Peach's Art+Fic Blog

Your jaw drops—and you’re snatching the gauzy fabric from his hands. “You wish-”

“Oh, I do.” And he’s just so shameless, just so sleazy as he flashes you a smile - the very same one that you’d been gifted when you first moved here. Because Toji Fushiguro was your neighbor, and you suppose that the proximity of your apartments side-by-side made it so that the man himself didn’t have a concept of personal space.

At least with you- he’s leaning in ever-closer. 

His scorched breath tingling your features—the devilishly handsome older man next-door. “And the next time those pretty lil’ panties fly over, you’re not getting them back, girlie.”

You struggle to not back away- or worse, not step forwards. To lean against him. “Y-you wish.”

.

.

.

And so the first evening afterwards had passed with…only a sock disappearing.

And you could stand to lose a sock! Toji didn’t come banging at your door with a sock thrown over his broad shoulders that day, and you didn’t expect him to.

The second evening had passed with your panties disappearing.

The third evening had passed by with even more panties and a pretty lil’ top worn only on nights out disappearing.

The fourth evening had, by far, been the worst.

You’d been running low on underwear these days - being too stubborn to ask your neighbors, and being too close to rent to replace clothes you could easily request back. So imagine your utmost horror when you’d found nearly all your panties and a few of your bras had disappeared.

By the fifth evening you were running on only a singular pair of grandma panties.

By the sixth evening that had disappeared, too.

And by the sixth night you were knocking at Toji Fushiguro’s door-

Only for him to open it up with a smug smile, “Took you long enough to notice.”

Notice…notice?

It’s then that his door unhinges just a little wider- and you’re eyeing the sliver it shows of Toji’s bedroom. The pile of pretty panties piled on top of it. 

Oh—it’s only then that you’re hit with the retaliation—he’d taken them.

It’s less than a few minutes later that you find yourself shoved face-first into the frilly pieces of themselves. Your hands plucking at the soft blankets, your thighs shaking at the sheer slapping force of his hips. 

Pap-pap-pap- Toji’s pounding into you from behind.

His thiiiiick globular cockhead probin’ between your pussylips and finding the deepest, sweetest spots inside of you. It’s as though Toji was bruising the smooth inner lining of your walls—finding himself damn addicted to the feeling of how you’d clench ‘round him.

“Damn…” How you’d dribble out in the silkiest hot slick from both pairs of your lips. Creating a puddle that you find yourself slipping n’ sliding upon. “Easy there, girlie- arch up a bit more f’me…”

“I should report you, is what.” You’re grumbling behind you.

“Should what now?” 

Right as you’re opening your mouth to snark back, his swollen shaft reaches for the back of your pussy and pummels out a good strike. How cute. “O-oh—fuck, Toji.”

“You are fuckin’ me.” He’s snickering out, grabbing both sides of your waists to help you squirm against him- yes. Toji wasn’t stopping you from rutting your hips back as needily as you wanted, instead, he was letting your cunt salivate all she wanted down his length. He helps you jerk back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. “Yer welcome for that.”

“I didn’t say thank you.” Swallowing back your dollops of spittle- only for it to be pushed out of you all over again with a sudden thwack! at your g-spot.

“Yeah, ungrateful girl.” And it’s with his drawling tone that he slithers a hand between your legs—the fatness of his thumb slippin’ apart your pussylips. He rolls over your clit fast enough that it’s nothing but a blur, “Should be thankful.”

You’re pressing your face against the flimsy panties- “F-for what—”

“For takin’ such goood care of these slutty panties, of course.” Toji gruffs out, leaning over you to grab one of them. He’s letting his muscular weight rest on top of you, holding up his treasure- and your heart races as you realize that he’d picked out the strappiest, sexiest pair of panties from the bunch. “Look at that.”

But soon enough, you couldn’t look at whatever he was referring to- because Toji had your panties looped between his fingers. His fingers slipping down to his cock—

Almost like a decoration, Toji wraps the red, red fabric around his thickened hilt. 

Fucking you while he has it on-

“You can also thank me fer making such good use of these panties.” His words stick against the back of your spine like perspiration. “For fucking my cock to th-these-” The daintily textured fabric grazes against your clit and your outer pussy in such a carnal way. “-eeeeevery single night I had them.”

You breathe out, “Shit, you didn’t.”

But he merely grunts out in such mean laughter, “You can thank me for cleaning up the mess- oh, and what messes I made with these. Heh.” His words are filthy enough to make your ears ring, and you’re gulping at the image of his…messes. “You can thank me for thinking of you each- and- every- time.”

Such ruthless smooches at your g-spot, all your nerves fried at the sheer pace of him. “You’re just…fuck.”

“Dick got yer tongue?”

“Filthy.”

“Nah, girlie.” His teeth sink into the lobes of your ears- you can physically feel the presence of his smirk. And that was saying the least, you could already feel the presence of his rude cockhead bashin’ in at your throat- 

Toji hooks his free hand around your throat, pulling you up into a damn headlock. You’re crushed between his biceps. “I’m a pervert.”

“M-mercy…”

Your mouth gets stuffed with those lacy red panties immediately.

.

.

.

The next knock on Toji Fushiguro’s apartment door comes hours after yours- and unlike your urgent one, this time it was steady. Stern.

Certainly not that of someone who’d lost their panties.

But then again, Toji certainly didn’t expect the person on the other side of the door to be- 

“You.”

“You?”

Shiu Kong wanted to be the last person knocking on Toji Fushiguro’s door right now.

“I just moved in.” He explains, sounding as though his soul was being sapped away with every single syllable. The man peeks through the crack in the door—to where you were poking your head out of the bedroom. Right along with a…mountain of panties? “Next door…” Breathless. 

“And?” Toji gruffs out, “I’ve got shit to do, man- or more like someone to do.”

Shiu deadpans, “I’ve come to formally file a noise complaint.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Hiber-MUNCH.

You had a problem.

See, the problem wasn’t that you were dating a bear hybrid: Ursus arctos horribilis, over seven feet tall and the most gentle man you’ve ever known. The problem wasn’t that it’d been a bit of a learning curve to get used to your separate species lifestyles - yours as a human, and Nanami’s with his den, his appetite, and his hibernation.

The problem wasn’t even the forty plus bed frames that Nanami had broken over the course of your relationship until now!

See, the problem was that…your panties had been disappearing.

You had more than enough pairs stuffed in your bottom drawer - frilly ones, spotted ones, sexy ones, even the odd grandma ones that hung loosely. And sure- occasionally you’d notice them more rumpled than you remember, or find one you particularly liked nowhere to be found.

But this morning, you’d lugged open your drawer and found—nothing. Absolutely nothing.

None of your panties.

Your drawer was wiped as clean as the day you bought it.

And who better to ask about what happened than your boyfriend? Though the process was a rather lengthy one- these days he’d been cooped up in a room he’d deemed his den. The season was nearing for Nanami to hibernate, to do nothing but stack his den full to the brim, to sleepily float through his days and leave you envious at the fact.

You’re knocking on the door to his den- and when no sound answers you, you’re throwing the room open to find it empty—hm…he must’ve gone out to buy more food. 

Still, you hadn’t been inside here too often. Simply leaving your bear-hybrid boyfriend to his own habits until he was done with it. 

And perhaps that was why - perhaps - you slipped through the door and looked around the space. It was plastered in cosy paintings, blankets, and carpets, radiating a warmth that always seemed to cling onto Nanami Kento like a second skin. Because of his sleep schedule during hibernation, Nanami already had a separate bed prepared in his den.

And you can’t help but inch over to the inviting thing—it was just so big. 

With the silkiest covers and a wide space and- oh. And a strange lump under one of the numerous pillows.

Brows furrowing, you slip your hand inside and…pull out a heap of your panties. Scrunched-up. Rumpled. Used—they were just soaked in all of Nanami’s heady whiskey-infused pheromones, just so addictive that it sends you swaying on your feet.

It was him.

He was stealing your panties-

The front door clicks open.

“My love, I’m home—”

Steady footsteps.

And before you can find an inkling of rationality within you to perhaps stow away your panties- perhaps think up what your excuse for coming in here might be- Nanami Kento is already at the bedroom door.

Lips parting as he stares at you.

At the panties in your hands.

At you.

The groceries drop from Nanami’s jittering, feverish hands- and he’s in front of you before you can even blink. So fast that you think he might have just used magic. So hard that he’s wondering why he hadn’t led you inside here sooner.

The vision of you holding his dirty secret in your hands makes him…oh. Something inside him twitches.

So needy that you’re practically thrown by the whiskey essence leaving him in waves-

“My mate.” Panting out a scalding breath. Ears twitching. Even his voice trembled with something desperate- “So you’ve found my stash.”

You don’t flinch for a single second when Nanami raises an overlarge hand up—cupping your cheek gently. “My mate-” Octaves higher, unsteadier than you remember him ever being. That very same hand gently on your face slips down to choke your throat- “-m’gonna be thinking of your pussy all hibernation.”

You’re not getting out of here alive.

In no time, Nanami has his rugged hands scooped underneath your legs and his buff arms carrying you- dusted with light hairs. Strong. Sensual. As if you were nothing but a ragdoll. He’s throwing you over his shoulder and taking the few steps it takes to splay you out on the king-sized bed.

“My mate.” The blond man husks against your ear, something in his tone sounding as if he was agonized once he slips a hand underneath your skirt. Pantyless—you’d run out of them, of course.

He’s pressing his weight down on top of your squirming body, pinning you down against the blanket-covered mattress. Each ripple and ridge of his thick core-

And then you feel it.

The incredible length of his erection.

As a bear-hybrid, Nanami was just naturally large. So thick. 

Your eyes dip downwards and you’re catching just the pinkish globe of his shaft peeking out, a shade that matches the pretty blush on his face. The fabric you were wearing starts to wetten with all the gooey drops of slick that he was leeeeaking out-

“O-oh my—” Your jaw drops at the feeling of something hard and sultry swipin’ down between your pussylips. Just pushing your skirt up your hips, his erection bulges your folds outwards. “Kento, you’re already- mmpf-”

And then you’re having one of your own soaked panties stuffed between your lips. “Shhhh, quiet for hibernation.”

“But-”

You’re hissing at the primal stretch opening up your thighs, blinking back your tears and-

Fuck.

He’s locking your ankles around his hefty waist, he’s letting his hips jerk forwards. “Mmmpf, Kento-” Swabbing his blushin’ globular tip inwards-

“My- ngh, mate.” And just the mere sound of your voice is enough to make him flinch- blond strands of hair falling over his gaze. He’s humping you like an animal in heat—maybe he was in heat already. “My mate-” And you can feel the lengthy girth of his cock slip iiiiiiin and ooooout past your folds, “My—fuck…”

“Kent- mmm.” It was just so difficult to speak past the gauzy underwear gagging your throat. “Baby, haven’t you even realized that you’ve cum?”

Already.

“Hmmm?” His molten gaze tries to focus on you, but Nanami was just so bleary with need that you wonder whether he could properly even see you. You’re jutting your chin out and gesturing at the mess he’s made below- the one that was drippin’ a hot white sheen down your core.

And it’s only then that the hybrid’s darkened eyes widen in realization, puffy lips parting—did he seriously just register the fact?

Lewd leering locked on the place between your legs, Nanami can’t help himself from pressing his leaking cock right between your pussylips. Using his right hand, he claws on top of your stomach and watches as a gooey white sap seeeeps straight out of your hole. Making it look as though you were so overstuffed that you were spilling out.

His balls clench at the heavenly vision, pumpin’ out more and more.

Pumping your hole more full than you could ever possibly handle at the moment, he grits down on his teeth and pushes. Eyes shut. Forehead perspired. “My…my mate.” 

His voice fucking breaking as he echoes out that familiar mantra, Nanami sounded damn near tears. “I’m sorry I stole your panties.” Probin’ the entire shaft - entire fattened furious shaft - of his cock between your pussylips and straight up to your womb. “I’m sorry I c-couldn’t help myself- I’m sorry I fucked my cock with those panties—and plan to do it all ngh- over again.” Before you can even answer, he’s pummeling out the deepest, hardest hit to your cervix. “My mate.”

“Shit-”

Globular cockhead swipin’ inside your channel. It makes you see white. “My mate- my mate my mate my mate—”

He was trying to fuck each web of cum inside you like an animal-

Your entire body zaps with an electric orgasm as he leans down- scorched pants breezing down your features when Nanami bites down on the panties protruding from your lips. That strappy fabric now transferred to his own mouth, he’s leaning back and taking it in one hand.

Guiding that very hand down to wrap around his thick cock. As Nanami fucks you, he’s pumping his excess length with those sodden panties. 

“B-by the end of this hibernation-” He growls, wobbly. “-yer gonna give me a cub, aren’t you, my love?”

♡ GETO SUGURU - Jealous, jealous, jealous

“Negi.” Geto Suguru’s soft, simpering voice echoes through the hallways of the temple. Though the sweetness was not one to underestimate - and Negi knew better than to not straighten up immediately. 

“Y-yes, dear leader?” The young man yelps out.

But Geto wasn’t looking at him. All that could be seen of him was his waterfall of jet-black hair—almost like a Stygian river of sorts. Geto Suguru had his eyes turned towards you - as they often did - except this time they were narrowed down at the animated conversation you were having with some newer member of the association. And Geto knew that look in his eyes - just a tad too shiny, his smile just a degree too happy. “By dayfall I should know every bit of information there is to know about that man.”

Negi shivers- he just thanks the heavens that that wasn’t him.

.

.

.

“Ngh—oh.” Mere minutes later and you’ve found yourself in Geto Suguru’s vast chamber. It was one in a traditional Japanese style- and while you’d usually find yourself fucked on his soft futon.

Usually. 

But now you’ve deviated until half your ass was dangling off of the mattress, your cunt spilling out in a puddle of your sweet, sweet slick. Geto had his hands gripped underneath your knees and tugging you upwards- a full nelson.

He had you in a fucking full nelson.

And it didn’t seem like he was going to let go of you any time soon. “F—fuck.” Geto’s spitting out through clenched teeth, just the tiniest primal tear from the back of his throat. “One more, right, gorgeous?”

“Suguru, you’ve said that-” Your pupils roll stupidly inside the whites of your eyes, “-all night long.”

Just swervin’ in the same circular pattern with his bludgeoning cockhead. He managed to pinpoint every tender spot inside you and thud away- banging hard and deep. At a pace that your body definitely couldn’t keep up with—“What was that?” He’s panting out. “Doesn’t sound like an answer to my question, honey…”

“I mean-”

“Oops, too late.” He’s smiling- you could hear it. And just as meanly, Geto pours out a trickle of precum that sploshes around inside of you n’ ends up leaking between your folds. It’s just letting out the most lecherous slurp- “One more, right, gorgeous?”

And your jaw parts as if to answer-

Before you’re quickly realizing that the question wasn’t directed at you.

It was directed at your swollen, slippery pussy all guuuulping down every inch that Geto gave. His rough cockhead prods around your inside- easing completely out with a plop!

Before gliding right back in.

Right until the hilt.

And to that pretty noise that escapes you, Geto cranes his ears. “‘Mmm, that sounded like a ‘give me one more’ to me.” He’s tittering out from behind you- and by now he’d already mapped out every inch and spot inside of you. By now he could already tell the faintest signals of your body—

And Geto knew when you were about to squirm restlessly—or even better, when you were about to run.

So he’s hiking his forearms up the undersides of your thighs, arms spreading your legs wiiiide open. Hips rutting up into yours. Geto tightens the way he has your body folded - almost like a ragdoll - and pricks away delicately at the sweetest spots inside you. Thud-thud-thud—

“Where’d you think you’re running, gorgeous?” Geto’s pouting from behind you, mockingly. “Your pussy’s the one that said she wanted- hah, one more. One more round. One more helping of Geto Suguru’s cum- that greedy girl.”

Sloppy strokes that end up bangin’ in your g-spot dead-on. “And you’re the pussy whisperer now?” He wasn’t showing you any mercy- so you couldn’t help but bite back.

“Oho?” One dark brow raises, “I always was good with kitties~”

Two sharp canines find themselves gnawing on the shell of your ear. Unable to move, unable to think—the only thing you can do is keeeeen out as he stretches an arm between your legs and pinches rudely at your clit.

Just so damn needy. Geto counts about one-two-three throbs at that sensitive nub before you’re shattering.

Straight into your nth high of the night that he knew would be taking over you very soon- he’s shivering at the sudden pulses of your walls. So soft n’ wet that it felt like heaven he was funneling his cock into. “Mmm—oh. And there goes your hah, ‘one more’, gorgeous.” He - too - ends up pumping out a few sticky wads of cum. 

A slick seed that layers your dewy insides all white. “Sh-shit, how are you still cumming so much-”

“Well, that wasn’t for you.” Such a mean tone that he had - even when he sounded so kindly. Geto urged out something cornered and carnal inside of you that only made you even wetter- “That was for this pretty pussy o’ mine- duh.”

You whine. Bucking.

And he’s chasing those hips of yours riiiight up the softened surface, not letting his plump cockhead break contact with your cervix for a single second. Up-up-uuuuuup. “And she’s telling me that-”

“Oh no.”

“That you can handle three more.”

And you’re not sure whether it’s the sheer shock of his words, you’re not sure whether it’s the fact that his cock was still achingly hard and throbbing between your folds, you’re not sure whether it was simply the aftermath of your high- but your body grows restless.

Squirming. Stuttering.

You’re attempting to plant your feet on the edge of the futon and try to balance your hips- but all that does is make Geto hold onto you even harder.

His voice taking on such a breathy, broken tone. “Running again…” Tutting. “We still have ah- how many was it? Five more rounds to go, gorgeous.” It was three- but right now you’re too fucked stupid to answer anyway.

“I-it was…”

“And besides-” He hums, “Where’d you think you’re going anyway? Actually?”

“Nowhere-”

“It couldn’t be- to him, could it?” 

Your tear-flooded lids snap open- when did they even close? And you’re desperately looking over your shoulder, about to ask just who he meant when—oh.

When you see that expression on Geto Suguru’s face.

It wasn’t that faux smile he often paraded to visitors of the temple, it wasn’t even that serene look he got when he was planning some attack or scheme. It was an expression that reminded you that there was a reason why even the most powerful amongst Jujutsu Society didn’t dare say a word against him.

And you’re quickly finding out just why - Geto Suguru was ruthless.

Geto Suguru would do anything to get what he wanted.

He dips his head down and whispers in your ear—low and ice-cold. “I’d say that I prefer if you do not see him again, honey.” A deliberate pause. “But I know that you won’t see him again.”

And then he’s hammering you straight into your fourth, fifth and sixth orgasms yet.

.

.

.

“As you may have noticed, my family, one amongst us is missing.” Geto’s voice was clear and strong - unwavering in both himself and his echo as it reaches every corner of the expansive hallway. The hundreds upon thousands of associations were lined up in neat rows, crouched into bows so deep that they looked like ants from here. 

He sits upon the stage like a throne, you on his lap.

Smile quirking at the edge of his pretty lips, he continues- “Now you know that I am a generous man.” They almost seem to flinch at his words. “You know that I share with you my home, my food, my protection, and my blessing.”

A pause.

“But there is one thing I do not share.”

He looks at you, amethyst eyes burning.

“And shall never share.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - PANTY PRINCE

Your phone buzzes with a notification.

Cho (loml): hey baby, i’m deep-cleaning the apartment today including our room. lmk if there’s anything you don’t want me to touch.

Cho (loml): i love you.

You have to suppress your smile in case your professor was feeling especially tetchy today, and you discreetly swipe to your messages.

You: Babyyyy you’re the best <3

You: Nuh-uh, go for it ml. I’ll get you those donuts you like from the shop downtown to make up for it <33

You: I love you.

Your phone buzzes again. 

Cho (loml): <333!!!<333!111!!!1!!<333

Cho (loml): sorry tppo.

Cho (loml): *typo.

Cho (loml): meant to say i love you more.

Giggling, you’re content to let your phone sit on your table as you jot down your notes. Getting deep into the slideshow your professor drones on about when-

Another buzz.

Cho (loml): baby i’m cleaning out your panty drawer >.<

Cho (loml): woah baby…when did you get this lacy black set??

Cho (loml): fuck i can see my fingers through it.

Cho (loml): it barely even covers my palm.

You: Hehehe recently. Was meant to be a surprise but oh well.

Cho (loml): fuck.

You: Have fun <3

It’s only silence for a few minutes thereafter. 

In fact, you’re just about to resign to the fact that you might not hear from him until you’re getting home- Choso always did tend to get wrapped up in whatever he was doing at the time. And you reach until the end of the class without-

Yet another buzz.

Cho (loml): i’m outside.

Outside? Your head reels—outside outside? 

What the hell was your boyfriend doing outside? And you can’t pluck yourself out of your chair and speed down the lecture hall faster, reaching the edge of the entrance before-

A pale hand shoots out and clasps your wrist.

You’re being dragged into the nearest bathroom before you even realize that it’s your boyfriend leading you. His hands jittery. His coat flapping behind him.

His legs stepping frantically before you- thrumming with nervous energy even as he guides you inside the clan bathroom stall. Shutting the door behind him, he stares down at you and gnaws on his puffy pink lips. Choso looked as though he was on the verge of a secret. A confession.

“Baby?” You start, still startled by the whiplash journey here. “Are you alright? What happened? I thought you were at the apartment, why are you h-”

And he doesn’t answer- no.

That’s not why you’re cutting yourself off. 

Instead, you’re enraptured by the way that Choso reaches for the hemline of his thin black t-shirt and—tugs upwards. Displaying the shape of his v-line, the beginning of his abs, the scruff of black happy trail that was still visible through your sheer panties.

You freeze.

Your sheer panties.

You could recognize those straps anywhere- they were barely-there and the type of gauzy lace that had patterns on it. Now wrapped around Choso’s toned hips—his cock strained against your underwear. Long and painfully hard.

He reaches up and exposes more of himself to you.

Your matching bra set stretched around his pectorals.

So it was practically a no-brainer once you’d grabbed Choso by the shoulders- shoving him against the thin stall divider. Tugging his pants down just enough for you to take in all of him in those sinful panties, you’re gliding your fingertips down his erection.

Over the thin layers of fabric, that pretty pink tip that peaked just out. Uncontained.

He hisses at your touch, head throwing back behind him and hitting the plastic wall. Not even looking down at you, his hips seem to move before his mind and rub-rub-rub his protruding cockhead between your pussylips. “Sh-shit.” And you swear that what he’s letting out were the prettiest whimpers you’ve heard in your entire life. “Shit, baby—oh, baby, I don’t think m’gonna last much longer.”

“I just put my hands on you, Cho.” You tease.

“B-but I was just so fucking hard all the way here.” Choso blubbers out, sobs crackling at the back of his throat. One hand grabs at the side of your right ass cheek, bringing your pussy down to kiss his cock. The other reaches down—“Because I kept thinking about- ngh, you picking these just f’me. You trying them on—” Down to pump his cock. “Oh, your pussy probably felt so fucking good in these.”

You could feel your cunt throb at the words.

And before long you’re bouncin’ your hips down onto his. You’ve cornered him - easily, because Choso did love to be at your mercy, after all. 

The hand furiously fisting his cock reaches upwards to chase your pussy with a whine- rutting his cockhead in a frenzy. Lids falling shut in a second, “And I k-kept thinking about just how maaaaad you’d be at me.”

“Well, I am mad, Choso.” You hum.

Lower lip wobbling cutely, Choso pleads up at you with watery eyes- ones that are nearly bulging out of his head. Because in a single motion you veer your hips down and sliiiiide all his thickened inches inside of you.

You swear he’s the hardest you’ve ever felt him to be- pulsing out the most lecherous ba-dump! inside of you. You tug on the little curls at the nape of his neck, “I’m mad you didn’t tell me about this little liking of yours sooner…”

“W-well, I didn’t know.” He hiccups, puckered tip swipin’ at your cervix. “I thought you’d tell me off- ngh, tell me how naughty I am for wearing your panties.”

“Not just my panties.” Sliding a hand underneath his t-shirt. You’re reaching where his pecs stretched out your poor bra, his chest puffed up and panting. Those perky pink nipples of his were straining against the transparent fabric, and you’re grazing your thumb uuuup and down- “You’re not just naughty- you’re filthy, Choso.”

“Ngh—” He’s whimpering out, hips jerking upwards. That strawberry pink divot at the end of his shaft leaks out in glittering wads of precum that coat your hole. “Baby, and I also fucked m-myself using this panties- ngh, felt so good to rub it down my cock…”

He was egging you on. “Mmm, I take it back then.” Choso flinches at your tone. “Just sinful, baby.”

“Fuh-fuuuuck-” Choso was on the verge of creamin’ himself just from the mean words you were telling him. His rovering shaft was probing into your every sweet spot, the smallest geyser being filled up by his relentless divot. “And I’d do it again- fuck, I’d do it again, baby.”

You’re pulling on his sweat-drenched hair - and it’s enough to make him spray out in his scalding hot syrup. “How did I ever manage to get a boyfriend this depraved, hm?”

“Baby, m’gonna cum.” He whines out. 

“Hmm…” You’re reaching behind you and unclipping that bra he was wearing- and Choso lets you shrug it off easily. Wrapping it around your hand and slitherin’ upwards to stuff his pretty lips. “Then stay quiet, hm? Also if you make a mess then you’re buying me new ones, Cho.”

