✨✨✨

Poor Satoru who thinks that if he makes you, a virgin, orgasm hard enough with his tongue, you’ll be too spent to attempt at intercourse again. He awkwardly stumbles and falls face first into your pussy a few times as he sucks and licks fervently, because he has to somehow give you the best head of his life with his hands tied behind his back while he balances on nothing but his knees.

He’s successful that day, you can barely stand up for almost thirty minutes after he works his magical tongue on you. He coos sweet nothings into the side of your head with your slick still fresh on his tastebuds as you cuddle him in the afterglow, soothing you because part of his heart aches in guilt that he made you cum. Somehow, you’re the victim in Satoru’s eyes. A victim to what was likely a harsh childhood, to mean high school and college cliques, to boys your own age who treat women they don’t find attractive like they don’t have a right to exist, and to a lack of a companion you can rely on to never leave you.

Satoru can’t hold back the strangled groans clawing their way out of his throat when you finally get used to foreplay for a few days and have extra energy to spare for true fucking. He found his brows pinched in concern and tried to comfort you when you panicked at the full feeling in your stomach after sliding the entirety of his well endowed cock into you. You almost took off his chains so he could rub your clit to make it go smoother for you when he genuinely offered— saying something about the most important thing being your comfort, no matter the circumstances.

But then, your elastic insides get used to the stretch faster than he expects and Satoru starts to feel like maybe he’s getting a little too old for this type of sex, because you’re akin to a little bunny the way you hump his lap. He just can’t deny how pleasurable it is to be fucked and sucked in by your wet, little pussy. It’s not like he can do anything about this happening, all he can do is attempt to helpfully talk you through this process and hopefully make this easier on you and your body in the long run, fighting to push comprehendible words of advice and genuine inquiries of how you’re feeling out of his lips through the blinding pleasure.

Satoru told you what to do when, and if, the situation ever comes up where he expresses to you that he’s going to ejaculate. 1. Take that deep breath he taught you to stay calm, 2. stop all stimulation, and 3. dismount his penis completely— also! at least wait until he or you has cleaned all traces of sperm from his penis if you wish to have more intercourse after.

But when Satoru shakily breathes out a clear enough warning of imminent orgasm, you do the exact opposite of his little field guide on how to responsibly have recreational sex. You grit your teeth and bounce harder as he frantically attempts at questioning what you’re doing and if you remember what he told you. And when he lets out a particularly loud and aggressive, “fuck!” followed by a deep, primal, involuntary thrust up into what’s milking him, you instantly stop humping so he can properly inseminate you with your eyes absolutely rolling. You can feel the muscle contractions within his cock jerk and twitch inside your repeatedly vacuuming walls, and you can’t feel the sperm, but you just know that his warm cum is filling your cervix.

To an extent, Satoru understood you just wanted to fuck around and have fun like any other young horny college student, I mean, fuck, he actually gave you permission to hump his dick for this exact reason; it’s is why the field guide was discussed, but this? This is real shit, real life, getting pregnant will change your entire life forever.

For the first time since he’s been taken by you, he’s looking at you like he’s horrified as his body breeds your fertile, welcoming cunt. A few whiny grunts slip out behind his unstable breath and his features twitch behind the shocked expression, showing the deep white hot pleasure pushing through. And then you kiss him. Connected at the top and the bottom of your bodies, kissing him with such a clear passion, yearning for love and care, that Satoru feels that sympathetic pang again, the need to nurture your lost soul.

Gojo froze mid-step, head turning slow like a predator catching a scent. The rest of the boys exchanged quick glances and started setting the controllers down real careful, as if any sudden movement might set him off.

"The fuck did you just say to me?" Gojo’s voice dropped into a dangerous growl, blue eyes narrowing until they looked like shards of ice.

The guy put his hands up fast. "Easy, I didn’t mean—"

He didn’t get to finish. Gojo’s glare pinned him in place. "Out. All of you. Get the fuck out of my house."

He jerked his thumb toward the door. No one argued. They scrambled up, grabbing phones, hoodies, and whatever else they’d scattered across the floor, muttering curses under their breath just quiet enough that Gojo wouldn’t hear. Nobody wanted to test whether the prick would actually swing tonight.

In under a minute the room was empty except for the low hum of the AC and the faint smell of snacks.

Gojo rolled his shoulders, already over it. He yanked open his wardrobe, pulled on a black jacket that probably cost more than most people’s rent, snatched his cap off the table, and grabbed his keys.

The anger was already cooling into something else. He thumbed open his phone, typed fast, and hit send without a second thought.

I’m coming over.

The message, of course, went unread. The supposed receiver was dead asleep, curled up in bed with that stupid teddy plushie clutched to the chest, completely unaware of the headache pulling into her apartment complex.

***

Ding. Dong. Ding. Dong. Ding. Dong.

Satoru Gojo's patience lasted exactly three rings before it snapped in half. He leaned on the doorbell again, then switched to pounding his fist against the wood hard enough to rattle the frame.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

“Fuckin' bitch, the hell she doing in there?” he muttered, stalking over to the side window and trying to peer through the blinds like some pissed off burglar.

“OPEN THE FUCKIN’ DOOR, Y/N!”

That, apparently was the magic phrase.

You snapped awake in bed, teddy plushie falling over to the floor. The knocking kept coming, angry and impatient. You scrambled up, bare feet slapping against the cool floor as you rushed to the door. Heart in your throat, you pressed your eye to the peephole.

And there he was. Satoru Gojo in all his furious glory, face flushed red, jaw locked tight like he was two seconds from kicking the door down and burning the whole damn building.

"Shit. He’s gonna kill me."

You quickly smoothed down your messy hair and tugged at your pajamas, trying to look at least halfway presentable before cracking the door open. Gojo's eyes dropped to you immediately, the kind of look reserved for people caught red-handed committing a crime.

“Where the fuck were you, bitch?” he barked, voice loud in the quiet hallway.

You flinched, lips trembling with shock. “M’sorry, Toru… I was asleep—”

“The hell are you still wearing those for?” He gestured at your baggy pajamas with clear disgust. “I told you I was coming over. Show some skin for fuck’s sake.”

Your brain was racing through every possible way you could’ve messed up. That poor little head of yours working overtime while your eyes started watering, the whites of them turning pink.

“I didn’t see it, Toru… don’t be mad. I'm sorry…” your voice cracked, tears spilling over before you could stop them.

Gojo rolled his eyes so hard it looked painful. “For god’s sake, stop crying, y/n. Such a damn crybaby.”

“But you’re being so mean,” you whimpered, wiping at your damp cheeks. “I told you I was sleeping…”

He let out a long groan, dragging a hand down his face. “Ughhh, fine. Just go get changed already.”

He didn’t wait for an invitation. Gojo pushed past you like he owned the place—which, technically, he did. He gave you the apartment just so you’d have somewhere nice to live. No bills, no worries, just you waiting for him whenever he felt like blowing some load.

