Pitiful Orchid

Of all the men you’ve been to bed with, Naoya Zenin is the only one you’ve ever loathed.

The sickeningly wet squelch that resounds with each slow, deliberate roll of his hips makes it a more humiliating encounter than it needs be. His smirk is wolfish, too proud and smug as your plush cunt tells a different story to your mind. Your wild moans all but drown out the discord screaming in your head.

“Thank God I hid those cameras, huh?” he remarks, an infuriating rasp in his voice telling you how composed he is in contrast to you.

Naoya and your third roommate had been arguing for weeks, it was insufferable but you kept out of it as much as you could. Naoya had suspected he’d been stealing from him, but couldn’t prove it. The cameras were meant to be his proof, but upon watching the footage back, he was blessed to a sight he couldn’t have anticipated in a million years.

But you were home alone, and oblivious to the cameras. He felt his cock stir the moment you walked out of the bathroom, ass naked save for a towel you were using to take the thick of wetness out of your hair.

And, of course, it wasn’t like he caught you just walking through the front room and into your bedroom. You loitered. Checked your texts. You paced around and gave him a perfect view of everything when your sister called and you gossiped for at least twenty minutes before you finally decided to go and put some clothes on.

He had no conscience to wrestle with, either. It took him a matter of seconds to decide he was going to leverage this over you. And you both knew there was no real use fighting with him. He’s rich, he’d get away with everything if you pressed charges. And if you did that, you’d have to move out. And despite him being the worst man alive, truthfully, you didn’t wanna leave the apartment.

It’s the nicest thing about him.

It was a no-brainer. You thought it’d be easy to take a few pumps and be done with it for the sake of peace. You’d even expected to be able to belittle him over his lacklustre performance when he finished.

He didn’t prep you, he didn’t care to. He pumped his cock in front of your face as he lorded above you. You’d expected to fuck in one of your bedrooms, but the prospect of being caught by your roommate exhilarated him. You sucked him off as you sat on the couch, back to the front door so Naoya could stand watch.

You knew he’d have a pretty dick. He’s a pretty boy, after all. His pubes were trimmed and you couldn’t help but wonder if this was the norm or for your benefit. He doesn’t strike you as the type to care what his partners think, however, so you didn’t dwell on it too much. You sucked and slobbered over his length, looking up at him with a sultry stare as your tongue swirled around his flushed tip. He shuddered, on occasion, when you focused the point of your tongue on the underside, the veins. He didn’t want to lose it and you could tell he was holding back. He didn’t want to appear weak or at your mercy, but in that moment, he was.

The blowjob was fleeting, your mouth more pleasurable than he’d bargained for.

That’s how you ended up split open on his cock.

He’s holding you by your jaw as your legs spread open asymmetrically. You have no control over your own body as he holds you, fucks you. Your eyes fill with tears as he stiffly cradles your face. You can’t look away, not unless you weld your eyes shut.

“Ah-ah,” he objects, slapping your cheek. He immediately holds your face again, commanding your attention. “You need to look at what I’m doing to you, sweetheart. I need to see how much you like getting fucked.” his condescension is so saccharine, so sickly you feel your stomach drop and flood with butterflies.

And yet you pout like you’ve tasted something sour. A cloying saltiness that makes your mouth water.

You moan pathetically, humiliating yourself to the point of tears when you realise you’ll never be able to live this down. Each roll of his hips hits deeper and more purposefully against your sweet spot. Your eyes cross and you plant your feet down in a bid to escape the building pleasure, but there’s nowhere to run. Nowhere he’d let you run.

He’s found it.

His pronounced tip found the perfect angle, the perfect spot, to have you screaming his name like you love him. Like he’s everything to you. He doesn’t let up, repeatedly fucking himself inside of your gushy interior until he watches you freefall, the sight spurring him on to sully your insides right along side you.

He’s lost all interest in watching you, now. His vision glued to the sight of your defiled cunt and his sticky cock, he could cum all over again at the creamy ring forming at the base.

He’s done with you almost as quickly as he started, tucking himself into his overpriced jeans before he returns to his bedroom with a not-quite slam while you’re left panting and recovering from what just happened.

You should get up.

You should get dressed before your other roommate actually comes back.

And as you remember that, as you remember him, it dawns on you.

Naoya never said he took the cameras down.

© 2026 rinhaler

Sukuna never tried to hide his lack of morals from anyone, wearing the trait instead as a badge of honor. He reveled in the way others would whisper about him as they watched him out of the corner of their eye, steering their daughters away from him because they knew what he was like. Everyone saw the way he looked at you, his own daughter—lidded eyes that stared for longer than they should, shamelessly ogling what he considered to be the best parts of you. 

When his friends would comment about how well you "filled out" after you grew up, he wouldn't chide them. He'd just laugh and agree. 

"She's mine, course she looks good." 

What people didn't see was how much you fed into his behavior. It was a secret piece of knowledge that Sukuna kept to himself, not wanting to risk it getting out to the wrong people… like your mother. 

You were the only good thing that came from his union with "that woman," as he called her. 

His perfect daughter that never wore pants around the house, opting instead for a pair of panties and a tank top. You were so sweet to him, bending over in the fridge to give him a nice show while he had his breakfast. Sleeping naked with the door opened so when jerked off he could get a view of your bare pussy, still slick from touching yourself—preferring his hand and the idea of his daughter over the body of his wife. 

But as perfect as you are, you sure as shit know how to piss your old man off. 

Veins are bulging in his hand from how hard he's gripping his phone, glaring down at the screen as he replays the video you sent him for the fifth time. Your high pitched moans are flowing from the speaker, all whiny and desperate, as whoever you're with points the camera right at the place where he's sliding inside you. The flash is on, giving Sukuna almost too good of a view of the way your virgin cunt is swallowing the boy's underwhelming length. 

Slut.

That was the first word that came to his mind when he'd opened your message—"my first time :)"

"Home. Now." He'd replied curtly. 

Your knees are aching from being pressed into the floorboards for so long, but they don't hurt nearly as much as your jaw which has been stretched wide for the same amount of time. Sukuna pushed you to his feet less than a minute after you walked through the door, slapping you once across the face with a single command to 'open up.' 

The gags coming from where you're choking on his dick between his legs are merely a distraction as he watches the pathetic way you're getting fucked on camera. 

"You could've just asked if ya wanted your daddy to fuck you like a whore," Sukuna's anger is evident in his tone and the way he presses his cock impossibly harder into the back of your throat. 

Your nose is buried in his untrimmed bush, his natural musk filling your nose as you struggle to breathe. Drool is already spilling from your lips and down to his heavy balls from how long you've been forced to cockwarm the man with your little mouth. 

Sukuna finally closes out of the video, opting to open his own camera now. He makes sure you're captured in the middle of the frame, the flash on as well so he can see the pretty tears in your eyes, the sweat on your skin, the way his dick is shoved between his bratty daughter's lips. "You look good like this, baby. On your knees, mouth filled with my cock," Sukuna muses. "Got you to shut up too. Might have to show Fushiguro."

Sukuna grins wickedly when he sees the way your eyes widen. You don't know what you'd do if a photo like that got out—the tell-tale tattoos around your father's thighs being particularly incriminating. 

"What? Now you don't like bein' in the spotlight?" he goads, pulling you off of him until just the tip rests on your tongue. You're coughing immediately, but the second you're about to take your first real breath of air, Sukuna is thrusting back down your throat.

"Yeah, get my dick nice and wet like that—gonna regret it if you don't. Means it'll hurt more when I fuck your ass." 

"Mmmfg!" is what your strangled attempt at protest sounds like. Even if you could get a word out, Sukuna wouldn't listen. You lost the right to him treating you nicely when you pulled your stupid stunt. 

"You wanna go 'round whoring yourself out on camera, then you'll get fucked the way you deserve," Sukuna all but snarls at you before finally yanking you off of him for good. With one last shove, he sends you tumbling into the ground at his feet.

You hit the floor hard, your palms stinging from attempting to catch yourself. The whole time, Sukuna just stands there. With his cock in his hand, he's pumping himself slowly as he gets off on the way your naked form is sprawled out before him, trying to recuperate. "Face down, ass up, and spread yourself open f'me." 

You scramble to do as he says, not daring to talk back with how stern his voice is. When you're finally presenting yourself to Sukuna how he asked, he wastes no time kneeling behind you, the head of his cock already kissing your entrance. 

"Wait, dad, condom." You remember when you feel the warmth of his tip rubbing along your slit, smearing his pre into the arousal that already gathered there from him using your mouth. 

"You really gonna tell your old man to wrap it up? Don't act like a fuckin' prude when I know you didn't use one with that kid." 

He's right. But it's not the same, because 'that kid' isn't Sukuna. He isn't your own flesh and blood like the man behind you, slamming into your sweet cunt with a single punishing motion. 

Your face rubs painfully against wood floor as you're sent forward with the force of his thrust. "Aah, fuck!" you wail, but Sukuna dismisses you immediately. The weak "Ow…" you let out after must have sounded too close to a moan for him to care. 

The way your pussy feels so good around his dick almost makes Sukuna want to go easy on you, remembering how much he cares about his daugther. 

Almost.

And then remembers that he's not the first person to know what your cunt feels like, and any hopes of being shown mercy from your dad melt away. He sets a pace so brutal that you're trying to crawl away from him, only for him to grab your hips tighter and pull you back. Judging by the footage of your only experience, Sukuna knows you can't handle it and that only makes him want to go harder. 

You're whimpering so cutely, cheeks wet from tears and your lips from the saliva that keeps spilling from them. Everything burns. The stretch from your dad's fat cock inside your tight pussy, your already sore knees now starting to bruise, your neck stiffening as your head is bent at an uncomfortable angle. There's no plush mattress, no cushiony pillows to make you feel better as Sukuna pounds you into the floor so hard you think it might splinter into your skin. 

Through it all, there's nothing you can do to prevent the lewd sounds that are slipping out of your mouth with a messy amount of drool that only makes you look even more like a pornstar. Deep down, you love this, he knows you do. You internalize all the insults that Sukuna throws your way because it makes the occasional praise he sings sound that much louder. Just as with the immense pain he's inflicting upon you, it only serves to make the pleasure that much better. 

Your orgasm is building too quick for your own brain to keep up, rapidly reducing you to a puddle of moans and cries for the man that's destroying you.

"Daddy! I—ohh fuck, I'm," you mewl, eyes rolling back as your cunt starts to throb around Sukuna's girth.

"Yeah, I know," Sukuna grunts. Your hazy mind can hardly comprehend what he's doing when you feel him shifting around you. He adjusts his position with his cock inside you until your face is being trapped against the hardwood, pinned underneath Sukuna's bare foot. 

The new angle is too much. No longer rutting forward into you, Sukuna is slamming down onto you, splitting you in half on his cock as he forces it unbelievably deeper inside you. 

"Ohmygod, ohmygod, I can't," you sob, chest heaving as you cry harder. "Too deep, dad, wait—" 

"Save it," he snaps at you. "This cunt is cryin' more than you, I know ya love getting used like the pretty slut you are. You're fucked in the head just like me." 

He's not wrong. Within moments you're cumming so hard that you think you might pass out, your legs shaking uncontrollably as Sukuna finally starts to slow down. 

"See? Makin' a god damn mess too." Sukuna sneers as he watches the way your pussy is starting to leak, creamy white slick coating his shaft as he slides out of you. "Your mom would be disappointed to know you turned out this way."

"Fuck off," you groan tiredly, not able to be bothered to care what your mother would think when you just had the best orgasm of your life. 

Sukuna chuckles as he steps off your head, moving instead to rub his hand between your folds, gathering your slick on two fingers. You wake up more when you feel him circling the rim of your asshole, prodding at the tight entrance with every couple swipes. 

"No, don't. I don't want to… not today," you try, having a feeling you wouldn't change Sukuna's mind.

He rolls his eyes, confirming your suspicions when he lazily pushes both fingers into your ass, ignoring the loud whine from you. "You say that but you don't mean it, look how well you're takin' these fingers. Can tell you want more." Sukuna slips his hand out of you before replacing them with the tip of his dick. "I know what my little girl needs." 

It's almost adorable the way your asshole clenches like that would stop him from fucking it. And the way you whimper another 'dad please, don't." Pathetic. 

When Sukuna presses his cock inside your tightest hole it's with an agonizing stretch. He didn't give you nearly enough prep to comfortably take someone of his size, and all of the cum and spit that's coating his monstrous length is doing nothing to ease the intrusion. 

A sound halfway between a scream and a croak escapes you as you crumble under Sukuna's weight, slumping into the hard floor beneath you for the second time tonight. 

"You need to loosen up, kid," he grunts, both hands spreading your cheeks apart to get a better view of his dick nudging inside your ass. The skin is taut and he can see the muscles tensing, trying to keep him out. It's causing him such difficulty that he wonders if it's even worth it as the friction starts to spread some of your pain to him. 

But it's the only part of you that hasn't been corrupted yet, and he'll be damned if another man gets to it first. 

"Fuck, it hurts," more tears pour from your eyes, dripping onto the ground below you. "Dad, I'm—am I bleeding?" You have to ask with the way it feels like you're being torn apart—you won't be surprised if the answer is yes.

"Nah, I'd fit inside a lot easier if you were though. Maybe you should," Sukuna muses, grinning when you writhe in his grip, trying to adjust to his size. "What, you don't want that?"

You're not even sure what you want. 

You want this all to be over. You want Sukuna to leave you alone and pretend you never started this whole thing. But you also want him to make you feel good in every way that he knows how, even when it hurts and you're not sure you can take it.

Because your knees are not only bruised but now scraped from sliding roughly against the wood with each thrust you had to endure. Your throat is sore from crying and shouting and gagging on your dad's cock. And still, your pussy is so soaked that it's leaking around nothing, producing more slick as Sukuna's hips inch to yours, until you're flush together once more.

"Never felt anything this tight," Sukuna groans, his entire length now buried inside your ass. It's so warm and squeezing him perfectly, he's not sure he'll ever want to fuck anything else again. With an experimental roll of his hips, his dick feels like it's pressing all the way into your stomach, making you whimper and squirm. 

The pressure is unparalleled. He's everywhere, overwhelming you from the inside out until all you can think of is him. 

All you can smell is his cologne and sweat. All you can hear are his grunts and groans, the sound of his skin slapping against yours when he pulls out half way before slamming back in. And all you can feel are his fingers digging into your flesh, his girth spreading you open so wide and deep that it's dizzying. 

"Play with yourself for me, baby." His voice is raspy, laced with exertion and strain from trying to hold himself together. Your body fits him much better than your mom's. "Told ya to loosen the fuck up," he lands a searing slap to your ass that makes you yelp. 

You have to lean onto your shoulder in order to snake a hand under you, reaching for your clit with a weak finger. Your neck is stiff, crooked at an awkward angle, and the poor thing feeling like it's going to snap when you try to look between your legs as your fumble around. Sukuna's moving faster now, reaching a steady rhythm that only serves to throw you off as you try to touch yourself. 

But eventually you find it—the right amount of pressure on that perfect spot which brings you just enough pleasure to forget all the ways in which your body feels like it's falling apart. Finally you relax just the slightest bit, allowing Sukuna to rut into you easier.

"Thaaat's it. See, feels good when you listen to your daddy." 

"Mmhng," you mewl, unable to find your words. You can't bring yourself to focus on anything more than trying to breathe through your punishment until you can get rewarded with another climax. 

"You let that boy fuck you here?" He already knows the answer.

"N-no," you reply, your voice shaking.

"Good," Sukuna growls. "Stupid girl. Fuckin' pissed me off today," he emphasizes the sentiment with another harsh slap to your ass. He puts all his strength into it, watching as the skin immediately starts to well up. 

He knows he's broken you completely when you don't even cry out at the impact, instead your breath just catches in your throat, followed by a sniffle. 

Tears and snot stain your face. Spit keeps pooling in your mouth and it seems like you're never able to swallow it all down, leaving some saliva to constantly dribble out between your lips and onto your chin. 

"Need a picture of this next time, should see how well this ass is takin' my dick. Knew we'd be perfect together." Sukuna is rambling on now, lost in his own thoughts as you're lost in your second approaching orgasm. "Made these holes just for me. No one else." 

Sukuna can feel the blood rushing in his ears, drowning out the rest of the room. He's teetering on the cusp of his orgasm, only holding on by a thread because he wants to bask in the feeling of you for as long as he can. 

But then you're cumming again. Shuddering and gasping on the floor as your arousal seeps onto your hand, sticky and warm. Your muscles tighten up so much it makes Sukuna hiss as you clamp down around his cock and he knows he's done for. 

"Should breed that pretty pussy, fill you up. You want that?" In a twisted sort of way, it's comical how quickly you panic, snapping out of your cockdrunk haze at his threat. 

"No! Please no, dad, you can't," you beg him, trying to appeal to the side of him that you know loves you as his favorite and only daughter. 

"You're lucky this hole feels so good," Sukuna grumbles, "fuck but you'd look so good pregnant with my kid—might even give me another girl. You don't wanna share your daddy with a sister?" 

You don't. You don't want to share him with anyone. That much is clear when you feel his hips still, his balls twitching once before he's spilling inside you. It's a weird but addictive feeling when warm spurts of cum begin to coat your insides, making it easy for Sukuna to finally slide out of you. 

The worst part of you wishes that your mom wasn't even in the picture. You would be fine with just Sukuna to take care of you, relying only on him and knowing that he only has you too. 

"Shit, look at that," Sukuna breathes, admiring the way your gaping hole is now leaking white spend. It's thick and slow as it slides down towards your cunt. 

He can't help himself when he reaches forward, gathering as much of his seed as he can onto his fingers and pushing them inside your pussy. Sukuna doesn't stop until he's reached the last knuckle, reaching as deep as he can. 

"What…" you cough, the fatigue finally catching up to you as your eyelids grow heavy. "What are you doing?"

"Just couldn't waste it," Sukuna murmurs, pumping his fingers languidly in and out of you. You look so spent, your skin bruised and red, your pussy lips all puffy and sore and smothered in slick. 

If you were all his, he'd make sure you looked like this everyday.

Come next morning when you wake up in your bed, your body shows the evidence of your night though red scratches and purple splotches. But you've been showered and tucked under the sheets, a testament to how gently Sukuna cleaned you up and brought you back to your room. It was confusing after he'd treated you so roughly. 

Maybe he felt bad.

But then you remember the way he pushed more and more of his release into your cunt despite your tired moans of protest. And when you try to tell yourself that it will be okay because it's different than if he'd really came inside you, you remember what he said when he laid you down for bed—about how he got your mom pregnant on their first night together.

the door clicks shut behind you, and suddenly you’re pressed flat against the wood. megumi is right there, his chest practically brushing yours, his hand still tight around your wrist. he looks exasperated, dark hair messy, but his eyes are locked onto yours, wide and hyper-alert. “you’re loud,” he breathes, his voice a barely-audible whisper against your ear.

“i was like a ghost,” you whisper back, a smug grin pulling at your lips despite the way your heart is hammering against your ribs. you glance past megumi’s shoulder, spotting the sleek black shape of a camera sitting prominently on his desk.

“smart.” he nods at the shoes you’re holding, placing them to the side for you.

“so... director. where do you want me?”

his jaw tightens, a faint flush creeping up megumi’s neck that he desperately hopes the dim lighting hides. he doesn't let go of your wrist. instead, he leans in just a fraction closer, his eyes dropping to your mouth before snapping back up.

“don’t,” he mutters, his voice dropping into that low, rough register that tells you he is entirely done playing games. “he’s still downstairs.”

megumi’s hand is still wrapped around your wrist, and you can feel his pulse—or maybe that’s yours—thrumming against your skin. his thumb moves, almost unconsciously, tracing a slow circle over the delicate skin. “so? we just need to be quiet, right?”

he releases your wrist like it burns him, stepping back just enough to create a sliver of space between you. the absence of his warmth is immediately jarring. he runs a hand through his already-messy hair, exhaling sharply through his nose.

“you’re something else,” he says, but there's no bite to it. if anything, he sounds almost reverent.

“i’d say i’m just someone who wants you.”

megumi’s gaze flicks to the desk, then back to you, his adam’s apple bobbing. without a word, he crosses the room, picks up the camera, and turns it over in his hands like he’s weighing a decision as he chews the inside of his cheek, an anxious habit you’ve catalogued over time.

“nervous?..” you tilt your head, searching for his eyes.

he narrows his brows, not answering.

“just.. touch me.” you softly drag his wrist up to yourself.

megumi’s hands find your waist, observing the contact as his fingers splay across your body like he’s memorizing the feel of you. his touch is hot, insistent, but his movements are deliberate—slow and precise, just like everything he does.

like a magnet pulling, megumi finds himself drawing closer. you lift your chin making way for his head in the crook of your neck.

then the floorboard creaks.

both of you freeze. megumi’s hand is still on your back, his lips still ghosting over your shoulder. you can feel his heart hammering against your chest, matching your own frantic rhythm.

halfway downstairs, a muffled and singsong voice drifts up. “megumiiii~ wanna eat the last kikufuku?”

megumi’s eyes meet yours. they’re dark, pupils blown wide, and there's a flicker of something almost feral in them. he presses a finger to his lips—shh—and you nod, barely breathing.

“no,” he calls back, his voice impressively steady. “i’m good. keep it.”

a beat of silence. then a laugh, bright and unbothered. “okkay, suit yourself! more for me!” the television resumes its drone.

megumi looks at you, and the corner of his mouth twitching—the barest hint of a smile. “close one,” he murmurs.

“too close,” you agree, but you’re already pulling him back to you, your fingers tangling in his hair.

megumi’s mouth finds yours again, deeper, hungrier this time, like the interruption reminded him just how dangerous this is—and how much he doesn’t care.

his hands slide down to the waistband of your pants. megumi pauses, pulling back just enough to look at you in a silent question.

you nod, breathless. you scramble to get out of your t-shirt, and he makes quick work of the button and the zipper of your pants, pooling both garments beneath your feet.

you kick them aside and megumi’s eyes rake over you like he’s memorizing every inch. his fingers brush against the side of your leg, “beautiful.” so quiet you almost miss it. the soft touch makes your breath hitch. “’gumi.. your turn.”

megumi removes his gaze from your bare skin, but doesn’t undress. instead he presses the on button, the tiny red recording light of the camera blinking to life.

he sets it down on the desk, pointing it at the bed—which you now realize is right there, rumpled sheets and a dark comforter, barely visible in the low light. megumi controls the viewfinder, making sure the recording is underway.

you are about to retort when he shrugs off his own shirt, and the sight of him—lean muscle, sharp collarbones, that dark line of hair disappearing beneath his waistband—makes your mouth go dry even as you swallow.

megumi doesn’t look abashed. he reaches deep into his nightstand drawer, pulling out a small foil packet. he holds it up, a question in his eyes.

“condom,” he says, unnecessarily.

you purse your lips, raising an eyebrow and gulping again. “gonna open it, or?..”

megumi tears it open with his teeth, eyes never leaving yours. the sound of the foil ripping is obscenely loud in the quiet room. his jaw flexes as he grabs the torn piece, setting it aside.

“that..” you breathe.

the corner of his mouth twitches—almost a smirk. “what?”

“just come and kiss me.”

he does. closing the distance, megumi’s hands everywhere on you at once—impatient in a way his face never lets on, you feel the last of his careful control starting to fray at the edges.

megumi languidly guides you back toward his bed, your body pressing backwards until your knees feel the edge of his mattress. you fall onto it, pulling megumi down with you. he hovers over you, one arm bracing his weight, the other working his pants open

you catch a glimpse of him—thick and already painfully hard, slicked with a bead of pre-come before he rolls the latex down his length.

he glances at the camera one more time—red light blinking, capturing everything—then his eyes find yours. “ready?”

“mm.”

megumi sheathes himself, the movement practiced even as his fingers tremble slightly.

“ugh, you’re—” he starts, but doesn’t finish. he doesn't need to. he looks at you, really beholding you, and his voice drops to something raw.

“tell me if it’s too much.”

“mh—okay,”

the first push is slow—agonizingly slow—and your back arches off the mattress before you can stop it. megumi’s breath stutters above you, his forehead dropping to press against yours as he sinks into your heat.

through the haze of pleasure, you notice his gaze flick to the left—toward the camera—and something in his expression changes.

“ah,” you breathe, and it's barely a sound, more air than voice.

“shh,” he reminds you, his own voice wrecked, cracking at the edges. “you have to—f—be quiet.”

you want to laugh at the absurdity of it—him telling you to be quiet while he's inside you, hips are already starting to move in small, shallow rolls that have your toes curling against the sheets.

“mm, more,” you whisper back, and megumi’s eyes flash. he pulls out almost all the way, just the tip of his length resting at your entrance, and then he pushes back in—deeper this time, a full, slow stroke that has you biting your lip so hard you taste copper.

“you’re—” he starts, but he can't finish. his jaw is tight, one eye squeezed shut like he's trying to hold onto control by a thread. you put a hand on his face, caressing. “megumi, look at me,”

he tries, the crack in his composure showing. pupils blown wide, megumi parts his lips, a thin sheen of sweat on his brow. for having barely started, he already feels nearly there.

“not going to last,” he admits, the words tumbling out of gritted teeth in a rough confession.

“ah—nnm, then don’t.”

megumi groans, low and guttural, his entire frame shuddering as he forces his hips into a grueling, deliberate rhythm—biting his tongue to hold back his own release as he tries to prolong it for you.

slow and deep, each stroke presses against your core in a way that has you seeing stars. his hand slides down between your bodies, fingers finding your center, caressing in time with his thrusts, matching the excruciating syncopation.

“me—” you gasp, your hand flying to your mouth to muffle the sound.

“i know,” he rasps, rhythm breaking to something desperate. he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his teeth grazing your skin to hold back a groan as he drives into you, faster now, finding that spot again and again with devastating precision. the heat pooling between your thighs is overwhelming, a tight, electric coil winding tighter with every friction-filled slide of his hips.

slick and undone around him, you dig your fingers into the muscle of megumi's back, leaving faint red crescents.

“meg—nnmn” you whimper his name, the sound slipping past your guard. he instantly snaps his head up, hand flying over your mouth. his palm is hot, smelling faintly of the foil packet as he holds your gaze all frantic, heavy lids hooding blown-out pupils.

“i told you,” he rasps, his chest heaving as he takes a shallow, trembling breath. he doesn’t stop moving, his hips striking against yours, a wet, rhythmic slap. “be quiet.”

he nods his head toward the left. “stare there.”

through the haze of pleasure, you track his gaze—the tiny red light of the camera blinks, capturing the flush on your chest, the way your knees are hooked over his hips, the sheer, unadulterated look of desire on megumi’s face as he takes you.

“you wanted... a movie,” megumi mutters, his voice dropping into a dirty, breathless drawl as he arches his back, driving in all the way to the hilt.

“so stare at it,” he leans down, pressing his forehead against yours, fingers tangling with yours on the mattress. he strains, “and watch how good you take me,”

the visual, combined with the deep, bruising depth of his thrusts, completely shatters you. your hips roll up to meet him, begging for the friction, your core clamping down around him so tight it makes his entire body shudder.

megumi abandons the entire pretense of control, his pace turning even more frenzied, hard, and desperate. he chases the edge, his fingers squeezing your hips hard enough to leave marks.

you put your palm over your mouth again, a galaxy of stars exploding behind your eyelids as a wave of pure, convulsive heat ripples through you. your muscles squeeze him rhythmically as you reach your end, breaking the absolute final straw for megumi.

megumi lets out a low, wrecked sound, driving into you one last, deepest time as his own climax hits. he stiffens, jaw locking as he pours himself into the condom with a broken sound, something that's half your name, and half a swear—chest heaving against yours as the waves of aftershocks ripple through him.

for a long minute, the only sound in the room is the tangled, ragged breathing. slowly, megumi collapses onto you, his head burying into your shoulder, heart hammering like a trapped bird against your ribs. he doesn't move, opting to holding you tight, skin slick with sweat.

finally stirring, megumi pulls out with a soft sigh and quickly disposes of the evidence in the trash bin. as he climbs back onto the bed, he pulls the comforter over you both, pulling your body flush against his chest.

“never doing that again,” he murmurs into your hair, his arms are wrapped securely around your waist, pulling you closer.

you let out a breathy laugh, hand reaching out over the edge of the bed to turn off the camera sitting on his desk, the blinking red light wavering. “but you directed so well.”

“hm.” megumi hums in response.

the heavy silence of the house settles over his bedroom—comfortable and warm, until a sudden, sharp slam of the front door downstairs cuts through the quiet like a knife. a voice echoes loudly up through the floorboards, bright and entirely too cheerful.

“yo me~gu~mi~! i left you some kikufuku on the counter. thought you may have changed your mind. don't let it go to waste!”

the house falls silent again as the footsteps fade down.

above you, megumi stares blankly at the ceiling for three solid seconds before burying his face into his pillow, letting out a muffled groan of embarrassment.

you break out into giggles, poking his side. “me~gu~mi~”

“ugh,” he mutters into the mattress, arm tightening around your waist and refusing to let go.

tangled up in his sheets, you let the moment settle for a moment before bringing up the footage. “so... when do we watch it?”

megumi goes still. “..huh?”

you tilt your head at his silence, unreadable face, and pink ears. then, barely audible, he utters “...you’d want to?” as if speaking to himself,

“megumi. i just let you film me falling apart. i think i’m pretty okay with watching it.”

he swallows. “then... maybe tomorrow.”

you grin. “maybe tonight?”

“tonight,” he says firmly, “i'm sleeping.” you feel his lips press your temple.

“mm. say,” you exhale lightly, eyes landing on the desk. “when did you get that anyway? looks expensive.”