He hisses through his nostrils, “That can be arranged…”

And it’s the last thing rasping out of the poor man before he’s then splatterin’ out hot and deep inside you with all his cum. It’s reaching into every depth, splashing against your walls and cascading along your walls.

It ends up gushing right up to the front of your hole. Leaving a streak of white glued to Choso’s cock and your panties barely containing his cock-

“Oh…” His mouth drops, parched. Tight balls slappin’ your cunt away—“Now it looks even prettier, baby.”

.

.

.

The next time you’re visiting the sweet lingerie store you snapped that black set in, it’s with Choso as well. 

He’s trailing in behind you—as though your figure could cover his own, body hunched, hands permanently on you, eyes darting around the store. Even though he was about a head taller than you and two times as more intimidating- “B-baby, maybe this isn’t a good idea-”

“Welcome, madam~” A lovely girl bounds up to you- and you’ve no doubt that the two of you make quite the strange pair. Her eyes flick between you and your boyfriend, “I take it that you enjoyed our piece from last week?”

You share a look with Choso- who only blushes deeper. “Oh, you could say that.”

She giggles knowingly, “And how can I help you today?”

“One just the same.” You hum, “Perhaps in different colors, perhaps some a little more…risqué.”

“Oh, we have just the thing-” Urging the two of you to follow her, “There’ve been some new shipments and I came across one that would look perfect on you, madam-”

“Actually…” You interject, “We’re looking for one for him.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - Your Majesty…

It was widely known throughout the land that Ryomen Sukuna was not a shy man.

That was saying the least of it: he was an actual tyrant.

This could be widely agreed-upon by most inhabiting Japan, most of all by the attendants who had the privilege to serve the King of Curses. They would see first-hand the way a mere flick of the man’s hand would be more powerful than the cursed energy of the nation combined, the way the massive estate itself seemed to tremble before him, the way he’d make you tremble…

Though in a different way entirely.

And so it’d come as quite the shock to both well-wishers and traitors when they were brought to mercy before the man’s courts- and would find themselves face-to-face with the King upon his throne. You seated upon his lap.

Your cunt being split by both sets of his shafts, split up n’ down—just baaaaarely hidden by the expensive robes that he’d dress you up in.

The King’s infamous Queen.

Oh, this was his favorite part - this was the only way he’d be able to handle growing through hundreds perhaps thousands of those who come begging for his favor and his forgiveness.

And they’d have a choice- run away or stay bowed.

With their heads lowered to the floors, they’d remain. Trying not to make a single noise or movement that would indicate the heat burning between their own two legs-

Though, Ryomen Sukuna would know either way.

Casting a dismissive glance at the subjects kneeled before him, before he scoffs- “This pussy of yours has some admirers again, brat.” When it doesn’t look as though you were about to respond any time soon, the King scoffs and jerks his hips up to bruise your womb twice. “Ya hear me? Too fucked dumb? Oi—we have guests ya know.”

“Sh-shush, Kuna.” And telling the King of Curses to silence himself? 

Those subjects kneeled at your feet aren’t sure whether they’re shivering due to your blatant treason or due to the rough, echoing laugh that Sukuna lets out.

Bouncing his thick thighs up just a little to make you buck n’ whine- “Easy there, woman.” He’s snarling out a smile with both sets of teeth, showcasing those pearly white canines. “ Gonna ruin my reputation, callin’ me that.” And then he’s addressing the rest of the room, “Chatty, huh? She always gets like this when she’s needy- heh.”

“Kuna…” Embarrassed at the blatant stares at your back- but too far gone on his sinful cocks to do anything about it.

One of his plump cockheads swipe against your g-spot and make you arch lecherously. Your hands coming to claw at his toned shoulders with a repeated whine- “Sorry ‘bout her.” Flickering his eyes over to the bowed men, it’s intense enough to make them flinch where they bent. “C’mon, brat- why don’t we put ya in quiet time.”

“Mmmpf-” You’re blubbering out at the scorching breath of his second mouth opening wide.

With a belched chuckle his slick cursed tongue glides down to your pussy- “Heh, we almost don’t even need to- yer fucked dumb as is.” Sukuna’s grumbling from above you—and of course, one of his four hands comes to clasp the back of your head. “But this part’s always so fun—”

“Kuna- mmpf.”

The sets of eyes from the kneeled spectators snap up at the sound of the filthiest squelch they’ve heard in their entire life. Looking up right in time to see the sorcerer’s cursed mouth opening up and slippin’ his hooked tongue between your own lips.

Makin’ out with you.

And Sukuna narrows his eyes down at their abashed faces—shocked. “Look look-” He’s thrusting his hefty hips up to get your attention. “They’re shocked at what a naughty girl ya are, brat.”

Tears stream down your cheeks, “Mmmpf-”

“The only thing you can say, huh?” He snickers, before turning his crimson eyes to the men before him. Their cocks likely throbbing only half as much as his own two were- slippin’ and sliding along your wet walls to hit each spot inside you perfectly. “Proceed.”

His subjects gape.

Sukuna furrows his pale pink brows- though there was a quality about it that made it seem so mocking. “Didn’t hear me above her pussy?” And to their sensual excitement, the King was grabbing ahold of your hips- pausing the squelching tone for a mere few seconds. “Proceed.”

But in the next sultry moments, they could barely even hear their own breaths at just how loud the wettened slap-slap-slapping noise was becoming. Sukuna’s hot, throbbing lengths were almost nothing but blurs disappearing in and out of your tight hole.

“I-I…” The man at the forefront of the bowed subjects starts to speak, eyes ogling the display. “I bring myself before you to ask for forgiveness for the treason-”

“Ah ah-” Sukuna sharply interrupts, “Won’t you first greet your royals?”

“My apologies-” He rushes, “All the prosperity to you, My King. And-”

“And your Queen?”

“And ever-more to My Queen.” All but crying out.

“Well, she’s my Queen.” Sukuna’s grumbling underneath his breath- now with his eyes locked on you and reluctant to move away. You were just the prettiest with both sets of your puffy lips gaped wiiiide open for him, glossed in so many layers of slick. “But proceed.”

“W-well, as I was saying, I bring myself before you to ask for forgiveness for the treason of conspiring with another-”

And this time he’s cut off by you—

“Sh-shit, Kuuuna-” Your shrill voice echoing into each four corners of the throne room, “M’cumming, m’cumming-” 

Spit dribbles down the corner of your mouth and makes the King swipe away at the mess with one of his hands. The edge of his own lips lifting up at the thwack! of his ruddied tips against your spongy cervix. Again and again.

Fucking you through your orgasm.

“Heh…” Sukuna’s four crimson eyes crinkle at the edges in amusement, “And whaddaya think? Do they deserve forgiveness, brat?” When you aren’t able to answer- he’s pummelin’ away even harder along your webbed walls. “How abooooout- if you cum again, they deserve forgiveness. And if you don’t cum again, they don’t deserve forgiveness. And if you squirt, m’gonna execute them for treason.” 

He chuckles meanly.

Each of the human subjects quiver before this monster.

Because the one thing that no one mentions about the King of Curses?

He was downright filthy for you.

♡ INO TAKUMA - 143

“I love you…” Ino pants out, breath fogging the glass. 

He reaches out to wipe away the mist from his computer screen- but actually ends up keeping his palm splayed out upon it. Almost as if he was inches away from heaven and yearning to reach right through it—“I love you.” 

And he doesn’t even have the mind to wince as his voice cracks- perfectly in time with the way his hand grows furious on his cock. Pumping long and hard.

Up and down. Up and down. Up and down—

He’s flicking his slender thumb underneath the rim of his slit, watching as his precum spurts out in overtime because of it. But he can’t cum now- he flattens his thumb on top of his shaft. He can’t cum until you do.

“I love you I love you I—” Absolutely botching his tone at the back of his voice, Ino trembles as you start to twitch on screen in that way you did whenever you got close. “I love you- hck.”

And then he’s throwing his head back and cumming right on time as you - in lewd synchronization.

He fucks his fist right through that looooong and aching high, pumping out so many wads of cum that his lap faintly resembles a waterpark by now. It’s dripping down his tannish thighs and creating a lacquer of white that gleams under the glare of the computer- the only source of light in the room.

As Ino comes down from his high, he hears - almost as if from a distance - the sweet tone that was your voice. He could pick out your voice anywhere. “—and I’ll be having a raffle where one lucky subscriber of mine will get the chance to spend a whooooole night-” You lean in closer to the lens, letting it capture every pretty inch of you. Right down to where you’d gnawed down on your lower lip from cumming too hard- “-with me.”

He doesn’t care about the tens of hundreds of thousands likely doing the same right now - and commenting that they were, too.

He’s never entered anything so fast in his entire life.

He’s never wanted so badly to win.

.

.

.

Ino supposes that it wasn’t a miracle that he won (though…it sort of was) considering he’d entered the raffle multiple times. Even going so far as to create fake accounts and type his name into that form. 

Again. And again.

And again and again and again- okay, maybe Ino Takuma was just a little obsessive. But what’s a little yearning when it comes to true love?

Either way, he considers all those long and sleepless nights spent entering a damn raffle to be worth it. Aaaaaall so worth it when it comes to this very moment: with you laid out on top of him. Just like in his dreams.

With your hands pinning his toned body down to your bed (one he’s seen so many times in your videos before!), with your hips bouncin’ up and down his cock craaaaaazily. Whatever you’ve done previously with all those curled dildos and hot-pink vibrators were nothing against what you were doing to his cock- slicked with spittle n’ all smooooth inside your cunt, sensitive wherever your walls rubbed. 

He was pussydrunk practically from the first thrust inside your gooey depths- babbling away underneath you as you swerved n’ tugged. Wrestling his cock inside of you as you tried to find your most favorite spots-

“Oh.” Suddenly, you’re arching your back with an elongated moan. The prettiest noise that he wishes he could record right now. Your lashes flutter in that irresistible way that always sends your subscribers into a frenzy. “Mmm, I think you found the spot, baby.”

Technically, you were the one that did all the work- but Ino’s happy to nod his head stupidly. “I-I did, baby. Does it feel good?”

“Mhmmm—so good.” And without warning, you’re dragging his palm over to stick against your front. Right above where his blushin’ red tip kept on poking at your cervix- “X marks the spot, mhm?”

“M-mhm.” He frantically agrees.

And shit- he looks so cute with his lips all wobbly and tears streaming down his pretty face. Ino Takuma didn’t even seem to realize just how attractive he looked when he was falling apart on your pussy. Face blushing. Tone ruined.

His thighs giving off the greatest shivers once you cleeeench your sopping wet walls around him. 

“I love you.”

Ino’s spit-slicked lips part open with a whisper-

And for a good few seconds you don’t even think you heard him correctly. 

In an attempt to hear him better, you falter your rough plapping down onto his hips. You crane in with a gentle smile, “What was that, Taku?”

But the man beneath you merely shakes his head.

Merely scrunches his eyes and lets his throat wrack with a tiny sob- he’s shaking and shaking his head at the first signs of you stopping. Before grabbing either side of your waist and push-push-pushing his pretty cockhead upwards. “I love you.” Almost as if he couldn’t stop the sentence from escaping. He’s not letting you slow down for a single second whilst he scours your deepest innards with his dripping cock. “I love you I love you I—hck! love you.”

And every time Ino shoves the length of his puckered shaft inside you, you can feel it hitting at your throat. “You love me, Taku?”

He doesn’t seem to pick up on the tease, and can only needily nod. “I do. I love you, pretty—ngh.”

“Awww—do you mean to say you love this pussy?” You’re whispering filthily into his ear, watching as the skin of his ear grows red. “Or do you love these hips-” On cue, you’re slamming them down onto his - meeting his sloppy cadence dead-on. “Or do you love these tits—”

“I love you.” He’s echoing out once more.

And it doesn’t matter how red and sensitive the skin ‘round his pelvis is growing, it doesn’t matter how sensitively his ruddied tip feels. It doesn’t even matter how pussydrunk he finds himself on your cunt, because Ino’s always chasing your gooey pussy up for more, more, more-

“I love all of you-” After a few more vicious strokes, he manages out. Gliding a hand between the valley of your chest. “I love your tits.” Down to your waist. “Love your hips.” Down to flick at your clit. “Loooooove your pussy.”

“And?” You ask, breathless.

And he’s blinking his teary lashes up at you, “But most of all I love you.”

There were practically hearts in his eyes- in fact, his pupils were starting to look like hearts. Or maybe you were slowly growing cockdrunk, as well…

You feel yourself clamping down on him- and you can feel Ino twitchin’ even harder. Close. 

“Well, whaddaya say to that-” And this time you’re talking - but not to Ino at all. Instead, you’re swivelling your head to the glaring light at your side. Right where your professional camera was propped up, alongside some bright ring lights n’ a wide screen with the two of you.

And the numerous comments.

“-you horny fuckers think he deserves to cum?”

pvssydestroya: omg gooooooooo for it, girl!!!

wk505: nah lol he didnt do shit to deserve it

Zeninheirlol: FUCK HIM LMAO

kusakebab: make him cum, please.

daddycries69 donated 500 tokens.

daddycries69: Make the pretty boy cum <3

“Well, you heard what they say.” You’re beaming down at him with a too-sultry smile.

And he’s almost seeing heaven as you speed your hips up lewdly, just chaaaasing that sweet, sweet release. Though, Ino’s sure that he could cum right then and there at the way you’re leaning down to whisper in a voice just for him. “After this is all over, how about a date?”

“I really do love you.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - “Erm- actually!”

“Shhhh—” At this point you can’t stop yourself from reaching a hand out and physically pressing it against your tutor’s mouth.

It was a pretty one, alright, but you anyone within a five -mile radius would forget anything about Gojo Satoru’s prettiness just as soon as he opened that damn mouth- “Enough.” Your weary voice sounds even louder in your empty dorm room. Late into the night. Textbooks spread out all around you. “You will not be debating me on the g-spot of all things-”

“Erm-”

“Try again.”

“Look, I’m just saying alright—!” Gojo pushes his thick glasses further up his nosebridge. He shakes his bangs out of his eyes, and fixes you with a piercing sapphire gaze. “The existence of the Gräfenberg spot has not been scientifically proven to be an anatomical structure universally present in-”

“But it’s true that there is an erogenous area on the inner vaginal wall, isn’t it?”

“Reportedly, yes.” He’s fixing his glasses once more, one index raising into the air the way it did whenever he was rambling about something or the other. “Though we aren’t sure whether this is an extension of the clitoral structure or a separate network altogether- and that is if the Gräfenberg spot, like I said, is a pre-existing requisite for the-”

“Requisite or not, at least I know I have it.” You’re rolling your eyes. 

“And how would you confirm that? Scientifically?”

You…what?

You’re giving the bespectacled man in front of you the most deadpan look in your life- and no matter how many emotions flit across your face in that very moment, it all ends in one single word: virgin.

But Gojo Satoru was a smart man - and so he’s quickly picking up on what he’d just said.

With a pointed cough, he’s adjusting his glasses when he so-clearly didn’t need to. Looking away from you, you could see the way the tips of his ears were burning bright red. “W-well, of course you could study…that scientifically.” Gojo stutters as he attempts to salvage whatever’s left of his dignity, “In fact, you probably have more experience regarding your Gräfenberg spot than- than anyone. Though m-most scientific studies are vetted- but this degree of ah- anatomy is—”

“Satoru.” You’re cutting right through yet another one of his rambles- and he almost looked relieved to be stopped himself. “Do you want to fuck me?”

Gojo squeaks out in surprise—“What- I mean yes—but in a perfectly scientific…though perhaps we should reconsider the implications- however, if you would like to-”

This time when he’s interrupted, it still is by you.

Though not by your voice, your words, your groans of displease.

But rather- by the way you’re starting to tug off your shirt and unclip your bra. And Gojo Satoru is only growing more and more flushed until his glasses looked as though they were completely fogged—“Just shut and fuck me, nerd.”

“I could f-find the Gräfenberg spot in real life…” He’s breathlessly whispering.

“Satoru.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And in practically no time, you’ve tugged down his stupid Digimon sweatpants and urged him to loom on top of you. Gojo’s hands planted on either side of your head, his legs spreading apart your thighs.

Those slender hips of his tremble juuuuust the slightest bit as he leans in- ruby-red erection almost painfully hard. His cockhead bobs as it slides between your pussylips—Gojo’s brows furrowing in concentration. “Sh-shit, remember what they taught you-” He’s whispering to himself. Tongue sticking between his pretty pink lips, “Remember what all that hentai taught you-”

Your head snaps to him, “What?”

“What?”

And it’s the last thing you’re hearing before a sudden jerk of his honed, hungry hips lean in. Before he’s squeezing his thickened cockhead- “Sh-shiiiiiiit—” Octaves higher. Voice breaking. His cock slips right between your pussylips and gives such a tight thrust- “Oh my- shiiiit. Fuck. Oh my-”

“Are you alright, Satoru?” You almost have to hold back a giggle.

He sounds as though he was shaking- in fact, he was shaking. Blushing from the roots of his white hair and all the way down to his protruding cockhead, “This is—oh.” Gojo throws his head back with a moan loud enough that you’re sure you’d receive a noise complaint tonight, closing his blue eyes in pure delight. “This is so much better than the hentai made it seem, sweetheart.”

“You learned everything from hentai?” You gasp.

“Most of it.” He admits, “But why does it feel like I’m the one…”

“The one?”

“I’m the one getting all…pussydrunk.”

And he just can’t help how good you feel.

He just can’t help himself from pumpin’ and pumpin’ his cocktip against you like a madman- pistoning his veiny inches inside you wildly. Gojo places a hand on top of your stomach to keep you grounded to the bed, at least…that’s what you think he’s doing.

But after a few vulgar strokes hittin’ at your spongy cervix, it becomes obvious that what he’s using his leverage for instead is to reach for your softest spot. That favorite spot of yours.

The Gräfenberg spot, as he had put it.

“Anterior vaginal walls…” He’s mumbling to himself, staring so deeply and desperately at the place where his roverin’ cockhead kept on hitting. Hitting and hitting. “About 2.0 inches to 3.1 inches inside based on most studies—”

His heavy balls were smack-smack-smacking away at the very forefront of your cunt, leaving you feeling all raw from the inside and out. 

The only one feeling more raw than you being Gojo himself - his glasses kept slipping down his face because of all the tears, snifflin’ out the biggest sobs down his pretty cheeks. It just felt so gooooood that he can’t help but shiver- “Though disagreement persists, s-sexologists believe it is towards the urinary system-” Not realizing. Not even registering in that muddled haze of a brain, nothing but a space for him to memorize just how you slurp n’ suck on his cock. “And along the outer mucosa that should be riiiiiight around here-”

“Shit, you’re close.” You feel his ridged tip drag along your velvety insides. And it’s as if the more determined he was to find that particular spot - the one he was so sure wasn’t proven earlier - the messier he got. “Satoru, how did you manage to get even sloppier?”

Not even fully pulling out by this point—his crowned, ruddied tip was kissin’ away at your womb and push, push, puuuushing even deeper. 

He’d go even past your womb had it been scientifically possible.

The sheer carnal pressure makes you clench, and Gojo’s echoing out such a tooootured groan. Blissfully tortured.

“Oh—oh.” Hissing. Hatching out tiny whimpers at the back of his throat, “Even considering the diverse physiological differences, and the fact that it might not even—fuck, keep squeezin’ me like that, my girl.” And it’s almost as if the more he was fucking you, the more pussydrunk he was becoming, the more and more he was babbling away. “A network of erogenous zones that-”

“Satoru-”

“-theoretically ends up with your g-spot being-”

“Shit, it feels too good-”

“-right here.”

Gojo’s hand presses down on your core. Gojo’s cock presses down on your g-spot- just like the cutest button that works to make your body twitch.

The first early signs of your orgasm overtaking you—before Gojo’s mentally reeling through the signals and registering that you were cumming. Just from that. He’s fucking into you as if he hated you, as if he couldn’t get enough of that pretty g-spot he’d just proven the existence of-

“You didn’t prove shit.” You’re spitting through clenched teeth- shit, had he said that out loud? Your eyes widen, “You did…”

And had he said that out loud? 

With a crazed chuckle, the white-haired man slithers his hand down n’ starts toying with your clit. “Erm- actually, you’re the one cumming because of this- hah, loser virgin nerd.” He presents you with such a content smile, “So checkmate, sweetheart.”

“Satoru, you’re utterly p-pussydrunk.” Struggling to speak over the constant overflow of moans. It just fried your brain until you almost felt numb- the way he kept on bashin’ your g-spot. 

It’s such a long wave of euphoria that Gojo was dragging you through, his slicked cock peeeerfectly shaped to rover all over your walls. Your deepest innards. Your womb.

You just couldn’t get enough of him ending off each rude hammer with a strike there. “But it’s okay…” And he’s lethargically letting you pull him down n’ kiss him on the lips - you could do whatever you wanted with Gojo Satoru by this point, and he’d let you. “-because I’m cockdrunk, too.”

And Gojo had never read, scientifically, about orgasms that just take you by surprise.

But it happens the moment you utter those sweet words- electricity zapping through him as though he’d just been shocked. He’s twitching at the sudden pour of ivory sap from his cockhead.

Pouring and pouring.

Puddling up somewhere deep inside you that he-

“Fertilization can occur between a t-time period of five minutes to several days.” Gojo mutters out half-ruined. He’s scraping his hand across your front and feeling as his erection just plaps! out webbed volumes of seed. More than he knew he’d ever be able to produce in his entire life. 

You groan as he fucks each honeyed ounce inside of you- “Yes?”

“Then it doesn’t hurt to have a second trail, right?” He’s pleading with you, “Out of twenty-five?”

Like a damn science experiment.

.

.

.

A call of your name.

You’re turning around swiftly- right before you’re reaching the edge of the lecture hall. 

Professor Yaga meets you in the middle of the open space, and once he does he gives you a short but sweet nod of affirmation. “I have noticed significant progress in your knowledge of anatomy and signaling pathways this past assignment.” And though he always sounded like a sort of army sergeant, you knew that Yaga always meant well. “It’s impressive, I advise you to keep it.”

“Thank you, professor.” You’re smiling gratefully, eyes flickering over to a flash of white somewhere behind him. “I’ve just got a hell of a tutor lately.”

And he’s following your line of sight—“Ah- Mister Gojo? He’s the brightest of the department for a reason.” But then a slightly concerned expression crosses his face - as though Yaga himself was having flashbacks to all the ‘erm- actually’ he’s had to endure. “Though perhaps a little…lacking in the social department. I take it that tutoring hasn’t been without its hiccups?”

“Oh, you could say that…” You trail off- and Gojo had reached where you were by this point.

He hovers as though he was trying to disappear into the wall but not make it seem as though he wanted to disappear into the wall-

“But he’s a really hands-on teacher.” You finish off, looking straaaight at the nerdy boy. “I like that.”

Gojo squeals loud enough that Yaga snaps his head over.

♡ HIGURUMA HIROMI - 30-year-old Virgin

“Do you need any help with that, sir?”

He shuffles a document, “No, no.” Flashing you a brief but unfairly attractive smile, “Continue.”

“Alright alright…” You let your voice trail off, peeking over the glaring computer screen. Higuruma Hiromi, or should you say…your boss, raises a dark brow in challenge. “Truth or dare, sir?”

“I told you not to call me that.” He sighs, slightly shuddering- was it drafty inside the office?

The midnight air was the coldest this time of year; alert and cutting, like the long hours you’d spent cooped up inside the company building. Combing through every receipt and contract and photograph of what should be a slam dunk fraud case for your client—false, of course. Or so that’s what you were supposed to prove.

“Truth.” That deep voice cuts you out of your work-induced stupor.

“Truth, hm…” You’re tapping on your chin thoughtfully, wondering what other sweet secret to wrench out of your ever-stoic boss. You were lucky that it was just the two of you working overtime - all those morsels of Higuruma being single and being a cat person and once being bullied before he threatened to sue them were all yours. So you can’t help it-

“When did you lose your virginity?”

And at that, you watch the dark-haired man’s eyes widen. “P-pardon?”

“Cat got your tongue?” You tease, “When did you lose your virginity?”

Higuruma Hiromi - the most eloquent man you’ve met in your entire life, the most dependable lawyer on court, a terror with his words - gulps. He looks away. Speechless.

And you’re just about wondering whether you’ve overstepped your boundaries (when did he lose his virginity, seriously—) when he whispers.

Just a whisper.

“I’m a virgin, miss.”

“Oh.”

Oh.

Not that there was anything wrong with that—but with a face like that, and a body like that? You’d always assumed that the ladies and gentlemen and everyone in-between would be lining up for a piece of him. And so you can’t help but wonder…

“Do you need any help with that, sir?”

.

.

.

Two minutes later- perhaps even less, you’re bent over Higuruma’s desk.

A wet sheen down your inner thighs. Achingly needy.

With your tight skirt lifted to expose your lower half, and your pussy drippin’ through your sodden panties. Just dripping.

So damn soaked that he could see it from where he was standing behind you. Higuruma has both hands glued to the sides of your hips, his rough palms drawing lovin’ circles over and over as if he couldn’t trust his very eyes.

As if he couldn’t register it. As if he knew that he was seeing his pretty junior attorney and her just-as-gorgeous pussy. “So fuckin’ wet…” But he couldn’t bring himself to believe it was all real. “S’this all for me, angel?”

“Yes—” You moan, pushing your cunt back against him. Your slit drags down the tight front of his pants n’ snags on his thickened erection. “Give it t’me, sir.”

“Fuck.” His body ruts- shoving you against the wooden lining of the desk. Uncontrollable. 