Win-win, he'd say. You got to live for free and spoiled, and he got a pretty dumb thing all to himself waiting for him.

He dropped onto the couch, legs spread wide, scrolling through his phone while you disappeared into the bedroom. A few minutes later the door clicked open again.

Gojo looked up slowly… and good heavens.

There you were, standing in the doorway in that white kitten fur bikini set he’d picked out himself. Tiny top barely holding your tits, bottoms sitting low on your hips, soft white kitty ears perched on your head and a matching tail swishing behind you with every nervous step. The tiny pink accents here and there made the whole thing look so cute and slutty at the same time.

Exactly what he wanted. A slow, satisfied smirk tugged at his lips, the earlier anger melting into something hotter and darker.

In his defense, when he said he was coming over, that should've been enough. It always meant the same thing: drop whatever the fuck you’re doing and get ready for him. Pick the most scandalous set you own from all those slutty lingeries, barely-there scraps of fabric he’s filled your closet with. Each one worse (or better, depending how you look at it) than the last.

At this point you’ve got more of this shit than normal clothes, but isn’t that exactly how it’s supposed to be anyway?

He’s the man here. He protects you, provides for you, takes care of everything. All you gotta do is listen, do what he says, wear what he wants.

Your primary fucking job is to welcome him home like this. Dolled up in the little slutty set that makes his blood rush straight to his dick the second he walks through the door. So that he doesn’t just “want” to fuck you… he needs to.

He leaned back further into the couch, watching you walk over with a hungry stare, eyes dragging slow from your ears down to the soft sway of your hips and that ridiculous little tail.

Couldn't even blame himself for the way his cock jumped hard in his pants on the sight. Your tits looked so fucking soft and heavy in that tiny top, thin straps fighting for dear life just to keep them squeezed together. They bounced just right with every shy little step you took, enough to make any man with a dick bust a huge load of nut in his pants like a loser.

Yeah… he’d molded you into a perfect little slut.

You weren’t always like this, though. You swear you weren’t.

Just a clueless first-year wandering around campus, still trying to figure out where the hell the library was. That’s how you ended up pushing open the wrong classroom door at the exact wrong moment.

Satoru Gojo, the biggest asshole the campus had ever seen—pants half-down, sweet-talking some poor girl he’d spent days manipulating.

The girl’s eyes went wide when she saw you. She squeaked, yanked her skirt down, and bolted straight past you like her life depended on it.

You’d just stood there, blinking and mumbling, “Oh sorry—sorry, my bad,” before trying to close the door again.

Too fuckin' late.

Gojo had been furious. Anyone would be, right?

All that effort wasted because some dumb girl wandered in and decided to cockblock him. He’d cornered you in the empty hallway before you could even run, towering over you while you pouted and sniffled like a scared kitten.

The more you cried and stammered apologies, the harder he got. Something in that pretty, teary face flipped a switch in him. He made the decision right then and there: new prey acquired.

He eyed you up and down like fresh meat, that sharp instinct of his kicking in immediately. Because Satoru Gojo could smell virgins from a mile away. Something about the way their eyes went all wide and clueless. He saw it in you the second you walked in on him. Not a single fuckin' thought behind those pretty eyes.

He couldn’t believe his luck, honestly. Just when he thought one had slipped away from him, another one showed up. Even better, even dumber, practically offering herself up on a silver platter right in front of him. And the cherry on top? this one looked like she’d be so much easier.

“Ever been fucked?”

You blinked fast. Yup, you heard that right. First guy you ever meet on this campus and that’s his opener. No hi, no what’s your name, no you’re pretty. Straight to business.

“W—what??”

“I said…” his hand shot out, grabbing your waist hard enough to bruise as the other slid down under your skirt without any hesitation. Long fingers crawled up your thighs, rubbing slow rough circles right over your crotch through your panties. He leaned in close, lips brushing your ear. “Has a cock been in this hole?”

You shook your head, slow and shaky.

“Words.”

“N-nooo…”

“Mhmm. Jackpot.”

Before you could even process it, he had your wrist in a vice grip, dragging you straight to his car like you were already his. One thing led to another and yeah, he kinda took your virginity the same night.

But hey, he was supposed to get laid and you ruined it for him. Isn't it your responsibility to fix it now?

Well, it's not like you were exactly complaining, even if you were scared shitless at first. The man had a tongue like a demon. He ate your little cunt for over an hour. Sucking, licking, kissing every inch until you were leaking wet and loose enough for his monster cock to finally push in. He stretched you open so good you saw stars, crying and shaking the whole time while he laughed low in your ear and told you to take it like a good girl.

And that was just the beginning.

He fucked you the next day. And the day after. And on most days, if not every damn day after that. Turned you into his personal cocksleeve who waited in the apartment he got you just so he could have easy access whenever he got bored or pissed off.

That’s how you met Satoru Gojo.

And that’s exactly how you ended up on his lap right now, dressed like a kitty whore while he squeezed your tits and smirked up at you with the same hungry look he had back then.

“Come on, baby… what’s with the face, hmm?” he asked, rocking his hips slow under you so your pretty body moved with every lazy thrust.

You kept pouting, sniffling like a spoiled brat. “Why did you shout at me…”

“Hmm, sorry baby, my bad… I was pissed, yeah?” his fingers tugged the fur cups of your bikini top down hard, letting your fat tits spill out and bounce free. He squeezed them immediately, thumbs flicking over your nipples.

“But what did I dooo…” you whined again, curling your fingers tight into his sleeves.

This fucking bitch. All he wanted was to blow off some steam after that shitty game by pumping you full of cum, and now he had to babysit a crybaby.

Whatever. Pussy was pussy.

He faked a sweet smile and leaned in, kissing your lips soft. “Not at you, silly. How could I be mad at you?”

“You’re such a liar… you were definitely mad at me…”

The tears started pouring again in broken little sobs, even while you kept grinding your soaked cunt carefully over his bulge.

Satoru’s left eye twitched. His big hands groped your tits harder, squeezing the soft heavy flesh. He likes to call them cow titties because they were so fucking big and he says it's useless and not pretty enough to look at, only good for using like cocksleeves. He’d never admit they looked goddamn perfect on you. He gave them another rough squeeze, face turning mean enough to shut you up.

“Anything to say?” he growled, grabbing two handfuls of your ass and spreading you wide. Your clit smashed right against his rock-hard cock through the fabric.

“Toruuu—nghhh, right there…” you moaned loud, starting to bounce on him with a vision now, tits flopping left and right with every desperate jump.

“How many fuckin' times do I gotta tell you to quit acting like a damn slut, huh?” he slapped your ass hard, the sharp crack making you squeak.

“I'm sorry Toru… please… wan’ it…”

“Oh yeah?” his hands locked on your hips and started bouncing you faster, helping you rub your pussy up and down his bulge. “Want what, baby?”

“Mmm… want you… to put it in… in me… please…”

Satoru threw his head back and laughed, loud and mean. Truth be told, he wasn’t even into girls like this. He liked them scared and shy, the kind who never asked for shit so he could take his sweet time breaking them. You used to be exactly like that too… until he trained you to be a house slut. His fault, really.