“hm?” megumi nuzzles into your neck as he shifts.

“the camera. didn’t see it before. or knew you had one.”

“oh. that.” megumi says, flat. “he wasn’t using it.”

“what?” your mouth drops, “it’s gojo’s?”

“i’ll return it.” he closes his eyes, relaxing. “just not the SD card.”

-

you successfully sneak out at dawn, slipping through the back door again. megumi watches you go from his window, a small, private smile on his face.

an hour later, megumi walks into the kitchen. there, he finds gojo lounging at the table with—as far he can see—an entire pack of ramune, the empty sugary soda bottles lined up in a neat row—and the smuggest expression on his face.

“morning, sleepyhead,” gojo chirps, tossing four marbles into the air and catching them. “sleep well?”

megumi grunts, heading for the coffee maker.

“hey, by the way,” gojo says, voice light, “have you seen my camera? the one i use for, you know, documenting things. i swear i left it in the living room, but i checked everywhere this morning and it’s just... gone.”

megumi’s hand freezes on the coffee pot.

“...no,” he says carefully. “haven’t seen it.”

“hmm.” gojo taps his chin, frowning. “that’s odd. i could’ve sworn it was in the living room. i even checked the hall closet, the study, under the couch...” he trails off, then sighs dramatically. “with stuff going missing, maybe we should get a security camera. y’know, just in case. make sure no ghosts are sneaking in.”

megumi turns slowly, face carefully blank. “ghosts.”

“or maybe,” gojo muses, tapping his chin, “one of those fancy ones with the motion sensor. the good ones. records in 4K. really capture the details, you know?”

“what are you talking about.” he barely keeps an eye from twitching.

gojo blinks, all innocence. “hmm? just talking about home security. why? what did you think i was talking about?”

the silence stretches. megumi pours his coffee. gojo watches him with that insufferable grin, letting the moment hang.

"you’re walking a little stiff today, by the way. everything okay?"

"fine."

"you sure? you look like you might’ve, you know, strained something." gojo’s grin widens. “maybe you should stretch more. really reach for it, you know?”

megumi stares at him.

gojo stares back, blinking good-naturedly.

“...i’m fine," megumi says flatly.

“okay, okay! just checking.” gojo stands, shrugging and stretching dramatically, and pats megumi on the shoulder. “let me know if you find that camera.”

he’s gone before megumi can respond.

megumi stands there for a full thirty seconds.

You kept your face blank, eyes lowered like the obedient daughter they expected, while inside your mind screamed.

Later that night, when the household finally fell into drunken slumber and the torches burned low, you moved.

You had planned this in secret for weeks. A plain dark wool cloak stolen from the stables. A small bundle of hard bread, dried cheese, and a waterskin. Soft leather shoes you hoped would last. But the most valuable thing you owned was the wedding gown itself. You had decided to wear the half-finished white dress during your escape — the expensive satin and delicate lace might fetch enough coins in a distant village to buy you passage far away from here. It was risky, but you had nothing else of real value.

You slipped out through the narrow servant’s entrance at the back of the kitchens, the heavy door groaning softly behind you like a warning. The moment your feet touched the cold, dew-soaked grass, terror and fragile hope surged through you in equal measure.

You ran.

The forest swallowed you whole.

Ancient trees loomed like silent judges, their branches clawing at your white gown as if trying to drag you back. The delicate satin — still only half-finished, with pins and loose threads — snagged mercilessly on thorns. You heard fabric tearing again and again: sharp rips that sounded far too loud in the darkness. The long lace veil caught on a low limb and nearly yanked you off your feet; you tore it free with shaking hands, leaving half of it fluttering behind you like a surrendered flag. Mud and wet leaves caked your bare feet. Sharp stones and roots sliced into your soles until every step left bloody prints in the dirt. The cold night air burned your lungs. Sweat soaked your back and chest despite the chill, making the torn gown cling obscenely to your skin. Your legs screamed with exhaustion after only an hour, but fear kept you moving. Behind you, distant shouts echoed through the trees — your father’s guards, torches flickering like angry fireflies. Dogs barked. They were coming.

You pushed harder.

Branches whipped your face, leaving stinging cuts across your cheeks. Your hair fell loose from its elegant pins, wild and tangled. Tears streamed down your face, mixing with blood and dirt. Every shadow looked like a man ready to grab you. Every snap of a twig made your heart seize. You ran until your vision blurred and your chest felt like it would burst. You ran until the shouts grew fainter and the trees finally began to thin.

Hours had passed. The moon hung high and merciless overhead, bathing the world in cold silver light. Your legs trembled violently as you stumbled out of the treeline onto a wide, muddy road. In the distance, warm golden lantern light glowed between clusters of simple wooden buildings. A village.

You nearly collapsed with relief.

The main street was deserted, shutters closed tight against the night. Only one building still showed signs of life. Warm light spilled from its open front door onto the dirt road, carrying with it the thick, metallic scent of fresh blood and raw meat. A weathered wooden sign creaked overhead in the cold breeze:

Fushiguro Meat Co.

You limped toward it, every cut and bruise screaming.

A massive man stood under the wooden awning, illuminated by the lantern light. He was enormous — broad as a barn door, easily over six feet tall, with shoulders and arms so thick with muscle they looked carved from stone. He wore a blood-streaked leather apron tied low on his narrow hips. Beneath it, a simple white tank clung to his sweat-slicked chest, the thin fabric molded to heavy slabs of muscle and dark, scattered scars. His black hair was damp and messy, strands falling across his forehead. A deep, jagged scar twisted the corner of his mouth, giving his face a permanent, dangerous smirk even when he wasn’t smiling.

Thick veins stood out on his forearms as he slowly wiped a long, wicked boning knife clean on the edge of his apron. The blade gleamed.

He looked like violence given human shape — raw, brutal, and utterly terrifying.

You didn’t know his name. You didn’t know anything about him except that he was the only soul still awake, and you were completely out of options.

Your legs gave out the final few steps. You dropped hard to your knees in the cold dirt right in front of him, the torn white satin of your ruined wedding gown pooling around you like spilled milk mixed with blood and mud. Your chest heaved. Fresh tears cut clean tracks down your filthy cheeks.

“Please—” Your voice came out cracked and hoarse, barely more than a whisper. “Hide me. Just for one night. My family… they sold me to Lord Kato to settle their debts. He’s going to break me. Hurt me in ways I can’t even speak of. I’ll do anything you ask — scrub floors until my hands bleed, haul carcasses, sleep in the cold room with the meat, be your servant, your cleaner… anything. Just please… don’t let them take me back.”

You bowed your head, trembling, and clutched desperately at the bloody hem of his apron with both hands, staining your fingers red.

The man stopped moving. He looked down at you slowly, sharp green eyes narrowing as they took in every detail: your torn and filthy wedding dress, the cuts on your face and feet, the desperate tears, the way you knelt before him like a supplicant before a god of slaughter.

He flicked the long knife shut with a loud, metallic click that echoed in the quiet street.

“Not my problem, princess,” he rumbled. His voice was deep, low, and rough — like gravel being dragged across stone. There was no pity in it. “I don’t hide runaways. Go beg somewhere else before you bring trouble to my shop.”

You stayed on your knees, fingers still twisted tight in the bloody hem of his apron. Tears kept falling, mixing with the dirt on your cheeks. “Please… I have nowhere else. They’ll find me by morning. Lord Kato will—”

Footsteps. Soft, quick, coming from the narrow alley beside the butcher shop.

Three women emerged into the lantern light, their shawls pulled tight against the night chill, each carrying a small lantern. They stopped short at the sight of you kneeling in your ruined white gown in front of the massive butcher.

“Gods above,” the tallest one gasped. “Is that a wedding dress? Child, what in the world happened to you?”

The women hurried closer, lanterns swinging. Warm golden light spilled over your torn satin, the mud-caked hem, the blood from his apron smeared across your bodice and hands. One of the younger women pressed a hand to her mouth. “She’s bleeding… and look at her feet!”

You looked down at yourself — the once-beautiful dress now filthy and shredded — then up at the stranger towering over you. His green eyes were narrowed in clear irritation, jaw clenched like he was seconds away from shoving you into the street and bolting the door.

A wild, desperate plan came to your mind.

You pushed yourself up on shaky legs, ignoring the sharp pain in your cut feet. Before he could step away, you grabbed his large, calloused hand with both of yours, clinging desperately. His palm was warm, rough, and still faintly sticky with dried blood.

Turning to the three women with the most exhausted yet radiant smile you could force, you announced clearly:

“This is my husband.”

The words rang in the quiet night air.

The women froze.

You kept going, voice trembling but determined. “We were married in secret this evening. My family didn’t approve — they tried to sell me off to a cruel lord to settle their debts. So I ran away through the forest to reach him. The dress… it got ruined on the way, but I’m here now. I’m exactly where I belong.”

Silence stretched for a heartbeat.

Then the women erupted.

“The butcher got married?!” the tallest one exclaimed, eyes wide. “Toji Fushiguro actually took a wife? I never thought I’d live to see the day!”

One of the younger women clapped her hands together, beaming. “Look at her, even all torn up she’s lovely! Brave thing, running through the woods in the middle of the night just to get to her husband.”

The third woman laughed warmly. “We’ll bring fresh bread and some stew first thing in the morning for you newlyweds. Can’t have Toji’s new wife going hungry on her first day here!”

Toji.

So that was his name. Toji Fushiguro.

You felt the man — Toji — stiffen beside you. His massive hand twitched hard in your grip, muscles flexing like he was fighting the urge to rip free and deny everything. His sharp green eyes burned into the side of your face, dark with fury and silent threat. But the women were watching excitedly. The whole village would know the story by sunrise if he contradicted you now.

You squeezed his hand tighter, nails digging into his skin in a silent, desperate plea. Please. Just play along.

Toji’s scarred jaw flexed. A low, dangerous growl rumbled deep in his chest. For one terrifying second you thought he might expose you.

Then, in the flattest, most reluctant voice you had ever heard, he grunted:

“…Yeah. She’s mine now. Wife.”

The women squealed with delight. They offered more congratulations, promised gifts for the “newlyweds,” and finally bustled away down the dark street, lanterns bobbing and their voices already carrying the juicy news.

The moment their footsteps faded, Toji’s grip turned bruising. He yanked you forward so hard you stumbled against his broad, solid chest, then dragged you roughly through the open door of the butcher shop. The heavy oak door slammed shut behind you with a resounding thud that rattled the walls.

Inside, the air was thick and heavy — cold iron, raw meat, woodsmoke, and the faint metallic tang of fresh blood. A single lantern burned low on the wooden counter, casting long, flickering shadows over heavy chopping blocks, hanging meat hooks, and rows of sharp knives.

Toji spun you around and shoved your back against the closed door. One thick, powerful forearm braced beside your head, completely caging you in. His massive body loomed over yours, heat rolling off him in waves. The scent of blood, sweat, and raw masculinity filled your lungs.

His green eyes were dark with fury… and something much darker, much hungrier.

“What the fuck was that?” he snarled, voice low and lethal. “You just told half the goddamn village you’re my wife. You got any idea what you’ve done, little runaway?”

Your heart slammed against your ribs. You could feel the hard press of his chest against yours, the sheer size of him making you feel tiny and trapped.

“It was the only way,” you whispered, breathing fast. “They would’ve dragged me back to Lord Kato by morning if they knew the truth. Now they think I belong to you. No one will question it. Please… just let me stay the night. I’ll disappear at dawn, I swear it.”

Toji stared down at you for a long, heavy moment. His scarred mouth twisted into a slow, dangerous smirk. His free hand came up and gripped your chin firmly, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to meet his intense green eyes.

“Disappear?” he growled, thumb pressing hard into your jaw. “Too late for that, princess. You just tied yourself to me in front of witnesses.”

He leaned in closer, so close his breath ghosted hot across your lips. His voice dropped even lower, rough and full of promise.

“You owe me now. Big time.”

His gaze dragged slowly down your body — over the torn white lace barely clinging to your curves, the bloodstains, the way your chest heaved with fear and adrenaline. He just held you there, pinned against the door, letting the heavy tension coil tighter and tighter between you.

“Upstairs,” he finally ordered, voice like gravel. “Now. We’re gonna have a long talk about what you just got yourself into.”

Toji didn’t give you time to argue.

His massive hand clamped around your upper arm like a steel band and he hauled you away from the door. You stumbled after him on aching, bleeding feet as he dragged you through the back of the shop. The scent of raw meat grew thicker near the cold room, but he turned toward a narrow wooden staircase tucked behind a heavy curtain.

“Move,” he growled when you hesitated at the bottom step.

You climbed. Each step sent fresh pain shooting up your legs, but you bit your lip and kept going. Toji followed close behind, his heavy boots loud on the old wood, one hand still gripping your arm so you couldn’t possibly run.

The stairs opened directly into a small, sparse apartment above the butcher shop. It was surprisingly clean for a man who spent his days covered in blood. A single main room served as both living space and kitchen — a sturdy wooden table with two chairs, a stone hearth with dying embers, a few shelves holding jars of preserved meat and dried herbs. A narrow hallway led to what you assumed were the bedroom and washroom. Moonlight spilled through two small windows, painting everything in cool silver.

Toji kicked the door at the top of the stairs shut behind him and finally released your arm. You immediately backed up a few steps, the torn hem of your wedding dress whispering across the floorboards.

He folded his thick arms across his broad chest, blood-stained apron still tied around his waist, and stared at you like you were a problem he was deciding how to carve up.

“Start talking,” he said flatly. “And don’t leave anything out. Who the fuck are you, why is a lord hunting you, and why the hell did you decide to drag me into your mess?”

You swallowed hard, still catching your breath. You introduced yourself by name, then continued quietly, “My family is in debt. Deep debt. They sold me to Lord Kato yesterday to settle it. He’s a cruel man. Three wives before me, and none of them lasted long. He told my father in front of me what he plans to do on our wedding night.” Your voice cracked. “I couldn’t stay. I ran in the only thing of value I had — this dress. I thought maybe I could sell it in a village for enough coin to disappear.”

Toji’s green eyes flicked over the ruined white lace clinging to your body — torn, muddy, bloodstained. He let out a low, humorless snort.

“And instead of keeping your mouth shut and hiding somewhere quiet, you decided the best plan was to announce to the biggest gossips in the village that you’re married to the local butcher.” He took one heavy step closer. “You realize what you’ve done?”

You nodded quickly. “They won’t hand me over now. Not if they think I belong to you. The whole village will protect the butcher’s wife… right?”

Toji laughed — a short, dark sound that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Protect?” He shook his head. “You just painted a target on my back too, princess. Lord Kato isn’t the type to let his property run off. When he comes looking — and he will come looking — he’s going to hear all about how the village butcher stole his bride.”

He dragged a large hand down his face, clearly pissed off, but there was something else in his expression now. A glint of dark amusement. Maybe even reluctant interest.

“You’re either the bravest idiot I’ve ever met… or the most cunning.”

You stood there trembling in the middle of his living room, arms wrapped around yourself. The torn bodice of the dress had slipped dangerously low on your shoulders, but you didn’t dare fix it.

“I’ll leave at first light,” you promised again, softer this time. “I won’t cause you any more trouble. Just… let me stay until sunrise. Please, Toji.”

Hearing his name from your lips made his eyes narrow.

“Don’t,” he warned. “You don’t get to say my name like we’re actually married.”

He turned away from you and walked over to the small hearth. He crouched down, added two fresh logs, and stoked the fire back to life with practiced efficiency. The warm orange glow slowly filled the room, chasing away some of the chill.

When he stood again, he looked even bigger in the firelight — shoulders impossibly wide, muscles shifting under the thin tank top, the scar at his mouth pulling as he scowled.

“Sit,” he ordered, nodding toward one of the wooden chairs at the table. “You’re bleeding all over my floor.”

You obeyed, lowering yourself carefully onto the chair. The moment you sat, exhaustion crashed into you like a wave. Your feet throbbed. Every cut and bruise ached. You were filthy, terrified, and running on nothing but fear and adrenaline.

Toji disappeared down the short hallway and returned a minute later with a metal basin, a clean rag, and a small jar. He set the basin on the floor in front of you, then dropped into the chair across the table, watching you with those sharp green eyes.

“Clean your feet,” he said gruffly. “I’m not carrying you around if they get infected.”

You dipped the rag into the water and started wiping away the mud and blood as carefully as you could. The silence stretched between you, thick and heavy. The fire crackled. Outside, the village was completely quiet.

Toji leaned back in his chair, arms crossed again, studying you like livestock.

“You really think this marriage story is gonna hold?” he asked after a long minute. “Village folk love to talk. By noon tomorrow everyone’s gonna want to meet my mysterious bride.”

You kept your eyes on your injured feet. “I just need a day or two to figure out where to go next. I can… I can work. I’m not useless. I can clean, cook, help in the shop—”

Toji’s low chuckle cut you off.

“You? Working in a butcher shop?” He shook his head. “You look like you’ve never touched anything bloodier than a sewing needle in your life.”

He watched you struggle to clean a deep cut on your sole for another moment before he made an irritated sound and leaned forward.

“Give me your foot.”

You hesitated.

“Now,” he growled.

You slowly lifted your leg. Toji took your ankle in his huge, rough hand — surprisingly gentle despite the calluses and dried blood on his fingers. He pulled the basin closer and started cleaning your wounds himself with careful, efficient movements.

The contrast was jarring: this terrifying mountain of a man, covered in someone else’s blood, carefully tending to your torn-up feet.

“You’re staying the night,” he said quietly, not looking up from his work. “Not because I’m kind. Because if I throw you out now, those three hens will ask questions I don’t feel like answering. Tomorrow we figure out what the hell to do with you.”

He finished cleaning one foot and moved to the other. His thumb brushed accidentally over a sensitive spot and you hissed softly.

Toji’s eyes flicked up to your face for a second, something unreadable flashing across his expression.

“After that…” He set your foot down carefully and leaned back again, voice dropping into a low, dangerous rumble. “You’re gonna start paying off the trouble you just caused me.”

He didn’t explain what that meant.

But the way he was looking at you — slow, heavy, possessive — made heat crawl up your neck despite the fear.

Toji held your gaze for another long moment before he finally released your ankle. He pushed the basin aside with his boot and stood, towering over you once more. The firelight danced across the hard lines of his face, catching on the jagged scar at the corner of his mouth.

“Stay there,” he muttered.

He disappeared into the back room again. You heard the sound of water splashing, then heavy footsteps returning. When he came back, he carried a thick wool blanket and a tin cup. He set the cup in front of you — it was filled with cool water — and dropped the blanket over the back of your chair.

“Drink,” he ordered. “You look half-dead.”

You obeyed without thinking, your hands still trembling slightly as you lifted the cup. The water was clean and cold, soothing your raw throat. Toji watched you drink the entire thing, arms crossed, before he spoke again.

You lowered the empty cup. “Thank you… for the water. And for cleaning my feet.”

He made a dismissive sound in the back of his throat, like thanks made him uncomfortable. Then he leaned against the edge of the table, close enough that his thigh nearly brushed your arm.

“You really thought this through?” he asked, voice low. “Running in a fancy white dress, announcing yourself as my wife in front of the nosiest women in the village… What’s your actual plan once the sun comes up?”

You stared down at your bandaged feet. “I didn’t have time for a real plan. I just knew I couldn’t let them marry me off to that monster. I thought if I could get far enough away, maybe sell the dress, I could buy passage on a cart or a boat. Start over somewhere no one knows me.”

Toji exhaled through his nose, almost a laugh but darker. “Selling that dress would’ve gotten you robbed or worse before you even reached the next town. You’re lucky you only made it as far as my doorstep.”

Silence settled again, broken only by the crackling fire. You pulled the blanket tighter around your shoulders, suddenly aware of how exposed you still were — the torn bodice of the wedding gown hanging loosely, the lace ripped in several places, dirt and dried blood streaked across your skin.

Toji’s eyes drifted over you again, slower this time. They lingered on the curve of your shoulder where the dress had slipped, the rise and fall of your chest, the way the white fabric clung to your thighs.

“You look ridiculous,” he said bluntly. “Like a bride who lost a fight with a pack of wolves.”

Despite everything, a tiny, tired smile tugged at your lips. “That’s… not far from the truth.”

He pushed off the table and walked over to a wooden chest in the corner. He rummaged inside and pulled out a large, worn linen shirt — clearly one of his. It looked big enough to reach your knees.

“Here.” He tossed it to you. “Can’t have you walking around my place looking like that. Change. There’s a washroom down the hall if you want to clean up more.”

You clutched the shirt to your chest. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he warned. “You’re still in my house. Still wearing that damn dress that’s going to bring trouble to my door.”

He turned his back to give you a moment of privacy, busying himself by adding another log to the fire. You quickly stood, wincing at the pain in your feet, and slipped behind the partial wall that separated the washroom. You peeled off the ruined wedding dress with shaking hands, letting the torn fabric pool at your feet. The cool air kissed your bare skin as you pulled Toji’s shirt over your head. It smelled faintly of smoke, soap, and something unmistakably masculine. The hem fell halfway down your thighs.

When you stepped back out, Toji turned around. His eyes darkened the moment they landed on you in his shirt.

“Better,” he grunted, though his voice sounded rougher than before.

He gestured toward the narrow hallway. “Bedroom’s at the end. Only one bed. You take it tonight. I’ll sleep out here.”

You hesitated. “I can sleep on the floor. I’ve already caused enough—”

“Don’t argue,” he cut you off. “My house, my rules. Get some sleep. You look like you’re about to fall over.”

You walked carefully down the short hall, every step still painful. The bedroom was small and simple like the rest of the apartment — a large wooden bed with thick blankets, a single chair, and a window overlooking the dark village street. You climbed onto the bed, pulling the covers over yourself.

Toji appeared in the doorway a minute later, leaning one broad shoulder against the frame. The firelight from the main room silhouetted his massive form.

“Door stays open,” he said. “And don’t even think about sneaking out in the middle of the night. If I have to chase you down, I won’t be in a generous mood.”

You nodded, sinking deeper into the mattress. Exhaustion was pulling at you hard now, but sleep still felt far away with him standing there watching you.

“Toji…” you whispered.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Thank you,” you said again, softer. “For not throwing me out.”

His expression didn’t soften, but something in his eyes shifted. He pushed off the doorframe and turned to leave.

“Get some sleep, runaway,” he muttered. “You’re gonna need it.”

He left the door wide open. You heard him moving around in the main room — the creak of the wooden chair as he sat down, the quiet clink of a cup. The fire continued to crackle.

You lay there in his bed, wrapped in his shirt, the weight of everything that had happened pressing down on you. The fake marriage. The village women who now believed you were his wife. Lord Kato still out there searching. And the terrifying, strangely careful butcher who had just tended to your wounds and given you his bed.

Sleep finally claimed you, but even in your dreams you could still feel the heavy weight of Toji’s gaze on your skin.

You woke to the sound of knocking.

It was loud, cheerful, and relentless — three sharp raps on the shop door downstairs, followed by muffled feminine voices. Sunlight streamed through the small bedroom window, warm and golden. For a brief, disoriented moment you forgot where you were. Then everything crashed back: the forest, the blood-stained butcher, the lie you’d told.

You sat up quickly. Toji’s oversized linen shirt had ridden up your thighs during the night. Your feet still ached, but the bandages held firm. You heard heavy footsteps downstairs, then Toji’s low, irritated growl as he opened the door.

“Morning!” a cheerful woman’s voice called up. “We brought breakfast for the newlyweds! Fresh bread, stew, and honey cakes. Don’t tell us you’re still in bed on your wedding night!”

Another woman giggled. “We’re dying to meet your bride properly!”

Toji’s heavy footsteps came up the stairs. He appeared in the bedroom doorway, looking imposing in the daylight. He wore a clean black tunic stretched tight across his chest, the same blood-stained apron tied around his waist. His hair was messy, jaw set with clear annoyance.

“They’re here,” he said flatly. “Three of them. Loaded with food.”

Your stomach twisted. “What do we do?”

Toji’s green eyes dragged over you — bare legs, wearing nothing but his shirt. Something dark flickered across his face.

“You sold us as newlyweds,” he reminded you, voice low. “So act like it. Smile. Look happy. Keep the story straight.”

He stepped closer and tugged the hem of the shirt down your thighs possessively. “There’s a spare skirt and blouse in the chest. Change. Quickly.”

You moved fast, wincing at the pain in your feet. Toji turned his back while you dressed in the simple dark green skirt and cream blouse. They were a little loose but far more practical.

When you were ready, Toji gave you one last look and jerked his head toward the stairs. “Downstairs. Remember — you’re my wife.”

The three women had already let themselves into the front of the shop. They had laid out a generous spread on the wooden counter: warm bread, a pot of hearty stew, honey cakes, and spiced cider. The moment you appeared behind Toji, their faces lit up.

“Oh, here she is!” the tallest, round-faced woman exclaimed. “Look at you, dear. Much better than last night. I’m Mrs. Sato, by the way! My husband runs the bakery just down the street.” She gestured to the other two. “This is Mira and little Hana.”

The younger women smiled warmly.

“You clean up beautifully,” Mira said. “You already have that newlywed glow!”

You felt heat rise in your cheeks. Toji’s large hand settled heavily on your lower back, warm and claiming.

“Thank you,” you said, offering a shy smile. “You’re all so kind. I’m sorry for how I looked last night… the journey through the forest was harder than I expected.”

Mrs. Sato waved her hand. “No apologies needed! Running away from a bad match to be with the man you love? It’s the most romantic thing to happen in this village in years.”

Toji grunted, his thumb slowly stroking your spine. “Wasn’t exactly planned,” he said dryly. “But here we are.”

The women laughed and chattered while you helped serve the food. They asked how you met, how long you’d been secretly courting, and whether you planned to stay in the village. You answered carefully, sticking close to the story. Toji added short, gruff confirmations, never moving far from your side.

Just as the women were gathering their empty baskets to leave, a loud, sharp knock echoed through the shop.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

This knock was different — heavy, authoritative, and impatient.

Toji’s hand tensed on your back. His expression hardened instantly.

Mrs. Sato glanced toward the door, curious. “Are you expecting more visitors already?”

Toji didn’t answer. He moved toward the door, positioning himself so his broad frame blocked most of the view inside. You stayed behind the counter, heart suddenly hammering.

He opened the door.

Two armed men stood outside, wearing the dark crimson and gold colors of Lord Kato’s household. Swords hung at their hips. Their eyes scanned the interior of the shop coldly.

“We’re searching for a missing girl,” the taller guard announced. “Runaway bride. White wedding dress. She fled the lord’s estate last night. Anyone matching that description come through here?”

The air in the shop grew thick. Mrs. Sato and the other two women turned to look at you with wide eyes, then back at the guards.

Toji’s voice was calm but ice-cold. “No one like that here.”

The second guard tried to peer past him. “Mind if we take a look inside?”

You stayed frozen behind the counter, heart hammering. Before Toji could answer, Mrs. Sato stepped forward with the confidence of someone who had gossiped through every scandal the village had ever seen.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she said brightly, waving a hand. “You boys are wasting your time. That right there is Toji Fushiguro — our butcher for the last fifteen years. We’ve known him since he was a surly teenager dragging whole pigs through these doors!”

Mira immediately jumped in, nodding eagerly. “And he has a wife! They’ve been happily married for two whole years now. We were at their quiet little wedding ourselves. Very romantic.”

Hana clapped her hands together dramatically. “Yes! They’re the sweetest couple. Toji can barely keep his hands off her even when he’s covered in blood. Always canoodling right outside the shop like they’re still courting!”

Mrs. Sato leaned toward the guards like she was sharing precious village lore. “Honestly, if some runaway noble girl in a fancy white dress had shown up here last night, the entire village would’ve known before sunrise. This dear girl has been living above the shop for ages. Helps Toji with the accounts and everything. She’s no fugitive — she’s the butcher’s wife, plain and simple.”

Toji finally moved. He reached back with one thick arm, caught you around the waist, and pulled you forward against his side in one smooth motion. His grip was firm and possessive, his large hand resting heavily on your hip as he held you close.

The guards blinked, clearly thrown by the united front.

The taller one squinted at you. “But the missing girl was wearing a white wedding dress…”

Mira let out a theatrical laugh. “Plenty of white dresses in the world! Our girl here has been wearing plain village clothes for years. Look at her — does she look like some pampered noble who ran away last night?”

Hana nodded vigorously. “Exactly! She even makes the best meat pies in the village. We’d know if she was some lord’s bride.”

The two guards exchanged uncertain glances. Between Toji’s intimidating size, the three women’s absolute certainty, and the perfectly domestic scene in front of them, their suspicion melted away.

The shorter guard cleared his throat. “Seems like a false lead, then. Sorry to bother you folks.”

The taller one gave a reluctant nod. “Apologies for the intrusion. If you hear anything about a girl in a white dress, send word to the lord’s estate.”

Mrs. Sato smiled sweetly. “Of course, dears. Safe travels back!”

The guards turned and walked off down the street without another word.

The moment the door clicked shut, Mrs. Sato burst into laughter and fanned herself. “Well! That was more excitement than we usually get before noon.”

Mira winked at you. “Don’t worry, love. We’ve got your back. No one’s taking the butcher’s wife anywhere.”

Hana grinned. “We’ll spread the word. The whole village will keep an eye out.”

Toji gave them a short, gruff nod. “Appreciate it.”

The women gathered their empty baskets, still buzzing, and finally left with more promises of future visits and gifts.

The shop fell quiet again, morning sunlight streaming peacefully through the windows.

Toji slowly turned to face you. His hand was still on your waist, heavy and warm. For a long moment he just studied you, green eyes dark and intense.