You yelp at the way you’re pushed further up the furniture, important documents fluttering at the movement. “O-oh—”

“Careful, angel. Caaaaareful.” His husky baritone sends shivers up your spine- heightened even more at the ringing sound of his zipper. Being pushed aaaaaall the way down as he pulls his throbbing cock out- you attempt to swivel your head behind to take a good look at him.

Only for Higuruma to bang a hand down atop your head and smush your cheek to the frigid surface. All of a sudden, a lecherous slurp! emanating from between your legs - something thick and rock-hard kissin’ your entrance. “I might be a virgin, but that doesn’t mean m’not your boss still, hm?” He gives the lightest rut—the lightest, and sends your hole achin’ at the raw stretch of his cockhead. “Isn’t that right?”

You’re gasping out desperately, “You’re right- you’re right-”

“I’m right…who?” He’s humming - enjoying this far too much. Sounding so mean.

“What?” Struggling against his hold to stare into those deep, dark eyes. “I thought you said not to-”

“That was then.” There was such a tone of finality in Higuruma’s voice, and his jaw unfastens a little when he feels just how wet you’re gushing out against him. Sliiiiiiding your glaze down his plumpened tip and all the way along his shaft- “But when we fuck…call me ‘sir’.”

And that’s exactly what you’re keening out - loud enough that you’re sure the entire building might have heard had it not been empty at this sinful hour. Because just then, Higuruma swabs his slurpin’ cockhead against your hole and funnels you with his length.

So long. So thick.

Such an incredible primal length that it-

“Fuh-fuck.” Did Higuruma Hiromi just stutter? 

And not only was the lawyer stuttering - letting his voice shatter into a zillion pieces at the back of his throat - but he was nearly collapsing his body onto yours. His entire hefty weight resting on your cunt, his fingers trembling wherever they held onto you, his cockhead probin’ between your pussylips and hitting your cervix with a great bang!

Eeeeeeeeasing in. Long and slick.

“Fuck.” He’s repeating like a mantra, like a broken record-player. You hear Higuruma audibly swallow a few times and try to regain his balance-

“Are you alright, si—oh.” Before all his adjusting makes him graze the curvaceous cocktip against your nerves. One of those delicate spots that make you throw your head back and clench-

“Don’t you fucking move.” Higuruma barks out like an order. Suddenly reeling his hips closer and jerking his plump tip against that spot once more- harsh. Sloppy. It’s as if he didn’t even realize he was doing so until he already was. “Actually- don’t do anything.”

“How can I possibly even…”

Pupils blown, eyes rolling to the back of your head at the rapid thud-thud-thudding with his rounded cockhead. “Don’t even say anything.” Almost on cue, his heavy balls were clenching at the pretty sound of your voice. “Don’t even fuh-fuck back.” And you never realized just how strong your boss was until he’s pressing up against you from behind. His ruthless pelvis pinning your restless hips down as he drills into you like a madman.

An utter madman-

“Don’t even fuck- take your panties off.” It was just dizzying the pace he was pounding out already. No hesitation in his thrusts. “Don’t even think—”

A bead of sweat drips down Higuruma’s forehead and ends up splashing onto your back. With his teeth clenched, he’s slithering a hand between your legs and giving your throbbing clit a good pinch-

“Don’t you fucking—oh.” 

To make you squeeze his inexperienced cock harder than ever.

And he sounds almost agonized.

Ruby-red tip glazed with all his creamy pre- he flinches away inside you with no warning. Draggin’ inside your walls with the delicious line of his slit, he’s managing to press into every tiny spot and crevice…before simply halting. Not moving his hips.

Not even one bit.

Like there was something clawing at the most carnal parts of him- and just as you’re about to ask Higuruma what was wrong…you feel something hot and treacly fill you up inside.

Your voice catches in your throat, “Sh-shit, did you just-” 

“Yes.”

“Just from that?”

“Just from that…”

Though you really didn’t need an answer to your query - because at your innards you could feel Higuruma’s seed splosh! away. Taking over every inch of space inside your cunt and glazing each nook with his ivory sap. 

His hand migrates from the back of your head to your neck, pinning your body down further against the mahogany. “Does- fuck, there’s no way pussy feels this good.”

“I mean- ngh.” You babble, mind muddled at the sensation of him stuffing you. Making you overspill. You attempt uselessly to move your hips behind in desire of some friction, “Are you pussydrunk already, sir?”

But he holds steadfast. “No- no, it must just be this pussy. It must just be yours—that’s so fuckin’ unfair.” His voice breaks. His hand slaps down on your skin- and you didn’t think you’d ever get away with going against his orders, did you? Higuruma Hiromi always had been the stern type of boss, always expecting the best from his employees. And that even seeps into his desire right now when he’s shovelling his hips against yours to stop you from moving. Hitting that soft, sweetened target of your womb—hard. “This pussy should be illegal.”

“Oh—” Clawing at the polished wood before you. Allowing the soles of your feet to be fucked inches off of the floor. “Oh my- fuck, sir, I think you’re gonna break the table-”

“So let me break it.” He grumbles, “It’s my table.” Constantly webbing up the back of your pussy with his ribbons of cum- “And you’re my employee.”

“I am-”

“I am…who?”

“I am, sir.” He’s fucking you like he hated you.

“After all-” And you swear you can hear him break out into a chuckle from behind you. “-don’t you worry, angel.”

And you almost dread to hear what nasty words your boss was going to be whispering in your ear. Teething his pearly whites against your sensitive ear. 

Pushing you straight into a wave of bliss-

“You can have my virginity in exchange.”

A/N. GOONERZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

the words settled like a dead weight into the beige-painted room of your marriage counselor's office.

the session hadn't even formally started, a perfectly manicured finger pausing in mid air against the small, ticking timer on her desk. it indicated that only a minute had passed since you'd taken a seat on the overwhelmingly bright lime colored futon.

all your therapist had done was ask: "what brings you into my office today?" and that was the first thing you'd come to admit, the thought haunting you with every night that you spent in bed alone.

with each night you pretended to not hear him opening your window at the dead of night, stalking into your shared room despite each of his movements the same as a mouse skittering somewhere they shouldn’t. pretending like you didn't hear his breath catching in his throat, the man tempted to call you out on your lie, before ultimately turning his back.

there's only a few inches of distance between you and hiromi, a distance that could easily be broken if either one of you so much as dared to extend your hand out. but it feels more like a barrier extended multiple feet tall, a barrier that neither one of you is insistent on breaking. your husband's laying right next to you and you've never felt more alone.

pretending was easier than acknowledging. silence was better than arguing. a thought that the two of you had begrudgingly come to accept as the new norm of your marriage.

your therapist cleared her throat, pressing the timer to begin counting the hour down. the sound of pen scratching against paper filled the silence that your husband couldn't bring himself to break.

tic tic tic.

scratch.

tic tic tic.

you wonder if your therapist's writing down gibberish—anything so she wouldn't have to be faced with the awkwardness that seeped out of the room in thick waves. if she's writing about how you chose to address hiromi directly instead of saying i feel like i don't know my husband anymore.

if she's writing about how your marriage was over from the moment you stepped in the door.

before you find yourself down a rabbit hole of what she could've written in these past thirty seconds, she pushes her glasses up and looks over at you directly. clearing her throat before she asks, "so tell us, why are you feeling this way?"

us—you're suddenly reminded hiromi's sitting right next to you, clinging onto every word that left your mouth much like the woman in front of you. your clammy hands clasp together in front of you, thoughts coursing through your head at a million miles per hour.

"i am feeling this way because—” you take a pause, racking your brain. because of, what? because of everything? that would only lead to a barrage of more follow up questions.

after what feels like an eternity of the two of them gawking at you for an answer, you manage to build all the thoughts coursing through your head into one single sentence, “i am feeling this way because i used to read my husband with ease, i used to know what he wanted to say before he said it.

i know how he likes to drink his coffee, just black. i know what kind of jacket he prefers to court—double breasted with a peak lapel. but lately.. it’s like i don’t know who’s stepping through the door anymore.”

if only you knew.

another few moments of pen scratching against paper, another few moments of pretending like you don’t see hiromi staring from the corner of his eye. “thank you for admitting this. i know it can’t be easy. now i have to ask, when did you start noticing these changes in your marriage?”

the rest of the following hour ticks by painfully slow, with you filling in the blanks from your perspective and hiromi sitting in complete silence.

"okay, next week, i'd really like to hear things from your perspective, hiromi," your therapist speaks up with a calm smile, setting the notepad down. she stands up, crossing across the room to a drawer where a variety of pamphlets decorate the space.

all from self help guides to journaling advice, she pulls out two slips of papers. passing them over to you and hiromi. ‘how to communicate with your partner again! 50 conversation starters guaranteed to work’ written in big, bold letters smacks you right in the face when you start reading through it.

“i want the two of you to practice talking to each other again,” she speaks up, gesturing over to you, “i noticed you took the initiative with our session today. while nothing’s wrong with that, i think the two of you could benefit from expressing how you each feel in this relationship.”

—

expressing how you feel. what a load of bull. the drive back to the firm is filled with even more silence, radio playing some generic song neither one of you bothered to reach out to switch. the atmosphere’s filled with the sound of cars honking, people rushing by to catch a last minute taxi, police sirens swerving through narrow gaps in traffic.

“are you going to be coming home for dinner?” you question once the car comes to a stop, turning to look over at hiromi. the car sits on idle, his fingertips tapping against the steering wheel. when did having a simple conversation become so awkward?

he reaches out for the piece of paper the therapist handed out earlier, tired eyes scanning through the list. trying to find what conversation starter could be plugged into this situation. a vein in your forehead twitches at the sight, even if you’re trying to remind yourself he’s trying.

“i acknowledge how you feel, honey,” hiromi starts off, the apologetic smile on his face when he looks up to meet your annoyed expression fading away into a small frown, “and i recognize your efforts, but i don’t think i’ll be showing u-” you slam the car door before he gets a chance to finish.

hiromi doesn’t pull out of the spot just yet, watching as you headed up the stairs. you don’t turn to look back at him, not even once. “my god,” an agitated mutter leaves his lips, reading through the list once more before shaking his head. he doesn’t realize how long he’s been with the engine running, only pulling out of the space when a loud honk rings behind him.

there’s a manila folder on your door step when you step up to the office—no returning address, nothing to trace back to. no kind of note either, but you know it’s meant for you. daredevil. he’s been dedicating himself to sending little envelopes to your office—no signs of concrete evidence (that’d end up being inadmissible anyways), but enough trails to where finding said evidence was a cakewalk.

this week had been a statement of bank records linking an offshore account to one of fisk’s buildings. it was something, that with enough pressure and persistence, you could get something out of. your heels scruff against carpet as you make your way further into your office, plopping down on a rusted leather chair. a pile of paperwork waits for you as soon as you sit down, from nda’s to settlement offers made by fisk.

an elderly woman walks into the office half an hour later, her head swishing from side to side to see if she was in the right place. that much was a given, you supposed. you only had second-hand furniture around the place—wooden chairs chipped at the ends and worn with age, a coffee maker that ended up burning the beverage half the time, and a fax machine that no one used anymore.

it was easy to think the building was abandoned, in all honesty. you clear your throat, drawing her attention to the open door at the end of the hall. she steps into your office with a stack of papers in hand and a tupperware container filled to the brim in empanadas.

“hi, welcome in,” you greet her with a smile, pulling the chair back for her before taking a seat once more. the woman takes a seat in front of you, her hands resting against her lap. “what can i do for you today?”

her brows furrow. "pensé qué había alguien que hablara español.” you didn’t need to be fluent to hear the disappointment clinging onto her voice.

"that would be my…” you snap your fingers, willing the word to come to you, “esposo, but if you need someone that speaks punjabi, i'm here.”

(hiromi’s attempts at teaching you spanish had proven unsuccessful throughout the years.

white flurries of snow covered the pavement in a thick white layers, every other student in the library already gone to their dorm for the night. orange hues illuminated the path back to your dorm, higuruma walking right next to you and listening to every word.

you were going on about a failed test in your foreign language class, complaining about how hard punjabi had been to pick up. “spanish’s been easy, it’s just the gendering that gets me all messed up,” hiromi speaks up when you’re finally done, air leaving his lungs in thin wisps of smoke.

a groan leaves your lips in agreement, “don’t even get me started on the gendering. i might just have to go to the tutoring center.”

the two of you walk in relative silence, boots crunching against the ground underneath. it’s a peaceful kind of quiet, one that makes you feel comfortable without the overwhelming need to try to fill it.

“how do you say lawyers in spanish?” you suddenly question, turning to look over at him. a snowflake chose to land on his nose at that moment, your finger reaching up to lightly brush it off. a small flush makes itself visible up his neck, his cheeks dusted in a light pink.

every action you took made his heart do a little spitter sputter, almost in disbelief you seemed to like him.

then he remembers you’d asked him a question. “lawyers,” hiromi takes a moment to pause, rummaging through the catalogues in his brain after frying it off with reading review after review and cans of red bull, “oh, abogados.”

“we’re gonna be el grande avocados!” you exclaim, gesturing to an imaginary title. it’s easy to imagine something big, something grand with him. an office where you could solely do pro bono cases, where you didn’t need anything to but a simple ‘thanks’ to be fulfilled.

where bills and building maintenance and rent didn’t exist.

a laugh bubbled out of his throat, the sound a sweet melody in the midst of car horns and police sirens, “that’s not spanish, that’s fruit baby.”

your nameplate still reads avocado at law. you didn’t think that you’d be the only fulfilling this dream, though.)

“but i can take a recording of your testimony and have him transcribe it,” you assure her, pulling out your trusty tape recorder from storage (your drawer). a cloud of dust leaves the surface, a sign of how long it’s been since its last use.

the woman gives you what you could only describe as the most strained smile you’ve ever seen, clearing her throat before starting to speak to the recorder. her voice cracks during certain parts, a couple parts you could pick up—fisk, 150 grand, trash apartment. you give her a pack of tissues before she leaves your office, accepting her empanadas with a warm smile and a gracias that came out sounding like grassy ass.

yet another example of how your husband was neglecting even his work at this rate. you’re not sure when’s the last time you’ve seen him at the office for more than half an hour, and each time you do, he seems to be on edge. like he’s aching to leave, waiting for the right moment to make his grand exit.

the rest of the day is filled with even more tenants coming in with their suits towards the building owner, each one showing images of apartments that were less than livable. mold covered the walls in thick clouds, asbestos found in blood work brought in by the tenants, one who’s child has been affected with lead poisoning.

it’s more than enough to get a formal complaint started up. if only you could get some help to deal with a class action suit like this. a quiet huff leaves your lips, resigning yourself to spending most of your night cooped up in your office.

—

the fluorescent billboard in front of your apartment building’s already painting the room in a deep crimson hue when you arrive, pale moonlight striking through the glass windows. you plop your briefcase onto the couch before trudging your way into your bedroom, the exhaustion of the day finally starting to wear down on your body.

there’s no point in making dinner for one person, you’ll call in for takeout sometime later. and while most people leave their job as soon as they shut their office door, you're flickering through the different tv channels. trying to see if any more reports of wilson fisk have made the nightly news.

it’s nothing interesting other than reports of the stock market, of a robbery gone wrong, of daredevil intervening in some kind of drug trade. “the masked vigilante appears to have been spotted in the scene around eight p.m., stopping a large cargo boat allegedly carrying kilos of cocaine…” you let the news play in the background, picking up one of the books in your shelf.

zoning law and practice, eighth edition volume one. you need as much as you can get when it comes to going up against fisk and his expensive team of lawyers.

a shadow appears from the corner of your eye. at first, you play it off to exhaustion. to some tree swaying in the wind, some bird that flew too close to your window. you don’t think too much of it, you live on the second floor. another section gets highlighted and annotated.

then you hear it. a latch coming loose, a silhouette making itself visible. the highlighter in your hand falls onto the bed next to you, painting your covers in a light yellow shade. a man plops onto your bedroom floor in the middle of the night. a man staining blood with each inch he moved, a man holding a crowbar in a deathly grip.

all of your senses fly out the window.

a loud scream erupts from your throat at the sight of the intruder making their way through your window, slinking onto the floor. a couple lights flicker on from the apartments beside you, neighbors surely waken from the ruckus. still, you scramble to grab the first weapon you can find to defend yourself.

the high heel scattered on the floor? (that you swore you’d pick up tomorrow) no.

the waterproof rabbit vibrator you kept in the top drawer of your night stand? heavens no.

hell, even your house keys? not even that.

your weapon of choice in this case happened to be your eighth edition thousand page leather-bound book full of new york’s zoning laws.

it was enough to give the intruder a concussion and enough to leave your wallet mourning the damages after the fact.

mentally preparing yourself, you’re about to toss the book. holding it over your head when the intruder chooses to slide the black mask over their head. your eyes nearly pop out of your sockets when you see who it is, book held up in midair.

"you said—" hiromi chooses that moment to collapse onto the floor, hand clasped around his bleeding abdomen and breathing ragged, "—you didn't know me. this is who i am."

you blink once, twice, even three times. laughter bubbles straight from the depths of your chest, your head flying back at the absurdity of the situation. hiromi’s not laughing, you quickly come to realize. you pinch yourself only to find out this isn’t some sort of dream, isn’t some sort of sick prank that your husband’s decided to play on you.

you’re faced with the reality that your husband is daredevil.

you don’t only see the big bad daredevil whose mask covered face has been plastered on a corkboard in each new york precinct police department around hell's kitchen with the promise of a hefty reward. the big bad daredevil who’s been painted on news outlets as menacing, as a threat, as an untrustworthy agent working on his own twisted sense of justice.

but you also see the daredevil who’s been helping you out with your case against wilson fisk. the daredevil that’s been protecting women and children from getting harassed in the street late at night, unwilling to kill but eager to incapacitate.

then, you see what’s underneath the mask. what’s underneath the various headlines, what’s underneath the mystique and flashy acrobatics. you see the guy you met in 3l who dared to go against nietzsche’s ethics with a passion, calling his writing ‘half-assed fragments at best.’

you see the guy who’d memorized your coffee order off one study session, never once failing to bring it to your table following after. the guy who didn’t hesitate to go pursue pro-bono cases, accepting payment in the form of baked goods while your classmates pursued prestigious internships defending corporation after corporation.

while everyone else went after the fame and the money that came with being a lawyer, he went to pursue justice for those harmed. whether it be by the own flawed system the guilty have been incarcerated under or the ones needing some sort of defense.

and in that, you see the man that you fell in love with again. the one you planned out the rest of your life with, the one with big dreams who’d made your first nameplate on a napkin and promised to be your partner.

you shove your blankets off your body, hit with the cold air whistling through the crack in the window while you make your way to the bathroom. the first aid kit stowed away in your bottom cabinet is laughable—a couple bandaids and alcohol pads thrown in together in case of a paper cut, in case of a nasty fall.

nothing in case for your husband bleeding out on your floor in the middle of the night.

miraculously enough, you manage to find an old sewing needle your mom left behind on one of her visits and a nylon thread hiromi had borrowed from nurse claire from the floor underneath. you're not sure how many times you've wiped the needle with alcohol, trying to get it properly disinfected before making your way back to the bedroom.

kneeling down beside the bleeding mess that was your husband, you slowly begin to unravel the sopping wet layers covering his upper body. the harsh scent of iron clings to the air, a reminder you need to work faster. and yet, you find yourself hesitating every moment a pained groan leaves his lips.

the layers drop unceremoniously with a heavy plop, staining your ivory floors in a deep, crimson shade. now that there’s nothing in the way, you can see just how profound the slash cutting through his abdomen went. it starts right underneath his pecs diagonally across to just on top of the waistband of his pants.

your fingers trembled, trying to put the thin piece of nylon through the small hole of the needle. you miss once, then you miss again. a frustrated sigh leaves your lips, hiromi’s hands coming to rest against your own. “take a deep breath for me, honey.”

funny how the man bleeding out was the one trying to reassure you. still, you followed the movement of his hands. taking a deep breath in and then exhaling slowly, your shoulders losing tension. you’re able to focus more clearly now, slowly threading the thin string through the hole.

it’s hard to distinguish where the wound starts and where it ends, pieces of flesh sticking out from nearly every direction. but somehow, and some way, you manage to line up the very messy edges you were working on suturing. or at least, trying to.

hiromi tries his best not to flinch, not to move, not to react as you’re threading the needle through his abdomen. “i can hear you thinking, so ask your questions,” he murmurs, the silence starting to become unbearable. you’ve been biting down on your lip for the past five minutes, almost saying something before swallowing it down.

and there were, in fact, about a million questions coursing through your head right now. but the simplest one you could pin point for the time being was: “why?”

why did hiromi higuruma choose to put his life in danger every night? why did he choose to put on a black suit and play vigilante for the streets of new york?

his throat bobbed, watching as your fingers worked on tying the first knot with precision. “i choose to do this because law isn’t always fair. you know as well as i do, that half the people guilty don’t get enough of a punishment that they deserve. and the half that do, don’t deserve that kind of punishment.”

it’s true—you’ve seen more than enough people get locked away for nearly a decade for possession while assaulters don’t even get a slap on the wrist. it’s deplorable. it’s not fair. and yet, “so you’re punishing these people based on your own system of morals?”

“i was in court one day ah,” a pained wince leaves him when you prod in too deep into the flesh, fingers twitching by his sides in an attempt to keep himself still. he clears his throat before continuing, “i was in court one day. a little girl came up to me and begged me to put her dad away, begged me to do something. and all i could do was hear how the jury declared him not guilty.

“i stopped by her house to check up on her a couple days later. her dad was being violent again, yelling in her face for making a case about him. i decided that was the final straw.

“so yes, i am working based on my own morals. if that deserves me being locked up like the cops say, so be it.”

you work in silence for a bit, focusing on tying the knots in front of you as best as possible. “i don’t think you’re a bad guy for what you’ve done. i just wish you would’ve trusted me to let me in on this secret.”

the knots in front of you are nothing short of sloppy despite your best efforts, the stitch job sure to leave a scar by the time it healed. but it was good enough for now, it stopped the bleeding and it closed the wound. with light pressure, you slowly started wiping away the flakes of dry blood with rubbing alcohol.

a sigh leaves his lips, the man slouching against the wall behind him. “i can deal with me being like this, bloody and beaten,” he utters, gaze directed straight into you in a way that makes you shiver, “but i can’t handle the thought of someone hurting you because of me. that’s why i didn’t tell you.”

your breath stutters in your chest, focusing instead on the work in front of you. it’s easier to swipe and soak the pad instead of trying to figure out of your feelings for the time being. you swipe a couple drops of disinfecting ointment onto the wound, putting a bandage onto the skin.

"i'm still mad at you." it comes out quiet. as cold as you’ve been, you’re also.. simply just tired.

you’re so tired of being angry, so tired of feeling tired, so so tired of feeling like you don’t know how to interact with your best friend. as if one wrong word, one wrong pause could simply…set things off and that’d be that.

and yet, you’ve spent so long being angry at your husband that you’re not sure how to feel any other way. if you’ll even feel anything but indifference when the anger subsides.

"i know."

"and this-” you gesture between the two of you, "—doesn't fix anything."

a more resigned, "i know."

but a wistful sigh leaves your lips, your hand coming up to rest on his cheek, "but i really want to kiss you right now. i don’t want to be mad at you."

hiromi’s quick to speak up, one of his hands coming up to rest against your cheek. you can’t help the way you melt into the touch, your anger fading away into something akin to longing. “so don’t be mad at me for right now. be mad at me later, honey. be mad at me all you want, be mad at me for the rest of your life. just don’t be indifferent with me again.”

you lean in slowly, breath caught in your throat. it’s awkward at first—you’re out of practice—fingers twitching by your sides until you firmly place them onto his shoulders in a deathly grip, breath caught in your throat, leaning the same way that he does when you’re close enough.

kissing him feels like trying to unlock something you don’t quite have the key for anymore. like trying to revisit an old home only to realize the numbers on the mailbox aren’t for you anymore, that the decorations hanging up aren’t the same old photos of you as a teen. like it’s nothing more than a distant memory.

the thought of that makes you sick. of your marriage being reduced to nothing but good memories. you try it again, his head tilting to the left and yours to the right. and just like that, every piece falls into place. your fingers loosen their grip, one of your hands moving up to his soft cheek.

it’s tentative, the way that his lips slot against yours. slow. his hands move by his sides like he’s also contemplating a difficult calculus equation before they move to your hold your hips. you move forward, back in an arch and he takes that chance to deepen the kiss.

his tongue traces the seam of your lips before they’re parting for him, his mouth swallowing every moan and shaky breath that left your lips. while the previous kisses had been a reacquaintance, these were much more needy. making up for lost time. his lips trail down, placing a small peck against your jaw. against the side of your neck.

“is this okay?” he whispers, his tongue tracing the sensitive flesh of your earlobe. “yeah,” you assure in a breathy whisper, your head thrown back in bliss. his fingers move down to the hem of your faded graphic tee, pulling it over your head with ease. cold air hits your body all once, a contradiction to how warm hiromi was making you feel.

you’re in nothing but an old bra, a simple beige one you pulled out from the back of your undergarment drawer. and yet, higuruma stares at you like you’re an angel incarnate. like it’s a blessing to even be in your presence. his brain short circuits, hands hovering in the air like he’s unsure.

grabbing his wrists in your own hands, you lead him closer and closer to your chest. “wow,” he murmurs under his breath, his thumbs rolling across your pebbled nipples. hiromi’s fingers squish at the flesh, tracing against your underboob. rubbing against all the little spots he knows you’re sensitive: your nipples, your areolas, your side boob.

placing little kisses where his fingers just were, reverent to you after he’s been neglecting the duty for so long.

your head rolls back, a muffled moan leaving your lips. he’s nothing if not eager to please, “let me take care of you.”

