are darker than even the dark. They startle you. “What’re you doing? Why’re you fighting me? I’m trying to save you, like I should have done when your family decided to sacrifice you to the mountain.”

You shake your head. “It’s okay. I’m okay. I’m not mad at you, so if you’re doing this out of guilt, then you don’t need to. Just go, alright? Go before someone notices you’re here. I don’t know what the goblins, Uraume, o-or Sukuna will do if they find you here.”

Suguru recoils. “Sukuna? You call the monster of the mountain by his first name?” 

He doesn’t wait for you to answer. Something seems to dawn on him. His eyes properly take you in from head to toe — your clean skin, fresh hair, the plump in your cheeks, the expensive dress you wear, the lace, the silk, the jewels. 

He releases you, like you’d burnt him. 

“The king spared you…” he whispers in horror. “He spared you. And you’ve been living a life of luxury, as our village burned to the ground. You call him by his first name when his name was the last thing my family had screamed in their final moments. You wish to go back, to that thing, when I’m here and I’m taking you away…”

“What do you mean?” you ask, brows knitting together. “What happened to our village?”

It’s an impossible thing to imagine. Yet it shouldn’t have been. Many villages have suffered the same fate, or worse, over the many years since the rise of the curses. But your village was spared because of you, because of their offering, right?

A scathing laugh slaps you on the cheek. “You don’t know? You’ve been cozying up to that monster and you don’t know he wiped our village out from the map? That he massacred our people in one night? Are you just stupid or did he poison your mind?”

You fall back, shaking your head. “No, no, he wouldn’t.”

“He’s a killer!” Suguru roars. “He’s killed so many. Every single night. The very few of us that had survived have fled from village to village, trying to fight against him and his army of curses, but they always win. I’ve watched my friends, my allies, fall again and again. And yet, I thought of you every day. I fought for you, so I can return and save you from his torture.”

He scoffs. 

“But he hasn’t been torturing you, has he?” Suguru grips your face suddenly, bruising your cheeks as he spits out, “No, he hasn’t had to use force to get you to spread your legs!”

Tears stream down your face. “Stop it,” you cry out. “Stop it!”

Suguru presses his forehead to yours, lips trembling. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he repeats. “Let’s just go, alright? We need to go. You’re not safe even if you’ve earned his favour for now. He’s proven he isn’t a man of his word, and it’s only a matter of time before he tears you limb from limb like he had done to your mother and to your father, and to mine.”

Images of your home ablaze, of the night sky filling with the screams of the dying, of blood turning the ground crimson flash in your eyes. 

You’re a fool. You’d actually convinced yourself that he isn’t the King of Curses, that creatures from the Underworld don’t bow to him, that he hasn’t been keeping you to laugh behind your back. 

You’d allow yourself to believe you’re Sukuna’s bride. 

That you’re something special to him, even momentarily, even just for now. 

He’s looking at you impatiently, bouncing on his feet and listening out for any signs of hostile life in the forest. 

Taking a deep breath, you steel yourself. “Yes, yes. Let’s go. He’s in a meeting right now, he’ll be busy.”

And off you two go, running in the dark, hand in hand. 

Branches whip at your arms as you run.

The forest is different at night.

Where it had been soft, warm, almost dreamlike beneath drifting blossoms, it’s now a maze of shadows and silver light, the moon caught in the petals overhead. Your breath comes sharp and uneven, lungs burning, feet barely finding the ground as you stumble over roots and fallen bark.

Beside you, Suguru’s grip is firm. Unyielding.

“Don’t stop,” he says, low, urgent, pulling you forward when your pace falters. “We’re almost past the boundary—”

A roar splits the night.

It shakes the air. Rips through the trees. Sends petals scattering like frightened birds. The ground trembles beneath your feet, a deep, violent pulse that travels straight up your spine. It rattles your bones, grips your very soul and squeezes. It’s in equal parts wrathful and tortured. 