“You’re damn lucky those three are the nosiest women alive,” he muttered. “They just sold that story better than we could’ve.”

He stepped closer, backing you gently against the counter. His voice dropped low, rough around the edges.

“So the whole village’s got our back it seems.” His thumb brushed slowly over your hip bone. “This lie keeps growing. Whole village thinks you’re mine now.”

His gaze dropped to your lips for a heartbeat before returning to your eyes.

“So tell me, runaway… how long do you plan on playing my wife? And how far are you willing to go to make everyone believe it?”

You swallowed, suddenly very aware of how close he was. The counter pressed into your lower back, and Toji’s broad body blocked out most of the morning light. His hand remained heavy on your hip, thumb still tracing slow, absent circles that made your skin prickle beneath the thin blouse.

“I… I don’t know,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t think past getting away from Lord Kato. I just wanted to survive the night.”

Toji hummed, low and thoughtful. He tilted his head slightly, studying your face like he was trying to decide whether you were worth the growing headache you’d brought him.

“Surviving isn’t enough anymore,” he said. “Not after this morning. Those guards will report back. When they don’t find you, Kato will send more men. Maybe even come himself.” His fingers flexed on your hip. “And the whole village now believes you’re mine. If the story breaks, they’ll look like fools. They won’t forgive that easily.”

You met his eyes, heart thudding. “Then what do we do?”

For a moment he didn’t answer. Instead he reached up with his free hand and brushed a stray lock of hair behind your ear, the gesture surprisingly gentle for someone so rough-looking. His calloused fingertips lingered against the side of your neck.

“We lean into it,” he finally said. “Hard. You stay. You act like my wife in public — every smile, every touch, every time someone knocks on that door. No slipping up. No running off when it gets hard.”

He leaned in a fraction closer, voice dropping. “And in private… we figure out the real terms.”

Your breath caught. “Real terms?”

Toji’s scarred mouth curved into a slow, dangerous half-smirk. “You cost me peace and quiet, runaway. You cost me the simple life where nobody bothered me. So you’re going to start paying me back.”

He didn’t elaborate, but the heat in his green eyes made it very clear what kind of payment he had in mind.

“I won’t force you,” he continued, surprising you. “Door’s right there. You can still walk out and take your chances on the road. But if you stay…” His hand slid from your hip to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him. “Then you’re mine until this blows over. Or longer. Depends how good you are at pretending.”

The solid wall of his chest pressed against you, warm and unyielding. You could smell faint traces of smoke, soap, and the metallic hint of blood that never quite left him. Your hands came up instinctively, resting lightly on his abdomen.

“I’m not pretending right now,” you whispered.

Toji’s eyes darkened. For a second you thought he might kiss you — really kiss you — but he held back, letting the tension stretch until it was almost unbearable.

“Good,” he murmured. “Because the village expects a devoted wife. They’ll be watching. Bringing food. Asking questions. Asking when we’re going to have little butchers running around.”

Your face burned. Toji chuckled, deep and rough, clearly enjoying your reaction.

“Don’t worry. We’ll give them a good show.” He finally stepped back, giving you room to breathe again, though his hand lingered on your waist a moment longer. “For now, help me open the shop. Act natural. If anyone else comes asking, you know what to say.”

You nodded, still flushed.

As he turned to start his morning routine — sharpening knives, hanging fresh cuts, preparing the counter — you moved to help where you could. Every time you passed near him, his hand would brush your lower back or arm — small, deliberate touches that looked casual to anyone watching but felt heavy with intent.

By midday, a few villagers had already stopped by “just to say hello” and congratulate the newlyweds. Each time, Toji played his part perfectly — gruff, possessive, pulling you close with an ease that made the performance feel dangerously real.

An older man dropped off a small basket of eggs and clapped Toji on the back. “Didn’t think I’d live to see you settle down, Fushiguro. She must be something special.”

Toji’s arm tightened around your waist as he gave a low grunt. “She is.” His fingers flexed against your side, warm through the fabric of your blouse. You leaned into him instinctively, playing along, and felt the solid wall of muscle beneath his tunic.

A young mother came next with her toddler in tow, offering a jar of preserved berries. She smiled at you brightly. “You two look so good together. How long have you been hiding her from us, Toji?”

“Long enough,” he answered, voice rough but carrying a hint of smugness. He pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to the top of your head right in front of her. The casual affection made your stomach flutter.

By early afternoon the steady trickle of visitors finally slowed. Toji flipped the shop sign to “Closed for the Day” and locked the front door with a heavy click. The sudden silence felt louder than all the chatter combined.

You let out a shaky breath and leaned against the counter, arms wrapped around yourself. “They really believe it. All of them.”

Toji wiped his hands on a rag, watching you from across the room. He tossed the rag aside and stalked toward you, slow and deliberate.

Gods, he was huge.

Up close like this, in the quiet afternoon light, the sheer size of him hit you all over again. Broad shoulders that seemed to stretch the fabric of his black tunic, thick arms corded with muscle from years of hauling heavy carcasses, a powerful chest that rose and fell steadily. The jagged scar at the corner of his mouth only made him more striking — dangerous, rough, and strangely, undeniably attractive. Those sharp green eyes pinned you in place, intimidating as ever, yet there was something magnetic about the way he moved. Like a predator who knew exactly how much power he held and chose not to use it… yet.

He stopped right in front of you, so close you had to tilt your head back to meet his gaze. One large hand came up to cup your chin, thumb brushing along your jaw.

“You’re handling this better than I expected,” he said quietly.

You felt your pulse quicken under his touch. “I feel like I’m going to faint every time someone looks at me.”

His thumb stroked slowly over your skin. “You’re not fainting. You’re standing here in my shop, wearing my clothes, letting me touch you like you belong to me.” His voice dropped lower. “Looks pretty convincing from where I’m standing.”

The air between you thickened. You could smell the faint mix of blood, woodsmoke, and clean sweat that clung to him. His sheer physical presence was overwhelming — the heat rolling off his massive frame, the way his broad chest nearly brushed against you with every breath.

“What happens when the guards come back?” you asked, voice softer than you intended.

Toji’s expression darkened. “Then we give them the same show. Or I handle it my way.” His hand slid from your chin to the back of your neck, fingers threading gently into your hair. “But right now? Shop’s closed. No more visitors. No more pretending for a little while.”

He didn’t move away. Neither did you.

Instead, you found yourself leaning into his touch, exhaustion and adrenaline twisting into something warmer, heavier. Your hands rose to rest on his chest, feeling the hard, solid muscle beneath your palms.

“Toji…” you started, unsure what you even wanted to say.

He cut you off with a low sound. “Careful. You keep saying my name like that and I might start believing this marriage is real myself.”

His grip on the back of your neck tightened just slightly — not painful, but enough to remind you how easily he could pull you in. His green eyes dropped to your mouth, lingering this time, dark with hunger.

“You still haven’t answered my question from earlier,” he murmured. “How far are you willing to go, runaway?”

The shop was quiet except for the distant sounds of village life outside. No one was watching now. It was just the two of you, the weight of the lie, and the growing, electric heat between you.

You wet your lips, heart racing.

“I’m still here,” you whispered. “That should tell you something.”

Toji’s scarred mouth curved into a slow, hungry smirk.

“Yeah,” he said, voice rough. “It does.”

The silence that followed felt heavier than before. The shop was quiet now, the afternoon light cutting sharp lines across the wooden floor and the rows of knives hanging on the wall. Toji didn’t step back. He stayed right there, towering over you, one hand still gripping the back of your neck while the other rested heavy on your hip.

He really was massive up close.

Broad shoulders that strained his tunic, thick arms veined and scarred from years of brutal work, a chest so solid it looked like it could take a hit from a horse and keep going. The scar at the corner of his mouth gave his face a permanent edge, dangerous and rough. Yet there was something about the way he looked at you — intense green eyes, half-lidded, focused — that made your stomach tighten in a way that had nothing to do with fear.

Toji noticed you staring.

“Eyes up here,” he muttered, but the corner of his scarred mouth twitched like he was amused. “You keep looking at me like that and I’m gonna get the wrong idea.”

You swallowed. “I’ve never been this close to someone like you.”

“Someone like me,” he repeated, almost mocking. He leaned in a little more, voice dropping low. “Big, ugly butcher covered in blood half the time?”

You shook your head. “Not ugly.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them. Toji paused, eyes narrowing slightly like he was trying to decide if you were lying. Then he let out a short, rough breath.

His thumb brushed slowly along the side of your neck, calloused and warm. You could feel the strength in his hand, how easily he could tighten his grip if he wanted. The contrast between that raw power and the way he was holding back made the air feel thick.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he said quietly. His gaze dropped to your mouth for a second before flicking back up. “I’m not a patient man, runaway. And I’m definitely not a gentle one.”

Your hands were still pressed against his chest. Under your palms, his muscles were firm and warm, shifting slightly with each breath. You didn’t pull away.

“I know,” you whispered.

Toji’s jaw flexed. For a moment his control looked strained — shoulders tense, fingers pressing harder into your skin. He leaned down until his face was inches from yours, close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath.

“If you stay,” he said, voice low and deliberate, “this stops being fake whenever I say it does. Behind this door, you won’t be playing a role. You’ll be in my bed. Under me. Taking what I give you.” His thumb dragged across your lower lip. “And you’ll moan my name like you mean it.”

Your breath caught.

Toji held your gaze for another long second, then slowly released you. He stepped back, rolling one shoulder like he needed to shake off the tension. The sudden space felt colder than it should have.

“But not right now,” he added gruffly. “You’re still half-dead on your feet and I’ve got work to finish before the meat spoils.”

He turned toward the back counter and picked up his sharpening stone. The steady scrape of metal filled the shop as he worked on one of his larger knives. You stayed by the front counter, watching the way his back and arms moved — powerful, efficient, every motion reminding you exactly what kind of man had just offered to claim you.

Every so often he glanced over at you, eyes dark and unreadable.

The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable. It was charged. Heavy with everything neither of you was saying out loud.

After a while, Toji spoke without looking up from his work.

“You hungry?”

You blinked, surprised by the sudden normal question. “A little.”

He jerked his head toward the stairs. “There’s leftover stew from this morning in the pot upstairs. Heat it up if you want. Or stay down here. Doesn’t matter to me.”

You hesitated, then moved to help him organize the counter instead. Every time you passed close by, his arm would brush yours — deliberate, not accidental. Small reminders that the tension hadn’t gone anywhere.

The afternoon stretched on like that. Quiet work. Occasional glances. The weight of his presence never really leaving you.

By the time the sun had fully set and the village outside grew dark and quiet, the tension between you had only thickened. Lanterns flickered in distant windows, but inside the butcher shop everything felt hushed and intimate.

Toji locked the front door with a heavy click and killed most of the lanterns, leaving only a single low one burning near the stairs. The warm glow followed you both upstairs, casting long shadows across the wooden beams.

He grabbed a spare blanket from the chest and headed for the worn couch against the far wall without a word. The piece of furniture looked comically small beneath his massive frame as he tossed the blanket over it. Then he reached back and pulled his tunic off in one smooth motion.

Your mouth went dry.

Firelight danced over his bare back and shoulders — thick slabs of muscle shifting under scarred skin, powerful arms flexing as he folded the tunic. His waist tapered into a sharp V, disappearing beneath the waistband of his trousers. Every inch of him looked hard, battle-worn, and undeniably masculine. The sight made something low in your belly tighten.

You stood frozen in the bedroom doorway.

“Wait,” you said, voice barely louder than a whisper.

Toji glanced over his shoulder, one dark brow raised. The movement made the muscles in his chest and abdomen flex visibly.

You twisted your fingers in the hem of your blouse, cheeks already burning.

“You don’t have to sleep on the couch,” you offered shyly. “The bed is… big enough for both of us. I don’t mind sharing.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Toji slowly turned around to face you fully. The low firelight carved deep shadows across his torso, highlighting every ridge of muscle, every old scar, the faint trail of dark hair disappearing into his trousers. He looked even bigger like this — raw power barely contained, green eyes locked on you with dangerous intensity.

He took one slow step closer, then another.

“Careful what you offer me, runaway,” he said, voice low and gravel-rough. “I’m not the type to hold back.”

You swallowed hard but didn’t back away.

“I just… it doesn’t feel right making you sleep on that tiny thing after everything,” you murmured, eyes flicking involuntarily down his bare chest before snapping back up. “We’re supposed to be married. At least to everyone else.”

Toji stopped just inches away from you. The heat radiating from his body wrapped around you like a cloak. You could smell him — smoke, clean sweat, and that faint metallic trace that always clung to his skin. His sheer size made you feel small and fragile in comparison.

He tilted his head, studying you like prey.

“You offering to share my bed isn’t about being polite,” he murmured. “If I get in that bed with you, I’m not staying on my side. I’ll pull you against me. I’ll have my hands all over that soft little body. And if you keep looking at me with those wide, needy eyes…”

He leaned down, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke.

“I won’t be able to stop myself from spreading those pretty thighs and finding out exactly how wet pretending to be my wife has made you.”

Your breath hitched sharply. Heat flooded your face and pooled between your legs. You pressed your thighs together instinctively, but Toji noticed — of course he did. A dark, satisfied sound rumbled in his chest.

He pulled back just enough to look at your face again, eyes heavy-lidded and hungry.

“I’m not gentle,” he continued, voice dropping even lower. “I fuck hard. I take what I want. And right now, I want to ruin that shy little runaway who dropped to her knees at my door and turned my whole life upside down.”

His hand came up, knuckles lightly dragging down the side of your neck, over your racing pulse, then lower until they brushed the neckline of your blouse. Not quite touching skin, but close enough to make you shiver.

“So think very carefully before you offer again,” he warned. “Because once I’m in that bed, the only pretending left will be how long you can keep quiet while I’m buried inside you.”

The air felt too thick to breathe.

Toji’s scarred mouth curved into a slow, predatory smirk as he watched the effect his words had on you.

“Still want to share a bed with me… wife?”

Toji’s words hung heavy in the air.

You didn’t answer with words.

You looked up at him, heart hammering so hard you could feel it in your throat, and gave a small, shy nod.

That was all it took.

Toji’s control snapped. A low, almost feral sound rumbled in his chest as he moved. In one fluid motion he scooped you up, one thick arm under your knees and the other around your back, lifting you like you weighed nothing. Your breath caught at how easily he carried you — his biceps flexing hard against your body, the heat of his bare chest pressing into your side.

He carried you the few steps to the bed and laid you down on your back with surprising care, but the look in his eyes was anything but gentle. The mattress dipped deeply under his weight as he climbed over you, caging you in completely with his massive frame. His broad shoulders blocked out most of the firelight, leaving you in shadow beneath him.

“You a virgin?” he asked, voice low and rough, green eyes searching yours like he was looking for any hesitation.

You nodded again, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“Fuck,” he breathed, the word almost reverent. His gaze darkened as it dragged slowly down your body. “Gonna have to take my time with you then. Can’t wreck this tight little virgin cunt on the first thrust.”

He kissed you deeply, tongue claiming your mouth in slow, filthy strokes while his rough hands explored every inch of you. He took his time peeling your clothes off — first tugging your blouse over your head, then sliding your skirt down your legs, and finally hooking his fingers into your soaked panties and dragging them off. When you were completely naked beneath him, he sat back on his heels and just stared, drinking in every inch of your exposed body like a man who’d been starving for weeks.

“So fucking small,” he muttered, almost to himself. His large hands ran up your thighs, thumbs brushing the sensitive skin on the inside, then spread your legs wide open. “Look at this pretty virgin pussy… already glistening and I’ve barely touched you.”

The cool air hit your wet folds and you shivered. Toji’s eyes were locked between your legs, dark and hungry, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

He lowered himself between your spread thighs like a man on a mission. The first slow, hot drag of his tongue from your entrance all the way up to your clit made your entire body jolt. Toji groaned deeply at your taste, the sound vibrating straight through you.

“Sweet as hell,” he rasped, voice thick with lust. “Could eat this pussy for hours.”

Then he devoured you.

His tongue worked in slow, broad strokes, licking every inch of your soaked folds before focusing on your swollen clit. He sucked the sensitive bud into his hot mouth, flicking it rapidly with the tip of his tongue while two thick fingers teased your entrance, circling and pressing but not pushing in yet. When you started whimpering and rolling your hips, he finally pushed one thick finger inside you — careful, but relentless.

“So goddamn tight,” he growled against your pussy, the vibration making your toes curl. “This little hole is gonna fight my cock the whole way in.”

He curled his finger slowly, searching, until he found that spongy spot that made your back arch. He rubbed it firmly while sucking harder on your clit. The wet, obscene sounds of his mouth and fingers filled the quiet bedroom — slick, filthy, and loud. Your thighs started trembling around his head as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your belly.

“Toji— oh gods—”

He didn’t let up. He ate you out like he was starving for it — messy, hungry, and completely focused on pulling every sound out of you. He added a second finger, stretching you open carefully, scissoring them while his tongue flicked fast and firm over your clit. The pressure built unbearably fast.

Your orgasm crashed over you without warning. Your back arched clean off the bed as you came hard on his face with a broken, sobbing cry of his name. Your walls clamped down around his fingers, pulsing wildly.

Toji licked you through every wave, slow and thorough, drawing out every last tremor until you were twitching and oversensitive, whimpering softly. Only then did he pull back. His chin and lips were shiny with your slick. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes dark and satisfied as he looked up at your flushed, panting face.

Then he shoved his trousers down.

His cock sprang free — thick, heavy, veined, and longer than anything you’d ever imagined. The flushed head was already leaking steadily.

“See this?” he said, stroking himself slowly. “This is gonna stretch you wide open, baby. But I’ll make it fit.”

He climbed back over you, pushing your legs up and folding your knees toward your chest. The position left you completely exposed. He rubbed the fat head of his cock up and down your drenched folds, coating himself in your wetness, teasing your clit with every pass.

“Deep breaths,” he warned. “Gonna go slow.”

He pushed in.

The stretch was intense. You gasped sharply, a high-pitched whimper escaping you as just the thick head popped inside. “Ah—! Toji… it’s so big…”

Toji groaned, jaw clenched tight as he fought the urge to slam forward. “Fuck— so tight,” he hissed. “Relax for me, baby. Let me in.”

You whimpered softly, fingers clutching at his shoulders. “It burns… but— ah— don’t stop…”

He worked himself in inch by slow, careful inch. Every time you tensed, he stopped, leaning down to kiss your neck or suck on your tits until you loosened again. Sweat beaded on his forehead from the restraint.

Halfway in, you let out a shaky moan, eyes fluttering. “Oh gods… I can feel you so deep already…”

Toji looked down at the bulge already forming in your lower belly. “Shit… look at that,” he groaned, pressing a big hand over the swell. “My cock’s barely halfway and I can already see it inside you.”

When he finally bottomed out, hips flush against your ass, you felt so full you could barely breathe. A broken whimper left your lips. “T-Toji… you’re all the way in… I feel so full…”

Toji stayed still, buried to the hilt, letting you adjust while he kissed you slow and deep. “Good girl,” he praised, voice strained. “Taking every inch of my cock on your first time. Such a perfect little wife.”

When your whimpers turned into soft, needy moans, he started moving — slow, deep rolls of his hips at first. The wet drag of his thick cock against your walls made you cry out.

“Feel that?” he growled. “Feel how deep I am? Gonna breed this cunt so full tonight.”

“Ah—! Yes… I feel it,” you moaned, voice trembling. “It’s so deep… Toji—!”

His pace gradually picked up. The bed started creaking rhythmically as he fucked you harder, deeper. Your tits bounced with every thrust. You couldn’t stop the desperate sounds spilling from your mouth.

“Gonna fill you up,” he panted. “Pump this tight womb full of my cum until it takes. Want you walking around the village with my kid growing inside you. Everyone’s gonna know exactly who fucked you first.”

The filthy words sent you spiraling. “Please— Toji— I’m gonna—!” You came hard around his cock, walls fluttering and squeezing him like a vice as you screamed his name, “Toji—! Ahh—!”

Toji snarled and fucked you through it, pace turning brutal. The wet slap of skin on skin echoed loudly.

“Fuck— gonna cum,” he groaned. “Gonna breed you— take it all—”

You whimpered and moaned beneath him, voice hoarse, “Cum inside me… please— fill me up—!”

He slammed in deep one final time and came with a long, guttural moan. Thick, hot ropes of cum flooded your pussy, pulse after heavy pulse. There was so much it leaked out around his cock despite how tightly you were stretched around him. Toji kept grinding deep, pushing every drop into your womb, hand pressing down on the bulge in your belly like he wanted to keep it all inside you.

You let out a soft, overwhelmed whimper at the feeling of being so full of him.

He stayed buried inside you for a long moment, chest heaving against yours, both of you slick with sweat.

Then he leaned down, kissed you slow and possessive, and murmured against your lips:

“This cunt belongs to me.”

Toji stayed inside you for a while longer, gently grinding and kissing your neck, before he finally pulled out with a low groan. A thick trickle of his cum leaked from your abused hole onto the sheets. He looked down at the mess with dark satisfaction, then rolled onto his back and pulled you against his chest.

“Rest now,” he said quietly, voice rough but surprisingly gentle as he wrapped a heavy arm around you. “You’ve had a long day, runaway. Close your eyes.”

He pressed one last kiss to the top of your head, his large hand resting possessively on your lower belly.

“Go to sleep.”

-

You woke up to warmth.

A heavy, solid arm was draped across your waist, pinning you to a broad chest. Toji’s body was curled around yours from behind, one thick thigh wedged between your legs. His breathing was slow and deep, but the moment you shifted even slightly, his grip tightened possessively.

The room was still dim, early morning light just beginning to creep through the small window. Your body ached — a deep, satisfying soreness between your thighs, faint bruises on your hips from his fingers, and the unmistakable sticky warmth of his cum still leaking out of you.

You tried to move again, but Toji’s low, sleepy growl stopped you.

“Stay,” he muttered against the back of your neck, voice rough with sleep. His hand slid down to cup your lower belly, pressing lightly. “Not done holding you yet.”

Heat rushed to your face. You stayed still, letting him pull you tighter against him. His cock — already half-hard again — rested heavy against your ass.

After a few quiet minutes, Toji sighed and finally loosened his grip. He rolled you onto your back so he could look down at you. His hair was messy, eyes still heavy-lidded, but the smirk on his scarred mouth was fully awake.

“Morning,” he said, voice gravelly. His hand stayed on your stomach, thumb stroking slow circles. “How’re you feeling?”

You shifted, wincing a little at the soreness. “Full… and sore,” you admitted softly.

Toji’s smirk widened into something darker, more satisfied. He leaned down and kissed you — slow and lazy at first, then deeper, tongue sliding against yours. When he pulled back, he dragged his hand lower, fingers brushing through the mess between your thighs.

“Still leaking my cum,” he murmured, almost proud. “Good.”

He pushed two thick fingers back inside you, slow and careful, fucking his dried cum deeper. You whimpered, hips twitching.

“Toji—”

“Shh,” he soothed, kissing your temple. “Not fucking you again right now. You’re too sore.” He kept his fingers inside you anyway, lazy and possessive. “Just keeping you full.”

You stayed like that for a while — his fingers buried inside you, his mouth brushing lazy kisses along your neck and shoulder. The morning was quiet except for the occasional creak of the bed and your soft sounds.

Eventually he pulled his fingers out, brought them to his mouth, and licked them clean while watching your face.

“Breakfast,” he said simply. “Then we open the shop.”

He got up first, completely naked and shameless. You couldn’t stop yourself from staring at the powerful lines of his back, the flex of his ass and thighs as he moved. He caught you looking and chuckled.

“Keep staring like that and I will bend you over the table downstairs,” he warned.

You quickly looked away, cheeks burning.

He tossed you one of his clean shirts and a fresh skirt. While you dressed, he pulled on his usual trousers and tank top, tying his blood-stained apron around his waist.

Before you left the bedroom, he caught your wrist and pulled you close one more time. His hand cupped your jaw, thumb brushing your bottom lip.

“Last night wasn’t pretend,” he said quietly, eyes serious. “Not for me. You’re mine. Understand?”

You swallowed and whispered, “I understand.”

He kissed you again — hard, claiming — then rested his forehead against yours for a second.

“Good.”

He led you downstairs, his hand firm on your lower back the entire way.

The village was waking up outside. And for the first time since you’d run away, you didn’t feel like running anymore.

Toji unlocked the front door and flipped the sign while you tied on a clean apron. The morning air carried the smell of fresh bread from Mrs. Sato’s bakery and the distant clang of the blacksmith’s hammer. A few early customers began drifting toward the shop.

The first hour passed in a surprisingly calm rhythm. You helped weigh portions, wrap cuts of meat in clean paper, and hand them over with a shy smile. Toji stayed close the whole time — sometimes reaching past you for a knife, sometimes resting a hand on your waist as he moved behind you. Every touch felt deliberate, like he was marking his territory even when no one was watching.

Then the bell above the door rang again.

A tall, sun-tanned man with kind eyes and an easy, friendly smile stepped inside. He looked to be in his late twenties, with the strong build of someone who spent his days working the fields. He greeted Toji with a familiar nod.

“Morning, Fushiguro. The usual shoulder cut, please.” His gaze shifted to you behind the counter and softened with genuine interest. “You must be the new wife everyone’s been talking about. I’m Haru. I run the big farm past the mill.”

You returned his smile politely. “Nice to meet you, Haru.”

He watched as you carefully wrapped his order, your hands still a little clumsy with the butcher paper. “It’s good to see a new face around here,” he said warmly. “You seem really kind. Gentle. The kind of person who makes a place feel brighter just by being in it.” He rubbed the back of his neck, almost shyly. “If you ever need anything — extra vegetables from the farm, help carrying something heavy, or just someone to talk to when things get quiet — my door’s always open. Wouldn’t want you feeling lonely so soon after moving in.”

You tilted your head, completely oblivious to any hidden meaning, and gave him a grateful smile. “That’s very kind of you. Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Before you could say anything else, the air behind you changed.

Toji’s large hand settled heavily on your hip, fingers digging in with clear possession as he pulled you back firmly against his chest. His other arm slid around your waist, locking you in place.

“She won’t be needing anything,” Toji said, his voice low and dangerously even. “I take care of my wife.”

Haru blinked, the friendly smile faltering as he finally registered the tension rolling off the butcher. “Of course. I was just… being neighborly.”

Toji’s grip on your hip tightened. “Neighborly is saying hello. The rest sounded like something else.”

The silence that followed was thick and uncomfortable. Haru swallowed hard, quickly paid for his meat, and muttered a polite goodbye before leaving without another word. The door swung shut behind him with a soft jingle.

The second he was gone, Toji spun you around and backed you against the counter. His green eyes were dark, jaw clenched tight with barely-contained jealousy. One big hand came up to cup your jaw, thumb pressing lightly against your bottom lip.

“You really didn’t notice?” he muttered, voice rough.

You shook your head, genuinely confused. “He was just being nice…”

Toji let out a short, irritated breath and leaned in closer, forehead almost touching yours. “He wasn’t just being nice. He was testing the waters. Seeing if my wife might be open to something else. Offering you a soft place to land if you ever got tired of me.”

His other hand slid under your skirt, fingers brushing between your thighs and finding you still slick from the night before. You gasped softly as he pushed two thick fingers inside you without warning, curling them slowly.

“Toji—”

“Mine,” he growled quietly against your ear, pumping his fingers in a lazy rhythm. “This pussy is mine. You are mine. I don’t want you smiling so sweetly at other men. Understand?”

You whimpered, clutching his shoulders as pleasure sparked through your still-sensitive body. “I understand…”

He kissed you then — hard, possessive, and hungry — while his fingers continued their slow, deliberate strokes. When he finally pulled back, his eyes were still dark with jealousy.

“Next time someone talks to you like that,” he said, voice low, “you let me handle it.”

He reluctantly withdrew his fingers, straightened your skirt, and stepped back like nothing had happened. But the tension in his shoulders and the dark look in his eyes remained.

“Back to work,” he said gruffly, still clearly worked up.

You nodded, legs shaky, heart racing, and turned back to the counter.

The rest of the morning passed with Toji staying even closer than before — a constant, heavy, possessive presence at your side. Every time another customer entered, his hand found your waist or lower back, silently reminding everyone (and you) exactly who you belonged to.

The rest of the morning dragged on with the same heavy tension.

Every time a male customer stepped through the door, Toji’s demeanor shifted. His hand would find your waist, your hip, or the small of your back — a silent, unmistakable claim. He answered questions in short, clipped tones and watched the men with sharp, warning eyes. You tried to focus on wrapping orders and smiling politely, but the constant possessiveness was becoming impossible to ignore.

By early afternoon, when the shop finally quieted again, you couldn’t hold it in anymore.

You turned to him while he was wiping down the counter.

“Toji,” you said softly, “you’re being too much.”

He paused, setting the rag down slowly. When he looked at you, his green eyes had gone dark.

“Too much?” he repeated, voice low and deceptively calm.

You swallowed but stood your ground. “Yes. The constant touching, the glaring at every man who even looks at me... They’re just customers.”

Toji stared at you for a long, heavy beat. Then he slowly walked around the counter, backing you up until your hips hit the edge. He caged you in with his massive frame, one hand braced beside you on the wood, the other coming up to grip your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“You think I’m being too possessive?” he murmured, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “Tell me something, wife… What kind of husband would I be if I let other men think they can have access to what’s mine?”

His voice was rough, low, and dangerous. “If I smiled and stepped aside while they flirted with you? While they offered you help and soft words like they had any right to you?”

He leaned in closer, breath hot against your ear. “I’d be a fucking joke. A weak man who doesn’t know how to protect what belongs to him. And I’m not weak.”