“Toruuu…” you called out again, still bouncing on him so eagerly, tits jiggling everywhere. “Please…”

“That so?” he suddenly stopped you, gripping your hips hard and grinding you down tight against his cock. “Do it yourself then.”

Your eyes lit up like he’d just handed you the moon. You quickly slid your bikini bottoms to the side, yanked his boxers down, and his thick cock sprang up, slapping heavy and hot right against your bare pussy.

“Owww…”

“Aww, he’s mean, huh?” he mocked, grinning at you.

You pouted but wrapped your shaky hand around that burning meat, thick veins pulsing under your fingers. You positioned the fat head right between your soaked folds and started rubbing him against your clit. The groan he let out was so loud you almost thought he came already.

“C’mere, fuckin’ god…” he pulled you flush against his chest, arms wrapping you up tight, your legs locking around his waist. His cock trapped between your leaking pussy lips, sliding messy through all that slick.

“Toruu…”

“Shut the fuck up.”

He started snapping his hips fast, humping your wet folds, fat head catching on your hole every thrust. Your lewd moans right in his ear made him leak precum like a faucet.

“Mmm Toru… ahhh please… too much… nghh…”

You were clinging to him for dear life, nails digging in while he humped your sloppy pussy like an animal. With one loud cry you came hard all over him, gushing wet and nasty. He followed right after, painting your pussy and inner thighs in thick white streaks of cum.

“Fuckin’ nasty…” he grinned down at your fucked-out face, surprised you looked this gone just from humping. He hadn’t even put it in. He had other plans, though.

“Get off,” he said, eyes turning cold in a heartbeat.

“Hmm? but whyy??” you blinked at the sudden switch.

“I said get off me.”

You obeyed, sliding off slow and shaky. He wiped his cock clean and buckled up, grabbing his jacket like he was done with you.

“But Toruu… we…”

“Didn’t fuck? yeah. Ain’t gonna do it. Gonna go find some other bitches.” He shrugged, pulling his jacket on.

“Toru nooo— what, please I’m sorry—”

At this point you didn’t even know what you were sorry for.

“Please Toru…” Tears started streaming down your face. “Don’t leave… please, I beg you...”

He ignored you completely, walking out and slamming the door behind him leaving you as you dropped on the floor half naked, sobbing loud, wondering what the fuck you did wrong and how hard you’d have to try just so he wouldn’t go fuck other girls.

Outside, Gojo walked to his car with a big shit eating grin.

There weren’t any other bitches. Hadn’t been since the day he met you. But you didn’t need to know that. Did you?

He wanted you right there. Desperate, messy, crying on the floor, his pretty little crybaby. Trying so hard to please him, head full of him. Because, as far as Gojo was concerned, that was exactly where you belonged.

What a mean prick he was.

“More…” You pant before you can think, the rational part of your brain melted away beneath the waves of sizzling pleasure. You find yourself pressing down a little harder into each tender thrust, willing gravity to work just a little more. “Need it harder, deeper, Ken…”

In the next breath you feel his thick arms tighten around your waist, and before you can do so much as blink your shoulder blades hit the mattress below. Dizzy with the sudden gravitational change, you peer up at him through your lashes with wide lust-blown eyes, blinking a few times before he crowds over you and bends you in half beneath him.

“Ohhhhhfuckyes…”

He slips back inside in a slow sucking slide that has your jaw slack and your lashes fluttering, and when he finally bottoms out you make a ragged little sound high in your throat, your breath caught on a shaky inhale. The weight of him is stunning, the slap of his hips ‘plap! plap! plap!’ - still slow, but at this new angle it’s deep and utterly consuming.

“Better, sweetheart?” He questions between breathy pants.

He hit so deep like this, kissing that silky little spot inside so perfectly that your eyes roll back and twinkling little stars dance in the blackness. Like he’s knocking every little thought from your head, coherency melting more and more with each buck. All you can do is nod wildly, babble a mumbled string of his name and breathless prayers, chant them like a mantra.

“What was that?” Comes his soft lilt, voice so genuine, so sweet that it makes your teeth ache and your chest tighten.

When you don’t answer right away he leans in and tucks his head beside yours, listening close as you whisper in reply. You only manage to grunt out a single comprehensible sentence amongst a flurry of weak little moans.

“Inside, Ken…” You croak. “Need you inside.”

You’d gone quiet then, frozen with your teeth still embedded in the fleshy curve of his bicep. In the wake of the strike you’d ceased your riot against the grip of his hands and sort of… melted into him instead. Lifting your head, you’d blinked up with wide watery eyes, a slightly dazed expression painting your face. He’d nudged you a little, expression unreadable, and you’d soon resumed your onslaught, giggling and poking at him again. Distracting him enough with your teasing that he didn’t bring up the way you’d basically rag-dolled at the slap.

From that point, the seed had been planted, and in the dark depths of your mind, hidden in the deep recesses - it festered.

The second time he’d hit you was a little more intentional - a loving pat to the side of your face, fingers tracing the plump fat of your cheek, hollowed while you sucked him off.

“Let me see,” he’d murmured, fingers tapping gently at your cheekbone.

You’d leaned your head back, jaw slack and tongue lolled out to show him the milky cum pooling there. He’d cursed sharply, carmine eyes blown wide and dark, and you’d grinned in reply. Curling your tongue back into your mouth before you drooled the mess down onto your bare tits, and watched with a grin as he craned his head to catch the rogue dribbles with his tongue.

The third time, well, the third time you’d begged him for it.

“Hit me,” you panted, peering up at him with wide wet eyes as you grasped desperately at his wrists. Clawing at where they were planted firmly into the mattress either side of you.

He had you on your back, writhing in the messed sheets as he split you apart on his heavy cock. He’d spent the last twenty minutes coaxing slow brain melting orgasms out of you. It was soft, sweet. Too sweet.

“Hit you?” He echoed, eyes widened in mild surprise.

You nodded frantically, thighs clenching tighter around him at the mere promise of the words slipping from his lips.

“On the face,” you clarified, expression screwed up tight in desperation, lower lip wobbling so much he thought you might actually cry. “Slap me, please.”

The second the last syllable left your lips he’d lifted a hand and lowered it over your face in a quick slap. It was undeniably gentle, a little hesitant - barely more than a pat.

You frowned deeply, huffing a frustrated breath through your nose as you shook your head.

“Harder ‘kuna, want it harder,” you whined.

You watched the slow bob of his Adams apple for a few moments before he lifted a hand and slapped you again, hard enough this time that you heard the impact as well as felt it, head turned to the side with the force. Tears sprang to the edges of your eyes, and your ear closest to his palm rang hot. You blinked a few times, slow, indulgent - and then opened your mouth and moaned.