You freeze.

Suguru doesn’t.

“Move,” he snaps, tightening his hold on your hand, dragging you forward again. “He knows.”

Of course he knows.

This is his domain.

Every inch of it.

You run faster.

Faster than you ever have before, lungs screaming, vision blurring, your hand clutched in Suguru’s like it’s the only thing anchoring you to reality. The trees thin for a moment, moonlight spilling across a clearing—

THUD!

The earth cracks beneath the impact. You both skid to a halt.

He stands there, between you and whatever hope you thought you had.

Sukuna.

Tall. Unmoving. Waiting.

That deranged smile curls slowly across his lips, too wide, too pleased, too knowing. His eyes gleam in the dark, sharp and bright and utterly unhinged, drinking in the sight of you: your dishevelled state, your trembling form, your hand still clasped in another’s.

For a moment, he says nothing. Then, “You are leaving me?” His voice is almost light. Almost amused. “For some pathetic human?”

The words hit harder than the roar. Your chest tightens, a hot and jagged thing rising up your throat, drowning out the fear, the instinct to shrink, to hide, to obey. “No,” you snap, breath shaking. “I’m leaving because you slaughtered my village. You killed my family. You lied to me.”

He laughs. Low. Disbelieving. Growing. Sukuna tilts his head, as though genuinely intrigued by your accusation, by the audacity of it. “You mean the village,” he begins, voice slow, deliberate, “that threw you, bound and gagged, at the foot of my domain to be sacrificed?”

Each word lands like a blade, cutting deeper and deeper, and twisting to remind you of your lowest moment, of the humiliation, of the powerlessness you felt.

“The family that readily offered you up? That never looked back even once?”

Your grip on Suguru tightens.

Sukuna’s smile widens. 

“Yes,” he hums, almost fondly. Inspecting his hands, as though he can see the blood that still stains his unmarred skin. “Yes, I did. And very gladly.”

Something in your chest cracks.

“But I never lied to you,” he continues, eyes narrowing just slightly, the air around him growing heavier, sharper. “You just assumed that I would negotiate with lesser creatures. A fault that I have overlooked.”

Suguru steps forward, just enough to place himself between you and him. “You’re done,” he says, voice steady, though there’s tension coiled tight beneath it. “Whatever hold you think you have over her—”

Sukuna’s gaze flicks to him.

The shift is instant.

The amusement drains, not completely, but enough to reveal something colder beneath. Something ancient. Something violent.

“Careful,” Sukuna murmurs. “I do not take kindly to interruptions in my conversations with my bride.”

The air distorts.

Pressure builds, thick and suffocating, pressing against your skin, your lungs, your bones. Suguru doesn’t move, but you feel the way his hand tightens around yours, grounding you even as the world threatens to tilt. 

Why hasn’t Sukuna killed you both? Why hasn’t he tore you two apart? Why is he standing under the moonlight, humoured and talking so leisurely? 

Even till now, he’s not staring down at you with deadly intent. He’s conversing with you as if he’s asking how your breakfast is or what book you’d picked up to read to him today. It’s impossible to know what he’s thinking, and that’s more dangerous than if you knew he was going to rip you into pieces.

“She’s not your bride,” he spits, tugging you behind him.

Sukuna laughs again. Four eyes settle back on you. “Not mine?” he repeats, almost thoughtfully. “After everything I have given you?”

A step forward.

“After I took you in,” he continues, voice dropping, curling around the words, “fed you, dressed you, kept you alive when the rest of your kind would have happily watched you die?”

Another step.

Trying to steel your resolve, you retort, “You must feel betrayed, right? Imagine how I feel, Sukuna!”

“You think I feel betrayed?” he asks, head tilting again, that awful smile returning, sharper now. “No, little bride.” His gaze flicks briefly to your joined hands. Then back to your face. “This is not betrayal,” he says. “This is ingratitude. It seems I have spoiled you. Given you too much, too fast. I did not train insolence out of you. You have insulted me. And you will be punished.”