His free hand slid under your skirt without warning, fingers pushing between your thighs. You were bare underneath. The moment his calloused fingertips brushed your folds, he groaned softly — low and rough — when he found you already wet again.

“Already soaked,” he muttered, voice thick with satisfaction. “Complaining about me being too possessive, but your pussy is dripping the second I touch you.”

“Toji—” you whimpered, hips twitching as two thick fingers pushed inside you in one smooth motion. The stretch made you gasp, your walls still tender and sensitive from the night before.

He curled his fingers slowly, deliberately, stroking that spongy spot deep inside you while his thumb found your swollen clit and rubbed tight, firm circles. His mouth latched onto your neck, sucking hard enough to leave another mark, teeth grazing your skin as he worked you open.

You moaned, loud and broken, clutching desperately at his broad shoulders. Your legs trembled around his wrist as pleasure sparked hot and fast through your body.

“You can tell me I’m too much,” he growled against your throat, biting down lightly before soothing the sting with his tongue. “But we both know the truth. You like it when I act like this. You like knowing no one else can touch you. You like being mine.”

His fingers pumped faster, curling with every thrust, the wet, obscene sounds of your arousal filling the quiet shop. Your hips rolled against his hand instinctively, chasing the pleasure even as your thighs shook.

“Ah— Toji… please—” you moaned, voice cracking. Your head fell back, exposing more of your neck to him. He took full advantage, sucking and biting along your skin while his fingers drove deeper, faster.

You were right there — teetering on the edge, muscles tightening around his thick fingers — when he suddenly pulled his hand away completely.

You let out a desperate, needy whine, hips chasing his fingers uselessly. Your core throbbed, aching and empty.

“Toji…!” you whimpered, voice hoarse and frustrated, eyes glassy with unshed tears of need. “Please— I was so close…”

Toji smirked, dark and satisfied, eyes gleaming with lust as he watched you squirm. He brought his glistening fingers up between you, holding them in front of your face so you could see how wet they were — coated in your slick right up to his knuckles.

“Open,” he ordered, voice low and commanding.

You obeyed instantly, parting your lips. He pushed his fingers into your mouth, letting you taste yourself as you sucked them clean, tongue swirling around them obediently. His green eyes darkened further, pupils blown wide as he watched you.

“Good girl,” he murmured, voice rough with arousal. “Look at you… so fucking eager. Whining because I stopped, sucking my fingers like you’d do anything for my cock right now.”

He pulled his fingers free with a wet pop and leaned in, kissing you deeply, tasting you on your own tongue. When he pulled back, his breath was ragged.

“You can complain about me being possessive all you want,” he said, voice dark and low, “but your body doesn’t lie. This pussy knows exactly who it belongs to.”

He suddenly lifted you onto the counter with ease, as if you weighed nothing. The wood was cool against the backs of your thighs as he shoved your skirt all the way up to your waist in one rough motion, baring your dripping pussy completely. He stepped between your spread thighs, his broad body forcing your legs wider apart until your knees were nearly touching your shoulders.

His hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise, fingers digging deep into your soft flesh with unmistakable ownership. With his other hand, he freed his cock — thick, heavy, and already throbbing. The veined shaft glistened as he stroked himself once, slowly, eyes locked on your exposed, glistening cunt.

“Since you think I’m too possessive,” he said, voice rough and dangerous, “I’m going to remind you exactly why I am.”

He rubbed the fat, leaking head of his cock up and down your soaked folds, coating every thick inch in your slick. He teased your swollen clit with every slow pass, tapping it lightly until your hips jerked and you let out a needy whimper.

“Toji… please—”

Without another word, he pushed in with one deep, powerful thrust.

You cried out sharply, back arching hard off the counter as the thick head forced its way inside, stretching you wide open. The sudden, overwhelming fullness stole your breath. Toji groaned deeply, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth stroke, his hips flush against your ass.

“Fuck… still so tight,” he growled, voice strained with pleasure. “Even after I filled you last night. This greedy little cunt keeps sucking me in like it doesn’t want to let go.”

He didn’t give you any time to adjust. He started fucking you hard and deep, the heavy wooden counter creaking loudly under the force of every brutal thrust. Your moans echoed shamelessly through the empty shop as he claimed you right there in the middle of the day.

“Mine,” he snarled against your neck, biting down hard enough to leave another dark mark. “Say it.”

“I’m yours— ah— Toji—!” you moaned, voice breaking as your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, heels digging into his lower back.

He fucked you even harder, hips snapping forward with powerful, punishing strokes. The wet slap of skin against skin filled the room, loud and filthy. One of his big hands reached between your bodies, his thumb finding your swollen clit and rubbing fast, tight circles.

“That’s right,” he panted, breath hot against your ear. “My wife. My pussy. No one else gets to look at you the way I do. No one else gets to touch you. No one else even gets to fucking think about you.”

Your moans grew louder and more desperate, your walls fluttering around his thick cock with every deep thrust. The counter shook beneath you. Your tits bounced wildly inside your blouse with the force of his movements.

He suddenly leaned back slightly, gripping your thighs and spreading you even wider as he drove into you. The new angle made him hit even deeper, the bulge in your lower belly becoming visible with every thrust.

“Look at that,” he groaned, eyes fixed on the spot where his cock disappeared inside you. “You’re taking me so fucking deep. This tight cunt was made for my cock.”

You cried out, nails digging into his shoulders as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter inside you. “Toji—! It’s too deep— ahh—!”

“You can take it,” he growled, fucking you harder. “You’re going to take everything I give you.”

Your orgasm crashed over you without warning — fast, violent, and overwhelming. Your walls clenched hard around his cock, fluttering and squeezing as waves of intense pleasure tore through your body. You screamed his name, thighs shaking violently around his waist.

Toji snarled like a beast, his rhythm turning erratic and savage as he fucked you through your climax. He kept pounding into you, chasing his own release, hips slamming against yours with wet, filthy sounds.

But he didn’t cum.

Instead, he suddenly slowed his thrusts, grinding deep and slow, keeping you right on the edge of overstimulation. His breathing was ragged, sweat glistening on his chest and neck.

He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a messy, possessive kiss while still buried deep inside you.

“You’re not done yet,” he murmured against your lips, voice dark and full of promise. “We’re nowhere near finished.”

Before you could catch your breath, Toji pulled out of you with a wet, obscene sound. You whimpered at the sudden emptiness, your pussy clenching around nothing, already missing the thick stretch of him. But he didn’t give you any time to protest.

In one swift, powerful motion, he flipped you over onto your stomach across the counter. Your chest pressed against the cool, smooth surface, your cheek resting on the wood as he yanked your hips back and up, forcing your ass high in the air. Your skirt was still bunched uselessly around your waist, leaving you completely exposed — bent over like a whore in the middle of his shop.

Toji kicked your legs wider apart with his foot, then pressed one large hand firmly between your shoulder blades, pinning you down hard against the counter.

“Fuck, look at you,” he growled, voice thick with raw lust. “Bent over my counter like a proper little wife. Ass up, pussy dripping for me.”

He spread your ass cheeks wide with both hands, exposing your swollen, abused pussy completely. Without any warning, he spat directly onto your folds — a thick, warm glob of saliva landing right on your clit and dripping down. You gasped sharply at the filthy sensation, your hips twitching.

Toji groaned at the sight and used two thick fingers to rub his spit into your pussy, mixing it with your own slick, pushing it inside you. Then he brought his palm down hard on your ass with a loud, resounding smack.

The sharp sting bloomed hot across your skin. You cried out, jolting forward on the counter.

“Stay still,” he ordered, voice rough. He smacked the other cheek even harder, watching the way your flesh jiggled and turned pink under his hand. “This ass is mine too. Every fucking inch of you is mine.”

You moaned helplessly, pushing back against him despite the sting. Toji lined up the thick head of his cock again and thrust back inside you in one brutal, deep stroke.

The new angle made him feel impossibly bigger, reaching even deeper. You moaned loudly, fingers scrambling for purchase on the smooth wooden counter as he immediately started fucking you hard and fast.

The counter creaked loudly under the force of his powerful thrusts. Each snap of his hips drove his thick cock impossibly deep, the wet slap of skin against skin echoing through the empty shop. Toji’s hands gripped your hips in a bruising hold, pulling you back onto his cock with every stroke like he was using you.

“Fuck— this pussy feels even better like this,” he groaned, voice rough and strained. He smacked your ass again, harder this time, watching the way your flesh rippled red under his palm. “So fucking wet. You like being bent over and used like this, don’t you?”

“Yes— ah— Toji—!” you moaned, cheek pressed against the cool counter, eyes fluttering shut. Every brutal thrust made your breasts press harder into the wood, your sensitive nipples dragging against it.

Toji reached forward and fisted a hand in your hair, pulling your head back slightly as he fucked you even harder. His hips slammed against your ass with wet, filthy sounds. He spat on your pussy again, right where his thick cock was stretching you open, and used his thumb to rub the saliva into your swollen clit.

“Such a messy little wife,” he panted, smacking your ass repeatedly between thrusts — sharp, stinging slaps that made you clench tighter around him. “Dripping all over my counter. Taking my cock so deep like you were made for it. Look at this greedy cunt swallowing every inch.”

Your moans turned into broken sobs of pleasure. The combination of his brutal pace, the stinging heat on your ass, and the filthy words pushed you right to the edge again.

Toji leaned over you, his broad chest pressing against your back, his breath hot and ragged against your ear as he kept pounding into you without mercy.

“Tell me who this pussy belongs to,” he growled, smacking your ass one more time, hard enough to make you yelp.

“You—! It belongs to you— Toji—!” you cried out, voice hoarse and desperate.

He snarled in satisfaction and fucked you even harder, the counter shaking beneath you. His hand slipped between your legs again, rubbing your clit fast and rough.

You came with a broken scream, your walls clamping down hard around his thick cock, thighs shaking violently as intense pleasure tore through you.

Toji groaned loudly as your orgasm triggered his own. He slammed in deep one final time and came hard, flooding your pussy with thick, hot spurts of cum. He kept grinding into you slowly, pushing every drop as deep as possible, his hips pressed tight against your reddened ass.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the shop were your heavy breathing and the faint drip of his cum leaking out of you onto the floor.

Toji stayed buried inside you, leaning over your back and kissing the back of your neck possessively.

“Still think I’m being too possessive?” he murmured against your skin, voice dark and satisfied.

You could only whimper in response, too overwhelmed to form words. Your body was trembling, pressed against the counter, pussy still fluttering weakly around his thick cock. Every small shift made you feel the mess he’d left inside you — warm, sticky, and so full it was leaking down your thighs.

Toji let out a low, rumbling sound of approval. He stayed deep for a long moment, grinding slow and lazy, pushing his cum even deeper as if he couldn’t stand the thought of any of it escaping. His large hand smoothed over the reddened skin of your ass where he’d spanked you, almost soothing now, before giving one last firm squeeze.

“Answer me,” he said quietly, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“…No,” you breathed, voice hoarse and shaky. “I don’t.”

He hummed, clearly pleased. He finally pulled out slowly, watching with dark eyes as a thick trail of his cum dripped from your abused hole onto the floor. The sight made him groan softly.

“Fuck, that’s a pretty sight,” he muttered. He used two fingers to push some of the leaking cum back inside you, then straightened your skirt with surprising care.

Toji helped you stand on shaky legs, turning you to face him. He cupped your jaw with one hand, thumb brushing your flushed cheek as he studied your expression — eyes glassy, lips swollen, hair messy.

“You’re going to feel me for the rest of the day,” he said, voice low. “Every step. Every time you move. I want you thinking about who fucked you over this counter.”

He leaned in and kissed you — slower this time, but still deep and possessive. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours for a brief second.

“Clean yourself up a little,” he told you, pressing one last kiss to your temple. “We’ve still got half a day left.”

Toji stepped back, tucking himself away and adjusting his apron like nothing had happened, though the dark, satisfied glint in his eyes remained.

You stood there on unsteady legs, heart still racing, feeling the unmistakable warmth of his cum slowly leaking down your inner thighs.

And somehow, you couldn’t find it in yourself to complain.

a/n: aren't the old hags kinda iconic? lmk what you think and if you'd be interested in a part two! likes and reblogs appreciated!!

Zen’in. Shit. They must be talking about Naoya.

Memories come sifting back.

Naoya… the forest… kicking dirt in his eyes…

“You tell us, Toji. He’s your cousin.” His voice is too loud.

A grunt, and then a shuffle.

“Knock it off, Gojo. Let’s stay on topic. I can’t have you guys at each other’s throats until we figure this out.”

“Sorryyyy, Nanamin. You know how excited I get around pretty girls.”

Whoever Nanamin must be clears his throat, and rests a hand on your forehead. The feeling makes you shiver from your toes to the crown of your ears, your toes curling. “She’s burning up.”

Another voice speaks. Your body is acutely aware of the fact that it sounds like a literal purr. “If only Naoya were here to see the effect he has on women. But I’m having the feeling that something is amiss here.”

Your eyes finally flutter open, and you feel your heart skip multiple beats.

You’re in a dim room, surrounded by six bodies. Tall, and violently ripped. Enough to tell you that they’re all alphas.

“W-where am I?” you manage through a cough. You feel off.

Blue eyes latch onto yours, coupled with a head of floppy white hair. When he speaks, you’re able to match his face with the over-ecstatic voice. “Heaven. Are we all you ever dreamed of?”

A groove hooks between your eyebrows. “I’m not dead. There’s no way the pearly gates look worse than my castle.”

A man with blonde hair, not a strand out of place, frowns. “Castle?”

Slowly, you nod, fingers fisting in the sheets you lay upon. They’re rather itchy. “Er, yes.”

His breath hitches for a moment, a flicker of unease wiping over his expression, before it returns to stoicism. “I see.”

The man lowers to a knee, then bows his head. The image of reverence you are far too used to.

“My princess. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. On behalf of my… friends,” he seems to cough through the word, like it displeases him. “I apologize if we made your trip outside the realm unpleasant.”

The remaining five men all exchange wary looks.

“…Princess? Like, of the Isle?” a man speaks up. He’s got a rather interesting look. A tattoo resembling dried blood swiped across his cheeks, pigtails, and a pale complexion matching the current blood draining from his face.

“The hell was she doing with a Zen’in?” You seem to share the same sentiment as the man with eyes as blue as the sea.

Pigtails falls to his knees at once, almost pathetically. “It’s a pleasure, Your royal highness.”

You bite back a laugh when he prostrates. You’re about to tell him it isn’t necessary when someone grumbles to your side.

You nearly jump out of your skin when you turn to see a man leaning into your face, assessing you carefully. He’s got tattoos plastered all across his face, his shoulders, biceps…

“Where’s your shirt, Sukuna? And why’re you sniffing her out like she’s fresh meat?” The blonde man quizzes, squeezing the bridge of his nose.

“Because she is,” he huffs, crimson slits for eyes narrowing when he leans in to brush his nose against your cheek. You flinch at the contact, a whimper punching from your throat, lashes fluttering shut. “And she’s about to go into heat.”

The room tenses up.

It feels as if everyone has stopped breathing, their expressions frozen in surprise.

“Heat, you say?” A dark-haired man with tresses even silkier than yours speaks, leaning against a wall. His eyes resemble one of your many amethyst pendant’s back home. “She’s an omega?”

“Clearly,” the white-haired man says, and you’re certain his pupils have dilated significantly. “She wouldn’t stop moaning in her sleep.”

Your cheeks burn at his lewd words, but the comment is easily mowed over.

“Why can’t I smell her?” a man offers, one who has yet to speak up yet. A scar running through his lip twitches in irritation. You can’t make out much from him, other than what looks like displeasure of your entire existence, a look you’re not too familiar with. Maybe he’s not a fan of the monarchy, or omegas.

“There could be a million reasons why her pheromones are suppressed, but I’m leaning towards a stress response,” the silky-haired man offers, pushing off the wall and padding over to you. Towering over your form, he sweeps a few fingers over your forehead to rid of the stray strands clinging to your perspired forehead. “I’m Geto, dear. Could you tell me your name?”

You’re not sure how you feel regarding his condescending tone, as if he isn’t speaking to royalty in the flesh, but you find yourself answering immediately. Maybe it’s the soft gaze his embellished irises fix you with, or his scent.

His scent that smells hypnotically good.

All men await your response—some patient, some nettled, others bursting at the seams.

It’s overwhelming sitting in a room with so many alphas at once. You don’t think you’ve encountered more than two at once, and it has you feeling lightheaded. What’s worse is that they’ve all got their own significant smells that have convoluted together unless they’re close—Geto smells like rain and jasmine, calming but violently alluring. Like if you were to cling to him in search for tranquility, you’d find yourself senseless and too stupid to ever leave his side. It’s weird, having your emotions so sharp.

“Pretty name for a pretty girl. What was I saying guys?”

You wince. “You’re Gojo, right? He called you that earlier.” you say, motioning towards the man who looks like he runs an entire utilitarian squad under a vengeful king all on his own.

A teasing smirk plays at his lips. “When you say it like that, I can be anyone you want me to be.”

“Gojo,” the blonde hair man interrupts, a scolding tone clipping each syllable.

Gojo holds his hands up in mock offense, before backing off.

“I’m Choso, My lady,” the man with the pigtails speaks, still on the ground and looking somewhat wrecked. “Sorry, I just— can you smell us?”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “Uhm. Yeah. Usually I have my heat suppressant pills on me but… I forgot to bring them with me.”

“Forgot?” the mysterious man in the corner presses. You don’t like how accusatory his tone comes off. His palm rests on a sword at his side, fingers tapping impatiently.

For the most part, you’re not a jittery person. But with six alphas surrounding you and asking you questions far from home, it’s not easy to maintain your composure. “Yes, I forgot. Is that a crime I should be stoned for?”

He doesn’t respond, just eyeing you from afar. If you were to guess, you’d say he’s unimpressed with the sole heir to the throne.

“Cool it, Toji. You don’t wanna scare off the little pup already, do you?” Gojo plasters on a shit-eating grin.

“It’s your first heat, isn’t it?” The man with no care for personal space, or Sukuna, asks, straightening to his full height.

Your finger twitches, eyes narrowing up at him. “No.”

That seems to amuse him. “Brat. You’re lying.”

You frown. “I— Excuse me?”

He waves a dismissive hand. “You are a terrible liar. If you were a peasant having stole bread, you’d be executed out of pity.”

That earns a chuckle from the man in the corner, who you can now pinpoint as Toji. You turn to fix him with a glare, ready to spew vitriol, when the blonde man speaks up.

“Enough. I do not have the energy to pry you idiots from berating her. If it makes it back to the throne that we were mistreating the princess, there would be bounties on each and every one of our heads.”

Toji shrugs. Sukuna grins at the idea.

“May I… ask a few questions for clarity, Your grace?” Choso suddenly prompts from the floor. Part of you wants to tell him that he does not need to express his devotion much longer, but it is quite enjoyable to have someone in the room with such reverence for royalty.

“Yes. You may,” you nod your head, turning towards him.

“It seems that our princess here is quite far from home. What were you doing with Naoya?”

Zen’in Naoya. Your betrothed. And quite possibly the most vile man you’ve come across in your lifetime.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“Liar.”

“I’m not lying!” you shout back at Sukuna, but he merely watches you through slits, as if considering you.

“If she were a spy from the throne, she’d be a terrible one,” Geto offers, appraising you slowly. It’s odd—how he can look right at you, but talk about you as if you’re too unimportant to address. It makes your skin sizzle.

“You got that right. Found this on her,” Toji says, flicking something shiny towards Nanami. He catches it with ease, holding something small and silver in his hand.

Your engagement ring.

“Well well. What might this be?” Gojo asks, plucking it from Nanami’s fingers. “Is our sweet little omega a bride-to-be? Let me guess; someone got cold feet?”

“Give that back—!”

You motion to lift yourself from the bed when you freeze, something inside of you shifting.

It only takes a moment, but each man in the room reacts in suit.

Grunts, growls, groans. They fold in half, fighting through the burn sliding through their veins. Their brains pulse, overwhelmed with stimulants.

Your thighs tremble, falling to the mattress with a whine punched from your gut. Something warm pools low in your loins.

“What… the fuck is that?” Toji grumbles, his fingers curling around the hilt of his sword.

“She said she hasn’t taken h-her heat suppressants,” Choso huffs, teeth sliding against each other like tectonic plates with a vengeance. “It’s her scent.”

“Leave. Everyone, now.”

Nobody moves a muscle at Nanami’s words. They all hover near the bed, and your nerves spike, their eyes assessing you. Pupils swallowed black latch onto you, breaths shallowing out and muscles rolling beneath their tunics.

Suddenly, Sukuna’s hand finds the headboard of the bed you’re on, and the wood cracks and crunches under the firm weight he presses on it. “You’re telling me this is her first fucking heat?” The low timbre of his voice strung with vexation rattles something in your core.

Oh, fuck.

“That’s why she smells like a million fucking cordial cherries shoved up my nostrils,” Gojo winces, his biceps rippling with the effort not to crush the things nearest to him.

Your head whips up when you suddenly remember something. With haste, you sort through the pockets of your outside gown and find your scent patches, plastering them onto your glands.

Immediately, the men release a breath of relief, like every muscle fiber had tensed up just from getting a whiff of you.

“Forgot to put these on, too,” you sheepishly mumble under your breath, recalling how you’d hurried out of the royal gates this morning, making a mental note to place your scent blockers on your trip to the outermost woods but nonetheless forgetting.

“Foolish, impudent woman.” Sukuna tears his hand from the headboard and storms out of the room, cursing under his breath.

Yikes. You’re surprised he’s not Naoya’s cousin.

The rest of the men shuffle out, fingers twitching and blown pupils, but Nanami trails behind.

“Rest. It’s late, and I’ll have someone ride you out to the castle in the morning.”

“Wait! Nanami,” you call out, biting the inside of your cheek.

He pauses with his back turned to you, then faces you, a vein jumping in his forehead. He looks like he’s in pain with each passing second he spends in this room. “…Yes?”

“Uhm….” your gaze drops to your lap, picking at your cuticles. “I lied, earlier. It really is my first heat.”

He doesn’t react, as if he knew the truth regardless of your words, but he waits for your elaboration without scolding you.

“My father, the King, told me that I would be off of the suppressants once I was wedded. But, I don’t know what that’s like. I’ve taken them all my life.”

Nanami swallows thickly, eyes narrowing at you. “Ah. So you ran off from Zen’in to see what it would be like.”

Your silence confirms his words.

Naoya had followed you out of the castle grounds, waiting until you got to your destination of a cave to see what you were up to, which was seeking out how you’d fare with whatever a heat consisted of on your own. He’d cornered you, a fight blowing out of proportion when he assumed you were avoiding him completely or even meeting with a secret lover. Hands flying and curses stinging. Words spat and truths bared. Honestly, if the choice was in your hands, you wouldn’t marry him. He was arrogant, and disgustingly bigoted. Nothing like the kind of prince you’d read at bedtime as a little girl that’d sweep you off of your feet. But, the matter that your kingdom could benefit from this alignment had been drilled into you for ages.

You ended up punching him square in the jaw, and if your slowly returning memory serves you correct, a certain pink-haired beast had pried Naoya off of you when he’d tackled you to the floor, your vision going dark when you knocked out.

You assume that Sukuna had some sort of duty as a member of this pack to bring you inside their grounds for assessment, and as a self-preservation tactic, Naoya would avoid a fight with someone as formidable as Sukuna.

Nanami seems to be fighting an inner turmoil, hands tightening at his side, before he sighs. “I can’t explain to you exactly what a heat is right now, but what I do know is that it is dangerous for you here.”

Your eyebrows furrow, trepidation steadily rising. “Dangerous?”

Nanami dips his chin. “Yes. Six unmated alphas with an omega when omegas are already rare?”

The population compared to omegas has significantly lowered in past centuries, so it isn’t unlikely for a number of alphas to court one omega.

Panic blooms in your gut. “You guys won’t hurt me… right?” Out of all of the men you’d encountered today, you feel the safest around Nanami. He seems to be the most level-headed, and respectful of your title as daughter of the Isle.

He eyes you for a moment, chestnut irises sliding over your expression, but never venturing too far. “I can’t say for certain. Alpha’s are unpredictable when an unmated omega goes through heat. Which is precisely why we must return you to the castle at first light.”

Disappointment lingers under your skin, your lips curling downwards. “I do not wish to marry a boy like Naoya.”

“Then, that is something you must settle once you get home.”

Nanami’s body language is screaming to you that he wants to run out of this very room. He bows his head, and excuses himself, shutting the door behind him while you’re left to contest the mess you’ve gotten yourself into.

It wasn’t bad music. You enjoyed his taste. You would just rather not hear it blasting through the walls at 2 am. 

A roommate disagreement. It’s the first one you’ve ever had. 

You want to do this right. Your biggest worry is offending him. You spend days figuring out the best way to approach him. You look up ways to gently bring up disagreements between your roommate. You fill a bag with treats and sweets–the kinds you’ve seen him munch on before. You even write a letter because you know how flighty you get in these situations, and you can’t thank him enough for all that he’s done for you, but if he could just maybe perhaps slightly–

“-So you just want me to turn the music down?” Gojo interrupts your rambling.

He’s sitting on the sofa, one leg across the other. You remain standing, too strung up to really relax. The paper you were reading out loud crinkles as you fold it back up. 

“Yeah.” You mumble. “If you can.” 

He takes another candy you’d gifted him, popping it in his mouth. 

“Yeah, sure.” He shrugs, as if it were hardly an inconvenience. 

You, on the other hand, nearly deflated in relief. You didn’t expect it to be so simple. You were half-preparing for the possibility that he’d blow up at you and go back to administration, demanding your eviction. Everything was resolved so easily. 

“Thank you.” A genuine smile graces your lips.

Gojo hums. The candy cracks between his teeth. 

“You’re pretty shy, huh?” He tilts his head, studying you.

A laugh escapes your throat. Nervous. 

“I just don’t like confrontation,” you admit. 

Gojo nods, returning your wave when you say your goodbyes. You think nothing of the exchange. Hours later, you’re still riding the high of how effortless it all went. 

⌂

Two things change today. 

First, Gojo is up this morning. 

He’s never up this early. Usually, you only hear him moving around at noon. You’re the early bird, not him. You never minded his routine. If anything, you appreciated that you ran on separate schedules. 

Second, he was naked. 

Gojo typically dresses conservatively: T-shirts, sweatpants, hoodies. He adorns the look of a typical college student most days. His tastes are a bit on the expensive side, considering how casually he wears luxury brands, but he’s mostly covered up.  

Today, Gojo walks around the kitchen in nothing but boxers.

You’re awkwardly standing in the hallway. You want to go back to your room and hide out until he leaves, but you’re already running late for class. Briefly, you think about keeping your head locked on the ground and slinking out the door. Maybe, if you’re lucky, he won’t notice you. 

You aren’t that lucky. 

Gojo looks at your miserable figure. There’s no embarrassment about how little he’s dressed. No apologies. No stutters that will make you feel the tiniest bit human. He bares his white teeth as he smiles. 

“‘Morning, roomie!” He chirps. 

You repeat the pleasantry with far less enthusiasm. You avoid looking at him directly, preferring to look at the counter, the floor, the refrigerator, anywhere that didn’t have Gojo in it. 

This was normal, you kept repeating to yourself. This is his house. You’re practically a squatter. He should be comfortable in his own home. He should wear whatever he wants. 

Besides, now you can make the most of your situation. You first considered skipping breakfast, given his situation. Now that the worst has happened, you could grab an apple or something. 

You slip past him. You think Gojo is making some type of smoothie, but you refuse to look directly at him to confirm. The fruit basket is right at your fingertips. You start to swipe the first one you can grab before making your escape.

Something presses against your back, caging you against the counter. You freeze. You feel hard muscle as Gojo reaches up to mess with the cabinets. 

“Sorry.” Gojo casually excuses, rifling through the shelves. “I’ll just be a second.”

One second. 

Five seconds. He’s still there. Your knuckles are white from how hard you’re gripping the counter. 

“Gojo–” 

“My music didn’t bother you last night, did it?” He asks. 

For a second, you wonder if that’s why he was doing this. Maybe you had offended him earlier with your complaint. But you don’t hear any resentment in his voice. He sounds cheerful. 

Delighted, even. 

“No,” you say, “it was fine.” 

He hums. When he finally pulls away, you get your autonomy back. You scramble away from the counter, not wanting to get caught again. 

“That’s good,” He says, “I’m glad you were upfront about this. We’re roommates! No use in hating eachother, right?” 

Temporary roommates, you correct in your head. 

“Also, we should use our first names from now on, roomie.” Gojo continues. “We should speak more comfortably.” 

Fine, whatever. You just wanted to leave. 

He suddenly leans in so he’s eye-to-eye with you. You hadn’t noticed it before, but his gaze is intense. You try to back away, but there’s nowhere to go. 

“Say it.” He lowers his voice. “Sa-to-ru.” 

It feels like he’s mocking you, but you can’t seem to find the joke. 

“Satoru,” you obey. 

He smiles. 

“Yeah.” He pulls away. “Just like that.” 

⌂

After a couple of washes, you finally notice its absence. 

It wasn’t the most expensive of your collection, but it was still pretty pricey. You liked the silk material and the dark red color. It was your favorite pair of panties. 

You skulk around the apartment, hoping it just fell from the basket. That, or the washer ate it. You tried not to think of the other option. 

 Days pass, and you give up searching. You decide to forget about it. You have other pairs. It’s not the end of the world. 