Before you could quite recover, or utter another demand his palm came down to strike you again, square across the cheek. You must have clenched around him, or maybe it was just the dumb fucked out way you peered up at him afterward with your mouth slack and face burning where his hand had made contact. Whatever it was he cursed sharply under his breath and slipped a big hand up to rest across your throat, in an action that read as decidedly possessive.

“Fuck, that’s really doing it for you, isn’t it?” He groaned, sounding equal parts awestruck and breathless. “Like it when I slap you, huh?”

“Love it… oh… fuck-… I love it…” You agreed, head lolling with each pump of his hips, utterly empty aside from the sensation of him stuffing you full, and the searing heat blooming over your cheeks in the shape of his palm. You felt him throb at the sound of your voice, so breathy and broken beneath him.

“Yeah. My sweet girl wants it nice and rough, is that right?”

You were nodding before he even finished, eyes half lidded and unfocused, peering absently at the blur of him moving above you, locked on where his hips were grinding into yours.

The rhythm he set was steady - not weak by any account, but subdued enough that you could tell he was actively making an effort to hold back for your comfort. But seeing the way your eyes rolled back a little, hand wrapped limply around his wrist while his fingers closed around your throat - all that delicacy went out the window.

His hips rolled in sinful thrusts now, smacking into yours with stern sticky slaps.

“Yes yes yesyes….oh fuuuuck….” You moaned, and swallowed against the curve of his palm where his fingers were pressed to your throat.

“Still want it harder baby?” He panted, deep groans of his own slipping free.

“Ngh-uhuh…” You babbled, head nodding.

“Greedy girl,” he teased, though his thrusts didn’t slow, and you swore you felt him throb nice and deep where he was kissing your cervix. “You’re such a fuckin’ brat, know that?”

If you’d been coherent enough to string a sentence together you would have replied back that he loved it, and if you’d had the strength to peer up you’d find that it was true - maroon eyes all but heart shaped, lowlidded and blown dark as he watched you come apart beneath him.

────────────────

It was more than that, it was overwhelming. Something about the whirl of your spiked hormones had your brain scrambled and your skin tender to the touch, and the way he was pressing down into you had hot tears welling thickly in your eyes. The droplets coat your lashes, blurring the shape of him. Turning his silhouette to blobs of flushed pink in your vision.

“Always get so soft for me when you’re like this. Crying ‘n squeezing around me so tight.” He murmurs, craning his head to nose delicately at your throat.

“Don’t need to lie to me, though. I know it hurts.”

That earns a half hearted breathy chuckle from you. You couldn’t ever hope to hide anything from those roaming, all-consuming eyes of his. Not even when you were clenching around him so hard the average man would have come undone ten times over. But not Sukuna, he simply leans in and presses a feather soft kiss to your fluttering lashes, tongue slipping out to lap at your skin where a fat tear is tracking a slick mark down your cheek.

“Yeah. Aches, doesn’t it sweetheart?”

As if on queue another cramp throbs in a sharp painful spasm along your lower belly and settles into a dull deep ache right where the head of his cock is kissing. Even your nipples burn, set alight where his chest is brushing against them as he crowds over you, still rocking his hips in shallow thrusts kept nice and deep.

“Think I know a way to stop it.” He offers in a tone of faux sweetness, and you can feel the rumble of his words where you’re pressed chest to chest.

“R-really?” You blink up at him through wet lashes, nose crinkled as you sniffle.

“Yeah.” He says it so simply that the sound alone soothes your muddled brain. It was as if he had everything figured out and all you had to do was close your eyes and follow along.

“Just need to keep you nice ‘n full…” His voice lowers to a sultry purr, and his hand slides down, tracing your flesh until he can press it flat over your lower belly, where he starts rubbing his palm in long lines. “…Riiiiiight here.”

You swallow thickly, eyes lowered and locked on the sight of his fingers, slick with blood, pressing in just to feel himself through the tender skin.

“What d’you think? Should at least stop it for a good few months, hm?”

As the reality of his words hits you, so does a crashing desirous wave of need, and your hips twitch upward to meet him halfway - needy despite the pain.

“Oh, sounds good, huh? Me filling you up?” He cooes.

You grapple at his forearms, still pressed into the mattress either side of you like concrete pillars as you squirm. Each thrust turns your mind further to mush, until the only resounding thought in your head is how badly you want it.

“Oh please ‘kuna.” You whine. “Please pleaseplease…”

Before you can finish your babbled begging, his fingers hook beneath your knees, grip tight enough around your plump thighs that he can lift and press them back against your chest. As he pushes your legs to your shoulders his hands streak red inked fingerprints up to your knees, evidence of his devotion. And when you peer down you can see that same ruby red smeared up his twitching abs where he’d been grinding against you. The sight of him painted so rawly with you makes something hot and possessive writhe in your gut.

When he slips back inside at this new angle, your breath catches ragged in your throat, and you find yourself feeling for all the world like you can’t breathe. All of the air punched clean from your lungs in favour of how utterly deep he was stuffed inside you.

“O-oh… Oh…” That repeated sound is all you can manage, lips parted into a pretty little ‘o’ shape, blinking through half lidded eyes down at where he has you bent in half. You watch his hips press flush to the underside of your thighs in a filthy grind, your slick tinted pink and lacing you both together in sticky strings.

“There.” He hums. “All better?”

His movement now is less of a thrust, more like he’s simply pressing his body right into you - as if he can grind you into the mattress beneath with the sheer weight. Your shoulder blades ache with the strain, sweat soaked sheets cling to your back, and you huff out desperate little moans as you grasp at his shoulders, feeling the muscle there jump under your touch.

The dull pulse of pain remains there in the undercurrent, but it’s dwarfed now by the dizzying sensation of pleasure buzzing over you, pooling hot in your belly with each new roll of his hips.

You slide a hand from around his neck and try to slip it down between the press of your bodies, but his own hand dwarfs yours, and hits its target before you can even grumble a retort. Your brewing scowl melts into a soft open mouthed expression of bliss the moment his fingers begin drawing sweet little hearts into your clit.

“Cute, but enough. Let me take care of it.” He grunts, “It’s you who’s bleeding all over the place all because this needy little pussy’s feeling a little empty. Least I can do is give her some attention.”

You’re staining his fingers, inked red and sticky with you. Though he seems entirely unperturbed, in fact midway through playing with your clit he lifts a hand to swipe his spit soaked tongue over his fingers before reaching back down. And the sight of your own blood smeared over the pink of his tongue before he curls it back inside nearly makes you snap on the spot.

“Sukuna…” You gasp suddenly, breathing ragged as you peer up at him, struggling against the urge to let your eyes roll back. “I think… I think I’m-…”

His reply is a simple murmur, huffed against the shell of your ear as he cranes over you, thrusts kept nice and deep, kissing at that sweet little spot that has stars dancing in your vision.

“Shh, quiet. Just feel it, yeah?”

Given permission, you simply let your brain shut off as your orgasm washes over you. It’s slow and building, but no less intense - like the rising arc and crash of a tidal wave. The moment you make a sharp little sound high in your throat and start clenching around him, you feel it - a deep thick heat filling you as he comes alongside you in a pulsing throb.