—

“you’re hurt.” you’re with your arms folded across your chest, brows furrowed as you take in the state hiromi’s in your bed. bandaged up and wincing when he moves his stomach too much. you didn’t think when he said let me take care of you, he wanted to jump straight into you sitting on his face.

the harsh look on your face makes his dick twitch.

“and you’re wet. like i said, let me take care of you,” he tries yet again, gesturing for you to come over with two fingers. as stubborn as you can be, there’s really no argument to be made. you pad your way over into the bed, avoiding the bandages on his abdomen before plopping down on his torso.

his hands come up to your hips, holding you in place like this is where you belonged. where you were meant to be.

“if at any point, you start feeling pain or you wanna stop, just let me know.” you jab a finger against his chest. he simply takes the digit, placing a gentle kiss onto the tip.

“yes ma’am.”

you moved up his chest, feeling harsh lines of muscle underneath. your cunt drips onto the thin material of your panties as you get closer and closer to his mouth. plush thighs settle by the sides of his head, nearly acting like earmuffs.

he revels in eating pussy, you know that. higuruma could spend hours in between your legs—jaw slack, fingers drenched and pruned, cheeks flushed, and dick weeping—and he’d still be asking for more. still, you find yourself hovering just above his awaiting mouth. you don’t want to end up hurting him any more than he already is.

his fingers grip onto the flesh of your thighs, leaving indents behind as he pushes your clothed pussy to be right on his lips. “you should know how to listen by now,” hiromi chides, tongue sliding across the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. a shudder runs down your spine, every movement making you hyperaware that your vibrator, well, couldn’t do this.

“i didn’t want you to suffocate,” you retort, fingers flying down to his hair. his lips are everywhere but your cunt, running up your thighs, peppering kisses onto your leg before moving back up again. a scoff leaves his lips, insulted at the insinuation.

“that’d be a dream come true.” his lips latch onto the wet patch of your underwear, sucking onto the thin piece of fabric separating your pussy from him. his tongue traces across your puffy folds, drinking every drop spilling from the lace like he wanted to consume you whole.

drool slips from the corner of his lips, drooping eyes fluttering shut in sheer pleasure while he sloppily makes out with your bottom set of lips. the bridge of his nose rubs against your clothed folds, tip nudging against your twitching clit. your fingers tighten up around his hair, nearly pulling on the roots.

all he does is moan in response.

your underwear’s drenched in a mixture of his drool and your slick when he pulls them off to the side with two, thick fingers. “look at you,” he speaks underneath you, reverence lacing his tone while he speaks to your vagina, “i missed you.”

your cunt clenched around nothing. guess she missed him too.

hiromi spits into your cunt and laps it back up like a man starved, every drop that lands on his tongue akin to the finest ambrosia. his tongue's flat, licking broad stripes from your dripping hole all the way up up to your swollen clit. his lips latch onto the nub, shifting between applying pressure that has you mewling and moaning for more and pressure that has you shifting to get away.

using his hair, you begin to swivel your hips against his awaiting mouth. rubbing your dripping folds across his lips, swiping against him like a card. your lips part into an ‘o’, rubbing your clit against the tip of his nose. “just like that, just use me,” he lets out a muffled groan underneath, his tongue dipping in and out of your hole.

his cock twitched and dripped against the material of his tactical pants, tenting up with each time he pushed his hips up into the air. your hand reaches out, giving him a few palms over the material and rubbing the dampened patch on his pants. “wanna cum already?” you ask in a breathy whisper, your own orgasm building up.

“only worried about you coming,” he responds easily, his own pleasure and needs discarded in favor of satisfying your own. two fingers take over where his tongue was thrusting in and out, pushing through a thin layer of resistance. he slowly began scissoring his fingers in and out, getting you adjusted to the stretch. "f-fuck keep going, just like that, please!"

his fingers curl up about a inch in, pushing against the spongy spot that has you pushing your hips deeper into his face. he switches from suctioning around clit, lips latched onto the nub, to rolling the tip of his tongue around it.

spelling out, ‘I’M SORRY’ in cursive. he mumbles the words like a prayer over and over again against your dripping cunt, almost like he wanted to get it through to you he was indeed, sorry.

“o-ooh fuck!” a strangled moan leaves your lips, thighs squeezing all that much tighter around his head. hiromi's lightheaded—whether that be from your legs squishing his head or from the anticipation of your release. he doesn’t let up, he lets you use him as you please. lets you fuck yourself onto his face, onto his mouth, tug on his hair, everything and anything that you need.

the orgasm that hits you feels like a wave, crashing onto you all at once. your thighs squeeze tighter, the grip on his hair gets tighter, everything gets tighter until SNAP! with one final curl of his fingers against your g-spot, with one final roll of his tongue against your clit, you cum.

clear spurts of your release drip onto his expecting tongue, onto his nose, onto his chin. hiromi doesn’t hesitate to swipe his tongue across his lips, lapping it up like a man finding water in a desert. he pulls out his fingers, immediately putting them in his mouth. swirling his tongue around them to get a taste.

you shift to get off, laying on the side of him. you don’t hesitate to pull him for a kiss when you finally settle down, tasting yourself on his tongue, tasting the remnants of iron from his busted lip, tasting what you’ve been missing. your nails dig into his scalp, your tongue moving against his in complete tandem. there’s no fight to dominate, nothing but just sheer bliss.

your lips move down the side of his neck, pressing a kiss against his jugular that has him resisting the urge to burst already. it’s slow, it’s teasing, the way you move inch by inch down the column of his neck. then you move onto his chest, finding it littered with a couple scars that hadn’t faded yet.

tentatively, your finger traces across the seams of the raised flesh. feeling him tense underneath you. your tongue takes place of your finger, tip tracing across the harsh lines that mark his pecs.

“do you think you deserve to fuck me?” you question, head tilted to the side as you meet his gaze.

hiromi’s quick to shake his head, “god no, i don’t deserve you,” he says it like the sheer notion is ridiculous but he’s quick to add anyways, “but i’ll spend the rest of my life trying to be deserving of you. to be deserving enough to fuck you.”

you shift onto the bed, presenting yourself like the most beautiful of gifts. propping yourself up on your hands and knees, your back in the most sinful arch possible. he’s not moving, not just yet. he’s awestruck, watching your ass jiggle from side to side like a hypnosis.

he snaps out of his trance a few moments later, moving over behind you. he’s quick to pull his pants down, nearly tripping over the pant sleeves when he rushes to kneel over your dripping cunt. his cock slaps against his happy trail when he slides his boxers down, tip flushed a deep shade of pink and dripping drops of precum.

one hand grips around the base, giving himself one tentative pump. you push back against him, shaft rubbing against your puffy folds. slick drips onto the shaft, wetting his cock before he slips inside. you’re still tight when he pushes in, walls tightly clenching around the tip. “there we go, you can take it, sweetheart.”

you nod your head fervently, feeling him stretch you out with each inch he started to push in. he’s thick, stuffing you full with ease. a loud moan leaves your lips when he knocks the air out of your lungs, cock fully snug inside of you and black tuffs of hair against your ass.

he pulls away slowly, your hips moving back to meet his cock. his hands firmly grip on to your hips, keeping you still before he’s pushing back in a deep thrust. it starts off like that, slow and deep, feeling him stuff himself to the brim from this position.

your hips move to meet each of his thrusts, his hands cupping the globes of your ass. “you just need some more, honey?” he questions, his tone gentle even if he was everything but. “more, hiromi, please!”

one of his feet plant onto the bedsheets beside you, the new angle allowing to reach in deeper. to mold your insides to the shape of his cock completely. his hips start pummeling into your sopping cunt, squelch after squelch after squelch ringing in your ears. heavy balls twack against the fat of your ass with each thrust, his own breathing heavy.

your hands give out underneath, your head buried against silk pillows and nails digging into the sheets beside you. his thumb rolls around your clit in quick, tight little circles as your orgasm starts to build up. “c’mon, it’s all yours baby, take it, i’m here,” he whispers in your ear, lips trailing down your back.

your eyes roll to the back of your head, his hips stuttering as he’s close to his own release. hiromi tilts your head over your shoulder, hand on your chin before meeting you for a sloppy kiss. he swallows every shaky moan that leaves your lips, every little i’m cumming baby, i’m gonna cum shiiit that you manage to get out.

you’re a babbling mess when your orgasm rolls over your body like a tidal wave. your pussy clenches tightly around his shaft before your release soaks him completely. he struggles to keep up—you’re tightening up, leaving him barely able to move. his thrusts are swallow and quick, running through the different statutes that come to mind to avoid cumming too soon.

“cum for me hiromi, want to feel you fill me up,” you babble, pushing yourself back onto his cock. his head flies back, unable to keep himself from denying you anything. with two more shallow thrusts and a guttural groan, he’s spurting a thick load that paints your walls white. he doesn’t move just yet—he stays still. feeling your walls snugly around his cock, the air still full of post sex bliss.

his breathing stills, his head coming to your shoulder. he presses one featherlight kiss onto the skin, letting out a relieved sigh. “i love you,” he murmurs, pressing another kiss. it’s the image of tranquility for those two perfect minutes that you sit there still, your heartbeats in tandem.

higuruma pulls off with a loud ‘pop’ echoing across the sex ridden room, dick glistening underneath the moonlight in a mixture of your release and his own cum. he moves across the room, shuffling his way into the bathroom to grab the softest towel he could find.

he lets it run under the sink for a couple seconds before squeezing out the excess, making his way back in between your legs. back home. he swipes the towel in between with care, lightly applying pressure to wipe off the milky trails dripping down your thighs.

“there we go,” he lets out a quiet hum, his lips pressing a small kiss onto your inner thigh, “you did so good for me, my love.” your arms come up, tugging him back to the mattress when he manages to get close enough.

hiromi sets the towel off to the side, making a mental note to pick it up in the morning. he settles back next to you, inching closer like he’s still afraid to test how close you’ll let him. he ends up wrapping one arm around you. “should we call the therapist and say we don’t need her?”

“she’d say this was an unhealthy coping mechanism, husband,” you note, a small laugh leaving hiromi’s lips in response. the air’s light for the first time in months,

your marriage isn’t fixed, not by a long mile. even as you lay there next to him, basking in his warmth, you’re well aware of the fact. but you can’t help how nice it feels to feel like you’re part of a marriage again, to feel like you’ve gotten your best friend and partner back.

first time writing for hiromi so i hope i did him justice 🤞

HIGURUMA SPECIFIC TAGLIST: @backtoyourbed @submissivelittlebella @pinkulraviolencedoll

behind you, sukuna grunts. hips snapping forward, like he’s trying to bury himself into your core. his rough fingertips bruise into your hips, as he holds on and drills into your soaked cunt — erratic, mean… him. his cock drags along your slick walls, your slick and his precum gliding down your thighs.

“you’re such a slut,” sukuna snarls, his voice rough. his thrusts start to slow for just a second — just enough to let you feel the thick head of his cock twitch against your clenching entrance. one second of reprieve — your hips rutting back. sukuna fucks back into you, even harder. “you couldn’t just have one cock in you, huh?”

his balls slap against your clit with every deep stroke, causing muffled moans to vibrate against suguru’s cock in your mouth — the vibration causing suguru to hiss after every thrust sukuna slams into you. his hands pulling your hair at the roots as he huffs, fucking your mouth with deep, slow rolls of his hips.

suguru’s cock is nudging the back of your throat, with the help of sukuna’s pace, you feel overfilled. you’re dragging your tongue slowly up the underside of his cock as you continue to sink down, taking him as deep as you could.

your mouth is wet and hot, your cheeks hallowing whenever you bob your head and reach his leaking tip. your jaw aches, throat the perfect amount of sore — but you can’t stop. the weight of him heavy on your tongue and sukuna’s hips still rutting into you causes your orgasm to start coiling in your gut.

“fuck,” suguru practically whimpers. “i’m c-close.” you see his thighs twitch, and you know he’s not lying. that idea you had still in the back of your head.

you whine around suguru’s cock. your thighs are clenching, arms nearly giving out from holding yourself up between them, a bridge between two men who have no problem with taking what they want.

“are we coming in her?”

you nod your head, pulling back from suguru with a pop. precum and strings of saliva stringing from his tip to your swollen lips. you look over your shoulder at a panting sukuna, his red eyes drifting to where his cock is still pushing into you.

suguru lets out a pathetic moan at the lost of contact.

“if you two kiss, then yes.”

sukuna stills. you clench around him just to feel the full body shudder ripple through him.

“the fuck did you just say?” he growls. heat blossoms in your stomach.

you rest your cheek against suguru’s thigh, your hand coming up to slowly stroke his spit-covered cock. your thumb swipes over his slit, collecting the dripping precum. his hips jerk to meet your slow movements.

“k-i-s-s.”

before sukuna can snap, roll his eyes in the process — suguru leans forward and grabs him by the jaw, pulling him forward. their lips crash together — tongue, spit, and growled curses causes an unexpected moan to roll right out of you.

your body jolts forward as sukuna resumes his thrusts — harder than before, sloppier. the kiss breaking whatever control he had left.

your hand never stops squeezing and pumping suguru’s cock in a slow, teasing rhythm. you lean in, your tongue flicking his head, circling the slit with long licks.

moans, skin on skin slapping, and their mouths clashing together fill the room so loudly, almost consuming you whole. you almost don’t realize your own orgasm washing over you until it’s already crashing through you.

your pussy clamps down on a sukuna’s cock, your gummy walls clenching around his as your slick gushes around him. slick drips from his shaft down to his thighs and yours, to the sheets below. your hand jerks around suguru, his moans indicating he’s just as close as sukuna is.

incoherent babbles and curses strung together slips from your lips. your thighs quivering, your other hand clawing into the bedsheets below.

“fuck, you’re milking me,” sukuna growls — his voice all rugged and breathless.

sukuna’s hips slam forward one last time, flush against your plush ass. the base of his thick cock pressed tight against your dripping cunt, thick ropes of cum shooting deep inside you. hot. messy. relentless.

you clench around him, another wave of your orgasm, growing in the pit of your stomach at the warmth of him filling you up.

your jaw is slacked, spit drenched lips placing soft kisses along his swollen tip — his cock twitching in your fist.

“i’m not doing that again,” sukuna grunts, slowly pulling out. a messy mix of cum and slick drips out of you, down your shaking thighs, still on his shaft. you whimper from the sudden emptiness, clenching around nothing. “you’re fucking insane.”

he slaps you once on your ass, hard enough that you groan.

“i enjoyed it,” suguru sighs, his cock still twitching against your lips. you grin, taking him back in your mouth — tongue working against his shaft in slow, deliberate strokes. your hand squeezes right at the base and that’s all it took for him.

his cum spilling down your throat thick, fast and warm. his cock pulsing as it twitches on your tongue. his hand fists your hair as you swallow around him, every last drop making its way down your throat.

you pull back — suguru’s cum dripping from your lips, sukuna’s seed spilling out of your pussy.

“you guys should kiss without me asking.”

Shiu Kong

Elegant dates like exhibition openings at a gallery, premières, chef’s table, long lunch - loves the ritual/ceremony of it all. It’s very drawn out, self-indulgent.

He’s not “above” more relaxed dates, those are just the type he likes to plan out. He probably gets a thrill from of seeing you in his spaces, like at some smoky bar playing billiards with him, coaching you as you play if you’re not familiar. When it’s not his turn he’ll let his eyes linger on you appreciatively, whisky and a cigarette in hand.

Taking you shopping! I imagine when he goes to get a suit tailored, he’d bring you with him and walk around with you, his arm offered for you like a gentleman or draped over your shoulder or at the small of your back, taking you wherever you want to browse.

If you smoke, he will shotgun smoke for you or lights your cigarette with his, dark eyes flicking up to meet yours as he leans in.

Puts his coat over your shoulders when you are cold.

Will feed you bites from his plate for you to try, or when you have a dessert to split between you.

Toji Fushiguro

Long drives with no particular destination in mind, just following the road and enjoying the moment. Has a bag in the trunk for an impromptu picnic or to go to the beach, or you stop by somewhere that catches your eye to explore.

Takes you to arcades and festivals/fairs, will win you prizes but is also lowkey doing it to preen and peacock his strength with the hammer and speedbag.

Probably gets a kick out of play fighting with you and letting you wail on him (doing absolutely nothing), and then once he’s had enough, he’ll grab you and wrestle you into a hug and pepper you with kisses.

Drops you off and picks you up from work when he can.

Indulges your interests and curiosity even if he doesn’t get it, like going with you to shows or pop-ups etc., making him do the purikura photo booth at the arcade. Lifts you up to sit on his shoulders to give you a good view at a concert.

Will grumble and make fun of whatever TV show/movie you’re watching but just ends up staying there the whole time and asking you questions about it anyway. Insists he isn’t going to stick around to watch, but is stood behind you arms crossed watching.

Hiromi Higuruma

This is a man that knows how to make a nice evening in. He puts on a record, lights some candles, and makes dinner for you both. Maybe you both indulge in a glass of wine and dessert, and stand swaying and holding each other to the music while in the kitchen after.

Will always do his best to make time for you despite his schedule. Loves small dates when he can squeeze on in during the work week, just so he can see you, like having a coffee with you at the park near his office on a lunch break.

Taking you to museums and galleries, record and bookstores.

Going out for a movie together, discussing and critiquing over dinner afterwards.

Leaves you sweet text messages but he texts like an old man 💔❤️ (it’s endearing, OK?) Will send you a message when he thinks of you or saw something and it reminded him of you AKA “Just saw a snail… Effervescent.”

Atsuya Kusakabe

Outdoorsy and active dates, ones where he shares his interests with you. Think hiking/trail walks at a national park, bouldering. Teaching you how to fish or showing you some swordsmanship, he’s standing behind with his arms wrapped around you to guide your form. (Some say he’s lazy, but I see him as one of those active people that has stamina to do activities like that for hours, but is an immovable object when he’s not feeling like doing something and wants to lounge around instead, or grumbling about walking somewhere when it’s not even tiring.)

Has touch as a love language. When you’re both on the couch, he loves having you sat in front of him between his thighs, his chin resting on your head and your back flush to his chest as he cuddles you.

Dinner dates for sure. Sushi purist 100%, will balk at what sushi you’re eating if it’s not traditional or he doesn’t agree with your choice, but he won’t stop you. Will take you to authentic hole-in-the-wall places for noodles or rice bowls.

your heart pounded, confusion and an odd, thrilling fear tangling together. “why do you still hide?” you asked, voice small in the hush. “why must you remain unseen?”

his answer carried a tangle of pain and restraint. “i cannot show you. it would have disastrous consequences for us both. i will offer my voice and my hands, my devotion and my worship, but not my face.”

you felt the room narrow in on you. “then tell me your name,” you demanded, desperate for some small solid thing to hold to while the rest of the world had gone unreal.

a breath. “satoru,” he said.

“satoru,” you repeated, tasting the word. “like the god?”

a short laugh, without vanity. “yes. like the god.”

you swallowed. “then, satoru, will you teach me how to know you? if i cannot see you, let me know you another way.”

“i will give you everything i have,” he promised. “but you must trust me.”

the bed dipped as he moved closer; you felt his form settle at the edge of the blankets, the pressure of him near enough to make the hairs along your arm lift. when his hand brushed your cheek it was like sun, immediate and hot. you leaned into it without thinking, because the warmth steadied you.

“please,” you whispered, “let me feel you.”

his mouth found yours then, suddenly and with a hunger that made you dizzy. the kiss was long and searching; his lips explored like a voyager mapping unknown shores. you clutched at his shoulders, the fabric beneath your fingers real and solid, and he answered with a low sound that went right through you.

“gods,” he breathed against your lips. “you taste of orchard and summer.” his thumb moved in small, soothing circles along your jaw as if memorizing the shape of you.

when his lips left yours he trailed kisses down to the hollow of your throat. your breathing hitched, a soft “ah—” slipping past before you could stop it.

he paused there, voice shivering against your skin. “let me worship you.”

without hesitation he eased the blanket away and kissed lower. the press of his mouth on your chest dragged a soft sound from you—“nnnh—” slipping past your lips—and his lips closed around your nipple like a benediction. he sucked, flicked, and tasted, one hand splayed across your hip to keep you anchored while the other cupped and teased the other breast. his attention was patient, reverent; he lingered over the soreness, the way they hardened when he kissed the line beneath your collarbone.

“say my name,” he murmured between kisses, breath warm, urgent.

“satoru,” you whispered, and the sound vibrated through your mouth to under your skin.

then he moved down, and the world contracted to the place between your thighs and the heat of his mouth. he spread you open with two careful hands and the wet press of his lips. and when his tongue touched your clit it was slow—an initial curl, a feathered flick, as if he were studying the way you reacted. he wanted to know your body the way someone knows a scripture.

“ah—nnnh—” you breathed, fingers finding and tangling in the rough of his hair.

“so tender,” he whispered, voice muffled by the heat. “so ready for me.” his tongue pulled tight rings around your clit, then flattened, dragging slowly up and down while his thumb rubbed the softer bundle of nerves above your entrance. the rhythm he set was a patient, increasing insistence—a metronome of pleasure—and you rode each passing vibration as if it were a promise.

“mmm—yes, satoru!—ahhh—there!—” you moaned, hips lifting instinctively.

“say my name again,” he hummed, the vibration of his voice a warm pressure against your core.

“satoru,” you whispered, tighter now. “i’m yours.”

his fingers slid inside you to replace the wide warmth of his mouth, curling to press the exact place that made your spine arch. he combined them—tongue and fingers—precise, deliberate, and borderline demanding. each circle of his tongue across your clit, each flick of his fingers, was a single instruction: give yourself up for him, and he would reward you.

“good girl,” he breathed, and the words wrapped around you like silk and iron. “give me everything.”

you cried out once when the wave you’d been building slipped free—an acute, clean explosion that buckled your knees. your orgasm was nearing and it was apparent.

"oh— gods, yes! i'm close!" you wailed. he stripped at the edge of your orgasm—pressing and tonguing and holding you on the edge until you hung there trembling. he loved that hold, the way you fought for breath while your body shook.

“no,” he said softly, pulling away before you could come, earning a whine of complaint from your desperate lips. “not yet.” his voice became his control. “i will make you come when i choose.” his hand flattened to the small of your back, steadying.

you were breathless but hungry still. “please,” you begged, the dark giving your words more weight. “i want more. please, satoru.”

he smiled though you could not see it; his teeth grazed your earlobe as his hand moved over your clit once more. “beg for it,” he said low. “beg like you mean it, and i will give you ruin.”

“please—please make me come again,” you choked, voice ragged from the first release. “please, satoru, i need you—i need more—”

“such a filthy woman, you are,” he muttered, amusement and heat laced together. “i like the sound of your need.” his thumb worked the place where your clit had peeked out under its hood, again, quicker this time, while he reached down to tongue your sopping cunt. this wave hit you in a different pattern: sharper, more insistent, your muscles clenching around his fingers and the wet press of his mouth.

he kept you on the edge long enough that when your body tumbled, it was raw and beautiful. he tasted the sound you made—ahhh, nnnhh, mmm!!!—and swallowed it like an offering.

when you sagged back, spent, he crawled up, lips wiping at the shine between your legs clean like it was sacrament before his own arousal declared itself fully. he did not rush. he kissed you—slow, worshipful kisses—then positioned himself at your entrance.

“i will fill you,” he said, voice low and a little breathless. “take me all.” his hand found your throat and then your face, guiding you, aligning you with him so every inch would be known.

he slid in with a patient, deep push, not the violent thrust you feared but a claiming that took its time, letting you stretch and accept him. the first full inch was a bright, exquisite sting that made your body arch up. he stilled until you breathed through it, forehead resting to yours, breaths mingling—hot and wet and slow.

“ah—my gods— does it hurt, my love?" he breathed.

"n-no…"

"it does not? are you certain?"

"yes," you lied.

"you've hurt my ego," he said. and you lifted your head to look at him, trying to decipher the meaning of his words.

"whatever do you mean?"

"well, perhaps if i were of a more adequate size… you would be feeling more discomfort."

"oh, satoru!" you gasped, a half-laugh in the dark, and you let your brow rest against his. you felt the steadiness of him there, the rise and fall of his chest that matched yours. your breath mingled; the intimacy was a physical thing, as sacred as the rhythm that followed.

"you are perfect, i tell no lie," you reassured him, tracing his facial features with your fingertips.

"if you say so…"

he began to move with a reverence that was almost painful. slow thrusts first—hard enough to be real, soft enough to be merciful. the slow in-and-out was an exploration, a prayer. with each pass he kissed you, murmuring praise into the dark between thrusts: “only you—only you—so perfect—” the phrases became a repeated litany that wove into your skin.

the pace deepened. he found a tilt that hit some small hot place inside you that made breath leave you in ragged bursts. he hit it again deliberately, longer pulls, then a faster stutter, and you matched each motion, hips lifting to meet him, blocking him in when you wanted more, easing him when it went too deep.

“you feel so good,” he breathed, mouth harsh on your shoulder. “my cock is burning inside you.” his hand slid down, fingers finding the bead of moisture at your clit through your skin and rubbing with slow, pressure-built circles while he thrust. that blended external scraping with internal friction until sensation layered into an unbearable complexity.