A part of you thinks about asking Satoru, but you’re quickly squashing it down. No way would you willingly ask him something so embarrassing. You just toss it to the back of your mind, hoping it will just show up again. 

And then, Satoru invites you into his room.

It’s not exactly an invitation. When you’re trudging home from class, he pops out from his room, excitedly telling you about a TV show before you’re being dragged inside. You’re not a big fan of the genre, and you have no interest in the show. It doesn’t matter to Satoru. You’re forced to sit on his bed as the characters on screen follow the script. 

He’s doing that a lot lately. Interrupting. Invading. You keep brushing off the thought that he’s testing you, somehow. 

“Roomie, this guy is so annoying.” Satoru comments. “Don’t worry, he dies in the next episode, so you don’t have to suffer for long.” 

You say nothing as he casually spoils the show for you. Honestly, you couldn’t care less. You were getting a little bored. Your eyes wander around his room. It’s cleaner than you thought it’d be. A few clothes are scattered around. A college hoodie hangs off the door. There are all sorts of papers on his desk, each is covered in meaningless algorithms you can’t decipher, and you suddenly remember he’s a physics major. You ask about maybe getting some math help from him later on, before you’re brushing that thought away. 

There’s a snap of fingers. Your gaze drifts back to Gojo. 

“Roomie, pay attention!” He whines, urging you back to the screen. 

There are only 10 minutes of the show left. Fine, you sit there, counting down the minutes until you can make your escape. 

Satoru’s hand brushes the edge of your bare thigh. 

He’s not exactly touching. You two are sitting pretty close. He was just sitting comfortably, resting his weight on his hands. It’s barely a touch, but it’s there. You can feel his fingers on your skin. 

He doesn’t move his hand back. It’s more likely because he doesn’t notice, you convince yourself. You’re overthinking things again. 

He shifts. His hand slips even closer. 

When you try to open your mouth, he hushes you with a, “This is the best part!” and all the courage leaves your body again. 

It feels like hours until the credits finally roll. Satoru steps off the bed to turn off the TV, and you make your move too, eager to find refuge in your room. 

“Oh yeah.” His voice stops you in your tracks. “What did you want to talk about earlier?” 

You stare. It feels crazy to bring up what happened just now. See? He didn’t even notice. 

But now, you have nothing to say, and saying nothing feels like a lie. 

“Did you see something in your laundry?” You blurt out before you can even think. 

Satoru encapsulates a picture-perfect replication of an innocent doe. He tilts his head in confusion. 

“Like what?” He asks. 

Dark red panties, with just the hint of lace. You can’t say it. You just can’t. 

“I think we might’ve swapped some clothes.” You unhelpfully murmur. “If you see anything…just let me know.” 

He nods. “Sure thing, Roomie!” He calls to you as you hurry back into your room and lock the door. 

Soon, Satoru’s actions turn less ambivalent. 

Sometimes, you’d hear him once or twice in the middle of the night. He’s loud. The walls thankfully muffle most of it, but you know what he’s doing. You usually just plug in your headphones and try not to look at him the next day. So far, things have worked out pretty well. 

Today, his door is wide open as he jerks off. 

You’re standing right next to your own door, mouth agape, forced to listen to his moans and babbles for five minutes. You’re already late for class.

But you can’t bring yourself to even open your door. 

To get out of the apartment, you’d have to cross Satoru’s room. The one that is currently open, where you’d see him stroking his dick. 

You know this is going too far. You needed to fucking do something already. There’s no way you can be kept a prisoner in your own home. 

And yet, you stay, forced to listen to him openly masturbate. 

“Fuck yes,” you can hear him say over and over again. “Just a little more, pretty girl. C’mon, just a bit–there we fucking go.” 

He’s talking to someone. No, that’s not right. He’s fantasizing about someone. 

More babblings and you’re squeezing your eyes shut as he comes. He curses again, and you stand there until you no longer want to melt into the floor. 

A few minutes later, you’re stomping around the room, trying to be as noisy as possible. You loudly adjust your bookbag and fiddle with your chair. You try to give him as much time as possible. 

By the time you come out, the apartment is back to normal. His door is still open. You stare straight ahead, ignoring the clear invitation to look as you pass his room. 

“Hey, Roomie.” Satoru casually calls from his place on the bed. 

You nearly trip over your own feet. Satoru gives a hiss. 

“You good?” He asks. 

No. 

“Yes.” You adjust your bag. “Just tripped.” 

“Okay.” You hear him shift. His bed creaks under the weight. “Have fun at class, pretty girl.” 

You slam the door a lot harder than you should. You were ten minutes late for class that day, but it doesn’t matter. As much as you tried to focus on your professor’s drones, your mind kept drifting to the name he called you right before you fled. 

No, no it couldn’t be. You needed to forget about it. 

Also, he was holding something in his hand. You didn’t know for sure, you didn’t want to stare but…

…it was a dark red piece of fabric. 

⌂

You like it when Satoru’s friends come over. They create a buffer between you and him. 

These days, you aren’t in the apartment as much. You’re out early. You come in late. You aren’t avoiding Satoru. You talk to him when he talks to you. You listen to whatever ramblings he has that day. You aren’t avoiding Satoru. 

Today is one of the few times he manages to catch you. Maybe you should count yourself lucky that he did it today, because Suguru was here. 

He lounges on the sofa as Satoru drags you behind him. Suguru barely glances up from his phone. He’s pretty used to Satoru’s antics. You aren’t. 

Satoru plops right next to his friend, picking up his remote. 

“Okay, we’re ready,” he says before frowning and glancing around. “There’s no more space.” 

He’s right. Both men are big, barely overcrowding the minuscule couch. You awkwardly loiter nearby as they both set up. You open your mouth, ready to say that you were fine with not joining, that you didn’t really care about a video game, no matter how awesomely Satoru described it. 

Satoru’s grin is filled with nothing but delight as he turns to you. 

“Here–” he eagerly pats his lap “–I've got plenty of space left, pretty girl.” 

You blanch, and his smile just grows wider. He starts to reach for you before his friend steps in. 

Suguru shoves him off the couch. Satoru dramatically collapses onto the floor. 

“Don’t be a dick.” Geto chides before motioning you to sit. 

You take a seat, with a relieved smile directed at Geto. Satoru grumbles from his spot on the floor, but he doesn’t try to move back as you thought he would. 

“I can’t believe you’re abusing me in my own home,” Satoru complains. “Where I pay rent.” 

“Your parents pay rent, you trust fund baby.” Geto is more than happy to refute. 

“Same thing.” Satoru rolls his eyes. “It’ll all go to me in the end.” 

Out of all of Satoru’s friends, Suguru seemed to have the biggest hold on his collar. They seemed close. Maybe their friendship had spanned years before college. You don’t know if anyone could bear to be around Satoru for that long, but maybe Suguru is that exception. 

You think you spend about an hour watching them play. You aren’t too interested in video games, much less combat games, but they seem to get a kick out of it. Eventually, Gojo demands to play with you. Geto relinquishes his remote to your reluctant hands, more than happy to go back to his phone. 

“Damn.” Satoru laughs as he kills you for the 4th time. “You’re bad at this.” 

You frown at the YOU LOSE on your side of the screen. 

“I haven’t played this before,” you respond. 

“I can tell.” 

He doesn’t seem particularly upset that his new gaming partner sucks. If anything, the more he kills you, the wider his smile gets. 

“We should place bets.” He suddenly pipes up. “However looses a round: strips.” 

You shrink. Geto rolls his eyes. 

“Satoru, stop bullying your roommate and play the game.” He leans back. “Let the poor thing breathe.” 

“Bullying?” Satoru sounds offended. “I’m joking. Y’know I’m joking, right?” 

He whirls around to look at you with wide eyes. You can’t tell whether he’s being genuine. You glance away. 

“Yeah.” You fiddle with the remote. “I know.” 

“See, it’s fine!” Instantly, Satoru forgets the game. He crowds into the couch to circle his arm around you, pulling you into his side. “You’re the only person who understands my humor, pretty girl.” He sighs. 

“This sounds more and more like a hostage situation.” Suguru idly comments. 

But when you look at him, really look at him, you can see the apathy clear in his eyes. 

Maybe that’s why they got along so well. 

“Shut up.” Satoru snaps. 

“You’ll tell me, though, right?” Satoru says as he snuggles even closer. “If I’m going too far?” 

You want him to get off of you. You know he knows, too. 

“I will.” You say instead. 

Satoru grins, continuing to swaddle you with his body. 

“See?” He blows a raspberry in Suguru’s direction. “My Roomie loves me.” 

⌂

Sometimes you prefer to be alone with Satoru. He just gets worse with more people around. 

The club he dragged you into was smoky, with the occasional lights that flicked and changed colors, illuminating the floor. It was crowded. Someone spilled a drink on the floor earlier that night. The sweet sticky scent lingered in the air. 

Satoru had brought a couple of other people too, more than happy to stuff the lot of you into his car before driving off. One of Satoru’s other friends, Shoko, was here somewhere. Suguru was here too, but you lost sight of him sometime back. You, standing against the wall, wonder if you could take a bus back to the apartment. 

The only person in your line of sight was Satoru. 

Earlier, he’d asked if you wanted to dance. You declined. You thought he’d make a bigger fuss out of it, like usually he does when you don’t fully accommodate him. Instead, he shrugged off your rejection, casually tossing over his shoulder to ‘join in at any time’. 

Someone else was with him. She was shorter than him, even with the heels. You watch as she drags manicured nails across his arms as he leans down to kiss her. You doubt they know each other. Satoru’s just like that. Overly friendly. 

It reminds you of all the people he brings over for ‘late-night study sessions’. Apart from the noise, you don’t mind the girls and guys. Most of them are pretty nice. They actually give you a lot of relief whenever you see them. For a second there, you thought that the reason Satoru was doing this to you was that he–

So yes, the people he brings over are a nice thing. 

Someone clears his throat. 

You don’t recognize him. His grin is sheepish. Polite, you smile back. 

The small talk is a bit awkward at first. It’s hard to hear him with the screaming crowd and music. You two exchange names. He comments on the phone case you have, claiming his sister likes that character too. He perks up when he says something that makes you laugh. 

“Did you come here with anyone?” He finally asks. 

“My roommate,” you offer, turning your head to point to Gojo. 

He isn’t there. Neither is the girl he danced with earlier. You wonder if he decided to ditch you and take her home. You don’t think you’d be surprised if he did. 

At the implication you aren’t seeing anyone, he asks: 

“Can I get you a drink?” 

You think you’re about to refuse. You know Satoru and the rest of his group will be drunk by the time the night ends. You’re pretty sure the only reason you were dragged along was to play babysitter and drive them home. 

You open your mouth for a polite rejection. 

Satoru does it for you. 

He was fast. You hadn’t noticed him until he was putting himself right between you and your conversational partner. 

Satoru’s smiling. It doesn’t look friendly. 

“Hey man,” Satoru casually says, “the fuck are you doing?” 

He can read between the lines, something you’re grateful for. Within seconds, the stranger is hurrying off. Lucky, you think to yourself, watching his back disappear into the crowd. Satoru lets him go so easily. 

Unlike you. 

He turns on you almost immediately. You want to sink into the wall. 

“We’re going.” He finally says. 

You pliantly nod, letting him lead you out the seedy club. Only when you get to his car do you realize he meant just you and him. 

“What about–” You cut yourself off when you see his eyes. 

Dark. They no longer resemble the color of cloudless skies. Now, they’re more like thunder and rain. 

You’ve never seen him more furious than the entire time you’ve known him. 

You remain silent as you slip into the passenger seat, tucking yourself into the seatbelt. Satoru starts the car with a distinct rumble. The locks click into place. 

You’ve always known Gojo to be an erratic driver. Tonight feels even worse. His knuckles are white from how hard he’s squeezing the steering wheel. The car keeps speeding up and up, careening past the speed limit. You can hear your heartbeat thudding in your chest. 

And Satoru? 

Satoru looks like he’s about to murder someone. 

“Who was that?” His voice is cold, devoid of all the playfulness he had earlier tonight. 

“I don’t–” 

“Who the fuck was he?” He demands. 

You flinch, and your hands curl into fists to keep them from shaking too much. You can’t do anything but stare into the window, watching the night sky dwindle past with all the other cars on the highway. 

“I didn’t know him.” You weakly tried to defend, even if you didn’t know why. Your instinct was to placate. “He just came up to me, and we started to talk.” 

He laughs. It’s dry, bitter, and sardonic. 

“Okay.” He tells you, turning the wheel so sharply that you press further into the door. “I let you outta’ my sight for two seconds, and you’re letting some fucker feel you up?” 

“I–” 

“What’d you two talk about?” He demands. “Did he ask if he could touch your pussy? If he did, you would’ve let him, right? I mean, you were practically throwing yourself at him like a slut, so maybe the guy thought he had a chance.” 

It hurts to breathe. Something stings in your eyes as your vision blurs. 

No one has ever said such horrible things to you before. 

“Nothing like that happened.” You insist. Why was he doing this? Why was he acting like this? “Please just–” 

“Shut up.” He snaps back. “What, you seriously thought anyone would fall for the shit you pull? You think he actually cared for you? Don’t make me laugh. He only wanted your tits and holes.” 

The words Satoru barks out are mean and vulgar. Your body freely shakes, you press yourself further up against the door, feeling tears stream down your cheeks. Satoru’s voice only softens when your hiccups and sobs fill the car. 

“Baby, no, I–I didn’t mean that shit.” His voice is oddly strained. You feel fingers brush against your neck, but you only shift away. 

You didn’t want to be in that club. You didn’t want to talk to that man. You didn’t want to get into Satoru’s car. You just wanted to go home. 

He can’t even let you have that. 

“No, pretty girl, it’s okay,” Satoru comforts, “Don’t–don’t cry–Fuck fuck.” 

The car slows to a stop right in an abandoned parking lot. Satoru kills the engine, letting the car hum into silence. Whatever happens, you think it will happen now. At this very moment. You prepare yourself for the worst, squeezing your eyes shut.

But it’s even worse. 

There’s a hiss of a zipper. Your eyes open just in time to see Satoru pull out his dripping cock. 

He’s already hard. His cock curves up, almost touching the steering wheel as he wraps his fingers around the base. The tip is painfully swollen as beads of pre-cum leak down his cock. Veins bulge against his skin as he frantically pushes his hand up and down. 

Your fear melts straight into horror as you stare at him. He’s staring right at you, desperately pumping his cock with his hand. The worst part is his eyes–wide, blown out like he’s high. He looks right at you like he wants to eat you alive. 

You’re immediately reaching for the handle. No matter how much you tug, the car won’t open. You’re trapped there, forced to watch as your roommate jerks himself off in front of you because your crying turned him on. 

Your sobs quieten. All you can hear in the car is his moans and the words he mouths, your name over and over again.

You think the worst part is that he still tries to talk to you, to comfort you. 

“You’re okay–you’re okay, baby.” He’s spitting the words out through his teeth as his hand throttles his pulsing dick. “Lemme–lemme–can’t help m’self–just–”, 

You flinch when he comes. His cock spurts white cum all over his hands. 

You’re fully silent. The only thing you can hear is his heavy breathing as he cleans up. 

You think he’s about to reach for you. His fingers never make contact. 

You stare out the window. Everything’s dark. Nobody was around. No one was around to see you. To hear you. 

Even if someone was around…what could you say? 

“Can we go home, please?” 

There’s a sharp inhale.

“Sure.”  The affection in his tone makes you nauseous. 

You close your eyes.

“Anything for you, pretty girl.” 

⌂

Ten minutes later, you’re still twiddling your fingers in the waiting room. 

Getting this appointment had been excruciatingly difficult. Constant last-minute cancellations. Reschedules. It felt like they were trying to deter you from entering the housing office. 

They promised you this was a temporary arrangement. You were only supposed to be at Satoru’s place for a month, maybe even less. But then one month turned to two. Two months turned to three. You don’t think you’d last another day in that apartment. 

He was getting worse each day. It was only a matter of them until he—

A man steps into the lounge. He’s tall and lanky, carrying a smile that screams dismissive. You perk up as he squints at you. When he calls your name, you immediately rise, following him into the back of his office. 

It’s stuffy. There are papers everywhere. You squish into a chair just before he starts talking. 

It’s the usual stuff. You spell out your name, and he pulls up your housing account. He squints at the computer. 

“You said this was a temporary assignment?” He asks. 

You eagerly nod, straightening your posture. 

“Yes,” you say. “My roommate wasn’t supposed to have another one, but there was a mix-up and—“

“No.” He taps on the screen. “You said it was temporary, but here it says it’s permanent.” 

You swallow. 

“What?” 

He messes around with his mouse for a bit. Your hands feel strangely clammy. 

“Ah, here it is.” He cleared his throat. “It says you came in a month ago wanting to make the change. I see your and your roommates' signatures. You must have come here a while ago.” 

You struggle to find the words. 

“I don’t—“ 

“In any case, it’s too late to change anything now. The deadline for reassignment passed weeks ago.” He gives you a sympathetic look that strangely cuts deep into your skin. 

“Are you and your roommate having issues?”

You think about the truth. 

“No,” you hear yourself say. “Everything is fine.” 

You don’t remember much after that. You think you were polite as you stood up. You think you shook his hand. You think you walked out of his stuffy office and out of that stifling building. Everything is a blur until you step into the sunlight, feeling it beat down your face. 

You don’t want to go back to the apartment. You still feel too raw, too fresh. 

You don’t have any classes left for today. You can’t hide out on campus. Satoru will find you. He always finds you. Maybe you should stay at a friend’s place and recuperate. 

Right, you don’t have any friends. Satoru made sure of that. 

Briefly, you think about going to the police. Could you maybe use them as a buffer somehow? At the very least, it might scare him from taking this any further. 

But then you glance over at the campus buildings. The name Gojo flashes brightly in the sun. 

You aren’t stupid. You may not know his family all that well, but you know the influence of his background. There is a reason his campus apartment is thrice the size of everyone else’s. There is a reason he wasn’t supposed to have a roommate in the first place. 

He is everything. He has everything. 

You are nothing. You have nothing. 

When you arrive at the apartment ten minutes later, Satoru is already lounging on the couch. 

He excitedly waves you over. When you get inside striking range, he reaches out, pulling you onto the cushions. You pretend not to notice the way he breathes in your scent as you settle on the sofa. An arm wraps around your body, pushing you into his side. 

“Where were you, roomie?” Satoru whines. “Didn’t class end an hour ago?” It would be a harmless question if his grip weren’t so tight. You won’t be surprised if you find a bruise there in a day or two. 

Something plays on the TV. Neither of you pays attention. 

“Sorry.” It’s all you can muster to say. 

He seems satisfied with your answer–the submission of it. You find yourself counting down the clock. Seven minutes go by before you speak up again. 

“Satoru?” You ask.

There’s a distant hum of an answer. 

“Did you tell Housing I was staying?” 

For the longest while, Satoru does not speak. Then, he relaxes. He groans, easily delving into your space. A hand rests on your thigh. 

“Oh, that.” There’s a yawn. “Yeah, I just went ahead and told them you didn’t need to move out. We were getting along so well, ‘makes no sense why you’d get a different apartment, right? Sounds like a hassle moving halfway through the semester.” 

Then he shifts. You can feel him stare right down at you. 

“Unless you have a problem with that?” 

He doesn’t even bother to hide it. Pure excitement. 

Was there ever a possibility you could’ve come out unscathed had you just stood up to him earlier? Maybe you should’ve been a bit less timid when speaking to him about his music. Maybe you should’ve commented on his lack of clothing around the house. 

Or maybe it was always going to end up this way. 

“No.” You tell him, staring straight at the TV. “I don’t have a problem with that.” 

A couple of days later, another pair of panties goes missing. 

Unlike last time, you don’t bother looking for it. 

⌂

You always locked your door at night, but looking back, it was stupid to assume Satoru didn’t have a spare key. 

This is his apartment, after all. 

The lock gives with barely a click. You’re already wide awake, body rigid, tucked underneath the covers as hallway light bleeds into the room. You’re facing the textured wall, watching as his shadow drifts into your bedroom. The door shuts in a way that sounds final. It’s dark again. 

He’s quiet. You can barely hear the sounds of his breath. There’s a footstep. Then, another. Eventually, he’s right behind you. 

You don’t know what he was doing. You’re too scared to turn and check. Naively, you think if you pretend to be asleep, he’ll leave. 

One minute. 

Two minutes. He’s so still, for a moment, you wonder if you imagined the whole thing. 

The edge of your blankets lifts. Your bed creaks under his weight. His chest presses against your back. Warm hands grasp your shoulders. 

He’ll leave eventually. If you pretend to be asleep, he’ll leave. 

You squeeze your eyes shut when his head nuzzles into the crook of your neck. He inhales. 

Fingers play with the ends of your shirt. 

He’ll leave soon. He’ll leave soon. He’ll leave–

“You’re not gonna stop me, are you?” His voice makes your shoulders tense. You can practically hear his smile. 

His fingers manage to slip under your shirt. You can barely hold in your gasp when he grabs a handful of your tits. He doesn’t even bother to be gentle, squeezing and pulling until you’re practically whining. 

“C’mon.” Satoru coos into your ear. There’s a kiss on your neck. “Say it. Tell me no.” 

He nibbles the skin right on your jawline. His hair tickles your cheek. 

Your hands reach out to grab his own. You squeeze, digging your nails into his skin. 

“Please stop.” 

He laughs–the kind of laugh you’d give to a toddler if they misbehave. It feels so mean. 

“You’re so cute.” Another kiss right at your ear.

“Stop.” You repeat. His hands don’t budge, not even when you start to draw blood. “Let go. Don’t–don’t touch me–” 

He flips you right on your back. From the streetlights peaking through the blinds, you can see his face. The widest smile is stretched over his pretty lips. It looks almost manic. 

Your eyes sting. 

“Can I kiss you?” He asks. It’s almost cruel how soft his voice is. 

You shake your head. His teeth gleam. 

“Please?” He leans closer. “Just one kiss?” 

It’s heartbreaking how sweet the kiss is. Soft, barely touching as he melds his lips with yours. He keeps a hand on your chin, holding you in place before the greed takes over and he ravages you. 

By the time he pulls away, your lips are bitten and bruised.

He sinks lower, face dipping into the skin of your neck as he makes himself home there. It’s laughingly pathetic how weak you were compared to him–how little you fare when he pulls off your shirt, then your shorts. Soon, his clothes join yours, leaving a small puddle of cloth at the foot of your bed. 

He pulls away from your body, looking over the whole of you. 

“Oh, baby.” His eyes are blown out like he’s high. “I…I just wanna do everything to you.” 

You can’t hold back the tears anymore. They drip down your face, sculpting your cheeks. He coos, sinking lower to pepper your face in kisses. 

“I’m sorry, baby.” The excitement in his voice betrays him. “Don’t cry. I won’t do anything bad, I promise.” 

Liar, you want to call him, but you don’t. You can’t. Your throat traps your voice as his fingers delve underneath your panties. 

There’s no tact as he presses into you, immediately filling you up with his finger. Your pussy can barely fit one of him, almost choking when he slips in another. There’s no rhythm, no grace for how fragile you are as he thrusts his fingers deeper and deeper. 

You can barely muffle your cries as he hits a spot deep inside you. 

“See?” he asks, toying with your clit. “Not bad things, right?” 

You don’t answer, barely able to keep the noises in check as he abruptly pulls out of you. His fingers are shiny from your pussy juices. He crudely wipes his fingers on your tits. 

You’ve seen his cock before, but it looks even bigger from this angle. It slaps against your inner thighs as he finishes yanking off your drenched panties. The mushroom-tipped head brushes against your slit. He tosses one of your legs over his shoulder, opening your hole just enough to get his cock in the perfect position. 

The fight comes in too late. You think you’re reaching up to claw at his face, those pretty blue eyes. 

It dies as he bottoms out inside your pussy in one thrust. 

He doesn’t wait for you to settle down; he’s not kind enough for that. As soon as his cock sits as deep as it can into your pussy, he’s immediately moving. Your abused cunt immediately tightens around his cock, almost like you’re trying to suck him back in. 

You squeeze your eyes shut as you feel Satoru collapse on top of you. His head drops into the crook of your neck. You can hear his ragged breaths as he fucks himself deeper and deeper into you. 

“‘need you to relax for me, baby.” He hisses like it’s your fault he can’t control himself. “Can–can barely fit into this cunt.” 

To emphasize his words, he reaches down. There’s a soft slap right on your clit. You yelp. He soothes you with gentle circles with his thumb. 

“Satoru,” you can barely get out from the pressure, “please just stop–” Another smack on your pussy. Harder. 

“Can’t stop.” His breaths are ragged, and his hips shift so he can plow into you at a different angle. “Can’t ever stop. Not when I know how good you feel.” 

There’s a rasp of a laugh as your own noises get louder and louder. Your back arches. Something hot writhes in your belly the more the fucks you. He’s gripping your waist so harshly that you know they’ll leave bruises. 

It’ll pair well with the clawmarks you leave on his back as you arch further into his raw cock. 

There’s a sharp hiss before he’s kissing you again. There’s a harsh thrust that makes you moan directly into his mouth. He reluctantly pulls away, licking the taste of you out of his mouth. 

“I’m so glad I found you.” He tells you, continuing to ram into your pussy. 

“Can’t even imagine how–how someone else would react to you just givin’ yourself to ‘em. Fuck, even thinkin’ about it makes me wanna kill someone.” 

Distantly, you think about all the times you could’ve stopped him. You think about what you could’ve done differently to never cross paths with a man like Gojo Satoru. 

“You’re all for me.” He sighs, leaning close so he’s whispering right in your ear. 

He wants you to hear this right before he makes you cum all over his cock. 

“It’s all you’ll ever be.” 

You're writhing against his cock as he forces you through an earth-shattering orgasm. Your pussy clenches hard around him, milking him for all he’s worth as your climax is reluctantly dragged out of your exhausted body. 

There’s a grunt, then a sigh as something fills you to the brim. His cock pumps his cum steadily into you. There’s so much your poor pussy can’t keep it all inside. It leaks crudely from your hole. 

He stays like that for a minute, breathing you in as you start to come down from your high. Then, Satoru flops to your side, gathering up in your arms. You’re forced to lie against his chest, listening to his quickening heartbeat. 

The anger comes too late to do anything about. 

“I hate you.” You hiss as he continues to cuddle you. “I hate you, I hate you–you sick, twisted–”

“Aw, you don’t gotta’ pretend to be mean with me, pretty girl.” Satoru coos, snuggling into your exhausted figure. You can feel the hard shape of his cock press right against your thigh. 

There’s a chaste kiss on the top of your head. 

You jolt.

“Oh!”

A man in a white lab coat and slacks sits at a desk. He has luscious blond hair, glasses, and a face as stoic as a speculum. You’re taken aback by his handsomeness. Broad shoulders, defined features, chiselled face, and great height. How is it possible that he’s a doctor and not a Breeder?

The demand for his superior genetics would be through the roof. 

“H-hi, doctor. Forgive me, I didn’t see you.”

You’re grateful to be paired with someone young and attractive. One of your neighbours had an old man who she claimed should have retired decades ago. It’s a blessing to have nice eye candy.

As though he knows exactly what you’re thinking, he purses his lips. “It’s quite alright.” Then he jerks his chin, encouraging you to step in and close the door behind you. “I’m Doctor Kento Nanami, you may call me Doctor or Nanami or the two combined.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

His eyes meet yours. One glance up and down your body is all he needs, and he’s returning to his papers. 

Scribbling notes down on a pad, your eyes focus on the slenderness of his fingers and their length. Is he gentle or clinical in his approach?

Your older friend had a very gentle one and she said the process felt quite relaxing, almost therapeutic. Meanwhile, your other friend remarked how cold and unfeeling her doctor was, and that she was on edge the entire time. And another one of your friends said hers was actually rather rough, like a father scolding a child!

Which would you prefer, you wonder.

Doctor Nanami asks, “You have been informed about the due process, yes?”

The State mandated broadcasts are your bread and butter as a young woman; there’s no way you could forget the procedure. For the longest time, you’d been dreaming of this moment and finally it’s here. You won’t mess it up. 

“Yes, of course — I must strip all of my clothes, lie on the chair, and place my feet on the stirrups,” you recite, cheerfully. 

He raises a brow at you. 

Somehow you’re getting the impression that he’s not very impressed with your enthusiasm. Maybe it’s because he’s been doing this for so long. Maybe he’s seen it all, and more, and he’s just looking forward to getting it over and done with. Or maybe he just really doesn’t like you. 

Regardless, you’re undeterred. 

Humming under your breath, you shrug off your clothes and fold them on the table to the side, like you’ve seen in  the videos. It’s cold here, and you fight the shivers threatening to wrack your body. 

As an aspiring Female Breeder, nudity is something you’ve had to grow familiar and comfortable with but now that you’re faced with your first time being nude in front of the opposite gender, it feels a little too daunting. 

Heat flushes on your skin, embarrassment coursing through your veins, although one shy glance at him reveals he isn’t looking at you at all. 

Are you disappointed or relieved?

The nurses had thoroughly cleansed and prepped your body — you’re washed, exfoliated, and waxed from head to toe. You’ve never felt cleaner and softer, like a newborn baby. 

You climb onto the chair, the protective paper crinkling beneath you, and spread your legs. It faces him entirely, and you have to rationalise with yourself that he’s probably seen a thousand vaginas in his life and he won’t think yours look weird at all.

Bright, white light shines down upon you, and you squint at its blinding capacity. Then, you hear him put his pen down, and push his chair back.

“Alright, I will begin the examination now.” 