Suguru pulls you back a fraction.

“Run,” Suguru whispers.

His last words, before Sukuna flicks his wrist and his body is cut into thin ribbons of flesh, blood, muscle and bone. They fall into a neat pile by your feet, soaking the ground you stand on until your soles are caked in the remains of your only friend.

It happens so quickly, so suddenly, you couldn’t blink fast enough to protect your mind from the grotesque display. You saw it all. A man, a whole life, memories, a future, diminished to mush. 

Sukuna smiles wider.

“Yes,” he says, almost eagerly. “Run, little bride.”

You do. 

Feet slam against the forest floor. Bare soles strike damp earth. Sharp pebbles and stray twigs that snap beneath your weight. It hurts. 

God, it hurts. 

But you don’t stop. You can’t. The pain barely registers past the ringing in your ears, past the image burned into your mind, replaying over and over again. 

Suguru’s gone. Your village. Your family. Everything familiar. 

Your stomach twists violently, bile clawing up your throat, but there’s no time to be sick, no time to grieve, no time for anything except run.

Branches lash at you as you tear through the undergrowth, snagging against your dress, catching in the fabric and ripping it in jagged lines. The hem tears first, then higher, threads snapping with every desperate step until the once-soft material hangs in shredded strips around your legs. Chilling air kisses the exposed skin, quickly replaced by the sting of scratches, of thin lines of blood blooming where thorns and bark have caught you.

“So panicked. So scared.”

His voice.

Right there.

Warm. 

Amused.

Mocking.

You choke on a gasp, nearly tripping over your own feet as you lurch forward, heart slamming so hard it feels like it might crack your ribs open. He’s not behind you, or in front of you, and yet it sounded as though he was. 

“I have not even begun,” Sukuna murmurs somewhere, almost thoughtful. “And already you look like this. Adorable.”

The forest stretches endlessly before you, trees blurring together, shadows twisting into shapes that don’t exist. The petals that once felt soft now cling to your damp skin, sticking to the sweat, to the blood, to the places where your dress has torn open. Your lungs burn, each inhale sharp and shallow, your chest tightening with every second that passes. 

You trip.

A root catches your foot, sending you pitching forward. Your hands barely catch you before your face meets the ground, palms scraping harshly against rough earth. Dirt grinds into your skin, mixing with the blood already there.

“Oh dear,” he muses. “Such a clumsy thing, you are. That’s why I keep you locked up with all the pretty things in my domain. Do you see now, why you must stay with me?”

Getting back to your feet, you stumble forward. “I’m never going back with you!”

You ignore the way your hands tremble, the way your legs and your unused muscles scream in protest as you force them to move again.

Run.

Run.

Run.

“You know,” Sukuna continues, his voice drifting lazily through the air, “I expected more from you.”

There’s a rustle above.

A shadow moving faster than you can track.

Where is he? Why isn’t he snatching you up? Why is he drawing this out? 

He’s like a cat toying with a mouse, playing with his food, heightening your fear so you’ll taste even better. 

“I gave you everything,” he says, less conversational now, more accusing. “And this is how you repay me? Running off into the woods like a frightened little animal, with some other man, a man I should have slaughtered along with the other rats?”

Your breath hitches.

“Have I not been good to you? Have I not been enough? Enough to stay for. For even a goodbye.” 

A tear slips down your cheek, cutting through the grime. Devastatingly, a part of you notices the subtle crack of vulnerability. He masks it with amusement, with the undercurrent of anger, but you hear it all the same.

Still running, you yell, “You’re going to kill me, like you killed everyone. I’m just a toy to you!”

“And a very bad one at that,” he retorts without missing a beat. “Fear not — I will fix you once I catch you.”

“You’re not going to catch me,” you choke out, though it sounds weak, even to your own ears. 

Sukuna tuts and it sounds like it’s right by your ear. “Ah, but I already have.”