You think he might be murmuring something to you then and when your hearing finally tunes back in you find that he’s groaning into your ear, the words lost somewhere beneath the slick slaps of his sloppy thrusts and your own desperate moaning.

“That’s it pretty girl. My pretty girl. Take it for me, want you to take all of it…”

And you do. Caged beneath his weight, stained and sewn to him with your own blood, sweat, and tears - literal and metaphorical - you squeeze your eyes closed, nuzzle your face into his throat, and take it.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

All four of his eyes were locked onto the tanned pages of the novel, tracing lazily along the script printed there. He was utterly still, the only movement was the steady rise and fall of his broad chest, and the periodic lifting of one hand which rested atop the throne, raised every so often to flip to the next page. His expression was a flat mask, and he spared not a single glance for you, even as the tongue peeking from between his softened abs continued to lap lazily at your bare cunt from beneath the spread folds of his kimono.

You’d been perched atop his muscled thighs for what felt like hours without so much as a glance from him, entirely ignored by your lord, if you discounted the attention of his stomach maw, of course. Though at this point you considered it a separate being from him entirely, given its unadulterated enthusiasm for you. As if to prove your point, the mouth below slurped loudly between your trembling thighs in an obscene sucking kiss, and you choked back another feeble moan, biting your own tongue hard enough that you swore you tasted the sharp pang of blood.

With the next rush of pleasure you allowed your head to drop forward, eyes squeezed closed and brows knitted - maddened by his detached discipline. There was a time when you would have been horrified to be seen acting so shamefully before your lord. But having been permitted this small taste of paradise, you couldn’t help but devolve to your baser instincts, left to the whims of your deepest desires.

With the next slick swipe of his great tongue, your eyes rolled back, and your head followed suit. You fell with the motion of it, hands grasping desperately at his knees where they were spread behind you, as if they could ground you. Your chin tilted skyward, throat bared and lips parted as you finally allowed a broken moan to escape you - unable to ignore the heat sizzling in your belly any longer.

With the realization of what you had done, you blinked your eyes open, the action feeling slow and sticky with the cocktail of pleasure and embarrassment pulsing through you. As your bleary vision came back into focus, you found that instead of reading as you’d expected, Sukuna was instead watching you now - concentration likely broken by your unashamed cry. With a sharp jolt of shock, you met his gaze - all four carmine eyes narrowed in lazy assessment, expression relaxed - bored, even. But there was something unnamed simmering behind his eyes, burning hot as dying coals.

You’d usually have looked away already, feigned shyness, or diverted your gaze purely out of a mix of fear and sheer respect. But now, with the thrill of pleasure thrumming hotly through your veins beginning to feel an awful lot like confidence, you simply sucked in another shuddered lungful and held his heated gaze. He raised a single pink brow in reply, the edges of his mouth twitching in apparent amusement at your boldness.

“What’s this?” He mused, folding the book closed and abandoning it atop the armrest without bothering to spare it another glance, “feeling bold today, are we?”

As if to test the limits of your newfound confidence, the slow lapping of his tongue ceased, replaced instead by the pointed tip beginning to trace your swollen clit in tight, practiced circles. The slick muscle swirled indulgently until he felt you shudder atop him.

“Or do you just long for my attention so badly that you’ve stooped to blatant disrespect?”

Your hands tightened where they were gripping the thick expanse of his thighs for dear life, working wrinkles into the fabric as you leaned back on his knees to leverage the motion of your rolling hips.

“I’d only like for you to look at me, -hn-… my lord” you managed, shivering as his tongue swiped once more in a particularly well placed lick.

“Is that so?” He drawled, eyes lowered in consideration of your modest attire, tracing the high neckline of your kimono - still concealing your entire abdomen despite the bareness of your lower half. “Give me something worthy to fix my gaze upon then, pet.”

The workings of his belly mouth didn’t cease, it simply slipped down lower to lick at your slick entrance instead, leaving your clit glistening and bare. Twitching and soaked in spit - cooling to a plane of ice in the empty air.

You sucked in a long breath, then shifted enough that you didn’t fall when you raised a trembling hand to loosen the band belted at your waist, then began to peel the kimono open. Sukuna said nothing further, simply watched through half lidded eyes as you worked the folds of fabric open, drinking in each new strip of skin as if he could sustain himself on the sight alone.

Your face flushed despite yourself, suddenly nervous beneath the intensity of his watchful gaze. Your hand was trembling as it slid down the valley of your kimono, parting the folded layers until your body lay bare in the crisp air.

Nearly bare, you should say, as a single piece of attire still clung to your form - a delicate harness of glittering chains so thin as to look akin to silken spider webs laced across your skin. The loops of shimmering gold were christened at each crossroad with a dangling jewel stained ruby red - red as his eyes, red as blood. The largest of the gems hung at the peak of either nipple, where the chain pierced through your pebbled skin, each bud encased in a glinting bar.

Though he hid it well, you didn’t miss the subtle bob of Sukuna’s thick throat, or the way his lower set of eyes dropped to rake over the glittering peaks of your pierced nipples. His pupils were blown wide and black as night beneath his lashes, watching the light bounce off the jewels while you continued to rock your hips in a sultry sway.

“Is this to your liking, my lord?” You questioned in a helplessly breathy tone, chin lowered, lips parted as you panted softly at the sensation of your clit still kissing his slackened tongue.

The crimson of Sukuna’s eyes was nothing but a collection of thin fiery rings, suns eclipsed by black holes when he met your gaze again. A great hand lifted from its place atop the throne to instead finger the dangling rubies, flicking at them with a blackened nail, admiring how they were warm to the touch, tempered by the heat of your body.

“These are the rubies pillaged from the settlement at the base of the mountain, are they not?” He mused, voice deceptively light, as though he were reminiscing on a particularly enjoyable memory.

His wandering hand abandoned the glittering jewels to instead loop beneath one of the delicate golden strings. He toyed with the chain, rubbing it thoughtfully between his fingers as he spoke.

“I destroyed it,” came his next proclamation, voice edged with something akin to pride, “slaughtered each soul and burned every building to ash. These jewels are all that remain of it, the very last shred of their history, their riches, their legacy.”

His thick fingers still twirling the chains between them suddenly went rigid, hooked tightly around the primary chain linking your decorated nipples, and your breath caught like a stone in your throat.

“And now my pet wears them atop her flesh like a prize.”

In a controlled motion he tugged his wrist backward, and a surprised cry slipped from your lips at the sudden sharpness. Jewels jingled melodically, and your nipples tugged taut, pinched tightly beneath the bite of the chain. He made a satisfied sound, a rumbled purr as he watched your spine arch into a sinful curve at the motion of his pulling. He gave a few exploratory tugs just to watch the gems glitter, beaming blood red droplets over the tender skin of your breasts.

“So, you enjoy my spoils of war, do you?” He mused, watching the red stained light dance across your flesh, “shall I bring you the head of a slain warrior next time, so you may paint yourself in the last drops of their blood?”