Craning to see him, you watch him roll his sleeves up revealing the thickness of his forearms, the light hairs, and the prominent veins that run up the length and bulge with his movement. Doctor Nanami snaps latex gloves on with expert precision, a rehearsed move that’s become a habit. 

He carries a clipboard and a pen, and he comes to stand over you, eyes roving over your body. 

“I’ll be making notes for your record, please don’t mind me,” he mutters, adjusting his glasses. 

You fight the urge to squirm under his gaze; it’s like you can feel the weight of his all-seeing eyes and where they land, where they skim, where they narrow in on, and where they return to. Does he find you attractive? If he saw you in the streets, would he be overcome with the need to breed you, hard and rough on the dirty ground?

“Forgive my touch,” Doctor Nanami says, reaching a hand down to press three fingers on the fat of your breast. He watches it bounce, and notes down his thoughts. “Your areolas seem to be quite average in size, neither too small nor too large per regulations. Its shade is also of interest.”

No one’s ever voiced out their assessment of your body like so. He’s so blunt, so matter-of-fact. Yet, you find that you don’t really mind it. It’s much better than the crude lies boys tell you. Many have tried to get under your skirt but you never let them. You vowed that your first time being touched would be by a respectable man who would accurately know your worth. And who would be better than someone whose whole occupation is dedicated to determining the worth of Breeders?

Doctor Nanami asks, “Do you touch your breasts?”

“Um, touch as in…”

He looks at you over the clipboard. “Do you play with your breasts? Do you squeeze them, grope them, tease your nipples, have you determined their sensitivity?”

“No…sorry.”

The State encourages you all to explore their bodies, to know your likes and dislikes as appropriate, but you never did. It seemed too scary for you. Virgins are not seen as especially good nor particularly bad in today’s climate. In fact, experience and skill is more valuable. That’s why you were hoping you could just leave it to the experts, when it came down to ‘getting down.’ At least then, they wouldn’t accidentally break something, like you fear you would.

Shaking his head, he says, “It’s nothing to apologise for. It simply means I will have to determine for myself.” He flicks to a different page on his clipboard and signs something. “Do you consent?”

“I consent.”

Board placed down on a metal table, he leaves both hands free. 

You gulp as they approach your breasts.

A finger brushes lightly against the underside. You stiffen. It ventures up, circling your nipple but not touching just yet. Voice deep, he asks, “You know the breeding term for your breasts, yes?”

Suddenly feeling like you’re back in school, you answer, “Tits, sir— sorry, I mean, Doctor.”

His lip twitches. “That’s quite alright.”

His finger flicks your nipple, the bud already hard due to the chill of the examination room. You gasp. 

Doctor Nanami nods, and does the same to the other. Now, both of your breasts are being groped. You writhe beneath him. “You have above average sensitivity,” he notes. “Are you partial to the sting of pain?”

“I-I don’t know,” you confess, distracted by the sensation of your nipples being flicked and rolled by latex-covered fingers. 

“Well, let’s see, shall we?” That’s all the warning he gives you before he pinches both nipples hard. You wince, body ever so slightly jerking away from his merciless touch. The doctor hums. “It does not appear to be your thing. I’ll have to conduct more tests to determine for sure you do not have masochistic traits.”

Quietly and with a drop of fright, you ask, “Tests? What kind of tests?”

He presses a button on the chair, and the top half of your body is lowered down until your eyes are at his crotch level. You avert your eyes. 

“Full-body tests. As per your records, you are a virgin and with little to no sexual exploration of yourself, correct?” He waits for your nod. He continues. “It means there is much information about you the State will be missing. It is my duty to fill in those blanks. You may revoke your consent now, but do be aware that you will have to rebook, and there is a backlog, so you may have to wait months before gaining your certification.”

You shake your head. “No, no, I don’t want to wait. You’re free to do whatever you’d like with me, Doctor.”

“Careful,” he rasps. “Those are Breeding words, Miss, and you are aware that, as per regulations, upon your consent to please, I have every right to take you up on that offer.”

Licking your lips, you allow yourself to eye the bulge that’s steadily growing in his slacks. Heat rushes to your pussy. You hadn’t meant to say those words, especially because you’re not yet qualified to do so, but you’re only one step away and, S.M.S.E. (State Mandated Sexual Examiners) have the privilege of being able to examine anyone they’d like — women who are not yet 21 but are at least 18, already married women, mothers, strangers on the street who wear the yellow pin to show they’re certified to fornicate in public. 

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to learn all about yourself before you step out into the wider world a real woman. 

Plus, it’d be nice if your first time could be taken by someone as hot as him.

“I’d like a full body examination please, Doctor. I understand the implications of my word and consent to leaving my body to your full scrutiny,” you recite the prepared speech. “Please take care of me.”

Doctor Nanami sighs and picks up the clipboard. He signs another random page and hands it over to you. The page is titled ‘Virginity Removal Consent Form.’

At the bottom line, you sign too. 

The dull thud of it placed back on the table signifies the finality of the contract. 

Your heart beats faster, palms sweating, and core tingling to life.

“Alright, let’s start with your vagina.” 

He drags his chair over to where your legs are spread on the stirrups, and sits there. You know he can see everything, and you know he’s properly looking now. You hope he’s not weirded out by how wet you are. His gloved hands rests on your knees, sliding down your inner thighs, rubbing warmth there, before they push them wider. 

“Do you know the correct term for your vagina?”

“P-pussy,” you answer.

He nods, patting your thigh. “Good. Will you describe for me what I’m doing right now?”

“You’re looking at my pussy, Doctor.”

His fingers stroke your puffy lips, assessing the shape, size and colour, you’re sure. He spreads them open then, revealing you fully to his watchful eyes. “And now?”

“You’re spreading my pussy lips open, Doctor.”

“And if I have an erection in my pants, it means?”

You’re breathless at the question, and you’re aware that, at the twitch of his lips, he saw the twitch of your clit. You want to hide from him, but you can’t. And he wouldn’t let you. Despite your nervousness, you reply, “It means you like what you see?”

“And if my mouth is watering?”

A gasp tears out of you. 

Countless videos have prepared you for your lines, but they’ve never prepared you for the real thing, never prepped you to be so openly desired by someone older and more experienced. How can he so easily say something like that? Doesn’t he know the effect he has on women?

His voice is so deep, so raspy, and his touch is warm despite the layer that keeps him from really touching you. Having such a hot doctor wasn’t a blessing, you realise; it’s a curse.

SMACK!

You yelp, thighs shutting around his hand. He’d slapped your pussy. 

Growling, he shoves them back open and says, “I will repeat myself once, and only once — what does it mean if my mouth waters at the sight of your pretty pussy?”

“You want to taste it.”

Doctor Nanami’s breath fans across your sopping cunt. His hands tuuuuug you down so you’re even closer to his face. He doesn’t touch you there yet. No, he’s taking his time. First, he tests you again. “What’s this action called, hmm?”

“C-cunnilingus?”

“Are you asking or telling me?”

His curt tone leaves no room for argument; he’s not the kind of man who’s playful during sex, or even before nor after, it seems. 

Eager to feel his mouth on you, to know what it feels like to be eaten out, to know for yourself if it feels as good as the couple you always see on the park bench on your way to school makes it seem, you whine, “Telling you, sir. Please taste me, please, Doctor.”

The scruff on his jaw rubs your inner thigh as he mutters, “You must be top in your class in Begging 101.”

Then, he’s tasting you.

A lap of his long, flat tongue covers your entire slit from hole to clit. He collects your wetness and gulps it down. Doctor Nanami mulls the taste over and says aloud, “Sweet. A 9.2 out of 10. I can tell you keep a healthy diet. Very good.”

“Thank you, sir.”

You feel his smile on your clit, lips mouthing against the pulsing thing. “Such a polite girl you are. You’ll make for a very good Breeder.”

That’s all you’ve ever wanted — to be taken so readily in the streets, to be watched as you’re fucked so good by a big, strong man who only wants to pump his cum inside your pussy, and be stretched out enough for another to slip in easily. You want to make your country proud.

Doctor Nanami laps up your juices precisely. 

He doesn’t hesitate to circle the rim of your other hole too, if an errant drop were to escape him. In fact, he lingers there for a moment, waiting until you’re absolutely squirming and whimpering for it. 

His tongue flicks your clit over and over again, sucking on the bud so you’ll hear the squelches! and feel the incredible pleasure of being eaten out by a pro.

Your hips rock towards his face, seeking the friction. The doctor’s gorging himself on your creamy juices, tasting you as if you’re just so delicious, so intoxicating. Tongue lashing through your cunt, he slithers it through, all while massaging your ass, kneading the flesh to comfort you.

He’s paying so much attention on your clit, it has you panting like a dog, and fighting to scramble away from him. “Ngh! Not there, please doctor.”

“Don’t talk nonsense,” he scolds, yanking you back, and slapping your clit in punishment. You squeal. “The clitoris is where you’ll feel the most pleasure. Do not run from it.”

Squirming and blubbering, you confess, “It feels too scary.”

“Then I highly recommend you rub your little clit when you get home until you’re cumming all over your sheets. Grow very familiar with your pussy. I don’t want any arguments about it. You think a Breeder would go easy on your cunt?”

Of course the answer is no. You’ve seen from demonstrations in your college how relentless and cruel dominant Breeders can be — they’ll have you crying and begging and saying things you’d never say in any other situation. And by god, were you always so jealous. Like the other girls, you’d squeeze your thighs, soaking through your panties when piercing eyes would land on you, and scarred lips would curl into a smirk, as though vowing it’d be you next.

Delirious with the roughness of his slurrrping!, you can only nod and promise, “I will. I’ll rub my clit so hard later, Doctor.”

“Good girl.”

A dollop of spit lands with a thwack! right on your clit, sliding down your slit and mingling with your sloppy juices. Two fingers rub it in. He holds up his soaked hand, spreading the long digits to show you the translucent web it creates. Almost monotone, he quizzes you again, “What is the purpose of your pussy juices?”

“Lubrication.”

“Lubrication of what.”

“Of anything you want to put inside me, Doctor,” you mewl.

Doctor Nanami nods, pleased. “Clever girl. Most women answer with ‘cock’ or ‘fingers’ but the accurate answer is, the lubrication is to ease the entry of anything. Of course, there are a number of things you should not penetrate a pussy with, but in theory, anything goes. Now, relax for me.”

He pushes those two fingers in, pinning your hips with a heavy arm thrown over your belly so you can’t run away from the pressure.

They stretch you out, immediately curling upwards and finding that spot inside your gummy walls the broadcasts taught you was called a ‘g-spot’. It has you creaming even more on his fingers. 

The feeling of latex against soft skin is odd, though it doesn’t bother you. It’s not a very thick material at all. You can still feel the callouses on his fingers, albeit weakly. Still, you wish you could feel him bare.

A thumb rubs your clit in tight circles, all while his fingers press in from inside, thoroughly stimulating all around and you feel it building and building. The doctor clamps his mouth over your clit, resistant to shoving hands.

“S-shit, I think I’m going to pee!”

“No,” he says, dragging the word out like you’re a child. “It’s not pee. You know what it is. Say it.”

Your cunt clenches around him. “Cum! Doctor, I’m gonna cum.”

“Yes, yes you are. But you must hold it.”

Eyes widening, you stare down at him, bewildered. “No, I can’t. I can’t hold it in!”

His cold eyes pin you to the chair, and with challenge in those eyes, he doubles the speed and intensity in which he’s sucking your clit and curling against your g-spot. “You can, and you will. Do not come until I count to one, do you hear me?”

A strong wrist pistons his fingers in, never missing that sensitive spot inside you, never breaking eye contact and never letting your clit get a second to rest.

“Three,” he says.

The obscene squelches he’s wringing from you reach your ears, filling the room, and you have to wonder if anyone could hear what’s happening here from outside. They’d probably be so jealous, waiting for their turn. 

“Two.”

They’re imagining your lewd body played mercilessly by Doctor Nanami, and be incapable of deciding who they wanted to be more. 

You being fingered to your first proper orgasm or him, having the honour.

“One.”

You cum with a scream. Hot juices spring out of you, splashing and coating his arm and labcoat with the liquid. As the State recommends, he guzzles down as much of your cum as he can, even as it dribbles down his chin. Your whole body spasms. 

You’ve had orgasms before — accidentally realising you can feel good from humping your teddy bear in your bed, sitting on the washing machine as it was running, riding the crease of your jeans — but they’ve been weak in comparison to this.

The convulsions eventually slow. He gives your pulsing cunt a few final licks. 

Limp, you lie there, panting from the remnants of a mindmelting cum.

Doctor Nanami pats your pussy, and leisurely strolls over to the other end. “Well done. You did well. It’s a good sign that you can squirt so easily. 60% of Breeders value that in their partners; you’ll be quite a popular thing.”

His wet, gloved fingers drag over your naked body, circling your clit for the last time, climbing up your belly, the valley between your breasts, flicking a nipple and making it glisten with your spend, before finally arriving at your mouth.

He smears your own juices across your lips, humming with approval when you lick his fingers clean.

Soon, he rips his gloves off and a second later, cold, calloused hands are rubbing your cheek. Looming over you, he pulls your bottom lip down to watch it bounce back in place, and says, “Open wide for me, dear.”

Shining a flashlight pen inside your mouth, he inspects that part of you too. Satisfied, he stands up, and begins to unbuckle his belt. The sound of leather scraping and metal clinking has your thighs clenching tight together, feet no longer on the stirrups. 

His cock is freed and your mouth drools at the size. 

It’s bigger than the average penises they show on the broadcasts, in the school textbooks and live performances. Long, clean, thick, with two veins leading up to a pretty, pink tip. A Grade 1 cock for sure! 

Doctor Nanami taps the cockhead at your lips, and like the videos you’ve watched, you stretch your lips out into as big of an O as you can and readily swallow him in. You’ve practiced on dildos before, and even cucumbers, but none of your past experiences can compare to the feel of an actual cock.

The heat, the ridges, the salty taste of skin and pre…

It’s quite wonderful.

“No teeth,” he warns. “It will not reflect well on your record if you cannot blow a man properly.”

“I understand, Doctor.”

You shut your eyes tight, focusing on not gagging and throwing up all over him, like the textbooks warned against. To his credit, he’s going slowly, not shoving it all in one go. It’s an odd gentleness that contrasts with his usual harshness.

And when he’s about halfway in, he pulls out just enough to keep his tip inside your mouth, and inches back inside. Your hands clench into fists.

“Breathe through your nose,” he advises. “As soon as you are -hah- certified, there will be men wanting to take –mm, what a tight little mouth– t-take advantage of you. Be sure you warn them ahead of time you’re new and should not be deepthroated so casually, yes?”

You try to answer, but it comes out muffled, and when he groans, you realise maybe that was his intention all along. 

Doctor Nanami cradles your neck. His thumb runs up and down the column of your throat, and you know he must be admiring the bulge of his cock. “I have no doubt you’ll be a Special Grade whore very soon.”

A couple seconds later, he pulls out again. 

He doesn’t thrust back in. 

Instead, he keeps his tip inside and says, “Lick it, sweetheart. Around, and on the slit. Slow but firm, that’s how I like it.”

You do as he says — you tongue his slit, digging the tip of your tongue inside and swallowing the salty taste he leaks out. The doctor grunts, clamping down on his base, and then he’s pulling away completely.

It wasn’t the most comfortable experience, but you have to admit, there’s something rather addictive about having your mouth preoccupied. 

Back between your legs, he stands, tugging on his still-hard cock. It’s leaking precum and you almost want to lick it up again. 

Doctor Nanami drops his heavy cock right onto your pussy, and your sticky juices grab on immediately. Back and forth, he begins sawing your cunt, drawing back so that his tip will nudge against your clit on his way up. Each thrust of his hip has you gasping and moaning. 

“What do you call this act?”

He’s testing you again, and you don’t want to disappoint, so you answer, “Outercourse, sir. Or, pussyjob.”

“Good.”

Holding his cock down with a thumb, he makes sure the pressure and friction is just right. The squelches are coming back, so loud and so wet. He doesn’t make fun of you, doesn’t point out that you’re acting like a bitch in heat, he simply rubs his cock between your lips over and over again, until he’s smearing his pre on your lower belly.

Oh god, it’s so hot. His cock’s scalding against your pussy. You can’t believe you had to wait so long to be fucked.

The back of your knees are held. He pushes them back so that they’re grazing your chest. The position is uncomfortable, muscles creaking in complaint, and what’s more uncomfortable is the fact that he can see everything more clearly like this, even the puckering of your asshole.

“You will be bent in all sorts of positions,” he muses. “This is a personal favourite of mine, and soon you’ll have your own.”

That makes you smile. 

You wonder what position men will put you in most, and which you’ll find the most pleasurable. Maybe doggy, since men love it so much. Maybe missionary because you can stare into your partner’s eyes and know that they’re rolling to the back of their heads. Maybe you’ll love all of them equally.

“Show me why it’s your favourite, Doctor. I want to feel you.”

Doctor Nanami leans forward, stretching your legs out even more, until his nose skims yours. “Open,” he huskily mutters. And when you do, his spit lands on your tongue. You swallow it down with a moan. “What a good girl you are. It’d be my honour to be your first. I promise to make you feel very good. Hold on to my arms, if you need. It might sting a little.”

His fat cock prods your opening. He inspects your face for hesitation, and when he finds none, only the eager drool of a whore ready for cock, he pushes in.

A whine leaves your lips.

“Mm fuck! It’s too big!”

Tutting, he doesn’t stop. “Breeders don’t complain. Breeders are grateful to be fucked by big cocks, yes?”

Tears in your eyes, you peer up at him, panting and feeling like you might pass out. “I’m sorry, Doctor. I -ngh- really don’t think I can take it.”

He shakes his head. “You can. You can absolutely take it. Be a good girl, won’t you? Breathe and relax this pussy for me. Just bear with it for another second, and soon you’ll be begging for more.”

The doctor’s stretching you out so wide, spearing you whole with his cock, that you think he might break you. But you have to trust him. He wants the best for you. With no other choice, you have to cling onto his strong arms, digging your nails for purchase.

Soon, he bottoms out. His pelvis presses against your clit. Absentmindedly, your hips grind in circles, aching for friction there. 

“I’m going to start moving now. If you need to cum, you will tell me and ask for permission. Repeat it.”

“If I need to -hah- cum, I’ll ask for permission."

Doctor Nanami starts slowly, rutting his cock an inch at first, then two, then three, and soon he’s building up a clinical pace. His rhythm is consistent, unwavering, and it’s just what you need. 

The pain disappears, and you have to think hard to remember if it even existed at all.

Just like he said, you begin feeling good. Too good. 

Wantonly, you start moaning. Like something’s been awakened in you, you fuck back into him, eager to feel as much of him as you can. 

“Your body was made to be fucked,” he rasps, hips slamming into yours now. Skin slaps against each other, making a fwop! fwop! fwop! sound you can’t escape from. “Your body was made to take cock. A good little cockwhore. Say it.”

“I’m a good -hngh!- cockwhore,” you moan out. Your tits are bouncing with the force of his thrusting. It can’t even be called that anymore — he’s effectively ramming his cock in, ploughing you. 

His cockhead massages your inner walls, fighting against the pleats that try to hold onto him. He slides past your g-spot, constantly teasing the poor thing as he impales you on his fat, throbbing cock over and over again.

Doctor Nanami orders, “Look down. Tell me what you see.”

Your eyes fall to where you’re connected, and you clench hard on him. He grunts, hips speeding up.

“I see how deep you are, Doctor. I see my pussy taking you so easily now. Oh, fuck! Y-your cock, Doctor. I can see it pushing through my belly. You’re so big!”

“More,” he says.

You have to fight to keep your head steady, to make your glassy eyes clear enough to really see. “My juices and yours, they’re mixing a-and there’s a ring of cream at your base.”

Like he’d been waiting, he thumbs that cream and shoves it inside your mouth. It’s sweet, salty and tangy. You don’t hate it. You suck on it, bobbing your head up and down like it’s his cock. The doctor looks almost furious and he suddenly grabs your throat, squeezing hard enough to make you feel lightheaded. “God, you’re a filthy thing, aren’t you?”

Sweat layered over your skin, you know you’ve soaked through the paper beneath you. You slip and slide on the chair, kept in place by his firm hands. He’s ravaging you, rendering you a complete mess. No longer a woman, and just a slut for his cock. 

It’s the best feeling in the world.

Just as he had done before, you play with your tits, squeezing and pinching your nipples.

So caught in the pleasure, you don’t notice he’d moved until something cold touches your clit. You shriek, hips grinding up towards it. You look down and see he’s picked up a stethoscope from somewhere. He rubs it in circles on the bundle of nerves, watching drool leak out of your lips at the slight sting of the coldness..

He lifts his glasses out of the way, and licks your drool up. The doctor shoves his tongue inside your mouth.

For the first time in the appointment, he kisses you. Your tongues tangle together, and you think you’ve never tasted anything more amazing.

His rough hands gather you up, bringing you to a sitting position. “Wrap your arms around me,” he commands. 

Carried in his arms, he bounces you up and down on his cock, using gravity to do most of the work for him.

“Ngh! Y-you’re in so deep, Doctor!”

He huffs, glasses foggy with the humidity you two have created. You hold onto it, so it doesn’t rattle off. “You’re clamping down on me so hard,” he hisses. “You like this position, don’t you?”

“Yes! Yes! It’s so fucking good!”

Like this, he can push in even deeper. You swear you can feel him in your lungs. All the while, you’re still kissing him, sucking on his tongue and drinking up as much of his saliva as you can. 

One of his hands is carrying you up by the ass, and he repositions it enough so that his finger can circle your asshole. You moan into his mouth. “Doctor, n-no!”

“You signed the form,” he growls out. “Behave and take it.”

That finger pushes in, knuckle deep, and it’s enough to make you feel so impossibly full. 

“I’m going to cum,” you warn.

He shakes his head. “Wait.”

But you can’t. You cum again.

As you’re spasming in his arms, he doesn’t stop. He keeps fucking you, splitting you with his throbbing cock. Only when you stop does he drop you back down on the chair, spinning you around so you’re face down on the soaked paper.

He thrusts back in, holding your hips and dragging it back and forth. “I told you to wait, didn’t I?”

“I’m sorry, Doctor! I couldn’t help it.”

“Oh, but you could. You just didn’t want to, did you, you little cockslut?”

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

Heat blossoms on your ass cheek, where he’d slapped the rippling flesh. He grunts with every clench of your cunt because of the pain. You don’t hate the pain. You almost beg him to spank you harder, but you don’t. Too much is already happening. You don’t think you can take any more.

You can only moan and moan and moan some more as he uses you like a fleshlight. The doctor spits on your puckering hole and hooks his thumb inside.

“Hngh! N-not -hic!- there.” 

“Not here?” he repeats, mocking now. “But your pussy’s pulsing like crazy. It’d be wise if you learned to be more honest.” The doctor bends down, lips grazing the shell of your ear, and he whispers, “Like you should be honest with me and say you’re about to cum again.”

Drowning in your own wetness, his hand shoving your face down right where your pussy juices had pooled, you scream loud enough for the whole hospital to hear, “I want to cum again!”

“Go ahead, darling.”

You howl, hands ripping up what’s left with the paper and threatening to break through the foam padding of the chair. You’re beyond sensitive now after the numerous orgasms he’s given you, and the slapping of his balls on your clit is enough stimulation to have mini orgasms suffocating you from inside.

Doctor Nanami bundles up a handful of your hair, and he yanks. Your back arches, and your ass slams back onto his hips. Your gargled gasp echoes in the room. He’s in so fucking deep and you think he might never leave you again. Oh god, you hope he never does.

“You want to be creampied? Hmm? You want this dirty pussy filled with my cum?”

“Yes!” you cry. “I want you to cum inside me!”

“How kind,” he growls out.

Doctor Nanami spurts inside with a low grunt, hips still rutting. The force of his orgasm sends you over the edge again. You cum another time, yelling his name, and thinking you might actually die. 

When he pulls out, jerking his cock to wring out the last spurts on your back. He groans out, “Such a good girl, you took my cock so well.”

Eventually, silence returns to the examination room. You wonder how long it’s been, if someone’s waiting to take your place, and then decide you don’t really care.

Your knees give up and you fall to the floor. 

With a sigh, he picks you up and lays you back down on the chair.

Running a hand through his sweat-slicked hair, he releases a breath and readjusts his glasses. As he fixes up his slacks, tucking his softening cock inside, he smiles warmly for the first time.

Doctor Nanami pecks your lips, fingers fucking the cum oozing out of you back inside your cunt, and keeping you plugged up.

“Congratulations. You’re officially a Breeder.”

The church bells rang and echoed throughout the entire town. White doves sang their song of love as Takemichi laid his eyes on a woman that he didn't recognize..

Her hair was a soft muted blue, her eyes a deep green. Who was this woman? And why was she smiling at him and studying his face with hearts in her eye. Her painted pink lips puckered as she leaned in.

"You may now kiss your bride. Congratulations to Mr. and Mrs. Hanagaki!"

Her was getting married?! To this woman?! Yes, she was beautiful.. Her dress looked like it was made with so much concentration and dedication. But--

This woman wasn't you? Where was his Y/n? Why weren't you the one he was marrying?!

His eyes searched the crowded church for your familiar face. He could see Hinata clapping along with Naoto. Draken smiled fondly while his arm circled around a woman who wasn't Emma? Mitsuya and Chifuyu cheered for him and this woman..

Chifuyu would know for sure what was happening! He had to..

But he could hardly get away from this woman as the night went on. During the reception party she hung into his arm like he'd run away. (Part of him wanted to..)

It wasn't until he got the bright idea to excuse himself to take a piss. And yes, saying piss out loud got him scolded by his supposed bride. He was able to weave himself through the crowd as he ignored all the congregations from guests he didn't know.

He found Chifuyu trying to flirt with a bridesmaid... She rolled her eyes and walked away like he was embarrassing just to be around. At least some things didn't change.

"Chifuyu!-"

He jumped before turning to Takemichi. A half drunk smile on his face. "What's up?- Where's the bride? It's weird not seeing her on your arm--"

His face dropped. "What's wrong-- Wait? Are you the real Takemichi? Not from my time Takemichi?!"

Oh thank goodness! So Chifuyu knew of his time leaping already!

What's happening? Where is she..,

Chifuyu's face dropped. "She isn't yours anymore.. I think you should sit down..

----------------------

Pretty manicured nails glittered in the moonlight. Blood red gems, the cost alone could feed a family of 5 for months.. White powder sitting oh so deliciously snuggled in your long pinky nail reaches your nose.

You inhale..

The electric high rushed from the tip of your toes to the top of your head. The cocaine makes it easier.. quicker.

A nasty man, a pig in a cheap suit.. Cries on his knees in front of you. He begs you to spare him for he had a family. A wife and 3 little girls. Funny.. He cares for his girls now but raped and cheated out some of yours? Stupid, pathetic..

You wished you could cut his dick off and make him eat it. But this needed to be quick. You had so many bodies to collect tonight. So many heads to send to enemies and such.

How you wished you could just go home. Soak your sore body in a warm bubble bath. The dried blood collecting in your hair finally flowing down the drain.

A girl could dream right?

"please, please, please" his grubby fat fingers dig into the fabric of your over priced blouse.. Balenciaga. Shame. You just bought this one too.

You grimaced at his snot covered face before kicking him off of you. His body rolled only for him to start crawling back to you. Crying out his pleases and begging to go home to his family.

Your high was already wearing off and you were becoming annoyed. Fucking-- son of a-- You should really quit this shit. But you can't..

You click your tongue and reach for your gun. His cries are quiet as the barrel presses to his sweaty forehead. You don't hesitate and pull the trigger. Blood and brain matter splatter all over your designer shoes. You whistle and 4 of your own goons come running in to clean your mess.

You turn when a small cry reaches your ears. You almost forgot about the three men you had tied up and facing the nearby wall. Their eyes covered and mouths gagged. *Bang, Bang, Bang!*

You decide that's enough for the night. There's always tomorrow.. Besides, your husband should be back at the hideout you call home by now. He'll want to see you--

_________________

Home.. The room was quiet as you entered. The Haitani's were the first to stand and acknowledge your presence. They were always one to kiss ass when it came to power.. It's how they've gotten this far.

Your husband's loyal dog was already by your side. Sanzu was too pretty to be a man. Shame all that beauty was wasted on a drugged up killer. (Funny, people say the same about you)

"He isn't happy."

He, is your husband. Manjiro, or Mikey as he likes you to call him. The same nickname you called him when you were kids. You missed that Mikey, this one, this Mikey now-- He's different..

You furrow your brows as Sanzu takes off your coat and heels. "Why? What now?"

He hums. "The women you sent for him. He wants you, not others to cater to him."

You huff. "Of course. That's my bad, I knew I was going to be a bit late. I'll put him in a better mood. Have Kokonoi leave something pretty for me to wear on my bed."

Sanzu nods. "Yes ma'am."

-------------

Much to your dismay, that bath you were dreaming of turned into a quick shower.

A pretty laced maroon lingerie set hugged your curves as you walked to your husbands room. A matching seer robe left nothing to the imagination. Mikey liked seeing you in something pretty. He liked you dressing up like a gift. His gift..

His bed was empty but you could hear the bath water running. You could see the steam coming from his bathroom.

Mikey black eyes locked on you like a predator. The steam flowed around him as he leaned back in his tub. A tub made for two..

"You look pretty. A lot prettier than the whore you tried to leave for me."

You faked a pout as you sat beside his tub. Picking up his fancy shampoo to lather it into his already wet hair. "Aww, you didn't like my gift? I thought she was cute."

Mikey scoffed. "You're my wife. I want you."