Wind flips your hair around, making it hard to see, so when you whip your head side to side, looking for hope, you don’t see the barrier ahead until it’s too late. 

Your body meets a hard wall. Two arms cage you in, unyielding. 

A scream pierces through the forest. It’s so far removed from you, you think for a second that someone else is facing the same fate you are, and your heart breaks for her. When reality sets in, you cease to stop feeling sorry at all. You just weren’t fast enough. No one could be against the Curse King. 

“Got you, little bride.”

In a blink of an eye, he has you carried up by your hips. 

“Mark my words,” he says, “you will never leave me again.”

His lips slam onto yours. 

Sukuna wastes no time shoving his tongue inside your mouth. A shocked moan escapes you. This is your first kiss, and with him. It’s not romantic like the stories described kisses to be. It’s not soft, tentative, gentle. It’s a kiss full of anger, of a need for vengeance, to dominate. 

Sukuna’s channeling every ounce of his feeling of betrayal, try as he might to deny it, down your throat. With the nipping of his teeth hard enough to draw blood, the suckling of his lips to taste the iron on his tongue, and said tongue exploring the crevices. 

“Just as delicious as your cunt,” he snarls, pleased.

You should fight him off, you know. But you can’t. He’s too strong, too all-consuming, too engrained in your body. It recognises his heat, his scent, his voice, and it wants more. So you don’t part from him; you clamp your teeth down on his bottom lip too, tasting his blood. 

It’s sweet. 

Sickly sweet in a way that rushes straight to your head.

He barks a laugh, a hand yanking your head back by your hair. “A biter…adorable.” He runs his tongue up the length of your neck before biting the curve. You moan. It doesn’t break skin, but the threat is there, and it has you clenching around nothing.

Sukuna takes a deep inhale of the air. 

His eyes flash red. 

“I killed your friend, decimated your village, and your cunt is still craving pleasure from me?” he asks, though it doesn’t sound very much like a question at all. “Your soul calls for me, do you realise it, little wife?”

“I’m not your wife,” you spit out. 

“Not yet, but in just a moment, you will be,” he promises. At whatever expression you wear on your face, another laugh cuts through you. “You do not realise the trap you have run into, do you?”

Blinking, you finally look around, processing your surroundings. 

They glisten with something under the moonlight — too thick, too dark to be dew. 

Blood?

Behind you, a litter of scarlet petals trails right up to where you stand, as though marking every step that led you here, every foolish attempt at escape laid out like a procession. Rows of benches stretch out on either side, carved from twisted wood and bone, thorns curling along their edges, skulls embedded into the structure.

The forest has gone still.

No insects. No birds. No wind.

Only him.

Only you.

And this…

This altar.

“A fitting setting, no?” Sukuna murmurs against your skin, his voice lower now, richer, laced with something disturbingly joyful. His grip on your hips tightens, grounding you in place even as your mind threatens to spiral. “For a union long overdue.”

Dress hiked up around your waist, a long, slithering thing worms up your thighs. You writhe, trying to run away from it, but he won’t let you. Teeth hook into your underwear. It riiiiiiiiiips it off.

His curse tongue licks your cunt with a vengeance, as though punishing you for withholding your pussy and its juices from it. Shlick! Shlick! So vulgar. So indecent. So unrestrained. 

Your pulse spikes. “This isn’t—”

“It is,” he cuts in smoothly.

The word lands like a final verdict.

Back arching, you’re powerless against the tongue prodding your entrance. He doesn’t mention it. Neither do you. You don’t mention how it’s far too big to enter you and yet it does, stretching your walls out with ancient powers you will never understand. 

Inside, it licks every inch, every pleat. Maybe your hips work down, trying to suck it deeper inside. Maybe it doesn’t. 

You’re far too focused on the fact that you’re finally at your wedding. A wedding you never wanted in the first place. A wedding he didn’t want either. He was just amused by the gall of the humans.