He grinned then, sharp and animal, as if picturing the sight of your bare flesh marked in the remnants of his fallen foes. How would the delicate angles of your curves look bathed in red? The soft plumpness of your thighs, your breasts, smeared with the very essence of life? How would you react to such a raw gift? How would your pretty face contort when he lowered his head and licked every bloody inch of you clean?

His lower tongue swiped another devouring line across your twitching cunt, and you shuddered, eyes fluttering at the stark contrast between the wet heat of his mouth and the searing sting of his curling wrist. His grin widened at the sight, gaze swirling now with an evident and hungry interest.

“How delicious.”

You exhaled a shaky breath when the pressure of his tugging eased slightly, head dizzy with the consuming sensation of his mouth still pressing sucking kisses to your lower half. Your shoulders curled a little more with each lave of his great tongue, collapsing in a subtly defensive posture, melting into him, into his touch. Another of his hands snaked up your spine, and you shivered beneath the sudden contact.

“You dare to slouch before me?” He scoffed, and the hand petting at your hip lifted to instead pinch at the soft skin in a sharp corrective motion.

“Ah!-“ You cried, squirming as the chain pulled taut once more, tugging cruelly at your tender nipples until a stinging burn bloomed beneath the haze of pleasure.

Your spine straightened in an instant, forced upward and then some by the incessant pull of the harness. Your shoulders rolled backward, chest bare and raw nipples perked, glittering chains swinging lightly with residual thrums of motion.

You gripped his thighs now, arms outstretched behind you, forcing your tender breasts upward. The obscenity of the sight was not lost on him, in fact you could all but feel the way his heated gaze raked over your form. Eyes devouring each shudder, each twitching muscle, each jiggle of plump flesh. The way your nipples were bitten dark and swollen beneath the warmth of the golden chain, budded beneath the blood red jewels.

“Much better,” he praised, finger still hooked tight, the way you might lead a wayward bull by the great brass ring poked between its nostrils. “Now, apologize.”

The worming tongue between your thighs, previously stroking teasing circles around your entrance, now began to prod. It was enough to have your vision turning glassy, and when his tongue finally pressed its way inside your weeping hole you choked on your next breath, and your eyes rolled skyward.

“Oh, I’m sorry, my lord,” you blabbered, lashes fluttering, “Hah!- please, I beg your forgiveness. Please, mercy.”

Through the blackness you heard him chuckle, the sound was deep and dark and sticky sweet as spiced rum. Then came the delicate metallic jingle of the chain as he pulled again, this time in a steady rhythm - forcing you to ride his tongue in time with the curl of his wrist.

“Come now, you don’t truly wish for mercy, do you? Your needy body betrays you, pet,” he accused. “I can feel the way you tighten, twitching against my tongue each time I pull on these little strings. Like a puppet being made to dance.”

He tugged again, not hard enough to risk tearing the chain, but firmly enough that the string pulled taut and another sharp pang of pain sizzled over your chest. The tip of him continued its mapping of your slick entrance, probing further inside until it hit something soft, and you gasped for the stinging stretch of the thick muscle.

“So you enjoy it, then, hm? Being my little puppet?”

You could do nothing but nod in reply. Your mouth hanging slack, the thought of piecing together a coherent reply was an entirely foreign concept in the wake of the heady pleasure clouding your brain.

“Hm, what a filthy pet I’ve procured,” he hummed, though he sounded undeniably pleased, “dance for me then. Unravel yourself on my tongue.”

Without thought, you lifted a hand to wrap around his neck - fingers curling tight into the soft tufts of hair at his nape, hips rutting slick and hard against the back half of his outstretched tongue. To your surprise he didn’t stop you, or even scold you. In fact he was utterly silent, not voicing a single word of complaint, even when you abandoned his knee entirely in favor of wrapping both arms around his neck. Clutching tightly with trembling hands, using him as an anchor while you continued to grind desperately on his tongue.

“Oh, my lord… Sukuna, Sukuna, S’kuna…S’k-hnn…-ah-….” you echoed his name like a mantra, head tucked into the crook of his thick neck, panting hot and humid over the tattooed skin of his clavicle.

The motion of your hips was slowing to little more than stuttered humps, and your thighs burned even with the effort of that. Just as you were about to admit defeat, there was a sudden warmth, a solid pressure at your back - and to your surprise you realized it was one of his hands pressed to the curve of your lower spine. Another two slid over your thighs, thumbing at the bare skin there before he began rolling you along his lap in controlled, deep strokes.

“Disappointing,” he tutted, fingers splayed over your back, dipping beneath the delicate web of gold chain, “can’t even make yourself come without my assistance, can you?”

You were shaking your head before you could think better of it, “I can’t, please help me, let me come, please make me come… m’lord please, I need you.”

“What pretty begging,” he murmured, and it was enough to send a prickle of goosebumps over your flesh, the words as close to praise as you’d ever heard from him, and directed at you no less.

His grip on your waist tightened as he nudged his hips upward, and with a choked gasp you found yourself sliding forward and pressed tightly against him, bejeweled chest flush with his own. With the newfound closeness, the lips at his belly pressed flat to your body and began suckling in a lewd kiss.

With a relieved sort of breathy sound you let your eyes flutter closed as you nuzzled into the crease of his throat, nosing at the strip of skin beneath his ear and breathing in his soft scent. He smelt clean, regal, like royal incense and the mix of herbs, oils, and delicate petals you’d decorated his bath with earlier that morning. That sole realization, that tiny claim was enough to have you clutching him impossibly closer.

His chest rumbled with an uncharacteristically soft chuckle, huffed through his nose at your sudden neediness. His grip on your thighs was firm, fingers hooked around the plump flesh, thumbs tracing circles into your hipbones as he pulled you against his belly tongue in a slow sticky sweet rhythm.

“Come on, try a little harder now,” came his sultry purr, whispered into your ear like a taunt, a provocation.

It was then that you felt it - the thick length pressing against your tailbone, throbbing against the curve of your ass each time you pushed backward. As if that weren’t enough, before you could utter a reply, you felt the foreign brush of his nose, then his actual lips against your skin, and with a strangled cry you realized that he was pressing a hot open mouthed kiss to your throat.

It was embarrassing, really, the affect the entire ordeal had on you. But the slow press of his mouth, the nipping of his teeth against your delicate flesh all while you grinded against his lower tongue, it was enough to have you toeing the edge. And when his spare hand slipped across your bare shoulder blades to rest upon your nape, squeezing as if you were some wayward kitten, like you were owned - you were well and truly finished.

Your orgasm crept up slow, like the gentle curl of a wave, cresting overhead little by little until you found yourself enveloped - head shoved beneath the surface. He held you as you writhed, firm hands curled over your thighs, your throat, as your body wracked in rigid convulsions. His tongue, devoted as it was, drank in your spend - slurping and sucking greedily - feeling the way you twitched with residual little pangs of pleasure while you came down.