“ohhh—ahh, satoru—yes—” you gasped, your body arching.

“louder,” he urged, voice rough, and his hips snapped with the vibration of his words. “tell me who you are for me. tell me you belong to me.”

“i’m yours,” you cried, fingers digging into his shoulders. “i’m yours, satoru, please—please—”

he drove harder, cock hitting a depth that made your back arch, the angle perfect to press right where you needed. the combination—the pressure of his cock, the rub of his thumb at your clit, the heat of his breath in your ear—built like a furnace. he used filthy praise to fan the flames: “such a greedy cunt, made only for my cock,” he hissed, rough and possessive. “you've ruined me for any other woman, take me, make me yours.”

the words were brutal yet spoken tenderly. they made something open inside you that had not ached before. your second orgasm of the night began as a gathering thunder, then smashed through you with a bright keening. you clung to him, everything trembling.

“i’m going to—” he warned, voice thick, and you nodded dumbly, tears slipping without sound down your cheeks.

“come in me,” you begged brokenly. “fill me—ah—fill me, satoru!”

he thrust into you fast and hard then, each shove claiming more of you, smack—skin on skin—a cruel, heady percussion. with a hard, guttural cry—your name fell from him like a plea—he spilled deep, hot ropes that flooded you and stuck like a vow. when he finally stilled, he kept his length inside you, chest pressed to your back, breath shaking as he panted into the curve of your shoulder.

he rolled to lay with you facing him, sliding his arm under your neck so your head rested on his shoulder. your foreheads touched—when you lifted your face to him you still could not see, but the contact of skin, the warmth, made a small, fierce comfort. your breaths mingled and slowed together, each inhale a mutual anchoring.

“by the gods,” he breathed, a laugh trembling through the hush, “that was… wondrous. utterly wondrous.” his hand tightened around your waist, thumb rubbing a slow, soothing circle as if to steady both of you against the aftershock. the sound of his voice was soft and amazed, like a man who had been given a secret and could not stop marveling at it.

you let out a shaky laugh, some tears still wet on your cheeks. “it was,” you agreed, voice thin and honest. “i did not know i could feel such things.” your fingers found the hollow at his throat, pressing lightly as if to reassure that he was flesh as much as promise. “will you remain? will you stay until the dawn?”

his breath warmed the nape of your neck when he bent to press a kiss there. “i will,” he murmured, and the single word was a small kingdom of comfort. “i will keep watch. i am not so easily torn away as i am claimed.” there was a softness in him now that made the shadows around you feel less like hiding places and more like shelter. “tonight, you shall not be alone.”

he rose with a careful motion and slid his arm beneath you, lifting you closer until you nested against his chest. his hands were gentle as he moved, a tender competence in all of his ministrations. he fetched a small bowl and a cloth from the pallet by the bedside; the simple domesticity of it—water warmed by a lamp, the cloth warmed in his palms—smelled of hearth and safety.

“allow me to make you clean,” he said, voice low and oddly shy as he guided the cloth along your skin. “let me tend to you, beloved.” his hands moved with a touch that sought to soothe every tremor: across your ribs, along your shoulders, the salt of tears dabbed away at the corners of your eyes. each pass of the linen felt like a benediction, and you closed your eyes at the care, feeling safe in the hush of his attention.

“you make everything gentle,” you murmured, listening to the soft scrape of fabric and the soft catch of his breath. “i could stay wrapped in this moment forever.”

he smiled into the dark, and you felt the warmth of it along your temple. “and i would have it so,” he answered, voice threaded with mischief and promise. he pressed the cloth to your brow and then to the hollow beneath your collarbone, cleaning the smear where his kiss had left a shadow of heat. “you are mine to guard tonight. fear not the outer world.”

you sighed and then, having let the soft cloth still a moment, dared the question that had nested in your chest all evening. “satoru,” you said, breath catching as you felt his fingers at your jaw—gentle, possessive—“may i—just once—see you? only now, only here? i will not pry. i only wish to know the face of him who keeps me.”

the cloth paused, the water in the bowl whispering. he inhaled, and you felt the shift in him like a tide; something strained, reluctant, as if lines of command ran clear through him and he would not break them. his fingers tightened, a careful restraint. “i cannot,” he said, each word measured and firmer than before. “not now.”

“please,” you pressed, voice urgent though small, “i have touched you, i have loved you—let me look and hold your gaze. i will not judge. i only want to know the truth of you.” your hands rose to cup his wrist, feeling the solid heat of his skin. “i crave to see you whole, not merely feel you in the dark.”

his thumb brushed your knuckles, a motion both answering and evading. he lowered the cloth and set it aside, then paused with his hand upon your chest as if feeling the rising cadence of your heart. “beloved,” he whispered, and the old-worldness of the word made the room shrink to the two of you, “i do not hide out of caprice. there are reasons that hold me like chains, and to break them would undo more than either of us can bear.”

you searched for softness in his tone, for a crack you could press hope into. “tell me,” you begged, soft as moth-wing. “tell me an inkling. is it danger? is it shame? i will bear it with you.”

he pressed his forehead to yours, breath mingling, and for a long moment he said nothing but the small, steady song of his inhale and exhale. when he finally spoke, it was with a quietness that made you lean in to hear. “i will not tell you of the why,” he said, voice low, “for some truths would scorch you if given without armor. trust me instead in what i give freely: my nights, my keeping, my promise. i am here. i shall be here again. see me in the small things i perform for you. measure me by my acts.”

you felt the firmness of his resolve under your palms, the set of his shoulders telling you as clearly as any spoken covenant. you had known there would be limits, but the refusal still pricked, the want of his face pressing like a hunger.

“that answer is both a kindness and a cruelty,” you whispered, voice breaking slightly, “yet your hands and your breath are honest with me. i will keep faith with what you offer.”

he smiled, a soft thing that shook with the sleep he denied himself for you. “faith pleases me,” he said, a playful note threading the gravity. “and your faith will be rewarded in ways that do not require sight.” he bent and kissed the place where your breast rose and fell, a simple, intimate sealing.

as he wiped you clean, he talked in fragments—small stories, nonsense about his travels of mind if not of foot, a careless history of a merchant’s ridiculous turban, a childhood rhyme he swore was sung by the sea. his voice was an easy cloak around you, making the dark less empty. you answered with your own tales, and the room swelled with the soft intimacy of two people trading the currency of small confidences.

after he finished, he washed his hands with the same cloth, drying them slowly on the hem at his waist. he did not rush to put distance between you; instead he made a nest from the blankets and drew you close until you rested against his chest once again, your ear fitting to the steady hammer of his heart.

“will you stay always?” you asked, the words barely a ghost, yet they carried a world of hope.

“i will stay as often as the fates will allow,” he promised. “and until such time as the fates do not, you will have me in the dusk and in the small hours where the world is quiet. i will come when i am able; i will leave when i must. make of that what you can.”

you let the cadence of his vow settle into you, the simple pulse a balm. “i am made brave by your voice,” you murmured. “though i cannot see your face, your hands speak every truth i need.”

he tightened his arm, pulling you so your cheek brushed the firm plane of his chest. “sleep,” he commanded softly, not harsh but tender, “and dream careless dreams. i will be the sentinel of your sleep.” then, with a lighter tone that made you smile despite yourself, he added, “if you wake in the night frightened, call my name. i will come.”

you laughed, small and breathless, and asked, teasing in spite of longing, “and if i cry?”

“then i will wipe them,” he said simply, fingers finding the damp tracks once more. “i will hold you and tell you filthy little tales until you laugh at them, and if laughter will not come, i will sit and share silence with you until morning. i am not a fragile thing, beloved. i am stubborn as ivy on a wall.” his voice carried a warmth that made the old phrases feel new.

you pressed your face to his chest, listening to the slow cadence of his heartbeat, and in that small shelter you felt peace. even the firm refusal to reveal himself felt less like denial and more like a guarded vow: he would give you what he could without unraveling the greater bonds that tied him.

“promise me one more thing?” you croaked, voice small.

“anything within my keeping,” he answered without hesitation.

“kiss me when you leave,” you asked, “for then i will have smell and memory enough to last until you return.”

a soft exhale, then his lips at your brow, light as a benediction. “i will kiss every part of you when i depart,” he swore, “and each kiss shall be a token of my return.”

you felt his fingers card through your hair, felt the press of his mouth against the crown of your head, then the slow firmness of his hold as he curled himself about you like a watchman. he hummed a low tune—no words, only a melody that settled into the hollow of your ear and tucked into your senses.

you slept then, not at once but in folds, pulled into slumber by the steady rhythm of his presence. when wake came you would find that the cloth lay tidy at the basin and that the air bore the faint scent of him, and you would remember how his hands had traced your skin and how he had insisted—gentler than the gods—that some things were to be guarded.

through the night his breathing kept time with yours, a promise that whatever storms the day would bring, for now you had his vigil. and though his face remained a secret, the language of his touch, his promise, and his watch was a portrait written against your flesh—a revelation that did not require sight to be whole.

—

the sunlight spilled thin and golden through the shutters, and the bed beside you yawned empty. for a moment you lay very still, listening to the hush of the morning and the faint echo of last night’s warmth in the sheets. the scent of him lingered like a secret on the linens; you pressed your face to the pillow as if scent could conjure a shape. when nothing came you rose, fingers trembling as you smoothed the blanket, and dressed with slow, careful movements.

the house smelled of baking bread and beeswax; your sisters’ voices rose and fell in the kitchen like a familiar song. you entered to find the table set, steaming porridge, and three pairs of eyes already upon you. they were quick to notice what had changed—there is a certain look that announces the memory of a single night as plainly as any mark on the skin.

“you have the look of someone who has been visited by a very efficient man,” the eldest said, setting a loaf on the board with one hand while using the other to study you as if you were a curious seedling. “or a rogue with a poet’s tongue.”

you smiled, cheeks still flushed. “i had a visitor, yes,” you admitted, seating yourself. “he would not show his face. he kept himself to shadow and voice.” your fingers toyed with the hem of your sleeve; the memory of last night’s hush warmed you as surely as any hearth.

“did he speak his name?” the middle sister asked, spooning porridge into her mouth more slowly than was necessary—she always liked a story before breakfast.

“he did.” you met each sister’s gaze in turn, steadying yourself. “satoru.”

“satoru?” the youngest repeated, eyes widening. “a strange name for a shadow. i thought it was deemed a sin to name your children after the gods?”

"i thought so too… are you sure you are not in hysterics?" the eldest said.

“he said it like a vow,” you murmured, ignoring their concerns. “and he kissed the traces of my tears until they were merely salt on my skin.”

“ah,” the eldest said, pinching the bridge of her nose as if to ward off something frivolous and yet impossible to scold. “so you are undone.” she looked at you over the rim of the wooden bowl, and there was no mockery in her look, only that blunt, sisterly curiosity that compels honesty.

“are you in love?” the middle sister asked plainly, cutting the question short as if a single word could stake the truth.

you did not hesitate. the certainty was as fierce and simple as breath. “yes,” you said, and the word came like a bell. “i am sure. worse and better—i am certain.”

they exchanged a look, slow and knowing. the youngest clapped softly, delighted, while the eldest only shook her head with a small, fond smile. “then take care,” she warned. “love is a glorious thing, but it can be a foolish blade.”

“he is adamant on not showing his face,” you repeated, and the ache returned to your throat. “he begged me not to seek him by sight. yet the memory of his voice is not enough.” you let the truth sit between you: your longing pressed like a small currant against the palate of your days.

“then it must be seen,” the youngest declared with the audacity of youth. “if he sleeps—if he rests—then bring a lamp, and quietly let your eye steal what your voice cannot have.”

“you would risk his trust for a look?” the middle asked sharply, but the tilt of her mouth betrayed that she too thought of the quiet thrill of stealing a glimpse of something sacred.

“if you are certain of what you feel,” the eldest said more softly, “you must also be certain of the means. be clever. be careful. do not make your longing a clumsy thing that breaks the only promise you hold.”

you leaned forward, hungry for counsel and yet reckless with the warmth in your chest. “tell me how,” you implored. “how should i do it? i do not wish to frighten him nor sullied the faith he has placed in me by coming. i only—i only wish the mercy of knowing his face for a single breath.”

the eldest set down her spoon and folded her hands, the motion small and grave. “you will borrow a small lamp,” she said, voice steady. “a lamp that does not cast too fierce a light. an oil lamp, covered with a thin cloth to temper its flame. keep it low and close, and keep your steps silent—never tread as one who intends falsehood, but as one who seeks truth. and above all—if he wakes and bids you depart, yield at once.”

“what if he wakes and is angry with you?” the middle sister asked, frowning in the way she always did when she thought of consequences.

“then she will have learned the measure of his mercy,” the eldest answered her younger sister. “and she will decide if she can abide by the law he keeps. remember that some truths are heavy; she must be ready to lift them.”

your heart hammered, the plan forming like a small bird on the verge of flight. “i shall be cautious,” you promised. “i will not take more than a breath of him, only enough to answer what stirs at my chest.”

they laughed at your solemnity, but their laughter was soft and warm. the youngest pressed a slice of bread into your hands. “take this for courage,” she said, eyes bright.

"bread?"

"in case you feel hunger on this mission of yours."

you stifled a giggle and rose, the household’s ordinary business suddenly a stage of preparation. “i hope he comes to me tonight,” you declared, voice steady though your fingers shook. “i will do it then. if i wrong him, i shall atone. but not to know would be to live with a half-life.”

“do not let your heart shame you,” the eldest said, coming close enough to tuck a loose curl behind your ear. “remember: to love is to take risks; to be brave is to know which ones to take.”

“and if he wakes?” the youngest asked again, worry paling her face.

“i will leave him be,” you reassured her. “i will not be so vain as to force his mercy. i only ask for a single look.”

the smallest sister slipped a coin into your palm—“buy a big lamp, here, this is from my allowance,” she said—and the eldest pressed a last admonition into your palm. “be swift. be gentle. and do not linger in places where stories say gods sit.”

-

Some clattering echoes on the other side. After that brief pause, you reply, voice muffled by the barrier but clear as day to his heightened hearing, “The door’s been unlocked the whole time, Sukuna. And you know that. So, come in if you really want, but just know, that’ll piss me off even more.”

Sukuna makes a noise — not quite animalistic but certainly not human, it’s a giggle-inducing beastly sound — and shuffles on bare feet, unsure of what to do. On one hand, there is not a single room or corner in this damned place he couldn’t venture into, such as his right as King, of course, but on the other, there doesn’t seem much point in forcing his way in if what will greet him is a hairbrush to the face and a glare. 

Rolling his eyes, he decides to fold his huge body into a sitting position, leaning against the wall and staring at the door as if he could set it on fire by will alone. It’s dark and cold out here, whereas it’s surely warm and cozy there, where you are. The bed provides ample space for his size, with fluffy pillows and a thick duvet. In there, he would have everything anyone could want for a good slumber. Still, he remains perched out here, where the floor is hard, for the centuries-old creature has long learned that a bed that could fit him more than comfortably would be the same as sleeping on unrelenting, solid wood — certainly if that bed will not have you already waiting on it. 

If your heat, your flesh, and softness, would not weigh him down and hold him tight as if he were the fragile one. 

He knows not how many minutes, or hours, pass, only that you are most certainly not asleep yet. Heart beating, breath irregular, and feet padding, he wonders if you’re preparing to slumber soon, or if you’re plotting his death. Both possibilities pleases him and he finds his eyes drifting close, listening to a melody produced only a soul so pure and light and good, he deigns not to interrupt. 

Soon, however, door creaks open.

“Sukuna?”

He hums.

“You stopped talking. It was so quiet out here, I thought…I thought you left.”

An eye opens.

Your head is peaking out, hand clutching the doorframe nervously. Something that’s been collecting dust for a long time dances inside him. Softly, with a familiar rasp coursing through his words, he asks, “Where would I go, little one?”

Bravely taking a couple steps out of your territory, you crawl into his lap like you have done a million times before, expertly maneuvering yourself in time with his unfolding arms, which open wide to wrap themselves around your body. Your matching robe has slid down one shoulder and he fixes it back up almost as if by reflex. 

“I don’t know. I thought you got fed up with me and stomped off.”

Sukuna huffs, feeling your cheek press against his bare chest, your finger drawing shapes and words onto his bare skin. “My tolerance is high, don’t you worry about that, pet. Though, I do not recommend you test me.”

“Cool.”

There’s no arguing with that; the King of Curses has put up with a lot from you. Truly, there’s no one on this plane of reality who could talk to him the way you do, who could confront his violence and force him to face the destruction, and invoke something other than amusement or mild boredom.

Who else would be allowed to test the constraints of his stomach mouth by shoving a whole arm through and marvelling at the infinite space you find or sit on his shoulder so they can reach the tallest branch, smacking his head in excitement and giggling when his sharp teeth snap in warning?

How many people could force him to sit down and taste test all your latest obsessions in the kitchen?

Every single burnt crisps or tangy sauces, he’s tasted it all, begrudgingly and regretfully.

And seriously, who else has ever had the privilege of sitting in his lap like it’s your throne? Cradled by his strong arms and nuzzled by his cheek?

“I did not mean to step on the flower.” Sukuna’s voice breaks through the peaceful silence, deep voice vibrating against your head. “I’ll do better to know which do or do not hold sentiment to you. Will you…will you forgive me?”

You laugh, head tilting back and lips grazing his jaw. “I was never really mad at you, silly. I don’t even know why I was pretending. It’s you who should forgive me, Kuna; you’re saddled with a woman who does things on a whim and gets mad for no reason.”

Yawning, you add, “How unfortunate for you.”

Without any struggle, he climbs up to a stand, you still in his arms, and walks inside your room.

“You forgave me for my own shortcomings and transgression, I’m sure I can find it in myself to forgive yours, miniscule and hardly sinful as they are, just…”

One step for him is a leap to you, so in just a blink, you’re being laid down on his chest, the covers pulled up on your body, and the light from the bedside lamp switched off. 

Peering up at him curiously, forcing your eyes to adjust to the darkness immediately, you drum your fingers where his heart would be, urging him on without frightening him with your eagerness to hear his confessions. 

“Do not cast me away.”

Calloused hands, stained with something from a life before you, rub circles on your back, pulling you from sober reality against your will.

“Scream at me. Hit me. Curse me. Treat me as you please. Punish me however it will soothe that ache inside you, but do not cast me away. I can tolerate all else but not your distance.”

His voice is growing more and more faint, garbled and muddled by midnight’s will till the only reminder he’s even talking is the vibrations under your cheek, which does nothing to keep you alert and focused.

“Never that.”

And before you can reply, your eyes flutter close for a final time that evening. 

You dream of petals spiralling in the wind, of a woman whose smile quells the violent desires that have ruled your life for as long as you can remember, of a heart pulled from the depths of the shadow and cradled in soft hands, and you know not where you begin and where he ends. 

“How did you two meet?” Higuruma asked, caressing your thigh with his thumb. The sensation sent tingles down your spine, making you all too aware of your body.

“We uh, we went to the same Jujutsu Tech school.” You answered.

“She was one year my junior.” Nanami answered from behind. You nodded, lips parting when his hand curled around your hip.

Higuruma grabbed your chin, tilting your gaze upwards and away from the large hands caressing your body. “Such a small world, isn’t it?” He asked you, smirking at the lust in your eyes.

Higuruma was never one to bring friends home after work, but the new guy at the office–Nanami Kento, was too similar in personality to pass up a friendship with. The two had been going for drinks every couple days, and when you texted Higuruma telling him you missed him and wanted him near, he decided to bring the drinks home.

Unbeknownst to you, the Nanami he was bringing home was the same Nanami you had a crush on in all four years of school. Never was anything acted upon, but you had spent more than a single night fantasizing about the man who currently held you between his legs, his chest to your back.

He was so much larger than he was all those years ago. Even his hands had grown for christ sake, and all of it was too much.

“What was she like as a student?” Higuruma asked, deft fingers working on the buttons of your shirt. He spoke to Nanami over his shoulder like he wasn’t currently undressing you.

Nanami hummed thoughtfully, hands slipping along your thigh, using a single finger to drag the skirt upwards. His touch burned your skin, goosebumps rising in his wake. “A troublemaker, and a bit of a headache–but good.” He answered, “strong, she always carried the burden of the others around her.”

A warm buzz hummed through your body at the praise. You hardly realized your bra covered breasts were out now as Higuruma dragged your shirt down your arms. 

Nanami made a sound behind you that made you preen. “So beautiful.” You gasped at the closeness, not realizing he had gotten so close. “Even more distracting than before.”

His words made you give pause. You didn’t think Nanami cared about anything other than going to classes and doing lessons. But he noticed you? A heady rush raced to your head.

“She is a beautiful thing, isn’t she?” Higuruma agreed, reaching behind you to unclasp your bra with practiced ease. You sighed when you felt the tension around your torso release, your breasts free. “I am so lucky to have such a strong, beautiful wife to come home to every night, and wake up to every morning.” He bragged.

Nanami hummed, agreeing. His hands had reached the tops of your thighs now, and he gripped the tops on either of them and parted them with ease. “Yes, she is very reactive as well.”

Higuruma smiled proudly, sliding your bra down your arms and exposing your breasts. His eyes fell to the mounds, admiring them with lust and love in his eyes. “Do you want to show him how reactive you are for me, sweetheart?” He asked.

Your throat bobbed, but you nodded. A smile found his lips. “And is he allowed to touch? Are you comfortable with that?”

You nodded again.

A kiss was placed by your ear, and you gasped. “Tell me to stop at any time, and I will. I would never want to make you uncomfortable.” With your given consent, his hands slid under your thighs and cradled them, causing you to fall back in his arms when he leaned back with your legs spread, exposing you.

Your hands shot out behind you, gripping his forearms. “Fuck, sorry.”

You could hear the smile in Nanami’s voice when he spoke, “you can touch me, too, honey.” That nickname from his lips. You felt liquid heat pool behind your panties.

The familiar feel of Higuruma’s hands on you made you look between your too spread thighs, spread over Kento’s knees. Hiromi was on his stomach on the couch, jacket discarded and his undershirt unbuttoned to the third, exposing his muscled chest. His eyes looked behind you at Nanami, “You will never see a prettier cunt, Kento.” He promised.

You held your breath as he hooked his fingers in your panties and pulled them down, exposing you for the both of them bit by bit. Nanami groaned behind you, looking over your shoulder while simultaneously spreading your legs more. “Fuck…” He cursed quietly, but you felt the heat of it on the side of your face. “Spread her lips for me.”

Higurma did, using his thumbs to open you up. The expression on his face was clouded, lust filled, his eyes were low and his face was flushed, he looked like he did before he came. This was clearly working him up as much as it was you.

“Taste her, taste her pretty pussy and tell me it’s as sweet as it looks.” Nanami’s voice saying such vulgar words should be a sin, it certainly felt like it. You arched your back into him, squeezing around nothing when you felt the proof of his arousal under you. It felt big.

Higuruma stuck out his tongue dramatically, looking at you from under his long dark lashes before his tongue found your clit. You sucked in a sharp breath when he flattened his tongue and shook his head back and forth, lavishing your clit with attention before his plush lips wrapped around the bud and he sucked–hard.

You cried, turned your head to Nanami’s neck and screamed. He grunted when you wiggled on him, unable to handle the onslaught of pleasure. “You really should stop moving.” He whispered. “How is he meant to eat properly if you keep moving around?”

You gasped, looking up at him. The tips of his ears were red. “It feels so good.” You cried.

He nodded, leaning down, hovering his lips over yours. Your cunt pulsed at the closeness, and wetness dripped onto the eager tongue between your legs, which was lapped up with an eager moan. “I know it does, sweetheart, he looks good with his tongue. Would a kiss make it better? Would it distract you from his tongue ravishing you?”

God his words. You hardly got the first nod out before his lips were on yours. You expected his kiss to be slow and passionate, but he was rushed and you could taste the arousal in his kiss. Two tongues lashed between your lips, dizzying you.

Nanami grunted against your lips, and his hands tightened under your thighs. You were about to pull away when you felt something wet and hard hit your bare thigh.

“Don’t stop.” Higuruma ordered, voice heady. “Good girl, keep sucking his tongue. Yes… Yes, that's it.” Something pressed against your entrance, something big.

“Higuruma-” Nanami gasped between kisses. 

Your husband shushed him, and you tightened your entrance when you felt the head of a cock against it. “I know how bad you want this.” He said, “please her, please my wife from the inside while I suck her pretty clit.”

Nanami was breathing heavier against you now, his back rising and falling quickly. You shuttered when his cock was pushed inside you–what felt like five inches shoving in all at once before the rest of him slid in more gradually. The both of you groaned simultaneously at the intrusion, and Nanami thrust his hips up, pressing himself balls deep against you.

The pressure was intense, it felt like someone was pushing your stomach from the inside. But he was also pressing on a sweet spot inside you that made your eyes roll to the back of your head. “My dreams paled in comparison to how amazing you feel.” Nanami groaned against you. “So tight, honey, you feel perfect.

Higruma groaned, and you whined when his lips suctioned around your clit again, before he popped off just as quickly. “I changed my mind.” He said. 

Nanami’s lips disconnected from yours, and you leaned in to kiss Higuruma. Nanami was still inside you, but you could feel him twitch and throb against your walls with need. You tasted yourself on your husband's tongue, moaning with him before he pulled away and looked at you with the most loving expression.