The domain itself is bearing witness.

There’s no need for friends, for family, for a priest. 

He only needs himself and you.

Sukuna turns you with absolute certainty, positioning you to face the altar. It’s carved from dark marble, veined with something that glows faintly beneath the surface, like embers trapped beneath ash. Symbols you don’t understand are etched into it, curling and jagged. 

“I chased you,” he muses, almost idly, though his hands never leave you, never loosen.  They feel your body. Squeezing. Groping. Grip pulsing. Drawing out gasps and moans. “I let you run. Let you tear yourself apart on branches and roots like a frightened little thing.”

His fingers drag over one of the scratches on your arm, smearing the thin line of blood.

“And still,” he continues, voice dropping, “you came exactly where I wanted you.”

Your throat tightens.

“I didn’t—”

“You did,” he says, almost gently now, and that softness is far more terrifying than anything else. “Every path you chose. Every step you took. It all led here.”

The petals shift under your feet as he guides you forward.

One step.

And another.

“To me.”

Your thighs are soaked with his saliva. The entrance to your womb is being tickled. Clit rubbed by a wide, flat tongue. You’re face to face with him, panting, eyes unable to tear away with the undeniable allure of his. He’s tasting you, consuming you, devouring. He just can’t help himself. Even when he should be rough, when he should punish you, should teach you a lesson you’ll never forget, he cannot. 

“Ngh! S-Sukuna,” you cry out as an orgasm tears through you. “Too much!”

For a moment, his gaze softens. “I know, I know. But you need to be stretched to take both of my cocks. Be patient.”

Blood drains from your face. 

That’s when you start thrashing in his hold, fear taking over you. “No, no! I can’t take both of them.” They’re too big. You’ve seen them up close; no one could take them. No human. One would already be asking too much. 

Both? 

It’d be a death sentence.

Sukuna slowly lays you down on top of the altar. 

Immediately, dark powers curl around your body. Wisps of shadow and smoke threading around your limbs, twirling your hair, brushing your cheek, unravelling your dress and slipping it off your body. They keep you in place.

You feel his energy touching you everywhere — stroking your lips, entering through your nose, sliding down your throat and filling your belly, flicking your nipples before wrapping around the hard bud and tugging, creeping down your stomach to stroke your throbbing clit. 

They distract you, shushing the cries of protest. 

“Beautiful,” he whispers as his eyes consume you whole. “So beautiful. And all mine.”

He touches your cunt, coating his fingers with your essence. Sukuna brings it up in the light between you. It’s red. 

Automatically, your legs move to close. The shadows stop you. They yank your legs further apart so he can slot himself between them. His robes have fallen off. A cockhead pokes your clit, smearing its pre-cum onto the pulsing thing. You gasp. 

When he licks your monthly blood off his fingers, you groan. “Stop! It’s filthy.”

“No, little bride. Nothing about you is filthy. Not in a way I don’t cherish, at least.”

Sukuna brings his wrist up to your lips. 

“Bite me. Hard. Hard enough to bleed. Take your anger out on me. All your hate. Your melancholy. Your grief. Let it all out,” he demands, growling. “I want it. All of it. Every part of you. Give it to me!”

The shadows pry your jaw open. That’s it. It’s them that makes your teeth take hold of his thick wrist and bite down with every force you have in you. It’s them that make your teeth sink in through all layers. 

Iron soaks into your tongue, trickling down your throat and warming your chest, like alcohol. 

He throws his head back, chest heaving. 

The forest rustles, cheering, trembling with pleasure. Meanwhile, the shadows are vibrating. Thrumming as it plays with your clit incessantly. As it pushes in the little holes of your nipples, pleasuring the fats from inside. You whine. 

“Fuck!” he bellows

Sukuna snatches his wrist from you. His hands grip the marble, veins popping and threatening to burst. He’s gulping down air and rolling tension off his shoulders.