When the haze of your orgasm cleared you felt exhausted, shellacked with a sheen of sweat beneath the glittering golden harness. Sukuna's eyes remained on you, watching the rise and fall of your chest slow as your pulse settled back to a steady rhythm. 

"Do I have your attention now, my lord?" You questioned, head tilted shyly despite your state.

"For now, pet,” he offered in a low chuckle, mouth splitting into a lazy grin.

His grip on your hips tightened, pushing you back until you felt the thick heat of him press between the slippery mess of your thighs. You gasped when the silky fabric grazed you, oversensitive in the wake of your climax. He rolled you indulgently over his lap for a few moments, letting your slick seep into the bulged fabric until it was painted dark and sticky beneath you.

You used to be completely fucking fine on your own. And here you were, shivering and feeling like a total stranger in someone else's home because you couldn't handle your problems by yourself.

"You can take my bed. I'll sleep on the couch," Suguru continued, offering up even more assistance as you tried to train yourself not to let the heat rise to your face at his unnecessary generosity.

"I'm really-"

"I'm not trying to be an asshole, but do you really think you should be alone right now?" He asked, arching up an eyebrow as he poured himself a glass of wine.

You hesitated, swallowing your pride as you considered the unfortunately not entirely unlikely possibility you'd end up on the phone with Satoru or Sukuna if he returned you to the lonely apartment thatstill didn't really feel like home.

"Just pour me a drink too," you muttered.

Suguru was too nice to say no to you.

Even though he probably knew as well as you that you weren't going to find what you wanted in the bottom of a wine glass.

You watched his hands when he grabbed you the cup you used to like back when you practically lived here, how the veins and tendons flexed as he carefully poured a pitiful amount in, like he didn't want you to think he was trying to get you drunk.

Your cautious man still playing his own games. Still preoccupied with how things looked - and you got stuck in how things were.

How were you ever supposed to get to how you wanted them to be?

"Can I ask why you called me?" Suguru finally asked the one question he'd been avoiding as he took the seat next to yours, taking a sip out of his glass as the hard edge of the table pressed into your calves. Knees scrunched close to your chest, stabbing purposelessly at the food in your box as you tried to think of an excuse that wouldn't make this whole thing, well, messier.

"You were who I thought of," you shrugged your shoulders, biting your lip as the scent of him clung to your skin. His t-shirt hanging loose on your frame, skin still damp and sticky as you shuffled in the familiar kitchen seat.

For a second, you felt like you were back in the therapist's office, heart laid bare for someone to break, feeling the scrutiny of his dark stare, no matter how much he softened it for you.

"Does Sukuna know you're here?" He carefully asked, like he was trying to decide if he was going to get assaulted again just for playing your knight.

"No," you muttered. Even if he could probably guess it if he went back to the apartment he bought you and discovered it empty.

He had predicted it too, hadn't he?

That you'd run off to someone else? Seeking comfort in places you shouldn't be instead of finding it in yourself?

"Should I make sure the door's locked?" He tried to joke, and you didn't even have it in yourself to smile.

"I might deadbolt it," you dryly muttered, stabbing at the food and popping it in your mouth.

His small smirk faltered, and you wished you could make it easier for him.

You wished you could make it easier for all of them.

Sure, they hurt you. Okay, well, Sukuna and Suguru had. But it was getting harder and harder to hold onto it. Not when all of the anguish felt like acid on your tongue, seeping down your throat and burning your stomach the longer it sat inside of you.

If you weren't so fucked up, if you had your shit figured out a little more, wouldn't you save all four of you so much heartache?

"What happened today?" Suguru pressed, and you could only shrug your shoulders.

"I, uh, went to therapy," you mumbled, biting down on the inside of your cheek before admitting the tougher part, "With Sukuna."

"Oh."

Yeah.

You supposed you should've seen it for the monumentally awful idea it was from the start instead of just accepting to acquiesce Sukuna after the whole 'surprising you with a brand new fucking apartment' thing.

"Guess it didn't go well?" He wryly replied, and you almost rolled your eyes.

"That obvious?" You exhaled, pushing the food around before forcing yourself to look up at him. "I kinda ran away."

"You tend to do that," Suguru unhelpfully remarked, your lips pressing in a thin line as you found yourself tempted to fling a forkful of food back at him.

"You're so funny," you sarcastically commented, squinting at him just for him to give you that annoyingly charming smirk you wouldn't admit you missed.

"And yet you're not saying I'm wrong," he hummed, bringing his wine glass back to his lips.

Taking a swig of your own was better than agreeing with him.

Letting the bitter taste takeover your tongue so you didn't have to stew on the regret festering there already. All the what-ifs being back in his house brought up, wondering how things might have played out if you just made a few different decisions back then.

"You know," Suguru continued when he carefully placed his glass back down. "Shoko knows a couple good ones, if you didn't like the therapist or-"

It was sweet of him to assume the therapist was the problem instead of you.

"You might benefit more from some solo sessions," he kept going, still trying to take care of you long after you left him. Picking up all the broken pieces and doing his best to glue them back together.

Was it guilt?

Or had losing you simply made him a better person?

Jesus, this fucking sucked.

How come they only got their shit together after you? Why couldn't they work it out when you were with them? Why were you the only one still shattered?

You never asked for either of them.

They had given themselves to you and fucking screwed you over once it was done.

"Can you be, like, awful for five minutes?" You huffed, scowling at him as you forced a sharp exhale out of your nose.

His lips parted in a surprised 'o', dark eyes narrowing like he was trying to work out what you meant by that. "Why-"

"It's so annoying that you get to be all mature and perfect after we break up," you admitted, picking at your cuticles beneath the table as you glanced back to where your purse was laying on its side.

"Perfect?"

"It's so infuriating sometimes," you mumbled under your breath, shaking your head as you interrupted him, about to reiterate that he was infuriating before he let out a low chuckle.

"Do you want me to be mean to you?" He offered in that honeyed voice of his.

"I want to be mad at you," you muttered, feeling a lot more defeated than you expected.

"You can be mad at me," he calmly accepted it, evenly meeting your stare as if you being upset was better than the alternative of you feeling nothing at all for him.

You tried to switch to ignoring him.

Finishing your food with a tight-lipped frown and polishing off the wine even though it just left an uncomfortable heat compressing your chest. You slipped out of your chair to go throw away the styrofoam box, but Suguru just had to get up and do it for you, leaving you awkwardly standing there and swallowing your feelings.

Tempted to ask what now?

Were you supposed to sit on the couch together and watch tv like old times? Ask him to just take you back home anyway? Go back to the bed he used to fuck you in and pretend you couldn’t smell him on the sheets?

You ended up awkwardly leaning against the wall while you watched him clean up, trying to find something wrong to bicker about.

But god, he’d forgiven you for fucking his best friend.

Comforted you and came when you called and took care of you even when you weren’t his anymore.

“Maybe Shoko could refer me to someone,” you muttered.

You needed help.