The clinking of a belt made you turn your gaze down, to where he was undoing his belt with a single hand. “Do you think you can take us both?” He asked, “in here?” he tapped your clit before rubbing two fingers around the base of Nanami’s cock where you were stretched around him, you both groaned at the feeling.

You shook your head, mouth opening and closing dumbly. “I-I don’t know, I’ve never taken that much before.”

Higuruma nodded, “I know, sweetheart.” His hands caressed your face and you leaned into the touch like a kitten. “But do you want to try? Hm?”

You did, so badly, but you were afraid of being split in half in the process. Nanami and Higurma were around the same side, Nanami having more length where Hiromi had girth. Though, you had been cockwarming Nanami for some time now, and could feel yourself adjusting as the seconds went by.

“We will take it slow. Careful.” Nanami encouraged from behind.

That was the last push you needed before you nodded. “ALright, good girl. We’ll take care of you.” Hiromi whispered, locking his lips with yours, distracting you while he lifted your right leg over his shoulder. It was a stretch, and it burned at first, but quickly dissolved when the angle made Nanami’s cock bump into something sweet deep inside you. Each time Hiromi moved, it rubbed that spot.

“Careful, she feels like she’s going to cum. She is twitching around me like crazy” Nanami said behind you as Higruma lined himself up.

Hirimi raised his eyebrows. “Is that so? Are you close, my love?” You nodded frantically, leaning into Nanami’s neck when your husband pressed two fingers inside you along with Nanami’s cock and stretched you. It felt impossibly tight, and it burned, but the sensation blurred with the pleasure he was giving you when someone's thumb rubbed your clit in soft circles with firm pressure.

“You’re doing very well.” Nanami praised, making you whine. Higruma had three fingers now, and was thrusting himself against where you and Nanami were connected. Kisses peppered your neck. “Relax, loosen yourself around me.”

You held your breath, fighting the urge to tense when you felt your husband press the head of his cock against you. You were unable to resist when his head popped inside along with Nanami. “Yes- Yes, my love, I’m in.” He smiled, hands cradling your face. You hadn’t realized tears were falling down your face. “You did it, you did so well.” He was sliding in as you spoke, and it burned.

Nanami made a pained sound behind you, muttering the word “tight”, and you felt him twitch rapidly. His nails dug into your skin as he held himself back.

Higuruma was nearly fully seated inside you when Nanami pulled back, making you shutter. “We’re going to move now, slow at first, okay? That okay, honey?” Hiromi asked.

You nodded through a cry of pleasured pain. Higuruma pushed into the hilt then as Nanami pulled nearly all the way out. A purely male sound spilled from his lips. “I’m not going to last inside you.”

Higuruma laughed, the sound strained when he pushed back in. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, and your legs shook when they continued to rub against that sweet spot. The pressure was so intense, it was so fucking much, you had never felt so full. “I’m not going to last either, you- you both feel so warm.”

“And she’s so wet.” Nanami added, quickening the rubbing on your clit. You had no time to warn them you were cumming before you clamped down on them and shattered.

Both men grunted loudly, groaning and gasping as your walls shuttered and milked around them. Your mind was elsewhere then, no longer one with the earth. Through it all though, they didn’t stop moving.

“Good fucking girl, good girl.”

“Wet our cocks, god- that feels so good.”

“So pretty when she finishes too, what a sweetheart.”

“It’s dripping down my balls… God, that was a big one.”

Their praise and words melded into one, their voices unidentifiable as you were now putty in their hands for them to mold, and mold they did.

Their thrusts got harder then, and you screamed when they synced up and both slammed inside your too tight cunt. “I love this.” Hiromi groaned, burying his face in your neck. His body crushed yours, your pebbled nipples rubbing against his coarse shirt.

You nodded, tears running furiously down your cheeks now. Your entire body vibrated and shook now, you had no control over it.

Nananmi panted behind you, kissing and biting your ear lobe, making your eye twitch. “Where do you want me?” He asked breathlessly, thrusts faltering.

You already knew Hiromi was going to finish inside you, as he always did–and you wanted Nanami too as well. You were on the pill, and something about being filled with both their cum set you off.

“Inside.” You whined, tightening around them to emphasize your words.

Nanami released an inhuman groan, and stilled. His thighs shook violently under you, and you felt him release inside you first. Everything was so hot and wet, and Higuruma kept thrusting, working you both over. “Agh- I can feel it- fuck, fuck it’s so warm honey, so- so warm.” Higuruma was rambling now, dizzy with his impending high.

Nanami’s abs jerked and his body contracted around yours when he came down from his high but kept being stimulated with Higuruma’s thrusting. “God-” He moaned long and drawn out.

Higurma grunted. “I’m going to cum, sweetheart. Gonna fill you up with Nanami, and you’re going to take it like my good little wife, aren't you?”

You nodded vigorously, gripping the back of his neck and pulling his forehead to yours while your nails dug into Nanami’s forearm. 

“Such a good girl, my sweet wife-” His words cut off with his orgasm, and he stilled. He jerked above you, moans and grunts spilling from his throat as he spilled inside you. Nanami groaned behind you, eyes rolling back in his head at the feeling of his cock being flooded around with cum.

His body buzzed when he came down, and he smiled against your lips as he took your mouth, whispering how good you were, how pretty you looked.

Neither of them pulled out, keeping you warm and stuffed save for the trickle of their arousal you felt spill out between you–which seemed absurd because of how full you were. But for the most part, they were plugging you up good.

“So, Nanami? She is a reactive thing, isn’t she?” Higuruma asked.

He kissed your cheek, creating a loud smacking sound. “Incredibly so, and she takes everything so well.”

Was it his fault your adoration was so addictive? Those big eyes you'd give him? The shy glances you'd steal? Obediently following his every request and anticipating the ones he hadn't even ordered yet? Cutting his food into cute shapes and adding extra salts to his bath after particularly grueling training sessions?

He used to think you were like a lost puppy. Your parents worked in the kitchen, and you ended up exploring the palace most days when you were both younger, following him around starving for whatever scraps of attention he'd throw at you.

It was annoying when you were six and he was seven. But no matter how spoiled he was, he knew better than to kick a hungry dog. They could bite. So he allowed your company, your devout compliments and bright smiles while you clung to his side. Growing up with you as his shadow.

He wasn't sure what changed - or even when.

Just that somewhere along the way, you both grew up - and he was the one chasing your tail.

From your first confession that you'd be starting work in the scullery despite barely finishing your schooling, he scoffed and snatched you up to work in his chambers instead. It was awkward at first. He was barely a man, and you were meek in your little maid outfit, but your clumsy fingers still worked to fasten the buttons on his outfits and fix his bathwater every morning, just as attentive as his servant as you were as his friend.

It'd turned into something more once you were adults. Unable to hide the attraction, and why should he? You'd been his since the first day you tugged on his sleeve and called him Toru. It only made sense you'd end up sharing his bed and crying his name out now.

He'd been keeping your leash tighter lately, insisting you wait on him during his meetings, despite your protests that you needed to clean his chambers and prepare his things during the day.

Nonsense.

He was your duty. Your god, really.

To be worshipped and waited on.

His word was the law. What was the point of being a prince if what his words weren't worth their weight, if his orders weren't absolute?

"I want strawberries," He hummed, watching your shoulders briefly stiffen, before you nodded again.

"I can go pick some from the garden," You immediately offered, before swallowing hard and correcting yourself, standing up slowly and readjusting your dress so you looked a little less like a hired whore, pulling up the front to cover your breasts more. "I'll go now."

That was power, wasn't it? Three words and you were rearranging your entire day simply to satisfy his whim.

"Come here," He murmured, and you obeyed.

Scampering over with those fluttering lashes, a permanent glimmer of hope glittering in your eyes when you tilted your pretty head up to look at him.

"Yes, Your-" You blushed, cutting yourself off and fumbling with your hands. "Satoru?"

His ego could sustain itself just on the way you pronounced his name alone, the hesitant way it pitched up at the end, the intimacy in each syllable, soft and sweet.

Satoru wanted to swallow you whole - refuse to spit you out even if meant you'd suffocate.

His hand traced down your side, settling on your waist before squeezing you there. You melted into his touch the way you always did, never stopping for a second before molding yourself around him.

"Don't take too long," He murmured, not particularly caring if you did so he'd have a reason to scold you later. To watch you whimper while you tried to make up for it. Preferably underneath his body between the sheets. Stain it enough that you'd have to spend tomorrow cleaning it with the reminder of what you were washing away.

"I'll be back soon," You promised, your stare lingering on his lips like you wished he'd kiss you goodbye.

He leaned down, grazing his mouth ever-so-slightly against the edge of yours, gracing you with the closest he could come to being gentle. A ghost of a peck to satisfy you.

Couldn't you see how kind he was?

Your prince could be a cruel man.

He didn't mean to be.

Maybe it was in his nature.

Cold to the rest of the world, an icy exterior masked by grand hand gestures and bright smiles, neither ever reaching his sharp blue eyes. Commanding a room like the world was just at the reach of his fingertips, there for the taking, all too aware that your world revolved around his every word.

He was magnetic, had been since the first second you saw him, pulling you in with one look, one touch. Plucked you out, preserved you like you were a perfect flower to admire instead of a poor thing to pity in comparison to him.

You weren't oblivious to his favoritism.

You reveled in it.

Happy to be his fool if it meant his eyes wouldn't stray, happy to pine for being put in your place if he was the one on top of you, unhealthily attached to attempting to be the center of his life too, pathetic or not.

That was love, right? Or the closest you could afford to come to it?

He assigned you a role - you played it to the best of your ability. He gave you a task - you did it without a question.

Satoru had been born to rule. You were born to serve him.

So you slung the woven bag over your shoulder, shielded your eyes from the sun and started out towards the overgrown garden path to the strawberry patch behind the palace.

The heat was oppressive, sweat already pricking at your forehead within minutes, your dress clinging to your chest and the hem collecting dirt and grass stains as the stepping stones turned to gravel and weeds.

No one else was there, the kitchen probably too busy preparing lunch for anyone to be collecting ingredients under the sun.

You'd barely made it through filling half your basket before you heard the crunch of leaves, your head snapping over in the direction of the woods nearby, squinting through the thick patch of trees.

But then a hand grabbed your shoulder, turning you around to see an angered Satoru. He was wearing his crown, standing out on top of his shaggy white hair, the gold metal glinting and all the little jewels nestled inside it glittering in the light.

You blinked, unable to breathe until he huffed and held out his arm. It took you a second to see what had irritated him so much.

The coat you picked out for him this morning had a small rip in the sleeve, something only a trained eye would notice. Or a particularly vain man obsessed with the tiniest details devoted to his appearance.

"How am I supposed to show up to a meeting with this?" He frowned, but you knew better than to actually answer.

Let him groan and give you his list of grievances, listened to him moan about the merchants he had such important business to discuss with despite the fact he'd called them imbeciles when you were in bed together the night before.

"Are you mad at me?" You spoke quietly, swallowing hard as you stood there awkward and stiff.

He scoffed at you, rolling his eyes as he held up the frayed stitch.

"I want this fixed tonight," He curtly said, taking off the jacket and tossing it at your chest. "I'll just have to go without it."

The snarky part of you that you usually had to shut down whispered that it was too hot for him to wear a coat anyway. That he was searching for something to complain about.

"I'll fix it," You echoed him, carefully draping it over your arm so you didn't have to meet his scrutinizing stare.

"Get the chefs to prepare a fresh pastry with those for when I finish talking to those morons," He demanded, looking down at your basket with disdain.

"Okay," You murmured, embarrassment coiling in your stomach, slippery snakes of it slithering around and sinking deeper in your gut at the feeling of failing him.

Satoru bent down, hardly an inch away, nose grazing against your ear as he brushed your hair back.

"I'll expect you on your knees when I return," He dryly instructed.

It wasn't a whisper.

If anyone was around, they'd have heard. But Satoru had never given a shit about your reputation, or the murmurs of his other staff.

He'd probably tell the entire palace you were sleeping together if someone showed the tiniest sliver of interest in you.

Satoru didn't wait for you to say anything.

Turned on his heel and walked away, not paying attention to the vines, flattening a stray strawberry under the sole of his shoe, a mess of red mush left behind.

You turned your attention back to the bushes, bending back over to pick a few more strawberries, to give yourself something else to think about.

Another twig snapped, and you glanced back up, expecting Satoru to be returning with something new to say, but it wasn't him.

Instead, it was someone you were sure you'd never seen before.

You certainly would remember a man who was somehow even taller than Satoru, broad and bulky, shoulders and arms that were strong enough to probably crush a grown man in a headlock. Pink hair sticking up, a few leaves stuck to it from being in the forest, a deep set scowl etched into his face, but it was the amusement in his eyes that pissed you off.

He was tattooed too, thick black lines and strange symbols you were unfamiliar with on his skin.

Some sort of magic, maybe? A mage from the wizard's tower also here in business?

No, Satoru would've told you about something like that.

"Who are you?" You defensively asked, holding your basket close to your chest as if you'd actually be able to protect yourself if he chose to do something.

"Just a nobody," He casually shrugged.

"I meant your name," You insisted, more than a little flustered at the focus behind his stare. It wasn't that it was purely physical, but rather measuring, weighing some quality you couldn't discern.

"Do you know anyone's name other than his?" He hummed, a hint of genuine curiosity there.

Irritated by his not entirely inaccurate assumption, you started to turn, to pretend he didn't exist, but he wasn't about to let you.

"Still, it must be nice," The stranger whistled, long and low, greedy eyes searching you up-and-down.

"Excuse me?" You huffed at him, throwing the last couple ripe strawberries in your basket and glancing around the empty garden.

"To have someone as pretty as you to toy with," He shrugged, one corner of his mouth curling up as he jutted his thumb in the direction your prince stomped off into.

"I'm not a toy," You mumbled, looking down at the plants growing by your feet, the smashed strawberry he'd stepped on without a second thought.

"Does he know that?"

Some people might think sweeping floors and stitching his clothes might mean you didn't have much dignity, but you did those things for your prince.

He picked you.

"You're rather rude," You commented. He didn't seem to care, stepping closer much faster than you'd think someone as big as him could, cornering you before you had the chance to scamper away.

Up close, with him hovering over you, you could admit (to yourself alone) that he was rather attractive, strong and sharp, albeit in a wildly different way than Satoru was.

You held your breath, waiting for what would come next, but he just snatched the gold pin off of his Satoru's coat, something that had to cost an absurd amount of coins.

He dropped it in his pocket with a clever smirk.

"You're a thief," You accused, heart beating too fast in your chest, pulse pounding in your ears. Men like him made a living off of stealing from the rich, royal or not, filling their own pockets instead rather than give back to the poor.

"You're a pet," He remarked with the same sort of contempt.

"If you're trying to call me a bitch, I'd prefer you just say so," You snarled back.

"You wanna go rat me out to your master?" He murmured, making fun of you straight to your face. "I'll wait."

You should. Start running while he was giving you a head start. But some piece of you refused to move. And you weren't sure what was making you so reluctant? Resentment?

That couldn't be it.

You loved Satoru.

"Just leave," You muttered under your breath.

He laughed at you for letting him go.

"If you ever get tired of your cage, come to the guild at the edge of the village down there," He leaned in the same way Satoru had, but this was a mockery of it. Still, you weren't sure which one of them was threatening you and who was flirting with you. You didn't think you wanted to know.

His breath was cool against your warm skin, taunting.

And then he pulled away, the moment slipping past so quickly it felt almost as if you imagined it.

You watched him disappear between the trees, but the encounter refused to leave your mind the rest of your day, stuck on the still image of him with that stupid pin for the fleeting second it was between his fingers before he pocketed it.

Stitching up the sleeve until the tear was unnoticeable two hours later while the palace chef finished making Satoru's favorite treat, well, second to you. Would he notice the pin was gone? He had to.

What were you supposed to say?

Oh, it must have fallen off?

Satoru was too smart to buy that.

You were still anxiously mulling over it when you were balancing the silver tray and his coat on your arms, slowly making your way down to curving halls and confusing inner labyrinth of rooms to Satoru's chambers.

Was it good luck he wasn't back yet? Or did it mean his meeting was running long and he'd be in a foul mood by the time he returned to you?

You had barely sat the platter down on his polished nightstand and hung his coat back up in his closet when you heard the creak of the door handle.

And a good dog waited with its tongue out.

You spread your skirt out around you, hands in your lap on the ground and mouth open to form an apology before he even fully opened the door.

But he was already talking, saying he was starving just to shut up once he saw you sitting as he requested.

"Sweetheart," He purred, obviously pleased, but more with himself than you. He looked down at you as he approached, cocking his head to the side with a smug grin. "Such a good girl for me, huh?"

"I fixed your coat," You confirmed, sheepishly avoiding his stare like that would cover up your blush. "And the chef has prepared your snack."

"What if I changed my mind?" He teased, grabbing ahold of your chin and tilting your face up to look at him.

Automatically, you opened your mouth like a puppy waiting for a treat.

He clicked his tongue, chiding you with a soft chuckle. "Patience, princess."

You hated yourself for how much you liked him calling you that.

For pretending for even a second that you were more than just his maid. Or at most, a poorly paid concubine.

He dropped your chin, walking a few steps over to check his jacket. Running his fingers over seams to double check your work. You held your breath, waiting for him to notice the absent pin, but he didn't.

Just hummed his approval and walked over to the tray, lifting the lid to snag his dessert before dropping it with a clang. He draped himself across the closest armchair, long legs spread out and taking a bite of his treat, groaning at the taste. He indulged in every little luxury available to him in life with the same enthusiasm, his crown now askew and crooked on his hair.

You watched him from across the room. Studied the strawberry sticking to his lips, painting them a dark shade of red that reminded you a bit of blood.

He caught you staring, a charming grin spreading across his face before he licked the strawberry off.

And with his free hand, he tugged his cock free from the confines of his pants, already hard, thick veins running along the outside as he stroked the base, readjusting to get more comfortable.

"Well?"

You supposed that was your treat.

Palms pressing against the floor, you were about to push off to stand but then he made a soft scolding sound that stopped you in your tracks.

"Crawl."

You had done worse for him. Would do worse. But for the first time in your relationship, unease had slipped through the cracks. Disgust. With yourself, mostly. That you'd put yourself so far underneath him that you were already crawling to him.

Even though it hurt your knees. However humiliating it was to hear him chuckle at you slowly making your way to him.

And once you were close enough, you were wrapping your mouth around his cock, sucking slow and soft at first, lapping up every drop he had to offer you. Taking what he gave without gagging.

Letting him bully himself deep in your throat, his tip practically bruising the back of it with how hard he was shoving it in. Groaning and grabbing a fistful of your hair to guide you how he wanted.

He kept bumping up into the roof of your mouth, your breathing getting cut off every few seconds, barely able to keep your hands in your lap to stop from steadying yourself on his thighs.

It made your jaw ache, whining a little when your tongue pressed against his vein and it throbbed, desperate for him to cum already.

By the time he did, you were close to tapping out, your mouth about to lock up when you felt his abs tense and he moaned your name, warm cum hitting the back of your throat. You swallowed what he gave you without a question, the slightly salty taste lingering on your tongue even after he pulled out, dragging his leaking tip over your lips with another soft laugh.

You still waited for him to tell you to move, knees surely bruised from the hard floor, one of the few spots in the room without plush carpet.

He took his time putting his cock back up, wiping the last drop of his tip with his thumb and popping it in your mouth, waiting for you to suck that clean too.

Once you did, he fixed the band of his pants as if none of it had even happened, pulling a small box out of his pocket and smiling at you so sweet you could almost forget about what happened in the strawberry patch earlier.

"Close your eyes," He instructed.

You swallowed hard, but did what he said anyway, all your senses on high alert when you couldn't see anything.

"Here," He murmured, something cold slipping around your neck, light on your skin. You reached down to grab it, eyes immediately fluttering open to find a pretty gemstone glittering in a fine silver setting. It wasn't large, but it was obviously worth more than a year's worth of your salary - maybe even two. It caught the light in a strange way, reflecting it back oddly as you examined it between your fingers. "A token of my appreciation."

The stranger was long gone, but part of you couldn't help but wish he was here so you could rub it in his face. See?

Your prince appreciated you.

No one else you knew received gifts of any kind from him.

Much less a nice necklace like this.

He reached down to pick you up by your waist, pulling you up onto his lap, grinning at your giddiness.

"I suppose you like it?" He hummed.

"I love it," You murmured, impulsively craning your neck up to kiss his cheek.

He pushed your hair off your shoulder, pulling down the sleeve of your dress to return the kiss, his lips tender on the bare expanse of your skin.

There was a pause, a silence the two of you rarely had, where you felt more like a couple than a master and his servant. Where you could be in his lap and enjoy his lips without thinking about how badly you needed him to need you.

"I wish it was always like this," You breathed, touching the gemstone, admiring the glittering blue as his lips made their way up your throat.

"Me too."

A new rhythm had been established. You tried to reason with yourself that your relationship with Satoru was sustainable. Waited on him hand and foot and went to every length imaginable to keep him content. And he had sex with you every night like he wasn't. Like he wanted more.

Fucking you in front of the mirror just to watch the necklace he'd given you bounce, laughing when you blushed or tried to hide your face.

But there were moments where you wondered about the man you'd only met for a few moments. Sukuna.

You knew why he lingered on your mind.

He just said the quiet part of your relationship out loud. The fact you forced yourself to forget every morning before you got out of Satoru's bed. That you were more like his pet than a person.

Convincing yourself that somehow you'd chosen that path.

What were your other options?

Go work for pennies doing hard labor? Your only real skill was taking care of Satoru.

There was no guarantee you'd get treated better anywhere else.

So yeah, you weren't trying to snoop. Just struggling to focus when you stumbled across a letter sticking out of Satoru's drawer.

And come on, the jarring words marriage proposal right next to coronation were pretty eye-catching no matter how nice the cursive they were written in was. You dropped your rag. Fingers trembling as they traced over the neat lettering.

Your prince was no longer yours.

He was to be engaged to a princess in a neighboring territory in a matter of months. And rather than a dowry, he'd get their kingdom.

How long had you known it was coming for it to still be a shock?

There was nothing you could do.

You had no power. Hardly any money.

Once their princess knew about you, how long would it be till you were disposed of too? Discarded so he could have heirs?

Maybe moved back to the scullery where you were always meant to be, probably to be ostracized and made an outcast once he'd officially thrown you away.

It wasn't like you had proof any of that would happen.

But even the possibility that it could was too much for you.

Anxiously, you reached up to fiddle with your necklace, only to stop the second your fingers closed around it.

It didn't have a damn thing to do with appreciation.

This was appeasement.

He'd known about the letter.

And still had kept his mouth shut. Didn't say a word about the fact he was supposed to marry someone else.

You shoved his letter back in his drawer, jealousy and disgust simmering inside your stomach like it might burn straight through you.

It held you in place, every muscle too tense and taut to move while you tried to stop yourself from hyperventilating, from crying or screaming or punching something.

"What are you doing?" Satoru's voice startled you, and you snapped out of it.

"I dropped this," You answered, bending over to pick up the rag you'd nearly forgotten about.

Before you could, something hard was pressed against your ass, a firm palm sliding over your side to cup your breast with a chuckle.

What you wanted was only a means to what he wanted.

Would you be thirty-something some day with nothing to show for your life but calloused hands and cold baths? Or would he kick you out the day you were no longer some pliable pretty thing to bend and twist?

You didn't want that.

And maybe, you didn't want him.

Not if this was what it meant.

Sukuna was an asshole.

Maybe the one man who could rival Satoru's cockiness.

But when you showed up knocking on a shady building under only the light of the moon with an potato bag filled with expensive pieces of jewelry and coins Satoru had left lying around, his closet and drawers pilfered for valuables he'd forgotten about, Sukuna just smirked and told you where to put it.

It was a heat of the moment mistake.

Something you normally never would've done. But treason wasn't exactly a simple thing you could walk back.

And Satoru would certainly see it as that instead of just thievery.

"Can you get me across the border?" You murmured, anxiously looking back at the door as he sorted through the treasures you brought him. The gift you'd been given was in the stack, the blue stone glittering at you more like a taunt.

"What? Are you scared or something?" Sukuna scoffed, barely sparing you a glance.

"I just don't wanna be around when he wakes up and realizes I'm gone," You quietly answered, picking at the nails you bit down all afternoon. "And that I took all of this with me."

"I doubt he'll notice," He grunted. "He'll forget about you once there's some new maid in a tight dress taking care of him. People like us are replaceable."

He was right and wrong. You might be replaceable - but Satoru would remember. Especially if he felt scorned.

Which, you were fairly positive he would, considering you impulsively slipped sleeping aids (plus an extra dose or two) you usually took in his nightly tea instead, making sure he stayed asleep so you could steal his shit.

You swallowed your pride to meet Sukuna's harsh expression, the hardened frown and rocky exterior.

"Please."

He stared at you, squinting at little before sighing.

"Fine," He grumbled, giving in before you even had to beg too much. Throwing the necklace that had been around your neck two days ago into a pile of stuff to be sold. "A merchant boat is leaving for the south tomorrow morning. Hope you're fine being a stowaway."

It couldn't be worse than being a servant.

He knew something was wrong when the sun woke him up.

No gentle fingers brushing through his hair or soft voice calling out to him through his dreams. No feet scampering around his room to start his bath, no food waiting for him beside his bed. No you.