You chuckled. "Our marriage is basically a business contract. You are allowed to have fun on the side Mikey."

He leaned his head back so you could rinse his hair. "I don't care. You're mine. Next time I want you-- Or Sanzu will be sent to collect you."

You kissed his forehead. "Oh no. Not Sanzu." You stood up and dropped your robe. Mikey's eyes stayed glued onto your figure as you lowered yourself into the warm water. Your thighs straddled him as his hands found your waist. Your pretty painted lips brushed against his. "Let me apologize to my dear husband, the way he likes it."

Mikey lets out a soft sigh as you pull your thin panties to the side and let him sink deep into your cunt.

"I forgive you. Just this once."

----------------------

Your body is naked and marked under the covers. Mikey's head rests on your stomach as he finally falls asleep. His hands hold you in place in a possessive manner. But that doesn't bother you anymore.

It's the sobs of the man you killed earlier keeping you away. No, it's not him.. It's another man you killed last week. He sits at the corner of the room-- his head half blown off as he screams at you. He calls you evil and a whore.

He's only half wrong..

The walls move closer to the bed as his screaming grows louder. Another man sits by the bed, sobbing. The air feels thick as what feels like a million hands squeeze your throat. You can't fucking breathe in this damn room!

Somehow you manage to get out of Mikey's grip. You hold your breath as you creep into the closet. You don't even bother to look at the clothes you're throwing onto your body. As long as it covers you from wandering eyes...

Sanzu is passed out on the chair outside your door. You try to be extra quiet, he was usually a light sleeper-- ready to be at service whenever Mikey called for him.

He doesn't move a muscle as you sneak past him. You were honestly a little jealous of Sanzu. How you wished you could sleep soundly after killing so many in Manjiro's name. But you haven't found one drug or drink that could make the memories completely disappear.

A drive will help a bit settle the nerves.. It used to help when you were younger. A boy with yellow hair driving you around the city on his bike. Pretty blue eyes-- You shake your head of the past. The past was over and gone.

You find yourself driving towards a hotel. Your brain clouded... The bag you had with you clanked and rattled as you checked yourself in with one of the many names you used. Stolen credit cards would make Mikey's search for you a bit difficult when he finally noticed you were gone. Hopefully it was enough time.

You paid good money for privacy. Which is why not one noise complaint was answered as you trashed the room. Music lasted through large speakers as you downed a bottle of whiskey. Your nose is slightly bleeding from your attempt to overdose. You really really need to quit this shit.

Hopefully by tonight it won't be a problem anymore...

Your mind played old memories over and over again. Like a movie right in front of your eyes. Your crew, the Mizo middle.. That boy you gave your heart to and everything else, your friends.. Oh Emma.. pretty,pretty Emma.

Tears rolled down your cheeks while you lit up your last cigarette. The balcony looked over the entire city, the lights sparkling like glitter. It was beautiful.. You wanted to be a part of that beauty.

With wobbling legs you climbed over the railing. There was a reason you booked the top room.. The wind is so cold that it feels like tiny needles poking at your skin. Your grip on the railings tightened but it stung as if the metal was a glowing red--

You take a breath and jump...

Only--- The wind doesn't cut through your ears. The sidewalk doesn't rush at you.

Something heavy wraps around your middle. At first you think they are Mikey's arms, probably Sanzu.... Until you hear familiar sniffling.

"Takemichi?"

Long gone was the boy with yellow hair. He was replaced with a full grown man with raven black hair. But he still had those beautiful blue eyes that had you drowning in love.

"I got you. I won't let you go."

He doesn't. He holds you tightly, as if you'd float away. Even after he helps you back over the railing his hold doesn't ease up.

"How did you find me? How are you here?"

He doesn't answer right away. In his mind he imagines his body absorbing all the bad in your body. This is his fault, he introduced you to Mikey. He let Mikey have you when you only wanted him to have your heart. He tossed it to Mikey like it burned him. You just didn't know he saw himself as too much of a weakling to protect you..

"I already told you when we were kids. I'd always find you and protect you."

More tears spilled at the memory. Back to grade school when you'd get bullied for hanging around only boys. Rumors of them passing you around like a sex doll... Takemichi stood up to your bullies and got beaten up for you that day. But after you cleaned him up, he promised to never let anyone hurt you.. You were his heart.

You were a married woman. But your heart? Your heart had always been his.

Before you knew it, like a magnet. Your lips met.. Soft and sweet quickly turned into need and want.

Clothes torn from bodies and hands on curves. A nasty mating press with your knees up to your ears.

Takemichi whined against your lips as you raise your hips to meet his sloppy thrust. His knuckles white as he fisted the sheets while your nails dug into the skin of his back. Red and bleeding scratches while he shifted his hips just right to make you see stars.

The boy man you always loved looked so precious above you. Eyes lidded and sparkling, like you were everything to him. His huffs and needy whines had you clenching around his cock. A dark red blush spread across his cheeks and ears.

You brought him in for another kiss, only to lock your legs around him and roll.

His cute little gasp had you giggling against his neck as you sunk onto his length. His grip on your hips helped you bounce and grind against what was always yours.

Takemichi sat up to hold your body flush against his. He didn't want you to go, to run, to disappear again. He'd save you.. he'd save you.

Your head faced the heavens as you reached your high. Takemichi thrusted up to reach his own as you both called out one another's names and cursed under your breath. His white hot release fills you up as you lock lips once again.

He knew once he fell asleep you'd run again. You'd run back to the hideout that no one knew about. Only those of Bonten could find it..

So for now? He'll hold you tight, for as long as he can.

JEALOUS BABY!TORU who waits until you're asleep, then sneaks into your room at night.

JEALOUS BABY!TORU who wakes you up with soft kissies and whispers. who caresses you with all the love and attention and praise he'd never give any other human being. he searches every soft spot, every place that gets you squirmy, hot and bothered before he's even slid his hands under your clothes.

“mamaaa, wake up,” he'd mumble, pressing slow kisses right under your ear that got you gasping. his hips made a faint rustling sound as he ground them against your clothed heat, already hard and staining his pjs. “i need youuu...!”

JEALOUS BABY!TORU who'd stroke his cock over your face, straddling your chest and cornering your head against the pillow. who'd rub the leaky tip all over your cheeks and lips, choking on his breath to not wake up his dad sleeping next to you.

JEALOUS BABY!TORU who uses your face to get off. keeping a heavy but gentle hand on your scalp, rubbing his throbbing dick against you with slow sways of his hips.

JEALOUS BABY!TORU who says: “m-mommy, isn't my cock the prettiest? much prettier than his?”

JEALOUS BABY!TORU who makes himself jealous just thinking about you and his dad being together, and gives you a few smack smack smack slaps on your cheek with his weeping cock that make him whimper more than you.

JEALOUS BABY!TORU who makes you bury your moans in the pillow as he mounts you from behind.

JEALOUS BABY!TORU who whimpers in your ear. his arms tremble as he holds you by the waist, snug and tight against his chest, hips moving in an excruciatingly slow pace.

JEALOUS BABY!TORU who ends up edging and teasing himself, because he wants to fuck you so hard until you scream but his stupid dad is next to you. he steals glances now and then just to make sure he's still asleep, sometimes giving in and thrusting with enough force to make you jump on the bed a bit.

JEALOUS BABY!TORU who growls from having to hold himself back, whose sweaty, toned chest presses against your arched back and makes you shiver.

JEALOUS BABY!TORU who feels his ego rise to a thousand when you're melting like goo underneath him: drooling and eye-rolling on his cock that touches your sweet spots so good because it touches everything.

“y'r mine, mama, mine!” he mumbles, muffling his moans into the skin of your neck he sucks and nips on without a care in the world.

JEALOUS BABY!TORU who doesn't think your relationship with his dad is even worth hiding the hickeys he's leaving on your skin. you'd be much better with him anyways!

“aww, mommy looks s'cute! you're drooling all over the pillow,” he'd tease into your ear. “y'won' wan' no one's cock 'ver again, right? right, mama? jus' me? me, me, me?”

JEALOUS BABY!TORU who quickens the pace just enough to where he can't stop moaning, and he has to bite your shoulder gently but consistently not to moan out loud.

JEALOUS BABY!TORU who doesn't shut up as his orgasm approaches.

JEALOUS BABY!TORU who's a babbling, incoherent mess, pussy-drunk so hard he doesn't even care if your squelching is too loud or if his pelvis makes too much noise when bashing against your ass.

JEALOUS BABY!TORU who cums so much it's a wet, creamy, liquid mess on the sheets. who stays glued to you, grinding his hips as he just keeps moaning into your ear, like his orgasm just wouldn't stop peaking.

“mommy so good... m-mommy's all mine... won't share, not my pussy...” he'd say, sneaking a hand underneath you to rub meaningfully at your tummy.

JEALOUS BABY!TORU whose breath hitches when he hears a faint, groggy grunt of your name from the other side of the bed.

Your eyes flick from the amused guard to your new ‘friend’ who gets one last pull-up in before dropping two socked feet to the ground with a grunt. You swear the fucking ground rumbles. He turns towards you and your knees wobble as his shadow over takes you.

Red eyes. Half of his face is mutilated, marred by a fire from long ago, you can surmise. His face tattoos match his body. He’s tall, you wouldn’t even be able to reach the height of his makeshift pull-up bar on the tips of your toes.

You stiffen as he sizes you up like the other inmates did on your way in. You hope you wrapped your chest tight enough. A woman in an all male prison? Not a good idea for too many reasons.

“Hi—” you clear your throat of the high pitched tone, adopting a fake, deeper one, “Hey, bro. It’s uh— cool to meet you— or whatever.”

You could slap yourself. Who are you kidding? You don’t know how to talk like a guy. You should have told Gojo ‘No, no amount of money would make me spend a year in a male prison.’ You shouldn’t have drank so much and stupidly agreed that night at the bar, because now, the best case scenario here is that the guard takes you away and they throw the real you into a women’s prison for trying to ‘fool the system.’

The man takes a step forward, and you’re already tensing for a blow— but he just shoulder checks you on the way out. You stumble a little, immediately going to rub your shoulder.

The guard looks properly amused, holding back a laugh. “Here,” he kicks off the wall, pushing some supplies into your arms. Another guard must have handed these over to him as you greeted your cellmate.

“Have fun,” he makes his brows jump and moseys away.

You deeply exhale through the nerves in your chest, walking towards your bed, if you can even call it that. You drop the supplies onto the thin mattress. Sheets, blanket, toothbrush, etc.

You’ve never been one to pray, but you’re considering it right about now. You shake your head and give yourself something to do: put on your sheets, organize the few toiletries you have on your desk.

After fifteen minutes, some kind of bell rings through the prison and you watch inmates filter out of their cells.

You stand and lean out of the cell curiously. You catch one of them muttering about ‘green beans’ and you realize it’s dinner time.

You enter the crowded mess hall and you’re immediately overwhelmed, clattering trays and chaos. The smell of old meatloaf and sweaty man fills the room.

You keep your head down as you get in line, adopting a slight slouch in hopes to avoid accidental eye contact that could be perceived as a threat. The second you’re pulled into something like a violent altercation, you’ll likely be exposed as a woman quite fast.

Dinner is slop with a side of slop on a metal tray, and you’re realizing why Gojo wanted to avoid this place so adamantly. A fucking paid vacation, he’d said.

You scan the mess hall with the tray in your hands, heart racing.

You spot two guards leaning against the entrance, watching you with amusement— like they’re waiting to see what happens to you, who will pick the runt of the litter. You’re the entertainment. You must look like a little meek boy, shaking in your boots.

It’s packed. Big men in little stools. It reminds you of highschool clicks but worse. You spot your pink haired cellmate, sat alone at the only empty table, but one mean glance up with those red eyes and you’re searching elsewhere.

“Who do we have here?” A deep voice sings as a heavy arm drops around your shoulders.

You glance up at him to see a blue haired man with scars all over his body, like he’d previously had poorly done stitches. He smiles at you with dead eyes.

Some of his friends surround the two of you, bored and idle— but their bulky presence only makes you nervous.

“Need somewhere to sit?” he hums tauntingly, tilting his head down to your level. “My name’s Mahito.”

“Oh, I—”

“Shhh little pet, I’ve got you now. I’ll take you under my wing! You don’t even have to thank me or anything.” His smile makes your spine tense with chills as he moves to stand in front of you.

Do you have another choice? You’re afraid of offending him and his scary friends if you decline.

Mahito continues, as if your acceptance is a given. “Let’s just get some things straight before—”

He’s interrupted by a large fist slamming into his jaw, knocking him right off his feet and onto his ass. Your hands tense around your tray, eyes wide as your gaze snaps to see who just punched Mahito into a limp, dream state.

It’s your pink haired cellmate, looking down at his victim while ringing out his fist like it’s just another Tuesday.

Fights must be common around here, because when you look around, no one seems surprised. Most of the men just mind their business and continue eating their food. Even the two guards are whistling, turning the other cheek.

You gulp. Mahito’s friends don’t even try to defend him, they just back away— like hyenas in the presence of a lion. You hear one of them mutter a name, ‘Sukuna.’

You wonder if anyone is even going to bring Mahito to the infirmary, but when Sukuna’s roaming gaze sweeps over you, all thoughts freeze in fear.

You hold his gaze a beat too long, unsure, until you see a flicker in his expression, a subtle tightening of the corner of his eyes. In a breath, you fold inward, chin dipping down to your chest in retreat.

He breaks the tension first, adjusting his neck as he turns away. He settles back into his seat with his meal, relaxed and borderline bored.

You have no clue what his intentions are, or what saving you signifies. Regardless, you’re relived to not sit with Mahito.

With no other option, you inch your way over to the only empty table where Sukuna sits. He remains focused on his food, ignoring your presence completely as you sit as far away as possible— on the literal side edge of the seat.

You cautiously take a bite, peeking at him defensively, but he remains indifferent.

__________________

Lights out, 9:10 pm.

You lay in your uncomfortable little bed, staring at the dirty ceiling. The cell door clanged shut at exactly 9 pm and when the guard made his final round, flashlight shining through the corridor— he passed by with a slow, deliberate glance followed by a wink that made you feel uncomfortable.

You can’t sleep, tossing and turning for 10 minutes. You shift on your side, unable to lay in one position for longer than two minutes due to this stone of a mattress.

“Quit. Moving.”

You freeze at the demand coming from your cellmate, who probably hasn’t been able to sleep with all of your loud movement.

“Sorry,” you chirp quietly, pressing your lips together between your teeth.

He exhales, deeply. You peek at him and he’s facing the opposite wall, naked back towards you.

You don’t know prison etiquette, are you meant to do something specific if someone saves you from a group of scary individuals like he did earlier? Maybe give him half of your lunch from now on or he’ll take you into the back and beat the teeth out of you?

“Um,” you whisper, practicing your ‘boy’ voice.

You feel the energy in the room shift, like when you were a child sharing a bunk with your sibling and you’d start spouting nonsense to each other after 3am.

“Thank you.”

You feel relief when a silent moment passes, maybe he’s asleep and didn’t hear you, because now that you’ve actually said it, you regret it. How stupid and naive could you be? You reckon gratitude like this may not apply in prison.

He grunts as he adjusts his position, and you cringe at the ceiling, subtly inching your thin blanket up to your chin. Oh. He definitely heard you.

You nod off after too many minutes of silence and you wake in the morning to the sound of the breakfast bell. You all but squeal opening your eyes to see your sweaty cellmate looming over your bed.

You quickly clear your throat, sitting up and glancing around at your surroundings. You kick your ‘boy’ voice up, trying to recover from your girly scream. “Morning.”

He throws a small towel over his shoulder and walks off, unbothered by the strangeness of standing over someone’s bed before they’ve even awoken.

Your breast wraps are still in tact when you peek down under your shirt, so you don’t think he saw anything he wasn’t supposed to.

Breakfast is uneventful, thankfully. Mahito, who has fresh dark bruises along his face, doesn’t even look your way. You sit alone at Sukuna’s table, the same acceptable distance as before.

Things are just okay, you think.

That is, apart from the whole using the bathroom thing. You’ve been putting it off. But, it’s unavoidable.

After breakfast, you peek into your cell where the shared toilet is, only to see Sukuna casually reading a scroll with one hand and doing one armed push ups with the other. The image of using the toilet in here makes your face sour. That’d be a type of humiliation you’d rather avoid, and that’s not even accounting for keeping your gender a secret.

Instead, you settle for the shared bathrooms connected to the showers in one large tiled, communal room.

Standing in front of the toilet stall, you curse Gojo’s entire family line. Because of course the stalls don’t have doors. Somewhere far away, Gojo suddenly feels shivers race down his spine in the middle of his little mochi date.

Apart from the unsettling experience of using the bathroom surrounded by large men shaving and brushing their teeth, you overheard interesting information as you did your business. You had to translate male prison gossip lingo, but apparently Sukuna and Mahito’s little altercation yesterday wasn’t random.

They have history. Something about ‘daring to touching his soul’ — whatever that means. You think soul is code for a drug supply, maybe.

Yesterday’s incident was a ‘checking’ as your fellow inmates say. Mahito was trying to force you, someone weak and new, into his group, which made him look strong among the lower ranks. But when Sukuna stepped in, punching his lights out in front of everyone, it was a show of power.

Mahito dominates people like you, small and submissive by nature, to stay on top, but Sukuna operates on a whole nother level. In that simple act, he showed everyone that you’re on the bottom, people like Mahito are in the middle, and Sukuna reigns on top.

You’re already cringing at your naivety thanking him last night, like he was some knight in shining armor.

Once you get back to your cell, Sukuna’s still reading, this time, sat on his bed all glistening with sweat having finished his workout.

You ignore your nerves walking past him to sit on your own bed with your back against the wall.

You’d scored a notebook and pen from the recreation room, and begin idly drawing the time away. Seeing how he’s the only thing there is to draw in this place, you start sketching Sukuna’s profile.

His nose is particularly a unique shape, reminiscent of the Greek God statues. You glance up for the millionth time to get the particular slope of his bridge committed to memory, and startle to see him looking back at you with a glare.

You slouch into yourself, your face growing hot having been caught staring and you force your eyes back down.

“You keep thinking you’re allowed to do that.”

Your heart rate kicks up at his scary gravelly tone, like a demon having come back to life in the form of his vocal cords. You naively thought he didn’t notice your glances, since he never even spared you a look.

“Sorry,” you mutter quietly.

“Look at me,” he demands in a way that you wouldn’t dare consider disobeying. Fuck. You were hoping he’d just let it be.

You clench your eyes shut for a brief moment, squeezing your pen in your palm before slowly sitting up and peering at him.

“Pitiful. Truly.” He scoffs, looking at your entire form with disgust. “Do you have no honor? Stand.”

You hesitate, gaze flicking, feeling like you’re playing a game of simon says.

“I said,” his tone rumbles as he moves to sit at the edge of his bed, chin resting on his fist, “stand.”

A passing inmate side eyes your open cell, but he minds his business as if it holds a sleeping monster within.

You gently toss your notebook to the side and your brows twitch as you push yourself up to stand, socked feet meeting the cold floor.

You aren’t even sure if you’re meant to be looking at him still, gaze uncertain.

“Now kneel.”

A flashback of how hard Sukuna’s fist met the bone of Mahito’s jaw makes you slowly bend and drop to your knees.

You spot a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes before a judgmental expression takes over, like your obedience is simultaneously sickening and mandatory to him.

“You hold your head quite high,” he hints at your lack of respect, and if putting your forehead on the dirty floor is all he makes you do for disrespectfully staring, you’d probably be lucky.

Your brows pinch in a pout, grossed out with the prospect of it but still, you inch your head down.

“Good,” he drawls the word out with a whispery rasp, “Go on. All the way down.”

Once you’re in a fully seated bow, like a servant in the old ages, he exhales slow and deep. Cathartically.

A long moment passes with his red eyes on the back of your head. The floor smells like dirt and a trace of bleach. You’re completely vulnerable in his position, with the back of your neck exposed and blinded.

Honestly, you’re wondering if Sukuna is still there. It’s so quiet, all you can hear is the subtle mumble of the others outside of the cell in the main area and the tick of the clock.

You prepare to speak by taking in a small breath, and that’s all it takes for Sukuna to snap at you.

“Did I say you could speak?”

You gulp.

“You’re new,” he complains, “The next time you disobey me, you won’t enjoy what I do.”

You hear the bed creak from him standing, but he doesn’t take a step in any direction. Just stands above you.

“Lick the floor.”

Your lips part in shock, blinking at the floor in confusion. You can’t even begin to imagine the disgusting things that line this floor after decades of men coming in and out. You’ve seen the guy who cleans the floors, he’s blind— literally. Humiliation is the only benefit to making someone do something like this, to knock them back into their place. You don’t have another choice.

“Show me,” he snaps, making you flinch. “Your tongue.”

Fuck this place, you obey. Slip your tongue out and slide it against the floor, eyes clenched shut to cope with the taste of everything horrible and bitter.

Pushing your palms to the floor, you lift your head, giving him the pathetic display of your twitching tongue.

The light above halo’s his pink head like a dark angel, and you see his lips curl into a diabolical smile. Pleased with your submission.

He squats, lining his mouth to your ear— not touching, but close enough to hear. “The hell are you looking at?”

Your eyes clench shut as fast as his words come out and you almost flinch when you feel the tip of his finger brush against your clavicle. Your breast wrap is right there—not impossibly close, but too close for comfort. It’s like he’s bringing attention to how frail your bones are, brushing the bone so lightly.

“Speak.”

“You— I’m sorry,” is all you know to spit out around the taste of the bitter floor in your mouth.

He tuts like your answer is just average, a boring C- at best. It seems to be all you know how to say, that and thank you.

“I don’t want trouble— I didn’t know I couldn’t look at you,” you stupidly explain.

“Have a little crush on me?”

You gulp, shaking your head. “N-No.”

He stands. “Why are you here?”

“Because you told me to—” your uncertain gaze flicks around his face but never connects to his eyes.

He interrupts you, repeating himself in a rougher tone, “Why are you here?”

You realize he’s asking why you were locked up.

“Speak. My impatience is not passive you’ll soon find out,” he snaps at you when you don’t immediately answer.

“I— I lost a bet. I needed money.” Technically not a lie, but you can see how your words imply that you robbed someone or something.

He uses a socked foot to nudge at your tummy, and you tense, praying he doesn’t lift it or lower it in either direction.

You’re bracing for a kick, a shove, something. Instead, he simply runs his foot down your abdomen until his toes brush the clothed skin above your pussy. You shiver in anticipated worry, looking up at him through your lashes like he’s a god given the right to deciding your fate.

Just when you think this is it, he’s going to push just an inch lower and notice your lack of dick— he loudly sniffles and walks out like nothing happened.

________________

Later, 11:25 am.

Your one reprieve after your humiliating morning is the library. Everyone has a job in prison— a 0.25$ paying job— but it’s better than nothing. You’d been lucky to land a job sorting books. Pushing a little cart around, organizing the collection of educational texts, self-help, religious, even things like the hunger games— it was nice.

That is, until your heart drops down to your ass when Sukuna pushes you against the shelf, chest pressing into your back.

You gasp, dropping the book in your grasp. Your mind immediately flicks to movies you’ve seen, involving a homemade shiv and a lot of blood, people who have nothing to lose and kill just for the hell of it. You’re an easy target too, smaller than the rest.

“You’re welcome,” he says casually into your ear. He’s not even pushing into you in an overtly sexual manner, just pinning you to the shelves.

You knew he was awake last night. But, he definitely didn’t intentionally protect you from Mahito, no, it had nothing to do with you. He’s taunting you.

You let out a shaky breath, daring to speak just above a whisper. “F—for what?”

“This is how it’s going to work,” he explains, hard hand gripping the back of your neck, “I’m going to fuck your ass, use you until that gratitude dries up and in return— no one will touch you.”

Oh shit. Your face pales. He’s explaining the concept of being a ‘bitch’ to you because it’s your first time in prison. Was it that obvious? (Yes.)

You let out a fearful whine under your breath, so quiet, but being so close, he hears it.

“What’s wrong? Thought you wanted to thank me,” he mocks you, hot breath fanning your ear. Maybe in another universe, you’d beg the domineering man fuck you— as you. But if you want your gender to remain a secret in here, you have no choice but to get out of this.

“I— but,” You grip the shelf harshly, thinking of any excuse, “I’m a virgin!”

A pause. Did that actually work? You’re not an actual virgin, but you’ve never done anal— technically not a lie.

Your bated breath halts when he lets out a boisterous laugh. “Oh?” he drawls like a king on a throne.

You can almost guarantee he feels your heart thumping through your fucking back.

“You’re just a hole. Meant for use. Doesn’t matter to me, I truly don’t care.”

“I— please, I can’t do that for you. I want to— I really want to! But I can’t,” you breathe, hoping you haven’t offended his ego— which you assume is larger than this building. You want to be able to say yes, just so that you don’t have a target on your back.

“Tch,” he clicks in distaste, “I won’t injure you. Is that enough to address your concerns?” You think he mutters a ‘loser’ under his breath but you aren’t sure.

The fact that he’s even trying to quell your fears is surprising, and gives you a spec of hope. It also allows you to consider the idea of what his protection in exchange would mean. Everyone clearly fears Sukuna, you’d get through this year untouched— aside from the obvious.

“Uh—uhm,” you gulp, side glancing back at him as much as his grip will allow. “I’m insecure about uh.. my dick.”

His brows lower into a furrow, looking at you with judgement. “Fine,” he rolls his eyes, “your little cock won’t come out of its confines. Satisfied?”

Are you actually going to do this? Can you even pull this off? The fact that this man even wants to fuck you in the first place is completely out of the blue. You knew things like this happened in here, but from this guy?

You shift. “Why do you want this— with me?”

“I’m not gay,” he scoffs, “Fool. I simply need a flesh light.”

“Oh, and,” he pushes his nose into your head, behind your ear, and sniffs, “you smell nice, like a woman.”

You shiver. It’s horrifying that he can actually smell that on you without knowing it.

“Deal?”

You clench your eyes shut and nod.

He finally pushes off of you and mutters a ‘good’ before walking away and out of the library.

___________

You’ve never been one for the concept of anal. You’d glare whenever a boyfriend would even bring it up. It’s always felt inconsiderate, like you’re just being used when a more pleasurable hole is right there. You’re kind of nervous, but part of you is relieved.

Since you made the deal, Sukuna has ‘claimed’ you. He makes you grab his meals for him, sit across from him in the cafeteria, visible signs of ownership. The other inmates avoid you completely; even a minor bump into your shoulder in passing earns an apology. You’re his now, and everyone knows it. Off limits.

As for your end of the deal, you aren’t sure when Sukuna is going to be in the mood to fuck. You’ve been stealing peeks at him, watching too closely, hoping for a signal, but Sukuna noticed. After that time you practically jumped when he stood up from his bed, he gave you a glare that made your knees weak. Instead, you’ve decided to just wait for him to tell you when he’s ready.

A few days after your library talk, Sukuna finally gives you the signal.

It’s morning, and you wake to see him hovering over your bed once again.

You startle, sitting up quickly as you rub your eyes. “Wh— what happened?”

He tosses you a little bag of chips, the type you can only get from the confectionery, and your brows furrow down at it.

“Um,” you glance at him, unsure, “thank you.” It sounds more like a question than a statement.

“Library, 12 pm. There’s a spot with no cameras in the back.”

Your eyes flicker in recognition, and your heart races as you nod. “Okay, I’ll— um— I’ll be there. That’s great. Sounds good.”

He deadpans at your pathetic attempt at speaking and walks off.

You can’t help but feel a weird affection placing the bag of chips under your bed, rolling your eyes at yourself. It’s a bag of chips, and you have more to worry about than catching feelings for this guy.

You have to prep.

The communal showers are sectioned by half walls and curtains. You’ve been able to shower, dry yourself, wrap your breasts, and get dressed all inside of the little shower section without anyone seeing your important body parts since you’ve been here. Still, you’d rather some privacy as you do what needs to be done today.

Thankfully, it’s empty when you check the showers while breakfast is taking place.

You stand there naked under the water, toes curling in nerves as you slowly bring the empty bottle up to fill it with water. A homemade douche. It’s mildly humiliating shooting water up your ass but it’s a necessary evil.

About a few hours later, you’re sorting books like your job entails, while anxiously glancing at the door and wall clock every two minutes with anticipation.

At 12:03 he pushes the door open, and you immediately turn your head back to face the shelves.

You hear him snap at the only person reading at a table, forcing them to leave. Your heart races when you hear him lock the entrance door behind them.

You stupidly pretend you’re deciding which shelf the book in your hands belongs on as his heavy footsteps close the distance between you.

He settles right beside you and you peek up at him.

“Come.” He nods his head, gesturing you to follow as he turns and leads you to the last isle, all the way to the back of the room.

“Right here?” You glance at the camera in the corner.

“Right here.”

You gasp when he grabs your hips and manhandles you over to the very corner of the isle, pressed into the shelf with your back to him. “It’s a blind spot.”

“Okay,” you lick your lips nervously, fumbling with the hem of your sweatpants. “I— how do we— should I just—?”

He squeezes his big hands over your shaky ones, stopping you. “Relax,” he snaps. “Ass fucking is not that difficult. It’ll be a lot easier for you than it is for women.”

You gulp at that, his (rude) reassurance means nothing considering the obvious.

He swats your hands away and you squeak when he pulls your sweatpants down enough to expose your ass to the chilly air.

You curiously glance back when you hear a click of a cap opening. He squirts an ungodly amount of lube into his palm and tosses it aside. (How did he even obtain lube in here?)

“Pretty fucking ass,” he says as if it’s an insult, using one hand to spread your cheek and slide a glob onto your hole with two fingers.