The kind that you had to find on your own. With the help of a licensed professional.

“I’ll text her,” he replied, a hint of pride bleeding through his voice as you folded your arms across your chest.

What happened to the independent girl you used to be? The one who was too stubborn to admit it when you were out of your depth? What happened to everything you used to be?

The strangest part was that you weren't even sure you wanted to go back to being her. She let Sukuna break her heart. And then handed over what was left of it to Suguru so he could take a few swings at it too.

But even now, being around him like this, watching him walk around like you were reliving in an old memory, you were the tiniest bit tempted to go back to the old days. Just for one night.

You could see it now.

Almost feel how solid his hands would be on your waist, how warm his chest would be when you were pinned underneath it.

It would be so simple, wouldn't it?

To let him pick you up and cradle you close? To call him by his name and let him whisper yours in that tender voice of his?

He wouldn't feel like home. But he'd feel close enough to safe to settle the storm still wearing you down and ripping through your rattled bones.

Suguru caught you staring as he finished up, thin brows knitting together as he walked over to you, one hand reaching for his pocket for his cigarettes before he remembered that they weren't there anymore.

"I'm not sleeping with you," he murmured softly, as if he wasn't looking down at your lips as like he could still remember the taste of them.

"I didn't ask you to," you whispered back, like you weren't looking at his either. And then he reached out, like he was going to cup your cheek and caress you the same way he used to.

"Angel," he gently spoke, sighing as his palm stopped just shy of your cheek. "You know you have to pick."

"I know," you confessed.

You couldn't keep doing this.

"I will still do whatever I can to support you and fix the mess I made," he reassured, swallowing hard as he steeled his resolve. "But you're just hurting yourself."

And he was too selfless to say you were hurting him too, even though you could see the pain shining in his deep stare.

You wanted to play it off.

Pretend that you weren't painfully aware that no matter who you chose, you'd still be second guessing yourself for maybe forever.

If you chose Sukuna, and it crashed and burned, would you spend eternity wondering what would've happened if you mustered up the courage to kiss Suguru right now?

And if you did kiss him, would you just wish it was Sukuna's lips instead?

"I wish I never fucked us up to begin with," Suguru murmured, maybe loosened up from the wine to be speaking so plainly about what you both lost when his face was hardly inches from yours. "But I guess I know how Sukuna feels now."

"You're making it so much harder for me," you defensively mumbled, trying to keep your breathing steady when he was looking down at you like he wanted to memorize the view.

"That's because I want you to pick me," he smoothly replied, your mouth twitching up into a smile you had to push back down.

You had to make yourself slip away from him, turning around and walking around the corner to go back to his living room. About to come up with the excuse that you could watch a movie or something to pass the time and avoid the topic at hand when you spotted a stack of papers across a side table where the coasters usually were.

And noticed your name neatly printed at the top of one.

"What's this?" You asked, picking it up the moment you were close enough, eyes already scanning the page as he started to hurry over.

"It's nothing, just a stupid fucking idea Satoru's dad was-"

"It's about me," you pointed out, turning around and refusing to let him have it back, swatting at his outstretched hand while you squinted at the fine print.

"Baby, it's bullshit, I didn't want to worry-"

"I can make decisions for myself, Suguru," you scolded him, a lump taking shape again in the back of your throat as you realized what it was.

An offer.

"This is the PR relationship thing, isn't it?" You frowned, flipping the page as you started scanning the terms. Satoru had been telling the truth.

His dad wanted to throw a fuck ton of cash at you to get you to do what he wanted.

An apartment with 24/7 security. Biweekly paychecks for playing pretend girlfriend. Health and dental insurance. New clothes for required public appearances.

God, why the fuck was it a better job offer than anything else you received?

Six months.

Half of year of hanging onto your ex-boyfriend's arm in public now that your private life had been dragged out for everyone to see.

It was long enough for the album and press rollout but right before their tour would start. Enough for them to turn the PR disaster of a leaked sex tape into something slightly less scandalous the media could sink their teeth into.

You'd be dropped once they sold out all their shows.

Suguru was silent, just staring as you studied the stapled sheets in front of you, waiting for you to say something.

To say it was stupid and to shut it all down.

"Is he actually serious?" You asked, a hard lump in your throat as your stare drifted back to the promised paycheck, wondering what price you could put on your pride.

You were clearly losing this game anyway.

They weren't going to leave you alone.

"You don't need to do this," Suguru softly said, not answering your question as you glanced up from the papers to see his conflicted expression.

Would Sukuna hate you if you did?

Satoru might.

How much could making a deal with a devil cost when you already lost everything you cared about?

You weren't replying to his texts.

Go fucking figure.

The harder Sukuna tried to have you, the more you pulled away from him.

Still, he knew he shouldn't be doing this.

Leg bouncing impatiently as he stared down at the phone screen in his hand, trying to work up the willpower to either swipe everything away or shut it off.

That's what a more mature person would do.

Someone who had his shit together.

But that had never been him.

Jin had called, told him to come over and just crash there. Kaori had snatched the phone from his brother and told him to go find you and fucking fix it.

Like it was so goddamn easy when you were too hurt to see how hard he was trying. Too broken to even want him to put you together.

And despite what his therapist tried to say otherwise, he couldn't stop blaming himself for being the one to fuck it all up in the first place.

All the same thoughts looping in his head, replaying a million moments he wished he could go back and do differently. The thousand nights where you were in his bed, beneath his body where you belonged, his hands skimming over your side and his teeth sinking into your soft skin when he should've been kissing you and asking you to be his girlfriend.

Not his best friend with benefits.

Not some unnamed third thing you both swore wasn't that serious.

He wanted to be your man. To get to marry you one day and have a stupid little chubby baby with your eyes and his hair.

Sukuna didn't want to just be some fucking asshole you used to sleep with.

Someone you used to know.

A page in a book you shut and shoved on a shelf to be forgotten.

Maybe bringing you to his therapist was a mistake, something that he should've waited a little longer for. But he didn't know how to help you himself.

No matter how badly he wished he could.

And honestly, what he was about to do was probably an even bigger one in the making.

But fuck, he wanted to prove you wrong.

Show you that what you were scared of wasn't going to happen.

He could watch you having sex with your ex-boyfriend and not strangle him for it. He wasn't going to leave you.

And by no means, was he going to stop loving you.

No, instead, he just nearly threw up when the sketchy site on his phone finally loaded and he saw you splayed out nude in soft blue sheets, touching yourself and looking at the camera all lovestruck.

Asking Suguru for help.

You didn't do that with him.

It was different. Knowing that it had been serious with Suguru and actually seeing it for himself.

The trust shining in your eyes before all the light in them had been stolen from you.

He almost dropped the phone.

Pacing the floor and swallowing the bile threatening to flood his throat as your soft voice replayed in his ears.

Sukuna was greedy. Selfish. Used to taking what he wanted and never needing to justify it.

Until he realized what he wanted the most was what was best for you.

He just wasn't sure that it was him anymore.