He gritted his teeth, ripping out the tracking scroll he'd never suspected he'd actually need to use from his bedside drawer, a magic map of the palace and nearby village roughly sketched on the parchment. The latter was marred by a single glowing dot, hovering over where the market usually was held in the mornings. Your necklace must be there - so you had to be too.

Perhaps it was self-absorbed, but the only conclusion he could come to was you wishing to surprise him with as gift on your meager salary. Maybe his gesture had moved you more than he expected.

He'd still have to scold you for leaving without his permission.

But he'd be lenient this time.

He was about to place it back in his nightstand, but the letter about his proposed marriage caught his attention, immediately scowling at the sight of it.

As if he'd actually let himself be married off in some political sham of a union.

He'd rather take their kingdom with blood. None of it was his own anyway. It was a numbers game. Who was willing to sacrifice how many bodies before they ran the risk of losing their head.

The letter might as well be a white flag. Offering up their only daughter because they were terrified of him?

He didn't need her or them to take his father's throne.

It was already his.

So why have a wife when he had you?

He sighed, swinging his legs off the bed, grimacing at how heavy they felt, leaden and body still thick with sleep, every movement a drag.

His head hurt, a dull migraine blooming behind his eyes and hitting him hard the second he stood, forced to sit back down on the edge.

If you were here, he'd be demanding you fetch the apothecary to concoct him something to fix this awful headache.

The faint irritation burned brighter as he laid back down, glaring at the door as if it'd make you walk through it faster. The only thing that made him feel any better was the thought of waiting on him, pressing a cool compress to his forehead bathing him with your hands when you got back, imagining pulling the sick card so you'd be forced to pamper him and feel bad you'd left him like this.

But maybe he'd take a nap first.

You'd surely be back by the time he woke up again.

You didn't know what happened first. Falling out of love with Satoru or falling in love with Sukuna.

The feelings were tangled up in each other, twisted so you couldn't exactly separate them.

Three months without Satoru felt more like a millenia. Each day was your own to dictate.

The first few weeks were weird.

Strange to wake up without a million tasks ahead of you, to crawl out of a stiff and unfamiliar bed or sleeping bag, to survive off stolen foods and dressed in different clothes you pilfered from suitcases and from staff.

You were supposed to part ways with Sukuna at port the ship you'd stowed away with him on docked at.

But after the time you'd spent together, awkwardly picking together the pieces of his life and offering slices of yours, he'd begrudgingly taken you with him to meet the other members of his guild. They operated under the cover a different one - disguised to orchestrate an entire underground market of stolen goods.

You never expected any of them to welcome you in.

Yet they did anyway.

Instead of being tossed back onto the street, they offered you a room to stay in. Helped you create a fake identity and set you up waiting tables for extra coins in the tavern that they met in the backroom of. And when Sukuna showed up at your door grumbling that he was supposed to go on another trip, you surprised yourself by asking to go with him.

He surprised you more by taking you with him.

It was strange in itself.

He'd been, well, clingy lately. Still standoffish and stoic, brusque every time he talked to you, but he never strayed too far from your side, no matter how strained his expression was.

So you tried to play it cool the first time you felt his hand settle on your shoulder, the weight of his arm heavy on your frame. Pretended to be normal about it when you leaned into his sturdiness.

You thought you'd be protected by Satoru.

But you never knew what safe felt like until you were with Sukuna.

He didn't have a name to back him up. Or the type of money to bail you out. But people steered clear when he was around, shrinking back before he stepped anywhere close to them and listening to everything he said the first time he snarled it out.

You liked to study his face when he was sleeping, all his features still stiff, frowning at whatever his dreams brought, only relaxing when you curled up against him, an arm wrapping around your waist to pull you in tight enough you couldn't escape.

The sun was starting to poke out from above the canopy of the trees, shadows casting across his face when you tried to squirm out of his grip.

"Don't be a brat," He muttered, squeezing you tighter.

"We should get going," You whispered.

"Fuck," He grunted, groaning as he started to sit up, still not letting you go.

The day continued the same. A hand on your waist. His mouth brushing against your ear when he spoke to you. His hip pressed into your body.

The village you stopped at was small, wary glances thrown your way when you walked into the only place that served any food in town for travelers passing through.

Sukuna managed to convince someone to lend you a room for the night with a few coins, grabbing bowls of some stew that would at least be warm, dragging you back in and double checking the door was locked before putting the food down on the rickety wooden table.

You ate slower than usual, too busy scrutinizing every flicker of his face.

"Stop starin'," He grunted, shoving a spoonful in his mouth before you rolled your eyes and glanced out the window instead.

It was pretty here, all sorts of plants and greenery you'd never seen before, white flowering shrubs and small pink weeds among the mossy grass. It looked like something out of a storybook you used to steal from the palace library, hiding away in the corner just to stare at the pictures of, pretending Satoru was the prince in the fairytale.

You felt your lips twitch down into a frown, the way they always did when you thought of him.

Was he busy wedding planning? It had to be happening soon.

Or had he forgotten about you already? Moved on?

A part of you that you were ashamed of hoped he hadn't. Hoped he wished he'd loved you more when you were around, or that he'd yearn for you long after you left. It was selfish and incredibly stingy, but you couldn't help it.

You'd been avoiding any news about the kingdom you left behind, cringing and walking away whenever you overheard someone speaking of it, turning a blind eye.

But you saw him sometimes, in your memories disguised as dreams, where he'd hold you and make more promises that meant nothing.

But he was your past.

And a much larger piece of you had started to think of Sukuna as your future.

"Are you thinking about him?" Sukuna broke the silence.

"What?" You looked back at him, blinking back shock.

"Your prince," He spat the word out like it left a disgusting taste on his tongue that wasn't just from the stew.

"Only that I'm glad I left," You shrugged it off, looking back out the window.

In just a few short months, you'd seen more of the world than you had your whole life. And it was a lot fucking bigger than what was inside the castle walls.

Sukuna had handed you a map a couple days ago, asking you to pick a place for the two of you to travel to next after you mentioned how exciting you found all of it. Being with him included.

"Yeah?"

It seemed he was just full of surprises lately. Because in a few short seconds, he was pushing his chair back with a creak, crossing the short distance between you and bending down to kiss you.

You were once again reminded how little he was like Satoru.

This was starving, filled with a hunger, a fever that Satoru's lazy kisses lacked. He had kissed you like he had all the time in the world. Sukuna kissed you like there wasn't nearly enough.

Sucking on your bottom lip and cradling your cheek, tugging your hair while murmuring your name. Hard and soft and everything in-between.

You weren't fully aware how you ended up on the bed, too distracted by the heat of his palms on your skin hiking up your dress to notice until your back was on the mattress, the frame whining under your combined weight.

"Sukuna," You breathed, about to ask him to roll over so you could do what you'd done so many times for Satoru, but then he was on his knees, peeling your little lace underwear down your legs. "W-what are you doing?"

You could feel his smirk against your skin when he tailed kisses up the inside of your thighs.

"Taking care of you."

He was two days from losing his damn mind. Or maybe it'd been gone from the moment he realized you were.

Months. It'd been months and he still hadn't found you.

Satoru had searched every inch of the palace personally. Commanded a task force to look for you, scouring through homes and ransacking businesses.

The tracker in the necklace only lead them to a goddamn trash can.

You'd throw away his love for you just like that.

Too bad, really. Because he couldn't do the same to his affection for you.

You just needed to remember how much he'd done for you. How much he loved you. Because once he had you again, he wasn't letting go.

Surely, something had driven you away. Or someone has convinced you to leave him.

There was no way you'd do it on your own.

Stealing his fucking stuff and drugging his tea?

His pet wouldn't dare.

So who the fuck had gotten to you when he wasn't paying attention? Who dared to sneak in and slip free your leash right under his nose? He'd be sure to return the favor.

He was chasing another lead, following the trail of a criminal who allegedly was known for distributing stolen goods in black markets. Satoru had to personally torture a pompous prick of a merchant to even get that much information.

As if there was someone actually scarier than him.

He honestly thought it'd be another dud until Ijichi stopped the carriage to give the horses a break and he stepped out to see his scrawny driver chatting with some disgustingly dirty locals.

They didn't know who he was, although he guessed they would soon enough when he inevitably took over their pitiful excuse of a land they still had the audacity to call a kingdom.

"Have you guys seen a man? Around my height? Pink hair? A beautiful young woman with him?" Satoru called out, refusing to step down into the dirt and gravel and mess up his shoes.

"Oh, um, sure, a day or two ago," One of them quickly replied.

"You're sure?" He frowned, squinting at them like he could discern whether or not they were lying.

"I mean, he was a bit taller than you-"

The first one elbowed the other to shut up before interrupting, "They were going that way."

He thanked them, plastering on a polite smile before slamming the carriage door shut behind him.

Perhaps you hadn't left him to rot and care for himself. You hadn't just deserted him.

You were probably kidnapped.

Waiting for him to come to your rescue.

His princess wasn't in a tower though, no, you were in bed.

Another man's head - between your thighs.

Squirming around while his hands clawed at your hips, your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him and chasing your climax. What sounds were you making? Moaning and whimpering for someone else like a whore?

He watched through the window, unable to move. Stuck on the way the man's tongue slipped over your cunt, how you cried out when his mouth wrapped around your swollen bud.

Anyone could see you if they passed by. Not that you seemed to care. Too busy getting serviced to be aware that you were putting on a show.

Those pretty lips of yours were gasping for air, open and sucking it in when you should be sucking him off. Not in this rundown village letting some street scum taste your precious pussy. He didn't give a shit what rusted heirloom those morons ransacked and ruined. Except for stealing you.

His prized possession was priceless. Although, he was sure he'd find a way to make them pay.

And your punishment?

Well, it'd be more personal.

It wasn't Sukuna's arms you woke up in.

Body sluggish and sore, but when you tried to open your eyes, it was only black. After a few panicked seconds you realized someone blindfolded you. You guessed by the lingering exhaustion in your body, you'd been drugged too.

You called out to Sukuna, but the only answer you got was the creaking of carriage wheels and the crunching of gravel beneath them.

It took you longer than it should've to figure out what happened through your broken and hazy thoughts.

Satoru had come back for you.

Probably used the same trick with the tea you used on him, maybe paid someone to slip it into your food or drink at the place you'd been staying at.

He wasn't there. But you recognized the voice of his typical driver when the carriage stopped to feed the horses.

The trip to return you to the palace was unpleasant.

Confined to small spaces for most of it, always locked up in handcuffs or blindfolded even during the voyage back. Barely being fed enough to go on, offered scraps that were never rotten enough to make you sick, but foul tasting.

It was particularly humiliating to be paraded back through the village handcuffed, lead back through the main street as some new cruel punishment, sketches of you still stuck to building with the word missing scribbled at the top of each one.

You guessed they'd have to rip those down now.

For two days, you were bound and gagged in some rat-infested dungeon in the depths of the palace. They tried to nip at your feet, only dissuaded by your week attempts to kick with your ankles still tied in rough ropes.

Listening to someone being tortured down the hall, unable to make out much in the dim candlelight, only pray that it wasn't him.

You supposed it was probably time to start praying for yourself too.

"My poor pet," A familiar voice cooed, a shadow crossing in front of the bars while you shivered. "Look at you."

Pathetic. Definitely dirty and disgusting. Dirt sticking to your skin and twigs probably still tangled in your hair. The only baths you got lately had been getting doused in freezing salt water.

And then in the low flickers of the candle, you saw him, your stomach churning at just how clean he was. As perfect as the day you left him.

It wasn't pity in his eyes though, it was excitement. Amused to have his plaything back, even if it'd almost been broken.

"They want me to cut your hands off," Satoru sighed, pausing for dramatic effect, watching you flinch and shrink back, not that you could move much.

You tried to make a sound, muffled and weak. You'd beg him if you had to.

He knew it too.

"But even though you betrayed me," He murmured, making sure the word felt like a stab, guilt piercing through you as he mulled over an offer. "I'm still willing to pardon you."

You waited for the catch you knew was coming.

He unlocked the door to the cell, pushing it open with ease, striding over to where you were curled on the ground. Satoru clicked his tongue in disappointment at your sorry state, bending down and grabbing your chin to tilt your head side to side, shaking his head at the way your spit had soaked through the gag, the tears pricking at your eyes.

And even though somewhere in the back of your mind that he put you here, he still was framing himself as the hero plucking you free from it.

"There's one condition," He murmured, slowly pinching the thick fabric to loosen it before pulling it down from your mouth to hang around your neck.

For a second, you had the grim thought of a noose, a fleeting moment where you could do nothing but hope Sukuna was spared from whatever they had previously planned for you.

You didn't even mind if he sold you out if it meant that he made it out of this safe.

"What?" You croaked, voice raw and raspy.

"You won't ever leave the palace again."

It wasn't as bad as you anticipated. You expected him to be angrier, more upset with you for abandoning him.

"Okay," You mumbled, accepting his terms.

You probably should've thought harder about that.

But then he was pulling a knife out from a sheath on his thigh, cutting your restraints and freeing you before you could take it back.

You stilled, not entirely convinced he wouldn't cut you you too, but suddenly you were being lifted from the floor, cradled against his chest like you were his bride instead of a burden.

This time, you were spared the indignity of an audience when he brought you back to his chambers.

Your roles reversed as he prepared a bath for you, insisting that you have a sip of tea and nibble on a snack already waiting on a table for you. The water was warm when he ushered you in, scrubbing your skin clean and washing away all the grime, feeling raw by the time he finished. Smelling like his soap and shampoo as he worked his fingers through the knots in your hair. He poked at the scrapes and bruises left on you, sighing like a parent admonishing a child before he finally picked you up out of it and used a towel to dry you off.

The new knowledge that he'd always been capable of taking care of someone stung. You supposed he never had any interest until you were no longer there.

"I'm sorry for lea-" You awkwardly started in a low whisper.

He shushed you.

You didn't know how to act around this new him. How to be the new you when your body was begging you to give back into his hands as he dressed you up. It wasn't your old uniform.

It was barely even clothes.

A thin and sheer dress that left little to the imagination, clinging to your cleavage and short enough he barely went past your ass. The fabric was more expensive than anything else you ever wore, reflective when the sun shone on it through his oversized windows.

"I don't think I'm going to be able to fetch much for you in this," You tried to joke, hesitantly looking up at him. There was a wild look in his eyes there hadn't been before, something you only noticed now that you were so close to him. The unsettling thought occured that maybe it had always been there, but you were too lovestruck to pay it any mind.

"You won't be fetching anything," Satoru casually said, fixing the strap of your dress and guiding you over to his bed without even elaborating.

"What?" You blinked.

"You said you wouldn't leave," He shrugged, like it shouldn't be a surprise to you.

It was only then you noticed what was new in his room.

A thick iron chain now clasped to his bed and at the end, and sitting on the pillow you used to rest your head on, a fucking collar.

You froze.

"What do you think?" He innocently asked, moving your hair way from your throat with a soft hum. "Made this one just for you. Bet it'll be a bit harder to throw this one away."

You were wrong.

Satoru was pissed. Just hiding it behind his pretty face, his practiced friendliness.

His fingers traced a line down your arm, goosebumps raising with his touch.

"What will it be? You wanna stay with me? Or go back downstairs?" He murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the edge of your shoulder. As if downstairs didn't actually mean dungeon.

What scared you wasn't your answer. But how easily you made it, how much of you was still attached to him, how of a hold he had on you that a few stray touches and the purr of his voice had your thighs squeezing together.

"You."

He just laughed.

You let him lock the collar around your neck.

Thick fingers skimming over your much thinner skin, feeling the tendons go taut as you swallowed hard. There was the loud clink of the chain, the heavy metal immediately weighing your head down the second he stopped holding it on, settling uncomfortably on your collarbones. Reflexively, you reached up to touch it, panic setting in at being confined. Feeling around for some weak spot, touching the lock just for your stomach to drop at the realization there wasn't any escaping this.

Willingly, you walked into your own cage.

You were trapped.

Condemned to the same room you'd spent years of your life coddling him in. Where you supposed you'd be serving your time in, despite your lack of a trial.

You'd been sentenced to a life of a different type of servitude.

Maybe it hadn't set in, but you still couldn't stop yourself from looking up at him like he saved you. That you'd loved Satoru before. You could convince yourself to love him again. After all, hadn't he done this just to have you?

"This was what you wanted. Right, sweetheart?" He hummed, caressing your cheek softly.

A growing numbness had started to harden over your heart, nodding slowly as your hand dropped down to the bed, glancing around to see how long the chain was. It looked like you could probably make it through to his attached bathroom, but the door to the hall was too far away. What did it matter when stepping foot outside would mean getting arrested again?

He tugged on the chain, making you jolt forward with a gasp.

"Just gonna be us now," He promised. "Always."

"I thought you were getting married," You heard yourself mutter, still not entirely present, a little detached from the reality it felt like you'd been dropped into the second the collar was locked around your throat.

"Where'd you hear that?" He cocked his head to the side, amused by the hint of jealousy in your words.

You clamped your lips shut, unwilling to admit you looked through his stuff.

He chuckled at you anyway, stroking your hair like you were just some stray he'd taken in.

"Don't worry, princess," He mocked. "You don't need to think about anything anymore. There was a proposal, but I rejected it."

"Why?" You whispered.

"Unlike you, I wouldn't throw what we have away for a stranger," He wryly replied, another pointed jab that succeeded in making you feel like shit.

Should you feel guilty?

What really was there to throw away?

"I'm sorry," You murmured anyway, barely managing to meet his accusatory stare.

He waited for more, for you to beg or cry about it.

But the only tears you had in you weren't for him.

"Was your family upset with you?" You asked instead. "Or did any of the lords give you trouble?"

"Sure, but I killed them," He shrugged, as if he said something so simple - "I mean, some of the useful ones are imprisoned, but still-"

He saw the way your mouth fell open, panic-stricken but painfully aware there was no place in this palace or outside of it to run to. Not that you were sure you would even if you could.

"Don't be scared," He dryly chuckled, dragging a thumb over your cheek. Soft. Unscarred.

"Your parents," You started to sputter.

"They were problems," He condescendingly corrected you.

You reluctantly dragged your stare up past his eyes, only now realizing the crown atop his head was no longer the same one as before.

No, it was bigger, crafted for a king.

Your prince had overthrown his father for the throne.

There was no one above him now.

And it didn't take long for you to get used to being underneath him again.

Time slipped away from you, the days dragging by when you were confined to the bed most of the time, the collar making moving too much inconvenient and uncomfortable. All you had to look forward to was him.

Growing accustomed to him holding you at night, following whatever schedule he saw fit and falling back into old habits. Picking out his clothes and drying his hair for him, cleaning his room just for something to do on the days where he'd leave you there for hours. You still had yet to have sex, but you figured it was just a matter of time.

What he was waiting for, you were clueless.

It hurt your feelings more than it should've, guilt chewing on your self-esteem, eating away at it. Did he think you were dirty now? Tainted?

You were just now realizing how much more there was to him you were completely unaware of.

He hadn't exactly forgiven you, but he was pretending to. Kissing you like he used to, holding you in the same places, just stopping short of heavy petting.

The idea he'd killed his one family was taunting you, how easily he spoke of it, like it hadn't affected him at all. That he'd done it all in your name.

As if it all was some act of devotion.

What haunted you more was how flattered a sick sliver of you found it.

Listening to him describe in detail while he brushed and styled your hair one morning, as if he was discussing lunch plans.

"They did have a point," He hummed, carefully sliding a pin into place.

"What?" You swallowed hard, the collar shifting and irritating your skin while you studied the makeup products he'd bought for you scattered across the counter.

"I do need an heir," He sighed.

The implication was obvious.

He couldn't be serious.

You were chained to his fucking bed. A prisoner in a pretty dress. A peasant compared to him. There was no way he meant-

"You'd be safe in here," He murmured. "No one would be able to touch you or the baby."

"Satoru," You quietly spoke back, trying not to sound too against it without letting him know you didn't want a fucking baby to destroy the already fragile relationship you'd been attempting to rebuild with him.

"Master," He corrected you, and you felt ill.

It was too much.

"What?" You breathed, waiting for him to say it was a joke. That all of this was. That his parents would walk in with a cake and he'd take the chains off and you could all laugh at you for falling for it.

He pulled something out of his pocket, a small ring you recognized as his mom's. You didn't say a word when he slipped it on your fourth finger.

For some reason, it felt heavier than the collar around your neck.

There was no proposal. Just mutual understanding of what it meant.

"I got you something else," He changed the subject, leaning down to murmur in your ear. "Get on the bed."

You were just glad he didn't ask you to crawl, but you weren't sure what to do once you climbed back on, ending up sitting on the edge. He was quick to readjust you, pushing your stomach down on the mattress and ass in the air, unmoving while he tied your hands behind your back.

Part of you questioned if this was it, if he was finally going to fuck you or if this was just another punishment disguised as foreplay.

Satoru walked to the door - and left.

It felt like he was gone forever, but it was more like fifteen minutes when you heard the hinges creak, turning your head to look at him.

He wasn't alone.

Sukuna was behind him.

Your heart shattered. All the thoughts you'd been burying, all the hopes you'd been holding onto crushed by the cuffs around his wrists and ankles, barely able to even take steps forward, Satoru happily holding the chain to tug him in.

He dragged an armchair over, pushing him down in it.

"Did you miss him?" He asked you, waiting for your reply with those feral eyes that you'd begun to fear.

"Sa-" You stopped yourself, voice shaking as you tried to find the shred of courage you had left to protect Sukuna, pushing aside whatever sick and twisted feelings you still had for Satoru. "Please don't hurt him, okay? He didn't do anything. Everything was my fault."

"He touched something that belongs to me," Satoru spoke so calmly, but you couldn't miss the hatred in his voice. He walked to the side of the bed, bunching the slip you were wearing up past your ass to where your hands were bound. Nudging your thighs further apart just to slip his hand between them, rubbing his palm over your panties. "Tasted it."

And then he pulled his hand away, walking back over to Sukuna, grabbing his strong jaw between his fingers and forcing it open.

You really almost threw up.

He cut out Sukuna's tongue.

What was there looked excruciating, a still-healing wound that must've happened days ago. But Sukuna didn't react, didn't offer him the satisfaction of it, his face set in a familiar disdainful state.

You couldn't speak. Weren't sure what you'd even say if you could.

There was no sorry that would give him his tongue back.

"What do you think, pet?" He mocked.

Something damp was on your face, but you couldn't even wipe the tears away. Hands straining against their restraints, wishing you could break free for even a moment to touch him one last time.

"You said I shouldn't think," You reminded him, a poor attempt at not giving him the reaction he wanted either.

Satoru wasn't fazed, glancing back at Sukuna with a smirk.

"I'd take her tongue too, but I can think of a better use for it," He smugly winked, and Sukuna took the bait, struggling against his restraints, enraged by the obvious implication. "You wanna see my favorite trick of hers?"

"Let him go," You murmured. "Please, Toru."

You hadn't used the nickname since you were kids, and it was more effective than you expected.

He stood up straight, his attention snapping back to you.

"Why should I?" He expected a real reason. Well, he expected one specific one.

Most likely the whole reason he even bothered dragging him out from whatever cell he'd been keeping Sukuna in.

You hesitated over the words that'd really condemn you, briefly glancing to Sukuna for even just a snippet of the safety he used to give you. His eyes told you to suck it up and stop feeling sorry for yourself. To survive.

"I'll give you whatever you want," You muttered.

You didn't want to even whisper the word.

But it wasn't hard to imagine what you meant when you only had one thing to give.

"Say it then," Satoru dared you.

"I'll give you a heir," You swallowed hard. You didn't even know if you'd hate him for it, if it was something else you'd teach yourself to accept.

Really, he could take what he wanted from you at any point, but he wanted you to choose it. To pick him.

If Sukuna could talk, you knew he'd be shouting.

But you weren't the only one here Satoru was determined to embarrass.

"Isn't she gonna be cute? All stuffed full and swollen?" He leaned down to mutter in Sukuna's ear. "Shame you won't be around to see it."

You weren't sure you could even be grateful when he dragged him away, unable to stop yourself from crying the second the door closed behind them.

The prince you'd once thought would slay dragons for you putting away a man who acted more like a king than he ever could.

Satoru's mouth latched onto your neck the second he returned, murmuring beautiful words, like he could talk enough to make you overlook the humiliation burning in your gut even after he cut the ropes restraining you free.

Telling you he loved you (he loved the power he held over you), that he was yours (you were his), that he'd give you anything (but only if you gave him everything).

And when you had sex, you still kissed him back, let his tongue slip between your teeth with the disturbing reminder Sukuna didn't have his anymore, despising yourself for letting go of him to live through this. Hating the shadows inside you that wanted Satoru. That whispered to you that no one could love you like he did. No one else would burn the rest of the world just to have you to hold.

You were just as disgustingly devoted to him. Maybe better at hiding it.

Able to shove it down and suffocate it when he wasn't around.

But the second his mouth was on you, the second his fingers plucked off your underwear or slotted themselves inside you, you were putty in his hand. Happy to wear his collar and call him whatever he wanted.

You were both ashamed of it and unable to shut it off completely.

All the confidence Sukuna granted you left with him.

There was nothing you could do but hope Satoru kept his word and let him go.

"Did you set him free?" You barely managed to work up the strength to murmur the question a few days later, fiddling with the chain attached to your collar as Satoru readjusted, his head resting in the crook of your neck and his cock buried inside you, cum leaking out into your thighs.

"I will once you're pregnant," He murmured, leaving a kiss on your collarbone. "You can even watch."

You had a feeling that really meant something else entirely.