You cringe at the cold feeling of the gel as he rubs your hole, anticipating him shoving his finger in there.

“It’s gonna hurt,” you say wearily, “right?”

He rolls his eyes, using his middle finger to push at the resistance of the rim.

You gasp when it pops in. He slowly massages your insides in a manner to loosen the very edges, preparing the most taught of the muscles to stretch. It’s more weird than uncomfortable feeling something wiggling around in there.

“You’re lucky I’m doing this,” he rasps, “Virgin.”

“Thank you,” you squeak. He uses his free hand to shove your hips out a bit more.

He whispers as he pulls his finger out, “How’s it feel knowing you’re about to get fucked in the ass? Feel the shame yet?”

You gulp and clench your eyes shut when you catch a glimpse of his hefty cock being pulled out of his sweats. A large, scary winding vein catches your eye.

“Slow,” you chirp as he presses the tip to your ass, “please go slow.”

He notches his chin over your head, wrapping one arm around your tummy to push your back into his chest and grunts, “I will.”

His large body envelops you, like a hard hug. If it weren’t for his tip forcing your asshole to open up, you’d probably enjoy being held by a big man like this.

You hiss, unable to keep your hands from snapping back and digging your nails into his hips. The intrusion is uncomfortable, so odd and unnatural to have something this big pushing into your backside.

He doesn’t seem to mind your nails, undulating the tip around in circles within the very inside so you can get used to the feeling.

“That’s it,” he drawls, “open up.”

You let out a high-pitched whine and your ‘boy’ persona is thrown out of the window, completely irrelevant as he inches the rest of it in. He’s fully seated.

“Okay, okay,” you gasp, frantically tapping his hip and toned back, “don’t move yet.”

He exhales deeply, like he feels relaxed having finally mounted a warm hole. His warm huffs of breath calm you as they steadily fan the side of your head.

“Tick tock,” he hums after a minute of your hole pulsing around him in attempt to cope with the intrusion. “It will hurt less if I move.”

“Fuck,” you whimper, shaky hands moving to brace against the shelves. “Okay, fine.”

“Good.” He wraps one hand roughly around your mouth and his other arm holds your midsection taut to his front.

You squeal behind his hand when he pulls out and barrels back in with one hard rut. It hurts, but somehow, his large dick has reached your g-spot through your ass. You likely have a bulge in your tummy from the way his tip is angled to push down against your vaginal canal through the back door.

“Ahhh.” He tilts his head and rumbles an exhales right into your ear, like he’s dipping into a nice, warm hot-spring.

It doesn’t take long for him to set a rhythm, rocking his hips in short, hard thrusts. The contact of your cheeks meeting his hips creates a loud ‘plap,’ bouncing off the books in lewd repetition. His harsh breaths are the most you receive from him in terms of vocalized pleasure, but sometimes he offers a grunt.

Your feet shuffle with every hit, toes barely touching the ground as his strong hold keeps you up in the air like you’re just a human sized flesh light. He’s using you, and you can’t deny his incidental abuse of your g-spot feels good.

“You moan like a fuckin girl,” he hisses into your ear as he pounds your ass.

You can only moan under his palm, confirming his what he thinks is an insult. The jackhammering is short and mean, barely a few inches of his base exiting your puckering hole before stuffing it back inside.

“This ass is mine,” he grunts as your clit throbs with need, “Pathetic fuck. Letting a guy bend you over.”

Your legs shake as he grows frantic and mean, putting horrifying strength behind each thrust. You’re fucking like bunnies, your body frantically jostles up and down and you’d be embarrassed if it weren’t for how he’s completely dominating you. A few books fall right off of the shelf and clatter to the carpeted floor with the force of it all. You wonder if he’s fucking you this hard because he thinks you’re a man, that you can and should be able to handle it.

You exhale sharply out of your nose, eyes clenched shut as you take his last few slams.

“Fuck!” He grunts, throwing his head back as his grip on you grows so harsh you’ll have bruises on your waist later. You feel his dick pulse as he dumps his load as deep as he can go into your ass, keeping his hips still against your irritated asscheeks.

Finally he sighs as he slides out, making your hole clench shut the second the intrusion is gone.

You practically stumble for balance as he lets you go, knees buckling. Pussy dripping and confused while your ass aches.

You want to just collapse right here, take a much needed rest, but you can’t risk an accidental flash of your pussy. You pull your sweatpants up, out of breath.

He tucks his dick back in, glancing down at you with a glow of physical relief on his face. “You took me well,” he licks his top teeth, tilting his head. “Did you enjoy getting your cherry popped?”

That was almost a compliment. Your insides are still screaming for an orgasm and a break simultaneously. You feel your face rise in temp, pathetically, and you can’t help but tuck your chin to your chest.

“Just fucked you and you’re getting shy.” He snickers with a look of disgust. “I think i’ll play with you again and again until I tire of this.”

He doesn’t even give you a chance to respond before moseying out of the library, adjusting his dick in his pants as he goes.

Somehow, you’d gotten away with the first fucking without revealing your secret. Aside from not having a chance to finish the job and rub yourself to a much needed orgasm, you’re quite proud of yourself.

Sukuna doesn’t speak to you more than usual following the act, he’s just not the type. Does one speak to their flesh light between uses?

That night, you almost believe you’re dreaming when you wake up to Sukuna’s weight lying directly on top of you. You couldn’t sleep comfortably on your sore ass, so you’d had to sleep on your tummy, giving him a perfect opportunity.

“Again,” he rasps into your ear, grinding against your ass. You must have done well earlier if he’s already back for more, or he’s fond of how your asshole feels.

You tiredly whine and lower your groggy tone to say, “But the guards will hear— and the others.”

He ignores your concerns and crawls down your body, yanking your sweats down. You squeak, pushing a hand under yourself to keep your pants up at the front.

You glance over your shoulder. “What are you— oh!”

He spreads your ass and licks a stripe up your asshole, terrifyingly close to your pussy. So close your pussy clenches in anticipation, having a sweet mind of its own.

He pauses as he looks down at your hole with furrowed brows. It’s dark enough that he won’t be able to see the feminine parts of you, you hope.

He doesn’t say a word about his pause, just brings his face back down and pushes his tongue into your ass. He wriggles it around and you cringe, gripping the sheets as he stimulates your sore hole. You can’t even tell if it feels good to have your ass ate, or if it’s the concept of this man with his face in your ass, or the fact that you’re just fucking horny and begging for scraps.

After one last lick from your hole all the way up to your lower back, he crawls up to lay on you with his lips to your ear.

“Why the fuck is your ass sweet?” he asks as he lifts his hips to yank his cock out. Your brows raise, almost letting out a snicker. It must be due to your pussy leaking wetness down to your ass all day since the library.

“I— I don’t know,” you mumble as he holds one of your cheeks open and slides his tip against your hole.

“Just,” he grunts as he pops the tip in, not even waiting before pushing in to the hilt, “stay quiet and I’ll be done in a second.”

You whine under your breath, fisting the sheets as your toes curl. His legs surround the outsides of yours as his arms wrap around your neck in a loose headlock. You aren’t sure you can stay quiet if he pounds you like he did before without his hand covering your mouth. Getting caught with his dick in your ass doesn’t sound so great.

But fuck, you suddenly don’t care because his abs clench as he lifts his hips and slides back in, already gaining a stead rhythm. It’s slower than before, but hard. Your eyes roll back at how passionate it is, fingers pressing into his pulsing arms around your neck. You can’t remember the last time a man truly put his heart into fucking you.

You think you may be able to enjoy this little arrangement after all, considering his dick is big enough to pound into your g-spot with every hump. Maybe his claim on you, the free use of it all, is charming too.

But then, he begins to slide a hand down under you and you freeze.

He’s reaching for your nonexistent dick.

You snap your hand down to grip his wrist, stopping him, but you know that he could bypass your frail hold if he really wanted to.

“D-Don’t touch,” you breathily murmur through his continued thrusts.

“Tch,” he grunts in distaste, “Won’t see your ugly dick. You should be thanking the gods that I’d even try to touch you.”

You wish you could allow him to touch, rub your clit, finger you, fuck you the proper way. But no matter how horny you are, you have to have a clear head about this. If he knew you were a woman, he could tell the guards— or worse, tell the other inmates and let them have a turn with you. That’s just the tip of the iceberg of the horrible things that could happen to you if you’re exposed.

“I know, I know,” you gulp, lips parting as he manages a particularly nice thrust, “just— next time. Okay? Next time.”

He huffs, exasperated and gives up, moving his hand away and instead uses it to dig into your hip to get a better angle.

“Fuuck,” you breathe in a particularly girly way as he reaches deeper, and he hisses in your ear in obvious pleasure. He seems to enjoy the way you ‘moan like a woman.’

“Good,” he thrusts, “little,” thrust, “hole.”

He cums with a last few pitiful humps and rubs his hips against your ass in a circle as if to make sure his cum is deeep in there.

You feel utterly spent when he pulls out, two loads in your ass just from today and you’re clocking out.

He doesn’t even give you another look as he gets up and stretches with a yawn, wet dick still hanging about his thigh.

You pull your sweats up with a grimace at how sore your asshole feels. If you weren’t so horny, you might be annoyed how beat up your insides feel.

You exhale in relief when he passes out the second he flops down into bed like any average man does. You’re already thinking of some way to fool him into thinking you have a cock by the next time he wants to fuck.

_______

You’ve stolen a cucumber from the kitchen. It wasn’t easy, but you managed.

Sukuna has you up against the cell bars and has grown quite confident in his ability to fuck you within an inch of your life. He doesn’t seem like he’s all that invested in you, after all, he still thinks of you as some boy he’s using to get off. But you’re still enjoying it as much as any woman can reasonably enjoy anal.

He definitely seems to enjoy fucking you too, because you can feel his thighs shake as he pounds into you.

He kicks your feet wider and reaches around you to grab at your ‘dick.’ “Gonna let me touch it now?”

You gulp, peeking down at his hand that finds the cucumber and grips it.

“Jesus Christ, you’re fucking hard.”

You would laugh in his face if he wasn’t obliterating your insides with heavy humps.

He slowly begins to knead your ‘cock’ and the only way you know that, is because the tip of the cucumber incidentally rubs against your clit with every one of his strokes.

“Oh shit,” you breathe, brows raising and blinking into an eye roll of surprise pleasure. The stimulation to your clit and g-spot is like heaven after two days of being pent up.

“Don’t— don’t stop,” you beg, making his brow quirk.

The second you start fucking back into his cock, like an auto-masterbater, Sukuna’s eyes roll and his orgasm appears in the distance.

He sinks his teeth into your shoulder, indifferent to the pain he could be causing and meets your thrusts half way. There’s no way you’re not waking the entire cell block with the slapping sound bouncing off the concrete walls.

You sigh in disappointment when he lets go of your ‘dick’ and uses both hands to grip your hips, thrusting harder than ever.

He hisses an inhale like it hurts, a string of saliva connecting your shoulder to his teeth— and cums as his feet slightly shuffle.

“Phew,” he exhales, pulling out and tucking his dick back in. He crashes right into bed, just like before, and leaves you throbbing and needy. Again.

_____________

2:00pm, Your cell.

Sukuna has turned ravenous, he wants to fuck everyday, at least twice. It’s a bit much because you have to prep the same day before anal, and you’ve had to turn him down. Not without worries of how he’d take the rejection with little explanation, but thankfully, all he did is tsk and walk off.

One day of no sex, and he’s been staring at you through the entire day. When you wake up, in the cafeteria, on walks, while you draw on your bed. It’s frightening since you can’t read his expression that’s always resting in a threatening way. Would it be stupid to ask what he’s feeling?

Honestly, you just wanted him to wait until you could prep, and then he could have at it— but he didn’t get the message. And it’s not like you can just tell him, ‘Hey Sukuna, you can fuck my ass anytime now. Clock’s ticking!’ That’d mean you’re actively seeking anal, and that’s ridiculous. Right?

You shrug it off and decide to ignore his stare, focusing your attention on the book in your hands. He’s a big boy, if he needs something, he’ll ask for it.

And ask for it, he does.

You gasp when you’re suddenly pushed down flat to your bed, strong hands spreading your legs so Sukuna can rest between them as your book clatters to the floor. You hadn’t even heard his footsteps, or the creak of his bed as he stood.

“Jesus Christ,” you breathe, looking up at him with your heart racing out of your chest. “You scared me.”

His clothed bulge is hovering just above your pussy, but if he rested his weight down a few inches, you’re fucked. Maybe literally.

He must have just showered, his hair is damp and dark pink. He looks down at you hungry, like you’re not a person but a fucktoy with a timed lock on it that’s almost ready to use again, licking his bottom lip. “Does this fix your problem? Can I fuck you now, princess?”

Your brows furrow, an obvious question mark on your expression. You ignore the pet name meant to taunt you, because you’re not a man with toxic masculinity.

He rolls his eyes. “I’m not kissing you. Missionary is as romantic as I’ll get. Take it or leave it.”

What? He must have misinterpreted your rejection as a desire for more intimacy and affection when you have sex. The idea of missionary with Sukuna makes your tummy flutter— but you can’t.

You press your lips together, concealing a laugh. “Oh. Um— no,” you gently press against his chest, “I like how we usually do it.”

“You know,” he leans into your face, “I’m getting real tired of you bossing me around.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, recalling your excuse for keeping your dick out of sight, “I just feel— uh—insecure.”

“Fuck that,” he grunts, grabbing hold of the hem of your sweats, “Only way to get over that shit is to face it.”

You grasp his wrist, nervously. It’s not like you don’t want Sukuna to know you’re a woman so you can fuck the way you want to, it’s just too complicated and risky.

“I— really, let’s just do it against the wall, like we always do!” you attempt to convince him as he pulls against your hold.

He doesn’t say a word, just squints at you like he can smell bullshit in your words.

Suddenly, he yanks your pants all the way down until they fall to the floor and you immediately cup your sex, trying to hide from him. You twist your lower half to lie on your side, legs bent around his side so they can stay together.

He glances down at your lower half and grips your thigh. “Show me,” he snaps, more suspicious than warranted if he actually believed your lies of insecurity.

You shake your head stubbornly, clenching your eyes shut.

“Now,” he allows the word to reverberate against the walls of the cell, and you swear you can feel the vibrations in your chest.

That domineering tone is like a frequency that emits a wave of submission in timid people like you, like a lions roar to a cornered bunny.

Still, you don’t open your legs.

He scoffs a huff of air, like he’s in disbelief of your sudden ability to grow balls. Pun intended.

You peek your eyes open when you feel him shift to crawl down your body until his breath is fanning your hand covering your pussy and naked asshole.

You squeak when he slides his tongue against your fingers. “Open up,” he taunts, giving your asshole a little lick as well.

You whimper as he begins licking at your hand and your thighs, resolve dissolving with every warm, wet touch.

“I’m— I’m scared,” you admit with panic, though you’re being too vague for him to actually console you even if he wanted to.

He takes a big bite out of your thigh and you gasp, pussy clenching in need from the sting. Your wetness has made your hands slippery, and the second he takes another bite, this time a deep one on your fingers, your hand slips away with a sting and a hiss.

He takes the opportunity to yank your legs apart, spreading them over each of his thighs till you’re on full display in front of him. Like a plate.

Your wide eyes flick from your exposed pussy, to his red eyes trained down between your legs. You quickly reach to futilely cover yourself once again.

“Aht!” he scolds, pinning your wrists to the bed on either side of your body before they can cover your sex again. “Don’t fucking move,” he snaps, inches from your face.

You must have the expression of a small animal being prepped for slaughter as he closely eyes you because that’s exactly how you feel. You watch his face shift as he realizes your features aren’t just girly, you’re a fucking girl.

“Please.” You plead him, but for what exactly?

He exhales into you, ignoring you to observe your body. He lets go of one wrist to slowly raise the hem of your shirt up to your collarbones, revealing a tightly wrapped chest.

As if he needs to make sure, he rips it away and blinks at your bouncing tits. One last look at your pussy and he huffs harshly, gazing into your eyes like he just won the lottery.

“Holy shit.”

You’re mute, afraid and frozen in place as your legs clench around his hips, trying to close them around him even though it’s impossible.

“Why are you here?”

He watches you with equal parts curiosity and amused awe.

“I— I made a deal. A stupid fucking deal,” you breathe in your natural feminine voice. It’s not hard to assume the deal was money for time in prison.

He shakes his head, laughing airily like he can’t believe his eyes. “Now this is so very interesting. A woman in my cell.”

He leans into your ear, making your chest and tummy erupt in goosebumps. “I knew your little asshole was too good to be true.” He nips your ear and you whine.

“Don’t— please don’t tell anyone.”

Your quiet request makes him burst out laughing, head tossing back as he hovers over you territorially.

“Tell them?” A vein in his forehead pops as his gaze manically flicks back and forth from each of your eyes, “No, you foolish little thing. You’re all mine. You’d have to fucking kill me to share this pretty pussy.”

You aren’t sure if you should feel relived or scared. You’ve grown fond of Sukuna’s cock, but that look in his eye is downright diabolical.

“You’re,” you begin with a swallow, “not gonna hurt me?”

“Ohhh,” he breathes cathartically like he’s battling aggression seeing something so small and delicate beg not to be broken. “No, no. I’m not gonna hurt you. You’re safe with me.”

You aren’t so sure, if that glint in his eye and tone in his deep voice tells you anything. Like mouse encountering a perfect piece of cheese suspiciously sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor, begging to be eaten.

He leans in and lays a soft kiss to your cheek, making you blink.

“See?” he hums smiling, “I know exactly how to handle with care.”

He presses his nose to your neck and starts sniffing you loudly, like a dog— down to your breasts, your tummy, and finally he takes a good long sniff of your pussy.

You slap your hands to your face in embarrassment and he groans loudly on an exhale, jaw pinching as he clenches his teeth. “Fuuuck. Nothing quite like it. Your pussy smells very nice,” he trails off with a manic laugh, licking his lips.

His eye catches on your pinched brows once you hesitantly pull your hands away to grip the sheets and he leans into your face with a careful kiss to your jaw. “Deal still on, baby?”

You absolutely have no choice, you need his protection now more than before. Without this deal, there’s no telling what he’d do— no matter what he says. And even if he keeps his word, who’s to say no one else will find out your secret? It helps that he’s hauntingly sexy with a big dick he knows what to do with.

You gulp, nodding. “Yes, please.”

“Goood,” his lip curls as he drawls the word out, “That’s very good.”

He licks a wet stripe up the side of your face, making you grip his biceps.

“Are we going to have sex? My— You want my—”

He interrupts your stutter by humming against your cheek with amusement. “Oh yes. I want your pussy. I’m gonna take it over and over again.”

You exhale a sigh, eyes slightly rolling back, enjoying his words a little too much for the situation at hand.

“I’m not on birth control,” you warn him weakly as he begins to suck on your neck.

He hums nonchalantly, slowly sliding his hand down your tummy.

Your hips jerk when he cups your entire sex, long cold fingers pressing into your warm folds that are just begging for love.

“We don’t have condoms,” you add, biting your lip as he uses two middle fingers to carefully brush from your slippery hole up to your clit.

He chuckles against your neck, wickedly, like he’s enjoying every aspect of this conversation.

“No, we don’t,” he agrees with a smile you can literally hear on his voice.

Your jaw drops as he starts rubbing leisurely circles against your throbbing clit, back arching to press your abdomen into his hard abs.

“You have to pull out,” you whine in a broken moan.

“Okay,” he agrees with ease, moving to press his lips to yours.

You barely kiss him back, as his lips slide and suck on yours.

“I thought you said you didn’t want to kiss me,” you say, muffled as your legs tremble.

He moves his middle fingers down and slides one into your core, making you gasp into his mouth.

He abruptly shoves his tongue into your mouth, sliding and flicking against your tongue. He peeks the tip of his pointer finger in to join his middle inside you, and once your initial ring of resistance gives, he shoves it in like a glove.

“Oh,” you whine, brows pinching and toes curling. “Your fingers are so— fuck— they’re big.”

“Oho,” he breathes as he unhurriedly rocks them in and out, “You’ve been so unsatisfied, haven’t you? Getting ass fucked with not one touch to your pretty, crying little pussy.”

You nod erratically, “I was just so scared if you found ou— oh god.”

He gradually puts weight behind his thrusts, fingering you at an angle to abuse your g-spot.

“You thought I would want to hurt you,” he assumes with a pitying smile, “No, no. I just wanna fuck the shit out of you.”

You reach down and grip his wrist, but his hand in motion makes it difficult.

“Please make me cum,” you beg, “I’d be really— so grateful.”

“Yeah?” He presses a peck to your lips and crawls down to stuff his face between your legs. “Finally,” he sighs to your pussy.

He glances up at you and pecks your jumping clit. “Gonna eat your pussy. You want that?”

Your eyes roll back and you nod pathetically. “Oh my god, yes.”

He doesn’t waste time. He makes a pursing motion with his lips and basically sucks your clit into his mouth like a vacuum, gently suckling on it with his eyes blissfully closed. His free hand rests around your hip and flat against your lower tummy.

Your brain is fucking buzzing, toes curling in the air as you breathe short, pathetic breaths. You’re delightfully surprised he knows you need your clit stimulated to cum; a man in prison just isn’t the type you’d expected to know what most women need.

You use both hands to gently curl into his pink hair, watching his lips envelop your clit as the motion of his hand rocks into you.

“That feels good,” you affirm, voice shaky, making sure he knows he’s going a good job so he doesn’t feel motivated to stop.

He doesn’t answer you, just flicks his tongue against your clit with horrifying stamina, like his tongue is as trained as the rest of his body. You don’t feel a second of lag in his force behind his tongue and that yummy suction.

You melt when he transitions into thorough, flat tongued licks, the kind that nudges your clit in a way that’s not too overstimulating— but genuinely pleasurable in a sustainable way. You could actually cum like this. You rub his head like a masseuse, kneading the skin affectionately, making his brows and forehead slightly move with your massage.

He eats you like he hasn’t eaten his favorite meal in a long time, and considering the slop in the cafeteria, your delirious mind thinks it makes perfect sense that he’s probably soo hungry. It’s not his fault he’s so eager.

Your toes curl as your abdomen clenches inward, honing your focus to find an orgasm in the distance with every specifically pressurized slide of his tongue.

He tilts his head idly, side to side and the second he finds that perfect angle to the left, you gasp and yank his head impossibly closer.

“Right there, huh?” is the last thing he says before repeating the motion perfectly, over and over and over while his hand continues at ample speed. It’s about 27 licks in when the white blinds your sight and you give in to the ecstasy of an orgasm.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you— fuck!” you stupidly babble the one phrase you can’t seem to stop repeating to the man ever since you met him, voice strained and slurring as your brain short circuits and cuts off the connection between your motor skills and brain signals.

Even when you fall limp with fading euphoria, frailly whining, ‘no more,’ his big mouth attaches to your entire slit like a fucking milk pump, despite acknowledging your orgasm passing by discarding his wet fingers to join his other hand on your hip/tummy area.

It’s an interesting sight— your weak, spasming body jerking in overstimulation as he blissfully hallows his cheeks and enjoys your cunt with all kinds of tongue techniques. The type of techniques a stupidly rich man has learnt after so many wine tastings to get the full taste profile of every berry inside to layer over his every tastebud. Getting his full money’s worth of this favorite thing.

But fuck if it doesn’t feel good to be licked, even with the ultra sensitivity of an after glow.

“Sukuna— please,” you whimper, “Aren’t you gonna fuck me?”

That’s what makes him pause, flicking open his relaxed, heavily lidded gaze.

He unsuctions your warm folds, letting go in one popping motion and you exhale sharply when the cold air hits you.

He crawls up your body like a predator, more than twice your size. He slides his arms under your back to hold you flush to his body, hugging you in a possessive hold. One hand wraps around the back of your neck, fingers almost meeting at the front, and the other massages your lower back.

“Am I popping your pussy cherry too?” he hums, lips brushing yours as he speaks into your mouth.

“No,” you huff, “Is that a deal breaker?”

He nips your lower lip. “I’m gonna eat you whole,” he expresses how deeply he wants to fuck you— how small a concern like being a virgin would be to him.

You shiver, and maybe even start to consider why he’s in prison in the first place. Eat you.. whole..?

“Can we fuck first?”

He licks his teeth as his metaphorical tiger tail flicks behind him— like a bunny has triggered a tigers instinct to play while in the midst of a chase. If he could purr, he would be right about now.

Interrupting your little moment, the breakfast bell rings. Sukuna must have made his move an hour before six while you were reading the night away and neither of you noted the time. Sukuna had thought it’d be a 10 minute ass fuck, but now that he’s stumbled upon gold in the form of a woman, he’s gotten distracted.

You’re expecting Sukuna to be frustrated that you have to stop before you even reached the main event, but surprisingly, he just helps you get dressed and then stands lazily by the cell bars to cover you while you wrap your chest so no one eyes his plaything.

The guard just passes by boredly, doing morning checks, nodding at Sukuna in brief greeting.

Once the guard is out of sight, you huff in exhaustion and sit up on your bed. After all the fear of being exposed as a woman and having an orgasm like that, all you want is to sleep. You literally nod off as you sit there, listening to the ruffle of Sukuna throwing on some new clothes.

Two taps to your cheek makes you startle, slurping up some drool as you open your eyes. Sukuna squats in front of you, holding your knees.

“Breakfast,” he reminds you, “get up.”

You pout at his tone, having hoped he’d soften up to you after learning you’re a woman. A woman he desperately wants to fuck and protect and own.

“Can’t you bring it to me?”

He blinks at you, deadpanning. “The fuck did you just say?”

You flinch a bit, chin tucking into your chest. You grow even more alert as he stands and pushes over you, making you lean back in bed with your palms behind you, supporting your weight right beside his own larger ones.

“Does this pretty little thing want to be punished?”

You immediately bite your lip, smiling as he pushes his head into your neck to nip at it.

“Mhm, keep doing that,” you encourage his panty dropping neck kisses.

Oncoming footsteps leading closer and closer to your cell make your heart jolt, and suddenly he roughly pushes you down flat with a veiny hand tight around your throat.

“Begging for a beating so early in the morning are we, boy?” he rasps, menacingly, as the inmate walks past, peeking at your altercation briefly before scurrying off in fear of becoming involved in Sukuna’s business.

You smile.

Oh. This’ll be fun.

______

SORRY edged you there, didn’t I?

Also not sure if this counts as gender bend? Lmk if I should add it to the warnings!

It was a political marriage, only suggested because it was beneficial for you to marry into the archduke's family as a daughter of one of the founding families of the empire. It was a show of strength and goodwill for the two families to join together or something like that. You were pretty sure that Archduke Rosera was only interested in your father's numerous gem mines, one of which was to be your dowry.

You duck around a corner, crashing into somebody. They grunt, setting their hands on your shoulders to steady you. A familiar scent of rose petals invades your senses. Ugh. You shove him away.

"I see you've doused yourself in perfume again, Lord Rosera."

"Darling! I've been looking for you everywhere!"

You stare flatly up at him, resisting the urge to cover your nose and mouth. He's not much taller than you, a bit soft in the middle. You doubt he actually knows how to use the sword at his side. Long, white, wavy hair falls over his shoulders, fading into a soft pink, framing his oval face. A smattering of freckles decorates the bridge of his nose and his round cheekbones. Magenta eyes gaze down at you, flanked by thick, long lashes. He purses his full lips, just now noticing that you are not happy. His long coat is extravagant, colored mostly a bright cerulean blue, an ornate belt around his waist. Honestly, he hurts your eyes. He could be elegant if he didn't insist on dressing and acting like a peacock.

"Lord Rosera, must I remind you that I told you days ago that I would not be available for at least a week?"

His slightly droopy eyes sparkle with unshed tears at your words and you wish to smack him.

"But darling! How am I supposed to last a week without my fiancée? Your visage is like the morning sun to me. I fear I should wither away like a flower left in the dark without it."

You clasp your hands in front of you, not trusting yourself to leave them at your sides.

"Perhaps you should turn such devotion to other matters, such as your duties," you say with a light lipped smile.

"I can't work when I know that my darling fiancée is all alone. Besides, there's an aide to take care of it."

"Lord Rosera, please refrain from referring to me so casually."

"We are engaged, though, and soon to be wed. How can I refer to you so callously?"

Your eye twitches, and you feel a headache forming. He never listens to you, and today is no different. In one ear and out the other. There must be nothing between them.

"It is improper."

"What does impropriety matter between two lovers?"

"It matters a lot. And we are not lovers," you grit.

"Darling, you wound my tender heart!"

He steps closer, placing his gloved hands upon yours, his expression one of great anguish. How can someone be like this? And so sincerely too? Surely the Archduke did not raise him like this.

"I am going to wound your face if you do not step away from me," you glare.

"What harsh words! How could you dare to threaten my handsome face?"

You step back, narrowing your eyes. Why must he test your patience like this?

"Lord Rosera, I am quite busy, so I would thank you to leave the estate."

"You're kicking me out?"

He seems to deflate, giving you sad puppy eyes.

"I have things to attend to," you lie.

He pouts, looking like a scolded child.

"Very well, darling," he sighs dramatically.

He turns back the way he came, his long hair swaying behind him. You sigh in relief once he disappears from view. You place a hand on your temple, trying to will away your headache. The gods must have cursed you for some sin in your past life. There was simply no other explanation for the severe bad luck you had in getting him for a fiancé. You could have dealt with it if he wasn't so obsessed with you. You would have lived quietly in his manor, not even said anything if he would just leave you alone. Alas, you are doomed to marry Lord Helegywn Rosera.