But even when your hands weren't tied, it felt like they were.

There wasn't a single part of you he didn't own. He had his seal stamped just above your ass, branding you as his so he could see the permanent reminder of who you belonged to every time he fucked you from the back. His kisses littering your body, the expensive silks and slips he dressed you up in hardly ever covering any of it.

But hadn't you signed up for it?

This was the deal he gave you - the one you took.

"I might be late today," He murmured as you fixed his crown. Had it been a couple days? Or a couple weeks? What difference did it make?

"Okay," You yawned, exhaustion lingering in your bones. It'd been getting harder to get out of the bed in the mornings, body sore from being bent over and broken in.

"I'll bring food," He kissed your cheek, squeezing your ass one last time before heading out the door.

The lock clicked behind him.

You dragged yourself back to bed, curling up and lulled back to sleep by the scent of sex and him. You weren't sure how long you'd been out for when you were being shaken awake.

A hand grabbed your waist, tugging at your limp form. You didn't bother moving, let yourself be tugged around, eyes still shut from your attempt to sleep when he suddenly shook you hard enough they shot open.

Squinting up at Satoru only to realize it wasn't him.

You made a pathetic little sound - half a squeak, half a strangled gasp.

Sukuna flipped you over, thick brows furrowed together as he frowned at the heavy iron collar around your throat. No chains attached to him this time, no handcuffs or restraints to weigh him down, although you could see how they had scarred his skin, raw red marks left where they'd been. You were terrified to know what your neck must look like. You hadn't made it a habit to look in mirrors lately, not wanting to see what your reflection had to say about you.

He didn't say anything.

Couldn't.

You opened your mouth to speak, to ask him how he managed to get free before you remembered he probably couldn't answer anything outside of shaking his head.

Blood was smeared across his cheek.

He yanked a hair pin out of your hair, bending it out and tilting your head so he could jam it in a key hole you couldn't see.

Every second that passed by where was was working the lock and you stared at him, trying to swallow your hope was torture.

He was struggling with it, a deep crease forming between his brows with frustration.

"You should save yourself," You whispered, reaching out to touch him. Skimming your finger over his jaw and nose, brushing your thumb over his lip. One last time was all you wanted. Maybe the universe had answered your request.

Sukuna rolled his eyes at you.

"I'm being serious," You huffed in a heated whisper. "I'll make sure he won't chase you and-"

He covered your mouth with one of his huge palms, flashing you a glare to shut up so he could focus.

You pouted, but kept your lips sealed, struggling not to say anything when you heard it.

The faint click.

He actually did it.

Yanking the collar off and throwing it on the bed like it was diseased, helping you off and grimacing at how unsteady you were on your feet.

He rummaged through the drawers and threw one of your old dresses Satoru thankfully still had at you, turning away so you could throw it on.

You hesitated by the threshold, glancing back over your shoulder at the room. The expensive rugs and the canopy over the bed, the details you'd discarded before.

But Sukuna held out his hand.

It was just up to you to take it.

alright guys it's up to YOU actually

“Choso, you can’t starve yourself,” you warn, trying to reach him through his locked door. “Just take the fucking food and quit moping.”

There’s no response — no, scratch that, there is a response and it takes form, not in words but, in heavy rock metal blasted on concert-grade speakers. 

“Ugh, fuck you, asshole.”

It’s been days since. You haven’t seen him. Not a glimpse of him heading to the bathroom or to the kitchen. The trays of food you’ve been leaving by his door remain untouched after hours and your nails have been dulled by your constant biting. Even the carpet’s grown worn down by your incessant pacing.

You’ve tried baiting him by leaving his favourite pairs of your panties on top of the laundry basket but they lay there just as you left them when you come back. His own brother hasn’t heard from him. Awkward as hell in the apartment, you don’t dare leave your room anymore either. Perhaps he’ll feel more comfortable coming out to eat if he knew for sure he wouldn’t run into you. 

This has never happened. Sure, there have been times where it’s been frosty between you but that was usually from your end. You’d tell him off for one thing or the other and he’d follow you around, hair all droopy and with a rain cloud over his head as he pouts and begs for forgiveness. 

Impossible to know how to deal with him like this, you just leave him be. Or at least you were planning to. 

Because, at two am, you hear his door click open. The padding of socked feet heading down the hallway and into the kitchen reaches your ears. To hell with boundaries — he never respected yours to begin with. It’s that exact thinking that prompts you to sneak, in the dark, from your room to his. 

The place looks just as it usually does: messy black sheets that are deceptively soft to the touch, big ass speakers in the corner, bass guitar propped up by a wall, and clothes thrown all over the place. Bouncing on the bed, you fiddle with the hem of your shirt, the only thing you’re wearing, as you anticipate his reaction. 

Truthfully, you have no plan; this is impulsive as hell. But waiting for Choso to grow a pair and use his words might be as fruitful as bottling the sun. 

He’s coming back. You can hear the footfall getting louder. Heart beating faster in time with the sense of pending doom screaming that things are going to shit, you clear your throat just as he steps back in. With the moonlight streaming from the window, you hear, rather than see, his surprise — sharp intake of air, clumsy shut of the door, and the clinking of his rings as he wrings his hands together. 

“Choso,” you say.

There’s no response.

He’s unsure of what to say, how to approach you, probably doesn’t even know what’s going on. Shuffling on the cold, wooden floors, he holds his breath.

“Sit.”

Your roommate carefully slides into the desk chair right opposite the bed where you are. At your command, he also turns the lamp on, a warm glow bathes you both and from your place, you see his permanent dark circles have grown darker, his hands shake as they dangle over the armrests, and his hair is flat, they’ve lost their shine. 

Sighing, you ask, “What’s happened to you? Why did you disappear?”

“I was upset,” he begins, hesitantly, like he’s approaching a bear. “Your friends called me all sorts of names and you didn’t defend me.”

“What does it matter what they think? You’ve quite literally never cared about other people’s opinions.”

The man dresses like a rock and roll star, picks his brother up from school paying no mind to the stares he gets from all the parents and teachers alike. He doesn’t smile back at polite servers, gives out cold rejections to blushing girls, and sprints through supermarket aisles, mowing down innocent shoppers, to find you. And considering his own group of friends, a ragtag collection of delinquents, social rejects, and morally dubious individuals, he hardly seems in a position to judge your friends back.

Slumped in his chair, he fiddles with a paperweight. “I don’t care about them and what they think. They don’t know anything.”

“Right, so then what’s the fucking problem? Why haven’t you been picking up my calls, replying to my messages, or answering the door when I knock?”

“No reason,” he mutters.

You groan. You’re fed up. It’s all complete and utter bullshit. Angry, your feet carry you over to him in a blink of an eye. His chin is gripped in your hand and you force him to look at you. He’s tired. Besides the dark circles, there’s redness in his eyes, a tightness to his lips and dullness in his skin. Clearly he hasn’t been eating properly and who knows when the last time he’s had a drop of sunlight was. “Choso…talk to me.”

A pinching echoes in your chest when he shakes out of your grip. 

“I don’t care what they think. But you…” He sucks in a breath, flexing his jaw. “You’re different. You’re supposed to be different, supposed to understand, to be on my side. I felt alone that day and I don’t know what to say to you because I’m not mad. I can't be mad ‘cause I know I’m a little weird. I’m just…hurt, I guess.”

Gulping, you try to defend yourself. “I didn’t know what to say to them. We have a complicated relationship, Choso, and you know it. They wouldn’t understand. Hell, I don’t understand.”

“I think maybe we should uncomplicate it.”

You gasp.

This can’t be the end. He can’t have switched it off, that thing that tethers him to you, that makes him wholly yours in a way that would baffle others. Just the thought is making you nauseous — you don’t know what he’s done to you to send your blood pressure skyrocketing, your palms clammy and breath short at the prospect.

You have to do something. 

You can't let him win, can't let things unfold like this.

He's your roommate, your weirdo, your Choso.

Confused, he watches you walk back to the bed, keeping your eye on him. 

Decisively, you declare, “You don’t get to decide when this is over, Choso. I do. And I say, we’ve barely begun. So, don’t look away. Don’t you dare.”

Somewhere, deep inside you, you know you’re doing something stupid, something crazy, something you’ll completely regret later but in the blanket of the night, with this growing distance between you, you can’t seem to care about words of wisdom, about sanity, or the future. You exist in the now and damn it all if he gets his way. 

Laid back, you spread your legs, the cool air tickling your bare skin. His sheets feel good under you and when you inhale, you’re overwhelmed with his masculine smell, musky yet sweet.

Not even wearing cute panties, you make a show of running your hands up and down your thighs, feeling your slit through the material.

Slightly panicked, perhaps worried this is a test and he’s failing, he hurriedly asks, “W-what’re you doing?” 

There isn’t a hint of insecurity in your voice when you casually reply, sing-songy tone piercing through him, an arrow finding its way home. “Oh, you know…just reminding you why exactly it’s my panties you jerk off with.”

Wasting no more time, you pull said cloth off and circle your clit. The flimsy material stays with you; he’s not quite deserving of it yet. You’re already a little wet and you cling onto that shred of desire, desperate to lose yourself in utter insanity if that’s what it’ll take. 

“I’m getting wetter, Choso. I’m spreading it onto my clit so I can rub at it.”

He clears his throat. “This isn’t right, Y/n. W-we shouldn’t. You shouldn’t.”

Working two fingers in immediately, you’re growing breathless. The ceiling is all you can look at, maybe because you don’t know how you’ll fare if you dare sneak a glance and he’s not looking at you. “You can go, Choso. You can walk away. I won’t get in the way. But nothing you can do will make me stop until I’ve soaked y-your sheets.”

You’re working your tentative digits in, smothering it in your warm wetness, hoping the minimal light from his desk lap does the job in showing him just how wet you are. 

“What have you even been doing in h-here?” Without sensing it, you know the conversational tone of your voice is baffling to him; who finger fucks themselves and asks about things on the same subject line as the weather?

A conflicted noise comes from your roommate. He’s torn between leaving for everyone’s sake and staying to see this through. “Sleeping.”

The man has a talent of hibernating at will – his younger brother boasted, when you used to babysit him, how he can sleep anywhere, no matter how uncomfortable the environment. And since he’s moved in, you’ve been able to verify, on numerous occasions, that talent. So you believe the bastard when he effectively says he’s been weaponising said talent against you.

Keen to not dry up from your annoyance, you ask, with a slightly pornographic voice, “Are you looking, Cho? Can you see my pussy? Is she pretty?”

Raspy, he replies, “Yeah…she’s pretty.”

Voice much closer than before, you have no idea where exactly he is and you can’t look. You’re not brave enough to find out, so instead, you slide a hand up your shirt, nails teasing your skin which rise with the cool air that you welcome in. Groping a tit, you realise he’s never seen your body in great detail, not even now that you’re laid out like a buffet he won’t touch. 

Sure, he’s seen glimpses of your bare body – he saw a lot after a nude was mistakenly sent to the wrong person, or the right, depending on who you ask. Not to mention all other ‘accidental’ run-ins you’ve had in the bathroom before and don’t talk about, not even when you can hear low grunts and wet sounds coming from his room shortly after.

It’s clear Choso is no stranger to your body, how could he be when he routinely gets off on the scent of your panties, sucking the gusset into his mouth like it’s his last meal?

But this is different: those other times had been mere peeks, slivers of parts of your body then hastily covered. Now, he’s seeing the direct source of all those panties he covets so much and he’s seeing it wet and swollen, hearing the growing squelches, can watch exactly how you like to be touched, what makes you moan the loudest, your back arch up suddenly, and can note just how many circles he’d need to rub on your clit to have your legs shaking. This has to be enough to get your way and if it isn’t, you don’t know what you’ll do. 

“She’s upset with you, Cho…”

A pained noise escapes his lips. “She is?”

“Uhuh. You’ve been neglecting her, ignoring the -ah- panties she’s left for you. Do you h-have any idea how much work she’s put into them, getting them real wet after she got all messy for you?”

You gasp, eyes flying open.

He’s there.

He’s standing at the foot of the bed, towering over you.

Almost as if you can sense him on a deeper level than visual or auditory, you, or rather, your body, knew he’s come closer, unable to stay too far away. Only appearing as a shadow, you can’t quite see his exact expression; the desk lamp is behind him, casting you in a barely-there warm glow whilst leaving him void of any light. Suddenly too aware of the absurdity of it all, your legs quiver, pulling shut like a reflex. 

Arms dart out.

Prying them open, his cold hands grip your knees. “Don’t close them. I can’t tell her I’m sorry if you hide her away, right?”

“You w-want to see?” Collecting your wetness with wobbly fingers, you lift them up to show him, parting your digits to display the translucent stringiness of your juices.

Something heavy thumps to the ground. 

Choso’s on his knees, ring-clad hands sliding down your thighs, so close to where you’re hottest. Much closer to you now, literally within a hair's breadth away, you can see him better; eyes glazed over and mouth parting, you recognise that look. It’s the look he gets when he’s deep in pleasure, reason and rationality no longer orbiting his world.

No, you’re not dealing with normal Choso right now — the Choso that picks you up from wherever you are, no matter the time, that brings home plushies he won for you, who won’t eat dinner unless it’s with you, who can’t seem to fucking sleep unless he hears a goodnight from you. 

The one between your legs is an animal, driven completely by instincts, chasing a predator he wants as prey. His fingers, much longer than yours, dig into the plush of your thighs, squeezing to feel the smooth flesh welcome him. He can break your bones, can pin you to the bed, against the wall, can smother your face in the pillow, ignore your begging, and sink his cock in mercilessly if he deigned, if he thought you’d want him to. 

“You wanna say sorry, Cho? To her? To me?” He nods with no hesitation, loose locks of hair flying with the movement. “Then, tell her how good she tastes. Tell her how much you missed her. Plead your case.”

Diving in, your fingers are swallowed into his mouth, tongue parting them so he can get in the nooks and crevices, suckling all of your essence and being sure not to taste a drop. His eyes roll back just as vibrations tickle your skin; he’s groaning, sucking hard, clutching your wrist in an iron-clad hold in case you tease him by pulling away. “S-sweet. She tastes sweet. Missed her….missed you. So much. Ah, fuck…she tastes so much better like this –fresh a-and warm. I c-can’t think, can’t –hah, I need to taste from the source, need more, p-please.”

You snatch your fingers away, smearing his own saliva all over his face when you grip his chin to stop him from face-planting into your cunt. “No, Choso. That’s too nice for someone who mopes instead of talking through his problems. You’ll stay there and watch me touch myself. You won’t get to feel how hot and tight I am inside, not with your tongue, your fingers, and certainly not with your cock.”

“I just watch?” He scoffs, downright offended. 

Playing with your clit again, you work yourself back up. “If you’re a well-behaved puppy, then maybe I’ll let you clean my fingers.”

“Yes,” he promises, scooting closer and keeping his eyes trained on the way your slender fingers rub in tight circles. “I’ll be good.”

“Prove it.”

Choso knows what you mean and his audible gulp brings a smile out of you. What you’re asking is cruel, mean, and possibly beyond evil but you know he’ll do it. He’s proven time and time again that there are no limits to the lengths he’ll go to to satisfy his depravity, nothing is too shameful, too humiliating when it comes to you. Even when he’s supposed to be mad at you, he can’t take his eyes off your body, can’t resist thumbing the drop of sweat running down your thigh and drinking the taste of you, and he won’t leave, though the door’s unlocked, not when you’re here, finally in his bed. 

He barks. 

Once. 

Twice. 

It’s enough. Your back arches off the bed, fingers sliding down to curl inside you once more, pressing up, hard, against your gooey walls.

Sniffing your hand, he sure does act like a dog. He’s chasing your scent, drooling over it actually, and you can tell by his grunts, and the sounds of violent shuffling, that he’s fisting his cock, timing it to your thrusting. “When I take my fingers out to rub my clit, are you rubbing your slit, Choso? Hmm? Are we in sync? Are you imagining it’s my hand, my tongue on your dick?”

“Yes,” he confesses. “Your hand’s too small for me, you’ll probably -hah- struggle to wrap it around my cock, but it’s okay, you can use your other hand a-and your mouth.”

“Do you -ngh!- think about that often? Do you imagine f-fucking my throat when you use my panties to jerk off?

His face falls on your thigh, cheek smushed against your flesh. You can feel his warm breath fanning over your sloppy cunt. Long lashes graze your skin, and when he turns ever so slightly to place a kiss there, you feel your walls squeeze around your fingers. “S-sometimes. The other times I imagine you riding my face — oh, you sound so pretty. I’ve heard you before, y’know? You touch yourself most right before your period. I-I listen outside the door.”

Laughing, you say, “You’re not exactly very quiet when you jerk off, Choso.”

“Hmm, you sound much better up close. Smell and taste better too.”

“You should remember that next time you decide to lock yourself away.”

Sneakily, he licks a stripe up your thigh, and when you don’t say a thing, focusing instead on the rhythm you’ve set inside yourself, he sucks up the droplet of pussy juice threatening to disappear between the cleft of your ass, groaning. “There won’t be a next time. Days without you felt like hell. I can’t do it again.”

“Hah, good,” you tease, unable to help yourself, “‘cause I. Missed. You. Too.”

Choso growls and, with your revelation, casts all niceties away.

Oh shit.

Brutal hands spread your legs far, suddenly bending you in half and baring you to his gluttonous gaze. Rings dig into your flesh, warming up. He’s eyeing your pussy, not with adoration and worship any longer, but with a voracious appetite – you’ve laid out a feast for him and he won’t deny himself any longer, not when you practically offered yourself on a silver platter.

A most welcome sacrificial lamb.

 “So fucking pretty.”

Fingers still inside, you’re frozen with shock and fear at the sharp glint in his dark eyes. That’s all the warning he gives you before he begins lapping at your covered pussy, tongue delving wherever it can reach, seeking whatever you can’t hide. Wet appendage slithers in gaps you can't cover fast enough. The tip of his tongue grazes your clit, your fluttering hole, your fucking ass until you hurriedly obscure every inch he manages to reach.

It’s forceful, feral, and there’s not a hint of humanity left in the man you see. Clamping your hand down onto your cunt, you attempt to do damage control. “No! Stop! I take it back.”

“Move your hand," he growls.

You don’t. 

Can’t.

“Move, please. I want to -hngh- taste you, want to f-feel you on my tongue.” He’s manically licking and sucking with no thought, face pressed as tightly between your legs as he can, like if he could burrow himself inside your pussy, he would. “Let me make you feel good. Let me make you cum, baby.” 

Your other hand flies down, desperately pushing his head away but he shakes you off. “Choso! Stop! This isn’t what we -ngh! oh fuck!- a-agreed on.”

Wrenching your arms away, he’s just about to smash his face into your sloppy pussy when you resort to using your feet, kicking him away by the shoulder. 

“No. Bad, Choso!" Legs pressed tight together, huddled by the headboard, you hold a pillow between him and yourself, hiding your body from his lustful glare. "You can’t just be a prick, ignoring me, starving yourself and then try to eat me out. That’s not how this works.”

His knee falls on the bed, then the other, and soon he’s crawling over to you, muscles on show rippling with barely restrained desire. Silky, black hair messy, out from their usual pigtails, contrasts with the shiny silver of his piercings. God, if he wasn’t baring his teeth at you like some kind of wolf on the prowl, you’d be knuckles deep in your cunt, intent on cumming to the sight…maybe you still can. 

“I want to taste you. Let me and I’ll forgive you.”

You smack him in the face with the pillow. “We’re way past that, asshole. Back up, you’re scaring me.”

Squealing, you’re dragged down the bed into a starfish position by the ankle. Choso slots himself between your legs, hands sliding underneath your thighs and bending them back so he can clearly see everything. His touch is firm, unyielding, but his thumb is rubbing soothing shapes into your skin. “I won’t hurt you.”

“I know.” Growing breathless again, you watch him lie down on his stomach, hand coming down to, where you can only guess to be, his cock, hidden under his boxers. “But I can’t trust that you won’t get all scary again and try and fuck me.”

He smiles. “I won’t, not until you beg me.”

“Hey, fuck you, asshole. That’ll never ha–”

Interrupting you, he gets back into serious mode and says, almost cooing, “You didn’t get to cum, right? I’m sorry. I won’t get in the way anymore. Touch yourself. Cum on my sheets. I want to sleep with the scent of you around me."

When did the loser get so bossy?

Rolling your eyes, you do as he says but only because you were going to anyway. Fingers swirling in your essence, you focus on your swollen pussy, clit hard and throbbing. 

The bed is shaking a little; he’s rutting his cock into the mattress, eyes rolling back a little every time he takes a good inhale of your tangy scent. 

Still wet, getting back into the rhythm isn’t hard, not when he’s keeping his promise and you’re given the space to work yourself back up again. 

“Why didn’t you -hah- use the panties I left for you?” Embarrassed that your bribes hadn’t been accepted, your question comes out meek, shy, and totally pathetic. Choso doesn’t notice. 

He grunts, bed rocking a little faster when you rub at your clit with one hand and thrust inside with the other. “I did. I’d come out w-when you’re in your room or you’re out and -oh, God you’re so wet- smell them. They were the only things keeping me sane. K-knowing that you’re missing me too made me so happy.”

“H-how much longer were you even planning on going without seeing me?”

Sheepish, he answers, “I was seeing you. Just when you were sleeping. You snore a little. It’s cute. I like it when you sleep in those tank tops – it’s easy to pull it down and see your tits. They’re so pretty, by the way. So soft and heavy.”

Pussy pulsing, you know he can see the cream overflowing out of you at his confession. You’re already close, driven further and further by every word he uttered, by every reluctant flutter of his lashes, like he doesn’t want to miss a thing.

You need more.

Just a little more and you’ll both get what you want.

“Eat me out.”

“But you said I can’t.”

Back arching, you whine. “I know what I said but if you want me to -ngh!- cum all over your sheets then lick me. Suck on my clit. Fuck! I need it.”

Choso doesn’t need to be told again. He circles his arms around your thighs and wraps his lips around your bundle of nerves, making a nasty slurrrrrp! sound. You both roll your eyes at the same time. The vibrations his satisfied groans make sends lightning bolts up your spine. Oozing more wetness, his mouth descends down to lap up your juices, using his tongue to spread it around. It’s nasty, messy, and so so so good. 

A gasp is pulled out of you when his fingers worm their way inside your pussy at the same time he hollows his cheek to suck hard at your clit. 

“Fuck, you’re so -hngh!- tight inside. I’m too -slurrrrp!- big for you b-but you’ll let me fit it in anyways, right?”

You’ve seen his dick before – he’s big. Huge. Even soft, fresh from the shower, from having jerked off to your dirty clothes, it was still impressive. You’ve also seen his sinful grasp on his hard and leaking cock, albeit just a quick glimpse, when he had purposefully left the door open for you. The dangerous sight had been the subject of many of your self-care sessions; you’ve thought about how hard it’ll be to fit him in your mouth and especially in your pussy, how good all those veins would feel rubbing your walls, how many orgasms that pretty cockhead would pull after kissing your g-spot again and again and again. 

“Tastes so good, you’re -fuck, fuck, I’m close- amazing,” he rambles. Your essence is like a drug, forcing him deeper into madness, until he can no longer tell what he’s even saying. “IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou!”

“FUCK!”

You cum hard. All over his face. All over the sheets. Your legs squeeze his head tight, threatening to suffocate him. He doesn’t mind. He’s still sucking at your clit, pistoning his fingers inside of you, grinding it inside so he can bask in the gooey feel of your gummy walls. “Delicious…could d-die like this…”

A long groan trembles against you. The bed is rocking like crazy and when it stops, so does the spasming of your body. Through his orgasm, he elongates yours, pulling you to the very peak of pleasure. You both come down from your highs, panting desperately. 

"Oh, shit, that was good..." You're delirious, limbs beyond limp.

Shivering, you smack him on the head.

“Choso! S-stop!” He’s still sucking at your clit, making loud squelches. “Enough!”

When you pull him off by the hair, the sight has you clamping down on his fingers; his face is soaked, glistening with your pussy juices, his lips are swollen, cheeks flushed, and his eyes are completely glazed over. Shuddering, he doesn’t fight when you pull away and clamber off the bed. 

The man shakes, hips still humping the bed, driving himself into overstimulation as if on autopilot. His head falls onto the wet puddle, which he mouths at like a fish out of water. “Hmm, more…more…”

Tingling hard, you cup your poor pussy and wince at the soreness you don’t usually get when it’s just you. The asshole really did a number on you. He was lapping up your wetness for his own pleasure, drinking like you're the only thing that sustains him, like an addict finally getting their fill, like life is only now worth living because he had you in his arms, in his bed, held up to his face.

With a sigh, you retreat into your bedroom, leaving him in your combined mess. Emo can clean it up himself.

In the morning, he greets you with a full breakfast spread on the kitchen counter and a beaming smile. Gone are his dark circles, his hair’s tied up neatly, and he rambles about plans for the week like nothing had happened. "We should totally go watch that horror movie on Friday! And then we can have dinner after."

"Sure, but it's on you."

He pouts. "It's always on me."

"Are you complaining?"

Choso grumbles, "No..."

You eat like normal, joking and teasing.

And you think everything’s fine now, that you’ve gone back to the days before, and the depravity you two got up to last night can be stored away along with all the other shameful things that have gone on in the apartment that neither your friends and family, nor his, will ever come to find out. 

But, then he gets up, gathers the plates, gives you a peck on the cheek and asks:

“Same time tonight?”